by S. K. Vaughn
“How long till we reach our entry point?” he asked.
“Twenty-six minutes,” Ian said, highlighting that on their trajectory line.
The Maryam I was right on the edge of Mars orbit, and the Hawking II had just entered. Communications were open, and would stay that way until rendezvous. And both bridges had a visual feed on each other.
“Good. All stations, are we ready?”
“Flight is ready,” Zola confirmed.
“Engineering is ready,” Stephen said, settling into Ellen’s old seat.
“Damn well better be if you’re going to sit there,” Ian said.
“He’s ready,” Zola said.
“Medical is ready,” Latefa chimed in over the PA.
“How about you, Maryam?”
“Cheeky and I are ready to rock,” she said. “But she’s a little nervous about reaching orbit early. Doesn’t think we can sustain it for long. When are you going to pull the trigger?”
“Soon,” Ian said. “Tell Cheeky we can’t go in too early, or we risk having to make up too much distance against gravitational pull. We’re also running a bit gimpy.”
“Okay,” May said. “I’ll tell her to chill out.”
“How are you feeling, May?” Latefa asked.
“This far along, there isn’t enough time to get through the laundry list of complaints.”
“We’ll take good care of you,” Latefa said.
Over on the Hawking II, May sat at the flight deck in her own EVA suit, trying to stay afloat in a tidal wave of anxiety. When she’d entered Mars orbit, she’d begun to feel the bluster of the red planet’s atmosphere below. If it got hold of the ship, she would not be able to pilot her out. The Hawking II, built completely in space and shaped like a cross-sectioned sphere, was the opposite of aerodynamic and had no flight controls for atmosphere and gravity. On top of all that, it was incredibly heavy. At over 330 tons of metal and composite, it would fall to Mars like a meteorite. The subtle pressure changes that were making the ship feel as though it were traveling on a gravel road were not-so-gentle reminders of the violent death that awaited them if the rendezvous failed.
May had packed all the things she cared about in the world in a hollowed-out EVA backpack—some clothes; her flask; a data drive with personal photos, videos, and recordings of Cheeky’s ultrasound exams; and the most important item of all, the data drive with her backup of Eve—an exact copy of her new best friend.
She watched the vessel tracking lines on her screen. It was maddening how close they had to cut it. She knew that what Ian and Zola were doing was the best course of action, but hated thinking about the ruthless precision it required. It was like being in a car at a dead stop and having to catch a speeding train as it went by.
“Eve, darling, what’s our latest burn-in estimate?”
“Eighteen hours, twenty-seven minutes.”
“But . . . ?” May said expectantly.
“But the margin of error is roughly eight to ten hours.”
“Jesus.”
“Don’t worry,” Ian said on May’s screen. “We’ll retrieve you long before that.”
The ship hit a rough patch and shook for thirty seconds or more.
“Good,” she said, “because the red planet seems cranky.”
On the Maryam I, Zola was watching the trajectory timer while Ian prepared to manually pilot the ship. When they’d trained for this, Stephen had come to understand that when they entered orbit, Ian would have to precisely approach the Hawking II, which would be under the Maryam I’s autopilot control. There was no way May would be able to fly the ship and evacuate at the same time. Once they reached the Hawking II, they would lock both vessels into the same velocity so they could connect them with an emergency docking tunnel. With Ian having no escape pods and the loss of May’s, this somewhat archaic option was their only evacuation option outside of extremely risky EVA. Stephen had been trained to deploy and operate the tunnel. As the ships flew side by side, he would have to get it into position so Ian could move in close enough for May’s electromagnetic docking port to pull it in and attach it to the Hawking II. May would then pull herself, weightless, through the tunnel’s three-hundred-foot length to safety on the Maryam I.
“We’re closing in on our orbit window,” Zola called out. “Two minutes.”
“Okay, battle stations,” Ian said. “Everybody clear on how we’re doing this? There won’t be time to raise your hand.”
Everyone sounded the affirmative.
“Ready, May?”
“I was born that way,” she called out.
“Switching to manual flight control,” Ian said. “Stand by.”
The manual flight control handles rose up from the arms of his pilot chair. The eye projected his fore, aft, and side views directly in front of him, along with all his instrumentation and engineering data. He closely watched the flight paths, waiting as the Maryam I closed in on a flashing display target that indicated their entry point.
“Orbital entry in three, two, one, go,” Ian called out.
As the Maryam I entered Mars orbit, the ship shuddered and pitched slightly to port. Stephen wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he thought he could feel drag from the atmosphere below, as one would in an airplane. What was clear was that they’d abandoned the quiet serenity of the vacuum for the brutal domain of gravity, and it was only a matter of time before its grip became too strong to break.
“Initiating pursuit,” Ian said.
While he flew to the intercept point of the Hawking II’s flight path, Zola closely tracked their navigation, making sure they never lost the telemetry lock that was autopiloting the Hawking II. Stephen was running final systems checks on the docking tunnel controls and the VR screen he was going to use to operate it. “Stephen,” Zola called out, “is the docking arm primed and ready to deploy?”
“Docking arm is primed. Deployment controls activated.”
“T-minus five minutes to intercept,” Zola said.
May nervously watched the closing vessel trajectory lines. They’d been over the docking procedure many times, but she didn’t trust a damn thing on the ship anymore. During the last couple of weeks of the voyage, she had seen many signs to indicate that the ship’s systems were breaking down from all the abuse they’d taken. And she’d had to get creative with power. Losing the biogarden meant she needed to use the ship’s power-hungry backup oxygen generator. Just to be sure, she and Eve ran a final systems check. Autopilot was locked and holding her flight path. Her docking tunnel port, on the starboard side of the flight deck, was operational. Its electromagnetic collar, critical to retrieving and attaching the Maryam I’s tunnel to her ship, was operational. The explosive door bolts were ready to explode.
“So far, so good,” she said, knocking on the side of her head.
“Sixty seconds to intercept,” Zola called out on the comms.
“Well, Eve, it looks like this is good-bye for now.”
“Let’s say farewell instead,” Eve said.
“Farewell. And sweet dreams,” May said.
“Thank you, May. If anything happens—”
“Nope, we’re not doing that. Nothing is going to happen. I’ll see you on the Maryam I in a bit.”
“I was going to say don’t forget to wake me up.”
“I love you too, Eve.”
“Thirty seconds,” Zola said on the comms.
“Maryam I is go,” Ian called out.
“Hawking II is go,” May responded. “You as ready to get off this crate as I am, Cheeky?” she said to her belly.
The shaking on the Hawking II increased as it took on more atmospheric resistance. May attached her EVA helmet and snatched up her precious pack.
“Ten seconds,” Zola called out.
“Yippee ki-yay,” May said.
From his position, Stephen saw the Hawking II glide up next to them. Compared to the Maryam I, it was vast, easily ten times larger. He could see the gapi
ng, ragged hole where the landing-vehicle hangar had been and couldn’t believe May had managed to keep it flying. He thought of how happy that would have made Raj.
“There she is,” Ian called out. “Looks like someone took a bite out of you, May.”
“Vessel speeds locked,” Zola acknowledged.
Both vessels were side by side, around six hundred feet apart. The Maryam I was positioned closer to the front of the Hawking II’s flight deck, where its emergency docking door was located. For a brief moment, Stephen caught a glimpse of May at the helm. He felt a knot of nerves twist in his chest and stomach. We’re so close, he thought.
“Deploy docking arm,” Ian called out.
“Copy that,” Stephen called back.
He executed the docking arm deployment sequence exactly as Zola had shown him hundreds of times. The long white tunnel telescoped out of the port side of the Maryam I, back near the engine room airlock. Using the controls and VR screen, Stephen expertly guided the end of it to line up with May’s docking door. On his screen, he saw flashing confirmation that the end of the tunnel was already locked into the Hawking II’s electromagnetic port collar.
“Deployed and aligned,” he said. “Close distance.”
“Closing distance,” Ian said.
Ian slowly moved the Maryam I laterally toward the Hawking II, closing the gap. Stephen’s face was jammed into the VR screen. When the end of the tunnel was less than thirty feet from being locked in and sealed, the Hawking II was rocked violently by more preatmospheric turbulence. It briefly pitched starboard, and the end of the tunnel collided hard with its docking port. Ian quickly pulled away.
“Hitting some serious chop,” May said on the comms.
“Stand by, May,” Zola said. “Stephen, how is the tunnel?”
He could see denting around the port from where the end of the tunnel had hit. “The tunnel is still operational, but I see superficial damage to the docking port. Infrared isn’t showing atmosphere bleed, so the hull is intact.”
“Good,” Zola said.
“We need to give it another shot right away,” Ian called out. He closed the gap again while Stephen watched the tunnel, ready to telescope it back if they hit turbulence again. This time, the end of the tunnel locked into the docking port collar and sealed.
“We’ve got a solid dock and seal,” Stephen yelled triumphantly. “May, release your door bolts and get your ass over here.”
“Copy that,” she responded on the comms. “Stand by. Eve, please release the docking port door bolts.”
“Roger,” Eve said; then, “May, the release mechanism is not responding.”
“Probably processor interference,” Stephen said. “Go manual.”
“Copy,” May said.
They watched her on their feed as she punched in the commands several times.
“Shit,” she yelled. “Come on!”
“What’s wrong?” Stephen asked.
“The manual controls won’t work,” she said, panicked. “I can’t get it open.”
88
The turbulent shaking on the Hawking II was getting more intense. May was still frantically trying to open the docking port door, and it still wasn’t working. She could feel herself starting to lose it, enraged that it had come down to this, terrified that they were out of time. Another alarm blasted from the flight deck.
“Fuck me,” she yelled, startled by it. “I’ve got a rapid temperature increase on the bottom of the hull. We’re going to burn—”
May felt a sharp pain in her belly and doubled over, groaning audibly.
“Oh no,” she said. “Holy shit.”
“May, are you all right?” Latefa called out over the comms.
“I’m . . . oh God, it hurts.”
Ian’s hands were starting to shake on the flight controls as the turbulence became more intense. Tension among everyone on the bridge was spiking.
“May, can you release the bolts manually from the port itself?” he shouted.
“Yes, but I can’t . . . I can’t move,” she said over the comms.
From their video feed, they could see her at the flight deck. She was trying to get up and grab her pack but kept doubling over and clutching her belly, immobilized by pain.
“She’s going into labor,” Stephen yelled.
“And I’m going EVA to open the docking door,” Ian said. “Zola, take the helm.”
“Copy that. Better hurry. We might be down to minutes before burn-in.”
“Maryam,” Ian yelled.
“Yes,” she answered. She was sitting up on the flight deck, trying to take even breaths. “Latefa, definitely contractions. Maybe a minute apart. Hard to say.”
“Okay; remember your breathing,” Latefa said.
“On it.”
“We’re coming for you,” Ian said. “Put your helmet on and activate your EVA suit power now.”
“Copy,” she said, and snapped her helmet to her suit.
“Eve,” Ian continued, “shut down internal power on the flight deck to depressurize. I’m going to laser-cut the door, so you have to be equalized to space by the time we get there. Do it as soon as May’s suit is activated.”
“Copy that,” Eve said.
“The suit is good,” May said, giving them a thumbs-up.
Ian unstrapped from his flight deck chair and grabbed his EVA helmet. Zola strapped into his seat and took the controls. Stephen was about to insist on going with him, but Ian beat him to the punch.
“Stephen, you’d better suit up and come as well. I might have to stabilize the Hawking II while we get her out of there.”
“Copy that,” Stephen said, relieved.
Both men snapped their helmets to their suits and swam through the corridor.
“Latefa,” Ian said as they made their way, “you and Martin need to be ready to deliver this baby when we get back. Looks like it’s well on its way.”
“Roger that,” she said on the comms. “We’re already set up.”
They made it to the to the docking tunnel airlock. Ian did a last check on his suit, then did one on Stephen’s.
“Glad I checked this. It’s not properly sealed. Hold on,” Ian said as he adjusted something on the back of Stephen’s helmet. “Good. That’s done. Ready?”
“Ready,” Stephen said firmly.
Ian opened the airlock door and they got in. He sealed it behind them, then opened the tunnel door. Stephen’s confidence quickly ran away. The tunnel was large enough for two people in EVA suits to climb through side by side, but to Stephen it looked as narrow as a drinking straw. Ian got in and started climbing through. Stephen forced himself to follow him. Once he was in there, it was fine; very quiet.
“All right?” Ian asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Stephen lied.
The confined space of the tunnel triggered a horrible memory of when Stephen was a child, trapped in the back of his parents’ mangled, burning car, trying to escape. He could feel his throat constricting just as it had back then amid the heavy black smoke. He shook the memory out of his head and forced himself to think about May. But doing that brought on the terrifying memory of their space walk, when he’d lost control of his thrusters and drifted out into open space. He could hear his rapid breathing and was beginning to feel tingly in his hands and feet. Knowing that could make him lose consciousness, he slowed his breathing and focused on that as he crawled the rest of the way.
Ian had moved surprisingly fast and made it to the other side well before Stephen. When Stephen finally got to the end, Ian was already cutting the door bolts with his laser cutter. Stephen waited behind him, trying not to think that there were only a few inches of metal and composite between him and space.
“Almost there,” Ian said. “I’m through. Stay back a moment, Stephen.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Stephen said.
“Pressure, Eve?”
“Flight deck is pressurized for space,” she replied.
Having
cut through the bolts, Ian was able to open the dock door by pulling it out toward them into the tunnel, but only about halfway.
“That’s as good as it’s going to get. Let’s go, Stephen.”
Ian went through the door, and Stephen followed. As he stepped up onto the threshold, the electromagnetic collar released the tunnel, and it separated from the Hawking II.
“Ian, the tunnel,” Stephen yelled.
With one boot on the port threshold and the other in the tunnel, Stephen’s legs spread apart as the tunnel fell away, leaving nothing but space beneath him. For a brief moment, as a wave of panic surged through him, it felt as though everything were moving in slow motion. He could hear his shallow breathing and the frantic radio chatter, but all of it was distorted and barely intelligible. He looked up and saw Ian standing at the edge of the docking door and knew his only chance was to try to make it inside. Pushing off the edge of the tunnel, he lunged forward, his hand outstretched.
But as Stephen’s hand passed well within his reach, Ian just stood there and watched him fall away into space.
89
The inside of the Hawking II was back to its all-consuming darkness and cold, just like when May had made it back from the cargo rig. May sat in her seat, bent over the flight deck, suffering through another contraction. They were starting to happen more frequently, and with more intense pain. Something about being in the suit, feeling like she was freezing to death, made it very difficult for her to control her breathing. When the contraction subsided, she quickly became more aware of the radio chatter. They still couldn’t find Stephen—no visual on him, no radio contact, no GPS. Something had happened to the docking tunnel; it had detached. Stephen fell.
“What’s happened to Stephen?” she demanded.
“There was an accident,” Zola said over the comms. “The tunnel separated. He’s—”
“He’s gone, May,” Ian said, his voice mournful, as he floated into the flight deck beside her.