Neptune Crossing (The Chaos Chronicles) (41 page)

Life aboard ship grew increasingly quiet. Charlie increased the shipboard gravity by small increments, and Bandicut exercised twice a day in an effort to get back into shape, and wondered why he was bothering. Charlie made periodic, unsuccessful efforts to cheer him up. The quarx seemed unusually distracted. Bandicut wondered if something was bothering him, but didn't wonder very hard. Bandicut's own thoughts were growing more and more disjointed as they streaked inward toward a close approach to the sun, and a rendezvous with the comet soon after. He was aware that he was slipping in and out of a semipermanent silence-fugue, and he wondered vaguely, from time to time, why Charlie didn't do something about it. He wondered if Charlie was just getting tired, or if something else was wrong. But by the time he thought to ask, he had forgotten why he cared.

*

Perhaps, if he had been clearer headed—or if Charlie had been more alert—the accident on day twenty-four would not have happened. But at the time, working on the engineering level checking some power systems with Napoleon and Copernicus, he was already having trouble distinguishing what the robots were telling him from what the fugue-voices were saying.

"Award for best leap yet across the solar system!" cried an ethereal spectator in the asteroid belt, clapping at Bandicut's amazing feat of celestial navigation. Bandicut bowed, jumping across the propulsion deck from one instrument panel to another, puffing lightly with the exertion. The shipboard gravity was now at about one-fourth gee, but in his present dreamy state it felt like much less.

"John Bandicut," Napoleon interrupted with a metallic rasp. "If you wish us to inspect the secondary fuel-pump assemblies, it will be necessary to move these cylinders. They are blocking our access." The robot swiveled its head from a rack of compressed gas tanks that had been clamped up in an apparently temporary storage location during the servicing of the ship.

Bandicut peered up at the robot, hanging high on the wall, and the tank rack that it was poking at. One of the tanks was labeled "Barium"; it probably contained gases intended for injection experiments in the atmosphere of Neptune. "We won't be needing those, I guess," he muttered, waving his approval. "Sure, take care of it." His decisiveness brought another wave of applause from his asteroid-belt spectators, and he leaped across the deck again, with a graceful twist.

/// John, are you sure you should be... ///

/What's the matter?/ he muttered to the quarx. /Don't you trust the robots to do their job? I thought you were the one who—/

/// No, I mean your jumping around.

Your fugue seems to be getting out of hand. ///

Bandicut snorted. /If you can't help me control it, what am I supposed to do?/

/// I'm having trouble, John.

I'm very tired, for some reason. ///

/Then don't mind me...
huh?
/ There was a screech of metal, and he squinted up at the robots' efforts. Napoleon was releasing the tanks from the rack, and Copernicus had its manipulator-arms extended upward to bring the tanks down; but neither one of them seemed to have very good control.

"Pinball!" yelled someone from the audience, waving from the shadows. "All riiiight!"

"John Bandicut—!" squawked Napoleon. It was interrupted by a bang and a metallic shriek—and an avalance of cylinders, cascading directly toward Bandicut.

He had only a momentary awareness of alarm and danger—and an abrupt shift in the gravity field, but too late to stop the fall—before the first tank glanced from his temple, and the second hit him squarely in the ribs, and everything went black.

*

The sensation of pain was pervasive. He flickered in and out of consciousness, in a haze of red. His eyes refused to focus, but he was aware of two shadowy shapes moving nearby, and metallic drumtaps and voices. Then he blinked, and both of the shapes were gone.

He tried to turn his head, and felt a flash of new pain.

/// Don't move! ///

gasped the voice in his head.

/What—?/

/// I'm healing.

It's very difficult... ///

and then the voice faded away.

He had a dim memory of heavy objects falling toward him, but he couldn't quite place what had happened. He began to sigh, but it hurt too much. He breathed in slow, shallow waves...

When awareness came back to him, he found that he could focus on a ceiling overhead. He couldn't quite identify it. He didn't think it was his bunk, or Julie's...

He felt her hand on his forehead, cooling and soothing with her touch; he was burning with fever. She was speaking softly, not in words, but with comforting sounds. His chest hurt, but he was able to breathe a little more easily. Now Julie was leaning to kiss his forehead, and now his lips...

When he blinked and focused, he realized that he was on the deck of the engineering compartment, staring at the ceiling. He recalled at least two or three heavy metal cylinders hammering into his body. Where were they now? Weren't there supposed to be robots around to help? What about the mission? He felt nearly weightless; the gravity must have been cut back; maybe he could just turn...

/// Very carefully, ///

whispered a fatigued-sounding voice. Who was that? Charlie? He'd never heard Charlie sound so tired...except once...

/// Never mind that.

Can you move your eyes? ///

He tried, carefully. It made him a little dizzy, but he managed to refocus on another part of the ceiling.

/// Can you move your head slightly? ///

He tried. His head and neck blazed, but he was able to turn his head slightly to the left. Blinking his eyes back into focus, he saw a black-eyed robot peering down at him.

"John Bandicut—are you well?" squawked the robot.

The sound of its voice made his ears ring. He didn't try to answer.

/// I think we've repaired

the most critical damage... ///

/I—what—happened?/

The quarx's answer seemed to require an almost overwhelming effort.

/// Do you remember...

the tanks striking you? ///

/I—think so./

/// The robots...didn't compensate properly

for the change in gravity.

They couldn't support...the tanks. ///

He felt faint for a moment. /That's stupid,/ he whispered. /I should have.../

/// They are unsophisticated machines. ///

/But I should have.../

/// You were in fugue.

I'm sorry. ///

/Sorry?/

/// I wasn't...feeling well...couldn't help. ///

/Oh. You sound tired now./ He shifted his gaze from the waiting robot to the ceiling again.

/// Yes...very.

The healing...getting you out of critical danger...

demanded...much of me.

It's not done, but I... ///

Bandicut felt a flicker of alarm. /You aren't hurting yourself, are you?/ His head throbbed with the effects of the sudden surge of adrenaline. /Charlie—?/

/// Yes, well I...I don't know how much... ///

Bandicut closed his eyes and counted to four. /Charlie,/ he whispered slowly and carefully. /Don't put
yourself
at risk—not even to heal me. I can't do this thing alone./

The quarx sounded wearily unconcerned.

/// Your survival...is paramount.

Your skills will be needed— ///

/No, listen. I—/

/// —at the end.

Absolutely essential.

I am...expendable. ///

/Charlie—/ His head was buzzing with a confusing welter of physical and emotional pain. /Don't. You hear? You've... saved my life. That's all you need to—/

/// There are still...repairs...

I must facilitate... ///

Bandicut drew a breath and prepared to try to sit up. /If you mean this pain, I can live with it./ He gasped, pushing himself up from the deck.

"John Bandicut—are you injured?" squawked the robot.

"Nappy—help me—sit up!" he croaked.

The robot clicked and hummed, and a pair of metal arms awkwardly levered him into a sitting position. He was dizzy, and his chest hurt like hell; he must have had some cracked ribs that weren't healed yet. God, what sort of damage had those tanks done to his body? He sat, panting, gathering his strength, before telling the robot, "I want—to go—to my cabin. Help me—stand up."

"John Bandicut—we should summon medical assistance," advised the robot. "I have been calling on all frequencies, but with no response."

"There
is
no one, Nappy. Just us. Come on, now." Bandicut started to get up, swaying dizzily.

/// John, I'm not sure... ///

/I'm going to...lie in my bunk, damn it./

There was no further protest from the quarx. The robot awkwardly stretched to its full height, supporting him under his left arm. Hobbling painfully, Bandicut made his way to his cabin. Through a blaze of fire in his chest, he managed to get himself onto his bunk, and he gasped instructions to Napoleon to go to the galley and get him some juice and crackers.

Then he fell into a troubled sleep.

*

When he awoke, the pain in his chest was considerably lessened, and his head was relatively clear. /You didn't listen to me, did you?/ he asked Charlie. /Well, never mind. Thanks./ He turned his head and saw Napoleon waiting patiently, juice-pack in one mechanical hand and a half-crushed box of matzohs in the other. Slowly, Bandicut sat up, managing without assistance. "Thanks, Nappy," he croaked, taking the juice and flatbread. He tore into them like a starving man, scattering crumbs everywhere and dribbling orange juice in his lap. He didn't care; he drank greedily and stuffed his mouth with what felt like dry flour and tasted like ambrosia. He could feel his body screaming for sustenance.

/Charlie, am I in shape enough to go to the bridge?/ he asked, when he paused for breath.

The quarx's answer was nearly inaudible.

/// Don't know. Try. ///

Bandicut slid down from his bunk. The robot backed out of his way. He glanced in the mirror, and was shocked by his gaunt appearance. His body must have ravaged its own reserves in its quarx-guided healing. /You burned yourself out doing this, didn't you?/ he asked the quarx accusingly.

/// I...just tired, really.

Yes. ///

Bandicut shook his head and made his way carefully to the cockpit. He ached, and felt some dizziness, but he suspected that the quarx felt worse than he did. /Well, rest, damn it. And that's an order./ He squeezed into the pilot's seat.

/// Yes... ///

Charlie said, and a moment later, added,

/// John, it's time to switch. ///

Bandicut blinked. /What?/

/// To, uh...

fusion chamber two. ///

Bandicut shook his head dreamily. Fusion chamber two—the second to last. What day was this? He squinted at the inertial nav. Day twenty-nine. He drew a breath. /Shall I send Nappy out?/

There was a pause.

/// Yes...that would be good. ///

Bandicut reached to shut down the fusion reaction. /Are you turning off the threading field?/

/// What?

Yes, yes—the stone knows what to do.

Don't worry. ///

Scowling, Bandicut called Napoleon and gave him instructions to go out and switch the location of the stone. He closed his eyes and held his breath as the threading field cut off, along with the gravity. But he vowed to stay alert, even if the repair was completely out of his hands. He was determined to keep an eye on Charlie.

Not that he had the slightest idea what he would do if the quarx needed
his
help.

*

While they were out of threading, he tried to transmit to Mars, focusing on one of the relay sats. He also tried Earth, via a different relay sat; then he tried beaming to Earth direct. He received no response, though he did pick up a hashy commercial broadcast. Charlie noted that it was likely that their antenna had gotten degraded from the high-speed threading. Chances were, no one could receive their signal anymore. Still, that wasn't going to stop him from trying. For an hour, he transmitted a recorded message over and over, stating his position and progress, in the faint hope that he might be heard.

Eventually he gave up and strained to listen to the commercial broadcast. After a few minutes, he realized that he was picking up the BBC Interplanetary News Service. He listened eagerly for word about himself—or the comet.

He made out something about renewed political instability in the Middle East, and a threatened breakaway of New Brazil from the Union of American States, and continued secessionist agitation in L5 City. Holo star Jason Landru was dead at ninety-five...and a new, unusually eruptive comet had been spotted coming around the sun in a highly eccentric orbit, one that would fling it out in a
very
close approach to the Earth. "...Speculation that it might have had...unreflective surface before its solar...not seen until...ices volatilized...no hazard, but if this one brightens...comet of the century. Get out your cam-goggles..."

/// Is Napoleon back in yet? ///

/SHUT UP, Charlie—I want to hear this!/

/// Sorry... ///  

At that point, the news cut to a long interview with a politician from New Brazil. Bandicut listened impatiently, and finally gave in to the urgent twitchings of the quarx and turned his attention to the robot's progress. Napoleon was back in the airlock, and there seemed no excuse not to press on. Still, Bandicut lingered over the staticky broadcast. 

/// John...it's time. ///