Derelict_Destruction

by Paul E. Cooley

  “That was on Mira?” Dunn asked.

  “Yes, Captain,” Black said. “Mira’s chief engineer, a man named Stephens, presumably wrote this after killing several of the crew. This is the same man that stole the beacon key and threw it out an airlock. Apparently, the key’s magnetics kept it from spinning out into space and it ended up attached to the ship’s hull. LCpl Dickerson found the key despite Stephens’ attempt to jettison it into space.

  “Records recovered by Kalimura’s squad include diaries from the crew. Stephens’ sanity appears to have cracked shortly after the first pinecone attacks on the crew. Although his ramblings border on insane, it is clear he believed that Sol and other systems so distant from the galactic core were little more than tidal pools on sandbars. It might be a very apt description.”

  “Fuck,” Taulbee said in a breathy whisper.

  Dunn cleared his throat with a side glance at the lieutenant. “That’s very interesting, Black. But it doesn’t help us at all.”

  “No,” the AI agreed. “However, it should illustrate the importance of trapping the beacon and ensuring it cannot and will not enter further into Sol System.”

  The room fell silent. Taulbee heard the gentle ambient drone of the life support systems, but it was nothing more than an undercurrent for his jumbled thoughts. More objects were coming. Presumably more creatures. And the Kuiper Belt appeared to be filled with them. How long before dozens or hundreds of the objects congregated around Mira to follow the beacon wherever it landed? How long before Sol System faced possible extinction from the new lifeforms? And how long did they have before S&R Black was consumed by Atmo-steel eating creatures?

  “We need the beacon,” Taulbee said.

  “Agreed,” Dunn said.

  “Aye, sir,” Gunny said.

  “Good,” Dunn said. “I’m sure Oakes and Nobel will respect the decision as well.”

  “Go one better, sir,” Taulbee said. “Can’t think of a marine in this Company that wouldn’t be on board for this.”

  “Black,” Dunn said, “please place the model of Mira back on the display.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Black said.

  The holo display faded and the 3-D model appeared. Dunn moved his hands and spun the model so the aft section faced both sides of the desk.

  “Can you overlay our images of the scans you’ve taken?”

  Black said nothing, but red lines and shapes appeared documenting the damage to Mira’s aft. The detail was very sparse. With the exception of the brief period where Mira’s ass-end faced the ship, they had very little data to go on. Taulbee himself had only breezed by the severely damaged engineering decks; he hadn’t had time to linger and take better recon feeds. He had a feeling that was step one.

  “How badly damaged is the aft?” Dunn asked.

  “According to what we know from Mira’s damage reports, it would seem the explosion that destroyed the engines and life support was catastrophic in nature. The decks that were not vaporized in the initial explosion are more than likely in worse shape than the rest of the ship. It’s possible they will crumble if stressed. That is one of the many reasons we placed the harness where we did. I calculated a 47% chance the aft section of the ship would become completely uncoupled from the rest of Mira once we began the tow.”

  “Void wept,” Gunny said. “And what would we have done then?”

  Black was silent for a moment. When she replied, Taulbee could practically feel Black’s contempt for the question. “It would have separated and no longer been a threat to the Company nor the rest of the ship. Lieutenant Nobel and I discussed this and felt it was worth the risk.” Black paused. “At the time, of course.”

  “Of course,” Taulbee spat. He thrummed his fingers on the desk. “We need a recon of the area.”

  “Agreed,” Dunn said. The captain placed his hands on the desk’s edge. “As soon as Nobel patches the SV-52, and you’re ready, I want you to get out there and take a look. Nanoprobes may or may not be able to see the extent of the damage, but we need to try.” He swung his gaze to Gunny. “Which of your marines do you suggest for Taulbee’s gunner?”

  “Sir?” Taulbee said. “I’m not sure I need a gunner.”

  The two men traded a stare. Dunn’s grim expression slowly broke into a grin. “All the glory for yourself?”

  Taulbee blushed. “No, sir. I just think it’s a pretty damned dangerous mission and I don’t want to put any more marines at risk.”

  “Noted,” Dunn said. “Gunny?”

  The sergeant rubbed his stubbly chin. “Copenhaver,” he said. “I think she’s best. If Kalimura or Dickerson were here, I’d suggest either of them instead. But the private has shown herself very capable of both keeping a clear head and superior focus. Plus, she’s a crack shot.”

  “Yes,” Taulbee agreed. “But how much sim time has she had as a gunner?”

  Gunny shrugged. “Not much, sir. But then none of them have. Apart from Dickerson and Carbonaro, we don’t have any other combat-tested marines available.” He smiled. “And everyone here, of course.”

  “Right,” Dunn said. “Copenhaver it is.”

  A sinking feeling hit his gut. Taulbee hated flying with a gunner. Especially a greenhorn. Too many questions, too much second-guessing, and too many instances of gunners making mistakes that put the pilot’s life in jeopardy. But he understood Dunn’s concern. Having a capable partner was paramount if they had to ditch the SV-52, even if that meant putting another life at risk. His chances of coming back alive were much greater with another marine on board. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “Aye, sir,” Taulbee said. He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice, but it was damned difficult.

  “Gunny? I need you, Wendt, and Murdock on deck in case we need to rescue Taulbee and Copenhaver.”

  “Aye, sir,” Gunny said.

  “One more thing, gentlemen,” Dunn said. “I’m ordering Oakes to detach from Mira and put us a safe distance from her. We’ll travel parallel to Mira and keep near the aft-end in case you need cover fire from our weapons arrays.”

  Taulbee grinned. “Rain down hell, sir?”

  “Aye,” Dunn said. “Once we have the beacon, we’re going to vaporize this fucking hulk.”

  The meeting ended, but Taulbee stayed behind. He spun the model again and again, looking for ingress points near the aft where a damaged deck plate might afford a way in. Nothing seemed large enough to fit the SV-52. Perhaps a skiff, but it would be tight. However, that would lead the team straight into the engineering decks just beyond the cargo bay. If Kalimura’s intel was up to snuff, that would be a very hazardous place to enter.

  “We need lots of video,” he said aloud.

  “Agreed, Lieutenant,” Black’s disembodied voice said, making him flinch.

  He glanced upward at the hidden speakers in the ceiling. “You were pretty quiet about the captain’s plan,” Taulbee said.

  “Of course, sir,” Black said. “It is not in my nature to second-guess logical decisions. Especially those I agree with.”

  Taulbee leaned back in the chair, fingers locked together on his lap. “What are our chances?”

  “For success?”

  “Yes,” Taulbee said. “For success on the recon mission.”

  Black paused for a moment. “Insufficient data available.”

  “For void’s sake, just guess.”

  “I expect a 70% chance of your success.”

  Taulbee licked his lips. “And of getting back alive?”

  “You really don’t want to know, sir.”

  Black’s dead voice made him shiver. He hoped like hell this was the right call.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The four of them took it slow. Carb’s steps were confident, but measured. Kali knew her squad-mate was waiting for reality to bend and jumble itself again. Shit, they all were.

  Kali kept waiting for her suit lights to stop penetrating the darkness, for the suffocating sense of doom,
of being swallowed alive by the ship. Each step drove a spike of fear into her stomach, and to make matters worse, no one was talking.

  Ever since they’d taken the fork, even the occasional breath over the comms had ceased coming through. It was as if the entire squad held their collective breath, or, more likely, everyone had muted their mic like Kali had.

  While Dickerson had scouted the corridor, she and Carb had checked over Elliott’s suit, made sure their O2 supplies were filled, and checked for suit damage. Elliott’s civvie suit had so far held up. She and Carb’s suits, on the other hand, had damage to both their armor and the underlying reinforced fabric. If they ever made it back to S&R Black, Kali imagined none of her squad’s suits would pass inspection. They’d be thrown into the recyclers, never to be seen again.

  “Hatch coming up,” Carb said.

  The sound of Carb’s voice startled her and she nearly lost her balance. “Copy,” Kali said. “Elliott? How you doing?”

  “Good, Corporal,” the wounded marine said. “Breathing easier.”

  Dickerson grunted. “That’s because your lungs aren’t cramped up. If we had some real gravity, you’d probably have no problem at all.”

  “Gravity,” Carb said. “What I wouldn’t give for some damned gravity.”

  “Funny, ain’t it?” Dickerson said. “We’re surrounded by grav plates everywhere we go, but we can’t power them. I wish I’d seen Mira before she went to shit.”

  Kali found herself nodding. Despite the horrors lurking on the ship, possibly even hunting them, she had to admit that Mira had been a magnificent ship. The design, the cutting-edge technology developed that was still being used across the Sol Federation, not to mention the sense of optimism Mira had spread throughout humankind, made her the pinnacle of human achievement. And now look at her. A billion metric tons of Atmo-steel, plas-steel, transparent aluminum, and Void knew what else tumbling through space with a dangerous payload. One that could spell the end for humankind.

  The holos said Mira Day had been a Sol Federation-wide holiday with parties thrown everywhere in the system. All of humanity watched as the ship cleared its moorings from Trident Station and began its journey to the outer Kuiper Belt. Holo-channels ran around the proverbial clock, providing views from Mira’s external cameras, feeds from passing probes, and the ship’s telescopes. The crew recorded themselves countless times with updates of life on the ship, the daily grind of maintaining so large a ship, and their hopes and dreams. And humanity swallowed it all. For years.

  The further Mira retreated from Pluto, the longer the transmissions took to reach habitable space. Before Mira sent her final transmission, the large ship was more than a light year away from Sol and still accelerating. But that had been bullshit, hadn’t it?

  Mira had survived after the supposed “last transmission” date. She’d been somewhere beyond the solar system, exploring for minerals with no intention of ever reaching Proxima Centauri b. Instead of performing the mission humanity was sold, she’d been doing nothing more than finding new resources closer to Sol.

  Captain Kovacs had mentioned there were nine dwarf planets in addition to the one they’d explored. Nine new planets. 8XJ had held the beacon. What did the other eight contain? Other beacons? More lifeforms? Or were they simply lifeless hulks floating beyond the edge of the solar system?

  Kali shivered. Mira. The promise for humanity’s salvation, a symbol of hope for the species, was now little more than a plague ship heading back to her creators. To infect. To destroy.

  Quit it, she told herself. It’s nothing more than an ancient derelict that brought back a few friends. We just need to get the beacon, shut it off, and this nightmare will be over. She hoped.

  Carb reached the hatch and peered through the transparent aluminum housing. “Yup,” she said, “it’s another airlock.”

  “Good,” Kali said, commenting more about the thoughts that crumbled in her mind. “Grabbing your feed.”

  Carb’s helmet cam feed lit up on Kali’s HUD. Kali minimized the other views and focused. The hatch fronted a containment tunnel that led to yet another hatch before providing an ingress into the room. The suit lights easily penetrated the gloom and into the room beyond through the inset windows.

  It was difficult to make out most of the shapes against the far wall, but Kali was fairly sure they were lab stations including large analysis modules probably for ore specimens. Or, she thought, for exo-solar material.

  “Looks clear,” Carb said. “What do you think, Boss?”

  Was there a point to walking in there? If they only found more O2 stations and perhaps an emergency generator, was it worth the time? They had a safe area for the other corridor, but not for this one. She sighed. “I think we go in.”

  “Corporal?” Dickerson said. “We’re pretty much out of fuel for the beam cutters. How are we going to open it?”

  Kali ground her teeth as she stared at the feed. He was right. The remaining fuel they had would allow them ingress to the room, maybe, but then they’d be done. If they needed the cutter to get through another area of the ship, they’d be fucked. Unless, of course, they used explosives.

  The only problem with using explosives to open doors is that they wouldn’t close again. It would be impossible to create a safe room if they had to smash through its walls or doors. No way to pressurize. No way to capture heat. No way to hide themselves behind thick bulkheads and transparent aluminum.

  She thought for a moment before sighing. “Carb? Check for a manual release on this side.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said.

  Kali checked her rear cam feed and saw Elliott standing less than two meters away, his helmet pointed at the deck. “You doing okay, Elliott?”

  His helmet popped upward as if in surprise. “Yeah, Boss. I’m good. Just fell asleep for a second.”

  That wasn’t good. She’d hoped a fresh load of nannies in his system would quickly help alleviate his concussion symptoms as well as the shock. Those nannies were more than fifty years old, though. No telling how well they were functioning, much less what they were actually doing.

  “Headache?” she asked.

  “No,” Elliott said. “Well, not exactly. Just get the feeling of vertigo every now and then.”

  She nodded to herself. Yup. The nannies were either focused on another part of his body, or they were incapable of repairing the damage in his brain and nervous system. Void, but they needed rest. If they could just make it to the fucking escape pods, they could get out. Get back to Black. To safety. To something resembling normalcy.

  “Carb?”

  “Nothing doing, Boss. I don’t see shit. No way in.”

  Kali tightened her fingers on the rifle until a cramp shot pain up her wrist. “Okay. Fuck it,” she said. “Keep moving. Elliott, you ready?”

  “Yeah, Boss. Let’s do this.”

  His voice hadn’t sounded as confident as he’d probably hoped. She could tell him to be honest about his injuries, about whether or not he could continue, but she doubted he’d say a damned word about it unless he was on the verge of death. She grinned. If she were in his position, she’d probably do the same. It was one thing to know you were going to die, but it was another to know that your condition was putting your squad-mates at risk. “Together we stand, divided we fall,” Kali said to herself. If only the rest of humanity realized that. “All right, Carb. Lead on.”

  “Aye, Boss.”

  Carb slowly turned herself away from the hatch to face the darkened corridor, hesitating for a beat before resuming her crouch-walk. Kali waited until Carb was more than a meter away before following her lead. Back to the crouch-walk. Great. Kali’s muscles complained, but complied. Another hour or two of this, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to crawl, much less walk.

  The unlovely truth was that the longer you stayed in a cramped position, the more difficult it was to stretch out the muscles and joints when you left it. Eventually, their bodies would simply refuse to obey c
ommands to stand, walk, or run. What then?

  “Shut up,” she said to herself. The escape pods. If they could just get to the fucking escape pods. Focus on that, nothing else. The hell with information. Get your squad out of this. Get yourself out of this. Kali took a deep breath and released it in a long stream.

  They continued down the corridor, Kali checking her rear cam feed every few steps to watch for signs of fatigue from Elliott. The injured marine seemed to be walking fine, but every minute or so, she noticed him swaying a bit. Whether it was from the awkward civilian mag-boots, fatigue, or damage to his spine, it was impossible to tell. Only Elliott knew for sure, and he wasn’t talking about it.

  Kali sent a block message to Dickerson, asking him to keep an eye on Elliott. The big marine had responded with the image of a curled fist, a thumb raised high above the clenched fingers. Good. Dickerson could keep watch on Elliott better than she could.

  “Hey,” Carb called out. “I think there’s another junction ahead.”

  Frowning, Kali brought up the schematics. “That can’t be right. Squad, hold.” She waited for affirmatives from Elliott and Dickerson before walking forward and taking position next to Carb. Their combined suit lights illuminated the wide bulkheads. Kali saw what looked like an opening that adjoined the corridor some 10 meters ahead of them.

  “That’s not on the map,” Kali said. “Nothing like that at all.”

  Dickerson groaned. “Those fucking AIs. They screw us again?”

  “Don’t know,” Kali said. “Carb? Cover me.”

  “Aye, Boss.”

  She kept her eyes focused on the so-called “junction” facing the adjoining hallway. With each step, the unmapped darkened area became a little more clear. The frown on her face slowly turned into a wide ‘O’ of surprise. It wasn’t another hallway. It was a tear in the bulkhead. Something had destroyed the Atmo-steel wall shielding the corridor from the rest of the ship.

  “Shit,” Kali said.

  “Corporal?” Dickerson asked. “What the hell is that? Somebody blew the corridor up?”