Among the Drift
By Scott Gordon Richards
“Adjust two points to port, 45 degree up angle,” Ensign Tracy Enns said calmly. “There’s some drift.” She loosened the bun of her black hair and let it fall over her shoulders. Her eyes darted from the main view screen to her readouts.
“Got it.”
Starman second class Malcolm Raines piloted their small scout ship closer to the asteroid. The rock, though massive, wasn’t big enough to produce its own gravity, so Malcolm had to manually stay on station. The other asteroids in the field around them drifted very little, making it an ideal hiding place for the pirates they were hunting.
“Oh my God! What’s that smell?” Enns asked. She put a hand over her nose.
“Hermes just took a dump. It’s a good one, eh? Way to go Hermes!”
“Are you kidding? That’s sick.”
“Don’t worry, the auto air purifier will kick in.”
True to his word the internal sensors detected the presence of a category of particles in the air deemed unsavory and replaced the stench with a gentle lavender scent.
Soft steps approached from behind them.
“Hey, go back and flush that,” Mal said without turning around. The steps receded, then a ‘whoosh’ as the carbon decomposer turned the excrement into recyclable vapor and sucked it up.
“Recalculate the sensors to bounce off that big rock over there,” Mal said. “Maybe we can scan the other side of this one without having to move.”
“Sounds good,” said Trace. “If we can avoid coming face to face with those pirates, I won’t complain. I missed the briefing, what did they do again?”
“You name it, these ones likely did it,” said Mal. “The usual, you know, smuggling, plundering cargo ships, generally causing a ruckus. Human trafficking too. They also employ a lot of scams. Money scams, romance scams and the like.”
“They prey on the weak, the lonely, the unwary and the desperate?” Trace said. She shook her head. “Why do people do such things, eh?”
“They’re predators, Trace. It’s easier than going to school and learning an honest trade or profession.”
“Now I hope we do run into them,” Trace said. “I’m not helpless or weak.”
“No, you are not.” The two bumped fists. Mal gave a shudder. “Damn, I hate being in stealth power mode, it’s too cold in here. Don’t you feel it?”
“I’m from Norway House,” said Trace. “This is nothing to me.”
A soft wine came from behind them and something wet touch Trace’s hand.
“Hey there, Hermes,” she said. The dog put his front paws on the back of Trace’s chair and stuck its nose through, the long, silky black hair on the back of her neck. “Hey! That tickles!” She pushed the dog away, giggling as she did. The dog repositioned himself beside her. She rubbed the cinnamon-coloured Labrador retriever on the back it his neck. “You stink, you know that don’t you, boy?”
Hermes issued a soft growl.
“Hey, don’t blame me,” Trace said. “I’m not the one who feeds you.”
“No,” said Mal. “It’s not that. He does that every time before…”
A warning beep sounded twice from the sensor console beside Malcolm’s pilot chair.
“Oh, what have we got?”
He flicked a switch. The front windows showed a blue dot among the green glowing outlines of the asteroids.
“It’s a ship, all right. Vengeance class cruiser.”
“That’s what we’re looking for,” said Trace. “Checking ID tags.” She paused to type commands into her computer. “The tags have been scrubbed. This is our guy.”
Hermes stared at her, his tongue hanging out.
“How does he do that?”
“One problem,” Mal said. “They’re coming almost straight at us. They’ll discover us if they stay on the same relative course.”
“I’m sending a report,” Trace said. “If they see us, at least we’ll have summoned the fleet.”
“Hold off on that,” said Mal. “They might detect us when we send the signal.” He looked around at the asteroids and then at the senor displays in front of Trace. “I have an Idea. I’ll move us around this big one to the other side. Thrusters only. If I move slow enough they may not see us. We send the communiqué from there, that way if they sense the signal, they’ll still have trouble pinpointing our location.”
“Let’s do it, because they just adjusted course that will move even closer to us.”
Mal tapped the thrusters. Hermes growled louder, staring at the front screen as the scout ship started a creeping maneuver, hugging as close as it could to the giant asteroid.
“Hurry,” said Trace. “They’re closing faster.”
“Relax, I got this,” Mal said. His calm words belied his white-knuckle posture.
The hackles on Hermes’ back rose.
Trace poised a hand over the defensive weapons controls, ready to fire the moment the pirates discovered them.
“They’re running an active sensor sweep,” Trace said. She held her breath.
A tachyon laser sensor fanned out from the enemy ship in a flat, vertical cone visible to the naked eye. It swept from astern the scout ship towards them. Trace swallowed a lump in her throat.
Shadows played over the front screen as the asteroid blocked direct star light. Just as the sensor would reach their position, the scout ship disappeared around the underside of the asteroid.
Trace let out her breath.
Hermes lay down behind Mal’s chair as if everything were fine.
“They’re looking for something,” said Mal.
“Are they looking for us?”
“I don’t think so. They have no reason to suspect we know their hiding spot.”
Trace snapped a double take at her readouts. “What’s that?” She brought up a view from one of the port sensor cameras and pointed to a blip on the screen outlined in yellow.
“Perhaps an ice asteroid,” said Mal. “It would show different to our sensors.”
“I don’t think so,” said Trace. “Look at the shape.”
She touched a pad in front of her. A digital grid overlapped the anomaly. Another touch and the image zoomed to a larger view. A ship blossomed into focus. No lights, no movement indicated its presence among the asteroids. Some sort of corrosion pockmarked the surface making it look rusted and abandon like an old automobile in a farmer’s field. The derelict showed missing windows and a huge, jagged hole in the aft section near where the engine should have been.
“See if you can get a tag on that,” said Mal.
Trace touched a different pad and manipulated a micro reader to point at a plate attached just before the bow of the ship. The plate held identification information for the vessel readable by scanners, as well as the printed name of the ship in a universal language. The same rusty substance corroded it to the point of being unreadable by the naked eye.
“It’s a cruise liner,” Trace said. “A Moray Corporation ship. The MCS Lord Selkirk II.”
Mal raised an eyebrow. “No kidding,” he said. “That thing has been missing for years.” He raised the magnification setting closer look. “What an eyesore.”
“According to the report, it was abandoned when a fire broke out in the engine room,” Trace said, reading from her screen. “There was a danger of the ship exploding.”
“I wonder if we can get the salvage rights. How did it get here?”
“Probably the same gravity fields that hold these asteroids in place, drew her in,” Trace surmised. “We have a problem though. Those pirates are still looking for us and they’ll be on this side of that big one soon enough.”
“Where do we go?” There were plenty of asteroids, but hiding behind another would only delay, not alleviate their problem. “How long do we have?” asked Mal.
“At the rate they were moving we have only a minute, give or take a second,” Trace said.
“I have an idea,” said Mal. “See those bay doors on the Selkirk? We can use the Tesla Coils to transfer power and get them open. Then we hide inside.”
“What if the shuttle is still in there?”
“Probably used when they abandoned ship.”
Trace raised an eyebrow. It might work. “We would certainly be out of sight. You don’t want to try make a run for it?”
“Navigating at speed through this field would be more dangerous than letting them catch us,” Mal said.
“Especially the way you pilot,” said Trace.
Mal shot her a wry grin.
“Ok, let’s try it,” Trace finished.
Mal moved the scout ship to a position in front of the bay doors of the Lord Selkirk II.
“Aiming Tesla Coil now,” said Trace, working a touch pad.
“Power transfer on.” Mal flipped a switch on the panel between the pilot and navigator’s chairs.
The doors slid open faster than either of them expected.
“Look out!” Trace yelled.
Shooting out of the bay, an object hurled towards the scout ship.
Mal tried to dodge the ship, but the object struck the windshield before he moved. Hermes barked in a crescendo of surprise. Mal grabbed a handful of jump suit on his chest. Trace’s heart jump into her throat. They both breathed hard from sudden shock.
A human body spread across the window like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. It wore an EV suit that had been eaten in places by the same rust coloured powder covering the derelict. It wore no helmet or gloves. It’s emaciated, deep leathery, red-brown face and hands reminded Trace of the mummies she’d seen pictures of from old documentaries. Impact with the windshield caved in the right side of its head and bent its jaw to the left. Empty eye sockets stared at them.
“The docking bay was pressurized!” said Trace.
“Quite the welcome,” said Mal. “Hey there, glad you found me. Here’s a scary body for you to look at.” He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Apparently not everyone made it off when it was abandoned.”
“Are you waiting for an invitation,” asked Trace. “Get us in there.”
“That seemed more like a warning than an invitation,” Mal countered, staring at the body on the window.
He shook himself and touched the thruster controls. The scout ship moved forward. The man’s body slid up and off the window, sending reverberating squeaks on the Kleesteel Glass inside.
They entered the bay and triggered the automatic docking clamps. The outer doors to the bay closed just as the pirate vessel appeared over the top of the giant asteroid.
“Shutting down main systems,” Mal said. “Less chance of them spotting our energy output.”
“AG off,” said Trace as she touched a control. Safety straps held Mal and Trace in their seats, but not Hermes. “Sorry Hermes.” She turned to look at the dog expecting him to start floating up from the deck. “What the?”
Hermes remained steadfast, not moving from where he was standing. The dog cocked his head, curious.
“AG must still be functioning in here,” She checked her monitors, “but there are no power readings at all out there.”
“Strange,” said Mal furrowing his brow.
Hermes growled and stared at the ceiling.
“I think he was looking forward to weightlessness,” said Mal. He unbuckled and stood up. “Very strange. I feel a slight pull in all directions, but the strongest is on the deck. Check the sensors. Does the Lord Selkirk still have artificial gravity?”
Trace turned her attention to the console in front of her. “There’s a malfunction indicated in the array. I can’t get anything on the sensors. Checking connections.” She typed quickly and used the touch screen to call up a diagnostic. After a moment she turned to Mal. “There is some damage to the upper array. Did you hit something on the way in?”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
“Well, the tri-phase indicator is no longer connected, and the main antennae is missing.”
“What? Let me see that.” Mal stepped beside Trace’s chair, bent over and grabbed the corner of the monitor.
“Don’t believe me,” asked Trace. “See for yourself.”
“Shit. The body we hit must have taken it off.” Mal righted himself, hands on hips. “Prairie dogs on a rampage!”
“It should have stood that kind of impact,” said Trace. “Soft body meets electro-titanium; the body will get cut in half every time.”
“Let’s get suited up,” said Mal. His pulled his lips tight and his brow furrowed deeper. “We need to get that replaced or repaired quickly. I don’t want to be blind in here while the pirates are out there.”
***
Inches per second, the pirate ship maneuvered towards the wreck of the MCS Lord Selkirk II. Thrusters fired to counter the momentum of The Bulldog and settle it into a position opposite the giant hole near the engines of the derelict. An adjustment by the pilot ensured the ship’s port side air lock lined up with the ragged opening in the Selkirk’s hull.
The lock’s doors slid apart revealing ten humanoid figures dressed in gray and black environmental suits facing outward. Some carried tan, equipment cases. When they spoke to each other, they did so over their suit’s communications. To Drag, it sounded like everyone was speaking from the other end of a long, hollow tube.
Drag wrinkled his nose. The inside of his helmet smelled like someone dumped an old sock in it before it was stowed. Homer faced away from him so he could only see the back of his helmet. I’m sure that was you, you joker.
“We’re on station and steady,” Captain Leary said from his bridge. “Make the Jump.”
“Aye, boss,” responded Vlad, the leader of the salvage team and first mate of the Bulldog.
Aye, boss, Drag mimicked in his own mind. You crooked-nosed, bald-headed bully.
“Don’t get lonely without me,” said Zazzy. She turned so Drag could see her face through the helmet and wink at him.
“Not to worry, darling,” Captain Leary said, “If you get lost, I’ve still got two hands to satisfy me.”
“Did he mean hands as in ‘crew’, or hands hands?” asked Tallywag. The sixteen-year old’s tone was playful.
“Shut yer yap, Tallywag,” Vlad growled.
“Hey, Drag, still think you can make this jump?” Zazzy asked.
“I told you not to call me that,” said Drag. “Call me ‘Keystone’, that’s my nickname.”
“Look, you little shit, you don’t get to pick your own name,” said Sugar in his old, gruff manner. “You’re lucky we didn’t call you ‘Smudge’ like our screw-up janitor.”
“I heard that,” said Smudge over the coms. “And I’m not a janitor.”
“I bet you wish you were with us and not stuck down in engineering, eh Smudge,” Drag said. “You can take my place if you like.”
“We call you ‘Drag’ because we’ve had to drag your ass everywhere we’ve gone since we found you in that scrap-scow of a station off Shepherd.” Zazzy said the words sweetly, but there was malice behind them. A few of the others expressed agreement with her.
“You mean kidnapped me,” Drag said.
“Shut up, the three of you,” said Vlad.
Drag bowed his head. Of the entire Bulldog crew, only Quilt and Liberty had shown any friendliness towards him. Well, Liberty only uses me for sex, but she treats me like all the rest when we’re not alone. The only reason you guys keep me around is because I’m excellent with math and odds making. I’ve increased your numbers-running profits five-fold, you pirate pieces of dung. Drag gave them all a disdainful look. Glad they can’t see me under this helmet.
Vlad motioned to Homer. “You go first.”
“I got this,” Homer said. Stepping to the edge of the air lock he bent his knees, and pushed forward, launching himself towards the derelict.
They all watched as he floated towards the Lord Selkirk II. Drag held his breath and counted the seconds until he disappeared inside the gaping hole of the hulk. Twelve seconds. The feat presented real dangers. One could rip their suit on the jagged metal of the opening, or smash into a bulkhead or piece of equipment inside. Either way meant death in seconds. He told them he could do it, so do it he must. Do I really have to do this?
“It’s an easy grab on the rails around the engine housing,” Homer said from inside.
“There’s a little static on coms,” said Quilt.
“Probably interference from whatever that rust-coloured substance is,” said Drag. “It doesn’t look natural.”
“Quit worrying,” admonished Vlad. “It’s nothing.” “Critter, you’re next, followed by Zazzy,” Vlad ordered. “Once you get inside head forward to systems control and see if you can get the AR and environmentals working.”
“You got it, mate,” Critter said. The back of Critter’s helmet bore a painted hand with the middle finger raised.
It’s a good thing you’re a great engineer, because you’re such a dick otherwise, Drag thought. I might even admire you if you were nicer, you old thug.
Critter leaped off followed closely by Zazzy. Critter complained the whole way across about Zazzy’s penchant for daredevil antics and that she would get them both killed one day. They reported that they made it in safely and the others began to follow them over.
Drag’s turn. He bent and pushed off like he was told. First salvage mission, here we go. His heart raced. His hands grew clammy, and his legs trembled just a bit. Am I scared or excited? Both, I guess. He floated towards the opening of the other ship. One-thousand-and-on, one-thousand-and-two… He kept counting until he got to one thousand and ten. Is this right? I’ve been out here forever.
Shit! A jagged edge of the opening loomed ahead. He flailed his arms and legs but could not change his vector. I’m going to die! How could I miss such a large opening? All he could do was close his eyes.
“Tuck in, Drag,” said Quilt, heavily accented. “Make self small as can!”
Drag grabbed his knees and tucked his head in. He started tumbling, head over feet. The danger seemed far away with his eyes closed, as if he floated, lost in absolute nothingness. He wanted to stay that way forever.
A tug at his equipment belt shocked him into panic. I’m caught! He held tighter to his cannonball posture. The snag did not hold, but he began rotating sideways as well. I lost count!
A pair of hands grabbed him, and he opened his eyes. Homer had cushioned his impact against the engine housing. Drag’s chest heaved with heavy breaths. Sweat rolled down his forehead into one eye.
“There you go, Drag,” Homer said. “You can stand and activate your mags.”
Drag untucked and activated the magnetic fields of his boots. He found that he did not really need them to keep him grounded. How odd. Homer patted him on the shoulder.
“That was a close one, eh,” Homer said.
He locked gazes with Homer. You saved my life! He tried to say the words aloud, but nothing but air came from his lungs.
“Control you breath, Drag,” Quilt admonished as she landed a few feet away. “It sounds like hurricane over coms to rest of us.”
Drag sucked in some air and held it for a second. He let it out slow and steady. “Freak me. I almost panicked there,” he said at last.
“Almost?” said Homer.
“Leave boy alone,” Quilt said. “He almost had harrowing experience.” She laughed. Others laughed with her but not from amusement, more a release of tension.
Only three years older than me but so much wiser. Of all the crew, you are the only one who treats me with any compassion, but then again, you treat everyone that way. That’s why they call you Quilt. You’re always comforting. He smiled at the memory of Quilt giving him some special comfort in the privacy of her quarters.
Drag took a step, but a hand grabbed his arm.
“No, no,” said Homer. “That way.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “I’m glad you’re good with numbers, kid, ‘cuz you’re terrible with directions.”
“Who are you calling ‘kid’, Homer,”said Drag. “You’re only a year older than I am.” “Anyway, thanks for catching me.”
“I had a moment of weakness,” he said. “Wait, you’re eighteen? I thought you were younger than that.”
Homer adjusted the plasma assault rifle by its strap over his right shoulder. Vlad carried an ancient, bullet firing weapon, the only other armed crewmember.
“What do we need those for?” he asked. “There’s nobody here but us.”
“This is in case one of you scavenger dogs gets the notion to squirrel away some loot for yourselves,” said Homer.
They split into groups directed by Vlad. Homer and he would ascend three levels and rummage through the crew cabins. He ordered Liberty and Drag to descend one level and sack the passenger cabins on that deck while Quilt and Tallywag went up one level to do the same there. He told Sugar and Twitch to head to the bridge and extract any valuable information from the logs and to be ready to override any security protocols they might encounter. Critter and Zazzy already headed for the systems control room to get whatever they could back on line.
Liberty led the way while Drag followed. The steep ladders, designed to save space, widened and their gradient increased once they reached the passenger areas, more like stairs. The farther inward they travelled, the less of the metal-eating rust-like dust they saw, and the less gravitational pull they experienced. Drag scraped a finger across some the dust to examine.
“This stuff must somehow have its own gravity field,” he said.
“Don’t touch that shit,” Liberty said. “Are you nuts? You don’t know what that will do to you. Come on, the first of the cabins is up ahead.”
Drag shook his finger. The dust did not dislodge. He held it hovering over his trouser leg, then over his sleeve. He settled for a cleaner spot on the bulkhead to wipe it off. They reached a door to one of the passenger cabins. Whoever had occupied it had left it open in their hurry to leave. An overturned service cart lay on the floor. Trays, glasses and bottles of champagne scattered across the far wall mixed with the remains of a partially eaten chicken, peas and carrots. Some sort of cream sauce covered it all. A crack ran from one corner of the large flexiplast porthole to another.
“Shouldn’t they be on the floor?” Liberty asked, pointing at the objects.
“I told you, gravity field.” Drag pointed to the bed sheets being tugged by an invisible force towards the same wall. The bed’s pillows lay against the top corner where wall met ceiling.
“That’s freaky,” Liberty said.
“Turning the AR on now, gang,” Critter said over the coms.
The doorway slammed shut, almost hitting them. Drag leaped back and fell to the deck. A stronger downward pull suggested that Critter found the controls to the ship’s artificial gravity.
“What the freak!” Liberty said and punched the closed door.
“Found life support,” Critter said. “Stand away from any hatch that leads to a breach, the automatic safeties will close them to prevent atmosphere leakage.”
“A little late on the warning, you slug,” said Liberty.
***
Aboard the scout ship, Mal twisted the helmet of his EV suit into place. A green seal indicator lit up on the bottom left of the trans-steel face plate.
“Hand me the tool kit, please,” he said.
Trace opened an overhead storage cupboard, extracted the case by its handle and gave it to Mal.
“Fine time to have an itchy nose,” She said, wriggling it insider her suit. Hermes scratched behind an ear. “Lucky you.” Trace ruffled the dogs head.
“We’ll need the exterior lights,” said Mal.
“The floods?”
“No, just the running lights should do. We don’t want anything shining through to give us away.”
Trace switched them on.
They stepped through a narrow hatch into the rear air lock. Mal hit the control to close it off from the rest of the scout ship. He checked through the small window to the main compartment at Hermes. The dog sat, staring at him. His ears pulled back, and head held in a guarded posture. He growled non-stop the whole time Mal and Trace prepared to leave.
“Depressurizing,” said Trace. She touched an icon on a screen. A rush of air denoted the escaping oxygen from the enclosure. The sound faded swiftly, soon replaced by the silence of vacuumed space.
“Coms check,” said Mal.
“Reading. Check two,” responded Trace.
“Reading, aye. We are good to go.”
Trace tapped a different icon on the panel to open the rear, outer hatch. It slid apart in two sections. She carried out the spare antennae array. Two engines of the scout ship flanked the exit with the third overhead, creating a short tunnel. She walked with care down a short ramp to avoid bumping the array against anything.
Trace left the tunnel, turned to starboard to retrieve the maintenance ladder from its storage locker. The cackles on the back of her neck rose. What was that? She turned.
The emaciated body that hit them when they opened the shuttle bay doors stood atop the middle engine exhaust! It jumped and landed between Mal and the tunnel leading to the rear hatch of their ship.
“Look out, Mal,” shouted Trace.
Mal spun. He stumbled backward as the animated corpse reached out for him. He ended on his butt.
Trace dropped the array and hurried to help Mal get back up. It took a lurching step forward. Behind it, through the open outer doors, Hermes stared through the inner hatch’s window. The mummy punched Mal with both hands. The pilot flew off the deck and smashed against the bay doors twenty feet away and ten feet up. The tool kit he carried broke apart, scattering its contents in all directions.
Trace toppled to the deck.
Mal gasped, the wind knocked out of him.
The monster turned and stepped towards the rear door. Hermes’ head vanished, and the outer door closed.
“Good dog,” said Trace.
Mal brought his knees up towards his chest and push them, back down. He repeated the action to force his diaphragm to contract and expand.
“Mal, are you okay?” Trace yelled. “Mal? Answer me!” He started breathing easier. Why is he not sliding down the wall?
The strange sight of Mal ‘laying’ up on the large bay doors perplexed Trace. Some items from his kit rested on the doors around him, some on the deck, the portable Tesla Coil among the latter. Mal ‘stood up’ on the door, perpendicular to the deck. He had to crane his neck to look at her. The running lights from the scout ship cast odd shadows, lending and eerie feel to the scene.
Trace stood still. What do I do? Every nerve in her body tingled with numbness.
“Trace, RUN!” Mal cried.
Trace twisted to get the monster’s bearing. The undead thing reappeared from the tunnel behind her. It raised a stiff arm, grabbing for her. Trace bolted towards an exit hatch leading from the hangar.
Mal ‘ran’ down the bay door.
The man-that-should-be-dead started after Trace. It lurched and lumbered as if not familiar with its own legs.
Trace reached the hatchway and triggered the lock. Nothing happened. “Shit! No power.” She turned her head just enough to see the ugly monstrosity out of the edge of her helmet. It lumbered toward her! She jammed at the hatch controls again. “Come on, come on, come on!”
“Come on, tough guy,” Mal said.
Trace turned around. Mal had grabbed the beast with one hand and spun it to face him. With the other hand, he tossed the Tesla Coil to Trace. She watched it skid to a stop by her feet. She could give power to the hatch controls and open it. Instead, the macabre play entranced her. This is impossible!
The undead thing picked up Mal and held him over its head. Mal screamed uselessly. It threw him across the shuttle bay. Mal landed hard against the bulkhead beside some secured crates. This time he slipped to the deck. Trace could hear his groans through the coms. Her eyes widened as a crack slid across the face plate of Mal’s helmet. He pawed at it a moment, and then reached for his emergency repair kit.
“Help me, Trace,” he gasped.
Trace could not get her legs to move. They shook and threatened to buckle beneath her. She sucked in a shuddering breath and held it. A tear welled and ran down her cheek as the monster lurched for Mal, its lumbering gate getting quicker.
Mal got the sealer out and held it to his mask. The creature knocked his hand away. It picked Mal up by his biceps and planted its mouth against the front of his helmet. Trace heard the creature’s primal, guttural scream through Mal’s coms.
Trace closed her eyes tight as if doing so would shut the sound out. The scream stopped. Trace opened her eyes again. Mal tried to push the monster away, but he was like a child in the grip of a gorilla. The creature let go of one arm. Mal flopped down to that side. It raised a boney hand, fingers extended like claws and drove them through Mal’s helmet and into his skull. One short gush of blood shot out to coat the creature’s sleeve.
“Nooo!”
Hermes’ bark sounded panicked through the coms. The monster snapped its head in her direction.
The lights of the bay sputtered to life.
Trace let out a gasp and turned to look at the hatch. The lock’s lights were on! There’s power! She punched the release again and the hatch opened. Trace fell through. She crawled to her knees and reached up to close the hatch. It shut with an audible thud, just as the monster reached it.
The lights of the corridor came on in rapid succession, as if laying out the route she should take to safety. Trace clambered to her feet. What am I going to do? Oh, Mal, I’m so sorry.
She took a few shaky steps before slumping against one side. She placed an unsteady hand on the wall for support. Stay strong. What the hell just happened? Her knees failed. She slid to the deck. Tears streamed down her face, and her nose dripped upon her lips and chin.
Wait, I heard the door. Why did I hear the door close? She checked the atmospheric sensor on her left wrist. A small green light glowed steady. Oxygen? How?
Hesitantly, she removed her helmet. She jerked in surprise and dropped her helmet as a loud pounding came from the hatch behind her. Another bang. The solid metal hatch bowed inward. Trace scrambled away on hands and feet. Getting her legs under her, she ran down the corridor.
***
Sugar and Twitch made their way up five levels, through the grand ball room decked out like New Year’s Eve, and up two more levels to the bridge. The stale air smelled coppery with a faint burnt odor.
“Not the smallest bridge I’ve seen for a cruise liner,” Sugar said.
There were eight stations in all. Each with its own set of consoles, keyboards and touch screens. The same rust-coloured residue seen throughout the ship spread in patches around the metal bulkheads, deck, ceiling and stations like a creeping fungus.
Sugar’s legs ached. I’m getting too old for this shit. His sixty-five-year-old body had seen a lot of abuse. The constant exposure to freezing temperatures through space suits aged him quicker than he liked.
“Find the science station,” he snapped. Curse this pain!
“Okay, okay,” Twitch said. “Don’t get your wheat in a bundle, eh. The CGC will be open right away.”
“What?”
“The Canadian Grain Commis -? Never mind. I’m on it. Just ‘cuz you’re hurting doesn’t make snapping at me okay.”
“I don’t care, eh,” said Sugar.
Twitch annoyed him at the best of times, but worse when he kept bringing up old references to his homeland. Sugar hailed from the US colony on Simbad. He knew nothing of the earth, especially Canada, and didn’t care to know. Not understanding the references only made his moods more sour.
Twitch rubbed at the fresh bulldog tattoo on the side of his neck. Sugar touched an identical but faded one at the same spot on his own neck.
“Don’t rub it,” Sugar said. “You don’t want it to get infected. Besides, if you rub it off we might mistake you as an outsider and space your ass.”
Sugar placed his helmet on the captain’s chair. He easily identified helm and navigation. Where are the internal sensors and environmental controls? Ah, there they are. “Okay, now where’s the first mate’s console. Need to access the ship’s logs and manifest. The fastest way to loot this tub would be to know where the best stuff’s hidden. Have you seen the -?”
Twitch already pointed to a chair nearby in anticipation of Sugar’s inquiry. A blank computer screen set into the console had the words; “EXO’s Station” labeled across the top.
“Shut up, Twitch.”
“Sugar, have you located the goods yet?” Captain Leary’s voice came through, broken by extreme static.
“Say again, Boss,” Sugar said. “There’s some interference.” The captain did so and that time he could make enough of what was said to understand. “Booting up the manifest now.” He waited while the computer started up, and waited, and then waited some more. “Christ,” he swore, “this is as slow as an XP OS.” The screen lit up. A security query asked for a password “At last.”
Sugar plugged in a blue, portable drive no larger than a pinky finger and hit ‘enter’. The program worked its way past the firewalls and redundancies. A few seconds later the screen came to life with files labeled ‘Ship’s Manifest’, ‘Passenger Manifest’ and ‘Passenger Secured Goods Manifest’.
“Did you hear that?” asked Twitch.
“Hear what?
“Sounded like shuffling,” Twitch said. “Came from below, down the stairs.”
No hatch covered the companionway, only safety rails around it.
“I hear exactly nothing.” He turned his attention back to the computer to filter through a couple of files before finding what he was looking for. “Some of the passengers here were pretty rich. Hey, Liberty, Quilt, concentrate on the cabins in the forward sections.”
“Got it,” replied Quilt and Liberty together.
“Damn, that static’s bad, eh,” complained Twitch.
“Vlad, you’ll never believe it,” Sugar said. His eyes grew wide, a half grin curled his lips.
“What’s that?” asked the first mate.
“They have a store of platinum bars in the Guest Services vault,” Sugar said. “It belongs to the Monsanto Corporation. Check that, it’s ours now.”
A chorus of cheers and joyful comments came over the coms.
“Where’s the vault?” Vlad asked.
“Close to the crew cabins, one deck below and aft of you. I am sending a route.”
“There it is again,” said Twitch.
That time Sugar did hear something. It sounded like someone stepped on a metal catwalk.
Sugar stood erect and faced the direction of the sound. “Is anyone else near the bridge?” No one answered. “Critter, Zazzy, where are you?”
“We’re in systems control down just forward of the engine room. Why?”
“There is someone else aboard with us,” said Sugar. Someone responded, but static made it impossible to understand.
“Deal… them quickly… prejudicially,” said captain Leary.
“Hey, we’re not armed, eh,” said Twitch.
A head of blond, stringy hair crested the stairwell. A reddish, powdery substance creased through it. A dried, husk of a face appeared as whoever it was ascended another step. Boney hands slid up the rails and pulled. Another step up. Sugar backed away. Twitch took a step forward. A woman with shrunken, red-stained skin pulled tight across the bones of her face rose another step. White, glossy eyeballs with no lids gapped at them. Her pulled back lips revealed perfect, pearl-white teeth all the way to deep, dark red gums. She wore a navy-blue jumper. A Lord Selkirk II flight patch displayed on one shoulder, with officer’s rings were sewn on the sleeves and a name tag saying ‘Dartmouth’ over her right breast.
“What the freak?” Twitch said. He charged the woman as she took the last step up to the bridge. He punched her square in the face. Her head snapped back. She righted it, grabbed Twitch by the front of his EV suit and lifted him easily off the deck. Twitch’s head struck the ceiling. A defined ‘crunch’ came from his neck. The woman tossed Twitch’s body aside effortlessly. Sugar backed up, putting the captain’s chair between him and the supernatural creature.
“There’s definitely someone else on board!” Sugar yelled.
Someone responded, but static made it impossible to understand any respone.
The woman ripped the captain’s chair off its swivel. It summersaulted across the bridge and crashed into a station. Sparks flew, blinding Sugar for a moment. He raised an arm to cover his face. The woman grabbed Sugar’s wrist. He tried to pull away. The woman yanked Sugar’s arm. He flipped over, bouncing off the ceiling and landing on the exposed end of the swivel stand where the captain’s chair used to be. The metal pillar punctured his EV suit, through his back and out his chest.
***
From the bridge of the Bulldog, Captain Leary witnessed a series of sparks run the entire exterior of the MCS Lord Selkirk II. It started from the Bridge and jumped fore and aft, running from one rusty patch to the next as it went. Leary stood straight up. A dread feeling sent shivers up and down his spine.
“Vlad,” he called, pushing the call toggle on his command console. Solid static answered him. “Smudge, the interference has become untenable. Give Oliver a shove and tell him to get to fixing it.”
“He’s been trying, Boss,” Oliver said from down in engineering. “He’s just looking at me and shrugging a lot.”
“Damn it!” Leary swore. “Vlad, get off that hulk now. I repeat, abandon the derelict, immediately.” He sat back down. I hope my message got through.
***
“What’s going on? Sugar! What the freak is happening?” Liberty’s calls were answered only by static. She rubbered the dragon tattoos on her shaved head.
She’s nervous. That’s her tell, thought Drag. So am I. He shook his fingers. they still tingled from the electrical sparks that jumped through the room.
Communications had been bad since they entered the derelict. Too much interference. Was that screaming I heard? The message that they were not alone on the ship had come through clear. He closed the cabin’s safe.
“We should go help,” he said.
“We’re the farthest away,” Liberty said. “The others will be there soon.”
“What do we do til then?”
“We continue our job,” Liberty said as she put an ornate gold necklace in her pack.
“I’m going,” Drag said. He left the quest cabin and turn down the hallway.
“Shit,” Liberty said. “Get back here, Drag.” He did not answer. “Hey! I said get back here.” Still Drag did not answer. “Freakin’ kid.” She stepped into the hall, yelped and jumped back.
Drag stood with his arms folded, right beside the door, leaning against the wall. “It’s about time,” he said.
“You scared the carbon out of me!” She got in his face and pointws a finger up to his nose. “If you weren’t so good in the sac, I’d space you right now.”
“If no one is here, then we have all the time in the universe to loot this tug,” Drag said. “If there is, and Sugar needs help, then we should do so. If there’s one on board, then there may be more. We need to find out.”
“You’re right, you drop of sulfide.” She gave Drag a nasty look. “Okay, let’s go.”
Irritation. I’m used to that.
“Vlad, do you read.” She paused for a response. “Vlad, if you can read, we are on our way.”
“Meet… in… casino… top of stairs.”
Liberty punched Drag’s shoulder and started heading forward. “Let’s move. We’ll look for something to use as a weapon as we go.”
“We don’t even know if they’re hostile,” said Drag.
“We’re the hostile ones.”
A security closet at the end of the hallway had been left open. Drag found a four-foot long, heavy claw-tool used for opening stuck doors in emergencies.
“When you have little choice, go low tech,” said Drag, hefting the metal bar.
Liberty took a heavy-duty flashlight and pounded it into her other hand to feel the weight. “This will do in a pinch.”
“Unless whoever may be here has ballistic weapons,” said Drag.
“And you wonder why we call you ‘Drag’.”
“‘Brightside’, that’s me.” He gave her a smile.
She rolled her eyes and moved on.
***
Tracey Enns staggered into a room. Pain wracked her chest as she tried to breath. She put her hands on her knees to rest. I have no weapons, no tools, no training to handle something like this. What in the ‘verse am I going to do?
She took stock of her surroundings. Glass walls separated the room from the corridor. That’s not good. Can’t hide in here. Space-age elliptical machines, treadmills, assault air-runners and functional training machines set at intervals around her depicted the room as a gym. There were no free weights. Freak, no weapons.
It smelled like stale bread covered in mold mixed with human sweat. An office door and a storage room stood at one end, change rooms at the opposite end. She headed for the change rooms. That led to the bathrooms and showers. The rust-coloured powder covered the shower stalls as if it sprayed from the shower heads. The scent grew worse. What the hell is this stuff? Another couple of steps, she froze.
A naked woman lay in one of the shower stalls. Her entire body mummified just like the creature’s face and hands from the shuttle bay. The powdery substance covering her had turned her skin a deep shade of red. The corpse lay half propped against the wall of the stall. Its legs and arms spread eagle. Bile rose in Trace’s mouth.
Sparks leaped across the rust dust from fore to aft. It played across the walls and floors making the body in the shower jerk around like a marionette in the hands of an epileptic puppeteer. Electric charges course through Trace’s body. Not enough to harm her, but enough to leave a terrifying tingling in her hands and feet. The sparks subsided as quick as they started. She steadied herself against a wall, gritting her teeth against the numbness. The woman’s body lay still.
A noise from in the exercise room snapped Trace into motion. She gasped and bolted. The far exit of the showers led to a spa. Frantic to find a place to hide, Trace opened a French latticework door that slid to revealing shelves full of folded white towels and robes. She shut the door behind her and went to the very back of the closet. She pulled everything off the shelves she could reach and sat down. Piling the linens on top of her, she made sure every inch of her was covered.
Trace sat as still as she could. My breathing is too loud. It will hear me. I’m shaking too much. It will see me. She swallowed trying to control her panic until she could take slow, shallow breaths. Her heart pounded. Christ, they can hear that too. She closed her eyes. Calm. Stay calm. The shaking subsided but did not leave her completely.
Great, stupid, now what. I can’t hide here forever. She used a finger to make a small hole she could see out of. Through the latticework of the door, a powder-eaten leg of an EV suit shuffled by. She held her breath. Don’t move, don’t shake. Only her eyeball moved. It worked! It didn’t see me. If I go now, I can double back to the scout ship.
A deep red, bare, mummified leg entered her vision. It stopped just outside the door. Trace’s eyes widened. She shivered as a chill ran through her. Blood rushed to her head. Oh shit, don’t faint. The door broke from its tracks and landed on top of the linen pile.
Trace let out a war cry, grabbed the light door on top of her, jumped from hiding and charged with it as a shield. She crashed into the monster from the shower. Both bowled over with Trace landing on top. The creature tried to grab her but the door between them blocked the way.
The monster from the shuttle bay snap-turned at the noise. Trace jumped up and sprinted back through exercise room.
***
Drag and Liberty climbed several decks. They ran down a long, wide corridor, past opposing dining rooms with transparent walls. Partially eaten meals set on some of the tables remained. The rust-coloured dust powdered both areas, covering the tables, chairs and deck. It crept towards anything made of metal but concentrated on organic matter. A coppery scent lingered.
The end of that corridor opened into a spacious casino. The ceiling extended up past the next two decks. Double, curved staircases swept upward at the far end. Electronic blackjack tables centered the chamber. Tables for other card games circled those. Ringing the outside of the casino were dozens of video lottery games.
Vlad and Homer stood at the very top of the stairs. Homer slouched against the rail. Vlad waved them forward.
Liberty took up a brisk walk. Drag had to hurry to stay close to her. He stopped among the blackjack tables. Casino chips lined the dealer trays and more rested in play areas waiting for the next card. He picked up a chip. A red, stylized ring at the outer edge coloured the otherwise black piece. It’s digital display showed it to be worth a hundred Earth-coin.
“Hey, one for my collection.” He opened a Velcro pocket cover and placed the chip inside.
Homer jerked upright, aiming his plasma assault rifle somewhere to Drag’s right.
“Look out!” he yelled.
Drag’s bladder weaken. He spun, raising the claw-tool in a defensive stance. Nothing there. Homer started laughing.
“You freaking asshole!” Liberty said. She had also taken a defensive posture. Relaxing that, she picked up a tray and flung it at Homer. He was too high up for the projectile to reach even half way.
Homer laughed so hard he nearly toppled down the stairs. He caught himself on the rail, continuing to guffaw. Liberty stormed the stairs. She pointed at Homer using the long flashlight. “I’m going to shove this thing down your piss hole!”
“Enough,” said Vlad. His tone held warning, but his smile remained. “Get your asses up here.”
Drag and Liberty reached them. Liberty walked past Homer glaring at him, danger in her eyes, but she did nothing else. Drag hid one end of the claw tool under an arm and gave him a light butt end as he walked by.
“Oaf!” Homer doubled over slightly but maintained an amused grin.
“The three of you get to the bridge and see what’s going on up there,” ordered Vlad.
“What are you going to do?” asked Liberty.
“I’m going to break into the vault,” he said, holding up a large tablet. “I’m going to try that new intruder program you wrote, Drag. It had better work, or I’ll plug it into your ear, deep.”
“It’ll work,” Drag said. “I don’t make coding errors.”
“Have you seen Quilt and Tallywag?” Liberty asked.
“No,” said Vlad. “They must not have heard anything over this freaking static.”
“Give me that rifle,” Liberty said, nodding at the weapon over Vlad’s shoulder.
“You don’t need it,” said Vlad. “Homer has one.”
“What if we run into trouble up there?” asked Liberty. “We’ll need all the fire power we can get.”
Vlad stepped close to Liberty. He had six inches on her and peered down, putting his large, hawk nose an inch from her forehead. Liberty bowed her head and did not meet his gaze. “Look,” he said crisply, “you do not give the orders here. If I say you don’t need it, I freaking mean No!” Spittle escaped his lips as he said, “Now move!”
Even though Vlad did not direct his outrage at him, Drag still had to swallow a lump that formed in his throat. This is not going well at all.
***
Tracy Enns ran on. She had gone through many doors, taken at least three staircases, a ladder and a companionway. She clutched her chest and stopped, breathing hard. A strong smell of fermented wheat assailed the air. Around her small tables and cozy chairs surrounded a dance floor in low-light ambiance. A shiny black grand piano sat in one corner on a low stage opposite a compact bar. The shelves behind the bar were empty but for some broken bottles. Puddles of alcohol and glass fragments lay everywhere.
Where am I? The piano bar, yes, but where is that? I’ll just rest a bit. Listening carefully for any sounds of pursuit, Trace sat down, her elbows on her knees at a round, table for four. I Hope Hermes is all right.
Something caught her eye, a map on the wall next to an exit. The kind of map every vessel had that showed passengers and crew where to go in case of emergencies.
Trace moved to it and tried to pry it off the wall. Her thick gloves got in the way, so she removed them, letting them fall to the deck. Still, she could not get the plaque off its mounts. Swearing, she settled for trying to memorize it. Using a claw-like movement with her hand, the map on the plaque expanded out into a 3-D image. It showed only three decks. I’m sure there’s more than that. This will have to do. She traced a route that would take her back in the direction of the shuttle bay.
There were no signs of the rust-coloured powder anywhere in the lounge. What is keeping it out of here? Is it the smell? Something else? She went behind the bar and tossed around in the cabinets underneath. Finding an intact bottle of Crown Royal and she smiled. Something from home. That’s a good sign. She took the bottle and a bar rag with her as she left.
***
Homer led the way up the companionway to the bridge.
“Holy shit.”
“What is it?” Liberty asked “What -? Christ!”
Drag ascended the last step behind them. “Holy freak!”
Sugar’s torso suspended two feet off the deck by a thick, round metal column, the top of which protruded from his chest. A wide pool of blood spread out around the base of the column. The reddish powder surrounded the blood and grew on top of it. Twitch lay atop a set of control consoles, his head resting at an impossible angle.
Drag tasted bile. At first he tried to swallow it, but his gag reflex triggered, and he doubled over to spew his lunch. Between retches, he lifted his head. Liberty checked Twitch’s pulse. Retch! Homer stared at him, his lips forming a tight line and a hard look in his eyes. Retch!
“Great, something else for you guys to freak on me about,” Drag said. He spit out the last of the puke and straightened.
“Never mind that,” said Liberty. “Get on ship’s communications and see if you can get through to the Bulldog. We have to get the hell out of this shit.”
“Screw that,” said Homer. “We have to find who did this and melt his ass.” He hefted the plasma rifle.
“Okay,” said Liberty, “but Leary has to know what’s going on.”
“Right,” Homer said.
“Where’s communications?” asked Drag.
Liberty grabbed a fistful of Twitch’s EV suit and pulled him off the console. His body thudded to the floor. “Right here,” she said.
Drag brushed away some of the rust powder from the controls. He picked up the head set, blowing it dust free as well, before holding it to an ear. His hands shook. He switched immediately to a broad-band setting.
“Bulldog, Bulldog, this is Drag.” Static met his ear. “Nothing,” he told the others. Homer stood by a closed door on the port-aft side of the bridge. Liberty stood guard at the top of the companionway.
“Boost it,” said Liberty.
Drag took out a small, flat device and set in on top of the coms panel. He pressed a rectangular button at one edge, and it came to life. Tapping some icons on the device to sync it with the Selkirk’s systems. Green letters saying ‘READY’ lit up a moment later. Then Drag chose the power-boost icon.
Sparks arched over the console. Drag fell back, jerking from the shock. Electricity jumped around the bridge traveling from station to station. Red powder puffed into the air as each patch of it charged with ions. A coppery scent of death overlaid any other smell.
“What did you do?” Homer asked. He coughed several times from inhaling the dust and waved at the cloud of powder in front of him. The door behind him slid apart. Homer spun around. A woman wearing a crewman’s uniform stood there, her face sunken and drawn tight as if she had just stepped out of a thousand-year-old sarcophagus. Her teeth shone in a lipless grin.
Homer raised his weapon. The woman caught it in one hand. Her other snapped up to clutch Homer’s throat. He gagged and triggered his weapon. A ping-pong sized ball of glowing, crackling energy shot out, exploding a small hole in the ceiling. The mummy squeezed her fingers together. Blood spurted from Homer’s throat. It yanked its hand away, taking the man’s windpipe and chunk of flesh. The monster threw the Homer across the bridge.
Liberty ducked to avoid being hit. Homer’s weapon rattled against the rail of the companionway and dropped over. He made a gargle sound as he clutched his throat, terror gripping his visage.
Drag got to his feet,cast around for the claw-tool. It lay on a console to his right. He and Liberty exchanged glances, her eyes as wide as golf balls. She turned and ran down the companionway.
The monster started towards Drag. Blood dripped from the creature’s hand.
Homer gargled his last.
“Freak you, Liberty!” Drag screamed. She left me!
Snatching up the claw-tool and charged the monster and swung it with all the might he could muster. The claw end imbedded into the creature’s side and stuck there. The monster did not react to the wound. It didn’t even look at it. Instead, it flung Drag backwards through the air. He landed on his ass back at the communications station. Pain shot through his lower back. The monster plucked the claw-tool out of its side and let it fall to the deck. Its lidless gaze never wavering from Drag.
Drag reached up for the console. I hope it still works. He stabbed the icon for ship-wide speakers. The monster reached him. He swiped a finger across the screen for a new set of icons. The monster grabbed the back of his neck. He touched the emergency evacuation icon. The monster lifted him up. Drag’s feet left the floor. The monster held him above her head. The lights around the bridge turned to red. Speakers began blaring an automated ‘abandon ship’ warning in English.
A burst of energy erupted from the monster’s stomach and blew into a monitor. The monster dropped Drag. He scurried away. Through a gaping hole in the creature’s mid-section, Drag could see Liberty crested at the top of the companionway, pointing the plasma assault rifle at the monster.
The creature turned to face Liberty. She fired again, this time aiming higher. The monster’s head blew apart in a spray of red-black dust and flopped to the deck. It did not move again.
Liberty and Drag locked gazes. “You thought you were going to die, didn’t you?” said Liberty.
Drag nodded his head with vigor.
“Well, that’s done. Turn that off,” Liberty said, pointing to the coms station.
“There may be more,” Drag said, getting his feet under him again.
Homer, Twitch and Sugar lay dead. He rubbed the back of his neck where the monster’s grip had been.
“You’re right,” said Liberty. “We need more weapons.”
Drag’s helmet had come loose from the strap on his suit’s belt. It lay under one of the other stations. “This is not good,” he said, retrieving it. “This is not good at all.”
They ran down the companionway and passed through the captain’s reception lounge, it too bathed in red light. A ‘ding’ and a green light came to life above the elevator. Liberty took up a kneeled firing position and aimed towards the elevator doors. Drag ran to stand to one side of the lift and hefted his helmet like a weapon.
The doors opened. A man with a dead left eye stepped out, followed by a woman with a spiked, purple, green and yellow mohawk. Drag swung the helmet and hit Tallywag in the face.
Liberty lowered the rifle.
“Wait, it’s us!” shouted Quilt. She held her hands in front of her.
“What the freak, dude,” said Tallywag. Blood ran from his nose. It had a bend to one side that wasn’t there before.
Drag let his breath out. “Sorry,” he said.
“What we doing,” asked Quilt.
“We’re leaving,” said Liberty. “Have you seen anyone else?”
“Critter and Zazzy heading for Bulldog,” Quilt said. What happened? What’s with all running and screaming?”
“There’s something else on board,” said Drag.
“Sugar, Twitch and Homer are dead,” added Liberty.
“Der’mo na lozhke,” Quilt said in Russian, letting it out in a slow breath. She drew a long-bladed knife from a sheath at her belt.
Liberty pointed at it. “That won’t do anything,” she said, shaking her head.
***
Vlad held up the large tablet to the heavy vault door and pressed a button on one side. Four pads on the back of the tablet magnetized and it jumped from Vlad’s hand to stick to the metal. He worked the touch screen until an x-ray display showed the lock inside. The tablet already working to sync with the vault’s key pad to overcome the security code.
The vault was a Sumatran Guild model XS-1470. Not the most sophisticated Vlad had ever hacked, but it still presented challenges. It sported both a digital security code as well as an old-fashioned tumbler mechanism, rarely seen in today’s day and age. He sneered. Humph, Monsanto platinum in a Sumatran vault. How ironic. They’re bitter rivals.
He worked at the mechanical lock using the tablet to see the tumblers while the override program worked on the fourteen-digit locking code. In less than a minute he had it open. Metal wire shelving supporting row on row of stacked platinum bars. A broad smile played across his face, and he rubbed his hands together with a loud slap.
“Vlad to Bulldog,” he said, bringing the wire microphone of his suit closer to his mouth. Nothing came back but static. “Vlad, to Bulldog,” he repeated. Freaking coms. “Vlad, to Zazzy.” Nothing. “Vlad to Sugar.” Still nothing. “Shit.”
Something sped by the open door to the Guest Services office. Vlad swung up his assault rifle by its strap and ran out of the vault. In the hallway he stopped, raised his rifle and fired a single shot at the bulkhead just above the head of a stranger running away from him.
“Stop right there!” he shouted.
The person stopped, raised her hands and turned around. It was a woman, and she was wearing a Canadian Stellar Services uniform the rank of ensign sewn on the epaulettes.
“What the freak are you doing way out here?” he asked.
All the lights everywhere turned red. Loud speakers blared out ‘abandon ship’, and then ‘please move to the nearest escape pods or life boats in your area’.
***
Trace used an elevator to go up one level. The doors opened onto the Guest Services level. She ran down the hallway past three open and four closed doors to a set of stairs at the far end leading down she hoped would lead to an escape. A deafening bang erupted behind her, and something smacked into the wall just above her head.
“Stop right there,” a booming voice said behind her.
She halted, raised her hands and turned around. A large man with a mean expression and a hawk nose pointed an old-style assault rifle at her. The tattoo of a growling bulldog displayed prominently on the left side of his neck. He’s one of the pirates!
“What the freak are you doing way out here?” he asked.
The hallway lights blinked and turned to red. A resounding computerized voice said, ‘abandon ship, please move to the nearest escape pods or life boats in your area’. It repeated the message in a different language. Sounds like Hissan. The man with the rifle looked up at the speakers. The barrel of the rifle lowered for just a second. Trace bolted for the stairs.
Shots rang out behind her. Bullets hit the slanted ceiling above her. One grazed the fabric of her right shoulder. She descended the steps three at a time, jumping the last several to land and roll on the deck below. Her momentum brought her back to her feet and she continued at a full sprint.
Pounding footsteps followed her. More bullets slammed into the walls just as she darted down another corridor to her right. A sharp curse cracked the air. The footsteps came on. Trace jumped and slid down the rails of a ladder, hit the deck below and kept on going.
Coming to a four-way intersection, she stopped. Which way? The sounds of following steps fainter but growing in volume. She pointed left. Forward. She pointed right. Aft. She ran right.
“Come back here, you little bitch,” the man chasing her yelled, his voice distant.
Hiding around another corner, Trace stopped to listen, her back tight against the wall. The perusing footfalls stopped. The loud warnings of ‘abandon ship’ made it difficult to hear over, but she made out his call for someone named Zazzy. The man cursed again when he received no response. Trace held her breath. Go left, go left, go left, she willed.
The pirate started running again. The footsteps moved away from her. When Trace could no longer hear the man’s boots slapping on the metal deck. She let her breath out, pushed from the wall and ran on.
The builders had placed an emergency deck map recessed into a bulkhead by every stairway or ladder. Tracy stopped at each one to check her progress. She stopped in front of a room labeled ‘Fuel Cell Storage’. The shuttle bay is close. She stood in a long corridor. Red warning lights blinked on and off. The automated message continued, cycling through four major IIC languages.
I’m not leaving those monsters alive, she thought, nor those pirates for that matter.
She keyed open the door and stepped inside. Most of the individual storage compartments lay empty, but she found five, 18-inch diameter, 8-inch wide, disk-like fuel cells still there. Trace took one out and laid it on the deck. She then unscrewed the cap of the Crown Royal and stuffed the rag part way into it. She used the small plasma cutter from her utility belt to ignite the cloth.
That should give me about thirty seconds before it blows. She exited the room and smashed her Molotov cocktail against the fuel cell on the floor. She closed the door and was about to run for her scout ship and safety when bullets stitched a ragged pattern on the bulkhead beside her.
“Stop!”
Trace froze.
“Turn around!”
She did so. The hawk-nosed man walked briskly towards her, assault rifle aimed at her torso. Trace took a few steps backwards, away from the fuel cell chamber.
“I said, stop!” the pirate bellowed again.
Four people emerged from one of the side passages between Trace and Hawknose. A woman with dragon tattoos covering her shaved head, a young man, dark skinned and handsome, another woman with a spiked, colourful mohawk and a younger man with a dead left eye. All of them had the same prominent tattoo of a snarling bulldog on their necks. Dragon-tats carried a plasma assault rifle.
“Who are you shouting at?” asked Dragon-tats.
“A freaking CSS officer,” the big man said as he continued to stride towards Trace. He never took his eyes off her even as he walked past the new arrivals.
“Holy shit,” said Mohawk in a heavy Russian accent. “A Canadian Stellar Services Office? Look at that.”
Mohawk and dead-eye ran up to Tracy. Each grabbed an arm. The man with the assault rifle stopped just short of the fuel cell store room.
“Liberty,” said Hawk-nose, “see if there are any more of them.”
“You got it, Vlad,” said the woman with the plasma rifle. She walked past them all and checked down a set of corridors at an intersection farther along. The handsome one stood a few feet behind Vlad.
“Are there any more of you,” demanded Vlad.
Trace shook her head.
“What’s that smell?” asked, Dead-eye.
“I don’t know Tallywag,” sneered Vlad. “Why don’t you find out.”
“Fine,” he said. “Drag, come here and hold her.” The young man behind Vlad came around and took Trace’s arm from Dead-eye, who approached the storage room.
“Tallywag,” Trace asked. “Drag? You people have stupid names.”
“Shut up,” said Mohawk, holding Trace’s other arm. She gave it a jerk.
Trace stared at her. “What’s your name? Bitchy MacBitcherson?”
A red-skinned, naked woman entered the corridor from the same direction Trace and Vlad had come from.
“Behind you, Vlad!” yelled Drag.
The creature let out a bone-shaking screech and ran at them. Her speed surprised them.
Vlad turned. “What the freak is that?” He fired his weapon. The full burst hit the woman in its torso. The creature’s charge did not slow. The monster impacted against Vlad and they both toppled to the deck.
The smell of burning metal wafted out of the storage room. Trace grunted, pulling her arms hard. She jerked free of both and fell to the deck. She rolled over, covering her head.
Tallywag stood right in front of the storage room door when the explosion engulfed him. Metal shards ripped him apart. The blast knocked everyone down. Fire blew into the corridor. Mohawk’s hair singed away. The explosion flung Drag against the far wall. Flames ignited the creature and Vlad. The latter rolled around screaming, the creature stood up, un-phased. The fire licked and dance over its body. Instead of burning, the creature grew. Its body thickened, the rust-coloured powder covering it came alive, feeding off the fire, strengthening and expanding.
Trace pushed herself to her feet and ran towards liberty farther down the corridor. Drag ran close behind. She pointed to the flaming monster.
“That’s the real enemy,” she yelled.
“I know,” said Liberty. She raised the plasma rifle at the monster. “Quilt, get out of the way!”
Trace did not stay around to see what happened. She ran as fast as her EV suit would let her. She skidded to a stop past a side corridor. My helmet is down there! This is the way I came! Shouts and plasma fire rang out behind her.
Another explosion rocked the ship. Trace fell to her hands and knees. One of the other fuel cells going up. She got back up.
The monster she and Mal first encounter blocked the shuttle bay entrance in the corridor. A bent and broken hatch cover lay on the deck near it. She spun around to escape back the way she had come. A third explosion rocked the ship and sent wave of flame past the corridor’s entrance. Trace stopped, her preferred path no longer safe either.
The monster started forward. Something appeared in the doorway behind it. On all fours, stood a cinnamon-coloured Labrador retriever. Hermes barked and barked. The cackles of his neck stood straight, his teeth bared with vicious intent.
“No, Hermes, don’t,” yelled Trace. The blood drained from her face. “No, Hermes, don’t die, please.” Tears streamed down both cheeks.
The monster turned on Hermes. The dog disappeared into the hanger. The monster pursued him. Trace jumped to her feet and ran after them. A fourth explosion sent her reeling into the side of the corridor. She staggered a few steps, then continued.
In the shuttle bay, the monster ripped metal shipping crates from their securing moors, looking for the dog. Mal lay dead against the wall beside them. A clear path to the scout ship lay clear. Trace bolted for it. She reached the rear of the ship and the open air lock.
“Come on, Hermes!” she yelled. “Let’s go, boy!” She left the door open as she entered and dashed to the cockpit. Three pirates enter the shuttle bay, the ones called Liberty, Drag and Quilt. Drag aided Quilt who limped badly. The plasma rifle had been lost somewhere along the way.
“Hurry up, Hermes,” she urged, though not loud enough for anyone to hear. She could not see the monster or the dog.
Drag saw Trace through the window of the cockpit. Trace pointed with exaggeration towards the crates stacked at the side of the hangar. Drag turned his head and his eyes grew wide. He said something to Liberty who glanced that was as well. Their speed towards the scout ship increased.
Ignoring all checks and safety procedures, Trace started the engines. They roared to humming life. She rose out of the pilot’s chair and leaned as far forward as she could to see out of the window to the side.
Hermes scooted from behind the last stack of crates and bound fast for the rear of the scout ship. He bolted pass the pirates and kept going. An explosion erupted through the shuttle bay wall. Crates and metal debris flew inward. Shrapnel struck the side of the scout ship. One piece cracked the windshield.
Trace turned on the monitors and called up the view from the starboard camera. Liberty had taken damage to her left leg and was hobbling. Noise behind her made Trace turn. Hermes came through the air lock. She turned back and punched the hatches closed.
The rear door cameras showed Drag supporting Quilt and yelling at the air lock doors. A look of utter terror on their faces. Liberty came around the engine exhaust into view.
“Damn it,” Trace yelled. She opened the doors again. “Hurry!”
Drag, threw Quilt over his shoulder and stepped into the outer section of the lock. Hermes pawed the controls next to it and the inner door slammed shut.
The monster grabbed Liberty from behind and yanked her away. Trace froze, her finger poised over the command to shut the outer hatch. The monster picked Liberty up by her head. It jerked one way, then the other and Liberty’s head came off. Blood spurt over everything.
Trace closed the hatch. Remembering the monster’s strength, she gunned up the thrusters. The scout ship rose off the deck, spinning around wild. The tail of the ship ripped out a chunk of bulkhead.
“The door!” yelled Drag from the air lock’s coms.
Trace did not know which door he meant. She leaned over to the navigator’s stations and ordered the bay doors to open. Klaxons sounded. Another explosion ripped through the bay. Fire enveloped the scout ship. The huge doors cracked open. Pressurized air rushed out. Anything not secure sucked out as well. Mal and Liberty’s bodies, the monster, still holding Liberty’s head zipped into space. Crates smashed against the doors and then pushed through as they opened wider. The flames blew out.
The scout ship jolted as the vacuum sucked it against the widening bay doors. Metal scarped along the outer hull and reverberated throughout the vessel. Trace stared wide-eyed as the crack in the windshield spread farther across. Two successive explosions sent fire and debris out past the scout ship.
Trace employed counter-thrusters to back away from the doors. She did not wait until they were fully open before punching the forward thrusters. The scout ship lurched towards space. The remaining portion of the top sensor array smashed into the edge of the upper door and broke off.
Clear of the derelict, the windshield groaned as the crack widened. Trace held her breath. Hermes whined. A moment more and either the self-sealing nanites will do their job, or the window will blow out completely and kill us all. She glanced back at the rear air-lock. Drag and Quilt stared in horror at the windshield, holding their breath.
The cracks in the windshield grew smaller. It sounded like walking on crisp snow as the nanites in the Kleesteel glass acted first. Trace let out her breath. Hermes’ tail wagged.
She checked the rear exterior viewer. The pirate ship Bulldog, already moved slowly away from the Lord Selkirk II. Explosions erupted all over the old cruise liner. With one final flash of brilliant light, it winked out of existence.
A concussive wave slammed into the pirate ship. It collided with an asteroid twice as big as the Bulldog. The asteroid blocked any vantage of the damage it sustained.
Tracy Enns piloted the scout ship out of the asteroid field and set a course back to her fleet.
Hermes let out a soft whine. The dog regarded her with sad eyes. He turned his head towards the aft of the vessel.
Drag and Quilt staring out the inner air-lock window, their faces masks of relief and fear.
*** The End ***