Starclimber

  I chuckled. “Just make sure he doesn’t whack you one.”

  “And the moon!” he exclaimed. “It’s just on the other side of the ship!”

  “Looks close, does it?”

  “It is close. I had no idea we’d be getting so near it!”

  I was no astronomer, but I knew the moon was still very, very far away.

  “It’s incredible, Matt. I can see everything, every crater. One good push and you could get there.”

  Suddenly Tobias seemed to be getting smaller. I pulled my head back inside the hatchway and, shocked, saw the spool unreeling line, fast. Tobias had obviously given himself a big push with his air pistol and was sailing out deeper into space.

  “Tobias, our half hour’s up. You need to come back now.”

  “I just want to get a bit closer to the moon, Matt.”

  “Tobias. That’s a long trip, and not for today.”

  “I hadn’t counted on the sounds,” said Tobias.

  “What sounds are those?” I asked, surprised.

  “From the stars,” he said. “There’s a definite music they make. You can’t hear it inside the ship, but out here it’s really clear. It’s beautiful.”

  Every sky sailor had heard about the raptures of the heights, when someone went too high, or lost their way too far over the sea, and was overwhelmed by the endless vista before them. It took the form of euphoria, a feeling anything was possible. I started worrying Tobias was intoxicated by the heavenly ether.

  I locked the spool so it wouldn’t pay out any more umbilicus.

  “Hey!” came Tobias’s voice, and he sounded angry. “Why’re you stopping me?”

  “Tobias, time’s up,” I said firmly. “Captain’s orders, mate.”

  “Matt, the moon’s just up ahead. I know there’s a lot more line left on that spool. Come on!”

  “Can’t do it, Tobias.” I started to reel in the line but was met with a great deal of resistance. He was fighting me with his air pistol, trying to inch his way closer to the moon.

  I wedged myself against the cleats and started turning the umbilicus wheel with all my strength.

  “Matt, let it go!” shouted Tobias. “I can always unhook my tether.”

  I stopped turning the wheel. I felt cold all over. “Tobias, don’t do that.”

  “I might never get a chance like this again….”

  “Later. But come back in now. Miss Karr wants to interview you and get your picture for the papers. There’s a lot of people back home waiting to read about the first man in space.”

  I heard his breathing over the radio, labored. “It’s all so big…shouldn’t be out here…don’t belong…I’m cold.”

  I tried to keep the panic from my voice. “We’ll have a nice mug of coffee waiting. I’m going to reel you in now. Help me out.”

  There was no answer. I listened hard, straining to hear the sound of his breathing.

  “Tobias?”

  I started turning the wheel to reel him in, and this time there was absolutely no resistance. My stomach lurched. It felt like there was nothing at the end of the line. What if he’d cut himself loose? I turned harder, and then my frantic brain remembered how everything was weightless now. Too late, I saw Tobias come soaring past the open hatchway, arms and legs sprawled, motionless. I’d brought him back with too much force, and now he was headed beyond the stern and—

  “Tobias, watch out for the cable!”

  But I got no reply. He made no attempt to use his air pistol. I reeled him in with all my might, trying to shorten the line and keep him from colliding with the high-voltage cable. He wasn’t ten feet away from it when he reached the end of his line. He snapped back and began rising toward me. I reeled in some more.

  I made a bad job of it. Twice he banged against the hull before I could get him close enough to grab him. It was a clumsy, exhausting business, my feet jammed into their cleats. Seizing him under the arms and pulling, it took all my strength to haul him back inside.

  “Tobias!” I shouted. “Tobias, let me hear you!”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, sounding half asleep.

  He bobbed about. I couldn’t make out his face through the mirrored visor. As quickly as I could, I swung shut the outer hatch.

  I pulled the lever and heard the fans furiously pumping air back into our chamber, pressurizing it. While waiting, I managed to get Tobias belted down to the bench.

  “I’ll have you out in a second,” I said to him.

  “I must’ve just blanked out for a minute,” he said groggily, starting to fumble for his helmet clamps.

  “Not yet!” I pushed his hands away and kept an eye on the pressure gauge. When the needle touched 14.7 pounds per square inch, I unclasped Tobias’s helmet and lifted it from his head. His pale skin glistened with sweat, and his eyes seemed huge, like he’d seen more than he could comprehend.

  I pulled off my own helmet. “You all right?”

  He nodded miserably. “I messed up.”

  “You did not mess up,” I told him. “It’s all new, and you did it first. No one could’ve done better.”

  He grunted, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. I felt terrible for him. We obviously hadn’t realized how mesmerizing outer space was. I’d had just a taste peering out from the air lock, but what must it be like to be surrounded by the vastness of it, and spreading your wings above earth?

  The inner hatch opened, and Captain Walken floated in.

  “Seems you were a bit too comfortable out there, Mr. Blanchard,” he said.

  Tobias sighed. “I was just…I wasn’t prepared for it. It’s completely overwhelming. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Blanchard. You did beautifully. Well done.” Captain Walken gave me a nod. “Good work, Mr. Cruse.”

  “Thanks, Matt,” Tobias said. There was some color returning to his face. “Should’ve listened to you sooner. I feel totally shattered.”

  “Come and have something to eat,” said the captain, nudging Tobias toward the inner hatch. “Chef Vlad has lunch waiting upstairs.”

  It was our first meal in zero gravity.

  Gone were the plates and bowls and glasses. We buckled ourselves down to our seats at the dining table and ate from little containers with slotted lids. You had to push back the slot so you could stick in your fork and spear a bit of food, then quickly close the slot so the rest of the food didn’t float away. There were sealed cups with special valved straws jutting out, so we could sip our water or tea. Everything had a magnetic bottom and stuck to the surface of the metal table.

  The food, as always, was delicious. Everyone was here except Captain Walken, who was keeping watch on the bridge. He’d started the Starclimber moving again, back on course to cable’s end.

  We all listened, enthralled, as Tobias told us about his space walk. Miss Karr busily took notes for her newspaper dispatch. Whenever she paused, she let go of her pencil and let it hover.

  “I don’t think the tests really prepare you for it,” said Tobias. He looked over at me. “Not even close. You’ll see when you get out there.”

  “Astral psychosis,” Dr. Turgenev said.

  “What’s that?” I asked, alarmed by the sound of it.

  “Is just theory,” he said. “Space is alien environment to humans. Very traumatic for us. We need to study this now.”

  “You said you heard music,” I reminded Tobias.

  He frowned as if he’d forgotten, then looked a bit embarrassed. “You’re right, I thought I did.”

  “Sounds like another hallucination,” said Shepherd, who probably thought Tobias had done a poor job altogether.

  “Although,” Kate said, “Pythagoras did think the movement of the stars and planets made a kind of perfectly harmonious music. He called it the music of the spheres. He said it was inaudible on earth, but presumably not in the heavens.”

  Miss Karr beamed. “I like that,” she said, making a note of it.

  There was something
beautiful, but also eerie, about the idea of music in outer space. It reminded me of the Sirens’ song, which would trick mariners into jumping overboard to reach it. The music of the spheres had almost drowned Tobias, and I hoped I would be strong enough to resist its pull.

  “Pythagoras lived more than two thousand years ago,” remarked Sir Hugh, “when they believed many quaint things.”

  “What a dry little life you lead, Sir Hugh,” Miss Karr said.

  Sir Hugh tilted his chin. “Not at all, Miss Karr. I merely prefer to restrict myself to the real wonders of the world and not the imaginary ones.”

  “Is no sound in outer space,” said Dr. Turgenev simply. “I am sorry, but music is impossible. Sound is wave and must pass through something to make vibration. Is nothing up here to carry sound.”

  Sir Hugh smiled smugly. “Thank you, Dr. Turgenev, for your voice of reason.”

  Kate said nothing, but I knew she was disappointed.

  “Is there any more news about the Celestial Tower?” Tobias asked Shepherd.

  “Dreadful business,” murmured Miss Karr.

  Shepherd nodded. “We got word during your space walk. The French are saying it was a bomb.”

  “Good God,” said Sir Hugh.

  “How could the French let it happen?” I said, stunned. “After that first attempt, they must’ve tripled security!”

  “Whatever they did, it wasn’t enough,” said Tobias.

  A heavy silence fell over the table. I wondered if everyone was thinking the same terrible thought. If it could happen to the Celestial Tower, it could happen to us. I noticed that Shepherd’s eyes were moving from one person to the next, as if studying our reactions.

  “We don’t have anything to worry about,” he said with complete authority. “The French obviously didn’t know what they were doing. But General Lancaster and our Aeroforce are taking good care of us.”

  “Tickety-boo,” said Tobias softly.

  At that moment Chef Vlad clanked out from the kitchen on his magnetic shoes. In one hand he held a dusty brown bottle with an impressively faded label.

  “Mr. Lunardi gave me a very fine champagne,” he said, swaying back and forth. “He gave me express instructions to open it after the first space walk.”

  “I think we could all use some champagne, Chef Vlad,” I said.

  “I will uncork it carefully, so no one loses an eye, hey?”

  “Wait—” I said, but was too late. He yanked out the cork. There was a loud pop, and champagne spurted swiftly across the room in a huge golden arc, instantly forming itself into a thousand perfect sparkling spheres.

  “Ah yes, I forgot,” the Transylvanian chef remarked. “Drinking this may be somewhat of a problem now.”

  “Not so,” said Dr. Turgenev, and he unbuckled himself and pushed off, sailing through the air and capturing a globe of champagne right in his mouth.

  It was quite an amazing maneuver, and all the more remarkable because it was the doleful scientist who’d done it.

  “What fun!” said Kate, shooting off in pursuit, her braided hair hovering above her head like a cobra waiting to strike.

  “To outer space,” I said, launching myself after some champagne. “And the first man to walk in it. To you, Mr. Blanchard.”

  “Congratulations, Blanchard,” said Shepherd, giving Tobias a cool nod. If he was consumed with jealousy, he did a good job hiding it.

  “Thank you very much,” Tobias said. “The two of you’ll be out there soon. And I’m sure you’ll behave yourselves better than I did.”

  It was a very merry time, as we all sailed about the lounge trying to catch bits of the champagne. Miss Karr clanked over to one of her cameras and flashed off picture after picture. Tired as he was, Tobias perked up after gulping a bit of champagne. Sir Hugh, refusing to unbuckle himself from his seat, used a long straw to suck in bits of champagne that floated within easy reach. Miss Karr tried the same technique, but grew impatient and slipped out of her magnetic shoes to join us in the air.

  Haiku had figured out that his flatulence could give him an extra push midair, and he was now farting enthusiastically as he chased after champagne. But before long he was hanging upside down from the ceiling, flailing his arms about like an opera singer and singing an aria of delight, which, after several minutes, dwindled into a kind of parched whimpering.

  “Look at him—he’s completely sloshed,” said Miss Karr. “You silly little monkey. That’ll teach you.”

  Soon most of the champagne had been devoured.

  “Where’s this space rock you brought aboard?” Kate asked.

  “It’s down on C-Deck,” I said. “I strapped it to one of the lab workbenches.”

  “This will be worth examining,” said Dr. Turgenev.

  Something flashed beyond the window, and my breath caught. I floated closer to the glass and saw that it was only the astral cable, glinting in the sunlight. But something bothered me about it, and it took me a few seconds to realize why.

  I shouldn’t be seeing the cable at all.

  Normally the cable was all but impossible to spot from inside, since it ran directly beneath the ship. But right now the cable very gently curved out from the stern on its way earthward.

  “Dr. Turgenev,” I said quietly, for I didn’t want to alarm anyone yet. I drew his attention to the astral cable. “What do you make of that?”

  The Russian scientist gazed at it. I watched his long face, trying to guess what he was thinking and having no luck.

  “There should not be curve,” he said finally, and though he spoke very softly, I felt my whole body tense.

  Before I could ask any more, the ship’s phone rang.

  I was closest and picked up. “Cruse here.”

  “Mr. Cruse,” said the captain, “could you ask the entire crew to come up to the bridge. Dr. Turgenev as well, please. We have a problem.”

  THE SKY IS FALLING

  “I’ve just heard from Mr. Lunardi at Ground Station,” the captain said when we reached the bridge. “He says the astral cable’s losing tension.”

  “We have just seen it bulging behind us,” Dr. Turgenev said.

  “What does this mean?” Tobias asked in alarm.

  The Russian scientist removed his spectacles and polished them on his shirt. His hands, I noticed, were trembling.

  “Is only one explanation. Counterweight is falling.”

  Falling. The only thing in the universe that kept us aloft was falling. I caught myself holding my breath, as though I could suffocate my own fear. I inhaled. I looked over at Tobias, who I knew dreaded heights, and saw my own fear amplified in his eyes.

  “Could it be sabotage?” said Shepherd.

  “You mean the Babelites?” Tobias said in shock.

  “A bomb on the counterweight,” I breathed, seeing a terrible image in my head. An explosion ripping through the rocket. The severed cable whirling earthward, carrying us with it.

  Dr. Turgenev shook his head. “No, no. If bomb, we fall quickly. This is very slow. And remember, cable has been up for two months already, and tension was fine, no problems.”

  “Is it us?” I said. “Our weight on the cable, dragging it down?”

  “No, no—we plan for this, of course,” said the scientist. “Counterweight more than balances our mass…unless…” He tapped his fist against his chin, as though trying to hasten his thoughts. “Yes, yes, here is explanation. Rocket never went high enough.”

  “You mean the counterweight never reached its proper altitude,” said Captain Walken.

  “Correct,” said Dr. Turgenev.

  “Why wouldn’t the rocket go high enough?” Shepherd demanded.

  “This I don’t know,” said Dr. Turgenev, jetting to a locker and pulling out a thick binder. He started quickly paging through it.

  “Just how fast is this thing coming down?” Shepherd asked.

  “Moment, moment,” said the Russian, sounding harried.

  Shepherd’s eyes grew colder s
till. “We need to make decisions now.”

  “My decision’s already made, Mr. Shepherd,” said the captain. “We’re returning to earth at full speed. Tobias, radio Ground Station and let them know. Mr. Cruse, reverse the rollers please. Mr. Shepherd, stand by at the throttle.”

  We all snapped to it, strapping ourselves down to our seats so we could work more easily. My hands flew over the control panel. I’d rehearsed this moment many times, but had always imagined it would come when we’d reached cable’s end and were making our triumphant return to earth.

  “We’re ready, sir,” I said, after double-checking.

  The captain nodded. “Mr. Shepherd, full speed, please.”

  I heard the rollers quickly whir to life behind us in the central cable shaft. Up here in zero gravity there was no sense of motion, up or down. Only the ship’s vibration told me we were moving at all. It gave me some small comfort to know we were heading home, but was it fast enough?

  I glanced over at Dr. Turgenev. He was poring over his sheaf of notes, scribbling frantically.

  “Stop!” he cried suddenly. “Stop ship!”

  Captain Walken gave no such order but looked attentively at the Russian scientist. “What’s the matter, Dr. Turgenev?”

  “We will not make it.”

  “To Ground Station?” Tobias said.

  Dr. Turgenev shook his head.

  “Are you sure?” the captain asked.

  “This is five-day journey. In just two days counterweight will accelerate as it drops out of geosynchronous orbit. Cable crashes. We crash. We die. I am very sure of this.”

  “We’ve got no other choice,” said Shepherd. “Captain, suggest we accelerate to flank speed.”

  As much as I disliked Shepherd trying to take charge, I was with him on this one. I wanted to race for home and chance it, even if it might end in our deaths. What else was there to do?

  “We do have choice!” said the scientist.

  “Let’s hear it, please,” said Captain Walken, his patience showing no signs of cracking.

  “We can reach counterweight in two days. Now—”

  “You want us to climb higher?” Tobias exclaimed, echoing my own surprise. It seemed madness to crawl farther into space when we were already falling.