Call of the Void
I picked up his trail at the edge of a crater.
Over my shoulder, three moons dangled in the reddish-purple sky. Faint starlight outlined the junky little craft I use for rescue trips. My spacecraft has no frills, no creature comforts: just two seats and basic life support. With luck, that’s all I’ll need to save this kid’s life.
The control surfaces on this spacesuit sucked. I could feel worn plastic and clunky attenuators when I put it on. The third-class air filtration smelled like farts and dirty sweat socks. If I had time, I’d trade with the locals to buy better gear, but I don’t. We’re on the clock. The kid’s been here for weeks. If I don’t get him out in the next few hours, he’s not coming back at all.
The radio crackled. “Hey, Ryan … Find him yet?”
“Nope,” I grunted, picking my way down the crater wall. “Faint signal in my one o’clock position. Distance is about two klicks.”
“Klicks?”
“Kilometers, Carlo,” I growled to my controller. “You know what I mean.”
“You’ve been watching too many war movies, dude. Just say kilometers like everyone else.”
“Dude, shut up. Next time I come out here, you need to give me better gear.”
Carlo clicked off without a word. No surprise there. Half tech, half psych. He’s great for pulling your brain out and throwing it on the floor but coming in here, he’s useless. Carlo handled the comms and other details back home, so it makes him kind of a diva. “Just do it by the numbers, Ryan. It’s just another rescue.”
Whatever. It never feels that way to me.
Every rescue is the rescue. I go out every time, knowing I might not come home. How are you supposed to be chill about that? My arguments with Carlo boiled down to: I have to go. Going out hurts. Not going out hurts more.
Get the Audio Book Here:
Get a copy from your favorite bookstore
