...Are the Ones You Never See Coming
28 Jan 2018Terra Sheer
I realize that Tiny is tumbling free before I even realize there's been an explosion. The rest of it settles into place through a span of seconds. They must have booby-trapped the hatch. I suppose it makes sense, pirates being pirates and all. But the how, in the moment, seems a hell of a lot less important than the what. And that what is Tiny, tumbling, head over heels, spiraling out of reach with alarming speed as jets of air -- white with condensing moisture -- rush from a criss-cross of tears in the torso of his suit.I grab at the first thing that comes past me and catch the whirling end of the multi-tool. Not really what I'd wanted, without Tiny holding on to the other end. But it gives me reach. I stretch as far as I can -- farther than I dare, with just the tips of my fingers hooked, aching and tingling, around the anchor rail. He doesn't seem all that far. Just a few more inches, and I should be able to reach him. But my world is contracting. Every time I push the multitool at him, it seems to get shorter. It's hard to judge distances accurately in space. The lack of atmosphere, the hard light, the stark shadows, the total absence of any natural points of reference ... it all conspires to put him just a hair's breadth out of reach. But that's all it takes.
I wind up to throw him the multitool. If I can't reach him with it, then maybe at least he can use it as reaction mass. But his voice, ragged over the comm, stops me.
"No! It won't do any good! I'll get as much momentum catching it as throwing it!"
I stop. He's right.
"Find something--" He chokes. "Oh, god!"
"Hold on!"
I throw myself against the loose door of the maintenance hatch. It moves -- heavy and slow -- the grinding vibration of its hinges rippling through the hull and into my hands. I find the spool of the refueling hose and let it out, pulling it to try and speed its unwinding, willing out as much slack as it can give me as I tie the end of it around the multitool. I wheel around and throw it. The recoil sets me tilting backwards. I hit the back of my head on the hatch door, and for a moment, I forget which way I'm facing. Only my death grip on the rail keeps me from joining Tiny on a long trip to nowhere.
In the curve of my visor, I spot the reflection of the hose unwinding, the multitool twirling at its end, a silver-white thread snaking away into the emptiness. But it's not getting any closer to Tiny. Maybe I'd misjudged his speed, too.
"It's no good." He's panting. Breathless. There's something primal just beneath his words. The sound of a man coming apart.
"Shit!" I scream, so loud, it rings in my ears. "Shit! Shit!"
"Terra ... don't."
The hose jerks as it reaches the end of its length. Falls slack. Starts to curl and wave as its elastcity carries it back. Tiny doesn't even bother to reach for it. He knows it's too far away.
"Find her." His voice sounds thick, strained. "Find my Little Doll, and take care of her. Don't let them hurt her."
"Damn you!" My own voice has gone feral. I can't see right, of a sudden. I blink, twitch. It doesn't help. What the hell is wrong with me? "Damn, you, no! You'll do it yourself!"
"Terra?"
I reel the hose back in. I hook my feet behind the rail. I'll throw it faster this time. It'll stretch. It just needs to go a little further....
"Terra?"
"Damn you!"
I throw the multitool ... watch it stretch the hose ... watch it fall short, snap back. Just a speck chasing a speck. Little white lines scoring the chalkboard blackness like wakes tracing his retreat.
"Reach for it, damn you!" I throw it again. "Try!"
"Terra. Please."
For a second, I can't think. I can't speak. The sobs won't let me. I don't remember the last time I cried like this. I'm not even sure I have -- and all over somebody I barely know. It seems odd. The numb, diseased part of my soul looks on it all with musing, clinical detachment, marveling at the frailty of the lizard brain, at the futility of the emotion. It won't shrink the space between us. It won't help me stretch my hand any further. It won't help me survive. And yet ... it overpowers me.
It's even stopping me from hearing him, what may well be his final words. Repeated over and over. "Terra. Terra, please."
"I'll take the ship." I get my voice, finally. I choke out the words. Sniff and cough on the wetness of my own tears. "I'll come get you."
"There's not enough time. My suit is torn. I'm losing atmosphere."
"I'll come get you!"
"Terra. Listen. Please. There's no time. Just ... keep going. Don't let them win."
The quiet presses in. Just the pounding of my heart. Just the rasping of my breath. And his, growing fainter. Even over the comms, his voice seems to be growing farther and farther away.
"Do one more thing for me?" he asks.
"What?"
"Turn off your radio." His voice cracks. "I don't know if I can hold it together, and I want you to remember me as brave."
It hits me in an odd way. It hurts worse than anything, but I can't help but smile.
I finger the switch on my suit radio. "You are brave," I tell him. I'm not lying. Not lying feels strange. "You were always brave."
"Godspeed, Terra. Fly safe out there."
"Godspeed, Tiny."
I switch off.
I wait. A good ten minutes, I think. Long enough, I suppose. He's barely a speck out there, flickering as he tumbles. If I didn't know better, I might have mistaken him for a star.
I switch my radio back on, this time to broadcast mode.
"I'm coming for you, you son of a bitch," I whisper.
I know. Tough talk is cheap.
But this time ... I damn well mean it.
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