— gregory macaluster, Notes from Babylon
Hours to breakup (est): 54
NEWSLINE WITH AUGUST CANYON
"This is August Canyon reporting from Deepsix, where, as you can see, Morgan's World has become by far the dominant feature in the sty. You're looking at the gas giant as it will appear tonight over the largest continent on the planet, a place aptly named Transitoria, where the Gregory MacAllister group remain stranded.
"A last-ditch rescue effort continues today, in which Universal News will play an integral part. At this moment, the science research vessel Wendy Jay is lying alongside the skyhook counterweight which scientists found here several days ago.
"To fill us in on the details of the mission, Miles Chastain, captain of the UNN starship Edward J. Zwick, is with us, although he's actually speaking from the Wendy Jay, where he's advising the rescue team.
"Captain Chastain, how precisely is-this going to work?"
Miles had just completed mounting lasers in the auxiliary housings on the hulls of four of the shuttles, and was now reviewing the allocation of the shuttle fleet to the needs of the operation. They had a total of seven vehicles: three from Wendy, two from the Star, and one each from the other two ships. He was consequently feeling a bit crowded when he got on the circuit with Canyon. He delivered a few responses that might charitably have been described as curt, and excused himself. But Canyon made it work, emphasizing the point that things were accelerating, that the operation was on the move, and that there was simply no time for small talk. It was all very dramatic. Miles had expected, as he sat down to go over mission requirements, that Canyon would be miffed. Instead, the newsman called to express his appreciation for what he called Miles's performance. "It was superb," he said. "Couldn't have scripted it better." He grinned. "I believe, Miles, if you ever get tired of piloting, you could have a career as a journalist."
They landed near a lake, refueled, and then hurried on to pick up MacAllister and Nightingale. It was a gloomy reunion. Hutch got a lot of commiseration. "Nice try," and "You did what you could." And: "Maybe this sky scoop will work."
Kellie remained uncharacteristically quiet.
The reactor switched on as soon as the engines were off, and commenced recharging the various systems. Mac slipped into a seat and commented how good it was to be indoors again.
The ground shook constantly.
"After a while," said Nightingale, "you don't notice it."
Morgan's wide arc was just dropping out of sight, behind the trees. The eastern sky was brightening, and the clouds had cleared off. It looked as if, finally, a sunlit day was coming. "So what about the sky scoop?" asked Nightingale. "What is it? Will it work? When does it happen?"
Hutch and Kellie had received more details from Beekman. But the planetologist, to use Kellie's phrase, had never learned to speak English. The description had been too technical, even for Hutch. She understood in general terms what they proposed to do, but she simply couldn't credit impossibilium with the capabilities they claimed for it. On the other hand, what else had they? "They're telling us day after tomorrow. Local time."
"Day after tomorrow?" Mac was horrified. "Aren't conditions supposed to be a little rough by then?"
"It's the best they can do. Pickup will be out over the Misty Sea. During late morning."
"Where in hell is that?" demanded Mac.
"The Misty Sea? Off the west coast. The rendezvous won't be far from here, really."
"Bottom line," pressed MacAllister. "Will it work?"
Surely Beekman's physicists knew what they were talking about. "Yes," Hutch said. "I'd guess it'll be tricky. But I think we'll get clear."
"Tricky?"
"The timing."
"When you say you think," said MacAllister, "it doesn't give me confidence."
"It's a long shot," said Kellie.
MacAllister was working hard to control his voice. "Okay," he said. "Now we're talking about being here a couple more days. What about this deterioration we keep hearing about? I mean, it's already a little weathery out there. How bad's it going to get? What's actually going to happen?"
"You really want the details?" asked Hutch.
"Of course." And then Mac's voice softened. "Please."
Everyone turned to look at her. "There've already been major quakes. Apparently none in this area yet. But there will be. And they'll get worse. Off the scale. We can look for chunks of land to be shoved as much as fifteen or twenty kilometers into the sky. There are going to be more volcanoes. Bigger and better. And giant storms." She paused momentarily and let them listen to the wind. "Higher tides than last night. Much higher. We'll have to find high ground somewhere. In three days, more or less, the atmosphere will get ripped away. We should be well away by then."
"That seems like a good idea."
"The oceans will go a few hours later.
"The outer crust will melt. That's tidal effects and volcanic activity, as I understand it. At that point the planet will seriously begin to come apart. They're figuring midnight Thursday or maybe a little later ship time, which is coincidentally about the same time here. Approximately forty hours later, the pieces will fall into Jerry and go splash."
"My God," said MacAllister. "There must be some way we can get off this goddam place. If the scoop doesn't work. Maybe we could get aloft, get swept off when the atmosphere goes, and then get picked up."
"Not possible," said Hutch.
"It's a chance." His eyes flashed angrily. "You sit here and keep telling us what won't work. What will?"
"It's not a chance," said Kellie. "Even if we did get tossed free without getting boiled, which wouldn't be very likely, there won't be anybody to pick us up."
MacAllister's breathing was becoming labored. "Why not?"
"Because the collision's going to put out a lot of energy. The neighborhood's going to explode like a small sun when things begin to happen. They're going to have to get the ships well clear before then."
"Speaking of which," added Hutch, "we ought to head for safer ground." She didn't like the way the area constantly bobbed and weaved.
MacAllister sighed. The endless supply of glib comments seemed finally exhausted. "You said Wendy's still looking for the capacitors. That means there's still a chance to find them, right?"
"There's a chance," Hutch said.
"Maybe we should go back and look ourselves," said Mac. "It's not as if we have any other pressing business." He sounded betrayed.
"We don't have working sensors," said Hutch.
"Which means," observed Nightingale, "that all we could do would be to spend our last hours mucking around hip-deep in the water. You really want to do that?" He gazed at MacAllister for a long moment, and then turned back to Hutch. "How the hell did we get into this, anyhow?"
They were casting about for someone to blame. Kellie hadn't revealed the details of their abortive attempt to retrieve the capacitors, Hutch was sure. But they felt resentful and frustrated, and they were scared. They'd certainly been listening during the salvage effort. They could not have missed Kellie's pleas. Hutch knew what that must have sounded like. Cowardly pilot blinks at the critical moment.
And she herself could not avoid thinking how easily things could have turned out differently. It had been only a matter of minutes. How many minutes had they squandered during the nine days of the march? If they'd left a little earlier one morning… Walked a bit later one night… Not stopped to poke into the chapel… If they'd left Nightingale and Mac sooner rather than later…
MacAllister turned a beaten gaze out the window. A wide stream gurgled past, tall green trees like nothing ever seen on Earth sparkled in the early-morning light, and a bright golden bird with red-streaked wings was walking around on the fuselage. The scene was idyllic. "Are we sure we can't ride this thing out of here? It doesn't seem as if it would hurt to try."