by Allen Stroud
My fingers are shaking as I maneuver the robotic hand toward the seam between two deck plates. I activate the portable laser and aim at the groove between two sealing bolts. The screen confirms the weapon is working, and I can see layers of paint peeling away. Hopefully, the crew of the Gallowglass will be too busy to notice my work.
A tiny trail of fragments drifts away into space. I can see a dark hole growing right in the centre of the image. Now I’m in a race against time. I don’t know what’ll happen between the ships as they batter each other, how long it’ll take until one or the other falls to pieces or all the crew are killed. I have to do my job as fast as possible and hope I’ve done it fast enough.
The hole looks to be of adequate size. I deactivate the laser and push the robotic fingers forward, pressing one digit into the red-hot tear. The sensor on the end pings contact with an electrical relay. A quick diagnostic on the screen indicates it’s a data cable, just what I was looking for.
The fingertip clamps on. A dot of chemical burns through the cable casing, and a moment later our own feeder line is spliced into the system. I shut down both camera feeds and activate the link.
A log-on screen appears. ‘Fleet authorised access – enter your username.’
Bingo.
Chapter Forty-Five
Shann
The noise outside is deafening, like being stuck in a hurricane, but I have to focus – we have to focus on what we can do, what we can control.
On my instruction, the Khidr is jammed against the Gallowglass. At this range, both ships cannot deploy their most destructive weapons – their torpedoes and lasers. Instead, guns rake our hull as we do the same to them, searching for a weak point.
From this position, we can annihilate each other. There’s enough fuel left in our main engines to perform one final burn. I bet the Gallowglass has more. A decent push from either set of engines will grind the ships together in a graceful balletic solution. We’re already swirling around in a cloud of spinning debris.
We’re two wounded bears, tearing each other apart.
On board, we’re all strapped into our chairs, a protection against the shifting forces. The spinning and turning means continual flux in the direction my body is being pulled. The noise from outside increases. A constant hammering of wreckage against the outside of the hull. The positive is that so long as I can hear it, we’re still pressurised; the bridge compartment hasn’t ruptured. But it makes talking in the room almost impossible. We have to use the comms. The headphones double as ear defenders in here.
Our initial missile launches, and suicidal charge gave us a chance. The Gallowglass couldn’t return fire accurately before we crashed into them. The turret laser can’t lock on to our hull and slice us up without damaging their ship too. Duggins said most of their system worked on automated processing, so there must be some kind of safety protocol they’re struggling to override, or else we’d already be dead.
We’re winning, moment to moment, but I’m not sure it’s enough.
I’m worried about my people. Keiyho is either unconscious or worse. Chiu is slumped in her seat too, her chair twisted at an awkward angle. Travers has taken over the weapons control. Le Garre is still flying the Khidr, trying to turn us away from the imminent missile impact. I’ve no idea what’s going on in the rest of the ship.
The screen in front of me is cracked. The projectiles are still marked as flashing dots, moving toward the two ships. There’s a three-dimensional model of the situation outside, a computer simulation of spinning fragments, based on all available data, a beautiful maelstrom of gathering destruction.
A green dot reaches us and the ship rocks, driving me sideways against the straps. “Impact of asset one, Captain!” Travers says. “Asset two collision imminent!”
I tense up involuntarily, despite the distance and the fact that I can see what’s happening on my own screen. The simulation is moving at an angle in reaction to the first impact. The second will drive us faster toward oblivion.
This time, there’s a loud booming noise as the missile hits. The screen shutters buckle and crack. A pressure loss alarm goes off, and suddenly, the noise beyond my helmet fades away into an eerie quiet. In a way, it’s a relief. The world outside the bridge evaporates, and the situation in front of me becomes easier to concentrate on.
The decompression alarm is flashing in front of me. I’m grateful for the safety straps that hold me back from the pull of deep space. What was that old navy saying? A captain should go down with the ship? There are countless news articles about tragedies at sea and the dangers of abandoning your boat or face being dragged down with a sinking wreck. Out here, leaving the vessel is suicide, unless you have another to go to.
The tiny popping noise of an open comms channel grabs my attention. Travers is in my ear. “Captain, third impact is imminent.”
“How’s our rotation?”
“Not looking good,” Le Garre says. “We’re coming back around. I can’t reverse our direction with the thrusters we have left.”
“Do whatever you can.”
“Aye, aye.”
She’s right; the third impact is worse than the others. It’s like someone kicked me really hard in the chest and then punched me in the ribs a few times for good measure. The Khidr groans and twists to starboard. I feel my left shoulder pop and the straps on that side of my chair snap, sending me hurtling toward the wall. I manage to grab the frayed ends and hold on, but then the whole place shifts again, in the opposite direction and I’m slammed into the floor.
This time, I know I’ve broken something in my left arm. It’s twisted underneath me. I can move it, but it’ll be useless for doing anything.
The comms pops in my ear again; it’s Le Garre. “All three impacts confirmed. We took most of the last one!”
My ribs hurt as I inhale to reply. “Can you give me a comparative damage assessment?”
“The computer is trying, Captain, but we’re losing systems everywhere!”
“How long until we lose structural integrity?”
“I…I can’t tell.”
Structural integrity – a term that hides a multitude of problems. What it means in this context is the ship is falling apart, splitting into its various components that will probably end up drifting away in space for centuries.
A variety of coffins and tombs for those of us left alive.
The Khidr is a hardy vessel. Fleet builds things for space with tough and durable components. There are always redundant systems, backups, protective shells and casings; anything that can be added without compromising some other essential component is added. However, despite all the simulations, design meetings and disaster planning, no one involved in the construction of this ship had any experience of space combat.
I flinch as a whistling of radio static and shouting fills my ears. “Captain, this is Chase! They’ve sent over some sort of assault drone. It’s in the airlock, attempting to hack into our computer system and take over the ship. I’m trying to—”
The transmission cuts off. I struggle around from my position so I can operate the screen and try to reconnect, but the system can’t locate Sam on board. It’s struggling to manage basic functions as different sensors and cables fail.
We’re going to die out here.
Now is the time to send the transmission to Phobos Station. I key it up and select the priority distress broadcast channel. Whatever happens to us, Fleet will know what happened here. We will be remembered.
Did I do the right thing? Have I failed the people under my command? I made the judgement calls I thought were best. Would I change them? Based on the information I have now, probably, some of them, but that’s second-guessing myself.
Doesn’t stop me feeling guilty. The weight of the responsibility is heavy right now. People have died and will die because of what I chose. I see Jacobson’s fa
ce again in the camera feed, screaming out his last breath. That was me. I murdered him.
I’m injured. A wounded captain, on a wounded ship, both beyond patching up by any medic.
The screen flashes. There’s another communication request coming in. It’s Johansson. I wonder what’s happened to her. We could have used her expertise up here, but I doubt it would have made much difference.
I key up the request. The line is bad, fading in and out. “What’s going on, Ensign?”
“Captain, I’m outside the ship in EVA. I’ve patched a data cable link into the Gallowglass. I’m trying to hack the environment system as we discussed—”
“Wait a minute, you’re not in the medical room?”
“No, I…disobeyed a direct order.… I’m sorry.”
“Not a lot I can do about that right now,” I say. “You’re in a race against time. Looks like we weren’t the only ones who came up with computer hacking as a solution to this little war. Chase says they’ve landed an assault vehicle in the airlock.”
“Okay. Captain, I need your help.”
“What can I do?”
“There’s an authorisation wall. I need a code to access their ship’s system,” Johansson explains. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what it might be?”
I rack my brain, thinking over every encounter I had with Rocher and the people who turned out to be traitors. “Sellis and Chiu had authorisation codes to make themselves known to the Gallowglass crew. The transmission was recorded. I can send that to you?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
I key up Sellis’s conversation and send the file down the line. After three tries it indicates it’s gotten there. “Any use?”
“Trying it now.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Sellis
I can’t see.
I ache all over and there’s blood in my mouth. I can feel more wetness around me as I drift in the dark.
I’m alive; there’s air to breathe. While these two things are true, I have hope. I am not giving up.
The last thing I remember is Shah and the Taser. He attacked me. Why?
Is he a traitor? Working for the Gallowglass? No. I don’t think so. If he was, he’d have sabotaged the ship already and killed me, or tried to recruit me with another blackmail attempt. What’s his angle then? I don’t know.
The world around me shifts, and I’m forced against something metallic and unresisting. Then the pressure eases and I’m pulled the other way. I raise my arms and ward off a flat wall, keeping my face from slamming into it.
My head hurts. I can’t figure this shit out. Better minds than me will be trying to calculate all the variables. Better minds need to be informed.
I touch the comms bead on my collar. It’s still working. “Sellis to bridge. Captain, I hope you’re on the line; this is fucking urgent!”
There’s static on the line, then noise as someone picks up. “We’re a little busy up here right now, Specialist!”
“I’m locked in a storage compartment. Shah has gone rogue. He’s headed for the airlock!”
There’s an intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then it goes dead.
I’m on my own.
I raise my hand and wave it in front of my face. I can hardly see the movement. There is almost no light in here. I move my hands around, trying to find the walls and door. My knuckles catch the edge of something sharp, making me instinctively flinch away, but I’ve no momentum. I can’t find purchase in this—
The loud and terrible sound of metal tearing echoes in from outside. There’s a bang, and again I’m slammed into something as the ship surges. For a moment, light flickers on, then dies again, giving me a sense of the room I’m trapped in, one of the inventory compartments. There are three on the ship and they are huge spaces, filled with racks of shelves. The world I glimpsed was a nightmare of broken and twisted metal. The door is at the far end.
Well, fuck!
I’m pressed up against one of the surviving racks. While I’ve been unconscious, I’ve been thrown around this room as the Khidr has been under attack. I’m injured but not badly. Lots of nicks, slices and scratches. I don’t know how I’m still alive.
If I’m going to stay that way and make a difference, I need to get out of this room.
I push off from the racks toward the door, keeping my hands out in front of me.
Twisted metal struts groan and squeal as the ship adjusts its position. I can feel every shift and alteration, dragging my body left and right, up and down. I have to compensate, sticking out an arm or a leg to touch against something and push away, keeping myself moving in the same direction.
This is the ultimate gamble. My life is at stake. At any moment, I could be crushed against torn metal. A sharp edge might slice through my suit and me. There’s nothing I can do.
What a rush!
I’ve wanted this. It’s taken all this time to realise this is what I was looking for – a moment of chance where my life is at stake in a tangible way. This is Russian roulette without the opponent – a human variable that I wouldn’t want in the mix. I know now I’ve been searching for a way to risk my life and feel that risk. That’s the ultimate high.
My heart is racing. I feel alive, connected to the here and now. I’m not sure I’ll gamble again after this. I don’t think I’ll ever capture the same sensation.
I guess I should thank Shah for what he did. Yeah…thank him, up close and personal…with a fist. I may be too late. Whatever he was planning to do may have already happened. I’ve no way of knowing, but I have to try, to strive against the odds. That’s what defines me.
The journey lasts a long time for me, an eternity of seconds or minutes, I can’t tell. My fingers touch the wall, and I know I’ve travelled a long way physically, and spiritually. I’ve found myself, understood some deep urge that’s always been there, but needed this moment to be confronted.
I’m not quite at the door, but my guess was pretty close. I fumble along the wall and find the release lever about a metre to my right. I grab it and one of my fingers twists. A shooting pain runs down my arm, making me gasp.
A broken finger. If I get out of here with only a broken finger, I’m lucky.
The door shivers and, with a squeal, grinds open. The corridor beyond is lit by flickering emergency lighting. It’s a wasteland of torn fragments and scorched walls, but I recognise it from before. At the end, to my left, near the next hatch, there’s an acceleration chair hanging off the wall with a figure slumped forward in it. I move closer. It’s Bogdanovic. He’s dead, his face twisted in an agonised expression. I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost, but not quite – Fucker.
I make my way past him and into the next passage. I’m heading for the airlock, where Shah was going. I don’t know what I’m going to be able to do if I get there, but I have to confront him.
The ship is ruined. The pressure alarm is going off, and the hatch at the end of this corridor is closed. I open up the emergency compartment on the wall. There’s a spare tank, helmet and suit hanging there. I strip naked and change into it. I can’t take any risks with the seals on my own after being unconscious and thrown around the storeroom.
My bare arms and legs are covered in bruises and clotted lacerations. I look like I’ve been tortured. In a way, I have, I guess, but not like some abused prisoner, keeping special secrets. I know my place; I’m a pawn in this game.
So much for just a broken finger, eh?
I take everything I can from the emergency compartment. Now I’m a pawn armed with an axe, a short-range chemical welder and a precision zero gravity fire extinguisher.
I clip the helmet down and activate the suit’s internal air supply and magnetic boots, and then I override the emergency controls on the hatch.
This time, it’s like being drawn
out into a tornado. I grab the edges of the door to stop myself being sucked straight through. I’m doing some sort of vertical press-up, trying to ease myself into the breached chamber.
It’s the medical room. Bullet holes and scorch marks decorate the remaining structure. The flooring is damaged but intact. The dividing wall is smashed to pieces, and there’s a gaping hole in the ceiling. I can see pieces of debris floating around out there. Hundreds of ration pills, painkillers, sedatives and medical tools. Even one of the beds. All of it swirling around, just like our ship. Occasionally, there’s a flash as something explodes. From here, the whole sight is magnificent, awful and vomit inducing.
I get through the door and reactivate the emergency control, letting it seal behind me. Gradually, the forces on me ease. Usually, if I was going to work in a depressurised environment like this, I’d be tethered or kitting up in a full EVA suit, but I’m not here to fix stuff, just to get through.
I’m nearly where I want to be. The hatch at the other end is also sealed. It’s a right-angle turn and one hundred metres from there to Arkov’s control station.
But first, I need to make it to the hatch.
The magboots make walking awkward and slow, but I wouldn’t try this without them. I keep my eyes on the hatch ahead of me and away from the throw-up triggers. Space walks were never my favourite thing, but you do what you have to do.
When I reach the other end, I peer through the DuraGlas plate, trying to get a look at who might be in there. Something is moving around, that’s for sure. The minute I open the door, they’ll get a nasty surprise, although there isn’t much I can do about that, other than issue a comms warning.
“Sellis to all crew. I’m about to open the sealed hatch on corridor nine. Fair warning, people, I’m coming in.”
There’s no response. Shit. It’s in moments like this that ‘fair warning’ takes on a new meaning. Yes, I’ve done all I can to let people know what I’m going to do, but that doesn’t change the fact that opening the door could get someone in there killed.