With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing beaten and forlorn in the middle of his devastated pool. Overhead, the first pair of ZiP interceptors roared in, blue lights flashing.
Life is a collection of moments, a scrapbook of memories. Most pass into our memory without any fanfare. Others stay with us forever. Our achievements, our failures, family memories and milestones … and of course, our deepest regrets. Most eventually fade into the dust of time, while others remain vivid forever, cruelly gnawing at our guts, knowing there can never be reconciliation.
Failing to protect someone you should’ve … someone who believed in you … well, none come more painful …
~ “The Ponderings of an Old Spacer” ~
By
Tanner “Tiger” Thomas
June, 2203
Chapter 8
The Pegasus was dying. Tiger had completely shut down everything to the starboard engine now, realizing it was a goner. He’d increased the power intake on the port engine by fifty percent. She puttered along, under just enough power to stay airborne. The trusty old Vecto-Thrust was running over capacity and she was getting them clear of danger, but the shot of Breez was burning her up. She was running extremely hot, heavily damaged by the immense heat produced by Ridley’s formula. Even under the best of circumstances, with her coolant levels at full capacity, she wasn’t going to last but a short period at this rate of speed.
Unfortunately, she’d also been hulled in this last engagement, and was even now leaking a misty trail of fluid out into the night sky. Her lifeblood was scattering to the wind. To do this to her now was fatal. It was like the ending from that classic western from a previous century. The one about a fat, old, one-eyed U.S. Marshal. He was trying to save some homely, androgynous girl who’d been snake-bitten. In a desperate attempt to get her to a doctor, he’d ran her horse to death.
Yeah, well, while it might have been dramatic and heroic for some, for the poor ol’ mare it was simply a death in which it had no choice or say in the matter. Tiger patted the dashboard of his trusty ol’ steed. He was running it to death now, and it was soldiering on bravely. But it only had mere minutes left in its life. A life that had spanned half a century. And like the old horse from the movie, it had no say at all in its fate.
What a shame. He wished he could somehow save the data recorder. This old bird had seen its share of history. It’d seen its share of his history.
Tanner leaned over, put out a comradely hand and patted Jock on the chest. He was laying with his head against the door, apparently exhausted from the night’s stresses. “How ya doing, brother?” He called the man by a name usually only reserved for fellow spacers. The significance of that wasn’t lost on his friend.
“You’re gonna have to start looking for somewhere to sit her down PDQ.” He let out a slight cough. “She’s redlining. I may not be a pilot but I know the smell of circuits burning. Y’all gonna have to hoof it then. Or paw it, in the case of your girlfriend.”
“Good one.” Tiger grinned. “But what’s with this ‘y’all’ shit?” In the darkened cabin, it took him a few seconds to make out the ghostly whiteness of Jock’s face. As he did, the fact that something was wrong slowly began to register. “Jock?”
“I’m redlining too, pal.” As he turned, Tiger saw for the first time that the man’s round face was covered in a clammy sweat.
Tiger followed his friend’s eyes down to the dark, slick wetness that coated his right side just below his rib cage. Below it, blood had begun pooling in the seat. Tiger’s heart sank, as panic began to rise.
“Oh, goddamn! Goddamn!” he groaned in dread, as panic and fear swept over him all over again.
He was more afraid now than he’d been the rest of the night combined. He flipped the autopilot on and turned in the seat to tend to his wounded comrade. As he ripped Jock’s seared and bloody jersey away from the wound, the man moaned in pain at the well-meant jostling.
He looked frantically to Amber. “The first-aid kit! Under the cushion you’re sitting on!” While she scrambled to retrieve it, he flipped on the cab lights. Once he got a better look, the magnitude of the damage froze him in horror. He would close his eyes for several long seconds, not wanting to see, trying to think, guilt washing over him, hating himself for what he was now seeing.
“I guess I won’t be going to Mars with you after all,” Jock tried to smile, but another cough, this one wet, erupted from his chest, and blood gushed forth from his nose and mouth. The pulse round had left a gaping wound, burning away muscle and intestine, and charring ribs and lungs. At first, the heat of the round had cauterized the wound, and there had been little blood. But eventually, with each movement, damaged blood vessels had begun to leak, and a trickle had become a steady flow now.
“Easy, Bro,” Tiger replied, doing his best to keep his friend calm. But it was all he could do to achieve that same feat with himself, as he surveyed the wound. He fought back the nausea rising. “I’m gonna get ya fixed up
