Paul popped open his eyes at Sheriff Sharpe's droll wake up call, yawned and then stretched as well as the straps holding him to the seat would permit. 'I think I just doubled the amount of sleep I've had in the last twenty- four hours,' he remarked.
Sharpe put an expression of exaggerated interest on his face. 'Sleep, sir? What would that be, sir? Some privilege restricted to the exalted ranks of junior officers?'
'Sheriff, you sleep more than anyone on board except the supply officer.'
'That, sir, is the worst insult I've ever received.' Sharpe grinned. 'And even if I did, at least I work for a living when I'm awake.'
'Is that what you call what you do?' Paul peered at the maneuvering display again. The bulk of the Prometheus loomed close by now. Even as he watched, the bosun hit the main drive again, braking the gig to bring it to a halt relative to the freighter, then using gentle taps on the thrusters to bring the gig close to the freighter's dock. A magnetic grapnel launched from the freighter, slowly heading for gig while its line trailed out behind. Then the grapnel locked onto the gig's mooring plate and the line began very gently retracting, pulling the gig behind it.
The Michaelson 's chief bosun watched intently, ready to react if the gig started moving too fast toward the dock or if anything else went wrong. Navy sailors never trusted their merchant counterparts to do things right. But the gig came to rest gently against the padded surface of the dock cradle. They could hear a humming transmitted through the hull of the gig as the freighter's air lock moved to mate with the gig.
The bosun finally turned and nodded to Paul. 'All secure, sir. It's okay to crack the hatch.'
'Thanks, Boats. Good driving.' Paul unstrapped, pulled himself to the hatch, and cycled it open.
There were three people awaiting him. One, obviously the captain of the Prometheus, wore a bright coverall betraying the sheen long use. He grinned at Paul. 'Did you drive that gig in here?'
'No, sir.' Technically, the civilian captain of the Prometheus didn't have to be addressed as 'sir,' but Paul felt it was only appropriate when dealing with commanding officer of another ship. 'That was our chief bosun.'
'Any chance I can hire her off of you?'
'No, sir. Sorry.'
The captain extended one hand. 'Grady Perseus.'
The commanding officer of a ship named Prometheus Rising is himself named Perseus? Figure the odds. Paul shook hands. 'Lieutenant Paul Sinclair.'
'I really appreciate the help from you guys.' The captain of the Prometheus turned to point to his companions. 'These are your passengers.'
Both of the others wore new coveralls, and neither had hair cut short in the usual manner of professional spacefarers. The woman, some of whose long blond hair had escaped from its bun and was drifting in front of her face, smiled politely as she used her free hand to bat at the annoying hairs. 'Reverend Alice Fernandez.'
Her companion, tall and dark, nodded with equal politeness to Paul even though his expression remained noncommittal. 'Doctor William Chen-Meyer.'
Paul glanced behind them, where two wreaths formed from cloth were fastened to the bulkhead. 'If you're ready, we can leave immediately.'
'Thank you,' the blond replied. Reaching back to gather in one of the wreaths, she used her other hand to propel herself awkwardly toward the gig's hatch. Paul steadied her, gesturing to the two bosun mates waiting inside to help her to her seat. The dark man followed with the same lack of low-gravity skills.
Paul looked back at the freighter captain. 'We should be back in about one and a half hours.'
'No problem, sailor. I'll be here.'
Paul sealed the hatch and returned to his seat, fastening the straps again quickly. Physically tired and emotionally exhausted from events of the last day and a half, all he wanted was to get this extra job over with. 'Let's go, Boats.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Several minutes later, the gig was on its way toward the asteroid's surface.
Paul averted his eyes from the screen, which displayed the looming mass of rock they were to all appearances falling onto, and found himself looking at the blond. The reverend, he corrected himself.
Her smile was gone as she stared at the asteroid. Then she looked at Paul. 'The reports we received weren't sure how many of the settlers survived.'
Paul bit his lip before replying. 'Seven.'
She winced as if in physical pain. 'How many children?'
'Only two.'
The dark man was shaking his head. 'I just don't understand.'
Paul felt anger growing. 'We did all we could-'
'No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply… that is.' The man took a long, slow breath. 'I don't understand the South Asians. Or the settlers. Why fire upon the settlement when other options remained? Why kill your own children? What possible reasons could justify either act?'
Paul met his eyes. 'I honestly don't understand myself, sir.'
'We hoped we could stop something like this from happening. If the police had just waited-'
'Bill,' the blond interrupted. 'We don't know enough, yet.' She looked at Paul. 'Do you know why the police moved in last night?'
'No, ma'am, I don't.' At least he could honest about that, and there was no way he was going to share Captain Hayes' suspicions that the cops had moved early to try to forestall the Prometheus 's arrival.
'We understand you tried to stop the attack by interposing yourselves between the South Asians and their targets.' She leaned forward as far as her straps would allow. 'That was a tremendously courageous act. All of my comrades want to express our thanks to you.'
The dark man nodded. 'I personally feared someone would start shooting and everyone would join in. We'd have had a major war triggered. I don't know what kept you from firing, but it was the right thing to do.'
Paul stared at him. We couldn't fire. We wanted to, but- Is he right? What if we had started shooting at the SASAL ships? The Brits would've backed us, I bet. The others? Who knows. Warships would've been destroyed. Would it have triggered a big war, here in space or on Earth as well?
Was there nothing else we could've done that wouldn't have been worse than what actually happened? I've hated those orders not to fire, but would I have wanted to live with a war started by those stupid fanatics on that asteroid? How many other people would've died because of that?
Wait a minute. These people are thanking us for what we did. I thought they'd be all over me about what'd happened. Courageous? No, we were just — He remembered the simulated sounds of SASAL shots ripping past the Michaelson. We could've died, I guess.
The blond was nodding to Ivan Sharpe and the bosun mates. 'Yes. You all risked your lives to save others. Thank you. I know your training is to kill-'
Sharpe coughed loudly, but one of the bosun mates just grinned and nudged her comrade. 'Hell, ma'am, I spend most of my time keeping people alive. War's just kind of a hobby.'
Both of the visitors looked at Paul, who shrugged. 'That's pretty much true in a way. We train for what we might have to do, but war's pretty much the last option after all else has failed.' At least it's supposed to be the last option.
The dark man looked skeptical but nodded. 'I wish we'd had a chance to fail.'
Paul nodded back but said nothing.
The chief bosun handled the approach to the asteroid with the same skill and aplomb she'd shown earlier. As the gig came to rest several meters above the surface of the asteroid, Paul gestured to the guests. 'How do want to do this?'
The blond looked distressed. 'We don't have suits. We should've thought-'
'We can drop 'em internally,' the chief bosun advised. She pointed downward. 'There's a drop chute there. Put in your, uh, objects and I'll open the chute. There's a little spring loaded launch pad that'll push them down toward the surface.'
'Thank you. That will do very nicely.'
As the two visitors cautiously loaded the wreaths into the drop chute built into the deck of the gig, Paul panned the visual display around. On the surface below, he could see scattered remnants of the settlement. No bodies were visible, but at least twenty security personnel were in place and watching the gig.
