Starhawk

Chapter 8

THEY CONTINUED TO rotate the girls through the lander every four hours. The quality of the air was so much better that there was no shortage of volunteers. But when they changed over at 0500 hours, when the air in the lander was also becoming hard to breathe, and there was still no sign of the Thompson, the general mood was darkening. “We’ll be watching from the bridge,” Jake told the girls as they slipped into their seats. “But if you start having a problem, just open up and leave. Okay?”

“What are we going to do after this, Captain Loomis?” Johara asked. She was seriously frightened. They all were.

“We have air tanks,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll be all right.”

He hated lying to them. Well, maybe he wasn’t lying. Not really. They would probably be all right. He was less sure about the adults.

He returned to the passenger cabin, where Shahlah took him aside. “You said there’s five hours in each of the air-tank units?”

“That’s correct.”

“Can’t they be refilled?”

“They could. But it wouldn’t do any good because we’d just be taking the air out of life support.”

Kareema and Lana were in the passenger cabin playing with Tawny. Ishraq and Sakeena sat off to one side, tapping messages to each other on their notebooks. The others were scattered around the Copperhead.

Jake went up onto the bridge. Joshua was there with Priscilla. “Nothing yet from the Thompson?” he asked.

Priscilla shook her head. “Negative, Jake.”

He went back and wandered through the ship, trying to look upbeat, everything’s okay, we’ll be out of here soon. He wished he believed it.

He returned to the passenger cabin. Had a soft drink. Sat down next to Ishraq and Sakeena. They were exchanging information electronically about their science projects. They showed him their notebooks. Sakeena had been doing gravity experiments, and Ishraq had been teleporting particles. Ishraq typed a note: “One day these big ships will be obsolete.”

He got his notebook and typed a reply: “You really think that’s going to happen?” The idea seemed utterly outlandish. It had shown up occasionally in books and films, but there was no way he could take it seriously.

She responded with one word: “Yes.”

He looked at Sakeena: “What kind of gravity research are you doing?”

She had dark intelligent eyes. “You will not laugh?”

“No.”

“Artificial gravity.”

“Impossible?”

She shook her head.

Jake typed again: “It’s supposed to be impossible.”

“People used to say that about faster-than-light travel.”

He smiled. Raised his hands, conceding the point.

She sent him another message: “You will live to see it.”

He was about to reply when he heard Benny’s voice. “There it is!”

And Priscilla: “Let’s have it, Benny.”

Jake got up and strode onto the bridge.

“Copperhead, Gremlin.” It was Drake Peifer’s voice. “This is the Thompson. We’ve arrived insystem. Do you read me?”

“We read you, Drake. We’re at Barton’s World. Running short on air.”

Jake took the right-hand seat, cautioned her to lower her voice, and turned down the volume. A minute ticked by. Longer. Not a good sign. Then: “Are you able to meet us?”

“Yes,” said Priscilla. “We’re mobile.”

“Good. Looks like about twenty-one hours to rendezvous.”

“That won’t get the job done, Drake. Where are you?”

“We’re feeding the information now. What’s the Gremlin’s status?”

“It went down.”

“How much air do you have left?”

“We need you here within seven hours.”

“Hold on.” It was a long pause. Then: “We’ll have to try another jump.”

She looked at Jake. He nodded. “Do it,” she said.

Transdimensional jumps were notoriously inaccurate. They usually put you within approximately a million kilometers of your target. That was good if you were going to Canopus, and nobody was in a hurry. But it wasn’t very helpful if you were already in relatively close. Another jump would take time and might gain nothing. Or even lose ground.

* * *

THE BETTER PART of an hour passed before they heard from the Thompson again. “We’re not much closer,” Drake said. “A few hours less. But not enough. We can try another jump.”

“Negative,” said Jake. “How’s your fuel?”

“About half a tank.”

“Hold on. Benny, do we have the Thompson’s new position?”

“I’m getting it now.”

“What’s the best rendezvous time?”

“There are fuel limitations. And the sustained acceleration would almost certainly cause injuries. But taking all that into consideration, we can meet in just under five hours.”

“Thank God,” said Priscilla. “That’s tight, but it works.”

Jake heard movement behind him and turned to see Josh.

“All right,” said Jake. “Priscilla, let’s get moving.”

“No,” said Josh. “The high-acceleration rendezvous is not a good idea.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Jake, the pressures generated by all the accelerating and braking will increase everyone’s oxygen intake by a substantial margin. I can’t be positive, but I’d be surprised if we didn’t lose life support during the process.”

“We can manage a meeting without excessive acceleration in seven hours,” Benny said. “Perhaps a bit less. But we have to get started.”

“We don’t have a seven-hour air supply,” said Jake.

“Do it, damn it,” said Josh. “Let’s get moving.”

* * *

PRISCILLA’S JOURNAL

. . . Darkest moment of my life . . .

—November 18, 2195