Space Station Crisis: Star Challengers Book 2

by Rebecca Moesta

  “Colonel Fox down at CMC vouches for them as well,” Ansari pointed out. “We’re all here with a common goal: to find ways to protect humanity and defeat the aliens.”

  Dr. Kloor looked at the six young people who, scientifically speaking, should not have been there. “I’ve read the reports. We know the story of how these kids arrived at Moonbase Magellan just before it was destroyed.” He pursed his lips. “Aren’t we missing an obvious conclusion here? When these people show up, bad things happen. Trouble follows them. Since they’re here on the space station, maybe it’s just a matter of time before something goes wrong.”

  As if on cue, a piercing alarm shrieked from the station’s intercom system.

  ***

  Ten

  Like birds startled from a roost, several crewmembers bolted from the Mess through the node room hatches, heading to their separate stations.

  “Decompression alarm!” Ansari called.

  The sound of the loud siren made Song-Ye’s heart pound. Although queasy from being weightless aboard the space station, she was determined to fight and get over it. They had been here only an hour or so, and she hoped she would get used to it. Soon. With the emergency alarm going off, though, her gut clenched, and she had to breathe quickly through her nose to calm herself. “Is it a Kylarn attack?”

  Pi reached a computer station in the Mess, scanned the screen. “There’s been a breach in Hab 1—some sort of impact. Losing atmo-sphere at a rapid rate.”

  “Good thing everyone was here for the all-hands meeting,” Napali said, “or there might have been crew sleeping in that Hab Module.”

  Ansari drew up beside Pi. “Has the hatch sealed?”

  Pi nodded. “Automatically closed off at the node room, but we need to get the leak patched as soon as possible. Send the team out for an extravehicular activity.”

  “Looks like we’ll have to suit up,” said Lieutenant Kontis. “Time for the repair crew to do an EVA.” She looked at her companions, Kimbrell and Lifchez. “A leak that bad should be readily apparent from outside. We’ll see the air leaking. Which one of you wants to go with me?”

  “We’re all qualified, but.…” Lifchez drew a deep breath, and Song-Ye noticed beads of sweat on his forehead. “If it’s all the same to you, Lieutenant, I’m not feeling too well. I might not be the best choice for a spacewalk.”

  Kimbrell also looked shaky and pale, but he said, “I don’t feel so hot myself, but at least I feel better than he looks.”

  Lifchez groaned. Kimbrell and Major Rodgers simultaneously let out loud belches.

  “None of you looks well,” said Dr. Romero. “What are your symptoms? Maybe I’d better check—”

  “No time for that, Doc!” Kimbrell said. “We’ve got an emergency here. Something’s hit the station.”

  “I’m not at one-hundred percent either.” Lieutenant Kontis took Kimbrell in tow. “So suck it up, and get moving. That leak isn’t going to fix itself, and Hab 1 is losing air by the minute, so let’s get to the Equipment Module and suit up.”

  “I feel fine,” JJ volunteered. “We were all trained in spacesuits on the moonbase. Can we help?”

  “An EVA spacesuit is different from a lunar suit,” said Ansari. “We’ll train you all—but not now.”

  Lieutenant Kontis ended the discussion. “We don’t need the help—we’ll do fine. This isn’t a training mission.”

  Although she was willing to suit up and had definitely enjoyed going out on the lunar surface, Song-Ye was glad she would have more time to acclimate to the station. She thought of the meteor shower that had struck Moonbase Magellan and how they had been forced to duck underground into the shelters. “Was it a meteor strike?” she asked.

  “Not likely,” Ansari said as Pi continued to scan the screens. “Probably space junk.”

  “At least it’s not an alien attack,” said Lifchez, then he, too, let out a loud belch. “I don’t suppose you have something to settle my stomach with you, Doc?”

  “I do back in the Med Module,” Romero said.

  “What space junk?” JJ asked. “You mean we’ve just been bonked by … litter?”

  “Over the years, the world’s space programs left a great many discarded items scattered along the various orbits,” said Ansari. “Spent fuel boosters, dead satellites, a lost tool or two, pieces of shrapnel—anything ranging from a couple of centimeters across to large items of equipment. Depending on their orbits, these chunks of space debris can collide with relative velocities of more than 50,000 kilometers per hour.”

  King whistled, and Dyl found the number impressive enough to jot it down on one of his notecards.

  “According to estimates, more than half a million bits of space junk larger than ten centimeters in diameter are up here—with tens of millions of pieces smaller than that. It’s one of our greatest risks.”

  During Ansari’s explanation, Pi managed to mute the sirens, and Song-Ye let out a relieved sigh. The alarm lights continued to flash, though, so none of the crew could forget they were on an emergency footing.

  The intercom crackled. “This is Lieutenant Kontis. We are in the Equipment Module, suiting up now. We expect to egress in fifteen minutes.”

  “Don’t slack on safety, Lieutenant,” Ansari said.

  “Sounds like my Uncle Buzz,” JJ murmured to Song-Ye. “Safety first.”

  “We’re not taking any shortcuts, Stationmaster, but time is of the essence,” Kontis replied. “However, Kimbrell and I are moving a bit slower than usual. That lunch isn’t sitting well with either of us.”

  Dr. Romero was very concerned about the other two members of the satellite team. “Both of you look gray.” She placed her palm against Major Rodgers’s forehead, then pressed her fingers against the side of his neck. “You feel clammy, and your pulse is fast.”

  Rodgers waved her away with false cheer. “I can hold on until they seal off the breach. Plenty of time to give us all a once-over later.” Romero mumbled something resigned about military officers needing to look tough.

  Concerned but all business, Ansari suggested the crew return to Central in order to see and communicate with the outside team.

  “I’ve got a full view from my observatory module,” d’Almeida offered. “I can keep a lookout from there. Any of you are welcome to come along.”

  Major Rodgers decided to stay posted beside the controls for the ISSC’s robotic arms that were mounted to the exterior of the station, in case the two space-walkers needed any assistance. As payload specialist for the satellite, Rodgers was the most proficient in using the complex remote-controlled robot arm.

  Bronsky said, “I will also suit up if necessary. Aside from Lifchez, I’m the only EVA-trained backup.”

  Ansari led them through the maze of modules, through hatches and node rooms, bypassing Hab 1, which was sealed because of the leak. Song-Ye was glad to be moving again, because it distracted her from her unsettling space-sickness. She was pretty sure her own queasiness wasn’t the same thing the five members of the satellite team were suffering. She was particularly worried to see the troubled look on Dr. Romero, who was normally very calm and cool.

  Hovering beside her, Dyl reached out to poke Song-Ye gently on the arm, a teasing gesture that sent her floating toward the opposite wall. She pushed herself back in the right direction and made a face at him, but she could read his concern. “You all right?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to take a final exam you haven’t studied for.”

  “I’m fine, Junior.” She realized she sounded testy, but she didn’t mean it. “I never realized how much I appreciated gravity. This is like being seasick in three dimensions.”

  Pi arrived in Central first and clipped himself with a flexible strap to the communication station; he floated in midair, as comfortable as if he were sitting in a chair.

  Over the intercom, Lieutenant Kontis reported, “Kirnbrell and I have completed our suit-up procedures and are prepared to exit the hatch. Decompression complete
in the chamber.”

  An external camera showed two bulky suited figures emerging from a large bay. JJ and Tony drifted over to one of the wide viewing windows in Central. “We can see them from here.”

  Dyl and King joined them. Song-Ye moved a bit closer, but felt unsettled by looking out into the starry blackness. The two figures outside moved forward, painstakingly making their way across the ISSC’s hull. They pulled themselves along by handholds, tethered to the station like floating mountain climbers.

  Tony’s voice sparkled with excitement. “Don’t you wish we could be out there?”

  Song-Ye felt it best not to answer, but JJ sounded just as excited. “It could happen—just wait.”

  The two space-suited figures attached their tethers to another external hook, then moved forward again. “We see the leak now, Stationmaster—a tiny spray of atmosphere,” Kontis said.

  Her partner burped again, covered it with a cough, then said, “The impact point is no larger than a centimeter in diameter. We can patch it easily. What’s the air pressure in Hab 1?”

  Pi checked. “Seven point three pounds per square inch—we’re down by about a third. We’d save a lot of air if you two could put that patch in place pronto.”

  “Going as fast as we can, Central,” said Kontis, then took several audible gulps of air. “I’d like to get back inside as soon as possible. We’re both encountering a bit of distress.”

  “What sort of distress?” Ansari asked. “We’re checking your suit readings. All systems seem nominal.”

  “Intestinal distress. Remind me never to choose the mushroom curry lunch package again.”

  “I had the stroganoff, but I don’t seem to be doing any better,” Kimbrell added.

  “Mine was just spaghetti and meatballs,” Lifchez said, clutching his stomach as a cramp hit him. He drifted toward the control module wall, where he hung weakly onto a handle.

  “This is a whole different level of emergency, Stationmaster,” Dr. Romero said.

  “Do you think it’s food poisoning?” Song-Ye shuddered, remembering when she had endured a bout of Salmonella, the first and only time she’d ordered a buffalo burger medium-rare. It had tasted delicious, but within hours she suffered from cramps and then spent the next twelve hours in the bathroom with unending bouts of vomiting and diarrhea. Her mother had brought her some sport drinks to keep her electrolytes balanced. It had been one of the most miserable days of Song-Ye’s life, and there was nothing for it but to stay hydrated and wait it out.

  “No time to get sick until the job is finished,” Kontis said. “Come on, Kimbrell, you know the drill.”

  The two figures moved painstakingly forward with their repair kit. They had several thick adhesive plates of various sizes. “A small one should do well enough here,” Kontis said. “Four centimeters by four centimeters.” Atmosphere continued to squirt out of the hole in silence, because space, like the Moon, had no atmosphere to carry sound.

  The two astronauts’ suit cameras showed the operations as the workers applied rapid-setting sealant from a tube, and pressed down hard on the metal patch to cover the small hole. “Seal is in place. That should stop the leak,” Kontis reported.

  Kimbrell added, “I’m applying a secondary layer of sealant around the edges. It’ll be good as new. We can start testing the integrity and pump atmosphere back into Hab 1, then add a reinforcement patch on the interior wall.”

  “That part’s not our job. We’re finished out here,” Kontis radioed back. Her voice sounded breathless and weak. “We need to end this EVA as quickly as we can.”

  “Return to the Equipment Module, both of you,” Ansari said. “That’s an order. Dr. Romero will see you as soon as you’re back in.”

  “Vomiting in zero-gravity could make quite a mess,” King pointed out.

  Tony grimaced. “I did not need that mental picture.”

  “Gross. Let’s hope we don’t have to verify King’s theory from experience,” Dyl said.

  “Ick!” JJ said. “I mean that as an acronym.”

  “Insanely cruel knowledge,” Song-Ye said.

  On the intercom, the two astronauts fell ominously silent as they concentrated on pulling their way along the tethers back to the airlock hatch. “Entering the bay now,” Kontis finally said. “Seal the hatch behind us! Pressurize.”

  “Vomiting in a spacesuit can actually be quite dangerous,” Ansari explained to the teens.

  In the Equipment Module, the astronauts seemed to be scrambling, shouting to each other, breathing hard. “Get the helmet off, quick!”

  Song-Ye looked with alarm at the nearest intercom speaker as they heard loud retching sounds.

  Ansari barked, “Lieutenant Kontis, Kimbrell, report. What is your status?”

  Kontis finally reported, sounding weak, her voice rough. “We got the helmets off just in time, Stationmaster, but I can now report that microgravity barfing is not pretty. I can also verify that Kimbrell did indeed have the beef stroganoff, while I had the mushroom curry. Right now, though it’s a bit hard to separate them.”

  “Ick!” Dyl said. Song-Ye felt her stomach twitch with sympathetic nausea.

  Major Rodgers and Lifchez let out moans of distress as they hunched together, drifting near a wall of the control module. Rodgers said in a wobbly voice, “Sorry to interrupt the festivities, my friends, but I’m about to be ill. Doc, I’ll take you up on your offer to go to Med.” Lifchez moaned his agreement.

  “That does it.” The doctor’s stern voice allowed no room for argument. “I’m taking the whole Sat team to Medical, Stationmaster. Something’s not right here.”

  “Better … hurry.” Lifchez covered his mouth, looking green behind the gills. Dr. Romero and her queasy patients scooted through the hatch heading toward the medical module.

  Pi looked concerned. “That’s all four members of the satellite crew, Stationmaster. We’re supposed to launch the Eye in the Sky tomorrow—it’s vital.”

  “It definitely sounds like food poisoning,” Ansari said. She turned toward Mira. “You ate with them, Cadet. Do you feel any ill effects?”

  “I ate very little,” she said. “I didn’t have much of an appetite.”

  “Kimbrell and Kontis, as soon as you’re out of your suits, get to Medical.”

  “Aye, Stationmaster,” the lieutenant said with a quiet groan.

  “It sounds like Dr. Romero will have her hands full. I’d like to help her, if you don’t mind,” Song-Ye said. Ansari gave her an approving nod.

  “Uh, one more thing?” Lieutenant Kontis said over the intercom. “Somebody better bring handheld vacuums to the Equipment Module to take care of the, um, mess in the air.”

  “Volunteers?” Ansari turned and looked directly at Dylan and King.

  JJ elbowed her brother, who drifted sideways while she floated in the opposite direction.

  “Uh, okay, we … volunteer?” Dylan said unconvincingly. “No problem.”

  “Uh-huh. We’ll get that cleaned up for you, ma’am.” King seemed amused by Dyl’s discomfort. He started singing a song about a carwash under his breath.

  ***

  Eleven

  After he and King finished cleaning up the Equipment Module, Dyl joined Song-Ye in helping Dr. Romero with the queasy crewmembers in Medical, which had rarely seen more than two patients at a time in the history of the International Space Station Complex.

  The Medical module looked clean and spare, exactly as Dyl had always imagined a futuristic space station would look. The white walls looked like ceramic, although the panels felt warm to his touch. Storage cabinets, instruments, and readouts were built into the smooth material. The place reminded Dyl of sickbays in the science fiction shows he loved most.

  Simple examination tables were firmly attached to the module walls. “Why do you need beds?” Dyl asked. “Wouldn’t your patients be more comfortable if they just floated around?”

  Dr. Romero had guided a groaning Kimbrell to one of the beds and strapp
ed him in place with crash webbing. “It’s hard to treat patients who float around at the slightest touch.”

  “I can see how that would be a problem.”

  Song-Ye helped Lieutenant Kontis onto an examination pallet and strapped her to it. Though the Korean girl still looked a bit spacesick, it was nothing compared to what the ill crewmembers were feeling.

  Lights blinked on video screens above each patient. Doctor Romero pointed to the status. “Each medbed measures the patients vital signs—blood pressure, temperature, pulse rate, levels of blood gasses, and so on.”

  Lifchez started to make retching noises on his medbed. Dyl grabbed a vacuum nozzle and moved away from the side of the module to help the man, who looked like he was about to throw up again. He arrived with the apparatus just in time to vacuum the barf out of the air by Lifchez’s head before it could float around and make more of a mess.

  Lifchez mumbled. “Sorry, but … that’s not the end I’d be most worried about, if I were you.”

  “Oh,” Dyl said, as the meaning sank in. “I—uh, this is a problem.”

  “You’ll have to get him to the toilet,” Dr. Romero said, as Kimbrell started to retch again. “As you can see, I’ve got my hands full here. Fortunately, one of the station’s six toilets is right here in Medical.” She pointed to a small cubicle built into the wall.

  Lifchez’s forehead broke into a cold sweat as Dyl guided him toward the cubicle. Dyl had been on the station for less than two hours and didn’t even know how to use a bathroom in zero-G. The military man grabbed a handle beside the toilet seat and turned. “Thanks. I can take it from here,” he said in a shaky voice and pulled the privacy shield closed.

  Dyl breathed a sigh of relief, since he would have had no idea how to help. “How exactly does that thing work, anyway?” He floated back over to where Song-Ye and Dr. Romero tended the rest of the Sat team.

  Dr. Romero said, “It takes some getting used to. There’s no gravity up here to help with the, um, flow of everything, so we can’t use water in the toilets. The system is based on air flow.”