Engines Of God

"Can you wait for us?"

"Frank, this ride is already going to hurt."

"How do you feel about doing it?"

He looked over at Janet. "You game?"

"Sure."

They could see his reluctance. "I don't know," he said.

"Terry," pleaded Angela, "we might not get another chance."

Hutch looked at her. She wanted this badly, and it was clouding her judgment. "It would leave us without a ship," she pointed out. "I don't know whether that's a good idea either."

"Don't need one," said Angela.

Janet shrugged. "Don't hesitate because of me."

"I can't see," said Angela, "that there's anything to lose."

Carson wanted to go. That was obvious. But the assorted shocks on this expedition had taken their toll. Hutch could see his natural instincts struggling with his newfound caution. And she saw them win. "Anybody else with an objection?"

Drafts looked sidewise at his partner. "If Angela wants it, and Janet has no problem, I'd like to do it."

"Okay." Colonel Carson returned. "Let's go."

There were a few last-minute technical conversations. Drafts entered flight requirements into the navigation systems. They would use Flickinger fields to help negate some of the effects of acceleration.

Within thirty minutes of making the decision, the Ashley Tee lifted out of orbit into an acceleration that mashed its crew into their seats.

"You okay?" asked Drafts.

"Fine," she said breathlessly.

"It'll be a sixty-two hour run."

In the screens, Delta, the orange ice world, diminished rapidly to a small globe, and then to a point of light. After a while, only the gas giant remained. Soon it too was only a bright star.

LIBRARY ENTRY

Dragon in the dark,

Your eyes move across the stars,

Your breath warms the moon.

— April 24, 2203 (Found in unassigned file on Ashley Tee)

29

Delta. Wednesday, May 18; 0930 hours

The operation on the small mesa had gone so well that they hoped to finish by the end of the day.

They sliced and buffed until they had three smooth rock walls set at (almost) right angles to each other. Then they turned to the task of straightening the fourth side, with its massive notch. Carson regretted not having the capability to fill the indentation rather than have to pare off the walls on either side. But never mind: he would manage.

They had developed reasonable facility with the 1600, and were now enjoying themselves. Whenever possible, they stationed themselves on the ground. But for the most part it was necessary to take to the air, and work from above the mesa. Angela pointed out that they were in violation of a wide variety of safety procedures. But she swallowed her reservations, took them up, and, on signal, rolled the shuttle onto its side. In back, restrained by his tether and Hutch's makeshift harness, Carson rode the 1600, looking straight down. "You're perfectly safe," Hutch assured him.

After about an hour, they changed places. Hutch enjoyed aiming the big ca

The limiting factor in getting to the rendezvous point and laying in alongside the cloud was not the capability of the ship, but that of its crew to withstand prolonged acceleration. They would arrive with aching joints and sore backs, and they would have only a few seconds before the target sailed past and left them hopelessly behind. To ameliorate these effects,

Drafts programmed in frequent breaks in the acceleration, during which they could get up and move around. It would not be a comfortable ride, but it would be livable.

Hutch distrusted hastily pla

She derived some satisfaction from knowing that Janet was now pi

They inspected their work on the south mesa. Seen from the air, it was a child's block, an orange rectangle. "I wish we could change its color," said Carson. "The Oz-structures were highly reflective, and they stood out from their surroundings."

"You think that matters?" asked Hutch.

"I don't know. It might."

It occurred to Hutch that the pumpkin-colored block below might be as hard for some future mission to explain as Oz had been.

The eastern mesa was next. It was three times as big as the one they had just worked on, less regular, heavily scored. Moreover, when they started on it, they discovered it was brittle. Its walls shriveled at the touch of the energy beam, and whole sections crumbled away. They experimented with intensity and angle, and discovered that overhead shots with low power worked best. "Like everything else," Carson said as they sliced and polished, "the only thing that succeeds is finesse. The light touch."

Communication with Ashley was becoming difficult. After twenty-four hours, the ship had traveled approximately fifteen million kilometers. At that distance, laserburst signals required almost two minutes to make a round trip. Conversations became slow and frustrating, and the two groups began to feel their isolation from each other.

The ground team slept through the night-phase. But all three were up early, anxious to get started. They treated themselves to a substantial breakfast, and went back to the eastern plateau.

They hoped to finish the wall they'd started the previous day, and fashion the corner. Hutch liked doing comers. They were a break from the routine.

Because much of the work was done from the air, Angela was usually alone in the cockpit. There, she watched the visuals coming in from Ashley, pictures of the oncoming object. Of the cloud, tiny and purple and utterly impossible.

Sometimes she had to draw back, remind herself where she was, remember to keep her mind on the mission, on the people who were hanging out the cargo door. But My God, this was a magnificent time.

The only downside was that she was not on board Ashley.

On the other end, Drafts was by turns ecstatic and depressed. The sensors still gave them only superficial readings. "What I'd like to do," he told Angela, "is put our money where our mouth is and lay Ashley right in front of it. Let it run over us, and see what happens." That got her attention, even though she didn't believe he meant it. But she stabbed the Transmit key anyhow and told him to forget anything like that, that she would have his career if he even so much as raised the suggestion again. But he added, long before her threats could have reached him, "Of course I won't. I don't think the probes will do much good, but we'll try to insert one."

Later, when they were back on the ground, Carson came forward for lunch. Hutch remained in back because the cockpit was too crowded for all three. He was munching on a sandwich, and Angela was pla

He was looking at the overhead display.

The object had developed fingers.

And despite all her training, the intellectual habits of a lifetime, the unshakable conviction that the universe is ultimately rational and knowable, Angela suffered an uneasy twinge. "Don't know," she said, almost angry, as if it were somehow Carson's doing.

Extensions. Not really fingers, but protrusions. Prominences.