Armstrong Station

by D. M. Pruden

  I consider the possibility of using my own suit’s patch kit to repair the bullet holes in the dead men’s spacesuits. That will be a pointless exercise, however, if I can’t find her a helmet. Even if I manage that, and she and the repaired suit survive the jet bike trip back to Vostok’s shuttle, it will still take hours to get her back to my medical facility on Requiem.

  There, using the equipment that Tessa gave me, I can replicate something to keep her alive.

  It is her only chance for survival, but even if successful, that will take more time than she has remaining.

  The only solution now is to somehow contact Chambers and have him bring Requiem to this place. Even if local communications weren’t being jammed, the radio in my suit is not up to the task. I’ll need access to the transmitter on Vostok’s shuttle.

  My decision made, I give Chloe one final check then pick up my gloves, helmet, and gun and head for the stairwell.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cautiously, I creep up the stairs toward the next level. I am foolish, of course, to be so stealthy. In the near vacuum, nobody will hear me coming, but I still err on the side of caution in case somebody is lurking on the other side of the door.

  Fortunately, I am not detected on my entry, and there is nobody in sight. Ironically, this level has power, and the overhead lights are on.

  I duck behind an overturned desk and work up the courage to peek around it for a couple of seconds.

  About five metres beyond my makeshift shelter lies a bullet-riddled corpse. His distinctive blue stolen helmet identifies him as one of the assassins. Beyond him lie two more bodies. They are Vostok’s men, and both were shot in the back.

  Gripping my pistol tightly, I risk a more careful assessment of the situation and poke my head over the furniture.

  The footprints on the dust-covered floor tell me the possible story of what happened.

  The larger collection that must belong to Vostok’s men have scattered off to the left, vanishing around the corners of two pock-marked walls. Leading off to the right into a darkened part of the room are two sets of prints that were made by the remaining bad guys.

  I try my comm, but it still feeds me only static. Whatever is jamming communications is more widespread here than the lower level serving as Chloe’s tower prison.

  A gunfire flash lights the shadows where Willis’s men are. From the left, two flashes respond. Both sides are pinned down by each other’s fire.

  Checking my suit readout reveals my air supply is almost half gone. That means a return trip on the hover-bikes becomes less possible with every passing minute. Of course, that isn’t a problem for Willis’s men, who probably have extra supplies or even a ship nearby. The jammed comms mean that we can’t call for help from the shuttle, either. All the assassins need do is wait patiently for Vostok’s oxygen to run out. He and his men might suffocate or die in a heroic rush on the enemy, or possibly both if this drags on too long.

  Any way I consider it, I might be their only chance.

  Shit!

  I’ve never fired a gun in my life, let alone pointed one at anybody. If the bad guys see me coming, I am dead. If I manage to shoot one, the other will shoot me. Dead again. Of course, with comms down, there is also a chance that one of Vostok’s boys might get trigger-happy if he sees me. I might still end up dead.

  Fuck!

  If I paid attention to the little voice in the back of my head that I routinely ignore, I’d return the way I came and leave Chloe and Vostok to their fates. I still have time to find my hover-bike and make it back to the shuttle. As reasonable as that idea sounds, it isn’t something I am prepared to do. Besides, if I did that, there is still the problem of Cabot’s men hunting me down to slit my throat.

  Goddammit, Destin, what the fuck is the matter with you? Do you have a fucking death wish that gets you into these predicaments?

  More muzzle flashes from both sides settle the issue for me. I need to do something to help Vostok.

  But what?

  Up to this point, the near vacuum has masked any sound of my entry, and the distraction of being shot at has prevented anyone from realizing I am present.

  From where I hide, I see things that neither Vostok nor the bad guys can...I hope.

  While the overturned desk I crouch behind is visible to everyone, I estimate from the angles that the bodies on the floor can’t be seen by Willis’s men.

  Further study of my surroundings tells me that the light switch is behind me, next to the door I entered through and out of view of everyone.

  With the rudiments of an idea formed, I poke my head out to make sure nobody has noticed me. Deciding that not being shot at is a good sign, I retrace my steps to the stairwell door, making sure to stay low, and, hopefully, unnoticed.

  Once there, I ensure the lamps on my helmet are turned off and take a second look to memorize my route back to my hiding spot. Then I cross my fingers and hit the light switch.

  The room is plunged into darkness, the only illumination coming from a window behind the assassins’ position. I can just discern their moving shadows as they look around for what happened. A couple of flashes from the direction of Vostok’s boys suggests they’ve seen it too.

  Advantage to the good guys.

  Under the unexpected bonus cover fire from Vostok, I scurry back to my overturned desk, just able to discern its outline as my eyes adjust to the dark.

  With phase one complete, I pause to bolster my courage before creeping out toward the nearest body.

  After a quick check to ensure the poor fellow is dead, I remove his helmet.

  Tucking it under one arm, I stealthily advance to the next body, scared shitless that one of Vostok’s men might see some sign of my movement and begin blasting.

  Retrieving the prize from that victim, I hurry back, unseen, to my hiding spot with both helmets.

  Phase two successfully accomplished, I take a moment to lean back against the desk, slow my heartbeat to a mere gallop, and review the last, and most risky part of my harebrained plan.

  There are two other tables between me and Willis’s boys.

  With my heart in my throat, I pick up the helmets and dash to the one nearest to me.

  Crouching, I wait and watch for any sign I was spotted. After seconds that seem to pass far too slowly, I decide that I avoided detection.

  Careful to place it within the shadow so the light from the window doesn’t illuminate it, I prop a helmet on the tabletop and orient it to face the enemy position.

  Checking first, I reluctantly trust I haven’t yet drawn attention to myself. Keeping low, I slowly inch my way to the overturned desk closest to the bad guys. I don’t realize until I reach it that I am maybe fifteen metres from people who will not hesitate to shoot me. It is far closer than I want to be.

  Looking back toward Vostok’s position, I wait until I see a muzzle flash to assure myself the helmet is in their line of sight.

  Silently cursing my lack of ability to imagine a better plan, I place it in a similarly shadowed location and duck back, foolishly hoping the desk will both conceal and protect me, realizing that there is no protection if my side shoots at me too.

  Forcing my breathing under control, I screw up my courage and pull my gun from its holster. After counting slowly to five—mostly to avoid the inevitable for as long as possible—I cautiously raise myself up, placing one hand on the helmet and propping the other on the desk with the pistol pointing in the general direction of the bad guys. My entire body shakes like I’ve emerged from an ice-cold bath.

  Fortunately, my plan does not call for any degree of marksmanship.

  I flip on helmet light while simultaneously firing off five rapid shots.

  Not waiting to see the reactions, I dive to the floor and try to flatten myself, knowing full well that bullets are now flying at my position from everywhere imaginable.

  Realizing I can’t stay where I am, I crawl like a two-legged beetle to where I remember leaving the othe
r desk.

  Finding it, I swallow the last of my fear and repeat the same operation, turning on the lamp and shooting blindly into the direction of the lit window.

  Not waiting, I run to my original refuge and dive behind it.

  My plan, perhaps foolishly, relies on the human instinct for survival. I hope that, believing that they are outflanked and being targeted from multiple positions, the two would-be assassins will throw down their guns and surrender.

  To my relief, my receiver in my helmet crackles, and an unknown voice offers to surrender in both Russian and heavily accented Standard.

  Cautiously, I lift my head over the edge of the desk, pistol shaking in my hand. Two silhouetted figures stand against the bright earthlight streaming through the window, arms raised above their heads.

  Then, from my left, two quick bursts of gunfire flash, and both men fall to the floor.

  “Vostok!” I shout into my mic.

  “Doctor Melanie, it is good to hear your voice again.”

  “Good, my virgin asshole! Why did you shoot those men? They’d obviously surrendered.”

  I can almost hear the shoulder shrug accompanying his reply over the comm. “They did? I did not notice.”

  I realize I no longer need to pee.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Requiem arrives far sooner than I expected.

  After our comms were restored, we contacted the shuttle and had them send a message to Chambers back at Armstrong. It was well past the launch window Requiem had received, but I had a hunch Schmaltz had found something wrong with the ship that prevented her departure. I was also reasonably confident that Chambers had not objected too vigorously.

  Requiem’s mechanical problems were miraculously resolved by Schmaltzy in record time, and within a couple of hours the ship settles down on the abandoned landing field beyond the tower. I have never seen her land before. She is a far more beautiful and welcome sight than I ever imagined she’d be to me.

  Chloe is rushed to my medical bay and hooked up to every life support system I have.

  The equipment Tessa gave me does exactly what I want. Within an hour, I have a prototype nutrient mix synthesized to feed Chloe’s ravaging nanites.

  A few hours later, she is sitting up in her bed, wolfing down a cup of soup.

  “Take it easy, girl. There’s more where that came from.”

  Her thin face breaks into an almost skeletal grin. “I’m so hungry, I think I might eat it all,” she says hoarsely.

  “You have lots of time. The synthetic compound I’ve got you on will slow down your nanites enough to let you put some meat back on you.”

  “But they’re still inside me?”

  I nod soberly. “I could only develop a substitute for the antidote. It will take some time to crack the nanite pseudo-genetic code to kill them off. I’ve never seen bioengineering this sophisticated.”

  “But you can do it, can’t you?”

  “A very dear friend who loaned me the equipment to build your antidote can. She’s the best there is at nanotechnology research.”

  “Please, no!” The soup bowl falls to the deck.

  “It’s okay. I’ll get you more.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” says Chloe, tears forming. “I mean, I don’t want anyone else. You saved me three times, counting this. I trust you.”

  As fond as I’ve grown of her, I am not prepared to sacrifice my own dreams and goals for her by leaving Requiem.

  “You’ll like Tessa, and I’ll come by to check up on you when Requiem returns to Luna in a couple of months.”

  “Can’t I stay aboard the ship with you?”

  “Chloe, your father is probably worried sick about you. Forgive me for saying this, but the sooner we can return you to him, the sooner the target will be off our backs.”

  She frowns. “I’ll tell him everything you did for me. He won’t hurt you.”

  “Forgive me for prying, but if he went to the trouble of tracking you down and bringing you home, what makes you believe he’d let you stay with us? What about the arranged marriage—not that I’d ever advise you to agree to anything like that—how will you handle that situation?”

  She blushes. “Daddy doesn’t know the reasons I don’t want to marry...a man.”

  “Oh. That certainly complicates things. You need to tell him, Chloe.”

  “Believe me, Mel, I’ve intended to for a long time, but every time I think I’ve worked up the courage...” She shrugs.

  “Just tell him. It may damage your relationship if he’s that kind of an asshole, but he deserves to know the truth. You owe it to yourself more.”

  “I will. Thanks, Mel.”

  “It’s all part of the smiling service I provide.”

  “So, are you telling me you’ll continue to treat me?”

  “Umm, it’s not my call. You’d have to speak to Chambers about it.”

  He’ll never agree to let her stay on, and I’ve strained my relationship with him enough already. As things stand, it will take me months to pay him the money he loaned me to buy out Chloe’s contract. I feel like a shit for deflecting her, but I don’t want to be the one to disappoint her, and there is the added complicating possibility that Daddy Cabot might not think kindly of my advising his daughter.

  “Then that is what I’ll do...er, that is, if you’re willing to continue helping me out?”

  I give her my best false smile. “If he says yes, then I would be delighted to help you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Carson Willis waits impatiently to board the passenger transport. He nervously fingers his new identity papers and tries not to scratch at his facial modifications.

  The odds of the Kazakhs pulling off their plan to kill Vostok, while remote, are not inconsequential. If they succeed, they will follow their instructions to kill the Cabot woman sometime after the liner he is boarding passes Mars.

  If, as is the more likely case, they all die at Vostok’s hands, Chloe will have no chance of recovery.

  In either case, his encoded transmission to Cabot informing him of where his daughter is being held will ensure that the old man’s attention falls on anyone involved who can identify him.

  Willis shakes his head. Cabot’s inclination to kill without questioning prisoners is short-sighted. He told that to the man on more than one occasion. Willis is now grateful that Cabot was never inclined to accept the advice.

  He regrets fleeing, but his position in the MP is compromised beyond repair. If, somehow, he becomes implicated in the affair, he’ll be long gone and out of Cabot’s reach.

  Had there been more time, he would have personally seen to the deaths of Destin and her friends.

  Perhaps their paths will cross one day.

  He hopes so.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Roy Chambers looks up from his desk at the sound of the buzzer.

  “Come in.”

  The door slides into its pocket, and Chloe timidly steps through. “I hope I’m not bothering you?”

  He puts down the data pad. “Not at all, please come in.”

  He directs her to the second chair in his quarters. She sits stiffly, knees pressed together and eyes darting about the room.

  He gives her a few seconds. “What can I do for you, Chloe?”

  She swallows. “I, umm...I don’t want to go home. I realize you’ve already altered your plans so you can drop me off on Terra, but...”

  Roy glances at the updated flight plan and the docking permit he’s just received from Terran orbital control. “No, I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

  Her shoulders relax, and she offers him a tentative smile.

  He continues. “I’m curious why, though. Your father is expecting you.”

  The smile fades, and her cheeks redden. “This makes a complication for you, but don’t worry. I’ve already told Daddy that my decision has nothing to do with you guys. I need to find someone I lost.”

  “The friend who was taken with y
ou by the pirates.”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  She straightens her back. “I have my trust fund. I’ll hire investigators to locate her.”

  Roy nods and says quietly, “You understand that she might be anywhere? There is even a chance that...” His throat tightens.

  There is sadness in her eyes. “I know, but I have to try. I’m the reason she was taken. If she hadn’t helped me run away, she wouldn’t be in danger. I owe her so much...”

  An awkward silence settles between them.

  “I can’t imagine your father was pleased.”

  She shakes her head and doesn’t look up. “No, he was furious; I took Mel’s advice and stood my ground. I told him I don’t want to marry Lincoln. I told him there is someone else.”

  Roy raises an eyebrow. “And he was fine with that?”

  “My father is used to getting his own way. I made it clear that he might be able to force me home and give my body to Lincoln to cement his alliance, but he will lose me forever. I told him I’ll go into hiding and let the nanites kill me before his men find me.”

  “He wouldn’t have taken that well.”

  She smiles. “No, he didn’t; but in the end, he agreed to what I want.”

  “What changed his mind?”

  “Daddy has never been able to refuse me anything I want badly enough.”

  He nods. “You were that stubborn little kid who held your breath until you passed out, weren’t you?”

  She blushes again. “Perhaps...”

  “So, who is the lucky Romeo who’s captured Juliette’s heart?”

  She smiles slyly and shakes her head. “There’s no Romeo.”

  “Oh...I see. So, you and your friend ran away together?”

  Chloe nods.

  “Well, I wish you all the luck you need to find her again. I know what it is like to lose someone you love.”