by Rob Dearsley
That would do it. Whoever had been trying to bomb the Core knew their stuff. “If you take out any of the containment units, the collider ring will shotgun. The resulting damage should cripple the ship.”
Speakers reset into the overhead cracked, and a young sounding voice emanated. It was the same one that had threatened her in the medical room. Some sort of shipboard AI maybe?
“How long will it take?” she asked.
“If you only destroy one containment module, then the systems should be able to compensate for a while. No more than ten minutes. Once it starts shotgunning, it's random chance what gets hit.”
Dannage held up his hands, forestalling them. “Wait, wait. What is shotgunning?”
“Sorry,” Hale replied. “It's shorthand for containment breach in the accelerator ring. Transient, exotic matter shoots out of the ring at near-luminal velocities. They decay back into subspace after a fraction of a second. But until then, they’ll rip through the ship.”
“Like a shotgun blast,” Arland finished.
Luc scrutinised the Heads-Up Display. “Timing’s going to be critical.”
“Yeah,” Jax agreed. “If we detonate too early, we’ll be destroyed along with the ship or lost in subspace. But if we go too late, we might give the ship enough time to get in-system and start attacking the planets.”
“Hale, how long will it take this ship to get within weapons range of the inhabited planets?” Dannage moved aside to give her a better look at the HUD projection of a star system.
Hale leaned forward, bending almost double to inspect the three-D display, half a dozen planets and nearly as many stations, the display highlighting their orbits. “Assuming it jumps in on the edge of the system, no more than six minutes before it’s in range of those outer habitats.”
“Where else would it jump in?” Arland asked.
“Theoretically, the jump drive can be calibrated to drop back anywhere. There was one captain I knew who managed to jump into a planet’s atmosphere. But, the default is to jump into the outer system.”
At least it had been before. Now, who knew? The ships had changed so much. Everything was different now.
Hale looked at the tight knit group, planning, plotting. A casual touch, the excited lilt of voices as they worked, occasionally joined by the disembodied voice.
She’d never felt so alone.
Hale tried to shake off the feeling and re-joined the conversation. The planning gave her something to focus on. A distraction. “The crew, the…” She searched for way to distance these creatures from the people she’d known. “The… Turned will be on you as soon as there’s enough air for them to breath.”
“We’ve fought them.” Arland’s gaze flicking between Dannage and Luc. “We can’t win through them.”
A team of Terran Marines would be able to.
The speakers added, “Also, if we pressurise the bay, then we have to depressurise it again before we can leave. It adds another complication to something already requiring split-second perfection,”
“What if we come at this the other way?” Dannage asked. Everyone stopped to look at him.
Arland’s momentary confusion evaporated into excitement. “Depressurise engineering?”
Dannage returned her excitement. “Yes. Then we don’t have to contend with the creatures at all.”
The two men looked to Arland to make the final decision.
“It could work,” she said, talking slowly, deliberately. “It’s going to take time. You’d have to breach and vent each section in turn.”
“Based on the Heimdall’s airlock, it’ll take us, conservatively, five minutes to jack a door,” Luc said.
Hale scanned the consoles. So similar to the controls she’d trained with, but so different. “Do you have plans of the ship?”
“Sure thing,” the speakers said and the screen behind Hale flicked over to a wireframe schematic.
Arland leaned over, tracing the route they had taken before with her finger. As she did so, the computer laid a blue waypoint line down.
“You’ve got four doors to breach on the way.” Hale pointed them out on the display, the computer reacting to her touch as it had Arland’s.
They spent the next five minutes hammering out the final details of the plan. Working with the others, Hale could almost forget everything that had happened, almost feel like she belonged again. As before, Luc and Arland were going in while the others waited in the ship.
Hale followed the others out into the main cargo bay and stretched up to her full height, rolling out the kinks constantly hunching had left in her neck and shoulders. Angles, it felt good to stand up straight.
She let out a bark of laughter, she’d never imagined a proper height ceiling being a luxury.
If she closed her eyes and ignored the slight chemical smell in the air, she could almost imagine herself on a Terran transport coming in to dock. Looking out at the space elevator dropping toward the surface of Terra Prime.
Arland’s voice intruded into her thoughts, pulling her back to the battered confines of the present. “Hale, can you give me a hand?”
She was holding the hard-shell carapace of an environmental suit. A civilian looking model, no armour to speak of. Hale’s mind flashed back to those last hours in the darkened corridors of the Heimdall, the Turned’s claws carving into the Marine’s armour.
Hale took the hard-shell and started clamped it around Arland’s chest, working the clips under her arms.
After a moment, Arland said, “I really am sorry for what I said before.”
“Its fine,” Hale replied without thinking.
“No.” Arland pulled out of Hale’s grip, turning to face her. “I mean it. I know it wasn’t any of your doing.”
“It’s nice of you to say. But I didn’t make commander without knowing all about the Artificially Sentient Intelligence programs and the Core Minds. I just never thought.” Hale scrubbed her hands over her eyes. “How did no one see this coming?”
“I’m sorry.” Arland placed a gloved hand on her arm. Inside the bulky environmental glove, her hand was almost as big as a Terran one. “You’re a commander?”
“Was,” Hale corrected. “It was all I ever wanted. I loved it. The comradery, the sense of belonging. Even the ship-link. I really was part of something bigger.” Except it was all gone now and she was alone and trapped in her own skull. Never again to see the universe through a capital ship’s scanner feed. Feel the golden rays of a star against the solar panels.
“I know what you mean,” Arland said. “My spec-ops squad were like family.”
“Were?” Hale frowned. “What happened?”
Arland looked past her at the bulkhead, not really seeing it. After a moment, her eyes refocused and she shook, like a dog shedding water. “They died. Well most of them. And now, I’m here.”
“Angels. They blamed you?” That was wrong on so many levels. Death like that. That was when you were supposed to rally, no kick someone out into the cold. It was her turn to place a comforting hand on Arland’s shoulder.
Before either of them could say anything more, Hale pulled Arland around and tugged on the carapace, checking it was secure. “You’re good to go.” She handed Arland the helmet.
“We good.” Luc shouldered his backpack and passed Arland a small assault rifle.
Hale ducked through the door and into the Folly’s cramped bridge. She already missed the higher overhead in the cargo hold. But it was a choice between the empty hold or the relative companionship of Dannage on the bridge.
Dannage shifted nervously, in his chair. It was at least in part the tension of watching his friends rush into trouble on his behalf. To save his family. But she knew part of it was down to her presence.
He was scared of her. They all were, they always would be. She was different. And no matter what, in their minds, she would be tied up with everything the ships did.
His eyes kept going back to the mission clock on the HUD. It read ‘T+2’ already.<
br />
She moved up to the seat closest to Dannage, hunching down into it. “Watching, while other people go into battle for you. It’s the hardest part of being in command.”
He started, glancing over to her before looking back to his crew. They were through the first door and out of sight, the clock read T+7 “We’re behind.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve got some leeway in the timeline.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Captain, Dannage isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I never thanked you for rescuing me.” She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, feeling some of the tension leeching from it.
“It’s fine.” He took a deep breath, then another. “How do you not go mad? Just waiting?”
“Grant me the peace to accept the things I cannot change, the power to change the things I cannot accept, and the wisdom to know the difference between the two,” she quoted. “It’s something my first CO used to say.”
Dannage gave her a tight smile before returning his attention to the mission clock T+9.
◊◊
Arland braced herself as Luc jammed the jack into the third door and started cranking. Air began hissing through the gap. She heard crashing from the other side, the gale pulling debris along with it. Listening more carefully, she could make out the scrabbling of the creatures – the Turned – as they rushed to escape.
One of the creatures leapt at the door. It slammed through the gap, knocking the jack aside and grabbed Luc.
Arland leaned into the gale, trying to get a clean shot off against the creature. It slammed Luc back against the wall and reared back, twisting to attack her. She fired, the rounds taking the creature in the chest and neck. At such close range, the rifle rounds ripped through its hide. The Turned tumbled backwards, clutching at its ruined neck. She fired again, hitting the creature in the head. This time, the shot didn't penetrate, but the Turned skittered away.
“Luc?”
“I’m good,” Luc said, climbing back to his feet and pulling another jack from his pack. He jammed it into the gap and started cracking again.
They only needed to open it a fraction further before they could squeeze through into the next section.
She watched the now empty hallway while Luc worked the jack into the door.
“Come on, Arland. They can’t possibly survive in a vacuum. Give me a hand with this.”
She gave the corridor one last wary look before slinging her rifle across her back and leaning down to help Luc with the jack. Her eyes kept going back to the mission clock on her HUD, T+29.
By T+32, perfectly on schedule, they had the door open and were climbing the ladder.
The last door was the one at the top of the ladder. This one was going to be fun. Luc had to hook his arm around the ladder, jamming himself awkwardly in place while he worked the jack. It left Arland unable to see what was going on above them. She fidgeted on the ladder, checking her gun again. Still keyed up on adrenaline.
Luc wasn’t armed. Perhaps she should have gone first. If only she could get an angle on the door. They both hung on against the rush of evacuating air.
T+39. Finally, Luc got the door wide enough for them to get through. By that time, the rushing of air had slowed to almost nothing. Luc shifted his weight, pushing through the hatch.
Ruddy brown arms reached down, grabbing Luc and pulling him away from Arland. The scream of the Turned seemed to vibrate through the deck.
Damn it. It had all been going so well. Arland hauled herself up the ladder and through the hatch. She blinked sweat from her eyes, pulling her weapon into her hands and scanning the compartment for any signs of Luc or the Turned.
“Luc? Luc,” she called into her com. “Where are you? Damn it.”
She pushed herself to her feet and started toward the bomb. The ticking mission clock nagged at her, nine minutes to set the bomb and head back.
“Arland.”
She spun, looking for the source of Luc’s voice, even though it was through her headset. There he was, crumpled between a pair of tall cylinders. She’d almost missed him in the shadows.
“Luc?” Arland ran toward him, the suit making her movements awkward. The creatures, two of them, leapt at Luc and clawed at him. She fired, scoring a string of impacts across the creatures’ backs.
It was an odd sensation, firing a gun in vacuum and feeling the rattling vibration, the recoil, without hearing a single sound from the weapon. Nothing reached her ears but the sound of her own ragged breathing.
The creatures turned on her, their movements sluggish. Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen. She fired another burst, knocking them back. Advancing, she fired again, more accurately this time, focused on their heads.
She didn’t see the third one until it was too late. The Turned leapt at her, driving her to the floor beneath its weight, clawing at her helmet. It was too close; she couldn’t get an angle on it. She struck at its arms, knocking its grip loose and brought the rifle around.
Before she could fire, the Turned tore the weapon from her grip, tossing it across the room. Damn. The other rifle was trapped beneath her, useless. The Turned struck her helmet. The visor crazed, the HUD turning into a fractured mess before winking out altogether. It reared up for another blow. She managed to twist at the last minute, avoiding what would have been a killing blow.
Stars. The near miss sent her heart hammering. She struck out at the creature again. This time knocking its arms away. She thrashed, finally wriggling out from under the creature. Gasping, she stumbled away from it. The Turned rose sluggishly, screaming. She could feel the deck vibrate through her boots. In seconds, the creature was on her. Even weakened like this, it was still so much faster than her. She was outclassed in every way. As it came for her, she brought her second gun around. Too slow.
The creature batted Arland’s weapon away and jammed a clawed hand through her suit into her abdomen. Pain lanced through her stomach, her vision clouding. She could feel the creature’s hand moving inside her. The pain was exquisite, beyond anything she’d felt before. She couldn’t breathe past it, could hardly see past it.
The creature pulled its hand out, ripping muscle, sinew and a portion of her suit’s hard-shell away.
That was it. If the wound didn’t kill her, she’d suffocate. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to take it with her.
She drove forward, bulling the creature back by brute force and sending them both down in a sprawl near her rifle. This time she was on top.
She punched the creature in the face, snapping its head back against the deck, and grabbed for her rifle. The creature's hands clamped around her helmet, but she ignored them – she was dead anyway – jammed the rifle under its jaw and pulled the trigger.
Fatigue hit her in an almost physical wave. It would have driven her to her knees had she been standing. She tried to draw a breath into her tightening chest. White hot pain burned through her wounded side, drawing tears to her eyes. Damn.
“Arland, come on.” Luc's voice came from somewhere very far away. “Stay with me, girl.”
She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep, let it all slip away.
Pain tore through her side again. Ripping a breathless scream from her throat.
Luc squirted more breach foam into her wound, drawing another cry from her, then jammed a hypo into her arm.
“On your feet, soldier,” he snapped, pulling her up.
The adrenaline hit her system, sending her heart hammering, and bringing the world into sharp focus. She took another breath, keeping it shallow so as not to tug on the damaged muscles in her flank. She had a job to do.
“Luc, how long?” she asked.
“We’re at fifty minutes.”
Starless sky. They were out of time.
He met her gaze. “We can still do this. We have to.”
He was right, people were counting on them. They ran for the bomb.
She keyed her com-link open. “Commander, we’re at the bomb. How d
o we arm it?”
“There should be a hex keypad on the front, you’ll need to start with an access code, one three seven C one five, should do it.”
Arland tapped in the code on the four by four keypad. The screen started flashing.
“Got it. What next?”
“Put in the countdown time in minutes and then put the access code in again to start the countdown.”
She followed the instructions. Already tiring again, her strength fading. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision.
The bomb chirped once, and the time began spooling down from eleven minutes.
“Let’s get gone.” Luc pulled her to her feet.
She turned to follow him and almost fell. The move tore at her wound. She let out a cry and stumbled.
“I’m not going to make it,” she gasped out. “Get to the ship.”
“I’m not leaving you behind now.” Luc pulled her up again.
Stars, it felt like she was being torn in half. “You’ll never make it, and you know the captain won’t go without you. They’ll die. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
“To hells with your conscience.” His abrupt tone threw her.
◊◊
They felt the bomb blast rock the Hlin. Dannage looked up as the clock scrolled past sixty-three minutes.
“They’re behind schedule.” Nerves made him bite off each word.
“We’ve got time. The plan blows the Hlin with four minutes to spare,” Hale assured him, her voice staying calm and even, even though she had said the same thing half a dozen times now.
Another rumbling rippled through the ship and Dannage’s ears popped. They both leaned forward to look out of the open dock doors. The Hlin had dropped out of hyperspace. They had nine minutes left.
“Come on, Arland.” Dannage returned to watching the entrance Arland and Luc had gone through. Willing them to come rushing in.
Another rumble rippled through the ship, the lights flickering in its wake. Somewhere off in the ship, the collider was spiralling out of control, power spikes ripping through the ship's systems. The ship vibrated again as a power relay in the bay erupted into flame.
“The scanners indicate the collider is breaching much more quickly than we anticipated,” Jax's voice came over the speakers.