The Arrows of Time: Orthogonal Book Three by Greg Egan Read Free Book Online Page A

snapped or came loose, the safest outcome would be for him to plummet straight down away from both vehicles and await rescue.
    Tarquinia said, ‘Be careful.’
    ‘I intend to.’ Ramiro clambered out of the hatch and took hold of the boarding rope, swinging his legs up to share the load. He was more used to dealing with ropes in low gravity
– as antidotes to drift rather than weight-bearing structures – but with four limbs in play he had no trouble supporting himself. With his rear eyes he gazed down at the stars beneath
him; if he was going to react badly to the infinite drop it would be better to do it now than when he was halfway across. But though the sight was discomfiting, he didn’t panic or seize up. A
long fall could only harm him if there was something below on which to dash open his skull. Nothing made for a softer landing than the absence of any land at all.
    As he dragged himself out along the rope, Ramiro’s confidence increased. He wasn’t going to lose his grip for no reason, and the two gnats remained in perfect lockstep, their engines
running as smoothly as he could have wished. His thoughts turned from the mechanics of the approach to the task ahead. With only three chimes remaining, it had passed the point where all he’d
have to do to spare the Station was shut off the rogue’s engines. Its sheer momentum now would be enough to carry it to the impact point with only a few pauses’ delay – not long
enough for the Station’s orbit to move it out of harm’s way. But the saboteurs might have made it difficult to change the flight plan quickly, so his best bet would be to plug his
corset directly into the engine controller. That was not a smart way to try to fly a gnat to a specific destination, but all he had to do was swerve sharply enough to avoid both the Station and the
Object. Once he was clear of both, he could kill the engines and Tarquinia would come and find him.
    Ramiro felt the rope tilting disconcertingly as he approached the rogue feet first. He’d been looking up into the star trails, but now he raised his head; the hatch was just a few strides
away. Clambering upside down into the cabin was going to be awkward, but he didn’t think it was worth trying to turn his body around. When the hatch came within reach, he took his right foot
from the rope and stretched it towards the handle.
    His leg jerked back before he was aware of the reason, then the pain arrived, driving everything else from his mind. He was seared flesh and a bellowing tympanum, skewered to an endless,
unbearable present, begging for relief that never came.
    ‘Ramiro?’ Tarquinia repeated his name half a dozen times before he could form a reply.
    ‘I’m burnt,’ he said.
    Tarquinia was silent for a moment. ‘They must have sabotaged the cooling system,’ she concluded. ‘Do you want me to come and get you?’
    Ramiro had closed his eyes; he opened them now, and realised that he’d managed to hang onto the rope despite the shock. ‘No.’ His damaged foot was useless, but he still had
three good limbs. ‘Can we pump some of our own air through?’
    ‘There isn’t time,’ Tarquinia said flatly.
    ‘No.’ It would take at least a chime just to set up the hoses, let alone for the air to have any effect.
    ‘I’m going to try pushing the rogue, hull to hull,’ Tarquinia announced. ‘How quickly can you get back here?’
    ‘I don’t know. Let me try.’
    Ramiro braced himself and began. Even with his injured foot touching nothing, his body complained about the effort and the motion; it wanted to curl up where it was. He tried bribing it with
images of the safety of the cabin: the rogue was fatal, and the rope was precarious, but once he was in the cabin he could rest.
    Halfway back, Ramiro felt his foot growing mercifully numb. He looked down to see a swarm of tiny yellow globules spilling from the ruined flesh, glowing like the sparks from an old-fashioned
lamp as they fell into the