The captain tilted his head for a second, then returned to his instruments, "Alamo can't leave the system for a week in any case."
"And then?"
"We're going to get them back."
Sighing, Mulenga shook his head, then peered down at his instruments, "I'm starting to get better details on the asteroid now. It's definitely hollow, that much is certain."
"Amazing. It can't be natural, then."
"There are more things in heaven and earth, sir, but the balance of probability agrees with you." He looked over at Marshall, "After I had that report on the planet below, I would believe anything regarding this system. A fully compatible biosphere? Sir, the odds on that..."
"Millions to one."
"Billions. There's a mystery buried in this part of space, sir."
Marshall smiled, "You're just giving me another reason to stick around, my friend. At some point we're going to be expanding into this area, and if there is some sort of major mystery around, that's something we need to solve."
"Agreed. Oh, my."
"What?"
The astrogator tapped his panel, "That asteroid isn't merely hollow, there's some sort of entrance. A shaft that must be two or three hundred meters across."
Whistling, Marshall said, "That's big enough to fit Alamo in. With room to spare."
"That might be the idea." He looked over. "Are we going inside?"
"You need to ask?"
"I thought not, sir," he grinned. Marshall played his hands across the controls while Mulenga warned the ship that contact might be lost while they were exploring the interior of the asteroid. The shuttle gently approached the jagged rock at a speed more suited to docking than landing, and with a careful series of taps on the thrusters, he slowly spun it around the asteroid until the entrance appeared. It was smooth, circular, with fittings for docking lights placed around the rim and in a tunnel heading into the interior, all of them now dark.
"Certainly not natural," Mulenga said, sotto voce.
"We're going in. Dead slow." Marshall brought the shuttle to a stop relative to the entrance of the asteroid, then tapped the thrusters gently to direct them in. With the tap of a button, he activated the exterior lights, setting them to rotate around the ship to provide the best view. With an eye on the radar and an eye on the viewscreen, he directed the shuttle down the tunnel into a large chamber, more than a mile across, shaking his head as the searchlights switched from rock to instruments.
"Quinn," Marshall called into the communicator, "Are you seeing this?"
"I certainly am, skipper," the engineer replied. "I've seen it before."
"What?"
"A couple of years ago, I was brought in on the team for the redevelopment of Phobos Base. This was my favorite proposal; hollow it out as a giant orbiting shipyard. Lots of advantages, you see, in having the framework built in like this."
"I expect to see a copy of that report when we get back."
"We didn't do it because of the cost, skipper, but it was certainly a technically feasible project. Just an expensive one. Think of the protection, though."
"I am." He spotted something on a wall, then brought the searchlight manually back to it. "Mulenga, does that look like what I think it looks like?"
"A docking airlock."
"Let's go in. Still no heat sources?"
"Not a flicker."
"We'll need spacesuits. Everyone get suited up while we dock; Quinn, you and Zabek might as well go right in. Mulenga and I will follow."
Manual docking was always fun. Getting the line just right, tinkering with the approach velocity; normally, two computers would simply talk to each other and arrange for the docking airlocks to be in the same place at some point in the near future, but that didn't require any skill. He tapped the thrusters gently, making minute adjustments to the shuttle's course, while Mulenga readied the clamps.
"Standard airlock configuration, if that means anything. Looks a bit on the old side, though," the astrogator said.
With a loud clang, the shuttle touched the wall; a series of rattles indicated the airlock making a good seal. At that point the lights began to come on, illuminating the whole chamber; the autodimmers on the viewscreen kicked in a second too late to prevent Marshall being blinded by the flare; he blinked several times, trying to get rid of the afterimage.
"Alamo to Transit Three," the communicator crackled; the signal strength was low that deep inside.
"Transit Three here. Power seems to be coming on inside the asteroid."
Mulenga turned from his controls, his eyebrows raised, "I'm now reading an atmosphere outside the airlock, and the temperature on the other side is rising rapidly."
"Transit Three, a structure just started to fold out from the asteroid, a power array. There's a quarter-mile stretch of solar cells, I believe. Warbook indicates them as a type used by EuroFed in the 21st century, though with a slightly higher efficiency." Dietz's voice was filled with uncharacteristic surprise.
"Anything else?"
"No, sir. Are you planning on going inside?"
"That's the intention, yes. We'll keep the feeds open all the way."
"Roger, sir. Good luck."
"I hope we don't need it. Transit Three out."
Marshall stood up, pulling on the lower part of his spacesuit as Mulenga checked the seals, then returning the favor for the astrogator. The instruments indicated that the other side of the airlock was livable, but neither was inclined to check too closely. Quinn and Zabek signaled that they were ready in the rear compartment, and Marshall, his helmet securely in place, opened the primary airlock, taking a cautionary step inside.
Mulenga had a hand-held tester in his hand, "All readings nominal, Captain."
Nodding, Marshall gingerly cracked the seal in his helmet, waiting for alarms that never came. He took a quick, experimental breath, and nodded, pulling his helmet off. Mulenga followed suit, taking deep breaths of the cool, crisp air. Quinn came out without his helmet on, followed by Zabek. They were in the middle of a long, slowly curving corridor; a dozen more shuttle locks were on either side.
"Can we take these things off now, skipper?" the engineer asked.
"Not until we're in control of life support, Lieutenant. That's our first priority. Two teams of two; you and the midshipman, Mulenga and I. We'll go left, you go right, keep your communicators open and I'll expect you back in one hour from now."
"Yes, sir."
Marshall and Mulenga walked down the corridor, carrying their helmets under their arms, looking carefully around the walls. They drifted around the corridor; the gravity was so low that it effectively wasn't a factor. Handholds were conveniently placed for them to swing down the corridor, and soon the shuttle was out of sight. Finally they ran out of docking airlocks, and came to a sealed door at the end of the corridor, some writing stenciled on in red.
"French," Mulenga said.
"Can you read it?"
The astrogator shook his head, and held his datapad over it, "Office Level. Station Personnel Only."
"Let's hope office means paperwork," Marshall said, looking for a release. There was a small data terminal by the door, and he pulled out an intrusion key, one of Orlova's latest innovations for boarding parties. He slid it in, waited a few minutes for the hacking software to do its work, then nodded with satisfaction as the door slid open. The corridor seemed to continue in much the same way, but with hatches above and below, likewise sealed. A couple of lights flickered in the ceiling fittings, and there was a stale smell to the air.
"Habitation levels," Mulenga said, reading from his datapad.
"Let's stick with this one." There were a series of doors along the wall, and lacking any insight, Marshall tried the first one. It slid open, albeit a little reluctantly, to reveal a desk, two chairs, empty flagpole, and some shelves. It looked surprisingly like his own office back on Alamo, to the extent that it had been left in a mess; paperwork was scattered around the place, milk and coffee sachets
left around a coffeemaker on the top shelf, several mugs on the desk, all of them obviously well-used. A terminal on the desk, all indicators dark. Drifting into the chair, Marshall spotted a note tied to it; he ran the datapad over it.
"The third draw is broken, the chair's seat restraints click twice to hold rather than once, and the coffeemaker works best on setting four. Best of luck. Lefebre, February 9th, 2155," he read out to Mulenga. "I think I might have liked this guy."
"You might still get a chance. It's only been eleven years."
"I think we can presume that the station was abandoned then. You take a look at the paperwork, I'm going to try the next office."
"Right."
As Marshall drifted back into the corridor, his communicator chirped, "Marshall here."
"Quinn, skipper. I've found the life support systems. It's based on an old EuroFed design, but looks pretty modern. Systems were set to come on automatically on this level when someone docked. I think I can turn on all the base support systems if you want."
"Do it, but carefully. Can you fix it if it breaks?"
"Oh, yes, sir. Not a problem."
Swinging into the next door, he found the place had been meticulously tidied before the occupant had left; the next three rooms were the same, but opposite the sixth he saw a plaque on the wall, obviously some sort of dedication. He held his datapad over it to translate.
"Spacedock Five, 2098."
Mulenga drifted towards him, and Marshall gestured at the plaque. "Now we know who built the station."
"I found more paperwork in there. This place was servicing a squadron of starships, but I don't know what classifications. I took photographs of all the papers I could find, I think Mr. Quinn should take a look."
"He's going to be busy, I think. We still have a bigger mystery, though."
"Why did they build it?"
"And how, for that matter."
"I have a feeling that the two questions are probably closely related." Marshall pulled out his communicator, "Alamo, this is Marshall."
"Alamo here," Dietz's voice replied, the transmission still distorted.
"Change your course to rendezvous with the asteroid, and get a couple of shuttles out here with engineering technicians. Find out who Quinn wants over here. They're to undertake a thorough search and investigation of this facility; if it's as big as I think it is, it's going to take a long time."
"Very well, sir. Should I send some espatiers?"
"No need," Marshall said, shaking his head, "This place has been abandoned for a long time."
He returned the communicator to his belt, and gestured back up to the door; the office level was coming to a dead end. He pulled open the hatch, diving down into the level below. This was obviously a dormitory level, and a long one – soundproofed booths lined up as far as he could see. Inside each was the bare essentials; a bunk tied to the wall, a small cupboard and a terminal. He wouldn't want to live in there for long, but it would be perfectly fine for a short stay. These were almost antiseptically clean, but there were plenty of signs that they had been used; one of the buttons on the terminal was obviously newer than the rest, and the handle on the cupboard was worn.
"Crew quarters?
"Probably. Officers might be the other side. There's another hatch on the floor; let's try that."
This hatch had another security seal, but the intrusion key made short work of it. Instead of the long corridor that Marshall had been expecting, there was just a small room, a pair of control consoles underneath with straps to anchor the user. All the screens were dark, the lighting reflecting from the panels as it flickered on and off. Ducking under the console, Mulenga pulled out a power adapter.
"Found a connector?"
"I think so."
"Be careful. I don't want you draining your suit battery."
Mulenga shook his head, "If this was a trap, I think we'd all be dead by now." He plugged in his suit, and the screens began to light up, data streaming down the monitors as the start-up sequence began. The clock flashed briefly up with '10-10-57', before switching to the current date as the internal systems updated themselves, then settled down. A series of readouts came onto the main monitor, under the heading 'hélium-trois'. That wasn't something either of them needed to translate.
Marshall's eyes widened as he read the numbers, "Am I dreaming, Lieutenant?"
"If you are, so am I." Mulenga tapped experimentally at some of the buttons, bringing up more data. "The tanks look to be about three-quarters full, but there's still enough fuel there for Alamo to make a couple of hundred jumps."
"A fuel storage facility."
"And a repair depot for starships. Not used for years."
Mulenga looked at Marshall, "That doesn't mean no-one else has visited this system, Captain."
"We'd better fuel up quickly then, before they come back." He pulled out his communicator again, "Marshall to Alamo."
"Alamo here."
"Change of plan, lieutenant. I want you to bring Alamo into the asteroid.”
"Inside?" Dietz sounded incredulous. "What for, sir?"
"You'll see when you arrive. Belay the engineering teams; they can walk in."
Chapter 15
The boat had been powering down the river for hours; Orlova and Caine had both dozed on and off, making sure that at least one of them was always awake to keep an eye on Steele. Soon after they got under way, one of the women had started treating her, rebinding her wounds with professional skill. It was frustrating watching her suffer; a few hours treatment in the medical bay back on Alamo was all she really needed. The crew had stopped attempting to talk to them after a while, despite several attempts for each to make themselves understood.
Casting occasional glances at the river bank, Orlova realized that they had been fortunate; the boat was traveling ten times faster than they could have managed, and there had been no sign of anything other than the occasional shelter. Finally, as the first light of dawn began to break the horizon, she saw a flickering light from the far riverbank, and the boat curved in towards it. She nudged Caine with her elbow; the lieutenant woke with a start.
"What is it?"
"Wherever it is we're going, I think we've arrived. Look."
The light was a strange green, flickering on and off; there was a large wheel in the water, rotating rapidly, sending spray flying around, and another long jetty that the boat was heading towards. At the end of the jetty was a building, roughly carved from the local wood, with an opened door sending beams of yellow light into the darkness.
One of the men came over to them and gestured – with his hand this time, rather than a gun – that they should stand by the side of the boat, and with a look back at Steele, they complied; she was getting better care here than they could provide for her. As they drew closer to the bar, the lights started to spell out a name in fluorescent green, 'Orlov's'. Orlova's eyes widened at the sight.
"It's not an uncommon name, Maggie," Caine said, putting her arm on her young friend's shoulder.
"I know, I know. Still."
A tall woman wearing a plain brown dress ran out of the building, grabbing the line and securing it fast while the men pulled the boat up to the bank. She took a look at Orlova, and her eyes narrowed; she ran back into the building, yelling something in the same language as the men. Shrugging, Caine and Orlova stepped up onto the jetty. The jungle seemed to have been cleared a bit here; behind the building they could see a wide trail leading off, pitted with old track marks. Crates and cases were stacked semi-randomly around, and the men started to unload some of their cargo to join it.
A figure emerged from the door, and shook his head when he looked at the newcomers. The woman was with him, pulling him by the hand, and suddenly, inexplicably, Orlova knew. She bolted towards the man, her arms flailing wildly about, while one of the men chased after her, his gun swinging in his hands. Leaving the woman behind, the man raced towards her, his arms outstretched, his face erupting into an amazing gr
in that she'd had locked in her memories for more than a decade. He'd aged; his hair was now streaked with gray and he was maintaining a long, straggly beard, but it was him.
"Papa! Papa!" she yelled, leaping into his arms.
"Maggie! Hitgaagati eleykha!" He grabbed her into a bear hug, swinging her about; the other man shook his head, smiling, and lowered his gun.
"I missed you too, Papa! What are you doing here?"
He released her just enough to look down at her, shaking his head, "I can't believe it. I never thought I'd see you again." He looked at her battered uniform, "What is this you are wearing?"
Blushing, she looked down, "My uniform, Papa."
"You joined the Service! I hate to think what your mother would have said." He shook his head with mock severity, then smiled as he saw her insignia, "An officer, as well. Maggie, I am proud of you."
Caine walked over to the two of them, a smile spread across her head, "I take it you are her father."
He jerked his head in a nod, "Yes, yes indeed." He looked around again, then said something to the woman in the unintelligible language. She smiled, nodded, then went over to talk to the boatmen, directing them to resume unloading the crates. "Come in, both of you. I want to hear everything, and that is best over a breakfast, I think."
Orlova held him tightly as they walked into the building, as if afraid that he might suddenly disappear again. She looked up at him, hardly daring to believe that he was actually here. The last time she had seen him, it was a quick video-call from Hercules as it was pushing off on its last mission, never to be seen again. Thirteen years ago.
Inside, there were a series of long benches with stools, with what was unmistakably a bar on the far side of the room, well stocked with a variety of drinks. The place smelled of woodchips and smoke; a fire was burning in a hearth. Mixed in with that was the smell of meat – real meat – cooking, and disengaging from his daughter for a second, Orlov made his way through another small door towards the source of the smell.
"Maggie, you know I have to ask this...," Caine began.
Orlova held up her hand, "It's him. No question in my mind at all."
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