Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [127]
“Ham, on my command, we’ll execute a thirty-degree rum, mark fifteen, to port.”
“Solly, at this acceleration, you and your passenger will be subject to extreme stress and possibly even a degree of hazard.”
“Thank you, Ham. I appreciate your concern.”
“I am always concerned for the welfare of crew and passengers.”
The object was fifty kilometers out. One minute away. Solly watched the clock tick down to a final ten seconds. “Ham,” he said. “Execute.”
The Hammersmith rolled hard left and the nose lifted sharply. Kim was thrown to her right. Her organs jammed against one another while the seat shoved up against her. Her heart hammered and her vision got dark and she was afraid she’d black out. The rumble of power in the walls increased, and she tried to concentrate on the blip.
“It went by us,” Solly said. And then he looked at her. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m doing fine,” she said.
“Object has commenced to turn,” announced Ham.
Kim sat with her eyes closed. For the moment she almost didn’t care.
“We bought a minute or so,” said Solly.
She shook off her stupor.
“Still closing.”
Its image dominated the overhead. It was a preposterous object. Goddamn silly saddle.
“Coming up the tailpipe,” said Solly.
And then Ham: “Sir, it is decelerating. Moving to port.”
It slipped off the screen, appeared again moments later as one of the other imagers picked it up.
“The object is running on a parallel course. Still decelerating.”
“Hard right, Ham.”
This time it stayed with them.
“Maybe it’s not hostile after all,” said Kim. “It could have blown our rear end off if it wanted.”
“Maybe.”
The range finder put it four meters off the port side.
Four.
“It has matched course and speed,” said Ham.
The jump status indicator signaled they’d be ready in two minutes to go into hyperspace. “Hold off, Solly,” Kim said. “Give them a chance.”
“You have a suicide complex, sweetie. But we’ll play your game.”
“Object at two meters,” said Ham.
They watched its image growing larger. Then it was offscreen.
“Where’d it go?” asked Kim, after a long, damp silence.
“It’s in close. The sensors aren’t picking it up.”
“Object,” said Ham, “has attached itself to us.”
They sat without moving, without talking, without breathing.
Kim gripped the arms of her chair, thinking how you really couldn’t predict what a celestial might do. “What happens if we make the jump now?” she asked, in a voice so low that Solly had had to lean forward to hear her.
“Hard to say.” He also was whispering. “We might get rid of it. Or it might come with us.”
Kim’s pulse was in her throat. “You still think it’s a bomb?”
“What else could it be?”
“Jump status achieved,” said the AI.
“Hell,” said Kim, “let’s go.”
Solly didn’t need to be persuaded. “Where?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Greenway? Or Tigris?”
“Solly, this is probably not the best time for a discussion group.”
“Your call.”
“Greenway,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Solly looked momentarily thoughtful and then directed the AI to take them home.
The jump engines took over and the lights dimmed. Then the screens were blank, Alnitak was gone, the ringed world was gone, the star-clouds were gone.
“Jump successfully completed,” said Ham.
“The object?”
“It’s still there.”
20
What is it in the cast of a dying moonbeam that suggests a pair of eyes, a watcher in the shadows?
—SHEYEL TOLLIVER, Notebooks, 591
“If it were going to blow us up,” said Kim, “I’d think it would have done so by now.”
“You’re probably right. So we should be safe. For the moment.”
“How do you mean, for the moment?”
“We can’t very well take it home.”
“Why not?”
“It might be a tracking device.”
“You don’t really think that’s so?”
“What else would it be if it’s not a bomb?”
She thought it over. “It could be a gift.”
“Like at Troy?”
“Solly, we may be getting a little paranoid here.”
“Yep. Of course, there’s nothing necessarily wrong with a little paranoia when you’re being chased. We’ve no idea of their capabilities. And so far their intentions don’t seem especially friendly.”
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s