Steven McDonald - Steven E. McDonald

Peters pressed up against the airlock door, trying to keep her expression calm. There had to be some way to break through to Justin, some way to make him continue to find his way out of this fugue or whatever it was that had overcome him.

“Justin,” she said, using her best motherly voice, the one that worked so well with Denny, “look at me. Look at me. Open this door.”

DJ was back, sprinting into the bay, his medkit in hand. He almost slammed into the airlock, gasping for breath.

Starck said, urgently, “I don’t think she can talk him down.”

DJ looked at Justin, gently floating in the airlock, then at Starck. He stepped away from the airlock. “If he opens the outer door he’ll turn inside-out.”

Peters was watching Justin, trying to marshal her thoughts. Starck was still trying to do something with the airlock control circuit, her hands lost in a jumble of wiring and circuit modules, her face beading with sweat.

“Almost got it,” Starck muttered.

“Come on, Baby Bear,” Peters said, “open this door.”

Justin was staring at her now, his eyes devoid of spirit. She could not imagine what he might have experienced in the heart of the Core. Justin had been changed, stripped of himself.

He raised a hand, touching the hatch window. “If you could see the things I’ve seen, you wouldn’t try to stop me.”

“That’s not you talking,” Peters said, her heart breaking. “Come back to us. Come back to me, Baby Bear.”

Hope surged in her as Justin’s hand moved, floating toward the switch that would open the inner airlock door. She tried to will him to make the final motion, throw the switch, open the door, get this nightmare ended.

His hand moved again, stabbing at the outer door control.

“Noooo!” Peters screamed.

Warning lights flashed on, inside and outside of the airlock. A Klaxon honked warning, reverberant, even louder inside the airlock than outside in the bay. Justin covered his ears with his hands, squeezed his eyes shut.

From somewhere, a computer voice, all modulated reason and no humanity: “Stand by for decompression. Thirty seconds.”

Inside the airlock, Justin opened his eyes, staring. Peters gasped.

Justin’s eyes were clear, alive. Whatever had taken hold of him had been shaken off, at least for now.

He reached out with one hand, making his motion worse. “Hey…” he said, slowly, sounding confused, “what are you doing?” He turned his head wildly, making his spinning motion worse. Peters could see the realization strike. “Oh my God. Oh my God!” He lunged for the hatch.

Peters whirled. “Starck!”

Starck pulled back from the airlock access compartment, her expression horrified. “I can’t! The inner door can’t open once the outer door has been triggered. It would decompress the entire ship.”

The computer continued to count down, heedless of human dilemmas.

Justin screamed, “Get me outta here!” He swung a fist at the door, but all it did was make him bounce. “If that door opens, I’m gonna—oh God, my eyes!”

Peters was losing her battle against hysteria, hanging on grimly. “We have to do something… oh God…”

Counting down.

Miller caromed from one piece of superstructure to another, hurtling through space in a dizzying, sickening parabola, kicking off again.

“Captain,” Starck said, “Justin just activated the door. It’s on a thirty-second delay.”

“Patch me through to him,” Miller said.

Kicking off again, hurtling along the endless Event Horizon. Nothing compressed about this ship, and never mind the origins of its name or its main drive unit.

He could hear the computer counting down.

“Justin,” Miller said, his tone firm, authoritative.

“Skipper,” Justin gasped out, “help me, help… tell them to let me in!”

Brusquely, Miller said, “They can’t do that, Justin. Now listen carefully—”

Miller came over the edge of the ship, caught himself on an antenna, swung over. The muscles in his right arm protested at the brutal misuse.

He kicked off again.

There. He could see the bulge of the airlock.

“I don’t want to die!” Justin screamed.

“You’re not going to die!” Miller snapped. He kicked, flew on. “Not today!

I want you to do exactly as I say and I’m gonna get you out of there, all right?”

And I hope like hell that I’m not bullshitting you, man.

There was a low thump as the air pumps started. Justin looked up, and around as air moved by him. The airlock was being evacuated rapidly.

“Oh God, it’s starting,” he cried.

“Justin,” Miller said, his voice coming from the intercom speaker overhead, getting thinner, “I won’t let you die.”

Justin was crying helplessly, the dark and the cold pressing in on him. His tears flowed from his face, hung in the air. “Help me,” he whispered.

He started to hyperventilate, trying to hold on to as much oxygen as he could.

“Tuck yourself into a crouched position,” Miller said. His voice had a father’s authority, and Justin tried to obey it, hurrying, pushing against the wall and huddling into a corner.

His tears were turning to blood as the pressure dropped.

“My eyes,” Justin muttered. It felt as though someone was trying to push them from their sockets. He moaned with the pain.

“Shut ‘em,” Miller yelled, his voice fading as the air went away. “Shut your eyes, tight as you can!”

“Five seconds,” Starck said, her voice sounding muffled.

There was a low booming sound, as though something had hit the superstructure near the airlock.

“Exhale everything you’ve got, Justin,” Miller was yelling. “We can’t have any air in those lungs, blow it all out!”

Justin had squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his hands over them. He could feel the blood, slick, sticky, too much of it, far too much of it.

“Oh God, oh God,” he whimpered. He was going to die, he knew he was going to die. The darkness would have him, the voice would have him.

Somewhere in the distance, the last fading sound of Miller’s voice. “Now, Mr. Justin! Do it!”

Justin breathed out, hard, everything gone in one last spasmodic moment, one last silent scream.

The outer door slid open.

It was a matter of timing now.

Miller hunched down, watching the airlock, his concentration becoming absolute. He had about five meters to cross, he estimated.

The airlock opened.

There was a puff of vapor as the last of the atmosphere blew out, carrying Justin with it. The engineer was curled up into a ball, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Miller sprang up and outwards, pushing as hard as he could, grunting with the effort. He spread his arms as he leapt outward, seeing the brightness of Neptune.

He slammed into Justin, tumbling them both back toward the ship. There was more pain as he struck the side of the airlock, but he disregarded it, turning himself, holding Justin with one hand while he used the other to pull them both into the open airlock, keeping one boot pressed up against the side of the airlock in case the door decided to try and close on them.

They tumbled inside.

Miller reached out and slapped the switch that closed the outer door, going more by gut instinct that anything else. The door closed, too slowly for his taste.

Justin floated in the middle of the compartment, his veins bulging, pinkish ice covering his skin, his face covered with a layer of frozen blood that had streamed from his mouth, nose and eyes. Capillaries had burst everywhere in his face and hands, very likely in other places too. If he survived this experience, Justin would spend some time looking like a road map of hell.