Dark Alignment

by David Haskell

  ‘What’s the problem, doctor?’ It was Jo, who’s voice also came as a surprise. Up until now she’d been a quiet observer.

  ‘Warning light,’ Eckert replied. The two words chopped out icily, as if she shouldn’t have asked.

  Shane turned to the monitor and stared at his friend, trying to figure out what might have happened to change his demeanor so thoroughly. Not looking away from his computer, Dean’s eyes darted from side to side, obsessively taking in all those endless strings of numbers. Ever since deployment he’d retreated into the machine, as if taking refuge there. Staring at those screens was Dean in his element, certainly, but there was more to it now. He was more intense, sunk deep into his work, detached from everything else. It was disturbingly out of character, even considering all the stress he was under. Shane wondered if this bizarre shift might be serious, something he should be worried about. A medical emergency, even. In any case, he didn’t like it, and decided to start watching his friend more closely.

  ‘Evans, reverse course and get back on top,’ ordered the doctor, clipped and unapologetic. ‘Price, go with him.’

  There was a pause, followed by a garbled response. Shane cut in and asked her to repeat.

  ‘…still working on securing underside. Confirm reassignment commander?’

  Shane wasn’t sure where the doctor was going with this, but he had to make the call quickly. “Confirmed, Price. Abandon your primary and take point up top. Doctor, you’ll let her know what to do as soon as she gets there?”

  Dean uttered a nearly imperceptible grunt, acknowledgement of a rudimentary kind, one Shane might’ve missed if he hadn’t been watching closely. He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a read on the body language. It was like watching a robot.

  Both of the spacewalkers acknowledged the order with professional detachment, and repositioned swiftly. Watching all of this unfold, Shane had a sudden urge to countermand—more of a gut instinct than anything else, but his instincts were rarely off the mark. But there was one man aboard who knew the anomaly better than anyone, and he seemed to be following his instincts as well. Shane put his own in check, giving his friend a little leeway. Very little, he thought.

  * * *

  “Oh, Jesus no…” President Webster flushed hot as he watched a brand-new problem unfold. No way to know what in hell was going on, but it was clear by the way they moved that it was something bad. “Not another one.”

  His chief science advisor was by his side moments later, anticipating the need, and Webster pointed to the spacesuited figures on the move. “Dean Eckert just ordered those two up to the top. Why?”

  The advisor stammered a bit of nonsense, as unsure as everyone else. Before the discomfort went on too long, however, Dean Eckert let him off the hook with a thoroughly unexpected announcement.

  ‘All hands, this is Eckert speaking. We’re moving the ship.’

  The simple announcement led to a chaotic buzz around the president; scientists and flight engineers scrambling to re-calculate their assumptions based on this sudden new twist. The situation aboard Space Force One was equally hectic, particularly on the flight deck—Shane Douglas began barking a rapid-fire series of commands as he prepared ship and crew. When that was done, he announced his readiness to Dean, along with the rest of them.

  ‘RCS on your go, doctor.’

  ‘That’s not gonna work, Shane. We need OMS for this.’

  A chill ran down Webster’s spine. Before his advisor was able to launch into an explanation, he waved it off. He knew the implications. Employing the orbital maneuvering system at this critical juncture was insane. They must have been way off on their calculations, more than any simple attitude adjustment could account for. In short, they were screwed.

  * * *

  Shane’s gut dropped at the mention of an orbital adjustment, but he took in a breath and kept his emotions in check. Having made the decision to trust his friend, that call was now being tested. In for a penny… That was his reasoning. If Dean was wrong, they were done for anyway. So trust him, he ordered himself.

  “OMS, affirmative,” Shane announced, “standing by for new coordinates.”

  ‘Sending them up now,’ Dean said, his tone remarkably even. He almost sounded clinical about it. Like a test pilot. Or a trauma victim. It gave Shane a shudder to realize the two could be so similar, having never thought of it in such terms before.

  Not bad in a crunch after all, are you kid? Shane felt a sense of…what, pride? Not exactly. They’d been through a lot, so it was probably that. He did feel some sense of brotherhood. And a small measure of trust that was springing from it, which was good. He hoped.

  ‘Come about and prepare to engage,’ Dean ordered.

  Come about? Was he nuts?

  In for a pound… Shane noted the new vector on his HUD and began preparations to turn the ship. Whatever the plan Dean had in mind, it was Shane’s job to execute it, no matter how insane it sounded. He must have a good reason. But there were five additional considerations, his three wayward spacewalkers, plus the two enormous structures jutting out from the top. The crew outside, he could advise and monitor. The apparatus wasn’t such a quick call, though. It would need to be factored into every calculation. Too much stress and it’d snap off at the joint, and this would all be for nothing. No pressure, pal.

  “Evac, command. You all hanging on out there?”

  Kashani called in first. Having not moved since the new orders, he was in easy reach of the hull. The other two, however…

  ‘We’re out of position and off-structure, command,’ Evans reported, ‘need a minute up here.’

  Shane looked down into the vidlink. Dean’s expression was clear as day. They didn’t have a minute to spare.

  He knew better than to rush the spacewalkers. They knew how pressed they were. “Okay, Evac. Let us know when you’re ready.”

  He positioned his hands over the OMS panel and waited.

  65.

  ‘Colonel Douglas,’—the sudden formality was akin to a drill sergeant addressing a fresh recruit—‘you need to execute the burn now.’ Everyone held their breath; Dean staring at his computer screen as he spoke, Jo staring at him, their new commander staring at both of them through the vidlink. Dean placed a palm on the bulkhead, looked straight into the camera into Shane’s eyes, and said even more sharply, ‘Right now, colonel.’

  Shane checked himself, searching inward for reassurance. Should he reconsider? He needed to understand. His new responsibilities demanded it. Though he’d already decided to trust Dean, this new recklessness was making it difficult. Was his friend still acting in the mission’s best interests?

  Even though he’d already thought it through and made a decision, it gnawed at him. What if the doctor was losing his mind? What then? Was there a workaround? A way to ensure success even in the face of that? The conflict was greater than even the need to handle the ship. That, he could accomplish with less than his fullest focus. Figuring out what to do about Dean, though—that took everything he had.

  “Doctor,” Shane said, weighing his tone so as to get through, “we’ve still got people off-structure. They need more time.”

  But Dean simply repeated his demand, in that same flat delivery, eyes still locked on his calculations. Like a madman.

  Shane had little time to toy with the decision. He’d follow Dean’s lead, but on his terms. “Dean, copy. I’ll have us underway the second evac is locked down. Hang tight.”

  For the first time, emotion crossed Dean’s face. It was visible even through the monitor. He looked frustrated. This came as odd comfort to Shane, though it, too, was far from an ideal reaction. At least it was something.

  Dean’s hands balled up, he leaned into the com panel and spoke loud into the microphone, ‘Negative, Colonel Douglas. You have to move now, or we won’t have a ship to save!’

  “You sure about that, Dean?”

  ‘Dead sure.’

  The decision was made.

  “
All hands, stand by for repositioning burn…”

  ‘Command, Evac,’ Evans called in from his echo-tinged evac suit, ‘we’ve just about reached topside, give us a minute.’

  * * *

  It was Dean who gave warning to the spacewalkers, his words echoing throughout the craft and beyond; “Evac, Eckert. Lock in place immediately! Repeat, lock down immediately!”

  Shane punched the coordinates for the shift, then dug in for another rough ride. With a rumble underfoot, the ship sprang to life. He’d barely had the time to ensure the evac units were locked, the one conceit he’d spared. If every second counted, he’d at least devote a few of them to getting his people clamped down, but there hadn’t been time enough for anything more. They were on their own.

  Jo’s voice came screaming into the com, nearly blowing his ear out with desperate outrage. “Shane, hold for evac damnit! Reverse now! Give ‘em a chance at least…” As the words died on her lips, she realized what he, and the doctor, already knew. It was too late. They were already into the acceleration, and no reversal would be possible until after the burn was complete.

  * * *

  Ed Evans received Shane’s warning, then the transmission garbled as someone started shouting. Evans looked to his new partner Andrea Price for confirmation. With a quick thumbs up, the two of them repositioned their angle and blasted for the hull. About twenty meters out of position, they were heading for an unknown section—no way to know if they would find purchase. Searching for a place to grab hold, the ship began sliding out from under their outstretched hands.

  “Price!” Evans called out, “tell me you’ve got something.”

  His own efforts to locate a suitable grip had failed. He saw nothing but the shiny-slick surface of the fast-accelerating spacecraft. He didn’t dare look over at his companion, lest he lose his own way and miss the ship entirely.

  ‘Nothing yet. Wait!’ It was Andrea Price, high-pitched and breathless, yet hopeful as well. ‘Yes, I’ve got something. Mobility aid coming up on my right,’—Evans looked over to see where she was aiming, the pained sounds of her exertion ringing in his ears—‘I can…almost…’

  She gripped the exterior ladder rung and hung on, a scream escaping her lips as her body twisted crazily against the force of acceleration. She looked for Ed Evans and stretched out with her free arm. He reached for it and missed. Moving fast, she would soon be out of reach. Once more he tried to grab hold, and managed to clasp onto her boot. His shoulder wrenched a hot, stabbing pain as his frame was dragged alongside the ship. He grabbed hold of a lower rung and let go of Price, both of them hanging on for their lives as the ship surged.

  * * *

  Jo watched the entire heartstopping exchange on the monitor, feeling enormous relief when Evans caught his partner. But they weren’t out of the woods. Flailing like flags in the wind, barely holding on, they’d be ripped apart if they didn’t get a better hold fast.

  Without hesitation, and without permission, Jo kicked off, leaving Dean staring after her as she streaked for the auxiliary airlock. There was no time to bother with the mains—she’d slide into the reserve suit and exit amidships, then figure out how to get to them once she was outside.

  She heard Shane call out as she made her way over. Reluctant to be that crewmember, the one to ignore the wishes of the commander, she considered slowing, give him an update on her intentions. But thinking about the ones outside, and their precarious positions, she realized that there was no time for even a perfunctory reply. He’d figure out where she’d gone when he saw her on his screen, and then he could let her have it—if she lived that long.

  Suiting up wasn’t much of a problem, but the minute she cycled the airlock she realized one problem she hadn’t accounted for. The radiological alarms had sealed off the lower compartment, but it had the added failsafe of slowing the mechanisms of the other hatches, in order for the crew to check for additional radiation. Under normal circumstances, that made sense, but in an emergency like this it only served to hamper her efforts. She swore softly as she watched the automatics, slow as molasses, check for impurities and tick off the checklist. It felt like an eternity.

  Finally finished, she couldn’t open the hatch fast enough, praying that she wasn’t too late. Once on the exterior and trying to orient, Jo found herself in a good news/bad news situation. On the bright side, she was closer than she’d though she would be, which meant less pitfalls to contend with. The negative was more of a chore than anything dire, but would slow her down nearly as much as the airlock had. That was the fact that she was swimming upstream, going against the current Dean had set in his inexplicable takeover.

  Working to keep her breathing and heart rate even, she began the slog, hand over hand, boot over boot, careful each step not to risk rupturing her suit on anything sharp or deadly. This, too, slowed her down, but she eventually got there. The pair was still flailing, but fortunately they’d not slipped much in the meanwhile.

  She forced herself into position and removed the clamps she’d hastily tucked away, hooking Ed Evans first, then Andrea Price, and pulling them gently down until they were flush with the hull. Out of breath, she managed a weak thumbs up, which they returned. The three of them finally had a moment to contemplate their next move.

  66.

  Aside from the course readjustment, Shane still has a million other ship’s systems that needed his attention, including external life support, which he was watching like a hawk. Given the fact that he had three astronauts out there, he reasoned the extra attention was more than warranted. As his laser-focused gaze took in the rhythm of the controls, he suddenly felt as if he was seeing a ghost. He no longer had three out there, but four. His first, heartstopping thought was that somehow, miraculously, Denisova had made it. But the ridiculous assumption only lasted as long as it took his brain to swat it down. Something else then. Checking on the remaining crew inside, he knew who he’d lost. Or, rather, who’d repositioned herself without permission. Was everybody on this damned mission going to mutiny on him now?

  As if responding to his thinking, Jo’s voice crackled in. ‘Commander, I’ve got them locked down.’ Matter of fact, as if he’d sent her out there himself. Yet he knew she was merely keeping with protocol. And that she would accept whatever reaction he chose to deliver.

  He’d have to deal with her insubordination later, given the fact there wasn’t much in the way of punishments he could mete out to an active spacewalker. And with the ship still in mid-correction, she wasn’t going anywhere. He knew where to find her later, if he decided to let her have it.

  He copied her transmission, and ordered that she stay put and await further instructions. He didn’t have to add a threat—she acknowledged in the most repentant voice as he’d ever heard out of her. And she had saved his people.

  Dean Eckert, on the other hand…

  He’d given as much latitude as any commander could, under the circumstances, but this was his ship, and his crew, all at risk.

  “Doctor Eckert, it’s time for some answers now,” he said, then listened for the response that never came.

  After a minute, Shane looked at the screen. There was Dean, still in the same spot as before, detached from reality yet again as he stared at his endless strings of numbers.

  This was beyond the pale. Shane needed verification. How far did Dean expect them to go? How soon should they stop? Something. Meanwhile they were edging ever closer to the abyss. Shane himself couldn’t say why he was still going along with this madness, except that somewhere in the back of his mind he believed there had to be a logical explanation. He was just waiting to hear it.

  * * *

  Dean, for his part, knew full well that he’d need to explain himself, and soon, but he had to make sure the numbers lined up first. Nothing could be more vital.