Airlocked

By Bret Jordan

Abandoned in deep space brings some together while driving others over the edge, but that is just the beginning of their troubles...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purple Sword Publications
• Release date: Jun 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781936165469

Bret Jordan

Bret Jordan has lived in Southeast Texas all his life. He is married and has four children, girls with an array of personalities that often boggle his mind. By day he programs computers and by night he works as a freelance artist. When not working, drawing, or spending time with his family, he reads and writes stories of horror and dark fantasy. On summer weekends he can often be found running his motorcycle down the roads of East Texas.

Book preview

AIRLOCKED

Bret Jordan

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

AIRLOCKED

Copyright © 2010 BRET JORDAN. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN 978-1-936165-46-9

Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah

Edited By Traci Markou

Published by Smashwords for Purple Sword Publications, LLC

www.PurpleSword.com

COUNTDOWN

1w6.16.33

Dwight stood before the airlock doors and thought about the six inches of steel that separated him from the endless void. He held two wires, an inch apart—an inch from opening the doors, an inch from cold oblivion.

He had worked for over an hour to bypass the safety interlocks that prevented him from manually opening the door. Most of the Valkyrie's systems were simple to work on or bypass, but the safety overrides had interlocks upon interlocks, a technician's nightmare. He had done it though, or felt pretty sure he had.

Dwight turned his head to the inner airlock door, the one that led into the Valkyrie, and thought again about the events that led him to this point...

0m

The science and bio guys say that the brain shuts down in cryo. There are no dreams or nightmares. No thoughts. The heartbeat slows to a beat a minute and respiration is almost non-existent. A brainwave scan will hardly undulate from a flat line. The flesh becomes rigid and blue. For all intents and purposes the cryo chamber is a deep freeze filled with a human carcass. Dwight had hibernated in cryo over a dozen times, and he couldn't argue with the eggheads. He couldn't remember ever dreaming, but he always remembered waking up. He hated it.

The return trip from Farway station was no different on the sleep side, but waking could have been better. Normally, coming out of cryo was like being pulled up from a deep well in the dead of winter. Each inch the sleeper moved up he saw more light, became more conscious and, as the surface winds blew into the well, the sleeper became colder and colder. It didn’t stop until it penetrated to the bone and became almost unbearable. The process was gradual and took place over several hours. The wake up procedure on the return from Farway was more like being thrown from a warm hovercraft into a frozen sea.

Dwight gasped for breath. He opened his eyes, but saw only darkness. Maybe he didn't open his eyes at all. He couldn't be sure. Every breath was like sucking liquid nitrogen. A frozen hammer of pain pounded into his forehead and grasped the base of his skull in a grip of ice. He screamed into the frigid darkness, but couldn't hear himself. Needles of ice pushed into his flesh and fractured as his lungs vomited frozen gasses. He took another breath, and the needles expanded and fractured again. Dwight passed out before he finished his next scream.

2h3

Warm air blew across Dwight's face. Someone moaned. His back was wet and cold.

His head throbbed. He lifted his arm to his forehead. It felt like lifting lead. Tiny needles of pain jabbed into his fingers. He shuddered and the pain intensified. It spread through his arm and down his shoulder until his entire body became consumed. Dwight imagined himself covered in mosquitoes, so many mosquitoes that he had become a dark writhing silhouette in his cryogenic coffin. Each mosquito pricked him with its tiny proboscis. He moaned. The vibration tickled his throat and caused him to cough. Fire erupted in his chest. His stomach heaved then convulsed. He turned his head to the side and heard his neck pop. Thick liquid rose from the back of his throat and filled his mouth. It tasted like battery acid and burned his flesh. He parted his lips and let it dribble out of his mouth to float in the chamber.

Dwight lay still and tried to think of other things, anything but the mosquitoes and the burning liquid that coated his mouth.

What in the hell is going on? Waking from cryo has never been like this.

A spike of pain rode up his spine, and he remembered the torture that had sent him into oblivion on first awakening.

Oh God! Something has happened and Val pulled me from cryo without any prep. A cold start!

Another moan rose from the cryo chamber next to him. His mind raced through the short crew list. He tried to remember who occupied the next chamber. Tyler, the navigations guy. He thought about the other crewmembers and wondered if they had been pulled from cryo like he had. Their names ran through his mind like a mantra as he drifted off to sleep. One by one the mosquitoes pulled their proboscises out and disappeared until none remained.

2h37

Someone barked a cough that ended in a moan.

Dwight rolled onto his back and tried to open his eyes. The lids stuck like a scabbed over wound. He lifted his hand to his face. His arm felt like it was made of iron instead of lead. He used his fingers to peel his lids open. The skin stretched until the eye-glue gave way. He knew it was all in his head, but he would have sworn that he heard skin tearing.

He stared at the twilight glow from the ceiling tiles, thankful that Val was sensitive enough to their needs to tone the lights down.

He put his hands on each side of the cryo chamber and pushed himself up. Weightless. He drifted. The world spun in a kaleidoscope of images. He pressed his palms to his temples and groaned.

How…how you doing, Dwight? A woman’s voice. Victoria, the medical officer. She didn’t sound like the sexy doctor who had okayed him for the Farway run. A smoker’s hoarse baritone had replaced her smooth feminine alto.

Dwight replied with a moan.

I’ll take that as a good sign. Flesh slapped plastic. The sound came from behind him followed by a grunt of pain. As soon as my legs start working again I…will come over there and see how you’re doing in person.

Under other circumstances Dwight would have laughed and teased her about not being able to keep up with the men on the ship, but considering that he couldn’t even sit up without vomiting it didn’t seem like the right time to mention his male superiority. A chuckle escaped him, followed by a groan.

Victoria slid something across the floor. Her leg perhaps? What’s so funny? Come on, Dwight. I could use a laugh right…right about now.

Was gonna make fun of you…for being a woman, but…but I can’t move enough to face you and…do it.

She took a deep