Trajectory Book 1 (New Providence) Page 8

  “This is nuts.”

  Vanessa finished her checks and bolted her suit into its locker. It loomed over them like a headless, exploded humanoid, arms outstretched in the cold light of the equipment room. The helmet stowed away in its protective case at its side.

  “Here, let me help you.” She picked up a glove and the stray pieces from his toolbelt and gave them to Reggie.

  Reggie looked up at her, the snake tattooed on his shaved head and around his neck uncoiling. “This thing can’t possibly move out of an orbit like this, can it?”

  “Don’t know.” She snapped Reggie’s torso piece into its harness and it slid up on the rails with a bang. “I do know, I don’t want to be anywhere near it if it can.”

  Reggie locked the boots into the bindings of his locker. “That’s for sure.” He looked back at Vanessa who was crouched down again, gathering some more tools. She’d been working on getting these suits cleaned and fixed for the past two days and there were parts everywhere. “You still seein’ that girl? What’s her name?”

  “Delia. Yes.” She looked at him, her brown eyes narrowing. “That girl.”

  “Hey, was just wondering. Never hear you talkin’ about her, is all.” He scratched his head from his seat on the floor, a grin creeping over his face. “I figured if it was serious you wouldn’t shut up about her.”

  Vanessa smirked, picking up the stack of tools and carrying them to the drawer. “Just because I don’t talk about her ass all the time doesn’t mean it’s not serious.”

  Reggie grinned. “Since you mentioned it, how is her ass, anyway?”

  Vanessa tossed a glove at him, barely deflected before hitting him in the face. She made a fist pumping gesture in the air as she bent over towards him. “Here, use that. See ya later, Jack.” She turned and climbed up the ladder towards the galley.

  Reggie was still grinning as she climbed up, watching her go.

  024

  Calypso.

  “Engine’s running hot, Captain. Got an orange light in the core.” Carl was grinding his teeth. His jaw hurt.

  Captain Edson Franklin checked the board, watching the readouts climbing towards dangerous levels. The engine compartment glowed hot behind them on the aft camera. The shaky sensor pod mounted on the edge of the radiation shield gave them a grainy view of the engine module in a sea of noise.

  “Five minutes until reactor shut-down.” Edson announced over the intercom. Trigger was in his bunk. Carl sitting beside him in the co-pilot’s seat, his face and neck tight with the strain. They were holding one-point-five gees and none of them were used to it.

  “I should be lifting weights in this shit.” Carl said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re welcome to try it. I could probably find some lifting for you to do down in the cargo hold.”

  On their last pause they’d received the latest package from Lighthouse detailing the object’s new course. It had left Carl more than a little shaky. Ben said nothing during Edson’s walkthrough of Ortega’s explanation.

  “I knew it! It’s gotta be aliens!” Carl had exclaimed after Edson showed them the perfect S-curve course correction the bogey had made, retargeting itself towards them on their new plan.

  That was nearly an hour ago. Edson checked the clock on his console, the count-down to engine shut-off was running. “Thirty seconds until engine stop. Brace for zero gravity.” He waited, ticking off the seconds in his head until the ten second mark. He read the count-down aloud over the intercom until the engine wound down with a thump, leaving everyone weightless again.

  Something clattered around in the cabin below. Edson looked over at Carl. “You mind taking a look at that?”

  Carl was recovering from the shock of zero gravity and nodded at the captain, unbuckling himself. He looked annoyed, Edson thought. “It’s probably just something came loose in one of the drawers down there. But I’ll check it.”

  Edson watched Carl float to the hatch and down. When he had the cockpit to himself, Edson brought up the video from Watchtower again and ran through it, frame by frame. Was that dark object what they were running from? What was that second flash? He took a sip from the now cold bulb of tea he had beside his seat in its webbing. Grimaced at the bitter liquid. He loaded the plot of the object’s S-curve. It was impossibly perfect. None of their navigation systems could execute something like that. Even if they knew what kind of propulsion it was using. It gave him the chills.

  It was probably his turn to cook dinner. Might as well let the ship cool off for a couple of hours. He locked his console, tightened the controls down and slid them to the sides with a bang. He unhooked himself from his seat and floated up, the ribbon lighting strung along his console’s edges illuminating him from below as he floated to the ladder and grabbed a rung.

  “Up for some spaghetti, Trig?” He called as he passed Ben’s bunk.

  “You cookin’?”

  “Yep. My turn.”

  Ben’s big orange freckled head stuck out of the curtain of his bunk. “Sweet. Need any help?”

  From the galley, Edson answered back, “I can manage.” The clatter of pots and pans filled the ship as Edson got what he needed together.

  Carl joined him in the kitchen. “Was just a screwdriver made the racket, Skip.”

  “Figured as much.” The smell of oil and garlic heating on the stove filled most of the ship. Edson took a bag of chopped onions out of the fridge, carefully lifted the lid on the pan and with a deft flick tossed them inside. He pressed down with the lid pushing the contents into the hot oil lining the pan.

  “Yo, watch that oil, skip.” Ben backed up away from the heat.

  “You move fast for a big man.” Edson grinned and sauteed the onions and garlic, using the lid to rearrange the contents so they all fried evenly. “Get me that package of tomatoes, would you?” Edson filled up a sealed pot with water and put it on the back burner. The induction element started heating up the pot and the water inside.

  While they were waiting for the water to boil, Carl had an idea. “Y’know, I think I can rig up our feeder as a weapon.” He took a gulp of water. “Remember when we were talking about what could’ve happened to Pandora? Before we seen the video? Well, I been thinking about that feeder rig and pretty sure I can make it work.”

  Ben looked at him, floating idly by the entrance to the galley. “What for? You thinking we can just blow whatever this thing is up?”

  Edson pushed the packet of noodles into the pot’s hatch, closing it behind them. He opened the inner chamber and the bubbling water rushed up to fill the new space, the noodles roiling around.

  Carl got out some cutlery, stuck it onto the magnets around the table. “I dunno. I’d feel better having some kind of weapon against whatever that is. Y’know? Just in case.”

  Edson nodded. “That’s not a bad idea.” He tasted his tomato sauce and smiled.

  Ben looked at him, surprised. “Really, skip? How are we going to get a bomb into position? How do we direct the energy? Whole bunch of questions to work up for this to have even a chance at being useful.”

  Carl grinned. “You’re the mining engineer. You can help me with that.”

  Edson nodded, stirring their noodles via the crank in the pot’s lid. “That’s right. Best two men to work on this are right here. You can bring the feeder up after dinner. I’ll do the dishes.” He transferred the pot into the sink and attached the hose, drained it from its spigot, vacuum pulling the water down the drain to be reclaimed. He released the latch and pulled the sieve out of the pot, noodles steaming. Edson took a fork and teased out a noodle, slurping it up, testing it. His goatee taking a splash of hot water.

  Building a bomb that worked in space was not a simple proposition. Without an atmosphere providing shock, the blast just detonated outward from wherever the explosion came from. It needed to be focused.

  Edson was also interested in making sure his crew had something to work on. Carl was a good man – good pilot. But he could be unpred
ictable depending on his mood. He was at his best when he had something to work on.

  “Spaghetti’s ready.”

  025

  New Providence: Nicola Tesla University.

  Emma looked around the conference room table. “It has to be me. I found it.”

  Tamra coughed miserably in her seat. She was pretty sure she had a fever now and wanted nothing more than to go back to her room. “Well I can’t go. I’m sick. I have to go lie down.”

  Administrator Walter Brennan nodded to her, resisted an urge to cover his nose and mouth. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Franklin.”

  “I’ll check up on you later, Tam.” Greg gave her a concerned smile as she got her things together and stood up unsteadily to leave.

  Dr. Powell looked back and forth at Emma and Greg. The connection to the station had been terminated. With Tamra gone it was just the four of them.

  Greg looked at Emma. “I think it should be me.”

  Emma looked at him incredulously. “Seriously, Greg? I found this thing. How can you go? You bailed out on your suit test. How the hell are you going to make it through a shuttle flight to the station? Zero G?” She held his gaze.

  Greg looked down. “I don’t know. I can do it.” He looked up at her. “Your mom needs you. Tam needs you. If this shit goes sideways up there, your mom is gonna need you even more.”

  Emma grimaced. “Let’s not bring other people into this. Tamra could use your help now if she’s getting sick. Mom’s going to have to get used to me being in space eventually. Don’t give me that mother shit, it won’t play here.”

  Dr. Powell attempted to calm the room with his hands, instead appeared to be trying to levitate. “Students, please.”

  Administrator Brennan spoke up. “OK, you both want to go. I hear that loud and clear. Thank you Commander Mancuso for giving us this opportunity to exercise our decision-making abilities.” He exhaled, cast his eyes up for just a moment. “Let’s go over the facts.”

  He turned to Emma pointing his fingers from his clasped hands at her on the table. “Emma, you discovered the thing. Greg has been helping with the orbital calculations. Greg failed his suit test. Emma, you have family here in the colony. Greg has a sick girlfriend.” He looked back and forth at them. “Am I leaving anything out?”

  They both tried speaking up and Brennan spoke over them. “If you can’t handle this like professionals, neither of you will go!”

  Quiet.

  Brennan sighed. The two of them sat across from each other staring daggers into each other’s heads.

  “You’re going to force me to make an executive decision, aren’t you?” Brennan looked back and forth between them. “Powell, do you have any opinion?”

  Powell pulled on his moustache. “I don’t think any of them should go. They’re probably all carrying the flu virus.”

  Brennan sighed again. “The station’s been inoculated. They’re safer than we are on the ground.” More annoyed looks around the room. “Greg, when you flunked the suit test, what happened?”

  Greg grimaced and unclenched his jaw. “I had a panic attack, sir. Hyperventilated. It… It was my first time on the surface and everything looked… It was the sky. I just lost it.” He looked at his hands.

  “And how do you plan on overcoming this? If it happens again?”

  Greg bit his lip and looked over at Emma. She looked concerned now. “I… I just will. Trust the suit. The suit’s basically a contained environment. As long as I’m inside it, I’ll be ok.”

  “Maybe. Might also be easier said than done. No telling how you’ll deal with that in zero gravity.” Brennan looked at Emma. Her hands were folded on the table in front of her. Tightly. She was trying to contain herself.

  “Goddamnit, Mancuso. I’d send you both if I could, but I was told we had just one seat on that shuttle.” He shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Ms. Franklin, We’re going to need permission from your mother.”

  Emma beamed.

  *

  Greg slid the door open to his apartment and walked inside. He threw his pack onto the couch and kicked the coffee table into the wall sending a spike of pain through his foot.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  He limped around the room for a couple of laps then crashed into the couch raising his leg to his chest. He wondered if he broke his toe.

  Greg rolled around on the couch in a ball for a moment, eyes welling with tears. He barely remembered the walk home. He ran most of the way in a haze of self-loathing.

  “You really fucked yourself over, Greg.” There was no-one in the room. “Talking to yourself should help. You fucking idiot.”

  He rolled off the couch and onto the floor. He fumbled around for his pack and pulled his tablet out of it.

  Tam? U there?

  Silence.

  Greg stared at the screen on his tablet. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  He tapped again. Hey.

  Tam wrote back. Hey.

  I didn’t get it. Emma’s going.

  A pause. Then the typing indicator.

  Come over and make me some soup.

  Greg smiled despite himself. BRT.

  026

  Lighthouse.

  Bryce Nolan paced across the Command Deck. With Mancuso and the science team in the boardroom there wasn’t much for him to do except chew on the events of the last eight hours. They’d lost Pandora yesterday morning and then hadn’t heard a thing from the object. He’d thought that would be the end of it.

  And then it appeared.

  “There it is!” Wilkins, excited. Bryce called for Mancuso immediately as the science team scrambled to track the thing. The flashes kept on coming.

  The excitement on the Command Deck ratcheted up with each new flash. Mancuso and the rest of the science team walked onto the deck like a man possessed, eyes red, clutching his chest. Bryce wondered if he was having a heart attack when he started barking at him for an update.

  “The object’s back. Increased rate…” Was all he got out before Wilkins shouted excitedly.

  “Another one! And again! It’s increasing exponentially!”

  Even the shuttle docking crew crowded around the science station, jostling to get a look at the relay from Watchtower as the object streaked like a bullet across the asteroid belt.

  “It’s so fast!” Wilkins exclaimed. They all marvelled at it.

  That was two hours ago.

  Bryce walked over to the vacant science station and brought up the most-recent footage of the object. He ran it, stared at the graceful sinusoidal rhythm slicing a curve through space. Since then it had settled into a regular pattern, bursts every ten minutes or so.

  How could they hope to outrun a thing like that? What was he supposed to tell their ships?

  The science team emerged from the boardroom and approached him. “Mancuso’s gone to his quarters. Said he wasn’t feeling good,” Wilkins informed him before returning to his seat.

  “How’d that go?” Bryce asked Ortega.

  He shrugged and took his seat. Wiped the video off his screen dismissively and brought up the navigational screen. “Commander wants us to track this thing and get a course for it.”

  “Of course.”

  Wilkins nodded at him and sat down, wiping his eyes. He looked tired.

  Bryce paced over to Pradeep’s comm station and leaned on the console. “Hey Sunil. Do you have any signals coming from that thing?”

  “Nothing on radio that I can see. Just little pops of static every time that thing flashes.” He looked at a three-dimensional line graph of the past few hours. Spikes on the graph bulging about the Z-axis at decreasing intervals became a solid mass of noise around 10:33 before becoming distinct blips again shortly around 10:34. Pradeep turned back to his screen to look at it. “It’s just noise.”

  Ortega was watching this exchange and pulled in the comms data on his terminal to begin analyzing it.

  “Well, see if you can find a signal in there. Maybe the
re’s something.” Grasping for straws.

  Bryce patted him on the shoulder and walked back to the Commander’s chair. He could really use some guidance with this. He was out of his depth.

  027

  Calypso.

  “How’s that bomb coming, Trig?”. Captain Franklin radioed to the cargo pod slung beneath the hab module.

  Ben came back over the ship’s radio a minute later. “Good, skip. I think Carl’s got it rigged to blow.” He paused. “Bigger problem is propulsion. I think Carl and I are gonna need to steal the Pup. Suit thrusters just don’t have enough juice to move this thing very far out, and we’re gonna want to be a good distance away when it goes up.”

  Trigger inspected his work from inside the cargo module’s service bay. Lights from his suit helmet illuminating the dark block studded with tubing and electronics in front of him. The feeder was no longer really recognizable as the piece of mining equipment it was designed to be. The extraction tube had been redirected back onto the reactor module’s blocky core housing. They’d attached the radios and helmet camera from their spare suit to the top, mounted the thrusters from a suit harness and bottles of compressed gas for fuel to its sides. The material conduit that had been the back of the feeder had become the front of their bomb. Ben and Carl had cut the exhaust tubing and reinforced it with some spare thruster nozzles from the ship’s main engine.

  Carl looked at the monstrosity and shook his head inside his helmet. “No way this thing’ll work.”

  Trigger picked up some of the excess suit materials and bundled them up in his bag. “Oh, it’ll explode. When the feeder sends a line of plasma into the side of the reactor housing, it’ll blow up real good.” He picked up the suit’s thruster control module and started flicking switches. “We just need to make sure the controls work.” He was very careful to avoid the toggle switch labeled “Ch 8”. He had a piece of duct tape holding it down.

  Carl watched him handling the control box. “Careful ‘round that switch, Trig. We know what happens when you get excited around feeders.”