Derelict_Destruction

by Paul E. Cooley

  Chapter Thirteen

  Boring was an understatement. He was on his fifth pass, floating above S&R Black and circling while keeping an eye on the feeds from Private Copenhaver and Private Lyke. Copenhaver had taken up a firing position just a meter or so away from her squad-mate, her flechette rifle held expertly in her hands. Every few seconds, she turned to face a different direction. It made Taulbee smile.

  When you took up sentry duty, you were taught to have your head on a swivel. He just didn’t know anyone would take that so literally. Rather than use her camera feeds to watch for incoming hostiles, Copenhaver had taken a much more active approach. Considering the creatures they’d encountered so far, he wasn’t sure he’d be content with cam feeds either.

  Watching through your helmet cam was less disorienting and gave you a better feel for the world around you. Using cam feeds always left a dead spot or two from which a hostile could get the drop on you. And that was the real fear, of course. Getting jumped from behind? Not a worry. But a surprise attack from the right angle could leave you dead in space. Whoever had taught Copenhaver had done a good job. The marine was damned good. Taulbee hoped she’d stick around when her tour was up.

  “If there is another tour,” he whispered to himself. That was by no means a sure bet. Sure, S&R Black sat atop the spindle, it’s boring drill screwed into the hull to both secure it and make a tight seal with Mira. But they hadn’t tried to fire the engines yet. And they sure as hell didn’t know if the deck plates would hold. And if they didn’t? Well, there was no telling what would happen.

  Taulbee tried to push away the thought of the S&R vessel breaking free from Mira, sending shards of metal into orbit around the massive ship, and maybe dragging a deck plate along with it. S&R Black might survive the jolt, but anyone caught outside the ship would be annihilated. Even if the jolt didn’t destroy the ship, it could send S&R Black straight into the hull, or flying off into space just far enough to get smashed by Mira. Until they flattened her tumble completely, that was a real concern. He hadn’t said anything to Dunn about it, but he was sure the captain already knew. As did Oakes and Black. In fact, the force calculations and simulations the three of them had run no doubt took that into account.

  But that didn’t mean Taulbee felt good about it. Every calculation, every simulation, even by an AI, had a high degree of uncertainty when you didn’t know all the variables. And out here, with Mira’s condition and the creatures she’d brought back with her, they were at the mercy of “unknown variables.”

  Taulbee activated a micro-burn to turn the SV-52 when he reached the edge of his square patrol area. He couldn’t see the two marines on the hull since they were directly beneath S&R Black, but he could see the surrounding environment. It was enough for him to at least give them a heads up before those starfish things or a herd of pinecones showed up.

  “Herd? School?” Taulbee shook his head. He’d no idea what to call the damned things. Assuming they ever made it back to Trident Station for a debrief and data offload, he imagined exo-biologists would spend decades poring over the information they’d gathered. Hell, maybe in a decade or two, the brains would know what the hell these things were made from. “Unless we bring back a sample.”

  And boy didn’t that scare the shit out of him. It was bad enough to face these things out here, but the idea of bringing them back to populated space? Any of them? He shivered. What would happen if the pinecones, with their metal crunching talons or the starfish with their corroding acid, found a space station? If they managed to make their way to Titan Station or Enceladus Prime, the outer fringes of humanity would be at great risk.

  He hoped for Earth’s sake the little buggers couldn’t survive an entry into the atmosphere. Now that was a terrifying idea. The cradle of humanity, the original gravity well from which humanity evolved, being overrun by exo-solar life like some kind of ET plague. Would the pinecones slice and dice unsuited humans? How about the starfish? Would they just fly down and rip people apart or dissolve them with shots of acid?

  Taulbee shook his head to clear the thoughts. Distractions. It wasn’t the first time his mind had wandered far afield while providing cover. When you didn’t have an immediate threat, it was difficult to keep focused. He didn’t even have to think about the adjustments to keep to his patrol square. Too many rote exercises, too many hours of keeping marines safe from non-existent threats. And that was the point. Practicing the square over and over again, flying training missions, and getting to know the craft as an extension of yourself, meant you didn’t have to pay attention to the minor details. Your body and subconscious knew what to do. All a pilot had to do was pay close enough attention to handle new situations. Like this one.

  Taulbee spotted a herd hovering above Mira’s far aft deck-plates. He zoomed in and groaned. A few dozen pinecones, varying in size and length, flew slowly and silently through space. They were headed toward S&R Black and his two marines.

  “Taulbee to Copenhaver.”

  “Aye, sir. Go.”

  “There’s a group of pinecones headed this way. Coming from aft.” He ran a quick calculation based on their current speed. “They’re moving pretty slow. You should have two minutes before they’re in my firing range. Three before they’re on you.”

  When she spoke, her voice didn’t have a trace of fear. “Aye, sir. Stay and fight, or board Black?”

  Good question. “If I can’t warn them off with some shots, I want you to wait for my signal and get your asses back on the ship. Understood?”

  “Aye, sir,” Copenhaver said. “Murdock? Got it?”

  “Got it,” Murdock said.

  Taulbee smiled. They were both privates, but Murdock had already conceded decisions to Copenhaver. She was a natural-born leader. At least Taulbee thought so. He’d have a conversation with Gunny about her future when they got back to Trident Station.

  “Taulbee to Dunn.”

  “Dunn here. We have your telemetry. Black counts forty-plus pinecones.”

  “Aye, sir. I can intercept them long before they become a threat to the ship.”

  “Yes, you can.” Dunn paused. “Black suggests using regular flechette rounds to give them a scare. If they don’t break off their trajectory, it’ll be time to use the heavy stuff.”

  “Aye, sir,” Taulbee said. His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Black have any suggestions on the ‘heavy stuff?’”

  Dunn’s voice held a smile. “Tritium rounds first. I don’t want you firing those missiles unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Understood, sir,” Taulbee said.

  “Dunn, out.”

  “Acknowledged,” Taulbee said. He veered off his patrol square and floated over S&R Black’s spine toward her aft. From an altitude of twenty meters, he could see the pits and blemishes from the flechette rounds he’d fired during the first starfish attack. When they got the ship back to Trident, she’d need some TLC. “If she makes it back,” he thought.

  He kept his thrust fairly low, not wanting to stray too far from the ship and his two marines. The herd was less than a minute out of range. He’d stop the craft a good 15 seconds before they reached the kill zone and begin thrusting backward. That would give his forward flechette launchers the best chance of disrupting the herd.

  The SV-52 was loaded to the gills with ammo. Regular flechettes, the tritium flechettes, and two of those special warheads. Whatever the hell they were. Like the captain said, he’d only use the warheads as a last resort. They didn’t have a good idea of what the damned things would do, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be around when they went off. He especially didn’t want his marines anywhere near the explosions.

  Unfortunately, if the regular and tritium rounds didn’t work, he might have less than a few seconds to fire the missiles before the detonation would put his marines in certain danger. That was his real concern.

  Twenty seconds. A window on his HUD zoomed in on the herd, the cam view slowly panning to cover their approac
h. Without magnification, the creatures were little more than a tight, irregularly shaped blob of black, darker than the hull itself. He waited, his fingers wrapped around the throttle and the triggers for the guns.

  Just walk a line of fire through the middle, he thought, and then see what they do. If they—

  His eyes widened. A portion of deck plate in front of the herd vibrated, pieces of metal debris flew off the hull and into space. The herd broke apart, most of the creatures turning in space to retreat. For some, however, it was too late.

  The deck plate shattered as a starfish pulled itself through the hull, shooting its acid at the stragglers. The creature pulled its arms in before extending them like a flower blooming in a nano-second. The strange lifeform jetted forward and turned its body to face its prey.

  Taulbee watched in fascination as the starfish vomited streams of acid in the z-g, the deadly liquid flying through the vacuum like missiles toward their targets. Several herd members too slow to flee tumbled from the force of the liquid streams striking their bodies. Taulbee zoomed in on the closest pinecone to the starfish. Its body, normally black and barely more than an outline in normal conditions, glowed green for an instant. The starfish waved its arms again and flew close enough to grasp the creature in one of its many arms. Another pinecone tried to distance itself from the predator, but the attacker easily plucked it with another arm.

  The starfish thing dragged them into its center, another set of arms prying and clutching at its prey. The pinecone shells split open, revealing glowing gray flesh. The morsel disappeared into the starfish’s maw for a moment before the now empty husk was jettisoned like a cannon shot. The starfish did the same with the remaining captured pinecone.

  With another sweep of its arms, the starfish followed the fleeing herd, slowly gaining on them. Taulbee lost sight of the pinecones as they flew past the edge of the hull and into space. The starfish, undeterred, gained speed and disappeared.

  For a moment, Taulbee did nothing but breathe. He was still trying to process what he’d seen when he realized his jaw had dropped. He closed it with a click of teeth and activated the comms. “Black? Did you see that?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” the AI said.

  “How the hell are they moving like that?”

  “Unknown,” Black said. “Again, if I had a creature to study, I might begin to understand them.”

  Taulbee shook his head. “Captain? We had some visitors, but they seem to have departed.”

  “Acknowledged,” Dunn said. “I saw the feed. That thing just pushed itself out of the deck plates?”

  “Aye, sir. Metal debris still pushing outward into space. Might be a hazard if we have to fly that way.”

  The comms went silent for a moment, as if Dunn didn’t know what to say. The space of two breaths passed before he finally heard the captain say, “Maintain patrol, Taulbee. I don’t want one of those things coming out next to the spindle and our marines.”

  Taulbee nodded to himself. “Aye, sir. My thoughts exactly. Taulbee out.”

  He turned the SV-52 until it once again faced S&R Black. A quick nudge of the throttle and the support craft gained speed. He hadn’t flown far from his charges, but every second it took to return had his stomach churning.

  He’d have to be more observant now. Migrating pinecones and hovering starfish were still a threat, certainly. But the idea of one of those things simply smashing through the deck plates? His marines could be instantly dragged beneath Mira’s crumbling superstructure, or simply eaten by the starfish things. He shuddered, his finger twitching near the cannon’s trigger. “Poke an arm out, you fuckers,” he said aloud. The bravado sounded weak and without conviction to his own ears.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It didn’t matter that the temperature outside her suit was near absolute zero. It didn’t matter that she was trapped in what should have been one of the coldest places in the universe. What mattered was her suit didn’t seem to understand the difference between “comfort” and “sweatbox.”

  Kali struggled to pull another piece of debris from the pile. It finally came loose, bringing down more debris with it. Dickerson was having the same issue, although he was having more difficulty with his damaged shoulder.

  What she thought would only take a few minutes was taking a lot longer. Since they had no idea what was really above the slip-point, or how much damage had been done topside, she had drastically miscalculated the amount of debris that had clumped together. And even in z-g, pulling on a piece frequently pulled another piece with it. The tangle of metal, plastic, and void-knew-what-else was so compacted that it might take them half an hour to clear the space. But the worst part was the fact that every piece they removed had to be jettisoned backward through the tunnel to keep from clogging it up again.

  “Fucking Sisyphean,” Kali muttered.

  “What’s that, Corporal?” Dickerson asked in a pained, breathy voice.

  She stopped and pointed at the clutter. “This. We pull, we remove, and more shit gets jammed in there.” She sat back on her haunches, doing her best to pop her vertebrae. “What’s the point?”

  Dickerson let go of a large piece of debris and turned to face her. “Well, Corporal, at least we’re in agreement on that.”

  She couldn’t see his face through the visor, but she thought she heard a smile in his voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  He shrugged, his bad shoulder dropping slightly. “Not my place,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I think this was a mistake.”

  “Well, as mistakes go, it’s not exactly the worst in the universe,” he said. “You think we should go further down the slip-point?”

  “What do you think?”

  He paused for a moment, his helmet facing the cluttered egress. “I think that might be the right thing to do,” he said and jerked a thumb backward. “Besides, Carb says everything’s clear back there. Probably make better time.”

  “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Fuck this.” She stood from her crouch and raised her hands to the ceiling. Her ribs immediately screamed in pain and she grimaced beneath her helmet. Have to stop doing that, she told herself. While she’d pulled on the debris, the pain had been little more than pinches, tiny lightning bolts across the tortured tissue and bone. But lifting her arms like that? More like detonating a flechette in her upper chest.

  Dickerson stood beside her, one hand rubbing at his bad shoulder. “Damnit,” he said. “Can’t even feel my fingers through this suit.”

  “You could always take it off,” Carb said. “I know icing it down would help.”

  “Ha-ha,” he said in a mock laugh. “Why don’t you keep quiet back there and focus on the luggage.”

  “Joke ‘em if they can’t take a fuck,” Carb said.

  Kali couldn’t help but smile. At least Dickerson and Carb could keep her entertained while she led them to certain death. She shook away the thought and made her way back to the slip-point shaft, Dickerson on her heels.

  The egress point would have brought them so close to an emergency station, they’d practically have been there. Instead, they were going to have to travel down the lightless shaft another forty meters before reaching the next port-side egress. To make matters worse, the next junction was a four-way, putting them at risk for attacks from above and below as well as from the port-side. She didn’t like it, but couldn’t think of an alternative.

  “Elliott? How you doing?” Kali asked.

  “Still here,” he said. He sounded better, more energetic, and in less pain. “Finally starting to breathe easier.”

  “Good,” she said. “If things get nasty up ahead, I may need you to do some walking and flying.”

  “Won’t that be fun,” Elliott said. He paused for a moment and then sighed. “Aye, Boss. Understood.”

  She smiled. He was doing better. Carb had mag-locked him to the wall and he’d been able to rest while Kali and Dickerson tried to clear the egress. That had been, what, ten m
inutes ago? Fifteen? Didn’t matter. Every moment he wasn’t moving around or being jostled was a gift to the bio-nannies, allowing them to do their jobs without distraction.

  “Now if only ours could get some rest,” she said off comms. That was the problem. As long as she and Dickerson were doing all the heavy lifting so to speak, their nannies weren’t getting a chance to repair or even dull their pain. After this many hours of exertion, she wasn’t sure the microscopic machines even had enough material to work with.

  Kali looked down the slip-point shaft, her helmet lights not strong enough to illuminate the next junction. “Okay,” she said. “Carb? Get Elliott ready to move. Dickerson?” He turned to her but said nothing. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Be better after a beer and some THC.”

  “Can you keep going?”

  He chuckled. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No,” she said, a grin creeping across her face. “But I need to know if you can still hold a rifle.”

  “No offense, Corporal,” he said, “but when I can’t hold a rifle, I’m already fucking dead.”

  “Good answer,” she said. Out of the four members of the squad, Carb seemed the least damaged. She was also the weakest physical strength wise. At least from the reports Kali had read when she took over the squad so many weeks ago. Was it really weeks? She felt as though they’d been on Mira for years.

  “Ready, Boss,” Carb said.

  Kali checked her rear cam. Elliott was slung over her shoulder once again, her rifle held firmly in her hands. “Good. Dickerson? You ready?”

  “Aye, Corporal,” he said. “Same formation?”

  “Until I say otherwise.” An awkward silence fell over the comms. Kali did her best not to sigh. “Okay, squad. Forward.”

  She detached from the floor and used a free mag-glove to gain momentum. Carb and Dickerson followed suit, the squad floating down the slip-point shaft at a slow pace.

  From here, the shaft looked fairly clean. Bits of debris floated near the ceiling, but nothing they couldn’t simply brush aside or ignore altogether. Both horizontal and vertical slip-points assumed the occupants would float parallel to its intended direction rather than perpendicular. As such, the ceiling was relatively low for Dickerson and he had to be careful to keep from hitting his head. Had the slip-point been powered, the shaft would have taken care of that problem for him.