The airlock was already depressurised, and the door was already open. The last person to use it had obviously exited rather than entered the hab. She initiated pressurisation, and as soon as the green light blinked on, she hit the descend button and unzipped herself, removing the two spare suits from inside the trouser legs in her suit where they had fallen when her suit had expanded.
The lift stopped descending and the door opened, revealing Martinez and Boyd standing there. “What took you so long, Supergirl? You had me worried. I thought I was going to have to settle for having sex with Boyd.”
“Here,” Kit said, throwing the emergency suits to them. “Get in and zip these up as we ascend.” She punched the button as they got in, and the doors closed. As the lift ascended, she said, “There are only two seats in the vehicle, so Martinez, you’re going to have to sit on Boyd’s lap.”
Martinez turned to Boyd. “Listen to me very carefully, soldier,” she said, fixing him with her steely dark eyes. “I’m not an officer, so I don’t want anything standing to attention, if you get my meaning!”
“Yes, ma’am!” he said with mock severity. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Actually, I think you do dream of it, Boyd, that’s the problem. Let me be clear, if I feel any movement at all among the lower ranks you’ll be marching with a limp for a week!”
The lift stopped as they finished zipping their suits closed, and Kit punched the decompression button. The air was pumped from the lift with painful slowness, but finally the light on the outer door turned from red to green, and Kit unlocked the door and thrust it open. The bug tug was parked only three metres away, but even so it was a slow three metres. The low gravity was awkward, and their suits had expanded so that movement was limited. Breathing was also difficult in the very low pressure that existed within the fully expanded suits. Boyd clambered into the passenger seat fairly easily, but Martinez was having difficulty squeezing through on top of him.
“Damn it!” she exclaimed, after a second failed attempt. “With these suits fully expanded, I can’t fit in.” Unfortunately, Kit couldn’t hear her, because she didn’t have a lapel comm, but she could see Martinez’s problem. Precious seconds were ticking by, and Kit, who was by now sitting in the driver’s seat with her own door closed, realised they would have to come up with a solution fast. She leaned over to Boyd and touched the head of her suit to Boyd’s, so that he could hear her. She shouted, “You’re gonna have to let some air out of your suit. You’ll need to take a breath, but not too deep, or your lungs will burst with the decompression. Then crack the seal on your suit for a split-second and seal it straight up again. You and Martinez have lapel comms. Tell her what you’re going to do. When she sees you crack the seal, she needs to dive head-first across your lap. I’ll pull her across to me, so that she is lying face-down across both our laps. As soon as she’s in, I’ll close your door remotely from my controls. Got it?”
Boyd pulled away from her and nodded. He chinned his comm and Kit could see his lips moving as he communicated with Martinez, who then nodded. Martinez backed up a step and readied herself for the dive. A moment later, Boyd cracked the seal on his suit and resealed it almost instantly. His suit almost completely deflated in a decompressive explosion and Kit worried that he had let too much air out. There was no time to think about that, however, as Martinez came sliding across Boyd’s lap. Kit grabbed her outstretched arms and pulled her all the way across and quickly hit the door-close button. She punched the button to repressurise the cabin but didn’t wait for full pressurisation before reaching across to Boyd. He was out cold, and there was a small trail of blood trickling out of his ears. Kit unzipped his suit head and then unzipped her own. Martinez was also unzipping, and Kit said, “You need to help Boyd. He lost too much pressure. There’s an oxygen mask in the emergency kit behind him. I need to drive.”
Kit fired up the vehicle and spun the wheels as she took off at top speed. She glanced at the countdown clock on the console. Ninety seconds to go. They weren’t going to make it. She activated an open channel on the comm. “This is Kit Tyler, to Genesis. Can you hear me.”
“We hear you, Kit. This is Lance Catrell, on Genesis bridge. How are you going?”
“I’ve got them! We’re on our way back now. Wait for us! I think we’re going to be a little late.”
“How late?”
“Two minutes to drive this snail back to the airlock, a minute to pressurise the lift, about 30 seconds to descend and about 45 seconds to drive across the tarmac and up the ramp into a Genesis loading bay.”
“That should be OK ...” began Lance, but he was cut off by another voice.
“Ms Tyler, this is Dr Wisecroft. I’m sorry, but I am not prepared to compromise the safety of the entire ship and hundreds of lives. The launch time is non-negotiable, and we can’t afford to wait beyond it. In exactly one minute we will be closing the last loading bay door and launching. If you can’t make it back, I suggest you turn your vehicle now and head for the depression that lies five clicks north. You may be able to shelter from the worst of the blast there.”
Martinez looked at Kit and said, “Boyd is in a bad way. He needs medical treatment or he’s not gonna make it.”
Kit said to her, “OK. We’re going to have to call their bluff.” She activated the comm again. “Hello Genesis? Does anyone read me? Your transmission just cut out. I think the receiver was damaged in one of the explosions. If you can hear me, I’ve got Boyd and Martinez, and we’re heading back now. Boyd is injured and needs urgent medical treatment. We will be about three minutes late.”
Wisecroft came on the air again. “This is Dr Wisecroft on board Genesis. Turn your vehicle and head for the hills immediately. Get to safety. We cannot wait for you. Repeat. We will not wait for you. We will begin launch sequence in 30 seconds.”
“He’s a callous bastard!” said Martinez.
“Yes,” said Kit. “But I’m broadcasting on an open channel and he knows that everyone is listening in. If he launches without us, he’s gonna lose a lot of love. All I can do is keep calling his bluff.” She opened the channel again. “Kit Tyler calling Genesis. I’m still not receiving any transmission from you. If you can hear me, please wait for us. I am on my way back with Martinez and Boyd, and we need to get Boyd to the infirmary ASAP. I can see the Genesis airlock, and we should be driving into the lift in about 40 seconds.”
The countdown clock on the dashboard ticked over to zero, and as it did, Wisecroft’s voice came over the comm again. “Time’s up, Ms Tyler. I believe you can hear me. We are closing the loading bay door now. I’m sorry. Please head towards safety now. We may be able to pick you up later, depending on our orbit. Good luck. Over and out.”
“Hell!” said Martinez. “I don’t think he’s bluffing. Maybe we should head north?”
“No, that’s not an option,” said Kit. “The O2 level is indicating one hour of breathable air remaining. There is no way a shuttle will be able to get back to us in that time. If we head north, we will die of asphyxiation. I’d rather take my chances and get blown to bits. Besides, Boyd isn’t going to last another hour, anyway.”
She keyed the comm channel open again. “This is Kit Tyler again. Still not receiving any transmission from you, Genesis. We are running out of oxygen and have an injured person on board. Please wait for us. I repeat, please wait for us.”
She had rolled the dice. Now all she could do was hope and pray.
17
On the bridge, Simon Wisecroft turned to Lance and said, “Instruct the loading bay staff to close the last door.” Turning to the flight deck, he said, “Captain Christensen, you have the ship now. Initiate the launch sequence.”
Lance looked shocked and said, “But Dr Wisecroft, they’re only three minutes away.”
“Damn it, Catrell!” said Wisecroft. He strode over to the comm desk and punched a button. “Bridge to loading bay. Grizzle, do you copy?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Good
. Close the loading bay door immediately.”
“OK, boss.”
Wisecroft turned to Lars Christensen, a classic blonde-bearded Swede, complete with Captain’s cap and white shirt with epaulettes. “Take her out, Captain.”
Christensen replied, “Aye. Just as soon as that door is closed.”
They all sat waiting for the one remaining red light on the console to turn green. And they waited. And still they waited.
“Grizzle! What’s the delay getting that door closed?”
“I’m just closing it now, boss.”
They waited. And waited some more. The light stayed red.
“Grizzle!! What the hell is going on down there? Why isn’t that door closed?”
“Boss, I’m pushing the button, but it ain’t closing. I think there might be a faulty switch on the console here.”
“Damn it!” yelled Wisecroft. Turning to Christensen he said, “Can you override it from up here, Captain?”
“Yes, I can. If you’re sure that’s what you really want,” Christensen replied, with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course I’m sure!!” exploded Wisecroft, beginning to turn apoplectic. “Close it now and get us out of here!”
The captain flicked a switch and a red light began flashing, accompanied by a soft buzzing alarm. “It seems we have a problem, Dr Wisecroft. The sensors indicate that there is something on the threshold of the doorway. The door has a built-in safety system. The door mechanism won’t operate until the doorway is completely clear.”
Wisecroft was now turning slightly purple with rage. He punched the comm button violently. “Grizzle!!!”
“Yes boss,” came the lazy reply.
“There’s something blocking the doorway. It won’t close. Can you see anything?”
“Let me see. I’m looking ... I’m looking ... No. All clear, boss.”
“Grizzle! I swear, if you are playing games here, I’ll ... I’ll ...”
“Yes, boss?”
“Aaagh!” Wisecroft let out a roar of frustration and thumped his fist on the edge of the console.
“Lance!” he yelled. “Get down there immediately and fix the problem! And I mean immediately!”
Lance jumped up from his chair and ran into the lift. Thirty seconds later, he emerged four floors down and ran to the open loading bay door. There was a box placed precisely across the threshold of the loading bay door, and Grizzle was sitting contentedly on top of it, with one leg crossed over the other, smoking a pipe.
“Grizzle! What the hell are you doing?!”
“The right thing,” he answered, taking a puff from a pipe.
“Move that box now! That’s an order!”
“Or what?” Grizzle pointed to some of the other loading bay workers, who were standing around watching the scene unfold. “Are you gonna beat up an old man in front of these people?”
“You’re gonna get us all killed, Grizzle!”
“Stop wetting your pants and show some backbone, boy,” replied Grizzle. “We’ll still have a good six or seven minutes to get clear, and Wisecroft knows it. He’s just worried about one thing—saving his own skin. Me? I’d rather die as a humanitarian than live as a coward.” He looked steadily at Lance. “What about you?”
The comm burst to life. “Lance? What’s happening?”
Lance and Grizzle stared at each other in silence.
“Lance? Do you copy? Answer, damn it!”
Lance stared at Grizzle for a moment longer and then activated his lapel comm. “Dr. Wisecroft, there appears to be a fault with the sensors and the console. I’ve got one of the tech guys looking at it as we speak. He’s found the problem, and he says it will only take him a minute or so to fix it.”
There was no response from Wisecroft, but Lance could imagine him throwing something across the bridge and screaming. Lance walked across to the box and sat next to Grizzle. “Do you smoke?” asked Grizzle, offering him the pipe.
“If Wisecroft saw you smoking that, you’d get the sack,” said Lance.
Grizzle merely shrugged.
“Besides, it’s a disgusting habit,” said Lance, taking it and having a puff. He handed it back to Grizzle.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” asked Grizzle.
“The pipe?”
“No. Doing the right thing.”
“Yes, it is,” answered Lance. “Here, give me another puff.”
A mild alarm sounded in the distance, and a yellow light could be seen flashing at the far side of the concourse about 400 metres away, near the rear of the spacecraft. “Here they come,” said Grizzle. “You can tell your boss he can get ready to launch, once he’s finished changing his nappy.”
The large lift door on the far side of the cavern opened and the bug tug came roaring out of it, still shedding regolith dust from the surface. Lance was talking to Wisecroft, telling him that the technicians had repaired the faulty console and were about to close the door. Grizzle moved the box to the side and stood straddling the threshold, waving his arms in the air to beckon Kit towards the ramp. The bug tug roared up the concourse, turning at the last moment, and came flying up the ramp. Lance activated the door-closing mechanism as the vehicle screeched to a stop inside the huge loading bay. Kit and Martinez jumped out of the vehicle simultaneously and Martinez said, “We need help here! Get a medic!”
Two medics came forward; one of them was Jaz, from the cafeteria, the other a young medical officer attached to the Genesis crew. “That was quick,” said Kit, as several strong hands lifted Boyd down from the cabin.
“We’ve been waiting for about three minutes,” answered Jaz. “Grizzle called us down here as soon as you started transmitting.”
Kit looked at Grizzle, who was standing over Boyd. “Thanks, Grizzle. We owe you one.”
“You owe him more than one,” said another loading bay worker. “We would have launched minutes ago if Grizzle hadn’t defied orders and refused to close the door.”
“How is the lad?” asked Grizzle, clearly uncomfortable with being the centre of attention.
“He’s unconscious but stable,” replied the white-coated doctor. His name tag read, ‘Dr Ben Miller’, and he didn’t look to be all that long out of med school. “Let’s get him on the gurney and get him to sick bay.” As they lifted Boyd onto the gurney and wheeled him away, Martinez started to follow, but Ben said, “Just leave him with us, if you don’t mind. Things are a bit chaotic at the moment. I’ll send for you when he can have visitors.”
Kit looked around at the loading bay. It was rectangular in shape, approximately 50 metres deep and 30 metres wide. The left 50-metre-long wall had a bank of lifts and a series of small office-like cubicles built into it. The right wall bore the words ‘Shuttle Bay 1’ printed in large letters and had an airlock door leading into the adjoining shuttle bay. At the rear of the loading bay was what appeared to be a maintenance and storage area. She guessed that there would be an identical loading bay and shuttle bay on the opposite side of the ship. And there were a further four of these back down the length of the ship on either side. It was all very impressive.
“Hey, why aren’t we moving?” she asked.
Lance Catrell was walking past, on his way to the lifts, and stopped to answer her question. “We are. In fact, by now, we will have launched. This ship has state-of-the-art artificial gravity and inertial dampening systems. It’s designed so that as soon as that door closes, the cavern’s emergency air evacuation valves explosively depressurise the cavern. The massive airlock doors at the cavern entrance open and the mag-lev system built into the floor of the cavern is activated, lifting us off the ground. At the same time our main propulsion drive fires up, accelerating us towards the entrance at approximately 8Gs. What that means is, about 30 seconds after we closed this loading bay door, we shot out of the cavern at an angle of 22 degrees, travelling at a velocity of 80 metres per second. Am I boring you yet?”
“No! Please go on.”
“The cavern entrance is loca
ted halfway down the cliff, inside a crater nearly two kilometres deep. As we shot out of the exit, the ship’s manoeuvering thrusters began adjusting our angle of ascent, swinging us around until our main drive nozzles were pointing straight down. This flying brick is currently standing on its end, accelerating away from the moon. You and I are now standing on the side of the ship, at 90 degrees to our direction of flight and to the surface of the moon.”
“Very cool!” said Kit.
Martinez, however, wasn’t listening. She was looking towards the bank of lifts where Boyd had been taken, with a deeply worried expression on her face.
18
Zac woke up with a splitting headache. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat up.
“Windows clear,” he said, staring at the blank wall. Nothing happened. “Windows clear,” he repeated. Still nothing. “Angie?” he said. No answer.
He blinked the bleariness from his eyes and looked around the room, noticing the unfamiliar surroundings for the first time. Where am I? It was a much smaller room than his bedroom. In fact, it was just a cubicle, barely big enough to contain the single bed he was sitting on. He sifted through his sleep-fogged memory and began to piece together snippets of memory. He recalled being whisked off to the moon by a bald-headed security dude. George. Yes! That was his name. He remembered being in Simon Wisecroft’s office and being quizzed about his wife’s disappearance. His wife was missing! Simon was accusing her of being some sort of terrorist. And he thinks I am a terrorist too! Fresh indignation welled up within him. He would go and give Wisecroft a piece of his mind!
He looked around his cubicle again. Where am I, and how did I get here? The last thing he remembered was being in Wisecroft’s office. I must be somewhere on the base, he thought.
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