The professor gave a vague wave, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“The kidnappers blew the end off a maintenance shaft which runs to the outside,” Ostara said to Ravana. “The top of the shaft comes up inside this shed.”
She explained that a robot probe, sent out by Wak to fly alongside the Dandridge Cole, had discovered that a control bunker on the surface of the asteroid had been ripped open by an explosion. The bunker was one of four housing the thrusters used to keep the asteroid on course and spinning at the right speed, but they also capped four long excavation shafts, bored into the centre of the asteroid when the hollowing-out of the Dandridge Cole had first begun. Wak had a team of engineers out on the surface of the asteroid assessing the damage to the bunker, but there was no question it had been deliberate, for it appeared that it was into one of these shafts that the kidnappers had guided the stolen Nellie Chapman.
Her search for her cat forgotten, Ravana looked with renewed interest at the nearby brick shed, which she now noted was barely fifty metres from the palace gate.
“Do you think the Astromole I saw burrowed towards the shaft to escape?” she asked.
“Maybe,” muttered Wak. “All I know is that the airlock in the floor of the shed is damaged and the maintenance shaft is open to space when it should not be.”
“Never mind!” replied Ostara brightly. “It gives your team something to get their teeth into. It must be quite exciting to go outside and see the asteroid in space.”
“My team are skilled engineers, not dare-devil bricklayers!” retorted Wak. “The prospect of directing a bunch of concrete-laying robots whilst clinging to the side of a spinning lump of rock is not their idea of excitement. We were already very busy trying to find the power drain affecting the Dandridge Cole’s systems. We have lost remote access to the reactor controls!” he exclaimed. “I need my team here, opening the old tunnels to the engine rooms, but instead I’ve got them outside erecting a temporary dome over the damaged bunker, so they can waste even more time repairing this senseless demolition!”
Ostara looked humbled. “It sounds bad.”
“Is there anything I can do?” asked Ravana.
“Another pair of hands is always welcome,” Wak replied, inadvertently drawing her attention to his mechanical left hand, the artificial skin of which was a markedly different colour to his own flesh tones. “My engineers outside already have the dome in place and I’m just waiting for confirmation that it’s all sealed and secure. Once that’s done, we can re-pressurise the shaft and have a look inside. I am more than happy for you to dangle on the end of a rope on my behalf.”
Ravana’s eyes grew wide. “Will it come to that?”
Wak smiled. “Probably not. The airlock should be big enough to take the hovertruck.”
He was interrupted by a tinny yet insistent beeping noise from his wristpad. Glancing down, he read the brief message that had appeared on the tiny screen.
“The shaft is sealed,” he said. “Let’s see if it will hold some air.”
Without waiting to see if Ostara and Ravana followed, Wak stalked towards the open doors of the maintenance shed and entered the gloomy interior.
The airlock hatch at the head of the maintenance shaft was a ten-metre-wide circular door in the concrete floor, painted yellow and split down the centre so that the two halves of the steel hatch could slide open. The waist-high wire fence that ran around the perimeter of the airlock included a wide double gate at the edge of the hatch nearest to the shed door. On the right-hand gatepost was a control panel, upon which red flashing lights and warning buzzers were doing their utmost to attract everyone’s attention. Ravana and Ostara watched Wak tap at the panel keypad, then heard a loud vibrating drone as the airlock air compressors rattled into life.
“This may take a while,” Wak informed them. “The maintenance shaft is two kilometres long and the whole lot needs to be pressurised before the damaged airlock will open. In the meantime, I suggest you suit up.”
“Pardon?” exclaimed Ostara, looking slightly panic-stricken.
Wak pointed to the row of spacesuits hanging on a rack beside the door.
“No one is going through the airlock without a suit,” he said firmly. “The dome sealing the end of the shaft could give way at any time.”
“I am not wearing a spacesuit!” protested Ostara. “I’m claustrophobic!”
“I don’t mind,” ventured Ravana.
“Fine,” snapped Wak. “Ostara, you wait here and keep an eye on the airlock panel. Ravana, grab a couple of suits and get ready to come with me.”
Wak stalked out of the shed and made for his hovertruck. Ravana gave Ostara an apologetic shrug, then walked to the rack of spacesuits. There were four of them in a variety of sizes; all lightweight emergency suits in bright orange rather than full spacewalkers, each with a matching helmet. Ravana selected her usual size and another that looked big enough for the professor, then returned to where Ostara stared pensively at the airlock door.
“You probably think I’m silly,” sighed Ostara, glancing at Ravana. “Being scared of wearing a spacesuit, I mean.”
“Are you scared?” asked Ravana. She placed Wak’s suit over the top of the gate, then carefully stepped into a leg opening of her own.
“Aren’t you?” asked Ostara. She pointed to the circular hatch in the floor. “Doesn’t it bother you that beyond that door is nothing? That we’re separated from the cold, dark depths of space by just a few centimetres of metal?”
Ravana looked at the airlock door. “I never really thought about it,” she admitted.
She inserted her other foot into the spacesuit and pulled it up around her. Emergency suits were designed to be donned quickly over normal clothing and shoes, so were extremely loose-fitting but not very flexible, thanks to internal reinforcing tubes of spring wire. The result made the wearer look as if they had been gorging on chocolate cake, while trying to move in one was like dancing at a fancy-dress party whilst dressed as an airship. As Ravana slid her arms into the voluminous sleeves and wriggled her fingers into the elasticated gloves at the end, she saw Ostara was trying hard not to laugh.
“You look like a toy animal with too much stuffing,” Ostara told her.
Behind them, Wak’s hovertruck arrived at the entrance to the shed. The professor’s face, framed by the scratched windscreen, was a picture of fierce concentration as he carefully manoeuvred the vehicle through the gap between open doors. The truck was of a basic design; the crew compartment at the front was open to the elements and had a simple bench seat for the operator and a passenger, behind which was a flatbed furnished with removable side rails and a couple of straps to keep any cargo in place. The vehicle flew using jets of hot gas and the exhaust blast filled the shed with dust and noise as Wak halted before the airlock, then throttled back the thrusters to let the truck drop clumsily onto its spring-loaded landing struts. Ravana collected his spacesuit from where she had left it on the gate and handed it to him as he stepped down from the cab.
The drone of the compressors finally changed to a less manic tone. In the comparative quiet that followed, they became aware that the airlock control panel was no longer buzzing its warning, though a red light continued to flash. Suit in hand, Wak went to the panel and scrutinised the tiny digital display above the keypad. Seemingly satisfied, he pressed the large green button at the bottom of the panel.
A loud clang reverberated around the shed as the securing bolts of the airlock door were released. Then, with a screech of steel that made both Ravana and Ostara jump, the two halves of the hatch began to slide apart.