It started as a faint buzz and slowly built up to a heavy drone. With the drone came back the beginnings of sensation accompanied by brilliant flashes of light and then came the pain. Michael was in agony as he struggled back to consciousness. Every muscle in his body seemed to be in a cramp and as his awareness returned he realized rather hazily, that he was still alive.
He wanted to scream but was unable to do so; as his senses became sharper, so did the pain. When it felt as though his heart would burst the cramps started to let go. He was perspiring profusely and felt absolutely wretched. He guessed that he had been zapped with one of the electronic guns and his aching, bruised mind began to recall the events leading up to his demise.
Sadly he reflected that he had failed in his attempt to get Harry Morgan. As his nervous system returned to normal, he perceived that he was on the floor. With great trepidation he opened his eyes and, as they slowly started to focus, the first thing he saw was the corpse of Gary Mitchell.
He tried to sit up and look round but felt very weak. One of the problems which made this relatively simple task difficult was the fact that he was handcuffed. All of a sudden he was seized from behind and hauled roughly to his feet by two crewmen. They supported him until he could stand unaided.
He forced himself to look round and then focused on the three prostrate figures of Gary, Arnie and Henry lying on the floor. His heart sank at the loss of these three men but his spirits revived a little when Arnie and Henry started to stir. He tried to help Gary but was restrained by the crewmen.
“You cannot do anything for that man,” said Morgan in a strange nasal voice. "He is dead... and what is more it is his own fault. He attacked me and did me serious physical harm. He was shot by my guard after failing to heed the warning.”
Michael turned and saw Morgan sitting on a couch, watching him. The reason for the nasal voice was blatantly obvious from the large dressing on his broken nose. Morgan was covered with cuts and bruises and his arm was in a sling; he also appeared to be suffering from deep shock. It was obvious to Michael that Gary had done a good job on Morgan and there was little doubt in his mind that had the gravity been normal, Morgan would have been in a far worse condition, possibly even dead. He could find no sympathy in his heart, only sorrow for his friend.
As Michael looked round he saw that the rest of the crew were under guard and manacled, like himself. Charlotte was being kept apart from the rest and was seated. She, too, was in a state of deep shock.
As he looked round, Michael was not sure, but the group seemed incomplete. He looked again and his suspicion that someone was missing was confirmed. He did a quick mental check and discovered that it was Neville. Nobody seemed to be panicking, so Michael wondered if he had escaped in the confusion and his absence had not yet been noticed, or, perhaps, if he had been locked away somewhere else. Either way he decided that he would not comment on the situation.
Instead he said, "How do you intend to dispose of the body?”
“We will eject him and disintegrate him with the cannon,” replied Morgan.
"If you have any prayers or things you wish to say, I will give you permission to do so now."
At Harry's command the crewmen removed his handcuffs. Michael made it quick. He simply said, “Let us pray." Everybody bowed their heads including Morgan and his crew.
“Dear Lord, we commit the soul of our friend and comrade, Gary Mitchell, into your care. Have mercy on his Soul and that of his murderer…. Amen."
There was no reaction from the crew. The First Officer of the Black Swan gently loaded Gary into the airlock and ejected him. Morgan limped over to the control desk and armed the cannon. The V.D.U. picked up Gary's body floating serenely away and for the first time Michael realized that the Black Swan was under way. The cross-hairs focused on the body and Morgan actuated the cannon. There was a blinding flash of light and Gary was gone.
Morgan then turned away from the desk and addressed Michael. "You have deeply offended me, Captain Stephens. I offered you the hand of friendship but you threw it back in my face. I am sure you must realize that I cannot allow you to remain on board, so, figuratively speaking, I am afraid you will have to walk the plank.”
Michael did not respond, he just stood there defiantly.
Morgan continued, “I will allow you the choice of one, two or three air tanks....how do you choose?”
Michael, who was a great believer in the old adage, ‘Where there is life, there is hope’ responded immediately. “Three, please!”
This would give him about a week of life. A week to float aimlessly about and contemplate a slow, lingering death. On the other hand, he had a week to get himself rescued, although in his own mind he knew that this was not possible.
His own crew showed little reaction. They were cowed and deeply shocked. Charlotte was sitting there with tears streaming down her beautiful face, though her face showed no other emotion.
His space suit was brought, the food and water compartments were filled and he was helped into it. He could have fought but it would have been undignified and he would have lost anyway. So he put it on in a docile, obedient manner and the three tanks were fitted.
“Any last words?” asked Morgan.
“Only to my Crew. Please do not do anything foolish like I did. I will do my best to return but you must realize that my chances are, at best, marginal." He then turned to Morgan. “I am ready."
Morgan nodded, "Goodbye, Captain.”.
The airlock was opened and Michael stepped in with a lot more bravado than he actually felt. The inner door shut with a quiet hiss. The pressure in the airlock started to build up; instead of emptying the airlock they were pressurising it. Michael knew it would be an unpleasant experience because he would be shot out like a cork from a champagne bottle and would have no chance of clinging to the vessel.
Michael was able to see Charlotte through the glass panel. She had now broken down completely and was sobbing her heart out. It did absolutely nothing for Michael's composure.
As the pressure built up Michael braced himself for the shock. Then it came, the outer door snapped open and with a rush of escaping air Michael was ejected into the vast emptiness of space to await his fate. The trajectory, either by accident or design, took him neatly between the outer hulls of the Black Swan. He kept his eye on the cannon and wondered if Morgan intended to use it. In some ways he hoped he would, but the frailty of human endeavour ensures that life is desperately clung to, no matter how dire the circumstances.
Soon the Black Swan was a receding speck in the distance and Michael looked round to try and get his bearings; the silence was overpowering. Michael checked his gauges and, true to his word, Morgan had given him three full tanks; an additional bonus was a fully-charged jet pack. As his eyes accustomed themselves to the blackness of his surroundings, he started to pick up distant stars as little points of light. Some boulders and debris reflected light in the Asteroid belt, but by no means all of them. Michael slowly rotated himself, desperately searching for some kind of haven to head for. He found only emptiness.
He drifted aimlessly for twelve hours, breathing very lightly to conserve oxygen. He became very hungry and thirsty but tried to ignore it so that his meagre rations would last longer. At the end of twenty-four hours he allowed himself one food pellet and a sip of water. It tasted delicious.
He scanned his surroundings yet again, but there was still no visible, close reference point. Michael came to a decision and reasoned that he was on the Sun side of the Asteroids. Therefore, placing the diminutive-sized Sun firmly at his back, he gunned his jet-pack towards what he hoped was the Asteroid belt.
Twenty-four hours later the outlook was still barren and Michael began to suffer. He drifted in and out of sleep and he was gradually losing his body heat. He was plagued with attacks of cramps brought on by his enforced inactivity and still he drifted on. Shortly after this he began to think of God.
Michael, who had been brought up on the Moon, was a Roman Catholic and had been brought up with their traditions from birth. It was typical of the Roman Catholic faith that they had considered it important to set up a Mission on the Moon. They were the only religious sect who had tackled the problem and their pragmatism had brought results. They now had a flourishing Parish there and their Priests were sent to it on a regular basis. It was the ideal setting for Retreats and Meditations.
Michael said his prayers and prayed for assistance. strangely enough he felt neither fear nor panic; on the contrary, mentally he was very calm, but physically he felt wretched. He allowed himself to drift off to sleep as he floated totally alone in the vastness of space. It was the nightmare of every space traveller.
"Help me."
Michael woke with a start as the two words filtered through his befuddled brain. He grinned ruefully to himself as he realized that he must have been dreaming.
"Help me…. please help me."
The words were quietly spoken but Michael heard them not in his ears but somewhere in the back of his head. They were perceived very clearly but there was a hopelessness in their enunciation. Michael looked round but could not see anything.
"Help me, please."
This time the voice was stronger and insistent. Michael desperately searched the void around him but was unable to comprehend either the source or the method of communication.
All of a sudden there was a dull grey reflection of light on his right hand side, about ten miles away. He screwed up his eyes and was able to make out an extremely fragmented rock field; some big rocks but mostly small ones. He decided that this had to be the source and the method of communication had to be some kind of telepathy.
All tiredness dropped away from him as he gunned his jet-pack and turned towards the rock field. An hour later he was in amongst it and searching for a vessel in distress. His search became more and more desperate as the charge in his jet pack was slowly, but inexorably consumed.
“Please, help me.”
This time the notion that he heard in his head was distinctly distressed, but it had enough strength in it to make him turn his head towards its source. Then he saw it. The vessel looked vaguely familiar to Michael. It was jet black, very smooth and was nose on to the rock field. The vessel was not cylindrical but more flattened, rather like a smooth black pebble, or a compressed pear drop. Its hull gave no indication as to its method of propulsion and there were no obvious portholes or hatches from the view he had.
Using his pack sparingly, Michael jetted across and approached the strange craft. It was further than he thought and, as he approached, the vessel seemed to grow in size, but its perfect proportions lessened the effect of its bulk.
Michael was in no position to approach cautiously, he had no weapon, little propulsion and no back-up. However he approached slowly to avoid over- shooting too far in case he missed his target. He did not miss, but he received a surprise nevertheless. As he gently landed on its hull, he skidded straight across it. His magnetic boots had no effect at all, the hull was not even metal. It was constructed of a material he had never seen before. His headlong, uncontrolled traverse across the smooth, black surface ended up in a rather undignified heap on the rocks which were gathered at the front of the vessel.
Michael checked his suit and was greatly relieved to find it was undamaged. Slowly he turned back towards the black vessel and was devastated by what he saw. As he viewed the smooth front of the craft his mind shot back through the years. No wonder the vessel was familiar, he had seen it twice before, it was the vessel which everybody had said did not exist. He knew then that they were wrong and just for a moment he pondered the fickleness of fate. The very vessel which had ruined his career now lay before him, seemingly disabled and impotent.
It also represented his only chance of a continued existence. His prayers had indeed been answered and in a wave of utter gratitude and unaccustomed devoutness he said a sincere and silent prayer to his Maker.
In the blackness of space it was still not obvious what had caused the demise of the ship, so Michael decided to risk using his limited energy source and switched on his lamp. Its feeble beam soon picked out the source of the trouble. The very thing which he had feared for years had actually happened to this vessel. There were some viewing panels in the front of the ship, fairly large ones about six feet by six feet. One of these panels had been struck by a rock and completely shattered.
Most vessels had self-actuating metal shutters which dropped automatically and resealed the cabin, thus preventing complete depressurisation and ultimate death. This craft was no exception and its shield had dropped but to no avail.
Fate had decreed that this vessel would be struck by a large splinter of rock instead of a round boulder. The rock was about fifteen feet long and two feet in diameter, tapering to a needle sharp point. The point had pierced the panel and the shutter had dropped on to the rock, firmly wedging it into place. The vessel was still in a state of decompression and open to the vagaries of space.
"The occupants must surely be dead, they wouldn't have had a chance,” mused Michael to himself.
“Please…. hurry.”
The voice galvanized Michael into action. He clawed his way along the protruding rock to discover that entry could be gained through an aperture of about two feet by three feet. Unfortunately it would be impossible to get through with his tanks on. Without a second thought he released his tanks, took a deep breath and pushed his pack through the hole. He followed as quickly as he could. With bursting lungs he desperately sought his pack, found it, reconnected it and released his pent up breath. He nearly suffocated.
In his haste he had completely forgotten to switch his tanks back on. With shaking fingers and bordering on panic he sought the offending valve, turned it on and gasped in the life giving air.
He shuddered as he pondered what the original occupants must have endured as the unimpeded depressurisation had inexorably run its course.
Once inside it was very dark and it was difficult to see anything, even with the assistance of his lamp. He found the needle-sharp end of the rock and was absolutely amazed to discover that the tip of the rock was a diamond some two feet long. The point glittered wickedly in the feeble light of his lamp.
He took a firm hold on the rock, braced himself on some kind of console and pushed. The rock moved from side to side but would not free itself. Michael moved himself to a new position and braced his feet against the underside of the shutter and pushed, but it remained firmly jammed.
The voice in his head returned. "Thank you for your efforts, but I fear it is too late, my air is now all gone and so is my time….. “
Michael shouted out with frustration and in a fit of anger pushed with all his might. It moved, only a little, but enough to free the rock. With his free hand he gently put pressure on the javelin-like rock. Ever so slowly it moved, so he put a little more pressure on it and pushed it harder. Suddenly it was free and floating gently back out, away from the shattered opening.
This left Michael in a very dangerous position. He had to free himself to allow the shutter to drop, otherwise he was likely to simply replace the rock with himself in the opening. He was sweating profusely and using his oxygen at an alarming rate.
Summoning all his strength he raised himself as high as he could and in an explosive movement he straightened his legs. The gamble worked, Michael shot into the cabin and the shutter slammed down into position.
It was apparent that everything on the ship had automatically shut down when the depressurisation had occurred. As the cabin resealed life slowly returned to the ship. Michael knew he was not free from danger, he did not know what the air pressure in the cabin was going to be or what kind of level the gravity was going to take. He did not even know whether the atmosphere would support human life.
Michael was convinced that the ship was not of an Earthly origin. The gravity returned and he gently bumped to the floor, it was stronger than the Atlas and, perhaps, ten percent stronger than the Earth’s. In short it was quite acceptable.
Starting with the faintest glimmer the cabin lighting came into action. There were no lamps as such, the whole ceiling slowly became luminescent, a faint blue at first then gradually building up to a bright pearl. After his prolonged sojourn in space, it took Michael a few minutes to focus his eyes. When he finally managed it, what he saw almost broke his heart.
The argument was now over, the ship was definitely alien, there were two of them lying, dead, on the floor. They were vaguely human but completely different; he had no time to study them at this stage.
He felt his space suit start to wrinkle against him and realized that the cabin was repressurising He could hear a faint hiss in the background as the new atmosphere flooded in. He watched his gauges and saw the pressure rise quickly to about fifteen percent above one Earth atmosphere.
Suddenly the green light in the middle of his gauge cluster clicked on. He breathed a sigh of relief. This was the signal that the atmosphere of the cabin had been sampled and found to be capable of supporting human life. He tore off his space suit and tried to gather his thoughts.
“Hang on a little longer,” he shouted. “I will try to find you.”
There were three hatch-like sealed openings at the back of the cabin. He carefully stepped over the two dead aliens and went to the first hatch. There was a switch on the bulkhead, Michael pressed it. The hatch opened smoothly and there was a slight inrush of air as the pressure equalized. Michael looked into a room full of equipment, possibly a computer room he thought to himself. There was no sign of life.
With a quick oath Michael leapt to the next one and opened it. To his dismay it opened on to a corridor with another ten hatches in it. He was almost weeping with frustration.
“Help me to find you,” he yelled down the corridor.
A weak vague notion of the third hatch on the left flashed into his mind; Michael rushed to it and opened it. The Alien was there sprawled across a kind of bunk and looked lifeless.
“No.. no.. don’t give in now,” whispered Michael fiercely.
He rolled the Alien over and shook him and applied pressure to his chest in an effort to make him breathe. There was no sign of life at all, the skin was a delicate pastel turquoise and the eyes were shut, in fact the creature looked strangely peaceful.
Michael worked on the Alien for a full ten minutes but by the end of that time he was an exhausted, shattered shadow of his former self. The events of the past week caught up with him. The increased gravity sapped his strength, the exertions of sealing the ship and finally his vigorous work on the Alien overtook him. In complete despair he buried his head forlornly in his hands.
He remained in this state for several minutes until he finally pulled himself together and drew on his inner reserves. He stood up and took another look at the Alien. He was startled to see that there had been a change in its condition. The delicate pastel turquoise was slowly being replaced by an equally delicate pastel pink. Michael studied the body carefully and with a great surge of pure, unadulterated joy he realized that there was a slight movement from the chest, the creature was breathing, very shallowly, but successfully: the colour change was occurring as the re-oxygenating process took its due course.
He still felt a bit helpless, he did not know how to aid the creature which had come so close to death and begged his help. The Alien must have had a miserable existence since the depressurisation. His cabin had automatically sealed but, as the life-support systems had shut down, he had been trapped inside with only the air it contained and no sustenance.
Michael took a look round the cabin and his eyes settled on an oval, crystalline bowl which could only be some kind of sink. He crossed the room to it, pressed one of the buttons over it and water flowed into the basin. He thought he would risk tasting it, just to make sure. It was odourless and looked like water, he tried it and was relieved to discover that it was pure and delicious. There were some towels hanging from a rail on the wall. He snatched two of them, soaked one in water and returned to the Alien's side. He bathed the face of the stricken creature and then, just like an old-fashioned trainer in a boxing ring, he flapped the other towel using it as a fan.
After a few minutes Michael noticed that the muscular function was returning. At first it was just a few involuntary jerks and twitches in the limbs. This progressed to the face and eventually consciousness returned to the creature, the death-like countenance dropping away like a veil.
Suddenly the eyelids flickered and the Alien opened its eyes. As it saw Michael its face twisted into a look of abject terror.
"Easy now easy," reassured Michael. "I know it must be a shock seeing me, but you asked for my help and I have done my best for you." Michael did not know if he was being understood or not, but hoped that the tone of his voice would help calm the creature. He continued to bathe its face and smiled down benevolently at it.
Slowly the fear passed away and the creature relaxed as it realized Michael was helping and not trying to harm it.
“Can you understand me?" asked Michael.
The creature looked at him and its facial expression mellowed. It did not speak but Michael felt the creature's reply inside his head. “Speech is not necessary, think your questions and direct them to me if you can, we do not communicate in the same way as you, we communicate mind to mind."
"What can I do to help you?” thought Michael. "Are my companions dead?"
“Yes. ...I'm very sorry."
“You appear to have sealed the ship?"
“Yes, the shutter was jammed by a big rock, you were very unlucky.”
At this point Michael experienced the feeling of the creature's sorrow and desolation.
"Were there only three of you on board, or should I try to look for other survivors?"
“No... there were only three of us…. thank you for your help. What do you intend to do now?”
Michael considered the question carefully before answering, then answered truthfully,
"I don't know... I have no vessel, I am very much at your mercy.”
The Alien looked puzzled. "Why were you without a vessel in outer space, surely this is not normal?”
Michael grinned sheepishly. “You are quite correct, it is a very unusual situation. My vessel was seized unlawfully and I was cast adrift to die slowly…. you have saved my life just as much as I have saved yours.”
"Then we must work together,” said the Alien sagely, after an introspective pause.
“How long have you been trapped inside your cabin?”
"I do not know exactly, but it must be less than eight of our days otherwise I, too, would be dead…… I take it you are from the third planet?"
“Yes.”
“Well, one of our days is approximately one and a half of yours.”
“You must be famished,” observed Michael who was still scarcely able to believe that this conversation was taking place without uttering a word. He was starting to get a grasp of how to do the communications. It was done conceptually rather than by means of language.
“I still feel too weak to eat," replied the Alien.
"Please let me find you something, I’m sure you desperately need it."
“You are right, but in a little while my strength will return sufficiently for me to get around the ship and check it out……… a drink would help a lot……… a cup is on the unit over there."
Michael dutifully filled it and returned to the bunk. He helped the Alien into an upright position and stacked pillows behind him to prop him up. The Alien took the cup and delicately sipped from it. "Thank you very much I'm beginning to feel better now…. do you have a name?”
“Yes, I am known as Michael,” he replied, deciding not to complicate matters with his full name.
“Michael is a strange but elegant name," replied the Alien.
“I am known as Kandras.”
“That, too, is an unusual name. Tell me Kandras, can you pilot this vessel, or was the pilot killed ?”
“Like you, Michael, I am a Commander. I know everything about this vessel including how to pilot it. I will show you the controls and teach you also.”
For the first time in a long time Michael felt a surge of hope pulse through him. Suddenly he felt very tired and he sat down on the bunk next to the Alien, it was very comfortable.
Again the thoughts of his companion pervaded his mind. “Michael , you are exhausted yourself... lie down with me for a while and refresh yourself. I am recovering very quickly now and there is nothing else you can do at this moment. We are safe now...so rest."
Michael gave in and wearily lay back. He was asleep in seconds and there they lay, the Earthman and the Alien, both completely trusting each other and at the beginning of a friendship which was based on one of the strongest bonds of all. They had both faced imminent death and had come through it together. Their gratitude and respect for each other was truly genuine.