by Alex Kings
“That … might work,” said Yilva. Her tail flicked about excitedly. “Yes, all the shuttles together might be able to cool the ship! Then we would have enough time to fix the pipes that dump the plasma, then we could shut down the reactor and fix the generator!”
“Do it,” said Hanson.
“Yes, sir,” said Adams. He turned to Yilva. “I'll take my team down to the shuttles and start working there. What about the cables?”
Another engineer behind him said, “We have severe structural damage by the lower starboard engine. We can just pull the cables out from holes in the bulkheads.”
Adams nodded. “Get to it.” He pulled up a schematic of the ship. “We'll need to lay them along these corridors. A hundred and twenty metres should be enough.”
*
Near the port starboard engine, the corridor itself seemed to have been squeezed from above. The ceiling was lower than it should have been, and great tears had opened up the walls, exposing cables. Here, the ship continued to creak and groan.
The power cables were several inches thick, with a rubbery texture. Agatha hauled out lengths until they became stuck, then cut them free with an acetylene torch. Without gravity, she had to brace her feet against the holes in the wall.
By now the rest of the crew had been mobilised. A little way down the corridor, Srak wrenched cables from the walls. He didn't need a torch – he just tore them free.
It was awkward, slow work. Agatha didn't check how much time had passed, but she was sure they were running up against the twenty-minute limit. The air was like soup. A needle of pain seemed to skewer her head. Her mouth was dry.
Once, she floated back against the opposing wall, feeling like she was on the verge of passing out.
“I can do this by myself, you know,” said Srak. For a Varanid, the temperature barely counted as warm.
She held up a hand, shook her head, and went back to work. To distract herself, she imagined going back to a planet, a proper planet with open skies and grass plains and cool breezes.
Vyren floated down the corridor, followed by a team of crewmen. He began to collect the lengths of cable from the floor.
“Hey, Vyren,” murmured Agatha. “Come here a sec.”
When he floated over, she said, “Can I just …?” and plunged her face into his bubble of water for a moment.
It wasn't as cool as she'd hoped, and it tasted of brine.
“Please don't do that,” said Vyren.
Agatha gave him a small grin and brushed the water off her face.
He and the crewmen carried away the cables.
The ship creaked. Agatha went back to work.
Yilva came gliding down the corridor with a tablet in her hand. Her ears lay flat against her head. “We are nearly done,” she said. After checking the cables on the floor, she added, “Another ten metres should be enough.”
The ship creaked again and shuddered. Yilva glanced around the corridor. “Anyway,” she said.
Ten metres away, the floor split open.
Air began to rush out. On the far side, there was empty space. A breach.
The crewman working closest was pulled out as her turned to look. Agatha felt herself being dragged towards the breach. Floating in the middle of the corridor like this, there was nothing to slow her down.
She scrabbled at the wall, trying to get purchase in the ragged tears there. She caught something. A twisted bit of metal cut her hand as it slipped through her fingers, then she was being pulled out again.
Just outside the breach, she finally managed to grab onto an exposed beam behind the wall. She looked the way she'd come and saw Yilva hurtling towards her.
They collided.
Chapter 4: Escape
The staff room in Hammersmith Hospital was crowded. Half of the staff on duty had packed in. They sat on the edge of the couch, on the floor in front of it, or they stood at the wall behind. All of them watched the screen in the corner of the room, their faces gradually growing paler.
The newscast showed clips of ships exploding interspersed with looming masses of black thorns. The anchor, equally pale and alone behind his desk, tried to keep up with the reports in a quavering voice.
“It appears the Alliance Fleet is leaving,” the anchor said.
A hush fell over the staff room.
“I'm getting reports now that –”
The screen went blue. Someone tried changing channels, pulling up an internet connection. A red signal lost icon glowed in the middle of the screen.
Outside, a stealth shuttle plunged down through the clouds at several hundred kph. It braked sharply, pushing its artificial gravity balancers to their limit, and came in for a soft landing directly outside the hospital doors a second later.
The gullwing doors swung open, and the pilot – Red – jumped out. He glanced up briefly at the sky. It looked so peaceful from down here.
It wouldn't stay that way for long.
He jogged into the hospital. As soon as he was inside, everyone turned to look at him. The few who hadn't seen his arrival noticed him now. He was noticeable: Broad-shouldered, tall – he had several inches on the tallest person in the room, red-haired and red-bearded.
“Name's O'Neil,” he said to the secretary, holding out his identification. “I need to take a Miss Emily Dawes off-planet ASAP.”
The secretary had the manner of a deer caught in the headlights. She struggled to respond.
“I'm sorry, Miss. I know this is a difficult situation, but time is of the essence.”
“I … of course,” the secretary managed. She gave him directions, and he set off immediately.
A large window looked out onto Emily's room. It looked almost normal. And there was his new charge, reading something on a tablet. He went for the door, when someone stepped into the corridor in front of him.
“What're you doing here?” she asked. She was short, with flat hair and bags under her eyes. But her gaze was sharp and expressive. And, right now, full of challenge.
He recited the spiel: “I have orders to take Emily Dawes off-planet ASAP.”
She studied his uniform for a moment. “So … you're really leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how to look after her? Keep her alive, I mean.”
“This mission briefing said she has special care requirements. It didn't go into specifics,” he admitted.
The woman sighed and shook her head. “Alright,” she said, opening the door to Emily's room.
Emily looked up at her with a smile. “Hi, Anne! What's going on?”
“This nice man is going to take us on a trip,” said Anne. “Get your stuff together.”
“Where?”
“Into space.”
Emily's eyes widened. “Oh, cool!” she said, diving into action. She circled the room, grabbing a few trinkets. Anne did the same, picking up various bits of medical equipment.
“Us?” Red asked her.
Anne nodded. “I'm her carer. She goes, I go.”
“Miss, right now, it's a lot more dangerous up there than it is down here.”
“All the more reason for me to come with you.” She pointed to a huge metal box in the corner. “We need that. Can you lift it?”
Red unplugged the box, whatever it was, and tried. It would have been beyond most people, but he just about managed.
“Cool!” Emily said again.
And with that, they hurried out of the building. No-one else troubled them – the staff were too surprised or too uncertain to ask where they were going. Outside, everything seemed peaceful.
Except there was tiny, silent flash of light in the sky. It lasted only a moment. Another Dreadnought exploding in Low Earth Orbit, Red surmised.
He settled the box down inside the shuttle, then went for the control panel and closed the door.
Emily kneeled on one of the benches and pressed her face to the window.
Red took off. He angled the shuttle's nose to the sky and accelerat
ed upwards sharply. A distant roar kicked up, and cherry-red superheated air cloaked the windows. The bright blue-grey sky outside darkened.
The tactical display gave him two Ancient ships in a line of sight. The others would be on the far side of the planet. One was over the Atlantic. The other was only a few thousand klicks distant. He kept an eye on its orientation. Its weapon was pointing away from him.
Hundreds of civilian ships rose through the atmosphere, trying to escape on their own initiative. Alliance ships were still jumping out, still being destroyed. Most were gone, one way or the other. But his own vessel, the Fury, held position directly above him.
He accelerated towards it. Soon it became visible, a speck against the blackness of space, then a tiny toy ship.
They were nearly there.
The stars seemed to ripple. The Fury folded in on itself. Then it exploded.
“Uh …” said Anne. She'd gone pale. “Was that where we were going?”
Red nodded.
“So what now?”
“We find another way.”
The next closest ship on tactical, a frigate called the Chivalrous, was already in the process of jumping. 1,500 klicks.
“Hold on,” he said, kicking the acceleration up to maximum. The shuttle's engines whined.
The wormhole inflated.
The shuttle hit 100,000 kph. Red began to decelerate.
The wormhole, fully inflated, rushed towards the Chivalrous, swallowing it. It began to deflate.
The seconds seemed to stretch. Red kept his hands on the control. If he was a few degrees off-course, the sides of the wormhole would tear the shuttle in two. If he was a fraction of a second too late, it would close before he could get through.
A sharp, nauseous twist in his guts told him they were through. Anne yelped in surprise. Immediately he pulled upwards to avoid hitting the Chivalrous from behind.
Then there were safe. Red braked and activated the comms. “This is O'Neil to the SAV Chivalrous. Request docking.”
“You gave us quite a shock there,” came the reply. “Request accepted. Aft doors are open.”
Chapter 5: Green Slime
Agatha's hand came free. Rushing air dragged her towards the breach. She reached out, grasping nothing, then managed to find a handhold.
Something pulled at her leg. She looked down to see Yilva's tail entwined around it.
Air roared past them. She had to turn away as tiny bits of loose metal rained against her. The hull's self-healing systems should have kicked in. Another thing offline.
She looked up the corridor the way she'd come Srak held himself steady in his original position, his four hands firmly clamped on the walls.
She made sure Yilva was still in place, and gave her a quick thumbs-up, then cried, “Srak!”
The roaring air was so loud she could barely hear her own voice.
She gestured at the breach, then held her hand flat, and clamped it against the wall.
Srak nodded. “Gotcha!” he said. His voice was loud enough to carry. He looked around him, eventually seeing a box on the wall. It was out of reach, halfway between them.
Agatha shrugged.
Srak shook his head and sighed. He let go of his handholds. The air dragged him forwards with increasing speed.
Hand aching, Agatha's hold was beginning to weaken. She was already tired, and the air was beginning to thin.
Just before Srak was level with the wall box, he threw open his arms, digging his hands into the bulkheads. He came to a halt. Satisfied, he reached out and opened a box.
He took out a blank grey tile. A smart matter seal. He held it out to her and said, “On three!”
Agatha nodded.
“One, two, three!” Srak let go of the seal. It tumbled like a leaf down the corridor towards Agatha. She went to catch it. It flipped over and bounced off her head instead. She tried to grab it, but it was already gone.
Heart falling, she looked down. Yilva had caught the seal.
Agatha glared back up at Srak, who gave her a what can you do sort of expression.
Yilva carefully extended the seal and applied it to the breach. The escaping air died down, and they were left floating. Agatha put her hand to her head and sighed. “My fault,” she said. “I wished for a breeze.”
Aching and tired, they pulled the last lengths of cable from the walls, while Yilva explained to the crew floating down the corridor what had happened.
The temperature continued to rise. It seemed to become a physical force, pressing down on all sides. They made their way to the radiator.
The cable lay like a giant snake, twisting through the corridors, going all the way back to the shuttlebay. Engineers worked at connecting the last few pieces together.
“Through here,” Yilva said, disconnecting a hatch near the ceiling.
Agatha kicked up holding the cable.
“We just need to move this,” said Yilva, pointing to long square pipe thing that seemed to run the length of the corridor.
Together they disconnected a segment of the pipe and pulled it free. It released a strong light, a strong smell, and a lot of greenish slime.
“Gross,” said Agatha, half-admiringly. “The hell is this?”
“Backup life support. Algae under illumination helps produce oxygen,” said Yilva. “It's why we're still breathing. Cut that cable inside free.”
Agatha nodded. It took her a moment to process what Yilva had said. This oppressive heat was making her head muzzy. “Huh,” she said, starting the cut. “So, uh, how come you know so much about this ship?”
“I always study the schematics of a ship I'm in,” said Yilva.
“Same,” said Agatha. “'Cept I usually look out for the escape routes.”
She joined the cables with conducting resin and put a sheath around them. “Done.” She floated back, exhausted.
Yilva spoke through a tablet on the wall: “Turn it on.”
“Understood,” came the voice from the tablet.
Silence.
“It should be working,” said Yilva.
Agatha closed her eyes. “Oh, crap,” she muttered. “Is there …”
There was faint groan, followed by the grumble of rushing fluid.
“That's it!” said Yilva.
Agatha sighed and smiled at her.
*
The light was painfully bright.
Operative Serafin found herself sprawled on the floor of the Black Cat. She could hear the blood rushing in her head.
Her memory was hazy. Before it came into focus, training, drilled into her almost to the level of reflex, kicked into action. She'd been through an interrupted jump. That usually went along with extreme tidal forces on the ship trying to jump.
She hadn't been turned into pulp. That was a good start. She wiggled her fingers and toes, and shifted her arms and legs a little, focusing on the sensation. No broken bones, no damaged nerves. Even better. She turned her head back and forth. The room seemed to spin.
She decided to hold off on trying to sit up for the moment.
“Black Cat?”
“Operative Serafin,” came the ship's voice.
“How long have I been out?”
“Two hours, thirteen minutes.”
“Run a diagnostic for damage.”
“Stress fractures in aft hull. Sublight Engine 2 not responding. Stealth systems offline. Aft lidar damaged.”
“Cause?”
“Weapons fire. Monopole cannon.”
Monopole cannon?
That brought it back. The Shadowwalkers.
Gingerly, she tried sitting up. For a moment, everything went fuzzy, then she was up. “Prepare a neural regenerative,” she said. “And give the highlights of sensor telemetry from the past twenty-four hours.”
“Understood.”
“Any further updates?
“Our message has been received.”
“What?”
“You prepared a bulkwave distress signal to be s
ent to the Dauntless and Mars in case this ship was compromised. The message transmitted when we were attacked. The Dauntless sent a pingback to confirm it received our message.”
“Only a pingback?” said Serafin. She moved over to her console and sat in front of it. “Not a message in response?”
“No.”
The neural regenerative was finished. It appeared as a little cup of pink fluid in a compartment under the console. She drank it. Then she pulled up the message history. According to the Dauntless she had over an hour to respond. She pulled up data from several different feeds and triangulated the source of the signal.
It came from interstellar space. Between jumps, then …
Unless the Dauntless was stranded.
She checked again. The SIS on Mars hadn't sent a pingback, for some reason. That was worrying.
Chapter 6: Everything is Fine
“The connection's ready.” said Adams. “We're ready to try and restore power.”
“Do it,” said Hanson, speaking into the tablet.
The lights came back on with a click. Hanson blinked against their sudden brightness and looked around the CIC. The command console was starting up. Two of the displays were still off.
The ship's comms came to life. “Artificial gravity generators are looking good,” said Adams.
Hanson switched to an open channel. “All hands, this is the Captain. We're about to restore gravity. If this is a problem for anyone working, please tell me now. Otherwise move towards the floor.” He waited for any objections, then said, “Mr. Adams, take us up slowly. Begin with a tenth of a gee.”
“Yes, sir.”
Everything began to sink slowly to the floor. Hanson's feet came down lightly. He waited for the various detritus to settle on the floor. “Dial it up,” he said.
His full weight slowly returned. The ship creaked slightly as it took on the full weight of the crew but held steady.
“Life support online, computers online,” reported Adams. “It looks like we've go the basics. It's likely other systems are damaged, but now we've got the computers, we can run a few diagnostics.”
“Good. Get started,” said Hanson.