T-Minus 6
The display by his bedside glowed blue, rousing him from his dreams. The lights in his room brightened to maximum, further blinding him. He covered his eyes with his pillow, groaning in pain.
“Jesus. Fuck.”
Oliver cursed under his breath as he slid out of bed. His foot touched the ground with a loud “crompch”.
“Fucking hell, Spicy Seaweed.”
He kicked the empty bag away. It settled itself in the corner where the trash bin was located, accepting its home among other rubbish that didn’t quite make it in. He went through his routine upon stumbling into the wash closet: water, shave, coffee. Too soon, the clock chimed. 06:00. Rolling his shoulders, the engineer left his room to join the stream of people heading toward the lift as usual.
Oliver arrived at the Engineering Bay to grab his toolbox. Although he did the majority of the heavy lifting yesterday, Lab 5C’s drones still needed repairs. No explosions, although he did burn his fingers. Not to mention he got roped into their laser testing. He sighed at the memory. Not a day goes by quietly with that lab.
The aerospace engineer found himself back in 5C’s hangar, welding makeshift plating onto the drones. The laboratory’s hangar bay was separated from the Engineering bay’s much larger hangar to prevent interference between operations. Consequently, this meant that the workspace was much smaller, and there were fewer machines to work with.
Soup hammered away at the dents on the hull, restoring the flush cylindrical shape of the probe. He lowered the hammer and signaled the maintenance engineer.
“Good to go, Hensley.”
“Alright, let’s fit the cap of the whipple shield back onto the drone.”
The scientist turned engineer assistant pulled on a lever, lowering the drone onto a massive cart. They positioned themselves on opposite sides of the spacecraft and pushed it forwards into a suspended aluminum cap. It creaked and groaned as the vehicle rolled forward, assisting the men in moving the multi-ton ship. With a resounding clang, the armored cap fit snugly onto the front of the ship.
“That’ll do it,” Oliver announced, brushing his hands on his uniform.
“I can handle the welding, you go ahead and test out the systems,” Soup offered.
A klaxon blared.
“Attention all department heads, emergency declared. Please make your way to the situation room.”
They looked up from their work. The announcement repeated itself another two times as Toast barreled into the hangar.
“Soup, you’re in charge! I’ll be back in a bit!”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Toast disappeared out the lab in a flurry of lab coats. As the door slammed, Bacon poked her head into the hangar with a worried look on her face.
“What should we do?” she asked.
“Continue with the testing,” Soup responded without looking up from his welding. “The higher ups wanted scans on those anomalies and they wanted them two months ago.”
Oliver paused in his systems check.
“I should probably return to Engineering,” he muttered.
He quickly completed the preliminary checks. The drones’ basic functions were functional. As long as they didn’t treat them too roughly, it should hold until he came back for a more thorough checkup. He stowed everything away and bade the two scientists farewell as he went back to the Engineering Bay where there was a maelstrom of panic.
“Oliver, you’re back,” his friend, Daniel, said, pulling him aside.
“What’s happening? Has the chief returned?”
Daniel nodded, gesturing at the workers hurrying back and forth out of the rooms.
“They’ve called some people, but no one’s actually said anything yet.”
“Hensley, Jiang!” the chief called with some apt timing, pointing at the two of them with his clipboard. “Get to the Drone Command Center.”
“On it, Chief.”
The two hustled towards Drone Operations, the core of the Engineering Department. Standing inside was a good portion of the Shift One technicians, and the rest were filing in by the minute. The room was packed, and the air suffocating. Those who couldn’t fit stood in the hall with their ears pricked.
“Is everybody here? Good enough. We’ve got an emergency on our hands. A tanker rendezvousing with the station, the UEA Blue Whale, was struck by debris. One of their rear fuel tanks ruptured, causing the ship to spin out of control. Their RCS are out, and they can’t maneuver. Station command has put the burden on us to recover the crew, specifically their Navigator.”
He brought up an orbital map of Triton on the main screen.
“They’re in a sub-orbital trajectory with Triton. We’ve got four or five hours until they hit the surface. However, the closest point of approach will be in three hours. This is our window of opportunity. They’ve launched several escape craft. Those’ll be easy enough to recover. The main problem is that the ship’s spinning too fast to dock any drones or shuttles with. The remaining crew are trapped in the forward command module, where the force exerted on them by the spin of the ship is too high to circumvent. We need ideas.”
“Why don’t we grapple the tanker with a drone?”
“The drones don’t have enough acceleration to match velocity. We’re talking a three or four kilometers a second relative velocity here. The escape craft themselves are light enough to grapple on an intercept trajectory, but the tanker would tear itself to pieces.”
“What about the shuttle?”
“It’s got a little more to work with. We could catch up with the ship but we certainly don’t have enough to get back.”
“We’d fall into the atmosphere.”
“Not to mention the fact that we’d need to stop the ship from spinning first,” the chief reminded.
“Why don’t we crash a drone into the tanker. Counter the spin,” Daniel suggested.
“What? Why?”
“If we hit the ship on the end, we could stop, or at least slow down the rotation. Then we could dock with the shuttle,” Oliver explained, catching on to the plan.
“It might alter the course as well, give us a little more time for the rescue.”
“What about fuel?”
“The tanker’s full of it. We’ll do a docked refuel,” Daniel continued.
“That’s crazy enough to work.”
“We’ll need a decent pilot to ensure a hit.”
“I can do it no problem,” a young woman raised her hand.
“I’ll leave that to you then, Lucky.”
“Which drone should we use?”
“We need all the operational ones to recover the escape pods, so one of the older spares.”
They all looked at Oliver.
***
For once, Oliver had the chance to burst in on 5C instead of the other way around. He shoved open the door and headed straight for their hangar, followed by the entire group of aerospace engineers. The usual trio were still there, welding together the mishap they had caused.
“What? What’re you doing here?” Toast asked, looking up at the ruckus. “Shouldn't you be dealing with the Whale thing?”
“We’re here to requisition your drones,” Oliver explained as he pointed his boys at the mostly repaired drones laying about.
“These are not the drones you’re looking for!” Toast immediately proclaimed, hugging the closest ship.
“Move, you’re obstructing a rescue operation,” the engineer commanded, shooing the scientist away.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“On whose authority?”
“Mine, which was given to me by Chief Engineer Joseph Edington of the 22nd Nereid Engineering Division. Now, get the fuck out of my way before I stuff you into the launch tube.”
The intimidated scientist abdicated and retreated into the corner of the hangar. Oliver motioned for Soup to come towards him.
“What can I do for you, Hensley?”
“Have you started welding the cap yet?”
“I was about to.”
“Good. Hold off on that and come with me.”
Several of the engineers produced a table and placed it in front of Oliver. They began sketching up their ideas for the drone redesign, drawing lines and intricate equations. Bacon curiously wandered up to them. She looked over the various proposals to modify the drone and picked one out.
“Ah, you could get a better thrust to weight ratio if you removed the number five and seven fuel tanks,” she suggested.
Oliver motioned for her to continue. She hesitated for a moment, before pointing at the blueprint.
“The strut layout for the forward plate isn’t optimal, you could risk structural failure on collision. How about a sixty-five degree corner here instead of sixty?”
“How come you’re not an engineer?” Oliver inquired.
“Ah, I’m only good with numbers,” she shrugged.
"We've got the design department for that. I can talk with the Chief."
"I'll need her here to keep me sane," Soup interjected. He motioned towards Toast, who was still moping in a corner.
"Understandable."
The team of aerospace engineers immediately set to work. They completely reworked the broken drones, repairing them faster than what Oliver could do in a week, even with the help of Toast and co. Soon, they unraveled the refurbished drone in all of its glory. It sported a new flat head coated with a thick layer of rubber to soften the impact and prevent shattering. They removed as many of the fuel tanks as they could to prevent the craft from exploding on impact.
“Wait, are we getting these back?” Toast asked Oliver as he and his coworkers were moving the drones toward the launch tube in the back.
“Relax, we’ll send you new ones after this,” Oliver promised. “I’ll deliver them to you.”
“New ones? You mean the new Mark Sevens?”
“In your dreams,” the engineer corrected, remembering the state of which these drones they were taking were formerly in.
Oliver popped open his toolbox and got to work. They were sending the sturdiest of the repaired ones out on its suicide mission. The rest were to support the drones picking up those who had managed to escape.
“Fuel her up! Get that tanker over here!”
The pilot, ‘Lucky’, was being briefed by Bacon and Soup.
“We’re thinking a relative velocity of around one kilometer a second. You need to aim for the rear of the ship. There’s a layer of reinforced carbon which should take the brunt of the shock without shattering. We’ll link a countdown to your HUD. Since the ship is spinning relative towards us, perfect timing is absolutely necessary.”
“I can do it.”
“Main Engine, check. RCS thrusters, check. Visual feed established. Power supply is adequate. Radiators look good. Flight control systems green across the board.”
“I’ll only fuel this one up to fifteen percent for the collision, is that enough to work with?”
“More than enough, sir.”
***
“Are we ready?” the chief asked over the comm systems.
“Launch preparations complete,” Oliver replied after he got a confirmation nod from one of the other technicians.
“Load her into Tube One, call up the rescue shuttle and tell them we’re good to go.”
Together, they loaded up the first drone into the corresponding tube. The pilots jogged back to Drone Command and took their positions. Oliver took his own position, readying the other drones to follow the suicidal one out.
“Drone Ops to Chief, data link complete.”
“Shuttle Two to Drone Command, we’re fueled up and ready.”
Through the comm line were the cracking sounds of knuckles popping. Oliver winced. The chief really needed to stop that habit his.
“Commence operation!”
The drones shot out from their tubes, assisted by the magnetic launch rails. Their radiators extended and glowed a faint orange. They formed around the single modified drone as their pilots placed the computer into navigation mode. Following the pre-planned waypoints, the drones separated and began retrieving the launched escape pods. The modified drone continued straight ahead in a collision course with the condemned tanker. Lucky, the pilot, reported in.
“Drone four-oh-ten, fifteen or so minutes ‘till impact.”
“Shuttle Two to Drone, we’re five minutes behind you and plotting an intercept.”
“Showtime.”
The fleet of ships rushed forwards. Oliver, along with the rest of the technicians, ran to the engineering hanger and awaited for the recovery team to return. There he saw a familiar face.
“Emerson.”
“Hensley. Good work on the drones.”
“They called you up for the rescue mission too?”
“Naturally. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to their Navigator.”
“I see.”
The two listened in to the radio callouts.
“Drone four-oh-fifty, escape pod grappled. I am RTB.”
“Drone four-oh-fifty-three, good hit on the pod. Reeling her in.”
“Five minutes until impact.”
“Shuttle Two to Blue Whale, brace for impact. I repeat, brace for impact.”
“Closing in at nine-hundred meters a second. Impact in three, two, one.”
The engineers and doctors sat in silent anticipation. Oliver clenched his fists, his arms crossed to muffle the squeeks of leather straining. His teeth creaked as he stared at his boots. Daniel took a knee next to him, muttering quiet prayers for success. Any further and he believed Daniel would start rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Shuttle Two, confirmed impact, good hit, good hit!”
Cheers and shouts resounded across the drone hangar. Oliver released his fingers. Small indentations remained in his palm. This was probably what those idiots from 5C felt every time one of their wild endeavours actually worked.
“Beginning deceleration burn, looks like the impact sheared off a lot of debris.”
“Drone Command to Shuttle Two, you’ve got thirty minutes left.”
“We can be done in twenty-five. Docking ring looks intact. Everyone comfortabe back there? Off your asses and on your feet! Docking now.”
“Fifty… Twenty… Ten… Contact! Solid lock. Pressurizing.”
“Move! Let’s go!”
Indistinct noises played over the radio. Oliver could hear distant shouting and clanging, followed by white noise.
“We’ve got them!”
The technicians cheered again. Emerson gave Oliver a thumbs up. He returned it. The technicians in the hangar gave each other pats on the back or claps on each other’s shoulders. They did it.
“Beginning refueling operation. Ten minutes until we top off.”
“We’re gonna need medical attention back at the station. We’ve got broken bones and some major lacerations.”
“Doctors on duty are already here. Just get them home.”
“Roger.”
The drones had successfully snatched the other escape craft and were already on the way back to the station with them in tow. With a thud, their magnetic skids collided with the retrieval bay elevator. Inside, the technicians covered their ears as the sound of screeching metal echoed throughout the bay. Emerson left to meet up with those arriving, leaving Oliver and the rest of the tech boys listening to the radio calls of those outside the station in case anything came up again.
“Drones landing now, prepare to close the hangar doors.”
Inside, they could hear the groan of gears and machinery as the massive hanger doors outside slammed down. The air cyclers hissed to life as they began pressurizing the outer section of the hanger. The hangar crew cleared out of the area.
“Emergency pressurization, move away!”
With a lot of effort, the interior hangar bulkhead opened as the retrieval elevator brought the drones inside. O₂ rushed to equalize the pressure difference, blowing loose equipment and vehicles around the bay. With a clang, the elevator finished descending, and the engineers flooded in to retrieve the drones.
“Get them out of here! Move!”
“We’ve got to clear the elevator for the shuttle!”
The men popped open the pods and haphazardly dragged the survivors out. Several of the technicians grabbed onto the drones and began pulling, lugging them off the elevator. Oliver joined them, carrying the survivors out of the way of the drones.
The radio call outs were now announcing the safe evacuation of those remaining in the tanker. All that remained was to return. The team of engineers gave out another round of cheers. Half of the mission was done. Oliver patted his chest, standing with Daniel to the side as they watched the doctors rush in. Emerson was among them, wobbling along on her legs as she sorted out who needed immediate attention and who could wait elsewhere.
“Shuttle Two to Command, refueling complete. Detaching umbilical now!”
“Drone Command to Shuttle Two, three minutes before the point of no return, you’d better leg it.”
“Affirm. Everyone strapped in back there? Initiating full burn!”
With the rest of the drones cleared off the elevator, and the shuttle minutes away from returning, the engineers retreated back into the hangar control center. The elevator operator tapped on his keyboard, and the elevator ascended back into the ceiling.
Daniel went ahead to the docking site, while Oliver approached the team of doctors giving first aid to those exiting the escape craft.
“Emerson,” he called. “The second group’s about to arrive.”
She hummed her acknowledgement, although she didn’t look up from the scratch she was treating. Only once she finished bandaging it did she nod with satisfaction and look up at Oliver.
“Lead the way.”
Oliver guided her through the throng of people transporting the injured out to the station’s main Hospital further in, where there was better equipment to monitor their status. She pulled a few of her coworkers along with them, speaking only a few words to explain the situation. Daniel and the other engineers were already waiting at the elevator, prepped for the shuttle’s arrival.
“What’s their ETA?” Oliver asked.
“Ten to fifteen minutes,” a pilot responded.
“Any idea on the range of injuries?” Emerson asked. “How many people injured?”
“Broken bones and lacerations at the worse,” Daniel replied.
“We’re not sure how many.”
She nodded, sending some of her helpers for more stretchers. Oliver and the others were still listening in to the live reports, waiting for the moment the shuttle docked and they would have to get to work.
“Command to Shuttle Two, you’re coming in too fast.”
“We’re really low on fuel, that course correction was way too much.”
“Command to Shuttle Two, change course, change course!”
“Hang on, this is gonna be rough!”
The bystanders watched in anticipation from the hangar control room monitor. The shuttle swung around and began burning in the opposite direction. Their velocity decreased under the force of several gees. Their twin nuclear thermal rockets blasted flames outwards, charring the hull of the station. With a crash, the shuttle’s landing skids smashed into the elevator, denting it. The pressure of the impact shattered the left landing leg, causing the entire craft to tilt and skid across the platform. Sparks flew as the ship rolled to a stop.
“Bring down the elevator! Quickly!”
They repeated the same process from ten minutes ago, pressurizing and retrieving the damaged shuttle. The elevator grinded to a halt inside the hangar, and the medical team rushed forth.
“Medic!”
“Get the Navigator over here! Move, get out of the way!”
Dr. Emerson and her co-worker extracted the bloody and battered Navigator from the shuttle rescue team and laid him into a stretcher. Emerson and another doctor that came as support rolled him out first, shouting for everyone to move. Her co-worker remained, instructing the technicians around her to arrange the injured from worst to best. Oliver and the others began to move those inside out, lowering them gently on the floor or on prepared stretchers depending on the doctor’s verdict of their condition. None of those on the tanker had died, thankfully, although many of them sported cuts and lacerations across various parts of their bodies. Some could walk out on their own, though none rejected Oliver’s and the others’ offer to help them down.
“Is that everyone?” she asked.
“Everyone’s been accounted for.”
The doctor signaled for her team to move the injured out to the station’s Hospital. The only people remaining in the hangar were those clearing out the damaged shuttle and drones. The tense atmosphere finally dissipated. Oliver heaved a sigh as he helped shove another drone with the rest of its battered brethren. He needed a beer after this. What time was it?
“Attention all Shift One workers, the work day is now over.”
***