MissionSRX: Deep Unknown

by Matthew D. White

  The words weren’t needed. Scott could feel the station breaking apart around him. He pushed the case towards the hatch and launched himself free with all the strength he could find, half floating and half swimming to the entrance. Mason grabbed the scanner as it reached the door and pushed away of the wreck.

  Inside, the passage continued to crumple and twist but before sailing free behind the box, Scott hit the edge barely two meters from the exit. He aimed once more and jumped with all of his might, reaching up towards the tiny opening. The room twisted again and instead of the sky, he saw he was flying face-first into the metal rim.

  His hands weren’t fast enough to block the strike, and the glass lens of his suit took the full force of the impact with a sickening crunch. Scott thought it was just his neck until he watched a tiny spider crack form across his vision. “No… NO NO NO!!” he screamed at the edge of hyperventilating as the split spread from side to side.

  Grasping desperately to the corner of the hatch, he didn’t want to be inside the perforated casket any more than he wanted to be lost in space. Scott’s fingers only brushed an access handle as his visor exploded into a thousand pebbles of high-velocity glass, the force of escaping air propelling him out and spinning into the deep beyond. The sudden rush of air shooting from his suit blew like a hurricane across his face until the air tanks cut off and Scott felt the last molecule of air sucked from his lungs with the force of an industrial compressor.

  The pain was excruciating as Scott found himself unable to draw a breath. His skin seared in the extreme cold. His ears burned in the pressure drop but for the moment it was deathly silent, as if there wasn’t another soul in the universe. The stars were whiter than he ever before imagined and the engineer was unsure where to focus as his vision collapsed to a pinhole.

  While Scott ceased to struggle against the inevitable conclusion of his life, he caught a final, fleeting glimpse of the Cygnan ship’s remains as it propelled itself into the gnarled field of shredded metal below, deforming the few bits still assembled farther.

  The Patriot hung in the distance and Scott hardly saw Grant’s shuttle carefully approach to give Mason the angle to step off on a tether and retrieve him. The sergeant caught him on the first try, taking a death grip on strap beside the man’s shoulder.

  Mason pulled his crew member’s limp body inside and instantly pressurized the cabin. “Wake Up! Come on!” He shook Scott’s bleeding, form, “You’re not having it that easy!” Mason continued until he began to struggle, coughing hard as oxygen made its way back into his circulatory system.

  “He’s alive!” Mason laughed from behind his mask, holding the weightless engineer aloft, “I don’t think you get to die yet!”

  The words only halfway registered as oxygenated blood slowly returned to Scott’s body. He felt a sharp tingling sensation in his hands and feet while his eyes found their way to center once again. If not his body, his mind screamed in response to what had just happened. He opened his mouth but couldn’t form a single syllable.

  “Don’t worry,” the sergeant added, “We’re too far out for the radiation dose to kill you right away.”

  With everyone onboard, Grant pointed the tiny ship back at their Patriot, only to have another emerge from the darkness to their right. The passengers watched it approach through the side windows when the front bay doors opened above the main cannon. Silently the U.S.C. Flagstaff carefully maneuvered out of the cargo bay, the hardened human battleship little more than a moderate payload for the immense Lyran instrument of power.

  ***

  In the handful of minutes from when Wright’s Patriot had snapped into space carrying the Flagstaff, to Grant’s shuttle coming to a rest within the landing bay, the additional Patriots arrived in kind. He powered down the tiny vessel and checked back in with the bridge.

  “What’s their plan?” he asked anyone on the channel who would listen. Fox’s voice came back first.

  “We’re heavy with additional crew members on Lieutenant Wright’s Patriot plus medical equipment. Offload all wounded for treatment and rally command team on the Flagstaff.”

  “How many did you get?”

  “Not enough I’m afraid, but it’ll have to do for now.”

  Grant shook his head in quiet frustration and looked at the screen before him. “Where’s Captain Clark?”

  “He didn’t make it. Onboard bomb ripped half the ship apart. Sebastian successfully responded for recovery but they encountered additional Cygnan forces and lost three shuttles during exfiltration. Losses for Clark’s ship are estimated in excess of seventy percent.”

  For a moment, the commander felt a pang of compassion, as if he suddenly took the cheerleading role on the sideline. It’s not that it was unexpected. He didn’t think Major Kael’s subversion would be so successful. While he was still processing the news, Scott emerged from the passenger bay behind them.

  “Tell me you got what you needed.”

  “I think so. I’ll run it through a service console but now that we’ve got a couple ship’s worth of data it might be enough to find something useful.”

  “Don’t let me hold you up. Get on it now.” The words grew more forceful as it was clear the commander was tempering his tone against a wall of rising anger and building frustration.

  “Absolutely.” Scott said, turning to leave.

  “Fox is rallying everyone up on the Flagstaff but this takes precedence. If we need anything, I’ll send for you.”

  With the help of the pair of accompanying soldiers, Scott brought the scanner back to one of the Patriot’s support bays which were filled with all the equipment required to diagnose, repair and prototype nearly anything in the inventory. The data from the major’s last ill-fated operation was already uploaded to the central server so Scott got to work deciphering what he could.

  ***

  Once the most prominent fires were out, Grant meandered back to the lower landing bay to retrieve his fighter. He was tired, nearly spent and could barely put one foot in front of the other. The sudden drop in tensions translated in his brain much different than what he would have liked. He would have much preferred a casual fatigue, rather than the sudden crash of “You’re safe now! And exhausted! I’ll make sure you fall right to sleep!” screaming in from his mind as the adrenaline surge faded. He fought against the feeling with every fiber in his body.

  Warnings were spread across the screens as he left the Patriot behind. The SR-X’s fuel cell was down below twenty percent and half of his weapons, both ship-borne and handheld, were empty. It would have only taken one more skirmish for him to turn into a liability.

  He closed the distance quickly and planned to drop the fighter in the chief’s lap to get fixed up. There’d probably be a lashing to be had for exceeding so many operational parameters but Robins knew the situation as well as Grant did. As the commander approached, he saw the bay was already open and the maintainers were on deck with a line of support equipment against the wall beside them.

  Chief Robins waved from the ground while Grant brought the fighter down and disembarked. “How’s she handling?”

  “Great. A shit-ton better than that sorry-ass excuse they call a shuttle,” the commander replied, feeling a slight rejuvenation from the chief’s natural exuberance. “I’m glad to see you all made it through.”

  “So far.” Robins smiled, “it came pretty close during their last landing but they passed us by for the most part. We did corner a small team on the rear observation deck and show them what they’re dealing with!”

  “Damn right! This might be the easy part. All I need is fuel and ammunition.”

  “I can do something about that.” Robins nodded. “Knowing you I know it wasn’t wasted.”

  ***

  The commander’s briefing room was still in disarray from the Cygnans’ boarding action so the players piled into the bridge. Tight on space and short on intelligence, Fox’s notes amounted to a few handwritten pages in a bound journal. Judg
ing from the crowd already in attendance, Grant realized he was bringing up the rear at the end of the formation.

  “Thank you, Commander Grant,” Fox stated, “Let’s get through this.”

  The crowd consisted of the crew of the Flagstaff along with Parks, Wright and Sebastian along with Mason, Allen and Othello of the ground teams. Fox looked between them all before speaking. “I’m glad to see everyone here. We’ve got a few issues to deal with.”

  “What happened to Major Kael?” Grant cut him off.

  Fox stared daggers at the other commander and dropped his notes. “That’s one of them. We don’t know.”

  “We need to figure that out. He was corrupted somehow by the Cygnans. If they can turn humans, we’ve got a major problem.”

  “I agree,” Fox replied. “We can’t risk them getting any more agents among us.”

  “So far it’s only been him. Did he get captured? Did he run off? When was he unsupervised?”

  Silence gripped the room for a moment before Mason groaned and slapped his forehead. “He’s been complaining about migraines since we left Mars. It got so bad on the cruiser during the last scanning mission that he nearly got left for dead.”

  Grant considered the observation. “That was the last time we were in combat. He was stuck running alone through the ship. Did he get the bomb there too?”

  “Maybe, but he was still committed to the fight all the way through to the end. He told us to leave him and then pulled half the wounded guys back from the front himself.”

  “What did his eyes look like?”

  “Umm, normal, I guess.” Mason shrugged, “Why?”

  “When I got to him here, they were swirls of black and red. Rans said the same thing. There wasn’t a shred of him left. It must have taken time to manifest, maybe spurred by proximity to their facilities.”

  “That’s what I saw.” Rans spoke up. “He started talking gibberish after he shot us up and his eyes went like that.”

  “Why was it only him?” Othello asked again from the other side of the circle. “We’ve all been shot at, been in the same places. As far as I can tell, I’m not about to snap.”

  “I don’t think he ever expected it.” Mason replied, “In that, it might be a good idea to inspect everything that comes back onboard our ships.”

  Grant nodded, “I agree…” he kept thinking. “What about the Lyrans’ procedures? We all got fixed up by them. Maybe they screwed his up? Made him susceptible to an infection?”

  “We can ask Omega once we return. I strongly recommend we set a course back to his fleet to regroup.”

  “Not yet.”

  Fox looked over at the commander once more. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m not ready to leave this behind us. Whatever happened to Kael could happen to any of us next.” Grant said, defiantly making his case, “We need to find out what they did and put a stop to it. For the major’s memory, for Clark’s. For how many others? We’re not leaving now! That is cowardice and I won’t let it stand.”

  “We’re not even close to being staged for something like that. If you-.”

  “That is my command!” Grant snapped, cutting Fox off once again. “Resupply and get us a vector! That’s the end of it!” he turned his back and stormed out before any of the others could voice an objection.

  22

  Several decks below the bridge were located the crew’s quarters with several individual officers’ rooms to the front and a number of open bays to either side heading aft. A small utility canteen was installed between two of the larger installations and had a few tables and bench seats along with a self-served line of barely edible paste someone back on Earth considered food.

  Having dropped the armor already, Commander Grant sat alone at the end of one of the tables with a cup of days-old black coffee, trying to sort through the blizzard of thoughts coursing through his head. He was attired in whatever he could find around his room, which took the form of olive drab utility pants, a black shirt and steel-toed leather boots, loosely laced across his burning feet. He was exhausted. Everything hurt. He could barely breathe but he heard Fox’s footsteps in the hallway before the commander cut the light.

  “Sometimes I question your motives.” Fox said without introduction as he leaned on the door frame.

  Fine steam wafted to the commander’s face from the rim of the cup. “Good for you. Do we have a target yet?”

  “No. We’ve got nothing,” He replied, “We need to get back to Omega’s fleet and get his guidance on this.”

  “Absolutely not. I’m not ceding any more sovereignty to anyone else.” Grant replied without taking his eyes from the far wall.

  Fox laughed, “Ceding your sovereignty? Listen to yourself! You sound like a tyrant! What kind of officer are you? Wait, I already know.” From a thick folder in his hands, he produced a tattered old spiral notebook, filled with hardly legible scribbling. He slammed it flat on the table.

  Grant pawed across the pages, instantly recognizing his handwriting. “Where the hell did this come from?”

  “You’d be surprised what Space Corps considers a record.” Fox demanded, “Even your little manifesto. You’re nothing if not a brooding child.”

  “At least I know myself, if not my enemy. I seek them to kill them.” Grant muttered.

  “The world is too big for a personal vendetta. We’re better than that. You’re better than that.” Fox continued by dropping a small, worn photograph on the table on top of the notebook. “What would they say?”

  The commander instantly recognized the aged picture, even though he hadn’t seen it since the last night he spent in his office a lifetime ago. Fox’s gall hit the wrong nerve at the wrong time and he shot to his feet, heaving the table out of the way and sending it clattering into the others.

  “WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” Grant shouted, his booming voice echoing in the small, metallic space, “YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THEM! WHAT I’VE GONE THROUGH! YOU THINK I WANTED THIS? I WANTED NONE OF IT! AS FAR AS I’M CONCERNED, I’M JUST BIDING MY TIME TO PASS FROM THIS WORLD TO THE NEXT!”

  Fox expected the response and saw Grant’s fist wheel about for his face. Still armored, he caught the blow and with a kick to the back of the ankle, sent the commander sprawling straight to the ground.

  “ENOUGH OF THIS!” he ordered, “YOU’RE GOING TO LISTEN UP GOOD! DON’T THINK FOR ONE SECOND YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON WHO’S EVER LOST SOMEONE IN A WAR! BACK HOME THERE’VE BEEN FIFTY MILLION LIKE YOU OVER THE LAST THOUSAND YEARS!” Fox restrained himself, watching the rage continue to boil in Grant’s eyes.

  “Don’t ever think you’re the only one.” He continued, looking off and catching his breath. “My family was in the Strike too. Most of them didn’t make it. My father was far enough away to only get a lethal dose of radiation. When I got to him, do you know what he said?” Fox paused again and the words came methodically before trailing off. “He didn’t wish for death. He didn’t wish for vengeance. He just said it was God’s will and that we would all carry on.”

  The look in Fox’s face changed from anger to sadness. “He missed the launch of the Flagstaff, my first command, by three weeks. Don’t ever tell me I don’t know what you’re going through. This won’t be our footnote in history. I won’t allow it on my ship. It’s time we serve with honor as leaders of Earth, besides,” Fox turned and strode back to the doorway, “we have to earn the trust of the full division somehow.” From the hallway he added, “The fleet is standing down for the next twelve hours. After that we can decide how to proceed.”

  Grant stared through the commissioned officer as he left the room in silence. Alone again, he reached out and picked up the photograph from the ground once more when Scott rounded the doorway.

  “I assume you heard that?”

  Scott nodded. “For what it’s worth, sir, I still trust you.”

  Grant shook his head. “I’m ashamed to tell you this, but back on Mars, the first time, I was hoping you wouldn’t
make it.”

  The engineer looked instantly crestfallen but tried to hide the welling emotion. “Why’s that?”

  “I thought you’d slow me down or that I’d be compromised by dragging you along.”

  Scott crossed his arms and replaced the look with a Spartan reserve, “No, no you didn’t. You saved me over and over again. Tell yourself what you want, but I don’t believe you. There’s more to you than what you give yourself credit for.”

  “In the moment, you were my fire team and it was the better choice-.”

  “I stand by what I said,” Scott cut him off, “I trusted you then, I trust you now and no matter what happens from here out, that’s not changing.” He turned. “By the way, I think I’ve got a source for the Cygnans. All their ships referenced a similar location in space. It’s still running the decryption algorithm but I think our system will crack it.”

  The engineer left and Grant found himself alone again with only the sound of the circulators above. He looked down at the simple picture still in his hand and found a level of peace he hadn’t felt in forever. Grant remembered the moment so well. The three of them were at the Independence Day airshow. Allison wore a wide-brimmed sun hat but her beaming smile was impossible to hide. Stephanie played jockey on his shoulders to see above the crowd. She was just shy of her second birthday.

  The commander’s previous identity bore a grin, locked into a laugh shared with his better half to his right. The moment was so far away, yet so near as if suddenly no time had passed between that summer afternoon and the morning he woke up in this forsaken, lonely battleship on the far side of the universe.

  ***

  A few minutes later, Grant was cleaned up and seated on the low bench that wrapped around the rear observation deck. Facing straight to the rear of the ship, his view of the sky stretched from horizon to horizon, unobstructed by any artificial structure. He stared at the picture in his hand in the low, soft light, in a way sharing a moment with his former self.