Derelict_Destruction

by Paul E. Cooley

  “Just a frozen corpse,” he said to himself. “Nothing more than that.” He hoped. Dunn should never have allowed the lieutenant to retrieve the thing, let alone bring it aboard. It had been locked inside the derelict ship for upwards of 50 years and if someone was still in there, they’d be long dead. Wouldn’t they?

  Absolute zero wasn’t exactly kind to flesh and blood. The human body is composed of roughly 60% water. As water turns to ice, the molecules change shape and expand as much as 9% of their original volume. Cell walls rupture from the expansion, causing irreversible damage to organs, the brain, and other soft tissues.

  No, he thought, no one is surviving that. Shit, stasis slowed down the metabolic processes putting the body into hibernation, but it certainly didn’t freeze the cells or stop the motion of atoms. It was why humans aged during stasis, although it was barely perceptible. Gunny wondered what his actual “space age” was compared to his biological age. Doesn’t matter, he thought with a grin. You’re old as shit.

  Wendt and Copenhaver shepherded the coffin to the containment area. Gunny mag-walked and opened the sealed trans-aluminum shielding. The two marines walked the floating coffin inside and mag-locked it to the floor. “Good to go, Gunny,” Wendt said.

  “Oo-rah,” Gunny said. “Now let’s seal this thing up and get ready for the harness.” He checked to make sure Taulbee still had a clear egress and nodded to himself. “Lieutenant? You’re good to go.”

  “Copy, Gunny.”

  “Good hunting, sir,” he said.

  A puff of nitrogen gas vented from the SV-52’s undercarriage and pushed the support vehicle out of the cargo bay. “Closing bay, Captain,” Gunny said.

  “Copy, Gunny.”

  He sent a block command and the bay doors quickly slid down and sealed, once again protecting the bay from the vacuum of space. “Pressurizing,” he said over the squad channel. Another command and the atmospheric vents filled the bay with atmosphere as well as heat.

  With the SV-52 out of the bay, the area felt bereft, lonely. He turned and regarded the containment shelter. The coffin sat in its place, still mag-locked to the floor. He’d half-expected it to open as if the corpse inside had simply been waiting for a human presence.

  Quit thinking, he told himself. You don’t even know if there’s a goddamned body in there.

  True. He didn’t. But with all the other crazy shit he’d seen in the last several hours, a walking and talking corpse would hardly be out of place. Gunny shivered. “Okay, squad,” he said. “Triple-check everything. Once Oakes gets us into position, I want to be ready to go. Wendt? Make it happen.”

  “Aye, Gunny,” the big marine said.

  He continued staring at the coffin, almost afraid to look away. He’d be damned glad when they finally had some real work to do.

  Chapter Three

  His leg hurt. Bad. He’d vaped CBD with just a microdose of THC for the pain. The nannies would flush the CBD through his system to help relax the savaged muscles and nerves. Then he’d walked to his console, strapped in, and stared blankly at the holo display.

  A 3-D diagram of S&R Black floated before him. No one had had time to finish the exterior weld to his patch on fin 3, but it didn’t matter. The internal patch was holding and would hold so long as those pinecone-things didn’t decide to go munching. Once they were underway, he’d get one of Gunny’s squad to go out there and finish the job. Those apes wouldn’t make a clean weld, but at least the panel would stick. When this mission was over and the ship was safely back at Trident Station, he’d have a lot of cleanup work to do.

  “If we make it back,” he said aloud.

  He hadn’t wanted to say it to Oakes, much less to the captain, but he was beginning to doubt everything. Black’s calculations left very little room for error. And in Nobel’s experience, error was the only constant in the universe. Error and misfortune. Small or large, shit happened. And when it did, all you could do was to try and stay ahead of it, shovel as fast as you could, and try not to drown in the heaping pile of excrement.

  One line. They could afford one line failure. Maybe.

  His screen flashed and a new diagram appeared. His eyebrows knitted together as he squinted at the new image. “Um, what is this?”

  “Lieutenant,” Black said via the holo display’s speakers, “here is the plan for thruster placement.”

  The diagram showed small red circles on the remains of Mira’s aft section, as well as a few more topside and on her belly. He frowned. “Black? We already have thrusters placed in some of those spots.”

  “Correct, Lieutenant,” the AI said. “A few of the thrusters have remaining fuel. We can use them to correct her trajectory before we begin the tow.”

  He nodded and studied Mira’s aft section. The majority of the thrusters were to be placed in that area. “So we’re going to shift her to match our plotted course, give her a kick in the ass, and then start towing her with our fusion drives?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That could work. Do we know how much force those hull plates can handle?” He knew the answer before Black responded.

  “No, Lieutenant. However, I calculate a 70% success rate.”

  He thrummed his fingers on the console. “And what happens in the 30%?”

  “Best-case scenario,” Black said, “they burst through the plates and into the remains of the engineering section. I have already programmed our remaining thruster packs to shutoff if they experience a severe change in forward motion.”

  “So they break through and go into the already damaged area.”

  “Correct.”

  Nobel was afraid to ask the next question, but did it anyway. “Worst-case scenario?”

  “The aft hull plates completely shatter and create a fast-moving debris field that could potentially threaten our ship as well as any personnel outside the hull. It could also do further damage to Mira’s interior, putting Kalimura’s squad at risk.”

  “Now there’s a cheery thought,” he said dryly. “This sucks.”

  Black paused for a moment. “Do you have an alternative?”

  He glared at the display. For a moment, he wasn’t certain if she was being indignant, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “None that I can think of, Black. I think it’s worth the risk. If we give her a boot in the ass, it’ll put far less stress on the tow lines and the harness. If we don’t, the tow gets a lot more risky.”

  “Agreed,” Black said. “Lieutenant Oakes suggested we use the remaining thruster packs in this fashion.”

  “Of course he did,” Nobel said, chuckling. “He’s a meathead most of the time, but he can be brilliant when he needs to be.” Black said nothing. “Okay. So we’re mounting the harness and then Gunny’s squad will place the thrusters.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. That is the plan.”

  “Assuming we don’t lose them all during the harness hookup.”

  Black paused again. “That is correct, Lieutenant. Your voice stress analysis indicates you are very concerned.”

  He sighed. “That’s because I am.”

  “Do you require a sedative?”

  “No, Black,” he said with a chuckle. “Guess my morale went to shit the moment I was nearly eaten. It’ll be fine.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant.” His holo display returned to the original wireframe diagram of Mira’s exterior. “Would you care to watch the external feeds once Gunny’s squad begins the harness process?”

  “Yes, please,” he said. “Might as well get a front-row seat.” Then I’ll know just how fucked we are, he thought.

  Chapter Four

  The ship rumbled. The cargo bay, still pressurized, creaked and groaned from the thruster burns. Oakes was moving the ship closer to Mira, and in a few minutes, they’d be right on top of the harness point.

  A sheen of sweat formed on Gunny’s forehead and he hadn’t even donned his helmet. The rest of the squad were either double-checking skif
f supplies, their weapons, or their suits. Double-check. Who was he kidding? Wendt had run them through the process three times already. Gunny grinned.

  The squad’s flechette rifles had the new magazines, the skiff’s lockbox was filled with spares, and the cannon was armed and ready. Each of his marines was armed and carrying a pack jammed full with emergency suit patches, additional tether lines, and survival gear. He’d also ordered they bring aboard an extra canister of fuel for the skiff. Again, just in case.

  Hooking up the harness would normally take less than five minutes with an entire squad. But considering how little room for error they had, Gunny knew every line would have to be double-checked regardless of Taulbee’s flyby. And that meant long grav-walks, more potential hazards from fractured deck plates, and a high probability for coming in contact with hostile lifeforms.

  “Hostile,” he mumbled. Boy, wasn’t that an understatement. He didn’t know if the pinecones were inherently violent or simply looking for food. The same with the starfish, although considering it had flung flechettes right back at the ‘52, he wondered. That displayed a level of intelligence that made his skin crawl. He wasn’t sure a non-sentient being could even come up with that strategy. So what they were facing had to be treated like a combatant instead of exotic wildlife. He’d tried to hammer that home with the squad. If he hadn’t succeeded, one or more of them would go back to Trident Station in a body bag. If, that was, they managed to recover the body.

  “Quit it,” he told himself. “Don’t borrow trouble.”

  Wendt walked from the skiff to stand before him. “We’re ready, Gunny.”

  Gunny’s impassive face turned into a scowl. “Willing to bet your life on that?”

  “Aye, Gunny.”

  He nodded at the big marine. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “Hurry up and wait?”

  Gunny’s face broke into a dim grin. “Hurry up and wait, marine.”

  “Ooh-rah,” Wendt said in a low, clear voice. He turned on his heel and headed back to the skiff, clapping his hands to get the squad’s attention.

  And just like that, Gunny thought, Wendt’s leading. He shook his head. Maybe after this mission he could talk to the disciplinary board, get Wendt back to a non-comm. The marine had certainly shown that in a crisis, he was ready. Even if he was an insubordinate shit the rest of the time.

  He listened as Wendt gave the squad instructions, yelling at them to check their weapons one last time. They dutifully cleared their weapons, rechecked for full mags, and reloaded. When they finished, he ordered them to stand at-ease

  Gunny approved. He’d purposely stepped aside to observe how Wendt handled the troops. It was paying off. They’d listen to him in a combat situation now. Which was good. If their sergeant took a round or, Allah forbid, got eaten, they’d need to treat Wendt as second-in-command.

  He brought up the exterior schematics on his block, familiarizing himself with the damaged areas around the mount points. They’d have to be careful where they walked, how they walked, and have their wits about them. Especially if some of the monsters came out to play.

  “Two minutes, Gunny,” Oakes’ voice said over the comms.

  “Aye, sir,” Gunny replied. He took in a deep breath. “Two minutes, marines! Helmets on!”

  The marines screamed out affirmatives and donned the last piece of equipment. He put his own on, ran a mic check, and brought up the HUD. Oxygen? Full. Heaters? Ready to rock. Rifle filled with ammo. Survival gear on his back. He ran a scan over each squad member, checking to make sure each marine was kitted out and looking for problems with their comms. Everything was green. Everyone was ready.

  “Board the skiff,” he said over the squad channel and made his way forward. Copenhaver and Lyke took the rear while Murdock took a position beside the cannon. Wendt crawled into the gunner’s chair. That left Gunny the pilot seat. He inhaled a shuddering breath and connected to the computer.

  “Mag-lock,” Gunny said. A chorus of affirmatives filled the comms. Five human beings aboard a glorified slab of metal were ready to float out into hell. He grinned. A slight rush of adrenaline sizzled his nerves.

  Another rumble rattled the ship and he felt her shift to port. Oakes was performing the final line-up burns. With the external mics inactive, he didn’t hear the cargo rattling in their cradles or the sound of something shifting inside the recovered stasis coffin.

  Chapter Five

  It took no time at all to bring the SV-52 to a comfortable distance away from S&R Black. Floating two-hundred meters above the ship’s hull, his cams caught every centimeter of her topside. Black was receiving the video and analyzing it for damage. The fight with the pinecones and the starfish hadn’t done much damage to the hull, but they needed to be sure.

  Regardless, it was a beautiful view. He loved looking at S&R Black from space. The design was old and had never been meant for beauty. But the countless kilometers of travel, the frequent repairs to damaged hull plates, and the burns and scars from her journeys marred her in a way that made her beautiful. At least to him.

  He tore his eyes away from the view and focused on Mira. The giant ship’s rotation had all but stopped, but she still had a bit of a cant to her attitude. When Oakes finally moved into position to connect S&R Black to the harness, he’d have to forget about the view and focus on possible threats. But for now, he was glad for the short break.

  Taulbee refocused the surveillance camera on the massive ship and started scanning her bow. Due to her attitude change, he had an isometric view of her port-side and a partial of her belly. “The fuck?” he whispered. Mira’s Atmo-steel hull seemed as though it had grown bumps or nubs since last he checked.

  He chose a spot near where the foredecks met the midships and zoomed in. Each level of magnification brought finer detail and increased the acid in his stomach. What he was seeing made no sense. At 16X magnification, it was clear what was going on. The pinecones had migrated in large clumps. There had to be thousands of them clustered in small groups. It was as if the ship had suddenly broken out into metallic, black hives.

  “Jesus, are they reproducing?”

  No. That wasn’t possible. Was it? When he’d performed several flybys, the number of pinecones had been staggering, sure, but he didn’t remember seeing anything like this. The numbers were far too great. Unless they were fleeing the interior of the ship to go outside. But even as large as Mira was, how could it possibly have held that many of them?

  “Black?” he called through the comms.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “Sent you a feed. What do you make of it?”

  The AI paused. “I have no explanation.”

  Taulbee bit his lip. “Can we agree that there seems to be more of them?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. By my estimate, there are over 7,000 of the creatures clustered on the port-side. That estimate, however, does not account for creatures that may be hidden from view.”

  “No, shit,” he said. “They have to be reproducing.”

  “Agreed, Lieutenant. One item of note. I detect massive size differentials between the few individuals I can make out. Some of the creatures appear to be as small as 1/4 meter while others are larger than a meter in length.”

  “Spawning? There are juveniles in that mess?” Taulbee asked.

  “I believe so, Lieutenant. Although how or why they are doing this is beyond my ability to guess.”

  “Fuck,” he breathed and switched to the command channel. “Captain? I think I need to check the harness placement again.”

  “Why? What is it now?”

  “Sir? Black will no doubt send you a feed, but I’m seeing a massive pinecone migration. Looks like the population has increased.”

  Dunn paused before replying. Taulbee could almost hear the litany of curses flowing in the man’s mind. “Aye. You’re clear for a flyby. We need to know if it’s safe to move the ship.”

  “Aye, sir. Out.”

  Taulbee chang
ed the cameras to a broad view, eschewing magnification for the big picture. “Can we please catch a fucking break?”

  He pushed the throttle and the SV-52 immediately started forward at 5m/s. Since S&R Black was still a half klick from Mira, he kept the throttle open until he was traveling at 20m/s. While the ‘52 ate the distance, he changed the craft’s trajectory to bring it lower for the flyby, also accounting for Mira’s cant. The closer he came to the giant ship, the more his stomach crawled with tension. When he was less than 100 meters away, he started to slow the craft with a few bow thruster burns. In no time, he hovered over the foredecks. Another few burns and he headed down the ship’s spine toward the midships.

  Black, shivering pimples covered the topside hull. The clumps of creatures didn’t look to be attached to the hull directly, but rather to one another. They floated mere centimeters from the metal. He wasn’t sure how they were managing to do that. Maybe they generated their own magnetic field and could adjust its strength just as marines did with their suits.

  He continued moving down the spine, his cameras auto-focusing on the harness mooring points. So far, so good. The pinecone clumps emptied out further toward the midships. In fact, it looked as though there was a border line the creatures didn’t want to cross. Taulbee frowned. That wasn’t good. If there was something keeping them from traveling further aft, then something in that section had to be giving them reason for caution.

  “Shit,” he said. If the pinecones were spawning, what about the starfish things? Wouldn’t they be doing the same? Were their lifecycles somehow in sync? Or was something else going on?

  The harness was clear. The lines were relatively clear. The only line in any kind of danger was the final mount point Gunny’s squad had placed. The one nearest to the trench the first starfish had erupted from. Trench. What a joke. It was now a huge rip in the Atmo-steel plate. The ‘52’s lights beamed down through the jagged tear and he could see Mira’s topmost deck beneath it.