Free This Old Rock by G. David Nordley Page A

planned it this way, didn’t you! You all did.”
    Liz didn’t bother to answer that. He was here; that was all
that counted. “Let’s get to the shuttle rendezvous.”
    David caught up to her and they both turned towards the dark
sky standing side by side. “When?”
    “Thirty minutes for the net impact, about three hours for
the main event and the shuttle landing.”
    Wordlessly, they returned to the landing field.
    The net zoomed by overhead, moving at the apparent rate of a
high-altitude aircraft or a satellite; but it was much farther away and moving
much faster. As it approached the planetoid, its angular rate grew less and
less; a trick of perspective, Liz realized. The net now moved almost directly
away from them. It would have been better, she thought, if it could have hit
the planetoid from the side, but this would be almost as good. It only had to
slow it a little, just enough for Martin to move a little further from under
it.
    The net vanished, invisible against the glowing gas
surrounding the planetoid.
    It happened slowly. The planetoid slowly split into two,
then three, then five pieces. Some of them seemed to be drifting off to the
right, others not at all.
    Liz, Cyan…
    I saw, Cyan. It looks like part of it is still going to
hit.
    Wait.
    Yes. There was a small delay on the shuttle trajectory to
let the net go by. It will be very close. Be ready to run for it. In the
meantime, perhaps you would wish to settle whatever you need to settle. I’ve
opened the net back up to David.
    She didn’t think they would make it. Thank you, very
much, Cyan, for everything. Thank you.
    Two hours, forty minutes. A message to Mom, of course. To
Captain Katherine Avonford on whatever starship she may be flying to wherever.
Mom. You’ve probably heard what happened off the media. By the time you read
this, I will have become so much interstellar gas flowing out of the Lacaille
9352 system. Perhaps we will run into each other. I’ll say something general
about how I feel about this—it’s not really bad at all. I’ve let go. I’m
accepting it, at peace with it, even in a strange way, looking forward to the
experience. I always wanted to be important, to make a mark, to be remembered.
But I’d rather have stayed around for the party. I forgot how so many of
history’s legends bought fame with their lives. Martyrdom isn’t worth it. Tell
everyone that. Martyrdom isn’t worth it.
    And to Hilda. I made a mess of it, Sis, but I got it
done. Enjoy the physics.
    And to so many others.
    She looked at David, silent, concentrating on his own
good-byes.
    Five minutes. Death hurtled towards them. It was huge now, a
constellation of comets with a single coma falling toward the horizon, visibly
moving, passing what brightest stars still shone through its vapors. One by
one, they slipped below the horizon.
    Time to impact?
    The first contact has occurred.
    A sudden glow lit the horizon. Then a ghostly curtain began
to spread from some point below it, like an aurora, but a thousand times
brighter. Jets of debris and gasses tangent to the globe of Martin at the
impact point moved at tens of kilometers per second.
    Heart in her throat, she sent a last message to Cyan. I
guess this is it. Thanks for trying.
    Wait.
    Hang in there, Liz. The shuttle’s almost down and it will
take several minutes for the blast wave to reach you. But be ready for five
gees flat on your back in the airlock.
    Shuttle on approach, be prepared to board.
    She looked up and the deep blue of its jets lanced down from
the sky. She reached over and grabbed David.
    “Time to go.”
    “Go yourself. It’s hopeless.”
    “Come on, we’ve got to try.”
    While David lingered in awe of its horrible beauty, Liz
grabbed his arm and gave it a tug.
    “Come on! Run for the shuttle!” It settled down fifty meters
from them, its hot exhaust flapping their Martin suits.
    She felt David pull her hand loose. “Go,” he told her. You
can’t save this place, you