Neptune Crossing (The Chaos Chronicles) (36 page)

The neurolink showed him: emergency telemetry, damage reports, voice commands overriding the flawed DTC datastream, tugs changing course and diverting to the aid of the stricken vessels. What about injuries?

/// We're all set, ///

Charlie barked.

/// Get going and

grab a spacesuit from the EVA dock. ///

Bandicut exploded. /What do you mean, we're all set? Do you know what you've just done? You son of a bitch, you can't DO that to people! Charlie, you son of a bitch—/

/// I wanted to run a sim on it first,

but there was no time.

We HAD to do it for real. ///

/You bastard, you can't—/

/// John, we NEED THAT SHIP!

There's no time to discuss this— ///

/No time—?/ he choked, running out of words. He felt sick. It was not just Charlie who had caused the collision; it was John Bandicut who was linked to the datanet. If they tracked the cause, which the system was probably doing right now, it would be John Bandicut who would be named, Bandicut who would be nailed. /Christ, Charlie!/ he whispered.

/// John—DISCONNECT! ///

Everything shifted, and he saw another schematic, the datanet searching backward for the source of the altered DTC commands. The lines of the search were leading toward this comm booth, despite Charlie's efforts to misdirect it. /Damn you!/ He broke the connection and yanked the headset off and stared, disbelieving, at the comm board, as though he expected it to erupt with lights and sirens.

Charlie flashed an image in his head: directions from the comm booth to the Extravehicular Activity suit-up area.

/// GO! ///

He went, clutching his duffel bag to his chest as he pushed off from one wall after another, sailing down the intersecting corridors to the suit-up area. /I can't believe it, Charlie. I can't believe you did that!/ He was in despair as he found the EVA room.

/// It was the only way.

Now, listen—you need to grab a suit.

Pretend you're part of the damage control team.

And be ready to do what I say,

without hesitation. ///

/Why the hell should I—?/

/// You're got to trust me.

Please, John! ///

He had no answer. He had trusted the quarx this far, and it was a little late in the game for second thoughts.

The suit-up area was in chaos. At least a dozen men and women were frantically trying to get outside to render emergency assistance. People were shouting back and forth, and no one paid any attention to Bandicut as he crammed his bag into a locker and made his way through the confusion to the stores. He grabbed at the racks for a spacesuit close to his size and floated back to the locker with it. He dressed facing the locker, hoping that his presence would continue to go unnoticed—not just by the workers, but by the safety-and-security cameras on the walls.

"Hey—come 'ere a second, will you?"

He turned his head cautiously. The man just to his right was floating perpendicular to him, helmet in his hands. He was talking to Bandicut. Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he pointed at his life-support pack and said, "Check my stats, will you? My readouts aren't working, and I don't have time to screw around with it. Just tell me if I have two hours' worth."

Grunting nervously, Bandicut floated up over the man's left shoulder, opened the direct readout panel, and squinted at the tiny green numbers displayed there. "Yeah," he said finally. "You look okay for...well, if you aren't a big oxygen pusher, maybe two and three-quarters hours." He floated back to his locker.

"Thanks." The man started to turn away—but another man, lanky and sharp featured even in his partially donned spacesuit, appeared over the first man's shoulder. The name "Jensen" was stenciled on his suit; he looked like a foreman or supervisor.

"Hold it," Jensen said, staring at Bandicut with penetratingly dark eyes. "Lemme double-check that." He held Bandicut in his gaze, as if to say to the other man,
Do you know this guy?
Then he performed the same check that Bandicut had. "Yeah, you're okay."

The first man shrugged, clamped his helmet on, and pushed off for the airlock. The one named Jensen glared at Bandicut for a moment longer. "You're new here." Bandicut nodded without answering; he didn't trust his voice. "Well, if you don't know what you're doing out there, stay the hell out of the way of the people who do." Without waiting for an answer, Jensen turned away to finish his own suiting up.

Bandicut followed him uneasily with his eyes. Jensen's suspicions were totally justified; he and Charlie were responsible for all of this. If anyone died out there...

/// Quit thinking and

get your fr'deekin' suit on, John!

We're doing this to save lives,

remember that! ///

/Tell it to the crews who are out there twisting in vacuum,/ he thought darkly, pulling his suit on with deliberate speed.

/// Hopefully, no one's seriously hurt. ///

/Hopefully,/ Bandicut said acidly.

/// Don't forget to put the red stone

in your outer pocket.

In fact, put all three in. ///

Bandicut frowned and reached inside his suit's zippered opening to fish the tiny daughter stones out of his pants pocket. He stared at them for a moment, wondering how he could carry them in a large utility pocket without losing them, especially when he would be fumbling for them with gloved hands.

/// Just stick them in and

ask them to stay put. ///

Bandicut popped them into his spacesuit pocket. /Stay./ He raised his eyes and saw Jensen watching him. Turning back to his locker, he tried to ignore the stare.

By the time he was suited, most of the ready room had cleared out, except for Jensen. Bandicut tried to avoid meeting the man's eyes, but as he finished his checklist and crouched to push off for the airlock, Jensen called out, "Hey, you—stop for a buddy check!"

/// What now? ///

Bandicut hesitated. "Right," he said, and swung himself toward Jensen. He turned to present his back to the man, thinking,
Don't interfere with me, damn you.

"Okay," he heard. "Remember what I said."

"Right," he repeated, and launched himself toward the lock. When he reached the airlock door, he punched the cycling button and flipped himself into the chamber even as the door was sliding open. He did not intend to look back, but as he caught a handhold and swung around to punch the inside airlock control, he found himself gazing back through the window into the ready room. Jensen was watching him with a scowl. Past Jensen's head was the gleaming eye of the safety-cam.

The airlock cycle seemed endless. The outer door opened onto vacuum, and at that instant he remembered his duffel bag in the locker. /Charlie! My bag!/

/// Leave it.

You can't go back. ///

/But it has everything I own!/

Charlie's voice grew more urgent.

/// You can't go back!

NO TIME! ///

He knew Charlie was right—but that didn't make him feel any less miserable as he launched himself out into space.

/// Straight out.

Then left about forty degrees

and up thirty.

You have thruster control on this thing? ///

/Yeah./ He was rotating slowly as he emerged from the airlock. "Suit control—give me attitude stability and thruster control at the right wrist." He felt the thrusters popping, stopping his rotation, and he bent his wrist slightly to the left as he drifted out past the end of the station wall. The thrusters flared and he yawed, and he pointed with his index finger and the thrusters jetted him forward.

Ahead was an array of vessels, some clamped to docking ports on the side of the station, others tethered at in-between points. Most of them had once gleamed white and gold and silver, but were now smudged and weathered with age. As he scanned around to his right, he spotted—at a distance of perhaps a kilometer—the diversion that Charlie had created. The two damaged ships were surrounded by a cluster of tugs. Suited workers were crossing over to the site like flying insects. It was impossible to judge from here the seriousness of the collision. He was tempted to listen in on the comm, but felt a strong opposing urgency from Charlie. Too distracting, too much to do.

/// That medium-sized ship, John—

just beyond the container ship. ///

Bandicut nodded without answering, coasting through the weightless silence of space. He veered past the cargo carrier, then on toward the survey ship. He could see a part of the name
Neptune Explorer
stenciled on its aft section. It had a configuration like a squashed hatbox, with modest-sized engines on the end nearest to Bandicut. It was tethered, not hard docked. /What do I do when we get there?/

/// Get behind it. Float

right up to the nozzles of its main engines. ///

Bandicut grunted. Charlie's instructions ran contrary to all of his instincts for safe operation around a live spacecraft. What if those engines came to life without warning? He didn't even have his comm on. Nevertheless, he aimed for the point that Charlie requested. He was a little rusty at zero-gee maneuvering, and in his haste he overshot, braking frantically, then had to coax himself back with slow, careful bursts on the thrusters. In the meantime he sensed Charlie's urgency growing. /What's the matter?/ He came to a stop directly in front of one exhaust bell of the fusion drive. /You're making me nervous./

/// Sorry.

That guy in the ready room

made me nervous. ///

/Why, do you think he's following us?/ Bandicut started to rotate to look, but felt Charlie's desire that he desist. No time for distractions. He peered instead into the dark muzzle of the fusion rocket.

/// Forget him—even if he is following.

Now, take the red stone out of your pocket. ///

He reached blindly into his waist pouch with a gloved hand. /How am I supposed to find the red one? You better hope they don't float away./

/// Ask for it.

Now take your hand out of your pocket. ///

Bandicut withdrew his gloved hand. Stuck to the tip of his middle finger was a point of ruby light. It was larger now, and pulsing visibly with some kind of internal energy. He wiggled his finger, but the stone seemed glued to it. /I'll be dipped in—/

/// Throw the stone into the rocket engine. ///

/Wait. It's stuck to—/

/// Just do it. ///

He drew his arm back, and made a flinging gesture, trying to flick the stone loose with his thumb. It remained stuck to his finger. He held it up to his visor. /It isn't coming loose./

/// Don't try to flick it.

Just pitch it like a ball. ///

He pitched it. The stone twinkled and flashed, and sailed from his finger, straight into the empty chamber of the rocket engine. For an instant, it seemed to hang in the center of the chamber, a tiny light straining to cast illumination in the dark space. Then it flashed out a series of sharp red beams, thin spikes of light spinning out to probe, in microsecond bursts, every shape and surface within the rocket chamber.

Bandicut's heart skipped. Before he could ask what was happening, a gout of fire erupted from the stone. He stifled an outcry, raising an arm involuntarily to shield himself. But the light was already subsiding, and he lowered his arm to see the tiny stone now the size of a basketball. It glowed with a self-contained fire that reminded him of the nerve-wrenching energies he'd glimpsed in the translator.

He looked away, blinking. But out of the corner of his eye, he had an impression of the fire unfolding, like the petals of a flower. As he looked back, the sphere turned to liquid light and began streaming out along the inner surface of the chamber. It flowed in a great wave. He had a sense that the engine and even the spaceship itself had become translucent for an instant, the wave of light flashing from stern to bow, then vanishing. When it was over, the ruby-stone was gone, but
something
remained, a twinkling and pulsing presence high in the throat of the rocket. He stared at it dumbly.

/// That's it, John.

Let's go. ///

/Go where?/ he asked faintly.

/// To the nearest airlock.

That would be...uh,

at two o'clock,

right around the stern. ///

Bandicut moved slowly, too stunned to concentrate on the quarx's directions. A wink of light in the upper right corner of his vision prompted him. He pointed with wrist and finger and jetted around the stern of the ship, then forward along the side facing away from the station. As he turned, he glimpsed—just before the hull of the ship intervened—a spacesuited figure coming in his direction from the station. /Charlie—?/

/// I saw it.

Don't stop, but you'd better switch on your comm

and find out what's happening. ///

"Suit—comm on, receive only! Sort all frequencies." 

His helmet filled instantly with barking voices, some synthesized, some human...

"TUG TANGO, COME TO ZERO FOUR EIGHT MARK—"

"Sort!" he snapped.

"WORK CREW BRAVO, WE'VE GOT A MAN TRAPPED IN THE MIDSECTION OF THE SUPPLIER. WE NEED CUTTERS AND TORCHES—FAST."

"Sort.
Mokin' foke, Charlie.
"

"—JENSEN. THAT GUY I SAW HANGING AROUND EXPLORER IS MOVING UP TOWARD THE AFT AIRLOCK. SOMETHING
VERY WEIRD
JUST HAPPENED OUT THERE—A FLASH OF LIGHT. I'M GOING TO HAVE A LOOK."