No Safe Space

No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I beg to differ. My own scream? Louder than anything I’d ever heard and took so much effort to stop I was panting when I finished.

Bright points of light exploding in the distance weren’t helping me find any semblance of calm. Not because the battle was a danger to me by then. I’d already been force-ejected from my fighter into the endless nothing around me. All about a half breath before the AI that kicked me out into space succumbed to the damage my ship took and blew to bits in utter silence. The brilliant flare of the explosion pushed me in a shockwave that knocked my teeth together and my spine into next week, external and internal blackness engulfing me as I passed out from the pressure.

I almost missed the sound of my own panicked shrieking while I floated, my umbilicus torn and spewing sparks, power being shed from the frayed end. It took me a moment to realize I was spinning, the ongoing fight disappearing from view and plunging me into nothingness, only to curve back again, passing my feet, my chest, my head until I was in darkness again.

Have you ever been so disoriented and shaken you weren’t sure it was worth it to save yourself? Thought was a struggle, coherency a challenge. When I finally did pull myself together, it wasn’t because of some heroic measure or courageous return of my wits. Bravery had abandoned me with the loss of my ship.

No, it was the realization that the battle wasn’t getting closer. If anything, it was further away. Panic has a powerful influence in times of distress. While it had initially triggered my screaming fit when I woke from my unconscious state and drove my animal instincts to freeze, no fight or flight available to me, this time it kicked me in the ass so hard I gasped and finally made a move.

Training joined in, my hands scrabbling for the damaged umbilical, tugging it toward me. Step one, conserve power. I wrangled the sparking end between my gloves and squeezed off a clamp from further up the cable, shutting off the sparks and powering down the mangled section. It wouldn’t save me from leaking power, but at least it would happen more slowly.

Step two, oxygen. Maybe that should have been my first priority, but I was breathing so surely, I could be forgiven for choosing it second. My hands shook as I lifted my arms and tapped on the screen on the back of my right wrist, the small holo flickering as it burst into colorful life above my hand.

“Tank levels at eighty-nine percent.” Jane’s voice should have been comforting. At least I wasn’t alone out here. Except her brain had been blown to bits with my ship and all I had left was the peripheral programming of her AI consciousness. I had a feeling what remained of her wasn’t going to be much of a conversationalist.

Step three, I needed to stop my damned spinning. Now that I’d prevented the hysteria from smothering me and devouring all of my remaining oxygen, the endless tumble was making me nauseated. No way was I spending the last however long I had with vomit in my helmet turning over and over on me.

“Jane, access thrusters,” I said. My voice shook. Well, so be it. She wasn’t going to judge me for it, so why should I?

“Thrusters engaged,” she said in that smooth and easy tone I teased her about. When she was herself. Which she clearly wasn’t, or she would have taken the initiative and acted without waiting for my orders. “Stabilization program initiated.”

Pressure against my right shoulder and left hip hit in soft gusts, the thruster program doing its job as the spinning eased. By the time my body settled, facing the battle, no less, it was obvious to me one side or the other had taken the upper hand and pursued the losers. Which side it was I had no way of knowing, not at this distance. Besides, who won or lost was the least of my problems.

“Jane, how much time do I have?” I hated to be defeatist, but a number was necessary.

“Remaining oxygen will be depleted in two hundred and sixteen cycles.” About two Earth hours, awesome. The fact I fell back on my childhood timekeeping instead of solar system standard didn’t bother me as much as it used to.

Two hours to live. Got it. Step four, communication. “Jane, activate com.”

“I’m sorry, Gina,” she said without a trace of regret. That stung because I’d trained her better than that. I guess the Jane I flew with really was gone if the default was all that remained. Why did that make me so sad suddenly? I caught at my breath, the hitch of it, the tightness in my throat as my eyes burned over the loss of the AI friend I’d trained, as the remnants of who she’d been went on. “It appears the com system in your suit has been damaged. Communication with the fleet is unavailable.”

Well, granglesmut. The controls must have been in the part of the umbilical that tore. “How about the emerge beacon?”

“Emergency beacon activated,” she said as a small, red light started blinking in the far bottom corner of my visor. “Range is ten AU.”

She had to remind me. I grit my teeth against another wave of panic. “Assessment of present position.”

“Unfortunately, Gina, it appears that without rescue, life will cease in two hundred and fifteen cycles,” she said.

So not helpful. But I asked. Didn’t stop me from staring at the disappearing pops of light in the distance, the vast empty nothing around me crushing. Or maybe that was my despair? Regardless, I had to catch myself from panting again, counting my breaths, holding and releasing slowly before drawing in again, the practice making me dizzy.

There had to be a way out of this. “Jane,” I said, “scan for anything of use in the area.”

“Please narrow parameters,” she said.

Oh, for glory’s sake. “A planet,” I said. “A moon. A freaking space fairy. Whatever.” I knew the answer. This sector was empty on purpose. We’d been patrolling to ensure the no man's space between us and the Cervoza went unchallenged. I’d done this same route a million times before without a hint of opposition. We’d been caught unaware, with our freaking space suits down around our ankles. Which had me believing it was the enemy who chased the remains of my squadron further into our territory.

I couldn’t worry about my squad right now.

“There are no celestial bodies in this quadrant,” Jane said. I knew it. Exhaled a long breath until I saw internal stars, then sucked in oxygen while a tear managed a tickling path down my cheek. The fan in my helmet kicked on, drying the track, power shutting down again a moment later while despair won.

And Jane spoke again. “Gina,” she said. Stopped. “There is a ship.”

A—

“Where?” I knew better than to thrash around in zero-grav. Wasn’t going to do me any fardling good, after all, but I couldn’t help it. “Jane, where is it?”

“Activating thrusters.” The pops of pressure pushed me around, away from the battle, off to my right and tilting backward, the three-dimensional movement making me woozy again. But I was too excited to think about my unhappy stomach, while a flicker of something in the distance caught and held my attention.

“There,” Jane said.

A ship. Intact, at least, it appeared to be. I couldn’t make it out, not clearly, but from the vague shape, it wasn’t ours. Not that I cared at the moment. “How far?” I would not cave in to hope slain again.

“On full thruster power, you should reach it in two hundred and ten cycles,” she said.

Cutting it close, but doable. “Do I have enough power?” I was already tightening various straps, checking my suit over, securing the frayed end of my umbilicus to my belt while she answered.

“You will consume 98.6 percent of your available power to achieve your goal,” she said.

“Which means I’d better have a plan to get inside that thing the second I reach it,” I said.

“That is a fair assessment,” she confirmed.

“Jane, count down to burn,” I said. “I’m not quitting yet. You with me?”

“I… am with you, Gina.” She sounded more like herself than she had since I lost my own ship, so maybe a bit of her hung in there. Regardless, I’d start from scratch with her if I had to when the time came.

If. Whatever.

“I must caution you,” she said then as the thrusters powered up, the hum of my backpack vibrating through my whole body. “I’m detecting another lifeform in the vicinity.”

“You could have mentioned that,” I said, looking around. My visor guided me to the section of space, circling the distant dot of whoever it was out there in a glowing red ring. “Friendly?”

“I fear the distance is too great for my sensors at this time,” she said. “Though it appears the lifeform has chosen the same course of action as you and is now changing trajectory for the ship in question.”

Like hell they were. “Then we’d better haul ass,” I growled at her, bracing myself for the thruster burn. “Get me to that ship, Jane.”

“I’ll do my best, Gina.” Power punched me in the back as the four small boosters fired at once, my bones shaking from the pressure inside my suit for a moment. Zero-grav or not, I’d bear the bruises of the burst of energy, though I’d only care about that if I made it to the ship intact.

And first.