Jeopardy Chap 17

    “We’ll still arrive before the impact event,” Captain Jackson told the live, 3D display of Dr. Thompson, the head of the science team. “But regardless, we plan to do whatever we can to deflect it to the atmosphere, or, to a different impact point, or into smaller pieces. We’ll do everything we can to minimize the damage. If it weren’t so damn big I’d tow it away but even Maria can’t do that.”

     “What’s your ETA?”

     “We should arrive in about 30 hours. You gave us coordinates that don’t match the drop off site. I take it you moved the base camp?”

    “That’s a long story, but yes, we moved about eight months ago.”

     “The whole camp?”

     “The pods, not the structures. We needed a new site to continue our work, the resources were depleted, the natives unfriendly.”

     “Uh oh, what do you mean?”

     “It’ll be easier to explain when you get here. We’re really looking forward to going home, Captain.”

   “I understand,” Jackson said truthfully. The science team had been on the upside down and backward planet almost four years. Four years on rations, without real food, would put the pressure on his galley to break out more steak and potatoes. The agonizing desire for something you missed and wasn’t forthcoming, wasn’t a feeling he would ever forget. Especially when that something was coffee. Or, to be precise, Colombian coffee, dark brewed, with 20 grams of pure Cuban cane sugar.

    “Is your crew ready to go?”

   “They’ve been ready for weeks.”

    “As soon as we’re in orbit they can begin to shuttle up. I’ll send Osprey down to speed it up.”

    “We have a mountain of samples and equipment.”

    “Room for everything, doctor.”

    “Call me Jack, Captain.” Jackson blinked slowly and a smirk appeared on his face.

     “Jack Thompson?”

    “Yes.”

   “I’m Thomas Jackson. I guess that’s par for the course on a planet that revolves backwards.” He smiled for perhaps the first time in two days; his face felt downright awkward.

   “That could be problematic. Maybe we should stick to doctor and captain?” the scientist suggested.

   “Good idea, Doctor. We’ll contact you in ten hours for an update. Ja – uh, Captain out.”

He’d known the man’s name, but until that moment he’d not caught the irony. Given names, surnames, the planet was, in itself, a palindrome. Oh, what’s in a name, anyway?

    “Mr. Lee, what’s our ship’s status?”

   “We are 28 hours from orbit with Beta Hydri Four, but we will reach minimum position to gather comprehensive information on the asteroid in 11.7 hours.”

    “Anything else?”

    “Quixote reports the engineering team has completed repairs to the damaged EBMs so we can start replicating emergency supplies again. No new communications from Space Admin since yesterday. Engines at 94% efficiency.”

    “Have you had your dinner?”

    “Sir?”

   “I’m taking the night off. If you want anything, you better get it now.”

   “Thank you, Captain, no, I stopped in the mess before coming on shift. Rougeau will be back shortly, and Mr. Watson.”

   “The ship is yours, Lieutenant.”

   “Aye. Have a nice evening, sir.”

   Jackson loosened his tie and took the elevator to the dining room in search of some conversation that didn’t revolve around a disaster. He nodded at the day shift crew members as they partook of the dinner meal.

    “You’re just who I wanted to see,” Tom said to the alien woman at his private table. “Where are my girls?”

    “Anne took them after an early dinner. They like to play games with her. She lets them win. You look like you’re needing a good night of sleep.” She took a soft roll from the basket and split it in half. Tom dropped into a chair and also took one, but simply bit into it whole.

    “You’re right about that. What are you wearing?” He noticed a different color glinting around her neck, not the usual deep-red garnets that dangled from a gold chain. “Is that the musgravite?” He reached across the table to lift the single large stone and take a second look at it. The stone, its color and shape like an eggplant, threw geometric shapes of pale lavender light around the room. She nodded.

    “Quixote set it, so I can wear it.” She indicated the gold lattice bezel that cradled the top like a hat, so it would hang, like a spray of wisteria draped over a porch trellis.

    “Good evening, sir, I’ll have dinner right out.”

    “Jules? Where’s Bailey?”

    “We traded, so she could take the evening off to spend time with Keith. She’ll be back at breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.”

    “Of course not.” Jules Graham, the cook, not the chef, disappeared into the galley. He turned back to Rianya. “You took off your wedding garnets.”

    “They’re your wedding garnets.”

    “I know, and I’d like to ask you something, while we’re on the subject.” It was a simple request, but he hesitated to insult her traditions. On the other hand, no sense in being zipped up. “Maybe we could consider an Earth custom: wearing rings, instead of, or in addition to, neckwear.” He touched the gold chain around his neck. “This pinches, sometimes. I already wear one noose.”

    “I’m supposed to have the chain. I don’t have a bunch of hair to get caught in the links.”

    “You do have a bunch of hair.”

    “Not on my body.”

    “And I thank the stars for that every day. But that's beside the point. If we settle on Earth, I want people to know we belong to each other.”

    “Why does it matter? We know.” Her clever circularity, as usual, sent Tom swimming in her eyes. Her long tresses covered most of her shoulders. He saw peeks of dusky, rose smudges that tiptoed around her collar bones, the stone settled against the tiny hollow of her throat. The colorful glass beads woven into her hair glinted like the musgravite, throwing shadows of a rainbow on the walls.

    “Tradition.”

     Jules interrupted his thoughts with two plates of pot roast in dark gravy, miniature russet potatoes, and chopped, buttered zucchini. He left just as quickly.

    “Ambrosia,” Tom uttered, breathing in the fragrant steam.

    “Isn’t it beef?” He smiled, nodded, and stuffed a bite in his mouth. It almost melted on its own, the distinct taste of a tender steak, with crunchy bits of salt and seasoning, swimming in dark, viscid gravy. Melted, real butter bathed the sweet zucchini, and fluffy, firm potatoes prevented globs of real sour cream and tiny chopped scallions from tumbling off the fork. Dining routinely slid to the bottom of the priority list when the bridge was hectic.

     This might have been the best roast beef they’d had since leaving space dock. It was perfection on a fork.

     “Tom?” He looked up but didn’t stop feasting.

    “Sorry. I’m hungry, and this is fantastic.” He wolfed another bite, then mopped some gravy with a chunk of potato and scarfed it down. He barely wanted to swallow it, keeping the flavors alive as long as possible. “Are you excited? We’ll be on Kinnae tomorrow.”

    “As long as they aren’t hit by the ass-roid I’ll be happy to see them.” Her word fell humorless this time.

    “It’s highly unlikely. The target is five hundred million square kilometers. Waiso is about… a hundred.”

    “Zalara won’t even know them,” was her wistful comment.

    “She’s old enough now to understand who they are. She’ll remember them until the next time we come back.”

    “When will that be?” Rianya picked at the morsels on her plate, pushing the potatoes around in the gravy.

    “I’m not sure. Probably three, four years, realistically.” Tom pushed a square button embedded at the head of the table and Jules arrived promptly. “Coffee?”

    “Right away, Captain.”

    Rianya was quiet while Tom kept eating. Jules came in with a carafe and two china cups with the Maria Mitchell insignia on the side. The only sound was that of the coffee gurgling into the cups, the pitch rising as they filled. Tom kept eating as if there was no tomorrow. Damn, Jules was a good cook!

    “Are you alright?” she asked. He looked up and set his fork and knife on the table. Her face pleaded for his attention.

    “I’m sorry. I have a lot of things on my mind.”

    “Want to tell me?”

    Tom knew the odds of the asteroid causing damage to Rianya’s family, or the science team, was a million to one, but the nagging possibility still hovered. A faint ruckus of dishes and voices echoed from the galley.

    How had he lived for 50 some years without her in his life? He propped his chin in his hands and leaned on the table to look at her. She was a marvelous distraction, his good luck charm.

    “I don’t want to talk, that’s for sure.”

    “I think you want to talk, about the mission, and then go to sleep like every night for a long time.”

    “Maybe in between the mission talk and the sleep we can find something else to do.” He looked at her askew hoping she’d join his game.

    “Captain Jackson, report to the bridge immediately!”

    “What now?” Tom jumped up and headed for the elevator. When the door opened on the bridge he found Mr. Watson pulling Mr. Rougeau away from Mr. Lee in a testosterone fueled brawl in the nadir, partly under the navigation and helm console.

    “Attention on deck!” Jackson shouted. None of the three responded to his order. Watson bumped his head on the console and lost his grip on Rougeau. Lee struggled on the floor against the younger man throwing right and left punches.

    “Come to order! Now!” He stepped into the nadir to break up the fight. He pushed Rougeau off the lieutenant; Lee scrambled to his feet. Each officer grappled to get at the other while Jackson reached for their collars, getting between them. That was a mistake.

Rougeau and Lee both swung a right hook at each other, at the same time, boxing Captain Jackson from the left and the right. The fight immediately ended as Jackson lowered himself to the deck, holding his jaw in his hands.

    “Oh, fuck, Lee, now you’re in trouble.”

    “You attacked me! You’re going to court martial, you gawdamn ass’s ass!”

    “Captain, are you okay?” Watson said, crawling from his place under the helm to attend to his commanding officer. Watson rubbed at his own head, stood, and, extending a hand, pulled Jackson to his feet. He propped himself up against the helm, half sitting on the dashboard, both hands on his face. He didn’t feel any moist on his palms, but his entire head began to throb as the initial numbing faded.

    He looked at the two men, slightly out of focus. Each had several pink and brown swellings that would no doubt grow to purple bruises in a few hours. Lee had a jagged, red gore over one eye to complement the tear the Zlōger had given him; Rougeau’s lower lip was split and oozing blood down his chin and neck. Each stood disjointedly, leaning on the nearest support structure, their heaving chests gasping for air.

    “TEN-HUT!” All three young men snapped to attention, standing like steel statues, if not with ruler-straight spines. “You’re a disgrace to those uniforms! Watson, stand at ease.” Jackson winced and cradled his jaw in one hand. His mouth didn’t seem to want to work as designed.

    “Just what in the hell is wrong with the two of you? I’ve never seen such behavior on my bridge before, ever.” He verily shook with anger but, as always, the worse the circumstance, the more self-control he seemed to have to deal with it.

Jackson fumed, almost slamming his fist on the intercom button, but decided instead that taking his anger at his officers out on the innocent button was setting a bad example and was bad for the button.

    ’Do wheeeeeeee oh’.

    “Sergeant Wagner, report to the bridge. Lieutenant May, report to the bridge.” He pushed the button again, closing the mic, gently, with his thumb. “Watson, report to sick bay.”  The youngest man gathered up a vague salute before he scurried out. Jackson straightened his back and paced a couple of steps.

    “There’s no excuse for this.” He stopped briefly to spit a bit of blood onto his sleeve. “None whatsoever. I don’t know what the problem was, is, or will be. I don’t care who started it, or why.”  Jackson moved behind the men, speaking to the backs of their heads. “You’ve just turned this into a really lousy night for me, both of you.”

Rougeau stumbled slightly and opened his mouth but the captain cut him off quick.

    “We are facing a serious crisis. I need both of you at your posts conducting yourself as the officers you supposedly are. This isn’t a barroom.” He stopped in front of Rougeau and could smell a strong alcohol of some kind wafting out of his gaping mouth. Jackson moved to within a tongue’s length, face to face, with Rougeau. The inebriated ensign stared through Jackson’s eyes, his own blank, bloodshot, smudgy windows blocking the view of his soul.

Mr. Wagner arrived on the bridge and promptly stood at attention as the other two men.

    “Sergeant Wagner, take these two men to the brig and notify sick bay they need medical attention.”

    “Aye, Captain.”

    “Dismissed!”

He watched the three men board the elevator after Lieutenant May stepped out, glancing at the party with wide eyes but remaining silent.

    “I’m sorry you’ll have to man your station early tonight, Lieutenant. Have you taken mess?”

    “Yes, Captain, not a problem.”

    “Maintain course and speed, notify me if telemetry from the asteroid probe comes in before morning shift starts. I’ll be in sick bay. You have the bridge, Lieutenant.”

    “Aye, sir.” Jackson could feel May’s desire to ask what had just happened like it was a filament of plasma reaching out to hold him, but it was not May’s business and Jackson intended to keep it that way. The gossip windmill could be started with the slightest breeze and he didn’t condone or encourage that.

    “Good evening, Captain, oh my gosh, sir, let me help you.” Rosalind Henderson, the RN on aboard, rushed to collect him by the arm. She led him to a med bed, encouraging him to sit. He didn’t resist. “Stu told me there was--”

    “An altercation on the bridge. I’ve been sucker punched.” She dashed across the room and back.

    “Sir, that looks painful!” He put his hands on his jaw and felt the swelling but didn’t look in a mirror. “That’s going to be a nasty hematoma.” She handed him a pair of cold, flat, hand-sized gel bundles. “Cold packs, here,” she said, moving his hands away and placing them on both sides of his head.

    The cold sent a shiver down his back but he held them lightly to the injury despite the shock. He’d been through worse things than a fist fight. She came at him with a hypodermal and injected something near his clavicle; he assumed a painkiller. The docs were always trying to take away the pain.

    “How’s Stuart?”

    “I gave him some analgesics and sent him to his quarters. Mr. Mills went to the brig. Connection?”

    “You don’t miss much, do you, Roz?”

    “That’s not hard to put together, Captain.”

    “Is it broken?” She put her hands under his chin, under the ice packs, pressed a few times with her thumbs. He winced.

    “I don’t think so but let me shoot it,” she said, bringing a small image device to him, taking a snap of each side, then sending the images to the holograph projector. Clear color images of each side of his face appeared side by side. Bone appeared yellow to green to blue, teeth were blue, red and orange surrounded those at the base. She rotated the image several times.

    “You have beautiful teeth, sir. And no fracture; all’s good. It’s going to hurt a day or two, but the swelling should go down before then.” Jackson slid off the work bed. “Take these with you,” she said, handing him the ice packs. His brain felt a little loose inside his skull as if someone had removed its scaffold. “Let me take you to your quarters,” she offered.

    “Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Roz.”

    “Goodnight, sir.”

Jeopardy Chapter 16

“Are you alright, John?”

“Yes, Captain. A little shaken but I’m okay.”

“The bastards battered Chen, and half the ship’s asleep from some anesthesia. Go to the auxiliary control room. Alter environmental controls. Set the temp for 40, the humidity to 10%, and the lighting to full brightness.”

“The main power is down all over the ship.”

“Use stored energy. Turn this ship into the Mojave Desert. Go!”

“What about you, Captain?”

“I’m going to sick bay. Go!”

Understanding that the machine room had been spared the toxic gas from closed ducts, it was logical to assume the corridor would turn to desert before the room did. The Zlōgers couldn’t stay in there.

Jackson took rope from the supply closet and dragged each Zlōger by a tentacle until they appeared like prostrate parachutes ready to be packed. He tied their six legs together to prevent them from walking, then tied their arms as well.

It was like dragging half a dozen king cobras across the floor but all four Zlōgers were secured and finally deposited in the brightly lit corridor. John Chin had gotten some power on, and the environmental controls adjusted. Jackson could feel the heat suddenly and removed his over-shirt to cool off. He locked the machine shop, stepped over the unconscious Zlōgers, and went up a deck to the infirmary where he found the door locked.

“Jackson to bridge. Lee, is Barone there with you?”

“No, but two short females are up here in your office.”

“Are they okay?”

“Besides annoyed that I told them to stay put, they’re fine. Maybe a little scared.”

“Thank you, Chen. Thank you.” Jackson let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Who’s awake and who’s asleep?”

“I’m not certain, sir. I believe I’m the only one awake, and the girls. I haven’t heard from anyone else. I’m alone.”

“You have the con, then. Stay on the bridge and carry on, I’ll be up soon.”  He changed frequencies on his wrist com. “Stone?”

“Captain?”

“Go to ops and put the ventilation system online 100%, then turn the O-2 up to 25% and flush out the crap those aliens put in our pipes.”

“All decks, sir?”

“I don’t know what’s toxic and what isn’t, so yes, let’s recirculate everything. I doubt their anesthesia can last much longer anyway.”

“Aye, sir.”

Jackson looked around but Barone wasn’t anywhere in sight. He peered in the sick bay door window and saw five humans on the floor, and one Zlōger stumbling about, his eyes blinking and swiveling in their individual orbits. His two arm appendages covered his eyes but it wasn’t enough. The bright lights had an immediate effect; the dry heat would kick in before long. He smiled to himself and hacked the door lock.

The door popped open a centimeter. Inside the Zlōger’s eyes slowly turned toward the noise. Jackson thrust the doors into their wall pockets and marched up to Pekeena. He wanted to kick the creature in his ugly head, but he had better self-control than that.

“Get up. You’re going back to your ship.” He flailed around and slimed his way to the water and basin. The water came on and he did his best to shower under it and rehydrate. Jackson stepped over to Rianya, stroking her cheek, and placing one hand on Dr. Ferris’ shoulder. Rianya opened her eyes but didn’t speak. She didn’t focus on him but seemed to stare through him instead.

“Love, how do you feel?” She didn’t move her body but instead looked left, right, then at his face. “Stay still, just relax, don’t get up.” He shook Dr. Ferris gently. She was breathing but didn’t move at all. Jackson looked at the Zlōger trying to revive himself.

“Stop. You come with me.” Pekeena refused to answer but continued to splash water on himself. Jackson raised his hand laser and aimed for a spot just above the Zlōger’s head. The electronic fire burst into life a half a meter from his head on the wall, which got the creature’s attention. “Come on,” Jackson roared, waving his weapon toward the door a couple times before aiming between the two googly eyes.

Barone dashed in and stopped short.

“Captain?”

“Get anyone who is conscious down to the machine shop and drag those Zlōgers back to their transport.”

“Aye, Captain,” she clipped and took off in the opposite direction. “There’s one more on the bridge,” he called after her. He turned to Pekeena. “Any more of you I don’t know about?” He backed up a few steps and touched the switch on the translator box before repeating his question.

“Seven total,” the medical zlo said. That left one unaccounted for.

“Come on.”

Jackson pushed the Zlōger along until they reached the airlock. Without a word he opened the airlock, poked Pekeena with his pistol, urging him on. He lifted each leg, unable to slime forward without any moisture, and as his last claw dragged across the threshold to his ship, Jackson pounded his fist on the close control. Before the doors even slammed shut he manipulated the locking mechanism and called his crew.

“Attention, this is the captain. If you can hear me, secure your station and report to the mess. Attention all hands, secure your station and report to the mess.”

Jackson arrived first, but a few moments later the galley crew trickled into the dining room. The intercom signaled.

“It’s Barone, sir. We have two more bodies to drag to the airlock. Do you want us to come to the mess instead?”

“No, absolutely not. Get those bastards off my ship.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“What happened, sir?” Bailey was the first to speak, or, rather, croak.

“Are you all okay? No one seriously hurt?” Sleepy faces looked from one to another and heads began to nod.

“It was the Zlōgers, wasn’t it?” Harchett mumbled.

“Yes, they were trying to steal our EBMs. I’ve got one locked in their transport craft--”

“Why’s it so hot in here?” Bailey shouted. It’s like 40 degrees!”

“It is 40, Bailey. Maria Mitchell’s on desertification environment so those bags of slime will have to leave.”

“When can we get back to normal?” The cook staff started to remove jackets and over garments. Jackson realized he was half undressed himself but what could he do? His shirt and jacket were in sick bay.

“As soon as they’re all off the ship. Gather everyone here and let me know when everyone is accounted for, Bailey. I’ll be on the bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” she said, and fanned herself with her apron.

Jackson routed himself to sick bay to gather his garments and the staff had finally found their feet. Rianya was his first thought. He spied her standing near a counter top for support, holding his shirt and jacket.

“It was the Zlōgers, Captain,” Doc Adams piped up. They – where did doctor Zlōger go? Why’s it so damn hot in here?”

“When they’re all off the ship I’ll reset the environmental control settings. Until then, just pretend you’re in Egypt.” He took the shirt Rianya held out to him, but not the jacket. He just shoved his arms in the sleeves but said to hell with the buttons. It was too damn hot to worry about that.

“Are you okay?” his wife asked him. He nodded.

“Are you okay? I wasn’t asleep; we were trapped on their mother ship.” Jackson looked around. “Where’s Zalara?”

“She was with Bailey when I came to sick bay. I don’t know!” Rianya stumbled in an effort to panic.

“No, wait, Chen said they’re in the doyen’s office. I’ll go there now. You all go to the mess. We’re congregating there for safety.”

Jackson dashed out and headed straight for the stairs. Waiting for an elevator might take longer than two flights of steps. At the second deck, however, the heat changed his mind. He left the stairwell and took the easy way up.

He wasn’t prepared for the sight on the bridge when he stepped in. Commander Gugnichacrik looked like a beached squid drying in the sun when the tide rolled out. The black spot where Jackson’s pistol had shot him oozed a clear but greenish fluid. His eyes had shrunken back into his head somewhat.

“I can save him,” Zalara said, standing at the door to the doyen’s office with Honey glued to her behind.

“No, you won’t. Chen, get Clay and Dean up here to drag his sorry corpse to the airlock.”

“He’s not dead, sir.” Jackson stepped closer to have another look, then strode to his office, brought the pitcher of water from the table, and poured it on the commander’s gills and eyes. More green juice flowed out of the charred wound but he seemed to sputter with a hint of life after all, some drops spraying from the gill organs and his eyes blinking.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Jackson said. The box squealed something that the Zlōger picked up in his ear receiver.

“This is fatal,” was the reply. One arm lifted and pressed against his scorched skin. “Is just time now.”

Jackson wasn’t sure he believed the commander. He’d been lied to several times in the last day or two. Chen shrugged.

“I can fix him, Papa. I can see the hurt.”

“No!” He turned to Gugnichacrik. “Let’s go, you’re going back to your ship.”

“Just shoot me.”

“I don’t kill anything unless I have to. Lieutenant, help him up so he can get to the docking port. Lee stood and examined the commander, searching for a place to get a hand hold.

“I cannot fulfil my contract with Pegasi. I am better to die here, with dignity.”

“Pegasi?” Jackson was sure he said Pegasi. His shoulders dropped a centimeter. “What about the Pegasi?”

“We are nomads, mercenaries. We collect on bounties, run cargo, fight. Females forced us off our planet.”

“All of you?”

“Most, but they keep some of us, as slaves, for reproduction.”

“We’ve never seen your species before.”

“Grant me this, Captain Thomas Jackson. I wish to die. I will lose face, I’ll be ruined anyway.”

Jackson lowered his weapon and sighed. Such a pathetic sight of the commander begging for death. He looked at Chen, and Chen looked back without an answer.

“I can fix him, Papa.”

Jackson didn’t want his child running around healing every injury she came across.

“I didn’t want you to fix Mama, I don’t want you to fix him.”

“Mama had water all over in her. He’s only burned inside one spot.” He begged himself to say no but instead he nodded, fighting his instinct to protect her. Maybe she could bring a peace between humans and these nomads, an ally in this part of space. Besides, Jackson had no desire to fulfill his wishes.

Zalara bounded into the nadir and examined the dorsally positioned eye. She placed both hands on the laser wound and closed her eyes. Under her hands the carbonized epidermis rippled slowly, replacing the charred skin from the outside closing inward. When the process was complete she stepped away and shook her hands as if to cool them off and looked in his eye again.

“He’s kind of dry. I think he need water.” Mr. Lee stood with his mouth open, eyes wide, and stumbling up the steps he took the empty pitcher and returned with a full one. Jackson took it and poured the water over Gugnichacrik’s head and gills. He blew a few bubbles and fanned his gill organs.

“Hot. Is this the Eternal Flame?” The elevator swished open and his two security forces sprang out.

“Get him off my bridge.” Clay and Dean struggled to get the alien on his feet. His golden eyes blinked and he looked at Zalara.

“Why did you do that?”

“It makes me happy when I make someone feel better.”

“You saved my life.”

“Yes, she did, Commander. Now kindly take yourself and your fellow mercenaries and get off my ship. You better hope we don’t meet again any time soon.”

“Wait,” he croaked. “Why did she do that?”

“She’s young and foolish.”

“I am in her debt.”

“I thought you wanted to die. We just saved your life.”

“Is better to live to fight another day, if possible.”

“What about the Pegasi?”

“I will think of a suitable answer. Good bye, Captain Thomas Jackson.”

Captain Thomas Jackson was in no mood to be polite.

“Accompany the commander to the airlock, Mr. Lee.”

“Aye, sir. Why’s it so damn hot in here?” Tom looked down and saw two girl children with big eyes and stringy hair looking up at him. He stepped to the bridge ops console and promptly reset the environmental controls from 40-10 to 25-25, reset O2 to 20, and shaved a few lumens off the lighting, just for good measure.

Jeopardy Chapter 15

“Why are we still in here if the aliens left the flower room?”

“I don’t know for certain that they won’t be back,” Harchett answered.

“I don’t want to stay here with the chickens anymore. Let’s go.” Zalara stood up and brushed the litter from her clothes, taking Honey’s hand and leading her to the door.

“Wait, girls—”

Zalara didn’t waste time waiting for anything. She opened the door with abandon. The dim lighting was still brighter than the chicken coop, and the dust-free air was a huge improvement.

“If I was a chicken I’d rather be out here,” Honey said. “That’s nasty.”

“Usually the door is open.”

“Girls—”

“There’s no aliens here, Mr. Harchett. Only plants.” The man inched out of the coop behind a hen that squawked at him. He took a few breaths and took another step, then followed Zalara out to the garden bay. In the dim lighting, fluorescent plants glowed the color of chlorophyll along the entire top shelf, casting an eerie luminosity against the ceiling.

“Lights,” she said, and the room instantly had the ambiance of sunlit, damp, dewy air, and the fresh scent of living vegetables. Harchett jogged to the door and found it locked as the Zlōger had left it.

“Damn.” He looked around the room for any other possible escape routes or doors. “There should be two exits for every room,” he muttered.

“What about the tunnel?” Zalara asked. He looked at her face sternly.

“Tunnel?”

“The air tunnels. But you’ll get stuck.” Honey skipped to the back of the room and began to push a container up against the wall. Zalara followed the blonde ponytail and joined in the pushing. Above their heads on the wall, a half by half meter square opening hid behind a copper-colored grille.

“This ventilation system is self-contained, Zalara. You can’t get very far in there.”

“It’s not that far to the door.”

“Have you been in there before?” Zalara looked at Honey and giggled.

“All the time,” she answered. Harchett squinted at them before he climbed on the box to help them remove the screen.

“You watch out for the aliens, girls. I think they’re up to trouble. Locking us in here probably wasn’t an accident.”

“At least we could eat eggs and vegetables,” Honey said. “How would we cook them, though?”

Zalara hadn’t thought of that. Plenty of food, but all of it raw. That would have been okay because Bailey had told her vegetables shouldn’t be cooked too much anyway.

“Should we let you out first?”

“Of course!”

“Okay, see you in a minute,” she promised, and climbed into the air vent with Honey on her caboose. The hydroponics’ air system went almost directly to the corridor once they passed the fan box. The fragrance of the hydroponics bay turned into the sterile, recycled air that the rest of the ship had. When she arrived at the end, she swiveled on her behind and tapped the inside of the vent with her feet. She slid around again and slipped out, feet first, and dropped to the deck. Honey followed suit.

The corridors were quiet, and dark. That wasn’t a normal situation, not normal at all, not even at night. The floor lights would be lit if it were night.

“Where is everybody?” Honey whispered.

“I don’t know. The blue squishy people are up to something bad.”

“Why do you think that?”

“My papa said he didn’t trust them. And he trusts everyone, mostly,” Zalara explained. “He wouldn’t let our ship be dark, so someone else did it.”

They hopped a few meters to the hydroponics hatch. Zalara tried to open the door, then Honey tried to help her. She looked at the door control panel that blinked an icon of an old-fashioned key, in red.

“Mr. Harchett?” she called at the door. “It’s locked.”

“I know it’s locked. Unlock it.”

“I don’t know how. I pushed the button but it’s still red.”

“Use the number pad,” the man called. She looked at Honey, her blue eyes as clueless as a caterpillar. “Put in these numbers:  1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13.”

“There’s no number thirteen on the pad.”

“Push one and then three.” She complied. The magnetic seal released and the red key stopped flashing, now a steady green. The door promptly opened from the inside and Mr. Harchett lept out, took a few deep breaths, and looked around.

“I should get to the galley. Come on, stay with me. Why’s it so dark in here?” Zalara looked at Honey, and they both looked at the steward. Zalara didn’t notice before that he was still wearing his kitchen clothes, and they weren’t white anymore, but speckled with chicken litter and a couple of sticking feathers.

“I think the aliens made it dark.”

“Someone said their ship was dark,” Honey added.

“Let’s get up to the galley,” Harchett said, and headed for the elevator. The girls trotted to keep up. When then arrived, they found the power down, the elevator not working. “Stairs,” he said. “Stairs, the low-tech solution.”

In the dark the three of them climbed the rigid ladder to the deck above, which was closer than the stairwell down the corridor a few meters. Zalara trembled faintly but kept climbing. Her mother once told her that a goldfish had better night vision than the two of them.

At the end of the corridor on Deck Three, they looked in the mess hall. It was empty, and clean; the shelves were bare and the tables bald. Continuing through to the galley, another locked door stopped their journey. Harchett punched in the numbers again, and the lock disengaged.

“Stay here, girls.” Zalara set her jaw and her fists balled up. The dark, empty mess hall made her shiver and she intended to stay with an adult. Harchett pulled on the handle and turned around. “I mean it, stay here, we don’t know what’s in there.”

Honey sat down at the nearest table and folded her arms. Zalara relented. Putting on her best pout, and using her most reluctant pace, she joined her friend in reticence. Harchett opened the door into a dark, quiet galley. He took a few steps and disappeared, the door shutting behind him.

The girls waited in the dim light, the only source at all coming through the windows from the planet and moon they orbited.

“I wish there was something to eat,” Zalara said.

“I wish Mr. Harchett would come back.”

“He’s grown up but we don’t need him.” Her words belied her quickened heartbeat and cold hands. She gazed out the polarized window at the planet’s hazy surface of blue. “What’s taking him so long?”

“Are you scared?” Honey asked.

“No, I’m not scared. Just hungry.” She hopped down and banged on the door. “Mr. Harchett? Miz Bailey?” She pounded her fist against the hatch a couple more times before a tangy salt percolated in her throat and breathing was hard. Oh, no, no, she couldn’t cry in front of Honey.

“Is anyone in there?” Zalara shouted.

“Maybe we should go back to the hydroponics bay.”

“I want to go home,” Zalara sniveled. “Come on.” She took Honey’s hand and led the taller, older girl out of the mess and to the stairs, not the ladder in the tube. “We have two layers to go,” Zalara told her informal sister, and started up the steps in the dark.

When they arrived at the Jackson’s stateroom, the door was locked.

“Now what?” Honey asked. Zalara puckered up her face and squeezed her eyes shut. People should be in the hallways and the lights should be on.

“Something’s wrong. Let’s go to the bridge.”

“We’re not allowed to go there.”

“I’m allowed to go there.” Without hesitation Zalara marched to the elevator but the power was out. Stairs didn’t need ‘lectricity.

“I don’t want to get in trouble,” Honey said.

“My papa won’t get mad at you if I told you to come. That’s called an order.”

They climbed up the clanking steps, pushed hard to open the door, and they looked out before taking any steps onto the forbidden plane. All she saw was Mr. Lee at the helm and the big planet in the windows.

“What are you two doing up here!?”

“I want my papa.” Chen looked around the bridge and at Commander Gugnichacrik on the floor. He jumped up and scurried to the girls.

“Come on, it’s not safe here,” he told them, taking Zalara by the hand and running her back to the doyen’s office, Honey on their heels. “Stay here until someone comes to get you. It might be a while."

“Where’s my papa?”

“He’s on the ship, somewhere, I don’t know.”

“I’ll call him.”

“No! Zalara, there are aliens on the ship. Stay here, you’ll be safe. Don’t use the intercom.”

“Are the aliens bad?”

“They’re being bad at the moment, yes, but let us adults take care of it.” He backed toward the door. “Don’t be scared, you’re both very brave to come up here. Captain’s going to take care of it.” He shut and locked the door. The girls looked at each other.

“I still have to pee.” 

Jeopardy Chapter 14

“Where is everybody?” Captain Jackson wondered aloud. The corridor was empty, and the lights were low. “This doesn’t look right at all. Armory.” He made a sharp turn; Barone and Stone followed closely on his heels. The door was sealed when they arrived.

“Stand back,” Barone instructed, and with her side arm she aimed at the controls and fired a yellow-white beam at them. A small fire erupted followed by the pop of the door seal. She pulled the door open for the other two.

The lockers’ doors hung open and the bare metal of the rear wall greeted their eyes instead of laser rifles and hand pistols. Barone took her pistol and promptly placed it on a power pad to charge; Jackson did the same.

“Zoe, get to your office and check the monitors. Find out where everyone is. I have a bad feeling the Zlōgers are behind this,” Jackson said, waving at the empty weapons lockers. “And watch yourself!” he called after her.

“Bridge or engineering, sir?”

“I’ll go to engineering. If I see a Zlōger on my bridge I might lose it. You secure sick bay.”

Jackson retrieved his weapon off the shelf and attached it to his belt before he left. Engineering was one deck up. The elevator didn’t respond, so he double timed up the steps instead. He felt the subtle vibrations of Maria Mitchell’s engines idling and heard the high-pitched hiss of her thrusters at station keeping. His hand reached out for the latch and found another sealed door. Rather than blast it, he jogged up to Deck 3 and crawled to the emergency hatch via the catwalk. Ah, success!

Geeze, the room was empty…except for Quixote on the floor. He leapt over the safety railing and slid down a flight of steps to the main deck.

“Quixote!” Jackson tapped the reptile about the shoulders but xe didn’t budge. Rather than feel for a pulse he pried open an eyelid and checked the black spot in the tangerine orb. It contracted after a moment, slowly, but contracted nevertheless. He was alive. Damn! Jackson instinctively looked at his surroundings, confirming he was alone.

He pulled off his jacket and covered the reptile’s upper torso. Cool to his touch, he knew enough that too cool would put the cold-blooded commander into an early hibernation, or at least slow his recovery.

“Sorry, Old Bean, but I think you should just rest here until the battle is won.” Jackson stood and concentrated. Where would Rianya and Zalara be? The com unit on his wrist vibrated. 

“Jackson.”

“Byrd, here. We tethered the Osprey but the space doors are stuck fast.”

“Come aboard and secure the shuttle bay. I don’t want anyone going in there without an EV suit. Byrd, go to the galley and check on the crew. Painter, go to the machine shop but be double careful. The Zlōgers were really interested in the shop and engineering. They’re not here, and Quixote’s out cold.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“We’ll meet at the quartermaster’s office in 20 minutes if possible.”

Jackson resigned himself that the dry spell of boredom was over. In a way, it felt good to feel the bullet of adrenaline in his veins, his need to be solving a crisis, shaking cobwebs out of his brain.

With no answers in Engineering, he headed for the bridge. Zlōgers were behind this. All he could see in his mind was a blue blob choking under his own hands. Green-gold eyes bulged out and the tentacles flailed in an attempt to fight the captain’s grip, but in a final lunge the alien gasps and goes limp.

Jackson took the elevator up and got off one deck below the bridge. He crept up the flight of steps as fast as he dared, skipping the third step to avoid the reliable squeak of metal, which always alerted him to a backdoor arrival when he was on the bridge.

With no visibility through the emergency door, he pressed the side of his head against the bulkhead, straining his auditory senses for any sound at all. Maria Mitchell’s bulkheads were as sound proof as space proof.

He placed his hand on the lever to manually open the hatch, gradually, pushing it a centimeter at a time until the magnetic seal lost power and it suddenly broke free. He looked through the crack with one eye, his cheek pressed against that cold bulkhead. A Zlōger lounged in his chair, its blue legs wrapped around the frame to keep it from slithering out onto the floor.

Jackson’s hands clenched. He saw only the one intruder. His fist pounded on his thigh once before it opened to grip the laser pistol on his belt. He raised the weapon to eye level, aiming through the gap at the Zlōger’s head, or body, or whatever was the large bulbous part where all the legs attached. The tip of his weapon touched the bulkhead with a faint tink; one green-gold chameleon eye swiveled, focusing on Jackson.

He pulled the trigger. A plasma beam shot out and touched the alien’s body, leaving a black burn mark before the disabled alien slid out of the chair. He pushed the hatch in and stepped onto his bridge. His bridge, his chair, were his again.

“Captain!” Lee shouted. He jumped up from his station and all but danced up the steps. When he reached the unconscious Zlōger on the floor, he grabbed one tentacle with both hands and jerked the creature away from Jackson’s chair, rolling it down into the nadir.

“What in hell is going on?”

“They’re all over the ship! They have some kind of sleep gas. Works on everyone but them.”

“And you and me?”

“I think they restricted it to sick bay, galley, and ship’s quarters. I can’t be sure. My dash would light up each time they sealed doors. I saw you, Captain, I saw the Osprey trying to get on board but they heard that new noise the doors make—”

“I understand, Lieutenant.” Jackson huffed a deep breath.

“How did you get on board, sir? You being here means the gas isn’t in all the areas of the ship.”

“I’ll tell you one day when we’re not under attack. What do they want?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are they looking for gold?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I think they are after our EBMs. I’ve been held here to stay in orbit. They’re pretty nasty about it.”

“I’m going down to sick bay. You stay in orbit. And get those bay doors open so we can haul in the Osprey.”

“Aye, Captain, right away.”

Jackson thought better of using the ship’s intercom. He pinched the com unit on his wrist.

“Byrd and Painter, this is Jackson.”

“We’re on our way to quartermaster’s, sir.”

“Go back to the shuttle bay. Mr. Lee is going to open it up and I want you to secure the Osprey.”

“Aye, sir, we’re on our way.”

“Stone, this is Jackson.”

“Stone here.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Power’s down in most of the ship. I have visual confirmation on almost everyone.”

“Who’s missing?” He waited. “Stone?”

“Harchett, Honey, and … Zalara.”

þ

Jackson found Barone outside of sick bay, locked out from the inside. He handed her an air filter mask in case they encountered the gas. That door had a window and from the corridor they saw five of the crew asleep on the floor and one Zlōger meandering among the shelves, drugs, instruments, and beds. Rianya and Ferris slumped against each other, Adams and Henderson in a second pile, and Mills a meter to the left of them.

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do here. It’s just one alien and the crew’s safe, more or less.”

“I need to find my girls,” Jackson uttered.

“Go, sir, I’ll stand by here.”

“I don’t know where to go. There’s ten acres of decking on this ship.”

“She’s probably hiding, sir. Does she have a locator implant? As soon as the power levels are up I can find her with the internal sensors.” Jackson heard his security officer talking but didn’t quite understand what she’d said to him. He looked at her somewhat plain but freckled face, and soft brown eyes that belied her fierce strength and wicked aim with a laser.

“Stay here,” he said blankly. “I’m going to the machine rooms. Keep your com open and your ear sharp.”

Jackson headed down to Deck 4 again, the operations deck: engineering, manufacturing, hydroponics, supply storage, cargo holds, the gymnasium, housekeeping, maintenance, and technology center. Creeping down the unlit corridor, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and quivered in the cool air.

He heard ambiguous clanking, banging, and rattling ahead, coming from the EBM workshop. His hands quavered just a millimeter, he held his breath, and reached for his weapon. Shrill Zlōger voices whistled to each other but he didn’t hear any human voices in the mix. Another kablang made him jump before a pewter cog rolled out the door and spiraled to a stop in front of him. Holding his firearm snug against his chest, he glanced into the room and jerked back into the shadow before he could be spotted.

Four giant, blue squids crawled over the walls and floors around the manufacturing units. His skin flushed hot like a thousand tiny bees stinging him all over in waves, and he could literally hear his teeth grind against each other. They squealed and whined at each other, clacked around on the floor, then one slimed up to Mr. Chin sitting at the console.

“It won’t work without the ship. I keep telling you, they need the power of our FTL engines to work. They’re integrated.”

“You will come with us and integrate into our ship,” the deep blue Zlōger said into the box, which sounded wholly robotic.

“I’m not leaving this ship.”

The blue Zlōger’s eyes both aimed forward, focused on Chin, and one strong leg whipped up and around Chin’s neck like a boa constrictor. Jackson kicked the door fully open. In half a second he aimed and shot the Zlōger once. The black mark hit the nexus of his legs and then the coiled leg slid away from Chin’s neck.

“Captain!”

Jackson aimed quickly and shot the remaining three Zlōgers, each with a satisfying buzz, and a slump to the floor.

Jeopardy Chapter 13

“You sent a communication!” Gugnichacrik whistled into the translator box. He clattered down the two steps from the captain’s chair to the command stations. His arms and legs cartwheeled like fat whips.

“No, I’m… rerouting power for the galley. We have to eat, often. You’ve damaged our power conduits trying to get our EBMs. I must have tripped something accidentally.”

“Show me what you did,” he said. A cold, moist tentacle brushed Lee’s hand on its way to touch the console. Lee jerked away as if it were red hot.

“Listen, I don’t have time to answer your questions. If you want this ship to fly, I’m the only one, and you need to let me do my job,” Lieutenant Lee shouted at the Zlōger. The commander whipped an arm up and slapped Lee in the mouth, his claw hooking and tearing at his lip. A scarlet gash spread across Lee’s chin.

“You don’t talk, you don’t eat, you don’t touch buttons, you only fly,” said the emotionless, robotic voice of the plastic box. The whining returned. “I will download computer data.”

The blue Zlōger didn’t return to the captain’s chair but instead found a way to seat himself at the communications post. His eyes swiveled to examine the buttons, lights, images, and the results of manipulating each of them in turn.

Chen Lee wiped the blood from his chin and pressed his knuckles against the slash to slow the hemorrhage. He wiped a few drips off the dashboard and smeared them on his pants leg. The salty, warm fluid on his tongue sent a shudder creeping up his spine. Those blue deca-bastards!

In the transparent screen in front of him, the mirror finish was clean enough to reflect the image of the blue blob just slightly behind him to his left. The short appendages around his mouth waved like antennas, the next pair, his arms, selected different icons and pressed different buttons with deliberate concentration. Two prehensile legs adjusted the screens, lighting, and chair.

Lee saw the red light blinking and placed his hand over it, shielding the indicator from the Zlōger’s view. He touched some icons and the image before him shrank to a few centimeters. To his eyes the shape of the Osprey was easily defined as it approached the shuttle bay below the keel.

“What is that sound?” Commander Zlōger asked, his eyes swiveling around the bridge. Lee pretended not to hear.

“What sound?”

“A hydraulic.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Then your hearing is faulty.” Lee didn’t think beforehand that although the frequency was out of human hearing it might be right in the Zlōger range. He sneaked a look at the image of the Osprey approaching the hold. The double space doors, damaged from Osprey’s emergency landing, now caused a distinctive squeal as they parted. Damaged components within the bulkheads couldn’t be replaced without mooring in a space dock, but since they worked, Jackson hadn’t cared if they were a little noisy.

Lee gently, covertly, touched a control to suspend the action of the doors, stopping the noise, but also refusing entry to the Osprey. His heart beat faster; he could hear it in his ears. The Zlōger could probably hear it too if he could hear the space doors opening.

But Lee had to get the doors open. The Zlōger ship was attached to the docking port; there was no other way. He glanced at Zlōger working over their communication system, downloading Maria Mitchell’s database. His hand crept across the dashboard toward the control switch.

“Keep your claws where I can see them,” the Zlōger told him. Lee slid his hand back, the space doors partway open, the bay depressurized, the captain and crew hovering in the Osprey.




“What’s going on?” Jackson muttered. The space doors stopped only a third open as if they were stuck. “Are the doors screwed up again?” The rest of the crew stretched their necks to look out the window at the belly of the Maria Mitchell. “I can’t get in there.” He tapped the console. “Jackson to Maria Mitchell, come in.” The five of them all exchanged perplexed glances and frowns.

“Maybe they’re busy with the Zlōgers?” Zoe said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jackson replied. “Jackson to Maria Mitchell, come in.” Silence.

“Maybe fly by the bow; see if anyone is on the bridge?” Kym asked.

“If there’s a Zlōger on the bridge it might be better he doesn’t know we’re here. He sees us as easily as we see them.”

“Are you sure you can’t get the Osprey in, Captain?”

“We could get stuck or crushed if the doors move. I can’t be sure they’ll stay like that if no one on the bridge answers.”

“Watch the tow line, sir, we’re drifting.” Jackson looked out and noticed his thrusters were not at station keeping and made some adjustments. The ship righted and moved away from the cable. He moved the shuttle twenty meters on the zero axis and hovered under the ventral side of his ship before guiding the craft up under the docking port. The Zlōger shuttle was still docked there.

“Well, we’re not going to float around out here forever. EV suits, everyone.” Each crew member swam to the back of the spacecraft and encased themselves in a heavy, well insulated suit that reminded Jackson of photographs from the 2050s early Mars missions. He double checked the thrusters then also put on an EV suit, tugging it over his day uniform. He hunted for the largest bubble to fit over his head.

“Captain?” Kym said, half with curiosity and half with dread, her feet dangling above the deck. She gripped a rail along the upper bulkhead to ensure she didn’t bang her head on the roof.

“You’re going first, Byrd.”

“Sir, I hate spacewalks. They make me sick to my stomach.”

“That’s why you’re out first.” Jackson couldn’t see any other way to get inside Maria Mitchell from the Osprey. “Everyone, stand by for depressurization. All the equipment locked down?” Jackson asked, giving another glance around the cabin. The only thing floating were the people.

When he was sure everyone’s helmet was secure, their oxygen was flowing, and each person had a carabiner attached to the safety line, Jackson reached for a lever high out of easy, accidental reach. He gave it a tug to open an air valve. With helmets on the only sounds were that of themselves all breathing or talking, so the hissing didn’t add to anyone’s anxiety, this time.

Jackson unlocked the door, turned the wheel, then pushed hard. The hatch slid to one side. Before them the underbelly of the ship shielded them from anyone’s view. The Osprey held its position a few meters from the open space doors.

“Head out, Byrd,” he told the engineer. She peered over the threshold and froze. “Byrd.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t!”

“I’ll go first, Captain,” Shellie Barone offered. “I’ve done this a dozen times. It’s a piece of cake. I can help from the other side.”

Kym Byrd thrust herself back into the cabin at those words and grabbed on fast to the hand railing. Jackson thought about ordering Byrd through first, but to hell with orders. He just had to get back on board his ship.

“Very well, Barone, thank you for volunteering. Out with you,” he said. She clipped her carabiner in front of Byrd’s and drifted out of the Osprey. Climbing hand over hand, upside down and sideways, she crept along the cable holding the Zlōger ship. One meter, two meters, and three meters. She floated clumsily around the taught line until a foot touched the edge of one of the doors. She put one hand securely on the rail inside that door, disconnected from the tow line, and hauled herself through the gap.

“I’m in!”

“Can you open the hatch any wider?” Jackson asked.

“Let me see,” and she offered a thumb’s up fist before disappearing into the black hole of the shuttle bay. “There’s no one here,” she said. He could hear her heavy breathing; maneuvering in space took energy and engaged muscles they didn’t use often.

“Captain, they aren’t stuck. They’re intentionally on hold in that position. You want me to override?” Jackson gave the idea a moment of thought.

“No, they must be that way for a reason. I don’t want to find out the hard way. We’re going to follow you in.” Jackson turned to Stone.

“You’re up Zoe.”

“I haven’t done this in two years.”

“Time for a little practice, then. Off you go,” he said, jerking on her carabiner and then pushing her just a bit to move her off the Osprey.

“Oh, oh, god almighty!” she shouted, clinging to the tow cable with her entire body.

“Go, Stone, hand over hand, pull yourself to the hatch,” Jackson ordered. She froze. “Go!” Her hand reached out half a meter and took a hold of the cable, then her body inched behind it. Instead of hand over hand she skipped, reaching her right arm forward and letting herself catch up, while her left-hand white knuckled the cable.

“Come on, Zoe,” Shellie called. “I’ll help you when you get here, come on!”

“Okay, Kym, your turn. I want you over on the Maria Mitchell. Give me your clip,” Jackson told her. She complied. Jackson reached out and slapped it over the tow line and tugged her closer to the door.
“Nice and easy, now, Shellie and Zoe just did it, you can too. Follow their lead.”

Byrd had no words. She looked at Jackson, and he smiled at her through the bubble, nodding. She launched herself out of the hatch and grabbed the line as far away from the Osprey as possible. She hopped along like an orange frog, taking the largest bites possible to move as fast as she was able.

“Come on, Kym, we got you!” one of the others said. “We’ll pull you in.” Jackson watched as the orange shape scrambled onto the deck. She couldn’t go very far while her safety line was still attached, so Shellie drifted out the two meters to unlock it for her.

“Ron.”

“Sir?”

“Captain goes down with the ship. Go,” he said, giving the man a hand to back into. Forced forward, he climbed the rope much as Shellie, hand over hand, rolling around it in zero G, until he could grab a door railing. He unbuckled his latch from the tow line and buckled it to something sturdy inside the bay.

Thomas Jackson always enjoyed EVA missions, but he’d never quite done this before. He didn’t want the Osprey to float away, so he took a 6th cable and attached it to the tow line, the other end to the inner hand railing inside the shuttle. There’d be no way to shut the door or turn off the thrusters, but he couldn’t do anything about those circumstances.

Jackson checked the carabiner for the Osprey, then launched off the hatch and into space. He drifted away toward the Osprey’s bow and felt his heart leap out of his chest. He looked down. His safety cable was attached to him but where was the other end?!

He had attached himself to the Osprey’s cable, and the Osprey was attached to the tow line.
“Captain! Stop fooling around and come in!” Kym said over the intercoms. Jackson felt every stiffened muscle in his body trying to decide whether to cramp or relax. Now it was he who couldn't catch his breath.

He grabbed his own rope, tumbled around it and hand over hand he crawled back to the hatch. With one arm securely around the tow rope, he attached his clip to the correct cable and edged his way to the Maria Mitchell’s shuttle bay.

“We can’t pressurize with the door open,” Shellie reminded him.

“Got it. Painter, Byrd, stay suited and haul the Osprey up as close as you can. Signal when you’re done and out of the shuttle bay, and safe in the airlock.”