Exile-and Glory

by Jerry Pournelle

  When Carnel returned with Norsedal, Captain Greiner explained the problem. "Senecal here thinks you can do something," Greiner said.

  "How much time do we have?" Norsedal asked.

  "The burn was scheduled to take place in four hours." Greiner answered.

  "Not much time." Norsedal looked thoughtful.

  "No. Well, it was just a possibility. I didn't really believe in—"

  "But I think we can do something," Norsedal said. He went over to the chart table and placed an attaché case on it, using the table straps to hold it in place. He anchored himself to the stool at the table, then opened the case and patted the computer inside. "Nice computer. Fortunately, I already have some of the programs we'll need. Now let's see—"

  Jacob opened another compartment and took out paper. "Captain, I can program the course, but I can't possibly patch my computer into the ship's drive system—"

  "No sweat," Felipe Carnel interjected. "We've got a lot of little special-purpose computers for that. One is slaved to the gyro system and controls the engine thrust. You tell the ship where to go and I'll see that she goes there."

  "Good. I thought so," Norsedal said. "If you didn't have a lot of smaller computers dedicated to special purposes, the air system wouldn't work—" He began to work furiously. Pencils and paper floated away from him, to be retrieved by one of the others. He drank coffee constantly.

  An hour went by. Then another. Finally Norsedal began punching input buttons.

  "Done?" Captain Greiner asked.

  "I have the basic program. Now we have to get it checked out and running," Norsedal said. He continued to type inputs. "Now we'll just try—"

  He pressed buttons. There was a moment of silence, then the readout screen filled with numbers. "Stopped on an input error," Norsedal muttered. "That's simple enough." He typed for a moment, then looked up. "Captain, have you decided you will fly this course once I have it?"

  "I'm still thinking about that," Greiner said. "No point in making decisions unless there's something to decide. Do you think you'll have it?"

  "Probably." Norsedal didn't look up from his console. He muttered, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the computer. "Nice computer, tell me what I did wrong this time . . ."

  "I don't like this much," Leslie Seymour said.

  "Nor I," Greiner said. "But you know what happens if we do not deliver this cargo."

  "Yes. I suppose we have to try." Seymour went to the main telescope. "At least we can get decent bearings," he said. "There's Ceres, nice and clear—"

  "I hope so," Norsedal said. "I had to compute the course as a function of the position of Ceres relative to Vega. We'll need constant sightings on both."

  "We can get them," Seymour said. "Captain, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to protect the main telescope. Before that son of a bitch gets to it—"

  "Good thinking," Captain Greiner said. "In fact, we ought to locate all the passengers and crew and set them to watching each other before there's more sabotage. I should have thought of that earlier." Greiner was apologetic. "I was never a ship captain, merely an astronaut with the European Space Program. Not the best training for what we're faced with. Leslie, see to it, will you?"

  "Right, Skipper. Senecal, come with me, please. I want you to go outside and watch the telescope until we're certain that everyone is accounted for."

  "Not alone," Greiner said. "Not that we don't trust you, Kevin—but who can we trust?"

  "I understand," Kevin said. "May I use your intercom?"

  "What for?"

  "To call a friend." He went to the intercom panel and dialed a stateroom number. "Ellen, they've asked me to do an EVA. Will you come with me?"

  "Who did you call?" Greiner asked.

  "Ellen MacMillan. We've worked together on other jobs in this ship, and I know she can take care of herself outside."

  "I heard about your difficulty getting to Wayfarer" Greiner said. "Yes, I'd think MacMillan would be a good partner. Certainly we could trust her."

  "But Skipper," Leslie Seymour protested. "We can't let her go outside—"

  "Now that she's said she will, have you any way you can think of to stop her?" Greiner demanded.

  And what is this all about? Kevin wondered. He had no time to ask.

  Seymour sighed. "No. I don't suppose I can," he said. "I guess she'll do nicely. Let's go find her." He opened the companionway door.

  There were three people waiting outside in the main corridor. One came in quickly, pushing past Seymour.

  "Mr. Pacifico, what the devil are you doing on my bridge?" Captain Greiner demanded.

  "I represent the passengers," Pacifico said. His voice, already garbled by the lower atmospheric pressure in the ship, sounded shrill and petulant. "We've been told that the main computer is out, and you're going to chance a landing on Ceres anyway."

  "Who told you?" Felipe Carnel demanded.

  "It's all over the ship," Pacifico said. He turned to the others who had come in with him. "Isn't it?"

  "That happens to be the case," Dr. Vaagts said.

  "I hadn't expected you to protest," Greiner said.

  "Nor am I protesting," Vaagts said. "I merely wanted to know what is happening. Mr. Pacifico certainly doesn't represent me, or Rheinmettal."

  "So who do you represent, Pacifico?" Carnel asked.

  "Most of the passengers. We demand that we be consulted before you undertake a dangerous maneuver like this. Isn't it true that if you do nothing we'll go back to Earth, but if you try for Ceres and miss we'll have no fuel left? We'll all be dead!"

  "True enough," Greiner said.

  "And what confidence do you have in—you've got him doing it? The wargamer? Captain, you can't do this. You must take a vote—"

  "Vote hell. Leslie, you and Senecal were going out to locate all the ship's company."

  "Right, Skipper," Seymour said.

  "And you, Pacifico, get off my bridge. Now. Or I'll have you thrown off."

  "We have rights—"

  "Leslie, heave him out."

  "With pleasure, Captain." First Officer Seymour launched himself toward the lawyer.

  "I'm leaving," Pacifico said. "But you haven't heard the last of this, Greiner. You are not a king, and this isn't the Eighteenth Century—" He went out quickly as Seymour prepared to take hold of him.

  Kevin found Ellen in her cabin. He explained what had happened. "Finish getting into your suit," he told her. "We're supposed to go outside and look after the main telescope."

  "Sure. You wait out in the corridor."

  "Sure you don't need any help?"

  "Thank you, no."

  When they reached the airlock, Seymour had got most of the passengers together in the central well. A crewman guarded the airlock. Kevin and Ellen checked their air supplies, then went out as Seymour was calling the roll of the ship's company.

  Wayfarer had two airlocks. One was right in the bows, a large docking port that allowed smaller space capsules to link up with the ship, and could also be used to link with an airtight corridor connecting the ship with the Ceres spaceport, or even with another ship. The other was a smaller personnel lock on the side of the hull just aft of the bows. Kevin and Ellen went out that way. There was a small ladder leading forward. It wasn't needed as a ladder, but it provided handholds.

  With no gravity they had to be careful not to drift away from the ship. It would be easy to jump entirely away from Wayfarer. Although they couldn't fall off—they were moving at the same velocity as Wayfarer, and would until the ship's engines were started up—if anyone became separated from the ship he would drift away forever, moving slowly out into space.

  They climbed carefully to the forward end of the ship and rounded it. Now there was nothing ahead of them at all. Wayfarer floated among a river of stars, bright starlight and the black shadows of space, and there was no sense of motion at all. They hung in glory. The sun was behind the ship so that they were both in deep shadow, with just enough starlight so
they could see each other. Their flashlights made small pools of light on the ship's dark hull.

  "Magnificent," Kevin murmured. "I could stay here for the rest of the trip."

  Ellen floated over to him and silently touched his gloved hand. It wasn't a moment for talking. They found places to anchor themselves and waited in silence. The big telescope was a few meters away. It moved slightly as Captain Greiner took sights.

  Kevin searched for constellations among the stars. He could make out only a few of the traditional ones; there were too many stars, millions more than the ancient Babylonians who had named the constellations had ever been able to see.

  "Now that our eyes are adjusted, we'd best have a look at the telescope," Ellen said.

  "Right." They moved across the blunt bow of the spaceship. There were convenient handholds at intervals. Wayfarer would never enter an atmosphere and had no need for streamlining.

  The telescope was large, over a foot in diameter, with flexible seals that let it pass through the ship's hull and into the control bridge. They moved next to it and examined it with their flashlights.

  "That doesn't belong there." Ellen sounded very calm and not surprised. Her light indicated something about the size and shape of a coffee can. It was taped to the telescope barrel.

  "It may go off anyway. When you move it," Kevin said. "Get away from it—"

  "This is my job," she said. "Move back. Farther."

  "No. You move—"

  "I told you, it's my job. Now move or don't, I'm going to take this thing off."

  Kevin felt like an idiot. He was afraid of the bomb, and he was also unwilling to move away to safety while Ellen worked on it.

  "Idiot, somebody's got to tell them what happened," Ellen said. "If it goes off. So get away from here—"

  "No."

  "Stubborn idiot."

  "No worse than you are—"

  "True. There. I have it." She held up the can. "It didn't explode yet." She crawled toward the side of the ship, then got a firm grip on the handhold with her left hand. With her right she threw the can outward, away from the ship. They watched it dwindle and vanish into space. "Maybe it was old coffee grounds," she said.

  "Maybe." Kevin found that he'd been holding his breath. "Ellen—what did you mean, it's your job?"

  "I shouldn't have said that. I was scared. Kevin, please—forget that I said that."

  "Sure," he said. But he knew he wouldn't.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Outside party, this is Seymour." The First Officer's voice was loud in Kevin's helmet phones. It seemed a grating irritation in the silent grandeur of space.

  "We're here," Ellen answered. "We found a bomb—or something that looked like one—attached to the telescope."

  "But when was it put there?" Seymour demanded. "I looked at the telescope when I checked the high gain antenna. I'm sure I would have seen anything—"

  "I don't know, but it was there," Kevin said. "Ellen threw it off the ship about two minutes ago. It will be a kilometer away by now."

  "More like a couple of hundred meters," Ellen said. "It's difficult to throw anything very hard. But I'm sure it's far enough."

  "Good. That's not what I called you about," Seymour said. "There are two passengers missing."

  "Who?" Kevin asked.

  "George Lange and that Pacifico person."

  "George?" Ellen was incredulous. "He couldn't possibly have had anything to do with sabotaging the ship."

  "He's my boss," Kevin said. "Always trying to get me to work. Ellen's right, he's not the saboteur. Pacifico—well, he's another matter."

  "I think you ought to have a look around," Seymour said. "But don't take long. We start the engines in ten minutes, and you'll have to be inside before that."

  "We'll go in just before the burn," Ellen said. "Until then—somebody put that bomb on the telescope. We'll watch."

  "Right. Out," Seymour said.

  Ellen moved closer to Kevin. "Turn off your radio," she said. When he did, she put her helmet against his. "Do you have any kind of weapon?"

  "Only the knife in my tool kit."

  "I wish we had a pistol."

  "But—there aren't any pistols aboard, no guns at all."

  "How do you know?" she demanded. "Kevin, I'm worried."

  "About Pacifico? He's a pip-squeak."

  "He seems to be. But if Lange is missing, someone killed him. He wouldn't have any reason to hide. He must have caught the saboteurs in the act, and they killed him."

  Kevin tried to remember what little he knew about Lange. It wasn't much. He'd brought Kevin the tapes and made him study them, and he'd talked in a general way about the work Deadalus Corporation would be doing on Ceres. Nothing definite. "How can you be so sure it wasn't Lange who planted the bomb?" Kevin demanded.

  "I'm sure. Kevin, I think we should separate. You go watch the port side, I'll watch the starboard. Burn is ten minutes from now. We have to keep anyone from getting up here during the next five minutes. Then we'll be safe; and we'll be able to put the cargo down on Ceres—"

  She started to move away, but Kevin caught her and pulled her back until he could put his helmet against hers. "Be careful," he said.

  "Sure."

  And, he wondered as he crawled toward the port side of the ship, what the hell is that cargo? Captain Greiner talked about it. So does Ellen. Everyone seems to know but me . . . there had been one series of launch capsules that had been guarded by company police and Mexican Army tanks. What could be that valuable?

  He reached the edge and looked along the ship, past the hydrogen tanks to the big ring at the end of the ship. Nothing moved. He wondered if he should show a light. If someone really wanted to cripple Wayfarer, it would only take puncturing a couple of those tanks.

  But that would completely cripple the ship. It would be suicide for the saboteur, and so far whoever was doing this had been careful not to really damage Wayfarer, just put the ship out of operation for a few hours until it would be too late to get to Ceres.

  If he could reach the telescope, though, he could still keep them from landing.

  Lange. Could it have been George Lange? How likely that Pacifico could knock out the antenna and computer power supply? Or kill Lange? Pacifico wasn't much larger than Ellen, while Lange was bigger than Kevin. Not that that meant anything—being large was no real advantage in free fall. It just meant long legs to bump into things. But Kevin doubted that Pacifico knew enough about the ship to have been the saboteur—

  He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to burn: time to be getting inside. Even as he thought it, Seymour's voice came into his headset. "That ought to do it," the First Officer said. "Best get into the airlock. We're going to start rotating ship for the burn."

  "Right, Ellen—"

  "Kev, there's somebody out here with us!" Ellen shouted. "I saw him move. Just then. He's down by the tanks."

  "Good Lord." Seymour sounded worried. "But we've got to start maneuvers. We can't stop now—the burn must be exactly on time—exactly!"

  "I know," Ellen said quietly. "I'm going after him. Kevin, get inside."

  "Don't be silly." He clawed his way over the bow of the ship as she vanished around the far side.

  "Hang on," Seymour ordered. "In one minute and . . . three seconds we start turning ship. We have to."

  "Right," Kevin answered. "Ellen. What's happening?"

  There was no answer. He reached the place where he'd last seen her and looked aft down the length of the ship. There was a flash of light from down there somewhere. He went over, pulling himself along the ladder, trying to make sure he was always holding it.

  "If you start the engines I'll puncture the tanks!" came a high pitched voice. Pacifico's. He sounded determined. Afraid but determined. "I'll do it!" the lawyer shouted.

  "But—why do you want to keep us from getting to Ceres!" Seymour asked.

  "I don't care about that," Pacifico said. "I want to go to Ceres. But you won't get us there! Yo
u can't navigate this ship with a suitcase computer; you've no right to risk our lives that way!"

  "If you puncture the tanks you'll kill all of us including yourself," Kevin said.

  "No I won't. We don't need all the fuel to get back to Earth. Stay away from me! I'll do it—"

  "We're turning," Seympur said.

  The ship moved slightly as attitude jets fired. It rotated slowly. Kevin didn't find it hard to hang on, and then the counter-jets fired to stop the turn. The ship was now heading almost exactly away from Ceres.