by Allen Stroud
There’s a pause and I patch in. “Johansson to Shann.”
“Good to hear from you, Ensign. Go ahead.”
“I’ve constructed an access profile for the Gallowglass computer system. It should help you take control of the ship when you get on board. I’m transmitting the necessary codes.”
“Good work. Any thoughts on how we can open the airlock?”
I open up the command terminal again. “I should be able to do that from here. You just need to let me know when you’re in position.”
“Do you have enough O2?”
“I think so. There’s some kind of circulation issue in here, but I can handle it.”
“Chase is on his way to you. We’ll get you out.”
“Thanks, Captain, but I’ll need to be here when you reach the airlock.”
“There are alternative options for getting in. Don’t stay out there any longer than you have to.”
I don’t reply to that. Acknowledgment of the order means I have to obey it. Instead, I start inputting commands into the terminal window. This time, it’s hard to stay focused, but I need to try. I need to get this done.
ACC COM TREE
Command Tree Open.
INST ~CTELL [3AB] #LOC XLOCK OPEN
Confirm AIRLOCK open? Y/N
My finger hovers over the Y button. Once I press it, the sequence will begin. All Fleet ships have an automated safety closure procedure, which I can’t override, so, if the motion sensors don’t detect activity in the exterior chamber after five minutes, the outer doors will close, and the system will repressurise, meaning it won’t be able to be opened again for at least fifteen more minutes. That means I need to stay awake and focused just long enough for Shann to get to the exterior hatch. Then I can trigger the procedure and give them the maximum amount of time to get inside.
I shift my elbow so it is supported. When it’s quiet and I’m on my own, the sleepiness is more difficult to shake. My eyelids droop constantly and it’s a fight to keep them open. I remember the feeling. It’s the one you get on a long drive. They call it micro-sleeping, where your brain fights between the competing needs of your body’s fatigue and paying attention to the road. Eventually it becomes a desensitised game, where you seem to lose comprehension of how dangerous it will be for you to fall asleep. Closing my eyes for just a moment won’t hurt anyone, just a second of….
No! These people are relying on me. I need to stay awake.
The comms channel pops, rescuing me. “Chase to Johansson, I’m three hundred metres out. What’s your situation?”
Sam’s voice banishes any thought of sleep. I want to shout for joy and tell him what his voice means to me right now, but that isn’t what he needs. That isn’t what I need. My gaze flickers over the readouts. “Situation is tricky, but functional. Seventeen minutes of O2 left. The torpedo took a battering on impact and so did I. I’m not sure how bad the damage is.”
“Is your EVA suit compromised?”
“Don’t know. There’s no current pressure loss, but that could be down to how I’m wedged in. I think there might be a problem with the mixture. I’m finding it hard to stay awake and concentrate, but that could be the painkillers I took.”
“Okay,” Sam says. “My plan to get you out is to cut through the panels we welded on, but if the EVA system and your internal suit are abraded, you could die pretty quick. The alternative is to drag the whole casing over to the airlock as is and unpack you once we’re inside. May take a little longer, but there’s less risk.”
“Visual surveillance from in here is limited. I can’t tell if that will be easy.”
“We’ll know as soon as I get close then. How much thruster fuel do you have left?”
“Not much, about eight per cent or so.”
“May still be useful, if we’re careful.”
I access the surviving camera on the drone arm. I can’t turn it, so the only way to get an external view is to detach from the Gallowglass’s computer network. I’m not doing that until Shann and the others reach the airlock. I’ll have to rely on Sam. I’m already relying on Sam way too much.
I think over my decision to do this. My illegal mission was a calculated risk that increased the chance of the Khidr crew, people who I care about, surviving this altercation. Back then, only the percentages mattered. Now, each moment matters. Every little effort is part of the war to live a little longer.
There’s a sudden shift, and my helmet crashes against the side of the metal interior. A hole appears in the casing just above my portable screen and the torpedo starts to rotate to the left. The missile has been hit by something, probably a large piece of debris. It was only a matter of time. I’ve no way of knowing how long I can hold this position. I need to act fast.
I press the ‘Y’ on the screen keyboard. A moment later, the display goes blank and the glass cracks. Slivers and flakes peel and drift away. Without it, I’ve got no control over the drone thruster or the securing arm. I have to hope the command got through before—
“Johansson, can you hear me? Johansson? I’m in visual range, three minutes to intercept.”
I open my mouth to reply, but everything is spinning and turning. I remember my high-g training and close my eyes, fighting to stay calm, to keep my breathing and heart rate even and regular. “Sam, I’ve got a problem here, some sort of collision. The controls are out.”
“Yeah, I see it. You’re in the middle of a cloud of wreckage. Hold on, April, I’m coming.”
“Not a lot I can do,” I breathe in reply. “Just got to ride it out.”
“Keep talking to me, tell me what’s happening.”
Breathe, in…out…in…out… “The impact has started a spin. I think the drone arm’s torn off. I’m no longer anchored to the ship. There are breaches in the shell too.”
“Might be something we can use.”
“Only if you can halt this spin.” Behind the defensive wall of my eyelids, I’m thinking through the problem, mass and velocity versus the amount of thruster fuel Sam has left. Even if he can get me out, we still need to get to the airlock. “You’ll need to make an assessment when you get close. If you can’t reach me, then…don’t try.”
My voice betrays me saying that. Now I’m here, despite all the calculations and my commitment to the risk, I don’t want to die.
“Thirty seconds to intercept,” Sam says. “Get ready. I’m coming in fast.”
I tense. There’s nothing else I can do to prepare, wedged in as I am.
A moment later, the casing around me shifts again and I’m dragged in the opposite direction. I’m forced face-first into the metal plates. My helmet grinds against them and something presses against my back. The breach alarm goes off. I’m leaking atmosphere. It’s what we feared; my suit has been compromised.
“Sam, I don’t think I’m—”
A hand grabs my wrist. I open my eyes and see a cable snaking down to secure itself to my shoulder. A helmeted head appears in the torn gap of the torpedo casing. “Give me a minute or two to sort this,” Sam says.
“I’m losing O2!”
“Okay, I’ll look for leaks as I go. Stay calm; you’ve done the hard bit and saved all of us. Now let me help you!”
The hand lets go and disappears. Something inside me relaxes. He’s right; I need to stay calm. There’s no shame in being rescued. The hard, uncompromising knot within me has built up walls of stoic resistance, while fueling a self-critical expectation to exceed. It all stems from my need for validation. The lieutenant accreditation has been right in front of me, and I’m inching closer and closer toward it. Proving myself to others has always been part of that journey, but it’s made me ignore something else that will always be as important so long as I serve in Fleet.
I’m part of a team.
A line appears in the metal casing above my right eye. There�
��s a haze around it, like you might see on a hot summer’s day when you’re looking into the distance. I know what it means. Sam is using thermite paste to hack through the torpedo’s shell. If any of it gets on my suit, it’ll burn through that and anything inside it.
Including me.
The metal peels away. The gap is a lot bigger now. I might be able to get through it, but I can’t get enough leverage. I remember the casing crumpling on impact. My legs might be stuck. I can’t tell.
“Sam, I need—”
“Hang on a minute longer,” he says.
Something gives way around me and the spinning slows down. I can move my feet. Sam must have cut away part of the torpedo. I’m pulled to the right. “Okay, we’re clear,” says Sam. There’s a hand on my hip and the flashing oxygen warning stops. “Okay, I’ve patched the leak that I can see. Give me your numbers. How long have I got to get you into the airlock?”
“About six minutes, according to the readout,” I report. “I’m still venting, but it’s a slow leak.”
“Manageable?”
“I think so.”
Sam chuckles. “We both know you’ve stretched the numbers before. The vents on your Sabatier system should be clear. See if you can get that working. Won’t give you much more time, but a few seconds might make the difference.”
I try to move my arms. My hand is trapped, and my half arm isn’t dexterous enough to do what’s needed without a prosthetic attachment. “I can’t reach the controls,” I confess.
“Okay.” Suddenly, Sam is right in front of me. He smiles briefly before his face pinches in concentration. His EVA suit is a mess, full of tiny nicks and tears. He reaches around and activates the Sabatier unit. “Keep an eye on the readouts,” he says. Briefly his hand touches mine again and he hands me something. I recognise the shape of a micro-laser cutter. “This’ll give you something to pass the time, but be careful where you aim it. I couldn’t use it too much; otherwise I might have hurt you. There’s about half a charge left. You should be able to get to work on the rest of the casing.”
“Will do,” I reply. Sam disappears from view. There’s a sharp tug and I’m moving. We’re away, en route to the airlock.
At that moment, I allow myself to imagine being anywhere but out here. I remember the nice places, like my room on the Khidr and the small bag of possessions I brought with me. I won’t see any of those again, but I might see people I care about. Some of the crew and even… Earth? Home?
There are a lot of tough times ahead, but if the Gallowglass is intact and we can take control of her, we might be able to get to Phobos. The station will have received our transmission by now; they might even be looking for us. It’ll be some debriefing.
I’m working methodically on the remains of the torpedo casing. Slivers of metal drift away as I slice through each section, gradually freeing my arms. Sam’s tether is attached to a band of metal around my waist. I angle the invisible beam away from it and leave it intact.
The section around my head splits apart and drifts away, along with the remainder of my portable screen, now just a shell full of frozen liquid crystal and bits of glass. I can turn my head. I glance around and catch sight of Sam, a few metres away, towing me through the debris around the Gallowglass. We’re moving along the hull, much like I did before with the Khidr, during our EVA to repair the transmitter, but this time, we’re using a thruster pack.
I’m facing the Gallowglass. Her outer skin is pitted and scarred. Hundreds of micro-impacts abrade the surface of any ship when it’s been in space a while, but this damage is extensive by comparison, the sign of combat with the Khidr. It should be even worse than this, considering what we’ve thrown at her. The hull plating must be reinforced. Probably a couple of more layers on this ship compared to ours. I wonder what it looks like inside.
There’s a tug on the line. The comms channel pops. Sam coughs into my ear. “April, we’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
“Something’s just cut my suit and I’m all out of patches.”
“How far to the airlock?”
“About one hundred metres.”
“Hold on, I’m coming.”
I grab the tether, pull myself forward and loop the slack around my other arm. I’m a few metres behind Sam, and it’s difficult to close the gap with one hand. Every move I make disturbs the straight-line velocity of our travel, meaning Sam has to use his thrusters to course correct and push against my pulling on the line.
I reach his side. I see the leak immediately – a cut under his ribs. I reach out and wrap my arms around him awkwardly, using the hug to put pressure on the wound and stop the escaping oxygen. “Better?” I ask.
“A bit,” Sam replies. “Move your arm down a little.… There, that’s pretty good. We’ll make it.”
I sigh in relief. “Good.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Sellis
Fifty metres out and I can see the airlock door opening. I almost whoop for joy; it’s like someone inside rolled out the fucking red carpet.
We’re going to make it!
At that moment, I feel a pull on the tether and I have to adjust, burning valuable thrust. “Hey, keep still back there!” I say down the comms channel.
“Doing our best to, Sellis,” Le Garre answers. It’s good to hear her voice. “Might not be us, though. I’m noting some anomalous phenomena.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of the debris appears to be moving back toward the Khidr.”
“What?” My first instinct is to turn my head and try to look around, but, thankfully, I catch myself. The resistance is still there. Instead of constant velocity, our speed is reducing, a bit like a car back on Earth when you take your foot off the gas. Out here, there shouldn’t be anything to slow us down, unless we’re subject to a competing force. I can’t think of anything on the smashed-up Khidr capable of doing that.
“Shann to Sellis.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“What’s your assessment of the effect of this on our chances?”
I glance at the thruster gauge. There’s thirty-four per cent left in the tank, and the numbers are moving faster than I’d like. “We should be okay, provided the situation doesn’t get worse.”
“Understood. Best you focus on the task ahead then,” Shann replies. “We’ll monitor the changes as best we can.”
“Aye, aye.” There’s some tension in her voice. I’m aware I’m being managed. Aside from the mutiny issue, there’s a reversal of rank. A major and a captain relying on the ranks to get them through. They don’t like it.
Ten metres to the entrance.
Five metres.
Contact.
My foot slips on the edge of the hatch. I grab a handrail for support and switch off the thrusters. I pull myself in. The airlock interior looks remarkably undamaged. I detach the thruster chair and let it drift into the room, while I stay near the door, holding another rail. I turn around to see the long, jumbled trail of people still secured to the chair by tethers. Behind them is the Khidr, drifting away from us. I’ve been dragging all these people along, but only now do I see the desperate chaos of this rescue that belies the calm, military conversation.
The Gallowglass is also moving, slowly rotating away from the others. The motion generates a small amount of gravity, forcing me to brace myself against the wall. I glance to my left at the airlock door control. This is a moment where I’m empowered. I could make a choice right here to detach the tethers and shut the hatch. If there’s anyone left alive in this ship, I’d be demonstrating my loyalty to them by murdering my crew. Maybe that would deal with the threats and the blackmail.
No. People who try to lever you with things like that never let it go. While it might look like a way out, it isn’t. It’s a route to being a slave, a prisoner, forced to do what they
want.
I’m under no illusions. The road back to being trusted by the people out there hanging on to me will be hard, but I want that.
I fucking want that!
I reach for the tether attachment and unclip it from the chair, wrapping the cable around one of the safety handles and looping it so it won’t come undone. Amazing how you only miss something when it’s gone. Le Garre aside, I didn’t give a shit what these people thought of me before all this happened. Now I realise there’s a bond I have with them that’s stronger than any EVA cable. They are part of my life, part of the reassuring walls, even now as I watch another part – the actual walls – tear themselves apart. The people I shared rooms with, listened to briefings with, relied on to ensure things got done so I could go on living.
Yeah, all of those things.
Arkov is a metre away from the door. I reach out to him and grab his hand, pulling him toward me, then push him toward the emergency oxygen tank by the wall. There will be a suit repair kit nearby.
Lieutenant Travers is next. He’s holding Ensign Chiu’s wrist. I catch a glimpse of her face. I can’t tell if she’s alive or dead. Le Garre has a grip on her ankle, while she and Captain Shann have linked arms.
That’s everyone. When they’re in, I turn toward the door control.
“Chase to Sellis.”
“Receiving, Sergeant.”
“If you could keep that door open for a minute or two, we’d really appreciate it.”
I look out through the door. I can’t see Chase, but he said we. That means he must have Johansson with him. “Do you need assistance, Sergeant?”
“I think we’ll make it. Just be ready with a hand to haul us in.”
“Aye, aye.”
I stand by the door, waiting for him as the others disentangle their tethers and make use of the emergency oxygen supply. They’re cluttered in a pile, trying to get used to the rotation. All their conversation is on open comms. Arkov is trying to disconnect the thruster chair from his EVA suit; Le Garre is worried about Chiu as she’s still unresponsive. Travers has plugged her into the oxygen supply, but the only way they can help is by taking her suit off, which can’t happen until we close the door and repressurise the room.