John Karr - Detonation Event

Devans took a hot shower in an effort to once again raise his body temperature and ease some of the bruising and aches. Afterward he felt like a sloth while donning an undershirt. The act of pulling it down came with a few groans, first for the material sliding over the tender and swollen side of his face, and second because it felt like every muscle and bone in his body transmitted a grievance to his brain. Hell, even his brain hurt.

Sudden pounding made him wince. “Sure you don’t want any help in there?” Alicia Hamilton said from the other side of the bathroom door.

“If you promise to put away that sledgehammer, I might make it out alive.”

“Barely knocked, Cap. That tells me you’ve got a concussion, or the makings of one. Think I should help you to the bridge.” The door parted. “That’s where we’re clustering.”

“‘Cluster’ any closer and you’ll get more of a view than you bargained for.”

“Won’t be the first time.”

“Then it must’ve been a hell of a party, ’cause I’m pretty sure I would remember, and I don’t.”

“Recall any decontamination rooms from any of the hundred or so landings we did as a crew?”

“And here I thought the no-peeking rule was in place. Context is everything. I can reach the bridge of this bird just fine without a nursemaid.”

“The registered nurse in me says you should be lying down.”

Devans grimaced with a new wave of hurt.

“Uh-huh, see?” Hamilton said. “Brush the wall with that grapefruit on the side of your face and see how that feels.”

“All done? Move along now.”

“Whew, you got enough steam pouring out of that shower to power us back to MOS-1.”

“So I prefer a little heat after Mars freeze-dried my nuts. Bye, Hamilton.”

Her laughter faded with her footsteps.

Devans donned the rest of the clothes that had been laid out for him, walked carefully out of the bathroom, through the crew quarters, and to the elevator. The warmth of the shower was fading, and the head and body aches crept to the fore as the painkiller provided upon boarding wore off. He considered the stairs but screw it, he had a good excuse not to. The elevator doors opened and Hamilton stood there with a smile on her face.

“Pain in the ass,” Devans said.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Pain-in-the-ass-ham. Works on a couple levels.”

She made a show of yawning. “Well, you still look like crap, but at least you smell better.”

Waves of chills traveled up his spine as the residual heat from the shower abandoned him. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. Hamilton unfurled a blanket that had been tucked beneath her arm and draped it over his shoulders.

“Thanks, damn it.”

Hamilton laughed.

“Floor?” the computer inquired.

“Hold.”

“Holding.”

Devans turned slowly toward his security officer. “Sorry about how all this went down.”

Her brows furrowed. “You didn’t plan it that way.”

“You’ve got family on MOS-1. It all could have gotten atomized.”

“Wasn’t your call, Ry Devans. Even if it was, we all know this isn’t basket weaving on a picnic table back on Earth. Risk is what pulls us here. Our fallen crew had family ties. They didn’t make it out, but they all volunteered for this just like we did.”

“Yeah.” He considered the events, distractedly touched the side of his head and registered the pain.

Hamilton’s hand went around his own, pulled his arm gently down before releasing.

“I’m going find out how this all went to crap,” Devans said. “The drone, PS-9 , Detonation Event, all of it.”

“I’m with you.”

She raised a fist, and he bumped it with his own.

“Bridge,” he said, pulling the blanket tighter. He fought to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Identity unknown.”

“Ry Devans, Captain… ex-captain of Planetary Shuttle Nine. MOS-1, Meridian One.”

“Announcing to security and Gwen Wagner, captain PS-30 .”

Gwen Wagner’s head and shoulders appeared on the embedded display screen. Dark hair framed her attractive face so that even the stress furrow between her brows could not diminish. She was a couple years older than her brother, but the resemblance was immediate.

“Hello, Captain Devans,” she said, dark eyes glancing at parts unseen and then back to the camera. “Please join us on the bridge. Sorry, should have cleared you in the system. Will, would you add Captain Devans to the secured list? Alicia, I see you are accompanying.”

“Aye, Captain Wagner,” Hamilton said. “Thought we’d see if the old man could hobble up to the bridge.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you.”

“I don’t see an old man around here,” Devans said.

He felt a slight lift as the elevator rose and, yeah, it made his head swim a little. The doors parted. He saw the navigation station first, unoccupied. Then the pilot and copilot stations, with a gap for passthrough down the stairs to the nose. The standard holograms played. One was Mars, only not as he’d ever seen it before. Normally it was red and yellow but dull. Now it was thick with livid red epicenters and networking veins. The other holo was the familiar site of MOS-1.

Gwen Wagner stood before him. Her arms were tatted and revealed by the black leather sleeveless vest. Leather pants and boots. She was the yin to her brother’s yang, though they shared a bit of wild just beneath the surface. Corporate may not appreciate it, but Devans certainly did. It was the same attribute that makes one dive into an abyss to take out a rogue drone, and the other to fly a planetary shuttle to a pissed-off planet in search of survivors.

Devans glanced at Hamilton for her to go first.

“Beauty before age.” She held her arm out for him to proceed.

He made a face and stifled a groaned.

“What you get,” Hamilton murmured.

Gwen Wagner stepped forward, arm extended with a fist. Devans almost saluted, then remembered this was not a military operation. Handshakes had gone out centuries earlier, but the more sanitary fist bump still survived as a means of human contact.

Devans bumped her fist. “Can’t thank you enough, Captain.”

“We all watched on the satellite feeds as you and Hamilton here went down the hole after my idiot brother. Thanks for that. Our mother was overjoyed, for some reason.”

Devans winced through a chuckle.

“Hey now, I tested higher than you on the physics and math, sis,” Trent protested from the meeting table at the nose of the bridge. “And who knows what damage that drone would have done to the firecracker at the bottom of the hole.”

“No sense making the tunnel your grave, kid,” Devans returned. “Anyway, why a MOS-2 shuttle made the pickup and not one of our own is something I’d like to hash out with SCONA.”

“ PS-10 tried.”

“Not hard enough.”

“We did what you would have done,” Gwen Wagner said. “You’re not exactly shy about taking risks.”

Devans considered. It was true. He would have gone out to rescue, even if he’d have had to pilot the shuttle himself. But was it because he didn’t want anyone left behind, or for the adventure, or the fact that he took risk knowing that if it went bad it would still be preferable to euthanasia or withering away in an old folks’ home?

Gwen Wagner turned and sat in the captain’s chair. A man stood where she’d been. The same man who had piloted with Devans on seemingly a thousand army combat missions. Along with Lassiter Nuro, they had saved each other’s lives too often to count. Devans grunted. “You could pass for Brad Fresnopolis, except you’re a hell of a lot older and softer.”

“And you’re an older and uglier version of Ry Devans, if that’s even possible,” Fres returned. “Looks like you tripped on your boot laces trying to run and change your diaper at the same time.”