Hannah had descrammed the reactor. Cranked it up to baseload output. Re-started the housekeeping turbine.
The SoD was alive and well on the inside, but dead on the outside. Antennas, sensors, the works. Everything slagged in the first HERF attack had been slagged again, and then some.
An hour ago Kate had sent Jack and Alexei out on a frantic spacewalk, laden with replacement cables and connectors.
“I want the AE-35 unit fixed,” she’d said.
The AE-35 unit controlled the positioning of the ship’s directional antenna for the Ka comms system. They’d successfully made the emergency burn to decrease the ship’s orbital period, but because they hadn’t flipped the ship, the directional antenna was still pointing away from Earth, and it was slagged. So: get out there and fix it, boys.
“Have fun,” Skyler had said, seeing them off at the bridge airlock.
Jack’s Z-2 suit was flexible enough for him to flip Skyler the bird. Skyler just smiled.
He really hoped they could get the AE-35 unit fixed. No comms with Earth! Forget about television and the internet, they couldn’t even use their ultra-basic text messaging system, so long as their antenna was pointing at Saturn. More than anything else, the loss of comms drove home the abnormality of their situation, how far away and alone they were. Skyler never would’ve thought he would miss the alternating selections of crappy music from Star City and Houston. He did.
And for him personally, the loss of comms couldn’t have come at a worse time.
Done with feeding the fish and checking the pH levels in their tanks, he headed aft to the secondary life support module.
Slayer blasted from tinny laptop speakers, making Skyler wince. That was Giles’s music, and Giles himself floated in the middle of the module, fiddling with one of the algae tanks. These tanks—which served the crucial function of supplying the crew with oxygen—took up the whole axis of the module. Air injection tubes imparted spin to their contents, so the gelatinous green masses tumbled slowly round and round.
“Hey, Giles,” Skyler said. “Whatcha doing?”
When Xiang Peixun was alive, Skyler used to come back here and hang with him. His goal had been to troll Xiang into letting slip any hint that he was the saboteur. He’d never gotten anywhere. Xiang hadn’t been much of a talker. Not in English, anyway. Often, Skyler had just ended up floating near him, watching the algae spin like green clothes dissolving in a washing-machine. It was soothing to watch the tanks, and know that they were producing precious oxygen for the crew to breathe. “These little guys are the most important crew members,” Xiang had said more than once.
Unexpectedly, a lump rose in Skyler’s throat. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes. Was he about to cry for Xiang Peixun? Fuck it.
“Whatcha up to, Giles?” he said, more loudly, over the thrash metal riffs.
“I check for mutations,” Giles shouted. He extracted a slide from Tank 5’s sampling port and flew over to the lab area. Scratching his scruffy brown beard, he inserted the slide into the electron microscope.
Skyler hovered behind him, watching him work. Giles had taken over Xiang’s life-support duties without making a fuss about it. He wasn’t a natural at this astronaut business, any more than Skyler was, but he worked as hard as anyone on the ship. Everyone kind of took him for granted. Made fun of his taste in music—Slayer, Giles? Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Really? Giles got it even worse than Skyler himself did for listening to Dylan and Joan Baez. And for the same reasons, actually. A guy who listened to that crap would never get laid on Earth, let alone in space. Right?
Giles’s Ph.D. thesis had been on using music, specifically heavy metal and punk, to model alien languages. He’d also published a widely acclaimed article arguing, with a straight face, that the 3rd movement of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto #3 was the first thrash metal song. And look at him: the lumpy forehead, the weirdly luxuriant leg hair, the prim little paunch. Listen to the tuneless bellowing as he sang along with ‘Raining Blood.’ You just couldn’t take the guy seriously.
But was that Giles’s strategy?
Was he, in fact, trolling them all?
BUGSWATTER, the anti-malware program Director Flaherty sent Skyler before the HERF, had found the Chinese malware trigger on Giles’s iPod.
And also on Meili’s laptop.
And on Alexei’s.
And Jack’s.
And on Xiang’s MP3 player.
And also on Skyler’s own iPod.
So he was back at square one, because it was obvious that whoever the saboteur was, they’d managed to install their malware trigger on a bunch of other devices as well. Covering their tracks. It was an elementary precaution, really.
And Skyler still didn’t know what the malware trigger did, or how it even worked. On his iPod, it looked like a .wav file entitled ‘Friends & Lovers.’ He had considered telling everyone about it, so they wouldn’t accidentally activate it. Now he once again considered telling Giles. But if the Frenchman was the saboteur, that would just let him know Skyler was onto him.
Skyler had to send the trigger back to the NXC for analysis.
He needed comms.
“Merde,” Giles said. “I find a mutation.” He raised his face from the microscope. “You want to see?”
“Oh, crap,” Skyler said, jerked back to the reality that they were orbiting Jupiter with a life support system teetering like a stack of tableware on a plate-spinner’s pole. “No, I’ve seen enough of those babies.”
“Now I have to drain the tank, flush the bad stuff down the crapper, and refill it.” Giles made a very French noise of annoyance.
Skyler flew aft into the storage module and fetched a vacuum-pack of freeze-dried algae. He helped Giles drain Tank 5 and sterilize it. While they watched the pumps suck out the mutated algae, Skyler reflected that the CO2/oxygen exchange was the most fragile link in their life support system. Too much O2 and the plants die. Too much CO2 and we die, to put it starkly. Working back here, Giles could screw with the algae anytime he liked. He wouldn’t even need malware.
But who’d sabotage the system that they themselves depended on for survival? That’s what Skyler kept asking himself. His crewmates might all be nuts in their own way—they had to be nuts, to sign up for a trip to Europa—but he felt sure none of them was a suicidal fanatic, of whatever flavor. That kind of thing tends to show.
The only conclusion he could come to was that whoever’s actions were going to trigger the malware, they didn’t even know it themselves.
*
Outside the bridge, Jack struggled to remove the AE-35 unit from its mount. They’d replaced all the slagged cables and connectors. They’d also fixed the long-range radar. Now for the AE-35 unit. This was one of the longest and most brutal spacewalks he’d ever done. He was shaking with tiredness and feeling a bit dippy.
“Daisy,” he sang, “Daisy, give me your answer, do.”
Alexei, floating opposite him with the replacement unit in hand, took it up. “I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.”
Jupiter glowered beneath Jack’s feet, a bloated sack of gas contained by its own gravity. The SoD was at apojove, swinging round the top end of its elliptical orbit, a million kilometers above the gas giant’s atmosphere. This high above the radiation belt, they shouldn’t be getting hot. Hopefully.
Jack had the personal radiation dosimeter his father had given him in his thigh pocket. He had something else in there, too.
“It won’t be a stylish marriage,” he sang, over the sighing of his suit’s air supply.
“We can’t afford a carriage,” Alexei sang, rolling the Rs in the Russian fashion.
*
Inside the bridge, Kate sat with the headphones on, listening. The men’s voices came faintly through the background radio hiss of Jupiter.
“But you’ll look sweet …” Jack.
“Upon the seat …” Alexei.
And then, both together: “Of a bicycle built for two!”
Kate shuddered. She took off the headphones and tossed them into the air. They swayed on the end of the cord.
“Couldn’t they have called the AE-35 unit something less ominous?” she said to the empty bridge. “It’s just a gyroscope. Fucking nerds.”
*
Skyler got back to the bridge a few minutes before Jack and Alexei were scheduled to return from their spacewalk. He floated behind Kate, staying out of the way.
She pulled one side of the headphones off and beckoned him to listen in.
“Open the pod bay doors,” Jack said, cracking up on the radio.
“That’s from 2001,” Skyler said. He grinned.
Kate rolled her eyes.
The two men tumbled into the bridge, bringing the subtle gunpowdery smell of space with them. Alexei ripped off his helmet. His gaunt, stubbled face shone with sweat. He opened the rear entry port on Jack’s Z-2. Jack wriggled out of the suit, wincing as he freed his arms.
“Did you get the AE-35 unit fixed?” Kate said.
Skyler, feeling like a servant, collected the spacesuits and hung them on the wall.
Jack pushed past him and extricated a small device from his suit’s thigh pocket. “Jesus, I hope this is wrong.”
“What’s that?” Skyler said.
“A dosimeter. According to this, that was a year’s exposure in four hours.” Jack put the gadget away and stretched out his fingers. They were bloody at the tips.
“Did you get the unit fixed?” Kate repeated.
“Sure,” Alexei said. “Try it now.”
Kate powered up the comms system and repositioned the directional antenna. A blissful smile of relief spread across her face, mirroring the relief that Skyler himself felt. “Good work, guys.” Snapping on her headset, she began to speak. “Mission Control, this is the SoD. I apologize for the comms outage. We are alive and well …”
Hurry the fuck up, Skyler thought as Kate plunged into a detailed status update.
He had brought his laptop up to the bridge with him. He just needed to connect the USB to the data port and dispatch a copy of the malware trigger to Earth.
Jack and Alexei stripped off their t-shirts and underpants. Naked, Alexei flew out of the bridge. Skyler gathered his sweat-soaked underwear out of the air. Jack flew up to the first-aid locker. Seeing that he was having trouble opening it, Skyler followed him and opened it for him. Anything to get him out of here faster.
“Thanks,” Jack said.
Skyler pulled out a drawer and took out the sterile wipes. Jack was clutching something in his right fist, which he now transferred to his left fist. Skyler cleaned the blood off Jack’s fingers, careful not to let any of it drip into the air. He took out a roll of self-adhesive bandages and scissors, snipped off a length, and wound it around Jack’s right index finger. “What’s that?” he said.
Jack opened his left fist. A rosary.
“I didn’t know you were Catholic.”
“I was an altar boy, no less.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Don’t worry, I’m extremely lapsed. My father gave me this. He’s gone back to the Faith in a big way.”
“A lot of people have,” Skyler said. The classified updates he got from the NXC—all the news not fit to print—had touched on the resurgence of organized religion. The rise of the Earth Party, a quasi-religion in the NXC’s analysis, with no doctrines or hierarchy, had been matched by booming attendance at churches, mosques, and synagogues.
“It’s all a load of bollocks,” Jack said. “But it can’t hurt, right?”
He slipped the rosary over his head, freeing up his left hand. Skyler bandaged his left index finger, not very gently.
“Ow fuck,” Jack gasped.
“Sorry.”
“Wait,” Jack said. He raised his hand to his mouth and bit off a dangling thumbnail. The whole thing. “Fingernails, who needs ‘em?” he said, spitting it out and catching it.
“I thought the Z-2 gloves were supposed to be better than the old ones,” Skyler said.
“I have big hands.”
Sporting Egyptian-mummy fingers, Jack grabbed dry underwear and left the bridge. Skyler went back to hovering behind Kate. At last she concluded her transmission. “Ma’am, I need the bridge for just five minutes,” he said.
She gave him a bleak glare. “Secret squirrel stuff?”
Controlling his temper, Skyler said, “Yup. You want to get home again, ma’am? Let me use the comms. This shit just got real, and the NXC needs to know about it.”
“Oh God,” Kate said. “You’ve found the saboteur.”
Skyler spoke before he could think better of it. “There is evidence pointing to your pilot.”
*
Jack traipsed through the hab, holding his bandaged fingertips out in front of him. He was searching for Meili. When he found her, she was on tiptoe staking up the tomato vines, and didn’t see him at first. Her shoulder-length black ponytail bobbed as she stretched and twisted. Her fingers moved deftly, repositioning the flex ties that held the vines up. He felt a surge of tenderness for her.
He moved in behind her, reached over her shoulder, and picked a tomato. She squeaked in surprise and turned to find herself trapped. She placed a small hand on his chest as if to push him away. Her fingers bumped the crucifix hanging around his neck.
“Hi,” Jack said.
She kept her hand braced on his chest, but didn’t push. “We’re finished, Jack,” she said. “Go away.”
She smelt of girl-sweat. Jack felt an overwhelming desire to lay her down among the tomatoes and screw her silly. He stepped back. “I just wanted to ask you if there’s any way to tie the plants to the floor.”
Meili frowned. “They’re already tied down.” She gestured at the microfiber nets that covered the jungle of vegetables around them. She’d rolled back the nearest net to attend to the tomatoes.
“Those are there so the thrust gravity won’t push them over when we burn. I mean, could you actually attach the nets to the floor?”
“There’s nothing to attach them to.”
“No, I suppose there isn’t. This ship was designed by people who’ve seen too many movies. In the movies, everything’s always clean, and everything always works,” Jack said sourly. Then he grinned. “Hey! Duct tape?”
Meili’s eyes softened. “I’ve missed you,” she said.
“Jesus, woman, I miss you like crazy.” Jack tried to fold her into his arms, bandaged fingers and all.
Now she did push him away. He staggered backwards, flailing to keep his balance. She said, “I miss you. But we are finished. What part of this don’t you understand?”
Jack was still holding the tomato he’d picked. He bit into it crossly.
“I will cover the tanks,” Meili said. “That will prevent spilling, anyway.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and returned to her work.
Jesus.
Women.
What part of this don’t I understand?
How about all of it, Meili?
Jack carried on aft to the engineering module. In no mood for another female encounter of the perplexing kind, he just poked his head out of the keel tube and shouted for Hannah.
“What is it?” She swam up from the turbine room. “Oh! Jack!” She held onto the bulkhead, looking like a fox trapped in headlights.
Fantastic. Another woman who’s happy to see me.
“Sorry to disturb you.” Jack made his tone as conciliatory as possible. “It’s about our next burn.”
“Oh, OK.” Hannah seemed relieved that was all he wanted to talk about. “We’re burning at perijove, right? We’ll warp the semimajor axis of our orbit to align with Europa at the new intersection point. I’ve gone over that calculation, and it looks good.”
Jack remembered that this was the woman who’d maneuvered the Juno probe into its history-making Europa flyby. He could trust her to do what was necessary.
“Yeah,” he said.
“About that burn. I’m going to need to yaw the ship as we reach perijove. I’m not sure, has Kate mentioned this?”
Hannah shook her head.
“It’ll take a lot of electricity.” Jack steeled himself. “We’ve got to cut the power throughout the ship.”
CHAPTER 12
In the movies, a spaceship could maneuver like a fighter jet. The SoD relied on reaction wheels.
Three bloody huge reaction wheels, that acted as gyroscopes.
By clutching them individually, Jack could precess the ship in any one of its three axes.
It’s like driving a really big, really slow stick-shift.
Clutch.
Wait wait wait wait wait, while the reaction wheel transferred its angular momentum to the ship.
Then clutch the wheel again, transferring the angular momentum back to the wheel, and hope like hell the ship ended up where he wanted it. The exact timing was as much of an art as a science. Jack could have said he knew what he was doing but really he was just betting on where the roulette wheel would stop.
Over and over and over, while Alexei sang out the 3D numbers in an increasingly hoarse voice.
Charged particles battered at the SoD. Jupiter’s radio noise swamped the sensors. Rounding perijove, the ship blundered at full throttle through the heart of Jupiter’s radiation belt, where it didn’t have to be, if Kate had accepted Jack’s alternate suggestion, but never mind, here we are, doing this. Burning burning burning.
The burn was scheduled to last three hours, yawing the ship continuously to keep the engine bells pointing in the direction of travel—that’s what all the precessing was about.
It took a lot of electricity to run the reaction wheels. The MPD engine was gobbling the entire output of the big turbine, so Jack had arranged with Hannah to borrow the output of the housekeeping turbine. That meant a ship-wide blackout.
Back in Secondary Life Support, Giles was manually injecting oxygen into the algae tanks, and in the main hab, Skyler and Meili were aerating the hydroponic tanks with foot pumps, hoping to avoid a repeat of the die-off last time they lost power to the hab.
Lifeboat: A First Contact Technothriller (Earth's Last Gambit Book 2) Page 8
