Nano

by Sam Fisher

  Anton and Richie had gone through the training program at the launch centre; a four-hour course involving medical tests and instruction. But it had only really been as they boarded that he began to feel a growing panic and a desire to get as far away from the thing as he could. Richie, though, had kept him focused. ‘Think of the publicity,’ his business partner had reminded him. And he could not deny the fact that they were getting a lot of attention for this. They were, after all, among the first hundred guests of Galactic to fly on Thor 1.

  ‘Five . . . four . . .’ the captain’s voice echoed around the compartment. ‘Okay, guys, unbuckle.’

  Richie was out of his seat in an instant. Anton watched him float up, a stupid grin on his face. ‘WHOA!’ Richie exclaimed. ‘WHOA!’

  Anton slipped his buckle open and felt himself lift into the air of the compartment. Hearing a hissing sound, he looked down and saw the seats retract into an opening in the floor and a door close over them. He rose up and felt a sudden sense of euphoria. This wasn’t such a bad sensation after all, he thought, as he span around, narrowly missing his friend.

  ‘Hey, Anton! Glad you stuck with it? You pussy!’ Richie called over.

  Anton was smiling now and felt himself float up to the roof, bounce back gently and flip over. ‘This is really cool!’ he announced, beaming.

  ‘Sure is, dude! God, ain’t it great to be rich?’

  Anton laughed. Then he saw the door to the flight deck open and Captain Dunbar emerge, beaming. She was also kitted out in a boiler suit and boots. ‘Mind if I join you?’ she called.

  It was just as the woman launched herself up to the roof of the compartment that Thor 1 shuddered suddenly. The two businessmen were so wrapped up in themselves they hardly noticed it, but Sue Dunbar did. She span in the air and gripped one of the holds on the wall. The spaceship shook violently and started to roll. There was a loud bang from the rear of the vehicle.

  ‘Christ! What was that?’ Richie exclaimed.

  The space plane’s nose pulled up sharply. Then they felt the machine roll 180 and start to dive.

  Thor 1 fell 4000 metres in the blink of an eye. The pull of gravity returned with shocking violence, slinging the three people in the compartment across the empty space like rag dolls.

  Richie screamed, the sound consumed by the roar of the craft’s engines as Thor 1 shot back down into the atmosphere, furiously sucking oxygen into its engines. Anton felt himself spin over but this was no soft roll, no low-grav game – he was falling under the full effect of normal gravity.

  Both men landed hard against the padded floor, a few metres apart. Richie just managed to grab a wall-hold with one hand. Anton flung out both arms on impact and caught his friend’s leg. Richie brought his other arm around and grasped the wall-hold with two hands as Anton clung on for dear life and pulled himself up along Richie’s body. Finally Anton could thrust one hand out and get a grip on a hold.

  Captain Dunbar hadn’t been so lucky. Anton and Richie saw her shoot across the compartment towards the door to the flight deck. This was one of the few areas of the compartment not protected with rubber padding. As she covered the final few metres of the passenger compartment, the aircraft jolted again. She smashed into the metal door and tried to break her fall with her hands, shattering both wrists as she landed.

  2

  Anton pulled himself up on the grip. He was sweating but amazed to feel none of his earlier panic. He seemed to be operating on automatic. He glanced at Richie.

  ‘You okay, man?’

  Richie was speechless with terror, his face colourless.

  Anton pulled himself along the holds. The aircraft was still falling, the engines screeching. He caught a glimpse of colour through one of the windows but had no idea whether it was fire or sunlight.

  He reached the crumpled form of Sue Dunbar. Turning her head with one hand and holding tightly to the wall support with the other, he looked into the woman’s face. She was barely conscious.

  Without really rationalising what he was doing, Anton manoeuvred himself around the Captain, found the waist-ties of her jumpsuit and hauled her towards him. She moaned and vomited, the spew tumbling over her face and down to the padded wall. Anton managed to angle the pilot so he could get the waist-ties around the nearest plastic handrail. He fumbled with the fabric and slipped it through the loop, pulled it towards him and tied a knot.

  ‘Jesus!’ He took a deep breath.

  ‘Anton,’ Richie called over. ‘Man, what are you trying to do?’

  ‘The pilot’s alive.’

  Captain Dunbar stirred, opened her eyes and convulsed in agony.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Anton said uselessly.

  The pilot closed her eyes again for a second. She tried to speak but her voice was lost in the screaming of the distressed engines.

  ‘Copilot,’ she gasped.

  Anton crawled along the wall, gripping the plastic handrails. He reached the door to the flight deck and pulled on the handle. It flew open, almost knocking his hands from the holds. Levering himself up, he gripped the doorframe with both hands and hauled himself onto the flight deck itself.

  The copilot, Gary Shields, was strapped in, his head flung back. A foot-long steel sheet had sliced into his face between the eyes, opening up his head like a split melon.

  Anton felt the puke rising up in his throat and looked away. His legs had turned to jelly and the tug of gravity was about to drag him off his feet. He lunged forwards, grabbing at a rack of instruments, his fingers finding a metal handle. He braced himself and took a couple of deep breaths.

  ‘Copilot’s dead,’ Anton screamed back to the passenger compartment. He could just see the side of Sue Dunbar’s face. Her eyes were still open but she didn’t respond.

  ‘Captain!’ Anton yelled.

  Dunbar turned her head slowly. Her face a skull, all the life drained from her. She murmured something but Anton couldn’t hear.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Auto . . .’

  He got it. The autopilot. ‘Where?’ Anton screamed back.

  ‘Red button. Direct . . . Directly under . . . joy . . .’

  ‘Joystick,’ Anton said aloud and tore back. He dragged himself forwards to the right of the dead pilot, pulling himself hand-over-hand, grasping onto whatever solid holds he could find. Reaching the control panel, he crouched, one hand clasped around a steel lamp support above the console. He caught a glimpse of the red button. Stretching his left hand down, he brushed the knee of the dead copilot and his fingers found the control. He flicked the switch, hard.

  For a second, nothing seemed to happen. Anton yanked himself back up. The aircraft shuddered again. He kept a grip on the light fixture and swung around, almost losing his footing. He stumbled, lost his hold for a moment and tripped towards the door of the flightdeck just as Thor 1 began to level off back to horizontal flight.

  The screaming of the engines began to fade. The aircraft rocked violently one more time, hard left, then right.

  Anton fell through the door to the passenger area. Richie was pulling himself to his feet. He was ashen-faced, staring at his friend in disbelief. Captain Dunbar’s eyes were closed, her head slumped forwards.

  3

  7.48 am Pacific Standard Time

  The three Silverbacks, John, Paul and George, shot over the coast at Mach 9.6, 35 kilometres south of Palos Verdes. Peter Sherringham was at the controls of John, Maiko Buchanan was flying Paul and new recruit Chloe Gavoine was in the pilot seat of George.

  ‘Base One,’ Pete said into his headset as he watched a holographic display shimmer half a metre in front of him. ‘We’re over the coast. Target is 97 kilometres due east. It’s flying at an altitude of 10,600 metres. Speed: 1080 kilometres per hour, bearing 34’ 16” 12”’.’

  ‘Copy that, Pete,’ E-Force commander Mark Harrison replied. ‘We have a comms link to the people aboard Thor 1. The pilot, Captain Sue Dunbar, is unconscious, seriously injured. Copilot is dead. The two male passenger
s, businessmen Anton Malkovich and Richie Johnson, have suffered lacerations and bruising but are basically okay. Thor 1 is in level flight. All local airports are on highest alert, airspace has been cleared within an 80 kilometre radius of Thor 1’s location. It is now circling on autopilot.’

  ‘Thanks, Mark,’ Pete replied. ‘And the two guys on board? I take it neither has any flying experience?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Mai asked.

  ‘Tom’s going to work it from here.’

  ‘Well yeah, in theory,’ Tom Erickson interrupted. ‘It ain’t easy though. There was an electrical fault in the engine that appears to have knocked out half the plane’s systems. Most of the plane’s computer systems have been compromised. Sybil is working on repairing them from here but it’ll take time.’

  ‘How long do we have?’ Chloe Gavoine asked.

  ‘That’s the biggest problem,’ Mark responded. ‘Thor 1 is almost out of fuel. We estimate we have a little over 12 minutes.’

  ‘Christ!’ Pete exclaimed.

  ‘Which is why we have to attempt two rescue plans at the same time. Tom will work on the cybernetics. If he and Sybil can fix up Thor’s nav circuits and intervene, we’ll try to land the aircraft remotely. Meanwhile, you three have to take up formation under the aircraft and construct a nanonet.’

  ‘Should be fun,’ Pete replied. ‘But I guess there’s always a first time for everything.’ Without another word, he pulled the Silverback around and the other two pilots followed his lead.

  Ninety seconds later, the three E-force jets had arrived directly over the stricken suborbital vehicle.

  ‘We have direct visual,’ Mai reported to Base One. ‘Thor is 4800 metres below us.’

  ‘Copy that, Mai.’

  ‘How’s Tom doing?’ Pete asked.

  ‘Struggling,’ came Tom’s distracted voice over the comms.

  ‘Okey-dokey,’ Pete retorted. ‘We’re going down.’

  Pete swung around to port and, moving faster than the human eye could follow, descended 4700 metres in under 3 seconds to take up position 100 metres above the space plane.

  ‘Thor 1,’ Pete said into his headset. ‘This is Silverback John from E-Force. Copy, please.’

  ‘Hello . . . hello?’ Anton Malkovich and Richie Johnson replied in unison. The comms link was patched into a speaker in the passenger compartment of Thor. The unconscious pilot was stretched out on the padded floor. Anton and Richie were hunched up on either side of her.

  ‘This is Pete Sherringham. Our base has contacted you.’

  ‘Yes . . . yes,’ Anton managed to say, the terror clear in his voice.

  ‘We’re going to get you out of there, okay, guys?’

  No reply for several seconds. Then . . . ‘How?’

  ‘Is that Richie or Anton?’

  ‘Richie.’

  ‘Our tech guy is working on taking over the controls of the space plane so he can guide you to a landing strip.’

  ‘And if he can’t?’

  ‘We have a backup plan.’

  ‘Jesus, man,’ Richie said, his voice trembling slightly. ‘We’re meant to believe that’s even possible?’

  ‘It is, young fella,’ Pete replied, his Geordie accent breaking through. ‘Now just sit back and try to stay calm. I know that’s a hard ask but you have to try . . . yeah?’

  ‘How long do we have?’

  ‘Until when?’ Mai interjected.

  ‘Well, the fuel won’t last forever, will it?’ Anton said.

  Mai looked at her control panel. They had a little over eight-and-a-half minutes of fuel left.

  ‘Plenty of time,’ Mai replied and switched off the link.

  ‘I’ll take the nose end,’ Pete said into his headset. ‘Mai, you go to starboard. Chloe, port. Just like the simulators, okay, girls?’

  Mai laughed. ‘Yep, Pete, just like the simulators!’

  Pete glanced at his controls. The inside of the Silverback looked stark – flat shiny surfaces, gentle curves and black carbo-plastic displays. Not a gauge or dial or knob in sight, everything digital and touch-sensitive. He saw the time display. They had 8 minutes 6 seconds until Thor’s fuel ran out.

  ‘Okay, guys.’ It was Tom’s voice coming over the link from Base One on Tintara Island, some 2000 kilometres away. ‘Sybil has repaired the plane’s systems. And I’m switching its network over to ours on three.’

  The seconds ticked down and Tom said, ‘Engaged.’

  Nothing happened.

  ‘Damn it!’ he exclaimed. The link had snapped almost the second it hooked up. ‘I’ll start again.’

  ‘Right, Pete,’ Mark interjected down the line. ‘Get weaving.’

  4

  The first nano thread flew out the back of Pete’s Silverback. It was almost invisible, no more than a gossamer of pure carbon. Pete’s aim was near perfect and the end of the thread hit the receptor pad a metre under the cockpit of Chloe’s Silverback George, where it was drawn down into the coupler housing. A few seconds later, Chloe fired an identical thread towards Mai’s aircraft flying directly under Thor 1’s starboard wing. Mai then released a thread that was drawn into the coupler aboard Pete’s Silverback, forming a triangle.

  Almost immediately after the three planes were linked, millions of nanobots inside the tubes swung into action. At regular intervals along the threads, branches began to grow like tendrils sprouting from the branches of a tree. After 2 minutes, five nanocarbon branches along each of the three original threads had cross-linked to form a superstrong but almost weightless framework – the beginnings of what looked remarkably like a trapeze net in a circus. And from these 15 branches more threads began to appear and link up under Thor.

  Chloe glanced at her screen. ‘Forty-three per cent integrity.’

  Pete and Mai could each see the growing infrastructure on holographic displays in their helmets. The network was growing denser as they watched, as though millions of spiders were busy creating a giant web. And in some ways, this analogy was not far from the truth. Each tiny nanobot, a machine so small millions of them could fit comfortably on a pinhead, was working according to a master program transmitted to it from the computer aboard Pete’s Silverback. This computer was in direct contact with Sybil on Tintara. Each of the hundreds of millions of nanobots had a set task. Each was self-reliant and self-powered, and each contributed its tiny part to the vast process of building the nanonet.

  ‘Pete.’

  ‘How’s it going, Tom?’

  ‘Ready for attempt number two.’

  ‘Okay,’ Pete responded. ‘We’re now at . . .’ he glanced at the display projected inside his helmet, ‘Seventy-four per cent integrity. We’ll need another 66 seconds to complete the net.’

  ‘Cool. But hopefully we won’t need it. Ready to engage link to Thor’s system. Three, two, one.’

  The space plane continued on its course for at least 3 seconds. Then without warning, the nose dipped sharply and the aircraft accelerated earthward.

  ‘What the . . .?’ Pete hollered into his headset.

  The three pilots could hear Tom swearing 2000 kilometres away and watched as the plane pulled back up to the horizontal. It started to roll from side to side.

  Pete opened a comms link to Thor 1 and immediately heard screams.

  ‘Guys!’ Pete shouted. ‘Guys!’

  ‘Yes!’ It was Anton, his voice shaking almost uncontrollably.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Oh, just fucking wonderful!’ Richie replied.

  ‘You’re tethered, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the captain?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Check the ties,’ Pete replied. ‘It’s going to get bumpy.’

  ‘Mai?’ Pete called over to Paul. ‘We’re at 91 per cent integrity. Everything okay your end?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘Chloe?’

  ‘A-okay, Pete.’

  ‘Tom,’ Pete said. �
�You have control?’

  There was a long pause. ‘We did.’

  ‘What do you mean? You did?’

  ‘The nav controls have frozen.’

  ‘Shit!’ Pete glanced at the clock. ‘We have less than a minute, Base One. Then that aircraft will start to glide.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ Mark replied. The three pilots could hear voices in the background at Tintara Base. Mark cursed. There was a slight rustling sound. ‘Right,’ Mark said to someone, then back over the comms, ‘What’s the integrity?’

  Pete flicked a look at the display ‘Ninety-eight per cent. We’ll be ready in 15 seconds.’

  ‘We have a problem. As Tom said, the nav is jammed. Thor is travelling on a bearing of 75’ 06’’ 44’’’.’

  Pete was listening to Mark and tapping the black carbon-plastic panel in front of him. As the geographical data was processed, he felt a horrible tightening in his abdomen. The computer on board John completed its calculations just as Mark started to speak again.

  ‘Downtown Los Angeles,’ he said.

  5

  ‘Holy crap!’ Chloe exclaimed.

  ‘We’ve got 47 seconds before the fuel tank is empty, then Thor 1 will start to glide,’ Pete said. ‘We’ll just have to go with it and try to guide it down safety.’

  ‘Copy that, Pete. You at full integrity yet?’

  ‘Ninety-nine per . . .’

  ‘We’re there,’ Chloe said. ‘One-hundred per cent.’

  ‘Okay, keep tight formation,’ Pete instructed.

  ‘Thor’s going down,’ Mai said suddenly.

  ‘There must have been a secondary fuel leak. Damn it, we’ve lost another 30 seconds.’

  ‘Just coming in over the coast now,’ Chloe said.

  Pete and Mai could see the details flash across their helmet holoscreens. They had dropped to 2300 metres to keep directly under the space plane and had reduced their speed to 520 kilometres per hour. Below them, the three E-Force members could make out the Santa Monica Freeway glistening with early morning traffic.