“1340 hours, March 9th, 2157. This is likely to be my last entry. The mutineers have secured life support and the shuttle decks, rendering my hope of abandoning ship moot. They threaten to cut off all systems to decks they do not control, and having no reason to assume that they will not follow through with this threat, I have opted to surrender. If anyone else reads this log, please get it to the Martian Central Command. Major William Marshall,” there was a pause here, “signing out.”
The Major was staring at her station; she turned, saying, “Sorry, sir. I’m still getting used to the new control interface.”
“Ghosts from the past, Sub-Lieutenant. Probably best left buried, at least as soon as we bring the bastards to justice.” He frowned, continuing, “I take it you are working on the data archives.”
“Yes, sir. I thought I was running the last log entry.”
She leaned back over the console, running search programs she’d brought over with her, shaking her head. Her eyes widened as gibberish began to fill the screen, a random tangle of numbers and letters washing over the monitors at her station.
“Problems?”
“Nothing I didn’t expect, sir. Encryption algorithms. I should be able to crack them with the decoders I brought over from Alamo.”
She started to work, leaning over her station as the babble of routine conversations washed over her, attacking the database with program after program, then shaking her head as she started to look at the raw code. Her eyes widened as it washed over her, and she began to cross-reference with the library database, hardly believing what she had seen.
“Sub-Lieutenant?” the Major said.
Looking up, she saw him standing over her shoulder, “Sir?”
“I hope you don’t get that unresponsive during a battle. I’ve been calling you.”
“I’m sorry, Major. This is just...incredible.”
“What?”
Tapping the screen, she said, “All the data from before the takeover is intact and accessible, no problems there. Since then, though, that’s a different story. It looks as though they fed all new information into a separate encrypted partition in the database, and threw over it the tightest encryption code I’ve ever seen.”
“So how long is this going to take?”
She pointed at one of the monitors, “Sir, according to our top thinkers, the encryption they are using is impossible to decode.”
“I don’t know that word, Sub-Lieutenant. Work on it.”
“With the equipment we have on board, I can’t.”
Frowning, he replied, “Liaise with Alamo, then, if they have something we lack.”
“Sir, we need to get the top minds at Mutch Tech and Syrtis U. on this one. And the big quantum supercomputer out at Deimos, probably. This is way out of our league.”
“So we’ve got nothing, then.”
Shaking her said, she said, “Anything classified is out of bounds, sir. That still leaves us with a lot of soft data, though – all the crew’s personal files are available, for a start, and the literature database is a lot larger.”
“Are you trying to tell me that after all of this, we only have some diaries and holiday holographs to show for it?”
“No, sir.” She looked back at her console. “The data is here, all of it, but we just can’t read it. Yet.”
“Sir,” Mathis said from his station, “We’ve just got exterior communications back. I have Lieutenant-Captain Marshall for you.”
“Very good, I’ll take it.” He turned back to Orlova, “Keep working on this, Sub-Lieutenant. This has to be your absolute top priority. I want that code cracked.”
“I’ll do what I can, sir.”
Nodding, he walked away from his station; Orlova saw that the smile he had worn since he stepped back on board had vanished as he returned to his chair.
Chapter 13
Second Squad sat in their shuttle, spacesuits already on, rifles in their arms and ready for action. Reluctantly, their plasma rifles had been left stowed in the overhead locker; their goal was to take and hold the facility, and blowing it to pieces was not something that their superiors could countenance; low velocity rifles only were the order of the day, and precision shots of paramount importance.
Cooper ran down a check of his pockets, making sure everything he needed was present; suit patches, spare ammo, smoke grenades, lucky coin. All of the privates’ pockets were slim, tight to their side, but Corporal Caldwell’s were bulging with all manner of bits and pieces, paraphernalia that her experience had taught her might be necessary.
He glanced out of the viewport at the approaching asteroid; for all the images he had studied of Alamo’s encounter with a similar facility at Jefferson, it still seemed impossible that this could actually be an operational facility. The pilot – Barbara, naturally – was flying them cautiously into the long tunnel that led to the interior chamber, and Cooper couldn’t help but feel an attack of claustrophobia as they soared into the confined space.
“What’s this dump called, anyway?” Knight said, trying to talk over his nerves.
“Does it matter?” Caldwell replied.
“Call it Hades,” Goldschmidt replied. “God of the underworld.”
“Fine, fine, whatever,” the corporal said, shaking her head. “Let’s get an equipment check done. We’ll be docking in two minutes.”
The squad stood up, running through the practiced suit check on their buddy. They’d already done this twice, and Cooper knew exactly what the corporal was doing – make-work to keep their minds off the impending battle. He certainly had no objection, and he adjusted Orlowski’s suit hoses, giving them an experimental tug to test the connection.
“Pilot to boarding party,” Barbara’s voice echoed over the speakers. “I’m closing on target now. Green light in one minute.”
Caldwell made her way to the airlock, preparing for the crossing; she would lead the way, Goldschmidt standing by her side, with Cooper and Orlowski in the second wave. They waited in silence, staring up at the light over the airlock, hands tight on the ceiling holds to keep them from drifting about. Cooper ran a last check on his suit thrusters, making sure they were in sync with his rifle; if they were off, he could be sent flying off all over the place, an easy target.
“Isn’t it taking a bit long?” Knight said. “My watch says ninety seconds.”
“Let the pilot do her job,” Cooper replied.
“You would say that,” Knight said, shaking her head, before Caldwell interrupted the burgeoning argument by making her way over to the communicator.
“Caldwell to Pilot. What’s the hold-up?”
“I can’t get a good seal with the airlock. Damn.”
“What?”
“They’ve rigged something up to block it. We won’t get a seal.”
“Try another?”
“No point. If they did it to one they’ll have done it to all. Someone’s going to have to go out and clear it. You’ll need some volunteers.”
Caldwell looked out across the untested troopers, “Anyone interested?”
No-one’s hand went up; Cooper looked around, seeing his friends waver, then nodded. “I’ll go.” He poked Orlowski in the back, who turned to him with a start.
“What?” Grimacing, he continued, “What the hell, I didn’t have plans for tonight anyway.”
“Right. Go out and clear the obstruction. Take plasma pistols with you.”
Nodding, Cooper reached up to the overhead locker and pulled out a pair of sidearms, flicking on the charge cycle then passing one to his friend, who was retrieving a toolkit. Drifting past the corporal, they slid into the airlock, closing the inner door behind them; Orlowski held his hand over the release for the outer door.
“Ready?”
“You do the work, I’ll cover you,” Cooper replied. “Let’s get this over with.”
&n
bsp; With a tap, the door opened; they deliberately hadn’t cycled out the atmosphere, using it to hurl them away from the shuttle and towards the towering gray wall of the asteroid. Suit jets fired to slow them down, kicking them towards the waiting airlock. The two of them slammed into the wall, pushing back out towards the shuttle, but they managed to get their lines secured while they were still in reach.
Orlowski climbed hand-over-hand towards the airlock, shaking his head as he saw the tangle of girders that had been hastily welded on in a spiderweb of metal. Reaching into the toolkit, he began the process of dismantling the work, Cooper hovering behind him, pistol at the ready.
A voice crackled over his intercom, “Two targets heading your way, from up above.”
Pivoting on the line, Cooper turned to look up, and saw a pair of shapes drifting down towards him, rifles at the ready. He twisted off as he fired, two shots in quick succession, but he was not quite quick enough. One of the targets vanished in green fire, the other pushed off to the right. Alarms began to go off in his helmet, a decompression alarm, but he had to ignore it for the present, swinging loose of the line and towards his target.
He fired another shot, this time just behind the outcrop his target was hding behind, and grinned as the resulting shrapnel did his work for him, the body drifting away. Now he could look down at his suit, an angry tear ripped down the side of his leg, far too big for a suit patch to cover it. His backpack should be able to support him for days; with his suit in this condition, he had only a couple of minutes. Burning his suit jets for all they were worth, he dived for the airlock, where Orlowski had almost finished pulling off the last of the metal.
“What the hell, Gabe?”
Shaking his head, Cooper slammed a hand on what he hoped was the emergency entry button, and the door slid open. He dived in, grabbing onto a handhold, but before he could close the door Orlowski ducked in behind him.
“No way I’m letting you do a last stand by yourself,” he said, closing the door. The pressure began to equalize, the warning alarms fading away in Cooper’s suit as the environment outside returned to normal – though he was now going to be stranded unless he could find another suit; the lockers in the airlock were empty.
“What’s going on over there?” Caldwell’s voice called.
“My suit was holed, Corp. Had to get in out of the cold,” Cooper replied.
“Hold on. We’ll be docking in ninety seconds.”
Regardless of Caldwell’s hopes, the inner door slid open, a trio of bullets smashing into the order door. Kicking off, Cooper and Orlowski dived forward in search over cover, but the area had been well prepared as a killing zone – the walls were smooth, no turns or corners, no place to hide. With a cry, Orlowski tumbled to the side, blood spilling out into the air; Cooper couldn’t spare the seconds to think of his friend, instead raising his rifle and firing wildly, blindly, desperately attempting to lay down suppressing fire as he dived down the corridor towards his hidden assailants.
Finally the gunfire stopped as he drifted down to the end of the corridor, and he managed a pair of shots at some retreating backs. The doors behind him opened, the rest of the squad spilling out; Roberts pulled out a medical kit and started to treat Orlowski, gently ferrying him back to the shuttle, while Caldwell pulled up beside Cooper.
“Report.”
“At least two, heading that way,” he pointed down a side corridor.
“Right.” She turned to the rest of the troops, “Kelly, Knight, Goldschmidt, with me. The rest take the other corridor.” Clapping Cooper on the shoulder, she said, “Good work, trooper,” as she dived after the fleeing enemies.
Taking a few seconds to catch his breath, Cooper yelled, “Looks like you get a nice rest, Orlok!”
Grunting in reply, his friend said, “I’ll save a nurse for you,” as Roberts pushed him back through the airlock.
“Cut the chatter, Cooper,” the lance-corporal said. “Let’s get moving. Third Squad will be coming in with the Ensign soon, we’ve got to push out the perimeter.”
Slamming a fresh clip into his rifle, Cooper followed her down the corridor, gun at the ready. A face poked out from around a corner, and withdrew a bloody ruin; Zapolski had reacted before he had even had a chance to raise his weapon, and with a whoop, dived forward, swinging around with one hand. His body was thrown back by an explosion, slamming into the wall with the sound of multiple bones cracking, dead before he knew what hit him.
Reaching into his pocket, Cooper pulled out a smoke grenade, bouncing it off the wall and waiting for the thick green smoke to billow forth before chancing a dash out; Roberts reached out to stop him but was just a second too late; he dived across the entrance, firing blind into what seemed to be a control room, a pair of screams suggesting that his random shots had hit home.
Coughing on the smoke, he dived forward into the room; two bodies were drifting at his heart, and two of his bullets had smashed into a console, but otherwise everything appeared intact. Roberts drifted to his side, speaking into her communicator.
“Roberts to Alamo. We’ve taken what seems to be a control center. I see pumping control systems.”
“Good. Third Squad is on the way. Hold out.”
“Roger.” She turned to Cooper, “You take the left, I’ll take the right.”
He drifted into position beside the door, peering around the side as the smoke began to disperse. All too soon, the sound of suits hitting rock echoed down the corridor, and a hand appeared around the side, clutching a cylinder; Cooper shot the wielder’s wrist with a snap shot before he could throw it, and the object dropped limp, flashing a bright light that would have blinded him had his helmet filters not kicked in; even then, a blinding afterimage blurred his vision.
Roberts started to fire, trying to pin down the opposition, but Cooper held his shots, waiting for a target. Quickly, four of them appeared, figures in armor that looked...strange, to his eyes. He could make out their faces through their helmets, and they did not appear human, their foreheads oddly ridged. A scream to his right jerked him back to reality, and he fired a pair of shots, taking two of them down; glancing across, he saw Roberts drifting back towards the wall, red blood staining the sleeve of her suit.
One of the figures at the back flew to the side, and he heard a familiar voice shouting – Ensign Zabek, leading Third Squad; the relief force had taken just a few seconds to get to him. Reaching for Roberts med-kit, he started to treat her wounds as the other trooper drifted in, one fire team moving further down the corridor to secure their flank.
“Good work, Private,” Zabek said. “Roberts, you all right?”
“Fine, ma’am.”
Shaking her head, the Ensign replied, “I think you earned yourself a flight back to Alamo, anyway. Cooper, take her back to the shuttle.”
“Where’s the rest of Second?”
“First Squad will be arriving in a few moments with the Hercules Marines; they’ll head down that way.”
“Any word, ma’am?”
Zabek’s eyes fixed on his, “Head back to the shuttle, Private, and get your wounded home. You’ve had your battle.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could manage, gently pushing Roberts out into the corridor. The walls were pock-marked with bullet holes, and a trio of body bags hung in the corridor, held in position with hastily attached cords; Zapolski and two of his adversaries waiting for their last rest.
They covered the ground that they had won so expensively in a surprisingly short amount of time, and soon reached the primary airlock. He paused, hanging for a moment, and Roberts looked up at him with a thin smile.
“Don’t keep me hanging here forever, Private. Grab my medikit and get out of here. I can manage.” She grimaced, “Go have your fun.”
“Thanks, Corp.”
Snatching the pack from her belt and stuffing it
half-into a pocket, Cooper sped down the corridor, gun at the ready once again, twisting down to follow the second half of his squad. A trace of residual smoke suggested a battle, and he peered down a side tunnel to see a pair of floating bodies – both of them wearing the uniform of the enemy, he noted with relief.
The tunnel twisted into a long corridor, filled with alcoves. Quickly looking into the nearest, he saw a hammock and a pair of locked cupboards, and a screen on the wall – just sleeping quarters. There was no sign of his comrades, and he started to head down to the distant end of the corridor when he saw a gleam on the floor – a hatch. The briefing had specified that they remained on the entrance level, but if an opportunity had presented itself, Caldwell might have opted to take it.
He slammed open the hatch, gun at the ready, and immediately heard a firefight in progress below. Without a second thought, he dived down, pushing off for a piece of control apparatus that represented the only cover in reach. Up ahead, he saw four figures in similar cover, firing the occasional shot against a loose pack of enemy troopers at the far end. They were outnumbered at least four to one, and from the looks of it, pinned down. One of the figures turned to him.
“Cooper? What are you doing here?” Caldwell said.
“Didn’t want you to have all the fun, Corporal,” he replied. “Cover me.”
Not questioning her subordinate, Caldwell turned and began to fire, ducking out of cover for a brief second to unleash three shots. Taking a deep breath, Cooper kicked off from the rear wall with all his might, diving head-first for the enemy. Before they could react, he started setting off smoke grenades, enveloping him in an expanding green cloud like a comet flying through the heavens – though this comet was firing bullets.
Shots cracked around him, and he heard cries from the rear; then he slammed into an unseen wall, knocking the wind out of him. Looking up, he saw a face, and though it was shrouded in shadow, he was certain that it wasn’t human. Something about the eyes, the forehead, the mouth – though the gun that was being raised at him shook him out of his complacency. Cooper fired first, by an instant, and the bullet that would have killed him thudded into the wall by his ear.
Battle of Hercules Page 10
