Bane of Worlds (Survival Wars Book 2)

by Anthony James

  “This Cadaveron isn’t one of their recent models, Lieutenant,” said Duggan. “I can’t imagine we’ll see exposed cables on one of those.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, sir. It’s just this particular ship can’t be that old. If it was older than twenty years, chances are the Space Corps would have blown it up way back when we were better than them.”

  It wasn’t worth pursuing any further and Duggan didn’t respond. The passage continued and the temperature dropped steadily. They reached a branch to the right, three hundred metres from the bunk room. There was another room, fifty metres square. This room was a mess, with piles of unrecognizable metal objects flattened against the wall closest to the front of the ship. Here and there were tables and benches, still fastened to the floor. The back wall had three lockers attached to it, each one buckled and warped.

  “What’s all this crap?” asked Dorsey.

  Duggan took a few paces into the room. “This is what tables and chairs look like when they’re ripped from their fixings and smashed into a wall at several thousand metres per second.”

  “Any bodies?” asked Ortiz.

  “If there were, I don’t think they’d be recognizable as anything,” said Duggan. “There’s some discoloration to the metal over here. That might be clothing I can see in the corner.” He shrugged, not wanting to think about it just now. “The life support had definitely failed when they came down, else this lot would still be in place. We’re too far away from where the Shatterer hit for it to have caused this damage.”

  “This is familiar,” said Ortiz. “Everything about it.”

  “We could be on a bigger version of an Anderlecht,” said Duggan. “They don’t care much for creature comforts on those either. Anderlechts and Gunners - mobile gun platforms like this Cadaveron. Put a crew onboard and send them out to fight.”

  There was something about this room which disturbed him, almost as much as the bunk room. There was another exit opposite, which he ignored and returned to the corridor they’d been originally following. As he walked, Duggan noticed scrapes and scratched in the walls and floor. When the life support failed and the ship crashed, anything unsecured in this passage would have hurtled along here at an incredible speed, catching the walls as it went. He paused for a moment and pressed his palm against one of the sides, to reassure himself about a suspicion. There was a humming vibration, clearly felt through the material of his suit.

  “After all this, the engines are still online,” he said.

  “Will it fly?” asked Ortiz.

  “It might,” said Duggan. “Though anyone living would have a rough time of it.”

  They reached another turning to the right, which ended at a series of wide steps going up. Duggan led the squad towards the steps and climbed. They continued for a few metres before reaching a wide landing. Corridors went away to the left and right, their destinations unclear. There was a door ahead, heavy-looking, featureless and closed. The light flickered on and off at irregular intervals and Duggan turned his helmet light back on to compensate.

  “Flores, take a look at that door,” he said.

  The soldier unslung his pack of explosives and stepped forward. He repeated the process he’d gone through in the Shatterer silo earlier, by hitting the door with his hand.

  “Solid,” he said.

  “In less technical terms please,” snarled Ortiz sarcastically. “Stop pissing about, man!”

  Flores apologised. “Sorry, Sergeant, I was just thinking how much it’ll take to open it. My brain can’t work on two things at once. I can get it open but it won’t be pretty. The explosives on the Goliath aren’t meant for this type of work.”

  “Will there be anything left on the other side once you’re done?” asked Duggan. “If this is the bridge, it’s important you don’t blow it to pieces.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir. That’s the only promise I can make.”

  “Fine, do it,” said Duggan. He wasn’t happy, even if it wasn’t Flores’ fault.

  It didn’t take long. In a couple of minutes, Flores had positioned a number of red cubes around the door frame. There were no wires and the charges could be triggered simultaneously by a remote command.

  “That should do it. We’ll need to get away from here.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” said Morgan.

  They hurried down the steps and positioned themselves with their backs to the walls around the corner. Ten long seconds passed and nothing happened.

  “Do it,” said Duggan.

  “The walls are blocking the remote command, sir,” said Flores. “Hang on, I’m trying something else.”

  The sensors on Duggan’s suit picked up an angry crackling sound from nearby. The noise went on for a time and was followed by a low, muted thump. Flores was off at once, sprinting towards the steps. Duggan didn’t hang around and ran after him. The door was gone, or at least it had been melted into a shape that was no longer recognizable as a door. It had folded back into the room beyond, bringing chunks of the doorway with it. The metal glowed fiercely at the edges, though its intensity was already diminishing.

  “Good work,” said Duggan, giving Flores a clap on the shoulder.

  “No problem, sir.”

  “Lieutenants Breeze, Chainer, I think we’ve found what we’re looking for. Follow me.”

  Duggan stepped past the ruined door and onto what could only be the bridge. It was coldly lit in blue and filled with bank upon bank of screens and consoles. Some of the screens were illuminated in the symbols of the Ghast alphabet, whilst others were blank.

  “Big,” said Chainer.

  “I count more than thirty seats. It takes a lot to oversee a big ship like this one,” said Breeze.

  At the doorway, Ortiz peered inside. Duggan waved her and the others to enter. “Don’t touch anything,” he warned.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” she replied.

  Chainer and Breeze had already begun looking around. The bridge was at least fifteen metres square, with contoured metal seats still fastened firmly to the floor. There were islands of screens placed evenly around, each with three chairs positioned before them.

  “The Ghasts must have built this place to withstand a bigger impact,” said Breeze, pressing his finger onto some of the controls. “It’s all remained in place.”

  “Apart from the crew,” said Duggan. There was a film of something across the front bulkhead and part of the ceiling. It was clear and viscous, with large patches of grey material stuck to it. He shook his head and turned away. “Let’s hope there’s nothing we need to access under there. The crew broke half of the equipment when they flew into it.”

  “I think I’ve located the comms area, sir,” said Chainer. “I recognize some of it from what we saw in the Shatterer battery.” He was at the rear wall, sitting in one of the three seats. The size of the Ghast chair made him look faintly ridiculous – almost like a child - and the oversized suit helmet only added to the effect. Duggan and Breeze joined him, with the latter having to drag himself away from the propulsion control area of the bridge.

  “Can you work any of it?” asked Duggan.

  “Bits and pieces,” said Chainer. “I’m amazed at how similar it is to our equipment in appearance. I guess the same needs are likely to produce a similar approach in design. I’m left with the impression their comms systems lag behind ours.”

  “Not enough to make a difference,” said Breeze.

  “No, not enough.”

  “Any idea how to shut the sensors down?” asked Duggan. “And will that definitely stop the comms working?”

  “Well, sir, there’s rarely a need to power them off, so it’s not as if there’s a button you can press to do it. In the Corps, we do rolling restarts of each sensor array on a monthly basis – it can highlight problems when they perform their boot-up self-checks. Or if the ship is in for a full repair job in a dry dock, they might want to turn them off then. Which would be all well and good if I ha
d any way of understanding their damned jibber-jabber.”

  “Will it definitely stop the comms?” repeated Duggan.

  “On one of ours it would,” said Chainer. “The comms are a separate system, but they fire out through the super-fars. Turn off the sensors and the comms have nowhere to go.”

  “What about powering down the whole ship?” asked Breeze.

  “With the number of hoops I have to jump through to do that on something as small as a Gunner, I don’t hold out much hope it’ll be an easy job on a heavy cruiser,” said Duggan, racking his brains for anything which might help.

  Chainer was busily pressing at areas of the console around him. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said to himself. On the screens nearby, codes and message flashed up in a language none of them could understand. “Whoops!” he said, without elaborating further. Duggan didn’t ask what had happened to produce this exclamation – Chainer knew his stuff.

  Time dragged on and Duggan alternated between pacing and examining the surrounding screens for something that might help. For once, his brain failed him utterly and refused to offer anything that would move matters forward. In the end, his temper and patience snapped and he opened his mouth to order a withdrawal to the transporter.

  “I think I’ve got it!” said Chainer, stopping Duggan’s words before they were spoken. “How could I have forgotten that?”

  “Tell me!” urged Duggan, leaning across to see.

  “They’ve got a simulation mode, sir. We have them on our own warships. It allows you to test the crew’s performance in a variety of improbable scenarios. I remember them hitting me with one the very first day I was promoted – they made the ship go blind, to simulate a total failure of the comms. You’re supposed to fail the test miserably, yet somehow learn from the process.”

  “And you can do that to this ship?”

  “Yes, sir. There’s an option to close off all internal and external comms. There are various other options to fool the young Ghast officers as well. I can throw up a hundred pings on their fars that will look for all the world like the entire Space Corps fleet is approaching.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. Shutting off the sensors will be sufficient.”

  “Will the scenario end automatically after a set time?” asked Breeze.

  “That’s the best part of it – it’ll last until it’s manually cancelled.”

  “Excellent work, Lieutenant. Please do what you need to.”

  “It’s done, sir. The Cadaveron won’t send or receive a signal until we choose to end the simulation.”

  Duggan felt an immense relief when it was done. He led the squad at a run back to the transporter. It was still where they’d left it – he’d half expected it to have slid away from its uncertain berth and crashed to the ground below. With his helmet chiming an increasingly urgent warning about the positrons from the heavy cruiser’s engines, Duggan climbed aboard the transporter, followed by the others. He eased the craft out from the Shatterer’s impact hole and up into the dark sky. When he got a moment to relax, he spoke to Chainer.

  “How did you do on your scenario, Lieutenant?”

  “I refused to believe that all comms could fail at once, sir. They’re robust, independent systems and individually their failure rate is below a tenth of one percent over the entirety of their fifteen-year lifespan. The chances of them going wrong at the same time without the ship receiving weapons damage was so low I discounted it. When I worked that out, it was easy to guess it was a test. I located the simulation program and ended it. Afterwards, I started a new one which produced a series of inbound messages to indicate the entire Confederation was in revolt. I didn’t serve under that captain for long.”

  Duggan laughed with genuine enjoyment as the transporter continued its journey to the MHL Goliath.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m going to dump this stuff the first place that catches my eye. Somewhere away from the mining pit,” said Jonas. She had an expression of worry. Duggan sat next to her on the bridge as they discussed how they were going to jettison the Goliath’s cargo of valuable machinery.

  “There’s no life on this planet, so get rid of it anywhere that won’t interfere with the lift operation,” said Duggan.

  “I’m going to need a code from Lieutenant Green,” she said. “There are a few fail-safes to stop one of us getting drunk and accidentally leaving our cargo in space somewhere.” Jonas waved a hand and Green came over. He was an unassuming man and he blanched when he heard what was about to happen. He went even paler when Jonas told him what they intended to fill the empty space with.

  “Can’t we send a signal to someone in the Corps?” he asked. “To get approval?”

  “We could send that signal, Lieutenant,” said Duggan. “We’re not going to. I’m approving this, so please enter your codes into the mainframe.” He knew it might take hours for a request from the lifter to get through to someone with enough seniority in the Corps to give the go-ahead. If this had been a warship, he could have pushed a message through to a place higher up the chain. The lifter didn’t have that authority.

  Lieutenant Green swallowed hard. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but wisely chose not to. He reached over one of the panels and entered a series of digits, which the ship’s mainframe combined with his biometric data. The computer noted that the lieutenant was exhibiting an elevated heart rate, but within the expected range for the enormity of the decision.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Green. You may go back to your seat,” said Jonas. The man wandered off, looking dazed.

  “Done?” asked Duggan.

  “Just entering my codes now, overriding this, countermanding that. All the usual stuff needed for a once-in-a-lifetime decision. We’re almost over the dump zone. It doesn’t feel right to call it the drop zone, somehow.”

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  “There needs to be a big, red button to press, doesn’t there?” she asked. “Like you see in the old movies, with a big ‘Do Not Touch’ sign beneath it.”

  “How long?” asked Duggan. He could understand Jonas’ nervousness, but he wanted her to get on with it. He knew he was getting tetchy from the pain in his forearm. With everything to see to, he’d still not had it treated.

  “It’s done,” she said. “Or at least, it’s started. You’ll see it on this screen over here.”

  One by one, the cargo bay doors beneath the Goliath slid away into their recesses in the hull. For a few minutes, nothing else happened. Across the room, Green and Haster watched the same images on their own screens. Duggan felt sympathy for them – they probably thought their careers were evaporating before their eyes.

  “Everything’s got to unlatch in the right order,” explained Jonas. “Then the gravity chains will release and out it’ll all go.”

  Another ten minutes went by. Then, something dropped away from the hold – a series of huge, metal plates. Most of them fell straight, while a few turned as they fell, as if they hadn’t been released cleanly. “That’s the interior walling. If we didn’t drop them first, there’s a chance some of the cargo would bounce away and collide with the hull. Next, the gravity chains should shut off. Yep, there they go.”

  A silver-hued shape fell from the cargo bay – it was angular and indistinct. Other shapes fell with it, some large, some small. They rained from the Goliath’s hull – a hundred billion dollars’ worth of plant and machinery scattering across the rocky surface below. The crew on the bridge observed in silence until there was nothing left to fall.

  “That’s the lot,” said Jonas. “We’re as light as a feather now.”

  “Bring us to the crash site,” said Duggan.

  “We’re on our way. ETA less than five minutes.”

  “Show me the Cadaveron, please.”

  It came up on the display, scarred and sullen. “It’s an awful-looking thing,” said Jonas, concentrating on fine-tuning their approach. “Green, Hast
er, get over here. We’re about to pick up something heavy.”

  The two men got up and walked the five metres to sit at an adjacent bank of consoles. “Are you sure this is a good idea, ma’am?” asked Haster. “Lieutenant Green just told me what you’re planning, I checked out the design specifications for the Goliath. It was never intended to lift more than five billion tonnes in one go. The highest single lift we’ve needed to make was just over three billion.”

  “We’ll have to worry about specifications afterwards, Lieutenant Haster,” said Jonas. “The Space Corps needs us to recover that spacecraft. We need to work together to ensure it happens quickly, before the Ghasts send another one like it to see what’s happened.”

  “Rest assured they’ll have one on its way,” said Duggan. “There was plenty of time to send a distress signal.”

  “Fine,” said Haster, seating himself. “It’s my duty to ask questions, that’s all.”

  Captain Jonas looked at the viewscreens again. “The crater is almost seven klicks deep where the enemy vessel has settled,” she said. “I’d like to get to fifteen above so we’ve got a bit of room for manoeuvre.”

  Duggan had a sudden thought. “Are you shielded against positron leaks? They’re pouring from those holes.”

  “You name it, we’re shielded from it. Except outbound comms and a few other things. You could set off a nuke in our hold and we wouldn’t know about it.”

  “That’s not quite true, ma’am,” said Green.

  “You know what I mean, Lieutenant. The radiation wouldn’t cause us any harm.”

  “We’re stable and in place,” said Haster. “The mainframe is refusing to acknowledge the object as a permittable target for the gravity chains.”

  “You’ll have to do it manually, Lieutenant. Like they taught you in college.” Jonas turned her head towards Duggan. “Lieutenant Haster is a superb winchman - that’s why I have him here on the Goliath. The little stuff like that missile tube, I’m happy to do myself. This one, I’ll leave to him.”