1
Samh
9.03.1342
The trip to Thelxinoe V-1398, Samh’s second-largest
moon, had been very productive. Not only had Geodor De Montfort, Viscount of La
Soutain, gathered the information the Count of Anorraq had requested, but he
also had been able to pull off a rather uneventful vacation with his young half-sister,
Lira. Allowing her freedom while preventing her from interacting with
unscreened men had been exceptionally stressful these last four years, especially
while he juggled two full-time jobs. This excursion had been three months of
relaxation for him because the single men and the chances for one-on-one
interaction with them had been rare occurrences. The expense of the trip and
the more mundane tours and recreation available on the moon were not the
adventure most young men sought.
He traveled light and had already packed for their
return home on the shuttle today. So, he decided to hang out at the lounge and
see if any of the gossip about the Xiepvuians was noteworthy.
Suddenly, red lights started flashing in the
station, and buzzers sounded.
“Warning: Tourist emergency near Bay 5. All
emergency personnel quickly proceed to Bay 5.”
Geodor stood and looked out the window. His eyes
widened as he saw a person in a spacesuit slowly floating away from the moon
into space. He knew Bay 5 was close. The doctor in him kicked in, and he ran
toward the emergency.
When he arrived, he was shocked to see about ten
emergency personnel standing around casually.
“I’m a doctor. How can I help?”
“You can’t unless you have some way of opening our
supply closet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the door’s jammed. Happens a lot,
actually.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“A tour returned late. They rushed them off the hoverbus
so they could make today’s flight to the planet, but one guy slipped and hit
his head. I figure if we don’t get out there in the next three minutes, he’ll
be past the point of no return. We might as well send condolences to his—”
Geodor did not wait for the guy to finish. He
fished the last of his emergency-air-breathers out of his suit, stuck the
special plastic over his head, popped on gloves made from the same plastic, and
clicked on his boot jets before slamming through the Bay 5 airlock. He was
thankful he had worn his spacewalk suit this morning. Granted, as a special
agent, he rarely went anywhere on the moon without it.
The hoverbus was close. The few tourists who had
been foolish enough to attempt cramming in the early morning tour were pointing
excitedly at the body floating away. Geodor broke into a run and made a final
leap toward it, activating his boots. He knew he only had five minutes before
all his temporary gear would be exhausted.
Getting the guy was easy. Getting him back to the
moon, which had only 18% of the gravity of Samh, was much more difficult. The
guy was dead weight, and his boots were only designed to propel one person.
Trying not to panic, he searched for the controls to the guy’s jet pack. His
boots gave out just as he clicked the pack on.
Unfortunately, all the exertion was making his air
run thin early. He was still about two minutes out from the airlocks—the
jetpack was only made for a single tourist and had little power. Geodor figured
he only had about one minute of air left. He might have been able to get a
boost from the guy he was carrying, but there was no way they could share air.
His feet hit the ground, and he sprinted toward the airlock. Tourists stood in
the way, gaping like a herd of cattle. He was about five steps away from the
moonstation door when his body gave out from lack of oxygen, and everything
went black.
Geodor woke up and saw the ceiling of Bay 5. Then,
he saw the emergency personnel guy he had talked with earlier leaning over him.
“Whoa, welcome back! You’re one crazy sprynk! Man,
you went running out there like there’s no air in here. I thought you were
gonna die. Where’d you get all this cool stuff from anyway? Man, I’ve never
seen one of these babies, and I’ve worked on the moon for six years now—” he
held up the breather.
Geodor grabbed it from him.
“Sorry, I’m really into recycling. What happened
to the guy who was injured?”
“He’s got a little concussion. He’s just fine. He
owes you a life-debt, though. You’re a hero. I’m sure the news will swamp you
once you get back.”
Great, he thought, I’m sure the Count will
love that. He had left all his disguises at home and allowed his natural
wavy, brown hair to fall loosely around his shoulders. The moon was not an
ideal place to try to create a new identity anyway. Everyone knew everyone else
who was here. It was like a three-month long summer camp.
Sitting up, his head began to throb, and he
briefly snapped his deep blue eyes shut and rubbed them. He was unsure if the
feeling was from being temporarily oxygen-deprived or if the guy talking to him
non-stop was causing it. He gathered the rest of his gear and slowly stood.
“Whoa, man, you really should not be up. We decided
that we’ll just ship you out when the next tourists arrive in a month. You need
to rest.
“Sorry, I work at a hospital. I was lucky to get this much time off,” he said, gathering the rest of his gear and heading back through the lounge to the elevator. He was extremely grateful the guy watched him leave in awe instead of chasing after him.
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