Earthfall (Book 2): Earthfall 2 [The Mission Continues]

by Knight, Stephen

  Laird motioned to the sterilizer. “Last step.”

  Cobar opened the refrigerator-sized door and pulled a pair of industrial nitrile gloves from the sealed compartment inside the sterilizer. He put them on then collected the shed protective garments and gear and hung them inside the sterilizer unit. He closed the door but didn’t activate the system. It would remain idle until Kelly and Slattery came across and went through the decon procedure.

  Laird adjusted his headset. “Four, suit-down complete. Sterilizer’s loaded up. We’re ready to leave the airlock and head into the site.”

  “Roger that.”

  Laird pressed the unlock button on the wall next to the inner airlock door, and it clicked but didn’t open. Keeping the button depressed, he pushed against the door’s push plate. It took some muscle due to the difference in air pressure, but once the seal had been broken, it moved easily enough. The lights snapped on in the next chamber, and Laird stepped out of the airlock. Behind him, Cobar stripped off his gloves and dropped them into a small hamper by the door. On the other side of the door was a hallway lined by lockers on both sides. Laird stood off to one side and made room for Cobar to step inside. Once the crew chief had stepped across the threshold, Laird pushed the door closed. A moment later, his ears popped as the hallway locker room repressurized.

  Cobar regarded the line of lockers—eight of them, four on each side. “We need to change out of our duty uniforms?”

  “No, we’re good.” A clipboard was mounted to the bulkhead next to him, and he picked it up and leafed through the pages there. “Hey. Master Sergeant Venkmann was the last person to inspect this room. Dated ... over eleven years ago.”

  “I don’t know him,” Cobar said.

  “Me, either. Guess his duty position wasn’t at Harmony.” He spoke into his headset’s microphone as Cobar pulled open a locker and looked inside. “Okay, Four, we’re inside, and we’re still alive. We’ve made the secondary airlock, and we’ll proceed into the site itself at this time.”

  “Roger that, Jim. Do us a favor and leave your radios on voice-activated. Unless you guys need to have some alone time, that is.”

  “Yeah, no. Patricio’s not my type,” Laird said.

  “So I’ll never get a chance to realize my man crush on you, sir,” Cobar said. He pulled open another locker, then another. “Two of these are empty. Supposed to be full uniforms inside, right?”

  Laird waved the clipboard at him before he returned it to the hook on the wall. “Hey. Take it up with Sergeant Venkmann—he was apparently the last housekeeper to swing through this place.” He reached down to his belt, where the radio transmitter was mounted, and flipped a small switch. “Go VOX, all right?”

  Cobar replicated the motion. “Done.”

  “Four, you still have us? We’re on voice-activated.”

  “Got you both,” Andrews replied.

  Laird advanced to the secondary airlock door and pushed it open. More LED lights snapped on, revealing a larger muster area with more gear, cabinets, and lockers. Beyond that was a spartanly furnished living area and kitchenette. Everything was military standard, down to the furniture and plastic floor covering. The air was cool and dry.

  “Okay, we’re in the main living area now. Everything’s well lit and at first glance, looks good to go.” Laird walked over to the facilities maintenance panel and examined the systems status messages. Everything was as normal as they could be after most of the planet had been wiped out. “We’ll take a look around, then we’ll have Jordello and Slattery come across.”

  “Roger that, Jim.”

  “Patricio, let’s check the stores,” Laird said. “We should make sure we have enough suds and spuds to last for a while, then we need to look into the plumbing issue that was detected.”

  “Right with you,” Cobar said.

  He followed Laird down a short corridor and through a fire-blocked door at the end. It led to the storage area and, at the end of the complex, to the four locked bays where the SCEVs were stationed. Laird chuckled at the fact that each rig was locked inside separate bays that were inaccessible to each other, and each bay door had a different combination. If someone had managed to penetrate the hardened site’s exterior, then punching through the bay doors wasn’t going to be a big deal. Laird walked to the first bay while he pulled a PDA out of one of the cargo pockets on his uniform trousers. He unlocked the device and called up the codes that would grant him access to the bays.

  “Aren’t we going to check out the stores?” Cobar asked.

  “We will. But first, I just have to check out our new ride.”

  He stopped before the old-fashioned keypad next to Bay One’s door. He verified the code then slowly typed in the ten-digit number. An electric motor whined, and gears meshed. The door slowly rose, shuddering slightly in its frame as it rode up the rails. The bay lights came on, and there it was: a brand-new, barely used Self-Contained Exploration Vehicle, complete with a mission equipment pod already mated to the rig’s back. Laird barked out a laugh and clapped his hands together. The machine was in perfect condition, marred only by a scant layer of dust. “We’re in business now,” he said.

  “I’m guessing you got too excited to check stores and opened one of the bays, right?” Mulligan spoke over the earpiece in Laird’s right ear.

  “You got that right, Sarmajor.” Laird put his hands on his hips and looked at the rig’s slanted bow as Cobar sidled up. The big machine was twice as ugly as a leprosy-ridden warthog, but to Laird, it was a work of art. “I do believe it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “A connoisseur of art, you’re not, Captain,” Mulligan said. “Let me tell you … in the event we manage to restart a functional civilization again, don’t set your eyes on becoming a fine-art critic. You’ll starve to death.”

  Cobar stepped into the bay and put a hand on the rig’s cold, armored hide then knelt and peered into the undercarriage. “No visible leaks, and the front tires aren’t showing any sign of dry rot. Very well preserved.”

  “Can’t wait to start the inspection,” Laird said.

  “Glad you’re happy in there, Jim, but we have two other team members to transfer across,” Andrews said, joining Mulligan in ruining the moment. “Are you ready for them yet?”

  “Give us about ten to fifteen minutes, Mike. We’ll check out the stores and poke around the rest of the systems, then we should be good to go.” As he spoke, Laird tapped Cobar on the shoulder and jerked his chin back toward the storage area. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Roger that.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  After Kelly and Slattery departed the SCEV and entered the replenishment site, the rig remained in station with one engine shut off while the other whined on in turbine idle. It took an hour for the team to do their full inspection of the facility to determine its livability, so Andrews, Mulligan, Leona, and KC had little to do but wait. The plan was to overnight at the site before pressing on with the mission the following day. That would provide Laird’s team with enough time to finish a more detailed inspection, get some sleep, and essentially wave goodbye the next morning. Once SCEV Four left, Laird, Kelly, Cobar, and Slattery would be on their own as they pulled one of the rigs out of storage and went through the process of activating it, which would take them a few weeks if not a full month.

  Aside from the lost-water mystery—no one had found any leaks yet—the only other fly in the ointment was that one of the vehicle bays couldn’t be opened. The door to bay four was jammed shut, and as each bay was isolated from the others, there was no way to get to the rig that sat inside until the jam could be cleared. Procedurally, the issue wasn’t a big deal. Mulligan compared it to being in a four-engine jet and losing one engine—problematic but not fatal if the other systems continued to function as designed. In short, Laird’s team might not have access to four rigs, but they had admittance to three, and they only needed one. Andrews and Laird agreed that the jammed bay door wasn’t an issu
e worth delaying SCEV Four’s departure.

  At the end of the hour, Laird reported back that he and his team were good to go. They had rigs, all mission-critical spares had been identified, and power, light, clothing, water, food, and ancillary supplies were present. The three rigs they were able to access were in identical configuration and condition. Cobar and Slattery would spend the next two hours doing an initial power up of the rig they had selected, and if it passed the preliminary checks, they would move it out of the bay to the fitting area on the other side of the big bifold blast door and conduct the vehicle’s first full phase inspection. If nothing was amiss, they would claim the rig as mission capable. If there were gremlins in the machine they could fix, they would do so. If, on the other hand, they encountered a glitch or failure that might compromise the rig in the field, they would return it to the bay and start over again with the next vehicle.

  “Jim, I don’t suppose there’s any commo with Harmony,” Andrews said as Laird finished his report. “I know it’s a long shot, but we should maybe give it a try. Just because Harmony couldn’t reach out to the site doesn’t necessarily mean the reverse is true.”

  “We’ve made some attempts to ping home plate, but it looks like there’s no remote access after the war,” Laird replied. “You know that none of the supply sites we’ve opened up on other missions were accessible to Harmony, and the reverse is apparently the case here too. Nuclear bombs really fucked up a lot of communications infrastructure, even stuff that was supposed to be hardened.”

  “You try data and voice?”

  Laird sounded exasperated by the question. “Yes, Mike. We tried both. High-frequency over-air, dedicated lines, even the defense switched network phones. Nada.”

  Andrews laughed. “Okay, roger that. Well, if you’re good to go in there, we’ll prep for shutdown and get ready to settle in for the night. Anything else to report yet?”

  “Negative, Four. We’re all good in here. Eager to start our vehicle inspections.”

  “Don’t forget to eat. And if you have the time, poke around a little and see if you can raise some awareness regarding the water-loss issue. Maybe it’s just a sensor or something, but it wouldn’t hurt to figure out what it is.”

  “Will do, Dad. Can I go now?”

  Andrews laughed again, and even Mulligan cracked a smile. “Yes, sonny. You can go now. We look forward to hearing something from you at”—he checked the clock—“nineteen hundred.”

  “Rog. Out here.”

  “That guy’s not going to waste a second looking for a small leak,” Mulligan said. “He’s like a kid in a candy store.”

  “Well, he is eager to get a command back. I know how he feels. Anyway, it’s his show to put on, right?”

  Mulligan nodded. “Yes, sir. It most certainly is.”

  “Shall we shut this pig down for the night?”

  Mulligan pulled the checklist manual from its pocket then opened it and flipped to the designated page. He scanned the text as Andrews called up the identical checklist on one of the multifunction displays before him. Mulligan turned his head and leaned toward the open cockpit door.

  “Sergeant Winters, prepare for APU start and engine shutdown.”

  “Hooah, Sarmajor!”

  “Let’s close the bus tie relay, unless there’s a reason not to.”

  “Good to go on the tie relay, Sarmajor. I’ll close it on your command.” KC was all business, and Andrews heard her lock her seat into position facing the engineering station. She’d previously turned it toward the rear of the SCEV so she could put her feet on the chair facing the intelligence station. It was the closest thing to an ottoman she had available to her.

  “Do it,” Mulligan said. Andrews watched the tie indicator illuminate on the annunciator panel above the cockpit’s main engineering display.

  “Okay, tie is closed. Good to start the APU,” KC said.

  Mulligan reached over to the overhead panel and pressed the APU’s start button. According to the displays, the gas-powered device located under the floor of the rig’s sleeping compartment came to life. It defaulted to standby once it detected the buses were already energized.

  “APU up and on standby,” Mulligan reported. “Winters?”

  “APU is up and on standby,” KC confirmed.

  “Okay, let’s cage number one,” Andrews said.

  He rolled the engine-condition lever on the center console back to its final detent. The idling turboshaft engine wound down immediately, and the master caution alarm went off. Mulligan silenced the alarm. Once the amperage decayed below five hundred fifty, the APU automatically came online and replenished the buses, ensuring they did not lose power. Andrews and Mulligan both watched the number-one engine’s torque output drop to zero. Once that happened, Andrews locked both engine-condition levers in place. If they were advanced by mistake, one or both of the engines would automatically relight.

  “Okay, vehicle is secured,” Mulligan said.

  “Great. Relay commo to the back, then let’s eat.”

  Andrews unbuckled his harness and put the instrument panel in standby. The multifunction displays dimmed in response. Mulligan pressed a button on the center console and released his own harness as Andrews hauled himself out of the left seat. His ass was sore from sitting in it for so damn long, and all he wanted was some dinner and a shower.

  ***

  Dinner aboard an SCEV was never an elaborate affair, but the dinette was big enough for exactly four people—four normal-sized people, anyway. Mulligan spun the command intelligence station’s seat inward, apparently intending to sit there.

  “No, I got that, Sarmajor,” KC said.

  She was heating up a prepackaged casserole dish in the convection microwave while Andrews filled four fat-bottomed mugs with water. No one was going to need any coffee that night, which was perhaps a first in his time out in the field. Normally, someone was slugging down coffee or tea in order to maintain their edge. But for that night, there were no duty assignments. They would eat together as a crew then rack out until 0600 the next morning.

  “I’m good here, Winters,” Mulligan said. “Me and three other people in the dinette make for a tight squeeze.”

  “No, really, Sarmajor. I got that.” As she spoke, she inclined her head toward Leona, who was wiping down the dinette table.

  Andrews expected Mulligan’s only response to be a frosty stare, but instead the big man gave the small crew chief a crooked smile. “Well ... if you insist, Winters.”

  KC smiled as she turned back and looked through the microwave’s shielded window. She bounced up and down on her feet a bit, arms crossed. Andrews suddenly became conscious of her age. She wasn’t that far past being a kid. Otherwise, there was no way she’d be that excited to dig into a prepackaged chicken casserole. Andrews had his sights set on something a little more likely to be passable—spaghetti and meatballs.

  Mulligan rubbed his hands together as the smells of cooking food began to fill the compartment. “We have any burritos?”

  “Oh no,” Leona said, practically whirling away from the table to face him, though he was only five feet away. “No burritos!”

  “Lee, we have them in stores,” Andrews said. “We’ve got like twenty-four of them—”

  “No! This man cannot have burritos!” Leona smiled suddenly. “Trust me on this. You’ll thank me later.”

  KC laughed. “Sarmajor, burritos give you gas?”

  “Not at all. First Lieutenant Eklund is hallucinating.”

  “Beans entering your GI tract is essentially launching a biological attack ... on us,” Leona said. “We’ll run out of spare atmosphere scrubbers trying to keep the air breathable.”

  Mulligan jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the front of the rig. “Well, hey, I happen to know where we can load up on spares.”

  “Okay, Mulligan. You can have some burritos, but only if you wear an environmental suit while you rack out,” Andrews said. “Let’s see how funny you t
hink it is when you start farting inside your own spacesuit.”

  “I assure you, my gastric emissions are like the perfume of the gods,” Mulligan said.

  “Yeah, if the god in question is named Hades and you want this place to smell like hell,” Leona said.

  Mulligan slowly looked toward Andrews. “Now I see why people shouldn’t fraternize on field runs, Captain. Burrito denial is a serious and unforeseen consequence.”

  Everyone laughed, Leona the loudest of all. She looked at Mulligan with bright eyes, and Mulligan shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.

  “Everyone has a cross to bear, Sarmajor.” Andrews set the cups of water on the dinette table. “Consolation prize: spaghetti and meatballs? Made in Harmony, not prepackaged.”

  “Flash-frozen spaghetti? I’d rather sleep in an environmental suit. In the airlock, even.”

  “Come on. Man up,” Andrews said. “It’s the best thing we’ve got.”

  “Nothing is better than a burrito, son. Nothing.” There was a note of deep sadness in Mulligan’s voice as he spoke.

  “Well, Sarmajor, I’m not going to stop you from doing what you want to do.” Andrews smiled and looked at Leona. “You apparently answer to a higher power than I do.”

  Leona shot him a thumbs-up. Mulligan scowled.