Fulcrum of Odysseus Page 2

  “Get suited, but hurry,” he said. “I hate to bring more kimchi to the party, but we’ve got more stink to play with, now-ish.”

  “That means what?” Rocky asked, annoyance clear in her voice even over the com.

  “I think we’re about to be making a reentry,” he said, clarifying. Kiro was the only member of the crew that had ever done a surface landing on a major planet, so he recognized the effects an atmo had on a ship. The problem was they designed landing ships for slicing through the air. The Waltz was a flying brick.

  “We’re foobed aren’t we?” Shona asked. Another vibration shook the ship as if in answer.

  “We can slow down and it won’t be bad,” he said. “But yah, we’re not staying in orbit much longer, whether or not we want to.”

  “I’m suited and on my way,” Alyx said.

  “Returning to ConDeck,” Rocky reported. “Idea for extraction tube was proving unacceptably complex.”

  “I need everyone bolted down since we’ve got to get some altitude first,” he said. “Shona I need a plot for a high elliptical orbit with the apogee just this side of the landing zone. We’re going around twice and then we’ll flip and brake into a vertical power dive.”

  “Nojo? With varying drag from the atmo?” she asked. “Why don’t we just go to station-keeping and then drop straight down?”

  “We need our inertia to let us blast through the ice,” he said. “Otherwise the engine would just bounce us away before we cut through.”

  “Got it,” she said turning to face her console and doing some fast calculations.

  “If we vector the thrust on the main engine and pile on the steering thrusters, we can endover in sixty seconds,” he said. “Bad news is, we’re going to be poking this blind, since we’ve got no stern optics.”

  “Do we have an exact target?” she asked.

  “The Tacra Un advises that we should land directly on the airlock,” Dutch said.

  “Is possible to deploy pods to get external visual orientation before touchdown,” Rocky said appearing on the deck with a hand on Alyx. She nudged her toward the sensor station and took her position at engineering.

  “We’ve got a lot of hardware in the landing zone,” Kiro said. “Two workpods and both our shuttlepods. Dutch can you snag them and get them out of the way?”

  “They are already moving,” the computer said. “Where would you suggest I place them?”

  “Park them in the engine bell on the Hector, that should be far enough away that if …” he stopped himself before he completed the thought.

  “Understood,” Dutch said.

  “I need a gas density reading from the Hector’s sensors,” Kiro said, turning to watch Alyx cinching her acceleration harness down tight. “This will probably get really bumpy.”

  “Yah, ten seconds to link in, but it only applies to space above the sensor horizon,” she said. Another tremor shook the ship and she swore, shaking her head.

  “So we skate for two turns and do all the hard work once we’re above the skyline,” Kiro said. “We cando.”

  “Trajectory estimate is on your board,” Shona said. “Loose and sloppy.”

  “Just the way I like it,” he said, looking over her calculated line. “Maybe it would be smart to notify the landing party that we’re going to be burning in on top of their position as soon as we get this squared.”

  “I am on it,” Dutch said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Inside the Tacra Un: L-4 Prime:

  Sitting around on the observation platform wasn’t productive, but there wasn’t much else that they’d uncovered to solve the problem. Jeph was waiting for a report from Dutch on Rocky’s idea for a self-drilling sleeve to create an egress tunnel to the surface. It was the only idea any of them had so far, but it had enough unknowns to make it a long shot.

  “Excuse me Captain,” Dutch said through the archive’s sound system. “I have been instructed to advise you that the Jakob Waltz will be attempting a landing in twenty-seven minutes and fifty-one seconds. It may be advisable to move away fr—”

  “What?” he said, shock and anger both fighting for dominance. “Who made that call?”

  “Pilot Kamoto made the decision based on the changes in gas density occurring at our current orbital altitude. We are encountering turbulence and will not be able to maintain position without continuous expenditure of reaction mass.”

  “Go to station-keeping,” he said.

  “I guess that takes the decision off of your shoulders,” Anju said, standing up and stretching.

  “Unfortunately this is true,” Dutch said. “Pilot Kamoto determined the course of action based on long-term survival potential of everyone involved. Reducing velocity to station-keeping would allow us to maintain position for sixty-seven days based on available reaction mass, however that would not address your current issue with regard to returning to the ship.”

  “I would have liked to be consulted before the decision was made,” the captain said.

  “There would still be time to abort the approach and begin station-keeping,” the computer said. “However, it would simply be a matter of delaying the inevitable and sacrificing your well being in the process. I do not see the logic of such a choice.”

  “He’s right,” Danel said. “We can save the ship for a while, but at what cost? We’ll starve to death down here and they won’t be able to come back inside until the ocean of cryo-soup evaporates. So they’ll be crashing before they can even get in here to recover our bodies. It’s a no win, Jeph.”

  “If they could have stayed in orbit, they could have waited it out,” Chei said. “But now there’s no way to save them, even if we all just let go.”

  “I see the logic,” the captain said, drawing in a big breath and letting it out slowly.

  “Then please proceed as deeply into the structure as possible,” Dutch said. “There is potential for miscalculation.”

  “Good luck,” Jeph said.

  “I will pass the message,” it said.

  Lunarside Main Docking Facility: Galileo Station:

  Edison Wentworth hung near the wall of the main concourse watching for a chance to cross the stream of bodies. Getting around in the docking cluster was never an easy task since it was along the hub of the massive spin rings of the main residential area. Most of the inhabitants of Galileo came from Earth and stayed in the gravity sections of the station, so when they had to venture into the microgravity zones they floundered and thrashed like wounded fish.

  Normally, lifeguards hung tethered to relief stanchions along the sides of the traffic areas, fishing the most helpless out of the stream and pulling them back to a handrail. Since the collapse of the government, there was no one paying the bills and nobody on duty. A few volunteers, or opportunists depending on perspective, had tied themselves off to the rails and were snagging floaters and shoving them toward the sides. The polite ones took fewer liberties with where they grabbed a body, but more than once an angry scream indicated that someone had their space intimately violated.

  Traffic on the concourse was ten times more than usual and the chaos threatened to explode at any moment. Edison watched it with a trained eye, seeing and feeling the panic and frustration building like a physical wave. The real issue came from the fact that none of the commercial carriers were operating on any schedule. More often than not, when a ship was able to load and get clearance, its destination was unknown until it pulled clear from the station. But no one cared. Their panic let them believe that anywhere was better than here.

  There was no way he would manage a straight through crossing, so he pushed from rail to rail around the perimeter. His goal was on the opposite side of the slowly spinning cylinder, but even staying out of the main flow, more than one collision made it rough going. The doors to the private docking facilities ran around the outside of the hub and the FleetCom dock was his destination. Hopefully they had held it together and with his credentials, plus what he carried in his pe
rsonal attaché, he should be able to get passage to Tsiolkovskiy.

  He knew the general opinion was right. Anyplace was better than here. Especially for a man who knew something that would get him killed.

  Without warning a phalanx of uniformed security appeared at the earthward end of the hub. Locking arms they formed a cylinder of moving muscle and drove forward across the area and through the crowd, sending bodies flying in every direction. Buried in the center of the human battering ram, Derek Tomlinson clung to a tow strap wearing what was clearly an armored exosuit.

  The already volatile atmosphere in the hub exploded into a roaring rage as people recognized who he was and surged toward him. A quick volley of taser rounds scattered thrashing bodies in every direction as everyone pushed back against each other in an expanding tsunami of panic. A wave of screaming innocents shredded the air and the riot died as quickly as it had begun.

  Shoot fast and let weightlessness cripple the rest.

  The professional side of Edison admired the efficiency of the security team’s action in avoiding catastrophe. The human side wanted to join in the outrage. Instead he ducked and twisted to avoid the most serious collisions with people crashing into the wall. A few managed to grab a handhold and hang on but most bounced and tumbled helplessly out of reach of the outer wall.

  In the confusion, he launched himself across the open hollow in the center of the concourse and caught a handhold a dozen meters from his goal. He flung his feet toward the door and it swung open.

  Inside, a tri-vid optic scanned him before the wallscreen came on and a FleetCom security officer materialized. “Investigator General Wentworth?” the FleetCom security officer’s voice showed mild surprise. “What can we do for you sir?”

  “I am looking for passage to Tsiolkovskiy,” he said. “I have information of vital importance to Admiral Nakamiru and Chancellor Roja.”

  “I am sure you realize that they are not there,” she said, her face blanking as she hid her reaction and keyed in information. A red ring appeared around the edge of the screen as the officer encrypted the com.

  “Yes I understand that,” he said, nodding to indicate that he noticed the security she’d added to the link. “I also know if anyone can get a message to them, it is you.”

  “Of course I cannot confirm or deny that possibility, but if you can give me an idea of the nature of this message—”

  “Nothing personal,” Edison said, shaking his head. “I need to talk to the base commander of Tsiolkovskiy. I will not say more than that I am carrying information regarding the charges against Katryna Roja. Information that she would find useful.”

  “Investigator General, will you hold while I contact Tsiolkovskiy Center?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  Her image froze on the screen for several seconds while she chased his request up the chain. Finally she jumped back into motion. “We can get you on the thirdshift shuttle to TFC tonight, but it might be delayed since there is a traffic stop on all craft until Director Tomlinson clears the station and that backs things up for a while. If all goes well, then we can get you on your way around 0100 hours tomorrow morning. You are welcome to wait in the VIP lounge inside if you want.”

  “Thank you,” he said, the sudden relief he felt almost overwhelming him.

  “I see you are carrying an attaché,” she said. “Do you have any other baggage?”

  “Just my personal folio,” he said, pulling it out of a pocket and holding it up.

  “I’ll need you to place those on the scanner tray and then proceed through the red door,” she said. A light came on over a small scanner panel that swung open to let him put his things through the wall.

  “Uhm,” he said, hesitating to part with his bag. If Tomlinson had control of the FleetCom docking facility, there was no guarantee that as soon as he handed his possessions over they wouldn’t swoop in, arrest him, and confiscate his files.

  “Please sir,” she said. “You are on the list of approved VIP passengers. There was actually a message attached to your name in case you doubted your security. It comes from Katryna Roja personally.”

  She looked down at another screen and read it out loud. “Edison, the tea was a kindness. I would like to return the favor. Thank you.”

  He pushed his bag through the wall and shoved off toward the door.

  Jakob Waltz: Orbiting L-4 Prime:

  “Is this what a reentry is supposed to feel like?” Shona asked as the shaking jerked her against her safety harness.

  “Not usually,” Kiro said. “But I’m driving a barn and not a lander. Another twenty seconds and we’ll be through the hard part, hopefully.”

  They were gaining speed as high above the surface as possible to minimize the buffeting, so Kiro knew it would have been a lot worse if they’d dropped deeper first. The geysers that had popped up all over L-4 Prime had made the gas density unpredictable, and every time they ran through a vent stream, it knocked them sidewise while also slowing them down. He spent most of his effort trying to stabilize the ship against tumbling rather than orienting them toward their landing. It was a lot tougher than he’d expected.

  “That should be the big one west of the landing zone,” Alyx said. She grunted in pain as the ship lurched violently.

  “Here comes the fun part,” Kiro said, trying to keep the stress out of his voice. He knew this would have been an idiot’s ride even in a drop shuttle, but in forty kilotons of struts and superstructure it was beyond insane. “We’re going to pinwheel down under full power so we can pick up all the inertia I can load. This is going to hurt.”

  They dropped through the turbulence and into a calm patch. “Commencing rotation maneuver,” Kiro said. The rumble of the engine kicked up and they all felt the fist of acceleration punch them back into their seats. The burn to round their heading down toward the surface lasted just short of a minute. He glanced over at Alyx and would have winked at her, but she had her eyes clamped closed as she fought off pain. Or the terror of the crazy ride.

  “Ground track is thirty meters per second,” Shona said. “We’re 600 meters off the target and closing. Twenty seconds.”

  “I’ll get that in the turn,” he said.

  “Downward velocity is 2100 meters per second. Altitude is 310 klick. 145 seconds to contact.”

  “Let me get us vertical and then when we’re in freefall again, deploy the pods to give me eyes down,” he said.

  “Copy. You have ball. Call it,” Rocky said. “Incidentally, was excellent piloting.”

  Kiro glanced over his shoulder to check if someone had perhaps replaced the normally dour Russian with a different person. She flashed him a quick smile. Maybe fear of dying made her human? Hauling his head back to face his control console and letting out a deep breath, he punched the engine to start the final spin and get their ass end oriented toward the ice. The acceleration twisted the ship hard and threw them all sidewise against their straps.

  He watched the instruments as the ship twisted into an upright orientation. Killing the thrust, he let them drop for several seconds before applying a gentle power. “Deploy the pods,” he said. Three screens opened on his main console a second later. Freefalling, the pods angled downward ahead of the ship and spread out to take up positions below his intended line of descent.

  “I really don’t want to push too hard and end up short and bouncing upward before the engine cuts a hole,” he said. “Other side is if I wait too long, we’ll crater in.” The main engine was far too powerful to use for landing unless they had a fair amount of downward velocity, and he would need all of that for the last several hundred meters before they hit the surface. The big unknown was how fast the engine blast would burn through the ice and whether or not it would hold the liquid nitrogen back if they weren’t close to full burn.

  “Can we see the base camp or the borehole down there,” he asked. One pod twisted downward and the image showed they were close to dead on target.

  �
��Maybe a few meters long, but fragging close,” Shona said. She was watching his screens from her acceleration couch.

  “I need an accurate range and velocity,” he said. Both numbers appeared along the bottom of the image.

  “Ice is approximately one hundred meters thick at the borehole,” Dutch said. “Should I calibrate the range to include this depth, since our final position is based on the airlock and not the surface?”

  “Do it,” Kiro said. The number jumped to indicate the new range.

  “How much do you girls think you can handle?” he asked, turning to face Alyx. “You two are going to set the limit because we to have to burn hard to blow the LZ clear.”

  “Just get us down in one piece,” Alyx said. “I got plastic bones and the rest of me will grow back.”

  “At least it will be over quick,” Shona said, nodding in agreement.

  “Dutch, give me the calculations for a four-g kick at the bottom of the fall and we’ll pray that’s enough to cut through and stick the landing.”

  “Engines will require two seconds to reach desired power,” Rocky advised.

  “Given initial downward velocity plus gravitational acceleration, braking will need to commence at a minimum of 1,674 meters and continue for 18.3 seconds or until contact,” Dutch said.

  “Will that give enough time for the ice to burn through?” Kiro asked.

  “In theory,” the computer said. “We will impact a layer of liquid of an unknown density, at an unknown depth below the surface of the ice. These variables are impossible to estimate with any degree of accuracy.”

  “So you’re calling this seat of the pants?” the pilot asked, leaning forward to hold his hand over the icon to activate the engine.

  “I do not wear pants, therefore that statement is inherently inaccurate,” it said.

  “Right,” Kiro said, slapping his palm down on the throttle. The images from all three pods showed the ship’s engines kick back and blast ice and steam up from the surface like an explosion.

  Inside the Tacra Un: L-4 Prime: