“Acknowledged. Just let me know where to stand so I’m out of the way.”
“Sure, yeah.” He works his forearm plate. “Let’s get this first cradle loaded.”
Lamps come to life near a stack of pods along the back wall. Slender rods unfold, and a sensor package rises into position. It’s a second drone. It approaches.
I help Leader and two kavax load the first cradle onto the drone’s cargo bed, which lacks the arms along the sides. The cradle’s not as heavy as I expect, but still dense. We secure it with dark metal-mesh straps. Leader moves the drone to the right of the hole cut into the reactor, leaving room for the arm that’s going to pluck the components free. It looks like my trencher, a heavy piece of equipment with a solid base, a quartet of power pods, and four legs bolted to the deck. The control plate has small monitors for the video cameras attached to the arm’s four prehensile fingers.
We look around–one final check before what I think will be the riskiest part of the operation. The two remaining kavax stand off to the side, watching. The remaining human is packing one of the plasma torches into a pod. Nearby waits a third drone, recognizable by its cargo bed.
“Good.” Leader takes a breath, exhales. “Proceed.”
The kavax operator at the arm’s control plate presses buttons, then grabs a pair of manipulator joysticks. The arm unfolds, the fingers open and close, then the hand swings around and slowly reaches into the hole.
My hearts beat fast. Fifty-six hours now. This is the moment we’ve worked toward. Doubts flip across the back of my mind. Will this work? Can we actually extract the components? Can we extract them undamaged? What if the Sha-Ho engineer who removed the micro-core made it so any effort to remove the components leaves them in pieces? Certainly the Sha-Ho are aware of their value.
The operator manipulates the arm with small twitches of the joysticks. From where I’m standing I can’t see directly into the hole. But I can see the arm’s joints bend and twitch and rotate. Leader makes a light droning sound, like a mechanical hum. Is that a sign he’s anxious?
I wonder if he’s done something like this before. It’s likely–the vessels his business repairs and renovates use micro-cores. It’s entirely possible he’s done this sort of work before. It would explain why he has all the necessary equipment.
The arm withdraws. In its grasp is a C-shaped piece of white alloy, glowing beneath the spotlights’ glare. Smaller parts poke and jut from its sides. The kavax at the control plate brings the component to the cradle. Leader, the second kavax, and I guide it close to the cradle arm. There’s a strong, steady pull of my gloves to the component–the residual pseudo-gravity. Leader laughs when his hand slaps to the alloy.
“Fantastic. As good as I could’ve hoped.”
Working together we position its curved back into the cradle arm’s brackets. The kavax uses a drill to close the brackets. It takes effort to jerk our metallic gloves free when he finishes.
“Withdraw the arm,” Leader says. “Easy.”
The kavax operator manipulates the hand. When the fingers release the component, they tremble, a palsy from the pseudo-gravity. The arm’s retraction seems slower, sluggish.
The cradle twitches.
“Those two straps,” Leader says. “Tighter.” The kavax and I tighten the indicated straps. The cradle stills. “Good. Remember, with each component, that pull is going to strengthen. Be mindful.”
The operator positions the next component across from the first so they face each other. We secure it in the brackets. It takes more effort to withdrew my gloves–both components grab at it equally. I grunt at the sensation.
“Pilot?” Leader sounds amused.
“Feels weird,” I say. “Never felt this before.”
He laughs. “You should try working over or under these. I can’t count the times I’ve gotten the belly of my suit stuck. Had to be yanked free.”
Someone else chuckles.
“Why put them so close together then?” I ask. “Wouldn’t spreading them apart make things easier?”
“That’d diminish the pseudo-gravity residue.” Leader waves. “Weakens things. Makes the components more prone to failure down the road.”
“Wouldn’t putting them back around a micro-core fix that? Recharge them or whatever the core does?”
“It usually doesn’t. The components all have to have nearly the same residue remaining to make them work.” His suit shoulders rise and fall in a clear shrug. “Something to do with the design. The alloy. Keeping them close together until we can drop them around another micro-core preserves their value–if that’s where they end up. They have a few other uses, but not nearly as profitable.”
As he speaks, the arm pulls a third component from the reactor and bends it toward a third cradle arm. We position and clamp it in place. This time it takes a hard jerk to free my gloves. My fingers tingle. I shake my arm. The mechanical arm moves even more slow and sluggish until it’s about a meter away.
Leader laughs. “Wait until we get the fourth one out!”
The operator works the controls. The arm pivots around, fingers trembling, and pokes into the hole.
“Why are things difficult for the arm?” I ask. “With the components out here, wouldn’t the gravity be lesser in there?”
“There’s a lot of alloy still in there,” Leader says. “The components are the biggest part of it, but there’s circuitry running everywhere, with a lot of residue. It’s affecting the entire structure.” He waves at the core we’ve opened. “Makes getting the last couple components out without banging them against anything a bit tricky.”
The arm withdraws. Small pieces of metal flake from the opening. A few get caught in the residual gravity around the cradle. They accelerate through the gap between them to strike the reactor room’s far walls. The others scatter, most tumbling to the deck.
Leader laughs. “Stand by, boys.” As the arm pivots the fourth component around, he waves at the three people standing in the center of the room. “Who has the scanners? Give it a look.” He points at the small hole cut through the reactor’s innards.
“Here, sir.” It’s a kavax. He’s holding a small lamp and some sort of scanner.
He leans into the hole as we nudge the fourth component into place and drill the brackets shut. This time I have to pull my arms free one at a time. The tingling in my fingers worsens before it fades.
The kavax at the hole turns to leader. “Looks stable. I’ll mount the detector inside, keep an eye on things. But I may need someone to pull me out afterward.”
“Yes, of course.” Leader gestures at me. “Pilot, position the drone over there, by that reactor.” He points to the reactor room’s opposite corner. Then, to the waiting kavax and human, he says, “You two. Give K-3 here a hand.”
They approach.
I ask, “What? How do I...” then stop and look at my plate. A few taps, and I find the interface that will allow me to control the drone. I give it a quick study. Looks simple enough.
I pause, take a breath, then guide the drone across the reactor room. It does all the hard work on its own. I just tell it to move here, then turn this way, so the back end of the cargo bed is close to the hole. We’re ready to load a cradle, lash it down, then extract the next set of components. A glance at the timer in my faceplate reveals only fifteen minutes have passed since we started on the first set.
The men at the arm unbolt it from the deck, then carry it over to the second reactor. One uses a hand-held drill to bolt each leg in place. The operator steps to the arm’s control plate. Leader and a kavax help me load the second cradle onto the cargo bed. We strap it down.
“Remember,” Leader says, “having that first cradle there will make things a trickier when we position the components. Make sure you got a firm grip and the brackets are in place before you let go.” He still sounds jovial enough.
As the operator maneuvers the arm into the second reactor, I look back at the first reactor, where the others a
re congregating around the hole. I point. “What’re they doing?”
Leader turns. “The kavax there, he’s making sure the structure isn’t shifting. Nothing’s coming apart. The others are helping if he gets stuck.”
“With the cores gone, there shouldn’t be any problems, should there?”
“No, no, but the construction all around us is still under stress. And there’s no telling how much damage was done to the framework after all the plasma clusters hit this place.” He waves at the ceiling. “The residual gravity’s held things in place. With us removing it, there’s no telling what can happen.”
I look around, mostly into the room’s four upper corners. “But the Sha-Ho removed the micro-cores. Certainly they fixed any potential collapse.”
“Only long enough for them to get the cores out, be my guess. I’m kinda surprised they left the room in this good shape. I’d have filled it in with rock or something.”
“How much danger are we in?”
Leader laughs. “Honestly? Very little, if any, but no real way to tell. Like I said, the structure took a beating when the Unity Fleet clustered the cruks out of it. I did my best to take thorough scans while we prepared, and got hold of the schematics of this outpost so I know where some of the pressure points are, but there’s just no way to know for sure what’ll happen with the components out. That’s why K-3’s setting up that scanner. We have one for each reactor. If things inside start to shift, we’ll know. Hopefully in time for us to get the hell out.” He laughs again.
“Great.” I turn and eye the open hatch. I realize then why everything on the plating has been pushed up against the walls–to clear a path to safety.
Hopefully we won’t need it.
I ask, “Wouldn’t we be better off if I’m at the sled? I get hurt, who pilots us out?”
“Yeah, that is a consideration,” Leader replies, “but you saw how shaky it was getting one set of components out. We need your help here more.”
I chuff. But I trust that he knows what he’s doing. He has so far. And helping here was probably one of Geen’s tasks.
The first two components of the second core come out easily enough. Positioning them in the cradle is also smooth, with the three of us straining together. Small bits of debris tumble from the hole with the extraction of the third component. I bat as many of them away from the cradles as I can, but a pair slingshot through to smack against the rock wall and ricochet toward the ceiling, across the room, where they disappear into the shadows.
Leader waves. “Don’t let those bother you. They can’t hurt the suits, no matter how fast they’re going. Plus, I’ve got electronic eyes keeping an eye on them, make sure they don’t get stuck somewhere important.”
We fasten the third component onto the cradle arm, then prepare for the fourth.
Again, the operator struggles to move the arm into and out of the hole. The component twists a bit, emerging horizontal where so far they’ve all been vertical. The operator rotates then nudges it close to the cradle. We nudge it the rest of the way. The kavax opposite me drills the brackets shut.
One of the others–the kavax with the scanners–shines a light into the hole. He thrusts a scanner inside. “There’s a small amount of shifting, back upper corner. Some buckling. Everything else looks stable.”
“Good, good. Pilot, guide the drone to the hangar bay. Just position it by the sled then get back here.” He and the others bend toward the legs bolted to the deck.
I walk the drone to the hangar bay. All there remains dark and quiet. I position the drone on the sled’s far side, close to the right side corridor hatch. I figure we can load these two cradles onto the sled’s port-side cargo bed, the other two to starboard. I have the drone settle to the plating and power down. It takes all of five minutes.
By the time I return to the reactor room, the others have positioned the arm by the third reactor, adjacent to the first. The human is drilling the last bolt into the plating. Leader has positioned a second drone by the third hole. He waves me over. “Let’s get this third cradle loaded, get them components pulled out.”
Things go quickly. We get all four components bracketed down without difficulty. I’ve gotten used to jerking my hands away from the alloy, though my wrists, elbows, and shoulder ache. I engage my suit’s fans. Small bits of metal continue to spin from the hole, ricocheting into the darkness. As we secure the fourth component to the cradle, there’s a pair of sharp taps to the side of my helmet. I flinch and turn. Small bits of metal glint in my helmet’s lamplight as they tumble away.
Leader laughs. “See? Harmless.”
I walk the drone to the final reactor without waiting to be told. The inspecting kavax and his two helpers move to the third, throwing light and taking measurements. The arm is unbolted and carried across the room.
I catch glints of light spinning in the lamplight. There seems to be a lot of metal bits flying around now, more than I thought emerged from all the holes. No one else seems concerned though.
“K-3, how’s that third core holding up?” Leader’s voice is a bit less jovial. His movements, along with the others, seem a bit... rushed now.
“A lot of movement in there, sir. Nothing egregious, but there’s definitely some stress in the overhead supports on this side of the reactor room.”
Leader stands still. His gaze plays across the inside of his faceplate. “The readings still look within tolerances. Maybe the damage isn’t as bad as we anticipated.” He waves at the operator. “Let’s get that fourth set of components out already.”
We extract the first component without difficulty, clamp it into the brackets.
The arm’s fingers tremble as it reaches back into the hole. As it emerges, the second piece twists the arm’s wrist, turning it flat rather than vertical. Leader and someone else–probably the operator–gasp. The operator swings it over, and the three of us wrestle it against the cradle arm, secure it. Leader and the operator then inspect the wrist joint. The operator takes a small tool from a kit on his thigh plate and makes an adjustment.
“That should hold,” Leader says. “Get that third one out.”
The whole arm shakes as it withdraws the third component. More bits of metal spin free, a halo of debris spreading through the reactor room. The alloy fights us, an animal refusing to be caged. The tingling now reaches above my wrists. After the component is clamped, I step back and shake my arms. Leader does the same.
“Just one more,” he says. “Just one more. Hold out a little longer.”
Though he’s looking at me, I don’t think he’s talking to me.
It seems to take forever for the operator to reach in and pluck the final component free. The arm’s legs are straining against the bolts holding them in place. As the operator swivels the arm around, positioning the component close enough for us to press it into the brackets, the kavax monitoring the structure gives a cry.
“Failure! Failure!”
Shifting shadows draw my attention to the far corner. The spotlights mounted to the rock around the first reactor shake. Cracks spread across the ceiling. Metal rods and beams buckle and snap free. Panels pop from their grooves. One spotlight tumbles away.
“Pilot!” Leader screams. “Get your ass down!”
I look around, belatedly realize everyone else’s ducked for cover, and dive beneath the drone, where I roll my back against its rear legs.
Another spotlight twirls free. Light and darkness spin. Rocks and pieces of metal fly through the open space. Most remain near the ceiling until they bounce off the far wall to scatter in all directions.
I raise my arm across my helmet’s faceplate, and draw my knees as close to my chest as I can, which isn’t as close as I’d like. Things pelt my suit. Something hard crashes against the bottom of my boot. Something else snags on my suit near my shoulder. Over the intercom comes a collection of screams.
Another spotlight goes spinning. One of the first two crashes against a wall and goes dark. Empty cargo
pods skitter across the deck before bouncing off and up toward the ceiling. More rocks twirl by, most larger than my fist, along with shards of dark metal and bits of alloy glowing when the light hits.
I stay in my fetal position beneath the drone until the screaming stops. Moans and heavy breathing follow. Someone–a human–is saying, “My knee. God damn, my knee.”
According to the timer in my faceplate, only twenty minutes have passed. Debris continues to bounce off the walls and ricochet through the shadows. Most of the larger pieces have settled to the plating. A lot of them have piled around the drone. I lower my arm. A metal beam longer than I am tall rests across my upper thigh. Its end pokes between the drone’s legs, into the reactor’s exposed piping and circuitry.
“Report. Everyone, report.” Leader’s voice is shaky, but he sounds unharmed. Lights move as he shifts position. He’s sitting near the base of the arm, which remains bolted to the plating. From where I’m lying, I can’t tell if the fourth component remains in its grip.
Others call out.
“K-1 here, I’m all right.”
“K-2. A bit knocked around but I’ll be fine.”
“K-3. I– I’m pinned. I think there’s a leak in my suit. I’m getting alarms.”
“H-4, my leg. God damn!” He’s somehow ended up all the way across the room, still on his feet, rock and metal piled around him.
“K-4. Shaken but unharmed.”
“Pilot?”
I realize I haven’t said anything. “This is Pilot. Nothing’s flashing red.”
“Good, good.” Leader climbs to his feet, using the arm for support. “Remember, move slow. Try not to kick the debris back into motion. I see a lot of sharp edges from where I’m standing. K-3, where are you?”
“Here, by the corridor hatch. One of my legs is pinned beneath this cargo pod.” He waves.
Leader and someone else start across the reactor room toward him, carefully avoiding the rock and metal shards in their paths. There’s still a cloud of debris ricocheting through the room, but nothing larger than a finger. And it’s all spinning and tumbling rather slowly.
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