Trajectory Book 1 (New Providence) (20 page)

The city official continued. “Get dressed and come with us, please. You’ve been selected for work detail.”

Tamra spluttered and got off the couch. “You can’t just take him!”

The man who’d been speaking, ELLER, P. according to the badge on his blue city uniform, stepped in and motioned for her to sit down. “Miss… Wheeler?” He consulted his tablet. “We’ve sent Mr. Pohl here repeated messages to report in. We have draft paperwork here, which we’d like you to sign as a witness, if you could.” He turned his tablet around and presented it to her.

Greg turned. “It’s alright. It’ll be OK.”

She felt herself begin to tear up. “But, your degree… What about me?”

“I’m sure I’ll be back soon. It’s not like they’re going to send me into the mines or anything.” He laughed uneasily and looked back at the two men. “Just a second, I have to get my bag.”

They waited as Tamra watched him gather up his things into his backpack and sling it over a shoulder. He gave her one last peck on the cheek then turned to the two men with a sigh. “Ready.”

Eller, still holding the tablet out lifted it up and took a picture of Tamra looking miserable and filed that as proof of witness. “Have a nice day,” he said as they left the apartment, Greg in tow.
 

051

Lighthouse.

Mancuso opened his eyes. He’d been awake for hours. He turned his head and looked at the clock.

5:15.

He hoisted himself out of bed and glanced out the window. Little Deimos spinning above as he got dressed, twenty thousand kilometers above, a tiny speck against the star-speckled black. The pain in his arm and chest ached.

He looked at the untouched box on his desk, bow still hanging off the top. Antique gold and brown lettering from a time long past faded and worn. He had no time left.

He felt like he’d been here before and failed. Maybe the next Commander would be able to do a better job than he did, if they had the chance. It was likely that this was it for them. This thing hunting down their ships was probably just the first strike. There’d be others. They’d been given a hundred years to figure things out and come up empty.

Mancuso walked through the dark and quiet crew quarters to the mess hall. He picked a couple of rusks off a tray and poured himself a coffee into his mug. He nodded at the cook behind the counter getting the cafeteria ready for the breakfast crowd.

On the command deck, The station’s lights were midway through their slow shift from orange to blue as the day began.

The doors opened and The Commander walked in.

Sunil Pradeep turned to him as he entered. “We’ve lost contact with The Terror, sir.”

Mancuso went to his seat. The limn of Mars rolled past the windows and a flash of sunlight brightened the room for a couple of seconds.

Ortega was watching him.

He felt the room spinning, which it was, technically. The station’s hab ring rotating about the central hub once every thirty seconds giving them livable gravity. But that didn’t explain the commander’s vertigo.

“What time did we lose them?” He looked at the nav boards, MSS02H had become a dashed line on screen.

Pradeep checked his console, though he probably didn’t have to. “0413, sir.”

“Why wasn’t I notified?”

“We, uh, figured you could use some rest, David.” Nolan was still sitting casually over by Ortega’s station. Relaxed tension. He was a good leader, had command presence without being overbearing. The crew liked him.

Mancuso looked down at his hands, realized he was still holding the rusks and his coffee. He was aware of Ortega standing beside him watching intently.

“What is it, Nelson? Tell me you have some good news, please?” He paused. “Wait, have you been in here all night?”

Ortega cleared his throat. “Yes. I’ve just been going over our predictions. For the object.”

“And? Anything new?”

Ortega shook his head. Hesitated. “Calypso’s been drifting for almost six hours. They missed a burn one hundred and eighteen minutes ago.”

Jesus Christ. “I asked for good news.” They were getting close to their window. Fourteen more hours.

“Pradeep, see if you can raise them.” He looked around the room, felt a rising worry in his gut like an acid wash. “I’ll be in the boardroom.”

Mancuso left the deck and entered the small boardroom, setting his rusks and cooling coffee down on the table. His hands were trembling. He pulled out his tablet and looked over the messages. The boring, repetitive ritual calmed him. Five incident reports, two points of interest.

They had four ships in dock undergoing refits. One of them was due to be space-worthy in just over a week. MSS12 Happenstance. She was scheduled to meet up with AS20894 Krumeich in a month.

Captain Joseph Randall commanding.

He wrote a message to Captain Randall summoning him and his crew to the station. They’d be on standby for a possible emergency mission. He tagged it urgent and sent it out.

He dunked one of the rusks into his coffee and took a bite. Crumbs fell on his jacket but he didn’t pay much attention.

They still had one more bird in flight and she wasn’t listed on any of the nav boards. They were still out pretty far, but he should probably update them.

Subject: Unknown Object

Please be advised. An object of unknown origin is tracking our ships. It’s taken one of them down. Object is hostile. Please monitor station broadcasts for updates, but maintain silent running. Be careful.

He signed it and sent it up to Watchtower for secure laser transmission. They were just in range for Watchtower’s comm beam to reach them. Just inside Jupiter’s orbit, four astronomical units from the Sun.

They’d be towing their prize home if all was well. Gone for two years. Christ, two years in space. It was both terrifying and strangely appealing to him. He craved quiet.

Mancuso sipped his coffee and swallowed, the pain in his chest already starting again.

He opened another new message and began writing.
 

052

Calypso.

“What did you do? What did you do?” Ben’s eyes were wild and bloodshot as he yelled at Carl.

Carl couldn’t look at Ben, he lowered his gaze and saw the thermos spinning near the floor. Captain Franklin floated behind Ben, unconscious. A blob of blood drifting above him getting larger as it accreted more from the smaller droplets dripping out of the Captain’s nose.

“Just calm down, Trig. Everything’s going to be OK.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you maniac! What the hell are we supposed to do? You just murdered our Captain!” Ben was yelling so hard, he was firing spit into the cockpit at Carl. A vein was pulsing on his neck. His ears and cheeks were bright red under his freckles from wrestling with his crewmate.

“He’s not dead, he’s just unconscious. And we need to get him into his bunk before he gets blood into these controls.” Carl grabbed the captain’s arm and began dragging him towards the hatch. “Little help please?”

“Get the fuck off him. I’ll move him.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll clean this up.” Carl tried to avoid smirking. With Ben focused on taking care of the Captain he could get to work on the controls. Start getting their course under control.

Ben maneuvered the captain into his bunk paying careful attention to his battered head.

“I need a towel. He’s still bleeding.”

Carl shot past into the galley and made some noise digging out what he needed. He was back in the crew section a moment later with a towel and a first aid kit. “Here. Get him fixed up and tied into his bunk. I’ll need to get us turned soon.”

“Goddamn … you’re a goddamn monster, you know that? I can’t believe you did this.” Ben was dabbing at the Captain’s head where Carl had hit him. I big black bruise was swelling up and bleeding through a crack. He couldn’t see skull, at least. He got some gauze and some alcohol out of the first aid kit and dabbed at the wound before wrapping his head up. Then wiped his nose. Another bruise above his eye on his forehead was swelling up, his eye socket turning purple. “What’d he do to you, Skip? You look like you been in a fight and never even raised a hand.”

Ben pressed him gently into his bunk and got the belts out from the sides under his mattress. He pulled them over the Captain and buckled him in.

Ben put a towel under Edson’s head and kicked up to the cockpit. He was angry and debating whether he should throw Carl out the airlock, but needed him to pilot the ship. “You sonofabitch.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Carl looked at him, wiping blood off the console with a dirty towel. “Why? You wanted to watch him melt the ship with us in it? The way it was cooking I don’t even think we’d have made it to Mars.”

“Did you forget about the bogey that’s trying to blow us up? It’s still out there last I heard.”

“We don’t know that. For all we know it could have blown up with Pandora. Besides, our slower trajectory’s gonna help us miss that thing.”

“Bullshit. They had visual on that after the explosion. They sent us video!” Ben crossed his arms. “The Captain was just about to agree with your suggestion before you brained him.”

Carl shook his head. “Oh, the video his kid sent us? You believed that? No way. I know him. He was going to tell us he’s the captain and we’d do it his way. Seen it before.”

“Whatever man. You just fucked us all.” Ben couldn’t look at Carl. Didn’t want to talk to him anymore. He was unhinged. The pressure had gotten to him.

“It’ll work. You’ll see.”

He gave the console one last wipe then wrapped the towel around a stray blob of blood in the air above him. When he was finished he inspected his handiwork, arms folded over his chest. He’d done it. It looked good.
 

053

Lighthouse.

Emma Franklin stretched and rolled around in her bed. She was awake and feeling rested. She was surprised at how comfortable she was after her first night on the station.

She went to the washroom and turned the heat up. She opened a packet of clear bathing gel and spread it on her skin. Then splashed some water on her face from the sink which she towelled off. She brushed her teeth while she waited for the gel to do its thing, cooling on her body as it evaporated, leaving her clean and moisturized.

Emma got dressed and put on her new station jacket. It had blank spaces waiting for a name tag and assignment. She pulled her hair back in an attempt to contain it. She probably needed it cut, but would have to live with the curls for now.

Her stomach growled at her as she got ready. They’d brought her a snack last night in the boardroom but she hadn’t really eaten much. She grabbed her bag with her tablet in it and headed out of her cabin into the hallway.

The smell of coffee drew her to the mess hall. A bunch of people already up and milling around for breakfast, while some of the nightshift were grabbing dinner. She found the coffee and poured herself a cup, then looked around for some breakfast.

Emma put a hard boiled egg, some soy cheese and a rusk into a bag and wrapped it up.

“Hi, you find everything you need?” a voice asked beside her.

She turned to face the speaker and recognized Wilkins from the science team. “Oh, hi. Yes, I think so.” She added some soy milk to her coffee and some sweetener. “It’s Wilkins, right?”

He nodded. “Dan. I’m just heading to the deck. I can walk you there when you’re ready.”

“Cool. Thanks.” She tested her coffee and found it acceptable. “Ready to go.”

“So, you’re still a student, right?”

Emma nodded. “Yep. Senior year.”

“Ah, almost ready to get out. Looks like you might have gotten an early pass.” Dan smiled.

“Maybe. I’ll wait until I get my name patch to celebrate.” She indicated the empty spot on her chest with her coffee cup.

He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s good timing. We need the help. I have a few things you can help out with if you have some spare time.”

“Sure, maybe. I don’t really know what I’m doing yet, but it beats getting drafted into work detail.” She smiled. “I think we’re only going to get about 20 students through the science program this year. Out of a class of two hundred.”

They left the mess hall together and entered the hallway. “We only had eight when I graduated five years ago. Courses were tougher then.”

Emma looked at him, a laugh forming inside her, then saw that Wilkins wasn’t joking. A smug half-smile on his face. She just said “Oh” and dropped her eyes.

They arrived on deck to the sounds of fingers tapping on tablets. Some quiet beeping occasionally from some of the instrument panels. Hushed voices. The lights were a low blue. Early morning.

Emma walked over to her station and found Ortega still at his. “Hey, you’re up early.”

Nelson looked at her, dark circles under his eyes. “I’ve been working on this trajectory.” He looked down at his tablet. Blank screen.

Wilkins sat down beside him. “Hey Nelson. You should get some sleep. I’ll keep working on it.”