Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [73]
Intent on her sensors this time, she tracked her progress toward the research ship’s hull. Thirty meters. Twenty. Ten. And then, as if it had been there all the time and had only now decided to take on substance, the hull pressed back against the palms of her gauntlets.
Jiterica had arrived at her destination.
What’s more, Ensign Paris must have known it, because she didn’t feel any more pressure from the tractor beam. It had carried her as far as it could. She was on her own now.
Activating the magnetic anchors built into her suit, Jiterica latched onto the duranium surface—first with her right palm and then her left, followed by her right foot and finally her left one. Each time she made contact, she felt a reassuring clunk.
When she was done, she found herself in a shallow crouch, all four limbs of her suit adhering to the hull. Had she been a human, she would have taken the opportunity to smile. Despite everything, she had reached the Belladonna.
Chapter Twenty-two
JITERICA TURNED THE HELMET of her containment suit as she hung onto the Belladonna’s outer skin.
The hatch that she had seen was above her and to her left, almost hidden by the curve of the ship. It appeared to be no more than ten meters away, but she had learned better than to trust her visual-analog faculty in this place. Consulting her other sensors, she saw that the actual distance was more like twenty meters.
Detaching her right palm-magnet, the ensign brought it alongside her left and reattached it to the Belladonna’s hull. Then she did the same with her right foot. Once her right-side appendages were in place, she detached those on her left, extended them as far as she could in the direction of her goal, and resecured them. And in this manner, she made her way toward the hatch.
She was more than halfway there when she detached her right palm again and realized that something was amiss. Looking down, she saw the feet of her suit drifting away from the hull.
Commander Wu had warned her about this phenomenon as well. The magnetic eddies that existed in the accretion bridge were wreaking havoc with her anchors. If Jiterica wasn’t careful, she might go drifting off—and if she did that, it was unlikely that Ensign Paris would be able to reassert his tractor lock on her.
First, she reattached her sole anchors to the hull. Then she moved more slowly and cautiously than before, making sure not to detach any of the magnets until she was certain that the others were secure.
It took a while, but the ensign at last reached the hatch. It was locked, of course—no surprise there. But she had a remedy for that. Removing a hyperspanner from its sheath along the leg of her suit, she went to work on the hatch.
As it turned out, the mechanism was in perfect working order. With the proper tool in hand, it was the work of a minute to swing the hatch door open. Resecuring the hyperspanner, Jiterica maneuvered herself about until she could lower herself into the aperture.
Unfortunately, she still hadn’t gotten any better at moving in tight places. However, the hatch was made to accommodate the bulk of a containment suit, so she was able to thrust herself down through the opening without too much trouble. At the last moment she felt one of her hand anchors slip off the hull, the victim of a competing magnetic wave, but by then she was mostly inside the hatch.
Deactivating her magnets, Jiterica pulled the hatch closed. She found herself in a small compartment—an airlock, not unlike those that existed on the Stargazer.
It took a moment for air to shoot in and a few more to fill the lock. Though oxygen was of no use to the Nizhrak except as an occasional source of nutrition, she was compelled to wait for the process to run its course. When the readout on the bulkhead