Chapter Eleven

Sellis

The ship is moving, twisting, turning. I’m hanging on to a safety rail in corridor three, trying to stop myself from breaking an arm or a leg. The main lights are out, some sort of low power running required. Fuck Captain Shann and all those shitheads on the bridge! Why didn’t they order us to chairs? Why the fuck are we being left to batter ourselves against bulkheads and walls?

All in the name of murdering some terrorist who wants to murder all of us? Fuck that! Worst fucking thing you can do, have the whole crew stumbling around, unarmed, waiting to get shot.

I was in the army before I joined Fleet. My mom loved me in the uniform. I remember her crying when ‘Private Jake Sellis’ shipped out.

I did basic infantry training in Utah before I got posted to Las Vegas. Some people laugh when I tell them that. “Why send soldiers to the casino city?” they say. Maybe they’ve never heard of the Nevada Army National Guard? I hadn’t, before I read my transfer papers. All I could think of was the slots, the blackjack, and the poker table. Someone upstairs must have liked me back then.

Three weeks later, I was hooked.

There is no place on Earth like Las Vegas. The casinos are all part of how the city works. The hotels lay on huge buffet meals, where you can load up even if you’re not a guest. Everyone wants you to save your money for gambling. The profit margin is much better for business when all you’ve taken up is twenty minutes of some card dealer’s time. That’s all you are to them – a twenty-minute trick, a thirty-minute trick. All depends on how deep your pockets are.

Maybe I struggled out there because of how I was brought up. Maybe that’s why I struggle now. My hometown, Logan in Utah, was pretty conservative and insular. People looked out for each other back there. There was a lot of ‘sin talk’ when I was a child. I’d regularly get fined or beat for cussing and such. These days, every profanity I hear or utter is a middle finger to my old man.

“Jake!”

I recognise the voice. Quartermaster Sam Chase is at the end of the passage, by the emergency doors. He’s carrying a flashlight and shining it at me. Sam’s okay. I owe him a couple of hundred dollars. Anyone who lends me money is okay.

“Yeah? What do you need?”

“You, with me, now!”

I sigh and start moving. The shifting around means it’s like a weird mix of crawling and climbing. I have to trust our pilot won’t get a twitch and get me battered. Sam’s handling it all better than me. That’s his way. The world never seems to make him break a sweat.

When I reach his side, I’m surprised. Sam’s covered in blood.

“Fuck man, you okay?”

“Yeah, just been up and down these corridors for a while, chasing our little rat.”

“You found him?”

“I think so.” Sam has one of the low-calibre pistols from the arms locker in his hand. He’s holding it upward, away from me.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

Sam points ahead to an open access hatch. “You’re going to make your way down there, and I’m going to cover you.”

“Okay.” I move past Sam, toward the hatch. It’s a standard tactical play – send the unarmed soldier forward while you cover him, then move up and check the open passageway. I played both roles during room clearance training back on Earth.

Doesn’t mean I like being Sam’s stooge, though.

I don’t know how I ended up in space. I’m good with cables and repairs. My soldering is neat and clean, a tricky skill to keep up in zero gravity. Circuit boards and wiring are nice problems that sit right in front of you. I’ve always been good with that kind of stuff.

The same game doesn’t work at the blackjack table, or on the slots, much as I wish it did.

I was three years into my posting in Vegas when I got told I was being transferred to Earth Station Two. I owed a lot of people a lot of money, so I didn’t argue. I just signed the papers and got on the next flight.

I worked on the orbitals for six years, until a woman tapped me on the shoulder and made me sign another form. This time she told me joining the crew of the Khidr would get some of my old debts forgiven. I might even get a chance to go back to Earth without being arrested at the space port.

In that moment, I started to get suspicious. Somebody was watching out for me, protecting me when the debts got too much and moving me on when it suited them. Strings were being pulled. I don’t know how long they’ve been at it, or when they’ll call time and ask to collect, but the cynic in me says they will one day. Sinners get punished, that’s what the Good Book says.

In the meantime, best not to dwell.

I’m at the hatch. My hands are shaking. I can see a little way around the corner, but not much. This is where we need a camera drone, or someone needs to take a risk.

That won’t be me. Not unless there’s money on the table.

I can hear Sam moving up. He passes by me on the left, aiming his pistol into the open passage. “Clear,” he says.

“Okay, what’s next?”

“Same again. You lead, I follow.”

I shuffle up as the ship turns, throwing us both forward and into the open room. We’re near the gravity deck. The elevator access point is just ahead. The elevator isn’t there; it’s been taken up to the ring. There’s no reason anyone would go up there during an emergency.

“You call the lift,” Sam says. “Once it’s down, we use the emergency override and keep it here. Then we call this in to the bridge.”

There’s a noise behind me. I turn around, my fists clenched, and Sam shines the flashlight back through the hatchway. “Who’s there?” he calls out.

“Point that thing somewhere else, Chase.” A figure emerges, also carrying a gas-powered pistol, which he’s aiming at me. It’s Tomlins. His left arm is bound up in a sling.

“Sorry, Sergeant,” Sam answers. The two men are equal in rank, but Tomlins has seniority and tends to remind people when he does.

“You found someone?”

“Yeah, Arkov was away from his post. Sellis and I chased him in here.”

Tomlins looks at me the same way he always does, as if he’s examining shit on the bottom of his shoe. “We’ll take it from here, Technician,” he says.

“Sure, okay.” I press the elevator call and move away into the passage, leaving the two of them with their prisoner – Arkov? Part of the technical club, like me. Vasili’s harmless. We’ve shared a beer or two. He’s from Turtas – some town out in the wilds of Russia. All his life he’s wanted to work in space. I can’t believe he’d be a terrorist and try to kill us all. There must be some other reason he ran away.

I’ve stopped in the corridor. The ship has ceased its maneuvers for now, so there’s no shifting force to compensate for. I’ve half a mind to turn around and speak up for Vasili, to Chase and Tomlins, but I don’t have any evidence he’s innocent, and, well…I’m not going to get anywhere with the sergeant without some proof.

I need to let this go, for now.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a flashlight. I switch it on and hang it around my neck. I use this light for close work on circuit panels, so it doesn’t illuminate much. I start making my way back the way I’ve come.

There’s something not right about this.

I stop again, some way from the elevator access point to the gravity deck. I’m on my own here, but I don’t feel like I’m on my own.

“Hello?”

There’s no answer. Maybe I’m—

A rustling sound and a catch of breath. I’m turning toward the noise, but the illumination doesn’t penetrate far enough to reveal anything other than wall panels and bulkheads.

“Hello?”

Still no reply.

I’m reaching for my comms to report in, but again, I hesitate. What have I actually seen? Nothing. So, if I initiate an alert, all I’m going to do is make a fuss over nothing. If they arrest Vasili, they won’t listen to me if I’m jumping at shadows.

Go home, Jake.

I start moving again. I’m heading for my room now. I share with Ashe, but he’ll be out somewhere doing the captain’s shitty work. Fuck patrolling these corridors in the dark. Unless I get a call, I’m staying put and getting some sleep.