Joined In Battle

by Toby Neighbors

  “Tell me what you’ve seen.”

  “This is Barry. He runs a collector,” Hankins said.

  “I seen some lights,” Barry said, stepping forward and staring straight into Dean’s projected face. “There’s lots of color outside, but in the rig it’s mostly yellow light and shadows. You get used to it after a while. The collectors run cold, siphoning gas from the atmosphere. We swap the tanks and ship ’em up to the refinery. Anyhow, I was working and suddenly there were bright green, orange, red, and purple lights flashing all through the collector. There was a banging sound, a sort of hard thumping noise. I shut the collector down and did a visual inspection. Didn’t see a thing. So I cranked it up again, and the lights came back with a strange wailing sound.”

  “What did you do?” Dean asked.

  “I shut her down and got the hell out of there.”

  "You didn’t see what was making the noise?”

  “No, and I wasn’t going to go hunting for something that makes lights like that either. It wasn’t natural light—it was ghostly.”

  “What does that mean?” Dean asked, trying not to let his frustration show.

  “I mean, it wasn’t just someone playing tricks. It wasn’t colored lights like in a dance club. It was as if the light was alive somehow.”

  “Barry isn’t the only one to report strange sights,” Hankins interjected. “Al saw something too.”

  The other miner stepped forward. He had a thick beard and dark, bushy eyebrows that almost met in the center of his forehead.

  “I seen something,” he confessed. “Can’t rightly say what it was. Looked like a serpent or tentacle or something like that. It was wrapped around the ammonia tanks.”

  “A snake?”

  “Couldn’t have been a snake,” Hankins said. “Those tanks are thousand-gallon, reinforced storage cylinders. Ain’t no snakes big enough to wrap around them.”

  “I know what I saw, Chip,” Al argued.

  “Ain’t nobody saying you didn’t,” Hankins replied. “I’m just explaining that the tanks are big, that’s all.”

  “Well, something was wrapped around it. But it was kind of hard to see. I know it wasn’t a hose or nothing like that. It was moving, sort of like it was breathing or something.”

  “So it was alive?” Dean asked.

  “Hell man, I don’t know. I just saw something wrapped around the ammonia tank. It was hard to make out.”

  “Because it was dark?”

  “No, it was like I could almost see through it.”

  “The tentacle was transparent?”

  “Yeah, sort of. But I could see it.”

  “And did you see anything else?”

  “I saw the rivets popping on that tank. I pulled the alarm and got out before the section was flooded.”

  Dean nodded. “Tell me about the men that were killed. The administrator said something about a bomb.”

  “There was no bomb,” Hankins said. “I know the company wants to blame all this on human error or sabotage, but I inspected the refinery myself. Something vented the methane in the holding tank, which mixed with the oxygen we pump in so the workers aren’t forced to wear breathers all the time.”

  “And the methane…” Dean asked, not sure how a gas leak became sabotage.

  “You take chemistry in high school, Captain?” Hankins asked.

  “Yes,” Dean replied, suddenly feeling like he was taking a pop quiz.

  “Methane is four hydrogen atoms bonded to one carbon atom, but it’s a volatile bond. When you introduce oxygen to methane, those hydrogen and carbon atoms want to split apart and form carbon dioxide and water. That split creates a lot of energy, and it doesn’t take much to get those methane bonds to break down.”

  “Like a spark?” Chavez said.

  “Well, a spark would do it,” Hankins agreed. “In normal earth atmosphere, oxygen is only a small percentage of the air we breathe. Up here, we have a much higher oxygen mix. You don’t need a spark. A person walking through the gas or even the recyclers kicking on would be enough to set it off.”

  “So you really don’t think it was a bomb?” Dean asked.

  “No I don’t,” Hankins declared. “I believe something cracked the methane holding tank.”

  “But wouldn’t your people have noticed?” Chavez asked. “I mean, methane stinks.”

  “No, methane has no odor, which is why it’s so deadly,” Hankins replied.

  “The gas companies add that smell, Staff Sergeant,” Tallgrass said.

  “So you don’t blow yourself up,” Ghost added.

  “But wouldn't someone notice damage to the tank?” Dean asked.

  “Well, we don’t usually inspect the tanks,” Hankins said. “But that isn’t the issue.”

  “Then what is?” Dean asked.

  “Look, the holding tanks are huge metal cylinders with no manual release valves. They have to be inserted into the right kind of machine to even access the gas. That’s standard procedure for a volatile gas like methane. I guess you could drill through one or pop a rivet, but in this oxygen-rich atmosphere it would ignite the gas.”

  “So if someone sabotaged the tank, they would have blown themselves up,” Dean said, realizing the problem with the mining company’s theory.

  “Bingo. I mean, we get complaints, that’s a part of working with dangerous gas. There’s always somebody coming up with a reason why we shouldn’t be doing something or somebody wanting more money, longer breaks between shifts, or new safety procedures. But we don’t have a labor problem outside of whatever is on this rig besides us.”

  “Well, if there is someone—or something—on this installation, we’ll find it,” Dean assured them. “Are the three of you staying on-site?”

  “Just to help if you need us,” Hankins said.

  “Good. Get plugged into the local comms network. I’m assuming there’s a security center.”

  “We have a control station,” Hankins said.

  “It’s got cameras?” Dean asked.

  “Sure—cameras, section controls, safety and fire suppression systems.”

  “Excellent. Adkins, go with Mr. Hankins and get them tied into our platoon comms.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the big HA corporal said.

  “I’ve got a schematic of the mining platform which I’m sending to everyone. It should show on your HUD. Acknowledge that you’ve got it.”

  The platoon all responded.

  “Alright, Heavy Armor can’t get much further than the dormitories. Sergeant Owando, you’re in charge. I want a thorough search of the sleeping quarters, kitchen, and storage areas. If there are people on this platform, they have to get food somehow, and there might be evidence of them even in the dormitories.”

  “Yes sir, Captain, we will do it,” Owando said cheerfully.

  “The rest of you come with me,” Dean said.

  They passed through the dorm and mess hall, finally coming to a narrow corridor that split in three directions. Dean brought his platoon to a halt and studied the schematic.

  “Alright people, time to pair up,” Dean said. “Tallgrass and Chavez, you have the refineries to our left.”

  Dean used his TCU to highlight the section of gas-processing units that separated the various gasses and removed waste products, which he sent to his staff sergeant and demo sergeant.

  “Ghost, Harper—you’ve got the maintenance and storage sections to our right,” Dean continued, sending the sniper and Fast Attack Specialist their assigned areas on the schematic, which they could see in their battle helmet Heads Up Display. “I’ll take Landin and the rookie with me down to the collectors. We must ensure that we never lose comms. I know there’s a lot of equipment and machinery here, but we’ll be tapping into the local network. It’s hardwired throughout the platform, with signal boosters wherever they’re needed.”

  “Captain, what’re our orders if we run into something?” Ghost said.

  Dean could tell the sniper wasn’t happy b
eing in a confined space with only his sidearm, but he didn’t complain. They all knew how dangerous the mining platform could be. Even if they weren’t near the stored gas, a stray rifle shot could puncture the facility and allow the dangerous gas from the planet’s atmosphere inside the mining rig.

  “Identify whatever you find,” Dean said. “Announce yourself and hold your position. If they’re hostile, put them down—but I’m guessing we’ll have runners. You see something, you notify the rest of us and wait for backup.”

  “This is a big station,” Chavez said. “It could take a while to search the entire rig.”

  “Well, we better get started then,” Dean said. “Last one to the party buys drinks when we get off this mining platform.”

  “Oh, it’s on now,” Chavez said.

  “Be careful,” Dean reminded his platoon. Then they split off and began their search.

  Chapter 9

  Demo Corporal Robb Landin and FAS Private Cody Loggins waited patiently as Dean checked to make sure everything was functioning properly with both their comms and the tracking system on his platoon’s battle armor. With a glance, Dean could bring up an almost transparent schematic of the mining platform on his TCU. Each member of the platoon was represented by different colored dots according to their specialty, and Dean watched as Chavez and Tallgrass moved toward the refining processors. Then he checked on Ghost and Harper, who were heading up toward the storage facility.

  “Alright, looks like everything is online,” Dean said over the open channel, which included the mining platform’s network and the command channel from the Hannibal in stationary orbit above them.

  “I’ve got visuals on everyone,” Adkins said. “Some of the vid feeds are sketchy, and they don’t cover the entire rig, but it’s enough to keep tabs.”

  “Good,” Dean said. “Vice Admiral Anders, how are things on your end, over?”

  “There’s interference from the planet’s atmosphere,” said Anders. “It’s a little choppy but we have you, over.”

  “Good enough,” Dean said before nodding to his two companions. “Let’s do this.”

  Dean took the lead. He carried his Martin 3A defense pistol in his right hand but focused more on searching the gloomy corridor than trying to target anything.

  “Loggins, you do much work with that sidearm?” Dean asked.

  “I qualified with it,” the Fast Attack Private said.

  “Ever shoot guns growing up?”

  “Not real ones, just video games. I played paintball some.”

  “Well, this isn’t too much different from that,” Dean said. “The stakes are a bit higher is all.”

  “You can say that again,” Loggins said.

  “The rookie is nervous, Captain,” Landin spoke up.

  “Good, he should be,” Dean said. “Hell, I am. I’ve never been on a ghost hunt before.”

  “You really believe this rig is haunted?” the Demolitions Specialist asked.

  “No,” Dean said. “I don’t believe in ghosts. But we’re not on earth, and what those men saw could be anything.”

  “Like what?” Loggins asked, a nervous tremor in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “But we’ll find out. You can bank on that.”

  Dean checked his schematic again. They had gone down a long corridor, their boots clanking on the metal walkway. There was just enough room for two people to get past one another in the narrow space, if they turned sideways and shimmied. Otherwise, it was like being in a tunnel. There were lights, but they seemed dim, as if the bulbs or plastic covers were dirty, and there were spaces where the bulbs were burnt out so that the trio passed through sections of darkness. Up ahead, Dean saw a stairwell leading down.

  He checked on the other groups. The Heavy Armor group was making its way slowly through the dormitories, which were essentially small rooms set up for double occupancy. There were nearly forty of the rooms all told, and the HA group was busy checking one after another for any clues to who might be causing trouble on the mining platform. Harper and Ghost were making progress, while Chavez and Tallgrass weren’t moving.

  “Can you read me, Staff Sergeant?” Dean said over the open channel.

  “Yes, sir,” Chavez said.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No sir, just adjusting our low light vision. We’re in the blast zone and most of the lights are out.”

  “Roger that,” Dean said. “Stay alert.”

  “You know it,” Chavez said.

  Dean had reached the stairwell. It was in a rectangular shaft with thick piping running up the center between the flights of stairs and the landings. Dean started down, a sense of dread forming in his gut. There were twelve steps between landings, and it was impossible to tell by looking how far down the shaft went. On his schematic Dean could see that there were six flights all told, and then a shaft that ran to the right and the left.

  “When we get to the bottom, I want you to hold that position, Landin,” Dean said. “No one goes back upstairs without going through you.”

  “Are you sure he should be alone, Captain?” Loggins asked.

  “I can handle it,” Landin spoke up.

  “You’re right, Private. I would prefer not to split up, but we can search both directions of the corridor at the same time. I don’t want anyone slipping past us while we’re checking one side of the corridor.”

  “Okay,” the Fast Attack Specialist said.

  “You’ll be fine,” Landin said. “The Captain’s been in the shit before.”

  “I’m not scared,” Loggins proclaimed.

  “This isn’t quite like Coronado though, is it?” Dean said.

  “I’d feel better with a few more weapons,” Loggins admitted.

  “I feel better knowing you won’t accidentally blow us all up,” Landin teased.

  “Spoken like a veteran Demo man,” Dean replied.

  “That’s right, I prefer to be the one blowing things up,” Landin declared.

  “Nothing is blowing up,” Loggins said. “I hope.”

  “That’s right,” Dean replied. “We’ll probably find out it’s all some bad practical joke. The culprit will face charges, and we’ll head off to our next assignment.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around. The corridor ran perpendicular to the entrance of the stairs, and an old-fashioned light bulb was the only light. It cast a weak, dingy yellow glow onto the dull metal of the platform walls. Dean felt like he was on the training submarine back on Earth, going through his two weeks of strategy and tactics training again. Thick pipes filled the space beneath the walkway, and the walls were even closer together than in the corridor above.

  “This way,” Dean said to Loggins. “Keep your eyes open, but relax.”

  “I didn’t expect to feel so much anxiety,” the newcomer admitted.

  “It’s normal. There’s an old saying; combat is nothing more than long periods of boredom punctuated by brief moments of terror. It’s pretty accurate.”

  “You think there’s something down here?” Loggins asked. “This place is worse than my mom’s basement back home.”

  “I can’t imagine working down here for days at a time,” Dean said. “A person would have to be insane to hide on this rig. And if they succeeded in sabotaging the platform, what then? Would anyone really be willing to die just to get the attention of the mining company? None of it really makes sense from a human point of view.”

  “I don’t really follow,” Loggins said.

  “I mean, either this is a hoax, and by that I mean some of the workers playing tricks—you can imagine they might do something to break up the monotony of working here day after day—or, quite possibly, if what the workers said is true, there might be something else here. Something we haven’t met.”

  “What could be here?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m talking about an indigenous species, Private. Nothing scary—just something different.”

  They
reached the first gas collector. It looked to Dean like another series of pipes hanging further down another narrow shaft. There was a control station with gauges and levers, but a quick inspection showed that there wasn’t enough space to hide in. And there was no sign of anything that resembled an explosive device.

  “Alright, this looks right,” Dean said. “Let’s move on to the next one.”

  They were halfway to the next terminal when Staff Sergeant Chavez made contact on the open comms channel.

  “Captain, we’ve got something,” Chavez said.

  “What is it, Staff Sergeant?” Dean replied, coming to a halt in the walkway.

  “We haven’t found the source, but our armor is registering a spike in hydrogen levels.”

  “Alright, hold that position, Chavez. We’ll join you. Anything in the storage area, Sergeant Harper?”

  “No, Captain, it’s quiet,” Emily Harper responded. “But it’s a big place, lots of storage tanks. Someone could easily hide in here.”

  “Adkins, report,” Dean said as he started back toward the stairwell.

  “Everything looks good from here, Captain,” Adkins’ voice was filled with static, but Dean was able to understand him.

  “Do you have eyes on Staff Sergeant Chavez?”

  “No sir, they’re in between vid feeds. And there are no cameras close to their position.”

  “Alright, continue monitoring things.”

  Dean, Private Loggins, and Demo Corporal Landin took the stairs two at a time, moving quickly from the collectors back up to the main section of the ship. Dean led the way, jogging through the corridors before coming to another stairwell.

  “Great,” Landin sighed. “More stairs.”

  “Suck it up,” Loggins said.

  Dean thought the physical exertion was helping calm the young man’s nerves. They climbed the stairs quickly and came out in a much wider corridor. They moved along the walkway until they encountered the first refinery. It rose up like a sinister-looking castle made of pipes, storage tanks, coils of tubing, and exhaust vents. They went past the large machinery and continued down the wide corridor, catching up to Chavez and Tallgrass quickly.

  “Report, Staff Sergeant,” Dean said.