Werder grimaced, hunched his broad shoulders, and started tapping at his own console haltingly. Milne tried not to roll his eyes; the kid knew the layout and presets of the console but was clearly flustered by Zimmerman’s reaction. He cast a quick look at Zimmerman and Wu. “And what have you two been doing since you got here? Why is Werder’s the only console up and running?”
“Trying to figure out what the hell the kid was thinking, falling asleep . . .”
“Give it a rest, Zimm.” Wu’s voice barely made it out of the beverage station, every word tinged with hangover. “We’ve all done it. Even you.”
“Not for six hours!”
“Let it go!” Milne had no patience for Zimmerman’s posturing. Of course Zimm’s reaction was over the top. He was the one who had proclaimed Werder ready for solo-shifts. Part of the problem was rushing kids out of school and into training. A necessary downside to where they were as a colony. “We need to figure out what to do, not waste another hour berating the new kid.”
“No, I’ll take care of that while you’re fixing this.”
Milne sprang from his seat and snapped to attention at the new voice, mirrored by Werder. Zimmerman was a second slower, and Wu came to attention with only a slight wobble and without spilling his coffee.
Commander Foley stood in the hub’s doorway, arms crossed and an unusual—but not uncalled for—scowl on her face. Werder went pale and blushed at the same time, something Milne thought a physical impossibility. Foley walked in and pulled the door shut behind her.
“Situation.”
“Commander, the kid here dropped the ball,” Zimmerman began.
“Not you.” Foley interrupted, and Zimmerman’s mouth stopped moving. She turned to Werder. “You.”
Werder’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. He cleared his throat and started again. To his credit, the kid didn’t stammer once he got going.
“Sir! At 0100 hours, the communications channel with Earth read normal: not much chatter but coming through clear. Thirty minutes later, there was no chatter at all and a staticy background. Per protocol, I logged the interference. At 0200 hours, the static had increased, so I called Lieutenant Zimmerman. He reminded me of the previous comm-break’s cause and ordered me to continue monitoring and logging.”
“Why didn’t you call Lieutenant Commander Milne?”
“Sir, as you know, Lieutenant Zimmerman is my trainer and immediate superior. As he was not overly concerned about the break, I thought it inappropriate to interrupt Lieutenant Commander Milne’s night with his husband and daughter. Family First, sir!”
“Respecting the Prime Rule.” Foley had a slight smile. “Very good, as far as it goes, but six hours is an unrealistically long time to monitor a comm-break without a follow-up report.”
“Sir, Lieutenant Zimmerman is correct that I shirked my duty. By 0300, I had fallen asleep at my console. I have no good excuse for . . .”
“We’ll discuss that later.” Foley turned to Milne. Behind her back, Werder visibly deflated. “Status?”
Milne sat back down and reviewed the data streaming in from Werder’s console. A scan of just the first hour’s worth of data showed something Werder should have noticed and that the others certainly would have.
“The problem’s not with Earth or solar activity. The freakin’ transponder satellite isn’t where it’s supposed to be.” He slapped both hands on his console in frustration. “I can’t pinpoint where it is, but I can tell it’s moving erratically. We could lose it, but even if we don’t, it’s too far out of position to do us any good even when Earth is in proper alignment again.”
“Solutions?”
“None that are optimal. If we try to course-correct it from down here without knowing exactly where it is . . . we’re as likely to send it spiraling into the void as crashing into the surface of Orpheus.”
“And if we don’t resume communications,” Foley shook her head, “Earth will assume we finally succumbed to the more hostile elements of this planet and write us off.”
“As if they haven’t done that much already,” Wu grumbled. “Ten years, not a single supply ship. Just encouragement to thrive until they can spare resources. Thanks for nothing, homeworld.”
Milne knew that Wu was not a negative person except when nursing a killer hangover. Foley knew it, too, and she rounded on him.
“Stow the fatalism, Lieutenant. It’s unbecoming of an officer in front of the ranks.”
“Is that true?” Werder’s eyes were wide. “I’ve grown up here because Earth refuses to send help?”
“It’s complicated, kid.” Despite being best friends, there were times Milne would like to smack Wu upside the head with a blunt object. “Look, you’re military now. You’re going to hear things the civilians may not know yet. Discretion is key. Think about how that news would affect the colony. Family First, right?”
“Yeah, Family First.” Werder didn’t sound as enthusiastic about the Prime Rule at this moment.
“Suggestions.” Foley brought the conversation back on track.
“Only one I can think of.” Milne took a deep breath. “We go up.”
*
“Zimmerman to hub, we have achieved orbit.”
The shuttle had been equipped with enough tracking sensors and automatic relays for the hub to know exactly where they were, but verbal verification made the crew feel better and assured the folks on the ground that they were still alive.
“Locking trackers onto the transponder satellite,” Wu reported. Zimmerman was piloting, Wu was locating. Milne would make repairs, if necessary, before they repositioned the satellite to the optimal position.
Zimmerman refused to move the shuttle until they had a set destination.
“Got it!” Wu sent the satellite’s new coordinates to Zimm’s console. From the data, Milne could see the satellite was moving slowly away from them.
“The shortest route is in the opposite direction.” Zimmerman grumbled.
“Better than circling the entire planet,” Foley said from the hub. “Turn around.”
They moved in a controlled stationary rotation and then on minimal thruster power based on Wu’s input. Milne watched his console and waited for the forward external cameras to pick up the satellite so he could begin damage assessment.
“We have camera-visual,” he announced moments later, manipulating and transferring images from the cameras to the hub before the shuttle was in range for actual line-of-sight confirmation. The quicker they analyzed the situation, the better.
“Damage?” Foley asked over his headset.
“Checking now . . . ” Milne kept his focus on the visuals streaming across his console. “. . . one distended antennae for sure, hard to tell, but I think it can be corrected.” He zoomed in for a close-up, cleaned up the image as much as possible, and transmitted it. “Several dents all in the same basic area surrounding the antennae. No other surface damage visible from this angle.”
“Eye-visual confirmation,” Zimmerman interrupted.
Milne had not noticed the slight increase in speed Zimmerman had applied to close the distance faster without overshooting.
“We will have close contact for extra-vehicular activity in three minutes.”
Milne bit back a comment about how easy it was for Zimmerman to say that, since it would be Milne going out there.
“Dents and broken antennae,” Foley cut back in. “More escaping ring debris?”
“Looks like it,” Milne confirmed. “We’ll know in a moment if what we’re seeing is the worst of it.”
“Does everyone realize today is the tenth anniversary of the crash?”
Werder’s voice caught them all by surprise. They’d almost forgotten he was in the hub with Foley. In the morning’s commotion, the anniversary had slipped Milne’s mind, but how, he didn’t know.
“And your point is?” Zimmerman barked into his headset. “We’re kinda on a time limit up here, kid.”
“Debris es
caping the ring brought the Poitevin down. We haven’t paid much attention to the ring since, resources being limited, so how do we know this isn’t an annual event, like meteor dispersal?”
“It’s worth looking into, Ensign.” Milne was impressed that Werder had made the connection before the rest of them. Maybe the kid did have a future in this line of work. “Think you can analyze the stored transponder records from the past decade and find a pattern? Might help in repositioning this thing if it’s still working.”
“On it!” There was a slight click as the kid muted his headset so he could work his console without interrupting communications between shuttle and hub.
A private message popped up on Milne’s console. NICE JOB. Effusive praise from Foley. Milne typed back: SOMEONE DID THE SAME FOR ME ONCE, and then, with a small nod, set himself to figuring out what tools he was going to need to salvage the antennae.
*
The antenna was in worse shape than it had appeared from a distance, and Milne sweated some of the repair work. In the EVA suit, with all the tools attached to him via leads, he didn’t need to worry about sweaty palms or things flying out of reach. Sweat dripping in his eyes was the problem.
He rewired the antennae and bent the metal back straight again. If anyone was annoyed by his occasional grunts or sighs, they wisely kept it to themselves and left him to his work. Still, it was taking too long.
When it was time to screw the antennae rod back into the base, it took three tries to get it to thread correctly. Each time it stuck, Milne bit back a curse and took a breath before unscrewing and trying again. If he jammed it and couldn’t get it loose, the mission was a bust.
On the third try, it stuck for a moment, and then slipped past like he had stripped the threads. That time, he did shout an expletive, louder than he’d intended. Four alarmed voices asked if he was okay.
“Fine, fine,” he answered. “I thought I screwed up, but the antennae is reattached and okay.” He paused, and then uttered a sad laugh. “Heh, get it? Screwed up? While screwing the antennae in?”
“Lieutenant Commander, how much more work do you have to do out there?” Foley’s voice was measured, but Milne knew she was concerned when she addressed him by rank.
“Let’s run the diagnostic on the antennae,” he answered, “before I start looking for other problems. If it’s not working, there’s no sense checking for other damage. Wu, ping a signal to the antennae.”
Milne waited in silence. Without visual displays, he had no way of knowing if the satellite received the signal.
“Pinged and pinged back,” Wu said moments later with noticeable relief. “I sent the usual connection protocol, and the satellite responded appropriately.”
“Hub, are you reading anything from the satellite?”
“Affirmative,” Werder answered. “Reading static, but much less than last night.”
“So the patch job isn’t perfect, but at least the antenna is working.” Milne took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Commander, I have a suggestion.”
“Go ahead.”
“We should start broadcasting the message we recorded now. We know the transponder’s not malfunctioning, we know the antenna is at least temporarily fixed. By waiting ’til we bring the satellite back into optimal position, we’re taking a chance. Based on the remaining static Werder is hearing, let’s not risk it. Even if it’s not beamed directly at Earth, at least it’ll be there for ships to hear.”
“Ensign Werder,” Foley ordered, “Begin transmitting the message. Shuttle, check to be sure it’s going out.”
Milne pushed back from the satellite, extending his tether so that he was in the path of the outgoing signal. The problem with these tight-beam transponders was that the recipient had to be in virtually direct line with the source, no matter how far away, to receive the signal. Within a moment, Commander Foley’s prerecorded voice came over Milne’s headset.
“THIS IS COMMANDER FOLEY OF ORPHEUS COLONY, FORMERLY OF THE ESS POITEVIN. IF YOU HEAR THIS, OUR TRANSPONDER SATELLITE IS FAILING AND WE’VE LOST COMMUNICATIONS WITH EARTH. PLEASE RELAY THIS SIGNAL. OUR COLONY IS NOT IMPAIRED OR FAILING, BUT WE NEED HELP REESTABLISHING COMMUNICATIONS WITH . . .”
There was more to the message, but it cut out suddenly.
“Milne! Get out of there!” Werder’s voice cracked mid-shout, and Milne had the urge to slap his hands over his ears at the kid’s volume. “Shuttle! Reel him him!”
“What the hell are you on, Werder?” Zimmerman interrupted.
“Satellite sensors are picking up a debris storm in the ring, headed out-bound! Coming your way, now!”
So much for the statistical analysis. Milne finger-toggled the suit thrusters and pushed towards the satellite, even as he felt the tug of the tether line pulling him in.
“Milne, what are you doing?” Wu’s words came over in a rush.
“Grabbing the satellite! If we can pull it out of the way, we can take it with us, circle around, and reposition it!”
“Screw that!” Zimmerman replied. “We’re getting out of here now! Wu, pull him in double-time!”
Milne laid his hands on the satellite shell and felt for a good grip before Zimmerman hit the thrusters and pulled him away. The tether and the satellite pulled against each other. His grip held and the satellite started to follow him.
And then all hell broke loose. Small bits of debris zinged past his face-plate. He pulled his head back, closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for an impact that didn’t come. He opened his eyes again and watched more pebbles pass, imagining he could hear the whistle the way someone who narrowly avoids being shot hears the whine of the bullet as it misses. The sweat on his forehead poured faster as his heart-rate soared. He blinked rapidly to clear the sweat and stop the sting. But his grip still held, and the satellite moved with him as the tether brought him closer to the shuttle.
The amount of debris passing him increased in frequency, speed and size. Debris ricocheted off of the satellite shell and dispersed in every direction, although the shell itself protected him from the rebounds. It wouldn’t take much to puncture both layers of his suit. He whispered goodbyes to his family. The others were putting out so much chatter he doubted they heard.
The satellite vibrated as larger debris struck and Milne tightened his grip. How much further to the shuttle? They’d been reeling him in forever. A sharp pull from behind jerked him sideways, and one hand slipped off the satellite. “What th—?”
“Milne!” Wu sounded panicked. “Debris tore your tether! Let go of the satellite so we can haul you in before it rips through!”
Milne bit back another curse. The choice was taken out of his hands as a large piece of debris caromed off of the shell, straight “up” from Milne’s position, while the satellite pulled to his right, away from Orpheus. Once his hands were loose, the tether yanked Milne towards the shuttle. More debris hit the satellite dead on, pushing it farther out of reach and out of orbit.
As he was pulled backwards, more debris impacted his suit, surely creating minute tears in the outer layer. Thankfully, nothing punctured the inner layer. Yet. He twisted so he could see the shuttle.
“Stay still!” Wu yelled. “You’ve got about two strands holding you to us and a couple of feet to go! On my mark, curl into a ball and you’ll slide right into the airlock!” The pause was the longest of Milne’s life outside of waiting for Aleksander to accept his proposal. There aren’t enough stars in the sky to swear by, Alek had responded. There were more than enough stars around Milne now.
“MARK!”
Milne pulled himself into a ball, gripping his knees with his hands. He sped up slightly and forced his eyes to stay open so he could see the upper edge of the airlock gliding past him. He untucked as the door slid shut. Several pieces of debris ricocheted off the closing door and into the room, one pinging off his visor and starting a spider-web effect. Milne held his breath and waited for the door to be shut and the tell-tale hiss of oxygen filling the air
lock chamber before he released it. The visor hadn’t completely cracked, but the suit would never be usable again.
He was out of the suit and barging through to the bridge in seconds, leaving the suit crumpled up on the floor. Zimmerman swore under his breath, fingers flying across his console to determine the fastest, safest landing vector.
Wu turned from his console long enough to punch Milne hard on the arm. “You deserve a punch in the face, but we don’t have time to set any broken bones. Not that it’ll matter, since there’s a good chance we’re crashing.”
Milne slid into his seat, buckled up, and accessed his own console. He was still getting data streamed from the satellite as it slid further and further out of range; still broadcasting.
“Zimmerman, what are you seeing that we’re not?” Werder was all calm and professional now. “We’ve lost the satellite data-stream.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve lost the satellite, so that makes sense.” Zimmerman barked. “There’s a ton of debris headed our way, and the pieces are getting larger. We’ve got a problem if we don’t get down fa—”
The shuttle shook with the impact of something large. All three men grabbed their consoles. No alarms sounded to indicate a hull breach. The shaking stopped after a moment, and Zimmerman resumed a course to take them home in one piece. The shuttle continued forward and down towards the atmosphere.
There was another impact, a stronger one. Milne gave a sideways glance to Wu’s console, catching the bright red of the impact on a schematic of the shuttle, surrounded by yellow markings for smaller impacts they were not feeling. The number of yellow markers worried him. Enough smaller impacts could be as troublesome as a few larger impacts. Smaller debris could also settle into the engines through the exhaust panels.
Milne returned his attention to his own panel. The signal from the satellite continued to diminish in strength as the distance between them widened. He boosted the gains as much as he could, and the signal flared for a moment. The satellite was moving off at a different direction from the majority of the debris exiting the ring. That could be a blessing, in that the satellite would not suffer any further immediate damage, but also a curse, as the new trajectory was pushing it farther out of line with Earth. As the signal weakened, he tried to think of other ways to boost the connection. At least they’d started broadcasting. Other colony ships might drop out of warp in a location to pick up that signal and relay it back to Earth.
Beyond the Sun Page 24