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Authors: Timothy Zahn
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we’ve got.”
“I already checked,” she said. “There are three suit/rebreather combos in Locker Fifteen. It didn’t list sizes, though.”
“I’ll go look,” Jones volunteered, checking one last seal on Chort’s suit and squeezing past him. “That’s lower level, Tera?”
“Right,” she said. “Just forward of Cabin Seven.”
“Got it.” Jones eased past me and headed for the aft ladder.
“So how will he handle it?” Everett asked. “Go into the wraparound and feed Chort the lifeline from there?”
“Basically,” I nodded. “There’s a slot just outside the entryway where the secondary line can connect, buthe’ll want Jones feeding him the primary line as he goes along. Otherwise, it can get kinked or snarled on the maneuvering vents, and that eats up time.”
“I’ve heard of snarled lines giving false readings on sensors, too,” Tera put in. “He might wind up fixing a hull plate that didn’t need it.”
“That won’t happen,” Chort assured her. “I will know the damage when I reach it.”
“I’m sure you will,” Everett said, lumbering down the corridor toward the aft ladder. “I’ll see if Jones can use a hand.”
There were indeed three vac suits in the locker, one of which fit Jones just fine, and with Everett’s help he was suited up in fifteen minutes. Five minutes after that he and Chort were in the wraparound, the airlock doors at both ends were sealed, and I was on the bridge with the hull monitor cameras extended on their pylons.
And we were set. “Ready here,” I called into the intercom. “Revs, go ahead and shut down the gravity.”
“Right,” Nicabar acknowledged from the engine room, and I felt the sudden stomach-twisting disorientation as the
Icarus
’s grav generator went off-line. I double-checked the airlock status and keyed for the suit radios. “It’s all yours, Chort. Let him out easy, Jones.”
Given that Jones had a Craea at the other end of his line, my automatic warning was probably both unnecessary and even a bit ridiculous. Before the outer hatch was even all the way open Chort was out on the hull, pausing briefly to snap his secondary line into the connector slot and heading nimbly across the wraparound, using his hull-hooks and stickypads as if he’d been born in zero gee.
“Mind if I watch?” a voice asked from the doorway behind me.
I turned my head. Shawn was floating just outside the door, gazing past me at the monitors, an intensebut oddly calm look on his face. “No, come on in,” I invited.
“Thanks,” he said, maneuvering his way into the room and coming to a stop hovering beside my chair. “There aren’t any monitors in the electronics shop, and I’ve never seen a Craea spacewalk before.”
“It’s definitely a sight to behold,” I agreed, trying not to frown as I studied his profile. The twitchy, nervous, sarcastic kid who’d been such a pain in the neck while we were waiting outside the
Icarus
had apparently been kidnapped sometime in the last six hours and replaced by this near-perfect copy. “How are you doing?”
He smiled, a little shamefacedly. “You mean how come I’m not acting like a jerk?”
“Not exactly the way I would have put it,” I said. “But as long as you bring it up …?”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, his lip twisting. “That’s another reason I wanted to talk to you, to apologize for all that. I was … well, nervous, I guess. You have to admit this is a really strange situation, and I don’t do well with strange situations. Especially early in the morning.”
“I have trouble with mornings sometimes myself,” I said, turning back to the monitors. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks. He’s really good, isn’t he?”
I nodded. Chort was moving slowly along the edge of the cowling that covered the intersection of the two spheres, his faceplate bare centimeters above the hull as he glided over the surface. Here and there he would stop for a moment, touching
“I already checked,” she said. “There are three suit/rebreather combos in Locker Fifteen. It didn’t list sizes, though.”
“I’ll go look,” Jones volunteered, checking one last seal on Chort’s suit and squeezing past him. “That’s lower level, Tera?”
“Right,” she said. “Just forward of Cabin Seven.”
“Got it.” Jones eased past me and headed for the aft ladder.
“So how will he handle it?” Everett asked. “Go into the wraparound and feed Chort the lifeline from there?”
“Basically,” I nodded. “There’s a slot just outside the entryway where the secondary line can connect, buthe’ll want Jones feeding him the primary line as he goes along. Otherwise, it can get kinked or snarled on the maneuvering vents, and that eats up time.”
“I’ve heard of snarled lines giving false readings on sensors, too,” Tera put in. “He might wind up fixing a hull plate that didn’t need it.”
“That won’t happen,” Chort assured her. “I will know the damage when I reach it.”
“I’m sure you will,” Everett said, lumbering down the corridor toward the aft ladder. “I’ll see if Jones can use a hand.”
There were indeed three vac suits in the locker, one of which fit Jones just fine, and with Everett’s help he was suited up in fifteen minutes. Five minutes after that he and Chort were in the wraparound, the airlock doors at both ends were sealed, and I was on the bridge with the hull monitor cameras extended on their pylons.
And we were set. “Ready here,” I called into the intercom. “Revs, go ahead and shut down the gravity.”
“Right,” Nicabar acknowledged from the engine room, and I felt the sudden stomach-twisting disorientation as the
Icarus
’s grav generator went off-line. I double-checked the airlock status and keyed for the suit radios. “It’s all yours, Chort. Let him out easy, Jones.”
Given that Jones had a Craea at the other end of his line, my automatic warning was probably both unnecessary and even a bit ridiculous. Before the outer hatch was even all the way open Chort was out on the hull, pausing briefly to snap his secondary line into the connector slot and heading nimbly across the wraparound, using his hull-hooks and stickypads as if he’d been born in zero gee.
“Mind if I watch?” a voice asked from the doorway behind me.
I turned my head. Shawn was floating just outside the door, gazing past me at the monitors, an intensebut oddly calm look on his face. “No, come on in,” I invited.
“Thanks,” he said, maneuvering his way into the room and coming to a stop hovering beside my chair. “There aren’t any monitors in the electronics shop, and I’ve never seen a Craea spacewalk before.”
“It’s definitely a sight to behold,” I agreed, trying not to frown as I studied his profile. The twitchy, nervous, sarcastic kid who’d been such a pain in the neck while we were waiting outside the
Icarus
had apparently been kidnapped sometime in the last six hours and replaced by this near-perfect copy. “How are you doing?”
He smiled, a little shamefacedly. “You mean how come I’m not acting like a jerk?”
“Not exactly the way I would have put it,” I said. “But as long as you bring it up …?”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, his lip twisting. “That’s another reason I wanted to talk to you, to apologize for all that. I was … well, nervous, I guess. You have to admit this is a really strange situation, and I don’t do well with strange situations. Especially early in the morning.”
“I have trouble with mornings sometimes myself,” I said, turning back to the monitors. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks. He’s really good, isn’t he?”
I nodded. Chort was moving slowly along the edge of the cowling that covered the intersection of the two spheres, his faceplate bare centimeters above the hull as he glided over the surface. Here and there he would stop for a moment, touching
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