The Krone Experiment (9 page)

Jupp watched as the man held on with his left
hand and reached over as far as he could with the torch in his
right hand to cut another hole. There was an awkward moment as the
torch was released, and the change of handholds was managed, right
hand into the old hole, left into the new one. That maneuver was
repeated again so that the figure was holding on only with his
right hand and had moved to the left. After a brief fumble the
torch was retrieved from where it spun outward at the end of its
tether, and yet another hole was cut. Repeating this pattern,
Newman made his laborious way along the side of the Cosmos, pausing
a couple of times to direct the torch into small ports that could
be easily reached. Whatever sensors had peered out from within were
now blind. Electronic eyes in exchange for the human pair in the
shuttle. Newman was almost at the other end, at the second pair of
thrusters, when his cold voice came again.

“Major, are you out of the line of fire?”

“Yes, sir—”

“Then make sure your eyes are goddamned
covered!”

The laser! Jupp had not been watching the
clock in his fascination with the laborious climb up the face of
the Cosmos. He barely had time to throw his arms up over his
faceplate. The laser port was between the protuberance Newman stood
on and the one that followed in the sense of rotation. The timing
was immaculate. The laser flared as the rotation swept it in the
direction of the shuttle, the vast surge of energy passing several
hundred feet above the shuttle. Jupp slowly lowered his arms and
looked at the clock. About twenty-four minutes between shots, just
as before. The remaining thrusters flared on the Cosmos, and it
slowed and slewed again, a little erratically Jupp thought, the
effect of the destroyed thruster pair. Hurriedly, Jupp eased the
shuttle into a new safe position.

“Everything all right?” Wahlquist wanted to
know.

“Yeah,” replied Jupp, “we were out of the
line of fire, but I shouldn’t have lost track of the time. He’s
torched the upper pair of thrusters. Now he’s leaning over and
cutting a hole in the top edge of the wing projection. Another one
in the hull just above the wing. Oh, man! He’s using those holds to
lower himself down toward the next wing, dropping back against the
rotation from our point of view. It’s not working! The centrifugal
force throws him out. It’s a little too far; he ca’’t get a foot
straight down!

“He’s hauled himself back up and is lying
prone on the wing, reaching way down to cut another hole in the
hull.”

Jupp was silent for a few moments.

“It’s a foothold! He’s hanging down again and
has a foot in that new hole. He’s down; he’s got a foot on the
other wing. He’s got a hand in the foothold, both feet down. He
made it! Damnation! That clown is good!”

Newman applied the torch to the thruster pair
near him and then began to cut holds and work his way toward the
pair of thrusters to his right at the bottom end of the long
cylinder. Midway along he came to the large ominous port that
housed the laser. It spanned the distance from his belt to his
throat as he paused before it and reached for the torch.

The satellite had rotated the port away from
them and Jupp felt more than saw a brief glow. Over the radio they
heard what might have been the start of a scream, but the lungs
that were attempting to drive it vanished, and the sound came out a
choked sigh.

Jupp watched in horror as the satellite
rotated, now in seemingly infinitely slow motion. Before the laser
port came into view he saw the legs, thrown off by the centrifugal
force. Legs, ending at the waist of the suit, twisting slowly off
into oblivion, followed by a piece of the backpack with the torch
still dangling from it. The next stubby wing swept by and he could
see the remaining ghastly tableau. The left hand was still wedged
into one of the freshly cut hand holds. The arm led to shoulders,
another arm, the head above, but nothing below, the torso blasted
cleanly away. The truncated assemblage, flung centrifugally out
from the side of the satellite, rotated slowly out of view.

Jupp felt an intense nauseous sweat break out
on his forehead and sweep down through his body. He breathed deeply
to keep his stomach. Finally he realized Wahlquist was screaming at
him.

“Ed! Ed! For god’s sake what happened?! Ed?
Answer me!”

“The laser,” he finally croaked. “It went off
when he was right in front of it. He’s gone.”

“What do you mean went off? It couldn’t have
been time.

“No. No, you’re right,” Jupp looked at the
clock. “It could only have been about twelve minutes.” He lay back
in his seat. “Maybe it was triggered prematurely somehow. A trip
device, some signal from the ground. Not full power, but enough to
kill a man. I don’t know. But it sure happened. God!” he exclaimed
as the laser port and the remains of its victim swung into view
again.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” exploded
Wahlquist, near hysteria.

Jupp thought for a moment, his head spinning,
rationality almost out of grasp. Then order settled in, years of
training asserting its influence.

“Larry! Listen to me!” He spoke sternly,
commanding his copilot to calm down. “We can’t go down.”

“We’ve got to!”

“Listen to me! We can’t take a shot from that
laser. A direct hit and we’ve bought it. I can’t fly and position
the mirror at the same time. You can’t see where to put the mirror,
and it probably won’t give us much protection anyway, damaged as it
is. Besides we came up here to do a job. A damn good man just got
killed for this mission. We’ve got to see it through.”

“I’m blind, goddamn it. I’m no good. Are you
going to take that thing on single-handed?”

Jupp was silent a moment, then answered.

“Yes. But you can help. I’ll get into it and
disable the power. Then I’ll tell you where to guide the boom so we
can grab on and tuck it into the bay.”

“You’re out of your gourd!” protested
Wahlquist. “What happens when you’re out there and it takes aim and
blows the shuttle away? And the damn thing is spinning; that’s a
tough job with the boom, even if I could see!”

“Three of the eight thruster pairs are out of
commission. It probably can’t maneuver well. That gives us a
margin. I’ll have to kill the rest. And if you can’t maneuver the
boom, then you’ll have to pick me up, and I’ll do it. Hey, I know
this is no picnic, but we can do it! We’ve got to do it. What we
can’t do is waste time talking. I’ve got to get us in position
under the Cosmos, and then you’ve got to come down and help me with
my backpack.”

Jupp knew it was necessary to get Wahlquist
moving, give him something to do so he wouldn’t work himself closer
to panic. He had to remember that, desperate as he felt, he could
at least still see. Wahlquist would be just that much closer to
cracking up. These thoughts spun through his mind as he worked the
thrusters and brought the shuttle up under the Cosmos, scarcely
conscious of his actions.

He unbuckled and floated back to where
Wahlquist stood. Ignoring his protestations, Jupp guided Wahlquist
to the hatch in the floor and watched him drop through. Then he
floated down himself. The two of them squeezed into the airlock and
then out into the cargo bay. Jupp made sure Wahlquist was on a
short tether. He detached a second backpack from its rack and gave
it to Wahlquist. It took them several minutes of fumbling to get it
attached, but Jupp could sense Wahlquist growing more assured as he
let his training take over and worked the familiar catches,
buckles, and straps by feel. Jupp helped him into the airlock, then
detached the tether and watched him disappear through.

In their orbital minuet, they had tipped so
that now they were not aligned with the Earth beneath them. The
fierce blue line of the Earth’s horizon made a cockeyed angle over
one of the bay doors. Jupp looked up at the menacing hulk of the
Cosmos spinning its grisly cargo a hundred feet over his head. His
body felt encased in electric ice. He stared at the Cosmos, and
then decided on a plan. He had to move before he thought about it
too deeply. He selected and attached a tether. He reached for the
thruster controls that extended forward on an arm from the
backpack, gently fired the bottom thruster and rose up out of the
bay.

The tether stopped him opposite the middle of
the Cosmos. He watched the spinning craft carefully, calculating
how long it would take him at full thrust to cross the void. He
used the tether and his thrusters to line up precisely with the
laser port, the easiest point to grab hold. Then he pointed himself
headfirst at the Cosmos. He got himself as steady as he could and
then detached the precious tether. The movement rotated him
slightly. He resisted the impulse to grab for the security of the
tether and used the thrusters to realign himself. He thought it
would take about ten seconds, half a rotation time.

He watched the laser port pass from his left
to his right, one stubby wing, another.

NOW! he screamed silently to himself and hit
the thruster at the bottom of the backpack, producing a long
continuous jet.

He accelerated toward the equator of the
spinning cylinder. Another blunt wing passed. Too slow. Too
slow!

Then the next wing passed, and he could see
the port. He was almost there. But the port moved on. He had to get
there before the next wing swept by, leaving him to crash into the
smooth side, nothing to grip. Too close. Too close!

He was moving in rapidly, the crucial wing
swinging toward him, right at him! He threw out his left arm,
fending off the rotating wing, deflecting himself toward the laser
port, menace and salvation.

The swinging appendage crashed into his arm,
sending a jolt up through his shoulder. A moment later he collided
headfirst with the hull of the Cosmos. The wing swept him around as
the momentum of his impact rolled him into a ball. The force of his
thruster kept him against the hull for a moment, but then he
dizzily felt as if every force of nature were working against him.
The centrifugal force of rotation tugged him inexorably outward,
away from the hull. He extended his legs, and the thruster began to
push him up along the hull, away from the laser port. He killed the
thruster, but could feel himself tilting outward, falling away from
the hull. He pushed against the stubby wing and lashed out
desperately with his right leg, kicking along the hull until he
felt the ominous opening of the laser port.

Only a few minutes had passed, but scarcely a
few more had been enough to kill. He simply prayed that he would
not somehow trigger a similar blast. He felt the upper side of his
boot catch over the rim of the opening, his toe extending inside
the port. The friction gave him some anchor, but his upper body
tilted away, still at the mercy of the centrifuge.

A hand reached out, and he grabbed at it
without thinking. Only after a moment of relief did he realize in
horror what it was. No time to think, his boot could slip at any
moment. He pulled frantically against the centrifugal force—
grabbing hand, forearm, shoulder, then reaching beyond the helmet
to grab another handful of suit near the other shoulder. He was too
busy to look, too frightened to look, but he caught a glimpse of
gaping mouth and eyes staring in perpetual shock. He stuffed his
hand into the torch-cut hole, searching for the grip to share with
a dead hand.

There! A reinforcing bar! Got to—Finally the
infinite sinking relief of a secure handhold.

As he grabbed the fixture within the hole he
became aware of the shaking of his leg from tension and too much
adrenalin. Sewing machine leg, the rock climbers called it. He
forced himself to breathe calmly for a moment. He could not wait
for long. He was aware of his appendages as never before. His whole
consciousness split and flowed to his left hand wedged against the
dead one, gripping some frame member, his right foot, hooked
upward, straining to keep a purchase on the rim of the deadly laser
port. Would he trigger it? What if it goes off? Is his foot out of
the way, or will it be seared from his leg? The terrible
centrifugal force, pulling, pulling him away from the side. How did
he do it, one- handed, with the Cosmos rotating twice as fast?

Jupp tensed his stomach muscles and slowly
drew his dangling left leg in against the outward tug of the
artificial gravity. His foot bounced against the hull, and then he
slid it downward, trying awkwardly to keep it against the hull
until he could reach the stubby wing. It was like hanging from the
ceiling and trying to stand on the wall. Finally, he could feel the
surface of the wing. There was some friction on the sole of his
boot, precarious but precious support against the outward tug.

Slowly, he released his toehold on the laser
port. He twisted suddenly, his left foot slipping on the wing. A
surge of panic, primordial, fear of falling, ran through him. He
forced himself to have confidence in his hand grip and got his
left, then right foot planted on the wing. Now the rotating wing
offered a floor under his feet, an artificial gravity giving some
security against the perilous outward component.

He reached backward for the torch, every move
awkward and twisted as if he were on a rapid merry-go-round. He
grasped the torch in its clamp on the backpack. He dropped it! The
torch slung out to the end of its tether. He grabbed the base of
the tether and pulled it around in front of him, extending his arm,
letting the tether slip through his hand until he could almost
reach the handle of the torch. Then he worked his gloved fingers in
cumbersome rhythmic fashion, inching along the tether and onto the
handle until he had a firm grip. He pressed the button and the
torch sprang to life, a flaring blue ally.

He worked the torch in a loose U shape two
feet across below the laser port. The torch sliced the thin metal
easily. The chunk of side wall fell away and he could see inside
the Cosmos for the first time.