Justin Stanchfield - Ghosts Come Home

As he approached, the damage to the tug became more obvious. The machine was tumbling, the coupling platform a collection of twisted girders and torn hoses. A long gash ran down the tug’s starboard flank, patches of frost collected across the scorched hull where fluids had leaked out. A single green running light remained, blinking calmly as the ship rolled end over end, somersaulting against the backdrop of stars. Dev tensed, the view hardly encouraging.

“Oasis Control?” He spoke into his mic, trying to keep his voice flat. “I’ve found the tug. The ship is in one piece, but shows heavy damage. No sign yet of survivors.”

He switched to the ship-to-ship frequency, his hopes fading as he waited for his computer to query the crippled ship. When no automatic reply came, he brought the mic boom closer to the corner of his mouth.

“7748 Uniform to Commercial Towing vessel Elizabeth Toland . Please come in.” He waited. “Towing vessel, this is Four-Eight Uniform, currently one point three kilometers sunward of your position. Please respond.”

A metallic taste spread through his mouth as he waited, the icy possibility that no one remained alive aboard the tug becoming more real with every passing second. To himself, he whispered, “Kammie, damn it, send me a sign.”

Fighting his own despair, he edged closer, closing the gap between the two ships, brief sparkles of torn metal and ice catching starlight as they drifted past. Suddenly, as the tug made another end-over roll, he saw a light flash in one of the tiny forward windows. The light flashed twice more before it was lost from view.

“Towing vessel Elizabeth Toland ,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm despite his thundering heartbeat. “Please flash three times on you next revolution.”

He waited, barely breathing, the sour scent of his own sweat filling the cockpit as the tug’s forward end rolled once more into view. Dev watched for the light at the window, then whooped out loud as he once more saw the small but intense flash of what must have been a hand-torch blink three quick flashes. To his amazement, he felt the phone in his breast pocket buzz. Shaking, he flipped it open.

“Don’t know if you can hear this,” a faint, female voice said, the signal fading in and out. Dev didn’t need to be told it was Kammie Tule. “Our tracking dish is out, so we rigged a hand-held antenna.” The signal vanished, then returned a few seconds later. “No power and air pressure is dropping. Forty-three survivors, all in suits. Six in critical…”

Again, the voice in his phone faded, but didn’t return. Dev swore under his breath. It was maddening to be within shouting distance of the wounded tug, but having to communicate via a relay nearly forty thousand kilometers away. He relayed the information and position back to Oasis Control, then plugged the phone into the intercom.

“Hang on, Kammie. I’m going to attempt a grapple.” Leaving the phone on, he Velcroed it to the visor above his head then swung his helmet visor down. The row of lights flashed across the faceplate as the seal engaged, a metallic whiff of bottled air kissing his face. Dev drank it in, letting the pure oxygen clear his head as he nudged his ship toward the much larger vessel.

He glanced at the fuel meter and saw nearly a thousand kilograms of pressurized fuel remained in the auxiliary tank. Hardly a surplus, but hopefully enough to cancel the tug’s rotation and start braking, maybe even push them back toward Oasis. Gently, he played the controls, easing his shuttle into a matching orbit, rotating in time with the tug’s spin. The skewed g-forces pressed him against the side of the cockpit, the stars now whirling madly in front of him while the tug seemed to slow and finally come to a stop. Dev switched on the flood-lamps as he extended the grapple arms, the mechanical linkages stuttering into position.

“Almost there,” he said, not sure if anyone aboard the ship could hear him or not. “I’ll hook on amidship just forward of the platform.”

A strange calm fell over him as the final meters closed, experience taking over while he maneuvered into position. Gently, as if scratching an eyelid, Dev scissored the grapple arms around a coupling point. A faint click ran up the arms, followed by a low hiss as the hydraulic arms locked into position. Now, he thought ruefully, the real work begins.

“Hang on tight,” he warned, hoping Kammie heard him. Dev made a final check of the flight-board, then opened the throttle. A thunderstorm broke around him, the vibration rising as his engines pushed against the Elizabeth Toland.

Clinging to the armrests, Dev watched the board, gratified to see the numbers slowly swing in his favor. Burning fuel at a monstrous rate, he let the engine run. Sweat poured down his forehead, the vibration becoming more violent as the pressures increased. Suddenly, a red light flashed near the top of the board, an alarm shrilling as sensors reported a failure in the left grappling arm.

A grinding snap shook the cabin as the arm buckled. Dev’s hand flew toward the engine cut-off a millisecond too late. He gasped as the impact banged him against the restraints, shaking him. The shuttle rebounded, arcing in the opposite direction, still tethered by the remaining arm. Glass shattered, the air in the cabin joining the cloud of hydraulic fluid and ruptured fuel spewing out of the tanks. His head struck the cabin wall, lights flashing in his eyes as he lost consciousness, the hiss of air pouring into vacuum the last sound he heard.

Pain wound through his skull, a pounding throb that echoed the agony in his right shoulder. A sticky, coppery taste filled his mouth, his breath whistling through the blood coagulating in his nostrils. Darkness surrounded him, the stars and the cheerful blue screen of the cell phone still miraculously stuck to the ceiling the only light. He was cold.

“This is what it feels like to die,” Dev thought without any real emotion.

A flash of lightning sawed through his vision, vanished, then returned. Above him, drifting back and forth he watched the pool of light go from one side of the cabin to the other, diffused by the spider web of cracks in the shattered window. More light, red and blue instead of white, played around him, sparks hissing as they snicked against his visor. The pain worsened, and again he felt himself browning out, not sure if he really saw the cabin roof fly away or the mirrored faceplate looking down at him from outside.

Gray walls, a touch of frost on the metal surfaces, the light twisted. Dev stared blankly at the odd shadows, confused before it dawned on him that he was no longer wearing his helmet. His head throbbed as he tried to sit up, but a hand pressed him back down.

“Careful,” someone said. “You might have whiplash. Just stay still, all right?”

“Where am I?”

“Airlock aboard the Elizabeth Toland .” Kammie Tule shifted behind him, the fabric of her E-suit rustling as she scooted around to face him. She placed her hands on her own helmet and gave it a twist. The bulky headgear popped as it came loose. Her hair was matted with sweat and a thin cut ran at a slant into her left eyebrow, but despite the pain in his skull Dev had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Sorry about the way I had to get you out,” she continued. A cloud of breath hung around her face, the tips of her blond hair already stiffening in the frigid air. “We watched your ship break up but no one could tell if you survived or not. I wasn’t really sure until I got you in here and pulled your helmet off. Hope I wasn’t too rough.”

“I don’t remember. I think I blacked out.” Dev winced as he sat up, the pain reminding him how close he had just come to dying. “You saved my life, didn’t you?”