Jarod called out. “How long?”
“I would imagine soon,” Buton replied crisply, despite their hurried pace.
They ran pell-mell down the corridor, and then the launch bays. Ship after ship…after ship. Every one a sitting duck unless they got away from the station as soon as possible.
The biologist in Cleo could not remain silent with this much loss of life imminent. The teeming life of the oceans, the huddled masses here in the station. All were one in her heart. Except for the bastard who had set the bomb. Bombs.
Cleo kept running, the rhythm of her feet pounding against the floor jarring her brain and disrupting her thoughts. She might care for the amassed humanity trapped here on the station, but her own sense of self-preservation kept her feet pumping up and down.
This could not go down this way. They had to do something. She began searching the walls they passed, looking for…
Cleo stabbed at a com link on the wall as they waited for the nearest blast door to swing open.
The link crackled to life. “Security?”
“Evacuate the launch bays!” Cleo barked.
“Calm down. The hull—”
“All the launch bays are rigged!” Cleo stabbed another finger at the link, severing the connection. She glanced at Buton. “You’d better be right…”
Buton huffed back, “When have I not been?”
She joined the crew racing back toward the Eureka, racing from their imminent doom. It did not escape Cleo’s notice that this was the exact opposite of what any of them had ever expected. Their ship now represented safety.
Who woulda thunk it?
* * *
Jarod flung himself into the hold of the Eureka, yelling, “Go, go, and more go!”
“What ‘go’?” Simon asked from the cockpit. “What took you so long?”
Rushing forward to the copilot’s chair, Jarod flung himself in. “Too much to explain, gotta get outta here—fast!” He started to release the ship from the dock, only to realize it had already been done. After a quick double take, he began to go through the engine start-up sequence. Again, done. He goggled at Simon. “What…? You…How?”
The little man smirked. “I’m the magic man. Now, close your mouth and buckle up.”
Jarod realized that his mouth was, in fact, gaping open, so he took Simon’s advice. Well, at least the first part. He brought his lips together and was part way through strapping himself in when the port they were leaving exploded outward in a hail of metal shards.
The world jolted and spun, and Jarod hit the cockpit wall, dangling by his partially fastened straps. The ship spun on its axis. The window filled with an alternating kaleidoscope view of the exploding station and then the star-streaked blackness of space.
Jarod risked a glance back—just in time to see Rob hit the ceiling hard and bounce out of view. Globular drops of blood floated in the air. The grav generator must be offline again.
Simon snapped at Jarod. “Get your head back in the game! We need to correct course, and I can’t do it on my own.”
Jarod refocused on the instrument panel in front of him. The fast and furious lessons Simon had given him planetside flashed though his head in a muddled collage of information. So, Jarod did the only thing he knew how to do in these situations. He turned off his brain and started working on pure instinct. His fingers danced over the instrumentation.
And somehow it worked. In sync with Simon, Jarod slowed down their spin, although they were still hurtling through space, headed toward Earth. The ship finally settled, facing the station. Which gave them a perfect view of the bombs going off. One horrible blast after another. Docking port after docking port ripped apart. Ships spiraled away from the station, either on their own power or because of the blasts.
The shock waves hit the Eureka, buffeting her from all sides. Simon and Jarod wrestled with the controls, trying to keep the ship steady under the onslaught. His eyes darting back and forth from the instruments to the vid-screen, Jarod saw escape pods blossoming out from the station like some sort of chaotic mechanical flower.
Station fragments and damaged ships hurtled toward the Eureka. “Evasive maneuvers!” Jarod yelped without thinking.
“What the hell kinda ship do you think we’re piloting?” Simon snapped back. “Keep us away from the bigger chunks! The Eureka can handle the small stuff.” He patted the wall of the ship with affection.
Much as he tried, Jarod was finding it difficult to have the same faith. Bangs and dings from the detritus made him wince each time they occurred. The ship could not possibly stand up to this kind of abuse. “Simon…” Jarod warned, after a huge clang resounded throughout the ship.
“I’m telling you, she can take it. Besides, we’ve got bigger problems.”
“Bigger than getting ripped apart at the seams?”
“Yep.” Simon pointed at the nav screen.
No! Jarod thought. They couldn’t be that close. The Earth was no longer a big blue orb. It was an object just beneath them. And they were entering the upper atmosphere at way too steep an angle. The temperature gauge lunged up.
“If we don’t correct course,” Simon continued, “We’re not gonna care about a couple of dents in the hull.”
Once more, Jarod set to, his hands gliding over the controls, feeling the ship. And the ship was not a happy camper right now. From the readouts, Jarod could see that the heat was getting into some delicate areas, messing with their ability to control the ship.
Simon pulled at the yoke, sweat beading on his brow, a couple of drops detaching themselves in the zero gravity. As much as he strained, their angle of descent did not change. Was it actually getting hotter inside the ship? Jarod couldn’t tell if his mind was playing tricks on him, or not.
He saw that if the status quo remained, they would all go down in flames. Jarod had to do something. Now. He wracked his brain, looking for the solution. Nothing.
And then the ship told him what to do. That was the only way he could describe it. From the connection of his hands on the controls, he once more felt the ship. He saw the shape of the shuttle in his mind’s eye. The solution was right there—and so simple. It was also insane.
Before he could second-guess himself, he started to flip the vessel upside down.
“What the hell are you doing!?” Simon barked, fighting back on the controls.
I’m not really sure, Jarod thought. Out loud he said, “Trust me. I’ve got an idea.”
Simon took a deep breath and let it out between his teeth. “Well, when the choices are between burning up and dying and breaking apart and dying…” He released the controls fully to Jarod.
As Jarod turned the ship over, the angle of the wing and body of the upper portion of the ship struck the upper atmosphere with enough force to cause the ship to ricochet away from the Earth. The hull groaned and buckled, but held. The Eureka skipped across the surface of the atmosphere, each bounce taking the ship farther away from the planet and closer to safety.
Amazing. It had worked. Elation burst. “That is how you do it!”
Jarod hit the little man’s raised hand in a sideways high-five. Then Simon pitched forward, hitting his head on the control panel and resetting the artificial gravity. Everyone not buckled in hit the floor. Including the blood gushing out from Simon’s temple. Jarod had been too busy flying to notice the little man’s bleeding wound.
“Cleo! Get up here!” Jarod yelled back into the hold.
Cleo called back. “In a second! I’m patching up Buton.”
“Not in a second. Now! It’s Simon!”
* * *
Cleo left the bandage dangling from Buton’s forehead and dashed up to the cockpit with her Medkit. She took their pilot’s state, and all vestiges of irritation with Jarod vanished. Simon’s head lolled to the right, exposing the deep gash in his left temple. The blood was clotting around the wound, but was still weeping from the cut itself. A puddle of the dark red liquid had gathered in the hollow of his cl
avicle.
In short, Simon was not doing well.
As Cleo took his vitals, Jarod fought the instruments, trying to keep them on course, while talking over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” The barely controlled panic in Jarod’s tone was evident. Apparently, their escape from the station had done little for his confidence as a pilot.
Cleo was gentle, but direct. “Concussion at best. Subdural hematoma at worst.” She could practically see Jarod’s heart sink through the bottom of his boots. Cleo pawed through her kit, looking for medicine, instruments, anything, but came up with no tangible tools. “We need to get him to a med facility. This glorified first-aid kit ain’t gonna cut it.”
“Look!” Rob pointed over Cleo’s shoulder at the view screen in front of them.
Jarod magnified so they could see more clearly. The station tilted at a crazy angle. The revolutions were no longer precise, but wobbling, careening the complex out of its proper place in orbit. Each of the docking bays seemed to clench in upon themselves like a series of gnarled fists. Escape pods continued their mad flight away from the doomed structure.
As Cleo watched, a crack appeared right in the center of the station. Its maw gaped open, exposing the flashing lights and pulsing psychedelic walls of the discotheque. A neon sign advertising safety gear smashed into the side of the station. Lights exploded, and radiant gases drifted off into the void of space. The welcome girl holograph continued to wave and welcome nonexistent customers into the breach.
Huge sections of the station separated from the central core, creating an ever-expanding artificial asteroid field where once there was a pleasure palace. The sight of so much senseless violence shocked them into silence.
From the depths of her soul, Cleo felt a sadness pour forth, filling her entire being. Normally, she used anger to burn away her hurt and fear. But no amount of anger could combat…this.
“Who could do such a thing…?” She left the question hanging without an answer. Honestly, what answer could there be?
A low moan from Simon refocused her attention on their current crisis. “We’ve got to head back to Earth.”
“Great idea, Cleo. Just one little problem.” Jarod jabbed a finger at the nearest indicator light flashing a bright red. “We’ve lost part of our starboard shielding.”
Jarod’s response made no sense to Cleo. Did he not see Simon? Did he not understand just how serious his condition was?
“So?” she queried. “Get us home.”
Buton, speaking from behind them all, placed a hand on Cleo’s shoulder. “That tiling is the only thing that stands between us and…” He indicated out the window at the debris raining down from the space station. Chunks of the station larger than their ship were burning to bits right in front of their eyes.
Ah. That was why. Cleo flagellated herself mentally, looking for the solution. She came up empty. There didn’t seem to be any viable options in front of them.
Then Rob burst out, “How about the moon?”
And there it was. The answer, clear as day. Of course—they needed to get to the moon. No atmosphere there could burn them up. There were medical facilities. Plus, that was what they had come up here for to begin with. She fought the urge to pull Rob in for a bear hug, knowing it would do nothing but irritate him.
One member of the crew was not so thrilled about this latest turn of events. Jarod.
“Guys, I don’t know. To fly that far? Without a pilot? I barely know what I’m doing here.” He shrugged and glanced at Cleo, apparently looking for backup.
Cleo smacked him on the back of his head. Hard.
“Oh, hell no,” she declared. “You did not drag us up here just to wimp out now! This is not the time to develop humility. Cowboy up, Jarod!”
She held his gaze for a second to make sure that he understood just how serious she was, and then turned to gather up Simon in her arms. She indicated with her chin for Jarod to take his place in the pilot’s seat as she handed off the little person to Buton, and then seated herself in the chair Jarod had just vacated. “Okay, now show me what I need to do to help.”
This bucket of bolts was making it to the moon, come hell or high water. Cleo would make certain of that.
* * *
As a lead scientist, Weigner had not had his ideas challenged by anyone other than the universe itself in a very long time. The last actual human being who had dared to face Weigner down was now washing dishes for a living—and counting himself very lucky to be doing even that.
So when one of the general’s flunkies laughed at him, Weigner had not the remotest clue of how to respond. The idea of going to the moon himself to find the crystals was so ludicrous that it had never entered his mind. Rather than lambaste the young cretin, Weigner just stared at him until the man’s laughter diminished under its own weight. Dr. Weigner arched an eyebrow at the general, who then immediately fired the young upstart. Crisis averted.
They had now moved on to how they could get to the moon. Another private or lieutenant or some such entered the conference room and delivered a message to his boss.
Weigner continued as if the interruption had not occurred. “A crystal this large will be within the center of the dispersal pattern of—”
The general glanced down at the missive and cursed. “Dammit! The space station’s docking bays have been destroyed.”
Weigner felt shock and denial warring on his face. “How?”
“I guess someone couldn’t wait for the presidential order.” The commander must have seen the question on Weigner’s face as he completed his thoughts out loud. “Classic predatory behavior. Isolate your prey.”
Weigner peered over his shoulder at the floating holographic diamond. “So the search for the mother lode is postponed?”
The general chuckled. He seemed perfectly at his ease for the first time that the scientist could recall. “Not at all. This event could work in our favor. Keep others from finding it before we do.”
Weigner had never experienced what it felt like to be in the dark before. He found that he did not like the sensation. At all. “But without refueling at the space station…”
The general just smiled. “Get packed, Doctor.”
Apparently, it paid to have friends in high places. Weigner did the only thing he could in this situation.
He went to pack.
CHAPTER 8
Somewhere between the wreckage of the Space Station and the Moon
March 29, 2049
0132 hours, SST
Rob sat staring out of the ship’s port window at the shrinking remains of the space station, watching for escaping ships and pods. Well, truth be told, he was looking for one specific ship—not that he had any idea about what it would look like. His attention was drawn to a speck in the window. Was that it, or was it just a smudge on the glass? Rob wished he knew what the chances were that the girl had actually made it.
He could ask Buton. Buton would probably be able to come up with a statistic without even working on it for too long. But Rob remained silent. Truth be told, he didn’t really want to know the girl’s chances, at least not in numbers. The hope that bubbled up in his chest was a far better indicator, as far as he was concerned.
The girl was the closest thing to a girlfriend that Rob had experienced. A smile in an arcade and a mad rush from an exploding space station was the nearest to a relationship he had come. That was sad.
That sucked.
Rob really didn’t want to think about another part of this whole thing. Unfortunately, his brain had other ideas. Maybe it was being up here in space, where life and death were sometimes measured by several millimeters of glass separating him from the void.
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.
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.
Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection) Page 33