“But where is Valentina?” Nikita asked. “She should be here by now.”
Mike opened his mouth to answer but hesitated: not sure what to say or, more importantly, what to leave out.
“She is not coming,” said a voice filled with fatalistic doom. Everyone turned and looked at Zahid. “She’s dead,” he added. “Murdered!”
“How did you know that?” Mike asked, in a tone that made it more accusation than question.
“I stopped by medical on my way here.” All the emotion drained from his voice. He spoke as if he were lost in a trance. “Her body was open. The machine was working inside her.” The Libyan’s dark skin began to pale. “It was taking her apart, piece-by-piece. Some kind of autopsy.”
“How did she die?” Nikita asked.
“I do not know.” Zahid shook his head mournfully. “The medsys refused to tell me. It ordered me out.”
“Then how do you know she was murdered?” she asked.
“I can feel it.” He looked at each person’s face and waved his twitching hands as he spoke. “Can’t you feel the evil that surrounds us? Can’t you feel the death that permeates even the air we breathe?”
Akio screamed high and loud and fell over backward. He lay terror-stricken, pointing up at the floor above their heads. Everyone looked up. It was the poem.
Gideon gasped as he read it. Zahid covered his mouth with both hands. Mike didn’t know what to do; he just stood there uncertain and helpless. Should he tell them the truth about Val’s death or hide it for fear he would anger the murderer and force him or her to kill them all. Or worse: what if everyone learned that he himself was the prime suspect?
Nikita put her fists on her hips with her elbows jutting out to the sides. “Get hold of yourselves!” she commanded. “You are all overreacting!”
Tina laughed. She pointed at them all and laughed until her body rocked from side-to-side. The ventilation duct she was perched upon creaked in time with her shifting weight.
The door on the nearer of the two vertical hallways swung open and slammed against its little wall. The sound echoed harshly in the cargo-less cargo deck. Everyone spun around to look. Everyone, that is, except Tina who was still laughing and Akio who had fainted where he lay.
Frank Walters, wearing his sky-blue flight uniform, stepped through the door while yelling at a brown pocketsize he held just six inches in front of his red-tipped nose. “Don’t tell me it’s impossible! I don’t want to hear it! There’s got to be a way to stop the rotation. Just figure out what it is and call me!” He slapped the pocketsize shut and mumbled something that sounded like: “Stupid pirate ship,” but was probably something considerably worse.
He pointed a skinny index finger at Mike. “Don’t mess with me, McCormack. I’m in charge now and I’m not going to put up with any of your lip. It was your stupid girlfriend that got us into this jam and now I’m gonna have to get us out.”
Mike’s fingers curled into fists. “You gonna rescue us just like you rescued her?”
“If you’re such a hero why don’t you go out after her?”
“You know I don’t know how to pilot a pod.”
“You don’t know how to do anything, McCormack. You’re just a stupid welder.”
Mike leaned forward preparing to take a swing at that red nose but stopped when he remembered the source of the man’s animosity. “Frank, it was thirteen years ago! How long you gonna stay mad about that weld?”
“There was nothing wrong with it!”
“It was crap.”
“It was good enough!”
Mike shook his head. “It was in a structural member. Specs for structural are higher. You didn’t meet the specs, so it was crap.”
Again, Frank pointed a finger at Mike. “You were the only inspector that said anything about it, and the only reason you didn’t pass it was because you had it in for me. It’s your fault I lost my welding certification.”
“If you hadn’t made so much noise it would have blown over. A month later you could have recertified. You might still be working in the shipyards at Von Braun.”
“Yeah? Well, things are different now. From now on when I want your advice I’ll beat it out of you!”
Mike’s fists got tighter, but before he could think of a sufficiently insulting reply Nikita said, “What does all this nonsense have to do with our safety? May I remind you that someone has already died—presumably, because of this incident—and that the incident itself is not yet over? Until it is, more deaths must be expected.” Mike and Frank turned to her but both proved slow in formulating a response. “Perhaps, Mister Walters,” she continued, “since you are now in charge, you should perform an assessment of our situation. If that’s not too much to ask.”
Frank grunted, then said, “Yeah, you’re right. I can always take care of this moron later.”
“Thank you, Mister Walters,” she said. “I am anxious to learn just what our situation is.”
Frank pulled out his pocketsize and flipped it open. “Get me the ship.”
A voice of indeterminate sex said, “This is the ship.”
“I want a short analysis of our situation.”
“As you wish. Portions of what follows are already known to some of you, but none are aware of everything that I am about to relate, so I will endeavor to leave nothing out.”
Damn! Mike braced himself. It’s gonna tell them I killed Val!
The ship began its summary: “The main engines were sabotaged with explosive devices by persons unknown.”
“What?” Nikita said with as much anger as surprise.
Gideon began, “But who would—”
“Please hold your questions until the end,” the ship said. It then spoke faster, perhaps to give its listeners less opportunity to interrupt. “The chief flight engineer Kimberly Kirkland is missing and presumed dead. She was thrown from the main engines by centrifugal force shortly after an explosion. The captain is lying unconscious on the ceiling of the bridge having fallen from his command chair. Valentina Cortez was murdered by cyanide poisoning, possibly by the same person who sabotaged the engines. The sabotage of the engines has caused them to leak hydrogen fuel out into the vacuum. Already, Corvus has lost so much fuel it will be impossible for us to decelerate and dock at Von Braun. What’s more, since the leak is spraying out sideways, it is the source of the ship’s tumbling which you have all, no doubt, noticed. The tumbling rate will continue to increase until all the fuel is gone; consequently the centrifugal effect produced by the tumbling will also continue to increase. This centrifugal effect is causing the top and bottom ends of the ship to experience extremely high g-forces, making them dangerously unsafe for human habitation. These g-forces will limit your mobility to the more central of the ship’s decks. The farther you travel from the center of the ship in either direction the higher will be the g-forces that you encounter. Because of this you will already find it impossible to function in most of the engineering decks, most of the passenger decks, or any of the medical facilities. And you certainly can’t get anywhere near the engines or the bridge.”
The ship paused, but not long enough for an interruption. “Before the captain lost consciousness he sent a message to the SpaceGuard station at Von Braun. They have not yet responded. When they do I do not expect them to provide you with any way to stop the tumbling using only the resources currently aboard this ship. Instead, they will almost surely instruct you to make yourselves as safe and comfortable as possible and wait for rescue.”
Tina jumped up from her seat. “That could take weeks!”
“Days, weeks, months,” the ship said. “It is impossible to predict without a detailed listing of the current location and heading of every ship in the solar system. I have such a listing but it is two days out of date.”
Tina walked slowly toward Frank while staring at his pocketsize: the source of the ship’s voice. She pleaded, “Couldn’t you just give us an estimate?”
“Any estimate would b
e meaningless; its inaccuracy compounded by my lack of knowledge of our exact heading. We completed only a portion of our J-maneuver before the engines failed, and we’re tumbling so rapidly that I can not triangulate our bearings based on the navigational beacons orbiting Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. We’re tumbling so fast I can’t even get a rough triangulation based on the visual location of the planets against the starry background.”
Tina seemed to droop a bit. “I see,” she said softly.
“I do have a recommendation, however,” said the ship. “Since the tumbling rate is—”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute,” Gideon said. “I’m as patient as the next man but you can’t just leave us hanging! Who is the murderer? Who is the saboteur?”
“I do not know,” the ship said calmly.
“Well, you must have some clues; some evidence,” Gideon insisted. “Who is the prime suspect?”
Mike interrupted, gently. “The only suspect so far,” he said, “is me.” This statement produced a few gasps, the loudest of which came from Gideon. “But I didn’t do it,” Mike added quickly.
“Mister McCormack is correct,” the ship said. “He did not kill Valentina Cortez. Hallway cameras place him in the passenger’s lounge arm-wrestling with the ship’s chief flight engineer at the time the woman was poisoned.”
“Those can be faked,” Nikita said.
“True,” said the ship, “but I’ve detected no evidence of tampering.”
“Then who did kill her?” Gideon asked.
“I do not know. And it may be unwise to discuss this problem at length right now,” the ship said. “Time is running out if you are to make use of my recommendation.”
“What recommendation?” Mike asked.
“Since the tumbling rate—and therefore the g-force—is continuing to increase, I think it advisable for you all to go forth now and gather supplies from those places that will, with time, become harder and more dangerous to travel and work in. I refer specifically to deck six.”
“The passenger supplies,” Frank said.
“Yes,” the ship said. “If you must spend even a few days in this cargo deck you will need food and water—if nothing else.”
“Makes sense,” Frank said, “but I think we should split up. You and you and you and you.” He pointed at Mike, Gideon, Nikita and Tina. “You four go to deck six and get food, water, and whatever else might make our stay here more comfortable. You and you.” He pointed at Zahid and Akio. “Come with me. We’ll go to the hangars on deck seven and get emergency gear: vacuum suits, extra oxygen tanks, stuff like that. If we end up having to wait for a rescue ship I want to make sure we can go out into the vacuum when they get here.”
Most of the group voiced their agreement with Frank’s instructions. Mike didn’t say anything; he just held his tongue and nodded.
_____
Easing himself down the ladder inside one of the vertical hallways, Mike could feel his weight increasing as he descended. Each rung pulled harder on his hands and pushed harder against the thin soles of his shoes. Vertical hallways appeared hall-like only while a ship was in zero-g. At present this one seemed more like a pleasantly decorated elevator shaft.
It did not occur to Mike to wish that the ship actually possessed elevators. He was too busy being glad he wasn’t in the group with Zahid. I never trusted that guy. Not for one minute. The man’s nervousness and his point-blank statement that Val was murdered; it all adds up to only one thing: Zahid has got to be the murderer. He’s got to!
As Mike climbed down past a door with Deck 8 written upside-down on the wall next to it he heard the sound of Nikita’s shoes stepping onto a rung just above his head. “How are you doing?” he asked without looking up. “Do you need to stop and rest?”
“I’m OK. Keep going.”
“What about Tina and Gideon?” Mike expected to hear her yell up to them and ask but she didn’t.
“They look OK to me,” was all she said.
Mike decided not to press the matter. If Gideon or Tina needed to rest they would say so. Nikita, in Mike’s opinion, was the only one who might be slow to admit weakness.
Mike looked down past his feet. If he were to slip now he’d fall all the way to deck one near the bridge and die on impact. He found this a singularly distasteful thought and resolved to avoid thinking about it by concentrating on the careful placement of his hands and feet.
At deck six, he stopped and pushed against the door. It did not move. Shoving moved it a little; shoving harder moved it more; and shoving as though angry at the stupid thing moved it almost a foot. He squeezed his head and chest through and discovered why the door had resisted.
The supply room was a mess. Everything that had been secured in the racks, shelves and bins had fallen to the ceiling. The day-to-day consumables of modern life were now piled into rolling hills that covered most of the ceiling and blocked the door like a series of lumpy multi-colored snow drifts. Portions of the room were dark or poorly lit because the piles obscured their light fixtures.
Mike squeezed the rest of his body through the door and found himself standing on a mound of miscellaneous toiletries.
Nikita poked her head into the room.
“Watch your step,” Mike said. “It’s almost two gees in here. This is no place to stumble.”
“I intend to be careful,” she said as she stepped onto the toiletries next to him.
Tina came through the door followed by Gideon who was breathing quick deep breaths from the exertion of the climb.
“Be careful, everyone,” Gideon said, with his short breaths. “If you twist your ankle in these gees you might end up with a broken leg. Or a broken skull if you fall all the way to the floor—I mean, the ceiling.”
Mike spotted a stack of unused black plastic garbage bags near a pile of small fire extinguishers. He opened one by shaking it, filling it with air. For extra strength he pushed another inside the first to form a double-walled bag. But this didn’t seem strong enough, so he shook open a third and put it inside too, forming a triple-walled bag. After assembling several of the triple-walled variety, he handed one to each of the group.
They then started wandering around, plucking up items and stuffing them into their bags—mostly squeeze bladders of water and microwaveable plastic food envelopes, though Mike noticed Tina was loading up on toilet paper.
As he worked to fill his garbage bag it occurred to him that the group looked like it was engaged in some kind of crazy Easter egg hunt.
Then everything turned a dull shade of purple. Scared he might collapse and seriously injure himself, he hurried to sit down on a pile of multi-vitamin bottles. He felt normal again within ten seconds and resumed scavenging, but did so while crawling on all fours. “If you get dizzy from the gees,” he said to anyone who might be listening, “try crawling. In fact, before we climb back up the ladder, I think we should all lie down for a minute or two and let the blood flow back into our brains.” He noticed Tina dragging a small microwave oven across the ceiling. “Tina, I don’t think we should take that.”
“Why not? It doesn’t weigh much.”
“But if we take it, we’ll have to leave other things behind. Things like food and water.”
She straightened and stood to her full height. “Do you expect me to eat my food cold?”
“Of course. Haven’t you ever eaten anything cold before?”
“No. Never.”
“Then this will be a wonderful new experience for you,” he said without a smile.
“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Mike Whatever-your-name-is. I already plan to demand my money back for this flight. Don’t make me lodge a formal complaint against you with your company. It’s not like you don’t deserve—” Tina stared past Mike’s shoulder.
Mike turned and saw Zahid and Akio cautiously stepping over boxes of catsup and mustard, one of which had split open and spilled its red and yellow plastic squeeze bottles into a pile that covered half of a light fixture
. “What are you two doing here?” he asked.
Akio answered: “Mister Walters told us to help you gather food and water.”
“You left him alone?”
“He told us to. He is in command of the ship, you know. We have to do what he says. So long as it’s within reason.”
“With an unknown murderer loose,” Mike said, “asking to be alone may not be within reason.”
Akio opened his mouth to respond but did not get the chance.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said the silky feminine voice from Mike’s shirt pocket, “but the ship wants to talk to you again.”
“What’s it want?” he asked without removing the computer from his pocket.
“I don’t think it knows what it wants. It sounds confused to me.”
Mike rubbed his forehead. “Put it through.”
The voice from his pocket changed. “Michael McCormack, this is the ship speaking.”
“Yeah, this is Mike. What’s up?”
“I am not sure. Mister Walters has begun loading supplies into pod number one. When I asked him why he was doing this he became evasive.”
“Could his conscience be bothering him? Could he be going after Kim?”
“I do not know.”
Carefully lowering his considerable weight, Mike sat himself upon a pile of individually wrapped bath towels. The blood had been accumulating in his hands and feet as he crawled, causing them to swell and turn an ugly shade of maroon. By sitting, much of the excess blood flowed out of his limbs and back into his torso. He glanced at Tina’s ankles, they were unusually pink but far from maroon. “Let me talk to him.”
“As you wish.” A few seconds later: “He does not respond.”
Mike thought for a moment, then said, “What exactly is he loading into the pod?”
“Food, water, four extra oxygen tanks and two extra hydrogen tanks—presumably for the pod’s fuel cells.”
“Sounds like he’s going on a long trip. Is the hangar’s outer door open?”
Bones Burnt Black: Serial Killer in Space Page 8