3rd World Products, Inc.
Book 10
Copyright©2007 by Ed Howdershelt
ISBN 1-932693-31-9
978-1-9326-9331-7
Caution: Some Erotic Content
Note: I'm not going to re-introduce everybody.
Read my other 3WP-Books before starting Book 10.
Chapter Two
I left my backpack on my seat when we disembarked the flitter, and after watching a short video clip of how Shining Star's airlock worked, I asked the flitter to create a translucent simulation of the airlock in the video. Hines and Gear marveled at the simulation as I ran through the motions four times on general principles, then I let the simulation dissolve.
We took the elevator to the top of the gantry with twenty-nine minutes to go. Turning on my p-field, I entered the nose capsule through its access hatch, strapped myself onto a fairly deep gel couch, and looked around.
Very Spartan. Four clusters of white LED's illuminated the interior of the capsule. A small camera was mounted on each side of the couch and another camera was mounted directly above it. Makeshift racks welded along the inside walls held the pre-packaged oxygen bottles upright.
I briefly wondered why they hadn't simply pre-bundled them and anchored them to the floor. Big green plastic handles on bolts -- likely to make them easier to grasp in space suits -- would free the sides of each rack. Two straps would buckle a bundle of bottles together.
Looking out at Hines and Gear, I asked, "All I do is unbolt the racks and pull the bundles out? No other fasteners?"
Hines said, "That's it. The crew will open their hatch, you'll put a bundle in, they'll close the hatch and cycle it, remove the bottles, and get ready for the next bundle."
He pointed at the radio and said, "The microphone's built-in. A radio will be on all the time with double redundancy. If one quits working, you have two backups."
Lightly slapping the hull of the capsule, he added, "Until you open this hatch you'll have air in there."
It suddenly occurred to me that the bladder on my back might not be able to handle being squashed under me at ten G's. I sat up and took the bladders off, strapped them to the side of the couch, and got flat again. A technician quickly leaned in to secure my couch straps.
Gear asked, "Any questions?"
Looking inside the capsule again, I shook my head. "Nope. It all looks pretty straightforward."
Apparently he'd expected questions; he looked a bit lost for a moment, then stuck his hand out and said, "Okay. Good luck, then."
We shook hands and Hines added his, "Yes. Good luck," and a handshake, then they retreated from the hatch and two technicians eased the cover into place.
Even the manual hatch dogs were simple; just flip the spring-loaded locking bars out of the way and give 'em a turn. I noted they couldn't be reached unless I was off the couch and free of the straps securing me to it. Huh. Manual hatch dogs. Wonder why they didn't use the electronic-explosive kind?
I also noted there was no 'off' switch for the radio and that I could hear people talking in low tones. Or maybe they weren't right next to the microphone? Where there'd been a volume knob there was now a black plastic cap-plug.
Some guy said clearly, "Well, I think it's damned strange, Kelly. No bio readings at all?"
A woman said, "None. Someone said there was no way to connect them. He's wearing one of those field things."
Another guy said, "Bring up cameras two and three. Mac said he's wearing jeans and sneakers. Should we believe that?"
"Yes," I said, "I wear casual clothes when I travel."
There were some whispers and one of the guys asked, "Uh... This is Control. How are you feeling, Rescue One?"
"'Rescue One', huh? Well, I'm feeling just dandy, 'cept for having been labeled and numbered. How 'bout you?"
The woman snorted a soft chuckle and said, "Oh, we're all just fine, sir. Do you have any questions?"
"Well... Are you single, ma'am? I really like your voice."
One of the guys laughed as she replied, "No, I'm not, sir, and I have to get back to work, so here's James Richter."
A man said, "That's me, Rescue One. I'll be your tour guide today and I'm not single, either."
I let my silence speak for me and checked the time on the radio's small display screen. Three minutes, thirteen seconds to go. I pinged Linda and called up a field screen, then set it at an angle where none of the cameras could see the display.
She answered with, "Hi, Ed," and looked around the interior of the capsule before she said, "That couch looks pretty comfortable. Emory's here. Mind if I include him in this call?"
Someone asked Richter who the hell I was talking to as I answered, "Sure, ma'am. I have some company, too. Three cameras and there's no 'off' switch on the radio."
"Rescue One," said Richter, "Who are you talking to? It sounds like they're right in the capsule with you."
"Just updating my bosslady."
Someone asked, "They let him take a cell phone aboard?"
Richter said rather commandingly, "Rescue One, until you're off my spacecraft, I'm your boss."
"You go ahead and believe that if it makes you happy."
The other guy said, "Please turn off your phone immediately, Rescue One. It might interfere with your communications with us."
"No, it won't. They're different technologies."
Wallace said firmly, "Ed, they have priority."
"Wallace, there's not a damned thing they can do for me if this thing blows up, so they can damned well let me talk with my friends before they light the fuse. Linda."
She looked directly into the screen and asked, "Yes, Ed?"
"I don't love you the same way Wallace does, but I do love you, ma'am. I just wanted to let you know that before I go."
Linda smiled and said, "I knew it. I love you, too, Ed. Take care up there. That's an order."
"Yes, ma'am, ma'am. Wallace, you may be a bit brassy and hidebound, but I guess you must be okay 'cuz she seems to like you."
With a wry, droll expression, he chuckled, "Well, thanks a bunch, Ed. Like she said, take care up there."
"Okay. Later, everybody."
Turning off the screen with eight seconds to go, I wondered if there was really any way to be ready for what was about to happen. Nope. Guess not. I took a sip of coffee and tried to relax a bit, but they chose that moment to start the engine.
Initial rumblings made things vibrate a bit, but when they opened up the big engines, I became a bit more concerned about how well things were attached within the capsule.
The shaking suddenly stopped as the flitter took over lifting the weight of me, the gel couch, and the oxygen bottles. I couldn't tell when the rocket actually lifted off the pad, but as it gained speed, the G forces began to shove me down into the gel couch.
That confused me for a moment, then I realized that -- other than eliminating the shaking -- having the flitter lift me in tune with the rocket's upward progress was really no different from letting the rocket do the lifting.
Hm. I remembered what I'd seen of shuttle launches, realized I didn't particularly want an audience for my suffering, and used my implant to turn my p-field opaque grey.
This caused some instant consternation on the ground and Richter almost yelled, "Rescue One, what just happened?!"
I replied, "I'm fine, guys. It's just my field suit."
Firmly attached as they were to the walls, the bottles still rattled in their padded racks, but all I felt were the gawd-awful G forces that seemed to go on and on. Keying up a screen with a timer, I saw that only thirty seconds had passed.
Richter's voice asked, "Rescue One, this is Control. What's your status?"
My 'status'? Heh. I managed to grate out, "Oh... I'm... just... fine," then paused to take in enough air to say, "When... I... don't... have... to... try... to... talk! Call... me... later!"
Richter's calmer voice replied, "Roger that, Rescue One. Hang in there. Control out."
'Hang in there?' I thought, 'As opposed to doing what?'
The G forces seemed to continue interminably with only abrupt interruptions as stages of the rocket dropped away, then the flitter's field faded and the shaking began again. A short time that seemed like a long time later, the horrendous pressure on my chest abruptly ceased.
It would have been nice to have a window, but the capsule had been made for inanimate hardware, not tourists.
"Flitter," I said quietly, "Thanks for the lift. Wait for me at Carrington base, please. Park above the admin building."
My flitter replied, "Yes, Ed."
The radio barked, "Rescue One, Control!"
"Here! Present! Yo! Are you gonna tell me I ought to be weightless by now and that all I have to do is wait for you to tell me when it's time to pop the hatch?"
After a brief pause, Richter said, "Something like that, yes. Should we take it that you're not overly familiar with official communications protocols, Rescue One?"
I changed my p-field back to transparent and drawled, "Yeah, that's a big ten-four, Cap'n! Eastbound 'n hammer down! Warp six, y'all! Let's see if we got enough beer t' fly this crate allaway t' Paris!" then I asked, "Who else is on this channel? I don't even hear static when you aren't talking."
"Rescue One, it's a frequency, not a channel, and there shouldn't be anyone else using it. Listening, perhaps."
"Huh. Is this trip a secret? If so, nobody told me."
Richter sighed, "Rescue One, we at NASA prefer to share our communications at our convenience."
"Well, I guess that sure 'nuff 'splains why you're callin' yourself 'Control' today, doesn't it?"
Somebody down there giggled and someone else chuckled.
I asked, "So, how long 'til rendezvous, 'Control'?"
Richter replied, "Eighty-eight minutes, Rescue One. The revised payload numbers let us widen the window."
"Kewl. Okay, just holler when it's time to go outside."
With that, I called up a field screen as wide as the capsule and chose a few music videos, then unbuckled and sat up as Stargard's 'Which Way Is Up?' -- which had seemed an appropriate song for the moment -- began thumping.
From the radio came, "What the hell?!" and "Rescue One."
Raising my voice slightly to be heard over the music, I put up a second screen to check email and manufactured fake surprise as I yelled, "Rescue One? Hey! That's me! Hi, guys!"
I used my left hand to cover the keypad from camera view while I typed my email password and Richter asked, "Rescue One, did you take any unauthorized electronics aboard?"
Damn. 103 spam messages since my last visit. Dumping that folder, I replied, "It's just another field toy, Richter."
Richter said, "Rescue One, as I said, we'd prefer to control communications during your mission. Please turn off your music and other devices."
Looking directly at the left camera, I replied, "Richter, I have almost an hour and a half to kill in this tin can and you guys haven't been very entertaining so far. Give me a hard time and I'll turn off the radio instead."
"Rescue One, your radio can't be turned off."
"Well, you prob'ly shouldn't bet on that. Now quit bugging me. I'm checking my email."
Somebody blurted, "He's what? How?"
Richter said, "Rescue One."
I ignored him.
He repeated rather firmly, "Rescue One!"
Kewl, a new message from BJ Ray. She'd made a deal on a Honda Silverwing and she was about to go pick it up. Asterisks, a smiley face, and picture links. She was definitely doing the happy dance.
I set about answering her longish, enthusiastic message as Richter almost yelled, "Rescue One!" in a rather commanding tone. Oh, well. He'd give up in a minute or two.
He didn't repeat himself as I typed out my reply and hit the 'send' button, then moved on to the next message, picking up my coffee bladder's tube and sipping as I read.
A guy wanted me to place my titles with his web bookstore. I checked out his domain name and found he'd only paid for a year's registration. Nope. I politely declined his offer.
My implant pinged with Linda's chimes and I put her on screen as I answered, "Yes, milady! At your service, ma'am!"
She winced at the music, so I turned it down a bit as a guy on the radio said, "He's talking to somebody again!"
Linda said, "Lee Hines said you aren't answering the radio."
"Yeah, well, they were getting kind of pissy about how I'm spending my time up here. Besides, they can see and hear everything, so it's not as if they're out of the loop. I have over an hour to kill and I'd rather check email than hope that bunch can entertain me, y'know?"
Her left eyebrow went up. "I see. Cynthia told me you tried to tell her you were making this trip for me."
"Then Cynthia talks out of class, but it's at least partly true, ma'am. Do you think the 'crats'll give you any more budget and personnel trouble after this trip?"
She laughed, "Not for a week or so. This mission hasn't hurt your status with Emory, either, but I expect to have to talk with him later about what we said before liftoff."
Shrugging made me lift off the gel couch. Buckling the straps over my legs, I said, "Well, sorry 'bout that, Fearless Leader, but I've got seniority and it seemed like a real good idea to mention it before they fired this thing up."
Richter bellowed, "Rescue One! Answer me immediately!"
Eyeing the radio, I flicked open my belt knife and pried the black plastic cap off the volume button hole, then used the tip of the blade to turn the slotted shaft inside the hole as I said, "Cindy can tell me when it's time to go outside."
Linda's gaze shifted to the still barely audible radio, then back to me. Something flashed on her desk brightly enough to reflect in her eyes and she held up a finger in a 'pause' gesture as she poked an icon. Her screen shrank to half-size and I knew someone else was on the other half.
Wallace asked, "Linda, what the hell's your boy done now? Hines says they just lost contact with him."
"Hines is exaggerating the situation, Emory. Ed just turned the radio down."
Sounding even more upset, Wallace yelped, "Well, tell him to turn it back up! He's not even supposed to be able to do that and he scared the hell out of the commo team! They think something's wrong up there!"
Snickering, Linda replied, "Right. NASA called you about a technical problem in space. Emory, it's a perceived control issue. Whether they like it or not, NASA's usefulness to this mission ended when they pushed the ignition button."
Looking directly at the other side of the screen, she said firmly, "They'll get over it, Emory. He'd prefer not to be pestered and Cynthia will tell him when it's EVA time."
Wallace blurted, "Pestered?! He thinks NASA is pestering him?!"
"My choice of words, not his."
For a moment there was silence, then the screen abruptly expanded to full size and Linda quietly muttered, "Damn."
I felt it wise to say nothing for the moment and busied myself choosing another couple of tunes on the big screen.
Pink began singing 'Stupid Girl', and when she reached the chorus, Linda growled, "Are you trying to tell me something?"
Drumming my fingers to the beat, I replied, "Nope. I chose her 'Who Knew' song first, but it came up second 'cuz the screen automatically alphabetizes."
"Uh, huh. Well, you seem to have made yourself reasonably comfortable up there and I need to get back to work. Later, Ed. Keep me posted."
Saluting, I snapped, "Yes, ma'am, Fearless Leader, ma'am!"
She tapped her screen off and I went back to my email. After a few more messages, I switched to surfing the net and chose some more songs.
Cindy manifested her face on my screen some time later and said, "Fifteen minutes to rendezvous, Ed."
I looked at her for a moment, then said, "Gee, you're pretty, lady. Gorgeous, really."
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head slightly and said, "As that may be, it's time to saddle up. We'll have a forty-one minute optimal window for transferring the oxygen."
Putting on my coffee and water bladders, I checked to see that my p-field had accepted and encompassed them, then located by touch the two-foot ball my briefcase used as an oxygen repository.
"Cindy, I've been thinking I might want to just get this job done and get myself back inside this capsule to wait for my next ride. Believe it or not, I actually heard you when you talked about things finding us out here."
She popped into being beside the capsule's hatchway in her jeans-and-sneakers outfit and smiled. A muted, excited gabbling came from the radio.
Eyeing the oxygen bottles, I said, "In fact, maybe I ought to hang onto one of these, ma'am."
"No need," she said, "Your reservoir contains four hours."
Nodding, I glanced around and tapped one of the big plastic knobs securing a bottle rack as I replied, "Uh, huh."
Turning the knobs required me to hang onto the racks to avoid turning myself instead. Once I'd opened the racks, I used a field tendril to cut off the big-headed bolts and turned off my p-field long enough to cram them into my front pants pockets, then continued un-racking the bundled bottles.
Cindy asked, "Souvenirs?"
"Maybe. If I don't need 'em for anything else."
When I'd checked the straps on all four bundles, I loosened the hatch dogs one at a time to allow pressure to escape gradually, then took a look outside.
You've seen it too, every time a shuttle mission aimed a camera outside; some portion of the Earth and a black sky sprinkled liberally with stars. The Earth directly below was dark and a band of brightness to my right was the dawn of a new day. It seemed to me that we were flying backward, though it really didn't matter which end of the capsule led the way.
As the capsule's hatch view slowly rotated, I asked through my implant, "Can we kill the capsule's spin, Cindy? Maybe aim the hatch where Shining Star's going to be?"
Replying in the same manner, she said, "Yes. I'm converting one of the other bolt heads to nitrogen for use as a thrust jet. It will take a few moments."
We were over Africa when the view through the hatch seemed to begin moving backward. I realized that I was still spinning as before, so I reached to get a grip on the straps that had secured me to the couch. A few moments later the hatch faced open space and I didn't sense any further movement.
Calling up my board in the hatchway, I placed a bundle of tanks on it and said, "You're driving, ma'am."
Cindy appeared on the other end of the board, her hands clasped behind her and facing forward as the board began moving. I clambered onto it as soon as it was clear of the hatch, straddling the board with a loose grip on one of the bundle straps.
Eyeing Cindy's tall form, I enthused, "Wow! You'd look magnificent on the prow of a ship, milady."
She grinningly glanced back and replied, "Thanks, of course, but that sounds like a rather boring job."
After what seemed like a fairly long jaunt through space, I saw the spacecraft ahead and used my implant to make the board glow neon red as we matched their rotation and approached their airlock.
Cynthia asked, "Would you like to be able to talk to them?"
Hm. Would I? No, not really. "No, thanks. Maybe later."
A light near their hatch glowed green, the signal to open the outer door. I did so and shoved the bundle of tanks into the narrow tunnel beyond the hatch, then closed and dogged the hatch cover. A few moments later the light glowed red as they cycled the hatch and Cindy headed us back to the capsule for another load.
The return trip seemed a little shorter because the capsule was catching up to Shining Star, and the second delivery trip seemed even shorter. It occurred to me to wonder if we'd have to hurry the last couple of loads, but I had faith in Cindy's math. She didn't guesstimate much.
By the time we returned from the second delivery, Shining Star was easily visible a mile or so ahead and drawing steadily closer as I loaded the third bundle onto the board.
While I shoved the third bundle into Shining Star's hatch a few minutes later, the capsule passed us and slowly began dwindling in size as it continued on. When the red light glowed, Cindy launched us in the direction of the capsule.
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