Heaven's Shadow by David S. Goyer, Michael Cassutt Page A
Authors: David S. Goyer, Michael Cassutt
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got a look at the leg, and it was not pretty: a combination of bad break and exposure to vacuum . . . the worst frostbite imaginable.
She was conscious, at least. And she gamely offered a thumbs-up. Zack patted her shoulder, then slipped back into the airlock, where a tired-looking Dennis was leaning against the curving wall of the chamber. “What’s the prognosis?”
“She’s alive, but her leg—she will probably lose it.”
“So she should be returned to Earth.”
Dennis smiled and spread his hands. “Yes, by all means, lift off at the first opportunity. Just be sure to let me out before you do... .”
“Come on, Dennis!” Though they had never flown a mission together, Zack had trained with the doctor-cosmonaut in years past. He was well aware that Dennis was fatalistic even by Russian standards.
“A day will not make her condition worse. You should consult with Houston. Or have me come back tomorrow for a house call.”
“Is there something you could do here and now?”
Dennis considered this. “I could set her broken bones. I could also trim the damaged tissue . . .” Without waiting for a request from Zack, the cosmonaut began undoing his suit. “It might take some time.”
“I’ll tell Taj.”
Zack returned to the cabin, almost colliding with Tea, who had just finished attaching medical leads all over Yvonne. “Anytime you want to catch me up on whatever the fuck is going on . . .”
“Watch and learn.” Finding that the communications problem had cleared up, he got back on the line to Weldon, relaying Dennis’s diagnosis and the emergency treatment to come. “Assuming medical gives a go,” Weldon said, “you’re confirmed for one sortie, into the vent.”
“What length?” On the two Venture lunar missions, astronauts had demonstrated the ability to do overnight and even three-day sorties using the rover. It was a vital tool in the box; it was impossible to cover much territory—to literally get more than a couple of kilometers away from your landing site—to do any worthwhile science or engineering, then pack up and return, all in the standard eight-hour limit for suits.
“Overnight. Meanwhile, we’ll start working ascent trajectories for tomorrow.”
So now he was going to be camping out overnight on an alien starship! The fun never stopped. “So, to recap, with an injured crew member and a rival vehicle next door, with no sims or specific prep, we’re supposed to explore an alien starship.”
“Good summary.”
Zack turned to Tea, who was hearing this for the first time. “You’re second in command. Any objections?”
Tea blinked. “You’re not asking me, you’re telling me.” Zack could only nod. “Besides,” she said. “Brahma’ s going in, right?”
Zack picked up the headset. “Houston, Venture . We’re go for First Contact.”
Superhuman effort isn’t worth a damn unless it achieves results.
ERNEST SHACKLETON (1916)
While Zack was dealing with Yvonne’s situation and the larger issues, Pogo Downey had followed Lucas back to the Brahma lander. “Your guy’s giving up his time to help us. Consider it payback.”
It was also a chance to get a close-up look at the Coalition craft and its “harpoon.” Zack’s conclusion turned out to be right: The thing wasn’t a weapon, at least not in any way Pogo could see. It actually gave Brahma an anchor to the slippery, low-gravity surface.
Pogo had conflicted views about Zack Stewart. The man was smart, that was clear. He knew science and engineering. He knew systems and procedures. Unlike just about everyone else, he knew the history of same, the how and the why some systems had evolved.
Even better, he was smart in a smart way; he knew his strengths and his weaknesses. He never pretended to be a pilot, unlike a few other civilian science types in the astronaut office, who started dropping terms like shithot and ops tempo into conversations that previously featured latte and
She was conscious, at least. And she gamely offered a thumbs-up. Zack patted her shoulder, then slipped back into the airlock, where a tired-looking Dennis was leaning against the curving wall of the chamber. “What’s the prognosis?”
“She’s alive, but her leg—she will probably lose it.”
“So she should be returned to Earth.”
Dennis smiled and spread his hands. “Yes, by all means, lift off at the first opportunity. Just be sure to let me out before you do... .”
“Come on, Dennis!” Though they had never flown a mission together, Zack had trained with the doctor-cosmonaut in years past. He was well aware that Dennis was fatalistic even by Russian standards.
“A day will not make her condition worse. You should consult with Houston. Or have me come back tomorrow for a house call.”
“Is there something you could do here and now?”
Dennis considered this. “I could set her broken bones. I could also trim the damaged tissue . . .” Without waiting for a request from Zack, the cosmonaut began undoing his suit. “It might take some time.”
“I’ll tell Taj.”
Zack returned to the cabin, almost colliding with Tea, who had just finished attaching medical leads all over Yvonne. “Anytime you want to catch me up on whatever the fuck is going on . . .”
“Watch and learn.” Finding that the communications problem had cleared up, he got back on the line to Weldon, relaying Dennis’s diagnosis and the emergency treatment to come. “Assuming medical gives a go,” Weldon said, “you’re confirmed for one sortie, into the vent.”
“What length?” On the two Venture lunar missions, astronauts had demonstrated the ability to do overnight and even three-day sorties using the rover. It was a vital tool in the box; it was impossible to cover much territory—to literally get more than a couple of kilometers away from your landing site—to do any worthwhile science or engineering, then pack up and return, all in the standard eight-hour limit for suits.
“Overnight. Meanwhile, we’ll start working ascent trajectories for tomorrow.”
So now he was going to be camping out overnight on an alien starship! The fun never stopped. “So, to recap, with an injured crew member and a rival vehicle next door, with no sims or specific prep, we’re supposed to explore an alien starship.”
“Good summary.”
Zack turned to Tea, who was hearing this for the first time. “You’re second in command. Any objections?”
Tea blinked. “You’re not asking me, you’re telling me.” Zack could only nod. “Besides,” she said. “Brahma’ s going in, right?”
Zack picked up the headset. “Houston, Venture . We’re go for First Contact.”
Superhuman effort isn’t worth a damn unless it achieves results.
ERNEST SHACKLETON (1916)
While Zack was dealing with Yvonne’s situation and the larger issues, Pogo Downey had followed Lucas back to the Brahma lander. “Your guy’s giving up his time to help us. Consider it payback.”
It was also a chance to get a close-up look at the Coalition craft and its “harpoon.” Zack’s conclusion turned out to be right: The thing wasn’t a weapon, at least not in any way Pogo could see. It actually gave Brahma an anchor to the slippery, low-gravity surface.
Pogo had conflicted views about Zack Stewart. The man was smart, that was clear. He knew science and engineering. He knew systems and procedures. Unlike just about everyone else, he knew the history of same, the how and the why some systems had evolved.
Even better, he was smart in a smart way; he knew his strengths and his weaknesses. He never pretended to be a pilot, unlike a few other civilian science types in the astronaut office, who started dropping terms like shithot and ops tempo into conversations that previously featured latte and
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