The maneuver pushed him right towards the open inner door and Pearce grabbed the handles on either side and swung through the doorway. As he did so, he entered the artificial gravity of the hallway and hit the ground running, quickly bringing himself to a sprint towards the far end of the passageway even as his body got used to being suddenly back in a gravity well again.
He had his VIA overlay his OHUD with schematics showing the manual door controls. He nearly tore the service panel right off of its hinges as he wrenched it open and grabbed the manual crank handle from within. He quickly attached it to the exposed sprocket and began furiously rotating his arms.
The airtight door started sliding ponderously open at glacial pace. Despite Pearce cranking with the strength of several men, it simply wasn’t designed to be operated in such a manner and as such the leverage amplification was minimal. It took him nearly thirty seconds to make an opening wide enough for him to shimmy through, and then he was racing down a ladder to the deck below and to the door to the engine room to do the same thing all over again.
Finally, just over two minutes from when he first answer the Captain’s Mayday, he squeezed his way into darkness of the main engineering area. The lights, normally not left on in this mostly unoccupied space, quickly flickered on and Pearce took in the space even as his VIA outlined the reactor controls on his OHUD.
He hurried over to the main control systems and opened his comm. “Captain, I’m at the reactor controls. I’m going to stream an o-feed shipwide so your Engineer can assist.”
With a thought, his VIA began transmitting a stream from his ocular implants, allowing everyone else to literally “see” what Pearce was seeing as if they were physically there by simply accepting the knock their VIAs would receive. Pearce’s ocular implants were as advanced as the Confederation had, fully capable of capturing high resolution and framerate video with a 170 degree field of view. His own implants could also completely overlay a received transmission, in effect replacing the input from his natural eyes. The civilian implants in use on this ship would relegate Pearce’s feed to a smaller window, but would still be useful enough to work through this emergency.
Pearce didn’t wait for a response before getting to work figuring out what had been done to the reactor. His VIA was able to broadly analyze the problem. Garga had corrupted the input controls for all of the physical and digital systems that allowed for normal control over the routine operations of the power core and introduced a feedback loop of some sort into the regulators that would slowly destabilize the core’s magnetic containment systems. He would need the Engineer for a more thorough analysis and course of action.
“OK, this is a new one,” came a voice over the comm, identified by his VIA as Engineer Venano. “OK, Buxton, look at the readout on the left side of the control panel.”
Pearce dutifully complied, looking at the display which showed a series of mathematical equations accompanied by visualizations of what Pearce thought amounted to some kind of membrane theory, but his days of advanced quantum physics were far behind him.
“Shit,” Venano uttered. “Hold up, we don’t have time anyway, and I need to concentrate.” he said to others with him that had presumably been working on opening the door. “Buxton, we have about a minute before containment fails but what that fucktard did is fairly easy to reverse. You need to reverse the parasitic drain he created from the main containment fields to the backup capacitors. It is slowly draining energy from the containment field and discharging it through the external static nullifiers. The containment field is meticulously balanced, like a spinning top, and the drain is acting like someone tapping that top and sending it slowly out of control, so that it eventually…”
Pearce gruffly interjected. “Venano, gimme the damned instructions so we don’t explode!”
Amazingly, the Engineer laughed in response, and quickly walked Pearce through a handful of steps and a few lines of code which quickly stabilized the containment field with what he called ‘plenty of time left on the clock’. He promised to arrive in person shortly and Pearce cut off the o-feed.
Pearce had been running in full combat mode for what seemed like eternity but in reality had been less than 10 minutes. He activated his Post-Combat Recuperation mode, which cut off the supply of adrenals to his body and released some mild beta blockers to normalize his body’s hormone levels and inhibit PTSD effects. He finally took a second to examine his injured shoulder, which sported a nasty looking but largely superficial gash from the knife Garga had stabbed him with. It was bleeding slowly but freely while it throbbed with each beat of his heart.
He walked over to a first aid station mounted on the bulkhead by the entrance and pulled out some GelClot. He waved the auto-applicator over the wound and it sprayed a mist of gel particles that immediately clotted the blood and effectively closed the wound, while administering topical antibiotics and regenerative enzymes. He had lost track of the number of times he had used the life-saving coagulant.
He surveyed the rest of his body for injuries. He would have a few minor contusions on his arms, and his back would be sporting a deep bruise from when Garga smashed his O2 tank into it, but he was otherwise fine.
Pearce called the Captain on a private channel and waited for him to answer the knock before speaking.
“Captain, your ship is secure, but we should be extra careful that there are no more surprises left behind. You should have the Marines’ quarters swept for anything nefarious as soon as possible.”
“What the hell happened over there, Buxton?”
Pearce spent a minute to fill him on the details, of which there were few, and provided his theory that there was something he wanted to hide in the gravimetrics sensor logs.
“It’s crucial we get communications back up as fast as we can. How quickly do you think you can repair them?”
The Captain sighed. “It’s difficult to know. We should have the components on board but it looks like the attack not only shorted out some of the control boards but the wiring too. But it appears that the transmitter as well as the QCOM EP itself are still intact and functional. We just don’t have any systems to talk to them.”
“I’ll have the remaining Marines return from the station and assist with the repairs. They may be able to offer some more non-traditional approaches to splicing into the systems temporarily so we can regain comms. It is critical we get in touch with the Scorpio and provide a SITREP. In the meantime, see if you can raise the Scorpio using ISC.”
The Captain paused for a second before responding. “You want me to attempt signals communications from two-million kilometers out?”
“That is what Interstellar Signals Communications were designed for, yes.”
“This is a civilian yacht, not a military frigate, Buxton. We don’t have an ISC beacon.”
“I believe every Interstellar Flight License holder must pass a basic ISC class that teaches rudimentary signaling via navigation lights, right Captain? Get out the damned regulation book if you need a refresher; just get me in touch with the Scorpio.”
Captain Lillywhite didn’t pick up on the simmering anger in the tone of Pearce’s voice and persisted in objecting. “They’d have to be looking right at us to see the nav lights. And we’ll have to constantly watch for a response.”
Pearce drew a deep breath through thinly pursed lips as he reminded himself he was dealing with a civilian. “Trust me you’ll know if they receive our message, because they’ll light us up with their main targeting scanners to try and find out what the hell is going on. Buxton out.”
TEN
New Shanghai L2 PAN Station, Shenzen System
L2 PAN Station
A half-hour later, Pearce was in a fresh environment suit once again watching Jula work on the gravimetrics cluster. This time, Meson was the one looking over her shoulder as she interfaced through her console, although he at least was able to provide some measure of assistance. Pearce and the remaining two Marines had recovered th
e bodies and stowed them in Nightingale’s storage locker and done their best to clean up the bloody mess left behind in the corridor.
It wasn’t an easy task in zero-g but it could have been worse. Bodies in gravity wells would naturally bleed out pints of blood in a relatively short time. In microgravity, blood had no real force acting to expel it once the heart ceased beating, and therefore dead bodies with even grievous wounds would retain the majority of fluids indefinitely. In a vacuum, the blood that did escape the body partially boiled away due to the sudden drop in pressure before freezing after extreme heat radiation cools what is left.
Still, everyone ended up with at least some blood splattered on their bright white suits. Pearce had suggested that Jula change her suit out since she had been liberally doused during her collision with Rogers, but she had again surprised Pearce by declining. She had a fiery inner strength the belied her background and appearance.
The Marines had remained on the Nightingale, attempting to assist with the repairs to the communications systems, thus far to no avail. They had just gotten the idea to attempt to leverage one of the emergency lifeboats transponders and were heading to rip one out now. They had taken the death of their Sergeant and the betrayal of Garga well, all things considered.
Corporal Murrig was also not trying to screw around with chain of command and had submitted immediately to Pearce’s authority. The two Marines hadn’t been able to explain Garga’s behavior, mentioning that he had only transferred to the Scorpio a few weeks ago.
All the while the Nightingale was sending SOS signals with their navigation lights, without any response. Pearce figured that every optiscope in the system was probably still focused squarely on the devastated planet’s surface. It was the greatest cant-stop-watching train wreck in modern human history.
“OK, the BIOS and systems diagnostics all came back with perfect matches to spec,” Jula announced. “The binary matches the last software update. No signs of software tampering. We’re running the full hardware diagnostic in debug mode now, so we’re basically collecting a hundred times more sensor data than normal, which we can use to check for irregularities.”
“Great work, especially under pressure,” Pearce responded earnestly. The fact that Jula hadn’t succumbed to PTSD or even asked for a break was very impressive. He knew from her file that she had lived a tough life before going legit and landing the job at GTS, but the file was light on details. That she could calmly deal with the aftermath of the shit-show that had just transpired was testament to just how fiery her past had been.
Meson, for his part, was handling the entire situation with the cold and calculating mind of an analytical scientist, at least once the immediate danger had passed. He had watched Pearce and the Marines move the bodies as if he were conducting an experiment and they were the monkeys in the lab. He had asked a few questions about the hacking of the Nightingale and how Pearce had countered it, obviously probing for information on Pearce’s cyberwarfare capabilities but in a scientific and not counterintelligence manner. Now he worked alongside Jula, offering a hand or his insight as needed.
Pearce was running the events through his head in an attempt to make sense of them. Garga had been far more than an ordinary Marine. His strength, agility, and skill suggested significant genetic modifications and advanced training. There were only a handful of Confed programs and even fewer IWF groups that could conceivably produce such an assassin, and none of them would pass for an 18 year old Private.
So it was likely that he had been physically altered to appear younger before being inserted into the Marine contingent on the Scorpio. Regardless of who he actually worked for, such a cover would require a widespread intrusion into relatively secure personnel and fleet management systems.
Even as he mulled over these questions there was another glaring at him and demanding to be answered. Why? If there was something damning on the stations’ systems killing them all and blowing up the Nightingale would hardly provide an effect cover-up for it. The Scorpio and two dozen other ships would be witness to it and would only increase their scrutiny of the GTS systems. Or was that the intention all along; to distract from the real cause by focusing the investigation on the aftermath of Garga’s attack while the truth slipped away?
Pearce remained lost in thought for a few minutes more when suddenly Jula and Meson became very excited about something.
“What the frig, these gravi readings are off the charts, “Jula said as Meson crowded closer to her.
“No, no,” Meson replied with the distant voice of someone deep in thought. “We are running in enhanced debugging mode, remember? These are the same readings we saw before, but we’re just picking up a lot more data than normal. And there are a lot more of them. There must be dozens…there, the rest of the sensor data just spiked, just like the last time.”
Pearce jolted to readiness as he listened, linking his VIA back into the Nightingale’s main systems. “Meson are you telling me dozens of ships just dropped out of your mystery FTL?”
There was no response for a few seconds before he responded. “Sorry, I was shaking my head. No, these readings don’t show ships, they are far too small in mass and size. I can’t tell if this is just an anomaly or what. The sensors never run this way normally.”
Pearce was filled with dread even as he accessed the main sensor array of the ship. The Nightingale’s civilian sensors were barely crude enough to distinguish between different size ships with a series of increasingly larger dots on the displays. Nothing like the advanced sensors of even the smallest Navy frigate.
Even so, it was impossible to miss the drastic change as all twenty-six blips on the sensor screen abruptly vanished.
***
“Emergency evac back to the ship!” Peace shouted as he slapped his hands on the back of the other’s suits. “Jula, save that data and disconnect as fast as you can. Meson, get moving now to the airlock.” As he gave the last order he whipped Meson’s body around and flung him towards the central passageway, causing Meson to yelp in surprise.
Before they could even ask what was going on Pearce opened a public channel to the ship. “Nightingale, Nightingale, prepare for emergency detachment from the station and immediate evasive maneuvers. Repeat, prepare for emergency detachment from the station and prepare for immediate evasive maneuvers.”
Even as his commands scrambled the ship’s crew into action he had already used his VIA’s control of the ship to start powering up the reactor to capacity and kicked off the engine start-up sequence.
Meson was shouting questions, trying to understand what was going on as he started grabbing handholds and making his way up the central corridor, but Jula was calmly extracting the data requested and working at a frenetic pace that showed she understood the gravity of the situation.
“How long?” Pearce asked her.
Jula ripped out the connection to the gravimetrics array and grabbed her portable terminal in response. “Ready to move,” she said. Pearce wondered if his respect for her would ever stop growing as he gave her the same push Meson had just received towards the exit and moved to quickly follow.
Captain Lillywhite was responding over the comm now, asking what was going on in colorful language. Pearce replied publically so everyone would understand the situation.
“Captain, this system is under attack, and the rest of the aid convoy has already been destroyed by unknown assailants. We’ll be aboard in 30 seconds. Blow the umbilical as soon as we clear the outer hatch and maneuver away from the station while it closes, then light up the mains and get us moving at max acceleration. And turn off the damned transponder!”
Lillywhite barked orders over the open comm as Pearce swung himself up into the central corridor, frantically rushing back to the ship for the second time in only an hour. He grabbed Jula as he shot up the corridor, giving her yet another push as they came level with the passageway that led to the ship. Meson was only a few meters ahead of them and he aimed Jula’s body s
uch that she collided gently with his back, to which she intuitively grabbed on. He positioned himself quickly and grabbed two rungs on either side of his body, fully extending his arms out before flinging his body forward with all of the enhanced strength he could muster.
His body shot down the corridor and he wrapped himself around both Meson and Jula as he crashed into them, sending all three hurtling towards the hatch and the umbilical beyond. Pearce saw that he had aimed true; their combined mass would pass through the narrow hatch with inches to spare and their trajectory would take them down the umbilical and into the Nightingale’s airlock in just about ten seconds. He took the spare time to ponder the rapidly unfolding developments.
They were still alive, which suggested that the nearly simultaneous attack on the rest of the flotilla hadn’t targeted them, so perhaps the enemy was unaware of their presence. That didn’t make much sense, however, given that they had executed a perfect sneak attack on every other ship in the system. Unless…
“How many gravity anomalies did you see in that data?” he asked the two companions he was bear hugging as they flew through the station hatch and into the umbilical.
Meson responded with a noticeable quiver in his voice. “At least two dozen, but I can’t really be certain, we didn’t have time to…”
“Twenty-seven anomalies,” Jula coolly interjected. And then followed with a question of her own that once again showed how tuned in she was. “Do you think the last one was meant for us?”
Impact Event (Dargo Pearce Chronicles #1) Page 13
