"We're sure. Essentially, what we've got is a rocket-assisted jet aircraft. The rockets are for maneuvering in zero gee, but they don't pack nearly enough punch to get us into orbit. We can use the spike to negate our weight, but only for a little while. A few minutes or so."
"So if we tried it…?"
"We'd probably get up to twelve, thirteen thousand meters, maybe a little higher. We'd have a couple of minutes to wave, and then we'd fall back. And incidentally, if we exhausted our lift capability in the effort, we'd have no way to land."
"I don't suppose," Mac persisted, "that one of the ships could come down to twelve thousand meters and pick us up?"
"No," said Kellie. "The superluminals can't navigate in the atmosphere."
"Nor the shuttles?"
"Nor the shuttles."
"So all we've got is the scoop."
"No." Kellie stared out at the rain. "Hutch is right: There's not much chance of finding the capacitors. But I don't think it would hurt to look. Maybe we'll get a break."
Hutch agreed, seeing no more useful way to spend the time, and Nightingale reversed his position and decided it was the only reasonable thing to do. Hutch engaged the spike and took off.
They sat quietly during the early minutes of the flight, as if by refusing to talk they could halt the passage of time and cling to these last hours. Nobody laughed anymore.
They were leaving the area of the bay when Hutch's commlink vibrated, Marcel calling. She put him on the allcom. "How are you folks holding up?" He sounded artificially cheerful. Marcel was a good guy and a competent captain, but she was discovering he was the world's worst actor.
MacAllister grumbled something she couldn't make out.
"We're okay," she said.
"I've a message for you."
"For me?" asked Hutch.
"For all of you. In fact, we have a lot of messages, thousands of them. The whole world is following this. And wishing you well."
"Nice to be at the center of attention," said MacAllister.
"Of course," he continued, "they're all at least two days old. The people sending them don't know about…"-he paused, trying to find a diplomatic way to phrase it-"… about losing the capacitors."
"You said there was one message specifically?"
"Two, actually."
"You want to read them?"
"First one's from the General Commissioner of the World Council. She says: We admire your bold effort to expand the limits of human knowledge and your willingness to embrace the hazards that inevitably accompany such undertakings. Be assured that all humankind joins me in praying for your safe return. Signed Sanjean Romanovska."
"Good," said MacAllister. "We'll all get monuments. Maybe even streets in Alexandria named after us."
"What else have you got?" asked Hutch.
"One from Gomez. It's for you."
"Read it," she said.
" 'Priscilla, I need not tell you that we here at the Academy are delighted that there will apparently be a happy ending to this unfortunate incident. You had us worried for a while. "
"Those of us down here," said MacAllister, "have been worried, too."
"What's the rest of it, Marcel?"
"It says, 'Now that you're out of danger, I want to ask you to take a look at the area designated Mt. Blue, where the base of the skyhook is reported to be located. It's essential that we know what happened on Deepsix. Where the advanced technology came from. I know it's asking a lot after what you've been through, but I know I can count on you. It's signed Irene."
"Irene?"
"That's what it says."
Back at the Academy, Irene Gomez could have fallen over Hutch in the corridor without knowing who she was. But it would be something for them to do. "Give us a minute," she told Marcel. Then she put him on hold. "What do you think?" she asked her companions.
"This isn't brain surgery," said MacAllister. "We have one chance to come out of this alive: find the capacitors. Maybe my vote shouldn't count. I can't say I care much what's on top of Mt. Blue. I think we should be concentrating on getting out of here. I mean, hell, they want to send us on another chase. I think we've had enough."
"Randy?"
He considered it. "Maybe Mac's right. Maybe we should take a look at the tower area first. If it seems hopeless, then we could make for the mountain."
Kellie shook her head. "I hate to be negative, but I've been there, at the tower, and I don't think we have much chance of finding anything. Those were big waves. God knows where the capacitors are now. But, on the other hand, I do know we won't find them on a moun-taintop."
Hutch reopened Marcel's channel. "We're going back to look for the capacitors."
"Okay. I can understand that."
"Send Irene my regrets."
There was an awkward pause. Then Marcel reminded them there was more mail. "The commcenter," he said, "has been overwhelmed with good wishes for you. For everybody."
Hutch was impressed. Sending a hypercomm message was not inexpensive. "Overwhelmed?"
"Thousands of them. Probably be more than that if we had a wider reception capacity. They tell us they're backed up pretty heavy at Relay. Whole classrooms of kids, in some cases."
"I don't suppose you have any way of sorting out the personal stuff?"
"Not easily. Even by last name, I can't be sure. We have sixteen messages for you from people named Hutchins. Eighteen for Randy from assorted Nightingales. Ditto for everybody else."
"All right," said Hutch. "Keep mine for now. Why don't you put somebody on with each of these other folks? They may have specific names they'll be looking for." She thanked him and disconnected. Nightingale stared at her, and she could see the judgment forming. Nobody in your entire life you want to hear from at a time like this?
Of her immediate family, only Hutch's mother was still alive. Relations between the two had been strained for years over Hutch's failure to settle down and have a family. Like a normal young woman. Of course, Hutch wasn't that young anymore, a fact that seemed to have escaped her mother. Or added to her sense of panic. Even though she remained at the height of her physical capabilities, as people routinely did for their first century or so, she had long since discarded the happy innocence one might expect of a bride.
She'd been around long enough to know precisely what she wanted out of life. She believed weddings had to happen reasonably early if they were to have a chance of success. Mates had to grow together. She knew what she would expect of a man, and there simply was no such creature in captivity. So if she'd been stuck with being alone, and sometimes lonely, she had at least not been lonely in a marriage, which was the worst of all worlds. Anyhow, she liked her independence.
Mom had never understood. Had never wanted to understand.
Hutch sat looking at her notebook. And finally, with reluctance, opened it and tapped in a message:
Mom,
It looks as if we're down to a couple of days. Things haven't gone as well as we'd expected. But we're hopeful. You'll know how it turned out by the time you receive this.
She thought about it, wrote some more, apologized for not being the daughter her mother had wanted, explained that she'd enjoyed her life, and hoped her mother would understand that she, Priscilla, would not have had it any other way.
Having broken through the wall, she wrote to a few others, mostly people connected with the Academy. Doesn't look promising at the moment.
They were good times.
I was thinking about you last night…
MacAllister looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Be careful, Priscilla. Don't say anything you can be held to when you get home."