Crossing the Darkness

by William Massa

  She stole a glance inside the open sleeping quarters from which the dying man had emerged. Despite her fear, Faith entered the quarters. She was greeted by the pungent stench of human decay. Death lurked within the room. She looked across the chamber and was sickened. Three men were slumped in their bunks, faces bloated and putrefied. Unlike the fellow in the hallway, they had been dead for weeks, if not months. Their maroon uniforms told her that they weren’t miners but part of the ship’s crew.

  Faith could feel her heart racing. Her hands came up and covered her nose, protecting her from the worst of the smell. She stifled back the scream building in the back of her throat. Repelled by the grim setting, she was stumbling back when she heard the shuffle of footsteps behind her.

  “Freeze!”

  Faith turned around slowly, eyes fixed on the man who was holding a pulse gun at her head. He had a hard face made harder by bleary eyes and a three-day growth of brown-gray stubble. There was a definite edge to the guy. She flashed him her most charming smile, knowing the unexpected reaction might throw him off for a split second. Without conscious thought being necessary she snatched the man's wrist, pushing it toward the ceiling as the first laser bullet erupted from the barrel in a rain of sparks.

  Faith spun around, both hands now anchored on his forearm and hurled him over her shoulder in one fast, fluid movement. Nine years in prison had taught her a trick or two when it came to personal security. One key lesson had stuck: never hold back in a fight unless you plan on donating blood. The man slammed into the floor. Faith hovered over the downed stranger with arms up, limbs coiled in a combat stance, body surging with adrenaline.

  Reacting with trained instincts of his own, the man's foot swept out and knocked Faith right on her ass. She hit the floor, the impact traveling up her spine. Ignoring the pain (prison lesson number one: never stop moving), she scrambled over the hallway floor to regain her bearings. She pivoted and came face to face with the barrel of a pulse gun, its bore digging into her forehead.

  The man glared at Faith. “Go ahead. Piss me off,” he said. The sober tone in his voice left no doubt. One wrong move and she felt certain that he would pull the trigger.

  They regarded each other, eyes lingering as they sized each other up.

  “Put your hands up. Now!” he ordered, and Faith complied.

  The man grabbed her, spinning her body around, and pushed her up against the wall. As he expertly frisked her, she knew instantly that he had performed body searches before. That suggested he had a security or law enforcement background. Was this man part of ship security? His uniform suggested otherwise. Based on that, he wasn’t part of the crew but just another colony worker headed for the asteroid mines.

  For Faith, that raised an interesting question. Did this space traveler just wake up from cryo too? Faith scanned the man’s nametag. It identified him as Harker.

  “Listen, I have no idea what's going on here,” Faith said.

  “Shut up!”

  Harker broke off, having found the metallic holo-disk in one of her pockets. He tapped a button and the image of the little girl popped into existence. The innocent image of the child struck a sharp contrast to the body splayed against the wall.

  With the gun leveled at her forehead, Faith fought back the urge to grab the hologram right out of the man’s hands. Reason prevailed and she willed herself to stay calm. The gun was a constant reminder that she wasn't in control here.

  Harker crouched next to the corpse, his gun remaining locked on Faith. He gently closed the dead man’s eyes before he turned his iron gaze on her. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Faith felt certain that no matter what she told him, Harker wouldn’t believe her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WITH HARKER’S GUN pressed against Faith’s back, they arrived on the command bridge. Six colonists, four men and two women, eagerly awaited them. The mining workers who hovered around the various computers and bridge chairs, looked lost and scared to Faith. They must’ve recently woken from deep cryo-sleep and were still shaking off the cobwebs of their long slumber. Judging from their identical uniforms they were all techs, a fancy designation for grunt work that was both dangerous and mind-numbingly tedious. All of them appeared to be in their mid-twenties to early thirties.

  The mining companies needed workers old enough to commit themselves to a life millions of miles away from the homeworld but youthful enough to warrant the steep investment necessary to transport them across the vast darkness of space. Faith had seen reports putting the cost estimate at $5 million per colonist.

  As Faith took a closer look at her surroundings, she saw that the terminals were dark and the lights on various consoles muted. The sorry state of the bridge made her realize that no one was piloting this ship, and she wondered with growing horror whether all members of the crew were gone. The colonists kept studying Faith with unflinching suspicion.

  “Who are you people?” Faith asked. “Where is the crew?”

  Harker’s grim expression spoke volumes. “There is no crew.”

  The words hit Faith hard. The dead crew members on the habitat deck had made her fear the worst, but she had still clung to the hope she might be wrong.

  “How?” Faith asked.

  “I can only speak for the unfortunate souls below. From the looks of it, they were caught off guard. My guess is that someone turned off life support while they were still asleep.”

  “You don’t think it was an accident?”

  Faith knew how silly the question sounded, how desperate. She added weakly, “Who would do such a thing?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question. What were you doing on the habitat deck?”

  Faith was speechless, searching for the right place to begin and knowing the hostile room wouldn’t accept any explanation but an admission of guilt.

  Harker took a step closer. “According to the computer, we’re a hundred million miles off course and out of communication range with any known outpost.”

  Faith was gripped by a terrible thought. “How long have we been adrift?”

  “Computer, please inform our new guest what year it is.”

  “The date is March 13, 2114,” the ship’s computer said in a neutral, matter-of-fact voice.

  The revelation stunned Faith. The world tilted. They had left Earth in 2109, which meant the ship had been adrift for five years. Half a decade of her life had slipped away while she was slumbering away in a hyper-stasis capsule. She knew Harker and the others were studying her reaction, but she didn’t care. They would have to be morons not to realize her shock was genuine.

  “How is this possible?”

  “Why don’t you tell me? Who are you?”

  Faith took a deep breath, relieved to be asked a question she could answer. “My name is Faith Cadena, assigned to mining-tech unit five, C-rank.”

  “What are you doing awake?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” Faith paused for a second, realizing that being confrontational wasn’t going to help her case. She continued, “My hyper-sleep capsule initiated a wake-up sequence 30 minutes ago. I tried to contact the bridge but no one was answering the com. I decided to head for the habitat level.”

  Faith broke off. She could feel the hard eyes of the colonists boring into her. All of a sudden being back asleep in cryo didn’t seem so bad. She’d rather confront the nightmares of her past than a hostile reality that, with each passing second, was making less and less sense.

  “For God’s sake, ask the computer. You can review the security files…”

  “The security system is down and all files have been erased.”

  Faith stared at Harker with big eyes. If someone had tampered with the security system, it indicated foul play or sabotage of some kind. What the hell was happening here?

  “Let me give it to you straight,” Harker said. “All eight of us woke from cryo less than two hours ago. Peterson, who bled all over your uniform, was with us.”

  A
frown furrowed Faith’s brow. “I don’t understand…”

  “Once we arrived on the bridge and realized there was no trace of the crew, I asked the computer to scan the ship for other life signs. It found you on the habitat deck. Only you.”

  Harker’s unwavering glare locked on Faith. She began to understand why they suspected her of being involved in Peterson’s death. No one else was awake, besides her.

  “You two headed to the habitat deck to check it out.” Faith’s voice was dry as she spoke.

  “Peterson foolishly suggested we split up to cover more ground.” Harker took a step closer. “Now it’s your turn to finish the story.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your friend, I swear. Someone had already stabbed him multiple times. I just woke up from cryo and I have no fucking clue what is going on here!” Exasperated, hands trembling, Faith found the animosity in the room was getting to her.

  Harker eyed Faith, taken aback by the force behind her response. “Until I know what the hell's happening here, you're a suspect and a potential accomplice. I ask you again, is there anything you want to get off your chest?”

  Before Faith could respond, one of the colonists said, “I just retrieved her file. Get this, the broad was doing hard time on the lunar penal colony.”

  Faith stared at the speaker. His nametag identified him as Gilardi. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His baby face seemed like it had never known the touch of a razor, and his eyes held no warmth.

  “So you're an ex-con,” Harker said. “When were you going to share this part of your resume with us?”

  “It's in the past.”

  “Really? How many years were you in for?”

  There was a brief moment of hesitation before Faith answered. “Too many.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing I'm proud of.”

  “You got to give me more than that.”

  “I was eighteen and ran with the wrong crowd. I messed up. Not a day goes by where I don't wish I could go back and do things differently.”

  “I bet that's why you got those tattoos. To show the world how upset you were.”

  Faith reacted as if she'd been slapped. Harker was talking about the police badge-skull tattoo visible on her wrist. A white skull indicated that a cop had taken a shot at a perp, a black skull designated a kill. Both images commanded respect to varying degrees. Faith’s skull was white.

  “It buys you some status when you're doing hard time.”

  “I bet it does.”

  “Other inmates look at you differently. It keeps you alive. You do what you have to when you think you'll never breathe fresh air again.” Faith's voice grew heavy with emotion. “I did my time. All I want now is to move on with my life.”

  “So you signed up for a colony run.”

  “That's right.”

  “Not too many prospects for ex-cons back on Earth?”

  “I just needed a fresh start,“ Faith said in a tight voice, her eyes locked on Harker. “Last time I checked, no one signs up for a run in the asteroid mines if they’re squeaky clean.” She stared daggers at the colonists.

  One of the mining techs approached Harker. The man was about six-two with an athletic frame and rugged good looks framed by a mop of shaggy brown hair. He seemed too handsome to spend his twenties mining asteroids. Under different circumstances, Faith might have found him attractive. The nametag on his chest identified him as Angus.

  “I think she’s telling the truth,” he said. “She doesn’t strike me as someone who could take out a whole crew or knife a man.” Angus’ eyes remained fixed on Faith and she felt relief. At least one person was willing to stand up for her. She met Harker’s probing gaze. “I swear. I had nothing to do with this.”

  “Don’t trust her,” a bland, birdlike female colonist by the name of Michelle interjected, her voice unable to hide her panic.

  Harker raised his weapon and approached Faith. “I don't have time to sort you out right now.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Harker’s answer was both swift and eloquent. He pointed the tip of his weapon at her. With the barrel of the gun trained on her head, Harker escorted Faith off the bridge. He directed her down a nearby corridor that dead-ended in a holding cell. Harker waved his gun, indicating for Faith to step into the waiting chamber and she reluctantly moved inside. The walls and floor were barren, cold and claustrophobic.

  “Cozy, isn't it? Should feel just like home.”

  Faith gave Harker the finger. To her surprise, it elicited a grin. So he did have a sense of humor, or maybe he just appreciated a feisty woman.

  “After I did my time, I promised myself no one would ever lock me up again.”

  “My advice: don't make promises you can't keep.”

  “You used to be a cop, didn’t you? Is that why you have a beef with me?”

  “What makes you think I was in law enforcement?”

  “You have cop eyes. And you ask questions like a cop.”

  “I guess you would know, wouldn't you?”

  Faith took a step toward Harker, who still stood in the cell’s doorframe. “This is bullshit! There's a killer running around this ship and you're going to put me in a cage?”

  Harker’s response was to turn away from her.

  “Wait!”

  Harker paused. Faith's tone softened. “You have something that belongs to me. I would like it back.”

  Harker's face remained without expression.

  “Please. It means a lot to me.”

  There was another moment of hesitation before Harker extricated the holo-disk and tossed it at Faith.

  “Thank you.” Faith clutched the disk as if it were a magical talisman. For five long years, it had served just that function for her. In the grim world of the penal colony, the hologram was the one spark of hope that kept her from giving up and succumbing to her hopeless surroundings.

  “What’s happening here? Why would someone kill the crew? And why are we awake?” Faith didn’t know why she was asking all those questions. Harker knew as little as she did, but once upon a time he’d been a cop. It was his job to have all the answers, to solve any crime that happened aboard this vessel.

  “I don't know. But I'm going to find out.”

  Even though he’d thrown her in a holding cell, and there was little warmth lost between them, his determination gave her some hope. It might just be an illusion, but it was a welcome one.

  Harker turned away. The door closed and he was erased from view. Faith remained rooted in the cell, torn by a mixture of emotions, wondering how she had managed to step into this mess, wondering how she was going to get out of it.

  “Fuck.” She took a seat on the bunk bed and closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but aboard this ship.

  ***

  In another part of the vessel, a series of monitors flashed and crackled with electronic life. The screens lit up one by one, showing various images of Harker, Faith and the other colonists. In one of the images, Faith was pacing back and forth in her holding cell, frustration building. The cell’s camera zoomed in on her face. Closer and closer until the image became a searing blur of pixels, the blue of Faith’s eyes devouring the screen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AFTER HARKER SEALED Faith in the holding cell, he made his way back to the bridge. He had come to the conclusion that Faith was telling the truth. Even though she knew how to handle herself, Harker doubted that the woman could have bested Peterson in a knife fight without even a single bruise or injury to mark her victory. Harker had been a cop longer than Faith had served hard time, and he considered himself a pretty good judge of character. Faith might be many things but Angus was right: she probably wasn’t a cold-blooded psycho killer who went around stabbing people to death.

  Nevertheless, Harker felt good about his decision to detain her for the time being. He already had his work cut out for him trying to stave off a panic among the other colonist
s without having to worry about some shady ex-con looking out for her own self-interest. There was a killer loose aboard the ship, and Harker had a feeling it was only matter of time before he’d strike again.

  Feelings of guilt plagued his mind as he strode down the deserted corridor. Harker blamed himself for what had happened to Peterson on the habitat deck. Peterson had made it clear he thought he could handle any challenge that came his way. The former Marine had been asleep for way too long and was itching for a fight. Harker should’ve known better but was still a bit groggy from his own cryo-cycle and didn’t overrule him, despite knowing a bad idea when he heard one. His hesitation had cost the kid his life.

  Unbidden, the image of Peterson flashed into his mind again. Based on Harker’s cursory inspection of the stab wounds, they were dealing with a pro and most likely someone with military training. Most people would thrust in a knife as far as it went, but skin and muscle would cling to the blade, making it difficult to extract. The killer’s technique was a short stabbing thrust followed by a half-twist that broke the knife’s friction as it was withdrawn. Harker had no sense of the odds they might face, but the killer had easily taken out a former Marine. There was no doubt that the killer knew what he was doing.

  The insight filled him with grave concern. If their enemy knew how to handle an edged weapon, chances were good he’d also have a few tricks up his sleeve when it came to pulse and ballistic firearms. Ever since laying eyes on Peterson’s body, his right hand had been shaking non-stop. His physical response to violence served as a reminder of why Harker had left the force. He had been a cop for almost two decades but when he lost his partner in a brutal gang ambush, he changed. He began to have nightmares, terrible scenarios ripped from everyday experiences but twisted and magnified by his subconscious fears. Fortunately, dreams could be suppressed. The right pill could guarantee deep-REM sleep uninterrupted by dark anxieties. He would wake up the next morning feeling like he had swallowed sand, his mouth parched and chalky from the tranquilizers, but it was a small price to pay for a good night’s rest.