"Deepsix" - читать интересную книгу автора (Макдевитт Джек)

XII

Nothing kills the appetite quite as effectively as a death sentence. -Gregory MacAllister, "In Defense of the Godly," The Incomplete MacAllister

Hours to breakup (est): 252

It was almost 1800 hours, forty-two minutes since they'd made the jump into transdimensional space, when Penkavic ordered an inspection of the lander and retired to his quarters. He had just arrived when Eve, Boardman's AI, reported all in order.

The ship had begun to quiet Many of his passengers had retired for the night The common room had pretty much emptied out, and only two or three remained in the various planning or leisure areas. A small group of technicians and climate specialists were engaged in a role-playing game in the Green Room, a contest which would probably continue well into the morning. Several biologists were still in project control arguing about stocking procedures, and a few individuals were gathered in the relatively intimate Apollo Porch, where they could look out at the stars.

Penkavic was more rattled by his confrontation with Helm than he cared to admit to himself. It wasn't just that he'd offended one of the most powerful people in the corporation. He had, after all, done the right thing, and kept both himself and Helm out of trouble. But there was a quality to Corporate's chief engineer that unsettled Penkavic, inducing a reaction that went far beyond concern over what he might or might not do to damage the captain's career. It was hard to pin down. Helm did not seem especially threatening or intimidating, but he invariably induced a sense that he and he alone understood the correct and reasonable course. In his presence, Penkavic inexplicably wanted very much to please him. Even when he disagreed strongly with the older man's conclusions.

He climbed out of his uniform, showered, and slipped into bed. But the lights had just died when Eve's voice filtered through the room. "Captain, we have a problem."

He sat up. "What's wrong, Eve?"

"The lander is preparing to launch."

"Stop it." He threw the sheet aside, put his feet on the deck, and waited for her response.

"I can't. I'm locked out."

He called for lights and threw on a robe. "Go to the red circuit," he told her. "Shut it down. Shut everything down in the launch bay if you have to."

He was out the door, headed for the lower deck.

"Negative," she said. "Lander is sealing."

She put a visual on a wallscreen. He watched the vehicle rotate, saw the bay doors open. "Who's doing it?" he demanded.

I can't tell if there is a deliberate agency at work. There seems to be a partial breakdown in Delta comm." In Eve's ability to communicate with the various automated systems.

He watched the lights in the launch bay brighten and dim, as they routinely did at the start of an operation, and then the lander floated out into the gray mist.

Penkavic now made the history books. In the only known instance in which a commercial starship attempted to maneuver in hyperspace, he banked to port, tried to calculate the location of the lander, and made an effort at intercept.

He had to work manually because Eve's condition had not stabilized. Jack Castor, his copilot, was already on duty.

He put Castor on the sensors despite his protests that they would not work.

They tried them anyhow. Short-range, long-range, pinpoint, and shotgun. It didn't matter; all returns were negative. There seemed to be nothing out there but empty space. Optical visibility was limited to a couple of hundred meters, and attempts to activate the lander AI failed.

No one knew how to pinpoint a position in transdimensional space. Because the only other physical object in the field was the lander, and they did not know where it was, the notion of position became meaningless.

Eve came back up. "The disturbance seems to have abated," she said.

"Can you tell where the problem originated?" Castor asked.

Not that the answer mattered. Penkavic knew who had arranged it.

"Lambda."

The backup mission control.

Helm was dressed and waiting for him.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" demanded Penkavic.

"I'm aware," he said. His eyes were hooded. He seemed unusually pensive. "I know exactly what I've done."

"You've condemned those people. We were the only way they had of getting clear."

"Eliot." He nodded, agreeing with the accusation. "I wish there had been another way. But the Quraqua operation can't afford a nine-day delay. Some of the material we have on board is time-sensitive. Extremely so. As are two critical operations that depend on our making a prompt delivery. The company would have been hit very hard. Very hard. It would have cost millions, at the very least. God knows how many ongoing efforts would have to be restarted. If we had gone off to the rescue, nobody at Corporate would have thanked us, believe me."

"I don't really care-"

"I do, Eliot. And so would you, if you knew the people involved, how hard they've worked to turn Quraqua into a second Earth. What the stakes are. These idiots got themselves into their situation, and they're just going to have to get themselves out." He seemed to be studying the chessboard. Penkavic noticed the position had not changed. "God help me, I wish it could have been otherwise."

Penkavic stared at him.

"You'd have done the same thing," Helm persisted, "if you'd had my responsibilities. Known what I know."

"I don't think so," said Penkavic.

"Eliot." The kindly uncle showed up again. "Your investigation

will uncover a defective switch in the central system and a cross-connected R-box in Lambda. You'll want to find both promptly and replace them so that the problem with the AI does not recur. Unfortunately, the launch was triggered when a signal intended to shut down the mess for the night was misrouted through the bad switch to the launch system. Because the R-box activated almost simultaneously, Eve was effectively locked off for several minutes and was unable to stop the sequence. An unfortunate accident. One in a million. But quite comprehensible. Responsibility will be laid on the AIs that run the inspection programs back at the Wheel, or possibly on design glitches. In any case, no one here need be blamed."

For a long time, neither man spoke.

"Unless you insist."

Penkavic sat down and tried to resist his inclination to look the other way.

"You have a choice to make now," Helm continued. "You can accuse me, and log what you know. Or you can forget this conversation ever happened, and the incident will remain what it presently is, a piece of bad luck. I'd remind you there's always a price to be paid for progress. And that there's nothing to be gained by sending anyone to a hanging." His fingers touched the crown of the black queen. He lifted her, moved her diagonally across the board, and settled her behind a protecting knight. "I'm in your hands, Eliot."

"Incoming traffic, Marcel"

"On-screen, Bill."

"You're not going to like it," the AI added.

TO: NCA WENDY JAY

FROM: NCK ATHENA BOARDMAN

SUBJECT: LANDER DIFFICULTIES

MARCEL: REGRET TO REPORT THAT SYSTEMS BREAKDOWN RESULTED IN UNCONTROLLED LAUNCH OF LANDER DURING HYPERFLIGHT. ALL ATTEMPTS AT RECOVERY FAILED. NO CHOICE BUT CONTINUE TO QURAQUA. REGRET UNABLE ASSIST YOU. ELIOT.

Marcel was reading the message a second or third time when Beekman broke in: "How the hell do you accidentally launch a lander?"

"I don't know." A chill was expanding at the pit of Marcel's stomach.

"And they don't have a spare?"

"No."

He could hear Beekman's slight wheeze. "There must be somebody else."

"There isn't. We checked." The room had gone quiet.

"So what do we do now?"

Marcel couldn't see there was anything they could do.

"I don't think we should try it," said Kellie. "What if you get inside the damned thing and it decides to go the rest of the way into the chasm?"

They were looking down on the Star lander. It was wedged sideways, starboard side up. The hull was gouged, and the cabin roof was hammered in. One wing was bent, one of the jets looked misaligned. And both landing treads had been, broken off.

Hutch thought the descent looked more,dangerous than it was. Her link tingled, and Marcel's voice whispered her name. "I'm here," she said. "How're we doing?"

"Not so well, I'm afraid."

She read it in his voice, knew what he would say before it went any farther. "What happened?"

"Boardman. They accidentally launched the lander in hyper-flight."

"They lost it."

"Yes."

Hutch saw the others watching her. "How the hell could that happen?"

"Don't know."

"What is it?" asked Kellie.

They all looked scared. Even MacAllister. She switched the conversation onto the allcom. "Nobody else in the area?"

"No. Nobody."

"What about the Patrol?"

"Not even remotely close."

"No private vessels? A corporate yacht, maybe?"

"No, Hutch. Nothing with a lander." She listened to him breathing. "I'm sorry."

"What happened?" asked Nightingale. -

"We haven't given up," Marcel said.

"I don't suppose that means you've thought of something else."

"Not yet."

"What happened?" Nightingale demanded, louder this time. The question hung there.

"What now?"

Hutch wasn't sure who'd spoken. They stood on the brink of the chasm, staring down, while the implications settled around their shoulders.

MacAllister looked into the sky, as if to locate Wendy. "Captain Clairveau. Are you listening?"

A brief delay. Then: "I'm here, Mr. MacAllister."

"What's our course of action now?" he asked. "What do we do?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't had a chance-"

"— to analyze the situation." MacAllister could summon the tones of an angry god. He did so. "As I understand our status, rescue would seem to be out of the question. Impossible. Am I correct?"

"It would appear so."

"Am I correct?"

"Yes." Hesitantly.

"Then do us a common courtesy, Captain: The situation here has deteriorated severely. You'll make it easier on all of us if you confine yourself to the facts and refrain from cheerleading."

Marcel was silent.

And MacAllister was right. Hutch was crushed by the finality of events. "Marcel," she said, "we're going to sign off for a bit."

"Okay." But she didn't hear the distant click and knew he was still on the circuit. "I'll be here," he said at last. "If I can help."

He signed off.

Chiang kicked some snow into the chasm. "We could all just jump in," he said. "End it."

"Save the gallows humor," said Kellie.

"I wasn't trying to be funny." He folded his arms, and for an unsettling moment Hutch thought he really was considering it. She started cautiously in his direction, but Kellie got there first, took his arm, and pulled him away from the edge. He laughed. "Although," he said, "I can't see where it makes much difference."

Hutch changed her tone, implying they were now getting to serious business. "How much time do we have left?" she asked. "Anybody know?"

"Impact occurs December 9," said Kellie. "At 5:56 p.m. zulu." Ship time.

MacAllister glanced at his watch. "What kind of time are we talking?"

"Zulu," Nightingale sneered. "Orbital. Greenwich Mean. The time on your watch."

It was just after midnight on the twenty-eighth. At the tower, it was a couple of hours after sunrise.

"But the place will begin to break up," said Nightingale, "a day or so before the collision."

"Pity." MacAllister shook his head. "We have front-row seats for the most spectacular extravaganza in history, and we won't be here at showtime."

Chiang did not look amused. "Something to consider," he said. "Do we have a way to make a painless exit? When the time comes?"

MacAllister pushed his hands down into his vest pockets. "What about tranks?"

"It's a little premature to be talking like that," said Hutch.

"Is it really?" MacAllister looked down at her from a considerable height. "Well, let's all be sure to keep our spirits up. Wouldn't want anything less, would we?"

"That's enough, MacAllister," she said. "Try not to get hysterical."

"You know," Nightingale said, "if you hadn't panicked and tried to get clear with the lander, maybe none of this would have happened." He let them see he was enjoying himself.

"Look, the lander was about to go into the ditch. We tried to save it."

"You tried to save your fat ass-"

Hutch broke in and got between them. "Gentlemen, this isn't going to help."

"Sure it is," said Nightingale. "There's something to be said for truth. That's what you always say, isn't it, Mac? It doesn't matter who gets hurt; let's just get the truth out on the table. The truth is, you tried to run. The other lander was already gone, and you-"

"That's enough, Randy." She used the most threatening tone she could summon.

He glared at her and turned away.

"What is it with you two?" Hutch asked, looking at MacAllister.

The editor shrugged. "He objects to something I wrote a long time ago."

"MacAllister," she said, "you have friends everywhere."

"Even at World's End. I guess so."

Nightingale stood, looking out over the abyss. The others hunkered down in the snow. Nobody said much. Hutch pulled her knees close and propped her chin on it.

Nightingale pushed his hands into his vest pockets. The wind had already blown a covering of snow over the graves. Chiang took Kellie's arm and asked if she was okay. MacAllister glanced at the time every couple of minutes, as if he had a pressing appointment.

Hutch withdrew into her own black thoughts until Nightingale's voice brought her out of it. "There might still be a way to get to orbit," he said.

She looked at him bleakly. One did not walk off a planetary surface. "How?"

"There's a lander on the ground. Not far from here, I don't think."

"Tess!" said MacAllister.

Nightingale nodded. "That's good," he said. "You remember after all."

"I remember that you left one of the landers behind. But that's twenty years ago."

"I didn't say there was transportation. I said there might be a way." He was moving snow around with his foot, pushing it over the edge into the chasm. "It sure as hell beats jumping in there."

Hutch felt a rush of hope. Any kind of chance looked pretty good at the moment. "You said not far, Randy. How far?"

"I'm not sure. Southwest of here. Probably about two hundred kilometers. We were a little bit north of the equator."

Twenty years. Kellie shook her head. "The fuel will be long gone," she said.

MacAllister looked from Kellie to Hutch to Nightingale, hoping someone would say something encouraging.

Hutch obliged. "Maybe not," she said. "Marcel, we need you."

It took a few moments, but he came on-line. "What can I do for you, Hutch?"

"Do you have access to the schematics for Tess? The lander that got left behind in the original expedition?"

She could hear him relaying the question to Bill. Then he was back. "I'm looking at them," he said.

"What kind of reactor was it equipped with?"

"Direct-conversion Bussard-Ligon."

"Okay." Her spirits rose. "There might be a chance at that."

"I see where you're headed," said Marcel.

Kellie was puzzled. "I still don't understand where we'd get fuel for it."

"Think about it a minute," said Hutch. "Most landers are designed for the sole purpose of getting from orbit to surface. Up and down. Moving supplies and people between a ground base and a ship. The landers used in planetary exploration, though, like the one we came down in, or like Tess, are different: They were intended to get around on the ground. You take it down, and you keep it with you. It helps in the exploration, and you don't have to run it back and forth to orbit every few flights to refuel."

Kellie was starting to show interest.

"That's why they carry the Bussard-Ligon," continued Hutch.

"Which means what?" asked MacAllister.

"Their jets burn hydrogen, like all landers. The reactor maintains the ship's normal power levels. It keeps batteries charged, powers the capacitors, keeps the lights on."

"And?"

"It can also be used to separate hydrogen from oxygen to produce fuel."

MacAllister's face lit up. "You're saying it can make jet fuel?"

"All we'll need is some water," said Hutch. "Yes. That's exactly what it can do."

"There was a river nearby," said Nightingale.

"Well, how about that," said MacAllister. "We finally get lucky."

Nightingale allowed his contempt for MacAllister's ignorance to show. "Landing sites for exobiologists," he said, "were often near water. On beaches, near lakes, and so on. It's where animals congregate."

"And pilots are trained to use them," added Hutch, "whenever they can. So they can keep the tanks topped off."

"So how do we get the reactor running?" asked Nightingale. "What fuels it?"

"Boron," said Hutch.

That induced a worried look. "Where do we get boron?"

"There should be a supply in the lander. There'd have to be."

"How much would we need?" asked Nightingale.

She held thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart. "Not much at all. I'd think a couple of tablespoons will be more than sufficient to get us up and running. We'll check the specifics later."

MacAllister clapped his palms together. "Then we're in business," he said. "All we have to do is head over to the other lander, and we're out of here." He turned to Chiang. "I have to tell you, Chiang, I was worried there for a minute."

"Well," said Hutch, "we're not exactly out of the soup. The jets will give us some power, enough to get around down here. But-"

"They won't be enough," said Kellie, "to get us off-world. For that we need the spike."

"The problem we can expect," said Hutch, "is that after all these years the capacitors will be degraded. Seriously degraded. We need the capacitors at full capability to run the spike."

"You mean," asked MacAllister, "we can't use it to get into orbit?"

"That's correct."

"Then what have we been talking about?"

Hutch gazed down at the Star lander. "What we need," she said, "is a fresh set of capacitors. Any idea where we might find them?"

The engine compartment of the Wildside lander had been thoroughly fried. But the Evening Star's boat was a different story. It lay wedged in the chasm like a giant black-and-white insect. "Marcel," Hutch said, "this thing's big. How much do the capacitors weigh?"

There was a long pause. Then: "Uh-oh."

"Give me the uh-oh."

"On Deepsix, 43.4 kilograms. Each." Damned near as heavy as she was.

It wouldn't be practical to haul them overland. "We'll pull them out," she said, "and leave them in the tower. Come back for them after we get Tess up and running."

"That won't work, will it?" asked Beekman. "Can you operate the lander without capacitors?"

"Once we convert the water, sure. We just won't have much lift capability."

Marcel broke in: "Good news, folks. We've located Tess."

"How far?"

"Looks like 175 kilometers, give or take. We figure you've got about twelve days to get there. Maybe eleven. Eleven Maleivan days." Eleven nineteen-hour days.

"That doesn't sound far," said MacAllister. "A couple of us ought to be able to cover that in short order."

"It wouldn't be a good idea to stay here alone," said Hutch.

"Why not? I can't walk 175 kilometers."

"You stay here, you'll probably get eaten."

He looked uncomfortable. "Leave me a weapon."

"When are you going to sleep?"

"We've got plenty of time," said Chiang, helpfully. "You'll be able to make it."

"Think about the big cat," said Nightingale.

"Okay," he said. "Point taken."

She turned her attention to the chasm. "If that's settled, let's collect the capacitors and get on the road."

The capacitor compartments looked accessible. It was just a matter of climbing down to them.

"There's another possibility," said MacAllister. "How about trying to fly it out?"

"It's jammed in sideways," said Hutch.

"You've got an AI. It's not as if anybody would have to be on board when you made the effort."

Kellie's expression implied that she agreed.

It was conceivable. If it wasn't wedged too tight, the thrusters might break it loose. Maybe they could bring it out, land it in front of the tower, climb in, and go home.

But it did look tight. Had to be tight.

The ship's prow was angled down about ten degrees.

MacAllister saw her reluctance. "Why not?" he persisted. "If we can make it work, nobody has to risk his-or her-life climbing down and prying open engine compartments." The use of the feminine pronoun was pointed. He was reminding her who was in charge and who, therefore, should take any such risk.

"What it would probably do," said Hutch, "is rip the roof off the cabin."

"What's to lose? If we can't get it out, we don't care whether the cabin's secure, do we?"

Kellie shook her head. "Fireball time," she said. "Crunch the cabin, split the fuel tanks, everything goes up. Including the capacitors."

"Even if we try to ease it out?" said Nightingale.

"We can try it," said Hutch finally. She got the Evening Star duty officer on the circuit, and told him what they wanted to do.

"You sure?" he asked.

"No," she said. And then: "Yes. We need your assistance."

The duty officer spoke to the lander AI: "Glory, can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Mark."

"What is your status?"

The AI ran off a series of numbers and conditions. On the whole, Hutch thought, the damage might not be as serious as it looked. There was some broken circuitry, which meant control problems. Maybe they could replace them with parts from the other lander. Maybe they could fly it over to Tess and use the two to make a fully functioning spacecraft.

The AI reported that thrusters were okay, and there was lift. "Although there seem to be balancing problems."

"That's because it's on its side," said Kellie.

The vehicle weighed probably eight metric tons.

"Glory," said the duty officer, "the next voice you hear will belong to Priscilla Hutchins. I want you to code her. Do what she says."

"I will comply, Mark."

"Go ahead, Hutch," he said. "She's all yours."

"Glory, this is Priscilla Hutchins."

"Hello, Priscilla."

"I want you to engage the lifters and raise the nose until I tell you to stop."

They heard metal grind against the chasm wall. Snow broke loose and fell to the bottom. A piece of rock let go, and the lander slipped deeper into the trench.

"Glory, stop," she said.

"Priscilla, I do not have freedom of movement."

"Try firing the rockets," said MacAllister. "That should break it loose."

"Break it, period," said Kellie. She leaned over and looked down. "We could try to cut away some of the rock."

Nightingale made a face. "It would just slip down farther. If it changes its position, we might lose access to the capacitors."

He was right. The best chance lay in the original idea: Collect the capacitors, then get the other lander. But it would have been so good, so elegant, to ease the spacecraft out into the open.

Chiang must have seen the hesitation in her face. "It's your field of expertise, Hutch. Call it."

MacAllister looked to heaven. "God help us, we're in the hands of the experts. I think you ought to direct the AI to pour it on, stake everything on one roll of the dice. Get it over with."

Below the spacecraft, the walls dropped away, gradually narrowing until they sliced down into the snow. Anyone falling would become a permanent feature of the crevice.

"No," she said. "Glory's our ticket out of here. We need to take care of her."

"I'll make the climb," said Chiang.

She could see he was uncomfortable with the idea. Hutch herself had no love for precipices. But MacAllister was right: It was her responsibility, which she'd have happily ducked had Chiang looked a bit more confident. "It's okay," she said, trying to put steel into her voice. "I'll do it."

She hoped someone, possibly Kellie, would try to argue her out of it. Chiang nodded, relieved. Was she sure? he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

Kellie tossed a rock over the side and watched until it dropped silently into the snow at the bottom. "That's a long way down, Hutch."

Thanks, Kellie. I really needed that. But she bit down on the comment.

Nightingale studied the situation. "We'll just lower you and bring you back up," he said. "No way you can fall. You'll be safe as long as the lander doesn't give way at the wrong time."

"That should reassure her," said MacAllister.

Hutch began by asking the duty officer to confirm that she retained verbal control over the AI. While she was doing that, Kellie and Nightingale retreated to the tower and returned.with two long pieces of cable. Hutch tied one around her waist and handed it to Chiang. She kept the other one looped and gave it to Kellie. "Toss it down when I tell you," she said.

Marcel broke in. "Be careful."

MacAllister surprised her. He looked genuinely worried, but she wondered whether he was afraid she'd fall into the pit before retrieving the capacitors. "I don't think this is a good idea, Priscilla. There's no need. Just tell the AI to put the throttle to it."

She was touched. "Just hang on to me," she told him.

There was no nearby tree or other solid object around which to secure the line. So Chiang and MacAllister drove a couple of stakes into the ground. When they'd finished and gotten set up, Hutch took a deep breath, backed out over the rim, felt the emptiness beneath her, and smiled diffidently at Kellie.

Kellie gave her a thumbs-up.

She knew how the professionals did it, bracing their feet against the face of the rock and walking down. But she couldn't quite balance herself that well and instead simply dropped into a sitting position at the edge and eased herself over. "Okay, guys," she said. "Lower away."

They complied and she kept her eyes on the wall, which was earth-colored and rough and pebbly. Kellie was watching her and passing instructions and encouragement back and forth. "Okay, Hutch, you're doing fine."

"Hold it, she's got an abutment to deal with."

Trails of snow and pebbles broke loose and poured into the canyon.

There were no handholds. She realized belatedly that she should have looped the cable around her thighs instead of just connecting it to her belt and harness. It was dragging up on her, trying to pull her belt up under her vest. The Flickinger field did not provide sufficient resistance.

"You okay, Hutch?" Kellie asked.

"I'm fine. Keep going."

She maintained a stranglehold on the cable, gripping it so tightly that her muscles began to hurt. She told herself to relax, and checked cautiously to see where the lander was, trying to keep her eyes away from the abyss. Occasional clumps of snow and earth spilled down on her.

Kellie and Nightingale were both looking over the edge now, and she wished they'd be more careful. Last thing she needed would be to have one of them land in her lap, but when she complained, both seemed surprised.

"Just a little more," Kellie told the line handlers.

The lander was directly beneath her, and she reached down with her left foot, got nothing, wiggled around in the belt, tried again, and touched metal. She was delighted to discover that it did not drop lower as she eased her weight onto it. "Okay," she said. "I'm on board."

Safety line or not, she felt better kneeling rather than standing on the spacecraft. Despite its boxy appearance, the hull was adequately cycloid and aerodynamic. Wherever she touched it, it seemed to curve around away from her. She perched on the starboard side and gazed through the cabin windows. The door between the cargo hold and the cabin hung open. Two pieces of luggage had fallen out of the bins and lay against the downside bulkhead.

First things first: She worked her way to the communication pod, opened it, and removed as many of the parts as would come out. She also took the connectors and put everything in her vest.

The fuselage narrowed toward the tail. She moved cautiously in that direction, toward the capacitor compartments.

There was one on either side of the spacecraft, about halfway back. From her perspective, one faced up, the other down. She went after the easy one first. "Glory," she said, "can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Priscilla."

"Call me Hutch. And if you will, open the starboard compartment."

The panel popped open. The capacitor didn't look at all like the capacitors in her own lander. It was wide, silver and brown, and flattened. Hers was a dark blue box. She considered whether it would fit in Tess's compartment, and concluded it would not. But that needn't be a problem. If necessary, the installation could be done by putting them in the backseat and wiring them in.

"Glory," she said, "release the capacitor."

She heard a soft click. The unit came loose. "Okay, Kellie," she said, "send the other line down."

Kellie got it to her after several tries. Hutch tied it securely around the capacitor, knotted it, and looked up. Kellie waved.

Hutch put the assorted spare parts from the comm pod into a bag and attached it also to the line. "Okay," she said. "Take it up."

They began to pull. Hutch assisted, and the line lifted the capacitor out of its compartment and hauled it clear of the spacecraft. Kellie leaned out, trying to keep it away from the face of the cliff so it wouldn't get damaged. It swung back and forth while it rose, and then it disappeared over the crest. A moment later the line dropped back in her direction. She gathered it in.

She was just moving back into her crouch when the spacecraft dropped a few centimeters. It wasn't much, but her heart stopped. Everyone asked what had happened and whether she was okay. "Yes," she said, trying to sound composed. "Going below."

She slipped off the fuselage and dangled at the end of her line. "Lower away," she said. "Not too fast."

"Tell us when," said Kellie.

"A little more." She descended past the hull until she could see the port side. The down side.

"Glory," she said, "is the remaining capacitor secure in its compartment?"

"Yes, it is, Hutch."

"Open the compartment."

Pause. 7 can't, Hutch. It doesn't respond."

"Okay. I'm going to try it manually." She popped a panel, found the lever, and pulled on it. But it had too much give. "Not working," she said. "Kellie."

"Yes."

"There's a bar back in the tower. Have somebody get it for me."

Kellie kept talking to her, telling her that the capacitor looked good, that everything was under control, while somebody tracked the tool down. Finally, MacAllister broke in: "We've got it." And a minute later they were lowering the bar.

She caught it and went back to work.

The capacitor compartment was suspended over her head. She looked up at it and tried to insert the bar under the lip of the metal.

"Toward the top,"said Glory. "The problem's near the top."

It was difficult to work without a perch, to get any leverage on the bar when she had no place to plant her feet.

"How are you making out?" asked Chiang.

The bar was heavy. Her arms quickly got tired, and once she almost dropped it. The compartment door was jammed tight.

"Okay," she said.

She struggled on. Chiang said he thought it was taking too long and they should pull her up and let him try.

"He thinks," said Kellie, "we need more muscle down there."

"He's probably right." Hutch slid the bar into her vest and took a minute to rest her arms. Despite her boyish dimensions, she was, like all women, somewhat top-heavy, and she had to fight a tendency to turn turtle. "Let's stay with this a bit," she said. "If I can't get it, I'll be happy to give Chiang a shot."

Her vest was cutting off the blood in her armpits. She changed position, retrieved the tool, and tried again. She worked with increasing desperation and finally got the bar inside the compartment. She pulled down, pushed it in farther, and pulled again. Something gave, and the door popped open. The capacitor hung immediately overhead.

"I've got it," she said. She secured the bar to her belt, reached up into the compartment, felt around, and estimated she had a reasonable amount of clearance. She tied the line around the front and rear of the capacitor and secured it.

"Okay," she said. "Take up the slack. But not too tight."

They complied. She got out from under the compartment. "Glory," she said.

"Yes, Hutch?"

"Release the capacitor."

It dropped out of the compartment and swung back and forth in a long arc. But the line held, and her knots held. To her immense relief it did not fall to the bottom of the canyon.

After they'd recovered the second capacitor, she resisted the temptation to get out of the chasm and instead pushed up through the airlock into the spacecraft.

She salvaged as many reddimeals as she could, breakfasts, lunches, and dinners packed in self-heating containers. They weren't exactly food off the griddle, but for something to eat on the trail in an alien place, they were going to look pretty good. She picked up some coffee packs, found two bottles of wine, and some sandwiches and fruit from the refrigerator. The galley supplied unbreakable dishes, utensils, and mugs. She paused in front of the water tank. That was something they were going to need at the far end of the journey. She removed it, emptied it, folded it up, and put it in her vest.

There were other useful items: towels, washcloths, toothbrushes, soap, an extra e-suit, a lantern, a pair of Evening Star jumpsuits, more cable, two backpacks, and a medkit.

The lander slipped a few more centimeters.

She packed everything into plastic bags and they hauled them up. Kellie was urging her not to press her luck.

"Coming now," Hutch said.

And then Glory's voice: "Hutch?"

"Yes, Glory."

"Are you leaving now?"

"Yes."

"You won't be back?"

"No, Glory. I won't be back."

"Would you shut me off?"

The capacitors were marked with the manufacturer's name, Daigleton Industries, the date of manufacture, which was the previous year, and the Daigleton logo, a stylized atom.

They put them on the worktable and threw canvas over them, and MacAllister opened a private channel to Hutch. "Maybe we should leave a couple of people here to make sure they're still here when we get back."

"Who's going to take them?" she asked.

"What about the cat?"

"I can't imagine what it would do with them." She adjusted the canvas. "No, we're safer together. If this place is as dangerous as Randy thinks it is, we shouldn't leave anybody here."

"Congratulations, Hutch. Outstanding job." Marcel sounded delighted, relieved, wiped out. Had he really been following all that?

"Thanks, Marcel. We've got a bunch of survivors here."

"I see that. By the way, we have a message for you from the Academy."

"Read it," she said.

"The subject is 'Aliens on Deepsix. It says: Priscilla, you are directed to make every effort to rescue whatever inhabitants of Deep-

six you can find. Humanity requires no less of us. It's signed by the commissioner."

MacAllister snorted. "Gomez thinks she's writing for the ages. 'Humanity requires…. Poor boob. They'll be laughing at her for a thousand years."