“Friend Ingers, Think of the lady. How does this look to the lady?”, Kim said quietly. Thompson saw Ingers go from stressed to focused in a moment. There was no indecision as he pushed towards Vyhovsky. What the hell?! Was that some kind of pyscho trigger? Thompson shouted, “Koll!” just as the Vyhovsky raised a boot to kick Ingers. Ingers, unable to change direction in zero-g, took the full brunt of the kick. Vyhovsky, since he wasn’t anchored either, moved back towards the wall, then rotated ‘up’ as his handhold kept him from going straight back from the momentum transfer. Ingers growled in rage. Now that he had been struck, all semblence of rational humanity disappeared in a feral snarl. He bunched his legs as he landed against the table, then pushed hard, arrowing at Vyhovsky. The Ukranian saw him coming and bent at the waist like a jackknfe, trying to get his feet aimed towards the oncoming Ingers, but was hit high in the chest as his legs slid under Ingers body.
Ingers grabbed Vyhovsky’s arm, and used it as an anchor to start trip-hammer blows to Eugeni’s neck and face, trying to stun him. Vyhovsky let go of the hand hold and brought his elbow down, smashing at Ingers collar bone. The shot glanced off the back of Ingers shoulder as he hunched close and brought his legs up, scissoring around Vyhovsky’s waist. The two men rolled slowly through the air, as tight punches were blocked. Ingers managed to set himself and squeeze hard with his legs, getting a gasping groan from Vyhovsky as he drew a ragged breath against the pressure. He jabbed at Ingers eyes, and missed as Ingers swept up a hand, guiding them past then ramming his forehead into Vyhovsky’s nose. Vyhoscky ducked sideways and took a glancing blow on the cheek.
Thompson was paralyzed. He couldn’t get himself to move. It was like an awful nightmare made real, and the thought kept him frozen next to the wall as the two men fought. The viciousness was beyond any hot-tempered brawl. Both men were doing their best to kill the other. That much was easily clear. There was a moan of terror from Salila, who clutched at Roels, trying to hide herself against him. Roels himself was white-faced, and Thompson thought he probably looked the same as the Belgian.
We’re all dead, we’re all dead. The whole thing is dead. The fighting will kill us all. Vyhovsky kept us going, and now Ingers is blown that chain all to hell and gone. What’s gonna happen to us? Thompson ducked as a loose piece of equipment rotated past him. Roels caught the laptop and let it float next to him. His hand reached down to clasp Salila’s as they stared like deer at the fight. Thompson started to gather himself, then stopped as he saw Kim move back towards the exit, and grabbed a handhold to stop himself in the hatch. Thompson wasn’t certain if that was to keep Roels and Saalila from leaving, or giving Kim the option to leave if he felt threatened by the rolling combat.
The two men bounced into the ceiling. Vyhovsky planted his feet and launched himself off the ceiling at the table. Ingers felt the push and rolled sideways, the momentum turning Vyhovsky towards the table. The men impacted solidly. Thompson saw Vyhovsky’s neck hit the edge of the table. The magnetic holdfasts held, and he saw the neck roll back as momentum continued. There was a sickening crack like rotten wood. Vyhovsky’s body jerked spasmodically once, then went limp in Ingers grip. Ingers hit the body twice hard. He seemed to realize the Ukrainian wasn’t fighting back any more. His arms grabbed Vyhovsky’s shoulders as reason came back into his eyes.
Ingers stared at the corpse, like a child who’d broken his best toy. He shook the body gently, and said, “Eugeni?” He shook it again, a little harder. The head flopped back and forth unnaturally as he did. A bit of bloody froth whispered from the lungs across Vyhovsky’s bluish lips. “Eugeni!”, Ingers shouted, then he began crying, and shaking his head. “No no no no no nonononono…Eugeni!” Ingers let go of the body, which cartwheeled slowly away in the zero-g, to ricochet from a wall, back towards the center of the room. Ingers was beside himself, arms hugging his waist as he cried and vomited. Salila and Roels both looked in shock. Neither moved. They were like statues, frozen in place as the world moved around them. Kim was the first to move, launching himself towards Vyhovsky, and intercepting the body near the table. The vomit slowly splattered against the wall, near half of it rebounding in random bits, in random directions.
He gently slowed the momentum, then placed a bare hand over the carotid artery, feeling for a pulse. With the features turning blue from oxygen deprivation, Thompson felt certain his friend was dead. Kim confirmed it a moment later. “There is no pulse, he’s gone.” Kim turned to Roels and Salila. “We mus pull together, and focus. This cannot be allowed to destroy our chances for going home. We need an outlet for our emotions, so that this can never happen again. A, ‘democratic’ way to air difficulties. Ingers.” Kim turned towards the Swede. Ingers looked up through red-rimmed eyes. He looked like a lost child. “Ingers”, Kim said again quietly. “We don’t blame you for this. And you musn’t blame yourself. It was a tragedy waiting to happen, and you were it’s victim.”
“BULLSHIT!”, yelled someone, and Thompson found to his surprise it was him. Kim looked over, eyes narrowed as he held Ingers shoulders. “You set that up. You set up Ingers and Vyhovsky’s fight. Maybe Roels and Salila couldn’t see it but I did!” Kim stared calmly at Thompson. “This is not the time for accusations. We’ve lost someone, and we need to purge ourselves of this if we want to survive. We cannot let it hang over our heads and poison our community.” Thompson felt himself give a strangled laugh. “Poisoned? This whole thing was poisoned when you started talking about ‘democratic systems! We had a working command, we were doing okay, and suddenly you need a ‘democratic system’ for everyone to use?”, Thompson spat venomously. “Give me a fucking break,”