by M. D. Cooper
Ten minutes later they could make out the receiving portal on Chimin-5, surrounded by a wide net.
“That’s encouraging,” Rogers muttered as the shell continued its approach.
“Just a precaution,” Ricket replied with a nervous smile.
The shell made small maneuvers to align with the portal, and the four grav arms that extended out into space. Rogers knew that deceleration would be as abrupt as the launch, and he wasn’t disappointed.
The shell shuddered as waves of antigravitons emanated from the four arms, rapidly slowing them before the shell slid into the receiving portal and down a long tube to the debarkation area.
As the shell slid to a stop, Rogers tossed Ricket a jaunty grin. “See? We survived.”
Ricket returned his smile. “I never doubted it.”
Rogers accessed the local public network and looked for status reports and updates. There was no update on Jim’s crew’s progress. In fact, there were no updates on anything. Everything was status quo, nothing of any interest other than progress on their schedule.
“Find anything?” Ricket asked. “It’s like this place is shut down.”
Laura added.
Rogers shook his head. “Nothing saying, ‘hey the bad guys are in here’, if that’s what you’re asking’. Though I guess we can take no updates for days as a sign.”
“Well,” Ricket whispered. “Guess no one ever said this would be easy.”
Isn’t that the truth?
The top of the shell lifted off, and Rogers stepped onto the platform, followed closely by Ricket.
“Gravity is minimal here,” Ricket commented. “Less than half a g.”
Rogers nodded as he walked across the platform to the airlock leading into the station. He palmed the control, but it flashed red, reading ‘Invalid Tokens – Station Manager Access Only’.
“On it,” Ricket said, taking a knee as she began her work hacking the door.
Rogers leant against the bulkhead, rifle held across his chest as he peered through the airlock window. He could just make out the tunnel beyond, but only a short stretch was visible before it curved.
“One more second….” Ricket said and a moment later, the airlock door opened. She bounced up to her feet and gave him a triumphant smirk.
“Way to go. You ever think of being a cat burglar?” Rogers chuckled softly as they entered the airlock.
Rogers asked.
Ricket cast him a confused look as the airlock cycled open.
Rogers replied, more curious about Ricket’s past than explaining that cookies came in boxes or bags, not jars.
Ricket glanced at Rogers, raising her eyebrows as they advanced down the narrow tunnel.
One of his girls—it was one of the nicest ways there was to say Kylie had been a sex-slave, a gorgeous and elegant one at that, but didn’t change the truth.
Rogers said.
Rogers said.
Ricket said pointedly.
Rogers gave Ricket a pregnant look; her comment was a little too on the nose for him. Sure, he understood what it was she was saying, but she was playing at things as much as he was.
A few meters later, the tunnel opened up into a broad chamber. A corridor on their right bore a sign reading ‘Home Sweet Home’, and the facility’s public map listed it as crew quarters and dining services. Four other corridors—some raw rock without any dressing—led off to the refinery, and to three separate mines.
Ricket pointed at the second tunnel from the left,
Ricket moved into the lead and Rogers took up the rear. What a rear it was. It was hard to focus on their surroundings with Ricket’s perky ass swaying side to side in front of him.
He tried to think of something else, like the sick workers down in Facility 99, or the smell of the place. Things that were decidedly un-sexy. At the memory of the odor, he coughed, then sneezed violently.
Ricket asked, sounding concerned.
They rounded a bend and came to a section of tunnel shrouded in darkness. The passageway thus far had been well lit, but now nothing. Hairs on the back of Rogers’ neck stood-up as his foot slipped on a loose rock. He regained his balance and froze, the tension in him mounting. He looked at the overhead and saw that one of the power lines had been cut.
Rogers said as he peered down the tunnel.