The Ocean of Years by Roger Macbride Allen

Author:Roger Macbride Allen [Allen, Roger MacBride]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-48897-8
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-09-13T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FALLING DOWN

“I thought I’d get to go,” Marquez said once again, standing in the hatchway between the Rio de Janeiro and the São Paulo. Jerand Bolt had to shoulder past them as he carried more gear into the SP. Bolt would have had to try hard not to listen in to their conversation—and he wasn’t interested in trying hard at all.

“Small team,” Koffield said again. “Besides, you’re the only dropship captain we’ve got.”

“Besides you.”

“I think it’s obvious I have to go,” Koffield said. “DeSilvo’s been sending messages to me. There might be something else down there that only I could spot, and—”

“I know,” Marquez said, looking profoundly unhappy. “I know. It makes sense. I have to stay. I also know we couldn’t stop you going no matter what.”

You could probably still stop me, Jerand thought. He volunteered—everyone had volunteered—but he was having second thoughts, right on schedule. The idea of visiting Mars had been appealing in the abstract, but the closer they got to making the run, the less abstract it got. He carried the last of the gear into the lower deck of the São Paulo and started securing it.

Norla Chandray stuck her head out of the upper deck, the pilot’s cabin. “Getting close to ready?” she asked.

Bolt hooked a thumb toward Koffield at the airlock. “Still saying their good-byes.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Norla muttered something under her breath, then spoke up again, in very carrying tones. “Admiral!” she called out. “Insertion burn in twenty minutes, and we’ve got a lot to do. We’ve got to button up now!”

“All right,” Koffield said. He stuck out his hand to Marquez. “See you on the other side,” he said.

Bolt didn’t care for that turn of phrase under the current circumstance. It was an old dropship crewman’s farewell, and meant nothing more than the other side of the timeshaft wormhole. Under the current circumstances, however, the other side could mean certain other things.

The two men shook hands. Koffield moved back from the hatch and swung it shut, then stepped back through the inner lock hatch and sealed it as well. He checked the lock’s status display. “Airlock sealed and secure. Rio de Janeiro lock shows sealed and secure.”

“Right!” Norla called out, her head still sticking down through the hatch. “Stand by for cross-check.” Her head disappeared, then they heard her voice through the ship’s intercom system. “Rio de Janeiro confirms airlocks sealed and secured on both ships. Clear for hard-dock unlatch.” A loud series of clunks and bangs signaled that the hard-dock latches were withdrawn.

“Disengaging soft latches,” Norla reported. “Using outgassing for separation.” The second set of latches released with somewhat less noise and drama, and then, with an absurdly loud “pop,” the two ships pushed away from each other, driven apart by the released air pressure between the two hatches. The São Paulo was clear, at the start of what would be her last flight. That would be all right—so long as it wasn’t the last flight for her crew.

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