by Jim Wurst
Captain Hightower decided his intervention was necessary. “You’re going to be feeling decompression if you hit anything out there. We’ve got two sweepers out there, and there’s potential for debris. Stay within the corridor we plotted for you.”
“Ok, ok, but this is the greatest rush ever…”
“Then do it when you’re out of my jurisdiction… sir.”
The ship did not change course but increased its speed.
“Helm, what’s he heading into?”
“He’s heading straight for a cleaner, sir. Also, debris.”
“Warn him.”
“RV 3, RV 3. Do you read?”
Ron’s seriously annoyed voice came across. “I read you. What’s that ship doing?”
“He’s stoned, flying outside his coordinates, and too fast. He’s heading for you.” “I can see that. I can’t outrun him, what’s my best maneuver?”
“Heading 43.3 is the best way to avoid him, but there are bogies over there.”
“Doesn’t look like there’s anything big. Do you read it the same way?”
“Roger that.”
“Guess I’ll take my chances with the junk rather than the junk-head.”
“Stay in constant radio contact.”
“Get the second ship nearby just in case he gets damaged,” Hightower commanded.
“Aye, sir. RV 6, RV 6. Do you read?”
“I read you.” It was Kate.
“RV 6, do you see RV 3 and the civilian ship?”
“Affirmative on both.”
“Change your heading to 0042 and rendezvous with RV 3. He is taking evasive action to avoid the civilian. This is sending him into a bogie field but prepared to assist.”
“Copy that.”
“Captain, we lose visual contact in 90 seconds.”
Meanwhile, Lt. Tanaka was escorting McBride towards the climate control chamber when he noticed crew members hurrying by. Stopping one of them, he asked, “What’s going on?”
“That rich kid was on the station is flying off course and forcing a cleaner to move towards debris to avoid him.”
“What rich kid?” McBride asked.
“Name’s Prescott. Was on the station for… something.”
“Prescott? Prescott Aeronautics?”
“Yes, the old man’s son.”
“We were on the station at the same time and no one thought to mention that?”
“Not my responsibility.” Which wasn’t exactly true: his captain had ordered him directly that the EuroNet crew and Prescott should never meet. Hightower had no interest in the journalists knowing he was baby-sitting.
“Good lord, where can we get a look at that?”
“The forequarter. But I need authorization for that.” He turned on his radio. “Bridge, this is Lt. Tanaka, escorting the EuroNet crew. We understand there’s a problem outside. They want to observe from the forequarter. Do you authorize?”
“I doubt it. Stand by.” After a brief silence, the bridge was back. “Captain says ok, captain says we may need witnesses in case something screws up.”
“They can hear you you know.”
“Oh. Signing off.”
“Witnesses to what?” McBride asked.
“Umm, well, a ship hitting a ship, or a ship being hit by debris… or both.”
“When was the last time that happened?”
“Two ship colliding? Not since the Satellite War, I suspect.”
The Apollo XX passed so close to the RV 3 that Ron swore he could see Prescott and that his eyes were closed. As long as he didn’t veer any closer, he would be clear in a few seconds. Then Ron felt a thud on his side and yellow lights in the cockpit started flashing. Ron checked his controls and saw that a chunk of debris about the size of a loaf of bread had bounced off his ship.
“Bridge, something just hit me starboard.”
“Affirmative. About a quarter meter across. You okay?”
“So far so good.” He checked his instruments and looked out the window. “Looks like our friend is about to leave our sector.”
“Good, we’ve got enough rubbish to deal with already.”
What neither one of them noticed was that the chunk bouncing off RV 3 had directed it towards the Apollo XX. Unlike a cleaner, these sports cars didn’t have a thick skin. They were trophies, show horses, meant more to show off wealth without being burdened with too much boring practical accessories. They also were mostly for stratospheric travel zoom out of the atmosphere and then zoom back down to some place on Earth. Space stations were as far as they could travel, they didn’t have the range for the Moon, but they seldom got that close to the debris ring. So once the ricocheting chuck hit the Apollo XX, it was more than a bump. It hit near an engine and either a bit of the junk or a piece of the ship itself bent the exhaust. That was enough to knock the ship off-balance.
“What was that?” a suddenly alert Prescott asked.
“A piece of space debris hit you. It appears to have damaged your starboard engine. What are your readings?”
“Readings, right? Um, yes, the starboard engine is out of commission. And, huh? Fuel level is dropping?”
“Your fuel lines have been compromised,” Hightower told him.
“Oh man, I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Don’t power your engines!”
He powered his engines. The leak became a tear and the warning lights on the control panel went berserk.
Since the Apollo wasn’t one of his ships, Hightower had no link to Prescott’s controls, but he recognized the sound of the alarms. That they were now out of visual range increased the frustration.
“Cut your engines, you idiot! You’re starting a fire!”
“You can’t have a fire in space!”
“You can have one inside a spaceship. Now shut up, power down, and do exactly what I say. Are you wearing your space suit?” He knew the answer was yes because it was regulation, and his crew would never have allowed him to board without it.
“Yes.”
“And the helmet and gloves are in the rack behind you?”
“Yes.”
“Put them on. Now.”
Although unaccustomed to taking orders from the help, the rattled Prescott unbuckled his seat harness and stumbled into the equipment and scurried back to his seat.
“Ok, now what? I see smoke at the back. I can smell something too.”
“Stay calm. A rescue ship is on the way.” He cut the radio and turned to the helm. “Who’s closest?”
“Still RV 3.”
“What’s the pilot’s name?”
He had to check the log. “Anderson, Ron.”
“Open a frequency. Ron, this is Captain Hightower. Do you read me?”
“Aye, sir,” answered the calm, youthful voice.
“Listen carefully. They crippled the Apollo XX. There’s a fire and it could explode at any moment. There is one person on board. Move yourself into position and prepare for a spacewalk. You may be able to retrieve him with your hooks, but you have to be ready for anything. It’s not one of our ships, so we don’t have any readings from onboard. Ron, this could be dangerous, I can’t pretend otherwise. It could blow at any moment. Do you understand what I’m saying, son?”
A space walk from a cleaner? Had they ever done that before? Basic training included space walks outside the station, but stepping out of a moving spaceship? Ron’s mind raced. He had to start calm. He was a professional. He was a spaceman. Since the dawn of aviation, every pilot, regardless of language or vessel involved, had one imperative when speaking. From the guys who broke the sound barrier to the pilot on a commercial jumbo jet to every astronaut ever, there was that golden rule. Stay calm. “Aye, captain.”
“We’ll do everything we can from here. Keep this channel
clear and don’t forget to turn on the radio in your suit. We’ll be back in range in… eleven minutes.”
“Aye, sir.” Eleven minutes? An eternity of time in the eternity of space.
Ron moved into position. This part wasn’t hard at all approaching a floating hulk was something he did every day. But none of them had ever been on fire before. He couldn’t get close enough, so he prepared for a spacewalk. Normally these rare events were fun, but now again there was a fire in space.
Ron got within range of the sports car, cut his engines and put on his helmet and gloves. He attached the tether and performed the irreversible act as he popped the cockpit. The void of space rushed into his miniscule ship, instantly sucked out the puny scoop of air that spread like so much dust into the blackness and tried to yank Ron into the nothingness. The tether held and Ron worked to regain control of his ship and suit. Using the control panel on his suit, he slowly let the tether out. His jet packs directed him toward Prescott’s cockpit. He could see Prescott. Panicky but still, Ron saw he was wearing his gloves, but his helmet not secured. The cabin was filling with smoke. It must have smelled awful in there. Ron pounded on the window and motioned for him to secure his helmet.
“Captain tell him to secure his helmet and then pop the emergency escape. I don’t think he understands me.”
“Got it.” The helmsman relayed the instructions. Ron could see him following the instruction, so he prepared to help pull him out of the crippled ship. The cockpit screen popped off, but Ron didn’t need to reach in to retrieve the man. Prescott had forgotten to reattach his seat harness when he grabbed his helmet and gloves. Releasing himself into space was like an ant getting swooped up by a tornado. He flew out into space, banged into Ron, who got thrown back towards his own ship. Ron grabbed an arm of his ship to right himself and propelled himself towards the fool.
“Ron, are you alright?”
“Aye, sir. The integrity of the suit and tether are intact. I got hold of a claw and have pushed myself in his direction. I think the collision slowed the speed of his ejection. I’m moving closer. I’m going to let out the tether the entire length and fire the jet pads. I should be able to close in on him.” As he executed the moves, he added, “I’m worried he’s panicking too much. He could hyperventilate.”
“Under the circumstances, him unconscious is probably the best option. RV 6 is approaching your position. The UN station will be within visual range in five minutes. We have notified them. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Aye, sir. I think I’ve hit the limit on risks.”
Ron suddenly realized that he had forgotten about the burning ship behind him. He looked back and saw the sleek hulk floating in space. Of course, he realized, no more oxygen, no more fire. At least he didn’t have to worry about having his suit ripped apart by an exploding ship. He fired his jets again and moved closer. With unspeakable comfort, he saw Kate’s ship approaching. For a fleeting moment, he envisioned the embarrassment he would face being hauled back to the station in Kate’s claw, like a mother dog grabbing the errant pup by his neck. That vision passed quickly when he realized the alternative was dying. Prescott was still out of range so Ron did what he promised himself he wouldn’t do: he released the tether and emptied the jets so that he shot straight at Prescott. Ron caught him. But now they were both floating in space.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s the only way I could get to him. RV 6 is closing in it’ll be easier to grab both of us.”
Ron could hear the helmsman talking to Hightower. “There are a lot of bogies there. Those suits will not withstand an impact.”
Four minutes before the Roosevelt could see the ships. All the remaining RVs were ready to launch.
Prescott had passed out. Ron felt a ping of something hitting his helmet. And then another. No warning light went on, so he knew he was safe. For the moment. On the bridge of the Roosevelt, the captain and helmsman could hear low sounds coming from the pilot.
“What? What is he saying?” Hightower asked.
“He’s praying.”
The next thing Ron knew was that he was no longer drifting. A claw of RV 6 had grabbed him by the boot.
CHAPTER 54
Mr. Anderson drove across the Minnesota plains towards the South Dakota border. Windmills and bison herds ruled the landscape. There were cows out there too, but the most valuable animals were penned in far out of view of the road. This was Lakota land. Most of the land returned to Native Americans had been used up, akin to donating a bone after it had been used for stock. But this patch of Northern Plains where North and South Dakota and Minnesota met still had life.
Decades before, the Lakota had made a deal for this land with both sides knowing the aquifer was poisoned. What the Lakota did was create a water and power system that sustained the minimum of live and then made the minimum enough. When it was clear, the prairie was still alive, Ailes tried to grab it back through eminent domain. This strategy had worked before in claiming private land in the name of combatting climate change, most notably in Vermont. But in a rare defeat for Ailes, the Supreme Court ruled that eminent domain could not be evoked since the Lakota were doing as Ailes claimed he wanted to do.
There were few cars on the road. Those that were, were like Mr. Anderson electric cars using the solar panels embedded in the roadway. The number of windmills increased as he got closer to his destination, a power plant. When he arrived at the gate, robotic security scanned the car while a human security guard checked Mr. Anderson’s retinal scan and other ID. Once cleared, he drove to the main office where the plant manager was waiting for him.
“Sorry to bring you all the way out here,” Mr. Nasky said.
“Not at all, I enjoy getting out of the office occasionally. I grew up out this way, I love the air. I love looking at these things, he said, gesturing towards the wind farm. “Well, I’m glad you’re in a good mood now, you may not be when you see what I have to show you.”
“Obviously, this has something to do with a visa I issued.”
“Actually, two visas.”
“Runaways?”
“Yes. They appeared to have taken separate vacations but were actually coordinating…” Mr. Nasky continued to speak as they walked past a workstation where the crew was not doing their jobs but were instead watching the news. A single phrase coming from the TV punctured Nasky’s explanation: “… the USS Theodore Roosevelt.”
The ever-present fear of a parent grabbed him. “What, what was that? What happened? My son is on the Roosevelt.”
One worker turned around, not sure how to reply to the stranger. “Don’t know for sure. The reports are pretty sketchy. Someone said there’s been an accident on the Roosevelt.”
CHAPTER 55
Andresh Rajabov was old enough to remember the glaciers. The snowpack shone in the winter light. His glaciers faced north, so they rarely reflected the golden glow tourists always “ohhhh-ed” over. But because they faced north, meaning they got less sunlight, they retreated slower. The country’s largest - Fedchenko Glacier still held that title, but only because the smaller ones were melting faster. Fedchenko was half the size it was when the 70-year-old Rajabov was a child. His glacier in the Pamirs Mountains drained away a decade ago. He saw it nearly every day of his life, but somehow couldn’t remember the exact day when he looked up and saw nothing but rock. The last specks of white were finally, irretrievably, gone.
They foresaw the death of the glacier decades before, but it was as inevitable and unstoppable as a flood or landslide. The glaciers fed the rivers; the rivers fed the lakes and Aral Sea, and they all fed the people. The glaciers were in Tajikistan, but its waters eventually flowed to Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, who all needed the dwindling supplies. Wars, border grabs, dams, sabotage centered on securing as much water as possible until there was nothing left to fight over.
There
was a false spring, a phony peace during Rajabov’s youth. For a few brief years the valley had water. But it was the last gasp supply. The last of the glaciers had melted, the rivers filled, but there was nothing behind that. They had eaten their seed grain. He would look up at the mountains and saw the bare rock. It’s probable that no one in human history had seen these mountains without ice. But here he was, at the precise moment in human history and speaking the words that should never have been spoken: the glaciers were gone.
Tajikistan had been cooking for most of the century. The land cracked. The crops withered. Soil gone, water gone, food gone. And now it was the humans’ turn.
In most countries, the United Nations had a headquarters known as the UN House. In industrial countries, the House was more about information and public relations. In what they had referred to as developing countries, the UN House was the collective headquarters for all the aid and relief agencies working in that country. As more countries deteriorated, the number and sizes of the UN Houses increased. Partly it was need, partly it was security: all UN agencies in one building were a tempting target but it was also easier to defend.
Countries hosting UN Houses rarely bothered to specify what UN agency was involved. Partly it was shorthand, partly it was a resignation that to spell out the names sounded absurd. Development Program? Nothing left to develop. World Health Organization when no one was healthy? Food and Agriculture Organization? A sick joke. Refugee agency? No one in Tajikistan dared used the word. These people were not refugees. They were crossing borders but left of their own free will to go to Kyrgyzstan, which had lost a population of its own and was open to repopulating with ethnically similar Tajiks.
This was part of a phenomenon that no one wanted to talk about. Countries nations were disappearing. No one could pretend that the island nations still existed. Fiji, Vanuatu, Tuvalu were all underwater, no pretense was possible. Small, low-lying countries like Bangladesh were little more than a city, slums and a nameplate in the UN General Assembly. Still, national and international officials could not bring themselves to name the reality. Policy experts used phrases like “decelerating economies” and “impaired sustainability.” But there was the name everyone knew but no official would ever speak: “empty countries.”