Blue Bloods

Drew's phone vibrated against her hip just as the elevator doors slid open. She checked the screen, but the caller ID read 'blocked'. She stepped in and punched the button for the fourth floor without looking. The doors slid shut, the elevator started to rise with the same lurch she'd felt every time she'd come to the hospital since the rain of fire. Charlie had stuck around just long enough to get the elevators working again, although only the patient elevators ran smoothly.

She didn’t know the number on her screen, but her work phone sat squarely in the middle of a bank of government 'no call list' numbers, so it had to be a drastically wrong number or someone looking for her. She stared at the phone, trying to recall if she'd ever seen the area code or number before. Drew hated dealing with wrong numbers.

The elevator lurched, and she stepped toward the doors without looking, expecting them to slide open with the same recalcitrant yet reliable motion they had since Charlie last fixed them. Instead, before she ever reached them, her foot came down on nothing. For a split second she floated, weightless, as the elevator plunged down its shaft.

The elevator screeched to a halt, cables squealing. Drew landed in a crouch, one hand on the floor for balance, the other still holding her phone. Heart pounding from delayed reaction, she waited to be sure the elevator wouldn't drop again soon. A moment later it started up once more, gravity plucking at her as the car rose. She rose gingerly, half expecting the elevator to drop again at any moment. Without thinking about it she tucked in her shirt, straightened her jacket, and tucked her phone into the pocket sewn into its lining.

The moment she did, it rang again, this time vibrating against her breast.

The hell did I do that? My phone goes in my pants pocket.

She pulled out her phone, glanced at the ID-blocked number, and lifted it to her ear while thumbing the 'connect' button. "Good Afternoon, JJ. Drew here. What'd you need?"

Who the hell is JJ?

"Am I speaking to Detective Drew Williams?"

"Yeah, this is Drew. I gotta ask; who are you, JJ?"

"This is Special Agent Jamil Johnson with the FBI. We need to talk. Do you have some time?"

Goose bumps raced up Drew's arms at the thought of a Special Agent seeking her out. She mentally reviewed her case load before her suspension, but nothing stood out as something the FBI would be interested in. The elevator reached her floor, and the doors slid open with a quiet 'ding'.

"Detective Williams, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm headed to see my doctor right now," a little white lie; Angela wasn't technically her doctor. JJ didn't need to know that. "But I could answer a question or two if they're quick."

"What are you seeing your doctor about?"

Drew stopped dead, held her phone out at arms' length and stared at it. Who did this guy think he was, anyhow? After a moment of thought, she pulled the phone back to her ear with an evil grin. "I'm going to see my gynecologist."

The answering pause from Johnson gratified her. "Oh... kay. No strange symptoms lately, nothing really weird going on?"

Her blood went cold. Somehow this guy knew about the things that happened during the rain of fire. He also wasn't coming right out and saying anything. Suspicion pushed her hand down to her gun. Of course, she wasn't wearing her gun, and he was on the phone, not in front of her. She turned the last corner before the break room the candy stripers had told her Angela was napping in, and a slow smile spread across her face. When all you had was a hammer, pretend things are nails.

"Oh, yeah, my period's gone completely crazy. It's like friggin' Niagara Falls down there. Extra heavy duty just isn't cutting it this time..."

She chuckled to herself at the panic in Johnson's voice. "Okay, I get it. Sorry about that, I just hoped..."

Time to drive the point home. "I'm getting all kinds of funny looks, too, like people can smell it or something. I've been going all out with the deodorant, but there's still a kind of funky smell, y'know? It's like, sort of like a muskrat mixed with..."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing when he interrupted her again. "Yeah, okay, I get it!" Johnson cleared his throat, paused a moment, and continued. "I thought I could kill a few birds with one stone. Detective Williams, the FBI is desperately shorthanded right now and I was looking to local PD to fill in the gaps for us on a few investigations. I'm guessing you're not feeling up to it, though."

That was a completely different matter. Working with the Feds annoyed her to no end, but it would look great on her resume. It might even balance out the whole 'knocked another officer unconscious' thing.

"Special Agent Johnson, I am always up to help out my friends in Washington. Can you email me the details?"

"Some of the details are still classified, and you don't have a secure email account, so I'll need to hand them over in person."

How do you know what email accounts I have? Wait, no. Career. Think of the career boost!

"I understand." The door to the staff lounge shook as something heavy smashed into the other side of it. A cry of agony threaded through the breaking glass and twisting metal. "Oh, hell. Look, go ahead and email me a time and a place you'd like to meet. My schedule is pretty clear. I gotta go."

***

Walker stared at the thick door in front of him. Its illusory solidity mocked him. He reached out and rested one hand on the wheel that would disengage the latches, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't make himself turn it. Time slipped by with nothing to measure it but the sound of his own breath loud in his ears.

Not as loud as it should be. No alloy and glass encased his head. No reinforced fabric covered his body. He wore a basic olive drab tee shirt, a set of urban camouflage pants, and a small pin with the colors of the United States of America's flag. None of it would protect him from the ravages of space. No tank of oxygen adorned his back; those all sat inside, being laboriously refilled using an air compressor and chemicals from emergency rebreathers. Johnson had turned out to have a knack for tinkering, of all things, and even now worked on more gear to keep the skeleton crew alive until rescue arrived.

If it ever arrived.

"Captain Walker, this is Lieutenant Grzba. Do you read?"

The sound didn't come from the speaker on the wall, and he wasn't wearing a radio. It sounded so much like she was speaking directly into his ear, he expected to feel her breath on his neck. But she was in the jury rigged comm center, and he stood in the only functioning airlock.

"Captain Walker, I repeat, do you read?"

"Lieutenant Grzba, this is Captain Walker. I read you loud and clear."

"Is there a problem with the airlock, Captain?" The concern in her voice was very real. More personnel than intact suits survived. If the airlock broke down, someone very well might wind up trapped on the station.

"No problem, Lieutenant. Just..." Unaccustomed fear shot through him at the thought of what he planned to do. He must be insane to even think about it, but here on the ragged edge of survival, the crew needed every edge they could get.

Gzrba whispered into his ear, "John. You don't have to do this."

His face heated, shame pushing aside fear. "Yes, Natalia. I do. Thanks for trying to give me options, but we need to know."

"Captain, this is Johnson. Just thought of something." Johnson's radio protocol went all wrong when he tinkered, but it usually meant he was on the trail of a good idea, so Walker didn't bother him about it.

"Go ahead."

"When you open that door, the air inside is going to rush out."

Despite himself, a smile twisted one side of Walker's mouth up. "I seem to recall something about that in training. No air in space, it's what makes the view so incredible."

"Yeah, yeah. Cover your ears for a second, please?"

Bemused, Walker took his hands from the hatch and placed them over his ears. Vibration massaged his bare feet for a few moments. Everything in the tiny room suddenly snapped into crisp focus. When it stopped, silence reigned in the airlock.

"Okay, Captain. You're good to go."

Knife edged shadows lurked in the corners. A quick snap of his fingers produced no sound, only a slight sting where his middle finger slapped into the heel of his palm. A thread of anger wormed its way through the fear trying to drown him. He clutched at it, desperate to stay in control of himself.

"Johnson, did you just evacuate the air from the airlock?"

"Affirmative, Captain." Johnson muttered; his distraction clear as he worked on whatever new life saver occupied him at the moment.

"How exactly did you know I would survive?"

"Sherlock Holmes, sir."

Walker blinked. Johnson hadn't shown any signs of dementia prior to this. If he did lose it, they had no one else with his knack for cobbling together working survival gear from bits of junk.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah. Eliminate the impossible and what remains must be the truth." Metal on metal rang through the radio, followed by quiet cursing. "Sorry, sir. Pinched my finger getting this Jesus clip in place. Didn't mean to surprise you with the air thing. Thought the delay was you trying to figure out a way to get outside without being blown clear of the hull."

Gratitude shoved Walker's anger aside. Johnson was too bright to believe his own words, but he'd covered for his commander's cowardice without ever bringing it up. Closing his eyes, he sent a fervent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had sent the tech up on his shuttle. He spoke once more, knowing both Gzrba and Johnson would record his words for posterity.

"This is John Walker. I am now attempting my first unsuited spacewalk."

"Enjoy the view, Captain."