Unfreezing Lucy

by Kim Cleary

  Chapter One

  ‘I don’t do sex.’ I flicked a glance at Chief Engineer Simon Dubois before turning my attention back to the screen login.

  ‘Good morning, Lucy Wilks,’ the computer chirped.

  The mellow light on the spaceship’s maintenance deck flickered. Simon’s eyes glowed, a seductive silkiness drew me in, but my mind pulled me back.

  He lifted his palms. ‘I said dinner. Did I mention sex?’

  ‘You’re a man.’ I leaned closer. He mirrored my stance. My rebellious body quivered until I regained control. ‘It’s always on your mind,’ I whispered.

  He shook his head, but a smile curved his mouth. ‘You can be such a chauvinist—’

  ‘This conduit won’t build itself.’ Jenny, my best friend and day supervisor on our ship, Phobos, jabbed a finger into my arm. ‘Flirt on your own time.’

  ‘Flirt!’ Simon brushed his hands down his tunic, strode away and shouted over his shoulder. ‘I’ll grab the connector.’

  ‘It’s my turn,’ I called after him.

  He waved, but continued his strides to the end of the pipe. He pulled the heavy protective tunic over his head. His t-shirt rolled up and tight muscles worked in his abdomen as he wriggled into the cramped space. He twisted to reach something, a sheen built on the small of his back.

  Concentrate.

  It was just like Simon to save me from doing the dirtiest task, even though I’d just rejected his dinner invitation. I stared at gossamer-fine carbon nanotubes entwining into place. Tried to focus on the job, but memories squirmed in my head. Tony. My stomach churned. I thought I’d found my soul-mate. The searing pain of his rejection showed me how wrong I was.

  I shouldn’t have visited Veshilles with Simon last month. Working together had turned into fun before I thought to apply brakes. The woodland holiday planet seeped past the security shield I’d built around my heart. We’d gorged on plump wolfberries, lain side by side and watched triple moons rise in an apricot suffused sky. His lips had whispered against my skin, his breath warm against my neck, our hearts beating in time. A shaft of pleasure pierced my heart.

  I kicked my ankle. No more dates with Simon. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t get hurt.

  SUDS FLOWED OVER MY hands in the oldest and quietest bathroom. I rolled my head back, four hours to go. I hated these twelve-hour shifts. But repairing the oxygen pipes was essential for our survival in deep space and everyone contributed.

  The door swung open and Jenny sashayed in. ‘Give Simon a break. Have Valentine’s dinner with him. It falls on your free day—’

  ‘I don’t do Valentine’s.’ Heat climbed my neck; I was thinking about Simon too often. My brain spun with doubts.

  Simon wasn’t Tony.

  Simon was polite, gentle, interested; and damn it if he didn’t have one hot body, but I’d no intention of falling in love. Not again.

  Never again.

  I splashed my burning face with water.

  Jenny watched, lips pursed, as I dried my face at the dryer. She posed, hands on hips. ‘You don’t have to marry the man. Just enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I won’t...’ Tight bands laced across my chest. Jenny didn’t understand; after Tony, comfortably numb was all I wanted.

  ‘Simon is gorgeous, available and here.’ She slapped my bum. ‘Have you imagined his strong arms around—’’

  ‘You go out with him.’ I glared back at her, yanked my too-long, too-thick hair into a tight ponytail. The hair band snapped and pinged against the wall.

  ‘I would in a heartbeat, honey’ —she lifted finely sculpted brows— ‘but I’m not the one he wants. Use one of those silly pink hairnets, that’ll teach you for getting mad. Let’s get iced tea, or we’ll be thirsty for the rest of the shift.’

  FINALLY, DINNERTIME. My body didn’t know if it wanted to eat, shower or crash and sleep. I stretched my arms above my head. My stomach rumbled. Food first.

  In the dining room, Simon wasn’t in his usual place, no sign of his tawny head anywhere. I’d been snarky with him this morning, when he’d only ever been nice to me. Thickness filled my throat. I’d find him and apologise.

  Jenny appeared at my shoulder. ‘When you find him’ —she winked— ‘tell him I need him on deck early morning.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Of course she’d guessed who I was looking for. Life on Phobos was like living in a goldfish bowl.

  ‘He’s not with the motley crew he helps with engineering homework.’ She nodded her head toward his habitual table. ‘But he can’t be far.’

  Jenny joined the queue for spicy stir-fry.

  I pushed my way through the hungry crowd, found space on the landing.

  It would only take a few minutes to dart to his cabin. I’d apologise and make it back in time for dinner. Spicy stir fry sounded just fine.

  I tapped at his door three times. No answer. The fourth time, I thwacked and it pushed open.

  ‘Simon?’ I stepped into his cabin. ‘Are you here?’

  Unless he’d turned into a pancake and squeezed himself under the narrow bed, he was hiding in the ensuite. No. That door also opened to an empty room.

  Everything was tidy and clean. Nothing like the mess that always filled Tony’s cubicle.

  Unease shivered up my spine. It wasn’t like Simon to disappear at dinnertime. The engineering apprentices adored him, and he loved coaching them. I darted back to the door. The corridor was empty and quiet.

  Two strides across the small room and I slid open the slim wardrobe door. Neatly folded clothes nested on his shelves, but his standard issue duffel bag was missing. A knot settled in my abdomen. At the back of his desk, his mother smiled from a holographic frame. He was so proud of her. I’d heard it in his tone and words when he’d revealed how she’d worked two jobs to send him to the best engineering school.

  I loved that about him. He was so open, showing himself utterly, without holding back for fear of rejection or judgement. My knees weakened and I slumped to his bed.

  Where was he?

  My stomach rumbled. I glanced at my watch; there’d be no dinner left now. A protein bar would have to do. I pulled the door shut behind me and paced to my favourite vending machine.

  At the midway cross-section, where a corridor led to the flight bay, a light flashed red. Someone had opened the external hull doors. I tapped on the keypad fitted into the wall and jolted still. Someone had opened the experimental airlock.

  Why?

  The knot in my belly twisted like an angry snake. Simon had designed and built the new trial capsule. He might.

  Chapter Two

  My legs took me toward the flight bay as if they had a mind of their own.

  Inside the airlock, chilled air drafted around my ankles.

  I tried to tell myself Simon knew what he was doing, but my hands still trembled. I blew out a deep breath. Simon had grinned his lopsided smile when I was designated interior designer on his project. “Let’s get the capsule working first,” he’d said, but we’d worked together well. I was probably worrying for nothing.

  Regardless, I started the console and requested the identity of the last person who’d used it.

  The screen flashed, and there he was. Suited up, looking like he was about to take a space stroll. Simon ruffled his hands through his hair and tossed his duffle bag into the capsule. He grabbed a helmet, two oxygen cylinders and clambered inside. The inner airlock doors opened, the capsule hovered to the outer airlock and the doors closed again.

  Maybe he wanted quiet time to himself, space to think or draw. I rested my head against the console, at least he was safe. For now. Captain Alvarez was a gentle giant, but he wouldn’t be happy. Simon would be in trouble for taking the unfinished craft out without permission.

>   The computer alarm sounded. The screen flashed a crimson message: “Pea—Oxygen Warning”.

  Coldness prickled across my skin. We’d christened the capsule pea thanks to its colour and perfect roundness.

  ‘Bloody Hell.’ I paced the small area, my breaths in shallow rasps. Fifteen minutes’ oxygen in his helmet, plus whatever was in the cylinders. I checked the time again. He’d left fifteen minutes ago. Could it be out of oxygen already?

  ‘Open airlock.’ My pulse pounded in my ears.

  ‘Repeat request.’ The computer followed protocol and asked for my pass-code.

  Thank the stars I still had my codes. I punched in the number, the doors slid open and I rushed through. Two full cylinders stood on the shelf meant for empties. Had he grabbed empties from the shelf labelled full?

  In half-gravity, I bounced to the porthole. The capsule was drifting away. An insignificant metal sphere, floating against a carpet of countless unblinking lights in endless velvet.

  The airlock wasn’t connected to the security system yet. I couldn’t get help without running...too far, it would take too long. I grabbed a spacesuit, jammed in my arms and legs. The enclosures snagged in my fumbling fingers.

  Calm down. Think straight.

  I breathed in through my nose, slowly filling my lungs, then out through my mouth. The exercises helped. The suit was too big but it would do. I fastened it, donned a helmet and grabbed a backpack thruster to manoeuvre myself to the capsule. I shoved a first aid kit into my pocket, fastened the backpack securely, and tucked an oxygen cylinder in my arms.

  It wouldn’t work. If Simon was already out of oxygen—a sour taste filled my mouth—I’d have no hands free to open the capsule hatch. I strapped the cylinder to my leg, staggered to the external airlock and prayed I wouldn’t be too late.

  ‘OXYGEN DEPLETES IN fifteen minutes.’ The computer voice crackled in my helmet.

  My hands swam inside too-large gloves; with straining fingers, I hung onto the outer hull door. For a few seconds, a solar flare rent the blackness in two. The capsule—drifting even further away—sparkled iridescent green. Then it was a dull metal sphere floating in endless velvet again. An oxygen-less sphere carrying my Simon away.

  My Simon. The thought meandered from my heart into my head and lodged there. Metallic air hit the back of my dry throat. An image of Simon’s gentle eyes flashed into my mind, my breath swirled in my chest. Comfortably numb wasn’t an option anymore.

  My thigh ached from the cylinder, and I hadn’t moved yet. I activated the thruster, rocked myself into a steady crouch, and pressed the boost buttons on my shoulder straps.

  The jolt lurched me away from the ship. I arched my arms above my head, aimed for the capsule and pressed the buttons again.

  ‘Oxygen depletes in seven minutes.’ The helmet crackled again.

  The capsule’s signalling antenna pointed at me. I aimed my fingertips at the fibre thin end, double tapped the buttons to allow ten seconds to manoeuvre, and prayed I’d reach it with the final thrust.

  The alternative was an untethered spacewalk to death. Mine and Simon’s. Even if I reached the capsule, would I get inside in time to save him? If he was dead, would I be able to manoeuvre the capsule back? The seconds crawled by, my arms quivering.

  Too late now to do anything else. I had to get to the capsule.

  YES.

  I grabbed the antenna and dragged myself along its length. At the capsule, I gripped onto the hatch.

  Pain seared through my arms. I ignored it, grabbed the handhold and hammered at the fiberglass. Silence from inside.

  Please be conscious. Or at worst, unconscious.

  I refused to imagine him dead.

  In oversized gloves I wrestled rotating discs to release the hatch.

  No go.

  ‘Warning. Two minutes—’

  I smacked the helmet until the alarm stopped. I didn’t need it telling me how long before I died.

  Third try, the seals lifted apart, and I yanked the hatch back.

  My legs could’ve been encased in cement. I wriggled one inside, the other leg wedged against the outer capsule surface. I gyrated pole-dancer style, slid my feet into the seat next to Simon, and slammed the hatch shut.

  As the hatch seals locked into place above my head, I dropped into the seat. It was frigid inside the capsule, but artificial gravity was working. Simon slumped like a sack of potatoes, his sketchbook on his lap. So that’s what he’d been up to, sketching the universe for one of his amazing drawings. I’d admired his sensitive art when we first met.

  Simon was so different to Tony. Why was I pushing him away when every bone in my body wanted to hug him tight?

  Red lights flashed across my faceplate. My pulse thrashed in my ears, almost drowning out the oxygen alarm from my helmet. I had fifteen seconds to get the full oxygen cylinder connected before I fell unconscious.

  Before we both died out here.

  Chapter Three

  I released an empty cylinder, unclipped the full one from my leg and rammed it into its housing. The cockpit warning lights changed from red to orange, the oxygen bar filled.

  I tossed the helmet and gloves behind my seat, dragged oxygen into my lungs, and stroked Simon’s neck feeling for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  I fumbled the first aid kit out of my pocket, found the no-pulse epi-pen and stabbed it into Simon’s neck.

  His eyes fluttered open, then closed. His neck arched, and he sucked in a lungful of air. His head lolled forward, like a teddy bear with too little stuffing.

  I inhaled, heart pounding, my trembling fingers stroking his cheek.

  ‘Lucy?’ His gaze latched onto mine.

  My heart stuttered, in spite of the cold, warmth flooded my body. I cupped his cheek, choked out a shaky ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’re you doing here?’ His words slurred together. He raised his hand, covered my fingertips with his.

  Unexpected tears welled in my eyes.

  I’d almost lost him. Please be okay.

  I squeezed his fingertips. ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’

  ‘No oxygen.’ He focused on my face.

  ‘That’s why I delivered.’

  ‘What the hell?’ He wriggled upright and swivelled the viewing window. ‘We’ve drifted too far from Phobos.’

  He lurched toward the console, crumbled onto his knees in a heap. I grabbed his shoulders, every movement awkward and jerky in the suit, and somehow bundled him back into the seat.

  The sketchbook and pencils tumbled to the floor.

  He stretched his head back, eyes closed, struggling to catch his breath. ‘Phobos.’

  ‘Rest. Tell me what to do.’

  ‘Give me a minute.’ In spite of the cold, tiny beads of sweat lined his upper lip.

  Did we have many minutes? We were about to die. My chest heaved with opportunities not taken, now perhaps never to be had. I wanted mindfulness again, even if only for a few minutes.

  I lifted my gaze to Simon’s face. He stared back at me through a curtain of dark gypsy lashes. Maybe he wasn’t the right man for me, but if I didn’t open myself to the possibility, I’d never find out.

  Such a waste.

  Simon’s eyes fluttered. ‘I feel like a bug in a specimen jar.’

  I laughed, pure pleasure rising from deep inside me and gurgling out of my mouth.

  Simon arched his brows. ‘I’m glad you find our predicament amusing.’

  Too hard to explain. I wanted to apologise for ignoring him for the past two weeks, but words stuck in my throat. Instead, I leaned closer and brushed my lips against his cheek.

  He jolted upright, grabbed my shoulders. ‘What were you thinking? Following me? Putting yourself in danger? You could die. We both might.’

  ‘I don’t want you dead. I’d miss you.’ More than that, I’d miss what we could be together.

  He barked out a laugh. ‘You mean you’d miss laughing at me?’

  ‘I’ve never l
aughed at you.’ When we got back to the ship, I’d let him know what I wanted to do with him.

  His face softened, his eyes boring into mine. Heat creeping into my cheeks, I lowered my gaze to the floor. The sketchbook lay open to a chalk drawing of the fabulous Tiger Paw Nebula, but when I picked up the book, it opened to a soft drawing of my face.

  ‘I couldn’t resist.’ It was Simon’s turn to blush. ‘You looked gorgeous as you slept on Veshilles.’

  ‘You’ve made me—’

  ‘It fails to capture a tenth of your loveliness’ —he lifted my knuckles to his lips— ‘or your strength.’

  Had he read me so completely? Seen through my snarky act to the fearful woman hiding deep inside? Heat filled my face, my breasts, my abdomen, and thighs. I’d forgotten what it felt like to give free rein to my emotions, but this wasn’t the time or place.

  We had to get back to Phobos.

  I blew out a long sigh and curled back into the seat. ‘If we get back, and the tractor beam is on auto, can it find us?’

  Simon glanced at the console. ‘If we’re in the right spot, it will.’

  I pinched my lips together. Damn. I should’ve learned how to fly this capsule. ‘Simon, can you do it?’

  The lines around his eyes tightened. ‘We’re either dead, or in serious trouble.’

  ‘In serious trouble, please.’

  Concentrating on the console, he instructed the computer. The life-support system clicked down seconds. His fingers tapped the keys.

  The capsule spun, then moved in a smooth arc away from the ship. My heartbeat thrashed in my ears. When Tony dumped me, I wouldn’t have cared. But I didn’t want to die, not now.

  Please not now.

  Movement stopped. The capsule swivelled. My tensed knuckles gripped the hand-rests. I glanced at the console. Our on-board thrusters roared and we swooped under the Phobos’s belly.

  Simon peered through the cockpit porthole. ‘Phobos’s tractor beam criss-crosses under the ship every few minutes. It’s on.’