"I guess we won't be hearing back from Earth, then," he said quietly.
"No," said Tom. "We won't."
"So will they be here to rescue us in five and a half months?"
"Unknown," Tom said simply. "But it is still our primary course of action."
It surprised Ben how loud silence could be. It rang in his ears as he watched pieces of comms tower drift out like flotsam. They, too, drifted.
"The space suit," Ben said suddenly, "it's rated for an hour of extravehicular use, right?"
"That's correct."
"How long can it really last?"
Tom's hesitance exposed the sensitivity of the information Ben was asking of him. "Unmanned stress tests have yielded a maximum extravehicular duration of one sixty-seven hours."
"That's pretty good," Ben said.
"And a minimum of twelve," Tom added.
"Less good, but still doable. How about the tug?"
A pause. "I'm uncertain of your meaning."
"How long can a tug be used for, you know, beyond its design perimeters?"
Ben was sure he heard Tom make a gulping sound. "Are you referring to use beyond the limits of the station?"
"Yes."
Again, a pause. "Unknown."
Ben frowned. "What do you mean? Surely they test the tugs too, right?"
"Yes, of course. But they only test the tugs to determine prolonged use within controlled space, such as within the perimeter of the station environment. Every tug is permitted for a cumulative service of one thousand hours or twelve months before mandatory inspection."
"So …?"
"So, what you're suggesting is impossible to test. There are many factors that can occur in open space that are too numerous to protect against."
"But in theory," Ben said, his brain ticking with a familiar rhythm, "we could pilot the tug back to Earth …"
Tom made a disagreeable sound. "The journey to Earth is unthinkable. There are far too many unknown factors to determine the outcome of that course of action. That, and this tug already has three hundred and seventy-four hours on it, and the journey back would require over three and a half thousand."
"How many hours has the tug survived in standard testing?"
Tom didn't respond.
"Tom, answer me!" Ben said.
"Nine thousand, six hundred and eighty-five," Tom replied begrudgingly.
"So it could work?"
"I can't confirm that. It would require a gravity assist from Jupiter to achieve velocity of two hundred and sixty-five thousand kilometres per hour—"
"So you've calculated it already?"
"I—"
"And what was the outcome?"
"The slingshot is theoretically possible within the means of the tug—"
"So we can do it?"
"Unknown!" Tom shouted.
Ben was stunned. He'd never heard Tom shout before. He knew that Tom had a human personality built into him, but he'd never once thought it went as deep as that.
"I'm sorry for shouting," Tom said. "I am not used to calculating this level of risk. But what you're asking of me is impossible."
"But what other choice do we have?" Ben asked quietly.
"Helios will have received our message. They will have also lost the uplink to the station. A rescue mission will be briefed. If it is executed, they will be with us in five and a half months."
"If the mission is executed?"
"Yes."
"Why if?"
Tom paused. "In the event of a total loss, a cost-to-benefit analysis will be conducted before a rescue mission is executed."
"What does that mean for us?"
"It means …" Tom started. Ben could hear his own heart beating in his ears. "It means they may not come at all."
"And what are the chances of that?"
"Unknown."
"And what happens if, in five and a half months, no one shows up?"
"The probability of rescue falls to less than five percent."
Ben didn't need to hear any more to know what that meant. "I think we should try to head back."
"If the rescue mission passes us, we may not even know about it. They certainly won't."
Ben sniffed. "That's a risk we'll have to take, but I don't think I can sit here for nearly half a year knowing that it might all be for nothing. I want to do something."
"You always do," Tom said. He sounded resigned. "I shouldn't have expected anything less."
A small glimmer of hope sparked in Ben. It wasn't bright, and he felt almost guilty for feeling it, but he knew he needed to keep it alight if he had any hope of surviving this journey. Like him, and like the tug, it would be delicate—perhaps the most delicate of all.
"So where do we start?"
"Supplies," Tom said. "Among the equipment upgrades, the barge was delivering supplementary food supplies. These are the vitamins, minerals, proteins etcetera that keep you healthy and balanced. In their raw form they won't be particularly appetising, but they will keep you alive."
That last word made Ben's insides squirm. "You think they'll be intact?"
"They are stored in robust packing containers to avoid bacterial contamination. You will only need to secure one container to provide you with enough nutrition and hydration for the journey. The likelihood of at least a single container remaining undamaged is very high."
"Okay," Ben said. "Okay. Then we're onto something."
"You will not be able to store the contents inside the tug, however."
Ben looked over his shoulder. In contrast to the never ending blackness of space that could still be seen through the open hatch, the area inside the tug was very, very small. Certainly too small to store five and a half months' food.
In anticipation of Ben's next question, Tom said, "You will need to rig a netting system to the back of the tug, connected to the fixing points. We can drag the container along with us."
It occurred to Ben that, at present, he was in a space suit and the tug had no air in it. "How would that work?"
"You would be required to perform occasional spacewalks to top up your supplies."
Ben nodded, confirming this madness to himself with a calmness that surprised him. He touched his side, still feeling sore. "What can we use as a net?"
"Rigging nets are used on the barge to secure cargo. You should be able to recover one of those."
Exhaustion washed over Ben, rendering his limbs double their usual weight. "Okay," he said. "Let's head over to the barge before I can't move anymore."
Tom guided Ben to the location of the barge, half of which was lodged into a sizable fragment of the station, the other half free and drifting towards Jupiter. The space between the two halves was peppered with debris.
With the free half moving too quickly away from them, they investigated the half restrained by the station. As with the tower, Ben—secured to the tug by the safety line—jumped into the exposed carcass of the barge. There were no separate decks; it was quite simply a hollow shell, with items secured in rows and columns with the nets Tom had spoken about.
"Towards the bottom left, marked with the yellow stripes, are the nutrition containers."
"I see them," Ben said. He clambered across the netting like a monkey, hand over hand, heading for the containers.
"You should see much smaller nets used frequently between the larger ones. Secure a few of those as well."
Only big enough to secure a few items, the smaller nets were dotted about between the larger ones as Tom had said. Ben gathered some together and latched them to his suit.
A bright orange light caught his attention; he shielded his eyes to see the other half of the barge skirting the edge of Jupiter's atmosphere, flames licking at its glowing surfaces. It made his heart skip a beat to think how close he had been to that edge his entire life.
"I'm at the containers," he said. The flames grew into a ball that enveloped the glowing half of the barge.
"Pick a container that is easy to a
ccess, then unclip the netting from the barge and secure it to the container so it doesn't come free."
The container closest to the edge looked best. Ben unhooked the larger net enveloping it from the barge hull and fastened the latches together, completely surrounding the container with the net. He struggled with the last clip, his safety line pulling taught against him.
"Is the tug getting further away? My line is tight."
"I am detecting drift influenced by the gravitational pull of Jupiter, however there should be enough slack on your safety line."
Ben felt the cord pulling even tighter, making it hard to hold on to the netting.
"There's definitely something wrong," he said, looking around. Then he saw it—part of the safety cable had become looped around a column further up where he'd landed on the barge. It pulled even harder at him, and he had to move away from the container to allow some slack, which started disappearing quickly.
"The line is tangled. I can't get back to free it quickly enough. I'll have to disconnect it."
"Ben, I do not advise—"
The cable yanked at Ben, almost ripping him off of the netting completely. He scrambled closer to the column, giving himself some more slack. There was no time to lose; as he unclipped the line from his suit, he felt a groan through his body as the barge fragment shifted. The line whipped from his hands, tearing away at such a speed that it ripped through some netting further up, scattering contents free.
"Is my suit okay?" Ben breathed, looking at the palm he had just been holding the latch in.
"Pressure readings are nominal. I advise you return to the tug."
"How long do we have before this whole station tips into Jupiter's atmosphere?"
"Twenty-eight minutes."
"Then we need to get these supplies and get going. I'm going back to the container."
A pause. "Okay."
Very aware that his lifeline was now gone, Ben edged back along the netting to the container he had originally picked out. He made sure to loop his limbs around the netting, moving one point of contact at a time. It took a lot longer to make progress, but his already maxed-out adrenal gland wouldn't let him proceed any faster.
"I'm here," he said. He was surprised to hear that he was out of breath, until he realised how tense his body was. "What now?"
"Now you need to get yourself in between that container and the next so you can push it free of the barge. Aim for the tug. It only needs a little speed—too much and you will not be able to slow it. Without your safety line, you cannot make any mistakes."
As if Ben needed reminding. He wedged himself between the containers, taking a last look at where the tug was before it was obscured from view. With his feet on the next container along and his hands pressing against the one he wanted to free, he pushed hard.
At first, it seemed as though nothing was happening. Then, a millimetre of movement. A centimetre. The container was accelerating. Despite the pain pooling down his side, Ben gave it everything he had.
"Not too fast," Tom reminded him.
Once the container was moving at a slow walking pace, Ben stopped pushing, and hung on to the netting as it drew him slowly out of the barge. He poked his head out from the side of the container and was relieved to see that he was heading directly for the tug, which was trailing the loose lifeline.
"Your trajectory is good," Tom said.
In that moment of rest, it occurred to Ben what might happen if the trajectory was wrong. He'd been so shaken up by the safety line ripping free that he'd sent the container the way of the tug without much thought at all. If he missed … then what? How would he get back to the tug? His throat became dry at the thought.
"How are we looking?" he asked Tom, his voice sounding unusually high-pitched.
"Trajectory is still good," Tom said. "Speed is marginally high. You will impact in approximately fifty-one seconds."
Impact?
"And what do I do then?"
"You will need to secure the container. As the container meets the tug, connect the netting clips to the handholds around the rear of the tug. There are multiple. You should be able to see them on approach. This will arrest the container for towing."
Tom was making it all sound too easy.
"And what if I don't get it clipped on?"
"In the instance that you fail to clip the netting to the tug, you must ensure that you are free of the netting and secured to the tug, or—"
"Or I'll be dragged off into space without hope of returning …"
"Incorrect," Tom said. "You will most likely be pulled into Jupiter's atmosphere and burn up."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
The tug drew closer, and Ben could see that he was still on target. He could also see that he was going faster than he thought. A gentle walking pace was what he'd hoped for, but this seemed more of a run. Securing the container to the tug would be tricky; he would only get one shot at it.
"How long until we all fall into Jupiter?" he asked.
"Sixteen minutes."
"Is that enough time to get another container?"
Tom paused. "It is possible, although not recommended."
"What are my chances of getting this container hooked up at this speed?"
"Forty-two percent."
Ben wished he hadn't asked. He was now close enough to the tug to make out the handholds Tom had mentioned. They were plentiful, spaced about a metre apart from each other, but that did nothing to stop the lump in Ben's throat from growing. He looked back at the barge embedded in the station, lifelessly floating to its final resting place. He had no intention of meeting the same fate.
"Okay …" he said to himself as the tug approached quickly. Unfastening a clip from the ball of netting, he released enough slack to give himself some flexibility. With the clip held in both hands, open and ready, he took a deep breath.
The impact was hard. It shook his vision, disorientating him. For a split second the only sense he had was feel, and he snatched out to grab onto a handhold. His fingertips felt only the unfamiliar, and he swung blindly with the clip in the hope of grappling something with it. The netting wrapped around his flailing legs, trapping one, and the momentum of the container pulled him hard along the outside of the tug.
All he could see was the blur of its surface, moving too quickly to make out clearly, and he knew very soon it would give way to nothing. A stripe of silver flashed by and he grabbed at it with the hook. The deceleration of the container was immediate, happening so fast he didn't have time to realise what was happening, and it flung him free of the tug, arms paddling at nothing, stars streaking in front of him. He screamed.
"Ben!" Tom said.
A tug at Ben's foot made him look down; his leg was still tangled in the netting of the container, towing him along. He could feel a cold darkness overwhelming him, his vision drawing into long tunnels.
"Ben!" Tom said again. "Grab hold of the netting!"
Ben couldn't move. He didn't dare to move. His body was rigid. It didn’t even feel like his body any more. Ben was simply looking down at this scene, helpless.
"Grab hold!" Tom repeated.
Ben shut his eyes.
"I can't …" he whispered. "If … if I move …"
He couldn't say any more. Opening his eyes, the tunnels had drawn his vision to pinpricks.
"Slowly reach down and grab hold of the netting," Tom told him. "You can do it."
A high-pitched noise was building in Ben's ears. It was that sound that stopped him moving, and as it got louder, his ability to even twitch became harder and harder. He couldn't just hear it, he could feel it. He was succumbing to it.
"Ben!" Tom shouted.
It was as though Ben had just woken up. The noise was gone. Empty silence was all that was left. He looked down at his leg again, saw the netting wrapped around his foot. It was loose, and seemed to be loosening further. If he did nothing, he would surely die.
He was bending down t
o reach for the net before he understood what he was even doing. Still a passenger in his own body, he watched as his movement loosened the netting further, slipped it down to his foot. His arms looked so short, the distance they needed to travel so long. They weren't going to make it. He wasn't going to make it. The netting slipped from his foot completely.
Chapter 13
The feeling of the netting against his fingers was like a rush of ice water through his body, sending him gasping like he'd not breathed in minutes. He drew himself into the container and held on so tight he thought he'd never be able to let go again.
"Are you okay?" Tom asked.
Ben nodded. "I'm okay."
Once Ben had calmed down, Tom guided him to secure the container to the tug properly. Ben also took the opportunity to gather a week's worth of supplies in one of the smaller nets to keep inside the tug. With the tug then safely piloted away from Jupiter's pull, he sealed the hatch, recompressed the cabin and removed the suit. It felt weird not to be wearing it anymore. The first breath in the cabin was a nervous one.
He watched the last remnants of the station tip into Jupiter's atmosphere. It was beautiful in a way, but tragic. All those people he'd never see again. Everything he'd ever known, consumed in the orange glow of fire. Jupiter swallowed years of memories up like they were nothing, and then they were gone.
"I'm tired," he said to Tom.
"I understand," Tom said back.
Ben spent the first night on the tug right there in a high Jupiter orbit. He felt hungry, but couldn't face eating, so he curled up in the corner and tried to sleep. The air was temperate enough and he was very tired, so he fell unconscious almost immediately, but distant dreams of suffocating kept jerking him awake, so he put the space suit back on again and sealed it up. Once he did, despite the dull pain in his side, he slept like a stone.
He awoke early, though he had no idea what the time was. The tug hummed softly. Despite knowing where he was, he somehow felt peaceful.
"Good morning, Ben," Tom said as Ben removed the suit and stretched. The floor was pretty hard and had left his back and limbs stiff. He checked his side and saw a dirty purple and orange bruise forming nicely on his skin.
Suddenly Astronaut Page 10
