Event Horizon

by Steven E. Mcdonald

  “Hold on a sec,” Starck said. She did something with the console, but Weir could not get a clear view. “You’re breaking up.”

  The monitor cleared for a moment, then static took it again. Starck gave Weir a worried look.

  Justin activated the sensor unit, trying to maintain his position as he pushed it out toward the Core.

  There was a hiss of static in his earphones, then Starck’s voice breaking through for a moment “… Justin… ?” Her voice vanished again.

  His helmet light flickered off, on, dimmed down. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should deal with it before going on. Probably just a result of the coolant splashing into his helmet, either the lamp terminals or the battery unit getting crocked by the flying sludge. He reached up and tapped the lamp.

  Justin, come in,” Starck was repeating. Weir sat silently now, watching her, while Smith leaned down between them, his face ashen.

  There was a beep from the console next to Starck, startling Weir. Starck looked around. The bio-scan display, frustrating in its quiescence until now, was displaying readings into the red sector of the scale.

  Something was awry, Weir thought. Then again, something had been awry with this mission since they had located the Event Horizon.

  “What is it?” Weir said.

  Starck shook her head, going over the displays. “I don’t know. The life readings just went off the scale.”

  “Something’s wrong,” Smith said, his voice forceful. Weir almost spoke up in agreement, but chose to remain silent instead. “Pull them out.”

  Starck looked at Weir.

  Weir said nothing.

  Justin’s monitor flared with static.

  Justin pressed the sensor unit up against the side of the spherical unit.

  He had expected it to be a firm contact, but the surface felt soft, spongy, almost as though it was composed of some kind of organic material.

  The shifting sensation stopped.

  Justin looked up from the sensor.

  In front of him, the Core darkened, somehow taking on the color of nothingness. All around, the containment unit seemed to be sharper, clearer, as though everything around him had focused, revealing incredible amounts of detail. Even the arm of his suit, the hand held out with the pressure sensor against the Core, had an unreal clarity.

  Justin was aware of light. There was no sound.

  Then the power, a force beyond reckoning that reached around him, intruded into his universe, enveloping him without pause for consent or complaint.

  The void rose up around him, embracing.

  Unresisting, Justin fell into the space between the worlds and was gone.

  Reality began to tremble around the Core.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cooper was not in the mood for this, not in the slightest. Baby Bear, you’d better be kidding me….

  Justin’s safety line was unreeling at an insane, impossible rate. Cooper had tracked the line usage from the start, watched it pay out fast and slow.

  Now it was paying out at a rate the counter had problems tracking.

  “Three-fifty meters, four hundred meters,” he read off. He grabbed his helmet, got it on, the adrenaline starting to pump now. Justin was in trouble.

  DJ helped Cooper seal the helmet down. A quick suit check, a thumbs-up.

  “I’m gone!” Cooper yelled, slapping the control to open the inner airlock door. His heart was pounding and he felt crazy. He hated this more than anything. When it was over, all he would want to do was throw up and shake.

  Right now there was no time to think.

  The inner airlock door closed behind him. The outer door hissed open.

  Shutting his mind off, he dove into the umbilicus.

  Hold on, Baby Bear, he thought frantically, Papa Bear’s coming to get you.

  Like a nightmare, the Event Horizon loomed up ahead of him.

  He plunged into the airlock.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Darkness rolled out, folded in upon itself. The safety line going into the Core tightened, then rippled, as though refracted through water.

  Space contracted, expanded.

  Reality warped, a wave traveling silently out from the Core. Light bent.

  The wave passed through the Second Containment walls as though they were air.

  Swept into the antechamber, pushing coolant away and into the walls, the console. Debris erupted, slammed into walls, floor, ceiling, ricocheted away as the wave passed.

  Swept outward, down the main corridor. Windows vibrated as it passed.

  The safety line tightened again, sang, twanged, relaxed.

  Cooper shot down the corridor. The wave caught him in midair, spun him, sent him flat against the wall, swearing, the wind knocked out of him for a moment as he caromed away toward the opposite wall. He managed to roll before he hit, hitting the wall feet-first, kicking off again.

  The wave ripped down the main corridor. Debris swirled before it, flotsam that had been equipment or component parts of human beings.

  The Event Horizon was beginning to resonate now, the superstructure sounding with a deepening roar that suggested that the ship was about to tear apart.

  The hatchway to the medical bay slammed open, the door buckling and a hinge tearing. A wave of medical debris swirled up before the wave.

  Miller grabbed the edge of the computer station he had been working on, ducking as debris pelted him. The wave pulled him up from his haven, wrenched him away from the console, and slammed him into the bulkhead. Medical equipment peppered him, bounced from the wall, went spinning crazily away. His trajectory away from the wall took him back into the console, winding him, but giving him something to hold onto.

  The wave swept on into the bridge, shoving the dead man up against the bridge windows and causing Peters to bounce helplessly from the deck. She caught the back of one of the flight seats, holding on for dear life as momentum spun her around.

  The wave swept on outward.

  Starck, Smith, and Weir were startled as Justin’s point-of-view monitor tried to clear for a moment, a vague image rolling amongst the static. Weir blinked, trying to clear his vision—he would have sworn that the image was of a man’s face, screaming.

  It couldn’t have been, he told himself.

  Justin’s monitor cleared to static again. Starck opened her mouth to say something.

  Miller’s and Peters’ monitors suddenly filled with static as well. The radio link hissed and went silent.

  “What—” Smith started to say.

  The Lewis and Clark began to rumble, a freight train sound that was incongruous out here in deep space.

  The ship began to shudder and rattle. To Weir it felt as though reality was trying to twist.

  The wave struck, ripping through the bridge. Metal was screaming somewhere in the ship, the superstructure stressing as the gravity wave passed through.

  Starck turned and ducked as a console flashed and sparked next to her.

  Behind Weir there was a loud bang as something shorted out, and he smelled ozone and burning insulation. The bridge lights flickered and dimmed.

  Deeper in the ship, he could hear the sound of systems failing and metal tearing. Absurdly, he wondered if Peters’ vid unit would be okay. It would tear her up to lose the recording of her son.

  There was another sound too, shockingly familiar because he had spent so much time unconsciously on alert for it: the sound of air escaping into vacuum.

  “The fuck was that?” Smith yelled.

  His question did not receive an answer. A Klaxon was sounding now, emergency lights flashing. They were losing atmosphere. Starck had turned to her boards, getting answers from those that still worked. The bridge was filled with smoke that drifted lazily towards the hatch.

  “We lost the starboard baffle,” Starck said. She looked up, her face holding an urgency that bordered on panic. “The hull’s been breached!”

  The main pressure door to the bridge was closing,
ready to seal them off.

  DJ would have to take his chances in the airlock bay, or wherever he was.

  With a low grinding sound, the pressure door stopped, half-closed. Smoke drifted around it.

  Smith was frantically checking a console, trying to get the door moving again. After a few moments he looked up, shaking his head. “The safety circuit’s failed.”

  Weir stared at the drifting smoke, the stuck door. “We’re losing atmosphere….”

  “There are pressure suits in the airlock,” Starck snapped. “Go!”

  They sprinted for the hatchway.

  The smoke followed, a lazy snake.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dark, dark, deep in the dark. He was Within, suspended, the dark passing through him, stripping him naked, peeling out the contents of his mind, pouring the pieces of his soul into a pool that floated in Nothing.

  I touch all things.

  Who are you?

  I am.

  Another answer that made no sense.

  The darkness had no end.

  Innocence.

  The concept seemed almost a curse. What was wrong with purity?

  You know too well where the line is drawn.

  Points of light pierced the darkness. There was a sound of pain, of anguish.

  A circle of light, like fire breathed into the air. The darkness was not driven back.

  You are not the one I need.

  The points of light fell into the circle.

  What am I, then?

  Dangerous.

  Lines of light fell from point to point.

  Because of this?

  Yes. We cannot suffer the innocent to live. It profits us nothing.

  A five-pointed star within a circle. A shield, a hope.

  Without knowing how he did it, he brought it close, trying to reintegrate himself in the warm soul-glow. Lady be with me—Pfagh!

  The darkness struck him, crushing, overpowering. All that remained of his consciousness fell away from him.

  Silent and cold, Justin spun away through the darkness.

  Cooper shot through the opening into the First Containment, slowing long enough to get his bearings as he approached the whirling tube. The sight sickened him, but it did not slow him down. Oriented, he kicked off again, sailing through the microgravity like an underpowered version of Superman, one arm flung out ahead.

  He shot down the tube and into the Second Containment, growling, “Hold on, Baby Bear….”

  Coolant was once again forming wandering globules. He splashed through several of them, splattering coolant left and right, making angry noises at the obstructions.

  Reaching out, he managed to kill his velocity by grabbing the main console, an effort that almost dislocated his shoulder. He caught sight of Justin’s safety line, taut across the room, and made his way to it, following it down into the main area of the Containment.

  The line went all the way down to the Core.

  It went into the Core.

  “Oh my God,” Cooper whispered.

  The Core was a pulsing black mass poised in the middle of the gloom. It seemed almost alive, angry. Justin had somehow fallen into it, or been pulled in. The safety line had not slackened, which meant that it was still likely to be attached to him.

  Cooper put his hand on the line.

  It went slack. Cooper’s heart skipped a beat and his skin felt so cold suddenly that he could have sworn his suit heater had quit.

  The Core rippled and pulsed outwards, a cold black explosion. Cooper started to back off, his heart racing. There was another pulse, bigger this time.

  Something light hurtled from the depths of the darkness. A human figure.

  Justin.

  Cooper kicked off, hurtling upward, his arms wide. Justin, limp as a dishrag, slammed into him, sending them both off on a new vector, the pulse from the Core providing additional impetus. Cooper turned his head frantically, tumbling them slightly. They were heading straight for one of the long control rods that lined the containment chamber, a fatal encounter if they struck it head on.

  Cooper twisted, kicking out, trying to change their position. He finally managed to put them both into a slow backwards tumble, praying that it would be enough.

  He clutched Justin tightly, closed his eyes and begged the gods for mercy.

  He felt the control rod slide by beneath his backside, slick and cold. He almost cried with relief.

  They slammed into the wall, rebounded, came up against the side of another control rod. Cooper was ready by then, holding on to Justin with one arm and gripping a long zero-g screwdriver in the other. He drove the business end of the screwdriver into the side of the control rod and hung on for dear life. It was a hell of a way to stop. Between hitting the wall and this ad hoc braking maneuver, Cooper figured he was going to be aching for the next two years.

  Cooper extracted the screwdriver bit and put the tool away on his belt, turning his attention to Justin. He pulled the younger man close, looked him over.

  “Justin, you talk to me, give me something here,” Cooper said. Justin’s head lolled to one side. The engineer was still breathing. There was no way to tell for sure until Justin’s suit came off, but there were no overt signs of physical injury, no apparent bleeding. The suit was still secure, no visible holes or signs of air loss.

  Cooper closed his eyes tightly, wondering if he could pray enough to bring them both out of this mess in one piece.

  “Baby Bear,” he said, softly, “don’t do this… don’t do this…”

  Clutching Justin to him, he kicked off again, aiming for the exit.

  Behind him, the Core pulsed with dark malevolence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Medical instruments and debris whirled lazily in the air, some bouncing gently from the walls, ceiling, deck. The last vibrations had subsided now.

  Whatever had struck the Event Horizon had moved on, Miller realized. It did not seem likely to repeat itself any time soon. Cautiously, he rose out of his protective crouch, giving his suit a visual check as best he could.

  He turned around, surveying the damage. The hatch was buckled and torn, the door hanging by one bent hinge. Some medical instruments had been buried in the walls, ceiling, and floor. Cabinets and lockers had been blown open, contents spilling out to add to the general airborne chaos.

  No indication of air leaks. Small mercies, he thought.

  Auto-keying his radio, he said, “Can anybody hear me?”

  There was an almost immediate response from Smith. “Captain Miller.”

  Miller sighed and frowned, but it was more with relief than annoyance.

  “Smith, where the hell have you been?”

  “We have a situation here,” Smith said.

  Miller suddenly felt ice cold.

  As far as Weir was concerned at the moment, the best way to make a man feel clumsy and incompetent was to make him get into an EVA suit in a hurry. DJ was patiently helping him with the details, which meant that DJ was taking a terrible risk himself.

  Starck was just completing her suit-up, getting her helmet in place and locked down. Smith had managed to be in a suit faster than Weir had ever imagined it could be done. His helmet was already on, and he was holding a conversation with Miller.

  DJ slapped Weir’s helmet onto his suit. Weir reached up to seal it, hearing the hiss. The radio was already active.

  Smith was saying, “We lost the starboard baffle and the hull cracked. Our safety seals didn’t close, the circuit’s fried—”

  “Do we have time for a weld?” Miller asked. To Weir the Captain sounded as steady as a rock. He envied Miller that cool detachment.

  DJ was suiting up quickly now. Starck came over to Weir, checking his suit and making sure his helmet was properly sealed.

  “We’re losing pressure at two hundred and eighty liters a second,” Smith said, “and our oxygen tanks ruptured. In three minutes our atmosphere will be gone. We are fucking dead.”

  “No on
e’s dying on my watch, Smith!” Miller barked. His was a voice you would choose not to argue with. “What about the reserve tanks?”

  “They’re gone,” Smith said.

  There was a long silence. Weir pictured Miller racking his brain for a solution to the dilemma and failing to come up with anything acceptable. As far as Weir could tell, listening to the damage reports and Smith’s pessimistic liturgy, there was only one option left to them.

  “The Event Horizon,” Weir said.

  Starck, Smith, and DJ turned to stare at him.

  “What?” Smith said.

  Weir stepped towards Smith. “It still has air and reserve power. We can activate gravity and life support.”

  “No one’s breathed that air in seven years,” DJ said. “It could be contaminated.”

  “We can’t stay in these suits,” Starck said. “The air won’t last.”

  “I’m not getting on that bastard,” Smith said, sounding angrier and angrier. “We don’t even know what happened on that ship.”

  Weir turned to the pilot, his face set. “It beats dying, Mr. Smith.”

  Miller closed his eyes again, tried not to sigh, opened his eyes. “Weir’s right. Get on board the Event Horizon. I’ll meet you at the airlock.”

  He started toward the ruined hatch as Smith said, “But—”

  “You heard me, Smith.” He stopped in the corridor, got his back up against the wall. “Peters, are you with me?”

  I’m ahead of you,” Peters said.

  She moved across the main consoles, throwing switches, checking readouts.

  For all the design work thrown into the Event Horizon, the ship had some very standardized instrumentation. She had the boards figured out and operating.

  “Bringing the thermal units online,” she announced, pressing a keypad.

  She turned to another part of the console, making sure she had her feet planted firmly on the deck. “Hold tight and prep for gees,” she said, then counted to ten under her breath.