Zero Zero Zero

by Harlan Finchley

  “Are you in there?”

  Getting no answer, Sebastian pushed the door open a crack to reveal the empty cell. Curious now, Sebastian rubbed his forehead. As Philippe must have visited the spacehopper, he used the opportunity for some personal grooming.

  Afterward, he strode out, purged and ready to face a new day as a rich and successful man. He stretched his arms out fully and then coughed. The air was staler than it had been last night.

  The pumps would need changing, if they stayed here much longer. Wondering how long he’d have to wait before he could check the air, he shuffled to the window and pressed his face to the glass, but reflections hid the spacehopper.

  Sebastian shrugged and searched for the radio transmitter, but he couldn’t find it. Confused now, he checked beneath the control panel. Then, with his heart thudding, he turned around and moved for the lights.

  On the way he stubbed his foot on the panel’s base, but ignored the pain. Feverishly, he read the oxygen meter. The needle hovered just above the danger level. He dimmed the lights until only the ambient weak starlight illuminated the pod.

  Then he pressed his face to the window. The spacehopper wasn’t outside. Philippe had abandoned him.

  Chapter Seven

  SEBASTIAN COUNTED TO five to focus his mind. This time, though, he could count to five thousand and the effort wouldn’t help. He hurtled back and forth in his pod, dashing useless equipment to the floor.

  His pod was now a three- by four-meter coffin, as any lingering doubt about Philippe’s actions collapsed within minutes. The spacehopper was definitely gone and with it went all means to survive in the barren expanse of space.

  Philippe had double-crossed him, left him to die. He smashed his fist on the only table in the pod, but faced with the numbing inevitability of his plight, Sebastian’s anger oozed away from him.

  He searched through the pod equipment, throwing each piece over his shoulder after a quick scrutiny. His predicament was as bad as he’d feared. All communication devices, other than his suit radio, were gone.

  His spacesuit radio was only good for short distances. Philippe hadn’t left any equipment capable of sending a distress signal. The available oxygen was limited to his spacesuit and the pod tanks, as Philippe had taken all additional reserves.

  The danger level on the pod oxygen indicators told him that he had only two or three hours of consciousness left. Afterward, he’d have no choice but to don his spacesuit. Without hope, he checked the oxygen in his spacesuit tanks.

  He had another ten hours. Reducing the feed levels to the lowest rate needed to sustain life might allow him another three hours. That left him with fifteen hours in which to do something, or die.

  Forcing himself not to fall into despair, Sebastian reviewed his options, but his mind felt turgid. With a cry of anguish he kicked the pod wall, and it responded with a resounding ring. Die now or die later were his only options.

  He banged his fist on the control panel. Then, keeping control of his temper, he realized he had to decide what was no longer possible, and whatever this left him with was the answer.

  With this in mind Sebastian decided returning to Absolem or any other colony in the asteroid belt was impossible. This fact simplified his plight. If he couldn’t go anywhere, someone needed to find him.

  He had to find a way to communicate with the outside world, and hope someone rescued him. Sebastian tried not to calculate the odds that rescue would arrive in less than fifteen hours.

  Spacehopper training had taught him a range of emergency procedures, but they didn’t cover building communication devices. Tasks requiring technology and engineering were things that others did.

  His training assumed the green lights on the panels lit when they should, and not what to do when they didn’t. Sebastian called up one of his few technical manuals on his optic display and browsed, but found no information on how to build a communication device from random pieces of circuit board.

  Software, can you help me decipher this data?

  This data is highly technical, Software said. I am only an information retrieval device.

  Sebastian sighed. He hadn’t filled his system with every available diagnostic tool on the market as he’d never seen the need, until now, but the momentary annoyance at his lack of foresight slipped away.

  Having more knowledge wouldn’t help him. He doubted anything he built would be capable of communicating over millions of kilometers.

  Ignoring any complex technical solution, what would you suggest I do?

  Use the crashed shuttle. It should have a proper communication device.

  Sebastian felt a momentary flutter of hope and sprang to his feet. Software’s suggestion was sound, but only if he could reach the shuttle. With the lights dimmed he put his face to the window.

  Tell me about this asteroid.

  According to the data you collected, this unnamed asteroid is roughly two kilometers in diameter across its shortest axis and ten kilometers across its longest axis. . . .

  Forget that. Can I get to the shuttle on my own?

  The shuttle is on the other side of the asteroid. I do not have sufficient information to calculate the asteroid’s escape velocity, but your suit’s attitude jets probably lack the power to reach open space. You would therefore need to stay close to the surface and I would guess you could reach the shuttle, eventually.

  Sebastian frowned. Eventually was the key word. On his own, covering only a short distance under a weak gravitational pull could take more time than he had left. He would have to maneuver from rock to rock with all his actions being depressingly slow and with even the slightest misdirection taking hours to resolve.

  He needed help. Space walks often covered several kilometers, although they were usually only simple journeys between space stations, not across an irregular asteroid. Technically, such considerations shouldn’t matter, or at least he hoped so.

  He requested a schematic of the journey to the shuttle. An outline of the asteroid appeared on his optic display. Sebastian programmed the schematic with the maximum speed his suit attitude jets could produce.

  Sebastian didn’t wait to find out the answer to his first attempt. He’d die before he got halfway as the attitude jets couldn’t produce the required acceleration. He needed brute force.

  Whimsically at first, but then with growing interest, he flexed his legs. He tried another plan. Software suggested he could achieve an initial speed of five kilometers per hour with a solid push with both legs, which would let him reach the shuttle in one go, so he programmed a good accurate kick from the asteroid.

  Feeling detached, as if Software resolved the fate of a hypothetical person, he waited while the schematics ran to their end. They didn’t hearten him. The simulation showed he could cover the distance in two hours, but he’d need a more complex maneuver.

  He’d assumed that he could launch himself in the right direction. In reality, if he didn’t achieve the required accuracy, the asteroid’s irregular gravitational pull would drag him on a complex dance and he would be doomed to die floating in space, helpless to change his fate as the shuttle passed by, tantalizingly close.

  Even with perfect accuracy, he needed to stop, tether himself to a large rock and maneuver himself around before he could investigate the shuttle. Pondering, Sebastian paced around his prison and searched through the remaining equipment.

  If the journey was impossible using only leg power, he needed to adjust his trajectory on the way. This called for something with the strength of leg power and the maneuverability of his spacesuit attitude jets.

  Can anything in the pod produce continuous thrust?

  The oxygen tanks might do it, Software replied.

  Sebastian slumped. His only way to save himself would kill him in the process. Then he realized that Software meant the oxygen in the pod. Perhaps the pod’s tanks had enough gas to impart the required thrust.

  He programmed a new simulated journey, and then ignored the
result. Every second he spent planning reduced the amount of thrust he could expect from the pod’s tanks. He downloaded the database on the asteroid and then hit the control panel to sever the oxygen tanks from the pod.

  With his spacesuit donned, he strapped on his grappling bars with the available tether rope and, for once, ignored all safety protocols. Sebastian took his helmet, knocking the unbihexium samples to the floor in his haste, and the pieces bounced and rolled into all corners of the pod.

  Sebastian bent over and examined the nearest piece, but it was just a dull chunk of rock. Deciding he might as well die rich, he tucked a few rock samples into his backpack. Then he slipped through the airlock and sealed the pod.

  Outside, he took hold of the doorway handhold and swung himself about in a slow, stately arc. In a long-practiced maneuver, he clambered to the four oxygen cylinders with his body splayed horizontally along the pod’s hull.

  He’d resisted the urge to ask Software whether his plan was worth the effort. There had to be enough oxygen inside to produce thrust stronger than the mass of the cylinder. If all four cylinders contained only their last dregs of oxygen, they would provide insufficient thrust.

  Bad news could always wait, he decided. Sebastian swung himself down, examined the cylinder dials and breathed a sigh of relief. Three cylinders showed empty, but one was half full. Confident now, he braced his feet beneath a handhold and dragged the cylinder free.

  The cylinder revolved in an arc, weak starlight glinting from its surface. The effort pulled Sebastian from his handhold and both he and the cylinder swung out to the extent of his tether. Sebastian braced himself.

  He felt the tug when the tether constrained him and then waited as he and the cylinder revolved back to the pod. The cylinder hit the pod with a soundless vibration and then bounced them both away.

  Sebastian spun his tether rope around the handhold twice to drag them farther in, the next time, as he needed to save the attitude jets for later. On the next bounce he grabbed the handhold and his spacesuit creaked.

  The material held, stopping the momentum from tearing his arm from the socket. With the cylinder under control he could head for the shuttle. Sebastian spread his legs wide apart and fitted each foot under a handhold.

  He held the cylinder pressed against his chest. The force he exerted against the handholds sent him in a steady, revolving motion backward.

  “I hate life in low gravity!” he screamed inside his suit.

  Stay calm, Sebastian, Software said. Nothing happens fast, so just work out what’s happened and do the opposite to reduce the effect.

  Sebastian ordered a minute opposing thrust and his motion halted.

  Tell me where I’m aiming.

  Software indicated a bright star on his optic display and the approximate level of thrust needed. Sebastian mentally steadied himself while he strapped the cylinder to his chest. Still surprisingly calm, considering he was about to decide his fate with one kick of his legs, he waited thirty seconds to ensure he didn’t drift in any direction.

  His view didn’t change and he felt stable, so he dragged his feet from the handholds. If he moved carefully, the gravity of the asteroid would keep him upright on the pod. With his feet free he raised them to his chest and waited.

  Software told him he would sink to the pod in fifteen seconds. He held his breath and waited for his feet to hit the pod. Then he pumped his knees downward to slam his feet against the pod.

  As his body hurtled out in a long, straight trajectory, he sighed. It was now too late to change anything about his fate. As the star-studded blackness filled his existence, he gripped the oxygen cylinder.

  “Philippe, I’m coming to get you,” he said.

  For two hours Sebastian floated in space. He resisted the temptation to ask the only question he wanted to ask of would he die, or might he float around the asteroid to the shuttle first? In one respect he’d succeeded as, years before, when he’d first trained in space walking, any movement he tried set him spinning furiously and sickeningly.

  He’d spent more effort stopping his spin than getting to his destination. He’d learned from old mistakes and his push away from the asteroid resulted in only a gentle spin. For an hour he revolved and he could still distinguish his pod, a metallic blip against the sea of rock. Off to one side, the shining pea of metal that was the shuttle revolved toward him, growing larger as he dropped on his downward trajectory.

  Will I land near to the shuttle, under my current trajectory?

  No.

  Sebastian had expected such a response. How close will I pass?

  It’ll be around eight hundred meters.

  He’d calculated two kilometers as the maximum distance he could redirect using the oxygen cylinder. Sebastian whistled.

  How long until I reach the shuttle?

  You’ll hit the rock in fifteen minutes.

  He requested the direction in which to aim the oxygen blast that would change his trajectory toward the shuttle and Software indicated the spot. He waited until he revolved to face the right direction and then opened the oxygen lock.

  Sebastian groaned as his precious oxygen burgeoned out and crystallized. The colorless plumes arced away from him as though they were his life pouring away. Every crystal was a reminder of the limited time he had left to live.

  Stop, Software said.

  He stopped. Am I aiming for the shuttle now?

  You are.

  How much can I safely reduce my speed by releasing more oxygen?

  Not much at all, Software said.

  Sebastian decided to wait until the last possible moment. Ten minutes before he hit the asteroid he aimed the nozzle of the cylinder forward and released the valve. The cylinder emptied without any noticeable reduction in his speed and he continued to float in the endless blackness of space.

  His heart thumped in his chest. He tried to imagine the shuttle growing in his vision.

  You’ve slowed your speed by ten percent, Software said.

  Before long a vast crumbled wall of rock filled his vision as the asteroid hurtled toward him, or he hurtled toward the asteroid. At two hundred meters away the shuttle slipped from view, but he forced himself not to panic and concentrated instead on noting the exact position.

  It lay perhaps less than one hundred meters from where he’d hit the asteroid, but that was a problem for later. He’d get only one chance at his maneuver, so when he judged he had less than thirty seconds he released the straps on the cylinder.

  Software, can you give me a countdown to impact?

  Twenty, Software said.

  Sebastian swung the cylinder around to point away from him. Now, the asteroid filled his vision.

  Ten.

  He rested the base of the cylinder on his chest. Individual rocks appeared before him: lumps and craters etched in a gray sea.

  Five.

  With all his strength he launched the cylinder away from him. Now unencumbered, the metal tube tumbled away at a right angle to the asteroid. The rocks blurred by him as he fell. The force he’d exerted to torpedo the cylinder changed his course to an oblique angle across the face of the asteroid, offering a greater possibility that he could tether a rock as he hit.

  Two.

  Sebastian launched his first tether grip and his second immediately afterward. The ropes spun away from him.

  One.

  Sebastian threw his arms over his helmet. Then he hit the asteroid full on the back of his shoulders. The black sky spun around him. With gritted teeth he waited for some sign of disaster.

  Sebastian had never been in a broken spacesuit. He doubted many people had lived to tell what the feeling was like, but he assumed he’d hear a hissing sound. His diagnostics continued to show green lights, so he must still be intact.

  The asteroid spun into view and then away as he bounced back from the rockface. Ropes splayed out in arcs around him. Sebastian eagerly searched along one rope and located the end snaking away from the asteroid.

/>   He gritted his teeth harder, ready to tear off his helmet and end his life quickly. Sebastian ran his eye along the length of the second rope, his body taunt from the strain. He found the end, and it was attached.

  Sebastian let himself breathe again. Acting carefully now, he let the rope play out to its farthermost reach. Then the rope gently tugged on him and he began the slow journey back to the asteroid.

  Which way to the shuttle?

  Software pointed a line to the edge of the asteroid on his optic display. Sebastian smiled and then, for the next two hours, he played out rope and secured tether grips to drag him the one hundred meters to the shuttle.

  By then, he had only ninety minutes of oxygen left. Now, he not only needed a communication device on the shuttle, but a new oxygen supply, to live until he was rescued. Sebastian didn’t know what the chances were that both long shots would pay off, but guessed the odds were unlikely.

  On arrival, he patted the shuttle – an ugly, battered, near-useless machine – and dragged himself over the hull. At the back of the shuttle he located the external oxygen tanks and tapped their dials.

  Each was half full, and that was perhaps enough oxygen for days. Sebastian sighed, as he’d had more luck than he expected. With half the requirements fulfilled he went in search of the other half.

  He found a rent along the side of the shuttle that was big enough to slip through without danger. He swung into the craft and let his eyes become accustomed to the poor light inside the wrecked interior.

  A blank control panel faced him with all equipment ripped out, salvaged, whatever. With hopes raised and shattered in seconds Sebastian drifted to the back of the shuttle. Pinned at the rear, he slumped, waiting to die.

  Chapter Eight

  WHAT NOW? Sebastian asked.

  Software stayed silent, not that he could blame his diagnostic tool as Sebastian was clueless, too. Sebastian shuffled through the shattered equipment cluttering the back of the shuttle, but couldn’t find anything that was big enough to reassemble, even if he knew how.