"We'll never get there in time," Arlo said in a daze.
"Forty-nine's not far from the central lift," Pierce said. In truth, Pierce also doubted they would get there in time. Edward had only to press a button, and the airlock would open in minutes. Without an ENV suit, he might be gone before then.
They entered the lift, and the doors closed like a mouth into a throat that took them to the belly of the ship, where they ran as fast as they could to cargo bay forty-nine.
Two
When Edward looked inside himself, he found a gaping hole like a wound that he feared would never close. Outside of him was space. Inside of him was more space. Only a shell separated them, and maybe the best thing to do was to crack it and blend those spaces together. Why keep lovers apart?
Even with the feeling of cold nothingness, Edward Stone did not despair. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and that was a good thing. It meant he had no ties to the ship. It meant he had no ties to this life.
Killing himself, though, wasn't his goal. It was a means to an end. He had to bring out what was inside him and rejoin it with the stars. Death was just a byproduct.
Yet, between these moments of insanity, he would find lucidity. He wasn't alone, and he didn't want to die. The realization when he occasionally found his mental footing made him afraid, and it was the fear that drove him to accept his fate, as it was probably for the best that he removed himself. It would be better for the ship and the crew. It would be better than spending the rest of his life in a dark hole. And it would be better for Arlo, his son.
Since Emily, his wife, died, he'd felt like a burden in someone else's hands. He was aware of his grief, and he recognized the impatience of those around him as he continued to carry it years after she passed. He felt afflicted; any normal person would have moved on. He could not. Grief had become his disease.
And then, sometimes he thought, even though he didn't believe in a God, maybe he would see Emily in some form or another. Maybe when he died, he would get to feel her once more, if only for a moment, even if it was only his brain revisiting those sensations and impulses, creating the illusion that she was real. He would know no pain, emotional or physical, in the end. And, he realized, he wanted this. The only reason no one else wanted death was for the uncertainty of what lay beyond. Madness had only made him realize he no longer cared that he would become stardust in the endless black.
And a popsicle. That's what he would be; a frozen, bloody mess of an Edward popsicle. It was too bad pets weren't allowed on the Atlas. He imagined he would make a good treat for someone's doggy.
Oh, God. He didn't know what he was thinking. He never knew what he was thinking anymore, and the confusion was as fleeting as his sanity. It was like his mind had a will of its own, and he held its moral compass in his hand. Free from those bindings, his mind could search out anything and make it feel right. Tearing out someone's eyes could feel right if they looked at him the wrong way. Tearing out his own eyes could feel right if he'd looked too long into the darkness.
Edward's hands throbbed in the flashing warning lights within the airlock, and he wondered if he had done this to himself. He rubbed them together as if to wipe away grease, and then he balled them into fists and squeezed so hard his fingernails bit into his palms.
The button lay in wait on the wall. All he needed to do now was push it, and the airlock would open wide and shoot him into space where everything inside him could rejoin the larger gaping hole they all lived in.
It would be so easy. The Atlas would just take care of it. One button press, and he would be a burden no more.
That's when he heard his name, faint, foggy, far away, leaving the tongue of a friendly voice on a scream. He stood at the edge of oblivion, his cold hands cradling his head.
He just didn't know anything anymore, but he had somehow made peace with that.
Three
To the engineers on the Atlas, spilling oil together was like spilling blood. They wrote the constitution of their brotherhood in grease. They were part of the same class, and that was a bond like no other. They were in some deep shit, but they were in it together. And together, they would trudge through it because, without them, the Atlas could not function.
When Rick Fairchild screamed Edward's name, he screamed because it might as well have been him in the airlock. Whatever was going on in Edward's head, whatever the sickness was that infected men's brains, be it the black or something else, it didn't discriminate. It came to them at random while they were working alone in dark corners, and it would take them away from that bond and bring them back in shambles.
At least, the ones who'd been around as long as Rick had seen it. Younger engineers like Wendy dismissed their stories with skepticism. She'd believe him now. As she ran beside him, he could see the understanding in her face.
Rick ran, his aged lungs burning, and he was already beginning to feel his right knee give out. After so many years of working on the ground, his body knew that was his place and tried to keep him there, working the undercarriage of giant machines until he died. His body and time conspired against him, but he defied them. For Edward, he would take the pain.
Rick could not slow before reaching the door, and he used his forearms to cushion the impact when he barreled into the metal frame. He thought for a brief moment he might be able to plow through the door and save his friend, but it would not give. He winced from a sharp pain in his elbow and slammed the door with his fist in frustration. That hurt, too.
"Edward! What are you doing!?" Wendy called. Through the small porthole window, they saw Edward would not respond. He remained, head in hands, internal dialogue weighing the decision to blow himself into space.
"Eddie! Come on, man!" Rick screamed. "Shut it down and open up!" He pounded the door, but Edward remained statuesque.
Footsteps stomped behind them. They turned to find Stellan and Daelen. Margo followed in tow, carrying a small bag of medical supplies. They gasped. They must have run all the way from medical.
"Where are we?" Stellan asked, peering into the airlock and knowing immediately that Edward would be no help.
"We just got here. He's not responding." Rick's greasy hand smeared across his sweaty brow. Wendy covered her mouth, a worried response. She stood back.
"Okay, see what you can do with the controls," Stellan said. Rick pulled a switchblade from his pocket and stabbed behind the door control panel, popping it open, sifting through the wires.
Daelen began setting up the only way she could. She prepared for the worst. However, Margo froze, looking in the airlock at Edward in astonishment, her brain struggling to make sense of it. How could she have been so wrong?
Daelen shook the intern's shoulder. "Margo. Wake up. Give me a hand."
Stellan searched the door for weaknesses. To create the greatest seal, the door was not on hinges. It slid out from a pocket in the wall and into the other side. Pressure created the seal. It was made of the same metal as the hull, which was designed to resist extreme temperatures, so torching it was out of the question.
Knowing all this, Stellan grabbed a nearby piece of scrap metal and attempted to break the seal, hoping the Atlas would detect a breach and shut down the airlock.
Behind them, two more pairs of rushing footsteps echoed in the empty cargo bay.
"That's not going to happen, Stellan," Captain Pierce said.
"If you have a better idea, I'm listening." Stellan grunted as he pushed and twisted the scrap metal, cutting his hand. Blood oozed from his grip and between his fingers. It ran down the broad side of his tool.
He looked at Pierce, who nodded toward Arlo.
"Dad!" Arlo yelled, running past Stellan without regard to his efforts and pounded on the door. "Dad, what are you doing!?"
In the airlock, Arlo's voice was like a finger to a switch. Edward's hands pulled away from his face, and he turned to the window in the doorway. His eyelids gaped, and he blinked in wonder.
"I thought I'd go for a
walk," Edward said. "They're so beautiful. The lights out there. They shine for me. I want to know what's beyond them." Edward looked at the final barrier between him and oblivion and giggled excitedly.
"Just come back in here, Dad! We'll talk about it and work it out."
Edward turned toward the door and outstretched his hands to show his son there was no danger, that there was nothing to fear. He leaned against the door, his face only inches from his son's. They shared foggy breaths across the glass. Edward's arms wrapped around the door, as if waiting for his son's embrace. They couldn't see that one of Edward's palms rested on the airlock button.
"Don't be afraid. This is for the best." Edward paused, and there was a moment of blankness in his eyes, his mind stalling, and then his consciousness returned. Edward blinked, dazed by a bright light. He looked around the room in confusion.
"What? Hey, Dad, look at me! We're going to get you out of there." Tears formed in the corners of Arlo's eyes.
"Keep him talking. I almost have it," Rick said.
"You're better off without me, son," Edward whispered, his breath fogging the glass.
Edward eased into the airlock release button, and the flashing yellow warning lights changed to a solid red accompanied by an audible buzzing warning. Depressurization began. He moaned at the pain in his ears.
"No!" Arlo frantically beat the door. Stellan dropped the scrap metal. Rick stepped back from the control panel. It was useless now. If they opened the door, the Atlas would seal off the entire cargo bay, and they'd all be sucked into space.
"How long?" Stellan asked Pierce.
"It takes a couple minutes to equalize the pressure," Pierce said. "He won't last that long, though."
In the distance, the gravity cranes pounded, their strikes reverberating in Stellan's chest. They crashed relentlessly upon his ears, making it hard to think of anything else, and he decided to not fight it.
"What do you need to do here?" Stellan asked Rick.
"Just cut this wire," Rick said, fingering a white wire.
"Can you operate the grav cranes?"
"Yes."
"Get on that one, and target me."
Rick understood. The cranes required unobstructed view of a target before it could lock onto it. With the inner door sealed, Rick wouldn't be able to lock onto Edward. It had to be Stellan.
"As soon as you cut this wire, both this inner and outer door will open," Rick said. He handed Stellan his knife and ran for the crane.
"This is crazy!" Daelen raved. "That thing will tear you apart."
"Margo, get me an ENV suit," Stellan said. "The rest of you clear out and lock the bulkhead hatch." Margo sprinted toward the entrance of the cargo bay where several ENV suits hung on a rack.
Stellan took Daelen's arm and ran his hand over her elbow and down to her fingertips. He kissed her, the goodbye kiss they hoped to never have. Both of them knew what Stellan was planning was risky, and both of them knew he had to try it. For Stellan, saving one man's life wasn't about compassion. It was about compulsion. He didn't owe Edward or Arlo anything; he owed everyone everything. If there was something he could do, he would do it. It was worth the risk to save his own soul. He owed it to himself. It was his penance.
"You have to go now," Stellan said. He looked deep into her eyes and caressed her cheek. "I love you." Daelen broke into tears of helplessness and pain, a pain Stellan understood and for which he bore the blame. It was a pain he knew she could endure because she was strong.
"You sure about this?" Pierce asked.
"I'll be fine," Stellan said.
Margo returned with the ENV suit and handed it to Stellan. Captain Pierce wrapped his arms around Daelen and forcibly picked her up. Margo and Wendy had less trouble with Arlo. He had accepted he could not help his father and that his father's best chance was Stellan. Even so, Arlo's gaze lingered on Stellan, and he nodded with thanks. They all ran to the bulkhead hatch.
From Pierce's arms, Daelen screamed for Stellan. Through her tears, she watched him quickly step into the suit, and she was unable to resist thoughts of their unborn child living without ever knowing him. In her distress, she knew she was only being more of a burden, but she could not help herself. Her concern was an explosion in her chest that her mouth could not contain. Every sound she made held no meaning because he might die without knowing he would be a father, that he'd created a life. She regretted not having the courage to give him that.
In the airlock, Edward looked bad. He groaned with pain and covered his eyes. Falling to the deck, he curled into the fetal position.
"Edward, listen to me," Stellan said. "When that door opens, you need to exhale. Blow all the air out of your lungs, and keep blowing."
Edward began to levitate as the artificial gravity in the room let him go.
Inside the ENV helmet, the ship around Stellan felt tame. The suit filtered every sight and sound, and it eased his nerves. He felt calm for someone who, in a moment, would willingly blast himself into space for a man who was probably already gone, and then Rick Fairchild would hit him with a gravity bolt, which could very well tear him apart.
Stellan flashed a thumbs up to Rick who responded with his own from the crane's sealed operator booth. Rick prayed his aim was true. He hoped he could bring both of them back from the abyss. He wondered if the last person to service this crane had done a thorough job.
Stellan wrapped the wire over the blade, his hands steady. He closed his eyes, and a prayer of reflection passed over the back of his eyelids.
And then he cut the wire. The blade slipped through the jacket and bit through the copper.
The inner door slid open first, giving Stellan a brief moment before the outer door opened. It was an advantage he had not counted on, and he grasped the frame of the door to catapult himself into the airlock. Then the outer door opened, breaking like a levee, releasing the innards of cargo bay forty-nine into the black.
The silence was breathtaking.
Edward's body became rigid, his skin bloating and turning purple. His eyes remained open, captivated by the stars, and Stellan thought he was already lost.
Stellan reached Edward's heel with his fingertips. He was amazed to find even with the speed at which they were traveling, such slight application of pressure moved their weightless bodies, and for a moment, Stellan was afraid Rick would fire too soon. Stellan reached Edward's ankle and then his calf, but he did not yet have a hold on him. If Rick fired now, Stellan would not be able to bring Edward back.
Though, Edward could already have been dead, and there might not have been anything Daelen could have done for him. Yet, Stellan continued to grasp, and then he had Edward's waist. Still, it wasn't enough. He reached out to Rick in his mind and told him to wait just a moment longer. And then he had Edward's shirt collar and then was hugging him around his chest and wrapping his legs around Edward's waist.
"Now!" Stellan screamed, and as if on cue, Rick fired the crane.
The invisible bolt made the air wave like heat rising from blacktop, and Stellan became aware of a ringing in his ears like a concussive blast had erupted nearby.
In seconds, they shot back through the airlock and into the cargo bay. When they skipped across the deck and slid to a stop, Stellan knew Rick was successful in shutting the outer airlock door, and the last thing Stellan remembered before losing consciousness was Edward's horribly swollen and purple face and the ringing in his ears descending into screams. But those were his own.
Four
As darkness overtook him, Stellan's dream began to finger the back of his neck and the base of his skull once more. Slowly, it took hold, and he fell into another world. He realized, though, that it wasn't just a dream. A familiar feeling grew, and before he lost consciousness, he understood it was a memory.
Stellan's father once told him life was like a series of long walks. You move from place to place, stopping when there's a nice brook running under a small wooden bridge or an unoccupied bench in a city park, a
cool breeze flowing through trees like whispering voices. You like to take your time in the nice places, but when you stumble upon bad neighborhoods, you step faster as you hope to make it home.
The longest walk, though, is the one you wish you'd never made. It changes you, and it's impossible to escape without enduring pain like a seed in your belly that grows with time, digging its roots deeper into part of the person you become.
Stellan thought about this as he leaped from a UH-43 Phantom helicopter onto the well-groomed grass of St. James Park in London. His Kruger MK7 assault rifle slapped the clips on his tactical vest, and he joined his Unity Corps squad as they squatted in the field, scanning the tree line and blending their painted faces into the darkness. Dawn crept its slender fingers over the horizon. They hoped to be gone by the time the sun rose, before the world woke and saw what was happening.
"Gentlemen," Pierce said from the front of the squad, "let's take a walk." He said these words when their boots hit the ground on every deployment. He was captain of their squad, and Stellan was his first lieutenant. They understood that Pierce meant to downplay the things they did. Back then, they believed some people simply opposed peace. There was no reason for them to understand. The New Earth Council sought to unify the world, to bring all the people of New Earth together.
Some rebelled, and when they did, the Council sent its Unity Corps units in. Force was the tool of their trade, and they had no illusions about the evils they committed. But they believed, in the name of peace and the advancement of civilization, becoming monsters was necessary for the greater good, to help the Council steer its people into the future where a perfect world waited.
Stellan and the men he served with couldn't understand why these people would fight against the future, why they didn't want to be part of a unified, peaceful world. He had decided that it must have been a form of insanity or sickness, something innate that resisted unification, something instinctual that made them fight each other.
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