by Garon Whited
“Do not, please. She screams for many minutes if she is touched.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I noted, and he let go of my wrist. “We’ll have to touch her, though, to get her through the lock.”
“Then we will simply endure until she can scream no more,” Yakov replied.
“Okay. I guess we can shut off her radio while she’s in a suit. That should help. So what’s been happening here since World War Three started?”
That got the topic off Kiska in a hurry. They seemed much more eager to talk about armageddon than the staring zombie. Turns out they lived with Kiska’s condition for a while, but they knew almost nothing about what went on outside Tchekalinsky station.
While the nuclear strikes had pummeled the Luna, those same EMPs had utterly destroyed most of the station’s electronics; they were much closer to the action and their wiring runs were considerably longer. A lot of their electrical generation capacity had simply died—fuel cells need control circuits, which fried like bologna on a barbecue; that left them with just the solar panels—as had their radio equipment, computers, and the servomotors on the telescopes. Even life support had been damaged; if not for Galena’s efforts at repair, the station would have been a frozen coffin, super-jumbo-sized. They’d been stuck with no way to know what was going on—aside from a window and naked eyeballs!
Yakov was patient for about two minutes of eager questions, then he snapped out an order of “Silence!” and got it. Then he turned to me.
“Is your ship docked?”
“It’s in the bay. Any chance we can get power to the bay?”
“Our power reserves are slowly increasing, but we will expend all we have if it will allow us escape. Galena!” he snapped. “Bring power to the docking bay at once.” He turned to me again as Galena… well, scampered is the only word I can think of. “We will depart immediately.”
I smiled at him. “If the captain of the Luna says we will, that’s fine with me. But I’m supposed to salvage whatever possible before we abandon this station.”
“You are not the one in authority?” Yakov asked, sounding startled.
“Of course not. The captain can’t leave the ship to go exploring.”
He seemed nonplussed by this. “I see. Your mission is to rescue us, is that not so?”
“It is,” I agreed, “but if there’s anything still working here that we can load up and leave with, we should. Organics, especially. Food, plastic, hydroponics—and all the non-oxygen gases we can bottle.”
“Why is salvage such an important consideration?” he asked. I could see the question on everyone’s face, but they all stayed quiet and let him do the talking.
“Because we aren’t going back to Earth.”
He frowned. “To what station do you propose to take us?”
“Not a station. The Moon.” My headset beeped and I held up a hand to forestall questions. Softsuits have a wide, wraparound bubble for a faceplate; I had mine open to talk to the people around me. Visibility is great, provided the wearer doesn’t need to look down. The neck ring gets in the way.
“Max here. Go ahead.”
“Max,” Kathy said into my ear, “the lights in the docking bay just came on. What’s happening? Over.”
“Roger that on the lights,” I said. “The survivors over here were just conserving power. We’ll be assembling a salvage list in a bit. I’ll call you again when we have everything ready to load so you can dock. I’ll have them cut power again to save—”
“You will not,” Yakov interrupted. “Instruct your ship to dock immediately. It is my wish to depart this station as quickly as may be possible.”
I looked at him for a long second. “I’ll get back to you, Luna. There seems to be some confusion on this end.”
“Roger, Max. Be careful,” Kathy replied. I switched off.
“There is no confusion,” Yakov said, sounding grumpy. “This salvage you desire so greatly may be taken on a return voyage. Now, we will board your vessel and depart this place at once, do you hear? At once!”
I noticed everyone else was backing slowly away. I also noticed that Yakov had better height and reach than anyone on the station. He was a good twenty kilos heavier than anyone else aboard.
At least, until I arrived.
“Tovarisch,” I said, “let’s get something straight. You’re a potential guest at best; you don’t give orders regarding that ship. This is your station. You can keep it. I’ll go home to the Moon and anyone who wants to come along is welcome—as guests. But if you ever expect to get off this potential falling star, you need to learn that you aren’t in charge.”
His face slowly turned a dark shade of red as I spoke.
“Yet you are aboard my station, not your ship,” he said, thickly. “No one will leave unless I permit it. This is my station and these are my people.”
“I think you’ve been up here too long,” I answered. I shifted my weight and eyed his stance. “You don’t own anybody here. They’re free to come and go as they please—and if they like, they can come with me.”
He came at me suddenly and swung a fist, low, and connected. He was strong, too. But hitting a man in a space suit is unrewarding. A hardsuit would have been better for me; those are like armor. But even a softsuit is like punching a man wearing pillows; there’s a lot of stuff in the way. I’m also, in all modesty, a pretty tough customer. I felt it, but it didn’t slow me down.
I grabbed his wrist with both hands and turned, adding to his momentum and dragging him around me. I also twisted his wrist, rotating it outward from his body, until bones started to give. I also brought up a knee, right into the back of his twisted-and-stressed elbow. I wasn’t at all gentle about it. It gave way crunchingly and I heard him scream. I let go of his arm and let him continue to sail past me while I completed my turn—in a spacesuit, I have a lot of mass—and made sure to continue spinning until I could stop facing him. Yakov hit the bulkhead fairly hard and lay in heap on the deck, cradling his shattered arm.
Total fight time: about a second. That’s how it is when you mean it. None of this silly dancing around with padded gloves or scoring points. Judo, karate, and other martial arts are fine, but the willingness to hurt the other guy is a requirement for them to be effective. I don’t like doing it, but I don’t hesitate when I see the need.
I kept him in my line of sight while I looked for Galena. She had returned while Yakov and I were discussing who goes where.
“Let’s not waste power,” I told her. “Cut power to the bay and anything we don’t absolutely need, please. Mister Meinrad? Or do you prefer Herr Meinrad?”
“Ah, ah… please, call me Karl?” He was a nervous-looking little man whose hands tended to wash themselves when he wasn’t paying attention to them. He reminded me of a squirrel. Unkind of me, perhaps, but that’s what popped to mind.
“Okay, Karl. Where’s a room we can lock?” He pointed to a door and I helped Yakov to his feet—Yakov didn’t like the idea and tried to hit me, so I poked him in the broken arm. He screamed and clutched at it, which let me grab a fistful of hair before I put his good arm in a hammerlock. I sent him into the indicated room—a toilet—with a kick where it would do the most good, and then shut the door.
“There. Now, before I decide what to do with him, can anyone tell me what’s been going on? Don’t tell me that he hasn’t been a bully; I figured that out for myself. I want to know how much of a bully he’s been.”
It took a while, but I got the gist of it. Yakov had been a very bad boy. Convinced that the world had ended and that they would only live as long as the station let them, he apparently saw no point in not ruling the remainder of the human race. Several of the men had disagreed. Yuri, Galena’s senior partner and cosmonaut in charge of the station, had gotten a knife in the neck while he slept. Awake or asleep, the rest had gotten similar treatment.
Yakov had then laid claim to all the women. While the other three had adapted to their circumstances—after
some “physical persuasion,” to put it nicely—Kiska had cracked.
“So why didn’t Yakov kill you, Karl?” I asked.
“I’m, I’m smaller than—” he began, but Sara cut him off.
“Because Yakov had to sleep sometime, and Karl was willing to watch his back—if Yakov shared!” Galena and Svetlana nodded, eyes bright and expressions terrible. People are slow to truly despair, but hope can show up faster than unwanted relatives. “Once Kiska had gone off her head, Karl got to use her, as long as he gagged her first!” Sara finished.
I clamped my jaw shut and tried not to think about the churning in my stomach. I don’t think I’ve ever met a rapist before. I can’t say I enjoyed it. I immediately resolved that he would enjoy it even less.
Karl backed away from us, staring, pale, sweating. “That is not the way it was!” he protested. “He would have killed me!”
“Maybe so,” I said. “Did he tell you to do anything to Kiska? Or was that your idea?”
“‘Kiska, Kiska—what a perfect name, with a mouth made for kissing! Pity you can’t anymore!’” Sara mocked, sounding surprisingly like Karl. He went white. I don’t think he realized anyone heard him say that.
“She wasn’t hurt! At least, I never hurt her!” he cried. The three women didn’t quite snarl at him, but if looks could kill he’d have bled all over the deck. “It’s true!” he half-screamed. “I was gentle with her! I couldn’t hurt her! And she’ll never know! Look at her!”
I glanced at Kiska. She still sat quietly. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t changed position since I first boarded.
“Ladies,” I said, “if you would like to hitch a lift, I ask that you strip this station of anything useful. It isn’t a condition or a requirement, but Karl and I are going to be busy keeping an eye on Yakov. I hate to ask it of you, but if you would be so kind?”
Galena nodded at me. “Da. Come Sara, Svetlana. Things to bring to the docking bay, yes? Then to close the bay and put in cargo area of ship?”
“That would be perfect, Comrade Galena.”
She shook her head; her short hair waved in the low gravity, almost like it was underwater. “Nyet. No more comrade, no more captain. Just Galena.”
“A good point. All right, I’ll keep an eye on this door. Let me know when you’re ready to pressurize the bay.”
“Da.” The trio left me alone with Karl. Karl huddled in on himself and kept silent for a long time, which suited me fine.
I didn’t like him. Not a bit. He was a self-serving opportunist with a cowardly streak down his back wide enough to drive a truck over—and it was a pity nobody ever had.
“Max?” he asked.
“You can call me ‘Commander Hardy’,” I said, smiling. “My friends call me ‘Max.’ You don’t qualify, not by several decimal places.”
“Yes, Sir,” he agreed, miserably.
“What do you want?”
“I was wondering… will… will I get… may I come with you?”
I reached along my belt and found a welding minitorch. Just this once, I didn’t feel a qualm in the world. I guess Captain Carl was right.
“I’m glad you brought that up,” I said.
* * *
We finished loading everything we could move; it took about eleven hours. All the fuel aboard—we made a profit on this trip!—and every air cylinder we could find, pumped full of nitrogen. Wiring, glow panels, working and defunct electronics (for the materials), all the rations, a lot of the hydroponics tanks, and all the water, polluted or not. Galena suited up to help me manually roll up the working solar panel and push it into the docking bay for loading. She also showed me her hidden little spark-gap transmitter; it was spot-welded just inside the hull, next to the solar panel junction box. Since she was the only one qualified to do station maintenance, she’d found a good spot and hoped someone was alive to hear it.
“I take it Yakov wouldn’t have liked the idea?” I asked.
“He believes—he believed—was no one else. Could he do as he has done if were others he might someday face? He would die of shame.”
“He won’t die of shame,” I replied, grimly. “I’m glad we heard your signal. Sorry we took so long in getting here.”
“It is nothing. There is much doing in readying a ship. You have come; we are leaving.” She took my hand in both of hers for a moment. “Spaseba.” Thank you.
I squeezed her hands. They were rough from working, but surprisingly small.
“Knight in Shining Spacesuit Services, ma’am; we rescue anywhere. No station too small, no population too large. Rates on request. Now, let’s load up and get out of here.”
Moving Kiska was not a pleasant experience. Kiska was in a space suit, helmet sealed; I could hear her screaming, muffled. Yes, even touching her to move her was not something she welcomed. She didn’t thrash or flail or struggle; she just stayed as she was, almost limp, and screamed. I found myself as mystified as a man can be, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it immediately. I just gritted my teeth while I hauled her to the ship and strapped her in. Once we were all aboard, I sealed the Luna’s lock and headed for the bridge deck.
Sara looked at me as I strapped myself into the copilot seat. “Where are those bloody bell-ends, Yakov and Karl?”
“They will be remaining aboard the station,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
“They’re what?”
“They’re staying,” I repeated. To Kathy I said, “All present and accounted for. Passengers belted in, all doors sealed. Copilot reports readiness for space.”
“Roger that. Launch in three… two… one…” A gentle touch on the nose thrusters and we were drifting backward out of the docking bay.
“All right, what in hell made them stay behind?” Sara demanded.
“Me.”
“Oh, pull the other one; it’s got bells on. They can’t be that bloody frightened of you!” she scoffed.
“That’s true,” I admitted. “But I am the one who welded the bathroom door shut.”
* * *
I’d almost forgotten what it was like to live in a small space with five other people. It might not have been so bad—for me—if a few of them had been men. As it was, for two days I was the only frat boy in a sorority house. Worse, Kathy had some jealousy issues. Physically, she’s unreasonably perfect. Emotionally, she’s still human.
I don’t have much in the way of body modesty; I embarrass in other ways. I’ve wandered from the bedroom to the bathroom and back in nothing but skin. I’ve sunbathed naked. I’ve even answered the door wearing nothing but water and a towel. (It got rid of strangers. Friends learned to take it in stride.) But I’m not used to having five sisters—okay, four female strangers and one lover—crammed into a zero-gee apartment with me. Kathy and Galena were the two that tried to give me a little privacy. Sara and Svetlana tended to surprise me and ogle when they could. I’d sorted Julie out; I hoped I wouldn’t have to go through it twice more.
I slid up through the hatch of the bridge deck and moved aside so Svetlana could head back down. I caught Kathy glaring at Svetlana.
“What’s the matter, boss lady?” I asked, pulling myself alongside her seat.
She lost the angry expression and smiled at me. “Not a thing, Max.”
“So why the eyeball lasers?”
Kathy glanced at the hatch Svetlana had vanished through. Svetlana is not military-grade material. She’s almost a meter and a half tall—smaller even than Anne—and much more curvy. But her best feature was her eyes. They were very large and as blue as the Caribbean from orbit used to be.
“She keeps looking at you,” Kathy said, softly.
“Everybody looks at me,” I replied. “I’m hard to miss. Take up a lot of space.”
Kathy told me what parts Svetlana was looking at. Specifically. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I thought about it for a while. I consider it to be one of my best qualities—not my derriere; saying nothing until I have somethin
g to say. You know what I meant.
“Is it okay to be flattered?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you what to do along those lines,” she said, stiffly.
“Okay, I’ll be flattered. But she can talk to Anne about my fathering her children.”
Kathy stared at me. “What?”
“Well, I’m sure that once the time limit is up on my little surface excursion, Captain Carl will be ordering me to deposit genetic material as an insurance policy; I’m surprised he didn’t think of it sooner. I guess he’s got a lot on his mind. Still, I’m hoping you might be able to help me make the deposit. Then, if anybody wants some, they can stop by the bank.”
She blushed. But she also nodded. That ended the jealous glaring for the rest of the trip.
* * *
Landing at Luna Base is always nerve-wracking. At least, it is to me. Kathy is quick, efficient, and cool enough to chill drinks. For her, it’s as routine as playing catch. I know it’s all ballistics, but I’m an engineer, not a pilot. I focus more on the total energy of a couple hundred tons of spacecraft impacting at so many meters per second… and what that does to flesh and bone.
I’m not cut out to be a pilot.
Kathy brought us in with a standard Garrison landing, tail-down, until we were within a few hundred meters of the lunar surface. Then she pitched us forward, bringing the Luna level with the landing pad, and used the belly jets to set us down on the landing gear. It was not fun to watch, especially since she had me trying to do it with her; my controls were disabled while she actually did the work. We would pick apart my landing foul-ups later, after reviewing the flight recorder.
Once we were down, we organized for a trip into the base. Kiska started screaming again, but I apologized for picking her up before I turned her radio off; there’s a manual toggle on the outside of the helmet. Svetlana had to use the emergency vacuum bag—we didn’t have a suit that would fit her; I don’t think they made one in her size. She wasn’t happy about being carted around like a cat in a sack, but it was that or stay on the Luna forever. I made a note to construct a smaller suit for her.