by Jamie Sawyer
“Away from the door!” I said, waving at Zero, trying desperately to clear the distance to the hatch.
Already, it was coming down, the hydraulics whining as the six-inch-thick metal panel extended from the deckhead. The AI continued that warning, and the deck rumbled around us.
Sergkov snapped out of it first. He disentangled himself from Pariah, pushed off down the corridor, towards the sealing hatch.
“Get to the SOC!” he shouted as he went, without turning to look at me. “I’ll see to the door!”
The Jackals were closing the distance now, abandoning their salvage. Lopez was yelling, Riggs hauling her on.
“Chu!” Zero said, fingers outstretched, clawing at the corridor walls to pull herself towards the door.
“Don’t,” Sergkov ordered. He stabbed at the console. Swearing in Russian, sweat swelling across his brow. “The lieutenant will need you in the SOC.”
“We can’t leave them!” Zero wailed back.
The door was closing much faster than the Jackals could move.
“We can use my override code,” Sergkov said. The control console was on the Jackals’ side; Sergkov ducked beneath the hatch, now almost to the deck, and began operating the terminal.
Novak reached the door, Feng crouching behind him. Eyes on Zero and fingers clutching at the bottom of the closing hatch.
“Get it open!” Lopez said. Now I could only see the lower legs of each trooper, limbs frantically working as they floated.
“I’m trying,” Sergkov shouted back. “My override code isn’t working.”
“Come through!” Zero suggested, clutching at the bottom of the hatch: at the six-inch gap beneath it. The edge was toothed, made to fit into the grooved markings in the deck, to make the seal airtight between sections.
But already that was impossible. I knew then that nothing the squad did would make a difference, that in their real skins and without strength-amplifiers there was no way they were coming back from behind that hatch.
With a resolute, final thud, the security door came down, and Pariah, Zero, and I were sealed on our side of the corridor.
“Is there another way round?” Zero asked.
“You know there isn’t,” I said.
There was no sound from the other side of the door. Whether that was because the hatch was so thick, or because the rest of the corridor had been exposed to vacuum, I couldn’t say. I didn’t want to think about that possibility right now. I cancelled the thought-stream: focused on the only objective I could.
Survival.
I grabbed Zero’s shoulder, shook it.
“Come on. We need to go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BAD KRELL
It was some small irony that Medical wasn’t far from the sealed bulkhead: the Jackals had been so close to making it that it hurt. I dragged both Zero and Pariah as best I could, the stitches to my ribcage from the North Star incident tugging, reminding me that my body had some very real limits that were presently being pushed to the extreme.
“They might be okay,” Zero mumbled. “They might’ve taken an evac-pod…”
I knew the truth. If the corridor decompressed at their end, there was no way that they made it.
“They might,” I said. Better to humour her than to crush her hopes, no matter how unrealistic. Zero had been through enough. “The best thing that we can do to help them right now is to get the SOC operational.”
“Right,” Zero said, a manic light glowing behind her eyes. Like this was the first time I had suggested the idea. “Right. Perhaps I can get the ship’s security cameras working,” she said, speaking more to herself than me. “I can plot the Jackals’ position.”
“No. You need to get my simulator working, and I’m going to make transition. Then we can decide how best to help the team.”
“But Chu—”
“I need you to hold it together, Zero. For Feng’s sake, and for the Jackals’ sake. Understand?”
Irrational as it was, Zero looked like she was going to argue with me for an instant, but then the fire left her expression. She was lost. Reminded me of when I’d first set eyes on her.
“I got it,” Zero said. “I’m okay.”
After the relative dark of the Santa Fe’s corridors, the SOC was dazzlingly well lit: every terminal activated, five simulator-tanks throbbing with blue gel. The location felt out of time and place—working technology on an otherwise failing ship. I tried not to take in the Jackals’ names printed on each tank, their operating figures on the scoreboard monitor.
Riggs is probably gone.
I was surprised at the sudden rush of emotion that I felt. Whatever I said, whatever I’d done, Riggs meant something to me. I couldn’t lie to myself about it any more.
“Help me with this,” I said.
With obvious unease—brow knitted, lips pressed tight—Zero looped an arm under Pariah and assisted me with the Krell’s bulk. I knew I was asking a lot of her, and wanted to tell her how much I appreciated it, but time was quickly evaporating.
“How are we going to treat it?” Zero said. “I mean, I have no training in this field. If only Dr. Skinner had survived, maybe he would’ve known what to do…”
“Well he didn’t, and now we have to do what we can.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“First, we secure P. Then I’m getting into the tank.”
Pariah slipped from my hands. Spasmodic twitches rippled over the alien’s body, limbs occasionally thrashing as we moved. I had literally no idea how we were going to control whatever medical emergency the Krell was experiencing, but I knew that we had to try. Together, we dragged the alien to a treatment couch. Zero grabbed some archaic-looking straps that dangled from the edges of the couch, used to secure patients during low-G.
“Hey, P,” I said, “can you still hear me?”
The alien stared at me as though I were a stranger. “Contact. Coming.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “That’s not what I’m asking. Can you understand me? What do we need to do to make you better?”
There was a mechanical groan from deep inside the Santa Fe. The starship shook. Zero slammed into a console, and I only just avoided doing the same. That had to be a significant impact of some kind, although exactly what I couldn’t say. Zero made a play for the nearest comms console, leaving a trail of bright blood droplets in her wake.
“It could be good news,” I said. “Maybe Carmine has the weapon systems back online.”
“The captain does not,” Pariah croaked. “We are going aboard the ark-ship.”
Pariah stirred. In a single effortless motion, it broke the restraining straps, and briskly sat up.
“How do you know?” Zero said.
“We are they,” Pariah said. “We see what they see.”
I exchanged a glance with Zero.
“Can you communicate with them?” I asked, aware of how desperate I sounded. “Tell them that we are allies. Tell them what happened on the diseased bio-ship!”
“They know,” Pariah said. “They still come.”
And in that moment, any prospect of diplomacy—of negotiating our way out of this—vanished. We were going to have to fight them, just like the old days. The Krell were as unknowable now as they ever were, I realised.
An enormous roar rang throughout the vessel, followed by a deep grinding sound. Much, much worse than anything I’d heard before, sounding through the very structure of the ship. So intense that I could feel the impact through the surrounding atmosphere. Zero and I did as best we could to hold steady, bracing against medical equipment. Pariah just sat there, taking it in. The starship’s frame contorted and groaned for several long seconds, making every bone in my body vibrate.
Then, finally, noise and motion ceased. The silence that stretched out around me was almost frightening.
“We’ve got gravity,” Zero said. She let go of the console that she had anchored herself to, tested the strength of the G. “Feels
lighter than standard.”
I grimaced. “That’s because it’s not being generated by the Santa Fe.”
“Have they already taken us aboard the ark?” Zero asked. Horror dawned on her face.
“I think so. That would explain the shift.”
I looked at my wrist-comp. The blood-spattered display—and I couldn’t even tell whose blood that was—indicated that Yukio’s two minutes were up.
“We need to move,” I said. “They’ll be boarding the Fe soon.”
“None of this feels real,” Zero whispered.
“Probably best that you let it stay that way for as long as possible,” I said. Unreality was a shield. “I need you icy. Can you do that for me, girl?”
“Like I said, I’m okay,” insisted Zero. Nodded. “I’m tougher than I look; that’s what Feng told me.”
“Well, let’s prove him right.”
Beyond the infirmary hatch, lurking like the ghost at the feast, was a hulking black shape. Multiple shapes, in fact: several copies of me, wearing standard combat-suits. Each hooked to charging cradles, ready for immediate deployment. Zero had prepped them for the Azrael mission, had prepped multiple copies of the entire squad.
“I … I wish that I could help,” Zero said.
“You can. Stay here.”
“They will search this ship,” Pariah said. “They will find her.”
“Not if they have a distraction,” I said. My simulator was already booting up: glowing blue, filled with active amniotic fluids. “And that’s what I’m going to give them: the biggest fucking distraction that they can imagine.”
“Do the Krell have an imagination?” Zero asked absently, as she worked.
“Not much of one,” answered Pariah.
“Hey, the fish has a sense of humour,” I said. I was stripped naked now, grabbing for the data-cables and plugging them to my ports. I fixed the respirator in place, checked the flow of oxygen through the mask.
“We’re good to go over here,” Zero said. Her terminal was booted up, flushed with feeds.
A rhythmic pounding had started through the bulkheads, echoing through the very structure of the ship.
“They board,” Pariah said. Whatever affliction it had been suffering from seemed to have cleared, at least for now.
The canopy of the tank slid open, and I stepped inside. Felt the cool liquid lap around me. I popped the comms bead into my ear so that I could hear Zero.
“I want you to initiate my transition,” I said, “then get out of sight. Hide.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
If Zero went down, it would be for good. Whatever my words, however I tried to dress it up, the idea of her dying aboard the Santa Fe filled me with dread. She wasn’t like the others. She had done nothing to deserve it. The fact was we may not survive this, and the idea of Zero being dragged into the Deep—subjected to whatever horrors Cooper had endured, whatever had turned him from the Alliance—was too much to bear.
The canopy slid shut, and even inside the tank I could feel the violent pounding that shook the Santa Fe. Were the Krell already aboard the ship? Only one way to find out. My mind had started to disengage now, and the urge to make transition was overwhelming.
“Let’s kick the tyres and light the fires, Zero.”
“What?” Zero said, looking at me with a frown.
“Something Riggs said.” Used to say. “Just make transition.”
“Affirmative.” Zero raised an open palm and counted off on her fingers. “Commencing in three … two… one…”
I made transition.
The icy spread of combat-drugs coursed through my limbs, chest, and head. My heart rate decreased, became regular and stable.
There was no time to enjoy it. I simply stepped out of the combat-suit’s charging dock: new and ready to kill. The suit’s HUD initiated with a flood of new messages, linking to whatever remained of the ship’s AI, warning me of critical systems failures across the board. I cancelled everything that wasn’t essential.
“Zero? You hear me?”
“I copy,” she said. “I’m doing as you ordered.”
I stomped though the SOC, found that she had vanished. An airshaft cover on one wall had been displaced, suggesting that she had retreated into the network of ventilation tunnels that criss-crossed the ship. It was as good a hiding place as any.
“Remember: go deep. Don’t let them find you.”
“Understood,” she said. There was a bite to her voice, and I only understood why when she added, “It’s like Mau Tanis, all over again.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I said. “Turn off all your radio and comms apparatus. The Krell will use it to track you.”
“Solid copy. Zero out.”
“Jenkins out.”
I switched off my communicator, probably for the last time. Pariah watched me with something like curiosity.
“What does it—she—mean to you?” it asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I said. “No one else does.”
“We will never understand others.”
“You’re telling me, huh? Well, we’ll never understand you either. But maybe we’ve got one thing in common.”
“We are warriors,” Pariah said.
I snapped the M115 plasma rifle from the magnetic plate on my backpack, checked the power cell. The rifle had a full charge, would be good for a hundred shots. It felt reassuringly heavy in my gloved hands, and auto-slaved to the targeting software in my tactical helmet.
Pariah had its own transformation. I watched with sick fascination as the bio-suit it wore became slick with oil, fluid seeping from every broken plate. It looked sinewy and monstrous in the light of the SOC, and I was glad that I was using my internal oxygen supply: that I couldn’t smell the thing. The xeno still bore enough scars to indicate that it was not at full fighting strength, but it was close enough.
“Yeah, every fucking one of you fishes is a warrior,” I replied.
“Not Collective,” Pariah said, putting a hand to its throax. “We.” Paused, as though struggling to enunciate the concept. “You … and I.”
I laughed. “We’ll make a human out of you yet, P.”
“We … are not sure that is what we … want,” Pariah said.
“You got ammunition for those pea-shooters of yours?”
The Pariah glared at the barb-guns that had suddenly appeared in its palms, weaponising the limbs. “What is ‘pea-shooter’?”
“Never mind.”
The thumping had grown all around us: becoming louder, more violent. Whatever was out there was closing in.
“Let’s go to work.”
We breached the security bulkhead to Medical.
As I decided where best to go, my face-plate was painted with the Santa Fe’s internal schematics. There was the bridge: several hundred metres ahead. Life support: two decks down. Engineering: in the aft. Cargo hold: another hundred metres aftward. The evacuation pods…
Where was Riggs? I detested the miserable gnawing on the edge of my thought-stream, wished that I could repress it with a shot of combat-drugs from the medi-suite. I didn’t want to feel anything for him, because that was a way in, a weakness that I couldn’t afford. But I wanted—needed—to know what had happened to him. I checked every communications band, searching for some explanation. If he was alive, surely he would’ve tried to make contact with me. But every band was empty, no sign of comms at all.
“We’re heading back through the main corridor,” I decided.
“You wish to find your kin?” Pariah guessed.
I want to see if Riggs is really dead.
“I want numbers on our side,” I said.
The security hatch that had separated us from the rest of the Jackals was now open. It had been demolished, torn open messily. Smoke streamed from the damaged panel.
“Something’s been through here…” I whispered, touching the sharp edge of the hole in the door. “Something
big.”
“It was not your kind,” Pariah said.
I stared down the corridor: so long and straight. The emergency box that had caused the squad to stop—that had tempted them—was still open. The equipment they’d salvaged from there was strewn across the deck. An oxy-bottle. A respirator. A flare gun…
And blood. A streak of brilliant red blood on the wall. Incautiously, irrationally, I stalked onwards: close enough to examine the mark.
A handprint.
My heart leapt. My medi-suite compensated, tried to keep me sharp.
“Riggs?” I shouted, over my suit’s external speakers. “Lopez?”
No reaction. My eyes traced the direction of the bloodied print, along the wall panel. The evac-pods sat further along the corridor, warning text still flashing…
The pods hadn’t been fired.
“They are gone,” Pariah said.
“No,” I insisted. Swallowed. “Not like this. Not my squad…”
Each of the Jackals—every member of the Alliance military—carried a personal ID chip. I’d scanned for those on Daktar, used them to find the missing officers—the cadre that had turned out to be composed of simulant decoys. Now, I hurriedly used my suit’s systems to look for possible chips in the vicinity, hoping to find some indication of what had happened to the Jackals. But there was nothing, no sign at all.
“They are not here,” Pariah said.
“I know. That’s not the point.”
A bio-sign appeared on my HUD: a shape materialising at the end of the corridor, becoming solid as it advanced through shadow.
But any idea that this could be Riggs, or Lopez, or any of my team, was quickly quelled as a Krell primary-form leapt into view.
“Here goes,” I said.
I brought up the plasma rifle. Let the auto-targeter do its thing.
No going back now. They’re gone. Keira is gone. I’m a machine, and I’m doing what I do.
The xeno screamed an ungodly war cry, taloned arms outstretched. It was a space-borne variant, bigger, wearing a bulky bio-suit.
It fell into my fire: no challenge to a volley of plasma bolts. The XT split in half, threw boiling ichor across the walls and floor.
“Target neutralised.”