CHAPTER 21
AN INTRODUCTION
Chloe shut down her terminal and wiped her eyes and nose as she briskly exited the research center. Instead of taking the elevator to the dormitories on Sixteen M, she opted for the stairs, even though it meant climbing almost twenty flights.
She entered the cold concrete and steel stairwell. The door slammed behind her with a loud thud that echoed throughout the cavernous chamber. She never felt so alone. Fear and confusion consumed her as she climbed, weighing her down more and more with each step. It took Chloe more than an hour to ascend the stairs to the dormitories connected to the Nursery.
As she approached the landing for floor Sixteen M, she brushed away the tears running down her cheeks. She tried to calm down by taking a few refreshing breaths before opening the door, so as to not draw attention to herself should she encounter anyone prior to reaching her dorm room.
After passing the retinal scanner, Chloe bowed her head and quickly made a beeline for her dorm. She entered the corridor that led to her room, walked past the shower stalls and restrooms, and typed her pass code on the exterior keypad. The door’s magnetic lock disengaged, granting access to her room. She tiptoed past the rows of bunk beds to the last stack and gingerly squatted on the mattress. Her eyelids felt heavy and swollen.
He can’t be right! Chloe thought, lying down on the bottom bunk, Engenechem is plotting, and preparing, to exterminate six billion people? And not save us? Armada’s not thinking clearly. He’s overlooking something or hasn’t factored everything.
She shut her droopy eyelids, drew up her knees, and tried not to think.
As she was drifting to sleep, Chloe suddenly felt the uneasy sensation of someone watching her. She opened her eyes, but instead of feeling dreary and listless, her body and brain were invigorated and alert. She lay on her left side and tried looking to her right as far as she could. There was no sound. In fact, she didn’t even hear her nine roommates breathing as they slept. She slowly pulled her left arm up to look at her watch. The digital screen was dark.
She abruptly sat up, turning to her right to face whomever was watching her. Chloe blinked and rubbed her eyes and shook her head. There, in front of the door and first stack of bunk beds, was a glowing, pulsing, mass of haze, floating in midair. The feelings of despair and fear that earlier had inundated her psyche were instantly replaced with those of tranquility and peace. She smiled as she witnessed the vaporous cloud slowly roll past the beds, row by row. Chloe’s rapidly beating heart began to wind down. She couldn’t not stare at the light as it drew closer to her. How warm and relaxed she now felt, but not at all sleepy or tired. When the orb was perpendicular to the end of her bed, she peered straight through it at the wall-mounted clock. The second hand, she observed, had stopped moving.
Chloe slowly shifted her weight, turning back to lean on her left arm. The cloud of dazzling colors crept towards her, but quit advancing when it was nearly parallel with her hips. Curious to know what it was, she delicately raised her right hand and gradually extended her arm. The smoothly swirling ball of light backed away, just beyond the tips of her fingers. She again smiled, lowered her arm, and the glowing haze moved closer.
She moved her left arm from behind her and gracefully lay herself down, keeping her focus on the apparition.
“My precious child,” she heard a man softly say, “Fear not, and know that I am with you.”
***
Armada removed the transponder chip and pulled out the microphone before clamping down the locking mechanism on his helmet. He then started pulling himself towards the last air lock and glowing orb.
“How am I supposed to enter the air lock when all of the power is out?” he asked.
He gazed in astonishment as the orb passed through the air lock door into the vacuum chamber. Once he was in front of the door, he peered through the tiny, round window. Without warning, the vacuum chamber was immediately pressurized and the interior door to the air lock began to swing in. The orb, however, was no longer on the inside of the chamber. Armada secured the interior door of the vacuum chamber and thrust himself to the exterior door. He grabbed two rungs to steady himself, leaned into the portal door window, and watched the orb begin to back away from the docking port.
“How do you expect me…?” Armada started to ask.
Before he could finish his question, the chamber instantly depressurized and the outer door to the docking portal slowly swung open. He had to laugh to himself. Even if he decided to tell Euclid about his encounter and experience this evening, he doubted Euclid would believe one word of it.
“Come,” the voice instructed, and smoothly bobbed over the Arena until out of sight.
The outer door to the last vacuum chamber had no sooner shut when the power supply to the Arena was instantly restored.
Armada pulled himself along the hull exterior and came upon the orb, hovering just above the pin that connected Arena One to the five CARBEL Halos. The pin held a tether cable, roughly four inches in diameter, securely in place, ensuring that if something happened to the vector engines on one of the Arenas, the cable would keep a constant tension and not allow the station to fall out of orbit.
Just as Armada took hold of the pin and cable, the orb moved out and away from him.
“Fear not, and know that I am with you,” the voice firmly commanded.
Armada watched the orb as it sped across the cable to the Halos and on to the four SPUDs. From there, his eyes tracked the swift and shiny mass as it travelled back to the Halos and down CARBEL One. Like a streaking comet, it zipped down the elevator, and, when it reached the SUBOS, flickered brilliantly.
Armada gathered his thoughts and reviewed the trail the shiny sphere just travelled.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Arena to Halos, Halos to SPUDs, SPUDs back to Halos, CARBEL One to the SUBOS. And … no oxygen canister.”
He gazed down below at the sparkling beacon on the SUBOS Aerie.
“Ten miles down, and no oxygen,” he told himself, reluctant to advance any further.
“Come, now,” the voice urged. “Trust in me, and know that I am thy God.”
At that moment Armada looked down, and far below him he could faintly see the flashing lights of a CARBEL platform. As he focused on the platform, he traced the cables up to its Halo. The platform for CARBEL One was rising, but more important was the fact that CARBEL One had a POG mounted to its surface.
Oxygen.
Armada estimated he had around twenty-five minutes to get over to CARBEL One before it began its descent. Twenty-five minutes to the SPUDs and back before he suffocated on his own CO2.
He released his grip on the rungs and grasped the cable. Due to the large circumference of the tether wire and smoothness of the palms of his gloves, Armada found it difficult to get a good grip. It was nearly impossible to drag himself along the wire hand over hand. He decided to clamp both hands at the same time and propel across the cable with one mighty tug.
He darted his eyes to the top left corner of the holographic screen on the interior of his helmet.
“Eighty-five percent,” he grumbled as he reviewed his oxygen levels.
Armada temporarily lowered his head to get a fix on the swiftly ascending platform. He then set his sights on the interconnected Halos and yanked harder on the thick tether cable. After accidentally losing his grasp on the wire, he thought it best to lightly pinch the metal tie line between his feet.
Once he came in contact with the outermost arm of the frame for Halo Five, Armada found it relatively easy to traverse the two hundred feet to Halo One. Using the grid wires on each Halo frame, he was more than happy to advance hand over hand. Like Tarzan swinging on a vine, Armada tightened his fingers on one wire, pulled, and simultaneously reached out with the opposite hand to grab the next. He successfully navigated the five grid sections in just over two minutes.
Armada again focused on the CARBEL One platform, gauged its speed, and checked the gas levels in his s
uit.
‘Sixty percent oxygen,’ the screen read in blinking yellow lights.
He turned away from the Halos to determine the fastest and shortest route to the four SPUDs. Should he go by way of the tethered staging zones for the Clouds and on to the interceptors? Or would his remaining time be put to more effective use by making one mighty lunge, allowing his inertia to deliver him to the corralled quartet of stealth satellite hunters?
Armada looked back at the rising elevator, and once more at his oxygen supply.
“I’m trusting you!” he shouted.
He faced the SPUDs, curled his legs underneath him, and placed his boots on the corner of the Halo frame where it joined the tether cable.
“This is crazy! This is crazy! This is crazy!” he repeated, mustering the courage to let go.
“Two hundred … maybe two hundred fifty yards,” he guestimated, and glanced at his O2 levels.
The holographic screen flashed ‘Forty-five percent’ in bright red digits.
After drawing in one deep breath, he pushed against the Halo frame and, with every ounce of strength, launched himself into the cold, black vacuum of space. Armada tried to regulate his intake of air by breathing in as much he could, holding it in as long as possible, and exhaling long and slow. He stared at the not too distant objective and concentrated on his respirations, forcing his brain and body to ignore the fact that he was free floating, nobody knew where he was or what he was doing, and running desperately low on oxygen.
Thankfully, Armada covered a great deal of distance in a short span of time. He was fast approaching the SPUDs and had only a few seconds to determine where best to grab on. If he missed, or lost contact with the SPUD, there was a strong chance he could bounce past the remaining three vessels.
Armada stuck his arms straight out in front of him in preparation for the impact. He spread his fingers open and visually scanned the surface for the best location to place his hands.
Unable to identify an ideal spot to grab, he hit the SPUD squarely in the upper chest, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled to regain his breath while straining to hold on to the SPUD. Armada felt dizzy and lightheaded from lack of fresh oxygen. The digital hologram in his helmet now blinked ‘Twenty percent.’ Having the air pushed out of his lungs, he was forced to take a greater number of breaths, thereby removing more and more oxygen from his suit.
He twisted his torso to find the CARBEL One platform nearing the Halo.
“No, no, no, no!” he complained loudly between gasps. “You gotta be kidding me!”
He turned to face the SPUD, worked his way to the corner, and wrapped his right leg around the tether cable. Just as he removed his multitool from the exterior pocket of his suit, the hologram in his helmet flickered ‘Fifteen percent,’ and a piercing, high-pitched buzz began ringing.
“This isn’t helping!” Armada shouted, desperate to identify and unfold the blade on his tool. He pried the knife open and thrust it through the radar-deflecting fabric on the underbelly of the SPUD. Withdrawing the knife, he again glanced at the platform.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he blasted, retracting the folding pliers.
Armada started coughing and was experiencing blurred and double vision. He jabbed one jaw of his pliers into the slit in the fabric, squeezed tightly, and began tugging. Little by little, the dense material gave way until an inch or so protruded to the side.
‘Ten percent,’ the hologram flashed.
“Aauugghh!” he screamed, approaching a state of unconsciousness.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the safety lights of Halo One flicker to life. The lights automatically came on when a sensor in the carbon braids was activated. The sensors were placed one hundred feet and two hundred feet below the Halo. When the rollers on the four corners of the platform struck the lower sensor, the floodlights were activated, as well as four red, flashing beacons mounted to the underside of the Halo frame. When the CARBEL platforms came in contact with the second sensor, the four electric crawlers would disengage, stopping its rise.
Armada began to panic, as he knew he was almost out of time and O2.
‘Nine percent.’
With one final surge of energy, Armada squeezed the pliers and leaned back as quickly as he could, pulling with his arms, back, and abdominal muscles.
Had he not wrapped his leg around the tether cable, Armada would have launched his body to the farthest reaches of the Milky Way. He held his pliers close to his helmet and examined the tip. The stealth material was torn in a tiny strip, measuring no more than one inch by a half inch. Armada didn’t waste any time by collapsing the pliers. Instead, he tucked the tool and swatch in the upper arm pocket of his suit and zipped it up.
‘Eight percent.’
Armada’s vision was growing cloudier and his coughing intensified. He turned towards the Halos and watched as the elevator platform arrived at Halo One, two hundred yards away. How could he reach the POG on the platform prior to its descent? If he was late, there wouldn’t be enough oxygen to sustain him for a return to the Arena. As things stood, even if the platform were to wait for him, he’d be out of oxygen before connecting with the POG.
Armada clung to the tether, weighing out his options. With no one single solution to his problems, Armada stretched his left arm back behind him until he felt the tether cable. He did his best to predict the location of the platform for an interception as he turned his attention to the forest of distant carbon braids.
“Okay!” he belligerently shouted. “Here I go! I’m trusting you again.”
‘Seven percent.’
He strained to focus on the Halo and platform while he played out his options. It didn’t appear to matter whether he attempted to reach the CARBEL, try and intercept the elevator during it’s descent, or make the long trek back to the Arena; the end results were the same: out of time and out of O2.
‘Six percent.’
“I know! I know! I know!” he screamed. “I see it, I get it! I’m low on oxygen!”
The decision was made for him when CARBEL One released its brakes and activated the four crawlers to begin the hour-long journey to the SUBOS. Armada placed his boots on the outer frame of the SPUD and drew his knees close to his chest. Delirious and exhausted, he adjusted his stance and calculated the anticipated point of contact with the platform. Armada went all out in his last-ditch effort to survive, exploding from his crouched position into the void.
‘Five percent.’
“C’mon! Be there, please!” he softly pleaded between coughs.
He wanted to shut his eyes and be done with it all, but the thought of Chloe gave him some hope, albeit very little. Condensation began collecting on the interior of his helmet, making it difficult to determine his proximity to the CARBEL carbon braids and the platform. By his best estimates, the point of intercept with either a carbon braid or the platform was around three hundred yards away. Earlier, on his first free-flight from the Halos to the SPUDs, Armada approximated the gap at two hundred yards. That leap sucked out twenty percent of his suit’s remaining oxygen supply and cost him ninety precious seconds. Now, he didn’t know if he would last another minute.
‘Four percent.’
After floating for nearly two minutes, he turned back and up to his eight o’clock position. Armada was panic-stricken to see the blinking white beacon lights of the platform almost directly above him. His trajectory and speed had him passing far below the CARBEL platform, and way too early. He felt his heart race as he twisted to see in front of him. With his arms open wide, he squinted into the darkness, struggling to see through his helmet visor.
Armada suddenly struck one of the carbon braids with his left arm. The semiflexible cord gave way, slightly, and absorbed much of his energy, so the force of impact was not so severe. However, the collision deflected him into a flat spin, away from the elevator cables.
‘Three percent.’
Armada couldn’t suppress his anxiety any longer. He star
ted laughing at his dire situation: no oxygen, no reserve tank, free falling thirty miles above the Earth’s surface, and not one person knew of his plight. His body shivered uncontrollably as the suit’s internal temperature continued to plummet. Not only was he experiencing dizziness from the intake of carbon dioxide, but coupling that with the flat spin was more than his brain could bear. Armada succumbed to the idea of dying, prepared to draw his last breaths, and turned his thoughts to Chloe, Euclid, and Titan.
As he closed his eyes for the last time, his flat spin came to an abrupt stop. Armada struck one of the carbon braids for CARBEL One, and hovered motionless next to the gigantic cable. He had no sooner raised his eyelids when he felt a mighty thump from above. The CARBEL was on top of him, pushing him down.
‘Two percent.’
Unable to see where he was, and almost out of air, Armada rotated to face the underside of the platform. He blindly reached for the outer edge of the elevator, curled his fingers on the corner, and, in one swift motion, pulled himself topside. He couldn’t inhale anymore carbon dioxide and waited until the last possible moment to exhale. His lungs ached to release the pressure building inside him. Armada dragged himself across the platform’s surface, not knowing if the POG lay ahead. His heart pounded, his temples throbbed, and the dropping temperature wreaked havoc with his coordination. Then he felt the base of the mounting brackets securing the pressurized air bank to the CARBEL. Overcome with joy, he released the poisonous gas from his lungs. He clenched his jaws and pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle the urge to cough.
‘One percent.’
Armada’s stiff fingers clumsily fumbled on the POG power control panel, refusing to bend to his will and grasp the tiny protruding tab. Starving for fresh oxygen, his body began to thrash about, buckling at the waist. For the briefest of moments, he managed to join his two index fingers and tug the panel cover open. He depressed the power button for five seconds to initiate the oxygen generator, then flailed violently against the bottom row of spooled comm-links.
In his haste to reach for one of the comm-links, he inadvertently released his grip on the POG and began floating away from the descending platform.
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