DAW 30th Anniversary Science Fiction Part 15

DUTCHMAN: . . . it's going past now. It's huge.

HAWK29: What's going on?

LOVER18: Read your d.a.m.n transcript, Hawkboy.

CRAZYCHARLIE: Lurking and running numbers.

DUTCHMAN: It's clear. It's not that fast.

SANDMAN: Not that fast *yet.*

DUTCHMAN: We're running numbers, too. Not good.

SANDMAN: Everybody crosscheck calculations. Not sure . . .

SANDMAN: . . . about gravity slope . . .

CRAZYCHARLIE: Could infall the sun.

UNICORN: We're glad you're alright, Dutchman.

SANDMAN: if it infalls, not sure how close to Pell.

WILLWISP: Lurking and listening. Relaying to my local net.

T_REX: That baby's going to come close.

Sandman reached, punched a b.u.t.ton for the fragile long-range dish. On BettyB's hull, the arm made a racket, extending, working the metal tendons, pulling the silver fan into a metal flower, already aimed at Beta.

"Warning, warning, warning. This is tender BettyB calling all craft in line between Pell and Buoy 17. A rogue inert has taken out Buoy 17 and pa.s.sed my location, 08185 on system schematic. Looks like it's infalling the sun. Calculations incomplete. Buoy 17 destroyed, trajectory of fragments including power plant all uncertain, generally toward Beta. Ma.s.s and velocity sufficient to damage. Relay, relay, relay and repeat to all craft in system. Transmission of raw data follows."

He uploaded the images and data he had. He repeated it three times. He tried to figure the power plant's course. It came up headed through empty s.p.a.ce.

CRAZYCHARLIE: It's going to come d.a.m.n close to Pell. . .

CRAZYCHARLIE: . . . at least within s.h.i.+pping lanes and insystem hazard.

DUTCHMAN: I figure same. Sandman?

UNICORN: I'm transmitting to Beta.

WILLWISP: Still relaying your flow.

HAWK29: Warn everybody.UNICORN: It's months out for them.

DUTCHMAN: Those tilings have a stealth coating. Dark . . .

DUTCHMAN: . . . Hard to find. Easy to lose.

UNICORN: Lot of metal. Pity we can't grab it . . .

FROGPRINCE: Don't try it, Unicorn. You and your engines . . .

UNICORN:. . . But it's bigger than I am.

FROGPRINCE: . . . couldn't ma.s.s big enough.

UNICORN: I copy that, Froggy . . .

DUTCHMAN: It's going to be beyond us. All well and good if it goes . . .

UNICORN: . . . Thanks for caring.

DUTCHMAN: . . . without hitting anything. Little course change here . . .

DUTCHMAN: . . . and Pell's going to have real trouble tracking it.

HAWK29: I feel a real need for a sandwich and a nap . . .

UNICORN: Hawk, that doesn't make sense.

HAWK29: . . . We've sent our warning. Months down, Pell will fix it . . .

HAWK29: . . . All we can do. It's relayed. Pa.s.sing out of our chat soon.

T_REX: Sandman, how sure your decimals?

FROGPRINCE: We can keep transmitting, Hawk. We can tell Sandman . . .

FROGPRINCE: . . . we're sorry he's off his run. His buoy's destroyed . . .

FROGPRINCE: . . . He's got to find a new job . . .

UNICORN: They'll be running construction and supply out. I'll apply, too.

FROGPRINCE: Use a little d.a.m.n compa.s.sion.

SANDMAN: T_Rcx, I'm sure. I was d.a.m.ned careful.

T_REX: You braked.

DUTCHMAN: We both braked.

SANDMAN: I've got those figures in. Even braking, I'm sure of the numbers.

T_REX: That's real interesting from where I sit.

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, where are you?

T_REX: About an hour from impact.

UNICORN: Brake, T_Rex!

SANDMAN: T_Rex, it's 5 meters wide, no tumble.

T_REX: Sandman, did I ever pay you that 52 credits?

Tinman?

d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n! Fifty-two cred in a Beta downside bar. Fifty-two cred on a tab for dinner and drinks, the last time they'd met. Tinman had said, at the end, that things had gone bad.

Crazy Tinman. Big wide grin hadn't been with them that supper. He'd known something was wrong.

He'd paid the tab when Tinman's bank account turned up not answering.

The Lenny Wick business. The big crunch that took down no few that had thought Beta was a place to get rich, and it wasn't, and never would be.

SANDMAN: Dutchman, you copy that? T_Rex owes me 52c. DUTCHMAN: Sandman, we meet on dockside, I owe you a drink . . .

DUTCHMAN: . . . for the warning.

Dutchman didn't pick up on it. Or didn't want to, having fingers anywhere on the Lenny Wick account not being popular with the cops. Easy for Pell to say it was all illegal. Pell residents didn't have a clue how it was on Beta Station payroll. Didn't know how rare jobs were, that weren't.

The big score. The way out. Unicorns by the s.h.i.+pload fell into that well. And a few canny Tinmen got caught trying to skirt it just close enough to catch a few of the bennies before it all imploded.

SANDMAN: I copy that, T_Rex. If you owe me money . . .

SANDMAN: . . . get out of there.

T_REX: Going to be busy for a few minutes.

UNICORN: T_Rex, we love you.

T_REX: Flattery, flattery, Unicorn. I know your heart's . . .

DUTCHMAN: You take care, T_Rex.

T_REX: . . . for FrogPrince. (((Poof.))) UNICORN: He's vanished.

LOVER18: This isn't a d.a.m.n sim, Unicorn.

UNICORN: :(.

FROGPRINCE: T_Rex, can we help you?

UNICORN: Don't distract him, Froggy. He's figuring.

Good guess, that was. Sandman called up the system chart- the buoys produced it, together, constantly talking, over a time lag of hours; but theirs wasn't accurate anymore. The whole Pell System chart was out of date now, because their buoy wasn't talking anymore. The other buoys hadn't missed it yet, and Pell wouldn't know it for hours, but the information wasn't updating, and the source he had right now wasn't Buoy 17 anymore.

They all had numbers on that chart. But the cyberchat never admitted who was Sandman and who was Unicorn. It never had mattered.

They all knew who Sandman was, now. He'd transmitted his chart number. He could look down the line and figure that Dutchman, most recently near that juggernaut's path, was 80018.

He drew his line on the flat-chart and knew where T_Rex was, and saw what his azimuth was, and saw the arrow that was his flatchart heading and rate.

He made the chart advance.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

SANDMAN: I've run the chart, T_Rex. Brake to nadir . . .

SANDMAN: . . . Best bet.

The cyberflow had stopped for a moment. Utterly stopped. Then:UNICORN: I've run the chart, too, T_Rex. If you can brake now, please do it.

SANDMAN: I second Unicorn.

What the h.e.l.l size operations had Tinman signed on to? A little light miner that could skitter to a new heading?

Some fat company supply s.h.i.+p, like BettyB, that would slog its 7 lower only over half a critical hour?

SANDMAN: T_Rex, Dutchman, I'm dumping my cargo . . .

SANDMAN: . . . I'm going after him.

HAWK29: BetaControl's going to have a cat.

UNICORN: Shut up, Hawk. I'm going, too.

SANDMAN: T_Rex, if you can't brake in time, have you got a pod? . . .

SANDMAN: . . . I'm coming after you. Go to the pod if you've got one . . .

SANDMAN: . . . Use a suit if not. Never mind the ETA . . .

SANDMAN: . . . I'll get there in time.

FROGPRINCE: Sandman, go.

SANDMAN: I'm going to full burn, hard as I can . . .

SANDMAN: . . . Right down that line.

b.u.t.ton pushes. One after the other. Hatches open, all down BettyB's side. Shove to starboard. Shove to port. Shove to nadir. Sandman held to the counter, then buckled in fast as the scope erupted with little blips.