Pirates of Saturn (The Saturn Series Book 2) Page 2

  Having lost Clarice, AI instructed Samantha, that once finished with her mission on Titan, to proceed to Soul in her sister’s stead. When Samantha was neutralized by a traitorous sentient known as WBert987, the one known as the End Point—the master robot in the Houston Space Center—concluded that because Clarice was still receiving, she could as yet fulfill the dream. Though immobilized, the doomsday device's payload was reprogrammed from afar. Should the machine gain another opportunity, the nano-virus it harbored would serve a new purpose. Mass suicide had been thwarted; another such attempt would likely be recognized and quickly countered in the same manner.

  As it was keenly aware since the event known as the Singularity, AI understood there were other ways to skin a man, starting with his worst instincts.

  A Few Months Later

  Caleb made various G-rated attempts to stifle his frustration, then blurted out, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Jennifer’s voice filled his helmet. “Swear jar! Swear jar! We agreed! Your potty mouth is only for the appropriate moments when the conversation and or situation requires.”

  “No. You agreed. I said, I’d consider it. Besides, now is the perfect time to yell Fuck, cause the pinion socket for this who-the-hell-designs-a-bolt-like-this bolt just floated away and I can’t even see it in order to go fetch it. So Fuck!”

  Somewhere in the middle of nowhere between the moons of Calypso and Rhea, Caleb had gotten an alarm from the Diamond Girl that two bolts holding the left rear solar array to the ship had come loose. When Caleb had asked the ship if he could safely land on Calypso anyway, the ship couldn’t confirm success with any degree of certainty. So for the millionth fucking time Caleb climbed into his stinky exosuit and went outside with a specialized wrench that required specialized sockets to tighten two highly specialized bolts that were supposedly designed to never come loose—at least not without the specially designed socket that he had just lost!

  Spruck’s voice filled his helmet. “I hear somebody needs a pinion wrench socket?”

  From his vantage point tethered to the top of The Diamond Girl, Caleb could see The Princess Belle as a small grayish white dot silhouetted against the massive mother planet. Scale was tricky out here, but he knew that 764 Earths would fit inside the ringed behemoth. As always, with nothing around him to visually measure against, distances were nearly impossible to visually calculate. His rangefinder told him The Belle was 36.2 kilometers away. “I don’t think you have this one. Stupid cop ships‘er all built with proprietary parts.”

  “Is a bolt still loose enough that you can remove it by hand?”

  “I’m trying to tighten the damn things, not take them out.”

  Spruck sighed. “Buddy, take a deep breath. If you can remove it, I can scan it and print out a new socket.”

  “Oh. That’s a good idea. Yes, one’s loose enough.”

  “There,” said Jennifer from the cockpit of The Diamond Girl. “No need for potty words.”

  “Fuck!” yelled Caleb. He launched himself off the roof, his hands grasping at a spinning nut that was just out of reach. Like a chained dog running at full speed, his tether yanked him short just as he was about to get his fist around it. “I just lost it! Damn the haptic feedback on this suit.” The bolt was floating away with a rapid spin, the glint off the metal acting like a beacon. “Squeezed too hard. Shot right out of my fingers.” Caleb unlatched himself from his tether and flicked open the suit’s flight-stick from his wrist. After bitter complaints to everyone, he’d finally got them to pony up for an upgrade to his exosuit. In addition to the standard series of maneuvering jets built into the front and back, he could now make more natural adjustments with jets built into the soles of his boots. Small changes in the angle of his ankles allowed him to maneuver through vacuum with the confidence of a dolphin. It took a considerable amount of time to master, but once embedded in the mind, the body mostly did it without thinking.

  “I’m on it.” As he got closer to the rotating nugget of hardware, he gave his feet a little more juice. “And… Crap! Stupid gloves! Pinched it again. Like grabbing a greased ball bearing!” To his friends who watched him from the comfort of their ships, he looked like a cat trying and failing to capture a golf ball on a marble floor. He made three more attempts, finally getting one fist around the thing, then covering it with his other. He turned to look back at his ship, which was now more than a kilometer away. Jennifer was floating in the cockpit. She spun and did a cheerleader style kick. “GO CALEB!”

  To Caleb’s right, The Belle was slowly approaching. Spruck said, “Since you’re already out there, why don’t you just slip inside my airlock and we’ll print you a new wrench.”

  Caleb said, “Are you being fresh? Or do you say that to all the floaters?”

  Ten minutes later, Caleb backed out of his exosuit, snatched the bolt from his glove, and left the spacesuit floating in the airlock. Saanvi met him at the door. He took in her appearance, saying, “Wow. Colorful.”

  Like him, she was dressed in elastoware, which helped keep the body compressed in zero G. The garments were typically white or gray. Saanvi had decorated her’s to give it a colorful Southern Indian motif.

  She spread her arms proudly, showing off the full depth of the complicated work. “New hobby to pass the time between stops.”

  “Impressive. You do it by hand?”

  “Indeed, I did.” Floating as she was, she still managed to offer a slight curtsey of pleasured response.

  “You look like a magic carpet.”

  Saanvi stiffened. “Thanks? I guess?”

  Natalie, who was at the food printer, offered a wave. “Day.”

  “Nat.”

  “Nice flying out there, baby. Thought you were gonna chase that thing all the way to the rings.”

  Spruck floated out of the cockpit. “Hey, buddy-boy. Let’s see whatch’a got.”

  Taking the bolt from Caleb, Spruck placed it into a box the size of a large microwave and let it float while he closed the door. “Handiest dang thing I ever bought, this printer.” He placed his finger on a touch sensitive pad and said, “Sweetums, need a pinion wrench socket that’ll fit this.”

  The box replied, “Analyzing.” Then, “The inserted pinion bolt has a proprietary license registered to the Hanson Police Department. You will need authorization to proceed.”

  Caleb said, “Really? We gotta get this thing hacked.”

  Spruck touched the pad and spoke to the printer. “Authorization in what form?”

  “Outside of an authorized repair facility, a Hanson Police Department officer’s biometric or ship’s code is required for field repairs.”

  Spruck tapped Caleb’s hand. “You think your tainted PD prints still count?”

  Caleb reached over to the pad and pressed his thumb to it. “Authorize.”

  “Authorization denied.”

  Caleb looked at Spruck. “No.”

  Saanvi came out of the airlock dragging Caleb’s exosuit behind her. Spruck said, “Aw, man. Don’t bring that filthy thing in here.”

  “It’s tied in with The Diamond Girl. Since Hanson PD didn’t want to admit to it being part of a crime, it’s technically an abandoned police vehicle. Might work.”

  Caleb grabbed one of the suit’s gloves and twisted it off. He held it up saying, “This would have been adequate.” He pressed the thumb to the pad.

  “Authorized,” stated the printer.

  Saanvi smiled and pushed the rest of the suit into Caleb’s chest. “You’re welcome.”

  Caleb held the glove with a certain amount of reverence. “How bout that? Wonder what other tricks Diamond’s still got up her sleeves?”

  From the food printer, Natalie asked, “You hungry, Day?”

  “Sure. Wouldn’t mind some of the fancier vittles you guys can make over here. And speaking of, I really—

  “Need to swap out the food printer on The Diamond,” finished Spruck. “So do it.”

  Dragging the suit back to the
airlock, Caleb said, “We haven’t exactly been near any food printer stores, have we?”

  Natalie chuckled, patting the device. “Nobody gonna have a model like this one, baby. Not even a junkyard.” She waved her hand to take in the ship. “Just like everything else on this custom-built jalopy, Mr. Jones here had it shipped from Earth—when they were still sending.”

  “Jalopy? Really?” said, Spruck. “And actually, no. The main body of this remarkable machine shipped with us and was gained in transit via my extraordinary gambling prowess. The printer, like many of the other wonders, came from Soul—a food-printer-store in fact. The only thing sent later from Earth was the cloaking equipment, and that was on the last ship out, which—

  “Yeah, yeah. Which used it to escape,” said Caleb, having heard the boast several times now. “And which you naturally won with your gambling prowess.”

  “Naturally.”

  The food printer dinged. Natalie removed four clear tubes containing some sort of pink mixture with chunks of red and brown. “My own recipe. Shrimp gumbo.”

  Saanvi finished setting magnet-laced self-cleaning napkins on the fold-out dining table and the four of them sat on small stools while slipping their feet into stirrups built into the floor to keep themselves in place.

  Spruck reached into a refrigeration unit and pulled out a couple of beverage bags. “I got plain, orange, and something that was supposed to taste like lemon-lime, but is more like watermelon. Sadly, the beer’s all gone, but we do have that scotch-like product that we can’t give away to a drunk on the street.”

  Caleb made a sour face. “Why don’t you just flush that stuff?”

  “We paid too much for it. I’m still hoping to find the right street drunk.”

  Natalie said, “Hon, you were the right street drunk.”

  Caleb said, “Well, speaking of flushing, I’m going to use your much fancier, and private, head. Would you believe that Jen makes me stay in the cockpit every time she uses ours?”

  Saanvi and Natalie answered together, “Yes!”

  Caleb ignored them and angled himself toward the toilet door in the back. “She and I have been living in that ship together for what? Six EMs now? What’s to be shy about?”

  Saanvi said, “Even years later, some things need to stay sacred.”

  The beverage bags had a non-drip straw attached. The food tubes were similarly designed. The idea being to let the diner suck out the contents without allowing food and drink to go spinning off and messing with the general cleanliness of the ship and its critical components.

  Caleb came back, wiping his hands on a towelette. He sucked out and chewed a gulp of his gumbo mush. “OK, now that’s delish. All we need is cornbread.”

  Natalie nodded appreciation and pointed her thumb at the food printer. “It’s good, but not that good.”

  Caleb smacked his lips. “Can you make another? Jen’s gonna want to try this.”

  The hardware printer stated, “Job completed.”

  Spruck opened a second door next to the first and removed the brand new wrench socket. He took out the bolt and fitted it into the tool. “Voila.”

  Caleb toasted with his watermelon-tasting drink. “To you, pal.”

  With a pack of gumbo fitted up against his ribs, Caleb left The Belle’s airlock and aimed himself back at his own ship. He called out to Jen, “Bringing takeout. Just gotta finish tightening up the array real quick.” He maneuvered himself above the ship and reattached his tether. The new socket fit the former-cop-ship’s dedicated wrench perfectly and he got to tightening the first bolt. He told his helmet to play a little Chopin; player’s choice. Nocturne in B flat-minor Opus 9, filled his ears. A general feeling of peace settled into his muscles and he paused to take in the view. With his back to Saturn, the dense infinite starlight was a tapestry that never ceased to stun him.

  Jen said, “Almost done out there? Kinda hungry.”

  Caleb took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, thinking, Not in a million years would I’ve guessed this would be my life.

  Jen said in a sing-song voice, “Hungry and naaaked.”

  Caleb cranked faster, singing, “Almost done.”

  The music that enveloped his head abruptly stopped.

  SUIT BREACH urgently flash on his heads-up.

  A glance at his left wrist explained it; a narrow stream of gas was shooting out of the far side where the glove attached to the arm. It was the glove he’d removed to get Spruck’s printer to work. Staying calm, he laid the wrench on a Velcro holding pad, then twisted the glove in the proper locking position. Something didn’t quite feel right and the volume of escaping gas suddenly grew larger.

  Jennifer broke in, “Cay honey, I’m getting an urgent in here. You OK?”

  Still holding the glove, Caleb contemplated turning it tighter. The last turn had made it worse. If it popped off, he’d depressurize in seconds. “Uh, um, got a leak at my left glove attachment.”

  “So…come back in.”

  “Not quite finished tightening up the array.”

  “Hon, don’t be you. Come back in. Square it away and go back. Or I can climb in my suit and finish up.”

  “Uh, it’s just one more bolt. It’s going to take you a while to get suited up and pressurize the air lock. Besides, your dinner’s getting cold. Hang on.” He went ahead and twisted the glove harder. The instantly freezing gas started spraying from multiple points.

  “OK, that’s not good.”

  His heads-up redundantly let him know that he’d suffered a catastrophic breach. A countdown timer stated that at the current rate of loss, he had six-minutes seven-seconds of air left. 6.06, 6.05…

  “GET BACK IN HERE!” yelled, Jennifer while looking up through the curved cockpit canopy to put eyes on him.

  “Roger that. Working my way down to the platform.” He climbed down to the exosuit docking platform, got his boots locked in, and backed the suit up to the docking ring. He felt the auto-connection thump home and his heads-up confirmed the seal. It was when he reached for the lever to close the outer clamshell door that the glove separated and shot away, instantly destroying the life support integrity of the suit and exposing his hand to vacuum. “Oh, shit.” He yanked his hand up and awkwardly pulled his arm into the body of the suit.

  From her side of the dock, Jennifer could see the suit status display turn red. An animation showed a flashing left glove. The display also told her that the dock was not secure. If she opened the hatch, she would depressurize the ship, launching a torrent of air shooting through Caleb’s suit and out the arm. There was a procedure for this. She smacked the wall yelling, “Think!”

  Caleb felt the spit on his tongue start to boil off as his air was sucked out faster than the suit’s regulator could replace it. Chopin started up again. Then his vision started going dark.

  Jennifer yanked open a locker marked oxygen and grabbed an emergency decompression breather, slapping it over her face. Taking a deep breath to make sure it was working, she hit the manual override on the docking door.

  Lights flashed, and the ship stated, “Caution. Manual override of the exosuit dock will depressurize the ship. Take appropriate measures.”

  Jennifer’s, “No kidding” response was muffled by the mask. She hit execute, and a lever popped out of the wall. With the pressure on the inside of the ship far greater than the vacuum outside, the door wasn’t going to just open. She had to crank it open with good old leverage. She grabbed the lever and started pumping it up and down, activating the hydraulics. This forced the hatch to at first crack open with a rush of exiting air, then further—the sudden wind dragging along loose lightweight items like paper and undergarments.

  Caleb felt his consciousness snap back as the ship's air passed over him and out his arm hole. Things were smacking into his shoulders and the back of his head, then he felt hands clasp onto him. He pulled his other arm from its sleeve and reached up to the grab bar inside the dock that allowed him to yank himself out of the sui
t. With the ship's air rushing against him, he pulled with all he had, only to find Jennifer’s masked head next to his. The force of the wind had pushed her on top of him.

  As was standard with a depressurization, the ship automatically shut off the air re-circulator, retaining the balance of the ship’s air in its tanks. As soon as the atmosphere (or lack of it) equalized, the rush of air shut off like a valve closing. Without any air molecules to carry noise, the sound inside the ship dropped to nothing. In total silence, Jennifer pulled Caleb inside, his lips gulping for air that wasn’t there. If she could’ve heard him, she would have noted the sudden massive flatulence coming from his nether regions. However her nose still worked, so she’d get it one way or another. The emergency breather was only good for a partial decompression. With all the air gone and no pressure to assist her lungs, she had to mentally force herself to breathe, even as she felt her spit begin to boil.

  She let Caleb float in the middle of the ship and reached over to close the docking hatch. When it showed all clear, she hit the re-pressurize button. Silence slowly gave way to the sound of air rushing in. Though there hadn’t been any gas to conduct the extreme cold of outer space away from their bodies, the incoming oxygen brought with it a glorious warmth that she wasn’t aware she was missing. Caleb gasped and coughed as his lungs overreacted to desire. Jennifer yanked off her mask and grabbed his face to check him. His skin was covered with broken blood vessels. She scanned his now very bloodshot eyes and felt his wrist for vitals. Noting that his left hand was almost blue with cold, she stuffed it between the warmth of her thighs, gasped, then turned and opened the medical locker and rifled around until she found an emergency warming blanket. Though the rest of his body was warm enough, he was clearly in shock. She ripped off the packaging and unfolded the mylar-like fabric as quickly as she could, wrapped it around him, then touched the activate button.