After a few more attempts, Miranda felt she had some measure of control even though it was still wild and lacked any finesse. Nonetheless, she managed to sight the wrecked shuttle far off in the distance, visible only by the flash of reflected light from its broken windows. Beside it, the lander still waited. By adjusting the orientation of her hand, and by opening and closing her fist, she managed to get them moving in the right direction. A sense of hope returned to her. "Hold on, Scott. We're not dead yet."
She came in way too fast on her first attempt and missed the lander by several meters. It took her a frustratingly long time to get them both reoriented back in the right direction, but she took it slower this time, and she was beginning to get the feel for the physics of her rudimentary thruster. It took her three more attempts before she finally slammed into the side of the lander. She scrabbled frantically for a hand hold, but Scott's limp body was getting in the way, and she failed to find purchase. They bounced off again. Dammit! Miranda was getting frustrated and began to worry that her air supply would run out, now that she was using it as a propellant.
She was coming in slow and controlled on her seventh attempt when the low air alert finally flashed on her helmet screen. She glanced at it. Twenty-five minutes left. That was breathable air, but at the rate she was expending it out of her suit, the reality was much less. "Just stay focused," she said to herself. "Keep your eyes on the prize."
The lander slowly came toward her. Miranda targeted a group of handles surrounding the hatch. Any of them would do, she wasn't fussy. But she could only grab it with one hand; opening the fist on the other would just send her spiraling off course again. She had readjusted the harness attaching Scott to her EVA suit so that he floated behind her. Her incoming vector was true, and Miranda managed to grab the handle on her first attempt. She gripped it tight and breathed a long, slow sigh of relief. She hung there for a second or two just gathering herself together, before finally reaching over and opening the hatch to the lander. Miranda maneuvered herself inside, pulling Scott through behind her.
The cockpit was dark. No power.
"Aria?" she ventured a call, but there was still no response. Her helmet screen flashed eleven minutes.
"Reboot. Try to reboot the power," she said to herself as she rummaged in a pocket and pulled out an EVA suit patch. It should stem the leak and mean she wouldn't be trying to work one-handed. She lost a few more valuable minutes of air in the process. Ordinarily she would simply pressurize the cockpit, but there was no point since the lander had been shot through with micro-debris.
She maneuvered Scott into a seat and strapped him in. Only then did Miranda finally try a system reboot. She flicked off all the power switches and then started switching them back on again in sequence. The cockpit console lit up like a festival.
Miranda dived into the pilot seat and hit the ignition. The craft rumbled and the engines fired. She looked over at Scott, his head slumped down to his chest. "Going home, buddy. Going home."
With her suit comms shot and no way to contact Aria, she prayed that it had the good sense to leave the hangar bay doors open. Her helmet screen flashed three minutes in bright red numbers.
The bay doors were open, but there was no time to celebrate. Miranda had decided not to land on the extended platform and wait until it slowly retracted inside. There was no time for that—she would just fly it straight in, and to hell with the damage. She lined up on the opening and nosed the craft as gently as she could in through the gap. It banged off the ceiling. She cut the power, and it landed hard on the floor. Her helmet screeched a critical low oxygen alert; she was running on empty. She took a deep breath and held it. This might be my last, she thought.
Miranda unfastened Scott, dragged him out of the lander, and pushed off for the internal airlock on the far side of the hangar. Her lungs began to hurt as she flung him in. She hit pressurize, the outer door closed, and the internal space hissed and spat as jets of air filled its interior... 10%, 20%. The airlock display ticked up slowly and the pressure increased. Come on, come on. She fought the desire to breathe in, knowing there was nothing left in her tank. The green alert flashed on the airlock monitor and Miranda snapped off her helmet and took a long gasp of air.
"Miranda, are you okay? What happened?" Aria's voice broke in.
Miranda waved a weary hand in the air as she breathed deeply a few times. "Suit comms shot... lost my grip on the shuttle... long story."
"You successfully retrieved the commander, I see. Is he still alive?"
"I don't know. I'm checking now." She floated over to him and gently removed his helmet to reveal a bloodied head. She held her hand up to her mouth to stifle her shock. Yet on closer inspection, it looked worse than it actually was. Very tentatively, she reached over and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. His skin was warm. "I think he's still alive, but only just."
She held his head in her hands and looked at his broken face. "Hang in there, you crazy bastard. Don't die on me now." She pulled him to her, opened the interior airlock door, and started making her way to medbay.
25
Return to the Stars
The remaining crew of the Hermes gathered on either side of the body, along with several representatives from Europa. It rested on a low pallet and had been bound in a simple white sheet. At its head, a priestly figure stood, raised a hand to quieten the assembled group, and began to speak.
"Forged in the cauldron of the stars and wrought from the cosmos, we are the creation of the celestial heavens. As a star dies, it offers forth its life-forming matter into the universe so we can exist. Its death is our life. So, let the cosmos now reclaim, and gather unto itself our fallen comrade, Rick Marentz. And so from whence you came, so shall you return, back to the stars, back into the cradle of the universe."
The figure now signaled to the assembled mourners that they may proceed. Scott nodded in return and placed a hand on one side of the pallet where the remains of his friend and colleague had been laid to rest. The other crew of the Hermes moved forward, placing hands on the pallet, and together they pushed the body out through the open hangar bay doors.
They all stood there for a while, watching as the body of the old miner drifted out into space. A tear formed in Scott's left eye; his right eye was still bandaged. He moved his hand reflexively to wipe it away, only to remember that he, like the others, was encased in an EVA suit. He lowered his head instead and let the tear fall to the inside of his visor. After a moment, he took one last look out the bay doors at the body of his dear friend. He could just pick it out in the vastness, slowly tumbling on its way into the void. He turned around and moved back to the hangar airlock.
Once back in the pressurized environment of the Hermes, he sat down, removed his EVA suit helmet, and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. He had a strong urge to scratch the bandage over his right eye, but he had been warned not to by the surgeons on Europa, who had done such an excellent job of sticking him back together. He might regain the sight in that eye as long as he refrained from scratching it. So, he resisted the urge and instead felt down along the side of his jaw. The pain was growing less and less each day, and soon they could take the wire out. He had taken a risk putting on an EVA suit, as any urge to throw up could be disastrous with a wired jaw. Nevertheless, he was determined to do it for his old friend.
He had been lucky, so they said. The shuttle had a reinforced cockpit design and so managed to stay relatively intact in the blast that had ripped apart the Dyrell ship. His lower body sustained a few cracked ribs and a lot of bruising. But his main injuries were inflicted when his head slammed against the side of his helmet. Luckily it was only his jaw that broke and not the helmet. Yet in the end, his continued existence in the solar system was down to Miranda risking her own life to save him from his reckless stupidity. Her words, not his.
He had been prepared to die. He had resigned himself to that fate, had accepted it, even embraced it. Now though, he was on the mend both
physically and mentally. A new appreciation for life grew inside of him. Miranda's actions had given him a second chance, and he felt he owed her somehow for the gift she had bestowed upon him. It was partly a burden, a responsibility not to waste this chance, and partly a release from the shackles of his own disengagement from life. He was born anew, and he would never be the same again.
The funeral party all migrated out from the hangar of the Hermes and down to the comfort of the canteen. Along with the crew, they had been joined by some officials from Europa, people they had come to know since the ending of hostilities. Scott had assumed that they would be no longer welcome here since they were responsible for bringing death and destruction raining down on what was a peaceful and harmonious society. But this was not the case. In fact, far from it: the council of Europa seemed to welcome them even more, regarding them as saviors of the peace. Particularly Scott for his almost-ultimate sacrifice in destroying the device once and for all. They viewed it as a selfless, noble act, one worthy of their admiration and respect. They had even dispatched a crew to patch up their ship and resupply it. Yet, Scott had to admit, he was not looking forward to returning to Ceres. However, they were in no hurry.
Cyrus had just cracked open a bottle of whiskey that they had found stashed in Rick's cabin. It was old and of fine quality, meaning it was expensive and well beyond Rick's pay grade. How he came to possess such an item was the source of much speculation. Cyrus charged their glasses and Scott took his cue to raise his to all assembled. "To Rick," he said as raised his glass. It was as much as he was willing—or able—to say through his wired jaw and welling emotions.
They all clinked and sipped, and slowly they began to recount tales of Rick's past adventures. Some fact, some myth, but mostly legend. Cyrus had just launched into recounting a story of the time Rick and two miners were trapped on an asteroid after they accidentally blew a hole in their lander. They managed to survive for seven days cooped up in an emergency shelter before being picked up by a passing frigate. The story mainly centered around how one of the miners became demented and tried to kill Rick, convinced that he was a flesh-eating, alien monster. Scott had heard it many times before so he shuffled off to the side of the group and sat down to spend some quiet time with his thoughts.
After a while, Miranda wandered over to him and sat down. "So how are you holding up?"
Scott cast her a sideways glance. "Physically or mentally?"
Miranda gave a light laugh. "Both, I suppose."
"Physically, I'm all beat up. There isn't a section of my body that doesn't have pain. But, hey... I'll get over it, in time." He raised his glass to her. They clinked.
"So, mentally?"
"Ah... well, sad to be leaving Rick behind." He glanced out through the wide canteen window at the stars beyond, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of his old friend tumbling into infinity. "And sad to be leaving here. I'm just getting to like it." He paused for a moment and looked into his glass. "Have you thought about what you're going to do when we get back to Ceres?"
Miranda sighed. "I don't know. Find another job I guess, now that the rest of the survey mission is canceled."
"It was canceled the moment we found that derelict ship. The only difference was we thought we would all be in for a big payday. Now it's back to working for a living again."
"Yeah, and it isn't going to get any easier since we've made a lot of enemies during this escapade. It's going to be hard to pick up the pieces."
Scott looked over at the group from Europa. They were being entertained by some of Steph's tales of Rick's exploits. "We've made a few new ones, though."
"I'm going to miss this place, too. I hate to admit it, but I could get quite comfortable here."
"Really?" Scott cocked an eyebrow at her. "I didn't think this sort of pacifist, quasi-spiritual culture was your sort of thing."
Miranda smiled. "Neither did I until I spent some time here. Granted, it takes a bit of getting used to, but it's nice to feel like you're not just being used as a tool in someone else's game plan." She leaned in a little. "You know, I spent years fighting other people's wars. A pawn to be shoved around at someone else's whim. And then, when you're no use, they just drop you. I get the impression that doesn't happen around here."
Scott gave a light laugh. "Am I really hearing this? You're going all warm and fuzzy on me, just when I started getting the fighting bug." He looked out the window again. "I can't say that being nice ever did me any good."
"That's because you were being a doormat, Scott, letting everybody wipe their feet on you."
Scott gave her an insulted look. "Thanks."
"Well, you were. As well as being totally disconnected from everything around you."
"You sure know how to make a guy feel good, Miranda. Do yourself a favor and don't take up a career in diplomacy."
"Just saying. I mean, it makes what you did so... incredible. I don't know if I could have done it."
"Yeah, you would. You just never found something you really believed in. Fighting was a job for you. You did it with your head, not your heart."
She gave him a look. "I'm not sure how to take that. If I was just using my head, I would never have tried to save you."
Scott looked back at her and smiled. "Well, I for one am very glad you did."
She reached over, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Me too. You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but..." she hesitated, then shook her head.
"What? Go on."
"Oh, it doesn't matter. All that matters is you get better." Her arm tightened around his shoulder again. "Okay?"
Scott gave her a lopsided smile and nodded. "Sure."
She stood up and jerked her head at the group. "I think we best not be too anti-social."
Scott looked over. "Yes. Eh... you go on. I'll join you in a minute."
"Okay." Miranda turned and headed off.
He watched her go. What was that about? he thought. He liked this new warm-and-fuzzy Miranda, much preferred it to the old hard-assed version. She had changed, or perhaps it was he that had changed. Then again, maybe they were all a little different now.
After a few moments, Scott's ruminations were interrupted as Goodchild came over and sat down beside him. She raised her glass.
"This is a very fine whiskey, Commander. Your friend had good taste. I would love to know how he came by such an expensive item?"
"Oh... he probably won it in a card game, knowing Rick. He was a man of few words, never did say much about himself." Scott looked down at the tawny liquid in his glass and swirled it around a few times. "He was a good friend," he continued. "You know, we would sit for hours sometimes, just saying nothing. Comfortable in our own company, like an old pair of worn shoes."
"Such a friendship is a rare gift. I feel for your loss, Commander."
"Ah... we all gotta go sometime, I suppose."
"Speaking of going." Goodchild shifted a little in her seat. "When are you thinking of departing for Ceres?"
"A week, maybe." He took another sip. "I'll be honest, I'd love to stay." he waved a hand at the rest of the crew. "We all would. You have been more than generous to us, particularly since we brought such carnage down upon you."
"Nonsense. The way we see it is, you have done us—and the system—a great service. Do not underestimate what you all achieved here. War has been averted, and the device destroyed for good, and no one possesses the knowledge to create a new one."
Scott shrugged. "If it was done once, it can be done again."
"Possibly, but not for a very long time, I think. As it stands, no one has a technological advantage and the status quo has been maintained. Should such a device become possible in the future... well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
Scott gestured over at Cyrus, who seemed to have everyone in howls of laughter. "Cyrus is still not convinced, even with Solomon's long-winded explanation of how it works."
"Solomon is not w
rong and, being a QI, it does not lie. It is one of the great benefits of relying on such artificial intelligences: they have no ulterior motives, no hidden agendas. They can be relied on one hundred percent, unlike us humans."
"Perhaps."
"Anyway, there is a reason why I wanted to talk to you." Goodchild lowered her voice and leaned in. "You see, Scott, the silver lining in bringing this crisis to point here on Europa has been to reaffirm our position within the solar system as a neutral mediator. The other powers of Earth, Mars, the Belt, and even Neo City have begun to realize how close we all came to all-out war. To that end, they are willing to pay reparations to us for the damage caused."
Scott gave her a look. "Reparations?"
"Yes." Goodchild shifted on her seat. "The incident here did not go down well with the general public on any of the associated worlds. They see it as a heinous crime against the sanctity of Europa. So, to appease the masses, the General System Council have agreed that all parties should be penalized financially."
"Only right that they should."
"Don't read too much into it, Scott. It's mainly for the optics, a bone to quieten the public rather than a genuine admission of guilt. But it's something."
"I see. So, what happens now?"
"That's where you come in."
Scott cocked his head at her. "Me?"
"And your crew, and this ship." Goodchild waved a hand around.
"Go on. I'm listening."
She leaned in a little more. "I need to preface this by saying that what I'm going to suggest to you is... just an idea, at the moment."
"I'm still listening."
"Very well. Our understanding is that the original survey mission you were on was co-funded by the main powers in the solar system and administrated by Ceres. Correct?"
"Yes. All were supposed to benefit from the data collected."
"But as it currently stands, the mission is to be mothballed, after all that has occurred?"
The Belt: The Complete Trilogy Page 17
