Tim emerged from the cupboard below the drink dispenser and checked his watch. He’d made good time. Albert’s tape loop should end in a few seconds.
He pulled on his gravity slippers, slipped out into the corridor, waved his arms to trigger the automatic lights as if he’d just come that way, then turned and ambled back into the galley where he punched a random button on the drinks machine.
He took the drink bulb from the dispenser and studied the label. It took several seconds for the ship to react.
‘Whoa! What are you doing there? You shouldn’t be walking abpit.’
‘I’m getting a drink,’ Tim said.
‘No, no, no, we’re about to dock. You should be in your seat!’
‘I was thirsty.’
‘Get back there immediately. Hurry, please. Go, go, go!’
‘OK, OK.’
He trotted out to the circular corridor, past the medical bay and back to the bridge.
‘And use the handrail, just in case I have to make a course correction.’
He heard the ship mutter to itself in Eltherian, ‘Honestly, cargo!’
‘Where’s mine?’ Norman said as he stepped onto the bridge.
‘Ooops, sorry.’ Tim paused.
‘No way!’ The ship slammed the automatic door behind him. ‘Back to your seat and buckle in!’
‘Boy, that ship sure can nag.’ Tim gave the others a thumbs-up as he took to his seat
‘What flavour did you get?’ Coral asked.
‘Um ... loplebery.’
‘Oh, barf! Better call the cleanies.’
‘Why?’ He took a sip. ‘Urgh! That’s awful.’
‘You are not going back to get another one!’ the ship snapped.
When he’d left the bridge, Selene Station filled the forward screen from top to bottom. Now all he could see of it was a portion of its outer edge. A massive, multi-decked segment teeming with ships, bots, gantry cranes and conveyor craft. The outer docking plates were for larger vessels like the freighter they’d followed. That had been fifty times their size, but Tim could see a dozen such vessels docked on nearby plates, dwarfed by the immense scale of the station itself.
The ship matched the station’s rotation as it spun gently round a central core to create its own artificial gravity. That meant the ships on the docking plates all parked facing outwards, which was what Knock Knock intended too.
‘Knock Knock Who’s There?’ an automated voice said above the background sound of other radio traffic. ‘Please proceed to corridor Q3, bay 91.’
‘Q3-91. Acknowledged,’ Knock Knock said.
‘No joke this time?’ Norman asked.
Ludokrus said, ‘Docking is a much serious. The time most accidents happen.’
‘We wouldn’t want that,’ Tim said with a wink.
Smaller vessels docked at bays close to the station’s central core. These were reached by a series of square metal tunnels that reminded Tim of the duct he’d just been crawling through.
‘Reduce speed to forty knots.’
‘Reducing to forty,’ Knock Knock said.
There was a long metallic rasping sound from the port side.
Coral jumped. ‘What was that?’
‘Sorry.’
The forward view shifted as the ship corrected. Then over-corrected. The starboard side graunched against the wall opposite. There was a shower of sparks followed by a bang and scrape from underneath.
‘Ooops,’ the ship muttered.
‘Reduce speed to twenty knots, effective immediately,’ the automated voice said.
‘Speed to twenty. Acknowledged.’
They all felt the steady braking as another voice came online. A real person this time.
‘This is Selene Station Nav Command to Knock Knock Who’s There? Are you in need of assistance?’
‘Negative, Nav Command.’ The ship actually sounded embarrassed. ‘Just having a little sensor trouble. My stack seems to be misaligned.’ There was another scrape. ‘I’m trying to work out the new parameters.’
This was followed by two more bangs, top and bottom.
‘Please don’t use our station to practise your basic manoeuvring skills,’ the voice said, still calm. ‘If you’d like tugboat assistance, you’ve only to ask.’
‘No, no, I’m fine.’
Another crash.
The human voice spoke as if talking over its shoulder. ‘Crash crews, stand by.’
Tim glanced at the others. Ludokrus looked grim. Coral was biting her lip. Alkemy had a hand in front of her eyes. Norman was grinning.
The ship swung hard right, scraping off more paint as the docking plate appeared dead ahead, a huge number 91 painted on the adjoining walls. The ship slowed to a hover, stopping in almost perfect alignment with the lights and laser guides lined up on it.
‘Welcome to Selene Station,’ the ship said with palpable relief, ‘and thank you for flying with me.’
They braced themselves. If Albert’s calculations were correct, the ship would think it was mere centimetres above the landing plate when in fact there was still two metres to go.
The hum of the ship’s thrusters faded. A sudden downward lurch was followed by a terrific slamming bang. Alarms and sirens shrieked. Tim, Coral and Norman leapt from their seats and raced from the bridge, groaning at the sudden resumption of normal gravity.
The jump-blocks in the central spine only worked in low gravity so they were forced to take the stairs that spiralled around the outside. It seemed like the long way round, especially now they had their full weight back. ‘At least it’s all downhill, Norman called.
The lower deck was a scene of utter chaos. Tools and bots had tumbled off racks. Locker doors had burst open, spilling their contents. A number of floor plates were buckled, and a ruptured water line in the first segment sprayed out a high-pressure mist that hung in the air like a cloud. Pierced by the sirens and flashing lights, the madly racing cleany-crawlies looked like they were at a robotic disco.
‘C-7,’ Norman shouted as they raced across the deck, leaping smashed components and puddles of spilled fluids.
Like the rest of the pods, the escape pod on C-7 stood with its upper hatch open. Unlike the rest of the pods, three of its gel beds were also open and glowed with a faint blue light.
The siren’s pitch increased. The flashing lights flashed faster.
‘Left. Right. Middle.’ Norman pointed as they ran.
They reached the craft and dived for the beds, Norman to the left, Coral to the right and Tim in the middle. They were impressive leaps, given the gravity, and as soon as they hit the yielding gel, the capsule lids snapped shut. Half-a-second later, C-7’s hatch closed, the craft pressurised, the sirens’ shriek reached an even higher pitch and all eight of KKWT’s remaining escape pods were forcibly ejected.