Far Space (20 page)

The airlock anchored itself to the floor of the compartment. A few seconds later, a ring of carefully aligned shaped charges blew downward. The blast pressed into the cavity below, forcing the debris from the new door downwards, preventing possible damage to MAMA. As the pressure equalized, Bealeman watched as the super-strong fabric of the airlock rippled as liquid rose from the floor below them.

“Bealeman, point,” Taylor said.

Bealeman stepped into MAMA’s outer lock while Murst sealed him in. Bealeman was soon immersed in the liquid as the divide between the outer and inner lock folded away. Bealeman stepped forward and used his pack to push him downward with powerful thrusts.

As soon as he was clear of the airlock, he knew MAMA would pump the slurry from the outer chamber to a holding bladder which handled liquid atmospheres just as easily as gaseous ones. Lord only knows what the designers thought space marines would be doing with MAMA since they were designed long before this particular alien species showed up. Someone
had been thinking ahead and managed to over-engineer this piece of military equipment so it would be capable of handling the dense environment.

Bealeman brought up his M-25S and turned in a quick circle, careful to keep his mag boots attached to the floor. The face plate of his armor had automatically adjusted to the new environment and was showing him a red-tinged, false-color projection of his surroundings. The sensors were sending out short sonar pulses, ensuring the Marine was not relying solely on visual cues in the murky surroundings.

Sure there were no tentacles reaching for him from one of the many crevices, Bealeman pushed down the slurry-filled, curving corridor, making way for the next man to cycle through MAMA.

“Heading to starboard,” Bealeman called over the net. He kept scanning in front of him. The corridor they had dropped in seemed to run across the beam of the alien ship. As had proved true in the compartments the Marines had searched above, it did not take long for the corridor to empty into an otherworldly chamber. It was filled with the coral-like protrusions the squids seemed to find so appealing.

Bealeman’s external sensors pick up the sound of the second Marine joining him through MAMA.

“Taking portside,” Murst called out.

“Copy, Gunny,” Bealeman replied.

Bealeman slogged forward, feeling for all the world like an early deep sea diver with one of those bell helmets. If he had a hose leading back to the upper level, the illusion would have been complete. The armored combat suit he was wearing was rated for water environments and he had even been through training ops in huge pools containing mock-up ships and stations. It was the best way to simulate zero-or low-gee environments. Still he never expected to have to deal with the resistance of liquid against his movements while on a combat mission. Bealeman had been able to deal with the distractions the
water imposed against him as part of the artificial training environment. But he had assumed combat in the real world would be more like the virtual reality simulations.

Cheaper and easier to change at will, VR had been considered a God-send by the space training folks. Bealeman now thanked God for the hands-on water training. He’d thought it had been a pain at the time to suit up, get wet, and then have to completely dry and recertify all his equipment after each session, but he was glad he had that tactile experience to fall back upon now that he was facing possibly the most hostile environment Space Marines had ever encountered to date.

Shoving training thoughts aside, Bealeman exited the chamber after verifying it was empty of aliens and concentrated on the tee in the short corridor ahead. To the right, the corridor arced back around to the prow of the vessel. To the left, the corridor seemed to widen and open into a larger room. His sonar could not quite make out the far side. Bealeman made a note to himself to include a suggestion to upgrade the sonar and radar suites onboard the armor in his out-brief. If Marines were going to face more water-fighting, they needed more powerful units. He asked, “What do you think, Gunny?”

Murst replied, “Big-ass room back there.”

Over the net, Major Taylor added, “Be aware, I have been unable to raise Rucker and his team.”

Bealeman said nothing. He just hoped the FACs had not been fried when the engines had kicked on.

Pushing forward through the water, Bealeman noted the temperature continued to rise. He reported, “Looks like this chamber is the source of all the heat.” He tried to keep his voice even and calm. The Air Force guys prided themselves on sounding like Chuck Yeager in a tail spin, just reporting how nice the weather was. Bealeman was going to at least make checking out an alien ship sound just as easy.

Murst’s helmet lights came into view across the murky water filling the chamber. The Gunnery Sergeant was otherwise just an outline on the false color image painted across his faceplate.

“There’s more particulate in here,” Murst noted.

Bealeman moved to the center of the room where a glow was issuing from a raised section of the floor.

Murst joined him as they looked down. “Cripes, I hope that isn’t some sort of wormhole space drive piece of crap.”

Bealeman looked up from the pulsing engine core and scanned the rest of the room. He did not know how to turn off a warp engine and was not about to try. He spotted something familiar along the rear wall. There were seven more cylinders just like the ones found upstairs.

“Here, Gunny,” Bealeman said. He moved closer, noting three of the containers were glowing faintly while the other four remained dark.

Bealeman swallowed.

This could not be good.

“They’re in there, aren’t they?” Murst asked, moving close to the Lance Corporal’s side.

Bealeman leaned forward; the liquid filling up the sarcophagus-like cylinder was even murkier than the liquid filling the rest of this level. But, he was able to make out the darker shape of the creature inside. A tentacle slowly moved across the front of the clear material.

Despite his earlier bravado, Bealeman stepped back and raised his weapon. “It’s alive!”

Murst did not have a chance to respond.

All three doors on the glowing cylinders exploded outward.

Bealeman blocked the door by crossing an armored forearm over his faceplate. He had been told the material protecting his face was nearly as strong as the laminated armor covering the rest of his body, but now was not the time to test that particular assertion. The door slammed into him, sending him spiraling back from the hibernation modules.

Recovering quickly from the shock, Bealeman pushed the door away and brought his M-25S to bear on the inside of the cylinders. Before he could pull the trigger, the aliens flew away in different directions; a flurry of arms and tentacles.

Murst was cursing up a storm over the Ops net. Another cylinder door had hit him and broken to pieces. Murst thrust the section away from his legs.

Bealeman swung his 25S around the room, looking for a target.

Murst fired a three round burst in the direction of the corridor he had entered through. “Cripes they’re fast!”

Bealeman did not have a chance to answer before one the creatures landed on top of him. He dropped his 25 and grabbed at the thing wrapping its tentacles around his torso with one hand. With the other, he reached for his K-bar knife.

“Little help here,” Bealeman said calmly in between breaths.

He slashed and punched at the soft skinned alien. The feeling of his fist sinking into the flesh and the sensation of one of the tentacles ripping away at his motor-assisted fists sickened him. This was no way to fight a battle.

“Gotcha, Corporal,” Murst called.

Twisting around and down, Bealeman did his best to get out of the Gunnery Sergeant’s way. Through the cloudy water, Bealeman saw Murst soaring across the chamber, his M-25S held like a club. The force from the contact between Murst’s make-shift bludgeon and the squid-thing was enough to dislodge it from Bealeman’s back. As soon as the alien was knocked free, Murst twirled his weapon around and loosed his flachettes.

The unearthly screech from the thing’s beaked mouth filled the chamber for just a moment.

Bealeman turned from the shredded alien and immediately sought the other alien crew members. “You see where they got to, Gunny?”

“Lost ‘em,” Murst grunted, as he pushed aside his still twitching kill. “At least one went down that corridor.”

Bealeman was spinning about, aiming his 25 in every corner while using his other hand to work the portable scanner. “It’s not in here.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Murst said. Over the net, he called, “Sir, we could use a little back-up down here.”

“So I heard, Gunny,” Taylor responded. “Looks like it’s just the four of us though.”

“Copy…hope Newbie figured out how to shoot,” Murst muttered.

Bealeman didn’t care if Langdon could shoot or not. There were real live aliens to worry about down here. “I’ll take any help at this point, Gunny.”

“Langdon! Get you but back here!” Taylor shouted over the Ops net.

Ian looked from the glowing display holos to the rear of the ship. To Jennifer, he said, “Get this thing stopped.” With that, he turned and pushed off to a corridor leading aft.

“Where are you going?” Jennifer called after Ian.

“I’m their back-up,” Ian stated.

“How do I stop it?”

Ian caught himself and twisted his armored body so he could see Jennifer. She looked like some sort of magician as she sat perched atop the control console in her white soft suit. “How should I know, I’m a Marine today, not a space pilot.” Seeing the joke completely miss the mark, Ian waved his arm around the room, finally pointing back at the console. “Try pushing some buttons or something. Just make sure we don’t dive down any wormholes.”

Jennifer cracked a smile. “Right, wormholes bad, stopping good. Thanks for the great technical advice. Go get ‘em Corps boy.” She turned to the two techs hanging on to coral-like lumps growing from the floor and walls. “You heard him guys, start hitting buttons.”

As Ian turned to go, Jennifer and the two techs jumped into action. He pushed off; almost glad he had only hostile alien creatures to face. He certainly had no idea how to stop a run-away alien space ship.

USS Cheyenne

Saturn Space

“What the blazes is going on?” Yates demanded as he floated onto the command deck. He missed the partial gravity the constant acceleration on the outbound had provided. At least then, everything had an up and down.

“The alien ship has powered up some sort of secondary drive system and is accelerating,” Mitchell reported.

Yates finished buckling in and pulled a control board in front of him. “We need the engines on-line.” He looked back over this shoulder. An L5 propulsion rep was in Pearl’s usual seat staring back at the commander. Yate’s asked, “Where’s Steve?”

“He went over to the other ship on the last shuttle,” the man said. Yates thought his first name was Jack.

“Okay, Jack,” Yates said and turned forward to check his display board, “you’ve got the job. I need some power.”

“Scott, sir,” the engineer said. “My name is Scott Macklefield.”

Yates turned back to the man. “Just get me some power, Macklefield.” Yates wished for a moment the man’s name had just been Jack, this was no time for the potential humor he suddenly found. Focusing back on the alien ship climbing away from the Cheyenne, Yates said, “Mitchell, bring the weapons on-line.”

“Yes sir,” Mitchell said not looking up. “Power up sequence initiated.” He reached over, snagged his cowboy hat from its niche and settled it on his head. “Looks like it’s gonna be one of those days.”

“Steve, Langdon, the Marines, and some techs are still on board, sir,” Maytree reminded Yates.

“I’m aware, thank you, Captain,” Yates said. “Mitchell, target the rear of the ship. Propulsion systems if you can find ‘em.” Something struck Yates. “What happened to Rucker and the FACs?”

“When the ship powered up, they were thrown off the hull by a plasma surge,” Reeves said. “Valiant was able to pick them up.”

“Tell Valiant to get back here or he’ll be left behind,” Yates said. “Is O’Brian still out?”

“No sir, he was docking right before the alien ship took off.”

“Where’s my power, Scott,” Yates asked over his shoulder.

“AM drive coming on-line now,” Macklefield replied. “But, we really need some time to align the containment field for maximum…”

“Are we going to blow ourselves up?” Yates asked.

“No, we just…”

“Give me all you have,” Yates said. “Mitchell, how’re we looking?”

“Missiles on-line and rail-guns ready.”

“Do not fire, I repeat, do not fire, Captain Mitchell unless I give very, very clear direction,” Yates clarified.

“Of course, sir,” Mitchell said with a touch to the brim of his hat.

“Reeves, try and raise someone on board and find out what’s happening,” Yates said. “Tell them to abandon ship if they have to. We cannot let that thing get away.”

“Valiant is back with the SF guys,” Maytree reported. “He would like you to know Rucker is really peeved and will be joining us shortly on the bridge.”