The Survivor

by BRIDGET TYLER

  “Lower the brightness on the screens, please,” I tell the computer. “Twenty percent.”

  “Certainly, Joanna,” the computer says.

  The screens dim. The palpable atmosphere formed by Tarn’s and Nor’s voices shifts, warming. Easing.

  “Thank you, Joanna,” Tarn hums. “I did not anticipate that.”

  “I think we’re past the stuff we can anticipate,” I say.

  “Max Q,” Leela says, as the slipstream whistles past the exterior cameras. “Exit velocity in three . . . two . . . one.” I can feel the acceleration pushing me back, grinding me into the seat a little harder with each count. Worry tangles with the familiar exhilaration pumping through my body. Are Tarn and Nor okay? I can’t look back at them to see, but nobody’s screaming or anything.

  Pink flames lick up the three-sixty.

  “Killing thrust . . . now,” I say, tapping the command into the nav app. Just like that, the grinding pressure evaporates. My body floats gently upward against my tethered harness.

  We’re in space.

  I twist to look back at Tarn and Nor. Nor is looking around like a little kid, trying to take in everything at once. Tarn is sitting very still, staring down at Tau below us.

  This is the first time he’s ever seen his home from space. The thought is breathtaking.

  Mom took me up for the first time when I was four. All I remember about the experience was the lollipop I got in the launch center gift shop and how much the pressure hurt as we crossed the atmosphere. I guess candy was more striking to me than the idea of spaceflight, at the time.

  I wasn’t that impressed with the view the last time I saw Earth from space, either. I was just impatient, eager to get to Tau. Now I’d give anything to go back and see Earth buzzing with life again.

  Nor says something to Tarn in Sorrow. Her voice bright and fizzy. Excited. Amazed. Invigorated. Tarn thrums something low and thick in response.

  “There she is,” Chris breathes.

  I turn back to see the elegant form of the Vulcan spiraling through orbit up ahead like a diving bird.

  “That’s my cue,” Shelby says, toggling the radio pack she’s white-knuckling. “Shelby to Batten. Please respond.”

  The only response is static.

  Shelby’s eyes dart up to meet mine. She swallows hard, clinging to her cool as she toggles the radio again.

  “Shelby to Hendrick. Please respond.”

  The gentle hiss of an empty radio frequency fills the cabin.

  Shelby toggles her handset again.

  “Batten! Hendrick! Goddamn you, get on this radio and ANSWER ME,” Shelby shouts.

  There’s no reply.

  Shelby swipes at her face, dashing the tears that are crowding her cheeks.

  “He might have taken their radios,” I say quietly.

  “Nice try, Junior,” she whispers. “But optimism isn’t really my thing. That bastard killed them.”

  “LT!” A crackling voice blasts over her radio. “LT! Thank god! Please tell me you copy!” the frantic voice cries.

  Shelby snatches up her handset. “About time, Batten. You need to shut Vulcan down now.”

  “Can’t, sir,” the voice replies. “We’re not on Vulcan.”

  “What?” Shelby demands.

  “They’re on the Prairie,” Beth says, pointing beyond the Vulcan to where a sliver of gold is just visible past the orbital horizon. “She just crested the planet.”

  “He left us with a list of people to pull out of inso,” another voice I assume belongs to Hendrick chimes in. “But we don’t have a doc here, and these people have been under a long time. I tried to point that out, but he said limited casualties were acceptable. Then he took off alone in Vulcan. Something’s up, LT. Something bad.”

  “You ain’t wrong, Henny,” Shelby says. “Sit tight, you two. Don’t wake anybody up. I’m gonna take care of this—then we’ll come for you.”

  “Yes sir!” Batten says, her voice thick with relief.

  Shelby toggles off the radio and wilts in her chair. “We’re screwed.”

  “No,” Beth says coolly. “We’re just back to plan A.”

  “And you’re a cocky asshole, Mendel,” Shelby hurls back at her.

  “That’s probably true,” Beth says, turning to me. “But I know my sister. She can do this.”

  She sounds so sure of that. But then again, she doesn’t know that the last time I did orbital docking maneuvers, I hit the wrong button and nearly destroyed both ships. It’s totally insane to even try this, but the only other option is giving up.

  We aren’t giving up.

  I swipe at the nav app, and pale red ellipses of light flow out from the Vulcan and the Prairie, revealing their trajectories around the planet. I swipe again and our own trajectory line shifts, twisting to cross the Vulcan’s.

  “Okay,” I say. “Five-second burn. On my mark.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out, listening to the ship around me. Feeling it move. Trying to imagine the Vulcan out there. To feel it. I can’t. It’s so far away. I feel numb. Disconnected.

  “Take a deep breath, Hotshot,” Jay says quietly from behind me. “You got this.”

  His voice is like oxygen. I breathe in and out.

  I close my eyes.

  The low hum of Sorrow sonar skates over my skin.

  Of course.

  “Tarn,” I say. “You guys mind being quiet a second?”

  The conversation drops to silence immediately, as though their mingled voices are one.

  The sudden quiet is eerie. Oddly empty. Like I just stepped out of glaring sun into the shadows.

  Then the quiet starts to fade. The grumble of the engines swells in my ears, a steady descant to the hum and crackle of gravity and radiation pressing in on the hull. A smile darts over my lips, unbidden. I can’t help it. I may not know this ship, but I know the song.

  I let my hands rest lightly on the controls and wait, listening to 3212 move through space for a few more heartbeats.

  “Mark.”

  The engines roar. We accelerate over the green arc of the world.

  I breathe in. I breathe out. I breathe in.

  The engines die. Too soon. That was too soon. The Vulcan looms large on the wall screens, but not nearly large enough.

  “We’re going to miss her,” Chris calls, zooming the exterior cameras in on his portion of the wall screens. “Our trajectory is totally wrong.”

  “No kidding,” Leela says as we both frantically swipe-tap at the nav app. “This isn’t—” She cuts herself off, swearing copiously. “Maneuvering thrusters are dead.”

  “What?” Jay exclaims. “Why?”

  “How am I supposed to know?” she shouts back. “I’m just telling you they’re gone.”

  “So is the main engine,” I say. “I’m not getting any thrust at all. From anything.”

  Chris hurls himself out of the bridge and up the hallway. Beth follows him.

  “I swear, we were green on all checks,” Leela says, her hands skimming frantically over the diagnostic apps. “We were green.”

  “I believe you, Lee-lu,” I say.

  “What does this mean for us?” Nor hums, behind me.

  “It means we’re dead in the water, sister,” Shelby says. “Cuz this day just keeps getting better.”

  “Goddamn it!” Chris shouts so loudly, we can hear him from the engine room.

  “That’s not encouraging,” Jay mutters, untethering himself to start after them. But before he makes it to the door, Chris hurls himself back onto the bridge.

  “Swamp goo,” he snarls.

  “What?”

  “Solace tree sap,” Beth says, pulling herself through the door behind him. “Likely from the trees destroyed by 3212’s landing. It seems to have been slowly eroding the engine casement this whole time.”

  “Then we did a hard burn,” Leela says, putting it together, “the casing blew and . . .”

  “Yeah,” Chris says. “We�
��re dead.”

  But it’s not just us. Everyone. Mom. Dad. Dr. Howard. Doc. Mrs. Divekar. I have to cut the mental tally off before I burst into tears. Everything we’ve gone through, and stupid tree sap is going to kill us all.

  “What’s happening to your grandfather’s ship?” Nor demands, pointing at the wall screen. I look up and see that the Vulcan is spreading her arched wings.

  “He’s stopping,” I say as the sleek ship’s maneuvering thrusters fire. “Why is he stopping?”

  “Vulcan to 3212,” Grandpa’s voice swells over the comms. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Lieutenant?”

  “This isn’t my rodeo anymore, Admiral,” Shelby drawls.

  “Hi, Grandpa,” I say.

  “Joanna?” His voice cracks as he says my name. I can’t tell if that’s shock or horror or relief. It might be all three.

  The video chat window unfolds on the wall screen in front of me, layering my grandfather’s narrow, crinkled face over the exterior three-sixty. He’s alone on the bridge of the Vulcan. He looks so much older than he did when I saw him last, less than a day ago.

  “What’s wrong with your ship, Joanna?” he demands.

  “How the f—”

  “You’re drifting, Cadet Divekar,” he snaps, cutting Leela off. “Any fool could see that. What happened?”

  “You sent Lieutenant Shelby and her team into a swamp full of trees with corrosive sap that destroyed the engine casing,” I say. “That’s what happened.” Suddenly, I’m too exhausted and achy to worry about what I should and shouldn’t tell him. “We just didn’t realize it until now. So yeah. Maybe you win. Maybe we’re all going to die and you get your fresh start. Does that make you happy?”

  He closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s in physical pain. “Of course that doesn’t make me happy, Little Moth.”

  “Then don’t do this!” I plead. “Turn off the scrubbers.”

  “I. Can’t.” He grinds the words out between his teeth. “I wish . . . but this situation is—”

  He keeps talking, but the sound is suddenly gone.

  “Don’t turn around,” Shelby says. “I muted the maniac. He hasn’t noticed yet, so just keep on staring at him like he grew a second head.”

  “What—Why, I—”

  “I don’t need him to mansplain his egomaniacal plans,” Shelby says. “Neither do you. We need to get on board that ship, and he’s at a full stop less than ten klicks off to starboard. We’re not going to get a better chance than this.”

  “Oh,” Beth breathes. “The emergency docking tube.”

  “Danger Twin Two’s got it—what about you, DT One?” she snaps. “You with me?”

  Our emergency docking tube will automatically synchronize the two ships’ computers and put them in search-and-rescue mode. Once it’s attached to the Vulcan, Grandpa won’t be able to shake us off. But someone’s going to have to go out there and guide the tube between the ships manually, and EVA prep takes time. You can’t just throw on a spacesuit and take a stroll. Or I guess you can, but it’s a truly terrible idea. But then again, so is this whole mission.

  “I’ll try to keep him talking,” I say.

  “Do better than try, Junior,” Shelby snaps. “Divekar, Lim, with me. Subtle like.”

  Then the sound is back.

  “—do you understand, Joanna?” Grandpa says.

  Leaving me in charge of lying to Grandpa is also a truly terrible idea. It takes everything I have to keep from looking at Leela as she slips after Shelby. Forming full sentences at the same time feels impossible.

  “Joanna may understand, but I do not.” Tarn’s harmonic voice is like a hive of angry bees. “How can wiping out your own team be helpful to your cause?”

  “I could ask you a related question,” Grandpa snaps. “If you want us off your planet so badly, why are you risking your life to help my granddaughter stop me?”

  “Letting you murder your followers won’t stop you, Admiral,” Tarn replies. “But Joanna may. Given the chance.”

  “She’s a child,” Grandpa snaps. “A very bright one, but a child nonetheless. And this alliance of yours is unsustainable. There will be war eventually.”

  “I already tried war,” Tarn says calmly. “Both sides lost. But my alliance with Joanna, as you call it, has already had moderate success.”

  “Short-term thinking.” Grandpa shakes his head in disgust. “Just like the others.” Then, more to himself than us, he mutters, “Cleo was right. Cleo was right. They’ll never change.”

  His mouth is twisted into a disdainful smirk, but he looks like he might burst into tears at the same time. It’s so far from the calm, kind face I thought I knew that it makes me dizzy.

  My flex vibrates, but I don’t dare look down to read the text. I can’t break eye contact with him. Beth hears the vibration.

  “Do you really think Grandma would approve of this?” Beth says, sliding over into Leela’s seat so we split the screen.

  “Don’t be obtuse, Beth,” he snaps, pivoting to glare at her. “Of course she wouldn’t approve.”

  “Curious, then, that you persist in invoking her name,” Beth says, holding his gaze as my eyes dart to the flex spread out in front of me.

  It’s a text from Shelby.

  Do it.

  “Tell me about her, Grandpa,” I blurt the words out, snapping my eyes back up to the wall screens just as he looks my way. I hold his gaze, sliding my hands over my flex and hoping against hope that I’ve got the right app open. “Tell me about Cleo.”

  For a moment I think he’s going to hang up. Then he slumps against his harness, scrubbing his hands over his face. “She . . . she would be so disappointed in me. In all of us.”

  I take the opportunity to look down at my flex. I tap the emergency docking symbol, hit the green launch button, then yank my eyes back to the chat window just as he looks up at me again.

  “Maybe it would have been better if I’d gone with her. I wanted to. It took three weeks for her to die. Cleo fought. I wanted to fight, too. I’ve been fighting my whole life. But I couldn’t fight the flu for her. All I could do was sit there and . . .” He sucks in a shaky breath. “The night she died, we knew it was over. I was so tired. I didn’t want to fight anymore, without her. She knew it. That’s why she made me promise her that I’d finish her research. Actually, her words were ‘Save humanity from itself.’” He snorts a watery laugh. “Cleo always did have a flair for the dramatic. She said I needed a challenge. A reason to keep going, once she was gone. She was right.”

  Grief washes over his face and his eyes go distant for a moment.

  I throw a look at the exterior camera feed playing out behind the chat window. Jay and Leela are guiding our emergency docking tunnel as it unfolds between the two ships like a huge, fabric-covered Slinky. Their suits glitter like cut gemstones as unfiltered sunlight catches on their camera lenses and sensors. I can only tell the difference between them because Leela is smaller.

  “Mom was only nine when Grandma died,” Beth says, snagging my attention back to Grandpa just as Jay pushes off the unfurling tube and glides through empty space to the Vulcan’s docking port. “Wasn’t she enough of a reason to live?”

  “No,” he says, without even a beat of hesitation. “And Cleo knew it. She never suffered any illusions about me. She knew I needed . . . more. I loved Alice, but that was never—”

  Reet. Reet. Reet.

  The alert pulses red up from his screen, transforming the tragic folds of his sadness into vicious shadows. His eyes snap wide and his face twists into a mask of rage as he looks down at his flex console. Then he glowers up at me. “You used your grandmother? As a diversion?”

  The chat window disappears. He’s hung up.

  On the wall screen, I can see that Jay and Leela have fully extended our docking tube. They’re both perched on Vulcan’s hull now, with the tube pressed against the airlock between them. I look down at my console flex, hoping for green lights. But the
emergency docking app displays three green lights and three red ones. It’s only half sealed. Leela still has to clamp her side into place.

  I open a comm line to Leela and Jay with shaking fingers. “Hurry! Grandpa knows what we’re doing!”

  Leela swears. Then Leela screams.

  A perfectly round sphere of blue fire explodes silently around the emergency docking tube, like the Vulcan is blowing a bubble. Then the tube shoots into full extension, sending Leela spinning into open space.

  “My tether,” she screams over the comms. “My tether is gone. I’m drifting!”

  “Magnetize your boots!” Jay bellows.

  “Too late,” Beth says, her eyes glued to Leela’s tumbling form on the wall screen. “She’s out of range. You have to stay as still as you can, Leela. Minimize your momentum.”

  “Beth!” Leela cries.

  “Stay calm,” Beth says. “Just stay calm.”

  I am not calm.

  Leela’s only twenty meters from where Jay is still clinging to the Vulcan’s hull. Maybe less. But it might as well be light-years. I can see Jay’s snapped tether streaming out behind him, outlined against the dull gray of the docking tube. Without a tether, Jay can’t get to her.

  In a few minutes, she’ll be lost in the black.

  Meanwhile, the half-collapsed emergency docking tube is twisting slowly in on itself. It’ll tear soon, or tear 3212 apart. Grandpa is trying to rip the Vulcan free, and he doesn’t care if it kills us. Why would he? This is what he wants. A clean slate. And he’s going to get it, unless someone finishes sealing that docking tunnel.

  No one else on 3212 is trained for EVA, except possibly Shelby. And she’s hurt. But the last time I tried it, I couldn’t even step out of the airlock.

  No, I realize, my brain racing. I didn’t get a chance to step out of that airlock, because Grandpa did it for me. But can I do it now?

  I guess we’re about to find out.

  “Lieutenant Shelby!” I shout over the open comm line as I untether and hurl myself out of the pilot seat. “I’m going to need a spacesuit!”