The Krone Experiment k-1

by J. Craig Wheeler

  “Major, are you out of the line of fire?”

  “Yes, sir—”

  “Then make sure your eyes are goddamned covered!”

  The laser! Jupp had not been watching the clock in his fascination with the laborious climb up the face of the Cosmos. He barely had time to throw his arms up over his faceplate. The laser port was between the protuberance Newman stood on and the one that followed in the sense of rotation. The timing was immaculate. The laser flared as the rotation swept it in the direction of the shuttle, the vast surge of energy passing several hundred feet above the shuttle. Jupp slowly lowered his arms and looked at the clock. About twenty-four minutes between shots, just as before. The remaining thrusters flared on the Cosmos, and it slowed and slewed again, a little erratically Jupp thought, the effect of the destroyed thruster pair. Hurriedly, Jupp eased the shuttle into a new safe position.

  “Everything all right?” Wahlquist wanted to know.

  “Yeah,” replied Jupp, “we were out of the line of fire, but I shouldn’t have lost track of the time. He’s torched the upper pair of thrusters. Now he’s leaning over and cutting a hole in the top edge of the wing projection. Another one in the hull just above the wing. Oh, man! He’s using those holds to lower himself down toward the next wing, dropping back against the rotation from our point of view. It’s not working! The centrifugal force throws him out. It’s a little too far; he ca’’t get a foot straight down!

  “He’s hauled himself back up and is lying prone on the wing, reaching way down to cut another hole in the hull.”

  Jupp was silent for a few moments.

  “It’s a foothold! He’s hanging down again and has a foot in that new hole. He’s down; he’s got a foot on the other wing. He’s got a hand in the foothold, both feet down. He made it! Damnation! That clown is good!”

  Newman applied the torch to the thruster pair near him and then began to cut holds and work his way toward the pair of thrusters to his right at the bottom end of the long cylinder. Midway along he came to the large ominous port that housed the laser. It spanned the distance from his belt to his throat as he paused before it and reached for the torch.

  The satellite had rotated the port away from them and Jupp felt more than saw a brief glow. Over the radio they heard what might have been the start of a scream, but the lungs that were attempting to drive it vanished, and the sound came out a choked sigh.

  Jupp watched in horror as the satellite rotated, now in seemingly infinitely slow motion. Before the laser port came into view he saw the legs, thrown off by the centrifugal force. Legs, ending at the waist of the suit, twisting slowly off into oblivion, followed by a piece of the backpack with the torch still dangling from it. The next stubby wing swept by and he could see the remaining ghastly tableau. The left hand was still wedged into one of the freshly cut hand holds. The arm led to shoulders, another arm, the head above, but nothing below, the torso blasted cleanly away. The truncated assemblage, flung centrifugally out from the side of the satellite, rotated slowly out of view.

  Jupp felt an intense nauseous sweat break out on his forehead and sweep down through his body. He breathed deeply to keep his stomach. Finally he realized Wahlquist was screaming at him.

  “Ed! Ed! For god’s sake what happened?! Ed? Answer me!”

  “The laser,” he finally croaked. “It went off when he was right in front of it. He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean went off? It couldn’t have been time.

  “No. No, you’re right,” Jupp looked at the clock. “It could only have been about twelve minutes.” He lay back in his seat. “Maybe it was triggered prematurely somehow. A trip device, some signal from the ground. Not full power, but enough to kill a man. I don’t know. But it sure happened. God!” he exclaimed as the laser port and the remains of its victim swung into view again.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” exploded Wahlquist, near hysteria.

  Jupp thought for a moment, his head spinning, rationality almost out of grasp. Then order settled in, years of training asserting its influence.

  “Larry! Listen to me!” He spoke sternly, commanding his copilot to calm down. “We can’t go down.”

  “We’ve got to!”

  “Listen to me! We can’t take a shot from that laser. A direct hit and we’ve bought it. I can’t fly and position the mirror at the same time. You can’t see where to put the mirror, and it probably won’t give us much protection anyway, damaged as it is. Besides we came up here to do a job. A damn good man just got killed for this mission. We’ve got to see it through.”

  “I’m blind, goddamn it. I’m no good. Are you going to take that thing on single-handed?”

  Jupp was silent a moment, then answered.

  “Yes. But you can help. I’ll get into it and disable the power. Then I’ll tell you where to guide the boom so we can grab on and tuck it into the bay.”

  “You’re out of your gourd!” protested Wahlquist. “What happens when you’re out there and it takes aim and blows the shuttle away? And the damn thing is spinning; that’s a tough job with the boom, even if I could see!”

  “Three of the eight thruster pairs are out of commission. It probably can’t maneuver well. That gives us a margin. I’ll have to kill the rest. And if you can’t maneuver the boom, then you’ll have to pick me up, and I’ll do it. Hey, I know this is no picnic, but we can do it! We’ve got to do it. What we can’t do is waste time talking. I’ve got to get us in position under the Cosmos, and then you’ve got to come down and help me with my backpack.”

  Jupp knew it was necessary to get Wahlquist moving, give him something to do so he wouldn’t work himself closer to panic. He had to remember that, desperate as he felt, he could at least still see. Wahlquist would be just that much closer to cracking up. These thoughts spun through his mind as he worked the thrusters and brought the shuttle up under the Cosmos, scarcely conscious of his actions.

  He unbuckled and floated back to where Wahlquist stood. Ignoring his protestations, Jupp guided Wahlquist to the hatch in the floor and watched him drop through. Then he floated down himself. The two of them squeezed into the airlock and then out into the cargo bay. Jupp made sure Wahlquist was on a short tether. He detached a second backpack from its rack and gave it to Wahlquist. It took them several minutes of fumbling to get it attached, but Jupp could sense Wahlquist growing more assured as he let his training take over and worked the familiar catches, buckles, and straps by feel. Jupp helped him into the airlock, then detached the tether and watched him disappear through.

  In their orbital minuet, they had tipped so that now they were not aligned with the Earth beneath them. The fierce blue line of the Earth’s horizon made a cockeyed angle over one of the bay doors. Jupp looked up at the menacing hulk of the Cosmos spinning its grisly cargo a hundred feet over his head. His body felt encased in electric ice. He stared at the Cosmos, and then decided on a plan. He had to move before he thought about it too deeply. He selected and attached a tether. He reached for the thruster controls that extended forward on an arm from the backpack, gently fired the bottom thruster and rose up out of the bay.

  The tether stopped him opposite the middle of the Cosmos. He watched the spinning craft carefully, calculating how long it would take him at full thrust to cross the void. He used the tether and his thrusters to line up precisely with the laser port, the easiest point to grab hold. Then he pointed himself headfirst at the Cosmos. He got himself as steady as he could and then detached the precious tether. The movement rotated him slightly. He resisted the impulse to grab for the security of the tether and used the thrusters to realign himself. He thought it would take about ten seconds, half a rotation time.

  He watched the laser port pass from his left to his right, one stubby wing, another.

  NOW! he screamed silently to himself and hit the thruster at the bottom of the backpack, producing a long continuous jet.

  He accelerated toward the equator of the spinning cylinder. Another blunt
wing passed. Too slow. Too slow!

  Then the next wing passed, and he could see the port. He was almost there. But the port moved on. He had to get there before the next wing swept by, leaving him to crash into the smooth side, nothing to grip. Too close. Too close!

  He was moving in rapidly, the crucial wing swinging toward him, right at him! He threw out his left arm, fending off the rotating wing, deflecting himself toward the laser port, menace and salvation.

  The swinging appendage crashed into his arm, sending a jolt up through his shoulder. A moment later he collided headfirst with the hull of the Cosmos. The wing swept him around as the momentum of his impact rolled him into a ball. The force of his thruster kept him against the hull for a moment, but then he dizzily felt as if every force of nature were working against him. The centrifugal force of rotation tugged him inexorably outward, away from the hull. He extended his legs, and the thruster began to push him up along the hull, away from the laser port. He killed the thruster, but could feel himself tilting outward, falling away from the hull. He pushed against the stubby wing and lashed out desperately with his right leg, kicking along the hull until he felt the ominous opening of the laser port.

  Only a few minutes had passed, but scarcely a few more had been enough to kill. He simply prayed that he would not somehow trigger a similar blast. He felt the upper side of his boot catch over the rim of the opening, his toe extending inside the port. The friction gave him some anchor, but his upper body tilted away, still at the mercy of the centrifuge.

  A hand reached out, and he grabbed at it without thinking. Only after a moment of relief did he realize in horror what it was. No time to think, his boot could slip at any moment. He pulled frantically against the centrifugal force— grabbing hand, forearm, shoulder, then reaching beyond the helmet to grab another handful of suit near the other shoulder. He was too busy to look, too frightened to look, but he caught a glimpse of gaping mouth and eyes staring in perpetual shock. He stuffed his hand into the torch-cut hole, searching for the grip to share with a dead hand.

  There! A reinforcing bar! Got to—Finally the infinite sinking relief of a secure handhold.

  As he grabbed the fixture within the hole he became aware of the shaking of his leg from tension and too much adrenalin. Sewing machine leg, the rock climbers called it. He forced himself to breathe calmly for a moment. He could not wait for long. He was aware of his appendages as never before. His whole consciousness split and flowed to his left hand wedged against the dead one, gripping some frame member, his right foot, hooked upward, straining to keep a purchase on the rim of the deadly laser port. Would he trigger it? What if it goes off? Is his foot out of the way, or will it be seared from his leg? The terrible centrifugal force, pulling, pulling him away from the side. How did he do it, one- handed, with the Cosmos rotating twice as fast?

  Jupp tensed his stomach muscles and slowly drew his dangling left leg in against the outward tug of the artificial gravity. His foot bounced against the hull, and then he slid it downward, trying awkwardly to keep it against the hull until he could reach the stubby wing. It was like hanging from the ceiling and trying to stand on the wall. Finally, he could feel the surface of the wing. There was some friction on the sole of his boot, precarious but precious support against the outward tug.

  Slowly, he released his toehold on the laser port. He twisted suddenly, his left foot slipping on the wing. A surge of panic, primordial, fear of falling, ran through him. He forced himself to have confidence in his hand grip and got his left, then right foot planted on the wing. Now the rotating wing offered a floor under his feet, an artificial gravity giving some security against the perilous outward component.

  He reached backward for the torch, every move awkward and twisted as if he were on a rapid merry-go-round. He grasped the torch in its clamp on the backpack. He dropped it! The torch slung out to the end of its tether. He grabbed the base of the tether and pulled it around in front of him, extending his arm, letting the tether slip through his hand until he could almost reach the handle of the torch. Then he worked his gloved fingers in cumbersome rhythmic fashion, inching along the tether and onto the handle until he had a firm grip. He pressed the button and the torch sprang to life, a flaring blue ally.

  He worked the torch in a loose U shape two feet across below the laser port. The torch sliced the thin metal easily. The chunk of side wall fell away and he could see inside the Cosmos for the first time.

  He saw that he would not be able to get through the hole. The bracework for the laser mount obscured the way. He shuffled his feet aside and cut another U extending to the left of the first. As the next piece fell away, he felt his perch shudder. To his right, he could see the cloud emerge from one of the undamaged thrusters. The Cosmos was maneuvering again! He watched as the rotation carried him around. Yes! They had tilted down slightly toward the shuttle. He had to get inside!

  Two heavy braces blocked the new hole. One ran along the side and provided his handhold in the smaller hole above. The bars resisted, but the torch did its work.

  He replaced the torch in its clamp and reached inside the freshly cut hole, seeking and grasping one of the bars supporting the laser. Then he released the grip of his left hand and withdrew it from the upper hole. As he did, the Colonel’s hand came loose as well. The head bumped his and the hand slapped against his faceplate, a farewell pat, as the remains swung off into space. The sudden movement jolted Jupp again and he froze motionless for a long moment until he felt the thrusters shift the Cosmos once more.

  Rapidly, he crouched and snaked his left hand in for a grip. He pulled himself inward. God, it was dark! He needed the lamp, but could not release a grip to get it. He pulled again and inched inward but then stopped. Now what giant solid hand blocked his further movement?

  The backpack. It was caught on the severed brace. He might cut a hole big enough for it, but there was probably no room in the confined innards of the satellite. Cool daring descended on him. He had come too far. He adjusted his position until his grip with his left hand was as firm as possible. He transferred the torch and a lamp to fasteners on his suit. Then he began to release the straps and catches with his right hand, working awkwardly but methodically at a job meant for more than two hands. The partially freed backpack swung out tugging on the straps, fighting release. At last he had it. He held onto the final strap for one moment and then let go without a backward glance to see the mechanism spin off to join the severed body in eternity.

  He twisted slowly one way then the other, testing for freedom, finding a contortion that allowed motion. He grasped for new handholds and worked his way in headfirst.

  Finally! He could feel his feet clear the opening and planted them on the bracework surrounding the hole through which he had entered. He stood, the centrifugal force at last a friend, feet on the wall of the huge cylinder, head toward the center. He found the lamp and flicked it on. The laser loomed alongside him, a huge enclosed box. There was room to maneuver, if just barely, a technician’s access space. Elsewhere, equipment, snaking cables, wires, and pipes packed the interior of the satellite.

  Now what, Mister brave guy commando? a cynical voice asked. You going to destroy this thing with karate chops?

  He felt the satellite shift again, and through the frame around him could sense the flow of peroxide to the jets. Peroxide. The tanks must be somewhere. Could he puncture one with the torch and put the jets out of commission without blowing himself up? He scanned around and could not identify the tanks. They could be anywhere; why wasn’t he briefed for this?

  Power! If he killed the power, he would stop both radio commands from the ground and the laser. He played the lamp again and located a cable the thickness of his arm coming from the rear of the laser. That had to be the main power supply. He followed the cable around the hull to the point where it disappeared into the bulkhead that had been behind him as he faced the laser.

  Stenciled lettering caught his attention, just out of the reach o
f the lamp. He swung the light and froze. He dimly felt the involuntary release that flowed down the relief tube of his suit. He didn’t read Cyrillic, but there was no mistaking the purple and yellow international symbol for radioactivity. Of course, he thought, no solar panels, the thing has to be powered by a nuclear reactor, and no room nor need to shield it in space.

  I’m a dead man. The words echoed in his mind as he swung to work. He started with the large cable from the laser, severing it with the torch. Sparks flew, arcing the gap he cut, but he felt no glory in the fireworks, only a grim determination. Then he methodically cut every other cable he could reach from his confined space that might carry electrical power. As he proceeded he could feel the cessation of certain hums and vibrations of which he had not been consciously aware. If it was killing him, he was killing it.

  When he could find no more cables intact, he backed out of the hole very slowly so as not to catch his suit. When only his upper torso remained inside, he hooked an elbow around one of the laser braces so that he had a firm hold that would not tire his hands. The centrifugal force tugged his legs straight away from the satellite.

  “Larry?”

  “Oh, thank god!” Wahlquist’s relief came to Jupp as a palpable force over the intercom. “I wanted to call you but was afraid to spoil your concentration. Control is frantic. I cut them off from you too.”

  “Sorry, it must have been rough on you just sitting. I think I’ve disabled it. I cut the power lines.”