Connor nodded, a little deflated but still excited to be given the opportunity to prove himself. He fought the urge to pull the slide back in order to drive a round into the chamber. The pistol found its home in the holster on his thigh and he snapped the thumb break. He was determined to pass this test.
“One last thing before we go,” Wild Bill said. He showed Connor how to attach the assault rifle to his tactical vest allowing his body to carry its weight and not his arms. Then he pointed at the ammunition locker. “That’s a potential threat. Ready your weapon.”
Connor raised the rifle, making sure he kept his finger alongside the trigger guard and not on the trigger itself. He couldn’t help a smile when he saw Wild Bill nod in approval.
“Now it’s a probable threat.”
Connor moved his finger, meaning to hold it over the trigger as he waited for the order to fire. But in his excitement, he applied far more pressure than he meant. There was an audible click as the firing pin drove into the weapon’s empty chamber.
“Shit!” Connor growled through gritted teeth.
“Uh-huh,” Wild Bill responded. “That’s why we aren’t giving out live ammunition.”
“Sorry.”
“For the moment, don’t sweat it,” Wild Bill said as he opened the door. “But that’s a problem you still haven’t kicked. Until you fix it, don’t expect to be on any missions with live ammo.”
Connor just nodded as the door opened. He was quiet as he marched behind the others, even when Frasier directed questions toward him. When they reached the port evacuation bay, a second team was already inside waiting. Lt. Tejeda sat behind the pilot’s controls looking bored.
“Stop off for biscuits?” she asked with a smirk.
“And grits,” Wild Bill threw back at her with his easy smile. “There were dancing girls as well. You should’ve come.”
“I’ve seen the kind of girls you like, pendejo. No thanks.” She turned her head back to their civilian passengers. “Strap in, boys and girls. Your flight departs in thirty seconds.”
Connor looked around the crowded escape shuttle as he locked down his safety straps. A warm blue-green light bathed the occupants, giving them an otherworldly glow. He could hear Heyerdahl’s heavy breathing, as the poor man fought panic born of what he might find on the Pegasus. Frasier was still talking constantly, but at least now she had found a conversational companion in Lt. Tejeda’s engineer. Connor’s eyes settled on the very same man he had sparred with right before the two ships crashed.
“Hey,” Connor said. “Thanks for the help in the gym before.”
“Happy to help,” McKay said, a huge smile spread all over his face. “Looks like we picked the same rifle.” McKay patted his black, boxy rifle.
“Yeah. Why did you pick yours?”
“Runs the same ammunition as my pistol,” the big man responded, then leaned in and whispered, “although they didn’t give me any ammo.” McKay turned his weapon so Connor could clearly see through the polymer magazine on its top.
Connor grinned back. “Me either.”
McKay was about to say more when the sudden velocity from takeoff crushed them all into their seats. The nearly instantaneous pressure caused equally instantaneous nausea in Connor. He closed his eyes and swallowing several times to calm his stomach.
Connor realized something was wrong when he opened his eyes but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what that was. His circulatory system was fighting a losing battle against the increased g-forces, and his brain’s functions were compromised from blood loss. As his eyes groggily swept throughout the cramped shuttle, something in the back of Connor’s mind finally realized the problem. He’d gone colorblind.
Heyerdahl had passed out, whether from the g-forces or panic, nobody could be sure. Frasier had been momentarily silent during the initial pressure, but had already started jabbering again, this time about the effects of high-G. Connor’s eyes regained their ability to see color as they took in McKay. He’d gone white as a sheet and completely rigid, his breaths coming short and sharp. Even Wild Bill looked uncomfortable in his co-pilot seat. Everyone looked scared and miserable.
Everyone but Tejeda. She grinned as she looked back at her passengers. “You guys would never make it in CPF Flight School.”
“Not funny, Daniela,” Wild Bill growled.
Lt. Tejeda just snickered and turned back to the forward view screen. “On the plus side,” she said in return, “that extra burst of speed means we’ll beat everybody else to the Pegasus.” She pointed forward at the massive, dark bulk of the ship that loomed before them.
Chapter 11:
Air inside the Pegasus’ starboard fighter bay was thick, stale, and musty. A certain smell floated in the air; not obscenely foul, but distinctly distasteful. No one could say which was worse: to breathe through the nose and smell it or breathe through the mouth and taste it.
The initial team to sweep the ship had been kind enough to activate minimal life support and emergency lighting but did little else. Frigid temperatures, dead bodies, and creeping shadows from poor lighting frayed the nerves of all volunteers. Even Frasier was quiet as the volunteers huddled in a group while Tejeda and Wild Bill spoke quietly together a short distance away. Shadows played upon the pair making them look more like specters than humans.
“Alright, kids,” Lt. Tejeda said as the pair walked back to the volunteers. Steam from her warm breath clouded the ice-cold air. “I and my team will be searching this fighter bay and deck, while Master Sergeant Carter and his team will move one level down to the engineering deck. Remember, touch nothing without permission.”
Connor and McKay nodded to each other as the two groups separated. The ship’s emergency lights barely illuminated anything, and the flashlights they brought did little to improve the situation. Worse still were the corridors where deep shadows hid injury hazards and their overactive imaginations slowed progress to a crawl. The minimal life support kept the ship colder than a meat locker, and tiny ice crystals spotted every surface of the ship.
While Wild Bill took the situation in stride, the volunteers fought fear every step of the way. Several times Heyerdahl swore he saw movement, only to find hanging wires or dancing shadows. Frasier tried to control her fear by keeping her hands busy by sorting the contents of the fanny-pack at her waist. Connor lost control of his fear when he tripped over a loose plating in darkness sending him sprawling onto a frozen body.
“Shit!” he screeched as he exploded to his feet, his weapon bouncing haphazardly against his stomach. Connor shined his flashlight down on the body. It used to be a young man, a fleet engineer from his uniform. He was covered in a light dusting of ice. His skin was gray and wrinkled as though it had been through some sort of dehydration. Lesions covered almost every inch of skin they could see.
Frasier stepped beside him and looked at the corpse. “Acute radiation syndrome is the technical term.” He knew she’d turned to look at him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the body. “The radiation destroys DNA, bone marrow… a lot of things. Your body starts to decay while you’re still alive. Essentially you become the living embodiment of the undead.”
Connor’s only response was to turn aside and vomit into the shadows of the corridor.
“Alright,” Wild Bill said. “Enough science class. The elevators will be offline, so keep your eyes open for the stairs.”
Connor tried to settle his stomach, but his senses were becoming overwhelmed. Vertigo threatened to loose the contents of his stomach upon the corridor again, and just moving his eyes made his head spin. A burning tickle at the back of his throat was making him cough and wheeze. Focusing his eyes on the floor helped to keep his head from spinning. He could hear Heyerdahl sharing his experience just a few feet away. How could I have ever been excited to go on this mission? He thought miserably.
A hard smack on Connor’s back made him gag and burp. “You two going to be ok?” came a Texas drawl. Connor managed a weak nod, whe
re Heyerdahl vomited his response. “Uh-huh,” he drawled unconvinced. “I’m going to keep looking for the stairs. I won’t be far.” Wild Bill strolled down the corridor, shining his flashlight on the ID tag of every door he passed.
“I have pills that could help,” Frasier said to Connor. She looked over at Heyerdahl who was dry heaving and gagging. “Although they won’t do you much good if you can’t keep them down.”
Connor held out his hand, and a small plastic packet dropped in his palm. He tore into it like a hungry bear and swallowed the two little tablets inside. After several minutes, the pills suppressed enough of his nausea and anxiety that Connor was able to function. A quick glance after Wild Bill showed the Texan forty feet down the corridor trying to open a jammed door.
“I’m going to help him,” Connor said to Frasier. “Will you two be alright?”
“Yeah,” Frasier said with a smile as she patted Heyerdahl on the back. “I’ll stay with Jason until he’s able to move.” The tech managed a nod but continued to gag and shudder. At least his heaving had finally stopped.
Wild Bill had a panel next to the door open and was trying to pull a lever down as Connor approached. Each time he tried, the lever would only budge a small amount and the door would hiss open an equally small amount. When Wild Bill released, both lever and door would snap back into place. “Feeling better?” he grunted.
“Good enough.” Connor was about to look around for something that could be used for a makeshift pry-bar when, on a whim, he looked through the opening as Wild Bill tried again. Part of the walls around the stairs had buckled during the Pegasus’ fight with the Ka’Rathi, and a support fighter had spilled into the stairway. The nose, cockpit, much of the body and one of its wings blocked the way down to engineering.
“Don’t bother,” Connor said. “The stairs are blocked. That isn’t moving without heavy equipment.”
“Figures,” Wild Bill said. “We’ll just have to find another way.”
“No elevator and no stairs, what other way is there?” Connor asked. Then his stomach turned again as a thought dawned on him. “Oh, shit, not a spacewalk.”
The Texan smiled. “Nope. We’ll use the maintenance tunnels. There should be a hatch around here someplace.”
Several minutes later, Connor was fortunate enough to discover a hatch by tripping over the debris covering it. Wild Bill and Connor had just cleared the mess when the other two members of their team rejoined them.
“These conduits run between each deck of the ship,” said Wild Bill as he pulled on the lever that acted as the manual override. “They act as maintenance crawlspaces and are accessible from both top and bottom. The jump drive on the engineering deck is right below this one. All we have to do is find the nearest bottom hatch.” The Texan shone his light into the hole, illuminating a hatch directly below. “Connor, you’re first.”
Connor peered into the gaping hole in the floor. It wasn’t more than three feet to the next hatch, but his imagination created all sorts of specters and monsters hidden in the darkened sections of its tunnels. Zombie crewmembers or skeletal aliens with hammer shaped heads ready in the darkness to kill him while his back was turned. Or perhaps…
Connor shook his head, held his breath, and climbed into the tunnel. He hoped the others couldn’t tell how badly he was shaking as he dropped into that shadowy hole. The light in his hand shook as he swept it from side to side in the vain attempt to chase away an oppressive darkness that seemed desperate to envelope him. No matter how often his flashlight chased away the shadows, they and their hidden monsters always returned.
“Will the hatch open?” Wild Bill’s voice reminded him that he had a job to do.
“Uh… yeah. I mean no… I mean… give me a second.”
Steeling his nerves against the flood of darkness that he knew would come, Connor pointed his light down at the hatch he stood on. Its manual override was to the left. Past the point of caring if anyone could see him shaking like a leaf, Connor moved off the hatch and pulled on the release. It didn’t budge.
“It’s stuck!”
Wild Bill climbed down into the tunnel next to Connor. The other two members of his team followed moving to the right of the hatch. Their company, and Frasier’s sweet, caring smile soothed his frazzled nerves.
Together, both men wrenched on the lever several times, but to no avail.
“Ok, we find another hatch,” Wild Bill said flatly.
Wild Bill started down the tunnel, Connor following directly behind. Heyerdahl was unfortunate enough to end up in the rear of the procession. His imagination was terrorizing him even worse than Connor’s and he spent more time looking behind him for imaginary threats than looking forward. After running the side of his head into Frasier’s posterior three times because he was looking back instead of forward, the surgeon politely, but strongly suggested that she take his place at the rear.
Twenty minutes and five stuck hatches later, Wild Bill found a working override lever. When the hatch hissed open, Connor nearly became sick again. A thin metal ladder ran straight down along a metal wall almost two hundred feet to the deck below.
The climb down introduced Connor to a stunningly massive room. Two hundred feet high and almost three hundred feet in both breadth and width; it was by far the largest room outside a fighter bay or cargo bay he’d ever seen on a ship. Along the far wall was a huge half-domed metal monstrosity with several powerless terminals. Two gigantic twisting conduits led out of the machine and into each side wall.
Wild Bill turned to Connor and pointed to three different doors on the wall opposite from the jump drive, one of which was only accessible from a catwalk. “Secure those doors. Then, identify every point of entry for this room.”
“Ok, Bill.”
“Excuse me?”
“Uh, sorry. Yes, Sergeant Carter.”
Then he looked at Heyerdahl and pointed to the inactive drive. “We can’t activate that drive until its radiation shields are restored. If we do, the same thing that happened to the crew will happen to us. Your job is to find any and all systems and components related to the drive’s radiation shield, catalog them and recommend the necessary repairs. Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“And Frasier…”
“Yes, Sergeant?” Teryl Frasier did her best to stand at attention, stock straight and chest out. The small smile on her face was the only clue she might have been teasing.
“Doctorize something.” Frasier gave a nod and rushed off to category all the medical stores in the room.
While their surgeon was keeping herself busy with the bay’s medical supplies, Connor jogged to the closest door. He was in such a rush to give a good showing that he tripped a couple times in the low light. Patches of ice crystals continued to spot every surface the eye could see. That first drive room door was partially open, and through it he saw a half demolished, darkened hallway that looked as though it stretched to infinity.
He looked to the control panel of the door and found it as dark as the hallway beyond. His hands moved to the release on the control panel, but it was jammed solid. Or frozen. Either way, it wasn’t budging without help.
I’m going to have to remember to start bringing a knife. He thought.
His first thought was to ask Wild Bill if he could use his knife. But this mission was as much about Connor’s ability to think on his feet as it was about giving him field experience. If he were to simply ask for help without trying to find his own solution, it would just show the brass he wasn’t ready.
Connor looked around for something he could use to pry off the panel. A slim, sheared piece of metal with a sharp, jagged edge lay just a few feet away. He had to kick it several times before the ice holding it to the deck gave way. Even through his leather gloves, Connor could feel the chill of the jagged metal in his hands.
Lightly tapping around the outer housing of the control panel didn’t force it loose. It must be jammed, not frozen. He worked the sharpene
d edge of his metal tool into the edge of the control panel. One good heave popped the face of the control panel free. It crashed onto the deck and shattered the silence, causing everyone to jump. Even Wild Bill.
“Shit!” Heyerdahl swore in of terror-enhanced surprise. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry,” Connor said in embarrassment. “Didn’t know it would pop right off like that.”
“You can apologize to my shorts when you’re cleaning them out tonight,” Heyerdahl grumbled as he turned back to the jump drive.
Connor gave everyone a sheepish smile and turned back to his work. The lever inside had three positions: operational, override to lock, and override to release. But as soon as his hand touched the lever, it fell limply to the open position. Whatever had forced the door open a crack, had probably also sheared inner mechanisms as well.
As he stared at the open panel and the mechanisms inside, a Texas voice spoke behind him.
“Problems with the door?”
Connor glanced at Wild Bill, then looked back to his mechanical conundrum. “The door’s jammed open, and the manual override isn’t working,” he said.
“So, what do you do?”
Connor studied the override for a moment more before looking to Wild Bill and speaking. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if I can fix it.”
“Can you or can’t you fix it?”
His eyes shifted again to the infuriating override as he considered the issue. “I can’t. I don’t have the engineering training to jerry-rig the override.”
“Correct assessment,” Wild Bill said, approval obvious in his voice. “Now what?”
“Ah…” he thought for a moment. “Leave someone to watch this door as I secure the other entries.”
Echoes of Avarice Page 10
