Pepper lay strapped to a blunt, cone-shaped heatshield with a hundred miles of Chilo's atmosphere to fall through yet. The edges of the 2,000-degree fireball created by the shock wave of his reentry licked and danced at the edges of his vision. A small taste of hell, he thought, as the contraption under his back wobbled and threatened to overturn.
When the roaring abated, Pepper cracked free of the crude heatshield and ran his spacesuit through a self-check. Even with the protection of the ablative plastics he'd just ridden down out of orbit, the suit had become a bit toasty.
But within tolerances. Inside, Pepper only broke a gentle sweat.
...
A tiny buzz in Pepper's ear got his attention. He yawned, eardrums popping. His dreadlocks, bunched up inside the helmet, scraped against each other as a young-sounding male voice piped up in Pepper's helmet. The man sounded bored with a side of professional neutral, for the man behind that particular voice, this was just another shift, just another day. "Unidentified reentry vehicle, this is Eupatoria Port Authority, come in."
Air thundered past Pepper, buffeting him.
"Hello, Eupatoria," Pepper said. The spacesuit's radio still worked. That would be helpful.
"Yes, unidentified vehicle, your transponder seems to be down."
Pepper threw out his arms to maximize drag. "I don't have a transponder."
"That's a fineable offense," the voice replied. "What are you deorbiting in? We're having trouble tracking you."
Pepper explained the situation in brief while scanning the horizon.
There was a long pause on the other end. Then a polite cough. "You deorbited with a handmade heatshield and an armored spacesuit?"
"The situation was complicated. Can you do me a favor? I need you to provide me with coordinates. Where I am, where I'm headed, and where I might be able to land." Eventually this slowing parabola would end.
A brief off-mic murmur drifted by. "Unidentified... just please hold."
...
A crisp, older, and quite officious woman joined the discussion. "Mr. Smith, you are aware that you are wanted for the murder of the entire crew of the Sheikh Professional."
"Ah." Pepper nodded. That would come up.
"Well, Mr. Smith, this is quite an unorthodox methodology for deorbiting yourself, and you must realize that even if you survive you'll still be a wanted criminal. We are scrambling recovery vehicles for you right now. When you pop your parachute we will pick you up. But I am being asked to explain your rights before you are picked up. In the event that the pickup is not successful, would you like to enter a plea for prosperity and name legal counsel to continue your defense in the event that you are not present for your trial?"
"No need for all that crap," Pepper sniffed. "I did it."
"Your confession may not stand up due to the peculiar circumstances. Can you elaborate?"
The never-ending carpet of dreary clouds visibly rose to meet him. Not a lot of time left for details. "About that rescue effort: one little problem," he said. "I don't have a parachute."
Silence from Eupatoria filled his helmet as they digested that. "You don't have a parachute?" The original male voice sounded shocked.
"Are you committing suicide?" the woman asked just after him.
"Spaceships don't routinely include parachutes in their manifest," Pepper muttered. "Particularly ones where no one expected anyone from the ship to ever dip into the orbital well."
The clouds rose faster, gaining definition. He could see lumpy clumps, and long whisps scattered behind larger formations.
"So here is what I need," Pepper said. "You need to tell me where the nearest city is."
"But without a chute..."
"Terminal velocity at city height is a hundred twenty miles an hour. As some aboard the Sheikh found out, I'm not easily breakable. You help me hit a city, you either get to pick up my body, or come arrest me."
"You'll endanger others, you're a projectile."
"I'll hit one of the farm levels," Pepper promised. "Besides, you'll want to hear my side of the story."
When the roaring abated, Pepper cracked free of the crude heatshield and ran his spacesuit through a self-check. Even with the protection of the ablative plastics he'd just ridden down out of orbit, the suit had become a bit toasty.
But within tolerances. Inside, Pepper only broke a gentle sweat.
...
A tiny buzz in Pepper's ear got his attention. He yawned, eardrums popping. His dreadlocks, bunched up inside the helmet, scraped against each other as a young-sounding male voice piped up in Pepper's helmet. The man sounded bored with a side of professional neutral, for the man behind that particular voice, this was just another shift, just another day. "Unidentified reentry vehicle, this is Eupatoria Port Authority, come in."
Air thundered past Pepper, buffeting him.
"Hello, Eupatoria," Pepper said. The spacesuit's radio still worked. That would be helpful.
"Yes, unidentified vehicle, your transponder seems to be down."
Pepper threw out his arms to maximize drag. "I don't have a transponder."
"That's a fineable offense," the voice replied. "What are you deorbiting in? We're having trouble tracking you."
Pepper explained the situation in brief while scanning the horizon.
There was a long pause on the other end. Then a polite cough. "You deorbited with a handmade heatshield and an armored spacesuit?"
"The situation was complicated. Can you do me a favor? I need you to provide me with coordinates. Where I am, where I'm headed, and where I might be able to land." Eventually this slowing parabola would end.
A brief off-mic murmur drifted by. "Unidentified... just please hold."
...
A crisp, older, and quite officious woman joined the discussion. "Mr. Smith, you are aware that you are wanted for the murder of the entire crew of the Sheikh Professional."
"Ah." Pepper nodded. That would come up.
"Well, Mr. Smith, this is quite an unorthodox methodology for deorbiting yourself, and you must realize that even if you survive you'll still be a wanted criminal. We are scrambling recovery vehicles for you right now. When you pop your parachute we will pick you up. But I am being asked to explain your rights before you are picked up. In the event that the pickup is not successful, would you like to enter a plea for prosperity and name legal counsel to continue your defense in the event that you are not present for your trial?"
"No need for all that crap," Pepper sniffed. "I did it."
"Your confession may not stand up due to the peculiar circumstances. Can you elaborate?"
The never-ending carpet of dreary clouds visibly rose to meet him. Not a lot of time left for details. "About that rescue effort: one little problem," he said. "I don't have a parachute."
Silence from Eupatoria filled his helmet as they digested that. "You don't have a parachute?" The original male voice sounded shocked.
"Are you committing suicide?" the woman asked just after him.
"Spaceships don't routinely include parachutes in their manifest," Pepper muttered. "Particularly ones where no one expected anyone from the ship to ever dip into the orbital well."
The clouds rose faster, gaining definition. He could see lumpy clumps, and long whisps scattered behind larger formations.
"So here is what I need," Pepper said. "You need to tell me where the nearest city is."
"But without a chute..."
"Terminal velocity at city height is a hundred twenty miles an hour. As some aboard the Sheikh found out, I'm not easily breakable. You help me hit a city, you either get to pick up my body, or come arrest me."
"You'll endanger others, you're a projectile."
"I'll hit one of the farm levels," Pepper promised. "Besides, you'll want to hear my side of the story."