The Supernaturalist (16 page)

The Satellite dish loomed overhead like a frozen tidal wave, poised to crash down on him and all the shuttles docked at the various ports. There were at least forty other ships anchored along this level alone. Dozens of dish
jockeys were doing exactly what he was doing now, linking their HALO computer with the Satellite.

There was no intercom in Floyd’s helmet, so the only thing Cosmo could hear was his own breathing, amplified by the bubble helmet. At least the visor had been coated with an anti-fog spray, so his vision remained clear apart from several scratch and pockmarks in the crystal visor.

Cosmo began to talk to himself, for some company.

‘OK, Cosmo. Nothing to it. Collect the conduit and plug it into the port. Attach the piggyback, wait for sixty seconds, then reel the conduit back in. Easy.’

Floyd’s boots were not magnetic so Cosmo had to drag himself along the ship’s hull inch by inch. Space seemed to suck him gently, willing him to let go. But even if he did, there was a bungee cord securing him to the HALO.

‘Nothing can go wrong. Get to work.’

Stefan and Mona were at the porthole, watching him anxiously. Cosmo gave them the thumbs up, then bent low to retrieve the conduit from the air-locked tube through which Ditto was feeding it. He dragged the ribbed white tubing out, attaching it to a Velcro strip on his chest. His movements were slow and awkward in the low gravity.

Cosmo headed for the port, struggling to control his limbs while all around dish jockeys bounced and pirouetted across the face of the dish.

The safety rail seemed tiny inside his padded gloves
and he checked constantly to make sure that he actually had a grip on it. Inch by inch he hauled himself along the walkway, his boots floating behind him, the bungee umbilical undulating like a slow-motion skipping rope.

At last, Cosmo reached the Satellite dish. His first job was to attach Lincoln’s pirate plate. He slipped the Lockheed panel from a flapped pocket and clamped it directly on to another one. The panels were so thin that from a distance it would be almost impossible to spot. Only ten more feet to the uplink ports. Handrails crisscrossed the dish’s surface and Cosmo pulled himself upwards trailing both cables behind him. Five feet now, almost within reach.

The modem and power sockets had a flip-up safety cover. All Cosmo had to do was open it up, and plug in both cables. Simple, except he couldn’t reach. With the dish’s curve, the safety cover was further away than the solar panels and Floyd’s bungee cable was a couple of feet too short. Cosmo stretched the cable to the limit of its elasticity, but it was still too short. It seemed incredible to come this far only to be foiled by the last few feet.

He turned slowly towards the shuttle. Inside, Mona was beckoning him back.

‘What can I do?’ he asked himself, his voice bouncing around the helmet. ‘There’s no other way.’

Except to untie the bungee cord. Just for a second.

The idea popped into his head from nowhere. Untie the cord? Madness.

Just for a second. Clip it to the rails and plug in. Two steps and you’re there.

Maybe, but one false move and you’re lost in space.

Two steps.

‘Idiot,’ said Cosmo to himself, unclipping the cord.

He saw Stefan from the corner of his eye. Basic lipreading told him the Supernaturalist heartily agreed with Cosmo’s opinion of himself. Mona was slapping her palms against the plasti-glass screen. She wasn’t too impressed with him either.

Cosmo used one hand to clip his bungee cord on to the handrail, being extremely careful not to let go with the other. It wasn’t as if he was going to make a habit of this. A one-time only deal. Providing he didn’t allow his concentration to lapse, he should be fine.

A mere two steps later he was at the linkup port. Cosmo threaded his arm through the handrail, locking his elbow. Two rhinos tugging at his boots couldn’t force him to let go now. He ripped the conduit from the patch on his suit and screwed it into the port. Inside the conduit a power lead and modem cable locked into place. A light flashed green on a panel beside the portal. Contact. Now all he had to do was count to sixty.

‘Is it running?’ asked Mona, hands and face pressed against the glass.

Stefan raised a finger. Wait!

‘I can’t believe he actually untied himself.
Estupido.
I hope he doesn’t think this will impress me, because it won’t. Is it running?’

Stefan clapped his hands. ‘It’s running. Now all we need are sixty seconds.’

Whereas Mona was pretending to be unimpressed, Ditto actually was. ‘There goes another Spotter. We’re going to have to take out an advertisement on TV. Wanted: crazy kid with a death wish. Robotix plates supplied.’

‘Think positive,’ snapped Mona. ‘All he has to do is hold on for sixty seconds.’

Ditto chuckled. ‘Sixty seconds. The way his luck’s been going lately, it may as well be a lifetime. I wouldn’t be surprised if a meteor picked this exact moment to strike the dish.’

Which, of course, wasn’t what happened at all.

‘… Fifty-eight elephant, fifty-nine elephant, sixty… elephant.’

An extra elephant just in case. Time to head back to the bungee cord. He was unscrewing the conduit when a tiny tremor shuddered through the entire Satellite.

Cosmo glanced upwards. Overhead a residential unit seemed a little askew. Inside, people were tumbling past
the windows. Another tremor. This time much larger. Around him, dish jockeys were dislodged and floated to the end of their tethers. The residential unit was definitely not right. Two of its corners had come completely away from the main structure. A third tremor, a monster compared to the other two. The residential cube came away completely – and so did Cosmo.

With a surprised shout that only he could hear, the teenager’s fingers were wrenched from the handrail and he floated off into space.

All around him, emergency lights began to flash on the helmets of every dish jockey, alerting them to the danger. The residential unit drifted further from the main structure, driven by the gas venting from its torn life-support tubes. Cosmo could only watch and try not to panic. Panic would mean deeper breathing and his oxygen readout was already edging towards the red.

The rescue was fantastic. Dozens of dish jockeys hurled themselves into the void, latching on to the unit before it was out of range. They wrapped their limbs around any protuberances, clinging on like human anchors. Several more jumped repeatedly on one end of the unit, spinning it around, so the gas jets propelled it back to the Satellite. It was stupendous. These people were space cowboys. Cosmo wanted to applaud. Then he remembered his own plight.

Something collided with his chest. Cosmo’s first thought was fleeting and ridiculous.
Alien!
But no, it was
a dish jockey. The man’s face was red and he shouted spittle on to the inside of his visor.

Cosmo pointed to his ears, shaking his head.

The jockey took a sonic sucker from his belt, sticking the little speaker on to Cosmo’s helmet. Contact was immediate.

‘… the hell are you doing, boy? Untying yourself like that. Are you soft in the head?’

‘Er… sorry.’

‘Haven’t you read the company mail? The Satellite is unstable. We’ve been having more and more of these breakaways lately. Lucky for you I saw you. What company are you with?’

Cosmo wracked his brain. ‘Er… Krom. I’m with Krom.’

The jockey rolled his eyes. ‘Krom. Typical. I bet you haven’t had more than a couple of hours’ space time. Employ amateurs, save money, that’s the Krom way. You can’t be much more than a boy. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-two,’ mumbled Cosmo hopefully. ‘I drink a lot of water. It keeps me young-looking.’

‘Twenty-two,’ repeated the jockey, casually reeling them back to the dish. ‘I must be getting old.’

The jockey completed a space roll, depositing them back on the platform. He clipped Cosmo back on to his bungee.

‘I’m going to have to write this up,’ he said, stripping a pad from a computer on his wrist. ‘What’s your name?’

Just in time, Cosmo remembered the name on his suit. ‘Er… Floyd. Floyd Faustino.’

‘Well, Floyd,’ said the jockey, typing on the computer’s keyboard. ‘This is going to mean a fine for Krom, and probably for you.’ He printed off a card, stuffing it in Cosmo’s spacesuit pocket.

‘You have fourteen days to pay that fine, or else your dish jockey licence will be revoked.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Cosmo humbly. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

The jockey was unimpressed. ‘Never mind the sorry sir, just pay the fine.’

And with that the jockey propelled himself across the dish to help secure the residential unit. Cosmo dragged himself shakily to the shuttle.

Mona was waiting inside the airlock.

‘Moron,’ she said, punching him on the shoulder.

‘I know,’ said Cosmo miserably, his legs wobbling inside the suit. ‘Can we please go back to Earth? Please?’

Stefan was reading the results of the scan. ‘I don’t know, Cosmo. When you hear the results of this scan, you might want to stay up here.’

Cosmo took off his helmet. ‘What is it?’ he laughed. ‘It’s not as if the Parasite nest is under Clarissa Frayne?’

No one else laughed. Not so much as a smile.

‘Will you do it?’ asked Stefan, when they were gathered around the table.

Cosmo studied the faces looking back at him. The Supernaturalists. He was one of them now; after all, he’d gone into space for them. But it wasn’t all about him, or even the group. This Energy Pulse had to be detonated for every human on the planet. When you grew up an orphan, sometimes it was difficult to think about anyone
besides yourself. But now he had Mona to think about, and Stefan and Ditto.

‘It’s a simple plan,’ continued Stefan.

‘Oh, like the last simple plan,’ said Cosmo.

‘That
was
a simple plan, until you began improvising. This time you will simply be pointing the way.’

‘You make it
sound
simple, but something will happen, it always does. I’ve noticed that my new knee starts to itch when trouble is near, and it’s itching like crazy now.’

‘Trust the knee, Cosmo,’ said Ditto in a spooky voice.

‘Shut up, Ditto,’ snapped Mona. ‘This is important.’

‘Sure, it’s real important that we plant Myishi’s bomb for them.’

‘It’s a pulse. An Energy Pulse.’

‘So they say. Who knows what this thing really does?’

Stefan opened the briefcase, swivelling it to face the Bartoli Baby. ‘It’s a pulse, Ditto, OK? I checked it myself.’

Ditto ignored the device. ‘Yeah, whatever. Did Myishi give you stock options too?’

Mona lost her temper. ‘Can’t you say anything positive? I’m beginning to wonder whose side you’re on.’

Ditto jumped to his feet, which didn’t make much difference.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Stefan put a hand on Mona’s arm. ‘Leave it.’

‘No. I’m starting to think that you don’t want us to catch the Parasites.’

Ditto’s face was crimson. ‘Maybe I don’t want us to catch them for Myishi.’

‘Well then maybe you should find some other line of work.’

They stared at each other for several seconds, then Ditto broke eye contact, storming off to the elevator.

‘You were out of line, Mona,’ said Stefan when the echoes of the argument had faded.

Mona folded her arms stubbornly. ‘So was he.’

Stefan stood, selecting a suit from a hanging rail. ‘You’re going to have to apologize before I get back.’

‘Before
we
get back?’ said Cosmo. ‘You’ll never get under there without me.’

Stefan threw him a smaller suit from the rack. ‘Well done, Cosmo. I need you to lead me into the lion’s den. You’re going back to Clarissa Frayne, one last time.’