by Arthur Byrne
“There is one solution, and that is to expand. Therefore I’m putting out a call for two dozen new map runners in the hopes we can find a second location and build there what we’ve so successfully built here.”
Some cheers went up but a voice called out, “What about the pregnancy laws?”
“We don’t know when we’ll find another space to expand to. It could be days or years. The survival of Bay 37 is still my highest priority, but I hear your concerns.
“The law is there for a reason. We simply must control our numbers.”
Another person screamed, “It’s barbaric.”
The crowd seemed to be turning.
“I don’t disagree, and that is why I’ve decided to lower the penalty to forty-five days. We need this law, but if everyone understands that restraint is best for everyone, then if someone should find themselves...forced to make a decision...”
The voice yelled again, “It’s still a death sentence.”
A second voice yelled, “The commander’s right. Every new mouth effects us all.”
The crowd seemed to take up sides at that point, but it didn’t get violent. Frank went back inside and returned to his office.
Fiel had been standing at the edge of the crowd. Frank had seen her gauging the people’s reaction to the news. He sat down and lit a cigar to wait for her thoughts.
“I thought that went well,” Fiel said as she walked in.
“I wouldn’t say I had them in the palm of my hand. There were quite a few people shouting.”
“There were a couple of people trying to stir things up, but most of them were neutral. Toward the end, you had supporters.”
“I’m not sure I’d call that a win.”
“Twenty minutes ago, they wanted your head. Now look,” she said pointing out the window.
The crowd had started to break up and go home. Some of the fliers calling for an election had been crumpled and thrown on the ground.
“I want to talk to Garnett the moment he’s back.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Fiel left, and Frank was left with his thoughts. He pulled up the map and looked closer at the area around the duck hole. The runners had been as far as the charging station on that level.
If the Nazereen had a camp on the level below, it might be worthwhile to try to find it. The chances were good that the guard had gotten all of them, but sometimes squads joined up and formed larger units. The year before, almost three kilometers out from the gate, Nash had spotted a group of sixty, who had what he described as a permanent encampment. He hadn’t sent anyone to that level since.
Frank liked order. Doing accounting brought him peace. The numbers either balanced or they didn’t, and if it was the latter, he was a master at finding the mistake. Military strategy had been his worst course at the academy, and he had dreaded each class.
Of late, he’d been revisiting some of the texts they’d studied. Without Professor Crips belittling him, the reading was much more interesting. He had read Sun Tzu’s Art of War and actually found he enjoyed it.
The night before, he had pulled out the first volume of the complete Beta Nine Ancestry Wars: An Analysis, by Roger E. Thester, from 2290. He enjoyed the old stories, but Frank also had a copy of the Western Spiral Conflict Explained, and though it was dry, he was starting to see the logic used by military strategists. He liked logic, and it was, after ten years, apparent that the Magellan, all broken and adrift, would be his home for the rest of his life. It was time to do more than survive. It was time to grow his world.
Frank may not have wanted to be their commander, but now that he was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to give up without a fight. This was his fiefdom, and he planned to keep it.
***
When they came through the gate, all of PJ’s friends were there, and Misila gave him a long kiss.
“I was so worried,” she said.
“The master-at-arms here pulled my bacon out of the fire, that’s for sure.”
Seaghán got a hug from Misila.
PJ’s tracker welcomed him back and told him he needed to report to the commander’s office.
PJ said to the crowd, “I’ve got to go check in. I’ll be buying at Hal’s as soon as I can.”
One more kiss from his girl, and PJ went to file his report.
The door was open.
“Sir, you wanted to see me.”
“Yes, come in. It’s good to see you back in one piece.”
“It’s good to be in one piece. Nash and Tong really saved me.”
“So tell me what happened.”
“I made a crucial mistake when I went to set up a safe zone. I should have put a sensor on my gear at the duck hole. Then I might not have been so low on air when I called it in.”
“Well, I imagine that’s not a mistake you’ll make in the future.”
“No, sir.”
“Please, continue. How did you first encounter the Navereen?”
“After I sent out the S.O.S., I went looking for a working charging station on that level.”
“Did you find one?”
“No, but I honestly didn’t get too far before they spotted me. I made it back to the camp. Nash had suggested I set up a safe area, just in case, and it saved my life. I had a small bunker, and it was enough to keep them at bay until the cavalry arrived.”
“How many were there?”
“I believe I killed three in the halls, but those weren’t confirmed. There were nine other confirmed kills: four by me and five by Nash and Tong.”
“Well done, soldier.”
“Thanks. They had an interesting piece of gear I never learned about in training. It was an energy shield that had a weapon in the center, so they could advance and fire under cover.”
“Did you retrieve any of these shields?”
“Yes, sir. We got quite a lot of their gear—all that we could carry—and a few M-514 rifles. I don’t know how many rounds were left for the rifles, but it’s at least a hundred.”
Frank was pleased. The city guard’s weapons were less than impressive. The 514s were heavier than anything they had in their armory.
“You’ve done well, PJ, and I’m giving you the rest of this run off. You earned it.”
“Thanks, commander.”
“I am curious. Is it worthwhile to go back?”
“Yes, I believe it is, sir. If I did kill three more of them, then their gear is just sitting in the halls.”
“How many men to retrieve the extra gear?”
“I would like the rest of the day, but if you sent me back there tomorrow with two more men, we could get the gear. Of course, if you had another couple of men, there were a few locked doors I passed while being chased that might have something worthwhile behind them.”
“I like the way you think. Report back at eight hundred hours, and I’ll have your team ready.”
PJ saluted. He wasn’t officially in the military, being a map runner, but it seemed appropriate.
Frank returned the salute and said, “One more thing. Let’s keep tomorrow’s mission to ourselves. If anyone asks, you’ve got to write a detailed report. You’ll be out and back in a day, so I think it would be best.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nash made it to Hal’s just as Tempest was going on for her last set.
PJ said, “Hey, it’s my knight in shining armor.”
Misila, who was pretty drunk, got up and gave Nash a big hug. Nash tolerated the affection.
“Who do I have to rescue to get a drink around here?
Misila slurred something about being right back. Holly got up to keep an eye on her. “Scotch?”
“Thanks,” Nash said, and sat down.
“I owe you one, buddy.”
“We don’t keep score. So, what did you learn?”
“Not much. I mean I only really got details on the one room. The halls I remember, but not lengths or anything like that.”
“W
hy do you suppose someone blasted such a big hole to get down there?”
“I don’t know. I just thought it was from some skirmish between scavengers and aliens.”
“I’m not so sure. There isn’t any other damage in the hall. I suppose someone could have been just trying to get away. It’s a rather big hole, though.”
“Is it?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
Holly set a shot in front of Nash. Misila grabbed PJ and hauled him off to the dance floor.
Holly said, “Why did you turn me off?”
“Why did you join the trackers?”
“I wanted to help the war effort.”
Nash looked at her, then did the shot and said, “The war ended ten years ago.”
“Then why were you in a fight today?”
Nash didn’t have a clever comeback.
“How many of them do you think are still out there?”
“One or two.”
“Be serious.”
“I have no idea how many boarded.”
“But it’s been ten years. Surely most of them have been killed.”
“The Magellan is a big ship.”
“Yes, but aren’t there troops out there hunting them down?”
“All the Magellan personnel I’ve seen have been just as bad as the Navereen.”
“You mean scavengers.”
“I’d call them survivors, but yes.”
“Isn’t it possible that there are some who are still fighting?”
“We’re drifting through a ship that’s bigger than some small countries in the middle of a vast blackness that is beyond our comprehension. I’d say that anything is possible.”
Ronnie Hu came up to the table and said, “Cheers, mate. I’d like to buy you a round and have a little chin wag.”
“Scotch, neat, the good stuff, if you’re buying.”
Ronnie hollered to Calvin at the bar, “A bottle of scotch, and don’t give me none of that rat piss you peddle. Nash is a hero and deserves top shelf. Three glasses.” He turned to Holly and said, “You’ll have a drink with us, won’t ya, luv?”
“Why not.”
“Why not, indeed,” Ronnie said with a laugh. “Now, Nash, I don’t mean to bite your arm off, but what do you think about the goings on outside the gate today? Everybody’s talking, and it seems people have gotten tired of that daft commander of ours.”
Nash looked at Holly and then back at Ronnie and asked, “What happened at the gate?”
“You don’t know?”
Holly said, “He didn’t get back with the others.” She turned to Nash. “Some people are calling for elections.”
Nash asked, “For what?”
Ronnie said, “For the bloke that’s going to run this joint. It’s high time we decided who’s got our best interest at heart and who’s just throwing a spanner in the works.”
The bottle arrived, and Nash did the honors. “So, you want to run this joint?”
“Nah, mate. You’re off your trolley if you think I want to run this shite hole...but anyone be better than that Nancy boy, Frank. So are you with us?”
Nash said, “I like you, Ronnie, but I’m on my own side.”
Ronnie didn’t look pleased, but only for an instant. “You did a bang up job today. Just don’t forget who your friends are, mate.” Ronnie poured himself another drink and then, with a tip of the glass, headed back to a table full of curious eyes.
Holly said, “I didn’t understand half of what he was saying.”
“Ronnie’s a bit of a mixed bag, Chinese-American-Scottish with a love of London night life. He had a lot of potential, was a robotics engineer out of school, but his fondness for drink and skirts was his undoing. I can respect that.”
“He’s cute.”
Tempest was walking through the crowd singing an old blues tune from the 2320s. It was her signature song and always the last of the night.
She sauntered past Nash, rubbed her fingers through his hair, and looked at Holly as she sang, “I’ve got my claws sharpened and nobody’s going to take my baby.”
Holly got up and left.
Nash watched as Tempest slinked past another table, and he thought about her side, her front, and what it was like when she was on her back. Her politics were the only type he didn’t mind.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nash decided he was going to join PJ and the two city guards on their, as he liked to call it, treasure hunting mission.
When they got to the duck hole, Nash said, “This is what we’re going to do. Before we go down there, let’s make sure we can get back out in a hurry.” Nash pulled a nano-charge ladder out of his gear.
PJ said, “Where did you get that?”
“I found it a few months back and thought it might come in handy.”
“How does it work?”
Nash unfurled the ladder like an old rope ladder and attached it to the top of the duck hole. He hooked up a micro charger to the end of each side of the ladder and linked them together. The last bit was a control device he attached at the link point. “This lets me fire it up from my HUD. Check it out.”
Like a magic cane, it went from limp to solid. Everyone climbed down and then Nash said, “And for my next trick...”
The ladder went limp again.
One of the guards asked, “Why’d you do that?”
“It’s a lot harder to climb like that. If we’re chasing someone, it will slow them down. If we’re being chased, then...”
“You give it another erection,” the guard said.
“Okay, PJ, let’s go to the right first and see if our friend made it.”
They stepped into the hallway and turned right. Nash said to the city guards, “You two watch our six,” and then continued on.
The door was closed. Nash opened it, weapon drawn, and didn’t like what he saw. All the bodies were gone. Nash pointed, and PJ nodded. They crawled down onto the production floor and went to the spot where they’d left the wounded alien. It was gone, too.
There were several of the food cans, empty, and the water bottle lined up neatly by the wall. Nash climbed the collapsed stairs on to the other door. It was open. The hall straight in front of him was clear all the way up to another door.
He looked right, and it was clear, too.
PJ said, “If we go straight, it wraps around, and we should find the first two bodies.”
“Let’s go the other way. I want to retrace your steps.”
“Where do you think the bodies went?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt the wounded Navereen soldier moved them all. We need to stay sharp.”
Nash led the way down the hall. They got to the point where PJ had turned right, and it looked clear in both directions.
PJ said, “I went to the right, but they came up on me from the left.”
Nash turned to the right and said, “Let’s move slowly and keep an eye behind us. Quiet as a mouse. Let’s go.”
They reached the first two bodies. All the alien gear was taken and the corpses were hacked to pieces.
PJ said, “What the...”
Nash held up a fist for quiet. He moved around the bodies and continued until they got to the next one. It was in the same shape.
“Stay alert,” he whispered and turned back.
When they reached the intersection with the hallway back to the duck hole, Nash told the city guard to stay put and watch for trouble. He motioned for PJ to follow, and they went down the hall toward where the Navereen had come from when they attacked PJ.
All along the hall were locked doors at equal intervals. They likely led to housing or offices. A few of the doors looked as if someone had tried to force their way in, but none of them had been breached.
They reached what Nash always thought of as a bulkhead, but it was really just a door that could seal off a hallway. Every single one of these doors held the possibility of an uncontaminated section behind it or certain death. Either way, he liked finding them.
“Okay, this is new territory,” Nash said and hit the button. The door opened, and the whoosh of air pressure was a sign that life support was operating on the other side.
Nash closed the door behind him and took a reading. The oxygen level was nearly normal and carbon dioxide was only slightly elevated. That extra mil was probably due to what had seeped in from the other hall when they opened the door.
PJ stood at the ready.
Nash walked forward only four meters before the sensors read over twenty percent oxygen and less than half a mil carbon dioxide. He took off his helmet.
PJ did, too.
“Do you hear anything?”
“No, do you?”
“Not a thing.”
“It looks clear all the way up to the next door.”
“Should we go check it out?”
Nash rubbed his chin. “How long do you supposes this section is?”
“Why don’t we find out exactly?”
“Hold up. I’m thinking.”
PJ just let him think.
“The halls on the other side of the door near where we left the injured Navereen, they both went up to doors like this, right?”
“Yes.”
Nash said, “Put your helmet back on.”
PJ locked on his helmet and gave a thumbs up.
Nash opened the door and said, “Now, I want you to go back to the intersection with the guards and count to thirty.”
PJ did as he was told.
Nash stood in the doorway and kept an eye on the other closed door until PJ said, “Okay, thirty.”
“What’s your reading like down there?”
“Two percent carbon dioxide.”
“Okay, is the carbon dioxide still falling?”
“Yes, but that’s because you’re holding the door open.”
Nash said, “Quiz time. At what level is the air safe enough to breath?”
PJ recited like a schoolboy, “At normal pressure, oxygen at least fifteen percent, although it’s hard to catch your breath unless its twenty or higher, below ten percent you’re dead, fast. But it’s the carbon dioxide that’s usually the killer. Less than half a mil is ideal. You can tolerate a full mil, 0.1%, if you don’t mind a headache, one percent makes you tired and weak, and you can survive up to three percent for a short time. Much above that you’ll pass out soon if at rest, quicker if you’re running. Above ten percent CO2, you’re dead.”
