"Insanity, madness, it's all the same to me", Nopileos sang elatedly all the way to the control room. Not a Teladi song of course – there weren't many Teladian musicians – but something called an 'old hit' he'd picked up from a Goner some time ago. "Whether I'm crazy or just nuts, it's gonna be… what… wait a moment?!" Suddenly, a strange feeling crept over him, making him freeze. He was absolutely sure there had been no lights on in any of the corridors and rooms when he set the station on standby three tazuras ago, yet storeroom 7 now was bright as daylight. Nopileos had never seen it illuminated; he didn't even know that the light cells were still in working condition.
"He… hello?" he shouted uncertainly. His claws twitched with the urge to flee back to the hangar, but the control room was only a few steps away so he resisted the temptation. All he had to do was grab the AutoBroker, turn it off and hurry back to the shuttle. His body scales bristled as a whispering voice rang from afar, but after a sezura of horror he realized that this was only the echo of his own voice, thrown back from the far distant ends of the main corridor. Plucking up all his courage he entered the big storeroom through the open door. It was completely empty, even the rows of shelves had been removed. Nopileos couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, and left, touching the sensor pad. The light cells went out with a quiet crack and Nopileos continued to the Command Centre. After only a couple of steps he heard a distinct buzz from behind that was loud enough to echo, the storeroom lights were back on.
"Rshaaaassshhhhh!" Panic-stricken, Nopileos scrabbled at the door to try and make it move faster and dived the last few meters into the brightly lit control room. His bare claws skittered on the metal floor, leaving a trail of small scratches in soot from an old fire. He was too scared to look around to see if he was alone; he had only eyes for the AutoBroker. The small device sat on the broken console as he had left it tazuras ago, its display active. Nopileos snatched it, shut the lid with a loud snap and turned around.
He was not alone.
Something metallic, silver, with dark violet glowing eyes, stared fiercely. It was very big, much bigger than any Teladi, multi-limbed, but without a clearly discernible form. Its flexible tentacles gripped unknown instruments, and it started to move slowly towards Nopileos.
"Ha! Help!" he shouted loudly, pushing at the door that had just closed shut a moment ago. It started opening much too slowly but the metallic monster was slower still and Nopileos finally managed to squeeze his stocky, saurian body through the gap and ran along the corridor, desperately crying for help in several languages. Halfway the lights went out and the emergency lighting flickered on, somebody he realised, was powering down the station. Nopileos reached the hangar, jumped into the shuttle and immediately sealed the airlocks of the space ship - not a single sezura too early! Both doors of the docking bay opened simultaneously and the air poured out into the vacuum, condensing to a cloud of frozen ice crystals.
Without waiting for the automatic launch system he fired up the drives and crashed the small ship through the docking clamps. The deafening screech of torn metal almost paralysed him with fright. The docking gates began to close again and he snapped the thrust controller to full power. The drives roared and for few moments the inertial compensators only managed to absorb part of the acceleration and he was pressed hard into the seat as the shuttle shot arrow-like through the closing gates.
The Boron station faded rapidly into the star-covered background. There appeared to be no sign of pursuit but Nopileos was too scared to check too closely. The approach alarm remained silent and after several stazuras he slowly began to relax and reflect on what had happened.
He had seen a Xenon, he was sure of it although no one had seen a true Xenon to his knowledge. The term was normally used synonymously with the dark, machine-controlled space ships that terrorised the Commonwealth of Planets for several centuries now. But what else should it have been? A huge, self-moving machine! The only remaining questions were how it had become aware of the Ceo's Pride and how did it arrive - could it be possible that he had missed a Xenon ship while concentrating on manual docking?
The young saurian stared thoughtfully out of the cockpit window. In the corner of his eyes he saw the AutoBroker, which he had carelessly thrown into the co-pilots' seat. The device was still online. Of course! The data transfers to the next relay station could have drawn the Xenon's attention to the old Boron spiral!
Nopileos took the AutoBroker, opened the display and looked at the rows of incessantly changing numbers and curves. It took quite a while for him to understand what he was seeing and longer to believe it. The AutoBroker had sold off the whole lot of Nividium shares at maximum price, and meanwhile had generated a profit of - Nopileos swallowed - more than 18 billion credits! Sissandras would… he would become light green around the nostrils and the colour would stay in his face forever, because there was a tiny little problem with Teladi company politics.
Up to the age of 12 suns, when full legal business age was reached, all profits of young Teladi, which exceeded a certain amount, were regarded as a contribution to their training. It was a sound rule because every Teladi would start to generate profits sooner or later and this way they would finance their own breeding and training programme. Most young Teladi achieved modest profits, anything from several tens of thousands up to a maximum of few hundred thousand credits during their first twelve Jazuras and then started their adult business life with the legally permitted sum of 12693 Credits.
Nopileos didn't doubt for a single sezura that the teachers of the hatchery would simply inflate their nostrils and say, "we saw that coming", when they learnt about his stock-exchange coup. The company would pocket the 18 billion credits – "huge expense, no recompense", as an old saying quite correctly stated.
"Ts!" Nopileos clicked his tongue and glanced at the shuttle's controls. He had about four Stazuras until the Platinum Ball Flight Control took charge of the shuttle and brought it in. That should be more than enough time to move all those credits beyond the grasp of the Teladi Trading Company…
CHAPTER 9
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.
Les Brown
A deafening silence buzzed through Kyle's head, broken only by a sharp but sporadic crackle that vaguely resembled the sound of fracturing glass. For a long while, there was no thought, only a hazy awareness of shifting red patterns on the dull background of his retina. The merciless, stabbing cold froze out all other pain. Kyle's world had been reduced to a horde of nauseating stimuli, permeating his body, none of them even remotely comforting. But his mind wasn't there, wasn't switched on, and so those sensations fell unfettered into his lifeless body, like stray light-beams fading into a bottomless well. This changed only when a swelling wave of nausea, pulsing from deep within the core of his spinal column, swept Kyle to consciousness. He fought the urge to vomit, aware that he was still in his helmeted space suit and would in all probability, choke to death. He succeeded, just. The air in his suit tasted stale and redolent with an unsavoury stink. Slowly, his senses began to focus. Everything, his head, each limb, and especially his neck hurt in a dozen different places.
Kyle squinted and carefully opened his eyes. The pulsing patterns on his retina faded, yet a black background remained. With the return of an ability to move came some sense of surroundings. He must have removed the seat restraint at some point because the accident had left him sprawled in the pilot seat, his head on the nearest control panel, his upper torso awkwardly twisted. Gingerly Kyle attempted to sit up. Encouraged by his success he cautiously turned his head. His neck hurt and the bones in his spine grated but nothing seemed broken.
All the controls, screens and indicators were dead. Only the faint glimmer of the emergency lights fractured the darkness of the cockpit, and then there was that sound again, like ice cracking in a thaw, only closer this time. He fought through the pain and refocused his eyes on his helmet visor. An ugly rugged white crack ran across half of his
field of vision. As he looked the crack expanded again, a few deadly millimetres.
"Damn," he whispered hoarsely. His lips felt bloated and dry; the metallic taste of blood was on his tongue. Part of his brain refused to accept what his eyes could see but the well-trained analytical part of him remained working on this unfortunate piece of information. The crack came from the impact of his helmet on the console during the accident. If it was still growing it meant there was vacuum in the cockpit and the internal pressure of his space suit was forcing the transparent polymer of the visor to fracture further. As this was only a light suit, not one of the heavy construction spacesuits with transparent diamond alloy helmets, the crack would soon reach the edge and then all the air would escape from the suit. It would be farewell to Captain Brennan from that point onwards. This suit variant did not feature a comprehensive life support system either, which explained the icy cold.
All the X-Shuttle systems were dead, including ships' internal life-support. If there was no air left in the cockpit, it was a wonder that he was still alive! The last thing he remembered was the separated singularity engine drifting straight towards the cockpit, threatening to crush him and the shuttle. Obviously, in the very last instant something – an explosion perhaps – had happened to alter its or the shuttle's trajectory because the blow could only have been a glancing one. He would have been dead by now otherwise. But then again, what good did it do him, exactly, to be still alive? Because, somewhere in the hull of the X there was a breach, through which the air had leaked into space. Although with the invention of micro-deflectors spacecraft were now deemed nearly puncture-proof, every ship still contained an emergency repair kit and astronauts were trained in its use. It was actually quite simple, provided there was enough atmospheric pressure inside to push the self-curing polymer alloy against the leak. But of course, the exact location of the hull breach had to be found first – not a simple task at all! Normally, the on-board computer could locate the spot within a centimetre or two. But just like the rest of the ship systems it was dead. Even if he managed to seal the cockpit and fill it with a breathable atmosphere, he'd still freeze-dry quickly without life-support
All these considerations flashed through Kyle's mind in a matter of seconds. He was not a man to give up without a fight, Elena and he had survived more than one hair-raising brush with death and he'd never believed in the no-win scenario. Perhaps one day Murphy would show up to enforce his Law, wearing a big grin while pointing out Kyle's every mistake; Kyle might decide to give up then… but not half a second earlier! However, that moment might come faster than he'd wished, unless he started doing something about it quickly.
He ignored the pain in his body and tried to lever himself from the pilot seat. Surprised, he felt himself float away without any sign of gravity. So the Podkletnov aggregates had failed too! But somewhere on board there had to be some systems that were still operational. The X carried a considerable amount of antimatter, enough to convert herself into energy atom by atom. Antimatter could only be contained within strong magnetic fields and Kyle's being alive was proof they were still functioning. The M/AM drive utilized self-sustaining energy systems constructed to withstand even the most adverse circumstances.
"Cripes!" he shouted scared to death, when the rupture spread again with a sharp snatch. It was halfway across his field of vision now.
He couldn't find the leak without the on-board computer, that much was sure. Except, of course, if it was an unhealthily large one, but in that case he wouldn't be able to seal it anyway. Kyle made his way through the cockpit to the air lock that led to the cargo bay. Apart from a few controls and secondary adjuncts of the singularity drive, the cargo hold would be empty. He manually closed the air lock door with the unfeasibly small wheel behind him and opened the one leading to the cargo bay. His fractured helmet relaxed with an audible sigh – there was air pressure in here! He cautiously cracked the helmet and seated it in a corner; unfortunately, he'd need it again. Ever so slowly, it started drifting, but Kyle had already focused on something else. The cold hit him like a fist of ice and his breath condensed to crystals right in front of his face. He estimated it to be below minus 20 degrees Celsius, and the temperature was still dropping quickly. He wondered, for how long he had been unconscious. No easy way of telling, but probably for quite a while.
The cargo bay was small, barely seven metres by three, but the twilight gloom of the emergency illumination strips was enough for Kyle to safely move through it and towards the control panel at the far end. After years of neglect, his old Zero-G training reflexes kicked back in. Initially Kyle was relieved to discover that the panel was functioning. The information the displays revealed, in the low red light, was anything but pleasing. The virtually indestructible, triple-redundant shuttle power systems were dead. All power conduits leading into the cockpit had been severed.
Kyle closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to recall the shuttle blueprints. Concentrating against the pain he pictured the auxiliary lines snaking through the X. He'd have to repair one of those and the only one he could actually reach, running the length of the ship, lay in a duct beneath the cladding of the outer hull. Of course, there were some redundant lines that would do the job as well, but none of them could be reached without the equipment of a space dock. Kyle groaned; so he would have to leave the shuttle – in a pressure suit that did not have heated life-support, and a helmet that could burst any second.
Tentatively Kyle flicked the main illumination switch and blinked in surprise when bright white light flooded the cargo bay. It seemed that only the front section of the ship lacked power. He found the repair kit firmly wedged in the locker above the emergency exit. Cursing, he attempted to free the large metal box but without gravity he found it difficult to get leverage. Finally he managed to hook his feet inside the locker and pulled. The box suddenly came free, sending him somersaulting backwards. Swearing under his breath, he tried to manoeuvre the box back through the cargo bay, hampered by the mass of the large hydrogen fuel cell it contained. In the old days, prior to the invention of Podkletnov Aggregates, ships used to be equipped with straps for hands and feet. In the era of artificial gravity, however, these had become obsolete. Damnit!
Kyle retrieved his drifting helmet and stared hard at the crack. It had spread further and he doubted the thing would last for much longer but there was absolutely no alternative. Space walks were not in the mission protocol so there was no EVA equipment. He reduced the internal pressure of the suit to 75% and donned the helmet. This might possibly slow the damage rate without suffocating him but he could do nothing against the cold. Certainly the oxygen supply unit contained a little heater element to adjust the temperature of the air. But of course it had never been meant to operate near absolute zero. He could only hope it would provide enough residual heat to prevent him freezing to death for at least the few minutes he had to spend in space.
He recalled the blueprints once again. Speed was top priority; he estimated he'd have five, maybe seven minutes before the cold paralyzed him – if the visor didn't shatter first. He had no choice but to take the risk. He placed his hand on the switch that opened the outer cargo bay doors and started counting down from three to one. With a receding whir, hidden pumps sucked the air from the hold. He could have emergency-opened both inner and outer airlock simultaneously instead, venting the oxygen into space. But breathing air was on precious short supply, and he hoped to be alive long enough to enjoy thoroughly whatever was left of it.
The helmet creaked alarmingly as the pressure reduced further. When the cargo bays doors were eventually fully opened, Kyle took a dauntless dive into the black emptiness that was the outside. He could feel the terrifying chill of space start to chew away at him almost instantly. Compared to this, the arctic temperature inside the shuttle was almost tropical. Glancing only briefly at the cold, emotionless stars he carefully manoeuvred the repair kit along the outer hull, aware that without EVA jets or even a safety line, one
false step could send him twisting into the void without hope of rescue. Even losing the repair kit would be a catastrophe.
After nearly three heart-straining minutes Kyle reached the spot at the bow where the auxiliary power line joined with the main cable-duct leading to the back of the ship. He didn't have to remove any ceramics hull tiles to see the problem. Just to the right, about one and a half metres below the cockpit window was a rip of a wound. Over a 50-centimetre diameter area, heat protection tiles, strutting and cables were either destroyed or partially ripped out, in all probability where the singularity engine had hit the X at high speed. Kyle had no time to indulge in shock or even to swear; the fracture in the plate of his helmet extended another centimetre with a distressing crack and for a second, he thought that this was the end. But the white ragged line stopped before it reached the edge of the visor. Riding the adrenaline surge, Kyle snap-hooked himself on to a bent strut that reached out of the hole. Working against an omni-directional cold so strong he could already barely feel his feet, he examined the clutter of data and power transfer cables, each about the thickness of a finger. Quicker!
The damage was too extensive to deal with in the few minutes he had remaining. When he found the toolkit not to contain any spare cables, he ripped a length of half-severed green cabling from the conduit with the use of a cutting tool, choosing to work without grace or any sense of elegance. Working against time he fashioned a makeshift circuit connecting the cockpit and on-board computer to the main energy and data systems. It was a job that would have taken hours to do safely; he had only minutes. Eventually, after three minutes, minutes that felt like hours, it was done. Energy and data-links were provisionally restored. All that was left to do now was hope. He could barely feel his feet when he finally snapped the safety-line he had found in the toolbox to the karabiner. Clutching it tightly, he launched himself into space, intending to use his momentum to swing on an elliptical arc into the cargo bay once the cord played out. For a moment when the shuttle fell back underneath his feet he feared the line would snap, but then with a jerk it tightened and forced his trajectory to turn towards the ship again. Sailing past the cockpit he thought he could see a couple of lights on the console that hadn't been there previously – the first ray of hope in a while! But he didn't want to succumb to euphoria prematurely. Too much to be done still, too small the odds.
Farnham's Legend: The beginning of the X-Universe saga (X Games Book 1) Page 5