‘Many arkships are.’
Above the stony structure was a series of towers, jutting out like claws scratching at space. The peaks of the two highest turrets were crowned by a circle of red light, which gave the impression of a pair of demonic eyes atop some dark insidious creature. Wynn watched it until, as the lifeboat continued to turn, the striking arkship disappeared from view.
‘How long?’ Wynn asked.
‘One minute, thirty-eight seconds.’
‘Okay,’ he replied, reassuring himself. ‘There’s always the chance we won’t be hit by anything, isn’t there?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ the computer admitted. ‘Would you like me to run some simulations?’
‘No.’
He took a deep breath, calming his mind as the seconds counted down.
Above his head a panel popped open and a face mask lowered into view.
‘Please put this on,’ the computer asked. ‘In case of decompression.’
Wynn pulled the mask over his face. The material expanded, rolling over his aching skin until it had enveloped his entire head. The subtle machine noises of the lifeboat disappeared, leaving only the sound of his own breathing, a rasping wind in his ears, back and forth, back and forth. His heart raced, thumping blood through his veins. It must be time, he thought. As the seconds ticked by in pensive silence Wynn allowed himself a flicker of hope. The shockwave must be almost upon him. Perhaps he might survive this after all. Then an alarm sounded.
‘Brace! Brace! Brace!’
LANDFALL
Wynn could taste blood, sickly sweet, coating his teeth. He coughed, trying to breathe. The red spittle coated the air mask over his face, marking his view with circles of crimson. A chorus of alarms sounded in his ears, confusing his senses. In front of him a flicker of brittle lights danced over the small display screen, each one desperate to convey its message of warning: HULL BREACH, PROXIMITY ALERT, LOW FUEL, CABIN PRESSURE FAILURE. The circular window was shattered completely, just shards remained around the perimeter, but instead of the blackness of space Wynn saw a foggy grey. Water dripped through the hole, collecting inside the lifeboat, but it was falling sideways, pooling against the interior padding close to his left arm. That’s when he realized it wasn’t the water that was sideways: he was.
‘Computer,’ Wynn said, his voice feeble. ‘Where are we?’
No reply came.
He looked about him, trying to make sense of what had happened. The dripping water gave away the presence of gravity; his lifeboat was too small to have an artificial system built into it. And liquid water meant it wasn’t exposed to the freezing vacuum of space. So, he was somewhere else, somewhere inside. It was hard to think straight. He felt slow and dizzy, as if his brain wasn’t working quickly enough.
‘Warnnnn . . . ing . . .’ The computer’s voice barely registered, its words broken and labored. ‘Air mask . . . deee . . . pleted . . . oxygen level at . . . zero.’
Panic set in as Wynn understood the reason for his fatigue: he wasn’t getting enough oxygen into his lungs. He was suffocating. Wynn gazed at the restricted view, at the dripping water, at the new warning icon flashing at him from the display screen, and he realized he had to take a chance. He held his breath and pulled the mask away from his face. After a second’s hesitation, he inhaled. The air was crisp, icy against the skin of his nose, but it was breathable. As his lungs expanded he felt light-headed and he closed his eyes, gripping the edge of his seat until the sensation eased.
Wynn blinked quickly, trying to focus as he looked at the display screen and found the hatch release mechanism. His cold fingers pulled on the handle and an explosive charge fired. The side of the lifeboat flew off, letting the collecting water fall out. Wynn looked out of the opening, down at a mountain of junk, half obscured in a blue-grey haze of mist. There was a low groan of metal, followed by a rumble that vibrated through his lifeboat, and the mound of debris began to move. The lifeboat fell with it, tumbling end over end, throwing sharp pieces of broken machinery in through the opening. Wynn closed his eyes, tensing as he rolled over and over, until the lifeboat came to a sudden halt. The collected junk rattled around him, coming to a rest at the base of the lifeboat. Wynn hit the release button for the harness that had kept him secure in his seat, and set himself free. He lifted himself out of the chair, realizing his legs were shaking under the effort, and climbed out of the now-upwards-facing hatch. Exhausted, he fell out of the lifeboat and rolled down a slope made of debris. He rested at the bottom, taking a moment to catch his breath as he stared around him. He was in a vast dimly-lit hanger, it’s walls obscured by the icy mist. The space was filled with a sea of junk, heaped into featureless mountains that faded into the background until they were barely discernible in the fog. Was this the remnants of the Ark Royal Obsidian? he wondered.
‘Hello?’ he called, his voice reverberating through the space. The echo dissipated and a deathly silence took hold. He picked up a length of twisted pipe and threw it over the closest hill of junk. It disappeared out of sight, rattling as it hit some unseen object.
Somewhere far away a low rumble began to grow. He felt it in his stomach before he really heard it, but soon the noise was unavoidable. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, as if the entire grand space was shifting. About him the wisps of fog swirled, pushed by the moving air currents as the sound of grinding metal grew. Wynn climbed up the slope, trying to gain height in the hope of seeing what was happening. As he reached the summit, there was a blast of air that knocked him off his feet. He turned to see a giant door had opened in the far wall. It was more than a door, he realized: the entire wall was retracting into the ceiling. With a thunderous grinding of debris, the door shuddered to a stop. An alarm sounded briefly, then Wynn felt an uneasy sensation in his feet. The mounds of wreckage began to tilt as dark voids opened in the sea of junk around him. Wynn stumbled backwards, falling with the collapsing metalwork. He recovered, ignoring the sharp objects pulling at his clothes, and saw the walls of the hanger begin to fall. He felt his stomach lurch, and he intuitively knew what was happening.
Gravity was shifting position.
Wynn hardly had time to react. The banks of rubbish were being pulled into new alignments. It took all his concentration to stay ahead of the churning expanse of dead spaceships. He managed to climb onto a larger panel and run along its length as his world rotated about him. He kept moving, dodging the raining shrapnel until he was almost at the far end of the panel. At that very moment, it began to tip upwards, rising into the air, taking Wynn with it. He clawed to the ragged edge, shifting position until he was resting on its peak. The wasteland of junk was spread out beneath him. It was as if it was boiling, its surface breaking apart, finding new resting places. The upturned panel swayed in the breeze, then it began to fall once more. Wynn twisted, found an exposed beam, and pulled himself on top of the falling shard. The panel landed in the rubble, throwing up a cloud of dust that turned the air brown.
Wynn laid there, gasping as he waited to see if the panel might move again. As the dust cleared he saw the giant door was now above him: the artificial gravity had turned ninety degrees so that the floor was now the wall, and the wall was now the ceiling. With a sickening dread, he understood what was happening: more debris was about to be dropped into the hanger through the open door. There was no time to think. Instinct took hold and Wynn scrambled for cover under the panel. He found a gap in the surrounding wreckage and dug himself under. There was a deathly rush of air and he realized that the new delivery had been dropped into the space. He tensed, waiting for the inevitable crush. Instead, he felt a moment of weightlessness, as if he was about to fall upwards, then the slow return of gravity pulling him down again. Hidden deep under the panel he couldn’t see the falling detritus any more, but he pictured it slowing under the adjusted gravity, expertly guided to its resting place. He heard the soft landing of the metal, felt the panel above him groan and shift under the added weight. But i
t didn’t crush him. He waited there for several long minutes, listening to the creaks and sighs of the wreck, then Wynn dug himself out.
He climbed up the newly sculpted hills and took in the vista. About him was more flotsam from the battle: twisted metal, broken plastic, leaking fluids that pushed noxious fumes into his nose. Columns of smoke rose upwards from the junk-field, marking the sites of small fires. He rested on the top of a mound, wondering how long he could survive in here. His mouth was dry, coated with dirt and dust, and he yearned for water but there was nothing to drink here.
The wind whistled over him, making him shudder. He began to explore and he saw a rag of cloth not far away. Hoping to wipe his mouth, he scrambled towards it and pulled it from the mess. As he lifted the material from the debris a grey hand rose with it. Wynn let go, crying out as he stumbled backwards. He lay in the dirt, watching the scorched fingers. It hadn’t crossed his mind that there might be bodies in here with him. He was about to stand and walk away when the fingers twitched. He rushed down to the hand and began to dig at the junk burying the body. An arm came into view, moving slowly, then a shoulder. Finally, a head emerged, a crop of dust-white hair with patches of dried blood on one side. Wynn pulled at the arm, turning the figure over, exposing the face of a woman in her early twenties. As he worked at the rubble around her legs he saw her eyes flicker open, register his presence, then close again. She coughed, clearing her throat, filling her lungs with air, then spoke softly. ‘Thanks,’ she managed before another fit of coughs took hold.
‘I don’t have any water,’ Wynn explained as she sat up.
The woman pulled at a tube embedded into the tattered overalls she wore and placed it to her lips. Water poured into her mouth, running down her chin, cleaning the dust from her skin. She lifted the tube to her eyes and let the liquid clean them as well. Then, as she wiped her face on her sleeve, she offered the tube to Wynn. Grateful, he took it from her and drank, rejoicing in the relief of the water. The woman let him take a mouthful, then snatched the tube back and returned it to its housing on the chest pocket of her overalls.
‘Don’t want to waste it,’ she explained as she stood, using Wynn’s shoulder for support. ‘Are there any others?’
‘You’re the only other person I’ve seen,’ Wynn replied.
‘We need to get out before they turn it again.’
‘They?’
‘Bone-Grubbers,’ she replied.
The woman scanned the hanger, her head flicking in different directions. ‘There.’ She pointed to the distant horizon of the hanger wall.
‘What is it?’
‘A hatch. Our way out.’
The woman began to limp in the direction she had pointed to.
‘Bone-Grubbers?’ Wynn asked as he scrambled to catch up.
‘Scrap dealers. They don’t care much for anyone still alive in the scrap. They don’t like claims on their finds.’ She glanced at him. ‘You haven’t heard of them?’
Wynn shook his head. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Bara,’ she replied.
‘Bara?’
‘Sēbarā Delaterre, engineer, second class, but everyone calls me Bara. It’s easier.’
‘Were you on the Obsidian?’
Bara raised her eyebrows. ‘Where else would I be from?’
Wynn hesitated. ‘Another ship.’
Bara laughed wearily. ‘Don’t worry, we’re on the same side.’
‘How do you know I am?’
‘It’s obvious.’
‘Is it?’
‘Your accent,’ Bara explained. ‘Obvious Kenric. And well-off too. Not one of the workers, are you?’
‘I… I don’t know,’ Wynn confessed.
Bara stopped and studied his face. ‘You don’t know?’
‘I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything. I don’t know who I am.’
Bara laughed.
‘I’m serious!’ Wynn snapped. ‘The first thing I remember is waking up in a lifeboat.’
‘What’s your name?’ Bara asked.
‘Wynn… I think.’ Frustrated, he kicked at the debris, sending a tower of plastic tumbling down the slope. ‘It’s like a wall in my mind. There’s nothing before it.’
‘Do you know what happened to your face?’
Wynn touched his aching scars. ‘No.’
‘OK,’ Bara said, folding her arms. ‘You’re a Kenric, educated and well-off from your accent, about eighteen, nineteen?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Those clothes: a service team overall, but you’re not part of the service division, I don’t think.’
‘Why not?’
‘Your tunic underneath, it’s far too good to wear for a cleaning shift,’ Bara mused.
‘I . . . I don’t know. I can’t remember.’
‘It’ll be shock from the battle,’ Bara suggested. ‘It’ll come back in time, if we get out of here.’ She turned and continued her awkward march towards the door.
‘What happened to you?’
Bara shrugged. ‘Was on an arkship, arkship exploded, now I’m on a junk barge.’
‘A junk barge?’
‘You really don’t know anything, do you?’
Wynn tensed, staring at Bara. She was almost as tall as him, with an athletic frame hidden under torn overalls. Her hair was dark under the dust, black perhaps, short and unfussy. She was no more than twenty, he guessed, with large trusting eyes and a gentle nose. A small patch of blood marred her soft mouth, spoiling her full lips, but the dirt and grime couldn’t hide her natural beauty.
‘A junk barge,’ Bara said eventually, ‘is a scavenger ship. Bone-Grubbers aren’t affiliated to any one family, they’re go-betweeners. They pick off what they can, sort it, recycle it, sell it on. Anything they can’t use they dump. And they can’t use us, so, we’re not wanted. We need to disappear before the spiders get us.’
Wynn looked at her. ‘Spiders?’
At the same moment, he heard a distant clatter echo around the hanger.
‘That’s a spider,’ Bara said, pointing to a sinister silhouette coming over the brow of a hill of garbage. A skeletal body rose over the landscape, supported by six appendages, jabbing at the mounds of metal, probing beneath the surface, searching. At first Wynn thought it was some sort of animal, then he saw the pistons that powered the legs, the cables that ran between the segments, the array of sensors and lights that formed a head atop its dark body, and he knew what it was.
‘A bot,’ he whispered.
As he spoke the spider turned its head, and the light of a dozen sensors locked onto him.
‘Run,’ Bara gasped, not waiting for him to respond.
Wynn fell after her, scrambling down the bank and out of sight of the bot. He followed Bara inside the carcass of a small shuttlecraft and hid with his back to the hull. Outside he could hear the synthesized warble of communication, distant at first, but getting closer and closer.
‘It’s hunting us?’ Wynn gasped.
Bara grimaced. ‘There’ll be more than one of them. First step of the salvage: remove any organic material.’ She glanced outside then ran through the upturned craft, sliding on its angled floor.
‘Where are you going?’ Wynn called after her.
She looked back, gesturing for him to follow.
Wynn skidded towards her, losing his footing as he came to rest beside her.
A dark shape appeared at the twisted opening in the wrecked shuttle. The bulk of the spider filled the space, then it lowered its legs and its sensor head peered inside. Wynn tensed, not daring to move. The spider’s head, twisted, searching the interior, letting out intermittent chirps and beeps, and its dark mass turned towards Wynn and Bara.
A red laser light shifted and found Wynn’s boot. Another beam joined it and began to snake up his leg. The spider whirred as it forced itself in through the opening, stretching out one of its appendages towards Wynn.
SORTING
The spider’s arm lunged at W
ynn. Instinctively, he ducked, rolling across the sloping deck to avoid the machine’s extending claw. The spider adjusted its aim and turned towards him, stretching another of its appendages in his direction.
‘This way,’ Bara cried from behind him. Wynn followed her voice, avoiding another strike from the spider’s talon. The spike embedded into the shuttlecraft’s bulkhead, slowing the spider’s chase for just a second.
Wynn ran after Bara. She had already crawled through an exposed service hatch and disappeared inside the craft. Wynn squeezed through the hole, sensing the recovering spider scratching along the deck behind him. As he retreated into the narrow space he heard the recognizable hiss of the metal arms telescoping after him, hammering into the hull, pulling at the panels. Wynn crawled on his belly, hardly able to move his arms and legs, squeezing past wires and cables, deeper into the dark unknown depths of the ship. The spider’s assault stopped and, for a moment, there was silence. Wynn rested, trying not to make a sound.
A razor-sharp spike penetrated the crawl space, tearing through the metal like it was paper, and pierced Wynn’s shoulder. He cried out, the pain unbearable. He could hear the spider making noises, whirs and chirps, as if it was communicating with its counterparts, then it pulled the spike out, ripping Wynn’s skin. Desperately, he scrambled along the tiny space, ignoring his shoulder.
Another spike penetrated the space, passing between his legs. It pulled itself out and struck once more, impaling the wall close to his foot. Wynn dragged himself away, adrenaline suppressing the pain, knowing that hesitation meant certain death. In the blackness, he felt his hands drop away from him and he began to fall through a void in the crawl space. He tumbled through the ship, hitting the lower deck, sliding along its tilted floor towards a large tear in the ship. As he fell through the fissure he could see the grey misty light of the hanger once more. He landed uncomfortably on a pile of rubble, tumbled down its slope and rested in its shadow, catching his breath. Already he could hear the spiders clawing over the wreckage, converging on him. Wide eyed, he picked himself up, looking for a new hiding place. There was Bara, just ahead of him, waving for him to join her. She was at the hatch of what appeared to be another lifeboat, similar to his own but much larger.
Arkship Obsidian Page 2