The Void Page 2

He watched it for several moments, and then looked down at his screen. Ripley couldn’t tell him anything more than he already knew, other than to inform him that the object’s internal pulse had elevated.

  Getting excited, are we?

  The thought made the hair on his neck prickle for some reason. He glanced at the countdown timer on one of the screens – time was vanishing way too fast. He touched his ear mic.

  “Hurry up back there, you two. Bogey’s gonna be on us in twenty-four minutes.”

  Almost immediately, Gerry came back into the cockpit with Beth now in tow. Both floated into their seats then buckled in.

  “Sorry Mitch, but if we’re gonna move the bus, I wanted to make sure there was nothing that’s going to end up in our laps.” She looked up and out through the window. “What have we got: debris?”

  “Something like that,” Mitch responded. “But its trajectory has altered – coming right at us now.”

  “Altered?” Beth turned back to him.

  Mitch nodded. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let’s run a skin check, and then prepare for a short and sharp controlled burn.”

  The skin check was a term for when they ran a fast diagnostic over the Orlando’s surface integrity. The onboard computers managed the hull’s external health automatically, and even a pinprick would have had Ripley screaming at them. But protocol demanded a manual once-over prior to engaging thrusters. Besides, no one minded ensuring there weren’t any swinging back doors or loose tiles when they were about to fire up a few thousand pounds of thrust.

  “Okay, hull integrity is good and solid.” Gerry ran eyes over a screen full of tiny green lights.

  “Bay doors secure, seams are tight, and equipment locked down. All good here, boss,” Beth added.

  “Okay NASA, I’m waking up Ripley’s engine security.” He placed a hand on a screen that circled his fingertips, reading his prints, and giving him clearance. “And we are good to go.” Mitch placed a hand on the joystick. “Initiating forward thrusters in, three, two, one … burn.” He pressed down with his thumb.

  There was a sensation of added weight, a backward motion, and then a hint of blurring out of the cockpit window as if there was an oily dispersion from the nose cone of the shuttle as the thrusters burned fuel.

  “First burn complete.” Mitch shut the nose thrusters off as the Orlando slid backwards in space. His eyes were on the computer screen as he watched the seconds and distance count down. In a vacuum, even a tiny push one way would continue your progress in that direction until you hit something, or …

  “Ready on reverse thrust on, three, two, one … burn.”

  … you got a little shove in the opposite direction.

  Mitch engaged the rear thrusters for a minor burst to return the Orlando to the same orbital attitude. Almost immediately, Ripley gave him validation of his work.

  “Back in new designated structural orbit and we have good spatial and attitude control. How do you read us, NASA?” Mitch sat back.

  Russ came back immediately. “Roger that, Orlando, you are looking good. Checking your proximity relationship now.”

  Mitch waited, his eyes going from the MEDS screen to the view of space from the cockpit windows. He always enjoyed the interaction with the controls. Most of their missions were either so automated or controlled by a battalion of ground technicians that he felt sometimes he was only along for the ride.

  “Ah, Orlando …”

  Mitch didn’t like the tone in Russ’ voice.

  “… do you still have visual on our bogey?”

  Mitch frowned, and then leaned forward. The small speck of light was still there. But so what? He expected it to be.

  “Affirmative, Russ, we see it. What’s our new proximity relationship?” Mitch continued to stare at the speck.

  Mitch heard Russ click his tongue against his cheek. “Damndest thing, Mitch, when you course corrected, it did too. It, ah, kinda stayed with you.”

  Shit. Mitch felt his breath catch. “Say again, NASA. Confirm, bogey is still on intercept vector?” He felt both Gerry and Beth turn to look at him. There were several seconds of silence, and then …

  “That is affirmative, Orlando.” Russ’ demeanor had suddenly gone all business.

  “How?” Mitch gritted his teeth.

  Ripley responded smoothly. “The object seemed to project something akin to an electric charge that focused the direction and magnitude of the vector field. In effect, it created a magnetic field projection.”

  “Like a tractor beam.” Mitch felt a prickle of perspiration under one of his arms as he tried to make sense of what that meant. “It projected it … at us?”

  “Unable to verify intent, Commander.”

  Fuck. He licked his lips. He’d seen what micrometeorites could do to the skin of a shuttle. Even a glancing impact could crack a single tile. Worst-case scenario was the computer didn’t detect it until you were reentering the atmosphere. By that time, it would be too late to compensate, and the only option would be to toast marshmallows as you kissed your ass goodbye. He glanced at the timer; eighteen minutes, and it’d be on top of them.

  “Okay, NASA, I’m going to burn again.” Mitch turned to his crew who simply nodded. He felt his jaws tighten as he gripped the stick. “Engaging all pitch nozzles, in three, two, one … burn.”

  This time Orlando pushed back, hard. Mitch heard Gerry grunt beside him, as the craft vented the burning fuel, pushing them backwards in its orbit. He watched the computer read down the numbers, and waited, waited, seconds seeming like an eternity.

  He shut it down, relaxing his hand for a few seconds, before resetting their orbital attitude again. “Compensating burn on three, two, one … burn.”

  Their orbital slide slowed and then stopped. Mitch looked up; the dot of light was still there, bigger if anything. It was like they had it on a piece of string.

  “What the hell is that thing?” He suddenly felt cold fingers dancing up his spine, and swallowed down a lump of frustration rising in his gut.

  “Control, Russ, this damn thing is still with us. Any ideas? Over.”

  “Yep, we see it, Mitch.” Russ had a brief whispered conversation in the background before coming back on.

  “Ripley says it’s over ten feet, nose to tip; so if it sticks to us, we’re never going to be able to compensate for its drag coming in,” said Gerry.

  Mitch nodded to his friend. “Russ, if the magnetic field on that thing is strong enough to track us, then it’s damn well strong enough to stick to us; it’ll fry our instruments.”

  “I hear you, Mitch. We’re not going to let that happen – leave it with us guys, we’re working on it.”

  Mitch exhaled through pressed lips. “We’ll be here, over.” He signed out.

  Gerry turned in his seat, staring for a moment. “Mitch, we can’t let that thing even kiss us.”

  “No, no, Gerry, we can’t.” Mitch stared at the proximity countdown. He felt like he had a lead ball in his gut.

  CHAPTER 2

  NASA’s John F Kennedy Space Center, Florida – Mission Control Room

  “Damn it! Run it again.” Russell Burrows ran both his hands up through his hair. “Come on, people. I got some of the best engineering, physics and mathematical brains in the country right here. So give me something.” He began to pace.

  “We could break it up.” A technician sat straighter.

  Russ stopped his pacing. “Go on.”

  “Well, if the object was fragmented enough, then even if the remaining pieces adhered to the skin, they might not cause undue distortion. They’d be small enough to simply burn away on reentry.”

  Russ turned and leaned across a desk. “What sized fragments?”

  The technician turned back to his screen, typed for a few seconds, and then looked back to Russ. “Safest result would be fist-sized or smaller.”

  “Ooookay.” Russ drummed his fingers on the desk. “This thing is basically a large lump of iron, and our astronauts have th
e equivalent of a telescopic hand-drill.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Exactly how long would that take to break it down to that sized debris? And I’m assuming it would be done via space-walk.”

  “Correct, sir. If they worked around the clock …” The technician grimaced. “223 hours.”

  “Nine days.” Russ sighed. “We’ve got twelve minutes until we are at intersection point.” He looked skyward. “Anything else?” He waited in silence. Russ lowered his head. “Anything?” He looked at the faces of his brilliant technicians. There was nothing but anxiety, frustration, and a little fear.

  It was time to update the Orlando on their progress. Or lack of it, he thought glumly, as he slowly pulled on his headset.

  * * *

  “NASA’s got nothing.” Mitch turned in his seat. “Beth, you’re our science officer; any ideas?”

  Beth looked up from her MEDS screen and rested on her elbows. “Well, we know it’s a metallic-based composite. But Ripley tells me that it’s only thirty-eight percent metallic. That leaves a lot of the mass that is unidentifiable. But even with only thirty-eight percent metallic weight, we estimate it’ll be around 8,000 pounds. Small enough to vanish in the atmosphere …” She grimaced. “… but if it hits us, I don’t think it’ll just stick to us.”

  Mitch nodded. “Yeah, that’s what NASA figured. Okay, so we know the problem and possible outcome. I’m looking for answers now, people.”

  Beth shrugged. “Bottom line, don’t let it run into us.”

  “Thank you, Beth; I wish I had of thought of that.” Mitch’s lips pressed together.

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” She jiggled her eyebrows.

  “Can we get ahead of it?” Gerry asked. “Maybe reenter? Head for home before it gets to us. You said yourself this thing was small enough to burn up in the atmosphere. It won’t be able to follow us.”

  “I thought about that, and no can do. We’re well out of position and it’d probably put us over foreign territory or the Atlantic. Orlando is clever, but it isn’t equipped for an ocean ditch, or to wind up in mainland China.”

  Mitch thought for a moment. “Okay, I’m keeping that option as our break-glass strategy. We only need a few more hours to get us over friendly territory, and then we can put it down on Route 66 if we need to. So, we need more time.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a photon blaster right now,” said Gerry. “But seriously, I still think we can stay ahead of it until reentry – we’re already on the countdown clock.”

  “I’ll put that on the list as well.” Mitch turned to Beth. “C’mon brains, what else you got?”

  She grinned back.

  “What?” Mitch asked, his mouth also hitching at the corners.

  “We use the robotic arm,” she said, still grinning. “We grab that sucker, and hold on. Means we’ll lose the arm as we enter the upper atmosphere, but at least it’ll all burn up while keeping it away from us.”

  Mitch sat back. “Not bad.” Immediately his mind set to working on the plan.

  “No, won’t work. The arm might collapse back onto our tail as we generate reentry acceleration.” Gerry grimaced. “Sorry, I liked the idea as well.”

  “It will work,” Beth responded.

  “No, he’s right. It’s too big a risk.” Mitch sat back.

  Beth continued to smile.

  Mitch lifted his chin to her. “Okay, now what?”

  “Okay, listen up, the payload bay is three times the size of our stalker, and can support ten times its weight.” She held her hands wide. “We grab it and bring it into the hold. We retain the aerodynamics of the Orlando, and we get to take home a good-sized chunk of asteroid for the nerds to drool over. Bonus points all round.” She winked.

  Mitch sat thinking. “Hmm.” He mentally tried to work through the risks, but there were too many to get his head around. The one thing he did know; doing nothing was not an option anymore. “Might be all we’ve got.” He opened the link to ground control. “Russ, you there, buddy?”

  “We read you, Orlando.”

  Mitch gave him a thumbnail overview and waited while Russ discussed it with an assembled team.

  “We’re gonna run a quick simulation – hold tight there, Mitch.” Russ left the line open.

  The crew waited, staring from their MEDS screens to the cockpit window. Russ came back within two seemingly eternal minutes.

  “Computer simulation says it could work. Commander, we don’t think it’s an ideal option, but weighing it up against all the other non-ideal options, this one might just be best chance you’ve got to avoid a collision.”

  “Yes.” Beth air pumped.

  Mitch gave her a thumbs-up, and Russ went on.

  “The way we see it, you’ve got an empty payload bay, the equipment to secure the debris, and the best robotic-arm operator on or off the planet sitting right next to you.”

  “Love you too, Russ.” Beth grinned from ear to ear.

  “Good enough for me,” Mitch said. “Russ, while I’m going to work on getting us into position to take the catch, I’ll need you to give me some new mass and speed calculations so we can plug in the new reentry math.”

  “Already working on the recalibrations now. We’ll reset the timing and duration of your reentry burn from this end. You guys just concentrate on grabbing that asteroid before it comes in close enough for you to kiss.”

  Russ sounded like he sighed with relief. “Good luck, and let’s get moving, you have five minutes until you intersect – we’ve all got work to do. Over.”

  “And out.” Mitch turned. “Okay, helmets on. Both of you get back to the payload bay and make sure we’re ready to put this thing to bed once you’ve grabbed it. Beth, you’re on controls, and Gerry will assist in maneuvering it into a temporary cradle. I’m going to tilt the ship so our stalker should be right in front of you. Hopefully I can create a negligible speed differential so it should float right in.”

  “Sounds good to me, boss.” Beth unstrapped herself, and floated to retrieve her helmet. Gerry did the same.

  “And don’t forget; this thing is magnetic,” Mitch said. “So don’t underestimate it moving erratically once it gets close to the hull.” Mitch was about to turn back, but paused.

  “Beth.”

  She turned.

  “Don’t let this thing touch us. If it sticks, well …” He smiled. “… let’s just not let it get that close.” Mitch held her eyes until she nodded.

  * * *

  In the mission control room, Russell Burrows stood with legs planted and hands on his hips as he watched the data feed come back from his shuttle orbiter. The entire wall was made up of a bank of huge screens, but he focused on just one, its video feed showing the Orlando’s payload bay area. Two suited figures, Beth and Gerry, were both readying the controls for the robotic arm and the bay doors.

  Russ paced; he had a headset on that plugged into one ear, but there could have been a brass band in the corridor and he wouldn’t have paid it any attention.

  He saw Anne Peterson standing silently off to his side, unblinking, and he bet holding her breath. She wasn’t really part of the control team, but he cut her some slack since she and Mitch were an item. Besides, her medical knowledge of the crew and technical knowledge of the craft were always welcome.

  Russ watched Mitch in the cockpit attempting to maintain course parity and speed with the object as it approached. He then switched to examine an external feed and saw the longish shape tumbling inexorably toward them – its approach puzzling, as it was inescapable.

  Russ clicked his tongue. He’d be happy if the thing kept right on going past them and his astronauts didn’t have to bring it in – risk upon risk upon risk. If there were any other way around it, he would never have agreed to them trying to catch it in space like some sort of second baser landing a fly ball. But the thing was homing in on their craft, so it was either grab it or wear it.

  Russ rubbed his chin nervously and switched back to the
payload area. The bay doors were slowly opening like long, oblong petals revealing the dark vacuum of space. Everything moved in slow motion – the doors, Beth and Gerry tethered to the inside of the bay, and now the telescoping robotic arm. He suddenly found he was chewing the corner of his nail, and dragged his hand away from his face as he watched the arm continue to gently extend. The multi-billion dollar, multi-purpose limb could pivot, pound or secure, and its tip could be fitted with everything from a screwdriver to a three-pronged claw. It was the world’s most expensive Swiss army knife. The arm was now fully extended, three titanium composite fingers flexed open and closed a few times, and then waited, ready.

  The bay-area camera showed the golden upturned face shields of the two astronauts as they watched the approaching object. Gerry stood well out of the way while Beth had both her hands on the arm controls, working the twin joysticks like a gaming-console player.

  They all knew this was a one-time deal – if Beth missed, then there would be no reload. Come on, Beth, he prayed. You can do it.

  Every proximity alert they had was blinking or bleeping at them, warning about the fragment bearing down on the shuttle’s body – the inevitable proximity junction was upon them.

  The feed switched back to the object – so close now Russ could see the pocks, ridges, and what could be blotchy areas of discoloration. The thing looked solid and heavy, and given it was only thirty-eight percent ferrous material, with the rest unknown, he wondered if they had underestimated its true weight and mass. He hoped Beth would be able to hold on to it if it turned out to be heavier than their analytics software had extrapolated.

  It bore down on them. He switched to the bay-area camera. Beth was moving the robotic arm. He waited, feeling his gut churn. The object was filling the screen – purple-gray, strangely not tumbling anymore, but simply floating toward them as though it was slowing down – coming in for a soft landing or had its magnetic field somehow stopped its roll?

  Small puffs from the jets angled the Orlando into an ever so slightly better position, and Russ held his breath as it neared – 500 feet, 400, 300, 200, 100. Now down to yards. He heard Beth’s voice, talking to herself, or maybe the fragment, as she coaxed it into the claw.