Miranda worked her way back to the nose of the craft. After a few more minutes she had taken off the bulky thruster pack and tethered it to the hull as best she could. It was difficult as she had to do it one-handed. With the other, she made sure she had a good grip on the craft. Eventually, she began to push herself through the broken window, twisting and tugging until finally she was inside the cockpit.
She floated over to where Scott was strapped in. Blood streaked down the inside of his helmet visor, and as she moved closer, she saw his eyes were closed and his face a bloodied mess. She couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive, so she checked the readouts on his wrist control pad. The suit still had power and at least two more hours of breathable air. This meant it was also still intact and able to retain one atmosphere of pressure. Her heart skipped a beat at the realization that maybe, just maybe, he might still be alive.
Miranda undid his harness and pulled him up out of the seat. After several minutes of careful maneuvering, she had managed to get herself back outside and had most of Scott’s limp body pulled through. But something was catching. She pushed him back in a little to see what it was. A section of the thick broken window jutted out. There was no way she could break it, so she had no choice but to try to pull him through, even though she risked damaging the integrity of his EVA suit. She braced her feet against the hull and pulled at him with all her strength.
He broke free with a suddenness that gave Miranda no time to react. She found herself tumbling backwards off the hull and into space, still clutching Scott’s limp body. She saw the thruster pack still tethered to the hull of the shuttle which they were now drifting slowly away from. Oh shit, she thought, as the realization of the dire situation she now found herself in dawned on her. Without the thruster she had no way to maneuver, no way to return to the lander, she was drifting free in space. Like a beached whale or an upturned turtle, she could flail her limbs around all she liked, it wasn’t going to do a damn thing. But it wasn’t time to panic just yet.
“Aria, I have a problem.”
Silence.
“Aria, can you hear me?”
Silence.
“Aria, come in. I could really do with some help here.”
But there was no reply forthcoming, just a low background static echoing in her helmet.
“ARIA?”
Nothing.
By now a sense of panic was beginning to well up from deep within her. She fought to control it. Her suit comms must have been damaged in the debris strike. “Think, goddamnit.” She looked around and already both the wreck of the shuttle and the Hermes lander were quite a distance away. At that moment she realized there was nothing she could do, she had blown it.
She gazed at Scott’s bloodied face through the helmet vizor. “I’m sorry, Scott. I’ve screwed up again. I always end up doing something stupid, don’t I?” She leaned her head in so their visors touched, and she thought she caught a flicker of his eyelids. He was still alive, but for how much longer?
“I never seem to get things right, Scott. It’s the story of my life.” She glanced over in the direction of the lander, only to see it receding further and further away. “Well, here we are, at the end of the line. No way out of this one, commander. No way home.” She looked back again at the broken and bloodied face of Scott McNabb. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I tried, I really did.”
After a few moments, Miranda checked her own oxygen supply, she had just under four hours. Fours hours to live, she thought, unless she could think of something or her comms started working again.
“Air,” she shouted into her helmet, “Of course. Why didn’t I think of it before? Maybe there is a way.”
She had remembered a last ditch action from training, one you only do if there is absolutely no other option. “Hang in there Scott, we may have a chance after all.” She clipped his EVA suit to hers with a short tether, and then started searching in the cargo pocket on her right thigh. She pulled out a short knife with a serrated blade and sharp point, and gripped it firmly in one hand. Okay, here goes. I hope to hell this works. She opened the palm of her left hand and gently twisted the point of the knife in through the glove.
When it finally punctured the result was chaotic. Air spewed out and swung her arm back with a force she wasn’t expecting. They began to spin around and around before Miranda had time to react. She closed her fist to slow the escaping air and tried to figure out their orientation. But it was difficult to see anything other that the sweep of the gas giant Jupiter flash past. She adjusted the position of her palm in the opposite direction to their spin and slowly opened her fist. Air hissed out again and started to counter her spin, slowing her down.
After a few more attempts Miranda felt she had some measure of control even though it was still wild and lacked any finesse. Nonetheless, she managed to sight the wrecked shuttle far off in the distance, visible only by the flash of reflected light from its broken windows. Beside it the lander still waited. By adjusting the orientation of her hand, and by opening and closing her fist she managed to get them moving in the right direction. A sense of hope returned to her. “Hold on, Scott. We’re not dead yet.”
She came in way too fast on her first attempt and missed the lander by several meters. It took her a frustratingly long time to get them both reorientated back in the right direction, but she took it slower this time, and she was beginning to get the feel for the physics of her rudimentary thruster. It took her three more attempts before she finally slammed into the side of the lander. She scrabbled frantically for a hand hold, but Scott’s limp body was getting in the way, and she failed to find purchase. They bounced off again. Dammit! Miranda was getting frustrated and began to worry that her air supply would run out, now that she was using it as a propellant.
She was coming in slow and controlled on her seventh attempt when the low air alert finally flashed on her helmet screen. She glanced at it. Twenty-five minutes left. That was breathable air, but at the rate she was expending it out of her suit, the reality was much less. “Just stay focused,” she said to herself. “Keep your eyes on the prize.”
The lander slowly came towards her. Miranda targeted a group of handles surrounding the hatch, any of them would do, she wasn’t fussy. But she could only grab it with one hand, opening the fist on the other would just send her spiraling off course again. She had readjusted the harness attaching Scott to her EVA suit so that he floated behind her. Her incoming vector was true, and Miranda managed to grab the handle on her first attempt. She gripped it tight and breathed a long slow sigh of relief. She hung there for a second or two just gathering herself together, before finally reaching over and opening the hatch to the lander. Miranda maneuvered herself inside, pulling Scott through behind her.
The cockpit was dark. No power.
“Aria?” she ventured a call, but there was still no response. Her helmet screen flashed eleven minutes.
“Reboot, try to reboot the power,” she said to herself as she rummaged in a pocket and pulled out an EVA suit patch. It should stem the leak and mean she wouldn’t be trying to work one-handed. She lost a few more valuable minutes of air in the process. Ordinarily she would simply pressurize the cockpit, but there was no point since the lander had been shot through with micro-debris.
She maneuvered Scott into a seat and strapped him in. Only then did Miranda finally try a system reboot. She flicked off all the power switches and then started switching them back on again in sequence—the cockpit console lit up like a festival.
Miranda dived into the pilot seat and hit ignition, the craft rumbled and the engines fired. She looked over at Scott, his head slumped down to his chest. “Going home, buddy, going home.”
With her suit comms shot and no way to contact Aria, she prayed that it had the good sense to leave the hanger bay doors open. Her helmet screen flashed three minutes—in bright red numbers.
The bay doors were open, but there was no time to celebrate. Miranda had decided not to land on t
he extended platform and wait until it slowly retracted inside, there was no time for that, she would just fly it straight in and to hell with the damage. She lined up on the opening and nosed the craft as gently as she could in through the gap. It banged off the ceiling, she cut the power, and it landed hard on the floor. Her helmet screeched a critical low oxygen alert, she was running on empty. She took a deep breath and held it. This might be my last, she thought.
Miranda unfastened Scott, dragged him out of the lander and pushed off for the internal airlock on the far side of the hanger. Her lungs began to hurt as she flung him in. She hit pressurize, the outer door closed and the internal space hissed and spat as jets of air filled its interior. 10%, 20%. The airlock display ticked up slowly and the pressure increased. Come on, come on, she fought the desire to breathe in, knowing there was nothing left in her tank. The green alert flashed on the airlock monitor and Miranda snapped off her helmet an took a long gasp of air.
“Miranda, are you okey, what happened?” Aria’s voice broke in.
Miranda waved a weary hand in the air as she breathed deep a few times. “Suit comms shot… lost my grip on the shuttle… long story.”
“You successfully retrieved the commander, I see. Is he still alive?”
“I don’t know. I’m checking now.” She floated over to him and gently removed his helmet to reveal a bloodied head. She held her hand up to her mouth to stifle her shock. Yet on closer inspection, it looked worse than it actually was. Very tentatively she reached over and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. His skin was warm. “I think he’s still alive, but only just.”
She held his head in her hands and looked at his broken face. “Hang in there, you crazy bastard. Don’t die on me now.” She pulled him to her, opened the interior airlock door and started making her way to medbay.
25
Return to the Stars
The remaining crew of the Hermes gathered on either side of the body, along with several representatives from Europa. It rested on a low pallet and had been bound in a simple white sheet. At its head, a priestly figure stood, raised a hand to quieten the assembled group and began to speak.
“Forged in the cauldron of the stars and wrought from the cosmos, we are the creation of the celestial heavens. As a star dies, it offers forth its life forming matter into the universe so we can exist. Its death is our life. So let the cosmos now reclaim, and gather unto itself, our fallen comrade, Rick Marentz. And so, from whence you came so shall you return, back to the stars, back into the cradle of the universe.”
The figure now signaled to the assembled mourners that they may proceed. Scott nodded in return and placed a hand on one side of the pallet where the remains of his friend and colleague had been laid to rest. The other crew of the Hermes moved forward placing hands on the pallet, and together they pushed the body out through the open hanger bay doors.
They all stood there for a while watching as the body of the old miner drifted out into space. A tear formed in Scott’s left eye, his right eye was still bandaged. He moved his hand reflexively to wipe it away only to remember that he, like the others, were encased in EVA suits. He lowered his head instead and let the tear fall onto the inside of his visor. After a moment he took one last look, out the bay doors, at the body of his dear friend. He could just pick it out in the vastness, slowly tumbling on its way into the void. He turned around and moved back to the hanger airlock.
Once back in the pressurized environment of the Hermes. He sat down, removed his EVA suit helmet, and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. He had a strong urge to scratch the bandage over his right eye, but he had been warned not to by the surgeons on Europa, who had done such an excellent job of sticking him back together. He might regain the sight in that eye as long as he refrained from scratching it. So, he resisted the urge and instead felt down along the side of his jaw. The pain was growing less and less each day, and soon they could take the wire out. He had taken a risk putting on an EVA suit as any urge to throw up could be disastrous with a wired jaw. Nevertheless, he was determined to do it for his old friend.
He had been lucky, so they said. The shuttle had had a reinforced cockpit design and so managed to stay relatively intact in the blast that had ripped apart the Dyrell ship. His lower body sustained a few cracked ribs and a lot of bruising. But his main injuries were inflicted when his head slamming against the side of his helmet. Luckily it was only his jaw that broke and not the helmet. Yet, in the end, his continued existence in the solar system was down to Miranda risking her own life to save him from his reckless stupidity. Her words, not his.
He had been prepared to die. He had resigned himself to that fate, had accepted it, even embraced it. Now though, he was on the mend both physically and mentally. A new appreciation for life grew inside of him. Miranda’s actions had given him a second chance, and he felt he owed her somehow for the gift she had bestowed upon him. It was partly a burden, a responsibility not to waste this chance; and partly a release from the shackles of his own disengagement from life. He was born anew, and he would never be the same again.
The funeral party had all migrated out from the hanger of the Hermes and up to the comfort of the canteen. Along with the crew they had been joined by some officials from Europa, people they had come to know since the ending of hostilities. Scott had assumed that they would be no longer welcome here since they were responsible for bringing death and destruction raining down on what was a peaceful and harmonious society. But this was not the case, in fact, far from it. The council of Europa seemed to welcome them even more, regarding them as saviors of the peace. Particularly Scott for his, almost, ultimate sacrifice in destroying the device once and for all. They viewed it as a selfless, noble act, one worthy of their admiration and respect. They had even dispatched a crew to patch up their ship and resupply it. Yet Scott had to admit, he was not looking forward to returning to Ceres. However, they were in no hurry.
Cyrus had just cracked open a bottle of whiskey that they had found stashed in Rick’s cabin. It was old and of fine quality, meaning it was expensive and well beyond Rick’s pay grade. How he came to possess such an item was the source of much speculation. Cyrus charged their glasses and Scott took his cue to raise his to all assembled. “To Rick,” he said as raised his glass. It was as much as he was willing, or able, to say through his wired jaw and welling emotions.
They all clinked and sipped, and slowly they began to recount tales of Rick’s past adventures. Some fact, some myth, but mostly legend. Cyrus had just launched into recounting a story of the time Rick and two miners were trapped on an asteroid after they accidentally blew a hole in their lander. They managed to survive for seven days cooped up in an emergency shelter before being picked up by a passing frigate. The story mainly centered around how one of the miner’s became demented and tried to kill Rick, convinced that he was a flesh-eating, alien monster. Scott had heard it many times before so he shuffled off to the side of the group and sat down to spend some quiet time with his thoughts.
After a while Miranda wandered over to him and sat down. “So how are you holding up?”
Scott cast her a sideways glance. “Physically or mentally?”
Miranda gave a light laugh, “Both, I suppose.”
“Physically, I’m all beat up. There isn’t a section of my body that doesn’t have pain. But, hey… I’ll get over it, in time.” He raised his glass to her. They clinked.
“So, mentally?”
“Ah… well, sad to be leaving Rick behind.” He glanced out through the wide canteen window at the stars beyond. Perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of his old friend tumbling into infinity. “And sad to be leaving here. I’m just getting to like it.” He paused for a moment and looked into his glass. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when we get back to Ceres?”
Miranda sighed. “I don’t know. Find another job I guess, now that the rest of the survey mission is canceled.”
“It was canceled the moment
we found that derelict ship. The only difference was we thought we would all be in for a big payday. Now it’s back to working for a living again.”
“Yeah, and it isn’t going to get any easier since we’ve made a lot of enemies during this escapade. It’s going to be hard to pick up the pieces.”
Scott looked over at the group from Europa. They were being entertained by some of Steph’s tales of Rick’s exploits. “We’ve made a few new ones though.”
“I’m going to miss this place too. I hate to admit it, but I could get quite comfortable here.”
“Really?” Scott cocked an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t think this sort of pacifist, quasi-spiritual culture was your sort of thing.”
Miranda smiled. “Neither did I until I spent some time here. Granted, it takes a bit of getting used to, but it’s nice to feel like you’re not just being used as a tool in someone else’s game plan.” She leaned in a little. “You know, I spent years fighting other people’s wars. A pawn to be shoved around at someone else’s whim. And then, when you’re no use, they just drop you. I get the impression that that doesn’t happen around here.”
Scott gave a light laugh. “Am I really hearing this? You’re going all warm and fuzzy on me, just when I started getting the fighting bug.” He looked out the window again. “I can’t say that being nice ever did me any good.”
“That’s because you were being a doormat, Scott, letting everybody wipe their feet on you.”
Scott gave her an insulted look. “Thanks.”
“Well, you were. As well as being totally disconnected from everything around you.”
“You sure know how to make a guy feel good, Miranda. Do yourself a favor and don’t take up a career in diplomacy.”
“Just saying. I mean, it makes what you did so… incredible. I don’t know if I could have done it.”
“Yeah, you would. You just never found something you really believed in. Fighting was a job for you, you did it with your head, not your heart.”
Entangelment: The Belt Page 17
