"Here we go," Gretchen said in a strained, tight voice. "Better get behind me."
Parker slid past her, then flinched as a second pod – just as large as the first – emerged from the darkness. His hand tightened on a hold-on bar. "That's not -"
"- on the loading track?" Gretchen's busy fingers had slowed. Now they drifted gently across the control panel. "No. No, it's not."
The new pallet was held by a second pair of loading arms, and Parker knew – as he felt a cold curl of sweat slithering down the back of his neck – the new pod was approaching at a strange angle. He dialed up his work goggles and saw the lading arms from the adjoining number two shuttle cradle were holding the new pallet. "Sister! Boss…there's too much stress on that armature."
"It'll be fine," Gretchen whispered, featherlight fingertips inching the arms towards the bay doors. "Just fine. There's just enough…"
Metal squealed against metal, and the entire shuttle trembled. Parker bit back a shout of fear. Gretchen hissed, then stabbed a forefinger at a "backup" glyph. The pod shivered, there was another grinding sound and the huge rectangular bulk popped back. Parker was immediately into the gap, catching the upper edge of the shuttle cargo door.
"There's no clearance," he said in a strangled voice. "You've torn a sixty centimeter strip right off the edge of the seal." The pilot's upper half was invisible above the four-ton cargo door. "I don't know if it'll close properly now."
Gretchen blinked, then called up a schematic of the shuttle bay on the panel. When she looked up, she was startled to see Parker staring at her. For a moment, she'd forgotten he was there. "We have to get that second pod into this shuttle in no more than…" Gretchen's eyes slid sideways to her chrono, then back to fix on the pilot, "…two hours."
"What happens in two hours?"
"Hummingbird and his Marines will be down here," Anderssen said in a flat voice. "And they'll strap him into the Midge in that first pod." She tried to grin, failed, and went on. "You'll be with them, of course, as pilot. And you are going to adjust for carrying two pods rather than one in the shuttle cargo bay."
"What's in the new pod?" Parker asked in a suspicious tone.
"Me." Gretchen's face twisted into a tight simulacra of a smile. "And Russovsky's Gagarin."
"Oh, boss, now wait a minute! That's -"
"What we're going to do." A sharp hand movement cut him off. "Right now. Maggie's not going to be able to fool the surveillance system for much longer, not without leaving tracks all over the onboard environmental system logs."
Parker swallowed, wished he had a tabac, then wiped his mouth. "Okay. Okay. We've got to load up differently – having the number two arm reach across is all crazy. These shuttles are designed to load straight on, right from the back. So…" He stared at the schematic, then shook his head, long thin fingers stabbing tentatively at the display, "…we're gonna hope the Palenque doesn't suffer an inertial event in the next twenty-six minutes."
In the darkness of the bay, the number two arm shifted, servomotors whining, and rose up. At the same time, the number one arm slid aside, stabilized and detached from the pod. While Parker sweated below, both sets of arms retracted with a rattling scrape. Both cargo pallets hung suspended in z-g, unsupported and unsecured. The massive lading assemblies swung up and away, changing places in an ill-seen dance, then gently drifted forward to switch pods.
The pilot was sweating rivers, hoping he didn't bump one of the two-ton pods and send it careening across the shuttle bay. With infinite delicacy, the number one arm approached Hummingbird's pallet. The steel tongues caressed the locking grooves, and Parker held his breath, feeling each second drag endlessly as the lading arm's attractor field locked with the magnetic striping along the groove.
Gretchen leaned up against the wall, eyes closed, both arms wrapped around a hold-on. Her mind was whirling with frantic, useless details. Parker's constant stream of muttered commentary seemed to echo in a vast distance, supplemented by soft clangs and squeaks.
The number two cargo pod – gripped securely in the shuttle one lading arm – advanced into the black mouth of the shuttle hold. The rectangular shape clanked to the deck and a series of telltales lit, indicating an acceptable lock with the cargo deck. Shuttle-side motors kicked in with a whine and the pod slid smoothly to the back of the bay.
Fifteen minutes later, the number one pod completed the same maneuver and Parker shut down the cargo lading system with a heartfelt sigh. His watch said forty-five minutes remained before Hummingbird's wake-up. Very close. Sister – maybe I'll get to sleep when both of them are off-ship!
Gretchen looked up from the shockchair of the Midge, a tangle of blond hair framing her face. A cocoon of straps covered her, and the tiny cabin of the ultralight was crowded with supplies and packets of gear. The retracted wings of the aircraft were folded around and behind her in a hexacarbon cloak. Above her, Parker and Bandao crouched at the edge of an access panel in the top of the pod.
"Now Parker-tzin, you remember to come back for me in sixteen days. Watch for us – we'll be in just one Midge if this is going to work – and don't miss with the skyhook."
"I never – well, hardly ever – miss, boss." Parker's grin was half-hearted. "What if the Cornuelle shows up? Should I stay away?"
Gretchen shook her head. "I'm sure they'll come, but you be there, too. I don't like heights."
Bandao shook his head at their badinage, placid face as still and composed as ever. Gretchen caught his eyes with a wry look.
"You can't go in my place, Dai. You'll have to keep Parker out of trouble for me."
"Impossible." The little Welshman did not seem concerned. He handed her a heavy package wrapped in olive-drab canvas. "The Company is paying me to protect you, Doctor Anderssen. My contract requires I exercise due diligence. So here – you might need this."
Weighing the package in her hands elicited a metallic clank. "A weapon?"
Bandao shrugged, pale eyes showing no trace of humor. "A Sif-52 shockgun. Very simple to use. Breaks down into four components for ease of transport. Just jack the loading lever, then point and pull the trigger. The ammunition will work even in a low-oxygen atmosphere. There is a manual in the bag. And extra rounds."
"Thank you, Bandao-tzin." Gretchen smiled warmly at the neatly-dressed man as she tucked the canvas case beneath the seat. "Time to lock me up."
Parker and Bandao disappeared from view. A moment later, the hatch cycled shut, leaving her in darkness. Gretchen tried to settle her shoulders comfortably into the shockchair and failed, though she was terribly weary. Maybe I'll sleep anyway.
The Cornuelle, Outbound
Hadeishi watched the navigation plot in the threat-well shift, and the light cruiser's glyph swept across an entirely featureless volume of Ephesian space. The chu-sa looked up and nodded to his exec, who was sitting at attention, hands resting lightly on the chromatic surface of her control panel.
"Main drives, if you please," Hadeishi said, leaning back a fraction in his chair. They were now at sufficient distance from the third planet to risk a larger signature. "And configure the hull for maximum scan."
Muted activity followed, but Hadeishi smiled faintly as he felt the ship shift and tremble as the main power plant spun up. A counter began to run on his main panel, showing the time until he could call on cruising speed, then on maximum combat acceleration.
Kosho turned her head slightly. "G-decking on?"
Hadeishi nodded. He was tired of living in z-g. Tea should stay in a proper cup by itself.