"If you felt anything other than remorse for the actions you have been forced to take, I would respect you less." The old Scientist squeezed his shoulder,
"If only I could be sure I have been right," Rees said. "Maybe I've seduced these people to their deaths with false hope."
"Well, the signs are good. The navigators assure me our maneuver around the Core was successful, and that we are on course for our new home… And, if you want a further symbol of good fortune—" He pointed above his head. "Look up there."
Rees peered upwards. The migrating school of whales was a sheet of slender, ghostly forms crossing the sky from left to right. On the fringes of that river of life he caught glimpses of plate creatures, of sky wolves with firmly closed mouths, and other, even more exotic creatures, all gliding smoothly to their next home.
Throughout the Nebula there must be more of these vast schools: rank on rank of them, all abandoning the dying gas cloud, scattering silhouettes against the Nebula's somber glow. Soon, Rees mused, the Nebula would be drained of life… save for a few tethered trees, and the trapped remnants of humanity.
Now there was a slow stirring in the whale stream. Three of the great beasts drifted together, flukes turning, until they were moving over and around each other in a vast, stately dance. At last they came so close that their flukes interlocked and their bodies touched; it was as if they had merged into a single creature. The rest of the school drifted respectfully around the triad.
"What are they doing?»
Hollerbach smiled. "Of course I'm speculating — and, at my age, mostly from memory — but I believe they're mating."
Rees gasped.
"Well, why not? What better circumstances to do so, than surrounded by one's fellows and so far from the stresses and dangers of nebular life? Even the sky wolves are hardly in a position to attack, are they? You know, it wouldn't surprise me — given these long, enclosed hours with nothing much to do — if we too didn't enjoy a population explosion."
Rees laughed. "That's all we need."
"Yes, it is," Hollerbach murmured seriously. "Anyway, my point, my friend, is that perhaps we should emulate those whales. Self-doubt is part of being human… but the main thing is to get on with the business of survival, as best one can. And that is what you have done."
"Thanks, Hollerbach," Rees said. "I understand what you're trying to do. But maybe you need to tell all that to the passengers' empty bellies."
"Perhaps. I… I—" Hollerbach collapsed into a bout of deep, rasping coughing. "I'm sorry," he said at last.
Rees studied the old Scientist with some concern; in the blue internebular light it seemed he saw the lines of Hollerbach's skull.
The Bridge entered the outermost layers of the new nebula. Thin air whistled around the stumps of the control jets.
Rees and Gord manhandled Nead into the corridor close to the port. The young Scientist's legs — rendered useless by the smashing of his spine during his fall at closest approach — had been strapped together and stiffened with a length of wood. Nead insisted that he felt nothing below his waist, but Rees saw how his face twisted at each jarring motion.
Studying Nead he felt a deep, sick guilt. The lad was still barely eighteen thousand shifts old, and yet by following Rees he had already been maimed; and now he was volunteering for still more peril. The stumps of snapped rivets at the supply machine's vacant mount reminded Rees of the sacrifice Roch had made at this place. He was, he found, deeply reluctant to witness another.
"Listen to me, Nead," he said seriously. "I appreciate the way you've volunteered for this mission—"
Nead looked at him in sudden concern. "You have to let me go," he insisted.
Rees placed a hand on Nead's shoulder. "Of course. What I'm trying to tell you is that I want to see you fix the new steam jets out there… and then return, safely. We need those jets, if we're not to fall straight into the Core of this new nebula. We don't need another dead hero."
"I understand, Rees." Nead smiled. "But what can happen? The air out there is desperately thin, but it contains oxygen, and I won't be out for long."
"Take nothing for granted. Remember our sensor instruments were constructed ages ago and in another universe, for god's sake… Even if we knew precisely what they were telling us we wouldn't know if we could rely on them working here."
Gord frowned. "Yes, but our theories back up the instrument readings. Because of the diffusion of oxygen-based life we expect most of the nebulae to consist of oxygen-nitrogen air."
"I know that." Rees sighed. "And theories are fine. All I'm saying is that we don't know, here and now, what Nead will find on the other side of that door."
Nead dropped his eyes. "Look, Rees, I know I'm crippled. But my arms and shoulders are as strong as they ever were. I know what I'm doing, and I can do this job."
"I know you can… Just come back safely."
Nead smiled and nodded, the characteristic streak of gray in his hair catching the corridor light.
Now Rees and Gord fixed two steam jets to Nead's waist by a length of rope. The bulky jets were awkward but manageable in the micro-gravity conditions. Another rope was fixed to Nead's waist and would be anchored to the ship.
Gord checked that the inner door to the Observatory was sealed, so that the passengers were in no danger; then they exchanged final, wordless handshakes, and Gord palmed the opening panel.
The outer door slid out of sight. The air was sucked from Rees's chest. Sound died to a muffled whisper and he tasted blood running from his nose. A warmth in his popping ears led him to suspect he was bleeding there too.
The door revealed a sea of blue light far below. They had already passed through the nebula's outer halo of star-spawning hydrogen and it was possible to make out stars above and below them. Far above Rees's head a small, compact knot of redness marked the position of the Nebula from which he had flown. It was strange to think that he could raise a hand and block out his world, all the places he had seen and the people he had known: Pallis, Sheen, Jame the barman, Decker… He knew that Pallis and Sheen had decided to live out their remaining shifts together; now, eyes fixed on that distant blur, Rees sent out a silent prayer that they — and all the others who had sacrificed so much to get him this far — were safe and well.
Rees and Gord lifted Nead bodily through the open Port. His legs swinging as if carved from wood, the injured Scientist shoved himself off in the direction of a jet mounting. Rees and Gord waited in the open doorway, the securing rope in their hands.
Nead slowed a few feet short of the jet mount. Rees watched anxiously as Nead scrabbled at the frictionless surface of the hull. Then the mount came within reach and he grabbed at it gratefully, locking his fingers around small irregularities in the iron surface.
He hauled on his ropes. Gord and Rees bundled the first steam jet out of the port and shoved it toward the young Scientist. They judged it well, the package of machinery stopping a few feet short of Nead. With fast but precise motions Nead dragged at his rope and fielded the machine. Now the Scientist had to align the jet, at least roughly, with the Bridge's axis, and he spent long seconds struggling with the old device's bulk.
At last it was correct. From a chest pocket Nead dragged out adhesive pads and slapped them against the mount; then, the strain showing on his face, he hauled the machine into place over the pads. Finally he untied the rope from the secured jet and cast it free.
Nead had worked fast and well, but already some thirty seconds had passed. The bulk of the work had still to be performed, and the pain in Rees's chest was reaching a hollow crescendo.
Now Nead scrambled toward the next mount, over the curve of the hull and out of sight. After unbearably long seconds there was a tugging on one rope. Rees and the mine engineer threw the second steam jet through the hatch. The bulky machine bumped around the hull.