by Emily
"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."