Chapter Text
April 28, 2037
10:37 AM EST
JCJ Outpost-2, Low Earth Orbit
Over the Northeast United States
From this altitude, N can’t help but admire the landscape slowly whizzing under him, contemplating just how many people might be down there living their lives, oblivious to the small complex of pressurized tubes and sprawling solar arrays of Orbital Outpost-2, floating more than 70 miles off the surface.
Checking his GPS systems, he quickly found their exact location, being the eastern half of Connecticut, just west of New London. Below, the entirety of New England fanned out in his vision, reflecting against his cream-yellow optics.
The drifting mass below him looked so tranquil, so innocent, the sunlight shimmering off of the oceans and baking the verdant land below. The tantalizing sight stole all of his focus, one that shattered when he was rudely interrupted by a wrench thumping him on the helmet, briefly disorienting him before fumbling to firmly grasp the aluminum girder next to him.
“Alright, Mr. Golden Retriever, help me out with this battery, will ya?” A familiar female voice said over the radio, laced with playful annoyance.
“Sorry, Uzi!” N replied, pivoting around to face the smaller drone with a grin, still looking back towards the surface. “You know how much I love Earthgazing!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Uzi softened, “It’s beautiful and all, but we gotta be back inside in thirty minutes, tops.”
“Aw, come on ‘Zi, that’s ages from now! Why can’t you just take a few seconds to look around? You’re missing so much!” N faux-pouted, gently goading her to look.
Tch. Uzi scoffed, rolling her optics and smirking as she looked over at Earth, most of the view now dominated by the blue splatter of the Atlantic Ocean. “Yeah, great waterfront view, am I right?”
N laughed jovially as he helped Uzi unfasten the spent battery from the side of the Beta module, the wrench silently clicking as the four bolts were removed and placed into N’s suit pocket.
Unbeknownst to the crew, their space program had taken that day as an opportunity to test out a new method of decommissioning old satellites.
9:39 AM CST
Houston, Texas
JCJenson Space Center
On the surface, Mission Control was buzzing with morning activity. Workers tapped away at computers in the Flight Control rooms, communicating different commands and messages between them, preparing for the next stage of the flight.
With a dull ‘thunk,’ Flight Director J set down her mug of oil to take roll over the craft’s systems.
“Quite the morning, eh, J?” A feminine voice laced with an Australian accent rang behind her.
The disassembly drone spun around in her chair to the other drone towering over her, obviously based off of the disassemblers in terms of height, albeit without the special forearms and wings.
“It sure is, Tessa!” J responded obediently, “I think we’re ready to get this show started!”
“Perfect, the media’s gonna watch this, so we can’t afford any cock-ups.”
“Don’t worry about it, Tessa.” J reassured the other, “It's just a few thruster firings over a half hour. There’s a crew outside on Outpost-2, but they‘re miles away.”
“You can never be too careful.” Tessa stated bluntly.
“If it makes you feel any better, they should be in before we even start the deorbit burn.” The disassembler added.
“They better be. Go ahead.”
“Right. All stations listen up. Give me a GO/NO-GO for rendezvous. Telemetry?”
There was a brief pause, before a smallish voice answered, “Go.”
J continued down the line, rattling off Comms, Guidance, and Robotics. All three were met with affirmations.
“RCS?”
“Hold, flight.”
Come on, Galvin. It was going so well.
“RCS, what’ve we got?”
Matt Galvin spun around to look at J in the optics.
”System’s been behaving erratically since payload separation. I think it could be a valve fault.”
“How serious?”
“Just one on the fore/aft axis.”
J looked through a chart that would tell her what the craft could live without. Arriving at an answer, she responded, “Shut down the thruster, then proceed.”
Matt turned back and tapped out a command, before responding, “Go, flight.”
“All systems go for rendezvous. Commence intercept maneuver.”
Floating miles over southeastern New Hampshire, the Satellite Deorbit Test-1 craft began a set of RCS firings that would drift it closer to a dead communications probe.
What Mission Control hadn’t known was that deep within the circuitry, an electrical arc caused the commands to be mistakenly transmitted to the considerably more powerful main engines.
What had been intended to be a speed change of no more than a few feet per second suddenly turned into one in excess of 200 miles per hour before the engine could be shut down.
The Mission Control staff watched in horror as the calculated distance to the test probe shrank from a few miles to less than one, before every screen monitoring the spacecraft simultaneously went blank, apart from three letters, “L.O.S.”
J stared at the screens, knowing full well what the taunting letters meant.
The signal was lost.
Both craft had most certainly been turned into scrap.
Tessa, who had overseen the catastrophe, swallowed hard, realizing how deep they might be in the shit right now. As she surveyed the possible effects, a horrifying realization came to mind.
The station crew were outside and unshielded.
A few minutes later, a set of workers started poring over the new data from triangulation and other satellites. As soon as the new calculations were finished, just about everyone in the room collectively decided it was time to flip the hell out.
10:47 AM
Outpost-2
With the bolts removed and one strap left to unbutton, the other strap dangling weightlessly, the authoritative voice of CAPCOM came over the radio, cutting like ice through the air.
“Doorman and Elliot, Houston. Alert, priority one. Return to the airlock immediately. We’ve detected several pieces of debris coasting up to your orbit. Repeating, debris inbound. Return to station and prepare for possible emergency departure.”
The mood of the spacewalking duo quickly soured as Uzi frantically started unbuttoning the strap in an effort to finish the job.
“Uzi, come on! You heard CAPCOM, let’s go!”
“I know! Just-“ Uzi began responding as the strap finally came loose, before she yanked the battery out of its socket.
“Got it!” She exclaimed, prompting N to grab a handle on her suit, clipping his tether to it as he started crawling along the handles back to the airlock, Uzi in tow. For such a vast space, it sure as heck felt tight right now.
N glanced back at Uzi, who was now having to use one arm to pull herself along.
“Uzi, leave the battery! You could fly off!” He urged, worry hanging heavy in his voice.
“Hell no! You think the company would let us get away with throwing away one of these things?!” Uzi shot back shakily, still clutching the bulky object.
N huffed a vent and avoided further conflict, focusing on getting them back in one piece despite how exhausting it was.
“Oi, V! Do you read? Get the Canadarm up and running, this damn battery is slowing us down!” Uzi chided into the radio, frantically hailing the other crew member inside.
“Let go of the damn thing, brainiac! I think Tessa would prefer our lives over a battery!” The other drone snapped back in frustration.
Uzi glanced down at the battery, noting just how tightly she was holding the piece of junk. Realizing that V was right, she groaned in frustration before hurling the dead weight behind her, watching it drift away into the inky blackness. The force of the throw momentarily lightened N’s load as she was shot forward slightly, N now keying the mic.
“V, I could still use some help with getting us back!”
“Look up, dumbass.”
N glanced to his side, spying the platform attached to the end of the Canadian-made robotic arm. “Uzi, grab onto there!”
Uzi lightly pulled herself close to N along the tether, before planting her feet onto his back and jumping to the platform with reckless abandon, grabbing onto the handles bordering the metal plate, then spun around, pulling the arm’s tether around her waist.
It was only when the purple-haired drone looked up that she saw the objects—large parts of at least three satellites—careening towards them. Her violet optics hollowed out as she stared at the spectacle, the sheer speed paralyzing her with fear.
“Uzi, unclip yourself from N!” V shouted urgently into her headset, falling on deaf audials.
“Uzi!”
No reply.
“UZI MOTHERFUCKING DOORMAN, UNCLIP FROM N SO I DON’T ACCIDENTALLY YEET THE FUCKER OUT INTO SPACE, OR SO HELP ME!” V roared, static popping in the comms.
N, noting Uzi’s lack of action, started fumbling with his own clip, not realizing he had let go of the station, now drifting away as the Canadarm slowly pivoted Uzi closer to the awaiting airlock.
Inside the station, V scoffed at the sight. “Orrr, you could just not fucking listen to me, that’s fine!” The female disassembly drone grumbled, starting to manipulate the robotic arm controls.
Uzi finally responded, shakily trying to warn the others about the rapidly approaching debris.
“G-Guys! I-I-I see it!”
“SEE WHAT?” N and V asked simultaneously.
Uzi had hardly let out another syllable before the body of a communications satellite collided with the station head-on, jolting the entire structure. The impacted area instantly disintegrated as debris sprayed out, a jagged metal plate shearing the Canadarm in half, sending it tumbling with Uzi and N still attached.
The radio became a jumble of voices, the two members both trying to contact the others, not realizing that V had most certainly been thrown out of the station, unable to communicate in vacuo.
N was flung out, the tether rapidly pulling taut. The sudden force halted some of the rapid gyrations, enough for him to start pulling himself towards Uzi. It wouldn’t solve everything, but at least they’d be together.
Panting in both exhaustion and fear, N threw his hands forward one after the other, yanking the rope back with each grapple.
Fifteen feet became ten, ten became eight.
Eight became—wait, what's that?
“UZI!” N screamed as another fragment careened into his peripheral vision.
*GRUNTCH*
…
N stared in horror at his Uzi’s body, flailing uncontrollably, still connected to the broken machine. Though it was still rapidly spinning, he could make out the impossible sight.
Uzi had no head.
She was gone.
A few things happened in the following seconds.
First, anyone watching N would see that his visor
changed from its previous “Now Playing: Nightmare_UziFrikkenDies.mp5”
Rather, it was replaced by his eye lights that flew open to the size of dinner plates.
Second, he tried to bolt upright in bed—being instantly caught and yanked back by the belts restraining him against the wall, the recoil sending his head into his bunk’s fire extinguisher, dazing him, his hollowed optics replaced with spirals as his systems recalibrated.
Shaking the daze from his systems, N rapidly unclipped the belts before throwing open the door and scrambling out, bumping into the curved wall at least twice while he re-acclimated himself to the feeling of zero-G.
It was just a dream, he told himself, doing little to stop the flurry of emotions rocketing through his circuits. Robo-god, he needed a hug right now.
“Uzi!” N screamed out, the only audials receiving the shaky plea being his own as his voice echoed through the cavernous mass.
N desperately scrambled into Uzi’s bunk to find it completely empty. A brutal dose of reality snapped back to him, the drone steeling himself and wiping the digital tears from his visor.
Ah, right. The Incident. How could he forget?
The Incident had left him up here, without his crew or working comms with the ground, completely alone. By all accounts, it was a similar scenario to his dream, albeit with 100% less Kessler syndrome.
(note to self, never pull a Noodle Incident trope again)
How long have they been gone? Forty, fifty days? He’s lost track of time while being on his lonesome. At this point, routines and distractions might be the few things keeping him going until he can return home.
He’d never been much of a reader, but under the circumstances, it at least filled up some of the days. Uzi, much more avid about reading, had a few space-related novels in her bunk.
N smiled, remembering when they would retreat to a bunk together and she’d read some of them to him. Before The Incident happened, they’d managed to get through half of one.
Whichever one it was, N couldn’t recall; his memory currently failing him, only remembering the image of a mouthed planet sticking out its tongue and hands in a taunting gesture on the front, a drone’s hand accompanying it on the cover in a thumbs-up.
N can’t easily recall its content either. His memories of it are nothing but a jumble of strange things like digital watches, knowing the location of a towel, and what he thinks is a guy sending off his neighbor for the night and thanking him for bringing over some fish.
His recollection was cut short by a small alarm going off on the wall-mounted computer, one that signaled him to start the day. For once, J had actually taught him something useful for being efficient.
Pulling himself over to the rehydrator, he opened a drawer and rummaged through it for a few seconds before finally finding a packet of powdered caffeine-oil.
Cracking open the spout and placing it into the machine, he started the brew process before sidling over to check today's duties.
A few experiments, nothing too complicated. Maybe he’d find time to read that orange book about the stranded astronaut. Whoever this Watney guy is, he’s got himself in quite the predicament. The guy could stand to use less language, though.
Looking back up, the Earth filled the porthole view as it drifted beneath. Checking his GPS once more, he found the Station was somewhere over Minnesota, between Monticello and Minneapolis.
So close to home.
In a few minutes, he’ll pass over Florida. Maybe he’ll see the Space Center from up here.
Maybe she’s waiting for me to fly over down there. N thought.
“One of these days,” N whispered wistfully, placing his hand on the glass.
“I’ll come home.”