The Bloodlight Chronicles: Reconciliation by Steve Stanton

ceiling. The lights went out.
    The gunshot echoed directionless in the chamber in a staccato cluster. Emergency bulbs blinked on like Christmas lights in the darkness. A bleating alarm began to sound, and airlocks automatically powered down for vacuum protection. Green lights switched to flashing yellow as computerized safety systems began a rigid program of security containment. People screamed.
    Most of the onlookers had never seen a firearm in use, on Earth or anywhere else. None had any experience with gunshot wounds on the human body. A few panicked outright and launched themselves, flailing, in various directions.
    Helena immediately stanched Zakariah’s wound with a hand on either side of his shoulder. A female flight attendant knelt beside them within seconds and stared in horror at the wound.
    â€œSignal ahead for a medical crew,” Helena ordered. “We’ll get him in a capsule right away.”
    The attendant nodded and rushed to get events in motion. Another attendant, a red-haired boy barely out of Academy, appeared with a first-aid kit. He pulled out a small bottle that looked like a fire extinguisher.
    â€œWe’ll immobilize for transport,” he told her with hesitant authority.
    She obediently withdrew her crimson hands from Zakariah’s greasy red NASA jacket. “Oh, Zak,” she whispered as small globules of blood began to erupt from his wound and float skyward. A spray of white foam quickly stopped the flow and solidified instantly on his shoulder. In seconds his upper body was encased in pink protective armour. Several more attendants congregated on the scene amid a cacophony of wailing alarms.
    â€œKeep these people back. A man’s been shot,” a supervisor shouted. “Let’s move,” he directed, “one . . . two . . . up,” and four men hoisted Zakariah with quick but fluid grace.
    Helena was shouldered aside.
    â€œStand back. Remain calm,” the supervisor told her. “We’re shutting the Door down after this capsule.” They drifted Zakariah aloft past screaming metal detectors and flashing red lights and settled him gently in a silver sarcophagus.
    Helena tagged after. “You can’t shut it down. I’ve got to go along with him.”
    â€œNo one gets in or out. Standard procedures. We’re locked down for emergency measures.”
    â€œFor how long?”
    â€œCould be days, for all I know. Stand back, please, ma’am.”
    â€œBut we’re travelling together.”
    â€œStand back, please, ma’am.”
    The lid closed over Zakariah with a hiss of pneumatic pressure, shutting the circus of noise outside. In the darkness of his tomb, he clamped his teeth against incoming pain as shock began to subside. “Goodbye, Mia,” he murmured, and he felt his capsule begin sliding toward infinity.
    It was the same dream he always had—the tunnel, the long, serpentine tunnel that led him toward the superlight in the distance. He didn’t want to see the light; he knew he couldn’t bear it. He felt fear, an icy terror that paralyzed his lungs. It wasn’t fair, he wasn’t ready, and he had too much work to do back home where he had been safe and secure. He wanted to go back, he wanted to see his family and friends, but the dream was relentless, his speed accelerating, the pure white resplendence coming closer and closer. At this fiery throne all his mistakes would be tallied and final judgment pronounced. White lies and black lies, immoral thoughts and actions, a dollar sign, a decimal here and there—
not one jot or tittle of the law shall be overlooked
, a voice told him, and a chorus of heckling laughter echoed around him.
    Sometimes he screamed and woke up, sweaty and twisted in his blankets; sometimes he clenched his spine and closed his eyes and felt the white light consume him like a dust mote travelling too close to the sun, a wisp of galactic vapour in the abyss, a