Alone, Adrift

Iron Age Submission for July 19th. If you were expecting something clever, I spent it all on the story below.

 

The bad thing about escape pods is that you are forced to see the life you just lost as you preserve the life you do have. Four crewmen of the Anthropic had escaped their ship's ultimate fate and are watching their home of 12 years as it violently disintegrates, blown and blasted apart by weapons fire and structural failure.

Witnessing the silent detonations and the strange motion and shape of the flames as they hungrily devoured the loose oxygen, it felt surreal, like a nightmare that refused all attempts to be roused.
"This isn't happening, this isn't happening..." one of the helmeted crewman kept whispering to himself.

He only stopped his gibbering when a flurry of shock waves struck the ship and everyone had to brace themselves within the tiny, creaking vessel. Samra, the only woman aboard, whimpered at the tremors that rocked the ship. Her husband instinctively grabbed hold of her, keeping her as safe as he could for the duration of the shocks. When the ship's reactor finally detonated, the pod shivered and groaned and the people within were knocked to the floor by the explosive tumult. Samra screamed, but Jalo held her close. The emergency lights came on as the primary power was knocked out and in the dim, red interior of the pod, the finality of their loss came through clearly as one final volley from the attacking cruiser finished off what remained of the Anthropic.

The horror was manifested as an unblinking, empty stare from those that could stand to watch the tragedy. It was only when the cruiser broke off its engagement that the smattering of people aboard the pod could actually think.

"There she goes. That's it. The last fucking decade of work and now my entire life gone. Fucking gone," Botellos mused in a forsaken, sullen tone. The normally cheerful man was bereft of all his levity, all of his good will and tenderness. He threw up his hands before storming off to the back of the pod. Elyas took off his helmet and Samra held tight to Jalo.

"What do we do now?"

That was the operating question. Adrift in space, there was very little that these stranded crewmen could do. Jalo, as a bridge officer, had the training needed to keep his cool and check the radio, but there was no one else broadcasting. He picked up only static in the ether and as he sat there listening to the crackle through the radio speakers, all of his command experience, all of his calmness and his coolness, it evaporated and the officer gave into despair. He stood over the radio with his hands on the desk, eyes cast downward and no single coherent thought existed in his mind.

Malaise persisted in the small interior of the pod. No one spoke for hours and indeed, the adults were like dejected children, sitting alone, idling their time with trivial actions: tapping at the floor with their boots, twiddling their fingers or simply standing in the corner. What broke the mood was not a rallying speech from the commanding officer, but something far simpler: hunger.

"Is anyone hungry?" a downward looking Botellos said quietly. Beyond the thrum of power flowing, the room was quiet as an abandoned church. Without words, everyone stood up and approached the emergency box that held the food packets. The pods could technically hold 12 people, but the supplies would be expended in three, maybe four days. The four that did manage to escape the ship had a decent amount of time to consider what could be done. More likely, they were spending their last few days of life contemplating their existence and the imminence of their demise.

Elyas sobbed softly to himself, careful to break down only when his helmet was on. He ate the least and despite efforts by the others, Samra especially, he refused his rations. Good in the short term, but the depression Elyas projected was infectious and his low mood brought out more sorrow, more unwillingness to act. For the first few days, no one did anything. The pod drifted in the vague direction of the Anthropic's destination, but it was an eon away at the current pace. Botellos, finally upset enough to act, ambled over to Samra. He placed his heavy hand on her shoulder and bid her to look him in the eye.

"Samra, you are the...were the senior engineer for our section. There's gotta be something we can do."

"I don't know what we can. It just seems so hopeless."

"We can't give up," the big man said. "We've got to try until there's nothing more that we can do. Are you sure you've thought of everything?"

The engineer sighed and shook her head.

"Honestly? I can't even work up the courage to start thinking about it. What if I fail?"

Botellos sighed himself.

"We're all doomed if you can't think of anything anyway. Failing doesn't matter. If we get blown out into space or starve, that makes no difference in the end. Just try for us, would you?"

Samra breathed deep. He was right. She had to try. Samra slowly trod to the back of the craft and sat down on the narrow bench in the rear, thinking quietly after she did. These pods were only meant to get the ship's crew away from imminent danger, not travel any sizable distance nor keep its crew alive for much longer than a week. Hell, they weren't even meant to survive atmospheric entry. The fact that they were assigned to a colony ship was just stupid, utterly idiotic nonsense. But, an engineer's job, once off the blueprints, was to make do with the tools on hand. Unfortunately, the tools were limited. The pod had hostile environment suits, rations and the most rudimentary of tools for the most rudimentary of repairs and construction. Actually, the whole craft was meant to be used to create radiation and heat resistant shelter, but that was only after landing and only on a low gravity object like a moon or a dwarf planet. In other words, useless trivia.

Samra spent the better part of the day contemplating what she could do, but her mind dwelt on the same ideas over and over. It wasn't until Elyas had a quasi-meltdown, when he just couldn't take the dread anymore. The still enviro-suited man stood up and started smashing his head into the wall, without the benefit of his helmet. By the time the others got to him, he had knocked a panel loose from the wall. As he restrained Elyas, Botellos looked at the damaged panel. "Cheap piece of junk," he remarked. The alloy plate was the only thing forming a barrier between the guts of the pod and the internal space. Just putting the metal back up was a massive shock hazard. It was, however, fortuitous, at least for what Samra was thinking.

She didn't just have access to the tools at hand. She had access to all the mechanical components, the electrics and, much to her relief, the chemicals. As soon as she started her lateral thoughts, the engineer realized the crew's possible salvation. The pod's engine was just like any space faring vehicle, a massive heat generator that couldn't cool itself easily. Without access to massive components like a proper ship had, the pod had to utilize old fashioned methods to stop itself from frying: coolant. Samra checked the computer and the ship manifest. Just as she hoped: xenon based cooling system. Beautiful. She quickly opened up a blueprint program and within the hour, sketched the entire operation and calculated every detail she could conceive of.

"Everyone, I have a plan," Samra announced. Botellos and her husband came over immediately, but Elyas had to be coaxed out of his psychological stupor with kind, hopeful words and only barely did he become cogent.

Samra stood next to the monitor and showed her plan.

"Alright, we can't do anything about our current situation. There are no planets or stars nearby and we don't have enough supplies to get anywhere. But what we can do is preserve ourselves. I can turn this whole cabin into one big cryo tube and by my calculations, we'll have just under 900 years worth of coolant to keep us cold. That's plenty of time for us to be found."

Jalo nodded, convinced, but not totally sure. Botellos smiled and pumped his fists. Elyas, however, needed some additional persuading. Samra knelt down to him, put herself at eye level with her companion, waiting for him to finally look her eye-to-eye.

"Elyas," Samra uttered softly, "we can get through this. We're gonna make it, buddy! We're gonna make it!"

For a moment, he could contain himself, but is eyes were watering and his lip was quivering. Finally, the man broke down weeping, overjoyed by the good news. He reached forward and embraced Samra, buoyed by her presence and her reassurance. Samra returned the small display of grateful affection, holding him for a short while as he let his outpouring of emotion run its course. When Elyas finally regained composure, the woman returned to the workstation, explaining the fine details.

The plan was actually rather simple. After a short boost back in the direction of friendly space, the engine would be taken permanently offline, the hot components jettisoned to save on coolant. Following that, the xenon canister would be opened, venting a large amount of refrigerant to flash freeze the cabin and then, if all went as planned, a remote controlled valve-shut would slow the flow of xenon gas to a trickle. If all worked well, the gas would keep the pod's interior at acceptable cryogenic temperatures for as long as possible.

Easy in theory and in most of the execution, but the canister itself was heavy and in absolutely the wrong place. The interior was insulated, the engine space was not. The burst of speed in the correction made the engine way too hot and the crew elected to let it radiate naturally, just save a few more decades of coolant. But this meant cutting it real close on food. The remaining days of supplies were spent waiting, refining the plans and hoping for nothing unfortunate to happen. The crew took a gamble on narrow the space they had, taking plates from the wall and using a plasma cutter as a makeshift plasma welder. If the space could be cut in half, they'd add several more centuries to their clock, but it was a hell of a risk.

The alloy plates were not well secured to the wall, but they were heavy holding them up to be welded required a lot of strength and a lot of patience. The welds had to be solid and the plating had to be double sided. That meant several hours worth of standing still and exerting large amounts of effort for more time than any of the crewmen had ever done before. Adding in the stench of burning metal meant the time spent was utterly miserable. Miserable but bearable, until something tragic happened.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Botellos cried as he clutched his thigh. The plasma torch had struck an imperfection and the resulting heat sent out a blast of shrapnel. Miraculously, none of the other panels fell from the wall, the glass was not cracked and none but Botellos was struck. However, he had a bad puncture in his leg and the poor man lost a considerable amount of blood before the trauma kit was brought out and the bleeding stopped. All work stopped for the day, both to let Botellos recover and for Elyas to cope with the trauma of what he saw. Hopelessness was creeping back into him and Jalo and Samra both had to keep him clear of mind.

"This isn't gonna work. This just isn't gonna work..." he kept muttering to himself. Neither Jalo or Samra were trained to deal with this kind of thing and Botellos was left alone to convalesce.

"Elyras, please listen to me. You can do this. We've still got plenty of time. We're gonna make it. Do you understand? We can still survive this."

"No. No. I can't. We can't. This is hopeless."

Through a sleepless night, the husband and wife pair stayed with the mind-broken man, making constant reassurances and pleas for his help. With just a few days worth of food left, the work had to resume. Elyras proved no use and Botellos, still a little woozy from the wound, had to make up for him. The bigger man was made to stand in a bad position for collective hours and once, his wound reopened with a tiny trickle that was mended quickly by an observant Jalo. Still, the sight of blood put them all off from the effort. The panels were damned close to completion, but the malaise was returning and they all sat down to rest, soaked with sweat and starving. The group ate their allotted rations and, while looking over at Elyras, made the crass decision to take some of his as well. He that didn't work didn't eat, as the old saying went.

"Do you think we can do this, Samra?" the wounded man queried listlessly.

"I think we can. We have just enough time," the woman as she shook her head in the negative. It was a totally true statement, but she didn't quite believe it. Botellos continued to suck on a tube of food. He never liked this kind of food, bland and tasteless as it was, but in times like this, it was gourmet dining. Jalo took a swig of water, looked at the other man and then his wife. He knew something had to be done and leadership was paramount in dark times like this.

"Anyone remember the song the Captain composed for the mission? How did it go?"

Botellos smirked.

"On the cold winds of the ether,

we gladly march along.

For the future of our children,

we sing this dour song."

The big fellow glanced over at Samra who in turn smiled back.

"Our long and treacherous journey,

shall be fraught with troubles deep.

But with the hope for tomorrow,

it shall sing us all to sleep.

Samra and Botellos then glanced over at a knowing Jalo.

"Join together, brethren of the voyage,

sing this tune when times are hard.

Remember well the words I tell you,

and let your spirit be never marred."

Once the first stanzas were all sung, the crew enjoined the full song as a chorus, losing themselves in the melody and the message. For a small while, peace and cheer and prevailed and the flame of hope was rekindled with what little spark they had. Jalo looked back over at Elyas. He was no longer rocking back and forth quietly. Indeed, he was as the song had said, fast asleep within its harmony. Once it was sung and done, the crew imitated Elyas and found comfort in slumber. Come the morning, their work had to be done, no excuses, no quitting. When the morning alarm sounded, the sore crew awakened, finding the odd crewman out already awake and standing, a remarkable improvement over his previous state. He was gazing at the stars, in the direction of home.

"We can't go back. We're all out here alone and all we've got is each other."

"Damn right. We've got your back, Elyas. We'll get through this, I know we can," Jalo replied. Elyas nodded deeply, affirmed to the goal no matter what. Everyone else did likewise and the final day of work commenced. The last of the food rations were eaten quickly. After, the remaining insulator panels were installed silently, save for a few groans of effort. Samra had gotten good at using the wrong tool for the right job and her speedy handiwork left the men with a high amount of energy left. That was good because the next step was both difficult and perilous.

The xenon canister was heavy, real heavy. Theoretically movable by hand, practically never done. Everyone had to be suited in their HE gear; the radiation and heat from the engine nearby were dangerous. The men would do the heavy lifting and Samra would do the precision work, cutting cables and keeping the refrigerant from leaking out right onto the crew. The engineer briefed her team on what needed to be done, how to do it and above all, she stressed caution. The canister was made to resist heat, not punctures. One bad move and it would all explode from the pressure. Jalo and Botellos both concurred quickly, but Elyas needed some encouragement.

"We're already there, man. Just a few more minutes and we're saved."

The shaky man finally nodded and everyone put their hands in for a morale boosting moment. Assured glances were shared as palms came in, stacked four deep. The team broke and moved into position. With great care and strain, the massive canister was lifted from its seating, the hoses leading to it severed by quick blasts from the plasma cutter as they were stretched. Suddenly, Botellos groaned audibly. His wound opened up again, much worse than before. Elyas almost let go of the canister, desperate to help.

"No no! Just keep moving it! The suit will seal it! Come on! Heave!"

The men grunted as they put all of their strength into lifting the heavy thing. Once free from the engine compartment, Samra worked quickly to install the remote valves she had prepared days prior. Already, the canister had leaked enough xenon to chill the room to well below freezing, gusts of heavy gas rushing out. The engineer worked fast, but even with another pair of insulating gloves over her suit, Samra still managed to get a cold burn. She squealed, but fought through the pain, sealing off the valves as they vented.

With her task finished, Jalo came to the aid of his wife.

"Honey, are you hurt?"

"Just get it done, Jalo," Samra said urgently. "Set the timer and the pressure gauges. Elyas! Get the switches hooked up to the grid quick!"

Both of them did as ordered. Botellos, however, was not able to help. He was sat down opposite his comrades, blood pooling in the left leg of his suit. He was extremely cold, far more than he should have been at this point. When the work was done and Samra was brought over into the makeshift icebox, they all crowded around their beefy friend.

"We can't take his suit off now. He'll freeze too quick," Samra said.

"Don't...don't...I'm not worth worrying about. We got it done, right?"

"Yeah, yeah we did," Jalo said calmly.

"Good," Botellos said slowly. That was about all he could mutter before he went quiet and still.

"Goddammit!" Elyas cried out.

The husband and wife pair bowed their heads in respect, grateful for the big man's help. They all took their positions in the narrowed cabin except Elyas, who remained by Botellos' side. The ambient temperature was lowering to such a degree that the suits could no longer protect the crew. All the remaining personnel of the Anthropic were shivering and shaking, their bodies submitting to the cold. Hopefully, this lonely vessel would be found one day, its humble occupants revived and given another chance. But for now, the cold embrace of death awaited them, cryogenized and preserved for that hopeful day.

"I love you," Jalo said as his last words.

His wife had already frozen and the man was left wondering if his wife had heard him in his final moments.