GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(45)

There he was—floating free, tumbling, an unbelievably tiny speck against the expansive bulk of the corvette, which was itself spinning against the infinite backdrop of the black void. She blinked, straining to verify that it was not just a vertigo-induced spot in her vision.

"I'm out, Sharl. Do you have me? I don't see you," he said, a hint of panic in his deep voice. His ballistic trajectory changed abruptly. He had strapped on a maneuvering unit.

"Tallyho, Commander. Coming out of the sun." Buccari pointed the EPL in his direction.

"Contact. Hold your vector, Sharl. Two minutes out," Quinn transmitted, controlling the rendezvous.

"Roger, holding." She brought herself back to the job at hand. "OK, Virg', let's set up an orbital boost. Get some altitude so we can think about our next step."

"Aye, aye, Lieutenant," Rhodes responded. "Everything looks good. I'm showing thirty percent fuel. We should be able to set down real soft."

"Rog,' concur. I figure we boost eight clicks. We can afford it."

"You're the captain," Rhodes responded. The checklist was almost complete when Rhodes interjected: "Skipper's coming aboard."

Buccari glanced over her shoulder. Quinn glided to the open hatch, his maneuvering jets firing like sparkling diamonds. He retrofired against his forward vector, halting smartly at the mouth of the gaping hatch, hooked a foot on the hatch rim, and pulled himself through the rectangular opening. She returned to her checklist.

"I'm up," Quinn said tersely.

"Commander, we're elevating. Fuel's good, and we could use the time to think this one out," Buccari replied, not asking permission. He was cargo. "What's your state?"

"Six hours of air," the commander replied.

"Six hours, aye. Plenty of time," Buccari reflected. "Virgil, let Shannon know we're coming in for breakfast. Commander, I want you to remember this on my next evaluation."

"Sharl, if I didn't think you'd spit in my eye, I'd give you a big kiss."

"Tsk, Commander! You're much too old. Money and promotions will do."

Rhodes interrupted, "I fixed the engines."

"Some fix!" replied Buccari. "Work something out with the skipper on your own."

Quinn muttered something incoherent and obviously off-color.

"First things first," Buccari said. "Standby for acceleration. Buckled in back there?" Quinn replied in the affirmative. Buccari continued: "Two gees for fifteen seconds. Ignition . . . four . . . three... two... one firing now."

The primaries jolted into life. The small ship jumped, but Buccari's elation was brief. EXHAUST OVERTEMP warning lights glared ominously. She aborted.

"Nothing's going right!" Rhodes said over the intercom. "Systems check coming up." Rhodes's news was not welcome. "Gimbals trashed on one and two," he reported. "One hundred percent asymmetrical! You couldn't use the engines for a landing retro if you wanted to. With those overtemps, even the reentry retro' s gonna' be pretty stimulating."

They sat silently. The planet rolled by overhead, filling the viewscreen. Buccari watched the terminator approach and pass, the darkness of night a relief from the brilliance of the cloud and sea-reflected sun.

* * *

"Sarge! They're in the lander. Lieutenant Buccari made it!" O'Toole shouted.

Shannon crawled from his sleeping bag into cold dampness. Dawson bolted past him, pulling on a hooded jacket. She pushed O'Toole out of the radio operator's seat, pulling the hard copy from his hands. A hooded lantern provided illumination, and a tarpaulin hung across the cramped alcove preventing its glow from escaping into the nerve-dulling downpour. The lightning had stopped.

Shannon staggered into the dim circle of light, a thermal blanket draped over his broad shoulders. The low-hung lantern accentuated his haggard features, his grizzled growth nearly all white. O'Toole handed him the message.

TO: HUDSON/SHANNON FM: RHODES

DTG: 011659 0233 ST

LOW UNSTABLE ORBIT FORCED ABANDONMENT OF HARRIER ONE. QUINT, BUCCARI, AND RHODES ON BOARD EPL. ORBIT TRAJECTORIES DICTATE REENTER NEXT ORBIT. EPL DAMAGED. UNABLE TO USE MAIN ENGINES. EXHAUST NOZZLES NO LONGER GIMBAL.

SET UP BEACON IMMEDIATELY. BUCCARI DIRECTS BEACON TO BE ESTABLISHED AT EXTREME NORTHWEST END OF LAKE, WITH ONE ONE ZERO DEGREE (110/2) TRUE RADIAL LINED UP WITH MAXIMUM DIMENSION OF LAKE AND CLEAR OF ISLANDS. GLIDE SLOPE FIVE DEG. WILL ATTEMPT WATER LANDING. ESTIMATE TOUCHDOWN AT 0410 ST.

RESPOND IN REAL TIME BEFORE 0330 ST IF UNABLE TO COMPLY.

ACKNOWLEDGE. RHODES

Adrenaline coursed into Shannon veins. A water landing? In the dark?

"O'Toole, roust'em out! All hands. I want the beacon up within the hour. New location. Break out the raft from the survey package. Get Tatum up here. Move!"