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Authors: Jason Hough
Tags: Fiction
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hangar.
“Who will take your place?” Samantha eventually asked.
“That’ll be for you all to decide.”
Everyone started talking at once.
“Hey, hey,” Skyler said over them, “at least let me fail first.”
Angus raised his hand, waited for Skyler to acknowledge him. “And if no one else wants to lead?”
Skyler shrugged. “We disband, I guess.”
The sobering thought quieted them.
Let them mull that over, Skyler told himself. As bad as things were, the alternatives might hold less appeal. The misery of daily life in Darwin. Throwing in with one of the other crews, only to be slowed down by their reliance on environment suits and compressed air. Or to follow Skadz’s example, and simply walk out into the world and leave everything behind.
“I’m asking for a last chance. Let’s get the big girl ready to fly, and head into the Clear.”
It took the others a few seconds to realize the speech had ended. One by one they stood and started the routine of preparing for a mission.
Skyler sulked back to his room, wondering why he said what he said. A final chance? he thought, cursing at himself. He had let the moment take control, and said too much. Right now they were probably all thinking of ways to botch the mission and force him out.
From a locker bolted to the wall of his room he removed his winter fatigues. Russian issue, hardly used. A soft knock at the door distracted him. “Come in.”
Samantha pushed the door open. “Nice speech. I liked the bit at the end.”
“My offer to step down?”
She shook her head. “You laying down the fucking law around here. Telling people what’s what.”
He set the thick winter jacket on his desk and turned to her. No words came.
“Pretty good speech,” she said. “Too much pussyfooting about, but not bad.”
“Let’s just hope the mission pays off.”
“It better. For your sake.”
Before he could reply, she closed the door.
Chapter Six
Hab-8 Station
14.JAN.2283
Neil Platz left the card game a poorer man.
He’d let the skeleton crew win, but they’d all been too drunk to notice his deliberate poor play.
A lonely bunch, stuck here under secret orders, travel restricted to the short distance between Platz Station and Hab-8. A construction crew, so the story went. Neil had cultivated that lie over many months. In truth their job entailed the menial task of sorting and storing supplies.
Neil’s arrival, booze in one hand, a set of magnetic-backed playing cards in the other, had been met with smiles and gratitude. A break in the monotony and isolation. The crew set aside their work without a second thought, and poker ensued.
Hab-8, the perpetually-under-construction, long-promised new space station. Quarters for a thousand. Four recreation rooms. The chance for more Darwinians to be lifted from their squalor.
When SUBS broke out, work on the station all but stopped. Materials dried up as Darwin’s warehouses ran dry or fell to looters. Workers went idle, their minds on friends and loved ones below. But Neil pushed and pushed over the five years since, counting every rivet made or component installed as a victory, and ultimately finished the job. Hab-8 was done, and should have been handed over to the council months ago, but Neil had a different purpose in mind.
He let the door click shut. The eight-man crew and their boisterous game would go on fine without him. The gift of scotch, two precious bottles, consumed through special spigot caps, with would ensure that. Drunken men in zero-g, always a party.
Neil flipped on the lamp attached to his hat. The corridor filled with blue-white light, and he could see his breath on the chill air. To warm the station, or begin its rotation to generate artificial gravity, would signify readiness and draw unwanted attention. Those comforts would have to wait. He zipped his coat closed, all the way to his chin, and began to drift toward the central hub.
Shadows danced as the beam from his light swept
“Who will take your place?” Samantha eventually asked.
“That’ll be for you all to decide.”
Everyone started talking at once.
“Hey, hey,” Skyler said over them, “at least let me fail first.”
Angus raised his hand, waited for Skyler to acknowledge him. “And if no one else wants to lead?”
Skyler shrugged. “We disband, I guess.”
The sobering thought quieted them.
Let them mull that over, Skyler told himself. As bad as things were, the alternatives might hold less appeal. The misery of daily life in Darwin. Throwing in with one of the other crews, only to be slowed down by their reliance on environment suits and compressed air. Or to follow Skadz’s example, and simply walk out into the world and leave everything behind.
“I’m asking for a last chance. Let’s get the big girl ready to fly, and head into the Clear.”
It took the others a few seconds to realize the speech had ended. One by one they stood and started the routine of preparing for a mission.
Skyler sulked back to his room, wondering why he said what he said. A final chance? he thought, cursing at himself. He had let the moment take control, and said too much. Right now they were probably all thinking of ways to botch the mission and force him out.
From a locker bolted to the wall of his room he removed his winter fatigues. Russian issue, hardly used. A soft knock at the door distracted him. “Come in.”
Samantha pushed the door open. “Nice speech. I liked the bit at the end.”
“My offer to step down?”
She shook her head. “You laying down the fucking law around here. Telling people what’s what.”
He set the thick winter jacket on his desk and turned to her. No words came.
“Pretty good speech,” she said. “Too much pussyfooting about, but not bad.”
“Let’s just hope the mission pays off.”
“It better. For your sake.”
Before he could reply, she closed the door.
Chapter Six
Hab-8 Station
14.JAN.2283
Neil Platz left the card game a poorer man.
He’d let the skeleton crew win, but they’d all been too drunk to notice his deliberate poor play.
A lonely bunch, stuck here under secret orders, travel restricted to the short distance between Platz Station and Hab-8. A construction crew, so the story went. Neil had cultivated that lie over many months. In truth their job entailed the menial task of sorting and storing supplies.
Neil’s arrival, booze in one hand, a set of magnetic-backed playing cards in the other, had been met with smiles and gratitude. A break in the monotony and isolation. The crew set aside their work without a second thought, and poker ensued.
Hab-8, the perpetually-under-construction, long-promised new space station. Quarters for a thousand. Four recreation rooms. The chance for more Darwinians to be lifted from their squalor.
When SUBS broke out, work on the station all but stopped. Materials dried up as Darwin’s warehouses ran dry or fell to looters. Workers went idle, their minds on friends and loved ones below. But Neil pushed and pushed over the five years since, counting every rivet made or component installed as a victory, and ultimately finished the job. Hab-8 was done, and should have been handed over to the council months ago, but Neil had a different purpose in mind.
He let the door click shut. The eight-man crew and their boisterous game would go on fine without him. The gift of scotch, two precious bottles, consumed through special spigot caps, with would ensure that. Drunken men in zero-g, always a party.
Neil flipped on the lamp attached to his hat. The corridor filled with blue-white light, and he could see his breath on the chill air. To warm the station, or begin its rotation to generate artificial gravity, would signify readiness and draw unwanted attention. Those comforts would have to wait. He zipped his coat closed, all the way to his chin, and began to drift toward the central hub.
Shadows danced as the beam from his light swept
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