Cris Jolliff

Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11

Between the frantic calculations being performed by Pavel and I in the cramped control room, and the steady stream of expletives that fountained from Commander Zagovich, he, the captain, and Juliette managed somehow to clear away Dr. Noell’s body. Pavel and I had come to similar conclusions. We had approximately three weeks of power before we would need to start shutting down modules, and about two weeks after that until life support systems would fail to sustain life. The entire station was now on zero gravity, or free-fall, so even the kitchen had to be shut down and reorganized. We had no capacity for recreating the micro-black hole that was our power supply.

Thankfully, Zagovich’s gun had been loaded with frangible bullets; tiny ceramic beads suspended in a plastic bullet that, when fired, superheated. The plastic would release the ceramic pellets with nearly zero resistance when the bullet struck something. The pellets wouldn’t penetrate anything tougher than thick leather. Skin and thin jumpsuits wouldn’t stop them much, and as they entered the body, they did spectacular amounts of damage. Good news for Dr. Noell, as he wouldn’t have suffered much; the single shot had probably ground his heart to hamburger. The bad news for us was that shot had come a few moments too late to keep us from suffering a five-week long death. At least I could relax my concerns over Zagovich’s sanity; he wasn’t trying to kill the rest of us along with Dr. Noell, when he had used that gun. It was virtually incapable of piercing the hull, loaded as it was.

As it turned out, Dr. Noell had done us one small favor though. In his inexpert attempt to turn the station towards earth and run it down into the atmosphere to keep us from interfering with his “escape” attempt, his rotation had actually thrown us into an even higher than normal orbit. We were clear of the debris of lower-flying satellites and space junk, but we were still in a bloody mess, and our clean orbit had become a mad tumble through high orbit.

Captain Jackson, Commander Zagovich, and Juliette had all changed clothes after the cleanup. It was tough, seeing them haul Dr. Noell’s limp form from the control room, but it was harder still, to concentrate on assessing our situation while knowing our probable fate. Morale, which had been low but stable, had gone directly to pot. Once the cleanup had been done, and our calculations had been shared, we began to stew over ideas for “rescue.” There weren’t many. We sat in the small conference/dining room and tried to talk without emotion. For the most part it was successful. For my own part, perhaps less so.

“Life Sciences? Captain Jackson asked Juliette, for her part looking drawn and ashen. Her usual calm demeanor had taken on a slightly haunted aspect. It seemed to lurk just beneath the surface, refusing to let us see it fully, but refusing to be hidden completely.

“I’ve finished…euthanizing…the test animals, so our air supply should be extended by another six percent. The station’s solar panels are going to provide scrubbing and conditioning of the air long after we’re—well, the real problem.” Juliette did not look up as she spoke, refusing to look any of us in the eyes as she spoke.

“We don’t have enough food.” She shuddered visibly. I was torn by the sight of it. “The hydroponics system depended on a LOT of power from the core, and without it, it’s just going to draw too much power from the solar arrays. We keep food, and we can’t scrub the air, we scrub the air and we starve. Pick one.” She clipped her last words as though they were an accusation. Against whom, I wondered? It was the most she had said since the incident with Dr. Noell, and I think she surprised herself by being so verbose and not breaking down. She too carried the pallor of one beset by grief. I imagined that I probably did, as well. I certainly felt no better than they looked.

“There is no need for melodramatics, doctor,” Zagovich spat back. “We will find a way out of this predicament. Stay focused on one problem at a time. We can all fall apart after we’ve dealt with our situation.”

“Do you really believe this is just a problem to be solved like docking a ship, man? Bloody Hell!” I was incredulous, and couldn’t help but voice my concern. I was a bit surprised by my outburst. I hadn’t realized how close to unraveling that I was, or how much seeing Juliette stricken with grief was affecting me, or how much I doubted these precautions would offer any real survivability. Pavel too was skeptical of the Commander’s assessment, no matter how optimistic he ordinarily was.

“We need other solutions, Comrade Captain, No?” Pavel’s oddly phrased question seemed loaded to everyone but Zagovich. He sat as he had often done, of late. At the edge of the table, with one arm on the small table, and the other reached out, slowly rotating the two-way radio’s receiver frequency with a pair of buttons as static blared from the headphones resting around his neck. He had been doing this every day since the last transmissions from control. He sometimes sat there for hours on end, just turning the dial, always receiving only white noise. I suppose it was his way of coping with a seemingly hopeless situation. Despite this apparent inattention, it was Zagovich who replied to Pavel, not the captain.

“Yes of course, Mr. Engineer. Is there something you wish to say?” he interjected with his rolling Czech accent. He continued to cycle frequencies, even as he looked at Pavel for a reply.

Pavel grimaced at the ridiculous moniker, but replied anyway, “Well, I was thinking about this, while we do the calculations. We have much fuel aboard for our small reentry vehicle. Enough to send four such vehicles down, tovarich.”

“How the hell does that help us, Pavel?” broke in Juliette. Her reserve of self-control was beginning to splinter; her voice likewise cracking as she rebutted him.

“Indeed, Mr. Kosov.” The captain was beginning to pull herself back together yet again. “How do you propose to fit the five of us into a three-person reentry vehicle? Perhaps we could gut some of the control systems and fit a fourth, but five is going to be impossible. What then?” Brainstorming was benefiting her greatly.

“What if I get you one more vehicle, eh? That would be feat fit for cosmonaut of old, no?” Pavel grinned now, apparently pleased that he had found a hole card.

“What are you going to do, call up control and ask for one?” she said as she extended an arm to point at Zagovich. “Don’t you realize we haven’t heard from anyone earth-side in nearly two weeks? If you’ve got an idea, then out with it, dammit! Don’t toy with us now Pavel. I’m not in the mood,” the captain said. I was startled by the way she verbally pummeled him.

Ever gregarious, Pavel spoke slowly, pronouncing each word clearly through his thick Russian accent, “There is another reentry vehicle already in space.”

“I don’t mean to mince words with you, old man,” I said, without much conviction. I knew he had a trump, but didn’t know yet what. “…but that sounds like a lot of ballocks. Virgin is the only company that’s been flying space for the last fifteen years.” Even the Chinese, who hung in there so much longer than the rest, are—no, were—no longer actively developing their own manned programs. Now we were the last astronauts. Sad thought, but one dwarfed by the events going on below us on earth.

“Even if there were enough seats for everyone…” Zagovich began.

“…we wouldn’t have anyplace to go,” finished Juliette.

We all visibly slumped into our chairs. Having the cold reality of our situation thrown in our faces didn’t exactly inspire joy. We had a schedule of events that culminated in a rather firm—and final—date with destiny. Despite my upbringing in the stodgy confines of an East Sussex home, I felt as though I should like to cry. I was about to let go, when—

“Sustarre station, this is Carter Observatory, in Wellington New Zealand. Is theah anyone still up theah?” The tinny voice, with its odd inflection, sounded like a bullhorn in the absence of the steady thrum of the power core. Following the query, the command center was filled once again with the sound of static.

Thunderstruck. That is how I felt. You could have slammed my thumbs with a Birmingham screwdriver, and wouldn’t have got a more shocked expression from me. We all were frozen, our faces had transformed from morose despair to anticipatory shock, and none of us, it seemed, could get any farther than gaping at each other. Zagovich was the first to finally react. His simple motion of removing the headphones was like an electrical jolt to the seat of my pants. I rose too quickly, forgetting that in the zero gee I had seat-belted myself in. The others had no such problem, and as quickly followed the Commander into the control center.

There was no transmission capability in the conference room, I recalled, as I unbuckled myself and launched myself like a spring into the control center. The others were already donning their headgear, and the Commander was adjusting the comms to the frequency he had happened across.

“—ation, can you all heah me or not? I know you saw lights, Hemi, but they’re not resp—”

“Carter Observatory, this is the Cosmos International Space Research Station. We copy your transmission, over.”

“Bloody hell. How about that, eh Hemi? They’re alright after all.” Apparently the voice on the ground was talking to someone named Hemi. I though it odd that a man would be nicknamed after a 20th century American motor, but then I though the Kiwis were odd as a whole, so it wasn’t much of a reach for all that.

“My name is Peter Hohepa.” Another strange name. Then it hit me, they’re probably Maori, natives of New Zealand. Hemi was a Maori version of Jim, or James. One of the places I had really enjoyed during my college days had been New Zealand. I had spent nearly a month traversing the small island nation, and had been forced to leave because of the approaching semester, wanting more.

“Nice to hear from you Mr. Hohepa,” the Captain was taking charge again, and I was glad to see it. She’d been sort of running us all on autopilot for a few days at that point, and I was sorry that it took such a tragic event to bring her back in touch with our situation, but as I said, I was glad it happened anyway. It’s not that I had anything against Commander Zagovich, though, mind you. The strain of trying to run things while the captain moped about must have been hard. His health was in a bad way. After the episode with Dr. Noell, even I was concerned for his health. We all were.

“Well chums, you must be about the only people alive that haven’t been exposed to this nasty little bug, eh?” The tinny voice of Peter Hohepa was sounding more and more scattered. I looked through a portal and realized why.

“Captain, we’re not going to have much more time to talk to them. New Zealand is on the far side of the horizon, and we’re about to go ’round.” I spoke aloud as I faced the window. The control space was small enough to carry my baritone, and my face in the window told half the story to everyone who looked over at me.

“Copy that.” She replied to me off-mike. Then to the microphone, she said, “Mr. Hohepa, we’d love to get a report on the virus from you, if you wouldn’t mind. How is it that you’re alive? I thought the fatality rate of the virus was 100%?” The Captain’s face was animated with anticipation.

“Yeah, it is,” an almost imperceptible pause before he continued, “but only upon exposure, and only if you aren’t vaccinated. We’ve got a good doctor or two heah. They managed to study it and find a cure. Killed two of them before they figured it out, though. Tough turn. Heh, the rest are all getting Maori tattoos—they think they’re warriors now. Funniest part is, the boys are actually going for it! Good laughs, that, eh Hemi?” A faint chuckle crackled through the steadily worsening radio transmission.

“Do you have enough of the vaccine to spare?” The captain, bless her pragmatic American heart, was getting right down to business. No warm-up for those Yanks, once they see opportunity.

“Sure, we got enough for a whole bloody country. I’m guessin’ you got what? Six? Maybe seven people? —jzot—you—gzzt —bottom—down heah! Exzz–Hemi?” And that was it. New Zealand slipped around the horizon like raindrops running up a windscreen in the wind, and was gone. Only static followed. But what news!

Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11