by Piers Platt
“Yeah,” Muir said, shaking her hand. “I’ll see you in orbit over Olympus.”
Jiyake started to leave and then stopped, turning back to face the resupply ship captain. “Muir?”
“Yeah?”
“The Ecolympus crew – they took good care of their ship, right?”
“Sure,” Muir said, frowning. “The ship’s pretty new, but I’ve seen them doing hull maintenance. And Greban had them in dry dock for services just a couple months ago. Why?”
“Just wondering what could have caused a top-of-the-line luxury liner to suddenly fall out of the sky,” Jiyake said.
“I imagine we’ll find out,” Muir said.
“Yeah. Keep your eyes peeled,” Jiyake said, and then disappeared down the docking tube.
* * *
“Crew’s mustered and at their stations, ma’am,” Chief Risley reported, greeting Jiyake as she entered the bridge. He was a short, barrel-chested man, with a bristling black mustache.
Jiyake nodded. “Thanks, Chief.”
According to her wristpad, it was now seventeen minutes after she had sent out the mobilization order. Several of the crew on the bridge were sweating and breathing hard – she guessed that a number of them had been asleep, while others had likely been spread out across Harrison’s Waypoint, conducting routine inspections and carrying out their administrative duties.
Fifteen minutes was overly optimistic, she told herself. They did well to make it here as fast as they did.
Jiyake picked up a wireless headset and slipped it on over her head, before taking a seat at her command station, overlooking the patrol ship’s crescent-shaped bridge. Through her ear-piece she heard snippets of radio chatter from the various ships docking at the deep-space station. She tapped a button on her armrest, and then cleared her throat.
“The Ecolympus just crashed with seven souls aboard,” she told the crew, over the ship’s PA system. “The Liberty Belle’s headed to Olympus to try to effect a rescue, and we’re going to follow to provide support. I’m sure you have questions, but time is of the essence – we’ll do a more detailed briefing en route. For now, all departments, run final flight diagnostics and report status.”
The bridge burst into noise – Jiyake tuned it out, letting her chief of the boat handle reports from the ship’s various departments. Instead, she switched channels on her microphone, and hailed space traffic control.
“Harrison’s Control, this is CGS Extremis,” she said.
“This is Control. We’re putting inbound traffic on hold to keep the lanes clear for your departure, Commander.”
“I appreciate it,” Jiyake told them. She glanced out the forward windshield, and saw the Liberty Belle pull away from the station, its engines flaring briefly as it headed toward deep space. Farther down the line of parallel docking arms protruding from the station, a larger ship pulled away soon afterward.
Who the hell is that? She frowned. That’s bad form, launching in the middle of a rescue op.
“Ma’am?” a signalman asked. “I’ve got Captain Hylie on the line for you.”
“Put her through,” Jiyake said. Let’s hope she has good news for us.
Chapter 11
Falken opened his eyes, but the darkness still pressed in around him.
I’m alive, at least. That’s something.
He tried to move, but a firm, warm liquid resisted him – it took nearly ten seconds for him to bring his hand to his face. He felt something hard and smooth under his fingers, and realized it was the faceplate to his pod helmet. Falken pulled it off and gel rushed in, covering his nose and mouth. Falken gagged, choking. He flailed ineffectually in the liquid, and felt his arm brush against something hard. He grabbed it instinctively, and suddenly the gel slid away, draining rapidly out of the pod. He could see now – the unit’s lid was just above him, still wet from the gel that had filled the pod.
Falken grunted and pushed against the lid, and it swung open. From the pod around him, the remaining gel dripped upward toward the room’s ceiling, and after a moment of gut-churning disorientation, he realized he was upside down, the pod hanging in the air from what had been the floor.
Ship must have rolled when it hit. But it looks like the safety systems kicked in.
He shook his head to clear it of any lingering confusion, and then reached for the straps to his harness.
Christ. I haven’t felt this disoriented since waking up from my time on Oz.
Falken lowered himself out of the pod and crossed the floor – formerly the room’s ceiling – to the next pod over. He fumbled with the pod’s latch and gel gushed out, pooling around his ankles. Inside, Ed hung from the machine’s harness, groaning.
“You okay?” Falken asked, helping him climb down.
“I think so,” Ed replied. His face was ashen. “Where are we? What happened?”
Falken ignored him and continued on to the next pod, letting the gel drain out, before helping Raynard out of it. The journalist looked shaken, but relieved to see Falken.
“I thought I was going to drown in there,” he said.
“They’re designed to flood with gel in case of an emergency,” Falken said. “Keep you safe like a chick inside an egg. But they’re supposed to drain after a few seconds – something must have malfunctioned.”
“Hey, Ed,” Raynard said, seeing the older man. “Is everyone else okay?”
“Finding out,” Falken said, unlatching the next pod. Vina stumbled out a moment later, gel dripping from her bodysuit. Raynard took her arm to steady her.
“Greban!” Falken called out absentmindedly, growing annoyed that his colleague hadn’t yet arrived to help. Then realization dawned. “Oh shit, he wasn’t in a pod when we went down.”
Falken hurriedly opened the last two pods, which spilled out Kuda and Shep.
“Everyone look each other over, check for injuries,” Falken ordered. He sloshed across the room to the doorway, which stood half open. The door panel ignored his touch, so he put his back against the frame and heaved, forcing the door wider. “Greban!”
The corridor was dark, lit only dimly by phosphorescent emergency strips along the ceiling. Falken climbed through the door and headed forward. In the planet’s lower gravity, and without a pool of gel to impede him, he seemed to float with each step, hop-bouncing each time he moved. When he reached the galley, it appeared empty – pots and utensils littered the floor, and he could hear liquids dripping out of one of the room’s large refrigerators.
Damnit, Greban – where are you?
In the lounge, the great stone table hung from the ceiling – Falken avoided it instinctively, careful not to walk under it. The vidscreen at the front of the room lay on the ground, cracked and sparking. Falken stepped over a spilled coffee urn, and made his way through another hatch into the ship’s cockpit. He heard a groan.
In the darkness, Greban lay across a control panel, propped up against the ship’s sloping forward viewport.
“There you are,” Falken said, with relief.
“Where are the guests?” Greban asked, grimacing and holding his side.
“Back in the displacement room. They’re okay,” Falken said. “How are you?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Greban said. “I felt a jolt, I ran up here and we were in a spin. I tried to pull us up but we lost altitude so fast, and then we hit the drone patrol line, and they shot my maneuvering jets all to shit.”
“We made it, that’s all that matters,” Falken said. He eyed Greban’s side. “You’re in pain.”
“I forgot to put my safety harness on. I went flying when we hit.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“My ribs, here,” Greban said, touching them gingerly. “And I think my ankle’s sprained.”
Falken knelt and inspected his ankle gently. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
“The ribs hurt worse,” Greban said.
“Can you move?” Falken asked.
Greban nodded wea
kly. Falken helped him off the floor – he gasped in pain at first, but eventually, he managed to hobble back through the lounge, leaning heavily on Falken and swearing quietly. They found the guests waiting in the ship’s corridor.
“Is everyone okay?” Greban asked.
“Yeah,” Raynard said. “We’re all a little scared, but okay.”
“Okay, as long as no one’s hurt,” Greban said.
“This is real, right?” Kuda asked, sharing a look with his brother. “Like … this isn’t some simulated thing with the displacement units that you guys are doing to make this trip more exciting, right?”
“It’s real,” Falken said, helping Greban sit on the floor. “We’re on the surface of Olympus.”
“What happened?” Vina asked.
Greban lifted his injured leg in his hands, straightening it out. “There was some kind of explosion,” he said. “The force of the blast knocked us out of orbit – we got pulled in by the planet’s gravity well. I ran to the cockpit and tried to maneuver, but the explosion must have disabled the ship’s engines, as well.”
“So what now?” Shep asked.
“Now they’re going to get us the hell out of here,” Ed said, before Greban could answer. “We’re on Olympus, for Christ’s sake.”
Falken eyed him. “Yeah, we are. And we’re going to get out of here.”
“So take off,” Ed demanded. “Get us back in orbit at once.”
“Look around, Ed,” Falken said, gesturing at the dark corridor in exasperation. “You really think this ship is flyable? The lights aren’t even on.” He shook his head. “I’m going to see if we have enough power to radio the Adrenaline Junkies. They’ll be able to organize a rescue ship, if they haven’t already done so.”
“Can I come?” Vina asked.
“No,” Falken said. “I need you guys to help collect up emergency supplies. We don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck here, so we need to plan for the worst.”
“I want to change out of this suit first,” Ed complained.
Falken stepped closer to him, towering over the older man. “Listen, Ed. This is no longer a vacation, and I’m not your fucking tour guide anymore. I’m the guy that’s going to keep you alive. So shut the fuck up, and do what I ask. Are we clear?”
Ed’s jaw worked in silent shock for a moment, and then he nodded.
“Good. Greban will tell you where to find water and containers for it. Then start gathering any food you can find.”
Falken made his way back to the cockpit and found a headset amongst the tangle of spare equipment littering the floor. He pulled it on, and then reached up to tap on a control panel over his head. The screen was cracked, but it came to life, flickering, the root menu upside down from his point of view. Falken found the communications controls, and tuned to the Adrenaline Junkies’ frequency.
“Ad Junkies, this is Ecolympus, over.”
In his headset, all he could hear was a low drone of static.
“Ad Junkies, Ad Junkies, this is Ecolympus, please respond.”
C’mon.
The headphones crackled, and he heard a familiar female voice. “Falken?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, Hylie. I’m here.”
“Jesus Christ, Falken. What happened? Are you guys okay?”
“We’re okay – all guests safe and accounted for. Greban’s banged up a bit, but he’ll be okay.”
“We put in a mayday call already,” the owner of the Adrenaline Junkies told him. “The Liberty Belle was just arriving back at Harrison’s Waypoint when I got through, but they’re refueling and getting ready to come right back here again. Shit, if I could get clearance from the Conservation Department, I’d come down there and pull you out myself, but I’m not rated for atmospheric entry.”
“I know,” Falken said. “Thanks for making the call. Any ETA on the Belle?”
“Not yet. They said they’d call us back when they leave the station. But they can make the trip in three hours, if they push it.”
“Yeah. We should be okay until then,” Falken said. “We’ve got food and water, we’ll just hunker down and stay inside ‘til they get here.”
“If you can run diagnostics, you may want to check your oh-two levels,” Hylie suggested. “We saw the damage as you went in – and that was before you hit the ground. I’d be surprised if you didn’t have a breach somewhere along your hull.”
“Shit,” Falken said. “You’re right. I better get on that.” A warning message appeared on the screen: >>>Battery reserves low. Signal disruption may occur. Falken frowned at the warning.
“You guys have emergency oxygen?”
“Some,” Falken said. “I’ll call you back in a bit.”
“Stay safe,” Hylie said.
Falken cut the connection and slipped the headset off. He tapped on the screen over his head again, accessing the ship’s diagnostics menu. But when he tried to start the test, the screen showed an error message.
>>>Hull sensor network non-responsive. Integrity unknown.
Falken swore, and tried a different menu option.
>>>Interior atmospheric content: 77.3% nitrogen, 20.2% oxygen, 1.5% carbon dioxide.
Wonderful, Falken thought. But what the hell are the levels supposed to be at?
He shut the screen off in frustration, and then reached over to the wall and yanked open a box marked Fire / Emergency. Inside were a fire extinguisher, a flashlight, and a full-face mask with a small bottle of oxygen. He took the flashlight and oxygen mask, and hurried back into the lounge. He found another oxygen mask in a box near the lounge’s entrance, and removed it before heading to the main corridor.
Vina and Ed were just setting large plastic jugs of water down on the floor next to Greban.
“Take a break from the drinking water,” Falken told them. He handed Greban one of the oxygen masks. “Inside every guest suite you’ll find an emergency kit next to the door. It’s got a mask, like this. Grab all the masks and dump them here.”
“Are we running out of air?” Vina asked, a frown creasing her forehead.
“I hope not. But better to be prepared, just in case,” Falken said.
She nodded, and Ed followed her down the hall, avoiding Falken’s gaze.
“You scared the shit out of him,” Greban chuckled, when they had disappeared into the farthest room.
“Good,” Falken grunted. “I was getting tired of his shit. I got through to Hylie – help is on the way. We’ll be fine on food and water until they get here, but she got me worried about air.”
“Shit, she’s right. Hull damage?”
Falken shook his head. “Diagnostics are down. I gotta go out there and check.”
Greban’s eyes widened. “You’re going to go outside? How far from the mountain are we?”
“Probably not far enough,” Falken said, pulling the mask into place.
“Jesus, Falken – be careful.”
Falken gave him a tight smile, and headed for the ship’s airlock.
Chapter 12
Jens stopped at the base of the entry ladder. His hands trembled as he gripped the lower rungs, and he paused for a second, steadying himself against the cold steel. He took a deep breath.
I can’t do this. Jesus, I can’t do this.
Jens shook his head and then started to climb, emerging several seconds later into the glass-covered cab of the cargo-lifter crane. He took a seat at the crane’s controls, and through long force of habit, spun the crane in a slow circle, getting a full view of the crane’s surroundings. The cab protruded several meters above the hull of one of the space station’s docking arms, and the position afforded him an excellent view of the nearby space traffic around the perimeter of Harrison’s Waypoint. Today, however, he was surprised to see no incoming ships. Behind him – several arms away – he saw the Liberty Belle pushing out of its slip, along with a second ship he did not recognize. Immediately in front of him, the CGS Extremis sat nestled alongside the station’s d
ocking arm, running lights blinking. Jens eyed the Colonial Guard vessel warily, and then touched the crane’s controls, extending the crane out to its fullest extent. He put his feet on the floor pedals, and pushed down with his left foot, causing the crane’s heavy boom to swing through a slow arc to the left, coming to a stop just beyond the CGS Extremis’ bow. Then he carefully lowered the boom, until it was nearly touching the ship’s hull.
I don’t have a choice.
Jens wavered for a moment, and then stabbed a button on the console. He heard ringing, and then his wife’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, honey?”
“Kady?” his voice cracked.
“What?” she asked. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Kady, I’m sorry. I fucked up so bad. I’m so sorry.”
“What? Jens, what are you talking about?”
Through a blur of tears, he punched the console again, cutting the connection. Then, angrily, he jammed his right foot down, and the crane’s boom slid to the right. As he watched, the tip of the boom slammed into the Extremis’ bow, and the jarring impact shook Jens all the way up in the crane’s cab. He held his foot down, and the boom continued swinging right, tearing a ragged line down the ship’s hull. Jens saw hull pieces and other debris tumbling off into space, and atmosphere venting out at several points along the breach. He let his foot up off the pedal then, and pulled the crane’s boom up. For a second, he just stared at the carnage he had caused, noting the sound of alarm sirens hooting in the distance. He gasped in shock as a jet of flame bloomed out of the aft end of the breach along the Extremis’ hull. Then, with fumbling fingers, he pulled a small bottle of whiskey out of his pocket, held it up to his lips, and drained it, the fiery liquid searing his throat.
* * *
“Loss of pressure in compartments three through nine port-side!” Chief Risley said.
“Hull breach!” Jiyake announced over the Extremis’ PA system. “This is not a drill.” Throughout the ship, crewmembers scrambled to don their emergency survival masks.
