The Ninth Science Fiction Megapack

by Arthur C. Clarke

  Fists clenched tight, Blair glowered at the empty doorway.

  Ricks nervously followed Blair and Wiley out through the personnel hatch and onto the grid outside the Station. His meeting with Wiley had been a simple exchange of names, with no questions asked and no explanations given. Apparently, Wiley had no idea he was merely a passenger on the Station, and not a crew member. Irv Mendel, on the other hand, had pointedly ignored him. Ricks got the impression that Mendel and Blair had argued about him, and that Mendel had lost. Blair himself simply looked grim.

  It was the first time Ricks had seen the exterior of the Station. He was standing now on a grid extending from a semi-conical section which itself protruded upward from the ball in the middle of the Station. The ball contained the administrative and recreational rooms of the Station, and the cone above it contained the radio room, the control room, and cubicles containing the meteorological equipment of the weather team.

  Standing on the grid, Ricks looked up and out, toward the stars, toward the vast emptinesses, and all at once he felt microscopic. He was as small as an ant beneath a redwood tree. Smaller than that, smaller than an amoeba in the ocean, smaller than a single grain of sand on the Sahara. He was a weak and tiny speck of fury and indecision, a flea riding a lily pad down the Mississippi. He could cry out, with all the strength of his lungs, and it would be no more than a faint peeping in the bottom of the deepest well of all.

  Wiley’s calm voice broke into his awe and wonder, crackling tinnily from the helmet radio: “We’ll go on down and take a look at the damage first. It’s the section just to the right of that spoke.”

  Blair’s voice, oddly depersonalized by the radio, said, “Right. You lead off.”

  Wiley, calm and sure-footed in his magnet-soled boots, stepped off the grid onto the curving side of the cone. He marched down it, looking to Ricks like a man walking calmly down a wall, and thence across the bulge of the central ball to the spoke. Blair followed him, moving just as easily and effortlessly, and Ricks came last.

  There was no gravity out here. The Station spun beneath them with what seemed lazy slowness against the distant backdrop of the stars, and the only gravitic force was the centrifugal action of the Station, trying lazily to spin them off and out into space. Above them, the gripper reep arced by in its orbit; the pilot waved.

  Ricks gritted his teeth and followed the other two, imitating their actions. The magnetic boots were tricky things; you had to step high, or all at once the boot would click back against the Station with a step only half-completed. And it took a sliding knee-bending movement to release the boot for another step.

  The three men moved in slow Indian file across the rounded bulk of the spoke, up across the first inner bulge of the rim, and then out on the rim’s top. They stepped carefully over the metal ridge that marked where, inside the Station, Section Six was separated from Section Five. Then there was a four-foot drop to the curve of the outer surface of the rim. If the rim of the Station had been an automobile tire, they would now have been standing on its side, out on the edge where the tread begins. The meteor was imbedded in the tread-area itself, below the curve.

  Wiley and Blair stood close to the meteor; Ricks hung back a step, watching them, moving only when and as they moved. No one had spoken since they left the grid. Then, over the earphones came an unfamiliar voice: “How’s it look, Ed?”

  “Not sure yet, Dan. We’re just beginning to look it over.”

  Ricks looked around, baffled, then realized that Dan was the pilot in the gripper reep, now hovering a little ways off, circling as the Station circled, keeping approximately even with the meteor break, the replacement part awkward in its long arms.

  “Here it is, here,” said Blair suddenly. He squatted carefully, keeping both boots firmly in contact with the Station metal, and pointed to a spot at the jagged intersection of rough meteor rock and frayed bent metal.

  Ricks moved in closer, to see what Blair was pointing at. Sunlight glinted momentarily from whatever it was.

  Wiley crouched down beside Blair, cutting off Ricks’ view, as Dan asked, “What is it?”

  It was Wiley who answered. “Little bit of ice here. We’ve got a slow leakage. Looks like there’s probably a small puncture of the inner hull, with the meteor itself plugging it most of the way. Little bit of air gets out, dissipates between the hulls, and a smidgen of it gets out through here and freezes solid.”

  Blair’s voice sounded, saying, “Does Dan know what’s in this section?”

  “I don’t know a thing.”

  Wiley explained it, and Dan said, “We’ll have to take it nice and easy, then. If that stuff gets loused up, I’m not going home.” Blair straightened, turning, and said, “Okay, Ricks, you can make yourself useful. Go on up with Wiley and help him unrig his ship.”

  “Sure.”

  BLAIR waited by the meteor while the other two went back across the spoke and up to the grid. Wiley said, “There’s these two wires to disengage. Wait till I’m in and set, and I’ll give you the high-sign.”

  “Okay.”

  Wiley clambered into the reep, sealing the dome shut and adjusting the air pressure to fill the cabin. Then he turned off the suit’s air supply and opened his faceplate. Hands and feet ready on the controls, he nodded to Ricks. Ricks released the moorings, and the reep drifted out and to the left, falling slowly away from the spinning Station. Its rear rocket flashed, and it moved away more rapidly, beyond the Station’s outer rim.

  Ricks walked back to the rim. When he got there, Wiley’s ship was in place, two of the side rockets firing sporadically, keeping it still in relation to the motion of the Station. The two side arms clung to jagged tears in the rim metal, next to the meteor, while the top and bottom arms, working to the pre-measurements of a small computer tape, inched across the metal, cutting implements extended, scoring not deep enough to cut completely through the hull. Just behind each cutting edge, a small nozzle marked the line of the score with a thin line of red.

  Finished, Wiley retracted all four arms, and allowed the reep to drift back away from the Station. The other reep came in closer.

  Blair said, “Got something else for you to do, Ricks.” He removed from a clip on the waist of his suit what looked like a coiled length of narrow cable. “You can hold the replacement panel,” he said, “while Dan clears the meteor out. Help me unsnarl this thing.”

  “Right.”

  Unwound, the coil proved to be four lengths of cable, about fifteen feet long, joined together at one end and terminating at the other end in broad curved clips. While Dan hovered as close as he dared, Blair attached these clips to the edges of the panel, near the corners. Ricks held the other end, where the cables met.

  “It’s going to want to drift to the left,” said Blair. “Make sure it doesn’t. Keep all four cables taut. It’s the same as flying a kite. If you let it dip, it’ll crash into the rim here. If it’s crumpled, we can’t use it. And we don’t have any spares handy.”

  “I’ll keep it up,” promised Ricks.

  Dan backed the gripper reep until the cables stretched taut from Ricks to the panel, and then released his hold on the panel, which immediately drifted to the left, not maintaining the speed of the Station’s spin.

  Holding the joined part of the cable tight in his gloved left hand, Ricks tugged with his right at individual lines, trying to keep the panel above him. Behind him, Blair and Dan were ignoring him, working at their own part of the problem. Ricks could hear Blair instructing Dan, guiding him as he came slowly in and fastened his four gripper arms to the meteor. Two of the reep’s auxiliary rocket exhausts fired briefly, and then again, as Dan tugged tentatively at the meteor.

  Ricks wanted to turn and watch the operation, but he couldn’t. The eight-by-eight replacement panel swayed above him with maddening slowness, inching away from him, curving down toward the Station. Trying to move too quickly, he pulled on the wrong cable, and the panel dipped sharply, the uppermost cable falling sla
ck, threatening to snarl the others.

  * * * *

  Stepping back quickly, almost losing his boot-grip on the hull, Ricks yanked desperately at the slack cable. The panel shuddered, stopped perpendicular to the hull and scarcely two feet above its surface. Then the force of Ricks’ yank took over, and it sailed slowly toward him, curving up and over him, moving now in the direction of the Station’s spin but somewhat faster. When it was directly above him, Ricks tried to stop it, but it curved on, angling down now directly toward the meteor and the arms of the gripper reep.

  This time, Ricks managed to tug the cables properly, reversing the drift without too much trouble. He was beginning to catch on to the method, now. It was impossible to keep the panel stationery above him. All he could do was keep sawing it back and forth, forcing its own sluggish motion to follow his commands. Once he had the right idea, it wasn’t too difficult to keep the thing under control, but it didn’t take long at all for his arms to feel the strain. He didn’t dare relax, not for a second. His arms and shoulders twinged at every movement, and his neck and back ached from the necessity of his looking constantly directly above him.

  From time to time, he chanced a quick look at the progress of the other two. Blair was standing now at the very edge of the scored section, guiding Dan both with words and with arm and body movements. Dan was tugging slowly, first to the left and then to the right, and gradually the meteor was being inched outward. At one point, Blair glanced over at Ricks and said, “How’s it going, Ricks?”

  “Just dandy,” said Ricks, grunting with effort. “Just fine. Almost as good as you.”

  Blair frowned, then turned his attention back to the meteor. Half a dozen times since they’d come out here, he’d been at the point of telling Ricks to go back inside, to have Mendel send out a crewman instead. He wasn’t sure what had stopped him. It wasn’t the way Ricks saw it; he wasn’t looking for a whipping boy, to take the blame for him if he lost the cargo. Glenn Blair didn’t pass the buck, he never had and he never would. He’d been given this job in the first place because he was a man who could handle responsibility, whose pride lay in his ability to complete his own jobs, not in any ability to oversee the work of others.

  He had, he knew, lost the dispassionate approach necessary in his work. Ricks and the cargo for QB had both become too important to him, though in far different ways. With Ricks, he seemed somehow to have become ensnarled in some idiotic sort of contest, in which only Ricks knew the rules and the scoring, in which only Ricks could know or care who had won and who had lost. Ricks had kept him off-balance, thinking with his emotions rather than his brains. In so doing, he’d underestimated Ricks’ own concern with the contest. He’d agreed to let Ricks come out here partly out of a desire to throw the guy into a situation where he would lose his own con-

  test under his own rules, arm partly out of a desire to call Ricks’ bluff. It had turned out to be no bluff, and Blair, thinking with his emotions, had been unable to withdraw the agreement.

  And the fight with Mendel had only served to harden the cement. Mendel had been instantly and loudly opposed to Ricks’ going outside, and Blair had responded just as quickly and just as loudly. Mendel’s opposition had finally only intensified Blair’s determination to go through with it.

  Outside, he had had no choice but to put Ricks to work. There were only the two of them out there, and both were needed. He’d kept for himself the intricate job of guiding the removal of the meteor—the reep pilot was too far back and too involved with the operation of his ship’s controls to be able to do the job by himself—but that had left for Ricks the scarcely-less intricate job of holding onto the replacement panel. Blair had kept an eye on him throughout, ready to step in if it looked as though Ricks would lose control, but Ricks had done surprisingly well, after bobbling the ball a bit to begin with.

  Now, as Blair kept up a steady drone of low-voiced directions, Dan gradually eased the meteor out of the jagged hole it had made in the hull. The whole scored segment was now bulged outward slightly, and the sawtooth edges of the hole were scraping out and back, with the motion of the meteor.

  Then, all at once, the reep jerked backward, as the meteor rasped loose. The hull vibrated beneath Blair’s feet, and then quieted.

  Blair waited, cautiously watching the jagged tear, but after the second’s vibration, there was nothing more. They’d managed it, working and tugging and twisting the meteor in such a way that the remaining air in Section Five was released slowly enough to be of no danger.

  Dan’s voice came over the helmet radio: “I’ll take Junior on home.”

  “Right.”

  * * * *

  The gripper reep shot, turning, up and away from the Station, carrying the meteor far enough away so that it could safely be released without being drawn right back to the Station. Blair watched it go, then stepped cautiously across the scored line and looked down through the hole at the inner hull, five feet away. It was too dark in there to be sure, but he thought he could see the marks of a tiny jagged tear.

  Wiley’s voice came through the earphones, saying, “Okay, Glenn, I’m ready to slice ’er up.”

  “Come ahead.” He backed out of the scored section again, and watched as the fixer reep came in close, once again clutching the edges of the hole with the side arms while the other two arms carefully sliced through the scored lines, this time cutting all the way through, leaving only thin uncut segments at the corners to keep the whole piece in place.

  As the fixer reep backed off, the gripper reep returned, empty-armed now, and slid into place, grabbing the serrated edges of the hole. Blair took the small powered hand-cutter from its loop at the waist of his suit, and carefully sliced through the remaining segments. The gripper reep backed away, holding the cut-off square.

  Blair crouched at the edge of the cut, and held tightly to it as he lifted both boots clear of the hull. His body swung slowly around, over the hole, and he pulled himself down into it, until his boots clamped to the inner hull.

  The space between the hulls was a maze of braces and supports, five feet wide. One diagonal brace had been crushed by the meteor, and would have to be replaced once both hulls were repaired. For now, Blair was concerned to affix a temporary patch to the outside of the inner hull. The final repair job on that would be done from inside the Station. All he had to do was put on a patch that would allow Section Five to be filled with air again, so the inner repair work could be safely done.

  Once his boots were firmly braced against the inner hull, Blair released his hold on the outer hull and moved through the constricted space to the cross-braced wall between Section Five and Six. A tool-and-patch kit was bolted to the wall, beside the round small entranceway to the between-hulls of Section Six. From this kit Blair took a small hammer and a foot-square rubberized metallic patch. He then returned to the spot where the meteor had broken through.

  The hole in the inner hull was a ragged oval, less than half an inch in diameter at its widest point. The edges of the tear had been pulled outward by the removal of the meteor, and Blair first hammered these flat, then removed the protective backing of the patch square and pressed the square firmly over the hole. Its inner side was covered with a sealant designed to work in vacuum, binding patch and hull together at the molecular level. It was not a permanent repair job by any means, but it would hold for at least twenty-four hours of normal pressure inside Section Five.

  The patch job finished, Blair came back out in much the same manner as he had gone in. Ricks, a little ways to the left, was still maneuvering the replacement panel back and forth, though his arms seemed to be sagging somewhat by now. Blair said, “Okay, Ricks, bring it in.”

  “Anything you say, Admiral.” Blair helped him ease the panel down close enough for each of them to grab an edge. They released the cable clips, and Blair one-handed bunched the cable together until he could slip it back onto the catch on his suit. Together, they turned the panel around and held it flat. On Earth, t
his reinforced thickness of hull would have weighed nearly two hundred pounds. Here, it seemed to weigh less than nothing, since the only force on it was trying to push it up, away from the Station.

  They carried the panel over to the hole made for it, and Blair said, “Lower it easy. It should be a snug fit, flush with the rest of the hull. If we set it in flat, we won’t have any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, Commander.”

  “Don’t play the smart-aleck!” Surprisingly, Ricks answer was subdued: “All right. What do we do now?”

  “Lower it. Don’t hold it on the edge, hold your hands flat on the top, like this. There’s no danger of it falling.”

  Ricks laughed nervously. “It’s like a table-raising at a séance.” They stood on opposite sides of the hole, the panel flat between them, their arms out over it, gloved hands pressing it slowly down. The fixer reep rolled gently in toward them, and Wiley said, “Let me know when you’re ready, Glenn.”

  “Just a minute now.”

  The panel was a little too far over on Ricks’ side. Together, they adjusted it, and lowered it to match the hole. They stood crouched opposite one another, holding the panel in place, while the fixer reep edged into position, and the welding arm reached out to the bottom left corner. “Turn your face away, Ricks,” warned Blair.

  “Right.”

  * * * *

  It took ten minutes to weld the new piece into place. In the meantime, the gripper reep returned from dumping the scrap section, and Blair sent Ricks up to the grid to help Dan moor his ship. Ricks and Dan came back carrying two tool kits and, when the welding job was finished, Blair and Ricks stood aside as Dan power-sanded the new weld and did a quick spray-painting that removed the signs of the patch. Straightening, he said, “There you go. Good as new.”