by Bud Sparhawk
Did he have the courage to try, or was he too cowardly to take the risk? That was the question. He tried to move one hand toward the line. It froze into immobility, captive of the fear inside, divorced from the urging of his conscious mind. He tried to force his hand to move, to grasp the line and loosen it, but it remained as it was.
At that point he realized that this was an irrational fear, something born in the primal, reptilian depths of his brain. There was nothing he could do about it; his fear wasn’t a conscious choice so much as the way his brain was wired. At that it was as if some liberating wave passed through him, releasing him from his false perceptions, releasing his hand from the clasp of his deep-rooted fear.
“Either way I die,” he said and quickly, before the fear within could take control, undid one of the ends at his side.
As the supporting line came loose he fell backwards with a stomach-wrenching lurch. His legs were held as his upper body dropped. The safety line whipped out of his hand and he felt himself fall down, down, down… to clang viscously against the deck of Thorn.
“I did it! I did it!” he shouted joyously, reveling in his success. He clambered to his feet and looked back at the gap he had crossed. With the sudden feeling of relief he realized that he had crossed more than the physical chasm; he had crossed a threshold within himself. Discovering that he could do what he had to, despite the gnawing, debilitating fear inside of him, meant that he wasn’t a coward. A coward would have submitted to the fear and hung out there until the lines parted. No, he wasn’t a coward at all, he finally admitted to himself.
And, now that he had conquered the real enemy, taming Thorn and bringing them both into dock would be a trivial matter. He headed for the hatch and his future, clipping his safety line securely in place with every step.
Just because he wasn’t a coward didn’t mean he should take chances. Jupiter’s depths still called to him and the smell inside his suit warned him that the fear was still a gnawing reality.
* * *
Thorn seemed terribly cramped when he crawled back inside and made his way to the console. They had left the ship open to the atmosphere so he had to squeeze his suit into the tiny cockpit and the pilot’s chair. The switches were widely spaced and he could easily move them with his gloved fingers.
No matter how many times he tried the heater switches Thorn refused to gain any altitude relative to Primrose. After the tenth try he remembered that they had lost all of their ballast—that had been one of the problems after that rock slammed into their keel.
Damn, how could he have forgotten something as significant as that? Both Louella and he must be more fogged by fatigue than they thought. Now he really was in a pickle; he had no way to make Thorn rise and, worse yet, there was no way for him to get back to Primrose. He hadn’t the strength to climb up the tow lines in a two gee field nor, he admitted freely to himself, the nerve.
A quick check of his air supply showed that he had less than a day before it ran out. “Lou, we have another problem,” he said into the radio, hoping that she could hear him through the popping, crackling noise.
After she replied, he quickly explained Thorn’s status. “As best as I can figure it out,” he said slowly, “there’s only one way that you two can make it to dock; I have to cut Thorn loose and let Primrose run free. Thorn’s dragging you down: Without her weight Primrose will be able to make station.”
As he said those words he was surprised at his own sincerity. He really was willing to sacrifice himself for them. A great inner peace came over him with the knowledge that he could face his certain death with such calm detachment. Where was the quaking coward who had shit himself on the line? Where was the little man who feared the depths more than his own death? Apparently his cowardice wasn’t the only thing he’d lost on the way down.
“You damn fool! That’s suicide for you,” Louella shot back. “There has to be a better way. Can’t you lighten the load? Maybe toss something overboard?”
Pascal replied sarcastically. “Sure, nothing to it. I’ll just drag a few tons of metal out the hatch and toss them over the side. Shouldn’t take me more than a few months, that is, if I had the equipment.”
“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” Louella responded dryly.
“Yeah, that’s one thing I didn’t lose on the way down here. Listen Lou, I already thought of that possibility and discounted it. It just won’t work.” His voice dropped to a more serious tone as he said, very slowly so that there would be no misunderstanding; “Trust me, Louella, this is the only way to save you two.”
“Damn it, Pascal, I can’t let you throw away your life,” Louella shouted. “Why don’t you see if you can cut the keel loose from the housing—better to lose the rock and save you.” She paused for a moment and then added, “and the ship, of course.”
“Won’t work. No tools, no way of squeezing into the lower hold in this suit, besides, there isn’t enough time.” He explained the condition of his air supply.
Rams’ weak voice came on. “Wait a minute. You don’t have to cast away. Just lengthen the tow lines. Add more line and see how far the ship sinks. Might be buoyant at a lower level—ain’t no P12 layer, y’know.”
Pascal considered that suggestion. Perhaps Rams was right; if he rigged all of the line on board to the tow he could gradually let it out until Thorn stabilized. Damn, they could have done that from Primrose and he wouldn’t have had to come across in the first place! Another bitter tribute to their deficient, sleep-deprived thought processes.
But, he continued to reason it out, what if Thorn didn’t find a level where she was floating? In that case she’d continue to exert the same drag on Primrose. Unless Thorn floated there was no way that Primrose could escape.
But he still had the option of cutting her loose if that didn’t work. Wearily he rose from the pilot’s chair and began to climb out onto the deck. There was no sense telling either of them that he was considering that possibility, he’d just do it when the time came. As he worked on making the lines fast to the winches he wondered what it would be like to sink into Jupiter’s seas. At least, he added with a smile, he wouldn’t be falling.
Something loomed out of the dark, whipped beside the ship and disappeared into the dark behind him. He’d no more than a brief glimpse of something huge and conical. It almost looked as if some giant bucket had been…
He slapped his head, and the helmet rang with the impact of the armored glove hitting the metal. There was no need for them to lose Thorn after all! The solution had been in front of them the whole time!
Slowly, knowing that the survival of them all depended on his safety now, he returned to the cockpit and keyed the radio once again.
“You need to cut as close to one of the drogues as you can,” he explained to an incredulous Louella. “Get in front of it and let off so that Thorn slips inside. With a little bit of luck the drogue will hold Thorn. Then I’ll cast off Primrose so you can get to dock. After that you can have them haul in the drogue.”
“Pulling Thorn and you to safety,” Louella finished for him. “That’s freaking brilliant. But do you think I can steer the ships well enough in the dark? I’m as likely to smash you into the drogue as not.”
“You’re the best helmsman I’ve ever sailed with,” Pascal replied warmly, hoping she could hear the admiration in his voice over the crackling, popping link. “I’d trust you with my life.”
“Which you are going to do,” she responded without a trace of humor in her voice. “Stay off that deck on our approach. You hear me, you little twerp? Stay inside and conserve your air. I don’t want to lose you now.”
“I hear you, Captain.” Matter of fact, you’ll have a hard time getting rid of me from now on, he added to himself as she cut the connection. There was still a lot of time to wait before he could get out of this stinking suit.
* * *
Instead of doing as she wanted, he stood on the deck and peered into the darkness. The light
s illuminated the side of Primrose and etched the thin tow lines that held the ships together, a thread of light that bisected the chasm he had crossed. For the past two hours he had watched Louella switch the sails, changing the heading to get in front of the station and into position on one of the drogues. When she backed the sails he knew that she had picked up a drogue on her radar and was steering the ships to intercept.
He looked across the stern, wondering when he would be able to see the maw of the approaching bucket and if Thorn would hang up on one of the drogue’s lines instead. If that happened he’d cast off the lines in an instant to keep Primrose from floundering. There was no way he would let her be trapped.
It loomed out of the dark like a great fish, its gaping whale mouth making the Thorn a mere minnow in comparison. Pascal didn’t hesitate: As soon as he saw the drogue he loosened the tow lines and watched them whip away. Primrose shot away, rising like a rocket, its light dwindling into a mere star in the inky blackness above him.
And then even that point of light disappeared as Thorn was swallowed by the huge drogue and an absolute darkness descended. Pascal braced himself for the impact when Thorn hit the rear of the drogue. He prayed that his safety lines would hold, that he wouldn’t be thrown off the deck. He dropped down and held on with both hands while he braced his feet against the traveler bar.
Contact was more like a soft kiss than a harsh crash. There was a slight bump, then a grinding noise as Thorn swung around until her broad side rested against the wall of the drogue.
Pascal turned on his light so he could find his way back to the cockpit and noted that the deck was canted at an angle. This puzzled him for a moment until he remembered that the top of the mast was probably touching the low wall of the drogue and forcing the entire ship to one side. They must have come to rest in the very tip of the huge bucket, the very safest place he could be. Now he had only to wait for them to haul their catch up to the station. A piece of cake, as Louella would say.
* * *
The young elevator pilot who had delivered them to the station several weeks before, smiled in recognition as Pascal and Louella climbed out of the connection tube and eased themselves into their seats.
“Have a good race?” he asked innocently as he readied his elevator for the long trip back up the cable to synchronous orbit where their transportation back to Earth and Jerome Blacker’s wrath awaited. Pascal glanced at Louella, smiled, and answered. “Let’s just say that this race was one of our best.”
Louella glared at him. “Pascal, you are so full of crap! The only one who came out ahead was Rams, God bless his grasping, greedy heart. Damn it, we lost the frigging race, gave away Thorn, cost JBI a bundle, and almost killed ourselves. This race was an unmitigated disaster from the beginning to the end.”
Pascal continued to smile at her. Yes, the great Jupiter race had been all of that, and more. But without it he wouldn’t have become the man he now knew, and accepted. He reached over, took her hand, and squeezed it gently.
“It was all of that, Louella, and,” he added sincerely, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!”
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