Andrew Morgan - Vessel

The white walls of the airlock continued into the Quest module, only the space between them was wider, but not by much. Following Gardner, Sally negotiated the inner airlock hatch into what looked like a space cloakroom. On the walls hung two bulky American EVA suits, much larger and thicker than the Russian ones they had worn for the launch. Their helmets were covered in soft drawstring bags, hiding the shining visors. Motionless and in line, she imagined the bagged spacesuits queuing on some medieval death row, waiting to be decapitated. The feeling of eyes watching her through the soft material gave Sally a prickle that crawled all over her. She shivered.

‘We can de-suit here,’ Gardner said, ‘it’ll be easier to move around.’

‘I thought you said you’d… been in your suit?’ Sally said, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

‘I was kidding! You don’t think I can hold myself for six hours?’

Sally didn’t respond, but she gave him a glare anyway.

‘I just wanted you to feel comfortable,’ Gardner said, holding his hands up, ‘that’s all.’

A bit at a time, they helped each other take off their suits, unclipping and releasing the helmets, gloves and boots first, then unzipping and peeling off the main carcasses, leaving them in their shorts and vests. The work was hard, particularly in near-zero gravity, and it made Sally hot. She was glad to be free of the suit, and she enjoyed the cool air that flowed across her bare arms and legs. Having secured their suits, Gardner headed for the exit, beckoning Sally to follow.

‘Let’s go and find the others. Then we can put some more clothes on and get something to eat.’

Sally hesitated, so Gardner slowed himself against the ring of wall that surrounded the open hatch between Quest and the rest of the ISS.

‘It’ll be fine — I promise,’ he said, holding his hand out to her.

Giving herself a mental slap, Sally nudged away from the wall towards him. Without the suit, the weightlessness felt remarkable — fun, even — but right now she had neither the mind nor the stomach to enjoy it. As she approached Gardner, she brushed the ceiling with a casual hand, steering and slowing herself to a stop next to him.

‘You’re a natural,’ Gardner said, smiling.

‘Thanks.’

The open hatch led to another small module, connected at each end, at the top and bottom and ahead by more modules. The hatches ahead, above and below led to darkness; to the right stretched out at least thirty or so metres; and to the left was a pink wall with a tight conical tube that bent upwards and out of sight.

‘Hello?’ Gardner called out in a raised but uneasy voice.

They waited, but all that came back to them was the sound of the slow moving air and the electrical systems that moved it.

‘Follow me,’ Gardner said, pushing out to the right and down the long, white tunnel. Sally followed, drawing herself along handhold after handhold. Every surface was covered with them, as well as laptops, cables, buttons and all sorts of complex-looking equipment. It was a menagerie of science, with not a single space wasted. She ducked and weaved through cluttered spots, past semi-folded tables and around lumpy pouches held to the wall with Velcro.

‘Strange — none of the hatches are closed,’ Gardner muttered to himself as they reached the end of the long tunnel. He looked left and right down into the two modules attached either side of them, and Sally did too. Empty. Sally shivered despite the pleasant ambient temperature, leaving her exposed skin prickled with goosebumps.

‘Let’s check out the Russian side,’ Gardner said, kicking off back the way they had come. Sally followed, not wanting to be left alone, and pushed herself off into a spiral, steadying herself as she caught up with him. She had somehow angled herself so that what was the ceiling was the left wall and the floor the right. Everything was familiar: the wires, the laptops, the buttons, the equipment — but it was all rearranged. The disorientation made her head swim, so she looked forward, concentrating on Gardner’s socked feet, and pushed on. This was going to take some getting used to.

It was easy to recognise where they had started because of the tightening conical section that blocked their path and the pink wall that surrounded it. Following Gardner, she ducked below a black and yellow speed-limit sticker and into the cone. It was unlit and surrounded with bulging padded bags, which closed in around them as the cone narrowed. Although the exit was tight, they fitted through no problem, emerging into yet another module.

But this module was different. Soft white fabrics and high-tech equipment gave way to olive green metal and rough beige material. The noise was different too: the soft hum of processing air had become a louder, more industrial whine, emanating from the metal pipes that threaded from wall to wall, countless manual valve taps sprouting from them.

‘Stay close,’ Gardner said.

Sally tried to avoid looking into the yawning mouths of dark modules that passed by on either side. They left the module and entered the next, which was covered in its entirety with beige material. It was also littered with storage cylinders and boxes that were piled up and secured with bungees, filling half the module’s height. Sally realised the walls themselves were lined with the softer of the two Velcro weaves, and the objects clinging to it were stuck there with the other. Ahead, Gardner had stopped, so Sally did, too. She tried to look around him, but he had manoeuvred himself upright in the tight space, blocking the view.

‘Hello…’ Gardner said, keeping himself steady with a handrail.

‘Hello,’ an unseen voice responded in a thick, Russian accent. ‘I wondered when you’d get here.’

While munching on a piece of lukewarm toast, Sean turned the card Lev had left him over and over between his fingers. The first piece of toast finished, he stretched over to the room-service tray and picked up another, then continued with the newspaper article he was reading. He finished the second piece of toast, brushed the crumbs off the newspaper, put Lev’s card away and retrieved his mobile phone. Number dialled, he held the phone to his ear, picking soft, mushy toast from his teeth with his tongue. There was a ringing, and a voice answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi. Sean here.’

‘Sean.’

‘Did you hear?’

‘Hear what?’

‘It’s in the paper.’

‘Sean, it’s three in the morning. Enough with the riddles.’

Sean looked at his watch and did the math.

‘Sorry — my mistake. But this is important.’

‘What is?’

‘Lev’s dead.’

The phone went silent, except for the hiss of static.

‘Lev Ryumin? Are you sure?’

‘Positive. It’s in the local paper right here in front of me. Page fifteen mind you, but it’s here.’

‘What happened?’

‘Car crash, apparently. Rolled it off an embankment and into a ditch. I’m surprised it killed him.’

‘Do the police think it’s suspicious?’

‘I don’t know, but I know I do.’

A crackled sigh.

‘Okay, get on it. And see what you can find out with that card. But stay safe — don’t do anything unnecessarily risky.’

‘Of course,’ Sean said, and hung up. He helped himself to another piece of toast.

Not much later Sean was battling commuter traffic as he weaved his way through the Moscow suburbs and South, out to a little town near Podolsk. He felt a relief to leave the concrete-smothered city behind, enjoying the refreshing feeling open expanses of countryside always gave him. After a few hours of driving, he pulled off the main road and crawled down a rutted track towards a dilapidated farm building. He parked up next to a rusted tractor with three wheels and a hole in the roof. This place always creeped him out. Letting himself into the building he called out: