by Rob Boffard
She looks over at him, half ready to get angry again, but the feeling fizzles out. She’s too exhausted to care. “I don’t know. We could go look in the cockpit. Maybe we’ll find something…”
She trails off. Jack shifts next to her, but doesn’t reply.
She’s doing her best not to think of their situation. With everything that’s happened, she managed to forget about it, at least for a little while, but it’s all come rushing back. They’re still adrift, still lost in space – only now without a pilot, and with not one but two prisoners, thanks to the genius with the busted nose.
God knows what they’re going to do about Brendan. The man is still trapped in the bathroom downstairs, occasionally smashing at the door frame. Jack did a number on him, from what Lorinda said, but they’ll need to come up with a more permanent solution than some boxes against the door.
How much food do they have left? What’s their water situation? After everything that’s happened, their meds are running dangerously low. What are they going to do about Corey’s leg? Hannah’s stomach rumbles, and it’s not like the feeling from before, where she was hungry but could mostly ignore it. It’s starting to become more insistent, her body screaming out for food, for fuel to keep going. Fuel she can’t give it.
God, she’s tired. And not just in her body. She’s tired of everything. There is nothing they’ve done that’s got them any closer to getting out of here – and with each new development that door closes a little more.
Then again, who is she trying to fool? That door slammed shut a long time ago. And no matter how hard they fight, no matter how lucky they get, it’s never enough.
They have fought, and fought, and fought, and they are only just barely alive.
And as these thoughts come, the full weight of their situation crashes down on her. It’s almost a physical sensation, a giant sitting on her chest. With Volkova gone, there’s no one to help her. She’s now in charge. (Red shirt. Commander colours.) Even if she refuses, the other passengers will look to her for answers – answers she can’t give them.
Callie wouldn’t think like that. She’d –
Oh, fuck Callie. Fuck her sister, and her parents, and everybody back on Titan. Fuck them for putting her in this position. She could have kept looking, stuck it out a little while longer, gritted her teeth and ignored their suggestions about her life and their little jabs disguised as jokes – You’ve got so much free time, you should go do some classes, hey, would you mind helping me paint the spare bedroom, it’ll only take a few hours.
Even as she focuses on her frustration, she knows she’d give anything to see them again. She would give anything to smell her dad’s aftershave again, to hug her mom. Even Callie.
Not going to happen now. She’ll never see them again.
She gets up and walks away from Jack, ignoring his questions as she crosses over to the far side of the deck. She’s resting her head against the cool metal, staining it with hot, stinging tears. She doesn’t scream. Instead, she scratches her nails against the metal, as if she can rip a hole in the wall with her bare hands.
The fury is gone. And in its place? Despair. Cold and hard as a blast freezer.
An idea begins to grow in her mind. At first, it horrifies her. But she can’t stop herself turning it over, considering it.
Callie and her parents always wanted her to take responsibility, show initiative. Take the lead. She’s tried, and she’s failed, again and again. But maybe there’s one thing she can take responsibility for. She can give them all a way out of this.
No. There must be another way.
But she can’t think of one.
She doesn’t know how long she stays there, leaning against the wall. But when she pulls back, she knows what she has to do.
It takes her a while to get everyone together. She has to retrieve Everett from downstairs, convince Anita that they’re not going to let the prisoner out of their sight. Lorinda comes even more reluctantly; she’s refused any more nanomeds, telling them they need to save the nine remaining pills for Corey, but it’s left her grimacing every time she takes a step.
Hannah asks Malik to stay with his brother, and to make sure the captive soldier doesn’t try anything. She expects the two boys to protest about being left out, but they don’t – they just give her dull nods. As an extra measure of security, she uses the rest of the tape to bind the man’s strapped ankles to the chair support, and she makes sure there’s absolutely nothing around him that could be used as a weapon if he gets free.
They meet at the front of the main deck, near the cockpit. Hannah keeps glancing behind her to make sure the two boys are staying where they left them. She feels bad leaving them out, but there’s no way they’re getting involved in this discussion. Not yet, anyway.
She sits on a plastic seat, hugging herself, as if to steady her body. “We need to talk about what we do next,” she begins. To her ears, her voice sounds far too old.
“I’ve been thinking,” Everett says quietly. “We could try and head back towards the station. If we did another walk—” he glances at Lorinda. “I don’t mean you have to go, but didn’t you say freeze-dried food could survive a vacuum?”
“Might keep us going a while longer,” says Anita, looking at her feet. She’s shivering, although the main deck isn’t quite as cold as it was before.
“Do you even know which direction to go in?” Hannah asks. “There’s no signal. We won’t be able to spot the station from here, and we don’t have a pilot who could navigate.”
In the silence that follows, the hum of the engines sounds too loud. Hannah’s despair jolts a little more as she realises that, just beyond the thin glass above them, there’s no sound at all.
“We could … you know.” Ev pauses, then nods back towards the prisoner.
Hannah has to will her voice to work. “Doesn’t matter. He could tell us everything, and we still wouldn’t get out of here.”
“But they must have had a way out.” Anita looks close to tears herself. “Why would they have destroyed the gate?”
“We need to think about the possibility that maybe they didn’t mean to.” Lorinda, who hasn’t said a word until now, speaks barely above a whisper. “Something might have gone wrong. They could have been stuck out here, too.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jack says.
“It doesn’t matter.” Hannah wipes at her face. “Their ship’s gone. Even if there was a … a … another gate around here, a secret one nobody knew about, we couldn’t find it. Not unless we get direct line of sight.”
At that, everybody glances up through the viewing dome. The stars stare back, giving away nothing.
Anita sighs, like even she doesn’t believe what she’s about to say. “Another gate means a signal. We could find it.”
“The captain scanned for signals earlier. If it was broadcasting, we would have picked it up.”
“Rescue’s gotta be on the way by now,” Anita says, as if Hannah hadn’t spoken. “They have to know something’s wrong.”
“Even if they are,” Hannah replies, “it doesn’t matter. By the time anyone manages to jump in, it’ll be too late.”
She hates herself, hates that she has to say this. It’s like she’s removing their hope, one fragment at a time.
“We should at least try and talk to him,” Everett says. “I know we said we wouldn’t, but if there’s even the tiniest chance …”
Hannah nods. “I know. And …” she takes a deep breath, hating herself even more. “I think we should. But if he doesn’t tell us anything, then … then we need to look at other solutions.”
Silence.
Eventually, Anita says, “OK?”
Take charge. Take responsibility. “I’m just saying … we could find a way to alter the air mix in here. We’d—”
Lorinda’s head snaps around. “No. Absolutely not.”
“What is she talking about?” says Anita.
“She’s talking about killing us,�
�� Jack says, staring at Hannah in dull shock.
“Jesus Christ,” Everett says.
And, just like that, it’s out.
She sees Lorinda about to start shouting, and jumps in. “I’m not saying we do it now. It’s a last resort. But I think, given everything that’s happened …”
“There is no way,” Lorinda says. “No way I’m selling out like—”
She stops, her mouth snapping shut. Hannah frowns at the strange choice of words, but then Anita is shaking her head, hands gripping her knees, saying, “It’s suicide.”
“I know.”
“You’re saying we just—”
“Yes.”
Anita glances over at her two sons. Corey is lying on the bench, huddled under a foil blanket. Malik is a little way away, attention locked on his holocam. Hannah feels a burst of worry that they’re not watching the prisoner, and she’s sure that Anita’s going to start yelling at them – the last thing they need. Instead, the woman pulls her gaze away, as if she can’t bear to look.
“I’m not doing that,” she says, almost politely. “I’m not. None of us are.” She looks to Everett, as if expecting agreement. Her husband says nothing, staring at a spot on the floor.
“Ev?”
He meets her eyes. There are dark circles under his eyes, and an unruly growth of stubble has darkened his cheeks.
“Everett?”
Still nothing.
Anita points a shaking finger. “Those are our boys. Our family.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and, finally, the tears come.
“I won’t do it,” Lorinda says. “I can’t believe we’re even discussing this.” She glares at Jack. “What about you? You think this is a good idea?”
Jack gets halfway to a shrug, then lets his shoulders drop. “I don’t know any more.”
“If we were going to do this …” Everett asks Hannah, ignoring the horrified look on Anita’s face.
Hannah takes a deep breath. A very deep breath.
“We’d turn down the oxygen levels on board. There’s probably a failsafe, but I could figure it out.”
“But we’d choke, wouldn’t we?”
She shakes her head, wishing she didn’t know what she’s about to tell them. “Your body can’t sense lack of oxygen – only elevated carbon dioxide. We’d just … go to sleep. I read that in a book, I think.”
“A book.” Anita doesn’t give Hannah a chance to respond. “It’s not going to happen. Not until we’ve gone through absolutely every last thing. If it means hurting him—” nobody has to ask who she means “—then we do it. I don’t care any more.”
“I know,” Hannah says softly. “If you want to go and talk to him again, or …” She swallows. “If you think torturing him is the only way, I won’t stop you. I’m going to go to the cockpit, and I’m going to figure out how it all works. I won’t do it unless we absolutely have to, and unless we all agree. But once our food runs out … or the meds …”
Another few seconds of silence. Lorinda is looking at Hannah with utter disgust.
“Fine.” Anita gets to her feet. A hard steel core has entered her voice, winding through the middle of it like a needle down a spine. “You do that. I’m going to go figure out what’s happening here.” She doesn’t look at her husband. Instead, her eyes land on Jack. “How about you? You going to help me?”
Jack meets her gaze. He looks sick – physically ill, like he’s going to throw up for the second time in as many days. But after a few moments, he nods.
“What are you even going to use?” Everett says.
“We’ll figure it out.” Without another word, Anita marches off, heading for the bar. Going, Hannah realises with a low thud deep in her stomach, to find something she can use to cut.
Trembling, she gets to her feet, amazed she can still stand. “I’ll be up front,” she says, to no one in particular.
Lorinda is seated on one of the plastic chairs. As Hannah passes, the old woman reaches out, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip.
“You’re the guide,” she says, almost pleading. “You’re supposed to keep us safe, no matter what. What happened to you?”
Gently, Hannah disengages her arm from Lorinda, and resumes her walk to the cockpit.
What happened to you?
She has no idea.
No idea at all.
Chapter 48
Corey’s leg feels thick, and completely numb, like when you smack your funny bone really hard. It’s not a fun feeling. Even so, he’s aware of his heart starting to beat a little faster.
Keeping the soldier’s secret was the right thing to do. They can’t afford to have this guy as their enemy any more, no matter what he’s tried to do to them. Keeping the secret about the thrusters won’t do that, but it’s a start.
He waits until his mom has headed over for the grown-ups’ meeting, ignoring the perplexed look on the soldier’s face. The nanomeds are working now, but it’s not going to be long before they wear off: before the cat with the giant razor teeth comes slinking out of the long grass.
“So, um.” Malik sits next to him, fiddling with his holocam. “You wanna watch some more?”
Malik, no matter what Corey might call him from time to time, isn’t an idiot. But having to explain everything now, before all the pieces are in place, will complicate everything.
“Actually, I’m gonna try get some sleep,” Corey says. Carefully, he manoeuvres himself so he’s lying down again, the jacket under his head. “Can you gimme a bit of space?”
“Huh?”
“You’re crowding me.” He flashes a smile, to let Malik know it’s OK.
“Oh yeah. Right. OK.” Malik scooches a few feet down the row of seats. “I’ll just be over here.”
Corey closes his eyes. After a minute, he peeks. As he expected, Malik is wrapped up in his holocam, zoned out. He’s in his own world, and won’t come out of it unless he has to – Corey’s seen it plenty of times before. He turns his head a little, looking at the soldier.
“What’s your name?” he whispers.
No response.
“Come on.” Corey murmurs the words, doing everything he can to make them part of the background noise. “Give me something to call you. It doesn’t have to be real. It can be your codename or whatever.”
The soldier gives Corey the same look he did when Corey asked him what year it was. But after a few moments, he says, “Roman.”
“Roman … who?”
“Just Roman.”
He’s got to keep him talking. Somehow. He looks at the patch on Roman’s arm. The daggers.
“If you really are Frontier,” he says, “then you must be into some deep cover, black ops stuff, right? I don’t know how else you’d have those thrusters, because that’s some zhen experimental shit.”
No response. No acknowledgement. Corey tries a different approach. “Why’d you do it?”
“Do what?” Roman’s voice is monotone, uninterested, as if Corey just asked him the time.
“Do wh—” Corey stares at him, and has to force himself to keep his voice low. “The station! Sigma! The place you blew up! We were on your side, and you—”
He takes a breath, his mind whirring. It doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. Roman might be lying to him, and he’s starting to second-guess himself. “Why are you trying to kill us? What did we do to you?”
Roman’s eyes narrow, but that’s all. Corey keeps talking. “If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll still figure it out. Maybe … maybe your arch-enemy was on the station. Or someone who stole your girlfriend. You got really mad, and you got some friends together, and you went in and blew it all up.”
The soldier tilts his head to one side, frowning at Corey.
“Or there was a virus on the station! You remember in season two of Vicious? That episode with the black gunk coming out of people’s noses? And Corso had to make that decision, about whether or not to blow up the other ship, even though Axin was still on board? I’m gu
essing you had to stop the virus spreading to the rest of the galaxy …”
This is stupid. He could keep guessing forever, and Roman doesn’t have to say anything. Well, that’s OK. There’s other stuff he wants to know. More important stuff, actually.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I get it – it’s like an honour thing. You’re sworn not to talk about your mission with anyone else. But can you at least tell me how you guys were going to get away, if you blew up the jump gate?”
Roman shifts in his seat. Says nothing.
“Come on. What difference does it make? Your ship’s dead, we’re pretty much dead—” somehow, he manages to say it without choking “—and it’s not like you’re getting out like you planned.”
More stony silence. Corey sighs. “Fine. You blew up the station because they were developing a secret mega-weapon that could destroy a sun, and they were planning to use it to wipe out the—”
“If I tell you, will you stop talking?”
A cold feeling spreads through Corey’s chest. For the first time in forever, he forgets about his leg entirely.
“Maybe,” he says. “If it’s true.” Another quick glance at Malik, but his brother is still absorbed in his holocam, zoned out from everything around him.
“We jumped in,” Roman says.
After a beat, Corey says, “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t get it. Through the gate?”
“You’re not listening. I told you. We jumped.”
“Yeah, I get that, but—”
When the realisation hits him, Corey’s breath catches in his throat.
You can’t jump without a gate. You need too much energy.
But he’s remembering the tech the other ship had, the spheres, how they moved like nothing he’d ever seen. And one look at Roman tells him that the man isn’t lying.
They didn’t need an existing wormhole. They didn’t have to use a two-mile-wide gate that stayed where it was while ships jumped through it. They could jump through space without one.
It’s so simple, but they didn’t see it. None of them did. And why would they? Jumping without a permanent, always open wormhole was way, way, way beyond what anyone could do. This wasn’t an ion thruster, or a swarm of weapon spheres. What Roman was saying was a hundred years away from actually working. Maybe more. It would be like those olden-day English guys in the top hats and long coats suddenly figuring out how to travel to Mars. And yet, somehow, these people had figured it out.