Code Red
Blake stopped two meters
from the darkened hatchway, fingers flexing near his holstered pulse pistol. He
couldn’t believe it was happening again. He’d lost eighteen men last time, all
about Pierre’s age. Nineteen men, he corrected himself. At the end it had come
down to him and the ghoster, and his intuition told him history wanted a re-run.
The tremors re-surfaced in his right hand, shakes he’d not had since Kurana Bay.
He squeezed his fist hard to stop them.
"The lights are off inside," Pierre said, inspecting
a small panel adjacent to the airlock connecting them to the fourth compartment.
"Since zero-two-hundred, though the cockpit systems said they were on – I
checked an hour ago."
Zack sighed. "And the night goggles would be –
let me guess…" He gesticulated towards the pitch-black porthole in the
airlock hatchway.
Pierre confirmed with a nod.
"Figures," Zack said.
Pierre closed the panel. "As we suspected, whoever
planned this did a good job. The air circulation sensors were looped so we
wouldn’t detect where the oxygen loss was coming from, and the emergency vents
to the fourth compartment were wired open. I’ve sealed them now."
"Good. Both of you, suit up," Blake ordered.
"Arm yourselves as you think fit."
Pierre hesitated. "Sir, reports state that it can
take four days for a ghoster to regenerate after extended hibernation, and the
oxygen depletion started just two days ago. Maybe it’s still comatose, buried inside
one of the food crates?"
"Pierre, forget theory right now," Blake
said, "or you’ll die in there."
Pierre held his ground for a moment then gave in,
following Zack to the weapons locker.
Blake peered through the airlock porthole, but only
saw his reflection. His breathing slowed of its own accord, the way it always
did just before battle.
When they returned, he saw that Zack had retrieved an
item from his personal area. He ignored it. But minutes later, as Zack and Pierre
were donning their standard space-suits and oxygen backpacks, Pierre spotted it.
"Zack, you can’t be serious
taking a commando knife in there? We’ll be in spacesuits and in a vacuum if we have to go to Plan B."
Zack grinned, and slipped it into its sheath under his
backpack, hilt pointing downwards. "You never dress commando style?" He
leered at Pierre. "This knife has saved me more times than I care to
remember. Think of it as a good luck charm. You asked how we killed it last
time; well, my knife played its part."
But Blake knew how they had taken out the ghoster in
Kurana Bay – the slow gun. They didn’t have one aboard; why would they? He
switched on Zack’s backpack, three telltale green lights and a single beep
indicating it was fully functional. "Each man takes in what he feels
appropriate."
Pierre bristled. "But plasma pulse rifles, right
– according to procedure?"
Blake finished with Zack’s suit, and
moved to check Pierre’s.
"Actually, Pierre," Zack said,
as he picked up his helmet, "I’m taking a pulse pistol. It’s not that big
a compartment, and if there’s a need to use something, it’ll be close quarters."
"But the rifle charge is more
powerful."
Blake snapped on the switch to
activate Pierre’s backpack – three greens and a single beep. "Pierre, how
many of the people who wrote those standard procedures actually went into
space, or dealt with ghoster combat situations?"
Pierre frowned. "You haven’t
told us what you’re taking in there, Sir, if it comes to that."
Zack laughed, wiry eyebrows stretching
into grey mesh. "Man’s got a point, boss. Care to share?"
He eyed them both. "No."
Pierre hefted his rifle, and shook it in pump action mode
to arm it. It hummed softly. "Sir," he said, swallowing, "this
is my first real combat situation."
Zack spoke as he donned his helmet, muffling his words.
"You’re shitting me, right?" Zack shook his head, settling his "fishbowl",
as he called it. His voice came through clear on the speakers. "Just try
not to shoot me in there, okay? Boss, maybe I should go in alone – seriously."
Blake picked up Pierre’s helmet. "Keep your head,
Pierre, or you’ll lose it." Pierre donned it, and with a click and a sound
like a gulp, it sealed.
He noticed how stiffly Pierre stood, how he held the
rifle like… like so many men he’d sent into battle who’d never returned. He
wanted to go in there first with Zack, but this was about strategy. Most likely
scenario was that the first two who entered died. The third one had to be able
to react fast, see what they were up against, and finish the job. Best credible
scenario was that Kat alone survived, and they stopped the ghoster before it
sabotaged the engines – if they lost the FTL drive, they’d all die in any case,
drifting in space until everything ran out.
He picked up two lanyards and handed them to Zack and Pierre.
"For Plan B, if it’s mobile. Remember,
this ship wasn’t built for a man overboard scenario. Either of you go out the
window, you’re history, so stay clamped at all times."
Kat cut in from the cockpit; Blake had almost
forgotten she’d been monitoring them via intra-vid, listening to everything.
"Captain, telemetry’s set up,
just get some light going in there as soon as possible, I can’t see much from up
here."
"We’ll do what we can. Kat – I want an open
four-way com-line during the entire operation. No unnecessary comms."
There was a pause. "Understood. Open four-way
comms as of now."
He pressurised the inner airlock, then spun the wheel
to open the hatch. "Good luck."
Only Zack nodded acknowledgement. Pierre stepped first
into the airlock chamber. As Zack followed, Blake patted him once on the
shoulder, and sealed the door behind them. There was a sucking sound, a clunk,
then silence. His hand hung onto the airlock wheel. He tried not to think about
last time. He didn’t have to. The pit of his stomach felt like it was in a vice.
He started thinking instead about Plan C.
* * *
Shoulder-to-shoulder
inside the airlock chamber, Zack heard Pierre’s ragged breathing across the
intercom.
Pierre checked the dials. "Fully pressurised inside
the compartment."
Zack chewed his lip, peering through the small
porthole into the darkness beyond. "Time to check on our guest." He
opened the inner door to the fourth compartment. As it swung open, the light spilled
in from behind them, revealing the outlines of a room ten meters deep crammed
with cylinders, boxes, and crates, all strapped down. It looked just like it
had done twelve hours ago when he’d checked it over. The lattice of harnesses resembled
a giant spider web laid over the contents of the compartment. He stared towards
the far wall, behind which the dark matter engines lay, adding to his unease.
They each took one pace into the compartment and clipped
their lanyard karabiners onto hull eyeholes. Zack’s gaze swept the room, but he
didn’t use the flashlight attached to his left wrist. If there was anything in
here, he didn’t feel like lighting himself up. Pierre’s rifle sighting beam flashed
upward to the escape hatch which was their Plan B – the ghoster-overboard plan,
as Kat had christened it.
"Zack, I don’t see anything." Pierre took a
step forward.
"Wait." Zack squinted through the semi-darkness
towards the crate at the far end of the chamber housing the neutralino
detonator. It was one of two, the other used to start the dark matter ignition after
Saturn, enabling them to get up enough speed to engage the warp shell. This one
was for the return journey. Something was behind the crate. His eyes tracked to
the left, knowing from theory and experience that unaided night vision worked
best if you looked slightly off target. He saw it. His head recoiled inside his
helmet.
"Kat," he said, voice taut. "Tell me what
you see through the internal cameras" He still hadn’t aimed his flashlight,
instead straining his eyes towards the location of the detonator. Her reply
came through, rendered grainier than usual by the voice-com transmitter.
"Not much. I need more light."
When Pierre went to shine his flashlight on the crate,
Zack gripped his forearm.
"Don’t." He was sure now,
though he had a hard time accepting it.
Blake’s voice cut in from outside. "Report."
Zack let Pierre reply, while he began to think of
tactics to outmanoeuvre what he believed was crouching just behind the
detonator. He still had his hand on Pierre’s arm, and felt Pierre’s body jerk.
"Sir, it… mon dieu." Pierre’s breathing accelerated, bordering on hyper-ventilation.
Then he exhaled deeply.
Zack removed his arm. Good – remember your training, because if you don’t we’ll be dead a lot
faster.
Pierre’s voice was edgy. "I can
see a human head, but… it has no eyes."
Blake didn’t respond. Zack could only imagine how he
was reacting; it was Kurana Bay all over again. He couldn’t remember unholstering
his pulse pistol, but it was in his hand. He ramped it up to maximum. He spoke
in a steady tone. "Don’t move, Pierre. Get ready to fire." He took a
deep breath, as he did before any close-quarter battle. His palms sweated
inside his gloves. He gripped the pistol harder.
"Skipper," he said, "it’s
a ghoster alright, fully awake. Lock us down, seal us in. We’re going to Plan
B."
* * *
Kat couldn’t see
Blake on her screens. "Captain? Where are you?"
Blake re-appeared, suiting up. "Kat, get on the
comms. Issue Code Red to Earth – at least they’ll know it was sabotage and not
an accident. Fast as you can, then confirm."
Kat cursed as she realised her own
rifle was two compartments away. Not that it would help. She took one last look
at the silhouetted figures of Zack and Pierre, then shifted position and began
typing fast.
She paused, looking
at the letters on the screen. Then she hit the button.
"Captain, the message; it won’t
transmit."
"Slow down, try again."
Pierre cut in. "Kat, wait – don’t
try more than twice. Do you hear me?"
But she’d just hit Transmit
a third time. Large bright red letters on the screen said . The
screen blanked.
She stared at the lifeless screen. She leant back in her
chair, allowing her foot to rise up and then stomp down hard on the dead console.
"Alician mother-fuckers!"
"Kat, what’s happening?" Blake
shouted.
She suddenly felt how small and
defenceless they were, hurtling through a pitiless vacuum, light years from help.
She bit her lip hard.
"It’s dead. It said 'Goodbye,’ then shut down.
It’s the virus." Please God, tell me
this is just another nightmare.
"Kat, listen to me – Zack hotwired an emergency
protocol to disengage navigation, propulsion and life support to a secondary
sub-processor – press the red plunger on Zack’s console – do it now!"
She sprang out of her chair, spotted the plunger, and
slammed her hand down on it. "Done!" She knew without that switch,
the virus would spread to propulsion and navigation within minutes, and they
would disintegrate under obscene torsional forces as soon as they slipped out
of their flight envelope.
"Kat," Blake said. "Salvage as many
secondary systems as you can, but keep an eye on the screens, in case the
ghoster moves."
At first, she didn’t understand – Zack and Pierre
would see it if it did anything – but then she remembered the tales of how
quickly ghosters could move – and kill. "Understood."
* * *
Blake
sealed his helmet, the familiar muffling sound lending him confidence, shutting
out extraneous noises, allowing him to concentrate. He peered through the
porthole. "Zack. Do you have line of sight?"
Zack’s voice was low but steady. "It’s
right behind the detonator, in front of the reserve oxygen cylinders. One miss
and we’re all dead."
"The detonator – activated?"
Zack sighed. "Was afraid you’d ask
that. I see two red lights, one green. Pierre?"
"There’s only one safeguard
left. A final control command to arm it, then a one-minute countdown. The arming
control is in front of us. If it goes for it we’ll get a clear shot. We caught
it just in time."
Blake leant his gloved hands against
the door. He took three measured breaths. He’d trade their remaining oxygen for
the slow gun. "Options?"
Zack replied with a snort. "Not
many. Plan A, we circle the perimeter. It’ll come out screaming, moving like a
bat, and we’ll probably shoot each other in the crossfire, but maybe we’ll hit
it enough to stop it. Plan B…" he paused. "Pierre?"
"We blow the hatch. The problem
is, ghosters can function for several minutes in a vacuum. If it manages to
anchor itself inside the compartment, it will arm the detonator before we can
react, and defend it until it blows. We need a Plan C, Sir."
"Skipper, he’s right. All we’ll
do is slow this thing down a few seconds. You know they’re practically
unkillable without explosives or industrial lasers. We’re in serious danger of
becoming another fucking Eden Mission mystery."
Blake was only half-listening.
Abruptly he went back to the weapons locker to pick up his Plan C. He secured
the bagel-sized explosive charge with pushbutton actuator – a hand-made land-mine
– to his chest.
No comments:
Post a Comment