#32
"Solar One, Please Respond"
(Part 2)
By Jeffrey Blair Latta
The cargo is jettisoned,
all billion credits worth. You watch it go, along with your career.
The transpellor bundle is fired. Eight hours later, the Syngnathus
arrives on the other side of the dark matter congregate, arrives hopefully
a few minutes ahead of the Solar One.
You can see the dazzling
blue sun of Omicron Leo, a welcome break in the dark monotony of your voyage.
Dimly, in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that this chase has led
you far out onto the Doppler Brink. That was where the Solar One
was supposed to be doing her research when you found her so far off course.
You wonder what it means.
But then you think
about that final message and you know it doesn't matter. You have
to be here. Even if it means your career, you have no choice.
And suddenly, you wonder if that doesn't explain everything. Had
it been anyone else, they would have turned back long ago. You had
no choice. You heard the signal. The signal was meant for you...
"Elizabeth?"
"Interference from
Omicron Leo is affecting our teletacts, but calculations indicate the Solar
One should come out of the congregate in exactly thirty seconds, Robert
Toynbee."
"All right, everyone
ready. We'll only have one shot at this. I want interdiction
fields activated the moment we have visual. First we slow her down,
then grapples, got it?"
The countdown begins,
the Alpha Ambulate doing the honours. She reaches ten...nine...eight...
You touch the brim
of your cap, unconsciously straightening it.
...seven...six...five...
A door opens and Barrister
appears in the control gondola, up high on the landing to the lift.
His gaze goes to the forward shrouds where the image is displayed of the
dark matter congregate partly occluding the bright glare of Omicron Leo.
...four...three...two...
Elizabeth stops.
Everyone except the Alpha Ambulate holds their breaths. All eyes
stare at the black cloud, waiting, waiting...
The deadline passes
and nothing appears. There is no sign of the Solar One. Mystified,
you look to Elizabeth for an explanation.
"I am at a loss, Robert
Toynbee. Perhaps the Solar One altered course."
Anne suggests, "Maybe
they figured out what our plan was. They could have --"
"Skipper!" On
the quarterdeck, the range officer looks up. "I've got the Solar
One on far marker teletacts."
"Where?"
"Just disappearing
behind the limb of the first planet in the Omicron Leo system."
All eyes shift to the
bright sun. You frown, baffled, your voice barely audible.
"But that's not possible. No ship could move that fast."
For the first time,
you feel a strange crawling sense of almost superstitious unease.
It's simply not possible.
"Signal was definite,
Skipper. It was the Solar One, all right. It's hidden
behind the planet now, but I'd swear to it."
"Sailing master, take
us into the system."
"Si, Skipper.
As you say."
Only a short time later,
you find yourself orbiting a blue-white globe, the glare of the sun nearly
overpowering the imaging shrouds. Still no sign of the Solar One.
Is it hiding from you, using the planet like a child playing hide and seek?
"Skipper, something
on the planetary surface."
Surprised, you descend
from the poop deck and look over the range officer's shoulder at the screen.
"People," you say,
startled and confused at the same time. Then, louder, "There are
people down there..."
Only one crewman, it turns out, has Karsilov's Encephalitis, and he has been kept quarantined. He is only in the disease's second stage, and, with the didroxine twelve, will almost certainly recover.
Among the crew, in spite of his condition, you recognize Captain Jessup, commander of the Solar One expedition. From him, you hear the story.
A reactor explosion damaged the transpellors on the Solar One, breaching the hull and forcing a total evacuation to the planet's surface. The food ran out after a month. They had practically given up hope. The automatic beacon was damaged on the Solar One and a volunteer stayed in orbit dressed in an environment suit to key the distress signal by hand. But, of course, no one had expected a rescue. It was a miracle anyone had heard -- way out here on the Brink? -- a bloody miracle.
While waiting for the pinnace to return after ferrying the survivors to the Syngnathus, you stand with Clive in the mouth of the cave. The wind moans eerily, catching at the paper in her hand. She has to hold down her cap with the other hand.
"Robert," she asks, "call me stupid, but, that final message, what did it mean? 'Rob Roy?' What sort of a crazy message is that?"
"It was what my sister used to call me." Your voice is so quiet it barely carries over the wind. You avoid her eyes. "It was her nickname for me."
"Your sister?"
And then you tell Clive what the captain told you.
The Solar One was badly damaged, her transpellors non-functional, her automatic beacon destroyed. One crewman volunteered to stay aboard to key in the distress signal by hand. One crewman. But, without engines, the orbit steadily decayed.
"Another man would
have turned back long ago," you tell Clive softly, although you are really
speaking to yourself. "She knew that only I would come this far.
She knew it had to be me." For a moment, you are silent, then:
"Solar One and Ensign Sarah Toynbee burned up in the atmosphere
two weeks ago..."
