“Climb higher, yes,” said the scientist, thumping on his thick binder. “I think we will have time!”
“Time for what?” the captain asked.
“To save counterweight! I think I know reason for problem. Rocket shuts down engines too early.”
“Why would it do that?” I asked.
“Did it run out of fuel?” Shepherd asked.
Dr. Turgenev was shaking his head. “No! It had enough fuel. I do not know why it stops. Maybe some timer malfunction. Maybe simple as blown fuse. But important thing is, fuel is there. And if fuel is there, we can ignite rockets.”
“And send it to its proper altitude,” I said after a moment, understanding.
“Correct!” said the scientist.
“Will that work?” asked Tobias.
“I think maybe yes,” said Dr. Turgenev.
“Maybe isn’t good enough,” said Shepherd.
“Maybe’s all we’ve got right now,” said Tobias.
“Can the cable withstand the stress of a relaunch?” the captain asked.
“Yes,” said the scientist.
I watched the captain, already knowing what his decision would be but dreading it all the same—it seemed to run counter to all instinct.
“Mr. Shepherd, full stop,” said the captain.
Shepherd looked at him, his hand resting on the throttle but not moving it. No words passed between the two men, but I could see the power in both their gazes, and it scared me. Slowly Shepherd pulled back on the throttle and brought the Starclimber to a standstill.
The captain gave a curt nod. “Thank you. Dr. Turgenev, are you certain we can reignite these rockets?”
“Yes, yes. Inside, there is simplified control panel we use for tests.”
“How do we get inside?” I asked.
“Is no air lock,” said Dr. Turgenev. “But there is hatch can be removed.”
The captain gave orders to reverse the Starclimber’s rollers once more, and then we began to climb for cable’s end, this time at flank speed.
“Would shedding weight help?” I asked. “There must be things we could jettison.”
“Throw off monkey and we are fine,” said Dr. Turgenev, and gave a dry little laugh. “That is joke. To lighten mood. No. Throwing overboard makes no difference now. We are weightless up here, yes? Damage is already done. Counterweight will continue to fall until we stop it. We must hurry.”
“Once we get there,” said Shepherd. “How much time will we have to relaunch it?”
I waited nervously as Dr. Turgenev’s pencil flew across his notepad. He muttered as he worked. “At full speed…and assuming counterweight falls at exponential rate…we have maybe four hours. After that, counterweight’s velocity is too much, and we are too late to stop it.”
There was a moment of heavy silence. It didn’t seem like much time. I thought of all the things that needed to be done, that needed to happen, if we were to survive. In my mind it was like a high ladder with many rungs, some of which were splintered and weak.
“We’ll need blueprints of the rocket,” the captain said.
“These I can draw up,” said the Russian scientist.
“As detailed as you can, please. I want to know every inch of her.”
“The control panel too,” said Shepherd. “I want to see every button and switch of the launch procedure.”
“We could build a mock-up,” I suggested. “We’ve probably got enough spare parts.”
“Good,” said the captain.
“What about the hatch?” Tobias wanted to know. “Is it complicated?”
The scientist squinted, remembering. “Six bolts.”
“It’s like the Starclimber’s cargo bay door,” I said. “We could practice on that.”
“For this to work,” said Shepherd, “it’s got to be run like a military operation.”
Captain Walken looked at him sternly. “It will be run like a civilian operation, and will be done flawlessly. Now, we have some forty-eight hours before we reach the counterweight. I want everyone as agile as possible. We’ll start practicing on the cargo bay door in two-man shifts. Mr. Blanchard and Mr. Cruse, I want you to work with Dr. Turgenev on a mock-up of the control panel. Dr. Turgenev, we’ll need to know what parts we might need to replace. Mr. Shepherd, suit up—you’re going on the next space walk. I’ll be spotting you. Then we’ll switch places. Mr. Cruse, could you please go below and tell everyone what’s happening. Be as reassuring as you can, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
I made for the stairs, practicing my brave face. It felt like a mask.
In just half an hour, everything had changed.
If we ever wanted to see earth again, we had to race away from her with all speed. We had to perform a space walk, open a hatch that was never meant to be opened in outer space, and reignite engines that had mysteriously shut off. And now I had to go and convince Kate and everyone else that all would be well.
I took a deep breath as I floated down toward B-Deck. I decided a smile would be too forced, so I just tried to look confident. But in my head I couldn’t stop hearing the ship’s clock, ticking away our hours and minutes and seconds.
Space engulfed me.
Seeing it through the hatch was one thing, but I was out in the thick of it now for the first time. Any sense of up or down, east or west evaporated. I didn’t look at earth, or turn so I could see the ship. All I could see was stars and blackness, and I forced myself not to look away. I wanted to look it right in the face and not be afraid. I exhaled smoothly, trying to slow my pulse. Everything seemed very still, but I knew I was spinning with the planet at thousands of miles an hour, and that far above me, the counterweight that held us aloft was slowly but surely falling.
I should’ve panicked, but for some reason I didn’t. I was suddenly very calm. My chest rose and fell evenly. I’d been really worried I’d come apart when I did my space walk. If Tobias had been overwhelmed, what chance did I have?
But I could do this.
“You’re at fifty feet, Mr. Cruse,” came the captain’s voice inside my helmet. “Ready to get to work?”
I felt a slight backward tug as I reached the end of my line. I looked back at the Starclimber. My umbilicus undulated from the air lock, and I could see Captain Walken in the hatchway. The sun burnished the ship’s silver flanks. It really was a magnificent thing, and despite everything, I felt proud to serve aboard her.
“I’m ready, sir.”
“I’m timing you now.”
I had thirty minutes to maneuver myself down to the cargo bay hatch, secure myself to the hull, and see how many times I could remove and replace one of the hatch’s bolts.
It was late afternoon, and Shepherd and the captain had already made their first space walks. I was the last of the astralnauts to venture out. We’d stopped the Starclimber for Tobias’s space walk—but not anymore. We couldn’t afford the time. We’d need to train while the ship was rising at a hundred and twenty aeroknots, and us with it.
It had been only six hours since we’d learned about the counterweight, and we were all furiously busy. Inside the Starclimber Tobias was putting together a mock-up control panel; Dr. Turgenev was assembling those blueprints we had, and drawing the others from memory. Shepherd was in charge of logistics, and was mapping out the entire procedure, action by action. minute by minute.
I sighted the cargo bay hatch. It was beneath the air lock and off to one side, closer than I liked to the astral cable and its deadly current. Now I had to get down there. I fired off a little burst with my air pistol, and right away I saw how tricky it was to use effectively. Unless you pointed it just right, you could veer off in the wrong direction, or spin yourself upside down.
I flailed about for a while, hoping that Kate wasn’t seeing this—or Miss Karr. I didn’t really want any pictures of me looking like a great drunken ballerina. How had Tobias managed it? My time was ticking away. I decided to get to the ship’s hull as fast as I could; th
ere were hand-and footholds there. I gave a little tug on my umbilicus to get me going, and steered with the air pistol. I thudded against the ship and managed to grab a handhold before I bounced off.
“You’re at twenty minutes, Mr. Cruse.”
Just ten minutes left! And I wasn’t even at the cargo hatch!
My legs and torso floated up away from the ship, which wasn’t very helpful, but there was no way of getting them back down, so I had to traverse the hull using just my hands. Though I weighed nothing at all, by the time I reached the hatch, I was soaked with sweat, and my visor was starting to mist up. I was just reaching into my tool belt for a wrench when the captain’s voice sounded in my helmet.
“Time’s up, Mr. Cruse. I’ll reel you in now.”
“I’ve only just reached the hatch, sir,” I said, my voice heavy with disappointment. I knew the captain and Shepherd had screwed in two bolts on their first walks.
“Don’t be discouraged, Mr. Cruse,” the captain said as I released my grip on the ship and started floating back toward the air lock. “You’ll soon have a feel for it.”
Aboard the Aurora they’d said I was lighter than air, I was so agile in the sky.
So why did I feel leaden in outer space?
When I was back inside, we pressurized the air lock and removed our helmets. The captain was looking at me curiously.
“You were humming out there, Mr. Cruse.”
“Was I, sir?” I said, completely surprised.
“From the very start. Quite a symphony.”
He hummed a bit for me, and it was the strangest thing, for I instantly recognized the sound. I realized it had been playing in my head from the moment I’d stared into the deeps of space and felt calm. At first it was just a single clear note that quickly faded out, then came back, accompanied by a hundred violins being stroked in unison. There were other sounds too, too odd to come from any earthly orchestra, but beautiful and eerie, and beyond them a kind of deep, penetrating pulse that I’d felt through my bones.
“I heard music out there,” I confessed.
He smiled. “As did Shepherd. And I myself.”
“You never mentioned it, sir!”
“I wanted to see if we’d all hear it.”
“It’s funny,” I said. “I don’t hear it when I’m spotting from the air lock.”
The captain nodded. “Maybe you need to be completely immersed before you hear it.”
“What do you think it is?”
He shook his head. “A pressure on the inner ear perhaps? An auditory hallucination? Or maybe it truly is music of the spheres.”
“I like that one best,” I said.
“Me too,” chuckled Captain Walken. “Me too.”
As we left the air lock, I saw Kate working alone in the laboratory. Laboratory was a fancy word for the space, since it was really just a small area of C-Deck amidst the clutter of ship’s machinery and vents and cables and stacks of spare equipment.
She was buckled to a seat at the workbench, intently swabbing the space rock with a wet brush. The rock was securely strapped down to the table. It was larger than I remembered: a bit bigger than a basketball, though irregularly shaped, with quite a rough exterior. It had a dark, slightly porous look, flecked with what could have been quartz.
“You’re hard at work, Miss de Vries,” said the captain.
Kate looked up. “Well, there’s not much point sitting around worrying.”
She’d been very brave earlier when I’d told them what was happening. Most everyone had. Chef Vlad had nodded gravely, said, “Soup,” and floated back to his kitchen to make some. Miss Karr gave a wry little laugh and muttered something about “Big boys with their big, big toys,” but then added that she had no doubt we’d fix things. Sir Hugh, however, had launched into an angry tirade, saying he’d never have come if he’d known this sort of thing could happen, and he was going to write a very stiff letter to Mr. Lunardi. Kate had wanted to know what she could do to help, and hadn’t seemed very happy when I told her there was nothing at the moment.
“How was your first space walk?” she asked me now.
I cleared my throat. “Well, it was—”
“Excellent,” said Captain Walken. “I couldn’t ask for a better team of astralnauts.”
Feeling grateful, I said nothing.
“What are our chances of surviving this?” she asked. “Please be honest.”
“Our chances are very good,” said the captain. “Very good indeed.”
Her eyes were on my face, not the captain’s, watching. I hoped my expression didn’t betray my own fears. I didn’t want her to be frightened, but I’m not sure she believed me.
“What is it exactly you’re doing, Miss de Vries?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
“Just preparing some slides,” she said, and daubed her wet brush on a glass plate. She carefully placed a thinner glass on top and slid it beneath the lens of her microscope.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to return to the bridge,” said Captain Walken. “Mr. Cruse, please see if you can find some more toggle switches and indicator lights down here for the mock-up console. Mr. Blanchard said we were still short.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. I’d been prepared to go with him to the bridge, for I knew how much there was to be done. I wondered if he was giving me permission to have a moment alone with Kate. The captain floated up the stairs and was gone.
I moved closer to Kate. Her head was bent over her microscope, her slender fingers turning the focus knobs.
“There really is music of the spheres,” I said.
“Get Sir Hugh,” she said abruptly, looking up from her microscope.
I pulled back. “What?”
She twisted around and gave me a push that sent me sailing toward the stairs. “Go get Sir Hugh! Hurry!”
Her tone was so urgent that I didn’t dare argue. I jetted up to B-Deck. As I sailed around the circular lounge, looking for the zoologist, I saw his spectacles floating in midair, and a little farther on his favorite pen, and then various sheets of his notepaper, fluttering like giant snowflakes.
One of the unexpected things about weightlessness was how things had an odd habit of traveling around on their own. It wasn’t at all unusual to find a pair of underwear drifting through the lounge, or someone’s toothbrush turning up in the kitchen. It was as if outer space had liberated these things from their boring, immobile lives and given them a giddy freedom.
I found Sir Hugh strapped into an armchair, fast asleep, his arms and legs floating straight out from his body. He’d obviously dozed off.
“Sir Hugh,” I said, shaking him gently. “Miss de Vries would like you to have a look at something.”
“I’m very busy,” he grumbled, still half asleep.
“It’s important, I think,” I said more loudly.
Sir Hugh sighed heavily. “Oh, very well. Give me a few moments.”
He unbuckled himself. I drifted closer to lend him a hand but he waved me away.
“I’ll be quite all right on my own.”
Of all the people aboard the Starclimber, he was the clumsiest in zero gravity. With tiny shuffling steps of his magnetic shoes he started working his way toward the stairs. Too impatient to wait, I hurried back down to C-Deck.
“You’ve found something, haven’t you?” I said to Kate.
She was peering into the microscope as if afraid to break her gaze, in case what she saw would vanish.
“It’s here,” she said softly. “There’s life.”
When she looked up, her face shone with an almost uncontainable excitement.
“Look!” she said, jabbing her finger at the eyepiece.
Floating on my stomach, I grabbed the edge of the workbench and lowered my head to the microscope.
Jewels. That’s what they looked like to me—some round, others long and diamond shaped, many were beaded together like glistening necklaces. The colors startled me, for somehow you didn’t imagine that
something so small should be exploding with luminous blues and deep purples, like things from the sea. Beautiful they were.
“Where did these come from?” I asked.
“The surface of the space rock,” she said, practically panting in her exhilaration.
“And they’re alive?”
“I thought they were moving a bit at first. I think our air killed them, or at least our air pressure. They wouldn’t be used to it.”
“But what are they?”
“They look a bit like diatoms to me. Tiny unicellular organisms. Yet they’re quite different from anything I’ve seen on earth, crystalline almost. The way they link together in patterns reminds me of plankton.”
“Little fish in the sea?”
“Not fish. Plankton are drifters.” Something seemed to occur to her. “You know those early scientists who wondered if outer space was liquid? Maybe they weren’t so far off! Maybe it’s like a vast sea, and what I’ve just discovered is some kind of astral algae!”
“It’s incredible!” I said.
“And if there’s plankton drifting around out here, maybe there’s other life that eats the plankton!”
She looked so excited and happy, I wanted to hug her, but I heard Sir Hugh’s magnetic feet clanking down the stairs.
“Is there anything interesting about that bit of space rock?” he asked.
“Quite interesting, Sir Hugh,” Kate said pleasantly. “You’ll want to take a look.”
When he was finally buckled down at the workbench, he put his eye to the microscope. He spent a great deal of time adjusting the knobs and clearing his throat. Kate looked at me over the top of Sir Hugh’s balding head and gave a huge grin.
“Your slide is dirty, Miss de Vries,” the zoologist said.
Kate’s mouth fell open. “It’s not in the least dirty!”
“You prepared this slide yourself?” he asked.
“Yes, from a swab of the surface of the space rock.”
“Either your solution or the slide itself was already tainted with some microbial matter.”
“I took every precaution,” said Kate indignantly.