Derelict: Tomb (Derelict Saga Book 2)

by Paul E. Cooley

  “I heard that,” Carb said. “Elliott’s fucked up bad, Dickerson.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  “Unless the corporal knows some wiz-bang cure for a non-surgical amputation, I’m pretty sure we’re going to lose him.”

  That gave him pause. Carb was rarely serious and he couldn’t count on one hand the number of times she had sounded so grave. Not even during the Mars rebellion had she sounded like this. “Let’s not think about that. Adapt. Survive. All that shit.”

  “All that shit,” Carb echoed. She turned her head and her suit lights shined on the remains of another shuttle. “What the hell do you think happened here?”

  “Explosive decompression. Maybe. Either that or something exploded in here too. Kind of hard to tell without some goddamned light.”

  “We got the shuttle’s emergency power up. Shouldn’t we be able to do the same with Mira?”

  He didn’t dare hope that was a possibility. The ship’s engine array had been utterly destroyed. Neither Black nor the Pluto Exo-observatory had detected any hot zones on the ship, which meant Mira’s nuclear reactors were cold. They might be able to find portable emergency generators. Might. Mira was over a kilometer long, and if he and Kalimura were right about their interior schematics being wrong, it could take forever to find any emergency supplies.

  “At least I found the goddamned O2,” he said aloud.

  “Yeah,” Carb said, “good job.”

  He winced. He’d forgotten to turn off his comms. “After that, we’re going to have to find the medical bay.”

  Carb hissed. “No shit.”

  Kali’s suit lights finally illuminated the O2 station. She paused before finally placing Elliott against the wall. A second later, his mag-gloves activated, locking him to the wall like a crucifixion. Once sure he was secure, she turned to face Carb and Dickerson.

  “Carb. Get your refill. Now.”

  “But, we should get Elliott--”

  “You first,” Kalimura said in a low, flat tone.

  Carb seemed to shrug in her suit. “Aye, Boss,” she said. Dickerson let go of her arm and she walked to the station.

  “How are Elliott’s vitals?” Dickerson asked.

  Kalimura paused a moment before replying. “Bad. We have to find some medical supplies. Real ones.” She turned her head and glanced at Elliott and then at Carbonaro. “How you feeling, Dickerson?”

  “Good enough to take a look around, Corporal.”

  “Outstanding,” she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. She pointed deeper into the bay. “Go along the wall and see if you can find med supplies. I want you in contact at all times. Understood?”

  “Aye, Corporal.” He unsheathed a vibro-blade from his utility belt and turned to face the darkness ahead.

  “Be careful,” Kalimura said. “I don’t need another marine down.”

  “Copy that,” Dickerson said. He shut off the mic and started mag-walking.

  As he moved, the darkness quickly swallowed the ambiance from behind him. He refocused his lights to split the difference between maximum brightness and a diffused beam that afforded him a larger field of view. The only problem was that objects appeared less in focus, less sharp, and less recognizable. In the guts of Mira’s shuttle bay, nothing looked familiar.

  The wall had more impact points, whether from flechette rounds, metal debris bouncing around the decompressed bay, or from something else, he couldn’t tell. Until arriving at Mira, he’d never seen Atmo-steel suffer extreme damage without the use of beam weapons or nuclear ordinance. Whatever had happened to the ship on its exo-solar journey, it was certainly something new to humanity.

  What if it’s still here? he thought to himself.

  He hesitated before taking the next step, his skin crawling with nervous tension. The shadows at the edge of his suit lights suddenly seemed foreboding. Keep moving, he said to himself. Don’t. Freeze.

  His suit lights reflected from something far ahead. Little more than a glimmer, but a reflection nonetheless. “Corporal,” he said, “I think I’m close to the end of the shuttle bay.”

  “Copy,” Kalimura said. “Carbonaro is topped off. We’re working on Elliott.”

  He opened his mouth to acknowledge and then stopped. When he’d finally filled up his suit, he’d only had a few minutes left. She couldn’t possibly be in much better shape. “Corporal? How much air do you have left?”

  “Um, why?”

  “I’d simply like to know.”

  “Plenty. I still have five minutes left.”

  “You’re almost out of air. Refill. Now.”

  “Excuse me? I said I have plenty--”

  “Goddammit, Kalimura! Your fucking HUD is damaged! Refill now, or you’re dead.”

  He heard her take in a breath and then exhale it in an angry hiss. “Elliott is going to die.”

  “He’s going to die anyway. Refill your suit. Now.” Dickerson winced. He’d almost said “and that’s an order!” Well, that’s not a good sign, he thought.

  “Copy,” she suddenly said and then her comms went dead.

  “Carb! What the fuck is going on there?”

  “Relax, Dickerson,” Carbonaro said. “I’ve got it. Just give me a minute.”

  “I’m coming back,” he said and deactivated his mag-boots. Using the thrusters, he rose a meter into the air, stopped his ascent, and started a 180° spin. I can get there. I can get there.

  “Dickerson!” Kalimura said. “Stay where you are and get back to finding me some real medical supplies. That’s an order, marine.”

  “Uh,” he said. “Aye, Corporal.” Well, that was a waste of fuel and time, he thought. He rotated again and activated the boots after increasing their range. He slammed down into the deck a bit faster than he’d anticipated. Damn! That hurt!

  The first few steps were uncomfortable, but not painful. The discomfort quickly receded and then disappeared. Thank you, nannies. He knew they’d ordered his glands to release additional endorphins to combat the pain while they worked on repairing any damage to his joints. Until they were finished, he’d need to take it easy. Certainly no more of that shit!

  Lost in his thoughts, eyes focused on the bottom HUD feed, he froze with one foot in the air. He’d nearly stepped through a rip in the deck plating. Dickerson slowly lowered his foot back to in front of the obstacle. Good job, he said to himself. You almost really fucked yourself.

  The tear wasn’t large. Maybe wide enough for an arm to go through, but it ran more than a meter and a half in length. He frowned at it. Through the exposed plate, he saw the emptiness of space. A quick check of his surroundings told him the damage had to have been caused after the bay lost atmosphere. Otherwise, any loose equipment would have tried to stuff itself through the hole. If that had happened, the rip would have either widened or the equipment would still be near the tear. Either way, it was too small to account for the extensive damage in the area.

  He side-stepped the weakened plate and studied the end of the bay. Something about five meters away reflected back his suit lights. He grinned for a moment and then his jaw dropped open in disbelief.

  His light wasn’t reflecting from the wall. Instead, it was bouncing off something protruding from it. To be specific, it was bouncing off the bent and twisted metal of a nearly destroyed skiff.

  “Holy shit, Corporal. I think I found salvation.”

  “What are you babbling about, Dickerson?” Kalimura asked.

  “The skiff. The goddamned thing crashed through the bay!”

  He heard Carb’s laugh through the comms. “Good luck for once?”

  Dickerson walked as quickly as he dared to the back wall and protrusion, his eyes constantly scanning for other rips in the deck plates. The skiff had punctured the bulkhead with enough force to bring it most of the way inside. The very front of the skiff had embedded itself in the deck plate below. He didn’t want to think how fast it had been traveling to do that.

  “Checking for
supplies,” Dickerson said.

  “Good. Carb is taking Elliott back to the shuttle,” Kalimura said. “I’m on my way to you.”

  “Copy, Corporal.” He carefully mag-walked to the front of the skiff. The frame was twisted, the thruster lines exposed like ripped-up wires. During the satellite war in Mars’ orbit, he’d seen skiffs used as battering rams, missiles, and shields. But he’d never seen one do this kind of damage. The last blast of thruster fuel must have sent it in at incredible speed. How it got here didn’t matter, though. What mattered was whether or not the supplies were damaged.

  He walked up the skiff’s slight incline to the storage compartment. The deck plate had opened like a blooming flower, leaving petals of jagged, sharp steel surrounding the skiff. He had to be careful. If he rubbed his suit the wrong way against the damaged metal, he might tear a hole in the only piece of equipment keeping him alive. And while the skiff may have medical supplies, hell, even their weapons, what it did not have was a spare suit.

  Dickerson initiated a connection to the skiff through his block. No response. The skiff’s internals were completely fried. That’s less than ideal, he thought. If they were having difficulty communicating with S&R Black, the skiff’s radio might have provided the boost they needed to send a message from inside Mira. But no dice.

  He reached the storage compartment. Metal shards floated in the air like dust. The suit would be fine with those, so long as they weren’t traveling above 10 m/s. Impacts from flechettes could eventually shred a suit into pieces, but they were made to withstand random debris. Unless they’re from a shatter storm, he thought.

  His suit lights shined down on the storage compartment. He sent a block command to open. Nothing happened. Right. No power. After using his suit cams to make sure he wasn’t going to rip the material, he crawled further into the wreckage, placed a mag-glove on the locking mechanism, and pulled. Even without power, the sensor should recognize his glove’s frequency and open. After a few seconds, the lock swiveled, and the compartment top slowly slid upward.

  Dickerson bent over further, felt his suit catch on something, and stopped. He tried to find the obstruction by checking the feeds from his suit cam, but saw nothing holding him up. Hell, he didn’t even know which direction to look. After a moment, he checked again, but still couldn’t find the obstacle. “Goddammit,” he said aloud.

  “Dickerson,” Kalimura said. “How the hell did you manage that?”

  Her image appeared in the rear cam. “Corporal, can you see what I’m stuck on?”

  “Yes, I can. Move forward a little more.”

  He frowned. “That’s how I got stuck.”

  “Only you’re not stuck,” she said. “The cannon lever is just sticking into your belly. You’re fine. Keep going.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, marine. Move your ass.”

  Hope you know what you’re talking about, he thought, or you’re going to be without my services for the rest of your life. He held his breath and started forward. The resistance increased for a moment and then passed. His suit integrity still registered green. Shaking his head, he shined his helmet light into the compartment. Sure enough, four flechette rifles, mags of ammo, impact grenades, a spare utility belt, two small cutting torches, and an emergency medkit. He reached for the rifles and stopped himself. The strange cylinder of mineral he’d found while placing thrusters on the hull, sat in a transparent sample case.

  “Corporal? Looks like everything’s good. I’ll pass the medkit and suit patches back to you.”

  “Fuck that. Let’s detach the entire thing and bring it out.”

  He hesitated and then smiled. Dickerson closed the lid, locked it with his glove, and reached for the release points. He tapped his fingers against each side of the compartment and green indicators appeared. In z-g, lifting the combined weight of the Atmo-steel compartment and its contents took little effort. The compartment drifted from the skiff’s rear and began to float above him. He quickly mag-locked it to a free hand and awkwardly stood.

  “Good work, Dickerson.”

  “Thanks, Corporal.” He turned, the removable locker still attached to his glove. “Back to the shuttle?”

  “Yes. Double time.”

  “Copy that,” Dickerson said. He walked down the skiff and finally put his feet on the deck. He freed his mag-glove, the locker floating near his head, and mag-locked his other hand to the carry bar. The locker was made so a single marine could securely handle and transport the bulky locker without effort and release it promptly in case of enemy fire. He brought the locker to waist level so it wouldn’t block his helmet lights or his cams. “Ready when you are, Corporal.”

  She hesitated a moment. He imagined her staring at the skiff and trying to sort out what had happened. At last, she turned and started mag-walking back to the shuttle. He followed.

  “How the hell did that skiff get here?” she asked.

  “Don’t know,” Dickerson said. “I’m still a little fuzzy on exactly when you ejected us. But I thought we were closer to the front of the shuttle bay when that happened.”

  “We were,” she said. “The skiff should be floating near S&R Black or on its way into the deep Kuiper.”

  What she said made sense. Once the thruster lines completely ruptured, the skiff should have been out of control and tumbling through space. But here it was as though someone had piloted it. With all the electronics dead, there was no way to bring up the flight recorder or download the flight data. They’d probably never know how it got there.

  “I agree with you, Corporal. At the very least, it should have smashed into the bow.” She didn’t respond. They continued walking through the darkness, their suit lights playing over the wall closest to them as well as the empty deck in front of them. He occasionally swung his lights to port and scanned for any other objects, but all he saw was the outline of another damaged shuttle.

  When they reached the shuttle with Carb and Elliott inside, Kalimura went through the process of opening the airlock. He released the locker so she could take it and place it inside.

  “Hold up a sec,” she said and crawled in.

  He waited patiently, his suit lights shining on Elliott’s unconscious form mag-locked to the shuttle’s bulkhead. Dickerson connected his block to Elliott’s and received a “denied” message. “Corporal? Can I--?”

  The deck shuddered violently, the vibration rising through his suit and rattling his bones. He froze in place, his magnetic boots keeping him moored. He looked up and cursed. His suit lights weren’t powerful enough to illuminate the ceiling thirty meters above him, but he saw flakes of metal swirling in the air. The vibration continued for a moment, and then stopped.

  “What the fuck was that?” he asked.

  “Dickerson. Get in the shuttle. Now,” Kalimura said.

  He stepped inside the shuttle’s hold, closed the hatch, and waited for the atmosphere lights to go green. The thermometer gauge in his HUD slowly swung from red to yellow as the shuttle’s emergency heater did its job. It would take several minutes before they could remove their helmets, let alone their suits.

  The shuttle creaked as another round of vibrations shook the ship. “Dammit,” Dickerson said. “I think they’re starting to stabilize Mira.”

  Kalimura nodded. “Figured as much. If they’re going to come and get us, it’ll be a lot easier if the ship isn’t still tumbling.”

  The shuttle bounced in its moorings, scattered debris inside the shuttle floating upward from the floor. Dickerson mag-locked himself to the wall to keep from floating. He opened his mouth to speak, and then the shuttle bay quaked as though from a massive impact.

  “Jesus,” Carb said, “what the hell was that?”

  Kalimura rose from the shuttle floor. “I’m going to the cabin. If I can get the comms up, we might be able to talk to Black if not the Company.” She pointed at Dickerson. “You start going through the med supplies. I want to know what we have and how much.”


  “Aye, Corporal.” He stared at the locker on the floor. She was giving him useless orders, unless she simply wanted to double check the contents of the medical kit. She stepped forward to the cabin door, opened it after pressurization, and stepped through. The door slid back in place leaving the two conscious marines staring at one another.

  Chapter Six

  The shuttle cabin was heating up along with the cargo hold. In a few minutes, it would be warm enough to take off their helmets again. That would be a welcome change. She wanted her squad to rest, consume some protein, and get ready for a long stay in this shuttle, and a quick exit to the rescue party. If there is one, you mean, she thought to herself.

  It took a moment, but her block finally connected to the shuttle’s comms. The craft’s antenna appeared to be undamaged, but that didn’t mean it was going to properly boost the signal to S&R Black. Crossing her gloved fingers, she dialed in the frequency for S&R’s encrypted comms and initiated a connection.

  “S&R Black, this is Corporal Kalimura. Over.”

  Nothing. She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor while she repeated the message. Five attempts and still nothing.

  Mira shuddered again. Black had no doubt fired another thruster salvo. So far, at least three thruster packs had been activated. That left plenty more to fire. And there was no telling if Black would fire the same thruster packs more than once. In short, it was impossible to know how many more of those quakes they had in store.

  Think, dammit, she told herself. Black had said there was some sort of interference keeping them from talking over the radios, leaving block to block communication as the only possibility. Mira was ancient. Technology had moved so far and so fast in the last fifty years, she’d been surprised her block had even connected to the shuttle’s computer. But using a block connection to its antenna? She didn’t even know if that would be possible.

  Kali connected to the computer this time rather than the communications array. The connection was painfully slow, but her HUD gradually lit up with a menu of options. First, she chose diagnostics, which she probably should have tried in the first place.