Phobos Station

by D. M. Pruden

  Owen hurriedly dons the EVA suit and steps in the airlock. Before he closes the door, he says, “Once this is shut, start pumping out the air. I’ll bang on this door when I want you to pressurize.”

  He pulls the door closed with much less effort.

  I join Chambers, who’s already opened the panel, exposing a levered handle about a metre long. He grabs the end of it and struggles to pull it down before it gives way and moves stiffly. “We can only do this one person at a time. I’ll start and hopefully loosen it up a bit for when you relieve me. I hope you ate a hearty breakfast.”

  In the low gravity, he can’t put his weight behind the effort. He grunts noisily, his muscles bulging beneath his coat as he pulls and pushes the handle. His forehead glistens, and his breathing gets heavy. I can’t physically match the brute strength he puts into the work, and I hope the lever loosens significantly before I am called upon to relieve him.

  I keep an eye on the ancient gauge above his head, watching the needle slowly bounce down with each stroke of the handle.

  As Chambers’ effort begins to slow, I become dismayed when the progress of the dial stalls and refuses to fall further. He is almost exhausted, and the dial still indicates over half a standard atmosphere of pressure in the airlock. The outer door can’t be opened if we cannot empty the chamber.

  Out of desperation, I tap the face of the gauge. To my shocked delight, the needle drops to the lowest position.

  “You can stop,” I say.

  He falls back against the wall, exhausted, as I pluck up another wrench from Owen’s pack. I bang twice on the door, and a moment later, two rings reply from the other side.

  I turn to the panting Chambers, his skin glistening with perspiration and dark wet spots rapidly spreading beneath his armpits. Between heavy breaths, he says, “I think…I loosened it…for you.”

  While the handle moves more easily for me, it still requires a lot of effort on my part to pressurize the airlock. By the time the door squeals on its hinges to let out Owen and the others, my arm aches like it will fall off.

  Stepping through the doorway, helmets under their arms, both Miller and Cervantes study me as I sit on the floor rubbing my shoulder.

  “Well done, Doc,” says Cervantes as he drops an oversized pack at my feet.

  Chambers and I put on the EVA suits brought for us while Miller removes the weapons from the bag, checking each one before distributing them amongst us.

  “After we all enter the chamber, we will activate the emergency evacuation switch to empty it,” says Owen. “Since that will disable the pump, we can’t reenter here. We will be forced to return to your ship the way your men came: outside on the surface.”

  “Marvellous,” I mutter.

  “Don’t worry, Mel,” says Chambers, “we’ll take care of you.” He grins and puts on his helmet.

  I examine mine before I work up the courage to put it on. When the hard shell is in place over my head, it is everything I can do to control my breathing and remember my training. Memories of people shooting at me on Luna a few weeks earlier threaten to overwhelm me.

  Chambers’ muffled voice forestalls my panic attack. He points at his head, and I realize that I did not activate my audio receiver. I fumble with the control on my wrist until the speaker clicks.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Perfectly,” he says. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I lie. “Just a bit tired from all that pumping.”

  He passes a pistol to me, identical to the one I lost in the tunnel cave-in. “Try not to lose this one. I don’t have any more.”

  “That was not my fault, Chambers.”

  “I was kidding, Mel. Just keep it in your pack.”

  I examine the loaded gun and handle it awkwardly in my gloved hands. Recalling when I last wore an EVA suit and carried one of these things, a shiver runs down my spine. People died that day. Foreboding settles over me.

  I force down my rising panic and check that the safety switch is activated before I stuff it in my backpack.

  Keep your shit together, Destin.

  We squeeze inside the airlock, and with the inner door closed behind us, Miller opens a panel in the wall. He turns a red knob clearly labeled For Emergency Use ONLY. The muffled hiss of escaping air gradually grows faint as the chamber is evacuated.

  Cervantes unlatches the outer door and leans into it to shove it open. I follow the rest of them through and step into blackness.

  Headlamps pop on, and the beams of light play across roughly hewn rock walls.

  Owen takes out the holo-projector and displays the three-dimensional map for us. He points off to his right. “That is the direction to the shaft that goes to the surface. If you get lost and make it back here, remember that your way out is to the right of this door, about twenty metres down the tunnel.”

  Chambers and I respond together. “Got it.”

  “I uploaded the map and our intended route to everyone’s helmet HUD.”

  I activate my display, and a ghostly image of the tunnel system appears before me.

  “When we reach the next junction, we will split into two groups and take separate routes to our goals.” Both tunnels become highlighted and flash orange. “The surrounding rock inhibits signals, so we won’t be able to communicate with the other group.”

  “Why are we splitting up?” I say. “That sounds unnecessarily dangerous.”

  “We don’t know which of these sections Willis may be in,” says Owen. “By searching them one at a time, we risk alerting him and giving him an opportunity to escape.”

  “And if one of them is booby-trapped, or he is waiting for us, then we won’t all potentially be killed together,” says Chambers.

  I try to swallow the growing lump in my throat.

  “And before you ask why we are split up the way we are, it was his recommendation.” He points at Owen.

  I turn to him. “How are we divided up?”

  “Chambers, Cervantes, and Miller served with each other and know how to fight as a unit,” he says.

  “So, I’m to go with you?”

  “I told you, my skill set is specialized. I can keep you safe while we search the other section.”

  “Maybe you guys would be safer if I wasn’t here,” I say.

  “I left the others back on Requiem because they were of limited value in this operation,” says Chambers. “I wouldn’t bring you if I didn’t think you belong, Destin. Besides, you convinced me last time; if one of us gets shot, you may be that person’s only chance of survival.”

  Despite Chambers’ words, I cannot deny how much of a liability I am and how I put Owen at risk by being my nursemaid. But I desperately want to catch Willis. I may never find a cure for Chloe, even with Tessa’s help. Besides, I really want to kick the son of a bitch in the nuts.

  “Make your decision, Mel. The exit is behind us; if you are going back to the ship, you need to leave now.”

  “Fuck that, I’m all in.”

  “I knew you could be a team player, Destin.”

  In single file, we start down the darkened tunnel, hunched over in the restricted passage. The huff of my breathing is the only sound in my ears as I cautiously make each step, fearful that a sudden move will send me crashing into the low rock ceiling.

  On reaching the first junction, the passage splits off into two, even smaller passages, each only a metre and a half in diameter.

  “How are we supposed to traverse this?” I ask.

  Miller chuckles as he pulls the flechette rifle from his shoulder. Holding it aimed ahead of him, he drops to his knees and puts his upper body into the opening. Then he gently pushes off, keeping his body prone with his legs trailing behind, like he is swimming underwater. I shine my light into the tunnel after him to watch him pull his almost weightless body forward with his free hand.

  “You’ll get the hang of it in no time, Doc,” says Cervantes before he follows Miller in the same mann
er.

  As Chambers prepares to enter after them, I say, “You three did a lot of this kind of shit during the war, eh?”

  “Just take things slowly and do what Owen tells you. Good luck.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  He grins at me before he enters the passage.

  “I’ll go first, Mel,” says Owen as he readies his weapon. “Keep your breathing controlled and steady and pull yourself along slow and deliberate; don’t rush or make any aggressive moves.”

  “Should I take out my gun, too?”

  He pauses before he answers me. “It won’t be necessary. Keep it stowed for now.”

  He kneels, and just as the others did, pulls himself into the opening.

  I can’t blame him for preferring I keep the gun in my pack. I might accidentally shoot him if I crash into the walls. It was considerate of him not to mention that, though.

  I take one last look around the chamber, playing my lights around it, my lizard brain seeking assurance that some bogeyman isn’t going to follow me in.

  Then I squat on my haunches, take a deep breath, and push myself into the dark unknown.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When I emerge from the tunnel into the next chamber, I can’t help but relate the claustrophobia inducing experience to being birthed—minus the pressure on the head and the mess.

  Owen assists me to my feet, and I take a moment to orient myself by shining my helmet light about me. What I see is confusing.

  Behind him are the openings to two far more generously constructed passages. A quick reference to the uploaded map confirms my suspicion.

  “One of these tunnels shouldn’t be here,” I say.

  “Precisely,” he says, “but which is the one not on the map?”

  Another referral to my HUD adds no further insight.

  “What do we do? Split up?”

  “I don’t think that is wise,” says Owen as he peers down one of them.

  “Okay, then which one do you think we should follow? I vote for this one.” I point to one randomly.

  He ignores me and continues to shine his light alternately down each tunnel.

  “There are faint boot prints going down this one,” he says finally.

  “Good, we follow them.”

  “No, I want you to remain here while I scout it out.”

  “How does that not split us up?”

  “Because I will know precisely where you are,” he says. “No offence, Mel, but I can move more quickly and efficiently in this gravity than you. It will take me less time to check it out alone. If it is what we are looking for, I’ll come back for you, I promise.”

  When someone feels the need to say those two little words, it always sends up a red flag for me. I don’t want to be thought of as someone Owen needs to protect, but I can appreciate his logic about my potentially hampering his effort.

  “Keep in radio contact,” I say.

  “Of course.”

  “And if you don’t come back in five minutes, I’m following you in.”

  “Make it fifteen and you have a deal.”

  “Just be careful,” I say.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He grins.

  Without another word, he lopes into the passage with a grace I can only imagine possessing. The halo from his lamp pushes ahead of him as he moves rapidly away.

  “You’re making good progress,” I say, mostly to test his promise to stay in communication.

  Bszttt...I’m coming to a wall.

  I gaze down the tunnel after him but can only see a smudge of light a long way off.

  “Is it a dead end?” I ask.

  Zzzttt—tunnel bends here—zzbbzz—ing to follow itzzzzt.

  “Owen? Your comm signal is breaking up. Maybe you should wait for me to join you.”

  Vvvvvttt—no—still okay. Stay put. This looks like it might be the wrong tunnelzzzzt —g to check things outttzzz.

  Going against my better judgement, I say, “Fine. But if I don’t hear from you in five minutes, I’m following you in.”

  Deal—zzzzt.

  The channel goes quiet, and my anxiety rises proportionally with each passing second.

  Then I recall the tracer. I have not paid any attention to it since Owen explained how signals are blocked by the rock. But if I can pick up his radio signal down here, maybe the stronger transponder can be detected.

  I switch over to the channel it should be transmitting on and am shocked when I hear something.

  “Owen, are you receiving? I’m picking up the transmitter on the cargo.... Hello?”

  Shit!

  I bring up the HUD to see a flashing yellow light on the map that indicates the beacon. My fears are confirmed: it comes from a place that suggests it is in the middle of solid rock.

  With my eyes glued to the display, I take a few tentative steps into the passage Owen disappeared into. The blinking dot appears to be moving away from me.

  I return then slowly move into the other tunnel; my attention riveted on the readout. With each step I make, the signal draws nearer.

  It’s in this one.

  Once more, I make another unsuccessful attempt to contact Owen. Peering down the tunnel’s blackened throat, I see no hint of his light.

  “Can you hear me? You’re following the wrong passage!”

  Fuck!

  I check my chronometer. It’s been ten minutes, so I resolve to await his return to radio range.

  I sit on the ground. My eyes dart obsessively between the time and the map display. The fifteen-minute mark passes. Then sixteen.

  When twenty minutes pass, my concern turns to worry.

  “Owen? Time is up, where the hell are you?”

  Nothing.

  With visions of him lying helpless in the cavern, potentially dying in at least one of the dozen ways I can imagine, I stand.

  “Answer me if you can. I’m coming to you.”

  Bzztttt—m okay. Stay there—zzzzzttt.

  A sigh of relief escapes. I look down the tunnel but don’t see his light.

  Then I notice something that freezes my blood.

  The beacon moves away from me. Not only that, but it grows weaker as it does so.

  “Owen, the cargo... I picked up its signal. It’s in the other passage and getting further away... Owen?”

  Fuck! Shit! Goddammit!

  Deciding that he is safe and, on his way back to me, I give in to impulse and start down the other tunnel. He is smart enough to figure out where I am going. Hopefully he received one of my messages.

  As I lope in the weak gravity, the debate rages in my mind about how wise a decision this is. If that signal vanishes, and we can’t pick it up again, Willis will take the cargo who-knows-where. This might be the only chance to catch him and save Chloe.

  Of course, reason tries to intervene and persuade me to wait for Owen. I tell it to fuck off and continue down the tunnel. After a hundred metres or so, my headlamp shines on a rock wall blocking my path.

  Confused, I check the HUD. The signal continues to move away from me, this time along one of the mapped passageways. My own location marker shows me in the spot the beacon was five minutes ago, still in the unmarked passageway.

  Turning, I see nothing but darkness behind me beyond the edge of my light.

  “Owen? Are you receiving?”

  There is nothing but static on the comm channel.

  Shit!

  Another check of my display shows the signal is moving along another passage and is again growing weaker. Worse still, it’s moving away from either of the environmentally sealed sections on the map. The other team is chasing a wild goose.

  “Chambers? Are you there? Cervantes? Miller? Can anyone hear me?”

  I shine my lamp over the walls and ceiling. If Willis employed a hidden door once before, perhaps there is one nearby.

  The light shines on something on the ground near the wall on my left. Moving closer to check it out, I find footprints in the dust and some scrape mark
s that indicate where something large was set down.

  It takes me a minute of searching, but I locate a recess in the rock fitted with a mechanical switch button. Then I spot the rough edges of a square-cut door, about the size of the first tunnel we crawled through.

  I make another attempt to contact Owen, informing him of my discovery and my plan. The advantage of him not responding is that he can’t argue with me about the stupid thing I’m going to do.

  With the memory of Chloe’s accident foremost in my mind, I press myself against the wall as far from the door as I can and still be able to reach the switch.

  I inhale, hold my breath, and before I chicken out, I push the button.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There is no explosion.

  Instead, I trip a latch and a door opens. There is just enough of a gap between it and the doorway that I can grip and force it fully open.

  I drop to my knees and peer into the opening. Something is odd, so I shut off my lamp to confirm my suspicions. About twenty metres ahead, a faint blue glow paints the walls of the tunnel.

  Heartened, I try once more to contact Owen, without success.

  “What the fuck has happened to you?”

  I check the HUD. The beacon signal still moves away from me.

  After updating him about my plan, I crawl in the tight opening and pull myself along. I emerge into a larger passageway, dimly illuminated with ancient fluorescent lights. Checking my surroundings, I rein in my fear.

  Focus, Mel.

  What the hell am I doing? I really should wait for Owen. I’m a doctor, not a spy. How did I end up in this situation? Clearly, I’m in over my head.

  Calm down and try to keep your wits. It’s too late to start second-guessing.

  After confirming that I still receive the beacon signal, I resume walking. The place looks like it hasn’t been used for some time. Half the ceiling lights are burned out, and the electrical cabling strung along the wall must be a hundred years old. The deeper I go, the farther I get from being able to call for help. I’m surrounded by solid rock. My cortical implant won’t connect to anyone, and radio communications are impossible.