by Robert Culp
“Yes, ma’am,” I hear him begin the relay, “SDB, this is pinnace crew…”
Corinne has picked up the pace a little. Without being told she has holstered her pistol and readied her rifle, as have I. Since we’re not worried about recovery, we’re not worried about hull integrity either.
A few minutes later Drake says, “Ma’am, SarMajor said get your pretty ass back here, we gotta get that pathogen spun into a vaccine real frickin’ fast. People are going insane by the buttload. His words.” Either APE isn’t functional, or not everyone is staying suited up.
“Roger,” I say as we come to the corridor leading to the science labs. “Please be good enough to point out to the Sergeant Major that there is no way to guarantee the virus here is the same as the one aboard Star Chaser.” There’s a single trooper lying on his side on the deck plating, his head lolling downward.
“Hey, Danny Boy,” Corinne says, “the cavalry is here. You want the window seat for the ride back to the ship?”
Daniels holds up his hand, palm toward us. “Stay there, I’ll come to you. I don’t know what it is, but I think it can see you through the window there.” He rolls to his front and begins a slow crawl towards us, blood smears the deck plating behind him. That is very bad. If his armor is breached he is exposed to all of the toxins. Not only those in the air of the ship but any that are still on his armor as well. Corinne slings her weapon across her back and drops to her belly. She crawls towards her friend. Once she reaches him, she grasps the handle built into his armor for just such an occasion and drags him back to safety.
“Blake,” Corinne asks, “what happened?” All of the bravado is gone from her voice. It’s been replaced by concern. She rapidly but properly places field dressings on Daniels’ armor. In historical fashion, she empties Blake’s first aid pouch first. When it is empty, she uses her own. But we all know if she could reach those of any of the fallen she’d use theirs before her own.
“I don’t know, chick. We walked in and within a minute or two Jerry was shooting us. It was weird, man. He held his shotgun at the hip, spun in a circle blasting us with slugs and flechettes. Praise Isis by the time he got to me he was empty. He dropped the shotgun and drew his pistol while I was going for cover. I was prone, peeked around the corner and shot him. I thought I killed him, when I went to check he shot me in the gut. And he did it without looking at me. He’s on his belly, reaches behind him and shoots me. I got him with my next round, though.” Blake turns to me and reaches into an ammo pouch. “Boss, this looked like it might be important.” He holds forth a vial of a purple liquid. The label on the vial reads “unidentified pathogen.”
This is of course a catastrophe, but I can’t help thinking how much worse things would be if it had been Parker with the 945 instead of Jerry with a shotgun. But that’s an observation for a later time. Speaking of which, “Daniels, was Parker in there?” I ask as I take the vial from him and tuck it into my own ammo pouch.
“Negative, Boss,” Parker’s voice is in my earphones. “I’m to your rear. We gave the room a visual from here. Jerry wanted me to recon past the lab. I started working my way back here when he started shooting.” He has the 945 at the low ready. Other members of the team are behind him. They all made their way here, rather than at the entrance as directed.
I point at Corinne, “You take the lead. Parker, you follow her. I’ll bring Daniels.” I see Corinne’s eyebrows go up, before she can argue I say, “I added strength enhancing motors to the wraith armor just like those in the marauder suit. I can carry him.” They aren’t as strong as the ones in Corinne’s marauder suit, but for no farther than we’re going I can handle him. And the troopers are better with their weapons than I am, and there may still be some zombies roaming the halls. My preference would be to carry him across my shoulders in a wounded buddy carry, but his belly injuries makes that impractical. It would be a great form of torture if that were my goal. Instead, I hoist him like I’m prepared to carry him across the threshold.
“No, this isn’t emasculating at all,” Blake mutters. He’s worried about his macho image? He’ll be fine!
“If it makes you feel any better,” I answer, “nobody will hear about it from me, and when we get closer to the hatch, you’ll walk or hobble the rest of the way.”
“I appreciate that, Boss,” he replies, “but it isn’t you that is going to publish this tale on Star Chaser's casCom page.”
“That will be me,” Parker says. “And Danny boy, you need to thank your lucky stars that I'm only taking a few pictures and not video. Black and white just captures the moment, don’t you think?”
“Remind me to kick your ass later.”
Fortunately, we don’t meet up with any of Gallagher's former crew on our way to the exit point. I put Daniels down and let him walk as best he’s able, just like I said I would. Corinne takes the 945 from Parker to provide overwatch as the big man hands Daniels up to the others, I check my leaders wrist unit. All survivors of this ill-fated mission are here. The artificial gravity makes handing Daniels up difficult, but not impossible. Soon Parker hands me up then using the stronger exoskeleton in his armor, he jumps up to be grabbed by the rest of us. Again, traversing the sloping hull back to the ice is tricky, but not impossible. Soon we are all on our way back to the pinnace. Daniels is walking between two troopers, an arm over each of them, his rifle slung across his back.
“Athena,” I call ahead, “we have a sample of the pathogen. Is there something aboard the pinnace we can transport it in other than my pocket?”
“I will set a hazardous materials container in the airlock,” she answers. “Am I correct that those not with you are presumed dead?”
“You are correct,” I say. Fortunately, she doesn’t ask for details. I suppose she realizes that dead is dead, and the how and why will be addressed by other people in other places. True to her word, when we arrive at the pinnace there’s a red and yellow HAZMAT transport container in the airlock. I’d like to cycle Daniels in first. But he’ll require a bit more decon than the rest of us. He’ll be next to last, right before me. Corinne goes in first. I pass the pathogen vial to her once she gets situated. She places it in the HAZMAT box and clamps the lid shut. The outer door closes and the airlock sprays her with a hasty decon fluid then pressurizes to allow her entry to the pinnace. In turn, we all go through the same process. The troopers, as is their habit, keep their weapons and attention focused outwards until the rest are all aboard. Parker balks at going into the pinnace before Daniels.
“Boss,” he says. “You’ll play hell trying to stuff him into the airlock by yourself. And you’ll be out here by yourself during his lengthy decon. If anything happens to you, SarMajor Call will have my ass. I’m too close to retirement for that noise.”
I get ready to puff up and argue with him. Then I realize he’s right. I’m not a soldier. I’m an engineer. “Fine, you and I go in after Daniels, but I’m last.”
“Same argument, ma’am. I’m last. I’d rather not have to relieve you of any command authority.”
I know when I’m beaten. I yield. I’m the next to last to enter the airlock. The good news is that the return flight to the SDB is uneventful as our stomachs are still empty.
Under Athena’s skilled hands the pinnace enters its cradle aboard the SDB. Following a more thorough decontamination routine of the vessel, we all transfer back into the comparatively roomy excursion yacht. We get Daniels locked into a stretcher for the flight back to Star Chaser. Now that we’re out in the relative calm of open space we go back to the galley for snacks and such. Parker takes a sandwich to Daniels in the medical closet. Freddie busies himself viewing the recorded video from all of our helmet cams. If he has any questions he’s holding them for later.
Much like the survivors of the away team, I eat less than a meal, but more than a snack and, reclining in my seat, sleep for several hours. The bumps made by the system defense boat settling into its berth aboard Star Chaser wake me, as well as the
others who were asleep. We all gather our effects and prepare to move into the mother ship. I have to admit, it’s good to be back aboard. The Systems Defense Boats were built for extended use, but the word “luxurious” doesn’t appear in the catalog. The star farers of centuries ago would thumb their noses at Star Chaser, but I have to confess, some of its “creature comforts” are very appealing. At the top of the list is oxygen generated by photosynthesis rather than simply scrubbed from existing air. When I was aboard Night Searcher I always marveled at how every cubic centimeter served a purpose. There was no unused space and there was no passage that didn’t have conduits running along the ceiling. That’s not the case on Star Chaser. There are cubic decameters that serve no visible purpose other than decoration. So we are all happy to trade the confines of the SDB for the wide-open spaces of Star Chaser. Even if we do have to be in APE suits. Our armor is too contaminated and none of us is willing to wait for it. Besides, all the armor has to go for examination to quantify its resistance to the corrosive environment.
Everyone we see is wearing a respirator or in some self-contained breathing system. There’s a team from the Biosciences department to receive the pathogen specimen container. I hope they can find a vaccine if not a cure. Another team collects our armor to measure the decay from the toxic atmosphere. I am more than happy for Freddie to surrender it to them. The Captain is also on hand to greet us. After he shakes all of our hands he motions for us to huddle around him. Which is unfortunately easier now that the team is not as large as it was when we left. We left four of our team behind. “You have achieved your objective,” he tells us. “You took your losses, I have reviewed the initial reports and will study them in detail later, but you kept your heads in place and on track. For that, I commend you. You all now have the next 48 hours down. Your departments have been functioning without you, so you are relieved of all duty for the next two ship days. Are there any questions?”
“Yes, sir,” Freddie raises his hand. “We left some good people below. They need to come home.”
“That’s true,” the Captain says, “and their retrieval is being planned in coordination with the recovery of Gallagher. I presume you wish to accompany those who will be going?” We all nod our heads. “I suspected that would be the case. The mission planners will, of course, review the helmet videos and the after action reports you will file if you’ve not done so already, for incorporation into the retrieval operation. Their launch window is coincidentally three days from now. So if you want to go, be standing here in 72 hours. Once all our lost are back aboard Star Chaser we will schedule their memorial services. Any other questions?”
“More an opinion, sir,” I say. “It may not be my place, but I’d like to see the ‘resting place’ of Gallagher turned into a radioactive wasteland if the ship can’t be recovered. As you will see from the video we brought back, it will be a pocketknife fighting against a machete to free her. She has power and could probably make it to orbit, but if it costs us more people, I have to say I don’t think it’s worth it. Sir.”
He looks at me pensively, “I agree in that I don’t wish to lose any more lives, but I want that ship flying again. It can still be a valuable tool for scientific exploration and research, if we can move it to a more stable location. And it is ultimately, a very expensive piece of hardware waiting to be salvaged. Once we know more about what happened to Team Bravo, we will discuss more. One last thing, you’ve certainly noted that everyone is wearing respirators or APE, as will you. As of right now, the quarantine restriction is still in place. Dismissed.” I guess he doesn’t want to hear any more questions. Which suits me. While I know that I was in fact insulated, I feel like a weeklong bleach bath would still leave me funky. But a bubble bath in my quarters—there is a procedure for that—should dull that feeling just a bit. I have two days to rest and refresh myself. I intend to use them. Shawna and I make eye contact as the team is breaking up.
She speaks first. “Yummy girl, you know I love you. But right this moment, I don’t even want to share an elevator ride with you. But you still have a special place in my heart. We’re still friends, right?”
“The closest and I couldn’t agree more. I’ll see you in two days.”
“Unless you bump into me in the chow hall, which is always a possibility.” That reminds me, I need to brush up on the calorie upload in a contaminated environment procedures. And I will, right after looking up the bathing procedure. I know I saw it in a manual somewhere.
The staffers planning the recovery mission schedule the operations order briefing. I don’t know the man issuing the order, but all of the troopers defer to him so he must be someone of importance. “Take your seats, please. Then shut the hell up. Our time frame is that we depart for Dubus III in three weeks. The Captain has stated his desire to take Gallagher with us. That means we have to get it into space and ideally Transit capable. For that part we have budgeted one week. That means we have two weeks to get it out of the ice and flying.
“We also have fallen comrades to reclaim. We’ve reviewed the video footage that Sergeant Major Call’s expeditionary platoon took. I warn you, it’s a little disturbing.” He takes a seat and a holoCom viewer replays the helmet cam footage from Jerry’s viewpoint.
We hear Jerry reporting his entry into the med lab to the rest of his squad. We also hear his instructions to Parker and some others to do a nearby recon as there are no threats in the lab. Famous last words I can’t help thinking. To his left front we see what I can only describe as a field expedient marine containment tank. It looks to be a regular box about three meters high, five wide and maybe ten meters long, but I can’t see what it’s holding. Whatever it is, it’s big. We see a swirl in the water then Jerry mumbles something unintelligible before he turns around to face his squad. Without a word, he begins firing at them. Jerry’s cam isn’t jumping, aside from the recoil of his weapon. He appears to be quite calm as he mows down his teammates. It makes no sense, but Jerry has changed from squad leader to executioner. Many of them yell, “What the hells are you doing?” and phrases expressing the same, but he doesn’t answer. He drops the empty shotgun and begins firing with his pistol until the slide locks to the rear on the empty magazine. As that happens, he redirects his vision to his weapon. It’s like he doesn’t know how to operate it anymore. He pushes the magazine release and we see the empty magazine fall to the deck plating. Before he can fumble a fresh magazine into the weapon, four slugs tear into his chest. The view of the camera pans to the ceiling. A few more shots are recorded, but there is no other video to be seen.
The briefer has begun to speak again. “It shouldn’t surprise anyone that we will not be taking that creature, whatever it is, into orbit. So our first goal will be to kill it, that being the easiest solution. Then we will get the ship space worthy and flying. We need great ideas in a short period of time. SarMajor Call, I appreciate your sentiments, but I don’t think sending a horde of shooters aboard is the right answer. Oh, and by the way, the ship is anchored in an ice collar between two and three meters thick. So we’ll need a way to break it out of there doing minimal—preferably no—structural damage. Okay, cards are on the table. What’s in your heads?”
A young woman I don’t know raises her hand, “Sir, I know what we all saw and I heard your desire to kill the creature, but if it was that dangerous, how did it get aboard initially? If that creature is responsible for what appears to have been a psionic attack, there’s no way the crew of Gallagher could have gotten it aboard against its will in the first place. Sir, I would argue that is an intelligent creature that Gallagher found interesting enough to contain and transport, and I would respectfully request that we attempt to communicate with it before killing it. I believe the retrieved logs will verify that.”
“And you are?” he asks.
“Science Officer’s Mate third class Leka Ulfdottir, sir. Xeno marine biology.”
“And you want to communicate with a fish?” the briefing officer asks.
He looks at the ceiling, “For the moment and the sake of argument, I accept your premise, I leave it to you to find a psionic aboard who is willing to make the attempt. The clock is decrementing people. Ulfdottir, was it? Can you have a preliminary plan to me within an hour? No more than two.”
“Yes sir, I can.”
“Very well, anybody else have anything they want to share at this time?”
“Sir,” Freddie raises his hand, “Half of Team Bravo is dead because they violated entry protocols. The long-term solution will be addressed through the training schedule. Short-term, I can put together a good demo team to handle the ice. Not to speak ill of the dead, but some wiser, more experienced troopers will go on the next trip. I want to go aboard Gallagher and I want Landers flying the SDB again. If we can rig a robot to try to talk to it, or drop a hydrophone into the tank that would be a bonus.”
Freddie is shying away from killing? Did I miss something? “Sir,” I raise my hand. I can hear Freddie’s eyes rolling. “Ordinarily I’m also in favor of preserving life. But this thing has already demonstrated it has not only the ability, but also the willingness—if not in fact the desire—to kill humans. To my mind, that's an automatic death sentence. I don't care about its friendship. I want it dead. I’ll rig a robot to waddle in there and blast that tank open. If the blast doesn't kill it maybe its lungs will be crushed by its own weight. In the unlikely event it survives, we'll rig another robot to enter the lab with either another charge or some way to electrocute the thing or the floor of the lab. Then we can pick up the pieces of it as we prepare to get Gallagher into orbit.”
Leka jumps to her feet and shouts, “If that’s your plan, I insist you find another biologist. I will not take part in destroying intelligent life without making an attempt to communicate with it first.”
