Days Until Home Read online

  An image of Helena appeared in Viktor’s mind, wearing a black dress. Mourning a closed casket as it shot into space.

  He faced Jimmy, anger boiling up the back of his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He realized the flare candle was still in his hand, held like a spear. Jimmy was only a meter away.

  Viktor imagined the man’s suit tearing, the oxygen leaking away as his eyes widened and bulged. The vein bursting in his temple, crystals of frozen blood dancing through the black like pink diamonds. In that moment, he wanted to make it happen, deep within his soul with a desire that surprised him. His grip on the candle tightened. One quick jab, straight to the gut. There were no cameras this far from the Kerwood. Nobody would know. The intrusive thought latched onto his brain and wouldn’t let go.

  He raised the candle a fraction of a centimeter when his radio crackled.

  “You’re supposed to keep the general channel open,” Connor said, voice filling his helmet. “You would’ve heard me warn you that Jimmy was full of slag.”

  Jimmy made a pained noise. “You’d rat me out like that, Connie? And deny my God-given right to forty credits?”

  “Let’s all just calm down,” Connor said. There was a twinge of diplomacy in his voice. He was probably looking at Viktor’s suit sensors, at his elevated heart rate. “Viktor, you can hit the showers early. I’ll call Hernandez up here to finish your shift with Jimmy.”

  “Hernandez is supposed to replace me in an hour,” Jimmy said.

  “Not anymore. You are now working a double. You can collect your forty credits after that.” Jimmy began to protest more, so Connor added, “Unless you want me to let Captain Hayes know about your little stunt? Wasting company time and assets just to pull a prank?”

  Company time and assets, Viktor thought. Never mind risking his life. The anger remained, but more muted, so Viktor lowered his spear.

  Something in the gesture must have hit home to Jimmy. He said, “Yeah. Sure thing, Connie. I’ll stay with Hernandez.” He hesitated, eyeing Viktor, and added, “Hey. Sorry, boss. I didn’t mean to scare ya. Just tryin’ to keep things light around here. Only way to stay sane. You understand, right?”

  “Da, I understand.” Viktor tossed the candle and turned away. I understand I want to go home.

  Murder still in his heart, he began the trek back to the Kerwood in cold silence.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Days Until Home: 44

  A family of three smiled out from the static frame that sat atop the desk inside of the captain’s quarters. There was a handsome brunette, strong in her looks as well as her frame, and a tall, tired-looking man with his arm slung lazily around her shoulders. In front of them stood a grinning boy, smiling at the camera as he clutched a model spaceship. Behind them stood a large house and white picket fence to complete the cliché.

  Keeping the photograph company was an assortment of sheets, plastic substrates scattered about as if someone had thrown them out of a box. The man behind the desk made perfect company for the mess. His eyes were puffy and didn’t seem to open past the slats that served as windows into a dark and dangerous place.

  Winchester Hayes picked up one of the sheets and flipped it around. “Everything checks out,” he muttered to himself, and then got up and walked to the circular porthole that revealed the monochromatic horizon line of the asteroid. “If I die on this spud, I’m slapping God,” he muttered, and then shifted his eyes to watch the miners.

  “Yeah, that’s it, work as slow as possible,” he said. “This is what they send me out here with. Laggards.” He shook his head and turned back to his desk, his hand smoothing back his thick brown hair.

  A slight movement distracted him and he glanced over at the bed where a smooth, shapely leg had managed to escape from beneath the covers. “I’ll see you up there,” he announced, as he grabbed his jacket and threw it on before exiting the door.

  As he passed by his desk, the edge of his jacket knocked over the frame, and the family became as forgotten as they had been for the last few hours of his life. He walked the dark passageway and rounded the corner, pushing his way past a deckhand who he assumed was going back to his room.

  “Morning, Captain!” The man said, and Winchester stopped, turned around and regarded him.

  “Morning? How the hell can you tell?”

  “By the time, sir, it’s 5—”

  “It’s just a joke, Richard. I know what time it is. We’ve been here, what, fourteen days? Anyway, as you were,” he said and pushed past him to resume his march. The tight passageway was beginning to see a lot of activity so Winchester slid past several other workers to climb the stairs that led up to the bridge.

  “Captain on the bridge,” a man in a powder blue jumpsuit announced and Winchester stopped and stared at him. When he had looked at the man long enough for it to become uncomfortable, he slowly scanned the room to see if anyone would respond.

  “Lu, it’s only us. Who the hell are you announcing that to?”

  “Sticking to protocol, Skip, the way you instructed me to.” Angelo Lu said. “Would you prefer if I stopped announcing your taking the bridge?”

  “I need coffee, where the hell is my coffee?” Winchester said.

  “We ran out. Vega went below to get us some more. I had gone last time, and she tried to get me to fill it again, and I was—”

  “What an interesting story, Lu, I’d love to hear more, but can you please skip forward to the part where I actually care?”

  “You need your coffee,” Angelo Lu said and waved to another man that ascended the steps to the bridge.

  “Captain,” the man said with a thick German accent, and he made a slight bow to Winchester Hayes. When Hayes did not acknowledge him, he turned to Angelo, “Lu,” he said, and the shorter man smiled and told him good morning.

  “How long have we been together, gentlemen?” Winchester asked without looking at either of them.

  “Five years now,” Lu replied. “Well, two years for you, right, Gauge?” And the tall, muscular German nodded affirmatively.

  “Five years,” Winchester whispered. He touched a screen that was on the podium in front of him, which caused the control panels to light up like a Christmas tree. A loud groaning followed, and the darkened shades slid up into the ceiling to reveal the unimpressive, pock-filled landscape of Egeria-13.

  Winchester didn’t say anything more as he placed one foot on his chair, then leaned forward to rest his elbow on top of his knee. He set his eyes on a pair of miners going about their duties and lost himself in trying to figure out why he felt uneasy. “We need to shove off soon,” he said. “I’m not liking the way she’s been feeling lately, not to mention that noise from last night.”

  “Noise, Skip?” Lu asked, looking up at him.

  “The noise, the incessant clicking I had you investigate. Sounded like it was coming from downstairs, like something wormed its way into the primary grid.”

  Lu was looking over his charts. “Ion propulsion engine is in tip top shape, Skipper. If there was something inside of it, the Kerwood would let us know. Are you sure that the noise came from there? Everything here looks stable, and the computer estimates that, with our supplies, we could cruise for another two years.”

  “Did the computer tell you that, Lu? Is that why you’re here? To tell me what the computer estimates is good for my crew? I know what I heard, and the rest of you heard it, too. I don’t care what the damn computer says. Even if Booker comes up here and tells me that she’s good, I’m getting a second opinion from the engineers. We don’t take off with that noise.”

  “Can someone please get the Captain some coffee,” Lu shouted into his communicator, and then looked over at Winchester with an impatient glance. “Skip, the noise, what did it sound like at the time?”

  “Sounded like whispers, but I was alone up here. Couldn’t sleep so I came up to be with my girl.”

  Both Gauge and Lu exchanged puzzled looks, then Lu finally asked, “You mean, the Kerw
ood?”

  “Who else?” Winchester said. “I come up here sometimes, you know. Stare out at all that blackness and wonder what else is out there. I heard whispers like … Hey, you ever been in a car when the window is cracked and that whispering sound lets you know to wind it up?”

  “Sure, sure, I’ve done that.”

  “That’s what it sounded like, so I looked around the bridge. Figured a couple of you were up here, having a private talk or something. After a while, I found out that the noise was coming from the HUD, so I called up Booker and made him run a few tests.”

  “That would account for the crew’s tardiness,” Lu sighed. “Was it the old intuition thing again, Skipper? I’ve been trying to pick up on it, and I just don’t feel, or hear it for that matter.”

  Winchester turned slightly with his face tilted down, and he stared at Lu above his nose. “Could be, but I know what I heard, and when my girl’s feeling uneasy, I know that something’s up. Maybe it’s something only a captain can understand. Running a ship is a lot more than computer readouts and sticking to protocol, Mister Lu, but you won’t believe me until you’re in this seat, now will you?”

  Their conversation was interrupted as three more people climbed to the bridge. The ship’s pilot, Booker Hawkins, argued with his relief pilot, Femke Gerhardt. They were going on about the likelihood of the crew’s survival if Booker was unable to fly. He thought Femke was not ready, and she took offense and was pleading her case—quite loudly.

  Another woman, Marisol Vega, trailed behind with two cups of coffee. She was dressed differently than the rest of the crew, who all wore the blue, cooling and ventilation jumpers that were meant to go beneath their spacesuits. It had become the unofficial uniform of the Kerwood—coffee stains not required—but she was in a T-shirt and jogging pants, a luxury of the communications officer.

  “Hey, Skip, am I not an able pilot?” Femke pleaded as Booker smiled slyly from behind her.

  Winchester stood up as if to answer, but the only thing that he could see was the piping hot coffee handed to him by Marisol. He took it and sipped it slowly as if he never heard Femke’s question. “How’d it go with the tests last night, Book?” he said.

  “Strangest thing, Captain. I didn’t find a thing. The logs read clean, the DCIU is showing all green, and every simulation I have run on the computer has come back with positives.”

  “How many simulations did you run?”

  “Fifteen, Captain, after manual checks, and I still can’t figure out what could have made that noise. Should I call engineering? They would be able to tell us, but—”

  Winchester Hayes made a face, and then put down the cup. He removed his foot from his chair and cracked his back. “Okay,” he said finally, “I guess I’m going crazy. Based on that look you gave me earlier, Gauge, I’m apparently the only one that thinks something is off. Femke, you are a fine pilot, don’t second guess yourself. Book’s just afraid this mission isn’t all about him.”

  His eyes found Vega’s before looking down to read the logs. The remainder of the crew took their stations and ran their routine checks.

  Gauge Schneider put on headphones and studied a star map, while Booker Hawkins continued to argue with Femke Gerhardt—quietly.

  Winchester Hayes flipped through the logs, but his eyes floated up to meet Vega’s again. A smile came to her lips, and she took another sip of her coffee. “I’m going down a level to check on the miners,” she said. “There was something funky going on with them yesterday, and I want to make sure they’re okay.”

  “Something funky going on with the miners?” Booker said, and then he began to laugh.

  “Ignore him, Marisol,” Femke muttered, but Marisol didn’t seem to notice.

  “See if you can get me an ETA while you’re down there,” Winchester said. “But, uh, do it in a casual sort of way, y’know, as if you’re just being curious. I’m sick of the run around, and I want to know what they really think.”

  “Sure thing, Winn, I’ll see what I can find out,” Marisol said as she took to the steps.

  Winn, she called me Winn, why did she have to do that? Winchester thought as he looked over the podium to make sure no one else had noticed. Booker was still being annoying and Femke defended herself, but Lu glanced after her as if he wanted to say something. Damn it, Winchester thought to himself and closed the log report. “Everything looks good, Mister Lu, the logs are as clean as you say.”

  “How come she gets to call you, Winn?” Femke asked, and Winchester closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.

  “Say what, now?”

  “Winn, Captain. Your communications officer just called you Winn. The last time I heard someone do that, you had us all line up to remind us about your rules.”

  “I missed it, did she call me by my name? That doesn’t make sense. My name is Captain, Captain Hayes if you’re feeling creative. Maybe I was too busy doing captain stuff to notice.” He looked around at the others as if to stress his point. “I see Gauge over there working, I bet if I call him Gary he wouldn’t notice. Right Gary? You see that, Femke, work has made him impervious to nonsense. But now that you have taken me away from work to address my name, I am curious as to why you felt the need to point this out to me?”

  “Miss Gerhardt is just pointing out a lapse in Miss Vega’s memory, Skip. The big talk we all had on protocol yesterday? She was in attendance, so she should remember that, on this bridge, like everywhere else, you are Captain Hayes,” Lu said.

  Winchester nodded, and then glanced over at Lu who still stared after Vega. “Protocol or no protocol, we all need to be friendly, you hear me? I don’t want to hear anything more about this Winn business with Marisol. Let’s get back to the jobs they pay us for, alright? And, Book, knock it off. The woman doesn’t like you. I know we’ve been out here for a long time, but do you really need to start picking flowers from your own backyard?”

  Femke turned to stare questioningly at Winchester Hayes, and he responded with the slightest smirk. “Protocol, Miss Gerhardt,” he said with a wink, and then looked down to try and hide the smile on his face.

  After an hour of silence as they went through their steps, Winchester heard the whispering again. At first it was slight, but then it grew louder, and he made out words in the voice’s hushed chatter. He looked around to see who it was, but everyone was bent over a console.

  His eyes met Lu’s, who watched him intently, and a part of him wondered if it was him. “Did you say something, Lu?” he asked, and Angelo shook his head and eyed him curiously.

  “When was the last time you slept, Cap—”

  “Fine, take the bridge.” Winchester grunted, his mind settling on the prospect of sleep. There was a feeling of paranoia that had come over him, and he worried the whispers were all in his head. Am I losing my mind? he asked himself, if any of the others had heard the voices, they would have said something, right?

  He descended the stairs and marched through the passage, running his hands against the bulkhead. A few hours of sleep to set my head straight, he thought as he nodded in response to the greetings from the crewmen he walked past. His trip felt a lot longer than it did earlier, and the whispers faded.

  Once he got to his door, he fumbled for the lock and punched in his entry code. The door slid open, and he stepped inside, wondering why the coffee wasn’t doing its job. He had gone without sleep before, plenty of times, and normally one cup of Marisol’s brew would carry him several hours into the work period.

  Winchester stepped forward and stopped, there was something amiss. His bed was in order, and the desk had a stack of neatly filed substrates next to the picture of his family. There was a hint of pine, and the shutters were closed, and he wondered who could have come into his room while he was gone.

  “What the f—?” he started and looked around, stunned. “Did I? No … but that wouldn’t make sense, now would it?” he said, laughing. He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook, then wondered, Would lack of sleep cau
se me to forget I cleaned up?

  He crossed to the bed and lay on his back, staring up at the eggshell white overhead. Sleep came to him fast, and he dreamed of Earth, where he watched his boy, Colt, as he dribbled a ball on a soccer field. His wife, Cheyenne was with him, her arm interlocked with his as the sun beat down mercilessly, burning his neck.

  He missed them. He always missed them, especially when he had to go out this far. Then there was that sound, the whispers again, and this time they came on so loud he woke up out of that wonderful dream.

  “Ugh!” he exclaimed, “this has to stop, and he got up and desperately tried to find its source. A buzz came over the speakers, and he reached for his robe, then walked over to the door to see who it was. He peeped through the spyhole and saw a pretty blonde woman, so he shook his head and opened the door.

  “Are you trying to make this harder?” he whispered to Femke as she stepped inside. “I thought we agreed to sleep period only.”

  “Relax, Winn, I’m not out of line. You do realize you’ve been asleep for twelve hours?”

  “Have I? No wonder my head is throbbing, and that incessant whispering sound is driving me mad!”

  “Whispering sound?” she asked as she slid out of her suit, and walked over to where he stood in nothing but her shorts and a sheer tank top. Winchester felt better when she touched his face, and the memory of his family was pushed back to the big box where they lived inside of his heart. He touched her slight waist and pulled her in, kissing her lips while listening to the whispers.

  “Jesus Christ!” he shouted, “I need it to stop.” He drew back from his lover to look around, desperately trying to find its source. Femke smiled and looked at him strangely, then shook her head as if she felt sorry for him.

  “Turn around,” she said, and he complied, then she reached up and plucked something from the corner of his ear. “I knew something was up when Robot Lu asked about your earring. I was like, Winn doesn’t have his ears pierced. That makes no sense. The next time you lie down, I want you to do me a favor. Remove the hardware so you don’t go having Gauge and Lu thinking that you’re losing your mind.”