Humal Sequence 1: A Breath of Hope

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by Robert Taylor

“It looks safe,” he muttered. “No other craft within and no sign of internal weapon mounts.”

  Puckett nodded, chewing his lip nervously. “OK. Here we go.”

  The shuttle edged forward into the shelter of the bay. Puckett turned on the landing lights, though he was flying mostly by instrumentation only. The lights were for the passengers’ benefit.

  The bay was huge, capable of taking in a dozen or more shuttles the size of theirs with ease. Puckett flew the shuttle to the centre of the bay and slowly rotated in place. Everything seemed safe.

  “Looks like an airlock over towards the back.” LeGault noted, consulting his sensors.

  Puckett nodded. “Alright, no sense in us having to walk any farther than we have to.”

  He nudged the controls and the shuttle drifted over to the rear of the bay, towards the centre of the spine. He finally put the shuttle down less than twenty feet from the door with a barely perceptible bump. The engine rumble faded away to leave complete silence.

  Hamilton wondered briefly what the same journey would have been like with Veltin at the helm. He shuddered involuntarily.

  Once everything was secure, and Puckett had announced that the magnetic grapples had taken, Hamilton moved to the rear of the shuttle and donned one of the shuttle’s spacesuits. These, like the shuttle itself, had been thoroughly checked for signs of tampering or defects before departure and pronounced safe. It wasn’t easy putting the suit on in the cramped shuttle and Hamilton began to wish he’d ordered them put on before they left. Matters weren’t helped by his body armour and weapons. Of the latter, he removed only his laser pistol for use in emergencies. He clipped it to the suit’s own utility belt along with his portable scanner. The two other pistols he sealed inside the suit with him. He didn’t trust anyone enough to leave them behind and, in the low gravity of the station, the recoil of using them would send him spinning if he wasn’t properly braced. The suit was a tight fit with all that inside it. It was going to be a warm affair.

  Clipping the helmet into place he shouldered the air supply and turned to regard the others. He activated the suit’s external speaker.

  “I’m going out to take a look around first. You people get into your suits. As soon as I think it’s safe I’ll call. Come out and assemble by the main door over there.” He gestured towards where he thought the hangar door was. All Puckett’s spinning about had left him slightly confused. “I’ll meet you there. Under no circumstances are you to go wandering off, is that understood?”

  Everyone nodded except Lewis who just stared at him. Hamilton didn’t care about her. If she wandered off no-one would be going to find her.

  Hamilton turned on the air supply and watched his faceplate readout for signs of a leak. After a few moments it flashed a green light and, picking up his plasma rifle, he stepped into the cramped lock.

  The lock was strictly a one-person affair. It had been added as an afterthought. The shuttle’s original design had been for a surface-to-orbit vehicle. There was barely room for him and his gear. Hamilton jammed himself against the outer door, the one everyone traditionally thought of as ‘the door’, and carefully closed the inner one. He pressed the lock cycling button and waited. He was reminded of certain ‘cheap’ hotels he’d stayed in which boasted elevators for no extra charge. Such elevators usually turned out to be motorized dumb-waiters with delusions of grandeur, he knew.

  Fortunately, being so small, the lock didn’t take long to de-pressurize. As soon as it was ready, he opened the outer door and clambered down the ladder outside. In theory, the gravity here was so weak that he could have dropped to the floor safely. He didn’t believe in taking chances.

  At the bottom he took the time to put his air-supply on properly, shrugging into the straps and adjusting them to fit correctly. Belatedly, he wondered why he’d bothered to keep his armour on. If his spacesuit took a hit he’d be dead no matter how many layers of armour he wore underneath. Explosive decompression was not a pretty sight. He shrugged to himself, too late now.

  He picked up his rifle and attendant backpack. This was another mistake, he told himself. He’d been so concerned with protection that he’d over encumbered himself badly. Still, the rifle could always be abandoned at need. The airpack too, if he didn’t need more than a few minutes of air.

  He looked around at the interior of the hangar.

  Beyond the immediate reach of the shuttles lights the place was cavernous and gloomy. Anything at all could be lurking amid such darkness, he thought. Cautiously, he moved over to the hangar’s interior door. Behind him, the shuttle lock closed, preparing for the next customer.

  The bay door was large, designed to facilitate cargo handling, he thought. A control panel lay off to one side. He inspected it thoughtfully.

  It was simple. A large green button and a large blue one. There were no displays or other paraphernalia. He used his scanner to probe beyond the door.

  Information was surprisingly vague, as if the door itself were impermeable to the scanner’s beams. It did reveal, however, that the pressure beyond was equal to that in the hangar, which was to say, almost non-existent. The last thing he needed when he opened the doors was to be blown out of the station by a blast of escaping air.

  Satisfied, he pushed the green button.

  Nothing happened.

  He pushed the blue button.

  Again, nothing happened.

  Irritated, Hamilton poked the buttons several more times, hopeful that repeated use would wake the dormant circuitry.

  The door remained firmly closed.

  “Simmonds,” He called over the open channel. “Come out here. And bring a tool-kit.”

  Some minutes later, Simmonds appeared, carting a bulky tool-box and analytical equipment. He climbed awkwardly down from the shuttle and got to work on the recalcitrant door.

  After perhaps ten minutes, he had managed to take the control panel to pieces and rigged up an alternative power supply. With a showman-like flourish, he shorted out two wiring tracks.

  The hangar door ground slowly open for a few feet, then froze.

  Simmonds frowned disapprovingly. “Just a moment. I can fix that.”

  Hamilton shook his head, an action not transmitted by his suit helmet. “Forget it. We can get through.”

  Simmonds frowned more deeply. “I’m sure it won’t take more than a couple of..”

  “I said, forget it!” Hamilton ordered.

  Simmonds shut up and began to collect his tools.

  “You stay here.” Hamilton declared. “I’ll explore further. If I need you I’ll call.”

  Simmonds nodded, still busy with his equipment.

  Hamilton poked his head through the gap and looked around.

  The lights of the shuttle penetrated through the opening and illuminated a large, perfectly circular, corridor running off to the right. Directly opposite lay another large hangar door. To the right, the corridor led off into darkness. To the left the corridor ended at another hangar door. The torus and, presumably, the control centre, lay to the right.

  Pausing only to switch on his suit light Hamilton made his way down the corridor, checking his scanner periodically. The way was a long one and he soon grew hot and sweaty within the multiple layers of protective clothing. There were a few more hangar doors initially, then the corridor ran straight and unblemished as far as his light could penetrate. He continued on doggedly, ignoring the hangars and checking in with his companions at five minute intervals. The further he went, the more broken up his communications became, but they were still decipherable. Communications with Jones and Klane, however, were impossible. He had to relay any messages to them through LeGault on the shuttle.

  After about half an hour of painful effort he reached a point where the corridor split around its circumference. Examining the hair-fine crack he observed that the area beyond the crack was in motion, the whole corridor rotating. Not very fast, admittedly, but still noticeable. He gathered that he’d reached the central
torus. He was not a greatly mechanically minded person, but even he recognised the feat of engineering involved in this construction. To marry a moving and non-moving construct in a frictionless environment was mind-boggling. Even more so when the joint was also airtight. He stepped over the gap.

  There was greater gravity beyond, but not much. It had been like stepping onto a moving slideway.

  Carrying on, he soon came across a pair of more modestly sized doors. One on each side of the corridor. A quick check revealed their controls as dead as the other doors’ had been. Sighing to himself, he called for Simmonds to assist him. He told the engineer to take it easy and warned him about the torus-spine interface.

  Rather than hanging about, Hamilton decided to explore down the passageway further. Setting off after a brief rest, he trudged wearily along the empty corridor.

  Aboard the Hope’s Breath the one who knew precisely what was going on smiled faintly as the reports of the party’s progress came in. It was almost time to end the charade. Almost. But not quite.

  Hamilton returned after walking for twenty minutes to find Simmonds hard at work on one of the doors. Even as he greeted the engineer, the door lurched open with a jerking motion. Simmonds stepped back warily.

  A further corridor led away from the spine. Looking in, it appeared to spiral away upwards around the spine, out of sight. No doubt its design was created allow a gradual change in apparent gravity for those travelling along it. Hamilton was certain it led to the torus and possible control areas. He scanned it carefully. There was nothing of interest.

  “Is it safe?” Simmonds asked. He peered nervously along the corridor.

  “Yeah, it’s perfectly safe.” Hamilton told him. “You wait here.” He then called the others and told them to assemble by the hangar door. He then began to move down the new corridor.

  It was little different from the previous one, being of circular cross-section and stretching away like a ramp. The sensation as one walked along it was most peculiar. Although it curved upwards it felt as if you were going downhill. Gravity increase the further you travelled. Soon it was almost one-gee standard. Hamilton hoped it did not continue too much further.

  It did not, however, and ended after only ten minutes of walking at an impressively armoured door. Hamilton grew more cautious. Again, there was no power or sign of defensive weaponry. Hamilton called Simmonds and set him to work on it. There was nothing more Hamilton could do so he rested, allowing the overworked thermostat on his suit time to regain control of the interior temperature and environment. He was covered in sweat. He did not look forward to returning along the spiralling corridor. The only good thing about it would be the gradual decrease in gravity.

  A radio check revealed that he was now out of contact with the shuttle as well as the ship. He scowled inside his helmet.

  “How long’s it going to take?” Hamilton inquired.

  Simmonds looked up briefly. “Almost.. got… it.”

  Simmonds transmission, Hamilton noted, showed a lot of static. It was almost as if….

  “Simmonds! Stop! Don’t open the door!”

  “Huh?” Simmonds crackled.

  The armoured door slid open.

  Beyond lay a small antechamber. Consoles and control surfaces were everywhere. Simmonds’ eyes lit up with interest and he started forward eagerly.

  “No! Wait!” Hamilton yelled, reaching to catch Simmonds arm.

  The rest of Simmonds disintegrated in a blinding flash and spray of blood. Hamilton reeled back, holding his grisly trophy.

  Simmonds murderer appeared around the edge of the doorjamb, humming faintly.

  It was some kind of robot, or remote sentry, Hamilton decided. Tracked lower body gave way to an armoured torso and two stubby arms bristling with weaponry. In place of a head, the thing had another, larger weapon. His scanner beeped insistently. No shit, he thought.

  Hamilton dropped Simmonds arm and snatched his plasma rifle up. Flicking off the safety, he triggered a burst at point blank range.

  A bright flaring around the machine indicated the presence of a defence field. At such range, however, it was severely tested by the plasma rifle. That it held at all indicated the field was denser than anything he’d encountered before. The backwash of heat from the plasma detonation set further alarm lights to blinking inside his helmet.

  A second burst shattered the field and tore into the machine. It exploded in a bright orange fireball and showered him with debris, throwing him back a few feet. Miraculously, his suit wasn’t punctured.

  Beyond, within the room, Hamilton saw another robot appear. Its weapons swivelled instantly. He dove out of sight as the machine opened up, raking the far side of the corridor with fire. Some kind of energy weapon, he thought. The wall melted and ran, and chunks of metal flew wildly about. Hamilton scrambled away, back towards the spine.

  Behind him, the second machine reached the doorway and the wreckage of its fellow. With single minded determination, it began to push the wreckage aside.

  Hamilton regained his feet and ran back towards the main corridor. Abruptly, there was light. The whole corridor was lit up brightly and Hamilton felt a thrumming vibration through the soles of his feet. The station was powering up!

  Hamilton reached the main corridor after a couple of minutes and looked for a way to close it.

  Simmonds fiddling had left the control panel in bits all over the place. He fiddled with various wires, touching their bare ends together, trying to find the closing sequence. His scanner began to beep again, indicating the approach of the robot, no doubt. He cursed and struggled to get the door shut.

  So intent was he on his work, that when Puckett and the others strolled up he almost shot them in fright. They backed warily away from him.

  “What the hell are you doing here!” He demanded, horrified.

  They glanced at each other uncertainly. Puckett stepped forward and said something. Hamilton could see his mouth moving. He heard nothing, however.

  With a lunge, he grabbed Puckett and spun him around. A swift reach behind their backs had the small antennae touching.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Hamilton roared. “It’s a trap. Simmonds is dead! There’re robots all over the place!”

  “Robots!” Puckett’s voice was full of confusion.

  “Yes! Now get moving! They’re right behind me!”

  With a shove, he propelled Puckett back towards the others and turned back to the door. There were only a few wires he hadn’t tried. Manically, he connected them.

  Nothing happened. He must have missed one!

  He risked a glance down the corridor.

  The second robot was less than twenty feet away, treads whirring around rapidly as it came into view. If the corridor hadn’t been curved, he’d have never made it this far. Beyond it, three more machines followed. Hamilton cursed. The lead machine spotted and opened fire. He ducked back out of sight.

  The discharge served to accomplish what Puckett was having difficulty in explaining to the others. They stared with horror and dawning realisation at the partly melted door opposite. As one, they began to turn and run back towards the shuttle hangar.

  Hamilton hefted the plasma rifle and rolled across the opening suddenly, firing three shots wildly. One shot struck home, dissipating on the defence field. A barrage of fire was returned and, reaching the other side he began to hear the ominous hiss of air escaping from somewhere in his suit. No time, though, to look for the leak. He dove across the gap this time, to confuse any predictive equipment the robot had. Two more shots lanced out, striking the machine both times. The machines shield managed to hold against the first but crumpled as the second struck. It blew apart spectacularly. Its return fire passed harmlessly low of Hamilton. Or so he thought.

  An angry buzzing filled his helmet and the rifle’s backpack power unit vibrated against him. It was, he knew, the precursor to an explosion. The buzzing and vibrating were warnings to the user to dump the weapon and run like h
ell. Hamilton, back now on the correct side of the door, did just that. Unlimbering the pack, he hurled it and the rifle into the corridor with the robots in, noting the glowing hole that the pack now had, courtesy of the robot’s weaponry. He turned and ran like the wind. At least, that was the idea. The low gravity, however, had other ideas. It hampered his movement severely. Still, it was amazing what one could accomplish given the right incentive.

  Ahead, he could see the others disappearing out of sight. They were far less encumbered than he, having no armour. He struggled after them.

  Less than a minute later a tremendous explosion rocked the station as Hamilton’s plasma pack detonated. Despite containment fields built in, Hamilton didn’t expect any of the robots to survive the explosion. He continued to move as fast as he was able, however. There was no point in taking chances.

  Abruptly he was knocked flat by the pressure wave generated by the explosion. Lack of atmosphere helped a little, but the explosion generated its own gas particles and the corridor kept them concentrated.

  He scrambled to his feet, glancing at the multitude of warning lights blinking in his helmet. They were telling him that his suit was haemorrhaging air. More specifically, it wasn’t his suit, but his air pack that was damaged and leaking. The electronics cheerfully told him how short a time he had left to survive at the current rate of air loss. Time to get a move on.

  It had taken Hamilton half an hour to traverse the distance he now covered in ten minutes. Still, the distance seemed enormous. When the open hangar door came into view, he gasped with relief. The charge down the corridor had totally exhausted him.

  As he ran up, he tried to contact the shuttle via his suit radio. As he had expected, there was no reply.

  He reached the door and staggered through.

  The shuttle was just lifting from the floor of the bay. Hamilton watched in horror as it began to turn away from him.

  Through the forward viewports, he saw Lewis grinning at him triumphantly.

  Then the shuttle had turned fully round. Hamilton ducked back through the door to avoid being fried by the engines. Illumination from the shuttle’s lights dwindled rapidly. He peeked back through the opening dejectedly.

 

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