by Piers Platt
“Hey, Ed,” Raynard said, seeing the older man. “Is everyone else okay?”
“Finding out,” Falken said, unlatching the next pod. Vina stumbled out a moment later, gel dripping from her bodysuit. Raynard took her arm to steady her.
“Greban!” Falken called out absentmindedly, growing annoyed that his colleague hadn’t yet arrived to help. Then realization dawned. “Oh shit, he wasn’t in a pod when we went down.”
Falken hurriedly opened the last two pods, which spilled out Kuda and Shep.
“Everyone look each other over, check for injuries,” Falken ordered. He sloshed across the room to the doorway, which stood half open. The door panel ignored his touch, so he put his back against the frame and heaved, forcing the door wider. “Greban!”
The corridor was dark, lit only dimly by phosphorescent emergency strips along the ceiling. Falken climbed through the door and headed forward. In the planet’s lower gravity, and without a pool of gel to impede him, he seemed to float with each step, hop-bouncing each time he moved. When he reached the galley, it appeared empty – pots and utensils littered the floor, and he could hear liquids dripping out of one of the room’s large refrigerators.
Damnit, Greban – where are you?
In the lounge, the great stone table hung from the ceiling – Falken avoided it instinctively, careful not to walk under it. The vidscreen at the front of the room lay on the ground, cracked and sparking. Falken stepped over a spilled coffee urn, and made his way through another hatch into the ship’s cockpit. He heard a groan.
In the darkness, Greban lay across a control panel, propped up against the ship’s sloping forward viewport.
“There you are,” Falken said, with relief.
“Where are the guests?” Greban asked, grimacing and holding his side.
“Back in the displacement room. They’re okay,” Falken said. “How are you?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Greban said. “I felt a jolt, I ran up here and we were in a spin. I tried to pull us up but we lost altitude so fast, and then we hit the drone patrol line, and they shot my maneuvering jets all to shit.”
“We made it, that’s all that matters,” Falken said. He eyed Greban’s side. “You’re in pain.”
“I forgot to put my safety harness on. I went flying when we hit.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“My ribs, here,” Greban said, touching them gingerly. “And I think my ankle’s sprained.”
Falken knelt and inspected his ankle gently. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
“The ribs hurt worse,” Greban said.
“Can you move?” Falken asked.
Greban nodded weakly. Falken helped him off the floor – he gasped in pain at first, but eventually, he managed to hobble back through the lounge, leaning heavily on Falken and swearing quietly. They found the guests waiting in the ship’s corridor.
“Is everyone okay?” Greban asked.
“Yeah,” Raynard said. “We’re all a little scared, but okay.”
“Okay, as long as no one’s hurt,” Greban said.
“This is real, right?” Kuda asked, sharing a look with his brother. “Like … this isn’t some simulated thing with the displacement units that you guys are doing to make this trip more exciting, right?”
“It’s real,” Falken said, helping Greban sit on the floor. “We’re on the surface of Olympus.”
“What happened?” Vina asked.
Greban lifted his injured leg in his hands, straightening it out. “There was some kind of explosion,” he said. “The force of the blast knocked us out of orbit – we got pulled in by the planet’s gravity well. I ran to the cockpit and tried to maneuver, but the explosion must have disabled the ship’s engines, as well.”
“So what now?” Shep asked.
“Now they’re going to get us the hell out of here,” Ed said, before Greban could answer. “We’re on Olympus, for Christ’s sake.”
Falken eyed him. “Yeah, we are. And we’re going to get out of here.”
“So take off,” Ed demanded. “Get us back in orbit at once.”
“Look around, Ed,” Falken said, gesturing at the dark corridor in exasperation. “You really think this ship is flyable? The lights aren’t even on.” He shook his head. “I’m going to see if we have enough power to radio the Adrenaline Junkies. They’ll be able to organize a rescue ship, if they haven’t already done so.”
“Can I come?” Vina asked.
“No,” Falken said. “I need you guys to help collect up emergency supplies. We don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck here, so we need to plan for the worst.”
“I want to change out of this suit first,” Ed complained.
Falken stepped closer to him, towering over the older man. “Listen, Ed. This is no longer a vacation, and I’m not your fucking tour guide anymore. I’m the guy that’s going to keep you alive. So shut the fuck up, and do what I ask. Are we clear?”
Ed’s jaw worked in silent shock for a moment, and then he nodded.
“Good. Greban will tell you where to find water and containers for it. Then start gathering any food you can find.”
Falken made his way back to the cockpit and found a headset amongst the tangle of spare equipment littering the floor. He pulled it on, and then reached up to tap on a control panel over his head. The screen was cracked, but it came to life, flickering, the root menu upside down from his point of view. Falken found the communications controls, and tuned to the Adrenaline Junkies’ frequency.
“Ad Junkies, this is Ecolympus, over.”
In his headset, all he could hear was a low drone of static.
“Ad Junkies, Ad Junkies, this is Ecolympus, please respond.”
C’mon.
The headphones crackled, and he heard a familiar female voice. “Falken?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, Hylie. I’m here.”
“Jesus Christ, Falken. What happened? Are you guys okay?”
“We’re okay – all guests safe and accounted for. Greban’s banged up a bit, but he’ll be okay.”
“We put in a mayday call already,” the owner of the Adrenaline Junkies told him. “The Liberty Belle was just arriving back at Harrison’s Waypoint when I got through, but they’re refueling and getting ready to come right back here again. Shit, if I could get clearance from the Conservation Department, I’d come down there and pull you out myself, but I’m not rated for atmospheric entry.”
“I know,” Falken said. “Thanks for making the call. Any ETA on the Belle?”
“Not yet. They said they’d call us back when they leave the station. But they can make the trip in three hours, if they push it.”
“Yeah. We should be okay until then,” Falken said. “We’ve got food and water, we’ll just hunker down and stay inside ‘til they get here.”
“If you can run diagnostics, you may want to check your oh-two levels,” Hylie suggested. “We saw the damage as you went in – and that was before you hit the ground. I’d be surprised if you didn’t have a breach somewhere along your hull.”
“Shit,” Falken said. “You’re right. I better get on that.” A warning message appeared on the screen: >>>Battery reserves low. Signal disruption may occur. Falken frowned at the warning.
“You guys have emergency oxygen?”
“Some,” Falken said. “I’ll call you back in a bit.”
“Stay safe,” Hylie said.
Falken cut the connection and slipped the headset off. He tapped on the screen over his head again, accessing the ship’s diagnostics menu. But when he tried to start the test, the screen showed an error message.
>>>Hull sensor network non-responsive. Integrity unknown.
Falken swore, and tried a different menu option.
>>>Interior atmospheric content: 77.3% nitrogen, 20.2% oxygen, 1.5% carbon dioxide.
Wonderful, Falken thought. But what the hell are the levels supposed to be at?
He shut
the screen off in frustration, and then reached over to the wall and yanked open a box marked Fire / Emergency. Inside were a fire extinguisher, a flashlight, and a full-face mask with a small bottle of oxygen. He took the flashlight and oxygen mask, and hurried back into the lounge. He found another oxygen mask in a box near the lounge’s entrance, and removed it before heading to the main corridor.
Vina and Ed were just setting large plastic jugs of water down on the floor next to Greban.
“Take a break from the drinking water,” Falken told them. He handed Greban one of the oxygen masks. “Inside every guest suite you’ll find an emergency kit next to the door. It’s got a mask, like this. Grab all the masks and dump them here.”
“Are we running out of air?” Vina asked, a frown creasing her forehead.
“I hope not. But better to be prepared, just in case,” Falken said.
She nodded, and Ed followed her down the hall, avoiding Falken’s gaze.
“You scared the shit out of him,” Greban chuckled, when they had disappeared into the farthest room.
“Good,” Falken grunted. “I was getting tired of his shit. I got through to Hylie – help is on the way. We’ll be fine on food and water until they get here, but she got me worried about air.”
“Shit, she’s right. Hull damage?”
Falken shook his head. “Diagnostics are down. I gotta go out there and check.”
Greban’s eyes widened. “You’re going to go outside? How far from the mountain are we?”
“Probably not far enough,” Falken said, pulling the mask into place.
“Jesus, Falken – be careful.”
Falken gave him a tight smile, and headed for the ship’s airlock.
Chapter 12
Jens stopped at the base of the entry ladder. His hands trembled as he gripped the lower rungs, and he paused for a second, steadying himself against the cold steel. He took a deep breath.
I can’t do this. Jesus, I can’t do this.
Jens shook his head and then started to climb, emerging several seconds later into the glass-covered cab of the cargo-lifter crane. He took a seat at the crane’s controls, and through long force of habit, spun the crane in a slow circle, getting a full view of the crane’s surroundings. The cab protruded several meters above the hull of one of the space station’s docking arms, and the position afforded him an excellent view of the nearby space traffic around the perimeter of Harrison’s Waypoint. Today, however, he was surprised to see no incoming ships. Behind him – several arms away – he saw the Liberty Belle pushing out of its slip, along with a second ship he did not recognize. Immediately in front of him, the CGS Extremis sat nestled alongside the station’s docking arm, running lights blinking. Jens eyed the Colonial Guard vessel warily, and then touched the crane’s controls, extending the crane out to its fullest extent. He put his feet on the floor pedals, and pushed down with his left foot, causing the crane’s heavy boom to swing through a slow arc to the left, coming to a stop just beyond the CGS Extremis’ bow. Then he carefully lowered the boom, until it was nearly touching the ship’s hull.
I don’t have a choice.
Jens wavered for a moment, and then stabbed a button on the console. He heard ringing, and then his wife’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, honey?”
“Kady?” his voice cracked.
“What?” she asked. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Kady, I’m sorry. I fucked up so bad. I’m so sorry.”
“What? Jens, what are you talking about?”
Through a blur of tears, he punched the console again, cutting the connection. Then, angrily, he jammed his right foot down, and the crane’s boom slid to the right. As he watched, the tip of the boom slammed into the Extremis’ bow, and the jarring impact shook Jens all the way up in the crane’s cab. He held his foot down, and the boom continued swinging right, tearing a ragged line down the ship’s hull. Jens saw hull pieces and other debris tumbling off into space, and atmosphere venting out at several points along the breach. He let his foot up off the pedal then, and pulled the crane’s boom up. For a second, he just stared at the carnage he had caused, noting the sound of alarm sirens hooting in the distance. He gasped in shock as a jet of flame bloomed out of the aft end of the breach along the Extremis’ hull. Then, with fumbling fingers, he pulled a small bottle of whiskey out of his pocket, held it up to his lips, and drained it, the fiery liquid searing his throat.
*
“Loss of pressure in compartments three through nine port-side!” Chief Risley said.
“Hull breach!” Jiyake announced over the Extremis’ PA system. “This is not a drill.” Throughout the ship, crewmembers scrambled to don their emergency survival masks.
The chief of the boat bent over a display board, frowning at the array of warning symbols flashing across a schematic of the ship. He turned to face Jiyake.
“Inner hatches sealed automatically,” he reported. “We’re not leaking anymore, at least.”
“Thanks, Chief – get your mask on, just in case. All departments report in: I want full personnel accountability,” Jiyake said, adjusting her mask.
“Shouldn’t have been anyone in those compartments,” the chief said, after he pulled his own mask on. “Not if they were at their duty stations.”
Jiyake nodded. “Let’s confirm.”
“Engineering, all accounted for,” a speaker over the bridge reported.
“Fire suppression system activated in compartment nine,” an ensign said, his voice muffled.
“Fire suppression?” Jiyake asked.
“I thought compartment nine was breached,” Risley said. “How can it be on fire if it’s open to the vacuum?”
The ensign shook his head. “Maybe it’s a malfunctioning sensor?” He frowned. “Now it’s telling me there’s a fire in compartment eleven, too.”
Risley and Jiyake shared a look. “There’s a fuel line that runs through those compartments,” Risley said.
“Take a fire control party, start with the fire in eleven. I’ll see if I can figure out what’s going on in nine from the outside.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the chief said. He pointed at two of the enlisted crewmembers in quick succession. “With me – let’s go.”
Jiyake stood and touched the ensign on the shoulder. “Ensign, send a signal to the Liberty Belle, let them know we’re not going to be able to join them at Olympus, and send my apologies. Tell Captain Muir I’ll check in with her over radio once we have this situation under control.”
“Understood, ma’am. Where are you going?”
“Spacewalk,” Jiyake said. “I’m going to go see if I can help Chief get this thing under control from the outside.”
Three minutes later, Jiyake glided out of the aft airlock wearing a full spacesuit and helmet, a set of maneuvering thrusters strapped to her back. The white hull of the space station was close by the airlock opening – Jiyake fired her jets and rose straight up. In a moment, she had cleared the upper hull of the Extremis, and got her first good look at the damage.
Jesus. Looks like someone took a can opener to the hull.
“All crew accounted for,” the ensign reported in her ear.
“Acknowledged,” she said. Thank god for that. “What’s Chief’s status with that fire?”
“Stand by, ma’am,” the ensign replied.
Jiyake eyed the mangled crane hanging over the breach. The crane’s cab was empty – whoever had been operating it had since cleared out of the cab. We’ll have to deal with them later.
She fired her thrusters again, heading for the fire blooming out of the hull breach, then changing course as she neared it, swinging wide. On the far side of the fire, she could see down into the compartment itself – what looked to be a burned mattress and the frame of a bunk. Carefully, she maneuvered herself lower, slipping down closer to the source of the fire.
There it is. Ruptured fuel pipe … and an oxygen supply hose right next to it, feeding
it. And they’re both pointed at the bulkhead, like a welding torch.
“Commander?” Chief Risley sounded winded.
“Go, Chief.”
“We put down a ton of fire retardant foam in eleven, but something’s just too hot. It keeps reigniting along the bulkhead between eleven and nine.”
“The fire’s still burning in nine,” Jiyake told him. “I bet the radiant heat is passing through the bulkhead.”
“It’s hotter than hell in here,” Risley agreed. “Recommend we fall back to thirteen and depressurize eleven. That ought to stop eleven from burning at least.”
“Yeah, do it,” Jiyake agreed. That solves eleven for the time being. But if we can’t get this fire out in nine, the heat’s just gonna melt a big crater in the ship. In my ship.
Gritting her teeth, Jiyake jammed the controls for her maneuvering pack forward, and the thrusters fired, pushing her down toward the plume of fire. For a brief second, her helmet was a wash of orange and red, and she felt a wave of pure heat even through the suit’s thermal insulation. Then she was through. She bumped awkwardly into a lower bunk, down near the compartment’s floor, and stuck out a hand, grabbing onto the handle of a cabinet drawer.
Well, that was stupid. But it worked.
Jiyake twisted herself to look back up at the flame. She could see the metal of the bulkhead now – it was glowing white-hot under the fire’s assault. Jiyake traced the fuel and oxygen lines back along what remained of the ceiling, but the only valve she could see was missing, knocked off by the crane when it smashed into the hull.
Damn it. So much for just closing a valve and shutting off the fuel supply.
An alarm sounded inside her suit – on her helmet’s faceplate, a temperature icon appeared with an exclamation point next to it. It flashed at her, angrily.
Yeah, yeah. I can feel it.
She was sweating through her uniform, Jiyake realized – the heat would soon overwhelm her suit’s limited insulation. She pulled herself closer to the fuel pipe, but grabbed the oxygen hose instead. It was fixed in place via some kind of tape. Jiyake tugged on it, hard, and with a tearing sensation, it came loose in her hand. The fire sputtered. Jiyake pulled on the hose again, yanking the leaking end away from the heat source, and the flames wavered, then disappeared. She held the loose end in her hands, staring at it in consternation for a moment, and then simply tied a knot in the end of the hose, pulling it tight.