Pain bore down into Ivanov’s scalp. The strain of trying to walk quietly through the station in a pressure suit was a challenge itself. Each fall of his boot on the metal deck seemed loud enough to alert anyone, but that could easily have been the white-hot pain that went off like a gunshot each time his sole met steel. A small, nagging temptation ebbed and flowed in the back of his mind; ditching the suit would make the journey quieter, but Ivanov knew that would be trading one difficulty for another. A pressure suit meant that any airlock was a potential exit in a worst-case scenario. And then I’d be floating hopelessly among the battle debris. No, no, one problem at a time. Don’t invent new ones for yourself.
The sight of the station’s control center stencil, bold lettering in white paint next to an open pressure hatch, brought a small breath of relief to Ivanov. He slowed his already meticulous footsteps even more the closer the hatch came towards him.
There was a muffled droning coming from inside. Through the suit, it sounded like one of the Union’s radio programs being played underwater.
Ivanov glowered. Of course. He sidled up to the wall, side stepping gingerly towards the hatch, and paused right beside it.
Someone, a woman by the sounds of it, spoke in a rushed, breathless foreign tongue. She was answered by a loud, equally quick radio transmission. Each word flew past too quick to be caught what meager English understanding Ivanov actually had. Hope whatever they’re saying isn’t that important. If that even is English.
His eyes searched the hallway around him. No other option presented itself, so he unzipped a pocket on the suit, double-checking the symbol on his map with the symbol stenciled on the wall. This must be the command center.
Carefully, he refolded the map along the creased lines he’d bent it into so many times over the past hour. Stuffing it back into the zipper pocket on his chest, Ivanov set his jaw and shook his head. What was that word? In English, what are we supposed to say to them? He hefted the wrench in one hand, considering it, before he turned and stepped through the open hatch.
Several half circles of computer arrays spread out before Ivanov as he entered. The far wall, and its neighbors, bore a tilework of displays. Some bore camera feeds from around the station. Others read out lists of statistics, or slow-moving charts, or multi-colored meters that only shifted hues as they sat there through the minutes. One screen on the right side flickered and struggled to produce anything more than a flashing array of colored bars; a spider web of cracks spiraled out from an impact mark in its center.
The rest of the control room matched the shattered screen’s presentation. Panels in the overhead either hung from gnarled bolts or were missing entirely. Bundles of wires dangled like haphazard vines. In the corner of the module, a broken pipe hung out of the overhead and vented a constant, thin wisp of smoke. Some computer displays sat dead in their consoles; others blinked red and white exclamation marks. Across the nearest bank of computers, dried blood created a mural of pandemonium.
A slender woman in a pair of white scrubs hunched over the stick microphone of a communications console. Next to her, on the top of a computer console, sat a small satchel with a red cross on it. The woman held the stick microphone to her lips with two fingers.
“Halt!” Ivanov yelled as he planted both feet on the metal deck. He held out the wrench in what he hoped appeared as a threat. What am I going to do at this distance, throw it at her?
The woman recoiled from the microphone. Throwing up her hands, she stumbled backwards until stopped by a console behind her. Wide eyes, bloodshot with fatigue and underlined with the bags of an insomniac, scanned Ivanov up and down.
“Spetsnaz?” She asked in stilted, uneven Russian. "You are Spetsnaz, yes?”
Ivanov glanced between her and the microphone sticking up out of the console. A red light at its base sat unlit. Whoever would have been listening couldn’t hear her now. He cautiously stood up straight but kept the wrench pointed at her. “You speak Russian?”
“Not well. But, enough. I, er, no fight…” Her voice trailed off and she muttered something in another language. “Surrender? Yes, I surrender.”
Great. That’ll only complicate things. Ivanov rested the wrench at his hip. He grimaced, looked around them, and then shook his head at the woman. Speaking slowly for her, Ivanov motioned for her to put her arms down. “I’m in no position for prisoners.”
Her eyes widened. With a quivering lip, she tried to voicelessly mouth something.
Ivanov cursed and put up a reassuring hand. “No, no. Not like that. I… your station.” Ivanov stabbed a finger towards a flickering light in the ceiling. “This is a doomed place. If we,” he pointed between the two of them. “...work together, we can both come out of this, yes? There is no need for any… prisoners or anything else. Here.” Ivanov set the wrench atop one of the computer consoles.
She looked him up and down with a cooler, measured gaze. “If you’re not a boarding party here for us, then why exactly…?”
“My vessel was lost in a skirmish some distance from here. My escape pod docked here when it detected a working airlock. I’m a survivor, not a raider. I’m not looking to fight the war here. Work together?”
“Okay. Work together. For what it’s worth. I can’t promise much with this.” The woman swept a hand at the various open panels and strewn-about wire bundles. “I’m a nurse.”
Ivanov chuckled softly and allowed himself a small smile. “That could help, actually. I have to find two shipmates who are nearby, and one is hurt.”
“Well, then. Perhaps I am of some use to you, then. Lead the way. I will see what I can do for them. I’m Eve, by the way.”
Ivanov walked up to the radar station. The nurse flinched with his first step, but he pretended not to see it. Maybe if I just pretend to trust her, she can do the same. That’s how she’ll get the drop on you, though, if you get complacent. At least then I’d get some rest. Ivanov bit his lip as cynical thoughts began to quarrel inside his weary mind.
“Eve? No rank?” Ivanov murmured as he looked over the computer console.
The Western radar station looked remarkably similar to what Ivanov was used to. Dials, buttons, and switches were all thinner than a Soviet control panel would be. Must be difficult in an atmosphere suit.
“No rank. I’m a civilian. This was a civilian platform, actually. Ran by NASA and UKSA until a few weeks ago.”
Ivanov nodded quietly. Part of him wanted to sarcastically finish her sentence. Until a few weeks ago… when NATO went rabid. No, no, there’s no point in agitating her. Besides, I can barely read this panel on my own. I need her. Ivanov tapped one button, to no avail. “How do you turn this thing on?”
Nurse Eve reached across, but paused before her hand got too close to Ivanov. She looked up in a silent question.
Ivanov grumbled and waved at the console, stepping away from it. “Go ahead.”
The circular screen sprung to life with a loud squelch. The scanner bar spun around the screen. Ivanov stared at the shapes that came to life. Debris, unsurprisingly, surrounded the station. The detritus of battle formed a meandering haze that crowded the radar screen. Nothing outside moved with any semblance of purpose. Ivanov’s eyes drifted between each possible escape pod signature inside the green glass. Not too big or small, he mentally weeded out candidates as the radar continually pinged around them.
He keyed his radio with one hand as he watched the screen. “Comrade subleader, now is the time. Activate your beacon.”
“Yes, comrade lieutenant.”
A small, angular flag appeared on the radar. Almost like a dart on a board, the flag stuck out of the center. Ivanov glared at it, but he couldn’t parse the words. Instead, he looked up at the nurse and pointed. “What does this mean?”
She leaned over and read it aloud. “SOS detected. Would those be your… comrades, then?” Her already-stilted tone strained under an air of over-pronunciation as she tripped through her words.
Ivanov didn’t answer. Instead, with his eye on the digital flag, he radioed again. “Comrade subleader, shut your beacon off for three seconds and then back on again.”
“I’m sorry, comrade lieutenant?”
“Humor me.”
The flag blinked off, and then reappeared moments later. Ivanov nodded and then looked up at the nurse. “Those are indeed my shipmates. And it appears they are… quite close by.”
“Actually, it looks like they are right on top of us.” She tapped a finger on the glass. “Can you get any more information from them?”
Ivanov’s hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, feigning to adjust the rebreather when his fingers hit glass. Her question kindled a small flame of mistrust. Was this a mistake? I survived the last month only to be taken down by a nosy nurse? That can’t be how this ends. It took a few slow breaths, but he opened his eyes and keyed his radio on again. “Comrade, what can you see outside your window? You crashed into something, yes?”
“Yes. All I can see is metal, some sort of girder that we must have broken. The escape pod’s Moskvich says we aren’t in any atmosphere and there’s higher radiation than open space would have. Other than that, I’m not sure. I haven’t tried the pod door yet, since, you know, the other sailor here has been unconscious.”
“Can’t be sure her suit is secure.” Ivanov thought out loud. “Do not worry. I have found both your location, somewhat, and…” His eyes shifted over to the nurse. She walked away to another computer console along. Typing away quickly at a small, pop-out keyboard, she glared at a small monitor in the console “...someone who can aid our wounded. We just need to make our way to you.”
“You have some time, actually, comrade. She awoke not too long ago. It seems most of her wounds are superficial, other than a headache. Is your headset functioning all right, comrade lieutenant?”
“What?” Ivanov’s brow furrowed at the random question. “Yes, it’s fine.”
“Good. You are using it or can this person you’ve encountered hear us? If they even speak our language?”
Ivanov watched the nurse out of the corner of his eye. She continued to type small phrases and glowering at whatever the computer responded with. He tried to casually lower his voice and keep his tone neutral. “She does, somewhat. Not well, though. And, no, you're in my ear. Don't worry, though. She’s a noncombatant. Medical staff aboard the station.”
“Is there a chance you know what her mother tongue is? French, perhaps?”
Ivanov turned his shoulder to the nurse at the question and murmured into his microphone. “I have no idea. I’m not an Academy-trained officer; I only know Russian and some English from my time in Vietnam. What are you getting at, Darya?”
“Sailor Sezja heard me listening to the radio when she came to. Someone was broadcasting just now. In French.”
“Okay… and what did this person say?”
“They called for reinforcements. An orbital shuttle is on its way. Apparently with an entire company of French legionnaires aboard.”
Darya’s revelation should have panicked or at least startled Ivanov, he knew. A part of him did acknowledge the fresh horror that a boarding party would be, but fatigue crawled along the edges of any emotion his mind could consider. Ivanov merely closed his eyes and sighed. “How many are in a company, exactly?”
“I don’t know, perhaps fifty? A hundred? Sezja believes she heard they’re only a few hours away.”
Ivanov bit back a curse. This just keeps getting better and better. “We’re in cislunar orbit.” Or at least, where it used to be. “How did they get up here so fast? It’s a three-day voyage.”
“Something about search and rescue. I think the battle is officially over by now.” Darya sounded both thankful and on the verge of tears. “No word on any of our craft looking for survivors, though.”
“We’ll figure that out once we regroup. Did Sezja hear anything else?”
“They’re looking for a doctor of some kind. And once they find her, the rest of the station is to be scuttled.”
That might as well happen. Ivanov pinched the bridge of his nose as he considered the next few hours. “Well, perhaps there is room in your pod for one more. We may have to push it back out into space and find our own way out.”
“I can try to raise Zvezda on my comms, comrade lieutenant.”
“Negative. Go silent running for now. I’ll radio when I have something.” Ivanov clicked his radio off and turned to face the Western nurse.
She watched him with a blank expression. A shiver involuntarily raced down the side of his neck as he considered her unblinking gaze. It’s like watching a snake through the glass of a zoo.
“I’ve found your comrades.” The way she pronounced comrades came off even more awkward than the rest of her broken Russian. Ivanov couldn’t tell if it was condescension or derision. It grated on him each time he heard it, though. Nurse Eve didn’t seem to notice as she continued with a finger towards a computer screen. “They impacted on the station itself, I believe, hence their SOS overshadowing our radar signature. In one of our recreation commons, actually. At least, there was a breach in one a little while ago. If everything is as you say, chances are it’s your comrades and not a stray shot from a weapon.”
“Recreation commons.” Ivanov repeated her words. His mind flitted back to earlier scenes of carnage.
“To guard against vacuum madness. The human mind has to walk amongst greenery. Do you not…” Her voice trailed off. And after a second, Nurse Eve shook her head. “Never mind. We have special modules built like parks, with trees and--”
“--and grass and walking paths? Yes, I’ve come across one, I believe.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ivanov nodded and leaned against the back of a computer station. “It didn’t appear to help with the vacc-mad.”
“Vacuum madness is an inherent risk to living amongst the stars. War, however, is an entirely different beast. There’s no telling how a man reacts to savagery. Our recreation commons are otherwise expertly calibrated to prevent any sort of mental illness.” She stood up straight, with a defiant arch in her back. Her eyes challenged his. What do you want me to say? Even your recreational spaces isolate people from each other. Can’t do wonders for the mind, can it?
“Do you think that distinction matters with…” He motioned around him. Frustration pulled a grumbling sigh from him. “Never mind. Which module are they in?”
“I can lead the way. Also, you may as well take that.” She pointed to the wrench. “You never know what we may need.”
“Yes, I am starting to gather that.” Ivanov grimaced and picked the wrench back up. The familiar weight filled his hand again. It’s like a joystick, but somehow feels deadlier. A swing of this and I’ll hear the crack of a skull. A lot different than tapping out missiles with a thumb trigger.
“The module is breached, so I won’t be able to go in with you.” Nurse Eve grabbed the small satchel resting on the computer banks and shouldered it. “You’ll have to bring your wounded to me, if you can get them out.”
Or, we dislodged the escape pod and leave you for the French. “Lead the way.” Ivanov motioned towards the open hatch behind him. Nurse Eve stepped through it, looking both ways as she exited. Ivanov followed close behind, one hand on his Moskvich and the other wielding the wrench.
“The breach was this way.” Nurse Eve nodded.
“Where are all the other nurses and doctors?” Ivanov asked as they made their way down the hallway.
“Skeleton crew. That’s how you say it, right? Skel-e-ton. Anyways, most were evacuated elsewhere when your people attacked. Most of our staff are automatons as it is.” Her voice trailed off and she muttered something Ivanov couldn’t quite make out.
“And are those… effective?” Ivanov thought of the defeated automaton he’d come across. The metal husk, with its obtuse claws and braided, metal limbs, seemed ill-suited for much else than manual labor. And combat.
Nurse Eve looked out of the corner of her eye at him before clearing her throat and continuing. “We’ve had a few problems.”
I’ll bet. “Do you think tha—”
A high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream filled the hallway with a timbre like a feral cat cornered.
Ivanov flinched with a gasp. The noise electrified his tattered nerves and he brought the wrench up as if to block it. The horrific sound echoed up and down the hallway around them. Ivanov spun around. No one stood behind the two of them. He was about to turn back when his eyes landed on an air vent in the ceiling.
The scream trailed off and left behind a tense atmosphere. Ivanov exchanged a glance with Nurse Eve. The woman was crouched with hands over her ears. A bewildered expression scrunched her face together. He gestured with the wrench towards the air vent. “There. Whatever that was, it’s not here.”
Nurse Eve didn’t move.
Ivanov held a hand out to her. He tried to ignore his heart pounding in his ears and mentally forbad his voice from quivering. If that’ll do anything. “Here. We have to keep moving.”
Warily, with a brief glance at the wrench, the nurse took his hand and rose. With shaking hands, she patted herself down. Her eyes avoided Ivanov’s when she finished, and she motioned for them to keep walking.
“I take it that is not usual to hear in an aid station?” Ivanov asked after a moment.