“For what?”
“I’m working on it.” He unclasped a safety belt from one of the seats opposite and wound it around his wrist, letting the heavy buckle dangle at the end of a foot or so of belt. As the sound of engaging docking clamps reached their ears, Chuck swung his improvised weapon around his head a few times to get the feel of it.
Penny crouched by the side of the door as a familiar hissing noise told them that the airlock was pressurizing. As soon as the noise stopped she readied herself, aiming the neck of the cylinder at the point where she was expecting the enemy’s face to appear once the door slid open. Meanwhile, Chuck readied to strike.
Penny’s ears popped as the seal was broken and the door began to slide open. The instant a human form appeared in the doorway Penny flipped the catch on the O2 bottle. The relative silence of the pod was split by the shriek of escaping gas and the surrounding air became instantly opaque. Right on cue Chuck let out a bellow and charged for the airlock, his arm raised.
Luckily for everyone, Chuck’s plan was about to unravel. When Larson saw Penny crouched by the door with what appeared to be a weapon, he immediately took a quick step backwards and pressed himself against the side of the airlock. An instant later Chuck went hurtling past and fell in a heap at Larson’s feet. Meanwhile the recoil of the gushing O2 wrenched the cylinder from Penny’s grip. It cannoned into the rear wall and promptly shut itself off. The atmosphere immediately cleared and Chuck turned onto his back, for the first time gaining a good look at his intended victim.
“Whoa!” said the man with hands raised, palms facing outwards. “I’m on your side. I’m with DCI Burns.”
“What? Burns? Is he here?”
“Not exactly. He’s still on the Temujin. I guess you must be Chuck.”
“Err, yeah, that’s right,” said Chuck, still trying to make sense of the situation.
“Sig Larson, master of the Reaper.”
“But what about Jacks?”
“Funny you should ask,” said Larson. “Follow me.” He led them through the tunnel and into the space behind the Reaper’s flight deck. “Jacks and one of his cronies are in there. A bit worse for the wear, but I think they’ll survive.”
Chuck and Penny looked through the small porthole in the door to the opposite airlock. Jacks and Fletcher were still out cold – Fletcher flat on his back with arms and legs splayed out and Jacks with his head resting almost tenderly on Fletcher’s shoulder.
“That,” said Chuck, “is a wonderful sight. How on Earth did you manage it?”
“Concussion grenade. I got lucky and caught them both napping on the flight deck. My only concern now is that there were suppose to be three of them. I’ve no idea where the other one is.”
“Bruno,” said Penny.
“Yeah, that’s the guy,” said Larson. “Do you know him?”
“He’s still on the Artemis,” said Penny. “He saved us.”
“I’m not sure I follow you,” said Larson.
“He switched sides,” said Chuck.
“What on earth made him do that?”
“Not really sure. He stayed behind when Jacks and Fletcher left. He said something about making a lot of wrong choices and I think he wanted to put things right. He told us to escape while we still could and that he’d take care of the comet.”
“On his own?”
“Yes. If there’s still a chance we have to go back and rescue him,” said Penny. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“Fair enough,” said Larson. “Follow me.” He led them up to the flight deck and sat down at the tactical console. A few seconds later he looked up, a doubtful expression fixed on his face. “It doesn’t look good… I’ve got him on the sensors but by the looks of things it might already be too late.”
“But we have to try!”
* * *
As the range to Hellion increased, Bruno found himself switching frantically back and forth between the laser’s focusing and targeting arrays. Check the focus, switch to targeting, adjust the reticule and then back to focus again. So busy was he operating the laser that he barely had time to check the comet’s trajectory. When he finally turned his attention to the relevant screen he was greeted by the familiar flashing red legend, ‘Collision imminent’. He let out a curse of frustration; it had been almost thirty minutes since Chuck and Penny had abandoned ship and he’d hoped to have the job finished by now. If it took much longer it wouldn’t get finished it at all. It didn’t bear thinking about.
He reached over to switch back to the targeting array but before his finger found the button the ‘Collision imminent’ warning blinked out. A few seconds later it was replaced by another legend... ‘Safe trajectory achieved’.
A raft of data relating to Hellion’s speed and heading appeared on the screen along with an animated graphic that showed the comet skimming Lyra’s upper atmosphere and vanishing off in-system.
And that was that… The colonists were saved. He had accomplished his mission. There were no bells, no whistles, no fanfares – just the steady pulsing of the ‘Safe trajectory’ message. Bruno almost felt cheated by the anticlimax.
With nothing else to do he cut power to the laser array and sat back in the chair. He wondered how much was left in the fuel cell, and whether it would be worth his while to try and turn the ship and burn whatever fuel was left in an attempt to escape Lyra’s pull. The answer was no. Even if he could figure out the controls, the most he could hope for was to extend his life for a few minutes – maybe for just a few seconds. Bruno was in no hurry to die but he was in even less mood to waste what little time he had in futile exercises.
And he was going to die. He knew the truth of it even though it all seemed so surreal. In no time at all he’d hit the upper atmosphere; friction would send the hull temperature soaring out of control, the superstructure would buckle, fail and the end would come. He didn’t fear death itself; he never had, but at the same time it was impossible to contemplate the actual moment of his passing without some feelings of trepidation.
And then what? A brilliant light at the end of a long, dark tunnel? Or just an infinite, eternal nothingness? His mother Elisa had been a deeply spiritual woman, as assured of an afterlife as she was of the sun rising each morning. Bruno shared no such convictions, for what was faith except for the belief in something for no good reason?
‘But surely now is the time to make your peace with your maker’, said a voice within him. And though Elisa would undoubtedly have approved, Bruno declined; it seemed as dishonest as it was hypocritical.
It was indeed time for him to make peace, but only with his inner demons.
* * *
“We’re only going to get one shot at this,” said Larson as the Reaper barreled in after the Artemis at full throttle. “That ship of yours is already in contact with the upper stratosphere. If I can’t slow us down and dock first time I’m going to have to abort.”
“Just do the best you can,” said Chuck. “We owe him that much at least.”
“Understood. Get yourself into the starboard airlock and wait for the word. I’ll send a message to let him know we’re on our way but there’s no guarantee he’ll pick it up now he’s entered the atmosphere. Let’s just hope he’s got his wits about him.”
* * *
How do you spend the last few minutes of your life? It was a question Bruno had never bothered asking himself. Who apart from the condemned ever did? Do you reflect on a lifetime of successes, failures, joys, sorrows..? Consider what might have been if all the random events that shaped your existence had occurred just a little differently?
No… No thank you. He’d never been one to look back, and now there was little point in looking forward either. From where he sat, Lyra’s single continent now filled the whole of his forward vision. An almost uniform pale orange, it lay stark and forbidding.
Surrendering himself to his fate, Bruno settled back in the chair and laid his head on the headrest. He closed his eyes
and inhaled deeply. Holding the breath for a moment he exhaled slowly, emptying his lungs of air and at the same time emptying his mind of all thought, something that until recently would have taken a couple of bottles of the Last Spike’s finest rotgut.
Just breathe, he told himself, and as his chest rose and fell a feeling of tranquility descended upon him, embracing him. He drifted on the edge of oblivion, only vaguely sensing the dull, thudding vibration that came from somewhere off in the distance. A far off voice told him that it wouldn’t be long now; they must be well into Lyra’s atmosphere. The hull was beginning to fail and soon…
“Bruno! Come on, man. Let’s go!”
Jerked firmly back into the present, Bruno looked up and gaped. Chuck was standing in the doorway to the bridge, gesticulating for him to follow.
His mother Elisa standing at the gates of heaven – or more likely Morgan Baird Sr. standing at the gates of hell – now that was a revelation even the unbelieving Bruno might have accepted, but Chuck? How the hell had he managed to get back here? It was impossible, wasn’t it?
“Move!” yelled Chuck. “We’re almost out of time.”
No, apparently not.
Bruno sprang out of the chair and charged after Chuck, both of them leaping the stairs four at a time in a mad, helter-skelter dash to reach the airlock. Just seconds later they were safely inside the Reaper and Chuck smashed his hand down on the airlock switch.
“I’ve got him,” he yelled into the intercom. “Let’s go!”
“But how…?” began Bruno, looking around at the familiar interior of the Reaper’s airlock. “Where’s Jacks?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Chuck. “Safe to say that Jacks is no longer our biggest problem.”
Chuck and Bruno staggered as Larson withdrew the docking clamps and threw the Reaper into a turn. Making the short trip to the flight deck they found Larson hunched over the controls as he fought to pull the Reaper out of Lyra’s atmosphere and into the safety of open space. Turbulence buffeted the airframe and wisps of flame danced past the front screen as they hurtled down. The Artemis was visible in the distance below, her front section a fiery inferno as friction with the denser air heated her outer skin beyond all endurance.
“I think now would be a very good time to get out of here,” said Chuck.
“Tell me about it,” replied Larson, wrestling with the controls. “But I’m afraid we might have cut it just a little too fine. If I pull up too steep we’ll break apart. Stay too long and we’ll burn up. Take your pick.”
“Can’t you increase power to the thrusters?” asked Chuck.
“Friction with the atmosphere is already starting to overheat the injectors. Push her too hard and they’ll blow. Do you know anything about Olympian G7 sub-light engines? I’ve got my hands full just keeping her on an even keel.”
“Not my field,” said Chuck.
“I can help,” said Bruno, sitting at the engineering station. “What do you need?”
Larson looked at him questioningly. “You sure?”
“I know more about the Reaper than you might imagine.”
“I hope you’re right, or this is going to be one short trip. Give me as much power to the thrusters as you can, but keep a close eye on the injector temperatures. Green zone good, orange zone not so good, red zone we blow up.”
“I got you,” said Bruno.
“And whatever you do, keep both engines balanced.”
“Aye-aye, captain.”
In his later years, Chuck would tell anyone who was prepared to listen that the Reaper’s journey back into open space was the wildest ride of his life. He stood goggle eyed as the wisps of flame dancing around the cockpit windows grew to radiant streamers, flaring brilliantly until the view through the cockpit windows became obscured by a wall of flame. Chuck finally sat down on the bench seat at the rear of the flight deck when the buffeting became too intense for him to remain standing. Sitting beside him and equally goggle eyed, Penny stared straight ahead, grabbing hold of his wrist and squeezing so hard that he soon lost all feeling in his left hand.
“I think you can let go now, Pen,” he said gently as the buffeting gradually lessened and the pyrotechnic display outside the cockpit windows waned, withered and then disappeared altogether.
“Oh… right. Sorry,” said Penny, loosening her grip. “That was… exciting.”
“Not the words I’d choose, but still.”
Larson looked over at Bruno who was still playing with the engine controls. “How are we looking?”
“Engines readouts are mostly where they should be. Injector temperatures are still a little high but coming down. Other than that we’re good to go. You’ll have full power at your disposal in a matter of minutes.”
“Good job, Bruno,” said Larson. “I don’t think I could have got us out of that on my own.”
Bruno just shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“No, you did well – really well. I owe you, and I’m not the only one. Chuck tells me you stayed behind to save the colony down on Lyra.”
“Saved us too,” said Penny. “That’s why we had to go back for you. We couldn’t just leave you there.”
“It was good of you,” said Bruno, looking suddenly downcast. “I’m grateful that you came back for me – believe me, I am. But to be honest it might have been better if you’d just left me where I was.”
“But why?”
“Your friends on the Temujin will be arriving soon,” said Bruno. “And when they do, I’ll be arrested along with Jacks and Fletcher. I can’t complain about that – I am guilty after all. I tried to blow you up, remember?”
“I think you’ve atoned for that error,” said Chuck.
“We’ll put a good word in for you,” said Penny. “Testify that in the end you did the right thing and saved everyone down on the planet. There are eight thousand people who owe their lives to you.”
“And another three up here too,” said Larson.
“Eight thousand and three lives must count for something.”
“You don’t know the high command,” said Bruno dejectedly. “They’ll try me as a paramilitary – a pirate in other words – and ignore the mitigating factors. It’s what they do. I’ll be looking at a life sentence. Get the wrong judge and I could even hang – it’s still on the statute books.”
“They can’t!” said Penny aghast.
“I’m very much afraid they could…”
“Well… maybe,” said Larson. “But it doesn’t necessarily have to come to that.”
“If you’ve any ideas, I’d say that now’s the time,” said Chuck. “The Temujin has just dropped out of super-space off to starboard and they’re heading this way.”
“Well,” began Larson. “I was just thinking…”
“Yes?”
“That they can’t very well hang a man who’s already dead, can they?”
CHAPTER 22: The Lottery of Life
The Temujin
When Larson opened up the airlock door he was greeted by a squad of the Temujin’s marine detachment, all dressed in full battle armor and all gazing at him through their gun-sights.
‘We’re all clear guys,” he said, “but feel free to check out the ship for yourselves.”
“Go, go, go!” said the squad leader, hustling his troops through the airlock tunnel. Once inside the Reaper they spread out and began a systematic search of the ship’s various compartments.
“Flight deck clear!” shouted one.
“Rear cabins clear!” said another.
“Two individuals in starboard airlock!”
“That’s the enemy,” said Larson. “Don’t worry. They aren’t going anywhere.” He held up the relays that he’d removed from the airlock panel.
“Understood. Proceeding to lower deck!”
Chuck and Penny stood by the airlock and looked through into the Temujin. A large number of people were crowding the corridor. There were more marines in battle armor, a couple of medical orderli
es and right at the back Chuck could see Angus’s head sticking up above the crowd, his craggy face split into a wide grin. Chuck gave him a wave which was returned with interest. A cry of ‘officer on deck!’ brought them all to attention and moments later Captain Norris, Commander Tostig and DCI Burns appeared in the hatchway.
“Permission to come aboard,” said Tostig.
“Granted,” said Larson.
“Good work, Mr. Larson,” said Captain Norris. “Jacks?”
“In the port-side airlock.”
“We’ll deal with him in a moment. You must be Lieutenant Poulson and Ensign Parker,” he said, turning to Chuck and Penny.
“Yes, sir,” said Penny, springing smartly to attention and delivering a precise salute. Chuck followed suit. A little late, perhaps, but Norris appeared not to notice.
“Congratulations on a fine job. I’ll expect a full report later, but for the time being take some time to get yourselves cleaned up and have something to eat. The duty officer is outside – he’ll see to it that you get some fresh uniforms.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Chuck,” said DCI Burns as Norris moved off. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. And still in one piece. You too, Ensign Parker.”
“It’s good to see you too,” said Chuck, “but I think we were plenty lucky.”
“You can tell me all about it later. Right now we’ve got the small matter of Commodore Jacks to attend to.” He stepped aside as another squad of marines entered the Reaper and marched up to the port airlock. Captain Norris and Commander Tostig stood by as Larson replaced the missing relays.
“Ready?” he said. Norris nodded.
The door slid open to reveal the now fully conscious Jacks and Fletcher standing in the center of the airlock. Both looked the worst for their experience, but while Fletcher was slouched and sullen, Jacks stood tall and gave his captors a disparaging stare.
“You are both under arrest,” said Norris.
“Sorry, can’t hear you,” said Jacks in an overly loud voice. “Stone deaf, you know. After effects of what I assume to be a T3 concussion grenade. Whatever you have to say, give it to me in writing. Either that or find me a medic. Choice is yours.”
The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2) Page 33