Ishimaru

by Louis Rosas

  “Connors! What the fuck! You aren’t supposed to be here right now! What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be on the scout ship!” shouted Andre.’

  “Yeah, well, if you had listened in on my priority message like you normally do you would know that life had other plans,” replied Connors.

  “You stupid asshole! Now the entire haul is getting sucked out into space! Thanks to you, nobody is getting paid!” complained Andre.’

  “Well, if you hadn’t been so greedy, we wouldn’t both be out of a paycheck, now would we?” countered Connors.

  “I’m going to kill you!” threatened Andre.’

  While the Russian scrambled to save himself, Connors had quickly donned his space helmet and looked into the surveillance camera before entering the escape pod.

  “No! Your greed has killed you!”

  “Dasvidaniya!”

  Andre’ began to lift out of his seat as the artificial gravity began to fail as he watched the whole warning light system panel light up as the shadow of the larger Russian vessel began to collide with the Fortin. All about the ship, loud sounds of grinding metal could be heard grinding like an amplified set of nails on a chalkboard. Connors rushed to seal the hatch to the escape pod and looked out the small window to see Andre’ aiming the camera right at him. As a final gesture, Connors delivered a one finger salute before hitting the escape pod launch button sending him and the escape pod shooting out of the ship like a Roman candle into the dark.

  Within seconds clearing the Fortin, Connors watched the series of rapid internal explosions flash and flicker throughout the Fortin like lightning. Connors looked out the small window once more and watched the two ships break apart into a thousand pieces into the dark silence of space and never more.

  CHAPTER II

  a HARD LANDING

  The silent vacuum of space gave way to the fiery flames enveloping the small window view of Connors escape pod as it pierced through the thin atmosphere of Eros 3117. The turbulence of reentry shook the small escape pod and its sole occupant as he braced himself inside.

  “I always said to myself I hoped I would never have to actually use one of these things! But here I am!” Connors said to himself.

  As the shaking became more extreme, Connors hit the descent computer’s interactive key.

  “What’s the time of descent?” he asked.

  “At this angle of descent your reentry time will be four minutes of atmospheric burn before final descent,” replied the computer.

  “Great!”

  The tiny escape pod punched through the upper edges of the thin atmosphere like a fiery meteor with Connors clenching his teeth and holding on for dear life inside. It was then that he remembered during his training being taunted by the only man he had ever met with a multi-cluster Mars Orbital Assault Badge. He recalled the legendary “Howling Mad Jack” Evans who had made the most Mars insertion drops conquering what was commonly known as the “Six Minutes of Terror” five times. For most people, just one orbital assault landing alone or descent via escape pod would be enough to last a lifetime.

  Connors recalled how he along with his class were strapped in their training module seats in Earth orbit before the drop when this certified madman unbuckled his restraints and stood up and howled at the moon as they made their fiery descent. The entire duration lasted under one stress-filled minute. In one sense, Connors assumed he was trying to inspire the class, but at the time it seemed more like he was rubbing it in that he could out handle anything an orbital drop insertion reentry could throw at him better than anyone in Connors class.

  ‘Six Minutes of Terror,’ he thought.

  “The time remaining?” he asked.

  “Ninety-Seconds remaining,” replied the computer.

  “I can do this!” he proclaimed.

  “Yeah, I can do this! I just got to hold on!” he repeated.

  Suddenly, a red flashing light became active on the small descent computer panel. Connors immediately hit the flashing light button.

  “Recalculating descent. You now have one-hundred-eighty seconds remaining. Total estimated retry time has been recalculated to six minutes,” relayed the computer.

  “Six minutes? Oh hell no!” he exclaimed.

  As Connors gripped tightly onto his restraints, he realized that he was making the equivalent of a Mars rapid insertion drop that is only done in combat or emergency situations which were similar to the first human landing on the planet before the reentry process for advanced interplanetary travel became more refined. The thought of having to do something like that short of combat was insane not to mention downright dangerous!

  The fiery glow quickly diminished to the sounds of winds, but he was far from being out of danger during his rapid descent. The escape pod pierced the small planetoid’s skies. A loud pop could be heard as the descent air brakes, and primary descent chute deployed followed by high altitude popping in Connors’ ears. The flashing lights of the altimeter blinked in rapid succession measuring the escape pods rapid descent. At three-hundred meters, the heat shield was jettisoned, and the landing airbags deployed to cushion the landing. But despite the added safety measure, this was no guarantee. Even under the best of conditions, this sometimes led to disaster on rocky terrains with serious injuries and fatalities.

  “WARNING! Secondary Descent Chute Deployment Failure. Emergency Backup Chute Deployment Failure” alerted the escape pod computer.

  This was a dangerous situation to be in while hurtling down at supersonic speeds. With the secondary chute failing to deploy, the primary chute was in danger of shredding leaving the escape pod hurtling towards the surface like a missile.

  ‘Shit!’ he thought.

  Connors hit the release for the emergency airbags that encompassed the remaining surface areas of the small capsule shaped escape pod.

  “BRACE FOR IMPACT!” warned the escape pod computer.

  Connors took a deep breath as he nervously tucked into his head in low as he could while strapped into his seat. All he could do was count the seconds and hold on for dear life.

  As the dread of impact raced towards him, it became more unbearable with every turbulent second as he looked out the small circular window noting the fast rotation of the spinning escape pod. He had never had to use an escape pod before and hoped he would never have to especially so far from home. As the escape pod continued downward in its fast, violent descent, he thought of Aya’s last performance at the Kyoto Concert Hall as she played a haunting rendition of Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune on a beautiful black Steinway Grand Piano before members of the Imperial Family and a host of international celebrities & local dignitaries.

  Connors thought back to that proud moment in an attempt to calm his mind during the terrifying descent into the unknown. This transported his mind from his state of dread to that of near tranquil bliss where he pictured Aya sitting at the piano in her long white formal dress as her fingers touched the keys captivating the audience while the escape pod continued into its violent, fiery descent. The melody played on in his mind as the descent became far more precarious. Despite his newfound calm, the rapidly descending escape pod was not slowing down. It was coming in too fast enough for a safe landing sending Connors down into an uncertain fate. With the prospect of doom looming ever closer, he closed his eyes and imagined seeing Aya play the last notes of her concert as the computer relayed its final warning;

  “Impact in three, two, one.”

  BOOM!

  Suddenly everything had gone black.

  Dust! A fine haze of shiny black dust filled the thin air of the crash site as stars appeared overhead. Connors opened his eyes to find himself lying flat on his back. He had been thrown from the crashed escape pod as it hit a large outcropping of rock breaking the small capsule apart. Somehow, Connors was still alive. As the smoke and dust cleared the first thing he thought of that came to his mind was his former instructor “Howling Mad Jack” Evans as he smiled before the terrified clas
smates looking about each other in relief that their terror-filled ordeal was over.

  “Congratulations! You’ve now qualified for the Mars Orbital Assault Badge!” proclaimed Connors as he laughed to himself.

  Yes, he was still alive.

  As Connors’ sense of relief and adrenaline tapered off, he tried to prop himself up, but this would be no easy task. He soon discovered that this would take a degree of resolve given his yet undiagnosed injuries. He could feel a deep, sharp pain from both his lower back and his left leg.

  “Oh this is no good,” he exclaimed.

  He could still hear a ringing in his ears and the sense that his injuries were far worse than he could feel. For him, there was only one way to be sure. Connors would have to follow crash protocols and activate his small ESC (Emergency Survival Computer) that was strapped to his left wrist over the arm of his LSS suit.

  “Let’s hope this thing is working. Connors tapped the Emergency Survival Computer to activate it, but it remained unresponsive.

  “Come on baby, work!”

  The timing could not be more critical. His space helmet was slowly filling with condensation, and his core body temperature was starting to drop.

  “Come on, come on, damn you!” he gasped.

  Suddenly after a dozen or so tries tapping the activation button, he made one last attempt with a hard thump with his hand clenched. As if meant to be, the small lights of the wrist attachment suddenly came to life. To Connors relief, a male voice with an unexpected soft English accent began to speak:

  “Your Emergency Survival Computer has now been activated. Your Emergency Location Beacon has now been activated. Medical Triage scan has now been initiated.”

  Connors drew a big sigh of relief as he could see the emergency beacon in what appeared to be sand several feet away with its small flashing indicator light flickering on and off in successive motion. It was a standard compliment to any off-world crash kit which luckily had not been lost or destroyed in the impact. Without it, any survivor’s chance of rescue would be next to nothing. Its long range pulse frequency could be detected by a passing ship in high orbit. High enough to make the critical difference between life or death. The trick now was for someone aboard a passing ship to pick up the signal and send for help.

  Connors looked to his ESC and could see the medical scan was nearing completion.

  “Med status?” he asked.

  “You have two broken ribs, one pelvic fracture, one leg fracture, and one minor head concussion. You will need medical attention upon rescue.”

  “No kidding,” said Connors as he coughed.

  “Please remain still and lie on your back.”

  Connors laughed to himself.

  “Well I could have figured that one out for myself!” he exclaimed.

  “ESC analysis concludes atmosphere inhospitable for human conditions. Recommending that you remain in your LSS with your helmet firmly secured.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know!”

  Connors’ LSS suit had stabilized his internal temperature and reduced the condensation in his space helmet but medically speaking; he was in seriously bad shape. But the true severity of his situation was about to become more abundantly clear.

  “Confirm location,” requested Connors.

  “You are currently within the equatorial spectrum of Eros 3117.”

  “Shit!” he cursed.

  Connors knew very well where he had landed, but somehow in his mind, he had hoped he had arrived somewhere else.

  “Stuck on a rock in the Quad-Threes. Great!”

  As dictated by the International Standard Crash Protocols, Connors needed to verify that his ESC could confirm which astral body he had landed on and hope there was any information on the ESC’s vast micro database of the planetoid he was marooned on.

  “So tell me about this rock I am on?” asked Connors.

  “No viable vegetation or known life forms exist on Eros 3117. There is a pocket of methane pools and ice 500 kilometers away suitable for H20 conversion. The ice detected here requires a water refinement treatment plant cycle for human consumption.”

  “Great! Like I happen to have a water refinement plant in my back pocket. A lot of use that information will do.”

  With his space helmet on there was no way to rub the throbbing pain at his temple.

  “How much air do I have?” asked Connors.

  “There is minor damage to your left 02 Processor. Standard LSS survival time is seven days. You have less than one-hundred nineteen hours remaining for rescue.”

  The news of Connors’ shortened life expectancy dimmed his hope of holding out in time for a rescue.

  “There is another problem,” added the ESC.

  “What else could go wrong?” asked Connors.

  “The damage to your left 02 processor has left you an unequal mix which overtime will bottom out with nitrogen. Combined with your concussion, you may be subject to blackouts and hallucinations.”

  Connors upon hearing this revelation made a big sigh as he began to black out.

  “Great, blackouts and hallucinations he says,” muttered Connors as he began to black out.

  And there stretched out upon the dark sands of Eros 3117 under a canopy of stars lay flight engineer Connors of the DSMV Fortin dreaming of his beautiful Japanese concert pianist playing her signature rendition of Clair de Lune all alone in the near dark while he waited for a passing ship to pick up his emergency beacon and come to his rescue.

  Meanwhile, back on Earth, that early morning at the Osaka University Hospital in Osaka Japan, a flurry of activity had taken place in what was now being called the Itami Air Disaster. There on the 7th floor, the big white doors flung open revealing a freshly mopped hospital floor as the twin pairs of polished black military boots marched out from the hallway leading from the elevators to the ICU waiting room. These were officers of the JASDF (Japan Air Space Defense Force formerly known as the Japan Air Self Defense Force) wearing their dark blue Class-A uniforms under their damp black trench coats still wet from the morning's rains outside. They both wore their officer's caps wrapped in a plastic rain protector with one carrying a briefcase. Retired Major Hiroshi Matsumura had been sitting in the ICU waiting room all night with little sleep when he noticed the two JASDF officers standing at the doorway.

  “Major Matsumura?”

  “Hai!” replied Hiroshi.

  The two JASDF officers came to and stood sharply at attention and saluted.

  “No need to salute me, Captain. I am a civilian now,” said Hiroshi as he saluted back.

  “Forgive our intrusion, Sir. I am Capt. Yamazaki and this is Lt. Kodomo. We received an urgent message from Europa Station which monitors all outbound intersystem communication traffic,” revealed Yamazaki.

  Lt. Kodomo then opened the briefcase. He produced a large vanilla envelope which he passed to Capt. Yamazaki to present with both hands to Hiroshi.

  Hiroshi Matsumura quickly opened the envelope and pulled out the white paper dispatch with the red Kanji lettering at the top of the page for urgent. A look of astonishment and disbelief filled his tired eyes. He could not believe what was reading.

  “The American husband of your sister Aya Matsumura had listed you as an emergency contact in here in Osaka. We were unaware that she was injured in the Itami Air Disaster. We wish her a speedy recovery,” said Capt. Yamazaki.

  “Arigatou Gozaimasu,” thanked Hiroshi.

  “Your sister’s American husband, Mike Connors is listed as missing,” revealed Yamazaki.

  “How?” asked Hiroshi.

  “We still have few details. All we know is that someone on his ship activated its distress beacon at 1935 hours EWT. From what we understand, an escape pod was launched. A minute later, the ships transponder and emergency beacon ceased transmitting. We believe the American Merchant Vessel is bearing the designation DSMV Fortin was destroyed somewhere in the Quad-Threes region of space near the Morton Claim Fields at 1936 h
ours EWT.”

  The timing of this event could not be worse. Hiroshi Matsumura appeared stunned as his elder father Shintaro Matsumura (himself a retired JASDF Colonel & former F-40J Hyper-Jet pilot) and his mother Mrs. Fuyumi Matsumura entered the ICU waiting room.

  “Good morning Sir! Good morning Mrs. Matsumura,” saluted Capt. Yamazaki.

  “Thank you, Captain. What seems to be the trouble?” asked the elder Matsumura.

  “There has been an incident,” said Hiroshi.

  “An Incident?” remarked the Matsumura Sr.

  “Hai! Mike-san has gone missing!” replied Hiroshi.

  “Missing?” asked the stunned former colonel.

  “Is anyone looking for him?” asked Fuyumi.

  “Hai! There are five ships including one from Japan taking part in an international search effort for survivors. But time is critical, and the probability that we will find survivors is very slim in such a vast region of space,” explained Capt. Yamazaki.

  “I understand,” replied Hiroshi as he passed the urgent dispatch contained in the envelope for his father to read.

  “As a matter of professional courtesy we can offer you a seat on a scheduled military transport to Europa Station,” offered Capt. Yamazaki.

  “When does it leave?” asked Hiroshi.

  “It leaves Atsugi Naval Air Station at 1100 hours. If you wish to accept our offer you must come with us right away,” offered Capt. Yamazaki.

  Hiroshi Matsumura sighed deeply as he looked out of the frosted ICU waiting room window to the cold gray morning rains outside contemplating Captain Yamazaki’s offer to leave his family behind on Earth to go forth to Europa Station. Hiroshi had to take careful consideration given the haze of both sudden shock and the wake of a late night full of worry and zero sleep. Out of respect and cultural tradition, Hiroshi looked to his father for approval before making a decision.

  “Hiro; you go,” urged Shintaro.

  “Find Mike-san. Bring him to back to Osaka. We will contact his family in California and manage here,” assured his mother, Fuyumi.