She mentally ran through the sequence and was about to set the vacuum control state from OPEN to CLOSED when it hit her that there was a better than fair chance that the terrorists would discover what she was doing. She needed a way to fight them off.
Swinging her glance around the darkened JPM, she tried to find something that she might use as a long distance weapon, rather than getting in close with Shep’s knife. The Air Force Academy’s traveling wave tube wasn’t in the module any longer, and the laser flashlamp was not available, either. There wasn’t anything like the titanium prybar she could use, and the module was even void of the basic tools she had grabbed earlier. Nothing here but bungee cords and food pouches. What could she use?
She pushed over to the MO bags and started to go through them once again, hoping desperately that there might be something in them that she’d overlooked before. But all they contained were clothing, spare parts, and some food.
She pulled out a plastic bottle of Sriracha sauce; the astronauts called it Rooster sauce because of the rooster depicted on the bottle’s label. Her eyes widened at the discovery. She remembered that one of the visiting astronauts, a biochemist, had told her that the hot sauce pegged at a sizzling 2500 to 8000 Scoville heat units: if it hadn’t been labeled a food product for the ISS, its pH level was low enough that NASA would have banned it as a caustic acid.
She’d rather have a can of Mace to incapacitate the terrorists, but she didn’t have any other choice or much time, so Rooster sauce would have to do. She grabbed the bottle and kicked back to the laptop.
Kimberly pressurized the vestibule and removed the VAJ. Taking a deep breath, and stuffing the bottle of Sriracha sauce and Shep’s knife into her coverall pockets, she pulled the hatch open and prepared to leave the JPM so she could engage the robotic arm and help the waiting rescue team to turn the tables on those two murdering SOBs and regain control of the ISS.
ISS U.S. LAB, ROBOTIC ARM CONTROLS
Kimberly floated out of the JPM as quietly as she could, taking care not to bang the hatch against the vestibule siding. She glided through the cool, fresh air that spilled into the Japanese module, relieving the stuffiness that had grown in there since the power had been cut.
Once in Node 2 she changed her direction by grabbing the hatchway’s inner handrail, changing her linear momentum to angular. She couldn’t see any sign of the terrorists while she flew down the module’s axis. She prayed they were still in Central Post. If they’ve spotted the incoming Dragon, she reasoned, maybe they’ll think it’s a regularly scheduled unmanned commercial resupply vessel. She hoped so.
In a few seconds she was through Node 2, and as she entered the U.S. lab she once again changed her momentum and headed straight for the robotic arm controls. She pulled the Rooster sauce from her pocket with her right hand. Reaching out with her left, she grabbed the control panel and spun around, stopping herself in front of the panel’s screen.
Her heart was thumping hard from the exertion and the adrenaline roaring through her system. She consciously slowed her breathing as she positioned the screen to give her a view of anyone approaching from Node 1 while she started working the controls. No sign of the terrorists; she’d made it without being detected, she thought.
Kimberly ensured that MCC had powered up the arm, while the outside camera showed the Dragon capsule, floating motionless just a few yards in front of Node 2’s zenith berthing port. The Dragon’s velocity was so precisely matched to the station’s that it appeared to be hanging in space, not moving as it waited to be pulled in for berthing. She knew it was actually hurtling through space at exactly the same 17,500 miles an hour as the ISS, but the absence of relative motion gave the illusion that it was suspended stationary just outside the station.
Since the capsule was not moving relative to the ISS, in effect it was hidden in plain sight. Now for the tough part, Kimberly said to herself. She knew that it was one thing for the Dragon to have approached the ISS without being detected by the terrorists, but the instant she started moving the robotic arm they would be alarmed and alerted.
A series of numbers ran across the bottom of the screen and a green light began blinking. The software checks were complete. She drew in a breath and slowly, slowly moved the controls, not bothering to go through the normal safety and checkout procedures to test the arm’s response.
She kept glancing at the hatch leading from Node 2 to the U.S. lab, expecting the terrorists to appear at any second. But she saw no motion, heard no sound from outside the module.
On the screen the long, hinged robotic arm slowly unfolded and stretched out toward the waiting Dragon. It looked as if a giant skeletal hand was reaching out to grasp the snub-nosed metal vessel, extending inch by inch toward it.
Its slow motion started to grate on Kimberly’s nerves. Part of her forced her movements to be methodical, precise, calculated; but another part screamed inside her head to hurry and quickly pull the damned thing into the docking port! She felt her cheeks flushing, the tension escalating as the arm slowly crept toward the capsule, like an arthritic old man.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flicker of something just inside Node 1, near the hatch.
The blood thundered in her ears. Should I continue working the damned arm or get ready for an attack? Taking her eyes off the screen, she peered toward the hatch. Nothing moving. Had one of the terrorists merely gone to the zero-gee toilet in Node 3 again, or were they systematically checking all the modules before moving to the JPM to see if she had left her sanctuary?
She turned her attention back to the robotic arm. It was almost there, mere centimeters until contact. Slowly she opened the robot’s metal hand—three snare wires, arranged in a triangle that closed like an iris diaphragm around the capsule’s grapple pin—wanting to make certain that she could firmly grasp the Dragon. Only seconds away, she’d have the vessel safely under control and start pulling it to the Node 2 zenith berth.…
She flinched as she spotted Farid entering the U.S. lab. He floated above her, traveling slowly down the axis of the module. If she’d kept still he might have missed her entirely.
But his eyes widened with disbelief and he opened his mouth, obviously shocked at seeing her in the module. He started to shout as Kimberly whirled and flicked open the top of the bottle of caustic Rooster sauce.
She thrust her arm at Farid and squeezed the plastic bottle as hard as she could. A stream of red liquid spurted from the nozzle, quickly breaking into a cloud of pulsing globules that hurtled toward the terrorist. Kimberly rotated her hand in a small circle and the onslaught of acidic liquid spewed out in a swirling, expanding cone.
Screaming, Farid arched his back and tried to duck out of the way. He started flailing his hands as if to wave off the engulfing red cloud. His torso began to rotate in midair. The Rooster sauce splashed against his hands and face, breaking into still-smaller globs of searing liquid that ricocheted randomly through the module, spinning away in every direction.
“Kugan, suka!” he roared, twirling, kicking, pulling his hands up to his face, trying to do anything to get away from the blinding, burning pain.
Kimberly coolly turned back to the control panel. The robotic arm was still hanging just over the Dragon. She ignored Farid’s anguished cries and slowly moved the controls to engage the vessel and start pulling it in. Now that she’d been discovered she knew that she’d have only a few more seconds until Bakhet would appear. Once she made contact she’d hurry the berthing process; it would take only scant moments until the Dragon was docked and the guys could take over. They would access the module and storm the station—