Sunspots and Forever Dark Omnibus

by Gary Martin

  “Tim, can you stay in the cargo bay and see if you can work out why the hangar went walkies? And um, thanks for that.”

  “Anytime, John. I’m happy to help out any way I can,” he says in his odd voice, and then walks to the cargo bay. I follow Kerry and Mark up to the bridge.

  5

  Mark sits at his station, puts on his headphones and mic, and looks at the screen. He pulls a face and beckons me over.

  “Ian didn't log out. If you're going leave your station, even for a piss, you always log out,” he says.

  I look over to Kerry.

  “Anything?” I ask.

  “Same here at the pilot console, John,” she says and shrugs her shoulders.

  “Why wouldn't they have logged out? Something must have happened really quickly. Mark, can you scan for the hangar?” I ask.

  “Already doing it, and as far as I can tell, it's about sixty kilometres ahead and moving away from us towards the Sun.”

  I look out of the tinted viewports, squint my eyes and can just make out a small rectangle silhouetted against the Sun. I turn away. Even with the specialised glass it's still pretty fucking bright.

  “That's not too far away, but if Robert can't get the engines running, it may as well be on Pluto. My guess is that Tom and his shift were on board, and after the engines failed, decided to continue the job using the hangar only. It has thrusters either side, top and bottom, so the dump tech can aim it, so I expect they also can be used to propel it. They'll just get to the usual safe distance, open the massive door on the front, use the pneumatic ram to expel all the waste containers into the Sun, turn around, and rendezvous with us. We all live happily ever after.”

  I think about what I've just said. It sort of explains what could have happened, but it just makes me realise how many unanswered questions there really are. Too many. I'm pinning all my hopes on the fact that Tom’s shift are all over there, safe and sound, just doing their jobs, a tiny bit heroically. I didn't know that the hangar could detach, and neither did Robert. It's possible that Sam, the engineer who works opposite Robert, knew this. She’s young and enthusiastic enough to own all the manuals and blueprints. But to the best of my knowledge, since Sunspots Waste Disposal Inc. acquired the two ships around twenty years ago, they have never been separated. That would make doing it off the cuff really quite dangerous, for both parts of the ship. If our engines had failed, we'd radio for assistance, not take a joy ride. I also really can't believe all this would have gone down, and no one thought to tell us. No way.

  “Mark, can you see if you can contact them?” I ask.

  “Erm … I don't know if it can receive wireless transmissions when it's detached. If anyone's down there doing anything, we normally just talk through the intercom. You know, internally,” he replies.

  “I understand the concept of the intercom, Mark. Shit. Try as many frequencies as possible then, it may have some sort of old radio installed that hasn't been used for a while. Tom’s crew are probably working on it now.”

  “Tom’s a clever guy, John, he knows our frequency. It might make sense to wait for them to contact us.”

  “Okay, see if you can contact the company then, and see what they think we should do,” I say.

  “Fine, but we’ve passed Venus so it'll be a while before we get any response,” Mark says.

  “I know, and hopefully it'll all have blown over by then, but just in case, they can at least send a ship to tow us back. After that, can you contact Robert and see how he's doing down there?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was go down to engineering and see if there was anything I could do to help, but I was running quickly out of ideas on the bridge.

  “Actually, I'll go down and see if he needs an extra pair of hands,” I eventually say.

  Kerry gets out of her chair.

  “I'll go with you, it may help to keep the pair of you daft bastards civil,” she says as she’s walking towards the hatch.

  “I can't really argue with that, so I'll let you go first. He's probably in a sulk with everyone now,” I say.

  “Not me,” Mark says with a grin.

  Kerry flips him the finger and gives me a look that suggests I should man the fuck up, and then goes on ahead anyway.

  We climb down the four levels and see Robert lying down underneath the main part of the engine shaft, with tools and parts all over the deck. How he managed to get under there, God only knows. He sees us and awkwardly pulls himself out. He looks straight at Kerry, ignoring me completely.

  “I tried to start the engines, but at the moment they're dead. I've tried all the usual ways, and a few alternative start-up procedures, and still nothing. Normally this would mean one of a few things has happened. I've checked all the relays, the solenoids are working fine and the cooler system doors are opening and closing without resistance. I haven't checked the fuel tanks yet, it could well be a problem with the line somewhere,” he tells her.

  “You mean someone has to go into the inspection tubes?” I ask apprehensively.

  He looks at me for a brief second then looks back at Kerry.

  “The only place it can really go wrong is in the fuel filters, or the line just before them. It's a very bad design. And it's about seventy metres on your hands and knees all the way to the front of the ship to get to them.”

  I get a horrible feeling I'm going to be asked to go in and have a look. Not that I'll know what I'm looking for. But instead, he asks Kerry.

  “Kerry, you know the retro thruster junction box at the end? Big square thing. You'll have to take that off, and then you'll be at the filters. Just check for any obvious signs of blockage.”

  There is a silence as Kerry stares back at Robert, not looking happy. To be fair, neither of them do.

  “Robert, you're not my boss, and you don't give me orders. You can go fuck yourself if you think I'm going in the tubes again after last time.” She says.

  He looks at me and smiles.

  “Oh yeah, last time she went in, I locked the hatches. Forgot she was in there.”

  And just like that, he's talking to me again. I clearly have no idea how his mind works or how to deal with him.

  “Are you going in then?” I ask Robert sheepishly.

  “That would be a big hairy no I'm afraid. I'm too big to do anything comfortably down there. I can get in, but I can't turn around. That scares the living shit out of me,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Oh great … I guess it's down to me then,” I sigh.

  Fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell. I can feel my heart speeding up.

  Robert grabs a couple of spanners from the tool rack and passes them to me.

  “I'm not sure what size the bolts are on the junction box, but these should cover all the bases. Try not to electrocute yourself when you're taking it off.”

  “Electrocute myself? Is that likely?”

  “Only if you're not careful, just move it slowly,” he says.

  “Can you not just turn off the power?” I ask.

  “I can, but it means all the lights in the tubes will go out too. You don't want to be crawling down there with just a torch.”

  “No, I absolutely don't wanna do that.”

  I know what happens if you go into claustrophobic dark places with just a torch. It stops working. You hit it a few times, it works for a little while longer, and then it stops working for good. You then light a match, and that goes out as well. You start to light another one, but you hear a noise, you turn around, and then get eaten by monsters.

  I put the spanners in my back pocket and climb the small ladder on to the first level of the gangway. I look back.

  “Which tube?”

  “Top one.”

  6

  Walking up to the metal steps, I feel the same apprehension I had earlier. I stare at the hatch. I didn't want to open it then, and I really don't want to open it now. Lots of half-formed excuses start coming into my head. I really hate tight spaces, and the panic is beg
inning to rise. Working on a spaceship was a very bad idea, and it wasn't even mine. I'm a fucking idiot.

  I try my best to focus on the task at hand. I really have to force myself to open the hatch. I turn the wheel, then hesitantly press the two switches either side of it, and the hatch opens with a familiar hiss.

  “About fucking time!” Kerry shouts.

  “Screw you,” I say back, slightly more aggressively than I mean to.

  With one hand on the rung above it, I lower myself into the hatch. Now on my hands and knees, I crawl into the tube. I look back.

  “Don't shut the hatch while I’m in here.”

  I start to move forward. The walls are a horrible shade of rusty brown, getting darker and more corroded at every seam, and I begin to notice how strong it smells in here. Like stale fuel. I start worrying that maybe we have a leak. I turn my head.

  “It’s possible we may have a leak, it smells of fuel in here, pretty badly,” I shout behind me.

  “It always smells like that, the tubes are attached to the fuel tanks, what d'you think it'd smell like in there?” Robert shouts back, with slight reverb on his voice. I'm not feeling reassured.

  Crawling forward on my hands and knees, I look into every inspection hatch as I pass. Each one is full of tubes, wires and dials that mean nothing to me. They all look like they used to have covers, as I can see the screw holes at every corner, but they've all been lost over time, or more likely permanently removed. It would have been a nightmare constantly unscrewing the covers every time you wanted to look, then screwing them back on again in such a confined space. They probably didn't last more than two or three inspections before they were discarded. I try to keep my mind occupied with as many other thoughts as I can, hoping it’ll stop me thinking about where I am.

  I pass two smaller tubes joining this one either side of me; they're quite narrow, but have handholds. They both lead downwards at forty-five degree angles into darkness. I'm assuming they go to the other two inspection tubes below me. Around about every four metres there's a small light on the ceiling of the tube, which leaves nice pools of darkness for me to crawl through, hiding away anything my imagination decides could be lurking there. I'm trying my best not to think of anything at all, but I’m completely failing. What could realistically be in here with me anyway? In all our years of space travel, the human race has never found anything resembling aliens, intelligent life, or monsters. The only things that could actually be in here with me are rats, but that's scary enough. I can’t stand the hairy bastards.

  As I crawl into another pool of darkness, my right hand slips on something and I fall on my face.

  “Fuck it,” I shout. It's too dark to see what I've slipped on, but it feels slimy, maybe oil. I wipe my hand on my thigh to get it off in case it's corrosive, and start crawling again.

  I really wish I did have a torch now. Just keeping myself moving forward is becoming an issue, but I must be somewhere close to the halfway point. Suddenly, a loud metallic banging noise starts, it goes on for about two seconds then it stops. My eyes widen and my body tenses up; I stop dead. I wait a few seconds, but all I can hear is my breathing, almost to the point of hyperventilating. I wait for a minute or so, but hear nothing else. My breathing is almost normal again now, so I decide to continue.

  I start to move forward, and suddenly it happens again. This time louder and continuously. I can't tell where it's coming from, as the sound is echoing and bouncing all around me. I don't think I'm going to be able to cope with this much longer, my heart is banging like a drum roll. I'm sweating profusely and I don't think my mind can keep it together. I close my eyes, then I curl up into a ball, put my hands on my ears and I scream. I keep screaming until finally the banging stops and everything goes silent.

  I hear laughing echoing in from the direction of the engine room. Just one voice, and I know whose voice it is.

  At this very moment, I want him dead, and I want it to be a horrible and painful death. The fat cunt.

  I resolve to get to the junction box as fast as I can, open it up, check the filters, then head back to the engine room at my fastest possible crawling speed to smash that bastard’s head in with some sort of blunt instrument. I'll give him this: I'm not scared anymore. Though I doubt that was the point.

  After a continued fast crawl, which is a lot harder to do than I would have thought, I finally get to the end and see the retro thruster junction box. It doesn't look like it belongs there, and reeks of a quick bodge job. I look around it, and on the underside: there are four bolts holding it in place. Three look about the same size while the other is considerably smaller. I'm going to have to get my hand in underneath it at an almost impossibly awkward angle, the bolts are bound to be a pain in the arse to undo, and there's the danger of dropping the spanner down the gap between the shaft and the fuel tank. In my current mind frame, I'm going to want to get it done as fast as possible. I'll probably end up doing something stupid, then hitting the junction box in frustration and then getting myself electrocuted.

  I slide the thirteen-mil spanner out of my pocket; the three bigger bolts look roughly that size. I put my hand under the junction box to undo the first bolt, and have to twist my wrist to the point I can barely hold on to the spanner. I feel it lock into place around the bolt head, and I just have to hope the bolt’s not on too tight. I then hear a loud buzz, and I instinctively let go of the spanner out of fear of being electrocuted. I hear it clatter on something, and with a dull thud it wedges in against a few rubber tubes and the tank. There's no way I can get to it now, it's lost. Bollocks. I pull my hand out and my wrist is already hurting from the angle it was at. I hear the buzz again, this time it's followed by a familiar noise. The lights dim slightly and the entire tube starts to gently vibrate. The engines have started up again. Fucking hell, Robert has actually figured out what was wrong.

  It still takes a while, but I manage to crawl back to the engine room at a faster pace than I crawled in. When I get to the hatch I can see Robert is staring at a monitor, looking confused. I climb out and walk down the metal stairs and slide down the ladder. I walk up to him, fully ready to give him a mouthful for being a complete arsehole. But when he looks at me, I can see in his eyes that something is very, very wrong.

  7

  “It was sabotage,” he says.

  Slightly lost for words, I manage, “What?”

  “It was sabotage, the engines were sabotaged. It was very, very subtle. It's impossible it could be anything else. It was enough to stop the ship dead without breaking it, but really easy to fix when it needed to be.”

  He holds up a spoon-shaped piece of metal.

  “They knew exactly what they were doing. If you put this between the drive manifold and the cooling chamber, the engines just stop.”

  He demonstrates by placing the piece of metal where he said. The engine stops with a slow decreasing whine.

  “Fits perfectly too, I would have missed it if Kerry hadn't suggested looking there.”

  He pulls it out and the engines screech back to life again.

  We look at each other as we realise the implications. We're so screwed.

  “Why would anyone want to sabotage a waste disposal ship?” I say, thinking out loud, but Robert answers anyway.

  “Maybe they wanted the hangar; maybe it had something of value in it, and they wanted to disable us to get away with it?”

  Not a bad idea, but it had one big thing going against it.

  “Last I saw, it was heading directly towards the Sun. That's not exactly a place to hide out with treasure. And who's they anyway?” I ask.

  “I don't know, maybe a trained squad of elite assassins, sent here from a secret lair on … Uranus?” He smiles.

  I just look at him.

  “I'm going back to the bridge, I trust you can handle things down here?”

  He holds up the piece of metal, and pulls a face.

  “If I don't accidentally drop this back in place, I would have thought
so.”

  With that I climb the ladder to the bridge as fast as I can. Halfway up I'm breathing heavily and I realise I haven't given him any sort of verbal abuse for what he pulled on me in the tube. It'll have to wait, as our situation has probably just got worse.

  I'm fully out of breath by the time I get to the bridge. It's only a four-deck climb, but I don't usually climb them all at once at that speed.

  Kerry and Mark turn around in their seats and look at me. Mark is still in his long johns and his ruffled white hair is looking more like a wig than ever. I assume they're waiting for instructions. I wave them off while I get my breath back. They look at each other then back at me.

  “Okay, okay, I need to do a bit more exercise and I need to eat less pizza.”

  “I didn't say a fuckin' word, but a definite yes to all of the above,” Kerry says, looking slightly pleased with herself. Mark just grins.

  “While you were helping Robert with the engines, I took the liberty of plotting an intercept course with the hangar,” Mark says.

  “Good work, have you sent Kerry the co-ordinates?”

  “I got 'em, just give me the fuckin' order and we'll be underway, Captain,” she says in an old movie pirate voice.

  I have to admit, I really like the sound of that.

  “The order is yours, Madame,” I reply in a stupid voice of my own.

  Kerry turns back around and presses a few buttons, flicks a few switches and moves the huge lever that controls acceleration forward on her console. The engines get audibly louder the further along the line she pushes it. It gets to the furthest point and she locks it off.

  “Full steam ahead,” she says and turns back around.

  “Thank you,” I say, and then look at Mark. “Realistically, how long at full speed will it take to catch up?”

  He types something into his console that I can't see, then turns around.

  “Judging on its speed, and our top speed, about six hours I'd think, maybe slightly longer.”

  Kerry stands up and stretches, then leans on the edge of her console.