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To his credit, Gonzales sticks around long enough to yank Booths off his feet and pull him through the hatch. The marine wasn't sure if he was staying or going. Patwardhan ushers them through, just as the door begins to creep across its grooved track, sealing them inside the umbilicus. Though they can't see it through the opaque white fabric of the pressurized mobile hallway, the Gaines looms dark and huge, heavy hull gleaming, an armored shell around secrets. Healy watches them straggle toward her, single file. Jay Stewart explains the silence over her walkie-talkie. "Sergant, we all came down here. There's nobody over at the Korea dock." Healy's eyes scan the remaining few deputies under her command. The android, and the attack of aliens just after that little episode has left her with five, not counting those that fled in terror, Gene and Mina at the operation center, and Burnett, the dumb f---. All eyes presently turn toward the umbilicus, as the three soldiers begin to enter the airlock. Healy shuts the hatch behind them and depressurizes the umbilicus. If anything busts the seal from the other side, it'll only open to empty space. Still, it seems like a fragile cap on a dangerous cargo. Rookie Jay Stewart expresses the desperation of the entire group with a simple question. "So, what do we do now?"
* * *
Healy stares at the rookie for a few moments before speaking... damn she didn't know the right answer to his question. "Okay... first thing to do is make sure that there is no way they can get on the Rodina... then we can start worrying about how to get them off the Gaines and the Korea." Once again Healy slings the shotgun and draws her walkie-talkie, "operations, it's Healy here... do what ever you have to do to make sure all external doors and locks are sealed... to the team holding by the Korea dock, start up an undocking proceedure, wait for my go before you finish it off. Someone tell me where the f--- Burnett is!" She clips the walkie-talkie back to her uniform and turns to the present deputies (and marines). "Someone want to show me how to work this panel properly? I want to de-dock the Gaines, I want at least 100 yards of space between the Rodina and both of those hulks... anyone got any suggestions on what we do next?"
* * *
"Well, unless the colony admin is still wanting to mount an expedition into the Korea themselves, I figure the best course of action is to disconnect the Korea from its moorings and give it a gentle shove into that gas giant in your backyard. I figure that since the ship was docked by remote, getting it loose again will be a cinch." Her tone is bordering on a smug 'I told you so', but since there really isn't anyone nearby truly deserving of it, she manages to stay civil while talking with Healy. "If the Gaines is sealed up, we can simply mount our own little expedition into it once the Korea is done with its job as a meteor. If it proves to be crawling with bugs too, then we may just have to send it down too, though I hate to loose my stuff."
* * *
Healy nods at everything Patwardhan says, waiting thoughtfully for a few moments before replying, "I think that's a good plan... still the idea of possibly sending some survivors (if there are any) down with the ships bothers me. We need to work out what these creatures do with the captives. I think we should get both ships a safe distance from the Rodina, then sit down and collate what we know, so maybe we can work out if there's any point in mounting any more rescue operations." Healy sighs and leans back against the wall relaxing a little, "If the worst comes to the worst, we can use some of our atmosphere skimmers to push either or both ships into the planet... though I'm a little worried about what the explosion of a ship of either size in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant like Rodina might do to this station." See pulls the packet of cigarettes from her top pocket and rests one on her lips, where it sits unlit. "I think.... I need a new pair of pants."
* * *
Gonzales shivered as the adrenaline from combat left his system. He ejected the empty magzine from his rifle and slammed a fresh one home, checking the LCD as he slung the rifle on his shoulder and started towards the Rodina. "I say nuke the damn thing," he said. "Both of them. If the people left on board are with those things, then we're doing 'em a favor, a clean death. Not like what happened to the insurance chick."
* * *
With a nonchalance that Booths really didn't feel, he leaned his shoulder against the nearest convinient bulkhead. Already the smell of the flakjacket permeates the air around the airlock, and any glance at Booths shows that he is busy adding new flavours to the light armour. Sweat stains the jacket beneath his arms, and patches of the BDU's seem to stick to his skin underneath.
He is also exceedingly pale. His injuries and the stress of the close quarters battle, his most recent engagement with the harrowing blight of the alien species.
The rifle's butt clunked to the floor as the conversation, almost surreal after the firefight, washed over him. He carefully leaned his current best friend against the same bulkhead he was using. Right then and there what he really wanted was a smoke. What he needed was a couple of the painkillers.
He reached inside a pocket, drew out the canister, and twisted the lid off. He shook two pills out of their hidy hole, and swallowed them without benefit of liquid. They felt like two red hot coles going down his throat.
Although people didn't think him the type, Booths was a thinker...when his impulses didn;t get the better of him...or his homicidal tendencies or any number of destracting factors that the psychologists had written into their little notepads when physicals came around.
When he spoke, his voice was quite, tired, but it cut right through the conversation.
"I know what they use 'em for." He raised his chin to indicate Patwardhan. "So do you." He twisted his neck sharply, causing an unpleasant cracking sound to reverberate briefly.
"Remember the f---ing colonist in the Korea's makeshift cryobay. You said they guy had one inside him." Booths sighed briefly. "They take the people alive. They use them as incubators...living, breathing incubators." His jaw clenched. "It's almost symbiosis. The host nurtures the creatures along until its ready to become a big poppa, like the things that were crawling all over us back there." He points a bandage swathed hand over his shoulder and through the airlock, indicating the Gaines. "And of course, although I'm not sure, there is plenty of fresh food around when the bastards come out."
His voice wasn't raised in any particular way, the shadows did not gather to heighten his features into some diabolical beast, it was delivered in a matter-of-fact tone, in a slightly tired voice.
His eyes however, shone with an inner light. Nothing to do whatsoever with the aliens. Patwardhan might recognise the look from previous occasions, indicating the Booths was not quite sane the way normal people were. And that was putting it nicely.
"Anyone got some gum?" Not really expecting an answer Booths continued.
"We can nuke the Korea, but were not doing the same to the Gaines. My textbooks are on board that crate, and they're a worth a damn sight more then the 'Bitch'."
Straightening, Booths squared his shoulders and stretched. With his right hand he took up the rifle, and began to push past both his last comrade and the colonials from the Rodina.
"And Healy," he threw back over his shoulder, as he made his way towards his quarters, to retrieve his ghurka blade, "those things are already on board this station. I bet your life on it." He limped his way off towards the med senter, and from there, the hab ring.
One disquieting thought entered his head. Where the f--- were these things coming from. Maybe Rodina had the Korea's cargo manifest.
* * *
"Christ. Incubators..." Stewart and the other junior officers move aside for Booths, frowning in his wake. Somebody reaches for a cigarette before noticing the HIGH OXYGEN ENVIRONMENT sings posted throughout the airlock. The look on the cop's face is pure f--- it. He lights it. Finally a voice breaks the static on Healy's talker.
"Johnson here." She can easily imagine the overweight, middle-aged lieutenant tensely sitting on his ass in the dispatch center. Mina would be busy, getting things sorted out. Where was she? Johnson drawls, "I've been, ah, monitoring your situation. I can't get ahold of Burnett. Is he around there somewhere, or...? Also, Jay's right. I, uh, I think the Korea lock is unsupervised. There's a couple of cargo boys there, I think... me and Mina are heading out there right now. Are you sure we should report this to administration right away? I mean, before we know what's going on? What's going on down there, anyway? What happened to Anderson? Do you know where Leifer is...?" Needless to say, eyes roll.
"We'll check the Korea end," volunteers one of the cops. He takes two others and heads up toward a main coridoor, leaving Stewart and one other to guard this lock. Patwardhan can't help speculating how they'd fare if some of those things got in here. If the guards managed to scream first, maybe they'd be useful. But unless they can fly through space and survive vacuum, this end is probably safe. Probably.
* * *
"We need to make sure that the umbilicus is secure and then we can prepare for what to do next," Patwardhan says, breathing heavily from the recent stress and exertion.
"Can we remotely lock down the Gaines so that we won't have to worry about an infestation there too?"
"Also, do we have any remote video links to inside the umbilicus so that we can see what's going on before they start bashing down the door?"
"I think that I need to see the folks in charge, we have to make sure that we don't get into another fiasco like this one," Patwardhan looks over at the others, especialy Healy. "Think you could arrange a meeting with the administrators?"
* * *
As sonn as he was out of sight of the group, Booths retired his pulse rifle to his back, instead replacing it with his carbine. As he limped forward, rifle at patrol position, he let his mind wander.
Navigating the corridors by sheer memory and impulse, he finally limped his way into the temporary quarters assigned to him when he had been released from the med center.
Its furnishings were sparesely appointed, nothing aestecic, all merely utilitarian and spartan. It reminded him of the Gaines.
Free from pain, as the painkillers were doing their efficient little job, he sought the bunk, and plopped himself down on it, his equipment rattling. A little drawer nightstand combination rested next to the head of his bunk.
Dumping the carbine next to him, onto the matress, Booths reached over and opened the top drawer. Its only contents was his Ghurka blade and its scabbard. He lifted it free of the drawer, and held it in both hands for a moment.
Then he gently withdrew the blade, the ancient steel grating slightly on the bronze and bullhide leather sheathe. Though the blade was tarnished, it was not off neglect. It was merely that the steel was old, had been old when he great-grand father had received in the service of the defunct British Emprire. He did not bother testing the sharpness of the oversized knife, knowing that he had already honed it to a serviceable razor sharpness.
A click as the knife re-entered its scabbard.
A heavy sigh. Keeping the Ghurka in his left hand, he took up the carbine wit hhis right. His side ached dully, rather then screaming in protest as he screwed his torso around to reach the weapon. Chalk on up for the painkillers.
Balancing awkwardly because of his almost missing toe, Booths leveraged himself upright. He sought a chronometer on the wall, and found that there was none. He had lost the concept of time on his little sojourn. Not that time was a factor anymore. At least not in any real sense.
Instead, he stepped out into the corridor, and then just stood there. His eyes lost their focus and sharpened simultaneously. A very frightful tranition. Not to metnion that it was near impossible with someone not of the same frame of mind as PFC Booths.
What was going on inside that semi-unhinged mind, was that Booths was thinking on where he'd be, if he was an alien species, possessing superlative dexterity, strength, and agility. Not to mention a hive mentality...
A hive.
Hmmmmm. They were indeed like soldier ants, or even bees. The way they moved was a strange mix of insectile jerkiness and mammalian adaptivity.
What he needed to find was the ops center of this orbital station. From there, he should be able to determine possible locations on where they could be...if they were on board. And he had bet Healy's life on it as well.
As his boots thunked onto the metal grating of the corridors in a slightly arythmic manner due to his limp, he considered the nature of the enemy. What did the enemy want? Hosts, sustenance. How would it go about achieving these objectives? Cunning, and maneuvering. How to stop them? Superior motivation. Whilst the aliens were very much intent on having him, Booths, as a prospective land development, Booths felt a greater need to not only stop them from turning him into an incubator, but also preventing them from doing things like this in the future.
In a quiet corner of his mind, a voice spoke about how Army and Company bio researches would love to get their hands on these puppies. It laughed at the end result it predicted. The Korea would have been a mere shopping spree in comparison. "Aishwarya, I'm on my way to operations." Those were the first words he had spoken the entire time.
* * *
Healy listens to all Patwardhan's questions, before answering she turns to the assembled cops, "If anyone needs medical attention, get them to medlab, but I want three people to stay here to make sure the seal is secure. If you hear any unusual noises from within the umbilical, radio me, then pull out of this section... if you can, lock the bulkheads behind you."
Having sated her 'leadership' role, Healy turns back to Patwardhan, "Private, I'll leave this team here and the other team at the Korea dock until we are happy that both connections are secure. In the mean time... any controls for remote lockdowns... and any video monitoring of the umblicals would be up in operations. I'll take you up there now... hopefully we can spot Burnett on the way."
* * *
Healy quickly turns to Gonzales, "Alex, head to medlab and get your jaw looked at, if everything's okay, come up to meet us at ops, you were in the Gaines longer then the rest of us, you may have seen something important."
* * *
Gonzales bristled at Healy's orders, but found himself heading towards the medlab anyway, thinking as he walked.
What in the hell was he doing? He had gone into the Gaines to help fix a damned toilet, and now he was clacking around in Marine armor with a bag of grenades and a pulse rifle slung over his shoulder. He helped, didn't he? Would Booths and Healy and Patwardhan and the others not be dead without his help?
Abruptly, Alex realized that he was now considering himself a Marine rather than a class-two cargo handler aboard the space station Rodina. He smiled as he realized that he liked thinking that way.
The doors to the medlab parted to allow him entrance, and he was immediately greeted by a nurse.
"My jaw hurts," he said simply.
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