Marius survives the encounter with the invaders but at a cost: one crewman killed, Celeste severely injured, and the ship critically damaged. The crew faces seemingly insurmountable challenges and an uncertain future a billion miles from home.
The Space Cruiser USS Marius, CS-1
In orbit around Io
July 2056
I tried to shake the grogginess off, but that just made my gut spin up a load of nauseous bile and my head throb. I managed a weak, mewing plea to my mothers and my sister, Celina, standing across the room, assuming those three shapeless blobs were my family. Everything was a watery blur, like when I tried to see underwater across the pool back in New Mexico. I knew I wasn’t in New Mexico, but I wasn’t sure where I was. The goggles digging into my face didn’t help. What the hell was going on?
The blobs moved towards me, along with another white blob. Whitey leaned over me. “Celeste, can you hear me?” I could barely hear the muffled, faint voice of the white blob. It turned to the other blobs. “It looks like she’s coming out of it. Her eyes look fine. The curative fluid in the goggles has repaired the last of the radiation damage to her corneas.”
Coming out of what? Radiation damage? And why are my eyes underwater?
The white blob fiddled with the goggles. Water ran down the sides of my face, and the water-logged blur was gone. I blinked a few times, and yes, those blobs were my family.
My mother, Kate, leaned over and took me in a tight hug while my sister put a death grip on my hand, which lay limp by my side. My mother, Jenny, satisfied herself with an affectionate squeeze on my leg. They all looked really happy to see me. My thoughts cleared some more, and I figured something must have gone wrong. The last thing I remembered was rocket-packing it out of the work tug just after Ahmed and I jettisoned the nuke and shot it toward Jupiter.
I cleared my throat—a jolt of pain told me that was a bad idea—and coughed up a blob of phlegm. Yuck. I swallowed and tried to speak, but only managed a squeak.
Kate put a gentle finger on my lips. “Don’t try to talk, Celeste, honey. We’re here. You’re safe.”
But that wasn’t good enough. I needed to know what happened. I cleared my throat again, which hurt—a lot—but I managed a whisper. “The ship—out of danger?”
Kate glanced at the others and turned back to me. “We’re fine. The ship is damaged, but you and Ahmed saved us.”
Ahmed. Oh my god. Ahmed got hit. “Is Ahmed OK?”
Jenny gave my leg a squeeze. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Ahmed didn’t make it, sweetheart. He’s gone.”
Oh, no—oh, no—oh, no. Not my friend. It should have been me. I talked him into going.
My eyes blurred again, this time with tears. I closed them tight, but it didn’t help. My lips trembled; I couldn’t catch my breath. How could we lose Ahmed? My body shook with each sob. Plaintive, raspy moans escaped through the pain. This is too much. I need to be alone. Opening my eyes, I met the drawn, strained faces of my family. I loved them all, but needed them to leave me. “Can you guys go? I just need to lie here and cry. OK?” I blinked back tears from the pain of speaking. I hoped I didn’t need to repeat myself.
Fortunately, not. The moms each gave me a hug and a knowing touch on the cheek before leaving, but they did go. I found it surprising that Celina said nothing. I’d half expected her usual lecture on not taking risks. Maybe she understood about friends and knew now was not the time. She kissed my cheek, patted my hand, and followed Kate and Jenny out of the med bay.
Alone, I surrendered to my guilt and my tears.
###
After a couple of days of being poked, prodded, and woken up for tests in the middle of the night, the docs, including the AI one, agreed that all I needed was some rest. They unhooked the monitors, moved me to a private berth in the med bay, and left me alone.
I was about to turn out the light when Marco strode in. He’d visited whenever he was off shift. His comforting hugs and soothing words had gotten me past most of my grief, but the pain of Ahmed’s loss still served up bouts of sadness. Now was one of those times.
“Celeste, baby, did I wake you?”
“Oh, Marco. I’m so glad you’re here. I could use a hug right now.” Marco started across the room. “Without the dirty jumpsuit.”
He slipped out of his boots and coverall and joined me in the berth. I drew the covers over him and snuggled in. It was comforting just to be held. Lonely nights crying alone in the dark over losing my friend had not been helping. I looked forward to Marco’s visits. His warmth and gentle caresses, the way he would stroke my hair and kiss my closed eyes, were calming.
But now I needed more than just calm—I needed life and living. Always a selfless lover, I coaxed Marco to readiness.
“Are you sure you’re ready? Besides, someone might come in.”
I reached over, slid the berth’s privacy panel closed, and latched it.
The rest of the night was gentle, warm, and supremely satisfying. Nothing would bring Ahmed back, but with Marco’s attentions, normal life was returning—if you called living in a wheel, on a spaceship, normal. Yet being with Marco made it all right.
###
Alone in his cabin, Captain Bullard read the coded message from Mars for what seemed like the hundredth time. He understood the message and what it meant for relief, or rather its lack, for the Marius, stranded around Jupiter. But what did it do to the trust he had in his crew?
Sabotage. The Schiaparelli had been sabotaged. The number two nuke had gone critical and exploded. Someone on the refit crew had jammed the control rods open, and the atomic pile had melted down and detonated the external fuel tanks. Damage to the ship aside, the explosion had destroyed a crewed service tug and killed the seven engineers aboard conducting EVA activities.
General Buckley and InterSol were investigating, but with no answers yet. The general had cautioned Bullard to tighten security. InterSol was re-doing the background checks on his crew, but until he had more details, the captain needed to be wary and cautious.
It was difficult enough to maintain morale, fix the ship, and prepare for the push to Europa, with its challenges, but now he had to worry about a saboteur in his ranks. He knew he could trust Chief Jemison—it was time to bring her into the loop.
###
Eight days. I’ve lain here for eight long, wasted days. And why did they make the damn walls white? There was nothing to look at. I couldn’t even have a tablet or viewscreen until my eyes had more time to heal. I’d heard the ship-wide announcements and updates. When Marco visited, he briefed me on the ship’s status and the repairs that were needed. Then he got back to work, after the other stuff, of course. No one had time for idle chit-chat.
We were not in good shape. The crews were busy moving storage pods from the undamaged side of the ship to the other side where the plasma bolt had hit us. Until we balanced the ship, we couldn’t fire the engines. That was a particular challenge. With only the starboard nuke, propulsion would be asymmetrical, not thrusting along the center of mass. Correcting for the skewed force would burn fuel in the thrusters we could ill afford.
I could have helped, but here I was, stuck in the medical bay.
The docs wouldn’t let me out. Apparently, when my suit depressurized, my lungs almost froze. They said at least two weeks, no physical exertions, and hourly treatments with my inhaler. Well, that was BS. I was fine, and it was time to get busy. I owed Ahmed that much; it’s what he would have done.
When the lights dimmed for the night cycle, I made my move. The docs must have been occupied elsewhere, allowing me to move freely in the medical bay. Even the AI doc was offline.
Sliding out of the berth, I fought down a surge of dizziness and nausea. I chalked that up to sitting on my ass for most of the eight days. After taking a quick look around to make sure I wasn’t spotted, I headed out of the open hatch. Turning to the right, I made my way to the quarters I shared with Marco, only staggering against the wall once—or maybe twice. I had lost count, being focused on staying upright the whole way, grateful for the handholds on the walls. I paused as people passed and tried to look natural—just out for a stroll. The corridor was a bit of an obstacle course, which didn’t make my trek any easier. People had dropped piles of supplies and equipment where they used them last. I imagined there was no time to keep things organized. But the jumbled mess marred the usual clean lines of the dove gray walls and deep blue grip-tight carpeting. The ship was looking a little disheveled. I guess that’s what happens when you engage in a space battle—even when you win.
When I arrived at my quarters, Marco was, thankfully, absent. He would have dragged my butt back to sick bay—he can be that way—like I’ll break or something. Marco’d clearly been here, though; the place was a mess. I loved him dearly, but he was a slob sometimes. On the other hand, with everyone working double shifts, I guessed I could forgive him for not picking up his stuff.
I cleaned up, donned my favorite work jumpsuit, and laced my boots. My tool harness was right where I’d left it, and I slipped it on. I had to take a few breaks to let the dizziness and shortness of breath subside. The hot spikes jabbing my chest reminded me not to take deep breaths. A quick toke on my inhaler, and the pain eased. After about twenty minutes, I was ready to go.
I left our rooms and followed the curving floor of the wheel towards a spoke, picking my way through the endless jumble of stuff scattered about. I paused at an observation port and looked aft. The crew had moved the storage tanks and supply pods, and the ship was more balanced. But with half of them destroyed in the space battle, the Marius looked unfinished. They’d moved the tugs back to their moorings on the central spine, and the ship had resumed more of that limpet look from when we left Mars.
Continuing around the wheel, past more junk strewn everywhere, I arrived at one of the six spokes that supported the gravity wheel. I climbed the ladder on the wheel wall and entered the spoke opening. Reaching forward, I climbed “down,” the spoke, hand over hand, and entered the hub. Zero-G didn’t usually affect me. This time the nausea was too much, and I had to grab two handholds to keep from losing control and tossing up dinner. After a moment, the stomach churn subsided, and I made my way aft to engineering.
Passing through the open hatch, I was met with stares, then sad eyes, and finally, some welcome smiles. I grabbed a handhold, real tight, and tossed them a wave while swallowing a bit of acidy saliva. I took a deep breath and tried not to tear up from the pain in my chest. But I was done being an invalid.
“Hi everyone.” Talking was difficult. Catching my breath, I took a quick suck on my inhaler. “I’m back. I’ve got an answer for that cockeyed nuke.” I took another hit from the inhaler. “Someone find Marco. I have an idea where he can store all our crap.”
Watch for Episode Two: Short of the Goal, coming to your favorite website soon.