Chindi

Nevertheless, she kept looking. Despite what she’d told Tor about her certainty that he could not have survived, she stayed with it until well past the time when his air supply would have been exhausted.

Throughout all this, Alyx sat quietly beside her, her usual ebullience subdued by events and painkillers.

“Breaking off the search,” she told Bill and Nick at last. “I’m coming home.”

Nick’s image disintegrated and re-formed and disintegrated again. Decent reception on the lander was going to have to await repairs. “I’m sorry, Hutch,” he said, after a long hesitation.

“I know. We’re all sorry.” Where had she said that before? There was, she thought, no end to stupidity. She knew that the experts back home would say the data extracted from the chindi was invaluable, that it was worth a few lives if that was what it took. She could almost hear Sylvia Virgil’s brave words, “Lost in the pursuit of science,” or some such platitude. Virgil was always brave and eloquent in the face of other people’s tragedies.

Was it worth it?

The toll kept getting higher.

No more, she promised herself. No more.

“Bill,” she said, “activate the beeper.” She was referring to the tracking signal on the chindi.

“We’ve already done that,” said Bill. “It’s loud and clear.”

Alyx touched her arm. “Are you all right, Hutch?” she asked.

She was fine.

“Are we going to get him off?”

“Yes. One way or another.”

Bill popped back on-screen. “Mogambo’s on the circuit. He wants to talk to Tor.”

“Tell him reception’s poor.”

“Hutch? Are you sure?”

“What’s the circuit time?” Round-trip time for transmission.

“About ten minutes.”

“Okay. Put him through to me.”

“Before I do—”

“Yes?”

“The chindi has lifted out of orbit. We should know shortly where it’s going.”

MOGAMBO’S ARISTOCRATIC FEATURES fought through the turbulence on her display, and it actually seemed to her that the picture improved considerably. Nothing gets in the way of this guy. “Hutchins. What is the status of the chindi group? What is happening?”

“The thing is moving out. We tried to evacuate the landing party, but we lost George. At the moment, I have one with me and one stranded.”

She settled back to wait for the return signal. Alyx gazed at the on-screen image. “He’s pretty intense,” she said.

During a break in the storm she saw stars. And, briefly, Cobalt. Then Mogambo was back: “I’m sorry to hear about George. But we have to keep our eye on the objective. It’s absolutely critical that we not lose contact with the Ship.” His pronunciation capitalized the word. “If it gets away from us, it will be a disaster of major proportions.” Not to mention, she thought, that Tor is stranded on the damned thing.

“My captain informs me that, if it jumps, it should be possible to follow it.” His picture broke up and re-formed, but the audio remained steady. “Are you in fact able to do that?”

The lander broke out of the Slurpy. She searched the skies for the chindi. It was by then only a rapidly dimming star.

“Probably,” she said. “We should be able to determine where it’s jumping to. And we’ve attached a transmitter to the hull so we can track it.”

She turned off the TRANSMIT and looked at Alyx. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Of him?” She studied the frozen image on the display. “He’s very serious.”

“Yes, he is that.”

“I wouldn’t want to spend a long trip cooped up with him. Give me George anytime.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Hutch said.

“I know. I saw what happened. You did what you could.” Her eyes were glazed, and Hutch had to listen closely to hear. “How long’s it going to take to get Tor off?”

“I don’t know.”

“The air supply in the dome is dependent on power cells. Or one power cell, I don’t know which.” She looked worried. “He has a spare. I don’t know what kind of time limit…”

“About six days to a cell,” said Hutch, gently.

She nodded. “I’m going to sleep now. If that’s okay.”

And she was out.

Mogambo came back: “You sound uncertain about tracking the chindi. What’s the level of probability that we’ll be able to find it again?”

How could she know? “We don’t have enough information at present, Professor. Once it jumps, we should be able to spot the destination.”

When he came back, he looked grim. “Hutch, I hope you understand what’s at stake here. We can’t afford to let this thing get away from us. I’m assuming we’re still in touch with, uh, what’s-his-name? Camby? the artist? Anyhow, I want to be patched through to him.”

“His name’s Kirby,” she said. “And may I ask why?”

While she waited for the reply, she opened a cha

“Okay. I’m back in the dome.”

She could barely hear him. “Everything all right? Other than the obvious problem?”

“Everything’s all right. I’ve got food, water, and air.”

“And power’s okay?”

“I’ve got exactly one day before I have to switch cells.” He went away for a moment. “Twenty-two hours, actually.” Which meant about a week total time left before power ran out.

Hutch set a clock to keep track. “Okay. We’re watching the chindi. As soon as we figure out what it’s doing, I’ll get back to you. Meantime, Professor Mogambo wants to talk to you.”

“Really? Why?”

“Don’t know. Be careful what you agree to.”

A CONVERSATION THAT breaks for ten minutes between responses takes a while. Hutch suspected that Mogambo wanted Tor to spend his remaining time doing as much exploring and reporting as possible. Before he got rescued. Or his air ran out.

She was close to the Memphis now. Nick came back on the circuit to try to revive her flagging spirits, and then Bill appeared in a corner of her navigation screen.

“It’s still accelerating,” he said.

Hutch wondered how long the chindi would need to achieve jump status. The Memphis required about forty minutes for her fusion engines to power up the Hazeltines. But the chindi? With all that mass? Who knew? It might take a couple of days. “Do we know yet where it’s going, Bill?”

“I think you’re going to get lucky. It looks like a local star. RK335197.”

“Thank God. We can use a break.”

“It’s going to wind up in the boondocks, though. Ninety-seven A.U.’s from the central luminary.”

That was odd. “Are you sure they aren’t going somewhere else? Another star farther out?”

“There’s nothing else along that vector, Hutch. Unless it’s leaving the galaxy.”

“How far’s 97?”

“Close. Forty-two light years.” Three days’ travel time.

“All right,” she said. “As soon as I get back we’ll take off after it. Maybe we’ll get even luckier and it’s only going somewhere in this system. Have you looked into that possibility?”

“Of course.” Bill sounded miffed. “If it’s got a local target, I can’t imagine what it is.”

The launch doors opened for her, and she slipped in to dock. Then, taking advantage of the light gravity, she carried Alyx up to her quarters and put her to bed.

As soon as she got back to the bridge, they set sail after the chindi.

“HE WANTS ME to look for a way to disable it,” said Tor.

Nick snickered.

“How did he want you to do that?” Hutch asked.

“Find the engine room. And carve it up with the cutter.” Signal clarity was getting weak. The chindi was pulling away from them.

“Do you know where the engine room is?”

“I have no idea. I don’t think he understands how big this thing is. I’d probably need a bus to get to the engines.”

“Does he realize that you could wind up blowing up the ship?”

“He doesn’t think cutting a few wires, or whatever, would constitute a serious danger.”

“Shows what he knows.”

“I tried to tell him the ship’s just too big to find anything like that. Even if I knew where to look.”

“—And he said…?”