Analog SFF, September 2010 by Dell Magazine Authors

Author:Dell Magazine Authors
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dell Magazines

Short Story: FLOTSAM by K.C. Ball

Desperate times call for . . .

Quin and Zoe had swept away the orbiting debris field and were almost back to the Mary Shelley airlock when Jill broadcast her warning over the corporation's open radio band.

"Heads up out there! We've got incoming."

Zoe canceled her momentum right away. Quin slid past her, managing to stop his own progress just three meters from the lock. He spied a streak of light beyond the leading edge of Mary Shelley, movement against the matte black of space that could be nothing else but sunlight thrown back from a fast-moving object, and the thirty-meter-long extended-range work vehicle shuddered as if it was a great bone caught up by some invisible Brobdingnagian mutt. Everything was still for one long instant and then vapor and debris spewed into space at the edge of Quin's vision.

It was from the life support and propulsion module.

"We are hit, Cayley Station."

Jill's transmitted voice was dead calm now, and at the sound of it a chill skittered down Quin's spine. He sucked in a deep breath of pure, cool oxygen.

"I repeat,” Jill said. “We are hit but still in one piece. I am evaluating damage."

In the next instant, she switched to the team's private band.

"Zoe, are you all right?"

There was no reply. Jill tried again.

"Zoe?"

Quin thumbed the propulsion joystick and gaseous nitrogen jetted from nozzles along the frame of his independent maneuvering unit. He began to rotate away from Mary Shelley and spotted Zoe hanging against the blackness ten meters away. Quin tapped the joystick again and began to glide toward her.

"I see her, Jill,” he said.

Her back was to him and she was turned one hundred eighty degrees off his orienting line. Her figure was contorted, bent at the waist to the limits of the suit, with both hands clasped upon her left thigh. Quin called to her this time.

"Zoe?"

"I'm here,” she replied. Her voice was weak, reedy.

"Zoe, what's wrong?” Jill asked. Her words were hesitant now, worried.

"Something hit me, punched straight through my thigh, I think. I can't make it back inside on my own."

"Damn it, Quin!” Jill said. “Help her."

The measured pace of his progress was maddening, and Jill's goading itched like an old scab. Even so, now was not the time to lose focus and follow his emotions, as he so often did, to rush forward without thought. He drew another deep breath and reached for that calm center the yoga instructor at Sonny Carter Training Center had encouraged.

Breathing is involuntary, an essential part of life. You can't control whether or not you breathe, but you can control the way that you breathe. Inhale on a four-count and exhale on a four-count. Match the rate for both. Control can save your life.

As his respiration slowed, he forced himself to think the situation through. He had to be analytical. It was what Zoe would do if the situation were reversed.

One humid Wednesday at Sonny Carter, Quin had scrawled faster than a speeding bullet in

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