by Rob Dearsley
It wasn’t long before they were on the lip of the crater.
Arland peered at the squat structure through her rifle’s scope and flipped through the settings: basic light enhancement, thermal, and EM. The base was cold on all fronts. It had been built at the same time as the atmospheric exchangers. Both had been left fallow after some fracas with planning permission, leaving the small moon only half terraformed.
She knew it was a long shot, but it was as good a place as any to start.
“Give me a minute to set up, then you can go in.” Arland unslung her rifle, pulled the telescopic barrel out to its full length and locked it into place.
Hale and Simon waited patiently while she nestled herself between a pair of small rocks with the rifle, then set off.
She flicked to thermal imaging, making her two friends stand out like flares. The pair scrambled down the slope toward the cold base.
“Hold there.” Arland scanned the base for any signs of life. The glowing forms of her companions hunkered down some fifty metres out. “Looks clear. There’s an access hatch on your two-o-clock.”
“I see it.” Simon’s voice came from her headset. “Moving in now.”
The glowing figures moved to the access hatch. The smaller of the two, Simon, pulled the hatch open. Their thermal reading dimmed slightly as they moved inside. Arland increased the magnification, focusing on the area around her friends, but still, nothing appeared.
“Got anything?” she asked, wishing she could see what they were seeing.
“We’re in a canteen.” Hale supplied. “Nothing unusual here. We’re moving into the dormitory block.”
Arland tracked the pair as they moved around the facility for the next hour. Nothing.
She rolled her neck, trying to clear a crick she’d developed. It had been far too long since she’d run sniper support, and she’d forgotten how uncomfortable it could be at times.
When she returned her eye to the scope, there was only one figure.
Oh crap. What had happened? She hadn’t heard anything over the com. She zoomed the scope out, scanning the rest of the facility, going through her display modes. Nothing, and no sign of her companion. It was bloody Augite III all over again.
“Hale, Simon, where are you? What happened?”
“We’re right here.” Simon’s voice sounded as relaxed as ever.
“What about Hale?”
“I’m here, right next to Simon. We’re both fine. What’s going on?”
Thank the Stars. Arland blew out a breath, then frowned. Was it the same as Augite III?
She took a breath, steadying her nerves. “Hale, can you wave?”
The figure in her scope raised its arm. “How’s that?”
“Good, thanks. I can’t see Simon.”
“I’m right here, next to Hale. Want me to wave?”
For a second there was a flicker of something.
“Guys, back up a bit.”
Hale moved back, and half a second later Simon’s hazy form reappeared. “Simon hold there.”
It was another cold zone. Just like the one on Augite III. They were in the right place. There was no other explanation.
They spent the next hour or so mapping out the boundaries of the cold zone. It wasn’t large, only a half dozen metres across toward the middle of the abandoned facility.
“Alright, guys. I’m coming down.” Arland collapsed the rifle and started picking her way down from the crater’s rim.
The old base was deathly silent. Nothing moved, not even a breeze. Unlike the Terran ships, the place was almost supernaturally clean. Like she was the first living thing to ever enter. Still, imagined ghosts crowded her as she moved through the dim hallways, sending the skin on the back of her neck crawling.
It wasn’t long before she caught up with her friends.
“What have we got?” she asked.
“Diddly-squat,” Simon replied. “Nothing’s here, and without base plans, we don’t know what’s supposed to be here.”
Hale nodded in agreement. “We’ve been all around the cold zone and there’s not even an indication something’s there. The hallway layout feels designed to stop you noticing the dead space.”
Damn, they were so close. It was right here, they just couldn’t see it. She leaned against the wall, closed her eyes and sighed. So close, she could practically feel it pulling at her.
Wait, something was pulling at her. A very subtle motion, barely enough to move loose strands of hair. “Simon, give me your pistol.” She held out her hand.
Simon frowned but passed her the gun. She racked the slide, sending a round clattering to the floor. It rolled into a languid ark to bump against the wall to her right.
She passed the pistol off to Simon, her attention focused on the bullet and the wall above it. There was nothing untoward about the panelling. As she got closer, the subtle sensation of being pulled shifted, pulling directly toward the wall.
“What have you found?” Hale asked.
“Not sure.” Arland started running her hands along the seams in the wall. There had to be something here. The cold zone, the weird gravity, it all added up.
With a soft click, something shifted beneath her fingers. She pushed harder and the small cover popped off.
“What’s that?” Simon asked.
She ignored him, inspecting the newly exposed lever. Trepidation and excitement fluttered in her stomach. Her fingers wrapped around the switch, hesitating, worry taking hold.
“You sure this is a good idea,” Simon said.
Steeling herself for whatever might happen next, her senses straining for the first sign of trouble, she pulled the lever.
The three of them stepped back, their guns coming up. The section of wall in front of them slid aside with a soft sigh of hydraulics. There was a clink as the bullet rolled over the lintel, coming to a stop just inside the new compartment.
“No guards?” Hale sounded suspicious.
Arland agreed with the sentiment. “Maybe they thought secrecy was enough protection.”
“We going in?” Simon had moved into the small compartment and was checking a ladder access shaft.
Hale shrugged. “We’ve come this far.”
Arland nodded and moved into the room, almost stumbling as she crossed into the One-G artificial gravity. “Simon, take point.” She gestured to the ladder set into the far wall.
Muttering, Simon shouldered his rifle and started down the ladder. Hale followed him, Arland bringing up the rear. The temperature rose the deeper they climbed, like they were descending into the depths of hell.
They’d been climbing for what felt like hours. Arland paused to shake the fatigued cramps from her arm before continuing.
Simon’s voice echoed up the shaft. “We’re at the bottom.”
Arland clambered off the ladder, stretching out the cramps in her arms before unslinging her rifle.
“If the base follows standard designs, the server rooms will be on the lowest level.” Simon moved to cover the door, Hale just behind him.
Arland moved into the rear guard position. “We keep heading down and keep an eye out for a maintenance office. Utility diagrams should give us a good idea where exactly the server room is.” She flicked to the backscatter view on her rifle scope and scanned the corridor. “Looks clear.”
Simon cracked the door and poked the barrel of his rifle through. The ball-mirror on the end would give him a distorted view of the corridor. After a moment, he pushed the door open, signalling for them to follow him.
Staying low, they followed him into the hallway. The corridor was clean, utilitarian, and smelt vaguely of antiseptic. It reminded Arland of Augite III.
At the first intersection, Simon held up his hand, signalling for them to pause. Arland dropped to one knee, peering through her weapon’s scope. She flicked through the visualisation modes, but, again found no signs of life and quickly lowered the weapon, checking behind them. It felt like someone was watching her.<
br />
She shook the feeling off and turned her attention back to the intersection. Simon used his ball-mirror to examine the hallway.
“Damn.” Simon pulled his rifle back. “Someone’s coming.”
Arland started back to the service access they had entered by.
“No time.” Simon pulled another door open. It lead into a darkened room.
She followed Hale into the room with Simon a beat behind her. He pulled the door closed, plunging them into darkness.
After a moment, her eyes adjusted enough for her to make out vague shapes. They were in a storeroom. Wire shelves against three of the four walls were stuffed with bottle-filled boxes. The stench of bleach marked them as cleaning supplies.
Arland raised her rifle, checking through the scope. Both Simon and Hale stood out as bright red heat signatures against a dark blue background, but there was still no sign of the guards. Lowering the gun, she crept to the door and pressed her ear against the cool metal, listening.
“What are you doing?” one guard asked, his voice and footfalls coming closer.
“I thought I saw something,” his companion replied. He was lighter on his feet, and Arland couldn’t make out the sound of his footfalls.
“There’s nothing here.” The first guard was just on the other side of the door. Arland’s hands tightened around her gun.
Arland waited, every muscle tense, her senses straining for the slightest sound of movement.
“Come on.” The first guard clomped away.
Arland let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.
“Wait, I thought I heard something,” the second guard’s voice came from just outside. Arland imagined him inches away, looking at the supply closet.
Simon’s hand on her arm made Arland flinch, she barely managed to bite back a yip of surprise. He gestured for her to follow him to the rear of the room where Hale was prying the cover from an HVAC return.
Behind them, the door handle rattled.
“Quickly,” Hale hissed, climbing up into the large vent. Simon helped Arland up behind the big Terran, before following her. He’d just dropped the cover into place when light spilt into the room. Arland screwed her eyes against the sudden brightness. Again, they froze, not even daring to breathe.
“See, nothing there,” the first guard said. Arland wished she could turn around and see them, but there wasn’t enough room in the HVAC vent.
The second guard must have relented, as a moment later, the light dimmed, returning them to darkness.
“That was close,” Simon whispered.
Arland let out a breath. Far too close. “We should stay in the vents.”
The other two agreed and they started down the metre-wide vent shaft. It wasn’t long before they came out into the central cooling tower, a circular space nearly ten metres wide. Above and below them spun giant fans, encased in wire mesh and whipping the air around them. If it was the same as the SDF bases she’d been stationed on, the tower would run the entire height of the facility, pulling the warm air from the facility up into a heat exchanger on the surface.
“Which way now?” Hale called over the constant roar of the fans.
More vent shafts were positioned around the tower, but Arland’s eyes were drawn to a ladder set into the far wall. “Down, I guess.”
Simon sighed, but slung his rifle across his back and started down.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the bottom of the tower, the temperature steadily rising as they descended.
Arland unslung her rifle, scanning the base of the cooling tower. Opposite them was an access hatch a little smaller than a door. Simon was inspecting something on the wall to their right.
Arland moved to join him. “What you got there?”
He moved aside, revealing a large plan. To Arland it was little more than a spiderweb of multi-coloured lines.
“Do you understand this?” she asked Simon.
“Looks like plans for the air system.” Hale bent to inspect the plans. “I had to learn utility schematics as part of my officer exams. It helps with the ship-link data.”
Arland was impressed. “Any idea where the data centre is?”
Hale studied the plans for a moment. “If my guess is right and blue is the air system, this area has higher airflow than the rest of the facility. More cooling.”
“So, how do we get there?” Simon asked.
Hale pushed herself up, stretching out her back. “Should be just down the corridor from here.”
They walked over to the hatch. Arland wished her rifle scope worked. They’d just have to chance it. Hale and Arland set up on either side of the door, ready for action. Arland’s hands tightened on the rifle, tension radiating from her. She took a calming breath.
Simon twisted the locking handles. The groanching of gears was audible, even over the rush of air. The door was nearly thirty centimetres thick, layers of foam and rubber around the edge helped create an airtight, insulated seal.
Simon was first through the door, with Arland a beat behind him, checking the hallway. Thankfully, it was empty. Hale closed the door, cutting off the rushing of air and leaving them in silence.
It took Arland a moment to adjust to the sudden quiet, then she heard footfalls. “Hale which way to the data centre?”
Hale gestured down the corridor ahead of them. Thankfully, away from the approaching guards. “It’s not far.”
The trio rushed down the hallway. Arland, at the back, kept checking behind them. At any moment the guards were going to come around the corner and see them. She didn’t like their chances of fighting their way to the surface.
Hale held up a hand, signalling them to stop. Arland turned, covering the corner. The guard patrol could only be seconds away.
Simon’s hand on her shoulder indicated they were moving again, turning right. Shadows crossed the intersection. They were out of time.
She ducked through the door, yanking it shut behind her.
Beneath bright lights, work benches stretched across the room. Servers in various stages of assembly were scattered across the benches, chromed metal and glass glinting in the overhead lights. Arland’s curiosity piqued, she walked over and checked out one of the dismantled servers.
Inside was the usual array of circuit boards and data chips. One component caught her attention. A flat glass cuboid about the length of her hand and maybe half as wide. At first, she thought it was a display of some sort. As she looked closer, she could make out a dull red material contained within the glass sheath. It was moving, twitching rhythmically.
Wetware. She could feel bile rising with her anger. How could they do that? How could they mutilate people in the name of science? How could Vaughn condone this?
Wait. The doctor would want to see this. Maybe the reality would convince him how stupid an idea it was. She pulled the bio-chip out of the computer and stuffed it into a pocket.
“Over here,” Simon called from a pair of double doors on the far side of the workshop.
Hale had her ear pressed to the door. “I can’t hear anyone in there. Just a mechanical humming.”
That was promising. The humming could be the servers. Buoyed by the news, Arland hurried to join them. Again, she and Hale set up either side of the doors, leaving Simon to take point.
He pulled the door open and ducked through. Hale followed a beat later, Arland a step behind.
The cold air of the data centre gelled the sweat down Arland’s spine. All around her, racks of servers chattered and buzzed away. Hale and Simon spread out to check between the stacks. Arland joined them, checking between the server racks to her right.
After a moment, Hale joined her. “Room’s clear.”
Arland nodded and kept on searching. They needed a data terminal if they wanted any chance of finding incriminating data.
Something at the far end of the room flickered, drawing the women's attention. A console. They hurried over, Simon joining them.
The to
uchscreen, mounted on the end of one of the racks, blinked again, text flashing up on the screen.
‘PRESS ENTER.’
She looked the question at Hale. The big Terran shrugged back, as if to say, it’s your choice.
Finally, taking a deep breath and bracing herself for whatever happened next, she reached out for the screen.
“Are you sure about this?” Simon asked. “This all seems rather convenient.”
Was she sure? Probably not. Was there any other way? Definitely not. She tapped the screen.
Thirteen
- Mica Vb -
The screen went black under Arland’s touch.
“Well, that was anticlimactic.” Simon turned to go.
The console chirped, and white, blocky text scrolled across the screen.
‘Last received transmission from deep space exploration mission CF151. Time-stamp 5481-13-14:15.53’
The black transformed into the static of a broken signal, garbled audio buzzing from the small speakers. After a moment, it resolved into a low-resolution image of an old, zero-g ship interior. The cylindrical compartment had workstations and lockers on every surface, with no concession to the notion of up and down. A clean-shaven man in a grey flight suit drifted into the camera’s view.
“Got it, signal should be good now. You’re good to go, Gus,” came a voice from off camera.
Gus reached for the camera, turning it to align with him before he began.
“This is Gustav Serrano from the deep space survey vessel Opportunity Four, day five hundred and sixty-seven of our four-year mission, to boldly go where-”
“Just get on with it, Gus,” the first voice said from off-screen.
Gus shot the voice an irritated look before returning his piercing blue gaze to the camera. “We found something.”
He pulled the camera along toward the front of the ship, where a third crew-member worked.
“We picked up a weak signal yesterday, as soon as we entered the Cygnus region and managed to track it here, to this system. Show them, Cat.”
The woman moved aside to show the camera her screen. The image was fuzzy, doubly so through the camera, to the point where the ‘ships’ looked like brown smudges.
