They were down. Now they waited on the comet as the destroyer crossed the star system.
For Keith, the waiting proved harder than the landing. Having something to do kept his thoughts from lingering on the staggering odds that always seemed to climb higher against them.
Just like the others, Ensign Maker’s nerves had frayed throughout the past months of run, endless repair, hide and slip away down another wormhole. It didn’t help that they did this in a battered scout. The Saint Petersburg or the star cruiser always found them again. It was maddening and debilitating to shipboard morale.
Keith wore a vacc-suit as he jumped out of Geronimo’s hatch. The stars blazed around him as he glided onto the dirty-white surface. He turned back, viewing his home for the last three months. He’d always had a good eye, able to tell where he’d welded, where the dents mashed inward and which hull parts were good.
I can’t believe I gave up my pub for this. I must have been out of my bloody mind. We’re never going to survive the alien system. The idea of using the comet as a sheath—pure rotgut arrogance is what it is.
He faced forward and began to glide across the surface. Keith had a knack for this. He was well aware that if he jumped too high, he would reach the comet’s escape velocity and float away. It was like ice-skating, something he used to do a lot of as a kid. He’d played hockey for a time. His small size meant he’d been a target for the bruisers trying to check him into the boards. His skating speed and slap shots had won more than one game for the team.
He glided, feeling free as he never could cramped within the scout. Everyone was getting on one another’s nerves. Seeing the same faces every day, smelling the recycled air and eating the freeze-dried crap— I need a drink.
In his helmet, Keith licked chapped lips. A good brew would help. Even better, would be a shot of Scotch sliding down his gullet.
I wonder where the captain hid it.
Keith had been good for longer than he believed he could. By the Rood, he hadn’t been this sober ever since Danny-boy’s…
Keith licked his lips one more time. He didn’t want to recall his brother’s death. Oh, yes, he had taken the captain’s evil pills for a time. If he drank, he’d likely puke out his guts. Well, he would if he’d continued to pop the little traitor capsules every several days. Starting a week ago, he’d flushed the pills down the toilet. He remembered the captain’s threat. The baton smashing the bottle— That was a dirty trick. He had a scar on the back of his right hand because of it. Will one drink make any difference?
In his heart, Keith suspected it would. He’d given the captain his word. The blighter had helped him remain sober. The abyss— Don’t be melodramatic, Keith, my boy. What abyss? That’s pure tommyrot.
He knew that wasn’t true, but he wanted to lie to himself. Despite the cramped quarters aboard Geronimo, he’d felt alive these past weeks. It had been like that at Tau Ceti. The threat, the excitement, the pressures fed his sense of adventure. He’d saved the crew a time or two. That had been the best part of all.
I haven’t lost anything flying a craft.
In his helmet, Keith grinned. He glided over a ridge and saw a red flare out there. It was time to go to work.
He reached Meta with her jackhammer. She was almost indistinguishable in her silver vacc-suit. She’d made a huge hole already. Frozen down at the bottom was supposed to be Professor Ludendorff’s cache: engines and fuel.
They had short-speakers between them to communicate. He hailed her. She lifted a gloved hand to acknowledge him. Afterward, she pointed at the second item, a spacetorch.
Keith went to it, clicking it on. In seconds, he had a hot tongue of flame on the end. He put the blue flame against the ice, burning it away. He helped her uncover the cache. The Saint Petersburg was coming fast. He didn’t see how they could possibly make the comet-sheath ready in time.
One more drink for old time’s sake. The captain can’t deny that if we’re about to die because we couldn’t push our lead far enough. I tried. The least I can do is go out with style.
Yes, he’d have to start looking for the bottles. The captain was cunning, but Keith bet he could beat him if they both piloted strikefighters. The captain might know how to hide whiskey, but Keith trusted his nose and instincts. Of course, he didn’t want to let the crew down, but the nearing destroyer—didn’t that change the equation?
Bloody yes it does.
Meta raised her head. “What was that?” she asked. The words crackled over his headphones.
“Down there, love,” he said, pointing. “Do you want me to start there?”
She considered it and finally nodded, and the work continued.
Two days later, the destroyer began to slow its tremendous velocity. The Saint Petersburg neared the massive T dwarf. At its speed, it would soon reach back here among the comet cloud.
Meta and Keith had sent up passive sensors on the star-side of the comet, linking it by cables to the “hidden” Geronimo. The scout rested on the other side of the comet as the approaching Saint Petersburg.
As the ensign sat in the control room, he watched Valerie’s view-screen. The destroyer was easily visible with its intense burn.
“Why are they slowing near the planet?” Valerie asked.
The two of them were alone in the control room.
“They don’t want to enter the next Laumer-Point the way we have,” Keith said. “It’s not considered safe going through a jump point too fast.”
Valerie looked up at him.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
“I know the procedures,” she said. “I’m the one who’s been suggesting we take a more cautious approach through the tramlines.”
“Right you are,” he said. “I’m just nervous, love, talking too much. That destroyer—do you think it can sniff us out?”
She’d returned to studying her screen. “I don’t like this waiting game any more than you do.”
Keith made a soft sound. More than ever, he wanted a drink. Waiting was the worst. “There’s no reason they should know we’re hiding back here,” he said.
“There’s no way they should have been able to follow us this far into the Beyond either,” Valerie said. “Yet, they have.”
“Do you think there’s an emitter aboard we haven’t been able to find? Do you think it’s been helping them track us?”
“No,” Valerie said. “We’ve gone through the ship too many times. If there were an emitter, we would have found it by now.”
They waited and watched the destroyer slow down enough to lock into the T dwarf’s orbit. The day passed as Saint Petersburg circled the brown dwarf twice, their sensors washing the system with electronics. Finally, the destroyer escaped the planet’s orbit and headed for the unstable Laumer-Point beyond the comet.
In the control room, Keith kept watch with Valerie and sometimes with Maddox or Sergeant Riker. The crew endured.
“Maybe they’ll go through the wormhole for us,” Keith said.
Captain Maddox was in the control room. He didn’t say a word.
Later, Keith stood in the corridor, trying to psyche himself up to go into the captain’s quarters. He told himself that he no longer needed the drink. It had become the principle of the thing. Finally, he stalked off to his quarters to play another game of Solitaire.
The destroyer finally reached the unstable Laumer-Point, nosing around the area. After several hours, the Saint Petersburg accelerated, heading back toward the T dwarf.