by Ron Collins
Malloy glanced over his shoulder.
“I figured I would see you here pretty soon, LC. Only a matter of time before you saw vacuum containment had been crashed.”
The lieutenant clipped a cord in place, then pushed the explosive package back into the ductwork.
“Can you effin’ believe it? The damned thing was supposed to trigger at once, but somehow this section got on a different timer run.”
He removed a control box from his belt and waved it around with a false smile.
“Don’t worry, though. Nothing can go wrong this time.”
“Why?” Torrance said, the scope of his question obvious.
“Get your head out of your ass, LC. Nobody’s getting nothing from this mission but a couple a big-assed companies and their government cronies. Meantime, the little guys like you and me, we just get shit on.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“No offense, LC, but you’re too busy inside your own head to see anything. No one cares about nothing but their own wallets.”
“There’s got to be a better way.”
Malloy snickered. “You’re worse off than I thought.”
Torrance glanced at the box.
It was a repugnant package of taped-up electronics, silver wire, and plastic explosives with a fuse that snaked along the wall and trailed into the ventilation shaft.
He flexed his hand subconsciously, letting the pain ground him and considered launching himself at Malloy.
The lieutenant pointed the Carson his way.
Something moved in the distance behind Malloy.
The yellow-white outline of Kitchell’s cheek was etched in the bleeding light at the edge of Malloy’s flash. The corridor curved slightly, allowing him to press against the inner wall and remain unseen by Malloy.
If Torrance could keep the lieutenant’s attention, maybe Kitchell would be able to surprise him and take the gun. Kitchell nodded as if confirming his understanding of the situation.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Torrance said, grasping at straws for ways to delay Malloy’s progress.
“What?”
“The EMI while we were at Alpha Cen—the interference that stopped the first launch. You didn’t want us to be successful, so you tried to stop the mission. It was you.”
Malloy smirked and started to use his free hand to put his tools back into his utility belt, then thought better and just tossed them into the detritus around him. “You’re still worried about that? I thought it was just a joke.”
“Of course I’m worried about it, Karl. I thought it was a new species.”
Malloy’s laughter actually hurt more than Torrance thought it would.
“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” Malloy said.
“Does to me.”
Malloy stood up, Carson still trained on Torrance. He shook his head sorrowfully. “Well, in that case let me give you a gift, LC. Whatever it was out there that scrubbed that first launch, it wasn’t me.”
Kitchell edged closer.
“It wasn’t?”
“No one thought we would ever make it that far, so we didn’t plan anything for making it. At least nothing out here, anyway.” Malloy toggled a frequency on the control box. “Of course, we had other things going on in case of a successful launch.”
Kitchell was almost in place.
“We?”
Malloy grinned. “We look at the world as three spheres, LC.”
“You’re U3.” Torrance kicked himself for not making the connection right away, but he had known Malloy for so long that it was hard to see him otherwise.
Malloy’s only response was the gentle raising of one eyebrow.
“You’ll kill yourself for them?” Torrance asked, trying to keep from sounding too desperate.
Malloy reached for his flashlight.
“You know me better than that, LC. I’m not some whacked-out fanatic. I got no intention of dying today. Like I said last night—I’ll be heading toward Eta Cass before too long. Just not on the side you assumed.”
“That’s why you weren’t at Systems this morning,” Torrance said. “You were ready to bug out.”
Malloy shrugged. “Best laid plans, eh?”
“Where were you? Shuttle docks?” That didn’t make sense. The shuttles would be monitored closely prior to the calamity, and the explosions itself had destroyed the launch bay.
He waved his weapon. “Turn around, LC.”
Kitchell launched himself through the air and crashed into Malloy.
The two bounced against the wall with a jolt that echoed through the shaft. The flashlight clattered across the floor. Bodies spun and twisted in a mass of arms and legs. Primal grunts echoed through the empty corridor.
The gun went off with a whumph and flash of blue light.
Two more shots flared.
The smell of freshly burnt flesh was a razor’s edge against the back of Torrance’s throat, and Kitchell gave a guttural grunt and then screamed in pain.
Malloy pushed Kitchell’s body away, breathing heavily. His expression grew feral. His EVA suit was now grimy and torn. Pools of fresh blood gave zero-g wobbles as it flowed up and around in the middle of the corridor. Malloy waved the gun in Torrance’s direction.
Torrance froze.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy, the horrible way he was gasping for breath, blood flowing from his right side, and his limp arm floating in zero-g. He groaned as he floated away, his eyes wide, his good hand reaching for his wounds.
Torrance moved to go get him, but Malloy leveled the gun at him.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” Malloy said.
For a moment Torrance thought he would be next.
Instead of shooting him, though, Malloy limped to the explosives and retrieved his flashlight.
“Let’s go,” he said, motioning down the passage with the gun.
“I need to get Kitchell.”
“He’s gonna have the same outcome either way.”
“I can’t leave him like that.”
“I said let’s go.”
Torrance died a little there in Everguard’s corridor. He was too far away from Malloy to fight him, and worse, he knew that if he tried and failed there wouldn’t be anything left of the ship after Malloy was done.
“Where?”
“I’m in charge now, LC. You just get a move on or I’ll blow your goddamned hand off.”
Torrance thought of the holo with its ugly black gashes.
Malloy said he was getting off Everguard, but Aldrin had reported every docking station was damaged beyond repair.
He glanced at the explosives. Given Central Deck’s configuration, a ring of such devices at the outer chamber would result in a cascade of implosions. One place would be safe, though: Pod Engineering.
It made sense.
Pod Engineering was an obvious target during any skirmish, so it had its own vacuum control system to contain potential battle damage. Ironic that a design mechanism meant to save the ship in case the launch room was destroyed might well make that the only part of Everguard to survive this attack.
Torrance ran through a list of possibilities before settling on the launch tubes.
“You’re going to use a pod to get out,” Torrance said. “That’s where you were heading before the explosions, weren’t you? That’s why you ran into me so quickly. It just happened to be close to Systems Command.”
“Very bright, Mr. Holmes. Now, are you gonna get going, or am I going to take one of those hands.”
Malloy pointed the gun, and Torrance moved.
“What are you planning to do with the engineers controlling the tubes?” he said, thinking about Kitchell and the other two dead men in the hallway. “Just gonna shoot them, too?” Torrance asked.
“I would prefer not to,” Malloy said. “But this time it’s really up to you.”
CHAPTER 33
UGIS Everguard
Ship Local Date: September 15, 2211
Ship Local Time: 1103
Pod Engineering was quiet as they entered the platform overlooking the wide expanse. With backup power engaged, the artificial gravity system was functional. It was under dim lighting, though, and nearly empty. A far cry different from its day of glory.
The pressure of Malloy’s gun against Torrance’s kidney felt sharp.
The air was as stagnant and thick here as it was everywhere else.
Emergency lighting left dark shadows against the wall like ancient ghosts—he felt them all: images of a countdown, Captain Romanov glancing at him from the corner of his eye, the buzz of confusion when one of the pods turned and flew toward the second planet.
Three men were in the assembly bay now, ostensibly guarding the launch tubes.
The gun ground further into his back.
“Order them away, or I shoot them,” Malloy said in a barely audible tone.
Torrance went to the rail. It was cold against his clammy hands.
The engineers looked up, obviously frightened.
Torrance saw the plan now.
Malloy was going to slip into a pod, then autolaunch. Moments later he would detonate the last ring of explosives. Then Torrance and every remaining member of Everguard’s crew would be dead. It was how he planned to get away to begin with—why he wasn’t in Systems Command when Torrance was making his own last pass.
These engineers might be his only hope, but if he couldn’t find a way to send them out of the room, Malloy would shoot them.
Torrance searched the area for something he could use. He thought about automated routines—inventory control and service systems. He considered the electrical conduit. He thought about coded loops that controlled the robotic maintenance and sanitation operations.
An idea tickled the base of his spine.
Malloy pressed the muzzle harder against his kidney.
Torrance spoke to the guards.
“We’ve got fire on Central Deck Gamma. I need you to join the crew there and wait for orders.”
“Captain Yan told us to remain here, sir,” one of the men replied.
“Yan’s the one who sent me,” Torrance lied again. “He needs every able-bodied resource he can get. The all-hands alert would have been broadcast, but communications is down over most of the ship.”
“Aye, sir.”
“EVA suits and mag boots,” Torrance commanded.
The three hustled away.
“Thank you, LC,” Malloy said. “I’ll sleep so much better now that I didn’t have to shoot them. Come, though. No time to waste.”
He prodded Torrance down the stairs.
The service panels blinked dim amber. The office upstairs was pitch dark, but it had its own system interface. Would the controllers be active? Would he have to boot up?
Malloy clicked buttons on a handheld device.
The launch tube opened, and an alpha-class probe rolled forward on rails. It was a long unit, fifteen meters, easily. Malloy pressed a code on the pod’s panel. The cowling opened to reveal a space barely large enough for him to squeeze into. It had been designed as a service pod, a system that would drop supplies to a camp or colony.
“Incredible,” Torrance said when Malloy glanced his way.
“The only way to fly.”
Malloy pointed the gun at him again.
“Stand against the wall there, LC. In a moment it will all be over.”
Torrance moved away from the pod.
Malloy stepped into the drone and, keeping his weapon trained on Torrance, wedged himself into the pod’s cargo slot. “I’m sorry it had to end like this, boss,” he finally said.
Torrance fought the urge to glance at the service panel. He gritted his teeth and forced a dry swallow.
“Go on and look at it if you want, LC. Everything’s already programmed and running. Even you can’t slop code fast enough to change the world today, which makes me glad because I would really, really hate to shoot you.”
“You’re a true friend, Karl.”
Malloy punched another sequence on his handheld, then smiled.
“Good-bye, LC.”
The lid to the pod closed and the tube began its automated sequence. Its individual airlock activated with a high-pitched whine.
Torrance raced up the stairs and into the dark control room.
He was lucky. The panel was powered—probably necessary for Malloy’s plan. He had only as much time as it took the system to purge atmosphere from the tube. After that, the drone would launch, and Malloy would engage the detonator.
His arm ached, and the dim light exposed an ugly bruise that was still growing along the outside of his wrist.
His fingers crawled over the command station as best they could.
He went directly to the service screen.
Maybe it was his imagination, but he could feel the derelict ship respond. Everguard was like him in so many ways, slow and out of date, but she responded to him. He hoped she was still ready and able.
Each external service area had its own power backup, so the maintenance robots should be active. The trick would be to get them out of their storage bins and replace their primary cleaning-service command set with a new repair order.
With a few keystrokes he installed the canned routines he had coded to streamline upgrades, and developed the new requirement.
His personal authorization was enough to inject program.
He pressed the command sequence, and the system blinked its answer.
Two square hatches hinged open on Everguard’s outer hull. A pair of bullet-headed robots rolled to the edge of the launch tube. Their magnetized bearings and roller skids held them to the surface of the ship until they got to the repair target. They had no way of knowing a drone was inside that launch tube, no way of knowing a man was inside the drone. They also could not have comprehended the fact that the lives of the 453 souls still alive aboard Everguard depended upon their actions.
Their programming said the door to tube 1 had to be sealed.
They swapped their utility packages and took positions around the outer edge of the hatch. A few seconds later, they lit their vacuum torches and began the welding procedure. Metal boiled in the localized heat, bonding, then cooling rapidly in the chill of the void.
It would take a few minutes to purge the atmosphere of tube 1.
Pod Engineering grew silent.
Except for one, faint noise. A rattling of breath that came from the corner of the room that he had missed in the panic of the moment.
He turned and saw the dark form of a person lying on the floor, struggling to breathe. As he grew closer, his eyes adjusted.
“Thomas!”
Kitchell’s voice was a gurgling whisper. “It’s me.”
“How …”
Kitchell bit back a smile. “Who do you think turned on the command panel?”
It became clear. Kitchell had followed them here. He had been unable to catch up, but he snuck in while Malloy was preparing the launch. And he was smart enough to get the system’s main computer controller booted up. If he hadn’t done that, there wouldn’t have been time to activate the bots.
He looked at the kid and nearly cried.
A warning light flashed on the mission control screen.
LAUNCH DOOR LOCK ERROR.
The robots had done their job. The electro-weld was in place, cooling and already strong in the near absolute zero temperature of lunar space.
The autolaunch sequence initiated.
Malloy had been right about one thing.
There was nothing Torrance could do to stop the launch process now.
Torrance took cover behind the panel, hoping the drone’s engine wasn’t strong enough to break through the weld.
The drone’s rocket motor lit with the sound of thunder.
The room shook with a heavy concussion that knocked him off his feet.
When it was over, he stood up, went to the control panel. He keyed in the comm sequence.
/> “This is Systems Command,” a voice he didn’t recognize came on.
“This is Lieutenant Commander Black,” he said. “I need a bomb squad in Delta Corridor of Central Deck. Now.”
“Aye, sir.”
They broke connection.
It’s over, Torrance thought. It’s finally over.
But, of course, it wasn’t.
CHAPTER 34
Aldrin Station
Local Date: December 23, 2214
Station Local Time: 2312
“Are you all right, sir?”
The medic’s nametag read Smythe. He was maybe thirty, with the thin bone structure that marked him as a lifelong lunar native. His smock was loose and lined with pockets and clips that held meds, instruments, and other such equipment. The shoulder and short sleeve of his left arm were marked with bloody splashes. One knee of his pants was torn.
“I’ve had better days,” Torrance said as he stepped from the shuttle. “But I’m fine.”
Smythe sat him down on a gurney and began to examine him.
He had lost track of how long he had been awake now.
Thirty hours?
Thirty-six?
All of them spent on a derelict spacecraft that could implode any moment, and with hundreds or thousands of dead and dying compatriots.
Once Everguard had been stabilized, and the hull had been cut through, a shuttle ferried the wounded away. Torrance’s damaged wrist had gotten him a ticket here just prior to those who were fully healthy.
The makeshift triage center he stepped into had been constructed in a tube just off Aldrin Station’s receiving area. The corridor was a large, rounded connection ring padded with powder-blue mats that had ALDRIN STATION stenciled in haphazard locations. Each section of the tube rotated, creating its own form of centrifugal gravity. The tube itself linked the emergency shuttle locks to the central docking station, where additional processing stations had been set up, and where lift tubes would run the uninjured directly up to Aldrin Station’s primary compartments.
