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hoped was a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Chandra can take care of herself. Captain, what's the status
of our attempts at communication?"
Du Bellay drifted off as, almost reluctantly, Mahendra turned back to his board. His hands, Carey noted,
didn't look nearly as relaxed as before.
—
The door opened, and Orofan paused on the threshold for a moment before stepping onto the bridge.
Lassarr glanced up from the console where he and Pliij were working. "Yes, what is it?" the
Voyagemaster growled.
"I'm asking you once more to reconsider," Orofan said. His voice was firm, devoid of all emotion.
Lassarr evidently missed the implications of that. "It's too late. Disassembly has begun; our new course is
plotted."
"But not yet executed," Orofan pointed out. "And equipment can be reassembled. This path is not
honorable, Voyagemaster."
Deliberately, Lassarr turned his back on the Shipmaster. "Prepare to execute the course change," he
instructed Pliij.
"You leave me no alternative," Orofan sighed.
Lassarr spun around—and froze, holding very tightly to the console, his eyes goggling at the assault
gun nestled in Orofan's tentacle. "Have you gone insane, Shipmaster?"
"Perhaps," Orofan said. "But I will not face the ancestors having stood by while war was made against a
race which has offered no provocation."
"Indeed?" Lassarr's voice dripped with the sarcasm of fear and anger combined. "And destroying them
outright, without warning, is more honorable? A few aarns ago you didn't think so. Or do you intend
instead to condemn a million Sk'cee to death?"
"I don't know," Orofan said, gazing at the screen that showed the approaching star. "There is still time to
decide which path to take."
Lassarr was aghast. "You're going to leave this decision to a last-aarmi impulse?"
"Orofan, there's barely a tenth of an aarn left," Pliij said, his voice strained.
"I know." Orofan focused on Lassarr. "But the Dawnsent is mine, and with that power goes
responsibility for its actions. It is not honorable to relinquish that load."
Slowly, as if finally understanding, Lassarr signed agreement. "But the burden may be transferred to one
who is willing," he said quietly.
"And what then of my honor?" Orofan asked, tentacles rippling with half-bitter amusement. "No. Your
honor is safe, Voyagemaster—you were prevented only by force from following the path you
deemed right. You may face the ancestors without fear." He hefted the assault gun. "The final choice is
now mine. My honor, alone, stands in the dock."
And that was as it should be, Orofan knew. In the silence he stared at the screen and made his decision.
—
Ten minutes till cutoff. Alone on the bridge, Chandra tried to watch every read-out at once, looking for
deviations from their calculated course. The Origami's navigational computer was as good as anything on
the market, but for extremely fine positioning it usually had the aid of beacons and maser tracking. Out
here in the middle of nowhere, six A.U. from the sun, the computer had to rely on inertial guidance and
star positions, and Chandra wasn't sure it could handle the job alone.
She reached for the intercom, changed her mind and instead switched on the radio. The lifeboat bay
intercoms were situated a good distance from the boats themselves, and Goode would have a better
chance of hearing her over the boat's radio. "Goode? How's it going?" she called.
Her answer was a faint grunt of painful exertion. "Goode?" she asked sharply.
"Trouble, Captain," his voice came faintly, as if from outside the boat. Chandra boosted both power and
gain, and Goode's next words were clearer. "One of the lines of the boat's cradle is
jammed—something's dug into the mesh where I can't get at it. I'll need a laser torch to cut it."
"Damn. The nearest one's probably in the forward hobby room." Chandra briefly considered dropping
back to one gee while Goode was traveling, but immediately abandoned the idea. At this late stage that
would force extra high-gee deceleration to still get to the rendezvous position on time, and there was no
guarantee they had the fuel for that.
Goode read her mind, long-distance. "Don't worry, I can make it. What's the latest on the Intruder?"
"As of four minutes ago, holding steady. At a light-minute to the nearest tachship, though, that could be a
little old."
"I get the point. On my way."
The minutes crawled by. Eyes still on the read-outs, Chandra mentally traced out Goode's path: out the
bay, turn right, elevator or stairway down two decks, along a long corridor, into the Number Two hobby
and craft shop; secure a torch from the locked cabinet and return. Even with twice-normal weight she
thought she was giving him plenty of time, but she was halfway through her third tracing when the drive
abruptly cut off.
The sudden silence and weightlessness caught her by surprise, and she wasted two or three seconds
fumbling at the radio switch. "Goode!" she shouted. "Where the hell are you?"
There was no reply. She waited, scanning the final location figures. Sure enough, the Origami had
overshot the proper position by nearly eighty meters. She was just reaching for her power controls when
the radio boomed.
"I'm back," Goode said, panting heavily. "I didn't trust the elevator—didn't realize how hard the
trip back would be. Sorry."
"Never mind; just get to work. Is there anything you can hang onto? I've got to run the nose jets."
"Go ahead. But, damn, this torch is a genuine toy. I don't know how long it'll take to cut the boat loose."
A chill ran down Chandra's spine, and it was all she could do to keep from hitting the main drive and
getting them the hell out of there. "Better not be long, partner. It's just you and me and a runaway
monorail out here."
"Yeah. Hey—couldn't you call for a tachship to come and get us?"
"I already thought of that. But the nearest tachship is only a light-minute out, way too close to get here in
one jump. He'd have to jump out a minimum of two A.U., then jump back here. Calculating the direction
and timing for two jumps that fine-tuned would take almost twenty minutes, total."
"Damn. I didn't know that—I've never trained for tachships." A short pause. "The first three
strands are cut; seven to go. Minute and a half, I'd guess."
"Okay." Chandra was watching the read-outs closely. "We're almost back in position; I'll be down there
before you're done. The boat ready otherwise?"
"Ready, waiting, and eager."
"Not nearly as eager as I am." A squirt of the main drive to kill their velocity as the nose jets fell silent;
one more careful scan of the read-outs—"I'm done. See you below."
Goode was on the second to the last of the cable strands when she arrived. "Get in and strap down," he
told her, not looking up.
She did, wriggling into the pilot's couch, and was ready by the time he scrambled in the opposite side.
Without waiting for him to strap down, she hit the "release" button.
They were under two gees again practically before clearing the hull. Holding the throttle as high as it
would go, Chandra confirmed that they were moving at right angles to the Intruder's path. Only then did
she glance at the chrono.
Ninety seconds to impact.
Next to her, Goode sighed. "I don't think we're going to make it, Chandra," he said, his voice more
wistful than afraid.
Chandra opened her mouth to say something reassuring—but it was the radio that spoke. "Avis
T-466 to Origami lifeboat; come in?"
A civilian tachship? "Lifeboat; Captain Carey here. Listen, you'd better get the hell out of—"
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