Space Station Down Read online

  But what could she use to help them, other than one of the tools? She could duck into the JPM and pull out one of the lasers, but they were all eye-safe and relatively harmless. There were plenty of toxic chemicals stored on board but using them could end up harming herself and the ISS more than the intruders if she tried to spray them around indiscriminately.

  Watching from across the distance of the two modules she heard Alexi roar like a bull as he dashed into the FGB, his hands outstretched. Viktor and Robert were no more than a couple of feet behind him, also brandishing their weapons and bellowing madly.

  Alexi flew straight toward the tourist, Bakhet. The man didn’t move; it was almost as if he’d given up any hope of defending himself.

  Kimberly realized it was a trap.

  “Alexi!” she screamed. “Watch out!”

  Farid suddenly shot out from the left, knife in hand. He slammed into Alexi as Bakhet ducked, allowing Farid to bowl over Alexi. They spun through the air with wild, slashing thrusts. Farid sliced open the side of Alexi’s throat. The bald Russian spun around in the module, blood spurting from his veins in tiny, pulsating spheres.

  Bakhet slipped out of Kimberly’s sight as Viktor and Robert flew into the module. They both tried to use their tools on Farid, but Kimberly heard a loud grunt as Robert was suddenly struck by Bakhet in the middle of his back.

  They started clawing at each other, but Bakhet grabbed one of Robert’s ankles and jerked him deeper into the module, like a fish being yanked out of the water. Bakhet wrapped both arms around Robert, then slid one arm up around his neck. He jerked violently, once, twice, and Robert suddenly went slack. Bakhet pushed the body away and they both floated apart.

  Blood was spurting from Viktor’s arm as he and Farid continued to spar. Bakhet joined the fight and the two murderers backed Viktor deeper into the module, moving out of Kimberly’s field of view. An instant later Viktor’s body spun out of the module’s hatch, limp, lifeless.

  Kimberly was gasping hard, furious with herself for not having joined the melee. Maybe she could have helped, at least distracted the two intruders while the guys worked together to defeat them. That had been her plan in the first place; if Alexi hadn’t jumped the gun they might all three be still alive.

  As she might not be in an extremely short time if she didn’t get away and find something to defend herself with.

  The first thing she had to do was regroup and find a weapon. She could analyze the situation later. Right now she had to survive.

  NODE 3

  Kimberly kicked out with her leg, hitting one of the containers secured to the ISS wall, and rapidly pushed off for Node 3. Entering the module, she shot across the spacious volume, not knowing if Farid and his partner had seen where she’d gone. The vestibule to the inflatable Bigelow module was on her left, and she could hide in the Bigelow—but since the unit was nowhere near as large as the other modules and wasn’t storing much equipment, they’d quickly rummage through whatever was in there and spot her. Worse, if they didn’t kill her they might lock her inside the inflatable module by bolting the hatch shut.

  And then what could she do? She’d be trapped without any way to get out or even to fight back. There wasn’t even a spacesuit in there, like the EVAs stored in the Joint Airlock or the smaller, second-generation suit she’d temporarily moved to the JPM.

  Desperately swinging her head, scanning everything in sight, she spotted a stack of white container bags tied together in a bungee jail at the far end of Node 3, next to the node’s commercial spacecraft docking port and the Cupola that gave an unobstructed view of Earth as they orbited around it.

  She didn’t have time to unzip one of the bags, empty its contents, and try to squeeze into it. The bag’s contents floating around the node would be a dead giveaway to what she’d done. But she did have time to hide behind the stack of bags. Maybe.

  Kimberly pushed over and started pulling apart the bungee cords that held the bags to the module’s side, one eye on the hatch where the intruders would soon appear. She yanked the cords apart and pried open a slit just large enough for her to squeeze through and wriggled into the opening, then wedged herself in behind the bags. She turned and smoothed the cords back into place, then pushed herself deeper into the bungee cord jail that typically flexed enough to allow pulling the bags apart.

  It was like slipping behind the living room sofa when she was younger, playing hide-and-seek with her friends. Most of the bags were filled with soft stuff, like clothing supplies and dehydrated foods. She edged those out of her way as she burrowed deeper into the pile. Other bags felt hard, metal objects such as spare parts and equipment. Kimberly tried to use them as a buffer between her and the softer bags, in case the intruders started poking through the pile with something sharp.

  Pushing to the back of the stack, she pressed against the white insulation covering the module wall that kept in the station’s heat while protecting its innards against the vacuum’s deathly cold, bare inches away. Her heart was racing again and she deliberately slowed her breathing with deep, steady breaths, trying to breathe without making a sound.

  She waited. She could hear the hum of the air changers working in the background and the creaks and barely audible groans of the space station as it slightly expanded and contracted from the temperature gradients caused by having one side of the structure exposed to harsh sunlight, the other to the cold darkness of shadow.

  She didn’t move.

  She thought she heard the sounds of the two intruders as they made their way through the modules. After disposing of her crewmates—no, after murdering her crewmates—disposing was too dispassionate, too technical a term, one that can be used at arm’s length. They’ve murdered six men, Kimberly thought, and now they were hunting for her.

  They weren’t just intruders, they were cold-blooded butchers who were intent on slaughtering the entire crew of the ISS for some unknown, bizarre reason. There was no way to justify what they had done or what they were planning to do—if they even had a plan. And the more she confronted the reality of what had happened and the real possibility that they’d kill her as well, the better chance she had to accomplish her number one priority—survival.

  She heard one of the killers enter Node 3 and held her breath. It sounded as if he bumped against the aft wall, next to the inflatable Bigelow module. The other one was apparently staying outside Node 3, probably standing guard in case Kimberly tried anything else from elsewhere in the ISS. She heard the sounds of containers being opened and equipment shoved from one location in the Bigelow module to another, Velcro straps being ripped apart, the clinking of metal against the Node 3 hatch.

  Kimberly couldn’t hold her breath any longer. She let it out in a long, slow, quiet sigh.

  No reaction from the murderer searching the module. She felt a wave of gratitude surge through her. The two killers didn’t speak much as they went about their search, just a few short, curt words in Russian. Which made sense, Kimberly reasoned. Even though Farid was a Kazakhstani and Bakhet from Qatar, they’d both had to be able to speak fairly fluent Russian during their cosmonaut training.

  Was Bakhet really from Qatar? Kimberly wondered. That’s what his biography claimed. But it didn’t make any difference if he was from Qatar or Mars, right now. All that mattered was that they were both trying to hunt her down. Kimberly decided that if she survived the next few minutes, after the two of them left Node 3 she’d make a break for their Soyuz capsule.

  At least she’d be able to hole up there and see what they were up to while staying safely away from them. And if necessary she could use the Soyuz as an emergency escape vehicle and return to Earth, leaving the two murderers alone on the ISS.

  She’d make that decision later, she told herself. Perhaps much later. Right now she concentrated on staying alive.

  The one in the Node 3 module moved closer to the stack of storage bags. He rattled the mesh of bungee cords that held the stack together, then pushed a hand through an opening on the side and rummaged through a few of the containers. Kimberly kept absolutely still and held her breath.

  The intruder moved away from the bags. Kimberly heard him going through the equipment that was fastened to the other side of the module, banging the equipment around carelessly.

  The other man came into the module and the two of them exchanged a few words. Not in Russian, Kimberly thought, trying to puzzle out the language they used. Were they satisfied that she wasn’t hiding among the bags? Or would they now try to open up the bungee mesh and start going through the MO bags one by one? If so, they’d discover her.

  On the other hand, if they left the module, then she could quickly bolt for the Soyuz. When they didn’t find her anywhere in the station they’d eventually return and start their hunt all over again.

  She thought she heard them start to leave, but suddenly there came the sound of someone pushing off from a foothold. An instant later she was pushed violently back and hit her head against the insulated wall. She tried to keep from gasping as the air was shoved out of her lungs and she momentarily lost her breath.

  A ripping sound sliced through the module, and Kimberly realized they were using something long and sharp to try to pierce the bags. It must be the titanium prybar that the Russians used to open stuck hatches, she realized. Time after time she heard the white canvas cloth rip as they repeatedly stabbed the meter-and-a-half-long bar through the pile of bags. Every few thrusts she heard a sharp metallic clang as their weapon hit equipment stored among the other supplies.

  The murderers jabbed the stack in a random pattern, sometimes pushing the prybar slowly through the pile, other times taking a leaping start from across the module to fly across Node 3, impaling several bags at once. They laughed and chattered at each other. They were having fun!

  Kimberly pressed back against the insulated wall as two jabs in quick succession came close—one near her hip and the second just inches from her right eye. Clenching her teeth hard to keep from crying out, she caught a quick glimpse of the prybar and felt sweat beading her brow. The long slender rod was curved at one end and tapered to a blunt point at the other. The metal could easily slice her into pieces.

  The killer jabbed the prybar through the stack, then after a seeming infinity of time he stopped, apparently satisfied that Kimberly wasn’t there.

  She heard the two men exchange a few words, then their voices drifted away. Minutes passed, and when she didn’t hear anything more Kimberly assumed they’d left Node 3.

  Since they were advancing down the ISS from the aft, or Russian side of the station, toward the bow at the opposite, American end, she knew that they’d either be searching the U.S. lab or Node 2 next. Then she could make her move.

  She silently counted a few more minutes to make sure they weren’t still in the module, hiding, waiting for her to reveal herself. After another minute, she thought she could make out sounds from beyond the hatch of them searching another module. Slowly, cautiously, she inched forward and slid between the shredded bags.

  The module was littered with plastic mesh and what was left of the contents of the bags. Shards of tattered cloth, ripped clothing, torn pieces of food, even broken electronic equipment floated weightlessly in midair, slowly rotating, bouncing off the insulated walls of the module; one of the thick cylindrical RTGs had drifted in. The module looked as though a herd of wild, starving cats had been thrown into a zero-gee compartment laced with catnip.

  Quietly, Kimberly pushed through the floating debris and coasted toward the Node 3 starboard hatch, which led back to Node 1. She hovered in the vestibule, just inside the module, listening for any sign that the killers were near. In the distance she could hear the two of them talking. And laughing. Laughing, Kimberly thought, an icy resolve settling over her like a coat of armor.

  She started to head out of the module when she noticed, secured to the wall, an American toolbox. One of the guys must have moved it here temporarily when they were bringing in some equipment from the Bigelow module.

  She quickly floated over and rummaged through the fastened-down equipment. There it was! Shep’s knife, a folding lock, tanto-style blade. She unfastened the ultrasharp knife from its holder, her spirits soaring. Shep’s knife didn’t have the reach of that titanium prybar, but after Bill Shepherd had smuggled the sharp Ernie Emerson blade on board the ISS during the Space Shuttle era, the Americans had kept the unofficial tool aboard for those extratough jobs when their official, and much duller, blades just couldn’t get the job done.

  Kimberly held Shep’s knife in one hand as she returned to the hatch. She waited a moment.

  The murderers had stopped talking. She couldn’t detect any sign of their presence. Maybe they were already searching the JPM, where she’d been when they’d docked. If that was the case they’d be at the far bow of the ISS, which would allow her plenty of time to get to the Soyuz, perhaps even undetected.

  PURSUED

  Kimberly hesitated another moment, and then decided it was time to go. Holding Shep’s knife in her right hand, she grabbed the edge of the Node 3 starboard hatch with her left as hard as she could, pushing away at the last moment to keep her momentum from swinging her around. She flew headfirst into Node 1, and once clear of the Node 3 hatch she kicked at the vestibule to change her direction and head down the ISS to the far, aft end.

  She’d tried to be as quiet as she could, but one of the two must have seen her. As she soared through Node 1 she heard an excited shout come from behind her.

  Crap! She felt as though she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. She flew through the air with her hands out in front of her, still holding the knife. She didn’t dare look behind her, but she figured that they must have already pushed off in hot pursuit.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Although she was flying quickly through the air, to Kimberly it seemed as if she only crept toward the Russian FGB module.

  She knew she was moving much too slowly. She hadn’t been able to kick off as aggressively as she normally would; she wanted to get out of Node 1 as quickly as possible because although she’d thought the two intruders had been in the JPM, they might actually be much closer.

  And they were.

  Time seemed to slow even more and it took almost forever to reach the FGB.

  Finally. Just another few feet through the Russian FGB module and she’d be in the SM. Then she’d be able to make a sharp upward turn to the zenith, into MRM-2 where the Soyuz was docked. She reached out with her fingers, wanting to claw her way through the empty air of the zero-gee environment, but there were no handholds or places for her to kick off so that she could travel faster. She was stuck with her tortoise-like movement through the air.

  She felt a surge of adrenaline as she finally approached the SM hatch—

  Something sharp, fast, and hard whizzed past her. Her hip suddenly flared with pain. Kimberly doubled over and brought her free left hand to her hip. It felt warm, sticky blood.

  And something was clanging out ahead of her. She spotted the Russian titanium prybar bounce off the side of the hatch and come twirling back toward her, spinning end over end.

  Kimberly ducked and the long, sharp-edged metal bar barely missed her. But her motion in midair had rotated her body and instead of slipping through the SM hatch and kicking off for the Soyuz, her torso slammed against the metal vestibule between the FGB and SM.

  Gasping with pain and fright, she looked up and saw Farid hurtling toward her, his arms stretched out as if he was aiming straight for her throat. Still rotating, Kimberly stuck out her bloody hand and grabbed the metal edge of the vestibule and yanked herself back into the FGB. She spun head over heels along the sidewall, at an angle to Farid and now hovering just below him.

  Farid’s forward momentum prevented him from stopping or turning around. He hit the vestibule where Kimberly had just launched herself. She knew she couldn’t get to the Soyuz now; she either had to hide or somehow barricade herself into one of the modules. But that meant she had to get past Bakhet. She could see the tourist slowly, carefully making his way toward her; he was already in Node 2 and would soon be entering the U.S. lab.

  She took her eyes off Bakhet as she bore straight toward the caution and warning panel of the FGB. If she timed things right she could get to the U.S. lab before the Qatari and hopefully before Farid was able to untangle himself and spring back in her direction.

  Kimberly rotated in the air, and just before she hit the metal panel on the side of the module she twisted up, slamming her feet against the plate so she could push into Node 1 at an angle.

  She flew across Node 1 and zoomed into the U.S. lab, hoping she could fly underneath Bakhet as she had done to Farid seconds earlier. But as she approached the Qatari, a searing pain flared down her arm, and instead of moving at a good angle toward the wall she headed straight for the blue European Space Agency storage bag.

  She reached out and grabbed the container. The Velcro fastener ripped open and a potpourri of electronics hardware flew out, spilling everything from batteries, wires, solid-state lasers, and other lab equipment across the module. She twisted around and spotted a high-power flashlamp, used as an energy source for one of the old Russian solid-state lasers. She grabbed the device out of the air and groped to set its repeating mode.

  Bakhet tumbled into the module and careened off the aft wall. Kimberly heard him grunt as if the air had been knocked out of him. She frantically looked for a place to kick off, but she still wasn’t at an angle that would give her a good vector back toward the JPM and away from the Soyuz.

  There was no way she’d be able to get past the two of them and be able to lock herself inside one of the three Russian modules. But as she quickly ran through her options, she got the gut feeling that if she could get back to the JPM she should be able to jury-rig some sort of device that would allow her to come back and punch through both the murderers.