Farlost: Arrival Page 3

  Almost. Until words came out of his mouth.

  "Well if it isn't the military industrial complex!" he said, with his signature arrogant sneer.

  6

  Stuart Beacham was in his early thirties. Five and a half feet tall, medium build, black hair, brown skin with a reddish tinge. A world class pain in the ass.

  Lou felt her fists ball up at the sight of Haskam’s resident genius. She tried to smile. It felt like she was having an argument with every muscle in her face.

  The C.O's voice was warm and friendly too, but he said: "Doctor Beacham, given the radiation storm coming I must ask you to follow us up to the bridge. Quickly, sir."

  Beacham pushed himself out of the airlock door, but didn't let go of the bar on the inside until his right hand patted the external wall and found one mounted on the airlock housing.

  "I'm a physicist, Captain." The features on his young face contorted with effort. "I know more about what's coming than you do, and--oomph!"

  Somehow, Beacham managed to slam his face into the airlock housing as he pulled himself through.

  Lou's smile became more natural as Beacham's air of superiority -along his forehead- was marred by a red welt.

  "We've got, uh, we've..." He finally got his other hand on the bar and floated there, glaring over his shoulder at the others assembled. "Look, there's twenty minutes plus before the first extra rays get here, so how about you stop the Chicken Little act?"

  "Doctor Beacham hasn't completely adapted to zero G," said Beacham's assistant -who, Lou noted, had already bounced out of the airlock to the far wall and was headed back to where his boss awkwardly floated. The kid smiled to the Commander. "Perhaps he could follow along on the conveyer?"

  The kid was trying his damnedest to help the officers get their boss to cooperate without raising his ire. Lou appreciated that.

  Beacham didn't. “What do you think, I just stepped off the reservation? It's my fifth spaceflight, Renic!” Beacham glared at Stan as he struggled to keep his body in an imitation of standing.

  Just for the hell of it, Lou flipped her orientation upside down relative to Beacham as she floated across to Stan, near the blue-painted slot that ran the length of the tank. Rubberized tubing extended from it, resembling tiny ladder with a subway strap at the end.

  "By all means, Doctor." She reached behind and tapped the pad to activate the conveyer. "It's a very simple contraption. You just have to hold on. Even a child could do it."

  Lou took perverse glee in the deepening scowl on Beacham's face. She knew his story: raised on a reservation in the West, multiple degrees while still in his teens, fantastically rich and universally respected.

  Well, she amended: respected by anyone that hadn't met him.

  The off-the-charts genius didn't have to play well with others, when his every whim was seen to by Haskam. Lou wondered briefly if he'd ventured out into space so much because he was a Type A overachiever who couldn't bear to let others press the buttons he invented...or if he really loved doing the work himself.

  "Of course a child could do it!" Beacham sniffed. "It was built for cashiered out soldiers like you, or retirees like him. Can't be too taxing, now can it?"

  Lou felt a cold anger fill her. She'd be damned if he'd let anyone talk to her CO like that!

  She and Taggart began to shout something at the same time, but another voice, loud and clear, overrode them.

  Dwyer's voice.

  "I don't care if the entire Haskam board thinks you're the second coming of Hawking, Doctor. Talk to my crew like that again and I will punt you to the end of this tank myself. Are we clear?"

  Lou stared at Dwyer. She saw Taggart smiling proudly just over his shoulder. Her own smile grew huge.

  Beacham sneered at Dwyer and opened his mouth to retort. His eyes catalogued something on the Commander's face, and the sneer fell away.

  "Fine, we're clear." he said quickly. He reached for the handle at the start of the long blue slot. It was just out of reach, and stretching for it set him off balance. He bounced himself off the wall again.

  Lou truly was proud of herself for swallowing her laughter.

  Beacham slapped Stan's hand away and successfully reached the conveyor on his second try. He yelped as he started moving forward and held on tight with both hands, his body arching comedically.

  Beacham didn't exactly sneer now. Lou had figured being almost literally hoisted along on his petard would take the attitude out of the man, but still--for the first time the super-genius pain in the ass wore a look she could sympathize with. He looked hurt.

  "Taggart," Dwyer called, something in his voice confirming he also sympathized. He waved a hand towards Beacham.

  "Yes sir," the security officer acknowledged, and kicked off to help escort the ill-mannered civilian.

  Stan shrugged apologetically at them both, and kicked off expertly towards the C&C. Lou wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a little smile at his boss's expense hiding on that youthful face.

  Dwyer shook his head as he watched them float down the tank, then caught the expression on Lou's face. He grinned.

  "You're wondering why I said that when I'm always telling you to shut up and take it, right? Well, he can talk to me that way all day long, but not my officers. Not one time. That's a hard line for me.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Don’t worry. I’m good with the hypocrisy.”

  Lou opened her mouth thank him, when something wet hit her in the face.

  Dwyer's face went slack. A red dot had appeared on his cheek, just below his right eye.

  The Commander's whole body had relaxed, and begun to spin away from the airlock.

  "Ed!" She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him towards her. The motion reversed and sped up his body's spin, and a moment later Lou was staring at the back of the Commander's head.

  Or, what was left of it.

  Her eyes widened in horror. The back of his skull was gone.

  She looked around, not comprehending how a bullet could have ended Ed Dwyer's life out here in space. Then she heard the hiss.

  Hammering impacts sounded against the tank walls. Depressurization alarms and red lights start blazing.

  Something slammed into her and her left arm erupted in searing pain, and hung limp at her side.

  Looking around for some sign of what had just happened, she instinctively reached for her arm. Her right hand came away wet and red.

  Lou struggled with the pain of her wound, fought not to black out.

  Was it an attack?

  Had something on Six exploded?

  What the hell was happening?

  THE SHIT HITS

  7

  Murray floated upside down, facing backwards towards Dina. "Is he still talking about that Kenny B guy?"

  "It's G, smartass!" Raj growled as he floated in the open airlock into the storm cellar, ignoring the crewman taking roll call at the door.

  Dina and her boys were waiting behind three other crewmen for their turn to be signed into the storm cellar airlock.

  If it was possible to be bored while waiting for access to the only place on board where she wouldn't die in half an hour, then that's what Dina was.

  Raj, as usual, hadn't stop talking since they'd hit the bottleneck. "He's a Jazz legend," Raj growled as he bounced hyperactively around the airlock. "No one else comes close! And another thing, who do I have to kill for approval to test Frick and Frack's new suit arms?"

  Dina rolled her eyes as Raj flipped conversations. He did that a lot. You got used to it.

  "What's the holdup?" the diminutive payload specialist ranted on. "More paperwork, I bet. On paper those arms will output something like sixty percent greater pressure, PSI! And only three maintenance ports now, instead of five!"

  Murray made appropriate sounds at appropriate moments but Dina knew he wasn't listening either. He didn't have to: he'd heard it all before.

  Murray caught her eye and made a little 'gimme' gesture with his fingers. She cau
ght on and pulled out the nicotine gum pack, tossing it his way.

  The gum was halfway between them when a shadow fell over it.

  Someone else had arrived behind them. She turned and saw a long, pale face stretching beneath a pale blond buzz cut.

  Second Officer Devine.

  Oh, shit, Dina thought: here we go.

  "You know how I feel about displaying pharmaceuticals in public areas, Rodriguez!" As usual Devine talked only to her, ignoring Murray and Raj, as if he might catch something by communicating directly with those too far below his station.

  Now Raj did shut up, as he and Murray gave the Officer token nods of their heads and then quickly found other places for their eyes.

  "Sorry, sir," Dina replied, letting herself coast in between her boys and the pompous second in command. "Given we're heading into the cellar, though, there's not much chance of privacy. Is there, sir."

  Devine's lips puckered. Murray spun around to hide the grin on his face. Dina had more training dealing with the brass and hid her own humor more effectively.

  Second Officer Devine couldn't tell when people were taking the piss out of him. Him twisting up his lips was a 'tell' that his brain was doing some extra processing to decide.

  "Next!" they called out at the cellar door.

  Raj flipped Murray by an ankle and floated ahead. "Snooze, ya lose!" he chirped over his shoulder, tearing back the velcro flap on his forearm pocket and tugging his ID out.

  "Agreed, Rodriguez," Devine said. Evidently the man had decided she wasn't making trouble, and now he plowed ahead, typically heavy-handed. "However, I'm going to schedule fitness exams for your specialists. I'm not sure we want millions of dollars in the hands of nicotine addicts who might get twitchy during delicate cargo transfers."

  Murray's eyebrows knit together as he reached up for the ceiling to pirouette around expertly. He pushed the watch cap roughly back on his head and Dina knew he was about to give the Officer a mouthful.

  She pushed off from her her perch to float between the men, struggling to find the words to cut Murray off before he said something Devine would have no trouble translating.

  A booming metal echo did the job for her.

  She knew instantly that the sound had come from outside the ship, and that something was wrong.

  Just a few feet away from the airlock at the top of their assigned cellar, Dina's ears told her just how wrong this something was.

  Murray's did too: she saw him flinch and grab hold of a ceiling mounted grip bar and look at her. There was fear in his eyes.

  Raj was already at the airlock. Quick-witted and selfless in the moment. He'd wrapped an emergency line around one wrist and jumped back as far as the rope would take him. He whipped there in the sudden, sucking current of whistling air, reaching his free hand back for Murray. The lights flipped to red and klaxons wailed. His words lost, Raj started screaming for them to hurry, beckoning them close with his arms.

  Dina flailed out for a handhold and missed. Her ears began to ache. She felt the sudden dip in pressure, felt the air currents first seem to freeze, and then pull against her body.

  Dina realized the airlock array they were in was losing containment. Her ears were throbbing now, and the screaming voices all around were nearly drowned out by the sudden, massive change in pressure.

  Dina winced against the pain, and then against the terror when she realized she was being pulled away from airlock. Her vision began to tunnel and her heart pounded in her chest and throat as the pressure gripping her increased.

  Madre de dios!

  The ship was breached. She was being sucked away from the cellar. How long before a wall cracked wide enough to suck her out into space?

  A hand slapped her face, jerking her eyes open wide. Devine was there, his lips pursed again and his usually pallid face red with effort. His flailing hand dug into the fabric of her collar and propelled her roughly forward.

  Devine had saved her!

  Then, Murray had her, one hand pounding her back hard before his fingers grabbed a fistful of her jumpsuit.

  Through tearing eyes she saw Raj holding onto Murray's other arm, reeling Murray and her inside the doors. She slammed against them and felt the vibration of their closing that she still couldn't hear.

  Then they were through and spinning free of the closing jaws of the airlock.

  "Wait!" she screamed, or tried to.

  She looked back and saw Devine tumble out of sight through the other side of the airlock, just before the inner door slammed shut.

  She automatically plugged her nose, blowing hard to save her eardrums and return her hearing. The pain in her head instantly doubled, but she could clearly make out words, not just terror, from the screams around her.

  Shit shit shit holy shit, Devine's gone!

  She looked around, searching for familiar faces. Who else had they lost?

  Cold panic gripped her.

  Doc.

  Where was Doc??

  Then she saw the greying, buzzed-down afro, dark chocolate skin and serious eyes of Doctor Forrest Sanders. He was floating from body to body, checking on his flock. He held a man's head and was turning it, checking for damage when he caught Dina's eye. He smiled wide, relief changing his face.

  Dina knew dazed relief filled her face, too. She nodded back, and turned to check on her boys.

  They were safe, Dina thought. The ones who'd made it, she qualified, feeling a shocky tremble spread through her arms and legs.

  Then realized just how wrong she was.

  The cellar was a safe haven from radiation, not whatever was shattering 6's skin and stealing their air.

  How much longer before the impacts broke through the cellar's extra shielding, and everybody in here was dead, too?

  8

  Impacts hammered against the skin of HHL-6, and shrill whistles signalled the growing danger.

  Head throbbing, thoughts overloaded with the pain in her arm and throbbing ache in both ears, Lou reached out with her right arm - her dominant one, thankfully - for the closest hand grip. Straining with her fingertips, she just reached it.

  A gasp of pain escaped her as she pulled herself and Ed close to the wall. Wedging one ankle into the handle bar closest to her, she quickly tossed Ed's body towards the C&C, already screaming out for Taggart to intercept.

  That gave her seconds to breath, get her head together and think.

  The pain in her ears meant tank one had suffered a calamitous pressure drop. Her eyes roamed for an active monitor as she pulled herself toward CnC. Automated messages scrolled across the screen.

  Multiple impacts.

  Collision warning.

  They words chilled her even faster than the vacuum stealing air from holes too small for her to see.

  Yet.

  6 had flown through a cloud of micrometeorites! It was the only thing that could account for multiple impacts.

  Micrometeorites were small and deadly. Any grouping small enough to escape being recorded and charted could still be big enough to vaporize a ship if it hit you in the right place--or leave it coasting with a dead crew and no atmosphere.

  Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Lights strobed as the world roared, though miles of cotton wrapped around her.

  Lou Montagne careened, off balance, towards the airlock at the far end of the hundred meter long tank. Pain stabbed deep in her ears as the pressure in the tank continued to drop and high pitched klaxons shrieked.

  A micrometeorite storm had hit the ship, moments before a radiation storm did the same.

  How were they not dead already?

  Lou didn't know or care if the world had gone silent because of leaking atmosphere or because of her personal response to panic and terror: laser sharp focus.

  She tracked everyone in the tank.

  Beacham's assistant Stan had already reached the C&C, but was now racing quickly back towards Taggart and Beacham who tumbled after his boss. Beacham had panicked and and writhed free, and now drifted slo
wly away from any holds on the wall.

  Points for bravery to the kid, Lou thought, and continued her evaluation.

  Nav officer Rose Okoro was in the airlock ahead, waving and screaming. The woman was scared, but she'd strapped herself to the bulkhead inside the airlock and had the emergency kit open. Her eyes were wide, but she kept herself together and struggled to make sense of the situation.

  Until her eyes landed on Commander Dwyer's body floating toward her. Lou saw her freeze then, eyes turning glassy with tears.

  Lou screamed at her, hoping to jerk her back into action. "Rose, man the hatch! Rose!"

  Lou knew HHL-6 could keep its crew alive even if sixty-plus percent of the tanks she was comprised of lost their atmosphere, but it would die for sure if it lost its head: the human beings manning C&C.

  Rose was still frozen, still staring at the floating body of her former Commander.

  Lou sucked in a lungful and bellowed. "Don't you fucking get us killed, Rose!"

  That did it. Something got through. Rose turned to the airlock control panel, punching in commands. The two halves of the airlock door slammed halfway closed, and Rose stood ready to seal it shut.

  Stan, Beacham and Taggart sailed into the metal of the half-closed airlock. Both Stan and the security guard held on, and worked together to stuff a still-tumbling Beacham through.

  Lou was almost to the airlock when she saw Third Officer Villanueva float out the half-closed door, reaching for the Commander. Ed's body had already bounced off the alloy surface, leaving a splatter and spraying rippling blobs of blood as he spun.

  The whole time, the third officer roared commands. Lou heard little of it: the words were buried beneath what sounded like a jet engine's wash. He caught sight of the Security Chief. "Montagne!"

  The airlock engine's whine was getting louder but Lou felt more than heard the sirens. She reached her hands over her head and Villanueva tugged on the line securing him, pulling him back to the airlock. With an elegance Lou wouldn't have guessed the stocky Officer possessed, he bent his knees on the surface of the airlock and launched himself again, this time towards her.