Murray Bell pursed his lips. He let his head nod left and right, as if gauging his answer carefully. “We’ve got ah, well—”
Meyers insisted, “Lieutenant Bell?”
“About ten clicks south of us,” he answered.
Ten clicks. Just over six miles. It was whiteout conditions. The temperature was far below zero. There was no telling what kind of consistency surface of the planet was in. In fact, the shuttle could be on the verge of sinking into the toxic ocean. The planet was the closest it has been to the sun in a century and a half, and frozen areas were melting, exposing more and more of the oceans that normally remained below the ice.
She needed the idea of six miles to be a good thing, a positive. Was there a way to put that kind of spin on the trek ahead of them? Grin and bear it? That would not be enough. She had to sell it. The commander needed the crew to buy it.
“Outstanding work, Lieutenant Bell. Outstanding.” Commander Meyers took solace in the ability of her team. She did not hide the swell of pride she felt about each of them. Euphoric did not skimp when recruiting talent and the company did its best ensuring the success of her crew when assigning members to the Eclipse. “We’ve got limited air on the shuttle, but plenty to do what needs getting done.”
“We taking the rover?” Bell asked.
“We’re not. Be a tight fit for all of us. We were sold on a luxury model that seats four comfortably. Have you sat in that thing? Salesmen.” She smiled, shook her head, pleased for the opportunity, brief as it may have been, to lighten the mood some. “The combined weight of passengers and machine. No. No, I don’t like it. Think we have a better chance on foot. Sounds drastic. If the rover falls through thin ice, we’re dead. It’s just not a risk I’m willing to take with my crew.”
“So what is it? What are you saying? Are we going out onto the surface?” O’Hearn asked. His words came out muffled from behind the cloth he held over his nose. It did not help that he talked while keeping his head tipped back in an attempt at controlling the bleeding. “On foot?”
“We are. With the exception of Lieutenant Bell,” she affirmed and turned her attention. “Bell, I want you to turn all of your efforts on finding a way to make contact with the Eclipse. We’ve got to find a way to let them know that we’re okay, but also inform them about the dire straits of our circumstances. You have extra air in the tanks. Should it get to that point, where we haven’t returned with help, put on one of the suits. Use the air from there, as well. Understood?”
“Aye, Commander,” Bell said and gave a nod. “I’ll find a way to get communications up and running. You can count on it.”
“Good. Because I will be,” she said. “And Lieutenant, I will return for you. One way or another. As soon as we reach the colony we will be back for you.”
“Aye.” The acknowledgment was there, but the sincerity attenuated.
Weber, still squatting beside the lieutenant, dug around inside his medical bag. “With permission, Commander, let me get his bleeding under control and set the bone. Then we’ll both be in a better position pull our weight.”
“Of course.” Meyers nodded. “By all means tend to his wounds. And take a look at the captain’s nose as well.”
Rivers said, “I don’t think it’s broken.”
“Let Lieutenant Weber have a look, regardless. I have no idea what kind of a journey we’re getting ourselves into. It can only go better if we are as healthy as possible. The conditions are certain to be treacherous. If our medic here can clean us up before we head out, it might make his job that much easier once we’re underway. Agreed, Lieutenant?”
“Commander.” Weber nodded, and stood up. “I also noticed you holding your sides. May I?”
Anara Meyers would have deflected the attention, but after her little speech, she reluctantly raised her arms. Weber touched around her stomach, and then along her ribcage. Unexpectedly, she winced, and then cringed at allowing him to expose a weakness.
“That hurt?”
“A little tender,” she was forced to admit.
Weber applied pressure here and there. “I don’t think anything is broken. Thing about ribs, even if one were there isn’t much we could do about it. But like I said, I don’t think you broke anything. If they took a knocking, they are bruised. Might hurt like hell now, but by tomorrow,” he looked up, and grinned, “they are going to feel a million times worse.”
O’Hearn raised a hand. “Commander,” he said.
“What is it?”
“How’d Beta Squad fair in the storm?”
Chapter Thirteen
Starfighter, Beta Squad
Captain Adam Stanton remembered back to a time when he was new in the cadet academy. Flying fighters was always his dream. As soon as he’d finished high school, he’d enlisted with the NAAA. A year of intense training did more than prepare him for flying fighters, it turned him from a boy into a man.
One day, the sergeant called him down to his office. When Stanton arrived, he knew immediately something was off. The sergeant had a strict open door policy. In fact, even when giving a cadet a dressing down, the office door remained open.
Hesitant, Stanton knocked on the door.
It opened immediately, and the sergeant stepped aside. Seated in front of the sergeant’s desk was the colonel.
Stanton’s mouth went immediately dry. His tongue felt swollen and thick inside his mouth. Swallowing became a chore. He stood at attention and saluted.
“At ease, cadet,” the colonel said as he rose from the chair.
“Cadet Stanton,” the sergeant said, once again closing the office door. “We just have a few questions for you.”
“Of course, Sergeant. Colonel. How can I help?” At ease in the presence of a colonel was anything but relaxing. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped together behind his back, Stanton worried his muscles might cramp up from tension alone.
“We know that you have been seeing a lot of fellow student, Irina Vasiliev,” the colonel said.
They were not asking. They were telling. They knew. For some reason, his activity on campus had been closely monitored.
He had met the Russian woman at the beginning of the semester. Stunning. Long, silky blonde hair. Big, dark eyes. Soft, milky skin. And flexible beyond just being limber…
“I have been. Yes, sir.”
“Are you aware she can speak many different languages?”
“Eighteen fluently,” I said. “Twenty-three conversationally.”
“For reasons of Armada security, we’d like you to call it off, or you can pack your things and leave the academy.”
It was then he noticed a thick manila folder on the sergeant’s desk. The truth was he planned on calling it off with Irina, regardless. Despite amazing looks and astounding brains, she lacked an imagination, or motivation, or vigor in bed. “Consider it done, sir.”
“No questions asked?”
“None needed.” The implication Irina was a spy, or under suspicion of something big enough to attract the colonel’s attention, was more than enough by way of explanation for him. “Are we all set here, then?”
The colonel saluted. “Carry on, cadet.”
It was a few years later when he saw Irina’s face on the news. She was a wanted fugitive, potentially responsible for a café bombing over in France. Far as Stanton knew, his old flame was still on the lamb. In a way, he thought, good for her.
A radio crackled. The static-hiss pulled him away from his thoughts. Had he fallen asleep? The sound filled the cramped cockpit. In the mix, faintly, just barely audible, Stanton thought he heard a familiar voice.
Someone was on the portable, a short-distance frequency.
He should have thought to use the hand-held. He increased the volume, held the communicator close to his face. “Red One? Ruiz? Is that you?”
Stanton could not recall a time when he had ever been as excited to hear the sound of anyone’s voice. “Ruiz?”
Again, faint. He heard her
voice, and she had heard his. She sounded as elated as he felt. “Captain? Stanton? I can see your starfighter.”
The fighters were easily identified, and differentiated from one another, because of the markings. His bore one thick red pinstripe. The other ships had thinner stripes. Ruiz’s ship had one. Reilly two. Cornwell three.
“Any sign of the shuttle, Red One?”
“No, sir. No sign of them.”
She was close. He could not see a thing from where he sat. Best he could tell his ship had frosted over, at least his windows were for sure, and quite possibly the entire starfighter was encased in ice by now.
“I’m in trouble, though, Captain. Front glass on my fighter is cracked. Cold’s getting in.”
Stanton heard the fear in her tone of voice. It sent a chill through his body. He closed his eyes, needing a minute. She could see his ship, so they couldn’t be too far away from each other. If she stayed inside her fighter, she would die. There was no way they could both fit inside of his. The cockpits in the ships were small, tight, and meant for a single person. He was wedged in place as it was. He needed a plan, a way he could save her life. “You have your suit on?”
“I do, Captain. All snuggled in.”
“Helmet? Faceshield?”
“Helmet’s on. Faceshield is up while we talk.” She laughed. “I can feel the tiny hairs in my nose icing over. Feels a bit like glass shards inside my nostrils.”
There was nothing funny about it. “Ruiz, stand by.” Talking into the portable, Stanton said, “Beta Leader to Red Two. Reilly, come in. Red Two?”
He waited, hopeful. “Red Two?”
Nothing.
“Beta Leader to Red Three. Cornwell, you there? Jane, can you hear me?”
He waited. “This is Beta Leader, Red Three. Answer me. Damnit, answer me, Jane!”
Silence was the only reply.
“Captain?” It was Ruiz, timid. It was as if she did not want to disturb the moment, or risk talking over Red Two or Red Three if they were attempting to respond.
A good amount of time had passed, however. And neither Reilly nor Cornwell had chimed in.
“Go ahead, Ruiz.”
“I … I think I can see the colony,” she said. “It’s just beyond your ship. Yes. That must be what it is, what I’m seeing. Sir, it’s got to be the colony.”
She had a visual? That was a good thing. Promising. It meant a chance existed. They might get out of this. “Are you sure, Red One?”
“Unless there are natives on the planet we didn’t know about, I’d say I’m fairly positive what I see beyond your fighter is Euphoric’s colony.”
Beyond was vague. He would have loved a more precise position. She could see the colony, though. He knew how bad the storm was, and the fact visibility was extremely limited. Beyond would have to be good enough. There was hope in the statement. Right now, a glimmer like that, of hope, he would latch onto it. Tight. Both hands. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Ruiz …”
Chapter Fourteen
Cutlass
Erinne Cohn hated her metallic arm. It was fully functional. The fingers responded, the arm bent. She could grasp and grip, scratch and dig, poke and point. Doctors assured her in time she would forget it was prosthetic. That was more than five years ago. She could not recall a single day she was not reminded about what she had lost.
Being with Aroldis D’Rukker might be why she could not forget.
She lost the arm in Tennessee. Although originally from New York, Tennessee was where she had wandered off to after her father passed away.
There was a time when those on the planet feared something known as global warming. Scientists assured people the icecaps were melting. The fear of major cities getting swallowed up by a swelling ocean moved nations into action. Money and resources were dedicated to research. Countries scrambled toward finding a solution. Instead of ocean levels rising, they declined. The limited bodies of fresh water all but vanished. Planet Earth became something of a wasteland. Globally.
They called it an apocalypse. Plagues, violence, famine, and war wreaked havoc across continents. All that remained when everything was said and done were small pockets of survivors. Scavengers. Gangs. Inbred societies. And people like her. Wanderers.
Each vied for a piece of pie that was not worth cutting, and certainly not worth eating.
It did not matter that in the heavens two massive Way Stations existed, where hundreds of thousands of people lived more normal lives … Earth continued on, quality dwindled down to savage bare bones, but continued on as best it could.
Earth was where she was born and raised. Her father was the only parent in her life. When she was three, her mother was raped and murdered on the way home from a corner store. Erinne was far too young to understand the loss, and far too young to retain any worthwhile memories of her mother. Like what she looked like. Like what she sounded like. When she thought of her mother, her mind conjured up a blurred image that could more easily be confused with a blob than with a person.
Some niche communities did their best at restoring some semblance of normalcy. Where she was raised there was something of a local government and a police force. They were allowed authority, but it was limited. And, eventually, corrupted. When it came to her mother, no killer had ever found if one had ever been looked for in the first place.
Geno’s was a pizza place in Gatlinburg. Hungry, but with limited money, Erinne entered the small shop. The person behind the counter asked her what she wanted. He spoke in some foreign accent so thick she almost could not understand a word he had said.
“Do you sell pizza by the slice?” Erinne asked. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had pizza. Or real food. She wasn’t delusional. The ingredients in any prepared food were questionable. As long as it tasted better than mere roadkill scraped off the road, and if she was lucky, roasted over a makeshift open flame, she was game. The thought of real pizza made her stomach growl and the aromas inside Geno’s made her mouth salivate.
“I make whole pizza for you.”
“But I don’t want a whole pizza. Just two slices.”
“You want I should cut two slices out of the pizza for you? But then what do I do with the rest of the pizza?” He held back a laugh, barely. “I cannot make just two slices of pizza for you. How would I shape the dough that small? Two slices. You joke with me.”
Erinne had a hand in her pocket. Her jeans were torn. Tattered. Her fingers pushed around the few coins inside the pocket lining. She could not afford an entire pizza. She could certainly eat one, but she could not afford one. “Thank you, anyway.”
Walking toward the exit, she could still hear the man behind the counter. “How can I cut two pieces out of a pizza and just sell them? I’d never make money ruining an entire pizza that way!”
Pissed, she snatched a loaf of bread off the rack and sprinted for the door.
Somehow, the man behind the counter moved with unsuspecting stealth and speed. He leapt over the counter, a machete in his hand. He chased her out of Geno’s. Erinne made a dash down the street, and though she thought if she dropped the loaf, and the guy might let her go, her stomach growled with encouraging protest, as if insisting she could make it.
The mistake came when she chanced a look back. He was not that close, but clearly gaining on her.
And then she tripped.
She had not been looking where she was going and she went down. Hard.
The man was on her in a flash. He seethed as he straddled her hips. Saliva oozed in strands from the corners of his mouth and leaked from behind rogue teeth that barely gripped diseased gums.
Without warning, without even a scolding, the man from Geno’s raised his arm in the air, the machete over his head, the blade reflected sunlight like a white laser into her eyes, and then he swung. It happened fast, although it felt as if time moved in slow motion.
She could not remember the pain.
What she recalled was the spray of blood as it coa
ted over the man’s face and spattered already pizza sauce-stained clothing.
Making heads or tails of what had just happened was nearly impossible. She knew the man had just cut her. What she did not immediately realize was that her arm had been severed off from the rest of her body, just above the elbow, and then she slipped into shock.
Two things happened before she blacked out.
She saw her wrist in the mouth of a large Shepherd. She recognized her mother’s wedding ring on her own finger. What she could not understand was how the dog, backing away, was now running from her with her arm clenched between its teeth. This was when she caught on. The guy cut off her arm, and a starving dog just swiped it.
When she woke up, several days later, Aroldis sat in a chair beside the bed she found herself in.
He had saved her, scooped her up from the street gutter, and run with her in his arms to the nearest medical facility. In time, he even footed the bill for surgery. She had him to thank for the metal that was now a permanent limb.
Erinne never let him know how much she hated the prosthetic; because she was certain living without one would have made life even worse.
Monitoring the Cutlass control panels, Erinne depressed the intercom switch. “D’Rukker?”
After a moment, the intercom light came on. “Yeah, Erinne. Go ahead?”
“Picking up two new distress beacons. Also coming from the planet’s surface. All within close proximity of the colony. Far enough away, though, that it more than likely isn’t coming from within the compound.”
“The fighters, or the shuttle?”
Erinne nodded even though D’Rukker was elsewhere on the Cutlass and could not see her doing so. “Either. Both. That’s what I’m thinking. Add to that the colony distress signal, and I don’t know about you but—”
“Not having second thoughts, are you?”
Erinne imagined her boss grinning. What she was thinking was that maybe they should consider seeing if anyone needed help. She’d never say as much. D’Rukker may have saved her life, took her under his wing, but that was as far as she had ever seen his charity extend. Not to mention he had already made it clear any available space on the Cutlass was for diamonds, and not passengers. “Not at all. I was thinking maybe we should hang back and wait for the storm to pass. No reason to penetrate the atmosphere right now. We stand a better chance of detection by the starfighters, and it really won’t make much of a difference if we swoop in tomorrow, or even the next day and take the diamonds. Way I see it, we wait a day or two, the people from the Eclipse will have their hands full. Guards will be down. They won’t be expecting an attack. We go in now, with distress signals activated everywhere … every single one of them on the rescue is on high alert, wound tight.”
Absolute Zero Page 6
