Disclaimer: I don't own Lost in Space.
A/n: Hey all, here is chapter two! Hope you're enjoying it so far. Just revising the next few chapters so might be a while before the next update, but hopefully will have the completed story uploaded before series three starts in December. Also. OH MY GOSH THAT TRAILER. I'm so nervous! Please read and review if you have the time. I'd love to know what you think and if you have any theories. As always, enjoy x
Chapter 2
"One day. One flipping day. Is that too much to ask?"
Shining the torch over the oxygen generator, Don West scrutinises every dent and crevice the Jupiter Two has sustained over the last couple of months. After two hours of intense scrutiny, he has not yet found any sign of interior damage from the robot attack - which is, considering the circumstances, no small miracle. Debbie clucks from somewhere above, watching him comfortably from her new favourite roosting spot.
"I know, right?" Don laughs. "I mean seriously, the things I have to put up with. Tell you what, Debbie, when we get to Alpha Centauri I'm gonna get us both a nice, cosy place where there isn't a death trap waiting around every corner. Just think of it. Green open fields. A nice blue sky. Breathable air. And," he emphasises, "an all-you-can-eat corn buffet. Just for you."
"Will you please stop talking to the chicken. Some of us are trying to do some actual work here."
Ava swings unceremoniously into view from the deck above, her face twisted into an infuriated expression.
"The chicken," Don points out, "has a name."
"I don't care what the chicken's name is," Ava retorts, holding out her hand expectantly. "Pass me the wrench."
Picking up said item, Don weighs it thoughtfully for a moment, the cool metal familiar in the palm of his hand. It flies back toward the tool box and hits the side with a resounding clunk.
"Thing is, Ava, if you want something you gotta ask nicely." He reaches up and takes Debbie down from her high roost, cuddles her to his chest. "Now don't let the lady offend you, Debbie. Not all humans are as nice as me."
Ava rolls her eyes, the crease between her brows deepening with each passing second.
"Seriously, West, will you just get over here and hand me the wrench?"
"Alright. Alright." He places Debbie down carefully before thrusting the tool into his fellow mechanic's waiting hands. "Don't bite my head off."
They've gotten used to each other over the past few days. Used to the constant bickering and teasing. None of it really means anything, of course. But with tensions running high and their situation still unresolved, it's surprising how spirited their conversations, however brief, have become.
"So these Robinsons. You trust them?"
"With my life," Don grins.
Her face dissolves into an expression of bewildered disbelief. And not because he says it with such an effortless ease, but because she knows him, and she knows that in his line of work it's nigh impossible to trust anyone.
Trust is not a word one usually associates with Don West.
"Oh, don't give me that look," he shrugs. "I spent seven months living with these people. We're practically family. Believe me, out of all the Jupiters that left the Resolute we're on the best one." He pats one of the pipes, a thin coat of black grime coming off on his fingers. "This baby and me have been through hell and high water together. Literally."
Reassured there's no damage that needs fixing, Don closes the panel to the generator. Even with his back to her, he can sense Ava watching him with a suspicious eye, mulling over his words.
"Look," Don sighs, wiping the grime off his fingers. "I can only promise you this: John and Maureen won't give up on finding a way to get us to Alpha Centauri. One way or another we'll get there."
Ava nods, not entirely convinced by his optimism, and disappears back into the hatch to work on the deck above.
"Don, how're we doing?"
"Speaking of," Don mutters as Maureen's voice comes over the com. There's an unspoken urgency in her tone that sets his teeth on edge. "Well, Mrs Robinson, the robots gave her a pretty good beating but she'll hold. This old baby's got a lot of life to live yet."
"Great." She sounds relieved. "Good job, guys."
"What did I tell you? Best mechanic around."
The jolt that comes next is unexpected. Unwelcome. Knocking the world off kilter. For a few seconds, time rolls both forward and backward, a cacophony of disorientation ringing in his ears.
"Uhh, Maureen?" Don grimaces as the ship groans in protest. "Please tell me that isn't the robots coming to kill us?"
Debbie squawks in alarm as the ship takes another hit. Don rights himself once more and quickly tucks her under his arm.
"Don't you worry, Debbie. They'll have to go through me before I let them get their hands on you."
It's John's voice that comes over the com next.
"You guys might want to get up here and see this."
...
"What is it?"
The crew crowds around the control panel, each breathless from the sudden interruption that had at last broken their hard-won moment of peace. John points dismally at the monitor. A myriad of blue blinking dots move at speed toward them like a swarm of angry bees. Tiny and deceptively fast.
"It looks like some kind of meteor shower."
Don blows out a puff of air.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
"How long do we have before it hits us?" John asks as his wife leans across his shoulder, rapidly scanning over the read-outs.
"Judging by their current velocity maybe thirty minutes? Forty at the most."
The ominous objects move ever closer. There is nothing in their path to act as a shield. Nothing to obstruct the destruction those meteors will inevitably inflict.
"They're coming in pretty fast."
"And we sure as hell don't want to be here when they arrive," Ava agrees.
Dropping into the observation chair, Don chuckles - an altogether hilarious and unsettling sound.
"Okay, okay. I don't know about you guys but I've had enough near-death experiences for one day. Which is funny because, if I'm being completely honest, I don't even know what day it is anymore."
Debbie clucks her agreement and, with a rustle of her feathers, jumps up onto the navigation control.
"Yeah, I know!" Don cries.
Grabbing a pad off the sideboard, Maureen wastes no time in setting to work. She moves over to the window, looks out at the twin stars shimmering just beyond the planet's horizon. On her screen: the position of their Jupiter, the incoming meteor shower and the robots. They still haven't moved. They're just hovering there. Gathering. Plotting. Waiting.
Maybe one day, Maureen muses, she'll be allowed to figure out one problem before being bombarded by another.
"Everyone else has scattered." John hovers beside her, his voice lowered. "Maybe we should think about doing the same."
Her fingers grip the pad, tapping in calculation after calculation with experienced and precise alacrity. All the while an uncertain apprehension grows in John's mind. They've lingered here too long. He can feel it. Like a deep, foreboding chill in his bones.
"No," Maureen announces decisively. "We can't do that."
"Why not?"
"With the amount of fuel we have and the exterior damage to the ship, we can't risk being stranded in open space."
His hand finds her, offering support.
"Then what do we do?"
Ava glances back at the monitor, voicing the only thing they can be certain of.
"If those asteroids hit us we're dead."
"Yeah, and if the robots catch us we're also dead," Don chips in, sinking down into the pilot chair. "So, basically, we're all gonna die anyways."
His melancholy enthusiasm casts a gloomy shadow over the cockpit. He's not wrong. Their predicament is dire, but not without hope. Chewing on her lip, Maureen sets the pad aside. She's still thinking, still calculating. Still, she suddenly realises, holding her husband's hand. He summons a wan smile as she looks up at him, squeezes her fingers tightly, allows her a feeble moment to gather herself.
The darkness of space looms outside. It's never scared her before - the thought of flying through undiscovered regions and exploring the distant stars. Space has always felt like where she should be. Where she belongs.
It still does sometimes.
A chill crawls up her spine. Something impulsive. Decisive.
"Okay..." She runs a shaking hand through her hair as if brushing away some unwanted, unbidden thought. "Okay, we..."
John's gaze is unfaltering, giving her courage to voice the first option. The most feasible. Most likely to succeed. However insane it might at first appear.
"We go into orbit."
His expression darkens.
"Maureen..."
"I know," she admits. "I know it might sound crazy, but look..." She thrusts the pad into his hand. "The rate of orbit should carry us out of the path of the meteor shower without us having to use up any more fuel than we have to. The planet will shield us from the asteroids and we can exit the orbit on the opposite side."
He takes it in, blinks several times at the one piece of important information she has failed to mention.
"You mean the side the robots are on?"
"Uhh," Don raises his hand, baffled by the suggestion. "I thought the whole reason we were sitting here was so that the robots didn't find us?"
Maureen opens her mouth in response. The world rolls again, sending them flying in all directions, crashing into consoles. Chairs. Ceilings and floors. Lightning pain flutters across her ribcage, soothed by the feel of John's protective embrace. The Jupiter rocks to and fro like a pendulum. A leaf caught in a storm.
His lips press against her temple.
"Is there an alternative?"
There is. But none of them will like it. None of them will agree.
"We land back on the Amber Planet, find a source of fuel and try to contact the other Jupiters from there."
Don swivels round, face aghast.
"Seriously?" Ava blurts, pointing viciously at the dusty globe. "You want us to go back down there? Are you crazy?"
"We've only got 45% of fuel left in the reserve tank," Maureen replies with as much calm as she can muster. "We won't get far if we make a run for it."
John's sigh is heavy. A forgone conclusion.
"Do we have a choice?"
The answer is clear enough. The dangers of space are infinite. Survival depends on taking the opportunities that arise, however limited or unpalatable they may be, and using whatever initiative they can.
"Death by meteor. Death by robots." Don shakes his head manically. "Just so you know, from personal experience, I'm favouring the meteors."
