Search for the Phoenix: Phoenix Series Book 2 (6 page)

Nolan nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

“This way,” the captain said as he turned and headed up the corridor.

The bridge was fairly standard, though not as automated as the Independence. There were a lot more manual controls than Nolan was used to seeing. He doubted he could fly this ship without lessons were the need to arise. The captain proceeded to the helm and sat, strapping himself in. Nolan suddenly remembered that this ship would not have the gravgen coupled to the drive system. He slipped into a chair to the right of the captain and fastened the harness, pulling the belts tight.

“Officially, I’m going to orbit to test the ship after making repairs. I do that pretty regularly, seeing as this old girl breaks down a lot.”

“Really? How frequent are your failures?” Nolan asked nervously.

“Not to worry, lad. I take good care of the critical systems. I haven’t had a failure of one of them in a couple of weeks. Oh, there’s my departure clearance. Here we go.”

Nolan closed his eyes and gripped the armrests tightly as he felt the ship rise from the pad. The forward acceleration began gently, but it quickly increased to an uncomfortable level, probably around four Gs he guessed. Then, to his horror, the ship rolled hard to the right. His eyes flew open wide. “Oh hell!”

The captain laughed. “Relax, lad. I always do a roll on my way out. It’s my signature, you might say.”

“I think I’m gonna hurl,” Nolan said.

“Hold it in, lad, or you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Nolan couldn’t recall ever being so relieved to reach orbit before. He felt sick, and his legs were shaking. This ship’s gravgen maxed out at half a G, which made it easier for him to get around. He wasn’t sure that his legs would support him at a full G right now.

“We’re starting our orbit, lad. You have ninety minutes to suit up and get into the airlock. I’ll tell you when I’m going to start the venting process. Once that completes, open the outer door and be ready to step out on my command.”

“Yes, sir,” Nolan replied as he headed down the corridor to the preparation room.

The cases containing his pressure suit and helmet were here. He looked around the room until his gaze fell upon an old, decrepit-looking maneuvering pack. After a moment, he continued looking around the room for the pack he would actually be using. To his horror, there wasn’t another. “It’s a museum piece!” he shouted.

“It may be old, but it works perfectly,” the captain said, his voice issuing from a speaker grill overhead. “You don’t have to yell. The ship has an excellent audio system. You’re wasting time, lad. Suit up and get the pack on.”

Nolan opened the larger of his cases. Carefully unfolding his suit, he began inspecting it.

“Don’t just look at it, lad, put it on,” came the voice from above. “The ship has a good video system, too.”

“I always check my suit carefully before I entrust my life to it,” he said.

There was a laugh from the speaker. “Good for you. You have seventy-eight minutes until I throw you out of here, suit or no suit.”

“I’ll be ready,” he said as he continued to inspect his suit bit by bit.

Satisfied that his suit had suffered no damage, he stripped down and put on one of the diapers. Then he opened the airtight seams in the suit and worked himself into it. He struggled a little, trying to close the seams again. This was his backup suit, and it had not been used in more than a year. For better or worse, this was all he had.

After a brief struggle, he had the suit sealed. Opening the smaller case, he removed his helmet and set it on the counter that ran along one wall. Next to the helmet was a rack full of air tanks. He slotted four tanks into the holders on his belt and attached the hoses. All indicated a full charge. Retrieving his boots, he slipped them on and sealed them to his suit.

Crossing the room to the maneuvering pack, he inspected it. Although it was old, the controls were basically the same as any other model he had used. He had to admit, it did appear to have been well maintained. He slid one arm through a shoulder strap, and then worked his other arm into its strap. Applying some upward force, he checked their adjustment. After a few trials, he was satisfied with the fit. Pulling the waist strap tight finished the job. He lifted the pack off its stand, taking its full weight for the first time, feeling thankful for the ship’s weak gravgen. Flipping the main power switch, he checked the pack’s status. The fuel tanks were full and the battery was fully charged.

Nolan powered down the pack and walked around the room a few times, getting used to the feel of it. This was far bulkier than the packs he had used.

The captain said, “It’s heavy, but it also has more fuel capacity than newer units. You’ll need longer to brake, due to its mass, but the good news is that you have plenty of fuel to do it. Don’t do anything stupid, and you’ll be fine. When you get to your ship, take the pack with you. It’s yours, bought and paid for.”

“Wonderful,” Nolan said. “I’ll donate it to a museum when I get a chance.”

“Whatever you want, lad. Say what you will, that’s a good pack. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore. Those fancy new packs are made from composites grown in micro-gravity. Your pack is machined out of aluminum, chrome-moly steel, and titanium. Run into your ship with one of those new packs, and it will probably break apart, release its propellant, and send you flipping around head over heels. Crash into your ship in this pack, and you might gain entry without using the airlock, if you understand me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nolan said.

“Finish suiting up. You have fifteen minutes to the jump-off point, and it takes five minutes to vent the airlock,” the captain said.

Nolan struggled to reach his gloves, which he had foolishly dropped back into the case on the floor. He nearly fell over on his first attempt. Then, he finally managed to grab them, and soon had them on and sealed. He pulled on his helmet and locked the sealing ring around his neck. Reaching for the first tank on his belt, he opened the valve and watched the suit’s internal pressure readout. The regulator seemed to be working, though he was still in a fully pressurized ship. The real test would be when the airlock was evacuated. By then, he’d either step out and carry out his plan, or close the door and return to Caldon. There would be no second chance.

“Into the airlock, lad. You’re making me nervous, cutting things so close,” the captain said.

Nolan opened the door, stepped into the airlock, and closed it.

“Okay, lad, I’m venting the airlock. Watch your suit pressure and hit the red ‘abort’ button on the wall if you have any problems.” Nolan heard the hiss of air being sucked through a valve. His suit’s external pressure indicator showed the pressure slowly dropping. As it fell, the hissing became fainter, eventually fading away to silence. He suddenly realized he would not be able to hear the captain without his suitcomm. Switching it on, he said, “Can you hear me, Captain?”

“There you are! I’ve been calling you. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. I forgot to turn my comm on, that’s all,” Nolan replied

“I was afraid your suit had failed. I was beginning to think I was going to have to clean you off the walls of the airlock,” the captain said.

“That wasn’t included in the deal, I suppose?”

The captain laughed. “Nope. That would definitely be an optional extra.”

“It looks like the lock is nearly vented. How long until the jump point?”

“Three minutes. Are you sure you want to do this, lad?” the captain asked.

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway.”

“Good man. I’m going to open the outer door. Turn to your right and face the rear wall. Step out sideways. That will put your back jets pointing in the direction of travel so you won’t waste any time turning around to begin braking. Remember, that suit is heavy, so you’ll need longer to brake than you might be used to. I’ve done this a few times, lad. When you step out, count to three, and then fire the rear jets on high. You may think I’m putting you out early, but trust me. By the time you scrub your speed, you’ll be floating well within range of your ship. Wait too long to brake, and you’ll sail right past her. Like I said earlier, I’m not coming after you. Traffic control will be monitoring me, and I’m going to continue around in orbit like none of this happened.”

“Look, all this talk is making me nervous. How long now?”

“Two minutes,” the captain said.

Nolan turned to face the rear wall as the door opened. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. What he was about to do was dangerous. The best he could hope for was to reach the Independence and get inside safely. The worst… he’d miss the target, run out of fuel, and either fall back to Caldon, burning up in the atmosphere, or fly off into space where he would suffocate when the air tanks ran empty. He wondered if SACOM might have changed the access codes for the Independence’s airlocks. If they had, the joke would be on them. Nolan had written all the control code on the ship. He had ways to open the airlock that SACOM knew nothing about.

“One minute, lad.”

Nolan’s heart was racing, pounding in his chest and thumping in his ears. In less than one minute, he had to make a choice to step out, or abandon any hope of finding Carl and reaching him. Then, suddenly, he thought of Megan. She should be about a third of the way to Zebulon by now. He knew his uncle would understand his absence, and would take good care of her. She’d be treated like family.

“Fifteen seconds, lad.”

Nolan stepped sideways to the edge of the deck. He wanted to turn and look for the Independence, but feared that it would be a lot farther away than he expected, and he’d be too scared to step out.

“Five seconds.”

In a rush of panic, he realized he was trusting his life to a complete stranger.

“Three… two… one.”

Nolan stepped out. His stomach heaved and adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream. The sudden transition from the half-G of the ship’s gravgen to micro-gravity was sending his entire body panic signals:
you are falling!
He remembered the last time he stepped out of the Independence five years ago. He had to return to the ship to clean the vomit from inside his pressure suit. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was the suit he was wearing now.

He was flying in a free orbit, which meant he was in his own inertial reference frame. In spite of his velocity, he felt as though he were floating, stationary in space. A new wave of panic engulfed him as he suddenly remembered the captain’s instructions. Count to three and fire the rear jets. How long had it been since he stepped out? Without another moment’s hesitation, he fired the rear jets. His mind screamed at him to turn off the jets. He knew the main jets were decelerating him, but every part of his body was telling him that he was accelerating away from the Independence. He let go of the throttle momentarily before his rational mind regained control and he slammed the throttle wide open again. He wished he could close his eyes and wait for it all to be over, but he needed to watch the inertial guidance display to shut down the jets should he go spinning wildly out of control. This old suit relied on a combination of gyroscopes to help stabilize him and a crude thrust control system that varied the power to each jet as needed to maintain stability, and that was entirely manual.

He wondered where the Independence was, and when he might reach it. With no fixed reference point for his position, he could burn the jets too long, come to a stop, and then accelerate back the way he came without ever realizing it. Force equals mass times acceleration. Constant mass, ignoring the consumption of fuel, and constant force meant constant acceleration. He’d never feel a change in his direction of travel.

Then he remembered his helmet had both forward and rear-facing cameras that could be projected onto his faceplate. He quickly enabled the rear camera and looked at the image, partly obscured by the pack, and saw the Independence coming up fast behind him. Watching for a moment, he tried to guess his speed relative to the ship, and then glanced at his fuel gauge. He was glad he remembered to put on the diaper. He was closing fast on the ship, and his fuel was down to twenty percent. Just then, he flew past the ship, still moving at a good clip. He had waited too long to fire the jets, and now he was a dead man.

Three unmarked, black panel trucks jumped the curb and came to a stop on the front lawn of the Galactic Data Center in downtown Aberton, a suburb on the south side of Dawson. Six armed soldiers leaped from each truck and ran into the building. Screams were briefly heard, cut off as the doors closed behind the last of the invaders.

Five minutes later, two soldiers escorted the data center’s director from the building, placing him in a containment cage in the back of the first truck.

Lieutenant Daniel Stevens sat in the director’s rather comfortable chair behind his large desk while the rest of his squad rounded up the shift managers to be introduced to their new boss. He smiled as he leaned back and put his hands behind his head, pleased that this facility was now the SACOM Data Center, confident he would be promoted to captain, finally.

When all the managers on duty were assembled in the director’s office, Stevens stood and paced behind his desk, letting the tension build. These people were nervous, and rightfully so. He enjoyed that, and he wanted it to last just a bit longer.

Finally, he stopped and faced them. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Stevens, your new director.” A soft murmur went through the assembled group. “This facility is now a part of the Strategic Aerospace Command.”

“Where is Mr. Harrison?” someone asked.

“The former director is no longer associated with this agency,” Stevens said.

“What have you done with him?” asked a quavering voice from the back of the room.

Stevens raised a hand like someone swearing an oath. “I assure you, Mr. Harrison is perfectly safe.” He smiled and lowered his arm. “He will be informed of the new management of this organization, and he will be advised to accept a generous early retirement package. At that point, he will be escorted home,” Lieutenant Stevens said.

“What do we do now?” someone else asked.

“You will all continue your work as before, keeping the data system running. That is all,” Stevens said with a smile.

The managers looked around at each other for a moment, and then began to file out of the room in small groups.

When they were all gone, Stevens looked to Second Lieutenant Walter Pierce and asked, “I think that went well, don’t you?”

Pierce nodded. “They took it better than I expected.”

“Are our people in position?” Stevens asked.

“I have them stationed throughout the building to keep a watch on everyone,” Pierce said.

“Good. I wouldn’t want anyone to get any… heroic ideas,” Stevens said.

“We will make a swift example of anyone who tries anything,” Pierce replied.

“Good. We need to keep them in line, and keep them doing their jobs,” Stevens said.

* * * *

Clarice Jones sat at her workstation and watched the SACOM guard stroll by. When he was out of hearing range, she leaned to her left and said in a whisper, “You do realize what this means, don’t you?”

Dan Phelps glanced at her briefly before looking past her to the guard at the end of the room. “No,” was all he said.

“It means they are now spying on civilians. These bastards will be tracking everyone. Everywhere we go, everything we do. And they now have all the records, so they know where we all were a week ago, a month ago, a year ago,” she said.

“You can’t be serious. Why would they want to do that?” Don asked.

Clarice shook her head. “Don’t be naïve. Why else would they be here?”

“He’s coming back,” Dan whispered as he turned back to his data display. As the guard approached, Dan pointed to his screen and said in a more normal tone, “Look at this. We have a high rate of dropped packets to satellite twelve. Its orbital position looks good, so we need to readjust the antenna for the uplink.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Clarice said as the guard continued along the aisle. Beads of sweat covered Dan’s forehead. She slid her box of tissues across the counter to him and whispered, “Wipe your face before someone sees you. You look guilty of something.”

He complied. “What are we going to do?” he asked softly.

“Nothing yet. I need to wait for the right moment,” Clarice said.