Between Missions in Deep Space

by Charles C. Cole

We’d been patrolling deep space. Reports indicated an extended electromagnetic disturbance. Proximity alerts were inop. We collided with an alien vessel, resulting in apparent cascading system failures. Surviving crew would have been instructed to abandon ship.

I’d been in the brig for unfit behavior when, in truth, the captain had never liked me. Any other officer would have been given a chance to sleep it off, a mulligan.

I’d recently discovered my wife, back on earth, and a new co-worker had been having an affair. I hadn’t taken the news well, beating the fellow. So, when his rotation came for guarding my cell on deck 16, I suspected things wouldn’t end well for one of us, but it never occurred to me he’d desert his post and report me as a casualty.

The power flickered and I was able to hurl myself beyond my cell’s forcefield.

Life support remained functional, perhaps because this was the deck from which the emergency pods would have been jettisoned, buying as much time as possible. The atmosphere was slowly venting. The deck’s “AI floor manager” calculated one survivor had roughly 24 hours to find a working suit or undeployed pod, with an 80% chance of success. Then it made a shocking correction, recalculating half that time given that there were two lifeforms, with a 40% chance of success.

“Computer, how hurt is the other lifeform?”

“Unable to determine. Other lifeform is alien, of a race not found in our database.”

They had likely jumped or been thrown from their ship to our ship during the chaos of the collision, before integrity had been restored.

“Can we isolate them from remaining life support?”

“Negative. Since they are not wearing a regulation com badge, we are unable to determine their precise whereabouts.”

“What makes you so sure I’m not alone?”

“Sensors detect two heartbeats, one human and one alien.”

“Are they coming from the same area?”

“Both are on deck 16.” Vague.

“Other survivors?”

“Unable to determine.” Due to...?

“Per tactical combat SOP, what is the best way to lure an adversary, in this scenario, into a compromising position?”

“Given no cultural analysis, that information is not available.”

“What if I get back in the brig, and we isolate life support to just my cell?”

“We cannot guarantee forcefield integrity at this time.”

“I’ll take my chances.” I hesitated. “Any chance this alien is wearing an EVA suit that would accommodate me?”

“Negative.”

“Computer, are you programmed to prevent self-harm?”

“Affirmative.”

I ripped open the nearest locker and belted on a loaded sidearm. “If I aim this at my own chest, what will happen?”

“The weapon will be disabled remotely.”

“And?”

“A Code Green audible alarm will be issued for the attention of personnel.”

“Including aliens?”

“Any nearby personnel able to render assistance.”

“Then I’m going to kill myself. You can give my half of the remaining atmosphere to the fella from the other ship.” I removed my sidearm, engaged it, aimed it at my chest and pulled the trigger. To my everlasting relief, nothing happened, except a blaring announcement.

“Code Green. Code Green. Deck 16, vicinity of the brig. Follow flashing light indicators for emergency intervention.”

“Computer, I’m just testing protocol. Please re-engage my sidearm!”

“Unable to comply.”

“A blood-thirsty alien intruder is very likely stalking me at this moment, following your explicit instructions, so that he doesn’t have to share what’s left of life support. Let’s not make it easy on him.”

“You are not intending self-harm?”

“Correct. I am intending ‘alien harm’ as soon as he gets close enough for me to take a shot.”

“Unknown alien is not conclusively aggressive.”

“I can’t take the risk. What’s the likelihood the alien is armed?”

“Very likely.”

“So, let me fight back.”

“Proposed directive contradicts Code Green protocol. Recommend exception override.”

“I’m running out of time. Details would be helpful.”

“Use alternative sidearm in weapons locker. If not intended for self-harm, weapon should function as designed.”

“Now you’re talking.”

A bipedal dog-faced soldier in black boots and a red uniform approached down the main corridor. He was taller and broader than me and, based on his wide-eyed expression, clearly in over his head. He did a great job consulting the alarm lights pulsing on the wall display, leading him directly to me.

He carried no obvious weapon, but I was taking no chances. Nothing over his shoulder, in his furry paws, in a holster. To make myself feel better as I prepared to kill an unarmed stranger, I tossed my disabled sidearm out the door in his direction and removed another one from the locker. My goal: when he reached down, blast him in the chest as he straightened up.

But he ignored my distraction!

I engaged my weapon and heard it humming to life, a good sign.

“Ensign Palmetto?” asked the alien, in very clear English. “The captain sent me, with apologies for your guard’s behavior.”

I lowered my weapon. He noticed. “Clever way to help me find you. But the captain gave me your coordinates.”

“You are?”

“Lieutenant Gengadile, on loan from the Jauvian Command Force. We were supposed to meet the other night, but then Ensign Abner baited you into that brawl. I heard him planning it. He didn’t know I spoke English. He desired you to throw the first punch, but then you went all in.”

“Does the captain know?”

“Now. I had to get permission from Command to get involved in earth politics.”

“And the ship that hit us?”

“Blackmarket freighter with a skeleton crew. Nobody on the bridge. They had no idea we patrolled this far out. Now they do.” He smiled, showing me his canine teeth.

“We okay?”

“Deck 16 took the brunt of it. We couldn’t communicate with you, as much as we tried.”

“What now?”

“Return to your post on the bridge” — I was wearing an orange jumpsuit — “after changing into your uniform.”

“Lieutenant,” I said, “thanks for risking your life for me.”

“Just following orders,” he said.