Junkyard Heroes

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “The fusion engines can use nitrogen,” Haydn said. “It would provide the extra fuel to compensate for the extra weight.”

  “Mass,” Anselm said doggedly.

  “Whatever.” Haydn grinned.

  Anselm looked around. “I need an AI….” he muttered and walked away.

  “I think that means you’ve given him something to think about,” Noa told Peter, who grinned.

  Haydn followed Anselm over to the terminal and pulled up a chair next to him. The two of them started talking, their voices low, the words fast.

  Noa saw very little of Anselm for the next three weeks. He spent most of the time with Institute people, building mathematical models, pulling in other experts for advice and data and meeting with the Captain and Magorian. Sometimes, Anselm took Haydn with him.

  Noa concentrated on completing the first of the pressure suits. Eventually, she reached a point where she had to make a decision about who the suits were for.

  “They must be tailored to an individual, if anyone is to do any serious work in them,” she pointed out to Magorian and Anselm, who met with her to discuss the decision. “The everyman prototype we built tests out perfectly. It just doesn’t have any of the internal bio systems a fully functional suit will need if we’re to stay outside for a full shift.”

  “It might surprise you to know that when the Endurance first left Terra, everyone did have their own pressure suit,” Magorian said. “It was a basic safety precaution that was lost somewhere back in time. Everyone had a suit and they were responsible for its basic maintenance. They were also responsible for knowing exactly where their suit was at all times.”

  “Why did that stop?” Anselm asked curiously.

  “I couldn’t find a formal reason for it,” Magorian said. “The translation program Cai built doesn’t always capture the nuances and life on the ship was very different then. I think the practice stopped because the next generations were born and raised on the ship. The idea of ‘outside’ and the need to go out there were forgotten.”

  “It seems like a sensible idea that everyone have a suit,” Anselm said. “The holings have taught us that we’re not invulnerable. The next decade will be high risk.”

  “Suits for everyone can be the end goal for the project, perhaps,” Magorian said. “Now that the scoop is being built, the drain on ship resources to build five thousand suits can be offset. I’ll put it to Captain Owens. In the meantime, Noa, you should have your team focus on building a suit for yourself and for Haydn.”

  She jumped. “You want me and Haydn to go outside?”

  “You would rather have someone else be the first?” Magorian asked curiously.

  “Anselm and Paderau are Institute directors. You…” She bit her lip. “I’m just a mechanic,” she pointed out.

  Anselm laughed.

  Magorian looked amused, too. “You left simple mechanical engineering behind a long time ago, Noa. You’ll need those skills, yet—you and your team will be replating the hull for the rest of your life. When you’re not hauling plasteel goofy sandwiches around outside, though, you will be directing the new Institute for External Engineering.”

  Noa stared at him. “Me?”

  “Or whoever you want to run the Institute,” Anselm said. “That’s a decision you will need to make. You will be responsible for building it.”

  “It will be a small organization,” Magorian warned her. “Tiny, compared to the Mechanical Engineering Institute. It will play a vital part in the Endurance’s longevity, though. The replating and suits for everyone…then training the next generation of hull experts, plus you’ll need to teach everyone on board how to care for and maintain their suits.”

  Noa cleared her throat. Her stomach was roiling again. “Two suits, then,” she said, trying to focus on the thing right in front of her instead of considering the vast, dizzying future.

  “For now,” Magorian warned her.

  * * * * *

  Noa found Haydn straight after the meeting and pulled him into a quiet corner.

  “They want you to go outside first. You and me.”

  Haydn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You did it,” he breathed and rested his head against hers for a moment.

  Noa let herself touch him. She slid her hand against his jaw. Her skin tingled at the heat of him. “I didn’t do anything. It was Magorian’s idea.”

  “Magorian doesn’t pull ideas out of a vacuum,” Haydn said. He straightened, which pulled her hand away from him. “Let’s get to work building the suits.”

  Three weeks later, they were ready for the first excursion outside the ship.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anselm handed Noa her helmet. “You should know,” he said, “that every non-essential feed on the ship will be focused on the two of you while you’re out there.” He tapped the helmet as she tucked it under her arm. “Your helmet lenses will record everything.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Haydn said dryly. He rolled his eyes. “Thank the stars I didn’t eat this morning.” He finished fastening the closures on his suit.

  Noa didn’t say anything. She hadn’t eaten either yet she still felt sick. Were they really going to do this?

  Anselm put his hand over the door controls. “Ready?”

  Noa nodded. It was a lie, but she couldn’t really say no, either. Because that would be another lie. There was a kernel of her mind just itching to see what it would be like out there, to feel true weightlessness and the silence of space.

  She looked at Haydn. His gaze met hers. He hadn’t said anything beyond the jest about not eating this morning, yet she knew he was more excited and terrified about the next hour than she was.

  “Helmets,” he said.

  Per the protocol they had established in the dry runs, they each took care of putting their own helmets on. They couldn’t rely on anyone else to help them because there might come a time when they had to put the helmet on by themselves because they were alone.

  The helmets had been designed with the help of a medic in the Esquiline who built elaborate head-dresses in her spare time. She had preserved as much of their natural field of vision as possible. All the controls and connections were at the back of the suit. The transparent plasteel face plate was curved to follow the shape of the human face, which prevented vision distortion.

  Noa sealed the helmet and heard the tiny hiss that said air was flowing into the helmet. She glanced at the control panel on her arm. All indicators were positive, glowing a pretty jade green color. “Set,” she said.

  “Set.” Haydn echoed her.

  “I hear you both just fine,” Lizette said, her voice soft but clear.

  “I’m heading back to the control board,” Anselm said. His voice was muffled. “Cai is standing by the airlock.” He smiled. “Have fun.”

  Noa drew in a shaky breath and let it out.

  Anselm opened the door to the little tool room next to the airlock. It had been a tool room for the Bridge staff for as long as anyone could remember. Cai had been the one to point out that the proximity to the ancient airlock meant the room had probably been a suit room all along, converted to a tool room by later generations.

  There were dozens of people crammed into the corridor leading to the airlock. Captain Owens and Magorian were by the airlock door itself. As Noa and Haydn walked toward them, most people reached out and let their hands brush over their suits, a silent “good luck”.

  Peter handed Haydn the toolkit they would need to patch the first hole. There were eight holes on the ship now. They would only fix the one hole this time. “It will be taxing enough in terms of stress just doing the one,” Anselm had said.

  “Everyone on the ship needs to see them fix even one hole,” Magorian said. “It will confirm that the project is a success.”

  Haydn gripped the toolkit by the big handle. “Thanks,” he told Peter, who nodded.

  Cai touched the controls and the inner doors of the airlock opened. “It’ll be
a tight fit for both of you,” he pointed out. “Snuggle up.” He winked at Noa.

  They eased into the tiny airlock. They had chosen to use this one instead of the big cargo lock at the back end of the ship, because this one was closer to the hole they had decided to patch first.

  “It also wastes less environment,” Haydn had pointed out, with a glance at Anselm. “Another good reason for the scoop.”

  Anselm sighed and said nothing.

  Haydn put the toolkit between them and clipped its tether to his belt. “Ready.”

  The inner door closed.

  “Cycling now,” Cai told them, his voice in their headsets.

  The hissing started off loud and grew softer, then stopped.

  “Opening the outer doors.”

  Noa reached out and grabbed Haydn’s thickly gloved hand in both of hers, as the door slid open. Her heart was throwing itself against her chest and she could hear it in her ears. It was drowning out everything.

  There was no explosive evacuation of air, because the air had all been sucked back into the ship first.

  Instead, there was just the view.

  “Oh…” Noa breathed.

  There were stars. They shone steadily, millions of them, like pale crystals Ségolène might have scattered over an inky black cloth.

  Haydn tugged on her hand. “Let’s see all of them.”

  They walked to the very edge of the door.

  For a moment, sheer terror gripped her. Noa swallowed, pummeling it back. “Let’s go fix that hole for everyone,” she said.

  Haydn let out a gusty breath. “Yeah. Good idea, boss.”

  She switched on the magnetic fields on her boots, then bent down in a low crouch at the bottom lip of the door and eased her foot out. She felt it connect with the hull just below the door, which bent her ankle in an odd way. She put the other boot out and it connected to.

  So she straightened up, letting the boots hold her.

  It was the same dizzy sensation of everything shifting she had experienced in the tank training area, when she had moved from zero gees to the mid-zone and the world had righted itself as gravity kicked in.

  Only this time, the gravity disappeared.

  She was standing on the hull and the outer door of the airlock was a square pit in the side of the ship she was standing on.

  Beyond the airlock, the ship stretched on and on. Three kilometers, she reminded herself. It looked a lot longer than that.

  “It’s so big,” she breathed.

  Haydn hauled himself over the lip of the airlock and got his feet under him and stood up. He pulled the tether, bringing the toolkit out of the lock. It floated next to him as he looked again.

  “It’s huge,” he said.

  The big torus of the Palatine was spinning in slow motion. It looked a lot faster inside the ship.

  “I can’t see the engines from here,” Haydn said. “The Palatine is hiding them.”

  “We will see them, one day,” Noa told him.

  He reached out and caught her arm. “Look up. Look around. Look at it all.”

  Noa pulled her gaze away from the monstrous hull of the ship and looked up at the wonderful stars once more. This time, though, no tiny air lock was limiting the view. She turned slowly, taking it all in. The red cloud, that they had determined was a far distant nebula, was not the only colorful spot in the firmament. There were others. Green, blue and white. And everywhere, there were stars. They hung, silent and majestic. Unmoving.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Noa breathed. All her terror was gone.

  “I had no idea….” Haydn said slowly.

  “About what?”

  “The size. I mean, I knew how vast it was. Only, I didn’t really know. Not in here.” He touched his gut with his hand. Inside his helmet, she could see him shake his head. “None of us knew. How could we?”

  “Guys, Anselm says to remind you that the hole needs to be patched,” Lizette said in their ears. She sounded apologetic. “You’re already at ten minutes and you’re using oxygen faster than you should.”

  “Adrenaline,” Haydn said. “No one can step out here for the first time and not go into shock. We’re going to have to allow for that in the future.”

  “Let’s find the hole,” Noa said. She oriented herself, putting her back to the airlock and looking down the long length of the ship. “It’s on the same side as the airlock, yet closer to the roof, which is actually the port side relative to where we’re standing.”

  “Over to the roof, then along until we see it,” Haydn said. “There’s enough light out here, we won’t need artificial ones until we’re working.”

  Noa lifted her foot, feeling the unaccustomed ache in her calf and her arch from having to break the magnetic hold with every step. That was something they would become used to, she guessed.

  She walked to the curve where the hull of the ship met the roof and stepped over it. It felt as if the ship was rolling under her, to bring the roof “up” to become her floor, while she stayed where she was.

  Then she paused, waiting for Haydn to catch up with her. “Three meters apart. We’ll come back up the same way if we miss it.”

  “Lizette,” Haydn said. “Note for next time. We can put beacons on the holes from the inside. That’ll make them easier to find when we’re out here.”

  “Noted,” Lizette said softly. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “It feels as though only three minutes have past,” Noa said, moving along the hull. She scanned the gray metal. “Lots of scrapes and scratches. It looks like the hull was colored, once, but most of that is gone. It’s just a dull silver now.”

  “Here it is,” Haydn called.

  She clomped over to his side. It wasn’t possible to run. She moved as fast as she could.

  The hole looked very small from the outside.

  Haydn switched on his arm light and played it over the hole. Noa could see her green cover at the bottom of the channel the meteor had created. The hole was as deep as her elbow. As the light moved around, she could see the various layers that made up the hull. The steel exterior, the thermo shell just beneath it, insulation, a hollow service layer for wiring. Another insulation layer, then the plasteel inner layer that had replaced the original steel lining, sometime in the past. All the layers had singed edges, for the meteor had punched through them at a velocity that generated ferocious heat when it met oxygen atmosphere.

  Noa crouched to examine the hole. “Okay. Light first. Then we fill.” She resisted the urge to get to her knees, because that would make her boots break contact with the hull. She stayed in the crouch as Hayden turned the toolkit over and opened it. He held out the lamp to her.

  She put it on the hull. The magnetic foot clicked into place. She switched it on. The sunlight emitter bathed the hole and the area around them with stark light. “The light works perfectly,” Noa said. “Someone tell Jardin that.”

  “I’m pretty sure he is listening,” Lizette said.

  Hayden pulled the gel injector out of the case. “Let’s see if Peter is as good a designer.” He pushed the toolkit out of the way and it floated off behind him. He crouched and pushed the nose of the injector deep into the hole. “Set. Go ahead,” he told Noa.

  She gripped the switch on the side and shifted it over to the open position.

  The injector shot a stream of goofy gel into the hole. The green cover disappeared.

  “Working,” Noa said. “How fast will it dry out here?”

  “It dries faster in higher temperatures,” Haydn said. “So we have time to back up and fill anything we miss.”

  “You’re doing fine,” Noa told him. “No bubbles, nice and solid.”

  The gel reached the top of the hole.

  Noa stood and hauled the toolkit toward her, using the tether. She took the plasteel goofy sandwich panel out of the kit and bent to put it in place over the hole. Haydn ran the injector around the edges, sealing it.

  Then they stood and examined the work.
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  “It’ll hold until the crews replate this area,” Haydn decided, putting the injector back in the toolkit.

  “Everyone agrees with you,” Lizette said. “Anselm is asking that you return now. Seven minutes left.”

  “Seven?” Noa shook her head. “Impossible.”

  “Check your chronometers,” Lizette said. Noa could hear that she was smiling.

  She glanced at the controls on her sleeve. “Bugger me,” she said softly.

  “The whole world just heard you swear,” Haydn reminded her.

  “Oh, crap, yeah.” She winced.

  Haydn rolled his eyes, only he was smiling. “Inspiring rhetoric for the masses,” he said.

  “Hey, I’m just a mechanic,” Noa protested.

  “Who was the first to walk outside the ship. Come on, hero. Let’s go home.” He held out his gloved hand.

  He held her hand all the way back to the airlock. At the edge of it, they both paused and looked up.

  “I could stay out here forever,” Haydn said. His tone was wistful.

  “We are out here forever,” she reminded him. “Space is always going to be out here and we’re always going to be in it. We just have a ship hull between us and the view, that’s all.”

  Haydn still hesitated.

  “Anselm says to remind you that you’re going to be spending the rest of your life out there anyway, so will you please hurry and get back inside?” Lizette said. “You’re at T plus three minutes, now.”

  They jumped into the airlock and felt the gravity grab their feet and put them on the floor. The world shifted again and the open airlock became the wall next to them instead of being the opening of a pit above them. The door shut with a solid thud and air hissed furiously.

  “Opening,” Cai said.

  The inner doors opened.

  Noa took her helmet off gratefully. It was incredibly light and flexible, yet it was still extra weight her head had to move about. Her neck ached.

  Haydn was taking his off, too, plus the neck dam.

  Beyond the airlock, it seemed that no one who had watched them exit the ship had left. In fact, there were even more people crammed into the narrow corridor and everyone was clapping and cheering and shouting.