J Mauldin - Final Solution

“I am,” I replied, dry eyes trailing down to my watch.

“We’ve been hit.”

“No shit!”

“David! The ship’s been punctured in two locations. If you hurry…” Her words trailed off and were replaced by the Captain’s. I took out the earpiece and shoved it in my pocket. No distractions.

She was right, my watch’s readout showed a puncture halfway to the bridge on the port side, and another, ten feet ahead of Nuclear Storage. It also showed extensive damage to the solar array, but that was not immediate. We needed pressure more than power. We had batteries for that.

“We gotta beat it, César.”

“Si,” he snapped to attention. “Where to?”

I raised a finger and pointed. “You, Jane, fix the aft leak. I’ll get the one close to the bridge. Be careful.”

César nodded and took off, his tools at the ready. Before leaving the section he took a patch kit from a box on the wall beside the hatch. He used his code and overrode the safety seal and the two of them vanished into the hall. I took up my tools and did the same, but when I tried to leave the room through the opposite hatch an error message prevented me.

DECOMPRESSION TOO GREAT. CANNOT OVERRIDE.

“Shit!” I pounded the controls with my fists. That left only one option.

I hustled to the center of the room and called for the Maintenance Core’s ladder, squeezing into the spine of the ship where our spin gravity ceased. I hurled myself at the forward end like a missile. Arms at my side, legs back, the Vindicator rotated around me like a drunken beast stumbling in the dark. I ripped a breathing mask from off the wall and fixed it over my face, not slowing for an instant in my ballistic approach. The alarms droned on, but I could hardly hear them for all the blood pounding in my ears like an ensemble of demonic drummers.

My watch vibrated and chirped, informing me I was above the leak. I took a patch kit from the wall, the floor, whatever the hell you wanted to call it, and lowered the ladder. The hatch yawned open, allowing a gentle tug of leaking pressure to pull me down. On either side a pair of safety hatches snapped shut like guillotines, sealing the tunnel and preventing any further loss of cabin pressure. There was no retreating now. I would either fix this leak or suffocate.

What an incentive.

“Come on, David, you can do this.” My hands were trembling. I’d been through the exercise dozens of times, but this shit was real life.

My heels struck the floor. I drew in a deep breath from the mask. I was in Officer 1, Liberty’s quarters, and the air was getting thin. The hatch leading into the hall was broken, unable to close, air ripping through a hand size slit like a hungry dust storm. I clipped the safety line of my tool belt to the core’s ladder, using it to steady my approach. A flat black object with a flash of silver flew towards me, leaving a gash down my right cheek at the edge of the mask. I reeled back out of reflex, frantically searching for any further danger. It was just an old style clipboard that now flapped over the steadily growing breach. The shallow cut was warm. I fought the urge to touch it.

The roaring, icy leak edged closer.

I held the patch kit in front of me, safety line clicking by tiny intervals as I approached with baby steps. Sweat poured off my face and was dried in an instant. My rapid breathing accelerated to the edge of hyperventilation. I hit the button on the side of the patch kit, and a sheet of poly alloy fell from it, the vacuum of space covetous as it grasped the metal patch with unseen arms in a violent embrace. It shot through the air and slammed on top of the breach, knocking the cheap clipboard aside and snapping it into pieces. Air hissed from around the vibrating patch. I used the yellow handled torch clipped to my belt and welded it in place with a neat line, then punched the kit’s nozzle into the patch’s center, pulled the trigger on its bottom, and released a cloud of rapidly expanding metallic foam.

The whistling of precious, precious air ceased, allowing decompression wails to recede from my aching senses as I sent them back into their slumber.

I checked my watch to ensure that the seal was complete. Thank God it was. I’d been lucky, just like when we wrecked Harrison’s skimmer. I was always lucky.

“César?” I growled at my right wrist, finding it hard to breathe.

“All good, señor.”

“Good. Let’s see if—”

Power flickered and the ship became dim. The emergency batteries cut on.

“Master Engineer,” the intercom sounded. “To the bridge, immediately.”

It was go time.

I stood up and stumbled, hand trailing down the bulkhead. My vision swam. Pressure built behind my eyes.

I blinked.

The intercom screamed once more, its words washing over me but having no meaning. I put a free hand to my forehead, tingling fingers massaging in a fruitless hope to clear my muddled state.

Why was I in this room? What was I doing?

That’s right, I was going to the bridge, but…

Why the bridge? What the hell was on the bridge?

My legs were wobbly, like I’d just run fifty miles at full tilt, reducing them to nothing more than loose bands of meat stretched over bleached sticks. My shoulders and joints followed suit with their locomotive kindred, but instead of merely being sore, it was as if they’d been stuffed with something hard.

God, my head was thick. Why, oh why, had I crawled into a bottle of gin? Was it so bad on Mars I needed that much at once? Dreams were made here. Made real. We had but to reach out and claim the system for all mankind, this red rock as our foothold.

The white room, with its beds and lockers and scattered debris, twisted sideways. The floor drew close, fast, and was unkind, punching me in the face with a metallic right hook. Pain shot through my eye socket and jaw, turning my vision white. I tried to protest the floor’s actions, but couldn’t find the strength. When I attempted to get back up, my arms didn’t respond.

And why not? Where was I? Hadn’t I just been by the pool? I smell chlorine, lots of chlorine. Maybe that cute girl is taking a dip. God, I hope she is. She’s different. Not just beautiful, but…

A loudspeaker shouted and I swore it was for me. But why me? All I do is work on skimmers for old Harrison. I don’t do government jobs. I guess they’re just after dad. We do have the same name, after all. And lately, he’s been doing a bunch of strange side work for off-worlders. He even fixed a service lander for this, what did he call ’em? Jovian? Axis? He figured helping someone in need might be a good thing. No reason to always sow evil, he said. Do unto others and all that.

Wait, the floors of Level 6-B aren’t this clean. Where’s the red dirt and dust?

The pain. God…

My nerves and muscles howled, but their chorus was silent.

“Señor David!” an earnest looking kid took hold of my shoulders. “You okay?” He looked surprised to find me in the Estates. Why wouldn’t I be here? I was rich. Made a fat nut off a gold deposit I found in the Helo Mines. This kid was concerned, but didn’t seem nervous, just sleepy, his eyelids heavy. He seemed decent enough. Who was he? I should know him. Is he the amphetamine addict I met in tunnel C last week?

“I knew, just knew, damn it, señor. Come on. Say something, man!”

I swore I responded, that was the polite thing to do, but I heard nothing come off my lips.

I was fine, man, just fine. Why worry? I guess I’d just gotten a little tired and opted for a nap. This place was cleaner than… Cleaner than what? Where’s my torch? The one with the red, no, the yellow handle. Yes, yellow handle.

“Get him to medical,” a man with a snoz like a thick carrot and ears of cauliflower growled. They lifted me up to face the ceiling. “The cut looks shallow, but the air’s the real issue. Nurse, prep.” This guy was more focused than the kid, and before I knew it, doors were flashing past me on either side. I was on a ship. Had cauliflower ears put me on a ship? Why would I be on a ship? Are we headed back to Earth? Am I visiting the Axis like dad talked of doing?