by B. C. James
“You’re probably right,” Sharp agreed. “No one’s ever crossed the Perseus Gap, and definitely not with that propulsion tech.” He gestured to the rear of the ship on the viewer. “Looks like a nuclear pulse drive. That’d be subluminal.”
“Nuclear pulse drive?” Morales scoffed. “Didn’t know they still used those. I’ve only ever read about ‘em.”
“They don’t still use them,” Sharp answered. “Haven’t for around five hundred years or so. They went out of use when antimatter drives were perfected.”
“Antimatter drives? I think I saw one of those in a museum once,” Morales quipped.
Sharp smiled. “So for now, let’s assume they’ve been traveling for close to half a millennium, and somewhere along their journey they got knocked off course.”
“Five hundred years ago?” Cormac questioned. “That’d put them coming from the Sol System. Humans hadn’t explored any further out than that at the time.”
“Assuming they are humans,” Morales joked. “Maybe we’ve finally found signs of alien life.”
“Ha, unlikely,” Sharp chuckled. “But if we have, we’ll name them after you, Ensign. We’ll call ‘em Moraliens.”
Morales shot him a narrow look before cracking a smile.
“Anything that looks like a docking port?” Sharp asked, changing the subject.
Morales studied her console. “There appears to be an external hatch on top of that front cone,” she said as she highlighted the area on the main viewer.
“Doesn’t look like it has any docking latches,” Cormac added. “We’ll have to make a soft seal.”
Sharp nodded. “Morales, bring the airlock boom in line with the hatch.”
The bridge hummed as she rolled the ship with the small ionic maneuvering thrusters. Sharp thumbed the comm switch open. “Arnold, you and Briggs ready down there?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Arnold replied.
“Alright, we’ve lined you up with a hatch on top of the front cone. Extend the airlock and establish a soft seal.”
“Soft seal? Ugh,” Arnold complained. “Okay, beginning soft seal docking procedure.”
Sharp frowned and closed the comm channel. Arnold didn’t like anything that made him work harder than he thought he should have to.
The boom motors whirred softly as they started up. Sharp pressed a few buttons on his console then looked up at the viewer as it flickered to a shot of the extending airlock. The three of them watched as the telescoping boom moved toward the derelict. It paused a few meters from the hatch and a flexible membrane closed the remaining distance. As the rim of the membrane met the surface of the derelict, it shaped itself to match the curvature of its cylindrical hull. A slight shudder reverberated through the ship as the membrane sucked itself tight against the pitted metal.
The comm crackled on. “Soft seal established,” Arnold reported.
“Roger that,” Sharp replied. “I’ll be down in a minute. Start suiting up.”
Despite his lack of discipline, at least Arnold could carry out orders, Sharp thought as he stood up. He turned to Cormac. “You have the bridge, Commander,” he said, pausing. “And the ship.”
“Aye, Cap, I’ll take good care of her while you’re gone,” she said beaming.
He gestured toward the command chair, and she sat down smiling. He knew she loved being in command and wanted to captain her own ship one day, but she had been stuck at commander rank for reasons unknown to him. When he had hired her, her résumé was filled with short posts, never having stayed long enough on any one ship to advance in rank. He wondered why that was as he turned and slipped through the bridge hatch.
***
Beyond the far spaced portholes of the docking boom, the dark shape of the derelict sat perched beneath the ruddy-brown hull of the Pescado Rojo. The ancient ship grew closer with each successive window, making Sharp uneasy as he glided through the tight confines of the tube. There was no room for grav-plating in the cramped corridor. Sharp tried to suppress his apprehension as he pulled his weightless body toward the airlock at the far side of the boom. He pushed his misgivings to the back of his mind as he neared the exit. He couldn’t let his nerves get the better of him, he had a job to do and people were relying on him.
As he entered the airlock, the gravity returned and pulled him toward the floor. He lurched forward and caught the handle next to the entry hatch. He stood up straight. The others didn’t seem to notice the stumble. Briggs nodded to him. He was busy helping Arnold into his suit and enduring a barrage of harsh words concerning everything Arnold perceived him to be doing wrong. Sharp nodded back to him with a knowing smirk.
He walked to the side of the room where a series of alcoves were sunk into the bulkhead. Light gray EVA suits filled each alcove, and he stopped at the one with his name over it. This would be his first Extra Vehicular Activity since his discharge from the fleet, and he was dreading it. He stripped down to is undergarments then pulled the tight elastic compression suit over his legs and up around his shoulders before zipping it up the front. The armored pressure suit was slightly harder to get on, but he managed without too much trouble. The magnetic boots went on next. Then he stepped back against the life support module hanging in the alcove. The module tightened to his shoulders as it automatically fastened itself to the suit. He stood up straight, unhooking the module from the wall and turned to grab his helmet. He placed the glass dome over his head then slid the latch along its base closed before pulling on his gloves.
Fully suited up, he hit a green button on the control pad fastened to his wrist and the suit pressurized. A Heads Up Display flickered to life in his peripheral vision. Projected on the inside of the helmet, it displayed his vitals, oxygen supply, and readings of the surrounding environment.
As he breathed in the bottled oxygen, he turned to see Briggs had finished helping Arnold and had suited up himself. “Test one two. Test one two,” Sharp said, checking the suit’s comm system. “Can you hear me?”
“Roger, Cap. Loud and clear,” Briggs’ voice echoed in Sharp’s helmet.
“Yeah, yeah,” came Arnold’s reply. “Let’s get this over with.”
Sharp glared at him. “How about you, Cormac? You reading us?”
“Affirmative, Captain, you’re clear to disembark.”
Sharp stepped to a panel next to the exit hatch and punched in a few commands. The boom door slid shut behind them with a thunk, sealing them inside. Red lights flashed overhead and a short alarm sounded, signaling the depressurization sequence had begun. A whooshing noise filled the room as the vents sucked out the air. With no medium for the sound waves to travel through, the noise tapered off and went silent. The flashing red light became solid. “Everyone ready?” Sharp asked, turning to his two companions.
They both gave him a thumbs up, and he hit another button on the control panel. The wide door in front of them slid open, revealing the hull of the derelict. Centuries of micro-collisions had pockmarked the ancient gray metal, and small sections of dirty white paint clung tenaciously to the surface around a circular hatch.
Sharp waved Briggs forward. “See if you can get it open,” he directed.
Briggs moved to the edge of the airlock. He tapped the controls on his wrist and his boots magnetized to the floor. Leaning out, he grabbed a handle outside the airlock then lifted his feet up sharply. His boots disengaged from the floor, and he swung his body out into the membrane enclosure. In zero gravity, his body floated up perpendicular to the airlock. He angled his feet toward the derelict and pushed off, sending himself coasting toward the hatch. The metal clanged as his mag boots locked to the hull. He crouched down to study the hatch, his gloved fingers tracing around its circumference and over its pitted surface. In the center, a small circular indentation was recessed into the metal. A round bar bisected the hole. Briggs slipped his hand in and grasped the bar before twisting it counterclockwise.
“Wait!” Sharp shouted over the comm.
It
was too late. The hatch swung open, smashing into Briggs as a burst of air blasted out from inside the derelict. As the air rushed into the depressurized airlock, the flexible membrane billowed out, threatening to rupture. The full force of the exploding hatch caught Briggs square in the chest and sent his upper body reeling backward. With his mag boots still locked to the hull, his knees bent and the life support module slammed into the metal hull. He bounced off the hard surface and clutched at his chest through his suit as he regained control. The soft seal membrane stabilized as the surge of air from the derelict equalized with the airlock.
“You okay, Briggs?” Sharp yelled, his heart pounding.
“Yeah… got the wind knocked… out of me… but I’ll be alright,” he replied through gasps as he rubbed his chest.
Sharp breathed out with relief. That was a close one, he thought, scolding himself for the foolish mistake. If any more pressure had been released, it could have blown the whole airlock apart and sent them hurtling through space. They should have over pressurized the airlock and slowly bled it off until the pressures between the rooms equalized, and the hatch opened gently. He couldn’t let his anxiety cloud his judgment. He had to focus on the safety of his ship and crew. Out here in deep space, even a simple mistake could be deadly. His thoughts went back to his first fleet command. Back to the accident. Although he’d been cleared of any wrongdoing, that hadn’t quelled the pangs of guilt he felt for losing the lives of so many of his crew. He was their captain, and ultimately, he was responsible for their safety. The overwhelming guilt had made him an ineffectual military commander, always second guessing himself and playing it safe. Eventually, it had led to his discharge from the fleet.
Sharp shook his head, hoping to clear the unpleasant memories from it.
Briggs reached down and pulled the hatch fully open. While Straddling the hole, he clicked on the light attached to his wrist and shined it into the darkness.
“What do you see?” Sharp asked, his own view obscured by Briggs’ bulky EVA suit.
“Not much, Cap. Looks like there’s a floor a few meters in, but can’t see much else.”
“I’m coming down,” Sharp replied.
Moving past Arnold, Sharp swung out into the membrane then pushed off and clumsily landed next to Briggs. He knelt and poked his head through the hatch. It was nearly pitch-black, save for the light trickling through the hole around him. He switched on his light and brought his arm around to cut through the shadows. A faded yellow ladder reached down to a dusty white floor. Rows of storage lockers lined the room, and on the far wall, another closed hatch blocked their path.
“I’m going in,” Sharp announced over the comm before diving headfirst through the hatch. As he reached the floor, he pushed off with his hands, sending his body into a flip. When his head came around toward the hatch, he thrust his mag boots against the metal deck plating. They stirred up tiny clouds of dust as they latched on with a comforting thud.
Tiny ice crystals and specs of dust floated through his flashlight beam as he looked around the dark room. He moved over to the wall of lockers and saw they were labeled. After wiping the dust away from a few of the tags, he read them: Daniels, Baker, Thompson. Decidedly human sounding names. So much for the Moraliens, he thought, chuckling to himself. He tried the handle of the nearest locker, but couldn’t work the latch with his bulky glove. A few streaks remained on the cold metal where his touch cleared a layer of dust. No one had been in this room for a long time, he thought as he examined his dirty fingertips.
His breathing roared in his ears, echoing in the confines of his helmet as he moved to the hatch at the far end of the room. He studied its rectangular shape. Its smooth rounded edges rose approximately two meters from the floor. A circular porthole eyed him from the center of the upper half. His heart raced as he leaned forward to peer through the hole. A layer of frost blocked his view. He lifted his arm and brushed his glove over the glass to clear it, but the frost on the opposite side remained intact, keeping what lay beyond a mystery.
“Arnold, Briggs, get down here,” Sharp said over the comm.
“Roger, Cap,” Briggs came back. Arnold was silent.
Looking toward the open hatch, Sharp watched as the two men floated down feet first through the hole. “Arnold, close the door,” he ordered.
The Lieutenant reached up and pulled the hatch closed then twisted the handle to lock it. He turned and nodded to Sharp. “It’s closed. Now what?”
“Now, let’s get this one open,” Sharp said, turning to the other hatch. “Stand back. It could be pressurized.”
The door had a circular indentation, similar to the one on the outer hatch. Sharp reached for it and twisted slowly. The door made a creaking sound but remained closed. “Must be stuck from the ice,” he said as he pulled on the handle. The door didn’t budge. He put a boot on the wall for leverage, and heaving, he yanked on the door. It groaned as it gently popped open and pushed him backward. A spray of dust kicked up from the floor as the air pressure equalized. He pulled the door wide open, revealing the next chamber.
Sharp glanced back at his companions and waved for them to follow as he stepped through the hatch. He looked around as he waited for them to join him. Thousands of tiny ice particles, no larger than a grain of sand, drifted through the air in zero gravity, giving his flashlight beam the appearance of a solid cone. Arnold and Briggs came up behind him, adding their beams to the show. Shadows danced around the tight concave room, creating the illusion of movement as the lights cut through the darkness. The ceiling’s curvature followed the round contour of the hull, allowing just enough room in the center for them to stand. Toward the front, two seats were bolted to the floor and surrounded by lifeless screens and consoles. Above the consoles sat a row of dark windows built into the curved sloping ceiling and covered from the outside by a blast shield.
“Must be the Bridge,” Arnold commented to no one in particular.
“Bridge? Hell, it’s small enough to be a cockpit,” Briggs joked.
Sharp interrupted them. “Briggs, see if you can get anything from those control panels,” he ordered as he aimed his light at the icy consoles.
Briggs strode forward, his mag boots clunking with each step as they locked to the floor. He tapped a button on his wrist panel and two lights illuminated on either side of his helmet. Leaning over, he studied the controls. “Never seen anything like this layout before. All switches and toggles, no touch screens, most seem to be labeled though.”
Briggs’ attention moved to the port bulkhead where a control panel stretched from floor to ceiling. His gaze focused on a large red switch. “Main power,” he read. “Seems to be already switched on.” His headlights panned down to another switch. “Auxiliary power,” he uttered as he reached for it. He threw the switch and the controls lit up for an instant before blinking out again. He looked around at the dark consoles. “Batteries must be dead. Either that or we tripped a breaker,” he said as he returned the switch to the off position.
He moved to the back of the bridge and pulled a latch. An access panel swung open, exposing a mess of circuitry and wires. He peered into the dark hole. “Looks like there’s some breakers hear,” he said pointing. “But they don’t seem to be tripped.” Briggs pulled a device from his belt and held it up to the wiring. The square screen on the device flickered to life as he pulled the trigger on the handle. A dark image of the circuitry was reproduced on the screen in shades of gray and black. He pointed it at a thick bundle of cables. “Looks like this is where the power comes into the bridge, but I’m not reading any juice.” He scanned the wiring for a moment longer. “The problem must be further down the line,” he reported as he switched off the tool and slid it back into its holster.
“Alright, Let’s keep looking,” Sharp spoke as he stepped to a ladder at the back of the bridge. He grasped the rungs and climbed down. His two companions followed. At the bottom, a round corridor led aft, terminating at another closed doorway. He unlatched
it and pushed through. It opened in the top of a large donut-shaped chamber. In the center, a ladder encased within a transparent tube led down to the floor. Sharp pushed off from the hatchway and gently floated through the tube. Near the end, a cutout allowed access to the rest of the room.
In the darkness, the beam of his flashlight glinted off a row of glass tubes that lined the chamber’s circumference. They stood up from the floor around two meters tall and half a meter wide. Sharp stepped toward one and shined his light inside. A thin layer of ice made the glass appear opaque. The interior glowed eerily as the light diffused through the curved frost covered cylinder. The soft glow outlined a long dark featureless shape within. He reached up and ice crystals floated away as he brushed off the cylinder with his glove.
Sharp jumped back as the view cleared. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. “There’s someone in there!”
His heart was racing, but he managed to recover his composure as Arnold and Briggs came alongside him. They all peered in at the unmoving body.
It was definitely a human male, nude save for a pair of tight shorts. His eyes were closed, and his head lay against a small cushion as if he was in a deep slumber. The flesh of his face looked soft and plump with no sign of decay. His arms were crossed over the pale skin of his chest, and his fingertips had a blue tinge. Sharp noted that his chest wasn’t moving.
“Is he dead?” Briggs asked, his mouth agape as he stared at the still figure.
“I don’t think so,” Arnold replied. “Looks like he’s in some sort of cryosleep.”
Sharp shut his eyes and took a deep breath, suppressing his compulsion to escape back to the Rojo. The urge faded, and he slowly opened his eyes. He looked around the room. “Let’s check the other tubes,” he said as he moved away.