Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing

by George R. Shirer

  “Light!” shouted Oja. “Sweet pantheon! Don’t turn it off! Please!”

  A moment later, she barreled into them. Pim and John grabbed her, John automatically trying to compensate for her inertia.

  “Oh gods! Sweet gods!” Oja started crying. She grabbed at their hands, their arms. “I thought I was going to die alone, in the dark!”

  “We’re not going to die,” said John. “Efi? Where are you?”

  “Here.”

  She was beneath them, moving carefully toward the lit PIN. Oja extended a hand, grasped her sister’s arm and hauled her into an embrace that threatened to send all four of them spinning into the bulkheads.

  “Okay! Okay!” shouted Epcott. “No more sudden movements! The last thing we need is to go smashing into bulkheads and someone breaking a bone on top of everything else!”

  They huddled around the PIN, the light from the screen illuminating scared, pale faces.

  “Where are the others?” asked John. “Does anyone know?”

  The twins shook their heads, eyes wide. Pimuqi frowned, gnawed her lip. “Maybe they’re hurt. Or still unconscious, like you, John.”

  “If that’s the case, we need to find them,” said John. “We need light.”

  “And gravity,” said Efi. “Please.”

  “If the gravity generators have failed, that means main power is down,” said Pimuqi. She was calmer now, but her hold on John’s arm did not relax.

  John nodded. “There’s nothing we can do about the gravity, but we ought to be able to get some lights going.”

  “The emergency illuminators should have activated when we lost main power,” said Pimuqi.

  “It’s probably just a loose connection,” said John. “Let’s find the emergency supplies. There are pressure-torches in them.”

  He didn’t wait for them to agree, just fiddled with his PIN’s settings, until the screen was a blaze of white light. Using his improvised torch, he swept the area around them. Pim spotted one of the emergency supply kits, and the quartet swam toward it.

  While Pimuqi held the PIN, John opened the kit. The minute its seals were broken, nanotech filaments woven throughout the kit began to glow, transforming it into a miniature beacon. John handed out pressure-torches, shut off his PIN.

  In the golden light of the pressure-torches, the quartet surveyed the crew hall. The furnishings remained fixed to the floor, thanks to adhesives on their bases. Across the hall, John spotted Jesot.

  He and Pim swam toward her, leaving the sisters with the emergency kit. As they drew near Jesot, John felt a cold finger of dread dance down his back. Pim’s sharp intake of breath told John that she had already seen.

  Jesot floated against the wall, bloodshot eyes staring into nothing.

  “What happened?” asked Pim.

  John touched Jesot’s eyes, closing the lids. “I don’t know. Maybe she hit her head when the gravity failed.”

  “What do we do with her?”

  “We’ll put her in one of the storage rooms,” said John. “She’ll be out of the way there.”

  After they had put Jesot’s corpse away, they searched the rest of the hall. They found their third crewmate, Tul Noj, trapped in a wastechamber. The door was stuck.

  “Get me out!” shouted Tul.

  “Give us a minute!” Pim shouted through the door.

  “There’s shit floating around in here!” Tul informed them, sounding more disgusted than frightened. “Hurry up!”

  Pimuqi started to giggle. John gave her a worried look, but the young woman shook her head. The act sent her short red hair waving around her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just, you know, this situation. . .”

  “We’ll laugh ourselves silly about it later,” promised John. “But right now, let’s get Tul out of there.”

  It took them a little while, but they finally managed to wrestle the door open. Tul emerged from the wastechamber, stinking and angry.

  “It’s about time!” shouted the man. “What in the lonely Wastes have you two been doing out here? Why aren’t the illuminators working? And the gravity?”

  “Jesot’s dead,” said John.

  Tul’s face blanched. “What?”

  “And I doubt she’s the only one,” continued John.

  “What do we do?” asked Tul.

  He and Pim both turned to John.

  “We get the lights on and we try to find out what’s happened.”

  “Comms must be down,” said Tul. “I tried getting hold of someone when I was trapped.” He looked at them, with a hopeful expression. “Maybe it’s just mine?”

  John and Pim tried theirs, but there was no response.

  “That’s . . . not good,” admitted John.

  They returned to the hall, where the sisters waited. Oja was fiddling with an illuminator.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Pim.

  The illuminator suddenly flared into light. Oja moved away from it, a satisfied smile on her face.

  “What did you do?” asked John.

  The light was dimming, assuming levels associated with emergency conditions. It was still bright enough to illuminate most of the hall.

  “I have some technical training,” said Oja, shrugging. “I thought I’d check the connectors. The human was right, the power connectors were misaligned.”

  “Well done,” said John.

  “What do we do now?” asked Tul.

  “Should we make for an escape pod?” asked Pimuqi.

  John shook his head. “We should head for the infirmary.”

  “What? Why?” demanded Tul.

  “Because the infirmary has its own systems,” said Pimuqi. “Right? Including an emergency communications array!”

  John nodded.

  “If that’s the case, why isn’t it active?” demanded Tul. “If someone was there, wouldn’t we get something on our comms?”

  “There could be someone there, but they’re unconscious,” said John.

  “Or trapped, like you were, Tul,” said Pimuqi.

  Tul wasn’t convinced. “It’s just as likely that the infirmary isn’t there anymore. You all felt that explosion, before the lights went out. If there was anyone alive in the infirmary, we’d know by now.”

  “I think he’s right,” said Efi. “Proctor Sio was in the infirmary and he’s an experienced technician. If there was a comm array in there, he would have it up and running by now.”

  “Unless he’s injured,” countered Oja.

  “We should head for an escape pod,” said Tul. “It’s the sensible thing to do!”

  Pimuqi hesitated. “John, what do you think?”

  John was frowning. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Tul’s argument made sense. He sighed. “All right. We head for the escape pods.”

  * * * * *

  Making the decision to head for the escape pods, however, and getting there, were two different things. A quick inspection of the main door revealed it wasn’t just stuck shut, it was sealed. Pimuqi played her pressure-torch over the door’s edge, where it appeared to have merged into the adjoining walls.

  “That’s bad, isn’t it?” said Oja.

  “Well, it’s not good,” admitted John.

  He found his handscanner and slipped it on. Placing his palm against the door’s surface, he eyed the readouts.

  “The nanotech in the wall looks like it’s locked in repair mode,” said John. “And, I’m not certain because of the door, but it looks like there’s minimal atmosphere in the corridor.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Efi. She floated at her sister’s shoulder, both girls clasping hands.

  “There’s been a hull breach,” said Pimuqi. She swallowed. “A pretty bad one if the nanos are sealing doorways.”

  “I’m still reading atmosphere,” said John. “Just not a lot.”

  “Could we be the only ones still alive?” Efi asked, quietly.

  The others looked at each other.

  “Let’s check the other
doors,” said John.

  They did and found two others undergoing a similar sealing process. The final door, on the starboard side of the vessel, remained unsealed. John placed his gloved hand against it and studied the scans.

  “I’m reading atmosphere and pressure,” he announced.

  Efi touched the door and started. “It’s cold!”

  “Yes,” said John. “It’s not exactly a Clearsky day on the other side, but we should be okay as long as we bundle up.”

  They dug through the emergency kits, and found emergency EVA suits. They reminded John of the warmsuits he had worn on Nikosu Island, only much tougher. Each was equipped with its own powerpack and self-contained recycling system. In theory, John knew that a person could survive indefinitely in one of the suits, but he had never heard of anyone actually doing it. As soon as they had pulled on the suits and sealed their bubble-helmets, the suits powered up. Info streamed across the interior of John’s helmet as the suit interfaced with his medical implant to configure itself for his non-Junian biology. As soon as the info stream ended, John joined the others at the door.

  He and Tul manhandled the door open. The suits chirped, registering a sudden change in external temperature. Beyond the door, the corridor was dimly lit. Emergency illuminators flickered here and there. They floated out of the crew hall and made their way down the hallway.

  It was slow going. They stopped at each closed door and knocked loudly, hoping that if there was anyone on the other side they would respond. No one did.

  “Do you think we could be the only survivors?” Pimuqi asked, eyes flitting left and right.

  “It was mid-shift when we went to first alert,” said John. “The crew halls are always slowest right then. Wait until we get to quarters, then we’ll find people.”

  They moved on, swimming down the corridor.

  * * * * *

  Actually, John was wrong. They encountered people before they reached the crew quarters. Rounding a bend in the corridor, the quintet was startled, and then elated, to see a pair of similarly dressed crewmembers ahead of them. The newcomers introduced themselves as Sebo and Nodomi. Sebo was a defender, while Nodomi was a medic. They had been searching for other survivors.

  “Have you found anyone?” asked John.

  Nodomi shook her head. “You’re the first we’ve found in this section.” Her expression was grim, her eyes haunted.

  “Does anyone know what happened?” asked Pim.

  “The last update from the command showed we were in pursuit of a Sewkari vessel,” reported Sebo. “And then, boom.”

  “Has anyone heard from the command?” asked John.

  Sebo and Nodomi glanced at one another.

  “Most of the sections before the core are sealed tight,” said the defender, grimly.

  “And our suits detected heavy radiation near the core,” reported Nodomi.

  “It looks,” said Sebo, “like there’s been a shunt incident.”

  “Who’s in command?” asked Tul. His eyes were enormous in his thin, white face.

  “Nobody, really,” said Nodomi. “We haven’t found any of the ship’s officers.”

  “What about the infirmary?” asked John.

  Sebo shook his head. “The entire forward section of deck two is compromised. Including the infirmary.”

  “How compromised?” asked John.

  “The front of the ship is gone,” said Nodomi, bluntly. “It’s just open space.”

  “Merciful pantheon,” murmured Pimuqi.

  Sebo grunted. “The gods don’t seem to be in a very merciful mood today. Come on. We should head back to crew quarters.”

  “What about the escape pods?” asked Tul. “Are they functional?”

  “Some,” said Nodomi. “But a lot are compromised.”

  “Oh gods,” muttered Tul. “We are going to die!”

  John glared at the man. “No, we aren’t. We’re guardsmen. We’ve all had training to survive in situations like this! We will survive!”

  Tul was staring at him, round-eyed. So were the others.

  “Do you really think we’ll make it?” asked Oja.

  “I survived alone, on a plague world, for over a year,” said John, coldly. “Now I’m on a disabled starship with a highly trained, highly motivated crew.” His sudden smile was brilliant, confident and, somehow, utterly terrifying. “I don’t know about you lot, but I like those odds!”

  Without another word, he kicked forward, heading down the corridor. After a moment of stunned surprise, the others followed him.

  * * * * *

  The crew quarters were packed with survivors. They clustered in groups, clutching pressure-torches, maintaining physical contact. There was a constant murmur of voices. Everyone watched the arrival of John and the others with weary eyes.

  “There are more wounded than I thought there’d be,” murmured John.

  Nodomi nodded. “The gravity failure caught everyone off guard. Crewmen were flying through the air like puff-blossoms.”

  “How many people are dead?”

  The medic’s face grew hard. “I think everyone who could get here, has got here.”

  John glanced around the crowded corridor, into the open rooms. He felt sick. The Harmonious Maiden had a normal complement of over four hundred people. If Nodomi was right, it looked like about a hundred had survived the disaster.

  Abruptly, Efi and Oja pushed past John and Nodomi, barreling down the corridor toward a small cluster of figures. There were cries of relief, as the two girls were reunited with members of their group.

  Well, thought John, at least somebody is having a happy reunion. He touched Nodomi’s hand. “You said you couldn’t find any of the ship’s officers?”

  “None,” said the medic. “Not even the Ninth.”

  “What about the ranks?”

  “There are some present. The highest we’ve found is Fifth Allocator Jebim.”

  “Who’s the ranking defender?”

  Nodomi shrugged. “I have no idea. Sebo might know.”

  The man frowned. “I think it’s Ninth Defender Dotep. Why?”

  “None of the officers are present, and we’re still, technically, operating in combat conditions. The ranking defender should be in charge.”

  Sebo shook his head. “Not Dotep.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s fresh out of the Institute with no field experience.”

  “He had enough experience to earn a Ninth rank,” said John.

  Sebo snorted. “That had less to do with his experience and more to do with the fact his family has influence with the Assembly.”

  John stared. “You’re joking.”

  “No,” said Sebo. “A lot of the lower ranks aboard come from similar backgrounds.”

  “Handpicked by our glorious First,” said Pimuqi, bitterly.

  “I think Fe was making plans for his future when he picked his crew,” said Nodomi. “His criteria seemed less about competence and more about who could help him advance his position.”

  “Considering the fact that the First is dead,” a brisk voice interjected, “I think we can assume he’s already been judged for his life, guardsman. There’s no need for anyone here to take that burden on themselves.”

  Cleric Til drifted over to the group. Her multicolored scarf was wound around her right arm. She swept the small group with her gaze, and smiled. “More survivors. Thank the pantheon.”

  “I’d be more thankful, Cleric, if the gods hadn’t seen fit to blow up half the ship,” said Sebo, blankly.

  “The gods don’t do everything, guardsman,” chided Til. “If you think they do, then you should come to temple more often.” She looked at John. “Guardsman Epcott. It’s good to see you’re still with us.”

  “It’ll take more than an exploding starship to kill me, ma’am,” said John.

  Cleric Til arched her eyebrows. “Given our circumstances, guardsman, do you think it wise to tempt the gods like that?”

  He
shrugged, nodded at her arm. “You’re injured.”

  The cleric touched her arm, where her scarf was knotted. “A minor wound. Nothing more.”

  “You should get a medic to look at it anyway.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Tul.

  “We wait,” said Sebo. “What else can we do?”

  “Wait for what?” asked John. “Rescue?”

  “Or death,” said the defender. “Whichever finds us first.”

  John snorted. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met a fatalistic Junian before now.”

  “I’m a realist,” said Sebo. “The Maiden is broken, drifting in orbit around Napiso. If the gravity well doesn’t kill us, most likely a bulkhead will give and we’ll all be sucked into space.”

  “Or,” said Cleric Til, quietly, “we could be rescued.”

  Sebo shrugged.

  “No offense meant, Sebo, but I’m joining the Cleric’s camp on this.”

  “Some of us are praying for rescue,” said Til. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you,” said John. “But I prefer more material exertions than metaphysical.” He turned to Sebo. “Let’s find Dotep.”

  * * * * *

  Ninth Defender Dotep was an unimpressive man. John estimated he wasn’t even twenty years old. He had a round, guileless face topped by short red hair. His eyepaint was a surprisingly festive swirl of green and red, enhanced by the tasteful application of sparkle powder here and there.

  They found him in a room, floating with several of his friends. The group was surprisingly upbeat. John was encouraged until he saw the telltale blink of neuro-mods attached to their temples. They had networked their PINS together and were actually playing a game of primes.

  “Are you Ninth Defender Dotep?” John asked, even though Sebo had pointed the man out.

  Dotep glanced up from his PIN. “Yes?” He squinted at John. “Oh my. You poor man. What’s happened to your hair?”

  John ignored the question. He reached forward and plucked the neuro-mod off Dotep’s temple. Dotep shuddered and twitched, then glared at John.

  “Lonely souls! What did you do that for?” He held out his hand. “Give it back!”

  “You’re the ranking defender,” said John. “Do you know that?”

  “So?” said Dotep. “I don’t care! Give me my neuro-mod!” There was a hysterical edge to the man’s voice now, but his friends didn’t seem to care. They watched this exchange with bland, curious expressions.