Across the Void

by S. K. Vaughn

  “Where is he? Do you have a visual? Stephen? Stephen? Do you copy? What happened to his radio, goddammit? Stephen?”

  “We can’t raise him,” Zola said, choking up. “Suit GPS isn’t working either.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” May screamed. “Stephen!”

  “May, we’ve got to go.”

  She looked up, sobbing. Ian’s helmet light was cutting through the darkness as he loomed over her, unfastening her seat straps. His helmet glass had darkened from her headlamp shining into it so she couldn’t see his face.

  “Ian, no,” she cried. “We have to find him.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Come now. There’s no time.”

  He pulled her out of her seat and hooked his right arm under her left, the crook of his elbow in her armpit. Then he faced forward, his back to the ceiling, and used his thrusters to start moving them through the room. May had her back to the floor, as though she were lying down. Her knees were pulled up. Straightening her legs made the pain worse. She knew another contraction was on its way. Her muscles were twitching. She could feel wetness in her suit, in her crotch and on her legs and stomach. She wanted to tear away from Ian, to go out through the airlock door and search for Stephen, but her body would not comply. Filled with despair, all she could do was whimper and wait to suffer again.

  “May, slow down your breathing,” Latefa said.

  Ian’s headlamp lit their way ahead as they neared the flight deck door. May’s lamp was facing up, toward the ceiling. It briefly illuminated her pack, the one she’d filled with her personal effects and Eve’s backup drive. It must have floated up there after Eve depressurized the flight deck, most likely while she was having a contraction.

  “Ian, my pack. My pack. We have to—”

  Another contraction hit, a flaming arrow that shot from her navel into her lower spine. She gasped, unable to even scream, and her breath sped up to a pant.

  “Almost there,” he said calmly as they flew out of the flight deck into the corridor.

  “Ian, please.”

  “Don’t worry, May,” he said quietly. “You’ll be all right. I’ve got you.”

  “May, you have to slow your breathing,” Latefa said on the comms. “You’ll hyperventilate. That’s very dangerous for you and your baby.”

  “What?”

  Latefa’s words had come too late. May’s hands and feet were tingling. She was drowsy and confused, unsure of where she was.

  “I’m . . . it’s so dark,” she said, and drifted off to sleep.

  90

  On the underside of the Hawking II’s reactor deck, Stephen clung to an EVA handhold on the edge of two payload bay doors. One of his boots was jammed into the doors’ U-shaped latch cover.

  After he had fallen away from the docking port, his momentum had carried him toward the rear of the ship. For several terrifying seconds, as he screamed in vain for help, he’d floated just far enough from the ship that he couldn’t reach it. Before passing it completely and drifting into space, he’d remembered his thrusters and used them to fly to the spot he currently occupied.

  As he rode out another wave of preatmospheric turbulence, he was still trying to contact the Maryam I. He could hear their chatter, but they never responded to his calls for help. From what he heard, Ian had retrieved May. Zola was trying to figure out how to get them back to the Maryam I. And May was well into labor.

  Ian. He had made no effort to help him. The way he’d stood there, stock-still and watching . . . almost expecting the impending disaster. Stephen had been so close to him in that moment; he remembered seeing a reflection of himself in Ian’s helmet glass, hand outstretched. He just stood there. And the electromagnetic collar malfunction he had declared—that had happened very shortly after Ian had hurried through the docking door, in the exact moment when Stephen would be following.

  Before they entered the tunnel airlock on the Maryam I, Ian had made the quick adjustment to Stephen’s EVA suit. Something about its being improperly sealed. Stephen had gotten into and out of the suit countless times in the two-week period when they were repairing the ship. He could seal the helmet to the suit in his sleep. That adjustment probably explained Stephen’s malfunctioning comms unit. He could hear everyone else, so he never noticed the problem until it was too late. Finally, Stephen knew he had fully charged his pack, but, looking at his current life support levels, he had barely twenty minutes of power left.

  After it happened, Ian had also been quick to declare him a lost cause. He’s gone, May. Then, Don’t worry, May. You’ll be all right. I’ve got you. He had wanted Stephen dead, and had planned it in advance. The whole thing was brutally cold and efficient, two of Ian’s most infamous qualities. Recalling the conversation they’d had about May just prior to entering Mars orbit, it was clear now that Ian had been talking about himself, not Stephen. It was his flag, and he had just planted it.

  Stephen had to move. Ian and May had already made it to the area just outside the docking door. Ian was continuing to spin his heroic narrative, telling Zola he thought he knew how to fix the electromagnetic collar and pull the tunnel back. It was a long shot, but he had to try. May was groaning in terrible pain. She kept talking about going back, they needed to go back. Ian soothed her with his assurances. Everything was going to be all right. He was right there with her.

  Stephen was motivated to get his ass moving by the one thing stronger than his fear of floating in space untethered: rage. It was primal and throttled his internal dialogue, reducing it to simple thoughts and actions.

  There was an emergency airlock door on every deck of the Hawking II. He couldn’t see where it was on the reactor deck, but he knew it was there. Hand over hand, he made his way around the outside of the deck, fighting to maintain his grip in the worsening turbulence. When he saw the airlock door, the next safety handhold was on the outside of it, six feet away. Thrust. That was his only choice. He shoved away the fear of floating free again and drew a bead on the handhold. You’ve done this many times. Go. He let go and hit his thruster, his hands outstretched. One of them caught the handhold. He opened the airlock with the other, crawled into the ship, and closed the airlock door behind him.

  91

  In the area next to the Hawking II’s docking door, Ian had just managed to miraculously fix the electromagnetic collar.

  “I’ve got it,” he shouted triumphantly.

  “Copy that,” Zola shouted back. “Good work, boss. Repositioning the tunnel.”

  May was holding on to a ladder rung, riding out another contraction. Through the open docking door, she could see the tunnel moving back toward them. When the collar got hold of it, it quickly reattached. Ian took May by the arm.

  “May, we’ve got to go.”

  “Ian, my pack. We have to—”

  “Right now,” he said firmly, and pulled her with him into the tunnel.

  As they made their way through, Ian had to use a combination of thrusters and handholds. The turbulence kept making him lose his grip, and he and May would collide, causing her to yell out in pain. Then she felt something giving way in her belly and a rush of warm liquid coming out of her. It formed into spheres and floated up her suit.

  “Oh my God,” she yelled. “My water broke.”

  One of the spheres of liquid floated up and burst on her helmet glass, causing her display to short out and glitch.

  “May, keep the water away from your mouth and nose,” Latefa yelled.

  All May could do in reply was sob. The smell of the water was revolting. Her breathing had returned to the short panting, and she was feeling the tingling and confusion again.

  “Almost there,” Ian exclaimed, huffing and puffing with exhaustion.

  When they finally reached the Maryam I, May was half-conscious. She could see Martin in his EVA suit, waiting for them. Ian hoisted her up to the door, and Martin pulled her inside. Much of what happened after that was a blur. After depressurizing and going through the
airlock, they got May’s helmet off. Latefa was there, cleaning her face and checking her pulse, asking her questions she couldn’t answer. May was asking about Stephen and Eve over and over, but no one seemed to care about either. She was so angry she wanted to scream, but didn’t have the breath.

  Back inside the Hawking II, Stephen was using precious suit power to thrust his way through the ship. The shaking from turbulence had gotten so bad that the ship was starting to tear its insides apart. Wall screens shattered, littering the air with razor-edged glass shards. Power lines snaked out, sparking. Water lines broke and released huge chunks of ice. When he made his way back to the docking door, the tunnel was still there. Tears of relief floated inside his helmet. Then he heard May’s voice and stopped short. He finally understood what she’d been talking about, why she’d wanted to go back to the flight deck: they had left her pack behind. Eve’s backup drive was in that pack. They had left Eve. The ship shook, and the floor and walls of the docking room twisted, knocking Stephen around like a pinball. The tunnel rattled hard against the door collar. Soon it would not need Ian to deactivate it, as it would irretrievably tear away. He had to get in that tunnel right now.

  Instead, he turned and hit his thrusters again, flying back into the darkness of the flight deck. What he was doing went against every ounce of logical, rational thought he possessed. It was utterly contradictory to his nature. But that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Eve. She was the reason May had won her fight for survival. As much as any person, Eve was a loyal, trusted friend. And, just like any person, she did not deserve to be left behind.

  “Exit orbit,” Ian shouted on the comms. “Full thrust.”

  “I need ninety seconds to secure May for labor,” Latefa shouted back.

  “Okay, but not a second more,” Ian said. “We’re already on borrowed time.”

  Ninety seconds, Stephen thought as he entered the flight deck, searching desperately for May’s pack. He spotted it floating near the ceiling and swam up to get it, trying not to use thrusters to conserve power.

  “Sixty seconds,” Ian shouted.

  “I’m not going to make it,” Stephen said to himself.

  He needed to alert them somehow that he was in there, still alive. Then he remembered the way they had known May was alive when she first woke up from her coma. They’d received the ship’s emergency SOS beacon. Stephen searched the flight deck but had no idea what he was looking for.

  “Forty-five,” Ian shouted.

  “Goddammit!” Stephen yelled in his helmet.

  “Stephen,” Eve said. “Get to the Maryam I immediately.”

  “Eve?” he said.

  No reply. Yell, you idiot.

  “Eve,” he shouted.

  “Yes,” she said. “Your helmet comm is—”

  “I know,” he screamed. “Alert the Maryam I. Tell them to wait for me.”

  He strapped on May’s pack and hit his thrusters, heading back to the docking door.

  “This is Eve, AI,” he heard her say on the open comms. “Dr. Stephen Knox is alive. He is on the flight deck, going to the docking tunnel for emergency evac.”

  When he got back to the docking door, the tunnel to the Maryam I had been retracted. Life support on his suit was down to four minutes.

  “Stephen,” Zola yelled. “Thank God. We’re sending the tunnel over now. When it gets there, hurry across. Use your thrusters. We can no longer predict burn-in, so it could happen any minute. Stephen, do you read?”

  He motioned wildly with his hand that he could not respond.

  “Stephen’s helmet comm is out,” Eve said. “He can hear but cannot respond.”

  “Copy that,” Zola said. “Okay, Stephen. Give me a thumbs-up if you copy my instructions. Martin will meet you on the other side.”

  Stephen held on to the swaying docking door with one hand and gave her a thumbs-up with the other.

  “Martin,” Ian yelled. “You’re needed in the infirmary with May and Latefa. I’ll help Stephen.”

  92

  Stephen’s heart sank when he heard Ian’s voice, but he would have to deal with that when he got to the Maryam I. As it stood now, he might be able to use thrusters to get across and survive on whatever residual atmosphere was in his suit, but no more. He waited for what seemed like an eternity for the tunnel to telescope out. Clearly, with Ian at the controls, he was going to be in no hurry to get it there quickly.

  “Guys, I’m getting a dangerously high heat reading on the hull of the Hawking II,” Zola shouted on the comms.

  Stephen could feel that heat radiating up through the hull into the ship. It was no longer freezing, and the ice-crystal patterns that had been forming on the metal and glass were melting. He looked down. The surface of Mars was now intermittently visible as the Hawking II began to drop into the atmosphere, and the shaking had gotten so violent that Stephen could barely keep himself from being thrown in every direction. He looked at the Maryam I. The tunnel wasn’t going to make it. It was only a third of the way there, and even if it did connect in time, Stephen would not make it across.

  He did the math. Roughly 230 feet of space between him and the Maryam I. Ninety seconds of life support left. Using thrusters to get that far, at the speed he needed to go to keep from burning in himself, he would drain his life support and be left with only residual air at the tunnel—if he made it. And he would be dealing with Ian.

  “You wanted to be an astronaut,” he said to himself.

  Stephen zeroed in on the tunnel and jammed his suit thrusters full. When he first stepped off the edge of the docking door, he dipped down abruptly. Too late, he thought, and waited to plunge to the planet surface. But that had been a rush of suction created by the Hawking II as it dropped into Mars atmosphere behind him. As he rose up and regained his trajectory for the tunnel, he heard the nightmarish sound of the ship being ripped apart as it burned in. The radio chatter was back, but the noise around him was too loud to make it out. When he was about thirty feet from the tunnel, he finally heard Zola.

  “Stephen, you’re coming in too fast!”

  He was, but there was nothing he could do because he was finally out of power. The tunnel was at an angle when he reached it. His torso flew straight in, but his legs hit the edge of it hard; then his head and back hit the inside wall even harder. Dizzy from the blow to the head, he struggled to get his bearings, managing to grab on to the handholds. He could feel the tunnel moving back to the ship as well, with an upward thrust. On the radio chatter, Zola was saying they had to pull up and away from the edge of the atmosphere.

  “Hold on, Stephen,” she said. “Please hold on.”

  The upward thrust increased, and he held on for dear life as the tunnel moved sharply in the opposite direction of the ship. On top of that, he could feel he was on the last of his residual air. He tried to take shallow breaths and focus on his grip, waiting for the moment when they would glide back into the serenity of space. It finally came. Determined to make it into the ship, he pulled, hand over hand, the last few feet with everything he had left, until he reached the Maryam I airlock door. And when he got there, exhausted, freezing, and feeling the beginning phase of hypoxia, Ian was waiting for him.

  “Zola,” said Ian, “I’m having trouble shutting the outside airlock door. Working on that.”

  “Copy that,” she said. “Welcome home, Stephen.”

  All Ian had to do was buy some time for Stephen to die in his suit. He wouldn’t need much. Clearly, he’d made certain he was the only one aware of Stephen’s atmospheric levels. Again, cold and efficient. There would be no grandiose speeches telling Stephen he believed that May, and Stephen’s work, and the baby were all rightfully his. That was far too trite for him. The way he looked at Stephen said it all. Quiet contempt. In Ian’s mind, Stephen was beneath him. That had always been clear. Stephen’s work was a means to Ian’s ultimate end, and Stephen was just in the way. Same with May. I’ll take it from here.

  S
tephen thought about May in the infirmary, in the throes of giving birth, not knowing what had become of Stephen. Or, if she did know, now expecting him to walk through that door to be with her. How could he let Ian take that from him? He remembered what Ian had said about him coming all that way and not telling May how he felt. In that moment, that was the question that gave Stephen the strength to slam the outside airlock door shut and seal it. It also gave him the strength to wrap his arms and legs around Ian as tightly as possible, so he could reach Ian’s EVA suit regulator.

  You’re an old man, Stephen thought, his anger rising. You should have factored that into your cold, efficient equation.

  Ian struggled mightily. Stephen’s adrenaline surged as he yanked with all his strength on the regulator hose. He was frothing at the mouth, like a rabid dog, starving for blood. The hose ripped out at last, and he had it.

  “Ian, I’m showing atmosphere loss in your suit,” Zola yelled. “Do you read me?”

  Ian couldn’t answer as he gasped for air, reaching for the regulator hose. When he realized he would never be able to reattach it, he tried to get to the airlock depressurization controls. Although this would have saved them both, Stephen wrapped up Ian’s arms, pinning them to his sides. He held them there with all his might while Ian thrashed at him with his knees and helmet. Stephen was prepared to die to make sure Ian never made it through that airlock. It wasn’t an act of revenge. He was doing it to protect May. Ian had shown the entire spectrum of his true colors. He was a very dangerous man, willing to do anything to get what he wanted, and Stephen was prepared to trade his own life to make sure he never had the chance to hurt May and her child.

  Ian stopped fighting, and Stephen felt him weaken. His face had gone slack, and his pupils were dilated. To finish the job, Stephen snapped off Ian’s helmet and watched the water in his eyes freeze until they were the milky color of a blind dog’s.