by Sam Renner
She pushes herself off of him and wipes at her tears with the palm of her hand.
“I was on there thinking about the pilot and what she must have gone through. How she’s lost her crew. What she must have seen and what she must have experienced. Then, I started thinking about what this means for us. We don’t see this kind of thing out here. You know that. It’s quiet this far out. So is this just a one-off event, or is this just the first of many attacks like this? You know?”
McKibbon nods. “Yeah, I’ve thought about that too, the last part.”
He grabs her by the elbow and leads her toward the exit and they begin the walk back into the heart of Zulu.
FOUR
The final video file ends and Lebbe looks up. The room has gone dark because he hasn't moved in more than an hour.
It takes a moment, but he reorients himself. He's no longer in Dallas; he's back on Zulu.
He stands and the lights click on. He looks at his watch and realizes he's hours late for his meeting with Grey.
He spent all of the morning and most of the afternoon watching videos in this small, empty office. Now, he’s given Grey another check for her anti-Lebbe column. Not that he necessarily minds. Enough of those and she might have him shipped off the station before the end of his contract.
He steps out in the hall and lights pop on there as well. He heads back out into the larger outer room that is the interior of one of Zulu’s rings. He takes quick steps across the floor to find the exit then hurries to McKibbon's office.
“Dude, you're late.”
“Yeah, I know. Got caught up in something.”
“Like, really late.”
“Is she pissed?”
“Didn't seem to be. But that was quite a while ago.”
“What are the chances I can still take a look at that ship?”
Lebbe follows McKibbon through the parts of the Zulu that he’s only just discovered. They make their way through tight halls into the large open hangar where McKibbon and his crew are keeping the ship. The lights blink on as they enter the room and Lebbe sees it for the first time.
The room is large. The ship is not. It sits in the center, like it’s on some kind of stage. The first thing Lebbe thinks is that putting the ship here is such an inefficient use of space. Then he remembers where he is, and that if there’s anything Zulu has an abundance of, it’s space.
Lebbe turns to McKibbon, his face twisted with confusion. He points to the ship.
“That's it?” he asks.
“That's it.”
“Huh. I thought I was gonna see something … more.”
“What do you mean more?”
“I don't know. I guess I thought it would be bigger or more substantial. It's just a hauler.”
“Yeah, just a hauler.”
Lebee approaches the ship and takes a closer look. He leans in close to study its sandblasted sides. He puts a finger deep into a pockmark in the ship’s surface left by space debris. He runs his hand up to the edge and moves the tarp slightly to study the hole where the pirates punched their way in.
On the screen in the main control room when McKibbon and his crew were approaching the hauler, the opening looked smooth. He can see now that it’s not. It’s definitely a square hole that was left behind, but it’s not cut with the fine precision that he expected to find. The edges are jagged, like a tin can that’s been cut with a steak knife.
His index finger hangs up on one of the sharp points, and he yanks it back out of instinct. He’s cut, and he puts his finger in his mouth. The tang of blood tweaks his tongue.
“Want to see inside?” McKibbon asks, grabbing a handful of the tarp.
“I think I have to.”
McKibbon pulls back the tarp, and Lebbe barely makes it into the hold before he’s down again inspecting something up close. This time it’s the pool of cooled and hardened metal.
“What’s this? Where’d it come from?”
McKibbon shrugs. “I’m not a detective.”
Lebbe’s making mental notes about everything he sees, everything that feels out of place. He stands and looks across the back wall opposite to where he’s at now and sees small bursts of black soot. The left-behinds of blaster fire, and that wall is painted with the stuff. He turns. The wall behind him has it too. And it’s also scattered in other places around the room.
It’s on the ceiling. Probably what took down half of those storage lockers hanging precariously. It’s also what likely caused a couple of the storage crates to fall and others to explode.
Then he sees the blood.
He turns to McKibbon, points to the blood--dried a deep brown at this point--and says: “That’s… uhh…”
McKibbon finishes the sentence for him. “It’s a lot.”
“And your team didn’t find anyone on here but the pilot?”
“Just her. And not in here.”
“Clearly, someone else was here. There was a fire fight. Someone, many someones probably, were hit with fists or blaster fire. But where are they? Why did the pirates take them, but not her?”
“I don’t know, detective. You tell me.”
Lebbe looks the hold over again. There has to be something he’s missing. That piece of the puzzle that once he finds it brings the picture to life. He goes back to look at the hole punched into the side of the ship. The breach has marred the floor, leaving grooves in the metal deep enough to drop his fist into.
He stays low and looks at the rest of the floor. There’s typical wear you get on a ship that’s clearly older. But other than these cuts in the floor, there’s nothing that looks fresh, like something heavy had been dragged off this ship.
“So, you’re no detective, clearly.” Lebbe stands. “But are you a science guy?”
“I have some things I learned at the academy. Mostly space physics and stuff like that.”
“Perfect.” Lebbe walks the room again. “So, these pirates punch their way in here. They compromise the ship. When they pull out to leave, what happens to stuff in this hold? It all floats away?”
McKibbon looks around the hold. “Clearly not.” He kicks at a ball of sloppily wound rope and it bounces to the middle of the room.
“But the rest of her crew. If they were left behind and this ship floated out there for a couple of days… would they have floated out the hole in the side?”
“Possible, I guess. But out there, in the vacuum, you aren’t going to go anywhere unless you’re acted upon. Bodies at rest stay at rest, all that stuff.”
Lebbe moves back to the middle of the hold. “Then where are they?”
He turns in a slow circle and looks over the room once more, like if he stares hard enough two bodies will somehow magically appear.
“Want to see where we found her?”
Lebbe hesitates. He’s still looking around the hold. "Um ... sure.”
McKibbon leads the way down the narrow hall, and Lebbe asks "You guys found her in a suit, right?"
“Yes. She was wrapped up in nice and tight.”
“That seem right to you?”
“How do you mean?”
“When you were on the hauler out to get her and this ship, how were you dressed? Were you in a flight suit the whole time? Or, once you guys were out away from Zulu and just flying did you get comfortable? Down to something less bulky?”
“Well, we were suited up for launch. But, after that, we all got comfortable.”
They’ve stopped walking and are now just standing outside the opening where the wall was melted away so the pirates could get into the cockpit.
“That's my point. Why was she in a suit?”
“I don't think I can tell you.”
McKibbon gestures toward the opening in the wall. Lebbe peaks his head in. He takes a quick glance around the room and sees nothing of interest.
He pivots quickly and starts to walk back down the hall. “Ok. Let's head out.”
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
FIVE
Dim light sneaks through the cracked bedroom door, and Jason Maldonado checks the time on his datapad sitting on the side table next to his bed. It’s morning. Early morning, but not so early that people would think odd things if they were to run into him out in the hall.
Look at that early riser, he thinks they’d tell themselves. Off to start a day of work.
The reality wasn’t so generous. If anyone were to see him out in the halls on most mornings like this one, he’ll draw stares. He and Malvaughn are sore thumbs. Maldonado knows it. It’s why Malvaughn gets so upset about his excursions around the Manhattan. But Maldonado also knows that if he waits a few hours there’ll be more foot traffic in the halls. There’ll be more distractions and people for others to stare at.
He slowly stands, interlocks his fingers and pushes them high above his head. A wave of cracks ripple down his back, and he sighs.
He shuffle steps out into the living room and finds Malvaughn still sitting in the same spot on the couch with the same computer open in front of him. A series of dashboards are on the screen, and Malvaughn is going through each clicking boxes and entering settings. He closes them as he finishes.
Maldonado grabs a take out container off the table and brings it to his nose. He breathes in the aroma of whatever had been there before.
“Ahhhh,” he says, pulling the container from his face and setting it back on the coffee table. “Cheeseburger … wait. Patty melt. Definitely got grilled onions. And safe bet is fries, but I'm guessing chips on the side. Hopefully you ordered this from the burger place at the far end of three, because …” He doesn't finish, just makes a face like he's in ecstasy.
Malvaughn doesn't look up from his computer. “Wish I could tell you I was impressed. But, yes, it was a party melt and chips. I don't know where from. I called a guy in the middle of the night. I ordered. He delivered.”
Maldonado pulls a mug from the small cabinet in the smaller kitchen area. He slides the mug into a spot in the wall, a hot drinks machine. He keys in the code for hot water and watches the mug fill.
He grabs a small packet of instant coffee from a bag sitting on a chair and pours it onto the streaming mug. He swirls the cup around then takes a long drink.
“As particular as you are about food, you still drink that swill.” Malvaughn shakes his head.
“I know. It's the one thing I can't seem to leave on the ship.”
Maldonado sits on the love seat and watches Malvaughn work. This guy is the brains. Maldonado is the muscle. Not that Malvaughn is some kind of meek, little man. He’s as tall as Maldonado and nearly as broad. He casts an intimidating shadow. But his expertise isn’t in the physical. He’s most comfortable sitting behind these machines, getting washed in code. Lost in data.
A few more moments on the keys and Malvaughn slides back from the computer and smiles.
“What?” Maldonado asks.
Malvaughn spins the computer around so the screen faces Maldonado. It’s just a stack of windows, all a bunch of dashboards with buttons and sliders and things to click. It’s meaningless.
“Sorry, man. I don’t …”
Malvaughn interrupts: “We’re in. That’s Zulu.”
Maldonado hesitates. Confused. “But I thought we were already on Zulu.”
Malvaughn spins the computer back to face him. “We were, but not like this. We had access to a few systems, but now we have them all.”
“What’s that mean?” Maldonado takes another drink of his coffee. “We can delete data and stuff?”
Malvaughn shakes his head. “We aren’t some kind of hacker boy looking to change our criminal records. This is real stuff. Look.”
Maldonado leans over so he can see Malvaughn’s screen. He watches as Malvaughn’s cursor grabs a slider and pulls it down.
Maldonado sits back up and grabs his coffee mug. “What’d you just do?”
“I just reduced efficiency of the water recycler by half.”
Maldonado just stares.
“Because of me they’ll all soon be drinking piss.” It all rolls out as one long frustrated word.
Maldonado smiles and nods. “Ohhhh,” he says. “Now that’s disgusting.”
SIX
Grey puts her hand above her cup of tea and lets the steam coming off the top tickle her fingers. She’s sitting at The Quickstop, at a table away from the counter waiting for her lunch to arrive. She’s earlier than normal, and the crowd is light despite the number of people roaming around Zulu’s main floor.
Carole is in a seat across from her.
“It’ll be seven years next week,” Carole says, responding to Grey’s question.
“That long?”
“Oh, yes. The kids have essentially grown up here. It’s made them close.”
And probably lonely. “They happy here?”
“Seem to be,” Carole says. “I don’t know that we’ve ever asked. We do try to let them get away every once in a while. Take a shuttle over to the Manhattan. Maybe to a station a little farther away. Change of scenery, you know.”
“Probably a good idea.” Grey likes Carole. She’s a nice woman. Older than her, but they get along, although she wonders if that’s more because they have to. There aren’t many other women on Zulu full time. Rebecca is nice, but she’s young. Carole’s daughters are even younger. She doesn’t interact with the soldiers by design, so even though there are women down there, she doesn’t know them.
So for female friendship, it’s Carole or it’s no one.
They chat for a few minutes more when their conversation is interrupted by a bell from the Quickstop kitchen. Carole looks to the window behind the counter and the plate now sitting there.
“I think that’s you.” She stands to check. A moment later she’s back with a plate piled high with salad.
“I’ll let you eat in peace.”
Grey nods and thanks Carole.
Grey grabs the fork with one hand and her datapad with the other. She taps the screen to turn it on and begins checking messages back from command. Most of it is uninteresting. The rest of it isn’t useful. She rarely gets messages from command that have anything to do with Zulu. Today, there's a thread of conversation about something happening back on Earth. She knows that generally she should be concerned about that stuff, but she’s not. She leaves all of that to Lebbe. There is another message about shipments being delayed, but all that is too close-in to Earth to have any real consequences for her and her crew out here.
The stations can be roughly divided into two groups. These aren’t official, not written down anywhere, but it’s how all of the commanders think of them. Everything Earth and in is one group. Everything Mars and out is the other.
Stations between the sun and the Earth are more concentrated. The universe is full of them. They spread out in front of you like stars on a clear night. Things start thinning out between Earth and Mars, and then once you get away from Mars direct orbit things get very sparse.
Zulu’s overhead speakers crackle then announce that the 1:30 arrival will be on time and coming in at the west point.
Grey smiles. Seeing the rogue ship earlier had put her back in a dark place. She started worrying again about her station and the space that surrounds it, all of the space that she’s been charged with keeping safe. But hearing an automated announcement, that dumb female voice, with her slight lilt, brings her back.
This does feel good. This is normal. This is my Zulu.
And it is. Ships are coming in. Lebbe is off doing whatever Lebbe does. Everything is on time. All of Grey’s trains are moving.
She takes a bite of salad and thinks to herself that maybe, if the ship can start running again like it's supposed to, if they can manage a few weeks or months of absolute routine, she can take a break. She can find a little something off this station some way to relax.
How long has it been since you've had a break? How long’s it been since you've put your feet up and not thought about arrival times an
d staffing numbers or whether this ship or that shipment made it to the station on time? Too long, Caroline. You need a break. You’ve earned a break.
Her mind begins to think out the technicalities. Going to Earth is obviously too far. It would take weeks just to get there. But maybe something on the Manhattan. Maybe one of their luxury suites. Just a few weeks of being pampered and so taken care of that it’s impossible to even think about things happening on Zulu. But is the Manhattan far enough? She can make a trip to the Manhattan now. That's where they all go to pick up supplies anyway. She needs to go someplace a little farther out. Some place that it takes effort to get to. Like go stay on the London. She's never seen that station. Or the Chicago? Or what about the Barcelona? She's heard good things about the Barcelona. She seen the pictures the other station captains share from their time away, and the Barcelona has always looked more than intriguing.