SpaceCorp (22 page)

She struggled to her feet, steadying herself on the radar antenna section she had been examining before.
Some fucker coldcocked me!
The blood on her fingers was dry now and more brown than red, but still very obviously blood.

Suddenly the red beacon light turned on and began rotating. A second later the airlock klaxon sounded. She struggled to the inner door and peered through the heavy Plexiglas. She could see two people about three meters away. One was in a space suit and kept waving his arms in front of him and shaking his head left and right. She couldn’t make out his face through the reflection on his visor, but he appeared very agitated. Then he turned and walked off. The other fellow was not suited. He was short and bull-necked.
Smitty?
She rapped on the viewport and yelled, “Smitty!”

Shit, he can’t hear me.
She ran to the airlock evacuation interrupt button. It was behind a glass window inside a red metal box. There was supposed to be a hammer attached to it with a chain. The chain was there but the hammer was gone. She pulled at the box face cover. It was secured with rivets. She ran back to the viewport and slapped at it with the flat of her hand.

“Smitty!”

She scanned around the airlock for something, anything that she could use to break that glass. Airlocks were required to be kept free of any equipment or material that could fly out into space when the hatch was opened. While she struggled, she caught a change of light coming from the viewport out of the corner of her eye. Smitty’s face filled the window. He was grinning, no, laughing. He held the metal hammer up for her to see.

“You fucking bastard!”

Smitty lowered the hammer and waved with his free hand, flipping her the bird before he left.

The klaxon rang began to sound double-time to the beacon’s rotation.

P
ART
II

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

June 2071

Airlock, Equipment staging area,
Inner Ring, SCS Pelican

Air began to evacuate from the airlock chamber. Monica felt her ears popping. It usually took about two minutes to completely pump the air out of an airlock achieving sufficient vacuum to allow the exterior hatch to open.

I’ve got to break that goddam glass!
She stood before the vacuum interrupt housing, the lever inside leering at her just beyond her grasp. The klaxon kept wailing and the beacon’s glare made her reflection seem red in the glass.

Grasping the side of the box with both hands, she reared back and rammed the point of her forehead into the glass. It shattered, lacerating her scalp. She let go of the housing and wiped the blood from her head to clear her vision. She reached into the housing and grasped the lever pulling it down. The klaxon stopped and the beacon stopped, and mercifully, the evacuation of the airlock stopped.

An hour later…

VIP Cabin,
SCS Pelican

Mack was sitting at the desk with his tablet when Monica staggered in holding her bloody bandana to her forehead.

“Holy shit, what happened?” Mack said as he ran to her.

“Forget me, you should see the other guy,” Monica said.

“Was that the fucker who’s been following you?”

She sat down on the bed. “No... I don’t know… maybe. Is that towel clean?”

Mack turned to hand her the towel, then paused to run it under the spigot in the sink. Then he sat next to her and daubed at the crusted blood. “You need first aid. Let me call a medic.”

“We’ll do the medic later. This is Hank’s evidence. Get some pictures.”

Mack obeyed taking several pictures with his eye-piece camera.

“Okay, now what happened?”

“I was checking out a piece of equipment over in the staging area. It was a phased array antenna… I’m curious about radar and it had the case off—”

“Never mind the fucking case! What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. I got coldcocked. When I woke up I was in the airlock and the klaxon was going off and the red beacon was flashing. And I’m thinking like, ‘fuck, I don’t have a suit!’ So I staggered up to the viewport and looked outside. There’s these two guys arguing. One was in a suit waving his arms at the other one, then he stomps off. The other one didn’t have a suit. That was Smitty.”

“Smitty? You sure?”

“Oh, yeah! After a while, he came over to the viewport and grinned at me. He had the little metal hammer in his hand and kept waving it at me through the viewport.”

“Wait a minute, hammer? What
hammer
?”

“The one that’s supposed to be secured to the vacuum interrupt box. You know, so you can break the glass in case you get coldcocked and wake up in an airlock that’s about to dump you out into space.”

“Those designers think of everything. So how’d you get the damn thing open?”

“
Muy Thai
, the 9
^th
weapon is the head! You can’t use head-butts in a bout anymore, but they still teach it in training.”

“You mean you head-butted the glass? That’s how you cut your head?”

“In the front. The back cut is from where I got coldcocked.”

Mack turned her head to see the back. “Oh god, you’re a mess.”

“Get some more pics!”

“Do you know where Smitty is now?” Mack asked as he snapped several more pictures.

“I dunno. What time is it?”

Mack checked the clock on his communicator, “Bit after eight. Why?”

“His watch just finished. He’s probably in the Main Mess Hall. He never misses dinner so he’ll want to keep everything normal looking.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean it. Are you truly feeling okay? No blurred vision, no dizziness?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You are one tough lady.”

“Well, you’re half right.”

Mack laughed and kissed her on the mouth. “How about we join Smitty for dinner? Can you handle that?”

“Yeah… I could eat.” Her cold expression belied the casual flippancy in her voice.

June 2071

Main Mess Hall,
SCS Pelican

The Main Mess Hall was crowded with all the crew from First Watch turning over the shift to Second Watch. There was always a big shuffle as First Watch wanted to be first in line and stragglers from Second Watch were trying to get sandwiches to eat on the run.

Mack and Monica walked slowly between the picnic style tables. Watch Leader Bill Traynor and his Chief Engineer always ate at their reserved table in the back of the seating area. Their table had a bench seat on either side same as every other table except theirs had only the two of them sitting on a single side, backs to the wall.

Smitty face turned ashen as he got a good look at Monica. “How did you—”

Traynor cut Smitty off with an elbow to his ribs.

Monica walked around the end of the table and grabbed Smitty by the lapels of his coverall and dragged him out onto the floor, shoving him so he landed face down.

“Get up!” she shouted.

Smitty rolled over onto his side and scowled at Monica. Then he smiled like a wolf with a calf at bay.

Monica stood calmly, arms at her side, game face on.

Bill Traynor got up from his seat and ran toward them. Mack stopped him with an arm across his chest.

“Now see here, Mack! I won’t have that bitch roughing up my Chief Engineer.”

“Are you—and be very careful how answer, Mr. Traynor—are you implying that Mr. Smith doesn’t have it coming?”

“If she has a gripe, she can file formal charges. We have procedures up here. We don’t do things like you do Earth-side. We got procedures!”

“Very well. Monica, are you willing to press charges against Mr. Smith?”

“Yes. I accuse him of attempted murder and assault and battery. He and Mr. Traynor should be sent stateside while the investigation is underway.”

Smitty’s face reddened, practically in flames. “You bitch! There’s no way you’re puttin’ me on the ground!”

He lunged toward Monica, arm drawn back to punch her in the face.

Monica deftly twisted out of his way, tripping him as he lunged past. As he landed, she jumped astride his back and grabbed his head in both hands ready to administer a fatal neck snap.

“Tell me why I should let you live, you piece of shit?”

Smitty groaned while trying vainly to pry her hand from the point of his chin, then gave up. “It was Traynor. He didn’t want to deal with nuclear power. He’s past his rem limit anyway. Besides, we build space stations. We’re not fucking slime farmers!”

Traynor grabbed a large bread knife and lunged toward Monica.

Mack yelled, “Monica!”

She turned, saw the knife, and rolled onto her back pulling Smitty up as a shield. Smitty took the knife in his gut.

Mack pulled Traynor up and wrenched the bloody knife from his hand. “You’re both done here.”

Smitty moaned on the floor, clutching his gut.

Monica examined his wound, placing a cloth napkin under his hand. “Keep some pressure on that. You won’t die, and it’s too far over to have hit the aorta. You’re gonna need surgery though. Somebody get a medic. Tell ‘em it’s a gut wound, non-arterial… but hurry!”

Mack looked around the room. “Who else is in on this?” As he looked, he paused to stare a few seconds at several bystanders. Finally, one of them cracked and took off running.

Monica took off after him shouting, “He’s mine! That’s my tail!”

*   *   *

The runner vaulted over the serving line and ran into the kitchen. Monica vaulted after him and ran into the kitchen area crashing into a large rack of trays that the runner had pulled into her path. The runner dashed for the knife rack and pulled a large chef’s knife, then turned to face her, ghoulish grin on his face.

Monica did not lose stride and grabbed a pan of boiling water as she ran by the stove and splattered it into the man’s face. He howled, slashing blindly at the air with the knife, then threw it before turning to run down the narrow gangway into the pantry. He only made about four strides before Monica tackled him from behind.

They both got up at the same time. He swung wildly and landed a stinging blow across her cheek. She countered with a back kick across his chin. Dazed, he crouched and ran at her, grabbing her around the waist. She leaned over his back and grabbed him about the waist, splaying her feet back as she did in order to break his arm hold. He rammed her against the side of the gangway. She leaned forward onto his back not losing her grip and slowly forced him away from the wall. When she had enough clearance, she braced her feet on the opposite wall and walked over ending up behind him. As she did she shifted her grip to his neck putting him in a choke hold. She paused a moment to take two deep slow breaths, then squeezed hard on his neck. After about fifteen seconds his body went limp and she let him drop to the floor in a heap. Then she backed away and kicked him in the stomach once, then once more in the balls. She walked away as he lay writhing about on the floor, moaning and clutching his groin.

The next day…

Watch leaders’ office suite,
SCS Pelican

The watch leaders’ office suite was the least cramped work space on the entire station. Frieda Oh, leader of Third watch, had segregated her work space with partitions that had Chinese designs embroidered in the fabric. Beside her desk she had several orchids growing on a rack under a bank of grow-lights. Joe Alvarez of Second Watch had gone for an Hispanic décor, including a wide-brimmed Mexican hat hanging on the back wall with a serape. In the corner he had an armless saguaro cactus that stood nearly a meter in height. Bill Traynor’s cubicle was the most austere and the least kept up. He had papers and dirty coffee cups spread everywhere. The only thing hanging on the wall was a calendar open to December from four years ago. The picture showed a busty blonde sporting a bikini with no top and wearing a tool belt. She had a grease spot on her cheek. Bill Traynor was in custody. Mack, Frieda, and Joe sat around a coffee table in the common area on two fabric-worn couches and a chair under a harsh fluorescent light fixture.

Mack leaned back in his chair, one foot on the coffee table and his fingers interlaced behind his head. Joe and Frieda sat stiffly on the couch.

“I’m guessing this used to be Bill’s chair, am I right?” Mack asked.

Both Joe and Frieda nodded.

“You know, I’ve always wondered, why’s there no captain on this station?”

“We haven’t needed one,” Joe said.

“Yeah, but doesn’t that seem odd to you… no captain and all?”

“We’ve gotten along fine… just the three of us,” Frieda said.

“Well, I’ve got a surprise for you... a little gift, you might say. I’m having a captain assigned to take care of you guys.” Mack flashed them a Cheshire cat grin.

“We said we don’t need one, Mack,” Joe said.

“Well, you’re gonna get one,” Mack said still smiling.

“You gonna give your sweetie the job?” Frieda asked with a sneer.

“Nope. It will be somebody who’s been working in my construction hangar on the ground. I have several candidates in mind. You’ll be interviewing them soon… on the ground.”

“Ground? Look, Mack we didn’t have anything to do with what just happened last night,” Joe said.

“Oh, I believe you. And while you’re on the ground working up some good interview questions, we’ll get you both in for a flight physical. How long has it been since you had a good physical? We’ll want to pay special attention to those dosimeters.”

“Mack, you’ll ruin us. I’m telling you we had nothing to do with Traynor. We don’t belong down there,” Frieda said.