In Space No One Can Hear Your Fanaticism.


Kline strode around a corner. Something lay on the floor ahead. A body. As he moved further around the bend he counted seven bodies lying outside a closed doorway.

“There they are,” Bilge said.

Kline recounted. "There's only seven," he said. He hoped the missing one belonged to Symcox. She deserved to survive after what she had been through.

“Let’s have a closer look at the bodies,” Deli ordered.

Kline stepped to the closest - a female he thought by the length of its black hair. Its mummified face defied sex recognition.

“That’s probably Anderson, the cook,” Bilge said.

“Certainly looks likes she’s been dead for a while,” Kline said.

“Yeah, probably twelve years.” Bilge said.

Kline looked up and down her body. There was no sign of damage. No bruising to her head. Her clothes were intact, nothing had cut or penetrated them.

“Looks like she died of asphyxiation,” Deli said.

It would need to be one hell of a leak not to be contained by the base's double air locked interior, Kline thought. Why the hell didn’t they have helmets on if there was a leak?

Kline moved to the next body. A week's growth of beard indicating it was male. It had darker skin.

“Vishwinath I would say,” Deli said.

A blond haired woman was next. Kline could tell she was female because of her exposed shrunken cleavage. He checked for dog tags, she had none.

“Possibly Turner,” Bilge guessed.

“Could be Symcox too,” Deli said.

Kline tried to match the corpse with images from Symcox's file.