Free Tour of Duty: Stories and Provocation by Michael Z. Williamson Page A

do it! One, two . . . ” His voice faded with distance or pressure, then finally came back with, “Seventeen, officer. Can you hear me?”
    “Seventeen, one-seven understood. Stand by.”
    “Yes, sir.”

    Stadter was glad he couldn’t actually watch the engine shutdown procedure. On the far side of the hull from the Blazers, their boat crew proved themselves equally gutsy, or equally mad. He listened in as they began, and set a screen to track IDs. He didn’t know how they’d do this without modern commo. He could tag one way or two way for anyone involved, or go through the chain, or listen in, and it would transcribe and tell him who each speaker was.
    “Milton on winch.”
    Aufang: “Winch on.”
    Milton: “Four zero. Five zero. Six zero. Seven zero. Slow to one meter per second.”
    Aufang: “Slowing to one meter per second.”
    Milton: “Eight zero . . . nine zero. Slow to point five meters per second.”
    Aufang: “Slowing to point five meters per second. You have four-seven seconds safe exposure.”
    Milton: “Nine two . . . nine three . . . nine four . . . stop.”
    Aufang: “Stop. Four-two safe.”
    Milton: “Adjust down one zero centimeters.”
    Aufang: “One zero down. Three-nine safe.”
    Milton: “Set payout length. Images and data transmitting.”
    Pause.
    Aufang: “Received. Three-two seconds. Length set.”
    A rich alto voice said, “Sarendy now on winch.”
    Aufang: “Winch on.”
    Milton: “Three-five millimeter connection at seven zero newton-meters torque.”
    Aufang: “Recorded. Two-five seconds.”
    Milton: “Sarendy will need to reach inside far left at once to have time to adjust Feed Number Two.”
    Aufang: “Recorded. One-eight seconds.”
    Milton: “Released locking clamp on Feed Number One. Expect gee boost before reduction.”
    Aufang: “Noted. One-two seconds.”
    Milton: “Two-three turns for full closure. Commencing.”
    Aufang: “Eight seconds . . . seven seconds . . . six seconds . . . five seconds . . . ”
    Milton: “Achieved four turns. Secure and clear of frame.”
    Aufang: “Kick and cut. Two seconds.”
    Milton: “Kicking. Cut. Clear. Dutchman, Dutchman, Dutchman!”
    Whoever the man was, he’d voluntarily taken a lifetime safe dose of radiation, and cut himself free into space, trusting in others for pickup.
    The female voice said, “Sarendy on station. Inside, far left. Will release locking clamp. Advise at one-five seconds.”
    A young male voice sounded. “D’Arcy on winch.”
    Aufang: “Winch on—Break—Sarendy, your exposure is increased inside hull. You are at two-zero seconds, one-nine, one-eight, one-seven, one-six, one-five.”
    Sarendy said, “Clamp released. Withdrawing. Stuck. Unstuck. Outside hull.” She sounded mechanical, emotionless.
    “Six seconds. Kick and cut.”
    Her voice was sharp as she said, “Kicking. Cut. Clear. Dutchman, Dutchman, Dutchman!”
    “D’arcy on station.”
    Then it was, “Aufang on winch.”
    Diaken: “Winch on.”
    They were so calm it almost sounded like an exercise.
    Vela cut in with, “Don’t worry, sir, I have them both. Their own boat is intercepting, and will shadow for the others. Three of the Mammy Blue lifeboats are in tow. One was depressurized, and the one I mentioned earlier ran dry. There was no way to reach it in time. Twelve passengers in one, sixteen in the other. Fourteen survivors in process, some with anoxic brain damage. Third boat has fifteen alive.”
    “Understood. I trust you on this, just let me know if you need help.” The endless tally of casualties, rad levels, elapsed times and coordinates were a blur he couldn’t track. Perhaps those with brain damage could get reconstruction and save some function and memory. If not, it might have been kinder if they’d died. He shifted to relieve pressure on his spine. A wrinkle in his suit was irritating his shoulder, too.
    “You won’t like this. One was nothing but cabin crew and what passed for first class. They abandoned