by Emily
"Come on, you son of a bitch."
She yanked back on the yoke. The slopes rolled beneath them. Beyond the land flattened. The spacecraft, having apparently spent all forward energy, and having somehow lost the levitating power of the spike, began to fall.
"Damn," said Casey.
MacAllister squeezed the arms of his chair, and they slammed into the ground. The impact jarred his neck, snapped his head back, twisted his spine. But the damned thing hadn't blown up. Casey slumped in her harness. He started to release his restraints, heard an explosion in back and smelled smoke.
He climbed out of his seat and noted that they'd never closed the hatch. Just as well. Save him the trouble of opening it.
The seats were crushed together, and he had to struggle to get to Casey. She was covered with blood, and her head lolled back. A massive bruise was forming on her jaw, and her eyes had rolled up into her head. Another blast rocked the lander. Flames began to lick up around the windows.
He released her from her harness and backed out through the airlock, half carrying, half dragging her. They were just clear when it erupted into a fireball.
Nightingale watched the thick pall of smoke rising from behind the cluster of hills to the northwest. He wasn't aware of the true significance of the last minute until he heard Kellie's voice on the circuit.
"Marcel," she said, "I think we just lost both landers."
X
Faith has its price. When misfortune strikes the true believer, he assumes he has done something to deserve punishment, but isn't quite certain what. The realist, recognizing that he lives in a Darwinian universe, is simply grateful to have made it to another sunset.
—Gregory MacAllister, Preface to James Clark: The Complete Works
Hours to breakup (est): 255
"Both landers?" Marcel was horrified. "When?"
"Just now."
"For God's sake, Kellie, how could that happen?"
"The Star's boat fell into a hole. Ours went down behind a hill and exploded. Randy and I are on our way over there now. But there's a lot of smoke."
"Who was in the lander?"
"MacAllister and the woman he came down with. Both passengers from the Star. They must have tried to get clear, but I don't think whoever was flying knew what they were doing."
"Anybody else hurt?"
"Their pilot's gone, too. I'm sure he's dead. Fell into the same hole as his lander."
Marcel stared openmouthed at Bill's image, which was watching from the overhead monitor. Nobody from either of the Academy ships had been hurt But it sounded as if it had been a clean sweep for the Evening Star. What the hell were those people doing down there in the first place?
"Okay," he said. "I'll let Captain Nicholson know. And I'll arrange to get another lander out here. Keep me informed."
"Will do, Marcel. We're on our way out now to the crash site." Marcel signed off and massaged his forehead. "Bill," he said, "who's close enough to get here in time?"
"I'll check," the AI said. "Should be somebody."
Huddled in the tunnel, Hutch had a more immediate problem. The roof had fallen in and blocked her exit. Nevertheless, the implication left her chilled. "Both of them? Well, that's sure good news." She played her lamp beam against the rock, rafters, and dirt that sealed the passageway. "I hate to add to your problems," she said, "but I could use a little help myself."
"Chiang should be there any minute."
One dead. Maybe three or four.
"Kellie," she said, "call Marcel. Tell him what happened. We're going to need another lander."
"I've already done that. He's working on it. Told me not to worry."
"Uh-oh. I always get nervous when people tell me that."
"Have no fear."
"Hutch." Chiang's voice. "How're you doing?"
"As well as could be expected. I'm not hurt."
"Did you want us to hang on until you get out?" asked Kellie.
"No. Leave Chiang. But do what you can for MacAllister and the woman. And Kellie ..."
"Yes?"
"Try to salvage the lander. I don't need to tell you how helpful that would be." She switched back to Chiang. "Where are you?"
"I'm in the far passageway, near the armory."
"No sign of Toni?"
"Not yet."
She felt cold.
"I'll start digging," he said.
"Be careful. It probably wouldn't take much to bring more of this place down."
"Okay."
"I'll start from this end."
"It's going to take a while," he said.
"At your leisure, Chiang. I'm not going anywhere."
She heard his laser ignite. Hutch put her lamp down and got to work.
MacAllister had no idea what to do. He shut off Casey's suit and tried to revive her, but she didn't respond. Thirty meters away, the lander lay in the snow, scorched, crumpled, burning, and leaking black smoke.
He surveyed the place where they'd come down: flat barren hills, a few trees, some brush. He felt terribly alone. Where was that idiot woman who wanted to run everything? Now that he could use her, she was nowhere to be seen.
He contemplated the odds against a quake hitting just as he was doing the interview, and considered not for the first time whether the universe was indeed malicious.
They had crossed a -line of hills, so he could no longer see the tower. He sat helplessly, cradling Casey's body, feeling responsible, wondering how he could ever have been so stupid as to leave the safety of his stateroom on the Star.
He was immensely relieved to see two figures come out of a defile. One was the woman they called Kellie. The other was Nightingale. They paused and looked his way. He waved. They waved back and started toward him, trying to hurry through deep snow.
"Mr. MacAllister." Kellie's voice in his earphones. "Are you all right?"
"Casey's not breathing," he said.
They struggled up to his side and Kellie sank into the snow beside him. She felt for a heartbeat, then for a pulse.
"Anything?" MacAllister asked.
Kellie shook her head. "I don't think so." They worked on her for a while, taking turns.
"Looks as if we wrecked your lander," MacAllister said.
"What happened?" asked Nightingale. "Don't you know how to fly it?"
"I wasn't the pilot," he said. "Casey was. I don't have any experience with these things."
"What went wrong?"
"She wasn't used to it. It was too big. Or something." He looked down at her limp, broken form. "She was out here on a birthday gift. From her parents."
After a while they gave up. Kellie sighed and laid Casey's head gently in the snow and walked silently over to the wrecked spacecraft.
She circled it a couple of times, and they heard her banging on something on the far side.
"What do you think?" asked Nightingale nervously.
She reappeared from behind the tail. "It's scrap. We'll want to see what we can salvage."
MacAllister tried to read her eyes, to see whether she was worried. But her expression was masked. "We'd better inform whoever's in charge," he said.
"It's been done."
He was weary, exhausted, frightened. He'd brought two people with him, and both were dead.
MacAllister had trained himself over the years to avoid indulging in guilt. You have to beat your conscience into submission, he'd once written, because the conscience isn't really a part of you. It's programming introduced at an early age by a church or a government or a social group with its own agenda. Avoid sex. Respect authority. Accept responsibility for things that go wrong even when events are out of your control.
Well, earthquakes are goddam well outside my control.
Bill's bearded features reflected the general concern. "Yes, Marcel?" he asked. "What can I do?"
"Inform the Star, personal for the captain, that there's been an earthquake at the site. Ask him to call me."
7 will get right on it."
"Tell him also that his lander was wrecked. Ask him if he has another on board."
"Marcel, our data banks indicate the Star carries only a single lander."
"Ask him anyhow. Maybe there's been a mistake somewhere. Meantime, do a survey. I.need to know who's within six days' travel time. The closer the better. Anybody with a lander." Most vessels did not carry landers. There was usually no need, because ports were all equipped to provide transportation to and from orbit. Routinely, only research flights to frontier areas in which a landing was contemplated, or cruise ships, which occasionally scheduled sight-seeing tours in remote locations, made room for one.
Beekman came in. "I heard," he said. Several others entered behind him. "Are Kellie and Chiang okay?"
"As far as we know. But we're going to bring them home. The ground mission is over."
"I concur," Beekman said.
Marcel was angry, frustrated, weary. "How much time do we have to get them off?"
Beekman glanced at the calendar. "They should be reasonably safe until the end of the week. After that, it's anybody's guess."
Marcel tried to call Hutch on the private channel. But he couldn't even pick up a carrier wave.
"Is she still in the tower?" asked Beekman.
"Yes. Last I heard."
"Marcel." It was the AI. "I'm sorry to break in, but your message to the Star has been delivered. And I can find only one ship with a lander within the required range. The Athena Boardman. It's owned by—"
"I know who owns it," said Marcel. The Boardman was part of the Kosmik fleet, a vessel he had piloted himself on occasion when he worked for the government-subsidized terraformer during the early years of his career. "How far are they?"
"They can be here in four days. And we have an incoming from the Star. Captain Nicholson wants to speak with you on the cobalt channel."
Encrypted. "Set it up, Bill."
"Who died?" asked Beekman. "Do we have any names?"
"Two that we know of. The pilot of the Star's lander. And a young woman passenger. Maybe more. I don't know yet." Marcel had been scribbling in his notebook. "Bill."
"Yes, Marcel."
"Send a four-bell message to the Boardman: 'Wendy jay is declaring an emergency. We have people stranded on Deepsix vulnerable to impending Morgan event. Require your lander and your assistance to perform rescue. Time presses. Request you proceed immediately. Clairveau.' Standard closing. Give them our coordinates."
"Okay, Marcel. And I have Captain Nicholson on the circuit."
Marcel asked those who'd accompanied Beekman to withdraw, and closed the door. Then he told the AI to proceed. Nicholson's image appeared on-screen. He looked scared. "Captain Clairveau," he said. "How bad is it?"
"It's bad," said Marcel.
Nicholson spotted Beekman and hesitated,
"Professor Beekman," said Marcel, "is the director of the Morgan Project, and he is the soul of discretion. One of his people is down there, too. As are several others."
Nicholson nodded. Muscles worked in his cheeks. "What exactly happened?"
Marcel told him.
He lost all of his color, and his eyes slid shut. "God help us," he said. For a long moment he was silent. Then: "Forgive me, but did you say both landers have been destroyed?"
"Yes. That's why I asked whether you might have an extra one available."
It was hard to believe he could have gone even whiter, but he did. "You mean you don't have a backup vehicle?"
"We didn't have a lander at all, Captain. Hutchins used the one from Wildside."
"I see." He nodded and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Marcel thought for a moment that a stroke might be imminent. "Okay," he said finally. "We don't have one either, so we're going to have to get help."
"We've already done that. The Boardman's only a few days away."
"Thank God." He was trembling. "You will let me know when you hear more?"
"Of course."
"Hutch, I found her."
He sounded grim and her heart sank. Hutch sat propped against a wall, tired, trying to catch her breath. Her air was beginning to get stale.
"She's dead," he said softly. "Looks as if she was killed outright. I don't think she suffered."
Hutch squeezed her eyes shut.
"Hutch, you reading me?"
She killed her transmitter until she could get control of her voice. "Yes." Another long silence. "Can you get her free?"
"I'll need a couple of minutes. You doing okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Kellie tells me she's been trying to reach you."
"Signal's not getting through. What's the situation?"
"I'll relay it. After Kellie's done, Marcel wants to talk to you, too."
Kellie sounded frightened. "The woman passenger's dead," she said. "MacAllister's okay."
"How about the lander?"
"Wrecked."
"No chance at all?"
"None."
Three dead. And the rest stranded. My God. "Okay," she said. "We're talking about the Wildside boat, right?"
"Yes."
"What about the other one? The one that fell in the chasm?"
"Haven't looked."
"We'll want to look. Maybe we got lucky."
"Hutch," Kellie said, "how are you doing?"
"I'll be fine as soon as I see daylight again. You know about Toni?"
"Chiang told me. I'm sorry."
"We all are."
After a while, Chiang got on again: "I've got Toni out, and I'm cutting into your wall. Stay as far away from it as you can."
"Okay. I'm clear."
"Putting Marcel on."
"Thanks."
Marcel tried to sound encouraging. "Chiang tells me he'll have you out in a few minutes. You're not hurt, are you?"
"No." She looked around at the rubble.
"The Boardman's nearby. Should be here in a few days."
"That the best we can do? A few days?"
"Yes. Sorry. It's all we have." And lucky to have that, his voice told her. "Hang in there, Hutch. We'll have you all off as soon as we can."
Bill came back: "I have some mail for you. Did you want to see it?"
"Sure." What better time? "Go ahead."
"Hello, Priscilla. This is Charlie Ito."
She projected his image into the center of the chamber. This was a man who looked as if he'd enjoy collecting taxes. He had an unctuous smile and was vaguely familiar. "You remember we met at your aunt Ellen's birthday party last spring. You might recall that at the time you mentioned how you'd like one day to move to Cape Cod. As it happens, an incredible deal came up yesterday, and I thought of you right away. We have a luxury seaside home that just came on the market. And I know what you're thinking, but bear with me a moment—"
She went to the next message.
"Hi, Prisctila."
It was her mother. Bright, beautiful. And as always, arriving with impeccable timing.
"I'm looking forward to seeing you again when you get home. It would be nice if we could take a few days and maybe go to the mountains. Just us girls. Let me know if that's okay, and I'll reserve a cabin.
"I know you don't like my bringing up men, but your uncle Karl recently introduced me to the most gorgeous young architect. I'd say he has a brilliant future—"
She tried again:
Hi, Hutch.
This one was audio only. Audio transmissions were less expensive.
“I know it's been a while since we've talked, but I just heard you were on Wildside when it got diverted to Deepsix."lt was from Frank Carson, an archeologist with whom she'd been through a lot in what now seemed another lifetime. "Sounds as if you're in on the action again. I envy you. I'd give anything to be with you. We're still digging into Beta Pac, and beginning finally to translate some of the local languages. But you don't care about that, right now. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. You're a lucky woman."
She managed a smile.
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"Ms. Hutchinson."
Another audio only. With a deep baritone this time.
"You might remember we met at the United Pilots Association Conference last year. My name's Harvey Hutchins—that's right, same as yours, which is how we got talking. Anyhow, I'm a program manager for Centauri Transport. We're looking for experienced pilots. We haul supplies and personnel throughout the web. I can guarantee you challenging work, a generous signing bonus, and a wide range of fringe benefits. The openings won't last long, but I can get you in if you like—"
And a young woman with a cloying Boston accent: "Hello, Ms. Hutchins, I represent the Northeastern University Alumni Fund-Raising Committee, and we wanted to ask for your help again this year—"
There were a few more, all more or less impersonal, all from people who knew her just well enough to evade the antijunk filters that never seemed to work anyhow.
There was nothing from any of the occasional men in her life. Times like this, she wondered if her charm had failed altogether. But she understood that nobody was anxious to accept a relationship with a woman who was never home. It was a lonely existence. And maybe pulling out after this was over wasn't a bad idea. Go home and get herself a normal life.
She could hear Chiang getting close. Then light broke into the tunnel.
She helped him collect Toni's body and get it up into the tower. The twenty minutes or so they spent doing that, moving her through the narrow passageways, trying not to drop her, struggling up those irritating dwarf staircases, were possibly the longest twenty minutes of her life. The e-suit was still on, so the body still felt warm and alive. She kept looking down at her, imagining Toni's eyes, behind her lids, watching her accusingly. You brought me here ...
She was trembling when they finally got her up to ground level, took her outside, and laid her in the sunlight.
MacAllister lifted Casey in his arms, and they started back. Kellie had rummaged through the burnt-out lander, collecting whatever was left that might be useful: some clothes, a few snacks, and an extra cutter. The reddimeals were fried, so they'd have to survive on donuts for the time being.
They tried to divide the load, although only MacAllister was strong enough to handle Casey. The others attempted to spell him occasionally, but they stumbled along with the body until his patience gave way and he insisted on taking care of her himself. So he carried her and they simply took frequent breaks and moved at his pace. Chiang met them about halfway, after which he and MacAllister took turns.