The Stainless Steel Rat Returns Page 10

  “With good reason I’m afraid.”

  I poured out drinks for us both. Then spoke to the point since I knew that she could handle any occasion—and loathed secrecy.

  “We will be having a spot of trouble in a few more hours.”

  I couldn’t repeat all the physics data that the captain had made so murkily clear, nor did I try.

  “The details are both complicated and inescapable. One thing that I can say is that at the conclusion of our Bloat we may be in trouble. That is, we may be fried. All we can do is wait and see.”

  “Then there is nothing more to talk about. Let’s finish this drink and go see the captain. We must try and cheer him up.”

  My level-headed darling was even cheering me up!

  Nor was the captain just sitting on his hands. Engineer Stramm had joined him and they were working deep within the control board. Panels had been opened and cables ran to a newly constructed apparatus that had been bolted to the top.

  “Ready for test—” Stramm said.

  “Now!”

  The captain threw a switch. Nothing happened.

  That we could see. Obviously the engineer could see more. He smiled and tossed his screwdriver high, caught it as it fell.

  “Total elapsed time—a shade under two seconds.”

  “Can we reduce that any more?” the captain asked.

  “Not possible. The Bloat termination signal is only three milliseconds long. This has to be transmitted, modified, electronically amplified, relayed—and the new course activated. We’ve already made the activation time as short as we can.”

  “All right—we can live with that. But we better test it a few more times.”

  “Could the humble peasantry be informed just as to what is going on?” I asked.

  “Simplicity itself,” the captain said. “The electronic circuitry we have installed here will be automatically activated the microsecond the Bloat ends. A new course has been calculated—pointing ninety degrees away from the original course. We will be in normal space-time for less than two seconds—then we will again be safe from outside radiation.”

  “And just what will happen during those two seconds?” Angela asked.

  “Radiation from the nova will hit our hull. It will be quite high and quite sudden. I will not hazard a guess as to just what the results will be.”

  “Do we tell the passengers what is going to happen?” I asked.

  “As captain of this craft that is now in powered flight, I am in command. I have decided there would be no point in informing anyone else about what is happening. Though she is old this spacer is soundly built and has plenty of shielding. I think she will survive . . . or . . .”

  The silence lengthened—until Angelina spoke.

  “Or we will never know what hit us.”

  He nodded. “That is correct.”

  After that, it was just a matter of marking time. I went to refresh our drinks—and supply Stramm with one since he was now officially off duty. When I got back to the bridge with the tray I found that Pinky had joined the party. Since she had learned how to climb stairs she had the run of the ship. She was mumbling with pleasure as Angelina used a steel brush to comb out her quills.

  “How much more time left to end of Bloat?” I asked, putting the drinks tray on the plotting table.

  “About twenty-six minutes,” the captain said. “I’ll switch on the countdown at zero minus one minute.”

  The silence grew as we sipped our drinks. There was nothing more that could be said. Perhaps it was a time for introspection not conversation. In fact I was startled when the recorded voice said . . .

  “Sixty seconds and counting . . .”

  Angelina reached out and took my hand. I squeezed back.

  “Thirty-one.” The seconds remorselessly ticked by.

  IT ALL HAPPENED IN AN INSTANT

  A shudder hit the fabric of the ship and the steel wall vibrated, while the floor twisted horribly under our feet.

  Three different alarms screeched and roared out sound. The lights went out and at the same moment all the control boards went dark. I fell against the wall and felt it warm, then hot against my skin.

  Then the alarms died away, one by one, as the red emergency lighting flickered and came on.

  I stumbled over to Angelina and held her tightly—and she smiled.

  “Let’s try not do that again,” she said.

  The captain was feverishly working at the control board, restoring power to the instruments one by one.

  “No hull damage. No air leakage,” he said. “But all of the pickups, monitors and aerials on the outer skin are gone.”

  “Not all of them,” Stramm said, pointing to two glowing readouts. “These were on the far side of the hull, away from the nova flare.”

  “They will have to do as long as we are in Bloat space.”

  “Do you have replacements.”

  “Of course,” Stramm said. “Required by law. That and a spacesuit for external repairs.”

  “Can someone go out and do that now?” I asked.

  The captain shook his head. “Not while we are still in Bloat space. People have gone outside during Bloat . . .”

  Stramm spoke into the silence. “None of them ever came back.”

  It was Angelina who suggested the obvious.

  “Shouldn’t you make an announcement to the passengers? Give them a little reassurance after the shaking up they just had.”

  “Of course,” the captain said. “Please excuse my delay.” He switched on all the speakers throughout the ship. Tapped the microphone and got a happy amplified thud in return.

  “This is your captain speaking. While making course adjustments to our main drive we encountered a spatial anomaly, which are quite common in this area of space. The jarring you felt was transitory and brief, though it did actuate some alarms. Rest assured that everything is under control again and there was no damage. Sire diGriz has asked me to extend his apologies for the incident and wishes every table to have two bottles of wine with dinner tonight.

  “Have a good day.”

  He turned the speakers off and winked at me. “Hope you don’t mind my spending some of your money to take their minds off this little matter.”

  “You speak with my voice. But, one question. Do you know where this Bloat is taking us?”

  “No. But we’ll find out in ten hours at Bloat’s end. Since we are moving away from the nova, on a course only ninety degrees from the original one, I allowed enough time for us to be clear of the radiation.”

  Stramm started for the door. “I’m going to crack out the space gear. As soon as the Bloat is over I have to inspect the hull for damage.”

  “A question before you go—” I said. “How many hours spacewalking time do you have?”

  “Well . . . offhand I’m not sure . . .”

  “I am. Since I have a senior license and over three thousand logged spacewalk hours,” I said. I didn’t bother to add that this all happened during a little prospecting I once did. On a carbon satellite with diamond infarcts that I, just by chance, happened to be on when the owners were absent.

  “I think it would be wise for me to go out and inspect the damage after you tell me what to look for. Then I’ll make any needed repairs. Now, let’s go see your space gear.”

  “Time to take tea with the passengers,” Angelina said. “Build a little morale among the ladies. The men will be busy enough by now calming down the porcuswine.”

  We all left the captain to brood over his control panel. The hull had cooled down by this time and everything seemed back to normal.

  The secure section of the storeroom was locked and sealed. Stramm had to call the captain to get the correct code to open it. The spacesuit, in its own sealed container, was hanging from a hook on the back wall.

  “Wonderful,” Stramm said, brushing dust off the inspection label that was just visible through the thick, transparent wrapping. “Last inspected a little over ninety yea
rs ago.”

  “They last forever—very durable,” I said. With more enthusiasm than I felt.

  We struggled it out of its wrapper to reveal the cheerful label.

  ACME SUPER SPACE GEAR ONE SIZE FITS ALL

  “That’s impossible,” Stramm said.

  I was tempted to agree but stayed silent to keep the morale up. Not his—mine. I’ve seen these bargain spacesuits before.

  However, this one seemed to be pretty functional. The fits-all was accomplished by a built-in series of pneumatic chambers and pads—and a control panel on one sleeve to activate them. I entered my height, weight, body-fat content, arm length, shoe size and everything else barring marital status. Then switched it on.

  “Here’s hoping,” I said, not too enthusiastically.

  It crackled, writhed, swelled and contracted—groaning all the while as if going through birth pangs. All this activity finally stopped: a green light came on and a tinny bugle sounded a brief battle charge.

  “Try it on,” Stramm said. He had been watching all the activity with widened eyes.

  Then all movement stopped. A red light flashed and a rasping voice said: “Low battery, low battery, recharge . . . krrrk . . .”

  Everything stopped, then the light blinked out.

  Stramm unsealed the battery compartment and pulled the battery out.

  “Not too bad—considering how long it has been since the last charge.”

  “How long will the recharge take?”

  “At least five hours—if it takes a charge at all considering its age. But I have replacements in stock.”

  A rumbling borborygmus sounded from my stomach. With all that had happened it had been a long time between meals.

  “Time to take my wife to lunch. I’ll see you later.”

  PINKY JOINED US FOR LUNCH and, since she was inescapably a swine, made a pig out of herself. We left her sleeping deeply under the table, her bristles rustling softly with her breathing. We had just finished when we were called to attend the captain.

  Stramm was already there when we reached the bridge.

  “Fifteen minutes to Bloat termination,” the captain said. “Because of spatial attenuation we only have a very vague idea of space ahead.”

  “But no novas this time?” Angelina said.

  “Indeed not. From what is visible it seems normal enough. But remember, this is an emergency hookup to the one remaining pickup that survived the heat. It’s designed for landing approach use and has little magnification.”

  “Better than nothing,” I said. “We’ll at least have some idea of where we are.”

  We were all grouped in front of the screen when the Bloat ended. With a soft ping the screen cleared and the stars swam into focus. Rather, one star did. All of the others were dim and distant, barely visible on the screen.”

  “Not too promising a start,” I muttered. And tried to smile when the others glared at me.

  “That’s the best we can do now,” the captain said, looking at me. “It will be necessary to restore the hull instrumentation components before we can know any more.”

  “Good as done,” I said. Hopefully. Because I had the strong feeling that it was not going to be that easy.

  It wasn’t. Getting into the spacesuit proved to be the easiest part of the job. Getting out of the ship was much harder.

  “The stern exit lock won’t open,” Stramm said. “I should have known.” “Why?”

  “The nova. Those three seconds of radiation melted all the external fittings. Essentially . . . the outer door is welded shut.”

  I was feeling welded shut too, since the spacesuit coolant could only be turned on when it was sealed and in space. I laboriously climbed out of it while the engineer tested all the controls in every hull sector.

  “Got it!” he announced happily. “There is a single emergency inspection port that was on the shadow side of the hull when the nova blast hit us.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  We ran into trouble at once.

  When we tried the opening cycle on the inner door the motor and the gear train squealed and protested for a moment—until the safety override popped open. Stramm looked closely at it and growled angrily. “Hasn’t been used in years. Practically welded itself shut with disuse.”

  Brute force was the only answer. Only after an hour of hammering, prying, oiling, cursing did we get it open. Squeaking loudly it finally swung wide and a puff of stale air blew out.

  “Maybe the outer lock will be easier,” Stramm said hopefully, wiping his streaming face with an oily cloth.

  It was not. Particularly since I had to do it alone. Because of all the interlocks that prevented both airlock doors from being open at the same time. Which would of course let all the ship’s air into space.

  I put on the spacesuit and, with the engineer’s help, squeezed into the airlock. It was essentially a tube about two meters long. I went in headfirst, lying on my back as he passed me the tools I would need, pushing them in past me to the far end.

  “Better seal your suit before you start banging anything.”

  Happily, I thought, as the cooled air was pumped past my face. Once the helmet was closed—and the inner door as well— we had to communicate by radio. Static crackled in my ear.

  “Facing the hatch, the hinges will be on your left . . .”

  “I know,” I growled, sweaty and not a little claustrophobic. “I’m trying the opening handle now.”

  Of course nothing happened. I cursed and banged, first by hand and then with a pry bar and extension. In the end we had to open the inner hatch and laboriously push a hydraulic jack in over my tender body.

  With the hatch sealed again I positioned the jaws of the jack under the outer door handle and started pumping. I worked the pump and sweated and was rewarded with a squeal of metal. I pumped again—and saw that the steel handle was beginning to bend. I stopped and caught my breath.

  “How’s it going?” The voice rasped in my ear. I could only growl in response as I did one slow pump after another.

  The handle was bending—then with a sharp squeal it moved a fraction. The end of the jack jumped free and I bruised my knuckles nicely as my hand slammed against the metal.

  “It’s moving,” I said as I repositioned the jack.

  Two more slow pumps did it. The air puffed out through the dark crack and I was looking out into interstellar space. I pushed hard and it swung wide.

  The stars were brilliant pinpoints, sharp and bright. But not as bright as the disk of the sun that we were approaching. Our destination, growing darker when I turned towards it and the helmet faceplate polarized in the glare.

  I made sure that the magnetic anchor of my safety line was secure, then pushed my way out of the lock and into interstellar space.

  The hull’s surface—like that of all spacers—was roughened by the abrasion of dust particles. Moving slowly I passed the outer lens of one of the instruments and worked my way around the hull.

  Then the surface changed abruptly. It was now glossy and free of any protrusions. All the attachment cleats were gone and only the magnetic clamps kept me from drifting away into space.

  “On,” I said to actuate the radio. “The hull has been melted smooth by the blast from the nova. Mirror smooth. All instrumentation and hull fittings are gone. I’m coming back. This is going to be a bigger job than we thought.”

  Once back inside with my helmet off I downed a liter of water with almost a single glug.

  “There is only one thing we can do,” Stramm said as he pulled out the suit’s absorption pack and put in a dry one.

  “Drill?”

  “Right. Locate the site of the melted instrumentation. Seal the compartment. Drill out through the hull and put in new cabling. Reseal and install the equipment from the outside.”

  “A big job.”

  “I’ll find out from the captain the minimum instrumentation that he needs.”

  I finished the water and sighed. “Let�
��s get going.”

  AFTER THREE DAYS OF SINGULARLY long and hard work, the electronic and ocular pickups were in place. Along with a broadband aerial that would have to handle all communication. I had slept very well indeed and ached in a number of spots that had never ached before. When everything had been installed and inspected, I crawled out of the spacesuit for the last time. Angelina helped me open the last clamps and a frosted glass was waiting when I emerged.

  “The captain asked me to relay his thanks,” she said. “And invites you to the bridge to take a look at our target destination.”

  “Let’s go!” I said. I didn’t want to ruin this happy moment by saying that I hoped all the labor had been worth it. We climbed the stairs to the bridge and were joined by Pinky who squealed greetings. Which probably meant feed me in porcuswinese.

  We looked on as the captain ran a stellar scan, modified it, then put the software to work identifying the location.

  “Not good,” he said. “It appears that we have hit an unrecorded sector of the local galaxy. It is so empty of stars that apparently it was skipped by all the earlier stellar scans.”

  “So what we see is what we get,” I said. “We either take a look at this one star—or make another Bloat.”

  “Correct,” the captain said. “Since we are in close proximity I suggest we expend a few more gravitons and get close enough to make a spectral analysis. That will tell us if it is worth the expenditure to examine any planets that we find more closely.”

  “Do it,” Angelina said. And we all agreed.

  It was a short Bloat and a successful scan.

  “Four planets. One with an orbit that is just one astronomical unit from the primary.”

  “Habitable location?” I asked.

  “Very. And I am detecting what could be very weak radio signals.”

  “Worth a look,” Stramm said; no objections were raised. “May I make a suggestion?” he added.

  “Of course,” the captain said.

  “We are short of gravitons, but not of reaction mass. Which grows by the day. At an acceleration of one G it won’t take us long to get within radio contact.”