Finality

by Amy Cross

  I told myself not to get emotional, but it's difficult. There's so much time out here to let the mind wander, so I put the small carving in my pocket before closing the box. I know it's a mistake to keep sentimental items, but in this case I can't help thinking there might be a small advantage.

  Figuring that Crizz is probably asleep by now, I climb up to the control room and then through to the cargo room. I rarely have any reason to come in here, apart from when supplies arrive, but right now I have to do something I've been delaying for a long time.

  Four months, to be precise.

  Placing the box in a small chute, I slide the glass door shut and head over to the control panel. There's a part of me that wants to stop, that wants to keep the box or at least to retain one of Deborah's personal items as a memento. At the same time, I know that any hint of emotional attachment to her would be a sign of weakness. We both knew what we were getting into when we kissed for the first time, and when we started sleeping together. I remember the look of regret in her eyes when she woke up in my bunk for the first time, but I also remember the look of quiet, nervous happiness. She wasn't some weak, inexperienced girl who couldn't look after herself. She and I were equals, and we slept together on equal terms.

  And now she's out there in the vastness of space.

  Staring out the window for a moment, I find myself relieving the last time I saw her. She was spinning away from the station, hurtling away with such speed that she was out of sight in just a couple of seconds. In a way, it would have been better if she'd fallen toward the planet; that way, she'd have burned up in the atmosphere and at least her body would have been destroyed. Instead, she drifted off into the cold, empty reaches of space, and she most likely spent a couple of minutes suffocating and freezing. Now she's out there somewhere, and she might well end up drifting for centuries with a horrified scream frozen onto her face.

  The worst thing is this: while I was staring out at her, she must have been able to see me too, safe in this metal sphere. I hope she didn't hate me; I hope she understood. In a way, she was the lucky one. She died quickly, whereas I have to stick around and face a much darker fate. In the grand scheme of things, however, death comes to us all.

  Hitting a button on the control panel, I turn and watch as her meager box of possessions is ejected from the station and sent spinning off into space.

  I should have done that a long time ago. As soon as she was dead, I should have made sure every trace of her was gone. Still, those were dark days immediately after her death, and I figure I shouldn't be too hard on myself. I spent almost a week trying to come to terms with what had happened, particularly the look on her face in those final seconds. I'd told myself that I wouldn't look, but in a moment of weakness I turned and stared straight at her. I'd like to think that as she was sucked out into space she experienced some divine revelation, or perhaps she gained some kind of comfort in death.

  Unlikely.

  I need to stop thinking about her. I need to focus on the task at hand. If I sit around weeping, her death will have been in vain. Instead, I need to stay strong. It's what she would have wanted.

  Chapter Five

  Crizz

  "Hey," I say, standing in the doorway and watching as Sutter comes back through from the cargo room. "What were you doing in there?"

  "Nothing," he replies brusquely, avoiding eye contact as he heads over to the main control panel. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

  "You know how it is," I say, keeping my gaze on him as he makes some adjustments to one of the monitors. "It's hard getting used to a new place," I add. "The rhythm, the atmosphere... Everything's artificial. I guess it takes time for the mind to adjust. Either that, or you just end up going crazy."

  He doesn't reply.

  "How do you handle it?" I ask.

  "Handle what?"

  "Not going crazy."

  He pauses, before finally turning to look at me.

  "Well," he says after a moment, "that's kind of a strange question coming from someone who just left the academy. Didn't they give you all the latest ideas about mind management?"

  "Yeah," I reply, "but I was wondering about how you manage it. You've been out here for so long, and I guess practice and theory are a little different." Behind my back, I'm holding a metal rod from the storage area; it's not much protection, but I figure I can't afford to be without some kind of weapon.

  "Are you find it hard?" he asks.

  "No," I say firmly. "Are you?"

  "I'm used to it," he replies, turning back to work on the monitors.

  "What about Deborah Martinez?" I ask.

  He pauses, and it's clear that the mere mention of her name has caught his attention. Although he's referred to her a few times since I arrived last week, this is the first time I've brought her up properly.

  "She was fine," he says, glancing at me briefly before heading over to the other side of the control room and checking some more readings.

  "What about your relationship with her?" I ask. "Was it... okay?"

  "It was fine," he replies. "Very professional."

  "Professional?" I pause for a moment as I realize that he's definitely lying. "What about on a personal level," I continue. "Was she a friend?"

  "I wouldn't say that," he mutters, before turning to me. "Maybe. You spend so much time with someone, they kind of become a friend by default, don't they?" He pauses. "Why are you asking about her?"

  "I'm just curious," I tell him. "I mean, I'm sleeping in her bunk, so it's natural that I've started to wonder what she was like as a person. In fact, I've been thinking back to everything I was told before I came here, and there's one thing I'm struggling with."

  "What's that?" he asks.

  "How exactly did she die?" I reply. "I mean, I know there was a blowout while she was working on the bay door, but I was thinking about the safety measures in place and I don't see how someone could die that way. It's kind of an unlikely accident, isn't it? There's no way anyone would go and work in that area without making sure that the main release mechanism had been bypassed."

  He pauses, and it's clear that he's not quite sure what to say. I don't want to arouse his suspicions, but at the same time I figure it'd be more suspicious if I didn't ask. I'm still undecided about Sutter, and I'm fully aware that there might be another explanation for the comments in Deborah's notes; at the same time, her concerns and mine seem worryingly similar, and if I'm trapped on a thirty-meter wide metal sphere orbiting a dead planet far from home, I figure I should learn the truth sooner rather than later.

  "I understand if you don't want to talk about it," I say after a moment. "I guess it must have been hard -"

  "We'd been having trouble with the bay doors for a while," he says suddenly. "I'd spent two days trying to get the damn things fixed, but I couldn't isolate the problem. Deborah kept offering to help, but I turned her down. I majored in sealant procedures at the academy, whereas she studied psychology, so I figured I was much better equipped for the job. Eventually, when I realized I hadn't got a clue, I let her take over." He pauses again, as if it's painful to relieve the memory. "She found the problem in about two hours," he adds finally. "Just like that. It was amazing, really, but she insisted on carrying out the repair work herself. Something about learning on the job."

  I wait for him to continue.

  "So she was alone when the accident happened?" I ask eventually.

  "I was right here," he replies, "in the control room. She knew the safety procedures, so it didn't occur to me that she might have a problem. I was just thinking about going to check on her when I suddenly hear an urgent banging sound. I ran through just in time to see that the interior door had closed and the exterior hatch was beginning to open. I knew instantly that there was nothing I could do; I just stood and look at her, and watched the panicked look on her face before finally she was sucked out. The station happened to be at an angle that sent her away from the planet's orbit. I ran some calculations later and confirmed
that the speed of the exit would have pushed her beyond any gravitational formats. She's still out there somewhere, floating further and further away by the second. The only good news is that she will have died after ninety, maybe a hundred seconds."

  "It must have been hard," I reply.

  "I stood and stared at the bay door for hours," he continues. "I didn't want to believe what I'd just seen, even though I knew deep down that it was absolutely true. Finally, I snapped back into action. I closed the exterior hatch and then opened the interior door, but of course there was nothing left. She'd just finished fixing the problem, and the damn thing has worked perfectly ever since. All that was left for me to do was to call back to base and let them know, so they could send someone to replace her." He pauses. "That was you, obviously."

  "It must have been hard being here alone for so long before I arrived," I reply.

  He shrugs.

  "I don't know if I could manage it," I continue.

  "It's not a question of managing," he replies. "There are jobs to be done, so slacking off isn't an option. I couldn't let the whole station suffer just because Deborah Martinez had got the safety procedures wrong. She paid the ultimate price for being sloppy, but we still have to keep this place ticking over."

  I smile politely, and right now it's hard to believe that Sutter could actually be some kind of crazed killer. Then again, I can't afford to let my guard down, not even for a moment.

  "Is there a reason for all these questions?" he asks eventually.

  "I was just curious."

  "Fine," he replies, "I understand that, but it doesn't help to go over the details of Deborah's death again and again. It happened, and I moved on. I could have put in a request for a transfer, but I chose to stay here. I know this place, and starting over didn't really appeal. Besides, I knew you'd be along soon, so I figured I wouldn't be alone for too long."

  I smile politely.

  "You should get to bed," he adds. "I need you to relieve me at zero hour, so try to rest. The last thing we need is for one of us to be sleeping on the job."

  "Sure," I reply, deciding that this would be an opportune moment to step back and consider my next step. There's a part of me that wants to show him the diary pages I found and ask him directly what they mean, but another part of me realizes that I should tread carefully. "I'll see you in a few hours," I add, before turning and heading back to my room.

  "And Crizz," he says after a moment, "one more thing."

  I turn to him.

  "Let's not talk about Deborah Martinez so much, okay?" he adds. "She's in the past, and we need to stay in the present. We've got a job to do, and I don't want superstition running rampant."

  I nod, before climbing through to my room. I'm not surprised that Sutter doesn't want to discuss Martinez; her death has clearly affected him, but I'm not sure whether that's because she was a good friend who died in an accident, or because he had a more direct hand in her death than he'll ever admit.

  Chapter Six

  Sutter

  "She remembers you," I say, holding the little wooden carving in my hand. "Not properly, but a little. You were right."

  Turning the carving over, I pause for a moment to consider the feel of wood against my skin. There were no trees back on Mars, and I've never been to Earth, so I've yet to ever encounter living wood. On Mars, most surfaces are made of plastic, and I was never able to gain permission to enter the bio-domes. To me, then, a tree is a wondrous, almost mythical thing that I can't imagine seeing with my own eyes or touching with my bare skin.

  I guess, if I've got any aim in life other than overthrowing our corrupt ruling elite, it would be to see a real tree one day. Just one would be enough.

  Putting the carving back in my pocket, I head over to the diagnostic station to check that everything is okay down on the surface of the planet. As expected, all the mining relay points are reporting normal figures. I can't deny that sometimes I'd quite like a problem to develop down there, purely so I could have an excuse for a little excursion. I'm pretty sure that I wasn't built for deep space work; I must prefer having my feet on solid ground, even if that ground is little more than a dusty tract of dry land.

  Hearing a faint knocking sound somewhere else in the station, I turn and look toward the cargo room. I'm pretty certain that Crizz is in her bunk, and the station is too well-maintained to exhibit random noises. Heading over to the hatch that leads into the cargo room, I lean through and double-check that Crizz hasn't woken up and started working again. Fortunately, there's no sign of her, so I guess that brief noise was either one of the maintenance systems resetting itself, or just a product of my fevered imagination.

  Pausing for a moment, I listen to the faint hum of the station's life-support unit. Sometimes, I hate the fact that it's so quiet around this place; then again, noise usually means a problem. Deborah used to snore, though, and that was one noise that always reassured me. In a strange way, I wish Crizz snored. There always used to be something weirdly comforting about the sound of someone sleeping nearby.

  Chapter Seven

  Crizz

  Listening to the sound of Sutter moving about in the control room, I can't help thinking that I'm never going to get to sleep. One of the biggest disadvantages of living in a small metal sphere floating through space is that you can hear pretty much everything that happens anywhere else in the entire station, and somehow no-one seems to have thought about the possibility of issuing ear-plugs as standard.

  Then again, it's not just the noise; there's also the faint vibration that shudders through the walls and railings whenever anything particularly bulky is dropped and nudged.

  Rolling onto my side, I stare at the wall and try to think of anything that might help me get to sleep. Unfortunately, my mind is racing and all I can think about is Deborah Martinez. Her life here on the station must have been so strange, since she seems to have been involved in a romantic relationship with Sutter. While it might sound ideal to be marooned out in deep space with your one true love, I can see how there could be downsides as well. The atmosphere here in the station is somewhat dense at the best of times, which means that it's pretty much impossible to ever feel as if you're alone, even for a second.

  Realizing that I'm far too uncomfortable to sleep, I roll onto my back and stare up at the roof of my bunk. I can't help wondering how many times Deborah Martinez did this exact same thing in this exact same space. It's almost as if she's haunting my thoughts, and the worst part is, I've got a very strong mental image of her; I've only seen one photo of her, but it was enough to form a lasting impression, I see her in my mind's eye as an attractive woman in her early forties, with dark frizzy hair and deep, soulful eyes. The craziest thing is that I feel as if I can even imagine how her voice must have sounded, even though I never heard her speak. It's almost as if I've created a complete mental image of the woman, which in itself doesn't seem very healthy.

  After a moment, I hear a banging sound high above, which can only mean one thing: Sutter is up in the comm-link maintenance area again, and he's likely to be making noise for hours.

  Sighing, I climb out of my bunk and wander through to the control room. I feel tired and buzzed at the same time, and it's a bad combination. Checking the diagnostic screen, I see that we're currently orbiting at a speed of just under two hundred miles an hour; the station itself feels calm and almost still, but we're racing through space so fast that I can't help wondering if somehow I'm picking up on that speed. There's a part of me that wants to take the lander down to the surface of Io-5, sleep there for a few hours, and then come back up. It's a nice idea, but I doubt Sutter would let me and anyway there's -

  Suddenly I hear a bumping noise nearby.

  Turning, I look over at the hatch that leads into the engine room.

  After a moment, I look up and listen to the sound of Sutter still working on the comm-link. I can hear his muttered curse words, so I know for a fact that he's up there, which means... Turning back to loo
k at the door to the engine room, I wait, and slowly I realize that the hairs on the back of my neck are starting to stand up. It sounds absolutely crazy, but I'm starting to think that Sutter and I aren't alone on the station. Sure, a few bumps and bangs occasionally could be explained, but this is more like a persistent sense that there's another person here. The station's small, of course, so it's impossible to believe that someone could hide without being noticed; then again, if Sutter was also involved...

  Deborah Martinez.

  Still staring at the hatch, I suddenly realize that I only have Sutter's word to go on; he says she was killed in an improbably-sounding accident, but there has to be at least a chance that he's lying. I'd like to believe that no-one could trick me, not for an entire week, but then again if they were working together... Although I know that I'm probably being paranoid, I make my way toward the hatch that leads into the engine room. There's no other way in or out, which means that if there was someone in there a few minutes ago, there's no way they could have managed to get out. When I lean through, however, I find that the narrow space is empty.

  Seconds later, I hear a noise over my shoulder.

  Spinning around, I stare across the empty control room. There's no-one to be seen, and after a moment I realize I can still hear Sutter high above in the comm-link hatch. Still, I know I heard a noise just now, and I'm convinced it was the sound of footsteps running across the main deck. If there is someone here, it's almost as if they've started toying with me, but there's no way I'm going to give them the satisfaction of panicking. Keeping my back to the hatch, I wait for the noise to return, convinced that my tormentor is going to have to make a move soon. I can't help thinking that there has to be someone else on the station with us, but at the same time I can't explain how they could have been in the engine room one moment, and then seemingly over by the main monitors a few seconds later without having passed me.