Vessel

by Andrew J. Morgan

  'Hello?' she called, watching the shadows in its belly flicker.

  There was no response, but the weeping had taken on a more three-dimensional quality. It was definitely coming from down there. Taking a deep breath, she fed herself into the hatch, wide eyes searching as her hands nudged her along rail by rail. As she got further in, she could see a person at the bottom, a small, scruffy-looking man who was pressed up against the glass, looking out into space.

  'Novitskiy?'

  Novitskiy jumped, spinning around so fast he ended up at a lop-sided angle. He looked around until his eyes met Sally's, blinking as they readjusted to the gloom. His chest rose and fell, his expression strained with terror.

  'Sally …' he said, sounding relieved, and he wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. 'I didn't hear you come down.'

  'Are you okay?' Sally asked, keeping her distance.

  Novitskiy sniffed. 'Yes, I'm fine,' he said, looking a little sheepish. 'I'm just feeling a little, ahm, how you might say, "sick for home".'

  'Homesick?'

  Novitskiy nodded, sniffing again. Over his shoulder, Sally could see the ponderous shape of UV One, following them from a distance.

  'Let's get out of here and have some lunch,' she suggested, breaking her eyes from it and back to Novitskiy's own puffy, sodden ones. 'It gives me the creeps down here.'

  Novitskiy agreed, and they drifted back up to the galley. Sally prepared some food for him, and they sat at the table and ate together in silence. Sally considered the unkempt man; she couldn't believe this frail thing in front of her was the result of intense selection and training by the RFSA, or any professional organisation for that matter. She considered her words before she offered them to him. 'Do you feel like it's watching you?'

  Novitskiy stopped chewing mid-mouthful, swallowed, then took a large gulp of drink. 'I don't know what you mean.'

  Despite him trying to avoid her gaze, Sally held it until he put his pouch on the table and stared straight back. He licked his lips, twitched, then spoke. 'It didn't start like this. It gets worse. It gets worse the longer you stay here. I can feel it in me, in my head, picking at every detail of my brain. It's searching for something, but it can't find it, and the longer it searches the deeper it searches and the more it makes me want to —'

  He cut himself off, looked back at his food and carried on eating. Sally could see that he was quivering, although he was trying to restrain himself. 'You should probably get back to work,' he said.

  Sally rose from the table, not breaking her eyes away from him. 'Will you be okay?'

  He nodded. 'I just need to be alone. It's easier when I'm alone.'

  'Okay,' Sally said, and she deposited her waste and left, gliding over the open mouth of the MLM as fast as she could. As she entered the American section of the station, she was certain she could hear sobbing coming from behind her.

  * * *

  'Hello?'

  Sean swapped the phone from one ear to the other. 'Hi, it's Sean. Just a quick catch-up call.'

  'What have you got?'

  'Well, I've just had a very interesting meeting with a rather disgruntled friend and employee of the late Lev Ryumin.'

  'And?'

  'We've cracked the key card.'

  'So what can you tell me?'

  Sean paused. He had hoped for a bit more praise, but no matter. 'We discovered some coded instructions from Ryumin explaining how to use it.'

  'Well, get on with it then.'

  Sean held the phone to his chest and rubbed his forehead. Sometimes he wondered if it was all worth the hassle. He brought the phone back to his ear. 'Aleks — Ryumin's friend — he has the card. He's going to log in at an RFSA terminal and relay the information back to me.'

  'Can you trust him?'

  'I think so.'

  'And what about this Gardner character? Any more news on him?'

  'Any information there is on him that hasn't been deleted will be in Bales' file.'

  'Which you'll access with the key card?'

  'Right.'

  'Okay, good work. Looks like we're really close on this one.'

  A bubble of pride swelled in Sean's chest. Better late than never. 'Thanks.'

  'Talk to you later.'

  Sean hung up the phone. Rain continued to batter the window, as it had done since he'd last spoken to Aleks those few days ago. He really did hope he could trust him.

  * * *

  When Sally awoke, she checked the time to see how long she'd slept, something of a habit she'd developed. To her surprise she'd gone through the night without waking once, and she felt refreshed for it. Wiggling free of her canvas cocoon, she dressed herself and exited her quarters. Finally, finally, she was getting used to sleeping in space. Since the guys hadn't yet fixed Progress, she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be sleeping there for, but she was glad that it was making sense to her disorientated brain at last. The mission was supposed to be seven weeks, but she felt sure that no-one here wanted to stay as long as that.

  Morning exercise, a wash and then breakfast, she decided. Stretching her sleep-tightened muscles off the rails as she pulled herself along, she yawned a long yawn that was a sorely missed by-product of a good, deep sleep. Slipping from one module to the next, she breezed along with minimal effort, touching a surface here, a surface there, to keep her direction true. If there were any freeze-dried bananas left, she decided she would have some of those. They were no banana milkshake, but they would make a welcome change from the gungy porridge that seemed all too commonplace on this tin-pot station. Up through PMA One she went, along the FGB and into the service module, where the exercise bike lived. Popping two panel fasteners, she unfurled the spindly contraption, swung her leg over the saddle, snapped the bungees into place over her shoulders and started pedalling.

  As the virtual miles passed, microdots of perspiration became bulging droplets, each forming a glistening, spherical mound over her pores. She checked her watch — seven minutes to go. Lungs burning, she squeezed out the last few revolutions, slowing as she hit her target. Twice a day every day she'd done this, and still it didn't seem to get any easier. Panting, she unstrapped herself from the bike and dismounted, retrieving a towel to dry herself off with. She gripped the towel under one arm while she disassembled the bike, occasional stopping to mop fresh sweat from her brow. Then something caught the corner of her eye, and she looked up. The hatch to the FGB — and the rest of the station — was closed. She hadn't seen or heard it close, yet it was. She attached her towel to the wall and floated over, still not quite believing it. She looked up, and the hatch to MRM Two — the docking port that Romanenko had taken Soyuz from — was also closed. She looked down: the hatch to the MLM was still wide open. The darkness within it seemed to be sucking all the light away, drawing it down into its murky gullet. Bubbling up from its depths like a frothy bile was an energy, fizzing and throbbing, that swelled in time with the heartbeat in Sally's temples. She tried to cover her ears to block the sensation, but it pushed through into her body, into her head, and she squeezed her eyes tight shut. It was a primal fear that gripped her, made her want to shut everything out, but she knew it was no use. She could feel the force guiding her, steering her down, and even with nothing to see but the blackness of her eyelids, she knew where it was taking her. Then the blackness began to glow blood red, a bright light shining though her eyelids and into her very being. She opened her eyes, shielding them from the brightness with her hand, until they adjusted.

  And there it was, UV One. But it was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, a display of colours that folded and spun beyond the visible spectrum. But she could see it, its intensity, and what she saw she understood in a whole new way, as though a door had been opened in her mind and the secrets of the universe had been poured in. The colours stretched out beyond the vessel, growing in a sphere that expanded by the second, engulfing the station and her in it. And then it hit her, a feeling of familiarity, of knowing, like she shared a kin
ship with another mind. The feeling grew, becoming stronger and stronger, until a torrent of agony scored the insides of her eyeballs, and she screamed, tumbling away from the window. A pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders, stopping her mid-spin. She blinked, and through her burning, streaming eyes, Gardner came into focus.

  'Are you okay?' he said.

  'I …' she croaked. She could barely get the words out.

  'What happened?'

  'I … don't …'

  Gardner looked over her shoulder, out of the window. He turned back to Sally, his face creased with worry. 'You — you see it too, don't you?'

  Sally nodded. She felt drained. Gardner gripped her shoulders harder, and a strange look came about him. 'He's here …' he said.

  'Who … who's here?'

  Gardner looked around, eyes distant. 'God.'

  Cold liquid ran through Sally's veins as, with a sudden clarity, she realised what had happened to him on TMA Eight. 'You mean … you mean you've seen this before?'

  Gardner nodded. He was looking out of the window rather than at her. 'He's been here a long time, watching, waiting,' he said. 'I tried to ignore him at first, but I couldn't. He's just so beautiful.' His eyes bulged with tears, the Earthlight catching the shimmer and the puffy red skin around them. He let go of Sally and hugged himself. 'I couldn't bear to go,' he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. 'It — it broke my heart to leave him behind.'

  Sally felt an odd sympathy for him, seeing this strong, confident man reduced to a fragile child. 'Are you talking about UV One?'

  'I want to do what he's asked me to do,' Gardner continued, ignoring Sally. 'But I don't think I can do it. I'm too weak …'

  'Hey, are you both okay?' a voice said from above, making Gardner jump. Sally looked up to see Novitskiy hovering overhead, his pasty face reflecting concern back down at them. 'I heard screaming.'

  'We're fine,' Sally said, but as she did Gardner pushed passed Novitskiy and out of the MLM.

  Novitskiy watched him leave, and when he turned back to Sally his look of concern had grown into one of fear. 'I don't think he's holding up well. He's doing even worse than Chris.'

  'I'm not sure any of us are doing particularly well,' Sally said, folding her arms to try and mute a shiver. 'How long until Progress is fixed?' Novitskiy didn't answer. He looked guilty; Sally knew he was hiding something. 'Tell me! How long?'

  Novitskiy fiddled with a seam on his coveralls. He seemed to be orchestrating an internal debate, determining whether or not he would tell her something. He stopped fiddling. The debate was won. 'We can't fix Progress,' he said, looking down at himself.

  'What?' Sally breathed, the chill in her veins now ice cold.

  'There's too much damage to the airlock seal. There's no way to repair it without replacement parts.'

  'Well what about the comms — they still work, right?'

  'The batteries have frozen because of the decompression. They're dead.'

  'How long have you known this?'

  'Two days.'

  'So why didn’t you tell me then?'

  Novitskiy scratched at his stubbly beard. 'We didn't want you to give up hope.'

  'Give up hope? What do you mean? NASA knows what happened to Progress, surely they'll be sending a rescue mission? Right?' Sally realised she was yelling, her chest rising and falling as hot anger boiled within her. 'Sorry …' she said, unballing her fists. 'I didn’t mean to shout at you.'

  Novitskiy came a little closer, and as he did, Sally could see that it wasn't fear in his eyes after all, but sadness. 'They're not coming.'

  What was left of Sally's anger fell away, leaving her hollow. 'What?'

  'There is no rescue vehicle. Progress was our only chance.'

  'But — why?'

  Novitskiy took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something. 'Because of Gardner.'

  Chapter 15

  Aleks felt sick. He had woken up that morning after a few measly hours' sleep with fever, nausea — the full works. But he still turned up for his shift. At his station, he drained his fifth cup of water to dampen his dry throat, but the churning feeling all the way from his oesophagus to his bowels persisted. He wasn't actually sick, however — he knew that for sure. He felt terrible because he knew he was about to risk all he had ever worked for. His job was his life and his family, replacing what life and family he ever had outside of these walls. It was everything to him, and there was a strong chance he was about to throw it all away.

  The minutes had stretched to hours, everything and everyone passing by as if in slow motion. He filled his cup again at the water cooler, returned to his desk and waited. The days since his meeting with Sean had gone by as a blur. He had put off what he needed to do until he thought the time was right, and today was that day because Bales was not here. The man himself had told him about a week ago that he would be attending a meeting off site. When he'd first heard the news, Aleks looked forward to Bales' absence for his own reasons, but after his meeting with Sean he realised it was a chance that offered so much more. He downed his cup of water in one go.

  'CAPCOM to all stations,' he said into his mic. 'I'm handing over. I'll be back in five.'

  'Copy, CAPCOM,' came the plethora of responses. A NASA lad twenty years his junior appeared beside him to cover his post.

  'Thanks,' Aleks said to him. 'My bladder's not what it used to be.' He forced a laugh, regretting it as soon as he heard it. His replacement didn't seem to suspect anything, or at least his polite smile didn't suggest so.

  'No problem, sir,' he said.

  Aleks fought the urge to run as he left Mission Control, and even the breeze as the double doors swung shut behind him seemed to push him onward. He turned a corner, heading in the direction of the toilets, and as he neared them he checked over his shoulder and kept on walking. He exited the corridor into a dank concrete stairwell and started climbing. The stairs were meant for use as a fire escape, so he didn't expect to meet anyone on his way. With each step grinding at his hips, two floors up and one more to go, he wished he had stopped off at the toilets after all, his bladder ripe and ready to burst. Too late now — onwards and upwards. A tingle of adrenaline spurred his steps and he skipped the last few a pair at a time, pausing just inside the door to catch his breath. Nearly there. Taking a last deep lungful to calm his nerves, he burst through into the empty corridor and resumed marching. Not this door, not this one, a couple more — he stopped outside a door that looked no different to the others, apart from its number. He entered.

  Inside was a meeting room, seldom used because of its compact size. Two small desks filled the space, one of which bore an old computer. He sat down, and the dust that puffed from the chair's padding confirmed how long it was since anyone had been here. He clicked the mouse and the computer came to life; a barrage of update warnings lit up the screen which at first he mistook for some kind of alarm. Don't be ridiculous, he thought, heart racing. Bales has no idea what I'm doing. He inserted Lev's key card into the appropriate slot, opened the RFSA's intranet page and navigated to the secure log in. Two empty boxes appeared, a cursor flashing in the first. His heart skipped again, his confidence in Bales' ignorance wearing paper-thin.

  Retrieving Sean's hand-scrawled note from his pocket, he turned it over to read the login details and punched them in key by key. He hit return and waited, the stale air of the room feeling warmer and closer by the second. A loading bar appeared and when it reached completion, the screen went black. Aleks' heart sank. But then it lit up again with an unfamiliar window that was emblazoned with the US Department of Defence logo. The page read: Bales, Major John R. Below that, a series of options presented themselves. Aleks clicked Mailbox and waited. The screen refreshed and a list of messages appeared. The inbox count was 2,438. Scrolling through, scanning the subject lines, he looked for something useful in among the weekly reports and general communications.

  Footsteps and two muted voices plodded past and he stopped scrolling, hovering th
e cursor over the close button, skin prickling with horrible anticipation. The footsteps receded and he continued to browse. And there it was. Marked as confidential, it was the order for the RFSA to step down and re-assign Bales as Flight Director for the International Space Station. It was sent by Bales himself, and the response was a disgruntled but non-resistant acceptance. Aleks scrolled on. There was another message, confirming Gardner's place on board Progress M Eighteen M. The email chain started seven years earlier with a simple message from Gardner that read: He's here.

  What the hell? There were more messages, recounting details of Sally's flight to Russia, technical requirements for launch, training schedules and shift patterns at the Baikonur Cosmodrome. It was all very strange Bales getting so involved in the intricacies of the mission, to be engaging on such a front-line level, but yet he had sent confidential emails stipulating all sorts, right down to the specification of the Progress conversion —

  Aleks clapped a hand to his mouth. Taking his mobile phone from his pocket, he fumbled out a text message, but before he could finish, the door burst open. As quick as a flash, he clicked off the page and yanked out the key card, then looked to the open doorway to see none other than John Bales himself. His expression was grim. With Bales was the young NASA guy who'd covered his post, his expression also grim.

  'What are you doing, Aleks?' Bales said, watching him from the doorway.

  'I — nothing,' Aleks said, slipping his phone into his pocket, trying hard to reduce the tremor in his voice.

  Bales strode towards him, looking at the blank desktop on the computer screen. 'What are you doing?' he asked again.

  Aleks' mind raced, thinking hard for a way out. There was only one thing for it. 'I was … I was looking at pornography. I came here for a bit a of privacy.'