got his left, then right foot planted on the wing. Now the rotating wing offered a floor under his feet, an artificial gravity giving some security against the perilous outward component.
He reached backward for the torch, every move awkward and twisted as if he were on a rapid merry-go- round. He grasped the torch in its clamp on the backpack. He dropped it! The torch slung out to the end of its tether. He grabbed the base of the tether and pulled it around in front of him, extending his arm, letting the tether slip through his hand until he could almost reach the handle of the torch. Then he worked his gloved fingers in cumbersome rhythmic fashion, inching along the tether and on to the handle until he had a firm grip. He pressed the button and the torch sprang to life, a flaring blue ally.
He worked the torch in a loose U shape two feet across below the laser port. The torch sliced the thin metal easily. The chunk of side wall fell away and he could see inside the Cosmos for the first time.
He saw that he would not be able to get through the hole. The bracework for the laser mount obscured the way. He shuffled his feet aside and cut another U extending to the left of the first. As the next piece fell away, he felt his perch shudder. To his right, he could see the cloud emerge from one of the undamaged thrusters. The Cosmos was manoeuvring again! He watched as the rotation carried him around. Yes! They had tilted down slightly towards the shuttle. He had to get inside!
Two heavy braces blocked the new hole. One ran along the side and provided his handhold in the smaller hole above. The bars resisted, but the torch did its work.
He replaced the torch in its clamp and reached inside the freshly— cut hole, seeking and grasping one of the bars supporting the laser. Then he released the grip of his left hand and withdrew it from the upper hole. As he did, the Colonel's hand came loose as well. The head bumped his and the hand slapped against his faceplate, a farewell pat, as the remains swung off into space. The sudden movement jolted Jupp again and he froze motionless for a long moment until he felt the thrusters shift the Cosmos once more. -
Rapidly, he crouched and snaked his left hand in for a grip. He pulled himself inward. God, it was dark! He needed the lamp, but could not release a grip to get it. He pulled again and inched inward but then stopped. Now what giant solid hand blocked his further movement?
The backpack. It was caught on the severed brace. He might cut a hole bit enough for it, but there was probably no room in the confined innards of the satellite. Cool daring descended on him. He had come too far. He adjusted his position until his grip with his left hand was as firm as possible. He transferred the torch and a lamp to fasteners on his suit. Then he began to release the straps and catches with his right hand, working awkwardly but methodically at a job meant for more than two hands. The partially freed backpack swung out tugging on the straps, fighting release. At last he had it. He held onto the final strap for one moment and then let go without a backward glance to see the mechanism spin off to join the severed body in eternity.
He twisted slowly one way then the other, testing for freedom, finding a contortion that allowed motion. He grasped for new handholds and worked his way in headfirst.
Finally! He could feel his feet clear the opening and planted them on the bracework surrounding the hole through which he had entered. He stood, the centrifugal force at last a friend, feet on the wall of the huge cylinder, head towards the centre. He found the lamp and flicked it on. The laser loomed alongside him, a huge enclosed box. There was room to manoeuvre, if just barely, a technician's access space. Elsewhere, equipment, snaking cables, wires, and pipes packed the interior of the satellite.
Now what. Mister brave guy commando? a cynical voice asked. You going to destroy this thing with karate chops?
He felt the satellite shift again, and through the frame around him could sense the flow of peroxide to the jets. Peroxide. The tanks must be somewhere. Could he puncture one with the torch and put the jets out of commission without blowing himself up? He scanned around and could not identify the tanks. They could be anywhere; why wasn't he briefed for this?
Power! If he killed the power, he would stop both radio commands from the ground and the laser. He played the lamp again and located a cable the thickness of his arm coming from the rear of the laser. That had to be the main power supply. He followed the cable around the hull to the point where it disappeared into the bulkhead that had been behind him as he faced the laser.
Stencilled lettering caught his attention, just out of the reach of the lamp. He swung the light and froze. He dimly felt the involuntary release that flowed down the relief tube of his suit. He didn't read Cyrillic, but there was no mistaking the purple and yellow international symbol for radioactivity. Of course, he thought, no solar panels, the thing has to be powered by a nuclear reactor, and no room nor need to shield it in space.
I'm a dead man. The words echoed in his mind as he swung to work. He started with the large cable from the laser, severing it with the torch. Sparks flew, arcing the gap he cut, but he felt no glory in the fireworks, only a grim determination. Then he methodically cut every other cable he could reach from his confined space that might carry electrical power. As he proceeded he could feel the cessation of certain hums and vibrations of which he had not been consciously aware. If it was killing him, he was killing it.
When he could find no more cables intact, he backed out of the hole very slowly so as not to catch his suit. When only his upper torso remained inside, he hooked an elbow around one of the laser braces so that he had a firm hold that would not tire his hands. The centrifugal force tugged his legs straight away from the satellite.
'Larry?'
'Oh, thank god!' Wahlquist's relief came to Jupp as a palpable force over the intercom. 'I wanted to call you but was afraid to spoil your concentration. Control is frantic. I cut them off from you too.'
'Sorry, it must have been rough on you just sitting. I think I've disabled it. I cut the power lines.'
'Control says it's probably nuclear powered. Did you go inside?'
'Yeah, I had to, but only for a little while. I'm fine.' An extended silence echoed with Wahlquist's doubt. Then he spoke. 'Now what?'
'I sure want to get back home. How'd you like to play catcher?'
'How's that?'
'I had to jettison the backpack to get inside. I want you to jockey the bird around where I can just jump into the bay. Can you do that?'
Jupp heard the forced bravado.
'If you can pitch it, I can catch it.'
'Great! Are you at the controls?'
'Yep. I've been feeling around; I'm into it. Talk to me.'
'You're about forty-five degrees from my plane of rotation. This polecat was trying to get you in its sights again, by the way.'
'Thanks, podnuh.'
'Anytime. Let's start simple. Give me a little port roll to get the plane of your wings perpendicular to my rotation. Not too much. Smidgen to the right. Wait'll I go around to get another good look. Just a hair to the left. Okay, that looks pretty good. We'll tune it up later. Now let's see if we can get a parallel lateral shift to the right. You want to hit the front and the rear left thrusters by just the same amount. No. Too much nose! You're moving but spinning. A little right nose! Now some right rear. Let me get my bearings, I can only see you once every twenty seconds. You're still drifting. Give me just a light brush on the right. A little more. Okay, let me watch again for a minute.'
Jupp had realized throughout this exercise that they would never get a perfect alignment, with Wahlquist having no direct visual feedback. They might stop the spin of the shuttle, or the drift, but to get them both stabilized at once was asking too much. He could maximize his chances, but he was still going to have to hit a moving target from a merry-go-round. And he was the projectile.
He spent a few more minutes with Wahlquist until they seemed to have the drift minimized. The shuttle passed before his eyes once every twenty seconds, its open bay yawning a welcome to him. The craft hovered a little below him but had a slight upward drift. It was also in a slow clockwise spin from his perspective. He planned to push off from the Cosmos when he faced at right angles to the shuttle. His inertia from the spinning satellite would carry him sideways towards the bay. The problem was timing. Even if the shuttle were perfectly stationary, he could release too soon and be thrown past the tail; too late and he would sail helplessly past the nose. He could increase the target angle by bringing the shuttle in closer, but then there would be too great a chance of collision.
He waited until the shuttle was pointed with its long axis along his plane of rotation so that he had the best
