Saving Morgan

by MB Panichi

  The engines revved. Morgan felt the vibration rumbling through her chest. Her grip tightened on the chair’s arms. Pirates were coming. Old memories haunted her. Her heart rate picked up.

  The shuttle exploded out of the docking bay with a deafening roar. Morgan sank into the foam of the acceleration lounge. Her skin pulled against her cheekbones as the ship hurtled into space. The shuttle banked hard to port and nearly straight down. She clamped her jaw shut to keep her stomach from coming up out of her throat.

  After a few seconds, their speed leveled out. Morgan looked toward the cockpit, listening to the rapid exchange of voices, but unable to discern much more than unintelligible, anxious, staccato voices. Beside her, Garren shifted in his seat.

  Seated on her other side, Maruchek clipped a transceiver to his ear. She assumed he was listening to whatever went on in the cockpit and probably to what Brodderick Fenn’s people were reporting as well. She wondered why Garren didn’t have his own transceiver.

  The ship banked sharply again.

  Garren looked past her to Maruchek, frustration in his expression. “What’s happening?”

  “We’re running,” Maruchek said shortly.

  “To where?”

  Maruchek gave Garren an impatient look. “Away from those ships.” He paused to listen to the transceiver and added, “Back to Earth, for lack of anywhere else to go at the moment.”

  “Will we get clear?” Morgan asked.

  Maruchek met her gaze with a frank look. “If we get lucky. They’re faster than we are—more maneuverable—and better armed.”

  Morgan’s stomach twisted. She white-knuckled the arms of the chair and hoped if the shuttle got hit, the end would be quick. She didn’t want to take a long time to die. She didn’t want to die at all, but better fast than slow.

  Garren growled under his breath. “I’m going up front.”

  “Sit down. You can’t do anything up there,” Maruchek said. “Let them handle it.”

  Garren glared, but sat back, his fists clenching.

  The ship rolled—threading through the Belt, Morgan presumed, trying to keep asteroids between them and their pursuers as the pilot headed in-system. Not that she’d had any experience with this sort of pursuit, she thought. When pirates had attacked the mining facility where her parents worked, she and the other children and nonworking family members had been hustled into the shelter at the bottom of the facility.

  The shelter had been made of solid melded concrete and rock and provided enough air and emergency power to wait out a rescue if responders came quickly enough. Morgan remembered how slowly time had passed while she and the others waited. She’d sat in a corner wrapped in her favorite quilt, staring at her hands, too terrified to hope and too young to truly know what she feared. In her dreams, she still heard the rumble of explosions from above, still heard children around her crying as the emergency lighting blinked fitfully.

  When the all clear had finally sounded and the air lock released, she had searched the crowd while anxious parents swarmed into the room. She remembered seeing her dad and the lost, empty expression on his face when he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. He hadn’t said anything. But she’d known. She’d clung to him, tears running down her face. Everything had changed—her world ripped out from under her—and there hadn’t been anything she could have done about it.

  A voice echoed from the cockpit, shattering her thoughts. “Here they come!”

  An expectant, cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed bile and closed her eyes.

  “Coming across the starboard bow!”

  Sharp, insistent beeping pierced the air.

  “They’ve got a lock!”

  The shuttle shifted abruptly, surging nearly straight up and to port.

  Restraints dug into her shoulders and chest.

  “Shunt aux power to the mains!”

  The ship wrenched violently to starboard.

  Garren swore.

  Morgan clamped her jaw shut.

  An explosion rocked the rear of the ship and the lights flickered. The shuttle swerved again, slewing hard to port.

  “I’m losing—!”

  Another explosion reverberated from somewhere aft. Red emergency lighting popped on. Warning beeps and whistles blared from the cockpit. The engines shuddered and choked off. A moment of hushed silence fell. The smells of hot metal and burnt plastic wafted through the cabin.

  The second officer, Loh, ran into the cabin. “We’re hit,” he announced as he loped toward the rear engine compartments.

  “Damage?” Maruchek snapped.

  “They got the primary thruster controllers and blew out the rear supply compartment,” Loh said. He disappeared through the back hatch.

  Controllers? Morgan considered. She could fix them.

  Rogan poked his head out from the cockpit. “The pirates have left us for the moment and turned back to the facility. They probably figured they vac’ed us. They blew a hole in one of the supply holds and we lost some debris out the back. All the inner seals are holding, though, so we’re okay. EG fighters just arrived at the facility. Fenn says the pirates took out their primary power plant. One of our fighters bought it, but we got two of theirs. If we don’t get up and running, you can bet the bastards’ll be back for us on their way out.”

  Morgan unhooked her restraints and slid out of the acceleration chair.

  Rogan gave her a dark look. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She glanced toward the aft hatch. “See if I can help,” she said shortly, following Loh’s route to the rear compartment.

  She eased through the access hallway. A couple meters in, she found Loh kneeling on the floor, his torso half-buried in a maintenance portal in the wall. She heard him curse. He backed out, startled when he realized he wasn’t alone.

  She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m a mechanic. I may be able to help.”

  “Not sure there’s much you can do. Can’t reach the damage from inside.”

  “You guys got a vac suit in here? Tool set? Spare parts?”

  Loh stared at her.

  Garren came up behind her. He had a similarly incredulous expression.

  “Well, do you?” Morgan prodded.

  Loh gave her a doubtful look. “Yeah. In back. By the emergency air lock.”

  She brushed past him.

  “Where are you going?” Garren asked.

  “Guess I’m gonna suit up. There’s a good possibility I can fix the problem and I don’t feel like dying today.” She ducked through a second hatch into a compartment no more than three meters long and two and a half wide, lit by two glowing red bulbs in the ceiling. Lockers lined the inside wall. She noted an emergency exit hatch on the outside wall, just big enough for a suited person to squeeze through.

  She turned to the lockers and started opening them, her gaze flicking over the contents. The first two she shut quickly. From the third, she retrieved a tool belt and pouch. From the fourth, she picked out a handful of optic fiber patches of various lengths and some connectors. She turned and handed the parts in her hands to Loh, who’d followed her into the small chamber. “Hang onto this stuff.”

  She opened the oversized end locker containing a vacuum suit. The emergency suit was much more basic than the specialized mechanic’s suit she was accustomed to and certainly wouldn’t be sized to fit her, either. But she could deal with that. She looked past Loh to Garren. “Can you give me a hand with this? I need some help getting suited up.”

  “You’re going out, then?” From the open hatch, Maruchek’s sharp gaze took in the scene.

  Morgan said, “If it’s a lead that got severed, I can fix that.”

  “You don’t have much time before they head back for us. Twenty-five, maybe thirty minutes at the most. Earth Guard is engaged with the pirates at the facility. They’ll try to hold them there and take them out to buy us some time. The pirates will probably come this way when they’ve had enough. It’s the
ir easiest escape route. It could be a race to see who gets to us first.”

  She nodded. Her window would be long enough. “I’ll be on the emergency channel.” She pulled the suit out of the locker. Instead of the form-fitting suit-liners she and her crew wore, the maintenance suit had a loose-fitting inner layer providing a few basic diagnostic functions while allowing the wearer to remain fully clothed. “Garren, can you hold this up?”

  Garren came forward and took hold of the suit’s stiff trunk.

  She put her back to him and stepped into the too-long legs. She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Arms next. Left, then right.”

  “Okay.”

  She reached behind her and felt the weight of the thick, insulated sleeves slide over her arms and settle against her shoulders. She shrugged the suit into place, stretched her arms, and let the sleeves hang down past her hands. She sighed, hoping once the gloves were attached she could tighten up the wrist closures so the length would be easier to deal with.

  She attempted to get the outer zipper and seals connected, but the suit was stiffer than hers and the extra long arms made it awkward and hard to reach. “I need some help with these closures.”

  “Sure.” Garren came around to the front. “Zip it, then seal the outer closures?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He did as requested and stood back. “What next?”

  “Boots. They’re in the bottom of the locker.”

  Garren retrieved the boots, setting them down in front of her.

  She balanced against the lockers with one hand while she stepped into first one boot, and then the other. They were big. Really big. But there was nothing to be done about it. She leaned over, connecting the suit’s legs to the boots’ seals. Garren helped clamp them shut.

  “Helmet next,” she said.

  “Okay.” He lifted the helmet over her head.

  She shifted the heavy rim a bit before the helmet dropped into place. The faceplate was clear rather than mirrored, so she knew Garren could see her. “I need you to help me seal this properly. I can’t reach the back clamps.”

  “How do I know if it’s right?”

  “When it’s locked properly, I’ll get a green light on the diagnostic here.” She held up her right arm to show a small flat monitor with a series of power and life support readouts. “And the life support system will start cycling.” She fingered the clamp on the left and shut it, feeling the solid snick of the seal closing. She did the one on the right while Garren closed the two in back.

  The almost soundless whir of the air cyclers flushed a stale breeze over her face. She glanced down at the readout on her wrist. All good. She keyed the outer helmet speaker so they could hear her and shifted so she could see Loh. “I need the tool belt and pouch.”

  He handed them to her. She clipped the belt’s ends to the outside of the vac suit, adjusting the fit more tightly across her middle. She took the spare parts, put them into the pouch and sealed it. “There should be a pair of gloves, then I’m ready.”

  Garren handed over the gloves.

  She pulled them on and tightened the wrist buckles as far as they would go. Without waiting for her to ask, he helped her seal the gloves to the suit sleeves, then stepped back. She turned toward the air lock. “How much time?” she asked.

  Maruchek spoke lowly into his ear-transceiver and looked at her. “Twenty-five minutes, tops. They’re on the move.”

  She nodded. “Clear the compartment so I can go out.”

  Garren stepped in front of her. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

  She gave him a grin. “Can’t be that different than in space dock, can it?”

  His expression remained doubtful, but he clapped her arm supportively. “Good luck, Morgan.” He followed the others out.

  She waited until the inner door sealed before turning to the air lock and starting the cycle. She figured it would take a minute before the air lock opened to space.

  There were two sets of safety lines secured to the wall just to the side of the hatch. She grabbed one of the line’s end clips and pulled it toward her, securing the clip on a safety loop at her right hip. The line would spool out as she moved away from the air lock and spool back in when she returned. She also grabbed the second line and secured it too.

  A crackle of static sounded in her ears. “Morgan, can you hear me?” Maruchek asked.

  She nodded automatically. “Roger that. Loud and clear.” She glanced at the air lock readout. “Lock’s cycling now. I’m leaving it open, so don’t let them override it.”

  “Acknowledged. Morgan, be careful.”

  “I will.”

  The air lock unsealed and slid open. Morgan shuffled to the edge, looking out for a second. Shadows of asteroids floated in the field around the shuttle. Bright pinpoints of stars glared against the black of open space. She assumed the mining facility and the pirates were somewhere behind her, out of her present line of sight.

  She located handholds on the sides of the air lock hatch and wrapped her gloved fingers around the one to her right, stepping out and automatically swinging her feet forward so the soles of her boots connected to the hull with a solid metallic clunk. She straightened and clicked on her helmet mic. “Hey, any idea where we got hit?” she asked.

  After a pause, a voice she thought was the pilot’s said, “Aft of the air lock about three meters and around to the bottom hull.”

  “Roger that. Should be there in a minute.” She moved around the hull, her boots chunking tight to the metal, forcing her to work hard to pull each foot free since the boots were too big and the magnetic releases weren’t set to her stride.

  Looking away from the hull she could see the mining facility—a tight pattern of lights and the shadows of buildings on the biggest asteroid near them. Rapidly moving lights and flashes surrounded the rock. Probably the pirate and EG ships fighting it out. She swallowed. Don’t look. Don’t look. Do your job.

  She turned away and concentrated on the hull under her boots. Black scorch marks scarred the white metal. She followed the burn pattern. A jagged slash cut lengthwise through the hull, maybe two and a half meters long and a couple of handwidths wide. She whistled under her breath, ignited the headlight on her helmet, and leaned over to investigate the damage.

  A surface break, she thought, since they hadn’t lost atmosphere. That alone made her believe the damage was something she could work with. She wished she had her own equipment bag and all her specialized diagnostic tools.

  She went down on one knee at the edge of the charred opening to study the bare twist of wires and optical leads. She edged further down and reached into the mess, carefully pulling out a jagged piece of metal.

  Ah. Okay. She could see the primary leads now. Still intact here. She dug in her pouch for the one useful piece of test equipment she’d found. All it would tell her was whether or not she was getting a signal from the cockpit controls, but that was really all she needed to know. She leaned forward so she could touch the tester to each of the leads, watching the readout on the flat end of the tester.

  “Reed, can you give me some power to the thrusters?” she asked.

  “Aye. You’ve got it.”

  “Leave the power where you have it, so I can trace to the break.”

  “Roger that, Morgan.”

  She eased her way along the gash, careful to keep one boot connected to the hull, kneeling on the other knee and tracking the leads aft with the diagnostic tool.

  Maruchek broke into the helmet speakers. “Morgan, pirates are on their way back to us. ETA fifteen minutes. EG is right behind them.”

  She felt her stomach twist. “Right.”

  Sweat beaded on her forehead and along her neck. She edged the diagnostic tool further down one lead and the next, and had to stop to pull away more of the bent, half-melted metal and insulation. The tool vibrated in her hand, the indicator going from green to red. “Got one.”

  She studied the break and dug in
her pouch, removing a patch. She hoped she had enough of them to fix all the breaks. She connected the end to the good side of the lead and used the diagnostic to find the next clean spot and connected the other end to the break. “Reed, check the center port thruster.”

  “Powering up.” A pause. “Looks like about fifty percent.”

  “Okay, back it off. There must be another bad spot.”

  “You’re running out of time. ETA twelve minutes.”

  “Right.” She moved forward, running the diagnostic tool along the leads, looking for the breaks. She took another full step. The gash in the hull was widest here, showing charred insulation and metal, fused and broken optic leads. She’d need to double up the patches to get around the damage.

  She wanted to work quickly, but knew rushing would only make the problem worse. Calm down. You can do this. She took a breath, resisting the urge to look out into space for the fighters coming toward her. She pulled two more patches from the pouch and clamped them end to end, using the fuser to connect them. She spent a few seconds clearing debris around the seared wires, letting it float away in front of her. She cut a clean end on the lead, clamped on the patch and fused it. Using the diagnostic tool, she searched out a place on the other side that was still intact, snipped off the bad end, and fused the patch to it.

  “Reed, I just made a fix, not sure which thruster, let me know if you’re getting any response.” She held her breath.

  “Got about seventy-five percent on the primary starboard. I can work with that. Down to about eight minutes. EG fighters are slowing them down some.”

  “Roger that.”

  She bent down to repeat the process and again requested a response. This time, his answer wasn’t helpful. “Nothing. Port side’s still dead. Five minutes, Morgan.”

  She resisted the impossible urge to run her hands through her hair. There had to be another break further back. She slid past the main breakage.

  There.

  She could see where the metal of the hull was bent inward into the gash, severing the lead. The hull was too thick to pull away, though, and not charred enough to break off. She wished she had a good heavy cutter, but there hadn’t been one in the equipment lockers.