by Ron Miller
She cut the power and listened to the long, descending whine as the capacitors and flywheels ran down. The sudden silence engulfed her like a heavy, wet blanket.
Throwing open the upper hatch, she raised her head and shoulders into the night air. It was sultry and spice-scented after the cold, processed atmosphere of the scout, now filled with the stinging smoke of burning electronics and the coppery smell of blood. The sky was crystal-clear from horizon to horizon. There was no sign of the fighters. No doubt they had recognized the futility of pursuing the crippled scout and would merely wait until daylight, when they could locate it easily. She looked overhead and saw regularly-spaced lines of stars: the artificial constellations of the blockading fleet. She turned and saw, to the port side of the scout, a massive, shapeless bulk blotting out half the sky. At first she thought it was a lifeless, deserted city before she recognized the ruined hulk of the downed battleship Rudiger.
-III-
It was difficult in the darkness, for Judikha was not an engineer, but she made what repairs she could to the engines and the ether bender. The capacitors were damaged, but she had no way of assessing the degree nor of fixing them if she could.
The engineer was dead, as were the two Patrolmen. They were from Pomfret’s crew and she had never seen them before. The cadet, however, was still alive, though breathing painfully. She lifted his head—gently, for Rhys’s sake—and asked, “Are you badly hurt, sir? What can I do?”
“Is that you, Judikha?” Pomfret gasped faintly. “I think I’m done for. Something ricocheted all around inside me. Guts are all messed up. Can’t move anything. Ah! It hurts, though. Don’t move me, please!”
Making a sort of pillow out of her jacket, she laid his head on it and sat back on her haunches.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know for sure, sir. Not far from the Rustchuk main launch complex and well behind the defensive batteries, I know that much. We’re laying right beneath the wreck of the Rudiger, sir.”
“The Rudiger? Lot of good men lost on her, Judikha.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know, I could have been part of that crew. But I called in some favors and got reassigned. At first, I thought myself lucky to have escaped. Later, I got to wondering: what if I was the one thing it had lacked? You know, like the battle that was lost because a horse lost its shoe?”
“I suppose you’ll never know,” she replied a little cruelly. She doubted that Pomfret would scarcely ever have been that vital. “I’ve made some repairs to the scout. We’ll try to get out after dark.”
“Yes. Try it. Be careful. For your sake. You won’t have to worry about me. I’m going fast.”
“I think so, too, but you only need hold out for a day, then you can get a doctor.”
“Judikha, can you forgive me for what I did to you in school? I want you to.”
“Don’t talk about that. It was all straightened out eventually. You owned up.”
“Under compulsion. Mostly to please my brother. Do you forgive me?”
“Please, you must lie still, sir. Don’t talk. Try to save your energy.”
There was a long silence, then Pomfret spoke again.
“It was the only thing that ever came between me and Rhys. He begged me to write to you, but I wouldn’t, not even for him. Will you tell him that I did, that I apologized?”
“When I see him next, I will, sir. I’ll tell him that you apologized to me.”
“Thanks, Judikha. I was a rat.”
She started to say “Yes you were, sir,” but there was a long, rasping sigh and he said no more. Judikha wondered if he had died realizing that she had not forgiven him. The only time in his life he had ever spoken the truth, she thought, and he died saying it. Well, good, she decided: he was a rat.
There was work to be done. She was alone, possibly marooned, on an hostile alien world, with four dead men and a crippled scout rocket.
Her choices, as she saw them, were limited. There were bound to be other scouts; she might try to signal them. Of course, there was always the danger that the Rustchukians would be as likely to detect her signals as were her friends. She did not pretend that the Patrol would send a scout for the sole purpose of looking for Cadet Pomfret and his lost crew. Another possibility was that she might succeed in repairing the little vessel at least enough to enable it to return her to the fleet. This was just possible, but only if she were not overestimating her meager abilities as an engineer. Of course, she could simply surrender to the Rustchukians. She would be safe for the duration—for the Rustchukians were civilized enough.
But then—if she could complete the mission that had been started, if she could learn the status of the Rustchukian fleet—for they would be sure of testing the blockade soon—if she could get that information back to the Patrol in time for it to be of use...well, then, that would certainly mean recognition, honor, promotion...and possibly an appointment to the Academy, wouldn’t it? At the worst, it could do no harm...
The landscape outside the ship was hardly prepossessing. But then, Judikha had certainly seen worse around the Transmoltus. In fact, the cratered, cindery vista created a nostalgic pang that caught her entirely unawares.
She had inventoried what few supplies she had. The little spacecraft had been only sparsely equipped. She had only a little water, her DeLameter and the clothes on her back. She did, however, have some idea of where she was headed: on the way down she’d noticed an enormous domed city that couldn’t lay too many miles away...to the northeast, so far as she could judge. She considered picking the bones of the old Rudiger, but it would probably be a waste of precious time—what there might have been that was worthwhile would surely be long gone.
Once she had gone a few paces from the wrecked scout, she glanced skyward. The ring of blockading ships made a glittering necklace across the black dome. Sighing, she hefted her small pack and headed across the dunes.
THE END OF BOOK FIVE