The Venusian Gambit
Page 8
“Roger, Hadfield. Over.”
Shaila couldn’t help but smile slightly; Diaz seemed to think she was going to go in, guns blazing. Of course, she wanted to. She wanted to charge in and make her way to the cockpit, where she was sure she’d find Stephane. But dammit, she was a Royal Navy officer and JSC astronaut. She had orders, and she was going to follow them.
Shaila entered the airlock and closed the outer door behind her. More codes appeared on her HUD—activation codes that would allow her to repressurize the lock and enter Tienlong. She wouldn’t use them, though. The outer door was easy enough to re-open, and if need be, she’d tell Archie to do an emergency “drop” of the docking tube—allowing it to release from both ships and drift off into space—rather than have someone charge through. The inner door remained secure, and she could now see through the window that the corridor in front of her was empty, with only emergency lights on.
Shaila tried to access Tienlong’s wireless network—using a special encrypted sandbox to keep Armstrong’s systems secure—but kept coming up with no response, even with the override codes the Chinese provided. She could theoretically jack in physically, but the nearest computer screen was on the other side of the airlock door…
…where someone was now floating.
Shaila gasped slightly at the sight; she’d been distracted by the technology in front of her, and the data on her HUD, to pay much attention to the darkened corridor beyond the hatch. But there, outside the airlock, a person watched her from the shadows, grasping handholds on the wall and floating silently less than four meters away.
The person—she couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman—didn’t even show up on sensors. She just…showed up.
“Hadfield, Jain. Contact made. Single unidentified target. Over.” A small part of her was surprised at the calm in her voice.
“We see the feed from your helmet cam, Jain,” Diaz said, equally calm. “Stay in the airlock and do not engage until backup arrives. If the target advances, retreat into the tube. Confirm.”
“Confirmed,” Jain replied. “I will not engage. Over.”
Shaila peered into the darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that the figure was female, and that meant it was Maria Conti, Armstrong’s biologist and medical officer. She had accompanied Col. Mark Nilsson over to Tienlong when it was in orbit over Titan. Nilsson was later ejected from an airlock—the very same airlock Shaila stood in—without his helmet. A transmission from Tienlong later showed Conti standing behind Stephane. Shaila and the DAEDALUS team concurred that she, like Stephane, was likely possessed as well.
“She’s not doing anything,” Archie said over the comm. “Wonder why.”
“I think she’s keeping me in place,” Shaila replied. “She probably doesn’t want me getting in. Which means…Hadfield, they have a plan for us. That burn they did wasn’t just evasion.”
“Agreed,” Diaz replied from Hadfield. “Stay glued on her and prepare to move. Three minutes.”
Shaila waited, her weapon out of view but firmly in hand. For her part, Conti remained in the corridor, in the shadows between the emergency lighting. Shaila raised her hand and waved to Conti, but she remained motionless. In fact, she was so still that Shaila found herself checking to see if Conti was still breathing, but at least her chest rose and fell in rhythm. Still, it was unnerving as hell.
Shaila looked around the airlock, with her HUD giving her information on what she was seeing: outer hatch lock, emergency evac…communication relay. Not a full jack-in to the ship’s computers, but a simple patch to put her in speakers.
Shaila plugged a thin cord from her suit gauntlet into the relay, then flipped the comm switch. “Tienlong, this is acting Captain Shaila Jain of the JSC Ship Armstrong. You are in violation of the U.N. Space Charter and will be boarded. You are directed to gather in the ship’s common room, where you will surrender and be taken into custody. Acknowledge.”
Conti didn’t move.
“I demand to speak with the current commander of this vessel. Where is Stephane Durand?” she asked, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly at the mention of his name.
Again, no movement.
Shaila was tempted to talk further, but found she had little else to say. She kept her suit plugged into the comm relay, but muted the link. If they wanted to talk to her, they’d know where to find her.
“Archie, any movements you can see in the windows?” Shaila asked.
“Negative, still too damn foggy,” he replied. “Got eyes on Hadfield, though. She came in like a bat outta hell, and lined up damn perfectly. You would’ve liked it.”
Shaila smiled despite herself. “Can’t wait to meet the pilot. Is he—wait.”
Conti was moving.
Without warning, she turned her head away from the airlock toward the rest of the ship. She then pushed off back down the corridor; Shaila assumed she was headed for the ventral airlock where Hadfield was docking.
“Looks like I’m all clear here,” Shaila said. “Hadfield, you’re probably getting company at your airlock. Do you wish me to pursue? Over.”
“Negative,” Diaz replied. “Stay put until the team comes to get you. Acknowledge.”
Shaila grimaced at that, but kept her cool. “Roger that, Hadfield. I—whoa!”
A face suddenly appeared right in front of the window.
“Fuck! Hadfield, are you seeing this?” Shaila said, a little too loudly.
“We have visual,” Diaz said coolly. “Identify.”
Overcoming her surprise, Shaila looked at the Chinese man now staring back at her. “I…yeah. Chinese officer, I think it’s Shen Jie,” Shaila said, pulling the man’s face from her memory. She had studied the crew files regularly in transit from Saturn, though any resemblance between the holoimage of a smiling People’s Army major and the man before her now was superficial at best. Shen’s black hair was matted with sweat, sticking to his scalp. His eyes were dilated and bloodshot, and the bags and dark circles under them were incredibly, almost sickeningly pronounced. His mouth was slightly opened, and Shaila could see his teeth were a putrid, neon yellow.
“Confirming Major Shen Jie,” Diaz replied. “Stay put. I’ve informed the fire team. They’ll pull him off you.”
Suddenly, Shen pushed off the hatch and floated back into the corridor—toward a control panel about five meters from the airlock door.
Shen pressed a few buttons, and a red light began flashing insistently inside the airlock. “Negative, Hadfield,” Shaila said. “He’s going to open the lock. Repeat, Shen is opening the airlock.”
“Brace!” Diaz shouted.
Shaila grabbed a handhold and pressed her feet against the outer hatch. The inner door swept open, and a split second later, all the pressurized atmosphere from Tienlong rushed into the airlock. Despite her best efforts, Shaila’s grip was torn from her handhold and she was slammed into the outer hatch by the onslaught of air blowing into the little chamber.
When she opened her eyes again, Shen was sailing toward her fast…with a knife in his hand and an inhuman look of rage on his face.
Shaila’s training took over just as the air pressure subsided and she felt herself floating free again. Pushing up with her feet, she grabbed a handhold on the ceiling of the airlock and then kicked outward—catching Shen in the face with a boot. The astronaut twirled around with the force of the blow, blood spraying from his mouth in all directions, creating tiny crimson droplets floating through the lock. Meanwhile, Shaila allowed her momentum to carry her out of the airlock, effectively trading places with Shen. A few seconds later, Shaila was able to grab the control panel for the lock, arresting her movement just as Shen was shaking off the effects of the kick.
“Shit, which button?” Shaila muttered. Unlike the outer lock, all the buttons were in Chinese. Helpfully, her suit computer immediately projected translations onto her HUD. She pressed what she hoped would be the right sequence….
…and turned to find Shen wedged with
in the closing door, halfway between the airlock and the corridor. He was stuck, and angry.
Shaila floated over and, keeping her distance, gave the Chinese astronaut a closer look. He certainly looked like he was battling an infection. His skin was incredibly pale, and coated with a thin sheen of sweat. There were dark stains under the arms of his uniform and around his collar. He looked as though he’d been bedridden and hadn’t been able to keep up with his personal hygiene—his teeth, now bared, were purple in spots and probably rotting inside his mouth.
But it was the eyes that hit Shaila the most. They were wide and feral. There were streaks of blood around Shen’s mouth in every direction, and he was…growling, it seemed, though the sound was blessedly muffled by Shaila’s suit.
“Report, Jain,” Diaz said over the comm.
“You seeing this, ma’am?”
“Roger that. Neutralize him and head to the ventral hatch to support Parrish. Acknowledge.”
In other words, stop staring and get your ass in gear, Shaila thought. Good idea. “Roger that, Hadfield.”
Shaila drew her zapper and hit Shen with it at a range of about half a meter. Surprisingly, it only seemed to disorient him, and Shaila needed two more shots until Shen’s eyes closed. Shaila then shoved him back through the door and into the airlock, allowing the doors to close on him. A few keystrokes on the control panel locked the astronaut in for good; Archie would send Shen out into space before allowing him into the tunnel between Tienlong and Armstrong, let alone into the JSCS ship itself.
“Parrish, this is Jain, over,” she said as she floated into the bowels of the darkened Tienlong.
“Parrish here, Jain. We’re about ready to enter. I got Conti eying us pretty good. She’s got some sort of laser drill with her.”
Shaila pushed off the walls a little faster, a map on her HUD guiding her to the Hadfield team’s location. “Don’t let her get a shot off. She’s probably rewired it to punch a hole through you. Concentrate all zappers on her at once. It’s going to take a few shots to take her down.”
“Copy that. We’ll wait until you’re in position. I—shit, she’s opening the airlock.”
The comm went silent and Shaila cursed as she barreled down the corridor, diving into an access tube. There was a flash of light before her, then a muffled scream. Then silence.
“Report, Parrish,” Diaz said, opening the comm channel to everyone.
“Lost Riggs, ma’am,” the marine replied. “Conti knew she was outgunned, decided to take one of us with her.”
Shaila turned to see Parrish and another spacesuited marine hovering over a third. The latter man’s helmet had a hole burned through it. What was inside the helmet was…unrecognizable. Between Shaila and the marines was the unconscious body of the former Armstrong officer.
“She’s going to be awake soon,” Shaila said, grabbing Conti’s hair unceremoniously as she floated past, pulling her toward the airlock. “Lock her in.”
Parrish manned the control panel to lock the woman in between Hadfield and Tienlong—Diaz would, no doubt, manage her capture quite nicely. The other marine—Shaila saw his name, BECKER, on his suit—tethered his fallen comrade to a handhold. There would be time to retrieve him, and mourn, later.
“Hadfield to Parrish, Jain. Are you guys fucking with the comms on Tienlong?” Diaz barked.
“Negative, ma’am,” Jain responded. “We just put Conti in the airlock between you and us, that’s it.”
“Shit,” Diaz replied. “We’re reading a power surge here of incredible proportions, like every goddamn system on Tienlong is now powering their comms. And the dish is swinging toward Earth.”
A tactical map popped up on Shaila’s HUD—the power surge, and the communications room, was deep inside the ship, well away from their location. “We’ll get there. Single three-man fire team. Let’s go,” Parrish replied. “How long we got until BlueNet is ready?”
“Four minutes,” Diaz said. “Hurry your asses up.”
The three officers took off down the corridor, weapons drawn, their HUDs leading them toward the source. There was an odd clanking around them as they drew nearer, and they felt the ship vibrating wildly every time they touched a handhold to vault themselves forward. What few lights were left aboard were flickering, going out, leaving only their suit lights to help them see their way; their suits compensated by layering night-vision sensors over their HUDs.
Up ahead, a bright white light flashed—and faded to blue.
“Oh, shit,” Shaila said, even as her HUD confirmed her fear—a massive surge of Cherenkov radiation ahead. “Hadfield, Cherenkov spike!”
Diaz didn’t respond as Shaila, Parrish and Becker vaulted forward. The comm room was just ahead, and already they could see something was amiss—there were extra power conduits and wiring strung down the corridor, leading into the room. “They’ve been doing a hack,” Parrish said. “Third guy is likely in there now.”
Shaila nodded and tried to keep her voice professional. “He’s probably busy with this comm stuff. Suggest we concentrate fire on him—three at once.”
“Hold off, fire team,” Diaz said over the comm. “Power surge is falling. BlueNet is in position. Preparing to fire in ten seconds.”
Parrish motioned for Shaila and Becker to move to either side of the door. Shaila watched her suit HUD count down the last ten seconds. After which…her screen flickered. And that was it. No flash, nothing.
“Hadfield, this is Jain. Status?”
A moment later, Diaz came on the line. “If we’re reading this right, we netted…two entities.”
What the hell? “Come again?” Shaila asked.
“Hang on. We’re working on it. Stand by,” Diaz said curtly.
As Diaz’s voice faded, Shaila heard the muffled sound of laughter. From inside Tienlong.
From the comm room.
And it sounded a little like Stephane.
“Parrish, Becker,” Shaila said. Both nodded in return, pointing to the doorway. They heard. They were ready.
“On my mark,” Parrish said. “Three…two…one…MARK.”
Shaila pushed off the wall and around the doorway, her weapon before her.
What she saw she would never forget.
There were two large tanks in the room, seemingly cobbled together from other parts of the ship. Wires protruded all around them and into the comm consoles around the room. In between the two tanks, an emerald stone slab, roughly a half-meter across and a meter high, rested in a cobbled-together electronic cradle, surrounded by lights and more wires. It gave off an eerie green light.
Shaila recognized it as the tablet Stephane and the Chinese had uncovered on Titan, in a forgotten ruin that, by all that was sane and logical, should not have been there.
The rest of the room was a jury-rigged mess, with equipment taped to every surface. Small bits of tech floated lazily around. There was a palpable hum of electrical energy there. Nothing looked like it should be working, but it was.
And in the middle of it all, floating in zero-g, was Stephane.
But it wasn’t him. She knew that horrible, stomach-sinking truth with just a simple, half-second glance.
It wasn’t his appearance that tipped her off, though he looked wretched. His hair was long, matted, greasy. He wore a beard, similarly unkempt. He was filthy, with patches of grease and food stains on his skin and uniform. Pale, sweaty, wide-eyed…he looked sick and infected. His teeth were yellowed, stained, disgusting. His body was emaciated.
But there was more to it than that. He looked like he might burst from the inside out, bloated with whatever insanity was running through him. His eyes carried sights that ought not to have been seen, reflected only in his twitchy movements, his rictus grin, his constantly moving hands that grasped only thin air.
Stephane faced them and opened his arms wide. “They’re gone!” he shouted through a smile that was both beatific and utterly terrifying. “And there’s nothing you can do about it!”
And still, even unconscious, Stephane still wore someone else’s horrific smile on his face.
CHAPTER 5
May 6, 1809
Weatherby paced the wooden floors of the reception hall, impatient with just about everything in the Known Worlds. Sitting by a roaring fire in a beautiful marble fireplace, Anne chatted amiably with one of the Crown Prince’s lady courtiers, likely regarding some trivia that would elude him. Anne was certainly the more gregarious and socially adept of the pair, and Weatherby would typically accept this with good grace and humor.
But now he waited upon a prince, the prince, it seemed, who liked to keep Weatherby waiting despite his having traveled millions of miles at the Crown’s behest. Hence, the admiral’s mood was foul and he was highly disinclined toward idle chatter.
Victory had made port in Leith two days prior, and Weatherby immediately made for Edinburgh Castle with all haste, Anne right by his side. Once arrived, he was told the Prince Regent was falconing, and that he should await a summons. Having been summoned across the very Void already by His Royal Highness, Weatherby was quite aggrieved at this, with only Anne’s soothing words keeping him from tearing the courtier’s head clean off his body.
And now, having actually been summoned that very morning, they waited yet again. Assuredly, the Royal Palace of Edinburgh Castle was a fine place to wait for anyone, with wood-paneled walls, comfortable furniture, a warm fire and wine to soothe the soul. But Weatherby was not impressed in the least. His place was at sea and Void, bringing battle to the French and ultimately evicting Napoleon’s accursed forces from England once and for all.
Instead, he was waiting.
“You’re going to pace a rut in His Royal Highness’ floors,” came a voice from the other end of the room.
Weatherby turned to find Viscount Castlereagh, His Majesty’s Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, walking toward him with a broad smile and extended hand, which Weatherby returned in kind, clasping Castlereagh’s hand. “I trust you’re well, my Lord Minster,” Weatherby said with a smile, for Castlereagh was the best sort of politician—a blunt speaker, and one who appreciated advice from the military instead of dismissing it.