Fracture - A Window Overlooking the Universe

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Last Ordeal

  He was moving cautiously down the skeletal tunnel, creeping as carefully as he could in the broad, heavy spacesuit, balancing precariously on a girder barely half a metre wide. Beneath his feet he could see empty space and stars glistening. His back was aching dully. He swallowed hard trying to contain the fear.

  'ARTIFICIAL GRAVITY REDUCING'

  He could feel it. His body was lifting, drifting up, away from the ground. Why weren't the magnetic boots working? Of course, he wasn't on automatic this time.

  'Activate magnetic soles,' he hissed.

  'ENGAGING'

  Abruptly he was snatched back down. There was a painful jolt as his feet hit the beam and stuck, the girder vibrating from the impact, a shimmering cloud of metallic dust flying up past his visor. He paused there for a second, swaying, anchored. His long hair was billowing about, flopping forward into his eyes. He waggled his head, waving the strands back as best he could.

  The beam was still shaking. Without gravity it would probably keep trembling indefinitely. He couldn't afford to wait. He took a deep breath then started to move again. The distorted sound of his rapid breathing echoed hollowly round the vast helmet, mocking him. It was hard work trying to walk; he had to beat the magnetic pull of the boot every time he lifted his leg. Each step needed more strength, more exertion than under normal gravity. If he misjudged, if he lifted his leg too quickly he would tumble and slip through the widening gaps that surrounded him. It wasn't safe to walk upright. He could see the girder he was standing on thinning out in front of him. Soon it would only be a narrow rib, a deadly tightrope vanishing off into the darkness. And it was still vibrating. He looked down at the ladder running by his feet. That made a lot more sense. But he'd have to use the suit's pincer like hands. Did he trust himself? He held his arm up to the visor, flexed his fingers in the extended sleeve. The suit's spindly callipers curled into a fist then opened again, perfectly matching the movement of his hand. He bent downwards, pain stabbing through his body. Reaching out he grabbed the rungs.

  'Deactivate magnetic soles,' he whispered. He kicked back. His legs rose and he was floating parallel to the ladder bolted to what had been the floor. Now it seemed like a wall.

  He looked up. The tunnel was shrouded in darkness along its length but at the end the light was flaring brilliantly. If he kept looking up the brightness would swamp the sensors and the infrared would have no chance, he'd be blundering along the deadly passageway in total darkness. If he looked down though, if he averted his eyes from the light at the end he wouldn't be able to see anything entering the tunnel from the top. It could be on him without warning. Nervously he looked down, focussing on the ladder. He had no choice. He had to be able to see what he was doing. Hesitantly he reached out for the next rung, hauling himself up, pulling himself along. The light from the airlock was disappearing behind him.

  'INFRARED ENGAGED'

  He was back in that lurid red stained underwater world. He was dragging himself awkwardly and painfully upwards. The suit must have a propulsion unit but he had no idea how to engage it. It was too dangerous anyway. If he burst out of the end of the tunnel too quickly he would be out in space before he knew it, at the mercy of the forces that raged and burned out there in Hell. He couldn't risk it. He would just have to keep pulling himself along the ladder.

  He was panting with exhaustion, panting with fear. Sweat was pouring down his face, into his eyes, blinding him. He blinked it away.

  What was he trying to achieve? He was trying to stay alive, as long as he could. If he could make it to the end of the tunnel and out onto the surface he might be able to find a way back inside. But Pandemonium was huge. He would never find one before his oxygen ran out. He quickened his pace, pulled harder. He would not give up. He would never give up.

  The radiation! He'd forgotten about that. Thirty minutes maximum safe time before the spacesuit's shields gave way. Maybe he had a bit longer. Possibly he was sheltered from the worst of it in this passageway, perhaps he had thirty minutes when he got to the top.

  He suddenly realised he was moving faster. He was now snatching at the rungs as they flashed past him. Seizing them was slowing him down not speeding him up. Of course, he had built up enough momentum to move unaided and there was no atmosphere, no friction to slow him down. He let go for a moment, exploiting the movement, allowing himself to glide along unimpeded. He was still accelerating, but he was drifting away from the ladder. If he lost contact he would have nothing to grab to slow himself down, he would never be able to brake. He lunged desperately for the rungs, reaching out for them. His fingers brushed against one but he was moving too quickly, the pincers closed uselessly around emptiness. He was tumbling, away from the ladder, falling backwards, but still moving upwards, flailing uselessly. With a sudden painful jolt he slammed into the opposite wall of the passageway, the impact throwing up a flurry of glittering particles. He reached out, clawing at the girders but it was too late, he was floating away again, moving relentlessly upwards towards the end of the tunnel, the end of the tunnel that would spew him out helpless into Hell.

  He smashed into the other side of the corridor, the suit ringing alarmingly. If it split! He lunged wildly trying to hold on to something, anything but he was already bouncing away. A second later he cannoned into another strut, his helmet scraping against metal, the faceplate grinding and screeching. There was a huge diagonal scratch across the visor. He was rebounding between the walls, each collision more painful than the last. His whole body was ringing. He snatched and snatched but he couldn't grab anything. He was moving too quickly.

  The red tinge was fading. It was getting lighter. He was getting closer to the end of the passageway. Closer to Hell. He had seconds. Magnets!

  'ACTIVATE ALL MAGNETS!' he screamed. His back struck a beam. Instantly it stuck. His waving arms, legs and head violently snapped and jerked backwards, slamming against the girders, sticking there, an instant and abrupt total dead stop. Inside the suit his body jolted, jangled and jarred.

  'ALL MAGNETS ENGAGED – INFRARED DISENGAGED'

  He hung there for a moment spread-eagled, glued to the wall, gasping in pain. He looked around him. He was barely metres from the end of the passageway. Above him white fire burned and raged. A darkened sheer drop yawned beneath him.

  FEAR!

  Vertigo. Claustrophobia. Fear of death. Fear for Alizen. Fear of that thing.

  FEAR!

  He was paralysed. Panting. Sweating. Petrified. But he had to go on, while there was still time.

  'Deactivate magnets!' he yelled.

  Gently he drifted away from the side. Calm, he had to be calm. He moved his arms slowly, pain stabbing through them. He swept them counter clockwise to his body. It worked. He was slowly rotating to face the struts and girders of the skeletal wall. Gaps yawned between them. He reached out cautiously, careful not to disturb his equilibrium. The claws closed round a bar. He tightened his grip. He was secure again. Breathing heavily he pulled himself upwards, dragging himself to the edge of the tunnel.

  To the surface of Pandemonium.

  He gripped the side of the corridor tightly, stopping himself, holding there, his head and shoulders projecting over the rim. The visor had automatically darkened but the light above him was still intense, searing. Lightning sheeted down on him, the landscape about him abruptly flashing between blazing light and total darkness. He looked upwards, his eyes smarting at the glare. Right above him the fracture was raging. It was a tempest, a burning maelstrom, a tumultuous widening gyre.

  He tore his gaze away. To his right were the gleaming planes of mirrored solar panels. He was at their perimeter. Directly in front of him he could see the edge of the shining field curving away to the horizon. He didn't dare cross them. The surface was completely smooth and glassy, there would be nothing to grab hold of. And he remembered the heat. If the sun came up again he would be blinded and baked alive.

  He looked to
his left. The superstructure snaked out before him. More ribs, beams and girders stretching tautly over gaping chasms, chasms running from one side of Pandemonium to the other. He could see shafts of light shining out of the ground and shooting up into space, light that must be coming from the other side of the station, shining right through it. The surface that way was a death-trap but at least there would be something for him to grip. He stared ahead. It was difficult to see in the flickering light but it looked as if in the distance there was a patch of solid ground. There was a ring of vertical pylons around it, some kind of shield generator. A shield. A shield to protect a window! With mounting excitement he realised it had to be some kind of module, a module for people with an observation bay. It was the lab and the office. It had to be. They had watched the fracture through the window. He looked at the swirling vortex above him, calculated angles. He was right, he was sure of it. There could be an airlock there, leading back inside. It was his best bet, his only chance.

  Grabbing bar after bar he hauled himself around the lip of the tunnel mouth until he was on the side closest to the lab. The light raged and surged. He was in luck. It looked as if a single metal spine ran directly from his position to the edge of the ring of pylons. Still gripping the side of the corridor with his left hand he reached out with his right grasping at the horizontal girder. He had it. He let go of the edge and reached up, gripping the line with both hands. Then he was pulling himself along it, hand over hand, dragging himself out of the comparative safety of the tunnel and onto the burning surface of Pandemonium, directly into the path of the lethal blistering radiation. How long did he have? The fracture could be emitting rays beyond the tolerance of the suit's shields and he was right in its path.

  He was swarming across the surface like an insect, hovering above the great transverse rod he was clinging to. Beneath it empty space gaped hungrily. Vertigo rippled through him. He looked up, staring along his metal lifeline, trying to gauge the distance to the lab. It was impossible to tell. He had to look down. He didn't want to, he didn't want to see that drop again but he had to concentrate on the line. If he lost his grip on it he could drift away, float up into Hell and that would be the end, the raging chaotic forces out there would rip him apart. Or crush him. Totally. He kept moving, pulling, tugging, dragging himself along the steel hawser, hand crossing hand. He was speeding up again, his momentum building. He wasn't going to let go, not after last time. He had to slow down, decelerate before it was too late to stop himself. He stopped moving his hands, clutching the metal tightly. He could feel his arms straining, jerking at their sockets. The suit creaked and wailed. The surface of the shaft was too shiny, too slippery, he couldn't stop, the closed pincers wouldn't hold, they were slowly sliding along the smooth metal rail. He squeezed harder and harder. It was working. He was slowing down.

  He stopped.

  He looked up, perspiration was pouring down his face and neck, sweat soaked strands of hair drifting round his head, past his eyes.

  The lab didn't appear any nearer. He must have made some progress though because in between the flashes of lightning he could see something gleaming and glittering ahead of him. He hadn't noticed it before. He must have been too far away. Perhaps it was a radio mast, or an instrument tower, or a marker. Maybe it was an airlock marker! He reached out again, pulling and pulling, tugging at the girder, panting and panting. He was moving again, accelerating, concentrating on the narrow beam beneath him, reaching and reaching for it.

  He looked up again. The shining thing was nearer. It had grown larger. The light was flaring so harshly, so sporadically that it was hard to make out what it was. He was getting more confident, hand crossing hand automatically. He risked a longer look ahead, entrusting his hands and their work to reflex. Shadows were raging and flickering rendering it indistinct but then there was a sudden sustained burst of white light, starkly illuminating it.

  Fenton gasped.

  It was a figure.

  He was so shocked he let go. He bobbed up, tantalisingly close to the line but too far away to touch it. He froze, terrified. If he struggled to reach it he would only fling himself further away from the surface, risking being caught up by the currents and eddies in Hell. He was still moving forward, accelerating, heading towards the black silhouette.

  'Activate all magnets,' he hissed, bracing himself, hoping he was still close enough to the surface for them to pull him back down.

  Nothing happened. The readout abruptly died.

  'STATUS!' he screamed in terror.

  Nothing. The systems had failed. Absolutely. Did that include life support? How long did he have?

  He was still hurtling towards the figure.

  There was another vivid flare. He was close enough to see now, to confirm what he already knew.

  It was the thing that had been Graeme Dezlin.

  Impossibly it was standing on the surface of Pandemonium. It seemed completely unprotected from the vacuum, it was wearing just the simple tunic. But something incandescent was shimmering around it, some kind of energy shield.

  It was waiting for him.

  The light was flickering swiftly now, strobing so quickly it was virtually constant.

  He was zooming towards it. They were going to collide. He flexed his hands. His metal fingers moved. There was still some power left in the suit. If he could just grab hold of it as he hit he might be able to take it with him. They would career off into space together, tumbling into Hell, to certain death.

  Certain? Would that work? Could he kill it? Was it even alive to kill?

  It was his last and only chance.

  He was getting closer and closer. Fear filled his mind. He had to try, he had to save Alizen.

  It stepped aside, revealing something behind it.

  'NO!!!!' screamed Fenton.

  Alizen. She was standing next to it, encircled by the glowing halo.

  She was a hostage. If he dragged the thing away the protective bubble would tear exposing her to space and instant death.

  But if he didn't kill it, it would kill her anyway. Kill her and everyone.

  He was so close now. He could see the expression on her face.

  She was smiling joyously. No! She wasn't a hostage. She was a willing accomplice. She couldn't know, couldn't have realised the thing she stood next to wasn't Graeme Dezlin.

  But she must know. She'd betrayed him. She'd betrayed him long ago.

  No. She hadn't. She couldn't have done. He would believe in her to the end. He was Mark Michael Fenton and he loved Alizen Jane Retta. He trusted her with his life. They were the only things he knew, the only things he could be sure of, the only things that mattered.

  He was metres away. He was going to strike it in the face.

  In Gadder's bar Alizen smiled at him, slightly drunk. 'I look after myself. Never forget that. Depend on it.'

  There was nothing he could do. She was on her own.

  His hands were reaching out for its throat but it was moving too. Its right arm suddenly shot out, the hand opened, the fingers extended. The palm hit him squarely in the visor, the impact jarring his entire body, a spider's web of hairline cracks spreading before his eyes. Desperately he grabbed for it but it was already too late, the force of the collision had thrown him away. He was somersaulting backwards, turning head over heels, flying through space, up into Hell. Beneath him Alizen and the thing were spinning round and round, shrinking to an unrecognisable dot on the dark surface of Pandemonium. Then that too was diminishing. Fire and white lightning were showering down past him and he realised with horror he was heading straight for the fracture, straight for its maw. Then he was through it, hurtling screaming down a tunnel of blazing white light. There was a hissing sound in front of his face. The damaged visor was breaking, snapping, fracturing. His body was twisting, pain shooting through it, invisible forces wrenching and tearing at it. The suit was splitting at the joints, segments snapping, popping apart.

  He shouted in terror, in agony. r />
  The visor shattered.

  The suit exploded.

  He screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat was raw.

  He was shaking uncontrollably, trembling.

  But he was still alive.

  He was on all fours. He lifted his head slowly. He was in the darkened lab, the room he was destined to die in. He was wearing the green tunic again, the clothes he was to die in. The lab was littered with bodies. He was about to take his place amongst them.

  It was the time. It would be now.

  The thing was sitting in front of him in one of the big black chairs. It too was shaking, trembling with excitement.

  'Mark, your fear is exquisite to me. It is my meat and drink. I feed. I feast. It is my liberation, my freedom.'

  Alizen.

  'Where is she?' He was so tired. He could hardly move. 'WHERE IS SHE?'

  'Oh!' it gasped in mock surprise, a sick, black joke. 'I knew I'd forgotten something. I must have left her out there. Oh, well, too late to do anything about it now.' Its voice hardened. 'At least it wasn't anything important.'

  She was gone. Alizen was gone. Nothing mattered anymore. It was all too late.

  He stared at it in fear and hatred.

  'I gave her what she wanted, Mark. She got to ride the winds.'

  It rose from its chair. The antique gun was in its hand.

  'I did warn you. I told you you'd tire of living. There's only you and me now.' It was walking past him, disappearing from view.

  'It's time to die, Mark.' The cold voice was right behind him. Suddenly it grabbed his long hair, pulling his head upwards, jerking him backwards, off his hands. Now he was kneeling. He felt the barrel jamming into the back of his skull.

  'Like a broken toy, broken boy, here ends your fractured little life.'

  A terrible pause.

  'Despair and die, Mark. Fear me!'

  There was no more fear left. Alizen was gone. It was right. He'd been running all his life. Running from her, running from responsibility, running from everything. He had been afraid all his life, afraid of life itself. Fear had trapped him, paralysed him. Now his life was over. Here and now. There was nothing left to fear.

  He wasn't going to die on his knees.

  He stood up, slowly, expecting any moment the bullet, the explosion.

  It didn't come.

  The muzzle was still at the base of his skull but he could feel it judder. The thing was breathing quickly. He was free. He wasn't afraid of it any more. He turned round slowly, the barrel falling away.

  It stood in front of him. The hand holding the gun was at its waist, the ancient pistol pointing at the ground. There was an expression on its face: an expression of surprise; total and utter surprise.

  He looked directly at it, straight into the black goggled eyes.

  'I'm not afraid of you.'

  It stepped backwards, shaking its head. 'No!' it whispered. It tried to lift the gun to head height but it was struggling to raise it, its hand was trembling.

  'I'm not afraid of you,' he repeated.

  It was backing away, moving towards Dezlin's office. The great double doors silently swung open behind it revealing the twisted hurricane hit room. It kept on going, stepping backwards, Fenton matching it pace for pace. It was trying to aim the gun but its hand was shaking too much. 'No!' it whispered again.

  They were in the office surrounded by broken debris. He had no fear. But he had anger. And he had hatred. It had killed Alizen. It had killed Graeme.

  'I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!' he yelled, lunging at the thing. It backed away squealing in inhuman terror, smashing into the wall, dropping the gun. He had it. He was reaching for its neck.

  It screamed a terrible wail of pain and anguish. He was shaking it by the throat. The whirlwind was howling through the room again, swirling all around them. He didn't care. He wasn't going to let go.

  Suddenly and abruptly it went limp. The wind subsided.

  The scream continued. But the scream had changed.

  He whirled round, the heavy body twirling listlessly with him, a drunken dancing partner.

  Alizen was standing in front of him. Alive. Alive and screaming.

  The room was neat, tidy, ordered, completely and impossibly intact. All the lights were on. He was wearing the blue undersuit again. He was so surprised he let go. Like an abandoned rag doll Dezlin's body crumpled to the floor, the goggles slipping from the face. Instantly Alizen was kneeling at its side, professional, attentive. But of course there was something more. He stood there in silent shock as she frantically worked. Then she stopped. She turned to him, a strange look on her face, incomprehension bordering on hatred.

  'He's dead.'

  On the floor a few metres away lay the discarded gun. It was a Semaaser.

  For a second there was silence then there was a low rumble as the double doors parted. Paize and Julia were standing there, guns drawn, pointing right at them. Behind them the lab's lights shone brightly.

  He backed away in surprise, crashing into something. He spun round. It was the model of Pandemonium. He was just in time to see it totter off its pedestal. Instinctively he dived for it but it was too late. It fell the short distance to the metal floor.

  It hit the ground and smashed into fragments.

  Part Five - The Dew of Dawn