Чарли Андерс - Nebula Awards Showcase 2018

“I hope the bleeding will stop, but in case it doesn’t, I’m feeding him every drop he’ll take. I have no idea how long he can last on his own, but I know you are only two days away. If there is a human cell in your body, please save my baby. He deserves a chance. He shouldn’t have to—”

She stopped, swallowed hard, and squinted her eyes tight, adding more tears to the orbiting constellation.

“There are records of newborns surviving several days on their own, but they probably weren’t preemies,” Veronica said in an almost-whisper. “But if you hurry, it is at least possible. Just… please, be human enough to save him if you can. I’ll stay with him as long as I’m able. But please come.”

The message ended. I slammed my hand against the nearest wall, which sent me tumbling across the cabin in response and scattered my suit components.

“Show me the intercept diagram,” I said. The chart appeared where Veronica’s face had been moments before. I could tell at a glance that we had no chance, but I asked anyway. “If I can get propulsion control and turn on the engines in an hour, how long would it take for us to rendezvous with her?”

“Five days, two hours, and nineteen minutes. At our present speed we will actually pass them and have to reverse course or wait for them to catch up when we do slow enough.”

“Damn!” I stared at the numbers on the screen, willing them to change.

“I’m sorry,” Huizhu said, “but there is no way to slow this ship enough to meet them in two days.”

What had she said? Was it another hint or had the idea actually been my own?

“Perhaps not,” I said, rapidly collecting the rest of my hard suit, “but we don’t have to slow the ship that much, just slow me . I have some more things for you to design and print, Huizhu.”

INTERCEPT: 0 DAYS, 0 HOURS, 43 MINUTES

I couldn’t move another inch or stay awake for another second. Exhaustion dripped from my every pore like water from a saturated sponge, but I pulled my aching body along the outside of my ship to the next handhold, then the next. My first action after Veronica’s message was to bypass the control system and get the engines burning. Doing anything outside the crèche during a two-gee deceleration was like climbing a mountain with my full-grown twin on my back.

I finished most of the conversion and fabrication work inside the ship where I could at least put a wall to my back for support, but once outside, tethers and brute strength were the only things preventing the ship from flying out from under me and then cooking me in its exhaust.

Two more. I pulled myself “up” the next two rungs and then was able to crawl out onto the makeshift missile-control platform and flop down on my belly. Panting, I fought the urge to close my eyes—just a few minutes more. Instead, I looked down the length of my “rocket bike.”

In the early days of spaceflight, the rockets that lifted humans into space were little more than boosters for nuclear warheads. The astronauts often joked about strapping a rocket to their ass or riding a really big bomb into space. I couldn’t help but think those same thoughts as I peered over the edge of the platform I’d built to replace the warhead on my own missile.

Veronica’s ship was out there somewhere, but even if it hadn’t still been too far away for the naked eye to see, all but the brightest stars in that direction were washed out by the glare from my ship’s drive plume. I positioned myself properly—still on my belly—and cinched the harness straps tight. I wrapped my arms around the plank-width platform and was pleased to find I could still reach the control box. The buttons and switches were spaced wide for fat, gloved fingers. Numbers on two large digital readouts counted down at a blurring speed. It made me nervous. I was used to doing things by voice command and letting computers control critical timing situations. Two cables exited the box. One connected to the missile and the other—this one with an automated disconnect—let me talk to Huizhu.

“I don’t like this,” I muttered.

“You’ll be fine,” Huizhu said. “Humans have been flipping switches for centuries, it’s not that hard.”

“Right,” I said.

“Everything is optimal, attitude-thruster shutdown is coming in less than two minutes.”

I looked down at the counter, placed my finger on the proper button, and waited.

“Our course has shifted sufficiently,” Huizhu said. “If she doesn’t change her trajectory we will miss Veronica Perez’s ship.”

“Any new messages from her?”

“No. Thruster shutdown in five seconds, four, three, two, one…”

For some reason, I found her verbal echo of the numbers on the counter reassuring, and when both reached zero I pressed the button. A faint bump vibrated through my platform as the ship’s horizontal attitude thrusters shut off.

“Main engine shutdown and rocket-bike separation in three minutes,” she said.

I couldn’t help but smile at her use of my term for the makeshift monster I’d created, but it faded when I considered the situation I’d left her with.

“I’ve disabled your attitude thrusters and taken away control of your main engine,” I said. “You’ll be unable to make any course adjustments once I leave.”

“True,” she said.

“So where will this course take you?”

“Into the inner system first. I’ll graze Mercury’s orbit but come nowhere near the planet, then a slight boost from the sun will send me outbound. I’ll officially leave the system in fourteen years, nine months, and three days.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“My receiver and antenna are functioning. I still cannot watch the news broadcasts directly, but I am sure reports of your success will be widespread. I suspect these events will prompt big changes. Thank you for letting me be a part of that. Separation in ten seconds.”

A lump formed in my throat and my eyes stung as I placed my finger on the separation button. “Fourteen years is a long time,” I said. “I’ll get a ship and come after you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Huizhu said. “I’m just a machine. Four, three, two, one.”

Once I pressed the button, I was committed. I would be without a ship and have to board Veronica’s or die alone in space. And from this point forward the actual flight would be fully automated. I couldn’t use the missile’s onboard radar because it was only forward-looking, but with Huizhu’s help I had programmed the course and burn duration into the missile’s computer. There was an abort button but I hoped I wouldn’t need to use it.

With Huizhu’s last words echoing in my ears, I punched the separation button.

The ship’s engine shut off, the umbilical and missile mounts detached with a thud I felt through my plate, then the missile’s motor ignited. I had throttled the thrust down, but it still delivered an immediate five-gee punch that knocked the breath from me. Sudden and intense vibration blurred my vision, but I briefly saw my ship outlined by jumpy running lights as it continued on, then dropped out of sight.

I hadn’t been prepared for the violence of my rocket bike. The control box’s red, green, and yellow lights blurred into a wavering rainbow, my teeth rattled together, and I could hardly breathe. The contents of my stomach rose into my throat and nose. I tried in vain to force it back down, but filled the lower part of my helmet with foul-smelling bile. Lights flashed on my helmet’s HUD, alarms sounded, and powerful suction fans kicked on.

A sudden jolt made me bite my tongue and though still blurry, my view changed from one of bright missile exhaust to the relative darkness of the missile’s side. Part of the support structure for my platform had given way. If it broke loose entirely, I’d slide along the rocket bike and into its exhaust.