“Wait…you said people, not Humans.”
“Yes, I did, did I not?” He climbed up on the edge of the pool, three of his eight four-foot long arms reaching for the dolly, a fourth reaching for the translator. His narrow sensory tentacles were held high over his head. “Now, are we going to get moving? Or are we going to talk about it some more?”
* * * * *
Chapter Eight
Bailey had access to a quad-fan flitter since he had to commute to the off-shore platforms. It took longer to load the tank into the flitter than it did to travel to the crash site. The crash site was easy to locate due to the column of smoke visible for miles around. Todd’s connection to the translator seemed to work for comm gear as well. He could hear the frantic calls and responses.
Even before they took off, Bailey cut through the chaos with a question Todd knew was important. “Azure Approach Control. This is Styx Actual. Did the shuttle land short or long?” His question was met with angry shouts.
“What the hell? What the fuck difference does that make? Bailey, get off this channel!”
“Shut it. Answer the question.” That was from Neill Cavanaugh. He must have been at one of the platforms today instead of on the shuttle.
“Styx, this is ATC. She landed short. Why? What’s the big deal?”
“Bad news, ATC. Warn everyone off.” Todd could see sweat on Derek’s forehead as he reached over and switched the comm to a private channel. “Neill, bring two people to assist but keep everyone else away. If the ’plant goes we’ll lose everything within five klicks.” He turned back to address Todd. “Sorry you came along, buddy. Then again, you’re no safer back in the pond.”
With a sudden start, Todd realized he perfectly understood the implications of Bailey’s question. If the shuttle landed long—that is, if it missed its landing at the starport and overshot—the thrusters would have been throttled back and the power plant would have been at minimal power. If the shuttle landed short, however, it would still have been in a deceleration burn with the power plant at full output. Automatic safeties should kick in, but the chances of a runaway reaction in the craft’s small fusion reactor were increased at higher power levels.
“Derek, you must let me handle the reactor.”
“What? No! Impossible.” They had arrived at the crash site. There were a couple of ground vehicles approaching from the direction of the starport, but they stopped just beyond the wreckage. The rear half of the shuttle was crushed. It had decelerated using rear thrusters and smashed into the delta floodplain tail-first. “Stay here while I check the rad readings.” With that, he was gone, leaving Todd behind.
The rear section of the shuttle was completely crumpled, but there seemed to be minimal damage to the cargo/passenger hold and cockpit—at least from the outside. The impact would surely have damaged the occupants. The biggest problem would be getting to the engine compartment to check the reactor.
Another flitter approached and landed adjacent to their own. Cavanaugh and two other men got out. Derek and Neill conversed briefly, with lots of hand motions, similar to what Todd had observed the first time he had seen Bailey talking to Administrator Miller outside his tank many months ago. Neill directed the two men toward the personnel hatch while he returned to the flitter to retrieve a large box of tools.
With their attention on the crashed shuttle, Todd started to work. He had paid attention when Bailey loaded the self-driving dolly into the flitter. It was a simple matter to reach out of the tank and manipulate the cargo door release. He raised his head out of the water and draped six of his eight arms over the edge of the tank. Using two arms to drive the dolly, he maneuvered across the rough ground. The dolly almost overturned several times, but it was a simple matter for an eight armed—or legged—creature to prevent himself from falling. He was undetected by Neill and Derek as he made his way to the crumpled section of the ship.
The first thing he noticed was heat. Fire suppression systems had prevented any fire inside the ship, but the high external temperatures associated with re-entry and the crash had ignited fires in the surrounding vegetation. Todd’s skin immediately reacted to the heat and dryness, but there was another sensation as well. Overlaid on his vision was a series of numbers and diagrams. He had never seen these before, but several times over the last weeks he noticed the computer-like information appearing when he examined something. In this case he recognized temperature, chemical, and radiation readings, as well as schematics for a standard ground-to-orbit spacecraft.
The access routes to the engine compartment and reactor were badly damaged. The displayed rad counts were climbing. It would take a major effort for a Human to penetrate through the mangled metal hull and duraplas walls, but there was just enough room…
“What the hell? Todd! Todd!” He heard Bailey shouting despite leaving the translator hanging on the side of the tank. The sounds receded in the distance, but his mysterious link to the electronic device was still active as he wriggled his body into a small opening in the hull. Using several arms, he found points to grasp and hold while pulling himself forward. His sensory tentacles were extended to their full length in front of him, down the passage. While he could not see with them, the sensory information, combined with the strange vision of ship schematics, gave him almost as good a “picture” as vision would have—perhaps better.
The radiation source was just ahead. While the schematics were for an intact—not crash-damaged—shuttle, they suggested he was near the core access port. Behind a panel was an emergency control unit for the reactor. Fusion power was the cleanest, safest power source in the galaxy, provided there was sufficient F11 in the reactor containment. It gave off virtually no radioactive particles, only gamma radiation and heat. Moreover, once the flow of reactants was stopped, well-balanced fusion simply stopped reacting. Of course, a fusion torch could be considered a poorly balanced reaction, turning unfused reactants into high-velocity plasma. Shuttles used the heat of fusion to vaporize reaction mass—typically water—rather than venting the fusion plasma directly. Still, a damaged reactor risked the release of extremely hot, extremely reactive gases into the surrounding space.
And this one was damaged, running at full power, and its containment was about to fail.
There were two release levers to either side of the access panels. Ordinarily, reactor maintenance required two Humans, therefore the levers were placed so it was only barely possible for a single Human to operate both. Todd was not a single Human. With arms each over a meter in length, he could easily activate both levers at the same time. Unfortunately, even released, the panel did not open more than a centimeter. Todd inserted one tentacle in the gap, but it was still not sufficient; he needed to see inside the compartment.
Grasping all four edges of the panel with four arms, he reached behind him with the other four arms to anchor his body against the surrounding frame of the ship. With a supreme effort, he managed to move the panel another couple of centimeters which made it so he was able to insert the arms into one side, then coil and bunch them to lever the opening even wider. Once he had enough room for his head, he stretched and wriggled his whole body through the hatch.
The access point was just large enough for a single Human. A small one. Todd fit, but it required considerable positioning to get all eight arms and his tentacles oriented in the right places. He looked at a control panel and could see several differences from the overlay in his vision. He was here; now what was he going to do?
As he brushed a tentacle over the surface of the panel, new information appeared in his mind. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped, and now the computer controlling the reactor was communicating directly to his brain. It reported an emergency state with only a few time-segments left to prevent a breach of containment. Without stopping to wonder how he knew what to do, Todd commanded the computer to turn off the reactants. The readout, both on the screen and in his mind, told him one of the valves was damaged. He was unable to stop the flow of He3. But he cou
ld vent the tank. That would save him from having to flush the F11 or lose containment. If he could save the valuable element while preventing a plasma explosion, it might be possible to salvage more of the shuttle. Not to mention saving lives. His Human friends put great store in taking risks to prevent bad things from happening.
With a slight mental push he directed the circuits to release the pressure in the He3 tank. His tentacles detected a high frequency vibration both in the air and through the metal of the ship. The temperature began to drop, and where the air had been uncomfortably warm, it was now becoming uncomfortably cold as the cryogenic fuel was released.
* * * * *
Chapter Nine
Todd wriggled his way back out of the wreckage to find Bailey covering his hearing flaps with his hands. The link with the translator indicated there was considerable audio interference, and the Human was attempting to increase his volume to communicate. It was not necessary, since the translator technology was able to render the speech into digital communication for Todd, but without the direct link, it was unlikely his response could be heard.
“What the hell did you do?” Bailey looked agitated. Clearly the noise made him uncomfortable, and the decreasing temperature probably didn’t help.
Todd spotted a protrusion from the wreckage that would allow him to swing back to the transport tank. Once he was in the soothing water, he contemplated an answer.
What had he done? More importantly, how had he known what to do?
The audio interference was decreasing, which probably meant the He3 tank was nearly empty. Bailey was still talking—mostly cursing the fact Todd had not yet answered. There was a strange expression on his face and there seemed to be something odd about his vocalizations.
Todd stuck a tentacle out of the water. The heat, radiation, and then cold had left his skin quite dry and irritated. He really did not want to be out in the air, but something new was happening. The air vibrations from the Human vocalizations had risen in frequency. He decided he had better start paying attention to the translator again. Besides, now that the tank wasn’t venting, the Humans should be able to hear him.
“Bailey. Bailey, this is Miller. What the hell are you doing out there? ATC reports a cloud of vapor over your site and we heard that screech all the way over here.”
“Um, I think Todd vented the He3 tank.” Again, Bailey had a strange expression on his face.
“Who is this? Bailey, is that you? Why does your voice sound funny?”
Another voice came over the comm. “Azure Actual, this is Cavanaugh.” The translator indicated, like the oceanographer, the rigger’s voice was also increased in frequency. “I think it’s an effect of the helium. I’m in the shuttle cockpit. We’re trying to extract Captain Elick. I was watching the control board. The fusion reactor was in runaway, but the He3 tank was vented, and that stopped it cold. Literally cold. That stuff comes out so cold we have ice on the ports. Now that the reactor is contained, we need more muscle. LaFanto’s got a broken leg, and Elick’s chair supports failed and we need to cut her out. There’s wounded in the passenger bay. Send Doc Rao.”
“Umm, Mister Cavanaugh, there’s a problem back here.” The new voice was Ozols’, one of the men Cavanaugh had brought in from the sea-farming platform. His voice also had the indications of higher frequency vibration, but to a lesser degree than Bailey or Cavanaugh, which meant it was likely he was fully inside the passenger compartment.
“Report, Artur. How many wounded?”
“Five wounded, two seriously, one dead.”
“Who?”
“Doc Rao.” Todd could see Bailey’s face as he heard the transmission. He’d never seen such an expression on a Human. He would have to remember it for future reference, since there was something about it that he didn’t like. Perhaps it was the paleness, perhaps the lack of focus in the eyes, but he could see his friend was badly affected by the news, and it touched something inside of him.
“Um. What the fuck, Actual? Why was our doc on the shuttle?” Cavanaugh’s voice translation carried overtones of anger.
There was no response on the comm, but the voice of the controller came on. “Sorry, folks, but the administrator is indisposed.”
“The hell you say.” Bailey had finally found his voice.
“She’s losing her lunch, Derek.” This was a new voice, female, as far as Todd could tell from the audio diagnostics overlaid on the comm signal.
Now Bailey looked confused. “Cynnie? What are you doing there?”
“Just asking myself that same question, hon. I came over to find out why our administrator was so interested in a routine crew-change flight from Wandrey Station. It seems she sent Doctor Nik up to do some digging in Todd’s old ship.”
Ah, that explained it. The new voice was the deputy administrator: Cynthia Bailey, Derek’s mate.
“What? Why? What is there for the doc to do on that derelict?”
“Sampling organics and looking for toxins. It seems our dear administrator doesn’t trust your friend. Figured something or someone trashed that ship and was looking for a contingency plan.” The translator was now reporting indications of disgust. “We’ll have to have a reckoning, but you get those people taken care of first.”
“Yeah, uh, sure, but the rescue is for nothing without our doctor.” Bailey’s eyes focused on Todd’s transfer tank, but Todd wasn’t there. “Okay, asshole, where are you going this time?”
While Todd was wetting his skin, he’d thought about what he’d heard from the rescue teams. Cavanaugh’s card-playing friend had a broken standing-arm, and the pilot was somehow trapped in her station. Thinking of how he’d levered the access panel, he reached two arms up to the same protrusion he’d just used and lifted himself back out of the tank and started moving toward the cockpit.
“Hey! Come back here! You’ve got some explaining…Oh, the hell with it.”
“Eight arms are better than two, my friend. Ten are better than eight, so you should keep up, Derek.”
“What? Hey!” Despite the shock, Bailey was already moving to follow. “So…now you speak to me? What the hell do you think you are doing?”
“I’m helping, Derek. If the captain is trapped, you need leverage.” Todd waved six of his arms, plus his tentacles, all while swinging along the various protrusions and fragments of the broken craft on two arms like one of the arboreals from the Human home planet. “I can supply leverage.”
* * * * *
Chapter Ten
They arrived at the cockpit hatch to find Cavanaugh prying at the pilot’s chair, which was jammed up against the control column, preventing him from extracting the pilot. Another Human attempted to move LaFanto to an improvised stretcher made from a flattened passenger hammock. The co-pilot winced and cried out whenever his left standing-arm was moved.
Todd looked at the pilot’s couch, his vision overlaid with stress points and anchorages. “Allow me,” he flashed, then realized the translator pendant was back at the flitter. He touched Cavanaugh’s hand with one arm and the man started.
Bailey seemed to understand his intent, though. “He says he can help, Neill. Something about eight hands, or arms, or legs…something like that.” Bailey had left his comm on open-transmit, so it picked up the conversation.
Todd flashed acknowledgement even if neither man could understand, then gestured again at the seat frame. The other man moved, allowing him to grasp the seat frame. He grabbed the points indicated in his mind-view—there were seven of them—and another three where he would have to apply pressure to release tension. He released one arm from the seat, then took hold of one of Bailey’s arms just above the five grasping appendages and gently moved it to one of the anchor points. Once Bailey took hold, he did the same with Cavanaugh. With two arms thus freed up, he then grasped the three tension-relief points and flashed a repeating pattern…three times…then two times…then once.
“Three, two, one. I think that means pull!” Bailey supplied. With all
three pulling, plus the additional release of the tension points, the combined leverage was enough to release the seat from its clamps, and it slid back away from the control column.
“She’s in bad shape,” Cavanaugh said. “Looks like a bad head wound, broken arm, probably internal injuries.” He looked and saw that Martinus Bakker, the other rescue worker, had managed to secure LaFanto to the litter. There was an open medkit next to the litter and the injured co-pilot was being given a sedative. “What have you got in there for the captain, Martinus?”
“Not much, I’m afraid,” the burly sea-farmer and part-time medic answered. “I know how to set a fracture and stitch ’em up, but head injuries are beyond me.” He cocked his head toward the passenger compartment. “Is it true what Ozols said about the doc? He’s dead?”
“Don’t know for certain; I haven’t been back there,” Bailey said. “Let’s get Captain Elick out of here before we worry about that. She probably shouldn’t be moved, but there’s no other way to get her out. You have another stretcher?”
“Actually, we saved the real stretcher for her.” Bakker gestured to the hard duraplas frame affixed to the back wall of the cockpit.
“Okay, get it over here.” Bailey directed each person to lift at a particular point, and they managed to move the injured pilot without eliciting a reaction.
“That’s not good. If she’s still out with all of that…” Bakker began.
“Shhhh. What’s he doing?” Cavanaugh interrupted, pointing at Todd.
Todd never understood where the knowledge came from. He only knew that as he looked at the injured Human, his vision was overlaid with diagnostics and vital signs. He reached one tentacle up next to her head and laid another over her chest.
“What the hell!”
Do No Harm Page 4
