Sunspots

by Gary Martin

  24

  I lie on the metal gangway next to Kerry, staring at the ceiling through the steamed-up glass of my helmet. I know I'm here on a mission, I know I've got to stop the ship spinning out of control, I know I've got to search for Tom and his crew. But I don't have the motivation anymore. The one person on board I would have tried to save is lying next to me, dead. The other two pricks in the crew compartment can go fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned. At this moment, I really don't care if they live or die.

  My thoughts start turning to my life before this fucked-up situation, and back to Ez, and that fucked-up situation. If I get back I'm going to have to try and fix everything with her, and there is a lot to fix. The last three weeks of our time together were awful, she needed help and I was a selfish shit. If it's even possible to save what we had, I have to try my hardest. And that can't happen if I'm stuck on board a spaceship hurtling towards the Sun. I know now that I want to survive; I have to. I'm not going to do this to save Robert or Mark, I'm going to do it to save myself. If they get saved in the process, well, I guess that’s a bonus for them.

  I stand up, pick up the second jet-injector and give myself a shot. I needn't have worried about it not getting through the spacesuit, because it stings like a bastard. I walk back to the thruster control room and try and work out how to get the thrusters working and aim them. This is what Kerry was supposed to do, she knew how everything worked on this ship. She would have just hit a few buttons, flicked a few switches and it would have been sorted. I'm just going to have to guess.

  The big red button next to the thrust velocity lever seems like a good place to start, so I press it. The console lights up and a target-looking graphic appears on the monitor. An alarm starts blaring, and a female computer voice tells me we're in imminent danger due to being off-course and spinning wildly out of control. Like I didn't know that already. It then asks if I want it to correct our course and trajectory. It can't be that simple, can it? I click yes cautiously. The whole hangar bay starts to vibrate as the thrusters fire. I look out of the view port above the monitor, and the stars slowly stop moving upwards until only the Sun is shining through. Turns out it can be that simple. If Tim were still alive, I think he'd have some explaining to do. The payload specialists are paid to take over from the pilot at the final stages of the drop, to aim the ship precisely so the waste materials get incinerated as efficiently as possible, otherwise they may slingshot around the Sun and head back out into the solar system. The waste can then become a massive danger to shipping, and even possibly get back to Earth. A few cruise liners were damaged this way, and the United Governments intervened and made it law to have someone on board for that specific task. And it turns out a fucking computer does it. The dump techs must have an excellent union, or someone high up has had a nice kick-back.

  The vibrations stop as the thrusters switch off.

  “Final drop co-ordinates confirmed. Five hours and seven minutes to optimum drop point,” the computer tells me. I didn't realise we were so close. So far so good, now I guess I have to search this place for any signs of Tom and his crew. This is the part that has me the most anxious. A big part of me doesn't want to find them. If they are responsible for any of this situation, I don't know what they'd do if I suddenly turn up and say “Hi.” And now I don't even have back-up. And for that at the very least, Tom has to pay.

  I walk out of the thruster control room on to the metal gangway that circles the top level of the hangar deck, move to the safety rail and look down at the hundreds and hundreds of metal containers stacked down there in rows. In the flickering light, I can just about make out that the crash has knocked quite a few of the containers down. In some places, it's caused a domino effect. I'm hoping it looks worse up here than it actually is. But I'm definitely going to need a torch. I turn around and go back into the thruster control room, making a point to not look in the direction of the airlock, to where Kerry is lying. I can't think about that. I need to try and keep focused. Quickly scanning the room, I spot a large flashlight attached to the wall next to where the medi-kit was. I grab it and slowly walk aft down the starboard gangway, towards the stairwell that'll take me down to the bottom deck.

  Once I get to the rear of the hangar, I peer through the small round window of the airlock that would normally take you into the cargo bay and crew section. We normally leave this door open, and just walk onto the hangar deck if we need to do any final checks, or get to the thruster control room. Now there's a four or five metre gap between the doors, with nothing but vacuum between. For a few seconds, I stare into the red light of the crew section, and jump when I see something move. It's Mark. I can only see his head through the window, but he waves at me with his fingers in front of his face. I wave back, and he mouths “I'm sorry.” He looks down, and I can tell from his expression that he regrets his recent actions, and most definitely the last thing he said to Kerry. Fortunately for him though, at this moment he doesn't know that it's the last thing he will ever have said to her. I move away, the thought of his reaction when he finds out makes my heart sink and I'm in danger of my emotions getting the better of me again. The only thing to do is to walk to the edge of the stairwell, and only think about what's happening right now, not dwell on the past or the future. I look down into the murky blackness. It really is dark down there, so I turn on the torch. It flickers a couple of times, so I hit it and comes to life. That doesn't bode well, and I start thinking about monsters again. I start the descent into darkness, one slow step at a time.

  The metal containers are about three metres square, usually piled four high, and five or six across depending on load, with enough room to walk between each row. As I reach the bottom deck I shine the torch through the first gap I come to. There is a way through, but the second and third piles are leaning precariously against each other, and I'm not sure I want to risk it collapsing on me. I walk towards the port side of the hangar and shine the torch through the second walkway, but there is no way through. It's like there's been an avalanche of giant cubes. I shine the torch through the third walkway and the light almost reaches all the way to the giant space door at the front of the hangar, and all the containers look close to how they should. That's the way to go then.

  I cautiously make my way down the aisle, shining the torch through each gap I come to, making the shadows dance around me. I keep thinking I see something in the corner of my eye, but it must be the light of the torch combined with my imagination. It's horribly eerie down here, the lights on the top deck are flickering but barely penetrating, and a there's a slow moaning creaking coming from the uneven towers. I move deeper into the maze of containers and begin to realise that I'm not even sure what I'm looking for. Where could five people be hiding down here? There's no oxygen at the moment, so they'd have to be in spacesuits, or in a container with an air supply. Which is something I've never heard of before.

  It's all beginning to seem unlikely that there could be anyone down here at all, or that I'll find anything to figure out what the fuck has been going on, when suddenly there is a loud groaning noise. I look around, and see that one of the huge towers is slowly collapsing in my direction. With a loud bang, it’s halted by the tower in front of it. I sigh with relief, and I’m about to continue my search when the loud metallic groaning starts again. I turn around and both towers are now moving. Together they hit the next one along and that barely halts the momentum. I turn and run as the towers of giant cubes start a domino effect all around me. I can’t run at any speed in this spacesuit, and the collapsing cubes start to overtake me, so I stop and hold my arms in front of my helmet and close my eyes.

  Almost as suddenly as it started, the groaning and clanking stops. I open my eyes, and have a look around. I shine the torch at the collapsed cubes, and at the path in front of me. The towers had just kept collapsing forward until there were no more towers to collapse against, and just stopped. Not a single cube had fallen in my path. I let out a massive sigh of relief. I almost sta
rt to think that I was lucky, and then I remember why I’m down here. Luck can do one.

  I stay where I am for a minute or so, shining the torch around, and making sure that everything that’s going to fall down has done so, at least for the moment, when the light of my torch catches a container with its door slightly ajar. No container should have an open door. The risk of contamination is too great. Every one of them is welded shut before it is loaded on board because of the awful things that are inside, and the design of the things makes them almost indestructible so they don't leak or crack until they hit the Sun’s corona and burn up. But here I am, shining a light on one that doesn't even seem to have been welded shut in the first place. I clearly know nothing.

  I'm going to have to look inside. I don't want to; nothing good can come of this, but what other choice do I have? I hold the torch with my left hand and slowly pull the door open wide enough for me to fit through. It squeals loudly, as if it doesn't want me to open it, as if it's protesting at my intrusion. I shine the torch in, and it seems that the only thing in here is a two-metre-long rectangular wooden crate. Very strange. I walk through the door keeping the torch fixed on the crate as I close in on it. My hand is shaking slightly causing the shadow the torch is creating behind the crate to jitter around. There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary about it, it just seems to be a standard shipping crate. What is out of the ordinary is that it's here, in a container that should be sealed shut. I notice that there was something written along one of the wooden slats that has been badly scraped off. I can make out a few of the letters but nothing more. S, L, and think an R. It means nothing to me so I shine the torch around it a bit more. The lid is nailed shut, but it's not on straight so I'm guessing it's been taken off and banged back on recently.

  I start to look on the floor for a hammer or something when I notice a small pool of something dark just at the bottom of the crate. My heart starts beating faster; it can't be what I think it is. I lean down for a closer look, and it's dark red. Oh fuck, I think it's blood. I stand up straight, and begin to slowly move around the outside of the crate. I shine the torch on the deck behind it and jump as I see a body lying there in a pool of blood. I'm not sure what else I really expected to see, but I was really hoping it would be something else, or nothing at all. I close in on it, and realise with horror that it's Tom, and I think his throat has been slit. I don't know how I manage to do it, but I get closer and have a look at the neck wound. His throat has been ripped wide open, and the cut is so deep, I can actually see part of his spine. Nausea hits me. I instantly vomit in my helmet, and have to look away. Luckily, only the bottom part of the helmet's glass gets splattered so I don't have an issue seeing, unless I look straight down. I stand still for a while in shock. It’s only when I start to feel the sick begin to trickle down my neck and chest that I decide it's time to move away.

  I'm not sure why I do it, probably morbid curiosity, but I venture one more look at the corpse, and something just underneath the throat gash glistens in the torch light. Oh my fucking God, it looks like the same translucent slime I saw in the inspection tubes, and in the cargo bay. I slowly walk backwards out of there, keeping the torch on the body until I'm around the corner of the crate. My heart is beating fast, and I can't collect my thoughts. My mind is racing. Then, I feel something touch my shoulder.

  25

  Screaming, I drop the torch. It bangs against the deck and instantly goes out. I’m a dead man. I drop to my hands and knees and crawl into the darkness of the container. I sit still against the wall, trying to keep my breathing slow and steady, hoping that whatever that was won't be able to find me. I can hear a shuffling as whatever it is moves around, and then there are a couple of banging noises and the torch flickers back into life and shines directly at me. All I can see is the light, and I put my hand in front of my eyes. With uneven footsteps, it gets closer and closer, and when the torch is only a few centimetres from my face it stops. What can I do? I'm completely fucked. I've tried my best. And my best was fucking useless. I hold both my arms out and give up, there doesn't seem to be any point carrying on now. The light then moves away from my face and onto the face of whatever this thing is. All I can see is a big purple blob, where the torchlight has blinded me. It slowly fades and I can begin to make out what's looking at me. It takes a few seconds to click, with the light shining underneath the pale face it looks like a creature from an old horror film, but I start recognising the features and I finally see that it's Kerry. It's fucking Kerry! I have never been so relieved. Or so completely confused. She tries to say something, but I can't hear anything. I look down at her chest, and point to her radio. She looks down and presses the button.

  “Who turned my fucking radio off?” she says, in a quiet hoarse voice.

  “I guess I did by mistake, when I did chest compressions on you.”

  “You did chest compressions? Oh … well I think you've broken a few of my ribs then, you prick,” she says, then smiles. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “I thought you were dead. After four hits with the jet-injector and a whole fuck-load of chest compressions, you still weren't moving. I really thought you were gone.”

  “Four hits? Fucking hell! I must have looked pretty fuckin' dead. Did you check if I was breathing or had a pulse?”

  “No, there was no way to tell, I couldn't take your suit off because there’s no oxygen in here anymore. You just weren't moving. You really did look dead. I am very, very glad you're not though,” I say and give her a big awkward spacesuit hug.

  “You’ve got sick in your helmet,” she says.

  “I know, it stinks. Have a look over there,” I nod towards the crate.

  She pulls away and shines the torch at it, and down to the small pool of blood coming from underneath it. She pulls a face then walks round to the back of the crate. I hear her gasp.

  “John, oh my sweet Jesus. What the fuck has happened? Tom's almost had his head ripped off.”

  Reluctantly I walk back around to the body.

  “Look,” I say and grab her hand and point the torch at the translucent slime underneath the wound.

  “What is it?”

  “I'm not sure, but I've found the same substance in the inspection tubes and in the cargo bay where I thought the hangar release control panel used to be.” She looks horrified.

  “But you never mentioned it,” she says.

  “I know. I thought I'd be laughed off the ship if I tried to suggest there was some sort of creature on board causing this, so I kept quiet.”

  “I guess that's fair enough. That would have definitely happened. We'd have made you look like a proper dick. But, fucking hell. Something on board is killing us off? That sounds a little bit too fucking sci-fi for me. But at the same time, it's the only thing I can wrap my head around, or that makes any fucking sense,” she says.

  “We've got to get back to the crew section, let Robert and Mark know, and beat our collective heads together and find a way to catch and kill this slime-dribbling bastard before it takes anyone else down,” I say.

  “But John, where's the rest of Tom’s crew? Are we going to find them all down here with their throats ripped open? And what do you think is in that wooden crate?” Kerry points at it.

  “No idea. I'm not sure I want to know. If it's got anything to do with this monster, it can't be good.”

  “We're going to have to try and open the fucker up. Hold this for me.” She passes me the torch and goes up to the crate. I shine it at her as she tries to prize off the lid with her gloved hands, to no avail.

  “Your turn,” she says, walking back to where I'm standing and grabbing the torch off me.

  “I'll give it a go, but I can't see me shifting it, I'm really very weak,” I say and put my fingers under the edge of the lid. Where it hadn't been put back on straight there is a good amount to grip on to. I hold my arms straight and lift with my knees, putting in as much effort in as I can. Whatever is in the crate must be ridiculou
sly heavy as it doesn't move at all, but I feel a slight cracking in the lid.

  “Kerry, can you grab the other side, I think I'm getting somewhere here.”

  She puts the torch on the floor of the container with the light facing us and grabs the other side of the lid.

  “When I count to three, we lift, okay?” She nods. “One … Two … Three.”

  We lift simultaneously; the crate doesn't move, but with a loud cracking sound the lid snaps off. Without thinking, I throw it over the back and it lands with a squelch. Kerry looks at me and shakes her head. For a few seconds, I feel absolutely awful.

  “I won't tell anyone if you don't,” she whispers, and turns around and picks up the torch. She shines it into the box, and I can't make head or tail of what's in there. Tubes, wires, and pipes surrounding something cylindrical. Everything looks like it's all been put together at random then housed in a rectangular metal framework.

  “What is it?” Kerry asks.

  “I really don’t know. It looks like it’s some sort of pump, maybe?”

  Kerry shines the torch around it some more.