by J. N. Chaney
“Where the hell are you going?” I ask when I catch up to Garin and Pats, like he had a plan for his mad dash but has lost track of where he is.
“You confused me with the maintenance passage. Did we have to go that way? I was trying to find Shaina. She was waiting for us with weapons, maybe even armor, for when I got you free of the guards.” He turned in a circle, looking up and down the hallway. Wak-wak acts similarly confused.
My mental map of the gate ship is far from complete but superior to normal memory. The kid might be an enthusiastic explorer, but I’m a pro with upgrades. “I’ll take the lead. Where were you supposed to meet her?”
“By the garbage chutes,” Garin says.
I review where we’ve been. “I haven’t seen those, but I think I can estimate where they should be based on a process of elimination. Follow me, and don’t be seen if Slade and the commandos catch up.”
The kid doesn’t argue, and neither do the Hwelas or the cat.
“What about Zedas? Do you have any idea where they’re holding him now?” I ask.
“Everything is going crazy. I just don’t know,” Garin says, frustration showing through for the first time in a while.
“Relax. Stay alert. We can figure this out,” I say.
The next passage is completely vacant. People have been here because I see blood and half a discarded jumpsuit. A medic has cut somebody out of their clothing to render aid.
I observe something else I haven’t noticed until now. Every hallway has a strip near the top with the same symbols as in the older, unexplored part of the ship. They’re glowing now and moving like a stock market ticker. Ancient messages, full of meaning if I could just slow down to study them. The images burn into my mind for later reference.
Garin sees what I’m focused on but doesn’t comment. I don’t explain. There isn’t time. This ship is a true archaeological site and should be studied, not used and abused. There are dangerous secrets embedded in this vessel.
“We’re getting close,” Garin says.
I cross through an intersection and see carts full of debris that must be on the way to some sort of garbage dump. “Shaina! We’re coming. Are you there?”
“I hear you,” she answers.
I run toward her voice. Garin and the others follow me. We find Shaina sitting on a crate with an unlit cigar in one hand and a charge rifle laying over her legs.
“Found a crate, but not the one we stashed. This is the best stolen weapons crate you will ever find in the resistance, but it’s locked,” she says. “Please tell me you brought a key.”
I consider shooting it open but decide against it. “We’re not totally unarmed.” I lift my pistol and nod to her rifle. “Let’s find Zedas and bust him out. I’ve got a feeling that time is running out for this ship. We better capture it or get off.”
She stands and readies her weapon. “Works for me. Question: how are we going to find the Dogan on a ship this size? Have you been paying attention? This thing is way bigger than I thought.”
“It should be easy if we ask the right person,” I say.
Shaina throws one hand in the air, disgusted. “Why didn’t I think of that? Hello, Mr. Dark Eye commando. Could you please tell me where the Dogan prisoner is? I’d like to break him out so he can kill you.”
I don’t dignify her sarcasm with a response.
“Or are you just going to ask the Dark Eye himself?” she asks.
I think about it, but I already know the answer. “My last encounter with Jack didn’t go well. We’re not confronting him again until we can stack the deck in our favor.”
We head out in search of Zedas but spend most of our time doubling back to avoid pockets of fighting. Much of it is internal, poorly armed crew members fighting against soldiers as the mutiny spreads. Every active view screen I pass is playing images of the tragedy unfolding on the planet.
Jack miscalculated when he pressed these people into service. If he’d spent more time on Sarsten, he might have brought their families as well. Would that have been a good idea? Maybe, maybe not but since hindsight is 20/20, it’s easy to assume the mutiny could have been avoided. The ship is big enough to shelter a lot of people. Families might have been safely tucked away while the soldiers defended the ship. But he’s in a hurry, definitely rushing to whatever he thinks his destiny is.
A crowd of people run straight toward us, barely slowing down. Some of them are soldiers.
“I don’t like this, Murph,” Shaina says. “Both sides are running away.”
I rush toward another hallway, determined to get clear of this area but also not to get caught in the panicked exodus. Another large object impacts the ship sending tremors through the deck plating.
A large oval glows in one wall where somebody or something is cutting through. I stare in fascination. That short amount of time turns out to be too long as a section explodes outward and a Prothean warrior bursts through. A chunk of metal knocks Shaina off her feet, smashing her against a wall.
She screams in pain. The animal sound isn’t a word, but I know exactly what it means. The woman is hurt. She attempts to stand and crumples the moment she takes a step.
I grab her under one arm, supporting as much of her weight as I can, and we run. Garin, Wak-wak, and the cat sprint into the lead once more. The ship tremors from distant collisions.
“Good news, the Protheans are here to kill all of our enemies,” Shaina says, teeth clenched against pain. “And then us, more’s the pity.”
There isn’t time for banter. A bone sticks through her pant leg. I can’t believe she hasn’t passed out. The way she’s trying to hug her body makes me think she has other broken bones as well. I take the charge rifle from her hands, and she doesn’t protest.
That’s a bad sign.
What’s worse is that we finally arrive at the brig and find it melted to slag. Anyone who was imprisoned there is dead. I can’t get close enough to check any of the cells for bodies.
“We need to get back to the shuttle bay,” I tell Garin. He leads, and I follow, carrying most of Shaina’s weight. “Escape may be the best we can do.”
“No way, Mr. Murphy. We’re not quitting!”
33
“Do you need help?” Says a middle-aged man with blood on his jumpsuit. “I have some medical training. We’re evacuating wounded, and I think your friend qualifies.”
Shaina whispers fiercely. “You better not leave me with them.”
I avoid answering the implied question. “Can one of you help me carry her? She has a broken leg.”
“More than that, I suspect,” the man says.
I size him up, hoping he can help because we need a break. “Where are you going?”
“Murphy, I’m warning you,” Shaina says, still under her breath.
“Same place as everyone—trying to reach the shuttle bay or someplace where we can get off the ship,” the workman says. “There are giants, maybe Protheans or rogue Dogans, killing people now, like the Dark Eye’s goons weren’t bad enough.”
“What’s your name, friend?” I ask.
“Robert,” he says. “We take anybody who needs help. By the look of her leg, she qualifies more than most.”
I see the pale, drawn face of Yeager, his armor recognizable despite the lack of a helmet. He watches me as well but says nothing. What Robert says is true. There is a disparate collection of regular crew and soldiers, most of them injured and the rest helping the wounded walk or pushing them on carts.
“I’m armed, so I can help with security,” I say.
“I’m also armed,” Shaina says. “And not happy, so don’t mess with me. By the gods, my leg hurts.”
Robert shifts uncomfortably. “We don’t allow the wounded to carry weapons. If you start to struggle, you might forget we’re friends. I’ve seen it happen before, back in the war.”
She curses fluently as I set her on one of the carts. Robert gently takes the charge pistol from her, then I take it from him and
hook it through my belt. He looks at me resentfully.
“I’ll hold onto her pistol,” I say. “Have you been near the brig? Did you see any survivors? It’s important.”
“Haven’t seen it myself, but rumor has it some people survived including a big Dogan,” Robert says, then gets distracted giving orders to his followers.
“Which way? It’s important.” I look up and down the hallway hoping for a clue, but all I see is the amount of smoke increasing from both directions. The air smells like burning plastic and overheated charge weapon batteries.
Robert and the others start to panic. It’s a slow change in the way they walk, but they’re growing desperate. Arguments diminish to nothing. Only one man groaning in pain continues to make noise.
Shaina looks at me with wide eyes and motions for me to return the charge pistol. I’m tempted, but also distracted.
Heavy footfalls pound the deck from both directions. I look anywhere we might hide and see only a maintenance closet and some grating on the floor that probably leads to a sub-deck. After our experience below decks in the Heptagon, that is the last place I want to go.
The footfalls stomp closer like sledgehammers. I count two sets from each direction and assume they are Protheans. No human, not even in the battle armor that some of Jack’s people wear, makes that kind of noise. I catch Garin’s eye and give him a nod. He turns invisible with Patty-pats and Wak-wak.
There’s one problem temporarily solved.
Shaina is in bad shape. I hand her back the charge pistol when Robert isn’t watching. The man is completely correct to disarm her. She’s wounded and in terrible shape. I can see the misery on her face and understand how badly she is hurt because she’s not trying to fight through it and walk. I can also see blood on her jumpsuit trouser leg, confirming it’s a compound fracture. The bone I saw wasn’t my imagination. In any other circumstance, I would be rendering emergency aid right this very moment.
Some of the civilians start to flee but quickly come back because neither direction offers escape.
“We’ve got to hide in the sub-deck,” Yeager shouts.
I hold his gaze for a full second, not liking the decision, and not liking being in charge and responsible for these people now.
“You survived that wound,” I say.
“Yeah, now don’t get me killed along with all these idiots,” he barks.
“Everyone, through the grate. As fast as you can,” I say. “Get down there and be quiet!”
“What the hell are we doing?” Shaina demands.
“What we have to,” I say, then sit her against the wall facing one angle of attack. I’m convinced that they will come around the corner before I can hide all the civilians and injured soldiers. Even with my Orphan enhancements, I feel like I’m moving ten times slower than everything around me. Of course it’s an illusion but that doesn’t make it any less stressful.
I grab Robert who is struggling to catch up with my plan, simple as it is. He is sharp, and has been doing a good job leading these people, but this is a snap decision with everybody’s lives on the line. “Get them under the sub-deck. Everyone. If I’m not down there with my friend in thirty seconds, weld it shut if you can. And then don’t let them hear you.”
“I don’t know if people can breathe down there,” he says.
“Figure it out.” I give him a shove to get him moving.
“Okay, okay. I’ll do my best,” he says. “This just seems dangerous.”
As irony would have it, the wait now feels like forever. When the two Prothean shock troopers break the corner, I fire immediately, aiming for their faces hoping I can at least impair their vision for a few moments.
Shaina shoots the other direction, shouting herself hoarse from the pain of the weapon’s recoil. On a normal day, she might not notice it after all of her training, but she’s in bad shape and her adrenaline has apparently run out. No amount of screaming is going to put aside the hellish misery of her broken bones.
I back up, switching targets rapidly, and come to the grate. With no hesitation, I begin pivoting right and left to shoot toward both groups of Protheans, who continue to march forward. If they start shooting now, it’s over.
My charge bolts have little effect beyond creating a confusing shower of sparks. I grab Shaina by her collar and fling her into the open grate. Her angry shouts compete with the sound of my gun. I fire through the smoke and then drop down behind them. With one hand, I yank the grate closed.
Four pairs of feet stop right above us. Two of Robert’s mechanics shoulder their way past me and start welding metal.
One of the Protheans pulls on the hatch, but the welds hold. The mechanics add crossbars from anything they can scavenge in a hurry and melt them into place.
I find Shaina lying off to one side, holding her weapon to her chest and trembling. I couldn’t have put her in more pain if I tried. She’s beyond the point of even cursing. But I can see a lot in her expression. She knows just like me that the Protheans can cut through the flooring anytime they want, just like they have been going through walls and blast doors.
Our only chance was to slip away unseen and find a maintenance passage to another part of the ship. Robert and most of the others are gone, already fleeing in search of just such a boon.
I kneel beside Shaina. Garin, Wak-wak, and Patty-pats huddle close by watching without a word—faces intent with worry. The welding continues, but I ignore the flying sparks and noise.
“I’m going to splint your leg, and it’s going to hurt like nothing you’ve ever experienced,” I say.
She stares at me with her pale, sweaty face, eyes wide, and laughs maniacally. “I’ve experienced an awful lot, Murph. This is nothing but a scratch.”
I give her my belt so she can bite down on something, then take some of the discarded scrap metal from the barricade project and brace myself to cause her a lot of agony. “I have to splint the bone, and I have to stop the bleeding.”
“I know.” She doesn’t close her eyes even when I push the bone back into place and strap a bar of metal to it.
Two of Robert’s men carry Shaina on a stretcher. Garin stays close to her, quieter than usual. Every one of the survivors is injured or stunned from recent events.
Robert walks close to me. “How long before they come down and get us?”
“Hopefully not until we find a way out,” I say.
He shakes his head. “There’s no way out, and I hope I’m not right, but I don’t think there’s enough breathable atmosphere down here. Caitlin, one of our ship ventilation specialists, says there aren’t ventilation ducts down here, which means we’re living on borrowed time. Ambient air won’t last, especially with us welding doors shut and running. I told her to keep that information quiet. All we need now is panic.”
I exhale forcefully, then massage the back of my neck. “There has to be another way out, or a life support option. Whoever designed the ship made it big enough for repair crews. Tell your people to keep looking. There must be another exit, and if there is life support, we should be able to turn it back on.”
Robert doesn’t argue, but neither does he spring into action.
“They know they have us trapped. They’ll leave us down here,” I say. “If they were going to cut through the deck and drag us out, they would’ve already done it.”
“That’s not the most motivational speech I’ve ever heard, but I’ll get my people to work. We’ll find an exit or life support systems.”
I check on Shaina. She tries to tell a few lame jokes, but I can’t understand a word she says. “I need to give you something for the pain, knock you out.”
“If you think I’m going to argue, you’re crazy. But I don’t see a lot of qualified medics giving out numb-sticks,” she says.
I reach out my hand, and she takes it, squeezing hard. Each time the pain flares up, she nearly breaks my fingers. Garin, Wak-wak, and the cat pester her with questions and lame jokes.
“Just giv
e her a minute,” I say.
Shaina pulls her hand free. “It’s okay. Keeps me distracted. Go find us a way out of here.”
“Don’t leave her for a second,” I say to Garin.
“I won’t, Mr. Murphy,” he promises.
It doesn’t take me long to find the problem. There is a door leading out of this place, but it’s probably been closed since the ship was built. It’s the same black color with purple energy dots from the untouched sections of the ship. I don’t want to go through it, but it’s our only option. The problem is, we can’t open it. There isn’t a handle or keypad on this side.
“My technical crew says we could go outside of the ship if we had extra vehicle activity gear, reenter, and open it with no problem,” Robert says. “But we don’t have any gear. At all. Next time we’re running for our lives, I’ll have to plan better.”
A few of the men and women around him laugh grimly.
“I can handle it,” I say, already adjusting my priorities. I have to save these people and my friends, but I still have to take the ship from Jack, or there will be no hope for the Goliath Sector.
“How?” Robert’s eyes are full of hope but also confusion. He’s truly desperate if he’s going to believe my claim. He doesn’t know me or what I can do.
“Don’t worry about it. Take care of Shaina and the kid. I’ll be back. Be ready to move. Take an inventory of your talent pool. You’re going to need at least one shuttle pilot if we can ever make it back to the ships,” I say.
I head for the maintenance airlock, which looks as unused as the rest of this area. A group of men stands around working on theories they know have no chance of working.
“Will this airlock open?” I ask.
“Sure, stranger. You have a death wish?”
“I’m an Orphan. I’ve been on the outside of a ship before and lived.”
None of them talk after that, and before long, I am working my way across the deck in search of a way back inside. I don’t die, but this is incredibly unpleasant. Sure I can go without oxygen and atmosphere. Of course I can prevent my body from decompressing. And I can endure the cold and radiation of space. But I hurt inside and out and my mind still thinks I’m going to float off into the void and suffer for weeks before I succumb to the void.
