A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle)

by Michael G. Munz

  "Almost got it," Marc reported. "Though even once we get power to the door, it's still hooked into the base computer. If that's having problems it still might be a process to get open."

  "That's okay, I like processes."

  "Thanks, Felix," Marc said.

  "Welcome. I try."

  Still hooked into the door, Gideon turned from Michael to Caitlin and whispered, "Your name is Caitlin."

  "That's right. You remember? Do you know Felix?"

  Gideon studied him but stayed silent.

  "See, Caitlin? Told you that you were more memorable than me."

  Gideon's eyes glazed. "I need to go to the Moon."

  "Hang in there, Gideon, your sister showed us how we can fix this."

  "Sister?" His eyes narrowed. Gideon's entire body was tense. There was nothing for Michael to do about it but watch for something to happen and then try to react if it did.

  He didn't like it, either. "Marc?" Even as Michael said it, the tiny console lit up.

  "All set. Now just cross your fingers it takes one of our codes." Marc punched one in and the door slid open almost immediately to reveal a darkened corridor. "Oh! Well, hey, nice when things work like that."

  "I didn't get time to cross my fingers," Felix lamented.

  Marc disconnected Gideon. It belatedly occurred to Michael that issues with the base computer could be part of the reason they'd put up the quarantine in the first place, but Felix had Ondrea's modulator device out and was moving for the door before Michael could say anything.

  "Let's all get inside and we'll see what we can do with—"

  "No," said Gideon. He smacked the modulator from Felix's hand as he got close. It flew across the lock and hit the wall. With a speed that belied the serenity of his tone, Gideon raised his arm and pulled up the sleeve to uncover a retractable weapon barrel. Michael couldn't tell precisely the sort of weapon it was, but he didn't want to find out the hard way.

  "All of you, get back," Gideon ordered, weapon pointed. "Now."

  Despite the vacant calm with which Gideon gave the order, they all complied, slowly.

  "Gideon," Caitlin tried, but the other gave no sign that he heard. "Gideon, I know you're in there. Your sister told us—"

  Caitlin stopped as Gideon turned his aim directly on her. "Why do you call me that?"

  Michael and Felix both moved to get in the way. Caitlin waved them back. "Gideon—"

  "Stay back," Gideon ordered. "Don't follow." He stepped one foot backward through the doorway. "Things must be done." Michael tried to think of something to stop the man but came up empty of anything but force; force wouldn't work as long as Gideon had the drop on them.

  "If you don't let us help you're not going to make it!" Caitlin tried.

  It stopped Gideon in the middle of the hatchway for a moment—but only for a moment. Keeping his arm raised toward them, he turned to continue on. "Don't foll—"

  The lights in the corridor beyond jumped to life and the hatch slid shut with a force that shoved Gideon into the side of the frame to pin him half-in, half-out of the airlock. Gideon struggled against it, trying to find purchase to push back against the re-powered door.

  "Marc, what's happening?" Michael called out.

  "It's not me!"

  The four stood hesitating as Gideon struggled, his artificial body easily intact but held securely. The hatch, its motor straining audibly, seemed to literally fight against him.

  "Cut the power!"

  Caitlin rushed forward to Gideon. Felix and Michael joined her as Marc dashed to the door panel, but while Michael and Felix both tried adding their strength to push back the door, Caitlin went straight for Gideon himself. In a flash she'd brought something up in her hand and pressed it to the back of Gideon's neck. Michael didn't know what it was or when she'd gotten it out, but a moment later Gideon was unconscious.

  There was no time to ask. "Pull!" Michael told Felix.

  "I'm trying!"

  "It's under base control," Marc hissed. "I don't know what's happening!"

  "Pull!"

  "Oh, yes, the second time is so much more inspiring!"

  "Got it!" Marc cried as he yanked something loose. With a jerk, the hatch motor went silent. They forced it away from Gideon and pushed it unevenly back into the frame. Gideon slid to the floor.

  "I swore I wouldn't use that," said Caitlin. She knelt beside Gideon with a whispered apology.

  "That's okay," Felix told her. "I swear all the time." Felix caught Michael's questioning look and explained, "One of Ondrea's little toys. Shuts him right down."

  "Will he be okay?"

  Caitlin nodded. "He'll wake up fine in a little while. I dislike it all the same."

  "You had to do it. He wasn't going to let us touch him." Michael helped her pull Gideon back into the lock. "This way you can help him." Marc was studying the door controls, frowning. What had happened?

  "Uh, gang?" Felix turned Michael's attention to where he stood. In Felix's hands were the broken pieces of the modulator they were to use to fix Gideon. Caitlin groaned before Felix went on. "Guess what?"

  CHAPTER 44

  Caitlin had gone whiter than the airlock walls. "Bloody hell. Tell me we can fix that."

  Even from where Michael stood, he could see the modulator's casing had shattered on impact and the internal components were in separate pieces.

  Felix cradled the broken device in his hands. "I don't know. Looks like there might be some damage here, but. . . I don't know. Maybe if we just fix some of the connections. Marc? You're better at this stuff than me."

  Marc frowned, hesitating a moment before moving to take a look. "I can't be sure. Not without knowing more about it. Maybe if I had a little time to fiddle, run some diagnostics?"

  Caitlin stayed beside Gideon. "How long?"

  "We got a little bit of a crash-course from Ondrea," Felix said, "if that helps."

  How long? Michael was wondering the same thing on multiple levels: How long before Gideon woke? How long would it take for Marc to analyze the modulator? And if there truly was a crisis at Omicron as all appearances indicated, how long did Agent Clarion and the others have?

  Marc gritted his teeth with a glance back at the complex door himself before answering. "I don't know. And I don't know this is the best time for it, unfortunately. We still need to find out what's going on here."

  "Gideon doesn't have a lot of time," Caitlin said.

  Felix nodded. "And you can bet he won't be too happy when he wakes up if he's not, well, fixed."

  "I realize that, but there's other things going on here, too. We don't even know what happened with that door. Something's wrong and until we know more about that—"

  "Crikey, just take a moment, Marc. It might be simple."

  "We don't exactly have time to be standing around arguing this, either," Felix said, still examining the broken components.

  Michael stepped forward. "How long will Gideon be out?"

  "I'm not entirely sure," Caitlin said. "An hour? Perhaps less."

  "Can you use that thing again if he does wake up?"

  Caitlin stiffened. "Aye, but that's not the only time issue at stake here, Michael."

  "I hate to say this," Marc said, "but it might not be fixable at all."

  "We won't know until you have a look!"

  "Running out of time, either way. . ." Felix warned.

  Damn it. They all were right. "Marc, can we even get back out to the rover without power there?" He pointed to the inner door.

  "Should be able to seal the door manually now that the security lock's disengaged."

  "Okay," Michael said, "for the moment we get Gideon back to the rover. We shouldn't leave him here anyway. After that, Marc and I'll recon the complex and see what we can find out. Then he can look closer at fixing that thing. Let's get him up."

  Caitlin scowled but resealed her helmet as Marc worked to reopen the outer side of the lock. Felix packed away the broken modulator. "Maybe I can have a l
ook at it in the meantime while we wait."

  "Aye," Caitlin grumbled. "Just hurry. All of you. Even if it doesn't work there might still be time to get him back to Ondrea."

  Marc and Michael exchanged glances. Both knew perfectly well that they couldn't go anywhere until they found what happened to Marette.

  A short time later, with Gideon in the relative safety of the rover, Marc and Michael pulled open the airlock's inner door to again look upon the unexplored hallway of the complex. Once again, the lights beyond were as dark as they were before the station came to life and trapped Gideon in the hatch door. Light from their suits illuminated the drab walls. Nothing stirred.

  "There's definitely no power to the door?" Michael asked.

  "The connection's still cut. Even if the base powers back up, the door's not going to move."

  Michael stepped through the hatchway. After waiting for a reaction that didn't come, he continued on. Marc followed. A moment later, a prior thought stopped him short. "Gideon wasn't hooked into the base computer system at any point, was he?"

  "At the door? Nope, that was just a power lead. And he said the battery was isolated from the rest of him. Just a spare power source."

  "Just checking."

  "Believe me, I thought of that, too."

  They resumed without further comment. The corridor, following the perimeter of what Marc said was the cargo bay, turned a corner and remained dark. With no certain idea of just where to find Marette or any other crew, their primary objective was to locate the weapon lockers. The single auto-pistol they managed to get off of Sunrise would be of little use should the problem at Omicron be related to the alien security drones. Even the weapons they were forced to leave behind were primarily to protect Marc and provide leverage against Diomedes. They hoped to discover Marette along the way and possibly avoid the issue entirely, but there was no guarantee of things happening in that order. Then again, there was no guarantee the weapons would even be in the lockers anymore.

  Michael sniffed at the complex's air as they made their way in. It was decidedly stale. He was beginning to feel dizzy. Very soon the growing throbbing in his head began to match the rapid increase of his own breathing.

  He recognized the signs from their briefing on Earth. "Carbon dioxide poisoning," Michael said. "The air's definitely bad. Helmets on."

  "Way ahead of you," came Marc's voice over the suit comms. "You know, even if there's no power to these sections I'm pretty sure the venting system still ought to work to feed air. Something's wrong with life support, and it's more than just the power being down. It doesn't seem right that there'd be this much CO2 so fast."

  "You studied up on that, too?" Michael was impressed.

  Marc grunted negatively. "Educated guess. Though don't let that stop you from protecting me anyway." The humor didn't carry into his tone. Marc was worried.

  That made two of them.

  They pushed on and crossed the mouth of a branching hallway to their right. Intending to lead them straight past it, Michael stopped upon noticing a sliver of light shining through the window of a closed hatch midway down the hall. He pointed.

  "Worth a look," Marc answered.

  They turned down the hall and approached the door with Michael in the lead. Though light continued to shine through the window, the key control for the door was dark. "Looks like door power's out on this one, too," he said before peering in.

  It wasn't much of a view. Another wall stood only four feet from the door, but there was enough light to both see that the passage on the other side turned an immediate corner and that there was something moving beyond. Faint shadows were cast in the corner—shadows that were just possibly human-shaped.

  "I guess we can either try to rig this door too, or just knock." Marc motioned Michael to the door with what appeared to be ready nod, and the latter gave it a couple of pounds with his suited fist.

  They weren't kept waiting long. After a few moments of nothing, a pair of eyes appeared in the window. They vanished just as suddenly. Michael resisted the urge to pay attention to his companion's reaction and instead stepped back from the door just a little, remaining fixed on the window. The eyes reappeared soon after. This time they lingered long enough for Michael to make out more of the man's features before disappearing once again.

  "Get out your ID," Michael said, pulling his own and wishing he'd thought of it sooner.

  Some muffled speech bled through from the other side of the door, most likely directed at someone else within the chamber. Michael nevertheless took another step back on the off chance it was a warning to do so. One arm out to his side, he guided Marc back as well. Both continued to watch the door until the face appeared once more, this time speaking to them, but Michael couldn't make out the words. He stepped a little closer and mouthed a "What?"

  Belatedly, Michael opened his helmet again, assuming he'd be fine for long enough to at least have a quick conversation. Even as he did so the man behind the door filled the window with his mouth and yelled faintly through to him with exaggerated words.

  "Is. . . there. . . a. . . vacuum. . . out. . . there?" The speaker finished and looked back through the window before Michael could respond, apparently spotting the open helmet and taking that as a positive sign. He waved through the window for them to wait, looked warily to either side, and then ducked back again. Moments later, the door slid open.

  A man in an ESA uniform pushed the door open wider and greeted them. "Don't know who you are, mate, but step inside right quick. Good air's a premium!" They hurried in and gave the man a hand with shutting the door as best they could before he introduced himself. "Chief Petty Officer Paul Levy. Not that it's not great to have visitors calling, but I'll have to ask just who you are and what you're doing here."

  "Marc Sebring," Marc began. "This is Michael Rogers. ESA sent us to check out why you went dark."

  "Sorry there aren't more of us, but we're unofficial. With the quarantine a small group's all they'd risk."

  Levy laughed bitterly. "Aye, and didn't you two just draw the short stick? Welcome to Omicron Complex. Though I can't help but notice those aren't ESA suits."

  Michael cleared his throat, stalling for an explanation.

  "Mais non, Officer," came the woman's voice from the chamber. "Perhaps we should say welcome back."

  CHAPTER 45

  False name or no, the sight of Marc was a welcome surprise for Marette after the crisis of the last couple of days. Even so, as the last member of the hacker team, ESA was likely still looking for him, and she could not entirely fathom just why it was him that the AoA had sent. It was a risk even if none at Omicron but her knew of ESA's attempts to silence them. Either the AoA had resolved that situation since the quarantine, or they had cause to think it worth the risk. It was good to see him alive regardless, though further indulgence about his welfare was a luxury she did not have.

  "We are under quarantine, Officer," she told Levy as she neared the door. "ESA will not officially send any aid, but there are certain protocols undertaken in such times—for which you have not the clearance—that allow for the Space Agency to violate legal safety guidelines. As such, this is not to be discussed outside of this base, is that clear?"

  Levy nodded dutifully. "Understood, ma'am. Any help at this point is right welcome."

  Marette displayed her right arm, which was currently immobilized and healing in a sling. "I would offer to shake your hands, gentleman, but I fear I am currently at a disadvantage."

  Marc smiled, good enough to pick up on the hint. "We won't take it personally. And Michael shakes just the same as I do, so you're not missing much, I'm sure."

  So Michael was AoA as well. It was a fair assumption already, but without shaking his hand she had no other way to confirm it.

  "As for why we're here breaking quarantine," Marc went on, "you're right. There's something of a third party headed for Omicron."

  Levy stiffened. "Bloody hell, like we don't have enough problems." Marette
echoed the sentiment internally and hoped it was simply an AoA ploy rather than the truth. She needed to get the two men alone.

  "It's nothing on the magnitude of what you're already dealing with, I'm sure," Marc's companion assured them. "But it's a security risk." He pulled an ESA ID badge from a suit compartment and displayed it to them all. Marc did the same, and Marette gave a show of examining it in front of the others while they deferred to her.

  "We do not have much time," she told them afterward. "Follow me. There are things you must see." She turned to Levy. "Officer, I shall brief them on our situation in the Flow Control chamber where we can have a view of the complex. Check the life support controls. Confirm that opening the door has not destabilized the system."

  "Aye, ma'am." Limping from his still-healing wound, Levy followed her into the main room as she led Marc and his companion through it toward Flow Control. "You were here before, weren't you?" she heard him say to Marc. "With that hacker team?"

  Marette turned to cut off the exchange in time to see Marc wink at the officer and smile. "You didn't think ESA would bring in a freelance team without at least one person to keep an eye on them, did you?"

  Levy seemed content to take Marc at his word, and they continued on. It was not a long walk at all across Life Support—the larger of the two chambers they managed to secure against the alien computer's influence. What few personnel left—only seven, including Marette—were clustered in amongst the equipment and supplies that they were able to stockpile before being completely cut off. Most of those left were uninjured, but she gave a quick check on the few who were not. The sight of new arrivals brought a trace of renewed hope to their faces, save for O'Shea's.

  Of those who had survived, O'Shea was the worst. They had been able to do a little for his wounds—the turret's bullet had not yet been fatal—but he was still unconscious and would soon need better attention than they could give. Marette herself was likely the second most wounded after him, but her arm would heal, and the gashes on her head were mostly cosmetic. Even so, her head still throbbed from the blow she'd suffered.