“Why the
Bright Crescent
?” Leave it to
Floros to publicly question the orders.
Oleander waited. She didn’t know what type of senior officer Edones
might be: one who didn’t like his decisions being questioned, or one who figured his people
deserved most of the same information he had for his decisions. Luckily, Edones cocked one
eyebrow at Floros’s query and proved to be the latter.
“Pilgrimage HQ has been specific: One ship each is allowed from AFCAW
and Terran Space Forces, with limited combined mass and displacement. After all, it’s their
territory.”
“But, sir, they obviously don’t know about the weapon—” Oleander stopped
short when she saw the colonel’s expression.
“Yes?” He raised both his light eyebrows, which wasn’t good.
“And I guess they’re never going to know,” she finished.
“Never say never, Lieutenant,” Edones said, almost cheerfully. “But for
right now, we must keep the ship lines in the dark.”
“What about our new allies?” Floros’s tone was sour and she jerked her
head toward the SP, who was huddled with his aides. “How can we execute a dual-flag mission if
they’re not allowed access to ship and weapon specs?”
“Ah, but that’s been anticipated. There’re new classification guides in
everybody’s queues. By the way, Lieutenant Oleander, as senior weapons officer, you’ll
coordinate armament with the incoming Terran ship and crew. You’ll need to do that from the
Bright Crescent
.”
“Yes, sir.”
Edones pointed his slate toward hers and pressed the transmit button.
“Since you’re heading for the ship, take these orders to admin and have the day officer execute
and send them to Directorate admin. Stay there until you’ve verified they’re in effect.”
“Yes, sir.”
She strode out of the room and in the passage, glanced at the orders she
was taking to the day officer. One set of orders put Master Sergeant Alexander Joyce onto
hazardous-duty pay status DI-3. The other set of orders transferred Reserve Major Ariane Kedros
to active duty with the same hazardous-duty pay status. The duty location for both was
G-145.
She raised her eyebrows. As cold and uncaring as Edones seemed, he took
care of his people. Joyce’s family now received additional pay and Kedros had full military
medical benefits if, Gaia forbid, she was wounded in G-145. And if Major Ariane Kedros was in
G-145, conducting her civilian job, then so was
Matt Journey
. The
rescue of G-145 suddenly became personal.
“The connection to module-two-zero-nine-eight-separated-from-
Pilgrimage
has been sealed. I am ready to supply an oxygen-nitrogen
atmosphere.” As if in response to the Minoan’s voice, the vertical airlock seal’s status light
went green.
“Hey, we’ve got light gravity.” David Ray started fumbling about his
webbing. The toxic atmosphere alarm started blaring. “Open the airlock, Matt.”
“We’ll depressurize.”
“That’s hypoxia speaking. I can’t do this myself. I’m hurt, remember?”
David Ray’s urgent tone cut through his fog of panic like a knife.
Luckily, Matt had spacecrew barometric chamber training and he knew
sudden pigheaded irrationality could be a symptom of hypoxia. Several years ago, when he’d gone
through routine low-atmosphere training, his test partner refused to put his oxygen mask back
on when required. The instructors had to tackle him and forcibly attach the mask. The training
let crews experience mild hypoxia to reinforce the idea that, sometimes, your worst enemy could
be your own brain.
The light is green
. Matt undid the webbing
holding him to the floor and bounced unsteadily toward the vertical airlock. He bumped into the
wall and rebounded, catching the edge of the bar.
If the light is green,
the airlock is sealed
, he kept chanting to himself. He webbed himself temporarily to the
handhold and silenced the atmosphere alarm.
Even though the airlock sensors detected an adequate seal, the module
systems knew the airlock wasn’t attaching to anything conventional, or in a manner for which
it’d been designed. Matt had to insist that yes, he was
sure
he
wanted to open the outside seal to the airlock.
The pressure light stayed green, but the seal light started flipping
between red and green. The module system became confused. It flashed conflicting messages on
the wall: “Warning, inadequate seal for safe entry! Oxygenated environment detected outside
airlock.”
Matt finally convinced the system to open the lower seal. He opened the
hatch and a wave of warm, humid air hit him. He breathed deeply and immediately gagged. The
smell
was overwhelmingly fetid for someone raised aboard a
generational ship.
“St. Darius, I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but is the oxygen worth
this
?” However, his headache was fading and—David Ray! Thinking
more clearly and feeling much steadier, he unwebbed himself and went to help the
counselor.
“Egad, that’s awful,” David Ray commented when Matt got him closer to
the airlock. He looked about the module. “This humidity is going to overwhelm the module’s
scrubbers and we’re going to get a lot of condensation. We’ll have to ask them to adjust their
mixture.”
Matt looked warily at the comm panel, his heart sinking. He didn’t want
to talk to them. The Minoan’s voice suddenly came over the systems, making him jump.
“Knossos-ship has been damaged by illegally designed explosives. Are
rescued-persons in module-two-zero-nine-eight-separated-from-
Pilgrimage
responsible?”
Matt turned to David Ray and saw horror wash over the counselor’s face,
his eyes widening.
“Absolutely not!” David Ray shouted. “A group of criminals overtook the
Pilgrimage III
and they are the ones mining the buoy channels, not
us.”
There was silence.
David Ray tapped the mute command, his fingers shaking. “Sorry, Matt,
I’m rattled and I forgot some important points about Minoans. They understand and remember
titles
, so don’t bother with names, because it’ll only confuse
them. There’ll also be uncomfortable pauses, for us, when conversing with them. We have to
learn to wait.”
“You do the talking then. You’ve studied them.”
David Ray nodded and Matt reversed the mute command. They both
waited.
“Knossos-ship has been damaged,” repeated the voice. Another long pause
occurred before it continued. “Knossos-ship cannot support
module-two-zero-nine-eight-separated-from-
Pilgrimage
as attached.
Rescued-persons must board Knossos-ship.”
Matt’s eyebrows rose, but David Ray quickly said, “Rescued-persons
understand and comply.”
“But—” Matt didn’t know if any mundane had boarded a Minoan ship before.
He’d once suspected Edones might have, but was later convinced the supercilious colonel knew no
more than anyone else about the inside of Minoan ships.
David Ray made a shushing gesture, a big smile on his face. Matt shook
his head vigorously.
He’s too drunk to understand; this might be the
answer to
his
dream, but what about me?
Then Matt looked
about the module and his shoulders slumped. If the Minoans claimed they couldn’t keep the
module pressurized, what else could he do?
“Knossos-ship awaits rescued-persons. Please perform your shutdown
procedures.”
David Ray helped Matt enter commands for the module systems; the
precious sperm samples would have acceptable temperature control from the solar panels and
batteries, since the scrubbers could be shut down. Then, for the first time, they leaned
through the airlock hatch and looked “down.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Matt’s voice was tight.
The edges of the outer seal of the airlock sank into something Matt
considered a cross between semitransparent primordial stew and tapioca pudding gone really,
really bad. It was light olive green with internal blotches that varied between red and brown.
His eyes blurred from the stench.
“No defecation of rescued-persons is intended,” said the Minoan
voice.
Matt clenched his jaw. “Yeah, right,” he muttered through his teeth,
into David Ray’s ear.
David Ray, on the other hand, looked fascinated. He pointed to the far
side of the circular puddle filling the airlock tube. “I think our atmosphere is coming through
those ports. Or perhaps, pores?”
Remembering their open comm, Matt shrugged. Considering the
flatulencelike atmosphere, only Gaia knew what those pores were. He had a more pressing
question.
“How are we supposed to board?” he asked, pointing at the tapioca-like
surface. “It can’t be liquid; it’s bumpy. Is it solid?”
Help didn’t come through the comm panel, so they turned back to the
airlock tube.
“Well, I’m game. And I’m already wounded.” David Ray gripped the ladder,
swung away from their small platform, and worked his way down using his arms. He only had to go
about four rungs before his feet touched the puddle surface. His shoes began disappearing as if
they were pressing into viscous liquid.
“At least it’s warm.” He went down another rung and he was up to his
knees in the strange stuff.
“Watch out, it’s changing.” Matt saw internal blotches, or floating
chunks, start moving and coalesce about David Ray’s legs.
“It’s starting to pull—whoa!” David Ray threw his arms up and
floundered, for only a second, like a drowning man on the surface of a lake. Then he went under
with a slurp, merely a large blotch floating deeper until he was quickly out of sight.
“Aw, hell.” Matt punched the delayed close for the airlock and pushed
violently away from the ladder and down, toward the putrid puddle. He closed his eyes and held
his breath as he hit the surface.
“There’s no shuttle or ship here on the surface?” Joyce asked.
“No. We’re not scheduled for a supply delivery for several days,” Maria
said.
“What about emergency evacuation? Are there autonomous pods or modules
available?”
“Yes, but since the surface was considered safer than shooting anyone
into space, they’re fixed structures. Besides, the evacuation modules are accessed from both
sides of the great hall, which is now crawling with these. . . .” She couldn’t finish with any
appropriate words and vaguely gestured with her left hand.
“Whoever they are, they have no insignia or uniforms, so we know they’re
thumbing their noses at the Phaistos Protocol. They’re not military.” Joyce conserved his
energy by sitting in one of the comfy office chairs.
“I agree. I also haven’t seen any connection between the strangers and
the traitors that support them.” Maria looked thoughtful. “Except, I’ve seen no women in their
ranks. Not a one.”
“Once again, we’re lacking information. We don’t know who they are, how
many there are, or what they want. Unfortunately, they’re not hampered by the same
problem.”
“Yes, they are.” Maria smiled. “Aether Exploration made such a mess of
things with their layered contracts, no one knows who’s supposed to be down here or who works
for whom.”
Joyce frowned at her until she looked away and muttered, “Okay, some of
the fault is ours.”
It certainly was. If SP Parmet and his staff hadn’t forced Kedros to
sign leases over to Terran companies—but then, if the Minoans hadn’t applied pressure, there
wouldn’t be Minoan-owned contractors here either. Joyce shook his head. No sense in assigning
blame, when they had to focus on getting up to Beta Priamos.
“Apparently the only way off this rock is the elevator. Do we have any
weapons?” he asked.
“Only this.” She pulled a personal ministunner from her pocket. It was
civilian and it didn’t have a lethal setting, plus its range had to be less than twenty
feet.
This was so incongruous he had to laugh, quickly muffling himself with
his hand. Catching his hysteria, Maria chuckled quietly as she put the ministunner back in her
vest. They quickly sobered.
“We’re not going to scare anybody with a personal stunner, considering
they’re running around with flechette pistols. So scratch any thought of overpowering the guys
running the elevator.” Joyce leaned back further and the chair adjusted, making him think about
how much he’d like a nap, a few delicious moments of sleep. “Could we wait them out? Until a
hostage exchange or whatever they’re planning?”
Maria shrugged. “Problem number one: We don’t know that they plan to
negotiate with any authorities. Problem two: I saw them inventorying our supplies and making
themselves at home in our kitchen, so they think they’ll be here for a while.”
“Key words are
they think
, because once the
outside worlds figure out—”
“What if they’ve got control of the buoy?” Maria’s voice was blunt.
“Then no one’s getting into the system.”