A Light In The Dark (Tales of the Deep Dark)

by Nathan Lowell

  Gunderson turned his chair to look out at the Deep Dark again–watching for more stellar semaphores to prove that they were not out there alone.

  The scrape of a shoe on the decking and Kravitz’s voice made him spin back around just in time to register Jordan swinging the broom that connected with the side of his head. The blow sent him crashing to the deck and wiped the consciousness from his mind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Deep Dark: November 29, 2333

  The beeping slowly worked its way into Gunderson’s awareness. He’d heard it for some time but it took a long while for it to register as something of significance. He listened for a while, trying to place it. It was a familiar sound. Something he’d heard before. He knew it was important but couldn’t quite pull it to the front of his brain. A shift in the regular metronomic pulse fought through his frustration.

  Heart monitor.

  It was monitoring him.

  He struggled to open his eyes and remember.

  “Whoa, Skipper. Take it easy.”

  “Ernest?” he asked, still unable to get his eyes open.

  “Yup. It’s me, Cap. Your head...you got hit. Don’t try to open your eyes.”

  “Can’t.”

  “I’m not in the least surprised, Cap. You’ve got a mess of bandiflesh across your face. You got hit pretty hard.”

  “How long?” Gunderson thought he should be more alarmed than he felt. “Drugs?”

  “You’re into your fourth day in the can, Skipper, and yeah, you’re drugged to the eyeba—that is, drugged to the teeth.”

  “What happened?”

  “Jordan broke a broom across your face.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then he knocked Gail Kravitz over the head with the stump, taped her to the seat, and stole the bridge pod.”

  Gunderson tried to sit up, but found the auto-doc restraints held him firmly. The beeps got faster.

  “Easy there, Skipper,” Ernest said. “You’re still locked down.”

  “Yeah. I see.” Gunderson said. “He stole the life-pod?”

  “Yup.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “He headed off toward the crossroads as near as we could tell.”

  “As near as you could tell?”

  “We tracked the transponder for a couple days but either he turned it off, or got out of range. We can’t hear it any more.”

  Gunderson considered that news for about a dozen beeps. “I’m having a little difficulty tracking, Ernest,” he said at last.

  “I’m not surprised, Skipper. You’re pretty narc’ed up and your head took a wallop.”

  “I woulda thought we could track a life pod farther than that,” Gunderson said.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Gunderson considered that for a bit before asking, “How’s Kravitz?”

  “She’s fine. A bit shaken and has an egg on her head, but no lasting harm.”

  “Ship’s status?”

  “Same as it’s been for the last three months, Skipper. Minus one life pod.”

  “That was the last one, wasn’t it?”

  “Yup. T’was.” Ernest said. “But it wasn’t much good out here. We just better hope the hull holds up.”

  “Why? Something wrong with the hull?”

  “Naw. Just a manner of speaking,” Ernest patted Gunderson’s shoulder. “Relax. We’ll run out of air or water before the hull rots through.”

  In spite of himself, Gunderson snorted a laugh. “That’s not all that reassuring, Ernest.”

  Ernest chuckled. “Well, if you’re good enough to laugh, it was worth it.”

  “So? What’s the bad news?”

  “Bad news, Skipper?”

  “Yeah. What are you being so careful not to tell me.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cap.”

  “Liar. Why have I got a face full of bandiflesh?”

  “Oh, that?” Ernest paused a bit too long. “Nothing. Just the auto-doc being careful I suppose.”

  “How close was it?” Gunderson asked after the heart monitor beeped a few more times.

  “Close, Skipper?”

  “How close did Jordan come to killing me?”

  “Oh, I’m no medico, Skipper. How would I—”

  “Stuff it, Ernest. Tell me.”

  “Another centimeter and your brains woulda been outside of your skull bones,” Ernest said after a few moments. “The auto-doc’s been treating the swelling and inflammation.”

  “What about my face?”

  “You’re be just as ugly as ever,” Ernest assured him.

  “What about my face, Ernest?” Gunderson’s voice snapped in the enclosed space.

  The rapid beeping filled the space between them.

  “You’ve lost an eye, Skipper. The auto-doc doesn’t have the capability to re-grow it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, other than the dent in your skull. Yeah. Isn’t that enough?”

  Gunderson thought about it until the auto-doc drugged his awareness away and closed the lid once more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Deep Dark: December 4, 2333

  I’m not some damn invalid,” Gunderson grumbled.

  Ernest chuckled and Ralph laughed out loud.

  “Well, when the auto-doc lets you go, we can arm wrestle ya over that one, Cap,” Ernest said, a smile dancing in his eyes.

  “Well, just leave my shipsuit there on the chair if you don’t mind. I’d appreciate a little privacy.”

  “Aw, I don’t know, Skipper. You’ve been in that can for over a week. You’re gonna need some help--”

  “Ralph Winslow, the day I need help getting my pants on is the day I give up my ticket.” Gunderson thrust out his jaw and scowled at one and then the other of them. “Am I clear?”

  Ernest scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand before replying. “Oh, aye, Cap. You’re clear.” He looked at Ralph. “He’s clear, ain’t he, Ralph?”

  “Yes,” Ralph said, his head nodding in an exaggerated agreement. “Crystal clear. Clear as water he is. He’s gonna fall on his ass as soon as he tries to step out of that can, though.”

  Ernest considered that while Gunderson worked up a suitably caustic reply. “Yeah. That’s probably true.” He looked at the captain and then back at Ralph. “Should we let him?”

  “What? Fall?”

  “Yeah. I mean he’s bein’ all prickly and stuff. Least we can do is give him some privacy while he falls on his ass.” Ernest’s mouth twitched as if he were trying not to grin.

  Ralph pursed his lips and nodded, eyeing the thunderclouds building on Gunderson’s face. “Here’s your skivvies. See if you can get them on before you try to step out, Skipper. That way when you fall, you won’t be flapping in the breeze.” He tossed a ship tee and boxers onto the open auto-doc capsule. “Come on, Ernest. Let’s take bets.”

  The two men stepped out into the passageway and closed the door behind them.

  “I bet he falls flat on his face,” Ernest said, loud enough to be heard through the closed door.

  “Oh, that’s a given. The real action is whether he’ll have his skivvies on when he does it. He might actually get a leg in that shipsuit but as weak as he is?” Ralph paused. “I bet he can’t lean over to find the zipper without falling.”

  Ernest said, “Should we get Nancy to hold the wagers? She’d be an impartial witness.”

  “Naw, she’d just side with the skipper. She’s sweet on him, you know.”

  Gunderson sighed and tried to tune out the conversation. He had to smile in spite of himself. They were a pair. Nancy Gaston sweet on him? The very idea seemed preposterous. She’d been his first mate for a long time and one of the few women he could actually talk to. Sweet on him? He snorted and popped the latch on the auto-doc, letting the lower panels swing back.

  He got a good look down his body. It seemed oddly flat and flaccid. He held the top of his boxers and tried to raise a leg high enou
gh to slip them over his foot.

  “I’ll wager fifty credits that he falls trying to put the tee shirt on,” Ernest said.

  “Hoo. Okay, I’ll take that and put me down for fifty if he falls trying to step onto the deck,” Ralph said.

  Gunderson tried two more times, but couldn’t bend forward far enough in the auto-doc to get his arms down as far as his feet. His legs were too weak to lift that far and his body too weak to bend down. He sighed. “I’ll take both those wagers, and put a hundred credits on too weak to even get my skivvies on,” he said. “Can one of you louts give me a hand here?”

  Ralph laughed and Ernest came back onto the med bay. “No bet. You’d throw it just to win our money!” He chuckled then and said, “Lemme give you a hand, Cap. We need to get you out of that can and into your rack where you can get some sleep.”

  It took them just a few ticks to help him into his shorts and tee. Ernest even helped him slip his suit up his legs before he tried to get out of the auto-doc They tilted the pod almost vertical and held him up while he leaned a bit forward and they worked the fabric up around him so he could put his hands in the sleeves.

  Before they were done, Gunderson was sweating and tired. With one of them on each arm, they helped him step out of the pod, into the passageway, and settled him on the top of a grav trunk so they could drag him to the cabin.

  The whole process took less than a quarter stan, but Gunderson found himself exhausted from the minor exertion and crawled off the trunk and into bunk.

  Ernest pulled up the cover. “You relax, Captain. Get some sleep.”

  The drugged fog wrapped around Gunderson’s brain but he struggled against it. “Ernest?”

  “Yeah, Cap?”

  “Nancy’s not sweet on me.”

  Ernest smiled and patted the captain’s shoulder. “Yeah, Cap, sure. You get some sleep. Maybe when you wake up you can talk to her about that, huh?”

  Gunderson tried to say something else but his couldn’t find the thread as his eyes closed. In moments he was asleep once more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Deep Dark: December 5, 2333

  Gunderson woke slowly, layer by layer. He still wore his shipsuit and had the top cover from his bunk over him. The chrono on the bulkhead read 08:30 but he still had enough left over drugs in his system to deaden the anxiety that he sensed fluttering in the back of his mind. His hand went to the bandage over the side of his face and he traced the shape of his skull with a shaking fingertip.

  He threw the cover off and eased onto his side before slipping his legs over the edge and slowly levering himself to a sitting position at the edge of his bed. The room swam just a bit but settled rapidly. He focused on breathing slowly and regularly. He started to stand but only got about halfway up before decided that he really needed to sit back down before he fell.

  “Crap,” he muttered.

  He heard a scuff and a step from the outer room just as Vasily stepped up to the open door.

  “Ah, Captain. You should have spoken sooner.”

  “Hello, Vasily, what are you doing here?”

  Vasily gave him a crooked smile. “We thought it would be good to have someone standing by in case you woke and needed assistance, Captain.”

  Gunderson nodded slowly. “Yeah. Which ‘we’ was this?”

  Vasily folded his arms and lounged in the door frame. “That would be the crew, Captain. Ms. Gaston has done a marvelous job keeping things going while you’ve been indisposed.”

  Gunderson grunted.

  “How are you feeling, by the way?”

  Gunderson took a breath to say something, but changed his mind and blew it out slowly. “Terrible, but drugged so much I don’t think I care.”

  Vasily nodded. “Da. That’ll wear off in the next few stans, I think. You’ll feel much worse very soon.”

  Gunderson looked over at the lanky cargo-man. “You really know how to cheer a guy up, Vasily.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I am trying.” He offered the captain a tentative smile.

  “I wouldn’t argue that,” Gunderson said with a soft laugh. “Now do you think you could help me up and into the head?”

  With Vasily’s steadying arm, Gunderson was able to rise and cross the five steps to the head. The mirror above the basin reflected a gray-skinned old man with a bandage over half his head. His exposed eye traced the lines on his face and the bruising seeping out from under the bandage. He braced himself on the rim of the basin to take some of the strain off his legs before they buckled.

  “Are you alright, Captain?” Vasily asked from the doorway.

  Gunderson found Vasily’s face in the mirror. “I look a little the worse for wear, but I think I can handle it from here. Thanks, Vas.”

  Vasily smiled and nodded, closing the head door quietly.

  Gunderson looked at himself in the mirror one more time and then turned to take care of a more pressing need. Relieved, he considered a shower, but decided that his legs probably wouldn’t hold up that long and it would be embarrassing to have to be rescued.

  Vasily waited just outside the door and started to help Gunderson back to his bunk.

  “Desk, please, Vasily? I think I need to sit up a bit. Maybe find some food?”

  “Of course, Captain. I’ve some soup waiting for you in the galley. If you promise not to do anything rash while I am away, I’ll fetch some for you.”

  Gunderson laughed in spite of himself. “The only thing rash I’m likely to do is stare out the port.”

  A low ache built in the back of his skull and he could feel the fluttering anxiety waiting, biding its time, waiting to burst through when his pharmaceutical walls fell.

  As Vasily settled him into the comfy chair behind the desk, he paused and considered, concern painted on his face. “They can replace the eye when we get back to Diurnia, Captain.”

  Gunderson looked up at the younger man. “I know, Vasily. Thank you.”

  Vasily gave the captain a jerky nod and headed for the door. “I’ll be right back, Captain. Don’t move.”

  Gunderson swiveled his chair to look out of the wide armorglass port. The panoramic view of the Deep Dark always stirred something in him. The clear, shining stars—brilliant pinpricks in the velvet night—touched a part of him that he couldn’t explain. He sighed.

  “But can they replace my faith?” he murmured to the unblinking stars. “Can they give me back my belief?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Deep Dark: December 7, 2333

  Nancy Gaston planted her hands on her hips and stared, her mouth a firm line across her face.

  “Look, Nancy, there’s not that much to standing bridge watch right now.” Gunderson thought he sounded convincing.

  Nancy just shook her head.

  “You and Ernest have been standing twelve and twelve for over a week now!”

  “No, Captain. We haven’t. If you’d care to check the logs, you’ll see that Ralph has been taking your watch. He’s fully qualified to take a bridge watch and he’s doing quite well at it.” Her scowl deepened. “And what are you going to do up there, anyway? Can you even get up there?”

  “What do you mean? Of course, I can get up there.”

  She snorted. “Oh, I see, then you’re just having meals delivered here because you don’t want to associate with the crew on the mess deck?” She folded her arms under her breasts and shifted her weight to tap her foot. “Hmm? Is that it?”

  Gunderson sat back in his chair, suddenly tired again. “You know that’s not it, Nancy. Stop being--”

  “What?” she challenged, cutting him off before he said something foolish. “Reasonable? Concerned?” She paused and something warmer replaced the anger in her face for just a few heartbeats. “Captain, you can’t make it down the ladder and back for meals. How do you expect to get up to the bridge?”

  Gunderson gave a matter-of-fact shrug. “The ladder’s shorter,” he said. “I can crawl up there if my legs won’t make it.”

&n
bsp; Nancy laughed and her mood broke in a shimmering peal. “Bjorn,” she said, anger dissipated entirely, “as much as I’d love to watch that, please...” She tilted her head to look him in the eye. “You just got out of the auto-doc after a very serious injury to your head. You’re still too weak to walk to the galley for meals. If something were to happen...” she paused and bit her lip. “If something else were to happen, I don’t know that I could--” She stopped herself then and looked at the deck. “That is, it would be my responsibility for allowing you back on duty when I know perfectly well you’re not qualified.”

  “But, Nancy, be reasonable.”

  “I am being reasonable, you great daft thing. When you can get to the galley for three straight meals and get back to the cabin on your own, I’ll let you back on watch. Until then--”

  Gunderson slapped the desk with one heavy palm. “You’ll let me back on watch?” he thundered. “I’m the captain of this vessel--”

  “You,” she shouted right back at him, “are down on emergency medical. The records in the auto-doc back me up and I am exercising my duty under the Confederated Planets Joint Committee on Trade Rules and Regulations for emergency command. You know it. I know it. So stuff it.”

  Gunderson felt himself wilt in the seat. “Okay. You win,” he grumbled. “But only until I make it up and down the ladder three times.”

  “By yourself and what I said was three consecutive meals in the galley. Don’t you go playing games with me on this one!”

  Gunderson groaned inwardly. “That’s another full day,” he muttered.

  “Yes, it is, you great galoot, and little enough time for you to recover.”

  Gunderson sat still, his drug fogged brain beginning to work through the problems. “What happened, Nance?”

  She stopped in mid fume and gaped at him. “What do you mean, ‘What happened?’ Jordan broke a broom across your skull and ran off with our last life-pod”