Children of a Dead Earth Book One by Patrick S Tomlinson

umbrella and out into a shooting gallery. If you have a hull breach and lose atmosphere, the suit will give you time to come back home.”
    â€œAnd what are the odds of that happening?”
    He shrugged. “Who knows? The shield gets hit between eighteen and fifty times per day. My advice? Be quick.”
    Even with help, it took him another ten minutes to get buttoned up inside the vac-suit. It wasn’t a true spacesuit; their life-support systems were too bulky to fit inside the maintenance pod’s hatch, but it would keep his blood from boiling and held enough air for about a half hour, so if anything went wrong he would have plenty of time to think about how stupid the idea had been.
    â€œOK,” Hekekia tucked the last zipper into its flap. “Remember, we’re going to pilot the pod from here. You’re just a passenger, so don’t touch anything. I can’t stress that enough.”
    Benson sighed. “Seriously, did you all take training on tape or something?”
    He ignored him and continued. “We’ll have a real-time video feed, so if you need something done, just ask and we’ll handle it.”
    He guided him in his squishy vac-suit to the EVA pod’s hatch. The “hangar” wasn’t exactly what one would expect. No shuttles or pods cluttered the deck like forgotten children’s toys. Instead, each pod butted up directly against the exterior hull like blisters, with small locks and tunnels providing pilot access. The director opened an inner hatch and waved Benson through.
    â€œBe careful, detective.”
    Benson smirked. “Was that a trace of concern I heard?”
    â€œOf course. I can’t afford to lose the pod. We’re overscheduled with prep and inspections as it is.”
    â€œGee, thanks.”
    â€œYou asked. Good luck.”
    Benson smiled back at him sarcastically as the hatch closed and locked. He pushed off and floated the rest of the way down the narrow tube, past the emergency pressure doors and grabbed the handle of the outer hatch. It swung inward, revealing the interior of the pod itself.
    The pod’s hull was a flawless acrylic sphere more than two meters across and five centimeters thick, intended to maximize visibility. Everything else, including the life support pack, maneuvering thrusters, and hydraulic manipulator arms were bolted to the back and outside of the crystal orb. It reminded Benson of the sort of small submarines built for deep sea exploration back on Earth. Like most people on the Ark, he’d gone through a phase watching every documentary about Earth life he could find in the database, if only to feel a deeper connection to the homeworld no one would ever see again. Benson had always liked the deep sea vids, if only because the weightlessness of being suspended in water seemed so familiar to him, and the creatures so alien. He’d often dreamed about exploring the Tau Ceti G oceans in one of those little subs.
    Now, faced with the cramped confines and the endless, infinite black of deep space without the warm blanket of the Ark surrounding him, a chill ran down the length of his spine, then turned right around and made a lap of it.
    â€œWhat the hell were you thinking, Bryan?” he chastised himself.
    â€œWhat was that?” Hekekia said through the com built into his helmet. “I didn’t copy.”
    â€œNothing. Closing the hatch.” He pulled the door shut behind him and spun the manual locks into place.
    â€œStrap in tight, detective. Wouldn’t want you to bump your head.”
    Benson arranged himself in the pilot’s seat and fumbled through the thick gloves until he’d managed to click the five-point harness into place. “Ready.”
    â€œOK, launching now.”
    Benson heard the metallic snap as the docking clamps released the pod. For a moment, nothing happened as he drifted gently away from the Ark. Then the thrusters kicked in, sending a