“It’s okay,” he consoled her. “I’m right here.”
“Everything okay over there?” Adams called from across the room.
“Yeah. We just got a little…startled. That’s all,” Shawn called out, Melissa’s embrace around his midsection loosening.
After a few moments her breath slowed as her heart rate returned to normal. She stepped back from him, a small strand of red hair falling down to cover her right eye. “I suppose I’m going to have to apologize for acting childish again.”
Shawn instinctively reached up to move the hair out her field of vision, then realized that they were both wearing their EVO helmets. Without warning, he bent down and placed his visor against hers, which seemed to instantly satisfy her. Her eyes softened as she tilted her head up to look into his face. Had they been in a different situation—and without the transparent glass of the visors separating them—he may have tried to kiss her in that fleeting moment—and she would have gladly accepted. However, a loud clanking noise from across the compartment broke the momentary trance the two were under.
“Sorry about that,” Garcia yelled. “The power supply cover slipped out my hands. It’d be nice if everything in here wasn’t coated in dinitrogen trioxide, and I didn’t have to wear these damn gloves.”
Melissa pursed her lips and laid a gloved hand softly against Shawn’s chest, neither pushing him away nor allowing him to advance. She swallowed hard once and looked back into his eyes. “I’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Thanks, Shawn.”
He nodded, then gently released her. She pivoted slowly and surveyed the corpse in the chair once more, being careful in her inspection not to disturb the body. She was no stranger to death, having seen it firsthand on numerous occasions while serving as an operative with the OSI. However, this was the first time she’d seen one in such a state, and she prayed it would be the last. Looking from the dead man’s face to his uniform, she stepped back a half pace and directly into Shawn’s chest. “Oh my God,” she gasped as she looked at the neckline of the officer.
“What is it?” Shawn leaned over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.
“This…this is the Captain.”
*
On cue, Shawn looked to the rank insignia on the dead officer’s collar. Sure enough, the body wore the rank of Captain. Above the left breast pocket, frosted over but still plainly visible, was the golden, circular badge denoting him as the commanding officer of a Sector Command warship. Shawn reached out a cautious hand and wiped a thin layer of ice from the name badge.
“Taggart,” he breathed the name as he saw it, but only loud enough for Melissa to hear. Garcia was still having difficulties getting the navigational logs out of the computer casing, and Shawn and Melissa were both silently grateful for it, unsure of how Garcia would handle the sight.
“Why isn’t he on the bridge? I mean, what’s he doing down here?” Melissa asked in a hesitant whisper.
Shawn was baffled. Why, of all places, would the Commanding Officer be down in auxiliary control during flight operations? If what Garcia had said was accurate—if the Icarus was screening the fighters and cargo transports for the Valley Forge—then this should have been the last place the captain would have been at that time. By all accounts, Taggart should have been either on the bridge or in the combat information center. Why come all the way down here?
“I don’t know,” Shawn finally offered, “but I’m willing to bet his last few log entries will shed some light on it.” He reached down to the side of the computer and gently pried off a panel that would give him access to the emergency power grid for the terminal. Shawn pointed the portable power generator at the opening and turned it on. A green, translucent beam of energy sprang out from the tip of the wedge-shaped generator and automatically honed in on the contact pad for the computer. Within seconds, the computer came to life, lights flashing and buzzers beeping as it ran through a preprogrammed self-diagnostic boot mode.
“I don’t want to go over any of this data here,” she said to Shawn as she withdrew her holovid recorder, then stole a quick glance at Garcia before turning back to the computer. “We should be able to download the most recent logs onto this. I’ll give them a closer look once we get back the Rhea.”
“I hope you plan on including me in that private showing.”
She reached behind her, lightly grasping at Shawn’s thigh in a maneuver that seemed to raise the internal temperature of his EVO suit. She plugged the recorder into an available slot on the computer and turned it on. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander.” Inputting a series of commands into the computer terminal, the small light inside the recorder turned from a solid red to a quickly flashing blue, indicating that it was initiating a transfer of the files.
“How long is this going to take?” Shawn asked guardedly.
“It depends.” She looked over her shoulder to Garcia to verify the lieutenant wasn’t paying attention to their activities. “I don’t know how much information is in the log. I started the transfer from the most recent record on back. Maybe you should go keep an eye on the Lieutenant. I don’t want him getting suspicious.”
Shawn nodded and stepped back to where Garcia was seated at the navigational computer. The flight computer was now in five large pieces, with a pile of various-sized screws and bundles of multicolored conduit lying beside a twisted pile of liberated blue-white optic-cables. “How’s it going?” Shawn asked casually as he leaned against a cold bulkhead.
Garcia’s arm was in the machine nearly up to his shoulder. His free hand was braced against the case, and his body jerked as if he were trying to yank something forcibly from the computer’s innards. The lieutenant winced and licked his lips as he struggled against the machine.
“I’ve almost…got it, sir. The main storage case is right…there. I’ve got my hand on it, but it’s playing harder to get than an Iotian slimeslug.”
“Do you think I could—” Shawn was interrupted when Garcia was flung backwards as whatever he’d been pulling on came free.
“There!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “That did the trick.” He held the computer storage case aloft for Kestrel’s inspection. It was a small thing, hardly appearing to be worth the trouble Garcia had put into retrieving it. It was a box about two feet long, about six inches tall and just as wide. There was a label affixed to the top of the container, probably a warning that whatever was in there was delicate and should be handled with care.
“Is that all of it?” Shawn asked skeptically.
“It sure is.” Garcia was still elated at his retrieval. “Everything in the ship’s navigational computer is stored in a matrix inside this container.”
“Could it have been damaged when the ship started freezing over?”
“It’s hard to say. I mean, these things are designed to withstand just about anything you can find out here in space. But, with what happened to the Icarus…I just don’t know.”
“So,” Shawn replied thoughtfully, “we’ve either got gold, or a worthless hunk of lead.”
It was then that Melissa came up behind them. She scanned the container with a small device Shawn had never seen before. “We’ll get everything back to the ship for a full analysis.”
A burst of soft static, followed by a voice, came from within Shawn and Melissa’s helmets simultaneously.
“Call coming in, sir,” Adams announced.
The voice was distant, and laced with interference. Knowing that Garcia’s suit wasn’t coded to the same external communications system, they knew that, whoever was trying to contact them, the conversation would be kept discreet.
“….say again thi…is Raven. Comma…Kestrel, do you cop…” Regardless of the static, Roslyn’s voice was a welcome reprieve from the deathly silence of the Icarus.
Shawn reached down and pressed the commlink button on his suit’s gauntlet. “Raven, this is Commander Kestrel. Go ahead.”
There was silence over the channel for what felt like an eter
nity. Then a burst of static pelted their ears before his executive officer’s voice came clearly back online. “I’ve boosted the gain on the transmitter, Commander. It’s good to hear your voice, Skipper.”
For once, Shawn was glad to hear the title ascribed to him. “Yours too, Raven. We found a survivor.”
Her voice betrayed her elation. “That’s good news, sir. Captain Krif will be pleased. However, the remnants of that ion storm are playing hell with our communications. We’ve been trying to get through to you for twenty minutes.”
Shawn was instantly on alert. “What’s wrong, Raven?”
“There’s trouble coming your way.”
Shawn’s eyes darted to Melissa. “Enemy fighters?”
Brunel chuckled over the speaker at his question. “Nothing quite as glorious as that.”
“Then what?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Roslyn offered exceedingly causally, as if she were remarking on beautiful, sunny day. “Just a little meteor shower.”
Shawn almost choked when a lump suddenly formed in his throat. With the Icarus’ particle deflector net down, something the size as a grain of sand traveling at a high enough rate of speed would tear through the damaged hull as if she were made out of wet toilet paper. “How little are we talking about, Brunel?”
“Well, the particles range from your typical granules to about the size and mass of a hover tank.” Her voice was still annoyingly relaxed. “I just called to suggest that you might want to think about getting the hell out of there.”
“How soon?”
“Based on the locations of your life readings inside the vessel…if you start running right now, you might actually make it.”
“Your scans can penetrate the hull?” he asked in astonishment.
“Affirmative. With the ion storm dissipating rapidly, the sensors are finally clearing up.”
His mouth was reacting faster than he could think. Luckily, they were on the same page when the words came out. “Are there any other life form readings on board?” Shawn’s eyes shot to Adams. The look of resolve in the Marine’s face told Shawn that this young man would run from stem to stern to retrieve anyone else that was on board.
Raven’s answer was instant. “No, sir. Just you four unfortunate souls.”
“Not for long, Raven. Kestrel out.” Shawn closed the channel and turned quickly to Melissa. “Time to go, honey. Grab your souvenirs and let’s get moving.”
“With pleasure.” Moving before Shawn had finished, she snatched the recorder unceremoniously from Garcia’s hands. “I’ll take charge of that, Lieutenant.” She turned to Shawn, then held it up for his inspection. She gave him an innocent, yet playful look. “Would you be a doll, Commander, and hold this for a second,” she said, quickly shoving the device into his grasp. “And, whatever you do, please don’t drop it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shawn replied dryly. He watched as Melissa reached into a pocket on her suit and withdrew a small, black object about the size and shape of a writing pen. She bent down and, grasping the device in both hands, twisted its midsection. “More toys?” he asked. “Because we don’t have any more time to play.”
She chuckled. “More like an insurance policy.” She gingerly placed the device inside the remains of the navigation computer where the storage drives had once been, and Shawn knew at once what she was doing.
“Explosives?” Adams asked suspiciously.
She nodded in her suit, although it was impossible to tell under the large helmet. “We can’t let anything else in here fall into the wrong hands. This has a delayed fuse. When it goes off, it will molecularly destabilize everything within a two hundred foot radius.”
“How long?”
She stood up and winked at the commander. Somehow, it wasn’t comforting. “When was the last time you ran a marathon?” she asked with a grin.
Shawn shook his head, then looked over to Garcia. “Think you can get up to a run?”
Garcia’s white teeth shone brightly as he smiled. “I don’t know, sir, but I’m damn well gonna try.”
“Adams?”
“Oorah!” the sergeant called out in the traditional Marine battle cry of enthusiasm.
*
After squeezing back through several tight holes—and rushing over more stairs and ladders than it seemed they’d used to get to auxiliary control in the first place—the four castaways finally made it to the hangar level. They turned the last corner, and down the long corridor Shawn could see the doors leading out into the hangar and Sylvia’s Delight. In the weightlessness of the passage, he felt like he was trying to run a gauntlet of thick mud. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t moving as fast as he would have liked. From somewhere behind him there was a cry from Melissa. He turned to face her, and found her down on one knee and grabbing at her suit.
“I got snagged on this beam,” she cried helplessly. “I sliced my suit open. It’s losing pressure.”
“Adams!” Shawn cried.
“Sir?” the sergeant was quick to snap back.
“Grab the flight computer, and make sure Garcia gets aboard. I’ll handle Agent Graves.”
“Yes, sir.” Adams snatched the computer from Melissa, then turned sharply and continued on toward the hangar deck.
Shawn looked down at the hole in Melissa’s suit. He could tell she didn’t have long. “That doesn’t look so bad.” He tried to reassure her by sounding calm.
She smiled, but her breath was labored. “You’re a poor liar, Mister Kestrel.”
The sterile voice from her suit’s computer chimed in. “Danger. Environmental suit decompression in fifteen seconds. Danger.”
“Oh, God,” she sighed, obviously annoyed at her own misfortune. “I don’t want to go out like this.”
“You’d conserve more air if you shut the airlock on your face.”
She was about to say something, possibly to remind him that he’d used that line to better effect once before, but found herself reluctantly agreeing anyway. Shawn dropped his tool pouch and withdrew a small, pistol-looking device. He aimed it at the hole in her suit and, as he pressed the trigger, a steady stream of tan foam sprayed in a direct line and impacted with the hole. After a three second burst, Shawn grabbed a rag from the tool pouch and placed it over the foam. Within seconds the foam had solidified between her flight suit and the rag, forming a stiff, poor-man’s patch that they both knew wouldn’t hold for long.
“This is going to hold your air in, but it’s really brittle. You can’t walk so…so I’ll have to carry you.”
Melissa couldn’t help but smile, although the lack of air was causing her to slip out of consciousness rapidly. “And everyone always says that chivalry is dead.” Shawn leaned into her as she reached her left arm around his neck. In a swift motion Shawn placed his right arm under her knees and his left at the small of her back. He hoisted her from the debris-lined deck and shuffled into the hangar.
“Pick up the pace, Commander.” It was Raven’s voice in his earpiece receiver. “Those meteors are getting mighty close. They’ll impact the Icarus in less than four minutes.”
Melissa was hearing the same conversation through her own headset. “Can we…make it?”
“Are you kidding? That’s two and a half more minutes than I need.” He only wished he had the confidence his words exemplified.
“If we…if we don’t make it,” Melissa muttered, almost too soft for Shawn to hear, “I just want you to know that…that I…” Then the darkness overcame her and she went limp in Shawn’s arms.
“Melissa!” he cried. “Come on, girl. Stay with me.” In an instant he noted that, while Sylvia’s Delight was only about twenty yards away on the lower deck of the hangar, it might as well have been a mile. Throwing caution and common sense to the wind, he stepped up on the catwalk guardrail. He gripped Melissa with all the strength his hands had left, then leapt from the railing and down to the floor. The microgravity slowed his fall, but only moderately so. He landed with a thud, fee
ling his ankle twist under the force.
Adams and Garcia were waiting for him by the aft hatch when Shawn stumbled toward D with Melissa in his arms. He handed the limp form over to Adams, who cradled her as Shawn had done. Shawn entered the security code for the Mark-IV’s cargo hatch, but nothing happened. He then hit the code for the emergency release, hoping it would pop the door down with enough force for them to quickly make their entrance. However, the hatch only moved down slowly…agonizingly so.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Garcia cried out, slapping his hands against the side of the hull impatiently.
“The technicians on the Rhea must have forgotten to reinitialize the strut release valves,” he said with disgust as the rear hatch continued to open slowly. “Come on. Come on!”
Roslyn Brunel’s voice came over the communications net. “Ninety seconds until the first impact, Commander. I strongly advise that you get your butt in gear, sir!”
The hatch finally lowered enough for Shawn to jump in. Adams handed Melissa off to the commander, then helped Garcia inside just before he himself climbed aboard. Shawn turned and punched the door closure procedure into the computer and was thankful that it was taking less time to close than it had to open. When the cargo ramp was firmly sealed, the internal pressure and oxygen levels began to return to human-normal levels. What had felt like a ten-minute ordeal had only taken thirty seconds.
The patch that had secured Melissa’s suit began to flake, then peeled itself free and crumbled to the deck in three small chunks. The built-in computer began to give her another audible warning that her suit was losing pressure. Her still, silent form gave no response.
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