Part 4 (2/2)

”Probably somewhere here on the larger sphere,” I said. ”The computer didn't have any ideas?”

She shook her head. ”Like I said, it's old and feeble. Nothing but macro sensors, and no predictive capability at all.”

”Don't worry,” Chort a.s.sured us, his whistly voice oddly muted by his helmet.

”That screech didn't sound bad. Regardless, I will find and fix it.”

”Someone's going to have to go into the wraparound with him, too,” Jones putin.

”I checked earlier, and there aren't any of the connections or lifeline-feeds of a standard airlock.”

I'd noticed that, too. ”You volunteering?” I asked him.

”Of course,” he said, sounding surprised that it was even a question. ”EVA a.s.sist is traditionally mechanic's privilege, you know.”

”I'm not concerned with tradition nearly as much as I am whether we've got a suit aboard that'll fit you,” I countered. ”Tera, pull the computer inventory and see what 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, but he'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 a.s.sured 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 intense but 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 s.p.a.cewalk 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 something with his long fingers and occasionally selecting one of the squeeze tubes from the collection clamped to his forearms. I thought about getting on the radio and asking what he was doing, but decided against it. He clearly knew his business, and there didn't seem any point in distracting him with a lot of questions. I made a mental note to pick up a set of zoomable hull cameras at our next stop.

The whistle from the radio speaker was so unexpected that Shawn and I both jumped, a movement that the zero gee magnified embarra.s.singly. ”There it is,”

Chort said as I grabbed my restraint straps and pulled myself firmly down into the chair again. ”A small pressure ridge only. Easily repaired.”

He set to work with his squeeze tubes again. ”I'll never understand about that stuff,” Shawn commented. ”If it's so good at fixing hull cracks and ridges, why not coat the whole hull with it?”

”Good question,” I agreed, throwing him another surrept.i.tious glance. Calm, friendly, and now even making intelligent conversation. I made another mental note, this one to restrict all my future interactions with him until after he'd had his morning coffee or whatever.

If Chort was a representative example of Craean s.p.a.cewalking ability, it was no wonder they were so much in demand. In less than ten minutes he'd sealed the ridge, tracked two jaglines radiating from that spot, and fixed them as well.

”All secure,” he announced. ”I will check the rest of the sphere, but I believe this is the only problem.”

”Sounds good,” I said. ”Before you go any farther forward, you might as well go aft and run a quick check on the cargo and engine sections.”

”Acknowledged,” Chort said, turning around and heading back over the side ofthe cargo sphere. He paused once, moved down the side toward the wraparound- And suddenly, with another stomach-wrenching disorientation, I fell down hard into my chair.

Shawn yelped in surprise and pain as he dropped like a rock to the deck beside me. But I hardly noticed. Incredibly, impossibly, the Icarus's gravity field had gone back on.

And as I watched in helpless horror, Chort slammed against the side of the cargo sphere, caromed off the wraparound, and disappeared off the monitor screen.

”Revs!” I barked toward the intercom, twisting the camera control hard over.

”Turn it off!”

”I didn't turn it on,” he protested.

”I don't give a d.a.m.n who turned it on!” I snarled. I had Chort on the screen now, hanging limply like a puppet on a string at the end of his secondary line at the bottom of the artificial ”down” the Icarus's gravity generator had imposed on this small bubble of s.p.a.ce. ”Just shut it down.”

”I can't,” he bit back. ”The control's not responding.”

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