Derelict: Tomb (Derelict Saga Book 2) Read online

  The sound of it in his mind nearly made him jump. Six minutes. “Fuck the magnetics,” he said aloud. He disengaged the boots, and pumped his knees slightly. He rose half a meter above the deck before firing a thruster to stop his momentum. Once stable, Dickerson hit the rear suit thrusters.

  He flew through the bay toward the rear at a meter per second, fighting the urge to swing his head and look at the shadows he saw in his peripheral vision. If he missed an O2 station because he was too busy jumping at things that weren’t there, they were probably all going to die. He moved down the wall, his suit illuminating a 2-meter-tall, 2-meter-wide square. More chinks in the walls. More strange markings. More--

  “Yahoo!” he yelled aloud. He hit the thrusters to slow his momentum, placed a mag-glove on the wall, and came to a lurching stop before a tank embedded in the steel. The half cylinder stuck out 1/4 meter from the wall itself. His lights reflected off photo-sensitive paint that said “Emergency O2.”

  Grinning, he lowered himself using his gloves until his boots struck the floor. He engaged the magnetics and walked around to the front of the tank. The nozzles of three retractable pressure hoses protruded from the wall. He bent his knees and shined his lights across the panel above the station. Without ship power, the status display was dead.

  Dickerson pressed a button on the panel and a handle slid out. He clutched the handle and began to crank the manual generator. After five turns, a yellow light came to life. “That’s right, baby,” he said to himself. “Drink in the juice.” The display flickered, the screen’s background switching between deep black and a wan amber hue. He continued rotating the crank. No flickers now; the display had turned a deep solid amber. A status bar appeared at the bottom of the screen, the indicator at 75%. Four more cranks, and the bar filled. The screen flashed once and the status lights turned green.

  He let his hand off the crank, stowed it, and stared at the display. “10K Liters Available.”

  “Yahoo!” he yelled inside his helmet. That was enough atmosphere to keep the four of them alive for days. Hell, they might even be able to refill the shuttle. He’d little doubt they would find other reserve stations around the bay, let alone Mira herself. Assuming even half of them worked, the four of them could survive for weeks.

  He pulled one of the nozzles from the wall, opened a flap on the suit’s arm, and plugged the nozzle into the suit. Ready for O2, his HUD announced. Fingers crossed on his free hand, he pressed the “FILL” button on the display.

  The atmosphere gauge on his suit went from red to green in a matter of seconds. That could be poison you just filled your tanks with, a voice said in his mind. Dickerson’s skin popped with gooseflesh. He hesitated, his last breath of air still in his lungs. The little voice had sounded like a terrified child, afraid of what lay outside the housing hatch. He grunted. If it is, he thought, we’re all dead anyway. He forced the air from his lungs and took a deep breath.

  The air tasted anti-septic, more like air from Trident Station than that of S&R Black. His heart thumped rapidly as he waited to see if he simply keeled over and died. Nothing happened. His heart slowed. He took in another pull of air, repeated, and finally began to breathe normally.

  You just saved everybody, he thought to himself. At least for now. He turned around in a slow circle, his suit lights penetrating the shadows for a few meters. Besides the gleam of another shuttle further down the bay, and a few unsecured tools, there wasn’t much to see.

  Corporal, he said through the block. Still there?

  Still here, Kali said. Any luck?

  Yes, ma’am. About forty meters down from the shuttle. We have an O2 refill station.

  Excellent, she said. Does it--?

  Aye, Corporal. I just topped off my tanks. I can come back and relieve you so you can do the same.

  For a moment, there was no response. Dickerson then realized the problem. They had to find a way to get Elliott and Carb to the station and not just Kalimura. Elliott was in the worst shape. But could they move him without killing him?

  All right, Dickerson. Come on back. Carb and I are getting Elliott ready.

  Aye, Corporal. Dickerson took another deep breath before patting the oxygen station. “See you in a few,” he said to it.

  Now that he had O2 in the tanks, there was no reason to disengage the mag-boots and float along the wall at a dangerous clip. No, fuck that, he was walking. He refocused his suit-lights, eschewing the diffuse, broad illumination. The shadows immediately tightened around him, but they didn’t bother him as much now. They had a safe path from the shuttle to the station and that’s what mattered.

  Everything else on the ship was dead. Mira had no power and had been in a deep freeze for Christ knew how long. Even if any of the ship’s personnel had managed to make it into stasis, he doubted the redundancy systems would have been able to survive the estimated 43 years since Mira... Since Mira what?

  The engineering decks were in ruins. The ship had strange perforations, melted metal, those damned pinecone things, and other types of damage that should have blown her to pieces. The idea of any of the crew surviving all of that was laughable. But still. The ship was here. They simply had to explore her.

  But not now, he thought. Gotta get Elliott and Carb back to Black.

  Chapter Three

  The cargo bay aboard S&R Black bristled with activity. The Sol Federation Marine Corps (SFMC) vessel was on the move, its remaining z-g marines suiting up to get Mira fitted with a tow harness. Gunny Cartwright yelled commands while he ticked off a list of supplies on a holo-sheet.

  In a few hours, a Kuiper Belt Object (KBO) larger than the 1km derelict ship they were supposed to tow back to Neptune, would enter the area. There was only a slight chance of a collision, but Dunn, captain of the S&R Black, wasn’t willing to take that risk. Not with one of his squads seemingly trapped aboard the floating hulk.

  Lieutenant Taulbee watched Gunny’s squad, three privates and a PFC, scramble to load the towing harness aboard the remaining z-g skiff. LCpl Wendt, injured during the refuel mission at Pluto and therefore not with Kalimura’s squad when they crashed on Mira, helped the newbies load up. Gunny yelled at him most of all and Taulbee knew why. Wendt’s carelessness at Pluto might have cost Kalimura’s squad their lives. There was no way to tell if having an extra marine aboard their skiff would have saved them from a crash. From the look on Wendt’s face, no one knew that fact better than him.

  Taulbee walked to the SV-52. The SFMC support vehicle had already been refueled and resupplied. He connected his block, a cybernetic implant, to the ‘52’s computer and requested a status report. His block lit up with information regarding oxygen reserves, weaponry, installed survival gear, and fuel. The ‘52 was ready. All he had to do was jump in the cockpit, open the bay doors, and fly her out into the darkness of space.

  His flight suit itched against his skin and he felt naked without his helmet. He needed to get out there, fly to the bow, and see if he could find any trace of Kalimura’s squad. But first, they had to halt Mira’s end over end spin and get the craft out of harm’s way. As soon as Gunny’s squad was ready with their gear, the captain would give the order to open the bay, and Taulbee could get back out into space.

  They’d been out of communication with Kalimura’s squad for nearly forty minutes. In that amount of time, the missing marines could have run out of oxygen, or bled out. He only hoped they managed to find a safe space aboard Mira where they could find O2 and emergency medical packs. If not, then Taulbee could only hope to retrieve the bodies. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

  Laughable, really, for marines like Dickerson and Carbonaro, who had both survived the rebellion on Mars as well as the satellite wars, to perish aboard a ghost ship rather than being shot by an enemy. Out here in deep space, Mira was their enemy as well as their goal. If his four marines had died for this useless hunk of metal, he’d never forgive the colonel for sending S&R Black here in the first place.

  Gunny wa
s talking with Wendt in a low voice. The remaining Ray, little more than a flying brick, would ferry Gunny’s squad over to the unpowered vessel while bringing the tow harness along for the ride. Adding Wendt to Gunny’s squad meant he’d have five marines, including himself, to place the harness on Mira. They could do it, but it would take a while. Add in the fact that besides Wendt, the most senior member of the fireteams, was a PFC, and it complicated matters considerably.

  Taulbee thought that in the best case scenario, Gunny’s squad would suffer at least one casualty. He didn’t want to consider the worst case. Not that any of it mattered. Until Mira was stable, they’d no idea if they could even rig up the tow harness.

  Gunny finished with Wendt and turned to face Taulbee. The man’s stony face regarded him without emotion. “Lieutenant? We have the supplies aboard and the harness is ready.”

  “Good job, Gunny.” He initiated a comms connection to S&R Black’s bridge. “Captain, this is Taulbee.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Gunny’s squad is ready. My ‘52 is ready. We are a go for egress.”

  “Acknowledged, Lieutenant.” Captain Dunn’s voice held no emotion, although Taulbee knew his commanding officer was just as stressed out as he was. “We’ll open the bay doors as soon as you give the all clear. Oakes has finished moving Black far enough away from Mira to begin stabilizing her.” The captain paused. “As soon as that bay opens, I want you to begin your flight plan. Gunny’s squad stays in the bay until we have Mira stabilized.”

  “Aye, sir. That’s the plan,” Taulbee said.

  “Good. Let’s do this.”

  “Acknowledged, sir.” He cut the comms. “Marines!” he yelled.

  Conversation in the bay immediately died. Gunny and his squad of non-rates had all turned to face him, their bodies rigid and at parade rest. He couldn’t help but smile despite the churning in his stomach.

  “It’s time to get kitted out. Helmets on, final pressure check on the suits, and then it’s hurry up and wait.” He jerked a thumb to the bay doors. “After the bay opens, I’ll be taking the ‘52 out. A few minutes after that, Black and Oakes will fire the thrusters aboard Mira. If she stabilizes properly, then Gunny will fly you to the ship. Understood?”

  “Aye, sir!” the marines yelled.

  “Gunny has already told you this,” he continued, “but I want to make sure it sticks. We can’t afford any mistakes out there. Mistakes happen, marines die. And I want every one of you back aboard S&R Black once this is finished, alive and safe. Understood?”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “Good.” Taulbee forced a grin. “Good hunting, marines.”

  “Hoo-ha Black!” they yelled.

  “Gunny? Let’s make it happen.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Taulbee felt he should say something else, but stopped himself. He wanted to tell them to hurry the fuck up so they could help with the search for Kalimura’s squad, but saying so was unnecessary and dangerous. If the marines were thinking about their comrades rather than their jobs, someone else would undoubtedly get hurt. Either that, or they’d place the harness wrong and possibly kill everyone.

  He spun on his heel, donned his helmet, and climbed into the SV-52 support vehicle. The moment he closed the cockpit, the controls lit up and his HUD glowed with readouts. He ran one last diagnostic check, settled his hands on the controls, and activated the comms. “Taulbee ready.”

  “Acknowledged,” Dunn said. “Gunny?”

  The lower left-hand portion of Taulbee’s HUD displayed a video feed of the remaining skiff. Gunny sat in the command chair, Wendt manning the gun. “Ready, sir.”

  “Opening bay doors,” Oakes said over the comms.

  The SV-52 shuddered as the large cargo bay doors slid aside and the remaining atmosphere jetted into space. Oakes had moved S&R Black more than half a kilometer away from Mira, but the giant ghost ship still filled his vision. From this distance, it was difficult to make out the damage to the hull and the superstructure. He only wished they’d stayed this far away from it to begin with.

  “Taulbee, you’re a go for launch,” Oakes said.

  “Acknowledged. Launching now.”

  “Good hunting,” the captain said.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said and demagnetized the craft. The ‘52 trembled slightly and Taulbee hit the throttle. The support vehicle leaped from the cargo bay and into space at 5m/s. Once he was far enough away from S&R Black, he cut the forward momentum and fired the hull thrusters. The SV-52 rose above S&R Black, the ship rapidly diminishing in the view from his hull cameras. At one hundred meters, he froze his position and floated above the ship, the ‘52 matching its orbit.

  “Taulbee. I’m in position, over.”

  “Acknowledged,” Oakes said.

  Mira slowly tumbled end over end through space. The bow was coming around now and soon would be in his sights. Taulbee focused the cameras on the bow’s port side as it drifted into view, the rectangular shuttle bay bulging like a tumor. Taulbee’s breathing stopped for a moment and a hesitant grin crossed his lips. He zoomed in on the front of the shuttle bay. “And there they--”

  He stopped speaking to himself, the smile dying. For a moment, he thought he saw a figure attached on the side of the bay. But it was nothing more than a graphical anomaly cast by the ‘52’s interpolation software. “Dammit,” he muttered. He was sure they would be there. But if they were still there, he told himself, they’d be out of oxygen. Right.

  Taulbee tried to find an airlock on the side of the shuttle bay, but he couldn’t see one. He frowned and checked the schematics on his block. No airlock. The only ingress point was the shuttle bay doors themselves. Who the hell designed this thing? he wondered. Even S&R Black had an airlock next to the cargo bay, allowing marines an ingress/egress point without having to depressurize the area.

  “Taulbee,” Dunn’s voice said through the comms.

  “Aye, sir. Go ahead.”

  “Firing thrusters in ten.”

  “Acknowledged,” Taulbee said.

  The view in his HUD zoomed out once again allowing him to see the entire length of Mira. Now was the dangerous part. Instead of firing all the thrusters at once, Black would activate them in groups to slow the tumble. Each set of thrusters would put stress on the Atmo-steel hull and possibly cause further damage to Mira. If the force was too much, deck plating and other debris could explode inward or outward. Either way, the space around Mira might soon be cluttered with metal fragments far more dangerous than a shatter storm.

  The ‘52 could weather minor impacts from ice as well as micro-meteorites, but a large piece of metal debris could slice into the cabin, killing him instantly or jettisoning him into space. The last thing he wanted was to find himself untethered, floating free in a sea of deadly metal fragments. In that kind of mess, his suit would be torn to pieces in minutes, if not seconds.

  A surge of adrenaline raced through his blood and his heartbeat thumped in his ears. He watched the seconds tick off to zero. And then it happened.

  While Mira canted halfway through its 360° tumble, the thrusters atop the foredecks fired. He saw the orange and blue heat plumes pierce the darkness like tiny matches. The giant hulk held together, its tumble slowing slightly. He swallowed hard. His HUD showed no new debris flying off the hull. So far, so good.

  Another set fired from the aft. This time, not only was there debris, but it looked as though one of the hydrazine thrusters went straight through the hull plate. “Goddammit,” he said aloud. He zoomed in on the area, waiting impatiently for the software to cobble together a detailed picture of the damage.

  Debris puffed out of the new hole in the deck. Wires, cables, fragments of plating, and void only knew what else, slowly expanded like a building thunderhead. Taulbee cursed again.

  Lieutenant, Black said through his block.

  “Go ahead,” he said aloud.

  Do you see the hazard?

  “Aye. My calculations show it’s not an
immediate threat to us. Am I right?”

  You are correct, Lieutenant. The debris field is heading away from Mira at a positive vector. Additional damage may occur on the next firing.

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Taulbee,” Dunn said. “We’re going to let Mira settle for a moment. Keep an eye on her.”

  “Aye, sir,” he said.

  Mira continued her tumble, albeit slower than before. The failed thruster had shut off the moment it broke through the hull so it wouldn’t cause additional problems by burying itself deeper into the interior decks. He wondered if the thruster placements were redundant enough to do the job. There was no way of telling how many more thrusters they’d lose on the most damaged part of Mira’s hull.

  Dunn announced they were firing another set of thrusters. Taulbee’s fingers tightly clenched the throttle as he waited. Another set of plumes rose from the foredeck. Several small pieces of debris flew into the air. He zoomed in on them. He wasn’t sure, but thought they looked like the pinecones. How many more of the things were on the ship anyway?

  Lieutenant, Black said, be advised: we are ready for another aft set.

  “Acknowledged.”

  He zoomed back out, focused on the aft section of the ship, and waited. Pin-points of light fired into the darkness. As he watched, a fifteen-meter slice of the extensively damaged engineering section seemed to shatter. “The void wept,” he said aloud. An entire deck plate had just crumbled into deadly fragments. “Taulbee to Dunn. You see that, sir?”

  “Yes, I do,” the captain said. “We’ll deal with it. She’s stabilizing little by little.”

  Taulbee muted his comms before saying, “If there’s anything left of her, I’ll be surprised.”

  This time, Black didn’t wait. The sets of thrusters on Mira’s belly fired in sequence. Another deck plate exploded on the ship’s aft, but the fore- and mid-decks held. Her tumble speed decreased once again. “Black? What’s her rotation?”

  360° an hour, sir.

  Well, that was something. If they couldn’t slow her any more than that, they could work with it. He just hoped--