Bones Burnt Black: Serial Killer in Space Read Online Free Page B

is the nexus of this harness, and the sole anchor
point for safety tethers.
    One end of a safety tether was clamped to her belly
ring, but the tether stretched around her body so far to the right that its end
was not visible.
    Grabbing the tether near the belly ring, she began pulling
it in and coiling it on her left forearm. The whip-like tether dancing slowly
in front of her suddenly jerked to the left, swung around her back and
fluttered out on her right side. It was indeed, the one attached to her belly
ring; but as she finished her coiling, she was surprised to learn it did not
terminate with the usual metal clasp. Instead, the end was frayed.
    Broken?
    She felt certain this must be important—another mystery
to add to her growing list of mysteries—but there were bigger, more immediate
problems to solve. This one would have to wait.
    Turning her head to the left, she stretched her neck
and pursed her lips. The white plastic feeding tube’s curved exterior felt
sticky as it entered her mouth, so after sucking a few sips of the orange flavored
syrup she licked all around it with her tongue until it felt clean.
    It’s dangerous, she thought. Awfully
dangerous. She turned her head to the right and reached her lips for the
water tube. It’s been tried before. Dozens of times. She drew a mouthful
of water and swished it back and forth to rinse the thick syrup from her teeth. I think it even worked once.
    Reaching down again to the large pocket on her suit’s
left thigh, she pulled open the Velcro closure and removed one of her suit’s
two emergency patch-kits. She opened the kit and looked through its contents
until she found a small lock-blade pocketknife.
    It doesn’t matter how risky it is. I don’t have any
other options.
    Opening the knife, she carefully verified that its
three-inch blade—factory sharpened and never before used—was in the locked
position. Then, holding it with both hands, she pointed its tip at the center
of her belly—just above the belly ring—as though about to perform the Japanese
suicide ritual: Hara-Kiri.
    Pausing a moment, she considered the fact that she
might actually be committing suicide. She searched her mind for
something—anything—to comfort her in what might be her last few minutes of
life. She was lucky; she found something.
    Calmness swept through her body as she subvocalized the
ancient words. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. The words
warmed her like a favorite blanket; or like a long parental hug. He maketh
me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters; He
restoreth my soul.
    Slowly, carefully, deliberately, Kim stabbed through
the material of her suit. The blade pierced the outer covering without
incident, and began its journey through the layer of fiberglass thermal
insulation batting.
    He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His
name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I
will fear no evil.
    The knife met resistance and slowed to a stop. Sharp as
it was, strands of fiberglass had accumulated in an uncut mass against the
knife’s tip. She wiggled the handle from side-to-side and in small circles to
work the blade past those pesky little glass fibers.
    For Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they
comfort me.
    Her eyes widened when she felt the resilience of soft
rubber. The knife had reached the layer that maintained the suit’s air
pressure; the layer that prevented breathing air from escaping; the layer which
was technically and unceremoniously referred to as ‘the bladder.’
    Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of
mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
    She jerked the knife straight in toward her intestines
and heard the shrill hiss of precious air shooting out into the vacuum. A white
mist sprayed furiously from the hole she’d made. It ricocheted off the knife
handle and slapped at her hands and wrists as though trying to shove them