Wreck of the Nebula Dream

by Scott, Veronica

  Fighting to stay upright, Mara stumbled awkwardly, holding her broken arm immobile against her chest with her right hand as best she could. Nick caught up with her a few seconds later, sweeping her into his arms and moving out at a dead run toward the haven of the engineering bay. He had just forced his way inside, set Mara down, and was shoving the door closed when a green glare lit up the entire level, followed by a silent shockwave that rocked the deck under his feet. Nick managed to stay upright, his hand clenched on the inner door controls. He held Mara to him with the other arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

  “Too close,” he said, breathing hard. “Come on, we have to get into the engine compartment. If I can close the portal and seal it shut with my blaster, they won’t be able to reach us. Not in time, anyway.”

  He led her toward the faint glow coming from the Yeatter engines, which were continuing to build to an eventual explosion.

  “What was that stuff?” Mara asked as they entered the engine compartment.

  Nick guided her to the lone chair, beside the console, and then sprinted to the door. Taking his blaster, he began welding the door’s entire perimeter, working fast and efficiently.

  “Green hell fire. It’s a favorite weapon of the Mawreg. Touch it, or let it touch you – even a droplet – and you die. You melt into ooze. It’s an ugly way to go. After the grenade explodes, the hell fire spreads for quite a distance, blanketing everything, although it only affects living tissue.”

  “It can’t get in here, can it?” Involuntarily Mara drew her feet up, away from the deck and then, apparently realizing the futility of what she had done, set them down, bracing herself in the chair.

  “No. It won’t come this far. And it’ll keep the Mawreg from passing through the corridor either. For a while. Eventually the death mist dissipates in the open air, but the process takes an hour or two. They must not realize I can blow the engines from here, or they would have come in force. I suppose that’s the only blessing of this new design – in any other ship, self-demolition would be harder, if not impossible, with the ship’s AI terminated.” He finished the welding job and stepped back to check it out. Satisfied, he holstered his blaster and stared at Mara, trying to assess her condition. “How badly are you hurt?”

  Biting her lip, shaking, she tilted her head to the left. “My arm – I think it’s broken. I fell on it in the tube.”

  “Let me see.” Crossing the distance in two quick steps, he gently examined her lower left arm in the flickering ambient light from the Yeatters. Stripping off his battered blue shirt, Nick tore it in half to improvise a rough sling. “Any improvement?”

  “Yes, much better,” Mara said. “Thanks.”

  He watched her for a moment. “Still hurts like hell, doesn’t it? Fuck, I’m sorry.” He pulled her to her feet by her good hand, enfolding her in a hug. “I’m sorry to have brought you to this.”

  “At least we’re together. I couldn’t have dealt with staying on the Dragon, not knowing what was happening to you. And you couldn’t have released Level Six on your own, so it’s a moot point.” She leaned her head wearily on his chest. “How long?”

  Nick craned for a glimpse of the readout on the console. “About twelve minutes, standard.”

  She swayed in his embrace. Instantly, he tightened his arms. “We’d better get you off your feet.”

  Lifting her slender body easily, Nick carried her to a spot at the edge of the viewing area. He sat, bracing himself against the bulkhead, setting her in his lap. Mara leaned her head against his shoulder again and stared at the increasingly brilliant flares of the engines, building toward their own self-destruction. It was a hypnotizing display.

  “This journey has gone on forever, hasn’t it?” she said.

  Trying to make her a bit more comfortable, Nick shifted somewhat. “Not nearly as long as I would wish for, if things had only been different.”

  They were silent for a long minute.

  “What did you mean when you said earlier it was spooky in here? Seems beautiful to me,” Mara ventured.

  “I thought I saw a face, a man’s face, screaming in terror or agony, or both. I’m not much given to hallucinations or flights of fancy,” Nick answered. “But I know what I saw.”

  “Well, there were persistent rumors in the trade about people dying while the ship was under construction, you know,” Mara commented idly.

  “Really? Do you believe it?”

  She considered. “Yes, I think I do. Baktani & Fox was habitually behind schedule, and they’re notorious for cutting corners on safety. And I know something was hushed up at one point– people being transferred to other shipyards, people being paid off. Loxton ships cargo, not passengers, so we didn’t pay much attention.”

  “What do you mean?” Nick sneaked a glance at his wrist chrono, borrowed from Casey. Not long now. Better to keep her talking, not let her think about the time ticking down on our lives.

  She laughed at him gently. “Don’t you know, it’s a centuries-old legend in the ship-building industry that if someone dies while the ship is being built, the vessel is haunted? Cursed, some say.”

  “Not the image you want for your big, luxury liner, I guess,” Nick answered. “Bad for public relations.”

  “Well, if ever a ship was cursed, this would be the one,” Mara said, patting the deck.

  “You’ll get no rebuttal from me.” He kept his gaze focused on Number One engine, as far away from Number Four as possible.

  “So, about this dinner we’re going to have, when we reach Sector Hub,” Mara initiated a new topic, her voice full of determination. “What kind of place did you have in mind?”

  Nick said nothing for a minute, his throat tight with emotion. Why couldn’t I have met this brave, gutsy woman some other time, some other place? He cleared his throat and played along with her attempt to distract themselves from the rapidly diminishing moments they had left to live. “You deserve the best. I know a quiet, high-class place, out near the city’s east rim –”

  “Sommerton’s? I love it there. They have the best seafood –”

  “Shh!” He gently placed a hand over her lips for a fleeting second. “Do you hear something?”

  “What is it? Oh, not the Mawreg! They can’t get at us in here before the engines blow, can they?” Panic edged her voice.

  He looked at her. “I promise you, if they do, I’ll use my blaster and set the Yeatters off before those monsters can touch us.” Awkwardly he drew the blaster from its holster, trying not to jar Mara, and checked the charge. “Almost out. But there’s enough left to touch off the engines from this distance. If it comes to that. But listen a minute. Do you hear something?”

  She cocked her head. “Like bursts of thunder, and the deck is vibrating.”

  “The Dream’s under attack,” Nick said. “Lords of Space, I don’t believe it, but someone is mounting an attack.”

  “But who, why? The Dragon wouldn’t come back.”

  “No, Rafferty and Casey know better. They had their priorities straight. Maybe Admiral Reston is on scene. He’s probably providing cover for the robo tugs to get the cryo pod away safely.” Nick settled against the wall. “The only possible explanation.”

  “I hope they won’t be caught in the blast when the Dream blows up,” Mara said, laying her head on his shoulder.

  In the next breath, a loud explosion sounded in the corridor outside the engineering bay. Nick came to his feet, bringing Mara with him. Blaster drawn, he thrust her behind him.

  There was a rapid sequence of oddly spaced knocks on the door standing between them and whoever was outside. The panel vibrated with the force of the blows.

  “Special Forces code,” Nick said, running to the door, pounding a quick succession of answering taps with the butt of his blaster.

  Then he ran to Mara, covering her slender body from behind with his sturdy frame. “Put your face to the bulkhead. I’ll cover you as best I can. They’re going to blow the door.”


  “Who? Nick, what’s happening?”

  His answer got swallowed up in a blast of heat and sound and acrid, choking smoke, which left a large hole in the center of the door.

  “Admiral Reston’s compliments, sir, and would you and the lady please join us in getting the hell out of here?” A deep voice shouted at them from the other side. “Now would be good, sir!”

  “She’s injured.” Nick dragged a dazed Mara toward the escape route. “I’ll pass her through first.”

  “Just step it up, sir. We’re about out of time.”

  Sturdy, tattooed arms reached through to assist Mara in avoiding the searing hot, jagged edges of the hole as she stepped across the threshold. Nick prepared to clamber through after her. Taking one final look, gazing at the building inferno that was the Yeatters’ chamber, he made a rough estimate of how much time was left to them for escaping.

  And saw the man’s face in the corona, staring at him.

  The apparition was high up by Number Four, smiling and nodding, as if in encouragement.

  Swearing, Nick threw himself out of the compartment and into the arms of a waiting, very impatient Space Marines captain.

  “How long till it blows?” the Marine shouted.

  “About six minutes,” Nick yelled as he sprinted out into the main corridor with his rescuer. “Will we make it?”

  “Be tight, but we’re sure as hell going to try. Save your breath and run!”

  As they ran, Nick observed with a professional eye how efficiently the Marine squad had deployed the only known countermeasure for green hell fire along the center of the main corridor – a carbon dioxide-based foam, something ancient that desperate colonists in Sector Twelve had accidentally discovered to be effective against the Mawreg weapon. The Marines spread it liberally, giving them a clear space in which to maneuver.

  Nick pulled in a deep breath as he ran and nearly gagged, stumbling. The sickly sweet stench of Mawreg was much stronger now.

  The Marine officer was at his elbow, lending a steadying hand. “My men had to kill a few of the bastards, sir, over by the stairs. They were standing guard over the primary access to this level. Luckily, we didn’t have to come in that way.” He pointed ahead, about ten yards farther down the corridor. “Popped a combat dock, sprayed the place with foam and blaster fire and came after you. Took them totally by surprise,” he commented with palpable satisfaction. “The crew of the Dragon told us you were planning to blow the engines. Glad we found you where you were supposed to be – no time to do a search anywhere else. We had one chance. Admiral Reston is going to blast this hulk out of the sky whether we report back on time or not. Can’t let the damn Mawreg have her.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Nick said, not slackening his pace.

  He focused on the neatly drilled hole – a combat dock, as the Marine had called it – in the deck ahead of them. One soldier was shimmying into it. Another was unfastening a foam generator harness.

  “Leave it, get into the ship!” yelled the officer running with Nick. “Or else we’ll be coming right through you.”

  The man dropped the heavy apparatus to the side as commanded and took a step, disappearing from their view, descending into the safety of whatever vehicle waited below.

  “Great idea, combat docking,” the captain said, coming to an abrupt halt at the opening. “Lets you pop up on your enemy like Azrigone prairie dogs. You first, sir, but don’t waste any time or I’ll be putting the imprint of my boots on your head.” He did not sound like he was kidding.

  Tucking his arms in across his chest, Nick dropped straight down, going neatly through the hole and landing in a Marine ship-to-ship combat assault vehicle. A burly soldier yanked him aside, directing him to a seat next to Mara. Nick tried to evaluate how she was doing in one quick glance. Head lolling against the thin cushion, she was deathly pale, unconscious maybe. The corporal admonished him curtly.

  “Strap in, sir, this is going to be rough!”

  The Marine captain had barely cleared the hatch and dogged it closed from the inside, and wasn’t even seated yet when the pilot of the stubby, but lethal and fast, CAV broke from the Nebula Dream. There was an earsplitting grinding and shrieking from rending metal somewhere up above the CAV. The pilot headed her away as fast as the engines could rev.

  “Going to take a hyperspace hop,” shouted the pilot from somewhere in the front, not visible to Nick with all the Marines in full battle gear standing or sitting in the way, grimly hanging on to safety bars.

  The next instant the small craft made the momentary jump to hyperspace, jarring and bouncing the passengers. Nick braced himself, holding Mara safe in his arms. The doughty CAV re-emerged into clear space seconds later, just as the Nebula Dream’s engines finally achieved critical mass and exploded, blazing out like a young star, visible on the large vid screen set into the aft bulkhead. Overloaded by the intensity, all the screens blanked out briefly. When they flickered back online, the Dream blazed, not as hotly, but for one long moment of glory, before the energy mass collapsed in upon itself and diminished in the hungry vacuum of space.

  Nick realized Mara was weeping in the seat next to him, all self-control gone now that they had escaped the Dream for the last time and the ordeal was over. The Mawreg cruiser that had been linked to the Dream had also gone up in the fiery burst, its own engines adding considerably to the size of the explosion.

  “Any sign of pursuit?” the Marine captain asked, straightening up to his full height to see the vid screens in the front.

  “None, sir,” came the reassuring answer a moment later. “The two Mawreg escort vessels appear to have bugged out.”

  “Well, keep a sharp eye out anyway. Get us to the Penelope double time. I know the admiral is anxious to talk to Captain Jameson here.”

  “Thank you,” Nick said, standing up in the aisle and offering his hand to the other officer. “We’re more grateful than you can imagine.”

  “Our pleasure,” responded the other man, shaking Nick’s hand firmly. He studied Mara briefly, then gave another crisp order. “Medic, we got wounded here.”

  Kneeling beside Mara, who was trying to get her emotions under tighter control, Nick stroked her silky hair with one hand, resting the other on her shoulder comfortingly.

  Spreading his supplies out on the deck next to Mara’s feet, the medic checked her vital signs. “We’ll take care of your broken arm, give you something for the pain, ma’am. Then they can repair the bones on the Penelope with the rejuve resonator. You’ll be fine in an hour or so, okay?”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice choked. “Thank you for everything, your coming after us was the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  The Marine officer nodded. “When we got the signal from the Dragon’s captain you’d gone back to set the cryo pod loose, and blow the engines, we volunteered to take a ship and come after you, in case you might need some reinforcements.”

  “She’s going into mild shock, sirs,” the medic reported tersely. “I need some room to work here.”

  The Marine captain drew Nick away a few steps, as a corporal came aft with a blanket for Mara. “He’s a damn fine medic. Your lady will be okay, don’t worry.”

  Nick kept an eye on the medic’s rapid and efficient treatment of Mara, administering injects and working on her broken arm, immobilizing the break more efficiently than Nick had been able to accomplish on the Dream. Mara endured whatever the medic asked of her stoically, teeth clenched, eyes closed.

  “Docking in five, sir,” the pilot announced.

  Opening her eyes, Mara searched anxiously for Nick. He stepped to the seat next to her, moving some of the medic’s gear, and taking her right hand in his. He was alarmed at how cold she was.

  “Don’t leave me,” she said.

  He folded her into his arms. “You’ll be fine, Mara. They’ll take great care of you on the battleship. I’m going to have to report to the admiral, but I’ll get to sick bay as soon as I can, I prom
ise.”

  She leaned against him. “Afraid to let you out of my sight,” she murmured somewhat disjointedly.

  “Other than briefing the admiral, which I have no choice about, I’m never leaving your side ever again,” Nick said, smoothing her hair away from her face with a tender gesture. He touched the purple bruise on her face and brushed a kiss at the edge.

  Misty-eyed, Mara gazed at him, a small smile on her lips. “You mean that, soldier?”

  He took her good hand in his. “My prospects aren’t great, they’ll probably cashier me out of the service for that last disaster of a mission –”

  “Are you kidding?” said the Marine officer. “Admiral Reston’s already talking about awarding you a field promotion, writing you up for the Medal of Honor, assigning you to his personal staff –”

  “Captain.” Nick held up a hand. “I’m trying to propose here.”

  “Oh, sorry!” Smothering a laugh, the captain sidled a few inches farther away in the crowded vehicle, tugging the grinning medic with him.

  “Propose?” Mara asked, her gaze locked onto Nick’s face. “Because if that’s a firm offer, I accept.”

  “No negotiation?”

  For answer she tugged him closer and they kissed for a long time while the Marines cheered, whistled and clapped.

  Several eventful weeks later, the five-star restaurant Sommerton’s canceled all reservations, no matter how long standing, closing for the night in honor of special guests. Nick and Mara, Twilka and Khevan, Paolo and Gianna, along with their father (who had been located in the cryo pods, where he’d retreated after the last fight with his wife), were the guests of honor. Admiral Reston and the Marine captain, as well as Rafferty and Casey from the freighter Space Dragon joined them around one big table. Sitting together one last time, they dined on the fabulous seafood, cooked by the owner personally. His niece had been traveling on the Nebula Dream and had actually been one of the passengers Nick and Khevan had evacuated in the first lifeboat at the beginning of the whole catastrophe. She was at the dinner as well.