My Sweet Satan

by Peter Cawdron

  “Got it.” Jasmine wiped the sweat from her forehead. She wasn’t angry with Jason, just focused.

  Chuck was sobbing. He seemed to have shut down mentally. Jasmine was on her own. She gathered the supplies she needed, tacking them onto Velcro straps positioned around the medical bed precisely for such a contingency. Slowly and methodically, she cut away Anastasia’s jumpsuit, working on one limb at a time, removing clothing where she could, cleaning the soot and ash away, lathering the blisters and burns and gently bandaging the wounds. Chuck helped, but only in a secondary manner, taking soiled wipes from Jasmine and handing her bandages as she needed them. He was silent, subdued. Jasmine was concentrating too intently to say much beyond the rudiments of what she needed to tend to Anastasia’s burns.

  After roughly half an hour, Anastasia regained consciousness. It was as though someone flicked a switch inside her head and suddenly she was awake.

  “Chuck!”

  “I’m here,” he said, leaving Jasmine working on one of Anastasia’s legs and taking hold of Anastasia’s bandaged arm and hand. Her fingers poked through a compression bandage, grabbing at his hand. “It’s OK. You’re going to be OK.”

  “Jazz,” Anastasia said, craning her neck to see Jasmine wrapping her lower leg.

  “Hey,” Jasmine replied. “You take it easy. Just relax.”

  “What happened, babe?” Chuck asked, pulling the mask away and turning off the flow of oxygen.

  “Mei?”

  “I’m sorry,” Chuck said, not offering any more than those two words. “What happened in there?”

  “Mei,” she said, her voice croaking, and she coughed struggling to speak.

  “What about Mei?” Chuck asked, giving her a sip of water from a bottle with a thin straw.

  Anastasia swallowed, grimacing in pain as she did so, and sucked at the water again before speaking.

  “Mei was trying to access the core subsystems. She said Mike had been modifying executables. She said Mike and Jason—”

  “Jason?” Jasmine cried, cutting her off.

  “Me?” Jason said from a wall mounted speaker.

  Anastasia swallowed. “The fire. It came from the wall. Mei was telling me about the files when it erupted. She was trying to explain.”

  “Which wall?” Jason asked.

  “There was a panel missing,” Anastasia managed.

  “Where?” Chuck asked.

  Jason elaborated, saying, “There’s a fuel line running from the rear tanks to the forward docking thrusters. It is inside the outer hull, but it’s isolated from any wiring, wrapped in insulation. It shouldn’t have leaked.”

  “If it did,” Chuck said, “we should have picked up on a loss in line pressure.”

  “Yes,” Jason replied, agreeing with him. “If the subsystem files have been modified, that could explain the fire suppression system going offline.”

  “Damn you, Mike,” Chuck growled as Jasmine finished up on Anastasia’s leg.

  “How do you feel?” Jason asked.

  “Stiff and sore,” Anastasia replied.

  “We can give you some more fentanyl,” Jasmine said, then suddenly realizing she had no idea about dosage levels and if that was advisable or not.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Anastasia pulled at the Velcro wrist strap.

  “Hey, take it easy,” Chuck said. “You just rest up.”

  Jason added, “We need to give you some intravenous fluids.”

  “You need another astronaut,” Anastasia replied. “Not a bed-ridden patient. Now is not the time for rest. We rest when we’re dead.”

  “Honey,” Chuck said, but Anastasia had already wriggled one hand free and was pulling the Velcro from her other hand.

  “I’m Russian. I’m fine.”

  Jasmine took a good look at Anastasia’s battered torso with the various bandages sticking to patches of her bare skin. Her arms were heavily wrapped. She must have been in an extraordinary amount of pain, but she was stubborn, determined to get off the bed.

  “Your legs are in pretty bad shape,” Jasmine said, feeling the need to warn her.

  “This is space,” Anastasia replied with her distinct Russian accent. “We have no need of legs in space.”

  Dark black marks stained the skin on her face, leaving a halo where the gas mask had covered her eyes, nose and mouth. She could barely move her legs, but that was probably for the best, allowing them to heal. Her arms were already in a partial cradle, bent slightly at the elbows. Even with all her bandages, Anastasia looked invincible, as though no mortal wound could ever defeat her. Chuck grabbed one of his jumpsuits and helped her climb into the oversized uniform.

  “There,” Anastasia said, visibly trying not to grimace. “I feel better already.”

  She was lying, Jasmine was sure of it, but then everyone was lying on the Copernicus.

  Chapter 09: Cleaners

  For all her bravado, Anastasia needed assistance moving up to the bridge. Chuck was impatient and went on ahead.

  Jasmine held onto Anastasia’s baggy jumpsuit and pulled her along. Their combined mass was difficult to manage in the weightless environment. Jasmine was surprised by how her center of mass shifted as she held on to Anastasia’s waist, and she constantly had to compensate. Jasmine was forced to take her time and make lots of small adjustments with her hands and feet as she glided through the air just a few inches from the hull. She kept Anastasia positioned more centrally in the corridor, trying to avoid aggravating any of her injuries.

  The two remaining cleaners buzzed through the air, sailing past Jasmine and Anastasia. The robots turned effortlessly in the air in front of them with their claw-like arms outstretched.

  “Let me help.”

  It was Chuck’s voice coming through one of the speakers on the base of the lead cleaner.

  “Sure,” Jasmine said, coming slowly to a stop and bringing Anastasia to a halt beside her.

  “Just relax,” Chuck said in a tinny, electronic voice.

  One of the cleaners flew around behind Anastasia. Jasmine watched as the pincer-like claws grabbed gently at the loose jumpsuit. The other cleaner backed up almost twenty feet behind the two women, and Jasmine realized Chuck was ensuring he had a good view of both the lead cleaner and Anastasia. Slowly, the fan in the heart of the hollow cleaner beside her wound up to speed and began pushing Anastasia smoothly along the corridor. Given her body mass, it took the best part of a minute before Anastasia was underway.

  “Just like the beggar carried into paradise by the angels,” Anastasia quipped.

  “Sorry?” Jasmine replied, not understanding the reference.

  “Gospel of Luke,” she replied as the cleaner carried her away. “Benefits of an Orthodox upbringing.”

  Jasmine waited for the second cleaner to pass her, not wanting to obscure Chuck’s view. She smiled, realizing she’d misread Chuck entirely. He could have told them what he was thinking of doing, but perhaps he wasn’t sure how well it would work.

  Flying two of those mechanical basketballs at once must have been quite a feat, and Jasmine was surprised he didn’t have Jason coordinate their motion. There was probably a little bit of pride involved, or perhaps the tender care of a husband for his wife, and he must have felt as though her fragile state required a personal touch rather than assigning this task to a computer.

  Jasmine kept pace with the second cleaner. As she came out into the vast expanse of the bridge, the bright stars in the dark sky looked somehow full of hope. She wasn’t sure what had caused her rebound of emotion. Perhaps it was a natural bounce after all she’d seen with Mei, perhaps it was having been able to rescue Anastasia or the novel way Chuck brought Ana up to the bridge, but for the first time, Jasmine felt confident.

  Anastasia joked with Chuck.

  “I don’t know why you only just thought of this. We should travel like this all the time.”

  Chuck smiled. He brought her to a halt and released the clamps holding onto her jumpsuit.
Chuck pressed a single button on the flatscreen in front of him and the two cleaners circled away from the astronauts and docked with their recharge station on the boundary between the transparent dome and the bridge. They reversed into place and shut down.

  “Coffee?” Jasmine asked. She was in a daze. As that single word came out of her mouth, it sounded dumb. Two crew members on the Copernicus had died within 24 hours, and here she was, ready to resume the routines of life.

  Mei had loved coffee, and Jasmine felt drawn to the concept more than the actual drink. Coffee was a link with Earth. The smell, the taste, even the warm temperature provided a bit of escape from the insanity of being a billion miles from home, and subconsciously she longed for that release yet again. If she couldn’t be back in Georgia sitting on her porch swing, then coffee was the next best thing. She was in shock.

  “I had something a little stronger in mind,” Chuck replied as he rummaged around under the cargo nets holding the contents from the airlock in place. Jasmine barely remembered chaotically tossing items out of the airlock before she and Nadir suited up. She hadn’t thought about what had happened to the boxes and packages, but there they were, neatly stacked under elastic cargo nets.

  “Ah, here it is.”

  Chuck pulled out a silver canister not unlike the water bottle Jasmine used to take with her to the gym back on Earth.

  “You’re telling me you snuck contraband aboard and you didn’t tell me?” Anastasia said with a reinvigorated sense of purpose.

  Chuck turned and looked at her as he closed the lid of the box and put it back in place. The silver canister turned slowly in the air beside him.

  “Wine?” she asked.

  Chuck shook his head.

  “Whiskey?”

  “Nothing so crude,” Chuck replied, narrowing his eyes and looking at Anastasia with what Jasmine thought of as mischievous intent.

  “Vodka!” Anastasia cried in excitement.

  Chuck smiled.

  Jasmine laughed.

  Chuck couldn’t suppress the grin on his face. He unscrewed the lid, keeping it half on the container to prevent any liquid from spilling, and sipped at the clear liquid.

  “For medicinal purposes only,” he added, and Anastasia roared with laughter.

  “God, how I love you,” she cried.

  Chuck handed the container to her. The lid floated to one side and drops of crystal clear vodka drifted out of the cylinder. He pushed off through the air, sucking up the drops with his mouth. Anastasia put the bottle to her lips and drank. Rather than lifting the bottle to get the alcohol to flow, she shook it gently.

  “AHHH!” She cried, her eyes wide in surprise. “Come, Jazz. You must try.”

  A few more drops drifted through the air and Chuck cleaned them up with obvious relish.

  “You’re on some pretty heavy meds,” Jasmine replied. She felt like she was the responsible one at an underage party, and being nineteen, that was quite an appropriate position from her perspective.

  “Ha ha,” Anastasia cried. “It is all good. Vodka is like water for Russians. It is medicine.”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure anyone with any medical training would agree, but she floated over to join the party. There was something magnetic about the joy exuded by Chuck and Ana in something as simple as a little alcohol. Anastasia handed her the cylinder, half cupping the lid over the opening to prevent more spillage.

  “Pit’ Pit’ You drink!” Anastasia said, mixing her Russian and English.

  Jasmine couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. She raised the bottle to her lips as the cap drifted by her face. The vodka buffeted her mouth, getting into cracks in the skin and stinging her lips. Rather than sipping, she inadvertently took a whole mouthful of vodka, unable to stem the flow. She coughed, choking as Anastasia took the bottle from her. Chuck laughed as Jasmine struggled to swallow the vodka. Almost instantly, she felt a rush of warmth in her belly followed by a giddy sense of lightheadedness.

  “That’s not vodka,” she said, wiping her lips. “It’s rocket fuel!”

  “Da, Da!” Anastasia replied, clearly slipping into what Jasmine imagined was her rough, cosmonaut upbringing. “It is good. No?”

  “Yes, it’s good,” Jasmine replied, feeling a sting of pain from her cracked lips.

  Anastasia took another swig and then handed the canister to Chuck who sipped a little more before putting the lid back on.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Anastasia said.

  “I was saving this for a special occasion. To celebrate.”

  “And it is special,” Anastasia replied. “We mourn Nadir and Mei, but we do not despair. We celebrate their lives. We celebrate our lives.”

  Jasmine nodded. There was something wonderfully human about communing together over a drink. Their cares seemed to melt away, if only for a moment.

  “In Russia, we say—even the coldest winter has to thaw. All sorrow comes to an end. There is always a spring. There is always a summer.”

  Jasmine smiled at Anastasia’s enthusiasm, being swept along by her optimism in spite of the bandages wrapped around the Russian’s frail body. Jasmine admired her mental fortitude.

  Chuck brushed his wife’s knotted hair to one side and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  Jasmine was surprised by how quickly the alcohol had affected her and how potent it felt. If she’d been back in Georgia, she wouldn’t have driven a car feeling like this. She simply wouldn’t have trusted her attention span and reaction time.

  Chuck put the silver canister back under the elastic cargo net, but Jasmine noticed he didn’t put it back in the box.

  “So what next?” Anastasia asked.

  Party’s over, Jasmine thought.

  “I have Jason running diagnostics,” Chuck replied. “He’s been able to reroute most of the core functions and isolate the damage in the Science module. The burst fuel line vented high pressure gas into space for almost an hour. It’s imparted some sideways motion we’re going to need to correct or we’re going to collide with Bestla.”

  “We’re going to crash?” Jasmine asked in alarm.

  Chuck raised his hands in defense. “Hey, we’re still over a hundred kilometers out, and our relative approach speed is low. Given the figures I’ve seen, crash would be too strong a word. More like a fender bender as our orbits cross. But we can correct the discrepancy. Once Jason’s isolated the fuel lines, we’ll conduct a short burn and glide past as planned.”

  Jasmine noted that since Anastasia had sipped some vodka her movements had become more fluid. Her legs remained inert, but her arms and upper torso seemed more free and relaxed.

  “And Mike?” Anastasia asked.

  “Mike?” Chuck replied. “We don’t know what part he’s played in all this.”

  “You think he caused the fire?” Jasmine asked. “Why would he do that? It makes no sense.”

  “Don’t get defensive, Jazz,” Chuck replied. “I’m not suggesting it was deliberate. The fire could have been inadvertent or accidental on his part.”

  “Or,” Anastasia added, “he may not have had anything to do with it at all, but until we know for sure, we need to keep all options on the table.”

  Jasmine didn’t notice the eerie sound at first, but as it grew in its intensity she noticed Chuck and Anastasia looking around nervously. Slowly, it dawned on Jasmine that this was the message from Bestla being replayed over the speakers within the Copernicus.

  “Jason?” Chuck asked.

  “It’s coming from Engineering. Mike must be down there on one of the consoles.”

  As the wailing grew louder, the irregular sections seemed almost as though they were musical. There was pitch and intonation. Some sections had the rhythm of speech, others sounded as though they’d been played in reverse or run through some kind of synthesizer to mask their meaning. Although she’d only heard the message twice, Jasmine knew precisely when those haunting words would be spoken. The hair on the back of h
er neck stood on end as a disembodied voice echoed through the Copernicus.

  “Here’sss to my sweet Satan.”

  A garble of conflicting sounds tormented her, being broken only by more words she wished she’d never heard.

  “I want to live and die for you, my glorious Satan.”

  Jasmine put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the noise. The words repeated again.

  “Here’sss to my sweet Satan.”

  “Mike!” Chuck yelled. “You can’t scare us.”

  “I want to live and die for you, my glorious Satan.”

  “It won’t work,” Anastasia cried. “You can’t frighten us.”

  “Shut him down, Jason,” Chuck called out over the eerie noise.

  “I can’t.”

  Jasmine screamed, “Stop it, Mike! Stop it!”

  She shut her eyes and pressed her hands hard over her ears and began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, trying to drown out the message.

  “Our Father, who art—”

  Suddenly, the wailing stopped.

  Jasmine opened her eyes and relaxed, slowly allowing her hands to drift away from her head.

  “What just happened?” Chuck asked to no one in particular.

  “He stopped,” Jason replied.

  “Why the hell didn’t you override him?” Anastasia asked.

  “I can’t override a crew member’s commands on the core server,” Jason replied.

  “I don’t like it,” Chuck said. “Mike wouldn’t pull something like this without a reason. He’s planning something. He’s trying to distract us, trying to divert our attention and get us chasing our tails.”

  “He’s buying time,” Anastasia said.

  “Yes, but for what?” Chuck asked. “Where is he now?”