“Nothing, probably. A nozzle froze. It happens sometimes. I have to reset the heating system. It only takes a second.”
“I’d come over and help, but I can’t move so long as you’re controlling my guidance gadget, or whatever you call it.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can just…”
As Brent watched, a stream of swirling mist exploded from the side of Levinson’s jetpack, the silence of the eruption sending a shudder down Brent’s spine. “Levinson, did you do that on purpose? Are you venting some gas or something?”
“No! I can’t–”
Levinson’s words were lost in a rush of white noise as he veered away from Brent, his arms flailing as he hurtled away into the darkness.
Brent stared after him, his mouth dry, but before he could speak, a red light flashed onto his HUD and a warning voice sounded in his earpiece:
“Guidance lost. Manual control reinstated.”
“Christ!” he hissed. “Ellen, can you hear me? Need a little help out here.”
For an eternity, the only sound in his earpiece was the crackle of interference, then: “Brent, this is Ellen. What happened to Levinson? We lost him.”
“Yeah. Me too. Something went wrong with his pack. I can still see him, but he’s getting away from me. Do you know how to steer this thing? Levinson showed me the basics, but I don’t know if I can do it. My mind’s gone blank.”
A pause. “Sorry, Brent. I have no idea. I’ll put Carter on.”
Carter’s voice came over the intercom. “All right, Mr. Bolster. Listen carefully. The Captain must’ve shown you the control pad on your left arm. Does it still have the cover on?”
Brent checked. “Yes. A clear plastic cover. He told me not to take it off.” He hesitated. “Carter, about earlier–”
“We don’t have time,” Carter interrupted. “If it was just you, I’d leave you to asphyxiate, but the Captain deserves a chance, and God help us, you’re all we’ve got right now. So listen up and do as you’re told.”
“Okay, okay.” Brent took a breath. “Should I take off the cover?”
“Yes. It flips upward. When you’ve done that, tap the large, green pad on the right. That should activate the controls.”
Brent released the cover and tapped the pad, peering intently at the control panel as an array of lights and bright icons appeared on the smoky glass. “Got it.”
“Good. Use the right arrow to cycle through until you see the manual control pad. It looks kind of like something you’d see on a game.”
“Right. Doing that now. There it is. Wait, I went too far.” Brent tapped the left arrow, but the display didn’t move. “Come on. Go back.” He tapped it again, and this time the display skipped back twice. “Are you kidding? This gadget is kind of laggy, isn’t it?”
“Take your time,” Carter said calmly. “Do you have the manual control pad now?”
“Yes.” The sound of Brent’s breathing seemed louder than a marching band as a sneaking suspicion crept up on him. “Do I tap around these controls to steer? Up a bit, left a bit. Is that how it works?”
“Yes. But the key is to tap each one a little at a time. Gently does it. Better to understeer because once you go wrong, it can be hard to correct.”
“Got it. Levinson said that earlier. It’s coming back to me now.”
“That’s good. When you’re ready, tap the center to move forward, then tap around the outer ring to steer. Start slow. Easy does it, or you could wind up blasting out into space.”
“Right. Easy does it. Fine.” Brent peered out into the darkness. Levinson was barely visible now. If he was going to catch him, he’d have to hustle. “Let’s do this,” he muttered, and with a firm jab of his finger, he pressed hard on the center of the pad and held it down. The acceleration sent his senses spinning. His stomach had felt strangely absent since he’d stepped out of the airlock, but now it was back with a vengeance and apparently intent on performing the rhumba in his chest cavity. Keep it down in there, Brent thought. I will not barf in my spacesuit. I will not. He swallowed hard, clenching his jaw tight. Time to ease off the gas. He let go of the button, but he didn’t slow down. “This momentum’s a bitch,” he muttered, tapping around the outer circle to adjust his trajectory. Left. Right. Right. Right. Left. Down.
The jetpack flung him wildly in all directions, but he was gradually getting the measure of it. He even managed a strained smile. “I see him. He’s right ahead of me. Er, Carter, how do I slow this thing down?”
No reply.
“Carter? Ellen? Anybody?”
Levinson was looming larger now, his body tumbling, his limbs hanging limp. Brent adjusted his course. He’d been worried he might miss Levinson, but now, it looked like the impact would be brutal. Fire the retros, he thought. That’s what they always do in the movies. He scanned the control panel. There was nothing that looked remotely useful. And then a flash of inspiration came to him.
Tapping the upward control, he sailed past Levinson, missing the captain by inches. He continued in what he considered to be an upward arc for a moment, then he performed a dive, his body turning a graceful loop through the void. Now, Levinson was in front of him, and he was facing in the right direction. Tapping his controls to trim his approach, he called out, “If you can hear me, Levinson, brace yourself, because I’m coming in…oof!”
Their bodies collided, and Brent wrapped his arms around Levinson’s unresisting legs, holding him tight. “I got him. Now I have to figure out how to steer without letting go.”
“What? Is that you?” Levinson’s voice was faint. “Bolster? You came to get me? I heard your voice, but I thought I imagined it. I…I thought it was all over.”
“There’s no way you’re getting out that easy,” Brent chided. “We had a deal, remember?”
“Right. But…but I’m out of fuel or something. My pack is useless.”
“No problemo. I’ll steer. Frankly, I need the practice.”
“Oh man.” There was a hiss on the intercom as if Levinson had exhaled on his microphone. “Listen, can you let go for a second? I need to get the other way up so I can see the controls.”
“Maybe later,” Brent said with a grin. “For the moment, just stay quiet. Daddy is driving.”
***
Brent’s journey toward the escape pod was punctuated by several wide swerves in all possible directions, but at least communication with the shuttle was restored. Eventually, Brent allowed Levinson to right himself and take the jetpack’s controls, and soon afterward, they drifted silently toward the escape pod’s airlock.
“Ellen,” Brent began, “did you get through to Rawlgeeb on the comms?”
“No. Vince did his best, but it was a no go. The shuttle doesn’t have the right kind of gear.”
“Okay, I guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Levinson heaved a sigh. “We can’t just rap our knuckles on the airlock door. He won’t hear us inside, and even if he did, he won’t know what’s going on. If he has any sense at all, he’ll sit tight.”
“Sense isn’t really his strong point,” Brent replied. “But this pod has windows or portholes or something, doesn’t it?”
“I expect so,” Levinson said. “We’ll go right around and see what we can find.”
But the pod’s hull was sleek, smooth and almost featureless, and Brent tapped Levinson on the arm. “There’s nothing here. Let’s head back to the airlock.”
“Wait. Just ahead. I think there’s…yes. Over there. Grab that handrail.”
Brent reached out gingerly for the short handrail, having discovered already that sudden movements often had unexpected consequences.
“Hurry up,” Levinson said. “Don’t miss it. We’re running low on fuel.”
“Okay, but I’m trying to move without kicking you in the…without kicking you like the last time.”
“Don’t remind me. Just grab the damned rail. I’m ready.”
Brent stretched his arm
as far as he could, and his fingers found the handrail. He grabbed tight and pulled Levinson in, so they could both take hold.
“Fasten your tether,” Levinson said, clipping his own line onto the handrail.
Brent did as he was told, then peered upward to the rectangular pane of glittering glass set into the hull a few feet above them.
“Do you want me to take a peek?” Levinson asked.
“No, I’ll do it. But keep an eye on my line, will you? I don’t want to go drifting off.”
“Sure.”
Taking a deep breath, Brent let go of the rail and swung his body toward the viewport. A brief panic fluttered in his stomach as he slid rapidly across the hull, but then his line was pulled tight, bringing him to a sudden halt. “Thanks, Captain.”
“No problem. Can you see him?”
For a moment, Brent didn’t reply. Rawlgeeb was inside, but although Brent could see him clearly, nothing could’ve prepared him for what he was witnessing.
CHAPTER 36
Escape Pod. Registration: The Kreltonian Skull.
Rawlgeeb slumped into one of the eight empty seats and toyed with the control panel built into the wall alongside it. He’d messed around with most of the controls in the small craft, searching for a comms panel he could operate, but so far, he’d found nothing useful. At least my Andelian is improving, he told himself. So far, with the aid of the recorded messages and animated displays, he’d discovered six different words for warning, eight for danger, and thirty-two that seemed to signify violent punishment of some kind.
This panel sported a few icons that he hadn’t seen before, and he selected one at random and pressed it. The sound that bellowed from the ceiling was loud enough to rattle Rawlgeeb’s bones, and he pressed the icon again, hoping to silence it. But the sound merely changed, a bass beat thumping against his eardrums, powerful chords vibrating in his chest. And Rawlgeeb’s eyes went wide. “I know what this is,” he told the empty pod, his voice almost entirely drowned out. “It’s Andelian dust-storm jazz.”
Rawlgeeb laughed: an outburst of pent-up emotions that weren’t so much raw as severely bruised. And once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He bent double, clutching his stomach with both hands. After everything I’ve been through, after everything I’ve survived, I’m going to end up with impaired hearing, because all I’ve managed to get working is the in-flight entertainment center.
“Oh, so what?” he cried out between gasps. “It’s got a good beat!” He jumped up, and still giggling, began gyrating his hips, thrusting his hands in the air. He turned on the spot, around and around, pointing alternately with both hands at the empty seats, the useless control panels, the man peering in through the viewport.
What? Rawlgeeb stumbled to a halt, his features frozen in a caricature of astonishment. Is this music hallucinogenic? He pressed his knuckles against his eyes, but when he looked again, the figure was still there. And now, as the man tilted his head, the light escaping from the pod lit his face, and there was no mistaking that crooked smile, that raised eyebrow. “Brent? Is that…even possible?”
As if in reply, the apparition outside waved, and then seemed to be pointing to something.
Rawlgeeb stepped closer to the viewport. This can’t be real, he told himself. But outside, Brent’s doppelgänger stubbornly persisted, and now the apparition was mouthing a word over and over, stretching its mouth wide in an exaggerated attempt to be understood.
Rawlgeeb’s lips moved as he tried to copy the word. “Hair sock,” he whispered. “Headlock. Ah, airlock! Yes!” He gave Brent a thumbs up then hurried to the airlock. Here, at least, the controls seemed straightforward and familiar. He pressed the button to unlock the outer door, and when he glanced back at the viewport, Brent had vanished. He must be on his way around to the airlock, Rawlgeeb told himself. I did not imagine him out there. Space gremlins aren’t real. They are not real.
***
Outside, Levinson pulled himself up to join Brent. “What’s up, Bolster? You’ve gone quiet. What’s happened? He’s not…he’s not dead, is he?”
Brent snapped out of his trance, but when he spoke, his voice was as heavy as a black hole made entirely of lead. “Dead men, I mean dead Gloabons, they don’t…they don’t disco, Levinson. At least, I sincerely hope that’s what he was doing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Never mind. Forget about it. I wish I could.”
Levinson hesitated. “You know, Bolster, I never did say thanks to you for saving my ass. To tell you the truth, you surprised me out there. You’ve clearly got guts, and I reckon you’re smarter than you make out. If you’d just talk straight once in a while, and quit rubbing everyone up the wrong way, you might get further.”
Brent made a brave effort to shrug, but the bulk of his EVA suit made it impossible, so he settled for a nonchalant grin. “You’re probably right, Levinson. Cooperation, collaboration, positive relationships–those things are all very well, but where’s the fun? Where’s the joy?”
Levinson sighed. “Move over. Let me see inside.”
“No need. Rawlgeeb is over by the airlock. He got the message. Let’s go.”
It didn’t take them long to reach the outer door, and Levinson helped Brent inside, their jetpacks making the doorway difficult for both of them. Brent found himself squeezed inside the small airlock with his back against the wall, and Levinson jostled him as he pulled the door shut.
“Are you done elbowing me in the ribs?” Brent asked. “Because I think you might have missed a spot.”
“Sorry, but it looks like I have to lock it by hand, and the wheel is stiff. Wait…there we go. Done.”
Air rushed into the cramped cubicle, the unseen currents whistling as they tugged at Brent’s suit. Levinson pointed to a green light above the inner door. “You can take your helmet off.”
“With pleasure.” Brent flipped the catches and released his helmet, taking a grateful lungful of air, then immediately regretted his instinct. He coughed. “Hell’s teeth, it stinks like a skunk’s armpit in here.”
“Probably this sucker.” Levinson kicked at an ovoid leathery mass on the floor. The object, the size and shape of a football, bounced back as though firmly attached to the floor, and inside it, something squirmed obscenely.
Brent shrank back against the wall. “Flek! What is that thing?”
“Space louse. An egg case, anyhow. They lay them all over the place. Damned nuisance. If you’re not careful, you can trip over them.”
“Shouldn’t we kill it or something?” Brent asked. “I’m thinking flamethrower, but I’m good with whatever we’ve got.”
Levinson pursed his lips. “They’re harmless enough. If I’d seen it while we still had the door open, I could’ve practiced my dropkick, but we may as well leave it for now. We’ll be out of here soon enough.”
Before Brent could reply, the inner door opened, and he rushed gratefully inside.
“Brent!” Rawlgeeb cried. “It really is you! I can scarcely believe it.”
“Believe it, my friend. We weren’t going to leave you out here all alone.” Brent glanced back to watch Levinson clamber inside. “The sooner you shut the door, the better I’ll like it.” He shuddered as he returned his attention to Rawlgeeb. “That thing in there’s a space louse, apparently. Gross.”
Rawlgeeb rubbed his hands together. “Well, this is nice. Can I get you something? There are plenty of supplies, although they’re all labeled in Andelian, so I’m really not too sure what any of them are. I found a sachet of blue liquid that might be a soft drink, but the label says chetan agoo, and since that has an alternate meaning that’s something to do with toilets, it might be some kind of laxative. I have no way of knowing.”
“I’ll pass,” Brent replied. “We didn’t stop by for drinks and nibbles, Rawlgeeb. We have a shuttle standing by, and with any luck, Ellen will soon be zinging us aboard.” He pulled a handset from the pocket on his sleeve. “She gave me this,
and she’s sure she’ll be able to get a good lock on it. But you’ll need to step outside. There’s a shield around the pod, and it’s blocking the zinger.”
Rawlgeeb paled. “Outside? But, I have no suit.”
“There’ll be suits in here somewhere,” Levinson said. “We can check through the lockers.”
“Suits for Andelians,” Rawlgeeb protested. “They won’t fit. You may not have noticed, but Andelians are what you might call short and stocky.”
“You could survive outside for long enough to get zinged back,” Levinson said thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t be much fun though.”
Rawlgeeb held up his hands in horror. “No! If I get starved of nitrogen, my skin will be damaged. I’ll get the plague like Surrana. I can’t face that. There has to be another way.”
Brent and Levinson shared a look. “I’m almost as tall as Rawlgeeb,” Levinson said. “He can have my suit.”
“No. You probably won’t fit an Andelian suit, and neither will I.” Brent scratched the stubble on his chin. “We’ll have to figure something out.”
All three stood in silence for a second, then Levinson said, “I have one idea.”
“Me too,” Brent said quickly. “But mine’s about chocolate frosting, so I’m not sure how helpful that’s going to be.”
Levinson gave him the side-eye. “As I was saying earlier, a person–a human anyway–can survive in space for longer than most people think. I’ve had training in this, so it makes sense for Rawlgeeb to take my suit. We’ll adapt one of the Andelian suits for me. So long as we can get a helmet and life support rigged up, I should be fine.”
“All right,” Brent said. “Levinson, you get out of that suit. Rawlgeeb, let’s see what we can lay our hands on. As well as the biggest suit we can find, we’ll need duct tape. Lots and lots of duct tape. Oh, and something like a flamethrower.” Brent cast a glance at the airlock. “I’m damned if I’m going out there without something hot and lethal, and I’m not talking about Sergeant Carter’s sister.”
“I don’t think he has a sister,” Levinson offered.
“Yeah, well he would say that, wouldn’t he?” Brent slapped Levinson on the shoulder. “I never thought I’d say these words, but strip yourself down, big fella. We’re going to dress you up real pretty.”
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