Chindi

George had been only a few paces away when the ground had jerked under his feet, and he fell forward, toward the spacecraft. But the ground kept moving, dragging him away. He didn’t understand what was happening except that he was getting farther from the lander, as if Hutch was drawing off. But he knew she wasn’t.

He tried ru

Nobody home.

He wasn’t high enough and the hills were rushing toward him.

THERE WAS NOTHING Hutch could do. She warned Alyx to hang on and climbed. She’d lost track of Tor, but she told him for God’s sake to get back down through the hatch.

The winds were back, stirred up by the passage of the chindi. She steadied the lander and saw a hand catch one of the grips in the airlock. The cords in the wrist stood out.

“Hutch?” Nick’s voice. “What’s happening?”

She wanted to release her harness, let go of the controls, go over to the airlock and pull Alyx in, but the winds rocked and hammered the lander, and she dared not leave her seat.

“Hutch!” Tor this time. “I’m okay. Back down inside.”

Alyx pulled herself into the lock. The wind howled around her, and snow blew through the cabin. Hutch watched, and as soon as she was inside, shut the hatch. “I’ve got Alyx,” she said.

Chapter 27

Those who extol the joys and benefits of solitude have never tried it. No man is fit company for himself.

TOR STOOD AT the foot of the ladder, safe now from the gee-forces, his head pressed against one of the rungs. Holding on, nonetheless.

He’d watched George float away, had seen the desperate fear darkening his face, the eyes pinpoints, the lips drawn back because he knew it had all gone wrong.

Out of reach. He’d been out of Tor’s reach and receding swiftly like a runaway moon.

“He’s dead.” Hutch’s voice was angry and accusing.

“Keep looking. Don’t worry about me. Just keep looking.”

“I saw him die, Tor.”

Not possible. Not George, who’d been a living presence since the first day. He squeezed the rung and thought about just letting go. The hell with it. Gradually, he became aware that the pressure on his arm was increasing. The impression that the world had gone awry, had tilted away from him, was not a mental aberration, as he’d supposed. Main Street was in fact angling down, toward First Street. Toward the Ditch.

“It’s the acceleration,” said Hutch.

It was increasing, and he began to wonder if the damping field would be enough. If the chindi poured it on, he was going to be in trouble. “Can you get me off?”

“No. Not until it goes to cruise.”

All the assurances he’d tossed off earlier didn’t seem so bright now. “When do you think that’s likely to happen?”

“No way to know.”

“Well, at least it’s downhill to the dome.”

“Tor,” said Hutch. “Are you okay?”

“I guess. Are you sure he’s dead? It’s hard to see out there.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“But you got Alyx?”

“She’s on board.”

He shut off his lamp and stood in the dark, clutching the ladder. The tilt seemed to have stabilized, and he thought the angle was shallow enough that he could navigate back to the dome. Which he was going to have to do shortly to replenish his air supply.

After a while, the snow stopped coming down through the hatch, and the stars reappeared. There were three bright ones, a triangle, dazzling white, fixed in the center of the hole he had cut. Despite the gee forces, their stationary position created the illusion that he was not moving, not going anywhere, and Hutch could easily come pick him up at her leisure.

“Tor, how’s your air?” Her voice was right next to him. It was whispery and somehow filled with passion, as he had imagined it should be, for him. Images of her soft skin, her lips, her crystal blue eyes, floated into his mind. Incredibly, in the vast dark interior of the chindi, going God-knew-where, he imagined her beside him, soft, pliable, reassuring.

In a way he had never known her.

His air was in fact getting low. He carried a six-hour supply in his tanks, and he’d been out a long time. But he didn’t want to leave the area of the exit hatch. Didn’t want to return to the depths of the chindi.

“No way to pick me up after we get out of the Slurpy, huh?”

“Not likely. Not as long as it’s accelerating.”

“You can’t match velocity?”

“You can’t get out of the hatch alive.”

Beyond the exit, the dark sky looked placid. Hard to believe he couldn’t go outside. He took the wrench from his vest, climbed the ladder to within a half meter of the open hatch and threw it up. It slammed against the back side of the hatch, and literally vanished outside.

“I think you have a point,” he said.

“So you’re going back to the dome?”

He looked into the darkness, down the corridor. “Yes.”

“You do have enough to make it, right? Air?”

“I have enough.” He switched his lamp back on. The dome was a long way. Toward the rear, all sort of downhill now. He eased off the ladder and took a couple of tentative steps, resisting an urge to charge forward, to take advantage of the down angle. In the light gravity it might have been possible. He was far more agile there than he would ever have been at home. But therein lay the danger.

Anyhow, he had time.

“I’ll be back for you, Tor. As soon as it goes to cruise.”

If it goes to cruise. He imagined he could hear echoes down the wide passageways, and wondered whether his best bet after he refilled his tanks was to go looking for the pilot, to get to whatever passed for a bridge on this monster, and present himself. “Hello. My name’s Vinderwahl, and I seem to have gotten stranded on your ship. Terribly sorry. Do you think you could take me back? Or maybe drop me off somewhere convenient?”

He listened to the fading conversation between Hutch and Nick, worried while Hutch fought the storm, listened to damage reports, sensors down, engine malfunction caused by overheating. He understood the futility of the search for George, of Hutch’s inability to see more than a few meters, of the swirling fury of the Slurpy. I

He started down Main Street, moving from one door to the next. He was grateful for the rings, which provided something he could hang on to.

Almost an hour and a quarter later he stumbled into the chamber that held the dome. It had slid to the left side of the room and lay braced against the wall.

He hurried inside, through the airlock, and was relieved to see that it still had power. Everything not bolted down had piled up against the wall, chairs, table, food supplies, recording equipment. He turned off the suit and took a deep breath. Then he switched on the lights, dimmed them, and sat down on the deck.

IT WAS HOPELESS. The winds had died and the storm collapsed, but the slurry and the snow continued to spread along the orbit the chindi had occupied. There was no sign of George. And there was really no easy way to stage a search. The sky was filled with slush. The Memphis used her sensors and scopes, but she was overwhelmed as the number of contacts went into the millions.