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Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
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Click accelerated as much as he could tolerate, and his tough alien body could withstand severe gravitational stresses. Rader’s Deathguard armor protected him.
“Once we are in the densest portion of the Belt, I will cut the engines,” Click continued. “Then our signature becomes identical to that of the other small asteroids.”
Taking a moment to assess his own malfunctions, Rader propped himself against a bulkhead. The cyborg leg had suffered no obvious damage, but the neural pulses from his brain no longer made it move as he intended. Unavoidable glitches, the start of what would be a cascade of breakdowns, and he knew how to do only the most basic repairs. He breathed silent thanks that his systems had functioned long enough and well enough to get him and Click off of Fixion. Now, if he could only find a plan that would get his Jaxxan comrade to safety.
One problem at a time.
Working with enforced patience, still feeling the afterwash of the synthetic adrenaline that had poured through his systems, Rader removed emergency tools, cracked open the primary circuits, and performed a standard reset procedure twice before his armored leg would twitch again. He swung himself back to his feet and tried to walk. He took painstaking steps at first, then limped forward. The metal ladder to the upper deck proved quite a challenge, but he eventually made his way into the control chamber.
Click flew the ship among a cluster of high-albedo icy asteroids. To confuse any systems tracking them, he matched the orbits of random stony asteroids of approximately the same size as the cargo ship, and the glaring sunlight masked their thermal signature after Click shut down the engines.
“We wait half a day,” the Jaxxan said, “then alter course slightly to take us closer to the observatory asteroid. We are patient.”
“Yes, patient.” Rader silently ran thorough diagnostic checks of his systems, his power sources, the alignment of neural conduits, and found many domino-effect malfunctions; his last battle and escape in the Jaxxan base had strained his components, running out the service life. “Take as much time as you need.”
One way or another, he doubted he had more than a week. Click didn’t need to know that, but his empathic senses would probably tell him anyway.
“With the ship’s life-support levels, we can survive for three days. Breathe as little as possible.”
Rader realized it was a joke. “Nobody’s been to the observatory asteroid in ages. Better hope their systems are functional. We won’t make it to anywhere else.”
Click said, “We have nowhere else to go.”
“That’s the next thing I have to figure out.”
While they drifted, Rader tried to implement repairs to his cyborg systems in order to buy a little extra time, but most of the systems were beyond him. And the failings were in his mental interface, not in the large-scale mechanics. He experienced a persistent headache that seemed to be growing worse. His eyesight suffered from double vision, as if the images from his real eye and artificial eye did not align properly.
For two days, they made their cautious, tedious journey across a stepping-stone course. Click monitored the cargo ship’s passive sensors. They were surrounded by far too many datapoints, which was good—a swarm like identical needles in a very large haystack. “I see no indication that pursuers have followed us through the numerous blips.”
Rader’s hope grew as the image of the observatory asteroid grew on the viewscreen before him. It was a domed rock less than two kilometers wide, moving among the rubble in the Fixion Belt. In less than an hour, if Click kept up his improved navigational abilities, they would arrive.
Rader almost smiled for the first time since … since that final day with his squadmates. He should have died then, and that day could have served as his final flash of glory, not this awkward encore. With so much time to think aboard their
“Once we are in the densest portion of the Belt, I will cut the engines,” Click continued. “Then our signature becomes identical to that of the other small asteroids.”
Taking a moment to assess his own malfunctions, Rader propped himself against a bulkhead. The cyborg leg had suffered no obvious damage, but the neural pulses from his brain no longer made it move as he intended. Unavoidable glitches, the start of what would be a cascade of breakdowns, and he knew how to do only the most basic repairs. He breathed silent thanks that his systems had functioned long enough and well enough to get him and Click off of Fixion. Now, if he could only find a plan that would get his Jaxxan comrade to safety.
One problem at a time.
Working with enforced patience, still feeling the afterwash of the synthetic adrenaline that had poured through his systems, Rader removed emergency tools, cracked open the primary circuits, and performed a standard reset procedure twice before his armored leg would twitch again. He swung himself back to his feet and tried to walk. He took painstaking steps at first, then limped forward. The metal ladder to the upper deck proved quite a challenge, but he eventually made his way into the control chamber.
Click flew the ship among a cluster of high-albedo icy asteroids. To confuse any systems tracking them, he matched the orbits of random stony asteroids of approximately the same size as the cargo ship, and the glaring sunlight masked their thermal signature after Click shut down the engines.
“We wait half a day,” the Jaxxan said, “then alter course slightly to take us closer to the observatory asteroid. We are patient.”
“Yes, patient.” Rader silently ran thorough diagnostic checks of his systems, his power sources, the alignment of neural conduits, and found many domino-effect malfunctions; his last battle and escape in the Jaxxan base had strained his components, running out the service life. “Take as much time as you need.”
One way or another, he doubted he had more than a week. Click didn’t need to know that, but his empathic senses would probably tell him anyway.
“With the ship’s life-support levels, we can survive for three days. Breathe as little as possible.”
Rader realized it was a joke. “Nobody’s been to the observatory asteroid in ages. Better hope their systems are functional. We won’t make it to anywhere else.”
Click said, “We have nowhere else to go.”
“That’s the next thing I have to figure out.”
While they drifted, Rader tried to implement repairs to his cyborg systems in order to buy a little extra time, but most of the systems were beyond him. And the failings were in his mental interface, not in the large-scale mechanics. He experienced a persistent headache that seemed to be growing worse. His eyesight suffered from double vision, as if the images from his real eye and artificial eye did not align properly.
For two days, they made their cautious, tedious journey across a stepping-stone course. Click monitored the cargo ship’s passive sensors. They were surrounded by far too many datapoints, which was good—a swarm like identical needles in a very large haystack. “I see no indication that pursuers have followed us through the numerous blips.”
Rader’s hope grew as the image of the observatory asteroid grew on the viewscreen before him. It was a domed rock less than two kilometers wide, moving among the rubble in the Fixion Belt. In less than an hour, if Click kept up his improved navigational abilities, they would arrive.
Rader almost smiled for the first time since … since that final day with his squadmates. He should have died then, and that day could have served as his final flash of glory, not this awkward encore. With so much time to think aboard their
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