Lost Fortune: Sci-fi Survival Thriller by James Scholes

Author:James Scholes [Scholes, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-13T22:00:00+00:00

11

Thirty seconds. Jack looked at his wrist-monitor, saw his vitals hovering too high to be healthy. He swallowed, his throat dry.

Twenty-nine seconds.

Around him: the cargo hold of the Island Trader. It was dark—almost pitch black—with only instrument lights to shine over the gloom. It was enough for Jack to see, and what he saw was a lifeless void of a room. His wrist-monitor told him that there wasn't any oxygen around him. He would run out of oxygen before the room could fill to the required pressure.

Jack's vitals started to spike. His heart beat faster, his lungs pumped harder. Blood pounded in his head. He tried to control his heartbeat and his breathing, but he failed. His oxygen levels started to plummet: twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six...

This was what his father must have felt like.

There was a flicker in the gloom: white smoke pumped out from vents in the ceiling and the floor. Not enough, Jack knew. He would die before the room reached pressure.

Fifteen seconds.

Jack stepped away from the wreckage of the transport. Around him, lights flickered to life. More air hissed into the cargo bay. Frost grew on his monitor, on his visor. Beads of moisture over everything, and still not enough air.

He looked to his wrist monitor: the pressure was getting higher and higher. Jack felt his heart surge—it was almost enough to breathe. Almost. Ten seconds on the monitor, and then what? Might as well get it over with—take off the damn helmet whilst he still had enough air to breathe, before he sunk to his knees and his muscles curled up, unable to respond to his commands. Jack worked quick, even as his oxygen levels flashed a big, red zero: he flicked the clasps that locked in his seals. There were three sets, and they were hard to release. Jack held his breath, because there was nothing inside his helmet but his own bad breath. He stared at the gas jets that were still pumping into the cargo bay. He hoped there was enough pressure to breathe, but he didn't dare look at his wrist monitor. He had to get his helmet off, and soon.

Jack flicked the last seal, and with a gasp he pulled his helmet over his head. He waited... Didn't die. He let out a quick, harsh laugh. The air he smelled was like nothing he had ever smelled before. There was an absence of everything that he was familiar with.

His ears popped and squealed from the pressure change, and his lungs didn't feel full, but he was alive. The jets stopped pumping oxygen into the room and the cargo bay settled into the quiet, familiar hum that Jack was used to. This, at least, was the same as the Fortune. Everything else, from the bulkheads to the light fixtures was different. Similar, but different. Newer, and in better condition. There was a different tone to the lights. There was a different feel to the air, too. There was no dust anywhere. Jack was used to seeing flecks of old skin and dirt floating constantly around him.

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