Acid Sky (10 page)

Donahue made some more notes, and smiled.

‘Right. Just the fitness test now.’

Clare ran round the corridors of the
Langley
, her footfalls echoing off the bare metal walls. Donahue had given her precise instructions on the route to follow: once round the upper deck living quarters, then out and round the side corridors, up and down the stairs in turn over four circuits, then back to the sick bay.

Donahue had said that it was about a kilometre, but to Clare, it felt more like ten. Her head ached, and her heart had started pounding before she had even gone a hundred metres. How could she be so unfit?

She started down the stairs on the port side, then when she reached the bottom, ran along to the next stairs, and up again. Along to the end, and down again. Her calf muscles were tight with pain. She reversed direction and ran back to the second stairs. Up, along, and down again, and now she just had to repeat the circuit three more times before she could head back to the sick bay …

‘Good effort, you’re only just over time,’ Donahue said cheerily as she stood at the door, checking her watch. ‘Now, hold still, I’m just going to take your pulse. How do you feel?’

‘Breathless,’ Clare blurted out, leaning against the wall. ‘No strength.’

‘That’ll pass.’ Donahue checked the reading and handed Clare a fat tube with a mouthpiece. ‘Blow into this as hard as you can.’ Clare did so, and blew until she saw specks in her vision.

‘How did I do?’ Clare gasped as she followed Donahue back into the sick bay. Donahue was reading the results off the breath analyser, and indicated that Clare should sit down.

‘You’re passed for flying. No manoeuvres over two gees for a week, and you’re to tell your instructor immediately if you feel any dizziness, nausea or any visual disturbances like tunnel vision. Report to me again in two days, and again in ten.’

‘Thanks ma’am.’ Clare started to get up to go, but Donahue motioned for her to sit down again. Her breathing was still coming in gasps.

‘It’s okay, you can rest here for a few minutes. Your body’s not used to pumping the volume of blood against this gravity, that’s why it feels so strange, but we’ve got to check that you won’t faint under exertion. Do you know who’s taking you out for training?’

‘Uh – Captain Shaffer.’

‘You must have made a good impression; he’s our most experienced instructor.’

Clare’s heart sank. The last thing she needed at the start of training was their best pilot watching her. She managed what she hoped was a convincing smile while Donahue made some more notes on her file. Her breathing was coming back under control, and she was starting to feel better.

‘Okay, if you can breathe normally, you can leave.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am.’ Clare got up to go. Just as she was opening the door, Donahue cleared her throat and said, quietly but clearly:

‘Watch yourself with Coombes.’

Clare turned back to Donahue. ‘Sorry Ma’am?’

Donahue didn’t look up from her typing. ‘You heard.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Colonel Donaldson leaned back in his chair in his day cabin. As captain of the
Langley,
he had three adjoining rooms: the large dining room, which was only used for full staff meetings and occasions like the night before last; his personal stateroom, which was a larger version of the standard cabins on board; and this smaller day cabin, which was where he spent most of his working time. As well as the main door to the corridor outside, there were two other connecting doors: one led to his stateroom, and the other opened directly into the main control room at the front of the ship.

On a console next to him, he could see at a glance the situation displays for any part of the ship. At the moment, he had it set on the flight operations display, and he could see the aircraft in the traffic pattern, with the carrier at the centre. He glanced at the display occasionally as he read the report that was open in front of him.

A knock came from the door to the corridor.

‘Come in.’ Donaldson looked up, saw that it was Shaffer, and put the report down. He gestured for him to take a seat, and glanced at the coffee machine in the corner. ‘I’d offer you coffee, but I’ve just had the last mug.’

‘I’m flying shortly anyway, sir.’ Shaffer sat down, facing the captain across the office table.

‘Instructing?’

‘Yes. Our new Lieutenant Foster’s first flight in the circuit.’

‘Hmm. Well, given her record, she should be okay. Is she acclimatised yet?’

‘Donahue signed her off earlier.’

Donaldson nodded. There was a pause, then he flung the report down on the desk. ‘I’ve been reading this again.’

Shaffer turned the report slightly to read the title:
Fatal Accident on USSV Langley, June 14, 2141 – Interim Factual Report.
He looked back at the captain, spread his hands expectantly.

‘And …?’

‘The initial findings report is due out next week. And I’m not convinced we’re in the clear.’

Shaffer got up, walked over to the long window set in one side of the room. From this vantage point, he could see a Frigate in the circuit, heading downwind. ‘We’ve been through this before.’

‘Yes. But I’ve been looking at it again. This report is too –
accepting.
It’s like they’re not questioning anything that we’ve told them.’

‘It’s an interim factual report. You wouldn’t see anything like that in it, and if they’ve got no questions, it just means there’s nothing to question. Everything points to pilot error. Regrettable, but it happens. Even on the best-run ships.’

Donaldson drummed his fingers on the top of the desk as he considered Shaffer’s last words. He swivelled his chair to face Shaffer at the window. ‘Have you considered the possibility that that’s what we’re
meant
to think?’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, if they’ve found anything, maybe they don’t want to let us know.’

‘You mean they’re trying to lull us into a false sense of security?’

‘Yes. Exactly that. They want us to think that there’s nothing untoward coming up in the initial findings report.’

‘Well, if they did have any concerns, why conceal them? Why not raise them?’

Donaldson turned his chair back to his desk. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Sir, I was with the investigation team every day they were here, and I saw every piece of data and evidence that they gathered. The data alone went back months. They took copies of all our maintenance records, and I mean
all.
There isn’t anything else that they could gather.’ The Frigate outside had vanished from sight, and Shaffer turned away from the window. ‘With respect sir, I think you’re looking for problems where there aren’t any.’

‘In this job, you
have to!’
The captain slammed his hand down on the desk, glaring back at him. ‘You know USAC’s attitude over any accident. If there’s even the slightest suspicion that procedures weren’t followed – followed
to the letter
– or if some additional action wasn’t taken that should have been, then that’s it for the commanding officer.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘And anyone else that they feel like replacing, while they’re at it.’

‘There is nothing more to find,’ Shaffer said flatly, coming back round to sit down. He faced the captain across the desk. ‘They took everything. Anything factual would be in the report. The rest … is down there, beyond anyone’s reach.’ He jabbed a finger towards the planet’s surface.

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I am.’ Shaffer’s voice was emphatic.

Donaldson stared long and hard at the younger man. He knew that on the face of it, Shaffer was right. But Donaldson’s long experience with USAC Command fed the uncertainties in his mind. Finally he sat back in his seat. ‘Okay. That’s all.’

‘If that’s it, sir, there’s something you can help me with.’

‘Oh?’ The captain raised an eyebrow.

‘Donahue.’

‘What about her?’

‘I want her reassigned.’

‘What?’
Donaldson’s voice was incredulous.

‘I want her reassigned. She’s been asking questions about my people.’

Donaldson glared angrily back at Shaffer. Who the hell did he think he was, asking him to reassign one of his own officers! But if the medical officer was going around asking questions, they had to be careful. ‘What sort of things has she been asking?’ he asked sharply.

‘Questions about things that she doesn’t need to know about. What my people do is none of her business.’

The expression on Donaldson’s face was unreadable. He said slowly: ‘I can’t request one of my officers – especially one in the Medical Corps – to be reassigned without good reason.’

‘If you need one, I’ll find one.’

‘Do you think she’s found anything?’

‘I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell not going to sit on my ass and wait to find out.’

Donaldson sat silent for a long moment, then gave the smallest of nods. Sensing that there was no more to be said, Shaffer got up to leave. He got as far as the door before Donaldson said: ‘Wait.’

Shaffer stopped and turned round.

‘Donahue. She’s very well connected in the Medical Corps. Whatever you find – whatever you do – go carefully. I can’t protect you if she goes over my head.’

‘Sir.’

When Shaffer had gone, closing the door behind him, the captain sat for a long time, thinking. The request for Donahue to be reassigned was ridiculous, but if she
had
found something … His sense of unease, which had been briefly assuaged by Shaffer’s assertions, returned to trouble him, and he picked up the report again, flicked through it. It was the usual stuff for a factual report – descriptions of the accident, the aircraft, maintenance records, landing aids in use, weather conditions, details of the pilot and her experience.

As he turned the pages, he came across the biographical information on the pilot, and found himself staring at a full-length photograph of Keller. She was in her dress uniform, seated for a portrait shot, with a US flag in the background. Her eyes looked back at him from the page. She looked young, bold and beautiful.

Donaldson did not move for a long time, and then very slowly, he reached out his hand, and touched the image of her face in the picture.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Shortly before 14:00 that afternoon, Clare reported to the aircrew ready room, in the starboard lower corridor. She had already collected her flight equipment from the ship’s stores, and found an empty locker with her name on it waiting for her. The room would have been familiar to any naval pilot on Earth; the same rows of comfortable padded chairs, a raised area for presentations at the front, weather displays on the walls, and the inevitable notices and reminders pinned to boards. Nobody else was around. She was already wearing her flight suit, and she shoved the other items of equipment that she wouldn’t need on this flight into her locker.

Shaffer breezed in after her, carrying his flight helmet. ‘Afternoon Foster, I see you’ve already made yourself at home. Got your helmet? Okay, just got to let people know – where we’re going …’ He punched the details of the flight into the operations log, and scribbled their names onto a whiteboard. ‘I’ll do the briefing once we’re aboard.’

Clare followed him out of the ready room and across the corridor to the main airlock into the hangar. He stepped inside the airlock and Clare followed, pulling on her flight helmet. Shaffer helped her attach the reserve air bottle to her flight suit, and checked that the gauge was reading full.

‘I’m sure you know this already, but I need to remind you not to take your flight helmet off for any reason beyond this point. You can open the faceplate once we’re in the aircraft and it’s pressurised, but keep it closed at all other times. The main hangar’s always open to the atmosphere. Right, are we all okay?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right, close up.’ Shaffer lowered his faceplate, and Clare followed. There was a brief hiss of air as the reserve air supply took over. She took a couple of deep breaths to check the airflow, and gave the okay sign to Shaffer.

‘Cycling airlock.’ Shaffer’s voice came from his helmet speaker as he operated the airlock controls, and the console showed the familiar progression of lights as the air emptied and was replaced by the Venusian atmosphere. Finally the status display glowed red, and Shaffer opened the inner door and they stepped out into the main hangar.

It was cold out here after the warmth of the
Langley’s
corridors, and Clare shivered even in her insulated flight suit as the activity and noise of the main hangar surrounded her. Deck handlers swarmed everywhere, carrying power cables and chocks, peering inside opened engines, checking tyres and landing gear. The doors at the front of the hangar stood open, and the roar of air from the open elevator pit almost drowned out the whine and rattle of impact wrenches, squealing of tyres and the heavy clatter of hold-down chains. It could have been a scene from some aircraft carrier on Earth, except that everyone was wearing facemasks and breathing equipment, and this hangar was suspended sixty-one kilometres up in the sky.