There was no further response from the instruments. Ryerson let out a whistling sigh. “We seem to have done it,” he said.
We? thought Sverdlov. Well, you handed me a few tools!
Aloud: “We won’t know for sure till full thrust is applied.”
“Of course.” Ryerson spoke hesitantly. Sverdlov recognized the tone, it was trying to be warm. Ryerson was over his fit of temper.
Well, I’m not!
“There isn’t anything to be done about that except to try it and see, is there?” went on the Earthling.
“And if we still get significant deflection, drag on our suits and crawl back here—maybe a dozen times? No!”
“Why, that was how we did it before.”
“I’m getting awfully hungry,” said Sverdlov. Suddenly it flared out of him. “I’m sick of it! I’m sick of being cooped up in my own stink, and yours, I’m sick of the same stupid faces and the same stupid remarks, yes, the same stars even! I’ve had enough! Get on back inside. I’ll stay here and watch under acceleration. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be right on the spot to fix it.”
“But—”
Nakamura’s voice crackled above the mutter of stars. “What are you thinking of, Engineer Sverdlov? Two gravities would
pull you off the ship! And we’re not maneuverable enough to rescue you.”
“This life line is tested for two thousand kilos,” said the Krasnan. “It’s standard procedure to make direct high-acceleration checks on the blast.”
“By automatic instruments.”
“Which we haven’t got. Do you know the system is fully adjusted? Are you so sure there isn’t some small cumulative effect, so the thing will quit on you one day when you need it the most?”
Maclaren’s tone joined in, dry and somehow remote: “This is a curious time to think about that.”
“I am the engineer,” said Sverdlov stiffly. “Read the ship’s articles again.”
“Well,” said Nakamura. “Well, but—”
“It would save time,” said Ryerson. “Maybe even a few days’ worth of time, if the coils really are badly maladjusted.”
“Thanks, Dave,” said Sverdlov clumsily.
“Well,” said Nakamura, “you have the authority, of course. But I ask you again—”
“All I ask of you is two gravities’ worth of oof for a few seconds,” interrupted Sverdlov. “When I’m satisfied this ring will function properly, so we won’t have to be forever making stops like this, I’ll come inside.”
He hooked his legs about the framework and began resetting the instruments clamped onto it. “Get on back, Dave,” he said.
“Why . . . I thought I would—”
“No need to.”
“But there is! You can’t read every dial simultaneously, and if there’s work to be done you’ll need help.”
“I’ll call you if I want you. Give me your tool belt.” Sverdlov took it from reluctant hands and buckled it around himself. “There is a certain amount of hazard involved, Dave. If I should be unlucky, you’re the closest approximation to an engineer the ship will have. She can’t spare both of us.”
“But why take any risk at all?”
“Because I’m sick of being here! Because I’ve got to fight back at that black coal or start howling! Now get inside!”
A
S he watched the other blocky shape depart him, Sverdlov thought: I am actually not being very rational, am I now? But who could expect it, a~ hundred lig)it-years from the sun?
As he made ready, he puzzled over what had driven him. There was the need to wrestle something tangible; and surely to balance on this skeleton of metal, under twice his normal weight, was a challenge. Beyond that, less important really, was the logic of it: the reasons he had given were sound enough as far as they went, and you could starve to death while proceeding at the pace of caution.
And below it all, he thought, was a dark wish he did not understand. Li-Tsung of Krasna would have told him to live at all costs, sacrifice all the others, to save himself for his planet and the Fellowship. But there were limits. You didn’t have to accept Dave’s Calvinism—though its unmerciful God seemed very near this dead star—to swallow the truth that some things were more important than survival. Than even the survival of a cause.