Harry Takes Off: Astounding Stories of Adventure (Iron Pegasus Book 1)

by Steve Turnbull

  I had never seen anyone die before, and to see that certain ineffable quality leave the fleshly shell as Ishar’s eyes became empty moved me.

  Air continued to leak around Ishar’s body and escape into the Void beyond. I had no time to delay; I must remove his helmet and use it for myself. It seemed such a violation of his person and yet there was no choice.

  With fingers fumbling through my gloves I worked at the clips, in an effort to release them. I could hear a distant crashing of metal on metal but I could not spend any thought as to its meaning. Tiny globes of water floated away from my face and I realised they were tears. I wiped the back of my glove across my face.

  I was breathing heavily and deeply, as if I were out of breath. The air was thinning. It was as if I stood upon the top of a high mountain, higher than any mountain of our Earth. I giggled then realised this was wrong, and focused on my task.

  I released the helmet and pulled it awkwardly from Ishar’s head. I muttered an apology as his head flew back and struck the metal of the hull. My thoughts were twisting like a bucket of eels and I could not recall which thought I should be thinking.

  My attention was brought back to reality as the helmet tried to escape my grasp. I knew I must not let it go lest I lose it forever, so clung to it harder. I lost focus again, all I could see was the face of my Beloved reaching out to me as she slipped away into grey that was attempting to envelope me. She kept telling me to let go. So I did and let the grey take me.

  Sept 3rd, 1874, 11:24

  I opened my eyes as if I had been plunged into cold water. I expected to see my Beloved leaning over me, asking me what was wrong. Instead it was the concerned face of the Captain that greeted me, half his face bright with sunlight, and the other in deepest shadow.

  As he leant forward my mind was filled with the strange idea that he was attempting to kiss me. I shuddered at the thought and realised that I must have come close to joining Ishar in death. My thoughts were still confused. The helmets touched.

  “Are you with us, Mr Finley-Blythe?”

  I did not trust my voice and nodded. There was something floating in front of me. I tried to brush it away only to realize it was a drop of dried and crystallised blood on the inside of the glass: Ishar’s blood.

  “We must escape as soon as we may, but follow my lead.”

  Escape? I wondered. The Captain pulled me away from the floor and into an upright position and the meaning of his comment became clear.

  There were now four men in Void-suits in the room, two of them had guns trained on us. The other two were examining the controls and had one wall panel open and its innards pulled out. Our original captor was nowhere in sight.

  We two were still positioned close to the rupture in the hull while Ishar’s body floated grotesquely off to one side, lashed to a pipe by a loop around one wrist. I glanced at his face: It had already taken on a desiccated appearance.

  Though I was unaware of the exact details of what had happened during my period of unconsciousness, the nature of the events that had played out was clear enough. These men, perhaps “Lassiter” was among them, had hatched a plan to take the Bridge just as we had arrived, unexpectedly.

  It was plain to see that, while air pressure was maintained on the Bridge, the single man here could defend himself against anyone attempting to enter through the airlock—as we had done. We were lucky we had not simply been shot out of hand.

  However by rigging an explosion in the hull it would cause rapid decompression which, even if it did not kill the defender, would force him to take cover and the entry through the airlock would no longer require time to equalise air pressure. This explained the banging I heard just before I passed out. But, with Ishar blocking the hole and slowing down the escape of air, their plans had been upset.

  They had managed to make their entry once the pressure had reduced enough but, with the Captain ensuring my survival, he had not been able to prevent their entry.

  I looked across at the Captain; he was staring at me intently as if he were trying to communicate something. As I watched he directed his eyes purposefully towards the rupture in the hull.

  I had an idea and hoped he would understand and work with me. I rolled my eyes and waved my arms a little, as if I were out of control. Then allowed myself to float up with my eyes closed and my limbs splayed out like a starfish. There was a long pause and my helmet impacted the ceiling. Then I felt someone grab my arm.

  “Finley-Blythe?”

  “I am well, Captain. It is a ruse, so we can talk.”

  “Well done, but we must be quick or they will suspect.”

  “You intend to escape through the rupture, sir?”

  “It is our only hope. Then we must make our way around the hull to our vessel.”

  “We will require some sort of distraction.”

  “Good Lord!”

  The Captain’s outburst was not directed at me. I felt his grip on my arm tighten and then let go. For a moment I felt the terror of being left alone by the only remaining person I could consider to be a friend in this strange world. I opened my eyes to find myself floating by the ceiling. I twisted around and took in the events unfolding around me. The missing crew member had emerged from wherever he had hidden and had already shot the two men working on the panel. They floated a short distance away, turning over and over, one of the bodies twitched and convulsed while drops of blood flowed in curved lines from their bodies in a horrific semblance of art.

  The remaining three were engaged in a gun battle. Their attention focused on one another. It seemed we had our diversion.

  I pulled my body into a tight ball in order to rotate faster. My feet came up to the ceiling and I pushed firmly. I wanted to thrust as hard as I could but the rupture in the hull was not wide and an error would result in my Void-suit being ripped to shreds, so I restrained my panic. I passed the Captain as he attempted to manoeuvre himself into a position to escape.

  My aim was true and I exited the rupture.

  I twisted again to view the hole as I left it behind and watched as the Captain clawed his way to freedom. The rupture was in the very front of the vessel and its square prow became clearly defined as I moved away.

  It was then I realised my error.

  Sept 3rd, 1874, 11:31

  Anoxia is perhaps not the worst death in the world. But to feel the utter loneliness of the Void as one passes from awareness to unconsciousness as one’s oxygen supply depletes was not a prospect I welcomed. All my life I had been cursed with a morbid imagination; I could see the multiple outcomes of events as they transpired and was able to predict a thousand negative alternate futures in but a moment.

  I knew it was this curse that provided the basis of my skill as a computationer. In this new trade, one is always calculating the possible results of the different routes through the Lovelace codes, looking for stumbles and clashes. It is true that, as I grew older, my predisposition to nightmares and day terrors had reduced but it had never left me completely.

  And here, in the utter desolation of the Void, that predisposition took possession of me. My thoughts were gripped with the horror that was to come. And the fact that one day soon I would become one of those shooting stars, a brief flame in the firmament by which some lovers might make a wish.

  The black disc of the Earth blocked the light of the stars while the silver of the moon reflected across a vast expanse of ocean. The approach of dawn made a bright white arc through the thin layer of atmosphere and glowed like the ring I had bought for my Beloved.

  And with the ease of a dream, my thoughts turned to her. I recalled those afternoons during the summer, sitting out on a picnic blanket offering her daisies that she wove into a crown and placed upon my head. Her laugh echoed through the emptiness of my future as I felt once more the tender touch of her lips against mine.

  Anger invested me. I would not be torn from her. She would not learn of my death from an anonymous administrator in a letter that would be filled wit
h lies due to the secret nature of our mission. Besides, the Captain would be unable to pilot the ship on his own since it required a minimum crew of two.

  I opened my eyes. Light from the dawning Sun glinted off the distant derelict. The laws of Sir Isaac Newton dictated that any effort in one direction I made here in the Void would be matched by an equal effort in the opposite direction: the sum being zero. There was no action I could make within myself that could arrest my motion.

  However that same law meant that if I threw something from me, the opposing force would change my direction and velocity. I made an inventory of the items about me. There were various small items, such as a notepad and pencil, and a spanner and screwdriver set which possessed a more reasonable amount of mass. Mass was, of course, the other part of the equation: Items with less mass must be ejected faster to have the same effect as an item with greater mass at a lower velocity.

  I examined my position in relation to the derelict. I had not exited the rupture in a line along its main axis, but slightly off-centre so now all of its massive length was in view including the great open hatch in its side, where the Albatross lay.

  This information told me what I needed to know, though I could not judge my relative speed. I thanked the Creator I had resisted the temptation to thrust myself at full speed through the rupture or I would have had no hope at all.

  Through various jerks and tucks I moved myself round until I faced away from the vessel. As an experiment I took the pencil and threw it as hard as I could away from me.

  I had failed to consider the rotational effect and found myself describing lazy circles round my centre of gravity located around the middle of my back. I managed to arrest my motion through new contortions and sending the notepad off in a manner that counter-acted my spin but was still in the direction of slowing my retreat from safety.

  I could not tell if I had reduced my speed but logic and the laws of physics told me I must have done, even if only a little. The Sun had fully risen now and the stranded ship was highlighted in shining reflections counterpointing the utter darkness of the shadows. With the Sun fully on me I found half my body heating up while the other half was frigid with cold.

  I was out of items that could be thrown but something nagged at me. I focused my thoughts: Why was my centre of gravity located in my upper back? Why was it not in my belly—or perhaps solar plexus? If I had not been wearing my helmet I would have struck my own head for the fool I was. I carried the mass of my breathing apparatus, and the cylinders of air, which must be running low now.

  A cold certainty came upon me: I knew how to regain the ship, but if I made any mistake I condemned myself to a swift and terrible death. But if I did nothing I would die anyway.

  I carefully unstrapped the breathing apparatus and prepared to unhook the breathing tube. It had a valve which operated to allow fresh air to enter but prevented used air going in the other direction. It had not been designed to hold air against a vacuum on the other side. I looked at the gauge and determined the cylinders held enough air for another twenty minutes.

  This was my dilemma: to live for another twenty minutes then slip into unconsciousness and die; or take a risk that might kill me immediately, or use up my air in an attempt that could fail for a dozen different reasons. My calculating mind showed me all the ways it could go wrong while my heart reminded me of my Beloved waiting for me, and the Captain who could not escape without my assistance.

  I would like to say I also thought of my country’s need to know of these men in the Void, but that did not feature in my considerations.

  So, like a pearl diver in tropical waters, I took deep breaths to fill my blood with oxygen, took a firm grasp of the connector and unscrewed the air tube from my suit.

  Sept 3rd, 1874, 11:46

  I held my breath. My eyes glued to the open air-inlet for any signs the valve had failed under the pressure for which it had not been designed. There was no tell-tale sign of condensing water vapour streaming from the tube. There was no sound of hissing inside the suit either but I could not rely on the valve holding for long, and I did not have much time before the oxygen in the suit would become exhausted.

  The air hose had been constructed such that it only allowed air to flow when it was connected. Releasing the tube I dug into a pocket and pulled out the toolkit. Fumbling in my haste I extracted the screwdriver. I almost let go of the rest in my hurry to implement my plan but, at the last moment, good sense got the better of me. I forced myself to relax and replaced the toolkit in my pocket.

  If I had attempted to use the toolkit as propulsion, the way I had thrown the other items, I would have been unable to implement my plan at all. Who was to say that I would not need the other tools at some point soon? Waste not want not, as my mother used to say. Perhaps she had not been wrong. If I somehow returned to the bosom of the Earth I would tell her that she had saved my life.

  From my previous efforts I had determined that I should direct the stream of air along a line that would pass through my centre of gravity. If I was too far off I would set myself spinning, possibly to the point where I would never again achieve stability. But the benefit of my earlier attempt was that it had shown me that the centre was located in the region of my middle back.

  In an ideal world I would have had my own personal thrusters that could drive me forwards. In this very real world I must drive myself backwards. I counselled myself that I would not achieve a perfect line at the first try.

  The air within the suit was becoming thicker and I forced myself to cease these prevarications.

  Holding the tube firmly with one hand such that it pointed away from my chest, I inserted the screwdriver with my other hand. I could not find the right point at first then, suddenly, there was a burst of air from the tube. I could feel the slight acceleration it imparted. I immediately removed the screwdriver to gauge the result.

  I could discern no change. I had not caused myself to rotate so it seemed I had achieved a good line but I did not think I had succeeded in reversing my path. I took a deep breath which utterly failed to bring the relief I needed. My head had begun to throb.

  Once more I directed the tube away from me and pressed the screwdriver against the release inside it. I decided to give a count of ten. The Earth was to my right and each time it moved up, down or more in front of me I adjusted the direction of the thrust. I reached the count of ten and shut off the flow. I desperately wanted to wipe the sweat forming on my face where its salt was stinging my eyes. I kept trying to breathe harder and faster but I overrode my body’s unthinking reaction to the lack of oxygen.

  My thinking was clouded but from somewhere I had an idea. Could I not reattach my air supply? Once more I fumbled with the tubes and rotated the screw mechanism again and again, like winding an automaton. Fresh air flowed into the suit and I breathed hard and fast.

  Rationality returned quickly and I needed to find out how my plan had fared. In a series of jerking movements I managed to turn and my heart became one of ice.

  The ship was gone. There was nothing before me but the firmament filled with the glorious multi-coloured jewels of the stars. I resigned myself. There was no hope. I would die here amid the glory of God. At least I would not have far to travel to meet with St Peter. I laughed at the foolishness of my thought, and then wondered at the strange thin object snaking up in front of me.

  It was coming at me very fast. I realised it was a rope. A rope in the Void? I reached out and caught at it. I really was going quite fast and it was slipping through my hand before I even got close. I tightened my grip and the change in forces caused me to rotate.

  The huge vessel swung into view; I had been oriented such that it was out of my direct view. My plan had been successful. I grasped the rope, it straightened out. My arm straightened and was jerked hard, ripping at the tendons in my shoulder. I hung on to my lifeline desperately, but the cord was escaping through my glove as the combined mass and velocity dragged me onwards. Imagine if you c
an, throwing yourself into a pit and attempting to arrest your fall by grabbing a rope. That is what I was attempting.

  Then I was grasping at nothing. The end of the line escaped me and its elasticity caused it to spring back towards the ship. I turned myself to face it and could see the Captain floating beside it, gathering up the rope as it returned to him.

  I fully expected to see the ship moving away from me but it did not, I realised that I must have arrested almost all my velocity with the rope. Hope grew in my heart as he coiled the rope around his forearm and prepared to launch it a second time. But as he prepared to throw it a figure appeared around one edge of the ship. He had a gun and I could do nothing except watch as he took aim at the Captain.

  Sept 3rd, 1874, 11:53

  From my vantage point away from the vessel I could see both the Captain, preparing to launch the rope once more, and his assailant with his gun. I could not remain a passive spectator as this crime unfolded beneath me. Almost without thought my hand went to my pocket and found my small toolbox.

  But there was no time. The light of the muzzle flash reflected briefly on the ship and I fully expected to hear the loud report, though that was impossible. I focused my attention on the Captain but saw no reaction. The fellow had missed and, even better, the force of the shot had thrown him into a slow spin.

  Oblivious to the threat, the Captain tossed the rope towards me. As before his aim was good and this time I was ready for the line as it snaked out towards me, its momentum causing it to unravel as it came.

  And yet it missed. Like Tantalus reaching for the fruit forever beyond his reach, I too strained to capture the rope that now hung so short a distance from me. But the Void offers no purchase and all my manoeuvrings and thrashings were in vain.

  Worse still, the man with the gun had regained his composure. He had braced himself against a mechanism protruding from the surface of the vessel, and was once more preparing to shoot at the Captain.