Anywhere but here

by Jerry Oltion

  "Can we do that?"

  "I think so. We've got a good fix on its distance now, and the only reason the computer can't get a velocity reading is because it's not moving fast enough to show any sign of motion from here, so if I click on a spot just a little ways out from the sunlit part that we can see, we should wind up within half its diameter or so of the surface, and not moving all that fast."

  "All right," Trent said. "That sounds doable. Now let's think about the air situation." He looked at the gauge, down to eight pounds again. "We've got maybe five more minutes on this tire before it's completely flat. It'll take me at least five more to get another tire loose and wedged in here. Do you think we should do that before we jump, or is there going to be enough time on the other end?"

  "There'll be time during the vector translation," Donna said. "That should take at least five minutes. But we've probably got enough air in our pressure suits and in the regular air tank to get us down, don't we?"

  Trent looked at the gauge. Seven pounds again. "It'd be really tight," he said. "And we'll need maneuvering air just as much as breathing air. I'd feel a lot safer saving what's in the tank for that."

  "I'd feel a lot safer without you going outside in deep space," Donna said.

  "Me too," Trent admitted, "but I don't think we've got any choice." He used the can opener to let the last of the air out of the spare, which brought the pressure in the cab up to nine pounds. "Let's go pick us a landing site, and then I'll switch tires while we're changing our velocity to match it."

  "All right." Donna put the computer on the dash again, waited for it to make sure it knew where they were and what direction they were aimed, then put the pointer just over the day side of the planet and pressed "enter."

  The planet blossomed into existence outside her window. Trent could barely see it around the tire, but its light reflected brightly in the cab. "How's it look?" he asked.

  "Good. There are continents, at least."

  He reached forward and used the jets to tip the pickup sideways, then swung it around so they could both see the planet through the windshield. It looked like they were maybe a couple thousand miles up, far enough to see quite a bit of it. The right-hand third or so was in shadow, but there was plenty to see in the sunlit part. Now that they were close, their relative motion was easy to see. They were falling toward it at a fairly steep angle, and going in pretty fast. They had a few minutes before they hit, though. Time enough to find a place to land, if their air held out that long.

  There were indeed continents: two long skinny ones on either side of the equator that looked like they had been one big one not too long ago, the edge of another big one just sticking out of the shadow, and a big triangular one that reached nearly from the equator to the pole out in the sunlit side.

  "There," Trent said, pointing at it. "That one covers the widest range of climate. If we wind up stuck here, we'll want as many options as we can get."

  "That . . . makes sense, I guess. I wasn't thinking that far ahead." Donna didn't sound very excited at the prospect, and he didn't blame her. But without power to run the hyperdrive, they were about as stuck as stuck could be, even if they could plug their leak and refill the air tanks. Unless someone else was already here. Trent turned on the radio and tuned it to channel 1, but got only static. Same on 2 and 3. He picked up the microphone and called out on channel 9, and again on 19, "Hello, is anybody home? This is Trent Stinson calling for anybody who can hear me. Hello?" Static.

  "No such luck," he said. "All right, let's assume we're going to be living here a while." Donna said, "Do you see anyplace that looks especially good?"

  He didn't, not right away, but he could tell where not to go. "That looks like desert," he said, pointing to a wide brown patch with no clouds over it that ran along one side of the triangle and extended deep into the interior. There was a long line of mottled white and green along another side, the side that ran diagonally from equator to pole, and there was a big arc of cloud just off the coast that looked like a storm front sweeping in. Compared to a desert, that looked ideal. "That looks like mountains," he said.

  "If we could land close to those, we'd have better odds of findin' water. And probably game and fish and trees, too."

  "Do we want the ocean side, or the inland side?" Donna asked.

  That was a good question. Oceans, in theory anyway, were good for fishing, and they made the climate more steady. But there wasn't a whole lot of flat ground between the mountains and the sea. If they missed just a little bit on either side, they could wind up in deep trouble. On the other hand, if they came down too far from the mountains on the other side, it looked like things got mighty dry mighty fast. And without power, they couldn't drive to the mountains once they were down, either.

  "Ocean side," he said at last. "As far from the coast as we can get without actually landing in the mountains." He fished the binoculars out of their case and started scanning for likely sites, but his ears popped again and a glance at the pressure gauge told him their time on this cabful of air was just about up.

  So close! Another fifteen or twenty minutes and they could probably make it to the ground without having to use a second tire, but they only had another few minutes' worth in their Ziptites and another few minutes in the air tank under the seat. That might get them to the top of the atmosphere, but they still had quite a while under the parachute before they fell deep enough to breathe it. Provided they could breathe it. But there was no point in worrying about that. Unlike the last time, there really wasn't going to be another chance if this didn't work out.

  They only had five minutes or so before they hit the planet. Not enough time to exchange tires, but they had to do it. "Tell you what," he said, handing the binoculars over to Donna. "Zip up, and you keep searching for a good landing site while I'm swapping out the tire. If you find one, give a yank on my rope so I'll know to tuck in close to the pickup, and you go ahead and make the jump to match velocity with it."

  "Your rope?"

  "I'm not going out there without tying myself down." He reached behind the seat and pulled out the tow rope he always kept there, tied one end to the steering wheel and the other end around his waist. He left six feet or so of loose end and tied the lug wrench to that so it couldn't get away from him.

  "That's smart. Come here a second." She leaned out and around the tire and puckered her lips. He leaned forward and kissed her. She was sweaty and just as scared as he was, but she was still the most beautiful woman in the world as far as he was concerned. Hell, the most beautiful woman in the whole damned galaxy.

  "You be careful," she said.

  "I will." He pulled his hood over his head and sealed it, and she did the same for hers. He wouldn't use the air out of his suit tank for a minute or two; that would give him that much more time before he ran out.

  "Ready?"

  "Ready." Her voice was muffled again.

  "Okay, let's blow the door seals. One, two, three, go."

  19

  They popped open the latches on their upper door seals, and what little air was left in the cab roared out into space. The pickup tilted downward in front, so Trent hit the maneuvering jets to bring it back up. He had to do it a second time before all the air was vented out of the cab, but Donna needed the pickup steady when she jumped.

  He opened the door. His suit had stiffened up again, but he managed to stick his legs outside and grab the tire with one hand while he steadied himself against the door with his other. The tire wouldn't budge. Of course not; it was seat-belted down. And the buckle was on Donna's side.

  "Unbuckle it!" he said, knowing full well she couldn't hear him. He reached around the tire as far as he could and pointed, and she understood. She pushed the release button and the tire suddenly came free, and he backed out into space with it in his arms. Then he noticed everything else coming out behind it: their coats, the binoculars, the lug wrench, his hat. Donna grabbed the coats and binoculars, and the lug wrench was tied to him, b
ut his hat kept coming, wobbling like a black flying saucer as it made its getaway out the door.

  His reaction was pure cowboy instinct: he let go of the tire and grabbed his hat. The tire instantly started drifting upward, so he flipped the hat into the cab like a Frisbee and made a grab for the tire, but he misjudged his motion in the stiff pressure suit and hit the sidewall with his hand. The tire flipped over and clipped the top of the cab, rebounded and hit him on the head, then bounced away as if it were rocket propelled. He made another lunge for it, but it was already out of reach, and there was no way he was going to leap into space after it, not even with a rope tied around his waist.

  "Screw it," he muttered. He could do without a spare, especially since the truck was probably never going to move again once they landed, but he had damn well better not lose the next tire. Which one should he take? He decided on the left rear; that would be the easiest one to get into the cab, because he wouldn't have to swing it around the door or over the whole pickup from the other side. He looked in at Donna for a second. She was gripping his hat hard enough to crush the brim, but it didn't look like she even knew she was holding it. Her mouth was wide open, and so were her eyes.

  "It's okay," he said, knowing she couldn't hear that, either. He gave her a thumbs-up with his right hand, and mouthed, I love you in exaggerated words.

  I love you, too, she mouthed back. Be careful!

  "I will," he said, nodding. "Find a landing site!" He pointed at the planet, now a bright wall of clouds and continents and oceans directly in front of them, then he reached for the side of the pickups bed and pulled himself hand over hand back to the rear tire. He didn't need the lug wrench, which was a good thing, because it was all he could do to hold himself in place with one hand while he spun the already-loosened lug nut off with his other. The fingers of his suit wanted to splay out like a Mickey Mouse glove, and he had to fight hard to grip the tiny nut. Plus the pickup itself kept moving around; not much, but every time he pushed himself one way, it moved a little bit the other, so he was constantly misjudging distances.

  The tire immediately tried to get away when the lug nut came loose, so he flipped the nut toward the door, hoping it would bounce inside and Donna would catch it, but it ricocheted off the armrest and flew away like a tiny chrome star. To hell with it. If he ever mounted this tire again, he would make do with four nuts. He grabbed the tire by one of the slots in the rim and steadied himself against the side of the truck, which set it bobbing around until they both settled down, then he pulled himself and the tire back toward the door.

  He was panting like crazy. He probably needed a shot of fresh air, but he would need another hand to do that. He had to get the tire inside first.

  He grabbed the open door like a shipwrecked sailor grabs the side of a lifeboat. There was a bad moment when he thought the tire wouldn't fit inside, but Donna grabbed it and pulled while he pushed one-handed, and it slipped in, compressing the seat and scraping along the roof as it went. Trent was seeing stars now, the loopy kind inside his helmet. He cracked open his air tank and let it refill his suit with fresh oxygen, then shut it off again and tried to climb into the cab, but the tire was right where he needed to go. He gave it a little shove, and Donna scooted out of the way as best she could, but the tire was so fat that she couldn't fit between it and the windshield, and there wasn't room for both her and Trent and the tire to sit side-by-side on the seat. This one couldn't be turned around to fit the narrow way like the spare had, either.

  "Jesus Christ, now what?" Trent growled. There was plenty of air in the tire, but no way to put that air in the cab without leaving the tire there, too. He grabbed the door frame and tried climbing in overhead, but there wasn't room for that, either. The pickup bobbed around while he pulled and pushed, trying everything he could think of, but there wasn't room in the footwell, nor between the steering wheel and the windshield. He was screwed.

  His rope trailed away toward the planet, writhing like a snake on a hot road. So close. The pickup had fallen considerably farther in the last minute or two. It looked like he could just reach out and touch the surface now. Donna might get that chance, but unless Trent could hang on outside through the entire vector translation and the parachute descent, breathing his own carbon dioxide the whole way, it looked like he would only wind up touching the inside of a grave.

  The rope slid back toward him, looping around his body. He felt it tugging on him, then realized it wasn't the rope. Something was pushing on him.

  Air. They were hitting the top of the atmosphere. It wasn't thick enough for friction to melt anything yet, but at the speed they were moving they were about five seconds away from becoming a big meteor. He looked in at Donna and pointed frantically at the planet, mouthing the word jump! over and over.

  She could barely reach the computer. The tire was leaning forward against it now that the pickup was being pushed backward by the onrushing air. She had to shoulder it aside, then it took her another couple of seconds to lock in her landing site and hit the button. Trent felt himself slip around until he was hanging by the door frame, and the door banged him on the knuckles, but he held on, and a second later the planet vanished.

  The wind ceased in the same instant. He rebounded into the edge of the door, bounced off it like the balloon he was, then finally wedged himself between door and frame. The pickup wobbled in reaction, but he hung on until it steadied out. Below his feet he saw a big black hole in space with a crescent of sunlit planet capping it at a jaunty angle.

  He looked inside. Donna held up her hands, all five fingers splayed out on her right, and three fingers extended on her left. Eight minutes. Plus some more under the parachute. Might as well be forever. He didn't have that much air left in his Ziptite.

  Now she was pointing frantically toward the back of the pickup. What else was the matter? He looked over his shoulder, but the camper looked the same as always, its aluminum sides reflecting the starlight and the little bit of sunlit planet.

  The camper. He whacked himself on the forehead, his gloved hand bouncing off with a hollow boing. He could throw another tire in the camper and wait out the landing in there. Donna would have to do the whole thing herself, but she knew how.

  He nodded and said "Okay!" with exaggerated lip motion, then grabbed the roll bar and pulled himself over to the other rear tire. If they were going to land with two tires missing, they should be on opposite sides, and on the same end. Then he realized that he had better open the camper door first, because he couldn't very well do that with a tire in his hands.

  He crawled over the top of the camper, never letting go with one hand until he was sure the other was gripping something solid, until he was upside-down next to the door handle. He'd designed the door to open inward, so air pressure would seal it tight when they were in space and none of their food or anything would be exposed to vacuum. He had never figured on having to open it in space, but he had wondered what he would do if they landed somewhere where the air pressure was lower than where they started. Even half a pound per square inch added up to a lot of force on something the size of a door; he would need a crowbar to pry it open.

  Fortunately, he had thought of that, and had put a valve on it just like the one in the driver's door. With the spigot on the outside, of course. He cracked it open and was relieved to see fog shoot out of it. The camper's seals were still tight, anyway.

  It was a regular water faucet, with the spigot aimed downward. That wouldn't have been a problem on the ground, but in space it worked just as well as the maneuvering jets in the bumper. The pickup started to nose over under the thrust. Trent tried to twist the spigot around, but it was screwed in tight, so he did the only other thing he could think of: he cupped his hand underneath it and let the air blow against his hand.

  That seemed to work. He felt the pressure pushing against him, and he had to hang on tight with his other hand, but the reaction pulled the back of the pickup down again.

  Trouble was, the air wa
s cold! It felt like he was sticking his hand in the blast from a fire extinguisher. He held it there as long as he could stand it, then shut off the valve for a second and shook his hand to get some warm blood flowing into it. He took the opportunity to give himself a fresh shot of air in his pressure suit, then went back to venting the camper, first shooting air straight out of the spigot, then cupping his hand underneath it and reversing the thrust.

  It took four times, alternating hands, before the air was all gone and he could open the door. He left it just slightly ajar so nothing could get out, then pulled himself around to the right rear tire, careful to make sure he had a good grip with his nearly numb hands, and started spinning off the lug nut. It was tough to do with stiff fingers and stiff gloves. He got it partway off, but the last few turns were being a bugger. He couldn't get a good enough grip on the nut, and every time he did, his whole body wanted to twist clockwise when he tried to unscrew it.

  He finally realized it wasn't just his clumsiness. The nut was stuck. He reeled in the lug wrench and fitted it to the nut, then managed to spin the nut off with one good flip of the wrench. The pickup started to spin the other way, but much more slowly. He hung on tight, and when he stopped the wrench, the pickup stopped, too. He didn't even try to save the nut; just let it float away. Four nuts would have to do on this wheel, too, if he ever remounted it.

  The tire came free on its own, and he made a grab for the slot in the wheel before it could get away, then he pulled himself around by the bumper until he could shove the tire into the camper. He closed the door on it so it couldn't get away, then worked his way back around to the cab to untie his rope. Donna was wrestling with her tire, tugging it around a few inches at a time as if she could roll it farther into the cab and make room for him. "It's not going to go, babe," he said softly, and a moment later he was glad she couldn't hear him, because he figured out what she was doing. She was trying to bring the valve stem around to a point where she could reach it.