by Neely Dobbs
CHAPTER 12: Alliance
Vick had eaten most of his meal; the rest had long ago gone cold and lay congealed on the tray, pushed to the side of his desk. He shook his head angrily. I've run through everything twice, but I'm getting nowhere! He keyed his mike. “Juballe, Swight, and Walteer…to me, stat! Advise travel time.” Time! Just what we have had so little of!
Juballe and Swight indicated they could come immediately. However, Walteer was finishing a critical calculation and needed ten minutes.
Vick frowned, but his voice revealed only urgency. “OK, but step on it.”
Though solutions weren't coming quickly enough, the basic issues facing them were simple, clear, and well known to everyone trapped aboard the Wasp. Chadalmencondra, usually referred to as “Chad,” was the settled planet next nearest to the sun that warmed Kepren. Its entire populace had been evacuated, according to plan, years before it disappeared.
An artificial moon had been placed into orbit around Chad almost a century before, to provide the key relay capabilities for communications strictly within the Kepren solar system. The satellite was a hollowed-out spherical asteroid five miles in diameter and— because it buzzed the planet in a very close orbit, making a rapid transit every 64 minutes— it had earned the name “Wasp.” During several decades preceding Chad's disappearance, communications technology had been significantly enhanced and installation of state of the art equipment —both on the inside and on the outer surface of the Wasp— had ultimately grown to become massive and complex. With its central location and cutting-edge capabilities, the Wasp had become known as the heart of communications for not only Kepren's solar system, but for the entire Alliance.
As a result, it had been determined that the Wasp should be the lone exception to the rule of “no living persons remaining in the Cluster.” During the final planning of the emergency hibernation, it also was decided that, because of both the vital nature of and the subtle intricacies of the Wasp's communications installation, an exception must be made: the Wasp would be maintained by a contingent of living conservators.
Khyltian officials had immediately argued that only natives of Khylt— renowned for their nobility and bravery— should be selected as the small crew of the Wasp for the duration. Proud of their special status, they raised several key points. Although Khyltians would participate in the hibernation, they pointed out that no planetary system in which any Khyltians lived had ever disappeared. Consequently, it was widely believed that they must have some special inherent characteristic which made them immune to detection by the Intruder. Additionally, Khylt’s outside environment was so hostile that its inhabitants had long ago adapted to living beneath the surface of their world. Khyltians would have no problems living in the Wasp's underground warren of tunnels and close quarters for long periods.
The official's proposal was accepted, and the indigo-complexioned race had not lacked for highly qualified volunteers.
I was greatly honored to be accepted and named as the Wasp's Commander. Now, I find myself facing the possibility of literally going down with my ship!
Vick shook off his melancholy and, as he waited, considered his comrades. Both Alten Juballe and Shallen Swight went through the Academy with me. Kelt Walteer completed his education in a private school near Ganlon that emphasized martial arts.
Aboard the Wasp, Alten was the Power Systems Officer, Shallen handled Communications and Kelt was in charge of the curious combination of Astrogation and Supply. Normally the need for astrogation was slight to nonexistent in an orbital vehicle; suddenly it had taken on life and death proportions. Kelt, the old man of the crew at thirty-six, had developed an unaccustomed haggard appearance with the sudden crush of responsibility.
I’ll have to watch Kelt closely.
Alten and Shallen were both thirty-three. Vick remembered the outdoor “camping trip” they had shared during a school break. As natives to Khylt, they were understandably uneasy about being out in the open with minimal protection; being outside and unprotected on Khylt’s surface in daylight offered a life expectancy of about two increasingly torturous hours. At night, the projected survival time was roughly three hours longer.
Vick was thirty-four. He fervently hoped to reach thirty-five.
When the three invited crew members had arrived and Vick had explained the reason for the meeting, Kelt took the lead. “The situation is gettin’ punk. I was checkin’ the course correction info. The numbers comin’ from the slab gotta be optimistic by at least six hours.” Kelt had a disconcerting way of adding unique twists to his speech; “slab” was his own personal reference for the Science Lab. The way he spat that word out created a vivid picture of a mortuary table in a cold, empty crypt. With hibernation in effect, it wasn’t a bad description of a machine-run underground installation devoid of people.
“Any luck with remotes for the position rockets?” he asked Alten.
“None. They’re in bad shape. Nobody ever anticipated them gettin’ long and heavy use, and their extended operation at high-G after their automatic activation seriously over-stressed them. The entire lot of them are either barely working or completely shut down. The ones we can get to now can’t be repaired in time. We could torch through the compartment doors, but that’s time consuming and a fire hazard. Worse, we can’t even intentionally set a fire to do the job of our self-destruct mechanism that we're missing because the politicos eliminated it ‘for cost considerations.' I guess it's actually not so bad, since all we'd accomplish would be to send a charred Wasp crashin’ into Kepren.
“Bottom line? I hate to say it, but I see no way to gain control in time." Alten slammed his fists down in frustration. "Besides, even if we could instantly repair all of them, their combined thrust still might not do the job.”
Vick bit his lip and turned to Shallen. “What about that lost telemetry link with the Science Lab?”
“We’re working on it. Should have duplex hookup within the hour. Two hours after connection’s established, we should know exactly where on Kepren the impact will be. But that'll do nothing more than establish our point of impact with absolute precision. Besides, the last data showed that it's almost positive the Wasp is going to hit close enough to Mathlen to disable…probably destroy…the Lab and the Control Center.”
The others glared at him while Vick winced.
“Sorry! I meant to say where the impact would be if…” He ground to a halt, realizing his words were making things worse.
"Fragus, Shallen," swore Kelt. "Glad you're not the morale officer." He winked slyly at Alten. "If we'd had to suffer that kind of sweet talk all the time, we'd all have been dead long ago."
Subdued groans followed the comment. Since there was little enough humor of any kind in their situation, Vick let it pass. “Anything from the Lab about our possible evacuation?” he queried hopefully.
“Just that they’re working on it,” Alten replied. “But I have a plan…of sorts.” His breathing became quick and shallow as he stared down at his clenched hands.
Finally Shallen prompted, "Well, don't keep us in suspense... out with it. man!"
“Well, it’s awful shaky, but it might work. Kelt has confirmed that we have several portable transmitters and enough pressure suits for everyone. Maybe we could exit from the hatch nearest the new equator. Not enough transmitters for everyone, but... maybe... small groups tethered together, with a transmitter for each group... that might work. With our increased spin, the surface speed there will be greater than escape velocity." Alten shrugged. "The trick is to eject into space at just the right time and at just the right angle to be thrown toward the vicinity of a waiting ship.”
Vick felt a claw of fear close around him. His palms and forehead became damp at the thought of this daring plan. For a Khyltian, any EVA was frightening.
In theory, nothing could be simpler. But simple does not mean easy
! Certainly shuttles are coming from Kepren for a rescue attempt. But, a hundred things could go wrong! Any one of them would leave all or part of us lost in the trackless void. In groups of seven each, five separate egresses would be required. In the worst scenario, we could be spread out over three hundred and sixty degrees of different trajectories. Insanity! But just maybe…
Aloud, under tight control, he said, “Got enough p-suits for everybody? And how many transmitters?”
“Enough suits…but only four working transmitters, plus two hopefuls. The others are junk.”
“Sufficient air in all corridors leading to the outer doors? And— if we do a complete system shutdown first— can we reach them without having to torch through sealed doors?”
“Fragus, Vick, I just now had the idea! It scares me that I even thought of it!”
Vick thumped both thumbs of one hand against his hollow cheek, the Khyltian equivalent of snapping his fingers. “It’s even riskier than that, Alten. If we shut down all power, we’ll never get our systems back up. And if we can’t get those doors open…or can’t get the entire crew to one spot…no backup plan will be possible.”
Alten shivered, then gathered himself together. “Want me to check it out?”
“Yeah, get right on it— but don’t stop thinking of other possible solutions. And get at least one more transmitter working if you can.”
When Alten left, Vick muttered to himself, “If we can get another transmitter working, we could divide into five groups of seven people each. Shazz! If just one transmitter malfunctions, it almost certainly means seven people lost.”
“That ain’t the worst of it,” Kelt said, shifting from the edge of Vick’s desk to a chair. “I haven’t figured…or even wanted to figure it…but the spin’s gonna’ toss us with heavy duty velocity. Unless all of us can be tossed in pretty much the same direction, pick up time may exceed life-support…for at least some of us. And I ain’t partial to driftin’ in vacuum minus air.” He paused, trying to forget the image. “Plus, the transmitters weren’t meant for this kind of action. Their scope’s limited and their strength as direction locators will fizzle out fast the further we coast.”
Vick wiped beads of glistening perspiration from his dark forehead. “Any more good news?”
“Sure, Vick," Shallen laughed darkly, "we found a few Kylorean comedies you can watch in your spare time.”
Vick’s frown caused Shallen to smile ruefully. “Sorry! I didn’t think you liked Kelt's last batch of news enough to really want more!”
Kelt’s brow furrowed. “Well, it’s fair to ask if we can get out of this hunk o' rock quick enough for our deadline…at least, without givin’ deadline a meanin’ I don’t much care to think about. The kicker is, the distance between the critical point and Kepren is too short to use SLT express, but those local tubs will get here…well, just in time to collect our carcasses, prob’ly.”
Vick sat still for almost a minute, deep in thought. Finally he spoke quietly. “Kelt, you may be right…but let’s not abandon the idea yet. It’s really all we have at the moment. Keep after it, just as though we are going to use it. Recheck the calculations to make sure the shuttles actually could reach us in time. There may be no other choice.”
Vick’s senses swam briefly and he realized it had been over forty hours since he had slept. “Shallen, I’ve got to get some shut-eye. Wake me in four hours and check the crew in the meantime. Make sure anyone who’s been awake twenty-five hours or more gets some sleep. That’s an order.”
“Aye, aye, Commander,” the men replied, leaving to carry out Vick's orders.
Vick moved to his bunk, considering the implications of Alten’s tentative plan. The rescue ships may not be able to reach us in time…but, at least, our getting off this bucket might free up the AIDDs and let them destroy the Wasp before it hits Kepren. If it comes to that…