He had no answer. He had trusted the quarx this far, and it was a little late in the game for second thoughts.
The suit-up area was in chaos. At least a dozen men and women were frantically trying to get outside to render emergency assistance. People were shouting back and forth, and no one paid any attention to Bandicut as he crammed his bag into a locker and made his way through the confusion to the stores. He grabbed at the racks for a spacesuit close to his size and floated back to the locker with it. He dressed facing the locker, hoping that his presence would continue to go unnoticed—not just by the workers, but by the safety-and-security cameras on the walls.
"Hey—come 'ere a second, will you?"
He turned his head cautiously. The man just to his right was floating perpendicular to him, helmet in his hands. He was talking to Bandicut. Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he pointed at his life-support pack and said, "Check my stats, will you? My readouts aren't working, and I don't have time to screw around with it. Just tell me if I have two hours' worth."
Grunting nervously, Bandicut floated up over the man's left shoulder, opened the direct readout panel, and squinted at the tiny green numbers displayed there. "Yeah," he said finally. "You look okay for . . . well, if you aren't a big oxygen pusher, maybe two and three-quarters hours." He floated back to his locker.
"Thanks." The man started to turn away—but another man, lanky and sharp featured even in his partially donned spacesuit, appeared over the first man's shoulder. The name "Jensen" was stenciled on his suit; he looked like a foreman or supervisor.
"Hold it," Jensen said, staring at Bandicut with penetratingly dark eyes. "Lemme double-check that." He held Bandicut in his gaze, as if to say to the other man, Do you know this guy? Then he performed the same check that Bandicut had. "Yeah, you're okay."
The first man shrugged, clamped his helmet on, and pushed off for the airlock. The one named Jensen glared at Bandicut for a moment longer. "You're new here." Bandicut nodded without answering; he didn't trust his voice. "Well, if you don't know what you're doing out there, stay the hell out of the way of the people who do." Without waiting for an answer, Jensen turned away to finish his own suiting up.
Bandicut followed him uneasily with his eyes. Jensen's suspicions were totally justified; he and Charlie were responsible for all of this. If anyone died out there . . .
/// Quit thinking and
get your fr'deekin' suit on, John!
We're doing this to save lives,
remember that! ///
/Tell it to the crews who are out there twisting in vacuum,/ he thought darkly, pulling his suit on with deliberate speed.
/// Hopefully, no one's seriously hurt. ///
/Hopefully,/ Bandicut said acidly.
/// Don't forget to put the red stone
in your outer pocket.
In fact, put all three in. ///
Bandicut frowned and reached inside his suit's zippered opening to fish the tiny daughter stones out of his pants pocket. He stared at them for a moment, wondering how he could carry them in a large utility pocket without losing them, especially when he would be fumbling for them with gloved hands.
/// Just stick them in and
ask them to stay put. ///
Bandicut popped them into his spacesuit pocket. /Stay./ He raised his eyes and saw Jensen watching him. Turning back to his locker, he tried to ignore the stare.
By the time he was suited, most of the ready room had cleared out, except for Jensen. Bandicut tried to avoid meeting the man's eyes, but as he finished his checklist and crouched to push off for the airlock, Jensen called out, "Hey, you—stop for a buddy check!"
/// What now? ///
Bandicut hesitated. "Right," he said, and swung himself toward Jensen. He turned to present his back to the man, thinking, Don't interfere with me, damn you.
"Okay," he heard. "Remember what I said."
"Right," he repeated, and launched himself toward the lock. When he reached the airlock door, he punched the cycling button and flipped himself into the chamber even as the door was sliding open. He did not intend to look back, but as he caught a handhold and swung around to punch the inside airlock control, he found himself gazing back through the window into the ready room. Jensen was watching him with a scowl. Past Jensen's head was the gleaming eye of the safety-cam.
The airlock cycle seemed endless. The outer door opened onto vacuum, and at that instant he remembered his duffel bag in the locker. /Charlie! My bag!/
/// Leave it.
You can't go back. ///
/But it has everything I own!/
Charlie's voice grew more urgent.
/// You can't go back!
NO TIME! ///
He knew Charlie was right—but that didn't make him feel any less miserable as he launched himself out into space.
/// Straight out.
Then left about forty degrees
and up thirty.
You have thruster control on this thing? ///
/Yeah./ He was rotating slowly as he emerged from the airlock. "Suit control—give me attitude stability and thruster control at the right wrist." He felt the thrusters popping, stopping his rotation, and he bent his wrist slightly to the left as he drifted out past the end of the station wall. The thrusters flared and he yawed, and he pointed with his index finger and the thrusters jetted him forward.
Ahead was an array of vessels, some clamped to docking ports on the side of the station, others tethered at in-between points. Most of them had once gleamed white and gold and silver, but were now smudged and weathered with age. As he scanned around to his right, he spotted—at a distance of perhaps a kilometer—the diversion that Charlie had created. The two damaged ships were surrounded by a cluster of tugs. Suited workers were crossing over to the site like flying insects. It was impossible to judge from here the seriousness of the collision. He was tempted to listen in on the comm, but felt a strong opposing urgency from Charlie. Too distracting, too much to do.
/// That medium-sized ship, John—
just beyond the container ship. ///
Bandicut nodded without answering, coasting through the weightless silence of space. He veered past the cargo carrier, then on toward the survey ship. He could see a part of the name Neptune Explorer stenciled on its aft section. It had a configuration like a squashed hatbox, with modest-sized engines on the end nearest to Bandicut. It was tethered, not hard docked. /What do I do when we get there?/
/// Get behind it. Float
right up to the nozzles of its main engines. ///
Bandicut grunted. Charlie's instructions ran contrary to all of his instincts for safe operation around a live spacecraft. What if those engines came to life without warning? He didn't even have his comm on. Nevertheless, he aimed for the point that Charlie requested. He was a little rusty at zero-gee maneuvering, and in his haste he overshot, braking frantically, then had to coax himself back with slow, careful bursts on the thrusters. In the meantime he sensed Charlie's urgency growing. /What's the matter?/ He came to a stop directly in front of one exhaust bell of the fusion drive. /You're making me nervous./
/// Sorry.
That guy in the ready room
made me nervous. ///
/Why, do you think he's following us?/ Bandicut started to rotate to look, but felt Charlie's desire that he desist. No time for distractions. He peered instead into the dark muzzle of the fusion rocket.
/// Forget him—even if he is following.
Now, take the red stone out of your pocket. ///
He reached blindly into his waist pouch with a gloved hand. /How am I supposed to find the red one? You better hope they don't float away./
/// Ask for it.
Now take your hand out of your pocket. ///
Bandicut withdrew his gloved hand. Stuck to the tip of his middle finger was a point of ruby light. It was larger now, and pulsing visibly with some kind of internal energy. He wiggled his finger, but the stone seemed glue
d to it. /I'll be dipped in—/
/// Throw the stone into the rocket engine. ///
/Wait. It's stuck to—/
/// Just do it. ///
He drew his arm back, and made a flinging gesture, trying to flick the stone loose with his thumb. It remained stuck to his finger. He held it up to his visor. /It isn't coming loose./
/// Don't try to flick it.
Just pitch it like a ball. ///
He pitched it. The stone twinkled and flashed, and sailed from his finger, straight into the empty chamber of the rocket engine. For an instant, it seemed to hang in the center of the chamber, a tiny light straining to cast illumination in the dark space. Then it flashed out a series of sharp red beams, thin spikes of light spinning out to probe, in microsecond bursts, every shape and surface within the rocket chamber.
Bandicut's heart skipped. Before he could ask what was happening, a gout of fire erupted from the stone. He stifled an outcry, raising an arm involuntarily to shield himself. But the light was already subsiding, and he lowered his arm to see the tiny stone now the size of a basketball. It glowed with a self-contained fire that reminded him of the nerve-wrenching energies he'd glimpsed in the translator.
He looked away, blinking. But out of the corner of his eye, he had an impression of the fire unfolding, like the petals of a flower. As he looked back, the sphere turned to liquid light and began streaming out along the inner surface of the chamber. It flowed in a great wave. He had a sense that the engine and even the spaceship itself had become translucent for an instant, the wave of light flashing from stern to bow, then vanishing. When it was over, the ruby-stone was gone, but something remained, a twinkling and pulsing presence high in the throat of the rocket. He stared at it dumbly.
/// That's it, John.
Let's go. ///
/Go where?/ he asked faintly.
/// To the nearest airlock.
That would be . . . uh,
at two o'clock,
right around the stern. ///
Bandicut moved slowly, too stunned to concentrate on the quarx's directions. A wink of light in the upper right corner of his vision prompted him. He pointed with wrist and finger and jetted around the stern of the ship, then forward along the side facing away from the station. As he turned, he glimpsed—just before the hull of the ship intervened—a spacesuited figure coming in his direction from the station. /Charlie—?/
/// I saw it.
Don't stop, but you'd better switch on your comm
and find out what's happening. ///
"Suit—comm on, receive only! Sort all frequencies."
His helmet filled instantly with barking voices, some synthesized, some human . . .
"TUG TANGO, COME TO ZERO FOUR EIGHT MARK—"
"Sort!" he snapped.
"WORK CREW BRAVO, WE'VE GOT A MAN TRAPPED IN THE MIDSECTION OF THE SUPPLIER. WE NEED CUTTERS AND TORCHES—FAST."
"Sort. Mokin' foke, Charlie."
"—JENSEN. THAT GUY I SAW HANGING AROUND EXPLORER IS MOVING UP TOWARD THE AFT AIRLOCK. SOMETHING VERY WEIRD JUST HAPPENED OUT THERE—A FLASH OF LIGHT. I'M GOING TO HAVE A LOOK."
Bandicut tensed as he listened for a reply. He was accelerating now toward the airlock. He cut off the thrusters, realizing that he was going too fast. He was also getting warm in his suit, and short of breath.
"ALL RIGHT, LET US KNOW IF YOU NEED HELP. WE'RE A LITTLE SHORTHANDED RIGHT NOW."
"THIS GUY MAKES ME NERVOUS, CONTROL. IF I HOLLER, GET SOME PEOPLE OUT HERE FAST."
/Terrific. What do we do now?/ Bandicut was braking, closing feet-first with the airlock.
/// Move like hell
and hope we can beat him out of here.
According to the datanet,
there's no one aboard the ship. ///
/Good./ He landed and swung around to the airlock controls. He breathed a prayer of gratitude that the chamber was already evacuated. The door began to move, sliding open with painful slowness.
"YOU THERE—DON'T ENTER THAT VESSEL!" echoed the voice he had heard a moment ago. It was Jensen, and he was angry.
Bandicut swung into the airlock and hit the control. The door slid closed. /I'd say we have about four minutes before he gets here./
/// Can you lock this entryway? ///
Bandicut fretted as the airlock pressurized, and the inner door finally opened. /Maybe./ He searched the controls, and when the inner door was wide open, snapped the DISABLE toggle to freeze the controls. /If he has the right code, he can probably override this from the outside. But it should slow him up./
/// Then let's get to the flight deck, fast.
How soon can you light the rocket? ///
/That depends on how secured everything is. Anywhere from three minutes to three hours. If you want me to do any flying, I'd better get out of this suit. At least the helmet and gloves./
/// No time!
Wait till you get there! ///
The urgency in the quarx's voice was mounting.
Bandicut vaulted down the passageway. He didn't know the inside of the ship, but it seemed to be laid out in a reasonably sensible manner. There were a few cabins, and a kitchen—he saw them flashing by as he careened, diving far faster than was safe, down the narrow passage. It was not that large a ship, and most of the rest looked like lab and engineering cubicles. The flight deck, he figured, should be at the far end.
He slid open a bulkhead door and dived through, loosening his visor. He floated into an observation deck—a dead-end. /It must be below this!/
/// Hurry! ///
He backed out, found a crossover passageway, dropped through it with sickening turning movements, and found a door marked COCKPIT. He wanted to yank off his helmet to gulp some fresh air, but he needed both hands to push himself through the bulkhead door. He floated straight into the flight deck—and there were the controls and the maneuvering windows right in front of him. /Here we are. I see some green lights on. I may be able to able to fire up the maneuvering thrusters pretty quickly, at least./ He seized the back of the left seat, intending to swing his legs around into it.
He sensed a movement to his right and turned dizzily. A woman in a jumpsuit was facing him, brandishing a screwdriver in one hand and a wrench in the other. Startled, he froze. When he could breathe again, he flipped up his visor to talk to her. "What the furgin' fuck do you think you're doing in my ship, mister?" the woman yelled, before he could say a word. She elbowed a comm switch and shouted, "Station, Explorer! He's here in my cockpit! Get me some help, fast!"
Bandicut opened his mouth to reply, but could not speak against the wave of fear that rose up in his throat.
Chapter 27
Departure Time
/// Don't give in to it! ///
The quarx's yell brought Bandicut up short as he fought back the fear-bile in his throat. The woman was advancing on him. He hadn't bargained on hand-to-hand combat, especially not with a woman. /I thought you said there was no one aboard!/ he croaked.
/// The ship was listed as empty!
Can you defeat her—
or talk to her? ///
He tried to make his voice work. "I—wait!" he cried through his open visor. "Don't wave that thing at me!" Sweat from his forehead was getting into his eyes, and he was having trouble seeing properly. But he could see the glinting point of the screwdriver well enough.
"Listen!" she snapped. "You assume the fucking position against the fucking wall, mister—or I'm gonna stick you in the belly with this thing. Who are you and what are you doing on my ship? Did you have anything to do with that collision?"
"Uh—" he grunted. "No . . . no!" His protest sounded weak, even to him.
"No? Well, I just heard on the comm that they think you did. Someone messed with those traffic codes. Let me tell you, I don't put up with that kind of shit, mister. I've got friends out there in those ships. So you better tell me—"
"I—" He reached out an imploring hand.
"GET UP AGAINST THAT WALL
AND SPREAD 'EM!" The woman loomed, waving the screwdriver.
He floated back from her. /What the hell do I do?/ he hissed to Charlie. He had no desire to fight—but he was afraid he would have to try to knock her out.
/// The white stone!
Get it out! ///
Bandicut blinked, groping in his pocket.
"HANDS IN SIGHT! And no sudden movements!" The woman's voice was growing a little shrill, with just an edge of panic. She undoubtedly thought he was reaching for a weapon.
/// Do as she says. ///
Bandicut swallowed and drew his hand out slowly. There were two stones on the tip of his finger, one black as night, the other a dazzling point of white light. The white stone flared dazzlingly, directly into his eyes. He felt as if a sheet of light were writhing against him, molding and transforming his face.
"What the fr'deekin' hell—?" The woman's eyes bulged, and she grabbed a panel edge to stop her movement toward him. "Who the fuck are you?" she whispered. "What are you?"
"I don't want to hurt anyone," Bandicut pleaded, but what came out was a harsh, guttural rasp: "HARKK-AHHH DERRK-K-EN GRAK-K-K-NEESH'N." Stunned, he fell silent. /What was that?/
/// The white stone—
it's translating you into Krenz.
I think it's giving her pause. ///
Bandicut's mind was reeling. Without thinking, he raised his hand to look at the stone. The woman screamed. The black gem had expanded into a huge, squirming ball of living darkness, engulfing the white one, yet glimmering with inner energies. Before he could ask Charlie what that was, the thing erupted with knife blades of light, flashing out, crackling, striking the wall on all sides of the woman.
She started to cry out again, but caught herself and backed toward the comm panel, hand over her mouth. "DON'T!" he warned, not knowing what he would do if she disobeyed. His voice reverberated inhumanly in the cockpit.
She stopped her movement. "Please," she whispered. "Wh-what . . . do you . . . want?"
He felt the quarx encouraging him to speak. "I want you to leave the ship," he said, and his words came out resonant, but fully human. "Call them and tell them to keep everyone clear, including the blast area. I want all tethers freed, and I'll give you five minutes to get away from the ship to safety." His temples were pounding, his eyes watering. He could not believe what he was saying. "Is there anyone else aboard?"
The Chaos Chronicles Page 27
