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  Chapter Eleven

  Sylvan

  “So, what did she actually say when you talked to her?” Luca appears in the door of my cabin, still in his working overalls. He enters without waiting to be invited and flings himself into my most comfortable chair.

  I glare at him but to no avail. I seat myself on my bed. “When I talked to her about what?”

  “About what plans she might have for her future. Later, after… all of this.”

  “All of this?” I set aside the astral charts I had been perusing. “All of what?”

  “Don’t be any more dim than you need to be. That talk you had, you know, when you convinced her we were about to sling her off the Zephyrean so she went and snuggled up to Eric.”

  “For fuck’s sake, that was a week ago.”

  “And? What did she say? Where does she fancy going?”

  “Nowhere. She seems to like it here, with us. I’d have thought that much was obvious.”

  “I can understand that. We’re nice guys. Even so…”

  “I know, I know.” Rabbit allergies, chilli and ginger aside, this is an important issue and we do need to address it. “I reckon it’s just too big for her to think about, too much out there that’s unknown, scary. She may be a brilliant technician, but that’s all she knows. Apart from the crew of the Renascient, she’s never met anyone else apart from us. Everything she knows, all that she’s ever experienced, has been through databanks and archives. She’s spent her entire life poking about among long-dead remains and searching for something she’ll never find. It’s going to take time, but eventually I daresay she’ll discover whatever it is that she needs. Until then, she’s with us.”

  Luca shrugs. “I’m not complaining. She’s easy on the eye and warm in bed, and she seems to particularly enjoy our games. She can stay as long as she likes.”

  “That’s what I told her. Not the bit about bed and games, but the rest.” I pause, then, “I almost forgot… she asked me to send out a diagnostic pulse to try to detect Fyorlian signatures out there. She hasn’t given up.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she has. What do you think?”

  I shake my head. “I think it’s futile, but I did it for her anyway. She can come to terms with the loss of her entire species in her own time.”

  “It’s impossible to even imagine how that would feel. I mean… shit.”

  I don’t answer, there’s no need to. ‘Shit’ sums it up just fine. Instead I pick up my comms-tab and hand the small device to Luca. “The scan results for that debris field on the Zaxaran moon. There’s a lot of junk there. Do we have space in the cargo bay for a large consignment?”

  “We can make space, and if necessary we can use the storage capacity on the Renascient as well.”

  “How are the repairs to her ship going?”

  “Slow, we’ll be towing that crate for a while longer yet, but I’ll get there. When are we due to arrive in the Zaxar Quadrant?”

  “Three par-cycles.”

  He nods and peels off his overalls. He wears nothing beneath.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I start.

  “Can I use your ablution chamber?” He heads for my bathroom, then turns to grin at me. “Is Llianna anywhere about?”

  “Sleeping, I think.”

  “Maybe we should wake her, when I’m cleaned up. I’d like to check how she’s doing with her latest plug.”

  “I checked earlier. She’s able to tolerate the next to the largest size now and she loves to be fucked in the arse with it so I think she’s almost ready to take a cock.”

  “Good to know, my friend. Good to know.”

  * * *

  “The debris field spreads over nearly a fifth of the moon’s surface. Must have been one hell of an impact.” I examine the scan results on the screen with care, Luca peering over my shoulder. “I suggest we start with the crater at the centre of the clean-up site and work out from there.”

  “Fair enough,” agrees Luca. “What’s the atmosphere like down on the surface?”

  “Lethal. We’ll need to use life support suits throughout the entire operation, and there’s too much static disruption from the magnetic poles to be able to transport safely. We’ll be doing this the old-fashioned way.”

  “I’ll prep a shuttle then. And do pre-mission checks on the suits.”

  “Make sure there’s lifting equipment on board as well. The gravity down there is seven times that on Earth so those lumps of scrap will be fucking heavy.”

  “Right, I’m on it.” He turns to Llianna, who has listened to our exchange in silence. “Do you feel like helping me?”

  She jumps to her feet. “Of course. What do you need me to do?”

  “You know the pre-flight protocols and diagnostics for the shuttle. Could you run those please while I deal with the life support systems in the suits?”

  “Will you need me to come down onto the moon with you?” she asks, her expression eager.

  Luca shakes his head. “Too dangerous for a first mission. In any case, we could do with you here, monitoring our systems. You’re to stay on board the Zephyrean.”

  “But—”

  “Llianna, do you need a session with a paddle to remind you who gives the orders here?” I interrupt her pleading. Luca’s right, she needs to practice using the ventilation suits in less hazardous locations and for something less strenuous than lugging several tonnes of wreckage across hostile terrain. I gentle my tone at her crestfallen expression. “Soon, honey. Just not this time, okay?”

  “Okay,” she concedes. “I’ll get on with those pre-flight checks then.”

  We watch her leave, heading for the shuttle launch deck. Luca’s gaze is assessing.

  “You know, she’s good. A brilliant engineer and her grasp of digital data systems is fucking awesome. She’ll be a real asset around here, with a bit more training and experience.”

  I nod. “If she stays.”

  “Aye,” he agrees. “If she stays.”

  * * *

  The work down on Zaxar three seven one eleven is even more exhausting than we imagined, but after three trips and seventeen par-cycles of back-breaking work we’re ready to haul the final bits of wreckage across the hostile terrain of the moon’s surface and into the hold of the shuttle. We left the largest pieces until now, preferring to shift the more portable fragments first and get them safely stowed. Apart from anything else, this method enables us to properly gauge the atmospheric and gravitational conditions before taking on the more challenging aspects of the task. Still, we can’t put it off any longer.

  Luca’s lifting equipment is good, we’d never have managed to move even the smaller pieces without it, but we still needed to rely on brute strength to steer the huge lumps of twisted metal into position, then drag the stuff around to fix the crane in place. The suits added their own dimension of difficulty to a job already quite challenging enough, but at last we’re almost done.

  Luca paces around the remaining parts of the wreckage, selecting the optimum points to affix the lifting equipment. He drills the holes ready to attach the hardened terenium chains while I maneuver the crane into position. He raises his arm to signal that all is ready and I slowly lower the jib over the first piece.

  It takes both of us to wrestle the chains into place, but once that is done I clamber back into the control cab on the crane and await Luca’s command to activate the hoist.

  Nothing.

  I tap my earpiece to make sure it’s working. Still nothing.

  “Hey, are you asleep down there?” I switch on the external camera and do a quick sweep of the area. The wreckage remains just as it was when I left to return to the crane, terenium chains swinging in the strong gales that buffet this grim moon. I see no sign of Luca.

  “Hey, buddy. Speak to me.” I frown at the screens before me, half-expecting him to amble from behind the lump of distressed metal and wave up at the video system.

  But he doesn’t, and now I’m properly worried. I relax th
e tension on the hoist and scramble back out onto the external ladder and back down to the surface.

  He can’t be far away, and sure enough, I find him within moments. He is slumped face-down across the base of the wreck, a massive dent in the side of his helmet. I kneel beside him and do a quick digital scan for life signs, then heave a sigh of relief.

  He is alive, but unconscious. Miraculously, whatever hit him on the head—probably one of these fucking terenium chains, which still swing madly in the gusting wind—didn’t penetrate the protective seal and that’s the only reason my partner isn’t already dead. The realisation hits me like a punch in the gut. I can’t lose him, he’s my companion out here, my business partner, my closest friend. Without Luca…

  It doesn’t bear thinking about. Still, if I don’t get him back to the Zephyrean fast, that might still be the way this ends. I abandon any thoughts of recovering these last pieces of the wreckage and I crouch to grasp him under the arms.

  I manhandle Luca back into the shuttle then leap in after him and seal the hatch behind me. Even on board the shuttle I don’t dare to remove his suit or mine so I can’t do a proper diagnostic check to assess his injuries, let alone take any remedial action. I need to get him back onto our ship and once there I can do whatever’s needed.

  I hope.

  “Okay, buddy, I’ll start her up and we’ll get the fuck get out of here.” I check the remaining gas in my suit. I have just enough for the return journey with a ten percent margin for safety. Luca’s is the same. The shuttle itself has on-board life support systems too, but those are a failsafe in case the suits malfunction.

  I key in the launch command codes and I fasten first my own harness and then Luca’s, ready for the anti-grav force that in the next few moments will slam both of us back against our seats.

  Nothing happens. I glance across at my companion as though I might find inspiration there. Luca is still unconscious.

  I punch in a series of new codes to initiate the backup ignition procedure. The shuttle’s main engine continues to idle, but there is no whine of the launch propulsion engines as the ship gets ready to lift off.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

  This is Luca’s territory and if he was even vaguely conscious he could activate his interface with the software to diagnose the problem and tell me how to fix it. But he’s out cold, and I’m on my own.

  We’re stranded here, and our life support is near zero.

  I open a communications channel to the Zephyrean. “CAID, I need you to initiate an emergency launch override.”

  “Repeat instruction, sir.”

  “An emergency launch override. Now.”

  “Please explain the nature of the malfunction.”

  “The shuttle won’t fucking go. Initiate the override and do it now.”

  “Commencing calculations.” CAID’s calm monotone irritates me even more than usual. I’m not panicking—yet—but the tin-man could sound at least mildly concerned. Fuck, we’re both going to die down here if I don’t get this shuttle moving in the next few minutes.

  “Use existing codes,” I snap. “There’s no time to calculate new ones.”

  “Affirmative, sir. Transmitting codes now.”

  I wait, not speaking, my eyes fixed on the flow of data flashing across the control module screen.

  Launch protocol failed.

  Three little words, innocuous enough, but they seal our fate.

  “Fuck,” I murmur, then, “CAID, the code failed. How long before you can transmit a new sequence?”

  “Calculations are at thirteen percent complete.”

  “So what does that mean, another eight or nine minutes…?” I look over at Luca as though he might offer confirmation.

  “Affirmative, sir.” CAID remains totally unmoved by our plight. “Might I suggest that Commander Luca implement the intervention since that might be the quicker solution and I should alert you that time is critical.”

  “Luca is indisposed,” I mutter. “Just fucking hurry it up, will you.”

  “Please elaborate,” intones the robot.

  “He’s unconscious, and we don’t have eight or nine fucking minutes. At best we have three minutes before our suits fail and the shuttle systems need to take over life support.”

  I’m doing rapid calculations in my head and coming up with a whole heap of dire. The trip back to the Zephyrean is going to take at least a par-cycle with so much weight on board and the emergency life support cache only holds enough to sustain us for half that time. In short, we won’t make it.

  I consider offloading some of the cargo to jettison some weight but that will exhaust our life support sooner because of my additional exertion. In impotent, furious exasperation I look to the communications panel. “CAID, you need to speed it up.”

  “Working at optimum efficiency, sir.”

  “Speed. It. Up,” I snarl. Already I’m starting to crawl back to the cargo hold. I’m not ready to give up without a fight. It’s a long shot, I know it, but if I can dump some of the excess cargo there’s just a chance I might eke enough out of the systems to buy us the few extra minutes we need.

  Right now it’s the only chance we have.

  Chapter Twelve

  Llianna

  “CAID, what is happening?”

  I listened to the exchange between the shuttle and the computer control system in mounting horror and now I stare at the empty screen.

  “Calculating new launch override codes, as requested.” The calm tone belies the seriousness of the situation. I heard the alarm in Sylvan’s voice, I know the situation is dire.

  “Why? Why do they need new codes?”

  “The shuttle craft’s on-board launch systems have failed, cause of the malfunction is unknown…”

  “Never mind about the cause. Why doesn’t Luca just fix it?”

  “I understand that Commander Luca has sustained an injury and is unable to assist Commander Sylvan at this time.”

  I heard Sylvan say that, but refused to accept the implications. Now they stare me in the face. “What? What injury? What has happened?”

  “I do not have that information.”

  I resist the urge to scream. “What will happen now?”

  “I will calculate and transmit emergency codes to override the shuttle’s on-board system and initiate the launch remotely.”

  “Why do you not do so at once? The life support systems will soon be exhausted.” I assisted Luca with the checks, I understand perfectly well the parameters of the equipment, and the safety margins. They have no more than a few minutes before their supplies run out.

  “Calculations are seventeen per cent complete.”

  “What is your estimated time for completing the calculations?” I demand, my heart sinking.

  “Seven point three seven minutes.”

  “They will be dead by then.”

  “Working at optimum efficiency. To proceed more quickly would increase the likelihood of errors.”

  “You have to do it more quickly. They do not have seven point three seven minutes.”

  “Seven point two one. Seven point two. Seven point—”

  “I have a code for you. Transmit this.” I reel off a rapid sequence of numerals and symbols. “That should work.”

  “The code supplied is an approximation and the margin for error is outside acceptable parameters. Unable to comply.”

  “What? You have to do it. Transmit that code at once. That is a direct command.”

  “Unable to comply. You do not have command status. The margin—”

  “CAID, do as I say. Now.” I would rarely raise my voice, let alone to an inanimate object, but I am starting to appreciate Sylvan’s irritation with this pedantic device.

  “In order for that code to function, the receptor channels on the shuttle would need to be reassigned. The procedure would require…”

  “I know what it requires. Does Sylvan?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Right, I
need you to transport me over to the shuttle.”

  “I must caution against use of the transport system in these conditions. Static interference—”

  “I know that. Give me ninety par-secs to get into a vent suit, then transport me direct to the control module on the shuttle.”

  CAID’s response is lost on me as I sprint for the door.

  It takes me just over a minute to clamber into a suit and seal myself in. Normally another crew member would do final checks but that’s not a luxury I have today. I move onto the transporter mat and signal CAID to activate the transfer. Humans would perhaps pray in these circumstances, or at least some of them would. Fyorlians rely on no such divine intervention, but all the same I whisper a few words to any deity that might be within earshot.

  I loathe the molecular transport system. The dematerialisation process is a vile sensation at the best of times and always leaves me feeling nauseous but is even worse on this occasion. The deconstructed phase seems to continue interminably. I know the static interference around the Zaxarian moon will slow the process, and there is no absolute guarantee that CAID will be able to reassemble my cellular structure at the other end. I am suspended in a strange state of semi-consciousness, aware yet unable to effect any influence on events until my physical state is restored.

  The atmosphere around me thickens, seems to press in on me. I wait, still helpless, suspended, not quite solid, lacking substance yet not gaseous either. I am both present and distant simultaneously, until suddenly it feels as though I am sucked into one tiny space. I crumple to the floor beneath me, and realise that it is solid. As am I.

  I look up and around to find I am in the control module of the shuttle. Luca is here, strapped securely into his seat. I peer through the facemask of his helmet. His eyes are closed but I see that he is breathing. My desperation is mounting as I grasp his shoulder to shake him but there is no response.

  I can hear scraping and banging coming from the cargo deck at the rear of the craft. Sylvan must be unloading the cargo, perhaps in the hope he can reduce the weight sufficiently to enable the shuttle to make the trip back to the Zephyrean. I need him to cease that and seal the cargo hold ready for launch.