Back | Next
Contents

PROLOGUE

Oh, this is well and truly going to suck, Glenn Armstrong Shepard thought to himself as he started toward the crashed Dragonfly trainer. “Mission Control, this is the Monitoring Medical Observer,” he commed. “Pilot Morykwas is trapped underneath the Dragonfly. I’m closest. I’m going in to pull him out.”

“Negative, M.M.O., that’s a highly dangerous situation right now,” came the response.

“His vitals went through the roof. Blood pressure increased, respiration and heart rate were elevated. I told you all of that. He knew he was losing control, and I knew he was losing control. It was obvious to anyone watching his vitals, so don’t tell me you couldn’t see it.”

Glenn could see Rick Morykwas trapped underneath the struts and spars of the test vehicle. It was a simulator for the Mars flyer. It was much too fragile to operate on Earth, so they trained on the Moon. The problem was that with no atmosphere and less than half the gravity of Mars, it was unstable as hell. Rick was trapped and Glenn was the closest of the Moonbase support team.

“I’m going to have to crawl under there to get him out.” Glenn knelt down to make his way under the wreckage. He immediately saw his spacesuit’s temperature indicator begin to rise.

“MMO, you can’t crawl in there; you’ll rip your suit. We can’t risk two people.”

“Easy for you to say CAPCOM, you’re sitting in an air-conditioned room in Tucson. He’s at risk of burning up.”

A new voice came on the line. “CAPCOM, lockout the rebroadcast and make sure this is a closed channel. Nothing goes out. MMO, this is FLIGHT. Don’t risk yourself; this isn’t your job.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Glenn respected the Flight Director, but that simply was not an order he could follow.

There were spars in the way, and a white glow further down the metal rod. He could feel the heat through his gloved hand—through insulation and into the interior of his suit. The stakes had just risen drastically. “FLIGHT, the hydrazine tank has ruptured. We have a fire in vacuum. That means the oxidizer tank is ruptured as well.”

“That’s why you need to stay out of there, MMO. There’s no point in risking yourself. You’ll never see the flame!”

Glenn knew it was already too late for that warning. His left hand was tingling, and it was starting to sting. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if the flame had gotten to Rick yet. At least . . . he couldn’t see any white spots near the upside-down cockpit.

“Hang on Rick, it’s Glenn. I’ll pull you out of there.”

“Glenn, it’s hot. Something is blocking my legs. I’m trapped.”

“One of the spars has your legs pinned. I’m going to try to lift it up. See if you can slither out.” Glenn crawled up under the wing root and pushed up on hands and knees to put some upward pressure on the frame of the Dragonfly. As his backpack touched the frame, alarms went off in his helmet display. The heat of a fire couldn’t spread in vacuum, but it could certainly be conducted through the metallic frame of the trainer.

Glenn ignored the warnings and vowed to get this over as quickly as possible. He reached for Rick to help him out, but the pilot was facing away from him. He grabbed the rescue handle on the other man’s life-support backpack. Carry straps and handles had proven their worth for soldiers and emergency workers on Earth, and they were now standard equipment off-Earth as well.

As he started to pull, Rick screamed—the leg of his spacesuit had that same white hot glow Glenn had seen earlier. The hydrazine flame was right there, and he’d have to pull Rick through it.

The problem was, he didn’t have enough leverage.

Glenn inched forward, closer to the fire, and grabbed the rescue handle with both hands. More red lights showed on his helmet display. A squirt of warm water came from his drinking tube—the heat was beginning to affect his own life-support. A sharp tug got the pilot away from the invisible flame. Free of restriction, Rick turned over and started to crawl out from under the wreckage.

“Mission Control, Rick is loose, he’s climbing out.”

“MMO, FLIGHT. I told you to get out of there. I don’t want to risk both of you. Especially not the chief medical officer for the mission.”

“FLIGHT, you assholes knew this was happening. I told you that his vitals indicated he was in trouble, and you told me—and I quote—’stay in my lane.’ If Rick dies, it’s on you. If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you and make sure you never get another night’s sleep. Now shut the hell up and let me do my job.”

Rick rapped on Glenn’s helmet as he crawled past. The frame shifted as he passed, and Glenn could feel additional pressure on his back. To get himself out from under it, he’d have to flip over and scoot out on his back. The air in his suit had gotten warm. He nudged the airflow valve with his chin and was rewarded with even warmer air. It tasted strange, too, sort of sickly sweet . . .

Crap. The coolant system ruptured. That’s propylene glycol! He noticed how raspy his voice had become when he next activated the comm. “Mission control. It may have been foolish, but Rick’s out. I’m starting my extraction now. Wish me luck.” Glenn turned over on his back and reached up to shift the frame out of his way. A white glow enveloped his left arm. Someone screamed over the comm. As he gasped for breath, he realized it came from him.

He scooted on his butt, half crawling, half dragging himself out from under the wreckage by pulling with his legs and right arm. He needed to let go of the spar he was holding with his left hand. He tried and heard a new alarm—suit integrity. The fabric of the suit had melted onto the hot metal, pulling his hand away had torn it open.

At least the temperature is dropping.

There was a boulder directly ahead, part of the frame was resting on it, and there was just enough gap for him to roll over and crawl out. More red lights appeared in his display, and he heard an ominous cracking and popping from behind him—just before his oxygen tank blew up and drove him feet-first into the boulder.

Back | Next
Framed