Chindi

She answered his questions as best she could, and finally asked to be excused. “I need to communicate with him,” she said.

“With whom?”

“Tor.”

Claymoor was visibly surprised. “You’re in touch with him? I’d been given to understand—Well, never mind. May I speak with him, too?”

“He can’t answer you,” she said.

“Why not?”

“He’s too far away. The transmission from the chindi doesn’t have enough power to reach this far.”

“Then how do you know he’s listening? Do we know for certain he’s still alive?”

“We know he was alive a few hours ago.”

“And how do you know that?”

She showed him the picture. Tor standing atop one of the ridges with his arms raised. Waving. The hatch open off to one side.

“Magnificent,” he said. “And this is the outside of the chindi? Why, that’s”—he hesitated—“very affecting. Good stuff.”

Brownstein looked over at her. “Passing.008c,” he said.

“Double-oh eight cee? Is that significant, Hutch?”

“It’s a bit less than 1 percent of light-speed. It’s as fast as I’ve ever traveled.”

“HUTCH,” SAID BILL, “our number two is overheating.”

They were still almost fifty minutes from the jump. “I know,” she said. “We’ve been watching it on the board.” Some rise in temperature was inevitable with this kind of sustained use. Less than six minutes later they began seeing it in the Longworth. But there were measures the ships could take. The coolant could be modified, the fuel mixture adjusted, damping procedures instituted. If necessary, they could even shut down for a few minutes, but it was time they didn’t have to spare.

Hutch conferred with Bill and directed some changes. The temperatures stabilized.

Mogambo got on the link periodically to reassure himself. Are we still on schedule? How are the engines holding up? Had there been any evidence at all, any at all, of life aboard the chindi? How far forward had they been on the ship? How deep? Had they seen any sign at all of engineering spaces?

Antonio Silvestri, who’d come aboard with Mogambo, came by the bridge. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.

He was smallish, not much taller than she. Olive skin, black hair, dark eyes. Quite good-looking, with features that were almost feminine.

She’d seen him somewhere, but she was terribly sorry. Don’t recall where.

“Call me Tony,” he said disarmingly. “You took me over to Pi

Hutch also had a few minutes with Teri Hankata, Mogambo’s other outrider. She was more like her boss, perfunctorily polite, but ambitious and, Hutch thought, desperately intent on boarding the chindi.

“THIRTY-NINE MINUTES TO system jump,” said the McCarver’s AI, which responded to the name Je

Brownstein nodded and informed the passengers. “Not that it really matters,” he added. “I don’t think you’ll notice any difference.”

The captain had turned the entire operation over to Je

“We are gulping fuel like bandits,” Yurkiewicz informed them from the Longworth.

“Long as it holds out another half hour,” said Hutch.

They were by then approaching.018c, and had broken every record for attained velocity. “And we’ve done it,” said Brownstein, “hauling that son of a bitch along with us.” He jerked his thumb out at Dogbone.

Claymoor came on-line again. Audio only. “Hutch? Are you busy? May I have a moment?”

“Yes, Mr. Claymoor? What can I do for you?”

“Hutch, is it true you’re going outside when the big ships unhitch?”

“No,” she said, knowing immediately where the conversation was headed. “I’m staying right where I am.”

“I heard something different,” he said, disappointed. He turned his attention to Brownstein. “Yuri.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you arrange for me to go outside during the operation? I’ll want to get some close-ups.”

“Not a good idea, Mr. Claymoor.”

“Why not?” His voice rose slightly.

“We have to get that over and done with in the shortest possible time.”

“I can get in and out in a couple of minutes.”

“Sir, we’ll still be accelerating. You’d get ripped off the hull. Not at all good for your digestion.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not like the last time.”

Brownstein didn’t explain what the last time referred to, but she could guess that he’d been allowed to walk around somewhere in an e-suit.

“Damn,” he said. “We’ve got a hell of a story developing here, and we’re missing the pictures.”

“We’ll be getting pictures from the scopes.”

“I’ve been watching them. They’re not good enough.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not physically possible.”

“Brownie, people are going outside to cut the cables. It must be possible.”

He was right. There would be a couple of minutes during which the drives would be shut down. But they were going to be moving quickly. No time for picture-taking. If they missed their window, it would be over.

“I will not get in the way,” Claymoor said. He seemed to be addressing Hutch again.

Brownstein glanced over at her, his eyes suggesting it was her call.

“He’s your boss?” she asked.

Yes, he is.

She turned back to the journalist. “Mr. Claymoor,” she said. “The captain’s right. You go out there, we could lose you. But if you insist, and you’re willing to come back in as soon as I tell you—”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “No problem there.”

“You know how to wear an e-suit?”

“Of course.”

“Yuri thinks I should take you when I go out, so we’ll do it.”

“Thanks. You too, Yuri.”

The Longworth’s temperatures were starting up again, but Yurkiewicz reassured them they’d be all right, that he would hold it together as long as he had to, but she should know that he would need new engines when it was over.

Bill reported continued mild overheating, but under control. “We’re ru

There were fail-safes built into the engines on both the Longworth and the Memphis that would cut in to shut them down if conditions became intolerable. In fact, the failsafe on the Longworth would have acted already except that Yurkiewicz had obviously overridden it. The unit on the Memphis didn’t allow tinkering. But conditions were less severe there.

Brownstein passed her a sandwich. “Relax,” he said. She wasn’t sure where the food had come from.

“Approaching jump mode,” said Je

Neither the Longworth nor the Memphis would have enough fuel left to halt its forward motion. When the attempt was over, Hutch thought, they were all going to need rescuing.

The sandwich was roast beef. She chewed it slowly, tried to concentrate on it. Enjoy it.

ALYX’S MOMENT OF glory had arrived. She released her restraints and climbed out of her chair. On the Longworth, Yurkiewicz’s people would be doing the same thing.

She strode down to the cargo bay, slipped smoothly into an e-suit, picked up her air tanks, and collected the laser cutter. Then she pulled on a go-pack.