Kingdom of Monsters by John Schneider (microsoft ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Almost simultaneous with KT-day, and for no technical rhyme or reason he could decipher, his mainframe went haywire, with random glitches, like a cat running on a keyboard.  Some functions seemed to work perfectly – he could access satellite-video for example – but at the same time entire spectrums of bandwidth seemed utterly and completely blocked – none of the military bandwidths came in, despite Tom's repeated efforts.

That by itself should not have been possible.  He knew factions of the armed forces still maintained – he'd seen evidence of continued skirmishes from satellite-images.

But radio-reception was cosmetic.  It now seemed the EITS' life-support systems were starting to get blinky.

He had waited the last six months for the ISS to come in range of his little module-pod.  That had been today.

He had projected the very moment the ISS would be in range.

When he had climbed into that module pod, and pushed the airlock shut behind him, it was the finest moment of pure terror he had ever experienced in his life.

There was nothing on Earth that could compare to what it was like to be in space – physically, mentally, spiritually – the weightlessness – the view of the Earth itself below – a billowing blue jewel that was always surrounded by a starscape of permanent night.

Pushing the release, lofting the module pod away from its moorings was like letting go of a life raft.

The ISS was barely in sight. Tom only prayed his glitchy computer possessed the AI-cognitivity to connect with the station's ports.

He hoped the station itself hadn't been further compromised.

The pod's minimal propulsion drifted him painfully slowly across the airless chasm.

When he was within three-thousand meters, he initiated the docking commands.

For long minutes, there was no response.

What would happen if the ISS simply didn't read his corrupted signal?  He might collide with the station – or worse, go sailing on past.  The thought of arrowing off into space – to just continue to drift on forever – started a bead of sweat on his temple.  He wiped it off, watching the droplet float and then split into particles.

Then there was a responding beep and the pod's propulsion fired briefly, angling towards the ISS' own air-locks.

With excruciating slowness, the pod floated until Tom felt the bump of contact as they connected to the dock.  There was the heavy locking sound as the units attached.

And then the air-lock opened.

There was a blink as the automated lights in the station clicked on.

Tom took a cautious breath.

After a moment, he let himself into the adjoining chamber – the US module that had been one of the original centerpieces of the station.  Over the years, contributing countries had added sections of their own – there had been plans to one day attach thirty modules to the original cluster.  No longer to be, of course.

It was the first time Tom had been on the ISS in several years.  And would be the first time anyone had been aboard in at least sixteen months.

He blinked as something touched his face – he swatted reflexively, as if at a spider, and came up with an empty candy wrapper, just floating loose.

As he looked around, he realized there was more debris floating loosely – nothing major or mechanical – just loose refuse.

It seemed odd that the departing cosmonauts would have left the place in such disarray.  Tom wondered if it was possible the ISS had sustained further damage – perhaps impact from asteroids or other space debris.

Although, this reminded him more of a long-closed warehouse where rats had gotten into the supplies – which seemed unlikely in space.

Tom let himself up through the corridors, arrowing his weightless body like a swimmer, taking a moment to luxuriate in the relative space of the station versus the tiny little EITS.  He knew his muscles were likely badly atrophied – his motivation to exercise had been low in recent months.

The main U.S. lab on the ISS was the Destiny module, and the walls were lined with blinking computers that operated mindlessly, careless of the absence of active human hands.  Along the floor was a view-portal, looking down on Earth.  It was Tom's favorite room on the station.

He pulled himself in front of what had been his own desk for a period of weeks – there were no chairs, but handles to hook your feet and keep you from floating away.  Tom tapped the console and the screen blinked alive.

He tapped a few more buttons.  Everything seemed to be online.  He was looking at an active system.

Whatever had corrupted the EITS apparently hadn't touched the ISS.

Which meant, among other things, he should have access to all available bandwidths.

It also meant he could talk back.

He tapped the screen again, bringing in a satellite feed, focusing the cameras as he had done so often in recent months.

After a few minutes, he found her.

Kristie was on foot.  Her trajectory would be pointing her towards the Maelstrom air-force base in northern Montana – perhaps that was her destination – her audio feed had cut out from the EITS station's reception several weeks ago.

Tom had her bandwidth.  He realized he could call her – he could talk to her.

He actually felt himself freezing up, as shy as a kid asking for his first date.

What exactly was he going to tell her?  Hi – I'm Tom and I've been spying on you from space for a year?

He laughed at himself, taking a breath, his eyes turning up and around as he thought about what to say.

As he did so, his eyes happened on one of the other screens.

And he frowned.

He turned from Kristie's image, pulling himself in front of the other workstation – an active station, he realized.

It took a moment for the full impact to sink in.

Something was wrong.  Something was very, very wrong.

Chapter 12

The screen Tom was looking at was a duplicate of his own console on the EITS.  And the surrounding screens were his workstation.

He tapped the keyboard, bringing up his home