Starfarers (64 page)

Found: a wreck and a mindlessly radiating monotone, alone amidst the stars.

Nansen’s fist banged on a console panel. “No, it’s not for nothing,” he said. “At the very least, we’ll learn the details of what happened. The future needs to know.”

Dayan flung off her despair. “Good for you, Rico!” She clapped his shoulder. “Let’s start.”

Alanndoch likewise brightened a little. “Oh, yes, we must board.” She regarded the others. “But, Captain, Scientist,” she well-high pleaded, “you shouldn’t. Please reconsider. Don’t risk yourselves. You’ve crew who’re willing, anxious to go. Beginning with me.”

“Thanks,” Dayan said. “But Rico and I have earned the right.”

For her
, he thought,
the right to be not yet used up. To defy time once more, time that has devoured everything on Earth which was hers.

For me
—He spoke in his wonted sober fashion: “We have argued this already. I well know the doctrine. The commander should stay with the ship. However, Dr. Dayan and I have more than training”—brief, though intense. “We have experience”—since before
Envoy
departed Sol, and at worlds unknown until she fetched up at them, and at the black hole; for a moment it felt to him like the full eleven thousand years. “We have by far the best chance of coping with anything unexpected. Stand by.”

Dayan’s demand rang heartening. “We’ll certainly want
you and the whole crew later. If we find survivors, you’ll have tricky work to do.”

“At worst,” Nansen finished, “you shall take our ship home.”

The wreck
swelled in the forward screen until it blocked sight of the stars. Spin brought an emblem into view, scarred and scoured, then took the blue-and-silver wing away, then swung it back. Nansen turned his spaceboat and proceeded parallel to the hull at a distance of meters, seeking a place to make contact. Field drive gave marvelous responsiveness; this was almost like steering an aircraft.

Almost. Never quite. Robotics handled most of it, with more speed and precision than flesh could, but the basic judgments and decisions were his, and a mistake could kill.

He worked his way aft, turned again, matched velocities, and rested weightless in his harness. Before him yawned the hideous hole where the after wheel and plasma accelerator had been. He called a report to
Envoy
. Dayan, at his side, probed the interior with radar, detectors, and instruments more subtle, still experimental, that employed her new knowledge of quantum physics.

“As we thought,” she said after a few minutes. “The midships emergency bulkheads must have closed immediately and sealed the front end off. The fusion reactor there is in regular operation, supplying ample current to all systems that are functional.” She frowned. “The readings at the wheel aren’t so good, but from here I can’t make out just what the trouble is.”

“That’s what we want to discover,” he said. “Ready? Hang on.”

As slowly as might be, he maneuvered around the hull and forward. A hundred meters from the bow end of the cylinder, he went into a circular path around it—not an orbit; the gravity of even this enormous vessel was negligible. To stay on course required a constant, exact interplay of vectors. He fought down a brief dizziness and concentrated on matching the rotation “below” him.

And now: approach. He had picked a smooth area, free alike of installations and of damage. However, it spun at nearly two hundred kilometers per hour. A slight miscalculation could mean that a housing slammed into him. The boat stooped. Contact shivered and tolled in the metal. At once he made fast. It would not have been possible to do so speedily enough with magnetics, but an electron manipulator inspired by the Holont gave him talons. Silence washed over him.

Weight tugged, as if he were hanging upside down. Stars streamed in the viewscreens.
Envoy
hove in sight, merely a glint among them unless he magnified. “We’re docked,” he told them aboard.

“Elohim Adirim!”
Dayan gasped. A lock of hair had come loose from her headband and wavered like a small flame. “That was
piloting!”

Nansen realized he had been necessary. He also realized he had not by himself been sufficient. “Thank the boat,” he said.

Her name was
Herald II.

Donning spacesuits
and securing equipment to take along was a slow business. Weight amounted to about one-tenth terrestrial, in the wrong direction. They helped one another. Nansen saw Dayan’s distress when he strapped a pistol to his waist. “The last thing I want is to fire this,” he said, “but we simply don’t know.”

“That’s the horror,” she answered, “that you might have to.” Her neck straightened. “Well, I won’t believe you will until
I
have to.”

They kissed quickly before they attached helmets. After that their appearance was unhuman, heads horned with sensors and antennae, blank visages, insectlike eyes that were optical amplifiers. They cycled through the personnel lock, planted gripsoled boots on
Fleetwing
, and moved off cautiously, a boot always emplaced. Drive units rested on their backs, but a return to this whirling surface would be an acrobatic feat. “Yes,” Nansen murmured, “we two definitely had to be the first. Already I’m finding things to warn everybody about”

Dayan’s breath was harsh in his audio receivers.

Step by step, they advanced. A coaming lay in their way. “That’s a lock,” Dayan said.

“I know,” Nansen answered. They had studied the plans of the ship, taken from the Kith database, with equal intensity.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t try to go inside here and proceed through the hull?”

“Yes, I am sure. Too many unknowns.”

They crept around the portal. “I … I’m sorry,” Dayan said. “That was a stupid question. I’m feeling a bit spinny.”

Medication staved off nausea but couldn’t do everything. They clung to a sharply curving world that wanted to hurl them from it, blood coursed too heavily in their heads, and a night sky whirled beneath them. “Don’t look at the stars,” Nansen advised.

Dayan swallowed. “Ironic,” she said. “The stars are what this is all about, aren’t they?”

They reached
the end of the cylinder and crawled over the edge. She lost her footing. He grabbed an ankle barely in time and hauled her back.
“¡Nombre de Dios!”
he groaned. “Don’t
do
that!” Twenty meters from them, the spokes of the wheel scythed across heaven.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, no, I am. I should have been more careful of … of my partner.”

He heard a chuckle. “Enough with this modesty contest. But thank you,
b’ahavah.”

Progress became easier, here where the centrifuge effect pulled sideways. It was somewhat like walking in a stiff wind, which lessened as they approached the center. Nevertheless they kept their caution. “I feel well again,” Dayan said after a while.

“Good.”
Oh, more than good, beloved.

They came at length to an occupied shuttle bay. Although the little vehicle had been designed centuries after those that
Envoy
bore to Tahir, it seemed crude compared even to the early field-drive models she now carried. Nansen helped Dayan unlimber the tripod that was part of her burden and snug its feet to the hull. It gave her a framework to which she could fasten her instruments. When he had finished, the single sound he heard was breathing. Somehow the stillness made the wheel that rotated on his right all the more monstrous.

Dayan busied herself for several minutes.

“I was afraid of this,” she sighed. “It confirms the readings I took aft. The launch control is dead. Probably the power supply to the computer was knocked out in the disaster.”

“What about the others?” Besides the lost boats,
Fleetwing
had carried eight shuttles; her people had more occasion to go to and fro than his ever did, and numbered many more. He glimpsed those that were docked in the wheel, whirling past.

“I can tell from here, the entire lot is stranded, at least on this side.”

“Well, frankly, I’m not very regretful. I didn’t like the idea of trusting an unfamiliar system that might have been damaged in unobvious ways.”

“How will we evacuate survivors?”
If any.

“That depends on what the situation is. At the moment, I think the best procedure will be for our engineers to make what modifications are necessary for us to use a shuttle of
Envoy’s
. We’ll convey it over, steer it to a wheelside bay, and
ferry the people across to the hull. First we’ll doubtless have to do some repair work there, too. They can pass through it to an exit port, and our boats will bring them to our ship. That may involve a large number of trips, but it looks to me like the most conservative, fail-safe plan. Meanwhile, let’s repack your gear and execute the maneuver I rather expected we would.”

Did a sob answer his deliberately impersonal words? He decided not to ask. Dayan went about her tasks as competently as always.

The truth came out as he slipped a cable off his shoulder and began uncoiling it. Under low weight and Coriolis force, it writhed from him like a snake. He heard her voice gone high and thin. “Rico, I’m afraid.”

Astounded, he could merely say, “We don’t dare be afraid.”

“Not for me.” She caught his arm. “For you, darling.” Her free hand jerked toward the wheel. “I’m remembering how Al Brent must have died.”

“That was long ago and far away.” Six thousand years and light-years. Not enough to grant forgetfulness.

Her tone firmed. “Let me go first. We can better spare me.”

“No.” He shook his head, unseen by her within the helmet. “I’ve had much more open-space practice. We stay by the plan we’ve rehearsed.”

“But if you are—caught—”

“I won’t be. If somehow I am, you return at once to the boat and take her back. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment. “Forgive my foolishness. It’s just that I love you.”

“And I you. Which is another reason I cannot let you lead.” Maybe she visualized his grin. “Besides, allow me my machismo.”

She laughed shakily and embraced him. Their helmets clinked together.

The cable, a thin and flexible strand stronger than any steel, floated in an arc. He used the molecular bond attachments to stick an end to the front of her suit. She fixed the
other end to the back of his. When he leaped free, she waved, then stood waiting, a soldier’s daughter.

He activated his drive unit and curbed his outward flight. The next few minutes would be touchier than rendezvous and docking had been. Though turning speeds this near the hub weren’t great, they were opposed; the space between units was narrow; the angular momenta were gigantic. He lost himself in the crossing, as a man may lose himself in battle or a storm at sea or the height of love. Not reckless by nature, he still found in unavoidable danger the fullness of life. The blood sang in him.

His mind stood aside, wholly aware, coolly gauging and governing.

He drew near a spoke, fifteen meters from the axle, and adjusted vectors until the eight-hundred-meter length was steady in his eyes. He edged inward. He swung his body around! His boots made contact. The impact was slight. He must have matched velocities within a few centimeters per second. Excellent! He took half a minute to stand triumphant among the marching stars.

Peering back, he verified that the cable was not fouled. He reached around, undid it from his suit, and attached it to the spoke. “All clear, Hanny,” he called. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, oh, yes.”

“Jump.”

The line began to straighten as her mass moved offside. He caught hold and pulled, hand over hand. Draw her in. He felt how she used nudges of drive to counteract drift. Good girl, grand girl. Probably she could have made it safely on her own, as he did. But why take a needless risk? Whoever met the wheel while flying would spatter through space in chunks. He
was
better trained.

That was why he had elected to walk from the boat, rather than flitting directly. The first engineers to come, led by Alanndoch, must duplicate his transit. But they were young and—well—Maybe they could rig a net for those who followed. And eventually they’d have a shuttle from
Envoy
, for easy passage between wheel and hull.

That’s if we find any reason to do the work
. His exultation congealed.

Dayan arrived. He hugged her, one-armed, and gathered in the cable. They’d want it again later. Lateral weight here was about one-twentieth
g
, though Coriolis force complicated movement.

Dayan went to the entry port. “Uh-oh,” he heard.

“What?” He got the strand back on his spacesuit and joined her. She pointed. “This is not an airlock according to plan,” she said.

“No.” He examined the hinged metal box that had been added in front, the traces of welding and hand tools. Cautiously opening the door, which faced spinward, he saw through murk that the box was a chamber barely adequate to accommodate a man. The door was airtight. When dogged shut, it could be opened with a single turn. A tube fastened at the rear seemed to have been a battery-powered lamp. An inscription was painted on the inside of the door. He had acquired enough Kithish to read it:

BLESSINGS
FAREWELL

He reclosed the box and stood for a dark moment before he spoke. “Why did they make this?”

“More important,” Dayan replied, “how?”

“Hm?”

“We don’t know what else they did. If we can get in at all, we may cause terrible things. Like if we can’t shut the lock valves, the air inside will escape.”

A wind bearing corpses, as winter winds blow withered leaves?

“You are right,” Nansen said. “Perhaps the next port is accessible.”

They started off, to the hub and across to the spoke they wanted. The wheel gyred in silence and cold.

They arrived.
“This lock looks intact,” Dayan said. “We can deal with it.”

Can we deal with what’s behind it?
wondered Nansen.

He pressed the plate for entry. Nothing stirred. “Circuits dead,” he declared. “Don’t stop to probe, Hanny.” He leaned his muscles against the emergency manual truck. Gears worked; the valve swung ponderously aside. “Hold,” he said. He couldn’t make
Envoy
out among the stars, but his suit had sufficient broadcast power. “We’re about to go in,” he announced. “We’ll be cut off from contact for a while.”