by Mark Anson
Clare clung on to the release handle with all her strength as she was almost lifted off her feet by the sudden tornado of air. It felt like her arm was being torn from its socket, but it only lasted a few moments, and was replaced with a deafening roar of air from the open doorway. Still holding her breath, Clare released the handle and made her way as fast as she could towards the safety of the cockpit – she had to get air.
As she passed the open hatch, Shaffer’s bloody mask of a face looked up at her, his one eye staring madly. He was hanging by one hand to the doorframe, and his legs trailed out in the slipstream, just in front of the left engine intake, where the powerful fan was trying to suck him in. Shaffer’s blood-covered fingers started to slide – the engine was winning the struggle, and his mouth opened to scream a final curse at her, the words just audible in the gale of the slipstream:
‘Someone will kill you one day, Foster! Someone – will find you – they will come – and kill you!’
He clung on to the doorframe by his fingertips for one more hate-filled second, and then with a terrible scream he was torn from the aircraft and sucked feet-first into the murderous blur of the fan.
The engine shook on its pylon as the whirling fan blades scythed his body into bloody pieces. The fan gyrated wildly with the uneven load, then some large piece of him went into the compressor, and the engine disintegrated in a cough of dirty orange flame and a shower of blade fragments that buzzed through the metal skin of the cabin. Black smoke belched from the exhaust, and the Frigate’s nose pitched suddenly downwards.
The autopilot had disconnected! The explosion must have cut something. Clare’s vision was going black from lack of oxygen and her lungs screamed in protest as she crawled towards the cockpit.
The Frigate started to roll to the left. She had to get it back under control! She pulled herself upright against one of the seats and almost fell into the cockpit through the open door. She grabbed a facemask from the emergency rack and held it over her face, gasping for breath, and scrambled into the left-hand seat. She dropped the facemask and pulled back on the sidestick with her free hand. The Frigate responded, and she levelled out and corrected for the loss of thrust, and took another two quick breaths from the facemask, before re-engaging the autopilot. Mercifully, it responded, and she cast an anxious eye over the red warnings on the EICAS display to see what damage had been caused when the engine blew. One of the hydraulic systems was reading zero pressure, but the others were working, and there was no fuel leak – the other warnings could wait.
She managed to get the facemask straps over her head and fasten it on properly, and she adjusted the heading to take her back towards the Wright. Her breathing steadied as she sat back, exhausted from the terror of Shaffer’s attack. The injuries he had inflicted on her were really hurting now; she was sure her arm was broken, and her cheek throbbed with pain. She would have to breathe from the facemask’s air supply all the way back to the Wright, and then make a landing with only one engine, but she knew she could do it.
She had done it before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Three days later, Clare sat on a chair in the corridor outside the captain’s staterooms on the Wright. She was in a borrowed dress uniform again; this was the start of the Astronautics Corps’ official investigation into the loss of the Langley, and the conduct of its officers and crew. She had already given her version of events in the debriefings immediately afterwards, but the formal investigation was where her story would be scrutinised and challenged. The investigation process was likely to take at least a year, and she had already been told that she would be required to give evidence to further teams once she got back to Earth.
Conway, as the most senior officer to survive the accident, had given his testimony this morning, and Neale had been in there now since lunchtime, behind closed doors. She had been sat there nearly an hour already, waiting to be called, but she didn’t mind; in fact, she welcomed the time to sit quietly and think. This area here by the control room was the only part of the ship where there weren’t people constantly in the corridors, trying to work round each other.
Her face and ribs still hurt from the fight with Shaffer, and her right arm was in a cast, in a sling under her uniform jacket. She still didn’t know how she’d managed the landing on the Wright, but she’d done it somehow, even managed to catch a two-wire. She smiled, but even that was painful, pulling at the dressings on her broken cheekbone.
The survivors from the Langley had been found space on board somehow; most of them were sharing two or even three to a cabin, with temporary bunks set up in the gym and the engineering deck, but nobody minded. Another group had been ferried over to the Curtiss yesterday to make some much-needed room, and the first survivors would start being lifted up to orbit as soon as the tug schedules could be rearranged. The Curtiss herself had been badly damaged in the storm, and would need a good deal of repair work to restore her operational capability. There was no question of putting into a port, of course; all the repairs had to be carried out while she was flying.
She wondered if the Langley would be replaced. Much of that would depend on the outcome of the investigation, she supposed, but from an operational point of view, three carriers were the minimum for safe operations, as the accident had shown all too clearly. Maybe the two remaining carriers would operate with a reduced crew for the time it would take to build a replacement. Who knows, she thought.
And who knows what she was going to tell the inquiry about Colonel Donaldson. She stared at a stain on the deck near the polished toe of her boot. Hartigan would have known what to do; she could have talked to him. But Hartigan was gone, and she had to figure this one out on her own.
The door to the stateroom opened, and Neale came out. She stood up and opened her mouth to ask him how it had been, but he gave a slight warning shake of his head and walked off down the corridor, leaving her alone.
One of the Wright’s junior officers stepped out of the room. For a second, she regretted that she looked such a mess, then she decided that it didn’t matter; they would have to take her as she was.
‘Lieutenant Foster?’ He consulted his clipboard. ‘Come in please.’ He lowered his voice, and added: ‘Centre of the room,’ so that she would know where to stand.
She clumped across the carpet to where a single chair stood in front of a long table, stood to attention, and saluted with her left hand. Facing her at the table were seven officers, only a few of whom she recognised. A court recorder sat at a small table alongside.
At the centre of the table, the Wright’s captain, Colonel Weaver, looked at her without any trace of friendship.
‘Are you able to raise your right hand?’
‘Not without difficulty, sir.’
‘Please raise your left hand instead. Do you affirm that the evidence you shall give in the case now in hearing shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Thank you. Please be seated.’ As Clare sat down and eased her arm in its sling, he continued: ‘Please give your full name and rank for the record.’
‘Clare Judith Foster, First Lieutenant, United States Astronautics Corps.’
The captain glanced along the table, and introduced the members of the investigation board. Clare paid attention, but found she couldn’t remember their names beyond the first few. All of them were Captains or higher.
‘Lieutenant Foster, I’m sure you’re aware of why you’re here, but for the record, this is a formal internal investigation conducted by the Astronautics Corps into the multiple loss incident involving the carrier USSV Langley and the Olympus-class spaceplane Aphrodite three days ago, resulting in the deaths of ten officers and crew.
‘While there will be other investigations conducted by the FSAA, this is a Corps investigation and you are giving evidence under oath. If you provide false evidence, or deliberately omit anything that later comes to light as a result of this or any other investiga
tion, we may take disciplinary procedures including the possibility of court-martial. Do you understand?’ He gazed directly at her.
‘Yes, sir.’ Clare swallowed.
‘Very well then. I want you to tell the board, in your own words, everything that happened to you, and everything that you saw, from the morning of December nineteenth, the day of the alleged attack on you by Captain Shaffer. Take your time and don’t omit anything.’ He sat back.
Clare took a moment to gather her thoughts, and began to speak.
It took a lot longer to tell them everything than she thought it would. For the most part, they listened, with an occasional question. They spent the most time going over Shaffer’s actions, her last encounter with Donaldson, and what had happened in the Frigate after she escaped.
Finally, after over two hours of listening and questions, the captain consulted his notes and summed up.
‘So, Lieutenant Foster, to recap, are you of the opinion that Colonel Donaldson stayed aboard to hold the Langley steady, to allow you and the rest of his crew to escape, knowing full well that his actions would lead to the loss of his own life?’
‘Yes, sir, I am.’
‘And this – final incident in the Frigate, with the injured Captain Shaffer – you are convinced that his behaviour, including his sustained attacks on you, was the result of your turning down his advances towards you earlier in your tour?’
‘Yes, sir, I am. He wouldn’t stop, and when I threatened to go to the captain about it, he sedated me and threw me in the garbage disposal unit. It was Colonel Donaldson that rescued me and allowed me to escape from the Langley.’
‘Have you anything further to add to your testimony?’
Clare paused a moment before replying.
‘I wish to say that in my opinion, the actions of Colonel Donaldson were in the finest traditions of the Corps, and we all owe him our lives.’
‘Thank you, Lieutenant Foster. You may leave.’
Clare stood and saluted, and turned to leave the room.
So that was how it all ends, she thought, as she made her way back to the temporary cabin she was sharing with Lorna Gray. She closed the door and shrugged out of the uniform jacket, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
She had thought carefully about what she was going to say, of course.
She hadn’t mentioned Coombes, or the drugs, or anything about Donaldson’s involvement. In her story, Shaffer jabbed her when she opened her cabin door to him, and she woke up in the garbage container.
If she had brought Donaldson into it, that would have been the end of his reputation. Everyone was calling him a hero; why should she seek to change that? He had come back for her; he had saved her from the horror of the garbage container and helped her escape. In her book, he had redeemed himself. Now he was gone, along with Shaffer, the Langley, and any other evidence that might contradict her story.
She couldn’t take any more revenge on Shaffer if she’d wanted to; he was dead, cut to pieces by the Frigate’s engine, his scream fading on the wind. It gave her some primitive, animal satisfaction that she had done it, that she had seen his look of terror as the hatch blew off, that she had heard his last scream as he had been torn from the doorway and sucked into the whirling blades of the engine.
Yeah.
But if she could trash his reputation and service record while she was at it, she thought, that would do just fine.
Which just left Coombes. Lieutenant Coombes, who had drugged her before having his way with her, made death threats to her in the hydroponics farm, and held her down in a chair so that Shaffer could jab her with a sedative.
She got up, changed back into her flight overalls, and walked confidently out of the cabin towards the galley, where she knew he would be waiting.
‘Impressive young officer,’ Colonel Weaver observed, looking along the table at the other members of the board. ‘We’ll need to check her story out as we hear testimony from the other witnesses, but if it’s true, it would explain a lot about some of the other incidents we’re aware of on the Langley, especially the accident in June.’
One of the officers to his right shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Sir, with respect, there’s a shortage of evidence to support this story. All we have is the forensic report on the Frigate – the human remains in the engine, and Shaffer and Foster’s blood all over the cabin. She freely admits killing a superior officer – okay, she said it was in self-defence – but we should not rule out the possibility of charging her.’
The room was silent for a moment. Finally Weaver spoke.
‘We certainly need to consider that,’ he said slowly. ‘But you’re missing one important thing. You’ve all read by now the initial findings report into the accident in June. As you know, we held certain details back. Foster’s testimony – what Shaffer told her about the accident, how he changed the glideslope angle – it ties up exactly with what we found. Foster would have had no prior knowledge about that; it wasn’t in the report. I think she could be telling the truth – and if she is, Shaffer would have had reason enough to want to silence her, once she escaped.’
The officer persisted. ‘That doesn’t explain Donaldson’s actions. How did he know she was down there, when he went to rescue her? And why didn’t he take the opportunity to save himself?’
Weaver turned to look at him, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
‘What captain wouldn’t go through his ship to make sure everyone was away safely? And as for not saving himself, his command was about to be removed and his entire career put at risk by an investigation. I don’t know how I’d react, in his position.’
He shook his head and sat back. ‘No, to me, I think Lieutenant Foster’s evidence is compelling. If her story continues to check out – and nothing we’ve heard so far from the other officers contradicts it – she could be in line for a commendation.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I think it’s time for a short recess before we continue.’
As they got up and stretched their legs, the Wright’s first officer came up to Weaver. ‘Sir, the interceptor squadrons are looking for promising young officers, for entry into their training programme. If we do end up commending Foster for her actions, you could put her name forward.’
‘Excellent idea.’ The captain beamed. ‘She embodies everything that we’re looking for in young officers. She’s a credit to the Corps.’
‘So, Coombes, do you want to know what I told them?’
Clare sat opposite him in a corner of the galley where they couldn’t easily be overheard. He nodded dumbly, and she saw with satisfaction that his eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles under them from loss of sleep.
‘Well, you can rest easy, because I didn’t mention you at all. And your buddy Shaffer, well I think he’s just going to be forgotten as a disgrace to the Corps.’
‘Th-thank you,’ he stammered gratefully, and for a hideous moment she thought he was going to kiss her hand, but he stopped himself in time. She regarded him with distaste.
‘Don’t think for one moment that I’ve done it to save your scrawny little neck. The only reason I'm not telling them anything is so that I have a hold on you.’ She leaned closer, and her eyes hardened. ‘You see, if I told them now, you’d go to jail for sure. But you’d be out after a few years, and free. This way, you’ll always be wondering when the hammer’s going to fall. And it’s going to fall, believe me, if you don’t do what I say.’
He looked up at her, his eyes fearful. ‘I’ll do anything – anything you want.’
‘Good. When you get back to Earth, you’re going to resign,’ she said softly. He looked at her in shock, then his eyes glazed as he realised she was deadly serious. ‘Oh yes. Because if you don’t resign from the Corps, I’ll spill the beans about your little operation here. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if some other people besides me choose to tell the investigation just what you’ve been up to, now that Shaffer’s gone. Unless maybe you’v
e been trying to buy them off before they give their testimony? It must be costing you a fortune.’ She glanced round the galley, not looking at anything in particular.
‘It’s already cost me everything I have,’ he hissed. ‘How am I going to pay them off, if I’ve resigned? Where am I going to get the money from?’ His voice was becoming high-pitched, like a girl’s.
‘I don’t care.’ Her expression was blank, uninterested. ‘Just don’t let me find you in the Corps by the time I read the official accident report.’ She leaned closer and whispered in his hearing: ‘And if you ever come near me again, or if I hear that you’ve molested any other woman, I’ll come and find you. I’ll tie your legs apart and your hands behind your back, and I’ll cut your dick and balls off with a steak knife. It’ll take some sawing, but I’m sure I’ll manage it, and then I’ll push them into your mouth and leave you to die.’
She smiled sweetly and stood up to go. ‘Goodbye, Coombes.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was late evening in the skies over Venus.
Clare sat in the right-hand seat of the spaceplane, poised on the flight deck of the Wright. The setting Sun filled the eastern sky with its bloated, sinking orb, while the western horizon, in front of them now, darkened through spectacular colours to a deep midnight blue, barred with high clouds. The eruption had pumped enough dust and gas into the atmosphere to provide vivid sunsets for months to come.
It was the end of January, 2142, and her broken arm was healing well, and was out of its cast now. Her face was still sore where the broken cheekbone was mending, and the medical officer had told her that there would probably be a small scar there, but she didn’t mind. The way she looked at it, she had come out of it all pretty well.
They had given the news of the commendation to her this morning; the captain of the Wright had asked to see her before she went. An official commendation this early in her career was excellent. What had really fired her up, though, was the other news; she wasn’t going straight back to Earth, but on to Mars; she had been put forward for an assessment for the elite interceptor unit.
