The Symbionts of Murkor

by Tarulli, Gary

  Murkor’s indecisive sun peered over the horizon. The personnel Ellis commanded, excepting those present and a tech who had been tasked with preparing the CAM-L for an extended journey, would soon be waking. People in varying degrees of discontentment going about the routine of their lives. When apprised of what she intended, some would accuse her of aiding the enemy. Were they ever redeemable? Ellis wondered. Perhaps not, or only when their self-interest was served.

  “Let’s move on,” she said. “One thing is sure, Nadir’s oxygen values are slipping below fifteen percent. From that alone, they have to be hurting. You’ve studied their schematics, Lieutenant. Any chance of restoring their environmental support to operational?”

  “Some. I’ve seen the configuration before. Outdated now. Used to be commonplace on planets with partial oxy-content atmospheres. They’re paying a heavy price for not going with a fully regenerative system. Judging by their records, their engineer, Alvarez, is top-notch but he’s fixated on the newer Nexus component.” Davis flashed the wry grin Ellis had come to appreciate. “Looking for the ghost in the machine, so to speak. There is a fair chance he’s overlooking something basic.”

  “You won’t have much time to play poltergeist,” Ellis replied. “Any special concerns about the journey?”

  “Other than a chance encounter with a roller, or being swallowed whole by a crevice, or getting hopelessly lost in uncharted terrain?”

  “I’ll request holo charts during my next chat with Comandante Garcia,” Ellis offered.

  “I didn’t expect you to waste time on the usual ‘this is risky, I need volunteers BS,’” Davis said. “Suits me. Until recently I was getting a little bored.”

  “Six people in dire need of medical assistance,” Stewart said, stating the obvious reason for her inclusion.

  “I’m in no position to disagree with either of you,” Ellis commented. She was especially gratified by the hundred eighty degree turnaround in Davis’s attitude. Or maybe it was there all along, lost among the background noise.

  “Commander?” Cooper said, feeling left out

  Ellis locked eyes on the man. “Your job, Sergeant, is far more problematic. I need you to help keep a lid on this place while we’re gone.”

  ***

  Shortly after leaving the meeting, on his way to inspect the vehicle he would be piloting, Davis was waylaid in the long corridor connecting Zenith’s two domes.

  “I hear tell you’re going somewhere, Davis.”

  “Get out of my way, Kreechum, I’ve no time for your bullshit.”

  “And what are we demanding in exchange for this touching errand of mercy?” the IMC foreman persisted, deliberately blocking the way.

  “Wasn’t discussed.”

  “I’ll tell you, Davis,” Kreechum goaded, “no one would have thought you’d be a turncoat. Or maybe, yeah, maybe there’s a bit more to it. She’s not my type, you, though—the way I hear it—”

  The accusation was easy to sidestep. Much easier than the bulky foreman who took up a sizable chunk of the long passageway. “If you get your head out of your ass, Kreechum, you’d realize that Nadir’s CO won’t object to us tapping their storage tank, returning with a hump-full for their use as well as ours. Maybe you’ll finally be able to take that cold shower you apparently need.”

  “That’s it?!” Kreechum spit out. “I get one lousy fucking tank of water?”

  Davis placed his face a centimeter from Kreechum’s, a distasteful proposition. “I’ve been as polite as I’m going to be. Move.”

  In fact, Davis thought as Kreechum slowly complied, if he had time to spare he’d put the bastard on his sorry ass just for the fun of it.

  Heading toward the smaller dome that housed the CAM-L docking station, he had an uneasy feeling. Why was Kreechum in the corridor? Turning around, he was just in time to see the IMC foreman quickly disappear down the far end. The man can certainly move when he wants to.

  Entry to the voluminous docking station was through a pressure-sealed, verbally controlled portal. When he was five meters away, Davis issued the appropriate command.

  Nothing happened.

  Shouldn’t be, Davis considered. To prevent the intrusion of Murkor’s noxious atmosphere, the interior portal was designed with a safety interlock which activated when the much larger exterior portal, that which vehicles passed through, was open. Only there was absolutely no reason for the exterior portal to be open when one of the vehicles inside was being prepped for a mission.

  The interior portal had an oval viewing window which provided a view of the docking area. Striding up to the glass, Davis did not like what he saw within. Three vehicles were parked in their respective bays. The exterior portal was in the “full open” position. A man was lying on the floor, unmoving: Bert Imholtz. A person wearing tech garb and a rebreather was tampering with one of the vehicles, specifically the one modified to operate extended-range. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the why. The who was uncertain.

  Sensing movement at the window, the tech, obviously a male, stopped what he was doing and looked straight ahead. His sole purpose was to drag out the moment. He slowly turned toward Davis.

  The rebreather mask did little to hide the diabolic expression on the face of Ed Anderson.

  “There you are, buddy,” his sarcastic voice taunted over the intercom speaker. “Come on in. The weather’s fine.”

  “Delighted to,” Davis replied, his mind gauging the possibilities. “Just release the interlock.”

  “That’s way too easy now, isn’t it?” Anderson replied. “You’ll have to gain access the long way. Oh, yeah, don’t bother yelling out an audible override. I’m way ahead of you. I’ve de-comm’d that, too.”

  Davis knew there was precious time to waste, but he had to give it one more try. “Bert can’t last long in there. He doesn’t deserve to die. Close the portal. Restore atmosphere.”

  “Can’t you see I’m occupied?” Anderson said, reaching into the vehicle’s guts, grabbing a fistful of bundled wires and yanking. Grinning, he held the tangled mass up for Davis to see. “They don’t make them like they used to.”

  Davis quickly backtracked down the corridor until he reached the nearest wall intercom. Imholtz needed emergency medical assistance. So would he if he failed, and there was plenty of reason to believe he would. What was it he said about wanting more excitement?

  “Priority One Alert,” he shouted into the com. “Ellis, Stewart, Cooper. Man down in dock. Anderson inside, interior portal locked out. No choice, going in bareback.” He wasn’t sure of the ramifications of what he said next, nor did he particularly care. “Oh, yeah. Confine that son of a bitch Kreechum.”

  Ellis would want more details. He couldn’t wait. Bottom line, if he didn’t act ASAP, Imholtz would be dead for sure. Moreover, if he couldn’t prevent the CAM-L from being completely trashed, the six lives hanging in the balance at Nadir would be forfeit.

  Encountering no one, he ran to the nearest personnel portal, ironically the same one Ellis had passed through. Now it was his chance to pull a stunt. His was crazier. He wouldn’t have to jog nearly as far as she did—the exterior docking portal was a sprint away—but it was a sure bet that Anderson wouldn’t be in a receptive mood when he got there. Damn shame that the rebreathers were stored in the docking area.

  Except the one Anderson was wearing.

  Taking several deep breaths, he mouthed, “open portal” and stepped out into the blazing heat and thin air hell that was Murkor. An expectant voice greeted him upon his arrival at the open docking portal.

  “Take a load off,” Anderson said through his rebreather mask, knowing full well the time advantage he enjoyed. “You’ve managed to arrive sooner than I expected.”

  “Thank Kreechum,” Davis said, moving in closer, hoping for a reaction.

  “Was he that obvious?” Anderson responded, feigning ease, but tensing at Davis’s approach.

  Davis kept silent. Engaging in idle chatter was a waste
of breath. He glanced down at Imholtz. The hair on his scalp was dark and damp with blood. Option one: Drag him out of here.

  “Go ahead,” Anderson said, as if reading his thoughts, gesturing to the exterior portal. “I won’t stop you.”

  Davis considered. If he took the bait, if he hefted Imholtz over his shoulder and carried him out, Anderson would continue to wreak havoc on the CAM-L. It would have to be option two.

  Acting quickly—the terrible ache to inhale had begun—he propelled himself toward the command panel that closed the exterior portal and activated four huge ventilation ducts that purged Murkor’s foul atmosphere from the dock area and replaced it with life-giving oxygenated air.

  Anticipating the move, Anderson ran to intercept him. Except for the damn pipe the bastard was wielding, he was doing exactly what Davis hoped for. Reaching the command panel first counted for nothing. By the time oxygen was fully restored he would have passed out. Game over. Better to meet the problem head-on.

  Stopping dead in his tracks he spun on his heels and ran directly at Anderson, the surprised look in his adversary’s eyes telling him that the timing had been perfect. Ducking a hair’s width under a wild swing, he dropped low to the floor and swept his legs in a wide arc that connected with Anderson’s shins, knocking him clean off his feet and sending the pipe he held clanking across the floor. For a long moment they grappled, but Anderson managed to escape. Standing, he took one step back. All he had to do was wait while Davis suffocated.

  Or so he believed.

  “Stupid move,” Anderson said, breathing heavily, eyeing a gasping Davis. “I give you at most—”

  For the second time in two years Anderson had misjudged his own aerobic capacity. He had been working in the stifling heat. Perhaps Imholtz had put up a fight. For sure, running with a rebreather on and the ensuing struggle had winded him…

  … and maybe, during their struggle, Davis had managed to cripple the electronic solenoid that regulated Anderson’s oxygen supply.

  A facemask could not block the look of desperation as Anderson sucked in inert gases. When he made a panicked motion to activate the oxygen tank’s manual override Davis lunged forward, aiming a knife-hand strike to the throat, which was deftly blocked. Having frequently sparred together, the two were well acquainted with each other’s offensive moves. A wholly unexpected knee to the groin, however, found its mark, sending Anderson to the floor, doubled over in pain.

  Davis let him lie.

  He had neither the breath nor the inclination to inflict more hurt on the person who had once been his friend.

  Davis had no recollection of how he managed to stumble to the control panel and enter the correct sequence of commands; Ellis, arriving barely in time to squeeze through the interlacing sides of the dock’s exterior portal, found him slumped on the floor, unconscious. So, too, were Imholtz and Anderson. The only course of action left for her was to wait, gasping, as the atmosphere restored, the interior door interlock was disengaged, and an anxious Stewart, Cooper assisting, rushed in to begin treatment.

  Davis revived quickly. He wasted no time in assessing the damage to the CAM-L and reporting his findings to Ellis. “I can mend it,” he reassured her.

  “How long?” she had asked.

  “Repairs underway as we speak. Five hours, give or take. With any luck we should arrive at Nadir’s doorstep before dark. We may have to return at night. It’s a concern.”

  “Understood. I’m more troubled about what we’ll find once we get there.”

  There was the matter of what to do with Kreechum. Acting on Davis’s prior alert, and with Ellis’s consent, Sergeant Cooper had escorted the IMC foreman to an empty compartment, where he was placed under constant guard. After hearing the damning particulars directly from Davis, Ellis had the accused brought to her office where he was now answering for himself. Or trying to.

  “You’ve got nothing, nothing to make that charge stick,” the belligerent foreman spouted in his grating amalgam of indignation and bluster. “So what if I accidentally ran into the Lieutenant in the corridor? If Anderson said I was involved, it’s a damn lie. Has he repeated it? If he does, it’s his word against mine.”

  “There’s a bit more to it,” Davis replied with a half-smile that no one in their right mind would mistake for amusement. “You’ve managed to incriminate yourself. There is a visual record of the slime trail you left behind.”

  “Bullshit,” Kreechum said, his voice taking on a higher pitch. “There’s no optics in those corridors.”

  “There is something almost as good,” Davis replied, glancing at Ellis, her subtle nod indicating that he should remain center stage. It was inconsequential that the evidence, shortly to be dropped on Kreechum like a chunk of neutron star, had initially been her inspiration. Besides, Davis was enjoying himself far too much to interrupt.

  “Mindstor,” Davis vocalized, temporarily ignoring his quarry, “review corridor wall images displayed between the hours of 0400 and 0500. Cross-reference images to archived preferences for crew member Kreechum. Using the results, plot subject’s movement as a function of time. Visualize findings, center of this room, as a top-down 2-D image.”

  In a millisecond, Kreechum’s various movements, depicted by a handful of bold red lines, hovered in the air. They were an unmistakable indictment. The most telling line, also the earliest, led directly from his private quarters to Anderson’s. Additional lines showed his presence in the long corridor to the dock area and the subsequent retracement to his quarters.

  Although the IMC foreman kept his scowl, he was unable to mask his anxiety—a newly formed sheen of sweat on his face and arms giving him away.

  Davis continued his pursuit. “Nothing to say?” he goaded. “Shall I have the mindstor conduct the same analysis for Anderson and correlate both of you for time and place?”

  Kreechum, avoiding the question, glared at Ellis. “You’ll never make it to Nadir in time.”

  “You’d condemn six people to die?” Ellis asked, her body tensing in anger.

  In the protracted silence that followed she waited, hoping for some semblance of compassion in the man. When it did not materialize she was forced to admit her own fault: How easy it was to hate the person standing in front of her.

  “There is a chasm between you and Anderson,” she finally said. “The past is his demon, compelling him to act as he does. You’re motivated solely by your own greed. You are the demon.”

  No longer interested in anything Kreechum had to offer, Ellis turned to Cooper and said, “Get him out of my sight.”

  Davis remained, prompted to stay by a growing fascination for the woman who was evidently compelled to take on anything or anyone in the name of her cause. That’s how he would characterize the sum total of her actions since she arrived on base a mere nine days ago. Although he was committed to it and to her, he had yet to figure out what drove her, maybe he never would—she kept that part of herself shielded.

  The shield had shown a vulnerability, Davis believed, unaware of how long he had been staring. In her admonition to Kreechum he had seen a flash of inner turmoil register in her eyes, a rare loss of serenity as she struggled to sublimate the urge to lash out at the man.

  “Yes?” Ellis said, adhering to her habit of parceling out words as if she had been allotted a limited supply.

  “Care to hear some unsolicited personal advice?”

  “Let it fly.”

  “There will always be someone like Kreechum. You can’t change him. Don’t kick yourself when you end up despising him.”

  “Worthy of serious consideration,” Ellis said, again caught off-guard that Davis could read her so well.

  “Should be,” Davis said. “That part about not being so hard on yourself is something you once told me.”

  “Since you have such affinity for my advice, may I infer that you intend to take it?”

  “Hell, no,” Davis freely admitted, accompanied by his familiar grin.

  After Da
vis left to oversee repair work on the CAM-L, Ellis considered Kreechum’s and Anderson’s disposition. Their removal from base would be dependent on completion of the Nadir expedition which, in turn, might affect Zenith’s near-term water crisis and evacuation plan. Some form of punishment was assured, even taking into account IMC’s political influence. The co-conspirators had overplayed their hand: Assault, destruction of government property, and last (and least in the minds of those who ordered her to Murkor) violating the orders of a commanding officer.

  An unexpected visit from Schulman enlightened her on one particular. His various duties put him in close contact with base personnel, many whom he was willing to give ear to, making him a good judge of prevailing opinions, of which he was more than willing to give mouth to.

  “I have news that may elevate your spirits, Commander,” he began. “Assuming, that is, they require elevating.”

  “And the origin of this so-called ‘news?’” Ellis queried.

  “A statistically valid sampling of base personnel—incarcerated excepted.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Few were pleased at what Kreechum and Anderson attempted; none were happy that it was to the detriment of one of their own. Imholtz is well-liked. There are other reasons. Anyway, the prevailing sentiment on base has shifted decidedly in your favor.”

  “Gratifying.”

  “It’s only fitting. As an aside, I never liked Kreechum’s taste in wall art.”

  “Before you leave, tell me this, Mr. Schulman,” Ellis said. “Why do you make no mention of our dwindling water reserves?”

  “I’d be a fool to take you for one,” Schulman said, making a deliberate show of looking past Ellis, past the room’s viewport, to the menacing desolation. “Anyway, be careful out there.”

  ***

  Ellis’s thoughts returned to the incident in the CAM-L docking station, specifically the varying intervals the three men had spent in an oxygen-poor environment.