Derelict: Tomb (Derelict Saga Book 2)

by Paul E. Cooley

  Kali walked past the three marines and to the panel at the rear. She stepped by the floating corpse, managing to do so without giving it more than a glance. She could be creeped out later. For now, they had to get Elliott stabilized.

  Her HUD glowed with Elliott’s vitals. His blood pressure was dangerously low, as was his heartbeat. He needed adrenaline. She ripped open the panel and pulled out the emergency kit. Yellow pressure straps locked it closed. Kali couldn’t help but smile. The kit had never been used. She just hoped its contents hadn’t reached their expiration dates. The shuttle might have spent the last 43 years in near absolute zero, so she doubted anything could have spoiled. Emergency kits were supposed to survive the cold and z-g nature of deep space, but Kali had no idea if one had ever been subjected to this kind of abuse for so long.

  She pulled her blade, quickly cut through the straps, and opened the kit. Two bio-nannie injectors, still in their containers, sat firmly in a recessed pocket of the case. “Dickerson. You got him free yet?”

  “Working on it, Corporal,” Dickerson said. He sounded tired, drowsy, and more than a little annoyed.

  Kali ignored him and walked to Carbonaro. The LCpl had placed an elbow on her knee and rested her head upon her hand. Kali pulled one of the analgesic strips from the kit and knelt down next to her squadmate. “Look up at me, Carb.”

  The marine dropped her hand and slowly brought her head up to meet Kali’s stare. Carbonaro had a burst blood vessel in her left eye. “Shit,” Kali said. “What’s your block say?”

  Carbonaro grinned with a flash of white teeth. “That I have a concussion.”

  Kali rolled her eyes. “What else? Any suit damage?”

  The lance corporal shook her head and then grimaced. “No. Suit integrity is good.”

  Kali looked down at the two injectors. She wanted to hit Carb with a full dose, make sure she would recover more quickly. But the med kit only had two doses and Elliott had suffered severe trauma. If one injection didn’t help save his life, it might require two. “Okay. I’m going to get an analgesic for you. I can’t give you any bio-nannies right now.”

  Carb nodded. Her grin had faded into a grimace of pain. “Elliott. Give them to Elliott. I just need to rest for a few minutes.”

  “Bullshit,” Dickerson said. “You need a goddamned autodoc.”

  Kali glanced over at Dickerson. The large marine had pulled Elliott’s suit down far enough to expose the severed limb. The SFMC combat suit had applied a tourniquet to the wound by constricting the sleeve just above the missing hand. Dickerson pulled a vibro-blade from his belt. “No,” Kali said.

  He looked at her, his eyebrows raised in a question. “What is it, Corporal?”

  “The suit,” Kali said. “Don’t take it all the way off.” She pointed at Elliott’s stump. “The suit sealed off the arm. Only way to get that sleeve off is to cut it off.”

  “Right, I get that,” Dickerson said. He shook his head slightly and grimaced in pain. “Sorry. Eyes keep going a little fuzzy.”

  “Not surprised,” Kali said. “But if we cut that suit off him, he won’t be able to leave the shuttle again. Not until we find him another suit.”

  Dickerson thought for a moment before returning the blade to his belt. “Shit. You’re right. Sorry,” he said, “not really thinking clearly.”

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. Kali leaned over and handed him an injector. “Hit him with this. And monitor his block.”

  “Aye, Corporal.” Dickerson had bent Elliott’s legs so his mag-boots attached the unconscious marine to the floor. The magnetics in Elliott’s remaining hand anchored him to the bulkhead. With the suit partially removed, the wounded marine’s jumpsuit was exposed. Dickerson knelt over him, clicked the injector, and then stabbed it into the meat of Elliott’s shoulder.

  The injector hissed as it delivered thousands of bio-nannies suspended in a viscous liquid. The moment the nannies entered his bloodstream, they would connect to the swarms already in his damaged system, and become part of the established neural network. Elliott’s block, thankfully still functional, would help direct the molecular-sized robots to the most damaged tissues. With any luck, they’d also help alleviate the shock his body had descended into.

  Kali looked back at Carb. The woman slumped against the bulkhead, eyes wandering across the interior of the shuttle, unfocused and confused. “Still with me, Carbonaro?”

  “Unfortunately,” she said.

  Kali smiled at her and pulled a fingernail-sized dermal patch from the kit. She held it on one finger and then placed it against Carbonaro’s forehead. The gray patch slowly turned blue. “That should help a little.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carbonaro said with a tired salute.

  Kali felt a wave of nausea and held out a hand to the bulkhead. Okay, she thought, I have a concussion too. Great. She closed her eyes for a moment and waited for the sensation to subside. I might as well be the medic for the squad and I’m barely functioning. The buzz and whirl inside her stomach finally stopped as if it had never been there. Kali opened her eyes. Carbonaro stared at her. “What?”

  “You’re not doing great either, Boss,” Carbonaro said with a pained expression.

  “Better than you, at least,” Kali said.

  Carbonaro nodded. “For now. You’re going to need sleep later.”

  “Right,” Kali said. “But not now. Not for any of us. I need you to stay awake.”

  “I’ve been concussed before,” the LCpl said. “I think it goes with the job.”

  “No shit,” Dickerson said.

  Kali turned in his direction. The broad-shouldered marine had stood to his full height, the empty bio-nannie injector still held between his fingers. He pointed down at Elliott. “How long do we wait for those little bastards to do their job?”

  “We’ll give it thirty. If he’s not improving after that, we’ll hit him again,” Kali said.

  Dickerson seemed to finally notice the corpse floating in the shuttle’s hold. “What the hell did that to him?”

  Kali hadn’t really studied the frozen body, but now with the adrenaline rush fading, and her marines as safe as she could make them, she had more than ample opportunity. And what she saw unnerved the shit out of her.

  The unfortunate man’s jumpsuit was ripped and torn just above the left hip where the coils of intestine had leaked out.

  “I’ve no idea,” Kali said.

  Carbonaro yawned. “Not sure I want to know,” she said. She pointed at the floating corpse. “Those gouges? And those bruises? Looks to me like someone tried to rip him apart with their bare hands.”

  The shuttle was still cold, but the atmosphere had finally ticked up above freezing. The line of frost on the dead man’s face was no longer white. A single droplet of water slid off the remains of the corpse’s nose. “Shit,” Kali said. “They’re thawing.”

  Dickerson groaned. “Great. Pretty soon we’re going to be swimming in a z-g abattoir.”

  He was right. Once the temperature rose high enough, the blood, the entrails, the bile, the gas, the shit and piss, everything the body had loosed during the final frenzied moment of the man’s life would unfreeze. Because there were no active bacteria in the frozen vacuum, the body hadn’t decomposed. It would be as though he had just died.

  Globs of frozen blood and other fluids had already leaked from the corpse before it froze. They floated near the hold’s roof like tiny crimson snowballs. “Shit,” Kali said. “Guess I should have pushed the corpses out before we got Elliott in.”

  Carbonaro groaned, her eyelids drooping until they nearly covered the whites of her eyes. “I don’t mind blood,” she said. “But I don’t want that crap getting inside my suit.”

  Dickerson yawned. Kali turned to look at him. His eyes seemed to swim in their sockets before finally refocusing. He noticed her stare and blushed. “Sorry, Corporal. I think I need a stimulant.”

  Kali’s left eye throbbed. Another migraine. Whether it was from the stress
or the concussion, she wasn’t sure. But if the nannies didn’t start taking care of it soon, she would probably lose vision in it. “I think all three of us do, Dickerson.” She rose from her knees and walked to Elliott. The marine’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, and his face was far too pale. “He’s been unconscious way too long,” she said.

  Dickerson nodded, one temple throbbing with stress. “Yeah,” he said, his voice little more than a croak. “Do we hit him with the last nannie shot?”

  She checked Elliott’s vital signs on her block. His blood pressure was low, heart rate slow, and his brain activity barely registered. He’s going to die anyway, she said to herself. We may need those nannies for us. “Not yet,” she said aloud. “We need to give the little buggers more time.”

  Dickerson blinked at her and clenched his jaw. She could almost see the same thoughts bouncing around in his head. “Right,” he said. “I guess we better batten down for a few minutes. See if he recovers.” Without another word, Dickerson attached himself to the bulkhead and relaxed.

  Kali shook her head hard. A bolt of pain lanced through her brain and she winced. The pain helped clear the fog again, although she knew the fuzz and confusion would shortly return. “I’m going to have to scrounge for supplies soon.”

  Dickerson shook his head. “No, Corporal,” he said. “You have the most medical training.” He nodded toward Carbonaro. “She’s barely awake, and if she goes down, she’s going to need you more than me.” He dropped his eyes to Elliott. “Not to mention him.”

  She opened her mouth to reply and then closed it. She was the squad leader. She was in charge of the three marines. If they needed a scout, logic dictated it couldn’t be her. She slowly nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I can at least try and get the shuttle’s radio working.”

  “Right,” Dickerson said. He closed his eyes and slapped his face. The mag-glove deadened the sound of the smack, but a large red print appeared on his cheek. He winced, opened his eyes, and shook his head. “Well,” he said, “that hurt.”

  “Duh,” Carbonaro said, her lips curved in a slight smile. “Did it help?”

  He detached himself from the wall and picked up his helmet. “Guess I’ll take out the trash too,” he said and nodded to the floating corpse. “Drag him into the cockpit, close the hatch, and toss him out when I depressurize.”

  “Good plan,” Kali said. “You’ll find another one in there too. He’s sitting in one of the pilot chairs.”

  “Wonderful,” Dickerson said. “Any other bodies?”

  “None that I saw,” Kali said. “But be careful out there. No telling what else is floating around.”

  “Roger that,” he said. He put his helmet on and paused. “Okay. I’ve got pressure and green across the board,” he said through the suit’s speakers.

  “Try your block comms,” Kali said.

  The helmet’s visor, black as space, hid his expression. For a moment, she wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. Can you hear me, Corporal?

  Kali smiled and raised a thumb.

  The large marine nodded to her and mag-walked to the floating corpse. His left hand curled around the dead man’s shoulder. Once I get outside, I’ll try another block comm. If you don’t hear from me, just assume I’m out there taking a stroll and trying to find a coffee.

  Asshole, Kali said. Just be careful, Dickerson. We don’t have the medical supplies to patch you up if you get any more damaged.

  Aye, Corporal.

  He mag-walked over Elliott’s prone body and into the cockpit, the corpse floating just behind him. Dickerson’s movements were awkward, but she couldn’t tell if that was because he was concussed or the fact he was dragging a corpse into the smaller cockpit area. After a moment, Dickerson finally managed to fit the body through the hatch. He waved to her before the hatch slid closed leaving Kali alone with her two charges.

  A few seconds later, the shuttle vibrated. Dickerson had undoubtedly vented the atmosphere from the cockpit. Kali tried to relax, but the dead, screaming face of the corpse kept flashing in her mind. Whatever had happened on Mira had caught these men by surprise. She hoped Dickerson wouldn’t meet the same fate.

  Chapter Two

  The moment the hatch slid closed, Dickerson’s stomach began to flutter. He had been hit harder than he thought. When Kali had reversed the polarity on the skiff and ejected them into space, he’d only had a moment to scream before the lights went out. Waking and seeing nothing but stars had filled him with the most gut-wrenching fear of his life. The concussion? That was just the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

  Nausea? Check. Dizziness? Check. A headache that feels like artillery going off in your skull? Double check. And now here I am dragging a goddamned corpse. The small cockpit barely had enough room for him to slide the body past the co-pilot chair. The corpse’s legs bent slightly and ice crystals popped from the flexed limbs. The frozen water shimmered in the cabin. It would have been beautiful if not for the entrails dangling through the mess.

  A status light popped up in his HUD. He had ten minutes of O2 left. Unless he found additional reserves, he’d have to get back to the shuttle very quickly. He wondered just how much O2 the shuttle had, not to mention how much was left in the others’ suits. This is beginning to be a bit too much like the Sat battle, he thought.

  Dickerson grinned beneath his helmet. He’d stayed alive for twenty hours amidst the wreckage of T-87s, freighters, and satellites by pilfering O2 from the dead, both marines and rebels, as well as from the remaining intact fuselages. It had been hours upon hours of fighting, hiding, fleeing, and scrounging. But he’d made it. And I’ll make it through this too, he told himself.

  He found the door controls, said a prayer to the void, and activated them. The starboard side hatch opened into the darkness of the shuttle bay. There was no illumination save for the barely lit holo-display on the dashboard and his suit lights. For a moment, Dickerson paused to watch for any movement beyond the hatch opening. The nausea in his stomach increased and he loosed a sour belch. When nothing moved, he put his hands beneath the corpse’s armpits and pushed.

  The dead man from the cargo hold slowly disappeared into the pitch darkness. Dickerson shivered. So long, my friend, he thought. He turned around and looked at the pilot’s chair. The dead pilot, or whoever he once was, didn’t seem as damaged as the corpse he’d tossed out of the hatch. He took a deep breath before walking to the chair, placed a hand on the corpse’s shoulder, and froze.

  The icy droplets of blood hanging in the air that he could see were nothing compared to the far port side. A third of the man’s jumpsuit had been clawed and eaten away along with the majority of his flesh. Broken and gnawed ribs exposed a savaged stomach cavity with oily looking yellow and green drops that had spattered against the bulkhead. The far side of the man’s face was little more than a ragged skull.

  Dickerson felt his gorge rise again, and once more choked it back. Get moving, marine! He blinked and slowly grinned. That had been Gunny’s voice inside his head. “Good ole, Gunny,” he said aloud. His HUD flashed yellow. Nine minutes of O2 left.

  He grabbed the pilot’s shoulder and pulled him from the chair. There was no sound in the vacuum, but as he lifted the body, the crackle and rip of torn flesh and fabric seared his imagination. The cabin filled with dislodged dark red ice crystals. He ground his teeth together and continued to pull the corpse to the open hatch, doing his best to ignore the bits of gut dangling from the body’s savaged side. With one final push, he managed to send it through the hatch and into the darkness beyond.

  Corporal? he said through his block. Do you read me?

  Aye, Dickerson.

  He stepped forward through the hatch. His suit lights stabbed through the blackness, but showed him nothing. He turned and faced the shuttle, the bare illumination from the holo-display looking warm and inviting compared to the emptiness surrounding him. Closing the cockpit hatch. Suggest we leave the cockpit depressurized for now. Don’t want to
waste more O2 than we need to.

  Kali paused before replying. Understood, Dickerson. Good hunting.

  “Yeah,” he said aloud to no one, “good hunting indeed. For the next seven minutes, anyway.” He punched the manual controls and the shuttle cockpit hatch closed. The light from the holo-display slowly disappeared. When the hatch finished closing, only his suit lights shined in the nearly impenetrable darkness.

  He turned and surveyed the bay walls. If there was an O2 station, it was likely on the starboard side toward Mira’s interior.

  Using his block connection to the suit, he changed the focus of the lights from narrow to broad. The bright beams seemed to dim although he knew it was just diffusion. The Atmo-steel wall seemed to soak up the light like a sponge. As he mag-walked along the wall, he made out small indentations, as well as rips and tears through the outer shell. He had 6.5 minutes of O2 left, but he took the time to add time stamps on his video feed. If nothing else, they might ultimately be able to send the data back to Black.

  “Like that’ll matter,” he said aloud. For each meter of wall he traveled, another few seconds ticked off on his O2 counter. In three minutes, he’d be past the point of no return to get back to the shuttle and its oxygen reserves. “Dammit, Mira. Cut me a break!”

  He turned his head slightly, his helmet lights stabbing through the darkness near the middle of the bay. Something moved. A shiver crawled up his spine. Whatever it is, boy, it’s dead. There’s nothing alive in here. Somehow, that thought didn’t make him feel any better.

  The silence was getting to him. In space, when he was performing S&R operations or hunting down combatants, comm chatter filled his mind, or there were specific objectives that drew his focus, and there was always light. But here, inside Mira’s shuttle bay, with no schematics of the interior, no clue what happened, and no information on what they faced, the silence was a death shroud.

  You have six minutes of oxygen remaining, an alarm said through his block.