Her stomach convulsed, and she tasted vomit.
As her eyes closed and she wondered if this was the final minute of her life, Lara tried to think only of Daniel.
79
W
hen the shuttle New Terra moved into the same orbital vector as the legendary S.P.S. Andorran, navigator Stephen Kreveld let loose with an ear-spitting whistle.
“What a sight, George. I could keep this pose for another month and doubt I'd get tired of it. Uncle Rick always said you ain't gone to the best edge of life unless you seen the Earth looking down on it. What a sight.”
Commander George Cleopolous sighed and double-checked the readings on the schematic panel above him. “Yes, it's impressive, Kreveld, but we're not here to ogle. Two years of training for this one mission, and I'll be damned if we're going to screw it up by getting distracted. Andorran should be in visual range within 60 seconds.”
Stephen chuckled, and the scar on his left cheek crinkled as he did so. He punched a pair of colored patterns on the forward schematics, and a viop image of Andorran's mainframe emerged.
“We're ready to rock,” he said.
“Good.”
“Kind of surprised by your attitude,” Stephen said with a hardly straight face. “What did you tell me about a year ago? This was your big chance to get to space, be the first man up here in almost 25 years? Being the first man, you don't seem too ecstatic.”
George rubbed his tongue against the front of his teeth and scowled. Without turning to his navigator, he said firmly: “Our objective is clear. Dock with Andorran, begin an interstream spool, get those folks off the ship, then return to base, hopefully undetected by the PAC. The mission objective is all that either of us should focus on now.” George wiped perspiration from his dark brown forehead. “How you made it to this point is a mystery I shall never solve.”
Stephen laughed. “Well, ain't that simple? I'm the sole surviving relative of a martyr who was a revered visionary, and I was able to transfer 26 million vallors into dummy accounts before PAC Inauguration Day. Opens a whole helluva lot of doors when you got them kind of credentials behind you.”
George turned away, stifled a grin. He shook his head.
“Well, it's all true,” Stephen said. “But that was back when money could really buy you something.”
“You're a contradiction, Kreveld. One minute you're an idiot, the next you're willing to put yourself all the way out there, like you did with that Raymonds bastard. Every time I want to respect you, something tells me to think better of it.”
Stephen released an explosive, guttural laugh and wiped away a tear. “Just going down my path the way I gotta go it, George.”
George sat up straight and looked solidly ahead. “There's the end of this particular path,” he pointed, and the three giant ion scoops of Andorran rapidly emerged before them.
“Incredible. That's the ship?”
“The stern. We won't have visual on the mainframe until we're practically upon it. We’ve got rendezvous in 26 minutes given current velocity. Adjust vector heading zero point two-five degrees.”
“Done.”
“Initiate viop probe. Run a sweep of all Andorran systems to detect anomalies.”
“We're working.”
The floating viop image flashed in segments as the program proceeded rapidly. The probe wasted no time in homing in on a small pod and highlighting it in green.
“Computer, extract,” George ordered.
“INTERNAL STRUCTURAL DAMAGE IN BIOLOGICAL POD 9-A.”
They turned to each other, stone-faced.
“Computer, can you elaborate?”
“INITIAL SCAN OF STRUCTURAL SUPPORT SYSTEM INDICATES LIKELIHOOD OF EXPLOSION WITHIN COMPARTMENT.”
“Can you determine if the explosion was recent?” He turned to Stephen. “This could have happened years ago.”
“BURN AND HEAT PATTERNS WOULD INDICATE EVENT OCCURRED WITHIN PAST EIGHT TO 10 HOURS.”
“Oh, hell,” George whispered.
“You got that one right,” Stephen followed up.
“Computer, continue full scan, report number of humans onboard."
The viop proceeded, and floating red dots emerged within the three-dimensional schematic. “SEVEN HUMAN LIFEFORMS CONFIRMED.”
“Yikes,” Stephen chimed in. “Andorran left with a complement of 11, right?”
“Yes. What the hell could have happened? Computer, proceed to …”
“Hey, wait a minute. Look at this.”
Stephen stuck his index finger inside the viop display and tracked one of the red dots, which was moving rapidly up and out of Andorran.
George punched in commands to the overhead controls. “I want full visual on that grid immediately. And magnify.”
That tiny segment of Andorran now flashed in yellow, and it exploded into greater detail. The image that evolved from the schematic, however, was the only view New Terra could muster at this stage: From behind the ion scoops. It didn't matter. Something had indeed been shot out of Andorran.
A tiny fleck emerged against the star field. George gasped.
“It's a body.”
Stephen whistled. “Looks like we didn't show up at the best time.”
“We're here, and that's the bottom line. Prepare to open a channel to Andorran on the encrypted frequency. We've got to find out what we're facing. Computer, continue scan of ...”
George looked more closely at the viop image. He grimaced. “Computer, confirm that the docking bay door is open.”
“CONFIRMED.”
“That's not right. Computer, do a proximity sweep of Andorran.”
“PROCESSING.”
“What are you looking for?” Stephen asked, and then he realized the answer at the same instant as George.
“Hell.” George pounded on the forward control panel. “That's the PAC ship. It's about to enter the cargo bay. Computer, how long before entry?”
“TWENTY SECONDS.”
“I thought Janise's people took it out on Barbados. And they don't even realize who they're allowing on to their ship. Stephen, open the channel now.”
“I'm processing the encrypted …”
“Then never mind. Go all frequencies.”
“All right.” Stephen tapped an overhead panel.
George took a deep, quick breath and regrouped. “Andorran, Andorran. This is the vessel New Terra. Close your bay doors immediately. Close your bay doors immediately. You have been deceived and are allowing a Pan American Community ship to enter. This is the vessel New Terra, directed to you by Dr. Adam Smith. Close your bay doors.”
George did not wait for a response, nor did he believe those doors would close in time, even if the captain of Andorran believed him.
“We're changing approach pattern, Kreveld. Re-program rendezvous coordinates. I'm increasing approach velocity 30 percent. Adjust your vector heading accordingly and prepare for something I guarantee wasn't in your training.”
Stephen Kreveld laughed, but it wasn't because he found this to be one bit funny.
The shuttle vibrated, and Stephen apologized for clumsy fingers, then quickly proceeded to undo his navigation error.
“Yikes. OK, OK. I'm reconfiguring orbital stabilizers now. Sorry about that, George. My nerves went a might tick-tock for a second there. OK, we're back on approach pattern. I'm going to shift orbital vector now. You sure you want to try this?”
George scanned the control panel and sighed then shot a frigid glance at his co-pilot. “Yes, Kreveld. I just hope it isn't necessary for me to have to perform this procedure myself.”
“Not a problem,” Stephen wiped mounding perspiration from his upper lip. “I'm right on top of this.”
He opened his mouth to add something else, but the incoming message interrupted him.
“New Terra, this is Andorran. Please explain your previous transmission. We have just admitted New Terra into our cargo
bay. Can you prove what you're saying?"
George and Stephen shared a sneer. “Yes, Andorran,” George replied. “But have you closed your bay doors? Is the PAC ship docked?”
“I ... Anatoly? ... Yes, it is. New Terra is inside the doors, and they are in automatic closing sequence. We have 10 seconds to stop the process. I ask again, can you prove what you're saying?”
George shut off the transmit channel.
“Is the encrypted frequency processed?”
“We're in there,” Stephen said.
George restored communications, but as he opened his mouth, another older and firmer voice interrupted on the same frequency.
“Andorran, this is Captain Stephen Kreveld of the New Terra. You are being lured into a deception by the PAC. It is imperative you do not allow the approaching ship to dock. This is a deception. Do not allow them to dock.”
Stephen gasped, crinkled up one corner of his mouth and spoke. “Well, I'll be a fit son of a bitch! Andorran, I don't know who that fella is, but the real item is right here on the real New Terra, and we're just gonna have to prove it to you. Enough of this open channel malarkey.”
Stephen reached for the communications board and made a quick adjustment. He turned to George. “If they're gonna go in there to kill them folks, I'll be damned if they're gonna use my name to do it.”
“Here we are, Andorran,” Stephen announced. “It's just the two of us. Check your readings and you'll see we're transmitting on the encrypted frequency provided by Dr. Smith in his original broadcast. Run a diagnostic and you'll be able to verify the numbers. I'll guaran-damn-tee you won't even be able to contact those other bastards on this frequency.”
The silence lasted up to 15 seconds, and George wondered at first whether Stephen was speaking to anyone at all. Finally, a humble male voice responded.
“The numbers are confirmed, New Terra. But it's too late. The docking procedure is completed, and the bay doors are down. My crewmate on the command deck is instructing our people in the cargo bay to evacuate and he is initializing a lockout sequence for that pod. This is Mifuro Nakahita, and I apologize for my delay in responding to your initial warning.” The man's voice softened. “We ... there was a moment of indecisiveness. We have had a horrible accident. It appears we have lost one of our crewmates.”
“Confirmed,” George said. “We saw the body leave the ship on our viop. What's going on over there?”
“We are not sure. We have not confirmed the identity of the victim. It may not be wise to dock. We are encountering a phenomenon of ... It may be wise to delay your rendezvous.”
“Negative,” George said. “We're coming in hard. New Terra can mate to your manual docking spirals.” He turned to Stephen, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Estimated arrival in 16 minutes. In the meantime, advise you proceed with all defensive measures, including tactical preparations, to prevent entry by the crew of the PAC shuttle.” He tried to soften his tone. “Mifuro, did you say? Mifuro, that other crew is under orders to complete an interstream spool of your mainframe system and kill every one of you. I realize you must be equipped with lazguns, but believe me, you do not want to get into a firefight with these people. Front Guard soldiers are amazingly well-trained.”
George did not like the faint whisper of static he heard over the open channel. He tapped impatiently on the forward control console.
“Mifuro Nakahita? Confirm you understand your situation.”
“Yes,” Mifuro was hesitant. “Yes, New Terra, we are advised and we are instituting a full-matrix defense grid to prevent an interstream spool from the PAC ship. But we do not know if this system is capable of denying access. The PAC vessel likely is equipped with attack relays and web nodes much more advanced than Andorran's.”
“He's got a point,” Stephen said softly. “They won't have a chance against a Level 3 stream CRAB.”
George flipped the communication console off, said, “No, they might be all right. I think a CRAB would need quite a while to compartmentalize an obsolete system like the Andorran matrix,” then flipped the console on again. “Mifuro, simply engage every defensive buttress within your matrix and you should be fine. I would be much more concerned at this point about that crew's physical movement. We'll advise you the moment we dock.”
George wasn't satisfied. Stephen raised himself up slightly off his co-pilot's swivel, then reached down with his left hand and scratched swiftly over his anus.
“You ever heard the expression ‘butt-fucked,’ George?”
George coughed. “Kreveld, just keep your eye on the vector pitch and prepare for the maneuver, will you?”
“I gotta tell you, George, this is some wicky-ass stuff we're coming into. I don't think Nakahita even knows what the hell is happening on his own ship. And don't it just seem a touch odd that we haven't heard from their captain?”
George did not acknowledge his co-pilot, turning instead to his left and with his lips moving but no words coming out, beginning the process of a rendezvous checklist.
“Yep, yep, yep,” Stephen muttered, then forced a laugh. “Whatever. Adjusting the pitch another three point zero-six degrees. Estimating 13 minutes, 30 seconds to bounce-back maneuver and 14 minutes, 45 seconds to a simplified rendezvous with a two-meter-wide docking spiral. Oh, yep. This has got butt-fuck written all over it. But never you mind my concerns, George. This will be easy. Right in there like we've been doing this sort of thing for years. You got that checklist about finished, fella?”
80
T
he first thing Lara Singer felt – before her eyes were even open – was a dull throbbing ache that penetrated her right shoulder. Lara realized her shoulder was buried beneath the weight of her body, and she rolled over onto her back.
She stared directly up at the hydrogen tunnel's external vent lock. The circular hatch on the end of the protrusion was closed.
What is this? Where am I?
They were the first thoughts that competed for a place at the front of her dazed consciousness, and they were followed by memories – and a realization of why she was lying here.
“Traveler,” she whispered. “The Fyal are coming.”
Lara tried to push herself up, but the slice of biting pain that surged through her right shoulder was a certain clue that freeing it from beneath her body was not the solution. She lifted her strong arm and swiped hair out of her face.
“Got to get up there to …”
She saw movement out of the corner of one eye, then swung around to see Peter Stewart agonizingly move one of his legs. They were bowed against each other, and he groaned, his eyes closed. The lazgun burn was still prominent on his chest.
She pushed herself off the side of the hydrogen tunnel with her legs and stumbled over to him. “Peter, can you hear me?”
He struggled to cough, and the result was feeble, hoarse. He grimaced, but his eyes remained closed.
“Oh, fuck.” The words traveled through his clenched teeth.
“Talk to me, Peter, tell me what …”
Lara realized something was dreadfully out of place. Or missing. Only now were the details of the incident coming back to her: Walking toward the hatch, Peter on her shoulder, Fyal vanishing into the tunnel walls, something about a gravity well, she's being told to run.
Her heart raced as she twisted her body around in every direction, but the tunnels were otherwise empty as far as she could see. Even the Fyal disappeared.
She realized her RIF unit had been knocked off. After another scan of the tunnels, she gave up on it, but without hesitation removed the unit which was still wrapped tight against Peter's face.
“Come on, Peter, talk to me,” she whispered as she fitted the device into her ear and then against her face. She tapped the vocal link.
“Hello. This is Lara. Is anybody,” she coughed, “listening?”
The response was instantaneous, with four voices chiming in.
- “thank god” ... – “what happened?” ... – “happened?” ... – “all right?”
“I, um, I don't know. We were carrying Peter ...” she coughed again. Her throat was decidedly dry.
- “be there shortly, love,” came Susan's voice. “Already got a Tube and I'm headed your direction.”
“I don't know,” Lara repeated. “I don't know. Mifuro, what happened? Somebody tell me what happened!”
There was a pause. Lara had a fleeting sense of abandonment.
“Lara, this is Anatoly. We don't know how, but the vent lock opened. We don't know how. It happened very quickly …”
“We had no warning,” Mifuro interrupted. “As soon as it opened, we tried to shut it down, but the computer was resistant. We don't know why, but we weren't able to close it quickly enough.” Mifuro paused. “Lara, who else is there?”
Lara froze. She understood what Mifuro meant about not being able to close the vent quickly enough.
She looked around again, knowing in her heart it was pointless. “Olivia? Liv? Where's Olivia? I don't see Olivia.”
- “goddamn.”
- “the readings were correct.”
- “goddamn.”
There were more such mutterings on the RIF, but Lara allowed them to flow together into one unintelligible mass of sounds.
Ohmigod. It's death. Nothing but death. How could this have happened to us?
- “we weren't able to close the vent before Olivia ... We didn't know which one of you it was until now.”
“I have to stop her,” Lara said.
- “stop who? Lara, tell us what is going on.”
She looked around the hydrogen tunnels again but without any particular purpose. She took deep breaths and tried desperately to reorganize her thoughts. Time. Can't be much time left.
“Listen to me, everyone. I can't explain all of this to you because it would take too long, and I'm certain you wouldn't believe it all. But Fran made this happen. No, not Fran. The Fyal. Miguel was right. What we saw were echoes of a Fyal's spiritual entity. That entity is inside Fran. It has been here ever since we left Centauri III and it is bringing the rest of the Fyal to Earth right now. It killed Miguel. He did not take his own life. I have to go. I have to find her. There's only way to kill this thing before it's too late. Mifuro, where is Fran? Were you able to track her?”
Unknown Page 38