Starclimber

  Kate was disappointed there’d been no more sightings, for she still held out hope there was life in outer space. Miss Karr too grew more restless, saying she was bored with the view, and that she’d photographed space in every way possible. She’d taken to prowling about the ship with one of her smaller cameras, sneaking candid pictures of us. In her daily dispatches home she was starting to comment on the stale air aboard ship, the cramped quarters, and how certain passengers seemed to take up more than their fair share of oxygen. Sir Hugh seemed content enough, though he too complained about the stuffiness, and about Haiku. The little monkey harassed him at every turn—and was a notorious farter to boot. None of us was thrilled, but it drove Sir Hugh quite mad.

  As for me, I was growing impatient too—and I could tell Tobias and Shepherd were as well. As nervous as I was about making a space walk, I wanted to get out there, and to know what it felt like. But I doubted I’d be the first to go.

  “Looks good to me,” said Tobias, checking the last astralnaut suit.

  I replaced a helmet on its peg. Everything was incredibly light now. We had to be careful walking, for we tended to lift off with every step.

  I heard footsteps, and Shepherd appeared in the hatchway.

  “We just got some news from back home,” he said. “The captain wanted me to pass it on. The Celestial Tower’s been destroyed.”

  I felt his words like a blow to my stomach. “Was it the Babelites?” I asked.

  “They don’t know yet. The thing just collapsed.”

  I’d worked on that tower for two weeks. Nothing had seemed more solid. And the French had been so confident. I thought of all those posters plastered about Paris, the promises that they’d be in outer space within a year. How could all those dreams be reduced to a mountain of twisted wreckage?

  “Were many people killed?” I asked

  “Not that many,” Shepherd said. “That’s the good news.”

  “It could’ve been much worse,” I said. “It was already two miles high when I worked on it.”

  Tobias was shaking his head. “Didn’t Dr. Turgenev say it’d never make it?”

  I nodded. “Sounds like it couldn’t bear its own weight.”

  “Or the Babelites gave it a push,” said Shepherd.

  I didn’t know which was more worrying: an accident caused by the Babelites or one caused by the mistakes of so many brilliant scientists and engineers working together.

  “We’re lucky the general’s keeping an eye on things for us,” said Shepherd.

  I didn’t like the general, but I have to admit it was a comfort to think the Aeroforce was guarding the astral cable back on earth.

  Tobias looked uneasy. “You ever wonder if the Babelites were right?”

  Shepherd turned to him sharply. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Not about God getting angry,” said Tobias awkwardly. “But maybe we’re not supposed to be up here at all.”

  “If you felt that way, why’d you come?” Shepherd asked calmly, but I didn’t like the unpleasant edge to his voice.

  “I’m just speaking my mind, Shepherd,” said Tobias, his eyebrows compressing angrily.

  Shepherd shook his head. “I didn’t expect superstitious talk from my fellow astralnauts.”

  “It’s not superstitious,” I said, feeling my own temper rise. “I know what Tobias means. What we’re doing’s dangerous, and no one’s done it before. We don’t know what to expect up here. Anything could happen. And I don’t like hearing about the tower coming down, either.”

  “Makes me wonder if anyone really knows what they’re doing,” said Tobias.

  “Doubts have no place aboard ship,” Shepherd said. “It’s bad for morale.”

  “So’s pretending to be captain,” Tobias shot back.

  Shepherd said nothing, but there was a flash of fury in his eyes that was nearly as violent as a blow. My whole body tensed.

  “You two are on duty in five minutes,” said Shepherd, and left the air lock.

  Tobias’s face was a grimace of regret. “Stupid of me. But it’s true enough. The way he talks to us.”

  And it wasn’t just the way he treated us. We’d both noticed how Shepherd seemed to chafe under Captain Walken’s command. He was always civil, and obedient, but I got the sense he didn’t respect the captain, and it bothered me—made me angry too. Shepherd, despite all his skill, would never make as good a leader as Captain Walken.

  I clapped Tobias on the back. “Don’t worry. Let’s head up.”

  We climbed the stairs to B-Deck, our feet scarcely touching the steps, we were so light now. In the lounge Miss Karr was sitting before her typewriter, clacking out her latest dispatch. Kate was engrossed in a big book. Sir Hugh was writing away. Haiku was perched on a side table, slyly looking at Sir Hugh. I kept my eye on him. He was obviously plotting. Then, with a little flick of his wrist, he threw something. I watched it sail through the air and over the top of Sir Hugh’s head. The zoologist didn’t notice. Haiku sat very still, pretending to pick his nose, and then made a second throw. This time he hit Sir Hugh square in the head.

  The zoologist’s hand flew up and came away smudged brown. His face wrinkled in revulsion.

  “Where’s that monkey!” he cried.

  “What’s the matter?” said Miss Karr, looking up.

  “You said he was toilet trained!”

  “He is.”

  “He’s throwing his feces at me! I’ll have his head!”

  Sir Hugh looked about in fury, spotted the monkey, and heaved himself out of his chair in pursuit. And then an amazing thing happened.

  Sir Hugh left his chair and kept going, soaring weightlessly across the room. Haiku, seeing Sir Hugh coming for him, launched himself off the table, and with a squeal of surprise flew to the other side of the room. Miss Karr, who’d been in the midst of standing, floated straight up toward the ceiling.

  Haiku grabbed hold of a floor lamp and scampered beneath the shade as Sir High went careening past, thrashing his arms and legs and bellowing like a sea lion. He collided with the window and I winced, even though I knew the glass could withstand it. He ricocheted off and bounced, upside down, against the ceiling.

  “Help!” he bellowed.

  “We have zero gravity!” Dr. Turgenev announced, coming up the stairs behind me from C-Deck.

  “We know!” I called back.

  A great clanging of pots came from the kitchen, and some serious cursing in Transylvanian.

  “Why does no one warn me of this!” Chef Vlad roared through the doors.

  “I told him earlier,” Dr. Turgenev said with a shrug. “But I do not think he was listening.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to this,” Tobias said, pushing off across the room. He was so accustomed to working underwater that weightlessness was quite familiar to him. Laughing, he somersaulted in midair, tumbling over and over. I was envious of his agility in the air.

  “Help!” Sir Hugh wailed again.

  “Use the handholds on the ceiling, Sir Hugh,” I called out, but it seemed beyond him.

  Miss Karr had already given herself a firm push off from the ceiling and drifted back down to the table, where, with Kate and Tobias’s help, she got her self reseated and buckled in.

  “Is Haiku all right?” she said, looking around.

  “He’s swinging from the lamp,” I said, glancing at Haiku who was spinning gleefully round and round the light fixture.

  “Cruse, lend a hand, will you?” said Sir Hugh crossly.

  I gently launched myself and sailed diagonally up to the ceiling to help Sir Hugh. “Just give yourself a little push now, Sir Hugh,” I said when I reached him.

  It took us a couple tries, but eventually we floated down to the floor together, and I slipped my feet into two nearby footholds. I maneuvered the zoologist into an armchair and fastened his seat belt.

  “Well, this is quite unusual,” he said. His legs and arms kept drifting up, and he stared at them askance,
pulling them back down to their proper positions.

  Kate was already getting quite adventurous, soaring across the room, pushing off from bits of furniture when she stalled in flight. Her long auburn hair undulated about her face. I turned to see Dr. Turgenev floating. For the first time since I’d met him, he was truly smiling. He had no more need of his cane, and he seemed a completely different person.

  I was handing out the magnetic overshoes when Captain Walken floated deftly down the spiral staircase.

  “Excellent,” he said. “I see you’re all getting your space legs. Mr. Blanchard, suit up, please. You’re to be our first man in outer space.”

  Floating side by side in the air lock, Tobias and I breathed pure oxygen through our face masks. We needed to do this for half an hour, to purge our blood of nitrogen. Even within our pressurized space suits, any nitrogen gas left in our bodies could expand and give us what divers called “the bends.” Tobias knew all about it. A mild case could give you itching skin, rashes, pain in your joints. A serious case could paralyze or kill you. We were all suited up, except for our helmets. I wasn’t going outside, but would stay behind in the open air lock, spotting Tobias.

  “I can’t believe I’m going first,” he said, shaking his head.

  “After you, no one will ever be first again,” I told him.

  His voice sounded hoarse. “Well, let’s hope I’m up to it.”

  “Of course you’re up to it. That’s why the captain chose you.”

  “He just needed someone fresh,” said Tobias. “It would’ve been Shepherd if he hadn’t just come off shift.” He grinned over at me. “Still, I wish I could’ve seen his face when the captain told him.”

  “It’s right you’re first,” I said. “No one was better than you in the pool.”

  Tobias’s face clouded. “I keep thinking of the Celestial Tower.”

  I nodded. It had been hovering over my thoughts too.

  “Do you think it was the Babelites?” he asked me.

  “All I know,” I said, “is that they can’t touch us. We’re safe. Every bolt on this ship’s been gone over four times. And we’ve got good old General Lancaster down there, making sure everything’s tickety-boo.”

  Tobias chuckled and imitated the general’s voice. “Tickety-boo.”

  I looked at the wall-mounted clock and removed my mask. “We’re ready.”

  I floated over to the two great spools of umbilical tubing mounted on the ceiling. I took the end of one and locked it into the back of Tobias’s suit. The umbilicus had been specially redesigned and strengthened so that it was both oxygen line and safety tether. This line would be the only thing connecting Tobias to the ship. I turned around so Tobias could hook mine up for me.

  “Stay away from the stern,” I reminded him. The astral cable carried an immense voltage, enough to electrocute a man. The Starclimber itself completed the electric circuit, so the cable above the bow was safe to touch.

  I picked up his helmet and lifted it over his head. “Good luck,” I said. “You’re a shark, remember. One very lucky shark.”

  He winked, but his face was pale. I lowered the helmet, locking it into place and double-checking the clamps. Then he put on my helmet for me.

  Drifting over to the control console, I flicked the switches that would start the flow of oxygen into our suits. My ears popped at the reassuring hiss. I turned on our radios. Unlike the underwater practice suits, these were fitted with small transmitters and receivers that would let us communicate with each other.

  “Can you hear me?” I said.

  “I hear you,” Tobias replied.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Before we could open the outer hatch, we needed to make sure the air lock was the same pressure as outer space. I pulled a lever, and even through my helmet could hear the pumps busily sucking the atmosphere out of the air lock. The needle on the pressure gauge gradually fell from fourteen pounds per square inch all the way to the bottom.

  “We’re at zero,” I said. “I’m going to open the hatch.”

  I maneuvered myself in front of it and locked my feet into the floor cleats. I took hold of the wheel, as I’d practiced underwater many times, and turned. It moved surprisingly easily. Then, with a careful tug, I swung the hatch inside, all three hundred pounds of it, as though it were light as tin.

  There, right before me, was outer space, nothing separating us.

  Just me and the stars and a billion miles in between.

  Without tinted windows to dull them, the stars looked brighter than ever—and more numerous than I’d ever imagined.

  Everything seemed so still, though of course we weren’t really still. Even though the captain had stopped the Starclimber, we were still moving as we clung to our astral thread. We turned with the planet at thousands of miles an hour. The thought made me feel a bit woozy, but luckily I had to look away so I could fasten the hatch securely against the air lock’s inside wall.

  Tobias drifted over, his hands on the rim of the open portal, gazing out into the star-prickled vastness. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, he stepped outside.

  “I’m out!” he said.

  I positioned myself within easy reach of the controls and the umbilicus spool. I kept a close watch on it, making sure it rolled out smoothly. Tobias floated away from the ship, angled slightly forward, ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet. It was the most uncanny thing, staring out at him, his arms and legs spread wide, hanging there against the heavens. I stopped paying out the umbilicus.

  “I’ve got you at forty feet, Tobias,” I said.

  I saw him reach the end of his tether and jerk back slightly. It was made of the same stuff as the land-diving cable and had plenty of bounce in it.

  “You’re looking grand, Tobias!” I said. “The first man to walk in space!”

  I knew that inside on B-Deck Miss Karr was busily taking pictures. Everyone would be pressed to the windows, watching, and I felt a hot flush of envy. I wished I could have been out there for Kate to see.

  “Not much of a space walk yet,” I heard Tobias say. He bent his knees slightly and did a somersault. “Now the problem is stopping,” he said as he continued to twirl neatly round and round.

  “Try the air pistol,” I suggested.

  We’d been kitted out with a tiny pistol that clipped onto our suits. Inside was a small cartridge of compressed air. One squeeze of the trigger would release a minuscule squirt—but in the vacuum of space, it was supposed to be enough force to shove you in the opposite direction.

  I saw Tobias unclip his pistol and point it. “Let’s see if Sir Isaac Newton was correct,” he said. “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Here goes.”

  Newton was right. Tobias squeezed the trigger and he instantly reversed direction.

  “How are you feeling, Tobias?” I asked.

  “Just fine,” he said.

  “You see any blue lights?”

  “No blue lights, but the view is absolutely amazing! I can see earth below us. It’s no bigger than a tennis ball! I can see the Pacificus and the Hawaiis. Pretty sure I can see Van Diemen’s Land too! Give me a few more feet, will you, Matt?”

  “I’ll uncoil you to sixty,” I said, and measured out the line.

  Using the air pistol, Tobias jetted out to the end of his tether, swooping and putting on a bit of a show. I could just imagine Miss Karr, eagerly taking pictures and remembering details for today’s dispatch. Tobias Blanchard, our first astralnaut, cavorts in space.

  He was amazingly acrobatic. With a twitch on his lifeline he came sailing back toward the Starclimber, and managed to land boots first against the hull, just above the hatch. I craned my neck to see him, standing straight and tall, holding a loop of his tether in both hands like the reins of some stellar chariot. Sunlight blazed off his reflective visor. He was an astral god, plunging through space toward his home planet.

  “This is fantastic!” he said. “I had n
o idea there were so many stars. I swear we only see half of these from earth! You can see things in them, you know, there’re so many—you can see shapes, and faces…”

  He sailed out again to the end of his tether. I worried he was traveling with a little too much force this time, so I eased him out some more line, not wanting him to get tossed back too sharply. I couldn’t quite banish the image of the umbilicus snapping—and Tobias sailing out into space eternally.

  I checked the clock in the air lock. Captain Walken had given us orders that the first space walk was to be no longer than thirty minutes. We were already halfway done.

  “Matt, there’s something out here.”

  I turned back to the hatch and was shocked when I couldn’t see Tobias. I poked my head out and saw he’d propelled himself higher, and was almost level with the ship’s bow.

  “What do you see?” I asked.

  “Some kind of rock, I think.”

  “Is it stationary?” I asked.

  “I think so. It’s quite close.”

  I wondered if he was right. Distances out here were almost impossible to figure out. It might be something very small inches from his nose or a planet a million miles away.

  “If you give me about twenty more feet, I can get closer.”

  “Careful, Tobias.” With some unease, I unwound the spool.

  “Here we go,” Tobias said. “It’s definitely some kind of rock. Should I bring it back to the ship?”

  “I think our scientists would be thrilled to have a space rock,” I said with a grin, thinking of Kate’s reaction. Finally something for her to examine.

  “Let’s see….”

  High above me Tobias unhooked the specimen bag attached to his hip and, with both hands, held it open and brought it down over something I couldn’t see, for his body was blocking my view. He cinched the bag tight.

  “It’s pretty big,” said Tobias over the radio. “Doesn’t weigh a thing out here, though!”

  “You should be heading back inside now, Tobias,” I said.

  “I can see Orion so clearly. Practically make out the scratches on his club.”