Mitch looked out of the window, and for the first time he could make out a small dot of light that had appeared on his horizon. “Okay, Russ, I have visual now.”
He watched it for several moments, and then looked down at his screen. Ripley couldn’t tell him anything more than he already knew, other than to inform him that the object’s internal pulse had elevated.
Getting excited, are we?
The thought made the hair on his neck prickle for some reason. He glanced at the countdown timer on one of the screens — time was vanishing way too fast. He touched his ear mic.
“Hurry up back there, you two. Bogey’s gonna be on us in twenty-four minutes.”
Almost immediately, Gerry came back into the cockpit with Beth now in tow. Both floated into their seats then buckled in.
“Sorry Mitch, but if we’re gonna move the bus, I wanted to make sure there was nothing that’s going to end up in our laps.” She looked up and out through the window. “What have we got: debris?”
“Something like that,” Mitch responded. “But its trajectory has altered — coming right at us now.”
“Altered?” Beth turned back to him.
Mitch nodded. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let’s run a skin check, and then prepare for a short and sharp controlled burn.”
The skin check was a term for when they ran a fast diagnostic over the Orlando’s surface integrity. The onboard computers managed the hull’s external health automatically, and even a pinprick would have had Ripley screaming at them. But protocol demanded a manual once-over prior to engaging thrusters. Besides, no one minded ensuring there weren’t any swinging back doors or loose tiles when they were about to fire up a few thousand pounds of thrust.
“Okay, hull integrity is good and solid.” Gerry ran eyes over a screen full of tiny green lights.
“Bay doors secure, seams are tight, and equipment locked down. All good here, boss,” Beth added.
“Okay NASA, I’m waking up Ripley’s engine security.” He placed a hand on a screen that circled his fingertips, reading his prints, and giving him clearance. “And we are good to go.” Mitch placed a hand on the joystick. “Initiating forward thrusters in, three, two, one… burn.” He pressed down with his thumb.
There was a sensation of added weight, a backward motion, and then a hint of blurring out of the cockpit window as if there was an oily dispersion from the nose cone of the shuttle as the thrusters burned fuel.
“First burn complete.” Mitch shut the nose thrusters off as the Orlando slid backwards in space. His eyes were on the computer screen as he watched the seconds and distance count down. In a vacuum, even a tiny push one way would continue your progress in that direction until you hit something, or…
“Ready on reverse thrust on, three, two, one… burn.”
… you got a little shove in the opposite direction.
Mitch engaged the rear thrusters for a minor burst to return the Orlando to the same orbital attitude. Almost immediately, Ripley gave him validation of his work.
“Back in new designated structural orbit and we have good spatial and attitude control. How do you read us, NASA?” Mitch sat back.
Russ came back immediately. “Roger that, Orlando, you are looking good. Checking your proximity relationship now.”
Mitch waited, his eyes going from the MEDS screen to the view of space from the cockpit windows. He always enjoyed the interaction with the controls. Most of their missions were either so automated or controlled by a battalion of ground technicians that he felt sometimes he was only along for the ride.
“Ah, Orlando…”
Mitch didn’t like the tone in Russ’ voice.
“…do you still have visual on our bogey?”
Mitch frowned, and then leaned forward. The small speck of light was still there. But so what? He expected it to be.
“Affirmative, Russ, we see it. What’s our new proximity relationship?” Mitch continued to stare at the speck.
Mitch heard Russ click his tongue against his cheek. “Damndest thing, Mitch, when you course corrected, it did too. It, ah, kinda stayed with you.”
Shit. Mitch felt his breath catch. “Say again, NASA. Confirm, bogey is still on intercept vector?” He felt both Gerry and Beth turn to look at him. There were several seconds of silence, and then…
“That is affirmative, Orlando.” Russ’ demeanor had suddenly gone all business.
“How?” Mitch gritted his teeth.
Ripley responded smoothly. “The object seemed to project something akin to an electric charge that focused the direction and magnitude of the vector field. In effect, it created a magnetic field projection.”
“Like a tractor beam.” Mitch felt a prickle of perspiration under one of his arms as he tried to make sense of what that meant. “It projected it… at us?”
“Unable to verify intent, Commander.”
Fuck. He licked his lips. He’d seen what micrometeorites could do to the skin of a shuttle. Even a glancing impact could crack a single tile. Worst-case scenario was the computer didn’t detect it until you were reentering the atmosphere. By that time, it would be too late to compensate, and the only option would be to toast marshmallows as you kissed your ass goodbye. He glanced at the timer; eighteen minutes, and it’d be on top of them.
“Okay, NASA, I’m going to burn again.” Mitch turned to his crew who simply nodded. He felt his jaws tighten as he gripped the stick. “Engaging all pitch nozzles, in three, two, one… burn.”
This time Orlando pushed back, hard. Mitch heard Gerry grunt beside him, as the craft vented the burning fuel, pushing them backwards in its orbit. He watched the computer read down the numbers, and waited, waited, seconds seeming like an eternity.
He shut it down, relaxing his hand for a few seconds, before resetting their orbital attitude again. “Compensating burn on three, two, one… burn.”
Their orbital slide slowed and then stopped. Mitch looked up; the dot of light was still there, bigger if anything. It was like they had it on a piece of string.
“What the hell is that thing?” He suddenly felt cold fingers dancing up his spine, and swallowed down a lump of frustration rising in his gut.
“Control, Russ, this damn thing is still with us. Any ideas? Over.”
“Yep, we see it, Mitch.” Russ had a brief whispered conversation in the background before coming back on.
“Ripley says it’s over ten feet, nose to tip; so if it sticks to us, we’re never going to be able to compensate for its drag coming in,” said Gerry.
Mitch nodded to his friend. “Russ, if the magnetic field on that thing is strong enough to track us, then it’s damn well strong enough to stick to us; it’ll fry our instruments.”
“I hear you, Mitch. We’re not going to let that happen — leave it with us guys, we’re working on it.”
Mitch exhaled through pressed lips. “We’ll be here, over.” He signed out.
Gerry turned in his seat, staring for a moment. “Mitch, we can’t let that thing even kiss us.”
“No, no, Gerry, we can’t.” Mitch stared at the proximity countdown. He felt like he had a lead ball in his gut.
CHAPTER 2
“Damn it! Run it again.” Russell Burrows ran both his hands up through his hair. “Come on, people. I got some of the best engineering, physics and mathematical brains in the country right here. So give me something.” He began to pace.