Sean Dalton - Operation StarHawks 03 - Beyond the Void

by Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03]

  “Stay with the Jefferson,” said Kelly more gently. “That’s where your abilities lie. We’ll do our best to bring back your husband, and the others.”

  “I can’t stay here!” she said. “The admiral can command this ship. I can’t just pace the bridge, waiting, doing nothing. Don’t you understand? I should have gone through the gateway with the others. I was the team leader, not Richard. I—”

  “You may need to exorcise your own sense of guilt, but that’s not my responsibility,” said Kelly.

  She flinched, and he was sorry he had to be so harsh.

  Behind him, Siggerson said, “Five minutes to depressurization.”

  Kelly caught 41’s eye. “Close the hatch. I’m sorry, Captain.”

  He turned away from her frustrated face. 41 hit the closure control and reached up to guide the slowly descending hatch. Serula tried to climb in under it, but 41 shoved her back.

  Shaking his head, Kelly climbed into his seat and began strapping in. The low whine of the closing hatch stopped. He glanced up, saw it only half closed, and frowned.

  “41? What are you—”

  Without looking at him, 41 hit the top control and the hatch lifted. Then 41 stepped back, his back rigid, his hands held quietly at his sides.

  “Hey!” said Caesar, but Kelly gestured tensely for silence.

  Serula entered with a small bi-muzzled pistol aimed at 41’s midsection. The expression in her gray eyes gave no doubt at all that she would use it if necessary.

  Fuming, Kelly sat there along with the others and made no move as 41 continued to back into the seating area. When his back was pressed against Beaulieu’s seat, Serula hit the closure control. The hatch dropped smoothly. It muffled the humming vibration of the small engines.

  Siggerson glanced at her and dropped his hands in his lap. Without glancing at him, Serula said, “As you were, pilot. Fly us out of here nice and easy or I’m going to take all my frustration out on this man.”

  “This is stupid, Serula,” began Kelly. “You can’t—”

  Her gaze shifted to Kelly, and 41 made his move. Serula shot 41, sending him reeling against the wall with a grunt of pain.

  The recoil of the plasma weapon screamed in the small enclosed space. Kelly bolted up, but Serula trained her weapon on him. He froze. Behind him, Caesar and Phila were poised, just waiting for a chance to take her. Kelly glanced at 41, who was doubled over against the wall, making little sounds of agony.

  “41?”

  “He’s just stunned,” said Serula. “But I don’t have to be that nice.” Her fingers shifted on the pistol and Kelly heard the low whine of a lethal charge.

  His breath tangled up in his throat. He glanced again at 41, thankful the operative wasn’t really hurt although stuns at such point-blank range could be serious enough. In the wake of his relief came scalding fury.

  “Are you crazy!” he shouted. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, shooting up my squad just to get your way?”

  The comm began beeping, distracting him. Siggerson reached for it, only to freeze as Serula’s pistol leveled itself centimeters from his right ear. His throat worked as he swallowed. Then he touched the control and replied.

  “Attention, shuttlecraft,” said the admiral’s voice. “If Captain Serula is down there to send you off, tell her she’s needed on the bridge.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Siggerson in an absolutely neutral voice.

  “One other thing,” said the admiral. “What is your usual send off? Safe flight and home again?”

  “That is correct,” said Siggerson. “Thank you.”

  He broke the line.

  The pistol swung to a neutral position where Serula could cover him, 41, and Kelly.

  “Everyone, take your seats,” she said.

  The shuttle began turning on its landing platform, pivoting into launch position. Kelly eased around Beaulieu’s seat and went to 41’s assistance. 41 still could not straighten fully. He leaned on Kelly, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles bulged. Kelly felt sorry for him. He knew all too well the effects: the miserable, aching nausea that could not be relieved, the cold sweats, the dizzying sensation of not being able to breathe.

  A flash of 41’s golden eyes beneath the tangle of his hair betrayed a fury that didn’t bode well for Serula in the future. 41 was capable of considerable patience, but when the time was right he would stalk and he would strike. Kelly knew he would have to intervene later, but at the moment he wanted to readjust Serula himself.

  “Easy,” he said quietly to 41, staggering along with most of 41’s weight on him. “It’ll wear off soon.”

  He maneuvered 41 past Beaulieu, who along with Caesar lent a hand to lower 41 into a seat and strap him in. His bronzed skin had turned a sickly shade of yellow, and perspiration beaded his temples. Beaulieu checked his pulse and his pupils, then ran her hand along his left shoulder and arm.

  “Feel any of that?” she asked.

  He half closed his eyes and gave the barest indication of a headshake. His breathing remained jerky. At that close range he was lucky his heart hadn’t stopped.

  “Good old Salukan stamina,” said Beaulieu with a brief smile for 41 alone.

  “Everyone, strap in,” said Serula.

  Phila had already taken her seat. She sat there glaring steadily at Serula with her fierce black eyes. Caesar, his usual clownish humor missing, took the place beside 41. Kelly reseated himself beside Beaulieu, and Serula slid into the copilot’s seat, swiveling it where she could watch all of them.

  When her gaze came to rest upon Kelly, he said, “You’d better hope he’s recovered by the time we get out there.”

  “He will be,” she said. “You’re overreacting, Commander. We’re in this together, all on the same side—”

  “Don’t count on it, toots,” said Caesar in a soft, grim voice.

  “Stand by for launch,” said Siggerson.

  The shuttlebay doors opened, and space yawned before them.

  “Down their throat,” said Kelly.

  Siggerson touched the controls, and a green light began flashing rapidly over the bay doors.

  “Launching ... now.”

  The sling beneath them tipped them to a forty-five degree angle. Seconds later the boost thrust them forward with a shuddering, crushing g-force. The shuttle rumbled loudly, vibrating like crazy. Just as Kelly began to wonder if they were going to shake apart, the engine thrusters cut in, powering the stabilizers and smoothing out the ride rapidly.

  By the time they had turned in a swift crescent away from the stern of the Jefferson, Siggerson had everything under control with his usual competence.

  “Setting in coordinates now,” he said. “Should be twenty-seven minutes at this speed.”

  Serula’s tense posture relaxed fractionally. She lowered the pistol to her lap.

  Kelly glanced at 41, who was regaining his normal color, then at Caesar. “How’s he doing? Feeling space sick, 41?”

  As he spoke he swept his hand across his middle, surreptitiously pressing the release of his safety harness. Caesar’s, he noted, was already released. Caesar’s eyes glowed an intense green. Kelly met his gaze, then glanced at Phila. His hand flicked an almost imperceptible signal to remain still. She frowned, but obeyed.

  Before Kelly could move, however, the storage compartment beneath the instrumentation abruptly banged open, startling Serula. She jerked in her seat as a streak of gray fur came hurtling right at her, hissing viciously.

  Kelly sprang at her from the opposite direction. She was half prepared for him and swung the pistol his way. But he twisted it from her grip and tossed it in a quick pass to Caesar.

  “Damn you!” Serula swung her fist at Kelly, but he ducked and managed to pin her arms to her sides. She struggled, kicking like a street fighter.

  “Hold it!” said Caesar, and put the bi-muzzle right in her face.

  Serula grew still. Cautiously Kelly released her and stepped back. Serula’s eyes were so dila
ted they looked black. Her color drained away, and suddenly she dropped into her seat with a stricken look.

  On the floor Ouoji balanced on her haunches and tugged at Kelly’s leg. He bent down to her level.

  “As for you,” he said affectionately, touching her on the end of her nose, where she liked it best. “I guess you saved the day. Thanks.”

  Ouoji turned about smugly and jumped into Siggerson’s lap.

  “And now,” said Serula in a hollow voice. “You’ll take me back, and that’s the end of me. Over the edge, just like Lewis. Only I suppose in my case, medical leave is justified.”

  “You can’t lean on that excuse,” said Beaulieu from her place beside 41. She was checking his pulse rate again, but her eyes glowered at Serula. “I’m registered in psychoanalysis. You’re not crackers, just spoiled.”

  “Easy, Beaulieu,” said Kelly. He swung his gaze to Serula. “We’re not taking you back. We’re a little too busy at the moment to play ferry service.”

  Serula’s tense expression relaxed. She sat up straighter. “I thought you’d see things my way—”

  “Huh!” said Caesar, still holding the pistol trained on her. “I say we jettison her. Put her in a suit and let her play with her toes. The observation shuttle can pick her up.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  But Kelly was smiling. “That, Caesar, is a very good idea. You and Phila see to it, if you please.”

  “No!” said Serula. “You can’t do that to me! I’m a Fleet officer. That’s—”

  “Shut up, ma’am,” said Caesar. “Step to the rear—”

  “No. I won’t. You’ll have to stuff me in a suit by force and I warn you I’ll—”

  “Do as you’re told,” said Caesar, “or I’ll stun you here and now.”

  Phila took Serula’s arm. “You remember the first rule about space suits, don’t you, ma’am? No puking. And what’s the first thing you feel like when you’re stunned?”

  Serula glared at her. “I get the message.”

  “Yeah,” said Phila. “So move to the rear and put on a suit.”

  Serula started to do as she was told.

  “Kelly,” said Siggerson in a tone that immediately caught Kelly’s attention. “Something weird here. I’m getting a fluctuation on the—”

  It was all the warning they had before the ship tumbled sideways, exactly as though a gigantic, invisible hand had swept her aside. Kelly went bouncing off deck and console with bruising force. He tried to grasp something to hang on to, but the shuttle was doing an end-over-end spin. Every time he lodged himself, the floor became the ceiling. There were cries of pain and fear around him. Something had happened to the lights. He couldn’t see much beyond the dim glow along the instrumentation panel. But their velocity felt wrong, and the shuttle was groaning from a stress she wasn’t designed to take.

  He feared at any moment she would come apart and spill them out into the icy arms of space.

  Siggerson had also lost his place at the instruments. He clambered past Kelly, striving to regain the controls, but was jolted aside. Kelly reached out and managed to grab the base of the pilot’s chair. Clinging grimly to that, he levered himself up, grunting as he was slung about, and groped for the stabilizer assist.

  The keypad burned his fingers. Nothing responded.

  “Straighten her out, Kelly!” shouted Siggerson.

  “Can’t! She’s fused.” Kelly wedged his body between the chair and the console, trying to free both hands. Helm readings flashed rapidly. They were going way off course.

  He realized the power drive was still functioning, though erratically. If he boosted the drive unit, that might straighten them out of this deadly spin. Cutting power would leave them spinning for an eternity, with no friction to ever slow them down until they rammed an asteroid a few million miles from nowhere.

  Siggerson was shouting, but in the noise and confusion, Kelly couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  The shuttle was shaking badly now, her hull screaming with strain. They had minutes, perhaps only seconds, to come out of this. Kelly hesitated no longer. He hit boost, felt the shuttle try to respond, then falter.

  “Come on,” he urged it. “Come on. Come on!”

  Slowly the power drive cramped and sputtered and finally engaged. They flipped so violently Kelly was thrown clear across the width of the shuttle and slammed into a bulkhead. Blackness washed over his eyeballs. For a moment he was witless, too stunned to know what was happening. He kept trying to keep conscious, to move, to think, but his head seemed to have swelled double its usual size and things kept vagueing out on him.

  A stab of pain through the side of his skull broke through his haze. He put his hand to it, felt blood stick to his fingers, and opened his eyes.

  The lights were flickering on and off, giving him nightmarish impressions of what was happening. The shuttle seemed right side up again, if slightly canted. Siggerson or someone was at the controls. Bodies picked themselves up with groans. A babble of voices broke out. He winced, concerned because his vision seemed to be going.

  “Kelly!”

  Hands seized him, jolting him hard enough to make him grunt in pain. He blinked, couldn’t quite see, realized that was because one eye was gummed shut, and peered uncertainly at 41 who was now crouched beside him.

  Kelly stirred, but 41 held him in place.

  “Don’t move. Beaulieu is out cold. I will help you.”

  “Is she all right? What about the others? What about the shuttle? Where—”

  “Wait.” Again 41 held him still. “Count to five.”

  Kelly’s head was still swimming. Vast irritation filled him, however. “For God’s sake. I’ve got to know what is—”

  “Count to five. Count to three.”

  “One. Two. Uh ... three.” Kelly grimaced. His head felt like a crushed melon. Dimly he was aware that if he didn’t pass, 41 would never let him up. “Uh ... three. Four.” He felt sweaty, cold. “Five.”

  “What is your name?”

  “K-Kelly.” Exasperated, Kelly thrust 41 back and squirmed past him, faltering, then using 41’s shoulder as a lever to push himself up. “I’m all right,” he said, swaying.

  41 surged up beside him and grabbed his arm, but it was just to steady him. Kelly looked around, saw Phila bending over Beaulieu’s unconscious form, saw Caesar speaking to Siggerson, didn’t see Serula or Ouoji. He squinted. The flickering lights were giving him a headache.

  “Can’t we get these lights to steady?” he said. He wiped some of the blood from his face and staggered over to Siggerson.

  “That’s a big negative, boss,” said Caesar cheerfully. His green eyes, however, held concern as they studied Kelly. “We’re lucky we still got air.”

  “Sig?” asked Kelly. He didn’t like nicknames and he’d meant to say Siggerson’s full name, but somehow all of it never came out that time.

  Siggerson didn’t seem to notice. Without looking up, he said, “I’m trying to bring us around. Our steering’s shot to hell. The stabilizers are gone. I can handle us on full manual for a while, but without the computer compensating, we’ll start shaking soon. This crate is fragile, not intended to take any sort of pounding.”

  “And not Minzanese made, I’ll bet,” said Caesar. “What a loop we made, eh, boss? I think I left my stomach back there somewhere. What did you run us into anyway, Siggie? One minute we’re fine; the next, we’re slammed. Like getting whacked out of the way.”

  “Or knocked aside while a gate opened,” said 41.

  Kelly forced himself to concentrate. “That’s it. That’s what happened. The gateway opened. But we didn’t go through.”

  “Nonsense,” said Siggerson sharply. “We hadn’t reached the coordinates yet.”

  “Who says the gate has to always be in the same place?” asked Caesar.

  “Because it must,” said Siggerson impatiently. “Physical laws—”

  “What physical laws?” said Caesar. “We’ve got
holes opening in space wherever they want. I think we’re damned lucky we didn’t fall in.”

  “Yes,” said Kelly with dawning horror. “But who did?”

  The three of them stared at one another a moment. Then Caesar slammed his hand down upon a control. The viewscreen wavered into life.

  “I see nothing,” said 41.

  Kelly tensed. “Maybe the other ships got knocked aside just as we did. Put the scanners on a full 360-degree sweep.”

  Nothing. They were alone as though the Jefferson and their sister shuttle had never existed.

  Kelly groped backward and dropped into the copilot’s seat. He felt drained, hollow, as though all the fight and willpower had been kicked from him. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. His ship was supposed to go through, not the others.

  “Dad,” he whispered. “Not you. Not you!”

  * * *

  5

  Kelly stared at the screen in grim silence for several seconds. Then he said, “Find us a way in, Mr. Siggerson.”

  “Shouldn’t we call—”

  “No.”

  Frowning, Caesar said, “What if we’re all wrong about this? What if this is just an area that’s like spatial quicksand? Maybe we should—”

  “No!” said Kelly.

  From the rear of the shuttle Serula said, “Now you know what it’s like, Kelly.”

  He glanced at her, then away. “Look,” he said in a more moderate tone to Siggerson. “I’m not interested in conducting a scientific survey here. We know from the admiral’s report that ships came through from the other side. They, whoever they are, have deliberately snatched our ships. And apparently they can move their gate. If we had stayed near the Jefferson, we would have gone through with her. Now we’ve got to head back toward her coordinates and hope the gate is still there.”

  “And if it’s moved?” asked Siggerson dourly.

  “Then we hunt for it.” Kelly sighed. “Listen. We are in a craft that is not designed for deep space travel. We have a limited amount of fuel and a limited amount of air and heat. We cannot get home in this thing. Our only hope of survival is to go after the others.”