Chindi

Chapter 30

TOR’S CONDITION HAD deteriorated from nervousness to dismay to despair.

To give him his due, he was not only afraid for himself, but a grim conviction crept over him that something terrible had happened to the Memphis. Maybe another of those ship-eating gadgets that had jumped the Wendy. Or maybe they’d never gotten out of the Slurpy. It was distinctly possible they were all dead.

That Hutch was lost among them. What else could explain their silence?

The days passed, and the chindi floated quietly among the stars, where anyone who happened to be in the neighborhood could easily collect him. But no one came.

He could go outside now that the ship had stopped (or seemed to have stopped), and often did. He wandered across the bare rock, searching the stars for moving lights, asking his commlink why someone, somewhere, didn’t answer up. Even if something had gone wrong on the Memphis, Mogambo was out there somewhere. And Mogambo knew he needed rescuing.

He ate well. There was plenty of food and no reason to ration. His power supply would last only a few more days. If that ran out before Hutch, or somebody, got to him, life support would fail. He’d then have only the six-hour supply in his air tanks.

The reddimeals prepared for Academy perso

Several times he started a journal, determined to leave a final record for whoever eventually showed up. The long nights without rescue, without any reasonable explanation why no rescue came, began to wear him down. He was inclined to conclude that he would die there. That he should make his peace with his Creator.

So he wrote. And he drew.

The entries, reviewed each morning (he insisted on maintaining the diurnal standard in this timeless place), invariably sounded angry and bitter. It wasn’t the tone he wanted to convey. But it was hard to pretend to be cheerful.

His sketches, he thought, captured the ghostly chambers and the empty doorways. He gave humanity to the werewolf, and compassion to the war between the airships.

If the worst had happened, if the Memphis had indeed been lost, Mogambo and the Longworth knew about his predicament. Last he’d heard, Mogambo had been approaching the Twins. That put him out of radio range.

He looked at the relay transmitter and wished he’d learned something about electronics. The device was capable of putting out a long-range signal. But the chindi had to complete its jump first to arm it, or whatever the proper term might be. It wouldn’t start transmitting until it had reached its destination.

Maybe Mogambo thought Hutch had already taken him off. Who knew? Certainly no one was telling him anything.

So he waited, hoping to hear Hutch on the link. Somebody on the link.

Anybody.

HE’D READ SOMEWHERE that banks and churches and corporate headquarters and other public buildings were designed to large scale, with thick columns and high arches and vaulted ceilings, because it induced a sense of insignificance in the individual. One could not help feeling humble walking up the broad stone steps of the Amalgamated Transportation Corporation, Limited, in London.

The endless passageways of the chindi had the same effect.

He was of no consequence to the ship, its designers, its operators, or its mission. Like the greater universe outside, it was not at all mindful of him. He could even play vandal if he liked and do a little damage. But it would be very little, no one would notice, and in the end the ship’s sheer impassiveness would overwhelm him.

He would have slept out among the stars, had it been possible. But the six-hour limitations of his air tanks kept him anchored to the base.

So it occurred to him finally that being several kilometers from the exit hatch wasn’t a good idea. He deflated the dome and moved it to Main Street and set it back up in the passageway almost directly under the exit. He needed several trips to transport the supplies and gear and air and water tanks, but when it was finished he looked at it with a sense of satisfaction. He liked the exit hatch. Not only did being near it give him his best possible chance to get through this, but he also slept better knowing the way out was just a few steps away.

Chapter 31

THEY WERE ACCELERATING toward jump. “Where we went wrong,” said Hutch, “was assuming because it traveled between the stars, that it had FTL technology.”

“All right,” Alyx said. “So it’s slower than we thought. Why’s that a problem? I thought all we needed was for the chindi to settle into cruise, which it has done. Why don’t we just go back and take him off? What’s changed?”

Nick was looking from Alyx to Hutch. “It kept accelerating,” Hutch said. “We assumed a few hours. Maybe a bit more. But it kept going for several days. It’s cruising now, but it’s moving so quickly, we can’t catch it, so we can’t put anyone aboard. Or take anyone off.”

Alyx felt angry, desperate, cheated. Someone had changed the rules. “How is that possible?” she demanded. “If it’s slower than light, why can’t we catch it? I mean, compared to us, it’s just tottering along. Right? What am I missing?”

Hutch shook her head. “Alyx,” she said, “we can get from one place to another a lot quicker than the chindi can. But that’s not the same thing as saying we’re faster. Not in the common use of the word.”

Nick was nodding, as if he’d already figured it out.

“Can’t we take a shortcut to get in front of him?” Him, not it.

“Sure. But it wouldn’t do any good. All we’d be able to do is wave as he went by.” Hutch looked at Nick, and a signal of recognition passed between them. It was an irritating moment, the two of them telling each other, be gentle with her, this is a bad time, she’s not used to this you know, not very much able to withstand this kind of news. “We made the wrong assumption. We should have realized that the thing didn’t have FTL technology.”

“How should we have done that?” Alyx asked quietly.

“Its propulsion system. If we’d thought about it at all, we’d have figured out that a superluminal had no use for anything as advanced as gravity projection. It’s like putting a paddle in a jet boat.”

Alyx felt the world closing down. Tor was there, but they couldn’t get to him. Was that really possible? She stared out at the Venture, drifting a few hundred meters away. It was bright and polished in the light of the sun.

“Well,” said Nick, “I guess that explains why the chindi’s course for 97 put it out in the woods.”

Hutch’s usual supply of high energy seemed to have abandoned her. She looked exhausted. Depleted. “I think you’re right, Nick,” she said, after a long hesitation, as if she’d had to give serious thought to the comment. “The course is aimed at the place where 97 will be in a couple hundred years.”