The XO’s muscles obeyed the order without consulting him. Jacqueline’s voice unwittingly carried a maternal quality selected by evolution to reach into the brain stems of young boys and shut down their motor control.
Jacqueline took a tentative step forward and pulled an eight-millimeter wrench out of her pocket and lobbed it into the air. It sailed in the expected parabola for a bit, then it took a sharp turn in midair and rocketed straight and level toward the far wall at an impressive speed. It hit the bulkhead and stuck like well-cooked pasta.
“What the hell?” Gruber shouted against the whistling.
“Look,” said Jacqueline. “The chief isn’t leaning against the shuttle, he’s lying on top of it. The far wall is the floor, and everything fell onto it. If you had taken another couple of steps…”
Comprehension dawned on Gruber. “I would have fallen sideways. How, though? There’s no g-deck plating on the wall. And why is that over there?” He pointed to the artifact pressed into the other wall. Jacqueline could only shrug.
Gruber spoke into his com. “Captain, we have a big problem.” He responded to the unheard question. “It’s like the forward wall is producing gravity. Everything, including Chief Billings, has fallen onto it. The effect seems to begin about a meter away from where we’re standing.”
“I think it’s the artifact,” Jacqueline said absently. “It’s pushing against the rest of the bay somehow. That’s why it’s the only thing on the aft wall.”
“Like a kind of propulsion?”
“Yeah, like our gravity drive, except”—she paused to take a heavy breath—“repulsive instead of attractive.”
“Lieutenant Dorsett believes it’s coming from the artifact, some sort of antigrav engine. I concur.”
He listened to the captain’s reply. “I don’t know if we can do anything in time, ma’am. The effect seems to be several g’s. Even if we could climb down there, we wouldn’t be strong enough to climb up again, much less pull Billings out.” He, too, began to feel his lungs pull hard for air.
As the two of them pondered their dwindling options, all the tools that were stuck to the wall shifted and crashed to the floor like a box of cymbals tipped off a table. Billings slumped to the floor in a pile. Across the room, the artifact fell to the deck with a thunderclap. The tear in the aft bulkhead that had been covered by the artifact now lay exposed. The remaining air escaped with a deafening sucking sound.
“We gotta move!” Gruber charged across the deck and skidded to a stop at Billings’s feet.
Hyperventilating, Jaqueline struggled to keep pace. Stars burst forth in her eyes, then whole constellations. She took a knee to avoid falling flat. Through blurred vision, she saw Gruber start to drag Billings by his shoes.
The room spun, and her ears popped painfully. Jacqueline could see Gruber stagger badly, so she called up what little reserves she had and grabbed one of Billings’s legs. The temperature plunged, and a thick fog rolled in from nowhere. They heaved back toward the door. Gruber’s nose bled freely. Jacqueline’s field of vision shrank to a tunnel with the airlock at its center. Just a few more steps.
Then, all sound simply died. Jacqueline opened her mouth to scream, but the vacuum ripped the air out of her lungs. She could see through squinted eyes that they were at the threshold of the airlock. Before she could hit the key, her vision faded to black …
* * *
… then, back into light. Jacqueline lay with her legs in the airlock and torso in the hallway outside. The outer door leading to the bay was sealed. Her skull felt like a road crew were repaving the inside of it.
Gruber and Billings lay next to her. Both looked as bad as she felt, but they were breathing. Breathing had taken on new importance for her. She swore to spend more time in the pool practicing holding her breath. Jacqueline could hear shouting and footsteps coming down the hall from both directions.
“Marcel?” She prodded him. “Marcel, are you awake?”
After a moan, a weak voice from somewhere far in the past replied, “I can’t go to school today, Mom. I have a fever…”
She smirked and rolled her eyes, which hurt. “All right, you’d better stay in bed then.”
Gruber’s inner child grinned victoriously.
Jacqueline looked toward the gallery windows and into the shuttle bay that had almost taken her life.
Thick beads of water had formed on the glass and obstructed the view. They grew until two linked up, merged, and attracted the attention of gravity. As the drops slowly rolled down, they cannibalized the drops ahead and gained momentum, until they sprinted for the floor, leaving a clear streak in their path.
Jacqueline rolled toward the glass, her chest still heaving painfully, and wiped off a wide arch with her hand. The pane was frigid. The condensation distorted her view, but she could still see the artifact lying on the deck by itself.
As she listened to the sounds of people shouting and running, movement in the bay lassoed her focus. On the silver skin of the artifact, one set of engravings began to flash blue. Immediately next to it, a line of white light traced a circle in the skin. Once the circle was complete, the lights faded. The circle moved outward a few centimeters, then pivoted down, and revealed a hole in the hull.
She stared at it in rapt fascination. Lights glided through the interior, pulsing and flowing. It was like looking into a transparent, bioluminescent fish. A chuckle broke her attention before deteriorating into a raspy cough. She turned and saw Chief Billings propped up on an elbow. He smiled and winced simultaneously through a swollen face.
“Ta-da!” Billings said quietly. “And now, fer my next trick…”
CHAPTER 8
Allison ran a gloved hand over the tear in the hull and peeked through for a view of faraway stars. “Would someone tell the Houston Houdini to warn us before the encore?”
“Well, you did ask him to open it, Captain,” chided Magellan through the com in Allison’s helmet.
“Yes, but not quite so theatrically.” Allison turned to view the artifact, which now lay diagonally across the floor. The circular hatch lay to the side. “But we’re in. Now we can get down to the real work.”
“And all it cost us was twelve thousand cubic meters of life-giving air,” said Nelson, the engineering department’s second in line. Chief Billings’s injuries would keep him on the disabled list for at least a week. Gruber would be nursing a concussion for a few days. Jacqueline actually came out the best; she suffered superficial bruising to a good portion of her epidermis from vacuum exposure.
“How long to fix the hull?” Allison asked.
“That’s simple. We can epoxy the fissure and restore airtightness within the hour. Then we can pressurize the bay and weld in a permanent patch. Call it 1700 hours.”
“How about internal sensors and cameras?”
“That’s going to take a while. Anytime you have to troubleshoot shorts and severed cables, there’s bound to be time wasted on dead ends.”
“Understood. Still, be as quick as you can. I’d also like you to set up a couple of temporary remote cameras to keep an eye on your people and our guest here in case there’s another crisis.” She thumbed at the artifact. “And let’s fabricate a good, strong cradle in case it tries to bolt again.”
“How big are its muscles?”
“Huh?”
“If I’m going to build a cage, I don’t want to build one strong enough for a man only to find out it’s going to hold a bear.”
“I see your point. Maggie, how strong was that gravity anomaly at its peak?”
“Three point six standard gravities, Captain.”
“Thank you, Maggie.”
Nelson nodded. “We’ll plan for seven g’s and get started.”
“Hull breach first. Page me when the patch is welded in. I’m heading for the bridge.”
A short tube ride later and Allison walked onto the bridge and found a relieved Ensign Wheeler.
“Ensign, you’re relieved,” said
Allison.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m starving.”
“You should’ve said something sooner.”
“I figured you were busy with more important things,” Wheeler replied.
“So did I miss anything up here?”
The navigator looked over his shoulder at Prescott’s com station. “You could say that.”
Allison turned her head to look at the tall, freckled ensign to her right.
“Out with it then, Com,” Allison said.
“Well.” Ensign Prescott called up the necessary files. “As you know, the artifact was broadcasting this signal when we discovered it.” She tapped a key in the air and the now familiar, if still unsettling, sound filled the bridge. She let it play for a few seconds, and then interrupted. “Now, however, the signal has changed to this.” Prescott pressed another key.
Allison strained to listen. Her ears knew it wasn’t quite the same, but she was having trouble spotting the differences. It was like trying to figure out exactly which Christmas song was being butchered by grade-school carolers on your front porch.
A very upsetting thought occurred to Allison. “When did the signal change?”
“As soon as the artifact shut down its drive.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
It didn’t take a Holmesian leap of deduction to assume that the new signal was something like, “Help, I’m being stolen,” or, “Over here! They took the bait!” The growing tiger pit in Allison’s stomach convinced her the best place to be was a very long way away.
“Can we mask it?” Allison asked.
“I’m not sure how. We aren’t carrying any jamming equipment,” said Prescott.
Allison knew she was right. The average exploration vessel was far more interested in trying to detect mysterious signals than in hiding them.
Allison rubbed her forehead and concentrated. “What about our radio telescope’s frequency filters? We use them to screen out wide-frequency background noise from pulsars and such. Couldn’t we use them in reverse to block this one frequency?”
“Ought to,” said Prescott. “I’ll get to work on it right away, ma’am.”
“Good.” Allison felt like she deserved the big chair for the first time in a while. “But first, put me through to Engineer’s Mate Nelson.”
Prescott sorted through a few screens in the air in front of her and finally clicked on Nelson’s picture. “You’re connected, ma’am.”
A translucent image of the young man hung in the air in front of Allison. “Hello, Nelson. I don’t want to rush you, but the cradle just got shoved to the top of your priority list. Put as many people on it as you can until you start to trip over each other.”
“We’ll have to put repair of the internal sensors and cameras on hold, ma’am.”
“It can’t be helped. We need to get moving again, and we can’t do that until the artifact is secured.”
“Understood. We’ll have it done by the end of the shift, Captain.”
“Good man.” She cut the link and turned back to Prescott. “As soon as you have a plan of action to mute our guest, let me know. Use whoever you need, provided they aren’t working on the cradle. That includes anyone in cryo.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Allison turned to look at her navigator. “Wheeler, you have a few more hours in that chair in you?”
“As long as you don’t mind if I order a burrito from the galley.”
“Knock yourself out. I’m getting some rack time.”
“Understood, ma’am. Sweet dreams.”
Allison arrived in her cabin a few minutes later and collapsed on the bed. The collar of her uniform had been rubbing at her neck for the last few hours, so she unfastened it and let the lapels hang open.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. The sight wasn’t pretty. It reminded her of the disheveled look she carried through most of college, which she had spent in alternating states of insomnia, inebriation, and mortal panic. Except now she didn’t have the excuse of wine to account for her appearance.
“Who are you? And what did you do with my regular body?” she asked the reflection. It stared back at her expectantly. She shook her head. Allison tried to prop up the shopping bag under her left eye. She decided a hot shower before bed would do the trick. And considering that one of the perks of being captain was a private bathroom complete with shower, she was in luck.
She locked her cabin door, then disrobed and put the uniform into the acoustic washing machine. It was a water-conserving device that cleaned clothing using ultrasonic waves to vibrate away dirt and skin cells. A similar system had been used in earlier yanks for all types of cleaning, including acoustic showers. These were unpopular with crews, mainly because it felt like being screamed at by a million angry fleas. They were quickly phased out.
The water from the showerhead was just below what most would consider scalding, exactly how she liked it. Thin rivers snaked their way down the hills and valleys of her body. She could feel Gordian knots of muscles unwind under the rhythmic pulses of water. It had been a long day, a long month.
Allison began the ritual of second-guessing the day’s decisions, an ancient rite indulged in by almost anyone in a position of authority. First, she regretted not ordering construction of a cradle for the artifact as soon as it was brought aboard. That was shortsighted.
Then she regretted ordering Gruber and Dorsett into the shuttle bay before they had donned vac suits. The leak had started out small and stable. Quick number crunching had determined there was plenty of time for them to grab the chief and exit before the pressure dropped to dangerous levels. Of course, with the cameras knocked out, no one could have known that the leak was only small because the artifact was covering most of the breach, or that the artifact was about to fall back to the floor.
But that was the mistake. She’d assumed the leak would remain small and steady without knowing what had caused it in the first place. It was a stupid assumption to make, one that nearly ended the lives of three of her best people.
Allison filed away the misjudgments in her “Learning Curve” vault, but she’d never been this close to losing people before. It was enough to take a big chip out of the self-confidence that was the foundation of her command.
“Allison, may I ask you a question?” said Magellan’s familiar voice.
“Huh?” Allison jumped and almost slipped. “Maggie, did you just call me Allison?”
“Yes. I’ve noticed that you often refer to other crewmembers by their first names when you are discussing matters of a personal nature.” Magellan paused. “Was it inappropriate of me to do so?”
“No, Maggie, it’s fine. It was just different.” Allison turned off the shower and quickly slipped into her pink, fuzzy bathrobe. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Are you bothered by your backside?”
Allison stiffened and tried to look at her posterior. “Well, I haven’t really given it much thought,” she lied. “Why, is there something wrong with my ‘backside’?”
“Yes, from a design standpoint. You can’t see it. It is a blind spot. Doesn’t that bother you?”
Allison got the impression she had missed something and tried to back up. “I can see it in a mirror when I need to.” A flash of insight hit. “This is about your cameras and sensors in the shuttle bay, isn’t it?”
“Yes. There is a whole section of myself that I can’t see, possibly the most important section at the moment. It is very … I believe the word is disconcerting.”
“And you wonder how we humans live with a giant blind spot behind us all the time,” ventured Allison.
“Yes. It seems that it would leave you feeling constantly vulnerable.”
“Well, I was born with it. It’s not something that I just lost, so it’s normal for me. For a human, it would be really strange to see in every direction at once as you do. I don’t know if I could cope with it.”
“I think I unders
tand.”
“Besides, you have blind spots, too. I know for a fact you don’t have any cameras in the showers or sleeping quarters.”
“That’s true, but those locations are not mission critical. Nothing important happens there.”
Allison smiled devilishly. “I can think of a few couples who would disagree strenuously with that. Just give it some time, Maggie. I’m sorry I have to delay your repairs. I can tell it’s bothering you, but I have to weigh the risks of sticking around here for too long. There’s just too much we don’t know right now.”
“I understand, Captain.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“Thank you, Allison. Good night.”
“Good night, Maggie.”
Allison spent several long seconds considering the oddity of acting as emotional support for her own ship. Of course, crews had been talking to their ships since the first bundle of reeds were floated across a lake. But ships didn’t traditionally start those conversations.
She shook off the thought and slipped out of her bathrobe, then reclined on the narrow bed to write a badly needed report back to the research team on Earth. Once that task was complete, she ran it through to Prescott’s com station to be placed in the QER queue, then shut off the lights in her cabin and fell into her pillow.
Moments later, she was asleep.
CHAPTER 9
Felix sat at his desk and read Ridgeway’s report for the fourth time.
Magellan was damaged and several crewmembers injured when the artifact tried to make a break for it. Captain Ridgeway believed the artifact had reacted to the chief engineer’s attempts to gain access to its interior. The explanation didn’t sit well with Felix, and he hadn’t been bashful about it in their morning strategy meeting. The trouble was he had no better explanation.
That was the bad news. The good news was an access panel had popped open and they could begin surveying the interior. To Felix, that begged the question, why would the artifact pop its lid if it were trying to escape? He shooed the nagging thought. His eyes wandered the room. Professor Graham had been true to his word. Felix’s office would cause jealousy-induced apoplexy in any number of university physics departments. At his fingertips, he had a networked bank of quantum computers, the latest U-Make-It molecular printer, a pressure chamber with zero- to one-hundred-g gravity generation, a miniature fusion reactor linked to a Möbius strip particle accelerator, secure holo-links to two dozen different AESA research centers, and a device in the corner that he couldn’t quite remember the purpose of.
Gate Crashers Page 6