by Rob Boffard
From where he is, he can only see a fraction of the viewing dome, and the sphere isn’t in sight. It could be right above him, that sensor thing looking right at him. His hair tickles his forehead, the strands drifting in weird directions, and an itch starts to creep along the bridge of his nose.
He has never been this cold. The vacuum of space hovers at almost absolute zero – minus 273 degrees Celsius – and there isn’t a ship in the universe that can hold onto heat for long with its engines shut off. Definitely not a little Maverick vessel like the Red Panda. Corey’s fingertips are so numb they’re starting to burn, and his lips and nose throb with gentle, insistent pain. His breath is starting to freeze on the wall in front of him, the condensation turning to ice crystals.
And is it his imagination, or is it getting hard to breathe in here? The air is ice-cold, but stale somehow. Corey’s eyes go wide as he realises what’s happening. Without any new oxygen being pumped in by the ship’s air recyclers, it’s up to the passive CO2 filters to keep the air breathable. But they’re not meant to work alone for this long; they’re being overloaded, clogged with excess particles.
He really, really doesn’t want to die. Not by freezing, not by suffocating, not by anything, not ever. If he dies now, he’ll never fly a ship, never go to flight school. He’ll never see Austin again, or Jamie, or Allie. He’ll never be able to help Mom and Dad stay together, and he’ll never get to tell Mal that he’s a giant dick for filming him while he was in trouble.
The sphere hovers for a few moments more. Then, as if satisfied, it spins in place and moves away, its thrusters firing.
His thoughts are slow, and dull, like glass that’s been covered in dust and left to hang out for a thousand years. He has to keep breathing, no matter what, that his breaths need to be deep. But all he wants to do is close his eyes for bit. Just for a few seconds …
A voice. Crackly, like someone speaking with a mic too close to their mouth. “I see the attack ship moving away,” the voice is saying. “We are OK now, I think.”
The Red Panda’s engines rumble to life, and the lights in the main deck flicker on, one after the other. It takes Corey a few seconds to understand what’s happening, and, when he does, he can feel hot, embarrassed tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. They made it.
The ship’s voice comes on, picking up exactly where it left off. “—assisting other passengers. If you require medical attention, please stay where you are, and the crew will be with you shortly. Thank you for travelling with Sigma Destination Tours.”
Corey breathes a shaky sigh. Engine’s up, which means heat, plus the lights, which means that gravity’ll –
Gravity. Corey’s eyes go wide as he realises that he’s not hanging onto anything, that the old woman is never going to be able to hold him up when the gravity well kicks back into gear.
Then he’s falling backwards, arms flailing, legs bending in a weird direction as the old woman tries to hold onto him. He hears his mom shout his name, and then he hits the floor so hard that his teeth clack together.
Chapter 9
Hannah has to keep telling herself not to look out of the viewing dome.
The Red Panda is drifting a short distance from what used to be Sigma Station – now nothing more than a galaxy of shredded metal and spinning debris. The Horsehead Nebula glimmers behind it in perfect, colourful splendour, edged with deep space, inky-black.
When Hannah got a good look at the Neb, on the way to the dock, it didn’t feel like this. It felt vast, but manageable: a backdrop, something that could be ignored if she wanted. Not any more. The debris gives everything scale, perspective. The pieces will keep moving forever, shooting out from the ruined station, getting further and further apart.
If the Panda waits long enough – and why wouldn’t it, because where the hell are they going to go? – the debris field will disperse. It’ll be like it never existed.
Hannah’s legs feel heavy, as if her feet are encased in concrete, and there’s a ringing in her ears that she can’t get rid of. And no matter how hard she looks, she can’t see any other intact ships out there. Not even any escape pods. There might still be people in the hotel, alive, trapped – but there’s just no way to tell for sure. And she can’t stop dwelling on just how remote this place really is. Sigma is way, way outside the Core systems, accessible only by the single jump gate.
No. No way. They can’t be the only ones. There’s got to be another ship out there. Surely they can’t be the only ones left?
The Panda started to move a few minutes after the attacking ship departed, taking its spheres with it. Hannah didn’t understand why they didn’t leave a few behind, drifting like traps for whoever came upon the station next. And she’s still not entirely sure how Volkova managed to get them out of the hotel. There was plenty of grinding against the hull as she manoeuvred them through, along with distant swearing from the cockpit. When Volkova next came over the speakers, she said she needed to fly them out to a safe distance, where the debris was more scattered.
There must be something we could have done – some weapons system we could have used. Nothing. Total blank. And compared to the attacking ship – hell, compared to everything – they’re tiny. The Panda’s main deck is maybe a touch bigger than her apartment in college, and even when you add on the rest of the ship, it isn’t very much at all.
There’s a noise to her right. The man in the suit jacket – the one who wanted to get on the escape pod – is retching up chunks of thin gruel. He’s bent over, hands on his knees, back and shoulders shuddering as the liquid spatters on the deck’s surface. Hannah’s first instinct is disgust, but she can’t even blame him. Not really.
Her head feels too light on her shoulders, like it’s going to float away. She sits down, and the motion turns into a controlled fall, her backside thumping heavily onto the seat.
The man with the metal arm is shaking his head, his real hand over his mouth, alternating between staring up through the dome and down at his feet. He’s saying something, over and over again, very quietly. Hannah has to concentrate, realises it’s the words “Fucking hell”. His Irish accent was softer before, almost unnoticeable. Now, it almost sounds like he’s deliberately leaning on it. The words sound strange, elongated.
His wife, or girlfriend – Hannah can’t remember if she wore a ring or not, and can’t see the woman’s left hand from here – is sitting stock still, shoulders hunched, eyes on nothing at all.
“Is anybody still out there?”
It’s the old woman. Despite dropping the boy she grabbed earlier, she made it down OK. She addresses the question to Hannah, her voice shaking, but immediately looks up through the dome, as if knowing she won’t get an answer.
The mother of the two boys is sobbing quietly, her arms wrapped around her sons. The younger one is still shivering.
“Hey, does anyone have a signal on their lens?” the boys’ father asks, voice trembling.
Metal arm man wipes his mouth. “Nothing here, mate.”
Shock, Hannah thinks. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen after something like this? They need to keep warm and hydrated. There are bottles of water in the bar, she’s sure of it, and isn’t that where they keep the first aid stuff, too? A first aid kit would have blankets, wouldn’t it? That’d help with the keep warm part at least. And it would give her something to do.
“Stay put, everybody,” she says, sounding a lot more decisive than she feels. “I’m just going to—”
“OK,” says polo shirt. He’s stopped throwing up, and, despite a face the colour of sour milk, he looks livid. He points a finger at Hannah, the tip trembling slightly. “What’s your name?”
His tone – angry, accusing – loosens her fragile grip on the plan. “Sorry?”
“I want your name, and the name of your tour company and its parent company. Pilot, too.” He raises his voice, as if the main deck is crowded with people, and he has to make himself heard. As he speaks, Hannah thinks of
a flag in a high wind, snapping and fluttering, threatening to tear loose from its moorings. “Everybody here is a witness. They put us all in danger.”
“Sir, if you could just lower your voice …”
“I’m gonna sue,” he says, wheeling on her. “My feed’s gonna sue. I’m here on business, and your company just ignored all safety precautions.”
“Hey,” Hannah says, hurt.
“You better get yourself a good lawyer,” the man says. “Because if you think—”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” says the mother of the two boys, her voice cracking. “It’s not her fault.”
“Well, then, whose fault is it, exactly?” says robot arm. He points at Jack. “Because he’s got the measure of it. They must have known that ship was coming. They wouldn’t’ve just let it waltz right in. So that means they sent us out there when they knew it was on the way.” He speaks calmly, reasonably, but there’s an odd look in his eyes, haunted and suspicious.
The boys’ mother folds her arms. “But you can’t just accuse—”
“Why should we listen to you?” says polo shirt. “Your kid almost got us all killed.”
The woman looks like she’s had a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. “Excuse me?”
“He’s right.” The ponytailed woman says. Next to him, she looks almost child-size. “If that lady hadn’t been there …”
“Let’s just all calm down,” the boys’ father says.
Their mother shoots her husband an angry look. “I’m not just gonna calm down. They don’t get to talk about Corey that way.” Her younger son cringes.
Polo shirt laughs. The sound is sharp and coarse, stripped of any humour. “Maybe I should sue you, too. You put us in danger just as much as—”
And then they’re all shouting, in each other’s faces, the shock and dismay boiling over and filling the air with angry noise. The mother is tapping polo shirt man’s chest with her finger, her husband trying to get between them. The guy in the polo shirt smacks the finger away. Robot arm squares his shoulders, and now ponytail is involved, arms folded, sneering into the other woman’s face.
And Hannah doesn’t have the faintest clue what to do about it. Any of it.
A piercing whistle blocks out the noise. It goes on for a few seconds before trailing away, and, when it does, everyone has turned to stare at the old woman. She still has her index fingers in her mouth, and pulls them loose with an audible pop.
“Didn’t know I could still do that,” she says.
“We’re not done,” Jack says. “It’s—”
“No. That’s still the pilot, and the young miss over there is still the guide. They’re in charge here, and we’re going to do what they say. So,” she looks up at Hannah, “what do you want us to do?”
Everyone turns to look at her, and for half a second her mind is a total blank.
Inspiration hits. It doesn’t look like anyone’s injured – in shock, maybe, but not badly. What she needs to do is get these people acquainted. At least if they know each other’s names, they might find it a little harder to yell at each other.
She clears her throat. “Why don’t we all just sit down for a sec?” she says, lowering herself into one of the plastic chairs.
One by one, they all follow. The parents sit on either side of their children, while the other three – polo shirt, robot arm and ponytail – sit opposite them. An empty chair separates them from the old woman.
“OK,” Hannah says, putting her hands on her knees. “Maybe we should all introduce ourselves. Since we’re all here, I mean.”
Polo shirt looks away from her, mouth turned down in contempt.
“I’ll go first,” she says. “I’m Hannah Elliott, which I … I guess you know already, since I stood up in front earlier.”
She waits for somebody to go next. Nobody does.
“Uh, how about you?” she says, turning to the mother of the boys.
The woman blinks at her. “Anita,” she says. “Anita Livingstone.”
She introduces her sons, neither of whom look up from the floor – the younger one, Corey, looks like he wants to vanish into it. Malik, the one with the cornrows, is still clutching his ancient holo camera.
Their dad gives the group a small wave. “Everett,” he says. “Ev.”
The old woman is next. “Lorinda Anna Maria Esteban,” she says. “I’m from out in the Kuiper Belt. My husband and I did mining there.”
“And where is your husband?” Hannah says. Dull horror floods through her as the realisation hits: He’s not with her. He was back on the station.
Lorinda Anna Maria Esteban looks confused, and then her eyes go wide. “Oh! No no no. No, he passed a few years ago. It’s just me.”
“Thank you,” Hannah says, more relieved than she wants to admit. After a moment’s awkward silence, she turns to the man in the green polo shirt, trying to push what he said to her before to the back of her mind. “What about you?”
He stares at her. His eyes are bloodshot at the edges. When he blinks, it’s twice in quick succession, each time. There’s a very tiny dot of vomit at the corner of his mouth. Hannah can’t stop looking at it.
After a few seconds, he says, “Jack.”
“Name’s Brendan O’Hara,” says the other man, raising his metal arm in a greeting. “And this is my—”
The ponytailed woman puts a hand on Brendan’s leg, as if to remind him that she can speak for herself. “Seema.”
“Are you married?” says Lorinda.
Seema raises her left hand, waggling her fingers. An elegant diamond ring sparkles. “Newlyweds,” she says. “We’re on honeymoon.”
There’s an appreciative aaah from the group, the kind of automatic reaction made when someone says the words newlywed or engagement or honeymoon. Even Hannah finds herself doing it.
“Great. Are we done?” says Jack, pushing himself to his feet. “Wonderful. How the hell are we going to get out of here?”
Everyone looks at Hannah again. She pauses for a moment, then takes a deep breath, not sure what she’s going to say but knowing she has to say something. “Let’s think about this. My guess is whoever did this thinks the whole station is—”
“It was a Colony ship,” says Anita Livingstone.
“Bullshit,” Jack says.
Anita gives him a withering look. “Like you would know the difference.”
Her husband sighs, as if he knows what’s coming.
“How can you be so sure?” Seema says.
Anita straightens. “I’m a political consultant. I work on the lobbying team for Senator Daniels.”
Hannah feels a slight hitch in her stomach. Daniels. She marched against his policies in college, more than once. This woman works for him?
Anita pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. “We’re renegotiating the Belarus Treaty. The Frontier wants a little more territory in the Colonies. There was … well, a lot of sabre-rattling behind the scenes. We knew the Colonies put what’s left of their military on alert, even though there was no chance they were going to do anything – nobody there really wants to go to war again, not when the last one hit them so hard.”
“I didn’t hear about this at my feed,” Jack says. Anita rounds on him, angry, but he talks over her. “Anyway, if you were working on the treaty, why are you on vacation?”
Lorinda tries to jump in. “Let her—”
“And you can’t tell me it was a Colony ship just because of your sabre-rattling. There’s no way the Colonies would have that kind of tech. No way.”
“Who else would attack us, then?”
“She’s right,” Corey says, raising his head. “It was definitely Colony.”
“And you know that how, young man?” says Brendan.
Corey shrugs. “I just do, OK?”
“Oh, we’re listening to the kids now.” Jack shakes his head. “Great. Fantastic.”
“Let’s say it was a Colony ship,” Seema says. “How did they even get h
ere?”
“Jump gate,” says Lorinda, decisively.
“Nope,” Jack says. “There’s no way a ship full of Col scum gets into a wormhole. Frontier controls the whole network.”
“Maybe they had a visa.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “A visa. Sure, OK. Big ship with never-before-seen weapons tech, we’ll just grant you a Frontier travel visa, enjoy your trip. Do you know how tightly controlled those things are? The second a ship popped out of a jump gate it’s not supposed to pop out of, it’d get blown to pieces by the auto-turrets. Couple of impactors, and boom.”
“Could have bribed their way in,” Everett says. “You hear stories. People smuggling, stuff like that. I was reading on a feed, the Roses Cartel apparently compromised a couple of officials, and—”
“It’s not the fucking Roses,” Jack says, sounding as if he’s trying hard not to explode.
“How do you know?”
“He’s right,” says Brendan. “It’s not their style. Roses’d never put themselves on the radar like this. It’s not worth it. The only reason the Frontier lets ’em operate in the first place is ’cos they keep their shenanigans quiet.”
“Has anybody …” Lorinda thinks for a moment. “I mean, have we considered the possibility that they might not be human?”
“You can’t be serious,” Seema says.
“Why not? We’ve spread out into the Galaxy, but we’ve still only mapped a tiny fraction of it. Who’s to say they aren’t out there? Maybe we just hadn’t found them yet, and this was first contact.”
“Blowing up a way-out station is first contact?” Jack’s voice drips with scorn.
“We might not be the only ones who got attacked,” Lorinda says.
