Andrew Morgan - Vessel

At once, a bloodcurdling scream filled the station, and then it was gone.

‘Mikhail…’

Sally pushed off the floor and shot up the tunnel, crashing into the wall at the other end. She scrambled forwards, building momentum to get back to the crew quarters as fast as she could, snatching for handholds to pull herself along with. As she entered the Destiny lab, she could see that that Mikhail’s quarters were still shut, and as she reached it she hurried to pull the zipper open. As the door flapped down, a small globule of blood floated out, and she clapped her hand over her mouth as the sight filled her with terror and revulsion. Mikhail was contorted into a scarcely believable position, his eyes rolled back into their sockets, his ears and nose leaking globular blood into the cramped quarters; there was little white surface left uncovered with red.

‘Mikhail!’ Sally screamed, and began unfastening him from his sleeping bag. He writhed, blood spraying from his nose. Sally pushed him back against the wall to keep him still, wrestling with the sleeping bag as her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. Once he was free, she towed him to the medical bay at the end of the module. He thrashed some more, but in the short time it took her to reach the vertical stretcher and to start strapping him to it, he had gone limp, his eyes shut.

‘Come on, Mikhail, hold on…’ she whispered, pulling the last few Velcro tabs tight. She struggled to find his pulse, which she then realised was because he almost didn’t have one. The blood flow seemed to have stopped and his skin was turning grey. Sally felt for his pulse again; now it had gone completely. Without wasting a moment, she ripped into the first aid container and retrieved the compact defibrillator. Peeling the backing off the electrode pads, she stuck them down, thinking back to the first aid part of her brief training. She thought she was doing it right. God, she hoped it was right. Taking a deep breath, she thumbed the button, and Mikhail jolted against the stretcher’s straps. She felt for his pulse — still nothing. Pressing the button again, Mikhail jolted, but this time with less energy. Again she felt for his pulse, but still there was nothing.

‘Come on!’ she yelled, tears filling her eyes.

She thumped the button, and a tremor shot through Mikhail’s body. He thrashed against the stretcher violently enough to start peeling the Velcro apart. He spluttered, thrashed some more, and went limp. Sally watched him, her breath held. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t turn away.

‘Eaurghhh…’ Mikhail moaned, opening his eyes. ‘What — what’s happening?’

Sally could feel herself quivering. She spoke, but the words came out distant, like they weren’t hers. ‘It’s fine. You’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about.’

Mikhail looked at the blood down his front, and his eyes widened. ‘Oh my god,’ he whispered, wiping it with a finger and watching it glisten on the tip.

‘I’m so glad you’re okay,’ Sally said, clasping her hands around his. She tried to smile in a reassuring way to comfort him, to help her believe what she was saying, but she couldn’t hold back the hot pressure pushing against her eyes. She never, ever cried, but seeing Mikhail like this brought tears quicker than she had ever thought possible. She wiped them away, still trying to smile, but they just kept coming. Mikhail looked frail, weak; almost as though he’d aged a decade overnight. Now her tears were in full flow, and she buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

Everything about Aleks was numb as he pushed open the door to the Moscow Police Department headquarters. He washed through the entrance lobby in a haze of immediacy, his thundering heart sapping his senses of clarity. People were looking at him, stopping their conversations and watching him pass, he was sure of it. He could feel it. Or perhaps he was being paranoid. He stopped at the reception desk, where the receptionist smiled at him.

‘Can I help you?’ she said, either unaware of who he was or uncaring.

‘Yes,’ Aleks croaked. He coughed, dislodging the uncomfortable sweat that had formed on the back on his throat. ‘Yes. I need to speak to an officer about the International Space Station.’

The receptionist’s smile wavered, her eyes narrowing a fraction. ‘Okay… one moment please,’ she said, reaching for her desk phone.

‘Say it’s about Ryumin. Lev Ryumin. I have information about him.’

This seemed to strike some sort of chord with the receptionist, because her eyes lit up and her hand retracted from the phone. ‘Oh, of course. You need to speak to Detective Inspector Banin. He’s out at the moment, but he’ll be back soon. If you go to the second floor, his desk is the third on the right. You can wait for him there.’

Aleks nodded his appreciation and quickly made his way upstairs, feeling like he’d somehow broken a serious law by doing so. He was a wanted man, and here he was, making his way to the desk of the person who was trying to apprehend him. He sat down in front of it, feeling awkward, and focused on the things scattered about on top, avoiding the questioning looks he assumed people were directing his way. Aside from the usual stationary and equipment, there was a picture of a young dark-haired boy he presumed was Banin’s son. It seemed that even the boy in the photo was glaring at him with accusing eyes. He scanned the room, and the people working continued uninterrupted, unaware of his presence.

‘You must be Aleks,’ a hardened voice said, snapping him from his thoughts. Aleks looked to see a short, stocky man holding out his hand.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said, standing and shaking the offered hand. He was acutely aware that he hadn’t shared his name with the receptionist, even though this man had just used it.

‘I’m Banin,’ Banin said, shedding his coat and throwing it over the desk. ‘I understand you have some information for me.’

‘Uh, yes — I do.’ Aleks was quite taken aback by Banin’s distinct disinterest in him. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘I’ve been looking for you.’

‘So you know what they say about me?’

‘I do.’

‘It’s not true, you know.’

‘I know.’

Aleks couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. ‘I’m sorry… what did you say?’

Banin gave a casual shrug of his shoulders, dismissing Aleks’ crime as though it were a mere practical joke. ‘I know it wasn’t you. As soon as I got the call I had a gut feeling it wasn’t you, but I’ve been thinking about it more, and now I’m certain. You’ve been set up. I’ve seen it happen before. You must have really pissed someone off.’

Aleks felt a distant glimmer of hope. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I’ve been in this business a long time,’ Banin said, ‘and I know better than anybody that sometimes the obviously guilty are innocent, and the obviously innocent are guilty. I took the liberty of making a few calls; I found out the person who put the price on your head works in the same department as someone whose DNA I’m trying to trace.’

‘Okay,’ Aleks said, not really following, but still grateful not to be cuffed and dragged away to the cells.

Banin sat down, then fished a notepad out of his pocket and unthreaded a pencil from its binder. He gestured for Aleks to sit with him. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘So — what do you know?’

Aleks sat. ‘I know that John Bales killed Lev Ryumin.’

Banin frowned. ‘Bales… why do I know that name?’

He snapped his fingers. ‘He’s the one that called head office about you. He’s the one that put the price on your head. I wonder… what does he look like?’