No Other Love (11 page)

Approaching from this direction, she was
farther away from the disconnected cable than she had been while in
the other shaft. She estimated that she had moved about three times
her body’s length before she finally saw the cable, swaying gently
with the motion of the ship, and then saw the dial. To reach both,
she had to push herself out across the width of the main duct that
led directly downward into the ship’s propulsion system. Why anyone
would place these essential elements in such an impossible-to-reach
spot, Merin could not understand. She wondered briefly if their
position was some weird Cetan joke. She must remember to ask Gaidar
about it.

She had by now progressed far enough along
the slanting shaft to poke her head out over the main duct.
Grasping the metal edge of her own shaft, she pulled herself
forward into emptiness until her arms and half of her chest were
free. She wiped her sweaty palms on the sleeves of her treksuit
before she detached a tool from her harness. If she dropped it, it
would be lost to her and, falling into the main propulsion system,
it might cause irreparable damage. For a moment she looked straight
down into the glowing, churning heat of the ship’s engines. Then,
taking a deep breath and willing herself not to look again, she
reached across the empty space and began to work.

Gaidar had been right; with more room to
maneuver it was much easier to reattach the cable to its terminals,
even though her head was beginning to ache from the downward angle
at which she was lying.

With the cable repaired and the connection
tested several times to be sure it would hold, Merin replaced her
first tool and took the second one. To her horror, as she reached
toward the dial she felt herself slip forward until all of her body
from the waist up was out of the shaft and hanging over the main
duct. Surprised, not having expected to lose the support of the
shaft floor, she naturally bent forward at the waist, the motion
pulling her out of the shaft by another few inches.

She nearly dropped the tool she was holding.
Awkwardly, pressing with her free hand against the side of the main
duct, she straightened herself and once more reached to the dial.
It was quickly reset. Within a few moments she could see that the
connection was working properly and the dial was registering normal
numbers. From where Herne was, he would be able to see on the
lighted panel near him that the repairs had been made. Merin
reattached the tool she had been holding and prepared to be pulled
back up the shaft.

Only now did she realize that the knot
holding the rope to her shoulder harness had slipped out of the
shaft with her. As Herne drew on the rope, pulling her back into
the shaft, the knot caught where shaft and main propulsion duct
joined. Merin pressed herself downward, trying to make more room
between her back and the top of the shaft, so the knot could fit
into the narrow space. Her arms, hanging loosely into the main
duct, were useless and the tools fastened to her chest further
impeded her re-entry into the shaft. She dared not remove them and
toss them away for fear of damaging the ship’s propulsion system.
She felt the rope tighten, jamming the knot more firmly against the
entrance to the shaft. The rope tugged at her again as Herne tried
to pull her out.

“Herne!” she shouted as loudly as she could,
though she wasn’t certain he could hear her. “Herne, I’m
stuck!”

Frantically she searched with her fingers
along the side of the main duct, trying to find a projection or
rough section of metal that might give her leverage to push herself
back into the shaft. The walls were perfectly smooth except where
shaft and duct joined. There, she suddenly noticed, the walls of
the shaft projected outward about two inches, ending in jagged
edges. Against the upper edge the knot was rubbing each time Herne
pulled on the rope. By twisting her arm at a painful angle she
could feel where the metal had already cut into the thin rope. It
would not be long before the knot was severed and she would fall to
her death in the propulsion system. She knew there was no way she
could possibly be rescued. Not without taking the ship apart.

“Merin! Merin!” She heard Herne’s voice from
a great distance. When she drew a deep breath to answer him as
loudly as she could, she slipped forward a little more.

“Merin, try to help me. I can’t get you
moving!” Herne tugged harder on the rope, attempting to pull her
up, but only making matters worse. Each time he pulled, the jagged
edge of the shaft cut deeper into the knot that was the only thing
keeping her from certain death.

An hour or two earlier it wouldn’t have
mattered to her. Merin began to laugh at the injustice of fate, and
then to cry. The hysteria lasted only a few moments before she grew
sober again and began to consider her situation.

If Herne could not retrieve her, if
everything he tried to do to move her out of the shaft only made
her predicament more serious, then she would have to help herself.
She could no longer depend on the rope, but her arms and her chest
were free, and she did have one advantage – the same jagged
protruding edge that appeared to be dooming her.

She swung herself up as high as she could,
lifting her torso off the floor of the shaft. At the same time she
reached down and grabbed the metal edge of the shaft with both
hands. Then, using all her strength, she pushed herself backward as
hard as she could.

The upper edge of the shaft bit deeper into
the knot at her back. She felt the knot give way and heard the rope
slither back up the shaft as Herne pulled it. She heard him shout
at the sudden loss of her weight.

She had no time to think of Herne or of what
he might do. She was too busy to think of anything but her fight
against the ship’s gravity in the deadly downward slope of the
shaft. She had succeeded in pushing herself backward into the shaft
by a few inches, but the sharp edge of metal had cut into her
hands. Still holding onto the edge, she pushed again. Her hands
slipped on her own blood. She wiped both palms on her sleeves,
lifted her chest once more, caught at the edge, and pushed
backward, gaining another inch or two. She wiped the blood off her
palms and tried again. And again. She had to stop to adjust the
tools she could not jettison, losing an inch or two to gravity in
the process, though she tried to brace herself against the sides of
the shaft with her legs. On the next try she got all of her chest
into the shaft.

Now her work was harder; her arms were
beginning to be restricted by the sides of the shaft, but inside it
she felt safer. She kept pushing herself, an inch at a time, until
her head and her arms up to her elbows were inside, too. She rested
for a moment, then began again. When even her extended fingertips
were inside the shaft, she began pushing on the floor, using her
legs as much as she could, working her way slowly backward, uphill,
fighting the downward slope all the way.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard
Herne for a while. She wondered what he was doing. Perhaps he had
called Tarik or Gaidar for advice. She couldn’t think of anything
any of them could do for her, so she kept trying to help
herself.

She became unbearably tired, her overworked
arms and hands aching from the strain. She wanted to stop and rest,
but feared if she did, she would fall asleep and begin to slide
downward again. To counteract her weakness she placed both hands on
the floor of the shaft and pushed as hard as she could.

“Merin!” From behind her, far up the shaft,
she heard the sounds of banging and the ripping of metal. It
continued, growing louder, then stopping while Herne called her
name again and again. He did not seem to hear her response. The
banging, tearing sounds started once more. Her headache, which had
begun earlier, became worse from the noise.

Periodically, Herne stopped whatever he was
doing and called her name. Obviously, he couldn’t hear her answers,
so she decided there was no point in wasting her breath. She needed
all her strength just to keep moving. By the flexlight still
strapped to her left wrist she could see the trail of blood she had
left in the dust along the shaft floor. When she got out of the
shaft, Herne would want to fill her with medication to prevent
infection. If she got out. No, she
would
get out. She
would.

“Just keep pushing,” she told herself. “You
are making progress. An inch at a time adds up, and soon – soon –“
But it took a long, long time.

Then, suddenly, all the noise on metal
stopped. Merin could hear no sounds but her panting breath and the
rubbing of her exhausted body moving up the shaft. A moment later
her feet were no longer touching the floor of the shaft. They felt
as if they were in open air.

“Merin!” Herne sounded as if he was standing
at her shoulder. She felt him grab her feet. Now she hardly needed
to push herself along at all because he was pulling her. He held
her knees, her thighs, her waist. He was lifting her over twisted
metal and open panels, past a tangle of wires where the last two
sections of the shaft ought to be. She had a quick impression of
the control panel dangling by one cord.

She fell down out of the shaft onto the
ladder, her tools clanking against her chest. Finally, her feet
touched the deck of the propulsion control room, and Herne was
holding her upright, staring at her. He was wearing heavy work
gloves and his face was white and hard. Oddly, she was not the
least bit shaky or upset.

“I cut my hands at the lower end of the
shaft,” she reported very calmly.

“Cut the rope, too, you idiot.” Despite the
rude word, she could tell he was not angry, only relieved.

“I slid a little too far into the main duct,”
she told him, watching him remove his gloves, knowing his eyes were
on her face. “At least your surgical knot didn’t come untied. It
had to be sliced apart, little by little, as you pulled on the
rope.”

She saw his hands tighten into fists over the
gloves when she said that, and she shut her ears to the curse he
uttered. Afraid to look directly at him, she glanced around the
chamber instead. Surprised and a little dazed at the sight, she
noted the neat pile of all the ship’s medical supplies at one side,
and the almost total destruction of the bulkhead into which the
shaft opened.

“Did you tear all of this away to try to
reach me?”

“It was the only thing I could think of to
do.”

She wished she could burst into tears and
throw herself into his arms. She wanted to beg him never to let her
go. But even at such an emotional moment she found she could not
disgrace herself in that way. Instead, to cover her feelings, she
took refuge in a cool, professional manner.

“It’s really too bad you did so much damage.
Now you will have to put it all back together again or Tarik will
be angry.”

“Are you all right?” He was frowning, as if
he expected some wild, emotional reaction from her.

“Perfectly,” she answered.

“I envisioned you falling into the main
propulsion duct,” he said in a tone that suggested he was trying to
frighten her into an emotional response. “How did you get out?”

“I crawled.” She paused to take a breath
while he repeated her words, staring at her again. “You may report
to Tarik that the cable is reconnected and the dial reset. I am
certain the repair will hold.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked,
gazing hard at her.

She wasn’t, and she knew he knew it, but she
wasn’t going to admit it to him.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She was
finding it increasingly difficult to speak clearly.

“Let me see your hands.” He took them in his.
“Merin, these are serious cuts.”

“Then repair them, please. I notice you have
your supplies handy.” She found she had to choose each word with
great care. Her tongue was unexpectedly thick and slow. “I would
like to clean up and put on a fresh treksuit and coif.”

“Merin.” He was holding tightly to her
wrists.

“I am off-duty now, am I not?” He seemed so
far away to her. There was a ringing in her ears. Merin fought to
keep her voice steady. “Would you please repair my hands so I can
go to my cabin? I am a bit tired.”

“So you should be. Sit here.” He led her to
the ladder, where he made her sit on one of the steps. She could
not relax. If she did, she might not be able to stand up again. She
sat at rigid attention while he cleaned the torn flesh on her
hands, used the sonic regenerator to repair a ligament or two,
closed the wounds, and covered each palm with plastiskin. As she
had expected, he gave her two injections against infection, then
scanned her with the diagnostic rod to be sure she had no other
injuries.

“You need rest,” he said, his hand on her
elbow to help her rise.

“As soon as I am clean again, I shall
endeavor to sleep,” she replied, moving toward the hatch with care
so he would not see her stagger.

“I don’t think it’s going to be much of an
endeavor.” He was smiling at her, but his eyes were serious. “You
are suspiciously calm and controlled.”

“Why should I not be? Isn’t your usual
complaint against me that I am always well-controlled and
disciplined?” It was taking more and more effort for her to speak
coherently.

“If you want anything, if you feel unwell,”
he began, his smile fading.

“I know where to find you. Thank you, Herne.
My hands feel better already.” With that, she left him.

She had not gone two steps into the passage
leading away from the propulsion chamber before she had to hold
onto the railings along the bulkhead to keep herself from falling.
Brilliant, multicolored spots whirled before her eyes and the
ringing in her ears was now accompanied by an insistent buzzing in
her mind. Wavering and stumbling, she slowly made her along the
passages to her cabin.