“I’m going to enter the station,” she said.
“Okay, I think that’s a really terrible idea,” the man said. His tone affected humor, but there was real concern in it. “Can you wait for me and I’ll come with you?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said. She took hold of the grip bar outside the airlock and keyed the controls. The outer door slid open smoothly. “Place still has power.”
“You don’t even have a gun,” he objected.
“I’m seventy-three years old, and I’ve never fired a gun in my life,” she replied. “I can’t imagine what good one would do me now. I’d probably just shoot myself in the foot.”
The man fell into a grudging silence while the woman cycled through the airlock. It disgorged her into a hallway, and she followed it into a larger chamber.
The room she entered was a mess. Wall panels floated free, and power cabling had been torn out and rerouted all over the place. The majority of it snaked through the chamber and fed into two stasis tubes which had been crudely bolted to the floor. The woman maneuvered her way over to the nearer of the two. Looking at the bio readouts, she saw that they were both still active.
“Did you find anything?” the man asked.
The woman put her hand out and wiped ice away from the small window set into the stasis tube. Through it she could see the form of a forty-something woman with dirty blonde hair, deep in hibernation.
“Captain Clea,” the woman said, laying her head upon the tube.
“Hey, Gwen, are you there?” the man asked. “Did you find them?”
“I found them, and they’re alive,” she said, her eyes moist. “Let’s take them home.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This one took some doing. As it turns out, becoming a father is a busy business.
Though my life may have changed, my list of supporters remains. My thanks to the eternally constant, ever supportive love of my life, Emily. Thank you for reminding me that I can finish.
My thanks go to Steve who once again slogged through a novel of mine sentence by sentence, typo by oddly constructed sentence. Maybe you should take the next one off, my friend. Burgers are on me next time.
And of course, thank you to my father, who is a grammarian like none other. I value your insight always, even if I don’t always agree.
My gratitude also goes to Ginger, Andy, and Jeff for reading my first draft and giving me feedback. I loving having you as my friends, and I miss you all.
Once again, I must thank the inimitable and incredibly generous Christen for the work on the cover design. I don’t know what the secular term is for a God-send, but you’re it.
I would also like to thank you, the reader, those of you who have come with me on this journey. As far as I know, this is the final journey of Clea Staples and Gringolet, but I hope you’ll join me on another journey to another land someday soon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James Ross Wilks was born on the east coast and grew up on a steady diet of Star Trek, Star Wars, Stephen King, Robert R. McCammon, and Final Fantasy. Since then he has spent innumerable hours watching, reading, listening to, and teaching the art of storytelling. This is his third attempt to contribute to that art. He currently resides with his wife, daughter, and their cats in Portland, Oregon, where he teaches English literature.
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