A story from the Rescue Sisters Universe
created by Robert and Karina Fabian
by Fred Warren

Monica was flying.

She swooped and spun through the intricate lattice, gravity a faint tug far too weak to hinder the grace and precision of her aerial dance.

As she flew, she prayed the Magnificat, the ancient words keeping time with her movement, guiding each turn, drawing her through every tiny opening like thread through the eye of a needle.

Push. “My soul glorifies the Lord.”

Turn. “My spirit rejoices in God, my Saviour.”

Grab. “He looks on his servant in her lowliness.”

Twist. “Henceforth all ages will call me blessed.”

Pull. “The Almighty works marvels for me.”

Glide. “Holy his name!”

Bend. “His mercy is from age to age.”

Grab. “On those who fear him.”

Pull. “He puts forth his arm in strength.”

Glide. “And scatters the proud-hearted.”

Monica cleared the final obstacle in a twisting somersault, landing without a stumble, soft as a feather.

“Forty-five-oh-eight!” Eunice’s voice squealed dolphinlike through Monica’s intercom. “That’s only two-tenths off Sister Claudia’s record!”

“Before or after she lost her arm?”

“Well, before, I think…I’m not sure.”

“It doesn’t matter. I know I can go faster. Something’s off in the center section.”

“You’re better than anybody on the obstacle course. You should be happy.”

“It’s not about happiness, Eunice. I won’t be content until I know I’ve done my very best. Besides, somebody’s life might depend on that last two-tenths of a second one day.”

“I suppose so. I get tired just watching you. It’s less than an hour to mid-afternoon prayers. I was hoping to grab a sandwich before service.”

“One more run. I think I know where I went wrong.”

“Monica…”

“Please, Eunice. It’ll kill me, knowing I was this close.”

“Oh, all right. Wouldn’t do to have your blood on my hands going into prayers.”

“Thanks.” Monica bounded across the gritty, dusty field to the obstacle course’s start point, but before she could signal Eunice to start timing, a warning tone blared in her intercom.

“All personnel assemble in the chapel immediately. We have visitors.” It was Mother Superior’s voice. Unscheduled all-hands assemblies were rare for the Sisters of Our Lady of the Rescue. Perhaps the Archbishop’s adjutant was coming for a surprise inspection.

Monica sighed and keyed her mic on the private channel. “Perfect timing. Guess this will have to wait until tomorrow. Have you heard anything about VIPs coming today?”

“No,” Eunice replied, “but I don’t think they’re from the Church.” She pointed over Monica’s head.

Monica turned around in time to see a formation of spacecraft arrow past the training field at low altitude. Two sleek tactical shuttles and a bulky transport, marker strobes flashing, red and gold flames stenciled across each fuselage. It wasn’t any pattern Monica recognized, but it was the formation itself that sent a chill down her spine. Even the Archbishop brought only a single ship when he visited Ceres Base. For three to arrive at once—something was happening. Something big.

~*~

A low rumble of agitation filled the chapel as the Sisters took their places.

“I overheard the transmission this morning. It’s true.”

“Re-competing our contract? What does that mean?”

“It means nothing. It’s impossible.”

“Ridiculous. You can’t underbid a vow of poverty.”

“Even if they could, who else would want this job?”

“It must be a joke—or a test. Maybe they think we’ll cut our budget.”

“There’s no way. Sister Priscilla told me we’re barely making ends meet as it is. We’d have to start rationing oxygen.”

Mother Superior strode down the center aisle, raising her hands in appeal. “Sisters! Sisters! Come to order! Everything will be explained in due time, but right now, I need your attention. Our visitors will debark in about an hour, and we must make preparations. We will convert the gymnasium into temporary lodgings, and we must prepare extra meals for our guests. Sister Euodia has organized everyone into work details. Follow her direction. Five Sisters will remain in the chapel to keep Ninth Hour.”

Sister Euodia, Chief of Operations, came to the front and explained the breakdown of the work details. “Return to the chapel promptly at 1600. No exceptions.”

There were a few gasps and groans. “What is this, a Papal delegation?” someone complained, a little too loudly.

“That’s enough!” Euodia’s rebuke cracked like a whip. “Hospitality is the guiding principle of the Sisters of Our Lady of the Rescue. None in peril are ignored, and no one, friend or adversary, is unwelcome in our house. You have your assignments. Now, go, and be as Christ to our guests.”

“What do you think?” Monica whispered to Eunice as the Sisters filed out and dispersed to their various tasks, “Are they friends, or adversaries?”

~*~

Derrick Robbins, Chairman of the Asteroid Mining Consortium, was a big, burly man with a booming voice. He paced slowly back and forth at the front of the Chapel, meaty hands clasped behind his back, eyes alternately cast heavenward as if he was appealing for divine inspiration, or toward the floor, as if he was checking the deckplates for cracks.

Monica thought he was just trying to avoid looking directly at the Sisters.

“First of all,” he said, “I want to make it clear that this action is in no way an expression of dissatisfaction with the services you’ve provided the Mining Consortium over the years, and we are truly grateful for your dedication and sacrifice. Our member companies know they can count on the Rescue Sisters for help when their people are in trouble. Every time.”

He cleared his throat. “However, you must understand that mining is a business, and we operate on a very slim margin out here in the Belt. The difference between success and failure can be vanishingly small. When someone offers us a way to reduce our operating costs, we have no choice but to give them a fair hearing. Within your contract to provide search and rescue services in support of Consortium operations, there is a provision for periodic re-bidding, if viable alternative contractors present themselves. Your operations from Ceres Base constitute our largest search and rescue expense.

Robbins stopped his pacing and turned to face the audience, though Monica noticed he kept his eyes focused a few inches above their heads. “This year, we have been presented an alternative.”

He motioned to the men seated on the front row, and one of them, a lanky, gray-haired gentleman in his forties, stood up and turned to face the assembled Sisters, giving a brief nod.

“This is Reverend Josiah Sims of the Universal Evangelical Church,” Robbins said. “His team has entered a bid for search and rescue services that we must consider under the terms of the contract.”

Eunice let out a squeak.

“Hush!” Monica clapped a hand over her friend’s mouth. It was fortunate they were sitting in the back row.

“A viable alternative? How is that possible? All we receive from the Consortium are oxygen, food, water, fuel, and use of Ceres Base.” Mother Superior’s steely gaze would have drilled through Robbins, if he’d dared look her in the eye.

He smiled, contemplating the ceiling. “The UEC will fully subsidize all search and rescue operations, including costs of oxygen, food, water, and fuel. Their equipment is state-of-the-art, and their personnel are veterans of combat search and rescue operations during the Corporate War. All they need is a base of operations.”

Monica released her grip on Eunice’s face. “What?”

“Mercenaries,” Eunice whispered.

“Why not let them share the mission with us? God knows there are enough mishaps in this sector to fully employ two organizations, and if they’re self-supporting, it won’t cost you anything.”

Monica grinned. Good idea, Mother, she thought. They can find themselves a nice rock on the other side of the Belt.

Reverend Sims brushed a shock of salt-and-pepper hair from his eyes. “We wouldn’t be averse to such an arrangement, ma’am, but there’s a problem. Asteroid base facilities are an enormous investment. There are no vacant bases suitable for our needs, and the Consortium doesn’t plan to build any new bases for the next ten years. To do the job we’ve been sent to do, we need Ceres Base.”

Eunice’s whisper climbed to a faint whimper. “This is awful. They want to take our home away from us.”

“And, although we have the greatest admiration for the work you Sisters have done out here, despite your limitations,” Sims continued with a thin smile, “we bring more advanced capabilities to the search and rescue mission. We can execute rescues faster and safer—and we’ll expend fewer resources in the process.”

Mother Superior frowned at Sims. “You honestly believe a few shiny gadgets outweigh our years of experience in Belt operations?”

“The nerve. Mother should take that skinny old coot outside and thrash him.” Eunice squirmed in her seat, looking as if she might leap up at any moment and take on the job herself.

Monica grabbed her arm. “Settle down, Eunice.”

Mother Superior turned back to Robbins. “This isn’t just about money. The miners trust us. You can’t buy that kind of relationship with a low-ball bid.”

Robbins waved her off, as a parent might turn aside the protest of a young child. “Madam, madam, please. We understand the Sisters’ presence yields certain unquantifiable benefits. We are weighing those factors in our decision. Besides, Reverend Sims’ team has yet to demonstrate their proficiency. To that end, part of the contract re-evaluation will include a head-to-head skills competition. I will brief you on its content and rules tomorrow, and both teams will have a week to prepare.

He smiled. Until then, I suggest everyone spend a little time getting acquainted. Just because you’re rivals doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.”

“Fat chance of that,” grumbled Monica, “They’re probably afraid we’ll get cooties on…gmhph.”

Eunice clamped down hard on Monica’s mouth. “Shh! Somebody’s going to hear you!”

~*~

Dinner was tofurkey sandwiches and mixed greens. Monica picked at her meal and watched the table of black-clad men out of the corner of her eye. Ceres Base was a sacred place. These people were intruders who wanted to steal her home and her purpose in life. Search and rescue wasn’t just her job—it was her vocation, her ministry, a divine appointment. For them to just zoom in with their fancy spaceships, uninvited, and try to take over was so arrogant, so…

“Mind if I join you?”

Monica’s head snapped up. A man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, with brown, brush-cut hair, a crooked nose, and dark green eyes was grinning down at her.

Yes, I mind, she thought, but all she said aloud was, “Suit yourself.”

He set his tray across the table from her, paused silently for a moment with his head bowed, and then began digging energetically into his salad. “Wow, fresh greens! I’ve been eating travel rations for so long, I almost forgot what real food tastes like.”

“There’s a hydroponic garden with fluorescent lighting on Level 3. Produces enough for everyone to have salad and vegetables, most days.”

“That’s amazing. You ladies really know how to roll out the welcome. Full-gee habitat, hot water, veggies…where’s the golf course?”

“Corridor 2A. Two meters of polyturf and a coffee cup.”

“No holo range?”

“Our vows forbid virtual amusements.”

“I should have known.” He crunched down on a carrot and smiled blissfully. “So, how long have you been here?”

Why won’t he just shut up and eat? “Ever since I entered the Order. About six years now.”

“Must be tough, the whole swearing-off-men thing. Doesn’t it get lonely?”

Monica bristled inside, but maintained a façade of bland indifference. “Not really. When you devote your life to God’s service, there are other compensations. Saving people in trouble is very rewarding. Besides, I have a whole family of Sisters to keep me company.”

He scanned the room. “Everybody seems so focused—uniforms, short haircuts, everything in its place, and nothing but the essentials. It feels like a military unit. What do your parents think about all this?”

“You ask a lot of questions for somebody who hasn’t introduced himself.”

“Oh… right. Sorry.” He extended a hand across the table. “Ty Hansen. I’m a rescue tech.”

Monica accepted the hand with a curt shake. “Sister Monica Elizabeth.”

“That’s a mouthful. Mind if I just call you Monica?”

“Sister Monica will be fine, thank you.”

Ty’s nose wrinkled. “Whatever. Getting back to my question, are your parents okay with what you’re doing, living so far away, here in the Belt?”

Monica sighed. “My parents are dead.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“Tell you what, Ty Hansen, why don’t we talk about you for a little while? What are you doing here, besides trying to run us off Ceres Base?”

“Hey, it’s nothing personal. I was part of the UEC Mission to Space, and they needed volunteers with Belt experience. I was tired of hanging around L-5 waiting for a tourist boat collision, so I signed on.”

“Belt experience. You mean the Corporate War.”

Ty grimaced. “Yeah. Just the tail-end. I was a combat medic. Pulled way too many dead pilots out of shredded fighters. I crashed and burned emotionally after it was all over. Booze, pills, the works. If it wasn’t for the UEC, I’d probably be living in some alley in San Antonio right now, sleeping under a piece of cardboard, blitzed out of my mind. Instead, I turned my life over to God. It made all the difference.”

“It always does.”

They were both silent for a few moments. Ty picked up his sandwich. “Your turn. What’s your story?”

“My parents were spacers. There was an…accident, and our hull was breached. I nearly died myself.”

“It must have been pretty rough for you.”

No kidding. Monica fiddled with her spoon. “I was fifteen. There weren’t any close relatives, so I lived in an L-5 orphanage until I graduated high school. A recruiter from the Sisters came by one day and convinced me to take the screening exam, being a spacers’ kid and all. I aced the test and made it through the novitiate and boot camp. About halfway through my training, I knew this was what God wanted me to do with my life. I was assigned to Ceres Base after boot camp, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“This sandwich is heaven. How many rescues have you done?”

She shrugged. “I stopped counting after a hundred. The miners and cargo pilots are living on the ragged edge of safety out here, and things go wrong. A lot. They need us, and it helps them, knowing we’re always nearby, watching over them.”

“Mmm-hm, you Rescue Sisters are practically legends back home. Still, doesn’t it seem a little prideful to think you’re the only ones capable of doing this job?”

“It’s not pride if it’s true. Nobody knows this space and the people we serve like we do. To think you can just waltz in here and take over is…naive.”

“Every member of our team is a SAR expert with experience under fire. We can do anything you can do. Maybe better.”

That tore it. “How can you do better? Because you’re men? Because you’re corporate soldiers? Because you practice the right religion?”

Ty stood up. “I told you, it’s nothing personal. I like you, Sister Monica, and I respect what you and the other Rescue Sisters have done, but I’m going to give everything I’ve got to help my team win this contract…and I’m very, very good at what I do.”

He paused, staring down into his tray, knuckles white against the dull grey aluminum.

“And another thing. Nobody came out of the war clean, but I’m proud of the work I did for Auradyne. I’m going to use that experience to save all the people I can.”

He turned on his heel and took his tray to the recycler.

Every eye in the cafeteria was on Monica, but she was oblivious to the gasps and stares. A single word was caroming around inside her skull.

Auradyne.

Dear God, no. He’s one of them.

~*~

The hydroponics garden was silent. Monica could feel the extra touch of humidity in the air, and her nose wrinkled at its chemical tang. Reflectors focused powerful fluorescent lights onto the racks of plants, spilling a dim, eerie glow onto the bulkheads and deck of the huge chamber.

It was comforting, somehow, this affirmation of life, blossoming within a barren chunk of rock, a tiny shout of defiance against the icy darkness of space. Monica always found her way down here when she was troubled and needed to meditate or pray.

Sister Margaret looked up from her desk and waved. Margaret managed the gardens, and she was familiar with Monica’s habit of taking refuge there. “Come on in, Sister. The day shift just finished work, and I’m nearly done myself. You’ll have the whole place to yourself for a couple of hours. Just stay clear of the celery vats. The nutrient feeds are acting up again, and the slightest touch will throw them off-kilter.”

“I’ll be careful. Thank you.”

Margaret smiled as she gathered up her datapad and a stack of books. She touched Monica’s shoulder as she passed. “No nibbling on the produce, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Monica meandered through the narrow paths between the racks, brushing her fingers against the polished aluminum framework, listening to the soft dripping of water from the plastic tubing that carried precisely measured doses of water and nutrients to the roots of the plants. Thousands of tiny droplets, an eternal spring shower without wind or clouds. Perhaps it could extinguish the fire raging within her.

Auradyne. The word reverberated in her mind like a poisonous curse. They did it. They made it happen, and then…

The memory overwhelmed her.

~*~

The war was supposed to be over. There was a ceasefire. Everybody knew about it, but minor players like Auradyne were still scrambling to secure their fragments of space before the borders were redrawn. Two patrols met, argued, and exchanged fire, and Janet’s family blundered into the middle of it with their little cargo ship, careless, thinking all the battles were finished, thinking they were finally safe.

Fifteen minutes left. Fifteen red pixels on the oxygen meter. Fifteen tiny candles, one for each year of her life.

Make a wish, Janet.

She pressed the speed patch covering the rip across her vac suit’s left leg—a long tear, too jagged and deep for the nanofibers to self-repair. Her thigh ached where the suit constricted above the damaged area. She knew the seal wasn’t airtight. The oxygen level was dropping too fast.

Mom had done the best she could, and more. She hung motionless a few feet away, connected to Janet by a silver loop of tubing that linked their air supplies. She’d replaced Janet’s lost air with her own. Now she was unconscious. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Please. Janet’s mind wrestled against her own torpor as the oxygen within her suit dwindled.

But Dad—after the explosion tore through the ship’s cockpit, all that remained was one of his gloves. Janet had watched it for a long time as it drifted amid the wreckage, frozen droplets of blood following in its wake like little lost planets chasing after their sun.

Twelve minutes. Janet couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. Red-and-white strobes flickered in the distance as the Auradyne rescue team gathered their dead and wounded into a shuttle. They’d arrived within minutes, but when Janet’s mother called them on the emergency channel, there was no response, only chatter among the team as they went about their business. She’d called again—twice, three times, appealing to their humanity, invoking the Spacer’s Code, and then…

“Sarge, what about those civilians?”

“We recover Auradyne first, then enemy combatants eligible for exchange. Company doesn’t pay for charity work. Switch to secure frequency.”

And that was all.

Ten minutes. Janet’s vision began to fray at the edges. Her eardrums throbbed, and every breath was a dagger of pain through her chest. I should just end it. Open my helmet, vent the rest into space. Easier that way. Numb hands fumbled with the fasteners at her neck, then stopped when Janet glanced at her mother’s prone form, her face invisible behind the reflectorized visor.

No.

Mom didn’t give up. Neither will I. She’d fight for every last molecule of air. Her chest heaved. Red and white fireflies twinkled at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Damn you, Auradyne. Heartless…bast…

The tunnel closed in.

~*~

Monica crouched in the half-light of the hydroponics garden, her body shaking, tears falling from her chin onto the deckplates. She’d thought herself beyond this. She wasn’t Janet Lapierre anymore, the frightened little girl who woke up in an Interplanetary Union transport—oxygen-starved, half-frozen, but alive—and collapsed in hysterics when they told her she’d lost both her parents.

She was Sister Monica Elizabeth of the Rescue. She’d faced hundreds of death’s horrifying variations, and pulled countless people from its grasp. But now, the old scars were ripped open, straight through to her very heart, leaving her broken and weeping in the dark. Ten years of healing obliterated by a single careless word from an arrogant hypocrite.

Auradyne.

The watering machines dripped on, unmoved by a few dozen more droplets among thousands.

~*~

“The competition will take place next week—Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. The final decision will be delivered and ratified on Friday. There will be three events: Obstacle course, space rescue, and mining facility rescue.”

Monica fiddled with the grapnel pendant hanging from a thin silver chain around her neck as Mr. Robbins’ basso voice droned on and on. It didn’t feel right, having this kind of meeting in the Chapel, but it was the only space big enough to hold all the Sisters and their guests. The icons of the Saints watching the assembly from the walls and the Blessed Virgin’s statue in her niche beside the altar seemed to share her disapproval.

Ty Hansen was sitting up front with his pirate pals. Monica was glad he wasn’t in her line of sight. This was hard enough without having to look at him the whole time.

He doesn’t really care about saving people. He just wants to salve his guilty conscience.

“Both teams will have the balance of the time until then, beginning tomorrow, to practice the obstacle course and mine rescue events using the mock-ups my workers are preparing today in the Ceres training area.”

A hand shot up. “What about the space rescue? How will we prepare for that?”

Monica didn’t have to see the speaker to identify her. Sister Gertrude always had a question, no matter what the topic.

Robbins smirked. “You won’t. Part of this evaluation will assess your ability to cope with unexpected problems, and space rescues always carry an element of the unknown. I expect you already know that, Sister.”

Monica bit her lip. Unexpected problems? Like shelling a civilian ship? Like leaving the victims to suffocate?

She winced as one of the sharp little tines on the pendant dug into her thumb. Sometimes she wished Saint Gillian’s symbol wasn’t shaped so much like a treble fishhook. The cross surmounting the hooks sparkled as it caught a ray of light from above. Gillian’s Grapnel. God’s lifeline, entrusted to our Order.

The thought automatically triggered the prayer: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, joined at the Cross, the hope and the anchor of all who are lost, we trust in you. Almighty God, rescue us. Saint Gillian, Patroness of Spacefarers, pray for us.

Eunice elbowed her in the ribs, shattering Monica’s reverie. “This’ll be a cakewalk,” she whispered. “We invented the zero-gee obstacle course, and those UEC storm troopers have only been working together as a unit for a year or so.”

“We already have a standard obstacle course with two identical, parallel runs. Why build another one?” Sister Gertrude, again.

“Tsk, tsk. Would it be fair to make both teams compete on a course that you ladies use every day? The evaluation team will construct an original pattern of obstacles designed especially for this competition.”

Eunice’s jaw went slack, and Monica groaned. So much for the cakewalk.

Robbins was looking more pleased with himself by the minute. “In the final event, both teams will negotiate the tunnels and chambers of a simulated mine, recover a set of five dummies representing injured miners, and return them to the surface.”

Mother Superior raised her hand this time. “Who will judge the competition? You need someone to adjudicate the rules and certify the results.”

“Quite true. There will be three judges. I will represent the Mining Consortium, Mr. Jerzy Sobrinski will represent the Miners’ Guild, and Ms. Sora Misakawa of the Spaceways Safety Commission will be our third judge. She is traveling with Mr. Sobrinski, and they will arrive next Monday.”

“I question your objectivity, Mr. Robbins. The Consortium exists to maximize profit for its member companies. Your priorities are best served if the lowest bidder wins.”

“You wound me, madam. The best interests of the Mining Consortium associates and their employees are my first priority. Both my counterparts participated in the design of this competition. I assure you it will be an accurate measure of each team’s capabilities, and it will, above all, be fair.”

~*~

“It’s not fair!”

Monica disentangled herself from the obstacle course lattice and bounded back to the start point. “I’ve completely lost my rhythm.”

“Well, you need to figure out what’s wrong, and fast. These times aren’t close to good enough.”

“What do you mean?” Monica watched the UEC team pinballing through an identical lattice on the other side of the training area. “From here, they look like rank amateurs. They’re bouncing around like rubber balls inside their course. I wouldn’t want to have their bruises in the morning.”

“That’s not inexperience, Monica, it’s technique. I’ve been clocking them, and they’re all within a few seconds of our best times. We’re taught to avoid anything but hand or foot contact with the lattice. They’re intentionally hitting it to change direction.”

“Vac suits won’t take that kind of abuse for long.”

“Theirs will. They’re armored at all the contact points—shoulder, elbow, hip, and knee.”

Monica sighed. “So, they can brute-force their way through the course without perfect timing and body position. Typical.”

“It doesn’t matter. You still have to figure out how to do it your way. Everybody else is muddling through, but right now, you’re the slowest. With Sister Claudia on sabbatical, you’re supposed to be our fastest. At this rate, you won’t even qualify to compete.”

“I’ve tried everything, Eunice. The Magnificat doesn’t work anymore, and neither do the Hail Mary, the Our Father, the Glory Be, or about ten other prayers. Do you have any ideas?”

Eunice thought for a moment. “What about the Beatitudes? They’re not a prayer, so it’s a different rhythm.”

“At this point, I’ll try anything. Give me a countdown.”

“Okay. Starting in three, two, one, go!”

Monica jumped up to grab the first handhold and swung into the obstacle course.

Twist. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

Push. “Blessed are they that mourn, for they will be comforted.”

Glide. “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”

“Eunice! It’s working!”

“Wonderful. Don’t talk to me. Focus on your rhythm.”

Kick and turn. “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they will be filled.”

Monica’s frustration melted away as she darted through the course, each movement in perfect synchronization, the meter of the scripture lifting her like a gentle breeze beneath invisible wings.

She flipped over the final obstacle and stuck a perfect two-point landing, barely stirring the dust beneath her feet.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Eunice hooted. “Fastest time today, ours or theirs!”

“Thanks, but you’re the one who deserves the credit.”

“Aw, you would have figured it out eventually.”

Monica skipped back to the start line. Everything felt right again. Nobody could beat her now.

~*~

“I hate dummies.”

“Oh, buck up, Eunice. If we were doing this in Earth-normal gravity, these things would weigh 120 kilos.”

“It’s not the weight, it’s the balance. The arms and legs flop around too much, and it’s taking everything I’ve got to keep from tumbling head-over-heels.”

“I wish the practice course was three-dimensional. Lugging these things through a flat maze won’t be the same as negotiating tunnels.”

“I don’t know why they’re making this part of the test. It’s been over three years since anybody’s had to do a mine rescue. Thank God for robots.”

“It’s still part of our job description. I think Robbins was looking for tasks where we might not be up-to-speed, or that might give the mercs some advantage.”

Eunice giggled. “So you think they’ve got more experience working with dummies?”

“No, but raw strength might give them an edge. Even at point-oh-three gee, wrestling these things uses up a lot of energy.”

“Tell me about it.”

Three days left until the competition. Their practice times on the obstacle course and the dummy maze had qualified both Monica and Eunice in the top five among the Sisters, so they would be running in both events. Monica had grumbled a bit when Sister Euodia announced the Gyrfalcons would handle the space rescue, but it made sense to leave that in the hands of their elite demonstration team. Earning a spot on the Gyrs was one of Monica’s cherished goals as a Rescue Sister, but she didn’t have enough seniority yet, even though she could match most of them on skills.

She tossed her dummy onto the pile at the course exit and paused to catch her breath. Across the field, she spotted Ty Hansen hoisting a dummy across his shoulders and starting another run through the practice course. He was easy to pick out from his black-clad fellows by the golden sunburst on his helmet.

The Auradyne logo. It was bad enough he was here at all, after what he’d done. Now he was rubbing it in her face.

“Monica?”

He was proud of it. He’d said as much already. All those other mercenaries he’d saved during the war. What did a few stray civilian casualties matter? They had nice, sanitized names for it—collateral damage, acceptable losses, friendly fire…

“Monica?”

He probably keeps score. Stencils little stick figures on his shuttle.

“Monica!”

“What?”

“Are you all right? You were just standing there, staring.”

“I’m fine. Let’s take another run.”

“But I’m exhausted. We’ve finished the practice Sister Euodia assigned us. Don’t you think we ought to take a break now?”

“One more run. If they’re not stopping, I won’t either.”

~*~

As the Sisters filed out of the chapel following afternoon prayers, Monica gnawed her lip, contemplating ways to shave a few more seconds off her obstacle course times. It had occurred to her about halfway through the Angelus that if she adjusted her hold on the dummy, she could pull the arms in closer and tighten her turns.

Something plucked at her elbow. “Sister, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Mmm…what?” She shook herself out of her daze, eyes widening as she identified the speaker. “Oh…Mother. Of course.”

Mother Superior guided Monica to a nearby alcove. The other Sisters continued on their way, a few stealing a glance in her direction, but none daring more than that. Speculations would begin when they were safely out of Mother’s earshot.

Monica looked up at her, feeling very small. She was so tall, and it didn’t help that Monica was shorter than average. “Is something wrong?”

Her eyes were kind, and her soft Australian brogue was almost musical. “Nothing serious. We’ve all been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to talk with you.”

Monica stiffened. Mother Superior never just “talked” with anyone.

“This competition has been inconvenient for all of us, but you’ve seemed particularly off-balance these past few days.”

Relief brought a smile to Monica’s face. Mother must have been watching the practice sessions. “Oh, that’s fixed now. The new obstacle course was giving me fits, but once I started using the Beatitudes to pace myself, everything came together.”

“I wasn’t talking about the obstacle course. Our visitors make you feel uncomfortable.”

Monica’s stomach lurched. “The visitors. Right. It’s just…strange…having people here from outside our community. I’ll adjust.”

“Given your family history, I imagine it doesn’t help that they’re former corporate soldiers.”

“That was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.”

“Have you forgiven them? The men who left you and your mother to die?”

“I…yes, of course.”

“Have you forgiven them lately?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Monica, you won’t have peace until you forgive those people, completely and unconditionally. I think it would also be helpful to remember that prayer is more than a tool to perfect your timing.”

“I understand the purpose of prayer, Mother.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“It’s a divine requirement. We worship God in spirit and in truth. We render Him the perfect homage He is due.” She winced, and her eyes darted sideways. It was a school answer, straight from the Catechism, and she knew that wasn’t where Mother was aiming.

“It isn’t enough to simply be obedient. You have to allow God to change you as you pray. Prayer is communion with the Holy Trinity. It’s where God conforms us to His image.”

“But why should I change? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did these men. They’re rescuers, like us.”

“They’re not like us. They’re mercenaries. They killed people…for money.”

“They were soldiers following orders. Now, they’ve returned to the Belt to save lives. Why begrudge them a chance to balance the scales?” Mother Superior laid a hand on Monica’s shoulder. “If you continue to hold them responsible for what happened to your family, Monica, it will poison your soul.”

She wanted to reply, to argue, to deny all of it, but the retort died on her lips. All she could do was nod, eyes downcast.

“I want you to stay off the practice course tomorrow. Spend the day in prayer.”

“It’s the last day before the competition! Everyone is depending on me to be ready.”

“Exactly. I want you to be spiritually ready, not just physically ready.”

“I forgave them, Mother. How many times must I go back and do it again before it’s enough?”

“Saint Peter asked our Lord the same question. His answer was, ‘Seventy times seven.’”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

~*~

She didn’t get past seven. The words of forgiveness stuck in her throat, and her heart wasn’t feeling what her mouth was saying. She changed position—standing, kneeling, bowing, genuflecting, prostrate—nothing helped. Even a trip to the hydroponics garden couldn’t quiet her mind and inspire her prayers. In despair, she made her way to the observation gallery overlooking the practice field and watched the other Sisters spin through the obstacle course, her hands pressed against the thick plexiglass window.

Minutes passed. Monica found herself murmuring the Beatitudes in time with their movement.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

“Blessed are they that mourn, for they will be comforted.”

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”

“Blessed are the…blessed are the merciful, for they shall…they shall obtain mercy.”

How can I be merciful? They weren’t.

“Blessed are the…pure…the pure in heart, for they…they shall see God.”

Maybe it’s too late. Maybe my heart’s already poisoned.

“Blessed are the peacemakers.”

I can’t. God help me, I just…can’t.

~*~

Floodlights illuminated the training field in a harsh, unforgiving light and cast inky shadows onto Ceres’ grimy gray surface. Monica squinted upward and cycled an extra filter into her visor, dimming the blinding light to a tolerable level. It wouldn’t do to lose her vision in the middle of a complex maneuver.

This felt wrong. There should be a stadium surrounding the field, filled with a cheering crowd. Instead, there were two queues of ten competitors each, plus a few officials to monitor the race, and it was as silent as deep space. Over her shoulder, Monica could see the observation gallery was in use, but not much more than that. She knew it must be packed with Sisters, and those who couldn’t squeeze in were watching via monitors set up in the cafeteria.

Her breath rasped softly inside her helmet. Eunice slapped her on the shoulder and gave her a thumbs-up. Monica returned the gesture with a grin. She would have given anything for a word of encouragement from her friend, but the rules enforced radio silence during the competition, except for directions from the judges and timing updates from each team’s manager—Euodia would be handling that task for the Sisters.

Monica had the fastest time in qualification, so she was running the anchor leg, last of all. She glanced across the field at the UEC team and spotted Ty Hansen’s sunburst decal, also in the anchor position.

Wonderful. Just…wonderful. She tried to focus on the task at hand, mentally walking through the obstacle course one last time, seeing all the turns, feeling the rhythm, synchronizing her breathing. I’ll probably have a big lead going into my leg. I won’t have to go head-to-head with him. And even if I do…

An official’s voice rang out over the command channel. “Competitors to the starting line. Remember, each team member must cross the finish line before the next team member may enter the course. Violation will disqualify the entire team. First team to complete the course with all members across the finish line wins this event. Are there any questions?”

Monica saw Sister Gertrude begin to raise her hand, but the next person in line whacked the back of her helmet, and she took the hint before anybody noticed.

“Leadoff runners take your marks…set…” A warbling tone sent the first pair vaulting into the course. Sister Theodora was lithe and strong, a skilled gymnast in her college days, and nearly as fast as Monica. As she steadily pulled ahead of her opponent, the tightness in Monica’s chest eased. They were going to win this. Theodora finished cleanly, and Sister Theresa leaped into action. “Plus five seconds,” Euodia announced.

The race grew tighter at the midway point, the mercenaries drawing almost even with the Sisters, but strong performances from Rhoda and Eunice recovered the lost ground, and more. Soon it was Monica’s turn. Sister Mary Thomas touched down, and Monica sprang upward at Euodia’s signal: “Go! Plus ten seconds, Monica.”

Ten seconds head start. On the obstacle course, that was an eternity. Monica smiled and settled into her rhythm.

Blessed are the poor in spirit…

She couldn’t wait to see the look on Ty Hansen’s face when he found her waiting for him at the finish line.

Blessed are they that mourn…

Soon, he’d be gone forever, and she could put her life back in order.

Blessed are the meek…

Now she’d show him who was full of pride and who was blowing smoke.

There was a flash of gold in the corner of her eye. It was impossible. He couldn’t have caught up with her, not when she had a ten-second lead. She turned her head slightly for a quick look, just to be sure.

Blessed are the merciful…

Monica’s head snapped back as her helmet struck one of the bars. Her arms and legs flailed, seeking a place to grab or push, finding nothing. After what seemed like forever, her left foot found a solid surface, and she shoved herself forward, following up quickly with a handhold that restored her equilibrium and put her back on track.

Her rhythm was gone. Where was Hansen? Had he passed her? It took all of Monica’s self-discipline to keep her eyes focused on the course. She didn’t dare repeat that mistake. The only way to recover was to stay in motion and finish. It was all brute force and experience now. She attacked the course like a wrestler, not a dancer. Sweat stung her eyes and her breath came in ragged gasps. One more turn to go. She seized the final bar, whipped around it, and flung her body at the finish line, landing awkwardly on knees and elbows in a cloud of dust.

The official’s voice broke the silence. “The winner is Our Lady of the Rescue. Margin, one point five six seconds.”

Monica staggered to her feet, lost her balance, and dropped into a sitting position. She’d blown a ten-second lead. She’d hit a bar. Only novices ran into the bars. The other Sisters were bounding toward her. A hand reached down and pulled her upright.

Black vac suit, golden sunburst on the helmet. Hansen. Setting her back onto her feet like she was a toddler, just when she thought this day couldn’t get any worse.

~*~

Monica worked a dust mop along the main corridor connecting the cafeteria and chapel, pushing it in short, harsh strokes. It would have been easier to slide it across the deckplates and let the static pad collect the tiny motes of asteroid grit, but she was angry. Manhandling the mop was a less obvious vent than kicking chairs or snapping at people.

Everyone had been kind enough. “A win is a win, Monica,” Eunice said, “whether it’s by one second or twenty.”

But it didn’t feel like a win, and the mopping felt more like a punishment than her regularly-scheduled duty, taken in turn with the other Sisters, competition or no competition. She kept her head down, scuffing the mop harder and harder, until she jolted against a barrier and looked up. She’d reached the end of the corridor without realizing it. She sighed and reversed course.

The sisters were beginning to filter into the cafeteria in twos and threes to watch the space rescue event via satellite relay from the referees’ shuttle. Monica checked her chrono—two minutes until start time. She pushed the mop ahead of her at a brisk trot, weaving around Sisters as she went, until she reached the other end of the corridor, She propped the mop in a corner and joined the now much-larger stream of Sisters filing into the cafeteria.

Too late. It looked like all the chairs and benches were filled. She pushed through the crowd, looking for a vacant bulkhead she could lean against.

“Monica! Hey! Over here!” Eunice beckoned to her from the far corner of the room, pointing at a vacant chair beside her she’d saved. “You almost missed the rendezvous, slowpoke,” she said as Monica plopped into the chair. “I wonder what nasty trick Mister Robbins has up his sleeve?”

“Dunno. Whatever it is, he seemed awfully proud about not telling us.”

The monitors flickered to life, revealing a rectangular arrangement of four white marker beacons, flashing at two-second intervals. Three small ships were visible within the cordon. Two were wrecked transports, rotating like twin pinwheels, and the third was a sleek white shuttle, its fuselage adorned with orange curls of flame.

There were several loud gasps, then everyone started talking at once.

“Spinners. This’ll be interesting.”

“I see the UEC ship, but where are the Gyrs?”

“Did they have an engine failure?”

“No way. Respite checked out with a clean preflight this morning. I saw the report.”

“Look, the other team is already out on MMVs!”

Monica’s fingers dug into her thighs. “They’ve been bragging for days that their ships are faster than ours.”

“How much faster could they be?” Eunice stabbed a finger toward the monitor. “Wait, there’s Respite! They’re not so far behind they can’t catch up.”

“Maybe. They have to stabilize the wreck first, then do whatever Robbins directed.”

There was a beep and hiss, then a radio transmission: “Mission Control, this is OLR Shuttle Respite on station at rendezvous coordinates, mishap vehicle in sight. Request clearance to commence rescue operations.”

Monica smiled. It was Sister Joan, steady as a rock. Eunice was right—the Gyrs would run the operation like clockwork, as always, and they’d make up the lost time. By tomorrow, this whole competition, and Monica’s stumble, would be a fading nightmare, and the Sisters could get back to saving lives.

“Copy, Respite. Hold position. You are cleared to proceed with rescue ops. Stabilize mishap vehicle and recover survivors.”

“Roger.”

Eunice flopped back in her chair. “That’s it? Stabilize and extract? Why all the mystery?”

“Robbins probably figured stopping a spinner would be challenging enough. I bet you could pour everything he knows about rescue into a teaspoon and have room left over.”

Two vac-suited figures emerged from Respite, fitted with manned maneuvering vehicles. They moved toward the wreck with short bursts of their MMV thrusters, then began the tricky process of matching its rotation so they could mount a pair of stabilizers on the hull. Sister Joan would activate the stabilizers by remote control and modulate their thrust to stop the rotation.

“What are the mercs doing over there?”

Monica turned her attention to the other team. There was a brief flash of light as two of them launched something at their wreck. The camera zoomed in on a spidery device that latched onto the damaged ship, then crawled a few meters along it before coming to a halt.

“What’s that?”

“Impulse limpet. It has an onboard AI to optimize the thrust vector.”

It was a man’s voice. The room went silent, and all eyes turned to where Ty Hansen was leaning against the cafeteria hatchway. “A couple of guys on our team designed and built these prototypes last year. This is the first time we’ve used them in a real rescue. Well, almost real.”

Several Sisters jumped up and began pummeling him with technical questions about the device. Hansen grinned his infuriating grin and answered them patiently, one by one.

Monica seethed. “They look like fangirls at a rock concert. It’s disgusting.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Eunice. “We could use a few of those limpet things. See? They’ve almost stopped their spinner, and Sister Joan’s only beginning to decelerate ours.”

“Are you cheering for the UEC now, Eunice?”

“No, I just think we should do everything we can to make our rescue operations better. If they have a good idea, we should use it too, so we can all save more lives. Everybody wins.”

“Don’t get too excited. If they win, we’re out of our job, and our home.”

“Oh…right.”

Someone called out from across the room. “Hey, look! It’s spinning again!”

The UEC team’s wreck was indeed rotating, at an accelerated rate, in the opposite direction.

Ty groaned. “I told them this would happen. The software’s still a work in progress, but Reverend Sims likes to push the envelope on technology. They’ll have to reset the system and start over.”

Monica’s hope returned. As the mercenaries struggled with their gadgets, the Gyrfalcons brought the other wreck to a stop and began deploying their recovery modules. The inflatable aluminized spheres looked like a string of little silver pearls connecting the two ships.

“Control, this is Gyr 2…Passenger compartment secured. Five survivors on board.”

“Gyr 2, Control. Transfer survivors to recovery modules and rig for extraction.”

“Roger.”

They began loading the simulated casualties into the modules. The UEC team had their wreck stabilized now and were deploying a long tube that mated to a hatch on the wreck. Monica leaned forward, sitting on the edge of her chair. This was going to be close.

The room was quiet now. Even Ty Hansen’s eyes were glued to the screen as the Gyrs finished loading their survivors and began reeling in the recovery modules. Meanwhile, the mercs were starting to move people through their tube. It looked like the Sisters were going to finish first, but then the silver pearls began drifting out of alignment.

“Control, Gyr 4…we’ve got a winch malfunction. Gearbox is jammed.”

“Can you clear it?”

“Working…it won’t budge. Motor’s overheating. Maybe if I pulse it back and forth…”

“Negative. Lock the cable, then go outside and help Gyr 2 and 3 pull it in by hand.”

“That’ll be slow. If I can fix the winch…”

“We can’t leave survivors floating outside while we troubleshoot. Do your best.”

“Roger.”

No, no, no! Monica tugged at her hair. All she could do was watch helplessly as the UEC team finished their recovery and departed the competitive zone while the Gyrs dragged in their string of modules.

~*~

She sat there for a long time, alone, staring at the blank screen. They did everything right. It’s not fair. None of the Sisters deserved what was happening to them. Where was God in all this? What possible purpose could there be in destroying everything they’d worked so hard to build? Monica levered herself upright and palmed off the cafeteria lights on her way out.

Ty Hansen was waiting for her in the corridor.

She considered walking past without acknowledging him, but that felt too much like admitting defeat. “I thought you were supposed to be the star of your team,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I pulled a muscle during our race yesterday. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Good enough to beat you…again.”

“Subtracting your head start, I finished ahead of you by about nine seconds. Nice recovery, though.”

Monica could feel the rage boiling inside her. Her hands knotted into fists. She tried to push back against the emotions, take a deep breath, and walk away, but her mind and body wouldn’t respond. She barely managed to keep her voice steady as the words began to bubble up from the pit of her stomach with a will of their own. “Get out of my face, Hansen. I’m tired of you, your crew of mercenaries, and your smug attitude. I want you gone. I want this ridiculous competition over so I can get back to my real work.”

He held up his hands and stepped back. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve got against us, but we’re all trying to accomplish the same thing. Why can’t we keep this friendly?”

It was the last straw—this clumsy appeasement, this naked insincerity, the utter fraud of it.  She rushed at him, shoving him in the chest with both hands, sending him sprawling against the corridor wall. “There’s no us, Hansen! It’s you. You and Auradyne…those gangsters who slagged my family’s cargo ship ten years ago and left us to die! Your thugs killed my father and mother, and you want to be friends? No. Never. Never!”

She stumbled away, blinded by tears, running on pure muscle memory toward the Level 3 access ladder, to the cooling safety of the gardens. Hansen’s voice drifted behind her in fading pursuit: “Sister Monica! Wait! Come back!”

~*~

Monica spent the night in the hydroponics garden, her head pillowed on a bag of potting soil, in the dark corner reserved for the mushroom crop. Her chrono woke her at 0500, and she made her way back to her quarters, using less-traveled corridors, then showered and changed for morning prayers.

If anyone knew about her altercation with Ty Hansen or had noticed her missing the past night, they gave no sign. The other Sisters greeted her with comforting normalcy. It was as if nothing had happened.

But it did happen. Her stomach burned, her legs and back ached, and she’d let it out in the open, the obsession that had silently consumed her soul, the monster she’d thought was bound and hidden away. Even if Hansen didn’t file a complaint, some of the other Sisters had surely overheard. Mother Superior would pull her from the final competition, the one that would decide her fate and that of her Sisters.

Monica went through the motions of prayers and breakfast, then plodded into the mine rescue briefing, wondering when she’d be called out and publicly humiliated.

Everyone was there—Mother Superior, Ty Hansen’s team, and the other Sisters in the competition. No one raised a hand, no one voiced an objection. Nobody even looked at her, aside from the occasional smile and nod when she carelessly caught someone’s eye.

Derrick Robbins was standing at the front of the room again, inspecting the floor and ceiling, talking about the mine rescue. He droned on and on, then he said something that cut through the fog and shook Monica out of her daze.

“We will use the Orpheus Dig as our simulated mine.”

The Orpheus Dig was less than a kilometer from Ceres Base. It was the first prospect mine in the Belt, and the most spectacular failure. Ceres Base was the original control center and living quarters for the miners, who spent eight years learning the hard way that there was nothing in Ceres worth digging out. They abandoned the mine, leaving a maze of tunnels littered with discarded equipment and industrial junk.

It was off-limits to the Sisters, but Monica knew it like the back of her hand. Other than the hydroponic gardens, it was her favorite place on Ceres. In her first months with the Sisters, when she was still an alternate on her assigned rescue team, she’d often allayed the boredom by sneaking away for an hour or two to explore the Dig, marveling at all the strange and wonderful things the miners had left behind.

Robbins was tracing the ingress and egress routes on a holographic map. The path was circuitous, but it was the widest and most obvious way in and out. He had cameras set up to monitor key intersections, but…

Monica leaned forward in her chair and smiled. The Sisters weren’t going to lose this event, no matter what happened.

~*~

The entrance to the Orpheus Dig yawned inky black, the ragged maw of an immense stone giant trapped in a low ridgeline that zigzagged from horizon to horizon. Monica bounced up and down impatiently, waiting for Eunice to emerge from the mine. The lead had swapped back and forth between the two teams, but the Sisters were holding their own.

What’s taking so long? Come on, Eunice. Keep it close. That’s all I need.

There was motion at the edge of the pit—a black vac suit with a canvas dummy hoisted over its shoulders. The UEC merc staggered as he emerged from the mine entrance, then recovered his footing and crossed the finish line in three smooth bounces.

Eunice was nowhere in sight. Had she taken a wrong turn and gotten lost?

She looked at the UEC players. Ty Hansen was still there, watching his teammate intently. They couldn’t be talking—radio silence was still the rule—but their hands were moving in a complex series of gestures.

Military sign language. They’d found another way to gain an unfair edge. Hansen’s helmet swiveled toward Monica for a moment, then he bounded away, toward the mine.

As he entered, Eunice emerged, looking even more unbalanced than her UEC rival. As she crossed the line and flung her dummy to the ground, she waved frantically at Monica and pushed downward with both hands, as if she was cramming something into an overstuffed suitcase.

Monica didn’t wait to puzzle out what Eunice was trying to tell her. There was no time. She could still beat Hansen if she moved fast enough. She covered the intervening space in two giant leaps and plunged into the darkness.

~*~

The tunnels hadn’t changed since Monica had last been inside. Her helmet light revealed a broad thoroughfare, wide enough for tracked crawlers, strewn with debris. On the right side, a giant rock auger was tipped over, its toothy drill bit poised in the air like an ugly metal flower sprouting from the tunnel floor.

She couldn’t bounce in here. She had to settle for a modified shuffle that still set her gliding through the passageway at a good pace. She turned left at the first intersection, dodging a broken metal crate as she changed direction, and noted the camera mounted in the ceiling.

So far, so good. Time to change the game.

Once she was clear of the camera’s field of view, she darted into a smaller connecting tunnel that offered a more direct route to her destination. It rejoined the main tunnel a dozen meters prior to the next camera checkpoint, so there was no way for the judges to know she’d taken a detour. There was more trash on the floor here, so she had to watch her step. Scattered tools, gas cylinders, tunnel braces, and, oddly, a brown teddy bear with one eye missing.

She emerged into the larger tunnel, turned a corner, and waved at the camera as she passed. Two more turns, then she repeated her previous maneuver with another side passage. She figured she’d gained about 200 meters on Hansen by now.

Another camera, another detour. This would be the last one. She’d re-enter the main tunnel just a few strides from the central chamber, where the dummies were waiting. Hansen wouldn’t be far ahead, and he didn’t stand a chance of beating her back to the surface. Even if he accused her of cheating, there would be no evidence. On the video playback, there she’d be, smiling and waving all the way.

She left the final side passage, skipping around a twisted steel bar snaking out from the side of the tunnel, and zigzagged into the chamber. If she was lucky, there would be two dummies inside.

One, two—she was in the lead!

Monica froze. There was another figure in the chamber. Ty Hansen.

Just standing there, like he was waiting for her.

Monica didn’t care. She grabbed one of the dummies, slung it across her shoulders, and turned toward the exit.

Hansen grabbed her arm. She pulled away. He seized her arm again, pointing at the floor of the tunnel. There was nothing there. What was he up to? She shoved him roughly to one side and shuffled back into the main tunnel. She cleared the first camera and hesitated for an instant at the side passage she’d used earlier. She was ahead. She could stay on the mapped route now, and even Hansen wouldn’t have reason to question her integrity.

No. Nothing left to chance this time. She pivoted and took the narrower tunnel. Three steps in, something crashed down on her like the hand of God, slamming her to the ground. Pain lanced through her right leg.

Gravity? A full gee, out here, a kilometer from Ceres Base?

This was the twist. Robbins had installed a grav unit in the mine and was turning it off and on based on some criterion known only to him. That was what Eunice, and the UEC merc, and Hansen had been trying to communicate.

Her ears were ringing. Monica struggled under the weight of the dummy, puffing with the effort, then shrieking in agony as her right leg failed to support her. She rolled the dummy off her and bent forward to shine her helmet light onto the injury. The white vac suit was stained with blood, and something projected up through the material. Metal, black and jagged. She could see thin threads whipping in a frenzy around the foreign object, the suit’s nanofibers trying desperately to seal the tear. They were already cinched up painfully on her leg a few inches above it.

It wasn’t her ears ringing. It was her suit’s alarm signaling low oxygen reserves. She checked the meter.

Three pixels.

Monica fumbled for the can of Sticky at her waist. If she could get the fast-set polymer into the rip, maybe she could drag herself within view of a camera. Hansen was out there somewhere, but he was probably halfway to the surface by now, even if he wanted to help.

Where was it? Her fingers weren’t working right. She keyed her mic to the emergency channel, and got an error tone in response.

Her lungs hurt. Her vision was graying at the edges, tunneling in.

Mom’s not here to save me this time. Clean out of wishes. My own fault.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, expanding steadily into a blinding brilliance. Monica reached out to it.

I’ve been so stupid. So selfish.

God, forgive me.

Forgive them.

The light enveloped her, all-consuming, deeper and more profound than any darkness.

~*~

Beep…beep…beep.

It’s so annoying.

Beep…beep…beep.

I’m dead. Why can’t they let me rest in peace?

The beeping continued, relentlessly.

A voice drifted through the darkness. “She’s coming around. Sister? Sister Monica? Can you hear me?”

“Yes. Turn off that stupid beeping so I can die with dignity.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to be with us a while longer, Sister. Try to open your eyes.”

It felt like lead weights were hanging from her eyelashes. Monica grimaced, strained, and her eyes opened. There were lights and a face floating above her.

The face came into focus. It was the flight surgeon. Monica squinted up at her. “Oh, Sister Miriam. Hello. Are you dead too?”

Sister Miriam shook her head curtly and adjusted something beside the bed. The beeping stopped. “You’re in the infirmary. A piece of metal was embedded in your leg, and you were oxygen-starved. You’ll need some time to mend, but there’s no permanent damage.”

Monica’s brain began to organize itself. Memories coalesced. “I was in the Orpheus Dig. Gravity…somebody turned on a grav unit. I fell. My suit tore.”

“You’re lucky Mister Hansen wasn’t far behind you. He sealed the tear, shared his oxygen, and carried you back to the surface.”

“Shared his oxygen?”

“He used his backup supply connector to link your suits together. Said it was something he learned in the war, from a cargo pilot. She saved somebody’s life with it.”

Monica’s world tilted, but not from her physical disorientation. It was impossible, and yet…

“Where is he? I have to speak to him. Now.”

“He’s right here, Sister. He hasn’t left your side since he brought you out. Go ahead and have your chat. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Monica lifted her head, fighting off a wave of nausea as she tried to focus on the person standing at the foot of her bed. Brown hair, brush cut, crooked nose, idiot grin. He was still wearing his vac suit.

“Ty?”

“I couldn’t leave without knowing for sure you were all right.” He sighed. “Not again.”

Monica nodded. “You didn’t just work for Auradyne. You were there when my ship was blown apart. You were part of the rescue team.”

The smile faded. “My sergeant wouldn’t let us render aid outside the limits of our contract. I knew he was wrong, but I was scared to cross him. The whole time it kept eating at me, the two of you out there in the dark, calling for help that we wouldn’t give, and I knew I had to do something.”

“I remember,” Monica said. “I heard you ask your sergeant about us.”

“As we were packing up to leave, I broke ranks, grabbed a spare sled, and drove it out to you. Your mother was dead, and you were running on vapors. I snapped an emergency oxygen cylinder into your suit and sent out a distress call, hoping the Interplanetary Union already had a team enroute to adjudicate the fight. I caught hell from Sarge when I came back, and he reported me to management. I’m still not sure why he didn’t just shoot me for desertion. Auradyne withheld the balance of my pay and separated me without benefits. It was rough going back dirtside with no job and no money, and on top of everything else, I was convinced I didn’t get to you in time. I thought I’d killed both of you.”

He gripped the bed rail, head bowed. “That’s what crashed me. I thought I didn’t deserve to live.”

“No. “Monica struggled to sit upright. “You did what you could. My mother sacrificed herself to keep me alive, and you finished the job. Now you’ve saved me again.” She looked away. “I’m the one who needs to ask forgiveness. I hated you all these years—you and everybody else who’s ever worked for Auradyne.”

“I don’t blame you. Is it part of your vows that you have to be perfect?”

“I’m supposed to try.”

“So, I froze up, and you held a grudge. I’d say we’re about equally imperfect.”

“You didn’t try to cheat and almost get both of us killed.”

Monica was suddenly aware that she felt cold. She tugged at her blanket, and Ty moved around the bed to help her. “Derrick Robbins was the real cheater,” he said. “He had no business putting a grav unit in that old mine to begin with, but he only turned it on when it looked like my team might lose. People are saying he has some business connections with a couple of administrators at UEC headquarters. He might have gotten a kickback if we won.”

“That would explain why he seemed so happy about this whole situation.”

“Reverend Sims is fit to be tied. He wanted to win this fair and square. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. The other two judges have voided the competition.”

“We’re back to square one, then. I guess you’ll have another shot at beating me on the obstacle course.”

“I don’t think so. Take a look at this.” Ty swiveled a monitor over Monica’s bed. It was carrying the live cam from the observation gallery. The sky over Ceres Base was sprinkled with brilliant fireflies, flashing white, green, and red.

Spaceships. Dozens of them.

“I don’t understand.” Monica stared at the glittering lights, mesmerized. “What does it mean?”

“The miners and spacers found out about Robbins’ little game. They called a general strike, and everybody within a day’s push flew here to let him and everyone else know they wouldn’t accept anybody but the Sisters running their rescues. Your Mother Superior was right—flashy gadgets and a low-ball bid are no substitute for trust. You ladies have built something out here we can’t begin to touch.”

“What will you do now?”

“Reverend Sims thinks we need to learn more about current operations in the Belt and build up a little of that trust ourselves. He’s dispersing the team. We’ll go in twos and threes to live and train with the locals for a few years.” Ty shrugged his shoulders. “Auradyne has a tungsten mine on Eris with a couple of openings for emergency med techs. Maybe I can mend some fences with them in the process.”

“If anybody can do it, you can.”

“It’ll help knowing I’m not alone out here.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve made our peace with each other. Remember the Sermon on the Mount? ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.’ That makes us siblings. The way I figure it, I have a sister at Ceres Base now.”

Monica couldn’t look at him. She focused her attention on the fireflies drifting over Ceres Base and tried to keep her voice steady. “Send me a message once in a while. Let me know how you’re doing. Pray for me.”

“I will. You too.”

“Count on it.”

“I have to go now. My ship’s waiting. I’m glad I found you again, Sister Monica Elizabeth.”

“That’s a mouthful. Monica’s enough. Take care of yourself, Ty.”

He grinned. It lit up his whole face. “Bye, Sis.”

As he left the room, Eunice came bustling in, and they collided in the doorway.

“Watch where you’re going, you big lug!”

“I didn’t see you. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you are!” Eunice turned her attention to Monica. “I heard you were awake. What was he doing here? Come to survey his handiwork? I ought to give him a piece of my mind.”

“It’s okay, Eunice. And take it easy on him. He’s my brother.” The word felt strange rolling off her lips. “My brother,” she murmured. She’d have to practice that.

“What are you talking about? Do they have you on painkillers? How long did you go without oxygen?” Eunice brushed Monica’s cheek. “You’re crying! What did he say to you?” She bolted for the door. “Hey! You! Ty Hansen! Yeah, I’m talking to you, buddy! You’ve got some explaining to do. Get back here!”

Monica sank back into her pillow and laughed for the first time in a very long time, tears streaming from her eyes.

Her body was grounded, for the moment, but her heart was soaring.

© 2011 Fred Warren
Original fiction debuting at Residential Aliens.

Author’s Note: This story is set in the Rescue Sisters Universe created by Robert and Karina Fabian in their anthologies, Infinite Space, Infinite God and Leaps of Faith, and inhabits this universe with their permission. The stories in the anthologies are about a future order of Catholic nuns who provide search and rescue services to space workers and travelers throughout our solar system’s asteroid belt. Beyond that foundational setting, the characters and story are my own.

Karina and Rob Fabian came up with the universe of the Rescue Sisters while on a date as a fun alternative to talking about work or kids. Their first story, Code 7, led to several others, plus three anthologies — Leaps of Faith, and Infinite Space, Infinite God I and II. Karina is an award-wining writer and Rob a Colonel in the USAF.  Find more at Fabianspace.

Editor’s Note: You can read another Rescue Sisters story by Fred Warren here at ResAliens: “Of All Things, Seen and Unseen.”

Tags: Fred Warren, novelet, Rescue Sisters, science fiction

This entry was posted on Monday, August 1st, 2011 at 4:00 AM and is filed under Vol 5 - No 5. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.