Living Hell

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘I think the happy gas might have kicked in,’ he murmured.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You don’t usually talk this much.’

  That shut me up. I watched my mother circle the compartment, distributing pills. They were supposed to counteract the effects of gravity reduction: the fluid loss, the nausea, the congested sinuses. She was also telling everyone to seal their pressure suits. As she made each stop, I tried to distract myself by putting names to the faces around me. Conal, the brusque little Navvy with the big nose and fluffy hair, played some kind of instrument. A viola, was it? He played in a quartet with Sloan’s supervisor, Ottilie, from BioLab. Landry was a champion basketball player, and had been part of the team that discovered the graviton, back on Earth. Lais had been granted breeding privileges for the following year. But there were others about whom I knew nothing.

  Counting heads, I realised that there were twenty-one of us on the Bridge. Would I be dying with these twenty other people?

  My response to this question was so calm that I knew at once: the happy gas must have kicked in.

  ‘All right, boys, I want you to take these,’ Mum announced, dropping a tiny pill into my hand, and another into Sloan’s. ‘Then I want those glove assemblies on, and I’ll tell you when to seal up.’

  ‘I didn’t call Haemon.’

  ‘What’s that, honey?’

  ‘I should have called Haemon,’ I fretted. ‘Haemon gets so worried about things, but he won’t ask questions. And Inaret. Inaret likes me.’

  Mum patted my cheek. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘Where are you sitting?’

  ‘Here. Right here, beside you.’ Mum turned to Sloan.

  ‘Sloan, would you mind moving down one? Tuddor wants to sit in that seat.’

  Sloan looked at her for a moment. ‘Sure,’ he said softly.

  ‘Your mother will be in the next seat. On the end.’

  So there was a bit of a reshuffle, as my mother explored her own chair, looking for somewhere safe to put her Medkit. She finally stuffed it behind a snap-lock hatch under the armrest.

  ‘Attention. This is a red alert. Please lock down and brace. All crew stand by for impact.

  ’ ‘I wish they wouldn’t keep saying that,’ Sadira complained, securing her own Medkit. ‘It just makes everyone nervous.’

  Sloan caught my eye, and winked.

  ‘Can we have a drink before we seal up?’ I asked my mother.

  ‘All right. Be quick, though.’

  ‘I bet everyone could do with a shot of brandy,’ Sadira remarked, and I wondered how she was going to fit all that rippling, bouncy black hair into her headpiece. It astonished me that she hadn’t already pinned it up – though when I gave it some thought, I realised that I never had seen Sadira’s hair pinned up. Ever. ‘Failing that,’ she went on, ‘perhaps a good, strong coffee.’

  ‘Ha-ha,’ said my mother. ‘Richsip only, please, Cheney.

  It’s the best thing.’

  ‘All right.’ Richsip, the fortified water that we were supposed to drink most of the time, wasn’t exactly my favourite. But I did what I was told. It never even crossed my mind that, for my last ever drink, I deserved something tasty.

  I suppose the happy gas was blocking out thoughts of that kind.

  Hovering at the food dispenser, watching my dad peering at a subatomic model from every possible angle, I wasn’t thinking about how much I loved him. I was wondering if the construct in front of him was an anti-hydrogen atom: were those positrons orbiting antiprotons? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know enough. I didn’t understand the colour coding.

  Merrit would have known, I felt sure. She was so brilliant.

  ‘Attention. This is a red alert. Please lock down and brace. All crew prepare for impact in E minus fifteen minutes.

  ’ Fifteen minutes! That gave me a shock. Where on earth had the time gone? My father raised his head suddenly.

  ‘Lockdown,’ he ordered, just as Firminus said the same thing: ‘Lockdown!’

  Dad began to pace around the room, scanning the Array. He stopped behind Arkwright, and squeezed his shoulder.

  ‘Locking down periphery circuits,’ said Arkwright.

  ‘And . . . conversion clamps.’

  ‘Lockdown on photovoltaic arrays,’ Haido announced.

  ‘Confirmation through from TFP,’ said Lais. ‘Lockdown on all remote access systems. Lockdown on alpha rotary joint.’

  ‘Lockdown on docking bay.’

  The noise level rose. Mum beckoned to me. ‘Come here,’ she said. When I reached her, she jerked my mask down over my face, and sealed it. ‘Cheney 704, linkup.’ I could see her mouthing the words, before her code beeped on my voice patch. I gave her a clear to receive.

  ‘How does that feel?’ she asked. It was odd; her question came through my transmitter just a fraction after she uttered it, like an echo of the faint, muffled noise that I could still hear through the insulation of my headpiece. The effect was disconcerting.

  ‘Okay,’ I replied. It had always surprised me, during our safety drills, that I didn’t feel suffocated inside my pressure suit. This time, I was surprised all over again. The cooling system worked wonderfully. ‘It feels fine.’

  ‘Tell me if you think something’s wrong.’

  Sloan, meanwhile, was dragging on his glove assemblies. I buckled myself in, then followed suit. Sadira collapsed onto a chair. She twisted her hair up, spearing it with a single clip, as the lockdown reports continued. My mother did a last circuit of the compartment, reminding people to seal their suits, before returning to her own seat. There followed a series of checks: multispectral scanners – check; Pho-Cat sensors – check; Orbital Manoeuvring System – check. Over where Firminus stood, a sudden flurry of activity followed his command to lock down engines. My stomach seemed to lift, and roll, before settling again.

  Because they were shouting across the room, I could hear the crew’s voices quite clearly, even through my headpiece. ‘And . . . terminate!’

  ‘Lockdown on fuel cells!’

  ‘Lockdown on vents, here!’

  Mum leaned towards me. ‘Do you feel sick?’ she asked, through the Audio Interlink Network.

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  ‘Tell me if you feel sick.’

  ‘Attention. This is a red alert. Please lock down and brace. All crew prepare for impact in E minus ten minutes.’

  Dad was discussing something with Firminus. They stood, heads together, while around them their teams tightened straps and adjusted pressure seals. Lais was calling someone; I could tell by the way she murmured into her collar. Landry suddenly bolted into the toilet cubicle. Mum yelled across to Arkwright.

  ‘Arkwright! Please seal up, you know the drill!’

  And then the room became quiet, as most of the activity ceased. Various people were monitoring the close-range sensor input. My father was running an analysis. As for Arkwright, he was still deep in the bowels of CAIP, for some reason.

  But the rest of us were suddenly left with time on our hands – Firminus included. I couldn’t believe what he did next. Moving even more stiffly than usual, he crossed the room until he reached his wife. Then he bent down and kissed her on the mouth.

  I don’t know if I’d really thought much about Firminus until that moment. To me, he was simply Sloan’s father – and not nearly as good a father as my own dad. Firminus had always seemed hard and quiet and unapproachable. I couldn’t imagine ever coming to him with a problem. I couldn’t imagine how Sloan had endured that rigid, implacable control while he was growing up.

  Yet there on the Bridge I suddenly saw how much Firminus loved his family, and was reassured.

  Whether he kissed Sloan as well, I’m not certain. Because I looked away at that point. But I do know that Firminus returned to his own seat shortly afterwards, and slowly, methodically strapped himself in. He was pulling his mask down when my mother dropped into the chair beside me.
<
br />   ‘Tuddor,’ she said. (I could tell by the way her mouth moved.)

  Dad looked around. I’d never seen him so puffy around the eyes before. He nodded, and stooped to exchange a few words with Haido. She inclined her head. He straightened. Slowly, he surveyed the room. Sadira’s hair was now concealed by her headpiece. Landry was returning from the toilet cubicle. Arkwright was struggling with his pressure seal.

  Dad cracked a smile.

  ‘You people look like a double order of individually wrapped glucose bars,’ he boomed, and there was a ripple of nervous, muted laughter. At least, I think there was. I could see shoulders shaking, and mouths stretching.

  ‘Attention. This is a red alert. Please lock down and brace. All crew prepare for impact in E minus five minutes.

  ’ Mum helped my father to seal up, after which he sat down beside me. To my amazement, he managed the straps all by himself. My voice patch beeped. I gave a clear to receive before I realised who was calling.

  ‘Cheney?

  ’ ‘Dygall?’

  ‘What’s happening?

  ’ ‘Five minutes to impact, Dygall, haven’t you heard?’

  ‘Yes, I know that. I mean, what’s everyone doing up there?

  ’ ‘Waiting. What do you think?’

  ‘Hasn’t somebody had a brilliant, last-minute idea?

  ’ ‘No.’

  ‘Nnn. Pity.’

  ‘Is there something I can do for you, Dygall?’

  A pause. ‘No,’ he said. Then: ‘See ya.’ And he signed off.

  ‘Attention. This is a red alert. Please lock down and brace. All crew prepare for impact in E minus three minutes.

  ’ ‘Tuddor 12 linkup,’ I said, and when the channel was open asked, ‘Dad? What does “E” mean?’

  ‘Hmmm?

  ’ ‘I said, what does “E” mean?’

  ‘It means “event”. As in “event minus three minutes” .’ Hearing my mother’s signal code, Dad accepted her transmission. ‘What’s up, Comet?

  ’ ‘I hope Yestin’s all right,’ my mother remarked. ‘I just know the rotation stabilisers were affected during that burn.’

  ‘Poor Lais,’ Dad murmured. I could see why. Lais was bent forward, staring at her knees. Mum took my hand, and squeezed it through the glove assembly. She didn’t let go.

  ‘. . . prepare for impact in E minus two minutes.’

  Dad put his arm around my shoulder. It felt so heavy. Mum said, ‘I love you, Cheney.’ That’s when the happy gas stopped working so well. My eyes felt hot, and I blinked.

  ‘Rats,’ said Dad, his voice rumbling low through his transmitter. ‘I forgot to put my laundry in the dump.’

  That made me giggle. I suppose it was meant to. I had the weirdest giggling fit, for some reason.

  ‘. . . prepare for impact in E minus sixty seconds.’

  ‘Now, has everyone gone to the toilet?’ Dad went on.

  ‘Da-ad!’ I protested. ‘Please!’

  ‘Comet, what happens if we fart inside these things? Is there some kind of venting mechanism?

  ’ ‘Da-ad!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How can you be so stupid?

  ’ ‘Oh, it’s not easy. Not for a man of my intellect. But I’ve been in training.’

  ‘. . . prepare for impact in E minus thirty seconds.’

  Mum applied more pressure to my hand. Dad’s arm tightened around my shoulders. Then he tickled me.

  ‘Ow! Stop it!’

  ‘What? I’m not doing anything.’

  ‘Yes you are.’ I knew what it was, too. ‘Don’t worry,

  Dad. I’m okay.’ I wasn’t, of course. There were tears in my eyes. ‘I love you, Dad.’

  ‘. . . in E minus ten seconds.

  ’ I saw Dad reach across me with his free hand.

  ‘. . . nine. . .’

  Mum’s free hand met his.

  ‘. . . eight. . .’

  There was dead silence.

  ‘. . . seven. . .’

  Suddenly, I found myself praying. I don’t know why. It’s not as if any all-powerful force governing the universe – if it existed – was going to pay the slightest bit of attention to me. But I prayed anyway.

  ‘. . . six . . .

  ’ Please, I prayed, let us survive this thing.

  ‘. . . five . . .

  ’ ‘Cheney,’ said Dad, ‘you are my greatest achievement.’

  ‘. . . four. . .’

  I closed my eyes.

  ‘. . . three . . .

  ’ I caught my breath.

  ‘. . . two. . .’

  I thought: This can’t be happening.

  ‘. . . one . . .

  ’

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  The encounter lasted nine seconds.

  We sat there, and nothing much happened. No alarms went off. No vibrations shook the hull. The lights didn’t flicker. The temperature remained stable.

  Then Firminus, who had been watching his Array, transmitted a general announcement over the Audio Interlink Network: ‘Event cessation. Mark: eleven hundred zero-two.’ He turned in his seat to look at my father.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Dad, forgetting that he was still sharing a signal link with me and Mum. For that reason, I heard his exchange with Firminus quite clearly.

  ‘CAIP is sure,’ said Firminus.

  ‘Arkwright 05 linkup,’ said Dad. ‘Arkwright? What’s your take?

  ’ ‘It’s all negative readings, Tuddor,’ Arkwright replied.

  ‘We’re through.

  ’ ‘Let me see,’ said Dad, and unstrapped himself.

  ‘Tuddor!’ Mum exclaimed sharply.

  ‘It’s all right, Quenby, we’re clear.’

  Dad went over to Arkwright’s Array. Arkwright turned to Lais, and said something that I couldn’t hear, because he was using a different signal link. Lais nodded. Dad suddenly broke his connection with me; perhaps he didn’t want any distractions.

  I turned to my mum.

  ‘Are – are we through?’ I stammered.

  ‘I think so.

  ’ ‘Is it still a red alert?’

  ‘Technically. Until all the reports come in.’ Mum unbuckled her harness. ‘Speaking of which, I’d better run some Med-scans.

  ’ Suddenly, everyone seemed to be moving. I looked around, bewildered. Had we done it, then? Had we made it through? My heart was still hammering away.

  Sloan, I noticed, was heading for the door. But he stopped before reaching it. He turned to face his father.

  They were conversing into their voice patches. Firminus probably wanted to know where Sloan thought he was going. Sloan probably replied that he was on his way to the BioLab, to check on his ‘little guys’.

  Firminus, however, prevented him, and Sloan returned quietly to his seat. He didn’t even look in my direction. Sadira had already crossed to one of the Arrays; I’m not sure whether she had seen her son’s attempted departure or not. Probably not. Landry was making for the toilet again, and I wondered why. Arkwright unsealed his headpiece, pushing back the mask.

  ‘Arkwright!’ said Mum.

  ‘Atmospheric readings are through, Quenby.’ I was picking up Arkwright on my mother’s signal link. I don’t think he knew that I was connected. ‘They’re absolutely normal.

  ’ ‘So far, maybe. Arkwright, we’re still on red alert -’

  ‘Well, all right.’ Arkwright swung around to face her, wearing that attentive yet utterly detached expression I knew so well from our training sessions together. ‘You tell me. Atmospherics are normal. Temperature’s normal.Gravity’s normal. We’re not braced for impact. You’re the Chief Medic – it’s your call. Shall we cancel the seal, or not?

  ’ Mum hesitated. She glanced at Sadira, who was peering at vital-sign readouts from all over the ship. Then Mum began to ask her about pulmonary alerts and oxyhaemo-globin levels and I cut our signal link. I didn’t feel that I could cope with medical jargon. Not right then.

 
Almost immediately, my voice patch beeped. I recognised the signal code as Merrit’s.

  Naturally, I gave her a clear-to-receive.

  ‘Merrit?’

  ‘Cheney? ’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I mean – what’s happening? Are we through?

  ’ ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really?

  ’ ‘Really. Is there any damage at your end?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ A pause. ‘Wait up. I’ll get back to you. There’s a lot going on down here.

  ’ And she signed off. Meanwhile, Mum had given the all-clear. We could unseal our pressure suits. Masks were being dragged off from one end of the Bridge to the other.

  As always, I smelled the air when I first broke my seal – just for a few seconds. After that, I got used to it again, and stopped noticing its slightly burnt, electrical odour.

  ‘TFP’s picking up microscopic energy surges around the hull,’ Lais was saying. ‘Practically on a pico level.’

  ‘Let me look,’ said Arkwright.

  ‘They’re not quite sure what it means,’ Lais went on.

  Arkwright grunted. Dad approached him, and peered over his shoulder intently. Sadira said, ‘Uh-oh.’ She pointed at her Array. ‘Quenby? Check that out.’

  ‘Damn it,’ said my mother, and looked around. She seemed startled. ‘Where is he?’

  Sadira also scanned the room, her brow puckered. ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘Sloan? Have you seen Landry?’

  Sloan blinked.

  ‘He’s in the toilet,’ I observed.

  Sadira sprang to her feet. Mum said, ‘Damn it!’ again. They both headed for the toilet cubicle; then Mum stopped and added, ‘I’ll get the Medkit.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  But the question didn’t need answering. By that time Sadira had reached the cubicle door, and had opened it. Landry was slumped on the floor inside.

  Sloan jumped to his feet, while I fumbled with my harness.

  ‘Quenby?’ Now Dad had noticed. ‘What the hell -?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Look, Quenby, he’s hit his head,’ Sadira announced. She was squatting beside Landry, supporting him. He seemed only half awake.

  There was blood on his temple.