by Dave Bara
“If we can directly vent the main cabin, the decompression would burn the fire out,” I suggested. She shook her head.
“Impossible. Blowing the cabin would send everything and everyone inside hurtling into space, including the captain. We’d never have enough time to rescue them all,” she looked down at her watch. “If they were piped into the reserve air supply in the shuttle they should have seven minutes left. How much longer on the umbilical?” she shouted to Marker.
“Four minutes,” he replied. Not enough time to get across, deal with the fire, and rescue the crew, not to mention we’d probably have to blow the service hatch with the charges I’d brought.
“We’ll have to go now. Get your ass down here, Marker! Layton,” she called to her Search and Rescue copilot, “you have the pilot’s chair. Hold her steady and keep her ready to fly back to Impulse at a moment’s notice.” Layton nodded vigorously inside the helmet of his EVA suit.
“About Impulse,” I started. “I ordered her close to extend the Hoagland Field around us.” Kierkopf shook her head.
“She’s taken a pounding from the displacement wave. I ordered her back out of range until we retrieve all personnel and return in the Downship,” she said. I didn’t take her countermanding my orders as a personal affront to my plan of action. Truth be told, I was glad to have someone else in charge. Marker joined us and we all donned our helmets and activated our coms.
“The umbilical isn’t going to make it in time,” said Kierkopf to both of us. “We’ll have to go out through the maintenance hatch and propel over to the captain’s shuttle.”
“That’s my job,” jumped in Marker. “I’ll go over, locate the damage hole in the hull from the attack, and set a tether for you to follow. Then I’ll go in and cut open the crew cabin hatch from inside.”
“Affirmative,” said Kierkopf, nodding. Then we all made our way down the narrow spiral staircase to the maintenance deck. Marker hooked up a set of the cone jets to his belt and gave the thumbs-up.
“You’d better take a coil cutter with you, in case the bulkhead is sealed,” said Dobrina. Marker took one from the shelf and Dobrina took another, then handed me a third. The cutting lasers were different from our pistols and rifles, using a highly concentrated beam of light to cut metal or rock. This one was a hand-sized tool, cylindrical and just long enough to fit in your palm with an emitter at the end.
“Will this be enough to get through the bulkhead?” I asked.
“It’s all we have,” said Kierkopf.
“We have proximity charges,” I replied. “I had Marker pack them before we left. We can use them to blow the bulkhead door if we have to.”
Kierkopf hesitated, then shook her head negative. “They’re too dangerous. The explosion could kill them both, and us.”
“And these will take too long,” I said, raising the cutter. Kierkopf looked to Marker for an opinion.
“Wouldn’t want to be inside when one went off, sir, but we may have no other choice,” he said.
Kierkopf relented, raising a pair of fingers to me. “Two,” she said. I went to the wall cabinet and unlatched it, then removed the charges as Marker sealed the deck and decompressed the cabin. We had six minutes when he popped the hatch.
Kierkopf and I watched from above as he dove through the small hatch headfirst, swimming into open space with the tether attached at his waist. I saw a small puff of air as he activated the cones and accelerated toward the shuttle. Dobrina followed next and I came out last, both of us holding on to EVA clamps and waiting while Marker crossed to the shuttle. By the time I got myself oriented Marker was almost on the scarred shuttle hull. It was black and mottled from the beating it had taken from the displacement wave. No doubt the collapse of her shielding under the pressure of the wave had caused a short in the shuttle electronics, and thus the fire.
I looked up to my left, toward the shuttle’s pilot’s nest. I saw a flash of deep orange reflecting out of the windows into space. “I’ve got visual confirmation of the cabin fire,” I said. Neither Kierkopf nor Marker responded, focusing only on the job at hand.
“Five minutes,” came Kasdan’s voice in our helmets. I watched as Marker caught a handhold on the shuttle hull and pulled himself in, going hand over hand and quickly rounding the top of the shuttle, moving out of our sight. A second later he reported back.
“Tether secure, sir. There’s a hole just big enough to get my shoulders through over here. Both of you should be able to make it in without a problem. I’m going in, one way or another.”
“Acknowledged,” said Kierkopf, then she started moving across open space, using a sweeping hand-over-hand technique on the tether. She was surprisingly fast. I gripped the line myself and tried to replicate her motion, but I was much slower than she was. One thing I was always told about open space EVA: don’t look down. I reminded myself of this as I focused on Kierkopf ahead of me.
“Report, Marker,” she said, her voice crackling through my helmet. She was breathing heavily but still pulling away from me. A moment of silence passed and I began to worry.
“Scan shows two survivors in the pilot’s nest,” Marker shouted. “Both in EVA suits. Low vitals but I can tell that they’re breathing. Four dead in the main cabin, two survivors, both unconscious, four missing. Probably got sucked out when the hull ruptured.”
“Four minutes left,” came Kasdan’s voice again.
“What about the captain?” said Dobrina.
“He’s not among the crew here,” replied Marker. “My guess is that it’s him and Poulsen in the pilot’s nest, behind the bulkhead.”
Where the fire is, I thought, and immediately picked up my pace. My thoughts turned to Natalie, and I wondered if she had survived the initial wave attack, then been killed by a similar fire . . .
I shook my head to clear those awful thoughts from my mind and refocused on the task at hand. My shoulders and arms burned as I passed hand over hand in a frantic attempt to aid in the rescue. Kierkopf said nothing more as she reached the shuttle and gripped the handholds, propelling herself and vanishing over the curve of the hull and presumably into the cabin with Marker. It seemed an eternity until I was able to reach the shuttle and do the same, cresting the hull into darkness and then in through the jagged hole in the shuttle’s side to the crew cabin.
Inside the cabin was dark and cold, colder when I saw the charred bodies of the dead volunteers. I switched on my helmet light. Marker was at the now open freight hatch attaching the clear plastic umbilical. Dobrina stood at the bulkhead wall cutting the metal around the door seal to the pilot’s cabin with both of the cutters. It was taking too long. I joined her silently as Marker took the first of the survivors into the umbilical and pushed off with his feet. I watched his technique as he floated through the tunnel and into the open airlock hatch on the Downship, disappearing, then starting his return trip a moment later.
“Three minutes of oxygen left,” said Layton in our ears.
The bulkhead metal was thick and difficult to cut through. I had started at the top right with Dobrina working the left side. She was almost to the bottom of the doorway but I was less than halfway down on my side. No air was escaping from the pilot’s cabin. We weren’t making it.
“Commander, this isn’t working!” I said, putting down the laser. “We’re running out of time!”
“I know!” she said angrily.
“We’ve got to use the charges,” I said. I saw her shake her head inside her EVA helmet.
“Not until we get the other survivor off the ship. Keep cutting.”
“Dobrina, there’s no time! Zander and Poulsen will die if we don’t blow the bulkhead!”
She put down her cutting laser, whipped her head around and slammed her helmet visor into mine. Her words came muffled through the visor but I could hear her clearly enough.
“Damn it, man, give me the cha
rges then! I’ll blow the bulkhead,” she demanded.
“You don’t know how to use them,” I said, unwilling to let her put herself at risk. “It’s my job. And with Zander incapacitated you’re the acting captain!” I reminded her. She grabbed my arms while keeping her helmet pressed to mine so only the two of us could hear the conversation.
“I have to do this,” she shouted. “Give me the goddamned charges!”
“You’re too valuable to risk—”
She cut me off. “Goddamn it, Cochrane! This is my job! Now give me the goddamned charges and get that survivor out of here!” she ordered.
I looked to the hatch. Marker was only halfway back through the umbilical.
“Two minutes,” updated Layton over the com.
“That was an order, Commander!” she held out her hands and I pressed the charges into them, then turned around to the other survivor.
“You’ll need to set the charges for proximity zero!” I yelled back at her through the com as I picked up the injured man off the deck and headed for the umbilical tunnel. “Ten second delay to get to the umbilical or you’ll risk being blown into space!”
“I know what I’m doing, Cochrane! Now get that man off the ship and clear the deck!”
I looked back at her as she was adjusting the charges, setting and resetting them, without success.
“You need to arm the media first!” I yelled. She waved me off. She clearly didn’t know how to set the charges, but I did. I looked down the umbilical as Marker came toward me on his return, then back at the struggling Dobrina, and made my choice.
I tossed the survivor in my hands down the clear umbilical tunnel toward Marker as hard as I could.
The survivor hit Marker directly in his midsection and started both of them flying back toward the Downship hatch. Then I turned and flung myself toward Dobrina.
“What the hell?” she exclaimed as I grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her away from the bulkhead and the two charges, both of which I could see were not set. One advantage of zero-G is that the body with the most momentum always has the upper hand.
“Goddamn you, Cochrane! Put me down! That’s an order!” she screamed at me in protest. But my mind was made up.
“You don’t know how to set the charges, Commander, but I do. There’s no time to argue!” I spun her around with one hand and dragged her to the hatch opening as she flailed at me in vain. I began to cut away the umbilical plastic with the cutting laser in my free hand. Seconds later, I had her wrapped helplessly in the umbilical material, then cut it loose and shoved her back toward the Downship.
“Cochrane!” she howled in anger. I reached up and shut off my receiver, but kept my broadcast channel open. I watched as Marker began to retrieve Dobrina from the collapsing umbilical, bringing her inside the Downship, then turned back to the bulkhead.
“I’m setting the charges now!” I said into my com. “Armed, with a ten-second delay. Once I hit the fire key I’ll secure myself and ride out the detonation. The door will blow and the fire should burn out in the first few seconds. As the cabin decompresses I’ll try and grab the captain and Poulsen. With luck I’ll be able to find the tether and direct us to the Downship hatch.”
It seemed like a good plan. I had no idea if it would work.
I depressed the fire key using the detonator and then made for the far wall, picking up some scrap metal from a chair and then crouching next to the rear bulkhead, holding on to some safety straps and using the metal as a shield. Then I waited, watching the charges. The seconds ticked by, an eternity.
With a flash of bright yellow the charges went, the cabin door flying off in a silent ballet of metal, flame, and glass. Seeking escape from the pressurized cabin, the river of rapidly freezing fire went straight for the open freight hatch and out. Amongst the debris I saw an EVA-suited body rush out into vacant space. Then the bulkhead gave way, the metal turning to powder as it joined the flow of debris. I looked up as the exposed fire turned to silent gray mist, still rushing headlong to escape. Then I saw a second EVA suit, ripped free from a crash chair and moving rapidly toward the hatch. I let go of the straps and pushed off the way I had seen Marker do, plunging myself into the riptide. I felt stinging like thousands of needles poking me as I dove forward and then hit something with a thump.
I desperately tried to clear my visor of dust to see what I had captured. It felt like a man, but I couldn’t be sure. An instant later I was through the hatch and floating free in space. I wiped the dust away and looked down at my captured prey.
It was Zander.
At least, it looked like him. I could see through his visor that he was unconscious. His face was charred black on the side, but his EVA monitor, still working, indicated respiration and heartbeat. He lived.
I had a moment of euphoria before I realized my new predicament. I was floating in open space and heading right for the metal hull of the Downship. At this speed I had no doubt that an impact could be fatal. I had only a few seconds, but I managed to duck my head and turn, protecting Zander from the impact by putting him beneath me, then fired my cone jets to slow us. I thudded hard against the metal skin and then we started skipping down the curved hull of the Downship in a painful, bumpy descent.
Shit! I thought. If I can’t stop we’ll skid off the hull and into open space! Rescue would be very difficult then, and Zander would almost surely die of oxygen deprivation. I bounced against the hull a second and a third time as we rolled down to the maintenance hatch, the tether there still in place. I had only a second to react and I reached out desperately, trying to grab a hold on the line.
“Ahhhggghh!” I shouted in frustration, grasping frantically at the tether. My hand slipped off and we started floating free, away from the Downship. I swallowed into a dry throat. I didn’t want my first commanding officer to die in my arms.
The next second we were enveloped in a cargo net, shot out of the maintenance hatch. We came to a stop with a wrenching jar, then the net started retracting back toward the hatch.
As we were reeled back in I switched on my com again and called in to the Downship. No one answered. A few seconds later and we were inside the maintenance deck. Marker came down and together we transferred Zander up to Layton. Once that was done we shut the hatch and normal environment and gravity were restored. Marker came over and put a firm hand on my shoulder and said, “Welcome aboard, Commander.”
I removed my helmet and nodded, taking in a deep breath of cabin air.
“Thanks, John. It’s good to be here.”
Stranded
“You’re going to stand for court-martial when we get back to High Station,” yelled Commander Dobrina Kierkopf. She was standing over me and pointing her finger in my direction, flanked on either side by Marker and Layton. There was no doubt that no matter what friendship had developed between us, she was my commanding officer right now. In fact, she was more than that, she was acting captain of Impulse.
We had assembled in the crew cabin of the Downship after completing the rescue of the survivors from Captain Zander’s shuttle. The chewing out was coming nearly an hour after I had been rescued at the last possible second by John Marker and his grappling net. We’d spent almost all of the time since then getting Zander and the other survivors stabilized and into the emergency medical docks where their vital signs had been reduced to absolute minimum as a means of preserving what little energy they had left. Zander was in a state of stasis, which at the moment seemed like a far better option than facing the fuming Commander Kierkopf.
“I’m prepared for that eventuality. Hell, I was prepared for it when I made my decision,” I said back, trying to defend my actions aboard the shuttle.
“You could have killed the other survivors. You could have killed Corporal Marker. Hell, you could have killed me!” she seethed. “Your brother would never have pulled a stunt like that!”
I resented that comparison. “I’m not my brother, sir, and I’m aware of the chance I took. But the fact is that you weren’t able to set the charges. You were more likely to die by your own hand than by anything I did.”
“The hell with that! You follow orders or you end up in the brig! I’d put you there now if this ship had one!” I said nothing to that. I assumed that since we were still in hostile space and many thousands of clicks from Impulse that she would need me, at least for a while more. The discipline would certainly follow, but I was ready to face that on my own terms.
When I said nothing more she turned away from me and addressed the other two crewmen aboard. “Layton, get us underway back to Impulse,” she said. The pilot departed for the cockpit while she swiveled to face Marker. “What’s the report on our other survivors?” she asked. He looked dour.
“They’re both in stasis and stable, just like Zander. But I’d have to say they’re both in better shape than the captain. Mostly radiation burns and superficial debris wounds,” said Marker.
“In other words, they were lucky,” said Commander Kierkopf. Then she looked at me directly. “More than I can say for Claus Poulsen.” That stung. I liked Poulsen, and it wasn’t me who’d attacked the shuttle, it was the empire, or at least the remnants of their automated defense weapons. I wanted to say something back but a look from Marker told me not to. The commander sighed, put her hands on her hips, and stared down at me.
“Get down to the cargo deck and keep an eye on the medical readouts. If anything changes on any of them, call me. Otherwise stay out of the way and keep your mouth shut.” With that she spun away from me and went up the three short steps to the pilot’s nest to join Layton. Marker put a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Peter. It’s not for me to judge what you did or didn’t do, but you made a decision and you saved the captain,” he said.
“But Poulsen—” I started.
