Warhorse (17 page)

Tenzing shrugged. “We could try, but I really think we'd be wasting our time. Nutritional deficiencies just don't come on that quickly.”

“Maybe not with normal animals,” Ferrol growled. “With space horses, who can tell? Besides, it's as good a way to waste our time as any, at least until we find out the real problem.”

“There's that,” Tenzing conceded. “Though if the Tampies can't figure it out, I doubt that we—”

He broke off in midsentence as Ferrol's hand lashed out to clamp hard around his upper arm. “I don't want to hear that again,” Ferrol told him icily. “Not from you, not from any of your people. The Tampies aren't omniscient, they aren't supermen, and you damn well will
not
behave or think otherwise. So they commune with nature and love all the humble creatures of the universe?—fine.
We
bend nature, and do what we like with it; and if Pegasus doesn't want to Jump, we will damn well find a way to
make
it Jump. With or without the Tampies' help.”

“Understood, Commander,” Tenzing muttered, his eyes wary.

“Make sure you do,” Ferrol said, releasing his arm. “Now get back there and find me a cure.”

Tenzing swallowed. “Yes, sir,” he said. Without another word, he turned and kicked off back to the impromptu laboratory.

I shouldn't have chewed his head off
, Ferrol thought, a touch of embarrassment seeping through the frustration and fatigue and worry. But Tenzing had more than once shown a quiet awe toward Tampy opinions that occasionally flirted with hero worship, and Ferrol had no intention of letting the aliens' passive wait-and-see-what-happens attitude soak into the only people who could get a handle on Pegasus' mysterious ailment.

His eyes strayed to the bow of the lander and the Tampies…and abruptly he forgot about both embarrassment and the subtle dangers of defeatism.

The aliens were no longer merely sitting cross-legged in a rough three-dimensional circle around the Handler. Instead, they were clumped tightly together, each with a solid-looking grip on one of the Handler's arms or legs. The Handler himself was rigid, distorted face contorted into something even stranger.

And on the amplifier helmet, half the indicator lights had gone red.

“Garin!” Ferrol snapped, launching himself toward the bow; but he was too late. Without warning Pegasus gave a violent lurch, throwing the lander sideways and pitching Ferrol headlong into the back of one of the couches.

He was still scrambling for a handhold when the space horse lurched again, throwing him back into the air. The warble of the acceleration warning cut through the sudden confused babble, and Ferrol had barely enough time to get a grip on a couch headrest before a burst from the lander's engines shoved the craft forward. Yamoto, on pilot duty, was fighting to keep the lander in Pegasus' shadow. “Everyone strap in!” Ferrol bellowed over the dull roar. Not that anyone needed to be told. The burst lasted perhaps three seconds before cutting off, returning them to zero-gee. “Garin!” Ferrol barked again.

“Here, sir,” Garin's voice snapped from right behind him. “What the hell's happening?”

“I don't know,” Ferrol returned, pulling hard on the headrest and hoping fervently that there wouldn't be any more bumps until he reached the bow and could strap into one of the seats there. “Come on—let's find out.”

Pegasus lurched again before he got there, but this time Yamoto was ready for it and was able to use the maneuvering jets to smooth most of the jolt out. Reaching the row of command chairs, Ferrol jammed himself into one and grabbed for the straps. “Sso-ngii?” he called, eyes searching the freshly jumbled tangle of Tampy bodies for the chief Handler's red-white tartan neckerchief. “Sso-ngii, where the hell are you?”

“I hear, Ffe-rho,” the grating voice came from near the middle as the Tampies took advantage of the momentary lull to untangle themselves.

“Glad to hear it,” Ferrol snarled. “What the
hell
was that all about?”

“Pegasunninni is not…well,” Sso-ngii said, hesitating noticeably on the last word.

“Oh, really,” Ferrol snorted. “It seems a damn sight healthier than it's been for the past day and a half.”

“You do not understand, Ffe-rho,” Sso-ngii said. “Pegasunninni is not well. We must release him.”

Ferrol felt something cold run up his back. “We must
what
?”

“We must release—”

“Yes, I heard you,” Ferrol cut him off “I just didn't believe it—not even from Tampies. What do you mean, release it? Release it where?”

“Release him to—release him to be free,” Sso-ngii said, uncharacteristically stumbling over the words. His slight form seemed unnaturally tense, but whether from fear or something else Ferrol couldn't tell. “He must be made free or he will die.”

At Ferrol's side, Garin snorted. “Oh,
right
,” he said. “Let it go, just like that? What kind of scitte-headed idiots do you think—”

Ferrol waved a hand in front of Garin to shut him up. “
Why
must Pegasus be freed?” he demanded, forcing his voice to remain calm. Sso-ngii's tension was strangely contagious.

For a moment Sso-ngii hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, he opened his mouth wide behind his filter mask—the Tampy equivalent of a shaking head. “I do not know,” he said.

“What do you mean, you don't know?”

“I cannot explain it, Ffe-rho—” The Tampy broke off as Pegasus again lunged and Yamoto again fought to keep the lander and attached lifeboats in the space horse's protective shadow. “I do not know why he will die. Only that he will.”

Ferrol twisted to look over the chair back. “Tenzing!” he called. “What're you getting on Pegasus' dust sweat?”

“There wasn't anything new in the last sample,” Tenzing called back, his voice trembling against obvious efforts to control it. “But that was nearly an hour ago. What's happening?”

“We don't know,” Ferrol told him shortly, thinking hard. The way Pegasus was lurching around, Tenzing's usual collection method was probably out of the question. “Garin, get an EVA team suited up,” he told the man beside him. “I want them to get over to Pegasus and take a fresh sample.”

“Yes, sir,” Garin said. Ducking his head once to glance out the forward viewport at Pegasus, he unstrapped and kicked off aft, collecting a pair of crewers on the way.

“You must allow Pegasunninni to be freed, Ffe-rho.”

Ferrol turned back to face him. In his pocket, the little needle gun was a hard lump against his side. “Do you know what'll happen if we unweb the space horse?” he asked quietly. “It'll Jump, that's what. Leaving us here to fry in the light and radiation out there.”

Sso-ngii floated silently for a moment. “I do not believe Pegasunninni will Jump,” he said at last. “Not immediately. He does not yet have the strength and ability to do so.”

“It's got more than enough strength to whip us around like a kid's pull-toy,” Ferrol countered. “What makes you think it can't Jump?”

“I do not know,” Sso-ngii answered, a trace of something that sounded almost like frustration in his voice. “I know he must be freed; that is all.”

“And you'd stand by that recommendation?” Ferrol demanded. “Even if it means you yourself will die? And I mean right
now
, and in considerable pain.”

The Tampy's face twisted even further than usual, into something that could have been interpreted as a vaguely sardonic smile. “You waste time, Ffe-rho,” he whined. “There are no threats. If I am wrong, and Pegasunninni Jumps, then all of us will die.”

Ferrol glared at him…and for a handful of heartbeats all of his anger and contempt for the Tampy race seemed to narrow itself into laser-focus on the single individual floating before him. Calmly devious, unreadably tight-lipped, blandly unconcerned with risks—Sso-ngii was for that instant everything Ferrol hated about Tampies. His hand hovered beside his pocket, and the needle gun hidden there, and he had the almost overwhelming urge to draw it. To draw it, to see if that lopsided face would show any fear before he shredded it beyond recognition.

But he resisted the urge…because in the midst of all the churning emotion within him he knew that he had no real choice. Releasing Pegasus was a hell of a risk to take, but if they didn't do so one of the space horse's twitches would be violent enough to throw the lander and lifeboats out into full sunlight.

And if remaining webbed did indeed somehow kill the space horse, then everyone in the system was dead. Themselves, the
Amity
, the trapped scientists; everyone. Guaranteed.

Sso-ngii was right…and Ferrol hated that the most.

“Garin!” Ferrol called, twisting to look over his shoulder, the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth. “Suit up three more crewers—people with EVA-work experience. We're going to loosen the webbing around Pegasus, see if that helps any.”

“And if it does not?” Sso-ngii asked.

Ferrol grimaced. “Then I guess we'll have to try taking it off entirely,” he said without turning around. “For now, you just concentrate on getting the damn beast back under control.”

“Your wishes are ours,” Sso-ngii said, and fell silent.

Ferrol ground his teeth together, his eyes on Garin and his EVA crew.
Given your feelings about the Tampies
, Roman had asked him at the beginning of this voyage,
are you certain you're willing to trust your life to them
?

Ferrol hadn't been sure of the answer then. Now he was.

And if Sso-ngii was lying—if Pegasus Jumped and left the men and women under his command to die—then it was as sure as hell that the Tampies would be the first to go. In as much agony as Ferrol could arrange.

Guaranteed.

“C
ONTACT IN ONE MINUTE
,” Marlowe announced, and Roman shifted his attention from the hull repair work to the lifeboat monitors. There was little to see; MacKaig was coming in on the space horse's dark side, and the low-level lighting she was using disappeared into the creature's energy-absorbent surface without a glimmer. Only the thin strands of the Tampy harness were visible, floating somewhat loosely against the creature.

“I'm approaching a rein line,” MacKaig's voice said, just audible above the static. “Rrin-saa has gone into his trance or whatever, and Hill and Sievers are waiting to link us up.”

“Marlowe?” Roman murmured.

The other shook his head: “Still no way to tell if it's alive or not.”

The bridge's background of quiet conversation faded into silence.
It
has
to be alive
, Roman repeated to himself. Space horses were theorized to have evolved in the energy-rich accretion disk of a black hole—surely a few days in B's enhanced sunlight couldn't have killed it already.

On the display, the space horse twitched violently, taking Roman's heart with it. “MacKaig?” he snapped.

“I'm on it, sir,” her voice came amid the static as she matched the motion. “They're getting the line connected…”

“Got it,” Sievers's voice cut in. “Take it, Rrin-saa.”

Roman held his breath; but there was nothing but static from the lifeboat. “Rrin-saa? What's happening?”

Something like a wheezy sigh penetrated the crackle. “He is alive, but is very weak,” the Tampy said in a voice Roman could hardly recognize as his. “He has suffered badly from the radiation.”

“Can it make the round-trip flight out here and back?”

“I do not know. It may be too much for him.” Another sigh. “But we will try.”

“Captain, we're moving,” MacKaig announced.

“Confirmed,” Marlowe said a moment later. “ETA…oh, at least ten hours at the acceleration they're pulling.”

“Good enough,” Roman nodded. It
was
a bit slow; but on the other hand, Lowry's calculations indicated they had the time to spare, and pushing the space horse for more speed at this point might be dangerous. “Stay on them, Marlowe. Keep a sharp eye for any problems.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gave the display one last look, then keyed for a status readout.
Amity
's repairs were progressing well; with luck, the ship would be ready by the time the space horse reached them. “Kennedy, when you've got your course plottings ready, I'd like you to throw together a status summary and shoot it out to Commander Ferrol's position. Laser only, and put it on indefinite repeater. Tell him to expect us in about fifty hours.” He hesitated; but it had to be said. “Also tell him that if we haven't arrived by the time the star starts blasting again that he's to take off
immediately
and make his own way back to Solomon.”

“Yes, sir,” Kennedy acknowledged, as glacially calm as if he'd just given her his dinner order. “May I remind the captain that they're almost certainly sheltering behind Pegasus and out of reception range?”

“I realize that,” Roman told her. “But we have to try. They don't know that the next burp will be the nova, and by the time they figure it out it's likely to be too late.”

“Understood, sir.” For a moment her eyes locked with his, and it wasn't hard to read the thought there: if the space horse limping in from Shadrach had indeed been crippled by overexposure to the double star's radiation, what was that same radiation doing to Pegasus?

It was a question Roman didn't really want to think about.

Twelve hours later the space horse dipped briefly into the moon's shadow, keeping well back from the body itself.
Amity
was waiting, and together they headed back into the deadly passage.

“Getting a little radiation spillover from the space horse's side,” Marlowe reported as they left the moon's penumbra. “Not as bad as the simulations had thought it might be, though.”