Status Quo: The Chronicle of Jane Doe

by Chris Kuhn

  Byers knows that I'm alive. Or he should.

  At the minimum, he'd know that the reactor suit would have kept me alive. But he'd vanished after the briefing - before Coates had called me back in. It was possible that he didn't know. After all, I was supposed to have been asleep. The person who should have been in the reactor was Johnson; and Johnson was decidedly not at his shift, probably because Byers gave him a new hole in his skull so his sabotage wouldn't be found out.

  Jesus.

  When I finally decided that the coast was clear, I pushed the hatch all the way open and crawled out into the bay. As quietly as I could, I shut it behind me and moved to the accessory storage bay.

  I located the RATU.

  It was a big gadget - about two meters long and maybe a meter across, but thankfully it wasn't deployed... With the booster arms out it was much bigger. I couldn't remember exactly how much it weighed, but I couldn't lift it by myself. I'd have to find a way to manage. I unlocked the RATU from its storage brackets and eased it to the deck. It was damn heavy. I dragged it forward about a meter, just to see how feasible that would be. Answer: not very. Not only would it be a slow process, but the scraping of the device's body against the deck produced a metallic screeching noise so loud that I almost ran and hid again.

  Not gonna cut it.

  I pulled a canvas tarp from one of the tool racks and set it next to the RATU. Then, as carefully as I could, I rolled my new toy on top of it. Grabbing hold of the canvas, I tried pulling it forward again. It was a little easier to move, and the sound had disappeared. That would have to be good enough.

  With much effort, I dragged the RATU to the missile bay door. I hesitated, then realized there was really no choice.

  I opened the door, half-expecting to find Testosterone Girl waiting for me.

  The corridor was deserted.

  So here I am... I now had a heavy-ass rocket motor which had to make its way to the shuttlebay. A magic teleporter would have been nice, but next best thing was a pressurized, zero-G tunnel that ran the length of the ship.

  Luckily, I had one of those at my disposal.

  It took a few minutes to get there, but I finally stopped in front of the MAGLEV door and rested the RATU against the bulkhead. Thanks to the habit from Chief Abeen, I decided that the device needed a name. I settled on "Jimmy".

  Jimmy the RATU.

  I forced the MAGLEV door open and stuck my head into the tunnel (not the safest move, but my sense of risk had changed dramatically in the past few hours). The MAGLEV tunnel was empty. No cars were moving. I knew if I pressed that call button for a car, whoever was monitoring would see it activate and I'd be toast. My best bet was to float up the tunnel, and hope a MAGLEV car didn't come my way.

  If that changes, am I gonna get squashed?

  During all my rides on the MAGLEV, I'd never tried to judge the distance between the car and the wall of the tunnel. Why the hell would I? I thought there'd be enough room.

  Maybe.

  It wasn't like I had a ton of options.

  "Okay, Jimmy." I said. "Let's have a little fun here." I shoved the device forward until it cleared the corridor's gravity plates and it began to float weightlessly in the MAGLEV tunnel. The inertia was enough to carry it into the back wall of the tunnel with cringe-worthy clunk.

  Oops.

  I jumped in behind it and gave it a little push, then awkwardly tried to steer it as I floated down the tunnel. I managed to smack Jimmy the RATU into the wall a few times, but the plan was basically working.

  Then I heard a beep that told me someone activated the MAGLEV.

  Shit.

  The good news was that the incoming car was at the far end of the MAGLEV tunnel (near the front of the ship). The bad news was that the MAGLEV moved fast.

  Really fast.

  I probably had five seconds.

  I spent three of them deciding what to do, but that was dumb; there was only one thing to do. I shoved the RATU against the back wall of the MAGLEV tunnel, then pressed my own body against it as well. I didn't think the MAGLEV would hit me - the clearance actually looked adequate - but I doubted I was going to enjoy the experience.

  A wall of air hit me, almost shoving me directly in the MAGLEV's path. I recovered just in time, and the car flew by me. I shut my eyes, not wanting to see how close my face was to it. It vanished in less than a second, and took all the air pressure with it. I was sucked into the middle of the tunnel, then dragged down the MAGLEV track. I hit just about every hard surface in the tunnel before I came to a stop. Then Jimmy the RATU hit me.

  It knocked the air from my lungs, and pushed me another few meters down the tunnel. I shoved my foot against the magnetic rail to stop. When I finally came to a halt, I looked down and - with some horror - realized my foot was mere centimeters from the high-voltage line that fed the magnets.

  The high-voltage line.

  The line that I'd always known had been there, but had somehow failed to account for.

  I looked back down the tunnel, and a shiver ran through my spine. How many times had I bounced off that track? How narrowly had I avoided getting fried a dozen times already?

  Shit.

  My planning skills had clearly not improved.

  I forced myself to take deep breaths. I wanted to stop and rest, but that - obviously - was a bad idea. Instead, I grabbed hold of Jimmy and kicked myself off from the wall. I made very, very sure to stay away from the power line.

  It was funny. Sort of. I didn't know how many times I'd ridden the MAGLEV. It wasn't a complex machine - electromagnetic fields drove cars down the track with no physical contact. That was the purpose of MAGnetic LEVitation - to reduce friction. Compared to other systems on the ship, it was ancient and basic technology.

  But it had almost killed me.

  When I was working on an antimatter reactor, I knew it was scary shit. I was careful. I had to remember that simple stuff could kill me, too. Everything could kill me. Today everything was trying.

  Ten minutes later, I'd arrived at the MAGLEV stop outside the shuttlebay.

  Now for the fun part.

  ------

  I dragged the RATU into the shuttlebay without incident or too much loud scraping. The space was large, dark and cold. I supposed there were more descriptive words for it, but I was too tired to think of them. The back was of the bay was a massive door which opened to space. Next to it was the smaller personnel airlock used by the EVA teams. Next to that was the set of EVA suits and personal lockers for the team. On the far side of the bay, shrouded in darkness, was the Mumu. I'd always wanted to try the Mumu (if nothing else because of its name), but I didn't think today was a good time.

  In front of me was the Felix.

  It wasn't an attractive vessel, but I wouldn't have expected it to be. Morning Star Technologies made these for a single client - the Navy. They hadn't needed to put glossy posters in dealership showrooms for this model.

  I left Jimmy the RATU on the deck and stretched my arms. I'd have to mount Jimmy on top of the Felix, which I wasn't completely sure how to do, but I'd get to that in a minute.

  First I had to fire the shuttle up.

  I popped the side hatch open and climbed in. It was dark inside. Cozy, but not cramped. I kind of liked it. I shut the hatch and made my way to the console. There was a tablet sitting on the seat next to me. I turned it on, hoping it would be what I thought it was.

  Flight manual.

  Outstanding.

  The manual was probably in the shuttle's computer, too, but I supposed it would be convenient to have a separate reference when you were screwing around with various panels. However convenient it might have been for the intended pilots, however, it was doubly so for me. I wasn't exactly qualified to fly the Felix. I mostly wouldn't have to. Once I was airborne (space-borne? vacuum-borne?), the computer could fly it for me. I was pretty sure the computer could even launch it for me. But that would be bad. The computer was a teacher's pet. The computer followed rul
es. One of the rules for launching shuttles was to get clearance from the RAPCON/BAYCON console on the Pridemore's bridge.

  That might make the computer happy, but it would not enhance my life expectancy.

  I scrolled through the flight manual, anticipating a very annoying search as I tried to figure out how to do the process manually. I wondered if there was even a procedure for such things anymore.

  A quick glance at the table of contents showed an entire section labeled Manual Start Up Procedures.

  Well, I'll be damned.

  I decided that my luck was changing for the better. Then I read the first step of the procedure.

  Step 1: Disconnect LOX/N2H2/N2O4/HYRDRO Umbilicals as required.

  Huh. Lots of letters and numbers there. Good mixture of the two.

  I stared at the page, realizing that I would not get any help. It seemed to be asking me to walk around the shuttle and ensure there were no random hoses attached to it. Probably smart. It wouldn't do to go shooting out of the shuttlebay with a bunch of rubber spaghetti attached to your ship. Kind of a faux pas. I had seen no hoses attached to the shuttle.

  Step 1 complete.

  Step 2: Validate all fluid and pressure levels (Ref: Appendix G-2).

  I was not about to spend twenty minutes screwing around with that. What if something's low? Am I supposed to refill it? I pictured myself dragging bulky hoses over to the shuttle, possibly the same hoses I'd been instructed to remove in Step 1.

  No thanks.

  Step two complete.

  Step 3: Switch PRIMARY BUS power selector on panel S-8 to the ON position.

  Panel S-8, huh? My eyes roamed the myriad of panels, looking for something labeled S-8. What the hell does the 'S' stand for? Starboard? No. The word 'starboard' was the Navy's equivalent of 'right', and there were already panels labeled with an R. They were on the right side of the ship.

  I was not finding the panel.

  What the hell could 'S' stand for? Side? Secondary? Supplemental? Shark-infested?

  Please power up the shark-infested panel and watch the fuck out.

  I finally located the panel on the back wall of the cockpit. It was in a tiny corner between the passenger seat and the fire extinguisher. I flipped the switch, but I still had no idea what the 'S' stood for. I might live the rest of my life without ever figuring that out. Given my diligent efforts with the shuttle thus far, that'd be about seven minutes.

  Step three complete.

  Step 4: Wait approximately thirty (30) seconds until fuel status display reads READY on panel C-12.

  Panel C-12 was mounted on the cockpit ceiling. That was rational. The letter 'C' either meant 'center' or 'ceiling', and both terms were acceptable. I hoped the guy who'd designed that panel had gotten a promotion, possibly to a job vacated after the designer of Panel S-8 had been stuffed into a meat grinder.

  I flipped the switch and stared at the fuel status display. It shortly announced its readiness.

  Step 5: Activate flight interface on primary console and continue to follow instructions.

  Okay.

  I tapped the main panel directly in front of the pilot's seat. It came to life, showing me a dizzying array of controls and indicators.

  This is gonna be fun.

  At the far side of the screen - next to flight controls - was a copy of the same flight manual I was holding.

  Ah.

  I turned the tablet off and stuffed it in my tool-kit, then turned my attention to the manual on the screen.

  Huh.

  It was telling me to input a destination and then initiate the shuttle's engines. I got the impression that the rest of the steps would be done here - on this panel. That didn't make sense... and nothing mentioned mentioned a RATU option. It seemed like that step would come before I strapped myself in.

  Right?

  I scrolled through the manual on the screen, searching for the part where it said "get out and connect Jimmy to Felix".

  I didn't find it.

  It has to be in here. I thought. Right about then, I caught a flash of movement through the cockpit window.

  Fuck.

  The door to the shuttlebay had just opened, revealing the Firian from earlier. He was armed with a rifle.

  I froze.

  It wasn't obvious that he'd seen me - the cockpit lights were still out in the shuttle - but I figured it was only a matter of time. He moved slowly, deliberately, and with the weapon pointed in front of him.

  He's not here on some random errand.

  He's here for me.

  How the hell did he know?

  The Firian looked directly at me. He squinted for a moment, as though he wasn't sure what he was seeing. Probably the helmet of my suit. It wouldn't look Human at first glance, not in the dark and not from a distance.

  His expression hardened, and I knew that he'd worked it out. I suddenly couldn't breathe. My hands were numb. I didn't feel scared, but my body was sure as hell going through the motions. He raised the rifle, pointed it at my head, and fired.

  The shuttle had a strong canopy; it splintered on impact but didn't shatter. I dropped to floor, then curled into a ball and covered my head. The next shot was sure to destroy the window, raining shards of reinforced glass on me.

  I held my breath, but nothing happened. A few seconds passed, and then another few.

  Shit.

  My mind was racing, and not in a productive direction. What the hell am I supposed to do? Stay in the shuttle and lock the door? Take off running across the open bay? Something else altogether? I was good at a lot of things, but close-quarters combat wasn't among them; especially against something that could re-grow limbs, like Firian were known to do.

  I have to move anyway, I decided. The guy had seen me (and was probably summoning backup). However laughable my odds, they wouldn't improve with time.

  Aiming my rifle the shuttle's hatch, I tapped the door control. It slid open, and I cringed at the noise. I approached the opening slowly, scanning the bay as best I could. The main lights were still offline, so they bay was dim, but not dark. I took a careful step out of the shuttle, sweeping the rifle back and forth.

  Nothing.

  Jesus, what am I doing?

  The weapon shook noticeably in my hands, and I realized that I was screwed. Even if I'd had extensive combat training (ha!) I was at a horrific tactical disadvantage.

  I spun around, continuing to sweep the bay. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing.

  Then I saw the front of the shuttle, and my heart sank.

  It wasn't just the canopy that had been damaged. I might have lived without that. The whole nose assembly was blasted. Vital systems. Fluid tanks. Shards of metal surrounded the impact point, and a puddle of blue liquid was collecting beneath it.

  The Felix was probably dead.

  I would be too, if I didn't figure out where my assailant had gone.

  The most likely possibility, I decided, was that my new friend was standing on the far side of the shuttle with his weapon trained on the door. He'd probably want to keep me contained until reinforcements arrived. It was a good strategy when time was on your side.

  I decided to change that calculus.

  The shuttlebay's exterior (space) door was a study in conflicting design requirements. The engineers knew there'd be people on one side of it and a vacuum on the other. That called for multiple safeguards. At the same time, there were certain emergencies that would require the door to be opened easily. This explained the large ungainly lever on the back wall of the shuttlebay. It was impossible to pull it by accident, but once triggered, it would open the door at a snail's pace, sucking the oxygen out while giving people a few precious moments to evacuate.

  I ran to the lever while keeping an eye on the rest of the bay. With the rifle still aimed in the general direction of the shuttle, I yanked down on the lever until it locked into place.

  Red strobes flashed and a horrific wail filled the bay. It was followed shortly by the hiss of escap
ing air. In less than a minute, all the air would be gone. Breathing would get impossible before that. My reactor suit would generate oxygen, but it wouldn't hold up to the vacuum. It would pop and I'd eventually suffocate, but so would my new friend. I ducked behind a structural pillar, braced myself against the decompression, and trained my weapon on the door's lever. If the Firian Trader wanted to live, he'd have to get over there. Now.