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HANG IN THERE I was dreaming about our new
home-to-be on Nine World. Trying to imagine just how fast our spaceship was
traveling, and how long it would be before we got there, when Dad woke me. "Son," he whispered, "we've
got a problem." I sat up in my bunk and rubbed my eyes.
"Problem?" I asked. "What kind of problem?" "Son, I want you to listen real close. I
wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't absolutely necessary, or if I thought you
couldn't do it." I eased my legs out over the edge of my bunk
and let my feet dangle. Something in Dad's voice frightened me a little. "The ship has lost entry power," he
said. "Entry power?" "That's right. Remember what I told you
about this trip?" "About how we would travel faster than
light speed till we hit the Seashell Galaxy?" "That's right, David. And if you
remember, I told you that we would have to cut below light speed upon entering
the galaxy so as not to overshoot our destination. We would then proceed to
Nine World at a normal cruise speed. Remember?" "I remember, Dad. We're supposed to
orbit Nine World till we get the radio go-ahead to break into the gravitational
field and land." "That's right. That's the problem." "The radio is out?" "That and one other thing. Something
more important. We've lost power to enter into the gravitational field. The
main computer controlling entry jets has malfunctioned." I tried not to gulp. "You mean we're
lost in space?" "Not quite. We know exactly where we
are, but we can't land or even contact Nine Base and tell them the problem.
Right now we're orbiting. And without main power, we'll continue to orbit. Do
you understand?" "Yes, Dad. But what can I do?" "That's what I'm coming to, Son. When we
switched from faster-than-light speed to normal cruise speed, an error in the
computer led us into a minor collision with a meteor." "I didn't feel anything." Dad shook his head. "Neither did I. It
didn't make that great an impact, but it did cause some serious damage." "The loss of entry power and radio
communications?" I asked. "Exactly. You're old enough that I don't
have to sugarcoat the truth. Right now this ship, the lights, the
anti-gravitation and the oxygen supply are working off the auxiliary emergency
unit. Auxiliary power is restricted to the forefront of this ship. The
passenger and the crew section. It's not enough to bring us into port. It will
roughly supply twenty-four hours of power. After that…" "It's quits?" "Correct. That's where you come in.
" "But what can I do, Dad?" "Get dressed, quick, and come with me.
I'll let the captain explain. Be as quiet as you can. Your mother and the kids
don't know a thing about this. It's best we keep it that way, for now." I climbed out of my bunk, got dressed,
pronto. After that I went quietly with Dad to the Control Room. It was the
first time I'd ever been inside. It had always been off limits before. The view
glass folded around us to show a wide shield of black space, twinkling stars
and a huge, red planet called Nine World. The world that was to be our home.
Maybe. The captain—a tall, thin man with graying
hair—walked over to me and stuck out his hand. I took it and we shook. I knew
it must be something that depended on me pretty bad. Usually all I got from the
captain was a pat on the head. The captain squatted down so that he was face to
face with me. He put his hands on my shoulders. "David. Your Dad explained the
problem?" I nodded. "Yes, sir." "We've thought this thing out backwards
and forwards," the captain said, "and I'll be honest with you. It
doesn't look good. We know you're young, but your dad says that you can do it.
Of course it's up to you." I tried not to let my voice crack. "What
is it you need me to do?" The suspense was about to do me in. The captain stood up, and with his hand on my
shoulder, walked me over to the view glass. Looking out into space was like
looking down into a bottomless well sprinkled with glitter. It was beautiful,
and breathtaking. It was frightening too. I felt like the smallest speck of
dust in the universe. "Look," the captain said and he
pointed a finger. He was gesturing at the very edge of the view glass. I had to
lean forward some to see it. A ship half the size of ours, probably a planetary
transport, was floating along side us. "Our speed," the captain said,
"is matched with that ship, The Fortune." I was confused but I didn't say anything. I
knew time was growing short and that the captain had to be building up to
something. Dad came over to stand with us. "A year back," the captain
continued, "I was commander aboard that space transport. We had a similar
problem, only it was a malfunction of a different sort, an explosion. "It might have been the end of us if not
for radio contact with home base. They sent a rescue ship out to pick us up. We
can't do that now since our radio is out." I was beginning to see what he meant.
"But the radio onboard The Fortune works?" "It should. It's been some time, but
unless something came along and knocked that out of whack, it should work. It's
unlikely something has." I didn't say that it was unlikely that a
meteor would have come along and knocked our computer out of whack either, but
I thought it. The captain continued. "The Fortune's
explosion, and this problem of ours, are the only two major accidents that
have occurred since the homesteading of Nine World began." Dad cut in now. "The problem is, Son,
that the main cargo hatch is jammed shut. The rest were automatically locked
when the explosion occurred, and the Control Room hatch did the same after the
crew of The Fortune made their escape through it." "It's sort of a safety device," the
Captain said. "When the explosion blew out the back, the upper half locked
off to maintain oxygen and anti-gravitational power. We've already been out
there. I took a lifeline over and tried the door. A laser torch might do the
job if we had one. We don't. There's just one possibility. When I paced our
dying ship alongside The Fortune, I never expected to be asking you
this. "You see, that explosion blew a small
hole in the ship's side, and that hole opens into the air-conditioning ducts.
They lead to the central cabin." I thought I knew what they wanted me to do.
"You're trying to tell me that I'm the only one small enough to get
through the hole and crawl down the air-conditioning tube." The captain nodded. "That's exactly what
we're saying. We tried. Each and every one of us. We
need to get someone through that hole and into the central cabin. From there he
only has to open the door that leads to the Control Room. The radio should
still be operative. I hate to put it to someone as young as you, David, but
you're our only hope." I looked at Dad. He was nervously opening and
closing his hands. Very slowly he said, "David, can you do it?" I looked out the view glass, leaned over so I
could see The Fortune. Somehow it didn't look so close anymore. "I can give it a try," I said. "This suit will be a little big on
you," the captain said as he fastened on my helmet, face plate up.
"The bad thing is we can't communicate with you when you leave the ship.
We don't even have short-range radio power, and because of that we need to go
over your instructions carefully. Can you repeat back?" I was suddenly very weak and my voice was
squeaky. "I'm to go out the emergency hatch and
let my lifeline drift me out far enough to touch The Fortune. I'm not to
drift too far so I won't be in The Fortune's path and get hit, or get my
lifeline snapped. "When I get it in sight, I'm supposed to
use the belt booster to propel me towards the ship. Then once I'm in the
hole," I stuttered over the last part, "I'm supposed to unclip my
lifeline. That should leave me enough oxygen in my reserve tanks to send the
radio message. "After that I'm to take the lifeline
from the storage compartment of The Fortune and clip it in the central
compartment, then to myself. Then I go back up and out the air-conditioning
duct. The line should give me enough slack to make it back here." The captain nodded. "Very good. Now
remember: when you go inside The Fortune and unclip your line, you'll
have to use these magnetized gloves to keep you from floating. Be sure and turn
them on the second you're inside that hole. You got all that?" "Yes, sir." "Son," Dad said bending down to
look at me. "I'm proud, very proud, and I know you'll do your best.
Remember your instructions and be careful." "I will, Dad," I said, and I pushed
down the dark face shield so Dad couldn't see the little tears that were
starting to form at the corners of my eyes. The first mate came in. "Time in thirty
seconds." "Let's do it," the captain said. He
hooked the lifeline clip to my belt and checked the spindle that would feed me
the slack. He gave me the thumbs-up sign and then Dad did something he'd never
done before. He shook my hand. They went out of the hatch and left me alone
with my thoughts. I didn't have time for many. The airlock whined tight, the
exit hatch iris-ed open, and all the blackness of space was ready for me. With only the sound of my breathing apparatus
in my ears, I eased out among the stars and started letting my line adjuster
out. I won't kid you. I was so scared I could hardly get my fingers to work. The Fortune moved toward me like a slow-motion movie. I let out
some more line, and realized suddenly that I was
feeding too slow. I let out more and moved within range, used my belt boosters. Close up the hole showed jagged edges that
wouldn't do my space suit any good. I got hold of the edges of the opening and
pulled myself to it, slipped a leg inside. I switched on my magnetized
gloves, then, very reluctantly, unsnapped my lifeline. Looking back I saw it hang like a thread on
black water, drift strangely and move out of reach. I turned and started down the vent. It was a tight squeeze but I was making it. I
kept inching my way till I came to the grill that had to lead to the central
cabin. There was no other way. The duct narrowed in front of me to a size that
would have been a close fit for a mouse on a diet. The grill lifted out easily and I made my way
through. The lack of gravity would have started me tumbling and bouncing off
the walls, but I used my gloves to go across the ceiling and down the wall like
a fly. Any other time, under different circumstances, it might have been fun.
Right now I was all business. I had a little trouble with the Control Room
hatch, but after a minute of struggling, got it open. The panel in the Control
Room was lifeless. No lights. Nothing. Only the cold blackness of space against
the view glass. Using my gloves, I eased around the wall and up to the panel. I
found the switch the captain had told me about. I held my breath and flicked it. Nothing happened. I flicked it back and tried again. This time
there was a hum and the lights on the panel lit up like a Christmas tree. I
almost cheered. I flicked on the main transmission switch like the captain had
showed me and started the message I'd memorized. "Mayday. Mayday. Marooned. Set fix on
this signal. Mayday. Mayday. Leaving channel wide open. Repeat. Mayday. Mayday.
Set fix on this signal." I left the switch on and the channel open
like I had been told. Fixed it so it would record my message minute after
minute. I would have liked to hang around till the base responded, but I didn't
have the time for that. I started back to the storage area for a lifeline. I tried the storage hatch. Jammed. I had a
sudden queasy feeling, but I braced myself and tried again. No go. It was lodged shut. I tried it till I
was breathing hard, and that reminded me of something else: a limited oxygen
supply. Things looked exceptionally bad for the home team. I went back to the Control Room and checked
out the view glass. I'm not sure why. Maybe just to convince myself that our
spaceship was still there. It was, but somehow it looked miles away. This
wasn't doing any good. I made my way back to the central cabin, up
the wall and into the air-conditioning duct. By the time I started crawling
toward the hole I was feeling very cold and numb. My hands felt like stumps and
my breathing was coming in uneven gasps. I was losing not only the pressure in
my suit but the temperature regulator as well. When I got to the opening I had to stop, take
some real hard breaths and hold them in. I could see our ship, The Bova, so
close, yet so far away. I didn't like the idea, but my oxygen wouldn't last
forever. I braced my feet and pushed out into the deep blackness of space. Using the belt blaster, I gave myself enough
power to reach The Bova, but it was moving away fast. If it should get
away, that was the end. It, as well as The Fortune, would fall away, and
away, and away. And when it made this position again in orbit, it would be much
to late. There was cold sweat on my face and against
the facemask. I gave the belt blaster another jolt and saw I was going to make
the ship. That was when a horrible thought struck me. The side of The Bova was slick,
nothing to hang onto. Without a lifeline to guide me into port I didn't have a
chance. I would merely hit and bounce off into space. Like a rubber ball—off
and out forever. The Bova was in range and I was closing. There was one
possibility, I thought. The Bova was almost within my reach. Six feet
away. Five. Four. Three. I switched the magnetized gloves back on and palmed
them both against the side of the ship. I stuck like a fly in syrup. It was time to take some breaths again. I was
sapped. My oxygen was going fast and my head was starting to swim. The
blackness of space seemed to be closing in on me, smothering me, draining me. Right hand then left, I started moving toward
the escape hatch. The dizziness continued. I suddenly felt like I'd taken a
plunge into the pool back home and had been under too long, needed to come up
for air. But there was nowhere to come up and no air. My fingers felt like ice,
and even though the magnetized gloves were holding me, as my grip weakened, so
would the pressure I was applying with my palms. The gloves worked fine as long
as I put out a little effort, a little tension. But if I should pass out,
drifting and my body grow slack, then my drifting weight just might conceivably
pull me loose from The Bova. I moved on. Right hand then left. Slower and
slower yet. My chest hurt. I felt as if I were drowning. Then my hands grew limp and I felt as if I
was falling, falling into the depths of a bottomless well. "You're all right," Dad said. I took a breath to make sure I wasn't
dreaming. It felt good. I was warm. I lifted up on my elbows. Dad, Mom, the
captain, the first mate, even my little brother and sister were there. "You were very brave," Mom said and
she pushed back my hair with her hand. "I don't remember anything after getting
back to The Bova," I said, and I was surprised to find my voice so
weak. "That's because you were unconscious,
David," Dad said. The captain smiled. "We saw you drift
off from The Fortune without your lifeline and guessed your
problem." "To tell the truth," the first mate
interrupted, "we thought you were a goner." "That's right," the captain said.
"When you came in contact with the ship we were unaware of it. No radar to
pick you up. We figured. . . Well, we were pretty sure that you hit and bounced
off into space. Except your Dad here. He knew you
better than that. He dressed out and went outside, took a lifeline and got you.
It's a good thing you remembered the gloves. That was fast thinking." Dad agreed. "You were hanging by your
hands. The rest of you floating in space. I almost lost you when I pulled you
free. Even unconscious you were pushing those gloves against the side of the
ship with all your might. You were quite a hero." "Some hero," I said. "I had to
be rescued." "But you did set off the radio
message," the captain added. "How long ago?" I asked. "About eight hours," Dad said. "Eight hours! How much time do we have
left?" "All the time in the world, Son. The rescue
ship made it three hours ago. Look around you. We're onboard." "Hang in There" was originally published in 1997 in The Good, the Bad, and the Indifferent, a collection of Lansdale's short stories published in a limited-edition hardcover by Subterranean Press. "Hang in There" © 1984 By Bizarre Hands, LLC. All rights reserved. Come on back next Thursday for more Mojo
madness! |
