Rip pulled a tube from his belt, held it overhead, and triggered it. His flight through space speeded up, but he wasn't at all sure they would make it. He turned up his helmet communicator to full power and called, "Koa, can you hear me?"
The sergeant major's reply was faint in his helmet. "I hear you weakly. Do you hear me?"
"Same way," Rip replied. "Get this, Koa. Don't fail to explode that charge at twenty-three-oh-five. Can you see us?"
The reply was very slightly stronger. "I will explode the charge as ordered, Lieutenant. We can see a pair of rocket exhausts, but no boats. Is that you?"
"Yes. We're coming in on propulsion tubes."
Koa waited for a long moment, then asked, "Sir, what if you're not with us by twenty-three-oh-five?"
"You know the answer," Rip retorted crisply.
Of course Koa knew. The nuclear blast would send Rip and Santos spinning into outer space, perhaps crippled, burned, or completely irradiated. But the lives of two men couldn't delay the blast that would save the lives of eight others, not counting prisoners.
Rip estimated his speed and course and the distance to the asteroid. He was increasingly sure that they wouldn't make it, and the knowledge was like the cold of space in his stomach. It would be close but not close enough. A minute would make all the difference.
For a few heartbeats he almost called Koa and told him to wait that extra minute, to explode the nuclear charge at 23:06, at the very last second. But even Planeteer chronometers could be off by a few seconds, and he couldn't risk it. His men had to be given some leeway.