The Deep Range - Arthur C. Clarke [32]
“There’s only one thing to do,” said the chief instructor suddenly. “And that’s to send out all our underwater craft on a general search.”
Don Burley stirred himself, slowly and as if carrying a great weight upon his shoulders.
“It’s twelve hours now. In that time he could have covered five hundred miles. And there are only six qualified pilots on the station.”
“I know—it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. But it’s the only thing we can do.”
“Sometimes a few minutes of thought can save a good many hours of random searching,” said Myers. “After all a day, a little extra time will make no difference. With your permission, I’d like to have a private talk with Miss Langenburg.”
“Of course—if she agrees.”
Indra nodded dumbly. She was still blaming herself bitterly for what had happened—for not going to the doctor immediately when they had returned to the island. Her intuition had failed her then; now it told her that there was no possibility of any hope, and she could only pray that it was wrong again.
“Now, Indra,” said Myers kindly when the others had left the room, “if we want to help Franklin we’ve got to keep our heads, and try to guess what he’s done. So stop blaming yourself—this isn’t your fault. I’m not sure if it’s anyone’s fault.”
It might be mine, he added grimly to himself. But who could have guessed? We understand so little about astrophobia, even now … and heaven knows it’s not in my line.
Indra managed a brave smile. Until yesterday, she had thought she was very grown-up and able to take care of herself in any situation. But yesterday was a very, very long time ago.
“Please tell me,” she said, “what is the matter with Walter. I think it would help me to understand.”
It was a sensible and reasonable request; even before Indra had made it, Myers had come to the same conclusion.
“Very well—but remember, this is confidential, for Walter’s own sake. I’m only telling it to you because this is an emergency and you may be able to help him if you know the facts.
“Until a year ago, Walter was a highly qualified spaceman. In fact, he was chief engineer of a liner on the Martian run, which as you know is a very responsible position indeed, and that was certainly merely the beginning of his career.
“Well, there was some kind of emergency in mid-orbit, and the ion drive had to be shut off. Walter went outside in a space suit to fix it—nothing unusual about that, of course. Before he had finished the job, however, his suit failed. No—I don’t meant it leaked. What happened was that the propulsion system jammed on, and he couldn’t shut off the rockets that allowed him to move around in space.
“So there he was, millions of miles from anywhere, building up speed away from his ship. To make matters worse, he’d crashed against some part of the liner when he started, and that had snapped off his radio antenna. So he couldn’t talk or receive messages—couldn’t call for help or find out what his friends were doing for him. He was completely alone, and in a few minutes he couldn’t even see the liner.
“Now, no one who has not been in a situation like that can possibly imagine what it’s like. We can try, but we can’t really picture being absolutely isolated, with stars all around us, not knowing if we’ll ever be rescued. No vertigo that can ever be experienced on Earth can match it—not even seasickness at its worst, and that’s bad enough.
“It was four hours before Walter was rescued. He was actually quite safe, and probably knew it—but that didn’t make any difference. The ship’s radar had tracked him, but until the drive was repaired it couldn’t go after him. When they did get him aboard he was—well, let’s say he was in a pretty bad way.
“It took the