from the probe and the probe continued under its own power. It would take ten days to reach its destination.
Still too far away for any sort of two-way communication, Winters continued Cathcart’s search of the EM bands for any trace of Research Station Howard. Near the end of his shift he paged the commander to give his report.
“Dead,” said Winters. “There is absolutely no evidence of any transmission or radiation from Howard.” Winters adjusted his position in his chair. He looked uncomfortable. “I can’t even hear reactor noise on the two-meter dish. If I weren’t sure of the nav computer, I’d swear we were in the wrong system.”
Parker was obviously incredulous. “Even if the core went nova, there’d be EM noise. There’s nothing at all?”
“That’s right,” said Winters. “It doesn’t make the least bit of sense, but that station is completely dead to EM radiation. It’s dark. We won’t have it in visual range until the probe gets closer in a few days. I do think we can eliminate the hostile response scenarios. If the station had been boarded, it would be emitting. There’s nobody home, period.”
“We’ve got time to discuss it yet. I’ll bring it up with Cathcart on our next overlap.” Parker dismissed Winters with a gesture. The (very slightly) junior officer left the room, grateful for once that his commander had completed his professional education twelve days before him and had thus been commissioned that many days earlier. The two weeks he’d spent playing on the beach towards the end of his last year seemed more worthwhile now. Certainly they’d been memorable, even if they had delayed his graduation.
As the probe closed the range to Station Howard, the three ensigns worked double shifts, discussed the possibilities that they faced, and prepared to meet them as best they could. The probe drew within visual range midway through the ninth day after launch. It became apparent that something quite out of the ordinary had happened to Howard.
Winters and Cathcart were on watch. Parker was due to relieve Winters in thirty minutes. Winters gave his report, “It’s still dark, even in infrared. The entire station is the same temperature as the bits of debris in the same general area.”
“What’s that discoloration on the skin of the habitat?” asked Cathcart.
“Spectrograph says it’s titanium alloy, but crystallized. That only happens under enormous stress or over millennia-long time frames.” Winters was fidgeting again. “Pressure enough to do that would have crushed the hab modules and Howard’s only been in place for three years.”
Uncertainty made Winters nervous. Cathcart made a mental note to invite him to the squadron’s Tuesday night poker game when they returned to TSFHQ.
“Parker wants confirmation that it’s not occupied by a hostile force before dumping the last of our velocity. I’ll report that confirmation to him unless you have any objection,” said Cathcart.
“No, that place is completely dead. I don’t know how, but it is.”
Half an hour later Ensign Parker directed the nav computer to plot a course, assuming a steady apparent 10 m/s2 deceleration, to a point half a klick from the dead research station. The crew returned to their normal watch hours and settled in for the three weeks that trip would take.
During their leisurely approach, the only new data discovered about Howard were that its stationkeeping and orientation systems were offline, and the gaskets and seals accessible to the probe’s sensors were degraded to the point of being useless. The station was in a very slow tumble, rotating along its long axis just less than once per day and along its transverse axis just over once in three days. Virtually all of the volatile material that kept the gaskets and seals supple had outgassed. All that remained was sure to be brittle, dry and crumbling. By inference, the young officers had decided that there was not likely to be any atmosphere inside Howard. This was confirmed by a chance view through two opposing portholes by the probe’s spectrometer. No measurable air. Just clearsteel ports, biological residue, and vacuum.
When Kestrel was nine days away from rendezvous with Station Howard, Parker launched a high-speed message probe with a dump of the ship’s log, copies of all of the data about the station and a summary of their plans up to the rendezvous. He advised TSFHQ that Research Station Howard appeared to be uninhabited and was mechanically and electrically dead. He requested instructions. The probe would make the journey back to TSFHQ local space in three days and broadcast its data—because it did not have to physically dock, it was a reasonably fast way to move information. Nine days gave TSFHQ three days to process the data and compose orders and a return probe three days to deliver them. Strictly SOP.
The return message probe crossed into local space broadcasting general news updates, personal messages for the crew (Ensign Cathcart was an uncle, again) and guidelines (carefully not couched as orders) for the investigation of the fate of Research Station Howard, should the crew of the Kestrel volunteer to do so. Three utterly bored young male officers faced with a mystery. Of course they would volunteer. And of course TSFHQ knew that, but there was always risk in EVA, none of them were specialists in it, and TSFHQ thought it best to officially sanction what they knew was unavoidable, hence the guidelines. If they were going to go explore that dead station, in other words, would they please at least pay attention to the attached list of priorities for salvage?
It was suggested that they make polyspectrum recordings of any EVA and any foray into Howard. If possible, they were to copy any computer files they could access and document any they could not access. Beyond that they were to dispose of the remains of any of the staff or crew with appropriate dignity and ceremony and return any of their personal effects to TSFHQ for distribution to survivors or heirs. Other than that, they had wide latitude and were allowed thirty days on-site to complete their investigation. The time limit was more about the capacity of Kestrel’s food locker than anything else. Much beyond a thirty-day window and the crew would be eating iron rations, and nobody wanted that.
The ensigns met over the evening meal to discuss their situation and make preliminary plans to board Howard.
“The biggest problem I see is the lack of power,” said Cathcart. “That thing is dead, completely cold. We can’t even cycle the hatches other than manually.”
“I’m concerned about the structural integrity of the station,” said Winters. “That crystallization of the skin alloys has parallels in the framing members as well. I’ve never heard of metal fatigue like this in the course of only three years.”
“I think we can avoid any problems if we leave the stationkeeping and environmental systems offline,” said Parker. “The tumble is negligible and we don’t need atmosphere, we can just stay in our suits while we’re there.” Parker turned to Cathcart. “Any ideas on how to get power on? From here the reactor looks cold.”
“They’ve got a gravitic reactor with two pseudo-singularities in micro-orbit around a third. Or they did. I don’t get any of the readings that I would if there was a moving singularity anywhere on Station Howard.” Cathcart had obviously thought this out. “We have two class IX probes, those long range ones developed just last year. Each has a six-kilowatt micro-reactor in it. We could pull one of them out and plug it into the station’s grid. We only need power for lights, doors and computer systems. If we don’t turn everything on at the same time, it should be enough.”
“How long to prep the reactor to get it ready for transport?” asked Parker.
“Um,” Cathcart was stalling. “It’s ready now.”
“Pardon? How did you manage that?”
“As it happens, I spent the last week dismantling one of those probes to service the thing and I haven’t put it back together yet.” Cathcart grinned. Anticipating his commander’s needs was a game he played well.
“Approaching docking hatch.” Winters’ voice was calm and steady. Ensign Parker could see him and Cathcart as tiny yellow motes against the deep red of the habitat module half a kilometer away. Though Winters was six days junior to Cathcart, he was nominally in com
mand of the salvage team. Cathcart was there to provide engineering support, mostly in the form of getting jury-rigged power to some of the dead station’s systems. “Contact with Howard.” Winters clipped a line to the safety bar near the docking port and turned to watch Cathcart’s approach.
Cathcart was shepherding the reactor module they planned to use for power along with a tool bag and a twenty-five meter length of cable fitted with what he hoped were the correct interface adapters on either end. He tied off his load and pulled an irregularly shaped short metal bar from the tool bag, inserted it into the narrow gap between the two sliding panels that made up the docking port hatch and rocked his body back and forth against it a few times. The hatch opened a few centimeters. He put the metal bar back and took out an odd-looking power tool that had two prongs nested together at one end. He stuck the prongs into the gap, pressed the button to activate the tool and the two prongs scissored apart, opening the hatch completely. He reset the tool and returned it to the bag, and while Winters entered the station, Cathcart untethered his cargo from the safety bar and pushed it through the port.
“We’re in,” said Winters. “Any loss of signal?”
“Negative. Five by here,” replied
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