by Allen Stroud
“Captain, Engineer Duggins has obtained access to the freighter’s computer system,” Jacobson announces. “He’s initiated a data transfer. We’re receiving an information dump now.”
“Time to completion?”
“Three hours, forty-two minutes.”
“Tell Duggins to clear his team out and set everything to remote,” I order. “Brief his people on what we’ve found. They are authorised to use firearms if necessary. Get those people back over here as quickly as you can.”
“Understood, Captain.”
My hands are twitching. I’m struggling to stay here and sit in this chair. While I have access to all the information available on my screen, I feel powerless to help and act. Everything is too complicated and taking too long.
“Captain, drone number three is no longer transmitting.”
I flick over to the relevant window. There’s a blank screen. I wind it back thirty seconds. There’s an open crate on the floor. It’s huge, empty and filled with shaped foam. Some sort of large sphere has been in here, but now it’s gone. A moment later, something obscures the camera and there’s a whiteout. “Someone’s doing this on purpose,” I realise aloud.
I’m suddenly cold. I can see those bodies floating around the Hercules’s bridge. That could’ve been us, could still be us if I don’t act fast and make the right calls.
“Captain?”
I blink twice; my left hand covers my right. The nail of my index finger digs into the back of my hand. Pain banishes the fog. Get a grip! Jacobson is still talking to me. He’s waiting on an answer. “How far was drone number three from the rescue teams?”
“Five hundred metres or so, Captain.”
I activate a communications line to Keiyho. “Lieutenant Commander, we have a hostile encounter. You need to complete what you’re doing, very quickly.”
“How long do we have?” Keiyho asks. His voice is calm. The Japanese inflection makes me feel calmer as well.
“About fifteen minutes,” I reply.
“We’ll make it,” he says. “Prepare for five, plus one.”
That’s good news. I feel a sense of elation. If we can rescue the survivor, we may get some answers. “Relay that to Technician Arkov,” I tell Jacobson, who nods. I remember what Travers said before – we’re going to be vulnerable during the rescue. “Pull the drones back too. Get them in a perimeter, around Keiyho’s people.”
“On it, Captain. Shall I—”
At that moment, there’s a loud and low bang. The klaxon alert sounds, and the ship lurches violently to the right. I’m jammed against my straps. Someone is screaming. Something has happened. We’re…
…under attack!
Chapter Nine
Johansson
My head throbs and there’s a ringing sound in my ears. A moment ago, I was working on my terminal analysing audio fragments, the next minute I was being slammed into the wall. The safety straps prevented the worst of the impact, but I still managed to whack my head against something hard and unforgiving.
I’m trying to untangle myself, but there’s still shifting forces affecting me as the ship maneuvers. This is a complex burn. We must be under manual control. I can hear the alert klaxon in the hallway, and the auto-sensors don’t want to let me go. We must be performing an emergency course change. What’s happened to cause this? I’m struggling to reach the activation for my comms on my wrist or my neck, but I can’t get to either.
There’s an urge to panic. If I do, I know my heart rate will increase and my breathing will become rapid, alerting Bogdanovic again, who probably has more than enough to deal with.
I need to control the symptoms as much as possible. Part of this is psychological. I’ve done high gravity training, which simulates these kinds of circumstances. The changing directional pressure is confusing. The safety system is trying to protect me. I need to wait this out and focus on small objectives. Everyone on board will be going through a similar situation.
My right arm is trapped behind me. The strap has twisted around my prosthetic wrist. I can automatically disengage the arm to free myself, but then I’ll be thrown around while the straps try to reengage. I need to ride this out.
I shut my eyes and remember the old fairground we used to visit every summer. It was in a field, right on the coast, just a short walk from my house. Every July, as part of the Fish Festival, I’d see the trucks arrive and watch the travelling families pitch their tents before they started assembling the rides. Circular metal tracks and painted cars would emerge from the back of transport containers. Men and women swarmed over them with hammers, drill drivers and wrenches, working long hours to make everything safe.
At night, the whole place would come alive with electric lights and music. Schoolkids from everywhere would queue up for hours just to get a few minutes whirling around on the rides, screaming with joy as they hurtled into the air and back down again.
I loved the fairground. Now I pretend I’m back there, being thrown about by the festival machines. I remember the view, looking out over the sea from the top of the ‘magic carpet’ or the Ferris wheel. I would try to get on as the sun set so I could see the water turn gold on the horizon.
Later, my school bought a whole set of synth experience pods, where you suit up and enter a visual emulation, with pulleys and platforms to make you think you’re flying a plane or racing around a track in a fast car. It was never the same.
At the real fairground, you could ride in different ways. Scared kids would tense up, trying to fight the twists and turns; others would relax and go floppy, letting their bodies get thrown into every bump and shunt. Out here, I can’t do either. There’s a technique you have to adopt, letting your body move as the inertia dictates, but taking care to flex your muscles when necessary, to ensure the straps don’t cut into your flesh, doing internal damage to bones and organs.
Back in those days of my childhood, I trusted I would be safe. The harness and belts were there to make sure we didn’t get hurt while the machines flung us around. Later, it was the same with the experience pods, astrospace simulators and the ‘vomit comet’. All of these were machines, designed to give you a thrill or test you within tolerable limits. That didn’t stop people panicking or giving up their breakfast, but at least you knew someone had constructed the experience you were enduring or enjoying. There was a limit to the force you’d be subjected to.
Out here, the computer calculates a course correction and there’s a similar safety threshold, but in an emergency, you’ve no idea what the pilot might chance. You’re subject to the consequences of their choices. Those choices could be fatal.
At least I was strapped in when we started.
I’m thinking about the words again. I can see the file list in my mind. I start mouthing them, trying to work out what I’ve missed. I keep going back to the phrase Captain Shann found – “…please don’t…sir…” I can picture someone saying it while in EVA, asking a technician to open the airlock, or something, but that doesn’t make sense if we’ve got two ships talking to each other. ‘Sir’ implies a relationship, like they’re in the same fleet or…
Maybe it’s not ‘sir’. Perhaps that’s just part of a word.
How long was the pause? The dip between ‘don’t’ and the next word. Long enough for there to be a word in between that we didn’t pick up? I think so, but only a short one. Even with the fragmentation of the signal, the list of possible terms is small. A word with louder syllables would have a greater chance of being picked up. We’ve got nothing, just a gap. What could it be?
Please don’t wait, sir?
Please don’t…we?
Surrender?
I’m guessing, but it fits the facts. I need to tell the captain.
Just as soon as the ship stops spinning around.
Chapter Ten
Shann
“Repo
rt! What was that?”
“Some kind of depressurisation, Captain! A response team is on its way to hydroponics.” Jacobson’s voice is shrill and wavering. I’m reminded of just how young he is. His words register. An accident in hydroponics – where Drake worked. Was he murdered because he found—
“We’re drifting away from the Hercules, Captain!”
“Travers, get us back in position!”
There’s no answer. I look over. Travers is out cold, slumped forward in his chair. We’re cabled to the freighter; if we don’t correct, those lines will run out of play.
I key up the pilot controls. A mini-joystick flips out of the armrest. A graphic representation of the ship appears on the screen. The hydroponics compartment is flashing red. That means we’re still venting atmosphere, still being pushed out of position.
I activate thrusters to compensate and set the computer to record and arrest our movement. There’s a hum through the deck as the engines engage. We’re slowing, then moving back. There’s been no sign of the tethers snapping. The rescue teams will need those lines to get back. Hopefully, we’re in time…
I can’t be distracted. I’m mapping the Khidr’s original parking position, relative to the freighter. I instruct the computer to return us to that spot.
There’s another lurch, this time the other way. “Hydroponics section sealed off, Captain,” Jacobson says.
The thrusters reduce power and we’re back. I unclip from my seat and launch myself toward Travers. There’s blood on his face and the chair. When we moved, his head must have slammed into the side of the seat. I shake his shoulders. “Wake up, Lieutenant!”
“What happened? I…”
“You hit your head. We’ll get Bogdanovic to take a look at it.” Travers can’t focus or look me in the eye. I can see he wants to help, to get it together, but he’s a liability up here. “You’re relieved, Lieutenant. Jacobson, tell Le Garre we need her, then escort Travers to medical.”
“Yes, Captain.”
I release Travers’s straps and haul him out of his seat. Jacobson grabs him and guides him toward the door. Le Garre is coming in just as he leaves. Sam Chase is right behind her. His work suit is scorch-marked and torn.
“Thought you could use an extra hand, Captain,” he says, “and an update.”
“Both would be very welcome,” I reply grimly. “What’s going on out there?”
“An explosive charge detonated in hydroponics,” Sam explains. He’s moving toward Jacobson’s vacant seat. Le Garre is settling into the pilot’s chair. “We’ve sealed off the compartment.”
“What’s the damage?”
“No one hurt, but we’ve lost everything that was in there.”
I’m doing the calculations even as he confirms the worst. Without hydroponics, we’re on limited time. The necessary recycling processes facilitated by our garden allow a ship to stay out of port for weeks and months. We’ll need to dock and repair. Thankfully, we’re only three days or so out from Phobos Station. We can make it on our current reserves. “We need to assess all damage and work out where we are. Quartermaster, I need you to authorise and deploy firearms to all members of the ship’s crew.”
Sam stops and looks at me. “Is that a good idea, Captain?” he asks. “The last thing we need is more damage to the ship.”
“The last thing we need is a terrorist running around destroying us from the inside,” I say. “I need whoever it is found, Sam. With Keiyho off the ship, you’re the senior firearms officer.”
“Sure.” Sam changes direction, making for the door. “I’ll get to it.”
“Thank you.” I grab his shoulder as he goes past. “Remember, you’re dealing with a murderer. Don’t hesitate.”
Sam nods. “I won’t.”
My screen flashes, another alert. Johansson’s face appears. “Captain, something’s come up.”
“Is it urgent? We’re dealing with a lot at the moment.”
“Pretty urgent. Are you aware that we’re transmitting?”
“Transmitting? What do you mean?”
“I’m picking up near-field communication from our ship to an unknown source,” Johansson explains. “There’s someone out there.”
“Aboard the Hercules?”
“No, somewhere else.” She frowns. “It’s gone. I can’t pinpoint the source.”
“Get yourself up here,” I order and close the screen. The ship graphic has calmed down now, but the hydroponics chamber is greyed out. I deactivate the pilot controls from my screen. “Transferring control back to you, Major,” I say to Le Garre.
“Thank you,” she replies in a pained voice. “Looks like you corrected our position just in time.”
“We’re still attached to the freighter?”
“Yes, I think so.”
I open the camera feed from our airlock. I can see a mass of EVA suits crammed into the space – people arriving back, making their way through processing. The sight is a relief. I’m smiling in spite of everything. “As soon as everyone’s aboard, get us ready to detach.”
“Aye, aye.”
My hands are shaking on the armrests. I know it’s from the adrenaline and endorphins. My body’s reaction to the crisis fired me up, and now, in a moment of aftermath, it’s struggling to come down. I’m breathing carefully, managing myself. We’re taught how to deal with these high stress situations, but there’s a big difference between there and here. We’ve trained for crises, we have emergency procedures and protocols for an array of eventualities, but this situation is complex, more complex than anything I can think of.
“Duggins’s team are aboard, Captain,” Ensign Chiu says. “He’s on his way up here.”
“What about Keiyho’s people?” I ask.
“They’re at the freighter airlock,” she replies. “They’ve had some problems.”
I go over the drone feeds on my screen. Three of them have gone down. “What kind of problems?” I ask.
“Unclear,” Chiu says. “There’s a lot of chatter.”
The bridge door slides back, and April Johansson is here and moving to take Jacobson’s post as the navigation/communications operator. “Where’s that field scan, tactical?” I ask.
“Just completing now, Captain,” Thakur says. “I…errr… I’m not sure we’ve…”
“Send the data and the conclusions to me, Ensign.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The sweep appears in another window. It’s a three-dimensional representation of our location and the region around it. I touch the screen and rotate the image. The Khidr is positioned in the centre, with a sphere of laser-scanned space all around us. The Hercules is a short distance away, and then there are a variety of other small objects picked up around it. I recognise them immediately.
“That’s debris.”
“Captain, I’m more concerned about quadrant six,” Thakur says.
A section of the scan is highlighted in green. I zoom into that region. In the middle, there’s a shape, roughly the same size as the Khidr.
“How far away is that object?” I ask.
“Ten thousand kilometres,” Thakur replies. “There’s some interference in our image out there. I can’t be completely sure what we’re seeing is accurate.”
“What’s the ratio?”
“Eight-two per cent accuracy, Captain.”
“It has to be a ship,” Le Garre says. “The ship that attacked the Hercules.”
“And it’s still here,” I add.
“Looks like it.”
I stare at the region around the object. There’s a whole series of small dots identified by the scan. These are labelled as anomalies, driving up the computer’s calculation of interference. “Run the sweep again,” I order. “Make a positional comparison. Track those small dots and discount them from the accuracy analysis. Send
the comparative image straight over as soon as you have it.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Tactical, what countermeasures do we have aboard?”
Ensign Thakur shudders when I address him, like an electric charge has run through him and stiffened his spine. “Countermeasures, Captain? I’m not sure I—”
“Find out, quickly!”
Le Garre is staring at me. She looks confused. “What are you—”
“I think those are guided missiles,” I say. “They are locked on to us, by some sort of tracking method – probably laser guidance, or our transponder.”
The second image appears on my screen. I overlay the two. The small signals have moved. There are six of them and they’re much closer to us. The larger signal is also heading in our direction.
“Chiu, isolate the objects from the two images and do a velocity calculation.”
“Large object moving at fifty metres per second; smalls are…one thousand metres per second.”
“Time until they reach us?”
“About eighteen minutes, Captain.”
“Can we shoot them down with our own rockets?” Le Garre suggests.
I shake my head. “They’re moving too fast. We need to give them something else to target.”
“Captain, we could change our transponder signal?” Johansson urges. “They might be locked on to our ship identification code. If we change that, they might get confused.”
“Do it,” I order.
“If they’re tracking us by laser sweep, like we’re using, it won’t make much difference,” Le Garre warns.
“We try everything,” I reply. “We don’t know what tech they’ve got.”
“Then we need to move position too,” Le Garre says.
“We can’t while we’re tethered.” I’m looking at the airlock again. More EVA suits are appearing in the room. I can see two people carrying a third figure. “Contact Arkov and keep an eye on our airlock, Major. Soon as you get an all clear, initiate a burn and get the freighter between us and the incoming hostiles.”
“Will do,” Le Garre replies.