Investments by Walter Jon Williams Page A

approach to its landing pad. Martinez thought of people rising from shelters to find the world above destroyed— crops burned in the fields, no communication, buildings with metal frames unsafe, transport liable to fall apart, those beautiful bridges on the railroad collapsed because the support cables could no longer carry them.
    And possibly Chee Station destroyed. There was plenty of radiation shielding on the station, but it was all on the outer rims of the habitation wheels and in other parts calculated to protect personnel against a solar flare. The x-ray beam would be coming in at an angle, from galactic north, and very little of the station would be safe.
    The wheel and other large structures were made of a tough resinous material, and thus wouldn’t be subject to metal fatigue, but even so enough critical components were made of metal that the structure might be in jeopardy. If it came apart under stress the elevator cable would drop into the atmosphere, where it would burn up, but if the cable dragged enough of the station with it, Chee could be subjected to a dangerous bombardment of large objects burning their way through the atmosphere to strike the surface.
    And crashing with the station would be Chee Company stock, to the ruination of his father and family.
    Helpless anger burned in his thoughts as the coleopter settled to a landing.
    Terza waited by the landing pad with a big Fleet car and a driver. She was wearing her brown Ministry uniform. Martinez walked across the pad and kissed her. Her lips were soft, her eyes hard.
    “You’ve heard?” he asked. He had to speak over the sound of the coleopter’s turbines.
    “Marcella told me.”
    He took her arm and walked with her to the car. “We’ll get you on the first ship out.”
    “I can stay,” Terza said. “I’m an administrator, remember, and I’m sure they’ll find an adequate shelter for us.”
    They paused by the car. Martinez put a large hand over Terza’s abdomen. “I don’t want x-rays getting anywhere near the next generation of Clan Chen.”
    Terza made a face. “I was so looking forward to seeing you in action,” she said. “But I suppose caution may be indicated, since the doctor confirmed just this morning there is a next generation on the way.”
    Despite the oppressive weight of his thoughts a flame of joy kindled in Martinez’ heart, and he kissed her. “What happens next?” he asked. “I’m not quite sure how this pregnancy business works, since I wasn’t around the first time.”
    Terza took him by the hand and drew him into the automobile. “It’s going to be very difficult and taxing, I’m afraid.” Her tone was businesslike. “I shall require first-class pampering from you for, oh, several years at least.”
    “Starting now?” he said hopefully.
    Terza gave a sigh. “I’m afraid not. You’ve got a meeting.”
    *
    “We’ve got power in most of the ship,” Severin said. “Communication between engine control and main control have been restored. Enough of the computers have been brought online so that we can do what we need to. The injured are being made as comfortable as possible for the deceleration, and we’re fighting dehydration with intravenous drips. Since we’re uncertain how the ship will respond to a resumption of gee force, we’ll start with a tenth of a gravity, then gradually increase power to one gravity.”
    Severin paused for a reply, and when none came went on.
    “When I tried to turn the ship with the maneuvering thrusters, the thruster heads blew out— metal fatigue in the joints won’t let them hold pressure. That means we’re going to have to maneuver with the main engine, which is of course designed to resist hard radiation, so if you feel some unusual accelerations at first, that’s what they’ll be.”
    He paused again, then licked his dry lips. “May I have permission to begin deceleration, my lord?”
    There was a long pause before a single word came from the