“How?” Marcus asked.
“If I knew that, I assure you I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be sitting on a solid gold toilet, sipping cocktails and counting the decimal places on my bank statement.”
“Always with the gold toilet,” Marcus said as he climbed to his feet. It felt just like Earth gravity, and after five months of simulated half-gravity in the Shackleton’s habitation pods, that was too heavy for his taste. His legs felt weak and unsteady, and he thought he might collapse at any moment. Then he grew lighter until it was just right.
“Get some environmental readings, Juliette.”
She stepped up beside him and drew out her probe again. “Atmospheric pressure at a hundred and one kilopascals, temperature steady at thirty-two degrees centigrade. I’ll have spectrograph results in a minute.”
“She’s bending over backwards to make us comfortable,” Faulkland said. “I’ll bite.”
Marcus turned just in time to see the ship’s commander crack his neck-seal and lift the helmet from his head. He blew out and took one hesitant whiff, then began to breathe normally. With a smile, he lipped something Marcus couldn’t hear and gave a thumbs up.
“You reckless son of a bitch,” Marcus said, well aware that Faulkland couldn’t hear a word he said. Not to be outdone, he unlocked his own helmet and did the same.
The air that rushed in was warm and moist, and when he took his first sniff, he detected a faint hint of something metallic. It smelled of fresh blood.
Commander Faulkland flagged him down after he’d had a chance to take a few breaths. “I said it smells kind of funky, but it’s not bad.”
Marcus inhaled deep and filled his lungs. He was already growing used to the smell. “Not bad,” he agreed. “A little oxygen rich, but not bad. My freshman dorm smelled worse.”
He looked at Juliette through her clear mask, and wasn’t surprised at the furious face she was making. It’d been years since he’d seen that expression. She said something, and he didn’t need to hear the words to appreciate the message.
Marcus plucked the headset from inside his helmet and hooked it over his ear. “Should I be glad I missed that, Doctor St. Martin?”
“Nothing I haven’t called you before. Damn it, Marc… I haven’t even tested for microbiology yet.”
“When you do, I’ve got a hunch it’ll turn up positive. Draw up a quarantine procedure when you get a chance.”
“Done. I’m also going to check you two every ten minutes, whether you like it or not.”
Marcus groaned. “Understood. Everybody else, keep your lids on until further notice. At least we know this stuff’s breathable if we have an emergency.” He glanced around, and decided that this spot looked as good as any. “Let’s set up base camp here,” he said, and the team began unpacking their equipment.
“You put a good spin on that,” Faulkland said to him after a moment. He was affixing his own headset.
Marcus unloaded the mission transponder from his back and set it down. “Thanks. You’ve got me wondering, though… how the hell have you survived this long?”
The commander chuckled. “I steer boats, Doctor. This walking around alien spaceships business is new to me. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m competitive and prone to fits of idiocy,” he said, and they both laughed. “Just do me a favor. Gimme a heads up next time you plan on doing something stupid.”
Faulkland snapped a salute. “Aye aye, sir.”
Juliette finished assembling her med station and walked over to the two men with her probe firmly in hand. “Do either of you feel different? Warm, short of breath, light-headed?”
“No, no, and no,” Marcus said.
Faulkland said, “Ditto.”.
She waved the probe in front of Marcus’ face, and used the light to test his pupil response, then did the same to Faulkland. “The first sign of anything strange, and I mean anything, you will tell me. No more cowboy shit, understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” they both replied.
Satisfied, she returned to the small foldable medical station and started looking over the results.
The pressure suit helmets weren’t designed to be carried, so Marcus removed the lamp from his, and set the bulky thing down next to the transponder. Faulkland did the same.
“So, what kind of emergencies did you have in mind?” Faulkland asked.
Marcus shrugged. “Beats me, but as far as I’m concerned, we’re out among the many moons of Mongo now, and I won’t pretend I know what’s ahead of us.” Then a thought occurred to him. He glanced left then right down identical corridors stretching into the distance. “How’s this for starters, though… where’d the iris go?”
Faulkland took a long look around. “Good question. Damn good question.”
“Yeah. I thought so.” Marcus ran through some possibilities, but the word “possibility” was quickly taking on new meanings. He needed more information. “Donovan to Base. Be a pal and tell me where the mission transponder is located right now.”
“One moment… Showing right on the other side of the iris, Doc.”
Marcus took that as good news. It meant the doorway was still there but hidden. This was much better than finding out he’d been mysteriously shuttled to some distant part of the ship. Unless Zebra-One was falsifying sensor information. Best not to consider that, he told himself. That line of thought could only lead to madness.
He decided to worry about the missing door some other time, and turned back to his work. The base camp was assembled, the teams were itching to get started, and he was burning to know what was around the next corner. Time had come to start exploring. “Alright, there’s no time like the present. My team will head aftward. Rao, take yours toward the bow. Keep the channel open and plan to meet back here in four hours.”
With that, the two teams parted, each marching off in their given direction.
Chapter 10:
Are You Alive?
“Hey, are you alive?”
Jack Hernandez wasn’t sure about the answer. He didn’t know where he was or who was talking to him. His mouth tasted like blood, his body hurt all over, and the last thing he wanted to do was open his eyes. He felt fingers on his throat, and he thought someone might be checking his pulse.
“Come on… Wake up, hero. We gotta go.”
He pried his eyes open and saw nothing but bright light. His ears were buzzing, his head was a giant pile of hurt, and he wanted to throw up. What was on his face? Some kind of mask. He reached up and tried to take it off, but hands grabbed his wrists and stopped him.
“You don’t want to do that. Trust me. Hey Nik, he’s coming around. Can you gimme a hand over here.”
The wind was howling like Jack had never heard before. The Earth was angry.
“Hands are full. Can he stand?”
“Don’t think so.”
His eyes began to focus, and he could make out the shape of someone standing over him. The person was decked out in Corps gear, and their face was covered in a bulky combo oxygen/gas mask. The corpsman looked like some kind of human insect hybrid. Jack tried to read the name tag, but the words were floating around, splitting apart and rejoining.
“Albright?” he asked.
“Yup,” she said, hovering over him. She shined a light through his goggles, in one eye and then the other. “Looks like you’re concussed, but not too bad. You could be a lot worse off after a landing like that.”
Little by little, his vision was getting sharper, but the scene wasn’t right. It was like trying to make sense of a kid’s drawing. After a couple breaths, the shapes started to coalesce, and he recognized that he was in the ruined cockpit of a leviathan. The angles were still weird, though. He finally decided that the vehicle was on its side.