Dark Tidings: Volumes I & II
Gregory Marshall Smith
Red Hot Publishing
P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193
ISBN 978-1-927116-03-6
First ebook Edition August 2011
Copyright 2011 Gregory Marshall Smith
All Rights Reserved
One Last Look © 2009
Debt to Society © 2008
Eugene Nix © 2007
Your Most Urgent Attention Requested © 2009
Society’s Children © 2008
Next-Door © 2006
For G.O.O.D. © 2008
Feedin’ the Fishes © 2010
Red Herring © 2011
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank the following people:
C.J. Ellisson – For her encouragement in getting me to re-release these short stories.
Writing.com – for providing a forum where everyday people could read, critique and comment on my writing so I could improve.
Gail Smith – My mother who has always been there for me, even if she hasn’t been a big science fiction fan.
Eric Smith Sr. – My father who has always encouraged my writing.
Ryk Smith – My older brother who allowed me to stay with him for more than two years in Stone Mountain, Georgia (far past the “cold shoulder” stage).
Sydney Jelinek and Shontrell Wade – Editors with Red Hot Publishing who somehow managed to make it all the way my vast prose and long list of intricate characters, especially in areas that’s not quite in their normal fields.
Lulu, Spectacular Speculations, Smashwords, CreateSpace, Far Side of Midnight, SFH Dominion, Writer’s Bump and all of the other online and physical publishers who carried my various works.
Table of Contents
Dark Tidings
Volume I
Science Fiction
One Last Look
Gayorg Marsten typed his code into the keypad as fast as his thick space gloves would allow. He squinted, trying to see past the glare of the overheads in the airlock. The lights, brighter than usual, reflected off several of the panels in the chamber. The polymer glass of his faceplate made the glare worse.
Air’s getting stale, he told himself again, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant, though faint, odor.
He checked the chronometer on his wrist pad and saw that he still had another 10 minutes before he would need to switch over to the secondary air tank he wore on his EVA suit. On any other day, he’d have changed sooner, but today he would need every last drop of air possible.
“You’re hyperventilating, Gayorg. Please calm down.”
That’s okay for you to say, Gayorg thought. You guys are in the ship, not stuck inside an airlock without bathroom facilities.
Gayorg shook his head to clear his thoughts. They were right. If he didn’t keep himself under control, he surely would lose it long before any help could be found.
“Sorry about that, Control,” he said into his headset radio. “Just getting a little antsy, that’s all.”
“Understandable,” the voice on the radio replied after an uncomfortably long time lag. “Just focus on something positive, like being rescued.”
“Any word on when the nearest ship will be here?” he asked for the umpteenth time. “It’s kind of lonely out here.”
That’s it, Gayorg. Keep up the humor.
He glanced up at the overhead lights and then punched a button on his wrist pad. The lights dimmed. He wouldn’t need them so bright now. He was alone in the airlock and it didn’t look like he’d be getting into the ship anytime soon. The bright lights would only make the air inside the lock hotter, which would in turn make him hotter inside his EVA suit.
He tried to think of something other than the fact that he’d been locked out of the ship, 1100 miles above the recently discovered planet of Yadrin. Nearly forty million light-years from Earth, he faced a situation he’d glossed over in the NASA lectures – contamination.
He was an engineer. He spent most of his time in the engine room of the Caliber, a long-range exploratory vessel. He had been stuck on the Caliber since it had made planet-fall. . Everyone connected with the ship’s scientific mission had spent at least three days aboard the specially-designed science module as it conducted low orbit tests on Yadrin’s atmosphere. The module had been designed to separate from the main vessel and enter gravity-laden atmospheres. Now, today, Gayorg had finally gotten his chance to glimpse Yadrin’s lower atmosphere.
Could that have been it, Gayorg wondered. Had a few lousy hours inside the orbital module caused all of this? He’d only been allowed aboard as a courtesy because the excluded crewmembers had protested being left out. Even when the head scientists had acquiesced, Gayorg had been the last one selected.
Of course, he didn’t have what the others had – an inside edge. He wasn’t engaged to any of the scientists or seeing them on the side or married to any of them. In fact, he was a last-minute replacement for an engineer who had come down with a rare form of space sickness and the rest of the crew hadn’t let him forget it.
“Sorry about the long wait, Gayorg,” a voice on his radio said, bringing him back to the present. “It’s just that…well, we’ve had a lot to think about.”
Gayorg recognized the voice as Capt. Elamin Goto, the commanding officer whom he had had only met twice. Most communication between engineering and the bridge involved Commander Jennifer Saito, who then passed the information along.
“I…I can only imagine, Captain,” Gayorg finally replied, trying to keep his throat clear. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, too, sir.”
“Let’s forgo the ‘sir’ thing, Gayorg,” Goto said, his voice cracking. “My friends call me El.”
“Uhm, yes, sir—eh, I mean…El,” a bewildered Gayorg stammered.
Was it always this way, Gayorg wondered? Did they always try to seem friendlier when they knew the end was near? It seemed like small comfort. What use was there in getting a little friendlier if there was no time to benefit from it? Still, it was a nice gesture, probably the best they could do for him now.
“Gayorg, I’m going to put Doctor Kamen on,” Goto said.
“Gayorg, this is Doctor Kamen.”
Gayorg had seen Dr. Krista Kamen many times during the voyage, but only a handful of times when she was awake. Most of the scientists had been kept in suspended animation for the yearlong trip to Yadrin, to conserve food and water supplies. The engineers had monitored the sleeping chambers. Gayorg had spent many days checking on Dr. Kamen, Commander Saito and the other women, simply because they were a lot more pleasant to look at.
“I’m not sure how I can phrase this, Gayorg,” Dr. Kamen said, slowly.
“We’re all adults here, Doctor,” Gayorg replied, bravely. “Just give it to me straight. What are we looking at here?”
“It’s a Level Ten infection,” the doctor answered, her voice filled with remorse and sadness. “It apparently hibernated for a bit, just long enough to escape detection by our air filter monitors. Infection through the body
has been determined to be total.”
“Damn,” Gayorg muttered, wanting to throw up.
Level Ten was the highest level of infection. Some type of virus or bacteria had beaten the monitors. Gayorg had worried over this sort of development for the entire trip because he knew the monitors – for the ship, for the orbital module and for the EVA suits – had only been programmed for known viruses and bacteria. No one could have really known or guessed what might have existed outside of the Milky Way.
But, that’s what he had signed on for. He’d wanted to see the stars, but not just the ones that everyone else had seen since first grade. He wanted to be on the cutting edge of exploration. He didn’t have the grades to be an astrophysicist, but he knew the ships needed engineers.
His body felt like it wanted to shake uncontrollably and it took all of his strength to suppress this sudden urge to panic. Going to pieces would gain him nothing. After all, NASA instructors had spent almost a week preparing future space pioneers for just such a scenario. Still, there was a huge difference between computer-simulated scenarios and the real thing. In simulations, one could always hit “stop” to end the scenario and everyone would be alive and well, laughing and joking.
“Please calm down, Gayorg,” Dr. Kamen said, firmly. “My instruments show elevated readings on all vitals. You’re not going to help yourself by panicking. Remember your training.”
“I…it’s just that…jeez, Doc, Level Ten…I…I…I’m sorry, Doc…I’m much better now. Thank you for your concern.”
He tried to imagine what the others on the ship were thinking now. They’d signed on to search for new forms of life; however, he was sure they wanted that new form of life to be something other than a deadly microbe. Biological contamination was the nightmare of every spacefarer.
Gayorg knew that Marisa Soto must have been going nuts right about now. She had the odd combination of being a scientist and a germophobe. She scrubbed with antibacterial soap three times a day. She’d been his partner when they’d left the ship three hours earlier for the extravehicular space walk to repair a solar panel that charged her laboratory. He could only imagine her reaction to news of the discovery of the infectious virus.
“Any chance of the computer finding a cure?” he asked into his radio. “Might as well make productive use of our time until another ship gets here.”
“Oh, believe me, we are trying,” Dr. Kamen replied, her voice sounding uncharacteristically anxious. “But, at the same time, we need to face facts. We…we have to take certain precautions, Gayorg.”
Gayorg knew what the doctor was talking about. As an engineer, he serviced the machines used to cleanse infections, so he knew there was one and only one way to cleanse a Level Ten infection – complete eradication.
That thought made him sigh long and heavily. It was true that he hadn’t known the crew very long, but they had been shipmates. They’d had a camaraderie that had kept the ship running smoothly. Each man and woman aboard had a different personality that contributed to the uniqueness of the crew. It was why he took offense when the crews of other ships badmouthed Caliber.
“I-I know,” he sputtered, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Gayorg, this is Commander Saito,” a new voice said into his radio. “We’ve raised Hancock on the radio. She’ll be here in less than an hour.”
Good old Saito, Gayorg mused. She was the chief engineer and was always professional. Captain Goto may have offered to let Gayorg call him “El” but Saito would never do that. Gayorg respected that she would maintain her professionalism in such a situation.
“For what it’s worth, Gayorg,” Saito said. “You’ve been a good engineer. And…and…you’ve been a good shipmate.”
Wow, Gayorg thought, stunned. It must have cost her a lot to say that. He felt a tear running down his cheek and unconsciously tried to wipe it away with a gloved hand. Just then, his chronometer beeped and he knew he needed to change out air tanks.
Cursing silently, he began the arduous process of unhooking the straps for the air tanks. There were many days he couldn’t believe mankind had penetrated so far into deep space, yet, saddled itself with technology reminiscent of the 20th century. He unclipped the staying pins and then clumsily pulled the tanks loose.
He set the empties on the floor of the airlock and picked up the fresh ones. Carefully, he began inserting the tanks into their slots on his EVA suit, trying to make certain he got the nozzles into the intake holes. He only had five minutes to complete the maneuver before the reserve air stored in a small cylinder on his waist pack ran out.
He replaced the stay pins and then tightened the straps again. Moments later, a light on his wrist pad turned green and he felt cool air stream into his helmet. He breathed deeply – he never realized just how sweet a breath of fresh air could be. He then refilled his reserve cylinder before turning it off.
“Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said. “Had to change air tanks. Hello? Commander?”
“She had to go, Gayorg,” the voice of Alexander Wooten stated. “How you doing, buddy?”
Gayorg grinned a little. Wooten was the chief cook. He was friendly to Gayorg; but then again, he was friendly to most of the crew, despite the constant complaints about the food. He had a thick skin and was always quick with witticisms and advice for certain new guys.
“Air’s fresh anyway,” Gayorg replied. “Wish I had some of your cooking out here. Standing around in airlocks can make a man hungry, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Wooten answered. “Especially FNG’s.”
Gayorg shook his head and suppressed the urge to laugh. FNG meant, “freakin’ new guy.” Well, actually the “F” stood for something a little harsher but Wooten always substituted the milder curse, which still seemed strange to Gayorg seeing as how Wooten was the son of a Marine general.
“Look, Gayorg,” Wooten said. “I…I want you to do something, okay? The computer can download final thoughts. Yeah, I know it sounds morbid but the captain’s going to mention it in a moment and I didn’t want you to be blindsided. Just be ready, buddy. And…and…well, you know.”
Suddenly, Gayorg didn’t feel like grinning anymore. Every crewmember was required to record goodbyes and prayers to be downloaded and sent home to Earth in the event of death. It made things easier for loved ones back home, but was hard as hell on the nerves of even the strongest person to have to record such a thing. Gayorg had needed nine hours and forty-one tries to record his thoughts on the trip to Yadrin. The captain did allow extra time for final thoughts (which had helped greatly in this matter) before transferring the file to the nearest ship or space station that could get a message back to Earth.
He sighed again and checked his chronometer. It wouldn’t be much longer before Hancock arrived. Then he’d have to do what he had to, but didn’t want to – take one last look. He couldn’t, no, he didn’t want to imagine what the rest of the crew would be doing in those final moments. He hoped they would not be looking at him through the monitors and portholes. He didn’t know if he could stand the longing looks, the thought of them crying.
It wasn’t that he was afraid of death. He had just imagined it happening differently, much faster. He’d always wanted to die quickly, not linger in some hospital bed, knowing that death was getting closer. His father had jokingly referred to his fear as “the taxman cometh.”
“Gayorg, this is the captain,” Goto blurted, bringing Gayorg back to the present. “Download of final thoughts to Hancock is complete. She’s here. It’s…it’s time.”
Gayorg gasped as he looked at his chronometer. My God, he thought, time has flown by. He quickly hooked his wrist pad and tried to access the computer again. Surely there had to be one last attempt by the computer to find a way around the contamination. Alas, the computer had no answer except for the already established protocols for Level Ten contamination – complete disintegration.
He closed his eyes and tried to think happier thoughts, but couldn’t. Caliber was a sc
ience vessel and had no armament. Hancock was a rescue ship. She carried laser cannon capable of destroying asteroids and meteors. In fact, if she diverted half her available power to her cannons, she could destroy a space freighter, the largest ship in NASA’s deep space fleet. Obviously, nothing approaching that level would be needed here.
“I guess this is goodbye then,” he said, slowly. “I never thought it would end like this. I guess I’ll just take…”
“Caliber, this is Hancock, ready for procedure,” a deep voice interrupted. “Please have subject open outer airlock doors and activate EVA suit jets.”
“Hancock, this is ‘subject’ and I can hear you,” Gayorg snapped, more than a little miffed at the interruption at such a delicate moment. “I am opening the outer airlock doors. I am now activating my rockets.”
Gayorg had made his decision. He really had no choice. If he hadn’t fired his rockets, Captain Goto would have ejected the entire airlock. Still, it was a measure of how well he had come to terms with his situation that he didn’t panic, bawl or suddenly suffer a streak of yellow down his spine.
“We have you on monitor, Mr. Marsten,” reported the deep voice from Hancock. “You are clear of Caliber. Please accept my apology at being so inconsiderate of the situation. Is there anything we can do for you?”
“I…eh, thank you,” Gayorg blustered. “Can you give me one last look at her?”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply. “We can do that for you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Gayorg had always hated free-floating. He’d never liked jetting around space with small rocket packs instead of being attached to the ship with tether lines. One slight mishap with a rocket pack meant slow death as one spun wildly away from the ship, something unlikely for a man or woman tethered to the mother ship.
Dark Tidings: Volumes I & II Page 1
