The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,39

is the last teammate I’d ever choose to depend on for help.

“Naomi, with your computer skills, we’ve put you on the robotic Canadarm, positioned in front of our External Multiplexer-Demultiplexer. Please run diagnostics on the computer and confirm all systems a go for approach to Europa.”

“Copy that.” Naomi’s voice crinkles over the radio, and I glance up, my eyes widening at the sight of her balancing on the edge of a moving crane, swinging above the Pontus.

“Approaching the first solar array,” Beckett says, and I refocus on the golden panel in front of me, crossing toward it in the short, bouncy steps my tether allows as I fight against the change in gravity. I am first to spot the torn layer of solar cells, and I reach into the tool belt attached to my suit, pulling out a long wire that matches the image blinking on my wrist monitor screen. And then I feel something smack against my shoulder.

Beckett has caught up to me, the force of his motion knocking the tool out of my hands. The wire spins, floating away from me into the vacuum of space. I curse under my breath as Beckett sidles up to the torn array, ready to make this task his triumph alone.

“General Sokolov, I’m getting warning signals from the external computer. They’re coming through in Morse code and binary.” Naomi’s voice returns, muffled by a piercing, arrhythmic beeping in the background. “The message is, Incoming meteorites at direction nine o’cl—”

But before she can even finish her sentence, the stillness of space is broken by a flood of shards as meteorites come flying through the air toward us. I scramble backward, away from the solar panel and toward the module, but I’m too late—the rocks slice at my tether, and I shout into the void as my body is flung adrift from the Pontus.

“My tether’s gone!” I yell into the radio, before remembering the general’s instructions from the VR lab. Use the jetpacks.

I press down on my joystick, pointing myself back in the direction of the spacecraft and triggering the thrust. But I didn’t realize how powerful the jetpack’s force would be; it knocks the breath from my lungs. I weave and duck past the flying shrapnel, but I can’t get the hang of the pressure controls. Each push of my trigger blasts me too far, and now I’m spiraling through the air like an orbiter, moving too fast to feel my own limbs.

“Leo, slow down!” I hear Naomi shout through my headset. “You have to ignite a shorter thrust and redirect your position to three o’clock—” She breaks off with a scream, and I look around wildly, following her directions and maneuvering the thrusters with shaky hands, until I finally see the Canadarm through the shower of meteorites—cracked in two from the blast. Naomi dangles off the edge, reaching toward one of the handlebars on the Pontus module as the crane starts to whip around like a spinning top, but her gloves only grasp at air.

“Beckett, a little help, please!” I snap through my headset, before radioing the general again. “Naomi and I are both detached from the spacecraft. I’m using my propellers to launch toward her.” But Sokolov remains unresponsive, and I think I know why.

“I’m caught under the battery module,” Beckett groans, and I turn to see a figure in the distance hanging upside down from the spacecraft, his foot stuck in wire netting while his hand fumbles for his tool belt.

“Hang on!” Naomi calls out. “Looks like I can operate the Canadarm through my wrist monitor. Even with the arm broken, if I can just direct this piece of the crane to swing in the right direction, I can grab you both and we can make a jump for the airlock. Leo, can you close the distance with your jetpack? Aim for six o’clock.”

“On it!” I yell back, determination setting in as I push down on my joystick. This time had better work. I lunge forward through the void, using every spare ounce of my strength and coordination to direct my hurtling body toward the spinning robotic arm as it shifts direction, flailing toward the Pontus. Naomi reaches out, and my glove grasps hers.

“Almost there,” she says with a smile, and for a moment I’m mesmerized by her composure under pressure. But then the crane swings again, and I clamber on top of it in the nick of time, Naomi grabbing hold of my waist as the Canadarm whirls closer