“What do you mean?” asked Alena.
“Our circle. Look here, this is the landing strip. This map shows the landing strip Major Dyson mentioned, but it runs east-west, and we’ll be coming in from the south. We need to straighten out when we reach an east-west heading, go straight until we're past the runway, and then do the other half circle so we can line up to land.”
Elena shook her head. “Can’t do that. We’re dropping too fast. Without the plasma core online, the engines don’t have enough power. We’re going to drop into the ocean.”
“Well, that’s good, right?” said Rasora. “We can all swim, right?”
“You stupid fool,” said Garale with acid. “Without the core running, we won’t have enough thrust to slow us down. When you hit water doing over 300 kilometers per hour, you might as well hit concrete. Congratulations, Captain Cosette!” he shouted. “You’ve killed us all!”
Chapter Nine
Cosette unbuckled her harness, trying to control waves of anger, frustration, and desperation. If Garale had been piloting, they would all be dead by now. She had not done anything stupid yet, but she was rapidly running out of options.
“Where are you going?” asked Alena.
“I’ve got to restart the plasma core.”
“But you said we’ve been damaging it. We can’t restart it in space, anyway.”
“You can’t restart it in space, but we’re not in space anymore.” Cosette stood up. “We’re in atmosphere. I think I can do a manual restart. If we can get even a few minutes of life from it, we can finish our turnaround.”
She staggered to the rear of the cabin, fighting the shaking floor and the disorienting shriek of the wind.
“Need help?” asked Dyson.
“It’s too late to help,” said Garale. “We’re all dead.”
“Shut your mouth,” said Rasora with a twitch of the gun for emphasis.
“I don’t know.” Cosette unlocked the access door to the engine room, but it wouldn’t open. “We’re too high for it to open.” She stepped back to her station and started the cabin pressure lowering. “Sorry, but everybody’s ears are going to start popping.”
“It’s unfortunate the door opens inward,” said Dyson.
“It was designed to withstand vacuum. It should open when I get cabin pressure down, but then, until we get below 4000 meters, we’re all going to suffer from lack of oxygen.” She pressed her hands against her temples. “I can’t believe the stuff that comes out of my mouth!”
“My ears popped.” Rasora opened his mouth and rubbed his ears.
“5000 meters and dropping fast,” called Alena.
“Let’s get this open before we black out,” said Cosette.
She grabbed the door handle, but Dyson moved her hands aside. “Let me.” He gripped the handle and pulled. The door opened a crack, the wind howled, and it slammed shut again.
“Don’t get your foot caught in the door or you’ll lose it,” warned Cosette.
“4500 meters,” shouted Alena.
“Let me try that again.” Dyson planted his foot against the bulkhead, bent his back, and heaved. The door suddenly opened, cabin pressure plummeted, and the scream of the wind became so loud no voices could be heard. He latched the door open, and Cosette stepped to the open doorway, wind whipping her short hair.
A long rent in the side of the fuselage was the source of the noise. Missile shrapnel had ripped open the engine compartment, and the ragged edges were vibrating too fast to be seen. Only the ship’s reinforced armor hull was holding it together.
Cosette took a step forward. Suddenly Dyson’s arm circled around her waist. At the same moment, the swirling wind picked up her feet and tugged her towards the opening.
I would have been sucked out of the cruiser.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t…
Dyson had his other arm wrapped around a stanchion, anchoring both of them. Directly overhead was stored one canister of the modified hydrogen gas that would restart the plasma chamber. The scream of the wind was so loud that she couldn’t tell Dyson what she needed; she would have to indicate it and hope he understood.
She reached up her arms towards the canister storage, and Dyson lifted her easily.
I’ve never felt such strong arms around my waist before.
How can I think about that at a time like this?
She clawed open the storage and pulled out the cylinder.
Mustn’t let the cylinder get sucked out. If I do, I can’t restart the core and we’ll all be smashed into….
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t…
She inverted the canister, pushed the nozzle into the port attached to the plasma chamber, and screwed the canister in. She heard a hiss the last few turns, an indication that the canister was feeding the chamber.
She pointed to the other side. There was no way to walk to the other side, not with that wind sucking out anything loose, but maybe she could reach over while Dyson held on to her.
Her fingers came close to the other storage latch, but not quite.
I can’t reach the other cylinder – can I restart the core with only one?
She didn’t think so. Her knowledge said that to restart the core away from the space station, one needed to attach two cylinders of the modified hydrogen.
She stretched desperately, and her fingertips just brushed against the storage.
So close…
Two jointed metal arms reached up from the far side of the chamber, opened the storage, and extracted the cylinder. A pair of lenses popped up on a flexible neck and stared at her.
“Spinner!” she shouted, but the wind blew her words away. She pointed downward, hoping the robot would understand what she wanted.
What is Spinner doing here?
The robot didn’t move, so she pointed down again and mimicked turning something with her hands.
The lenses nodded and dropped out of sight. Spinner’s flexible legs inverted the cylinder and lowered it down on his side. Moments later the lenses rose again and dipped up and down.
I can only hope.
She pointed to the wall beside the open door, and Dyson pulled her in closer.
She pressed her hand against the button that would restart the core, praying that the power drain of descending from orbit hadn’t eroded the core beyond use.
The light over the button changed from red to green.
Success!
She had no way to measure the damage to the core, no way to tell whether they would be good for hours or minutes. It could fail at any time.
She looked out the rent in the wall, and to her horror saw the ocean. They were mere seconds from destruction.
She frantically pointed back into the cabin, and Dyson pulled her from the screaming cyclone of the engine room and got her firmly anchored. He unlatched the open door and let it slam shut.
The noise dropped dramatically, and she could hear her own voice again. “I think it worked.”
“We’ve got propulsion!” shouted Alena. The cruiser shuddered and began accelerating.
Cosette pulled her way forward and sat in the pilot’s chair. There, on the screens, was the evidence of success. They were gaining altitude, and beginning the final bank.
“I can’t believe she still flies,” said Alena, making the slow left turn towards the landing strip. “I saw that hole in the side. How did you know to get the core restarted?”
Cosette wiped her brow. She felt nauseous. “Long story.”
I can’t fall apart yet. We’re still flying on a prayer and a miracle.
Why did Spinner stow away? We wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t.
“We’re lined up,” said Alena. “Sensors are picking up signs of the strip; it might still be intact.”
Garale spoke up again. “If you’ve got power, you don’t have to fly it in! Just use the engines for lift and do a vertical landing. Nothing to it!”
“He’s ri
ght,” said Alena, lifting the nose up and increasing braking thrust to slow them down. “We don’t need….”
A sudden silence and a feeling of weightlessness told the awful news: the plasma chamber had failed for good. They had gotten past the ocean, but they were coming in cold and fast.
Cosette switched her monitors to landing display. The forward camera picked up the image of the landing strip, but it was dark and so shaky it was hard to make out. “Wouldn’t you know, it’s night time.” She switched to infrared, and the strip became clearer.
“We’ve got no lift from the thrusters so we’ve got to go in fast or we’ll drop like a stone,” said Alena. “Don’t lower the gear until the last moment.”
Cosette took the wheel. “You lower the gear, I’ll bring us in.” According to the manuals in her head, it was the pilot’s job to land; the copilot was to manage the rest. She trusted the knowledge; it had brought them this far. Still, it was scary, like having someone else moving her hands.
Alena didn’t argue. “Yes, Sir.”
Cosette lowered the nose, trying to keep their velocity up. “These controls feel like mush. The ailerons must be sledge hammered.”
The more velocity we have, the more level our landing can be, if our wheels can hold up. Assuming we still have wheels.
Pray for no crosswind. Pray for a soft landing. Pray that the runway is empty. Pray that my stomach will just shut up.
“Over the runway now and dropping fast.” Alena lifted a cover and threw a switch. “Landing gear down, what’s left of them.”
“Don’t say that,” said Cosette, feeling the cruiser shake even more as the landing gear extended.
A breath, a wish, and then the rumbling thump of the wheels hitting pavement. The cruiser bottomed out, bounced once, and thumped down again. It shook violently but kept rolling forward.
“Bless those polymer wheels,” whispered Cosette. The main wheels under the stubby wings were stronger than the nose wheels and designed to take brutal landings.
“Don’t let the nose come down!” shouted Alena, but despite Cosette’s frantic pulling of the wheel, the nose dropped. The cruiser was too badly damaged to keep its nose pitched properly while it lost speed.
The front wheel strut was mounted directly below the pilot’s cabin. Cosette felt the wrenching thud as the front wheels hit the pavement, the vibrating feedback as the front wheels tore themselves apart, and the sickening snap as the wheel assembly shattered. The nose of the cruiser dropped and the fuselage began dragging on the pavement.
The friction was bleeding away speed, but Cosette no longer had any control over the cruiser. The nose drifted sideways, the rear wheel assembly buckled, and the cruiser collapsed flat on its underbelly, still doing well over a hundred kilometers an hour.
The screaming of the wind died away, replaced by the shriek of metal as the underside armor tore away layer by layer. The cruiser rotated until they were sliding backwards, the forward camera displaying a shower of sparks and debris.
They could do nothing but hold on and pray.
They hit something and the cruiser bucked and turned. Then they hit more things, and the grinding sound changed.
They were off the concrete, sliding on dirt.
The forward camera showed a brief glimpse of brush sliding past the front of the cruiser before the camera was ripped from its moorings.
Moving slowly now, the cruiser tipped, swung around one more time, and stopped.
The lights went out.
Silence.
No shrieking wind, no grinding metal, nothing but the ticking of cooling metal, the guttural cursing of Lieutenant Garale, and the gasps of Cosette trying to uncoil the tension inside of her. Points of emergency lighting came on and in the dim light she could see her hands trembling like leaves in the wind. She clasped them tight and looked back at the cabin. Mercifully it was intact, and the men were still in their seats.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Alena. “There’s no way I could have landed this thing without your help.”
“That was well done,” Alena whispered back, putting her hand on Cosette’s arm. “I never thought we could restart this ship and make it down. You’re a captain in my book, I’ll tell you that.” She turned and reached into a side pocket. “Now, if you would…”
She pulled out an ion disruptor pistol and aimed it at Cosette. “Please go back and release Lieutenant Garale.”
“You….you….” Cosette stared at the pistol with disbelief.
“I meant what I said, but you are not the captain of this ship. Now go back and release Lieutenant Garale.” She raised her voice. “And Cadet Rasora, you will give that pistol back to the Lieutenant or I will shoot Cadet Cosette.”
*
Cosette sat between Rasora and Major Dyson feeling thin and washed out, like a rag that had been laundered too many times. In happier circumstances she would have been delighted to be tucked in between the mysterious Rasora and the handsome Major Dyson. Now, with Garale and Alena holding pistols and conferring in whispers, she felt morose and weary.
She didn’t want to be a captain. She didn’t want to fight for the Union or the Alliance. All she wanted to do was to go home, although she had no idea where home was, no idea of what her father and mother looked like.
It was still night outside. After kicking open the damaged cabin door and passing the bracelet key to Alena, Garale made a brief foray outside. He returned to announce that they were in the middle of scrubland and that he couldn’t see a thing. They would have to wait until dawn before venturing out.
The dim emergency lighting made it easy for Cosette to close her eyes. She took hold of Rasora’s arm, laid her head against his shoulder, and fell asleep.
*
People were talking, and it was rude of them when she was trying to sleep. Her pillow was too hard, and she had trouble sleeping sitting up.
Then she realized that her pillow was Rasora’s arm, and that the people talking were Garale and Alena, telling them to get up and go outside. Alena had her pistol holstered, but Garale was waving his weapon around and Cosette could see that he had finally remembered to take the safety off.
Did I actually sleep? I hope I didn’t drool.
Rasora helped her to her feet as Major Dyson stepped out the cabin door and into the predawn gloom. She followed, still holding on to Rasora’s hand and stepping carefully over broken brush. The cruiser had stopped rotating with its nose pointing towards the plowed destruction of their landing.
A bird chirped in the broken brush.
Major Dyson rested his back against the rippled skin of the cruiser, and motioned Rasora and Cosette to do the same.
Odd. Why doesn’t he head to the pathway our ship dug?
Garale stepped out of the cabin. “Don’t just stand there,” he said as he helped Alena out. “Let’s head back to the landing strip and try to find civilization.”
Major Dyson grasped Cosette’s wrist and held her in place. At the same moment, several figures rose from the surrounding brush, holding rifles. “Don’t move!” someone shouted.
Soldiers! But from which side?
Lieutenant Garale squinted at the soldiers, his mouth open, but Alena swiftly drew her pistol.
A ball of energy struck her mid-section and hurled her backwards into the ship.
Why did she draw?
Why did they fire?
Garale dropped his pistol and raised his hands. A man with dark pants and a khaki shirt stepped forward and picked up Garale’s weapon. “Don’t be so trigger-happy!” he shouted at his soldiers, and a woman yelled back, “She drew on us! I wasn’t going to wait for her to shoot!”
The man turned back towards them and gestured with his rifle. “You, with the Alliance uniform. Step forward.”
“I can’t,” said Major Dyson. “I’ve got a bracelet, and the woman you shot has the key.”
“All right, let’s do it this way. You,” he pointed his rifle to Garale, “you sit down. You, so
ldier,” he pointed to Cosette, “You go inside and fetch that key. If she’s got the disk that opens the bracelet, get that also.”
Cosette looked up at Dyson, who nodded at her. She stumbled back to the cabin entrance and climbed inside.
Alena lay on her back, her legs twitching. Cosette knelt beside her, trying not to look at the charred ruin that was Alena’s stomach. “Stupid,” Alena whispered, “I was so stupid.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cosette, sitting down and cradling Alena’s head in her lap. “I didn’t want something like this to happen.”
“I know. You’re…” She clutched Cosette’s arm. “I can’t feel anything below my chest, just cold. I’m so cold.”
Cosette held her as best she could, trying to comfort her. The door darkened, and Major Dyson stood at the entrance. He looked at them, and then turned his head to speak to the soldiers outside. “That woman you shot isn’t dead. Just stay where you are. That’s an order.”
Alena shivered. “I’ve got you,” said Cosette. “You’re going to be okay.”
“No,” said Alena. “I can tell. I will not be okay.” She breathed in a shuddering breath. Her eyes drifted and she coughed blood. “My mother used to hold me like this when I was sick. She would sing lullabies to me.”
Do I know any lullabies? Did I ever have a mother, and did she sing to me?
She wanted to do something, anything, to comfort the woman who lay dying in her lap.
From somewhere, finding its way out through the blanket that still covered her early memories, a melody bubbled up in her mind, a little song, and she began singing in a quavering voice.
“Come, little bird, and rest your head,
“Day is gone and the sun is red,
“Settle in your nest so soft and deep,
“Stars in the sky and it’s time to sleep.”
I remember my mother singing that. I can’t quite see her face, but I know I had a mother, and she would sing that song to me.
Alena’s grip on her arm relaxed, but Cosette continued.
Captain Cosette Page 10
