Beltrunner Read online

  Sancho was silent for a long while.

  “Are you still there, Sancho?” This would be a hell of a time for his erratic computer to finally give up the ghost.

  “Yes, Skipper. May I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure.”

  “We don’t need to get to the rock that far ahead of the Ad Astra vessel. We could still execute your plan, but not do it so late. Let me flipbrake late — still too late to hover above the rock, but late enough to beat the Ad Astra ship. You can leave the ship with Rocinante and get to the asteroid in time to beat the corp ship, but not have so much velocity that you’ll smash into it. I don’t think Rocinante and your suit thrusters together can slow you down fast enough if Dulcinea is going as swiftly as she will be if I don’t flipbrake.”

  Collier listened patiently and had to admit to himself that Sancho had a better plan. He didn’t relish the thought of getting to the rock first but being a cloud of viscera when he did so. “Okay, Sancho, we’ll do it your way. Arrange the flipbraking in such a way that our relative velocity to the rock will be … one hundred meters per second. That slow enough for you?”

  “Skipper, I am working with a very complex formula here, with too many variables I don’t know. For example, while I know the thrust for Rocinante and your suit, I don’t know how efficiently you will be able to line up your vector. If you’re not pretty fucking close to lined up, you won’t brake fast enough. I can’t—”

  Collier cut off his computer with a laugh of genuine pleasure. “Sancho, that’s the first time I think I have ever heard you swear.”

  “Well, damn it, this is the first time you’ve ever done something this batshit crazy.”

  Collier laughed again. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sancho, I really do. Start your calculations as best you can. I’m going aft to get into my suit.”

  “Okay. Can I back off the thrusters to eighty percent again? Now that we’re trying this stunt, we don’t need to be at one hundred.”

  Collier nodded. “Sounds good. Go to eighty percent. Calculate the ejection point for me, let me know when you have a time on that.”

  “Aye aye.”

  Collier swam out of the control chair and glided expertly toward the airlock suite. The patched but still quite serviceable vacuum suit hung limply in its frame, imitating the posture and demeanor of an old warrior who had seen too many battles and too few glories. Collier zipped it open and wiggled inside, noting that the abdomen was still very tight. He had resisted tailoring the suit to accommodate his belly in the wan hope he would drop those five kilos one day, and indeed, the snugness of the midsection only served to remind him he needed to do more time in the Ceres centrifuge.

  Otherwise, the suit fit quite well, and Collier allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the womblike feeling of security the suit afforded him.

  “Sancho, is Rocinante fueled and ready?”

  “Affirmative, Skipper. She’s topped off. You’ll need to leave the ship in just under twelve minutes maximum. Sooner would be better than later.”

  “Roger that, Sancho. I’m heading to the stable now. Open the bay doors and prepare Rocinante for EVA.” Collier made his way along the cylindrical passageway that led to Dulcinea’s belly where the scout vehicle was kept. He was glad there was little time to waste — had he been left to think about his scheme, he might decide it was insane and give up the rock to Isa.

  “Incoming message, Skipper.”

  “Route it to my suit,” Collier said, twisting behind him to seal the integrated helmet to his suit. He could hear Isa’s tinny voice coming through the earphones as he sealed and locked the helmet in place.

  “…There? Col? Please answer,” he heard when he had finished with the helmet. Isa’s voice was not quite panicky, but very concerned.

  “Sorry, Isa, I missed the first part of your transmission. Say again?” He made sure his voice was as casual as could be.

  “You’re aware you’ve passed your flipbrake point? Are you in trouble? Has that bucket finally broken down?”

  Collier’s smirk vanished. “No, she hasn’t, and yes, I’m very aware of what I am doing. I told you: I’m not going to lose this rock. Not to you.”

  Silence for a moment, then: “Look, Col … I think you’re taking this too far. Whatever you think about how I … how we ended, that’s no reason to, well, no reason to do this. I’m sure you—”

  Collier laughed, making no effort to disguise the scorn in his voice. “I’m not killing myself, Isa. Recheck your telemetry on me: Dulcinea’s going to miss the asteroid by half a kilometer.”

  Isa did not answer immediately — no doubt she was checking her tracking data. “Okay, then,” she growled, obviously annoyed at having revealed emotion to him, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I don’t think you need to know that just yet. You’ll see soon enough. But,” he added, his charm vanishing suddenly, “you won’t win this rock. You may as well turn back now.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Col,” Isa said, her voice strangely calm and even tender. “This isn’t a game you can win. Ad Astra has a lot of resources behind me. I’ve been given quite a bit of latitude in operations to find and mine Ps. You, alone, won’t be enough of an obstacle to stop them.”

  “‘Them?’” Collier chuckled, then broke off as a thought occurred to him. “Speaking of Ps, why are you chasing this rock anyway? Do you know something about it?”

  “Never seen it before.”

  “Then how—?”

  Isa did not sound pleased. “What do you think, Col? You think it’s an accident we are both here at the same time?” At his silence, Isa almost shouted, “We’re tracking you, you idiot.”

  Collier stopped at the hatchway to Rocinante’s stable. “I see. You wait for me to find Ps, then you come get them, is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I’m not always right. How do you know I’m right now?”

  “I don’t — yet. I was going to send an impact probe toward the rock, see what we got. You don’t use impacts, do you?”

  “I don’t have seventy thousand metals to waste every time I get a hunch, no.”

  “Yeah, well, the corp does. That’s what I meant about resources, Col.” She sighed. “You see what I mean? You can’t win this. I’m not operating on a shoestring like you. I don’t have to watch every ounce of water, every erg of energy. I can be wasteful and thorough. You—”

  “Well, it’s been nice chatting with you, Isa, but I’ve got a complicated thing here I gotta do,” Collier said, surprised at the hurt in his voice. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll be silent for a while, and I’d appreciate it if you could stay out of my way. Out.” He bit down on the mic to end transmission, and almost violently opened the inner hatch to Rocinante’s stable.

  Of course Isa was following him — he should have guessed that as soon as she had appeared on Sancho’s telemetry. Did he honestly think it had been some kind of chance meeting, out here in the nearly infinite emptiness?

  “You sure did,” he said to himself. “You think you’re some kind of hard-bitten realist, living on facts and figures with no room for dreams, but you’re just as susceptible to romantic thinking as a lovelorn teenager. You liked to think some weird expression of Fate pulled you two back together, as if to tell you she had been wrong to leave you, and now was coming back.”

  Shit.

  “Ejection point in six minutes, Skipper. I really suggest you get going. If you wait too much longer, the—”

  “I know, Sancho. I’m in the bay now,” he said, opening the outer door to reveal the blackness of the Belt. Rocinante was still attached to her “hitching post”—a collection of wires, cables, and fuel lines that held her securely to Dulcinea’s hull.

  A sudden thrill shot through him. As far as he knew, this had never before been attempted — at least, not at such
velocity. The common mythology surrounding Belters and shared by the rest of the system was one of reckless heroism: a combination of pioneering spirit and unbalanced avarice that most closely resembled the ancient frontiersman from Earth’s North American settler movement. (At least, so Collier was led to believe from his scant and irregular contacts with Martians, Jovians, and the rare Earther.) In fact, Belters were a remarkably conservative and cautious lot in their day-to-day lives. The act of becoming a Belter might be one of desperation, but in practice, Belters carved a very even, predictable, mundane course.

  Collier was an exception.

  “Ready to run through the checklist, Sancho?” he asked, as he carefully mounted Rocinante, finding handholds and footholds among her various antennae.

  “What checklist? I’ve never even remotely examined this EVA for feasibility, much less designed a check—”

  “Calm down. I’m only joking,” Collier chuckled. “Stand by to release hitching lines from Rocinante. Transfer her guidance controls to my mic, too, while you’re at it.”

  “Copy that. Comm line transferred. She’s under your command, Skipper. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He gripped the two antennae tightly and made sure he was well away from Rocinante’s exhaust vents. “Let ‘er rip, Sancho.”

  He felt a slight tug upward as Rocinante’s attitude thrusters gently pushed her “down” from Dulcinea’s hull. Dulcinea appeared to shoot upward at a fairly rapid pace as the little scout left her.

  “I’m away clean. Let me get a little distance before you fire up your thrusters again.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Rocinante, minus Y-axis thrust, fifty percent, continuous burn. On mark.”

  “Acknowledged,” came the lifeless voice of the scout’s dedicated computer.

  “Three … two … one … mark.” As soon as he said it, he felt a much more severe tug upward that threatened to dislodge him from the antennae. His right foot left its hold and he fought panic as he repositioned it on another outcropping. Dulcinea raced away from him and he had to remind himself that he wasn’t falling through the void. The thrust couldn’t have been much more than one-tenth of a gee, but it was enough to force his brain to override the trap-door feeling in his stomach.

  “You’ve got some kick, girl,” Collier said when his breath returned.

  “Everything okay, Skipper?” Sancho asked.

  “Seems to be. Can you give me a rough idea of how long I’ll need to keep this thrust going to meet the asteroid?”

  “Nope. I don’t know how long or hard you plan to thrust away. Cut your Y-axis thrust and get ready for minus Z-axis burn. When you do that, I’ll be able to get an idea.”

  “Okay. Rocinante, cut minus Y-axis thrust on mark. Three … two … one … mark.”

  The sudden return of weightlessness was a welcome feeling. He could no longer see Dulcinea — he had no reference points with which to compare his own motion. It was a calming feeling the likes of which he had never experienced. He had heard of unfortunate Belters caught in eruptions of water vapor, either from ship exhaust or comet expulsion, and who had been sent tumbling at great speeds away from their fellows: some had been recovered, some not. Had they felt the same peace and calmness as Collier now did, or were they panicked as they contemplated their own deaths?

  “Skipper? The Z-axis burn?”

  “Coming up,” Collier said, shaking himself out of his reverie. He repositioned himself on Rocinante’s hull, gripping what he could while avoiding the exhaust vents. He would need to also fire his suit jets to keep himself from losing his grip—

  Damn.

  “Uh, small problem, Sancho. I didn’t think of this.”

  “What?”

  “My suit jet controller. I need my hands to operate it, but I can’t let go of Rocinante while she’s thrusting.

  “Shit,” was Sancho’s only reply.

  Collier waited a few seconds, then said, “Sort of need an answer, there, faithful computer.”

  Sancho answered, “I suggest a very faint thrust on Rocinante at first, to see what you can handle. Then you can step it up slowly and feel how much you can take.”

  “Not bad. Let’s give that a go. Rocinante, minus z-axis thrust, uh, one percent, continuous burn. On mark.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Three … two … one … mark.” The thrust was almost imperceptible. Were it not for the puff of vapor escaping through the exhaust vents, Collier could have believed nothing had happened. “Rocinante, increase thrust to five percent. Mark.”

  He could feel a very gentle pull away from him, but he could hold on at this level indefinitely. He continued to tell Rocinante to step up the thrust until he could feel his arms beginning to strain. He stopped increasing at seventy percent.

  “Okay, Sancho, how am I doing?”

  “Not even close, Skipper. You’re going to miss the asteroid, high, and when you do, you’re going to be flying by her at about thirty-four meters per second. And that’ll happen in about nine and a half minutes.”

  “Okay. What do I need to hit the asteroid?”

  “Skipper, you don’t want to hit the asteroid. You’re going too fast.”

  “I’ll increase minus Z-axis thrust.”

  “Can you hold on?”

  “I guess I’ll have to. Rocinante, increase minus Z-axis thrust to ninety percent. Mark.”

  The pull away from him was now considerable. The problem wasn’t so much that Rocinante’s thrust was too formidable as much as it was the lack of proper handholds — he felt himself tightening his grip on antennae that were never intended to be used in this fashion. Idly, he wondered if anyone had ever tested the tensile strength of the objects that would mean the difference between life and death for him.

  “Whoa, baby. Now you’ve really got some kick to you.”

  “Skipper?”

  “So far, so good, Sancho. How’s about now?”

  “You will still miss the asteroid, though not by as much. You’re still a bit high. And now you’ll make your flyby in thirteen minutes, give or take. At twenty-two meters per second.”

  “I’ll go to one hundred thrust. Has Rocinante got enough juice for that?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Rocinante, increase minus-z axis thrust to one hundred percent. Mark.”

  The tug increased, and he felt his left hand slip a few inches on the antenna he was gripping.

  “Alert,” came Rocinante’s expressionless voice. “Fault indicator warning on high gain antenna.”

  “Rocinante, nature of fault?” Collier felt the agony of his position. He couldn’t lessen his grip on the antenna, but he couldn’t afford to have it break off, either.

  “Structural failure in antenna housing. Loss of contact with antenna attitude control.”

  “Will it break off? Rocinante, will it break off?” he corrected himself.

  “Query parameters not set.”

  It was useless. Rocinante was not Sancho — it was only a very basic dedicated computer. There was, therefore, no way of knowing. He scanned Rocinante’s hull. Nothing else presented itself as a handhold — it was either the antenna or nothing.

  “How about now, Sancho?”

  “Well, you’re still not going to hit it. You’re still a little high. Not much: I give my calculation a ten percent chance of error. Due to the asteroid’s slow spin, there may be a high enough projection that meets you right when you are flying by. In fourteen minutes, eleven seconds. But you’ll pass the asteroid at nineteen point seven meters per second.”

  “That’s too fast,” Collier said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes. I’ll be on the other side to meet you, Skipper. It was a good try. You almost did it.”

  Collier didn’t answer. “Rocinante, prepare for Y-axis burn.”

  “Skipp
er! You can’t give a minus burn: you’ll put yourself in the path of the asteroid. You’re going much too fast — if you hit the rock at this speed, you’ll be killed. Even if you somehow survive the impact, which you won’t, your suit will certainly rupture. Plus Rocinante will break up, and some of the debris might—”

  “Sancho, shut up for a second, would you? I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to lose this rock. Rocinante, cut Z-axis thrust. Mark.” He pulled himself closer to the hull when Rocinante’s jets stopped.

  “Skipper! Don’t!”

  “Rocinante, plus Y-axis thrust, ten percent, five second burn. Three … two … one … mark.”

  The tug this time came from the opposite direction, as if Rocinante was an elevator ascending at a very low rate of speed. After the furious Z-axis thrust, the mild and short “upward” thrust was nothing to his muscles.

  “I don’t understand. You are absolutely going to miss the rock now. I’m glad, but I don’t—”

  “Rocinante, prepare for minus-Z axis thrust. One percent, increasing by one percent per second. Continuous burn.”

  “Ohhh, I see.” Sancho said.

  Collier couldn’t help but smile a little. “Mark.” Once the thrust had built back up to full power, Collier tried to keep the smugness out of his voice as he asked Sancho, “Give me an updated telemetry report, if you please, Sancho.”

  “Gladly, Skipper. You will begin flyby in twelve minutes, two seconds. Moving at relative velocity of twenty point six meters per second.”

  “How thick is the asteroid?”

  “It varies, Skipper. If I understand what you are asking, the flyby should take about three and a half seconds to be complete, so I’m going to estimate the asteroid’s ‘thickness,’ as you put it, to be around sixty-five meters. When you clear the asteroid, you’ll have a relative velocity of about eighteen meters per second, give or take a few centimeters.”

  “How long before I catch up with it again?”

  “About four minutes, forty seconds. But you’ll want to reduce velocity well before that. I estimate, in order to land at a reasonable velocity — say, no more than two meters per second — you’ll take around ten minutes. You’ll need to play a little bit to get the velocity right.”