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It will several minutes before the decision comes down through the
hand radio to Team B. Composed of five deputies, the team is guarding
the docking anchor to Korea, covering Team A's back. Team B is
entrenched in the waiting game. Healy, Beaudreaux, and the others in
their charge have not been heard from since venturing into the ailing
supply ship, and as the duration of Team A's silence grows, the
members of Team B begin to voice their nervousness.
Bill Kyaw scratches his beard and gazes up the norrow umbilicus
corridor into the USCSS Korea. So far, it's been quiet. He turns to
Fenix and Osborn. "This reminds me of my last prostate exam."
"I remember that," shoots Divas Mnumbu, squatting with his back to
one of the airlock walls. Adjusting the shotgun laying over his
knees, he adds the punchline. "You were wearing a smile for weeks."
"Shut up a sec," interrupts deputy Jay Stewart, holding his walkie-
talkie to his ear. A grainy voice squawks.
"Team B, this is Operations. Shots have been fired. Repeat, shots
have been fired. Proceed with caution into Korea. Determine the
status of Team A, rescue as needed, and report. Team C is moving in
to take your position. Operations out..."
The illusion of humor vanishes. They're all thinking about
Ruttenberg, Anderson, Leifer, Kaohn, fallen officers, good friends.
Images of family and home quickly flash through their minds, but like
the dutiful men that they are, their legs serve them more
automatically than their minds. Jay volunteers to take the front
position, pushing the shotgun's muzzle ahead as he steps through the
umbilicus threshhold. "Stay right behind me," he whispers. Without
rank to bind them into a unit, the five deputies feel less like
soldiers and more like adventurers, exploring the unknown to retrieve
treasure: living treasure. Crossing into the dungeon, swords in hand,
such as they are, the deputies start the slow walk through the
fragile, canvas-walled tube.
[Fenix]
Taking his place behind Jay, Fenix murmurs, "I'm right behind you.
Just wish Beezle was here." He adjusts the weight of his own shotgun,
looking around the officer in front of him. Everything about the
umbilicus makes him uncomfortable. His footing is insecure at best.
Out of habit, he plucks a medicine bottle from his shirt pocket and
pops a pill. He knows it will take a few minutes for team C to reach
their position at the docking anchor. But it's team A that worries
him. "If they're already shooting over there, they must be in
trouble."
Jay didn't turn around to speak face-to-face, rather continued to
concentrate on his footing while pressing down the length of the
umbilicus. Seventy meters to go. "I was thinking the same thing.
Unless it's a misfire, or a test shot, or a suicide, or it could mean
anything. Shit, we should have more details. This is nuts."
Dutifully, one step in front of the other, Stewart takes his
assignment.
Deputy Mnumbu takes the middle. Divas' broad dark face directly
contrasts Fenix's pale slender Anglo features. With fifty meters to
go, Fenix is trying the hand radio, doesn't answer Divas right
away. "Team A to team B, what's your status? Repeat, team A to team
B, what's your status, over?"
Something crackles back, a burst of noise and static intermingled.
Somebody definitely heard his transmission and is trying to reply,
but it's probably as garbled on their end. Thirty meters to go. The
airlock hatch at the end of the corridor is open, and a pale light
glows beyond. Smooth walls, and what looks like another hatch. Step
by step, they close the distance.
The five officers reach the Korea airlock and step inside the small,
cool chamber. Somewhere below, there are noises that sound like
footsteps, clinking up through the ship's deck. Muffled voices!
"That was easy," says Bill Kyaw, stroking his beard.
"Who's Beezle?" Divas finally asks.
[Fenix]
Looking at Divas, Fenix says, "What do you mean, 'who's Beezle?' It's
not a who, it's a what."
"Okay, so what is Beezle?" Divas asks as the deputies move through
the airlock. Water courses down the walls. They seem to have restored
some power, perhaps only recently. It looks as if frozen condensation
is melting down the walls.
"Just a little contraption I've been working on," Fenix says vaguely.
The radio again yields only static. "There's got to be a better way
to do this." He sits on his haunches, pulling a short cut of wire
from his backpack, begins to twine it around the flimsy plastic-
coated antenna provided with his hand radio. The rest of the squad
stops to wait for his quick retrofit to be completed. He tests it out
after a few moments. "Team A, this is team B. What's your status?
Over."
"We copy you, team A," comes an unsteady voice. "We're right below
you. There's a ladder-access room to your right. We'll meet you on C
deck."
Seconds later, the deputies arrive on the lower deck, finding all of
Healy's team alive and well. It isn't until they head into the cryo
bay that they discover the grisly remains of the colonist Sherman.
After hours of activity, fact-checking, and running-around, the comm
room is suddenly back to its usual quiet. Phil Jenkins rests his head
on one of the desks and sighs with uncertainty. It's been more than
two full shifts since he's had a break, and he's near the point of
collapse. A quick nap will do him good. Closing his eyes, he vaguely
finds it odd to think that a space station's communications room
would be library-serene. But in an age in which machines speak to one
another, there's little for humans to do but monitor their
operations. If anything really important comes through the wires, so
to speak, computers will alert their human handlers.
A hand moves on his shoulder. Jenkins' head snaps up. It's only
Irene. She reaches across a console, flips a switch. "We picked up
something from the Korea. Couldn't tell out what it was." After
keying in a replay, she watches Phil rub the bags under his eyes. He
had a reputation like a submarine sonar operator, ears that can tell
the difference between a dolphin and a porpoise. "I figured you'd be
the guy to ask." A final keystroke, and the comm room fills with a
vibrant, short-lived spatter of musical roar. "So what is it?" Irene
prompts.
The color drains out of Phil Jenkins' face. "Play it again," he tells
her, sitting up straight in his chair. The strange chatter comes and
goes once again. "This was an acoustic sound?"
"How'd you know? Yeah, it was picked up by an open mike," she starts
to say. Phil stands up and grabs a phone. "What is it?" she asks,
before he has a chance to dial.
"They're gunshots, Irene. I'm calling Holcomb."
[Booths]
The cryo bay, cold and white, holds the promise of death-like sleep,
a touch away. At once a place of comfort and trepidation, one comes
here to entrust their life to time-tested, but nevertheless fallible
machinery. One does not place themselves in the womb of hypersleep
without taking the risk of never awakening. Just as, each day, one
rises without the knowledge that they will see their bed again. Out
here, in the fragile environment of space, death is never more than a
faulty seal away.
Not giving up his glower on Mina and the others, Booths demonstrably
sheathes the kukri. Shaking his head, he provides another
counterpoint to the discussion. "I don't know about any of that.
There were so many of them to begin with, they just steamrolled right
over me and Corporal Stone. Even when the rest of the squad showed,
they weren't much help. They really fucked us," he says, the memory
etched in the lines of his face.
"What were you doing in the engine core?" Mina wants to know. She
casts a dire glance at the cowed techs. They had taken time to drape
towels over the smouldering remains. Now they were simply terrified,
bewieldered, shellshocked.
"They must have restored power to the ship," Schabowski answers for
them. "It can be done from there. We should be able to pull up a
directory, I think, unless they've locked us out of the computer."
As usual, the hardened smartgunner is not going to let everyone start
out on their own without assserting some muscle. Beaudreaux looks
like she's going to grab the nearest public address phone, near the
entry hatch. "Before we go anywhere," Booths grates. "We're going to
pick up the Bitch."
"The APC." Patwardhan nods. She's been wanting to get there as well,
for her own reasons.
"And that is a fucking order," he threatens.
[Gonzales]
Gonzales has been quietly watching the balance of power shift, and
isn't unhappy to see Booths exert some serious influence. "Sounds
like a plan," says the cargo-handler-turned-marine. "Anything's
better than standing around. And I'm freezing my ass off in here." He
strides behind Booths and Patwardhan back through the open hatch and
into the corridor.
[Schabowski]
Chris is left to face Mina and the others. Instead, he crouches next
to the dead body, looking intensively at the bloody bag of
bones. "Alex is right. We can't stay here. Playing hide and seek with
these beasts is damn risky. It's like a hundred wolves chasing six
rabbits. The rabbits would stand a better chance!"
He sneers, tries to make a show of it. He's only saying what the
others are thinking. Mina was wondering when he was going to add the
thought that Booths and Patwardhan must be certifiably crazy. But he
went on.
"I can think of two options--" Chris began.
"Enlighten us, Mr. Wizard," Mina adds sarcastically. Chris tries not
to shoot her a scathing glare.
"Two options. First: we could try to leave Rodina somehow. Let the
marines or whomever take care of this. Second: we could try to find
out where they're coming in and exterminate them at the source."
Mina already knows the answer to that one. "The umbilicus is the only
way in or out. If we seal that off, we seal ourselves in. I want that
escape route. The security teams at the docking anchor will take care
of anything that slips past us. How bad can these fucking things be?"
"Well what do you think?" Schabowski challenges, trying to cross his
muscled arms over his chest, realizing that it was a defensive
gesture, almost a subconscious shield against a parasite like the one
that infected Sherman. The VP-70 Booths had handed Chris is still in
his hand. He doesn't know what to do with it now except hold it or
put it away.
Mina ignores it. She has bigger fish to fry. "If all of the others on
this ship are like Sherman, then I'd say sure, lock up Korea. Wait
for a rescue. But there's still a chance that some of the marines
might be alive, right? And there's still a chance that the Korea crew
are still holed up somewhere onboard." She took a breath before
continuing. She speaks as if she has come to a very difficult
decision. "I think Booths is right. Let's follow them to the APC."
She turns toward the scientists, still reeling. Handcuffs jingle in
her hand. "I almost forgot. You two are under arrest."
Suddenly Sato's tracker begins to whistle. Five hits, moving in from
the region of the Korea airlock. Definitely someone coming in from
the Rodina.
[Sato]
"Hey," Sato blurts. "I've got five objects coming in from the
umbilicus airlock. Looks like somebody sent us some backup." He
almost sounds relieved.
[Healy]
Healy leans in to look at Alex's tracker. "Excellent. They can take
these two pieces of shit into custody."
[Schabowski]
Chris' eyes are wide. He hasn't yet shaken off the acid-charred
corpse. "You're assuming that tracker's reading humans. You can't
really say if they're human. Mister Booths!" he shouts, hoping to
call upon the expert. But the marine has long since limped in the
corridor, followed closely by Patwardhan. Mina's threat to handcuff
the scientists is null; she storms after the marines.
Healy turns to the door, ready to make her way with the rest of the
group towards the back of the boat. "Mina, Alex: you think we can
corral those two until we're ready to go back to the Rodina?"
"You think we've got a choice?" shouts back the lieutenant.
Sato, Schabowski, and the two scientists are left alone in the cryo
bay, four pillars around Sherman's dark remains. Nobushige hardly
believes his eyes, as the senior engineer tightens his grip around
the VP70 Booths had given him. "But I thought you said--" Nobushige
protests.
"I've seen enough to agree with Booths. The aliens are more dangerous
than the use of weapons inside." Chris smiles for the benefit of the
scientists. "I don't think it will help our chances of dying much,
but--"
"Fenix to Healy. Team A, do you copy?" screams the comm unit on
Sato's shoulder. He hadn't expected the police to be broadcasting on
all channels. Glad to hear another voice, he sends back a greeting
and directions to the cryo bay.
Healy catches up with Mina and the marines, stopping them before they
can enter one of the chambers at the end of the hall. "Come on. Let's
talk while we walk," she says diplomatically. The looks on the faces
in front of her are less than savory. "Schabowski brought up a good
point. We might have to bail out of Rodina on the Gaines. Marine
ships are equipped with lots of emergency freezers, right? For just
this kind of extraction? I read the files. I think it's a viable
option." If the airlock isn't too badly damaged. If the aliens
population aboard the ship is not too large. If the clearance for
such a maneuver is authorized in time. If they even live to try.
While waiting for the cops, Sato decides to play on the scientists'
loyalties. "Gentlemen," he says softly. "We're going to make sure the
other members of your team are all right. I'm going to need the
passcodes you've been using to move around the ship. We'll clear this
all up after everyone's safely off the ship."
He reaches for, and is allowed to take, the clearance badge from one
of the sciboys. In response, the young man tells him, "Everything's
locked. Only that pass will open them." Sato pockets it and turns to
see a group of police officers step into the cryogenics room. Their
faces turn sour when they see the body. The young officer Jay Stewart
has the scientists arrested, then gathers what he can from Sato and
Schabowski. Two of the deputies are charged with taking the
scientists back to Rodina, while the others escort the engineers up
the corridor to where Healy, Mina, Gonzales, and the marines are
chatting lively. They all seem to agree that the sooner they can get
to the heavy weapons in the APC, the better the chances they stand
against a horde of aliens.
Hearing this, Stewart wants to know, "What's the quickest way to the
APC then?" Patwardhan tells them about the central access corridor up
on B deck. It runs directly from the aft section of the crew
compartment to the loading bay where the APC is parked. There are no
turns, no junctions, just one long walk, and a place easy to imagine
being trapped in. Booths' squad had come in the the port-side cargo
holds, which were crowded with goods, and later, aliens. The hull
integrity in that area is questionable, since an awful lot of
explosives went up when Morrison bought the farm....
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