Half Full - Half Empty
Page 5
into each building. He assumed they were all connected by subterranean passages.
A tarnished metal sign on one wall proclaimed the place to be ANORAN KYLE TRACKING AND RELAY STATION. Under this was another sign added later, stating that the installation had been decommissioned over a hundred years ago and now served only as an emergency way station and summons beacon. Periodical check up was every five years and, according to the dates on the table below the sign, the last time this place had been checked was twenty-seven years ago. Jesus, the service was getting slack, Jurac mused to himself.
All doors had been sealed shut except the one to the main building apparently. Jurac headed for that door, a large steel airlock type, discolored with age. Its lintel was encrusted with icicles. Terran was at the control panel already, jabbing at the ‘open’ button and muttering curses under his breath at the door’s stubborn lack of response thus far.
“It won’t open, it must be iced up!” he snarled as Jurac came up beside him. He viciously jabbed at the button again, beginning to swear.
“Take it easy, you don’t want to burn the motor out,” Jurac cautioned, a cold feeling starting to move up his spine. He assessed the door carefully, looking at its flanges and its midline seal. He took out the water flask, the heaviest item they had, and banged on the door around the edges and along the center join. “Now try it.”
“No go!” Terran spat in disgust. He walked over and kicked the door hard. “I don’t believe this, I don’t fucking believe this!” he yelled before returning to stab futilely at the offending button again.
In his own mind Jurac was amused by wondering what Terran was angrier about; the fact the door was jammed, or his not having foreseen the possibility and so missing his chance to mention it beforehand and being proved pessimistically right. Jurac shook his head at the thought; perhaps he was going insane.
Jurac gave the door another series of taps with the water flask, succeeding only in denting the container and loosening the door not a whit. Abruptly he paused and with Terran cursing fluently in his helmet speakers, peered closely at the door. There were jimmy marks along its center join line and around the edges of the lintel.
“Oh no,” he muttered. He turned and looked around wildly, eyes darting this way and that.
Terran stopped cursing and looked at him, suddenly very afraid. “What?” he almost shouted.
Jurac saw them, over by the wall of one of the other buildings, on the lee side from the wind so he hadn’t noticed them when they arrived. With Terran silently following, he approached them.
The four bodies, still in their pressure suits, sat huddled against the wall, half buried in snow. Kneeling down, Jurac noticed the suits were of a style worn twenty years ago and now obsolete. He brushed the snow off the name patch of the nearest body, FLT LT DOLEY, and under that his ship’s name, ARKON.
“I guess we know what the name of that ship buried out on the snow field is now,” Jurac said sadly. He looked at the wall beside Lt. Doley. There were marks scratched in the cement there, twenty-eight in all, grouped in lots of five with three to spare. They’d survived twenty-eight days before starvation took them. Not all of them though, one had his helmet visor open, his skull-like face stretched in a rictus of pain. Just like Keller, Jurac thought.
The skin and bone remains of the frozen corpses told Jurac what lay in store for Terran and himself. These men, like him, had crashed and come here seeking shelter, only to be barred, like them, by a frozen door. Left to starve to death while not meters away was food, warmth and a series of buttons that would transform that patient locator pulse into a loud distress call saying ‘Come get me’.
Jurac shook his head and sat down heavily beside the four bodies, watching with absolutely no interest as Terran tore into their supplies, coming out with a tent pole. He returned to the door, vehemently attacking it and succeeding only in bending the pole. His frantic curses, interrupted now by sobs of fear and anger, echoed in Jurac’s helmet speakers.
Over the next hour Jurac watched as Terran pounded at the door, kicked it, raked at it with claw-like hands before finally falling at its base, panting and crying.
Finally he got up and staggered over to Jurac. “What do we do now?” he begged, desperation all over his face. “Tell me what to do!”
Jurac shook his head slowly. “The glass is empty,” he said blandly then turned and scratched a notch in the wall beside him with his penknife. He didn’t think he’d get twenty-eight days up there but he guessed he’d find out. In front of him Terran turned to face the icy vista that lay spread out before them, and screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
********
Thanks for taking the time to read “Half Full – Half Empty”. I hope you enjoyed it!
Also by Matthew L Williams
Connect with me online:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/matthewlwilliamsauthor