Inside Out

by Thorne Moore

  Smith checked. ‘Just. Not for much longer. But she was in range long enough for me to turn her inside out. You want me to analyse it all?’

  ‘Yes. Do it. Anything, everything.’ Tod glanced round at Yasmin. Arms tightly folded, she’d retreated from the weapons console as if it were infectious.

  ‘You fired too early,’ said Clytemnestra, helpfully.

  ‘I don’t know whether I’m glad or sorry,’ said Yasmin. She turned to Tod. ‘You told me the Vlad and the Tarquin were Triton carriers.’

  Addo shot a glance at them.

  ‘Meaning that they carry recruits to Triton?’ continued Yasmin. ‘Like us?’

  ‘Not like you,’ said Tod coolly. ‘They transport convicts. Easy money, small expense.’

  ‘Was the Vlad transporting convicts when you – when she was destroyed?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Tod met her gaze. ‘I don’t know. If she was, they’re probably better off dead.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I don’t know. Fifty? A hundred?’

  ‘The Tarquin could be carrying convicts too?

  ‘Yes, it could be.’

  ‘Yasmin, you fired a warning shot,’ said Addo. ‘You demonstrated we were armed and ready for them, and they turned and ran. No one was killed, we were saved. You did the right thing.’

  ‘Don’t try to assuage her guilt complex,’ said Tod. ‘She enjoys wallowing in it.’

  Yasmin gripped his wounded shoulder hard. ‘I’ll only take so much,’ she said, as he writhed, with gritted teeth.

  Smith and Clytemnestra exchanged glances.

  ‘Shall we move on?’ suggested Addo. ‘Back to our stations, if we can stay awake?’

  Chapter 25

  ‘All right. That’s all we can do from this end.’ Selden rubbed his chin. ‘Not enough. That anchor needs repairs that can only be done out there.’

  Abigail sat down wearily. He’d been setting the pace tirelessly for hours. She ached. ‘So after all that, we’ll have to wait until we reach our next port?’

  ‘Either that, or I do the job properly. By going out.’

  ‘Out!’ Abigail was horrified. ‘You can’t. It’s too dangerous.’

  Selden half smiled. ‘No more dangerous than sitting here waiting to be attacked when we can’t respond properly. We were lucky with that single shot. No damage, no retaliation. Next time, it won’t be so easy.’ He stood up. ‘Pointless messing. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Do you – are you sure you know what to do?’

  His smile broadened at her concern. ‘It’s what I did, on Triton. Working outside. Big bonuses. Better get on if I’m going to do it. We’ve got eight hours until the Pan ship is due. Might as well be ready for her.’

  If Selden knew what he was doing, he was right; better to do the job now, and Abigail wouldn’t help by wringing her hands. She watched as he made a few calculations.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m going to find a suit, collect what I’m likely to need. You contact Flight Control. Check that it’s all clear and tell them we need the laterals off-line again. We’ve been running smooth for several hours now. I don’t think they’re planning on more manoeuvres.’

  She nodded, switching on the intercom. ‘Flight Control?’

  ‘Abigail?’ Addo’s voice, avuncular and slightly patronising. ‘How’s it going? Had enough yet?’

  She bit her tongue. ‘Selden wants to do some external repairs.’

  Addo was instantly more serious. ‘He wants to go out?’

  ‘Yes.’ She strove to sound business-like. ‘Are there any problems? Will it be feasible to take the laterals off-line?’

  There was a brief pause. ‘How long does he need?’

  ‘He knows we’ve got to be back in working order before the Pan ship arrives. How long can you give us?’

  Another pause. ‘One hour. Two, if absolutely necessary. No more. I can’t risk having the ship disabled for longer than that.’

  Selden returned to the control room carrying a pressure suit and boots. ‘One hour, maybe two,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘It should be enough.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said to the intercom. ‘That’ll be enough.’

  ‘When do you want me to disconnect?’ asked Addo.

  She glanced at Selden again. He held up both hands, fingers spread. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’ The word trailed away into muffled discussion, then Addo came back. ‘Maybe one of us should come down there. To help out.’

  Selden jabbed a finger at her.

  ‘I can manage everything,’ said Abigail.

  Tod’s voice cut in. ‘If Selden’s satisfied, so am I.’

  ‘Good.’ Abigail switched off, looking cooler than she felt. She was back where she’d started, standing by, watching while others acted. She felt frustration building up again, and yet the thought of what Selden was about to do made the hair rise on her scalp. He was rummaging for more equipment. She picked up the suit, imagining being trapped in it, surrounded by infinite nothingness, no womb of the Heloise to cradle her. She shuddered.

  Selden returned with oxygen pack and tool kit. ‘All fixed?’

  ‘Yes. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Watch my back?’ He took the suit from her. ‘Watch the monitors. Watch the clock. Stand by. I’ll let you know if there’s a hitch.’

  She nodded again, as he clambered into the suit. She helped him with the fastenings. He wouldn’t let her help with the oxygen pack, connecting it himself. ‘Always see to your own air supply.’

  So she stood and waited.

  The intercom came to life again. ‘Ready?’ asked Addo.

  ‘Ready,’ said Selden.

  The monitors marked the progress of disconnection.

  ‘We’re off-line,’ said Addo. ‘Good luck.’

  Abigail followed Selden down to the inner hatch of the maintenance port, as he locked on the tool kit before fastening his gauntlets. He snapped his visor into place and checked the seals.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ His radio voice, coming at her from an oblique angle, made her jump. She could just see his smile. He pointed one heavily padded finger at a hand-held receiver clipped to the wall by the port.

  She prised it loose and tried it. ‘Yes, I can!’

  He patted the air with his hand.

  ‘Yes, I can,’ she repeated more softly.

  He raised a thumb.

  ‘What about the hatches? Do I open them for you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Controls on the hatches, inside and out.’

  ‘All right.’ She handed him the tool kit. ‘Take care.’

  In reply he pressed the hatch control and disappeared through into the empty white chamber beyond.

  As the hatch hissed shut again, Abigail hurried back to the monitors in the control room. Selden was opening the next hatch, into yet another compartment, adjusting controls. She waited with bated breath as he lingered before approaching the third and final hatch. It parted, at his command, like hands opening, to reveal a blossom of cold black emptiness. For a moment he was outlined white against the fathomless darkness, then he was through, walking on infinity.

  She shifted to another monitor, covering the exterior of the ship, and found the lateral anchor. They had already worked on it by remote control, but she had no idea where to look for the hatch Selden had used. When at last she caught movement, she was jolted by the sight of a gnat, working its way laboriously along the ribs and curves of the ship. His task seemed gargantuan, just to reach the monstrous struts.

  ‘Everything all right?’ His voice was much clearer than she was expecting.

  ‘Fine,’ she said.

  Merrit had Tucker permanently connected to the diagnostic unit. It was the only way of monitoring his patient’s condition that he could think of, other than feeling his pulse and testing his temperature periodically. The readings were registering a gradual decline. Slowly and surely, Tucker was drifting away. Unless the haematoma was dealt with, he was
doomed. Merrit had thumbed frantically through the scant medical references in the infirmary, desperately hoping for an alternative diagnosis that would avert certain wrath from his own head, but everything he read only confirmed his fears. The man’s brain was being crushed by his own blood, and all Merrit could do was sit and watch. But as time dragged by and Tucker miraculously clung on, terror was replaced by frustration that all this struggle should come to nothing. Merrit sat back, gnawing his thumb.

  ‘If you think there’s something you can do, do it,’ said Tod.

  Merrit leapt up. How long had the commander been standing there, watching him?

  Tod motioned him back into his seat and bent over the bed to touch Tucker’s clammy skin. ‘The Pan ship is still hours away. He’s not going to make it, is he?’

  ‘No,’ said Merrit.

  Tod straightened. ‘Irritating bugger. If he had to die, he could have done it at once, save us all this bother.’ He laughed at Merrit’s flinch of shock. ‘Having put us through all this, I’m damned if he’s going to quit now. I want him kept alive if it kills him.’

  Merrit was in too much of a panic to question Tod’s logic. ‘I told you, I can’t do surgery. That’s way beyond me.’

  ‘But probably not as far beyond you as it’s beyond me.’ Tod pointed. ‘That’s his head, Merrit. There’s a skull in there and a brain and a lot of blood. That’s the limit of my knowledge on the subject. I wouldn’t know where to begin. You possibly have some idea. So you’ve never done it, but you’ve watched doctors at work, you’ve looked at anatomical charts, you’ve read books. If all else fails, you can fall back on beginner’s luck.’

  ‘Hey, look, I’ve watched a guy having his appendix out. I’ve never seen a brain operation!’

  ‘But you do know, in vague terms, what they’d do, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, theoretically.’

  ‘Theoretically will have to do. There’s nothing to be lost, Merrit. If you do nothing he’s going to die before the Panache gets here.’ As Tod spoke, he opened the cupboard and started pulling out cases of implements, gloves, gowns, sterilising solution. ‘Here’s what we’ve got. Can you use it?’

  Merrit opened a couple of the cases and shuffled the instruments in desperation. A bizarre and eclectic selection, acquired from God knows where, half of them antique brass and probably lethal. He flicked open another box. Scalpels. At least they’d be sterile. Another case, a small drill. He stared at it. ‘Is there any tubing?’

  Tod rummaged. ‘Like this?’

  ‘Yeah. I suppose so.’ It wasn’t confidence that took control of Merrit so much as a certainty of failure so absolute that his worries simply surrendered to the inevitable. He was about to kill Tucker, and there was nothing to do but get on with it. ‘Better wash,’ he said.

  Anatomical charts, Tod had said. Books. Theory. Nothing remotely like the real thing. Merrit couldn’t believe he was doing this. He wouldn’t have believed, a few hours before, that he’d even remember the most basic principles, and yet, when it was needed, memory snapped back into place. He was opening a man’s head, drilling through his skull, looking at his brain. He fumbled once or twice, peering blindly. Once or twice he almost froze in panic, but Tod was there, standing calmly by, sterilising, passing implements, directing light, mopping, doing anything that Merrit asked. His strength seemed to be contagious.

  At last, blinking sweat out of his eyes, Merrit finished the patching up. At the end, his hands began to shake. Had it really all gone smoothly, or had he dreamt it? He closed and reopened his eyes, expecting to see brain matter spattering the walls, but no. Tod was clearing bloody swabs away, the bleeding was staunched, the pressure relieved and Tucker was still alive, his vital signs creeping back from the brink. A proper surgeon might need to do the whole job again properly, but at least he’d managed to keep the guy alive.

  He felt a hand pushing him back onto the chair, a glass pressed to his lips. Brandy.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Merrit. ‘Jesus Christ! Oh fucking hell! Oh shit!’

  ‘Couldn’t have put it better,’ said Tod.

  ‘Okay?’ Abigail waited anxiously. Selden had kept up a desultory commentary on his progress, as he clambered laboriously to the anchor and started work. But he had been silent for several minutes now. She couldn’t see clearly what he was doing.

  He took a moment to answer. ‘The micro-welding kit isn’t working.’

  ‘Is it vital?’

  ‘Yes.’ A hollow laugh. She could see him straightening and stepping back. ‘There’s another one in the circuits lab. Can you find it, check it ready for me? I’m coming back.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll go.’ She paused, looking at the monitors again, and the vast expanse of ship he would have to traverse in order to pick up the replacement. Already he’d been out there for more than an hour. ‘Stay there. I’ll bring it.’

  ‘Don’t do anything! Maybe you could get one of the others—’

  ‘Who? Addo? Tod? They’re the only crew left. They need to stay in Flight Control.’

  ‘Abby, you can’t just jump in without knowing what you’re doing.’

  ‘There are suits here. Oxygen packs. I watched you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Selden, you don’t have time to get here and back. Addo’s given you two hours at most. I can do it. You just get on with whatever else there is to be done.’

  ‘Abigail, don’t you—’

  She switched off, watching his tiny figure gesticulating on the monitor. He stamped like a frustrated toddler.

  Before she could allow herself time to think, Abigail hurried off in search of the replacement welding unit. She found it after a brief search and checked it as best she could. It seemed to have life. She’d just have to pray that it was functioning properly. She strode back to the store where the pressure suits were kept. It took her longer than she expected to kit herself out. Everything was so clumsy, the boots unbelievably heavy. She attached an air pack as she’d watched Selden do it, but he’d made it seem easy. It wouldn’t sit right with her. After wrestling with it furiously for a minute, she wrenched it off and started again. This time it slipped easily into place. It took her five more minutes to adjust the flow and learn how to use it, before she dared seal her helmet.

  She hooked the welding kit onto her belt, then steadied herself and marched up to the hatch. It opened, she stepped through. Trapped in the inner chamber, she searched for instructions or controls, but there were none except for the two hatches, inward and outward. She opened the second and heard the seals of the one behind her hiss fast shut. The outer chamber was more alarming, lined with vents and dials. She examined them, wondering what she was to do in preparation for their return, but they were incomprehensible. What should she do? Go back? Ask Selden? She realised she didn’t know how to use the suit’s in-built radio communications. She studied the controls on her sleeve. That must be the radio. Nothing seemed to happen when she tapped it on.

  ‘Selden?’ She was sure she must be speaking to herself. All she could hear was her own heart beating, her own breathing, her own voice sounding oddly close and muffled.

  Then a hiss broke in. Selden spitting expletives. ‘Stupid girl!’ he added more coherently.

  She interrupted him. ‘I’m in the outer chamber. Is there anything I should do, anything I should reset before I come out?’

  He allowed himself one hugely irritated sigh, then gave in. ‘You sure your suit’s set right?’

  ‘I’ll soon find out.’

  ‘Okay. Left of the hatch there are controls to depressurise. You see them?’

  She looked. ‘There are two controls.’

  ‘The top one. Set it to 3 and give yourself a couple of minutes before opening the hatch.’

  ‘All right.’ She sounded almost off hand. It was a good performance, she thought. No one could tell. Except her. A couple of minutes, he said. She watched the pressure gauge dip. Two minutes to stand and wait and do nothing, instead of charging around, bein
g busy. Two minutes to think of what lay ahead of her, and to acknowledge to herself that she was on the point of vomiting or screaming, or both. Neither was wise in a pressure suit. Why had she done this? Why hadn’t she called for Tod or Addo, as Selden had suggested? Why had she volunteered herself for what was her secret worst nightmare?

  Because it was her worst nightmare. Because no matter how hard she tried, she could think of nothing more terrifying than stepping out into nothingness. So that was what she was going to do.

  Two minutes were up. The pressure gauge had sunk to zero. Was Selden speaking to her? She couldn’t hear. All she could hear was her heart, thumping like a steam hammer, blood thundering in her ears. Heaving a breath that came in trembling starts, she forced her gauntleted hand up to the control, and the hatch began to slide open.

  Tod stood motionless, watching the instrumentation respond as the laterals came back online.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Addo. ‘Perfect as far as I can see.’ He glanced round at Tod with a grin. ‘Congratulate them for me.’

  Tod nodded and strode to the elevator, to the accompaniment of Smith’s relieved whistle. On D-Deck he headed for heavy engineering. Newly emerged from the pressure chamber, Selden had already peeled off his suit, dumped his tools and was checking the monitors, nodding vigorously as, one by one, his repairs were highlighted and proved intact. Abigail was still down by the hatch, her back to them, head bowed, as she slowly pulled off her gauntlets.

  ‘No hitches?’ asked Tod.

  ‘None.’ Selden turned to face him, his expression noncommittal.

  Tod could do inscrutable too. ‘Out of a hundred, how would you mark your apprentice on obedience?’

  Selden hesitated, studiously not looking in Abigail’s direction. ‘She’s been very effective. There was a lot to learn.’

  ‘It wasn’t your idea to send her out there, was it?’

  ‘The first micro-welding unit wasn’t working,’ said Selden. ‘I told her I needed another unit.’

  ‘No, he didn’t ask me. I went.’ Abigail was wriggling out of her suit, her back still to them. Her voice was strained. ‘He told me to fetch you. I ignored him. There wasn’t anything he could do about it.’