Torino Nine

by Mark Anson

  She retrieved her helmet and put it on, leaving the faceplate open, and floated over to the flight deck, where she pulled herself into the commander’s seat and fastened the seat straps tightly. There wasn’t going to be any messing around, not now.

  She cancelled the wailing alarms, and took stock of the ship’s situation. The air pressure was close to normal, although the leak round the airlock hatch had been detected. Ignore that. The reactor had done an automatic scram when the ship undocked and depressurised, so she cancelled the safety and selected full power, and armed the weapons panel.

  ‘Just wait until I find you,’ she muttered, as she brought the thrusters on line and started to slow the ship’s crazy spinning. She purposely avoided looking out of the window, as the wheeling stars just induced vertigo, and instead focused on the attitude indicators, and the director bar that showed her how much thrust to apply to de-rotate the ship. It took a few tries, but eventually the stars were moving past slowly, and then finally came to rest. She turned the Mesa so that it faced back along the route it had taken when its air blew out. In the star field ahead, a bright point of light marked the distant Ulysses.

  ‘You can’t get away from me, you bastard,’ Clare muttered, and punched in the target’s position and range. In moments, she had a rendezvous solution, and she brought the rockets up to readiness. It was a lot to do; manage the ship and the navigation and the engines, but she had done it during training. The rocket engines were ready.

  She pressed FIRE on the engine console, and was pressed back into her seat by the thrust of the engines as they arrested the ship’s backward motion and then began moving it forwards, towards the Ulysses.

  Time for some communication. She selected the ship-to-ship channel, which she knew would come through on the Ulysses’ radio, and spoke into her helmet headset, her voice icy:

  ‘Mordecai, this is Captain Foster, commanding USAC warship Mesa. Heave to and power down all your systems. If you don’t comply, I have orders to destroy your ship.’

  The roar of the rockets cut off suddenly, and the Mesa coasted. She could already see that their target was growing brighter.

  She repeated the message, and waited as the distant point of light grew larger, and gradually resolved into the familiar silver rod-shape of the Ulysses. She hadn’t expected any reply, but she frowned when she saw the other ship’s thrusters firing, and it turned slowly, end-over-end, until it was oriented facing towards the slender crescent of Psyche. She hadn’t known that Mordecai knew how to manoeuvre the research vessel. No matter; the outcome would be the same. She was equally unprepared when the six rocket engines on the Ulysses fired; their six flames lighting up the sides of the ship, and the ship started to drift across her field of vision. Clearly, Mordecai knew a lot more about flying the ship than she’d realised.

  ‘Where the hell are you going?’ she muttered, but already she knew the answer, before the targeting computer told her – he was heading on a descent course to the surface of Psyche. She pressed the transmit:

  ‘Mordecai, you’re wasting your time; I can overhaul you, and I can disable your ship,’ she announced over the ship-to-ship. No reply.

  She adjusted the rendezvous angle to bring herself alongside, and there was another brief burst of rocketry from the Mesa, as their target grew closer.

  ‘Tactical,’ she said coldly. She was going to need the computer’s help.

  ‘Authorisation required.’

  ‘Foster, Clare J, commanding officer Mesa.’

  ‘Voiceprint identified, Foster, Clare J, captain, USSV Mesa. Tactical enabled.’

  ‘Main laser.’

  ‘Laser powering up. Select target.’

  ‘Target is … there.’ She centred the crosshairs on the shape of the Ulysses in the gunsight camera.

  ‘Power level.’

  ‘Full power, narrow beam.’

  ‘Target coming into range, two kilometres.’

  She nudged the target crosshairs onto the Ulysses’ power generator, close by the large drum of the nuclear reactor.

  ‘Target coming into range, one point five kilometres.’

  Clare keyed the transmit one last time:

  ‘This is your last warning – you’re in my gunsights and I have authorisation to destroy your vessel. Heave to and shut down all your systems.’

  ‘Target in range.’

  She waited several seconds, but there was no response, and she could see one of the thrusters firing as the Ulysses adjusted its attitude.

  She flicked the cover off the arming button, pressed it, and made one last adjustment to the aim.

  ‘Ready to fire.’

  ‘Fire!’

  The deck lights dimmed as huge amounts of power surged into the ablation laser on the nose of the Mesa. There was no beam to see, of course, but the invisible infra-red lance of the laser leaped across the gap between the two ships in a fraction of a second, and impinged directly on the power plant.

  The Ulysses shuddered, and a great jet of superheated vapour exploded from the ruptured turbines. Clare didn’t pause, but selected one of the main fuel lines to the aft rocket engines.

  ‘Ready to fire.’

  ‘Fire!’

  The fuel line exploded, and this time she could see a brief flame as the volatile propellants mixed and burned in space. She shifted aim again, this time onto one of the reactor coolant lines.

  ‘Ready to fire.’

  ‘Fire!’

  Nothing much this time, just a spray of liquid, turning rapidly to a cloud of vapour, but Clare knew that the reactor would automatically scram as soon as coolant pressure dropped.

  The Ulysses was close now, near enough to use the short-range weapons.

  ‘Rotary cannon.’

  ‘Cannon ready.’

  ‘Give me manual fire control.’

  ‘Manual fire.’

  She grasped the aiming joystick and placed the crosshairs over the complex pipework and equipment by the ship’s main engine, and pressed the firing button. This time, the Mesa quivered with the short, ripping burst of the multi-barrelled cannon, and the structure at the end of the Ulysses disintegrated, sending components flying off into space. The fuel tank blew open in a spectacular explosion, sending a billowing cloud of ammonia vapour into space.

  She really didn’t want to stop; she wanted to stitch a line of cannon shells right up the length of the fuel tanks, and over the crew module, and do to Mordecai what he had failed to do to her; she wanted to blow the thing apart, she wanted to see him fight for air, she wanted—

  Get a grip.

  She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. Enough.

  ‘Stand down weapons systems.’

  ‘Weapons safed.’

  She examined the damage to the Ulysses. A huge gash had appeared in one of the fuel tanks, where the explosive cannon shells had ripped it open, and ruptured pipework trailed streams of boiling liquids and gas into space from the ruined power units.

  ‘Ulysses, this is USAC warship Mesa. I have disabled your power generation systems and main engines. Heave to and shut down your systems, or my next target will be the crew module.’

  This time, there was a response, but not on the radio. Instead, a video link came up, and Clare stared, incredulous, as an image appeared of Collins, staring straight back at her. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, and there was a gash on his forehead.

  ‘You remember your lieutenant, captain.’ Mordecai’s voice said slowly over her helmet headset. ‘Don’t worry – he’s going to be okay, which is a miracle after what you just did to an unarmed scientific vessel.’

  ‘Doctor, I have my orders. Bring the ship to a halt, shut down your systems, and we’ll talk.’

  ‘I don’t think so, captain.’ Mordecai’s voice sounded strangely deep and echoing. ‘I heard your orders. You might have authority to destroy this ship, but that didn’t include firing on your own crew. You’re already risking a court martial for what you’ve done. Back o
ff and let us descend to the surface.’

  ‘How do you think you’re going to get there, doctor? I’ve deprived you of main power and all you have left is the batteries. Don’t make it worse for yourself. Give up now, release Collins, and I’ll make sure your case is heard when we’re back on Earth.’

  Mordecai muttered something darkly under his breath, and the image and audio went dead.

  Clare swore in frustration. She hated to admit it, but Mordecai was right; she couldn’t destroy the Ulysses with him and Collins on board. And what the hell had happened to Collins? He must have been injured in the decompression. At least he was alive.

  A thruster flared on the ship ahead of her, and she watched as it changed attitude. Although the big nuclear engine was out of action, the thrusters and the forward rocket engines would still be working, and the ship could manoeuvre on those alone, at least until its batteries ran out. Without power, Mordecai’s options were severely limited, but it didn’t seem to be putting him off.

  The Ulysses began to move away.

  She thought quickly. She couldn’t risk any shots to the forward engines, or the thrusters, without risking hitting the crew module. The cryogenic tanks were a possibility – if she punctured those, it would put the thrusters and rocket engines out of action. But all the plumbing was replicated for reliability – she would have to hit all six tanks, and they were under much more pressure than the ammonia tanks at the back; they would burst open explosively. It was way too dangerous. And the risk of a piece of shrapnel hitting the crew module …

  She glanced over the structure of the Ulysses, and another plan came into her mind. She weighed up the possibilities and the risks for a moment. Yes – she could do it. It was a lot more dangerous for her, but it wouldn’t risk any harm to the crew module. And more importantly, USAC would support her.

  At the thought, she wondered if she should delay, and make contact for approval. But she would have to get a message out, and wait for a reply before she could execute her plan. It would take too long; the Ulysses would be far away by then, possibly close to the surface of Psyche, and it would be too late. If she was going to do what she was planning, it had to be now.

  She leaned across again to the engine console between the two seats, and readied the rocket engines for firing. She was going to need maximum thruster power as well. She would have to be very careful not to over-control the ship; if she did, the torque exerted by the thrusters could potentially twist the ship’s structure, or fracture a fuel main, and she would be stranded out here.

  ‘Easy does it,’ she whispered to herself, and programmed an intercept course. She turned the Mesa, putting it in the right attitude, and as the countdown passed zero, hit FIRE. Once again, she sank back in her seat with the sudden thrust.

  ‘Caution, collision course,’ the flight computer warned.

  ‘Yeah, don’t I know it,’ she muttered, and closed her helmet faceplate. The Ulysses loomed larger now, as she closed the gap between them. The engines roared on, accelerating the heavy ship towards its prey.

  ‘Ready handling arms!’

  ‘Handling arms powered up.’

  ‘Give me manual control.’

  ‘Handling arms to manual.’

  ‘Here goes,’ she breathed, and moved the handgrip to extend the two large hydraulic arms that lay tucked away below the Mesa’s squat crew module. Normally used for pushing against small objects, or for holding the ship steady, they reached forward now, and their hydraulic grips opened wide.

  ‘Caution, collision imminent. Reverse thrust.’

  Clare selected the truss structure between the two bundles of ammonia tanks, braced herself, and shoved the thruster controls full forward.

  ‘Collision, collision.’

  She resisted the urge to close her eyes as the Ulysses filled the window.

  Crunch

  Clare was flung forwards in her seat straps as the Mesa cannoned into the centre of the larger ship. The Ulysses buckled, and she felt a groan and shriek of bending metal. Two of the ammonia tanks burst open, drenching the cockpit with pale fluid, which then froze in place.

  ‘Shit!’ She couldn’t see. She glanced at the camera displays, but they were pointing in crazy directions, or were blank, sheared off in the impact. There was nothing for it. She reached forwards with the arms until she felt resistance, then closed the hydraulic grips. The right grip closed on nothing, but the left grip held. She pulled the arm in slightly, and the two ships crunched together. Now she could see the right arm through one of the outside cameras, and she reached out and gripped the truss structure, and pulled in on that side as well. It held, and the two ships were now locked together.

  ‘Right, let’s see you move now,’ she smiled grimly, and programmed the Mesa to hold position. The thrusters roared, arresting the Ulysses’ motion.

  She released her seat straps, and headed for the airlock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The side hatch of the Mesa’s airlock module swung open. Clare moved her head and upper body cautiously out into space, and took careful stock of her surroundings.

  From here, the extent of the damage to the Ulysses could be seen. Clare’s ship had crashed into the truss structure between the two clusters of giant tanks that held ammonia fuel for the nuclear engine, breaking the back of the larger ship. A fractured fuel main spewed ammonia into space, where it froze into crazy shapes before drifting away. One of the space radiators had been smashed, and refrigerant poured from the matrix of tiny pipes. Further back, she could see the ruptured metal skin of another of the tanks, where her cannon shells had found their mark.

  The Mesa gripped the distorted tubes of the truss structure with its handling arms, looking like some predator hanging on to its prey. The forward airlock hatch was rammed deep into a maze of twisted metal, which explained why it wouldn’t open when she tried it a few moments ago.

  The Ulysses would never navigate again; its damaged structure would fold in two if thrust was ever applied, and with the interceptor hanging onto its side and counteracting any attempt at movement, not even the thrusters would do it any good.

  She turned her head in its helmet and inspected the forward half of the crippled vessel. She could see the crew module clearly, beyond the end of the second cluster of ammonia tanks. It appeared undamaged; there were no signs of any leaks, so her first objective had been achieved. One of the thrusters flared on the larger ship, and she gave a wry smile as the Mesa automatically fired another thruster to compensate. Let Mordecai try to work his way out of that one.

  She hoped he was too distracted by his situation to notice her, a tiny figure against the great bulk of the ship, but she took careful note of where the external cameras were, and planned her route to avoid them.

  She pushed herself out of the open hatch, and let herself drift several metres away from the airlock. Her spacesuit backpack contained a set of small gas jet thrusters, designed for limited manoeuvring away from the ship, and she used these to arrest her relative motion, until she was hanging there in space, between the two ships.

  She was well screened from the only camera along this side of the Ulysses, and she turned herself round until she was facing downwards, and moved cautiously underneath the Mesa’s nose. There were no cameras at all down here, and she kept going until she was under one of the larger ship’s fuel tanks. She brought herself to a stop, and then turned again to face forward along the length of the larger ship. Six large radiator fins jutted out into space, and she selected a route between two of them that screened her from any view, and moved forwards along the tanks.

  He would be wondering what she was doing, of course. Leaving the Mesa on automatic attitude control would make him think she was still on the flight deck, but that ruse wouldn’t work for long. He would know the moment she made any noise on the hull, which was why she was using the backpack thrusters, and not attempting to clamber over the ship.

  She was coming to the end of the forward cluster of
ammonia tanks, and she slowed to a halt, before peering over the domed end of the tank. The crew module’s cryogenic tanks cast a deep pool of shadow here, and she wished she could turn on her helmet lights to see better, but that would be foolish. At least it would be difficult for him to see her on the cameras.

  She jetted silently over the truss structure that separated the nuclear-powered core stage from the rest of the ship. In an emergency, the core stage could be jettisoned, allowing the manned portion of the ship to escape. She went past the thruster pylons carefully, keeping an eye out for any tell-tale flares, but for now, none of them were firing; Mordecai seemed to have given up trying to escape from the Mesa’s grasp, and was likely figuring out his next move.

  Now she was moving underneath the cryogenic tanks, which held the ship’s stores of liquid propane and oxygen for the rocket engines and for life support. These tanks were shorter than the ammonia tanks, and then there was another structure that supported the ship’s communications antennas – three long, spine-like structures, currently pointing at random locations in the sky. She slowed to a halt again and paused, surveying the crew module head of her.

  A maze of pipework and truss framework connected the forward end of the cryogenic tanks to the lowermost deck of the crew module. In between were six spherical helium tanks for cooling the memory arrays on the third deck. At various strategic locations, cameras in turrets provided an uninterrupted view over the whole of the crew module. As soon as she emerged from the shelter of the pipework, he would be able to see her, and would realise what she was about to do.

  She would need to be quick. She gauged the distance between where she floated, and the small hatchway in the side of the command deck that she was aiming for. It looked like about thirty metres. The emergency airlock was hardly ever used, but was a last-ditch rescue route from the ship if the forward airlock module was unusable. And unlike the main airlock module, it could not be barred to external entry. She would have to traverse the gap, grab hold of the hatch handles, and get the hatch open, before he realised what she was doing.