Zero Zero Zero

by Harlan Finchley

  Sebastian closed his eyes. If he waited for the oxygen in his cylinders to run out and didn’t hook up to the new supply, death would take him within minutes, rather than the days he could survive.

  Sebastian snarled, refusing to accept the inevitable. He clambered through the tangled junk to the front of the shuttle. His movements created a maelstrom from the fragments of broken equipment.

  A spacesuit drifted toward him, but Sebastian pushed it away. He didn’t need to find out who had died inside. When he reached the front Sebastian examined the shuttle with his weak palm torch.

  After reviewing each wall panel, he confirmed that the debris didn’t hide any hidden treasures, only broken equipment and supplies smashed beyond use when the shuttle crashed into the asteroid. His only success was locating the fuel tanks.

  A hint of a plan formed as he stood before the tanks. He couldn’t find a dial to indicate how much fuel remained, but he and Philippe had detected the shuttle from a fuel leak, so some fuel must be left.

  He tapped each tank, but the echo he felt through his suit gave no clue. He examined them from all angles. The nearest burgeoned, with a rent ripped down one side, so he felt sure he’d located the leaking tank.

  He couldn’t find a release switch, so his only option, once again, was brute force. Fuel tanks could withstand considerable damage, so they would survive Sebastian’s attempt to tear them from the shuttle.

  He swung himself from the shuttle, checked that his tethers constrained him for hectic manual work and dragged himself along the hull, avoiding the ripped metal impact rose curling from its side. Sebastian located the attitude and thruster jets attached to the fuel cylinders.

  They seemed to be intact. The shuttle, embedded nose-down in the rock, wasn’t going anywhere, but he’d crossed open space under his own power with an oxygen cylinder and these real jets should be able to do something more sophisticated.

  He ripped open the emergency tool kit on his chest. Only a spanner and wrench were within, but these would have to do, as he didn’t have the skill to use anything more complicated than these simple tools, anyway.

  Wasting no time on further thought, he thrust the spanner under the first attitude jet and pushed. The jet didn’t move, although his efforts ripped some of the paneling away, revealing a release lever.

  With a smile Sebastian levered the jet from its mooring. Silently, like every action in space, the jet withdrew its fuel pipes, drifted free and dangled at the end of its wires. He played out the tangle of wires and tried to decide which he could sever, and which fired the jet.

  Have you got any ideas?

  No, Software said. This is a highly technical matter.

  Sebastian chose the left-hand wire, ripped it from the jet and swung into the shuttle. Inside, he levered out wall panels and lashed them together with his tether rope. Every levering action threw him against the shuttle walls, and each time he gritted his teeth, hoping his spacesuit wouldn’t catch on a ripped projection.

  After dragging his hastily fashioned raft outside the shuttle, he attached the attitude jet to the underside with another tether. Only then did he pause for breath and let the awful result of his actions hit him.

  Feeling ashamed, he held his helmeted head in his hands, wondering why he had thought he could make a space raft from an old crashed shuttle. He shook his head, fighting back his doubts, and patted the raft, his monument to stupidity.

  Then he finished attaching the attitude jet and tried to lever out the second jet. The jet held fast, resisting each drag of his spanner. Only then did he pause to ponder. Now it was time to ask the only important question he’d ignored during an hour of manic effort.

  Assuming the attitude jet is fully fueled and my raft is stable, how long before I reach Absolem? he asked.

  He’d never installed subtlety subroutines in Software.

  Software paused to calculate and then replied, It will take seventeen point four . . . the barest hint of another pause . . . thousand years.

  Sebastian’s neck warmed in embarrassment. Are you sure?

  It’s a reasonable assumption, based on the jet’s strength.

  Sebastian had gotten this far by ignoring common sense, so he fought back his disappointment.

  All right, Software, at the maximum speed I can achieve, how long to the nearest inhabited facility?

  That would take two thousand four hundred years, give or take a century.

  Sebastian grinned. Work with me. How long to the nearest shipping lane?

  That’s two hundred and twenty years.

  Sebastian rotated the collection of panels he called a raft as he tested for stability.

  How do you know that?

  It’s a simple computation. I know the jet’s level of thrust, the likely mass and strength of your raft. I know the starting point and I know where you want to go.

  Sebastian tried to detect a hint of smugness in the answer. The needle of his oxygen monitor had drifted into the danger zone. Death would release him soon, unless he used the new oxygen supply from the shuttle.

  He thumped his raft. If the speed from the attitude jets wasn’t enough, he’d get more speed from something else. He attached the oxygen cylinders gathered from the shuttle to the raft, and then hooked the last cylinder to his spacesuit.

  He enjoyed the cool blast of fresh air as he brandished his spanner and attacked one of the four main thruster jets. When the first one finally shifted, he ran his suit’s diagnostic apparatus over the jet.

  The jet was functional. Straining, he tried to lever it all the way out, but it wouldn’t budge any farther. Sebastian ripped the side panels away, tossed them into space and examined the opening.

  He couldn’t climb inside, but the tanks were locked deep within the shuttle. Still not despairing, he dismantled the second thruster jet and burrowed into its insides. His palm torch caught the glint of a catch.

  Sebastian released the catch and the jet floated free. Sebastian chortled as he caught it and then dragged it to his new raft. Now he needed a way to fire the jet.

  It’s red, blue and green, Software said.

  Sebastian shook his head. Hours had passed and the oxygen level had drifted to half full. He needed rest and he didn’t understand Software’s cryptic answer.

  Pardon?

  The red wire is for ignition, the blue for thrust level and the green for disable automatic controls.

  I thought you couldn’t cope with technical matters.

  That’s a simple matter. You only need to connect the wires to a switching mechanism and you’ll have a firing device.

  Sebastian silently screamed a thank you at Software. He slipped into the shuttle and dragged out a lighting control circuit. Making the simple switch gave him no problem, despite his lack of technical competence.

  Finished, he stood back from his work: six wall panels lashed together into a crude space raft with a thruster jet and fuel tank strapped to the bottom, and his remaining oxygen cylinder strapped to the top. That wasn’t a bad effort for someone who didn’t have a clue about what he was doing.

  He dragged another fuel tank away from the shuttle and connected the tube to the thruster jet. Then, trying to ignore the hopelessness of the situation, he asked the important question.

  Assuming the jet fires, how long to shipping lanes now?

  That’s too complex a question. Every time you fire, you’ll accelerate, and arrive sooner.

  All right, if I fire at full thrust, how long will it take?

  That’ll be two hundred days.

  Sebastian slumped in his spacesuit. His feet and hands became numb as the truth hit him.

  Shuttles can cross millions of kilometers of space. My jet has a quarter of the power of the shuttle. Why will I take so long?

  Shuttles are sturdier than your raft. The maximum thrust you can allow is the minimum level. Any more will wreck the raft and that’s before considering the effect of the huge volumes of dust in the asteroid belt on your unprotecte
d body.

  Sebastian tried to detect some subtlety in the answer and then patted his raft.

  Then tell me the thrust level required to get to shipping lanes before I die.

  You’ll need one quarter power, but the raft will shear as soon as you fire.

  “I’ll take the risk!” Sebastian shouted.

  No, wait. I am programmed to stop you from killing yourself. If the jets don’t shear the raft, the vibration will rip your body to pieces and the heat will melt your spacesuit.

  Sebastian grinned. Thanks for the advice.

  He clambered onto his raft and released the tethers. His flurry of activity let him drift away from the old shuttle.

  I must protest, Software said. The odds that someone will find you are too great, even if you can get to the shipping lanes.

  Sebastian paused. Software was right. Space was a huge expanse and the possibility that anyone would happen to sail nearby in the next few hours and spot him, an infinitesimal blip in the vastness of space, was more improbable than his raft staying whole. He needed a homing signal to attract attention.

  I need a distress flare!

  There are none available. They are impractical in space as they provide too little light.

  Sebastian grinned. I know, so let’s build a larger flare.

  After tethering his raft, Sebastian pushed himself toward the main thruster jets on the shuttle. He swung inside the hole he’d created by ripping out the jet and located the leaking tank. He examined the rent and the barely visible fuel leak.

  Somehow, he needed to ignite the fuel and create a blast. Even then, the explosion might be too small to attract anyone. Then he remembered the useless unbihexium samples in his backpack.

  What do you think this rock actually is?

  I don’t know, although I would suggest that it isn’t unbihexium.

  I’d guessed that much. It’s just as false as everything else Philippe told me, but some of what he said could be true. Perhaps they can be used as an explosive.

  If that was a question, I don’t have enough information to provide an answer.

  Sebastian removed the lumps from his backpack. They didn’t fill him with enthusiasm, but then again, Philippe must have tried to kill him for a reason. If the rock contained energy, he only needed to worry about how to release it.

  Do you know how to ignite the rock? Sebastian asked.

  It’s rock. It won’t ignite.

  Sebastian sighed. All right, I’ll leave the unbihexium – I’m sorry, rock – by the fuel tank. So how can I ignite a leaking tank?

  Excessive heat should produce the desired result.

  Sebastian slipped into the shuttle and tore out cables. He needed to find any apparatus that was still functional, but the only intact device was the heating control unit. He tested its control switches. They worked, so he disconnected the unit’s overload failsafe and switched the heat level to maximum.

  How long before the unit overloads?

  I estimate soon.

  Sebastian moved to the damaged fuel tank and crammed the heating unit into the hole. He wedged the unbihexium around the unit and dragged himself to his raft. He felt a surge of pride at his creation.

  What are my chances now?

  Given the rock’s potential destructive power, you’re unlikely to travel far enough to avoid death.

  Sebastian clambered onto his raft. So you’re telling me my raft will tear apart, shaking me to death and burning me to a crisp, while the blast will kill me unless my oxygen runs out beforehand?

  I believe you’ve covered the main ways your plan will fail.

  Sebastian turned to the shuttle for the last time. You forgot about the space dust ripping me to pieces.

  I don’t think you will live long enough for that to be a problem.

  One last time he checked the fastenings on his raft and ran his fingers around all sides. Then he clambered onto the raft. His movements set the panels to rotating slowly.

  Show me the way to the main shipping lanes.

  Software signified the direction on his optic display. After waiting until the steady rotation of the raft floated him in the right direction, he thumbed the thruster jet for the barest fraction of a second, on the lowest possible setting.

  His stomach somersaulted as his feet and head felt like they were occupying the same space. After a few moments, the disorientation passed, but then he groaned in horror as the raft tore apart and drifted away from him in all directions.

  Desperately, he grabbed a panel, but it slipped from his grasp. A cylinder shot forward and hit the visor of his helmet. For a shocked moment he waited for it to shatter and end his life, but the visor remained intact.

  The debris from the raft went spinning away and he tumbled back to the asteroid. He crashed onto the rock with his shoulders and then bounced into space.

  Well, Software, you were right. The raft didn’t work.

  My correct prediction gives me no pleasure.

  He sighed, trying to feel relieved that he’d survived the collapse of the raft.

  How long before the oxygen runs out?

  You have twelve hours.

  Does that include the oxygen in my cylinder?

  Yes.

  I thought so.

  The shuttle was now fifty meters away and getting farther away. Even at his slow speed, it would take a long time to come to a halt and drag himself back to the shuttle. Although what he would do when he got there was unclear. Then he remembered the heating equipment he’d set to overload.

  How long before the rock – or whatever it is – explodes?

  I don’t know, but I would guess that, if it will explode, it will occur at the same time that the fuel explodes.

  How long until the fuel explodes?

  That will be soon.

  The asteroid was now approaching again. Even though he stood no chance of surviving for long enough to be found, if he didn’t put some distance between himself and the shuttle, he wouldn’t live for long enough to die from oxygen depredation.

  Sebastian drew both his legs to his chest and waited until he closed on the rock. Then he flexed his legs and, with all his strength, pushed himself in a giant leap from the asteroid at an angle to the shuttle.

  As he sped upward, he checked behind him. The shuttle was now receding quickly, and he willed the heating mechanism to stay cool until he was far enough away. Long minutes passed, the shuttle shrinking to a speck as the asteroid shrank to the size of an uneven pear, hanging in space.

  With the asteroid receding Sebastian couldn’t work out whether his speed was declining. He resisted the urge to ask Software if he had pushed hard enough to free himself from the asteroid’s gravitational pull.

  Even if he hadn’t, he had traveled far enough that he now stood a chance of surviving the explosion. He waited. Then light cascaded around his helmet and he blinked the afterimages from his eyes.

  Sebastian waited for his rotation to bring him a view of the asteroid. Where the shuttle had once been, a cloud of dust and debris was expanding in a purple bloom. If any ship was in the vicinity, they couldn’t help but notice the blast.

  The cloud hurtled toward him, the solid mass of dust and rocks making it seem that a new planet was growing before his eyes. With no sense of scale he couldn’t tell if the expanding wall was ten meters away or ten kilometers. Although he didn’t want to know the answer, he couldn’t stop himself asking.

  Can I survive this?

  That is unknown.

  Sebastian took a deep breath, discarded the smaller, nearly empty suit oxygen tank and replaced it with the full pod tank. Then he hurled the suit tank toward the dust cloud. The small increase in his momentum would reduce his relative speed to that of the debris.

  Now, he just had to hope he would survive the blast wave. Presently the cloud engulfed him and his spacesuit was pummeled with a cascade of small rocks. With no way to help himself, he could only grit his teeth and wait for the moment when one of the rocks
punctured his suit.

  For long moments he endured what felt like the worst hailstorm in his life. Then, as suddenly as the debris hit him, it was gone. He waited another few seconds and then realized he’d closed his eyes.

  He opened them and the dust cloud was rising above him, blotting out the stars and creating a canopy around the asteroid. Below him, the asteroid was now even more pitted than before. The area where he judged the shuttle to have been was now just a deep hollow.

  Well that proved one thing.

  It did. The unbihexium – or whatever it is – can be used as an explosive.

  Sebastian sighed. He could do nothing more to help himself. He tried calculating how near a rescuer would need to pass, to rescue him in time. The distance wasn’t promising. He waited, and then waited some more. The debris cloud above him dissipated into a shroud of dust.

  How long?

  You have thirty minutes.

  Reduce oxygen intake to fifty percent of normal.

  Such an action will kill you.

  The real stars dimmed, replaced by closer stars, which danced before his eyes. Sebastian dragged in a long breath through clenched teeth, but it didn’t help.

  That’s true. Reduce oxygen to thirty percent of normal.

  But . . . All right.

  The stars blinked out, except for a faint glow that expanded in the center of his vision.

  Chapter Nine

  PIERCING LIGHT CASCADED around Sebastian. Within the light, shapes moved back and forth. He tried to call to them, but he wasn’t sure if he said anything.

  “Rest, you’re safe now,” a voice said.

  Blackness spread around him and Sebastian rested. Later, light returned. People wearing white coats, presumably medics, came into focus and milled around him. He stirred and one man edged forward.

  “I’m alive,” Sebastian mouthed.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know. How do I feel?”

  The medic smiled. “You’ll live. Amazingly, aside from the oxygen depletion you only suffered a badly bruised leg. You’re now on the Cerulean freighter Kougyo.”

  “Did you see the explosion?”