A novel by Matthew Jarpe  •  Home  •  About the Author  •  About the Book  •    •  Short Stories  •  

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With the arms reeled in, Vasquez began to slowly travel, hand over hand, down the fin toward the torus. When he got there he pulled the jar up over the torus and into the narrow space between it and the disc that housed the crew. There were not many handholds on the edge of the disc, but he found a service hatch outlined in yellow. Nearby was a flattened oval attached to the side of the hull. He couldn't tell how it was attached, so he reached across the gap between the torus and the disc, grabbed the edge of the oval thing and slowly put the weight of the jar on it. It held, so he pulled the jar across the gap between the torus and the hull.

"You're going to have to walk me through this data thief setup, buddy. I didn't even know what it was. I've just been using it as a claw for holding spare parts while I worked with the hands."

"That is a creative use for the apparatus, sir. However, you will find that the thief can extract information from any standard or non-standard data port configuration."

"We just need to find a data port. Let's try under this cover, shall we?"

Vasquez held on to the flattened oval thing with one large hand, then used a medium hand to try and open the hatch. It was locked closed, of course. The laser didn't exactly make short work of the job. It took a couple of minutes to cut away the latch. Vasquez was sweating by the time he was finished.

"God damn, I can hardly catch my breath," he mumbled. He glanced at the environmental status display on the wall of the cylinder. CO₂ levels were high, temp was high. The lights started to flicker. The battery was failing. "Shit, how could I lose power this fast?"

"Sir, your use of the laser hastened the decline in battery power."

"Oh, shit, I hadn't thought of that. I've got to switch those batteries, quick."

"Sir, if I may offer one more piece of advice, you will probably find a power jack under the hatch you just opened. It would be far faster to access that power source than it would be to dismantle my processor and change out your batteries."

Vasquez shook his head. "You're right. Why didn't I think of that?" He pointed his finger at the green screen. "Don't answer that."

Vasquez reached out and opened the hatch. Inside were several types of data and power jacks. He identified the one that was compatible with the jar's power system and plugged the power boom into the appropriate outlet.

The lights brightened immediately, and the air handlers kicked back in. Vasquez hung his head and rested as the cool dry air washed over him and dried the sweat on his skin. It took a while for the scrubbers to get the CO₂ back down. When they did, he was finally able to catch his breath. It had been seven hours since he'd last eaten, and he could feel the radiation sickness coming on slowly. He felt close, very close, to the limit of human endurance.

"Now," he said. "Let's see what this data thief can do."

The thief had a series of metal pins that adjusted to fit into any configuration of data port. He positioned it over each of the open data and communication ports and let the computer configure the pins and insert them.

"OK, now what?"

"The thief will send probes through these data terminals and attempt to gain control of any command functions. It should take approximately five minutes for the results to come in."

Movement caught Vasquez's eye. He turned to look out the window in time to see a figure in a space suit swing up over the torus on a cable and disappear on the other side. The figure moved with an ease of someone born to space combat. It was moving toward the jar.

Vasquez pulled himself into the waldo rig as fast as he could. He didn't bother with the right arm. That one was holding the jar in place. Vasquez shifted up to the big meat hook just as the person in the spacesuit swung back under the torus towards the module and brought up a weapon of some kind. Vasquez caught the attacker in his meter-wide claw hand and squeezed. He felt the initial resistance, then the snapping of bones. Vasquez felt a little bit sick.

The jar rang with the impact of a weapon, and a dent appeared under his feet. He turned the scope in that direction and found someone with a rocket rig flying under the jar, pointing a weapon. He drew back his arm and threw the body he held in his fist. His aim was good. The cable snapped and the body crashed into the guy in the rocket rig and knocked him off course toward the yellow cloud deck of Venus.

"Jesus, what the hell was that just now?"

"Sir, structural integrity is slightly compromised as a result of the attack. No damage to critical systems. It is likely that other attacks will follow. Might I suggest that in the future, you make use of the targeting sight and the laser to fight off these attacks, rather than the actuator arm."

"Oh, thank you very much, mister come in with the advice after everyone is dead. Is this how you helped out the Ticonderoga?"

"I have no memory of events that occurred on the Ticonderoga, sir."

"I can't believe I just killed two people." How was he supposed to fight his way on board this ship if he couldn't stomach the idea of killing people? This was war, right?

"Sir, the data thief has returned with the results of its probe. It has gained control over some of the ship's systems, but not all of them."

"OK, well, that's good then. Can I keep these people from coming out and attacking me?"

"No, sir."

"Well, can I get the airlocks open and get onboard?"

"No, sir. Airlocks are not available."

"Life support?"

"No, sir."

"Communication?"

"No, sir."

"Uh, OK, here's a thought. Why don't you tell me what we do have control over. That might be faster."

"I'm listing them on the screen now, sir."

The list was pretty short. It didn't even take up the whole screen. "Well, it looks like I'll be able to disrupt the food service in the ship's cafeteria. That'll teach these bastards not to attack my planet."

"That is unlikely, sir."

"Hey, and I've got plumbing, too, so I can back up the toilets."

"That is of dubious strategic value, sir."

"Hold the phone, daddy." Vasquez pointed his finger at the screen.

"We do not have access to communications, sir."

"Plumbing. That includes heat exchange, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe I could make them cook in there like they're doing to Cupid. Of course, it would take hours to get the heat up to dangerous levels. Now, then engines, on the other hand. They must be using a lot of power to keep hovering here. These magneto-warp engines are supposed to put out a lot of heat. Just look at the size of those radiating fins. Now, if the heat exchange is stopped, the ferropolymer overheats and breaks down, the engine can't generate a magnetic field anymore and it'll shut down."

"I am unable to assess the effects of a disruption in heat exchange on this ship design. Please update the specifications file to the latest release and resubmit your query."

"No, please don't do this, not now."

"Update the specifications file to the latest release and resubmit your query."

Vasquez punched the green screen with his fist. "You son of a bitch," he screamed. Blood from his torn knuckles smeared across the letters on the screen. "Not now, you son of a bitch." He hit the reset button. Nothing happened. He looked down at the dent in the bottom of the jar. The processor was plugged in down there. It could have been damaged in the attack. The green screen wasn't changing.

Well, there was one change. The food service option was highlighted, glowing bright green under the blood from his hand. He reached up and touched the screen again, under the plumbing option, and it was highlighted. The screen was touch-sensitive.

At the bottom of the screen was the word ACCESS. He touched that and was given a new list of options. He selected HEAT EXCHANGE, then the word DISABLE appeared. He got ready to touch that word.

And he paused. He knew what would happen if he managed to shut off the heat exchanger. He had come this far to save himself, but what he was about to do was suicide. His finger hovered over the word DISABLE. He realized that he wasn't going to save himself. That had never been possible. Then he thought of the miners in Cupid and the other smaller bases on Venus. He couldn't save himself, but he could save them.

Vasquez took a deep breath and touched the screen.

Something stopped. Working in space, you never noticed the various hums and rattles of the machines that constantly surrounded you until they stopped. Some noise on the enemy ship that had been transferred through the hull, through the waldo arm, and into the jar, wasn't anymore. Then he heard the faint and faraway sound of an alarm.

"Critical Heat Exchange Failure" was displayed on a screen inside the service panel. Vasquez waited, fingers crossed, listening for the sound of the exchangers coming back on. They must have a backup system, right? But the warning message kept blinking. Then he waited some more. Surely they would come out here and kick his ass now, right? He had monkeyed with their ship, they must be pissed as hell. But no one came. So he waited some more, until the faint sound of the alarm changed its tone.

"Emergency Engine Shutdown" was the new message on the screen. The massive spaceship no longer hung perfectly balanced over the north pole of Venus. Now it was spinning, and falling.

"I'll be damned," Vasquez mumbled to himself. He knew the limitations of the technology, the dangers of this engine design. But what he knew was theoretical, the design of the magneto-warp engine as it was years ago, before it had even been built. And yet, here was the proof that the limitations were still there. Engineering had not found a way around the problem after all.

There was a jolt, then a second. Vasquez watched out of a window as two escape vehicles blasted away from either side of the disk and headed toward the horizon. It appeared that the crew had taken the opportunity to exit, stage left. Not a bad idea. He switched on the radio and dialed in the frequency from memory.

"Cupid base, this is Emilio Vasquez. Come in Cupid."

"Who?" came the answer.

"Emilio Vasquez. Listen, I just wanted to tell you guys that the spaceship that was bombing you is going to crash into your planet, so you can go ahead and jump in your escape pods. Tell the other mining bases, too, just in case they can't hear me."

"Emilio Vasquez, the junk man?"

"Yeah, let's see if we can all get on the same page, guys. Vasquez the junk man is telling you it's time to get the hell out of there. You might want to wait until the ship crashes so you don't hit it on the way up."

"Why is the enemy ship crashing?"

"It's a long story, Cupid. They had some plumbing problems." He coughed up a little blood, wiped it off his chin. He didn't want to sound like a hero. Even though he felt a little bit like one. "You guys think you'll be OK waiting for a rescue?"

"Sure," the voice from Cupid said. "Resupply is coming in a week. Our escape pods are good for at least that long. What about you?"

"I believe I'm crashing along with the enemy ship. Good luck, Cupid." He switched off the radio. He didn't feel like finishing that conversation.

The spaceship was shaking and spinning fast, now, and headed toward Venus. Vasquez wondered what he should do next, ride it down to the planet surface, or jump off and hope for a trajectory that would take him out away from the planet? He chose poor odds over no chance at all. He pulled himself into the rig in order to release his grip on the flat oval thing, but the shaking of the spaceship beat him to it. The jar broke off and was flung out by the spin. The lights dimmed right away, and the soft hum of the air scrubber quit. He watched the ship slip into the yellow sulfur clouds of Venus, as he sailed off in the opposite direction.

He looked into the scope and saw that the flat oval thing was still gripped in the claw of the waldo arm. It was difficult to shift it without the servo motors, but he managed to do it. It was something to do while he waited to suffocate. He turned the thing over. On the other side, next to a standard air lock adapter, was a sign that said Single Occupancy Module

Type 9: MEDEVAC UNIT

With Robodoc v. 4.1

Vasquez grinned and started to line up the air lock adapter with the one on the jar. Nice piece of salvage.

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