Ivanov ducked under a broad steel beam that jutted across the mouth of the hatch the hallway ended at. Carefully, he crouched to avoid the jagged, torn edges of metal. At one point, he paused when he could feel detritus scrape along the side of his air tank. The air gauge on his suit didn’t signal a leak afterwards, though, and he continued through.
He came out from under the cramped space into a larger room similar to the promenade he’d been locked out of. However, no park to stroll in existed here. Rail lines criss-crossed the deck plating. They came from closed hatches in the outer wall and arranged themselves into an orderly row at the mouth of an industrial, airtight door. A cage light at one end of the airtight flickered intermittently.
Ivanov searched around him with his flashlight as he made his way across the cargo deck. A few rail carts dotted the chamber. Some held military crates ratcheted down with thick webbing. Others had the webbing cut open and lids torn off, their contents strewn about on the deck around them. He stopped his light’s beam on a computer console sticking up out of the deck beside the airtight. A body leaned against the side of it with its head hanging forward in a lifeless lull.
Let’s see what we have here. Some form of cargo hold. He continued to scan around him as he made his way to the boxy console. After passing a third cart, Ivanov paused and refocused his flashlight on the side of the crates. A red cross. He shined the light beyond that to another cart he’d already passed. And on those too. These are all medical supplies, then? Another rail cart also bore the West’s hospital symbol. And with them, there should be some form of oxygen, right? His eyes followed the rails from one end of the chamber to the other, stopping at the closed airtight.
Before actually touching the console, Ivanov stopped and knelt by the still body. A man in olive drab coveralls cradled something in gray, tight-skinned hands. A thin bandage was wrapped around the man’s chest several times, though a dark stain saturated both the bandage and the fabric around it. Ivanov’s flashlight revealed a long wrench in the corpse’s lap.
Ivanov glanced at the man’s face before slowly reaching for the tool. The eyes had closed long ago. Ivanov whispered a soft apology as he tried to pull the wrench from the corpse’s hands. He expected the fingers to stay tight around the handle, but instead they limply fell away from it. His rigor is gone. How long have you been dead?
Something fell to the floor as one hand flopped out of the lap. Ivanov stopped and aimed his flashlight at it. A strange cylinder rolled aimlessly across the deck. He grabbed at it and lifted it in front of his helmet light. Torn wires hung out of one side of the metal device. Four dull prongs protruded from the other side. Something in English was engraved along the rim beneath the prongs. Ivanov squinted at the little script. It was something about access. A key, perhaps? If we can get to Darya, perhaps the engineer will know. He pocketed the device with a furrowed brow and rose from the corpse.
The console blinked a warning about low power. A small shelf beneath the screen held a keyboard. Ivanov stuck one finger out, trying not to hit multiple buttons with his bulky glove. Tapping anything on the keyboard did nothing. A larger button than the others proved no more useful than the others when Ivanov tapped on it twice. He cursed and looked the console over.
On the side opposite of the corpse, a panel hung open with all but one screw removed. Behind the panel, a large bundle of multi-colored wires ran in and out of four pairs of square plugs on some kind of electrical board. Ivanov carefully reached in, pulled the bundle of wires out through the hole, and examined them. Scorch marks covered the backs of two plugs. That must be it.
Ivanov let the wires hang and keyed his radio on. “Comrade subleader Darya, this is Lieutenant Ivanov.”
“Yes, comrade subleader?”
“I have a computer here with what looks like burnt ends. Is there any chance I can salvage it? Perhaps bypass the damage?” He kept his flashlight on the panel as he waited for a response.
“I would have to see it to know for sure, comrade lieutenant.” A tinge of apologeticness lined her voice. “How bad is the damage?”
“I only see two spots. They both appear to be some sort of connectors.” Ivanov reached out and pinched one. With a little pressure, the piece clicked and disconnected from the panel. “They come off easy enough.”
“Oh, well, if there are only those two pieces…” Darya’s voice perked up slightly. “See if you can find other photoelectronics in the area, take pieces from those, and make the repairs. It shouldn't be too hard.”
“Yes,” Ivanov agreed with a nod. He began to scan the interior around him with his flashlight, though none of the random panels riveted here and there stood out to him. “Not too hard. Once I do, I’ll see if I can find a station diagram so I can find the radar.”
“The crew won’t stop you?”
Ivanov glanced at the corpse beside him for a moment. “I suspect they will not be much of a problem. At the very least, if anyone else is aboard, they are in the same dire straits as the rest of us. Power problems and structural damage everywhere. This place is not fit to orbit much longer.”
“At the very least, the local machine mind will protest you digging around, will it not, comrade lieutenant?”
Ivanov reached back into the computer console. The burnt plug disconnected completely after some twisting of the wires. His thick gloves made it difficult to grip the component, but he rolled it between two fingers. Back and forth… Back and forth… “No, comrade, remember: they do not have such crewmembers. A NATO ship’s computer system is just a collection of screens and calculators. Even their automatons are mere brutes. Golems with empty chests. Their photoelectronics have not been able to wreath the miracle of life like ours have.”
Darya radioed back after a pause. “Do you think Anzhel was able to eject in time?”
“She performed her duty, as expected by the People, comrade. You got out safely, afterall.” Ivanov pocketed the broken piece and looked back out across the empty chamber.
“For what it’s worth.”
“At the very least alive, then. She was a machine mind, in the end. Do not worry yourself about such things.”
Another pause. “Yes, comrade lieutenant. I should save my breath for now. Contact me when you find the pieces.”
If I find the pieces. Leaving the console’s side, Ivanov made his way to a hallway mouth, opposite of the collapsed debris he’d entered through. The wagon wheel gradually continued up into further darkness as Ivanov cautiously aimed his flashlight into it.
Blood stained one section of deck plating. It grew thicker as Ivanov swept his light’s beam along it. He traced it with a steady hand. The spatter and streaks combined into one solid streak that disappeared at the lip of an outer hatch.
The Moskvich scanner changed its ambient tone into a dissonant chirp. Ivanov looked down quizzically and unholstered it. Lifting it up into the hallway, Ivanov flicked the silver toggle on the side. This awoke the full array within the awkward device. The small CRT screen took its time printing its findings one character at a time. When it finally finished, Ivanov cursed, reset the device, and aimed it directly at the bloody hatch.
Radiation. Not lethal, but still significant. The Americans hit themselves? Or our shore batteries responded just that quickly after seeing the Goto Predestinazia die? There were always rumors that Zvezda Moonbase had a silo hidden somewhere. Those who had visited on shore leave or toured it with a previous crew all claimed to have noticed mysterious habitat structures that no one walked in or out of. Others claimed to have seen sunlight glint off of unsheathed warheads tucked into a crater while in orbit. Certainly, Earth had missiles. No doubt the LEO fleet harbored a few special missiles. Though, the past few weeks had proven their caretakers’ considerable patience. Darya’s revelation of the war’s last, looming bogeyman made manifest gave Ivanov’s weary mind fuel for more anxious tangents. Damn it all.
Ivanov looked back behind him before walking up into the hallway. There was no point in doubling back. At least, not until he found the spare photoelectronics. He followed the Moskvich’s chirps and clicks as he approached the hatch. Its findings grew stronger with each footstep.
He paused before the hatch. Curiosity grew with each passing tick of the Moskvich. Ivanov kept it aimed at the door as he considered it. That feather tickle of a question continued to brush against the back of his neck. You can at least look inside.
“Might as well,” Ivanov said to no one in particular. He punched the door’s button.
The hatch hissed open. Row upon row upon row of short, boxy objects expanded out in a wide formation before Ivanov as he stepped inside. With his light, he scanned the nearest thing up and down. Aluminum pole-legs stood upon miniature wheels. The clear metal refracted his flashlight beam into dazzling patterns across the… not deck plating but white tile. Sterile white tiles lined the floor. Sterile, save for the long, winding streak of dried, blackened blood.
Ivanov puzzled at the strange juxtaposition beneath his boots for a moment. He put one foot forward and scratched at the tile with his toe. The dried blood flaked off with each scratch. He considered it for a moment before returning to shining his light at the aluminum poles. Following the pole up, his flashlight settled on a weird, semi-translucent bin. A thin, blue towel lay squarely on the bottom.
Ivanov walked up to the nearest box and reached out. A thin lid with a rubber seal rested slightly ajar. He reached in to grab at the towel. His wrist bumped the lid as he tried to snake past it. The clatter the lid made echoed around Ivanov as it hit the tile. The echo traveled further than he expected. The noise went for some distance, causing Ivanov to step and flash his light to the back of the room. Whatever module he’d found continued on for some way.
“You could play a ball game in here,” Ivanov remarked under his breath. At the far end of the room, a long window lined the wall from one end to a hatch in the opposite corner. “Damn.”
He looked back down at the towel in the box before him. It was machine-woven with thin fabric. Ivanov grabbed the cloth and lifted it up. The realization melted over him and he dropped the cloth. Backing up, Ivanov bumped against another box on legs behind him.
But they’re not boxes. Or not just. It’s like back in Yekaterinburg. I was home on leave, visiting my sister and that invalid she married. They were in Sverdlovsk Regional No. 40 recuperating. When I walked in, my sister smiled through her exhaustion. She smiled and she asked: Would you like to meet him?
And the nurse in the room lifted up my nephew. She lifted him up. Out of the bassinet. That clear, plastic basket that could wheel from room to room.
The bassinet he knocked into rolled backward with a squeal, hitting another one in its row. Ivanov swung the flashlight every which way across the room. Rows upon rows. Empty bassinets. Everywhere. The light distorted through each plastic wall. The shadows danced and warped as his flashlight moved. In demilitarized space above Earth, now an active warzone amidst the wreckage of Earth’s former companion, Ivanov found himself in a radioactive room filled with nothing but baby bassinets. Ivanov cursed breathlessly. “What the hell is this place?”
Glass shattered in a muffled outburst, somewhere beyond the far window.