“Right,” said Kane. Apparently the answer came as no surprise to him, and he had already moved onto a new plan. “Nothing for it. Prep four ADS units, please.”
“With MMUs, sir?”
“Gods, yes. I wasn’t planning on walking. And break that power unit out of stores. I don’t fancy manually pumping the airlock dry, either.”
“Understood. Who’s going, captain?”
“Me, obviously, because I love risking my life. Ms Kuriakova here, also obviously, as she’s the one this is all being done for.”
“What? Me?” Katya looked at him as if he’d just ordered her shot.
“Well, yes, you. Why do you…”
“No. I mean, an ADS? Me? You want me to go outside?”
“Yes. You in an ADS. You could try swimming over there in your underwear, I suppose, but I wouldn’t rate your chances of making it.”
Katya was not in the mood for jokes; as far as she could see, sending her out in an atmospheric diving suit – an ADS – was tantamount to a death sentence anyway. “I… I can’t,” she stammered. “I’m not rated. No training. I’m not certified.”
Kane frowned. “Russalkin hydrophobia rears its ugly head again. I have to say, Katya, I’m surprised. After the things you’ve done, I really didn’t expect a drop of water to bother you unduly.”
“A drop… A drop of water? It’s Russalka, Kane! It’s the whole planet! The whole thing wants to kill us every day! Every single day! And you want to go for a stroll out there?”
“Heavens, no. That’s why I’ve asked for manned-manoeuvre units to be prepared, too. We’re going over there in style, like merpeople. Big, scary, jet-propelled armoured merpeople.” A thought occurred to him, and he smiled suddenly, “Like real Russalki and Vodyanois!” He noted this did not modify her attitude in the slightest, and the smile wavered. “Little cultural reference there. Thought you might have appreciated it, but never mind.”
“Ms Kuriakova.” The First Officer, Ocello, had risen from her chair and joined them. “You don’t need to operate your MMU. We can control it remotely from here. You saw how good Mr Sahlberg is with a drone – you would be in very safe hands.”
Sahlberg turned at the mention of his name, and managed a nod that was both modest and reassuring.
In truth, Katya was beginning to feel reassured about the whole endeavour. She would be placing her life in the hands of the Vodyanoi’s crew, but they were very probably the best and most experienced crew on Russalka. They’d fought for Terra against Russalka, and then spent the next ten years successfully running and hiding from a concerted Federal hunt. Yes, they’d had Yagizban help, but that was still a very long way short of invulnerability when a pack of FMA shipping protection vessels were hot on your trail.
Katya took a deep breath. “OK. OK. Just… don’t get me killed.”
“There,” said Kane encouragingly. “That’s the can-do, two-fisted, afraid-of-nothing Katya I know. Very nearly.”
Katya ignored the snipe, however well meant it was, and said, “Who’s going in the other two suits?”
“Me,” said Tasya.
“No,” said Kane. “Not you.”
“What do you mean, Kane?” she said, her tone dangerously calm. “That is a Yagizban facility. I have more right than anyone else on this boat to go there.”
“That is as maybe, Tasya. I’m just… Forgive me, Tasya, but I’m worried that you may lose your temper when you’re actually in there, when you see what’s over there. You’re dangerous enough when you’re calm. I don’t want to have to deal with you if you lose control.”
Katya noticed that even Tasya’s lips had paled. Her anger was almost palpable, warded behind walls of iron self-control though it was. “I lose control when and only when I want to lose control,” she said. “When and only when I believe it would be tactically wise.”
Kane looked up at her from the captain’s seat. He regarded her in silence for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. “Very well, Tasya, I’ll take your word on that. If you let me down, if you put us into even the shadow of danger because you let your temper slip, I shall kill you.”
They locked eyes for a few seconds, and it was Tasya who broke contact first with a careless nod of acceptance. Apparently death threats were an everyday occurrence for the She-Devil.
“As for the fourth member of our merry band, Mr…” he nodded to Sergei. “I’m sorry, I’ve entirely forgotten your name.”
“I’m not going,” said Sergei without hesitation.
“An ADS is just like a mini-minisub,” said Katya, who was beginning to look forward to the experience despite her earlier misgivings. “You’ll be fine.”
“It’s not safe,” said Sergei, and Katya noticed he looked at Tasya when he said it. So that was it. Katya tried to look for an argument that might sway him into going on an expedition mounted by pirates and featuring a feared war criminal, but couldn’t think of anything at all.
“It’s OK, Sergei. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“I’m not scared. I just don’t see the point.”
But he was scared. Poor Sergei, she thought. If it was my choice, you wouldn’t be in this situation at all. “You’re right. There’s no point us both going.”
Kane had watched the conversation between them and the look in his eye when he momentarily caught hers told her he understood exactly what was going on. “Ms Ocello, please assign Mr Giroux to the fourth suit. We may have need of his muscle.”
As Ocello returned to her seat, Kane said to Katya, “ADS EVAs are fun.” He saw her blink and added, “EVA, extra-vehicular activity. Sorry, that’s more space jargon than anything. From my brief time as a cosmonaut.” His half smile became bleak. “Make the most of the EVA. What we find at the other end won’t be fun at all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
RED WATER
As a child Katya had been fascinated by a drama series in which secret Federal agents had special atmospheric diving suits that also amplified their strength, carried weapons, and – in one episode – flew just long enough to save the day. She and her friends had run up and down the corridors in the residential section, imitating the sound of sonar pings and launching “minitorps” at one another. Andrei Ivanovich always said his imaginary ADS was the one that could fly and, furthermore, it was the only one that could fly, and he defended its uniqueness with cuffs and shoves to any who would attempt flight in theirs. But then, Andrei Ivanovich was a bully and a bastard.
The reality was scarier than Andrei Ivanovich could ever have aspired to.
The best place from which they might be deployed was undeniably the Vodyanoi’s salvage maw; it was relatively spacious and when the jaws were open wide they would give plenty of clearance for the suits to reach the water. The minor problem of the maw currently being occupied by the Lukyan was easily solved – Sergei would pilot it out, the maw would be closed and emptied, and the suits taken in ready for the expedition members. Sergei was very happy at this part of the plan, at least until Kane put a Vodyanoi aboard the Lukyan “just so I have another pair of eyes on the site.” Perhaps he was telling the truth, but Sergei clearly understood the gesture to mean Kane wanted a “pair of eyes” specifically upon Sergei.
Fifteen minutes after the Lukyan had left the boat, Katya was called to the salvage maw. The floor and walls were still wet from the recent departure, but her attention was entirely focused upon the four looming forms that now stood there in a T formation, the crossbar closest to the aft bulkhead, to provide each with as much space around as possible in the maw’s tapering beak.
Each atmospheric diving suit was, as Katya had told Sergei, essentially a submarine in itself. Unlike a normal diving suit, these were rigid, machine-like forms that maintained a normal atmosphere for their operator. There would be no need for specialised breathing mixtures, compression and decompression schedules, or hyperbaric chambers with these. The foreboding robotic appearance of the suits, their arms extended as i
f about to clutch at anyone who walked in front of them, was intensified by the MMU units that swathed them from the waist downwards. These Manned Manoeuvring Units locked entirely around the suits’ legs, making them look like half statues of robot gods rising from metal plinths. Each suit had a small stepladder by it, and a dedicated technician who stood silently by like an acolyte to the metal divinities.
Kane, Katya, Tasya, and Giroux were met by the ship’s doctor who gave each one of them a quick check-up as they waited in coveralls.
“Nothing to worry about, Ms Kuriakova,” said the doctor as he checked her pulse. “Your heart rate is a little elevated. Would you like a mild sedative? Just something to calm your nerves?”
Katya shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’d like to stay a bit nervous.”
As the doctor worked down the line, the technicians were up on the stepladders, opening the suits. The heavy helmets fell forward as the suit backs were unlocked and lifted, giving the impression that the suits had suddenly fallen asleep. Most of the diagnostics had been completed before the expedition members had even arrived, and the techs quickly ran through the remainder. Katya caught a glimpse of the pad the technician for her suit was carrying, and was relieved at the sight of an orderly list of green ticks down the checklist.
Finally, all was ready, and Katya and the others stepped forward.
Kane almost scampered up his suit’s ladder. “I love this part,” he said as he grabbed the handles at the top of the entry port in the suit’s back, lifted his legs and slid in. “It makes me think of knights from the olden days, armouring up before a battle.”
Katya was less enthusiastic about the experience, but nevertheless found getting into the suit far easier than she’d expected. Her suit’s technician had measured her height and the lengths of her arms and legs earlier and adjusted the suit’s internal braces so that they would receive her comfortably. He certainly seemed to know his job; the suit fitted her like a glove. She allowed her arms to slide into the suit’s arms as the small of her back rode over the lower edge of the access port and, by the time she was fully in and upright, her hands were inside the suit’s gauntlets.
A Knight of the Deep, she thought. Well, at least now I look the part.
“How’s it feel?” asked her technician as he checked her cap, a close-fitting cloth skullcap that had her communications microphone and earphones attached. Unlike a simple headset it could not accidentally fall off, an important point inside a helmet.
“Snug,” said Katya.
“Snug tight, or snug comfortable?”
“Comfortable, thanks.”
“Good to hear. OK, the next stage is the helmet. Then I’ll seal the suit and you’ll be on your own oxygen from thereon. Understand?”
Katya tried to give a thumbs up, but the gesture was barely noticeable when translated into a small twitch of the heavy articulated gauntlet. She nodded a little instead and said, “Understood.”
The technician reached forward and pulled the helmet back into its upright position, locking it against the head support. As he did, it encased Katya’s head, the sound of the locking mechanism engaging seeming very final. It was as if Katya was suddenly severed from the real world. Outside sounds became distant and muffled, and her breathing became very loud in the confines of the helmet. She swallowed and concentrated on not panicking, about just living in the moment and not thinking about what all this foreshadowed, that soon the technicians and the doctor would leave, that the hatches would seal.
That the sea would enter.
Katya swallowed again.
Then, she heard the technician speaking to her through the still-open back of the suit. His voice was shockingly close given the sense of isolation the helmet had created, close and warm, humanly intimate. “Everybody feels a bit strange their first time in a suit,” he murmured. “Just remember, the type you’re wearing is the top of the line. Its test depth is twice what you’ll be experiencing. This will be nothing to it. You’ll be out there with three others who have all done this kind of thing before, you’ve got the best drone pilot in the water steering you, and you have two boats watching your every move.” He let that sink in for a moment. “How are you feeling, Ms Kuriakova?”
Katya closed her eyes, steadied herself, and when she re-opened them the panic had been put away somewhere inside where it could do her no harm. “Call me Katya,” she said. “And I’m fine. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I’m Mike. I’ll close the suit now, carry out the last checks, and then you’re off on your daytrip. See you when you get back, Katya.”
Katya smiled despite herself. “See you, Mike.”
She felt the suit cover slam shut, heard the locks click, and yet she kept the sense of isolation, of abandonment away this time. There were eight other people in the maw, she told herself, three of them experiencing exactly what she was experiencing. All these people watching out for her, and with the experience and equipment to step in immediately if anything went wrong. But nothing was going to go wrong, because these experienced people knew what they were doing. She visualised her suit’s checklist again, saw the happy column of smiling, encouraging green check marks. All systems go. She nodded slightly. The trip was going to be easy.
And, typically for her, as the spectre of the short journey through the ocean abated, she began to think about what they might find at the other end.
She’d seen dead bodies before, but never bodies that had been in the water for any length of time. She heard the stories, of course; corpses floating in water cloudy with their own putrefaction, bloated, grotesque, the eyes gone. She admitted to herself that it was a frightening prospect, but it did not fill her with the irrational fear the suit had at first. Rather, it was a muted revulsion, something she knew she would hate, but that must be endured.
OK, Kane, she said to herself, I’ll face your horror show, and I will loathe you for making me face it. And afterwards, my answer will still be “No.”
The checks on the suit seals were rapid, yet thorough. One by one, the technicians rapped on the helmets of their divers to indicate that they were ready to go. Mike made a point of standing in Katya’s eye line and giving her a double thumbs up. She made the effort to bring both arms up slightly and waggled the thumbs enough to be noticeable. Mike saw them, laughed, nodded to her, and slapped her suit on the arm as he walked by to pick up the step ladder and his gear. A few moments later, she heard the bulkhead door slam, and the four of them were left alone in the salvage maw.
“Comms check,” said a voice in her headset. Katya recognised Ocello. “Captain, are you reading me?”
“Loud and clear, thank you.” Kane sounded blithe, as if he was about to do nothing more enterprising than read a book.
“Ms Kuriakova? Do you read me?”
“Very clear. Please, call me Katya. It’s quicker.”
“As you wish, Katya. Colonel?”
“Loud and clear,” said Tasya. She sounded impatient. She only seemed to have two modes, though, thought Katya. Impatient tending towards violent, and languid tending towards pleasant (with occasional outbreaks of violence). Once Katya had heard Kane refer to Tasya as having a “feline temperament,” but Katya had no idea what that meant. She’d remembered the word and looked it up later, but it had been of little help – “Belonging to the cat family or pertaining to cats, catlike.” A “cat” was some sort of Earth animal. She tried to imagine what one might look like from the description; quadruped, clawed, furred. Every animal she’d ever seen had been be-finned, be-tentacled, be-pincered or, on one memorable creature, all three. Her imagination couldn’t manage “fur,” never mind the other aspects.
While she’d been distracting herself thinking about the fauna of Earth, Giroux had also completed his communications check, and the bridge stood by to commence the EVA, as Kane had called it.
The water did not burst in upon them, but rose smoothly and rapidly as the salvage maw was flooded. She could just see the base of Kane’
s MMU, a tapering angular column covered in inlets and impeller nozzles, all painted in a pale anti-fouling green paint unlike the yellow and black of the suits themselves. The Lukyan was painted in yellow and black, too, she realised, and it somehow made the suits seem a lot friendlier.
The water level climbed up to the grating on which they stood, and then further, rising up the sides of Kane’s MMU. Katya knew that it must be doing the same on hers, but she was completely unaware of it. There was no sense of pressure or coldness. Intellectually, she had appreciated that the description of the rigidly armoured suits with their wedge ring segmented joints as “personal submarines” was about right, but part of her had still feared the water being so close. That she couldn’t feel a thing through the suit made the idea concrete though, allowing her to screw down the lid on her anxiety so much tighter. She no longer just felt calm about it; now she began to feel confident.
The water rose and rose. Even when it burbled up past her helmet’s visor, she felt relaxed. She’d been in the Lukyan when it had been in a dry dock, just prior to being refloated. She’d watched the water rise past the canopy then with pleasure simply to be watching such a novelty. She felt just the same now.
“Maw’s fully flooded,” said Ocello. “Adjust for neutral buoyancy. Sahlberg will do that for you, Katya.”
The MMU’s flotation tanks had been fully filled by the technicians to prevent the suits bobbing around like so much flotsam when the maw was flooded. Now the tanks were partially emptied with compressed air until the average density of the MMUs, the suits, and the suits’ contents equalled that of the sea water.
“Neutral,” called Giroux, closely followed by the others.
“Looking good across all units,” confirmed Ocello. “Opening the jaws now.”
Katya looked up and saw the two seams running along the ceiling slowly start to widen. As they separated, she could see nothing beyond but darkness. That was the sea, the naked, angry sea of Russalka. She would not be frightened, she swore to herself. She would not let herself down. She imagined Lukyan watching her, and she determined to make him proud.
Katya's War (Russalka Chronicles) Page 8
