Ben Bova - The Aftermath

Or maybe, he thought, we could make contact with the research station around Jupiter. We’re heading in that direction anyway.

His mother clapped her hands lightly, interrupting his thoughts. “Very well, then. On your feet, both of you! We all have work to do.”

Theo started toward the auxiliary airlock, but his mother stopped him. “Thee, you’ll have to get into your suit.”

“I know.”

“And before you do, I want you to take a shower and put on clean clothes. You don’t smell very good, you know.”

“Aw, jeezus—”

Pauline leveled a stern finger at him. “Language, young man!” Then, despite herself, the beginnings of a smile curled the corners of her lips. “You’re not so big that I can’t wash out your mouth with detergent.”

“Why should I take a shower now?” Theo protested. “I’m just gonna get sweated up again inside the suit.”

“Then you can take another shower when you get back.”

Angie smirked at him. But Pauline went on, “Angela, you’ll have to suit up and check the damage to the tunnels.”

“All right.”

“I’ll try to save some hot water for you, Angel face,” Theo said, grinning maliciously at his sister.

“He’s going to use up all the hot water on purpose, Mom,” Angela accused.

Pauline shook her head. Some things never change, no matter what, she thought. Then she added, Thank god.

I’ve got to be strong, she told herself. For both of them. They’re only children and they’re frightened. I’ve got to get them working, get them to repair the damage to the ship and put us on a trajectory that will take us back to civilization. It’s up to me. There’s no one else until Victor returns to us. I’ve got to make them feel that they’re contributing to our salvation, make them understand that they can save themselves—and me.

After a lightning-quick shower, Theo went alone to the main airlock and started pulling on his suit leggings. Mom’s being a pain in the butt, he said to himself. Shower first. Shower afterward. You’d think I smell like a garbage dump, the way she talks. And Angie just sits there and sneers at me, the dumb hippopotamus. As he wormed his feet into the insulated boots he thought, What if the backup pod’s been hit? Maybe that bastard took it out on purpose.

Theo looked up at the blank, scuffed metal bulkhead. Jeezus, if the backup pod’s out we’re not just up the creek without a surfboard. We’re dead.

Theo wormed into the leggings of his space suit, then pulled on the thick-soled boots. As he hefted the suit’s torso over his head and slid his arms into its sleeves he thought about turtles back on Earth with their shells. Born on the Moon, Theo had never been to Earth, had never faced a full Earthly g, although his parents had always insisted that he and Angie spend hour after pointless hour in the cramped little centrifuge in Syracuse ’s gym.

“Your body’s genetically equipped to handle a full g,” Dad repeated endlessly, “but you’ve got to make sure that your muscles are trained up to their full potential.”

Yeah, right, Dad, Theo thought as he worked his arms into the straps of the suit’s cumbersome backpack. Make sure we’re ready for any emergency. And when it happens, you split out of here as fast as you jackrabbit can.

Theo felt angry. And betrayed. And guilty that he should feel this way about his own father.

He was locking the helmet into the suit’s collar ring when his mother came into the equipment bay, her face tight, tense.

“I’ll check you out,” Pauline said.

“Where’s Angie?”

“She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Maybe I should check the tunnels,” he said.

“No. Let your sister do it. There’s more than enough to keep you both busy.”

And separated, Theo realized. Mom’s pretty sharp.

“You be careful. Thee,” said Pauline. “Make certain the pod’s safe before you do anything else.”

He nodded inside the helmet. “I’ll be okay, Mom.”

“I know you will. I just fret.”

“Yeah.”

“Theo… your father did not abandon us. I don’t want you thinking that he did. He’ll come back, you’ll see.”

Theo couldn’t answer. He knew that if he spoke he’d say something that would hurt his mother.

But she could see the anger in his face. “He did not abandon us,” she repeated.

“Yeah.” He slid the visor down, hoping it would keep his mother from seeing his expression, and clumped in the heavy boots toward the equipment bay hatch.

Up the central tunnel he climbed, the g load getting lighter with every step, and through the mini-airlocks that had automatically shut. When he came to the cross tunnel he floated weightlessly through the hatch and started downhill, toward the backup control pod. He was always surprised at how much effort it took to move himself in zero-g. You’d think it’d be like floating on a cloud, he thought as he clambered along the tunnel’s protruding rungs. Instead, you had to consciously exert your muscles all the time. If you relaxed you curled up into an apelike crouch with your arms dangling chest-high.

The cross tunnel was filled with air at normal pressure, according to the sensors on the right wrist of his suit. Theo stayed buttoned up inside the suit anyway, just to be on the safe side. When he finally arrived at the end of the tunnel, the telltales on the hatch’s control panel were all in the green. He puffed out a sigh of relief. The backup pod hasn’t been punctured, he said to himself. Then he added, if I can believe the sensors.

He tapped out the code on the hatch’s panel and the hatch slid open with a slight grating sound. Hasn’t been used in a while, Theo realized. Dust gets into everything sooner or later.

Cautiously he pushed himself through the hatch and climbed to his feet inside the pod. It was a near-duplicate of the main control center: curving panel of instruments and sensors; electronic keyboards right, left and center; display screens arrayed above the panel; command chair fastened to the deck by its short rails. But the screens were all blank, the instruments and sensors dark.

Theo took a deep double lungful of canned air, noticing for the first time how flat and metallic it tasted. His suit’s sensors told him the air in the pod was perfectly fine. Cautiously, he cracked his helmet visor a millimeter or two and sucked in an experimental breath.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said aloud.

He raised the visor all the way, made a full turn, and decided to take off the helmet altogether.

First, though, he called his mother. “I’m in the pod. It’s undamaged.”

“Good.” He heard a world of relief in his mother’s solitary syllable. She must be using one of the suit radios, he realized. The intercom’s still out.

“Now to get all the systems up and working,” he said.

“Don’t take off your suit,” she cautioned. “Even if you’re breathing ship’s air.”

“Right.” But as soon as he clicked off the suit radio he unlatched his helmet and lifted it off his head. Easier to see and work without the helmet in my way, he reasoned.

Victor Zacharias sat in his sweatshirt and shorts, staring into the emptiness displayed on the pod’s central screen.

“He’s gone,” Victor muttered to himself. He made the cameras do a full global scan of space around the pod, but there was no sign of the vessel that had attacked him. Nothing out there but dark emptiness and the cold, distant stars watching him like the eyes of ancient gods.

“He’s gone,” Victor repeated. He wiped out Chrysalis, smashed our ship, and now he’s gone off somewhere. Looking for Lars Fuchs, he said. The man must be insane, a total barbarian. Unable to believe that the attacker would just peel away, Victor scanned the area again. Nothing to be seen but dark emptiness and the distant unblinking stars.