logic, that without some forthcomingness-which could only begin on the human side-the hatred and slaughter might well go on until one race or the other went extinct. 'I'm with you,' and now she took his hands and presently returned his kiss before they got busy.
She refrained from wishing aloud that they had a firearm along.
14
'We have still received no response from the kzinti,' Bihari reported. 'Among other things, that means we don't have the code for opening any of their airlocks. Since you are closing in, I have ordered a naval 'key' program sent to you. I suppose you know it directs phased currents through your contact module and analyzes the reaction to each set of pulses. A search pattern conducted at electronic speed. It ought to determine the unlocking sequence within a few minutes. The program is classified information, but merely at 'confidential' level, and may be shared in emergency. Instructions will accompany it. Prepare to download.'
Raden nodded. 'I rather expected this,' he told Tyra. 'I didn't think the captain would leave us to cut our way in with laser torches. Dangerous, as well as slow. No doubt she'll order the program wiped from our database after we return, but actually, one relies more on interstellar distances and infrequent contacts to keep such things from spreading. All colony worlds have similar tools, civilian as well as military, and many spacecraft carry them. You might need to get into a friendly ship, too-a Crashlander, say-when for some reason the crew couldn't just let you in. Or any of all the other unpredictable situations.'
He spoke rapidly, dryly, as if he were lecturing to a class. Tyra listened, though she already knew most of it. This must be a way for him to release some tension. Mainly he directed himself toward the keyboard.
Sweat gleamed on his brow. Tyra felt it on her own face and soaking her armpits.
She wondered how much of it was due to excitement-fear?-and how much was the body trying to maintain temperature. The compartment, the whole interior had gotten unpleasantly warm, and still the temperature crept upward.
The thermostatics weren't failing; they struggled as best they could against an input for which they weren't intended. Caroline had unfolded her extra radiation surfaces, like huge wings, their thinness tilted normal to the swollen sun-disc. Unless you have vapor to release, as the kzin venturer had had, radiation is the single way to shed excess heat in space, and it does not work very fast.
The wings of an angel, speeding on an errand of mercy- Memories arose of themselves in Tyra, childhood, church, the steel steeple of St. Joachim's shining above Munchen… during the kzinti occupation, it stood in more human minds than hers as a symbol of freedom, eventual liberation, but you seldom said such things aloud, never where kzinti might hear, because then they would likely tear it down…
Caroline was closing in, sensors at maximum, autopilot adjusting vectors like a high-wire walker… Yes, Wunderlanders had revived quite a few such acts during the war, more often performed for live audiences than cameras, another silent declaration that humans were not cattle…
Optics gave a clear view of the sundiver, massive, ungainly against the stars, but-she must admit-its own sign of indomitability. She could magnify until a single section filled the screen for close study. She saw the holes strewn over the outer hull, small, not really very many, but sufficient to let the water seethe unchecked away. And forward she identified a damaged outercom dish. That explained why there had been no contact on any band. The damage didn't look great to her. Crew could readily have fixed it and regained communication, except that none could venture outside and live to do the work. Could a robot? Kzinti technology seemed to lag others when it came to robotics. Nevertheless but maybe there was no robot, or maybe no person left who was able to dispatch one.
Minute by minute, the image expanded. Caroline was closing swiftly in on the reality.
Raden finished at the keyboard, rose, and stretched, seeking to limber muscles too long tautened. 'Is the medical care station ready?' he asked. Laying everything out for that had been her job.
'Yes,' she snapped.
'I'm sorry. Stupid of me to ask. You're always competent.' He sighed. 'Not long now. I damn near wish it were. Then we could perhaps- But we'd better prepare ourselves.'
She gave him a smile.
He did pause to frown at the spacecraft's image. 'Quite a bombardment,' he muttered. 'I doubt it holed the inner hull. I'd expect somewhat different spectroscopic readings in that case, and sheer off right away. As is, all we know is that it's an oven inside there.'
They started aft. 'Have you any idea what did it?' she asked. 'Does Pele have a ring of meteoroids?'
'No, Maria would have identified one, even a thin strewing of gravel, and told us. Implausible anyway, on general principles. I have been speculating, though, whenever I got a chance. A notion has occurred to me. It may be utterly wrong.' An eagerness flickered amidst the forebodings. 'What is it? I promise not to laugh.'
'Thanks. I badly needed a grin.' Raden spoke on as they made their way to the space gear lockers and busied themselves there. 'Do you remember the anomalous iron content Maria found in the high Kumukahi atmosphere?' She nodded. 'We don't yet know what spews it out. I'd say the best guess is convulsions in the planetary body; then rising air currents-what storms those must be!-bring it aloft. Pele isn't an ultraviolet emitter on the scale of Sol or Alpha A, but that close, Kumukahi surely gets plenty to split molecules or radicals into atoms-ionized atoms-once they're up where the air is thin. Then-here's my guess, tremendous magnetic fields are interacting, the star's and the planet's, changeably, chaotically. It may result in vortices that pull ferromagnetic atoms together over an enormous range. They join into macroscopic clumps, pellets, perhaps still carrying some charge. Then a surge in the fields accelerates them to escape velocity, or nearly. They're thrown out of the atmosphere, probably in bursts, like shotgun fire. The sundiver ran into a cluster. The planet had given her such a velocity of her own that the encounter riddled her.
'Whether I'm right or wrong, the notion suggests precautions for the future, doesn't it? We need data, data, data, observations, missions, year after year before we can hope to make a halfway decent computer model.' His tone and eyes came ablaze. 'Unique in our experience. What a wild fluke of luck! What a chance to learn!'
For a moment the enthusiasm caught her too. She had always been fascinated by science, but none of her men before now had been scientists. To see, to be a part, of truly doing it- If nothing else, life with Craig would never be dull. The mood chilled and hardened in them both. They had work on hand. Elementary prudence dictated wearing space gear. It needn't be cumbersome full armor, simply protection against possible hot spots, noxious gases, or the like. They stripped off their clothes-gazes flying up and down, and a pulse in the throat-and took skintights from the suit locker. Those were easy to pull on. The molecules flowed to make a dermis from neck to ankles, shinily reflective, leather-tough, silk-flexible, veined with electronics and tiny capillaries for exuding sweat vapor or other unwanted fluids but sealing the body off from the outside. Boots snuggled similarly to feet and ankles. A backrack went on nearly as readily, for powerpack, airtank, regulators, water supply. The collars of the clear, hard helmets made themselves fast to shoulders and coupled to the rack. The wearers could talk by radio or, with sound amplification, directly; they likewise had good hearing, while sensors woven into the integument provided tactility.
His smile quirked at her through the barriers between. 'All set for the dance, Tyra?'
'Well, I'll take a promissory note for my corsage,' she forced herself to reply in kind.
Sternly: 'To repeat the doctrine one last time. I go first. You stay behind at the entrance till I call for you. If I call, 'Get away!' instead, or you realize that something's gone seriously wrong, close our airlock and release the gang tube. Worning will instruct you how to bring Caroline back. This isn't heroics, it's plain common sense, and you know how and why to follow orders.' Softly: 'Not that I expect danger. Horror, perhaps. You may well be tougher than me, dealing with that. You're a remarkable lady, Tyra, and I'm an incredibly lucky man.'
'I love you,' she whispered, and knew she meant it. Whatever happened in the future, she had been set free of regrets from the past.
They waited for a span that felt endless, although clocks showed little change. Then she felt a thud go through metal and knew that the vessels had made contact.
She stood trying to visualize events. Caroline nudged the sundiver. Both recoiled the least bit. The autopilot had gauged nicely; airlocks were nearly aligned. Caroline's gang tube need only extrude two or three meters to
