“When have you ever known which way was up?” Carbonaro asked.
Dickerson chuckled. “Usually when there’s some goddamned gravity.”
Kali let the chatter go. A moment later, Elliott joined in. She ignored it and kept her eyes on the hull. She wished they’d focus, but considering what they were in for, it was best to let them work out any nervous tension. That’s usually what chatter was—masking discomfort with insults and camaraderie.
She reached the area Taulbee had marked for her and brought the skiff to a halt. The marines stopped their conversation. Kali waited for the inevitable.
“What in Sol’s name is that?” Dickerson asked.
She didn’t have to turn around to know what he was looking at. The divots and impact craters were easy to see.
Carbonaro whistled through the comms. “What did Mira run into?”
“Good question,” Kali said. “Now you see what you’re going to be walking on.”
“Why can’t anything ever be simple?” Dickerson asked.
Elliott grunted. “Because we’re meatbags and this is what we do best. The shit jobs are always ours.”
“Hoo-rah,” Kali said. The marines laughed, but she heard the tension lying beneath the mirth. “Dickerson? Carbonaro? I want you to take a good look around yourselves before you start your grav-walks. Gunny’s squad found melted Atmo-steel on the hull as well as more craters. There might be more of those pinecone things, too. I want you to take your time and get it done right. We mess this up, and we might send Mira into an uncontrollable spin.”
“She’s already in one,” Dickerson said.
Kali shrugged. “More uncontrollable. Black and Lieutenant Oakes say this will work. They were correct on the axial rotation, so I think we give them the benefit of the doubt.”
“Fair enough, Corporal,” Dickerson said.
She stood from the command chair and looked out past the hull. S&R Black seemed to flip end over end, but she knew that was an illusion. The ship she was on was doing that, but it didn’t make it any less disorienting. In the distance, she saw the SV-52 entering the range of S&R Black’s illumination array. Before it ran into the intersecting wide beams of light, the vehicle’s white-and-blue running lamps were all she could see of it. The marine vehicle was devoid of color. Even the cockpit was as black as space. The SV-52 might be called a “support” vehicle, but it might as well have been included in the “assault” class for all its stealth.
Refueling the ‘52 wouldn’t take much time. The craft was purpose-built for fast ingress, fast egress, and quick maintenance. She was more than a little jealous at how easily the Lieutenant flew the black beast. He made it look so easy while she struggled with the simplest missions in the simulator. Maybe she could get him to give her some pointers when they returned to Neptune.
“Hurry up and wait,” Carbonaro said after a long groan.
Kali turned and looked at Dickerson. “Why’d you pick up that thing up?”
“What?” he said.
“The cylinder. Or whatever the hell that thing is.”
He shrugged, his wide shoulders bunching up through the form-fitting suit. “It looked interesting and I was afraid we’d lose it if I didn’t grab it then.”
She shook her head. “Don’t ever do that again. Unless we’re given permission to acquire samples, I don’t want anyone picking up anything.”
Elliott snorted. “Corporal? You make it sound like it’s a bomb or something.”
She threw her hands up. “Look, people. Think about this. We’re sitting on the hull of a ship that’s been outside the solar system, traveled Yahweh knows how far, and came in contact with something. We have melted Atmo-steel plates, which, by the way, should be nearly impossible, hundreds if not thousands of dents, impact points, and other damage. We have signs of a major explosion that took place in engineering. And there’s no telling what those fucking pinecone things are. In other words, we don’t know shit.”
No one said a word. Although she couldn’t see their faces through the visors, she could tell all three were looking straight at her helmet.
“Remember Wendt? He did something stupid and nearly got himself killed. The hull is fractured in places, plates separated, jagged debris points, and that’s just the damage we know about. If we get sloppy, start taking risks, we could all end up dead.” She let the words sink in for a moment before turning around and staring back at S&R Black. “Just keep all that in mind.”
“Taulbee to Gunny,” the Lieutenant said over the general comms.
“Gunny here, sir. Go.”
“Finished refueling. I’ll be back in position in two minutes. Start a clock.”
“Aye, sir. Kalimura?”
“We’re ready, Gunny,” she said. “Starting clock now.”
“Good hunting, marines,” Taulbee said.
Kali sat down in the command chair. “Dickerson, you’re up. You have the two thruster locations. Get to it, but be slow and cautious. I’ll take Carbonaro to her drop point and come back for you.”
“Aye, Corporal,” Dickerson said.
“Elliott?”
“I’ll keep eyes.”
“Good.” She watched through Dickerson’s feed as he made his way to the sled, pulled out the next two thrusters, and started grav-walking down the hull. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bitch, he thought and then immediately felt guilty. Kalimura had dressed them down like they were fresh out of boot. Shit, all three of them were LCpls, not simpering privates who’d never fired a weapon. Still, she was right. They were in unknown territory.
When she’d asked him why he picked up the cylinder, he didn’t really have an answer. It was impulsive. He knew the moment he bent down to look at it that he should leave it alone. But it looked, well, ancient. An artifact. Perhaps something an exo-solar civilization created and sent into the void like the proverbial message in a bottle.
Where did it come from? How far had it traveled? What was it for? Those questions and images had flashed through his mind while he stared at the inert, strange looking object.
Even as he’d reached a finger to touch it, part of his brain screamed at him in warning, but the part of him that wanted to know, that wanted to touch maybe the first definitive proof of exo-solar life, screamed in exaltation and much louder than the warning bells. He didn’t believe in the supernatural or anything like a deity, but that object, looking so out of place on Mira’s hull, touched something inside him.
Dickerson checked his HUD and continued walking down the hull. He kept his eyes forward and fought the urge to look at S&R Black and its vertigo-inducing spin. He lifted his right foot to continue walking, put it down, and then leaned to bring up his left foot. Just before he managed to raise it, his right boot fell through the deck plating.
He yelled in surprise and fought to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. The piece of plating had fractured and now was trapped below the rest of the decking. With the minuscule gravity created by the spinning ship, the metal deck plate attached to his boot did little to drag him down, but he couldn’t seem to pull it back out of the hole. Bits of distressed metal sparkled in the vacuum like glitter.
“Corporal?” he said over the comms. “I have a bit of a problem.”
“Go, Dickerson.”
He lifted the boot up again, but it was stuck. “Hit a soft spot in the hull. Can’t get my boot free.”
She didn’t immediately respond. He imagined her chewing her lip and deciding what to do. Exasperated, he tried to lift the boot again. Part of the metal sheet came up, but the other end was somehow stuck in the hole. He focused the suit lights on the opening and wanted to step back.
Something moved down there. Something big. His lights weren’t powerful enough to do more than create shadows. Whatever it was, it must be more than ten meters away. The lowest deck on Mira, according to their schematics, was only three meters tall. What he saw made no sense.
When Kalimura
spoke, he shuddered in surprise “We’re dropping off Carbonaro now,” she said. “Estimate five minutes to return to your position.”
Five minutes. Great. “Acknowledged, Corporal. I’ll be waiting. I’ll let you know if I figure something out.” He’d tried to keep the panic from his voice, but he knew he’d failed.
“Dickerson, just calm down. We’ll be there soon.”
“Aye,” he said.
He bent his left leg at the knee while keeping his right foot as high as he could. It was awkward as hell, but it allowed him to at least see what his foot was trapped on. The broken piece had lodged between the layers of the next deck plate. Atmo-steel, created by joining hundreds, if not thousands, of layers of metal and composites, was the most solid material humankind had ever produced. Yet here he was, staring at a piece of deck plate where the layers had separated.
Whatever was below his boot moved again. He could barely see the shadow through the gap between his boot and the hole, but it was still moving, twitching. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his trip-hammering heart. Once he felt he had control over himself, he slowly lifted his right foot. When he felt resistance, he rotated his ankle as far as it would go, and gently pulled again. The boot rose a little higher. He felt the resistance at one end of the metal decking, and swiveled his foot the other direction.
He imagined the “pop” of the metal sliding free of its prison. His foot rose out of the hole. He knew it without opening his eyes. He slowly moved it to the side of where it had been and gently pressed down. It didn’t fall through. He increased the pressure, but the hull held. He opened his eyes and looked down at his right foot.
The magnetic boot’s bottom had trapped a long slice of decking wider than the boot bottom. What the hell? Dickerson deactivated the boot and shook it. A shower of metal shards drifted around him before flitting off into space. The wide piece of decking slid forward. He reached down, secured it with his right hand, reactivated the boot, and placed it firmly on the deck.
A cramp hit his left calf and he ground his teeth in pain. It only lasted a few seconds, but it ached afterward. When he was back aboard S&R Black, he’d need to massage the damned thing with heat. The bio-nannies would find the pain center and block it soon, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to pay for it later.
The hole. The thought punctured his consciousness and he looked down between his feet. A long black cable swayed with the ship’s movements. Other debris floated. He chuckled. The shadow was nothing. You’re getting spooked, asshole. Dickerson trudged forward away from the hole, testing the magnetics on his right boot. They appeared to be functioning normally.
“Corporal?” Dickerson said into the comms. “I’m unstuck.”
“Good to hear. Any damage?”
“Just to my dignity.”
She laughed. “I’ll make sure to send Gunny a casualty report. Seriously, are you all right?”
“Still have suit integrity. Magnetics are working. And I have a piece of decking I think Black will want to take a look at.”
“We’re almost to you. I can see your suit lights.”
He turned slightly. The skiff, its running lights alternately blinking red, green, and blue, stood out against the hull’s darkness and space beyond. Not sure what Kalimura’s plan was, he stood still and waited, fingers playing with the piece of deck steel. The skiff neared and then came to a stop with a puff of gas.
He placed the thruster back on the hull, activated its magnetics, and walked to the skiff brandishing the piece of steel. Kalimura stood up from the command chair and pointed a finger at it. “You fell through the decking?”
“Yup.” He handed the shard to Elliott who then headed to the sample case. “Looked like the layers of steel somehow came apart. Never seen anything like it.”
“Where’s the hole?”
He jerked a thumb to point behind him. “Two meters that way.”
“Okay,” she said. “Black should have video off your cam. Did you see any other damage? Something that could have warned you?”
He turned around and stared at the hole. His suit lights picked out very little besides the nearly black, ragged 1/4 meter rift in the metal. “No, Corporal.” He turned again to face her. “I don’t see anything like that.”
“Carbonaro,” she said over the squad comms, “be advised. Dickerson ran into a soft spot in the hull. Nearly lost his foot. Be careful.”
“Acknowledged, Boss,” she said.
“You okay to keep going?”
“Yes, Corporal,” Dickerson said. At least she can’t see the damned blush on my cheeks. “I’ll get the thruster placed. Give me a couple of minutes and we can go to the next site.”
“Outstanding,” she said.
He headed back to the thruster, picked it up, and continued to his target. Eyes scanning the ground in front of him, he looked for anything that might hint at damaged metal. The powerful beams from his suit lights seemed like a match burning in a dark room when cast against the hull. He had only a few meters of visibility before the world faded into the void of space with only shadows and the white pinpricks of the stars.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
When the images from Taulbee’s flyby hit his block, Gunny let out a stream of curses that echoed inside his helmet. He was glad he’d closed all the channels before taking a look. Taulbee had been refueling and there was nothing else to do.
He didn’t have as much data to go on compared to Kalimura. The LT had had to inspect it too quickly. But what Taulbee managed to capture set him on edge.
A goddamned separated deck plate? A freakin’ jagged maw leading into the engineering decks? More of those pinecone things? Not to mention the other damage. Placing their thrusters was going to be more difficult than he’d feared.
Since Taulbee hadn’t had a chance to inspect the tail, Gunny chose to travel directly down from their position at the top of Mira’s hull. The magnetics stuttered twice while the skiff’s computer attempted to keep them from losing contact with the steel. Both times he heard his marines cry out in surprise. Both times he was glad they didn’t hear him draw his breath in fits and starts.
The first and second targets were clumped together less than 20 meters from the furthermost aft deck plate. He fought the urge to accelerate the skiff to reach it as quickly as possible, all the while wanting all of this to be over. Mira gave him the creeps.
When you were fighting for your life, or saving someone else’s, you didn’t have time or energy to devote to being afraid. You couldn’t freeze. That’s how he’d managed to get through all the busted-up space junk, his flechette rifle nearly empty, O2 supply low, and make his way past enemy combatants to reach a friendly skiff. Mars had been hell, but he only had time to realize that after he’d been ferried back to the cruiser or to the marine base. Days upon days of the same routine, coming under attack from the so-called “freedom fighters,” all the while watching his company suffer more and more casualties. In those private moments, before he’d fallen asleep and when no one else was looking, it was all he could do not to curl up in a ball. But he’d been a corporal. He’d had warriors to lead and he couldn’t allow himself that luxury.
So when he’d reached his bunk every night, he’d closed his eyes and fought the demons in silence, doing his best to keep the screams in his brain from flowing out of his mouth. Mira gave him the feeling she’d been hearing those screams for decades. He shivered inside his suit.
The damage on the aft was catastrophic. The explosion that blew through the topside plates had had an effect on the hull below. Multiple seams had blown, each gap a two-to-five meter gash in the steel, spread downward like little ramps. From his perspective, though, those ramps rose upward. They weren’t uniform, and he had to slow the skiff and use the attitude thrusters in combination to go around them. At least the challenge kept his mind occupied.
By the time they reached the target, Gunny was already 1/4 through the fuel reserves. Maneuvering past the obstacles had a
lready chewed through twice as much fuel as the topside trip. He’d have to call in Taulbee for an emergency refuel if he dipped below a 1/4. Either that, or they’d have to return to the ship.
The targets were nestled at the base of the refinery. The moment he saw how it was attached to the ship, he knew it was an add-on. If it had been in the original design specs, the engineers would have insisted it stay inside the hull or at least be flush with it. Instead, a thick shield of Atmo-steel had been made to protect the protrusion from impacts while the ship was underway. The shield would deflect debris away from the refinery, keeping it safe.
Once they passed the shield, the skiff’s lamps revealed thick steel pipes, as well as what looked like external sensor equipment. He wasn’t an engineer, but he’d inspected quite a few damaged mining and refining ships in his time. He’d never seen a rig like this.
“Copenhaver. You got your targets?”
“Aye, Gunny.”
He brought the skiff to a stop near the refinery cylinder base. She’d have to place one of the thrusters a few meters away on one side, and then ten meters in the other direction. Relatively short walks, but the idea still unnerved him.
“Let’s get to it,” he said. “Lyke. You’re her spotter. You see anything on her feed you don’t like, you yell out immediately. Understood?”
“Aye, Gunny.”
Copenhaver climbed off the skiff and pulled two thrusters from the sled. Gunny turned in the command chair to show he was looking at her. “Go slow,” he said. “Go cautious. Go alert. And get the job done.”
She saluted and he returned it. Copenhaver walked a few steps away from the skiff giving him room to rotate the Ray. Once he had the skiff pointed toward the next set of targets, he nudged the throttle.
The obstacle course challenged him once again, but didn’t take as long. He was comfortable with the pattern of adjusting the thrusters to navigate the damaged areas, but that didn’t mean it was any less stressful. He hoped against hope that Dunn would give them all a break before a plate-by-plate inspection of the hull. Otherwise, they’d all be exhausted.
Derelict: Marines (Derelict Saga Book 1) Page 23
