Activation Degradation, page 16
The very nature of the boat’s hull—piecemeal, interchangeable—meant that without the boat itself to guide Aimsley, it didn’t know immediately where any individual part lay. The AMS unit crawled up one side of the craft, then down the other, tucking its fingers into any little seam to pull itself along.
Minutes ticked away, and Aimsley’s handler broke through the static again and again, but never seemed quite certain they were reaching the AMS unit. Aimsley tried not to worry about its handler, tried not to think about what might happen if they decided Unit Four wasn’t really there. It had to trust that the Earthling knew what to do.
When Aimsley had inspected ninety-five percent of the boat’s surface, a small sense of dread began to creep up its spine.
What if the fuel tanks were among the tangled parts of the wreckage? What if they’d already been punctured?
It climbed down to the juncture between the two craft with the metallic taste of dread riding high in the back of its throat.
Here, the hulls were twisted, split. Parts had buckled, and there was an unmistakable spray of blood and viscera around the impact sight. Aimsley wondered how much worse the stains would have been in a higher gravity environment. Much of the boat’s life force must have simply coalesced into bubbles that bounced off and away into space, sending the gore off to freeze instead of splattering across the wedge.
Aimsley had to duck down to examine the last few intact triangles, to tuck itself beneath the curve of the boat. And, yes, there—at last—the hydrazine fuel port. But just barely reachable. In order to properly pump the fuel from one ship to the other, they’d have to figure out a way to widen the gap between the ruined hulls.
Aimsley quickly conveyed this to Maya. “Any ideas?” it asked. “The boat was stable when I was crawling on it. I think this will take some force.”
“The piston-rod spreader we used when we entered your ship might work. Let me finish hooking up the pump and the hoses on this end and then I’ll bring it up—luckily I don’t think we’re going to have any problem with the reach.”
“Good. After that, the interfacing is our only real obstacle,” it said. Well, that, and the rest of our assumptions, it thought. It had no idea what the ideal hydrazine to water ratio was for the wedge’s jets. They could still sputter out, even with their tanks full, if the mixture was too far off.
It examined the plate for another minute, trying to envision how to connect the port to the hose, when its handler’s hiss rattled through its mind again. “Unit Four, I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re just not in a position to respond, but I definitely have your biometrics back up. I know you’re alive.”
Aimsley’s heart swelled with hope, with relief. Excitement sent a new rush of chemicals through its body, and it clapped its hand against the boat’s hull in triumph.
“I got your message,” they continued. Their voice sounded different than it remembered from its initial activation. The tone was flatter, more even. Aimsley supposed that was because the platform was no longer under immediate threat. “And I’m coming to you,” they said. “Me, personally. I can’t spare any other units from the platform—they’ve got to get the array back up, but if you can hold tight, if you can give me three days, I think I can get to you.”
Yes, I can. Yes, I’m here. Yes, yes. Whatever you need, whatever—
Something itched inside its skull. A strange niggling—like fear, but tinged with confusion.
Three days?
It was impossible to travel from Earth to Jupiter in three days.
Wasn’t it?
Was its handler not on Earth?
“Three days, you got that? Can you signal me if you’re receiving? If you can’t speak—if the units you mentioned can hear you—maybe, I don’t know, pause your gas exchange?”
It did as instructed, sucking in a deep breath and holding it, lying still, jammed between the two craft.
It waited for its handler to tell it to breathe again.
And waited.
And waited.
Until its lungs started to burn.
“Good, good!” its handler finally said. “I see you there. Okay. Three days. If you can take over the invader’s ship before I get there, it’ll be all the easier to haul you in. I’m so sorry it took me this long to reestablish the connection. I think something was blocking me.”
Likely the wedge itself, Aimsley realized. The radiation shielding and hull armor must have been thick enough to prevent its handler’s signals from penetrating. That was why they hadn’t been able to make contact or receive updates on Aimsley’s biometrics until now.
Which meant, once it went back inside, the connection would be severed once again.
“Aimsley,” Maya prompted, snapping it out of its thoughts, “I’m on my way.”
“Okeke?” came Buyer’s voice over the comms. “Fuentes has a plan for how to bypass the primary engine control computer. Only, there’s a problem.”
“Now what?” she groaned.
“We’re going to attempt an uncontrolled ignition. Once we fire up the engines without the computer, there won’t be a way to shut it down. Not from in here.”
“That’s no good,” she said. “The engine sustained heavy damage in the fight. We don’t know how long we can run it. It could be dangerous—the chances of catastrophic engine failure could rise exponentially, not to mention the fuel we’d waste if—”
“I know, but we have to turn it on. We have to run it long enough to change trajectory and ensure escape velocity. And then we can shut it down.”
“I thought you said we couldn’t shut it down?”
“I said, not from in here.”
There was a long pause as Maya realized exactly what he was saying. “Fuentes wants us to manually cut off the helium-three fuel lines.”
“Right. Which means you’ll need to stay out there longer than we’d planned, I’m sorry. If you use the safety valves, they’ll kill the flow of helium to the injectors. Without fuel, the engines will shut down.”
“But those aren’t meant for—”
“Okeke, there’s nothing about this plan I like. It is what it is. Turning them on this way is our only shot at saving the ship, and you turning them off again is the only way to guarantee we save it a second time.”
“Third.”
“What?”
She gave a tight, caustic chuckle. “Debris, Io, uncontrolled ignition. That’s three by my count.”
“Three,” he agreed. “Do you need directions to the manual shutoff valves, or—?”
“No sir. Know exactly where to find them.”
“Good luck.”
“Copy that, Captain. I’ll add it to my to-do list. Aimsley,” she called, “I’m nearly to you. Come help me guide this mag-cart into place.”
It joined her not far afield of the boat. The mag-cart was a sealed container about the size of two AMS units. Maya secured it to the hull with magnetic struts, then released a small valve that let it gently depressurize, before opening it and revealing their equipment.
Aimsley’s handler continued to speak to it while the two of them worked as swiftly as possible to jury-rig the appropriate connections—updating the wayward AMS unit on the progress its sisters had made with the repairs.
It did its best to listen, but not give away its new connection to Maya.
“What’s the manual cutoff valve?” it asked her after a time.
“Valves, actually. There are two helium-three lines, and each has its own external safeguard, a manual valve, that prevents anything from flowing to the injectors while we refuel. It’s a safety precaution only, it’s not meant to shut down an ignited engine. They never get touched unless we’re docked.”
With a sigh, she held up a set of couplings from the mag-cart. “I’ve got the hose connected to the pump, we just need to secure it to your ship. These are what we have to work with. Any of this look like it’ll do?”
“This midsized flange looks closest, though it might be a little small. We might have to crimp the edges of the port, or there won’t be a tight enough seal for the pump to work.”
“I think we’re going to end up with some leakage no matter what, but I think we can obtain enough pressurization for flow. It should be fine. Given both the high combustion point and high freeze point of hydrazine, should be safe regardless. You’re sure you can’t reach the boat’s port without widening the gap between the ships?”
“Positive. Though perhaps you should be the one to place the connectors. You’re smaller, it’ll require less shifting.”
She nodded, then retrieved the spreader, thrusting it between the sides of the two ships before turning it on. The space-rated hydraulics pushed against the hulls, jacking them apart.
The wedge vibrated beneath Aimsley’s feet, the metal straining. The two ships didn’t want to release one another. Whatever mangled connection they shared went taut, and the boat bobbed slightly with the rebound. The spreader was all that held them apart, kept them from snapping back to settle flush against each other once more.
Maya attached the nozzle to the hose, then wriggled into the gap, feet to the spreader, head toward the fuel port, pulling the loose end of the hose with her.
As their work went on, every second began to feel like an eternity. She’d ask for a tool, and Aimsley would hand it to her, before shuffling back into standby until she gave it another directive.
It couldn’t will the materials to bond any faster, couldn’t force the parts together just by wishing. They were still at the mercy of the literal elements. Physics couldn’t function any differently simply because their lives depended on it.
Maya worked as quickly as she could, pressed against the wedge’s hull, caught between the two craft.
“Almost . . . Almost . . .” she said, body going taut, straining. Aimsley wished it could see her hands—make out exactly what she was doing.
She tried to slide in farther beneath the bow of the boat, and her feet kicked out as she repositioned.
Her boot caught the base of the spreader. It slid slightly.
Aimsley paid it no mind.
She braced herself against it once more, inching farther into the gap.
“Nearly have it!” she insisted, kicking again.
This time, the force was enough to knock the spreader away from the boat.
To knock it out of the gap—to send it careening away.
The boat rolled—snapping back into its original position. Pinning Maya beneath it.
She screamed.
Aimsley lunged for the spreader as it twirled by, and the smooth metal just glanced off its shelled fingertips.
Aimsley’s boots left the decking—it parted from the ship, chasing the spreader—focused entirely on retrieving the tool, blocking out Maya’s surprised cries.
It couldn’t free her without the spreader.
With one more determined reach, Aimsley snatched the spreader and flipped itself, letting one jet sputter on for the briefest instant, pushing it back toward the ship.
Aimsley jolted as it thumped shoulder-first against the hull. Righting itself quickly, it maneuvered the spreader back toward the gap. “Are you hurt?” it asked.
“No. Just surprised me is all. But I’m wedged in,” she said. “Can you—? I need—”
“Is anything damaged?”
“I don’t think so. I got the connection to lock. I’m just stuck.”
“I’ve got you. I can— Here, look.” It reactivated the spreader, forcing the ships away from each other once more.
Maya scrambled out.
“Everything all right?” Aimsley asked.
She patted herself down, then looked over her suit diagnostics. “Fine.”
“Are we ready then? To make for the manual cutoff?” This part of the ordeal would be for naught if they couldn’t get the main engines to work.
“Fuel’s ready to pump, Captain,” she said over the comms. “How’s Fuentes?”
“Doing her damndest.”
Maya’s shoulders slumped. She swallowed thickly. “All right, Aims, let’s go. Follow me.”
Maya grabbed an automatic ratchet from the mag-cart before twisting one finger through the space between them, indicating they should turn their backs on the violent moon and climb to the top of the craft. Without hesitation, the pair set off once again.
And all the while, Aimsley’s handler kept talking. A new Unit Two was already active, and what was supposed to be a new Unit Four was on its way—though, with any luck, it would be dubbed Unit Five upon Aimsley’s return.
The climb to the rear of the ship was tense and felt like an eternity. Their steps couldn’t fall fast enough, and their legs and arms were too encumbered by their suits to make rushing possible in the way they both wanted.
Aimsley glanced back only once, to see the swell of Io over the wedge’s nose.
If this didn’t work—if they were going to die—perhaps there were worse things to see before one’s end. And it had gotten more time than it had first anticipated. Maybe not an entire activation period, but at least a day or so more.
But it couldn’t entirely lie to itself; Aimsley would have appreciated a full lifespan. Anything less was a disappointment. A tragedy.
Maya reached the edge of the wedge’s back side first, found a new ladder that led over the side, and swung herself beyond the ledge, disappearing past the horizon-line of the ship. Aimsley was poised to follow when the comms filled with excited chatter.
“She’s—she’s got it!” Buyer called. “Fuentes is ready—are you two in position?”
“Just about,” Maya called back. “But you can start your countdown anytime; the sooner we change course the better. But, the hydrazine . . . ?”
“Jonas has got enough pumped in for a redirect. Hang on, we’re firing everything up.”
“Hang on, Aimsley!” Maya shouted.
It crouched low.
“Hold on!” Buyer cried. “Engaging maneuvering thrusters in three . . . two . . .”
Aimsley plastered itself to the side of the ship, looping an arm through a rung at the top of the ladder. Jamming its shoulders against the hull, it banged the side of its helmet against the unforgiving metal.
“One.”
The wedge jerked to the side, turning on its axis, its nose sweeping hard to port.
“Yes! Fuel transfer was a success!” Buyer hooted. “Good job, all. Well done! Get ready for phase two. Ignition of fusion engine in three . . . two . . . one.”
The ship gave a great kick, and Aimsley lurched forward, threatening to topple over the back side of the wedge, but it held itself firm. Below its position, blazing white-blue jets erupted from the engines’ six wide cones. The exhaust from the reactor stretched back for at least half a kilometer.
Buyer instantly had them on a new trajectory, and whoops of success rang out through the comms.
They’d buzz the moon, nothing more.
Aimsley expected relief to flood through its system, but as it stared into the streaming jets, it found its shoulder tightening, its teeth grinding.
“Get down here, Aimsley,” Maya called. “Job’s not over.”
It flipped itself around to climb after her.
“See this hatch?” she asked when it reached her, already diligently using the ratchet to undo the bolts keeping the panel in place. “There’s another just like it over there,” she nodded to the other side of the blazing exhaust cones. “I’ll get this one free for you, and then I’ll go station myself on the other valve, and we’ll wait for Buyer’s cue, yeah?”
“I will follow your instructions,” it confirmed with a nod.
Securing the removed bolts in a pocket on her shell, she peeled the panel open, revealing a large, black lever—the manual cutoff switch. It would sweep in a long, wide arc when pulled.
“Just give it a tug when Buyer says. Pull it all the way down—you’ll feel it click into place.” With that, she crawled away, her bright-green suit shuffling across the dark surface, mirroring a picture in Aimsley’s databanks of an aphid scuttling over the expanse of a deep-green leaf.
As it waited, it spared a glance at its RADs and immediately regretted it. It did not like the speed at which the decimals were rolling by.
Maya disappeared behind the exhaust.
Its handler chatted away in its head.
Aimsley bit its lip, flexed its hands, trying to focus.
“In position,” Maya called after a time. “Ready?”
It reached for the lever. “Ready.”
“Buyer, you reading me? Let us know when you’re ready.”
“Affirmative, Okeke. Nearly there. Just want to be sure . . .”
A few more moments passed.
“Okay, that should do it. We’re clear, shut us down.”
“On my mark, Aimsley,” Maya said. “Three . . .”
Aimsley shifted its grip on the lever, bracing its boots firmly against the hull, unsure how much force it would need to put into the pull.
“Two . . .”
Aimsley took a deep breath.
“One.”
It yanked with all its might, and still the resistance was difficult to overcome. The lever was clearly meant to be operated by another vehicle, something mechanical. Humans could work them in a pinch, but this was not the intended interaction.
It pulled the rod down and over, struggling the whole way, hoping Maya was able to manage, and worried she wouldn’t be—she didn’t have the same muscle mass, the same reinforcements on her bones.
Aimsley pressed the lever down, down against the hull, releasing a breath when it felt a satisfying click reverberate through its grasp as the bar locked into its new position.
There was no change to the exhaust output.
“Maya?” it ventured.
“I’m getting there,” she insisted. But the strain in her voice was evident.
“I’m coming to aid you.”
“I can do it. Hold tight, Aimsley. I’m almost there.”
It didn’t argue. It simply obeyed, as it would if given the same instructions by a sister unit back on the platform or by its handler in this very moment.
Because it trusted her.
It wasn’t even sure why it trusted her. She was an enemy unit just like all the others. There shouldn’t be a difference.
