by A. R. Knight
"You ever wear one?" Davin asked Viola, who had her suit half on, her arm in the wrong sleeve.
"Never," Viola said.
"Try using the sleeves," Davin said, pressing the button to activate the helmet. From his collar, the space suits neck expanded, growing over and around Davin's head. It latched back onto the suit in front, completing the seal. Then Davin released it. Always good to check that something works before he depended on it for his life. "That was a joke, by the way."
"I don't get it," Viola replied, sticking her arms, finally, in the right places. "We're here fighting for our lives. About to go outside into one of the most hostile environments a human can experience. After I barely survived getting immolated. And here you're trying to make me laugh."
"It's pathological, sorry," Davin said.
"I just wish I could."
"Could what?"
"Laugh. Smile."
"I get it. You're stunned. But back in that hallway you came up with a good idea, one we're executing." Davin always felt, with speeches, that he was wearing his captain hat. Made his scalp itch. "That means you're not useless. You will not fall apart. You're still you and, damn it, you can still laugh. That's an order."
"Don't think I've ever heard you give an order before," Viola said, the corners of her mouth turning up as she finished donning the suit. "Guess I bring out the best in you."
"I give orders all the time." Davin said, slipping the thick tether coil around his arm. "The trick is to make people think you're just asking."
"Is that it?" Viola replied, then noticed both of them were staring at each other, suited up and ready. "So, how do we get outside?"
"Same way we came in," Davin said, walking over to a control panel near the bay's exit. The panel wasn't much more than a few large buttons. One to accept an incoming call from the bridge, one to place a call to the same. Another pair had a green UP arrow and a red DOWN arrow. Small illustrations carved into the panel next to the two showed an open door by the green, and a closed one by the red. Simple enough. Davin pressed the green one.
The bay rumbled. Lifts warming up to raise the bay up to disembark. A monotone voice announced a countdown from five, to four, three, two and one. Davin stepped back as the door to the exit slammed shut, sealing them in. Then the whole room rose. Davin felt the motion in his legs, but it wasn't until the black of Neptune's night broke through the sides of the bay that Davin understood what they were about to do.
There's a beauty to space, where the dark is everywhere but also nowhere. Stars shine for infinity. Planets looming like ornaments against the sparkling backdrop. Neptune's night was something else. Even a shutoff, blacked out room didn't compare. Clouds filtered out most of the starlight, moonlight. The gradient gray void stretched out to an infinite horizon.
The Karat kept the atmosphere from running out through the same magnetic seals used on every bay and ship. Davin and Viola walked right up to the edge and looked. The schematics had the Karat being thirty meters high, with the bay jutting up another five meters when it was extended. Davin had to rely on those numbers because the Karat had no running lights on. It was a sea of nothing beneath them. With the bay's back lighting, it was like the two of them and their wrecked shuttle were floating in nothing.
"What's our tether length?" Davin asked.
"Twenty meters. Pretty damn short," Viola said.
"Almost like they weren't planning for long-distance spacewalks," Davin replied. "Still, if I recall correctly, that's about the height of this ship. We get above that intake, and you're looking at less than twenty meters cause the openings are so high."
"Yeah, except we're in the middle of the ship. That intake is towards the rear," Viola said. "The Karat's more than a hundred meters long. We'll be out of tether before you can even make the curve."
"So we stop and go," Davin said. One moves first, anchors the tether, the other catches up. Slow, but safe. Especially if those Neptune winds picked up. The tethers themselves were designed for latches or, given the space disaster scenarios out there, had magnets that could secure them to the sides of any modern spacecraft.
"I'll start," Viola said. "It's my idea. And I'm lighter."
"You calling me fat?" Davin said.
"Stop it," Viola tapped a button on her spacesuit and the helmet sealed around her head. She ran the tether through the bands around her suit's waist, keeping a meter hanging off where the magnet sat. Davin did the same. Like putting on a belt, only this one was more about saving his life than keeping up his pants. Then Davin took the magnet end, pressed it against the floor of the bay, and gave it a twist.
The tether made a pleasant beep and glowed emerald along its length. They both watched the color make its way along the tube until it reached Viola's end. Any break in the connection and the tether would go red, a signal that they were not, in fact, tethered anywhere at all.
Viola took her magnet and stuck it to the floor in the same fashion. This time, the tether's color changed to a bright blue. Double connection. Their way of signaling when it was time for the other to move. They'd have their comms too, but the colors provided that moment-by-moment accuracy.
"Ready?" Davin said. Viola gave him a thumbs up, disconnected her tether. Then, with her helmet up, the girl stepped through the magnetic seal and dropped out of sight.
30
Blow the Door
When someone comes charging out of nowhere, shooting lasers at your face, there are two kinds of surprised reactions that happen. There's the prepared version, where the waiting force understands the charge is coming and meets it with its own hail of return fire. Then there's the unprepared version, the surprise Merc liked to think of in capital letters. The SURPRISE that's so unexpected that the mind stalls out and nosedives into the planet.
With Cass sprinting in front of him, yelling that Merc was an enemy, and Merc two steps behind taking wild shots with the sidearm, the enemy wasn't prepared. The scattered group of people in the hallway, some still holding crates unloaded seconds ago, others looking at schematics and trying to decide where to send people, were not ready for a crazed counter-assault. If he hadn't been fighting for his life, Merc would've laughed at the diving people as his shots blew charred chunks out of the walls. One blast caught a mercenary in the shoulder and the man looked at the smoking hole as though he couldn't believe it was actually there.
Past the first bay, the Jumper had landed in the third, the next group of Red Voice fighters at least had their guns out. A few wide shots came Merc's way, fired from people trying to take cover. They aimed around Cass, or didn't shoot at all when they saw her coming towards them. The two of them passed the second bay, this one connected to the frigate through a boarding tunnel. More invaders were on their way through, too many to fight. Even if all of the Nines were here, they wouldn't be able to repel these guys. Merc kept running.
There was a set of five attackers outside the door to bay three, taking cover not from Merc, but from fire coming out of the bay. Trina and Erick playing defense for the home team. Now the attackers turned at Cass and Merc, changing their portable energy shield, a rectangular block of green, to block Merc's incoming pot shots. Which left their flank vulnerable.
"Erick, let it rip through the door!" Merc shouted into his comm as he triggered another shot with the sidearm. This one, instead of the deep red most had been up till now, was a lighter, pinker shade. Energy was running low. It only had to last a few more seconds.
Shrieking, exploding pops poured into the corridor ahead. Cass stopped dead and Merc ran into her, sending them both sprawling as lasers from behind zipped by. A lucky break. Merc rolled off of Cass and looked towards bay three. Fire and smoke blanked the corridor, the end result of Erick's blast-happy use of the Jumper's turret. The path ahead was clear, but the steady stream of shots from back behind them made getting up suicidal.
"Clever, but not good enough," Cass muttered, pushing herself away from Merc. "You can surrender now. We might not kill yo
u right away."
"Tempting, but I'll pass," Merc said. He didn't have much time for a solution. To think, a month ago he'd been floating free in space above Europa, waiting for a slow, sleepy death to come for him. Now here he was about to get violently shredded by hot energy. Given the two, he'd — wait. Space. That was it.
"Erick, I need you to blow the doors on the bay. Kill the magnetic seal. Then get ready to play catch."
"What are you doing?" Cass said, eyes opening in alarm.
"Got one last trick," Merc said. His comm clicked, and the pilot dove forward, rolling towards the bay three door. He couldn't tell if Cass followed or not. Shots hit the surrounding ground. Hard to hit a rolling figure in smokey haze.
And then Merc's ears nearly exploded.
A fizzling bang and Merc felt like he was being pushed by the invisible hands of a huge mob, shoving him forward into bay three. Behind him, the freighter initiated its standard response to vacuum leaks and tried to seal off the section. The bay three door was already blown apart, so it went to the next available spot and slammed down the secondary doors between bay three and bay two, and the hallway continuing on towards the bridge. Merc registered the shutting doors out of the corner of his eye as he blew through towards the Jumper.
The blocky ship looked so, so lovely, though Merc wasn't sure if that was because it was the only thing standing between him and, in a minute, frozen death out in pure space or because it was the one thing he'd seen in the last hour that wasn't trying to kill him. Cass was nowhere to be found. She must not have followed him foward. No time to dwell on that, though.
Merc bounced off the floor and continued rolling towards the metal shield closed over the bay's main exit. In the middle of the door was a series of holes, punched through and glowing orange around the edges from the Jumper's lasers. The air was being sucked through those holes with enough force to whip Merc across the ground like a tornado. And if he hit those holes, Merc knew the force would break his bones to pieces or, if not that, other small objects would shoot into him like bullets.
Too reckless, that's what Opal would say. Trying something this stupid. Merc continued sliding across the floor, pulled towards the door. The current towards the holes carried Merc beneath the Jumper. Under the nose of the cockpit and nearing the main body. The ramp was still up, and for good reason. Opening the thing would just cause everything in the Jumper to get sucked out. Which left the one spot left for him to get in, the Jumper's airlock.
As Merc blew by the ship, he reached out and wrapped his arms around the Jumper's left rear landing strut. A thick steel leg connected every meter by joints and paralleled by a electric-powered arm that would fold the strut in during lift-off, the thing had plenty of handholds. The problem was that as Merc held on, he could feel his muscles strain, his wrists crack as the sucking force tried to yank him out. Climbing to the airlock like this would be impossible.
"Erick!" Merc said into his comm, shoving his face into his left wrist. "Docking airlock!"
Even shouting those words left Merc gasping the fleeting air for breath. The freighter wouldn't be pumping anymore oxygen into the bay, which meant that in a few minutes there wouldn't be anything breathable left in here. If there was going to be a rescue, it had to happen soon.
"Trina's on her way," Erick's voice came through the comm. "Stay steady."
"I'm on the back left strut."
"She'll get you."
See, Opal, sometimes the ideas work out. Cocky pilots aren't always wrong. Merc shut his eyes. Focused on his grip. Until he felt tugging from above. Merc opened his eyes, glanced up, and in a space suit, tethered to the latch in the airlock, was Trina and her bright blue hair.
"Hey hotshot. Need a hand?"
Merc tried to reply, but couldn't seem to pull in the air to do so. He settled for a nod. Spots, little black flecks, were dancing around his eyes. Same stuff that happens when he pulled high G's in atmosphere. Doing loops, tight rolls. Merc didn't even notice as Trina wrapped spare tether around him, then punched the button to retract them into the Jumper's airlock. By the time the ship's outer door shut, the pilot was asleep.
31
Last Man
Mox leaned Opal up against the wall to the right of the elevator door when the button dinged and turned red. The up arrow. Davin and Viola only twenty minutes gone. Not enough time.
The cannon was ready, wound up and able to spray too many bolts too fast. Mox positioned himself in front of the doors, slightly to the left. They would aim, by reflex, dead center and any quick shots should fly right by Mox. They wouldn't have time for a second chances.
A second ding sounded as the elevator arrived. Mox heard the latches on the doors pop open, the slow, grinding sliding as the elevator opened. In the center was a small box, not much larger than Mox's own booted foot. It sat towards the front of the doors.
Mox blinked. He’d seen this before.
"Open it," The sergeant told Mox, pointing at the black, gem-studded box.
"My wife's remains!" The man wailed, but didn't move from the bench. Sergeant's glare was more effective than handcuffs, promised more hells in the fiery glint of his eyes than any resistance was worth. Mox picked up the box, squat and square, a few centimeters width and height. But it was heavy. Mox almost grabbed it with both hands, but that would be weak. Not in front of Sergeant.
The top of the box was secured by a simple flip latch. Mox flicked it open, the man's protests going weaker. Inside, a pile of flaky dust. Relief, shame flooded Mox with equal measure.
"Nothing," Mox said.
“Sift the dust,” Sergeant said.
"But—”
"If those are the remains, his wife won't care," Sergeant said.
Mox looked back at the box, pressed a finger into the dust. The grains stuck to his gloved hand, bits of another person stuck to him now. A little deeper, and Mox hit something hard. The bottom of the box? Mox cocked his head.
"What is it?" Sergeant asked. The man on the bench was sweating now. His eyes wide and staring back Mox's way.
"The remains aren't the only things in here," Mox said.
Sergeant took two steps over to Mox, grabbed the box out of his hands, jammed their standard-issue EMP device in and pulled the trigger. Then Sergeant tipped over the box. The powder fell like black snow to the floor, and through it crashed a tiny circuit. It hit the ground and shattered.
"First, rookie, those weren't ashes. Explosive powder. Second, the most dangerous thing on a space station is a bomb. You can blow it up, sure, but it can crack a hole and suck out your air fast. Burn up the oxygen and create a fire impossible to put out. Lunar law states any package can be searched Use it, trust it," Sergeant said.
So Mox dropped the cannon, detached it from the exoskeleton and dove towards Opal. He landed and pulled the sniper to him, his back and the metal plating of the exoskeleton facing the door.
A second later the elevator blew up. A small, controlled explosion that sent a wave of heat and pieces of shrapnel bouncing off Mox's back. Cuts lanced pain through his arms and legs. Nothing major. Meant to kill a curious man, not a cautious one. Small chance of punching a hole in the ship. Mox turned back towards the elevator.
The cannon was ruined. Close enough to the blast, the barrel was bent out of shape, the nozzles sending the gas to generate the lasers themselves splayed on the ground like dead snakes. The elevator wasn't much better. The floor buckled, tiles opening into a hole down the shaft, with sparks spraying out from split wires. But Opal still breathed. Mox relaxed his grip, pushed Opal back against the wall, and stood.
Like feeling a twinge from a strained muscle, Mox felt a drag in his legs. A resistance.
"Suit status," Mox said, activating the exoskeleton's internal systems check. A moment later the suit rattled off a string of greens for Mox's upper extremities. The batteries checked out. But the left calf buzzed a red. Non-functional. Which meant the left foot wouldn't be able to transmit anything either. Mox moved his
left leg to look at the calf, saw the piece of shrapnel jammed inside of it. The jagged piece a set product, stuffed inside of the bomb as a nasty surprise for anyone a few feet further back from the explosion. Mox reached and yanked the piece out, pulling with it the tangled remains of wires. There wouldn't be any boosted jumps happening anytime soon.
As Mox toss the extracted piece away, a clang sounded behind and below. Down the shaft. More came after. Not loud enough to be explosions. Metal on metal. And the sounds were coming closer.
"Time to move," Mox said, bending over and trying to pick up Opal. His arms handled the added weight without flinching, but as Mox straightened, the exoskeleton tried to adjust the load balance and failed, leaving Mox feeling as though his left side was being dragged down. Opal wasn't heavy enough to cause Mox real trouble, but walking became a mental exercise. His right leg moved stepping forward without pause. The left required effort, resistance with every movement.
But they had to get to cover. Mox could hear voices coming up the shaft now. Must think their bomb took care of everyone up here. Which said they weren't well-trained. Mox shook his head. Always assume your enemy is still alive, ready to fight. Mox had his sidearms, one attached to each thigh. Not that he could grab them with Opal in his arms.
The exit to the shuttle bay was closed, leaving Mox trapped in the hallway. Davin and Viola, they must have raised it. Calling it back dight ruin their plan. Or snap the tether and send them both flying off to surf Neptune's skies for a brief few seconds before death.
The hallway itself was smooth, rectangular lights glowing silver every few feet embedded into the walls. No cover.
Mox set Opal down near the door. Checked again to make sure she was still breathing. Viola's little bot said the sniper hit her head when the shuttle cracked. Could have used her here. Fast, accurate trigger fingers were handy in situations like this one. But no time to wait,now.
