Nano (2 page)

1

100 kilometres above the Southern Californian coast, 6 December, 6.37 am Pacific Standard Time

Anton Malkovich gripped the armrests of the chair and stared at the inky black outside. All the blue had gone. They really were on the very edge of space. He felt horrendously sick but forced away the feeling.

Galactic Airways'
Thor 1
could fly to the edge of space, somewhere the boffins called the Karman Line. This was where the atmosphere ended and space began. The guy from Galactic Airways had told Anton it would be a hoot. ‘The experience of a lifetime,' he'd gushed. ‘Not to be missed at
any
cost.' And in a moment of weakness Anton had believed him.

‘At any cost' hadn't been far off the mark: $200,000 for a two-hour flight and just 6 minutes of weightlessness. Later, in a doubting moment, Anton had worked out that this little escapade was going to cost him $555 per second of zero gravity! But then, he could afford it and so could his fellow passenger and business partner, Richie Johnson. According to the latest
Forbes
survey, they were each worth $340 million. But he knew better –
Forbes
had under-estimated by some way.

Malkovich looked away from the window to see Richie's grinning face. His partner gave him the thumbs up and Anton returned the gesture, a little less enthusiastically.

‘Ah, come on, dude,' Richie said raising his hands, palms up. ‘Enjoy yourself, man. Remember, you're dead a long time.'

A voice came over the loudspeaker. ‘Twenty seconds to weightless flight.' It was the pilot, Captain Sue Dunbar.

Anton looked down at himself and saw his fingertips had turned white from gripping the armrests so tightly. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and lightweight boots. The space plane itself was smaller than it looked in the ads, and although the publicists called it a ‘spaceship' it wasn't really, not in the
Star Trek
sense of the word. But it did look long, thin, sleek, like an arrow made from titanium and steel. Pre-take-off, it had glistened in the sun of the Mojave Desert. The inside was utilitarian in the extreme – something like Anton imagined the inside of a futuristic army chopper might look – no creature comforts, all padded walls and a pair of retractable seats.

Anton and Richie had gone through the training program at the launch centre; a four-hour course involving medical tests and instruction. But it had only really been as they boarded that he began to feel a growing panic and a desire to get as far away from the thing as he could. Richie, though, had kept him focused. ‘Think of the publicity,' his business partner had reminded him. And he could not deny the fact that they were getting a lot of attention for this. They were, after all, among the first hundred guests of Galactic to fly on
Thor 1
.

‘Five . . . four . . .' the captain's voice echoed around the compartment. ‘Okay, guys, unbuckle.'

Richie was out of his seat in an instant. Anton watched him float up, a stupid grin on his face. ‘WHOA!' Richie exclaimed. ‘WHOA!'

Anton slipped his buckle open and felt himself lift into the air of the compartment. Hearing a hissing sound, he looked down and saw the seats retract into an opening in the floor and a door close over them. He rose up and felt a sudden sense of euphoria. This wasn't such a bad sensation after all, he thought, as he span around, narrowly missing his friend.

‘Hey, Anton! Glad you stuck with it? You pussy!' Richie called over.

Anton was smiling now and felt himself float up to the roof, bounce back gently and flip over. ‘This is really cool!' he announced, beaming.

‘Sure is, dude! God, ain't it great to be rich?'

Anton laughed. Then he saw the door to the flight deck open and Captain Dunbar emerge, beaming. She was also kitted out in a boiler suit and boots. ‘Mind if I join you?' she called.

It was just as the woman launched herself up to the roof of the compartment that
Thor 1
shuddered suddenly. The two businessmen were so wrapped up in themselves they hardly noticed it, but Sue Dunbar did. She span in the air and gripped one of the holds on the wall. The spaceship shook violently and started to roll. There was a loud bang from the rear of the vehicle.

‘Christ! What was that?' Richie exclaimed.

The space plane's nose pulled up sharply. Then they felt the machine roll 180 and start to dive.

Thor 1
fell 4000 metres in the blink of an eye. The pull of gravity returned with shocking violence, slinging the three people in the compartment across the empty space like rag dolls.

Richie screamed, the sound consumed by the roar of the craft's engines as
Thor 1
shot back down into the atmosphere, furiously sucking oxygen into its engines. Anton felt himself spin over but this was no soft roll, no low-grav game – he was falling under the full effect of normal gravity.

Both men landed hard against the padded floor, a few metres apart. Richie just managed to grab a wall-hold with one hand. Anton flung out both arms on impact and caught his friend's leg. Richie brought his other arm around and grasped the wall-hold with two hands as Anton clung on for dear life and pulled himself up along Richie's body. Finally Anton could thrust one hand out and get a grip on a hold.

Captain Dunbar hadn't been so lucky. Anton and Richie saw her shoot across the compartment towards the door to the flight deck. This was one of the few areas of the compartment not protected with rubber padding. As she covered the final few metres of the passenger compartment, the aircraft jolted again. She smashed into the metal door and tried to break her fall with her hands, shattering both wrists as she landed.

2

Anton pulled himself up on the grip. He was sweating but amazed to feel none of his earlier panic. He seemed to be operating on automatic. He glanced at Richie.

‘You okay, man?'

Richie was speechless with terror, his face colourless.

Anton pulled himself along the holds. The aircraft was still falling, the engines screeching. He caught a glimpse of colour through one of the windows but had no idea whether it was fire or sunlight.

He reached the crumpled form of Sue Dunbar. Turning her head with one hand and holding tightly to the wall support with the other, he looked into the woman's face. She was barely conscious.

Without really rationalising what he was doing, Anton manoeuvred himself around the Captain, found the waist-ties of her jumpsuit and hauled her towards him. She moaned and vomited, the spew tumbling over her face and down to the padded wall. Anton managed to angle the pilot so he could get the waist-ties around the nearest plastic handrail. He fumbled with the fabric and slipped it through the loop, pulled it towards him and tied a knot.

‘Jesus!' He took a deep breath.

‘Anton,' Richie called over. ‘Man, what are you trying to do?'

‘The pilot's alive.'

Captain Dunbar stirred, opened her eyes and convulsed in agony.

‘It's okay,' Anton said uselessly.

The pilot closed her eyes again for a second. She tried to speak but her voice was lost in the screaming of the distressed engines.

‘Copilot,' she gasped.

Anton crawled along the wall, gripping the plastic handrails. He reached the door to the flight deck and pulled on the handle. It flew open, almost knocking his hands from the holds. Levering himself up, he gripped the doorframe with both hands and hauled himself onto the flight deck itself.

The copilot, Gary Shields, was strapped in, his head flung back. A foot-long steel sheet had sliced into his face between the eyes, opening up his head like a split melon.

Anton felt the puke rising up in his throat and looked away. His legs had turned to jelly and the tug of gravity was about to drag him off his feet. He lunged forwards, grabbing at a rack of instruments, his fingers finding a metal handle. He braced himself and took a couple of deep breaths.

‘Copilot's dead,' Anton screamed back to the passenger compartment. He could just see the side of Sue Dunbar's face. Her eyes were still open but she didn't respond.

‘Captain!' Anton yelled.

Dunbar turned her head slowly. Her face a skull, all the life drained from her. She murmured something but Anton couldn't hear.

‘What?'

‘Auto . . .'

He got it. The autopilot. ‘Where?' Anton screamed back.

‘Red button. Direct . . . Directly under . . . joy . . .'

‘Joystick,' Anton said aloud and tore back. He dragged himself forwards to the right of the dead pilot, pulling himself hand-over-hand, grasping onto whatever solid holds he could find. Reaching the control panel, he crouched, one hand clasped around a steel lamp support above the console. He caught a glimpse of the red button. Stretching his left hand down, he brushed the knee of the dead copilot and his fingers found the control. He flicked the switch, hard.

For a second, nothing seemed to happen. Anton yanked himself back up. The aircraft shuddered again. He kept a grip on the light fixture and swung around, almost losing his footing. He stumbled, lost his hold for a moment and tripped towards the door of the flightdeck just as
Thor 1
began to level off back to horizontal flight.

The screaming of the engines began to fade. The aircraft rocked violently one more time, hard left, then right.

Anton fell through the door to the passenger area. Richie was pulling himself to his feet. He was ashen-faced, staring at his friend in disbelief. Captain Dunbar's eyes were closed, her head slumped forwards.

3

7.48 am Pacific Standard Time

The three Silverbacks,
John
,
Paul
and
George
, shot over the coast at Mach 9.6, 35 kilometres south of Palos Verdes. Peter Sherringham was at the controls of
John
, Maiko Buchanan was flying
Paul
and new recruit Chloe Gavoine was in the pilot seat of
George
.

‘Base One,' Pete said into his headset as he watched a holographic display shimmer half a metre in front of him. ‘We're over the coast. Target is 97 kilometres due east. It's flying at an altitude of 10,600 metres. Speed: 1080 kilometres per hour, bearing 34' 16” 12”'.'

‘Copy that, Pete,' E-Force commander Mark Harrison replied. ‘We have a comms link to the people aboard
Thor 1
. The pilot, Captain Sue Dunbar, is unconscious, seriously injured. Copilot is dead. The two male passengers, businessmen Anton Malkovich and Richie Johnson, have suffered lacerations and bruising but are basically okay.
Thor 1
is in level flight. All local airports are on highest alert, airspace has been cleared within an 80 kilometre radius of
Thor 1
's location. It is now circling on autopilot.'

‘Thanks, Mark,' Pete replied. ‘And the two guys on board? I take it neither has any flying experience?'

‘None at all.'

‘So what's the plan?' Mai asked.

‘Tom's going to work it from here.'

‘Well yeah, in theory,' Tom Erickson interrupted. ‘It ain't easy though. There was an electrical fault in the engine that appears to have knocked out half the plane's systems. Most of the plane's computer systems have been compromised. Sybil is working on repairing them from here but it'll take time.'

‘How long do we have?' Chloe Gavoine asked.

‘That's the biggest problem,' Mark responded. ‘
Thor 1
is almost out of fuel. We estimate we have a little over 12 minutes.'

‘Christ!' Pete exclaimed.

‘Which is why we have to attempt two rescue plans at the same time. Tom will work on the cybernetics. If he and Sybil can fix up
Thor
's nav circuits and intervene, we'll try to land the aircraft remotely. Meanwhile, you three have to take up formation under the aircraft and construct a nanonet.'

‘Should be fun,' Pete replied. ‘But I guess there's always a first time for everything.' Without another word, he pulled the Silverback around and the other two pilots followed his lead.

Ninety seconds later, the three E-force jets had arrived directly over the stricken suborbital vehicle.

‘We have direct visual,' Mai reported to Base One. ‘
Thor
is 4800 metres below us.'

‘Copy that, Mai.'

‘How's Tom doing?' Pete asked.

‘Struggling,' came Tom's distracted voice over the comms.

‘Okey-dokey,' Pete retorted. ‘We're going down.'

Pete swung around to port and, moving faster than the human eye could follow, descended 4700 metres in under 3 seconds to take up position 100 metres above the space plane.

‘
Thor 1
,' Pete said into his headset. ‘This is Silverback
John
from E-Force. Copy, please.'

‘Hello . . . hello?' Anton Malkovich and Richie Johnson replied in unison. The comms link was patched into a speaker in the passenger compartment of
Thor
. The unconscious pilot was stretched out on the padded floor. Anton and Richie were hunched up on either side of her.

‘This is Pete Sherringham. Our base has contacted you.'

‘Yes . . . yes,' Anton managed to say, the terror clear in his voice.

‘We're going to get you out of there, okay, guys?'

No reply for several seconds. Then . . . ‘How?'

‘Is that Richie or Anton?'

‘Richie.'

‘Our tech guy is working on taking over the controls of the space plane so he can guide you to a landing strip.'

‘And if he can't?'

‘We have a backup plan.'

‘Jesus, man,' Richie said, his voice trembling slightly. ‘We're meant to believe that's even possible?'

‘It is, young fella,' Pete replied, his Geordie accent breaking through. ‘Now just sit back and try to stay calm. I know that's a hard ask but you have to try . . . yeah?'

‘How long do we have?'

‘Until when?' Mai interjected.

‘Well, the fuel won't last forever, will it?' Anton said.

Mai looked at her control panel. They had a little over eight-and-a-half minutes of fuel left.

‘Plenty of time,' Mai replied and switched off the link.

‘I'll take the nose end,' Pete said into his headset. ‘Mai, you go to starboard. Chloe, port. Just like the simulators, okay, girls?'

Mai laughed. ‘Yep, Pete, just like the simulators!'

Pete glanced at his controls. The inside of the Silverback looked stark – flat shiny surfaces, gentle curves and black carbo-plastic displays. Not a gauge or dial or knob in sight, everything digital and touch-sensitive. He saw the time display. They had 8 minutes 6 seconds until
Thor
's fuel ran out.

‘Okay, guys.' It was Tom's voice coming over the link from Base One on Tintara Island, some 2000 kilometres away. ‘Sybil has repaired the plane's systems. And I'm switching its network over to ours on three.'

The seconds ticked down and Tom said, ‘Engaged.'

Nothing happened.

‘Damn it!' he exclaimed. The link had snapped almost the second it hooked up. ‘I'll start again.'

‘Right, Pete,' Mark interjected down the line. ‘Get weaving.'