Now what had inspired her to say that? In order to convince the children that not all authority was murderous, now she'd have to return: and this place, these refugees, broke her heart even as their tension, their thinness, and their unnatural quiet made her want to retreat. She would have to burn her flightsuit, she decided, wanting to scratch all over. How long would it take the Amherst to get the stink out of this bay?
She started toward the exit, and the children followed her.
"Get back,” the marshal gestured sharply. They obeyed, but only just. In the moments, apparently, that Pauli had spent in the bay, quarrelling with their caretakers, the children seemed to have determined that she was an ally. She was small—as short as the black woman she had heard Dr. Pryor call Beneatha, and far shorter than Rafe or Pryor, let alone the marshal who appeared to have her under custody. She had wanted to comfort Lohr. Though she wore a uniform and a sidearm, she had not smelled like a threat. And now a man in a uniform appeared to threaten her.
The children growled. Even Lohr emerged from wherever he had hidden. Becker raised one eyebrow, then deliberately turned his back and headed for the door, his steps measured, slow, as if he sought to bluff wild animals.
"Well, Lieutenant?” his voice lashed out. A muttering rose.
"Quickly,” murmured Rafe.
Pauli forced herself to smile at the children, wave reassuringly, then follow the marshal. Two of the eldest children started to follow. Then Dr. Pryor walked forward. Though her movements seemed as leisurely as the marshal's, she reached his side quickly and gestured the children back. Then, with practiced, unhurried speed, she waved the marshal and Pauli out. The door slid shut, but not before Pauli heard a scream of anger that died away into the wail of a frightened child.
"To the bridge,” ordered the marshal. “And move it!” He headed toward the nearest elevator at a pace that made Pauli break into a lope to keep step with him.
"Obviously you're not going back in there,” Pauli retorted. “Why did you set that up? Rafe Adams told me you'd been in there before, that you'd acted human in there before. Now, if you go back in, you'd better go guarded."
"I said move! You're needed on the bridge, and so am I,” Becker told her. He all but thrust Pauli into the elevator that opened so rapidly after he slapped the wall signal that she suspected he had locked it there to wait for them.
"Bridge. And fast,” he ordered. The door slid shut, but not quickly enough for his taste. His long fingers tapped beside controls where Pauli saw herself reflected: nondescript and sturdy, her face grimy, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her flightsuit. The weight! Abruptly it felt like nothing at all. She felt herself begin to rise, her stomach threatening to precede the rest of her.
Free fall! Pauli lurched across the tiny cubicle and slapped the glowing crimson alarm panel. Hooting rang out, then subsided as backups cut in.
"Damned Jump,” she muttered. “What this ship needs is planetfall. I'd dump every system on board, then test and reload before I tried to Jump again."
Becker was nodding. “Very good, Lieutenant Yeager. Very good. You justify your captain's faith in you."
"My captain died on board Leonidas," Pauli reminded him.
"And Captain Borodin?” The whine of the elevator subsided and the door slid aside, pausing halfway. Angrily she slapped the “manual open” and stalked out onto the bridge where too many people stared at boards and glowing screens dominated by red and amber lights. Commander Banez, Borodin's exec, had turned to ask him a question, but she stopped dead when Pauli and the marshal entered. Curious, that: Pauli would have bet that only a laser would have kept Banez from any decision she wanted to make.
Amber and even scarlet lights gleamed, some of them on the primary systems boards. More malfunctions, she groaned. Tiny knots of people stood or crouched before their duty stations, one or two calling out instructions to other people who knelt, heads and shoulders hidden, as they sought to repair what needed a shipwide refit. Banez glanced at them, then turned back to the captain, dismay etched into a face that should have been plump and cheerful.
Captain Borodin was slumped into his chair, security webs still loosely fastened about him. He stared into the holographic system display projected by NavComp as if it were a campfire at which he huddled, seeking warmth and refuge from wolves.
"Lieutenant Yeager reporting, sir,” Pauli said softly. She had meant to be crisp, angry; she had a right to her anger and sorrow. But then the captain turned. He had not been a young man when she had started this tour of duty, but he had been vital, energetic. Now his hair shone pale in the dimmed lights of the bridge; it had turned gray, and was slick with neglect. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and his cheeks seemed to sag. He seemed as tired as the ship itself: would he break down too?
He nodded absently. “Damage control?” he asked the comm panel set in his chair ... “malfunctions ship-wide, sir ... lifesupport ... we're on backups now, but they're failing. Possibly twelve hours before we go to stored power ... we only have the one set of replacements..."
"Bozhe moi! you won't think of it, much less hint it!” Borodin snapped. “Before Amherst turns scavenger, I'll blow it up like Leonidas!" Borodin slumped back into his chair. Tactfully Banez turned away. The captain drew a deep breath, then shivered all over, as if emerging from deep waters. Finally, reluctantly, he turned back to the newcomers.
"Captain,” said Becker, “call in the riderships."
"Riderships haven't finished preliminary scan,” Banez reported. “Shall I activate stealth features?"
Borodin nodded. Instants later, interference twisted the view of space from the bridge and fizzed in the in-ship communications gear. Stealth used immense quantities of power.
"Captain,” Becker said in that same expressionless tone, “ask your helm to lay in a trajectory for landing."
Becker glanced sharply at him, and Pauli froze. Like all Jump-capable ships, Amherst was built in space. Though such a ship could make planetfall, deceleration and gravity would strain to the limits a freshly refitted vessel approaching a fully equipped landing field, let alone a ship like Amherst, whose systems were stressed by faulty components and hard running.
We won't survive reentry, Pauli thought bleakly, and glanced at the captain. All during the rescue operations on Wolf IV, he had been imperturbable, a source of refuge for crew who found themselves unable to deal with the survivors and their own guilt at never having lived on a world slagged by hostile ships or—as happened on Marduk's World—atomics. In this one last Jump, he had aged years. If we weren't at war, Pauli thought, if, we didn't need him, he wouldn't be in space now. He'd some comfortable ground or station berth, and die that much faster of boredom.
The captain turned toward her. “Lieutenant Yeager. Your recommendation as regards the proposed landing?"
"I'd want to refit before we Jump again."
"Log that into the records,” said the captain. “You do realize, Becker, that this ship isn't in optimum shape for a landing, that we're already depleting resources by using stealth gear when we might just have easily used our riderships to conduct a preliminary investigation?"
"On my authority, Captain,” said Becker. “Your engineers indicate that the ship can survive planetfall and liftoff. Which do you prefer: landing, or detaching riders to ferry the refugees down to the surface of...” he gestured and, though the navigation holos were allegedly keyed onto the helm, the configuration altered until Pauli saw the planet at which he pointed. In its simulation, rapidly scudding clouds covered much of the northern hemisphere where high mountains loomed.
Pauli studied the holo intently, hoping to see the familiar glow of an Alliance outpost, blue against the glow of planets and stars.
"We will be landing shortly,” Borodin announced.
He raised his head and met Pauli's eyes. Assuming the ship can land, the weariness in his gaze appeared to say.
"Landing, sir?” She could ask at least that much.
"There.” He gestured, and the holo changed configuration again, rotating to give Pauli and the captain a better view of the world toward which Amherst, however feebly, made its way.
"Instituting preliminary surveys,” announced one of the bridge crew.
"You don't have a First Survey report?” demanded Borodin.
"Storms,” reported the junior officer ... “wait, Captain: we're getting interference here...” his hands crossed on his boards as he struggled to turn up the information feed. “Too much of a power drain; we can't get much input on account of the stealth."
And if they turned off the stealth features, they were exposed to any Secess’ ships in the system.
Pauli raised an eyebrow, asking for permission to inquire. No human settlements, Alliance or Secess'.
"I thought we were headed toward resettlement,” she remarked. “One of the refuge worlds like Halcyon or in the Marduk system."
Borodin shook his head. “Helm!” he called. “You're off-shift. Get your relief up here. Pauli, you assist."
"But, Captain...” Borodin was sending the senior helmsman below because the man was tired? If he wanted someone fresh on the boards, just how serious was this problem?
"You're worn out. How long do you expect to stand on watch without steering us inside a planet? Move it!"
He grinned at the retreating helmsman. “And watch the elevators too. Apparently they're as dangerous as Secess’ these days."
A guilty spatter of laughter lightened the air on the bridge. Even Becker's thin lips relaxed. Then he bent over his boards, double-checking as helm laid in a course that would bring them to preliminary orbit, then enable them to leave it and land.
Pauli took a hand-wave as invitation, and went over to take the helm. Coordinates for approach had already been laid in. She called up survey information on the world they neared. It was surprisingly scant.
"How many orbits before touchdown?” she asked. If this had been her ship, she would have wanted to delay landing as long as possible in order to collect as much data as possible on the planet—for a start, had this godforsaken world a name?—its landmasses, resources, weather patterns ... inhabitants? She had to assume that it would have no inhabitants. The Alliance never settled citizens on worlds with intelligent cultures. Then, and only then, would she choose a landing site.
"Eos system,” computer reported. Somewhere she had read, or perhaps heard from Borodin, that Eos meant dawn. “Planet Eos IV..."
"Survey called it Cynthia."
Pauli turned toward the captain, who studied the glowing screens as intently as she. “A by-name for the ancient goddess of the hunt on Earth,” he explained. “Hunting should be good on that world. It's damp; look at the cloud cover. Air pressure's a little higher than we're used to; gravity is about .8 standard."
"Inert gases?"
"We can breathe the air,” Borodin's voice was sharp. “Or we wouldn't have put in for this world."
He gestured. “Recommendations?"
The northernmost continent, though much occluded by heavy clouds, looked green and promising. Even this far away, Pauli saw threadlike veins of blue-green, and stepped up magnification: a river with an alluvial plain. The southern continents seemed sere, and seismographic scans revealed major land instabilities and traces of vulcanism. Cynthia the huntress was a young, turbulent world.
"North continent, sir,” she spoke at last. “On that plain, near the mountains."
Settlers would have hydroponics, but such a location guaranteed them fertile land and ample rain, just in case. The planet had two moons (as yet unnamed) and therefore freak tides. An interesting, violent world.
"We're going to set down there now?” she asked Borodin. Despite her best efforts, her eyes slid over to Becker.
"That's right, Lieutenant,” said the marshal. “Prepare to initiate landing procedures."
Pauli locked in a course, then bent to the scanners. In the few moments that they remained in orbit, it was a matter of survival to gain as much information on this new world as possible.
That was when stealth systems abruptly ceased.
"We're visible again!"
"Go to backups,” ordered Borodin. Pauli's boards flashed toward amber, then—too many of them—into red. Moving quickly, she began to shift navigation over to backup computers. The ship lurched, went briefly A-grav, as even the incredibly durable processors, coated with diamondlike adamant from an alchemist's dream, fissured and failed.
"Abort survey!” ordered Borodin. They were exposed here, vulnerable to a ship or ship's sensors.
Pauli fought the ship into a braking orbit, and from there into a steep, pitching descent. She could imagine the terror of the children in the docking bay, terror that could turn to fury, could turn on the adults who tried to protect them, if the children could reach them.
Lights flickered and failed. Shadows lanced across the bridge as red distress lights strobed, glancing off the sweat on Borodin's jaw. Air circulation faltered, then started up again.
"Diverting power from weapons to engines, sir,” came a voice which trembled slightly.
"Retain backup lifesupport and navigation,” ordered Borodin. His taut fist punched lightly on the arm of his chair, then clutched until the bones showed yellow beneath the weathering of his skin. He leaned forward and took over helm control.
"Hull temperature at 4800 ... 3500 ... 3000 ... firing retros...” the ship yawed as it turned upright, preparing to land. They lost altitude rapidly, a plunge barely controlled by the helm. Atmosphere thickened about them, threatened to buffet them worse than had Leonidas's death. The shaking intensified as the ship lost speed. Sensors, those not blinded by processor failure or burnt out by the heat of the ship's passage, reported stratospheric gales which gave way, as Amherst decelerated yet further and gravity clutched them all in a leaden fist, to less predictable and more treacherous gusts. Briefly Pauli wondered how the civs would manage to cross this planet's seas if the storms were always this severe.
They were falling out of the sky! she thought. Either the Secess’ would attack or, the instant they tried to refit and test engines on this godforsaken world, the ship would blow crew and civilians to the fate they had managed, so far to elude.
Borodin's eyes were very bright. Behind him, Marshal Becker clung to a safety rail.
"Get us down now!” someone whispered.
A sane man or woman might have despaired in those last, nightmarish seconds, but Borodin, by that time, was maddened by some compulsion to beat fate, beat the odds one last time. Still the ship wavered, and he fought for stability, lost it ... damn, it was no bad way to die, admiring the man's skill! but in the next moment, Pauli saw the opportunity his slower fingers were letting slip. She lunged forward toward helm, and gradually the ship came upright, steadied, slowed yet further. Gravity pressed down, and she panted as she fought Amherst toward safety. It was madness, worse than combat against a Secess’ fivefold formation, but even as her limbs grew heavier and heavier, it seemed as if she were flying, her arms outstretched for balance and for lift, to bear the ship, to ease it down to safety.
Amherst touched ground, not a feather's touch, nor yet the three-point landing of pilot's training; but they were down (albeit somewhat on a slant), and they had a ship that they could walk away from. Pauli glanced down, amazed, then began shutting down systems. Long after she was finished, she let her hands linger on the boards, almost caressing them.
"We're down,” Borodin reached up and rubbed his temples with shaking hands. Gray shone between his fingers. Becker leaned over him, speaking rapidly. The captain shook his head, then gestured, one palm up.
"Damages?” Borodin demanded. From all areas of the ship came reports that might have spelled disaster in deep space: many systems failed, and even backups faltering. They would have to dump all computers, install new processors, then test them. It was a time-consuming, aggravating job, even given planetary facilities: it would be a demon here in the No Man's
World of Cynthia. But Amherst had been built to survive.
Pauli unstrapped herself. As always after a pitched battle and acceleration, she felt sweaty, stupid with fatigue. She swallowed hard after so many hours in freefall, unwilling to retch as her first act in this new world. Now that Amherst was safely down, she realized the enormity of her offense: senior pilot or not, she had taken over ship's controls. She could be court-martialed—I saved the ship! reason insisted, but regulations were something else.
She ventured to look at her captain. “Sir?” she began. “I beg the captain's pardon. I acted without thought."
"Thank God you did,” whispered Banez. Like the rest of the bridge crew, even Becker, she had gone white to the lips, but now her color flashed back, rose into a flush as she realized she had been overheard.
"I do indeed,” Borodin said, and Pauli remembered. Unusual as it was for a citizen of Novaya Moskva to attain command rank, Borodin had not shed his homeworld's religious faith as he rose through the ranks. It had always been oddly, enviably reassuring. Now it seemed only old. Like Borodin himself. Even as damage control reports came in, and the civilian refugees demanded immediate information, escape, or whatever it was that shrilled in Pauli's ears, for that one moment she shivered. Borodin was old. Like the ship. Like the war.
Like she felt at that moment. She allowed herself one more luxury, and lay back for a last instant in her chair as the sweat dried on brow and body.
Borodin rose. Reluctantly Pauli lifted her head. Becker came around to face him.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for some command or explanation. Captain Borodin drew himself up. He had not forgotten, and probably would never forgive himself for the moment in which he had proved too worn, too slow. But he still had his dignity.
"My orders,” began Borodin, “indicate that here on Cynthia, you are in command. Your orders, sir?"
3
Cynthia's sky was gray and cool, darkening toward violet at the horizon, with delicate cirrus clouds etched high above. The air was cool, pungent, and moist from the presence of a brownish river, the confluence of several streams frothing down from the foothills of the range that Amherst had seen from space. That was the only way Pauli would probably ever see those mountains, she thought.
Heritage of Flight Page 4
