Writers of the Future, Volume 29 by L. Ron Hubbard Page A

outside viewer showed an increasing number of the flyers clawing at the skin of the ship.
    Lester reached for the button to open the inner airlock hatch. I grabbed his arm. “Open that hatch and the whole ship’s contaminated.”
    Lester freed his arm. “I’ll stay in my suit till we get to Prime. It’ll get nasty, but I’ll be fine. I can hook up to the ship to replenish air and water and purge waste. We’ve got to get into space before those things damage the ship.” He hit the button and dragged me inside the cabin.
    The ship’s klaxon was sounding and the computer droned “Level 1 breach.” I told the computer to shut up.
    Lester put me in my bunk and hit the emergency recall button. We took off. Before we jumped into hyperspace, Lester opened the outer hatch of the airlock and dumped the creature into vacuum.
    Lester got me out of my suit and started working on me as best he could while wearing a full-isolation suit. He stopped the bleeding and cleaned the wound. Once he got the pain blockers in place, I started feeling human again.
    I saw a streak of dirt on the side of his suit and a spot that looked damaged. I had him turn so I could get a closeup look with the artificial eye. “When that flyer exploded, you must have hit something hard. Your suit’s connection port is smashed.”
    â€œHow bad?”
    â€œI can’t fix it. We need to do a full decon of the ship so you can get that suit off.”
    â€œYou’re not thinking straight, Aidan. This ship’s too small for an isolation chamber and a full decon requires a radiation bath. We’d have to shut the ship’s systems down and be outside the skin of the ship. That means coming out of hyperspace, figuring out where we are, finding a safe place to land, getting there, shutting down, running the decon and getting the ship going again. That’ll take longer than going straight to Prime.”
    â€œThen you need to conserve resources. Lie down and try to sleep.”
    Lester stood over me. I could see him with the artificial eye. “Who’s going to take care of you?”
    â€œThe auto-doc will look after me. I’m fine for a while. You don’t have to hover. Lie down.”
    Lester went to his bunk. I moved the diagnostic sensors over my face. The real eye was gone, but the optic nerve was intact. I could get another replacement. The auto-doc said I had alien bacteria in my body. It was adjusting the flow of drugs to try and control the spread, so far, unsuccessfully. No major organs were being attacked, so I might survive, but I’d be spending time in the domes on Prime.
    The drugs made me sleepy. When I awoke, Lester was fidgeting. “How you doing, Lester?”
    â€œI’m bored, uncomfortable, wondering how I’m going to handle six more days of this.”
    I checked the sensors. “The alien germs are tenacious. I’m not dying, but I haven’t gotten rid of them. Open that suit, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a dome on Prime.”
    â€œI’d rather be dead.”
    â€œIt’s not that bad.”
    Lester turned so I could see his face through the visor. “Ever lived on a mining planet?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMost of them don’t have breathable atmospheres. You live in domes. I spent the first eighteen years of my life in domes. I’d only seen pictures of open sky. Once I got out, I promised myself I’d never live that way again. Bury me in this suit if that’s what it takes to keep me out of the domes.”
    â€œIt won’t come to that. Try to relax. That uses fewer resources.”
    Lester turned his face to the ceiling. “I’ll try.”
    By the fourth day, Lester’s suit was starting to malfunction. They were never designed to recycle waste continuously for that long. By the fifth day the medical sensors detected bedsores. By the sixth day the air in the suit