“Tor,” Hutch said, “we’re outside now. I’ll be down the tube in a minute.”

“Okay. Take your time. No rush.”

Get it right.

Hutch studied the schematic, looked at the Wendy’s hull. “There,” she said, fixing the spot in her mind. It was located just below an antenna array. “He’s in there. And over here is our way in. A topside hatch.” She maneuvered toward the array, got within a couple of meters of the hull, matched course and speed, and directed Bill to hold it right where it was. Then she depressurized the cabin and opened the airlock.

“What do we do,” Alyx asked, “if the thing attacks the lander?”

“If that happens, we leave it here. Just abandon ship and I’ll pick you up.” She turned in her seat, lifted the go-pack onto her shoulders, and handed the shears to Alyx, making it almost a ceremonial gesture. “Here you go,” she said. “Take care of it.”

Hutch checked to make sure she was still carrying her marker, and turned on her wristlamp. “Okay, Nick. Let’s get to it.”

She passed through the hatch, put her cutter in her vest, and in a single movement launched herself across to the hull.

Nick hesitated, checked to make sure he had his own cutter, and looked out at Hutch now clinging to the Wendy’s hull. He glanced at the frozen world beneath him, at the diseased thing gobbling down the ship.

“It’s okay, Nick,” she said. “You can do this.”

He laughed nervously. “That sounds like an epitaph. Nick could do it.” She laughed back, and he leaned out of the airlock, looking sporty in a green plaid shirt and white slacks. His eyes touched hers, and he pushed clear. He landed a bit hard and bounced, but she caught him and hauled him back. Then she spoke into her link. “Tor, you there?”

“No,” he said, “I went to the show.”

Sarcasm under pressure. The man had spirit. “Tell me when,” she said. She swung the wrench and rapped on the hull.

“Now. I hear you.”

“Good place to cut?”

“A little more forward. About two meters.”

Hutch measured and rapped again.

“That’s good,” said Tor.

She took out her marker, which was a bilious green, made an X at the spot and drew a large box around it. Three meters high by two wide. Now she turned to Nick. “Ready?”

“Yes.” He pushed the stud on his cutter and the unit began charging.

“It’s a triple hull,” she said. “You won’t have time to get through them all. Just do the best you can.”

“All right.”

“But don’t start until I tell you.”

Hutch squeezed his shoulder, then returned to the lander. Alyx handed her the extra air tanks and e-suit, which she’d tied together in a package. While Hutch tethered them to her vest, she called Tor. “For now, I want you to stay near the hatch in the rear.”

“Okay.”

“Everything still all right?”

“I’m doing fine. Could hardly ask for better accommodations.”

“Good. I’m on my way in now.”

“Okay.”

She nodded to Alyx, checked to be sure she had her cutter and lamp, hoisted the loop of cable over her shoulder, slipped back outside, and made off aft to the topside hatch.

It was circular, and the manual control was located behind a panel. She opened up, twisted the release, and pulled on the door. It swung outward. But the inner door jammed and she had to remove the locking mechanism to get it open. “I’m inside,” she told the commlink.

The gravity tube, when powered, maintained a zero-gee condition, and was used to move materials, equipment, whatever, between decks. In this case, the power was off, of course, but it didn’t matter because so was the artificial gravity. She had to remove the go-pack, which she pushed down ahead of her, followed by the spare e-suit, the cable and the tanks. Then she climbed in, head down, pushed, and emerged moments later in front of a closed hatch. She rapped on it with the wrench.

“That’s it,” said Tor.

“Okay. I’m about to cut. Head for the washroom.”

“On my way.”

“Close the door as tight as you can.”

Alyx broke in on her private channel: “Better hurry, Hutch. The entire forward end of the ship is disintegrating.” She made a little ooooh, a frightened sound that came from the soul.

“What’s wrong, Alyx?” Hutch asked.

“Kurt’s body just—just, just squirted out of one of the clouds.”

Hutch waited to be sure she had control of her voice. “Is he dead? Can you tell?”

“He’s not moving.”

“Is he wearing air tanks?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“You can’t see any?”

“No.”

She could sense something, a vibration in the bulkheads. Something bad coming her way. Her skin prickled.

What was holding up Tor?

Then he was speaking to her: “Go ahead, Hutch. I’m inside.”

“Okay, Tor,” she said, “get out of your clothes and button up the room as best you can. You have three drains, three inlets, and a vent.”

“You want me to use my clothes to block the pipes?”

“Yes. Do a good job and make it fast. How’s the door fit?”

“How do you mean?”

“Does it look airtight?”

“There’s a small crack at the bottom.”

“Stuff paper in it. Anything that’ll hold for a minute or two.”

“Okay.”

“Do that first. Tell me when it’s done. When the door’s blocked off.”

She waited, staring at the closed hatch. She checked with Nick, and then with Alyx. She asked George how he was doing. Everything was on schedule.

The vibrations in the bulkhead were becoming more distinct.

“Hurry up, Tor.”

“Doing the best I can.”

She’d wedged one foot into the guide rail to keep herself in position.

“This paper under the door won’t last long.”

“It doesn’t have to. Are we ready yet?”

“Ready now. Go ahead.”

Hutch activated the laser. “Nick?” she said.

“All set, Hutch.”

“Let’s do it.”

She touched the red beam to the hatch, sliced into it, and isolated the locking mechanism.

She cut around it, gave it a few moments to cool, and removed it. Then she turned the handle, and pulled back. The hatch opened, and a blast of air erupted past her.

“I’m through, Tor,” she said, pushing into the interior. The washroom, she knew, was to her right, along the back wall, situated between rows of storage shelves.

Her lamp picked it out and she knocked. “Right place?”

“You got it.”

The deck heaved beneath her feet. The entire ship shuddered. She swung the lamp left and focused it on the forward bulkhead. It was turning gray and beginning to bubble.

She brought out the ram tape and placed a strip over the space between frame and door, and another between the door and the deck. Then she reinforced them. She did a quick inspection to see if she was missing anything that might be leaking air.

THE MEMPHIS’S CARGO bay remained open, maintaining the standard quarter-gee. Bill would take that to zero gee when things started to happen. All the lights were on. The docking mechanism had been withdrawn into deck and overhead, so the space immediately inside the cargo door was clear of obstruction.

George tied the restraining harnesses together to make a single large meshwork. Then he used cable to secure the four ends to the most convenient beams and frames he could find, creating a net in the center of the bay. It wasn’t pretty, but he thought it would do the job.

When he was finished, he measured its length and width, its height off the deck, its position in relation to the cargo door. Satisfied, he told Hutch it was ready, then he laid out oxygen and blankets.

“After he’s in,” he asked Hutch, “how do I close the door?”

Her voice was crisp on the commlink: “Just tell Bill to do it.”

IT HAD BEGUN to get cold, and Tor stood in his shorts and undershirt in the washroom. It was obvious that this was going to be a rescue utterly without dignity.

“How are you managing?” asked Hutch.

He looked down into the toilet. It was of course dry at the moment. “Okay,” he said. He’d unrolled the toilet paper, used the entire supply, scrunched it together, and put the whole gob down there.