by Mark Anson
‘Is the problem serious?’
‘Serious enough for them not to risk using the hibernation units. Nobody’s saying anything, but everyone’s thinking about what happened to the Ulysses.’
‘Yeah. I can understand that.’ The Ulysses – the first manned probe to Saturn – had been lost in deep space nine years before, following a failure of the ship’s power plant beyond the orbit of Jupiter. The entire crew had been in hibernation, and there was no rescue possible, so the mission controllers had to watch as the batteries faded and the onboard systems shut down one by one, turning the ship into a floating tomb. There had been some talk of a retrieval mission, but even that had been abandoned when the ship’s emergency transponder unexpectedly gave out and the ship disappeared from the deep space radars. It was somewhere out there still, but despite numerous searches along its last known trajectory, it had never been relocated.
Clare shivered. Small wonder nobody was taking any chances, and that the Denver was returning to Earth.
‘So what are you doing at the moment?’ Hartigan asked.
‘Just finished another navigation exercise and landing. I was just in the ready room when you called.’
‘Who’s been doing your training?’
‘Captain Shaffer.’
‘Really?’ The surprise showed in Hartigan’s voice. ‘You’re privileged. He’s the most senior pilot they’ve got.’ Her sixth sense prickled again – there was something in Hartigan’s voice. ‘Is he treating you okay?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m being looked after very well, like I said.’ She frowned. Something was definitely up.
‘Good. Well, you know where I am if you need to talk, and I’ll be back down there in a couple of days or so. I expect Shaffer will want me to pick up your training.’
‘Very good sir, I’ll look forward to that.’ She meant it too; getting Hartigan back after the taciturn Shaffer would do wonders for her confidence.
‘I expect you’ll be showing me how it’s done by then.’
Clare laughed. ‘I don’t think so sir.’
‘You’d be surprised. Like I said, we all need to practice. Well, I guess I’d better be signing off, looks like things are happening on the Denver. You mind what I said – give me a call if you need to talk.’
‘Yes sir. Thank you.’
‘All right. See you in a couple of days. Hartigan out.’
She dropped her comlink onto the bedside table as the call ended, and lay back, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, her resolution had failed her, and she was just a nervous new recruit, reporting for duty on her first day. What she was contemplating doing, if she were caught, would get her kicked out of the Corps, or at best reduced in rank and sent back to Earth. Probably never fly again, either, she thought, and that troubled her more than anything.
For Clare, flying was her life. She loved it and everything round it; the training, the camaraderie, the endless practicing for emergencies – it was everything to her. And yet here she was, risking it all to exact her revenge on some worm who had drugged her to have his way with her.
Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head slowly to herself. No. He wasn’t going to get away with it. If she let him, then he would always have that power over her, and she would always be fearful, listening to that footfall in years to come, in case it was his. And if not her, then who else would he choose, and would she be able to sit idly by, watching?
No, she had to do it, for her own self-esteem if nothing else. She wished she didn’t have to bring Gray into it, but she needed someone to keep a lookout. And at least Gray would have plausible deniability if they were found out.
Could they be found out? She went over the plan in her mind again. There were so many ways it could go wrong, and she closed her eyes as, for the hundredth time, she envisaged the consequences. She knew now that the key element was her own resolve. Whatever happened, once she got beyond a certain point, she had to follow it through. She just had to be brave enough and master her own fear.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The opportunity for Clare to get her own back on Coombes came sooner than she expected.
Her training with Shaffer had continued, and she got progressively better at catching the wire on landing, to the point where she was starting to do the descent drill without thinking, and flying the long groove down to the deck in a state of focused calm, visualising the perfect landing. Without realising it, she was becoming proficient.
Shaffer continued to be taciturn with her, hardly unbending from his instructor role, and at the end of each session he shut the aircraft down, did the debrief, and just unbuckled his seat straps and walked away. It was as if she wasn’t there, outside of the training.
She didn’t want to face Coombes until she was ready, and she contrived not to meet him in the galley, eating her meals at odd times instead. There was a knock once at her cabin door, but she kept quiet and didn’t answer.
Perhaps he believed that she wasn’t there; perhaps not, but she saw him one evening, a couple of days after she’d spoken with Hartigan, sitting at a table by one of the walls as she went into the galley. There were only a few people in the galley, and the main service had finished some time ago. A clattering of pans and the shouts of the galley staff came through the service hatches. She knew instinctively that he had been waiting for her for some time.
He looked up, and for a moment she thought; I can’t go through with this. Then she mastered herself, and helped herself to a hot dog from the all-day section, which was all that was left. She walked calmly up to him and sat down opposite.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’ He watched her curiously.
‘So what’s happening?’ She upended the ketchup bottle over her plate, and looked up at him, expectantly, as if nothing had happened.
Coombes looked back at her, and for a moment there was a flicker of uncertainty.
‘Not much,’ he said, and then remembered to smile. ‘How about you?’
‘‘Oh, just fine. Kind of wondering if you only did one-night stands, or if you were interested in getting together again.’ She did her best to make her eyes look friendly.
‘I haven’t seen you for days,’ he said, ‘I was wondering if you were avoiding me or something.’
‘Naah. I’m still acclimatising. I needed my beauty sleep. But I’m over it now,’ she grinned.
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Mind, I had the mother of all hangovers the next morning. Couldn’t remember a thing.’ She shook her head, and laughed. ‘What the hell do they put in that beer they make here?’
Coombes relaxed visibly. ‘I don’t know. I sometimes wonder what’s in their secret recipe. Had a bit of a headache myself,’ he added, and smiled, a confident smile, a smile that showed Clare exactly what he was thinking.
Yes, go on thinking that you’ve got away with it. But will you bite?
‘So.’ Coombes looked at her expectantly. ‘What had you in mind?’
‘Dunno. When are you next off duty?’
‘I’m finished now. You?’
‘Same here.’ She smiled. ‘Fancy doing something together?’ She tried to make her eyes glisten.
‘That depends what it is.’ He leaned closer.
‘Well.’ She speared some fries onto her fork. ‘I was thinking …’
‘Yes?’
‘I was thinking,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘if you were up for it, if you liked the thought of maybe doing it on the rear deck. Out in the dark.’
‘What, in the atmosphere?’ He stared at her, a whole series of emotions crossing his face. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course I’m serious. It’s perfectly safe, as long as we keep our masks on – or hold our breath a lot.’
‘It’s below zero out there!’
‘What, you don’t think you can get it up?’ She smiled at him in mock pity.
‘Of course I can get it up,’ he said, dropping his voice and looking around. ‘I was thinking about how
you were going to manage in your overalls.’ His eyes roved over her flight suit.
‘Leave that to me. I am a woman of devious means.’ She grinned, and looked askance at him. ‘Of course, if you’re not up for it …’ She forked up some more fries, a smile playing on her face.
‘Sure I’m up for it.’ He laughed. ‘Are you?’
‘I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.’
‘What if we get caught? There’s cameras out on the fantail.’
‘But no lights. I’ve seen the monitor display in the main control room. Nobody looks at it, and it’s been left pointing to the starboard side. The port side of the rail is off the screen.’ To forestall any doubt in his mind, she added: ‘And there I was, thinking you might find it exciting, to do the new recruit against the guardrail. There won’t be anyone around; there’s nothing to see in the dark.’
Coombes grinned. ‘You are insane.’
Clare just smiled back at him, and carried on eating her meal.
‘Okay.’
‘Okay what?’
‘I’m in.’
‘You’d like to do me against the guardrail?’
‘Shhh!’ Coombes looked round anxiously, and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Yes, goddammit, I’d like to do your crazy ass up against the guardrail, and may God help my career.’
Clare walked along the port side corridor on the lower deck of the Langley, her heart beating loudly in her chest. Coombes was directly behind her. There was no going back now. Her legs felt weak as she approached the end of the corridor, and the small deck with the airlock that led out onto the fantail.
In her pocket, her finger found the SEND key on her comlink, and she pressed it, sending the pre-arranged message to Gray, to keep a lookout for anyone that might disturb them.
She glanced behind them to make sure nobody else was around, and then opened the clothing locker. She handed Coombes a facemask, jacket and gloves, and took the same for herself, plus a pair of the insulated boots at the bottom of the locker.
‘What are those for?’ Coombes whispered.
‘You’ll see.’ She turned to the airlock. ‘Let’s get inside before anybody sees us.’ She must be mad, she thought, as she reached for the door controls. If this went wrong …
Another hand gripped hers.
‘Not so fast.’
Clare started at the words, and turned hastily, guilt written all over her face.
‘Bit jumpy, aren’t we?’ he smiled, as if he could read her mind. He turned her round to face him, and pressed her back against the closed airlock door, and moved his face close. ‘I need to get in the mood,’ he murmured, and pressed his mouth to hers. It was all she could do to resist pushing him back; he was very strong, and his tongue was insistent, forcing its way between her lips. She made herself give in and open her mouth, and he dropped his jacket and mask and ran his hands over her body through her uniform, down her sides and over her buttocks, pulling her close. He pushed his lower body hard against her, and she felt a surge of panic. This wasn’t how she had planned it; she was supposed to be in control, not him. Her hand crept out to the airlock controls, and she felt for the door open button.
The door behind her slid back with a sudden whine, and he released her as they stumbled backwards into the airlock. He glanced around outside, retrieved his things, and closed the door behind them and locked it.
‘I like your thinking,’ he grinned, and pulled her closer and kissed her again. His hands were all over her, and he had hold of her front zip. He pulled it down slowly, over her chest, and his hands reached inside, sliding up underneath her vest.
She pulled away involuntarily, and he looked at her in surprise. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ she blurted out, ‘just coming up for air.’ Her mouth had gone dry with fear, as she realised what she’d unleashed. There was no going back now; she had to do it.
She slowly unzipped her flight suit and stepped out of it, and forced herself to face him. His eyes were all over her body, and she fought the urge to slap him. Instead, she pulled on her jacket and zipped it up. She had chosen one that was too big for her, and it fell loosely around her, past her knees. She slipped demurely out of her panties underneath the jacket and stuffed them into one pocket, and pulled on the fur-lined boots, which came up to her knees.
‘So … you get to do me like this,’ she smiled, facemask in hand. ‘Up against the guardrail. Just open the jacket at the bottom –’ she indicated the two-way zip ‘et voilà. Just make sure you keep me wrapped up – I don’t want any part of me getting frostbite out there.’ She tried to look as alluring as she could.
She needn’t have worried. Coombes shrugged quickly into his jacket and zipped it up, and slipped the facemask over his head. His eyes behind the transparent visor were wide with excitement.
At the last moment, the worm of fear that had been coiling slowly round her guts turned again, and her resolve faltered. Her plan was crazy, it couldn’t possibly succeed. Suppose it went wrong – suppose Gray couldn’t warn her in time if someone approached?
Suddenly, anything was preferable to going out there with him. She hesitated, put on an apologetic look, tried to explain:
‘Look, I—’
‘No, you’re not backing out now,’ he said firmly, his finger reaching out to the inner door button. ‘You’d better put that on,’ he added, looking at the facemask that she still held in her hands, and without waiting, pressed the button.
Clare rammed the mask over her face as the air hissed out of the chamber. Coombes had taken over completely, and she struggled to fasten the mask straps as he pulled her out of the airlock and onto the open deck.
It was pitch black out on the deck; the Sun had set hours ago, and the only light came from the flash of the navigation beacons on the wings either side of the fantail. Every few seconds, the blackness of the deck was thrown into harsh relief by a sudden splash of garish red light. Behind the scream of the wind, the dull, low-frequency boom of the Langley’s engines reverberated around the deck.
There was nobody about; they were quite alone on the fantail, and the latticework gantry clanged as they made their way to the edge, to the guardrail. The wind thrummed in the metal wires that ran under the rail. Beyond that, there was just blackness, and the long fall to the planet’s furnace-like surface.
Coombes steered her towards the port side of the deck, away from the gaze of the one security camera, which at present was trained on the other side of the deck. Clare’s mind was racing; with each flash of light, she measured distances, angles, seeing and memorising the tiniest detail. As she neared the rail, she saw that the blackness below was lit occasionally with dim flickers of light that appeared and disappeared like fireflies.
Lightning deep in the clouds.
She knew that she had to take control, or he would be on her, and then all would be lost. She turned to face him.
‘Hold on a moment,’ she said through her facemask speaker, ‘let me get myself sorted.’ She made a motion to reach down and start opening the two-way zip at the bottom of her jacket. As she had expected, Coombes took one glove off and started undoing his overalls underneath his own. For a moment, his attention wasn’t on her.
‘Hey, can you steady me,’ she said, stepping in front of him and bumping him as if she’d lost her balance.
‘Sure.’
Now his back was against the rail and she was in front of him. She put her hands on him and slowly drew them down his jacket; down, down. She crouched down in front of him and ran her hands slowly over his crotch, and then down the inside of his thighs. Coombes grinned, and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Her hands crept back up again to his crotch, and she got her fingers inside the open zip of his overalls, and ran her fingers over his erection, stroking it, feeling it grow hard under her touch.
She glanced upwards, watching his face as her hands continued their slow, maddening stroking. Coombes moaned, and closed his eyes.
Clare’s hands flew down, and clamped round his ankles. She stood up with all her force, pulling his legs out from underneath him.
His eyes flew wide open in surprise, but she had caught him off guard; he flailed madly for the guardrail as his upper body went over backwards, out into the air. He hooked his legs tightly at the knees and only just stopped himself from going over completely. His right hand flew out and somehow managed to grab on, but his left arm missed, and it trailed out behind him in the roaring blackness, held there by the slipstream. His breath came in panic-stricken gasps as he fought not to let go, to try to get back.
He could see Clare at the guardrail, looming above him, her face lit in the nightmarish red flashes from the navigation beacons. Her gaze looked sideways, to his right hand, where it clung on to the freezing cold rail. He was still missing the glove on that hand, and the cold was leaking into his fingers. She reached out, and started prising his fingers off, one by one.
‘No, don’t do that – pull me back!’ Coombes screamed.
She thumped the remaining fingers hard, and another let go. Now there were only two left, and Coombes felt his grip failing.
His fingers slid off, and he fell back with a shriek of terror, his body trailing behind the carrier, hanging from the thin rail by his knees. All she needed to do was unhook each knee, and he would fly off into the darkness. And fall.
The thought made him scream uncontrollably, a high-pitched scream of pure terror. Her hands were on his shins. All she had to do …
Her face leaned further out towards him. She fumbled with the gain control on her facemask speaker, turned it up so that he could hear.
‘Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me!’
Coombes stared wide-eyed at her, and nodded. He was utterly in her power.
‘Did you give me something the other night, you piece of shit? Nod once if you did.’
Coombes, hanging there, unable to be heard in the gale of air roaring over him, nodded.
‘Did I ask you for it?’
Coombes shook his head.
