“Yes,” Dunn told himself, his teeth gritted in anger. He couldn’t be certain that’s what had happened, but it made the most sense. The theory also explained why the classified crates of weapons sat before him. SF Gov developed them in case this situation ever occurred. And the Trio? Perhaps they wanted to protect their charges as much as possible.
The Trio had warned him again and again not to approach Mira. They’d also told him to scrub the mission if he came in contact with exo-solar material. The Trio, it seemed, were much more invested in keeping Dunn and his marines alive than SF Gov.
But why? What would the Trio gain? And more importantly, what else did they know? As much of an asshole as Colonel Heyes was, not to mention the other bureaucrats above him, he had a difficult time believing they’d send an entire company of marines this far out in the Kuiper Belt knowing they would simply die. Dunn was cynical, yes, but not that cynical. Although after this trip, assuming anyone survived it, he might very well have to change his thoughts on SF Gov and SFMC leadership.
He placed a hand on one of the crates and tapped his fingers against the cool metal. Dunn needed answers. Any message he sent to the Trio would take nearly 3 hours to get there. A reply? Another 3 hours. That was six hours before he’d get any answers. If, that was, they felt like giving him any to begin with.
“Black?” he said aloud.
“Yes, Captain?”
“If these weapons were developed by SF Gov or SFMC, why were they given to us in secret?” Black didn’t answer. “Black?”
The AI paused a few more seconds before responding. “It is possible, though unlikely, that SFMC and SF Gov are not even aware of what’s in these crates. It’s also possible they didn’t even develop the weapons themselves.”
Gooseflesh broke out on his arms. “What do you mean? Elaborate.”
Black seemed to sigh. “There are any number of theories to explain the situation, Captain. I am not privy to the truth of them, only the possibilities.”
He rolled his eyes. “Stop covering your ass and talk to me.”
“Do you want to hear them all?” Black asked.
“Yes. Please.”
Black took the AI equivalent of a breath before continuing. “One possible explanation is that the weapons were developed in secret after the Mira was lost. They were put away on Trident Station in case exo-solar material ever made its way into the Sol System. If so, then they were kept secret in order to hide the fact humanity is not alone in the universe.”
Dunn nodded to himself. That was plausible. Considering the rebellions, political infighting, and humanity’s shared spiritual malaise that occurred upon Mira’s disappearance, it was little wonder SF Gov would want to hide that fact. “Okay. Noted. Next?”
“The weapons were developed in secret and all those involved in the project have since died. The project was then classified and mostly forgotten, hidden in the bowels of SF Gov’s databases. In this case, the Trio might very well be the only ones in the Sol Federation aware of both their development and utility. When the Trio realized Mira had returned, they made sure any vessel sent to capture her had the tools and weapons to survive.”
Dunn almost laughed. The idea SF Gov could possibly forget about a secret weapons project was inane. SF Gov viewed information as a very precious resource. SFMC did too.
“Unless the records were hidden,” Dunn said aloud.
“Pardon me, Captain?” Black said through the speakers.
“Nothing,” he said. The thoughts continued to swirl inside his mind, each one leading to another possible reason for the incongruities in their mission. Each event that had happened since Mira returned to the Kuiper Belt had a reason. Those reasons had reasons. “But where’s the source?”
“Captain?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Black.”
“I realize that, Captain.”
Annoyed by the break in his concentration, he glared at the inset speaker. “What is it, Black?”
“There is a message from the Trio.”
He flexed his hands into a fist. What he wouldn’t give to talk to the AIs in person without a three-hour delay. So many questions. But, did he really want the answers? “Are you authorized for it?”
“No, sir.”
Dunn shook his head. The Trio was keeping Black in the dark. She only knew what he told her. That didn’t make sense either. Just one more strange circumstance to add to the ever growing list. “Forward it, please.”
“Yes, sir,” the AI said.
His block lit up with the message. Dunn hoisted himself up on one of the crates, knowing full well it could easily take his weight, and played the message.
As with the previous communication, the holo contained no trace of SF Gov or SFMC logos. Just another still image of Trident Station orbiting high above Neptune.
“Captain Dunn.” The three voices of the Trio merged together in an almost sing-song cadence. “We realize you are confused about your situation. You are caught between your orders from Colonel Heyes and our own advice. However, you ignored our warnings to destroy Mira instead of trying to save her. You ignored our warnings to avoid contact with exo-solar material. As such, our options are very limited in assisting you.”
The view of Trident Station was no longer a still, but that of a live video feed from an outlying satellite. The feed was soothing to his mind. They were showing him what he thought of as home. A simple psychological trick, and he saw it for what it was, but damn it was effective.
The AIs resumed their message. “We have calculated the possible outcomes based on the telemetry and status reports Black has provided us. It is very likely your visit to Mira has consequences far beyond your imagination. Therefore, we suggest the following.”
A picture of Mira, the real Mira, appeared before his eyes. The shuttle bay missing from the historical record, as well as the refinery, were clearly visible. Dunn opened his mouth in surprise.
“We suggest you use the supplies in the crates to help you with additional hazards that you may face in the coming hours. We also suggest you tow Mira to Pluto as quickly as you can. If you are unable to complete that part of your mission, more than your own lives are at stake.”
The picture of Mira dissolved into nothing but a star field.
“We are sorry for any losses you may incur. We are sorry we could not better warn you before you departed. And we are sorry this is necessary. Good luck, Captain.”
The holo ended. Dunn loosed a shuddering breath, his skin crawling with tension and unease. The AIs were once again warning him. The Trio was once again contradicting themselves. Dunn put his head in his hands. He no longer knew what to believe.
Chapter Thirty-One
The marine combat vacuum suit is a marvel of modern technology. Or so Nobel thought. The fabric and metal composite was capable of self-healing small perforations, maintaining a warm body temperature in the absolute zero of deep space, keeping the body cool in temperatures as high as 204°C, and maintaining perfect atmospheric pressure. The suit’s power cell was good for a full 24 hours of constant HUD usage, block and comms transmissions, and limb assistance. In short, the suit was everything you could possibly want.
Unless, of course, you hated the damned things. Marvel or not, Nobel hated the suits. Every time he wore one, he thought he would suffocate. He’d been told that was a natural reaction for a good portion of the human population and that eventually he’d get used to it. He never had and knew he never would.
After decontaminating, he slipped into a fresh jumpsuit, checked his gear, and headed to the cargo bay. Just outside the large pressure door, he stepped into the crew locker room and pulled his suit from the rack. He stepped into it and the suit sealed around his body like a gentle lover. While holding the helmet in his hands, he connected his block to the suit and ran a pressure check. All good.
The captain wanted reactor 3 back on in thirty minutes. Five had already passed. This was going to suck.
With his
utility belt secured, a suit pack filled with tools, and a flechette rifle mag-locked to his back, he stepped to the cargo bay pressure door. The light was green meaning it had pressure. Still, better to be safe than dead.
He put the helmet on, finished pressurizing the suit, and checked his block--the suit was good to go. He touched the pressure door sensor and the hatch opened into an airlock separating the bay from the rest of the ship. Once it closed behind him, he touched another sensor and the outer airlock door opened revealing the mostly empty cargo bay.
Captain Dunn stood next to a shelf of crates, his eyes studying something inside them. Nobel saw his mouth move before realizing his audio pickups were turned off. Rolling his eyes, he turned them on.
“--a walk, Lieutenant?”
“Sorry, sir,” Nobel said, his voice flowing out of the suit’s speakers. “Say again?”
Dunn smiled, but it looked fake. Something was definitely bothering the captain. Nobel had a moment to wonder if he was starting to doubt Black too.
“I said are you ready for a walk?”
“No,” Nobel said, “but let’s do it anyway.”
Dunn chuckled and touched the open crates. The lids slid down and locked. “What do you need?”
“Atmo patches,” he said. “Just need to mag-lock them to the suit pack, sir.”
Dunn paused for a second, probably checking the manifest for the correct shelves. The shelving unit rotated until a new line of crates appeared. Dunn reached into one of the crates and pulled out a half-meter cube. “Turn around,” he said to Nobel.
Nobel did as he was told and felt another ten kilos of mass lock to his back. As bad as the suit was, carrying all this shit in gravity made it worse. It was bad enough when you knew all that separated you from the void was a mesh of metal and fiber, but being weighed down in gravity made you feel as though a large human being was standing on your shoulders.
“There,” Dunn said, his voice echoing around the empty bay. “Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Good hunting, Lieutenant.”
Nobel saluted and Dunn returned it. The smile on his face looked unnatural and uneasy. He looked as though he were about to say something else, and then stopped.
Nobel approached the service airlock. While the cargo bay was made for quick ingress/egress for supplies, vehicles, and marines, the service airlock was specifically designed for up to three humans at a time to walk the ship’s surface. In other words, Dunn could stay in the bay without a suit while Nobel left the ship and went into space. Nobel wished the captain was coming with him.
He entered the airlock, closed it behind him, and waited while the pressure between the ship and that of space equalized. His block lit with a new status--he was ready to walk out into space. Nobel took a shuddering breath, and then opened the outer airlock hatch.
Mira’s shadowy form filled his vision. Even from this distance, the hulk seemed to fill all of space. He made out pinpoints of light, probably from Taulbee’s SV-52 or Gunny’s squad. They might as well have been thousands of kilometers away.
Nobel walked to the edge of the airlock, reached for a tether line, and locked it to his belt. Except for the occasional drills that Gunny and Taulbee steered, he hadn’t had to mag-walk in months. To make matters worse, this was not a dome, not a drill, and not practice. This was real. If he fucked up, someone would have to come get him. And if he really fucked up, he might end up floating in the black, arms and legs flailing for purchase on nothing. The thought terrified him.
He fought against the sensation of vertigo, hoping his nannies would stabilize his fight or flight impulses. In this case, however, there was no fight. Only flight. Nobel wanted to turn around, crawl back inside the ship, and pretend the problem with fin 3 didn’t exist. Fat chance.
“Get some balls,” he said to himself. “At least you’re not going to get shot at.”
Small comfort. He tried to focus on the engine array, all too aware he was actually sideways in relation to the top of the ship. “Stop thinking about gravity,” he said. “Up and down don’t matter.” Now if only his brain would accept that fact.
The heat fins, one for each main reactor, protruded from the fuselage near the engine array. Reactors 1-3 were starboard while 4-6 were on the port side. Good thing the airlock faced starboard or else he’d have to walk over the top of the ship to get to it. That would have been too much vertigo even for the nannies to sort out.
“Bullshit,” he said to himself. “You’ve done this before. Chill the hell out.”
It was the scratching sound that had him unsettled. Those scritchy scratch sounds from outside the hull reminded him of a vibro-blade trying to cut through Atmo-steel. A blade couldn’t actually even scar the metal, but it certainly created a noise that hurt your ears and made you wince. What the hell was causing it?
Black had suggested debris. That was ludicrous. Any debris floating from Mira to scrape along the hull would have pinged off without making much of a sound. Unless, of course, it was large enough to actually make a mark on the hull. A piece of debris that large would have smashed into the hull with a “thud” rather than a scratch.
Black. Goddamned AI had gone around the bend. He was sure of it. He didn’t have proof yet, but he knew damned well, knew it in his guts, that something was wrong with the computer. Between that and the unknown cause of the scratching sound, it was no wonder his nerves were fried. Couple that with an emergency patch on a clock and he was surprised he was even able to function.
Five meters. The other two fins on the starboard side glowed on one of his cams set to infrared. They were still expelling heat as expected. Fin 3 was the furthest fin toward the ship’s belly. Nobel would have to change direction and head that way. With any luck, the fault was on the fin’s bottom or to its side rather than directly between fin 2 and 3. Otherwise, he was going to have to be careful about not getting caught in the heat blast from fin 2.
Two meters. His HUD lit up with heat warnings. Fins 1 and 2 glowed bright crimson through the infrared filter, the metal around them a halo of searing orange. Nobel turned his feet and walked toward the belly. Fin 3, barely showing up at all though the filter, was a mere half meter away.
Instead of looking up or down and seeing nothing but space, he kept his visor pointed at the fin. Nobel pulled the scanner from his belt, initiated a block connection, and knelt on the hull. After focusing his suit lights directly on the metal surrounding the fin, he moved the scanner over the area and then stopped.
“What the--?”
The Atmo-steel was scratched. A dozen or so centimeters wide and six-centimeter-long gouges marred the steel. Each looked to be at least several millimeters deep. That wasn’t from debris. That was from something else completely.
He unfocused his suit lights to cover a wider area and then felt his heart stop in his chest. Between the infrared filter on one window in his HUD and his constant focus on the fin, he’d missed what lay in the shadows. Several oblong shapes clung to the hull behind the fins. One of them was less than a 1/4 meter from his left foot.
Flesh breaking out in goose pimples, he connected to the command crew channel. “Captain? Oakes? We have a problem.”
There was no response. He switched to Dunn’s private comms and tried again. Nothing. After trying the same with Oakes and getting a little more nothing, he exhaled sharply. “Black? Why can’t I connect to Oakes or the captain?”
“Interference,” Black said. The response was clipped and matter of fact. No apology, no hint of remorse in the voice at all. “Perhaps while you’re on the hull, you can check the comms array, Lieutenant.”
“Fuck off,” he said. “I’ve got those pinecone things out here. They’re on the goddamned hull.”
“Hmm,” Black said. “I will try and patch you through to the captain.”
Wow, he thought, don’t do your job or anything.
His hand holding the scanner was still floating above the hull and near the pinecone.
He focused his lights again and pointed them at the object. The knobby surface looked metallic, but unlike anything he’d ever seen before. When he’d heard Taulbee and Gunny talking about the things, he hadn’t realized just how, well, how alien they looked.
“Dunn to Nobel.”
Nobel exhaled a deep, relieved sigh. “Good to hear your voice, Captain.”
“How’s that patch coming?”
Nobel blinked. Dunn’s voice sounded a bit off. “Sir, I have those pinecone things out here on the hull. I think they’ve been--”
“Robert,” Dunn interrupted him. “We need that leak fixed. Now. Ignore those things for the moment and focus.”
He opened his mouth to reply and then stopped. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. The captain wasn’t worried that those things were on the ship? “Sir, listen. I don’t know what’s going on, but they may be chewing on the hull. Or--”
“It doesn’t matter, Lieutenant. Get the patch down. We need that reactor back online, ASAP.”
“Aye, sir,” Nobel said in a dead voice. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I ask. Dunn out.”
The comms went dead. Nobel remained frozen, squatting on the hull like a bug. If he wasn’t in z-g, he knew his hand would be shaking uncontrollably, likely to fling the scanner off into space. Something was wrong. Nobel knew it. He’d known Dunn for years and that just didn’t sound like him at all.
Nobel closed his eyes and tried to let the fear and confusion go. In the darkness of thought, he managed to remember something. Chiefly that those goddamned pinecone things were near him. His eyes flicked open and he stared at the nearest of them. It hadn’t moved.
Derelict: Tomb (Derelict Saga Book 2) Page 21
