At a critical point they would fire the rockets and rise into the higher, less rapid orbit of the Cosmos. In orbit, one could not simply fire rockets and catch up. You only went faster than the other guy if you were in a lower, quicker orbit. If you fired your rockets, you would be flung into a higher, slower orbit, a maddening reversal of fighter pilot instincts. If you wanted to go faster, you flipped ass over end and fired the rockets in the direction of your travel. Then you dropped into a lower orbit where your speed was higher.
They settled in to wait. The maneuver had taken fourteen minutes. In twenty-seven they would begin the final firing sequence that would raise them to within docking range of the Cosmos. Seventeen minutes had passed since the Cosmos had fired at them. Another six minutes passed in silence.
The intense white hot glow erupted in front of them, accompanied by static on the radio. Both Jupp and Wahlquist jerked, startled, in their seats. Newman punched a button on the wrist of his suit again, and a small satisfied smile creased his features.
“Shuttle, Cosmos has fired again! Please report!”
“Whoa, that one caught us by surprise. Scared the bejesus out of me. The mirror took that one head on, and it seems to be intact.”
“Roger, shuttle, that’s satisfactory. You may proceed.”
Newman’s voice croaked from the rear.
“The repetition time is twenty-three minutes and thirty- seven seconds, even a little slower than we guessed. We’ve got them now.”
Jupp looked at him in the small mirror mounted above the window.
“Twenty-three minutes.” He turned his head to see a count-down timer, and then looked back at the man in the rear. “We’ll be in the middle of the final lift.”
“They’ll get one more shot at us. That can’t be helped. But if it’s just before we close on the bastard, we’ll have the maximum time to get in and get it disabled.”
Jupp settled back into his chair and stared out the cockpit window at the thin mirror surface that shielded them from a fiery death. He understood the logic, but he was not at all happy about sticking out his chin and giving the satellite one more freebie punch.
They coasted in silence for five, ten, fifteen minutes. Without the obstructing mirror they might have been able to make out the pinpoint of light that was Cosmos 2112, hovering somewhere above and beyond them. Then as Jupp programmed the final burn, the radio crackled alive again.
“Shuttle, there has been a new development. This could be a problem.”
There was a delay during which a mumbled conversation could be heard. Harsh whispers of troubled voices.
“Shuttle, the Cosmos has gone into a rapid rotation mode. We can’t be sure but we suspect the purpose is to spread the next shot over the surface of the mirror.”
“Roger, control,” Jupp replied. “What’s the matter with that? Doesn’t that just lessen the intensity in any particular spot?”
“A little,” came the concerned voice from the ground, “but more important is that it increases the chance that some of the power will fall in the interstices. The cracks between the mirror segments. The reflection will be imperfect there, a lot more absorption of energy, and the chance for some real damage. You’ll be a lot closer, so the power will be more concentrated anyway.”
“Copy that, control. What’s the recommended procedure?”
“Shuttle, no change, repeat, no change in procedure.” The voice lost some of its adopted authority. “Just a warning to be on the lookout. You’re going to have to tough this one out. Fer Chrissake, shield your eyes!”
Just before beginning the burn they darkened their faceplates. Jupp set the automatic sequence and the rockets fired, lifting them methodically to their rendezvous. Jupp kept an eye on the clock. He sang out “twenty-three minutes,” over the roar of the rockets. They closed their eyes and threw their arms over their faceplates. A minute passed. The rockets stopped. They floated in deafening silence for another minute. Somewhere just in front of them, at point-blank range, was the deadly Cosmos.
Finally, Wahlquist dropped his arms and turned again in his seat to look toward the man in the rear.
“Well,” he demanded, “what’s going on?!”
Without lowering his own arms, Newman could sense that Wahlquist had dropped his guard.
“No!” he cried. “Cover—”
But it was too late.
The beam seared out of the rotating satellite, sweeping rapidly but uniformly across the reflective face of the mirror, most of the power bouncing harmlessly off into space. The joint at the center where the mirror segments all came together reflected too little. It rapidly heated red then white hot. The laser pulse lasted only a moment, but as it died away a tiny hole was burned open, and the fading radiation passed through, racing to the shuttle beyond. There was insufficient energy to damage anything but fragile human tissue, but enough for that. Wahlquist had averted his gaze when the beam struck, but it did him little good. Wahlquist neither heard nor felt the impact on his face nor deep in the base of his retinas. He saw the flash, the last thing he would ever see. He knew that immediately and screamed his bitterness.
“AAAGH! I’m blind!”
Jupp lowered his arms and tried to turn to his companion.
“It may be temporary.”
“No, goddamn it! I know it! I’m blind!”
The cold voice cut in.
“Major, we must move quickly. If he’s disabled, you must help me into my EVA pack. I’ve got to get out there now!”
“But he’s injured!”
“We can’t help him! We’ve got a job to do. And precious little time to do it in. Another shot like that and we’re all fried. Help me with that pack. That’s an order!”
Jupp unbuckled and pushed out of his seat with his left hand, keeping a grip on a handle in the armrest on his right so that he pivoted, floating toward his copilot. He steadied himself by grabbing the armrest on the other chair and stared into Wahlquist’s sightless eyes.
“Larry,” he said firmly into his helmet’s radio, “you’ll be in shock, take a pill and sit quietly. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Jupp gripped his friend’s padded shoulder with gloved hand and then worked his way to the rear of the cabin using convenient holds in the deck. He dropped down through the hatch in the floor that led from the flight deck to the mid-deck. Newman was already disappearing into the airlock that gave access to the cargo bay. Jupp waited for him to clear the airlock then passed through himself. Newman worked his feet into special braces in the deck that would hold him as they fitted the pack, then he twisted sideways to reach the extra-vehicular activity packs fastened to the bulkhead. He unbuckled one pack and lifted it from the rack, passing it around behind him. Jupp moved in and adjusted the pack into the special braces at the rear of the man’s suit and fastened the clamps. Over his headphone he could hear Wahlquist reporting his condition to mission control.
“Okay, Major,” the Colonel growled when he was satisfied. “There’ll be some changes in the plans. Their rotating craft complicates my work, but gives us an advantage. You get back into the cabin. The laser fires out the side, in the plane of rotation. As soon as you can make out the orientation, you move us to just below it. That way they can’t take a shot at the shuttle without changing the plane of rotation. That’s harder for them to do than shooting at a target anywhere in the plane of rotation, so you’ll be out of the line of fire, and I’ll be able to go straight up out of the bay. You got that, Major?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got it,” Jupp replied, striving to contain his resentment at taking orders on the ship he piloted.
“Okay. You holler when you’re in position. I’ll go in along the rotation axis; anywhere else, I’d get swatted away like a fly. I’ll have to go without the umbilical. It’d get twisted like a spring as soon as I latched on.”
“Without the umbilical?” Jupp’s voice betrayed his shock. “If you lose your grip, get flung off, you’re gone!”
“I know my job, Major. If I lose my grip, we’re all gone.”
Jupp looked at the stern face, barely visible behind the darkened faceplate, and then yanked himself into the airlock. He floated up through the hatch to the flight deck and worked his way to the seat and buckled in. A glance at the clock showed that four minutes had passed since the blast that had blinded Wahlquist. Perhaps twenty more until the laser recharged.
Jupp took a few seconds to orient himself and then let out an exasperated sigh. All he could see out the window was the back of the mirror. He had to move it, but the controls for the boom to which the mirror was attached were twelve feet away at the rear of the flight deck. You weren’t supposed to have to fly and handle the boom all by yourself, he thought.
Wahlquist sensed his presence and reached out an arm, grabbing Jupp for reassurance.
“What’s happening?”
“I’ve got to move the mirror and then do a little flying. With them spinning we can duck down under and hide from the laser.”
“Listen, I’m okay now,” Wahlquist said. “Talking with control calmed me down. I’ve got a good feel for that boom, and you can fly better if you’re not jumpin’ up and down. Why don’t you tell me what you want done with the mirror, and I’ll handle that part?”
It made sense; the mirror only had to be lifted out of the line of sight.
“Okay, buddy. You’ve got it.”
Jupp unbuckled Wahlquist and floated him around the passenger seat and over the open hatch in the floor to the control panel at the rear of the flight deck. The rear facing windows that opened to the cargo bay were now an unnecessary luxury for his friend, Jupp mused as he planted Wahlquist’s feet on the anchoring velcro pads.
“Can you get your hands on those controls?”
Jupp watched as Wahlquist felt around the control console in front of him. He fought the instinct to grab the sightless hands and guide them to the controls. Wahlquist found the recess after only a long moment and settled his hands around the reassuring familiarity of the controls. Jupp regained his seat.
“All right,” he said, “lift the boom straight up ninety degrees.”
He watched as the mirror lifted methodically from his line of sight. They were still upside down and as the view from the windows was cleared he could see the spectacular spread of Earth out the tops of the windows.
“Okay, that’s good,” he said when the boom was overhead, pointed directly at the Earth below. Straight out the nose was the blackness of space.
A clutch of panic seized him. Where was the Cosmos? It was supposed to be right there! Had the computers screwed up? Could they find it before it unleashed another hellish blast? He forced himself to think calmly. He triggered a thruster and put the shuttle into a slow roll. They had done ninety degrees when, thank god, there it was, out the corner of the window about three hundred yards away, a little above them. He continued the roll until they were “right side up” and the Cosmos was in clear view out the window.
“Now what,” demanded Wahlquist.
“I’ve got the Cosmos in sight. We’re about a hundred yards below it and a few hundred yards away. We’re at twelve o’clock now,” Jupp twisted around to smile toward his sightless colleague, “right side up, if that makes you feel any better.”
Wahlquist appreciated the black humor. “Right,” he replied with heavy cynicism. “Blind and weightless, it makes a shitload of difference to me.”
“I’m going in.” Jupp eased the thrusters again and the shuttle drifted forward. As he flew, he narrated to keep Wahlquist at ease.
“It’s much like the sketches they showed us. Impressive looking brute. Big cylinder, just the upper end of the SS-18 booster. What did they say? Four meters in diameter, ten meters long? That looks about right. There’s a booster rocket nozzle on one end, some sort of antennae on the other. That’s the end pointed Earthward now. It’s got these four weird stubby wings. They stick out about two meters, and run the length of the cylinder, equally spaced around the circumference. I guess they’re what we’re supposed to lop off to get the thing in the cargo bay. The whole thing is rotating once about every, oh, ten seconds. I can make out thruster nozzles. There are four pairs of them at each end, midway between the wings. Each of the pair points in opposite directions along the circumference of the hull. There are a number of small ports and one big one, maybe a meter across, halfway along the cylinder between two of the wings.”
Jupp was silent for a moment, watching the dark maw swing across his field of view. “I guess that must be the laser.”
When Jupp saw the Cosmos disappear above the cockpit window, he hit reverse thrust and stopped, hovering just beneath it. He spoke into the microphone.
“Colonel, there it is. Good luck.”
“I’m sorry, Major.” The voice was ice. “I can’t see it. You’ve got the mirror in the way.”
“Christ!” thought Jupp. “Larry, can you move that boom on toward the tail?”
Wahlquist had not released his grip on the controls. Jupp strained to look through the overhead cockpit windows.
“Good, that’s it,” he said crisply when the boom was pointed at a forty-five degree angle toward the tail. He leaned over and worked the controls of the camera on the boom until he could see the Cosmos clearly on the monitor. They were drifting just slightly. He brushed a thruster to give a small opposing acceleration. Eleven minutes since the last shot from Cosmos.
A small figure appeared on the monitor, heading slowly but directly toward the antenna on the lower spin axis. A white plume shot briefly from the top of the backpack, then a shorter blast. The figure hovered next to the projecting antenna just below the spinning base of the Cosmos. An arm reached back and unsnapped a tool from the side of the pack. In a moment a torch flared brightly and was applied to the base of the antenna. The antenna fell free and drifted off.
“That should prevent any control commands,” came the voice over the radio.
“He just cut the radio antenna off the bottom,” Jupp informed Wahlquist.
“Now what’s he doing?” Wahlquist’s voice betrayed his fear and frustration.
“He’s got the torch on again. He’s holding it up to the bottom about eighteen inches from the center. I’ll be damned. He’s using the rotation as if the thing were on a lathe. Cutting a circle as slick as can be. I guess he’ll try to cut a hole and then get inside to disable it.”
“Wait a minute!” The pattern shifted, drifting. The torch went out.
“What is it!” shouted Wahlquist.
“Major!” came the curt command. “This thing is still alive. Must be an internal antenna. It’s changing its pitch. Get your craft the hell out of the way!”
Jupp hit a thruster and backed the shuttle away and down. When it was in his line of sight again he could see the rhythmic puffs from its thrusters and see that the laser portal had already been slightly tilted down toward him. He began a frenzied game with the control thrusters, monitoring the Cosmos and keeping the shuttle out of the rotating, sweeping aim of the laser. He was not too busy to marvel at the actions of the diminutive figure that hovered around the massive contraption.
He watched the figure maneuver to the perimeter of the base of the Cosmos. An arm snaked out.
“What’s he doing?” Jupp narrated to Wahlquist. “Slapping at it? My god, no! He grabbed it! He grabbed the nozzle of the thruster!” The figure was suddenly whipping around with the Cosmos, feet flung outward by the centrifugal force.
“He’s got a hand on it, but I don’t now if he can hold on. If he loses his grip and it slings him off, we may not get him back.” A burst of white exhaust came from the thruster. “Damn! There it goes again! Wow! He’s still got his grip! I guess the suit gives him enough protection from the peroxide jet.” Jupp watched intently. “Oh, oh,” he said. “They’ve slowed it down and it’s tilted toward us again. They’re still trying to draw a bead!”
Jupp concentrated on the controls again, moving the shuttle ou
t of reach. When he could look again, Jupp saw that the Colonel had once more fired up the torch.
“He’s hanging onto the thruster with one hand and using the torch on the sidewall about a foot above the thruster. I don’t know how he’s holding on, but that should be thin skin he’s cutting there. Why’s he doing that? Yep, there it goes.”
A thin piece of the metal wall fell away leaving a hole about a foot across. The torch was released, dangling on its short cord.
“Now let’s see, he’s got a hole big enough for his hand. Yeah, he’s reaching inside. Those edges will be sharp. He better not rip his suit! Okay, he’s got a grip on something inside, a brace or something. He’s hauling himself up. He’s got a foot up, now the other. Oh, I see. He’s standing on the wing.”
“He’s standing?” inquired Wahlquist, perplexed. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Well, he’s got himself wrapped along the side with his head pointed in the direction of the rotation. That puts the flat surface of the wing under his feet, giving sort of an artificial gravity. There must still be quite a centrifugal force, but he’s got some support.
“I can only see him about once every, oh, about every twenty seconds now, the thing has slowed its rotation as it’s maneuvered here. From our vantage, he’s moving from left to right, clockwise if you look up from below. He’s got the torch back and is poking it into the thruster nozzle. Ah, yeah, that’ll fry the nozzle and the works inside. Now he’s doing the opposite nozzle of the pair. He’s cutting another hand hold. He’s near the bottom end of the cylinder. There’s another thruster at the top; he’s going for that.”
Jupp watched as the man held on with his left hand and reached over as far as he could with the torch in his right hand to cut another hole. There was an awkward moment as the torch was released, and the change of handholds was managed, right hand into the old hole, left into the new one. That maneuver was repeated again so that the figure was holding on only with his right hand and had moved to the left. After a brief fumble the torch was retrieved from where it spun outward at the end of its tether, and yet another hole was cut. Repeating this pattern, Newman made his laborious way along the side of the Cosmos, pausing a couple of times to direct the torch into small ports that could be easily reached. Whatever sensors had peered out from within were now blind. Electronic eyes in exchange for the human pair in the shuttle. Newman was almost at the other end, at the second pair of thrusters, when his cold voice came again.
The Krone Experiment k-1 Page 6
