“The Drone-Mechs were here,” Tag said. “Good gods, no doubt about it.”
Coren’s fingers twitched. Tag imagined him filled with rage at seeing more of his people massacred and their bodies ignobly left to float on through space for an eternity. There was nothing here for them after all. Tag was ready to initiate the next jump.
“Captain!” Alpha said. “I’m getting a signal! Someone...someone on there is alive!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Bracken, are you getting this, too?” Tag asked. He watched the Stalwart lurk around the opposite side of Nycho.
“We are,” Bracken said. “It’s coming from a prox comm device.”
Tag looked to Coren for a translation.
“It’s for short-range communications. Kind of like a two-way radio or your intersuit comm lines.”
“Got it,” Tag said. Then to Bracken, “The AI translation here is telling us it’s a Mechanic asking for help.”
“That is correct,” Bracken said. “We think there is a not-insignificant possibility that this is a trap. All the same, we hope to proceed. Drone-Mechs or not, we want to know what happened on Nycho.”
“Count us in,” Bull said over the private link to Tag. “We’re itching to get the hell off this ship.”
Tag weighed the prospects of finding free Mechanics here, dead or alive. Although it seemed morbid, even dead Mechanics could be useful. If this was indeed a site of the nanite outbreak, then any free Mechanics who had perished in the resulting battle would be worth examining. Samples from their tissues could prove instrumental in figuring out how their bodies resisted the nanites, which might give their vaccine production research a leg up.
“We’re going to proceed as well,” he said. “Alpha, see if you can get us docked.”
“Will do, Captain,” Alpha said.
They floated toward Nycho. Ahead of them, streams of vented gas created white crystalline swathes from the docks where the Stalwart was making a connection with the station. Alpha used her hand to trace a circle around another empty docking bay on the station. It was situated next to one of the decrepit science vessels still bleeding frozen bodies and debris into space.
“We can fit in here, although the seal won’t be airtight,” Alpha said. “You will need to wear your EVA suits.”
“Planning to anyway,” Tag said. “It'll keep out any potential nanites.” He sucked in a deep breath. This was it. “Sofia, handle maneuvers. Let’s get in there.”
A metallic groan reverberated through the Argo’s bulkhead as the ship slid into place. Then a clang sounded.
“We’re docked,” Alpha said.
“Bull,” Tag said, “have your marines ready in five and meet me at the docking port.”
“Already there, Captain,” he replied. “Locked and loaded and ready to go.”
Clicks echoed through the bridge as Tag undid his harness and stepped from his crash couch. “Alpha, Sofia, you stay here. Keep the ship hot. I want energy shields ready to go, the T-drive spooled, and impellers ready to blast us out of here. First sign of Drone-Mechs, you let me know.”
“You got it, Skipper,” Sofia said.
“Understood, Captain,” Alpha said. Her robotic voice sounded particularly monotonous as she settled back at the ops station. She certainly seemed disappointed, but Tag refused to dwell on what that meant.
“Coren, you’re with me,” he said.
Together they jogged from the bridge and stopped by the armory to pick up their weapons. They joined Bull, Sumo, Lonestar, and Gorenado at the docking port. Coming in just under two meters in height, Tag had towered over most of his former crewmates. But next to the marines in their power armor, he felt grossly undersized. Their bulky armor made their already-muscular bodies appear like weapons in and of themselves. For a moment, he compared the research-oriented EVA suit he wore, which was intended more for exploration than it was combat, against the heavily armored marine suits. The stark contrast between his protection and that of the marines didn't help the unsettling thoughts drifting through his mind about what they might face aboard Nycho and how he would hold up against whoever—or whatever—else might be on the station besides any free Mechanics.
But he refused to let those emotions show.
“Ready?” he asked.
Bull jammed a magazine into his mini-Gauss rifle. “Gods be damned, you bet we are.”
“Bull, I’m leaving combat operations up to you. First priority is locating the source of the distress signal. Second is obtaining a sample of a free Mechanic.”
“Dead or alive, sir?” Bull clarified.
“I’d prefer if we found living free Mechanics. Then a voluntary blood sample would suffice. Failing that, a deceased Mechanic should work. We just need to somehow make sure it was actually a free Mechanic and not a Drone-Mech.”
“Understood. Lonestar, take point,” Bull commanded. “Gorenado, you’re on rearguard. Captain, Coren, you two stay between me and Sumo. Lonestar, go!”
“For G,” Lonestar said, striding forward. She slammed her fist on the docking port release terminal, and the hatch dilated. Air from the pressurized docking chamber rushed out, rippling past Tag’s suit. Lonestar led into the station with her rifle. A bright light from her helmet shone into the cylindrical corridor, casting long, ghoulish shadows from the scaffolding and debris covering the passageway. The docking tube was Spartan, with little more than a few metal benches and lockers coated in the sleek black paint the Mechanics seemed to favor. It was utilitarian to a fault.
Boot steps echoed down the passage behind them. Tag almost jumped as Gorenado’s beam swung around to coat the incoming party in a brilliant blast of light.
“Put that damn light down,” a Mechanic said. Like every other Mechanic in his squad, he wore black power armor that looked right at home in Nycho Station. The only difference between his uniform and his squadmates' was a slight purple band on his left upper arm that glowed when the light hit it. “I’m Sharick, leading the rescue operations on the Stalwart’s behalf.” Sharick pushed his squad of six past Lonestar. “We triangulated the distress signal to a location within the station’s library. Follow us.”
Bull shot Tag a distrustful look. Evidently the marine didn’t like taking orders from a Mechanic.
Tag chinned over to a private channel with the sergeant. “These guys know their station better than us. They have the lead.”
“It’s not that,” Bull said. “I just want to have a fair chance at bringing down any Drone-Mechs we run into. Can’t let them have all the fun.”
“I’d be careful what you wish for.”
They continued in silence, following the Mechanics through the passages. Sharick led them on as if he’d once lived here. Probably had, for all Tag knew. And he was damn thankful the Mechanic knew the tortuous route to the library. The station couldn’t have been abandoned for much more than seven or eight months according to the information they had on the nanite outbreak, but the place looked like it was a relic of a civilization past. It was battered and broken, with wires hanging loose from the ceiling, panels torn from bulkheads, and all manner of refuse scattered across the decks.
They gingerly stepped over the remains of Mechanics whose bodies had been shredded and singed by pulsefire. There was no telling which side these Mechanics had fought for. Frosty icicles hung off their open, glassy eyes and from their slack jaws. Tag shivered. It wasn’t from the cold; his EVA suit protected him against that. But it didn’t protect him from imagining the ghosts of the dead wandering the station, looking for a way off, looking for the bridge to whatever heavens came next. Then he remembered the predominant Mechanic cults and religions didn’t include anything so optimistic as an afterlife. They had nowhere to go. All these souls were stuck here in this wasteland adrift in the void.
Onward they went, passing a bank of terminals with broken holoscreens. A couple still buzzed on with emergency battery power somehow still leaking to them. One flickered on and off in an
ephemeral image of a Mechanic ship departing, then docking at Nycho, over and over. Soon they entered a larger room full of tables in what looked to be a mess hall of sorts. Bodies were strewn against the walls near an exit hatch as if they had been slaughtered while attempting an ill-fated escape. Stains around their frozen corpses somehow made the floor appear darker.
Sharick wove between the dead and opened the hatch they had been concentrated around. It made Tag's skin crawl to see that door so easily opened when so many around it had died evidently trying to escape through it. He imagined the Mechanics here reaching out for the hatch as pulsefire tore into their flesh. The panicked screams. The shriek of gunfire. The spilling blood. Tag shuddered. One by one, the Mechanics and humans made their way out of the mess and into another large chamber. This one had several sitting areas and massive windows that revealed the space outside the station.
Tag supposed the windows had once looked out over Lanon-Four, where it would have been easy to catch glimpses of the dead planet and the stars beyond it. Now a cloud of flotsam and the occasional body drifted by, providing a macabre tableau that made him recoil from the polyglass. They snuck through the atrium, Tag trying to avoid looking out the windows, until Lonestar suddenly stopped.
“Good gods,” she said.
Tag followed her line of sight until he saw what she was staring at.
Nausea gripped him like a vise tightening on his stomach.
“Oh,” he offered lamely.
Coren glanced at what had captivated them then quickly turned away, staring straight ahead again. Somehow the Mechanics didn’t seem nearly as concerned as the humans, and Tag couldn’t help but find it strange, despite all he knew about the way Mechanics viewed life and death. His eyes lingered on the scene. It was something he had never seen, something he realized was foolish not to have considered before, especially in a self-contained city like Nycho Station. The dead free Mechanics scattered about the room were no more than half the size of Coren, some much less. It physically pained Tag to see them caught up in this strange war, victim to an enemy neither they nor their parents knew. The terror they must have felt. The horror of what they had witnessed before their young lives were cut short.
A new fire burned in Tag’s gut, and he turned forward, following Sharick once more into another room. Now more than ever, he knew the Drone-Mechs had to be stopped, and unless the gods intervened, he was going to damn well do his best to find a way to make that happen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Through here,” Sharick boomed through the comms.
The Mechanics flitted through the hatch like shadows through darkness. If Tag didn’t pay attention, their black armor made it seem almost as if they were part of the station come to life, giving them the illusion of disappearing when they stood still, the alloy and polyglass surging like a fluid melding in and out of the bulkhead when they moved.
With their fingers hovering next to their trigger guards, Gorenado and Bull constantly swept the floor and bulkheads behind them. It was as if they expected something to come careening from the branching passages or jumping from the overhead airshafts at any moment. Tag didn’t blame them. Walking through the widening chambers and corridors leading to the library made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt like he had when he had first set foot in the Forest of Lights, back when the Forinths had had their eyes on him, stalking him as they skirted through the foliage with camouflage that made them almost completely invisible. The thought of them and what the Forest must look like now sent a pang of regret and sorrow through him. He didn’t let the thought burn on for long. As much as he wished for their safety and future well-being, his own safety and well-being might be at risk here. It wouldn’t do him any good to let the morose thoughts distract him from the nightmarish reality he found himself in now.
They crept down another passage with a series of rooms on either side. Most of the hatches were stuck open, revealing berths and shelves with few belongings, fitting with the typical décor of the Mechanics. They passed through the quarters, ignoring most of the rooms. Then a glimmer of blue light caught Tag’s eyes. Sharick continued past it, and for a second, Tag considered doing the same.
But his curiosity got the better of him. “Sharick!”
The Mechanic paused. Several in his squad turned, their rifles raised. Lonestar and Gorenado aimed their weapons in concert.
“Just wanted to investigate something,” Tag said. He pushed the hatch open wider and stepped into the room. Bull followed, watching over Tag’s shoulder. He sensed the marine’s unease at separating from the pack. “There.”
Tag pointed to a blinking light from a terminal. It was still on. Next to it was another dead Mechanic. Its arms were folded across its chest as if to protect itself. But its feeble attempts to defend itself had failed. A gaping void cut through its chest, and Tag tried to keep his gaze from lingering on the fatal wound, instead focusing on the terminal. He pressed a small button on it, and a holo glowed in the center of the room. Sharick stepped in beside Bull. The azure glow of the holo reflected on Sharick’s orange visor as a recording began playing.
On the holo, the dead Mechanic appeared alive, huddled in these very quarters. The retort of pulsefire pinging and scorching around the station played in the background. Intermittent, distant screams burst through the audio as the Mechanic’s eyes darted between the hatch and the terminal.
“I’m recording this in hopes that someone will find it useful. Something has happened to the crew. Some kind of mutiny.” The Mechanic spoke in hushed, trenchant words. “I don’t know what’s going on. Instead of demands, they’ve been killing those of us who aren’t like them. Those of us who resist. It doesn’t make any logical sense.”
The Mechanic sighed. “Without warning, people turned on each other. The massacre I saw was unlike anything I would’ve expected from our people. The mutineers took our armory then raided the life support systems and engineering. Once they started absconding with all the docked ships, I thought it would be over.” Her eyes locked with the camera, making it appear that she was looking straight at Tag. “But that wasn’t the end. If you’re listening to this, there’s got to be a reason for this disaster. Maybe it’s scientific. A disease or something.” She catalogued the various experiments and research projects underway at the station, wondering aloud if one of these projects had led to this mutiny. Nothing sounded remotely similar or related to the nanites from Tag’s point of view. “Please, you must—”
Then the Mechanic’s hatch blew open in the holo. Tag had to keep himself from jumping.
“No, stop!” the Mechanic shrieked. Tag’s pulse raced as he watched her get cut down by gunfire from what must have been Drone-Mechs. The Drone-Mechs left, and the holo continued recording empty air. The sounds of faraway battles went on until Sharick turned the holo off.
“I want a copy of that holo,” Sharick said. A Mechanic stepped past them and waved his wrist over the terminal to transfer the data onto his onboard computers.
“Us, too,” Tag said. “And there’s something else I need.” He moved closer to the Mechanic’s body. Her eyes were still frozen open in fear. The moment the Drone-Mechs had entered her chamber would be memorialized for an eternity in her thousand-yard stare.
Coren understood what Tag wanted and knelt near him. “She was a free Mechanic. Even through all of this, she didn’t succumb to the nanites.”
“We have to get a sample,” Tag said. “Sharick, Bull, can you post guard?”
The two exited the quarters, giving orders to their charges. Tag took a specimen collection kit from a shoulder-mounted pack. With the use of a miniature plasma drill and a few slices with a laserblade, he collected blood and neural tissues within a few tiny vials. He made short work of the procedures. It was less gruesome and messy than he had anticipated since her blood was frozen solid.
“Do you think this will be good enough?” Coren asked.
“It’s a start,” Tag said. “
Thanks to her recording, at least we can be fairly certain she wasn’t a Drone-Mech.”
“I would guess most of the bodies we’ve seen today weren’t Drone-Mechs,” Coren said. “But at least for her, we have proof she wasn’t. Will you need more samples?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Tag said. He thought he heard the faint scurry of something above them. Like mice going through vents. Only he knew no mice—at least no earthborn mice—could survive here.
“Is something wrong?” Coren asked.
“You didn’t hear that?”
Coren gave him a blank look.
“Never mind.”
They rejoined the others waiting outside, and Tag couldn’t help the creeping sensation tickling along his spine that they were being followed. Maybe it was the creepiness of the place. He wasn’t superstitious, but he couldn’t help imagining this place was still haunted by more than just the memories of those who had died here. The group traversed another series of chambers and passages until they arrived at a large hatch. The doors here continued to half dilate then close a few centimeters, causing a continuous clicking. It appeared they were stuck half open.
“The library is through there,” Sharick said.
“Alpha, Sofia, any contacts?” Tag asked over the comms.
“Negative, Captain,” Alpha replied.
“Good. Let’s check this place out.”
“Gorenado, Sumo, stand watch out here,” Bull said. “Captain, stick close to me.”
Seeing Bull leave a pair of marines on watch, Sharick followed suit with his Mechanics. The rest went through the half-working hatch one by one. Tag jumped through as quickly as possible, finding it difficult to avoid thinking of the hatch closing around his middle and slicing him into two bleeding chunks.
“This is the library?” Tag asked, gazing around the new chamber.
Edge of War (The Eternal Frontier Book 2) Page 13