“We don’t know. We’ll just have to knock.”
Melissa didn’t take him seriously until he pounded the butt of the heavy flashlight against the steel of the security door. In the vacuum of space, there was no sound as the heavy metal casing of the light contacted the thick sheathing of the door. After a few more failed attempts, Shawn discerned it was safe to try to force the door.
“How do you plan on opening it, sir?” Sergeant Adams asked.
Shawn moved the tool pouch off his shoulder and placed it on the deck. “With a little toy I keep around for just such instances.”
“You’re telling me that you find yourself in situations like this often enough that you carry around tools for getting past government-grade security doors?” Melissa asked.
Shawn smiled as he unzipped the bag and withdrew the tool. “You’re not the only one with fun gadgets here.” He stood up and affixed the palm-sized device to the door.
Melissa instantly recognized it as a portable power emitter, albeit an older model than what she was used to using.
Shawn pushed the initiator button and the device came to life, emitting a barely audible whine as it applied a small power field to the local area. The few electronic devices within a ten-foot radius suddenly came to life, including the manual door release and the atmospheric warning indicator, which flashed a brilliant red glow. Even the overhead lights came on, and Melissa had to squint as her eyes adjusted.
“I guess that’s our answer to what we’re going to find in there.” Shawn reached for the manual override control and flipped it on, causing the door to spring open quickly enough to startle Melissa.
“Sorry about that,” he offered, although he knew there was little he could have done to avoid it.
She rapidly regained her composure. “It’s…okay. I’m fine.”
They moved silently through the opening, noticing that a few of the overhead lights had come on due to their use of the portable emitter. Shawn switched the device off and plucked it from the door, causing the overhead lights to go dim once more. “I have to conserve the power in this. It’s the only one we have, for now.”
“For now?”
“There should be a few more of these in auxiliary control. They’re mainly used during shipboard disasters. We’ll get them later.”
She nodded, and then the two began to walk down the dark hallway. Shawn flashed his light against the wall, noting the condensation that had crystallized in the cold of open space. Mixed with the normal white paint of the walls, the reflections gave Shawn the impression he was walking in an ice tunnel on some frozen hell. About twenty meters into the passageway the ice had visibly lessened, until it was nearly gone by the time they got to the next closed door in the passageway.
Shawn shined his flashlight around the perimeter of the door, then to the placard beside it.
“What is it?” Melissa asked as Shawn read the inscription.
“This is a containment barrier door. If the hull becomes depressurized, spaces like this act like an internal airlock from one space to the next. He withdrew the power emitter and placed it on the center of the door. When power was applied, the atmospheric light on the door’s control panel showed green. After a few hard knocks with his flashlight, he began inputting commands into the door’s panel.
Suddenly a door slid out from an unseen alcove behind them, closing off the passageway they’d just come down.
Melissa looked to Shawn nervously. “What are you doing now?”
“I’m going to pressurizing this space so we don’t jeopardize what’s in there.”
“Will there be enough air?”
“There should be. There are emergency tanks built into each section, enough to repressurize in case of emergency. Then again, those could be damaged as well.”
“In other words, you don’t know.”
“I won’t know until I try.” After inputting the commands and depressurizing the space, the door snapped open, and Shawn instantly had his weapon at the ready. He scanned what little interior space he could see, and then seeing that it was relatively clear, motioned for Melissa to follow him with a wave over his shoulder.
“This isn’t where the life-form reading was coming from, is it, sir?” Adams asked, waving his pulse rifle around the room for emphasis.
“No. It should be the next compartment.” Shawn turned and retrieved his power emitter, then placed it on their current side of the door and used it to close the hatch. Locating an outlet on the wall, he withdrew the emergency generator and plugged it in, providing minimal power to the entire compartment.
Melissa felt the slight pull of normal gravity under her suddenly heavy boots. “Is that normal?”
Shawn shrugged. “It looks like some of the gravity generators are still functioning near this space.”
“Is there air in here?” she asked.
Shawn held his right forearm up to his helmet, checking the local atmospheric readout on his wrist computer. The indicator graphs were all in the green, but just barely so. “The levels show that it’s breathable, as long as you don’t plan on running a marathon.”
“No worries there, Commander,” Adams interjected.
Shawn reached up and unclasped his helmet, pulling it off in one smooth motion and laying it on a nearby table. He helped Melissa do the same while Adams removed his own. “Our suits should be able to capture some of this air and recharge the internal respirators. It should extend our time here by another hour or so.”
It looked like they’d entered an engineering space. There was a massive water generation plant near the starboard wall. Due to the low power provided by the emergency generator, the plant was inoperative. However, a large storage tank near the side of the bulbous machine was nearly full. Opposite the water generator was a chaotic series of pipes and conduits, probably used for moving the newly formed water from one part of the ship to another.
Shawn walked over to the storage tank, then unsealed the top of the container. He reached his gloved hand in, took a palm full of water, and brought it to his nose.
“Water?” Melissa asked inquisitively.
Shawn took a tentative sip, then spit it out. “If you want to call it that. It tastes more like sulfur. My guess is that something in the generator broke down, causing the water to become tainted. You could probably live off it for a while, but it’d give you one hell of a stomach ache.”
There was a groan of metal from somewhere in the distant overhead, followed by a series of noises that gave the impression something very large had just fallen to the deck. It sounded to Shawn like the Icarus was strongly objecting to the torment her hull had been put through to get her to this state. If that was the case, Shawn could hardly blame her.
Even though they had yet to find a single crewmember of the over four hundred fifty-three souls on board, it felt as if there were eyes watching Shawn’s every move. He’d be tempted to call it ghosts, if he believed in such things. No, this was far more foreboding. He couldn’t place it, but he was sure something sinister had taken place here, and every creak and moan of the Icarus was, in a way, her method of trying to speak to him in a language he couldn’t yet understand.
“I know you said that recharging our suits would give us another hour of air, but I’m not sure I want to stay around here that long,” Melissa offered uncertainly.
“Me neither,” Shawn said after another series of loud creaks.
“What else do you have in that bag of yours?” She stepped closer to the water maker.
Shawn regarded the pouch, mentally inventorying the contents. “Nothing too fancy, I’m afraid. I have some spare rations, water, a few tools, a basic medical kit, the small power generator that we used to power on the lights in this space, another we can use to power up a computer or a wall terminal for about thirty minutes, and an extra energy clip for my gun.” He looked to her skeptically. “Were you looking for something specific?”
“Not really. Just curious.” She looked around n
ervously, rubbing her gloved hands together briskly. “Making conversation.”
He stepped closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Just relax, okay?” he said calmly. “There’s nothing to be worried about here. It’s just a ship.”
Suddenly a loud thud came from just beyond a door on the opposite side of the compartment. It startled them all, and Shawn nearly put a round from his weapon through the closed hatch. Adams instantly had his rifle trained at the center of the door. Melissa reached down and withdrew her own sidearm.
Shawn gave her an inquisitive look. “And just where were you hiding that?”
Another thud from behind the door echoed through the compartment, then another one, far louder than the first. Something was trying to get to them.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her words were succinct, but laced with trepidation. “What do we do now?”
Shawn shrugged, his pistol at the ready. “We see who’s knocking.”
“Is that wise?”
Shawn shook his head. “Doubtful.”
He gripped his pistol tighter, then approached the door slowly. He pulled off the tool bag and withdrew the emitter, giving the pouch a shove out of his general area—just in case he needed to defend his territory. As his hand neared the door, another impact, this one louder and more pronounced than the first two, echoed off the walls. Shawn licked his lips as he placed the device on the door and activated it. He jumped back, crouched, and held his weapon in the ready position as the emitter began a five-second delay in its wind up to activation. When it reached its fever pitch, the doors popped open with such a snap that Shawn was sure they would embed themselves in their respective alcoves.
The contents of the room came spilling out. In a blur of motion, a metallic form rushed toward Shawn, who was taken almost completely by surprise. In the instant it took him to realize he was being lunged at, Melissa had fired off a round—which Shawn was convinced he felt fly past his right ear—and the concussive blow threw the ill-defined shape back into the darkened space it had leapt from.
“Sorry,” she offered unapologetically. “Reflexes.”
Shawn was still processing what had happened when he stood back to his feet. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you missed me by a good solid inch.”
“I’d say at least two.”
“Is it dead?” he asked worriedly, staring in to the darkened space beyond.
“No,” Melissa shook her head. “I set my pistol to immobilize.”
Shawn nodded. “So it’s either asleep…or really pissed off.”
“More than likely the former, but I don’t discount the latter,” she said, her weapon still leveled at the opened doorway. “One of us is going to have to go check.”
“The choice is pretty obvious. You shot it, you go check.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Commander. I’m too important to risk on this mission.”
“And I’m not?”
“I’m sure I can fly your ship out of here if I need to. You, however, cannot get the intelligence information I need.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you take my ship if I’m dead.”
“Can you really hear yourself, Commander? What will it matter if you’re dead?”
Although he had to agree, he didn’t need to give her the satisfaction. “It matters, okay? It matters.”
“Stop acting like a little girl and go check it out, Commander.” She raised a tentative eyebrow in his direction. “That’s an order.”
“I don’t believe this! You’re pulling rank on me?”
“I don’t want to, but I am in charge of this mission.”
“So no matter what I say, you always get the last word? That is so—”
“Damn it, Shawn! Stop arguing with me and go see what I shot. I’ve got you covered and you’ve got your own weapon. For all we know, it could be an empty container that was propped up against the door. However, if it’s the life form, and it’s alive, it might be able to tell us what happened here.”
“What about Adams?” Shawn snapped.
“Who do you think is going to cover me?” she replied rationally.
Shawn knew on multiple levels she was correct. They needed to figure out what happened here, and whatever was lying just beyond the doorway might be able to shed some light on the missing crewmen and the damage to the Icarus. Regardless, he scowled in her direction before moving slowly toward the open door. He reached into the pocket of his environmental suit and withdrew his flashlight, placing it between the palm of his left hand and the pommel of his gun. His right hand held fast to the grip of his weapon, his finger on the trigger, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
As he neared the edge of the door, he shined his light around the frame, checking to see if anything was hiding just behind the thick sill edge. Satisfied that no surprises would come from that area, he began to slowly sweep the floor with the bright white beam.
At first, he noticed a stack of half-empty crates that were piled up near the door. The label on the first crate read “Computer Conduit,” but the missing lid allowed Shawn to see that the case, in fact, held a small stack of canned food and water. Beyond the crate, Shawn saw a few empty cans strewn across the deck, then saw an overturned crate that had spilled its contents of emergency rations, probably when whatever Melissa had shot was flung back into the void.
That was when his light fell on it. It was a boot, silvery and metallic. It looked as if it had seen better days. The sole was cracked in several places, and there was a hole near where the big toe of a human would be. He followed the boot up until he saw that it was attached to a leg, clad in the same material, which likewise looked the worse for wear. Shawn recognized it as a standard-issue Sector Command space suit, not entirely dissimilar to the ones he and Melissa were currently wearing. Shawn moved closer into the compartment to give the body a more detailed inspection. On the shoulder of the suit was a patch indicating that it was from the Icarus, and over the right breast was a name tag sewn into the shimmering material.
“Garcia,” he said to himself.
“What was that?” Melissa called to him.
Shawn shined the light toward the helmet of the suit, not trusting that the occupant was actually a member of the doomed crew of the ill-fated cruiser. He saw that the person inside was a human male, perhaps in his mid-twenties. Most of the details of his face were obscured by dark smudges on the transparent face shield, both inside and out. Shawn gave the man a light nudge with his foot, checking to see if he was actually unconscious. The groan that escaped his lips told Shawn what he needed to know.
“What is it, Shawn?”
He didn’t turn to face Melissa. “It’s a man.”
She cautiously crept into the space behind him. “Is he alive?”
“It seems so,” Shawn kept his weapon trained at the nearly unconscious figure on the floor. “Go get my tool bag and bring it in here. There’s a basic med-scanner in there. Something tells me he’s going to need some help.”
“Garcia,” Melissa softly read the name tag aloud.
The man on the deck groaned softly again, then slowly raised a limp arm and placed it over the visor of his helmet, blocking out the united beams of Shawn and Melissa’s handheld lights.
Chapter 10
Melissa reached into the tool pouch and withdrew the small, metallic container holding the medical supplies. If she hadn’t noticed the small Red Cross that Shawn had taken the liberty of painting on the top, she might have mistaken the container for one that held ammunition.
Since he rarely needed anything from the kit, Shawn was glad that Trent had taken the liberty of restocking it back on Darus Station. With a flip of the single latch that held it closed, he opened the box and pulled out the small, finger-shaped cardioscope, along with the variable aspirator. Shawn turned on the cardioscope with a twist of the unit’s handle, then waved it over the conscious body of the wounded man. After a few passes, Shawn let the scanner slip to his side. He t
hen stretched the aspirator over Garcia’s mouth and the unit immediately began pushing freshly scrubbed air into the groaning man’s lungs.
Melissa watched as Shawn moved with the skill of a practiced surgeon, amazed at how well he handled the basic medical instruments. “I think you missed your calling, Doctor Kestrel.”
Shawn smiled. “It wasn’t meant to be. Besides, I have a crappy bedside manner.” He once more reached into the kit, this time withdrawing a cellular hydrobrace. He gently propped Garcia’s head onto his knee, then waved the hose-like device over the throat, lips, and eyes of the fallen man.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” she asked under her breath.
Shawn, his full attention given to Garcia, didn’t fully hear what she’d said. “What’s that?”
“Oh, it was nothing. Is there anything wrong with him?” Melissa asked, concern tinting the edges of her voice.
“He’ll live, if that’s what you want to know.”
“I want to know if anything is wrong with him, serious or not.”
Shawn continued to regard the young man lying prone on the deck. “Well, he’s suffering from mild malnutrition, dehydration, and a little frostbite. All things considered, other than the slight concussion he received when he hit the deck after you shot him, he’s sound as a pound.” Shawn then turned to Sergeant Adams. “Adams, take a look around this compartment and whatever else connects to it. There seem to be a lot of hiding spaces. See if you can locate any other survivors.”
“Yes, sir,” the Marine snapped, then went about his task, leaving Shawn and Melissa to tend to the fallen man.
Melissa knelt down to look into the young man’s face. His black, unkempt beard had grown long, and his cheeks were slightly sunken. The dark rings around his eyes betrayed his emaciation and the lack of sleep he must have endured. As the supine man neared consciousness, he began to shiver in the cold and damp compartment.
“His suit probably hasn’t been functional in a while,” Melissa said as she regarded the tattered remains of a government-issue pressure suit.
Shawn looked around the room once more before returning his gaze to the young man. “From the looks of this place, he’s probably been living in this compartment for some time.”
Icarus Page 17
