Derelict: Destruction (Derelict Saga Book 3) Read online

  The only problem with the thrusters would be placing them. Gunny’s squad would have to once more skiff out to Mira’s hull and face off with the pinecones and the starfish-like creatures. “And whatever else is out there,” Dunn mumbled.

  Nope. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it. Every possible solution raised the risk level to his marines. If he wasn’t careful, none of Gunny’s marines would ever make it back to Trident Station alive.

  Chapter Ten

  Gunny piloted the skiff from the cargo bay, stomach fluttering with nervous tension. The brightness of the cargo bay receded, leaving them in the shadowy twilight of the Kuiper Belt. The skiff’s strong lamps illuminated Mira’s scarred and marred metal surface. He moved the skiff nice and slow, gently pushing the throttle and attitude thrusters to rotate the craft and head to the spindle connections.

  The comms were deathly silent, as they should be. Yet, chatter would have been welcome; he felt as though everyone was holding their breath, including the twinkling stars.

  Feeds from the skiff’s top, bottom, fore, and rear cams lit his HUD. Wendt, manning the cannon, was supposed to monitor the views as well. Splitting your attention between all those screens while attempting to focus on what was in front of you was difficult to say the least. Piloting the skiff could be stressful enough without having to process four different camera feeds simultaneously. Gunny had told his marines, especially Wendt, to keep an eye out. All it would take was one of the starfish things creeping up on them to end this trip in a hurry.

  “We were lucky,” he said, his mic muted. “Damned lucky.”

  When he and his marines had streaked from Mira’s hull to assist Captain Dunn and Lt. Nobel, Gunny had had no idea they’d be facing off with the giant exo-solar creature. If not for the ammo Captain Dunn had found in the secret crates aboard S&R Black, Gunny’s squad, Dunn, and Nobel would all have died. Not to mention Lt. Taulbee. Flying in his SV-52, Taulbee had kept the creature busy long enough for Gunny’s squad to rescue Dunn and Nobel, but not without serious structural damage to his craft. Had the fight continued, Taulbee would have had to eject. And then…

  Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Would the starfish thing have pursued his floating body? Or would the thing have continued to attack the hopelessly damaged SV-52?

  The creature, its ten arms seemingly grasping at objects only it could see, had vibrated in the light. No, not vibrated. Shimmered. The thing’s skin, darker than deep space, seemed to warp matter around it. Gunny shivered. He didn’t understand how it could exist, much less affect matter around it. Was it sucking down light like a black hole? And if so, how the hell was it doing it?

  Gunny tried to push the image away and focus on his damned job. He moved the skiff fifty meters from S&R Black, his eyes constantly flicking from the forward screen to the other cam feeds. He slowed the craft with a few micro burns. The skiff came to a near stop and he nudged port and fore attitude thrusters to gently spin the skiff until it once again faced S&R Black. Once the skiff was in position, he slowly accelerated to a speed of 2m/s.

  The plan was to drop a pair of marines at the harness for spindle checks before testing the lines. Once they disembarked and Taulbee could provide cover fire, Gunny would fly the skiff to the closest mount point for a new thruster installation. Wendt and Lyke would have thruster placement duty. And it was going to take a while.

  But first things first, Gunny said to himself. Get your marines on the hull.

  He brought the skiff to a halt 10 meters away from the spindle. S&R Black’s hull loomed above them like a giant metal whale. If not for the ship’s belly lights, the skiff would be in total darkness from the larger craft’s shadow. Gunny smiled despite the tension in his gut. No matter the blemishes on her hull, or the dings and bumps in her otherwise smooth skin, right now, she was the most beautiful ship he’d ever seen.

  “Black. I’m in position,” he said over the comms.

  Dunn responded immediately. “Good job, Gunny. Let’s get this show going.”

  “Aye, sir,” Gunny said. He activated the squad comms. “All right, marines. Copenhaver and Murdock. I want a clean dismount. Perform the spindle and coupling inspection. I want one of you providing cover at all times. Don’t let any of those bastard things sneak up on you. Understood?”

  “Aye, Gunny,” the two marines said. Copenhaver’s strong, confident voice easily rose above Murdock’s shaky reply.

  With the magnetics set at half power, the skiff stayed a good two meters off the hull. Gunny increased the power and the skiff descended until it hovered just a meter from Mira’s pitted and damaged hull plates.

  “Go,” Gunny said.

  He brought the two marines’ cam feeds onto his HUD and watched as they lifted themselves over the gunwale and pushed to the hull. Copenhaver activated her magnetics fast enough, and with just enough power to stand on the hull without so much as a jolt. Murdock, on the other hand, struck the hull plate with enough force to make his feed jitter with static. Gunny shook his head. Goddamned useless. Useless. He added another mental note to kick his squad’s collective asses when they returned to Trident Station. What the hell was Mars teaching these kids?

  Well, Copenhaver was obviously the best of the lot. Her ability to maneuver, keep a clear head, and pull incompetent squad-mates through a mission was exactly the kind of marine he wanted. Needed. With Mars constantly sending them the flotsam or the merely ambitious, it was a wonder S&R Black managed to field anyone competent. But once Gunny found a diamond in the rough, he worked his ass off to make them into a marine worth keeping, and a marine worthy of the SFMC.

  “On the hull, Gunny,” Copenhaver said. “We’ll begin checks momentarily.”

  “Acknowledged, Private. Get to work.”

  “Aye, Gunny.”

  Gunny couldn’t help but grin. It was difficult to keep the growl in his voice when he wanted to chuckle. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy her confidence before his own was once again tested. Flying to the mount points, checking the piton placement, and finally laying down the last of the thrusters would test every ounce of courage he had. If Mira’s little stowaways didn’t kill them first, he might actually get a chance to smile at Copenhaver’s swagger again.

  “Gunny,” Wendt said, “we have a contact on the far side of the ship.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean contact?” Gunny brought up his alert screen. Sure enough, the local radar had captured something moving one hundred meters away. “The fuck?”

  “What do you think it is?” Wendt asked.

  “Black?”

  “Yes, Gunny,” Black said. “I have received the same telemetry. However, I am unable to discern whether it is mere debris, one of the starfish-like creatures, or something else.”

  Or something else. The words echoed in Gunny’s skull and a sense of dread made his stomach crawl. This mission, he thought, is a complete cluster-fuck. “So we should proceed with caution.” Not a question, really, more of an ironic observation.

  “Of course,” Black said dryly. “But I expected you to in any case.”

  If he had been speaking with the AI via a block connection, he would have sent it the image of a fist with a middle finger raised. “Understood,” he said. “Wendt. You’re in the gunner’s chair. Keep your goddamned eyes open for anything.”

  “Aye, Gunny,” Wendt said.

  Lyke cleared his throat. “Gunny? What do I—?”

  “You have your rifle, Private. Use it,” Gunny said.

  After a momentary pause, Lyke answered in a soft voice. “Aye, Gunny.”

  He fought the urge to shake his head. The private was scared. So was Wendt. Hell, Gunny was scared too. The more he thought about flying across the hull to plant more thrusters, the more he wanted to turn the damned skiff around and head back to the ship.

  “There are known unknowns,” Gunny said aloud, mic muted. What a bunch of bullshit. And yet here he was, flying out to the other side of Mira’s
hull to face off with a piece of debris, a ridiculously dangerous alien creature, or something new and probably just as horrible. All that without any intel.

  He connected to Taulbee. “Sir? You still flying patrol?”

  “Of course, Gunny. I’m buzzing the harness point. Do you want me to break off and scout ahead?”

  Gunny considered that for a moment. If Taulbee raced off to check their thruster placement targets, he’d get the intel he needed. Maybe. But that would leave both Copenhaver and Murdock vulnerable to the pinecones and starfish. It would also leave the ship reliant upon weapons that may or may not have an effect on Mira’s exo-solar hitchhikers.

  “No, sir. But I wouldn’t mind you being on-call.”

  Taulbee chuckled. “Yell out, and I’ll be there, Gunny.”

  “Acknowledged, sir,” Gunny said.

  “Taulbee out.”

  Gunny increased the skiff’s speed with another burn. “All right, squad. We have a radar contact and we’re heading toward it. I’ll slow us down when we’re twenty meters out from its position. Stay mag-locked and be prepared to ditch. Understood?”

  “Aye,” Wendt and Lyke responded, the LCpl’s voice much louder than the private’s.

  “Outstanding,” Gunny growled. He had managed to fill his voice with the same impatient, angry tone he usually had, but it was difficult. If not for the force of habit, he would have sounded as meek as Lyke. Gunny glared at his HUD and watched as they ate the distance between S&R Black and the contact.

  Chapter Eleven

  Floating half a meter above the slip-point’s deck and at nearly 1m/s, Dickerson felt calm. He continued checking his rear cam looking for any pinecones or starfish that might have followed them into the shaft; but so far, nothing.

  The fact they were floating meant he could arch his back, rest his stressed muscles and joints, and relax. A little. The constant crouch-walking through Mira’s haunted corridors had taken their toll on his body. He’d little doubt Kalimura and Carb were in as bad a shape as himself. Although she’d never admit it, he imagined Carb was in more pain than anyone else. While Elliott’s body weighed next to nothing in z-g, pulling his mass along had to be affecting her. Eventually, he’d have to force her to give up the wounded marine so he could carry him. She wouldn’t give up that duty willingly. Too damned hard-headed.

  The headache that had simmered inside his skull for the last half-hour was fading a bit. Either the bio-nannies had found enough reserves to help him out, or just the act of floating rather than walking was helping him regain his strength. But the dull throb in his shoulder had drained away any relief. He’d really fucked himself up now. He wasn’t sure how much pressure he could put on his wounded arm before the rotator cuff simply froze, leaving him a single limb to protect both himself and his squad. At least I know how to fire my weapon one-handed, he thought.

  “10 meters,” Kalimura said over the squad channel.

  “Copy,” he said, Carb echoing him a second later. They’d reach the first junction in no time. Abandoning crouch-walking also provided the advantage of speed. Which was a good thing, because Dickerson couldn’t wait to get the fuck off this wreck.

  Dickerson ticked off the seconds, watching as the junction came into view. This far on Mira’s starboard-side meant the junction could only go one way—to port. Kalimura’s suit thrusters puffed and she slowed. Carb followed suit, as did he. Once they were all stationary, Kalimura pulled herself to the deck using her right glove. She was less than half a meter from the junction’s blind corner. Depending on what she saw down the egress shaft, they might have to jet in a hurry. Not like that will be far, he thought. They were all nearly out of fuel for their thrusters. Another hard burn and they’d be empty, unable to even use maneuvering jets to change their attitude. They needed to find some way to recharge their suits. And soon.

  Kalimura held up a fist and crouch-walked against the wall. She slowly peered around the corner, her helmet lights focused to penetrate the gloom. Dickerson held his breath, his mind filling with the image of an impossible black arm pulling her into the adjoining shaft.

  “Shit,” she said over the squad channel. “We’ve got some serious debris in here.”

  Dickerson sighed. “How bad?”

  “Bad,” the corporal said. “How’s your injured arm?”

  “Still bad, but I think I can lift some mass with it.”

  “Good. Get up here, Dickerson.”

  Carb snorted over the mic. “Am I too girly for that job?”

  “No,” Kalimura said without turning around. “You’re the only one of us without broken ribs and with two good arms. Meaning you can carry Elliott and aim at the same time. That’s what I need you to do.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said in a somewhat depressed voice.

  Dickerson grinned. His squad-mate was tired of carrying Elliott, but Kalimura was right. They needed her to be their anchor if something went wrong. And what could possibly go wrong?

  He mag-walked past Carb to join Kalimura. She stood in the center of the adjoining shaft, her rifle still pointed down the hall. Dickerson saw what she did and exhaled in a long stream of breath. She hadn’t been kidding about debris.

  The shaft had nearly collapsed just a few meters from the junction. Something had smashed the metal with enough force to not only perforate the slip-point tunnel, but fracture part of the wall. As a result, broken pipes, wire, and other infrastructure had ultimately filled the once empty space. If the two of them worked together, they might be able to clear it in 10 minutes. Maybe. That was a long time, though.

  “Corporal?” he said. “Maybe we should go a little further down? To the next junction?”

  She was silent for a moment. He imagined her going over the schematics, looking for the next egress point and determining risk. “And if that next egress point is as bad as this one? Or worse?”

  He shrugged. “Then we come back here,” he said. “If we float, it shouldn’t take any time to reach it at all.”

  Kalimura raised an arm and pointed down the cluttered egress. “There’s an emergency station not five meters beyond this wreckage. The next egress doesn’t have one for nearly twenty meters. Considering what we’ve come in contact with, that’s a long distance.”

  “True,” Dickerson said. “I’m okay either way. Just wanted to bring up an alternative.”

  “As you should,” she said. “Carb? Cover our asses. Dickerson and I will try and clear this.”

  “Aye, Boss,” Carb said. “Just make sure you don’t perforate a suit. Not sure how long any of these patches will hold.”

  “Copy that,” Dickerson drawled. “Corporal? Shall we?”

  She mag-locked her rifle to her back and began walking forward. He did the same, hoping like hell this wasn’t another mistake.

  Chapter Twelve

  Black’s attention was split between helping Dunn with his mission planning, working with Oakes on the new force calculations including thruster pack placement, monitoring communications channels, keeping track of Taulbee’s position relative to the ship, and watching for any movement on Mira. In short, Black was a busy AI.

  The communications array picked up a signal from PEO. The observatory AI, Mickey, had sent a priority data package. A big one. Images, video, telemetry, calculations, and suggestions were all part of the stream.

  In a matter of nanoseconds, Black unpacked and analyzed the data. The AI then took a moment to think.

  Mickey had been watching the incoming KBO. Only now, Mickey wasn’t convinced it was an actual ball of ice. For one thing, it was glowing. Mickey’s instruments were far more powerful than Black’s. The telescopes aboard PEO could make out details Black would never be able to discern until the objects were on top of her. And those details were most interesting.

  A group of still images captured the KBO as a dot and slowly zoomed in on it. With each increase in magnification, the object became more and more detailed. KBOs were often misshapen, their creation the resul
t of impacts with larger bodies rather than the natural conglomeration of gases via gravity or from a gravitational force. Instead, they frequently resembled haphazard blobs. But not this one.

  The shape seemed to be canted at its “front” and it wasn’t rotating or tumbling. The KBO was on a direct path and moving like a projectile. While those particular facets already made it unique, the object also appeared to have a thin, raised portion that pointed toward the sun.

  Mickey had provided no conclusions about what the data meant, choosing instead to let Black draw her own. If she could talk to the Trio, she could get some guidance. Maybe. But a message to Trident Station would take three hours to get there and three more to receive the reply. By that time, they’d have to have Mira far away from her current position to avoid the KBO. But that was another problem. According to Mickey’s calculations, the KBO would be in range in less than an hour.

  Black created a new subroutine to monitor the KBO, reserving three cameras on the aft to track the approaching object and warn her if it changed trajectory or velocity. Mickey had also highlighted several smaller shadows in the large KBO’s vicinity. The PEO AI hadn’t been able to confirm they were more than interference or graphical artifacts, but suggested Black keep a watch on them. Black intended to.

  She sent Mickey a response, thanking the AI for its timely information and asking it to monitor all KBO activity within a 1 AU vicinity of Mira; the spherical area needed to serve as an early warning system should other objects approach.

  According to the data gathered by Kalimura’s squad aboard Mira, it was more than likely that both the incoming KBO and the shadows near it were not made of ice or rock. Instead, they were almost certainly exo-solar material. Correction. Exo-solar lifeforms. And if they were as large as Black feared, towing Mira would be the least of their problems.