by Rob Boffard
“We can’t force you to choose.”
Anita. She’s gone to Corey, standing behind him, hands on his shoulders, chin raised ever so slightly. Her face is red and puffy, dark circles under her eyes, but her voice is steady.
“But none of us were given a choice in this either,” she says. “We made do. We figured it out. And you gave my son your word that you’d help us.”
Her fingers tighten on Corey’s shoulders. “So you need to choose. And you need to choose quickly. Right now. Because, if you don’t, it’s all over. For all of us.”
For a few seconds, it’s as if the scene in the bar is frozen in amber.
“I’ll hail them,” Roman hears himself say, heading for the stairs.
Chapter 60
Hannah thought she had this under control.
She’d done some basic thruster work with the Panda, getting a feel for it. The tutorial was straightforward – easier than she expected, actually. It didn’t stop a pool of sweat forming at the small of her back, or an ache spreading through her fingers, gripping the control stick, but she was fine. Definitely fine.
She knew something was happening in the bar, something bad – she could hear shouting, muffled thuds. But she didn’t dare leave her post to find out what it was. And then she saw the other ship, approaching her position, and everything she’d just learned went right out of her head.
She doesn’t know where it came from, or what direction. But all of a sudden it was just there, hanging in the blackness beyond the destroyed gate, perhaps two miles away – although it’s not like she’s great at estimating distances out here, which may or may not be a problem when she actually tries to park this stupid ship in the bigger one’s cargo bay.
She can’t pick out the details, but its albedo is just fine from here. She can see the shape, the distinctive fins. The entrance on the underside, probably no wider than the hole in the Sigma Station that Volkova piloted them into. The one that had scraped the belly of the Panda raw.
How long do they have? Minutes? Less? Panic overwhelms her, terror keeping her glued to her chair. They need to get away. They have to. They’ll go back to Sigma, hide in the hotel like before –
Running footsteps, echoing through the passage behind her. Anita and Malik appear, Malik still clutching his holocam. Everett is there, too, breathless, his eyes wide. Roman comes in behind him, looking grim.
“Can you talk to them?” Hannah says, pointing to the part of the control panel she thinks is the radio.
“Lorinda’s dead,” Anita says, speaking before she’s even finished.
Hannah turns her head to look at her, sure she misheard.
“How …”
“Seema, she … she wasn’t …” Anita rubs a hand across her face. “She hit Lorinda hard, knocked her out.”
Hannah’s world turns blurry at the edges, like a bad signal. She’s suddenly aware of every physical sensation: the sensation of her body on the pilot’s seat, the clammy sweat sticking her shirt to her skin, the textured grips on the control stick.
Most of all, she’s aware of her heart beating, a rapid pounding in her ears. They have to get out of here. This is all wrong. The dream comes rushing back, the metal ball approaching her parents’ house, her mom and dad not even looking, waving to her as it casts a shadow across them.
And hammering in time with the heartbeat: got lucky rook, got lucky rook, got lucky –
Very deliberately, Hannah takes a breath. She counts to four as she inhales, holds it for a moment, then lets it go. She shifts on her seat, pulling her sticky shirt away from the back of the chair.
Roman reaches past her, hands dancing across the panel. “Victory, this is designated callsign Resolute, Delta 1830 Tango-6, do you copy? Over?”
Nothing. No response. Not even static.
Roman grunts, adjusting the frequency. “Victory, designated callsign Resolute, Delta 1830 Tango-6. Come in, over?”
Still nothing. The Victory is approaching faster now. If the Panda can’t reach it, the spheres will release, and they’ll be finished. There’s nothing they can do. How much time will running buy them? Ten seconds? Less?
“Victory, Resolute. Please respond, over?”
There’s a burst of static from the cockpit speakers. Then a man’s voice, thin but audible. “Designated callsign Resolute, this is the Victory, Alpha 3668 November-niner. We read you. What is your status, over?”
“Victory, Resolute. Our ship suffered a catastrophic jump drive failure. Two of us managed to suit up and take command of a local vessel. Requesting extraction, over.”
“Resolute, Victory. To whom am I speaking? Over.”
“Victory, Resolute. This is Petty Officer First Class James Roman. I am here with …”
He trails off. Hannah glances over to him, even though it takes every effort for her to tear her eyes away from the approaching ship. He must be trying to think of which of his fellow soldiers to name. Which identity to give Jack.
“I’m here with Petty Officer Third Class Lachlan Jacobs. His suit is damaged but we have a working one from this vessel. Requesting permission to enter Victory airlock, over.”
The speaker doesn’t identify himself. “Resolute, Victory. Did you accomplish your primary objective? Over.”
Anita mutters something. Hannah gives her a sharp glance, but it doesn’t seem like whoever is on the other end heard it.
“Victory, Resolute. That is confirmed. Primary objective achieved. Over.”
A long pause.
“Resolute, Victory. Roger that. We’ll prepare the forward airlock for you. And then you’re going to have one hell of a debrief. Victory out.”
Roman stands up, pointing at the underside of the approaching ship. “The second those doors start to open, you move. Got it?”
Hannah nods. She’s been holding her breath, and lets it go in a shaky burst. Roman ducks back into the passage.
“What do we do?” Anita looks like she wants to complete whatever escape plan Hannah had in mind. But she doesn’t move.
“Nothing,” Hannah says, not looking away from the belly of the Victory. “Not yet.”
And then she has an idea.
She doesn’t know if it’s a good one, or if it’ll even matter in the long run. She almost dismisses it. But after a few moments, she turns to Malik, still not completely sure what she’s doing.
“Hey,” she says. “Could you do something for me?”
Chapter 61
Jack can barely move.
How the hell did Lorinda do this for a living? How does anyone? Even with the assistance of the servos, every movement causes a fresh wave of sweat to burst out on his forehead. His suit feels like it’s crushing the life out of him. When they first left the airlock, he thought his arms were going to be wrenched out of their sockets.
He’s tight behind Roman. The Victory has come to a stop a little over a mile away from their position outside the Panda; it blocks out a large part of the Neb, a hulking, spiked shape.
Lorinda’s words: Very short, very controlled bursts on the thrusters. Everything you do out there is going to be magnified.
He tries not to imagine the people in the Victory watching them. Or what they’ll do if they decide that Jack’s not who Roman says he is.
He’s not claustrophobic, but the helmet feels too tight on his head – the glass too close to his nose, the display too bright. He licks his lips, which are curiously dry despite the humid suit interior. His armpits and lower back are clogged with sweat.
Everything out here is bigger than him. Every single thing. Even the smallest piece of debris from the destroyed gate is a chunk that could obliterate him. He knows that probably isn’t the case – that there are more than likely millions of tiny metal chunks dotted around them – but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.
He can’t help but think of an old photo he saw once, taken back in the twenty-first century, from a probe camera. A snap of the Earth from Saturn’s rings. From that
distance, the entire planet was a minuscule blue dot. You could cover it with the edge of fingernail.
He keeps looking for the red lights around the Victory’s airlock, can’t see them. Not that it stops him. There’s nothing to focus on out here, nothing that isn’t moving.
“Careful. Debris below you.” Roman’s voice crackles in Jack’s ear, along with a tiny indicator blinking up on his display: SUIT COMMS. He wasn’t expecting it, and accidentally squeezes the forward thruster with his thumb. It sends him into a slow spin, his stomach feeling like it takes an extra second to follow.
No biggie. All he has to do is correct it. He hits the backwards thruster, but holds it a split second too long, sending the spin into reverse. In a panic, he tries to give himself a little leverage with the stick, trying to play it, only for his spin to accelerate.
He has to stop himself from reaching for the hem of shirt – after so many years, the tic is automatic. But the slight movement of his hand somehow makes it worse. He’s starting to spin faster now, the Neb whirling away from him. What the hell are they doing out here? Humans were never meant to be in space. This is insane.
An almost inaudible bump, felt more than heard in his helmet as he’s brought up short. Roman has pivoted, wedging both feet into the space below Jack’s suit pack and firing his own thrusters to arrest their movement.
“Get ahold of yourself,” the soldier hisses.
Jack feels a sudden, irrational urge to scream. But, of course, it’s way too late for that. He’s right out on the edge, and the only person he can count on right now is someone who, a few hours ago, he was planning to torture for answers.
He swallows, nods, forgetting for a second that Roman can’t see the movement. “Yeah,” he says.
“Fine. Go easy on the damn thrusters. The old lady knew what she was talking about.”
Jack feels another bump as Roman disengages. He tries to find the Victory again, and almost immediately sends himself into another spin. His gloves won’t let him make precise movements – even with the assistance of the servos it’s like he can’t do anything but press hard, or not at all.
The voice of the Victory’s commander is suddenly in his helmet. “Officers Roman and Jacobs, Victory, common channel. This is Commander Hayes. We see that one of you is experiencing thruster difficulties. Do you need assistance? Over.”
Before Jack can say anything, Roman is on the channel. “Victory, Roman. That’s a negative. Jacobs is in a civilian suit, and we think it has an issue with its feedback circuit. We’re under control, over.”
The ship slides into view. Jack back-bursts hard on the thrusters, somehow bringing himself to a halt. Roman says nothing.
“Jacobs, Victory. One of my engineers tells me he can send a software package to your suit that might fix your feedback. Can you pull up the I/O function on your HUD? Over.”
At first, Jack doesn’t respond, expecting Roman to do so. Then he realises that Roman expects him to talk. And why wouldn’t he? The Victory’s commander contacted him directly.
His mind shuts down. He has no idea how to respond. If they send that package, and he keeps having issues …
“Uh … Jacobs, Vic – I mean, Victory, Jacobs,” he says. Sweat blobs out in front of him, tiny balls of moisture, bobbing in the low gravity. “All five-by here. I’ve got it under control.” He pauses. “Over.”
For a full ten seconds there’s no response. Ahead of him, Roman coasts towards the Victory. The implication is clear: get moving.
“Jacobs, Victory. Roger that. Proceed to airlock two, over.”
Slowly – very, very slowly – the Victory begins to get larger. Jack finally spots their target, the red lights glowing above the airlock doors.
Roman hasn’t said anything since he last spoke to the commander, and the silence is starting to get to Jack. It’s oppressive, thick, like a viscous liquid slowly filling up his helmet. All he can hear is his breathing, exaggerated and slow, but still somehow ragged.
At that moment, the launch bays on the side of the ship slide open. The bays holding the spheres. It makes his breath catch in his throat.
“Shit,” he says.
“Jacobs, Victory, say again? Over.”
The SUIT COMMS channel flashes up, and Roman, annoyed, says, “What?”
“The—” He almost points. “The ball things. They’re getting ready to fire.” They saw his spin, worked out that he’s not a space marine or whatever the hell these people are, and decided to finish the job the Resolute started.
“Relax.” Roman floats into view. “Probably just a precaution.”
“Precaution. Great. Against what?”
Roman doesn’t reply. He fires his thrusters, coasting towards the Victory. Somehow, Jack manages to follow.
The airlock doors are much bigger than those on the Panda – fifteen feet across, at least, with a trio of red lights along one edge. Jack has to work hard not to send himself into another spin as he approaches them, slowly bringing himself to a stop above Roman. Below him, he can just see the Red Panda, hanging in the black.
He follows Roman’s lead, orienting himself so he’s facing the correct way for the ship’s gravity well to grab them. The doors open in silence, revealing a bright white interior module, angular and blocky. They coast inside, Jack’s stomach lurching as the gravity well takes hold.
God only knows how he managed to get himself the right way up. As it is, he lands on his feet, but can’t keep himself there. He stumbles to his knees. They made it. Jesus Christ, they made it. Right now, it doesn’t even matter that they’re on an enemy ship. They’re not outside.
Suddenly, the suit feels way too tight. He claws at his helmet, fat fingers fumbling for the neck seal.
“Wait.”
Roman’s voice is harsh, his hand heavy on Jack’s shoulder. He points, and Jack sees a set of five more red lights above the inner door. As he watches, they start to go green, one by one. The airlock is pressurising – if he’d removed his helmet before it did …
And if the commander is there, or someone who knew the mysterious Lachlan Jacobs …
The lights go green. Jack yanks his helmet off, gasping, and the noise of the Victory washes over him. Clanks, rumbles, a subsonic hum that he can feel in the pit of his stomach. It’s the same noises as those on the Panda, but magnified, distorted.
He’s still on his knees. Roman, standing beside him, is pulling off his helmet. As he does so, the interior door opens.
As it slides back, with the noise of the motor filling the airlock, Jack almost passes out. It’s not just the fact that the EVA almost went horribly wrong; his mind is in overdrive, and for a second he sees a squad of soldiers behind the door, weapons up, ready to put three bullets into him, just like the Roses did with Hector.
And if Roman hasn’t turned on them yet, he will, the second he sees the other soldiers.
Jack blinks. There’s just one person standing there, a woman, with dark skin and black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. “Roman?” She looks between them. “Jacobs?”
There’s no flare of recognition in her eyes when she looks at Jack – but no suspicion, either. Which is good. Her accent is subtle – Middle Eastern, Jack thinks. She’s wearing a severe black jumpsuit. The muscular frame underneath it reminds Jack of Seema, and for a moment he can feel the latter’s hands on his neck.
Roman lifts his chin. “Roman here.”
“Mahmoud,” she says. “Medical officer.”
“Are we ready to jump?” Roman phrases the question casually.
“Hayes wants to talk to you first. He says I gotta give you a once-over in the infirmary, then take you to his quarters. Fair warning: he’s not happy.”
Chapter 62
They’ve put Brendan back in the bathroom, still cuffed. Nobody knows what else to do with him, and nobody wants to risk having him loose.
He fights them – harder this time, roaring his wife’s name, but he’s still too out of it. And restrained as
he is, with both Everett and Anita holding his arms, he can’t get away.
Corey can’t stop thinking of Lorinda. Her body is still behind him, stretched out on the floor. It doesn’t seem real. He keeps expecting to look up and see her standing, a sheepish grin on her face. Sorry. Wasn’t myself for a second there.
“Take me upstairs,” Corey says, when Brendan is locked away, the boxes safely back in front of the door.
His mom is on the verge of arguing, then thinks better of it. Malik is still up in the cockpit, but she and Everett scoop Corey up. Corey’s teeth are gritted so hard that his jaw aches.
They are finally out of nanomeds. He can’t believe how fast they went. The big cat is feasting, but Corey knows that it won’t be doing so for long. Either they make it, and he gets to have an actual doctor take a look at the break, or …
Or he won’t have to worry about his leg any more.
As they round railings at the top of the stairs, Everett loses his balance and Corey’s foot jolts against the metal. The pain is so sharp and sudden that he sees stars, little prickles of light at the edge of his vision.
“Sorry, buddy,” says his dad. But he and Anita don’t stop moving, turning sideways as they had in the passage.
Corey gets one look past them at the main deck: the plastic seats, the scuffed floor, the badly hidden speakers in the ceiling, around the edge of the murky viewport. The strut on the wall that he lost his grip on after Captain Volkova killed the gravity. And as he takes it in, he gets the strangest feeling.
He wants the Panda to be OK.
He wants it to fly again.
Compared to the other ships Corey has on his posters at home, even compared to the ones Jamie designs, it’s nothing. It’s a tiny, boring little tourist ship. Low-range, no weapons, and, before Volkova avoided those metal balls by the destroyed gate, Corey would have said it had zero manoeuvrability. But it’s kept them alive. Without it, they wouldn’t be here.
Please be OK. At that moment, he’s not sure if he’s thinking about them, or about the ship.
