An arm threw itself forward, seemingly of its own accord, creating enough force to pivot her slowly in a circle, back towards the beckoning hatch. That same arm could stop her with a touch, and then pull her back inside. She kept staring at the gloved fingers, waiting for all the arguments pro and con to marshal themselves inside her head, as though decisions there were made in a kind of psychic parliament, through rational debate and an orderly vote.
And in the time it took her to consider all that, and have a sad, self-mocking laugh at the absurdity of it all, she swung back ’round full circle the way she was originally going. And just as reflexively, found her other hand pulling the firing trigger of her thruster.
The actual approach turned out to be something of an anticlimax, or so she felt—Sallinger couldn’t stop his heart from pounding as he watched, his own MedStats causing Tscadi more concern than Nicole’s—the station’s spin was comparatively slow and still more or less regular. She came in broadside to the hub, using a grappling gun to snag a solid hold and reel her in the last stretch. Once she made contact, the major thing was to keep her eyes fixed on the hull before her; without any external referents to add to the discomfort, it was easier to cope with the rotation. She crabbed her way partially around, then a fair distance along the hub until she came at last to a station airlock. To her delight, the conduits were still carrying power and it slid open at a touch of the command plate. Far too easily in fact, for a station that had supposedly been derelict most of her lifetime.
She had to pressurize the lock before continuing, which meant at least this element of the station was maintaining its environment. Her external receptors confirmed what her eyes read from all the flashing telltales once she was inside: that happy state wouldn’t last much longer. Deep, anguished groans rippled the length of the hub cylinder, in time to a perceptible shimmy in the fabric of the hull. A crash to one side made her jump, as a cabinet—twisted too far out of position to hold anymore—exploded off its brackets, contents caroming off the opposite wall along every ballistically reflective trajectory calculable.
“Sundowner-Prime, do you copy?” she called.
“Raj, Remote,” came Sallinger’s welcome, immediate response.
“Sorry about this, but I’m lost. I figure my best bet’s to check the plane itself, only I don’t know which way to go.”
“Which way you facing.”
“Uhhh,” disconcerting, to have to think about that. “Back to the hull wall I entered through, that of any use?”
“Affirmative. Relative vector zero-niner-zero, and a range of eighty-three meters.”
“Oh, joy.”
“That a problem?”
“Well, bits are shaking loose on the premises, makes for a lively stroll. Also, I suspect internal integrity ain’t what it used to be. Wish I had a camera.”
“Concur about station status, we’re already marking atmosphere leaks. Say again, that last?”
“For something that’s been abandoned twenty years, this hulk looks awfully good.”
“Tidy ghosts, perhaps?”
“You’ve heard those stories, too?”
“Everyone who flies this way does, one time or other.”
“Anybody ever check it out?”
“Believe so. Nothing ever came of it, that much I know.”
“I wonder... ”
“What?”
“Probably my paranoid imagination.”
“What?”
“There’s a fairly extensive antenna array. And its orbit keeps it pretty far removed from Sutherland.”
“When Sutherland went up, Patriot was still active and military. The Pentagon didn’t like the idea of anyone looking over their shoulders. The antagonistic track was at their insistence.”
“So if there weren’t ghosts at all but a live crew, who would really know?”
“Lieutenant, the place can be seen from the ground.”
She yelped, as much in startlement as anything else, as another component came tumbling by, arms and treads scrabbling futilely for a hold as it bounced from surface to surface.
“How about housekeeping remotes?” she asked.
“If you see ’em, I guess they must be so, but to what end?”
“Relay ComStation? A way of passing messages back and forth without anyone knowing, much less eavesdropping. Tight-beam links to Patriot, held for a summons from the ground, and vice versa.”
“Feasible.”
“I wonder if this is how the Wolfpack got its marching orders? And passed news down again?”
“I hate to be a nudge, but you have more important concerns.”
“I can see the boundary ’lock, I’m almost there.”
There was gravity here, at the periphery of the spin, and she had to strain to lift the hatch, at the same time staying alert for any stray chunks of debris that decided to tumble her way. She couldn’t latch it open, with the station’s internal pressure dropping it would never release the locks on the outer door. The best bet was to push it as high as she could, then drop through the hatch and let it crash down behind her. She fell slower than she wanted and it far faster than expected, the door clipped her helmet and bounced her hard off the other wall, prompting a fair share of cries and curses and a fast, frantic check of her stats to determine the suit’s integrity. It seemed to have held up better than she herself; from the soreness on her shoulders, she knew there’d be some spectacular bruises where the helmet’s seal ring was hammered into her flesh, a fair price she decided compared to the alternative of a broken shoulder or collarbone.
She heaved the locking bar into place, grimly realizing she’d never get the door open again, even with power assist, then turned to the one at her feet. That was another effort, and this time she locked it open.
She was feeling hot and a bit light-headed, so much so she lost her balance reaching for the access port on the spaceplane’s hatch and toppled in slow-motion right onto her face, lying upside down, tucked in a corner, laughing herself silly at the absurdity of the moment and giving serious consideration to staying where she was for a good, long, terribly well-deserved nap.
She shook her head, repeated the gesture as violently as she could manage, then scrabbled ineffectually at the locking lugs of her helmet, managing to snag one, then at last the other, pulling them both open and twisting off the helmet.
The air was thin and chill but infinitely better than the poison she’d been swallowing inside her suit, and in a minute or so she could feel her head begin to clear, aside from what threatened to be a jackhammer of an ache, spiking right across her temples. She wore a status display on her left forearm, a look confirmed what she already knew, that somewhere along the way her backpack had taken a major hit that cracked the regulator. Instead of providing clean air, she was getting a dangerously skewed mixture. Another look, at the offending piece of equipment, told her she wasn’t going to fix it, either. Which left her baby bottle. Which held, max, a half hour. Less with exertion.
She plugged it into her umbilical, but didn’t turn it on, as she took a deep breath—noting that even with the hatch supposedly sealed the compartment was losing air—and once more locked her helmet into place. She’d lost her aerials, too, putting her out of touch with Sallinger.
Nothing for it, she told herself, but to push on. And pounded on the spaceplane’s hull before thumbing the access plate. The hatch obligingly cycled wide, sealing itself gently and automatically behind her as she descended inside. The wall-mounted telltales told her there was good air and she cracked her helmet as the inner door was opened manually by Grace Kinsella.
Nicole offered a salute, which wasn’t acknowledged much less returned as the older woman turned back to the cabin and announced, “The cavalry’s here.”
At least she’s in a suit, Nicole thought, stepping over the threshold and letting herself slide slowly along the cabin floor until she could brace herself on the hull wall below. As was Manuel Cobri, she saw when she came to rest.
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“Good to see you, Ms. Shea,” he said with more good cheer than most under similar circumstances. And she thought he’d probably have done well on the Titanic.
“Time to go,” she told them both flatly.
“We can’t disengage,” Kinsella replied in the same tone, “all our systems are down.”
“My son was very thorough.”
“Like father, sir... ” and got a sharp look in return and an internal reminder to leave well enough alone, the ice beneath her feet was thin enough already.
“Patriot’s in a runaway spin,” Nicole told them.
“What do you think, Shea,” Kinsella snapped, “we’re completely dim in here? We know that!”
“The torque’s growing more extreme with every rotation; the longer we delay here, the greater the likelihood of the station coming apart on top of us. Add to that the fact that Alex is skating around in a modified Jeep gunship, with the Hal shuttle too tempting and easy a target to miss.”
“What’s your point, Lieutenant?”
“You’ve both got suits and portable bottles. We crack an outboard hatch and go walkabout.” Kinsella was shaking her head. “The three of us on a tether,” Nicole hurried on, trying to keep her voice calm even as her words picked up speed in time to the ever more vehement shakes of Kinsella’s head, “pulled by my thruster. We get free, we stabilize, we make the crossing to the Hybrid.”
“You’re insane.”
“I assume, Colonel, you have an alternative?”
“You said it yourself, the station’s coming apart. When the docking module tears free, let the shuttle come to us. Our hull’s solid, we have air.”
“You could find yourselves dumped straight down into the atmosphere, Colonel,” Nicole said incredulously. “And there’s no guarantee your precious integrity will be maintained. I’d say pretty much the opposite. Yes, there’s a risk following my lead, but I think it offers a better chance than staying put.”
“In your experience, Lieutenant,” Kinsella put a vicious twist to every word.
“Sarcasm notwithstanding, Colonel,” she replied in a disconcertingly level voice, “yes. You’re a visitor here, Colonel, a comparative short-timer. Compared to most I know on the Frontier, so am I. But that doesn’t include you. Here and now, ma’am, I’m the best you’ve got. You don’t want to listen, that’s your privilege. Me, I’m outta here.”
“The hell you say. You can’t crack one of the emergency hatches without putting us all at risk.”
“What’s your problem, Colonel?” And even as Nicole spoke, the answer came as clear as sunlight between them, in the set to Kinsella’s jaw and the unnatural tension along legs and body, as though she were trying to plant herself as deeply and securely as any ancient oak. She’s scared, Nicole thought, amazed because she hadn’t thought Kinsella capable of such an emotion, and even more amazed because she wasn’t really surprised. Good in the simulator, she continued to herself, possibly even good on the line—but only in those aspects that are most closely related to the life she knew, to flying a plane. The rest, though, that’s totally beyond her.
“Colonel,” Cobri said softly, “I must agree with the Lieutenant. This is a superb vehicle but I, as well as anyone, know its limitations. To stay here is to die here. If it is my time, I would rather face it actively fighting for my life.”
“You trust her judgment more than mine,” Kinsella snarled bitterly.
“She belongs here.”
“And I don’t.”
The plane shuddered around them as a hollow boom echoed from far along the station superstructure.
“Maybe we got lucky,” Nicole said hurriedly, “maybe what just broke loose is heading off the other direction.” Please, she prayed, not towards the shuttle. “If not, in maybe a minute or so, all our arguments are going to be moot. If so, let’s not push that luck any further. I’m not here to score points, Colonel, just bring you both home.”
“You two go,” Kinsella began, “I’ll... ”
And Nicole hammered her in the face.
It wasn’t the neatest of punches. She’d been slipping closer throughout their exchange, carefully planting feet, setting her body, to give her maximum force with minimum cause to alarm her target. Once along the way, she’d caught Cobri’s eye and seen he knew full well what she was about, and he was quick enough to pull Kinsella’s attention to him, giving Nicole an extra moment. Her hand hurt like blazes—though probably no less than Kinsella’s jaw (no mean feat, tucking the punch in over the helmet ring with enough force to cold cock her first time)—and there would be a glorious bruise come morning, they should all live so long. Felt good, though. As far as Nicole was concerned, the Colonel had it coming.
“How shall we proceed, Lieutenant?” Cobri asked.
Firstly, Nicole checked their air, hers included, making certain the bottles were full, their junctions and hoses in good working order. Next came the helmets, locked with visors open, to buy them as much free time as possible. Once they went on the bottles, the clock was counting down. Then, the tether, a double line binding Kinsella to Cobri and the pair of them to her.
“Interesting,” Cobri noted, as casually as he would the weather.
“What?”
“Colonel Kinsella and I are securely bound, yet the line that connects us to you is fastened with a quick release buckle.”
“There could be a situation where I’ll need room to maneuver. I don’t know how long Grace’ll be out and if she wakes while we’re in transit, she could panic.”
“What is wrong with her?”
“Happens sometimes. You can deal with the environment until you have to step outside. Ready to go?”
“No.”
Something in his tone brought her up to her full height, facing him at double arm’s length along the plushly appointed cabin, designer corporate in elements of sleek, understated power.
“Perhaps it is my turn to be paranoid, but I cannot help wondering if your ‘room to maneuver’ carries a hidden meaning.”
“Such as?”
“You have been exceptionally curious about aspects of my private life.”
“I could say the same about your family.”
“I have done you no harm, Lieutenant.”
“In that, sir, you couldn’t be more wrong. But I’m not goings to argue about it now, we haven’t the time, and quite frankly I haven’t the interest. I’m here to get you and Grace home. Safe, sir. And if you don’t believe that, then you haven’t a clue about what living up here is all about.”
“My apologies.”
“Save ’em, sir. Talk is cheap. I’m going to bleed the atmosphere before blowing the hatch; that’ll minimize any effect of an explosive decompression. One more thing, my coms are out, so there’ll be no remote contact between us once we’re sealed. Watch me, follow my hand signals. If I need to explain anything, I’ll come close and touch helmets.”
“I’ve worked in space, Lieutenant. I know the drill.”
She closed Kinsella’s and Cobri’s visors, checking to make sure they were secure, opening the valve on their portable air bottles before repeating the procedure with herself. Her movements were sharp and tightly controlled but that had nothing to do with any innate proficiency, it was an extension of a fury that flash-flamed through her like burning magnesium, white-hot and all-consuming, filling her so full of energy it was all she could do not to haul off and punch her way through the wall. Cobri’s words had struck a nerve but the rage didn’t come from there, it was the realization that she was tempted. That she was alone and they were amateurs and the smallest mistake could end their lives. Indeed, they wouldn’t even know they were in trouble ’til they were dying. There’d be pointed fingers and blame in her direction, but nothing that could be proved. Her career would be ruined but there wasn’t that terribly much left of it anyway. All it required was a betrayal of everything she believed in.
And she was tempted.
She gave herself an extra
few seconds before firing the explosive bolts on the rear hatch, the ‘plane’s internal atmosphere so close to vacuum that there was hardly a stir as the few remaining scraps of air gusted outside, barely rippling some loose gear floating past. She clipped a tether of her own onto a fastener inside the hatch, then played out the line as she swung herself onto the outer hull. Initial response, a bad move, because the first thing she saw was the monstrous, glowing dinner plate of the Earth filling the sky before her as Patriot rolled through another rotation, her hands closing reflexively as tightly as possible on her rope, throat filling with the desperate, atavistic fear that if she let go, she’d be thrown straight out of the sky and all the way down to the ground. Then one extreme, absurd reaction gave way to another, and she whooped with manic delight, terror mixing with a wild-and-wooly excitement that gripped her just as fully at this best of all conceivable roller-coaster rides.
She’d have ridden all the way around had not a tap on the ankle brought her back to the mundane. Cobri’s helmet was poking up through the hatch, looking expectantly towards her for a cue. She motioned for him to hold her line, the centrifugal force of the spin immediately acting to pull the unconscious Kinsella straight out from the hatch, to its limit, Cobri wincing at the strain as he anchored himself with one hand and tried to take up some of Kinsella’s slack with the other.
Nicole touched helmets.
“Do we simply let go?” he asked.
“My hand thruster doesn’t have the power or the fuel to overcome our departure delta-V, and without my Coms, I can’t guarantee the Hybrid getting a decent fix on us. It’ll take some time, but the best route is back along the core to the axis of the spin, then kick off laterally, perpendicular to the line of flight.” Basically, the same way she came in.
“I thought you said this wreck is coming apart around us.” The sonofabitch, she thought in infuriated admiration, is grinning. He’s probably having the time of his bloody life!
“See for yourself.” The long spokes at their end of the stalk were already bending double, all the peripheral components—any add-ons that weren’t part of the primary hull—being stripped and scatter-blown into the station’s wake. And there were some ominous rips and gullies along the hub as well.
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