“Prometheus, I have you on electronic ranging and we are closing, “Cooke said.
“We are waiting for you, Orbiter. Our hatch is open and we are standing by.”
“Burn is complete and we're closing at one two oh feet per second.”
“There they are!” Decosta called out as Prometheus swam into view. Cooke nodded, hands busy at the controls.
“We have you in sight now, looks like we're making a high side pass. Your crew module is in the shadow of the payload so I don't know if hatch alignment is in the green.”
“My people here are on the lookout — they see you now. Coming in just fine. Our hatch is about thirty degrees away from earthside your approach.”
“Okay, Pat. I'll lift a bit and roll as we come in. A piece of cake.”
Of course it wasn't. Cooke knew he had to get it right the first time because there could be no second attempt. Right so far. 2,727 feet out, closing at 19.7 feet per second. He hit the forward gas jets. I,370 feet, 9.8 feet per second. The spacecraft grew steadily larger, closer.
“Good thing they are carrying their payload on their nose,” Decosta said. “All burned to hell. Better it than them.” He turned his oxygen on, then put on his helmet. “Radio connection okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“I'm getting the doors open, the tanks ready.”
He dived in headfirst through the floor hatch, kicked off the wall and grabbed the dogging handle of the airlock, twisting it, pulling up on the door. Once inside he sealed it behind him and punched the bleed valve. The pressure reading wound down and down until the red evacuation light blinked on. The outer door of the airlock opened easily and just outside it were the door controls. Decosta trained his light on them, switched the selector to open and pressed the activate button. A crack of light appeared, widened, as the curved, sixty-foot-long doors began to swing back. Light poured in and he could see the base of the remote manipulator no more than a yard away. He moved off towards it, seized it, and using it as a guide pushed himself the length of the cavernous hold, to the far end. As he went he permitted himself only one quick glimpse of Prometheus.
It was no more than a hundred yards away and closing smoothly. An immense scarred cylinder in space, two hundred and fifty feet long. The crew module was still in the shadow of the payload but he knew they were there, waiting for him.
“On the way,” he said, grabbing the working end of the manipulator as he came to it. The knife was just where he had left it, floating free at the end of the length of line. He reached out carefully and grabbed the handle, then used the blade to sever the line where he had tied it. An easy steady push sent him floating the last ten feet to the end where the walk-arounds were lashed, to grab the ropes and saw through a length of white nylon, to pull it free loop after loop.
When the tie-down line had been removed and was floating away into space he tied the knife to the red line that held the four tanks together, then retraced his way back to the manipulator controls. Only then did he take the time to look out.
Prometheus was there. No more than fifty, sixty feet away, filling the sky with its bulk. Light glowed in the ports and from the open hatch where he could clearly see the helmets of the crew.
“Ready to go,” Decosta said.
“You're through to Prometheus,” Cooke answered.
“I have you in sight,” Decosta said, pushing an actuator handle forward.
“What do you want us to do?” Patrick asked.
“Here come the walk-abouts, on the end of the arm.”
The long tube of the manipulator rose up and up, pulling along the tanks at the end of their length of line. “I'll try not to bang them into you, but they are swinging around a lot. Grab them when they get close. There is a knife tied out there with them, watch out for it, so you can cut them free.”
In Prometheus they could only wait, grouped by the hatch, two of them watching the welcome sight of the Orbiter as it drew close. It was like a great airplane flying towards them, an illusion destroyed when it rolled slowly until it was drifting topside in their direction. Then jt split down almost its entire length, long doors gaping wide, and the thin shaft of the manipulator was reaching out in their direction, the tanks floating free at the end.
“What's happening?” Patrick said, angry that he had to ask.
“I'm sorry,” Coretta said. “I forgot. There's a long arm coming over with the tanks, they are whipping back and forth, swinging around. They've stopped now---”
“Can you reach them, Prometheus?”
“No.” Gregor reached out as far as he could. “They are still at least two meters away.”
“I'm out all the way,” Decosta said.
“Coming closer,” Cooke answered.
There was a brief spurt of gas on the directional jets and the Orbiter drifted sideways, looming up.
“Enough!” Gregor shouted as the long arm seemed about to impale the ship. White gas spurted into the vacuum and the motion stopped. “I can reach them now. Coretta, hold my feet.”
Gregor leaned far out, floated out farther and farther from the open hatch. Coretta held his ankles in one hand, the edge of the hatch opening in the other, watching, holding her breath, as his fingers reached out towards the bulk of the swinging tanks.
“I have them!”
A swift slice of the blade cut the walk-arounds free and Coretta pulled him and the tanks through the hatch.
“Put yours on first,” Patrick said. “Then disconnect from the cabin oxygen. Then you can attach ours.”
Gregor clipped the tank to his belt, made the hose connection, then severed the link with Prometheus. His hands were steady as he fastened Patrick's tank to him, making the connections with sure movement. Coretta was slower, first her tank, then Nadya's. When she turned around she found there were just three pressure-suited figures in sight.
“Gregor?”
“I am outside, going to the engines. I should have stayed to help but there are only about ten minutes left. I have turned on the hydrogen flow. There will be enough time for you, but I have little to spare.”
“What are you doing?” she shouted, knowing even as she said it what was happening.
“HOOPSNAKE of course. You should be leaving now.”
“Affirmative to that,” Decosta said. “Get your people on the end of the manipulative so I can bring you in.”
“You don't have to do it, Gregor,” Patrick said.
“I know that, thank you, but I must.”
Coretta lifted Nadya, guided her, pushed her to the hatch.
“Open your hand,” Coretta said. “I have the rope in your palm, close quickly, do you feel it?”
“Yes, fine, please help me through the hatch then get Patrick.”
Coretta was doing the same for Patrick, helping him through the opening towards the end of the metal arm where Nadya waited, floating head down with her feet stretching out above. Then Patrick had seized the end effector and she grabbed the metal next to him.
“We're all here, “she said.
“Keep your grip secure, I'm bringing you in.”
As they swung out and away from the hatch Coretta could see Gregor for the first time. He was close to the engines, pulling at the loose plate of shielding he had partially detached before.
“Gregor…” she said, but there were no other words.
“It has been. . very good to serve with you all,” Gregor said, breathing heavily as he struggled with the shielding. “Thank you very much for the opportunity….”
“We have less than five minutes left,” Cooke said, the calmness of his voice more emphatic than any strain.
“We need the light to see by. I'm closing the doors as soon as these people are strapped down,” Decosta said.