Descending Road - IN THE PODS by Dana W. Paxson

IN THE PODS

0 NC, Day 1, Hour 15

“So you stowed away,” the big, gold-skinned woman said to Doug. She handed him a prybar. “Fine. We need you in a pod, right now, putting together the lander with the rest of these people.” She turned to Enrique. “Show this wethead how to work the pod, and get your butts out to the thrust section. Good job finding him before Arnell snagged him for fuel.” Kicking away, she swung past a bulkhead door and disappeared.

“Who was that?” asked Doug.

“Chatham,” whispered Enrique. “She and Arnell are the only officers left. Come on.”

The two men caromed their way toward Pod Bay 39. “Listen,” Enrique said. “I’m sorry for the way I—“

“It’s no worse than the guys I lived with,” Doug broke in. “You fight it every day, every hour. Some people lose, some hang on, some get lucky. I got lucky.”

“So did I, I guess.” Enrique drifted, then grabbed a handhold. “I wish Helen had.”

“She’s back there with my Jan,” Doug said. “And Geordie. And all the other people we loved. They aren’t gone if we remember them.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Enrique stopped, opened a door to a chamber with four large elliptical blisters in one wall. “Here’s the pod bay. You know anything about these?”

“Shit, yes. I built thirty-one of them.”

They dived into the work. The lander‘s thrust section was behind schedule; it still floated, partially assembled, not far from the great winged lifting body of the lander itself. When the thrust engines first fired, they would lay the trajectory from Tompuso past Layo Lamba‘s orbit into a close pass over Opo. They would then brake at perigee into a low skim over the planet for a hasty landing survey, and finally brake to begin the atmospheric skip sequence that would bring the lander into planetary air for its final descent. At the start of the final descent, the lander would jettison the thrust section to let it burn, a man-made meteoric announcement of Tompuso‘s arrival.

“Here’s your pod. Wait till I get in mine and kick off, then just follow me.” Enrique pointed, dived into the adjacent pod; his door squeezed shut and sealed, and with a clank and a fading whoosh he jetted out.

Doug followed, pivoting the pod to get his first view of the entire lander. He gaped. The lander, a giant round-edged triangle with a half-kilometer base, hung before him, its left side blazing in Pué‘s solar assault, its nightside faintly lit by Layo Lamba‘s answering shine. Far away to Doug‘s right, Opo Bira Lima glowed softly pale-blue. A hunger filled him, an overpowering desire to dive toward that tiny light in the blackness.

“Over here, I said, follow me!” Enrique snapped.

Doug swerved his attention back to the lander. At the center of the triangle’s base, pods swarmed around a quartet of bundled cylindrical structures: the thrust section. Some pods nudged smaller white cylinders into honeycomb frames in the structures. “Fuel cells,” Doug said.

“Yes. See where they’re coming from, there in the next ship bay? That’s where we’re going.”

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	IN THE PODS 0 NC, Day 1, Hour 15 “So you stowed away,” the big, gold-skinned woman said to Doug. She handed him a prybar. “Fine. We need you in a pod, right now, putting together the lander with the rest of these people.” She turned to Enrique. “Show this wethead how to work the pod, and get your butts out to the thrust section. Good job finding him before Arnell snagged him for fuel.” Kicking away, she swung past a bulkhead door and disappeared. “Who was that?” asked Doug. “Chatham,” whispered Enrique. “She and Arnell are the only officers left. Come on.” The two men caromed their way toward Pod Bay 39. “Listen,” Enrique said. “I’m sorry for the way I—“ “It’s no worse than the guys I lived with,” Doug broke in. “You fight it every day, every hour. Some people lose, some hang on, some get lucky. I got lucky.” “So did I, I guess.” Enrique drifted, then grabbed a handhold. “I wish Helen had.” “She’s back there with my Jan,” Doug said. “And Geordie. And all the other people we loved. They aren’t gone if we remember them.” “Maybe, maybe not.” Enrique stopped, opened a door to a chamber with four large elliptical blisters in one wall. “Here’s the pod bay. You know anything about these?” “Shit, yes. I built thirty-one of them.” They dived into the work. The lander‘s thrust section was behind schedule; it still floated, partially assembled, not far from the great winged lifting body of the lander itself. When the thrust engines first fired, they would lay the trajectory from Tompuso past Layo Lamba‘s orbit into a close pass over Opo. They would then brake at perigee into a low skim over the planet for a hasty landing survey, and finally brake to begin the atmospheric skip sequence that would bring the lander into planetary air for its final descent. At the start of the final descent, the lander would jettison the thrust section to let it burn, a man-made meteoric announcement of Tompuso‘s arrival. “Here’s your pod. Wait till I get in mine and kick off, then just follow me.” Enrique pointed, dived into the adjacent pod; his door squeezed shut and sealed, and with a clank and a fading whoosh he jetted out. Doug followed, pivoting the pod to get his first view of the entire lander. He gaped. The lander, a giant round-edged triangle with a half-kilometer base, hung before him, its left side blazing in Pué‘s solar assault, its nightside faintly lit by Layo Lamba‘s answering shine. Far away to Doug‘s right, Opo Bira Lima glowed softly pale-blue. A hunger filled him, an overpowering desire to dive toward that tiny light in the blackness. “Over here, I said, follow me!” Enrique snapped. Doug swerved his attention back to the lander. At the center of the triangle’s base, pods swarmed around a quartet of bundled cylindrical structures: the thrust section. Some pods nudged smaller white cylinders into honeycomb frames in the structures. “Fuel cells,” Doug said. “Yes. See where they’re coming from, there in the next ship bay? That’s where we’re going.”