by Bud Sparhawk
Rams struggled into the heavy pressure suit and, once inside, hooked its safety line to the ring near the hatch. Attached to his belt were lengths of high tensile strength line. He could use them to string the two craft together. Checking to make certain that everything was ready, he opened the hatch and stepped directly out into the howling winds of Jupiter.
Rams had brought the far larger Primrose to within fifty meters of the smaller ship’s hull, letting the venturi effect of the winds in the narrow channel hold them close.
His exterior lights just barely illuminated the upper surface of the other ship. Rams watched as two figures struggled awkwardly out of the hatch and clamped their lines onto the deck rings.
The two ships bucked and lurched, the gap between them widening and closing. The decks rose and sank relative to each other as they bobbed, side by side. Rams prayed that he’d set the ship’s sails properly to hold station with the drifting ship. He clicked his suit light four times to attract their attention.
When he got a wave of acknowledgement, he readied one of the lines, whirling the pulley at its end over his head in ever widening circles before releasing it upwind. The pulley sailed out and too quickly down, drawn by the higher acceleration of Jupiter’s gravity. It clanked onto the near side of Thorn’s hull and slipped away.
Rams retrieved the line and tried again, and a third time. On the fourth toss, the pulley finally cleared the deck. The line whipped around to catch against the two figures, making the smaller of them stagger back from the impact.
The other figure secured the pulley to their deck with one arm and waited. Rams carefully pulled the light line back as he paid out a heavier one that was tied to its end. It took nearly half an hour before he had a slack double line rigged between the two rocking and bobbing craft. The line moved up and down, tightening and then loosening as the two ships lurched in the wind. He wrapped the line around a deck winch and locked it in place.
Finally, Rams attached a cradle of ropes and clamps he had rigged to a hook on the heavier line. Slowly he winched the cradle to the other ship, hoping that they would use it properly. The last thing he wanted was for someone to take a plunge.
“You first,” Pascal said nervously as he caught hold of the rig. “Let me hook you up.”
“No fucking way. I’m the captain of this boat and I leave last,” Louella replied. “Turn around so I can hook the clamps to your suit.”
“Yeah, and how are you going to hook yourself up with a broken arm?” he shot back. “Now turn around. For once, don’t be such a bitch!”
“Why, Pascal,” she said in surprise. “That sounds like you actually care about me.”
“Well, it looks like we’ll have the Whitbread next year after all,” he said as he checked the rig’s fastenings a second time to make certain they were secure. “I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else in that race.”
“It’s a date, lover,” said Louella.
Once he saw that Louella had been dipped, jerked, and lurched to the other ship, Pascal had to face what would happen next. In a few moments the rig would return and he would have to hook himself to it so that his rescuer could winch him across the bottomless chasm of Jupiter’s atmosphere. Instead of a nice solid deck beneath his feet there would be nothing but black nothingness that went down forever, down into the cold heart of this cruel planet.
He’d be suspended by only a few thin filaments of braided cord and his trust in the skill of some unknown captain. For long minutes he would be swinging above the great void, helpless as the strong fingers of Jupiter drew him down, down, down.
He doubted that he really had the nerve. Could he really trust himself to that hopelessly thin cable? And even if he did, where would he then find the courage to step out, off the solid deck, and place himself at risk?
The moment of decision had come. The rig was swinging out of the bright lights of the other ship and coming toward him. His stomach hurt. He was either going to die on this crippled ship or drop to a certain death. He felt like crying, he was so afraid.
“What are you doing out here anyway?” Rams asked as he unhooked the woman from the rig, confident that the suit radios would work at this close range. “You sure don’t look like miners.”
“We’re one of the teams in the Great Race,” Louella replied.
“A race? On Jupiter? What sort of foolishness is that?”
“Don’t tell me that you haven’t heard about the Race. Hell, it’s been on every newscast for the last year. Crap, we’re probably the biggest celebrities on the whole planet.”
“Don’t have much time for news,” Rams replied. “Radio don’t work down here. Have to depend on the media they send down the elevator to keep up with events. Besides, if it doesn’t have to do with cargo or weather I don’t pay much attention to it.”
“We’re in a race with some other barkentines—it’s the first Jupiter sailboat race,” Louella explained. “JBI sponsored and financed our boat.”
Rams cursed softly to himself, and then said aloud, “Must be nice to be able to waste money like that. I can think of guys who could use that boat for something worthwhile; something better than some fancy trophy!” he added vehemently.
“Well, I’m certain that JBI will be grateful. They’ll probably reward you for rescuing us.”
“Well, that might be nice, but I’m going to get more than a little reward out of JBI, you can depend on that. Salvage alone ought to pay off the debt on Primrose —that’s my ship,” he added pointing at the deck with one glove. “The other thing might pay for something more.”
“What other thing?” Louella asked, but Rams ignored her.
“What’s going on with your partner?” he wondered. “What the devil is he waiting for? Why isn’t he hooking himself up to the rig?”
“I was afraid this would happen,” Louella answered. “Pascal’s afraid of heights. Probably shitting in his suit right now, just thinking about the drop in front of him.” Louella waved her good arm vigorously over her head. “Come on Pascal, you asshole; hook up and get the hell over here!” she shouted, forgetting that the object of her scorn couldn’t possibly hear her.
After long minutes of waiting with no sign of action by the small figure on the deck of Thorn, Rams swore. “Do you think that you can operate that winch with one hand? Looks like I need to go over there and kick your buddy in the ass.”
When Louella signaled the affirmative, Rams connected a pair of heavy lines to his belt. One of them was tied to the stern docking ring. He activated the winch to bring the rig back.
He grabbed the rig as it swung back, hooked it to the rings of his suit, and signaled Louella to start the winch. “Keep those lines from tangling,” he warned her as he stepped off the deck and began to swing across the gap.
As soon as Rams’s boots hit Thorn’s deck, he secured his safety line. He detached the rig and quickly clamped it to Pascal’s suit, brushing aside the other man’s arms when Pascal fought him. He secured the last clamp, unclipped Pascal’s safety line, and waved his arm for Louella to start the winch.
Pascal protested, stiff-legged, against the pull of the winch. The resistance was putting an extra load on the line, so Rams stiff-armed him in the middle of the back, forcing him forward. At that moment the two ships spread apart and pulled the line taut. With a scream, Pascal was yanked from the deck to hang above the inky blackness. As the ships bobbed and danced in the winds, he jerked on the line like a spastic marionette.
Rams headed aft to secure one of the heavy lines to the stern docking ring. The other end was tied to the docking winch on Primrose and could be used to pull Thorn.
After tying the line Rams dropped through the hatch and recovered Thorn’s log. The owners would probably want it if they couldn’t get the ship back. He stowed the log in his hip pouch and emerged on deck just in time to catch the returning rig. He grabbed it and lashed it to the deck. It would stay until he was finished securing the other line to the bow.
; Thorn lurched, dropping far below Primrose. She rocked violently from side to side, her motion the result of the enormous mass embedded in her keel. If that thin ribbon broke from the strain, it would release the weight, and Thorn would shoot up like a released cork, endangering both ships.
Quickly paying the safety line behind him, Rams struggled to the bow.
Bracing himself against further moves of the deck, he clamped the second line to the ring. This way, after he connected the other end of this lead line to Primrose’s forward winch, he could adjust the two ships so they rode side by side.
Satisfied with his work, he took the free end and began his way back to the rig. When he managed a quick glance at Primrose, he noticed that her sails were shifting, which indicated that she might be drifting, changing her heading. He had to get back and trim her sails before she got out of control. He started walking faster.
He was halfway back when a sudden gust shot the two ships apart. The tow line he’d tied at the stern straightened and vibrated like a violin string. The safety line parted with a snap that whipped the rig out and back. In seconds it was flailing downwind, lashing the hide of Thorn like the whip of a deranged jockey.
Rams straightened as the Thorn’s bow swung away and the ship came stern-wise to Primrose, where it jolted it to a stop. He stumbled backwards, trying to regain his balance, just as the wishbone switched sides and slammed to the end of the extended traveler.
And against Rams’s right leg.
The intense pain in his leg was the first thing Rams felt when he recovered consciousness. Then he tried to make sense of the upside down view of the swaying side of the ship. He realized that he was hanging head down from his safety line, his left leg bent under him. First, he felt cold, and then hot as the pain from his leg shot through him. Waves of increasingly severe pain washed up from his leg until he could think of nothing else.
During a brief respite from the pain, he tried to move. Something was holding his arm immobile. He tried to reach across with the other arm, desperately seeking the safety line that lay somewhere out of sight. After a few fumbling tries he gave up. Hell, even if he could find it, he wouldn’t be able to climb back to the deck, not in his condition.
He calmly assessed his situation before the pain returned. He obviously couldn’t do anything for himself, and the only other help was a woman with a broken arm and a little fart who was too afraid to do anything. Neither one would be able to help him. He was going to die.
Without warning he lost his dinner, fouling the inside of his helmet and filling his nose with sour, burning fluid.
Then he passed out.
Pascal picked himself off of the deck and looked toward Thorn. She was gone! In a panic he looked to the other side, saw nothing, and then looked to the stern.
Very faintly he could see the dim reflection of the ship’s lights off Thorn’s pointed stern. Glinting in the lights was the thin line that held the two together; it must be the line the captain had rigged before the wind hit them.
“Do you see him?” Louella’s voice crackled in his ears. “I lost sight of him when the gust hit us.”
“Was he blown away? I don’t see the safety line he rigged.”
“It broke when we separated. Do you think he fell?” Louella screamed.
A wave of nausea washed through Pascal; his worst nightmare: to fall endlessly into the heavy empty blackness beneath them. That could have been him if the line had separated when he was coming across. Thank God he was safely tied to this deck when it happened, he thought.
Louella was pulling on his arm, pointing toward the hatch. He followed quickly, eager for the added security of the ship.
“I’ve got to bring the two ships alongside, so we can bring him back,” were the first words he heard when he undid his helmet in the small air lock. “We’ve got to get the ships positioned like they were.”
Pascal nodded his head in agreement. If they could turn this huge ship so that Thorn was once again flying alongside, they could toss another line across and pull the captain back to safety. He bit his lip; it would be hard, going out on deck again, but he felt that he could do it.
“I’ll ready a new line,” he said, and screwed his helmet and his courage into place.
Louella couldn’t possibly toss the line across with only one good arm. On the other hand, he had no doubt of her ability to handle this, or any other ship, even with one arm in a sling.
None whatsoever.
Through the most disconcerting lurches and jumps, Louella managed to bring Thorn back alongside. Primrose was actually sailing backwards, the wind on the reverse of her sails. This allowed her to drag Thorn by the single tow line back into the range of Primrose’s bright lights.
Pascal was dismayed when he saw the dangling figure of their rescuer. He waved furiously, hoping the captain would wave back. But his attempt was in vain—the far figure dangled lifelessly, swinging from side to side with every motion of the boat.
Pascal pondered his situation. How was he to get a safety line across if the other man couldn’t secure it? He didn’t know whether the captain was dead or alive, awake or unconscious. But he couldn’t just leave him there, alone in the dark, waiting to fall should that single, thin thread holding him in place break. What could he do?
He looked at the flapping remains of the former safety line whipping back and forth against the side of the boat, somehow hoping to find it restored.
Louella certainly wouldn’t be able to help, not with her arm out of commission. He stood there for long minutes as he considered his options. First, Rams might recover and climb back up to where he could catch a line. That would allow him to winch the captain back.
If that didn’t happen then he could, he could… what? Leap across the space between the ships, pick Rams up in his arms and leap back? Pascal watched the motions of the two ships carefully as they rose and fell, closed and separated, shifted forward and back, the one with a little sideways motion and the other rolling precariously. Jumping would be impossible, not only because of the unpredictable movement of the ships but for the distance as well. He’d barely clear the edge of the deck before plunging down… He let the thought stop there as he tightened his sphincters. He discarded that option quickly.
Maybe, he hoped, he could catch the line on something over there and pull Rams back. Four futile tries showed him the stupidity of that idea. Which left only one option—going over to the other ship and bringing the slumped figure to safety. But how? He certainly couldn’t get near the edge and risk that long, long fall beneath them.
He went back to the hatch, where he plugged into the intercom and explained the situation to Louella. Surely she would understand, he thought.
“You’re wasting time thinking about it, damn it! Get your ass over there and get him back!” Louella screamed. “I don’t give a rat’s ass how you feel; if you don’t get started in ten minutes I’ll make sure that it gets done myself.”
The thought of Louella with her arm in a cast trying to rescue Rams was so ludicrous that Pascal began to laugh. “You couldn’t even get your suit on by yourself,” he wheezed.
“Exactly, but one hand is all I need to lock the damn hatch so you can’t get back in without him.”
Pascal was horrified, doubting her at first, and then realizing that she was entirely capable of carrying out her threat. “You wouldn’t,” he said.
“Just try me,” she shot back.
Pascal climbed back on deck and winched the stern tow line as close as was safe. He thought that he could slide down the line, but then realized that he couldn’t chance it—one slip and he’d drop into the ten or fifteen meter gap between the ships and plunge into the forever, below. What if he froze halfway across? He’d probably hang there until he gave in to vertigo and then he’d fall, fall, fall into the black maw that thirsted, that called out to him. He shook his head and stepped back farther from the edge of the deck. How could he overcome this fear that left him incapable of action
? There had to be some other way, some way to rescue Rams without having to risk a fall. There had to be!
He returned to the hatch and pleaded with Louella to think of something, some way that did not involve making him cross the deep chasm of his innermost fear. They reached the same conclusion as before; that he was the sole resource they had to save Rams.
“In case you think I was kidding, I’ve already locked the hatch,” she muttered before cutting off the conversation.
Pascal debated testing the hatch to see if she had really carried out her threat, but decided against it. He really didn’t care to find out.
He returned topside and worked his way carefully to the stern. He stood there and contemplated what he had to do; what he could not escape doing, no matter what his fear.
Louella had been doing a good job of keeping station. Thorn was still drifting off to the port side, slightly below Primrose’s level. Their positions gave the tow line a downward slope.
All that he had to do was tie himself to the line and slide down to Thorn’s deck. It sounded so easy, so terribly easy. But what if the line parted? No, he couldn’t afford to think about that.
Pascal retreated to the winch at midships, tore the remnants of the safety line away and wrapped a new line, fastening the other end to his suit. That would give him some added security, and could be used to drag Rams back aboard.
He fashioned a short loop around the tow rope with a short length of line, and tied both ends to his suit. After a moment’s hesitation, he attached a second loop—and a third. Just for safety’s sake, he detached the line that held him to the deck and put that around the tow as well. Finally certain that he was quadruple redundantly safe, he lay under the tow and grasped the line with both hands.
Through the narrow visor of his helmet he could only see the tow rope and the spider’s web of lines he had attached. He concentrated on the line and his gloves around it, trying to suppress any thoughts of what he was about to do. He tried to drive away all thoughts of the depths below him, drawing him so deathly down, down, down…