"Going to be one hell of a little jump. Fine-tuning will be the problem."
"That'll be my job. We'll need the whole area instrumented so we can watch performance, get her running right. We'll only have one shot at this."
"Don't bring her down too close," Bruce cautioned.
"A hundred meters, I'd say," Joe responded, nodding. "Well within range for the winch-crawling maneuver, but far enough that if we're off by a bit we won't roast ourselves to death. Or drop Pirate right on top of us."
"Less than a four-hundred-meter hop." A.J. shook his head, bemused. "Who'd have thought that the hardest job we'd have to program on an interplanetary spacecraft is getting it to go about one four-hundred-millionth of its prior distance farther?"
He started checking his suit again before going out. "Madeline, Rich, you guys come with me. We have to adjust some linkages on board Pirate and I have to play Tinkerbell all through the engines. Bring the tool kit."
"Don't need my help, A.J.? I turn a mean wrench."
"I know you do, Helen, but there's only so much room in Pirate. I only need two people, anyway. Next time you can take a turn doing my dirty work."
"She does that alread—"
"Kick him, Helen. On the broken leg."
The airlock cycled. After a moment, Helen could see the three figures making their way across the red-pink-orange sands.
Rich stopped at one point to examine a particularly light patch. "Poor Ryu. This is just what he would've been going nuts over. I think this is some kind of deposition, an evaporite, maybe a salt or something. Just one of the kinds of minerals colonists would need, and a hell of a clue to conditions here."
"He won't be forgotten, and the work won't be neglected," Helen said quietly. "Take a sample for the labs later, Rich. Let's get this job done first."
Back in his seat in the rover, A.J. watched the telltales climbing slowly. They'd done what they'd needed to do at Pirate and had returned a few minutes earlier.
"Navigation systems are up. We're not going to have all jets free, though; two years of crud blowing around seems to have fouled one. I've got compensation in the program for that. By the way, this work allows me to give a definite 'no frigging way' to the question of whether we could've gotten away using Pirate. She's deteriorated a fair amount. Takeoff-level thrusts just aren't in the picture. For that matter, I don't think she'd even hold together for a full-scale takeoff. Something critical would go in the middle of the burn."
"But you still think you can pull this off?" Madeline asked.
"Pretty sure. Not like we have much choice, anyway."
"You'll do it, mate," Bruce said, a bit too heartily. "It's just a little hop."
"True. But this ain't no kangaroo, either. 'Hops' are not really what it does." After checking a few more things, he said: "Bruce, I know you didn't have any direct training in this, but I'd feel real good about it if you'd stand by on controls to override. Just in case something blows."
"No worries, mate, I'm right here. Been running your little simulator the past couple of hours. Doubt I'll be needed, though."
Joe checked the readings also and recalculated the trajectory they would need. Then had Jackie and Gupta check it all again from Nike.
"You are cutting it fine indeed, very fine," Gupta pronounced. "But, as you say, you have no choice. Jackie and I both check you, and Nike herself concurs. Good luck."
"Thanks." A.J. took a deep breath. It was more than a little ironic, he thought, that the most critical mission Pirate had ever been given required only a fraction of the capabilities it had originally been designed for—and it still might not make it, because that specific task hadn't been anticipated. You really couldn't ask for a better demonstration of the inherent limits of unmanned spacecraft.
He, along with many others, had been advancing that argument for years—and, now, he might well prove his point in the worst way possible. By dying.
"Here goes."
Inside Pirate, long-dormant pumps whirred to life. Despite the attenuation of the Martian atmosphere near Pirate there was still the sound of continuous thunder as the multiton test lander launched itself into the sky at a very slight angle. It rose up, seeming to float atop a cushion of near-invisible flame, and then cut off thrust. The passengers of Thoat watched, transfixed, as the ship that was their single hope of survival drifted upwards, then downwards, on a path that would bring it near enough to reach.
Fire flared again from the rockets to cushion the fall and prevent the relatively delicate lander from cracking itself like an egg. One of the jets sputtered. Bruce nearly took control, but saw the jet catch again. A.J's program was already compensating.