Текст книги "The Collected Short Fiction of C.J. Cherryh "

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 48 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

He shifted colors on the image, near-black for green. Nearer black for blue. Black stayed black. Ball with an inward or outward dimple and a whole bunch of planar surfaces. He didn't like what he saw. He transmitted his raw effort as he built it. Cigar-shape. Gray scale down one side of the image, magnification in the top line. Scan showed a flock of tiny blips in the same location. Scan was foxed. Totally.

"God."

SANDMAN: Transmitting image. Big mother.

A keystroke switched modes. A button-click rotated the colorized image. Not a ball. Cigar-shape head-on. Cigar-shape with deflecting planes all over it.

SANDMAN: It's an inert. An old inert missile, inbound. It's blown Buoy 17. . . SANDMAN: . . . Trying to determineV. Don't know class or mass. Cylindrical. SANDMAN: . . . Buoy gone silent. May have lost antenna. May have lost orientation. . . SANDMAN: . . . May have been destroyed. Warn traffic of possible buoy fragments. . . SANDMAN: . . . originating at buoy at 1924h, fragments including. . . SANDMAN: . . . high-mass power plant and fuel.

Best he could do. The wavefront hadn't near reached Beta. And the buoy that could have given him longscan wasn't talking—or no longer existed. The visual out here in the dark, where the sun was a star among other stars, gave him a few scattered flashes of gray that might be buoy fragments. He went on capturing images.

BettyBwent hurtling on toward the impact-point. Whatever was out there might have clipped the buoy, or might have plowed through the low-mass girder-structures like a bullet through a snowball, sending solid pieces of the buoy flying in all directions, themselves dangerous to small craft. The inert, the bullet coming their way, was high-v and high-mass, a solid chunk of metal that might have been traveling for fifty years and more, an iron slug fired by a long-lost warship in a decades-ago war. Didn't need a warhead. Inerts tended to be far longer than wide because the fire mechanism in the old carriers stored them in bundles and fired them in swarms, but no matter how it was oriented when it hit, it was a killer—and if it tumbled, it was that much harder to predict, cutting that much wider a path of destruction. Mass and velocity were its destructive power. An arrow out of a crossbow that, at starship speeds, could take out another ship, wreck a space station, cheap and sure, nothing fragile about it.

After the war, they'd swept the lanes-Pell system had been a battle zone. Ordnance had flown every which way. They'd worked for years. And the last decade-they'd thought they had the lanes clear.

Clearly not. He had a small scattering of flashes. He thought they might be debris out of the buoy, maybe the power plant, or one of the several big dishes. He ran calculations, trying to figure what was coming, where the pieces were going, and he could use help-God, he could use help. He transmitted what he had. He kept transmitting.

FROGPRINCE: Sandman, I copy. Are you all right?

SANDMAN: FrogPrince, spread it out. I need some help here. . . UNICORN: Is this a joke, Sandman?

SANDMAN: I'm sending raw feed, all the data I've got. Help. Mayday. LOVER18: Sandman, what's up?

SANDMAN: Unicorn, this is serious.

DUTCHMAN: I copy, Sandman. My numbers man is on it.

Didn't even know Dutchman had a partner. A miner's numbers man was damned welcome on the case. Desperately welcome.

Meanwhile Sandman had his onboard encyclopedia. He had his histories. He hunted, paged, ferreted, trying to find a concrete answer on the mass of the antique inerts—which was only part of the equation. Velocity and vector depended on the ship that, somewhere out there, fifty and more years ago, had fired what might be one, or a dozen inerts. There could be a whole swarm inbound, a decades-old broadside that wouldn't decay, or slow, or stop, forever, until it found a rock to hit or a ship full of people, or a space station, or a planet.

Pell usually had one or another of the big merchanters in. Sandman searched his news files, trying to figure. The big ships had guns. Guns could deal with an inert, at least deflecting it– ifthey had an armed ship in the system. A big ship could chase it down, even grab it and decelerate it. He fed numbers into what was becoming a jumbled thread of inputs, speculations, calculations. Hell of it was—there was one thing that would shift an inert's course. One thing that lay at the heart of a star system, one thing that anchored planets, that anchored moons and stations: that gravity well that led straight to the system's nuclear heart—the sun itself. A star collected the thickest population of planets, and people, and vulnerable real estate to the same place as it collected stray missiles. And no question, the old inert was infalling toward the sun, increasing in v as it went, a man-made comet with a comet-sized punch, that could crack planetary crust, once it gathered all the v the sun's pull could give it.

T_REX: Sandman, possible that thing's even knocked about the Oort Cloud. T_REX: Perturbed out of orbit.

UNICORN: Perturbing us.

LOVER18: I've got a trajectory on that buoy debris chunk. . .

LOVER18: . . . No danger to us.

Alarm went off. BettyBfired her automated avoidance system. Sandman hooked a foot and both arms and clung to the counter, stylus punching a hole in his hand as his spare styluses hit the bulkhead. The bedding bunched up in the end of the hammock. It was usually a short burst. It wasn't. Sandman clung and watched the camera display, as something occluded the stars for a long few seconds.

"Hell!" he said aloud, alone in the dark. Desperately, watching a juggernaut go by him. "Hell!" One human mote like a grain of dust.

Then he saw stars. It was past him. What had hit the buoy was past him and now—now, damn, he and the buoy were two points on a straight line: he had the vector; and he had the camera and with that, God, yes, he could calculate the velocity.

He calculated. He transmitted both, drawing a simple straight line in the universe, calamity or deliverance reduced to its simplest form.

He extended the line toward the sun.

Calamity. Plane of the ecliptic, with Pell Station and its heavy traffic on the same side of the sun as Beta. The straight line extended, bending at the last, velocity accelerating, faster, faster, faster onto the slope of a star's deep well.

DUTCHMAN: That doesn't look good, Sandman.

UNICORN: :(

DUTCHMAN: Missing Pell. Maybe not missing me. . .

DUTCHMAN: . . . Braking. Stand by,

UNICORN: Dutchman, take care.

LOVER18: Letting those damn things loose in the first place. . . T_REX: Not liking your calculations, Sandman.

LOVER18: . . . What were they thinking?

FROGPRINCE: I'm awake. Sandman, Dutchman, you all right out there?

DUTCHMAN: I can see it. . .

UNICORN: Dutchman, be all right.

DUTCHMAN: I'm all right. . .

DUTCHMAN: . . . it's going past now. It's huge.

HAWK29: What's going on?

LOVER18: Read your damn transcript, Hawkboy.

CRAZYCHARLIE: Lurking and running numbers.

DUTCHMAN: It's clear. It's not that fast.

SANDMAN: Not that fast* yet.*

DUTCHMAN: We're running numbers, too. Not good.

SANDMAN: Everybody crosscheck calculations. Not sure. . .

SANDMAN: . . . about gravity slope. . .

CRAZYCHARLIE: Could infall the sun.

UNICORN: We're glad you're alright, Dutchman.

SANDMAN: if it infalls, not sure how close to Pell.

WILLWISP: Lurking and listening. Relaying to my local net.

T_REX: That baby's going to come close.

Sandman reached, punched a button for the fragile long-range dish. On BettyB's hull, the arm made a racket, extending, working the metal tendons, pulling the silver fan into a metal flower, already aimed at Beta.

"Warning, warning, warning. This is tender BettyBcalling all craft in line between Pell and Buoy 17. A rogue inert has taken out Buoy 17 and passed my location, 08185 on system schematic. Looks like it's infalling the sun. Calculations incomplete. Buoy 17 destroyed, trajectory of fragments including power plant all uncertain, generally toward Beta. Mass and velocity sufficient to damage. Relay, relay, relay and repeat to all craft in system. Transmission of raw data follows."

He uploaded the images and data he had. He repeated it three times. He tried to figure the power plant's course. It came up headed through empty space.

CRAZYCHARLIE: It's going to come damn close to Pell. . .

CRAZYCHARLIE: . . . at least within shipping lanes and insystem hazard. DUTCHMAN: I figure same. Sandman?

UNICORN: I'm transmitting to Beta.

WILLWISP: Still relaying your flow.

HAWK29: Warn everybody.

UNICORN: It's months out for them.

DUTCHMAN: Those tilings have a stealth coating. Dark. . .

DUTCHMAN: . . . Hard to find. Easy to lose.

UNICORN: Lot of metal. Pity we can't grab it. . .

FROGPRINCE: Don't try it, Unicorn. You and your engines. . .

UNICORN: . . . But it's bigger than I am.

FROGPRINCE: . . . couldn't mass big enough.

UNICORN: I copy that, Froggy. . .

DUTCHMAN: It's going to be beyond us. All well and good if it goes. . . UNICORN: . . . Thanks for caring.

DUTCHMAN: . . . without hitting anything. Little course change here. . . DUTCHMAN: . . . and Pell's going to have real trouble tracking it. HAWK29: I feel a real need for a sandwich and a nap. . .

UNICORN: Hawk, that doesn't make sense.

HAWK29: . . . We've sent our warning. Months down, Pell will fix it. . . HAWK29: . . . All we can do. It's relayed. Passing out of our chat soon. T_REX: Sandman, how sure your decimals?

FROGPRINCE: We can keep transmitting, Hawk. We can tell Sandman. . . FROGPRINCE: we're sorry he's off his run. His buoy's destroyed. . . FROGPRINCE: . . . He's got to find a new job. . .

UNICORN: They'll be running construction and supply out. I'll apply, too. FROGPRINCE: Use a little damn compassion.

SANDMAN: T_Rex, I'm sure. I was damned careful.

T_REX: You braked.

DUTCHMAN: We both braked.

SANDMAN: I've got those figures in. Even braking, I'm sure of the numbers. T_REX: That's real interesting from where I sit.

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, where are you?

T_REX: About an hour from impact.

UNICORN: Brake, T_Rex!

SANDMAN: T_Rex, it's 5 meters wide, no tumble.

T_REX: Sandman, did I ever pay you that 52 credits?

Tinman?

Damn. Damn! Fifty-two cred in a Beta downside bar. Fifty-two cred on a tab for dinner and drinks, the last time they'd met. Tinman had said, at the end, that things had gone bad. Crazy Tinman. Big wide grin hadn't been with them that supper. He'd known something was wrong. He'd paid the tab when Tinman's bank account turned up not answering.

The Lenny Wick business. The big crunch that took down no few that had thought Beta was a place to get rich, and it wasn't, and never would be.

SANDMAN: Dutchman, you copy that? T_Rex owes me 52c.

DUTCHMAN: Sandman, we meet on dockside, I owe you a drink. . . DUTCHMAN: . . . for the warning.

Dutchman didn't pick up on it. Or didn't want to, having fingers anywhere on the Lenny Wick account not being popular with the cops. Easy for Pell to say it was all illegal. Pell residents didn't have a clue how it was on Beta Station payroll. Didn't know how rare jobs were, that weren't. The big score. The way out. Unicorns by the shipload fell into that well. And a few canny Tinmen got caught trying to skirt it just close enough to catch a few of the bennies before it all imploded. SANDMAN: I copy that, T_Rex. If you owe me money. . .

SANDMAN: . . . get out of there.

T_REX: Going to be busy for a few minutes.

UNICORN: T_Rex, we love you.

T_REX: Flattery, flattery, Unicorn. I know your heart's. . .

DUTCHMAN: You take care, T_Rex.

T_REX: . . . for FrogPrince. (((Poof.)))

UNICORN: He's vanished.

LOVER18: This isn't a damn sim, Unicorn.

UNICORN: :(

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, can we help you?

UNICORN: Don't distract him, Froggy. He's figuring.

Good guess, that was. Sandman called up the system chart-the buoys produced it, together, constantly talking, over a time lag of hours; but theirs wasn't accurate anymore. The whole Pell System chart was out of date now, because their buoy wasn't talking anymore. The other buoys hadn't missed it yet, and Pell wouldn't know it for hours, but the information wasn't updating, and the source he had right now wasn't Buoy 17 anymore.

They all had numbers on that chart. But the cyberchat never admitted who was Sandman and who was Unicorn. It never had mattered.

They all knew who Sandman was, now. He'd transmitted his chart number. He could look down the line and figure that Dutchman, most recently near that juggernaut's path, was 80018. He drew his line on the flat-chart and knew where T_Rex was, and saw what his azimuth was, and saw the arrow that was his flatchart heading and rate.

He made the chart advance.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

SANDMAN: I've run the chart, T_Rex. Brake to nadir. . .

SANDMAN: . . . Best bet.

The cyberflow had stopped for a moment. Utterly stopped. Then:

UNICORN: I've run the chart, too, T_Rex. If you can brake now, please do it. SANDMAN: I second Unicorn.

What the hell size operations had Tinman signed on to? A little light miner that could skitter to a new heading?

Some fat company supply ship, like BettyB, that would slog its 7 lower only over half a critical hour?

SANDMAN: T_Rex, Dutchman, I'm dumping my cargo. . .

SANDMAN: . . . I'm going after him.

HAWK29: BetaControl's going to have a cat.

UNICORN: Shut up, Hawk. I'm going, too.

SANDMAN: T_Rex, if you can't brake in time, have you got a pod? . . . SANDMAN: . . . I'm coming after you. Go to the pod if you've got one. . . SANDMAN: . . . Use a suit if not. Never mind the ETA. . .

SANDMAN: . . . I'll get there in time.

FROGPRINCE: Sandman, go.

SANDMAN: I'm going to full burn, hard as I can. . .

SANDMAN: . . . Right down that line.

Button pushes. One after the other. Hatches open, all down BettyB's side. Shove to starboard. Shove to port. Shove to nadir. Sandman held to the counter, then buckled in fast as the scope erupted with little blips.

T_REX: It's coming. I've got it on the scope. Going to full burn. . . T_REX: . . . It's not getting past me.

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, that thing's a ship-killer. You can't. . .

FROGPRINCE: . . . deflect it. Get away from the console.

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, time to ditch! Listen to Sandman.

T_REX: Accelerating to 2.3. Intercept.

UNICORN: T_Rex, you're crazy.

T_REX: I'm not crazy, lady. I'm a friggin ore-hauler. . .

T_REX: . . . with a full bay.

FROGPRINCE: You'll scatter like a can of marbles.

T_REX: Nope. She's coming too close and she's cloaked. . .

T_REX: . . . If station can't spot her, she can take out a freighter. . . T_REX: . . . Going to burn that surface off so they can see. . . T_REX: . . . that mother coming.

T_REX: (( Poof))

UNICORN: Not funny, T_Rex.

Sandman pushed the button. BettyBshoved hard, hard, hard.

SANDMAN: I'm on my way, T_Rex. Get out of there.

WILLWISP: I'm still here. Relaying.

CRAZYCHARLIE: I'm coming after you, Sandman, you and him.

SANDMAN: By the time I get there, I'll he much less mass. . .

SANDMAN: . . . T_Rex, you better get yourself to a pod.

SANDMAN: . . . I'm going to be damn mad if I come out there. . . SANDMAN: . . . and you didn't.

Faster and faster. Faster than BettyBever had gone. Calculations changed. Sandman kept figuring, kept putting it into nav.

The cyberflow kept going, talk in the dark. Eyes and ears that took in a vast, vast tract of space. UNICORN: I know you're busy, Sandman. But we're here.

LOVER18: I've run the numbers. Angle of impact. . .

LOVER18: . . . will shove the main mass outsystem to nadir.

FROGPRINCE: Fireball will strip stealth coat. . .

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, you're right.

HAWK29: T_Rex, Sandman and Charlie are coming. . .

HAWK29: . . . fast as they can.

Nothing to do but sit and figure, sit and figure, with an eye to the cameras. Forward now. Forward as they bore.

" APIS19 BettyB, this is Beta Control. We copy re damage to Buoy 17. Can you provide more details?"

The wavefront had gotten to Beta. They were way behind the times.

"Beta Control, this is APIS19 BettyB, on rescue. Orehauler on chart as 80912 imminent for impact. Inert stealth coating prevents easy intercept if it clears our district. Local neighborhood has a real good fix on it right now. May be our last chance to grab it, so the orehauler's trying, BetaControl. We're hoping he's going to survive impact. Right now I'm running calculations. Don't want to lose track of it. BettyBwill go silent now. Ending send." FROGPRINCE: I'll talk to them for you, Sandman. . .

FROGPRINCE: I'll keep them posted.

Numbers came closer. Closer. Sandman punched buttons, folded and retracted the big dish. Numbers . . . numbers . . . coincided.

Fireball. New, brief star in the deep dark.

Only the camera caught it. Streaks, incandescent, visible light shooting off from that star, most to nadir, red-hot slag.

The wavefront of that explosion was coming. BettyBwas a shell, a structure of girders without her containers. Girders and one small cabin. Everything that could tuck down, she'd tucked. Life within her was a small kernel in a web of girders.

Wavefront hit, static noise. Light. Heat.

BettyBwaited. Plowed ahead on inertia. Lost a little, disoriented. Her hull whined. Groaned.

Sandman looked at his readouts, holding his breath.

The whine stopped. Sandman checked his orientation, trimmed up on gentle, precise puffs, kicked the throttle up.

Bang! Something hit, rattled down the frame. Bang! Another.

Then a time of quiet. Sandman braked, braked hard, harder.

Then touched switches, brought the whip antennae up. Uncapped lenses and sensors. In all that dark, he heard a faint, high-pitched ping-ping-ping.

"Tinman?" Sandman transmitted on low output, strictly local. Search and rescue band. "Tinman, this is BettyB. This is Sandman. You hear me? I'm coming after that fifty-two credits."

"Bastard," came back to him, not time-lagged. "I'll pay, I'll pay. Get your ass out here. And don't use that name."

Took a while. Took a considerable while, tracking down that blip, maneuvering close, shielding the pickup from any stray bits and pieces that might be in the area.

Hatch opened, however. Sandman had his clipline attached, sole lifesaving precaution. He flung out a line and a wrench that served as a miniature missile, a visible guide that flashed in the searchlight.

Tinman flashed, too, white on one side, sooted non-reflective black on the other, like half a man. Sandman was ever so relieved when a white glove reached out and snagged that line. They were three hours down on Tinman's life-support. And Sandman was oh, so tired. He hauled at the line. Hauled Tinman in. Grabbed Tinman in his arms and hugged him suit and all into the safety of the little air lock.

Then he shut the hatch. Cycled it.

Tinman fumbled after the polarizing switch on the faceplate shield. It cleared, and Tinman looked at him, a graying, much thinner Tinman.

Lips moved. "Hey, man," came through static. "Hate to tell you. My funds were all on my ship."

"The hell," Sandman said. "The hell." Then: "I owe you, man. Some freighter next month or so—owes you their necks."

"Tell that to Beta Ore," the Tinman said. "It was their hauler I put in its path." CRAZYCHARLIE: I've got you spotted, Sandman.

SANDMAN: Charlie, thanks. Got a real chancy reading. . .

SANDMAN: . . . on the number three pipe. . .

SANDMAN: . . . think it got dinged. I really don't want. . .

SANDMAN: . . . to fire that engine again. . .

SANDMAN: . . . I think we're going to need a tow.

CRAZYCHARLIE: Sandman, I'll tow you from here to hell and back. . . CRAZYCHARLIE: . . . How's T_Rex?

SANDMAN: This is T_Rex, on Sandman's board.

UNICORN: Yay! T_Rex is talking.

FROGPRINCE: Tracking that stuff. . .

FROGPRINCE: . . . nadir right now. Clear as clear, T_Rex. . .

FROGPRINCE: . . . You know you *bent* that bastard?

SANDMAN: T_Rex here. Can you see it, FrogPrince?

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, I can see it clear.

WILLWISP: Word's going out. Pell should know soon what they missed. UNICORN: Or what missed* them*. :)

SANDMAN: This is Sandman. Thanks, guys. . .

SANDMAN: . . . Yon tell Pell the story, WillWisp, Unicorn. Gotta go. . . SANDMAN: . . . I'm hooking up with Charlie. . .

SANDMAN: . . . Talk tomorrow.

UNICORN: You're the best, Sandman. T_Rex, you are so beautiful. SANDMAN: . . . going to get a tow.

CRAZYCHARLIE: You can come aboard my cabin, Sandman.

CRAZYCHARLIE: . . . Got a bottle waiting for you.

CRAZYCHARLIE: . . . A warm nook by the heater.

SANDMAN: Deal, Charlie. Me and my partner. . .

SANDMAN: . . . somewhere warm.

FROGPRINCE: Didn't know you had a partner, Sandman. . .

FROGPRINCE: . . . Thought you were all alone out here.

SANDMAN: I'm not, now, am I?

SANDMAN: T_Rex speaking again. T_Rex says. . .

SANDMAN: . . . This is one tired T_Rex. ((Bowing.)) Thanks, all. . . SANDMAN: . . . Thanks, Sandman. Thanks, Charlie.

SANDMAN: . . . ((Poof))