Only the Brave

by Richard Tongue

   More alerts flickered on her heads-up display as the computer realized where she was going, on a course that would take her too deep into the atmosphere, and perilously close to the expanding debris fields on her way out of the gravity well. Tapping through a sequence of overrides, she brought up the close-range sensors, sweeping the sky in an attempt to find Flynn, out in the distance. There was still time, albeit barely, for her to abort her current approach, to pull away onto a safer trajectory. She was willing to risk her life to save that of a friend, but not to snatch his corpse out of the sky.

   There. At extreme range, a spacesuit, tumbling end over end, with a piece of debris close by, on the same orbit. Flynn was just about where she had expected, and she altered her course marginally to bring her close, struggling to match his speed. She looked down at the status monitors, trying to get a telemetry feed, her fingers dancing furiously over the controls in her haste. At last, she managed to handshake his suit’s computers.

   The news wasn’t good. Far from it. But he was alive, and his vital signs were strong, though the automed flashed up a cocktail of painkillers it was injecting him with. His suit was losing air, but on his current trajectory, he wasn’t going to die of asphyxia. He wouldn’t have time. She ran the numbers on her intercept course, trying to shave every possible second. All of it added up to the same result. She’d have a window to reach out and pull him in, one that would last for only a handful of seconds. She’d have one chance, only one, to save his life.

   He’d have done the same for her. She didn’t even think twice.

   “Volkov to Benedetti,” her speaker barked. “I’ve got a tanker and a shuttle on their way to pick you up on the far side. I still recommend you consider an abort. Recovering Jack is marginal at best, and if you mess up your pass through the atmosphere...”

   “I don’t have any intention of getting it wrong, Actual,” she replied. “Just be ready on the far side, and watch out for the debris cloud. You’re looking a little closer than I’d like.”

   “On it,” he replied. “Don’t worry about us. Just worry about yourself right now.”

   “Will do, Major. See you on the far side.” She focused on her forward sensors, watching as she moved ever closer to Flynn. Reaching to her right, she turned a key and opened her cockpit canopy, clipping her safety line into position underneath her, pushing herself gently out in the direction of Flynn. Every second she could save on the approach was vital. There would be no way back if this went wrong.

    The planet below was growing, faster and faster, the sweeping tendril of the tether clearly visible as it caught the outer layers of the atmosphere. Some of it would burn up, but enough would be left to fulfill her purpose. She looked at it for a long moment, unable to turn away. Who else could claim to have torn the surface of a world asunder, with the single shot of a missile? There had been good reasons that no inhabited planet had ever constructed a space elevator, and the wisdom of that policy was being made all too clear today.

   There he was. At extreme range. She could just make him out, a slowly tumbling figure growing closer. Approach velocity was a dozen meters a second, and she held out her hands, her suit guiding her into the best possible position for her to snatch him. The targeting was perfect. Too perfect. He crashed into her, sending them both tumbling, and she grabbed at his leg, wrapping one of the lifesystem hoses around her arm as the two of them spun around, looping over her bomber as her suit thrusters struggled to stabilize them.

   She struggled back to her cockpit, towing Flynn behind her, spending fuel recklessly in a bid to reach the safety of her ship in time. The atmosphere was ahead, and at any second, they’d hit the outer limits, friction beginning its deadly drag. They had to be back in the cockpit by then, or be dead in an instant.

   As she slid inside, carefully placing Flynn in the rear seat, she looked up at the world above, every detail visible now. In a few minutes, it would look completely different, sufficient dust thrown into the atmosphere to prevent anyone seeing this view for decades to come. The hatch slid shut, and the automatic systems flooded the cabin with atmosphere. There was no time for her to remove her suit. She would have to cope with the loss of dexterity, jamming her hands on the controls as she sent her engines roaring again, swinging up in a bid to hurl herself clear of the planet.

   Beneath her, the first tip of the tether made contact with the surface, the remainder rolling after it, sending a tidal wave of fiery devastation in its wake, ice caps melting from the thermal shock, mountains torn asunder in a sea of lava, the atmosphere boiling away from the dynamic stresses. As the bomber hit the envelope of air, turbulence tossed it from side to side, and she struggled to hold her ship on its course, aiming for the narrow trajectory that would see them thrown safely clear.

   The fuel gauge flashed, warning her that it was all but exhausted, but finally the altimeter began to rise, and her ship began its long, slow climb out of the gravity well, escaping back into the cold of space, the trajectory tracking showing her on a wild orbital path that kept her clear of the surface for just long enough to allow the tanker to intercept, more than three hours in the future.

   “Nice flying, Lieutenant,” Volkov said. “For God’s sake don’t do that again. You just about gave us all a heart attack. How’s Flynn?”

   “Just checking now,” she replied, turning in her cockpit. Her first glance was the medical monitor on the chest of his suit, a sea of amber lights, but nothing life-threatening. Then her eyes widened as she looked at his side, muttering a half-remembered prayer under her breath.

   As though by a surgical laser, his right arm had been neatly severed just above the wrist. The suit clamps had locked into place to save his life at the cost of a limb. Commander Flynn had flown his last mission.

  Chapter 7

   Boots rang on the metal deck as Romano and Tanaka led the way down the docking hatch, conscious of the rifles pointed at their backs, of the guard walking at the rear of the column, pistol in hand. The two of them stepped through the waiting hatch into their ship, the smell of fresh paint reeking in the air as they ducked inside.

   “Nice and new,” Tanaka said. “That’s not a good sign.” At Romano’s puzzled expression, he added, “Means that they don’t have a chance to get beaten up.”

   “Come on,” the guard said. “We haven’t got all day.”

   Turning to her, Romano asked, “How come we get the pleasure of your company? I rather got the idea that you were in charge around here.”

   “I always like to ride the first time someone gulps gas. It’s interesting to watch the expressions on the pilot’s face when they hit the gravity well for the first time. Incidentally, who gets to fly? You both did about as well on the simulator.”

   “I’m starting,” Romano replied. “Tanaka takes over if necessary.”

   “We figured we’d save the best till last,” Tanaka added.

   “Just don’t get any bright ideas about trying to get away,” she said, holding her pistol high. “You’ve got a work crew of ten men in the pumping rooms, and I’ve made sure that the defense systems are armed and ready to go. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

   “You know,” Tanaka said, “if you spent all the time on training that you do on threats, you’d probably get more of your crews back in one piece.”

   “Where’s the fun in that?” she replied. “Cockpit’s at the top of the ladder. I’ll be on the mid-deck, watching the monitors. Try and make it a nice, boring ride.”

   “My favorite kind,” Romano said. He stepped onto the deck, leading the way up the ladder, the rungs gleaming and bright, the walls clean and smooth. Quite different from Lincoln, but there were some obvious signs that corners had been cut. The metal was cheap aluminum, not even alloyed, and the conduct tracks were stapled to the surface of the walls, rather than being strung inside. Only a handful of lights illuminated the shaft, and there was no sign of any medical or rescue equip
ment.

   “No expense spent,” Tanaka said, mirroring his thoughts. “No maintenance shafts either. I guess they don’t expect to keep the ship long enough to need any.”

   Romano continued to climb, scrambling into the cockpit just as the ship detached, lurching free of the station, the rotational gravity abruptly ending, sending him floating free. With a grimace, he pulled himself down towards the controls, swinging into the pilot’s couch and strapping himself in. He looked over the console, reaching for the thruster controls, while Tanaka took the co-pilot’s station. Up ahead, the star waited, plumes of violet gas rising into the sky.

   “All hands,” Tanaka said, leaning over a microphone. “Stand by for acceleration. I repeat, stand by for acceleration.”

   “Let’s see if this works as advertised. Moving into retrograde firing position.” He swung the bulky ship around on its thrusters, surprised at the sprightly, easy movement before realizing that on the way back up, he’d be carrying a full tank of high-pressure gas. He glanced at the altimeter, already beginning to tick down, then fired the engines, the force gently pushing him back into his couch, the numbers of the instruments slowly beginning to fall.

   “Nice and smooth, nice and slow,” Tanaka said. “I’m on the field sensors. Gravitational fields stable, at least for the moment.” Reaching across to a heavy lever, he continued, “Deploying scoops.” An anguished whine echoed through the ship as the mechanism labored into life, loud enough to send a grimace to Romano’s face.

   “Acceleration stable, no malfunctions, all nominal,” Romano reported.

   “Monitoring to Flight Deck,” the voice of the guard called, the sound reverberating from hidden speakers above. “Get on with it. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

   Glancing at Tanaka, Romano replied, “Going for full power burn.” The ship shuddered as the engines roared to full power, the star visibly swelling beneath them. He moved his hands to the thruster controls, keeping an eye on the sensor display, watching for any sign of unexpected trajectory change. The ship began to lurch to the side, and he fired a bank of thrusters, correcting their course.

   “Sorry,” Tanaka said. “I didn’t get any real warning. It’s pretty damned unstable.”

   “Great,” Romano replied. “You know, she was right. These controls are really basic. Just throttle and thrusters. Almost everything else is automated. I just hope those systems are reliable.”

   “They are,” the guard interrupted. “We only need you to hold the ship on course. Sooner or later we’ll work out a way to predict the gravitational disruption, and we can automate the flight controls as well. This works out a lot better for you.”

   “Watch it!” Tanaka said. “Hard-port, now!”

   Romano’s hands dived for the controls, and he dragged the freighter onto a new course, just as the local gravitational field changed again, threatening to tug them down into the star below. The screen filled with raging violet as the nose dipped down, warning lights sounding through the bridge as Romano struggled to bring the ship back onto trajectory. With a deep breath, he eased it gently around, the nose coming up once more as the scoops began their work.

   “We’re biting the upper atmosphere now,” Tanaka reported. “One good orbit should do it if you can hold this altitude. Call it twenty, twenty-five minutes at most.” The ship shuddered again, and he added, “Always assuming that we can hold it together that long.”

   Looking at the star, Romano said, “I just wish we had a decent deep-scan on this thing. Can you imagine the information we’d be getting out of the core of the star? You realize we’ve never been this close to a black hole before? I never thought I’d get to see one, and there’s one burrowing its way through the core of that dwarf.”

   “You really are a born tourist, aren’t you.”

   “Guilty as charged.”

   “Cut the chatter!” the guard said. “Make quota and I’ll see that you get copies of the last few copies of Singularity Studies. A nice bit of bedtime reading for you both.”

   “Turn a little to starboard,” Tanaka said. “She’s tipping.” Peering at the display, he added, “I hate to admit it, but our friend down there is right. There’s a pattern here, somehow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it was being guided by someone.”

   Romano tapped the control, replying, “I hate to think of some alien race that plays with black holes running around our neighborhood.” He looked at the trajectory plot, then said, “Hey, wait a minute. Thruster Nine isn’t working.” He tapped the control again, and added, “Neither is Thruster Ten.”

   “Try Eight and Twelve.”

   Nodding, Romano said, “They’re working. You think we’ve got any more surprises?” He glanced around the room, gesturing at the monitor on the rear wall, and said, “Damage control monitor. We might not be able to fix the damage, but we might be able to diagnose any other related problems.”

   “Right, I...”

   “No,” Romano said. “Take over, Raul. You’re better at the tricky stuff than I am. We were saving you for a crisis, and I think we’re building to one.”

   “A nice, cheerful thought,” Tanaka replied, shaking his head. “I have the controls.”

   “Quit clowning around!” the guard yelled. “One malfunctioning thruster is no reason to panic. There are ninety-seven of them, and forty backups. Just switch to the redundant unit.”

   “Not until I know what went wrong with the first one,” Romano said, lurching to the rear of the room as the ship drifted to the side, caught in another gravitational eddy. “Stop back-seat driving, damn it.” His fingers slid across the touch-screen, and he continued, “Power drain in one of the lower conduits. Heat’s rising across that section of the hull.” Turning to Tanaka, he added, “Where the hell are the backup systems?”

   “Probably should have come on automatically,” he replied. “I’m retracting the scoops.”

   “Mid-deck,” Romano said. “Christ, escape pod section!” Looking up at the ceiling, he continued, “That’s you, down in Monitoring!”

   Panic filled the guard’s voice, and she replied, “Ejection systems have failed. Someone’s deactivated them. And the door, the door’s locked down tight!”

   “Abort, Raul!” Romano yelled. “I’m going down there.”

   “Are you crazy?” Tanaka asked. “If you’re right, the whole section is about to go up!”

   “Then I’ll just have to move quickly, won’t I,” he replied, sliding down the ladder. The quick briefing had given him the barest idea of the ship’s layout, most of the focus on the rudimentary flight controls, but from what little he had seen of the ship, it was a simple enough design, little of it habitable space. The pump controls were way, way down at the lower levels, no way to get from those workspaces to the command decks. All that was up in this area was the escape pod for the guard and the flight deck, with a few spaces for storage and sensor monitors, anything that might need to be frequently replaced within the estimated lifetime of the ship.

   The ship rocked again, hurling him to the wall, one hand flying free of the ladder as he struggled to hang on with the other, fighting the acceleration of the ship. Sirens were wailing, Tanaka struggling with the controls, the thrusters failing one after another as the power network crumbled under the strain.

   This was a new ship. And despite the slipshod construction, it had been certified well enough for the Guild to commit it to a billion-credit venture. That meant that it hadn’t fallen victim to an engineering failure. This was sabotage. And targeted against the guard, not the prisoners. For a second, he paused, wondering if he might be interfering with plans that could otherwise work to his benefit, but he shook his head, continuing to descend. As he dropped to the bottom of the shaft, his arm brushed against the wall, and instantly he recoiled in pain. It was white-hot, his skin already reddening. An overload, or structural failure, was perhaps mere seconds in the future.r />
   The door was ahead of him, sealed and locked. He tried the emergency override, but the handle came away in his hand, wires neatly severed. Someone had done their best to seal the guard in the room. There was a toolkit on the far wall, and he tentatively reached for it, careful to ensure that it wasn’t hot before pulling it down, tipping the contents onto the deck. He rummaged through until he found what he was looking for, a hand laser, nice and compact.

   He didn’t have to cut away the entire door. That would take far too long. All he had to do was hack at the locking mechanism until the magnetic locks gave way. He aimed the laser at what he hoped was the right spot, turned down the gain to produce the narrowest possible beam, then fired, a series of quick burns up and down, angry black marks gouging into the metal. He could feel the heat coming from the far wall, the sound of the sirens blasting through his skull. Just as he was about to give up, the door slid open, the guard standing on the far side, pushing past him to the ladder.

   “Come on, we’ve got to move!” she yelled, pulling herself up two rungs at a time in a desperate bid to escape. The engines roared louder, Tanaka somehow coaxing greater thrust from the strained machinery, and Romano climbed after her, frantically scrambling up the ladder, sweat pouring from his forehead as they finally reached the top, rolling into the bridge. The guard raced to the wall, entering in an access code, and a hatch slammed shut beneath them, just as a loud report echoed from the corridor below, the hull finally giving out under the intense thermal strain.

   “Are we clear?” Romano asked.

   “Just about. The tugs are on their way down from the station, and I think I’ve got us into a safe orbit.” Looking at the guard, he added, “Though I don’t think we made quota.”

   “To hell with that,” she replied. “Get us home. Now.”

  Chapter 8