They needed something to do. So did she; what was next? Always have a rescue ring ready to throw, and a spare handy. Another of her father’s rules. Kurin and Cosper were each in easy reach of a rescue ring. “Staff Sergeant Kurin, pass me that ring to your left. And Sergeant Cosper, pass me that one to your left,” she said. She tucked the first one into the rim pocket directly behind the canopy opening, and made its line fast to the grabon just left of the ladder outside, ignoring the cold water splashing her face as the raft bobbed and tugged on its line.
Next task? Have a line made fast, ready to throw to another vessel. Where was a line? Fatter than the rim pocket, a storage compartment bulged out. She felt for an opening, then pulled it free. Inside were several coiled lines, labeled with lengths from ten to thirty meters. She chose a ten-meter and lashed one end to the grabon to the right of the ladder. She could use that to connect the two rafts together.
Next? Attach a sea anchor to one rescue ring, in case of drift; it gives the person in the water more time to get to it.
“We need a spare sea anchor,” she said, and explained what she wanted to do.
Kurin nodded at once. “Yes, sir. Everyone look in the storage spaces nearest you. It may look like a canvas bucket—” She looked back at Ky.
“We can use a canvas bucket if there’s not a spare,” Ky said. Sergeant Cosper was already rummaging in the storage bag next to him, and urging those nearest him to hurry.
Corporal Lakhani found one first and said, “Here’s a sea anchor, sir.” He handed it to Gurton, sitting next to him, and the others handed it around to Ky. It already had a line attached to the handle and a thinner line to the bottom; she gave thanks for the raft’s supplier. She lashed the sea anchor’s line to a third rescue ring.
“Admiral!” Marek yelled from the hatch.
She turned around and peered out from the canopy entrance.
“Ready to launch number two,” he said. “Letting out your tether to make room for it.”
Ky raised her hand. He loosened their mooring line, bracing himself, as the raft drifted downwind, opening a gap of water between the module’s flotation and itself. Then he made it fast again. Another raft’s container moved into position in the hatch, tipped over the edge, and started down; Marek yanked the line attached to it, and it popped free, inflating almost instantly, floating when it hit the water. The canopy came up a moment later.
“Now!” he yelled, and one by one those waiting in line at the hatch slid down, bumped into it, grabbed hold, and clambered aboard. Next came the spare raft container, wrestled aboard with difficulty, then the wounded Corporal Barash with her splinted arm, then the bodies, and finally Jen. That raft steadied in the water as weight came into it and the passengers spread around its perimeter.
“Admiral!” Marek called again. “We need a line from one raft to the other.” He was letting the line to the other raft out slowly; the wind pushed that raft closer to Ky’s. Ky threw the line she had prepared downwind into the canopy opening of the other raft, where Sergeant Chok caught it and hauled it in. The two rafts swung together.
“Make it fast,” Ky said into the other raft. She kept an eye on Marek, in the hatch. “Don’t let it slip—we need to stay together.” Chok signaled when he’d done so. Then she signaled Marek.
He let loose the second raft’s tether and slowly reeled in the first raft’s line until both rafts reached the bottom of the slide. Ky wrapped the end of the mooring line around her hand. Marek had unclipped the single mooring line from the bracket just inside the module hatch, wrapping it around a cleat for a little help in reeling in the raft. Now, as the raft bumped into the bottom of the slide, he made a loop in the end of that line, then lifted it to put it over his head.
Just as he did, one of the forward flotation sausages burst with a loud bang and whoosh. The module lurched, leaning toward them. Then a second one blew, on the other side. The module nose slammed into a wave, sending a large splash downwind, toward the slide and raft. Marek stumbled, fell out the hatch onto the slide, and tumbled down it. Through a faceful of water Ky saw the loop of rope flying through the air, blown by the wind away from Marek.
Instantly, the rafts drifted away from the slide, rotating in the swirl of water from the splash. Ky had just time to see Marek hit the water meters short of the raft, when the raft rotated so she could not see him. “Hold on to my legs!” she said and leaned out, trying to keep an eye on him. Someone grabbed her ankles; the raft swung back and she could just see him, now swimming determinedly toward the raft, but the two rafts, their canopies acting like sails, moved faster than he could. Behind him, the passenger module dipped lower and lower, lifting its aft flotation bags out of the water.
Only one thing to do—connect line to line, hoping to leave enough trailing behind for Marek to grab. As it was, the mooring line did him no good; she’d have to make it longer, and make it move slower than the rafts with the slack in it. Ky reeled in the mooring line as fast as she could, coiling as it came, then took the end of the spare rescue ring’s line and threw a fisherman’s knot to join them, tugging it into place, mentally thanking her father for all those boring knot drills he’d insisted on.
She tossed the rescue ring into the face of the next wave. The bucket of the sea anchor she’d attached to it earlier filled instantly, pulling the ring under briefly, but she saw it rise to the surface again as the line uncoiled between it and the raft. The wave lifted the raft; Ky spotted Marek and yelled into the wind, though she knew he might not hear.
“Ring. Swim to it!”
He lifted his head, got a faceful of water, then came up and looked again as a wave lifted him. Ky pointed. He swam on, now aiming more for the ring. The raft moved faster, but hadn’t yet used up the extra line. Wind and waves were pushing Marek the right direction, if only he could get to the ring before the rafts pulled it away. Coil after coil of line slid out. Ky leaned out farther, as the wind turned the linked rafts again, to keep an eye on him.
He was gaining on the ring, still losing on the rafts—would he make it in time? Not without still more line. She could leave the other rescue ring still attached to the grabon, but she would have to risk untying the mooring line so she could tie that line to the ring. Her hands were stiffening with cold; she took extra care, wrapping the mooring line elbow-to-hand several times before untying it from the raft, and struggling to make the right connection to the ring. Risky. Her father would not have approved, but she had no choice. She used her teeth to pull the line snug; her hands were too cold. And tossed the second ring out the canopy. She rubbed her hands hard and ducked her head back inside for a moment, blinking the stinging ocean water out of her eyes.
“Don’t let go,” she said to those still holding her ankles. “There’s more to do.”
“Would this help, Admiral?” Kurin asked, holding up a carabiner.
“Yes, thanks,” Ky said. She took it, hooked it into one of the attachments on her suit, then clipped into the nearest grabon. If she fell, she’d get wet but be dragged along with the raft. The wind blew cold spray in her face, but she could see well enough to spot Marek only a meter from the first ring, though the spare line she’d thrown was almost extended and his swimming less coordinated.
Then he caught the ring, got an arm through it. A wave came down on him; she held her breath until she saw him come up through it, still clinging to the ring, now with both arms through. He started trying to swim, kicking his legs, but sluggishly. Ky took a firm grip on the line and slid back into the raft. The canopy entrance was reinforced but she laid a coil of rope on it before she started hauling in, as steadily as she could, given the waves and wind. The line dripped as it came into the life raft. She glanced back; the puddle of seawater and vomit in the middle was growing.