by Rob Rowntree
“Essentially. But I recall that I also have some input on unwarranted and or dangerous flight decisions. I’m pretty sure that’s there.”
Conway sat in one of his plush chairs. Stepping nearer and leaning in over Conway Alan said, “This is dangerous Mr. Conway. Something destroyed our probe and it looked a lot like some sort of laser—”
“Alan, it could have been a communication laser for all we know, some sort of automated guidance for cargo haulers, anything. And that’s it, Alan; I want to know what it is.”
“This isn’t some solar-jaunt with a few interesting sights,” Alan felt his anger rising. “People’s lives are at stake. We are thousands of light years from home with no prospect of help if anything should go wrong. It’s a reckless decision at best. We should send another remote.”
“We don’t have another remote. And besides, crew are always better than remotes, they can give a more emotional response. Get a better feel for things.”
Alan turned away not wanting to let Conway see his mounting frustration. The fact that they had a destroyed SROV should have cautioned Conway regarding further investigation. Yet, Conway appeared determined to press on.
“Right, Mr. Conway. I want it on record that I disagree with this decision. Furthermore, I fail to see why Kiki can’t cobble together a makeshift SROV. It wouldn’t take too much time and we have the equipment. One more thing, I won’t be available to pilot the Skiff.”
Conway turned and stared out of the window. As the object turned, Alan felt sure he heard Conway’s breathing slow. Conway said, “Alan. You will pilot the Orbital Transfer Vehicle and you will do it to the best of your ability. I hired you for your skills as a pilot and mud-skimmer, not for your damage protection assessments.
“Furthermore, you’ll do it with a smile on your face.”
Taken aback by Conway’s forthrightness, Alan tried to steady his already furious mood. “You assume a lot, Mr. Conway. Why would I agree?”
“Kiki Bech.”
“Kiki?” Alan wondered where Conway would go with this. How would Kiki bring any bearing to the decision he made.
“Yes. It may come as a surprise to you Alan, but nothing on this ship escapes my notice. Nothing.”
What did Conway know? Alan felt the first touches of a compromised acceptance brush along his spine. “You’ll pardon my lack of understanding, but perhaps you should spell it out for me.”
“If you refuse to pilot the Skiff, I’ll have Kiki Bech placed in isolation under cabin arrest. After all Alan, it wouldn’t be prudent or risk-free to have a suspected saboteur running around now, would it?”
“But—”
“I’d call a loose saboteur pretty damned dangerous, wouldn’t you Alan?”
Although Alan felt sure Kiki represented little danger to the mission, he admitted to himself that Conway’s point rang ostensibly true. Kiki might still pose a threat. “How did you...”
Conway rose from his chair, and said, “Come on Alan, I’m this ship’s Captain. I know everything that happens on Haqiqa. Everything.” Placing a hand on Alan’s shoulder, Conway began to guide him towards the door. “Kiki deserves help not imprisonment. However, you’ve left me little choice.”
“It appears Mr. Conway, that you are a complete and utter bastard.”
“Quite probably, Alan. Quite probably. That’s why I’ll be remaining aboard Haqiqa.”
Alan wanted to puke. Kiki was a danger but one that could be contained relatively easily. Putting her under cabin arrest served no real purpose, but Alan felt sure that it would affect her mental state and therefore needed avoiding.
Near the door Conway halted and said, “Earlier the crew drew straws on who would accompany you. Shepperd drew the short stick, so he’ll be with you and will do the EVA.”
“EVA?”
“I need samples, anything.”
Alan thought he saw the glint of gold coin in Conway’s eye, could almost smell the greed oozing from his employer. “This is crazy. You can’t expect anybody to do an EVA without knowing, really knowing what’s on that platform. It’s madness.”
“Shepperd drew a straw just like everybody else. He knew the risks signing up for this mission and by god he’ll take the task like a man.”
On the way out of Conway’s suite Alan halted and turned to say he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t take the flight, when his words faltered. From somewhere deeper in Conway’s suite of rooms Avram Stowe had appeared. She sauntered over and stood next to Conway, a flowing night robe comforting up against her taught figure, a slight smile on her lips. “One more thing Alan, I’ll be joining the little excursion too.”
Not wanting to accept the awfulness of the situation, Alan turned away and began walking towards his quarters. Alan’s laughter began soon after that.
***
The landing dock hummed with activity.
Hanging from the Skiff’s hatch, Alan reached down underneath the vessel’s hull trying for the third time to close an inspection panel.
“Why don’t you just let me bring over the ladders?” Kiki asked from her perch on a crate of prefabricated housing panels.
Alan smiled and said, “If I reached it to undo it, I can reach it to close it. And besides, it’s good exercise for my back.”
Kiki shrugged then cheekily said, “It’s a good job we aren’t lost on some back road. You’d still be saying I know the way.”
Closing the panel with a loud snap, Alan said, “There, and nobody’s got lost.” Rising, he made his way to the access ramp; descending he waved for Kiki to come over, “How about a coffee before the passengers arrive?”
“Sure, sounds good.”
A slim airlock took them into the operations control room. “Sugar?”
Reversing a chair, Kiki sat before replying, leaning her arms across the chair-back. “Yes, one please.”
Alan busied himself and wondered how to approach the subject he wanted to discuss. Best just get on with it. “So how have you been, Kiki? You know, since the event.”
“Recovering... That’s possibly the best way to put it.”
“I guess it’s one way of putting it. What I’ve found interesting besides the event itself, is that not one of us has shared his or her experience. That puzzles me. We all shared something very unusual and—”
“You first, Alan.” A playful smile highlighted the mischievous cast to Kiki’s face.
“Really?” Alan’s eyebrows arched.
“Really.”
Alan handed over her coffee and sat against the control console.
“Okay, I had a... I suppose the best way to describe it is a panic attack and during that my handicapped brother appeared.”
“Sounds traumatic,” Kiki said, showing interest.
“Believe me, I’m not one for visions and such. When he spoke I nearly choked on my own disbelief.”
“He spoke?”
“No, it couldn’t have been him. More a manifestation of some kind, something toying with my mind. I don’t particularly appreciate having something dip inside my head and pull out some guilt to show me. In fact, I’m damned annoyed.”
Kiki stared into her coffee, steam rising, dampening her skin. Lifting her head she said, “Guilt isn’t easy to bear. Since the event, I have been doing a lot of thinking. I still don’t think any of us should be out here, but stranded by this accident, all those things I did, the killing, the scheming, it’s all so pointless. Guilt. Yes, that’s what I received and now I can’t get Rosie’s screams out of my head.”
Suddenly moved, Alan reached out and brushed her hair from her damp face. “If it’s any consolation I have decided not to mention your... pending the outcome of our little trip. There’s no need to fan the flames.”
“You’ve no need to patronise me. I know what I’ve done, what I planned to do.”
Tears streamed down her face, sobs wracked her. Alan pulled her close and she folded into his arms. Although the warmth of her closeness stirred anticipation,
Alan found that he too wanted to cry, but his tears were for a boy 5000 light years away. If only...
***
Alan nudged the orbital transfer vehicle closer, a cold shiver brushing by as the ship passed into the tunnel’s interior. He plugged in the course taken by the SROV and amended it, hoping to bring the craft one hundred meters abreast of the platform. Perhaps that way they might avoid any hostile reaction from whatever attacked the SROV.
Conway linked in from Haqiqa, “Alan, Gibson says that there’s an energy surge in there.”
Alan cut in, “Put Gibson on.”
Seated behind Alan, Shepperd and Stowe fidgeted in their webbing. The sound distracted, but a ship as small as this couldn’t support the energy requirement for attraction plating, so itchy pressure webbing was the only alternative. “Shepperd, you might want to listen to this.”
Gibson’s voice burst from the speakers, “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Can’t pinpoint the location, but I have an increase in microwave activity. It’s almost like narrow band coms, but...”
The gravimetric sensors showed the platform looming from the left. As the ship rose up to draw alongside, Alan doused the cabin lights. “One hundred and four meters,” Alan exclaimed.
Stowe said, “You are a bloody fantastic pilot Alan.” The laugh that followed calmed the cabin.
“I knew you’d prove useful if you came along.”
“There’s no need for that,” Stowe said. “I know it’s dangerous, but I wanted to get a closer look, to feel the atmosphere, the weight of the thing. If I’m going to paint—”
“Conway should have refused.” The matter dismissed, Alan said, “We’ll wait ten minutes and move thirty meters closer.” Outside remained in utter darkness and without the passive sensors Alan wouldn’t have known his recycling port from his manipulator.
Gibson said, “The traffic is increasing. Several large data packets appear to be being exchanged.”
“Okay.” Alan said. “If anything happens, radiation, gravity fluctuations, lasers, I’m pulling this joyride out of here. Vital you let me know.”
Alan couldn’t help thinking that the crew of his little expedition were expendable. Conway, Woodland, Gibson, Pickering and Kiki remained on Haqiqa. It hadn’t escaped the others’ notice either.
“Moving closer,” Alan said as he fired docking thrusters. There was a slight nudge in the side as the thrusters edged the vessel nearer the platform. Seconds later their motion ceased.
Shepperd said, “I really wasn’t sure about coming out here, but apparently I had no choice. Did you see that thing on the virtual?”
“That’s enough,” Alan said. “I agree with your sentiment, but there’s a job to be done. We need to take a look, see what we got. We’ll be safe in the Skiff. If it comes to it we can turn and high-tail it out of here. The engine exhaust will chew the platform to pieces. Just try and relax.”
Thirty minutes later Alan brought the ship alongside, nuzzling against the platform’s edge until the ships grapple secured.
“Shepperd, you’re up.”
“Okay already. So I’m not the luckiest at pick-a-straw, but at least give me a few seconds to compose myself.”
Alan released his harness and helped Shepperd down into the airlock bay. Hardsuits lined the walls. Prepped back aboard Haqiqa, Shepperd’s suit hung nearest the lock. Hesitating, Shepperd turned to Alan. “If anything... You know.”
Alan looked at the blue-space specialist and wondered what the hell to say. There’d be nothing he could do, nothing at all. “Sure, I‘ll watch out for you. Now get inside and go fetch us some answers.”
“Like we are going to find anything here?”
Alan processed him into the lock, the inner door closing gently with a hiss.
Shepperd looked calm as he picked up his tool kit, but as Alan checked his vitals he saw how scared his crew-mate was. “Take it easy Shepperd, deep breaths.” His medical signatures lowered a little. “Okay, that’s it. You ready.”
“Not really. Why am I here again?”
“We discussed it. Our one and only SROV died. If we want answers we need to examine the scene. You were there, you agreed along with everybody else.”
“It seems like a silly decision now.”
“Possibly.”
Shepperd hefted a pulse rifle, “You think this will do any good?”
Alan thought a man like Shepperd shouldn’t play with weapons, “Yeah, it’ll pop anything you come across.”
Shepperd nodded in the suit and Alan sent the command to open the outer door.
In the lock the outer door began to slide open. A loud hammering sounded through the ship, coming nearer, nearer... Alan heard Stowe scream. Shepperd babbled, “What’s that, what the fuck is that? Alan, close the hatch, close the fucking hatch.”
The hatch needed to open fully before it could close.
Shepperd backed into the lock, his gleaming white suit grey in the gloom. Alan thought he heard Shepperd’s heart racing in his chest, but realised it was his own. The door opened fully. Come on, come on. Move.
It began to slide back, inching its way home.
Something reached in, plucking the terrified blue-space specialist out. Shepperd’s screams echoed as Alan tried to make sense of what he’d seen, and as he stared at the closing outer-door deep shadows moved beyond.
The dim light spewing from the airlock evaporated into a jumble of broken boxes and bent metallic frameworks. Alan’s mind reeled from the quick fire events and only when he hesitated did the black mass before the debris register.
Squat, massive, many limbed and there, caught between multitudes of baroque appendages, Shepperd’s bright EVA suit writhed. Was it a machine? Its head turned and Alan shuddered. He didn’t know what it was.
The tiny EVA suit broke apart, Shepperd’s screams abruptly stopped. As the door finally slid shut, Alan thought the entity lowered its head in attempt to meet his gaze.
Alan ran for the flight deck.
Chapter 12
Mutinies and Misdirection
Alan left something of himself back on the platform’s edge - he felt a coldness grow inside him, something hard to beat against, to crush away the futility of Shepperd’s death.
“Alan, do you read? Alan, come in...” The voice sounded frantic. Reaching forward he muted the communication. A tear dripped from his cheek.
Stowe leaned over his chair-back, placed a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t—”
“My fault,” Alan snapped. “I should have been more forceful, more persuasive.”
“Conway’s difficult to deal with. If you need to blame someone he’s your man.”
He turned towards Stowe. Star-light ghosted her features as the ship left the tunnel. She gently wiped away the wetness on his cheek.
Alan gripped her hand, “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Sorry, it’s just that – Yesterday, Conway’s suite...”
Stowe smiled. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”
“They’re not?”
“Sometimes we do things that ordinarily we might not, for instance to achieve an objective or goal, satisfy a need—”
“You slept with Conway to gain something?”
“Alan, it wasn’t on a whim. I’m a mature woman and make my own decisions. You really aren’t in a position to judge me. Each and every one of us prostitutes ourselves for something; it’s just a matter of perspective.”
Momentarily distracted, Alan found that he had to agree. However, this snippet of information crashing around his already reeling mind only served to confuse further. Shepperd is dead; think of that, not Stowe. “He didn’t really want to go out there,” he said, noting Stowe’s features shifted into a frown. “Shepperd, shouldn’t have gone to the platform. He was happiest tucked away with his blue-space equations and tests and that’s where he ought to be now. Not... Dead.”
As Stowe sat back in her chair, Alan realised that he needed to
take action, if only to prevent more deaths. But what?
Mutiny? While the idea held a certain appeal, he felt inclined more towards persuasion and reason.
The object behind, Alan altered course and climbed away from the ecliptic, small puffs of gas turning the little orbital transfer vehicle towards Haqiqa. From this distance their destination sparkled like spun-sunshine. Half an hour, maybe more... Conway waited.
Oh yes, always Conway!
Glancing at Stowe, Alan noticed that she stared off into some distant place only she saw – Perhaps the implications of Shepperd’s death finally sinking home.
Thoughts flew, mainly about Conway’s decision to mount a ‘manned’ reconnaissance. Surely a waste. And who, if any, felt confident about what they’d witnessed? What could they report?
Alan wondered if Conway’s greed had over-ridden caution. No, a poor excuse. Part of him held no doubt that motivation for profit drove Conway’s actions. But why would he insist on it now? Conway must believe that recovery of Peterson’s cargo remained a possibility, otherwise why bother? Exploration for the sake of knowledge, discovery? Not a chance. Conway took the opportunity when he saw one.
Ahead Haqiqa grew. At first a sunlit pebble, then, as they neared a toy riding the darkness; later Alan saw the scar running along the ship’s back, the army of repair-bots crawling over the hull like a swarm of mating insects.
He brought the vehicle around and lined up with the opening loading-bay lock. Subdued lighting punctuated by pulsing safety lights beckoned. Alan eased the Skiff over the lock’s threshold and for the moment felt safe.
“Well,” Stowe said from behind him, “do you know what you’re going to do?”
“Not really. Shepperd’s death, the— I need to think.”
“You’re right. Just don’t leave it festering.”
“What?”
“Sorry. I mean any plans or courses of action. If you let them fester and drift into memory... Look Alan, what I’m saying is that time dulls memory; the intensity of the experience fades. Be decisive now, not later.”
“Anybody would think you are trying to influence me against Conway.”
