Read Online This Old Rock by G. David Nordley - Free Book Online
Authors: G. David Nordley
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time is
short. And Liz we’ve been over David’s recent communications. Voice stress
analysis, word patterns, and other things. He doesn’t seem to be well.
Chaos! What?
People still occasionally got brain tumors, Liz knew. They
were quickly cured when detected, but they had to be detected first. Then there
was the stuff he was working with; the quarantine was very good, and the human
immune system should be totally lethal to anything that hadn’t evolved ways to
counter it. But there was still a chance. Deep in thought, Liz barely noticed
the light speed delay.
We don’t know without doing a scan and taking samples—it
could be strictly psychological, stress-induced. But I think it’s important to
know if he’s been affected by anything in the environment, because a layer of that
environment will be plastered all over this planetary system in a few years as
a result of impact debris. At any rate, he’s presenting the beginning stages of
classic paranoid schizophrenia, progressing rapidly. Also, whatever he does,
you should not blame him, or yourself. I know this is hard when it happens to
someone you love, but tragedies happen. If the worst happens, remember him as
he was. Finally, and I am very sorry to say this, but he may strike out
irrationally. Remember that if he does, it’s not him. But still, be very
careful. And remember that it is not always possible to fix everything. If it
gets too late, come back.
I will, Cyan. Thank you.
Could she hunt down David as if he were a zoo animal out of
his cage? Could she leave him to die? Did she have any choice?
••∞••
David found that he was off the net. The relays may have
been removed or someone may have thought that denying him access would give
them an advantage. That meant they were going to try to resolve this by force
instead of negotiation. His heart sank; that would cost several hours. No, he
thought, they might work the problem in parallel; even now some way to divert
the planetoid might be in the works, something that could be turned on or off
at the last moment.
Night fell. The planetoid was less than a day away, near the
ecliptic plane, coming posigrade. He looked to the west and found it easily—it
had a huge coma of gas, like a comet. The nucleus was already a small disk. It
would stay there, fixed among the stars. That was how one could tell if
something was going to hit you—the angles stay the same.
Very well. If they were going to try to force him off, they
would come with robots, sensors—the whole nine yards. They would succeed,
unless he could somehow anticipate them and strike first. He had dealt with
terrorists back in the Israeli defense force; he was on the other side now, but
he knew the territory. Maybe they would not anticipate that.
To get a surprise, he would have to make them think he was
here but actually be there. He took a reflective blanket and some line, then
climbed up a small lava dome until he could see the landing site. He built a
couple of small towers with flat volcanic rocks and anchored the top of the
reflective blanket to them. Then he anchored the bottom of it at about
forty-five degrees so it formed a kind of lean-to. He went back down and moved
his campsite until he could see the distorted reflection of the still-glowing
wreck of his shuttle in this jerrybuilt mirror. The radio in the emergency
stores had both infrared and radio frequency bands, as did the suit. He set it
up in sight of the mirror. If this worked, he’d be able to speak on infrared
from his suit, the infrared would reflect off the mirror to the emergency comm
pack, and his voice would come out on the radio from the campsite.
He took a second box from the duffel bag and headed for the
landing site.
Halfway there he keyed the infrared channel in his helmet.
“Hello everyone. Liz, Cyan. You know I am very sorry to cause you so much trouble.
You must also know that this is more important than your inconvenience, or even
my life, if it
short. And Liz we’ve been over David’s recent communications. Voice stress
analysis, word patterns, and other things. He doesn’t seem to be well.
Chaos! What?
People still occasionally got brain tumors, Liz knew. They
were quickly cured when detected, but they had to be detected first. Then there
was the stuff he was working with; the quarantine was very good, and the human
immune system should be totally lethal to anything that hadn’t evolved ways to
counter it. But there was still a chance. Deep in thought, Liz barely noticed
the light speed delay.
We don’t know without doing a scan and taking samples—it
could be strictly psychological, stress-induced. But I think it’s important to
know if he’s been affected by anything in the environment, because a layer of that
environment will be plastered all over this planetary system in a few years as
a result of impact debris. At any rate, he’s presenting the beginning stages of
classic paranoid schizophrenia, progressing rapidly. Also, whatever he does,
you should not blame him, or yourself. I know this is hard when it happens to
someone you love, but tragedies happen. If the worst happens, remember him as
he was. Finally, and I am very sorry to say this, but he may strike out
irrationally. Remember that if he does, it’s not him. But still, be very
careful. And remember that it is not always possible to fix everything. If it
gets too late, come back.
I will, Cyan. Thank you.
Could she hunt down David as if he were a zoo animal out of
his cage? Could she leave him to die? Did she have any choice?
••∞••
David found that he was off the net. The relays may have
been removed or someone may have thought that denying him access would give
them an advantage. That meant they were going to try to resolve this by force
instead of negotiation. His heart sank; that would cost several hours. No, he
thought, they might work the problem in parallel; even now some way to divert
the planetoid might be in the works, something that could be turned on or off
at the last moment.
Night fell. The planetoid was less than a day away, near the
ecliptic plane, coming posigrade. He looked to the west and found it easily—it
had a huge coma of gas, like a comet. The nucleus was already a small disk. It
would stay there, fixed among the stars. That was how one could tell if
something was going to hit you—the angles stay the same.
Very well. If they were going to try to force him off, they
would come with robots, sensors—the whole nine yards. They would succeed,
unless he could somehow anticipate them and strike first. He had dealt with
terrorists back in the Israeli defense force; he was on the other side now, but
he knew the territory. Maybe they would not anticipate that.
To get a surprise, he would have to make them think he was
here but actually be there. He took a reflective blanket and some line, then
climbed up a small lava dome until he could see the landing site. He built a
couple of small towers with flat volcanic rocks and anchored the top of the
reflective blanket to them. Then he anchored the bottom of it at about
forty-five degrees so it formed a kind of lean-to. He went back down and moved
his campsite until he could see the distorted reflection of the still-glowing
wreck of his shuttle in this jerrybuilt mirror. The radio in the emergency
stores had both infrared and radio frequency bands, as did the suit. He set it
up in sight of the mirror. If this worked, he’d be able to speak on infrared
from his suit, the infrared would reflect off the mirror to the emergency comm
pack, and his voice would come out on the radio from the campsite.
He took a second box from the duffel bag and headed for the
landing site.
Halfway there he keyed the infrared channel in his helmet.
“Hello everyone. Liz, Cyan. You know I am very sorry to cause you so much trouble.
You must also know that this is more important than your inconvenience, or even
my life, if it
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