Derelict: Tomb (Derelict Saga Book 2)

by Paul E. Cooley

  DERELICT-TOMB

  Paul E. Cooley

  Copyright 2017 by Paul Cooley

  www.severedpress.com

  Dedication

  For Bob Cooley:

  Who has never met a stranger.

  Who loves to laugh at himself and finds humor in even the most dire situations.

  Who supports all whom he loves with undying devotion.

  For family.

  Works by Paul E Cooley

  The Derelict Saga

  Derelict: Marines (Book 1)

  Derelict: Tomb (Book 2)

  Derelict: Destruction (Book 3) (Fall 2017)

  The Black Series

  The Black

  The Black: Arrival

  The Black: Outbreak

  Children Of Garaaga Series

  Legends of Garaaga

  Daemons of Garaaga

  The Dark Recesses Collection

  Lamashtu

  Mimes

  Other Novels

  Closet Treats

  The Rider (with Scott Sigler)

  For information about upcoming projects, publishing news, and podcast series, please visit Shadowpublications.com or join Paul’s mailing list.

  Chapter One

  Kali checked her O2 reserves. She had thirty minutes left before she needed a refill. That meant Elliott probably had less than ten. If they didn’t find some oxygen inside Mira, her squad would suffocate before Gunny and Taulbee could mount a rescue.

  With Carbonaro holding Elliott a few meters behind her, she had to make sure that any remaining pressure inside the shuttle bay didn’t push loose equipment or debris out the door and knock them off the ship. She moved a little more to the side of the door and waited.

  “Opening now,” Dickerson said. The large marine’s voice sounded in control, but Kali thought she heard a tremble of fear in the man’s drawl. “Make sure you’re secure.”

  “Just open it, marine,” Kali growled.

  He didn’t respond except to punch the manual switch. The large, pockmarked doors began sliding aside, revealing a growing sliver of absolute darkness. Kali prepared for debris to fly out as the bay depressurized, but nothing escaped the darkness. She shivered. A small part of her wanted Dickerson to close the doors again, and for the squad to risk the long journey back to their ship, the Solar Federation Marine Corps (SFMC) vessel S&R Black. But their skiff, a relatively small transport they’d used to travel from their ship to the Mira, was destroyed. They were low on oxygen as well as suit thruster fuel. If they tried to escape Mira and return to S&R Black, they would die.

  The gap in the doors widened. Using her implanted block, she sent a signal to turn her suit lights on to maximum. Bright white light stabbed into the two-meter-wide gash of darkness. A shape ten meters inside the bay made her catch her breath. Kali activated her Heads Up Display (HUD) and changed her vision from normal to low-light. Suddenly, she could see much more.

  The suit’s ambient light showed her the shape for what it was--a loader floating in zero-g. The loader was empty of its cargo, but several pinecone-shaped objects floated near it. Not a good sign, she thought. Kali trained her eyes beyond the loader to see what else was floating near her, but made out nothing more than shapes further in the bay.

  “What the hell?” Dickerson asked.

  She turned and saw that he had moved beside her.

  “Hang back a bit, Dickerson. If something comes at us, you’ll be the only protection for Carb and Elliott.”

  “Aye, Corporal,” he said.

  Kali walked into the bay using her magnetic boots, her vibro-blade held parallel to her body. The suit’s gloves kept her hand from shaking, but did nothing to stop the gooseflesh popping up on her skin. The pinecones, four of them, floated around the loader like misshapen moons. From their travels on the skiff across Mira’s surface, she thought the strange objects were attracted to electro-magnetism. She sent a nerve impulse to the boots and gloves to turn their magnetic fields to the lowest level possible while maintaining her footing on the Atmo-steel deck.

  The magnetic boots felt lighter and her steps more awkward. In zero-g, you had to plan ahead, even if you were attached to something. The lack of resistance meant every movement was relatively lethargic compared to normal gravity and atmosphere. The floating pinecones moved infinitesimally, but she’d still have to plan her way around them. Something told her they were dangerous and she didn’t want to get any closer to them than necessary.

  She slowly made her way to the side of the loader, stepping as far as she could to the shuttle bay wall. Kali froze as she watched and waited. The pinecones continued to float without moving towards her. Kali slowly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, shook away the sudden fear that had made her stop, and activated a side camera on her suit. Her HUD lit up with an image in the bottom left corner focused on the objects so she could keep walking forward and keep an eye on the pinecones at the same time. It didn’t completely dispel the fear, but it made it a little easier to deal with.

  The bay, still mostly shrouded in darkness even through the HUD’s low-light filters, was a disaster area. Several other magnetic loaders floated freely above the deck. Steel crates floated near the ceiling as well as at waist level. Whatever had decompressed the bay had tossed the place like grains of sand in a Martian windstorm.

  Kali continued walking, her eyes swiveling to the sides of the bay. There had to be emergency O2 stations in here. Just had to be. But the first ten meters into the bay showed nothing. She brought up the schematics – the ones the S&R Black’s AI had said were inaccurate – and oriented herself. The bay wasn’t part of the internal schematics they’d been given, but the exterior seemed right. She scanned the diagrams looking for any tell-tale sign of O2 stations, but there was nothing.

  She silently cursed and continued walking. Her lights glinted off gray Atmo-steel and she smiled. She found the first shuttle. Kali focused the lights, the HUD scanning the object and attempting to ferret out its shape. Her eyes widened.

  This was no shuttle. It was a mining vehicle. Normal shuttles, even fifty years ago, were near perfect rectangles of steel providing space for a maximum of fifteen occupants. They were made for short journeys to both atmospheric and non-atmospheric celestial bodies and, as a last resort, acted as short-term escape pods. Most ships, especially one as large as Mira, had as many escape pods as crew, with a few dozen extras in case of malfunctions or damage. If the crew needed to escape, the pods provided greater protection and longer life support for a single occupant than a shuttle would.

  But the vehicle in front of her was far from a normal shape. Several cutting beam barrels protruded from the bow as well as what looked like a tow line. Blast shutters hid the trans-aluminum canopy; there was no way for her to look inside. She’d have to do it the hard way.

  Kali continued hugging the wall, her steps picking up speed. Her HUD hadn’t picked up any more of the pinecone-like objects, so she was safe for now. So long as that acid shit isn’t in here too, she thought.

  The acid slicks were the whole reason they were in this mess. If she’d seen the liquid slicks on the outer hull, the skiff might not have suffered broken gas lines and they’d be headed back to S&R Black sans casualties. Instead, Elliott’s suit had been compromised, his left hand was missing, and they were all suffering from minor concussions. Damn the luck.

  She tried to open a block connection to the S&R Black AI. Black?

  She waited for the AI to respond, but there was nothing. Before she and her squad entered the bay, the AI had said it was unable to provide communications with the rest of S&R Black Company. The AI had also said the command crew knew of
her situation. She hoped the AI was right.

  When Black didn’t respond, she took a snapshot of the craft and sent a data packet anyway. Her suit would continue trying the message until it was delivered, or timed out. Inside Mira, she imagined communications with the AI would be nearly non-existent.

  “Dickerson. Bring Elliott and Carb in. I want that door closed behind us.”

  “Aye, Corporal,” Dickerson said.

  Carbonaro activated her comms. “I got him, Boss. I don’t think he’s conscious yet.”

  That was worrisome. Elliott’s bio-nannies should have been working on the swelling in the marine’s brain, but if there was too much damage, he’d require a nannie infusion. Too bad their medical supplies, and the majority of their weapons, had been on the skiff.

  Kali shook away the thoughts and stared at the “shuttle’s” port side. A large gash in the hull told her the vehicle was beyond repair. Even if she could power it up, its integrity had been savaged. She cursed and checked her stats. Five minutes had passed since she walked into the bay. How many more did Elliott have left before he ran out of O2?

  She studied the rip in the hull. Now that she was looking directly at it, she noticed it was far from uniform. Instead, the edges were bent inward as if something had opened the hull like an ancient can opener. Kali took a still image with her block, tagged it, and immediately continued down the bay.

  Her lights shined on a similar vehicle. However, this one had a drill affixed to the bow. As with its near twin, the blast shutters covered the canopy windows. She walked down its port side. There was no visible damage to the fuselage.

  No control panels. Shit. As fast as she could, she walked back to the bow and headed to the starboard side. There. The outline of a large hatch appeared. She smiled with a sigh of relief. Now the only questions were if the shuttle had O2 reserves and an intact hull.

  “Carb. Bring Elliott forward to the starboard side of the second shuttle. Mind the pinecones. Dickerson? Keep covering them. If she needs help getting past those things, you better make it happen.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said. Dickerson responded as well, but used her rank.

  Kali walked a few more steps forward until she faced the large hatch. The fifteen-meter-long mining vehicle was thankfully strapped to collapsible posts sticking out from the deck. That was the only reason it wasn’t floating along with all the other junk in the bay. At least there’s that, she thought.

  As with the manual control to the shuttle bay doors, a recessed panel sat flush against the mining vehicle’s hull. She flipped it up and stared at the controls. The status lights were dead. There was no telling how long the craft had been without power, let alone the last time it was flown. She didn’t see any tell-tale signs of damage to the hull. Maybe she’d get lucky.

  Kali put her left hand on the manual power handle and pumped it. A red light appeared next to the handle. She grinned. “Carb? Dickerson? Give me a status.”

  “Boss,” Carbonaro said, an edge of fatigue gliding beneath her words, “I’m about five meters away from you.”

  “Corporal,” Dickerson said, “walking behind them in cover.”

  “Good,” Kali said and pumped the handle again. The red light blinked twice and then stopped. If the mining vehicle was anything like the older shuttles and smaller ships, the friction of pulling the handle charged a small, EMP-hardened generator that would provide at least enough power to open the doors and activate an emergency light. Inside, there was probably a larger generator she could kickstart. She hoped.

  Two more up and down pushes of the handle and the status light turned yellow. She gave it one more try and the light turned green. Thank you, she thought. At least something on this ship works. “Okay, squad. Hold your positions.”

  “Boss, Elliott’s running out of O2. His status lights are turning yellow,” Carb said.

  The brief feeling of victory dissipated. How much time had she wasted getting to the vehicle? How much time had she wasted looking for the hatch on the wrong side?

  Kali shook away the self-recriminations. If she continued listening to the doubts, she’d never be able to make a decision, much less save her squad. She crossed her fingers and hit the “OPEN” button on the panel.

  There was no sound as the hatch slid into the fuselage. A dim sliver of light broke through the widening gap in the cockpit’s side. She stared down at the deck, watching as the yellow glow seemed to disappear against the harsh glare of her suit lights. When the hatch finished opening, she raised her eyes and took a step forward. Then she froze, her boot hanging a few centimeters in the air.

  A body sat in the pilot’s chair. The face, crusted with a layer of ice, was frozen in a scream. The wide, glazed eyes stared at the blast shielded canopy in horror. The hands were locked in a defensive posture, as if the pilot had been trying to keep someone, or something, from attacking him.

  The co-pilot’s chair was empty, but the fabric covered plas-steel was shredded as if from claws or a vibro-knife’s blade. What the hell happened here? Kali thought.

  Frozen red droplets floated above the chair’s port side. The jumpsuit, at least from what she could see, had a small patch of color. Kali climbed in and stared at the console. The board was completely dark save for a dull blue glow lighting the panel marked “Emergency.” Icons for light, life support, and communications floated above the panel. Kali closed the cockpit hatch, closed her eyes, and clenched her fists. “Please work,” she said to no one. She opened her eyes and reached for the “life support” icon.

  The shuttle shuddered slightly beneath her as the nuclear power cell woke from its slumber. Although she could hear nothing through her helmet, she saw a burst of white sputter from one of the vents at her feet. The icon pulsed blue while a green bar slowly rose from its base. The bar continued to rise eliciting a tepid grin. “Come on. Come on.”

  The bar finally reached the top of the icon. The blue color disappeared, completely replaced by green. They had O2. They had an atmosphere. And for now, at least, they had somewhere to treat Elliott.

  “Carb. Dickerson. Get Elliott to the second shuttle. Right now. I’m opening its cargo hatch.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carbonaro said.

  Kali touched the cargo hatch icon. The emergency panel blinked twice and she watched as the life support icon turned from green to blue. The mining craft was siphoning the O2 back into its tanks. When the icon was completely drained of color, the hatch icon lit up green. She turned in the chair to face the shuttle’s cargo hold behind her and suddenly wished she had examined it before telling her squad to come in.

  A corpse floated just above the deck, its tattered jumpsuit barely hanging together. The remaining yellow fabric was spattered with dark red. A coil of intestines floated freely from the corpse’s abdomen through a ragged rip. A floating rib jutted out through tortured skin. Kali gulped down a rush of bile.

  After making sure there were no other surprises in the cargo hold, she turned to the open hatch. LCpl Dickerson, taller than either LCpl Carbonaro and Elliot, stood with his back to the opening. Kali was glad to see the marine protecting the rear and flank. Carbonaro carried Elliott’s limp form with ease. Between the zero-g and her augmented suit, any human being would be easy to carry.

  “Get in here,” Kali said.

  “I got him, Boss,” Carbonaro said without looking up; she was too busy checking her steps and making sure she got Elliott’s unconscious body into the shuttle without his mag-boots catching on the hatch lip. When she finally looked up, her helmet pointed directly at the corpse floating near the port side. “Christ,” she said in a drawn-out hiss.

  Kali moved forward and grabbed Elliott around the shoulders and pulled his inert body to the floor. “Dickerson. Get in here. Now.”

  “Aye, Corporal,” Dickerson said. He took one last scan of the lifeless, cluttered shuttle bay and then backed into the shuttle. His helmet clipped the top of the hatch, but he didn’t seem to even notice. He bent slightl
y and continued walking backward until he was inside. He punched the cargo hatch controls and the hatch quickly slid closed.

  Kali shuffled into the cockpit and once again tapped the life support icon. The green bar rose quickly. When it was full, she checked her HUD. They had pressure. They had an atmosphere. Her HUD flashed from a massive temperature change. The remaining power from the nuclear cell was enough to heat the compartments. They wouldn’t freeze here and they wouldn’t suffocate. For now. They had a chance.

  “Dickerson. Carb. The second your HUD says the temp is warm enough, get your helmets off.”

  “Why?” Carbonaro asked.

  “Need to conserve the O2 in our tanks.”

  “Right,” Dickerson said.

  “Then get him out of the suit,” Kali said. “Be careful about it.”

  She tapped a few icons on the emergency panel and brought up the vehicle’s schematics. She scrolled through the list of equipment and finally found what she was looking for. She let out a long sigh of relief and returned to the shuttle’s cargo hold.

  Both Dickerson and Carbonaro had removed their helmets and magnetized them to the shuttle’s bulkhead. Carb’s short hair stuck up in spikes making her look like a Martian burnout. Her eyes seemed dazed, as did Dickerson’s. They said nothing as they bent over their unconscious comrade and removed Elliott’s helmet. A hiss of air escaped the connectors.

  The emergency kit no doubt had a nannie injector, hopefully more than one, but what she needed, what they all needed was an autodoc, analgesics, and sleep. She doubted they’d be getting any of those.

  “Dickerson. Carb. Either of you feel nauseous?” She watched their faces as she scrambled into the shuttle’s rear. Carb slowly nodded. Her normally pale face looked as white as the lights over their heads. “Okay,” Kali said with a sigh. “Get yourself up against the bulkhead. Dickerson? You okay.”

  He nodded. “Feel like I was run over by a grav racer, but I’m alive.”