Dreaming of Atmosphere (12 page)

I noticed the whistling sound was stronger here, and the rush of air was making loose debris and clothing flap about. I turned behind me and saw three hull breaches in the deck about five metres behind me, near where Crege I and usually spar. The Argen had used a hull sealing compound called polycrete foam to start repairs on the breach, but were called away to assist Zoe before they could finish. Eric was waiting in engineering to seal the compartment off, but had not yet received the all clear from the Argen to do so. We were bleeding atmosphere. I grabbed the nearest Argen’s Thudgun off him and yelled over the din of rushing air.

“We’ll hold them here, you two finish up on the breaches!”

The pair nodded and the other tossed his Thudgun to Crege. They went to work immediately, grabbing a fresh canister of polycrete foam. More synthetics came down the ladder well, this time they just leapt down onto the deck below. Max decided at that time to do a high gee manoeuvre and we were all thrown to the deck in a sprawl. The synthetics were unsteady, but remained upright. They stared blasting shots at our cover. I scrambled back to my crate and fired a shot blindly over the top of the crate. I could hear more synthetics clanking down to the deck. Crege poked his head and gun over the lip of a crate and got off a blast the rocked two synthetics backwards but didn’t destroy them. The pause in fire as the synthetics adjusted their aim or steadied themselves was all I needed to lean out and get a good shot off. I hammered the pair that Crege had hit earlier, their shields depleted from his blast. A dull thud and a loud bang was followed by the sound of a bucket of bolts being thrown against the bulkhead. I counted seven more synthetics. I turned my Thudgun to the side and checked the charge. I was down to a four shots left.

The problem with Thudguns is that they’re manufactured by one of those companies that decide that standardised ports and connectors are a bad thing, and chose to go with propriety designed batteries and charging. This meant that you had to use Thudgun batteries or a Thudgun charging cable. I guess it made sense from a revenue prospective, but it was awfully inconvenient when you had a pocket full of batteries that won’t fit and four shots left.

I snapped off another shot over the crate but I only snagged one of the robots and overloaded its shields. They were beginning to disperse and find cover on the other side of the cargo hold. A couple of bolts smacked into my crate for my efforts, and a piece of shrapnel cut my ear as I dropped back down.

Crege popped up as I went down and fired off another shot, but all I could here was the sound of supply crates banging together. I looked over at him, grimly. The crazy bastard was smiling excitedly.

“We have the
calak
pinned!” he called

“So are we!”

He appeared to consider that for a moment and then he popped up again and fired once more. This time I could hear more than one shield pop and fizzle. I followed him up and fired in the same direction, catching two who had tried to advance. One exploded and the other was spun about and thrown back into some crates. Crege stayed up and fired again into another cluster of crates covering the synthetics. The crates broke free of their securing straps and went tumbling into the robots behind them. I caught his intent and join his barrage, firing off my last two rounds. We tossed our guns aside and I drew my pistol, snapping off loud, heavy blaster bolts at the exposed synthetics. Crege leaped clear over the crates with Garz’a battle cry and started pounding his
lurzak
blade into the disoriented robots. They were trying to decide if they should find more cover or turn to face the crazed warrior. Their inability to adjust tactics quickly was their undoing, and we made short work of them in no time. I blasted the final synthetic to pieces as Crege spun about looking for more targets. When he could see no more, he threw his head back let off a triumphant screech that sounded eerily like an eagle.

Hergo and Denno finished patching up the breeches and we went up to Deck 2 to start on securing the boarding pod. I left the others to work and went in search of Zoe. As I jogged through the living spaces I sent Max a message.

Boarders eliminated. Forward Cargo breech contained. Damage control started on boarding pod breech. Checking in on Zoe.

Very good! Last of the drones are destroyed, we’re getting the Dreaming back on task.

We were safe, for now. Unless Artemis dies. Then we’re all screwed.

14.

I got to Zoe’s cabin hatch and caught my breath. I hit the hatch release and saw Zoe covered in blood holding Artemis’ head in her lap. Artemis was unconscious, bloody bed sheets tied around her upper torso. She was pale and sickly looking, a cold sweat mingling with the blood on her face. She looked so vulnerable. I realised I was staring.

“I couldn’t move her by myself.” Explained Zoe, looking up at me, “We need to get her to med lab. She needs blood nanites.”

“Right, is she stable?”

“For now, but her pulse is weak. She took a piece of the bulkhead into her clavicle and it nicked an artery. I clamped it with my kit, but we have to be careful when we carry her that it doesn’t break free.”

“Ok, can we get a stretcher? Might make it safer.”

“Hurry.”

I ran back down the passageway to one of the many emergency lockers positioned around the ship and pulled out a pair of rods a metre long. I ran back and I activated the rods and they telescoped out to over two metres long and were joined by a fabric netting. We carefully slid it under the comatose Artemis and then lifter her gentle. Zoe was small and lacked any real muscle, but she hoisted the stretcher without any qualms. I began to realise her strength was lent to her by adrenaline and worry, the same kind that lets a mothers tear the doors off a burning vehicle to save a child.

We made our way down to med lab and transferred Artemis to the surgical table. Zoe immediately went to work once more. She connected several probes and administered an injection then paused briefly, her eyes twitching from side to side. She must have been reading data off her overlay fed to her by the monitoring devices. She ran around the table, started rifling through a medical cabinet, and came back with a few bundles of nanite packages and more bandages and sutures.

“Out!” she yelled, as she ran around the table again to a different cupboard, I had to move away to let her pass.

“Let me know if she gets any worse?” I asked as I backed out of the compartment.

“Yep.”

Max, we need to evacuate engineering spaces. Artemis is in critical condition.

On it. Get back up here.

On my way.

When I got to the command module, Crege was back in the pilot’s seat and Fel was mashing keys all over his console. Max was in the middle of a conversation over the communications link.

“I understand that, but I can’t comply with your request. I don’t know who it is you’re looking for. They’re certainly not on this boat. Dreaming of Atmosphere over.”

She looked up at me in worry as I sat down and took stock of our sensors and status. We’d taken a beating from those drones, but with some hull repair we’ll be ship shape in a few hours. Only a few systems were damaged, but luckily most of the hits landed in the cargo hold and the living spaces. It looked like all our hull breeches were contained. What was worrying was the contact we were reading at eleven million kilometres ahead. I was betting that it was the control ship that left behind those drones. My sensor readings were off, somehow. I turned to Fel for clarification.

“It’s an organo-ship.” He said simply.

Organo-ships, or Organic Ships, are vessels that are the sole propriety of the Corporations. They are composed of a blend of Nano-technology and bio-technology fused into massive ships that are more alive than they are simple metal and machine. They are great black leviathans that linger at the periphery of the frontiers, but mostly prowl the inner systems worlds. The Corporations are the masters of the galaxy; they hold all the patents, control all the technology and lend all the money. Even the Galactic Protectorate dances to their tune. The Corporations are not one governing body, however, they are a collective of super massive companies that span generations. They hold themselves aloof from galactic society in general, and instead keep their own company. They are the distant emperors and bankers of the known universe.

The organo-ships are a totally unknown technology to most people, only a select few understand how they operate or function outside of Corporate circles. They rarely become involved in the affairs of mortal men, but when they did it was seldom to the betterment of whoever was caught up in their schemes. No, the presence of an organo-ship was bad news. Bad news for us.

Max was waiting for a reply from the ship she was talking with, as due to the distances instantaneous communication was impossible. There was about a thirty second delay in the conversation. She connected me to the feed so that I could listen in. After a tense wait the reply came in.

“Spear of Orion copies your last. You’ll forgive me if I do not take your word for it. Shuttles are enroute to you position and will intercept in twelve hours. Maintain your present course and speed. Any deviation or hostile action against our shuttles will be considered a hostile action against the Koveli-Xue Galactic Corporation. Acknowledge this transmission and your compliance. Spear of Orion over.”

Max looked straight ahead, her brow furrowed.

“We can’t outrun them, not with our hull breeches.” I reminded her.

“They want Artemis.”

“What? Why? How did they know she was here?”

“Does it matter? If they take her off here, she could set off the bombs. Or they could go off automatically. Or they could kill her and the bombs go off as well.”

“We could use old Hieron’s smuggling compartment.”

“That’s not even magnetically shielded.”

“It doesn’t need to be, they won’t even think to look for a cavity.”

She mulled it over.

“We don’t have much choice do we? We’ll have to do some forensics clean up. And clear the memory of the synthetics, can’t have them re-activating them and seeing they’ve been duped. We got twelve hours.” She activated the comms link, “Dreaming of Atmosphere acknowledges your last. Standing by for compliance. Dreaming of Atmosphere out.”

Max then went and piped all the crew to the cargo deck for a meeting. It was quick and to the point, filling us all in on what transpired and how we were going to proceed. Eric and Mal were to begin repairs immediately, Hergo and Denno were to assist. Fel was collect all the brain modules of the synthetics do wipe them while Zoe was to work to get Artemis stable enough to enshroud her in an old smuggling compartment that my grandfather had installed during his more adventurous days. Max went to work with Crege making sure all that any blood in the med lab and living spaces was removed or at least made unidentifiable. I helped, starting on Zoe’s cabin, and was ensuring the polycrete foam in place there was good enough for now.

I stripped the bedding from the bunks, as both were spattered in blood, and used them to mop up what I could. I got a bucket of water from the mess compartment and went to work. I also got a few bottles of ammonia and bleach to mask any DNA traces.

I was perhaps an hour into my job when Zoe came into the compartment. She was pale, and covered in dried blood from working on Artemis. She walked straight into her shower stall, clothes and all, and let the hot water wash on to her. The screen was opaque, but I could clearly see her silhouette through the glass. I saw her strip down out of her jump suit and saw bloody water splash onto the shower screen. She had a slender, almost lithe body and before I could see more, I realised that I was staring.

I went back to work, trying my best to ignore that fact that there was a naked young woman showering not three metres from me. It was difficult.

“I can come back.” I called to her.

“No, I’m almost done. Can you pass me a towel?” came her reply. Good god, my face started to turn red again.

“Ah…okay. Shit. I used it to mop up blood.”

“My bottom locker. Should be another one there.”

“Okay.” I bent down to open it, and pulled out another towel. When I turned around, still on my knees, she’d opened the shower and had stepped out. Water ran down her tight body in rivulets, following her curves. I watch a single drop go from the tip of her dark hair, which was pasted to her shoulder, down her chest, between her small, perfectly formed breasts, down her belly button, and was lost in a light tangle of pubic hair. I stupidly held the towel out for her, my mouth agape. It had been a while since I’d seen a woman in all her glory like this. Space can be a lonely place.

She stepped up to me and ran her fingers through my sweat-caked hair. She was nervous, I could see, and she had a longing in her eyes that mingled with the fear and uncertainty that had been her world for the past few hours. I
wanted
to hold her, to make her fear go away. But most of all I wanted to fill her longing.

I pulled her hand down to my mouth and kissed it. She cupped my face in her hands and pulled me up to kiss me. I stood, and encircled her in my arms. She was shivering, and I wasn’t sure it was because of the cabin temperature. Her probing hands tore the clips on my jump suit open and she peeled me free of it, our mouths still locked in a deep kiss. I stepped out of the suit and carried her to her bunk. A part of my mind nagged that I shouldn’t take advantage of her like this, that I had a duty to her as her Space Daddy. A louder, more insistent part of my mind told me that we both needed this.

We made love, consuming our need and burning away the terror and the stress of combat and danger. It was passion, pure and simple, and it drove our desire like fuel tossed on a fire. When we were spent, we didn’t speak, only lay there for a few minutes more before duty drove us to get up. I surveyed the cabin, the scent of ammonia and sex strong on the air. I’d cleaned the blood off the deck, and the ammonia had taken care of any that had seeped into cracks or grooves. My work here was done. I bent to grab the bucket and rags I was using, but Zoe just took my arm.

“Leave it, I’ll finish here.” She looked me in the eyes as she said it, and gave me a faint smile that reached her eyes.

“Zoe…” I began.

“Thank you. For being here.” She shoved a bundle of my clothes at me and gave me a light push. I dressed quickly and left the cabin. I found that I was also smiling.