Steven McDonald - Event Horizon

Miller tried to make sense of the displays himself, but the angle was wrong and all he got was a strained neck muscle. “Do they have pressure?”

Starck nodded. “Affirmative. The hull’s intact, but there’s no gravity and the thermal units are offline. I’m showing deep cold. The crew couldn’t survive unless they were in stasis.”

Even then, the odds are lousy, Miller thought. He smoothed at his close-cropped hair, refusing to jump to conclusions until all the evidence was in. “Find ‘em, Starck.”

“Already on it,” Starck said, her fingers moving over her console.

“Bio-scan is online.” She was silent for a few moments, looking over her displays, mentally organizing the data. Miller expected her to come up with an answer any moment now. Instead, she frowned, uncertain. “Something’s wrong with the scan.”

Miller leaned further down, trying to take a closer look.

Weir was hanging back, trying once again to stay out of the way. “Radiation interference?” Miller said.

Starck shook her head and bit her lip as she looked over the displays, calling up different readouts. “There’s not enough to throw it off. I’m picking up trace life forms, but I can’t get a lock on the location.”

Miller looked around as Weir took a step toward them. “Could it be the crew? If they were in suspended animation, wouldn’t that affect the scan?”

“I’d still get a location,” Starck said, turning away from the frustration of her displays, “but these readings, they’re all over the ship. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Miller straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Okay, we do it the hard way.” He looked from Starck to Weir, back to Starck again. “Deck by deck, room by room. Starck, deploy the umbilicus.” Miller turned around, found his next target down at the engineering console. “I believe you’re up for a walk, Mr.

Justin. Go get your bonnet on.”

Justin displayed an unseemly level of enthusiasm for this suggestion, snapping back with a crisp, “Yes, sir!” before leaving his station and heading for the hatch.

Weir started to follow Justin off the bridge, hurrying to keep up with the younger man.

“Doctor,” Miller said, firmly. Weir stopped and turned, giving Miller an impatient look. “Stay here on the bridge. Once the ship—”

“Captain,” Weir interrupted, coming closer to Miller, his face set and his attitude filled with a desire for argument, “I didn’t come out here to sit on your bridge. I need to be on that ship.”

Miller took a deep breath, trying to squeeze the tension from muscles that had no desire to be untensed. “Once the ship is secured, we’ll bring you on board—”

Sharply, Weir said, “That is unacceptable.”

Miller hissed in frustration. “Once we’ve secured the ship,” he said, and now his temper was certainly fraying, “that’s the way it is!”

Weir glared at Miller in abject silence. Miller let him have a few breaths to get used to the idea of defeat, then added, “I need you to guide us from the comm station. This is where I need you. Help us to do our job.”

Weir breathed out, relaxing. Miller felt relieved. While he expected Weir to be aboard the Event Horizon sooner or later, he much preferred it to be later. The last thing they needed was for the main designer of the ship to be stomping around, getting in the way and giving orders no one could follow.

“Very well,” Weir said, and he went to sit down.

Miller headed for the hatch.

Down in the airlock bay, Miller watched the monitors while Starck deployed the umbilicus, carefully extending the heavy plastic tube from the Lewis and Clark to the Event Horizon, locking the docking collar in place over the outer door. At least Weir and his team had done something that followed standard protocols. Miller’s crew could have managed without using the umbilicus, but their lives would have been far more complicated.

Miller turned away from the monitors as Cooper, behind him, said, “Come on, Skipper, I already put my shoes on.” It was a bit more than his shoes, Miller noted. Cooper was ready to hit space at a moment’s notice—all he needed to do was get his helmet in place.

Miller was already fully rigged for EVA, as were Peters and Justin, the bulky suits making it a little difficult for them to move in the airlock bay.

Cooper dropped Miller’s helmet into place, sealing it securely. Cooper seemed to have an almost infinite capacity for extra-vehicular activity. A liking for EVA was a rare thing even in the Big Rock Range, where being outside was a daily occurrence.

“You’ve had plenty EVA, Coop,” Miller said, his voice muffled by the helmet. “It’s Justin’s turn. Stay on station. If anything happens…”

Cooper was all serious business. “I’ll be all over it.”

DJ finished checking over Peters and Justin for problems with their suits.

He walked over to Miller, checking seams and connectors, confirming the helmet seal.

“Any survivors are gonna be hot,” Miller said to DJ.

DJ nodded. “Radiation I can handle.” He finished his check of Miller’s suit and stepped back. “It’s the dead ones I can’t fix.”

That’s all we’re probably bringing back for you, Miller thought, turning away from DJ and nodding to Peters.

“Opening inner airlock door,” Peters said, doubly muffled through two layers of helmet. She turned and tapped the control panel in the airlock door.

There was a resounding clank as the main lock disengaged, allowing the door to slide open.

Miller stepped into the airlock, followed closely by Peters and Justin.

Justin turned as he entered the airlock, pulling out the end of a safety line and attaching it to an eyebolt on his suit. Cooper had followed them, still making visual safety checks—one of the reasons Miller respected the man, despite the smart-ass approach to life—and he smiled now at seeing Justin setting up a safety line.

“You still need the rope?” Cooper said to Justin, even as he reached out to check the integrity of the line and its connection to the eyebolt. “I thought you were one of those spacemen with ice in your veins.”

Justin tugged on the rope, getting an approving nod from Cooper. “I’d rather be on the rope and not need it,” he said, as he tensioned the line a little more, “than need it and not have it. Now step aside, old man.”

Cooper made a face at this, but confined his revenge to making Justin bend down a little so he could double-check the younger man’s helmet seals. In a serious voice, Cooper said, “You just keep your nose clean. Baby Bear. Clear the door.”

With a wave, Cooper backed out of the airlock. The door rolled shut, the locks engaging with a hollow boom that resonated through the ship. Warning lights flicked on. Through his helmet, Miller could hear the low hissing of air being evacuated from the airlock.

He pressed back against the airlock wall, waiting. The seconds ticked away.

Silence around them. The cotton-wool feeling of vacuum, shot through with the sounds of the suit systems, electronics, and electrics warming and cooling, air aspirating through the suit ventilators, odd creaking sounds from the material.

The outer airlock door opened. Light poured in from the umbilicus.

Miller turned and stepped out, launching himself.

Starck had indicated that Weir should follow her down into the lower level of the bridge area. He saw no reason to object to this slight change of environment, so he did as she requested.

Waving him to the seat usually occupied by the engineer, Justin, Starck sat down and started activating monitors and consoles around them. Weir turned his head, taking in the different displays. Three of them were direct video feeds.