Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  CHAPTER 6

  The rows of lights whipped past as Allison pushed herself through the hallways. Sleep came sparingly over the last month, so she tired herself with longer runs. Despite the low humidity on board, her sweat flowed freely.

  The cause of her insomnia sat strapped in a cradle as she passed Shuttle Bay Two. Flickering lights danced across the artifact in the observation gallery windows. Despite being 0120 hours, a solitary figure remained hard at work.

  Allison paused. Years of training and habit compelled her to glance at the pressure door’s status screen, where a silhouette of a man stood against a green background, indicating a good seal and full atmosphere in the bay. She transitioned through the airlock, then walked briskly across the floor toward the artifact and the workman.

  “That you, ma’am?” called Chief Engineer Billings’s unmistakable drawl from behind a welding mask.

  “Yes, Chief, it is. What are you doing up so late?”

  Billings opened his mask. “The lady begs her own question.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Couldn’t sleep. Running to wear myself out. I saw someone was still here, so I stopped in.”

  He nodded. “Know what you mean. I couldn’t sleep, neither. Decided to go one more round with the probe here.” He looked back at the silver form and rapped it with his knuckles. “She is one tough filly to break.”

  “Why call it a probe?”

  “Don’t rightly know, ma’am. I’m guessin’ since we been sendin’ out probes fer what, four hundred years now? It sure ain’t one of ours, but it makes sense it’d be one of theirs. What else could it be this deep in the black?”

  “Names and labels have power, Steven.” Allison pitched her voice toward the “tender and supportive” end of the spectrum. “Maybe it is a probe, but I don’t want you to pigeonhole your thoughts. We need open minds.”

  Billings considered this for a long moment. “Well, I’m sure yer right, ma’am. People’s complicated, they let their heads git hog-tied over the littlest things. I wouldn’t want yer job, ma’am. You have to keep dozens of us runnin’ smoothly. I just have to worry about Mags. And now this li’l devil, I suppose.”

  An intimidating and expensive array of broken tools surrounded Billings. Drills with bits snapped off, a circular saw with the blade worn down to the sharpness of a Frisbee, empty acetylene and oxygen canisters, a hydraulic shear with a bent piston. A serious-looking backpack caught her eye. A cylinder shaped like a cheese wheel filled its base. It had shoulder straps and a length of conduit connecting to some sort of handgrips and what looked like a hose nozzle. Allison’s hand moved to touch it, but Billings grabbed her by the wrist.

  “Ah, not that one, ma’am. No offense, but it’s not for beginners.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  Billings blushed. “It’s my own design. And it might conceivably be in violation of a handful of workplace safety regs and maybe an old nuclear arms control treaty.”

  “And it’s on my ship?”

  “It gets the job done. Usually…”

  Allison backed away respectfully from the backpack and looked again at the broken tools, then back to Billings. He was holding a plasma cutter.

  “You know, we can’t requisition replacements for this stuff,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am, I explained that to the pr … artifact here. But she’s not in a listenin’ mood. So far, everythin’ I’ve used to try to open her’s been about as effective as giving a frog a haircut with a harmonica.”

  The chief had taped off the hull section where he’d tried to penetrate, and he labeled the effect of each tool with a marker. Some light scuffing was the worst damage he’d managed to inflict. The metal wasn’t even discolored.

  “What about access panels?” Allison asked.

  “Don’t have none. She’s totally seamless.” He reached for an opaque cylinder. It had bright yellow warning labels in the shape of tobacco leaves on the side. He had obviously taken steps to prevent a replay of the spittoon incident.

  “Still trying to put a hole in your lip?” Allison admonished.

  “Won’t have to open my mouth to spit. Think of the time I’ll save.”

  She stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Blech. That’s awful, Steven. At least tell me you use mint chew.”

  “No, ma’am. Real men chew Copenhagen because it tastes like topsoil, or Kodiak because they say it’s got asbestos in it.”

  Allison felt she was right on the verge of an important insight into the male mind, but pulled back. Some mysteries were better left unsolved. Her eyes gravitated toward the inscriptions on the artifact’s skin. Aside from these and the tiny pockmarks of stellar dust collisions, the surface was flawless. No rivets, bolts, weld lines, or any other visible clues to the method of its manufacture.

  “In all seriousness, Steven, can you open it?”

  “Oh, I can open it, all right, ma’am. It ain’t indestructible. Them micro-meteor craters tell me that much. Gimme a rail gun and I’ll have it open fer you right quick. The trouble is findin’ a way to open it without blowin’ all the fiddly bits inside to kingdom come.”

  “I see your point.”

  Just then, Magellan’s voice interrupted their conversation. “Captain Ridgeway?”

  “Yes, Maggie? What is it?”

  “Forgive the intrusion, but a QER burst just came addressed to you.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. I’ll take it on the bridge in a few minutes.” Allison looked back to her chief engineer. “Keep at it, Steven.”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m not movin’ from this spot till I git my peep show.”

  “Well, it seems we’ve stumbled into the most complicated bra strap in history. Good luck.”

  Allison left the bay and resumed her jog toward the bridge. She arrived a few minutes later, wicking sweat from her forehead. The navigational plot sat in frozen stillness, as it had for nearly a month. Her navigator and communications officer sat at their stations with looks of determined boredom.

  They’d been in contact with Earth almost daily. There’d been a flurry of activity in the beginning while they set up the research lab around the artifact, tied the primary and backup QERs together to increase their data transmission rate, and sorted out the crew duty shifts.

  Then, things quieted down. Aside from software updates, news feeds, and personal messages, the last three weeks had included no new orders. After more than half a century spent at half light speed, they weren’t moving. Her crew was feeling the doldrums, like sailors waiting on a favorable wind.

  Allison reached her chair and looked to her communications officer. “All right, Prescott. Bring up the message.”

  “Immediately, Captain.”

  The screen on Allison’s armrest went white with black text.

  FROM: EUGENE GRAHAM, ADMINISTRATOR, AESA

  TO: CAPTAIN ALLISON RIDGEWAY, CO, AEUS MAGELLAN

  MESSAGE TEXT:

  HURRY HOME.

  END.

  Allison’s jaw clenched hard enough her teeth ground against each other like continents. “That’s all of it? Are they getting charged by the letter or something?”

  “Maybe they’re trying to be succinct,” Prescott offered. “Besides, wasn’t this the order you anticipated?”

  “Yeah … three weeks ago,” Allison fumed. “Still, it doesn’t matter now. We have our marching orders. Maggie, warm up your reactor. Let’s pull up stakes.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Magellan decided not to ask why the situation called for meat.

  “Wheeler, plot a best-time course for Earth. Spare no deuterium. We’ll have to stop and fill up anyway.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.”

  The ship’s navigator was a bit of a redundancy. Magellan could, and usually did, plot her own courses with much greater precision than any human could manage. But in space, it was always wise to have redundancies, and skills needed to be practiced to maintain their polish. Still, Magellan checked the ensign’s math and suggested
a couple of tweaks.

  After a few minutes, Ensign Wheeler was ready. “Course plotted and uploaded, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Ensign,” Allison said. “Maggie, let’s get started. If we’re quick enough, we should be back in time for the 2406 Olympics.”

  “Coming about, Captain,” Magellan said.

  The deck swayed subtly as thrusters fired and the ship pivoted around her center of mass to line up with a distant Earth.

  “Patch me into ship-wide,” Allison said.

  Prescott touched a pair of holographic keys in the air above her station. “You’re live, ma’am.”

  “Attention, crew. We’ve received our recall order. We’re coming about to begin our trip home. Please return your tray tables to their original upright position and observe the No Smoking signs. Thank you.”

  Outside, the space ahead of Magellan stretched into an invisible pit. The ship lurched forward as it fell into the artificial hole. Allison sat in her chair for several satisfied minutes as she watched their speed build. Content that everything was in good order, Allison stood.

  “Ensign Wheeler, you have the bridge until Commander Gruber relieves you. I’ll be in my quarters catching up on sleep.”

  She almost reached the hatch before it all came apart.

  Magellan cried out, “Captain, I’m detec—”

  She was cut off by the deafening sound of a runaway airtanker crashing into a gong. The noise echoed throughout her corridors and hallways, resonating through her very bones. Everyone on the bridge froze solid as the blood retreated from their faces. Even before the sound faded, sirens replaced it. Warning lights blazed and flashed. Allison sprang back to her chair.

  “Maggie, talk to me! Did we have a collision?”

  “I’m trying to discern the problem, Captain.” Conflicting data poured in from Magellan’s peripheral sensors. Some registered an impact, others insisted it was an internal explosion, while still others said they didn’t really want to take sides. The ship was confused and frustrated.

  “Com! Call out to the section chiefs and get me damage reports. There’s no way we didn’t break something.” Allison paused. “And get the XO up here.”

  The com officer confirmed the orders and got to work.

  “Captain,” Wheeler broke in, “we’re listing off course. Losing acceleration!”

  Allison immediately feared a projector imbalance. Even a small failure in the projectors while they were at full power would lead to shearing forces that could break Maggie’s spine.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Minor, but detectable.”

  “Cut the drive.”

  “Aye-aye.” The ensign slid the virtual throttles down to zero.

  “Hull breach!” Prescott shouted. “We’re venting air from Shuttle Bay Two.”

  “Alert the damage control team. Is it a rupture, or did the main doors pop open?” asked Allison.

  “Outer doors report secure, Captain,” said Magellan.

  “Cameras, let me see the inside of the bay.” There was a brief pause.

  “Internal cameras are offline in that section. There appears to be a short somewhere in the wiring trunk,” reported Magellan.

  “Perfect. Com, route me to Chief Billings. He was in Bay Two the last I saw him.

  “Connected, ma’am.”

  “Steven, are you still in Bay Two? What can you see?”

  She was met with static.

  “Steven? Steven, respond.”

  “Chief Billings’s vital signs are spiking, Captain. His heart rate is over 150, and his breathing is erratic.” Magellan’s voice had a palpable edge of worry to it. “He appears to be unconscious.”

  “Alert sick bay for incoming, and get me through to Gruber!” Allison snapped.

  Commander Gruber’s voice jumped out through the speakers. “What’s going on, Skipper?”

  “Working on it, Marcel. Where are you?”

  “Coming up the tube toward the bridge now.”

  “Turn around. I need eyes in Shuttle Bay Two. Billings is down, and we’re venting air through a breach. I need you to oversee rescue and recovery. Pull whoever you need.”

  “Aye-aye. I’ll check back when I get there.”

  “Ma’am,” Wheeler interrupted, “I’ve brought our throttle to zero, but we’re still listing, and now we’re decelerating. Something is causing drag.”

  “How? We’re in open space!”

  “The ensign is correct, Captain,” said Magellan. “I am losing velocity at a rate of 0.7 meters per second.”

  Allison’s mind jumped back a handful of seconds. “Maggie, just before the explosion, or whatever, you were about to tell me something. What was it?”

  “I had detected a gravitational anomaly, localized just starboard of amidships.”

  “That’s near the shuttle bay. Is it still there?”

  “Yes, Captain. It is holding relative position.”

  “It’s following us?” Allison dismissed the idea. “No, it can’t be outside. It must have an internal source; malfunctioning g-deck plating?”

  “I cannot confirm that hypothesis, Captain. Several short circuits have blinded my internal sensors in Shuttle Bay Two and surrounding sections.”

  “Prescott, is anyone on scene yet?”

  “Lieutenant Dorsett just arrived.”

  “Put me through.” Allison had control over her voice again. The initial adrenaline spike had leveled off. “Jackie, can you hear me?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Orange strobe lights blazed all around Jaqueline Dorsett, casting perverse, elongated shadow puppets onto the corridor. She ignored them.

  “Jackie.” Allison’s voice burst into Jackie’s mind through her internal com.

  “Ahhh, yes. I’m here, ma’am.” Apprehension resonated from the young woman’s voice like a plucked violin string. “I’m standing outside Shuttle Bay Two. It’s a complete mess.”

  “Stay calm, Jackie. I need you right now. Chief Billings is in there somewhere, but he’s unresponsive. What can you see?”

  “Okay.” Jackie took a deep breath and exhaled through her nostrils. “I’m by the gallery windows. The artifact is pressed up against the aft bulkhead. I can see fog forming in the air around it. I think that’s the hull breach.”

  “Good, Jackie. Keep going. Do you see Steven?”

  Jacqueline scanned the room for her crewmate. She tried to fight back the fear of finding Billings wounded, or worse. He had a famously short temper for faulty equipment, and the man had an aficionado’s flair for stringing together obscure curses. But Billings had always been kind and patient with her. Jacqueline looked up to him like an older, stronger brother. She feared losing him, too. She forced her eyes back to the task at hand.

  “I don’t see the chief. The entire center of the bay is clear. Shuttle A2 has been shoved all the way to the forward bulkhead. So have all of the tables that we set up around the artifact, and, um, tools, maybe?”

  “Cleared by an explosion?” Allison inquired.

  “I don’t think so. There are no scorch marks or smoke.”

  Something crumpled caught her eye. It took a moment to click, because the orientation wasn’t what she had been looking for.

  “I see the chief!” Jacqueline was relieved. “He’s fine. He’s leaning against the back of the shuttle.”

  “That’s great, Jackie. Can you get his attention?”

  “No, he’s facing away from me.”

  “That’s all right. Can you open the door?”

  Something about the chief nagged at her brain. His posture? It could wait.

  “Just a second.” Jacqueline reached over to the control pad and keyed the door. It flashed a red screen with the outline of a man being forcibly inverted. “No. The door’s locked down from the breach. The fail-safe won’t let me through.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll override it from here.”

  As Allison spoke, a hand appeared on Jacqueline’s shoulder. She jumped and let o
ut a startled scream.

  “It’s just me, Dorsett,” said the sturdy baritone of the XO. “Captain, I’ve reached Shuttle Bay Two. Lieutenant Dorsett is here with me.”

  Jacqueline looked on while the conversation continued in Commander Gruber’s ear. She stole a look back to Chief Billings. He was still upright, but leaning very awkwardly. His knees were bent, and he held his arms at odd angles against the side of the shuttle. Furthermore, he didn’t seem to be moving. Something was very wrong. Gruber’s voice brought her to attention.

  “Dorsett?”

  “Sir.”

  “We need to get the chief. Where is he?”

  Jacqueline pointed.

  Gruber followed her finger until he, too, spotted the engineer. “Good. The airlock is being overridden right now. Captain says there’s at least one radiation hazard in there with him, so keep an eye on the rad alarm on the wall.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Follow me through.”

  The inner door to the airlock opened remotely. Gruber stepped into the chamber. Jacqueline followed. The door closed and air cycled to equalize the pressure.

  Gruber consulted the door display. “Looks like the breach is pretty slow. There’s still over 70 percent pressure in there, but we need to be quick. Your ears will pop, and you might get light-headed, so watch for blackout.”

  “Okay.” Jacqueline’s anxiety rose rapidly. She hadn’t had time to get into a vacuum suit, nor had the XO. Stepping into a room open to deep space in your pajamas didn’t make many top-ten lists.

  The outer door opened. Her ears were buffeted by the intense whistling of atmosphere as it raced through the tear in the hull. The center of the room looked swept clean. Everything was piled against the far wall. Not the smallest washer or nut lay in the middle. Everything except the artifact, which had fit itself neatly into an artifact-shaped dent in the far wall.

  Something was terribly wrong. Jacqueline’s mind struggled at the answer. “Wait a minute.”

  “No time, Lieutenant,” replied Gruber. “Come help me with Billings.” He started walking toward the chief.

  Jacqueline’s perception shifted. The scene reoriented in front of her. Everything fell into place.

  “Marcel, freeze!”