by S. A. Tholin
A thin scratching sound came from behind.
"Duncan?"
Something scraped her leg, tentative, probing, and logic, reason, even fear, disappeared in a surge of adrenaline.
She heaved forward, her scream cut short under the strain. The scratching became a scuttle, retreating - and then skittering close again.
Ahead, brighter light filtered in through a grille in the side of the duct. Joy bashed her fists against it, but it wouldn't budge.
It's welded shut. It's screwed in tight. No way out.
Panic blurred her vision. A deep breath, that's what she needed, but the air was so cold it hurt, and the dust so thick -
- the sound of her own wheezing breath snapped Joy out of the hysteria.
The shortness of breath was a symptom of an affliction she'd suffered since infancy. Martian lungs, the doctors called it, a progressive and chronic disease caused by the inhalation of dust. It had hovered over her life like a spectre, her every breath scarring her lungs further. She'd never been able to play outside without a respirator mask, couldn't keep pets, had to keep her windows sealed and sanitise her apartment daily. As she grew older, the limitations only seemed to compound, but no matter how hard she tried to follow every recommendation, the dust - or some other adverse particle - got to her eventually.
It was her first and oldest fear, and it trumped all others.
Calm breaths. She'd already activated her med-bracelet; her system was being flooded with stimulants. She wasn't going to die. It was going to be okay.
She fumbled in the dim light, feeling around the vent panel for screws. Instead, she found latches. They were rusted in, all right, and squealed with cold and age, but the important thing was that they turned.
A coarse, bristling sound came from ahead. Joy looked up and saw her reflection in the two central eyes of a spider.
She tumbled through the open grille. Her knees hit the floor hard, but she ignored the pain, scrambling away from the air duct, and away from the thing with the waving many-jointed legs; the thing that was as large as a cat.
She'd landed on a narrow gantry, and through the steel mesh floor, she saw only darkness. The door that Duncan waited behind was at the far end of the gantry - too far, as long and thin legs waved at her from the open vent. Nearby, a hut perched on the gantry like an eagle's nest, overlooking the vast space below. Above its door, a sign read:
SECURITY
The panel next to the door flickered on and off. She wiped off as much dust as she could and held out her wrist.
COULD NOT DETECT CHIP - PLEASE TRY AGAIN
She cleaned the scanner with her sleeve, patting her wrist where the chip chafed underneath her skin. In time, it would integrate seamlessly, nestling comfortably in tissue, but for now, it hurt.
COULD NOT DETEC -
The panel went dark and Joy forced herself to stay calm. It would come back on again. The lights were on, the power wasn't out. All she had to do was wait.
Wait - and ignore the clicking in the air ducts. A myriad legs, skittering and scuttling above her.
"Come on," Joy hissed, resisting the urge to smack the wilful piece of technology.
Green light radiated from the screen. A cheerful beep preceded two words as beautiful as poetry:
ACCESS GRANTED
◆◆◆
The door slammed shut behind her, brilliant light flooding the room. A cacophony of shrill alarms blared - but at least there were no spiders.
Not much of anything, in fact, as most of the ceiling had caved in, burying the back of the security office in a landslide of debris. A wall-mounted fire extinguisher. Four chairs and a table. Brown rings on the table betrayed a flagrant disregard of coasters.
She'd visited Finn in many rooms just like it. His office was fancier these days, and though she hadn't seen his office on the Ever Onward, she imagined it was as shiny as they came. Probably still had coffee rings on the table though; she'd not yet met a cleaner that could keep up with Finn.
Hey, everybody has a flaw. I may be messy, but at least my own lungs don't try to kill me on a daily basis.
"You're such an ass," she muttered to the Finn who only existed in her head (but was remarkably like the Finn who slept in the bowels of the ship).
The surveillance monitors that yet functioned displayed only static, but underneath them, a computer screen flashed imploringly at her.
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL IN EFFECT
The computer responded to her touch, accepting her h-chip. According to Duncan, to facilitate evacuation, the emergency protocol gave anyone with a chip access to the parts of the ship that didn't require special clearance.
The screen glared red with error messages. Power failures. Flooding on two decks. Numerous hull breaches.
Disaster upon disaster. All the computer could do was (strongly) urge her to deploy maintenance crews. All Joy could do was acknowledge the alerts and switch them off, one by one, until the alarms ceased.
On the ship's schematics, almost every deck and compartment was littered with red exclamation marks. Her stomach twisted as she saw the section where Finn slept.
All dark. Not even an exclamation mark.
It could mean anything. A display glitch, or maybe life support was down in that section, and that was okay because the cryo pods would keep Finn, Miana, and all the others safe. Snug as bugs, until she could find a way to rescue them.
First, she had to find something better than a hospital gown to wear. The cryo compartment had been like a fridge, but the rest of the ship was like a freezer. At this rate she would die of exposure before she could find out what was going on.
And wouldn't that be ironic - spend over a hundred years frozen, only to freeze to death as soon as you wake up.
The security office's equipment cage had collapsed, but clothes and gear lay scattered in the rubble. She picked through the mess until she found a jumpsuit that was only a few sizes too large, made of a white, honeycomb-textured material that felt dry and wonderfully warm. She rejected riot shields and helmets, snap-on protection and gauntlets, grabbing only a jacket. It was heavier than it looked - she suspected it might be bullet-proof, but rather hoped she wouldn't have to put it to the test. The Hierochloe logo - three white grass spikelets inside a red triangle - was emblazoned on the right breast pocket. She wrapped a thin t-shirt over her mouth, tying it behind her head. It'd do for a decent makeshift breathing mask until she could find something better.
A mangled weapons rack offered a variety of choice: riot suppressors - sonic, electric and plain old blunt - shotguns, assault rifles and handguns. More than they'd ever have needed during the journey, but perhaps these weapons were meant for use on Gainsborough. She'd heard stories of exo-colonies imploding into violence and warfare, but those were surely the exceptions. Though, she remembered the smoke on Kirkclair's horizon and the crackling tension that had permeated the city in recent years, as the Workers' Union had made up for its lack of political power with riots and strikes. There would have been miners and labourers among the Ever Onward's colonists. Would they have brought their Martian troubles to Gainsborough? Had they brought those troubles onto the ship?
If so, all security personnel would have been mobilised. If so, Finn wasn't asleep, but dead - because he'd never have abandoned her.
She trembled as she tried to keep her calm. The security office showed no signs of mobilisation; she'd seen no signs of combat. There was no conclusive evidence, none at all, that Finn was anything but dreaming away in his sub-zero cradle.
◆◆◆
She took only a belt holster and a lightweight handgun, similar to the one she'd left behind on Mars. For years, it had lived in her bedside table drawer, untouched but for the weekly visit to the firing range.
Finn had started taking her there as soon as he first got licensed to carry. The other guys - his friends and colleagues - had teased him about bringing his little sister to the range, but Finn had wanted her to learn, had wanted her
to feel safe; to be safe.
Over the years, plenty more had started showing up with their families. Wives and husbands, children of all ages. It no longer seemed like a hobby or professional practice, but as preparation. For what, she... she didn't really want to think about, but she knew Finn had.
As soon as she had passed the required tests, he'd bought her the handgun. A few years later, he'd showed up for her birthday with a gift-wrapped assault rifle, complete with bow. She'd objected, intimidated by the sheer weight and brutality of the weapon.
But Finn, what do I need that for?
For emergencies.
I thought the handgun was for emergencies.
I guess this is for big emergencies.
Well, she was experiencing a big emergency right now. A really, really big one. So big that she was tempted to grab one of the assault rifles from the rack, but they were just too heavy. So a handgun it was, with as many magazines of frangible bullets as her pockets would accommodate.
And now it was time to grow a spine. She had to open the door to let Duncan out, and she had to stop acting like a frightened child, but in between her and the door was the open ventilation grille and hiding in its shadows, the spider. Waiting for her, waiting to pounce and latch onto her shoulder and -
- and Finn wasn't here to catch it with a glass and a piece of card like he normally did, while laughing at her silly fear (although even Finn might hesitate to tussle with a spider of this size).
Outside the security office, the gantry lay as dark and quiet as she'd left it. Nothing moved in the open vent, though she couldn't shake the feeling that the spider was still up there, just waiting. She shivered and took a deep breath. One - two - and on the count of three, she ran across the gantry.
The door kindly accepted her chip immediately, and as it groaned open, she pushed her way inside past the waiting Duncan.
His eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down.
"Who told you to go raid an armoury? You were supposed to open the damn door, not leave me hanging."
"There was this creature in the ducts. A spider the size of a cat."
He gave her a sceptical look.
"I'm not joking. Hush, listen - they're up there, scrabbling around. Can't you hear?"
"Maybe," he conceded. "In any case, it's good news. A spider infestation means it's unlikely we're adrift in space."
"We made it to Gainsborough?" Blue fields and bluer seas. Air so fresh her med-bracelet would be obsolete.
"We'll know soon enough." He rubbed his prickled arms. "Where did you get the clothes? I can't even think in this cold."
◆◆◆
Where Joy had gone simple, Duncan elected for the all-inclusive, adding a padded ballistic vest and ceramic-plated pauldrons to his newly-scavenged jumpsuit. He carried a helmet tucked under one arm and in his other hand, his greatest prize - a computer tablet whose batteries still held a charge.
Joy, feeling uncharitable, wanted to ask him what riots he was planning on suppressing. At least he'd gone light on the weaponry, settling for a handgun and a sonic disabler slotted into hip holsters.
"Time to get the hell out of here. I've mapped the best route, but depending on how badly damaged the ship is, we may have to improvise. I hope you're ready to crawl through more tight spaces."
"Wait - the woman in stasis. Shouldn't we wake her?" Joy asked.
"Why? There are thousands of cryo pods. You want to wake them all up before we even know what's going on in here? We can't even access most of them."
"But we can access hers. The ship's in a bad state. If the power glitches again, or goes out in this section, she'll die."
Duncan's facial expression could only be described as neutral. Perhaps she was enough company for him to keep the shadows at bay, but he was decidedly not enough for her. He reminded her of the miners back on Mars; just as tense, just as angry, and behind his contemptuous sneer, she gleaned desperation. The thought of wandering through a silent ship with him made her skin crawl. The thought of possibly being stranded with him as the only other survivor? Unacceptable.
"Fine, I'll go back and do it myself."
"She probably won't make it five minutes outside of the pod," Duncan called, but she ignored him.
◆◆◆
Joy's official job title was horticultural bio-engineer. A botanist, in truth, and her focus on gene-modification was one mandated by demand, rather than passion. With no native flora of its own, Mars' desire for new crops was insatiable, and so Joy had spent her short career on a team working to engineer a variety of pineapple that could thrive in Martian soil. Sometimes it seemed a waste of a degree, and much of her education had slipped from her memory. Where once medicine and biology had resided, now lived only pineapple genome composition.
Thankfully, the cryo pod interface seemed simple enough. The procedure was straight-forward and user-friendly - it had to be when tens of thousands of settlers were expected to be roused quickly and safely.
Just to be on the safe side, she examined the panel on her own cryo pod to retrace Duncan's steps, and - what? It couldn't be right. It shouldn't be right - but oh, it was.
The panels on the other opened pods revealed the same truth. He had all but pressed buttons randomly. The first attempt was the worst, just a cascade of ham-fisted button mashing. After that, he had tried harder, but no less clumsily. No less ignorantly.
These people had not been killed by power glitches. Human error had been their undoing.
Joy still felt the ill effects of her own sudden awakening. The weakness of her limbs, the headache that caused little starbursts in her vision, the fatigue... None of it normal. None of it meant to happen.
"Are you done yet?" Duncan stood in the doorway, bobbing on his heels, one hand firmly planted on his gun.
His incompetence had all but butchered the others, but what other choice had Duncan had? He'd been alone, frightened and trapped. If he was happy in the belief that power failures had caused their deaths, perhaps it was better not to rock his very fragile boat.
Especially since she was stuck onboard the same fragile boat.
Joy looked at the woman who slept behind foggy glass and vowed to do better. She pressed CONFIRM, and the machinery at the back of the pod sputtered to life. Canisters hissed with gas and steam as needles were inserted, primed with nanites and a careful blend of stimulants and sedatives.
"Good." He wiped his forehead. "The air is getting thin, I think."
"The air is fine, Duncan. Just relax, okay?" She tried to smile, but the strain of trying to remain calm and relatively optimistic was getting to be too much.
The cryo pod panel slid open. The woman moved, stretching in her cushioned cocoon like a cat waking from a long nap. The restraints held her in place, sparing her Joy's unpleasant experience of falling to the floor.
"Joy." Duncan's whisper rasped with urgency. "Behind you."
Was there a more frightening combination of words? Joy would rather do anything than turn around. Her hand found the comforting grip of the gun. One deep breath, then she'd turn.
One deep breath -
- and a weight dropped onto her shoulder. A bristled leg dug into her hair, seeking skin.
Joy cried out, shaking her shoulder hard. The arachnid clung on, and she swatted at it (oh god I touched it). It fell to the floor, where two more of its kind waited.
She swung her gun round, aiming with shaking hands. These creatures were fast and much smaller than the targets at the range.
A fourth arachnid scurried from the shadows behind the cryo chamber. Too slow, Joy thought, bewildered, I'm too slow and then the arachnid's pincer-like chelicerae closed around her calf.
She cried out and kicked at the arachnid, stumbling backwards. She caught a glimpse of the woman in the cryo pod, whose eyes were wide in horror. Not exactly the awakening Joy had wanted to give her, but then, that seemed to be the theme of the day.
Her foot slammed down hard on the arachnid's bulging ce
ntre. The creature's grip loosened, and it skittered back into the shadows. Slower now, tottering. Tough enough to survive a good stomping, but not indestructible.
In the corner of her eye, she saw Duncan raising his gun.
"No," she said, shaking her head. He looked confused but lowered the gun.
Joy shook hair from her face and trained her gun on the cluster of arachnids. As long as she didn't have to worry about friendly fire from Duncan, she could do it; she could.
Yes, you can.
Finn's voice echoed in her head, and she remembered the warmth of his hands closed around hers as he'd helped her aim and fire a gun for the first time.
She pulled the trigger. The clustered arachnids were showered in puce as the middle one burst. She'd hit the fattest part of its abdomen - the largest mass to aim for, and evidently, the squishiest.
The surviving spiders lunged for their dead friend, pulling and tearing at the oozing remains.
"Not particularly intelligent."
"They're just more hungry than they are clever." Joy lowered her gun and tried to conceal just how badly her hands were quivering. "That's not necessarily good news."
"Come now, Joy, they're just big bugs. How much of a threat could they possibly pose? The one that bit you, its teeth weren't even strong enough to pierce your suit."
She looked down, expecting blood and gouged flesh, but Duncan was right. The arachnid had only managed a nasty pinch.
"Chelicerae. That's what their jaws are called. See, spiders have hollow teeth containing venom glands and..." She shuddered. "Sorry. I'm rambling, I know. Point is, most spiders have venom glands. Even if their venom's no worse than a bee sting, the bite could still be problematic. You ever see a camel spider?"
Duncan, still watching the feeding frenzy, shook his head. He seemed to find the spiders' cannibalism fascinating for reasons Joy had no interest in investigating.
"They came to Mars from Earth as stowaways on freighters. Smugglers, maybe, or somebody in Quarantine messed up. They look a lot like these arachnids, only smaller. They really took to their new environment - apparently they're a huge problem over in Torthorwald Forest. The tourism industry took a big hit once hikers started complaining about giant spiders leaping from the bushes. I'd never seen one myself until a few years ago - the zoology department at my old job were tasked with finding a safe and efficient way to exterminate them. Ugly critters, but not as ugly as the bites half of Zoology were sporting a week later." She laughed, even though nothing about any of this was funny. More spiders moved in the shadows now, scuttling between debris and cryo pods.