His stomach was aching with hunger. Cocoa from the thermos has been drunk an hour ago and he did not want to crawl clinging to the rail, get through the narrow doors of the airlock system to change the thermos, check its tightness, and climb back. He had no strength for that.

– Hey, Mackliff, what about the connection?

– Maybe I will be able to fix it…or maybe not, – the flight engineer was obviously nervous.

Whitehouse glanced at the altimeter that was showing 301 mile in perigee, and crawled to his bracket, gently scouring the safety cable.

In order to distract his mind from the gloomy thoughts and a hungry rumbling in his stomach, he switched the intercom headset to a broadcasting wave.

A familiar tongue-twister struck his ears:

– You are listening to CNC, the official radio broadcasting company of the Yokohama pact countries.

Takashi Midzuki is on the microphone.

Transmitting the latest news…

Today at three o'clock (Tokyo time), in Brussels the long-awaited conference on rectification of the consequences between troops of the Islamic States Coalition and the Euro-Asian Union had begun.

The representatives of the military command of the North American community and the Pacific Union will take part in the conference because their troops were also involved in the conflict last year. The conference is held behind closed doors, but it is known from reliable sources that the main issues will be the exchange of prisoners of war and the withdrawal of the forces from the line of demarcation Bombay-Balkhash-Baku-Ankara.

According to our observers, a compromise can hardly be reached, as the main condition of the BIT leader, General Yasser Mohammad Vazir, is the immediate lift of the ban on the export of oil products from the countries of BIG, and the abolition of all trade sanctions… Listen to what is said in the…

A green lamp lit above the right eye of Whitehouse; Mackliff demanded him to switch to internal communication. After the tell-tale voice of the speaker, flight engineer’s speech seemed sluggish:

– Gosh, Ronny! What were you doing? Stop dreaming. Listen, I fixed the transmitter, but I have a feeling that we are being jammed. Do you hear me? Hey!

– I can hear you, but if you do not stop shouting in the headphones my membranes are going to burst. Nonsense! Who would possibly jam someone here? The Germans may be fixing something and that must be the cause of this interference.

-No, it’s not that, the background noise is too stable for ordinary interference.

-You are always imagining things; – Whitehouse slowly turned around and in three hundred yards from the Shuttle saw a matt cylinder with a thin light pen. And he braced his feet on the basis of his camera as if he was capturing an enemy on the wrestling mat of the Amateur club.

– Looks like it is giving in… I have to increase my efforts. What if I try and give a push with my space suit engine? I wish a miracle would happen, for once!

Whitehouse pushed the power lever up and started the back pack.

His shoulders cracked from the tug and a fierce vibration pierced the body, he felt his chest being pressed into metal. On the upper panel of the pressure helmet the reboot lights of all systems of the space suit glimmered violently. The engineer’s voice burst through the roar of the jet:

– Ronny, this is a miracle! The fall has slowed down, and we began to level off, it seems that one of the shunting engines turned on!

– Yeah and Elvis Presley rose from the dead and helped it with a bright song…This is not a shunting engine, but my back pack has turned on – Whitehouse could not finish the sentence.

 He just clenched his teeth and let out a howl, trying to take a breath with his sandwiched diaphragm. A string of orange circles flashed before his eyes, his head felt heavy. The torso control panel cracked and sank in, the temperature rose sharply.

The hum of the back pack became a roar and suddenly stopped.

The red lamp flashed; the fuel consumption is 100%.

– Mack-cliff…– Whitehouse pushed away the firm bracket, which remained in the same position, and started to move away slowly from ‘Independence’.

It seemed to him that he was floating on his back, pulled by gentle surf, relaxing and exposing his face, damp from ocean spray to the sun. Fast seagulls…

– Ronny, we are descending again. Have you noticed which of the shunting engines has worked? Answer! – Rattled the voice of the flight engineer in his humming eardrums.

– Mack-cliff…– The tether uncoiled, stretched and sprang back with a sharp tug around the waist, causing Whitehouse to return from his comatose surf to the height of 291 miles.

– Mack-cliff …– Whitehouse was hanging in thirty yards from the gleaming white hull of the Shuttle. – Goodness, Mackliff!  My space suit and air conditioner broke down and the cadmium cloth layer has dispersed, and…

– What the hell, where are you, I do not see you…Ronny, Ronny! – Dybal’ interfered.

– Of course you don’t, I am hanging right at the opposite side – he gasped, starting to fall into oblivion, but suddenly shouted as if his nails were being pulled out.

– Idiots! Pull me, pull me faster!

The tether length was reducing with agonizing slowness; the electric motors could barely work with the discharged batteries.

When the astronaut fell into the oval of an airlock, the altimeter, which was the only undamaged device of his space suit, stated flatly: 285 miles at perigee.

***

The ‘Independence’ sank into silence.

Usually buzzing local computers were out of order.

The ozone-plasma synthesis reactor was a towering dead pile of panels.

Usually noisy TV and rustling air conditioning were also silent. Mackliff saved the emergency batteries. He was sitting fastened by the battery.

– Mackliff! I can see a probe on the right!

– Does the recognition system ‘beep’ something?

– The system has become junk long ago and it won’t ‘beep’ anything.

– Damn! Does it have any identification marks?

– Aha! Would you like its home address and phone number?

– Come on…

– I don’t know the Sun is in the way. I can’t see a thing…

– Try to approach it.

– What for? This must be the worried rescue service. We have lost contact with them about six hours ago. They are looking for us. Let’s hope that this thing sees us. Or maybe…There is a lot of junk in space nowadays. Eh, I wish we could shift the bracket and two hours later we would drink coffee on our way to Canaveral, – Whitehouse nodded in the direction of the Germans, seeking for support of his words, but saw that they had already climbed inside, and now he's all alone sitting on the telescope.

A yellow strip of Equatorial desert could be seen between his feet that were hanging in the emptiness.

It was uncomfortable and cold, the air conditioning system of the suit was working properly. The chill came from the heart – 297, 6 miles at perigee. He clenched his teeth, and with one jerk reached the unfortunate bracket. He clasped the transmitter and was digging into its innards with a gleaming sting of a soldering iron.

Next to him, in a t-shirt, hovered Dybal, waving away the parts that popped up from the hands of a flight engineer:

– So what? We don’t need this, do we? Why did you throw away the sixth board?

– No, we don’t. Can you imagine, – Mackliff has been maliciously commenting on his massacre with the transmitter.

Lieutenant Whitehouse gradually came to himself, carefully fastened to the plane of the bed by his comrades.

A hard bitter K was stuck in his throat, and even the third package of orange tonic could not push it through; his chest responded with a dull ache to each breath, white spots were flashing before his eyes, and his folded hands involuntarily floated over his head, as if they were still clutching the bracket.

He finally managed to get away from the chaos of the brain, and tear off his tongue from the palate:

– Al, John, what’s up, guys?

– It sucks, – answered Dybal in Russian and turned his tired sweaty face to him. – That probe with no identification marks, Ronny, that were the Arabs…

– Nonsense, it can’t be, – Whitehouse opened the belts that were holding him, stood up from the bed and hung over the handrails of a racing simulator. – Nonsense.

– If a neighboring space object interferes with the work of one or more computers and jams several channels of communication, it may be an unfortunate coincidence, – said Mackliff tediously and shrugged his shoulders. – But if this object paralyses the work of all computer systems and moreover does this permanently, than it is…

– An invasion! – finished off Dybal.

– An invasion? You must be out of your minds. Since last year the Arabs have been lurking in their holes like mice, thanking Allah they were able to sign a rectification on fire suspension at four levels: sea, land, air and space. Mutual nuclear attacks in Asia, nuclear canopy and burning oil fields taught them well.

They are now engaged in extinguishing fire in the wells, deactivation of mosques and military coups. No, guys, there is something confusing about it. – Whitehouse barely crept to the window and stared into space; they went round the dark side of the Earth.

Dybal sighed deeply and heavily:

You are both right and wrong, Ronald. Islamists are actually sitting quietly and they are not going to start a new campaign in the near future, although it is possible. But believe me they will not miss a chance to capture two of the newest and magnificent spaceships, which are moreover very high-tech. Well, is this clear? This is a tidbit. Apparently they found out that we failed to notify the Center about our dislocation and situation. You see? They jammed our signal and surrounded us. They are going to take us like helpless blind kittens and they will find out whatever they want. Remember, how they have tortured two British pilots who were brought down over Balkhash?

– What ring? I don't see anything, – said the pilot, still staring into the darkness; he decided this was a joke; he didn't want to; he dreaded the thought of believing them. -This is a bad joke, guys.

"Well… I burned the decoder because of you! – Something shorted and burned under the soldering iron of the flight engineer. A cloud of bluish grey and caustic smoke appeared. Mackliff angrily spat at the steaming board and by several hysterical blows of the screwdriver turned the remains of a transmitter, and block orientation of external antennas into a swarm of ugly debris:

-Why do you need a transmitter here? What can it possibly do?

Dybal smiled bitterly:

– Are you getting emotional, John?

– Well, stop boasting of your composure. If you shot twice from a machine gun in the direction of Ankara, it does not make you a hero! In a couple of hours you will be wrapped in reflex spirals and fried until you answer all their questions. Then I will see if you have any – having lost his temper Mackliff shouted suddenly. His short black beard was messed up, green eyes bulging, throbbing veins stood out on his forehead.

Dybal only waved his hand and moved to navigator cabin, where Dick Aidem was moaning feebly.

– Look! There they are three Islamist stations! – Panting flight engineer got to the window, where Whitehouse was hanging in confusion, and began to rub his ragged nail on the dark glass furiously. “There they are: three humpback shapeless silhouettes. Only a blind man would not see them! Look…” – he had such a brutal face, as if he was going to strangle the pilot.

Whitehouse pulled himself together, took hold of the fire extinguisher bell for greater stability and thundered:

-Flight engineer John Harriman Mackliff, I order you to shut up. According to the Statute, after the failure of the captain, his duties are performed by the pilot. I order you to immediately stop the hysteria, and prepare to launch the empty cylinders of the diffusion reactor. Execute an order! – the pilot survived Mackliff’s suddenly vitreous stare and made his way to the navigation bridge being careful not to touch the bodies of Dunois and Fujiecka, that were wrapped in sheets and fastened along the casing of the main on-Board computer.

He tried not to look into black holes of windows and not to think that Mackliff can lose control and start a rampage.

A fight on a falling shuttle is a nightmare.

At the moment when he knelt down beside the humps of emergency batteries, he could hear a rustle of still running internal communication from the dynamics beside the navigation pane of the charthouse. A confident voice has started broadcasting in perfect English:

– Astronauts of «Independence» and «Das Rhein»! The Supreme command of the united armed forces of the Arab States Bloc gives you a promise to save your life and dignity, as well as to provide you with medical care and hot meals.

Give up.

Open gateway bays and disconnect the system of self-destruction.

Think about your families, kind and gentle women waiting for you, about your mothers. Surrender, and your life will be saved otherwise you will be destroyed.

Do not wait for help as our probes mimic your emergency call onto the orbits of a different azimuth. Astronauts of the “Independence” and “Das Rhein”, the Supreme…

All of a sudden the Shuttle was filled with a powerful buzzing, as if its hull had a few APS distribution transformers pinned to it.

From the depths of the living quarters you could hear Mackliff shouting:

"Jerry, it is jerry! Idiots, they turned on the military emitter! Fanatics! I had almost thought it out, and they…

Whitehouse and Dybal rushed to the side port.

From the right solar battery of «Independence», from the spot where a combat ship was sticking out of his body; short pale-blue flashes were splitting the darkness. One after the other the probes for tracking and jamming, lit up and were destroyed between them.

The Arabs could not turn off their signal lights, necessary for safety control, and the German gunner methodically shot these electronic suitcases.

Islamist stations began to move away slowly to a safe distance closing them in a cloud of reflecting suspension.

– Come on, comrades, let’s burn the green devils! We are all done for anyway! Let’s have some fun after all…– Dybal was striking out wildly.

At the same time Whitehouse was feverishly writing on the sheets that were torn out of the logbook:

«On the 34th day of the flight we were attacked by the BIS warships.

We have lost the connection.

Fulfilling the duties of the «Independence» NIS, Ronald Scott Whitehouse. Finder must immediately pass this to representatives of the authorities. »

Having nervously filled up six sheets with the same message, he rushed to the reactor of ozone diffusion synthesis and found that Mackliff was already here, finishing the preparation of the cylinders for the launch.

Flight engineer seemed changed.

He was busy.                                                                                                    His fingers stopped shaking there was a metallic gleam in his eyes, and the cheekbones were tightened.

It was the former Mackliff.

Cylinders were intended for many operations: from the input of ozone into the atmosphere up to the dumping of nuclear warheads, and they were designed for multiple passing through the burning atmosphere.

Now they were being prepared to launch without calculation, not above the critical points, and could fall anywhere, but there was a chance that they will be found by their people or allies. So, having torn out the filling tubes, Whitehouse stuck the notes inside and shut the lids. He looked at the flight engineer with expectation.

The other gravely saluted with the expanded palm of his hand.

"– Everything is ready, sir.

– Start without reference. Execute an order. – Whitehouse looked up at the place where on Earth would be the sky. – Let us hope that our people will find those. God bless us!

Cylinders started simultaneously and flew to the Land like an open fan.

The Islamists have not even tried to destroy them.

-It is burning!!! It is burning!!! – Shouted Dybal. – See what a beam can do!

About five miles to the starboard side, one of the enemy ships was burning like a Bengal fire. The emitter continued hitting it.

Germans did not give a chance and just leave it damaged they were finishing it off.

The confident voice that was humming about «The life and dignity, as well as medical care and hot meals», shut up in the middle of a sentence.

– It is burning, you bastard, and it is burning very nicely, – the Navigator was happy as a child, – I hope they do not run out of energy…

At this moment the Shuttle shook as if it hit the rock.

This was followed by a series of aftershocks.

Something exploded and cracked in the engine compartment, you could feel the smell of burning and heated metal. Round bulkhead door to the battery room protruded, but did not open.

The Arabs used non brisant missiles to ‘Independence’, like those that are used to knock out satellites, when you don't want to damage the filling.

Getting out from under a pile of floppy disks and the coils of a collapsed rack of the archive, Whitehouse was anxiously listening to the established silence.

Emitter of «Das Rhein» was silent.

Mackliff was pottering about nearby, "Yes, it has been a long time I was hit in the face like that… "– he said, letting trickles of blood pour into the weightlessness, from his smashed nose.

The speaker of internal communication rustled again:

– ‘Das Rhein’ calls up ‘Independence’, ‘Das Rhein’ calls up ‘Independence’.

Raumwaffe Colonel Manfred von Conrad speaking…As a result of penetration of the cumulative rocket depressurization of all compartments has occurred. I beg permission to move into your Shuttle.

Whitehouse approached the microphone as quickly as possible:

– Yes, hurry up. We will open the lower gateway.

German astronauts appeared in ten painfully long minutes.

Covers of cadmium suits were torn apart; glass of pressure helmets was smoke-stained, identification badges looked faded.

Their eyes were empty, staring at one point. Their faces looked like the astronauts have just returned from the underworld. There were four of them, Colonel von Conrad, Navigator Eichberger and board gunner Hoffman, who was laid next to the fourth, Matthias Leiseheld, whose body was inside a funeral package with a small black-and-red-and-yellow flag pinned to the chest.

He was killed when one of the missiles hit the emitter cupola.

– Well, what do we do now? – Eichberger asked gloomily.

– Allah Akbar. That's what. – Von Conrad looked up at his Navigator with his dull eyes, reddened from the capillary bleeding, and brushed the edge of his hand across his throat.

– There, there! We will show them! – Dybal said, forcing himself to smile and made a hand movement as if he closed the breech of an antique naval gun. – “Our proud ‘Varyag’ does not surrender and nobody asks for mercy…”

At this point from the utilization camera of sanitary block they heard blows of metal upon metal, buzzing of krypton cutter and already stifling air was filled with the smell of welding flux; Board engineer John Mackliff was in the process of making something:

– Hey, anybody! Come here quickly! – His excited voice pierced the silence.

Two German astronauts started moving, but Whitehouse stopped them and began to examine their wounds. Dybal went to see Mackliff, taking first-aid kit with him just in case.

But first-aid kit was not needed; Mackliff sent the navigator back with the task to rip off the heat sealing siding from the cooling compressor of the engine.

 Bandaging Eichberger’s hand and watching Dybal flying back and forth with thermal insulation mats, dragging a trail of debris and wiping sweat from his forehead, Whitehouse asked:

– What is going on there, Al?