Jack Mcdeviit Deepsix

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Nightingale showed no ill effect and announced that the rest of them could
hang about if they liked, but that he was ready to eat. They looked at one
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another, killed the fields, and carved up dinner. It was quite good.
Conversation during meals was limited because of the low temperatures. Eating
was strictly business on
Deepsix, and if she lived through this, Hutch knew she would always recall
these quick impersonal meals, nobody talking while they huddled as close to
the fire as they could get, bolting food and coffee in the sting of cold air.
Happy days on the prairie.
They had no salt, no condiments of any kind, but that seemed only a detail.
Hutch made an announcement during the meal: "Marcel," she said, "tells me that
the media are only a couple of days away. They were coming to shoot the
collision, but now it's all about us."
"Of course," said Chiang.
"Anyhow, they're asking whether they'll be able to interview us when they get
here."
MacAllister was clearly enjoying his supper. "That should be intriguing," he
said, between bites. "We
can have an end-of-the-world party right there on Universal News, which
reports only the facts. Without bias or principle." It was a mild reference to
Universal's Without bias or distortion credo. He looked toward the eastern
sky, bright with unfamiliar constellations. It was too early yet for Morgan.
"Yes, indeed," he said. "If they play it right, they should be able to get
their best numbers of the year. Except maybe for the
World Bowl."
"Hutch, we got a response from the Academy on your early reports at the tower.
They congratulate you for your work and want you to keep digging. That's the
phrase they use. Look for more evidence of the state of their science, it
says. They want you to let the other sites go because there isn't time."
"Good," she said. "Tell them we'll comply."
"They also want you to be careful. They say to avoid any hazardous
situations."
"Augie, wake up."
Emma didn't always sleep well, and she sometimes prowled the ship at night.
What she did out there he didn't know. It was even possible she ran an
occasional liaison with the captain. He didn't really care all that much. As
long as she was available when he needed her. But she had hold of his arm at
the moment, and was dragging him out of a very sound sleep. His first thought
was that the Edward J. Zwick had sprung a leak. "What's wrong?" he asked,
looking up at her.
She was the image of delight. "Augie, we've gotten a huge break."
He tried to imagine what it could be, but utterly failed. In any case, he
thought, surely it could wait until morning.
"They've had an accident," she said. "Some of them are stranded down there.
They're trying to find a rescue vessel and apparently not having much luck."
That woke him up. "What kind of accident? Was anybody killed?"
"Yep. Two or three. And you know who's among the strandees? MacAllister."
"My God. Is that right?"
"Absolutely."
"How could that happen?"
"Don't know. They're not putting out details yet. But we've got a great story
falling into our laps." She pressed her lips against his cheek. "I've already
been in touch with them. With Clairveau. And there's no competition within
light-years." She clapped her hands and literally trembled with joy.
Canyon was still trying to grasp what she was telling him. "They're going to
get them off okay, right?"
"Hell, I don't know, Augie. Right now it's touch and go. But if we're lucky,
things will stay tense for a while. At least until we get there."
"We might have a problem," said Beekman.
The ocean and the northern coastline were on-screen. The area looked cold and
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gray, and the tide was very far out. Marcel wasn't sure he wanted to hear what
Beekman was about to tell him.
"It's like what happens," said Beekman, "when a tsunami is coming."
Marcel waited impatiently. It was hard to feel any serious alarm. The coast
was a long wall of high mountains. He'd been prepared to hear that there might
be disturbances at sea, but the shoreline looked pretty well protected. "Is a
tsunami coming?" he asked.
"Not exactly." They were seated in armchairs, in Beekman's office. The project
director wore a short-
sleeved shirt printed with frolicking dragons that he'd bought in Hong Kong.
"It's just going to be another very high tide. The problem is that, as Morgan
approaches, it's going to keep getting higher. Every day. The water's getting
distorted by Morgan's gravitational pull. Mounting up. It's the first stage."
"What's the final stage?"
"The ocean gets ripped out of its bed."
"Gunny," Marcel said, "that's not going to happen tomorrow."
Beekman nodded. "No."
"If it's a problem, why didn't we talk about it before?"
"Because it didn't look as if it would become a factor. Because the coastal
range has the ocean effectively blocked off until you get so far east it
doesn't matter anymore."
"What's changed?"
"There are sections of the range that might not hold. That might collapse."
"Where?"
Beekman showed him.
"When?" he asked.
"Don't know. They could stand up until the water has to come over the top. If
that happens, there's nothing to worry about. Or they could give way."
"Okay. What's the earliest it could break down?"
"We don't know that either. We don't have enough detailed information to be
sure."
"Make a guess."
"Midnight, Tuesday. Our time."
Marcel checked his calendars. "That gives them eight days. Local days."
"Yes."
"They've lost a couple of days."
"That shouldn't be a major problem for them. They still have adequate time.
But keep in mind, Marcel.
It's only a guess."
Marcel nodded. "I'll alert Hutch." He felt the bulkheads closing in on him.
"Do we have any ideas for a backup plan?" he asked.
"You mean if Tess won't work?"
"That's right."
He shook his head. "Short of hoping for divine intervention, no. If Tess won't
fly, they're dead. It's as simple as that."
XV
One timer fully appreciates civilization until the lights go out.
Gregory MacAllister, "Patriots in the Woodshed," The Incomplete MacAllister
Hours to breakup (est): 210
There's got to be a way."
Beekman's eyes were bloodshot "If there is," he said, "I'd be grateful to know
how."
"Okay." Marcel got up and looked down at him. "You've been talking about the
tensile strength of the stuff we cut off the assembly. How about if we removed
a piece of that?"
"To do what?"
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"To reach them. To give them a way off the surface."
"Marcel, it would have to be three hundred kilometers long."
"Gunny, we've got four superluminals up here to work with."
"That's fine. You could have forty. So you've also got a very long shaft. What
are you going to do with it?"
"Ram it down through the atmosphere. It wouldn't collapse under its own
weight, would it?"
"No," said Beekman. "It wouldn't. But we'd have no control over it.
Atmospheric forces would drive it along the ground at supersonic speed." He
smiled sadly. "No, you wouldn't want to try to hitch a ride on something like
that"
Marcel was just tired of all the defeatism. "Okay," he said, "I'll tell you
what I want to happen. You've got a brain trust of major proportions scattered [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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