Bones Burnt Black: Serial Killer in Space (9 page)

“What?” Nikita said with as much anger as surprise.

Gideon began, “But who would—”

“Please hold your questions until the end,” the ship
said. It then spoke faster, perhaps to give its listeners less opportunity to
interrupt. “The chief flight engineer Kimberly Kirkland is missing and presumed
dead. She was thrown from the main engines by centrifugal force shortly after
an explosion. The captain is lying unconscious on the ceiling of the bridge
having fallen from his command chair. Valentina Cortez was murdered by cyanide
poisoning, possibly by the same person who sabotaged the engines. The sabotage
of the engines has caused them to leak hydrogen fuel out into the vacuum.
Already, Corvus has lost so much fuel it will be impossible for us to
decelerate and dock at Von Braun. What’s more, since the leak is spraying out
sideways, it is the source of the ship’s tumbling which you have all, no doubt,
noticed. The tumbling rate will continue to increase until all the fuel is
gone; consequently the centrifugal effect produced by the tumbling will also
continue to increase. This centrifugal effect is causing the top and bottom
ends of the ship to experience extremely high g-forces, making them dangerously
unsafe for human habitation. These g-forces will limit your mobility to the
more central of the ship’s decks. The farther you travel from the center of the
ship in either direction the higher will be the g-forces that you encounter.
Because of this you will already find it impossible to function in most of the
engineering decks, most of the passenger decks, or any of the medical
facilities. And you certainly can’t get anywhere near the engines or the
bridge.”

The ship paused, but not long enough for an
interruption. “Before the captain lost consciousness he sent a message to the
SpaceGuard station at Von Braun. They have not yet responded. When they do I do
not expect them to provide you with any way to stop the tumbling using only the
resources currently aboard this ship. Instead, they will almost surely instruct
you to make yourselves as safe and comfortable as possible and wait for
rescue.”

Tina jumped up from her seat. “That could take weeks!”

“Days, weeks, months,” the ship said. “It is impossible
to predict without a detailed listing of the current location and heading of
every ship in the solar system. I have such a listing but it is two days out of
date.”

Tina walked slowly toward Frank while staring at his
pocketsize: the source of the ship’s voice. She pleaded, “Couldn’t you just
give us an estimate?”

“Any estimate would be meaningless; its inaccuracy
compounded by my lack of knowledge of our exact heading. We completed only a
portion of our J-maneuver before the engines failed, and we’re tumbling so
rapidly that I can not triangulate our bearings based on the navigational
beacons orbiting Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. We’re tumbling so fast I can’t
even get a rough triangulation based on the visual location of the planets
against the starry background.”

Tina seemed to droop a bit. “I see,” she said softly.

“I do have a recommendation, however,” said the ship.
“Since the tumbling rate is—”

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute,” Gideon said. “I’m as
patient as the next man but you can’t just leave us hanging! Who is the
murderer? Who is the saboteur?”

“I do not know,” the ship said calmly.

“Well, you must have some clues; some evidence,” Gideon
insisted. “Who is the prime suspect?”

Mike interrupted, gently. “The only suspect so far,” he
said, “is me.” This statement produced a few gasps, the loudest of which came
from Gideon. “But I didn’t do it,” Mike added quickly.

“Mister McCormack is correct,” the ship said. “He did
not kill Valentina Cortez. Hallway cameras place him in the passenger’s lounge
arm-wrestling with the ship’s chief flight engineer at the time the woman was
poisoned.”

“Those can be faked,” Nikita said.

“True,” said the ship, “but I’ve detected no evidence
of tampering.”

“Then who did kill her?” Gideon asked.

“I do not know. And it may be unwise to discuss this
problem at length right now,” the ship said. “Time is running out if you are to
make use of my recommendation.”

“What recommendation?” Mike asked.

“Since the tumbling rate—and therefore the g-force—is
continuing to increase, I think it advisable for you all to go forth now and
gather supplies from those places that will, with time, become harder and more
dangerous to travel and work in. I refer specifically to deck six.”

“The passenger supplies,” Frank said.

“Yes,” the ship said. “If you must spend even a few
days in this cargo deck you will need food and water—if nothing else.”

“Makes sense,” Frank said, “but I think we should split
up. You and you and you and you.” He pointed at Mike, Gideon, Nikita and Tina.
“You four go to deck six and get food, water, and whatever else might make our
stay here more comfortable. You and you.” He pointed at Zahid and Akio. “Come
with me. We’ll go to the hangars on deck seven and get emergency gear: vacuum
suits, extra oxygen tanks, stuff like that. If we end up having to wait for a
rescue ship I want to make sure we can go out into the vacuum when they get
here.”

Most of the group voiced their agreement with Frank’s
instructions. Mike didn’t say anything; he just held his tongue and nodded.

_____

Easing himself down the ladder inside one of the
vertical hallways, Mike could feel his weight increasing as he descended. Each
rung pulled harder on his hands and pushed harder against the thin soles of his
shoes. Vertical hallways appeared hall-like only while a ship was in zero-g. At
present this one seemed more like a pleasantly decorated elevator shaft.

It did not occur to Mike to wish that the ship actually
possessed elevators. He was too busy being glad he wasn’t in the group with
Zahid.
I never trusted that guy. Not for one minute. The man’s nervousness
and his point-blank statement that Val was murdered; it all adds up to only one
thing: Zahid has got to be the murderer. He’s got to!

As Mike climbed down past a door with
Deck 8
written upside-down on the wall next to it he heard the sound of Nikita’s shoes
stepping onto a rung just above his head. “How are you doing?” he asked without
looking up. “Do you need to stop and rest?”

“I’m OK. Keep going.”

“What about Tina and Gideon?” Mike expected to hear her
yell up to them and ask but she didn’t.

“They look OK to me,” was all she said.

Mike decided not to press the matter. If Gideon or Tina
needed to rest they would say so. Nikita, in Mike’s opinion, was the only one
who might be slow to admit weakness.

Mike looked down past his feet. If he were to slip now
he’d fall all the way to deck one near the bridge and die on impact. He found
this a singularly distasteful thought and resolved to avoid thinking about it
by concentrating on the careful placement of his hands and feet.

At deck six, he stopped and pushed against the door. It
did not move. Shoving moved it a little; shoving harder moved it more; and
shoving as though angry at the stupid thing moved it almost a foot. He squeezed
his head and chest through and discovered why the door had resisted.

The supply room was a mess. Everything that had been
secured in the racks, shelves and bins had fallen to the ceiling. The
day-to-day consumables of modern life were now piled into rolling hills that
covered most of the ceiling and blocked the door like a series of lumpy
multi-colored snow drifts. Portions of the room were dark or poorly lit because
the piles obscured their light fixtures.

Mike squeezed the rest of his body through the door and
found himself standing on a mound of miscellaneous toiletries.

Nikita poked her head into the room.

“Watch your step,” Mike said. “It’s almost two gees in
here. This is no place to stumble.”

“I intend to be careful,” she said as she stepped onto
the toiletries next to him.

Tina came through the door followed by Gideon who was
breathing quick deep breaths from the exertion of the climb.

“Be careful, everyone,” Gideon said, with his short
breaths. “If you twist your ankle in these gees you might end up with a broken
leg. Or a broken skull if you fall all the way to the floor—I mean, the
ceiling.”

Mike spotted a stack of unused black plastic garbage
bags near a pile of small fire extinguishers. He opened one by shaking it,
filling it with air. For extra strength he pushed another inside the first to
form a double-walled bag. But this didn’t seem strong enough, so he shook open
a third and put it inside too, forming a triple-walled bag. After assembling
several of the triple-walled variety, he handed one to each of the group.

They then started wandering around, plucking up items
and stuffing them into their bags—mostly squeeze bladders of water and
microwaveable plastic food envelopes, though Mike noticed Tina was loading up
on toilet paper.

As he worked to fill his garbage bag it occurred to him
that the group looked like it was engaged in some kind of crazy Easter egg
hunt.

Then everything turned a dull shade of purple. Scared
he might collapse and seriously injure himself, he hurried to sit down on a
pile of multi-vitamin bottles. He felt normal again within ten seconds and
resumed scavenging, but did so while crawling on all fours. “If you get dizzy
from the gees,” he said to anyone who might be listening, “try crawling. In
fact, before we climb back up the ladder, I think we should all lie down for a
minute or two and let the blood flow back into our brains.” He noticed Tina
dragging a small microwave oven across the ceiling. “Tina, I don’t think we
should take that.”

“Why not? It doesn’t weigh much.”

“But if we take it, we’ll have to leave other things
behind. Things like food and water.”

She straightened and stood to her full height. “Do you
expect me to eat my food
cold
?”

“Of course. Haven’t you ever eaten anything cold
before?”

“No. Never.”

“Then this will be a wonderful new experience for you,”
he said without a smile.

“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Mike
Whatever-your-name-is. I already plan to demand my money back for this flight.
Don’t make me lodge a formal complaint against you with your company. It’s not
like you don’t deserve—” Tina stared past Mike’s shoulder.

Mike turned and saw Zahid and Akio cautiously stepping
over boxes of catsup and mustard, one of which had split open and spilled its
red and yellow plastic squeeze bottles into a pile that covered half of a light
fixture. “What are you two doing here?” he asked.

Akio answered: “Mister Walters told us to help you
gather food and water.”

“You left him alone?”

“He told us to. He is in command of the ship, you know.
We have to do what he says. So long as it’s within reason.”

“With an unknown murderer loose,” Mike said, “asking to
be alone may not be within reason.”

Akio opened his mouth to respond but did not get the
chance.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the silky feminine voice
from Mike’s shirt pocket, “but the ship wants to talk to you again.”

“What’s it want?” he asked without removing the
computer from his pocket.

“I don’t think it knows what it wants. It sounds
confused to me.”

Mike rubbed his forehead. “Put it through.”

The voice from his pocket changed. “Michael McCormack,
this is the ship speaking.”

“Yeah, this is Mike. What’s up?”

“I am not sure. Mister Walters has begun loading
supplies into pod number one. When I asked him why he was doing this he became
evasive.”

“Could his conscience be bothering him? Could he be
going after Kim?”

“I do not know.”

Carefully lowering his considerable weight, Mike sat
himself upon a pile of individually wrapped bath towels. The blood had been accumulating
in his hands and feet as he crawled, causing them to swell and turn an ugly
shade of maroon. By sitting, much of the excess blood flowed out of his limbs
and back into his torso. He glanced at Tina’s ankles, they were unusually pink
but far from maroon. “Let me talk to him.”

“As you wish.” A few seconds later: “He does not
respond.”

Mike thought for a moment, then said, “What exactly is
he loading into the pod?”

“Food, water, four extra oxygen tanks and two extra
hydrogen tanks—presumably for the pod’s fuel cells.”

“Sounds like he’s going on a long trip. Is the hangar’s
outer door open?”

“Yes.”

“Can you close it?”

“No. He used the manual override. At this point it can
only be closed manually.”

Mike frowned. “This doesn’t make sense. If Frank wouldn’t
go out after Kim when she might still have been alive, he sure wouldn’t go
after her now.”

“His behavior may be the result of the message.”

“What message?”

“The message from Von Braun.”

“What did they say?”

“I can’t tell you. As soon as he’d finished listening
to it, Mister Walters ordered me not to reveal its contents to anyone for one
full hour.”

“An hour? And he didn’t say why?”

“That is correct.”

Mike finally pulled his pocketsize out of his pocket
and opened it. “Give me a visual of Frank.”

An image appeared on the surface of the pocketsize. It
showed the inside of one of the ship’s hangars—a large rectangular garage-like
room with silvery-gray stainless steel walls. One of the walls was open to
space and showed nothing but black sky and white stars. The stars were all
sliding downward constantly, and at a dizzying pace.

In the center of the room sat a white object:
approximately spherical, with windows. It was a pod—a two-person maintenance
craft; highly maneuverable, but with limited range. The pod bore a vague
resemblance to a vacuum suit helmet, except that it was more spherical, the
glass of its faceplate was too small (it would have hid the wearer’s mouth from
view and cut off most of the peripheral vision) and, of course, it was far
larger than a vacuum suit helmet—almost ten feet across.