I followed the indicators on my Scroll. An electronic breadcrumb trail led me into the stores area, close to the main reactor. When I found it, the hole wasn't as big as the first, but that wasn't the real problem. Whatever had hit us had punctured the CASTOR water tanks, and they'd leaked over the main food supplies. Even though they were sealed individually, shrapnel had cut up a large number of packs.
"Better get ready to tighten those belts, folks," I muttered. "Gonna be a long time 'till supper."
"Logan? Joe?" Aurore's voice buzzed in my ear. "I found something."
"What is it?" said Logan over the comm-set.
She hesitated before answering. "It could be the Sacagawea—or what's left of her."
After stopping up the leak, I went to the control room. Logan and Hernandez were staring at the screen with dour expressions, while Aurore was at her station working on the sensor data.
"Who's with McDole?" I said.
Hernandez glanced around. "Giotto's taking care of her."
I sat and checked the data coming in. It didn't take long to find what had grabbed Aurore's attention.
GJ 1116 was another red dwarf binary, though in this case the two stars were almost identical, making almost a double star. It was also the most barren system we'd visited so far. There was one planet about the size of Mars and a few small planetoids, the largest only a few hundred kilometers across.
Nothing in the system was close to the twin stars, but about five A.U. out, the sensors had picked up the unmistakable signals of a debris field scattered over several thousand kilometers. I opened the scans. The early spectrometry readings matched the materials profile that you'd expect from a ship like ours.
"Can we get closer, Joe?" Logan's voice choked.
"I should be able to bring us to within ten-million kilometers. Closer than that, and we might get caught out by the debris."
He nodded, and I programmed the Jump. There wasn't anything of substance this far out to distort space-time, so the hop was smooth—which I think everyone was relieved about. When it completed, I brought us back up to full acceleration to give us some pseudo-gravity to work with.
Logan stared at the screen for a long time then lowered his head. He must have been as close to Captain Begay as he was to me, perhaps closer, and I felt his pain almost as much as I would have if it had been Logan who'd been commanding the Sacagawea. He mouthed something silently, and Aurore moved over, placing her hand on his arm.
I'd been running a high resolution scan, and the data popped up on the display.
"I've got a signal," I said.
Logan snapped to face me. "Someone is alive?"
The damage made that impossible. "More likely a flight data recorder."
Aurore had rushed to her console. "I see it. Joe's right."
"Can we pick it up?" Logan didn't sound hopeful.
"Not with the Shokasta." I changed our course to bring us closer to the origin of the signal. "But we could with an SMPT."
Logan looked at Hernandez. "Any objections?"
"None. As long as one of my team is along for the ride."
"Who's got the most ZeeGee experience?" I said.
"Other than me, that would be Grant." He nodded in Logan's direction. "I stay here with him."
I checked our ETA. "Have Grant meet me at the SMPTs."
*
The debris cloud looked dangerous on the scanner, but in reality it was spread as thin as an early morning mist. The signal from the flight recorder was faint but led us toward one of the denser clusters of wreckage. Once inside visual range, we could see a large portion of the front hull of the Sacagawea was relatively intact.
The ship was almost an identical copy of the Shokasta. Seeing it smashed made my scalp itch and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Originally, it had looked like a sword with the engines forming the hilt, but now only half the "blade" was left, with the rest missing or floating around us as scrap. "Could someone still be alive in there?" It seemed unlikely, but at a distance that section looked untouched apart from the torn end where it had once been attached to the rest.
Aurore shook her head. "There are no energy traces large enough to support life and no atmosphere I can detect. That section is cut off from the generators, so I can't see how anyone could survive."
"I know it's a long shot, but check anyway. Leonard had a son." Logan's eyes caught mine momentarily. "But only if you can do it without risking yourself."
"Got it."
"The priority is the flight recorder. No heroics, Joe." He squeezed my shoulder.
"Who do you think I am, the Rocket Ranger?"
I made my way to the payload bay. Grant was suiting up with Giotto's help. She glowered at me, and I ignored her. Why she was mad wasn't clear. She'd been looking for some ship-board fun and found it. That it wasn't with me seemed irrelevant.
I pulled on my suit and checked my tanks were full. The SMPTs had their own supply tanks that we could jack into to extend the duration of our EVA, but I wouldn't want to put all my trust in them—breathing vacuum wasn't my style. I clambered over to Grant. He waved Giotto away, and she headed through the inner door so we could depressurize.
"Equipment check?" I said.
He looked surprised but nodded in agreement. The first thing drilled into you when you take Suit Procedures: 101 is to have your EVA buddy check all your seals and connections. You quite literally put your life in their hands, and vice versa. So you'd better trust them one hundred percent.
I drifted around Grant, checking his suit for correct setup and double checking several areas where it was easy to overtighten. Everything looked good, and he did the same, showing his experience by his methodical inspection.
Clambering into the SMPT, I took the main pilot's position while Grant took the secondary seat on my left. I closed my visor and connected a hose to my auxiliary air-feed. The supply from my tanks cut off automatically, leaving me breathing from the onboard tanks.
After Grant did the same, I opened a comm channel. "Ballen and Grant here. We're ready."
"Opening payload bay." Aurore's voice filled my helmet. "Clear to launch in approximately one minute."
The roar of the atmosphere being pumped out faded, and the green go signal lit up on the instrument panel. The large doors swung out, leaving a dark square patch under us that was as inky black as a bottomless shaft.
I threw in an enhancement filter on the display screen and hit the controls to retract the clamps holding us to the cradle. A few blasts with the fine control thrusters nudged us away from the ship. Once outside, I engaged the main thrusters and sent us on a course skimming along the underneath of the ship. As though we were passing along the underbelly of a gigantic pale whale, its skin gleamed with a sickening orange color reflected from the distant stars.
I activated an open broadcast. "I've got a sensor fix on the transponder. Heading toward it. ETA seven minutes."
The remnant of the Sacagawea resembled a broken bottle tumbling lazily ahead of us, the torn-up end a dangerous mass of twisted shards of metal and broken composites that would end our journey in an instant if we got caught up in the reef-like tangle.
"Hey, Ballen." It was Grant on a private channel. "This thing with Giotto... we cool?"
It seemed like a strange time to discuss it, but exposure to the harshness of space does strange things to a person's mind.
"There's nothing to talk about."
Grant was quiet for a minute or so. "You shouldn't have come onto her so strong. Girl likes a little romance, you know."
I didn't know what he was talking about and could only imagine what Giotto had been telling him. "I'm happy for both of you, I really am, but right now we need to focus on the mission."
He paused again. "Sure. Just don't want you mad at me. Not out here."
I sighed, leaving my comm signal closed. Did he seriously think I'd use an EVA as an opportunity to get revenge? It was as crazy as I'd heard. I slapped his shoul
der to get his attention through his bulky suit then gave him a thumbs-up. I saw him nodding through his visor, and he returned my gesture.
I slowed the SMPT as we approached the wreckage. I needed to estimate the center of spin so we could lock on safely. If we were too far out, we'd get tossed away uncontrollably by the lurching rotation. I switched back to the open comm channel. "Approaching target. Will stand off a few meters with the SMPT to avoid problems."
Aurore acknowledged, and I triggered a slowdown routine that would to leave us ten meters from the derelict. The retro-thrusters kicked in, and I was pressed against the restraining straps. Once we were stationary relative to the wreckage, I unstrapped and disconnected from the SMPTs air supply. Then grabbed a line gun and climbed out, holding on to the SMPT so I wouldn't drift.
I shivered as I stared at the fragment of ship—it could so easily have been the Shokasta floating there. Literally dead in space. I lifted the gun one-handed, aiming for the center of rotation. The sticky bolt flashed across the gap trailing the line behind it, and I tied it to a handhold on the hull of the SMPT.
"Use this as a guide," I said to Grant. "Don't try and jump across."
I grabbed the line and pushed off gently with my legs. I didn't know how experienced Grant was with EVAs, but it didn't matter. Using the line was a simpler and safer method.
I tumbled a little as I crossed the gap, not enough to stop my progress but enough to make my landing awkward. I scrambled to grab a handhold on the hull. Once I was secure, I signaled to Grant.
He pushed off straighter and didn't tumble as much but used too much force. When he hit the hull it was more of a crash landing, and with the wreckage spinning, he slid over the hull surface, clutching at handholds. Fortunately he skittered in my direction, and I grabbed him as he passed.
"You okay?" I said.
He was breathing heavily. "Yeah. Fine. Thanks, man."
I cut the line to the SMPT to stop the spinning wreckage from winding the small transport in, then switched to the open channel. "Ballen and Grant, we're on the Sacagawea."
"Take it slow." Logan's voice rattled in my ears. "And keep it safe."
I turned to Grant. "Do you know how to get that data recorder?"
"Panel on the belly near the front." His breathing was returning to normal.
"You get the recorder. I'm going to check inside the ship."
He started pulling himself along the surface while I headed toward the torn-up back end. It was maybe forty meters away, but even from where I was I spotted twisted shards sticking out from the hull like a mass of tangled thorns. I wasn't keen on getting close, but if I could sneak through the mess, I might gain access to the rooms inside.
As I neared the edge, the strain on my arms increased. We weren't spinning fast, but I was glad I'd been working out. "Grant? You coping with the spin-strain?"
"...too hard... looking out... sick."
His transmission was breaking up as we got further away from each other, perhaps as a result of local interference from the damaged ship. I'd kept my eyes on the hull rather than looking out at the stars to avoid dizziness. On Earth, motion sickness is unpleasant but usually harmless, no matter how much you feel like you want to die. In space, it could literally kill you.
"Focus on what's immediately in front of you," I said. "That's always your point of reference."
I was at the edge of the torn section and moved crabwise, looking for an open path to let me climb around and inside the ship itself. I tried a few places, but when I edged forward I saw nothing but clusters of deadly looking twisted superstructure. Not only that—the strain on my arms and legs made my muscles cramp.
"Can't get inside." I turned to climb back. "Too much debris."
"Ballen?" Grant's voice sounded cracked and strained. "...too strong... can't... uch longer..."
"On my way."
I pulled myself back up the ship, my limbs complaining with each movement. It would have been so easy to let go and float, except I'd get catapulted off the ship by the rotation. After several minutes, I was at the point where we'd crossed to the ship. I risked looking further along the ship's hull and saw something in the distance that might have been Grant.
"Grant. You hear me?"
"I'm stuck, Ballen." The interference had cleared now we were closer.
"Did you find the recorder?"
Grant laughed. "Yeah. That's the problem."
I wasn't sure what he meant but worked my way along the hull in the direction he'd taken. "What's the situation?"
"Found the access panel. Got the recorder. But now I'm hanging on with one hand with the other one holding the box. Can't pull myself back without losing it."
"Drop the recorder." I edged along the hull. "It's not worth your life."
"That ain't part of my... mission. This could tell us what happened." Grant's voice crackled with strain. "Come and grab the damn thing before I fall off this junk pile."
His Geneering meant he was undoubtedly stronger than me. The strain was building on my arms and legs again, and I wasn't sure how much farther I could go.
"Joe?" It was Aurore. "There's something you—"
"I'm kinda busy..."
"I know but we—"
I gritted my teeth. "It can wait." I saw him clearly now, his bulky space-suited body flat against the hull, and messaged the ship. "Grant's about fifty meters from me. Not sure I can get that far."
"The Atoll ships have Jumped into this system, Joe." It was Logan. "At their current speed, they'll be in weapons range in an hour, possibly less."
There'd been plenty of moments in my life where my only response was complete incredulity, and this was one of them. "They followed us? That's impossible."
"I know." Logan sounded like he was about to explode.
I fought to push it from my mind. I needed to focus—otherwise, we were going to lose another soldier. I scrambled forward a few more meters, but my arms and legs trembled with the strain of holding on.
"Grant?" I stopped to take a breath. "I can't get to you. The rotation is too much."
He didn't answer for a minute, and when he did his words crawled out. "Thanks for trying. You're a good guy, Ballen."
A good guy who'd seen far too many people die needlessly. I couldn't let it happen. I wouldn't. I strained to move again but almost lost my grip, and the line gun slapped against my back.
"Hang on," I called out, bringing the gun around. "One minute."
"Hell, I'll give you two," Grant growled. "But that's it."
I scrabbled to load another sticky dart with one hand. Attaching the line was almost impossible, but somehow I got it to lock in place. My arm shook when I lifted it. I fought to steady the gun and aimed directly at Grant. My eyes watered inside my helmet, obliterating my vision, and I blinked hard to clear them.
"Ballen!" Grant's yell was loud in my ears.
The sights lined up, and I squeezed the trigger. The bolt shot out, hitting Grant on the shoulder. A yelp came over the comm channel. I couldn't hold on and tie the line, but I managed to jam the butt of the gun into a tear in the hull.
"I've got a line on you, Grant."
His hand slipped. Whether his strength had given way or it was deliberate wasn't clear. He rolled along the surface of the hull, acting like a pendulum on the end of the line, stopping a good ten meters from where he'd been holding on.
"Remind me to thank you for shooting me sometime," he grunted. "Now what?"
"Find a handhold. You pull, and I'll reel you in."
"Got it."
A few seconds later, the tension dropped on the line, and I used the motor on the gun's reel to take in the slack. A few moments of rest, then another loose line, and I did the same. It was a slow process, but eventually I could see he was getting closer.
"I've got him," I broadcast to the ship.
No one replied, and I concentrated on pulling and reeling, like a big game fisherman landing a marlin. Ten minutes later, he was level with me.
He had the recorder box in one hand. I edged over to him to look through his visor. His broad face was split by a huge grin. "Man, you play every point for keeps, don't you?"
"We're not out of it yet. Come on."
We began climbing to the spin center, each handhold getting easier.
"Atoll ships in range in thirty minutes, Joe." Logan's voice buzzed in my ears.
That was barely enough time to build up to a Jump, but we could probably make it, if the sequence was activated immediately. The fly in that particular ointment was that because of a certain someone's brilliant security measures, the only person who could trigger it was several kilometers away, crawling up the side of a destroyed JumpShip.
"We'll need fifteen minutes to get back," I said.
"Make it sooner," Logan said.
I'd underestimated—it took ten minutes to get opposite where we'd parked the SMPT. Despite his Geneered strength, Grant was flagging. Holding on against the spin had taken it out of him.
The end of the line tied to the SMPT floated where we'd left it, though it had snaked away from the Sacagawea. I didn't want to risk Grant jumping across and fired another line from the gun. I missed the first shot, but with the second, I managed to tangle the lines together, the sticky end forming a bond strong enough to hold while crossing.
"Over you go." I slapped his shoulder. "Remember your soldier training and go hand-over-hand. And don't let go of the rope."
Grant laughed, but his breathing was harsh in my ears. "You go first. You're needed more—"
"No one is needed more than anyone else, Corporal. We haven't got time to argue. Get over there now. I'm a lot quicker than you."
He grabbed the rope and pulled himself across the gap. The thrusters on the SMPT flickered, painting momentary splashes of white against the blackness of the sky as the station-keeping system worked to keep it in position. I held the recorder so Grant could use both arms. A lumbering minute later, he was there and wriggling through the door.
"Your turn, Ballen."
I tucked the recorder under my arm and braced my knees to push off.
Transformation Protocol Page 21
