Derelict: Tomb (Derelict Saga Book 2)

by Paul E. Cooley

  We were planning on making our way to the auxiliary bridge.

  Black paused. An excellent idea, Lance Corporal. The slip-point will take you near that area. It is quite possible additional escape pods can be found there.

  The bow shuddered. Dickerson minimized the map and checked his camera feeds. Swarms of pinecones drifted about him now, too many to count. The bow shuddered again.

  I have to leave, he said to the AI. Now.

  Good luck, Lance Corporal.

  He broke the block connection. Fully focused on the space around him, he realized the creatures were all converging on him. He quickly scaled back down to the broken canopy window and swung himself inside.

  “Corporal,” he said. “We have to leave. Now.”

  A pinecone drifted through the window behind him. Carb raised a finger. “I think he’s right.”

  He didn’t have to turn and look. He knew the things were coming into the ship. The deck vibrated beneath his boots.

  “Okay, marines,” Kalimura said, her voice shuddering. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Carb removed Elliott from the wall, hoisted him on her shoulder, and headed for the hatch. Kalimura took point leaving Dickerson to cover their six. After the rest of the squad walked into the corridor, he turned to look at the room one last time. The pinecones, hundreds of them, were now streaming through the broken canopy.

  “Corporal?” he said. “We need to close the next hatchway if we don’t want a billion of those things following us.”

  “Copy.”

  He brought up the map Black had sent him and forwarded it to the squad’s blocks. “Black suggested we go this way.”

  Kalimura continued mag-walking ahead, stepping faster than he thought possible. Carb struggled to keep up. So did he.

  “Got it,” she said. “When we’re safe, I want to know what the AI said.”

  “The long and short versions are the same,” he said. “We need to find a way off the ship. Help isn’t coming anytime soon.”

  Elliott snorted through the comms. His voice dribbled out in a stoned mumble. “Fuck this job.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Taulbee unbuckled, hit the cockpit’s manual release, and climbed out of the ‘52. The moment he took off his helmet, the sounds of Gunny’s shouts filled his ears. He turned to look over at the skiff. Gunny’s squad was lifting Nobel and helping the captain over the gunwale. What a shit show.

  The skiff was dinged and battered, but still looked space worthy. His ‘52, on the other hand, was seriously damaged. He peered at the undercarriage and frowned. It was worse than he’d thought. Several thrusters had been smashed by the debris and the pinecones. The cameras were little more than junk. He hadn’t seen an SV-52 this damaged since the Satellite War. What the hell were those creatures made of?

  “Taulbee!” Dunn yelled from the deck.

  He stood to his full height. “Sir?”

  Dunn had removed his helmet and held it by his left hand. “I need a full damage report for both vehicles.” He turned his head slightly to watch three of Gunny’s marines disappear through the hatch with Nobel on a stretcher. He turned back to Taulbee, eyes flashing with anger. “Get cleaned up. Get some nourishment. I’ll yell for you in a few.”

  “Aye, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Glad to have you back in one piece.”

  Dunn allowed himself a barely visible grin. “Thanks, James.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Dunn took in the SV-52, shook his head, and headed out of the cargo bay. He watched the captain disappear and sagged slightly. Exhaustion. Too much adrenaline. Too much stress. It was bad enough fighting combatants that shot at you. He knew how to handle that. He’d been in that position more times than he liked to remember. But being attacked by aliens? That was something he didn’t want to experience again. But he knew he would. He could count on it.

  “Sir?” Gunny growled.

  Taulbee turned and saw Gunny standing by the skiff. PFC Copenhaver stood beside him, her bright eyes pulsing with excitement. Apparently, she was in better shape than he was. “Aye, Gunny?”

  The sergeant pointed at the skiff. “I’ll get a damage report to you as soon as possible.” He glanced at the SV-52. “Also, we can take a look at the ‘52 if you want to get some rest.”

  Taulbee shook his head. “Thanks, Gunny. But I need to take a look myself. Besides, you two have been mag-walking out there. Go get hydrated.” Gunny opened his mouth to speak but Taulbee cut him off. “That’s an order,” he said with a smile. Gunny and Copenhaver saluted and walked out of the cargo bay.

  The silence was welcome. After the rattling fuselage of the SV-52, the multiple impacts dinging off the hull, the crunch of whatever that thing was smashing into him over and over again, and the constant chatter over the comms channel, it was a nice change. Taulbee walked to the skiff and bent down to check the fuel lines. They seemed intact. He initiated a block connection to the skiff’s computer and ran a diagnostic.

  He knew they were running out of time. The harness was hooked up, except for maybe the last line that the starfish thing might have fried, but they still had work to do. Oakes had to pilot S&R Black beneath Mira and carefully move the ship near the lines. Once he did that, Gunny’s squad could secure both ships and they could get moving. Assuming, of course, nothing else came loose or fell apart during the hook up.

  But that was only the beginning of the journey. Considering the shape Mira was in, they’d have to use a slow acceleration far below S&R Black’s capabilities. That meant it might take more than a day just to reach Pluto. If they were lucky, they could use the PEO to moor up Mira while they made some repairs to her hull and superstructure and--

  “Um, no,” he said aloud. “Fuck that.” The ship was infested with those creatures. Who knew what else was aboard her? And whatever caused that radiation blast was still aboard. He took in a slow breath and exhaled in a long stream. Should they even risk towing her back to Pluto? What if another radiation blast went off and this time bathed everything with high-intensity gamma rays? Could Black’s shield hold against that?

  He wondered. That was another question to ask Dunn and the AI. The diagnostic finished and the report flashed across his block. He frowned. Damage to cameras, damage to two thrusters. At least they’d be easy to repair.

  He turned and walked back to the SV-52. After making a block connection, he ran the diagnostic program. The on-board computer took its time, giving him more of a chance to map out the parts they’d need to patch the support vehicle’s hull as well as the canopy.

  Thruster damage. Cameras destroyed. More dings and dents than he’d ever seen on a space-worthy vehicle. Yup, Mira was starting to piss him off.

  While the diagnostic continued, he looked over at the flechette rifles. One had a different colored magazine. Curious, Taulbee took it from its place, ejected the mag, and studied the rounds. They looked the same as normal flechettes, but had a bisected tapered end. Must be what the PFC shot the starfish thing with. The magazine seemed heavier in his hands than normal flechettes. Where the hell did you find these? he wondered.

  He replaced the magazine and returned the rifle to the rack. The SV-52’s diagnostic finished and his block lit up with the report. His frown grew as he looked over the damage. It was extensive. If they were lucky, it would take an hour to fix. If Nobel wasn’t in the goddamned medical bay, he could probably get it done in half the time.

  Taulbee loosed a sigh and removed his gloves. His flight suit was soaked. What he needed was a shower, a vape, and a lot of sleep. When Dunn’s voice broke through the speakers, he knew none of that was going to happen.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  By the time they reached the next junction with a hatch, Kali’s rear camera feed showed what looked like thousands of pinecones following them. The creatures were packed into the corridor so tightly, she was surprised they could move.

  “I’m going to make a little room,” Dickerson said.


  “Do it,” Kali replied.

  Dickerson turned and fired his flechette rifle into the throng. A flash of light exploded across her rear camera feed, punctuated by a storm of electricity. The cluster of pinecones broke apart, debris from shattered carapaces flying in all directions.

  “Christ, Dickerson!” Carb yelled. Debris from the explosion flew through the corridor, bumping against her suit. “Trying to puncture Elliott’s suit?”

  “No,” Dickerson drawled. “Trying to keep y’all alive!”

  Kali increased her pace. “We may need to jet. Next hatch is ten meters away.”

  “Not going to be easy,” Dickerson said. “This corridor is a bit small for that.”

  “We can do it,” Kali said. She glanced at Dickerson’s rear camera feed on her HUD. The pinecones had already flowed past the explosion, following them like a plague. “Dickerson. Hit them with another round on my mark, and then get your ass in the air. Carb? Detach and start jetting. I’ll cover Dickerson after he shoots. Get to that hatch.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said.

  Kali moved to the wall and flattened herself to give Carb room. The marine’s boots demagnetized and she lightly extended her toes. Carb activated her jets and flew past Kali. “Be ready to shoot. We don’t know what’s up there.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said.

  Kali turned and faced Dickerson. He was walking backwards, his movements awkward. The creatures were no more than seven meters away and coming fast. “Now,” she said.

  Dickerson fired. The flechette round struck the swarm with the same results as before. As soon as the round left his rifle, Dickerson turned and jetted. He flew past her faster than she’d imagined Dickerson would retreat. Kali aimed and fired into the swarm. She didn’t bother hanging around to watch the fireworks.

  After turning away from the cluster of creatures, she did her best to focus on the corridor in front of her, but she couldn’t help glancing at the rear cam. The swarm was thicker than ever, the pinecones flying through the remains of their detonated flock, seemingly oblivious to the attack.

  The corridor met a T-junction ahead. She could already see the open hatch, Carb next to it, her hands pumping the emergency generator. Kali held her rifle in one hand, keeping one free to stop her progress after she crossed the threshold. Another glance at the rear feed showed the creatures were closer; a scant three meters separated her from the hundreds of pinecones clogging the corridor.

  “Carb,” she said, “close that fucking hatch. Now!”

  Four meters. Three meters. Two. Kali spiked her jets and flew at 6 m/s toward the hatch. Carb had heard her and was closing it. Kali had just enough room to fit. She hoped.

  She flew through the mere meter-wide remaining space, her left side clipping the hatch edge. Kali yelped, smarting at the pain in her left side. The armor took the worst of it, but she felt the snap of a rib. She glanced at the rear camera feed and watched the hatch close behind her. At least--

  “Watch out!” Dickerson yelled.

  She flicked her eyes back to the front camera feed. Clipping the hatch had changed her trajectory and sent her flying toward the corridor wall. She pushed her arm out, elbow bent to take the worst of the crash, and extended her legs to do the same. The jolt of the impact rattled her bones and smashed her teeth together. As she started to bounce off the wall, she activated her magnetics. One foot locked her to the bulkhead. She floated in the air, heart hammering and breathing like a bellows.

  “Corporal? We’re clear,” Dickerson said.

  “Great,” Kali said through gritted teeth. Christ, that had hurt. The pain in her side made her eyes vibrate. She closed them and rested, her body still attached to the wall by a single foot.

  Something touched her shoulder and she started, the pain in her ribs wracking her body once more. “Sorry, Corporal,” Dickerson said. She turned her head and saw his glove on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She chuckled despite the pain. “Been better,” she said.

  “Well, let’s get you off the wall, Corporal,” he said.

  She deactivated her magnetics and relaxed. Dickerson gently pulled her from the wall, turned her body, and set her on the deck. She activated her boots again and bent slightly at the waist. That was a mistake. She felt the rib move slightly.

  “Damn,” Carb said, “that was some nice flying.”

  Kali looked up and saw Carb standing by the hatch, Elliott clamped to the wall. “Thanks,” Kali managed. “I’m really tired of this fucking ship trying to kill us.”

  “Copy that,” Dickerson said. He’d turned around to face the empty corridor. The darkness here was as intense as every other place on the derelict. His suit lights penetrated the gloom just enough to make out the shadows of recessed doors. “Well, I guess they’re trapped over there now.”

  Kali didn’t dare shake her head for fear of her brain leaking out of her ears. “We can’t assume that. No telling how many ways they can get past that.”

  “Agreed,” Carb said.

  Elliott groaned through the comms. “Are you people done trying to kill me yet?”

  “No,” Dickerson said in a flat monotone. “We’re using you for bait.”

  “Great,” Elliott said. “Let me know when I can die in peace.”

  Carb laughed at that. “Not yet, big man. Not yet.”

  “Good,” he said. “I was beginning to worry.”

  Kali brought the map up on her HUD. “Shit,” she said. “We should have taken that junction. We’re off course.”

  “Of course we are,” Dickerson said. “But at least we’re not getting smothered.”

  “Where are we going anyway?” Carb asked. “I hope they have a masseuse.”

  Kali rolled her eyes. “What did Black say, Dickerson?”

  “Well, we’re sort of fucked, Corporal. Sounds like S&R Black had an encounter with those little beasties behind us as well as something else.” Dickerson paused for a second. “Black suggested we get our asses to the auxiliary bridge and look for escape pods.”

  “Fuck sake,” Carb said. “Why can’t they just come and get us already?”

  “I think they’re a little busy at the moment,” Dickerson said. “I think they have to do some repairs before they can even try.”

  “Shit,” Kali said. “What did the pinecones do anyway?”

  Dickerson shrugged. “No clue. Didn’t exactly have long to talk.”

  “Okay,” Kali said. “Then I guess we head for the auxiliary bridge. If we’re lucky, we can find a transmitter.”

  “Or another breach in the hull,” Carb said. “Although I’d rather not go out there with just a suit and a flechette rifle.”

  “Copy that,” Dickerson said. “Can’t say I liked it much.” He gestured to her. “You hit the hatch. How bad is it?”

  “Cracked or broke a rib,” she said. “Hurts like one of Gunny’s bitch-out sessions.”

  Carb and Dickerson both laughed. Elliott let out a wheezy giggle.

  “You haven’t seen shit yet, Corporal,” Elliott said. “You obviously haven’t fucked up bad enough yet to really get both barrels.”

  Kali smiled despite the pain. “Great,” she said. “I look forward to it. Hell, he can yell at me all he wants once we get back aboard Black.”

  “No shit,” Dickerson said. “I’d love a Gunny shouting session right now.”

  “So now we have a reason to live,” Carb said, a grin in her voice. “Get back to the ship so we can do pushups.”

  “Only after the autodoc,” Elliott said. “I can still feel my fingers, but the hand is gone.”

  Silence filled the comms. Amputation. Elliott was going to need a prosthetic and they sure as shit didn’t have that tech back on the ship. They’d have to get back to Trident Station to make that happen. Even if his body wasn’t recovering from shock, he’d have a hell of a time operating like that. She wasn’t even sure he could handle a rifle.

  Kali studied the map again. “My O2 sensor is dam
aged. How much oxygen do each of you have remaining?”

  Elliott’s suit was the only one running low. He had about thirty minutes before he exhausted his supply. That meant they’d have to find another emergency refill station. At least this time, they wouldn’t have to get him out of a shattered suit.

  “All right, marines,” Kali said. “Let’s move out.”

  “Affirmative, Boss,” Carb said. She mag-walked to Elliott. “Get ready, man.”

  “Right,” Elliott said. “I love being luggage.”

  “Well, it’s about the most useful you’ve been in years,” Carb said.

  “Fuck you,” Elliott wheezed.

  “Maybe later when you have two hands,” Carb said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The briefing room was deathly silent as Dunn’s eyes bored into the holo-display. S&R Black’s damage report showed nothing out of the ordinary. The multiple flechette shots from the rifles as well as the SV-52’s cannon had dented and marred the hull, but nothing had penetrated. Although Nobel’s work had been interrupted, the radiation leak seemed to have been repaired.

  Nobel was in the autodoc now. The broken bones in his leg had only punctured the flesh in one area. Between the autodoc’s ministrations and a fresh load of bio-nannies, he’d be able to walk with a cast. It would still hurt like hell, but he’d at least be able to do his job so long as he didn’t have to mag-walk again.

  As for the SV-52 and the skiff? Major repairs. With Nobel down for the next hour or two, Taulbee, Gunny, and the remaining squad would have to focus on bringing both craft back into service. Until they managed to fix one or both of the support vehicles, the marines of S&R Black had no way to travel to Mira to search for their lost comrades. Let alone install the harness.

  Not that it mattered. Until he had a plan, Dunn wasn’t letting anyone leave the ship. And that plan involved figuring out just what the hell was going on.