Guy kissed the hand scrawled lettering that read my nasty ex-girlfriend, and joined Dekker on the far wall. They strapped themselves into the safety harnesses and sealed the exits.
“Nasty ex-girlfriend?”
“Oh yeah. She’s mean, expensive, and makes a mess of things. She’s about to be someone else’s problem now,” Guy winked at Dekker who just shook his head. “I’m just saying… never date a girl named Bertha.”
The Crusader dove and twisted as it angled away from the interdictor. Taking a deep breath, Dekker slammed the release hatch and overrode the systems. The vacuum of space violently sucked out the hold’s contents; the void consumed Bertha, Guy’s sandwich, and a handful of miscellaneous items. Dekker and Guy shook and jerked to the furthest reaches of their harness and rattled about for two seconds until the hatch resealed and restored pressure.
Guy worked his jaw until his eardrums popped and adjusted to the recompression. He and Dekker darted to the cockpit, swaying with the lurches as the Crusader rolled through loops not possible were they in an atmospheric environment.
Bertha floated like an inert piece of galactic detritus and went unnoticed by enemy scanners. The armament’s tractor beam locked onto the Interdictor and began reeling itself toward the ship with surprising speed.
“We may want to be further away,” Guy intoned as an afterthought, not taking his eyes off the cockpit’s readings.
Corgan kicked the speed up another notch, trading speed for maneuverability. Their pursuit held fast, but their purpose was distance; they’d never outrun interceptors without FTL.
A flash of blue with red lightning wrapped itself around the Shivan Interdictor as Bertha’s second stage activated; a heavy EMP wave disabled its victim’s shields. The interceptors peeled around to return home and help fight whatever unforeseen threat had attacked their carrier. Seconds later: stage three. The nuclear explosion erupted like a fiery ball mushroom; the eradicating energy wave washed over the interceptors and dismantled the Interdictor micron by micron.
Guy cheered like a child on an amusement park ride. Vestiges of fusion fire licked at their shields before fading out of existence as the cold vacuum consumed it entirely.
“Well,” Dekker brushed himself off as if nothing serious had occurred, “Back to business. There’s the space station.” He pointed to their target on the long range scope. “I’m gonna have Vesuvius do a full sweep, so let’s not come in too hot, Corgan. Throttle back a bit, now.”
Dekker turned and exited the cockpit.
Guy turned to Corgan and motioned to where the Interdictor used to be. “You see that? How awesome was that?” He leaned back with a huge grin on his face.
***
Vesuvius said, “Scanners indicate no life signs in any of the other Shivan interceptors except that disabled one. Rock reeled it aboard and sealed it inside the cargo hold; it’s only minimally damaged, a child with a monkey wrench could get it running again if he had access to the engine compartment. The bay is depressurized, though, so he’s not going anywhere until we say so. We’ll deal with the pilot later,” Vesuvius delivered her report very matter-of-factly.
“There has been no communication from the science station as of yet.” She continued, glancing at the view panel; the station filled the screen and they floated very near. “Instruments show a full complement of living, breathing beings.” She phrased thusly not ruling out Mechnar body-hijackers like they’d discovered at Osix. They could still register as living on their instruments depending on how their condition, and the Dozen had recalibrated their sensor array after Osix so they could also detect them. “We weren’t given the exact number of persons to expect by the MEA, just the vital personnel—especially the doctor.”
She continued, “Also, a wide range scan found an anomaly. It’s probably nothing,” she shrugged, “But the scanners flagged it.”
Dekker raised an eyebrow. Vesuvius noticed and explained.
“There’s a small comet passing through the far reaches of the system. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it seemed to disappear for a moment, but only on the photon wave scanner… so, we know there’s nothing significant about it except that it went completely invisible for few seconds.”
Rubbing his chin for several prolonged moments Dekker growled, “I want to check it out.”
“We’re almost to the station already,” Guy interjected.
“And that’s where we’re going,” Dekker replied. “I don’t want any surprises. I want you, Matty, Corgan, and Britton to go.”
“But I want to blow stuff up,” Guy whined. “Can we blow up the comet?”
“Wasn’t the interdictor enough for you?” Matty teased. “Don’t worry, we’ll find something to break.”
“Just make sure it isn’t my ship!” Dekker warned.
The station loomed even closer as they approached. The main ring rotated around the center nodule where vital mechanical devices and engines were stored; the ring’s movement assisted the gravity metrics—it’s where any survivors would be. Despite the life-signs, the com channels remained silent.
“There is one other thing to bear in mind,” Dekker addressed them all. “The primary reason we’ve got all these fancy new toys, a fistful of cash, and even an MEA fuel card is because of the Halabella incident. With Osix looking too much like the original Mechnar Contra, someone in MEA control has much decided we’re the experts on this kind of thing now. Be prepared to face the same sort of thing again.
“You each have your assignments,” Dekker pointed to the photo of Dr. Abe MacAllistair that each Investigator wore on a wristband. Dekker didn’t need one; despite the passage of years, at least for MacAllistair, there was no way Dekker would forget him—were it not for “MacAllistair”, Dekker might have been able to save the lives of his wife and unborn child. Despite the anger in his gut, he barked the order, “Protect and retrieve this man at all cost. Let’s lock and load.”
***
Eight members of the Dozen stood at the pressure lock with weapons drawn and ready. Guy ran down the checklist on the airlock data display. “Pressure’s good, seal confirmed… wait a minute.”
Dekker’s face seemed to get more intense, if that were possible pre-mission. “What is it?”
“The pressure in the station is fine, but there’s no oxygen.”
“The life signs were strong,” Vesuvius reassured.
“So it can’t be Mechnars,” Dekker wondered aloud. “Original models had no life signs, the second gen we found at Osix require oxygen.”
“Should we reassess the situation?” Vesuvius asked.
“We’re not going to get any more information without going in,” Dekker spat, reaching for an air supply mask. He clipped the compressed air cylinder to his belt and clicked the air flow toggle.
Guy asked, “You want us all along, now? We don’t really have to go explore that comet—it’s probably nothing.”
“That’s the best case scenario,” Dekker remarked. “Just check it out and get back here as soon as feasible.”
***
Rock, stepped through the hold first. His air mask fit tightly over his nose and mouth and fogged as his breathing quickened slightly. He swung his massive gun upwards on its side-mount harness pivot. The heavy gunner spoke into his com, “All clear.”
The rest of the Investigators stepped inside the sterile hallway and took their positions. Everything looked normal, aside from the lack of oxygen; lights had been dimmed to twenty percent through the hall, but reacted to movement and lit to full as they detected the investigators.
Dekker walked like a cat, stealthily creeping down the hall. He signaled for Vesuvius, Shaw, and Nibbs to join him. Nathan led Rock, Ahmed, and Jamba down the opposite corridor.
Peering around the first corner, Dekker noticed that the lights were already at full. He tightened the grip on his pistol and slid around the corner like a wraith. Shaw and Nibbs followed suit.
Vesuvius exhaled a grunt of frustration. Sh
e rolled her eyes and turned the corner, making no effort to soften the clacking of her heeled boots against the metallic floor.
Dekker shot her a sharp look. She returned a cutesy shrug as if she didn’t recognize the problem. Vesuvius simply walked beyond their position and incited a gurgling, mindless shriek.
An ill-kept humanoid in a tattered lab coat rushed towards Vesuvius. Except for the jerky, spastic movements and the elongated spike protruding from his forehead, he looked like a lab worker.
She swiftly drew her blades and severed every hand and foot in one fluid motion. The creature slipped off balance on his sick, slick stumps even as Vesuvius whirled around to heel-kick her opponent to the ground. Still spinning, she plunged her blades into the downed creature, severing spine and piercing heart.
“Still quieter than guns,” Vesuvius stated quietly and matter-of-factly to her comrades.
Shaw pursed his lips as if to silently whistle.
“You two used to date?” Nibbs whispered the question. “How did that relationship end, again?”
“In the infirmary,” Dekker said flatly as he moved to join her. “Make sure you review your first aid procedures when we get back.”
Dekker kicked the body over with his foot and examined it. The distinct, ridged cheekbones confirmed that he was a dipthnorian, a humanoid race very similar to earthlings. But the elongated horn protruding from his brow concerned him.
“His eyes were black,” Vesuvius shared, “like they were all pupil.”
Nibbs bent down to help examine the body while Shaw took point, keeping watch. Nibbs pulled the victim’s eyelids back and observed the overly dilated eyes; they relaxed and slowly shrank to a more normal size.
Using the barrel of his pistol, Dekker tapped on the prominent head spike. The barrel made a knocking sound against it and a thin, red line, like the edge of a scabbed wound encircled the base of the horn. The spike appeared wood-like and sheathed in a velvet-like coating, similar to pre-rut deer from Earth; dust sloughed off it as Dekker rapped it.
“I think this thing popped out from inside his skull,” Vesuvius observed.
“At least he’s not our target,” Dekker muttered, “But this is getting weirder and weirder.”
Nibbs picked up a severed hand and turned it over. The fingers were worn raw and bloodied. “It looks like he’d been working with his hands or something?”
Vesuvius grimaced as she examined it. “Looks more like the hands of someone who was buried alive and tried clawing their way out.”
“Not clawing their way out… Maybe clawing their way in somewhere,” Dekker observed. “Let’s get to the operations center. Maybe we’ll find something there.” Dekker opened a channel to the other team, “Heads up. Local sentients are hostile; watch for our primary target, but exercise deadly force if needed on any others.”
“Acknowledged.”
“All right guys,” Dekker stood. “Let’s move.”
***
“We’re on C deck now, looking for the life support systems.” Nathan reported in. “We’ve killed four of them so far. No MacAllistair.”
“Good,” Dekker returned into his mouthpiece. “Scans showed the highest populations on level B. Keep me updated. We’re just outside the main operations hub in the central node, A deck.”
“Acknowledged. We’ll report again in fifteen.”
“Nibbs. You’re up,” Dekker nodded to his computer and electronics expert.
Nibbs dropped his backpack and grabbed the tools necessary to hack into the locked system, allowing him access to the station’s primary control center. Within seconds he’d dug into a mechanical panel and exposed a nest of wires and chipboards.
The level in between the teams, B deck, was the primary living quarters for all crew and staff. A deck consisted mostly of research facilities. So far, all seemed mostly quiet, like the hostiles they’d encountered were random, unless they’d somehow retained enough foresight to post sentries. Perhaps the large population of mindless, slobbering beasts waited for something; maybe they had some sort of mission of their own—or maybe it had already been completed? An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Dekker’s stomach. He never vocalized those intuitive warnings, but never ignored them either.
“Almost there,” Nibbs stated, clamping two more alligator clips onto wires he’d pulled from the control panel. He punched in a few commands to the connected handset and pressed a button to execute. A soft clunk sounded as the door locks reset and the horizontal panels slid open, granting them access.
The team quickly scoped out the command room. It was empty; lights had dimmed like the rest of the dead space station. Dekker nodded and the foursome walked inside.
Obnoxious, loud klaxons suddenly blared all around them. Dekker shot an accusatory look to Nibbs.
Nibbs raised his hands. “It wasn’t me!” He stepped back and grabbed the handset he’d left dangle from the cords outside, scanning the readout. “It’s some sort of motion detector, and definitely not part of the normal security systems!” He had to shout over the siren. “It looks like someone else set it up—it’s a very simple system, just an alarm subroutine programmed into the main sensor banks.”
“Well,” Dekker sighed, gun drawn in anticipation, “turn it off. The noise is making my head hurt and I’m afraid we’ve woken up the kids.”
Nibbs nodded, not ignoring the fact that Dekker made a wisecrack, something he only tended to do prior to life-threatening situations. “I have to do it from inside. This only controls the door.” The lights came up as they entered the main sensor bay.
Sitting at the primary command console, Nibbs adjusted his air mask and keyed in a series of commands. Seconds later, the alarm stopped. A glance to the left-hand sensor screen showed half of the residents at B deck were scrambling, each one represented by a colored blip. The electronic dots scattered like a colony of ants in jeopardy.
“Crimony,” Vesuvius muttered. “It looks like someone kicked a hornet nest.”
Dekker clenched his jaw and then contacted the team on C deck. “That was us. Expect a little more traffic.”
“So much for stealth,” Nathan’s voice crackled whimsically through their earpieces.
“What have you got,” Dekker pushed Nibbs as he scanned the systems.
His eyes darted back and forth, skimming the data as it scrolled. “Long range communications are damaged—it looks intentional. Nothing else of significance, at least, nothing regarding the current condition of the crew.” He jammed a memory module into the connection port and downloaded all the data from the station logs. “But it does appear something is awry. All the positional coordinates are wrong—look at the data hard-stamps on the records. See here, on the footer; it registers this station’s location in the Heydessi system.”
“What? That’s not possible; it’s forever away. These stations don’t travel very well. It’d be cheaper to build a new outpost here than to move it from Heydessi.” He nodded to the center of the room, and the source of a gentle, whooshing hum. Below the grated floor, a giant vertical corridor ran the entire height of the station; a massive fan rotated constantly inside the shaft, circulating all the station’s air supply. “Transporting these stations is just not feasible.”
Guttural screeches echoed down the corridor. The agitated residents heavy footsteps clanked over the gates sounding like a stampede of shrieking bulls.
“I know.” Nibbs yanked the data storage unit from its dock and slid it into his pocket. He flipped the safety off his weapon and stood to face the intruders. “These things don’t even have FTL capabilities, it’s all orbital thrusters and sublight drives. It would have to be disassembled and transported in sections, but the coding says it’s the same exact unit—and there aren’t any refurbished parts—this space station moved.”
Shaw cursed. “Well, that’s government for you, right?” His pulse rifle echoed a loud, cracking boom as he drilled a smoking hole through the head of the first frenzied researcher. Its he
ad jolted back; frothy spittle flung from his mouth and dust fell from the spike on his head. “Just making sure that our tax dollars get spent. They probably spent an entire expansion colony’s GDP in order to move it.”
Vesuvius double checked the photo on her wrist and then leveled a pistol at the next one. Her shot blasted the face and horn-like protrusion from its head, spinning him to the floor like a leaf.
Dekker followed suit. “Whatever’s going on here, these unicorn-zombie things are going to really ruin our day, especially if we aren’t able to locate MacAllistair. Or worse, yet, if he’s not even here.” Dekker unloaded two more shots into a charging zombie.
“You ever wonder… just how clean are the MEA’s hands in all the missions they hire us for?” Shaw questioned between shots. “Maybe there’s no such person as Doctor Abe MacAllistair. Maybe they knew about this; maybe they know all the details and we’re just here as a clean-up crew. You know: black-ops wet-work kind of stuff we don’t normally hire out for. Or maybe they’re trying to knock us off for what we saw at Osix.”
“Who cares,” Vesuvius riddled a small group of attackers with shots; she brimmed with excitement. “It all pays the same—but I ain’t dying here.”
“No.” Dekker stated. “MacAllistair is definitely real.” Something in the tone of his voice convinced the others.
The other group on C deck reported in. “Things are getting interesting here, guys. Spike headed zombies aside, the air recyclers are completely shot. There’s zero chance we can repair them.” Nathan’s voice broke off, overridden by the sound of blaster fire.
“Understood,” Dekker replied. He checked the level on his air tank: about two thirds left. They’d been here almost an hour so far. Dekker clicked his personal communicator to contact the Rickshaw Crusader. “Guy, Corgan. Report?”
Silence.
“Rickshaw Crusader. Report. What is your status?”
Silence.
Dekker ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen, Guy. If you can hear this, we have only a couple hours before our air tanks run out and we all die. Zombified scientists we can handle, but we’re going to need some air. Get back here ASAP.” He sighed with a loud, frustrated grunt that nearly unseated the air mask from the ridge of his nose.
The Last Watchmen Page 10