Bastion Science Fiction Magazine - Issue 7, October 2014 by Manfred Gabriel Alvaro Zinos-Amaro Jeff Stehman Matthew Lyons Salena Casha William R.D. Wood Meryl Stenhouse Eric Del Carlo R. Leigh Hennig Page A

gets lost, back up to known point. He keyed in a sequence at the panel. A light turned yellow.
    "What are you doing?"
    "I'm sorry I can't help you with your dilemma," Stephen said. "But I can alleviate your immediate concern." The light turned red. The atmosphere had been vacated.
    "Stephen, I think it's time for some tough love here. I'm not going to stop you from pushing that button, but if you do, you will have to deal with the consequences."
    Stephen pushed the button. The door behind him opened. He unhooked the oxygen hose. With one last look at Mark, he pushed off. As he floated out the airlock, he reached up and pushed on the edge, giving himself a little spin. He was hoping for a 14 second rotation.
    Nothing over the radio. The light in the airlock went out. He went through several rotations before the ship went dark. Mark had made it to the cabin. Stephen began a countdown. The ship vanished on queue, leaving him alone.
    He breathed a sigh of relief.
     
    #
     
    That Mark would return was axiomatic; it was pointless for Stephen to contemplate otherwise. But what then?
    Mark's behavior seemed paranoid on the face of it, and even his accusations had been inconsistent, accusing Stephen of both machine-like and animal-like behavior.
    Stephen considered as the stars rolled by, his breathing slow and deep. He could not imagine a scenario where Mark wasn't either mentally impaired or mentally damaged. Insane, to use a broad term. He saw two possibilities: Mark either opened the door, or he didn't.
    They were 194 days out, 59 days from their destination, and over three years from their scheduled return. If Mark let him reenter, perhaps even appeared lucid, the future risk to Stephen would be high. Stephen had no training in analyzing or repairing a damaged mind. The only safe response would be to kill Mark.
    Uncomfortable with that thought, Stephen moved on.
    If Mark did not open the door, what options did Stephen have? He considered the exterior of the scout. There were several access hatches, including at least two that would allow him to disable the engines, perhaps forcing Mark to negotiate or come outside. However, without the proper tool, he could not open the hatches. He considered everything he had access to on the exterior of the ship, in the airlock, and on his person, but he could think of nothing to serve as an improvised tool.
    He went through the list a second time.
    And reconsidered his chest panel. He felt for a square module protruding from it. With a sharp twist to start the process, he unscrewed it. Turning on his helmet light, he examined the back of the module. The locking port on the back of the electronics package was about the right size, but the wrong shape. And while the polycarbonate might stand up to the necessary torque, he had no way of adding a lever to it to apply said torque.
    Stephen reattached the module and went through the list again to no avail. If he had no means of affecting the ship, that left him with only one thing he could affect, the one variable in the equation he could not pin down: Mark.
    Did Stephen's best chance lay in placating Mark? Manipulating him? Trying to understand him? Or just leaving it up to the vagaries of his mind? No equation would help Stephen this time.
    While he considered, a group of stars vanished. Mark had returned, popping out of his "teacup universe" at a distance. He did not stay but a minute longer than required to jump back to e-space. Stephen wondered if Mark was trying to manipulate him. Or perhaps Mark's paranoia and conscience were struggling—
    "No. I will not do this." Stephen had no basis for analysis. Further contemplation would be pointless.
    He turned his attention to the stars and space between them. Numbers came to mind: sizes, distances, velocities. They fell into place without effort. To say he was utterly alone, parallel universes notwithstanding, was not a figure of speech. He floated with no point of reference save the stars. The