The Void

CHAPTER 2

“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 the 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.

Then she had it.

The object was caught by one end in the pincers. Applause broke out in the NASA control room, but the cool and controlled language in the orbiter didn’t match it.

“Bringing it in,” Beth said as the arm slowly retracted. She carefully folded the arm back in on itself and laid the object gently into a cradle on the payload bay floor, keeping the pincers engaged.

The cameras zoomed in on the object and Russ squinted. There was glinting coming off some sort of crystalline structure on its surface, and the discoloration he had seen now almost looked like some sort of fluid leakage — impossible in space.

Gerry immediately started the overhead door closing routines and then rushed to lock the object in place.

Commander Mitch Granger smiled and nodded at the cargo bay screen. “Atta girl.”

The darkness of space was shut out as the bay doors gently closed. He then swiveled one of the cameras toward the object and enlarged the frame. It was longer and squatter than he expected — more pod-shaped, rather than a shard of something that had broken off. He saw the discoloration on its surface — perhaps some sort of ancient oxidation?

A small pain began behind his eyes followed by a sound, or rather sensation, in his head akin to a soft buzz or thrumming. Stress, Mitch concluded.

“Talk to me, Beth.”

The mission specialist floated over to it, and held up a scanner. “It’s hot.”

Mitch groaned. “What’s the count?” If it was too hot, they’d have to keep their damn suits on from now until they got home.

“No, not radiation, that’s bang-on the astral background count, but I mean it’s physically hot.” She held up a hand just hovering over the object. “I can feel it right through my glove. It’s got to be 120 degrees, maybe more.”

“Is it a stable or fluctuating heat?” Mitch’s eyes narrowed.

He waited.

“Huuuh? Oh, stable, for now I… I guess” Beth responded. “But, strange.” Her voice sounded dreamy, and she continued to hold her hand up before the fragment.

Mitch leaned a little more toward his screen. “Okay, that’s close enough.”

Gerry joined her, but just stood silently staring at the rock.

“If the object is secure, please return to the cockpit.” Mitch cleared his throat and waited. “Gerry, Beth, can you hear me?”

The pair ignored him; worse, he could see Beth’s hand began to move closer to the space rock.

“Mission specialist Bethany Power, do not touch that object. Do you read?”

There was a skittering sound from behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see the three mice going crazy in their glass tank. But that only drew his eyes to the next container, and caused his brow to deeply furrow — the giant earthworms were all up from the soil and had piled up on one side of their glass container. Also, the ants had created a mesh-like structure with their bodies. They weren’t moving, but instead were lumped against their wall that was closest to the rear hatch. It was if they were frozen, watching and waiting for something.

Mitch turned back and licked dry lips. “Beth, this is a direct order — do not — touch — that goddamn…”

“I just… can’t… oh-oooh, wait.” Beth seemed to crane forward.

“Magnify Beth’s hand, times ten,” Mitch ordered. Ripley immediately complied and zeroed on Beth’s gloved hand. He saw Beth’s fingers inching closer to the sparkling fragment of asteroid.

Mitch cursed. “Magnify, times twenty.” The screen images increased in size again. “What the…?” There seemed to be a tendril coming from a small fissure in the rock. It wavered for a moment as if testing the air, before becoming rigid as Beth’s hand approached.

“Beth, watch out!”

The tendril sprung forward like a piece of elastic, striking her fingertip. She screamed and pulled, back, but amazingly the tendril stuck, and then thickened, spread and continued to hang on.

“Hey!” Gerry sprinted toward her.

Beth screamed again, as a pulse passed through the Orlando and the cameras whited-out.

“Shit.” Mitch unbuckled and pushed from his chair, heading fast for the rear door.

“What the hell?”

Russell’s mouth dropped open as the feed from the orbiter whited out. “What just happened, people?” He swung one way then the other.

“Lost comms, sir.” Scotty McIntyre was his right-hand man and one of his most senior ground technicians, and he, like the rest of his team, were already working furiously on communication diagnostics.

“I can see that!” Russ backed up, looking over the banks of engineers, technicians, and programmers — all the computer screens were up, but there was no data. None at all. One after another his people sounded off — no communications — no telemetry — no topography, and then, exactly what he didn’t want to hear — Ripley’s gone dark. He ground his teeth; Ripley never went dark as she had her own isolated power source to protect against exactly this sort of thing.

“Goddamn, talk to me people.”

A hand gripped his forearm, and he looked down to see Anne’s ashen face. He had no answers for her.

“Orlando’s still there.” Scott had brought up the radar image, and sure enough, it showed the elliptical lines of the shuttle still in its orbit. Russ breathed a sigh of relief. At least the orbiter was still in one piece.

He finally breathed. “What happened, Scotty?” He looked back at the screen. “Did that damn thing we picked up just EMP us?”

“High probability, boss.” Scotty McIntyre was running simulations, and then shook his head. “But we won’t know until the crew or Ripley tells us.” He turned in his chair. “They’ll need to reboot to bring everything back online.”

Russ groaned. He knew even an automatic rapid reboot still took thirty minutes. We’ve just been struck deaf, dumb and blind, he thought, as he felt his stomach start to cramp. He looked at his watch — and there’s still twenty-eight minutes to go.