Derelict: Tomb (Derelict Saga Book 2)

by Paul E. Cooley

  He played his lights over the first and frowned. There was no need to worry about trying to capture this one. The lid was missing as well as whoever might have been in it. If it had housed someone, their body was probably on a dark, frozen journey through the Kuiper Belt. Taulbee hoped it had been empty.

  After marking the coffin on his HUD as immaterial, he thrusted another few meters to get a look at the second. He wished he hadn’t. The lid was still intact. Mostly. The coffin had suffered trauma to the lower left side. Not only was the steel crumpled in that area, the panel had snapped revealing a 1/4 meter triangular hole. The ‘52’s lights illuminated the remains of a foot sticking out of the puncture.

  “May the void take you home,” he said to the coffin’s occupant. He marked it on the HUD and headed to the third. He didn’t really know what he’d been expecting. The chances of the coffins being intact were infinitesimal, let alone any occupants still being alive. The ship had been dark for 43 years. Had he really hoped someone would have survived?

  The third coffin tumbled end over end, a small storm of fractured and bent metal floating around it. He slowed his approach and waited until the first of the metal chips hit the hull. More pings, more crunches, more warnings, but nothing extremely hazardous. He had this.

  He focused the lights on the rectangular cuboid as he waited for the tumble to show him the coffin’s “top.” When it spun into view, his breath hitched. The coffin was intact. He couldn’t see any holes or perforations in the surface and the backside looked as though it had been blasted free of its moorings without damage.

  “Taulbee to Dunn, over.”

  “Go ahead,” Dunn said.

  “Sir, I found one intact coffin. The other two are FUBAR. Permission to capture, over.”

  “Permission granted, James. Good work. Now get your ass back to the marines.”

  “Aye, sir,” he said with a grin.

  Taulbee fired the line gun and watched as the magnetic harpoon struck the coffin’s surface. The carbon-nannie line went taut almost immediately. He felt the coffin’s mass drag the SV-52 for a second before it lost its momentum. After checking the cams to ensure he wouldn’t hit anything behind him, above, or below him, he rotated the SV-52 until he pointed back at Mira.

  After a block command, the line gun’s spool reeled in the coffin until it clanged against the SV-52’s undercarriage, the vibration rattling through his suit. Finally, they had something to bring back to S&R Black. But first things first. He had to get his ass back to Gunny and cover the squad.

  If he had to use the line gun to save one of the marines, he’d dump the coffin in a heartbeat, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. A look at the HUD and he realized he had only a 25% fuel reserve. He’d have to head back to S&R Black soon, but not before he rendezvoused with Gunny.

  Chapter Twenty

  She was relieved when Dickerson called in and even more so when the two marines finally arrived to assist and escort. Waiting for a report while she stood in the darkness, listening to Elliott’s labored breathing, had been nerve wracking. The wounded marine hadn’t spoken much, but even that was terrible. Listening to his barely functioning lungs taking in sips of air wasn’t just demoralizing, it was downright inhumane.

  When he’d lost his hand, the suit had clamped around the missing extremity to prevent further pressure loss and minimize hypoxia. But once your suit suffered that kind of damage, a millisecond was all it took for all the atmosphere to vent into space. And she knew for a fact it took longer than that for the suit’s emergency system to close and pressurize.

  Further complicating matters, he’d likely had air in his lungs during the event which explosively escaped from his mouth and nose. The damage to the alveoli in his lungs was no doubt extensive. The brief exposure to absolute zero temperatures might even have frozen other soft tissues.

  Surviving exposure to space was possible, especially if one was in decent shape and had a full dose of working nannies in the system. But even then, the survival rate beyond a dozen seconds was pretty damned low. So was recovery. Luckily for Elliott, it had been a very brief period.

  But the loss of the hand was the crux of the largest problems. He’d lost a lot of blood in the two seconds following the injury. Combined with the environmental stresses, circulatory shock was a certainty, and that would kill a human quickly if not treated.

  Between the emergency bio-nannie injections and his suit warming his body, he had a chance to survive. But Kali was still worried he’d die if they didn’t get him into the autodoc.

  Carb and Dickerson had made their way to her from the medical bay, and escorted their corporal and Elliott back again. Although Carb had warned her over a private channel of the state of the place, she hadn’t been prepared for the carnage.

  As soon as they managed to slip Elliott beneath the partially opened hatch, Carbonaro and Dickerson closed it and Carb had used the seal popper again. The nannies, which had feasted on the seal material, spread out from the end. This time, however, they put the material back together again to reform the seal. The medical bay was once again airtight. Now all they had to do was pressurize it and get the temperature back up. Then they could strip off Elliott’s suit and get him into the autodoc.

  Whatever happened in the medical bay before both gravity and life support shut down had been violent and messy. Kali counted seven corpses, each of them savaged by deep cuts, rips, and tears through the dermis and into the chest cavities. Broken ribs had punctured skin and each face had a terrified, pained expression, usually frozen in a scream.

  Whatever blood had been spilled had dried long before Mira met her final calamity, whatever that might have been. The throats of three of the corpses had been slit deep enough to expose the hard, cylindrical trachea. Several blood-stained instruments had been mag-locked to the walls or their trays. Other medical paraphernalia, including ancient, expended bio-Nannie injectors, floated in the med bay like a mini-asteroid belt.

  Kali mag-locked Elliott to the wall next to the autodoc, but that was merely a precaution. In case S&R Black decided to ignite another thruster pack, she wanted to make sure he was secure. What they needed to do now was find the emergency generator.

  “Carb. Take that wall. Dickerson? Take the other. I’ll take the back. We need to find the gennie.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said. Dickerson acknowledged the command and moved to his wall. Kali watched them for a second, just to remind herself they were real and she was no longer alone. It helped stifle the shakes.

  She moved through the corpses as carefully as she could, apologizing each time she bumped into one. Assuming they managed to get life support working, the first thing she’d do, after getting Elliott in the autodoc, would be to pile up the corpses and secure them. They may have been floating here, frozen and in a vacuum, for more than 43 years, but that was no excuse to ignore them. They’d been human beings once and sacrificed their lives for all of humanity. They deserved respect. Certainly something more than being left here to bounce around for all eternity or until a KBO smashed Mira to dust.

  When she reached the wall, she found a number of recessed panels. They were all dead. She pulled her vibro-blade and wedged its tapered end into the small space surrounding the first panel. A little pressure, and the long, wide drawer popped open.

  Transparent containers lay in neat, organized trays. Hook and loop fasteners kept them from floating out. Bio-nannie injectors, blister packs of dermal seals, and several other medical odds and ends filled the trays. Kali wasn’t sure of the expiration dates on anything in the drawer, but she seriously doubted any of it had been made to survive 43 years without life-support in the ass-end of the Sol System.

  She closed the drawer, went to the next one, and repeated the process. More medical supplies, useless ones at that. Frustrated, she slammed the drawer and headed to the next.

  “Boss!” Carb said.

  Kali swung her head to look at the wall where Carbonaro stood. “What?”
>
  “I think I found it,” Carb said.

  Kali mag-walked to the wall and examined the panel illuminated by Carb’s suit lights. The barely visible edges of a half-meter square inset panel revealed themselves. “Tried opening it?”

  “No. I--”

  Kali slid her vibro-knife into one of the cracks and pushed. The panel unstuck at once. A spring-loaded mechanism fired and the panel opened. The moment the door was clear, a drawer slid out from the bottom of the wall.

  “There we go,” Kali said. She shined her lights on the cylinder sitting on the shelf. After squatting, she moved her fingers around the edges of the device.

  “What are you looking for?” Dickerson asked.

  “This is a Trans Orbital fusion generator. A really old one,” she said. “If you’d spent any time in the ancient stations, like Titan, you’d have not only seen these, but used them.”

  “Oh,” Carb said. “I just thought it was a drink machine.”

  Kali lifted her chin and glared. Carb couldn’t see her expression, but she knew the marine registered her displeasure at the remark.

  “Sorry, Boss,” Carb said. “We’ve seen these before. Just don’t know anything about them.”

  Kali returned her attention to the device. “Another S&R rule,” she said, “is to know how to operate emergency equipment. I’m going to have to have a talk with the LT about your training.”

  Dickerson chuckled. “He’ll no doubt take your advice to heart and load our blocks with tons of specs.”

  “That’s how I learned,” Kali said. “Well, that and a lot of ship rescues.”

  She found the groove she was looking for and pressed down. The top of the cylinder popped up revealing a solid-state interface. Kali grinned beneath her helmet. “Let’s see if it still works, shall we?” Her index finger jabbed the button marked “Start.”

  The generator did nothing for a moment. She held her breath, willing the machine to do something. After a few more seconds, the interface lit with status lights. A small screen lit with a self-diagnostic report--everything was green. The start button flashed and she pressed it again.

  The machine vibrated beneath her fingers and then became still. The display cleared the diagnostics report and filled with a power meter. She grinned. “Wow. We have 24 hours of power.”

  “Hey,” Dickerson said, “got another status panel over here.”

  “What’s it say?” Carb asked.

  Dickerson laughed. “Wants to know if we want to pressurize the medical bay.”

  “Hit it,” Kali said. “Let’s see if we can get some O2 and heat in this place.”

  A few seconds later, white vapor vented from the ceiling. “Holy shit,” Dickerson said, “we’re going to have full atmosphere in a few minutes.”

  “Good. Is there a panel for heat?”

  “Hell yes. On it, Corporal.”

  Kali stood to her full height. “Power. Atmosphere. Heat. What else do we need?”

  “A deck of cards,” Carb said with a giggle. “And maybe some THC?”

  “Right,” Dickerson said. “And beer, if we have it.”

  Shaking her head, Kali made her way to the autodoc. The coffin-like device that slid from the wall looked barely used. Amidst the other destruction, she was surprised it had survived. Its display lit up with a status screen. According to the diagnostics, it was ready to go as soon as the ambient temperature reached -20°C.

  “Elliott?” Kali asked over the comms. “You still with us?”

  “Still here, Corporal.” His voice was weaker than it had been twenty minutes ago.

  “Good,” she said. “We’re going to get you all fixed up. Just give this place time to warm up a bit.”

  “Aye, aye, Corporal. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She knew what he meant, but for some reason, the words had a note of finality in them. The autodoc fluids were no doubt frozen, but the synthetic blood, adrenaline, and hormones had been designed to survive a lot of abuse. She just hoped the old technology was resilient enough to still work after 43 years without life-support.

  “Are we going to get gravity?” Dickerson asked.

  Kali shook her head. “We could probably fire up the grav plates, but I’d rather not expend any more energy than necessary. We might be here a while.”

  “Good point,” Carb said. “Dickerson just wants to get out of his suit and run around.”

  “Right, Carb, because that’s the important thing to do right now.”

  Her HUD readings showed the ambient temperature at -100°C and rising quickly. The room’s oxygen level was rising as well. In a moment or two, they’d be able to take off their helmets, although it would still be damned cold.

  She checked the fluid levels in the autodoc. The synthesizers appeared to be functional and the system reported only a single fault--the pressure housing was damaged. Shit, she thought, good thing we have the room sealed.

  “Get some lights up, Dickerson.”

  “Aye, Corporal.”

  A few seconds later, the recessed lighting burst to life. The medical bay, previously shrouded in darkness, became a colorful mix of white, blue, and red. The crimson stains of blood on the walls and decking turned into surrealist paintings.

  Kali glanced at the closest corpse. With the interior lights blazing down, the damage to the bodies was much more pronounced. As much as she wanted it to be from the pinecone things, the wounds were obviously created by human hands wielding surgical instruments with malevolent intent.

  “Dickerson? Carb? Let’s get these bodies tethered up. I want them stacked, tied up, and put in the entryway behind the credenza.”

  “Why the hell would we want to do that, Boss?” Carb asked.

  “Because I don’t want them floating here for forever,” Kali said. “Just like I wouldn’t let you float around like a piece of junk if something happens.”

  Carb said nothing for a moment. Neither did Dickerson. At last, Dickerson said, “Aye, Corporal. Good idea. Come on, Carb.”

  Kali watched the pair begin gathering the corpses. She turned back to the autodoc, familiarizing herself with the ancient interface. It was similar to the Atmo models on some of the old freighters and older stations, but just different enough to make it intimidating. She went through the menus while she waited for the ambient temperature to rise. Already the room had warmed to -50°C. It wouldn’t be long now.

  The idea of taking off her helmet, breathing non-suit air, and all of that in a warm, well-lit environment sounded like nirvana. If they could get Elliott stabilized, or hell, even able to walk again under his own power, they could get out of this alive. And if the medical bay provided nearly a day’s worth of survival, all she had to do was find a way to communicate with Black. Then she and her squad only had to wait for Gunny and Taulbee to launch a rescue mission.

  Aren’t you the rescue specialist? Why aren’t you leading them out?

  The voice was her late mother’s. She knew it was nothing more than her strained subconscious trying to kick her ass into gear, but the words rattled her like one of her mother’s many sermons.

  “Corporal?” Dickerson asked over the comms. “We’ve got the bodies all tied up where you told us.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’m going to put Elliott in the autodoc in a few minutes. You search the other side of the medical bay. See if there’s any comms equipment in here. Maybe a terminal.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said.

  Kali mag-walked to Elliott. His head slowly raised as if he were looking at her through the visor. “Elliott? I’m going to disconnect you from the wall. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

  Elliott’s raspy breathing filled the comms. “I can’t feel much anyway, Corporal. Don’t sweat it.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean you can’t feel much?”

  “I think,” he said, “the bio-nannies have cut off the pain receptors.”

  “What’s your HUD say?”

  Elliott tried to laugh, but it ended in
a gravel-filled coughing fit. “That I’m fucking dying.”

  And you know it, she thought. “Stay with me, marine. I’m not losing you. Bad for my performance review.”

  “No shit,” he said. “Then again, SFMC might give you a fucking medal.”

  “Doubt that,” she said. Kali reached for his mag-locked glove and pulled Elliott from the wall. He didn’t make a sound over the comms as his body floated a few centimeters toward her. She put an arm around his waist and slowly positioned him next to the autodoc. “Need to mag-lock you to the floor now so we can get you out of that suit.”

  “You think my suit’s going to survive that?”

  Good question, she thought. For all I know, the suit’s going to come apart. And then what? “We’ll deal with whatever we have to deal with, marine. For right now, I just need you to stay with me.”

  She heard him take in a ragged breath. “Like I said earlier, Corporal, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said. “You’re going back to Neptune with the rest of us.”

  Her HUD glowed. The room was at 0°C. Finally. “Almost time to get you out of that suit.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lights made a huge difference. When he and Carb first entered the medical bay, the area had seemed like a cavernous mouth yawning open to swallow them whole. Now? It was a boring, albeit morbid, standard ship’s med bay.

  While they found the autodoc on the left-hand side, they hadn’t bothered searching the other side except to ensure it was clear of pinecones and anything hostile. All they’d seen were a few bodies floating at the back of the room and retractable tables. That and a nest of light trees above them. But now that there was light, it was a completely different situation.

  He and Carb crept around the credenza, their rifles ready to snap flechette rounds at anything that moved. Dried blood coated the deck plating in surreal streaks as though someone had dragged a bleeding body across the front entrance and to the other room. Dickerson said nothing and neither did Carb. They both knew what to do.