“We’ve got to!”
“Listen to me! We can’t take a shot from that laser. A direct hit and we’ve bought it. I can’t fly and position the mirror at the same time. You can’t see where to put the mirror, and it probably won’t give us much protection anyway, damaged as it is. Besides we came up here to do a job. A damn good man just got killed for this mission. We’ve got to see it through.”
“I’m blind, goddamn it. I’m no good. Are you going to take that thing on single-handed?”
Jupp was silent a moment, then answered.
“Yes. But you can help. I’ll get into it and disable the power. Then I’ll tell you where to guide the boom so we can grab on and tuck it into the bay.”
“You’re out of your gourd!” protested Wahlquist. “What happens when you’re out there and it takes aim and blows the shuttle away? And the damn thing is spinning; that’s a tough job with the boom, even if I could see!”
“Three of the eight thruster pairs are out of commission. It probably can’t maneuver well. That gives us a margin. I’ll have to kill the rest. And if you can’t maneuver the boom, then you’ll have to pick me up, and I’ll do it. Hey, I know this is no picnic, but we can do it! We’ve got to do it. What we can’t do is waste time talking. I’ve got to get us in position under the Cosmos, and then you’ve got to come down and help me with my backpack.”
Jupp knew it was necessary to get Wahlquist moving, give him something to do so he wouldn’t work himself closer to panic. He had to remember that, desperate as he felt, he could at least still see. Wahlquist would be just that much closer to cracking up. These thoughts spun through his mind as he worked the thrusters and brought the shuttle up under the Cosmos, scarcely conscious of his actions.
He unbuckled and floated back to where Wahlquist stood. Ignoring his protestations, Jupp guided Wahlquist to the hatch in the floor and watched him drop through. Then he floated down himself. The two of them squeezed into the airlock and then out into the cargo bay. Jupp made sure Wahlquist was on a short tether. He detached a second backpack from its rack and gave it to Wahlquist. It took them several minutes of fumbling to get it attached, but Jupp could sense Wahlquist growing more assured as he let his training take over and worked the familiar catches, buckles, and straps by feel. Jupp helped him into the airlock, then detached the tether and watched him disappear through.
In their orbital minuet, they had tipped so that now they were not aligned with the Earth beneath them. The fierce blue line of the Earth’s horizon made a cockeyed angle over one of the bay doors. Jupp looked up at the menacing hulk of the Cosmos spinning its grisly cargo a hundred feet over his head. His body felt encased in electric ice. He stared at the Cosmos, and then decided on a plan. He had to move before he thought about it too deeply. He selected and attached a tether. He reached for the thruster controls that extended forward on an arm from the backpack, gently fired the bottom thruster and rose up out of the bay.
The tether stopped him opposite the middle of the Cosmos. He watched the spinning craft carefully, calculating how long it would take him at full thrust to cross the void. He used the tether and his thrusters to line up precisely with the laser port, the easiest point to grab hold. Then he pointed himself headfirst at the Cosmos. He got himself as steady as he could and then detached the precious tether. The movement rotated him slightly. He resisted the impulse to grab for the security of the tether and used the thrusters to realign himself. He thought it would take about ten seconds, half a rotation time.
He watched the laser port pass from his left to his right, one stubby wing, another.
NOW! he screamed silently to himself and hit the thruster at the bottom of the backpack, producing a long continuous jet.
He accelerated toward the equator of the spinning cylinder. Another blunt wing passed. Too slow. Too slow!
Then the next wing passed, and he could see the port. He was almost there. But the port moved on. He had to get there before the next wing swept by, leaving him to crash into the smooth side, nothing to grip. Too close. Too close!
He was moving in rapidly, the crucial wing swinging toward him, right at him! He threw out his left arm, fending off the rotating wing, deflecting himself toward the laser port, menace and salvation.
The swinging appendage crashed into his arm, sending a jolt up through his shoulder. A moment later he collided headfirst with the hull of the Cosmos. The wing swept him around as the momentum of his impact rolled him into a ball. The force of his thruster kept him against the hull for a moment, but then he dizzily felt as if every force of nature were working against him. The centrifugal force of rotation tugged him inexorably outward, away from the hull. He extended his legs, and the thruster began to push him up along the hull, away from the laser port. He killed the thruster, but could feel himself tilting outward, falling away from the hull. He pushed against the stubby wing and lashed out desperately with his right leg, kicking along the hull until he felt the ominous opening of the laser port.
Only a few minutes had passed, but scarcely a few more had been enough to kill. He simply prayed that he would not somehow trigger a similar blast. He felt the upper side of his boot catch over the rim of the opening, his toe extending inside the port. The friction gave him some anchor, but his upper body tilted away, still at the mercy of the centrifuge.
A hand reached out, and he grabbed at it without thinking. Only after a moment of relief did he realize in horror what it was. No time to think, his boot could slip at any moment. He pulled frantically against the centrifugal force— grabbing hand, forearm, shoulder, then reaching beyond the helmet to grab another handful of suit near the other shoulder. He was too busy to look, too frightened to look, but he caught a glimpse of gaping mouth and eyes staring in perpetual shock. He stuffed his hand into the torch-cut hole, searching for the grip to share with a dead hand.
There! A reinforcing bar! Got to—Finally the infinite sinking relief of a secure handhold.
As he grabbed the fixture within the hole he became aware of the shaking of his leg from tension and too much adrenalin. Sewing machine leg, the rock climbers called it. He forced himself to breathe calmly for a moment. He could not wait for long. He was aware of his appendages as never before. His whole consciousness split and flowed to his left hand wedged against the dead one, gripping some frame member, his right foot, hooked upward, straining to keep a purchase on the rim of the deadly laser port. Would he trigger it? What if it goes off? Is his foot out of the way, or will it be seared from his leg? The terrible centrifugal force, pulling, pulling him away from the side. How did he do it, one- handed, with the Cosmos rotating twice as fast?
Jupp tensed his stomach muscles and slowly drew his dangling left leg in against the outward tug of the artificial gravity. His foot bounced against the hull, and then he slid it downward, trying awkwardly to keep it against the hull until he could reach the stubby wing. It was like hanging from the ceiling and trying to stand on the wall. Finally, he could feel the surface of the wing. There was some friction on the sole of his boot, precarious but precious support against the outward tug.
Slowly, he released his toehold on the laser port. He twisted suddenly, his left foot slipping on the wing. A surge of panic, primordial, fear of falling, ran through him. He forced himself to have confidence in his hand grip and 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 onto 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 maneuvering again! He watched as the rotation carried him around. Yes! They had tilted down slightly toward 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.
