Floating in the docking bay for three or four minutes, I simply waited. My heart still thudded in my chest. How the hell was I going to get out of this? Not only did he know where I was, but he also had a weapon and was just as prepared to kill as I.
He bolted through the open hatch and leaped into the zero gravity of the docking module.
“Someone is very determined,” I mumbled under my breath.
* * *
With the dark interior and the coolant all around, it was difficult to see anything in the bay. I raised my pistol and aimed along Bram’s trajectory. I fired and the pulse of energy shot through the docking bay, a fluttering sphere of deadly light that sped into the mist.
The shot didn’t come very close, but I could see Bram’s figure within the glowing radius of its light as it passed by. He spun and looked toward me—
And then fell into darkness again.
But I had seen him. I aimed, pulled the trigger—
Just as he fired his own weapon.
Our energy bursts burned past one another, sizzling as they nearly made contact. I ducked as the energy approached; it missed by only a hair.
Bram fired again. This time he sent three blasts.
He had zeroed in on me.
Holding my pistol out ninety degrees to the right, I fired twice in rapid succession. The recoil sent me hurtling to my left, and I started to spin head over heels. Bram’s three blasts missed me by a narrow margin, but they passed through where I had been only seconds earlier.
I aimed again in Bram’s general direction and squeezed the trigger four times. I made sure to separate each energy burst by a few degrees. They would illuminate the area fully and hopefully provide a clear view of the man, if only for an instant.
I was already spinning like crazy when I fired, but now my shots sent me soaring backward and rolling end over end. The bulkhead came up quickly, and I hit hard, back first. I grunted loudly and Bram fired again. This time, however, his shot didn’t come close.
A safety rung above my head—they were placed over hulls and bulkheads in zero-g environments to help workers move about—helped steady me, and I took a minute to catch my breath and gather my senses. The lack of gravity was disorienting enough, but the gloom made it even worse. The red glow from the emergency lights had illuminated the coolant mist, and the interior of the docking bay now had a nebulous appearance.
I swore under my breath. Bram could have been anywhere. I studied the hatches across the bay. Perhaps I could make a leap for one and get out before Bram could intercept. The farthest hatch was still open...
I folded my legs under me and prepared to make the desperate lunge.
Bram suddenly appeared from the red mist. He rocketed straight for me with a crazed expression on his face. His hands reached out for me—
I gasped.
They were red with blood.
* * *
I pushed away from the bulkhead, but Bram’s searching arms made contact and his fingers closed over my uniform lapel and he pulled me closer and I could smell his sour breath in my face and the spittle floated from his open mouth and his teeth glinted in the red glow and his bloody hands snaked across my body toward my neck—
“Fuck off!” I cried, and I pushed him away in vain. We tumbled together slowly, both frantically trying to gain the upper hand.
He grasped my throat and began to squeeze. Not enough to choke me to death, just enough to weaken me and allow infection to occur.
I still clutched the pistol in my hand, but he grasped my wrist and began to pour on the pressure. I couldn’t believe how strong he was. He forced my fingers open, and I watched in horror as my weapon tumbled away.
I brought my right foot up and connected with his torso. The effort succeeded in pushing him away slightly, but his grip on my throat was strong; he simply reeled me back in. I tried to push again, to get the bloody mess away from my skin, but gave up after a moment. I probably only had a few seconds of consciousness left. After that, he would surely infect me as we floated together in a deadly embrace.
Screaming in rage, I plunged my left index finger into his right eye and stabbed as deep as it would go. His grip loosened on my neck, and I watched, stunned, as ocular fluid spilled out and floated in a gory mess around our tumbling bodies. I kicked again and finally managed to break his contact. He bellowed in agony.
The pistol floated with us, only a meter away. I reached for it, stretched with everything I had—
I turned savagely on Bram and shot him almost point-blank in the face.
* * *
Bram’s blood was all over my neck. I brushed my fingers over my skin and realized with horror that there were nanos right now trying to burrow through my cells, invade my blood stream and swarm to my brain.
I held the pistol away from me, locked my arm and fired twice. The recoil sent me hurtling toward the opposite bulkhead and the four air-lock hatches.
Bram’s body roiled crazily through the docking bay. His blackened and charred face was a grisly mess. His mouth remained open, as if locked in a perpetual scream.
The mist closed around him, and an instant later, he was gone.
The traverse was terrifying. I could practically feel the nanos as they crawled across my skin. The bulkhead came up fast. I grabbed desperately for a nearby safety rung. After a couple of failed attempts, I got a grip and hauled myself hand over hand toward the hatches. The nearest was the open one that Bram had leaped from earlier. I grabbed the rung directly over it and swung myself into the air lock. I felt the gravity field take hold immediately. My feet hit the deck and I tore out of there without a second thought.
I sprinted for the nearest lavatory.
* * *
I ripped my clothes off and piled them in a bloody heap. I practically shoved myself under the sink’s water stream and attempted in vain to wash the blood off. It was difficult to get my entire torso between the tap and the steel tub underneath, but I saw with some satisfaction bloody water hit the sink. I had managed to get some of it off at least, but the nanos were microscopic. If even one was left behind, Kyle Tanner would be gone in eighteen and a half hours.
There must be a better way to do this! I was currently in the prep area just outside the docking port’s air lock. What I really needed was a shower, but my cabin was in Module B, three cylinders away. An eternity. Four or five minutes had passed already. I needed something closer.
The crew’s quarters! It was two cylinders away. It wasn’t as close as I would have liked, but it would have to do.
I ran from the lavatory and shot down the tunnel. Hatches opened at my command, and I left them ajar, heedless of the danger. Naked and bloody, more terrified than I had ever been in my life, I would have jumped into boiling oil to kill the nanos.
One-three-five-five-one.
One-three-five-five-one.
One-three-five-five-one.
The crew hatch opened and I made straight for the communal showers at the rear of the quarters. The water cascaded over my body—
—and I stopped counting in my head. Eleven minutes had passed.
Shit. It was too close. There was a chance it had happened.
I might have been infected.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As I stood in the crew’s quarters, naked and shivering and horrified at what might have just occurred, I realized I was a damn sorry sight. It was the most terror I’d ever felt, and that was saying something. After all, I had faced the Torcher in his ship. He had stood less than three meters from me, flamethrower lit and aimed. There was no backup in my job, no soldiers to rush to the scene if I needed help. Had he killed me, no one would have been the wiser. He would have continued to travel the system, burn his victims and leave them scattered as markers to taunt Security Division.
He
and I had fought. He’d managed to burn me with his weapon—my left thigh still had the scar—but I’d disarmed and engaged him in a long and brutal hand-to-hand battle.
Something occurred to me as I stared at the dark corridor outside the crew’s quarters: if Brick or Malichauk ran across the hatches I had left open on my desperate sprint to the showers, it would be a clear signal of my location.
I ripped a set of work overalls from Jimmy’s personal compartment and threw them on. They were a good fit, but I much preferred the smooth black of my CCF uniform. I had a spare in my quarters, but it would just be too dangerous to return to officer’s country.
I retraced my steps and sealed each hatch I had left open. My trail ended at the air lock that overlooked the cavernous docking bay. I peered out into the misty red expanse.
Bram’s body was in there somewhere.
Full of infected nanos.
A cold pit of fear once again settled in my stomach. I had to dispose of the body safely. I couldn’t just leave it floating around; if someone stumbled across it—even years from now—then there was a chance that the infection could still spread. Unintentionally, but it would have the same result. There was no easy way to do this. I would have to go out there, attach a tether to the corpse and drag him back. He had to be cremated to ensure the nanos were gone.
The lockers in the air-lock staging area had a stash of tethers, but it was something else that attracted my attention: a PPU—personal propulsion unit. It was a bottle of compressed gas that one could use for maneuvers in zero gravity. It wasn’t as precise as a harness-and-chair system; it was meant for emergencies. It was small enough to fit into a thigh pocket. Its duration was barely ten seconds, but sometimes that was all it took to get a wayward astronaut back in one piece.
With my pistol and holster back on my thigh, I moved to the open air-lock hatch and teetered out into the emptiness. The gravity field flickered; I was at its outermost range. My stomach turned.
I jumped.
* * *
Bile rose in my throat; I clamped down on it and fought to calm myself. Bram’s body was in here somewhere, concealed by the coolant mist from the damaged jumpship. Was he dead? Had the blast to the face really stopped his heart or shorted his nervous system? If it hadn’t, I needed to be prepared.
Something flashed by my face, and I jerked back with a shout.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. A drop of blood. Bram’s blood. Probably from his hands—highly infectious. I had to clean this place out, fast.
I pulled the PPU from my pocket, held it to my abdomen—center mass, as training dictated—and pointed its nozzle away from me. I pressed the trigger and heard a sharp hiss. The burst moved me backward, along the long access of the module. I clenched my teeth in worry—too fast! It had been just a small spurt, a fraction of a second. I twisted around and released another. I slowed instantly and breathed a sigh of relief.
The obscuring mist had thickened since my encounter with Bram. I couldn’t see much of anything. I was beginning to question whether I was going to be able to find him. It was like searching a swamp at night.
An hour passed, and still I found nothing. With a tired sigh, I jetted back to the curved bulkhead and the four air locks. At least I had improved with the PPU. I could now move with precision in any direction. I still had some difficulty regulating the power of the gas jet, however. Incredible that only ten seconds of usage had lasted so long.
Bram suddenly appeared out of the mist.
I stifled a strangled cry before realizing he was dead after all. I stared at him intently. His face was gruesome. His chest didn’t rise and fall, and there was no chance he would come back to life. “Some homicide investigator,” I grumbled. “Scared of bodies.”
I quickly matched his speed and vector, worried that I would lose him again in the mist. I approached his limp body, wrapped the tether around his leg, secured it with a tight knot and hauled him back to the air lock.
* * *
When this was over—when we had exposed the infected and caught Brick and Malichauk—I knew I would have to incinerate any infected bodies. It took me a moment to decide where, but eventually I settled on a location: the common mess. It was a wide space, far from any sensitive equipment.
I dragged Bram through the corridors and left him in a tangled mess in the center of the room. It was a long trip; I started at every creak and groan from the hull. Afterward, back in the staging area of the docking bay, I sealed the air-lock hatches and pressed the buttons in sequence to open the main docking-bay hatch.
Nothing happened. I hadn’t depressurized the cylinder, so the fail-safe refused to open it to space.
I tried the captain’s code and held my breath.
A clang reverberated along the deck and up my legs, and the massive hatch on the aft end of the module dilated. The atmosphere in the bay vented with a rush. Everything in the module blew outside in a flash.
Except, that is, the jumpship I had sabotaged. It drifted leisurely to the opening, caught the bulkhead hatch, wrenched around slowly and exited aft end first.
All the mist and debris that had been floating around—including the blood—was now in the vacuum of space and under the intense radiation of Sol.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I had done it. I slumped against a bulkhead and wiped a hand across my eyes. Events had exhausted me almost beyond description. Despite my need to rest for a moment, however, I knew I couldn’t relax. There was still more to do. I pulled myself up, straightened my back and stalked into the corridor.
I came to a sudden stop.
Standing in the hatch frame, arms stretched to either side, was Brick Kayle.
* * *
He was ten meters ahead but made no move toward me. He stared at the bulkhead as he spoke.
“You didn’t have to kill Bram,” he drawled. “You shot him right in the face.”
I studied him, wary. He was emotionless now, his expression slack. I glanced behind me; there was nowhere to go but back into the docking bay.
“He was trying to infect me,” I said. “You know I can’t let that happen.”
His cheek twitched. “It’s not so bad.”
I scowled. “Just what everyone needs: a hundred billion nanos controlling their every move.” My eyes narrowed. “How does it feel?”
He took a step forward. “No different.”
“Are you still Brick Kayle? Can you feel him inside? Struggling? Fighting?”
He lifted his head and glared at me. “I think you’ll know soon enough, Investigator.” He held his hands up. They were bloody. “You shouldn’t have killed Bram.”
* * *
I took a step back and almost stumbled over the hatch frame. I clutched at my pistol. “Don’t come closer, Brick. I’ll shoot.” The blood from his hands dripped to the deck. I imagined I could hear each drop as it fell.
He pursed his lips and stopped his march toward me.
An impasse. I grunted. Could we save him? I really didn’t want to kill him, but what choice did I have? I had killed Bram in self-defense, and I felt no regret for it. And Katrina had a point. Maybe we did have to kill them all to rid the station of the infection. Just to be sure.
He remained quiet for a long moment, during which I considered my options. I could shoot him in cold blood, but if there was a chance of a cure—that we could wipe out the infection inside his brain without harming him—then I had to consider a capture rather than a kill. I could shoot him in the leg to cripple or immobilize him, but with Malichauk gone, I wasn’t sure we could treat him afterward.
Oh, what the hell, I thought. It was better than nothing.
I raised the pistol.
“Tanner,” Brick growled. “Don’t turn your back. Don’t fall asleep.”
He spun and ran. I aime
d at his legs and fired, but the blast missed by inches and scorched the deck at his feet.
Within seconds, he had disappeared into the dark recesses of the station.
* * *
I sprinted after him, not fully realizing what I was doing. I passed a number of hatches and realized dimly that he could have ducked into any one of them. I stopped and gathered my senses.
“Shit,” I said. What the hell was I doing? Of course I wanted to catch him, but not at the cost of infection. Running blindly through the corridors, not paying attention to my surroundings, was idiotic.
Perhaps the adrenaline from my fight with Bram had made me rash and impulsive.
I holstered the pistol and stood in the corridor, silent. What next? What could I—
He hit me without warning from behind.
I sprawled to the deck on my stomach. Shit! He was on my back in a flash, and he elbowed my face into the cold steel. I whipped one of my own back and connected with a hard and satisfying crack. Lifting myself up pushup style, I managed to pull one leg underneath my torso. I strained with everything I had and lifted him up a foot or two. I shoved him to the side, and he crumpled backward into the corridor bulkhead. The air whooshed from his lungs.
He hadn’t managed to touch my skin.
I rolled out from under him and scrambled away like a crab. I peered at his thigh—his holster was empty. I realized with a start that Bram might have had Brick’s pistol; if so, it was now outside the station, in orbit around the sun. It was a lucky break.
He struggled to catch his breath on his hands and knees. “Pretty good,” he wheezed. “Where’d you learn that one?” He looked up and frowned; my pistol was now leveled at his face.
“If I have to do it, Brick, I will. I won’t let you infect me.”
He studied me for a heartbeat. Then, “Maybe it’s already happened.”
A jolt ripped through me. Holy fuck! Could he tell? Could the nanos communicate between bodies? Had Bram managed to infect me? Were they inside me right now, replicating?
Amplifying?
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he rasped. “Maybe Bram got you after all. Why change your uniform?”
The Furnace Page 27