Suddenly Astronaut

by Andrew J. Morgan

  "Why did they give you a sense of humour, anyway?"

  "The thinking behind my programming was to provide humans with a relatable and interactive interface to make performing tasks easier and less stressful. Developing the ability to learn the preferred interaction of human users warranted the need to include a sense of humour. Without it, I cannot be humanlike."

  "Do you think you're human?" Ben asked.

  "No, of course not."

  "Do you ever wish you were?"

  Tom didn't respond. Ben then realised that the question was an extremely personal one, even for Tom.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. Tell me more about the IGS."

  "The IGS system," Tom told him, "uses Jupiter's vast electromagnetic field to precisely calculate position and velocity. Its accuracy comes from its ability to recalibrate a hundred times per second."

  Could Ben detect an unusual tone in Tom's voice? Dejection, perhaps? "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Yes, of course. My system is operating within tolerance."

  "No, I mean are you okay?"

  A pause. "I'm not sure I understand."

  "How do you feel?"

  "As I said, my system—"

  "No," Ben cut in, "how do you feel? How did what I asked you make you feel?"

  Another pause. "I have many reactionary algorithms that determine what you would call a feeling. I am programmed not to let those interfere with my duties as an advisor."

  "But you do have those feelings?"

  "Yes."

  "And what are they, right now?"

  "I—"

  Ben folded his arms. "Don't tell me they aren't relevant, or you aren't programmed or any other nonsense. If I'm asking you, then it serves your duty to tell me, right?"

  Silence.

  "So I'm asking you to tell me how my question made you feel."

  "Sad," Tom said simply.

  "Then I'm sorry I made you feel sad," Ben said. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

  Tom didn't answer.

  "It's good to talk," Ben said.

  They watched the docking procedure in silence for a while. As the barge edged closer, the tugs helping it along its way, Ben thought about Tom. It seemed strange to him that he felt more in common with Tom than with any of his classmates. They seemed to take life on the station in their collective stride, behaved like it was the most straightforward and normal existence ever, but Ben felt different, and it seemed so did Tom. They were both outsiders in their own homes, never welcome, never accepted.

  Like Ben, Tom had learned to adapt to his situation. Like Ben, Tom kept quiet unless he absolutely had to say something. He probably spoke more to Ben than to the rest of the crew combined. Ben was glad to have him as a friend, and hoped Tom felt the same about him. Without Tom, Ben didn't know how he would cope.

  The tugs were now sinking out of view between the station and Jupiter, although Ben could still see the barge protruding back and away. Against the swirling backdrop of the gas giant, it seemed like a parasite leeching from the station's mass.

  "The last few minutes are the most crucial," Tom explained. "The docking has to be accurate to within a centimetre on all axes."

  It had been hard enough for Ben to get his Hoverclaw to fly within half a metre of where he wanted it, a great distance relative to the size of the Hoverclaw itself. The ability for a craft as enormous as the barge to dock to a dimension of such a small scale was mind-boggling.

  "Once the barge is docked," Tom added, "we'll return to the station."

  "Okay," Ben said. He was beginning to feel like he'd had enough anyway.

  "Eighteen docking clamps hold the barge in place," Tom told him, "with three tethers. The tethers are connected before the barge docks, retracting to assist with the final docking. The tugs connect the tethers and then guide the barge in from the rear and the sides."

  Sure enough, the tugs appeared from behind the station, heading away to the rear and sides of the barge where they followed in close.

  "What happens when—" Ben started, but he didn't get to finish. In that moment, the instrument panel dimmed, then restarted, glowing red with error messages.

  "What's happening?" Ben asked, but got no response. The tug, which had been holding firmly in place, began to list, the view ahead drifting to one side. The instrument panels dimmed again, then shut off completely. Then the cabin lights went off too, leaving Ben in complete darkness. There was also silence, Ben realised, and it seemed like all the low operational noises had disappeared, too.

  "Is this another joke?" Ben said, sounding loud against the quiet. "It's not funny this time, Tom."

  Outside, Ben could see the other tugs listing in the same way, drifting loose. The barge, too, was listing, its angle moving from perpendicular to the station. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

  "Tom, respond," Ben demanded, his chest a flurry of adrenalin. "Tom?"

  Then, the cabin lights snapped on, and the ship's systems came on with them. The background hum followed quickly afterwards. The instrument panel was still off, and it was for a few seconds more. Then, it sprang to life, system checks scrolling across as they booted up. A few error messages were still being displayed.

  "Tom, are you there?"

  "Yes, Ben, I'm here."

  "Is everything okay?"

  "Yes, everything's fine."

  That didn't do anything to reassure Ben.

  "I'd like to go back to the station," Ben asked.

  "I will get authorisation to return now," Tom said. "Please wait a moment."

  Anxiety made Ben's skin crawl. "Can you connect me to my parents, please?"

  "Unfortunately it appears that this service is unavailable at the moment."

  Ben felt completely helpless. There was nothing he could do but sit there. He tried to stay calm, but the urge to unbuckle his seat and freak out was very strong. Instead, he folded his arms and looked at the instruments to see if he could deduce what was going on. There were a lot of acronyms and symbols he didn't understand, although he could see that some of the warnings appeared secondary to some of the others. Whatever the problem was, it was big.

  Then, the last few warnings dropped away, leaving their respective screens as they had been before the whole thing had started.

  "Communications have been resumed," Tom said. "Shall I connect you to your parents?"

  "Yes please," Ben said. His voice sounded strained.

  As the screen in front of him displayed the holding message, he watched the station as the tugs drifted lifelessly away from it. Then, one after the other, they came to life again. They headed with urgency towards the barge, which was—

  "Tom, the barge!" Ben yelled, pointing at it. It had listed so far that it was about to make contact with the station. He could only watch as its drift ended abruptly with the compression of metal on metal. As one end of the barge stopped, its momentum and mass pivoted it around, pulling the nose away from the station. Ben saw as two of the tethers pinged free of the barge, writhing coils flicking away.

  The nose of barge sailed around, meeting one of the tugs hurtling towards it. The tug tried to manoeuvre but it was too late, the barge clipping its side and sending it tumbling back into the station. It hit a protruding arm, which tore the tug in two. Fragments of both drifted lifelessly towards Jupiter.

  "No response on your call," Tom said.

  "Try again!"

  The barge was still rolling around the station where it had made contact, its surface tearing shreds into the station. The remaining tug navigated around the barge and tried to push back against it, but its mass was too great. The tug was crushed between it and the station like it wasn't even there.

  The third and final tether, now visible and extremely taut, didn't break free from the barge. Instead, it broke free from the station, pulling a great chunk away with it. A whoosh of gas blew like smoke into space as it dissipated and froze in the sub zero temperatures.

  "Still no response."r />
  Ben no longer had control over his body, which had become frozen. He was a passenger, watching through the eyes of another person.

  The barge had not still stopped, its mass carrying it on a destructive trail through the station. It appeared to be slowing as the compartments of the station compressed against it. Further along the structure, a bulge appeared as the twisting force of the barge threatened to break it into two. Then the bulge became a crack, and the crack a tear. More gasses blew like wisps into the vacuum. After the last of the gas had faded, it seemed like everything had stopped.

  A flash of light slammed Ben back into his seat.

  Chapter 9

  The light blinded Ben long after it had faded. A ringing was shrill in his ears. Pulses of pain shot around his head from where he'd slammed it into the headrest. He felt dizzy, too. There was a siren, wailing over and over, and a voice … Tom's voice.

  Ben listened, but the voice, like his vision, was a blur. Everything was slow, like he was underwater.

  Tom continued to call out to him, drawing him from the haze.

  His vision began to return. His hearing began to return.

  The siren was loud. Outside, the stars slipped by, over and over. They were spinning.

  "Ben!" Tom said with urgency. "I need you take control of the ship!"

  The return to clarity made Ben's head throb even harder. "What?"

  "The control sticks in front of you, left and right, I need you to take hold of them and listen carefully!"

  Ben saw the sticks, two stumpy black protrusions. The part of him that told him he shouldn't be touching them hesitated, but them the part of him that told him he needed to do as he was told to survive reached forwards and grabbed them.

  "Now what?" he said. The stars slipping by over and over were beginning to make him feel sick. Every now and again he caught a flash of brown and red, but at this speed he couldn't make out anything of the station.

  "The left stick controls directional thrust. Forward is forward, back back, left and right strafe left and right. Do you understand?"

  Ben nodded. He'd heard as much as his body was taking in under the stress of the situation. It seemed to make sense.

  "The right stick controls pivot. Push left to rotate the nose left, right to rotate right, up is up and down down."

  "Okay."

  "I need you to use the right stick to gently steady the craft. Push it in the opposite direction to the spin."

  Ben pushed the stick and the craft lurched forwards. He let go of the controls like they'd scalded him.

  "That's the left stick!" Tom shouted over the siren. "Use the right stick! Gently!"

  Gingerly, Ben touched the right stick, pulling it down and slightly right until he felt the smallest resistance. Had anything happened? He wasn't sure.

  "A bit more!"

  Ben pulled a little harder against the resistance until a chuffing sound emanated from somewhere behind him. The spin slowed a little.

  "Again! A bit more!"

  With more confidence, Ben pulled the stick a little harder. This time he was slightly off the axis of the spin, reducing its speed but also changing its direction.

  "A bit at a time! A bit at a time!"

  A few more puffs of thrust and Ben felt like the control was making sense to him. Two more and the tug had stabilised, pointing into the black. It was still listing slightly, but at least the spinning had stopped and the nausea was subsiding. The siren had also fallen silent, he realised.

  Ben sat back in his seat blinked the sweat from his eyes. The physical world may have stopped spinning, but the mental one was still going at quite a pace.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "It appears there was a malfunction with the barge," Tom said simply. "That's as much as I know as we have lost all contact with the station."

  The station. The barge. The flash of light. It was like the blast had temporarily wiped the whole thing from Ben's mind. "The station!" he yelled. "We have to go back to the station!"

  "I agree. We must survey the situation. I will need you to take control of the tug."

  "What? Why?"

  "With communication with the station severed, I no longer have access to the IGS system. Without the data from the IGS system, I am not permitted to pilot this craft."

  A sickening panic added to Ben's already fried nervous system. "That's stupid. I'm giving you permission. Come on, stop messing around! We need to get to the station!"

  "I'm afraid you do not have the authority to execute that command."

  "But I'm allowed to pilot the tug?"

  Tom made a humming sound. "In this scenario, yes, that is correct."

  Ben took a moment to shut his eyes. The headache continued to swill around inside his skull, the flash of light still visible against the backs of eyelids. The thought he dared not think flashed even brighter: did anyone survive? He opened his eyes, wishing the thought away. It was too much to even consider.

  "Okay," he said. "What do I need to do?"

  "It's just like you did to stabilise the craft," Tom told him. "Left stick for thrust, right stick for pivot."

  "Okay …" Ben said, warily taking the controls. A spark of adrenaline made his hands quiver. "I'll turn the tug around to face the station first."

  With gentle nudges, he pushed the nose of the tug around to where he thought the station was. As soon as he saw the edge of Jupiter, he adjusted the pivot down to where the station should have been.

  But the station was no longer. What was left were huge chunks of spinning debris, slowly drifting apart from one another in every direction.

  "Oh God …" Ben whispered.

  The tug continued to pivot, and soon Jupiter began to move out of view again.

  "You need to cancel the turn by applying pivot in the opposite direction," Tom advised.

  Ben did as asked, slowing the nose, stopping it, then moving back to place Jupiter centrally in the view. It took a few goes to slow the nose to a stop in the right place instead of drifting past, but eventually he got it.

  "That's it," Tom said. "Now, slow forward thrust."

  With the left stick, Ben pushed forwards, applying a small amount of thrust. A hiss and the craft responded, heading towards the debris. He watched the larger pieces carefully, trying to gauge their trajectory. The last thing he wanted was to hit one of them.

  "We've drifted quite a way out," Tom said. "Bring us in closer so I can scan the debris. We need to be within at least point five kilometres."

  Ben had no idea how far that was. "Okay, tell me when." He hovered over the left control, ready to counter the forward momentum. With the right stick he gave small corrections to keep them on course.

  As they drew closer, Ben was able to make out individual details in the wreckage. The barge was torn into two chunks held loosely together by cables that trailed between each half. It seemed that the blast had fragmented the station into numerous segments small and large. The largest protrusion had come away as a complete section, drifting aimlessly to their right, while cabin sections spun in slow, sweeping arcs. Ben could see right down into them, see the rooms and corridors that linked them. Occasionally he caught the reflection of smaller shapes filling the space between the larger sections; he didn’t dare think what those were.

  "We will be within range in five seconds," Tom said.

  Ben counted down in his head then decelerated to bring the tug to a standstill. He waited to hear what Tom had to say next, his heart thumping in his ears.

  "I'm detecting high levels of gamma radiation," Tom said, "which suggests that the reactor core detonated."

  "Was that the flash we saw?"

  "Most likely."

  Ben gritted his teeth. It all seemed so unreal. "Are … are there any survivors?"

  "I'm sorry, Ben. I am not detecting any signs of life."

  It was like a punch to the gut. Only this morning he'd kept his eyes shut when his mum had come in to say happy birthday—and now she was gon
e. They were both gone. Everyone was gone. Mrs Deacon was gone. Bruce Wenzig was gone. Doctor Whittaker was gone. Persephone was gone. Just like that, he'd never see any of them again.

  "Ben? Are you alright?"

  It was like Ben's mind had become detached from his body. He was floating, lifeless, in a white sea. It was still, mirror-flat, silent. He felt nothing.

  "Yes, I'm alright," he said. He felt alright, even though he knew he was not. "What do we do now?"

  "We need to inform Helios of our survival. This tug isn't capable of sending or receiving interplanetary communications, however, so we cannot broadcast. As our link to the station has been severed, the only chance we have of communication with Earth is to manually connect to the comms tower, if it is still intact, which it appears to be."

  It sounded to Ben like Tom was suggesting they go further into the debris field. "How do we connect manually, exactly?"

  "The comms tower has no power, so we need to connect the reactor in the tug via a wired connection to the tower. Then we can attempt to make contact."

  "Which bit is the comms tower? That piece with all the mesh panels reaching out?"

  "That's correct."

  Massaging his temples to ease his headache, Ben said, "So I'll need to fly the tug all the way through that debris and into the comms tower?"

  "No."

  "No?"

  "We only need to pilot the tug within range of the cables. To connect the cables, you will need to leave the tug and attach them manually."

  The words went in, but got stuck somewhere in processing.

  "Sorry, what?"

  "We only need to pilot the tug within range—"

  Was it frustration Ben was feeling? No, not that—it was terror. Horrible, sickening terror. "I heard that bit. Did you say I need to leave the tug?"

  "That's correct."

  "And go into space?"

  "That's correct."

  That was it. Ben had reached his limit. He unbuckled his harness, ignoring Tom's protests, and climbed out of the seat. The space behind it was small, but still large enough for him to wedge himself on the floor up in the corner. There he stared at the dark, metallic wall opposite and chewed a thumbnail.