ITAR-TASS REPORT, 23 AUGUST 2019
“I’m going out,” Dennis said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You heard the message.” The cosmonaut was already in motion, heading toward the Venture airlock and his EVA suit.
Yvonne couldn’t have stopped him. Even in low gravity, the pain and swelling in her leg made movement difficult. “Dennis, the man is dead!”
“It’s better for all of us that he is met—out there.” He tapped the nearest bulkhead. “Not in here.”
Yvonne had spent a terrifying half hour. The only thing she could compare it to was being flung across the surface of Keanu yesterday—frightening as that had been, it had lasted only a few minutes.
Her life on Keanu had now become a long nightmare from which there was no awakening. . . .
It had begun with a radio call, “Venture, Venture, come in.” At first Yvonne had been happy, believing she was back in direct contact with Zack and Tea.
But the moment she answered—“This is Venture. Hey, welcome back!”—she heard a voice that gave her chills.
“This is Downey and I need assistance.”
She had looked at Dennis at that moment. The Russian cosmonaut’s eyes, normally sleepy-looking even in midday, went wide with alarm. He had torn the headset off her, silencing the exchange. “Don’t answer!”
“Okay,” she had said, “that will be good for two minutes. Then what?” She held her hand out. Dennis returned the headset.
“We should call Bangalore.”
“You do that. But I’m not taking orders from them.”
“We can’t deal with this alone!”
“Houston will be over the horizon in two hours. Maybe I can stall him until then—”
But the voice from Vesuvius Vent returned. “Venture, Downey. Do you copy?”
“How the fuck can this be happening?” Yvonne said. “Didn’t you say he was dead?”
“Yes. There was no doubt. I saw the footage of the body. There was much discussion while you were unconscious.”
“But here he is.”
“As with Zachary’s wife and the others. Yes, apparently Downey is restored.”
“Okay, then what? Do I help the guy? He’s one of the crew.”
“You don’t know what he is, what any of them are. Bad enough that our friends are dealing with them . . . we cannot let one of these creatures reach our ships.”
“Well, we’re locked in here. What about Brahma?”
“It’s not just access I worry about. It’s also potential damage. Suppose this being is hostile.”
“He can’t hurt us in here.”
Then Dennis had decided. “No, I have to meet him.”
Now he had his suit open—on the Brahma suits, the backpack was the dorsal side, and opened, giving access. Dennis had his feet in the legs of his suit and was wriggling his arms into the arms and gloves. In spite of the tension, Yvonne had to admire the man’s skill at this procedure. Of course, he had been doing it for twenty-five years. Had helped design the suit, in fact.
“What about me? Have you looked at my leg lately?”
She had, and she didn’t at all like what she saw . . . the dark signs of blood poisoning.
“My absence will have no immediate effect on your condition.”
“But there’s a chance I could be incapacitated. And if you somehow wind up incapacitated, both vehicles are untended, and I think that’s a bad idea.”
By now Dennis had his head through the neck ring into his bubble helmet and was sealing his backpack. He had to shout to be heard. “It is a worse idea to do nothing.”
He began opening cabinets inside the airlock. “What are you looking for?”
“A tool.”
Yvonne wasn’t buying it. “You mean a weapon.”
“Fine. A weapon.”
“So that’s your big plan? Knock him on the head? Either you’ll crack his helmet and kill him, or you won’t do anything. Seems like a waste of time.”
“I’d rather face that decision with a weapon than not have one if I need it.”
Yvonne considered this. No point wishing for Houston to come on the line and tell her what to do. She was on her own . . . and she agreed in principle that this “Downey” creature should not be allowed into Venture—not yet.
“Okay, the utensils we use are all plastic. Flashlights, pens, all of that stuff is lightweight.”
“I remember.” That was right, Dennis had lived on the International Space Station for almost a year. He knew what kind of gear you’d find in a NASA space cabin.
“The toolbox outside, though. There should be a torque wrench.”
Dennis considered this. Through the faceplate of his helmet, already fogging with each exhalation, he smiled. “Thank you. You should seal this and evacuate the chamber. Keep it that way.”
As Yvonne returned to the main cabin, dogging the hatch behind her, she felt dizzy and afraid.
As she entered the commands to bleed air from the Venture lock, allowing Dennis to exit, her eye caught the silver case holding the Item. “What the hell are you looking at?”
Q: What is the one thing you do better than anything?
DOWNEY: Well . . . break things and kill people, I guess.
ASTRONAUT CANDIDATE INTERVIEW WITH LT. COL. PATRICK DOWNEY, USAF,
MAY 11, 2011
Right up to the time he found himself staring up the vertical side of Vesuvius Vent, the Revenant formerly known as Pogo Downey had a warm memory of the radical maneuver Zack had chosen to get people and machines to the bottom. Yeah, just throw everything overboard. The assumption was that astronauts could be hauled up by rope—and the rover abandoned.
That made sense, as long as you had a fellow astronaut at the top of the slope with a line.
At the moment, Pogo was alone . . . and searching in the darkness for the ramp Zack had suggested as a backup return route.
It had been easier to see in glowworm light. When he emerged from the passage between the membrane and the vent floor, he found that the glowworms had shut down! There was no light but the beams from his helmet lamps . . . and faint starlight.
Making matters more challenging, he was cramping. EVA suits were not tailored to individual astronauts, but they came in three sizes: Pogo had worn large while Zack Stewart used medium.
He had also not been able to perform any system checks.
The critical driver now was oxygen. There was less than ninety minutes left in his tanks. If he’d had time and been alone, he would have recharged them at the rover . . . but he had been able to slip into the camp for only a few moments.
“Pogo, do you read me?” Chertok’s voice had a strange, distant sound. Probably bounced all the way to Earth, then to Keanu.
But at least someone had answered.
Downey’s response was, “Five by,” a callback to flight tests of three generations earlier. Five by five. Clear. “Where are you?”
“On Vesuvius rim.”
Downey looked up the cliff face in the general direction of Brahma. “I don’t see you. Too dark.” And those Brahma suits are blue.
Another lag. The signal was definitely being routed, probably through Bangalore. Which meant that everyone knew what had happened to Patrick Downey.
During his trek through the membrane, down the long passage and then across the floor of the vent, Pogo had made major changes in his plans.