Wasteland of Flint

by Thomas Harlan

  Hadeishi, his patience fraying—though only the sergeant or one of the crew would have been able to tell—interrupted. "Doctor Anderssen, I will not put my men, or my ship, at risk. Until we know exactly what happened and why, I will not put another man or woman aboard the Palenque."

  "Ah, sir? Hadeishi-san?" Fitzsimmons made a face in the privacy of his suit. Luckily, the cameras only pointed forward, not at his grinning mug. "Chu-sa?"

  "Hai, Gunso?"

  "There are at least two people alive inside the shuttle, sir. They've been there quite awhile. Shall I go aboard and see what they know?"

  "No," Hadeishi said, a slight edge in his voice. "If the contaminant is still loose on the Palenque, you'll only place them in danger. Hook up your exterior comm to the shuttle's data port and talk to them that way."

  One of the other channels carried a muffled voice, and Fitzsimmons realized Anderssen-tzin's voice channel had-been muted from the command deck.

  "Aye, aye, sir." Fitzsimmons signaled to Deckard, then took two long, bounding steps to reach the shuttle's airlock. The corporal walked sideways down the hull to meet him, spooling up the monofil as he went. "Time for first contact, Corporal. Undog the comm port cover, would you?"

  "We don't really know what happened. They just fell over, you know, and we couldn't raise anyone on the ship-to-ship comm channel."

  Gretchen suppressed a sigh, staring at two grimy faces framed by the shuttle's v-cam. On her left, security team crewman Carlos Fuentes' bearded visage stared out at her with sick desperation. Beside him, nose screwed up in a grimace, her entire body turned away from Fuentes, crewwoman Delores Flores seemed equally despondent.

  "Tell me what you saw," Gretchen said, again. "From the beginning."

  "Well, ah ..." Carlos groped for the proper words.

  "Shut up, idiot," Delores said, pushing him out of the field of view. "I'll tell you, ma'am. We've been having problems with the shuttle engines since we arrived," the crewwoman began. "After five or six trips down to the base camp, they started showing warning lights in the afterburner and air intake ducts. Finally, shuttle two refused to power up groundside—claimed the engine would overheat. So we took number one down to base camp and pulled the entire engine assembly out of number two." She jerked her thumb over one shoulder. Something large and bulky, wrapped with shockfoam and cables, filled most of the cargo space on the shuttle.

  "We brought up Doc Clarkson at the same time—he was in a big hurry! And Doctor McCue—she wasn't in such a hurry. They went upstairs, but we were working down here to prep this bastard to unload."

  "Did anyone else ride up with you? Did you close the airlock after Clarkson and McCue left the shuttle?" Gretchen was chewing on the stub end of a pointing stylus.

  "Always!" Delores nodded sharply, waving her hand off to one side. "Standard procedure. The bay doors are airtight, but the boat bay is considered an unsecured environment. You lock in and out of the bay, or the shuttles when they're aboard. And it was just those two. No one else wanted to ride up with them, not when they were in such a mood!"

  "When did you notice something was wrong on the ship?"

  "An alarm went off shipside," Delores said. "We heard the horn go off and I ran into the cockpit. Carlos—" The crew-woman's lip twisted slightly "—called the bridge. We heard some noise, some shouting for maybe thirty seconds, and then nothing." She pointed off toward the front of the shuttle. "Then the lock cycled and engineer Pâtecatl and two others ran into the bay. I called on the comm, and she said something was attacking the ship. Then she made sort of a choking noise, we saw a hot glow inside their helmets—and all three of them fell over."

  "And then?" Gretchen frowned at the ragged plastic end of her stylus.

  "They didn't move. We couldn't get anyone on the ship-to-ship channel." Delores shrugged. "The bay doors were closed, and we couldn't get them open by remote. We didn't dare go outside, not with three people dead in suits right in front of our eyes. With the shuttle parked inside the bay, we couldn't even raise groundside on the comm. So we've been waiting for weeks, hoping something would happen. Something good, I mean." She ventured a smile. "Can we get out of this tin can now and get a shower?"

  "You can have a bath when we get you out," Gretchen promised with a smile. "But right now we have to figure out how to get you out of there safely. I'll call you back in a moment."

  She shut down the channel, then turned to face Hadeishi. The captain and Lieutenant Koshō were talking, heads close together, at the exec's display board. "Captain Hadeishi?"

  "Yes, Anderssen-tzin?" He seemed tense, and she knew he was bracing for another argument about the quarantine.

  "I would like to transfer my crew and supplies—and the loan of a fuel cell, if you will—to the Palenque."

  For a moment, Hadeishi said nothing, staring at her with narrowed eyes. At his side, the lieutenant allowed herself the ghost of a smile. Then the captain visibly shook himself and nodded.

  "You're sure of your analysis? Sure enough to risk yourself and your team?"

  "Yes," Gretchen said in a firm voice. Oh lord, I hope so! But we can't just sit here for weeks. Every day burns away at our nonexistent budget and our tiny little bonuses.

  "Very well." Hadeishi glanced at his exec, who had stepped down to her own board, attention already focused on her lading schedules, thin rose-colored lips moving silently. "Koshō-sana. we will leave Sergeant Fitzsimmons and Corporal Deckard aboard as a, ah, loan to Anderssen-tzin and her group. For the moment. After the quarantine period has passed, we will want them back." The captain raised an eyebrow at Gretchen, who smiled in relief.

  "Thank you," she said, making a heartfelt bow.

  "Please don't damage my crewmen," Hadeishi responded on his private channel. "Good luck."

  "There is one more thing...." Gretchen felt her stomach clench, knowing she was probably overstepping the bounds of hospitality. "If you could loan us an engineer's mate, I think we could get the power plant on the Palenque working again."

  Hadeishi frowned. Gretchen kept her face impassive. The captain looked sideways, listening. He frowned again and said something into his throat mike. While Anderssen watched, the captain argued momentarily with someone, then gave up.

  "Sho-sa Isoroku will be joining you on the Palenque," Hadeishi said in a tight voice.

  Gretchen must have shown some of her astonishment openly. "I see."

  "He," Hadeishi continued in a colorless tone, "wishes to see the damage caused by this weapon for himself. I believe he desires to submit a technical paper to the Fleet Engineering College on Mars. You should get ready to move your equipment."

  Gretchen nodded again, in thanks, then began gathering up the v-pads, writing styluses and other bric-a-brac which had accumulated around the secondary weapons station. Magdalena was still hunched over her board, watching the feeds from the various suit cameras.

  "I'll see you downstairs," Gretchen said, thumping the Hesht on one furry shoulder.

  "Ya-ha," Maggie answered absently. "Be there in a bit"

  The main lock of the Palenque cycled and Gretchen stepped through into a dark, echoing passage. A string of fading glowbeans cast the main access corridor in twilight, each shining dot "throwing a circle of solemn blue-green light. She looked down at the enviro readouts on her arm—everything shone a friendly green—and she stepped aside to let Lieutenant Isoroku drag the battery pack into the ship. Magdalena followed, swimming through the opening with a flotilla of duffels, gearboxes and tools floating around her.

  "You going to the command deck?" Gretchen lifted her chin in question. The Hesht shook her head.

  "No, down to Engineering first. If we can get the hatch to the control compartment open we'll restart the ship's main comp before we try to bring up the reactor core. What about you?"

  "I'm going to wander around," Gretchen said, looking at the readouts on her arm again. "The lab ring, I think. Keep channel four open." She looked over to Isoroku. "Lieutenant, could y
ou use someone familiar with the ship systems?"

  "Hai..." he answered dubiously.

  Gretchen clicked her teeth, changing comm channel. "Sergeant Fitzsimmons, could you tell Miss Flores to suit up and go to Engineering? Lieutenant Isoroku will be waiting for her." She paused, listening. "I don't believe the ship is infected anymore, Sergeant. You and Corporal Deckard are proof of that, at least in my eyes. We would all be dead by now if the weapon remained active on-board."

  There was an affirmative grunt on the channel and Gretchen smiled at the lieutenant.

  "Crewwoman Flores will be along presently. Good luck—I'd love to see some light and heat in here."

  Gretchen followed the battery pack—guided by Isoroku with a clever little handheld gas-jet unit—down two main decks, then swung out of the access shaft to let her boots adhere to the doorframe of a large, doublewide portal labeled xa lab one. The pressure hatch was closed, and she swore silently to herself. Of course it's closed. Everything is.

  Feeling foolish, she found the manual locking bar and—straining to keep her feet wedged against the bulkhead for leverage—managed to crank the hatch open enough to get her suit through. On the other side, she paused, staring at the opening. Her arms were sore, but part of her brain was making a frightened sound. I might have to flee back this way....

  "No," she said aloud, though her throat mike was muted. "No I won't."

  Dialing her suit lamps to a more diffuse illumination, Gretchen pushed off gently and made her way forward through the ring. After a few minutes, she pulled herself up short, staring through a thick oval window into the next lab. The hatch was closed tight, the chamber dark, but the fragmentary light of her suit lamps picked out the shape of a clean-box with some thing bulky inside. Some kind of debris was scattered on the deck, and there was a subtle sense of disorder among the white and steel surfaces.

  Someone working on something when the disaster overcame them?

  "Damn." The hatch was sealed, the pressure seals closed The chamber had no manual lock—indeed, a heat-distorted label declared the space beyond a "secured environment.' Gretchen clicked her mike on. "Maggie? How long until we have power?"

  There was no answer. Gretchen froze, listening to the warble of static and an intermittent, distant pinging sound. Suppressing a cold shiver of fear, she changed channel again. "Anderssen to the Cornuelle, come in please."

  There was still no answer, but—obscurely—Gretchen was a little relieved. Something's blocking my suit comm, she thought. Of course.

  Only slightly less apprehensive, she made her way back to the access shaft, pushing away from the handholds set into the ceiling and floor. Squeezing through the hatchway, she breathed a sigh of relief to hear channel four wake to life with Maggie and Delores chatting amiably while they worked.

  "Magdalena? How long until we have power?"

  The Hesht made a coughing sound—laughter—then said: "We haven't opened the door to Engineering yet, but we're close. One of the hatch motors burned out and Isoroku is replacing the mechanism. So I'd say another hour, at least."

  "Thank you." Gretchen muted the channel, staring around at the cold darkness filling the ship. The main accessway seemed bottomless, even with a receding line of glowbeans shining in the dimness. Somehow the faint little pools of light only made the gloom seem more encompassing and complete. Disheartened, she sat down, swinging her boots over the shaft. "I guess I'll just wait, then."

  After an endless minute, she pulled a v-pad from the cargo pocket of her suit and thumbed it awake. Might as well get some work done, she thought glumly. So something got loose in the ship, something which must have propagated through the air, a gas or vapor—how else could it move so fast and be unseen? Air is easy to penetrate, permeates most everything. An aerosol of some kind... She called up the ship schematics Magdalena had been using to follow the power and utility conduits. Her pad still held the modeling and time-regression software she'd used on Ugarit, which could understand the volume of the ship, the rooms and chambers, even the lack of organic artifacts.

  Just like a site abandoned so long all the organics have decayed away, she thought after thirty minutes. Hmm... that's a good lab exercise for first-years.

  Steadily brightening light broke her concentration, and she looked up to see the pilot scooting up the shaft toward her. A little embarrassed, she tucked the v-pad away. "How goes, Mister Parker?"

  "Good," he answered, cheerful humor returned. "Engineering is open, and Isoroku's got his battery hooked up. Looks like the ship's fuel cells still have some juice, though Environmental was still working for awhile after the accident. Magdalena's starting up the comp from local power. I'm heading for the bridge to check the relays and get the main comm array running."

  Gretchen smiled. "Good. What about main power?"

  Parker waggled his hand ambivalently, inducing a slow spin. "No promises there. Isoroku wants to check every centimeter of the reactor to make sure nothing got eaten away by our little friend. Can't say I blame him."

  "No, I suppose not." Gretchen rose, one hand clinging to a railing surrounding the hatchway. "If power comes back up, I'll want you to unlock the hatches in the lab habitat for me. Don't open them, though. I'll take care of that."

  Parker nodded, then kicked off, flying up into the darkness, his helmet haloed by the flare of his lamps. Gretchen watched him go, feeling the darkness close around her again. Her suit was starting to smell, even with only a couple hours inside. Just like on Ugarit. Maybe the showers will work, she thought hopefully. Then she realized all the towels on board would have been disintegrated and she was depressed again.

  The wall against Gretchen's back trembled and her eyes flew open. For a moment, she was disoriented—she'd fallen asleep Listening to the hum of the fans in her suit—and saw only darkness sprinkled with faint lights above her. I'm outside?

  Then she looked down the main shaft and saw a ring of lights flare on—a section of overheads a hundred feet away, near the ring hub into Engineering—then another and another. Gretchen stood up, grabbing hold of the nearest handhold, and the wave of lights washed over her. The deck continued to tremble, echoing the sound of a distant power plant turning over.

  "Backup power is up in Engineering," Magdalena growled in her ear. "Some of the emergency lights are on. I'm starting the heat exchangers and air circulation."

  Gretchen swung into the lab ring and crabbed down to the first tier of labs. Puzzled, she stared around—the lights were still out—then they flickered on, one by one, casting a steady daylight radiance. She blinked and her helmet polarized slightly. In the clear light, the stark emptiness of the work cubicles and rooms was even more striking.

  All gone, everyone's work destroyed, she thought sadly, shuffling up the curve of the lab ring. Anything they didn't note down on comp—lost forever. She reached the sealed doorway to the clean room and looked inside. Here, most of the lights were still off, but two spots shone inside the containment chamber. A rust-red and ochre cylinder stood in a stainless steel cradle, anachronous and startling with irregular chips and flakes of stone amid the clean, smooth lines of the laboratory. Gretchen swallowed. The artifact—what else could it be?—was sectioned, cut clean in half as by a surgical beam. A metal-clad emitter ring hung poised above the cylinder, distended from an equipment pod. She guessed the cut was very narrow, perhaps only a millimeter across.

  She started to sweat again, and the fans spun up in the suit, trying to keep her temperature constant. Reflexively, she looked down, checking the pressure seal on the door. With power returned, the panel showed three green lights and one red. She blinked.

  The door seal failed. Oh god. Gretchen stepped back, and then stopped, gritting her teeth. Too late now, too late weeks ago. Whatever was inside escaped, ate through the containment pod, through the door seals, right out into the ship. She unclenched her hands and stared at the door. Adrenaline hissed in her blood, making her arms tremble.

  After a long moment,
she clicked her mike open. "Magdalena, are you busy right now?"

  A growl answered, and a string of curses-. Gretchen smiled, though the motion felt strange. "Yes, sister, I can wait. I'm in lab ring one. Take your time."

  Gretchen sucked the last of a threesquare from her food tube and stood up as Magdalena and Bandao drifted down into the lab ring. The Hesht was still surrounded by a cloud of tools and cargo bags, but the gunner seemed to have accumulated some of the bulkier items.

  "What's our status?" Gretchen asked, catching Maggie's paw and drawing her to a stop on the deck. Magdalena yawned in response, showing an ebon mouth filled with white teeth. , Her fur was rumpled and one ear lay flat back against her head while the other was canted forward.

  "All we have is sssrst-ta—tail feathers," the Hesht snarled. "Fuel cell power is up, main comp is up, the main reactor is still down, and we're lacking power in most of the ship." A gloved paw flexed and Gretchen noticed the Hesht's z-suit was fitted with a flexible metal mesh to accommodate extended claws. The fine mail glistened like fish scales. "Isoroku-san thinks this tangle-tailed weapon chewed up most of the power conduit runs. Some survived, so we have lights in the main core and some sections, but everything replaced three maintenance cycles ago is gone."

  Gretchen wrinkled her nose. "Bad parts?"

  Maggie nodded. "The repair logs show they swapped out most of the original conduit for new two years ago, as part of a systems upgrade. The new conduit was supposed to have a higher load tolerance, so they replaced all of the high-draw lines with this yherech-kwlll—pardon—inferior product. So the lights are on, some comp panels are up, but most of the hatches don't work, and the drives, are offline, along with sensors, weapons, and the boat bay doors."

  "Okay." Gretchen stared at the hatch into the clean room. 'What about this one?"