Something caught Evelyn’s eye ahead as she flew, a sparkling halo that grew closer as her tiny fighter was dwarfed by Endeavour’s massive bulk.
‘I’ve got something,’ she said.
‘Me too, dead ahead,’ Teera replied.
Evelyn’s Raython moved silently through space alongside the vessel and then Endeavour’s stern appeared, enshrouded in a cloud of debris. Evelyn slowed and turned away from the potentially dangerous cloud of metal. The dim glow from distant hydrogen clouds filled her cockpit once again, and on the far side of the debris cloud she saw a tiny star–like speck emerge as Teera’s Raython cleared Endeavour’s stern.
Teera gasped over the communication channel as Evelyn scanned the debris cloud before them.
Endeavour’s entire stern was a ragged, battered mess of metal enveloped in debris spilling slowly from her interior. A forest of metal girders poked from the dark interior of her hull, each as thick as a dozen Raythons side by side, each severed and drooping as though melted by some infernal heat.
Evelyn blinked. ‘You said you’d detected the fusion core? She only had one, right?’
‘Affirmative,’ Teera called back. ‘Endeavour had a single core and I can still detect its presence, so that’s not what took her out.’
Evelyn shook her head in wonder as she turned slowly astern Endeavour, Teera’s Raython crossing on the opposite heading far above her.
‘Whatever happened to her, it was big and catastrophic,’ she said finally. ‘Endeavour’s engines and exhaust array are completely gone. She couldn’t have travelled if she’d wanted to.’
‘What the hell could do that to a ship so big?’ Teera wondered out loud. ‘It looks as though she’s been sliced open from the inside out!’
‘I don’t know,’ Evelyn replied, ‘and I’m not sure I want to find out.’
***
VIII
‘Alpha Comp’ny, eyes on me!’
Forty of Alpha Company’s Marines slammed the butts of their plasma rifles against the deck of the shuttle to signify their complete attention on General Abrahim Bra’hiv as he stood before the closed rear ramp. The shuttle hummed with the sound of its ion engines as it flew through the inky blackness of space.
The men were strapped into their seats, facing the outer hull walls of the shuttle in two rows, sitting back to back as they looked sideways at their general. A squat, broad–shouldered man with a thick neck and steel–grey shaven head, Bra’hiv looked every inch the career soldier, festooned as he was with weapon, webbing and atmospheric suit designed to allow combat in zero–zero conditions: zero atmosphere and zero gravity. He surveyed the men before him with quiet pride, every one of them trained under his command to be capable of facing just about anything,
‘The target is the exploratory vessel Endeavour,’ Bra’hiv confirmed. ‘The data we’ve received from Reaper Squadron’s intercept reveals that she was subject to extensive damage to her stern that neutralised her propulsion, although her internal power supply remains secure. Atmosphere is stable but the temperature is low, hence our suits. No signs of life, but on such a large vessel it’s going to take time to secure her. Assume that there is hostile life aboard and act accordingly at all times.’
The general’s eye caught Lieutenant C’rairn’s, the young officer already a combat veteran despite his youth. C’rairn was one of the most trusted soldiers in the fleet, loyal in the defence not just of the Colonial force but also of his wife and child who lived in Atlantia’s sanctuary.
‘Lieutenant, you’ll lead Charlie Platoon, I’ll take Delta. Twenty men each, mutual fire support and nobody goes off anywhere without our mutual consent, understood?’
‘Affirmative,’ C’rairn replied without hesitation.
Bra’hiv felt a stirring of internal comfort, the security of knowing that each and every man before him could be relied upon to do his duty, to have their general’s back. It had taken many months of hard work, especially when winning the loyalty of former convicts and murderers, but somehow he had done it. For the first time since the apocalypse that had destroyed mankind, Bra’hiv felt confident in facing the unknown with these men at his back. Which was just as well, because out here beyond the Icari Line the unknown could be a daily occurrence.
‘We’ve done this before, aboard the Sylph and in the attack on Commander Ty’ek’s Veng’en cruiser,’ Bra’hiv went on to the rest of the men. ‘Be quick, precise and thorough in any searches and never, ever let yourself go anywhere alone. We don’t know what the hell’s aboard that thing, although we’re pretty certain that the Legion did not exist in a recognisable form when Endeavour launched. Whatever is inside is going to be new to us. Let’s do it.’
The Marines thumped their rifle butts once more on the deck in support of their general as he strapped into the seat closest to the rear ramp.
The shuttle’s engines whined as it slowed, evidently approaching Endeavour. Without windows in the heavily armoured vessel, the Marines would only get a good look at the ship when the rear ramp opened and they were deployed into the field. However, each of them craned their necks for a view of a monitor mounted for’ard of the troop compartment that showed the view ahead of the shuttle. There, silhouetted against the stars and hydrogen clouds, they could see Endeavour’s bulky hull looming ahead.
‘Deployment in thirty seconds.’
The pilot’s calm voice filled the troop compartment as General Bra’hiv called out.
‘All arms!’
The soldiers’ plasma rifles hummed into life as they were activated, and each man checked his neighbour’s face mask for gaps in the seals and their oxygen supply via the tanks carried upon their backs. Satisfied, they sat in tense silence waiting for the ramp to drop.
They shifted as one as the shuttle swung around, and Bra’hiv heard the sound of the engine exhausts change as the pilot altered his power settings to land the craft in the landing bay he had selected somewhere on the vast hull. Schematics obtained from Atlantia’s logs provided a deck plan of the huge ship for the pilots and the Marines to follow, and right now they were using the closest open bay to the bridge that they could find.
‘Deck Charlie, mid–section, landing now!’
General Bra’hiv tensed, one hand ready to punch his harness free as the other held his rifle aimed at the still–closed ramp. The shuttle shook violently as its landing struts slammed down onto the deck and with a hiss of vapour the ramp dropped under hydraulic force and the pressurised atmosphere within the shuttle blasted outward as Bra’hiv released his harness and dashed from the shuttle.
Behind him forty Marines followed in an orderly flood, running with their suits weighted at fifty per cent normal gravity to provide them with extra speed, agility and stamina.
Bra’hiv thundered down the ramp onto the darkened deck of a small landing bay, the flashlight on his rifle slicing into the gloom. The deck was slippery with ice that glistened like diamond chips in the darkness. Bra’hiv ran forward and then dropped down onto one knee, his rifle pulled into his shoulder as behind him the Marines formed two groups and one giant arc of firepower pointed out into the darkness.
The shuttle’s engines flared with silent white light in the vacuum as it lifted off and pulled out of the bay, ready to return when the soldiers required an extraction. Bra’hiv watched the darkness intently but nothing loomed forth to threaten them. His eyes cast down across the ice and sought any sign of footprints, but nothing revealed itself. Behind them, the landing bay doors silently lowered and sealed themselves as the shuttle pulled away into the distance, and suddenly they were totally alone aboard the massive ship.
Bra’hiv looked over his shoulder and pointed ahead with two fingers as he looked at C’rairn. The lieutenant advanced forward, his soldiers following him as they were covered by Bra’hiv’s contingent. Bra’hiv watched as C’rairn led his men to a bunker nearby, which was where the controls for the landing bay doors would be. They descended cautiously into the darkness and for a
few moments there was nothing but silence. Then a series of glowing lights flickered on in the bunker, visible through the observation windows.
Moments later, C’rairn’s voice crackled in Bra’hiv’s helmet.
‘Not enough energy for atmospheric heating, but bleeding air into the bay now.’
Bra’hiv’s gaze flicked up to the vents high on the bay walls in time to see vapour billow out of them like dark clouds, filling the bay with bitterly cold but breathable air and allowing the Marines to conserve their oxygen supply.
Moments later the lighting in the bay flickered into life and filled it with a deceptively warm glow to reveal an empty structure with no other vessels inside. A red light high on the walls of the bay turned green, and Bra’hiv gave a thumbs–up to his men. They switched off their oxygen supplies and opened vents on their masks to allow the air in, but kept the masks on as protection against the bitter cold.
‘Let’s move,’ Bra’hiv snapped.
The Marines headed as one for the landing bay entrance, a series of hatches that led into the ship’s interior, all of which were sealed. A schematic projected onto Bra’hiv’s mask visor directed him to the hatch he wanted–the one that led toward the bridge deck.
‘Delta on me,’ he ordered. ‘Charlie, maintain the perimeter here and see what you can do about the temperature. Any signs of life from the ship?’
‘Nothing,’ the lieutenant replied. ‘No communications link with the rest of the ship and no incoming data. There’s power though, must have all been re–routed for some reason. This is what the Word did aboard the Sylph, remember?’
The general could hardly forget the ill–fated boarding of the former merchant vessel Sylph and the tremendous combat that had followed as he and his men had been forced to fight their way off the ship with the Legion in hot pursuit.
‘They’re not here,’ Bra’hiv reassured the lieutenant. ‘But see what links you can establish anyway, and stay sharp.’
C’rairn nodded at the general as he passed by the bunker, the twenty Marines of Delta Platoon following as they approached the hatches and two soldiers eased forward of the rest without command. As Bra’hiv watched the two men worked efficiently to set small plasma charges against the hatch’s locking mechanisms and hinges, designed to burn through rather than blast off. The two soldiers hurried away from the charges and moments later the hinges flared brightly with a fearsome blue–white light, drops of liquid metal spilling away from the hatch onto the deck.
‘Rams, go!’ Bra’hiv whispered.
Two men hefted a metallic ram between them and rushed the door, and with a dull boom that echoed around the landing bay the ram slammed into the smouldering door and it broke free of its mountings and flew away down the corridor, the heavy metal hatch flashing dimly as it rotated in mid–air.
Bra’hiv rushed past the ram and into the corridor, his rifle’s flashlight illuminating the passage as several more soldiers thundered fearlessly in behind him, their footfalls echoing away into the distant, darkened ship. Their flashlights scanned the darkness like laser beams, but nothing moved but for the faint haze of moisture and ice clinging to the walls.
Bra’hiv edged forward, keeping an eye open for opportunities for cover in case something unexpected leaped out at them. The schematic on his visor guided him, overlaying vector lines across the corridor deck with arrows pointing to the bridge. The general turned left at the end of the corridor, glancing right briefly to see another corridor of endless bulkhead hatches stretching away far beyond the reach of his flashlight.
‘Deck Charlie,’ he whispered to his men. ‘We’ll ascend to deck Alpha at the first opportunity and then move for’ard for the bridge. Jesson, Miller, you wait here and guard the corridor entrance in case we need to retreat. I don’t want anything sneaking up behind us.’
A whispered Aye, general reached Bra’hiv’s ears as the two men peeled off and took up firing positions at the entrance to the landing bay corridor. Bra’hiv moved on with the same deliberate, cautious gait. The corridor was long, one of the main arterial routes that stretched from bow to stern through the massive ship. Wide enough for two people to pass side by side, it allowed swift access to various areas but also presented the general with a problem. Side corridors swept away in all directions as he moved, far too many between the landing bay and the bridge for his men to guard. Bra’hiv posted sentries in pairs at four more locations, hoping that they would be able to support each other if something untoward occurred, and kept moving until he reached the stairwells either side of the elevator shafts that accessed upper and lower deck levels.
He posted two more sentries, leaving him with eight men to ascend to the bridge, and then as one they moved into the stairwells and began to climb. The darkness was still bitterly cold, barely above freezing according to Bra’hiv’s sensor readings, suggesting that Endeavour had been in this comatose state for a long time, perhaps years. Memories of the Sylph and its lethal cargo of murderous Hunters and the dangerous Veng’en stowaway Kordaz flickered again through the general’s mind, but he forced himself to focus on the job and reach the bridge unscathed.
The troops climbed up without incident and reached A–Deck, Bra’hiv maintaining the lead as he opened the hatches and stepped out onto the deck.
Hexagonal in shape and as dark as the rest of the ship, the bridge deck was dominated by two massive hatches that were sealed. Bra’hiv crept forward as his men silently fanned out and formed a defensive ring, alternating men aiming inward toward the bridge doors and outward toward various access points from A–Deck.
Bra’hiv placed a charge on the bridge doors, set the timer for five seconds and then activated the charge before retreating to a safe distance. The charge lit and burned with ferocious intensity for several seconds as it seared through the doors’ locking mechanism, illuminating the deck with a flickering white light. Moments later, the mechanism glowed like magma in the darkness and dropped fat glowing globules of molten metal onto the deck as Bra’hiv advanced and waved his men forward. Together, Bra’hiv and two troopers leaned their weight into the doors. The general raised three fingers, then two, then one and then with a combined burst of effort the Marines slammed into the doors and they burst open.
Bra’hiv lunged onto the bridge as his rifle swept around for any sign of a target.
The bridge was darkened, none of the instrument panels aglow and the main viewing panel black and featureless. The flashlights of his men illuminated a series of control panels frosted with ice crystals as Bra’hiv moved forward and his light beam caught on what looked like hair upon one of the panels.
The general stepped forward as he rounded the panel, convinced that he had found one of Endeavour’s crew slumped at their station. He eased his way around, his weapon pointed at the figure as it came into view and then, quite suddenly, Bra’hiv stopped moving as he felt his heart miss a beat.
The Marines supporting him moved into view, each of their flashlights illuminating the figure before them, and then they all too stopped moving.
‘What the…?’
Bra’hiv took a cautious step forward, unable to tear his gaze from the sight before him despite the horror that ran cold through his veins.
The lights from the Marine’s weapons illuminated the face of a man, his features twisted in agony, his mouth agape as though screaming and his eyes tight shut. His hair was thick and in disarray, long and snaking as it lay frozen on the control panel.
And that was all there was of him, but he had not been decapitated.
‘What the hell is this, general?’ a nervous voice asked from behind Bra’hiv.
Bra’hiv shook his head as he looked down at the man’s face, his cheeks and his throat and the back of his head merging into the metal plating of the control panel, even his hair turning into metallic threads that vanished into the surface around him as though he had physically melted into his workstation.
***
IX
Qayin felt the p
ain reach out for him from somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, calling him in. Its unwelcome presence suddenly grabbed hold of him and hauled him into the present and he opened his eyes.
His head throbbed, as did his eyes as he squinted. He realised that he was suspended in mid–air, his wrists, waist and ankles bound with metal restraints that were themselves anchored into the walls and deck of the vessel. His muscles ached under the tension of his bonds, stretched to their limits.
Qayin vaguely recalled that Salim Phaeon had been a slaver and that his ship would naturally have been equipped to transport large numbers of captives. The walls and ceiling above him were filled with identical mounts, enough to transport hundreds of slaves, although now he was the only occupant of the ship’s hold.
Qayin looked down at his body and saw that he was naked but for a thermal underlining suit, part of his Marine fatigues designed to maintain core temperature under a variety of conditions. Kordaz, he realised, must have afforded him that minor luxury in the otherwise unheated holds. His breath condensed on the air in the darkness, illuminated only by slim white panel lights around the edges of the deck and the ceiling. Somehow Qayin could tell that the ship was in super–luminal cruise, the hum of a mass–drive and the lack of physical motion inside the ship helping to confirm his suspicions.
Qayin could recall little of what had happened, save seeing Kordaz loom over him and then the sensation of his face being stamped on. That he was still alive surprised him, given that he had cheerfully left Kordaz for dead on the field at Chiron IV. Another memory leaped into his mind: that of the Veng’en’s face horribly disfigured by metallic lesions just as Qayin’s brother, Hevel, had once been reshaped by the horror that was the Legion.
Endeavour (Atlantia Series Book 4) Page 6
