The man quailed visibly. “Just two, me and Igor,” he stammered. “We knocked out one of your crew, he brought us back.”
“Hernandez,” Tala said breathlessly. “It has to be Hernandez.”
“You give him a choice?”
The man shook his head. In the dim Tala could see wild scared eyes glinting within a delicate fox-face. “N…N…Not really.”
“Where are they now? This Igor?”
“I don’t know, when Igor shot that boy there was a fight, your crewman was angry, knocked me out. When I woke up, everyone was gone.”
Near where the man had lain were scattered pieces of a rifle, Tala smiled, knowing Hernandez wouldn’t go down without a fight, wouldn’t stand to see his colleagues hurt. He’d never particularly liked Aidan, found him a little soft and effete, like Diego. But he’d be damned if he’d watch a shipmate being killed. The realization dawned on Tala that Hernandez was onboard, probably hurt somewhere. Possibly dead, she wasn’t sure she could stand to lose Katja and Hernandez on the same day.
“Captain, we have to find Hernandez.”
Tor nodded, solemnly. She could tell the Captain believed another of his crewmen to be lost. “First we bind this one,” he gestured to the thin man in the shadows.
“You’re not going to kill me?” Just as Jamal and Oleg had portend, District Seven had been a place bereft of kindness and compassion, the surprise in the man’s voice indication enough.
“Not yet.”
As Tala began fishing through the chartroom stationary drawer for some elasticized cord, rope or tape that could be used as a restraint, the Captain powered up the lights and bridge equipment, overriding Nielsen’s electrical conservation settings. Bleak strip light bloomed with a neon buzz. She could hear navigational equipment recalibrating from their hibernation and stored telemetry data spooling from a chattering ribbon printer the Captain was quick to silence.
“If I’m going to suffocate or starve, I’d rather not spend my final days in complete darkness,” Tor said.
Being back on the bridge appeared to have restored his conviction, recoded his mind. A Captain in his element bulled by mania. Tala was sure it was a temporary veneer, like slides of Tor’s memories playing out in short bursts before burning out, but it was a warming one. She leant out from behind the chartroom to see Tor pacing around their weary prisoner, back straight, pushing his bedraggled shoulder length hair behind his ears, scanning the various readouts. Briefly his command was bulletproof, unhindered by the weight of responsibility that had so bowed and tested his captaincy. Soon the enormities of their ordeal would come to bear again, he would wither whether he lived or died.
Tala returned to her task, finding a roll of gaffer tape pushed into the back of the drawer, trying to avoid looking at the young cadets body. On the chart table, the emergency VHF’s crackled to life. With their charging cradles powered down, they’d shut off. As she lent to turn the reawakened portable radio off she heard what she thought was a voice – slight through the haze of static.
“…adh, thissssssss… shev, pl…. sian space. Final warning.”
“Captain,” Tala said, her voice an octave high, her hand locked over the radio. She paused, desperate to ensure the broadcast wasn’t a product of her damaged imagination. Once more the message came again, cutting clearer through the noise. “Captain, I think someone is broadcasting on the VHF.”
“Deep Space Merchant Vessel Riyadh, please respond, this is the USSR Deep Space Fleet Destroyer Yumashev. You are currently operating within Soviet restricted space, within close proximity to Soviet installations. You must leave this area immediately. There will be no further warnings. If you do not leave this area immediately we have the authority to disable or destroy your ship and take all personnel prisoner.”
Tor appeared at the chartroom door, staring at the VHF as if it were about to detonate. “How old is this broadcast?”
Tala shrugged, nervous tension froze her to the spot. She could feel her knuckles whitening around the lip of the table. “I don’t know, it’s just repeating. But it’s getting closer, clearer.”
Tor glanced over his shoulder at the long range radar, near where their captive cowered. His withdrawn features expressing zero emotion. “Well, we’re either saved. Or we’re about to be slagged into our constituent atoms by the Soviets.”
The message looped once again. “Deep Space Merchant Vessel Riyadh, please respond…”
Epilogue
Tala walked beside the trail of blood. The jagged lines, drying to flakes, originated beside the Captains chair, followed the staircase and led into the arterial corridor beyond. Tala felt she was tracking a mortally wounded animal as she trod carefully – at the point of origin she’d found shattered teeth and bone fragments, further along she found dark viscid pools. Mostly, as the trail wore on she found rusty streaks interlaced with partial palm prints. Whoever had been bleeding had dragged themselves to the Medical Bay, perhaps seeking aid or bandages. Perhaps something else.
As she paused in the arterial corridor Tala sensed the wonderful warmth of the heating system kicking in, delicate updrafts of balmy air stripping the atmosphere of its brittleness. The oxygen recyclers came online soon after. Slowly, the carbon dioxide saturated climate began to freshen. Momentarily, Tala remembered what it was like to exist beyond hostility. She removed her EVA suit, letting the heavy material peel from her taut body and stepped from the still gore speckled magboots. Sweat slicked the battered skin beneath the jumpsuit Jamal had given her, simultaneously rancid and beautiful.
The Captain had reset all systems, returning the ship to full operation. The Yumashev would be arriving in sixteen hours and the Captain no longer saw any point in conserving power. ‘We’ll be lucky if they detain us,’ he’d warned. ‘Might as well spend the last few hours in some comfort.’
He’d broadcast a distress message in response to their directive, informing the Soviet destroyer that the Riyadh was disabled, life support critical. A majority crew loss. The Captain seemed fatalistic of their chances. Tala agreed. Typically a warship would tow a damaged merchant vessel to safety if practical, at least render assistance. But then she’d recalled Katja’s tale – the evacuation of Murmansk-13; lifepods being blown out the ether by Soviet destroyers. That wasn’t only a contravention of United Nations deep space code, it was unconscionable.
‘They’ll pin the blame on us, what happened with the station’ Tor said, as he bound the man, Mikhail. ‘Or cover it up.’
If she was going to die, she didn’t want to wait for death, watching the radar as the Yumashev closed on a parabolic vector. She supposed it would reach targeting range much sooner than the sixteen hours rendezvous estimate, probably within a couple of hours for long range railgun projectiles. Either way, Tala decided to busy herself and resolved to find Hernandez. Knowing in her heart that he was probably gone. Knowing she had already lost so much.
As the ships primary lighting system fizzed to life, she followed the bloody trail into the Medical Bay. The now familiar smell of death hit her instantly. Pavlovian conditioning prepared her enervated body for flight, fast twitch muscle fibres transitioning to standby. Tala paused at the base of the stairs, watching strip lights flicker to life the length of the bay. Past the empty and open cryogenic pods she could see the rumpled remains of someone. The rib cage splayed apart, ribs reaching for the deckheads.