The Seeds of Time

‘All of you are just men-hulks, like the ship, I am a woman, therefore my position is romantic, so I am young, glamorous, beautiful… .‘Her thin face showed for a moment the trace of a wry smile. ‘I am a heroine….’

She paused, letting the idea sink in. Then she went on: ‘I was a heroine even before Captain Winters told them that I was pregnant. But after that I became a phenomenon. There were demands for interviews, I wrote one, and Captain Winters transmitted it for me. There have been interviews with my parents and my friends, anyone who knew me. And now an enormous number of people know a great deal about me. They are intensely interested in me. They are even more interested in my baby-which is likely to be the first baby ever born in a spaceship….

‘Now do you begin to see? You have a fine tale ready. Bowman, my husband, Captain Winters and the rest were heroically struggling to repair the port laterals. There was an explosion. It blew them all away out into space.

‘You may get away with that. But if there is no trace of me and my baby-or of our bodies-then what are you going to say? How will you explain that?’

She looked round the faces again.

‘Well, what are you going to say? That I, too, was outside repairing the port laterals? That I committed suicide by shooting myself out into space with a rocket?

‘Just think it over. The whole world’s press is wanting to know about me-with all the details. It’ll have to be a mighty good story to stand up to that. And if it doesn’t stand up well, the rescue won’t have done you much good.

‘You’ll not have a chance in hell. You’ll hang, or you’ll fry, every one of you-unless it happens they lynch you first….’

There was silence in the room as she finished speaking. Most of the faces showed the astonishment of men ferociously attacked by a Pekinese, and at a loss for suitable comment. The big man sat sunk in reflection for a minute or more. Then he looked up, rubbing the stubble on his sharp-boned chin thoughtfully. He glanced round the others and then let his eyes rest on Alice. For a moment there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

‘Madam,’ he drawled, ‘you are probably a great loss to the legal profession.’ He turned away. ‘We shall have to reconsider this matter before our next meeting. But, for the present, Ray, eight pieces of paper as the lady said….’

‘It’s her!’ said the Second, over the Skipper’s shoulder.

The Skipper moved irritably. ‘Of course it’s her. What else’d you expect to find whirling through space like a sozzled owl?’ He studied the screen for a moment. ‘Not a sign. Every port covered.’

‘Do you think there’s a chance, Skipper?’

‘What, after all this time! No, Tommy, not a ghost of it. We’re-just the morticians, I guess.’

‘How’ll we get aboard her, Skip?’

The Skipper watched the gyrations of the Falcon with a calculating eye.

‘Well, there aren’t any rules, but I reckon if we can get a cable on her we might be able to play her gently, like a big fish. It’ll be tricky, though.’

Tricky, it was. Five times the magnet projected from the rescue ship failed to make contact. The sixth attempt was better judged. When the magnet drifted close to the Falcon the current was switched on for a moment. It changed course, and floated nearer to the ship. When it was almost in contact the switch went over again. It darted forward, and glued itself limpet-like to the hull.

Then followed the long game of playing the Falcon; of keeping tension on the cable between the two ships, but not too much tension, and of holding the rescue ship from being herself thrown into a roll by the pull. Three times the cable parted, but at last, after weary hours of adroit manoeuvre by the rescue ship the derelict’s motion had been reduced to a slow twist. There was still no trace of life aboard. The rescue ship closed a little.

The Captain, the Third Officer and the doctor fastened on their spacesuits and went outboard. They made their way forward to the winch. The Captain looped a short length of line over the cable, and fastened both ends of it to his belt. He laid hold of the cable with both hands, and with a heave sent himself skimming into space. The others followed him along the guiding cable.

They gathered beside the Falcon’s entrance port. The Third Officer took a crank from his satchel. He inserted it in an opening, and began to turn until he was satisfied that the inner door of the airlock was closed. When it would titf11 no more, he withdrew it, and fitted it into the next opening that should set the motors pumping air out of the lock-if there were air, and if there were still current to work the motors. The Captain held a microphone against the hull, and listened. He caught a humming.

‘Okay. They’re running,’ he said.

He waited until the humming stopped.

‘Right. Open her up,’ he directed.

The Third Officer inserted his crank again, and wound it. The main port opened inwards, leaving a dark gap in the shining hull. The three looked at the opening sombrely for some seconds. With a grim quietness the Captain’s voice said: ‘Well. Here we go!’

They moved carefully and slowly into the blackness, listening.