by Mark New
‘She’s still alive.’ The man didn’t seem to be speaking to me but I was curious.
‘How do you know?’ I whispered.
‘Cognitive response,’ he was speaking to the woman, I was sure. ‘Fucking hell - is he indestructible?’
‘Did you just swear?’ she seemed amused. ‘I already told you; he’s a remarkable man.’ Then I knew she was speaking to me. ‘I used your ocular implant to focus on the pulse in her neck. It indicates that she’s still alive.’
‘Will she be OK?’ It seemed important to ask.
‘I hope so. You seem to be recovering and you’ve all been suffering for the same length of time.’
‘Good.’ I still didn’t recall her name but I knew I was pleased she might make it.
‘Do you know who I am?’
Now that I was feeling better and very tired I really only wanted to sleep but it was impolite not to answer the person who had made me feel better. ‘An aspect?’ That seemed right when I thought of it so I took a chance.
‘Very good. I’m Guinevere. Do you remember me?’ I frowned and thought hard. When had thinking become so difficult? I considered the name Guinevere and had a fleeting image of a favourite concert.
‘It’s Legal concert?’
‘Yes, we were there together. Well done. My friend here is Sir Tristan. You’ve never been introduced to him but he wants to help you. Would you like that?’
‘That would be lovely,’ I said dreamily.
‘What have you done to him now?’ She, no, she was called Guinevere, sounded a bit cross. I hoped my new friend Sir Tristan hadn’t annoyed her.
‘Nothing. I’m recording vast amounts of endorphins. I’d guess it’s another by-product of the initial upgrades.’
‘Can he still function?’
‘He ought to be able to. The endorphins should help with the pain. John?’
He was talking to me now. I was John. As I said my name in my head the fog seemed to lift a little bit. What he’d said about the upgrades was like a bell ringing. A bit like the klaxon that was still vying for attention. The fog lifted further.
‘Why is there an alarm going off?’ I half stood in the chair, mask still attached, and tried to peer over the seats. It was too much of an effort and I sat back down.
‘It’s the depressurisation alarm. You know you’re in a trans-orbital jet don’t you?’
‘Of course,’ I said irritably. No wonder she got cross with him if he was so thick.
‘Cognitive awareness now. He’s incredible,’ he marvelled. It didn’t seem to require an answer and neither did he pause for one. ‘John, I need you to take big breaths and then leave your seat and go to the flight deck. You can use the other masks that have dropped on the way if you need to.’
‘Why?’
‘You put the mask over your friend, remember?’ I was confident that he was talking about the woman beside me. I looked at her reclined in her seat with the mask over her face. I did that, I thought proudly.
‘Yes.’
‘Now I need you to do that for the other people in the jet. Can you do that for me, John?’
Concentration wasn’t easy but there was something that seemed appropriate about what he was saying. My breathing had become less heavy but I started to take bigger breaths on purpose. ‘That’s it. Get ready to take the mask off. See where they’re hanging towards the front of the cabin?’ The cabin was the bit I was sitting in, I deduced, and when I looked forward I could see about half a dozen yellow blobs hanging from the roof either side of the cabin. The cabin contained few people, it seemed, but moving was going to be painful.
‘How many masks do I need to put on people?’ I hoped this wasn’t going to be too much trouble. I would rather have slept.
‘Three more. Just three, John, but it’s very, very important that you do it now. I know it’s hard but you MUST do it now.’ He seemed quite insistent. I took one big breath and fumbled with the mask straps until the mask came away. I was holding my breath. There was a significant amount of leg room between the seats so it wasn’t possible to hold on to the back of the seat in front and pull myself up. I had to do it the hard way and the first time I fell back into the seat when dizziness overcame the desire to stand. All the while both the man and woman lent their encouragement. The second attempt was better. I distracted myself from the pain by trying to think of their names. As I established to my satisfaction that they were Guinevere and Tristan I found myself in an upright position and thinking that a breath would be good just now. I stumbled forward until I was holding the back of the seat in front of me and found, shaky though I was, that I could lean over it and reach the mask hanging over it. I gulped down air.
‘Brilliant. You’re doing really well but you must keep moving.’
I released the mask and half-fell sideways into the wide aisle. There were only a handful of rows of seats to negotiate and I methodically made it down towards the front by launching myself from one seat back to grab the next one and recover my standing position while grabbing at the mask for that seat and taking big breaths of oxygen. It was utter agony. My legs felt like they were on fire and my head was pounding along with my heart. It seemed like a lifetime but it could only have been a minute before I reached the front row of seats almost doubled up with the pain. I could feel tears on my face.
‘There; look to your left, John.’
I was holding on to the back of the last seat on the left and did as I was told. There was a woman sitting in the seat, dressed smartly, but making tiny rattling noises in her throat.
‘What do I do?’ I gasped. It seemed much easier to hand over the thinking to someone else. I would just try to execute the commands when I got them and hope that I would soon be allowed to sleep.
‘Use the mask above her for yourself then put it on her.’
I took a long lungful from the mask and was surprised to feel a lot better very quickly. I was confident enough to let go of the seat and lean over the woman while I put the mask on her and fitted the straps. When I stood up from this triumph I had to grab the seat back again before I fell over with the dizziness and the pain.
‘You’re doing brilliantly. Just a couple more things to do and you can rest.’ I hoped that would be very soon because I could feel waves of exhaustion crashing over me. ‘You need to go through that door onto the flight deck. The door in front of you. See it?’ It was six feet in front of me and obvious as anything.
‘Of course I bloody see it,’ I told him in no uncertain terms.
‘Good,’ he laughed, ‘be as quick as you can, eh?’
There were no handholds visible between the end of the seat rows and the door so I simply launched myself across the gap. Taking off was a huge effort and it was only momentum that allowed me to cross the great divide and crash into the door. The simple handle was the only thing to grab and I held it in two hands, bent over and trying not to breathe.
‘You can breathe out, John, just don’t breathe in. There’s a mask on the deck inside the door that you can use.’ I released the air I held in my lungs and it did seem to help a bit. I wrenched the handle and pushed at the door. I half swung on the handle as the door opened inwards. The flight deck wasn’t huge. It contained enough room for pilot, co-pilot and a little unoccupied jump seat to the right behind them. As the door crashed against the bulkhead with me clinging to it for dear life, I saw a mask over the little seat and lunged to my right. I grabbed the back of the seat with one hand and grabbed the mask with the other. The oxygen I took in was the sweetest I’d ever tasted. I was almost out on my feet. My head and heart were still pounding but the stabbing pains had begun to subside. Vision wasn’t great but mainly functional if I concentrated on focusing.
‘One final push. Are you ready? Put the masks on the men.’
I looked towards the other seats. The man to my right was sitting with his head leaning on the right hand side bulkhead. The man on the left was straight back in his seat. I took a few more breaths fr
om the mask then forced myself forward. It was much easier to put the masks on the men from behind them as I was lining the mask up directly with their heads. I was able to move the head of the man on the right to get the mask on but let him lean on the bulkhead again when I’d done. I thought with a start that this is where the people sat who flew the jet.
‘They’re not flying the jet,’ I said aloud, trying to work through the implications.
‘Not to worry,’ said my friend cheerfully. ‘One last job and we’re done. See between them at the top of the console that big red button?’ I looked forward and tried to focus on the console. I hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to find the button as I didn’t want to let him down. Fortunately it was right at the top and very easy to see. It was red, rectangular and much bigger than all the other buttons on the console. I reached for it, leaning between the seats.
‘It has writing on it.’
‘That’s the one. Press it and then you can sit down.’
‘What does it say?’
‘It says “Flight Emergency” but the important thing is that you press it.’
The ridiculousness of the situation hit me.
‘I think this is an emergency,’ I giggled as I pushed hard on it. Instantly it recessed and lit up with a flashing red light.
‘Well done, John! Take the seat behind you and keep using the mask.’ I didn’t need a second invitation. I took a couple of steps back to the jump seat and crashed down into it, collecting the mask with one hand as I did so. I remembered to secure it with the straps around my head before leaning back into the seat. I was completely drained. I closed my eyes and hoped the man who was called Tristan would let me sleep now. ‘You were brilliant, John. Rest now, everything will be fine.’ As a welcome darkness crept over me, I heard very faintly someone in the background speaking.
‘Argo 434, this is UK Air Traffic Control, we have your mayday...’
Blackness consumed me.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Skipper?’
I heard the voice as consciousness returned. The first thing that I noticed even without opening my eyes was that I was lying in a bed, I felt warm and it was mostly quiet except for a soft beeping sound. The pain had pretty much gone now, just a slight residual tightness in my head. I opened my eyes and found that I could focus. I was in a hospital room and I looked around slowly to see that it was a private one. There was me, a machine that seemed to be connected to me which was making the beeping noise (in time with my heartbeat, I guessed, and I was impressed that it was so steady and slow) and a chair containing one immaculately dressed Doc. He was looking at me steadily.
‘Where am I?’ I asked him, discovering that I had a croaky voice.
‘The Royal Military Hospital in Southampton. How do you feel?’
I tried to remember what happened. I recalled waking up in the jet and feeling awful followed by some truly hideous attempts to think straight, a bit of bullying by Avalon Red and then putting masks on people before blacking out. That was about it for the memories. Now I had woken up here and it seemed that, wherever I was, I was still alive and the world was still here. I probably ought to get back to the day job but it was really warm and I was really tired so I sat up a little and answered the question.
‘Not bad, considering. I can only guess that we had a depressurisation event?’
‘Memory too? Whatever next?’ he ribbed. ‘Yes, some big hero managed to put masks on everyone and hit the mayday button. The jet was remote-piloted down by ATC to RAF Odiham.’ Clever things, these trans-orbital jets, I reflected. Fortunately.
‘What about the others?’ I immediately felt bad that I hadn’t asked after them first, especially Taylor.
‘All of them are going to be fine,’ he reassured me. ‘They were taken to Southampton General suffering - like you - from hypoxia. When the RAF people got on board, read your TAG and found that your medical records were classified they called me straight away. I had them divert your ambulance here and came down myself.’
‘Thanks,’ I said though it seemed a bit inadequate. ‘And I get a private room?’
‘Can’t have just anyone treating you, can we, Skipper? Wouldn’t want too many scans of your brain kicking about, would we?’ I saw his point. At least in a military hospital they could order the staff to keep quiet. ‘You’re going to be fine. We had to keep you monitored as you were showing signs of arrhythmia but it seems to have stopped as soon as we hooked you up. In fact, we don’t really need this now.’ He leaned over and removed whatever it was that had been attached to me and pressed a button on the bleeping machine that shut it down. The display went dark.
‘You’re welcome,’ said a familiar female voice.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ I told her, in a stern internal voice that I really didn’t mean. I went back to the conversation with Doc.
‘Any after-effects I should worry about, Doc? How soon can I get out of here?’
‘It’s past midnight now,’ he told me. I had lost track of time and had no idea how long I had been unconscious. It could be the same day or a week later than the day we left Stockholm. Doc didn’t think to tell me. ‘I doubt there’s any residual damage but I’d like you to stay until the morning and then I’ll arrange discharge.’
‘Oh, right,’ I was too tired to argue. ‘Thanks for staying up past your bedtime.’
‘Bedtime? Huh, I was doing battle with pirates as part of a flotilla. Lord alone knows what a shambles my First Lieutenant has made of it.’
I lay my head back on the pillow and chuckled. ‘I hope they haven’t sunk your little boat.’
‘So do I. And on the subject of fearsome weaponry, the Master-At-Arms on base has custody of your assassin’s toy. You can have it back when you leave.’ It took me a second to realise he meant the flesch gun.
‘Oh, that,’ I said nonchalantly, ‘well you never know when you might need one.’
‘I imagine it comes in handy when you’re facing a mechanical fault in an aircraft.’
‘You know, for a former military doctor, you’re surprisingly pacifist.’
‘You’re feeling better,’ he declined to rise to the bait and just grinned. ‘Try to sleep and I’ll be back at 0700.’
‘Roger that,’ I replied. I could already feel my eyelids getting heavier as he took his leave. ‘Anything pressing?’ I directed at Guinevere.
‘No, it can all wait. Sleep now.’ I happily complied.
◆◆◆
It wasn’t exactly a secret even though not a whole lot of people knew (and it was registered under the name of a shell company) but I personally owned a cottage by the sea in Dorset. It was on Chesil Beach not far from Abbotsbury and it was the last cottage on the right hand side along the beach front. It’s a pebble beach so there weren’t crowds of people peering in my windows all year round and that was especially true now towards the end of the year when the sky was grey, rain was spitting and the sea was rough enough to throw white surf with every large wave. Even the gulls had taken shelter when I got there. Out of the six houses on the front, only one was occupied as the taxi drove along the row. The empty ones were owned by private individuals or the local estate and used as holiday homes and were not currently in use. It was quiet, secluded and ideal for my purposes.
Doc had, as agreed, discharged me from the hospital early that morning. He had made me promise to rest for a couple of days before, as he put it, ‘carrying on with your derring-do’. Mostly I consider keeping promises to be a luxury that I have to take or leave according to circumstances but I always seem to keep the ones I give to Doc. Owing someone for repeatedly saving your life will engender that kind of integrity, I found.
I made a brief stop at Southampton General to find Taylor and the flight attendant in the same ward. Luckily, I took enough flowers for both of them. Taylor told me that the doctor had told them all, the pilots as well, that they had to remain there for two more days before they’d be allowed to go. She was embarrassingly gu
shing about how the authorities had informed them that I had saved them all. I tried to accept everyone’s thanks with as much grace as I could and left as soon as possible. I hate hospitals. I could only assume that Doc had used his clout to protect me from the authorities that were descending on my fellow passenger and the crew. Obviously there would be a formal investigation but my own testimony didn’t seem to be required. Previous rank and a high security clearance hath its privileges. I wondered how that would play out. It wasn’t every day that Air Traffic have to assume control of a flight so they’d be under pressure to investigate properly. I was entertained to find that when I collected the day’s news via my implants the story had made the headlines. I only really intended to check the date but was sufficiently diverted to use some of the taxi ride down to Dorset to see what the world media had made of it. Mostly it was just reports that ATC had controlled a landing after a mayday from a jet belonging to Argonaut Industries. The problem was attributed to depressurisation and the investigation would be looking at the cause of it. I assumed that the jet was impounded for the immediate future. I might have to slum it on a commercial flight back to LA.
On the plus side, it was the day after the flight from Stockholm so I hadn’t lost too many hours.
The first order of business when I entered my cottage was to instruct the AI to boil the kettle. I was feeling OK but I knew that plenty of tea would be absolutely vital for my full recovery. As I waited for the kettle to boil, I checked the cottage’s AI security and found that it was still in optimum condition. I had done to this one a little more than I’d done to the one in my place in the Cook Islands on the reasonable grounds that I owned this one outright. I allowed family to use the cottage as a holiday home when I was away (which, come to think of it, was almost permanently) on the understanding that they’d clean it now and again. They had done a good job and I sat down gratefully in an armchair that was entirely free of dust. Thinking about it very carefully and considering the argument on both sides, I concluded that I preferred the Cook Islands. I had to admit that it was a close points decision and partly based on the fact that I had bought this cottage shortly after Becky left me, thus I had spent quite a long time here while suffering from depression. Seeing it now while feeling mentally healthy for the first time in years, I could see why I was quite attached to it. My relatives had left the cupboard stocked so teabags were in plentiful supply.
