Anticopernicus Read Online Free PDF

the whole thing to keep it sterile, and went away to check on the health of the ship as a whole.
    The readouts were not good. The breach of the chamber in which Ostriker had lost her foot had contained nothing essential to the functioning of the ship as a whole; but the other chamber—the on the other side of the ship, through which the micrometeorite had exited—was one through which fed several key tubucules, and all of these were snapped and venting into space. The whole of the forward 7 hull plate had been ripped away by the exiting debris, and that in turn had deformed or pulled free the edges of four other plates. It was bad. Ange did what she could to reroute, and she shut down as much as possible; but not everything could be rerouted without actually going into the room, which promised to be a dangerous and onerous task. More, the impact had thwacked the ship hard. They were (Ange couldn’t sense the actual motion, although a big shudder was still palpable in the craft) now rotating horizontally stem-to-stern, and tumbling on a different cycle on a seventy-percent-of-vertical roll. The micrometeorite strike meant that she didn’t have the complete set of attitudinal jets to steady the ship. She spent ten minutes doing what she could with what she had, and steadying without entirely eliminating the shudder.
    Then she went back to the medical room and checked on the patient. Ostriker had regained consciousness, or some part of it. Ange kissed her forehead, glad that she had already sprayjected the painkiller. How are you doing?
    —I’m thirsty, she said
    Ange fetched her a globe of water, and she sucked noisily upon it. What happened? she asked. So Ange explained about the micrometeorite strike, and about Ostriker’s foot. She seemed to take this calmly enough. For a moment she looked down at her leg.
    —That explains the ache, she said, in a whispery voice. I remember the decompression, and I remember I felt calm. Isn’t that odd, feeling calm?
    —You did very well, Ange reassured her. You did very well not to panic.
    —Everything was dark and swirly, but I had a good handhold, and it was easy enough to see where the holes were. I plugged them both, but then I must have passed out.
    —Bloodloss.
    At this Ostriker began to weep. I feel faint, she said. Oh my foot! My poor foot! How will I do without a foot? My toes! My foot.
    —You’ll be alright, Ange said, awkwardly. When we get home, you can have a prosthesis.
    —I feel faint. Oh, it hurts. Can I have some painkiller?
    Ange fetched a bulb of analgesic. Here, she said. Take a little of this. It’s best if you self-medicate; when you feel sore, sip a little. But don’t take too much.
    And, suckling like a baby, Ostriker did seem to become calmer. Thank you, she said. You’re a good person.
    —You need to rest.
    —I do feel real sleepy. Don’t think me rude, but. And Ostriker fell asleep, holding the bulb of analgesic in one hand and the bulb of water in the other.
    Ange was filthy, sticky with Ostriker’s blood; so she went off to shower. There, in amongst the omnidirectional jets and the cleansing florets of steam she considered the situation. A rogue micrometeorite strike through the flank of the craft was extraordinarily unlucky, but it had a plus side: namely that it was almost certainly not to be repeated. Of course, where there was one micrometeorite there were often others, but had the ship flown into a whole cloud of such obstacles, and had the combined velocity of ship and projectiles been enough to pierce the shield of ice, then the ship could have been shredded and both she and Ostriker would be dead now. On the downside, she was going to have to suit-up and go into the broken 7-side chamber, to see how much of the physical damage could be made good. Only then would she know if the ship could make it back to Earth unassisted. Methodically she worked through the worst-case. They were weeks away from any assistance. Weeks were no problem;