Part II
February 4th, 2001
NEAR SPACE
When Eric woke, the smell was so bad he was immediately nauseous. His vomit was on the floor and on the pillow and caked in his hair. He didn't know where he was, but he wasn't in his rented room. He sat up and looked around holding his aching head. He tried to move, and realized that he hurt all over. He rolled back and breathed deep. That hurt too.
The bed was nothing more than a tubular frame with chicken wire stretched over it and a thin blanket over that. As Eric peeked around he could see that the room was a actually a basement littered with trash cans and coal dust. The only window was boarded, and the few cracks of light indicated only that it was probably morning.
A shoddily built set of wooden stairs let up to a closed door. Several other beds like his were empty. He tried to focus a little better and reached up to rub his eye but it was swollen and he winced. Even his arm hurt for no apparent reason.
After a few more minutes, Eric gathered the strength to stand up carefully and groped his way to the stairs, gingerly testing them. They seemed strong enough, and he went up reaching for the door. It opened outward as he grasped for the handle causing him to lose his balance and tumble onto the floor beyond.
"Feeling better are you?" Eric looked up to see an older man dressed in ratty old jeans and a flannel shirt holding his hand out. He was balding and slightly overweight and seemed in his 60's. Eric accepted the hand and stood up. The man's grasp was stronger than Eric expected yet Eric towered over him when he stood up.
"Where am I?" Eric asked.
"It's an old office building. Abandoned. You're safe here, if that's what you mean," the man said.
Two other elderly men, not dressed as well as the one Eric was looking at, were sitting by a wood stove rubbing their hands.
"I mean where is this place?" Eric said as he looked for a place to sit down.
"You're in Santa Barbara. Downtown. Bad part of town," the man said. Then the old man wiped his hand on his pants and reached up to adjust his glasses. Eric had never seen someone wearing eye glasses before. "Last night about midnight, I'd say, we heard a car stop outside and some men talking. Went out to look. Found you laying in the street moaning and throwing up. Figured you needed a little help, so we brought you in and let you sleep it off in the hole. Happens all the time around here."
Eric realized that he must be late for work and looked for his comp-watch. It was missing. He felt for his wallet and that was missing as well. The old man pulled an old-fashioned wind-up watch out of his pocket.
"If it's the time you're worried about, son, I'd say it's closing on nine o'clock. But I hope you ain't in a big hurry to get nowhere."
Eric panicked. "I have to get to work! Damn it! Those miners must have stolen my wallet. I gotta call the police. Can you help?"
"Better think about that, son."
"What? Huh?"
"We heard that five men, buncha space miners, in a green Ford beat up on some people at a gas station up in Buellton last night. Kinda sounds like the car we saw dump you here last night. If you go shoutin' to the locals, you might be later to work than you planned."
Eric slowly slumped onto a crate with his head in his hands. "You come over here," the old man said. "We got some warm water on the stove. You can wash out your hair and your shirt. I'll look at that eye."
After gingerly washing up, Eric placed his shirt on the crate to dry and sat on a blanket next to the stove with the other men and tried to think things out.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Eric. Eric MacDonald. How about you?"
"Walt Podolski. This here is Josh and Dave." The other men just nodded and continued munching on something.
"You hungry?" Walt asked.
"I'm starved!"
"We got some beans and coffee. Some bread. Kinda stale though."
"That's okay, " Eric offered.
Walt squatted down and observed the young man as he ate. "How'd you end up with those miners?"
"I was in a bar in Lompoc last night. Met some ... some gorillas that I should have steered clear of. I remember them taking me out into the parking lot and forcing me to drink a lot of booze. Then they roughed me up pretty good. I don't remember anything after that."
One of the other men, Dave, looked up. He was Walt's age, but with a long beard and deep wrinkles around his eyes. "You in school?"
"I was in the Space Merchant Academy. That's where you learn to be a shuttle pilot. What I really wanted to get into the deep space service. They fly the starships. But you have to go to college and join the Air Force to get on those. I couldn't wait. Anyway, I had a scholarship to the Academy."
"Why ain't you there?" Walt asked.
"Last Friday morning I was in a shuttle simulator, and last Friday afternoon, they asked me to leave."
"What for?" Dave asked.
"I guess I had a bad attitude toward their training. All I was being trained to do was baby-sit their computers. They never let me do any of my own flying or thinking or calculating. I can do math in my head, you know. I wanted to do something exciting, and they just wanted a robot to baby-sit the shuttle. They wouldn't even teach us how the navigation electronics worked. I couldn't get my heart into it. I guess it showed too much. So after I was kicked out, I got a job working at the Shuttle motor pool as a driver. I started Wednesday. Here it is Friday morning, and I'll certainly be fired.
"I used to work there. I was the cargo chief,"Walt said.
Eric brightened. "Really?"
"Yep. I retired last year. I could have worked longer. Wish I had. Lost all my savings in some bad investments. Not married any more, so I figured I'd slum it for awhile to build up some cash from my retirement income while I'm healthy. But what I really wanted was get to Mars and have a farm. Fat chance now."
Walt's small dream stirred something in Eric. Here he was in an abandoned building worried about getting back to his job as a glorified cab driver. Somehow he seemed to have lost his sense of direction. He bit his lip, winced from the pain, and looked up at Walt.
"Screw my job. What I want," Eric said slowly, "is to get aboard the shuttle today that goes to the Lovell and find lieutenant Harris. Maybe she can pull some strings. Get me back into the Academy. I don't know. Anyway, she's my only hope. Can you help me?"
It was noon when Eric walked into the motor pool and looked for his shift chief. It did not take long to find him.
"Where the hell have you been?" his boss yelled as he emerged from behind a truck, wiping his hands.
"Well, sir. You see. I was, uh. I overslept, I guess."
The shift chief, a small, wide, grumpy man, walked closer and peered up at Eric. "Great. We needed you last night for an emergency trip. Nobody home. We needed you this morning. No luck. So here you are, four hours late, and ... what the hell, happened to you? So here you are, and you can't even drive. Look at your damn eye. No. I don't even want to know how that happened. Sheesh! You smell of booze to boot. Know what? You're fired. Get your gear and clear out."
"I can explain," Eric offered. "Really. It wasn't my fault. I was assaulted by these creeps."
"Looks like you are the creep," the chief grunted. "Get out."
Eric was happy to turn and walk away. All according to plan so far. He went to his locker, picked up his things, and began to whistle on his way out of the motor pool, limping just a little. So far, so good, he thought. Now, they would no longer be looking for him.
As Eric walked out into the parking lot, he spotted Walt on the steps coming out of the dispatch building. Walt was a magnificent sight to see. Shaven, dressed in a suit, and wearing his Eric's access badge, he looked just like the manager he used to be.
Eric tried to run over to him, but had to back off, and ended up in a swift hobble. "Walt! How'd it go?"
"I told them I'd been at the Cape. Fortunately, no one was there who remembered my retirement. Lotsa turnover. You get fired?"
"Yep. Did you get me on the manifest?"
"You betcha."
"What am I?"
"Maintenance technician. Third class. Show up at one o'clock for boarding. You gotta change into these clothes. Here's a new access badge."
"How'd you do that?"
"I was on the computer before the motor pool chief fired you. I found your file and put your picture on a maintenance badge. You forget. I worked here for twenty-one years. It's coded to get you on the Lovell as a crew member. That's all I can do."
Eric was amazed, and a big smile came to his face. "You've done it all, Walt. Thank you." He reached out and shook Walt's hand. "Some day, I promise, I'll get you to that farm on Mars."
"I know you will. Take care, son."
While Eric waited at the gate area to board the shuttle, he decided that he really didn't want to encounter lieutenant Harris. She'd recognize him and call security. The plan was to find her and talk to her on the ship. He kept his face in his hands which wasn't all that hard, for he was indeed weak from his injuries. But when she didn't show up for boarding, he became alarmed. Was she assigned to another ship? Was she laying in an alley, beat up by shady characters from another trip to a sleazy bar? What had happened?
While the rest of the crew members boarded, he approached the gate attendant. "Can you tell me if a crew member has already gone up to the Lovell? It's Lieutenant Harris."
The young man attending the gate glanced at his display. "Sure. Yeah. She went up on an earlier flight."
"Thanks," Eric said feeling much relieved. As he walked up the spaceway to the shuttle, he took a deep breath. Something was going to happen, he knew, one way or another.
The shuttle flight to the Lovell was short and uneventful. After they achieved orbit, Eric begged the flight attendant for some food. Despite the weightlessness, he gorged himself with crackers, chocolate candy and milk. Then he spent the rest of the flight with his nose to the window, watching the wispy blue and white Earth race by below.
Eric knew only a little about starships from his reading at the Academy. But he did know that all he had to do was find a locater panel, speak a crew member's name, and follow the lights in the ceiling. He kept a low profile, kept his eyes down, and encountered only two crew members on the way. Finally, there it was. The quarters of 2Lt. Laurette Harris. Deck 4, section 21. No one else was in the corridor.
He was puzzled by the buttons near the door. None of them seemed to be a chime. So he started pressing them all in rotation. In a few seconds, the pocket door slid open, and there stood a sight that left Eric speechless. Lieutenant Harris was in a white terry cloth bathrobe that barely reached half way down her thighs. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, except for her bangs. She had just come out of the shower and she was, quite literally, glistening. Eric stood there staring.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she exploded. Her eyes were on fire.
"Um. Um."
She grabbed him by the arm, pulled him sharply through the doorway, and pushed him into a reclining chair in her anteroom. Then she shut the door and punched some keys on the wall pad.
"Well?" she said with her arms folded.
"I need some help," Eric said, averting his eyes.
"Sit there. Don't move. Don't talk. I'll be right back." She disappeared through another door and, in a few minutes, emerged wearing jeans and an Air Force Academy sweatshirt. She grabbed a chair from her small dinette set, swung the back around towards Eric, and straddled it. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"
"I'm in trouble," Eric said. "I need someone to help me get ... oriented."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's a long story."
"I'm listening."
"Okay. Here goes. I was, um, bounced out of the Merchant Academy. My dad's in a rest home. My mom's been dead for two years. I don't have any brothers or sisters. I was beat up last night pretty damn good. There's blood in my urine, I think I have a separated shoulder, and my left eye is just about swollen shut. My ID was stolen. I was fired from my job in the Port Authority motor pool this morning. I had beans and dry bread for breakfast. I managed some candy and milk on the shuttle. I probably need a doctor. I'm desperate for a steak, baked potato, half an apple pie and about two liters of orange juice." He paused for breath. "You're all I have right now. Um. You said you could never pay me back for helping you. Those miners probably would have dragged you outside, raped you and cut your throat. I think maybe now's a good time to return the favor."
The lieutenant squinted at him with penetrating green eyes. She started to say something, then stopped. Then started. "We leave orbit in fifty-four minutes. You have to get back on the shuttle before it leaves."
"I ... I don't think I can do that now."
"If you're on the ship when we leave, I'll be court-martialed."
"No one saw me come to your quarters. I could get lost for an hour. Are there cameras?"
She got up and walked over to Eric and gently touched his eye. "Not in here, kiddo." She leaned over for a closer examination. As she leaned over him, Eric thought to himself that he'd never quite seen a pair of jeans filled out like that, especially the curve of the quadriceps. "You're not looking so good," she observed. "You got beat up again, huh? How'd you manage that?"
"I went back to that bar last night."
"You went back to that bar? Why?" she shook her head in amazement.
"I was looking for you," Eric said and sighed.
She paused to think, blinking slowly. "If you stow away, security will eventually find you and put you in confinement."
"Will they feed me and let me see a doctor?"
"Of course they will."
"I'm good to go for that!"
The lieutenant let out a deep breath and straddled her chair again. She looked at him for a long time as she rested her arms on the back of the chair. Then she rested her chin on her forearms and continued to gaze at Eric for a very long minute. It made him nervous, and he couldn't bear to maintain eye contact. Finally, she leaned over and squinted at a computer display on her desk. "The shuttle has just departed. Looks like you're stuck here. Tough luck, huh?"
"Will the Captain call another shuttle?"
"And miss his departure? Not a chance. This Captain doesn't let much get in his way. So. Here's what I want you to do. Pay attention."
"Got anything to eat?"
"You're not paying attention."
As planned, Eric showed up in the engine room two hours after the Lovell left orbit, claimed he was lost, had no idea that he'd missed the shuttle, and faked a collapse. He was promptly taken to sick bay where the ship's doctor treated Eric for minor internal injuries, mended his shoulder and got him on antibiotics. While Eric lay in sick bay, the doctor did a little background checking, and it was soon clear that Eric wasn't really a crew member but had been a student at the Merchant Academy and an employee of the Port.
The Captain ordered him into the brig anyway.
But at least he got his wish first. Almost. Steak, red potatoes, just one piece of pie, some orange juice and two liters of water.
The Lovell's brig was essentially two smaller than usual cabins with an outside security lock and surveillance cameras in the ceiling. In short order, Eric was eating better than he had in days and getting lots of sleep.
After a week in the brig, Eric began to exercise, even though it was mostly calisthenics in the confined space. At his request, he was provided a portable electronic book loaded with texts on celestial navigation, astronomy and physics.
In the isolation, he thought about his father often and wondered what he would think of all this. That is, when his dad was coherent. Not quite the grand vision for an honored only son. He wondered if he'd go to jail when they got back to Earth. He wondered what the future would hold for him. Lieutenant Harris never came by -- they had agreed on that beforehand to avoid suspicion.
Upon reflection, things were not exactly going the way he had planned. But at least he had medical attention, good food, lots of sleep, and time to study.
After two weeks in the brig, Eric came to the conclusion that he had to perform some kind of midcourse maneuver. It wasn't that the conditions were bad. It was just that he was going stir crazy. He sat down at his small desk and started to prepare a petition to the Captain. He started by apologizing for his actions, pointing out his excellent background, and proposed that he be released from the brig to perform some kind of useful activity onboard the ship. Perhaps the galley. Lacking access to the ship's computer, he wrote it by hand on a tablet, but he never finished it.
For that was the exact moment when the Lovell was attacked.
Suddenly outside his cabin there was more noise than Eric had ever heard. He clasped his hands over his ears. There were sharp, staccato explosions, screaming metal twisting and moaning. The ship lurched and rolled, and Eric was forced to clutch his desk to keep from being thrown to the deck. For a split second, the artificial gravity went out then returned.
Klaxons sounded, and he could hear people in the corridors screaming and running passed his door. Someone punched the security release on his cabin as they went by, and Eric stumbled out into the corridor to see what the commotion was all about.
It didn't look good.
There was a raging fire at the far end of the corridor, and the air was quickly filling with smoke. Eric felt the deck plates groan and buckle beneath his feet throwing him down. He clutched the door jam, crawled back inside his cabin, got to the toilet, grabbed a towel, quickly doused it in water, and clamped it to his face. He returned to the corridor just as the lights went out and dim red lights came on.
He heard screams at the end of the corridor, both men and women, and air started to blow passed him making him think there was a hull breach.
Breathing became difficult. The g forces were increasing making it hard to move about. Struggling against the forces, Eric made it to the end of the corridor and peered into a large cabin area with flames coming from everywhere. Two men and a woman were dragging bodies out of the flames and wreckage.
"Any more?" Eric shouted. One of the crew members simply pointed. Part of the deck structure had collapsed, and he could see a hole in the outer, doubled hull, perhaps 10 cm. in diameter causing items to fly about the room and feeding the flames with rushing air. Another man was laying on the floor, apparently unconscious, with a desk pinning his legs. Eric held the towel over his face with one hand, strained to lift the desk with the other and slid the man's leg out with his foot. He dropped the desk and pulled the man by his arms along the floor towards the corridor, fighting the rushing air and g forces.
Then there was another loud, prolonged series of explosions, and the ship accelerated hard. Eric was knocked sharply to the deck. A steel beam came out of the overhead and missed him by centimeters.
"