Is Anybody Out There?

Captain Paul Chalmers was woken by the sound of the proximity siren ripping through his skull. “What the fuck?” he murmured, opening his eyes to see the strips of lighting along the top of the wall in his quarters flashing red. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. Glancing over at his chronometer, it had only been two hours since coming off from night shift. This was just rude.

“Proximity alert,” the disembodied voice sounded.

The calm, methodologic voice from the computer on the cargo freighter Asterry told him nothing he didn’t already know. “No kidding Terri,” Paul said, using the nickname he’d given her over a decade ago when he’d purchased her. Wrenching himself into full alert, he called out, “Status,” as he threw on yesterday’s suit.

“There is another ship heading directly for us at a distance of five thousand and eighty-three kilometres,” Terri said. “It appears to be adrift. At its current speed, it will intercept in just over two minutes.”

“Two minutes!” Paul raced out of his quarters and into the central cylinder. At a hundred and fifty metres long, it housed the main computer, the propulsion, communications, and environmental systems, along with a suiting bay and an airlock. The smaller cylinder from where Paul had exited, sat starboard, half-way down the central cylinder, and housed the crew quarters along with a small medical bay. Directly opposite was an identical cylinder, which contained the kitchen and various food stores required for long range hauling. Attached to the belly of the central cylinder were the cargo stores with hatches providing access from each end of the central cylinder. “Why weren’t we warned before now?” he said, running towards the cockpit.

“It appeared from a wormhole,” Terri replied. “I had no indication of its presence beforehand.”

“Wormhole? Where?” Paul said.

“Zero-eight-seven mark zero-six-three.”

He glanced out the windows to his right as he passed by but couldn’t see anything against the black backdrop of space, only stars. But he knew the ship’s sensors would detect anything long before his eyes could.

Paul entered the cockpit to see Nathern and Gemma working frantically. “We gotta haul ass!” Paul shouted, securing himself into his seat.

“One minute thirty seconds to impact,” Terri announced.

“I’m redirecting whatever power we can,” Nathern said. “We’ve increased to point-two-five, but we’re still not out of the woods yet.”

On the display panel before him, Paul could see an object, approximately a hundred times the size of his own little ship, encroaching on their position like a tiger stalking a rabbit. “That thing’s fucking huge!” he said. “Gemma, change course. Get us out of the way!”

“On it,” she said.

Paul heard a rumble as the ship’s engines surged them left and upwards. He looked out the side window to see the ship he couldn’t see moments ago was now a large, black, roughly ovoid shape, with what looked like countless long needle-like spines extending from its surface. It reminded Paul of a sea urchin rolling along with the ocean’s currents. Paul stared at the masterpiece of engineering, considering it to be strangely beautiful, and wondered how it appeared inside. If only it wasn’t about to be the instrument of their destruction.

“One minute to impact.”

Leaning forward as if it would help, Paul willed his little ship to move faster with each passing nanosecond. “Move it, old girl,” he muttered under his breath. With only a maximum speed of point-three, and no weapons, Paul knew they were at the mercy of whatever, or whoever, was coming at them. “Any life signs on that ship, Terri?” Paul said, hoping they would change course.

“Negative, Captain. All inhabitants appear inert.”

“Reroute life support to the engines,” Paul ordered.

Nathern turned to look at his captain, his face ashen with terror. “But—”

“Do it!” Paul ordered. “It will take us longer than a minute to suffocate and by then, we’ll either be dead or in the clear.”

Nathern returned to his console and Paul felt the engines straining as the rumble intensified alarmingly. He knew he was asking a lot from his old friend. “Hang on, Terri,” he murmured, patting the arm of his chair.

“Point three-two!” Nathern called out.

“Thirty seconds to impact,” Terri announced.

Paul looked out the window again. As the massive ship rolled closer, its black exterior sparkled in the light of the distant sun. Paul eyes were glued to the giant urchin as it continued its approach.

“Fifteen seconds to impact.”

He wondered who might have been on that ship, and what might have happened to them. What was their mission? And how did they travel through a wormhole?

“Ten seconds to impact.”

“Shut it, Terri!” Paul yelled. He didn’t need a countdown to his death. Looking at his doom now so close, he could see the other ship had been damaged, or what he assumed was damage, with gaping holes in its starboard side and several of the spines sheared off. He wondered what could have damaged such a massive ship so severely and hoped if they survived this, they wouldn’t encounter them next.

The ship loomed closer. The Asterry had moved enough that it was no longer in any danger of being hit by the main body of the urchin, but they weren’t yet clear of the spines. Paul knew they didn’t have enough speed. Unless they were lucky, unless they could somehow slip between those spines, they were going to hit. But it was up to fate now.

Paul looked at Nathern and Gemma. It was several years ago when they’d become part of his crew after being rejected by so many other captains. Not that their abilities weren’t up to scratch, but crews with far more experience were always preferred. Paul had taken them on knowing the only way to get experience was by doing, and besides, his run to the outer rim of the Dralexi system was routine. He’d done the run solo several times before and could shuttle his cargo in his sleep. However, managing the cargo at each end, not to mention the boredom of the fifteen-month return journey, was always far preferable with company. So he had taken these two eager rookies under his wing after his previous crew had left him seeking more interesting runs. Nathern and Gemma were fast learners and were keen to learn and eager to please. And now they seemed like family to him. His only family. He couldn’t imagine doing his runs without them.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests even tighter. But he refused to meet his death with his eyes closed. He glared defiantly at the giant urchin just outside his window, or more precisely at the massive spines. He held his breath as one missed them by what seemed like only a metre, their trajectory enabling them to slot through a gap that might just provide them with a clear path, if the ship hadn’t been rolling. But it was, and his ship didn’t have the manoeuvrability to play dodgem cars. As the next spine above them loomed closer, Paul said, “Release the distress beacon.” Gemma touched her console and he heard a small whine of the beacon leaving the ship.

Paul watched helplessly as the spine continued on its relentless descent, oblivious, or uncaring, of its deadly trajectory, determined to crush the Asterry. “Hold on everybody,” he said, not that they weren’t already. Paul felt he could almost reach out the window and touch the black sparkling spine. “Oh, this is going to hurt,” Paul muttered. He shut his eyes and suddenly lurched about violently in his seat, trying to brace himself against the impact. Another came as they hurtled into the spine below.

Paul awoke to the sound of the alarm, fizzes of damaged electrical circuitry, and fire crackling beside him. He shivered with cold as he laboriously sucked in whatever air was left. Looking up, he could see Nathern floating above Gemma’s navigation console with his broken harness in pieces around him. “Nathern!” Paul cried out. When they returned to Earth, Paul knew he’d make damn sure that lazy, good-for-nothing safety technician would pay for his laxity. He looked at Gemma and noticed her head was listing to starboard in a manner it shouldn’t. “Gemma!” he cried out hoarsely. “Terri!” No one responded. Paul tried to move and felt searing pain course through his right thigh. He looked down to see a shard of polymer sticking out just above his knee.

He looked over to the flames burning beside him and knew they were consuming the remaining oxygen. Releasing his seat straps, he began floating upwards and he gripped onto his chair to stabilise himself. He gently pushed off and floated towards the fire extinguisher on the wall. Unclipping it from its bracket, he returned to his chair and hung on tightly to stop himself from being propelled towards the window as he squeezed the handle. He smothered the flames and dropping the extinguisher, he immediately made his way to Gemma. He checked for a pulse, but looking at her neck, he didn’t expect to find one. “I’m sorry, Gemma,” he whispered, unable to make his brain work well enough to come up with anything better. He floated up to Nathern, and found the right side of his head had been smashed in, with drops of blood and pieces of grey matter floating about his head. He froze. This isn't happening. They were fine a moment ago. They’ll wake up soon. They just need time.

A wave of dizziness flooded over Paul. He realised he needed to get life support back online or he’d be... He brushed away a tear and pushed off the window, gliding over to Nathern’s console. But like its user, it too was dead. “Terri,” he called out. Barely hearing his own voice, he returned to his own console and silenced the alarm. His ears still ringing, he tapped into the engines and bought life support back online. He clung onto his chair as oxygen began to fill his aching lungs and warm air filled the room. He looked at the gravity controls and realised restoring that system would take a lot more than a touch to his console. Paul looked outside, half expecting to see the giant urchin rolling off into the distance but all he saw were stars circling slowly. He realised they were in a slow roll.

“Terri? You there?” he said.

Still nothing. No static, not even a crackle. Again, he tapped his console, opening communications. “Asterry to Earth Interstellar Fleet.” There was no response. “Asterry to Earth!”

Silence.

“EIF, come in!” he yelled.

Nothing.

Paul sent out an emergency distress signal, knowing it would pinpoint the exact location of the ship if they’d moved too far from the beacon. With pain coursing through his thigh, he turned his thoughts back to his himself and noticed his head was throbbing too. Gliding over to the wall, he removed the emergency first aid kit from directly beneath where the fire extinguisher had been. He returned to his chair, crying out in pain as his thigh collided with the armrest. Catching his breath, he bought his legs carefully around the front of his seat and strapped himself in and secured the kit to the arm of his chair. Opening it, he found antiseptic, bandages, a splint, scissors, a cauteriser, some analgesics, and a shot of local anaesthetic. There wasn’t much, but he hoped it was enough.

Paul tore away his pants leg and checked his wound. He hoped the shard wasn’t piercing an artery but knew either way it couldn’t stay there. He injected himself with the local, hoping it went deep enough to numb all the way inside. Waiting until the numbness flooded the area, exhaustion began to set in and he knew that he’d need to act quickly or he’d fall asleep before he was done. The thought of pulling a chunk of polymer out of his leg and then cauterising it without anaesthetic made his stomach do backflips. Wrapping both hands around the shard, he pulled at it gently, and not feeling any pain, he slowly pulled it out. He wished the local had also numbed his hearing as he heard a wet, tearing sound, followed by a slurp as the suction was released. Blood poured out of the open wound, but he was relieved to see there was no spurting. He suddenly felt he was going to pass out. Releasing the shard, he poured some antiseptic into the wound and then removed the cauteriser from the kit. He ran the hot beam along the edges of the wound, stopping the bleeding. He released the cauteriser and it floated away. Taking a bandage from the kit, he wrapped it around his leg and closed his eyes and sighed as he slipped into unconsciousness.

A couple of hours later, Paul awoke to see the cockpit tilted at a strange angle. He straightened his head, realising he must have fallen asleep. Undoing his harness, he gently pushed away from his chair, the pain in his leg reminding him that the numbing agent had worn off. But he’d fixed himself, and now it was time to fix his ship. He looked at Nathern and Gemma and wished he could fix his little family too. It wasn’t right. None of it was.

Paul wondered if his ship had damaged the massive urchin, doubting he’d even scratched it. But it had killed everyone he held dear, so he found it difficult to muster any degree of sympathy for the other dead crew. He’d deal with those emotions later. Right now, he had higher priorities he needed to attend to.

He wondered how the rest of his ship had fared. The door to the cockpit had closed, standard procedure for any impact event, and without Terri providing him with a status update, he’d need to work it out for himself. He tapped at his console and saw that the ship, while mostly whole, was badly damaged. The starboard cylinder, which held the quarters and the med bay, had been sheared away but the bulkhead doors had closed, maintaining an atmosphere within the main and port cylinders. The cargo was gone with the base and side of the hold torn off, and only half the engine was intact, and the external communications array was either missing or had been crushed. He sighed as he realised his distress signal hadn't gone out.

Paul gazed into the blackness beyond the window ahead of him, and suddenly realised he was alone. Far more so than he’d ever been before. He’d become used to having company, and even before Gemma and Nathern had joined him, he’d always had Terri to talk to, or sometimes found someone in the Earth Interstellar Fleet who was bored and was up for a chat. But now, there was no one.

He closed his eyes, considering his next move. Forcing himself to remember his survival training, he knew that sooner or later, he was going to need food, and more urgently, water. But they were in the port cylinder. And if he had any hope of fixing some of the damaged systems, he would need to get into the central cylinder. Opening his eyes, he turned and floated across to the back of the cockpit. He reached down to the door release lever and opened it.

Before him drifted a cacophony of broken panel pieces, metal tiles, paper, a couple of water bottles, some plates and cups, along with droplets of some kind of brown liquid. “Not much better out here either,” Paul muttered. Seeing sparks angrily leaping out from damaged wires from the broken panels, he hoped the liquid wasn’t flammable. Capturing a droplet as it floated past, he cautiously bought it to his tongue and sighed when he realised it was just coffee. The lights around the walls flickered annoyingly and the air smelled of ozone. Not wanting to risk another fire or electrocution, he returned to his console and switched off the power to everything within the central and port cylinders except for life support. He turned back, and removing the torch from beside the door, he headed down the centre, avoiding debris as he floated by.

Upon reaching the engine bay, he saw through the closed bulkhead door the twisted remains of his propulsion system, scarcely attached at a single point. He knew any gravitational force would tear it away like plucking a petal from a flower. Stars filled most of his view where there shouldn’t be any. There was nothing left to fix. He was adrift in space, with no way to steer, and no one to help. And with no engine, he only had a limited backup power supply. When that went, he would follow shortly afterwards. Again he closed his eyes and as he dropped his forehead to the window, he said, “You didn’t deserve this, dear lady.”

Paul turned away and floated back up the dark cylinder. Apart from the occasional crackle coming from the broken consoles in the cockpit, all he could hear was his own breathing; the silence acutely reminding him of how alone he now was. He was thankful he didn’t have anyone back on Earth waiting for him to return. The life of a long hauler was lonely, with only those they chose to share their ship time with being their sole companions. But now it was just him and the stars. They caught his eye as they shone through the window in the bulkhead door, which was once the entrance to his quarters, and he drifted closer and gazed at the empty space which seemed to stretch to infinity. The pit of his stomach grew deep as he realised he’d be spending his final weeks alive utterly and terribly alone.

Paul stared at the stars and whispered, “Is anybody out there?”