Tapping at the controls, Jody breathed a sigh of relief.
“Computer, landing check protocols. Display current solar cell power.”
“Current levels at .12 of full.” Even though the display showed that solar cells were at the brink of empty, there was enough left for propulsion control. Enough to get them out of their current death dive.
“One, maybe two bursts, yeah, that can level the ship out, and I can try to land it in a slow glide. I’ll blow the entire remaining fuel, but it’s worth a shot. At least with no fuel there’ll be no fireball.”
Her fingers worked over the controls calculating the bursts and trajectory needed to straighten the craft out.
“Computer, display suitable landing sites.”
“This vessel does not have the fuel capacity to land safely.”
“Shut up and do what I tell you.” The controls blinked a planetary display with markers of their trajectory and flat landing surfaces highlighted in bright green.
“Equatorial archipelago… excellent.” She swiped the control display. “Computer calculate course to landing site.”
Jody tipped the exhaust at the angle she’d mentally calculated on the fly and tapped in the repeat sequence for the second, insurance burst.
She waited a split second. “Initiate burst sequence.”
The ship lurched starboard, then jerked port, tipping the nose up. Ebudae waggled like a drunkard’s head just before slamming into a table.
“Come on, come on!” Jody clutched the controls. Jaws aching from clenching her teeth, she hung onto the spiraling ship’s navigation lever, her body whipping to and fro.
As the ship swung, the g-force decreased until it began to circle to the right.
“Avionics controls non-responsive.” The computer advised.
“Aw no… no no no! Computer, switch to secondary descent routine.”
Ebudae circled, beginning a free fall.
“Tailspin… damn it damn it, how do I…” She wracked her brain to remember flight school training all those years ago.
“Think, think, think!”
The ship spun slowly in a ballet, plummeting to the planet surface.
“Falling leaf… counteracting attitude adjustment… and …”
The computer added, “Geomagnetic storm at ten degrees. Advise new course.”
“You can shut up now. I’m working on it…” Jody spat. Tugging again in one last futile attempt, she smacked the joystick.
“Not gonna happen. Well, at least they’re already dead so it won’t hurt them…”
In the dimly lit cockpit, control lights blinked a holiday bazaar of nightmares. Ebudae’s hull rattled and whined at gravity’s relentless wrenching and twisting. There was a crash from the cockpit privvy as the door flew open, flinging the contents of a first aid kit like buckshot. She ducked. A coffee cup, proudly stating “DO WHAT YOU LOVE” winged past her helmet, narrowly missing her, crashing into the half opened door behind her. Jody, arms wrapped protectively around her head, spun the chair looking for some place to survive the crash. The short gangway’s running lights drew her eyes towards the payload section.
Mentally she ticked off the cargo for the expedition and remembered the All-Terrain Vehicle. The ATV’s tiny hopper wingspans allowed it to navigate chasms—it was a chance Jody had to take.
“Impact with planet imminent.”
“You and I, little ship, are about to part company,” she said as she hurried towards the ATV. “Computer, calculate time to impact and begin countdown. Open dorsal payload doors before impact.”
“Complying…” the voice paused. “Thirteen seconds to impact.”
Jody left the cockpit in a sprint.
The half grav of her boots stuck her feet on each leap, keeping her from flying backwards while she scrambled into the payload. She swallowed back rising bile from Ebudae’s dizzying descent.
“Thirteen,” the computer warned her.
Undoing the cargo straps of the rear wheels, Jody slapped the door release and scrambled in, disengaging the grav boots.
“Computer, engage Ebudae’s wing flaps!” She shouted into her helmet just as she slammed the door behind her, with scant moments to spare.
The ATV back wheels bucked, slamming her forward. She grabbed the shoulder straps and buckled the torso restraints from between her legs to the chest clasp.
A thunderous roar signaled Ebudae’s final kilometers.
“Five…
Four… Opening payload bay doors.” The faceless voice intoned.
“Three…”
On three, through the open payload doors, a four-wheeled, thick-tired, enclosed buggy shot upwards as the shuttle slashed towards the snow and ice of the tundra below. The torque rattled her teeth in her skull. She held onto the buggy’s steering wheel.
The ATV propelled itself upward, straining against the downward momentum of the ship. It spun, midair, flipped over, then hovered in the thermal as the ATV’s avian’s wingspan spread with a snap. But the vehicle did not drift. It wound down in an accelerating corkscrew, towards the tundra.
There was a loud “whump” as the ATV crashed in a flurry of white. Jody’s vision scrambled from a puffy white cloud to grey and finally to black.
***
Was it moments later?
Was it an hour?
Jody checked her suit clock, tapping the screen controls that flickered in the helmet’s shaded visor. “Is it a day already? Damn, I can’t—I feel like I’m thinking through a cloudbank. And… Oh, stars, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Flipping her helmet visor up, she snapped the ATV door panel open and dry heaved out onto the icy ground onto her shadow. She squinted up at the sun, straight overhead. Useless. At home she might have been able to guess the time or even the season, but the skies of Tapaogani XII weren’t giving her any clues.
“Oh man, why do I feel like someone shoved a dozen rats in my belly?” She bent over in pain, holding her arms around her stomach. Jody sat for a moment, catching her breath, willing herself to ignore the pain.
“It is really fraggin’ cold,” she said to the empty tundra.
Jody slapped the visor back down. “Maybe I didn’t pass out for that long. Or maybe I’m dead and this is the other side?”
She swiped the EVA’s armband control and peered into the visor at her name, age, and vital statistics before the suit began to run her post trauma subroutine.
“No. Not dead. Death doesn’t come with a diagnostic.” In fascination, she watched her heartbeat slow as she concentrated on her biofeedback.
“Access main computer. Locate primary planetary data on Tapaogani XII,” she ordered the ATV through her suit as she looked out on the white and beige landscape.
There was silence.
“Fancy.” She considered the suit and ATV’s capabilities when disconnected from the transport’s main computer. What could it access? What else could it do?
Moving her finger to the visor control she swiped her hand across. The screen turned from visual to thermal.
Nothing but stark blue.
She closed the hatch on the ATV and watched the EVA’s visor screen turn from a frigid dark blue to a temperate green. The oxygen levels showed Tapaogani’s surface having breathable levels. She turned off the filtration system returning it to normal view. Jody reopened the hatch and stepped out onto the hardscrabble of tundra. Snow and patches of hard pack soil crunched beneath her boots. She took another step beyond the ATV, testing the snow.
The ATV’s silvery teardrop pod was flanked by avian extensions, now retracted against it at a forty-five degree angle. It sat on four thick tires, which towered above Jody’s five foot two frame. It fit two people in cramped comfort, in a pinch, three. The contraption reminded her of a grasshopper.
She kept her fingertips to the vessel and walked around it, bending to check the undercarriage for damage. At the back, Jody climbed up the tire to examine the top of the vessel.
Stabbi
ng gut pain made her double over. She stopped short, gasping. “Ow… no. Can’t… ATV outer shell inspection complete.” She grabbed at the tire and lay over it, her breathing quickening.
Closing her eyes to the pain, Jody climbed back the way she’d come, breathing long draughts of air. As her boots hit the hard pack she slumped against the ATV’s wheel, face to knees. It took a moment but her brain cleared as she finally glanced up at the rubble surrounding her. She was in a small impact crater. “Not a good vantage point. Gotta get up out of this and take in the lay of the land.” She got back into the ATV and closed the hatch door. “Let’s fire you up, run a diagnosis on the solar fuel panels and any on board shields and… weapons.” She blinked. The ATV solar fuel panels were glowing their warning. They were near empty.
That wasn’t bothering her as much as the stabbing pain in her stomach. Throwing open the bright chartreuse emergency kit in the back, Jody found a box of basic meds, rope, fruit leather, a spare solar cell, and not much else that was useful unless she could find a way to use someone’s empty Mueselixer wrapper. “Fraggin’ Cordoba. Stupid crash. Instead of sending a bigwig site survey, they’ll do a complete audit of every bit of data sent back already. I don’t have much time. He had to have found an anomaly in the polar cap. If I can’t sabotage this project, can’t hide that way station, thousands of freed ‘citizens’ will be looking over their shoulders.” Jody bit into an antacid pack and chewed the chalky lemon flavored tablet.
“Site survey…” she engaged the ATV’s motor. “The ship didn’t recognize my life signs. If there are survivors...” Conscience won out. She ticked off her priorities, “Maybe I can administer some first aid then take what I need, food supplies, and survival gear. While I do that I’ll refuel the solar cells, and still get out before that scientist gets here.”
Jody inched the ATV closer to the smoking hull. Ebudae had skittered along the surface for a good seventy or eighty kilometers.
The ATV’s wings extended in a slow graceful stretch as the vehicle rumbled along. As she got closer, Jody brought up the interface to gate into the ship’s core computer. If there was anything left, she wanted it.
Moments later, the ATV bounced up onto a nearby steppe. The heavy tires crunched over the rocks and pits along the surface until Jody found a spot that gave her the best view of the crash site. Unfortunately, everyone else could see her, too. “Where’s the camo-cloak? Aha!” Her trainers from the Forbisher militia would have approved. Not that their tactics had saved them when Cordoba had attacked, but she hoped it would be enough for now.
Before she could relocate, ATV shuddered to a halt. “I had fuel?” A quick scan of the ATV diagnostic told her the story. “Müterfragga,” Jody pushed open the hatch with a boot and moved out to the rear of the vessel to set up a reflective perimeter. “Why do I do this to myself? Cracking solar conversion units weren’t charged enough.” A heavy wind whipped against her. Gasping with the effort, she clung to the ATV and turned her body to look down across the empty steppe.
“Stars.”
She closed her eyes and pushed away the need to sleep. Sleep? That was all wrong. After that adrenaline rush? No way. Reaching under the wing, her hand felt for the manual switch. “Reaching… come on where are you?” she patted against the underbelly. Her fingers pried out the unit, the translucent web of solar collectors retracted from the side of the ATV, wobbling in the heavy wind before they curled up like petals to encompass the ATV’s teardrop shape, leaving only one petal un-finished at the open door. “Deep breath girl, deep breath.” Hauling herself back into the ATV, she shut the door and watched the petal fold into the rest of the bud.
***
In one long silvery streak, three years of Dr. Ewan Stewarts’ life crashed. Three years and a lucky break got him this chance at heading a terraforming project. He had one chance among hundreds of competing scientists.
As he monitored Ebudae’s approach at his workstation he could not believe what he was seeing. “Cracking rabbit humpers.” Shoulders slumped, head forward, he shook his head. It had to be a cosmic joke. “Ebudae, this is Tapagaoani XII, can you hear me?”
Static and dead air.
He repeated himself three more times on three communication channels. “This can’t be happening.” Ewan watched the ship’s descent, gritting his teeth to the horror.
Changing to his EVA comlink, he made the decision and contacted his assistant.
“Six. Let’s go! Emergency rescue.” Ewan was up and bounding out of the yurt that served as their temporary base. Legs, cramped from sitting, forced a skip in his gait as he ran towards the hoppercraft.
Ewan used the boxy vessel for inter-atmospheric “hops” around the small planet with hydraulic fracturing units. One long hatch on the hoppercraft side allowed entry. It had a ramp that extended for larger cargo. With a yank, he opened the hatch and stepped up, stashing his portable workstation next to the piloting seat in the waiting port.
“Will there be survivors?” the soft voice of Six asked in the vessel’s com.
“Not sure. I don’t think anyone survives a crash like that.” Ewan looked around the nav panel and flipped on the scanners.
“Will the equipment survive?”
“I don’t… let’s not worry about that right now. Okay?” Absently, he answered Six while he waited for his station to connect.
“If a survivor needs medical attention…“
“Nobody put out a distress call. I can’t…” The guilt of first reaction—himself and his life—shamed him. But his life and livelihood depended on the success of this project. If he failed, he didn’t just go back to the main headquarters terraformation lab. No, failure in Cordoba meant being sent some place that would give him fond memories of the desolate ice caps of Tapaogani XII.
“I understand, Dr. Stewarts,” Six replied through their comlink. “You are at fault, no matter the data. I am blamed for this, too.”
“But I’m not at fault. It’s frustrating.” Ewan grimaced.
“Was the request made for a terraformed planet?”
“Yes, Six.”
“Did you not receive all the data and equipment you needed?”
“No.”
“But it was sent.” Six pressed the point to Ewan. “Cordoba Conglomerate has invested in your project, the spreadsheets do not lie.”
“But I didn’t get it,” the astrobiologist huffed. The ship’s last known coordinates came up on the hoppercraft’s screen.
“That doesn’t matter, even if the data is faulty. I am often blamed for lack of a desirable result, despite the erroneous input. You are subject to the same scrutiny per Cordoba Constellar Conglomerate guidelines. We are all one.” Six added a CCC platitude.
“I do not do that to you.” Ewan protested.
“Oh, yes… you do.”
Static buzzed their comlink and interrupted his thoughts.
“This is Specialist Wall,” the link crackled, masking and distorting. **** is there anyone ****, Doctor **ewarts.”
“That’s not possible,” Ewan said. Both hands flew to his face, squeezing his short thick red beard in the process as he dragged them downwards.
“When there is a voice, I believe life signs are indicative.”
“Not always… Right, well, let’s find this Specialist Wall and get to Ebudae right away.”
As the drone’s feet hit the deckplates behind him, Ewan swiveled his chair. He ruffled a tanned hand through his tangle of thick red curls. “What were you doing in here? A vaguely human shaped gray composite metal drone toddled from the back of the hoppercraft. Six, Ewan’s drone companion hopped into the co-pilot seat.
“You scared me half to death,” Ewan tapped Six on the top of their boxy noggin and smiled.
“I was preparing a welcoming lunch for the new team members… which will go uneaten.” Six’s voice carried a mournful tone.
Ewan tapped at the portable data center’s interface into the control dashboard of the hoppercaft. This
workstation was his most valuable piece of equipment, and he could not afford to lose or damage it. It stored, collected, and analyzed data using extensionals such as core sensors, bioreaders, and the contact atomic analyzers.
Six reviewed the seismic chart and pinpointed the crash vector. “Ebudae is sixteen hours and twenty-seven minutes out at high velocity cruise. The site is closer to the equator, an ideal spot for relative warmth. I have plotted the course,” Six said.
“Can we try to tighten up the comlink to Wall?” Ewan asked.
“I’m a doctor, not a technology drone.”
“And you’re a medical drone, not a smartass sidekick.” Ewan gave Six a sideways glance and quirked a brow.
“I am sure I don’t know what you mean.” Six’s voice was neither male nor female nor entirely mechanical. Its inflections mimicked Ewan’s, much to his consternation.
“You’re what you’ve been programmed to be, Six. I enhanced that module ages ago. Tighten the link.” He repeated the order. Softening his voice, he added, “Please.”
“Complying,” Six sighed.
“This is Doctor Ewan Stewarts, are you there, Specialist?” Ewan spoke into the communications panel.
No reply.
He turned to Six, “I’m waiting.”
“The specialist could be attempting to speak. Comlinks are often unreliable after a crash.”
“Great.” He grunted.
Six’s inhuman orbital eye sockets rolled. Ewan had tried to find something that would give Six a less computer-like resemblance, but the eyes themselves were mesh screens giving the drone a somewhat bug-eyed appearance. “There’s no reason to delay.” Six motioned towards the rear of the vessel. “And a portable stasis module is already aboard.”
“Good,” He tapped the ignition. “Let’s keep a positive attitude.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
Ewan allowed himself a forced thin-lipped smile at Six. He motioned towards the communications panel. “Open the comlink.” The light flickered green. “This is Expedition Command. We’re coming to get you, Specialist.”
Baby, it's Cold in Space: Eight Science Fiction Romances Page 13