Dark Alignment

by David Haskell

  “Don’t say that, Jos—”

  “Wait. Let me get this out,” Mansfield said, putting a hand up, “while there’s still time.” He paused a moment, gathering his strength. “You’ve got the crew to think about now,” Mansfield continued, “along with everything else. I don’t want you worrying about,”—he made a show of sweeping his gaze around the contaminated zone—“all this. Your focus needs to be up there now, the mission above all.”

  “Joseph, we’re going to find a way. Just hang on, and give me some more time. I’ll…” Shane himself trailed off, realizing how foolish he sounded. And in the silence, Mansfield’s words sunk in. It was true. The mission had to come first.

  Shane nodded at his friend, confirming the understanding, noting the relief on Mansfield’s face.

  The commander went still for a minute, breathing in and out. Shane thought the rattle was clearing somewhat, though he imagined it might just be wishful thinking. Finally, Mansfield spoke again, only it sounded as if he were speaking to himself more than his friend. “I can deal with this. It’s just me, and it’s what I was born for. I’m really okay. But the mission, it’s still on me. You know? It’s up to me to see it through, even if I can’t be up there.” He looked around like something startled him. He seemed confused. Shane wondered if he was going to pass out, but then he looked up through the glass, his eyes refocusing once again. “You’ve got to make it, Shane. For my peace of mind, you’ve got to. Promise me. Whatever it takes.”

  “I promise, commander,” Shane said, raising his voice to ensure he didn’t choke up. “Whatever it takes.”

  Shane stared down the long expanse, trying to reassure his friend further with a wordless expression of respect. He hoped the look would express more than his words could. You’ll be honored as a hero. I can promise that, too.

  “I don’t regret,”—Mansfield’s voice came out a whisper again, he was fading fast—“coming down here. What I had to do. Asked by…president. I’d do…again.” His breaths came slower now, heavier.

  “I know,” Shane replied, “you did right.”

  Mansfield shook his head again, trying to recover his bearings but only getting partially there this time. “Get going…work to do. Commander.”

  Shane choked back a sob, watching his friend’s eyes close. He wanted to stay. Wanted more time, just a little more. But he was being selfish, and there was no time to spare. He touched the glass, then spun and boosted himself upward.

  * * *

  Ed Evans stared across the void, gut churning, eyes wide in disbelief. From his shipmates’ flailing limbs, it was clear she was in freefall, with no control over her trajectory—drifting straight for the anomaly. He collected himself and went into crisis-mode, his mind racing through the options. Desperate calls came from inside Space Force One. They, at least, had heard his hastily shouted warning, even if Larisa Denisova herself had not. Her suit to suit communications were still out, and by the time the crew inside the ship thought to relay the warning, it was too late.

  A rock. A God damned rock. No bigger than a baseball. One of the countless bits of flotsam out here in the void. Its trajectory not particularly fast, its dimensions not dangerously sharp, its impact not immediately life-threatening. It bounced off the rear-mounted supply pack without puncturing the suit or smashing the shield. But the force of contact was trouble enough, knocking his companion into grave danger.

  Evens had seen the damned thing in his peripheral vision about twenty seconds prior to contact. Seen it, and dismissed it as a reflection. To his well-trained eye, it’d appeared as just another ghost image, so commonly seen from inside these cumbersome suits. It was only on second glance that he recognized the danger, had called out the warning she couldn’t hear, but even then it might have been enough if the relay had occurred from his suit to the ship and back out again. But they hadn’t reacted any better than he, and in those final few seconds she floated, oblivious, as the deadly object bore down on her.

  With Denisova off-structure and drifting, Evans was caught between two impossible options. He could abandon his post and go after her. In doing so, however, he would put the entire mission at risk. They could finish the deployment one man down, but not two. Three were required to handle upper, lower and shipside stations during the execution of the final burn. Even though the rules expressly forbade a rescue attempt, Evans was confident the could grab her and get back. He radioed in his request to pursue.

  * * *

  Shane Douglas took in the situation the second he arrived back on deck. All eyes were on the exterior camera aimed at the northwest structure, and on the tiny drifting figure moving, in agonizing slow motion style, away from it. Evans could be heard repeating his request to go after her every few seconds. Taking control of the situation, Shane ordered his specialist to hold position, calling down to the tactical center at the same time.

  “You’re getting this?”

  Jo replied immediately. ‘Got her in sight. I can keep her inside the envelope—’

  “Negative, specialist. We can’t compromise the ship.”

  ‘Colonel, it’s still—’

  ‘No arguments, specialist,’ came a different voice. It sounded labored, yet still as decisive as always—Commander Mansfield, still keeping tabs, speaking to them from his entombed position below. ‘Follow your orders. Colonel Douglas is in command. All hands, note the time.’

  The unprecedented decision, so abrupt, so final, caused emotional shockwaves throughout the ship, and to the deployment teams outside, as well. It made sense, given his compromised situation, but the change in command was nonetheless a nail in his coffin nobody was prepared for. And yet he’d made the call. There was no arguing the point. Shane Douglas was in charge.

  “You heard my order, specialist,” Commander Douglas repeated.

  The crew went silent for a moment, stunned by the magnitude of what had happened. Then Mansfield’s voice cut through once more, this time directed at just one of them. ‘Commander Douglas,’ he prompted.

  Shane’s entire demeanor shifted in that moment, and he propelled himself over to the wall com as solemnly as a pallbearer at a funeral.

  He placed a hand over the controls, then said, with stiff formality, “Commander Mansfield, I hereby relieve you of duty.”

  ‘Understood.’

  Shane switched off the link with the decks below, Joseph Mansfield went dark, and the new commander continued, “Put her on speaker.”

  The cabin was filled with the heavy breathing of the payload specialist, clearly in the early stages of panic.

  “Larisa, listen to me,” Shane began, “I need you to adjust your trajectory. Take your cutter—

  Larisa’s terrified voice cut through the room, ‘I can’t get back…I can’t. Propulsion unit’s on the apparatus. Shane, I can’t…’

  “Larisa,” the commander repeated, forcing his voice to come out steady, “You need to use your cutter, we’re going to force air out of your suit. Just—”

  ‘I can’t…see. Can’t see the ship…’

  ‘Commander,’ Evans called out, ‘I can get to her. Just give me the word!’

  “Hang on Evans,” Shane ordered, “Larisa, respond.”

  The only feedback came as heavy, ragged breathing sounds, like a swimmer struggling in heavy currents.

  ‘Space Force One, what’s going on up there? Are you okay?’

  It was the president. And that meant the whole world could hear the crisis unfolding in realtime.

  God damnit! Commander Douglas flew across the room, cursing as he reached for the ship to surface communicator. His swear was the last thing they’d hear. With a swift smack, he cut them off from the world.

  ‘Commander. I can reach her! Commander!?’

  What little hope of a miracle solution was fast disappearing. Denisova continued to drift. She would soon be unreachable. Commander Douglas was about to give Evans the go when a collective gasp went up from the crew. Twisting around, the image of
Larisa Denisova’s arm being wrenched off filled the screen, accompanied by a red gush that burst from her severed brachial artery.

  The breathing noises came to an abrupt halt. An anguished scream rang out—but it was from Evans. Denisova made no further sound. The swift current of the anomaly ingested the blood spray, each beat of her heart expelling more. Thick, swirling droplets and streaks encircling her body before being swept up and consumed. Her evac suit puckered and turned inward, squeezed by the invisible force, her body twisting inside out. The last, precious drops of vital fluids were sucked into the void, leaving a horrific, juiceless husk of a human being floating alongside it, pinned to it at the dried-up end of her still-extended, gaping shoulder joint.

  In the seconds that followed, the hush that befell the crew was broken by an odd sound. The clacking keyboard under Dean Eckert’s fingers was suddenly audible throughout the ship.

  64.

  The world held its breath, waiting for word. The president, cut off from direct communication, was nonetheless keenly aware of what had transpired. In light of frayed emotions, he avoided demanding details for now. The new commander would brief him in due time, but first he’d have to triage the situation up there, and issue interim orders. More importantly, Shane Douglas would had to force the focus away from grief and back onto the mission. They had to press on.

  Upon receipt of the tragic news, waves of grief began to permeate every pocket of viewership—collectively shocked by the cruel finality of their loss. In a matter of just a few hours, the world had befriended this team of heroes. One in particular had captured their hearts and imaginations, that of payload specialist Larisa Denisova, so eager to bring civilization along for the ride, allowing their once-dashed hopes to soar again.

  And now she was gone. Lost to the vast dispassionate forever. A short rise to fame and glory, and never to know how deeply her enthusiasm had touched everyone.

  The president, stunned as all the rest, understood his role of the moment. No longer a mere commentator, now he would serve as mourner in chief, like so many of his predecessors. Giving himself a moment to ensure his voice would hold, he addressed the people in a brief, heartfelt eulogy.

  “One day. One single, solitary day. A legacy can be crafted in one day. An adoration earned. A lifetime lived.”—Webster looked around the room. Military bearing to the contrary, there were few dry eyes, assuring him that his sentiment was shared—“Few of us knew Larisa Denisova before today. In one day, she has touched our lives, given us hope, gained our respect, and won our admiration. In one day, she was here and gone. One day, never forgotten.”

  Glancing around the room, Webster’s eye fell upon the poll tracking station, with needles and indicators firmly entrenched in the green ‘strongly approve’ zone. Without missing a beat, he made a slashing motion. The technician manning the equipment gave a quizzical look for half a second, then shut it down. He decided, then and there, that there would be no more opinion polls encroaching upon his actions. Not for himself, nor anyone else in his administration.

  * * *

  The crew of Space Force One listened in on the president’s speech. They were grateful for the kind words, along with the distraction—all but one. Dean Eckert hadn’t looked up from his equations since Denisova had died. Not to speak to anyone, make eye contact or share a sympathetic glance. Nor to pay attention to what the president was saying. Jo concluded that the scientist had simply shut down, unable to handle the loss. The alternative—mere clinical detachment on Eckert’s part—was too horrifying to contemplate.

  Mansfield’s Heroes. The name, coined moments ago by the president, felt right. Once he’d touched upon the life of Specialist Denisova, it seemed only right that he should make mention of the rest of the crew, and he did so with a reference to the team as a whole. It might have been because of issues with Jo, though that was difficult to determine, but in any case they were being viewed as one heroic unit. They felt much the same way within their suddenly close-knit family.

  ‘I’m at the second arm now.’ Evans called in. ‘Ready to wrap things up.’

  Shane disconnected the presidential speech. No more distractions. They’d reached the critical juncture, with no time to spare. “Okay Evans, I’m sending out the reinforcements now. You doing okay out there.”

  There was a long space before transmission. ‘I’m hanging in there—‘mmander.’

  Shane couldn’t imagine what Evans was going through, out there working in the dark, the body of his fallen comrade floating beside him.

  “You just hang in there, Evans,” the commander ordered, “we’ll get you back soon.”

  ‘Understood.’ Another long pause, enough for Shane to wonder if he’d missed something. But then the specialist responded at last, ‘I just wish there was some way for me to bring her back in with me.’

  “We all do, Evans. She’s coming back with us in spirit. Know that.”

  ‘Right. I know. I’ll join up with Team B as soon as I put down the last of the counterweights.’

  “Copy. They’ll be ready for you. Out.”

  * * *

  “Command, Second Evac. This is Kashani. I’ve got Evans in sight. Rendezvous in one minute.”

  ‘Copy Second Unit, proceed to second deploy as soon as you meet up. You’re in good shape so far.’

  The two astronauts that made up the second evac unit were, to their perspective, walking atop the hull, looking across at their drifting, upside-down shipmate. But to Evans, his comrades were the ones head-down, boots glued to the belly of the ship. Either perspective made sense in a weightless environment, but for mission purposes they were ‘down’, and the portion of deployment already complete was ‘up’. This would become vitally important once they linked the two sections up. Kashani and Price, following mission parameters to the letter, released their magnetic clamps and flipped around to join Evans’ orientation. He gave them a quick wave, unable to express the swell of emotion he felt just to lay eyes on other people. After what he’d just been through, the need for companionship in this increasingly ugly void was a tangible thing.

  “Glad you made it to the party,” Price said, her smile evident even behind the thick faceplate that separated them. She had that kind of large personality, open and gregarious. Her kindness gave Evans a much needed boost. They weren’t licked yet—they could still make this happen.

  * * *

  Commander Douglas was glad Cheyanne control wasn’t able to monitor physical conditions this far out, or else he’d be getting constant warnings to watch his vitals. Outwardly calm and collected, the dire stakes were making themselves known internally. From his gut, through his nervous system, and into each involuntary reaction—his body evidenced every bit of the stress his mind fought so hard to dismiss.

  What he wouldn’t give for a time machine right about now, so that damnable anomaly might never have happened. His world, his home, and everyone he ever loved was suffering, dying, or dead already. He would do what he could to save them, everything he could, but so many thousands—millions?—had perished already. He knew there was no going back, even if everything they did up here went as well as they all hoped.

  ‘Evac Units merged, orientation accomplished, another achievement unlocked SFO—we’re set to proceed with secondary deployment on your go.’

  Shane snapped his attention back to the work. “Copy that evac. Proceed at your discretion.”

  ‘Hold on!’

  The voice was so resolutely confident, Shane at first thought it was Mansfield. Quickly realizing how unlikely that was, he still couldn’t identify the speaker as Dean. The first words he’d uttered since Larisa was killed, and now he was barking commands? And right out of the blue, too. Shane simply couldn’t process the sudden change.