by L S Roebuck
Lydia stood next to Moreno in the Command Center, a look of disbelief over her face. “You can’t do that. That could kill North and your other Marines in there.”
Moreno ignored the imposingly tall blonde. She called out to a Marine manning engineer station two on the second floor of the command center. “Corporal, are you sure you can disconnect only the American Spirit latch?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Corporal Horner, one of the Marines assigned to the late Anderson’s detail, now working for Acting Marine Commander Moreno, said sharply.
Lydia turned to Skip and Kora, who were standing off the command platform in the center of central command, trying to stay out of the way of the flurry of activity. A least two dozen Marines and civilians were attempting to get real-time information on the dozens of conflicts that had erupted as Chasm loyalists stuck on Magellan had been exposed and challenged by roving bands of vigilantes. The waypoint was descending into chaos.
Skip looked down. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to see his friend, his best friend, die — even if it meant the salvation of Magellan. Skip knew he could never bring himself to consider trading a few lives, including one brave, good life, to save thousands more.
“Kora, you can’t let her do this!” Lydia protested, looking for support from her colleague and friend’s older sister. Kora said nothing, only shaking her head slightly. Her eyes were moist, and she had to focus to keep from tearing up. Kora wasn’t ready to cry yet. She still had hope for North, and maybe even Amberly, too. She would save her tears for when and if they were in glory’s grasp.
“Corporal, prepare to release, on my mark,” Moreno said to Horner.
“North will have about 30 seconds to make it to the manual portal controls, ma’am,” Horner offered to Moreno. “Once we go, we’ll not be able to stop it from here. Just contain the loss to the hangar. There is no guarantee they’ll be able to get to controls before —”
“No!” interrupted Lydia. She stepped up on the command platform, face to face with the Acting Commander. She was trying to intimidate Moreno, 15 centimeters taller than the older woman, but Moreno gave no ground. “You cannot do this. North and the others will die.”
“Ma’am,” Moreno said, calmly but with steel in her voice, “stand down or I will have you removed. This is the only way North — and Tricia, Leo and Marcos — all of them, will have a chance of surviving. The have no hope if we don’t we act now. Do nothing, they will most certainly be overrun. And if they are overrun, they will come here, and they will destroy this station and kill us all.”
“There has to be another way,” Lydia gave no ground either.
“We are out of time,” Moreno said, softening her tone a bit. “Please, stand down, before I have to stun you.”
Lydia hadn’t noticed until now that Moreno had quietly pulled her stun gun and had it aimed squarely at Lydia’s muscular abdomen.
Skip and Kora had already moved up to restrain Lydia, and she reluctantly moved with the pair off the platform.
Moreno holstered her gun and looked at the retreating Lydia. “I know this is exactly what North would want me to do.”
Lydia knew Moreno was right, and out of extreme grief, turned and hugged Skip. Skip, not really a hugger, was caught a bit off guard by the outreach for emotional support, and Kora neatly helped by bringing both of them into a friendly, caring embrace.
Moreno looked at Horner and gave a thumbs up, then turned on her comm to North. “North, we’re ready with our plan. Hold on to something. We’re going to try something crazy.”
North gave a puzzled look to Leo, who was crouched next to him. He and Leo had belly crawled between the corvettes Maverick and Lady Katie to avoid getting in the crossfire between Järvinen’s phalanx and whoever had survived in Johnson’s assault group. North had no idea what Moreno was talking about, but shouted to Tricia and Marcos, who were crouched next to a flipped desk, shooting somewhat randomly, alternating between the hall and general direction of the American Spirit’s gangway.
“Hold on!”
North looked toward Järvinen’s troops who were cautiously making a defensive formation at the far side of the hangar. He could see clearly again and made out Järvinen and the woman grenadier. North resisted the temptation to pop out from behind the Maverick to shoot a volley in their direction.
Moreno’s voice came over the comm. “Get ready. You are going to have to manually close the portal. Good luck.”
“What do you mean, close the portal?”
“We are disconnecting the gangway. Now.”
“What the —”
An automated voice spoke loudly over speakers filling the hangar.
“Warning. Gangway disconnection in 10 seconds. Portal is not secure. Are you sure you want to continue?”
Terror flashed in Järvinen’s eyes. “No! Discontinue. Stop!”
But the computer ignored Järvinen’s command. North knew that Moreno had already overridden local voice safety from the command center.
“Five, four, three, two, one…”
The magnetic latches holding the gangway to the American Spirit disconnected, and immediately, the slight tension from the Magellan pulled the tube clear of the ship. The suction effect was immediate, as the space-exposed end of the gangway was immediately rushed with the powerful thrust of air venting into the vacuum.
North could see the entire slaughter unfold. He dropped his assault rifle and gripped a handle on the crate nearest to him.
Those in the rear of the gangway, mostly professional soldiers loyal to Chasm, were the first to slip out into the coldness of space. Their screams were swallowed by the air that pushed them into oblivion.
Those in the middle of the gangway had a few seconds to respond. Several grabbed on to the structure beams that gave the gangway its shape, but most were buffeted by the people in the front, who succumbed to physics after a vain attempt to scramble to escape the tube into the relative safety of the hangar.
Those in the hangar were not much better off. The troops in the mouth of the gangway who had just stepped onto the hangar deck were in the vortex of the suction, with all the atmosphere being compressed through that choke point. They too were whipped quickly through the gangway and out the other side with such force that they spat out of the tube like a bullet out of the barrel of the gun and into the hull of the American Spirit. Some hit with such intensity that they cracked skulls and other bones, increasing the agony of their certain death.
Inside the hangar, the massive depressurization had created a tempest. The emergency curtain had fallen sealing off the hallway and the reception area of the hangar, so that North and his squad were trapped with the Chasm troops as the hangar quickly vented its precious breathable gasses into space.
Twig, still dazed from his escape from the Clair De Lune, had just freed himself from the ejected seat, when the gangway seal was broken. He did a quick scan of the hangar floor and, from a position obscured by several corvettes, he couldn’t put eyes on any of North’s squad. A gust knocked him up against the M.S.S. Presley, one of the older corvettes in the Magellan fleet. Realizing he had little time, Twig quickly found the Presley’s hatch, which as Marine pilot, he was fortunately authorized to unlock with his handprint. He slipped inside, and sealed the door behind him.
Near the other side of the hangar, North figured it would take about 30 seconds to a minute before those in the hangar who didn’t get sucked out into space would be exposed to a near vacuum, and even the air inside his lungs would attempt to escape through his mouth and nose, and maybe his eyeballs out of their sockets, too.
North realized what Moreno meant when she said he’d have to close the door. He looked across the atmospheric violence towards the gangway manual control panel. The access panel was at least 50 meters away from his secure position and about five meters too close for his comfort to the gangway portal that was currently sucking people out into space at a lethal rate. He’d have to get there without getting
blown out the gangway, getting shot by any Chasm troops, and get the door closed before they all suffocated.
If they did suffocate, North thought, at least this Chasm force would go with them. Blowing the gangway was a clever move by Moreno, gutsy and bold, North thought as a smile formed on his face. That’s exactly what I would have done.
North hand signaled to Leo to cover him, took what he thought could be his last breath, started for the manual control panel. Either he was going to get that door closed, or learn what death by venting felt like.
Leo leaned out of cover just after North started darting for the panel, with his assault rifle raised. One of the Chasm troops who had made it through the gangway and onto the hangar deck was firing wildly at North, who was sprinting in an irregular line, buffeted by the suction storm. Leo pressed himself against the hull of the Maverick to secure himself, aimed and put a single bullet into the skull of the shooter. The Chasm trooper fell to the ground, blood trickling from the gaping hole in the middle of his forehead. The vacuum suction drug the dead man along the floor for a meter or so, before sucking him into the open-ended gangway and out into space to join the dozens of his dead colleagues who were floating aimlessly, just out of reach of the waypoint.
The tempest had not only pulled bodies out into space, but loose articles, shrapnel and other larger metallic fragments from the explosions and ongoing battle were also being drawn out with the powerful atmosphere suction.
A sharp piece of aluminum, probably from a desk or temporary wall, sailed toward the grenadier, who was holding with two hands onto a safety rail just a meter from the open portal. Her legs flailed out behind her, and her square face was intent and focused, as her long brown hair whipped wildly. She let go of the rail with one hand to block the flying fragment from hitting her head, and almost lost her grip as she deflected the object. It bounced off her defending arm and spun in the wind and came down on her hand that was still gripping the rail. The sharp edge acted like a knife, severing three of her fingers at the knuckles and causing her to lose her grip. She cursed God as her soon-to-be-lifeless body was sucked out into the void.
North’s lungs felt like they were being sucked out of his chest as he flung himself at the manual control panel. The storm had calmed, which meant there was little to no air left in the hangar. He dare not open his mouth now to take a gasp — he would probably lose more air than he could take in. The exposed skin on his face and hands started to burn with extreme cold.
He was a meter away from the control panel now, and he stumbled as he fought to keep from blacking out. He bounced on the floor. This is the end, North thought, surprised at how calm he was. I wonder what heaven will really be like? Will Amberly make it? Amberly. Amberly still needs my help. She’s out there.
North forced himself up. He slowly, painfully reached for the panel. He could see the emergency shut button. He swung his hand at it, stumbled again and missed. Now he was leaning against the wall, next to the controls, and his entire body felt like it was exploding.
Not done yet.
He slid his hand down the wall over the emergency shut button and lost consciousness, his mouth opening and the air escaping from his lungs.
“It’s closed!” Horner shouted.
“Bring up the emergency curtain!” Moreno shouted with a frantic urgency that strongly contrasted her normal, cool demeanor.
Kora held Lydia’s hand tightly as they watched the monitor showing a live security camera feed of the hangar. They saw the safety curtain slowly rise, and loose items on the hangar floor were once again tossed around as the air pressure equalized.
Skip tried to reassure the women. “It will only take a few seconds for the hangar to re-pressurize. I’m sure they’ll be okay.”
Moreno knew she had to secure the hangar again. “Horner, Inon,” she ordered the corporal and a nearby private, “Grab an assault rife and get out there. Once you secure the floor, comm me and I will send out the medics. Move.”
Inon, a short 25-year-old with cropped bleached white hair and a top-heavy muscular build, already had a rifle in her hand. “Ma’am” she shouted and sprinted down the hall to the connecting corridor that would take her to the hangar. Horner quickly followed.
Moreno joined Skip, Kora and Lydia, and they watched as the emergency wall slowly retracted into the ceiling, allowing a rush of life from the interior hall to fill the hangar with invisible gasses.
Johnson and Kyung-ah were the only two Chasm troopers assaulting from the interior who survived the Clair De Lune’s chain gun defense. When the safety curtain fell, they were on the interior of the station, and spared from the depressurization of the hangar. With the wall coming back up, Johnson figured they would have one opportunity to press their advantage and kill any Magellan Marines that survived the depressurization. If they broke through now, maybe, just maybe, the two of them could take control of the station.
The opening beneath the wall was waist high and growing, so Johnson and Kyung-ah checked the ammunition in their rifles. Johnson looked at Kyung-ah who indicated he had only a few rounds left.
“That’s enough,” Johnson said. “Let’s go.”
The pair simultaneously plunged beneath the slowly rising safety wall and emerged on the other side and quickly attempted to locate any survivors. The hangar was a complete wreck. Corvettes were thrown about, flipped and rolled. The charred remains of the Clair De Lune were still upright, but had been dragged from where Twig had set it down about 20 meters toward the now-sealed gangway portal, black carbon burn trails marking the path where the space-vacuum had moved the vehicle.
Johnson looked past the worthless vessel and saw four figures standing at the far side of the hall. One of North’s lackeys, Corporal Marcos, had a gun drawn on three men. Two of them, standing two meters in front of the third, Johnson didn’t recognize. The third man, he did recognize: Capt. Järvinen, master of the American Spirit. Johnson then saw a fifth man, sitting propped up against the wall, with a brace in one arm and a gun in his other arm … aimed right at him and Kyung-ah.
Kyung-ah saw North at the same time as Johnson and didn’t hesitate to bring his gun to bear on the injured Marine. But North didn’t have to aim, he just had to pull the trigger. And as soon as he registered that Kyung-ah was moving to fire, North’s hair-trigger reflexes engaged his rifle. Kyung-ah fell hard, and another corpse littered the hangar floor.
Johnson stood next to him, and his survival instincts kicked in. He knew he couldn’t draw fast enough on North, so he made a split-second survival decision to drop his rifle and put his hands up. Johnson realized he wasn’t ready to die for the cause.
North smiled wearily at Johnson’s up stretched hands.
North’s unexpected shots taking out Kyung-ah rattled Marcos, who reflexively looked over at North and his fallen target. One of the two remaining Chasm troops with Järvinen went for a gun, hoping to catch Marcos off guard, but the Järvinen loyalist was too slow. Marcos turned back, saw the gun grab, and put two bullets into his would-be assailant’s leg. A scream of pain filled the restored atmosphere of the Magellan hangar, but the fallen man was still scrambling for the gun.
At the same time, Twig slid out of the Presely’s hatch. He was behind Järvinen, but had lost his sidearm in the chaos, so he scanned the area and found a twisted metal bar which he grabbed and quietly began to approach Järvinen from the back.
Marcos had a clean shot on the head of the wounded Chasm troop. Järvinen and the second troop were just a quick shot away, too.
Marcos didn’t want to shoot to kill. He had another idea, and shouted. “Don’t do it. Put your hands up now, leave the gun alone, and surrender. I’ll make sure you get Moreno’s amnesty deal instead of the airlock. Do it! Now!”
The wounded troop and the other Järvinen lackey both took the offer immediately, the former clasping his hands over his head to surrender as he bled out of the two bullet holes in leg. The second troop threw his hands up and kneeled.
&nb
sp; “How dare you surrender, you maggots!” Järvinen shouted. He produced a small hand gun from a pocket in his leather jacket, and before Marcos realized what was going on, Järvinen had shot both his own troops cleanly in the back. Marcos froze for a second as he looked at the shocked expression on the kneeling lackey as his face went blank. North was also jarred by Järvinen’s cold murder of his own men, but he kept his gun trained on Johnson.
The moment the second murderous shot rang out, the door accessing the hall which led to the command center flew open and Horner and Inon popped out, guns aimed and quickly training on Järvinen.
Marcos raised his rifle at Järvinen, but before he pulled the trigger, he saw that the captain had turned his gun on himself, and used his free hand to motion to Marcos, Leo and Horner to hold their ground.
“Not another step or I’ll do it,” Järvinen said as he pushed the barrel of his gun into the flesh under his jaw.
“Just put the gun down,” Marcos said as he slowly took two steps toward Järvinen. “It doesn’t have to end this way.”
Järvinen slowly moved his free hand toward his mouth, and North could see he had a comm unit sewn into the sleeve. He spoke slowly and clearly into his comm sleeve, while he still had his own gun jammed into his jaw with a finger on the trigger. “Raven One, do you copy?” he asked.
A voice crackled over Järvinen’s comm.
“This is Raven One,” the voice said. “Captain, have you taken the hangar yet?”
That voice… so familiar, North thought.
“I’m sorry to report that we have not. I have lost my assault force, and Johnson has been captured,” Järvinen said.
“I’m never surprised by your failure, old friend,” Raven One said, her casual voice was laced with a quiet, burning anger.
The gun in Järvinen’s hand was trembling. He continued his conversation as Marcos and Twig slowly closed on the captain, weapons at the ready.
“I don’t know why I was vain enough to believe I could be a successful part of history, of this success, of Chasm,” said Järvinen, with tears now streaming down his face. “But I know you will go on to build our brave, new world. All my love, and all my hope.”