Suddenly Astronaut Page 8

  "Ben," Tom said. "We need to act quickly. It takes thirty-eight minutes for a message to reach Earth and a further thirty-eight for the reply to return. There's no time to waste."

  It was all too overwhelming for Ben. He was just a kid after all. Piloting, space walks—he'd just lost everyone he ever knew and loved, and all he wanted to do was shut his eyes and sleep. He felt exhausted. There was no way he had the strength to do everything Tom was asking of him.

  "Ben?" Tom said.

  Ben didn't respond.

  "I'm sorry, Ben."

  "Why are you sorry?"

  "I'm sorry that your family is gone. It must hurt a lot."

  It did.

  "But they wouldn't want you to give up. They'd want you to push on. You're Ben Forrest; you never give up."

  Ben imagined what his parents might say to him right now. They'd push him, encourage him. They may not have had much time for him, but they certainly understood him. Their spirit lived on inside his body, their tenacity that got them to the top. Tom was right. He couldn't give up.

  "What do I need to do?" he said.

  "First, you need to get back in your seat and buckle your harness."

  At least Ben still had his best friend here with him. He climbed up off the floor, got back into his seat and buckled in.

  "Now what?"

  "I need you to head towards the comms tower," Tom instructed. "Gently, take your time."

  Ben surveyed the scene in front of him. He counted nine large pieces of debris, three of which were currently between him and the comms tower. Two of those pieces were moving out of his way. Three more pieces were tumbling along a route that seemed to coincide with where he needed to go. These were the pieces he needed to keep a close watch on.

  "Tom, I need you to be a second pair of eyes and tell me if there's anything I've missed."

  "Of course."

  Carefully, Ben directed the ship towards the comms tower. He did so in silence, taking nervous breaths to calm his shaking his hands. They drew close to the first section of debris, and Ben tweaked at the controls to negotiate it with a wide berth. His chest ached with the tension, only being relieved slightly as the tumbling section cleared overhead. At this proximity he could see furniture in the outermost rooms, some of it spilling out into space. Seeing these details was unnerving; where nothing seemed real out in space, this suddenly felt too real.

  The second two sections crossed his path ahead of him and were easy to clear, although it took Ben over fifteen minutes to do so. The fourth and final piece appeared to be on a collision course with the tug if Ben continued at the same speed.

  "I'm going to go a little faster," he said to himself, edging the left stick forward. The tug gave a surprising burst of speed, pushing him onwards, but it wasn't enough. This was a huge fragment, what appeared to be the deck that housed the observation window, and it would spell disaster if they collided with it.

  "Take your time, Ben," Tom advised.

  But Ben was committed. They would have to come to an almost complete stop and wait for the whole section pass by otherwise, and they didn't have the time for that. He pushed on harder, the tug vibrating as a fresh burst of thrust fired it towards the lazily drifting comms tower.

  "Ben, I do not advise this course of action. Take your time."

  "We don't have time," Ben replied.

  The observation deck loomed close, the window itself shattered and gone, the dust of human existence shedding from within. As they came around it, Ben realised the deck was deeper than he'd first thought—they weren't going to clear it in time.

  He nudged the left stick forwards again, but the additional thrust didn't seem to equate to enough speed. A shadow fell over them as the hulking piece blocked the light of Jupiter above them, reaching over like the closing jaws of an enormous beast.

  "Tom, help …" he said with a strained voice.

  "Without the IGS system my calculations lack accuracy," Tom said, "but the best trajectory I can see for you now is to fly through the observation deck."

  "I can't go down? Or left?"

  "My calculations suggest that based on your skill level and the specification of the tug that these trajectories do not provide a positive outcome."

  Ben felt his throat dry up.

  "I did warn you."

  "I know!" Ben yelled. "I'm sorry," he added. "You did say. But we also need to get to that tower."

  "That's correct."

  Ben could now see right up though the open observation deck and out through the window, where Jupiter shone as it always had done.

  "So we need to fly right through the station?"

  "Correct."

  Ben slowed the tug down and tipped the nose up towards the oncoming fragment.

  "Okay," he breathed. "Here we go …"

  Chapter 10

  The looming shadow of the large station fragment overhead almost completely obscured Jupiter's light. Only through the destroyed observation window could Ben see those swirling, gaseous stripes, and it was at those that he aimed the tug.

  "Small inputs," Tom said in response to Ben's direction change.

  "I'm trying," Ben said, staring without blinking at the window.

  As he drew closer, detail began to emerge from the fragment. He could see all three decks, sliced through like a layered cake. With a squirt of thrust, he corrected his course to take the drift of the fragment into account, keeping that window centred. A part of him trembled with the excitement of doing what he always dreamed of doing, to fly, but that part was small and insignificant compared to the one that was still taking in what had actually happened.

  "You're doing well," Tom told him.

  In among the decks, Ben could begin to see objects he recognised. A table, a bed, chairs. Rows of instruments. The things that weren't affixed to the station drifted whichever way they liked, some bouncing in the confines of their rooms, other floating free into space. Some of that detritus was heading towards them—or rather, they were heading towards it.

  "Stay on course," Tom instructed. "We can clear the debris."

  A tablet bounced off the screen, making Ben jump. Then a chair. A swarm of fruit thudded into them one by one, some splatting and leaving a streaky smear, others ricocheting off intact. Then, something ahead turned Ben's blood cold.

  "Is that …?" he whispered.

  Tom said nothing.

  Glistening with frost, the rigid form of a standing person twinkled with morbid beauty as it slowly tumbled by. It was too dark and too far away for features to be discerned, but its shape was unmistakable. Ben found it hard to break his eyes away from it until Tom caught his attention.

  "A course adjustment is necessary."

  Ben blinked and looked ahead. The window was sliding off-centre, and he brought it back in again. His mouth was very dry, and swallowing hurt.

  "Try to focus on what's ahead," Tom suggested.

  Ben nodded. He couldn't speak.

  They entered the station. The observation deck, located in the top rear of the platform, was preceded by a large atrium more than big enough to house the tug. It was filled with beautiful greenery, which doubled as an air purification mechanism—and all of it was now dead. The leaves, once a lush green, were now dulled with frost, brittle and unmoving. They pushed on through the vines hanging from the ceiling. It was very surreal.

  The computers that lined the walls were also coated with sparkling frost, their lights dimmed and screens black. It was as though the station itself had died, innards spilling out into space.

  Ben carefully negotiated the ever-moving deck, trying to keep his vision pinned on the window at the end. As they penetrated deeper, their surroundings got darker, the shadows and corners hiding ghastly shapes he dared not look at. Forward he edged, heart pounding in his chest.

  "You're halfway through," Tom told him.

  They continued to push through the thickening greenery, which shattered into pieces at the gentlest touch. The shimmering fragm
ents glittered like diamonds as they fanned away, falling to shadow. It seemed quieter on the tug than it had done at any other point up to now, Ben's breathing and even his circulation hissing in his ears.

  What if I'd still been on board, he thought. I'd be dead, too.

  He shook his head, trying to fling the thought from his mind.

  I'd be dead like the rest of them.

  "Pull up!" Tom said urgently.

  Ben blinked, and the ship came back into focus again. He was no longer correcting for the drift of the fragment, and was heading towards the floor of the atrium. With a squirt of the rockets, he lifted the nose, but he had overcorrected. Now they were headed for the ceiling, which seemed to be moving in their direction faster than the floor had.

  "Small inputs," Tom advised.

  "I know!" Ben cried out, correcting his correction, clumsily pitching the tug down and to the left. They entered the shadow along the left corridor around the atrium, and everything felt cold all of a sudden.

  From the black glinted a shape, moving free. The tug's external lights cast a pale wash as they edge along, which fell across the shape. It was tangled with a cable and floating taut against it. A body. The skin was bleached white, blue veins running prominently under the surface. Glistening frost coated it in a protective layer. But the eyes … the eyes locked on to Ben's with a dead leer, bulbous and bloodshot.

  Ben gasped, nudging the controls to pull them free of the shadow. With the nose pointing towards the observation window again, the tug moved back to the centre of the atrium. The body faded into the shadow once more.

  Ben's hands were quaking. He felt both hot and cold, bathed in a sticky sweat that came from nowhere. The tug started to wobble, and he let go of the controls for a second to shake the quiver from him.

  "Are you okay?" Tom asked.

  Ben nodded, lips tight.

  "Try to focus on what's ahead," Tom told him again.

  As shadow began to give way to the fingers of light from Jupiter's surface, Ben could feel the tremble in him begin to subside. He could still feel those eyes watching him from behind—plus all the ones he hadn't seen—and he was eager to be free of the station once and for all. Squinting, he guided the tug through the vast window and out into open space once again. He was through.

  "Well done," Tom said. "You demonstrated excellent spatial awareness and fine motor skills under pressure."

  "Thanks," Ben replied. "Can we never do that again, though?"

  "Of course. That was not the best introduction to precision flying."

  A nervous laugh burst from Ben. It surprised him. He immediately felt guilty. "No, it wasn't," he said

  "Please continue towards the comms tower."

  The journey between the observation deck and the comms tower through clear space was straightforward, and it gave Ben time to think. He didn't want to think, but he couldn't help it. It felt like his brain was trying to regurgitate a foul-tasting medicine that he couldn't keep down. Those eyes, he knew them. Not by name, but he knew them.

  He heard his mum's voice in his head, the last thing she'd said to him.

  I love you.

  He'd never hear that voice again. Already it sounded distant. The world outside went blurry.

  I'm proud of you.

  "Tom," Ben said thickly. "What do I need to do when we get to the comms tower?"

  "The comms tower runs data through a cable set that runs long the outside. Because of the modular construction of the station, those cables can be disconnected at the base and reconnected to the tug. The tug will power the uplink and should allow us to communicate with Earth."

  An unsettling reality that Ben had somehow managed to forget returned. "And I have to spacewalk to connect those cables?"

  Tom made a concerned noise. "Unfortunately, yes, that is the only way."

  Ben's gut prickled with nervous apprehension.

  "We will be able to communicate for the duration," Tom reassured him. "You won't be alone."

  It was hard for Ben to feel anything but.

  "Okay. Tell me what I need to do."

  "When we arrive, you must put on the emergency atmospheric suit behind the panel at the rear of the tug."

  Ben looked behind him. He saw a large panel with a clear pane in it marked with striped hazard tape. Inside he could see a slender white suit, hanging limp from its mounting.

  "Then you will decompress the tug. You will exit, fastening yourself on with the reel outside. Then you will need to make your way over to the tower. I will guide you from there."

  There seemed to be a rather significant detail missing from those instructions. "How do I get myself over to the comms tower?" Ben asked. "Does the suit have thrusters or anything like that?"

  "No," Tom said. "You must propel yourself."

  Ben didn't even feel nervous anymore. He simply felt numb, right to his core. "Okay," he said simply.

  As they neared the tower, Ben could see how big and spindly it was. Peppered with an array of dishes and panels and cables, he hoped beyond all hopes that it would send their signal and get them rescued.

  "Try to bring the tug stationary relative to the comms tower," Tom instructed. "You will need to counter for the slight drift of the tower."

  Ben understood, and with the small inputs he was beginning to become accustomed to, he set the tug up alongside the tower. The position wasn't perfect, but the distance gave him enough time to get out and back before it would really matter.

  "Put on the atmospheric suit," Tom said.

  Ben clambered out of the seat and approached the emergency suit. Three catches fastened the panel down, which he released one by one. When he took the suit out it surprised him by how lightweight and thin it felt.

  "Is this space suit really going to protect me?" he said.

  "The EAS has been designed to provide forty hours of atmospheric protection between inspections," Tom told him.

  "That includes outside the tug, right?"

  "The suit is not intended to be worn outside the tug for long durations. However—"

  "I get it, it's our only choice."

  "Unfortunately, yes, but what I was going to say was that the suit is rated for one hour of extra vehicular activity."

  As he donned the suit, Ben felt surprisingly calm. It was quite baggy on him thanks to his short stature, but its close-fitting design and wraparound visor meant it was surprisingly non-restrictive.

  "Okay," he said. "I'm ready."

  He approached the door. Tom's voice spoke to him from the earpiece inside the suit.

  "First, we need to decompress the ship. On your left is a panel locked down by four screws. Unscrew them and open the panel."

  Ben looked and there it was, similar to the EAS panel, but smaller. It was hard to grasp the screws properly through the suit, but he figured out a technique soon enough. Lifting the panel open, he was presented with another panel, this time clear and hinged from the top. Underneath was a bright red t-shaped plunger. Above the panel was a sign that said, Warning! Manual decompression override. Use only in an emergency. Clearly, decompressing the tug was never going to happen by accident.

  "Lift the cover," Tom said, "and pull out the red plunger." As Ben did so, Tom said, "Turn the plunger counter-clockwise until it stops. An alarm will sound."

  When Ben turned the plunger, the alarm did indeed sound, making him jump.

  "Now push the plunger back down again."

  The plunger was harder to push in than it was to pull out, as though it were connected to something mechanical. As he pushed, a small green light on the wall turned red, and his suit began to inflate and the alarm became quieter. Once the plunger had reached its stop, he could no longer hear the alarm, and his suit was taught like a balloon.

  "Okay, now what?"

  "Next, you're going to open the hatch. You need to follow this exact procedure. First, lift the cover for the emergency release above your head."

  Ben looked up. There it was. He lifted the
cover, the inside of which was filled with instructions and a lever, similar to the decompression override.

  "Next you need to pull the lever halfway, so it protrudes out towards you. If at any point you do the wrong thing, you will reset the system and have to start again from the beginning, so do exactly as I say."

  As instructed, Ben pulled the lever halfway, so it pointed straight down it him.

  "Good. Next, on the door in front, pull the door mechanism release handle and then turn the door exit lever until reaches its stop."

  The door, as Tom said, had a large pull handle and a lever, both covered in the same striped pattern. The handle was stiff and required a strong pull and some strength to stop it retracting. With it held in place, he guided the lever to the end of its travel. He could feel a mechanism working through it.

  "Next," Tom said, "pull the emergency door release lever above you all the way to the other side from where it started."

  Ben did so. His fingers tingled against it.

  "Now listen very carefully. The next action will unseal the tug. Pull the door mechanism release handle and turn the door exit lever again. You will now be able to move it further. This will release the hatch and then complete the unlocking. Do you understand?"

  Taking a breath, Ben nodded. "Yes, I understand."

  "Please continue."

  Once again Ben pulled the handle. He grasped the lever with a tight grip, steadied himself and began to twist it. Slowly, he moved it, feeling acutely conscious that he was breaking apart the only seal that stopped him being loose in space.

  "A little more," Tom said.

  With a clunk, the lever met its end. The door still appeared shut, even though Ben knew it wasn't fully.

  Tom spoke again. "Gently push the door open. It hinges on your right. Hold the handrail to the left of the door as you do so."

  Taking a solid hold of the handrail, Ben pushed the door. It felt so wrong, and his body fought against him as he pressed his palm into it. It swung slowly open, the gap growing, the blackness of space greeting him outside. Stars pricked the blackness as the gap became bigger, large enough for him to squeeze through.

  "That's far enough," Tom said.

  Ben surveyed the view. It was virtually identical to the one he'd had from the cockpit of the tug, but somehow this felt different. It felt real. Where space had seemed like a dimensionless plane inside the tug, outside it was a vast and expansive entity, and it made him feel incredibly small.