Her senses told her where she was headed long before her conscious mind had managed to work it out. More astringent, her sense of smell told her. Yakutian ships had a notably different smell to Confederation ships. It was nothing particularly unpleasant, just different. Yakutian ships had a strongly sanitised smell, not overly acerbic in nature but not particularly enticing either. In many ways it was not entirely dissimilar from working in the sickbay on the Mantis.
But this smell was different. A smell that was a constant on any ship you’d care to mention, regardless of who was crewing it, a combination of rotting food and burnt polymers. It was the smell of the waste disposal area.
There was only one crewman in attendance who immediately threw up his arms upon seeing her. He wasn’t being overly hostile, at least no more so than he was when greeting any other crew member but the sight of the auto-doc instantly triggered a whole raft of potential objections, none of which Morton had the slightest interest in hearing - even if she could have understood them.
Instead, feeling greatly aggrieved, she pulled out the stun stick she’d been hiding under the canopy of the auto-doc for just such an occasion. Bayas had shown her how to use it and the simple act of switching it on had exactly the effect she had been hoping for.
The man dropped his hands and regarded her properly for the first time. He seemed suddenly to realise that she was a woman, at which point his desire to get as far away from her as possible quickly became apparent. But Morton was in no mood to let him go that easily.
She felt terribly cheated that this had ended up being her final destination but she was determined to make the most of the opportunity. Waving the stun stick in the man’s general direction, she backed him over into a corner.
The waste disposal was virtually identical to the set-up on the Mantis and every other Confederation ship she’d ever served on. There were receptacles for a variety of items but mainly these broke down into food waste, general waste and metals. The food waste and metals were intended for recycling with the general waste being compressed into giant pellets. Usually, these were stored until the ship returned to base as even these could be recycled in some way but, on particularly long deployments, these pellets could be dumped. It might be frowned upon to dump waste into space but it was a fairly common practice and it was this which started an idea forming in her head.
She mimed pushing something away but the maintenance man just stared at her dumbly. But then, when she switched on the stun stick again and waved it at him, he quickly got the message and led her across to a long, cylindrical drum. It was constructed of bare, unpainted metal but it was obvious what it was straightaway: a cost-effective alternative to a traditional air-lock. It even had a portal so that you could check its contents had been fully purged before opening it again.
Then she looked back at the auto-doc. It’d be tight but she reckoned that if she took the legs off it might just fit.
It was a mad idea, of course. Absolutely insane, but she didn’t see that she had any other option.
“What do you think?” she said to the maintenance man. “Think it’ll work?”
He seemed to understand that at least. He went over to one of the walls which was covered with a whole list of dos and don’ts regarding the appropriate use of the facility. She couldn’t read any of them, but most were accompanied by a simple pictogram.
He pointed to one which showed a primate with a broad cross partially obscuring it. He then pointed over at Faulkner and shook his head.
He obviously didn’t think it was a good idea which, perversely, spurred her on.
It was just a question of working out the percentages. Most cots in a Confederation sick bay were designed to be self-sufficient in case of a catastrophic loss of atmosphere. You didn’t even need to oversee the process, the cots were designed to be self-regulating. It gave rescue crews a twelve hour window in which to recover them after whatever misfortune had befallen their ship. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.
Accordingly, when a ship came under attack, one of the safest places to be was in the sickbay. She’d heard of lots of cases where unconscious patients had survived for more than a day in such circumstances.
What she was less certain about was whether an auto-doc was likely to be quite so robust. There had been stories of people surviving in them since before the Long War but she wasn’t sure how accurate they were, particularly when the machinery had clearly seen better days.
It would be a hell of a risk.
That’s what she was thinking when the maintenance man lunged at her.
Morton didn’t even think, her response was entirely automatic.
The stun stick barely touched him, but the charge was enough to hurl him back across the room.
He hit the main bulkhead where he struck his head before pitching forward. Morton managed to catch him before easing him gently to the floor.
In the silence that followed, she became aware of the sound of thunderous footsteps coming from behind her. As she turned, she could see a series of monitors mounted on the on the inner wall from which you could see everyone who was approaching. She got a good look at the three security guards barrelling along the corridor towards her, though she had no indication how long she would have before they actually arrived. She quickly discarded the stun stick, went over to the main door she’d come through, shut it and sealed it. There wasn’t enough time for her to do much else before a ferocious hammering was heard on the other side of the door.
Without thinking, she returned to the little maintenance man and checked that he was still breathing. When she found that he was she quickly turned him to a more comfortable position. By this time, the three men outside had stopped hammering and switched to simply shouting threats instead and, even though she couldn’t understand a word, she felt her heart tripping in her chest.
“Alright,” she said. “That’s decided it.”
She went and stood over the auto-doc, the lines on Faulkner’s face were so deeply ingrained that she felt that she was looking at a man in his seventies. This whole process had taken a terrible toll on him physically and she found herself wondering whether, even now, she was doing the right thing or not.
Reluctantly, she planted a kiss on the clear perspex canopy, wondering whether this might be the last time she’d ever see him. But that thought was quickly forgotten as she remembered something she’d nearly over-looked in her haste.
Squatting down, she did a manual search of the underside of the auto-doc. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for: a button for activating the homing beacon.
When she’d pressed it, she experienced an overwhelming sense of joy when a bright red light, mounted on the rear, started to flash.
Perhaps this is going to work after all, she thought.
Getting the legs off the auto-doc and then transferring it into the air-lock was difficult but not impossible and so somehow she managed it. Behind her, she could hear the sound of blaster fire impacting on the outer door. They were either very desperate, very foolish or both.
Closing and securing the air-lock door proved a lot more difficult though, and it took her a while to work out why. The thing had hardly ever been used and the hinges hadn’t been properly maintained. It was ridiculous really: this was one set of hinges you’d think would be routinely checked, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Still, with a bit of brute force, she finally managed to secure it.
She checked the seal as best she could before working the handle until it was completely closed. After allowing herself one last look through the portal, she triggered the release mechanism for the outer door.
A warning klaxon filled the small interior while a harsh amber light bathed the walls.
The next time she looked through the portal, she found herself looking out towards a vast parade of stars, and Faulkner was gone.
Morton pressed her hand to her mouth as she slowly backed herself towards the nearest bulkhead.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
As much as LaCruz had wanted to evacuate the area, she was constrained by the fact that they had to think about Barnes. His suit had taken a number of major hits and although he was badly injured his suit was in the process of ministering to his wounds.
The three of them were still alive and that was the main thing, something she wouldn’t have taken odds on an hour ago.
The saving grace in all this was that they hadn’t had to carry Barnes. It had been Walker who pointed out that the suits came with an anti-grav component. Keeping him flat, they’d secured a tether to Barnes’ suit and it had been fairly straightforward towing him along after that. The only problem came when they had to negotiate any kind of steep incline at which point it felt like they were pulling a broken down truck.
They made camp that night ten kilometres south of their last encounter with the pair of them taking it in turns to keep watch while also keeping a check on Barnes’ condition. Each suit came equipped with its own medical kit but they didn’t want to have to use that unless they had to and the suit would let them know soon enough if things were becoming critical. So far though, Barnes condition hadn’t worsened. It wasn’t ideal but it was the best they could hope for in the short term.
Sleeping in the suits was easier than LaCruz had expected and she managed to get a decent four hours in the end. In the morning they sat around watching the sunrise while they checked out the MRE rations on offer.
LaCruz had plumped for Blueberry Muffin flavour.
“What’s it like?” Walker wanted to know.
“Not bad,” she sucked on the tube. “I wouldn’t describe it as blueberry flavour but it definitely tastes of something. A little too sweet, if I’m honest.”
“Too sweet for you!” Walker howled. “But you love all that sugary shit. I better give that thing a miss. I don’t want no diabetes.”
LaCruz wasn’t offended. She revelled in her reputation as a sweet tooth specialist.
“What about you? What did you go for, in the end?”
“Tried the oatmeal but it’s not for me. This is…” he consulted his screen. “Caramel Shortbread Milkshake.”
“That one of those protein shakes? You trying to bulk up or something?”
“’Sright. Just cause I’m out here doesn’t mean I should let my diet slip.”
She looked at the desolation surrounding them. “Yeah, well good luck with that.”
“What’s wrong, LaCruz? Don’t think we’re gonna make it?”
“I’ve been in worse spots.”
“Yeah, sure you have.”
Neither of them were under any illusions about the severity of the situation they found themselves in.
“We’ll be fine,” she assured him. “That shuttle must have come down somewhere. Once we establish radio contact with them we’ll be good to go.”
“And if we can’t get through to them: what then?”
“These suits are good for the next three months. We’ll think of something.”
Her eyes flickered over towards where Barnes was lying. Without proper medical attention he was unlikely to last three days.
“You’re full of shit, LaCruz.”
LaCruz started moving off, heading back towards camp.
“Where you off to now?”
“I want to go take a look at that enemy shuttle.”
“Weren’t you the one said it might be booby trapped.”
“What do you care? Stay here. You’ve got all the protein shakes you can eat.”
“I’m not staying behind to change Barnes’ diapers,” he said, lurching to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”
They never made it all the way back to the shuttle. They were still some way short of the camp’s perimeter when Walker spotted something.
“Over there. Roughly north north east.”
But as soon as LaCruz switched to her optics – without anything concrete to focus on – the magnification started going crazy and she had to look away again.
“Okay,” Walker said. “Try looking at that mountain peak, over there. Got that? Now up and to the left.”
“What is it?” she asked. On her first sweep she went past it but on her second attempt, her optics did what they should have done the first time. “Ah, shit, not another one.”
“Not just one,” Walker prompted. “Over a little to your left.”
Two shuttles were now in-bound. They bore the same markings as the one they’d encountered the previous day.
“Not good,” LaCruz said. “We better get out of here while we still have the chance.”
She started moving back the way they’d come.
“You think they know what happened?” Walker said.
“I think they’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“So, what’s our play going to be?”
LaCruz almost laughed. There was a lot of talk of ‘plays’ when training in suits but that supposed that you had a squad at your disposal. For a Marine that meant a minimum of thirteen: a squad leader with three fire teams of four troopers each. They were a long way from those kind of numbers but she couldn’t let that cloud her judgement.
“First thing we have to do is find somewhere to stash Barnes. He wouldn’t thank us for dragging him all over, plus he’s going to slow us down on those hills.”
Walker didn’t comment, making it clear what he thought of the idea.
“Don’t worry,” she said airily. “We can come back for him later.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“We make ourselves scarce. We had the element of surprise last time and struggled when there were three of us. If that last shuttle was anything to go by, we’re looking at maybe fourteen hostiles.”
“You’re not filling me with confidence over here, L.J.”
Nobody had called her that in a while and she thought she knew why he was using it now. Walker was scared. He was going to need careful handling if they were going to get through the next twenty four hours in one piece.
“We need to try and make some use of the terrain. Try and draw them up into those hills.”
“Really?”
“Look to split them up. Maybe pick off a few stragglers.”
Walker thought about that for a moment.
“Okay,” he said. And then again, this time with more conviction. “Okay, let’s do this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
“Track trace,” Lieutenant Parkes said.
From a state of inert watch awareness, everyone in the Renheim’s comms team had suddenly come fully alert.
“Beginning to track now, sir.”
Ardent had little idea what they were talking about but she knew real excitement when she saw it. They’d spent the last week chasing down possible pod sightings and now here was something new. Here was something different.
Even Farnese seemed to sense it. He came over and stood behind Saviano the officer charged with tracking the new sighting. Her face a study in concentration.
“I didn’t know that there were any pods in this area,” he said.
“There aren’t,” Parkes said. “This is something different.”
“Yet it’s displaying an emergency beacon? Is there some other ship in distress that I don’t know about?”
He raised his eyebrows in Ardent’s direction.
“Not to my knowledge, sir. Unless you count the Serrayu.”
They had been tailing the Serrayu for a day and half now. It was Standard Operating Practice in such situations.
They watched as Saviano bent to her task, scanning for anything that might be hidden in the wall of noise that made up deep space.
“But we’re not scanning the Serrayu, are we?” Farnese said.
Captain Meyer, ever sensitive to the perceived threat posed by active scanning had insisted that only passive scans be implemented where the Yakutian vessel was concerned.
“No sir, we’re not. We’re just following our nose
s on this one.”
Parkes turned to another one of his officers. “Any idea what it is we’re looking at?”
The man he was talking to held up one hand while he scrolled through thousands of potential targets with the other.
“Just a moment, sir. Nearly got it. Yep, here it is.”
He lurched back in his chair as a great raft of images popped up on his display. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
“What is it?” Parkes had been on duty for ten hours and was starting to get cranky. “Speak up.”
“It’s an auto-doc. A heritage model, according to this. This thing dates back to before the Long War. Developed by our side so I can’t think what the Yakutians are doing with it.”
“Dumping it, by the look of it,” Farnese said though no one laughed.
“Bizarre thing to do though, sir, don’t you think?” Parkes said. “What with everyone so wound up and all.”
“Absolutely no chance this could be hostile?” Farnese mused. “A weapon of some kind?”
“Are the Yakutians really that conniving?” Ardent said. “Send out a bomb with a homing beacon on it. Wait until we get it on-board before they detonate.”
Ardent could tell by the comms crew’s reaction that she’d made some kind of professional faux pas. Perhaps she shouldn’t have called it a ‘bomb.’
It was Parkes who came to her rescue.
“I think there’s very little chance of that, ma’am,” he said. “This thing has no propulsion system so you can’t aim it. What’s the point of having a ‘bomb’ that you can’t deliver to the enemy?”
He’d purposefully used the word himself in an attempt to hide her blushes.
Saviano tipped her head to one side, revealing a large mole on her jawline.
“The question is: what do we do with it?”
Farnese braced his hands behind his head in an effort to suppress a yawn.
“We don’t do anything. We leave it. It’s the Serrayu’s problem after all.”
Saviano looked over towards Parkes. “Is that wise though, sir? Just ignore it? Sometimes, these kind of things turn up trumps.”
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