Scott was snapped back by the tether he had attached to the hull of the shuttle. He undid the clasp and made his way through the hatch opening and into the airlock of the Dyrell ship. He saw that the container was still moving across the big internal cargo hold, as the three figures tumbled and flailed about, trying to find purchase on something to get them reoriented.
He moved over to the inner door and hit the button to close it just as a bolt from a plasma gun blasted into the side wall. It crackled and fizzled, and he could smell the tang of ozone in the air. He finally got the door shut and wondered if there was some way that he could jam it closed. But nothing came to mind, so he left it and turned his attention to locating the control box for the locking clamps on the outer hull. He spotted it straightaway and moved over beside it, taking the charge from his pocket as he went. He set the timer for twenty seconds and wedged in beside the control box.
Scott moved back into the shuttle and closed the hatch door, spinning the wheel to lock it shut. Then, in one quick move, he pushed off and flew back through to the cockpit, closing the bulkhead door that separated this area from the cargo hold. It was built for strength and would offer him some protection from the blast. Once that happened, the shuttle would lose atmosphere, so he snapped on his EVA suit helmet, booted it up, and strapped himself in.
When the charge finally detonated, Scott was slammed sideways with the force and whacked his head hard against the inside of his helmet. Lights and alerts flashed all across the flight deck as the shuttle went into cardiac arrest. The stars outside scrolled across his field of vision and the shuttle was hurled outward. There was another violent judder, and the shuttle swung back. Shit, he thought, it's still attached. It didn't work.
The craft again slammed off the hull of the Dyrell. Something still held it, but only just. Scott reached for the controls, hoping against hope that the engines would work. The craft powered up as he pushed forward on the controls for maximum thrust. But he was going nowhere, at least not relative to the Dyrell. Then the power cut and the cockpit descended into darkness. Fuck. he slammed his fists on the console in frustration.
After a moment, Scott regained his composure and calmly sat back in the seat. "Well, at least I gave it a try," he said to himself as he reached for the remote detonator still strapped to his EVA suit—and pressed the button.
24
Debris Field
Miranda tried several times to regain contact with Scott after he had switched off his comms. Why was he doing this? she wondered. Why this crazy suicide run? All he had to do to destroy the device was to float it out into space and blow it up. Why kill himself in the process. Has he completely flipped?
"Scott, talk to me," she tried yet again.
"He is not going to respond," said Aria.
"How do you know?"
"Voice analysis of his last conversation indicates a primary resolve—not easy to overturn."
Miranda sighed and sat back. The QI was probably right. There was nothing more she could do except watch his destruction on the main monitor. She glanced up and zoomed in on the shuttle. She had imagined he would start to pick up speed so he could ram the Dyrell at maximum velocity but, so far, he had maintained his slow, steady pace. Miranda watched for a while as the gap between the shuttle and the Dyrell closed, and still he maintained the same speed. In fact, it seemed like he was slowing down. Then, at the last minute, he started to speed up. Miranda was sure this was it: he was going to ram straight into the hull of the Dyrell. She was standing now; her hands gripped the edge of the bridge console as she watched. But he didn't.
Instead, he brought the shuttle in slowly and docked. Miranda sat back down and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Looks like he's decided not to kill himself after all."
"Not yet," said Aria.
"Can you zoom in more on the ship, Aria?"
"Certainly." The screen filled now with an image of the shuttle docked with the Dyrell.
"I wonder what he's doing?" Miranda's question was answered almost immediately. An explosion at the docking port seemed to hinge the shuttle away from the mothership and debris shot out into space. "He's blown the airlock." She jumped up. "Come on Scott, get away, get moving."
The shuttle engines powered up, and she realized something was still holding it to the Dyrell. It then seemed to lose power and crash back down, slamming against the hull. The nose of the shuttle bounced and then something somewhere broke as the rear end rose up and tumbled forward. It started to float free, just as the entire middle section of the Dyrell ship was ripped apart in a massive explosion. An enormous fiery ball blossomed out and seemed to engulf the entire craft, and from its core, a cloud of debris ballooned out.
"Oh my god, he's done it, he's blown it up."
The inferno at its center quickly extinguished as all the oxygen in the Dyrell was consumed. Miranda saw a gap widen where the ship had broken apart, disgorging a sea of wreckage.
"Can you see the shuttle, Aria? Is there anything left of it?"
"I'm switching to hyperspectral." The monitor now filled with a multitude of garishly colored blooms overlaid with a fine grid pattern. Several cross-hair targets danced about the screen momentarily before finally stabilizing on two small patches of color.
"I have located two major components of the shuttle. Resolving back to visual, and tracking."
The monitor returned to a true image with the targets still visible and tracking the outward trajectory of the tagged components. The image zoomed more in as it tracked a blurry smudge. "This section consists of the main engine compartment."
The screen monetarily zoomed out and shifted focus to the second larger, blurry image. "This looks to be the cockpit section."
"Is it intact?"
"I'm not sure what you mean by intact."
"Could Scott have survived?"
"If the rear bulkhead held, then theoretically it's possible. Although it's highly unlikely."
Miranda watched as the remains of the shuttle spiraled out from the epicenter of the blast and drifted into space. "We need to go after him." She sat down again and started plotting a course.
"We don't have the fuel, Miranda. We used everything we had in getting to Europa. We're simply using the plasma drive to keep us in orbit, and it doesn't have the thrust we need to intercept. We could eventually catch up with it. But I calculate that wouldn't be for at least three days."
"What about the lander?"
"Yes, it's possible. In fact, it may be your only chance of intercepting it."
"Okay, get it ready, Aria. I'm going after him."
"The trajectory of that object is such that you will only have one point of interception. If you miss it, Miranda, it will be very difficult for you to catch it again."
"I'll get it. Don't worry." She ran out of the bridge, took the step lift down one of the central spokes, and moved as fast as she could to the hangar. Aria's probably right, she thought: Scott's dead. But she had to try. Even if there was only a slim possibility—she had to try.
As Miranda entered the hangar, an alert started blaring out of the PA. "What's going on, Aria?"
"Proximity alert. We have debris from the explosion heading our way. I will try to maneuver the Hermes as best I can to minimize any impact damage. But you will need to be careful out there. The bulk of the fragments will begin passing in three minutes. Some have enough velocity to puncture the lander's hull."
"Okay. I get the picture." She had suited up in the airlock and was now climbing into the lander's cockpit. She handed over flight control to Aria as it was tracking the shuttle and would keep her on the best course for an intercept. All she had to do was sit tight and hope she wasn't hit by anything. She kept the internal cabin depressurized as this would mitigate any minor punctures. With no atmosphere inside the lander, it wouldn't suddenly decompress if it got hit. But her EVA suit was another matter. It would be the only thing keeping her alive out there.
"Okay, Aria. Ready."
>
The hangar bay doors opened, and the craft started to move out on its platform. Within a minute, it was taking off and banking away from the Hermes. On the primary monitor, Miranda watched the blip that represented the remains of Scott's shuttle. She was slammed back into her seat as the lander throttled up to full power. Aria's voice echoed in her helmet. "Micro debris incoming in twenty-eight seconds."
Miranda gripped the armrests tight and tried to breathe normally. Alerts flashed up on screen as the hull was peppered with shrapnel. A tiny hole suddenly appeared in the hull, just above her head, then another, and another—and these were just the ones she could see. The little lander was being turned into a colander. Flight controls flickered momentarily before they finally went dark.
Holy crap, she thought.
"Miranda, are you okay?"
"Sort of. Console is dead though."
"The debris cloud has passed now. I can try to instigate a reboot." The console flickered momentarily and then lit up again.
"It's back," she shouted. "It's back."
"The craft has suffered damage to the control systems. I've managed to get power back up, but I can't say for how long."
"How bad?"
"You don't have much time. The systems could fail again and I may not be able to restore them remotely."
"Okay."
Miranda glanced at the monitor. The blip was much closer now. She looked out the window, trying to get a visual. "I don't see it, Aria."
"It should be above you."
She craned her neck and scanned the black empty space above the craft. Something flashed. She studied it and realized it was the shuttle, spinning gently, the brilliant light from Jupiter reflected off what was left of its forward windows.
"Got it, Aria."
"I'll bring you as close I can. The rest will be up to you."
Miranda undid the restraining straps on the pilot seat and floated over to the main hatch. Beside it, hung midway up the inner wall, was mounted a thruster pack. She maneuvered her back into the harness and secured it to her EVA suit. She reached over and hit the button to open the hatch.
Outside, the vast, stormy surface of Jupiter dominated the view. Silhouetted against it was the slowly spinning remains of the shuttle cockpit. The small craft had been torn asunder by the explosion. But the cockpit section had remained relatively intact since it was designed to withstand greater impacts than the rest of the ship. Nonetheless, as the wreckage tumbled, Miranda saw it was seriously banged up. The roof and sides had long rents and gouges in the metal. The front windows were cracked and splintered. Her heart sank at the sight. Could anyone have survived that? she wondered.
"That's as close as I can safely bring you, Miranda," Aria's voice resonated in her helmet.
"Okay, I'm going to take a look." She clipped a tether to her suit and then thought better of it. It would keep her attached to the lander, but since the wreckage was tumbling, she might end up getting it wrapped around it, and that would be catastrophic. So, she unclipped it, and checked the thruster pack for power. "Okay, here goes."
Miranda pushed herself out the open hatch in the direction of the spinning carcass, touching lightly on the thruster controls to slow herself down and not bounce off if she came in too quick. She tried to align herself with the center of spin, but it seemed to be rotating on several axes. Aiming as best she could, Miranda tried to grab hold of the slowest moving section, which was the front window. She bounced off on her first attempt but managed to find a grip on the second try.
The quartz glass on this section of the window was still intact even though it had numerous deep gouges in it. It was also blackened to the point where Miranda had difficulty seeing through it. She moved slowly, hand over hand, across what was left of the front of the craft to the left-hand side window. This had shattered completely, and she was able to poke her head in and inspect the cockpit.
On the far side, the motionless body of Commander Scott McNabb was still strapped into the pilot's seat. His head was slumped forward, and his arms were suspended limply by his sides. In front of him floated the detonator, still tethered to his suit.
"Scott," said Miranda, as if he would somehow miraculously hear her and make some response.
She examined the gap in the window and realized she would not be able to fit through with the bulky thruster pack attached. She considered taking it off, but that might be risky: if she were to lose her grip on the wreckage, then she would have no way of getting back to the lander. She decided instead to check out the rest of the hull to see if there was a gap big enough for her to fit through.
She spent a few minutes traversing the hull of the shattered craft. It was pockmarked with impacts, and here and there it bore the signs of deeper traumas. But it seemed to have stood up remarkably well. But nowhere was there a tear or gap that she could utilize. Even the rear cockpit bulkhead had not broken. It had taken a considerable blast as the entire section was now concave. She tried the door, but it was too bent and buckled to move. She had no option but to try squeeze in through the front window.
Miranda worked her way back to the nose of the craft. After a few more minutes, she had taken off the bulky thruster pack and tethered it to the hull as best she could. It was difficult as she had to do it one-handed. With the other, she made sure she had a good grip on the craft. Eventually, she began to push herself through the broken window, twisting and tugging until finally she was inside the cockpit.
She floated over to where Scott was strapped in. Blood streaked down the inside of his helmet visor, and as she moved closer, she saw his eyes were closed and his face a bloodied mess. She couldn't tell if he was dead or alive, so she checked the readouts on his wrist control pad. The suit still had power and at least two more hours of breathable air. This meant it was also still intact and able to retain one atmosphere of pressure. Her heart skipped a beat at the realization that maybe, just maybe, he might still be alive.
Miranda undid his harness and pulled him up out of the seat. After several minutes of careful maneuvering, she had managed to get herself back outside and had most of Scott's limp body pulled through. But something was catching. She pushed him back in a little to see what it was. A section of the thick broken window jutted out. There was no way she could break it, so she had no choice but to try to pull him through, even though she risked damaging the integrity of his EVA suit. She braced her feet against the hull and pulled at him with all her strength.
He broke free with a suddenness that gave Miranda no time to react. She found herself tumbling backwards off the hull and into space, still clutching Scott's limp body. She saw the thruster pack still tethered to the hull of the shuttle which they were now drifting slowly away from. Oh shit, she thought, as the dire situation she now found herself in dawned on her. Without the thruster, she had no way to maneuver, no way to return to the lander. She was drifting free in space. Like a beached whale or an upturned turtle, she could flail her limbs around all she liked—it wasn't going to do a damn thing. But it wasn't time to panic just yet.
"Aria, I have a problem."
Silence.
"Aria, can you hear me?"
Silence.
"Aria, come in. I could really do with some help here."
But there was no reply forthcoming, just a low background static echoing in her helmet.
"ARIA?"
Nothing.
By now, a sense of panic was beginning to well up from deep within her. She fought to control it. Her suit comms must have been damaged in the debris strike. "Think, goddamnit." She looked around and already both the wreck of the shuttle and the Hermes lander were quite a distance away. At that moment, she realized there was nothing she could do. She had blown it.
She gazed at Scott's bloodied face through the helmet visor. "I'm sorry, Scott. I've screwed up again. I always end up doing something stupid, don't I?" She leaned her head in so their visors touched, and she thought she caught a flicker of his eyelids. He was still alive, but
for how much longer?
"I never seem to get things right, Scott. It's the story of my life." She glanced over in the direction of the lander, only to see it receding further and further away. "Well, here we are, at the end of the line. No way out of this one, Commander. No way home." She looked back again at the broken and bloodied face of Scott McNabb. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I tried, I really did."
After a few moments, Miranda checked her own oxygen supply. She had just under four hours. Four hours to live, she thought, unless she could think of something or her comms started working again.
"Air," she shouted into her helmet. "Of course. Why didn't I think of it before? Maybe there is a way."
She had remembered a last-ditch action from training, one you only do if there was absolutely no other option. "Hang in there, Scott. We may have a chance after all." She clipped his EVA suit to hers with a short tether, and then started searching in the cargo pocket on her right thigh. She pulled out a short knife with a serrated blade and sharp point, and gripped it firmly in one hand. Okay, here goes. I hope to hell this works. She opened the palm of her left hand and gently twisted the point of the knife in through the glove.
When it finally punctured, the result was chaotic. Air spewed out and swung her arm back with a force she wasn't expecting. They began to spin around and around before Miranda had time to react. She closed her fist to slow the escaping air and tried to figure out their orientation. But it was difficult to see anything other than the sweep of the gas giant Jupiter flash past. She adjusted the position of her palm in the opposite direction to their spin and slowly opened her fist. Air hissed out again and started to counter her spin, slowing her down.
The Belt: The Complete Trilogy Page 16
