Project U.L.F.

by Stuart Clark

  Inside the ship he stopped, thinking about the old craft he was inside. He needed to put the beacon receiver somewhere Wyatt or one of his crew would easily find it. Where? Where could he put it? The equipment store! Now, where was that? It was so long since he had been in a Caravel class craft that it took him a while to remember the layout of the great ship.

  He ran along the nearest passageway, his boots clanking on the grating underfoot. He soon came to a ladder and ascended two floors before getting his bearings and heading off in a new direction. He found the equipment store shortly afterwards.

  He opened the hatch to be confronted with an impressive array of weaponry, traps and body armor. Pushing aside two of the chest protectors, he placed the beacon receiver in a small alcove behind them. The chest protectors fell back into place, rocking on their rail. Alan said a silent prayer, hoping that someone would notice the small black box. He looked at his watch. He had five minutes to get out of here. He felt an adrenaline rush. Five minutes was cutting it fine.

  He retraced his steps to the entry portal. As he stepped out of it onto the bay floor he could see that the bay door was still open. He looked behind him to see the telescopic arm disappearing back into the ship and heard it lock into place. Then he looked back at the bay door. It was closing! The manual override had been neutralized. He had left it too late. He started for the door, willing his tired limbs to move, to make this one final exertion, but he knew that he wasn’t going to make it. He wouldn’t even get near enough to throw himself under it as it crashed shut. “No!” he screamed, but the shout was futile. The motion of the door seemed painfully slow but he knew that it would beat him.

  When he reached it, Alan threw himself against the door, crying out and pounding it with his fists. The effort was pointless. He slumped to the floor sobbing, watching as the door’s locking bolts slid slowly and purposefully across the door’s surface, locating themselves with a solid clang.

  He sat there for a while, huge sobs shaking his body. The end was close for him and he was terrified of it.

  Suddenly he was engulfed in darkness. The launch bay lights had all been shut off. “Come back, Wyatt,” he whispered. “Look after Kate and make it back.”

  Then a strip of light high above him broke the darkness. The ceiling doors were opening. Almost instantly Alan’s world turned silent. The vacuum of space sucked all the air out of the landing bay in a matter of seconds, rupturing both of his eardrums. He gasped for air but there was no air to be had. He was living on his last breath. The rush of escaping air picked him up like a leaf in the wind. He turned and made a frantic grab for one of the door bolts but missed and was carried up towards the ceiling doors.

  The lack of oxygen was making him light-headed and he watched dreamily as the hull of the Santa Maria rushed past him. The last thing he saw was the stars and the inky blackness of space.

  This must be heaven, he thought.

  * * * * *

  The panel informed the traffic controller in the control dome that the Santa Maria was launching as scheduled. He looked up and out of the dome and saw the bulk of the ship rise slowly out of the crater in front of him far away in the distance. He watched as the computerized launch sequence went through its paces.

  Ship’s retaining bolts withdrawn.

  Boosters firing.

  There was a brief burst of light from the Santa Maria and the craft lifted slowly off the pad and drifted upwards.

  Generator power at 98%.

  Hyperdrive engines coupled.

  Hyperdrive systems all on line.

  The controller watched as the computer monitored the distance of the Santa Maria from the moon’s surface…3 kilometers…3.5…4 kilometers…4.5…5 kilometers.

  Engaging hyperdrive engines.

  There was a brilliant flash and then the Santa Maria was gone.

  The controller adjusted his headset and then logged the departure. “The Santa Maria is away.”

  * * * * *

  “Well?” Mannheim said.

  Robert looked back at him from the telelink screen. “Wyatt’s launch went ahead as scheduled and all of the team that you requested were loaded on board.”

  “Did you do as I asked?”

  “Yes, Douglas, I never let him out of my sight. He didn’t get the opportunity to talk to anyone up here.”

  “Good. Good. So everything is going according to plan.”

  Robert swallowed nervously, and Mannheim immediately picked up on it.

  “Well it is, isn’t it? Or is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Er…well, it’s probably nothing really, but…”

  “But what, Robert,” Mannheim said.

  “An incoming craft picked up a body on its way into the moon-base…”

  Mannheim said nothing, just motioned with his hand for Robert to continue.

  “It was the body of Alan Chambers.”

  Mannheim leaned forward on his desk and covered his eyes with one hand.

  “We checked the computer records here and it appears he got into bay 12 shortly before the launch of the Santa Maria. But…but, there’s nothing he could have done,” Robert stammered. “I…I mean, the launch went ahead.” He smiled nervously.

  Mannheim said nothing, just terminated the call with the touch of a button. “Shit!” he shouted.

  He sat in his chair, fuming for a while, and then he accessed one of his private files, instructing the computer to dial the number it found there. The telelink rang and rang until eventually the call was answered and a lean, hard face filled the screen.

  “It’s time,” was all Mannheim said. There was no reply from the face on the screen. The head just nodded and the screen went blank again.

  Mannheim got up and strode over to his drinks cabinet. Pulling a glass and the brandy decanter out he paused for a while, thinking.

  Remembering himself, he poured out a good measure of the clear brown liquid and held it up to the light, examining it closely. “Here’s to you, Bob. It was nice knowing you,” he said before downing the contents of the glass.

  CHAPTER

  6

  The lizard’s forked tongue flicked intermittently. The taste of its prey on the air was strong. It scampered through the undergrowth and with one deft movement, leapt onto the felled trunk that blocked its path, stopping there to re-assess its environment, head jerking from side to side, tongue flicking menacingly.

  The cold-blooded animal was instantly aware of a change in temperature. Something was blotting out the sunlight. It cocked its head, but the brightness of the suns high above meant all it could see was a black silhouette in the sky. A silhouette that grew larger. The lizard bolted, its meal forgotten for another time. Better to be the hunter than the hunted.

  * * * * *

  The Santa Maria made a slow, controlled descent into the wooded area. For an instant it appeared that the delicate treetops were actually supporting the massive ship, but the craft continued to descend. The finer branches of the treetops began snapping like matchwood, then the boughs cracked under the huge weight and were sent crashing to forest floor. The noise increased in intensity until it reached a thunderous crescendo.

  Finally the Santa Maria was still and the only sounds to be heard were the settling of forest debris and the squawks of a multitude of flying creatures, protesting the loss of their treetop dwellings.

  * * * * *

  Long before Wyatt opened his eyes he was aware that he was shivering. His cryogenic chamber had been drained of its fluid but his body was still struggling to raise its temperature.

  Opening your eyes after a period of Cryosleep was always a shock. Wyatt saw the glass of his chamber, smeared with remnants of the cryogenic fluid. Beyond, the world was transformed into a chaotic jumble of distorted structures and contours by the sticky gel.

  Wyatt placed his hands on the cover glass and pushed. Nothing happened. The door was stuck fast. Wyatt placed his feet on the back wall of the chamber and put his kne
es up against the transparent surface, slowly arching his back to exert more pressure on it. Eventually the seal gave and warm, fresh air rushed in. He pushed the cover glass up and out of the way and then pulled the tube from his nose and removed his mouthpiece. He lay back for a while, letting his body adjust to the new temperature, infrequent hot flashes passing over him. Then, when he felt more comfortable, he removed the electrodes from his body and got himself up and out of the chamber.

  He walked past the other chambers and into an annex at the end of the room. As soon as he entered he was showered with water. As he walked further into the extension the water followed him. He stopped at the far side of the room and began to aid the water in its purpose, rubbing down his body to remove the globs of cryogenic fluid that clung to him. Wyatt hated cryosleep. It made him feel rough, like he had a hangover. His throat was dry and he raised his head to the spray, letting the water run over his face and into his mouth, allowing himself a few gulps of the reviving liquid.

  Over the sound of the shower he could hear someone else waking. He wondered which member of his team it would be. He did not have to wait long to find out. Roberta “Bobby” Keele stepped into the shower room and was instantly drenched.

  “Hello, Wyatt,” she said, as the water began to drip off her.

  “Hi, Bobby,” he replied.

  Bobby had five years experience in U.L.F. expeditions and had been a regular member of Wyatt’s team before he was restricted to a desk. He was pleased to see her. She was a good team member who acted on orders without question and she had proved herself in many trying situations. He would pick her for his team over many of the men in his charge.

  Wyatt looked her over once and smiled to himself. Other guys would die to be in this position, he thought.

  He stepped out of the shower room, “See you in a minute.” Bobby said nothing, just nodded as the water splashed over her face.

  Wyatt stood under the fan dryer and looked back into the cryosleep room. He frowned. There were four others now awake and moving around, and of these four he only recognized two. One was Par Hergstrom, a Swede by birth, easily identified by his blonde hair and stocky build. The other was Kitley Dolbrath.

  Wyatt had worked with Par only once before but Par had proved himself to be a worthy member of a U.L.F. team. Even so, it struck Wyatt as odd that Par should be assigned to such a high-profile mission. He was not an outstanding member of the U.L.F. division, and not a member of Wyatt’s regular team.

  Kit was a huge man. Six feet, five inches of solid muscle with an ego to match his stature. He was not well liked among U.L.F. staff. He was a chauvinistic, arrogant, selfish individual. Kit always had “a better way” of doing things and would act on impulse rather than follow orders. Such behavior had put U.L.F. team members at risk in many separate incidents and many people had asked not to be assigned to expeditions with him again. Wyatt desperately wanted to eject Kit from his department, but, like Wyatt once had been, Kit was a criminal on placement and his contract could not be terminated. Unfortunately, Kit had proved that he was not only a dangerous element to society, he was simply a dangerous element in any given situation. Project U.L.F. had served no rehabilitation purposes whatsoever where he was concerned.

  Wyatt stepped out from under the fan and walked back towards his chamber and the hatch that contained his belongings. Par caught his eye and smiled, raising a hand in greeting, and Wyatt returned the gesture. As he walked past Kit, Wyatt said the other man’s name and nodded to acknowledge his presence. Kit just looked over his shoulder at Wyatt and then turned away again, as if he was worthy of nothing more.

  Wyatt pulled open his hatch and heaved his bag out and onto the floor. As he rummaged around in it for some clothing, one of the two strangers approached him, hand extended.

  “Sir, I’d just like to say how pleased I am to be assigned to you and this mission. It is a great privilege to be working alongside you after hearing so much about you.”

  Wyatt took the hand and shook it. “Well…er…thanks,” he said, somewhat embarrassed by this show of admiration. He looked up at the stranger and was surprised to see such a young face looking back at him. Wyatt guessed he could only have been in his early twenties. “…And you are?”

  “Alex Whittaker, sir. Newly recruited to project ULF and ready for duty, sir.”

  “Well that’s just great, Alex,” Wyatt forced a weak smile. “That’ll probably explain why I don’t recognize you.”

  “And this guy,” Wyatt said, pointing at the other stranger, “Is he a friend of yours?”

  Alex frowned. “Chris?”

  The other stranger turned at the sound of his name and Wyatt tensed when he saw the face. If Alex was a young man, Chris was barely more than a boy. Their eyes met and Chris was about to say something when something over Wyatt’s shoulder caught his eye. Wyatt turned to see Bobby emerging from the dryer, rubbing the hair on the back of her head with a towel. She was completely naked but oblivious to her nudity.

  She looked up, first at Wyatt and then at the two young men facing him. Wyatt saw her brow furrow questioningly; apparently she too did not recognize the pair. He gave a barely discernible shake of his head. Not now. We’ll talk later. From the look in her eye, he saw that she understood.

  Chris continued to stare at Bobby as she stood there. When she realized that he was looking at her she blushed and brought the towel down to cover herself. Wyatt snorted in amusement at the charade.

  Another chamber seal cracked open. The cover glass was pushed up and away and a leg lifted slowly out of the chamber. A hand appeared, and with great effort a body was heaved out of the chamber to stand before them all.

  “Byron,” Wyatt exclaimed, the greeting full of affection and relief. “We should have pensioned you off years ago, you old crock!”

  “Hey! Enough of the ‘old!’” Byron said croakily, his throat parched from the two weeks in Cryosleep. “I’m only forty-five.”

  “You’re getting too long in the tooth for this game, mate,” Wyatt joked.

  “Eh, young man. I’m still good and you know it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. Just kidding you, mate. I would shake your hand but you’re a bit…sticky!” Wyatt grimaced in mock disgust.

  Byron laughed, and as if to reinforce Wyatt’s comment, a gob of the cryogenic fluid dripped off his chin and hit the floor with a smack.

  “Go get showered up,” Wyatt said, laughing, “You’re disgusting! Go on. All of you, hit the showers.”

  Byron walked off to the shower annex with the other four in tow. Bobby finished dressing and then came and sat next to Wyatt at the foot of his chamber. She glanced back quickly to check that the others were safely out of earshot.

  “What’s going on, Wyatt?” she asked, real concern showing on her face. “This is a U.L.F. expedition, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s going on? Have you been away from us so long you’ve forgotten what Project U.L.F. is all about? It’s not an adventure for…” she looked back toward the shower room again, “…for kids.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” he said sharply. “Do you honestly think I picked these people, because if you do then I have been away too long.” He looked at her and saw guilt on her face. That was exactly what she had thought.

  “Sorry.”

  “Look. The situation’s like this,” he said, his voice calming, “Until a month ago I didn’t know anything about this mission. I was asked to take it on at the last minute by Mannheim. I was told everything was taken care of, that the team had been picked and all they needed was someone to lead that team—me. Obviously Mannheim left out a few details.”

  “You’re right about that. I’d like to know just who picked…” Bobby trailed off. The others were now emerging from the dryer. It would be unwise to stir up panic or ill-feeling so soon. Wyatt looked at her, the faintest trace of a smile on his face. He appreciated her tact. She was one smart cookie and it was good to have her aboard
.

  The others went back to their chambers, pulling their respective U.L.F. kit bags from their compartments. As they dressed they chatted with one another, all except Kit, who dressed in silence. Suddenly, above the sound of conversation, there was a thump from the far end of the room. They all turned.

  There was one chamber still in use. Whoever it was, they had been “put down” away from the other members of the team. He remembered now walking in to be put down himself. This was the chamber he had seen the two technicians crouched over when he had entered the room.

  There was another thump. It was a hand hitting the cover glass. Wyatt could see the palm pushed flat against the translucent surface. Then it was pulled away and a third thump accompanied the return of the hand. The second hand joined in. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. The hits increased in frequency and intensity. Whoever was in there could not get out and had begun to panic.

  Wyatt walked over to the chamber, the others close behind, curious. He crouched down and dug his fingers deep into the rubber seal that skirted the cover glass. When he could feel the edge of the glass beneath the rubber he heaved upwards. The seal gave and the glass lifted easily.

  The chamber was occupied by a young woman. She was clearly scared and her breaths came rapidly. Her eyes darted around the room, examining the new environment and then falling on each of the crew in turn. Wyatt did not recognize her at all.

  The girl brought her arm across her breasts and raised her knees, adopting an almost fetal position to conceal her nakedness. Wyatt realized with shame that he was staring at her, not for any other reason than simply because he was trying desperately to take in all the features of her face and then put a name to it. But he simply did not know her.

  “One minute,” he said quietly to her.

  Wyatt lowered the cover glass and turned to face the rest of the crew, “What’s up with you guys!” he said angrily, “Come on now, give the girl some privacy.”