enough along so that those other families should be converging on our route. If any of them had good-sized vehicles, and certainly some should—
Spirit and I, abruptly recharged, got on it with a will. We were not dead yet!
We not only watched, we ranged out in an expanding circle, she going one way, I the other. We leaped as high as we could from the surrounding ridges, though these weren't really very high, trying to spot any moving thing.
I must say this about Spirit: She was twelve, a child, but she was always great to work with. She had enthusiasm and competence, and enough savvy to operate effectively. I liked doing things with her; such shared tasks always seemed to have more meaning than those I did with other people, or alone. Maybe she was just trying to live up to her name as she interpreted it; if so, she succeeded admirably. She was a child, but I hardly knew her like among children or adults. I fancied her dark hair flinging out as she bounded, though of course there could be no such effect out here in the vacuum or in the space suit; it was just the way I saw her in my mind. I realize it is not fashionable to remark about one's little sister in this manner, but I decline to let fashion interfere with truth.
We spied nothing. More hours went by, and the glare of Jupiter seemed to turn baleful, and our enthusiasm was slowly replaced by dread. We came in to report—and discovered that Faith's suit had sprung another leak. Actually, it was the same leak; the patch wasn't holding quite tight. It was intended for temporary use, to hold an hour or two until the suit could be brought in for permanent repair, and now it was giving out. She had her hand on it, holding it closed, but that only slowed the leakage, and it was obvious she would not be able to travel well. We couldn't even return safely to Maraud, now, even if it happened to be politically feasible, which it didn't; that patch simply would not make it that far. We did have other patches, but it is bad business trying to patch a leaky patch, and the effort tends to be wasted.
Spirit and I went out again. We had to find transportation to the bubble!
She spied it first, with her sharp eyes and intense juvenile attention for detail: a shape floating over a distant ridge. She waved frantically, attracting my attention, and then I saw it. At first I felt dread: was it the scion's saucer, coming to finish us off?
No, it was too large. Anyway, even if it had been the scion's saucer or that of one of his companions, we still would have had to approach it. We would perish out here alone, so we simply had to take the chance. We bounded after the shape.
We caught it, for it was traveling slantwise past us so that we were able to intercept its path without matching its velocity. It slowed and hovered in place, waiting for us. What a lovely sight!
I stood bathed in the light of its headlamp and pointed the direction of the rest of my family. The floater moved in that direction. It was a large vehicle, a supply transport, presumably bringing food and water and fuel to the bootleg bubble. In that case, we were really in luck!
My guess turned out to be correct, but our luck was imperfect. The pilot held up a sign with a figure printed on it: the payment they demanded for the service of transporting us to the bubble. Truly has it been said: There is no free lunch!
We had to pay; we had no choice. But it left us no margin, after allowing for the thousand-dollar entry fee to the bubble itself. We were now, essentially, all the way broke.
Yet the ride itself was fun, and not merely because it represented our salvation from death in the vacuum.
They didn't let us inside; we clung to handholds atop the vehicle and floated in its onion-field of null-gee over the terrain. In three more hours we were there.
Could we have made it on our own? I like to think we could have—but I really am uncertain. What counts is that we did get there.
Bio of a Space Tyrant 1 -
Spirit and I, abruptly recharged, got on it with a will. We were not dead yet!
We not only watched, we ranged out in an expanding circle, she going one way, I the other. We leaped as high as we could from the surrounding ridges, though these weren't really very high, trying to spot any moving thing.
I must say this about Spirit: She was twelve, a child, but she was always great to work with. She had enthusiasm and competence, and enough savvy to operate effectively. I liked doing things with her; such shared tasks always seemed to have more meaning than those I did with other people, or alone. Maybe she was just trying to live up to her name as she interpreted it; if so, she succeeded admirably. She was a child, but I hardly knew her like among children or adults. I fancied her dark hair flinging out as she bounded, though of course there could be no such effect out here in the vacuum or in the space suit; it was just the way I saw her in my mind. I realize it is not fashionable to remark about one's little sister in this manner, but I decline to let fashion interfere with truth.
We spied nothing. More hours went by, and the glare of Jupiter seemed to turn baleful, and our enthusiasm was slowly replaced by dread. We came in to report—and discovered that Faith's suit had sprung another leak. Actually, it was the same leak; the patch wasn't holding quite tight. It was intended for temporary use, to hold an hour or two until the suit could be brought in for permanent repair, and now it was giving out. She had her hand on it, holding it closed, but that only slowed the leakage, and it was obvious she would not be able to travel well. We couldn't even return safely to Maraud, now, even if it happened to be politically feasible, which it didn't; that patch simply would not make it that far. We did have other patches, but it is bad business trying to patch a leaky patch, and the effort tends to be wasted.
Spirit and I went out again. We had to find transportation to the bubble!
She spied it first, with her sharp eyes and intense juvenile attention for detail: a shape floating over a distant ridge. She waved frantically, attracting my attention, and then I saw it. At first I felt dread: was it the scion's saucer, coming to finish us off?
No, it was too large. Anyway, even if it had been the scion's saucer or that of one of his companions, we still would have had to approach it. We would perish out here alone, so we simply had to take the chance. We bounded after the shape.
We caught it, for it was traveling slantwise past us so that we were able to intercept its path without matching its velocity. It slowed and hovered in place, waiting for us. What a lovely sight!
I stood bathed in the light of its headlamp and pointed the direction of the rest of my family. The floater moved in that direction. It was a large vehicle, a supply transport, presumably bringing food and water and fuel to the bootleg bubble. In that case, we were really in luck!
My guess turned out to be correct, but our luck was imperfect. The pilot held up a sign with a figure printed on it: the payment they demanded for the service of transporting us to the bubble. Truly has it been said: There is no free lunch!
We had to pay; we had no choice. But it left us no margin, after allowing for the thousand-dollar entry fee to the bubble itself. We were now, essentially, all the way broke.
Yet the ride itself was fun, and not merely because it represented our salvation from death in the vacuum.
They didn't let us inside; we clung to handholds atop the vehicle and floated in its onion-field of null-gee over the terrain. In three more hours we were there.
Could we have made it on our own? I like to think we could have—but I really am uncertain. What counts is that we did get there.
Bio of a Space Tyrant 1 -
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