Xeelee: An Omnibus: Raft, Timelike Infinity, Flux, Ring (27 page)

But now Gord had walked in with his scraps of paper and his pencil jottings . . . and his devastating news. Hollerbach forced his attention back to Gord and Jaen, who still confronted each other - and he found his eyes meeting Decker’s. The Raft’s leader stood impassively before the table, his scarred face clouded by a scowl of concentration.

Hollerbach sighed inwardly. Trust Decker, with his instinct for the vital, to arrive at the point of crisis. ‘Let’s go through it again, please, engineer,’ he said to Gord. ‘And this time, Jaen, try to be rational. Yes? Insults help nobody.’

Jaen glowered, her broad face crimson.

‘Scientist, I am - was - the Belt’s chief engineer,’ Gord began. ‘I know more than I care to remember about the behaviour of metals under extreme conditions. I’ve seen it flow like plastic, turn brittle as old wood . . .’

‘No one is questioning your credentials, Gord,’ Hollerbach said, unable to contain his irritation. ‘Get to the point.’

Gord tapped his papers with his fingertips. ‘I’ve studied the tidal stresses the Raft will undergo at closest approach. And I’ve considered the speeds it must attain after the slingshot, if it’s to escape the Nebula. And I can tell you, Hollerbach, you haven’t a hope in hell. It’s all here; you can check it out—’

Hollerbach waved his hand. ‘We will, we will. Just tell us.’

‘First of all, the tides. Scientist, the stresses will rip this Raft to pieces, long before you get to closest approach. And the fancy structures your bright kids are planning to erect over the deck will simply blow apart like a pile of twigs.’

‘Gord, I don’t accept that,’ Jaen burst out. ‘If we reconfigure the Raft, perhaps buttress some sections, make sure our attitude is correct at closest approach—’

Gord returned her gaze and said nothing.

‘Check his figures later, Jaen,’ Hollerbach said. ‘Go on, engineer.’

‘Also, what about air resistance? At the speeds required, down there in the thickest air of the whole Nebula, whatever shoal of fragments emerges from closest approach is simply going to burn up like so many meteors. You’ll achieve a spectacular fireworks display and little more. Look, I’m sorry this is so disappointing, but your scheme simply cannot work. The laws of physics are telling you that, not me . . .’

Decker leaned forward. ‘Miner, he said softly, ‘if what you say is true then we may after all be doomed to a slow death in this stinking place. Now, maybe I’m a poor judge of people, but you don’t seem too distressed by the prospect. Do you have an alternative suggestion?’

A slow smile spread over Gord’s face. ‘Well, as it happens . . .’

Hollerbach sat back, letting his jaw drop. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us in the first place?’

Gord’s grin widened. ‘If you’d troubled to ask—’

Decker laid a massive hand on the table. ‘No more word games,’ he said quietly. ‘Miner, get on with it.’

Gord’s grin evaporated; shadows of fear chased across his face, reminding Hollerbach uncomfortably of how much this blameless little man had endured. ‘Nobody’s threatening you,’ he said. ‘Just show us.’

Looking more comfortable, Gord stood and led them out of the Bridge. Soon the four of them - Gord, Hollerbach, Decker and Jaen - stood beside the dull glow of the Bridge’s hull; the starlight beat down, causing beads of perspiration to erupt over Hollerbach’s bald scalp. Gord stroked the hull with his palm. ‘When was the last time you touched this stuff? Perhaps you walk past it every day, taking it for granted; but when you come at it fresh, it’s quite a revelation.’

Hollerbach pressed his hand to the silver surface, feeling his skin glide smoothly over it . . . ‘It’s frictionless. Yes. Of course.’

‘You tell me this was once a vessel in its own right, before it was incorporated into the deck of the Raft,’ Gord went on. ‘I agree with you. And furthermore, I think this little ship was designed to travel through the air.’

‘Frictionless,’ Hollerbach breathed again, still rubbing his palm over the strange metal. ‘Of course. How could we all have been so stupid? You see,’ he told Decker, ‘this surface is so smooth the air will simply slide over it, no matter what speed it travels. And it won’t heat up as would ordinary metal . . .

‘And no doubt this structure would be strong enough to survive the tidal stresses close to the Core; far better, at least, than our ramshackle covered Raft. Decker, obviously we’ll have to go through Gord’s calculations, but I think we’ll find he’s correct. Do you see what this means?’ Something like wonder coursed through Hollerbach’s old brain. ‘We’ll have no need to build an iron bell to keep our air in place. We can simply close the Bridge port. We will ride a ship as our ancestors rode . . . Why, we can even use our instruments to study the Core as we pass. Decker, a door has closed; but another has opened. Do you understand?’

Decker’s face was a dark mask. ‘Oh, I understand, Hollerbach. But there’s another point you might have missed.’

‘What?’

‘The Raft is half a mile wide. This Bridge is merely a hundred yards long.’

Hollerbach frowned; then the implications began to hit him.

‘Find Rees,’ Decker snapped. ‘I’ll meet you both in your office in a quarter of an hour.’ With a curt nod, he turned and walked away.

Rees found the atmosphere in Hollerbach’s office electric.

‘Close the door,’ Decker growled.

Rees sat before Hollerbach’s desk. Hollerbach sat opposite, long fingers pulling at the papery skin of his hands. Decker sucked breath through his wide nostrils; eyes downcast, he paced around the small office.

Rees frowned. ‘Why the funereal atmosphere? What’s happened?’

Hollerbach leaned forward. ‘We have a . . . complication.’ He sketched out Gord’s reservations. ‘We have to check his figures, of course. But—’

‘But he’s right,’ Rees said. ‘You know he is, don’t you?’

Hollerbach sighed, the air scraping over his throat. ‘Of course he’s right. And if the rest of us hadn’t got carried away with glamorous speculations about gravitational slingshots and a mile-wide dome, we’d have asked the same questions. And come to the same conclusions.’

Rees nodded. ‘But if we use the Bridge we’re facing problems we didn’t anticipate. We thought we could save everybody.’ His eyes flicked to Decker. ‘Now we have to choose.’

Decker’s face was dark with anger. ‘And so you turn to me.’

Rees rubbed the space between his eyes. ‘Decker, provided we manage the departure cleanly those left behind will survive for hundreds, thousands of shifts—’

‘I hope those abandoned by your shining ship will take it so philosophically,’ Decker spat. ‘Scientists. Answer me this. Will this adventure work? Could the passengers of the Bridge actually survive a passage around the Core, and then through space to the new nebula? We’re looking at a very different set-up from Rees’s original idea.’

Rees nodded slowly. ‘We’ll need supply machines, whatever compressed air we can carry in the confines of the Bridge, perhaps plants to convert stale air to—’

‘Spare me the trivia,’ Decker snapped. ‘This absurd project will entail back-breaking labour, injury, death. And no doubt the departing Bridge will siphon off many of mankind’s best brains, worsening the lot of those left behind still further.

‘If this mission does not have a reasonable chance of success then I won’t back it. It’s as simple as that. I won’t shorten the lives of the bulk of those I’m responsible for, solely to give a few heroes a pleasure ride.’

‘You know,’ Hollerbach said thoughtfully, ‘I doubt that when you - ah, acquired - power on this Raft you imagined having to face decisions like this.’

Decker scowled. ‘Are you mocking me, Scientist?’

Hollerbach closed his eyes. ‘No.’

‘Let’s think it through,’ Rees said. ‘Hollerbach, we need to transport a genetic pool large enough to sustain the race. How many people?’

Hollerbach shrugged. ‘Four or five hundred?’

‘Can we accommodate so many?’

Hollerbach paused before answering. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘But it will take careful management. Strict planning, rationing . . . It will be no pleasure ride.’

Decker growled, ‘Genetic pool? Your five hundred will arrive like babies in the new world, without resources. Before they breed they will have to find a way of not falling into the Core of the new nebula.’

Rees nodded. ‘Yes. But so did the Crew of the original Ship. Our migrants will be worse off materially . . . but at least they will know what to expect.’

Decker drove his fist into his thigh. ‘So you’re telling me that the mission can succeed, that a new colony could survive? Hollerbach, you agree?’

‘Yes,’ Hollerbach said quietly. ‘We have to work out the details. But - yes. You have my assurance.’

Decker closed his eyes and his great shoulders slumped. ‘All right. We must continue with your scheme. And this time, try to foresee the problems.’

Rees felt a vast relief. If Decker had decided otherwise - if the great goal had been taken away - how would he, Rees, have whiled away the rest of his life?

He shuddered. It was unimaginable.

‘Now we face further actions,’ Hollerbach said. He held up his skeletal hand and counted points on his fingers. ‘Obviously we must continue our studies on the mission itself - the equipage, separation, guidance of the Bridge. For those left behind, we have to think about moving the Raft.’

Decker looked surprised.

‘Decker, that star up there isn’t going to go away. We’d have shifted out from under it long ago, in normal times. Now that the Raft is fated to stay in this Nebula, we must move it. And finally . . .’ Hollerbach’s voice tailed away.

‘And finally,’ Decker said bitterly, ‘we have to think about how to select those who travel on the Bridge. And those who stay behind.’

Rees said, ‘Perhaps some kind of ballot would be fair . . .’

Decker shook his head. ‘No. This jaunt will only succeed if you have the right people.’

Hollerbach nodded. ‘You’re right, of course.’

Rees frowned. ‘ . . . I guess so. But - who selects the “right” crew?’

Decker glared at him, the scars on his face deepening into a mask of pain. ‘Who do you think?’

Rees cradled his drink globe. ‘So that’s it,’ he told Pallis. ‘Now Decker faces the decision of his life.’

Pallis stood before his cage of young trees, poked at the wooden bars. Some of the trees were almost old enough to release, he reflected absently. ‘Power brings responsibility, it seems. I’m not certain Decker understood that when he emerged on top from that joke Committee. But he sure understands it now . . . Decker will make the right decision; let’s hope the rest of us do the same.’

‘What do you mean, the rest of us?’

Pallis lifted the cage from its stand; it was light, if bulky, and he held it out to Rees. The young Scientist put down his drink globe and took the cage uncertainly, staring at the agitated young trees. ‘This should go on the journey,’ Pallis said. ‘Maybe you should take more. Release them into the new nebula, let them breed - and, in a few hundred shifts, whole new forests will begin to form. If the new place doesn’t have its own already . . .’

‘Why are you giving this to me? I don’t understand, tree-pilot.’

‘But I do,’ Sheen said.

Pallis whirled. Rees gasped, juggling the cage in his shock.

She stood just inside the doorway, diffuse starlight catching the fine hairs on her bare arms.

Pallis, with hot shame, felt himself blush; seeing her standing there, in his own cabin, made him feel like a clumsy adolescent. ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ he said lamely.

She laughed. ‘I can see that. Well, am I not to be invited in? Can’t I have a drink?’

‘Of course . . .’

Sheen settled comfortably to the floor, crossing her legs under her. She nodded to Rees.

Rees looked from Pallis to Sheen and back, his colour deepening. Pallis was surprised. Did Rees have some feeling for his former supervisor . . . even after his treatment during his return exile on the Belt? Rees stood up, awkwardly fumbling with the cage. ‘I’ll talk to you again, Pallis—’

‘You don’t have to go,’ Pallis said quickly.

Sheen’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

Again Rees looked from one to the other. ‘I guess it would be for the best,’ he said. With mumbled farewells, he left.

Pallis handed Sheen a drink globe. ‘So he’s carrying a torch for you.’

‘Adolescent lust,’ she said starkly.

Pallis grinned. ‘I can understand that. But Rees is no adolescent.’

‘I know that. He’s become determined, and he’s driving us all ahead of him. He’s the saviour of the world. But he’s also a bloody idiot when he wants to be.’

‘I think he’s jealous . . .’

‘Is there something for him to be jealous of, tree-pilot?’

Pallis dropped his eyes without reply.

‘So,’ she said briskly, ‘you’re not travelling on the Bridge. That was the meaning of your gift to Rees, wasn’t it?’

He nodded, turning to the space the cage had occupied.

‘There’s not much of my life left,’ he said slowly. ‘My place on that Bridge would be better given to some youngster.’

She reached forward and touched his knee; the feeling of her flesh was electric. ‘They’ll only invite you to go if they think they need you.’

He snorted. ‘Sheen, by the time those caged skitters have grown, my stiffening corpse will long since have been hurled over the Rim. And what use will I be without a tree to fly?’ He pointed to the flying forest hidden by the cabin’s roof.

‘My life is the forest up there. After the Bridge goes, the Raft will still be here, for a long time to come. And they’re going to need their trees.’

She nodded. ‘Well, I understand, even if I don’t agree.’ She fixed him with her clear eyes. ‘I guess we can debate it after the Bridge has gone.’

He gasped; then he reached out and took her hand. ‘What are you talking about? Surely you’re not planning to stay too? Sheen, you’re crazy—’