With Our Dying Breath

by Unknown

  "At least now we know we're burned," Mathesse offered casually, being the first to break the silence as Oswald feared would be the case.

  "Sir," McFarran rubbed his chin as he spoke, "it seems our puzzle gets bigger the more pieces we find. The question is, what will we do— what can we do—if we get all the pieces together?"

  "I don't know, Hashi." Oswald shrugged, finally lifting his eyes from the table. "Here we are four-hundred and twenty-three years later and the Earth is still missing. I guess we start working on plans for long term survival in a very hostile universe."

  "It is not four-hundred and twenty-three years in the future," Danner growled through clenched teeth. He slapped the table, causing the recorder to bounce and Oswald to glare at him. He withered under the flight commander's glare but did not capitulate his point. "It is impossible! There is no mechanic to even theorize about it, sir."

  "And how do you explain the exit velocity? Or the heat build?" Kirsk challenged. "Those aren't supposed to happen either. Look at that timestamp! And all the others we've seen, Danner. Even if we aren't four-hundred years in the future, we're at least fifteen. The master clocks don't lie—"

  "Then it's some sort of prank—" Danner was immediately interrupted by several incredulous voices and incredulous laughs.

  "I'm all for being skeptical—" Breen started.

  "Shut up, Danner." Mathesse rolled his eyes. "Or at least wake up. Look around a bit before you keep running your yap-trap. We're on the moon and the big blue thing that is supposed to go with it is gone." He jabbed a finger in Danner's face, who retreated as far as the bench would allow. "Or at least come up with an idea that doesn't make you sound so freakin' stupid."

  "That is enough, Mathesse!" McFarran rose from his seat as far as he could and slapped Mathesse's hand away from Danner's face. Mathesse's face went bright red and he stood in response, each in a half crouch glaring at each other across the table.

  "Don't you freakin' touch me, Frenchy!" Mathesse grabbed McFarran's wrist and pulled hard. The two men struggled amidst the rising din of objections and pleas from everyone else there.

  "Asher!" Oswald barked. "Let him go right now." He locked eyes with Mathesse for a long burning moment and the tactical officer finally relented, flinging McFarran's arm away and dropping back into his seat.

  The Aux Officer looked between Oswald and Mathesse, rolling his wrist around once before returning to his own seat.

  "Now. Does everyone see how pointless that all was?" Oswald considered getting the Delamain but a look around at the terrified and angry faces of his remaining staff contraindicated that idea. "I think we all need some time to process this. At least I know I do. We need ideas on what to do."

  "Is there even anything we can do?" Breen asked dismally.

  "Those are the types of things we need to think on. I know two things: I don't want to die just yet and I do want to know what happened to Earth." He tapped the small box. "Now she said some sort of biological genocide, which wouldn't disintegrate the Earth—unless those Centipedes have a planet eating flu. We probably don't have any shots for that one." Oswald regretted the weak joke, immediately wishing to go back in time for a do over. He'd been wishing for that often. A couple offered desultory smiles; the rest politely ignored it.

  "Anyway," he continued, "I think for now Roland needs a break. A nice long one at that." Oswald turned to his Aux. "Did the engineers decide anything about the habs?"

  "Sir, while I was departing the mausoleum the engineering team had started pressurizing the habitat. By the time I made it to Roland they had pressurized two sections and they were holding." McFarran smiled thinly. "It looks like they might be habitable."

  "Good. That's our top priority. I want one watch fixing the habitats and I want the other securing Roland to standby mode." Oswald crossed his arms again. "We've been through the fire and back. This isn't Earth, but it is at least planetside. Sort of."

  "I agree with that," Hines added. "We also need to control the impact of this news. We need to give it time, give it a soft pillow to land on." Everyone looked in disbelieve at the staunchly unsympathetic flight surgeon. "What? Anyway, except for those who won't believe it not matter what," the doctor cast a furtive glance at Danner, "this is the death of hope. There is no going home; we are firmly in the new world. And it doesn't look very welcoming."

  Doctor Hines considered Danner intently, who turned away from the clinical scrutiny. "Actually, those who refuse to believe it against all proof may be the least dangerous. They will continue to be protected by their refusal to accept truth. "

  "I concur," Oswald said. "Let's all be very careful about the questions we'll get. We don't want to lie—"

  "Yes we do," Mathesse quipped.

  "We don't want to lie," Oswald repeated, glaring at Mathesse, who just pursed his lips in reply. "Not full big rainbow up the skirt lies at any rate. We'll have to tell everyone at some point and I’m sure most will figure it out before then. But we all need time to work through what we know. Just tell them honestly that you don't know." He pointed at Mathesse, who looked away slowly. "And that is true."

  "Sir, that is very good. I shall get things started right away." McFarran tilted his head, awaiting official dismissal from the flight commander before leaving.

  "It will be hard, but we still need to keep an eye out for suicides. We," Oswald circled his finger around the table, "need to talk to each other. We need to look out for each other.

  "I want everyone working in two-man teams, no exceptions. I also don't want anyone off exploring the ruins. We have few enough already and I certainly don't want to lose someone because they were looking for the latest Solar Unrest! vid." That did bring a few half-hearted snorts; a little better than last time. "Breen, you and I are going to see if we can do anything with these coordinates for the Centipedes." Oswald snatched up the box. "Dismissed."

  Chapter 21 Oswald and McFarran cycled the airlock to the habitat and slowly exited. They turned to face it to make sure that a positive seal was indicated and the pressure on the inside remained stable. They turned and bounced in short steps, trying their hardest to add solemnity to the ceremony.

  The crew of the Roland was lined up in formation at the foot of the rocket. Their backs were to the habitat, facing a newly dug crater onehundred meters distant. Oswald and McFarran split up and took position at each end of the first rank. As there were a limited number of the more agile EVA suits, everyone was in their combat vacc-suits.

  Oswald and McFarran had just laid the final body bag in the mausoleum. The sixteen bodies had been set shoulder to shoulder on the bottom scaffolding, their emergency body bags to hold their mortal remains forevermore.

  Further exploration of the resting place of Earth's leading citizens had revealed a large crate of unused Earth Force funeral rockets. Oswald did not know if the Centipedes had planned on using them and reneged after the murdering was done or if they had used some and this crate was a spare. He presumed the murdering freaks committed the former.

  Each of the surviving crew members acted as a pallbearer for at least one of the deceased. The spaces involved only allowed two pallbearers for each body. Five of the bodies had suffered severe enough decay to shift noticeably on the journey beneath the regolith. Fortunately none of the body bags gave way, as the crew was living in the three restored habitats for the time being.

  The small funeral rockets had been set in the crater before them by two of Danner's engineers. The crate had so many that Oswald decided to launch seven rockets for each of the fourteen dead they had just interred and the eight other Rangers whose bodies lay strewn years and light years away.

  Oswald and McFarran turned towards each other just enough to be able to see each other's nod.

  "Major Jeremy Bowens," McFarran intoned gravely. Oswald discreetly pressed the small remote in his hand and seven small rockets flared noiselessly into the night sky. They burned brightly at the first to remember the life of the departed and bur
ned out peacefully to wish rest in whatever the beyond held. He had not been sure if the rockets could make escape velocity so ordered the launchers pointed away from Luna City.

  "Lieutenant Yun Chan." Seven rockets into the dark.

  "Lieutenant Sally Krace." Seven streamers of life into death.

  "Major Terrance Luskin." Seven.

  "Command Sergeant Kenneth Salazar." Seven more.

  "Specialist Monique Sharp." Seven more silent candles flew away.

  Name. Seven rockets. Another name. Seven more. Oswald watched barrage after barrage fly into the star field above them. A few of the ancient rockets sputtered or outright failed. The silent lights of the dead had mesmerized him, brought him down into deep reflection. So much so that he had led them in a long pause after the last name had been read and the last flares had already winked away.

  Oswald and McFarran turned to face each other and saluted. Then they turned to face the formation.

  "Roland, hand-salute!" McFarran called softly over the radio. The crew responded and dropped their arms back down into the best similarity of attention they could manage in the bulky suits. Spacers called it astro-tension.

  "On behalf of the Supreme Commander of Earth Force and a grateful world," Oswald almost vomited over the words, "we offer this fiery display in memory of the faithful and honorable service of our fallen companions.

  "We go on to face challenges and mysteries without their guidance, without their wisdom, and without their hands to steady our faltering steps.

  "Roland's lost children will live on with us, having forever forged part of our souls." Oswald fought down the urge to blurt out that they were survived by no one since everyone else was dead. "We have stars to move and their presence will be missed. Ad Astra!"

  His headset filled with "Ad Astra!" from the crew as their disembodied heads mouthed the words behind their visors. He played canned verses from the ballad Will Sol Cry For You by Marylyn Gordon. NASA's first colony ship, Eden's Bounty, was carrying the volunteers to move into and expand the small cluster of habits placed on Mars by robots and rovers. At the last minute the colony capsule was hit by a micro-meteor. The pilots almost managed to save the colony lander but the numbers were against them; all the colonists died. The Eden's flight crew returned to Earth in sorrow and disgrace. The EF Space Service adopted portions of the lengthy ballad for its funeral services.

  ...Rocketman, will Sol cry for you...

  Oswald could see the glistening of many cheeks in the soft glow of their helmets. They would need time. It was a painful release, like a boil being lanced, but it was needed. Oswald felt emotional too, but his catharsis had come already in the hours spent replaying Anahita's message. "Dismissed. Remember to wear your rescue collars."

  The crew of the Roland split into three groups, each group having been assigned one of the remaining livable habitats. They were free to mingle and explore among them as they liked but the vacc-suits took up a lot of space and to prevent clutter, each had been assigned a specific docking station.

  Soft sobbing, laughing, and murmuring mingled through the thin inner walls. They had been living in the surprisingly well-conditioned habitats for three days now. The repairs had gone quickly and spirits had greatly soared at the small flavor of home the lunar modules offered.

  Oswald was the last into his habitat. He wrestled the vacc-suit off and quickly slipped his rescue collar over his head. He trusted his team, but not the four-hundred year old habitats that much.

  The collars had built in oxygen and pressure sensors that triggered when either parameter went below the set threshold. The effect was to shoot a bubble of semitransparent glop (which is actually what the instruction manual termed it) over the wearer's head. Its outer shell immediately hardened to provide chemical reaction that produced described, it was a rescue device only good for about four hours.

  The lounge in habitat three had become the de facto staff conference room. When Oswald entered, McFarran, Mathesse, Breen, Kirsk, Trese, and Norris were seated at various places around the capsule. He looked around and saw that Danner was not there. He hadn't been joining them unless ordered to since he and Mathesse had exchanged words. That worried Oswald, but he didn't think being heavy handed about anything at this point would be helpful.

  "That was a nice ceremony, Colonel," Norris said.

  "Thanks. That was just too many. Usually you only get a list like that when the whole ship is lost. Then you get some prime minister who wants to bloviate after the reading to his captive audience."

  "I watched the replays of services where they'd read my name twice." Mathesse smiled and tapped his Lucky Star.

  "Just twice?" Norris shifted to get a better look at Mathesse's medal. "I see two extra stars. I thought you were on three destroyed craft."

  "Oh, I was. But the last one, Swift, they didn't know we were KIA until the rescue."

  "Geez." Breen scanned the medal too. "How did you survive? I know people have, but I mean, what did you do?"

  "Yes, Mathesse." McFarran spoke without so much as glancing at the tactical officer. "Given the way things are now, it might be good to have some... helpful advice. How did you survive?"

  "Do you really want me to tell, Colonel?"

  "Only what you feel comfortable doing." Oswald offered a weary grin. "Personally, I'm free for the rest of the evening."

  pressure and the glop began a a breathable oxygen mix. As

  "Well," Mathesse started after taking a loud draw of air through his teeth, "to be honest, the first Lucky Star was just that. Pure and simple luck."

  "What craft?"

  "That was Julian Brevard."

  "You were on the Julie B.?" Trese sounded very impressed. "I didn't know anyone could have survived that. I saw the recovery vids."

  "Yeah, those Centipede warheads don't play. I was near the reactor on a repair team. We'd been hit already and then another one snuck in and pretty much cut Julie into pieces. I just happened be on the other side of the heat sink. And those are pretty tough."

  "It was floating for while though," Breen pressed. "Even if you had a full suit of air—"

  "I jumped around the wreckage, carefully mind you, and gathered as much O2 as I could. I set up a series of zip lines between the segments. I, uh, had to tap into some dead folks tanks."

  "Oh God," Norris gasped.

  "That's not nearly as bad as the São Paulo." Mathesse paused, looking as if he were reconsidering.

  "You don't have to, Asher." Oswald had his own stories that he planned on keeping to his grave. He suspected there might more such stories in the imminent future.

  "No, it's alright. I just don't think about those things if I can help it. But I'm sure the good doctor would say it was cathartic to bear my soul."

  "I had a good friend on São Paulo." McFarran was looking at Mathesse now. "Fabrice Baschet."

  "Figures."

  "Because he was French?" Hashi raised an eyebrow.

  "No." Mathesse gave McFarran a wry smile. "Because he was an idiot."

  "Oh, so you did know him."

  The room's sudden tension deflated and Mathesse gave a snort of laughter.

  "Doroteya Ilyinishna Vikasheva, aka Dorothy, was the woman I had to kill to survive." The tension built up again; Norris gasped. "We were at full burn, trying to evade the final shot of a Centauri war craft we'd fragged three hours prior. I never did know what they hit us with, but I'm guessing their version of a T-REX.

  "Dorothy and I were life support techs at the time. We were strapped into the kibitzer bench. Whatever hit us went right up the wazoo and burned every core compartment. Everyone else fried, even two others in our compartment. Again, the first part was luck." Mathesse tapped his Lucky Star.

  "We were out pretty far and like I said we were burning up deltaV like Cerberus was trying to bite our butt—and he was. So we, the two of us, were in a high-speed rocket with no engine, reactor, or controls. I didn't even know where we were headed.

  "But,
most of the supplies—air tanks and rations—were good. I had a hand cranked generator in my tools so we could power the water recyclers. But it still wasn't enough."

  "Man," Breen muttered.

  "Man is right. We took stock, and after two weeks we didn't know where we were exactly but we knew there wasn't enough for both of us. Dorothy suggested a lottery. I won. I shot her in the head because she couldn't bring herself to jump into the big black." Mathesse took several shallow breaths. "She begged me to kill her. Suicide was a mortal sin to her. I always wondered if she was in essence asking me to suffer eternally in her place. It was... very hard to do."

  The room grew heavy once again, each person staring off into the difficult choices of their past for comparison. Oswald had never had to literally pull a trigger on a friend, but he had done the same. The Rangers had died so Roland could live. He saw the laser pistol on Mathesse's belt and decided that might be a good idea.

  "Six months later some EF scout latched on looking for the flight recorder. It didn't even survive the blast. All they got was a half-mad, crap-stained, mumbling skeleton wearing my vacc-suit. I figured it out; it cost about fifty-million bucks to save my sorry butt. Even if it wasn't me they were looking for."

  "Half-mad?" McFarran raised both brows this time.

  "Oh, yes. But don't worry, Aux. EF flight psych division cleared that half." Mathesse gave a wild smile that made everyone immediately uncomfortable. Oswald couldn't decide if the insanity behind it was feigned or just reigned in. He would definitely be making a trip to Roland's armory.

  "And the third?" Norris asked gently.

  "That one... I'm not ready to talk about." Mathesse's faced shifted between distant anger and sorrow. "All that to say, Aux, is that I'm probably not the person to ask advice on how you might survive."