Chapter Eleven

Aran awoke to loud shouts from the comm: “CALLA ONE TO MARTELLE, COME IN MARTELLE!” He roused himself, saw that Thompson was still asleep. Holy crap, what was wrong with those people? We’re trying to sleep here, he thought grumpily. Better go shut them up. He moved over to check on Captain Bennett.

He was, if possible, looking worse. His skin had taken on a greyish color, and his lips looked blue. His breathing was laboured. Aran didn’t think Cap had much longer. He quickly adjusted the oxygen, bumped up how much was going to him, and changed his fluids, gave him his meds. I was right to not go into medicine, he thought. This crap sucks. He felt he could bear Cap dying, but to have him die so slowly, so horribly, was hard to take. Nothing he had done seemed to make a difference. His frustration and despair were too much, and tears leaked steadily from his eyes as he cared for Cap.

The Calla people continued to try to contact the Martelle. Finally Aran got annoyed enough that he reached over and pushed Thompson’s shoulder. Thompson woke up with a start and a strangled yell. He scowled when he saw it was Aran. “What the hell?”

“Make yourself useful and go shut Val and them up.”

Thompson, about to angrily lay into Aran, cut himself off when he saw Aran’s face, and then saw Captain Bennett. ‘Holy shit. Are they almost here?”

“I don’t know! Go find out, and tell them to hurry the hell up, or Cap’s not going to make it.”

Thompson went by him into the bridge without another word, but held Aran’s shoulder briefly as he went by. Aran heard him start to talk to the Calla people, and it did sound like they were coming in close. He finished up with Cap, wiped his face dry, and joined Thompson in the bridge.

Thompson glanced around and saw Aran was coming. “Well, Val, now you’re close enough to see us, what do you think?” Thompson’s voice was light, but his face was worried and serious. Aran came up next to him. Thompson tapped his voice pip off, and said to Aran, “They’re just now getting into range; they should be able to pick us up on short-range sensors now. See how bad off we are.”

Val didn’t answer right away. “Martelle, we’re coming into range now, beginning approach.”

Aran’s heart sank. Val wasn’t telling them how bad it looked. His hopes for everyone in the stern, already slim, faded further. “Val – how bad is the ship?”

A long silence. Then, “I can’t believe any of you survived this,” he said, his voice quiet and hesitant. “I’m sorry, guys… but it looks like you’re all that’s left.”

Aran felt frozen, but forced himself to speak. “What do you mean? What do you see?”

“There’s no stern. It’s not even there. Whatever hit you… it just wiped it all out, it’s all gone. The whole back half is gone, most of the rest looks like it got shredded.”

Aran closed his eyes and tried to hold it together. Everyone was gone, everyone. He opened his eyes. Thompson had turned away from him. Aran clenched his jaw, swallowed his feelings. “Calla, ETA?” He was amazed at how calm his voice sounded.

“We’ll be in range to try and coral you in about half an hour.

“Hurry if you can, Calla. Cap’s dying. We need to get him on your ventilator, I think.”

Aran heard the faint sounds of Tursten’s voice behind Valo’s, but couldn’t tell what he said.

Valo’s voice went back to all business too. “Roger that Martelle. If you can stabilize yourself a little more, you might be able to bring yourself around to meet us. Cut the time.”

A strange noise came from the life pod. “Hang on Calla, continue approach.” Aran tapped Thompson on the shoulder. “Hey, Tommy, can you help them on the approach? I’m checking on Cap.”

Tommy turned when Aran touched him. His face looked blank, but he nodded.

Aran hurried into the pod. Cap was moving – kind of. It looked like he was struggling for breath. His mouth gaped, he made a raspy, rattling, feeble intake of air. Aran didn’t know what to do. He made sure Cap’s mask was on; he upped the oxygen feed as far as it would go. No need to hold back now, since the Calla was minutes away. It didn’t seem to help. Aran yelled at Thompson. “Get them here, get them here now!”

“They’re coming as fast as they can, Aran! You keep Cap going!”

There was nothing else Aran could do for Captain Bennett. He kept gasping for breath, only he wasn’t gasping, he wasn’t able to bring the air in. There was nothing Aran could do. He pulled Cap’s hands out from where they were tucked at his sides, and held them, staring at Cap, willing him to live, willing him to keep breathing.

“Come on, Cap,” he whispered. “Calla’s almost here, we’ll get you on a ventilator, we’ll get you breathing again, you’ll be okay. Come on, Cap.” One more breath. One more. Come on, Bennett. One more. And then Bennett was trying to breathe, his mouth open and gaping for breath, and there was nothing, no noise, no breath, no movement of air at all. And again. Aran grabbed him by his arms and shook him. “Come on, Cap, breathe.”

Captain Bennett gaped one last time for breath, his head moved back, and as Aran held tightly on to his arms, he seemed to deflate, as the last bit of life ebbed away. “Cap!” He shook him again. “Bennett! Bennett!” Aran stared at him, and his grip grew so tight his fingers dug into Bennett’s flesh. He shook him, feebly, one last time, and he knew he was shaking a corpse. Cap felt different, even in weightlessness he felt heavier, more solid, more like a piece of flesh than a person. And while he was unconscious he had felt unresponsive, totally limp, but even during that there had been something there, something Aran could feel, that was now suddenly gone.

Aran bent his head. Thompson was saying something in the other room, but Aran didn’t hear, couldn’t listen. Captain Bennett was dead, after everything Aran had done, after all his long, hard effort, he was dead. He had never even woken up. He’d had two horrible days, and then he died anyway.

For a little while, Aran couldn’t hold it together anymore, and he wept. Thompson, still in the bridge, heard him, and knew what had happened.

“Calla one,” he said quietly, “Belay last request. No need to hurry.”


Chapter Twelve

“Aran. Aran!” Thompson called. “I need you in here, come on.”

“Give me a sec,” called Aran. He rubbed his eyes dry, cut off the oxygen to Cap’s mask, and stopped his fluids.

“Aran! Now!”

Aran wanted to do something else for Captain Bennett. Dettach him from all his tubes, cover him up, clean him up a bit more. But Thompson’s voice dragged him reluctantly out to the bridge, and he left Cap as he was.

“What’s wrong?”

“Val’s coming in on approach. I need you here, I need you to take over. I feel really dizzy.”

Aran took a close look at Thompson. He looked pale, and his skin had a sheen of sweat. “All right. I got it.” He got on the comm, paused to collect himself, and started talking to Val. His own voice sounded unreal, he thought, how could he possibly sound so spookily calm?

Val interupted him once to ask, “You okay, Aran?”

“I’m fine,” Aran shortly replied, and continued giving him the information he needed on approach.

Val did most of the manuevering needed to get the Calla lined up and ready to pull in. Tursten, silent in the background, did much of the rest. All Aran did was let them know how things were holding together on the Martelle, letting them know if it looked like they were putting too much stress on it. They had to go slowly and carefully. Not surprisingly, the Martelle was in a delicate balance by then, on the verge in several places of imminent breakdown. Thompson was no help at all. He tucked himself into one of the chairs on the bridge and held a hand over his eyes, looking nauseous.

Aran had managed to slow the Martelle to a slow spiraling spin, with the thrusters he had triggered off the second life pod. It was still too fast and in too uneven of a trajectory for the Calla tug to pull into its cargo bay. Using ranged thrusters and some delicate manuevering, Val was able to slow the Martelle, halt the spin, and get it on an approach towards the cargo bay.

“Okay, Martelle, you guys should get strapped in and secured. If you’re not suited up, get suited up, the cargo bay is open, and I don’t know if the Martelle will hold together on the way in. We’ll do our best to make it smooth. ETA 5 minutes.”

Aran and Thompson already had thin temp suits on; it would keep them alive in open space for a few minutes. The pods weren’t equipped with anything better. All they needed were the helmets. Aran acknowledged and grabbed his helmet, then glanced over to make sure Thompson was getting ready too. He looked like he was about to barf – eyes closed, hand over his mouth, he swallowed twice. “Hey, Tommy, strap in.” Thompson shook his head.

Aran cursed and unstrapped himself, then pushed himself sharply over to Thompson. “Dammit, Tommy, get strapped in.” He helped him, but Thompson was really out of it, weak and shaky. Aran cinched up his straps and began to help him get his helmet on.

Thompson waved him away. “Screw that,” he croaked. “I’ll just puke in it. Leave it off.”

“Dammit, Tommy, put your fucking helmet on.”

“No, bugger off. We get spaced, I’ll be happy to die, right now. I feel like shit. Go get strapped in.”

Val was counting down the time to contact. Aran had less than a minute. He pulled himself into the chair, wondering for a second why he wasn’t in the pod since that was where he had survived the first time around. He had no time to get in there, and he didn’t want to be in there with his dead captain anymore. He hurriedly strapped in and leaned his head back. “Martelle ready,” he told Val.

“Or as ready as we’ll ever be,” muttered Thompson. “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if we lived through all that and then got killed by getting rescued? That would be fucking hilarious. About my luck, too.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” said Aran, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Prepare for contact, Martelle,” said Valo. A few moments later, and the ship was rocked by grinding, stuttering, violent shaking. It only lasted a few seconds, then the ship abruptly came to a halt, rocking slightly for a moment then coming to a complete stop. The tug’s false gravity had kicked in, and the abrupt transition from weightlessness to near normal gravity was hard to take. Aran felt half-crushed, and a dozen hurts he didn’t know he had began to sing in pain.

“Martelle, you’re in the cargo bay. Closing bay, recommend you stay secured until we get to you. You all okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Aran, though his heart was still thumping so hard he felt sure Valo could hear it revealing his lie. “Tommy?”

Silence. Then, in a weak, laughing voice, Thompson said, “God, this sucks. Yeah, I’m okay I guess. Get us the hell out of here.”

It seemed to take forever for Val and Tursten to get to them. They had to pressurize the bay, warm it up, make sure the oxygen was balanced. In the meantime, Aran tried to talk to Thompson, who seemed to be in a lot of pain. The new gravity was much harder for him to bear. He gritted his teeth and ground out his answers. Finally he told Aran to leave him alone.

Thompson had fallen asleep, or passed out, by the time Val and Tursten got to them, and Aran was nodding off.

“Martelle – your ship – er, what’s left of it – is unstable, we’re going to shore it up before we get you off it,” said Valo, waking Aran up.

Aran groaned. “Come on, Val, it can’t be that bad.”

“It’s that bad, Aran. Hang on, we’ll get you out as soon as we can. How’s Captain Bennett?”

Aran paused, shocked. “Didn’t Thompson tell you?” Val didn’t answer. “Cap’s dead, he died on your approach, Valo. I’m sorry, he didn’t make it.”

Val didn’t reply. There was nothing but silence, and then the distant sound of banging outside the ship, along with the soft clanks and slight wobbly rocking that meant they were fiddling with the outside of the ship, balancing it so it didn’t wobble or fall to one side, or something. Aran wasn’t sure what they were doing. He nodded off again. Thompson hadn’t woken up at all.

The ship rocked, waking Aran with a start. Thompson grunted, then cried out in pain. He gasped and then let loose with a long stream of breathless cursing. “Ah, fucking hell, Aran, get me out of this, get me out of here,” he said in a strained, halting voice. He was struggling to get out of his chair, trying to undo his straps with just one hand.

Aran tried to calm him down, but Tommy just got more agitated. Finally Aran unstrapped himself and carefully stood, supporting himself by leaning on the chair. Everything ached, and his legs gave him sharp racing pains as he stood and tried to walk. He slowly made his way towards Thompson.

“Martelle, you’re stabilized, can you open the hatch?” came Valo’s voice over the comm.

Thompson laughed weakly, hysterically. “Hatch? What hatch? We don’t need to steenking hatches…”

Aran scowled at him, worried about him, irritated with him, and amused by him, all at the same time. “Can it, Tommy. You mean the one toward the stern, Val?” asked Aran.

“Yes. Try that one. Be careful.”

Aran made his way slowly to the back of the bridge, after telling Thompson to stay put. The Martelle was tilted at an angle, and he went downhill a bit to get to the back hatch. This was the hatch that had refused to open for him, sensing it had been open to space.

Now it seemed to work. Aran punched in the commands, and after a few thoughtful moments, the door slid open. It stopped after about a foot, then jolted, started again, then slowly stuttered all the way open with a screeching, grinding noise. Aran turned away and put his hands over his ears. The loud noise had reminded him that his headache was still lingering, more than happy to come back for a full-fledged visit at any opportunity. The command panel for the door began spewing error messages, but Aran didn’t care. The door was open. They were going to get out, finally.

Aran leaned with one hand against the door and looked out. He couldn’t see anything; there was nothing but twisted metal in front of him. There was maybe part of the corridor left twisting off sharply to the right, and he began to bend to look into it, but then Thompson cried out behind him. He ducked back in and went back to him. Thompson was fighting with his straps, trying desperately to undo them with only his one hand working right, his left hand fumbling clumsily at it, fingers not even really moving. He cursed floridly, in a voice that sounded near tears.

“Hey, Tommy, calm down. I’ll get you out of there.” Aran squatted in front of Thompson’s chair and grabbed his hands. He tried to still them as Thompson continued to struggle weakly. “Calm down, Tommy, it’s okay, we’re okay.” Thompson finally began to slow down a little, and then stopped struggling, staring at Aran and panting. Thompson’s eyes darted back and forth, looking into Aran’s, and it seemed like he was about to say a dozen different things. He made a couple false starts, then he scowled.

“Just get me the hell out of here.” He let Aran unfasten his buckles, glancing over his shoulder towards the open door.

Valo called to them. “You guys okay? Aran?” His voice came over their ear pips, but it also came from the open door, muted but audible.

“We’re fine,” Aran called back, meeting Thompson’s eyes. “Right?” he said, quieter. Thompson nodded. “Good. We’ll get you out of here, but you need to calm down.”

“I’m calm, I’m fucking calm already.” His voice shook.

Aran looked at him closely. He was afraid Tommy had lost it. He was afraid Tommy was going to bolt for the door as soon as he got him out of the chair. Bolt for the door, then fall into the wreckage blocking the way, get himself stuck or cut in that mess. He put a hand on Thompson’s chest, flat and with just a touch of pressure. “You going to be able to walk okay?”

“Shit, I don’t know. I doubt it. Nothing’s working the way it should.” Thompson’s voice was low and hesitant. He obviously hated admitting he was somehow crippled.

“No problem. We’ll get you out of here. But right now that hatch is a bit blocked; I’ll have to get in there and see if we can get out through there, okay?”

Thompson nodded, reluctantly. “Christ, all I want is to get the fuck out of here.”

Aran patted his hand against him, then stood and walked back to the hatch. He leaned forward again, peering into the remains of the corridor that had once led towards the midship. “Val?” he called. “Tursten? You out there?”

“We’re here,” called back Val. He had wisely cut off the sound from his voice pip, and Aran only heard him through the door. Aran grimaced. His yell had probably blown out Val’s ear. He tapped off his own voice pip. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to get out that way, Aran.”

“Let me try, give me a sec,” Aran called back. He began to inch into the narrow opening to the right.

“Hold up, Aran, don’t try it. I can see from this side there’s no safe way to get through.”

Aran squatted where he was and cursed softly. How the hell were they going to get out? Aran hadn’t for a moment thought that might be a problem. He tapped on his pip again, not wanting to holler through the wreckage. “Well, how can we get out of here then? Any ideas?”

“Can you get out through one of the life pods?”

Aran thought. “Not without launching it.” He considered it again. “I suppose we could drop one and then get out, but it’ll play hell with your cargo bay, I bet.”

“Does it only launch, or can it just detach?”

“It can detach, but only if the ship is moving. Otherwise it has to launch. I can try and minimize launch, just enough to kick it out away from the ship.”

“Let’s do that. Launch the starboard pod, you’ve got more room on that side.”

Aran nodded, relieved. That was the one he’d been using. He hated the thought of having to go back into the other one again.

“Tursten and I will leave the bay. You need us to play with gravity at all, anything that might help?”

Aran nearly asked for 1.5 grav, to make the pod drop as soon as it pulled off. Then he remembered Thompson. Tommy wouldn’t be able to handle 1.5. Hell, he didn’t think he could right now. “No, leave grav the way it is for now.”

“Roger that. I’ll let you know when we’re clear.”

Aran made his way past Thompson back to the pod. He stood at the door, and stared at Captain Bennett’s body. What to do with him? Cap was a big guy, and although Aran could probably drag him out of there, he sure didn’t want to. He decided to strap Bennett in as securely as he could and just launch him along with the pod. It’d make it easier to get him out afterwards anyway. As long as the pod didn’t land door down, he supposed.

Thompson asked, so Aran told him what he was doing. Thompson laughed hysterically. Aran found this impossibly irritating, and very nearly hit him to make him shut up.

Once Aran got Cap secured, and had secured all the loose gear that had been in the pod, he closed the hatch. “Clear, Val?” he asked.

“All clear. Go ahead.”

Aran went to Thompson and secured him again. ‘What the hell is this for?” snapped Thompson, trying to fight him off. “Leave me loose.”

“No way. We’re launching the pod. I’ve no idea how secure the Martelle is. Me and Newton say it’s more than likely that launching the pod will equal and opposite the Martelle on her ass the other way. Strap in.”

Grumbling, Thompson let him. Aran sat at the comm and secured himself, then started to enter the commands for the pod launch. “Launching, Val,” he said, and began to count down. “..three, two, one, launch.” There was a loud hiss and a bang as the pod detached and popped itself away from the Martelle. Aran had tried to make it as gentle a launch as possible, but it was still a tremendous amount of force. The Martelle was thrown sideways, tilted, and fell on its side, skidding around in a circle. Aran and Thompson were tossed around in their chairs, not nearly as violently as the original wreck, but still a hard jolt. Thompson yelled in panic. Aran didn’t make a sound, but he was terrified. The Martelle halted, after rocking for a bit.

Val’s worried voice came over. “You guys okay? That was kind of rough; I didn’t think it would be that bad.”

“Yeah, we’re okay,” said Aran, after glancing over at Thompson to make sure. “Sorry about that. That was about as low key as I could get. Any damage out there?”

“We’re not sure yet, checking. You guys stay put until we get you secured again.”

“Aah, dammit,” said Thompson. “Hurry the fuck up.” He kept his voice low, but his voice pip was on. Everyone heard him just fine.

“We’re doing the best we can, hang on,” said Val, calmly.

Aran tapped his pip off. “Dammit, Tommy, can it. We’re almost out.”

It was another long wait until Val declared the Martelle stable enough to try and get them out. This time Aran had to climb a steep slope to the closed pod hatch. The ship was canted at a sharp angle, but he was able to get to the door. Thompson was going to have a hell of a time making it, though. To be safe, Aran strapped himself to the side wall next to the pod hatch before he opened it.

It hissed open, with only a slight stutter to show that it too was damaged. At least it opened. Aran didn’t think he could stand it if the door stayed closed, or if they had to try and launch the other pod in order to get out. Bright light poured in. Aran had forgotten how dim the Martelle emergency lighting was. The bay was probably not all that bright, but to Aran it was painful. He squinted and shielded his eyes. At this angle he could only see the ceiling of the bay, a maze of gridwork and shafts. He pulled himself up over the lip of the door and looked out.

It was a good twenty feet or so to the floor of the bay. The life pod lay against the far wall, and Aran thankfully noted it was not laying on its door. He pulled himself up and leaned against the side of the door, leaning out to see better.

Val was no where to be seen; Tursten was out there, but not watching the hatch at the moment. It gave Aran a moment to get a good look at him. Tursten was tall and skinny, with pale, pale blond hair. He turned back and looked up at Aran, and grinned. He had brown eyes, to Aran’s surprise, not the blue he expected. Brown eyes, and a wide, kind of goofy grin. Aran smiled back and waved, but his smile felt forced and weak. “Hey Tursten. Where’s Valo? We’ll need some help getting down from here, especially Thompson.” He didn’t add that he wasn’t feeling very spry and would undoubtedly need help too.

“He went to get a…” Tursten searched for the words. “A ladder thing. Steps? On wheels? Whatever that is.”

“Great.” He looked back at Thompson, who was now trying to get up out of his chair, pushing against the side with his one good hand. His feet didn’t look like they were cooperating. Funny – he had gotten around pretty well in no G. “We’re ready to get out of here.”

Valo wheeled a large set of steps around and set them in place, then activated their brakes. “Aran? You want to come on down, or do you need a hand?”

Aran watched Valo as he wheeled the steps in. He was a little shorter than Tursten, average build, with reddish brown short hair peppered grey. Didn’t look like he’d shaved for a few days. When he looked up, Aran could see he had grey green eyes, and crinkles of laugh lines around them. He looked friendly enough, though he didn’t much look like Aran had pictured, based on his voice, which had been deep and powerful, making Aran imagine a big bear of a man. “Yes to both. I’d really like to get the hell off this ship, but I need a hand getting Thompson off. He’s injured. He was getting around okay with no grav, but now he’s grounded again. Can you turn it down a bit, maybe?”

“Nope. Not until we get you all out of there, along with anything else you need. The ship’s pretty unstable. I’d rather weigh it down a bit. We can maybe do something once we’re done with it, though.”

Aran looked back towards Thompson. “All right. I’ll need some help getting Thompson out then. We’re at a hell of an angle in here, and he can’t even walk.”

“I can walk!” called Thompson. “Chrissakes, Aran, I’m not a fucking baby, I’m fine!”

Aran met Valo’s eyes and shook his head, a fraction of an inch. Valo raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Valo clambered up the steps and Tursten followed. Valo turned to tell him to go back down, then changed his mind and said nothing. It might take all of them.

“Be careful,” Aran murmured as Valo topped the steps and began to climb into the Martelle. Watching Valo, he caught the quick flash of disgust on his face at his first whiff of the inside of the Martelle. It was starting to air out, but the air had been getting stale, and had been heavy with the smell of shit, piss, and the sick smell of Captain Bennett’s illness, not to mention the sour smell of a few days of fear-driven sweat. The air coming in through the door was clean and sweet, to Aran, and he felt bad that Valo and his boy had to come in to this.

Val said nothing about it though, and his face swiftly went back to neutral. He scanned the bridge as Aran watched Tursten climb up, ready to grab him if he slipped. “This won’t be easy,” he said after a few seconds. He turned and gave Aran a good look over, eyeing him until Aran began to feel uncomfortable.

“What?” he said when Val didn’t speak. ‘What’s wrong?”

“I’m just trying to decide whether to have you stay and help, or get you out of here. I’d say you’re borderline for usefulness, the way you look, so I’ll leave it up to you.”

Aran was shocked. “What?? What the hell do you mean, ‘borderline usefulness’? You think I look useless?”

Valo looked surprised. “No! No, I didn’t mean that, geez. I just meant you look so tired and beat up you might do better by getting out of here and taking it easy, and let us try and take care of Thompson.”

“No,” said Aran, still a little hurt. “I’ll stay, I’m fine. Good enough to be useful, anyway.”

“You guys going to stop your jawing and get me the hell out of here, or not?” said Thompson.

It took another hour to get Thompson out of there. There was a bit of a blow-up when Tursten innocently asked why Aran called Thompson ‘Tommy’ instead of ‘Woody’, since his given name was Woodard. Thompson let loose such a string of insults and obscenities that Tursten’s face turned white, then bright red. Aran and Valo both got in Thompson’s face and shut him up quick, though, and after a bit Thompson sullenly apologized. “Just don’t fucking call me that,” he kept muttering.

“Asshole, no one’s called you anything but Thompson and Tommy and Mr. Thompson all fucking day,” said Aran as they tried to pull him up and over the base of the door. “Like you deserve being called ‘mister’, at this point.”

Once they got Thompson out, down the steps, and onto the floor of the bay, Tursten ran and got a stretcher for him. The effort to get out of the ship had taken all his energy, and he could not move any more. He nodded off as soon as they got him out. As they waited for Tursten, Aran sat down on the steps and put his head in his hands. Finally, finally, he was off that fucking ship. Things were going to be okay. Not great, but maybe okay. God, the air smelled good out here. Smelled like ozone and machinery and smoke, from the ship, and from the life pod, but Aran loved it. To him it smelled clean and crisp and familiar. He took deep grateful breaths of it.

Valo watched him. Within less than two minutes Aran was asleep where he sat.

Enter supporting content here