The Sails of Tau Ceti by Michael McCollum Page B

as the glass cover retracted into its recess. Several moisture globules were dislodged by the sudden motion. They floated up and away, confirming what Tory’s body had been telling her for the past several minutes. The thrum of the engines was absent and the ship was in zero gravity. She had no opportunity to wonder whether that was good or bad before a haggard Kit Claridge leaned over her.
    “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.
    Tory let the words trickle down through her brain as she pondered their meaning. It was only after her strangely lethargic mental processes converted the sounds into words that she thought to wonder the same thing. How was she feeling?
    There was the cold, of course; but that was an external stimulus, and so it did not really count. As she tried to swallow, she became aware that her throat and mouth were as dry as Martian dust. Her stomach was tied into a small, hard knot. She became aware of a dull ache that suffused her muscles, and sharper pains coming from the various places where the medical cuffs encircled her limbs. The soles of her feet burned, too. She could think of no reason why that should be.
    She took a long rasping breath and croaked out, “I’m cold.”
    The doctor’s concerned look was transformed into a quick smile. “Hell, who isn’t? Here, let me help you out of the tank!”
    Kit did something out of her line of sight and the long cylindrical lid moved up and out of the way. The doctor helped free her arms and feet from the cuffs, then leaned over, and lifted her bodily.
    “Where’s Garth?”
    “Up in control catching up on the mail. You are third to be awakened. Eli’s last.” Kit maneuvered her weightless form to the sanitary compartment as she spoke.
    Tory nodded her understanding. The movement caused the liquid in her inner ear to slosh unpleasantly. She wondered whether she should activate her implant, then put it off when another question occurred to her.
    “How long?” she whispered. With her throat, a whisper was the best she could manage.
    “Five hundred and twelve days,” Kit said. “Right on schedule.”
    “And the alien?”
    “A hell of a lot closer than it was, but still nothing to brag about.”
    “Then we made it!”
    The doctor nodded. “We begin decelerating one week from today.” She maneuvered Tory’s body to the ship’s zero gee shower. When they reached it, she anchored herself to a stanchion and pushed Tory inside the closed cubicle. “I’ve programmed it for a quick warm up,” she explained as she activated the watertight door.
    Tory grabbed the railings inside the stall just as a stream of tepid liquid sprayed out of the overhead. The water warmed swiftly as it flowed down her flanks in rivulets and then into the gridwork built into the shower base. A stream of swiftly moving air carried the liquid away.
    Tory lifted her head to face the oncoming stream. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, slaking her thirst. Then she went limp and held on to the railings as the life giving flow chased the cold from her body.
    #
    When she finally exited the shower, she found Kit ready with a large, fluffy towel. She wrapped herself in it. After the warm embrace of the water, it was a shock to return to the cold air of the cabin.
    “What do you remember?” the doctor asked as she handed Tory a fistful of pills to swallow.
    “I remember launching, and the outbound flight.”
    “Do you remember going into the tank?”
    Tory concentrated. It seemed to her that she did remember it, but hazily. She had been frightened, she remembered that well enough. In her opinion the cold sleep tank looked entirely too much like a coffin. There had been something else, too …
    When she had arrived in the bunkroom, one tank had already been occupied and its top frosted over. As the oldest person onboard, Eli Guttieriz had the honor of being first into the tanks and the last out.
    She remembered Kit ordering her out of her clothes, and giving her a