Omega

“How close do you wish to cut it, Kellie?”

“I’ll let you know when we get there,” she said.

SHE SETTLED IN front of the cloud at a range of three hundred klicks. Ahead, the box kite was a bright star. But the cloud was visibly leaning to starboard.

They sat in frozen silence. Vast plumes were boiling out of the omega’s forward section, marking its efforts to slow down. One approached as she watched, fascinated. It exploded past the ship, and minutes later, raced past the kite.

Collingdale waited, trying to be patient, watching the screen. Watching the gap widen between the cloud and the kite. Hoping to see the omega notice they were there and begin another pursuit. “Bill,” he said, “are we picking up any change?”

“Negative,” said the AI. “The cloud is still braking, still angling to starboard.”

“It might take a while,” said Kellie.

“No.” He found himself wishing she were off the ship. Somewhere else. He could have handled things himself, but the rules required a licensed captain. If he were alone with the AI, everything would be much simpler. He wouldn’t be risking anybody else. “We’re too far away,” he said. “We have to get closer to have a chance.”

Whatever she was about to say to him, she swallowed. Instead she turned back to the AI. “Bill, I’m going to manual.”

Bill didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to, probably. Kellie’s fingers danced across her control board. Views from forward and aft telescopes appeared on-screen. A second jet fountained past. Retros fired, and Collingdale was forced forward against his restraints.

“How close do you want to go?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “We have to do this by the seat of our pants.” Damn, she was irritating.

Lightning flickered.

And again.

“Maybe we’re getting its attention,” she said.

“I hope so.”

She shut the retros down. “It’s at 240 klicks,” she said. “And closing.”

“Okay. That’s good. Let it keep coming.”

Something crackled against the hull. It was like being hit by a sandstorm.

“Dust,” she said. “Part of the cloud. We may be getting too close.”

The viewport lit up again and stayed that way. Something hit the ship, rolled it. Collingdale lurched against his harness. One of the screens exploded; the others went blank. There was a second shock, stronger than the first, driving the wind out of him. Glass and plastic rained down. The bridge went dark. For a few moments he could hear only the crackle of blowing circuits and the sound of his own breathing. He could smell things burning. “Kellie—”

“Hang on. Everything’ll be back in a minute.”

He hoped so. “What—?”

It was as far as he got. His chair shoved him hard forward, and he could almost hear the thunderclap, hear the shielding sizzling. The lights on the bridge blinked on, went back out. He started to float against his restraints.

“Controls are down,” she said. “Get us out of here, Bill. Head for open sky.”

The only response was a distant murmur.

“Bill?”

Somewhere in the bulkhead he could hear a fan. A lamp came on at Kellie’s position. She was doing things with the status board. “Engines are out,” she said.

“Can you get them ru

“Trying.”

“Are we still dropping back into the cloud?”

“Yes. Nothing we can do about that at the moment.” She shook her head. Not good. “Junction box problem, looks like.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I can replace it.” Another bolt hit. The ship shuddered. Red warning lamps came on and glowed scarlet. “But not in fifteen minutes.” Which was a generous estimate of the time they had left.

She got one of the tracking screens back up. That allowed him to watch the misty forward wall closing on them. Another jet was erupting. “It’s still trying for Lookout,” she said. He couldn’t decide whether her voice carried a ring of sarcasm. “We just happen to be in the way.”

“How about the jump engines?”

“Not without prep. They’ll explode.”

He looked at her. “What else have we got?”

“Not much.” She was scrabbling in one of the utility drawers and came out with a lantern. “Grab an e-suit and some air tanks. We’re leaving.”

“To go where?”

“The shuttle.”

THE HAWKSBILL WASN’T designed for convenience. The shuttle bay was down in cargo, which could receive life support, but seldom did. It depended on what the ship was hauling. Collingdale slipped into an e-suit, activated it, and pulled on a pair of air tanks. Kellie led the way through the airlock and down into the bowels of the ship.

“Power’s off here,” she said.

“What about the shuttle?”

“No way to know until we get there.”

He hadn’t had to move in a zero-gee environment in a long time, but the technique came back quickly. They passed along wire mesh, down a dark corridor, through the cavernous space in which Marge’s equipment had been stored, and crossed into the lower cargo section, which also served as the launch bay for the shuttle. The bulkheads were filled with equipment for working outside, laser cutters, wrenches, gauges, coils of cable, and with go-packs as well as more air tanks.

The shuttle rested atop its dock. She activated it with a remote. To his relief, lights came on, and the engine began to purr. She opened the hatch, but before they climbed in she aimed the remote at the airlock and pressed it.

Nothing happened.

“Door doesn’t work,” she said. “Hold on a second.”

He followed her across the bay. “You’ll have to open it manually,” he said.

“My thought exactly.” She sounded a

“Here,” he said.

She opened it and extracted the handle. He stepped in beside her and pulled it down. The i

He looked out at a river of dust and gas. It was one of the jets, streaming past, close enough to touch. The omega itself filled the sky behind them.

“It’s on top of us,” he said.

“Come on.” Kellie stayed cool. She moved through the weightless environment like a dancer, soared into the shuttle, and urged him to hurry.

Collingdale was no slouch either, and he climbed in quickly beside her and shut the hatch. And saw immediately the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“No power in the dock.” She rolled her eyes. “Should have realized.” She opened up again and got out. Collingdale needed a moment to understand. The shuttle was secured to its launch platform.

He jumped out behind her. “Has to be a manual release here somewhere.”

“I don’t see it.”

The airlock was filling with mist. “Time’s up,” she said. She broke away from the shuttle, grabbed two pairs of air tanks from the bulkhead, and floated one his way.

“What’s this for?” he asked. They were already wearing tanks.

“Extras,” she said. “We’re going to be out there for a while.” She pulled a go-pack over her shoulders.

“Kellie, what are you doing?”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? No! You can’t possibly get clear in that.”

“It’s all we have. We can’t stay here.”

“They don’t even know we’re in trouble.”

“They’ll know our signal’s been cut off.”

He took a last desperate look for the manual release, did not see it, concluded it was in the bulkhead somewhere, thought how they should have taken more time to familiarize themselves with the ship, and turned back to her. The cloud was literally coming in the open airlock. Coming after him.

“It’s not fast enough,” he said. The go-pack. “You can’t outrun it in that.”

She apparently had lost all interest in arguing. She grabbed his shoulder and pushed him toward the exit, simultaneously shoving the go-pack into his midsection. But it was hopeless.

In that terrible moment, he realized suddenly, as if everything that had gone before had been simply a problem to be solved, that there was no solution. That he was going to die.

All that remained was to choose the method.

“Get out, Kellie,” he said, and pulled away from her. He went back through the doorway and into the lower cargo section.

“What are you doing, Dave?” she demanded.

He found her lamp floating near the shuttle, turned it on, and began to search through the equipment.

“What are you looking for?”

“A laser cutter.” And there they were, three of them, neatly stored side by side above a utility shelf at the dock. “Get as far away as you can,” he said. He held the cutter up where she could see it and started for the engine room.

Her eyes widened. She understood perfectly what he had decided. She pleaded with him over the circuit, threatened him, told him he was a damned idiot. He wished her luck, told her he was sorry, and shut down all cha

That would end it. She’d give up and do what she could to save herself. Through the airlock with an extra set of air tanks but a go-pack that wouldn’t be able to take her far enough fast enough to outrun the cloud. Or to outrun what he was about to do.

He regretted that. In those last minutes he regretted a lot of things.

CARRYING THE LAMP and the laser, he hurried through the lower decks and the airlock they’d left open and emerged at last on the bridge. Here and there lights still worked, and the electronic systems were trying to come back. Once, the artificial gravity took hold, throwing him to the deck. Then it was gone again. Moments later, he thought he heard Bill’s voice, deep in the ship.

Somewhere, a Klaxon began to sound.

He needed the remote, but he’d left it below in cargo. Or maybe Kellie still had it. There was usually a spare, and he searched through the storage cabinets for it. But he didn’t see one. Well, he’d have to do without. Find another way. He ducked out of the bridge and headed aft.

He’d lived on the Hawksbill for two months, but the ship had changed in some subtle way. These dark corridors, with their shadows and their silence, were unfamiliar, places he’d never been before.

He caught another burst of gravity, stumbled, rolled, and came up ru

He could hear the sound of hatches closing. Sealing off compartments.

He had to open one, and then a second, to get into the engine room. They both closed automatically behind him.

The good news was that the lights were on and the jump engines had power. The fusion unit was down, dark, silent, useless. But that didn’t matter. He had what he needed.