“Okay, I think I understand. So I cut out the ATP and then leave. It will have to be packed away, for I will need both hands to climb down.”
“Paul, here are the steps,” Tiffany said and the console projected a three dimensional diagram and animation of the process. “It is really quite easy and I have stored everything possible in the ATP. When it is removed, I will be unable to contact you until it is inserted into a data stick reader.”
“What about the force field? Will that fall when I disconnect the ATP? I do not want those automacubes cutting in here. What about that?”
“Paul, relax. Listen to me. You can do this. I have set up an habitual feedback loop to one of the fusion packs, which is waiting for your verbal command. That system will power the force field in a stationary manner. It will not be as effective being that it cannot modulate itself, nor have intuitive leaps. The hostile automacubes will likely eventually penetrate that defense. I am unable to conjecture an accurate time for when that will happen. Presently there are forty seven minutes until the hostile automacubes attempt contact with the force field again. They are very precise and methodical. It is very doubtful they will succeed on the next few attempts. You will have more than adequate time to remove the ALP and depart. When you are out of the umbilicus, give a voice command and the habitual force field system will be activated. Shall I shut down the current force field so you can proceed?”
“I am ready, I hope.”
“When the ALP is placed in a data stick reader, I will speak with you again. Good luck Paul! I am confident of your abilities, and I am depending on you. Shutting down dynamic force field now.”
“Depending on me, great,” Paul said.
Paul perceived no change. He took out the necessary tools and quickly disassembled the console, reciting the steps while he did so. It came apart easily and he pushed the unneeded parts away where they floating in the zero gravity. The Atomic Level Processor was not much larger than a typical data stick. Paul carefully packed it into his backpack, then changed his mind and placed it into an inside pocket of his shirt. That way it would be very difficult to lose. He had learned the danger of keeping vital things in the backpack.
He floated over and into the umbilicus which connected the scout ship to the hull. He had everything he could possibly carry, even some things he wondered about, but took because he feared he would never be able to visit the scout ship again.
When he slid out of the umbilicus, gravity manipulation took over, and he realized he was packed with heavier things than he thought. He slipped a bit on the makeshift ladder.
“I cannot slip and fall now. Not now!” Paul stated.
Reaching the platform, he then looked up and the hole.
“Activate force field!” Paul called.
There was a brief flickering of a vast number of tiny red dots all across his visual area. It lasted only a tiny moment, but it confirmed that the force field was in place.
“I am tempted to throw something up into that and see what happens,” Paul muttered. “But it would probably come crashing back down and break my nose or something.”
He peered over the platform and saw movement below. There was a black automacube moving about on the pipes. Paul considered firing his weapon at it, but was unsure of what black automacubes could do, or the weapons or equipment they carried. “I better wait to get a clear shot. If I fire now I will probably hit some steam pipe and end up cooking myself like a dried fish. And maybe it is not a threat? Now to search for the best way down.”
Paul carefully made his way down the maze of pipes and hoses and other apparatus. The black automacube did not move.
When Paul reached the last platform before the bottom, he was nearest to the black automacube. It looked a lot like a blue automacube, except the wheels were a big larger and the manipulation arm was more stout.
“You leave me alone, and I will not kill you like I did that one!” Paul yelled. He pointed at the wrecked blue automacube that was wedged between several upright pipes. Two of its wheels had been broken off in the fall, and the chassis was twisted badly.
“Friend, there is no reason to resort to threats,” came a voice from the black automacube. “The Central Planning Office does not seek for any passengers or residents to have untimely deaths. There have been far too many disruptions to the mission plan already. Our efforts are directed at repairing and reestablishing the proper functioning of the Colony Ship Vanguard.”
“The midshipman?” Paul asked as he recognized the voice. “Why are you trying to hurt me?’
“Your premise is unwarranted. I am not seeking to hurt you. I am the midshipman for this area. I am directing this repair automacube to the section of the Vanguard where a persistent alarm for possible hull breech has been detected. I suggest you leave this area immediately for your own safety. You are in a isolation restricted area. As part of the remnant population, I suggest you seek a safer place than this. There is a possible hull breech in this area. Please depart as soon as possible.”
“Are you Phoenix Dominie?” Paul asked.
“No. I am the midshipman overseeing this area. I am unfamiliar with the designation Phoenix Dominie. Is that a human companion of yours? Again I advise you and any companions you have to depart from this area with all haste. I am sorry the biological habitats are closed to you due to the quarantine. Have a pleasant journey.”
Paul was about to reply, but then reconsidered. The midshipman did not seem to recognize him from the previous interaction they had had. ‘Maybe because it is only audio?’ Paul thought. ‘But that automacube could have video cameras as well.’ He descended as rapidly as he could.
21 Roe, roe, roe are back
Paul reached the bottom of the pipes, and settled himself to the floor. The climb down had been more laborious than he expected. The backpack was overfull, and the tools and other implements made progress tiresome.
“Okay, so I did not fall to my death. That is progress,” Paul said.
The rusty broken door was unchanged, but the yellow automacube, Squash was missing. Paul looked down the way and recalled how he and Gretchen had chosen that direction when they first arrived. Then they had been optimistic and hopeful about saving the people of Dome 17. Not too far away was the toileting area where they had found water and been asked about red or blue paper.
“Red or blue paper, what a farce!” Paul said out loud. “All we were looking for then was a safe place to set up the teleporter. Like there is any safe place on the Vanguard.”
He turned to go the other way and find Gretchen. He tapped his ear and tried to connect with Gretchen via the communication link, “Gretchen? I have the medical kit and am on the way back.”
There was a different level of sound, static, which he had not encountered before, but no word from Gretchen. “Gretchen? Brinley? Respond!”
Still only the new static.
“Great, now I lost this system too. Not that it would help much,” Paul lamented. He did not verbalize his fears that Gretchen and Brinley were dead, but his mind played scenarios to that grisly effect.
The bulkhead door was still open, for which Paul was thankful. He pushed on, stepping around the debris and rubble which was getting thicker and more common.
“I could connect Tiffany in to the data stick reader, but then I would have to carry it in my hands, and I would stumble and fall, and it would probably break, or drop into some ridiculous hole and be lost, and the whole solo mission here would be a failure. Just like I failed Karen, and everyone in Dome 17, and Zoya, and those children.”
Paul was lost in thought as he walked and did not hear or see what approached him from behind.
“I like your blue dress!”
The Roe screamed right behind Paul.
Paul leaped up, banged his head on some loose ductwork, and then turned around.
The Roe was standing there, not attacking, but clearly infected. It had been an elderly man at one time. It had the typical blazing orange
eyes of a Roe, but its clothing was in almost pristine condition. It had a pot belly and jowls of a overweight person. That was surprising to Paul as he rarely saw anyone obese. It had sparse gray hair which was still in a sort of combed condition.
Paul fumbled backward and drew out the handgun.
“I like your blue dress!” the Roe wailed, but did not approach any closer.
“Get away!” Paul yelled.
The Roe stared at him and then yelled again, “I like your blue dress!”
Paul was getting some distance away, but backing up and watching for rubble on the floor and overhead, as well as keeping track of what the Roe was doing was a big task.
Then something grabbed Paul from behind.
“The newest sprocket fits!” screamed a different Roe which had been lurking in the shadows of a door way. It struck Paul hard on the side.
Blam, blam.
Paul fired the handgun as he fell to the deck.
“The newest sprocket fits!” The Roe hollered as one of the bullets struck it in the chest. It was knocked back against the wall and slid down leaving a bloody smear on the wall behind it. Both its arms were still reaching out toward Paul.
Blam, blam, blam.
Paul fired the handgun again and again from point blank range. The Roe’s body was shattered and splattered and smashed.
“Leave me alone!” Paul screamed in rage as he stood up. “No more!”
“I like your blue dress!” the first Roe screamed as it changed at him now.
Blam, blam, click… click… click.
Paul fired twice, but then the handgun did not fire. He yanked the trigger hard again and again. He stared at his weapon in shock.
“Not now!” Paul turned and ran down Causeway 147 as fast as he could. His heart was pounding and his mind was waiting for the hands to close around his neck and yank him backward.
“I like your blue dress!” Paul heard behind him. He pumped his legs and moved like never before in his life. Tools slapping against his sides, backpack bouncing on him, he ran and weaved and dashed around the junk. Some of the overhanging things banged into his head, or he batted them away. He did not look back, knowing it was only moments before he was killed.
Both of his shots at the Roe had missed. The Roe did run quickly but did not pursue Paul. It stopped at the dead body of the Roe Paul had shot repeatedly.
“I like your blue dress!” The Roe reached into the steaming mess of dead flesh and began pulling at it and feeding. The clean and pristine clothing it was wearing were quickly soiled and ruined. Tiny orange eyes watched the scene from nooks and crannies in the causeway. The tagalongs were waiting to scavenge whatever would be left.
As Paul ran sweat dripped down his back and along the straps of his pack. He was nearly exhausted when he saw the bright light of the color control pad ahead of him. Only then did he turn and look back.
There was no Roe to be seen.
“Must reload...” Paul huffed as he slid some bullets from a pouch on his belt. His hands were sweaty and hot as he opened the handgun and removed the magazine. He dropped several bullets, both of which fell through the expanded metal of the floor. “Must reload… before that door opens… cannot let Roe… get to Gretchen.”
Paul fumbled a number of rounds into the magazine, but did not fill it. He was expecting the Roe to arrive at any moment. He slapped the magazine into the gun and cycled a round into the chamber. Pointing the gun down the hallway in the direction of where the Roe was, Paul sidled to the door. He pounded on it over and over.
Nothing happened.
“No! They cannot be dead.”
He pounded as fast as he could.
“No! I did not fail! Not this time.” Paul wailed as he dropped to his knees.
Then he remembered. He took several deep breaths, and then tapped the door three times in a slow and controlled way. He paused and then tapped twice more.
The door slid sideways and Brinley’s handgun was shoved into Paul’s face. The barrel looked enormous, but not as large as the smile that spit Brinley’s face when she recognized Paul.
“Paulie!” She pulled him into the room and the door buzzed shut behind him. “You have quite a load!” She nearly jumped over him in excitement to get his backpack off. “The medical kit? Did you get it?”
“Yes. Is she?” Paul stammered.
“Passed out a while back, but still alive. Help me use this,” Brinley said as she pulled the medical kit out, spilling the rest of the contents of the backpack.
“Thank goodness,” Paul managed to say.
Even through her deep brown skin, Paul could tell Gretchen was pale. Her face had a sort of tranquil peace about it, but her breathing was shallow and slower than he liked. Paul was reminded of the dead bodies he had seen, and had to mentally force those images from his mind.
“Gretchen, I am back! I got the medical kit!” He strapped the wires and patches to her body. He flipped the switch on the side of the medical kit.
The display read out, ‘Severe blood loss, near fatal exsanguination. Emergency stimulation of bone marrow and enhancement of plasma needed. Inject all three into any large muscle mass. Prognosis guarded.”
A syringe of bluish fluid slid out of the side of the medical kit, followed by one of red fluid, and one of white fluid.
Paul took each and tenderly injected them into the muscular thigh of Gretchen’s undamaged leg.
Gretchen took a deep breath and then her entire body began to quiver. The quivering became more rapid and then even more severe. Her muscles were bucking violently and her body was wracked back and forth.
‘Severe and generalized tonic-clonic seizure in progress,’ the medical kit read out. ‘Insert into patient’s nose. Prognosis guarded.’
A vial of gel slid out of the side of the medical kit. Paul took it and opened it. He could smell the medication as he squired it into Gretchen’s nostril.’
The seizure faded out quickly.
Brinley looked on with fear etched into her face.
‘Electrical activity of brain returning to normal. Severe open and compound fractures of femur, tibia, and fibula with dislocation of patella. Attach treatment pads to locations both superior and inferior to injuries. Remove restraining items.’
Paul pulled out the cables from the medical kit while Brinley unbound the splints from Gretchen’s leg. Brinley cut through the radiation absorbing materials with some difficulty but finally removed the entire pant leg. Paul attached the pads.
‘Bone stimulation and sculpting initiated. Prognosis good. Hemodynamic stability established. Bone regrowth expected in twenty three minutes. Integumentary system being repaired. Prophylaxis against pathogens in place.’
Gretchen moaned a bit as she awoke. “Paul?”
“Yes, Gretchen. I am here, Brinley too.”
“Paul, I knew… I knew you would not let me down.”
“Just relax. You are going to be healed. The medical kit is working on you right now.”
“I know, I can feel my leg being pulled into place. It feels really strange,” Gretchen said in a weak voice. “Did you contact Tiffany?”
“Yes,” Paul said. He gently hugged Gretchen, and then turned and sorted through the spilled contents of his backpack. He found the data stick reader, and then pulled the Atomic Level Processor out from his shirt pocket. He placed the data stick reader on the top of the cargo crate next to them.
“Paulie, that is somewhat different than a data stick. Will it work?” Brinley asked.
“It had better work,” Paul said. “After all I went through for this.”
“Is that Tiffany’s ALP? You removed it from the scout?” Gretchen asked. There was surprise on her face.
“Tiffany suggested I do it.”
Paul placed the ALP into the data stick reader.
There came a huge pounding on the door to the room. Brinley and Paul jumped with the sound of the noise.
“That is a Roe again. It can smell that we are in
here even over the other stink,” Brinley said. “I thought you were a Roe at first when you knocked so hard. You forgot the sequence.” Brinley grinned.
“I did. Sorry. Have the tagalongs bothered you?”
“No. I think the other Roe showed up and scared them back. The tagalongs are waiting it out,” Brinley replied.
There was another series of hard poundings and some clanging as the Roe beat upon the door with some metal implement. Then as quickly as it had happened, it stopped.
There was a warm glow that emanated from the ALP. Then a display was projected and a three dimensional image appeared. “Paul, Brinley, and Gretchen?”
The Colony Ship Vanguard: The entire eight book series in one bundle Page 86