Doctor Who_ Beyond the Sun - Matthew Jones [92]
‘What are you doing?’ Bernice said, anxiously. The figurine began to feel heavy above her head.
The speakers which had been relaying Emile and Tameka’s argument were suddenly full of the whistling screech of depressurization.
The argument stopped abruptly. ‘Oh shit,’ a voice swore fearfully over the howl. Bernice glanced up at the screen, unable to tell whether it was Emile or Tameka who had spoken. The two students were hanging on to the lip of the crate. Tameka’s long dark hair was suddenly flying around her head.
Bernice moved forward. ‘Stop it now or I promise you I’ll destroy the artefact,’ Bernice yelled.
She looked up at the screen: the huge, metre-thick doors of the hold shuddered and began to move apart. ‘Oh my God! You’ll kill them!’
Iranda just smiled.
‘Grab my hand,’ Emile shouted. He felt his words sucked out through the thin dark crack in the doors. The hold was suddenly freezing. The air was thin and bit into the walls of his throat when he breathed. The pressure was shocking, pushing him against the side of the crate. It was hard to pull a breath into his lungs.
Tameka had been standing on the other side of the crate when the doors had begun to open.
There was nothing between her and the doors. Nothing to stop her from being drawn out.
‘I can’t hold on,’ she howled fearfully. She was clinging on to the smooth metal lip of the crate by her fingers. Emile could see that she wasn’t going to be able to maintain her grip for long. Her fingers squeaked as they began to slip.
He grabbed hold of her wrists and held on as tightly as he could. The pressure squeezing him against the side of the crate kept him firmly lodged in place.
Tameka screamed as her feet were pulled out from underneath her and she was suddenly floating horizontally in front of him. Her eyes were wide with fear, staring madly at him. She was cursing repeatedly. And then she lost her grip on the crate.
Emile screamed as he took her whole weight. The pressure on his chest increased, he tried to take a breath but couldn’t. His body wasn’t used to this – his grip on Tameka’s wrists began to falter as his fingers began to ache painfully.
‘Emile!’ Tameka screamed. ‘Don’t let go of me!’
Behind her, in the darkened gap between the doors, Emile thought he glimpsed a star.
He lost his purchase on one of her hands. Tameka screamed wordlessly and swung out away from him. He hung on to her remaining arm with both hands. The air in the hold tore around his ears. His fingers were going numb with the cold. He couldn’t breathe.
The pressure which pushed him against the wall of the crate increased until he could feel his ribcage begin to flatten. Slowly his body began to slide up, out of the crate. His hands occupied, Emile tried to brace himself against the metal walls with his legs. No good.
They were going to be sucked into space.
Bernice looked away from the screen and turned to Iranda. ‘Which controls close the hold doors?’
‘Give me the visionary and I will show you.’
‘I’ll destroy it! Just shut the doors now!’
‘Shan’t!’ Iranda said, with obvious relish. ‘Make me.’
Bernice glanced at the screen for a second. The tiny figure of Emile was hanging on to the box with one hand and to Tameka with the other. They looked like a human washing line. The hold doors were almost halfway open. Small boxes and tools hurtled past them, and out through the doors into the darkness. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on for more than a few seconds.
‘OK, OK, you win.’ Bernice dropped the figurine into Iranda’s lap. ‘For Christ’s sake, just get them out of there.’
Iranda lifted the figurine and examined it for a moment, her button nose wrinkling with melodramatic displeasure as she brushed away some imaginary dirt from its crude crystal face.
Bernice glanced at the controls on the arm of the chair. There were many of them and they were complex. There was no way that she would be able to work out which one operated the doors in time. ‘Come on, don’t play games with me, Iranda,