Bones Burnt Black: Serial Killer in Space

by Stephen Euin Cobb

  As he walked toward one of the hangar’s corners—the one to the right of the large outer door—he kicked huge wads of wrinkled black plastic out of his way. Shining his flashlight into the corner’s darkness, he spotted his target: a small access panel located nine feet up the wall.

  A narrow ladder built into a shallow recess in the wall between the access panel and the large outer door stretched the entire fourteen feet from the ceiling up to the floor. Its ten inch rungs were striped diagonally in red and yellow.

  Mike climbed to the access panel, opened its little door and took a few seconds to read its upside-down instructions. He grasped a handle labeled: Warning! Emergency Use Only—Bleed Hangar Air to Ship’s Exterior.

  Rotating the handle ninety degrees rewarded him with a noise so loud it hurt his ears even through his helmet. The locomotive-like sound filled the hangar and shook the rung in his hand as well as the one beneath his feet.

  The large outer door had no windows, but Mike didn’t need a window to know what was happening outside: two great jets of gas were spraying out into the vacuum from twin ports beside the large door.

  Like giant airlocks, Corvus’s two hangars were designed to withstand the differing structural stresses involved in containing air, versus containing no air. When filled with air, a hangar’s large outer door was under great stress; typically holding inside the ship dozens of tons of air pressure—measured a few pounds per square inch at a time. On the other hand, when empty of air, stress was shared unequally amongst the floor, ceiling, walls, airlock and control booth window—all shoving in the same direction: inward toward the hangar’s center. The air in the rest of the ship was, quite literally, trying to crush the hangar like an empty soft drink can.

  The sound in Mike’s ears faded to a whisper, indicating there was very little air rushing to create the noise and very little air left in the hangar to carry the vibrations of that noise from the walls to Mike.

  Time for the next step: opening the large outer door. Normally this would be done by electric motors under the control of the ship’s computer—an impossibility now, thanks to the ship-wide power outage. Closing the first access panel, Mike opened another below it which revealed the emergency back-up opening mechanism—a hand-crank. He flipped the handle out and started cranking. The door gave a mighty shudder and began moving downward.

  It was a segmented roll-up door that slid along a pair of tracks hidden in the walls. In some ways it resembled a heavily-reinforced garage door. Its individual foamed aluminum segments were hinged and interlocking, and each possessed a single gasket running around the periphery of its mating surface.

  Whenever the air pressure inside the hangar deck was greater than that outside—which always remained zero—the gaskets were pressed tightly together. But when the inside and outside pressures were both the same—again, always zero—the gaskets relaxed. This provided an additional measure of safety, since the door could never be opened unless the gaskets were relaxed, which could only happen when the hangar contained vacuum.

  Mike noticed, after turning the hand crank six times, that a narrow strip of door had disappeared into the ceiling below and a narrow gap of starry sky had appeared up near the floor. Two more cranks and a thin slab of sunlight broke through. He paused to watch the brilliant line of illumination sweep upward across the torn and wrinkled pieces of black plastic tent scattered about the ceiling, then across the pure white hull of the pod, across the hangar’s grey textured floor and then disappear. Seconds later it returned to sweep up through the hangar again. And then again; and again; and again.

  Turning off his flashlight, he stuck it in his suit’s thigh pocket and resumed cranking.

  Twenty rotations later, he stopped to rest. The gap was larger, over a foot wide, but he still had thirteen feet to go.

  More cranking and sunlight began slapping him across the face. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced in pain. The light on his face felt hot; not warm or sultry, but painfully, scaldingly hot; hot enough that a sixty second exposure could blister skin. This was his first taste of the true danger that lay ahead.

  Flipping his helmet’s gold-plated face-shield down over his faceplate helped a lot, though not as much as he would have liked. It reflected about ninety percent of the light. If this sunlight were continuous my suit’s life support would overheat in three or four minutes; then I’d be cooked.

  He spent the next twenty minutes alternately cranking and resting; during which time the flashes of sunlight grew longer and longer but no more frequent. When he finally had the large outer door cranked completely open to the black sky and flashing sun, he climbed down from the recessed rungs and walked back to the chain ladder hanging down from the pod.

  Pausing for one last look at Gideon’s shrouded body, Mike tried not to imagine what exposure to raw vacuum must be doing to his corpse right now. He’d considered moving Gideon into the control booth before opening the large door but there was no way he could lift the overweight gentleman; not by hand and not with a single pulley. A system of two pulleys might have given him the leverage needed, but that would have taken time they just didn’t have.

  Goodbye, my friend.

  Mike climbed up and into the pod, unhooked the chain ladder and tossed it away, then closed and sealed the hatch. Laying on his side on top of food envelopes and water bladders, he squirmed to look around the pod’s tiny cabin. Kind of dark in here.

  He raised his gold face-shield. That’s better.

  The setting resembled the interior of an oversized terrestrial automobile: one that had been flipped upside-down and stuffed with half the contents of a convenience store. The automobile analogy was not exact; while the pod did have a pair of front bucket seats, it had no seats in the rear. That space was intended for cargo, as evidenced by the coils of yellow nylon rope and the stainless steel tie-off rings mounted on the walls. The entire cabin was no more than eight feet long, eight feet wide and five feet high. The hatch Mike now lay next to was located in the center of the rear wall.

  Reaching to his collar, he turned on his suit’s radio. Should have done that earlier in case Tina needed me. Too late to worry about it now. He cleared his throat. “Attention, pod two, this is your commander: Mike McCormack. How are your systems?”

  An unfamiliar voice of indeterminate sex said, “All systems are functioning normally.”

  “Good. Bring the interior lights up and flood the cabin with air.”

  “As you wish.”

  Two small lights glowed white: one at each of the front window’s two lower corners. They illuminated the pod’s interior, but poorly.

  “Is that all the light we get in here?” Mike asked.

  “I have six internal lights,” the pod said, “but four are buried under supplies.”

  “Oh.”

  A hissing sound grew and filled the cramped little cabin.

  Wriggling past Kim—also laying on top of supplies—Mike crawled toward the pilot’s seat. The supplies were piled so high they touched the backs of the upside-down pilot and co-pilot seats. Mike had to dig food envelopes and water bladders out of his way to get into the front. There he found Tina, curled into fetal position below the co-pilot seat—or as much of fetal position as one can manage in a full vacuum suit.

  The hissing stopped, and she began unfastening her helmet.

  He shook his head. “Keep it on. Launch is gonna be rough. Your helmet will help protect your skull.” He shoved a few more food envelopes out of his way. “You’re going to have to pull yourself upside-down and get strapped into the co-pilot seat.”

  She looked up at it, dubiously. “I’ll try.”

  Crawling under the pilot seat, Mike rolled onto his back and tried to pull himself up into it enough to strap himself in, but the gee force was too strong. He tried sliding a few dozen food envelopes under his back to elevate his body. This helped, but not enough. Raking more food envelopes together, he rocked back and forth as he worked them into position. When he fi
nally managed to get strapped in, he started shoving the food envelopes into the pod’s rear area to clear them out of his way. Then he noticed Tina was gathering food envelopes to elevate herself too, so he pushed some of his in her direction.

  “Pod,” he said, “in a few minutes, I’ll instruct you to disengage your docking grapples.”

  “On who’s authority?”

  “Mine, of course.”

  “Please state your name.”

  “Michael Tobias McCormack.”

  “Mister McCormack, what is the access code for this pod during this month?”

  Mike looked at Tina, hoping that by some miracle she knew the access code.

  She stared right back at him.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  The pod asked, “What is the serial number on your pilot’s license?”

  Tina laughed so hard her body convulsed. This caused several food envelopes to wiggle out from under her. One slid far enough to bump into Mike’s arm.

  Mike’s head drooped. “I don’t have one.”

  “I’m sorry, Mister McCormack, but since you possess neither a license nor the proper access code I am unable to comply with your instructions.”

  “But this is an emergency!”

  “I have received no word from the captain indicating that we are in a state of emergency or that I am to obey anyone named Michael Tobias McCormack.”

  “That’s because the captain is dead.”

  “I will have to confirm that,” it said, clearly unimpressed. Three seconds later its tone was slightly different. “That’s odd. The ship’s computer does not respond.”

  “It was destroyed.”

  “The crew then.”

  “All dead. Except for Kim Kirkland and she’s unconscious.”

  “Why are all these people dead?” The pod sounded annoyed.

  “Haven’t you been told about the sabotage?”

  “Sabotage?”

  Mike’s patience was almost gone. Hanging upside-down in two gees, he could feel the blood pooling inside his skull and bloating the skin of his face. “Look: the three people aboard you right now are the only survivors. Everyone else was either murdered or died as a direct result of Corvus’s sabotage. First, the engines were blown with plastic explosive which produced a fuel leak that caused the ship’s tumbling. Later, the fuel cells were blown to create a power outage; and then later still the ship’s computer was destroyed to stop it from telling me what it had learned about the murderer/saboteur.”

  “Is the saboteur aboard me too?”

  “No. I’ve got her locked out of the control booth and hangars.”

  “You want to fly me out of the ship so she can’t harm you?”

  “No; more than that. Corvus’s engines were sabotaged in the middle of a J-maneuver during its docking approach to Von Braun. The ship will make a near pass of the sun tomorrow—so near that it will melt from the heat and be destroyed. We have to leave the ship or die with it. Now, will you follow my commands?”

  “Your story explains several phenomena which I am able to confirm; such as the high inverted gee force I am experiencing and my inability to contact the ship’s computer or any crewmember through the intercom system. However, I have severe reservations based upon your story’s inherent unlikelihood. I find it difficult to believe that one saboteur could—” The pod’s voice fell silent.

  Mike’s body tensed and he felt a wave of sweat spread over his back. “Pod! Pod, are you there? Don’t die on me now!”

  “Please stop yelling,” it said. “I have made radio contact with a type of personal computer commonly called a pocketsize. It states that its owner, Akio Yamaguchi, slipped in a vertical hallway and fell to his death. It has also confirmed many of your story’s other major points.”

  “Have you got room to download its complete memory?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do it. We may need that data as evidence if we survive this. I mean, when we survive this. Also, I want you to broadcast a request-for-contact signal on all cellular and com channels. There may be other personal computers that remain functional. I’m especially thinking of Zahid’s, but I’ll take any you can contact. Let me know what you find.”

  I probably should have grabbed Zahid’s computer myself when I had the chance, he thought, but it felt too much like robbing the dead. Still, there’s nothing wrong with downloading its information as long as it’s used to solve these murders.

  “As you wish.”

  “Does this mean you’ll follow my orders?”

  “Yes. While I am unable to confirm everything you claim, I am convinced that this is indeed a life threatening emergency.”

  “Good. Prepare to disengage docking grapples.”

  He helped Tina strap herself in, which mostly took the form of advice. Being strapped in already, Mike was in no position to lift her into her seat. After she was strapped in, she asked, “What about Kim?”

  Avoiding Tina’s eyes, he pretended he was familiarizing himself with the pod’s control panel—a hard white plastic surface trimmed with thin strips of chrome and even thinner decorative red stripes. “We’ve only got two seats,” he said. “I’ve got to be in one in case the pod’s computer goes down and I have to fly it manually, and I didn’t feel I could ask you to give up your seat.” He ran his index finger along a bank of switches as though memorizing their location. “I think she’ll be OK back there. There should only be one big bump, then a rolling motion, and then we’ll be outside in zero-g.”

  He was relieved when Tina didn’t argue the point. He hadn’t expected her to, but he’d still worried about it.

  Maybe I should strap Kim into my seat, he thought. Maybe I should be the one riding in the back. The odds that the pod’s computer will fail are probably small; unless, of course, the saboteur has planted a bomb in here too. It’s possible; but it’s probably not likely. At least, I think it’s not likely. Or maybe I just hope so.

  He glanced at Tina. There’s no use second-guessing myself. I’m doing what I think is safest; planning for everything that could possibly go wrong; worst-case scenarios every step of the way. I’ve got to. I can’t risk doing anything less. Can’t risk it for Kim’s sake. After all, if I’m incapacitated, who’s going to keep her alive? Tina?

  He checked his straps, then looked at Tina. “Ready?”

  She gave him a nervously brave look. “Yes.”

  “Good. Brace yourself. Pod, release the grapples.”

  “Aye aye.”

  Mike felt his stomach lurch as the pod dropped and zero-g engulfed him. A quarter of a second later, as the pod impacted the hangar ceiling, straps dug into the flesh of Mike’s shoulders, hips and thighs and even more blood tried to squeeze into his brain. Tina squealed, and the pod’s hull rang like a huge, dull bell.

  Food envelopes and water bladders bounced all the way up into Mike’s lap. They slapped him on the shoulders and chest, and made an awful racket banging against his helmet on their way up, and again on their way back down. The four missing interior lights appeared as randomized flashes that cast strange and fleeting shadows.

  In the middle of all this flying confusion, the pod announced, “I have contacted a pocketsize belonging to one Nikita Petrov. I am downloading its contents now.”

  “You’re kidding!” Mike yelled. “That thing’s bound to contain all sorts of incriminating stuff. This is too good to be true!”

  The pod’s almost spherical hull began rolling unevenly across the hangar ceiling toward the big open door. At one point Mike and Tina were right-side-up, but this did not last. The pod rolled on; tipping forward until—

  The gee force vanished again and they were falling.

  Mike’s view was completely obscured as supplies of every imaginable size and shape bounced around the cabin like salmon in a commercial fishing net. He couldn’t see the front window or any of the pod’s control panel.

  Waving his arms in a swimming motion, he tried shoving the stuff out of
his way—either into the rear or at least over in front of Tina.

  He spotted shifting areas of the control panel, then caught glimpses of Corvus’s huge exterior through the pod’s front window. All of Corvus swung up into view and then out of view, reminding Mike of the beams of sunlight in the cargo decks. Corvus appeared in the front window again; then again it was gone.

  But it wasn’t Corvus that was moving like this; it was the pod. The pod was tumbling like Corvus, having picked up its rotation when it rolled across the hangar ceiling and out the door.

  Again, Corvus appeared; but this time one end was frighteningly large; then Corvus disappeared.

  “Brace yourself!” Mike yelled. “It’s going to—”

  The engineering decks slammed into the pod’s lower rear section with ten times the force of the impact felt during launch. Mike feared the pod’s hull would split open like a piñata; though instead of candy spilling out it would be three vacuum-suited bodies surrounded by a flurry of food packs and water bladders.

  His helmet struck his headrest so hard it bent the headrest’s supporting arm to one side; and the crushing pain in his arms, as they slammed against the armrests, felt as if bones had broken in several places.

  All the loose supplies struck the pod’s back wall in a brief, high-speed drum roll. The pod’s hull, however, did not split wide open. Neither did the pod bounce away from the ship and tumble out into zero-g. Instead, Corvus somehow grabbed the little pod and held on to it. Perhaps it had become stuck in a brand new pod-sized crater or dent.

  Pressed back into his seat as harshly and rudely as if an elephant were sitting on his chest, Mike discovered that he couldn’t move—not his arms, his hands or even his fingers. He grimaced each time he tried.

  Six gees! How long can a human survive six gees? His seat creaked under his twelve hundred pounds. He couldn’t even roll his head to look at Tina. What’s this doing to Kim? God, don’t let her be under stuff, or in a position where blood will flood her brain and burst all the veins. Got to get loose. Got to… “Pod!” His voice sounded bizarre. The weight of his cheeks had stretched his lips wide and thin over his teeth, and his tongue—now weighing over a pound—insisted upon flattening itself into the very bottom of his mouth. “I want you to use the attitude jets or the main thrusters to shake us loose!”