"Aircraft in trouble." Quinda gave them Chase’s code.
Our skimmer lined up behind the luxury aircraft. Both floated toward us.
Control again: "We are notifying the Patrol. We do not maintain rescue facilities here."
"We don’t need rescue facilities," said Chase. "Just a skimmer."
"I understand."
My commlink beeped. I opened a channel. "Yes, Chase?"
The wind was loud at both ends, drowning her voice.
I turned away from the weather. "Say again!"
"I think the damned thing has just blown." She was struggling to keep her voice under control. "I’ve lost the son of a bitch. It’s going down."
"Do you still have power?"
"Yes. But part of the tail’s gone. And something big came through the cockpit. The canopy’s popped and I have a hole in the deck big enough to fall through." The wind screamed in the link.
Quinda: "Are you all right?"
Chase’s voice hardened. "Is she still with you?"
"We’re going to be using her skimmer," I said.
"Going to be? You mean you’re not started yet?"
"Starting now. Are you okay?"
"I’ve been better." There was a sharp intake of breath. "I think my left leg’s broken."
"Can you make the summit?"
"No. I’m above it now, but I’m losing altitude too fast. If I try it, I’ll probably hit the wall."
"Okay. Stay clear."
Quinda turned worried eyes toward me, and put her hand over my wrist, covering the commlink. "The ocean’s cold. We have to get to her quickly."
The Fasche settled into its slot on the pad. Its owners passed us, walking backward against the storm. The man looked up, and took in the sky with a broad sweep of his hand. "Hell of a night," he said. "Isn’t it?"
Chase’s voice again: "I’ll try to stay in the air as long as I can."
"You’ll be okay."
"Easy for you to say. Where the hell’s the survival equipment in these things? There isn’t even a lifebelt."
"They’re not supposed to crash," I said. "Listen, we may get there before you hit the water. If not, we’ll only be a couple minutes behind. Stay with the skimmer."
"Suppose it sinks? This one’s got a very big hole in it."
Our vehicle settled onto the pad, and we clawed the canopy open and scrambled on board. Hurry. Quinda didn’t say it, but her lips formed the word. Hurryhurryhurry—
"Losing power," Chase said. "The magnetics are making a lot of noise. I don’t have much forward motion, and I’m still pretty high. Alex, if they quit, I’m going to take a long fall." Something banged.
"What happened?"
"The cockpit’s coming apart, Alex."
"Maybe you ought to go lower."
"I’m going lower. Have no fear. When are you going to get here?"
"Twenty minutes."
The voice from Control broke in: "Arm, you have emergency priority. We’ve returned control of your aircraft to you. Good luck."
Chase: "I’m getting knocked around a lot up here. This thing may just flat-out disintegrate."
We lifted. Slowly. As soon as we got above the windbrakes, the storm hit us. It was going to be a rough ride. I patched the signal from Chase into the tracking system, and put a display of the target area on the monitor.
We were beginning to accelerate. Quinda rang up a hundred eighty kilometers on the control. Top speed. I doubted the thing could manage that kind of velocity.
A blue light came on near the right side of the target display, pinpointing Chase’s position. I opened the channel. "How are we doing?"
"Not good," came Chase’s voice.
"Any sign of the Patrol?" I didn’t really expect they’d be there that quickly, but it was a way to sound hopeful.
"Negative. How far away are you?"
"Thirty-eight kilometers. What’s your condition?"
"Dropping faster. I’m going to hit pretty hard." The words came one at a time, broken up by the noise, and maybe a little fear. I could sense her, pressed against her seat in the shattered aircraft, looking down into a void.
"Quinda?"
"We’re going as fast as we can." She punched up numbers on the display. Other than Chase’s aircraft, and the Fasche (which was rapidly dropping behind us), there were two blips.
I put them on the scopes. One was an airbus, headed out from Point Edward toward Sim’s Perch. The other looked to be a private skimmer, just leaving the city, headed our way, but at a greater range than we were. I wondered where the hell the Patrol was. "Chase, Fm going to leave the circuit open. We’ll be right here."
"Okay."
I opened a channel to the bus. "Emergency," I said. "Skimmer in trouble."
A woman’s voice crackled back: "This is the Sim’s Perch Express. What’s happening?"
"There’s a skimmer going down about four kilometers ahead of you, and a few degrees to your starboard. Present altitude about two hundred meters."
"Okay," she said, "I have the blip."
"One pilot, no passengers. There’s been an explosion. Pilot may have broken her leg."
"Bad night for it," she said. Then: "Okay. Fm notifying the Patrol that I’m diverting to assist. There are several aircraft coming off the Perch. Which one are you?"
"The one in front."
"You’ll want to get here quick. This thing isn’t maneuverable in the best of circumstances, and nobody’s going to be able to set down without getting swamped. You better think about how you’re going to handle this."
"Okay," I said, pulling on the cord to test its strength, which seemed substantial. "I’ve got some rope."
"You’ll need it."
"I know. Do what you can. Stay with her."
Quinda bent silently over the controls, urging the skimmer forward. Her face was immobile in the pale light of the instruments. Despite everything, she was lovely. And, I thought, now forever beyond reach.
"Why?" I asked.
She swung toward me, lifting her eyes. They were filled with tears. "Do you know what you’ve been looking for? Do you have any idea what’s out there?"
"Yes," I said, and took my best shot. "There’s a Dellacondan warship."
She nodded. "Intact. Everything intact. Alex, it’s a priceless artifact. Can you imagine what it would mean to walk her decks, to read her logs? To bring her back? I think it’s one of the frigates, Alex. One of the frigates—"
"And you were willing to take chances with our lives to get the damned thing."
"No. You were never in danger. I wouldn’t have—But—the— goddam—bomb—didn’t—trigger." She squeezed the words out. "And then I couldn’t find you to warn you. I couldn’t get to you."
"Where’s the Tanner file?"
"I hid it. You have no right to it, Alex. I’ve been working on this for years. Your uncle is dead, and there’s no reason why you should just walk in and pick everything up."
"But how’d you get involved?"
"Didn’t it ever occur to you that Gabe wasn’t the only one wondering about the Tenandrome?"
Another blip appeared on the display. It was the rescue craft. But it was too far away. Chase would be in the water a long time before it arrived on the scene.
"Hey, Skimmer." It was the bus pilot. "I got a glimpse of the bird. The weather closed in again right away, but I saw her. She’s not exactly falling, but she’s coming down too fast."
"Okay. Chase, you copy?"
"Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know."
"Anything you can do?"
"I’m open to suggestions."
"I understand, Chase. We’ll be there quick."
"I don’t see anything here that’ll float except maybe the seats, and they’re anchored."
"Okay. You can hang on for a couple minutes. We’re making our descent now. Coming fast."