why didn't Telander make an announcement? Reymont bullied them into commons, started some making coffee and others attending to the most heavily bruised. At last he felt free to head for the bridge.
He stopped to look in on Chi-Yuen, as he had done at intervals. She was finally aware, had unharnessed but collapsed on her mattress before getting all armor off. A tiny light kindled in her when she saw him. "Charles," she susurrated.
"How are you?" he asked.
"I hurt, and I don't seem to have any strength, but—"
He stripped away the rest of her spacesuit. She winced at his roughness. "Without this load, you should be able to get up to the gym," he said. "Dr. Latvala can check you. No one else was too badly hammered, so it's unlikely you were." He kissed her, a brief meaningless brush of lips. "Sorry to be this unchivalrous. I'm in a hurry."
He went on. The bridge door was closed. He knocked. Fedoroff boomed from within, "No admittance. Wait for the captain to address you."
"This is the constable," Reymont answered.
"Well, go carry out your duties."
"I've assembled the passengers. They're getting over being stunned. They're beginning to realize something isn't right. Not knowing what, in their present condition, will crack them open. Maybe we won't be able to glue the pieces back together."
"Tell them a report will be issued shortly," Telander called without steadiness.
"Shouldn't you tell them, sir? The intercom's working, isn't it? Tell them you're making exact assessments of damage in order to lay out a program for prompt repair. But I suggest, Mr. Captain, you first let me in to help you find words for explaining the disaster."
The door flew wide. Fedoroff grabbed Reymont's arm and tried to pull him through. Reymont yanked free, a judo release. His hand lifted, ready to chop. "Don't ever do that," he said. He stepped into the bridge and closed the door himself.
Fedoroff growled and doubled his fists. Lindgren hurried to him. "No, Boris," she begged. "Please." The Russian subsided, stiffly. They glared at Reymont in the thrumming stillness: captain, first officer, chief engineer, navigation officer, biosystems director. He glanced
past them. The panels had suffered, various meter needles twisted, screens broken, wiring torn loose.
"Is that the trouble?" he asked, pointing.
"No," said Boudreau, the navigator. "We have replacements."
Reymont sought the viewscope. The compensator circuits were equally dead. He moved on to the electronic periscope and put his face inside its hood.
A hemispheric simulacrum sprang from the darkness at him, the distorted scene he would have witnessed outside on the hull. The stars were crowded forward, streaming thinly amidships; they shone steel blue, violet, X-ray. Aft the patterns approached what had once been familiar—but not very closely, and those suns were reddened, like embers, as if time were snuffing them out. Reymont shuddered a little and drew his head back into the cozy smallness of the bridge.
"Well?" he said.
"The decelerator system—" Telander braced himself. "We can't stop."
Reymont went expressionless. "Go on."
Fedoroff spoke. His words fell contemptuous. "You will recall, I trust, we had activated the decelerator part of the Bussard module to produce and operate two units. Their system is distinct from the accelerators, since to slow down we do not push gas through a ramjet but reverse its momentum."
Reymont did not stir at the insult. Lindgren caught her breath. After a moment Fedoroff sagged.
"Well," he said tiredly, "the accelerators were also in use, at a much higher level of power. Doubtless on that account, their field strength protected them. The decelerators— Out. Wrecked."
"How?"
"We can only determine that there has been material damage to their exterior controls and generators, and that the thermonuclear reaction which energized them is extinguished. Since the meters to the system aren't reporting—must be smashed—we can't tell exactly
He stopped to look in on Chi-Yuen, as he had done at intervals. She was finally aware, had unharnessed but collapsed on her mattress before getting all armor off. A tiny light kindled in her when she saw him. "Charles," she susurrated.
"How are you?" he asked.
"I hurt, and I don't seem to have any strength, but—"
He stripped away the rest of her spacesuit. She winced at his roughness. "Without this load, you should be able to get up to the gym," he said. "Dr. Latvala can check you. No one else was too badly hammered, so it's unlikely you were." He kissed her, a brief meaningless brush of lips. "Sorry to be this unchivalrous. I'm in a hurry."
He went on. The bridge door was closed. He knocked. Fedoroff boomed from within, "No admittance. Wait for the captain to address you."
"This is the constable," Reymont answered.
"Well, go carry out your duties."
"I've assembled the passengers. They're getting over being stunned. They're beginning to realize something isn't right. Not knowing what, in their present condition, will crack them open. Maybe we won't be able to glue the pieces back together."
"Tell them a report will be issued shortly," Telander called without steadiness.
"Shouldn't you tell them, sir? The intercom's working, isn't it? Tell them you're making exact assessments of damage in order to lay out a program for prompt repair. But I suggest, Mr. Captain, you first let me in to help you find words for explaining the disaster."
The door flew wide. Fedoroff grabbed Reymont's arm and tried to pull him through. Reymont yanked free, a judo release. His hand lifted, ready to chop. "Don't ever do that," he said. He stepped into the bridge and closed the door himself.
Fedoroff growled and doubled his fists. Lindgren hurried to him. "No, Boris," she begged. "Please." The Russian subsided, stiffly. They glared at Reymont in the thrumming stillness: captain, first officer, chief engineer, navigation officer, biosystems director. He glanced
past them. The panels had suffered, various meter needles twisted, screens broken, wiring torn loose.
"Is that the trouble?" he asked, pointing.
"No," said Boudreau, the navigator. "We have replacements."
Reymont sought the viewscope. The compensator circuits were equally dead. He moved on to the electronic periscope and put his face inside its hood.
A hemispheric simulacrum sprang from the darkness at him, the distorted scene he would have witnessed outside on the hull. The stars were crowded forward, streaming thinly amidships; they shone steel blue, violet, X-ray. Aft the patterns approached what had once been familiar—but not very closely, and those suns were reddened, like embers, as if time were snuffing them out. Reymont shuddered a little and drew his head back into the cozy smallness of the bridge.
"Well?" he said.
"The decelerator system—" Telander braced himself. "We can't stop."
Reymont went expressionless. "Go on."
Fedoroff spoke. His words fell contemptuous. "You will recall, I trust, we had activated the decelerator part of the Bussard module to produce and operate two units. Their system is distinct from the accelerators, since to slow down we do not push gas through a ramjet but reverse its momentum."
Reymont did not stir at the insult. Lindgren caught her breath. After a moment Fedoroff sagged.
"Well," he said tiredly, "the accelerators were also in use, at a much higher level of power. Doubtless on that account, their field strength protected them. The decelerators— Out. Wrecked."
"How?"
"We can only determine that there has been material damage to their exterior controls and generators, and that the thermonuclear reaction which energized them is extinguished. Since the meters to the system aren't reporting—must be smashed—we can't tell exactly
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