J Mauldin - Final Solution

“Are we alive?” I asked, suddenly able to put some of the facts back together. I had all the pieces but none of them made a damn bit of sense, like a jigsaw novel written in Chinese.

“For now,” a third man said over Cauliflower’s shoulder, his voice deep, resonant, and commanding. “Good work, Goddard.”

It was the Captain’s voice. The Vindicator . Decompression.

Shit.

“Get him into the chamber,” Cauliflower ordered. “Put him in the one beside Kelly.”

They slid me into a silver tube with a tiny glass window, gave me a white sheet and a thick pillow, and closed off the end. Air hissed and pain ripped through my body. My shoulders, more than anything, felt as if they’d been stuffed with microscopic cotton balls encrusted in razor blades. At any moment I knew blood would squeeze out of them like a kitchen sponge.

The hissing went on for several seconds, maybe minutes, and I felt my eyes growing heavy, too heavy to remain open. I let them fall shut, pulling the blanket around me like a toddler in need of simple comfort. Darkness, not just a lack of light, but an emptiness as complete as the void, crept in from all sides. My breathing became shallow.

“Is he going to make it?” a distant voice queried, a whale beneath the ocean. “If someone doesn’t fix them, we’re finished.”

And like an incandescent light wired to a faulty switch—my thoughts fizzled once and winked out.

“He’s coming around.”

My eyes creaked open. I’d found myself in a dim, comfortable place, but what little light reached me still felt like needles boring into my corneas. I squinted and shuttered. Everything hurt, like I’d been run over by a freight mule. My muscles were inflamed and tight, every breath a rasping challenge. I clutched the blanket pooled at my feet and sat upright, wrapping it around my shoulders for emotional support.

“What happened?” I asked, peering through a tiny glass window. I could see warning posters on the opposite wall, colorful characters warning crew to always know where the nearest emergency breathing mask was located. I could see clear cabinets filled with things like alcohol wipes, cotton balls, burn cream, false skin, and drugs. Med 1, a bad place to wake up.

Doc came into view a second later, scratching thoughtfully at his jet black beard. “How are you feeling?” A cut ran down his right ear, dried blood sticking to the bottom of its lumpy, cauliflower shape. A series of mottled bruises took up residence nearby.

“Like shit, Doc. What happened?” My arms stretched out, but didn’t go far. I was trapped in a small, silver tube, breathing one hundred percent pure oxygen. My jumpsuit was still on, and Liberty’s ear piece was in my pocket.

“A few questions first.” Doc called for the nurse and produced a flashlight. “Follow the light for me. That’s it. There we go.” He flashed it across my vision several times, each pass making me want to puke. “Pupil response normal, no excess dilation. Your skin tone is returning to its regular pink tinted chalk. How about that, you’re not a Popsicle anymore.” He activated the recorder clipped to his shirt and blurted a string of medical terms I couldn’t follow. It was as if he were possessed by demons and was channeling their thoughts. “Do you feel dizzy? Any numbness? How many fingers am I holding up? Hmm. Can’t have you standing to test balance in a monoplace chamber. We’ll do that later. Nurse, get me his vitals.”

I thumped the glass with an irritable finger. “Doc, what happened?” I couldn’t recall much. I’d repaired the leak and so had César. That part was good. We were still alive. That was even better. But what had hit us? Sixty projectiles? Hell no. There was no way. The Axis couldn’t fire that many at once. No way. Besides, we’d be dead if they had.

The nurse handed a tablet to Doc. He slipped it into a slot on the outside of the chamber, conjuring a hiss of air. A second later the tablet appeared inside the tube with me.

“Take it.” Doc turned to face his nurse. “Let’s go with Treatment Table Six and see if the symptoms lessen.”

“Yes, Doctor.” She nodded and disappeared from view.

I fixed my eyes on the tablet’s screen, stomach twisting in knots that weren’t the result of my symptoms. An EVA rig, a suit designed for extra vehicular activities, was outside the ship scaling the supports of a solar panel. Down the right side of the display were readings—heart rate, O2 sat, blood pressure and EEG, as well as a few stats I wasn’t familiar with. At the very bottom was a name. Engineering Assistant, Private César Enela.

“What’s he doing out there? I didn’t order such a dangerous repair.”

Doc shook his head. “Cap ordered it. You’ve been out for six hours, son, and we were losing power fast. Still are, in fact. We had to get our repairs underway immediately, and you’ve got another day or so cooking in there before feeling up to it. But he seems capable enough. Didn’t take all that much to sell the Cap on it. Kid’s got spirit.”

I nodded and gripped the tablet tighter. “He does. It’s just dangerous, very dangerous.” I watched his vitals for a minute, finding it strange he was so calm, considering the circumstance. César hated confined spaces. During every EVA simulation he’d been hella nervous as a result. But now he was calm as a cucumber. It was odd.

“You always track us like this?” Doc nodded in reply. “Can I talk to him from here?”

“Hold the button on the left.”

I did, opening a conference channel between César and the bridge. “César, you there?”

“David! So good to hear your voice, señor. Glad you’re okay.” He waved back at the ship, flashing a massively oversized white hand.

“How’s it looking?”

“Damaged, but she’ll live. The PVAs may take a couple days to fix, and we’re drifting off course till then. Can’t correct our trajectory till we fix the power. No power power, no thrusty thrust.”

This was true, of course, the ion engines required a vast supply of energy to maintain thrust, but he didn’t have to go outside in order to fix them. The panels were retractable. “Give me a rundown. What’s the issue?”

“Actuators are jammed. Something screwed up the lateral motor where the panels fold in. Every time I try and retract it, it just tears them worse.”

With thumb and forefinger I pinch zoomed on the damage. “I see. So you had to go and do it in person. Look out for that titanium rib on the right, it’s swinging around.”

“I see it.” He lowered his head. “ Almost done, sir. Five more minutes at most.” He lifted a pneumatic clamp and sheared a twisted section of metal in half. The length of poly alloy set free began to float off. César took hold and tossed it in a collection net. He began to hum. “Anyone hear that song bleeding in over the com? I know it. Is someone singing back on the ship?”

I let go of the broadcast button and asked Doc, “What hit us?”

He shrugged. “Lieutenant Fryatt believes the enemy’s projectile collided with something en route causing it to splinter. There’s minor damage all over the ship.”

“And so afterwards, I just passed out? What’s wrong with me?”

“Goddard, you have severe DCS—decompression sickness, the bends, air embolisms, all that fluff. Something must have broken your mask during the ship’s decompression, and when the air in the cabin started getting thin and you didn’t exhale along with it… well, I’m sure you know the rest.”

My usually steaming blood turned to ice. I’d come a hair’s breadth from flipping inside out, blood boiling, eyes freezing in their sockets. If I’d stayed another couple minutes in that place it would have been the end of David Goddard, idiot engineer. I felt for the comfort of my gasket ring. I’d survived that wreck too, and the surface of Mars wasn’t much safer than deep space. Someone had to be looking out for me, that’s for sure. I just wasn’t sure who.