Breakout

by David Ryker

  “Kergan c’n chew mah banger,” Maggott growled. “Take better’n him ta poonch a fookin’ Marine’s ticket.”

  She grinned in spite of herself. They had spent the last half-hour comparing notes, starting with the Jarheads’ trip to the surface with Kergan and Sloane, and had finally come to a grave conclusion: the pair were going to try to attenuate the entire station when Sloane got back with whatever he had gone down to Oberon to find.

  “So what happens next?” she asked.

  “Ulysses an’ the Yandares are ready t’start a riot,” said Maggott. “They’re gonna go down swingin,’ at least.”

  “But how do they know what’s going on? By the time they find out, it might be too late.”

  “Yer g’na have to get to him. And then bust me outta here.”

  “How? I can’t unlock the hatch. We’re stuck in here.”

  “We’ll have to use the back channel.”

  Chelsea frowned. “What the hell is a back channel?”

  Maggott explained to her about the maintenance tunnel that ran through the floor under the Can. Dev Schuster had discovered it and the Jarheads had used it to communicate a few times over the last two years, until Geordie Bishop got caught last week.

  She shook her head in wonder. “That’s kind of ingenious.”

  Maggott shrugged. “We’re Marines.” As if that were all the explanation she needed.

  “How do you get into it?” she asked.

  “I don’t get inta it,” he said. “M’leg wouldn’t even fit in there. It’ll haveta be you.”

  Chelsea quailed a bit at the thought of being closed up in the bowels of the station, but at least it was a shot at getting out of this. Then something occurred to her that might dash those hopes.

  “What if they closed it up after Bishop was caught?”

  He gave her an apologetic look. “Then ye’ll be screwed, lass. So let’s walk on th’ soony side o’ the street fer now, aye?”

  Chelsea sighed and nodded. He was right. She called up the schematics for the innards of the ventilation system—she had clearance for that much, at least. Since Maggott had never been inside the back channel, he had no idea where the entrance hatch was, but the two of them managed to determine that it was likely under a work station set into the back wall.

  She got onto her back on the floor and slid under the terminal, running her fingers along the edges until she found a spot that she could press inward. A square of wall suddenly sprang loose on hinges, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.

  “And you say it comes out in the latrine?”

  “Aye. If I r’member right, ye go horizontal fer a ways until ye come to a vertical tunnel, then it’s down to the third level. Ye’ll see a panel like the one ye just sprung, only it exits through the ceilin.’”

  Chelsea took a deep breath. “And then I find Ulysses,” she said. “He’ll know what to do.”

  “Right. I cannae guarantee it’s the right thing ta do, but it’s somethin,’ anyway.”

  “All right, then. I guess I better get a move on.”

  “Yer a brave lass. Oorah.”

  “What?”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Jes say ‘oorah’.”

  She did. “See you on the other side.”

  “God willin.’”

  She swallowed hard and slid her feet into the opening, then shimmied the rest of herself inside. Her hands found the rungs set into the tunnel wall above her and she started pushing herself along. The light from the Can began to recede more and more with every push, until it finally disappeared from view.

  Ten minutes is a long way to travel in the darkness of a tight tunnel, especially when the door at the end might be locked tight. But fortunately for Chelsea, it appeared the neglect the guards had been showing for just about everything on Oberon One extended to the entry/exit of the back channel, and when she pressed her fingers against the release, the hatch door steadfastly refused to open.

  Panic swelled in her chest: she was trapped! The fear and desperation of the situation threatened to overwhelm her, until she took a deep breath. You’ve been in war zones, she reminded herself. A locked door on a tunnel won’t stop you.

  She climbed back up a dozen rungs. It was simple—she’d drop down onto the hatch door and try to loosen it. If she did it enough times, she might be able to open it. SkyLode had pinched every penny it could on the prison side of construction, so she held out a little hope that the maintenance hatches hadn’t been a priority for some reason.

  She took one more deep breath and let go of the rungs, tucking her arms in close for the fall. There was a metallic clang, and suddenly she was dropping another five feet straight down on the edge of the metal trough sink. Her butt slammed onto it, hard, sending an aching wave of pain up her right thigh, but she managed to land on her feet when she bounced onto the floor.

  I suppose it was better than climbing and dropping all day, she groaned inwardly as she rubbed her ass cheek.

  The corridors of the third level appeared deserted, so she trotted along the wall, ready to either bolt or fight if the situation arose. She hadn’t been in a scrap since basic training, but she’d never been a shrinking violet, either. She knew she was capable of dropping someone if need be, especially under these circumstances.

  But the need never arose. She didn’t see another soul until she reached the first set of cells that took up the far half of the third level. There were four inmates to a cell, with a dozen cells lined up side by side, each with a clear polycarbonate door like the ones in the Can.

  She stood at the entry hatch, reconnoitering the living quarters. All the cells were full, which was out of the ordinary for that time of the day. The first seating for the evening meal should have been in the mess by now, but here they were, lying on their bunks. She could hear them shouting to each other, and they didn’t sound happy.

  “I don’t get outta here soon, Imma bust somebody’s shit!” yelled one. Like all the others Chelsea could see, he had the telltale shiny pate and shaved brows of a Southern Saint. “I’m fuckin’ hungry, man!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” another hollered back from a cell farther down. “Ain’t nothin’ any of us can do ‘bout it, and you flappin’ yer gums ain’t makin’ it any better for the rest of us.”

  “You tough in your cell, boy,” the first one griped. “We see what happens when we get outta here.”

  “What if we don’t get outta here?” another asked, sounding agitated. “Why’d they shove us back in our cells an hour before dinner? Ulysses was right, man, there’s weird shit goin’ on!”

  Chelsea considered her options. She could confront them and ask where Ulysses was, but she couldn’t free them. And not just because she didn’t have the clearance in her palm print—these were hardened criminals. Who knew what kind of havoc they would wreak if they were let out? And how did she know they wouldn’t start with her?

  Then again, wasn’t that the whole point of this? She didn’t see where she had another option. She took a deep breath and pivoted to her left to enter the corridor.

  Before she took a full step, a powerful arm snaked around her from behind and yanked her backward, the hard metal of a guard’s wristband digging into the delicate skin of her throat.

  30

  “Banzai!”

  “Incoming!”

  Schuster’s warning came too late: Senpai Sally was in front of Quinn, and right after that, she was slamming into him, hard. The force of Boychuk’s blast sent the two flying backwards across the cargo hold until they met the wall. Quinn felt the air rush out of his lungs as his back connected with the hard steel edge of ladder rungs. At the same time, Sally’s inertia was driving into him from the front, sandwiching him between her and the wall.

  “Crazy bitch!” Boychuk repeated. He himself was floating back into the opposite wall, propelled by the force of his blast.

  Bishop caught him and swung him around, using the inertia to send the guard in the opposite direction.
Now Boychuk was headed in Quinn’s direction, obviously disoriented. Quinn tried to catch his breath and get into position to push away from the wall and intercept him. All that mattered was getting the gun away from the guard.

  “Heads up!”

  Schuster’s voice again, only this time it was accompanied by his body. He was coming in at the same downwards trajectory that Sally had taken, to the same effect: he tackled Boychuk, slamming his fist into the side of the guard’s head and sending him spinning.

  Meanwhile, Bishop took advantage of his position and grabbed for Boychuk’s gun hand. He got control of it and gripped with both hands while the guard tried spinning frantic bicycle kicks into him. It all played out like kids wrestling underwater, and it was getting everyone nowhere.

  “Sloane!” Quinn yelled. “Order Boychuk to stand down!”

  “It is of no consequence,” Sloane replied.

  “It will be if he hits you with his next blast!” said Schuster.

  The logic of that seemed to strike home with Sloane, because a second later, Boychuk screamed into his headset, prompting the Jarheads to wince as the sound hit their ears.

  A few seconds later, the guard was stiff, floating like a mannequin in the center of the cargo bay. His hand released the force generator, which Bishop snagged from the air.

  “Oorah,” he said triumphantly.

  “Don’t even think about it, Geordie,” Quinn warned. “I have a feeling Sloane could do to you what he just did to Boychuk.”

  “Indeed I could,” said Sloane. “Boychuk resisted attenuation, as you three did, but, also like you, he could not resist multiple attenuations. His mind is now blank. A waste, but necessary under the circumstances.” He paused for a moment. “I do not wish to do the same to you, but I will not hesitate if the need arises. I realize now that the amplifier must be assembled and employed immediately.”

  Amplifier? Quinn looked to Schuster, but his train of thought was interrupted by a groaning noise over the headset. He looked down to see Sally spinning slowly beneath him. He had forgotten her in the melee.

  “Sally! Are you all right?”

  No reply.

  “The zero-gravity environment blunted the force of the shock wave,” said Sloane, still gripping his container. “Otherwise, her suit would have been breached and she would have perished. Even so, she likely has internal injuries.”

  Quinn activated his thrusters again and moved closer to the floor. When he was within a meter, he hit the controls for his boot magnets and was immediately sucked down until they stuck fast to the steel. It left him about eye level with Sally’s horizontal body.

  “Sally, can you hear me?”

  No answer. He couldn’t see inside her suit, obviously, but her face was pale and shiny with perspiration. Her huge eyes were closed. Finally, her lips moved and he heard softly mumbled Japanese through the headset.

  “English, Sally,” he said gently.

  “Duty,” she husked. “Duty is… heavier than a… a mountain…”

  “But death is lighter than a feather,” said Schuster.

  Quinn looked up at him. “What?”

  “It’s a famous line from an edict issued by the Japanese emperor in the late 19th century. It means that duty comes before all else.”

  “Sounds like a Marine to me,” said Bishop.

  Quinn found himself swallowing a lump. If someone had told him even a week ago that he would feel like this over Senpai Sally, he would have laughed in their face.

  “We have to get her to the infirmary the minute we dock.”

  “It is of no consequence,” said Sloane.

  “I’m getting pretty sick of hearing that,” Schuster snapped. “What is of consequence? I’ve been watching you for the better part of a week and I can’t figure it out.”

  “Dev—”

  “No, sir, I’m not going to stand down.”

  Schuster grabbed a tether and pulled himself to the wall, where he grabbed the rungs and climbed down toward the floor. Outside the porthole, Quinn could see the station in the distance as the Raft continued on its programed trajectory to the hangar bay.

  “Your concerns are of no—”

  “Just spare us, all right?” said Schuster. “I wanna know what the hell the point of all this is. Why not tell us? I mean, if you can do that to one of your own…” He pointed to Boychuk’s lifeless body. “I’m pretty sure none of us has a chance here. So if it’s of no consequence, just tell us. What the hell is that in your lap? What are you going to do with us?”

  Quinn watched Sloane’s face as he considered Schuster’s words. Whatever had taken over the tech’s mind seemed to be having some trouble thinking, judging by his expression.

  “Attenuation must be achieved,” he said urgently. “It is necessary for the biological imperative. They must reproduce.”

  The fact that Sloane had said they and not we wasn’t lost on Quinn. Keep it up, Dev. This might be all we’ve got.

  “But you’ve said numerous times that we’re not reacting the way you want us to,” said Schuster. “That we’re failures. If that’s the case, why bother?”

  “There are successes as well,” said Sloane. He raised a hand in the direction of the silent tech drones to his left, strapped into their jump seats. “You three were exceptions.”

  “You mean us five,” said Quinn. “Boychuk and Sally resisted, too.”

  “So did the warden,” said Bishop. “Right? That would explain why he acted so weird when I was in his office.”

  “I’m sure a lot more have as well,” said Schuster. “Or you would have taken over already. You’re obviously limited in how many people can attenuate, otherwise you would have taken over the entire station by now.”

  Sloane’s face was twitching now, as if he was arguing with himself.

  “The element is necessary for full attenuation,” he said. “It will power the amplifier.”

  “You’ve mentioned the amplifier before,” said Schuster. “What is it? Is that what these others have been working on in your lab?”

  “The amplifier utilizes the element to extend the attenuation wave’s radius. All will be attenuated.”

  Quinn thought that last sounded almost petulant, like a child making a demand.

  “Except the ones who resist,” Schuster pointed out. “Like us. What happens to them?”

  “They will die,” Sloane said after a long pause.

  “You mean we will die,” said Quinn.

  “It is of no consequence.”

  “I think it is,” said Schuster. “At least to part of you—the part that was Sloane before you took over.”

  Sloane’s face continued to work. Quinn was still trying to process exactly what the two were talking about, but he mentally urged Schuster to keep doing what he was doing.

  “Sloane and Kergan reacted differently to you, didn’t they?” asked Schuster. “Kergan has always been an asshole, but you, Sloane, you were a nice guy. Never had a bad word for the inmates, unlike Kergan, who seemed to delight in making us miserable.”

  “Your minds are different,” said Sloane, a tightness in his voice. “We experience your emotions somehow, instead of simply observing them. This is unprecedented in any other life form with which we have had contact.”

  Other life form? Quinn had understood on some level that they were dealing with some form of extraterrestrial, but how many others was this one talking about? Did these guys take over entire species?

  “I bet Kergan was just a stew of emotions for the one who drew the short straw and got his brain,” said Bishop. “That guy isn’t playing with a full deck.”

  “But Sloane was,” said Schuster. “He was highly intelligent, very curious. You used his knowledge to help with the technology upgrades, didn’t you?”

  “We have access to knowledge from hundreds of species…”

  “Access to knowledge, yes. But your own intelligence is limited!” Schuster’s voice sounded triumphant, as is he were saying Eureka! �
�That’s why you needed my help! Why you totally missed the angle of trajectory on our descent today! You have technical knowledge, but not the inspiration and imagination that drives innovation!”

  “English, Dev,” Quinn sighed.

  “They can think but they can’t imagine. Einstein said that imagination was more important than knowledge, because knowledge is inherently limited. Imagination is unlimited, so it can conceive of things that don’t exist.”

  Quinn nodded as if he understood just to keep the conversation going. He glanced at the porthole, which was filled with the approaching station now.

  “But that’s beside the point,” said Schuster. “That’s just the reason you can’t develop on your own. The real issue here is that our emotions are playing with your heads.”

  “The frustration is unbearable!” Sloane blurted. “You are impossible to understand! The female Sally—why did she throw herself in the way of the blast earlier? It makes no sense!”

  “I thought death was of no consequence,” Bishop prodded.

  “Sally sacrificed herself because she knew we were the ones who could stop you,” said Quinn. “She did it because, even though she’s a little bit crazy and a killer, she’s also noble and honorable. A warrior, like the three of us. Those are human traits, and I think Sloane understands that.”

  “So let’s say you attenuate everyone,” said Schuster. “What then? Even assuming everyone survives, congratulations, you control a couple hundred people on a small space station with practically no weaponry, two billion kilometers from the nearest inhabited planet. Hardly seems worth the effort.”

  “It is the first step in a much longer process,” Sloane said defensively. “And the station’s weaponry has been upgraded considerably. This ship and the others have been retrofitted with advanced technology in both weaponry and propulsion. With the element, we will be capable of greater advancements.”

  “Limited by the resources on the station and the surface.”

  Quinn was looking at Sloane’s faceplate and saw the cold smile before he heard it in his voice.