Things started to go cold. "Why?" I asked. "What’s wrong with the skimmer? What’s going on?"
She shook her head violently. "Never mind." She got up as though to leave, looked about, sat down again. "There’s a bomb on board."
I could barely hear her, and I thought I’d misunderstood. "Pardon?" I said.
"A bomb! Get her off. For God’s sake, call her. Get her off the goddam thing. Wherever you sent it, get everybody away from it."
"It’s probably a little late for that now." I was slow to react: I couldn’t quite get hold of things, and Quinda was on her feet, anxious to go somewhere, do something. "How do you know about the bomb?"
Her face was a white mask. Frozen. "Because I put it there." She glanced at her commlink. "What’s her code? I’ll call her myself. Why didn’t you log onto the net while you were here so you could be found?"
"Nobody knows us on this world," I said. "Why the hell would we sign on?" I opened a channel and whispered Chase’s name into my own unit.
Immediately, I could hear the hiss of the carrier wave, and the rattle of the wind against the aircraft. Chase said hello. Then: "Alex, I was going to call you. Order me a steak and baked. I’ll be there in twenty minutes."
"Where are you?"
She responded with amused suspicion. "Almost halfway. Why? Something come up? Or someone?"
"Quinda’s here."
"Who?"
"Quinda Arin. She thinks you have a bomb on board."
More wind. Then: "The hell she says."
Quinda was on her own system now. "I don’t think. It’s attached to one of the skids. It could go off any time."
"Son of a bitch. Who are you, lady?"
"Listen, I’m sorry. None of this was supposed to happen." I thought she was going to come apart. Tears started, but she shook them off. "It’s there, Kolpath. Can’t you see it?"
"Are you kidding? In this? There’s a blizzard going on out there. Listen, I’m twenty minutes away. Is this thing about to go off or what?"
Quinda shook her head no. Not no that there was no immediate danger, but no that she had no idea, no that she could promise nothing. "It should have exploded an hour ago," she said. "Any possibility you could climb down and dislodge it?"
"Wait a minute." I heard Chase moving in the cockpit, struggling with the canopy, swearing softly. She got it open, and the wind howled. Then she was back, breathless. "No," she said. "I am not going down there." I caught a sense of panic around the edge of her voice. "How’d it get there?" she demanded in a voice whose pitch had risen sharply.
I tried to visualize the aircraft. It would be a long step from the cockpit out to the strut, and then she’d have to lower herself maybe two meters onto the skid. All this in the face of a storm. "How about if you stop the skimmer? Can you hold it steady?"
"How about if you come up here and do some handstands on the skids? Who the hell is this woman anyhow? Which of us does she want to kill?"
"She’s got to get rid of the bomb," said Quinda. "Or get out of the skimmer."
"Listen," said Chase. "I’m going to go to manual, and make for the summit. You’ll have to come get me. But do it quick. After I get down, I’m going to get as far away from this thing as I can, and it’s cold out."
"How far off shore are you?"
"About three kilometers."
"All right, Chase. Do it. But keep your commlink on. We’re on our way."
"I can’t believe you’ve done this," I told her.
Quinda was directing her skimmer to pick us up. She kept on until she’d finished, and then she turned on me in cold fury. "You dumb son of a bitch. You brought it on yourself. What right do you have, barging in and trying to grab things for yourself? And then blabbing to the goddam mutes. You’re lucky you’re not dead. Now let’s get moving and we can argue about it later."
We were both on our feet now.
"You want to do something constructive?" she continued. "Call the Patrol. And tell Kolpath to activate her beacon." She was having trouble controlling her voice. "I never intended anyone should get hurt, but I’m not so sure now that was a good idea."
I notified the Patrol, and gave them the situation. They were incredulous. "Who the hell," demanded the official voice on the link, "would put a bomb on an aircraft?" Quinda was glaring at me. "On our way," he grumbled. "But we’ve got nothing in the immediate vicinity. Take a while. Maybe forty minutes."
"We don’t have forty minutes," I told him.
"Alex," Quinda said, as we hurried through the lobby, "I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t just go to you, and I’m sorry you’re such a damned fool. But why the hell couldn’t you have minded your own business? I may wind up having killed somebody before this is over!"
"It was you all the time, wasn’t it? You took the file, and you left the loaded simulation. Right?"
"Yes," she said. "Goddam shame you can’t take a hint."
It was too much. I believe, had there been time, I’d have thrown her against a wall. As it was, we had things to do. "Where’s your skimmer?"
"It’s on its way."
"God help me, Quinda, if anything happens to her I’ll pitch you into the ocean!" We went through the lobby on a dead run. There’s a ballroom at the north end, which was corded off. The cord was flexible, and there was about twelve meters of it. I ripped it free, and coiled it as we ascended the shaft to the summit.
Snow was falling heavily onto the pads. Our headlong rush stopped at the end of a line. People stood with their heads bent against the storm, hands jammed into the pockets of their thermals. Quinda pealed back the sleeve of her jacket, and glanced at her watch.
No trace of the hangar was visible from the landing pads. We watched an aircraft rise out of the trees, and float in our direction. Overhead, a couple of incoming skimmers circled, waiting their turns to land.
An airbus drifted in and docked.
"This isn’t going to work," she said, looking anxiously around.
"Where was it supposed to go off?"
"In the hangar. But something went wrong."
"Another warning?" She turned toward me. It’s the only time in my life that I can remember seeing violence in a woman’s eyes. "Quinda, why did you disconnect the automatics?"
"To prevent anyone from using it," she said stiffly. "Who would have thought you’d go down there to get the thing?"
"What triggers the bomb?"
"A timer. But either I didn’t set it properly, or it’s defective. I don’t know."
"Wonderful."
The storm beat down on us. I felt suddenly very tired. "Don’t you have any idea," Quinda asked, "of the risk you’re running? For all of us?"
"Maybe you should tell me."
"Maybe you should just leave it alone. Let’s get your partner, and the two of you can go back to Rimway and leave it alone." She spoke into her commlink: "Control, we have an emergency. My name’s Arm. I need my skimmer immediately. Please."
They were slow to answer. "Your aircraft is on the way," a computer voice said. "There is nothing we can do to hurry matters."
"Can you supply a vehicle?" I asked. "This is an emergency."
"Just a moment, please. I’ll put you through to my supervisor."
The bus passengers filed out, and hurried through the storm. When they were gone, the vehicle lifted, swung ponderously over the trees, and descended into the hangar. Moments later, a sleek, luxurious skimmer rose over the same grove and turned in our direction. It was steel blue, with inlaid silver trim, and tapering ingot wing mounts. A Fasche. An elderly couple hurried forward out of the shelter of the tube station.
I considered trying to commandeer the Fasche, but Quinda shook her head. "Here it comes," she whispered.
A new voice from Controclass="underline" "What is the nature of your problem, please?"