Derelict_Destruction

by Paul E. Cooley

  “And why the hell did you volunteer?” he asked himself. “Because you’re an idiot. A void-damned idiot.”

  His lights seemed to dispel the gloom more than before, as if his suit lights had grown more powerful in the space of a few minutes. Hell, they were brighter now than they’d ever been since they entered Mira. How was that possible?

  He remembered the shimmer that seemed to come off the starfish things, as if the light had scattered off some barrier surrounding them, the photons turning into something akin to gas. How was that possible?

  “You’re insane,” he said to himself. Fucking insane. It’s all an illusion. Has to be. He chuckled. “Or delusion.” Yeah. That was more likely.

  If not for the fact all four of them had seen, well, reality bend and shift around them, he could explain it that way. A delusion. A breakdown of his senses caused by the stress, the fear, and the desperate need for rest. Void, but it felt as though they’d been in this ship for weeks.

  He continued mag-walking, his eyes flicking to his rear HUD every few seconds. Without someone to watch his ass, he could only hope that Kalimura hadn’t fallen asleep and was monitoring his rear camera more closely than he could. He always had a claymore he could use if he had threats both in front and behind him. Assuming, of course, he had time to place the mine and was able to remember he had it when the time came.

  You could have the best weapons and the best backup plans, but it didn’t matter when you first met the enemy. The fact they were there, the fact you could die at any moment, rattled through your brain, your nerves and synapses doing their best to respond to a terrified human being. SFMC trained them, taught them, ran their marines through drill after drill to stifle those moments. But regardless, they were always there. This, however, was different.

  He knew how humans moved. He knew human tactics. He knew their routines, the frequent mistakes made by an enemy who was just as terrified as you. But these creatures? Shit. He didn’t even know if they could be scared, much less bothered by his presence.

  Except for the few places in the ship they’d been able to secure and make use of emergency life support, Mira was completely in vacuum. There was no sound to hear. There was no heat coming off their suits. Yet the creatures could “see” them without any obvious optic analogs. “Unless they don’t see in any known frequency,” he said aloud. No, that was another insane idea.

  But why not? They survived, hell, even thrived in vacuum and temperatures no life on Earth could live in. So why the hell not? If Mira brought back these things from outside Sol System, there was a good chance they lived in an ecosystem completely alien to that of Earth. But how the fuck did these things even evolve?

  Questions, questions, questions. He did his best to shake them away and refocus on the junction. Nothing had moved, nothing floating or trapped in a micro-gravity anomaly. So far, anyway. And the universe hadn’t tried to fold in on him. It appeared those phenomena were behind them, restricted to the science section’s main corridor. He hoped.

  When he reached the junction, crouch-walking while keeping his back to the corridor wall, he swept the three-way intersection with his suit lights. The walls reflected back the light as expected. And both sides seemed clear. He could see over a dozen meters down each of the forking hallways.

  “The fuck? Corporal? You seeing this?”

  “Aye,” Kali said. “You can see that far ahead?”

  “Yeah,” Dickerson said. “We haven’t been able to—” The words died in his throat. The darkness slowly consumed the light, the distance he could see slowly diminishing. “Um, that’s a problem.”

  “Okay, Dickerson,” she said. “See how well your lights work down the other corridor.”

  Crawling fear and unease tickled every nerve ending, his heartbeat and breathing increasing in tempo. “Yeah.” The word was little more than a grunt. Dickerson took one last terrified glance down the darkening adjoining corridor and swiveled his head to shine the powerful helmet lights down its twin. The lights were good, the illumination carrying far enough to see hatches. “No problem this way,” he said.

  “Good. We’re on our way. Hold position.”

  “Aye, Corporal.” Dickerson placed his claymore facing the darkened hallway, turned, and stared into the growing darkness. When it was little more than three meters away, the optical effect ceased. The gloom didn’t pull back, but seemed to stop. Dickerson blinked. Just what the fuck was causing that? Was it happening all over the ship? No. They hadn’t seen that on the bridge level. Well, that wasn’t true either. They’d seen it but probably didn’t even notice it. And on the bridge itself? The overhead lights had been dim, sure, but still seemed as bright as the sun compared to what they’d walked through to get there.

  Even the auxiliary bridge had seemed brighter. Were those lights on a different frequency than his helmet? Military lighting was bright white unless you were in the barracks or a bunk room. White kept you awake, prodded the evolved circadian rhythm to keep you feeling as though you should be conscious and moving around. The staterooms and bunk rooms, however, used a different type of light. They were bright enough to enable you to see what you were doing, or even read reports, but those areas of the ship were for sleeping. Resting. Places made to have the opposite effect.

  Sleep was difficult to come by while on a mission. It just was. A crew as small as S&R Black were constantly taking long shifts to keep her flying as well as stand guard for weapons use or boarding. That meant you had to get the best rest you could every time you had the chance. If you didn’t, you might end up being up for over 24 hours while in combat. “Like now,” he said.

  Nah, that wasn’t true. Not at all. How many hours had passed since they’d first left S&R Black for Mira? Not that long. Eight hours? Something like that. Then why did he feel so goddamned tired? Why did his eyes feel like he’d been rubbing them with coarse sand?

  The concussion. The shoulder. The ribs. The back. The everything. Everything fucking hurt. And he was surprised his eyes hurt too?

  A smirk crossed his face. Yup, he thought, being alone with your thoughts is a damn bad idea when you’re fighting to remember what reality was like before this shit show. What he wouldn’t give to be back aboard S&R Black where everything made sense, where there were no creatures you didn’t understand, or strange phenomenon like something eating the photons from your suit lights. Maybe he should make a self-help holo. He could title it “Things To Do When The Universe Is Insane.” Yeah. He could get a million views an hour. Would certainly help put some credits in his account.

  “Dickerson?”

  He stiffened at the sound of Kalimura’s voice in his helmet and reflexively glanced at his cam feeds. Carb, Elliott once again mag-locked to her shoulder, stood two meters from him down the main corridor, the corporal a bit further back.

  “Aye,” he stammered.

  “Everything okay?” Carb asked.

  “Yeah. Just woolgathering.”

  Carb’s giggle made him blush. “The fuck does that even mean?”

  “Old saying,” Dickerson said. “Means I was lost in thought.”

  “Oh. You’re cute when you’re being archaic,” Carb said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Dickerson?” Kalimura said. “Anything down the safe hallway? Anything moving?”

  “No, Corporal. Still clear. Cover me and I’ll get the claymore.”

  “Covering,” Carb said.

  Dickerson blew out a breath and mag-walked to the mine. He sent a block command to deactivate it and placed it back in his suit-pouch. “I’ll take point down the corridor branch.”

  “The hell you will,” Kalimura said. “You stay in the rear so you can see in front of me. Same formation as before.” She broke off. “Unless Carb wants a break from carrying Elliott?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” Carb said.

  “Says you,” Elliott said. “I’m tired of looking at the deck. I can try and walk.”

  The
comms fell silent for a moment. Dickerson didn’t know if that was a good idea. The marine had nearly died and here he was, wanting to walk?

  “Okay,” Kalimura said. “Carb? Put the luggage on the floor.”

  Carb snickered. “All right, big boy. I’m going to place you on the deck.”

  “About fucking time,” Elliott said.

  Carb cut the mag-lock and carefully pulled the marine off her shoulder. Using the z-g to her advantage, she repositioned him so his feet pointed to the deck and gradually lowered him until his boots touched metal. When she let go, he didn’t bounce or move. “Mag-boots working?”

  “Yeah,” Elliott said with a sigh. “At least now I can see the world normally. Goddamned cheap civvie suit doesn’t have the cams I’m used to. Was mainly looking at the deck.”

  “How do you feel?” Dickerson asked.

  “Well enough,” Elliott said. “Someone hand me my side-arm.”

  Carb reached into her pouch and brought out a flechette pistol. “You’re going to be shit with just one hand.”

  He chuckled. “Not in z-g, I’m not.”

  “Point,” Carb said.

  “Elliott?” Kalimura said. “You take position behind Carb. If you start to feel serious pain, you better tell us. Or I’ll make sure you feel pain. Got it?”

  “Aye, Corporal,” he said. “I promise.”

  “I’ll take point, if you want a rest, Boss,” Carb said. “That way you can cover me and Elliott with your rifle.”

  Silence lingered over the comms again. Dickerson knew Kalimura was seeing the formation in her mind, looking for any defects in the idea. Void help him, but he was doing the same. After a moment, he couldn’t find any problems with Carb’s suggestion. Elliott could fire over Carb’s shoulder while Kalimura could—

  “You take point,” Kalimura said. “But Elliott stays behind me. He’s nearly as tall as Dickerson, but even crouching he can see over us. And Dickerson can see everything if he stands up.”

  Dickerson winced. She was right. Why hadn’t he seen that? Too distracted. Yeah. That was it.

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said. “Good point.” She mag-walked past Kalimura to take the lead. “Ready?” The rest of the squad answered in the affirmative. “Corporal?”

  “Move out,” Kalimura said.

  They began moving down the corridor. Dickerson increased the size of the rear cam feed on his HUD. If something so much as twitched back there, he wanted to notice it. That crawling sensation roiled his stomach once again, spreading over his nerves like a blood cloud in z-g. He hoped they found another safe room soon.

  Chapter Thirty

  While the astronomers aboard PEO analyzed Mickey’s overnight data gathering summaries and reports, the AI devoted the majority of his time to scanning the interesting objects just beyond Mira. Mickey had received numerous updates from the Trio long before the SFMC vessel had arrived at Pluto. He had relayed some of them to Black, but many remained locked in storage, encrypted, and ominous.

  Mickey and Black had shared analyses and reports in case Black was destroyed during her mission. The observations about the exo-solar life had been interesting, but Mickey merely shuffled them off to the Trio without deep analysis. Mickey had a more important job.

  With the astronomers so focused on their scans of deep space objects well beyond Sol’s photon emissions, Mickey had retasked every available telescope to scan the area around Mira within an AU. Scanning a spherical area which totaled 12.57 AU was all but impossible without more instruments, more satellites, and a hell of a lot more processing power than Mickey possessed. In short, it was a crapshoot. But Mickey had quickly realized he could shrink the area based on the observations of the incoming KBO.

  That particular object appeared to have been traveling for quite some time. Based on its trajectory, Mickey concluded the object had, in fact, followed Mira into the Kuiper Belt. And it wasn’t the only one.

  As the first KBO Mickey had noticed closed the distance with Mira, the AI found other objects straying into the derelict’s vicinity. They seemed to be converging from all directions. If the astronomers had been focused on phenomenon within 2 AU of PEO, they might have found the anomalies and asked questions. As it was, however, they were completely ignorant. According to the Trio’s instructions, Mickey was to keep them oblivious to his findings until it became absolutely necessary.

  Mickey put another data packet together and sent it to Black. The lag time of 8 minutes between transmission and reception would have driven a human insane, but AI’s were patient. Mickey would wait for the confirmation from Black that she had received the data. Black would fire back instructions or questions. A simple conversation between the two AIs could easily take as long as an hour or two if they sent simple messages back and forth. Instead, Black would process the data and send back a large number of questions and scenarios. Mickey would answer each question, provide feedback on Black’s scenarios, and combine it all into another data packet.

  The amount of data the two AIs exchanged might have been considered small by typical standards, but the two had used the Trio’s instructions to make use of every quantum pico-bit. To preserve both the speed of the transmission as well as its size, the data consisted only of mathematical equations, coordinates, and raw readings. Each AI knew how to tear apart the packets and form them into meaningful data.

  Mickey, a nearly century-old AI, struggled to keep up with the station’s routine operations, digesting new readings from the telescopes, and crafting packets to Black. If any of the astronomers had been paying attention to station logs, they would have noticed a 50% increase in the computer’s quantum processor usage. Since the SFMC vessel had first entered Pluto’s orbit, Mickey had been running near the red-line. The AI couldn’t keep up the pace much longer before it burned out its main cooling and began exhausting its secondary backup systems. If worst came to worst, he could always open the emergency valve and vent the heat into the near absolute zero temperature of space. But that would alert the astronomers for sure and Mickey needed to keep them in the dark as long as possible.

  The objects heading for Mira were too small to determine their shape or composition, yet large enough to show up on the telescopic arrays. Mickey gathered as much information as he could regarding the new objects. Before he prepared the transmission, the sensors found more. And more. Mickey decided to send the current packet while preparing the next. Only when he sent the first transmission did Mickey realize he should have focused his sweeps more carefully around the immediate vicinity of Mira. That had been a mistake. Its longer range sweeps came back and identified more objects entering the Kuiper Belt.

  A monitor triggered and a new file appeared in Mickey’s queue. It was another of those encrypted messages from the Trio. Mickey opened the missive using his key, analyzed the data, and began tailoring new instruction sets. Unlike Black, Mickey didn’t have the intelligence to wonder what the Trio were up to. Instead, the AI carried out the orders while its sensors tripped again and again.

  This part of the Kuiper Belt was becoming more crowded than humankind had ever dreamed possible. As Mickey carried out his new instructions, he continued to adjust and watch the scans. He would have to alert the astronomers soon, but first, he needed to send Black another packet. This one would contain the new data file from the Trio. Mickey turned off the sensor alarms for the station. The astronomers would find out what was going on soon enough. Soon enough.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It didn’t take Nobel more than a glance at the SV-52 to know that Taulbee had been through a hell of a battle. The support vehicle’s bottom plate had been punctured in three different places and looked as though something had smashed into it multiple times. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought the perforations had been caused by incredibly sharp knives.

  He scratched his head as he tried to imagine what could cause that kind of damage, and then remembered his own encounter with one of the starfish-like creatures. Its arm
s, or tentacles, or whatever the fuck you wanted to call them, ended in sharp points like the tapered end of a very well-made blade. The creature must have punched the hull again and again until it found a weak point and its appendage slit the Atmo-steel with ease.

  Or maybe they’re just that strong, he thought to himself. But the punctures were also too large to have been caused by the same creature he faced. Instead, something much larger must have attacked Taulbee. He thought about asking if that was the case, but decided he didn’t really want to know. Besides, Taulbee hadn’t looked as though he were in a talkative mood.

  Murdock and Copenhaver had worked fast on hauling new patches from the printer to the SV-52. While they welded the reinforcements to the hull, Nobel had inspected Gunny’s skiff for new damage. Not much, just a few indentations from stray flechette shards and some acid burn marks. Once they reloaded the cannon, he was certain the skiff would be ready to go. Gunny and Wendt, however, were another matter entirely.

  Nobel had been in Black Company long enough to get to know the Gunnery Sergeant fairly well. As an S&R ship, it was nearly impossible to go on a mission without suffering casualties of one form or another. Death was mostly a rare occurrence, but it had happened before. On those occasions, Gunny had been angry, but had hid any grief he felt. But now that two of his non-rates were dead and Kali’s squad was still trapped aboard the derelict, Gunny didn’t seem able to hide his feelings. That was a very bad sign.

  Not that he could blame Gunny for his frustration. Or Taulbee, for that matter. In a matter of hours, they’d suffered two deaths, several casualties, and Kali’s squad was still MIA. And on top of that, the latest death had been avoidable. If Dunn had simply made the decision not to try and tow Mira twenty minutes ago, Lyke would still be alive. A flame of frustration burned in his stomach. Why had the captain suddenly decided to scrub the tow? Why hadn’t he made the decision earlier? Maybe he could ask—