The Edge

by Leslie Lee

see them. They were in the Blue Box Launch Command center.

  "She's nuts, Boss," K'hon said, staring at her, "Zin Zin, this is insanity."

  "How many times do we get to skate around the inside of a ship, huh, big guy?"

  "We're cannibalizing Sha's pod for parts," Th'han'dra said. "She volunteered."

  Sha slammed both fists into the table and shouted "I didn't volunteer, goddammit. We drew straws and I lost. It's not fair."

  Jerry chuckled which infuriated Sha. She took a swing at him, connecting with the back of his head.

  "Oww!" she squealed, holding her fist in pain.

  K'hon guffawed. "Hah! Why do you think I miss him all the time? Hit him once, and you won't make that mistake again."

  "I'm sorry, Sha," said Jerry, gravely. "Here, let me take a look."

  "Forget it, you fucker,"

  "Oooo," the Blue Box pilots chortled.

  "Shut up! Unless you let me fly instead of you, Jerry"

  He looked over his shoulder at the pods. "Sorry, too late for that," he said smugly.

  "Bastards! It's not fair." She threw herself into a chair.

  Zin Zin ran over and gave her a hug. "It's okay, sweetie."

  "No it's not," she groused though she let Zin Zin wipe her tears away.

  Mak tried not to smile. Sha was going to be a great pilot one day. He'd have to make sure to tell her so.

  "Blue Box is taking point," Th'han'dra said, interrupting Sha's tirade. "Silver Shark is bringing up the rear. They'll clamp on to boost the Express."

  "It's gonna get a mite crowded up in your neck of the woods," said Ranger.

  He smiled. "Wish I was going with you guys. What are you doing with all these parts anyway?"

  He could see the tech's in the background hauling equipment.

  "We're maximizing our life support," Th'han'dra said.

  Mak's smile froze. Of course. What an idiot. Without the X, the pods were going to have limited survival time in space. And they wouldn't be able to dock with the Express assuming the Express even survived.

  "Well, maybe we'll all die in a blaze of glory," he said, lamely.

  "Frankly, I would prefer dying in a blaze of old age, if it's all the same to you," said Dakota.

  "You got that right," K'hon interjected.

  "You've got a course set?" Mak asked.

  "You give us the word, Boss," Th'han'dra said.

  "Uh?" he started. He stopped and they waited.

  "Look guys, I want to say something," he said, trying to get the words out. "Especially to you, Th'han'dra." They all quieted down. "You know, I think you guys are the best. I just want you to know that. And, Th'han'dra, I just want to say?" He felt himself flush. He didn't know what he wanted to say. But it might be the last time. He didn't want to say that out loud. And he wanted to say something more. Something important. "I just want to say that, that, you're the best pilot and you should've been Blue Box Leader not me."

  Zin Zin dropped her head on the table, her forehead connecting with an audible thud. Ranger slapped his face with both hands and dragged it down his big, rubbery cheeks, his eyes gazing upwards. Dakota just stared disbelievingly, his mouth gaping like a fish. Sha just sighed, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath.

  "See," said Jerry turning to K'hon. "You really aren't the stupidest guy on the ship."

  "Yeah, you got that right. Hey! What the hell!" He took a swipe at Jerry.

  What was wrong with all of them, thought Mak.

  "Thanks, Boss," said Th'han'dra smiling wanly. "I?"

  The screen blanked. He wanted to wish them luck. To say they'd fly together again soon. Or just one more time. He'd be satisfied with that. Just one more flight.

  Comms were now down. Giving them the word lo launch had become very difficult. And Brenn needed to talk to him.

  "Time's running out," Brenn coughed. He'd been moved from Engineering. "You're going to have to choose."

  "Will you choose if I don't?" Mak asked.

  Weakly, Brenn smiled. He looked like he had aged fifty years in the last few hours. "If you want me to, I can. I'll try to keep your most important people."

  Tempting. It would be easier. Much easier.

  "Nah, I got it."

  Mak steeled himself.

  He stood up on the command console. People wrestled equipment in and out the one door. Some cut the Express to its essence. Some welded new functions to it. The place was already packed and there were more waiting in the huge maintenance area. Parts of the bridge were dark, while bright portable lamps hurt his eyes. Strange shadows flittered around him. Clanging, screeching, tearing deafened him.

  "Attention please," he shouted. Nobody seemed to notice. "Hey, people!"

  Suddenly, the Hellborne all shouted at the tops of their lungs. "LISTEN UP!"

  There was almost instantaneous silence.

  "Can everybody hear me out there?" he shouted at the door. There were shouts of yes.

  "I need volunteers. These volunteers are to die. We can no longer protect everybody. We cannot afford to have these volunteers taken, turned into zombies. I need about?" He looked at Brenn who mouthed eighty. "I need eighty volunteers so that the rest may live."

  He wouldn't have been surprised if somebody shot him right there and then. How much more bad news could he heap on these people's backs? Desperation lined the faces around him. Brenn's earlier news must have spread. The pressure in everybody's heads was getting intolerable. People collapsed only to pull themselves up to continue the work. Nausea doubled people over, but the vomiting didn't stop them. Some bled from noses, ears, and eyes, and still they struggled on. The headaches crushing their brains afflicted almost everybody. It was plain in the way they'd clutch at their skulls trying anything to relieve the agony. Exhaustion pounded down on them like stones piled on top of every inch of their muscles. Could somebody die from simple tiredness? Could this bone deep weariness just take him now? He had to consciously drag his eyelids back open. He wasn't alone. People leaned on each other to keep from collapsing.

  In the silence, there were no shots. Not even muttering. Just people waiting for him to finish.

  "First, anybody who can't speak because of injury, I will volunteer. How many's that?"

  He looked at the med who had taken over Ives's duties.

  "That's not fair," he said. "These men and women should speak for themselves."

  "How many?"

  "None," he said crossing his arms.

  "How many?" Mak repeated quietly. "And we don't have much time."

  "Seven," he finally said. "Sixteen more who probably won't make it through to the next shift."

  "The Hellborne volunteer," somebody said.

  "How many are you?"

  "Twelve."

  "Choose among you. I want only six."

  "All or none."

  "Six that's an order."

  "Begging your pardon, sir, but we choose all but one. One to tell the story. And as you said, there's not much time."

  "Alright," he said finally. "Thanks."

  "You've got seven Soldiers here who volunteer, sir."

  "What's left of the squads volunteer, Mak. That's ten."

  Eleven more stepped forward, all crew. Jamaal recorded all their names.

  But in the silence, he was left needing eighteen more.

  "Could those who have volunteered please move to bay three outside?" Jamaal said. "Thank you."

  Brenn stared back at Mak, emotionless.

  Briefly, Mak considered some sort of lottery, let chance choose for him. He shoved that idea aside. He jumped down. Some people moved away from him. Others would meet his eyes and others wouldn't. They didn't hinder his progress. Jamaal escorted him.

  He reached out to them one by one. He just said follow me please, until he had the seventeen he needed. They might have said something to him but he didn't listen. He couldn't. He wasn't that strong. Some were D'ha'ren but most were Human. Some crew, some Soldiers. Men and women. He didn't
know most of them. He didn't know why he picked this one instead of that one. A young man, a Soldier who stood proudly, unshrinking from his touch. Then an older woman, a mech he'd seen working to exhaustion on one of the consoles, her shoulders slumping in resignation at his touch. A D'ha'ren who spat a curse but fell in behind him. This person he'd seen in the mess hall once. Another, was a stranger who wore a ship's insignia completely unknown to him. He moved quickly, feeling the pressure of time in the pressure in his head. He didn't look behind him to see if they were there. He had to trust them. They followed him into the storage bay off the warehouse to join the original volunteers.

  He hadn't known what to expect. People weeping or cursing him or praying? Instead, they were laughing and joking. The Hellborne were regaling some story and all were enjoying it. The volunteers welcomed the chosen, giving out a few hugs and handshakes until all were caught up with the story the Hellborne were sharing.

  There was a bag being passed around. People were putting in hastily scribbled notes and jewelry and ID's. They didn't seem to be scared or frightened. How could that be?

  Jamaal pushed past him to join them.

  "What are you doing?" Mak said sharply, grabbing his arm. The Security Chief stood between him and the others.

  "You need one more and I know you. And they're," he waved his head back towards the Bridge, "they're going to need you not me."

  "Forget it. I'm not going to ask these people to do something that I won't. And they," he indicated the people on the Bridge, "don't need a pod pilot."

  "You're right. But they do need you. You're going to have to fly this thing to safety."

  "Fly? What, are you shitting me? It's a projectile." He tried pushing by him.

  "It's a life boat, and our only chance."

  "You're nuts, Jamaal, we're all going to die anyway."