The Space Front, Chapter 25

Arcturus

“Captain, I want it logged in the record that I think this is a bad idea.”

“Noted, Argo.” Arcturus paced around the repaired lander, his hands clasped behind his back. “I appreciate your boundless optimism.” The pressure suit he was wearing clung to him, the heavy boots dragging as he stepped–he was out of practice wearing the equipment. It had been years since he needed to go out into the black himself.

“I mean it, Arcturus,” the first mate insisted, scowling. The expression folded deep creases into already wrinkled scales around his face. “If you wait two weeks, we’ll have the correct engines. Wait four, and we’ll have someone trained to fly it.”

“I am trained to fly it.”

“You know what I mean,” Argo snapped back. “Just…Look at this thing.”

It looked fine to Arcturus. Mostly. Clusters of three smaller tug drives, bolted to support struts jutting out of the otherwise vacant engine housings of Lander Two, replacing the two missing engines. Roddel and Hark had milled the struts from solid pieces of steel for strength, creating mounts that spaced the smaller tug engines in a neat triangle. The wires that powered each engine threaded through conduits welded to the hull, out of sight and out of the elements, barely visible against the clean lines of the ship’s wedge-shaped nose. For an ad-hoc job, it was clean and elegant, and he was proud of the work his engineers had done.

Arcturus stopped at the front of the Lander, looking up at the broad curve of the front viewscreen. “Roddel tells me that it passed all of its checks, and that it flew admirably on the short run he did around the ship.”

Argo snorted “That’s overstating it a little. What he said was: ‘It didn’t break apart on me.’”

The captain’s lips wormed into a shape approximating a smile. “And isn’t that admirable?”

His first mate gave him a pained look. “Captain, please reconsider. Even if you must go yourself, wait until the new engines are finished.”

Arcturus’ moment of mirth faded. “I can’t, Argo. You know I wouldn’t try this if it didn’t absolutely need to be done. Reel is down there, flagrantly ignoring instructions, undermining my authority…” He sighed. “You were right, old friend. She should have been sent to Efreet for training.” Rolling his shoulders in his pressure suit, he felt it settle more firmly on his broad shell.

Argo shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “That’s last jump’s coordinates,” he grumbled. “No point worrying about it now.”

Arcturus nodded, relieved that Argo hadn’t pressed the point. He’d expected a bitter “I told you so.” “I’ll be gone for six to seven days,” he said, turning to look at Lander Two. “Hark brought me two tanks of Dark Fluid this morning, and loaded them on the ship. I’ll use those to top off the transmitter, get the negotiations on track, and be back before you even know I’m gone.”

“Have you told Reel that you’re coming?” Argo asked, with a sidelong glance.

“No,” Arcturus admitted. “I don’t want to give her a chance to dream up any new mischief. When we have her back on board here...” He trailed off, and Argo jumped in to finish the thought.

“Then we can have a conversation with her about duty and obedience.” The wizened old Torellan put an uncomfortable emphasis on the word “conversation”, but Arcturus didn’t dwell on it. He puffed out his cheeks and blew out a heavy sigh.

“I’m thinking that maybe we need to move her out of Engineering,” he said. That drew a small, surprised noise from Argo. “Maybe something with less…stress, something more routine would be better for her.” Something simpler, he thought to himself. She’d hate that, but if it kept her alive and out of trouble, then she could hate it all she liked. She’d understand, when she was older, why it had to be that way. He turned back to Argo. “While I’m away, you’re in charge. Get Hark and Roddel back to work on the mining platform.”

Argo’s eyes glittered, and his mouth quirked into a half smile. “I’m in charge, you say?”

Arcturus snorted. “Of day to day operations, yes. You are, after all, my First Officer. Just don’t go making any sweeping changes.” Unless, of course, something happens to me. He didn’t say that last out loud; Argo understood.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Argo paused, and then went on carefully. “Captain, why are we bothering to assemble the mining platform? The plan calls for us to be gone long before the Efreet get here.”

Arcturus grimaced, wrinkling his brow. His implant buzzed, tingling in his skull as the thoughts of his treasonous plan came to the forefront of his mind. He saw Argo wince as well; they could not linger on this topic, not for long. “Ideally. But if we’re not, I want the system up and running. A built platform and a ready pile of ore will go a long way towards convincing them that the destruction of the subspace transmitter was an accident.”

Argo nodded slowly. “Makes good sense to me,” he said, but worry flickered across his wrinkled face, tightening the scales around his mouth. Even if they got everything up and running on schedule, the destruction of the transmitter would prompt hard questions. They both knew that if they were still here when the Efreet arrived, the best they could hope for was that the executions would begin and end with Arcturus. The fact that his captain was bothering with precautions for that eventuality made Argo worry.

“I’m only stalling at this point,” Arcturus sighed, and clapped Argo on the shoulder. Focusing inward, he opened an implant Link with Argo, Yerry, and the navigation crew on the bridge. “Yerry, are we ready for departure?”

“Yes, Captain,” came the reply, echoing in his skull. “The course is set and logged. It will take you a few days to get to Peenemünde, even at maximum burn.”

“Telemetry is ready?”

“Telemetry ready.” Came the confirmation. They ran through the rest of the checklist; navigation, control, communications, suit…As they went, Arcturus found himself breathing a little easier, a bit of weight on his shell lifting. The ritual of the pre-flight call and response was soothing, in a way. Ordinary. There had been precious little of that since he’d smashed that transmitter.

For the thousandth time, he wondered if he’d made the right choice. He flexed his hand, feeling the new scars where the transmitter had cut him stretch tight. It was too late now to do anything but go forward, of course. There were a hundred things he’d thought of that could go wrong, and most of them were out of his control. The Efreet could arrive early, the implants could take too long to get from Earth, they could all fall into a black hole tomorrow or be blown to bits in a reactor failure…

But he could do something about Reel. Clenching his scarred fist, he listened to Yerry rattle out the last of the list.

“All systems report normal,” she finished. As he’d expected. Roddel and Hark had gone over every inch of Lander Two, working double shifts to get it ready, and Argo had personally checked their work.

“Then we are ready for departure,” Arcturus broadcast over the Link. “Boarding now.” He gave Argo a grin. “See you in a few days. You know, I’m actually looking forward to this. I haven’t flown a lander in decades.”

Argo snorted again, shaking his head. “Better you than me. Fly safe.”

Arcturus sent the wizened first mate back out of the bay, and made his own way around the nose of the ship to the door of Lander Two. The ramp rolled down beside him with a quiet hiss and a clunk, and he clomped up it, the heavy tread of his suit’s boots rattling against the metal. The bulbous suit chafed, scraping at the scales of his legs and tail with every step, but he wasn’t about to go without it–that wasn’t the right protocol. He snagged the suit’s helmet off the peg where it hung, just inside the door of the shuttle, and took it with him as the ramp rolled up behind him and the door sealed. Tromping through the narrow hall, he squeezed into the cockpit and took his seat. He settled the helmet down over his head, cinching it tight, and his breath fogged the facemask as power flooded through the ship’s systems.

“This is Captain Arcturus aboard Lander Two,” he broadcast to Yerry for formality’s sake, as he took hold of the control sticks. “Initiating takeoff.” He throttled up, and the whole Lander tipped backward, lurching out of its cradle. He eased off the power to try to bring it back to level, and winced at the metallic screech of the hull scraping across the deck plating. So much for smooth flying!

Yerry came over the Link. “Showing some slight flight irregularities on our end. Everything okay?”

“Yup,” he grunted, easing the throttle up and pushing the ship towards the exit. Lander Two did not fly at all how he remembered it. “Just a little more kick in those tug engine clusters than I expected.” They didn’t match the thrust of the other engines, so he had to compensate. Somewhere down the Link, he felt someone laughing. He was pretty sure it was Roddel; since he’d done the test flight, he probably knew exactly what had just happened to Arcturus.

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The hanger opened up into the deep black of space, and he fed the engines a little more power. The little lander shot out of Old Bug like a comet, pressing him back into his seat even through the inertial dampeners. Excitement warred with startled shock at the raw speed of the lander, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to whoop with delight or scream. He even spared a moment to feel embarrassed–this was not the dignified exit he’d imagined. The great gray expanse of the hull curved overhead, and then beneath him as he spun, getting a feel for the controls. Pockmarks dotted the surface here and there, where micrometeorite impacts had chipped away at the otherwise smooth shell. He’d have to get someone out here to patch those up with fresh steel...

He put it out of his mind. Blast, but it felt good to fly again. Arcturus hadn’t done this in…well, since he’d become the Captain, at least. He turned, and his tail twisted instinctively and futilely for balance in its pressure suit sleeve. He twisted the sticks the opposite direction, sending Lander Two into another roll as a broad grin split his face.

“My compliments, Roddel, Hark. Excellent work.”

Roddel chimed in on the Link. “How’s it feel?”

“Good,” he answered, coming out of the roll. He glanced at his screens, and pointed the nose of the lander towards the maneuver node displayed there. Now that he had a feel for the new thrust from the tug engines, the ship flew as smoothly as he could wish. “Different, but good.”

“Glad to hear it, since we just about cracked our shells getting it done,” Hark grumbled.

“Language, Hark,” Arcturus reminded him absently, with his hands on the sticks. Once he was clear of the Old Bug, the autopilot could take over, and he’d be well and truly on his way to Earth. “Argo, you’re sure you’ve got everything under control?”

“Yes, Captain.” Argo’s voice came over the line, impatient. “You’ve only gone over it with me a dozen times. Never mind the hundreds of times I’ve done every task before that.”

“Okay.” He blew out another long breath. “Just…call me if there are any problems.”

“We will, Captain,” Argo assured him, his exasperation plain in his voice. “But you’re only going to be gone for a few days. We’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Arcturus conceded. He squared his shoulders and punched the autopilot, leaning back in his seat as the computer sent Lander Two hurtling towards Earth.

…

With the computer handling the flight and Argo running Old Bug, Arcturus found himself in the very unfamiliar position of having nothing to do. He watched the screens, ate, twiddled his tail, and bothered Argo for status updates every few hours. The First Officer bore these intrusions with only a little grumbling. Everything was normal, he said, nothing to report.

By the second day, he discovered that he was bored. It took him a while to recognize the emotion, and when he did, the very novelty of it was enough to shock him right back out of it. He couldn’t remember the last time in his life that he’d had nothing to do…not since he was a hatchling, too young for lessons or an implant. With nothing to do, the only thing that marked the passage of time was the slow swell of the pale blue dot ahead of him.

It hung against the black velvet of space like a drop of water, next to its small white moon. He could just make out the satellite by the end of day two, half shadowed behind its parent body. They both ballooned over the course of the third day, until they dominated his whole view.

The computer sounded a small chime to let him know when it was time to take back over from the autopilot. He took his seat as the acceleration dropped off, working his tail through the cutout. He’d changed in and out of the suit a few times over the course of the trip; it was uncomfortable to wear during long periods, and when Lander Two hadn’t dumped him into space he’d decided it was safe enough to take it off–the simulations had allowed for that, for long flights. Now that he was coming for landing, he felt better wrapped back into it, even if the tight confines made him itch in a dozen places.

He felt a Link click on in his mind, and Yerry’s voice came through. “Still reading me, Captain?”

“I’m here. Any change, Yerry?”

“A small one.” She seemed unconcerned. “You’re going to need to drop into orbit and adjust your inclination before insertion. I have the vectors for you.” His screen came alight with a text description of the required maneuver.

He scanned the words, then tapped it with a claw to swap it for a visual overlay to help him keep the ship pointed in the right direction. “Looks easy enough. Why am I dropping into orbit instead of doing a direct insertion?”

“Hark and Roddel were concerned about the additional stresses of atmospheric entry on the tug engine mounts,” she explained. “They’d rather that you reduce your overall velocity first and bring it in slow.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Makes sense. When do I start?”

“In just a couple of minutes. Your computer has the navigation numbers.”

He swiped at the screen, bringing up the navigation interface. It appeared as a sphere, with degrees of inclination marked out on it. A target reticle lit on its surface in blue, to mark where he was supposed to point the lander's engines. Another in red marked where they actually were. In the air alongside it, a meter showed how much thrust he needed to apply. A timer sat just below that, counting down the seconds.

He took up the control sticks again and worked the engines into position with gentle twitches of the sticks. As the timer hit zero, he throttled up, gently at first and then more decisively, his eyes flicking between the navigation reticle and the thrust meter.

The target reticle wandered as he worked, and he had to chase it from side to side to keep it on course. That had to be a consequence of the unusual engines, different from what the computer expected, he mused. It would compensate for the course, but it had to compensate moment to moment. Still, it was close enough. As the meter reached zero, he throttled down, until the engines barely stirred in their housings.

“How’s it looking?” he queried.

“Good,” Yerry said. “You’re right on course.” He could see that for himself, on his screen, but it was still comforting to have it confirmed. “You’ll make your insertion burn in just a minute.” A new target reticle and thrust meter appeared, flickering.

He shook his hands out and took up the sticks again, nosing the ship over. Firing the engines at full power, he grunted as the acceleration pressed him against the straps, watching his speed closely. He’d have to pilot in for the landing without exact navigation information, but this would put him close.

The engines slowed the ship, allowing the planet’s gravity to grab him and pull him towards the surface. As he fell, the first shuddering bumps of the atmosphere sent a little thrill through him. Deeper and deeper he flew, until the viewscreen glowed orange with friction heat. Through the haze of burning atmosphere and the planet’s night, he picked out indistinct features from the surface. He recognized mountains and the ragged shapes of the dominant vegetation that covered this continent, stretching up in great swathes over the countryside. He pulled up hard to put the ship into a level flight path, chasing the navigation reticle, and the display chose that moment to wink out, the guidance lines vanishing as the whole thing went black as a starless sky.

“Uh oh.”

Yerry answered him immediately. “’Uh oh?’ What’s ‘uh oh’ mean?”

“My navigation display just cut out.” He stabbed at the screen with a dull claw. It didn’t so much as flicker.

Silence roared down the line. “I’m bringing Hark and Roddel into the Link.” Yerry said after a moment. “Hark, Roddel, respond, Priority One.”

“Here,” they chorused, with an extra muttered curse from Hark. “What blasted thing has gone wrong now?”

“My navigation panel has gone out.” A flash caught his eye. “And I think my front viewscreen just went too.” It was all dark; now he couldn’t even see where he was flying. “I’m blind, talk to me.”

“There’s a manual reset key under the front console.” Roddel said, talking fast. “Turn it all the way around.”

He felt for it, letting go of one of the control sticks. The ship lurched, and he yanked at the one he still held, trying to keep it steady. “The front console?” It had been in the simulations, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember exactly where it was. It had been too long... He struggled, fighting to call the information out of his implant.

The engines died. The stick went limp in his hand, and he felt the ship go into free fall. It felt, for an absurd moment, like he was back in orbit, floating weightless and held in place only by the straps over his suit’s shoulders. “I just lost my engines.”

Panic flooded down the Link from all three of his crew. For his own part, he felt strangely calm. Detached even. I’ve got time. I’m still moving more sideways than down. “Where’s that reset key, Roddel?” As if to give the lie to his earlier thought, proximity alarms started blaring, red lights flashing on the console to warn him of an impending collision.

“The front console! On your far right hand side, hurry!”

He found it; a little nub of metal protruding from the plating. He twisted it hard and felt it catch, but the screens and engines stayed stubbornly quiet. “Nothing’s happening.” A faint tickle of fear wound through his stomach. He stomped on it, and it wiggled free of his mental foot, coiling around him and squeezing. “Why is nothing happening?” The alarm was sounding faster and faster, the tempo mercilessly accelerating.

“It takes a few seconds to reboot.”

How low had he been? Do I even have a few seconds? he thought to himself, just as the screens started flickering back, returning to service in fits and starts. He grabbed the sticks and throttled up hard, the engines sputtering back to life and rocking him in his seat, then pressing him hard into it.

He grunted and strained to hold on to consciousness, his vision blurring as the force of his acceleration pressed him into his seat–the inertial dampeners hadn’t had time to boot back up, it seemed. The whole ship groaned and creaked like Old Bug during a violent subspace jump. The navigation screen stayed dead, but the front viewscreen burned to life a second after the engines, showing him the side of a mountain, filling the whole of the display and growing closer by the second.

With a panicked cry he pulled at the sticks, straining the engines to their max, skewing away from the wall of stone. The craft slid through the air, twisting, slowing, skimming so low over the stretching forms of the planet’s flora that he thought he might brush the tops of them. The ship's engines clawed at gravity, buying him a precious breath of altitude. Relief flooded him. He would miss the mountain, and then he could land and troubleshoot whatever had gone wrong...

“I’ve got it.” He said to his screw, and as soon as the words left his mouth something broke with a tremendous screech of metal. He cried out as the ship tumbled out of his control, spinning through the air, futile alarms filling the cockpit.