by Ben Hopkin
Danger. It had always been a part of Rob’s life, from the time he was three and his dad had tossed him into shark-infested waters to teach him how to swim. And swim he had, although his experiences with sharks had not always been quite so easy. He rubbed at his prosthetic legs, his mind amongst the remains of the station.
Death was not an abstract for Rob. His mom, his dad…both dead. He had faced his own death so many times that it just didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Well, it least it hadn’t, until he had met a sweet, beautiful girl with a pink stripe in her hair and a shy smile.
Buton came up behind him and pointed out a distant, moving dot. “Rob, I do not know if you had observed…” Buton’s voice drifted off as he increased the image’s magnification. It was a ship. A ship with a fuchsia stripe painted down its side. Rob felt a grin stretch across his face as hope blossomed even further in his chest.
As Rob turned away from the window, he saw their pilot, Simon, resting on a cot in the hold. The only movement there was the ever-so-slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Even that up-and-down motion was not as much or as steady as it should be. But where a moment ago that might have bummed him out, he let the warmth inside him grow to include the tiny pilot. If the girl from the arcade could escape an exploding station, anything was possible.
Leaning closer, Rob could see that Simon’s skin had a nasty pallor, and it looked as though his vitals had slipped into the yellow zone. Cleo really needed to take a look at him.
Rob moved to the front of the ship, the afterimage of a shuttle with a pink stripe flying along beside him.
* * *
A strident beeping from the control panel caused Cleo’s head to jerk upright from where it had drifted toward her chest for about the hundredth time. She had now taken the caffeine pill equivalent of about five cups of coffee, which would normally keep her up for at least thirty-six hours. Okay, she might be a little tired. She glanced up at the vid-screen and was startled to see the moon looming right in front of them. How long had she been asleep? She peered at the ship’s clock, the numbers stirring guilt inside her.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and glanced over at the still-bleating panel. Jarod was muttering swear words to himself and punching buttons, seemingly at random. He threw up his hands in disgust as three more alerts sounded.
Cleo resisted the urge to smack him on the back of the head again, and instead leaned over to see what he had done. The problem was immediately apparent.
“Jarod, it’s just telling you to switch oxygen tanks. I’m not sure why you decided to cut off the flow to the cabin instead. Here.” She reached out to fix the problem.
“Don’t do that! You’ll just make it worse!” This was about the seventh time this kind of conversation had played out. Jarod was a brilliant pilot, but he had no clue about maintenance. She pushed the sequence of buttons that solved the problems, and the beeping ceased.
After a sullen pause, Jarod muttered, “Well, I didn’t know you were going to do that.”
“I believe that the words you were looking for were ‘Thank you, Cleo.’ ”
Jarod’s mouth opened for what Cleo could only imagine was a caustic response when Rob poked his head into the cockpit.
“Hey, Cleo. Simon’s not looking so good. I think you’d better get back there and take a look.”
“Yeah. I’m headed there now.” She paused, and then gave Rob a stage whisper while pointing at Jarod. “Make sure he doesn’t crash.”
Jarod’s head whipped around. “Hey!”
Rob’s serious demeanor broke, and he grinned at her. “I’m not making any promises here.” He plopped down beside his uncle.
Cleo poked him on the shoulder and mouthed at him, “I’m serious,” while pointing at Jarod’s control panel. Rob nodded. He took up the tablet that contained the ship’s manual and turned it on, flipping through the digital pages.
Once more, Cleo realized just how smart and capable this kid was. In that, he was just like his dad, and that was in a good way. A very good way. Prickling in the back of her eyes meant tears were on their way. She took a deep breath and turned toward the hold.
As she moved into the hold, she stumbled and fell to her knees right in front of Simon’s pallet. She found herself face-to-face with the diminutive pilot. His skin had a sallow pallor to it that made him look like he was halfway to being a corpse already, and his breathing was shallow and irregular.
Cleo quickly took his pulse and blood pressure—only to confirm what she already knew. Simon was not doing well. She looked through her Medkit for the thousandth time, hoping that maybe she had missed some little vial of medication that would help. For the thousandth time, she came up empty. She threw the bag down on the end of the cot in disgust.
Pulling a chair alongside the cot, Cleo sat down and studied the little man. She surprised herself by realizing that Simon was a rather attractive man. She had never really looked at him before.
Wow. Cleo found that she didn’t like herself very much right at this moment.
Jarod’s comment about Rogues never judging a book by its cover came back to her, along with a wave of guilt. It wasn’t just that Cleo had doubted Simon. She felt as though that would have been forgivable, and even understandable. She didn’t know the guy. But from the moment she had seen Simon strolling across the Launchpad, whistling through his teeth, she had dismissed him almost completely. Okay, that wasn’t true. She had dismissed him completely—100 percent. He had been nothing more than an annoying little person who, Cleo was convinced, had no idea what he was doing.
And the reality had turned out to be so very different.
If it hadn’t been for Simon having the ship ready, they would all be dead right now. His dedication, quick thinking, and superb handling of the ship meant the difference between their being alive now—versus a frozen vacuum of a grave.
The fact that he himself had not fared so well did not escape Cleo. And his situation didn’t seem likely to improve.
Almost as if she had conjured the problem with her thoughts, the ship’s monitor hooked up to Simon started beeping. Glancing at the readout, Cleo noted that his blood pressure had dropped dangerously. She hovered over Simon, checking his vitals. She thumbed the intercom to life, calling out to Jarod.
“How much longer?”
The response came crackling back. “We’re on approach, but security’s giving me a hassle about clearance. …” The strain was evident in his voice.
Cleo didn’t want to add to his burden, but she had to get Simon moonside. Now. “I don’t know how much longer he can hang on, Jarod.”
And then Simon flatlined.
* * *
Jarod heard the ominous tone of Simon’s monitor with the hard slap of the defibrillator following close on its heels. He might not have any medical training, but he knew enough to realize that it was not a good sign. They had to get down to the surface ASAP.
Great. No problem.
He opened a channel with moon control. “Moonbase Alpha, I need emergency clearance! We have an injured crew member.”
The response was muffled but audible. “Roger that. We’ve prepped Hangar 13. Switch to autopilot. We’ll guide you in.”
Jarod breathed a sigh of relief and punched in the code to give up control of the ship. They were almost there. “C’mon, baby,” Jarod urged the ship. “Just a little farther.”
Then a shudder rocked the entire ship. A huge, sleek shuttle filled the view screen, close enough to reach out and touch. “What the hell? That was a shuttle!”
Jarod could hear the crash of things…and probably people…thrown around the hold. He could only imagine what was happening with Simon. If he knew Cleo, she was probably shielding him with her body. Cleo threw herself against the wall to cushion Simon’s impact.
Buton’s voice sparked over the intercom. “One of the outer panels is buckling. The pressure valves are changing so erratically that I can’t even estimate—”
&nb
sp; “Got it.” Right. Like Jarod needed more pressure right now.
Moonbase Control burst back over the connection, panic clear in the controller’s voice. “Eureka, abort approach! Your clearance has been revoked—”
The autopilot must have disengaged. Once more, the ship bucked, and Jarod was fighting the controls, with little success. Jarod could feel himself practically screaming over the connection. “Moonbase! I need clearance! Our outer hull is compromised!”
The voice on the other end had regained some semblance of control. “Negative.
Reapproach, and we’ll route you to Hangar 34—”
Buton’s voice cut in. “Outer panel has cracked. Inner hull buckling—”
Okay, there was pressure and then there was pressure. Jarod had now had more than enough. He whispered to himself, “Screw this…” Then, much louder to Moonbase, “We’re comin’ in!”
Once more, panic infused the voice. “Negative, I say—”
From the view screen, Jarod watched as the shuttle, the Vanquisher, according to the call sign emblazoned in bright neon on the side, slipped into Hangar 13, the hangar that had, up until recently, been assigned to the Eureka.
Jarod felt his rage and frustration spill over. “That hangar is big enough for two! Tell the other ship to shove over! Now!” The radio spat as Jarod switched to intercom-only communication. “Damn it! Hang on, everybody!” Jarod felt his focus narrow. All that existed was the hangar and the terrifyingly small space next to the Vanquisher. No one was going to keep him from planting his ship in that area.
No one.
* * *
From the moment the other shuttle buzzed them, Rob grabbed hold for the ride of his life. Uncle Jare wasn’t a copilot extraordinaire—he was a roller-coaster conductor.
Rob shouldn’t be enjoying the shuttle swooping and pitching from side to side. But really, it was just that he knew his uncle Jare was at the helm. Sure, Uncle Jarod had a knack for crashing stuff, but he also had a talent for walking away—mostly in one piece. And that usually included everyone in the crew.
Besides, if they were gonna die, he might as well enjoy the trip on the way down, right? The only thing Rob regretted was not kissing the girl with the pink stripe in her hair. It would be a real bummer if he bit it before he got at least a little bit of action.
So when the ship did a complete and unplanned barrel roll, all that Rob could really think was, Woo hoo! Let’s do that again!
Not that Rob didn’t have his hands full himself. He was the non-designated maintenance guy. Non-designated because no one realized he was doing it. Where Uncle Jare had a gift for piloting, Rob’s had a gift for mechanical repairs and building things. Come on, Rob was half machine already. So it only made sense that whenever Buton barked out another malfunction, Rob took it upon himself to see if he could do something about it. Nobody else could do it, right? Jarod was flying the ship, Buton was on nav systems, and Cleo was busy giving CPR to Simon. That left good ol’ Rob and his handy array of tools, tucked neatly away in his legs.
So when the inner hull started buckling, it was Rob who bounced his way back to the breach. It was Rob who popped out his molecular hammer to beat the sucker back into place. It was Rob who, no one realized, had saved the day when the inner hull magically healed itself.
And Rob thought that was pretty cool. He was fourteen—and he had just freaking saved a shuttle from crashing! Well, at least for a couple of minutes. He was pretty sure Jarod was going to take care of the crash landing in short order.
Jarod yelled out over the intercom, “Brace for impact! We’re coming in fast!”
Rob had just enough time to leap into a seat and strap himself in halfway when he glanced at the vid-screen and saw the space they were trying to get into. Rob had seen closets that looked bigger. And while he could see that Jarod was straining to his utmost, the Eureka was still coming in too fast.
The first impact was against the floor of the hangar bay. Because of the angle of approach, the shuttle careened to the right, smashing into the wall. Rob felt his body flail from the force of the blow. He focused on keeping his body as loose as he could, knowing that any tension could cause serious trauma.
He caught a glimpse of the sleek shuttle at their side just before the world jolted to the left, spun around to the right, tipped up, and then slammed down hard. And then there was nothing but the creaking of the ship’s hull cooling off. They were alive. His side hurt, it felt like he had somehow hit his head, and there was a weird pain in his right hand. But they were alive.
And the only thing Rob could think was, That was awesome!
* * *
The “landing” was not one of the highlights of Cleo’s life. She had been so focused on Simon’s CPR that she barely had time to strap Simon down to the cot and herself into a chair before everything went all to hell.
But now the ship was down…probably down for the count if what she had felt was any indication…and she was yanking off her straps and running back over to Simon’s side.
She had managed to restart the little man’s heart before they reached the moon, but there was no telling what the crash had done to him. Just because he was strapped in didn’t mean that the forces of their arrival in the hangar wouldn’t adversely affect his body.
After checking his vitals, Cleo’s worst fears were confirmed. Not only had Simon’s heart stopped again, but his head wound had reopened, and it looked as though he may have gotten a couple of cracked ribs. She pulled out the paddles once more and started charging, yelling out for help. “Buton! Rob! Get back here! I need your help!”
She slapped the paddles against Simon’s chest and pushed the button to start the electric charge. The pilot’s body arched up violently and landed with a thud. There was still no pulse.
Cleo straddled Simon’s chest and began compressions. She yelled at Rob, who had just run in. “Start mouth-to-mouth. He’s flatlined again.” She turned her attention to Buton. “See if you can find a shot of adrenaline in the Medkit.”
Buton reacted with surprise, his eyebrows arching up. “But with the…” He saw the look on Cleo’s face and turned to find the shot.
Cleo paused in her compressions for a moment and checked the monitors. Was there something there, or were her hopes making her see something nonexistent? If it was a pulse, it was there for a moment, and then gone.
As she went to start compressions once again, a medical team from the Moonbase swarmed into the Eureka, shoving Cleo and Rob out of the way. A large Samoan man took Cleo’s place, continuing the compressions while the rest of the team set up the gurney to carry him into the base.
The woman dressed in stark white took Cleo by the arm and led her aside. “You’ve done great, but your friend’s in bad shape. We need you and your crew out of here so that we can do what we need to do.”
Cleo moved to the side, feeling a numbness that spread from her chest to her limbs, covering her in a lethargy that was difficult to break through. She could do nothing more for Simon. There might not be anything anyone could do.
This was not the way she had wanted to arrive on the moon.
* * *
The fingers of Jarod’s left hand wouldn’t stop shaking.
They were on the moon. They had made it. But Jarod’s heart was still beating a mile a minute. He could barely breathe.
That had been close.
Jarod unstrapped himself and headed to the hold. The medical team stopped him as they wheeled Simon out on a gurney. The little man’s face was gray and drawn, and there was no movement that Jarod could see. The only positive was that no sheet was pulled up over the small pilot’s head. Yet.
Once they passed, Jarod headed to the hold. He found the rest of the crew, standing off to the side without moving.
“Everyone okay?” Jarod queried. All he got back were blank stares.
Jarod gathered the shaky team together and stepped out of the ship to assess the damage. The entire hull of the Eureka was warped.
Smoke and steam rose from the wreckage like ghosts of what the ship once was. Jarod couldn’t identify one square inch of the craft that had escaped damage.
He cleared his throat and looked around at his shell-shocked crew. “Let’s try to see this as a half-full situation, people.”
Just then, the door to the shuttle next to them whooshed open as its crew filed out in sharp uniforms decorated with a starburst pattern that looked somehow familiar to Jarod. The vessel’s captain sauntered down the runway, his not-quite-covered scalp gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. Gil.
“Oh, I’m killing that bastard right now!” Jarod surged toward the oily captain, ready to wipe the smug grin off his face, but found himself face-to-face with more police officers than he could count. Jarod’s crew stepped around him, shouting to explain the situation, but the lead cop whipped Jarod around and slapped cuffs on him. Hard.
“You’re under arrest for violating docking procedures. You have the right—”
“I’m not the friggin’ criminal!” Jarod pulled against the restraints, trying to get a word in edgewise. He pointed his non-restrained chin at Gil. “He is!”
His crewmates chimed in, seeking to make themselves heard. But the captain jerked Jarod up and almost off his feet.
The cop growled, “Tell it to the magistrate.”
Jarod was deciding whether to head-butt the cop in the face or try to sweep the policeman’s nearest leg when he saw something that took the wind completely out of his sails.
A shiny jade tiger pendant descended the stairs of the Vanquisher. It hung from the neck of the most beautiful woman who ever shot Jarod down.
“You!?!” He heard himself cry out.
Gil draped a flabby arm over the Asian woman’s shoulder as they walked past. The captain of the Vanquisher drawled over his shoulder, “Another perfect example of the fitter specimen. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Jarod’s shoulders slumped as the cops dragged him toward his fate.
* * *
Once around the corner, the Asian chick shoved Gil’s hand off her shoulder. Well, there’s gratitude for you. She whirled to face him, holding a payment chit at arm’s length.