Fatal Boarding Page 10

  Chapter 10

 

 

  Leaving the mess hall I was intercepted by a determined Frank Parker. He caught me in the hallway, and had I not outranked him would have grabbed me and held on for dear life. He was dressed in very businessfied green flight wear, freshly pressed, collar starched up. His hair had been trimmed and neatly combed back. A look of dire earnestly was etched into his tanned face, the dark eyes narrowed and penetrating.

  "Adrian, I've got to talk to you for a second."

  "What's up, Frank?"

  "Look, I won't beat around the bush. There's a rumor going around they're planning another EVA. I want in."

  It caught me off guard. The ship's rumor mill was working at its max. I looked quickly around to see if anyone was eavesdropping and pulled him off to one side.

  "Frank, where the hell did you get that? You know that's not going to happen, not now."

  "I'll go all the way to Grey personally if I have to."

  “He's just a tad bit busy these days, Frank."

  "He can put me back on active in two seconds. A few keystrokes on his computer. I need to be on that EVA. You understand, don't you?"

  "If the trip happens at all, they'll be using special forces, Frank. You're a propulsion engineer, not a soldier."

  "What difference does it make? There's no life over there. There's nobody to fight! You're not a professional soldier either, Adrian, and I'd bet you're leading the team. Am I right?"

  "I'm a level four Security officer, Frank. I've had my share of combat training. Listen, this is a dead end for you. The only thing you'll get out of tromping around the higher ups is more grief for yourself."

  He began to protest when the emergency alert signal on my wrist watch interrupted. We looked down at the display as the message, 'SECURITY ALERT: MAIN ENGINEERING: CODE 7' scrolled across the screen. At the same time, a female dispatcher's voice cut in, "Security report to Main Engineering immediately, Code Seven in progress."

  I cut away from him and raced down the corridor, mentally mapping the shortest route. I could hear the sounds of Frank's footsteps pacing me. The alert had to be a mistake. Code Seven meant assault. We hurried along through the dark and light areas in the metallic hallway, brushing past startled crew members who were unaccustomed to security alerts. At the end of the third, most narrow access way, the elevator was fortuitously open and empty. We dropped down to level two and broke back into a cautious run. As we neared the entrance to Main Engineering we could hear muffled shouting. The doors were being held open by a technician who looked ready to run.

  Main Engineering is a large, open section of spacecraft that climbs three stories. There are catwalks, vertical ladders, and one-man elevators to provide access to the upper levels. It is wider than it is deep and the forward walls are completely covered by stacks of electronics consoles. The far wall has a waterfall of plasma conduits, transparent fire hose-sized tubing tinted in rainbow colors. Mixed into the cascade are cable harnesses which drop into the room from a distribution rack that feeds from the tail of the ship. At floor level, the cascade flows around an open alcove entrance to a short corridor made of chrome tubing that leads to the radiant reactor and collector arrays, the facility that provides all of ship's power. The reactor room is a bubble attached to the ship's tail boom at the back of the habitat module. It is a large, external compartment designed to be jettisoned, if necessary, in the event of catastrophic failure.

  We charged into the high bay and found everyone staring in disbelief at the struggle taking place on the third level catwalk. Yelling and screaming echoed off the high walls. Main Engineering's entrance guard stood at the room's center, looking up at the fight, his stun gun drawn and ready to fire. High voltage bursts of electrical energy are generally not recommended in a room full of active electronics consoles. Afraid to use his weapon, he was yelling at the top of his lungs for Mr. Bates and Mr. Dern to cease and desist their hostilities. They paid him no attention.

  They were fighting like animals at the highest point on the right side of the room. Systems Engineer Bates, Ph.D., had resourcefully broken off a thick, half-meter piece of pipe from somewhere and was using it like a baseball bat. He was bleeding profusely from the left side of his head. His gray flight suit was torn from the left shoulder to the waist. Dern had a bloody nose and was backing away, kicking as he went. His cursing was partly drowned out by the clanking of Bates' pipe against the silver catwalk handrail. Dern's green-gray flight suit was covered by splatters of blood, and a trail of it was dripping through the catwalk gratings. I waved off the guard and ran to the vertical ladder at the far end of the room. It would bring me up behind Bates. As I ran, I caught sight of Frank making his way to the access ladder on the far right. If we could get there in time the two would be trapped between us. More Security personnel raced into the room as we started up.

  The ringing cries of pipe against superstructure continued as we scaled the ladders. I hit the second level and looked over to see Frank matching my climb. We quickly reached the ladder tops, keeping a close eye on the two-man war taking place overhead, a war conducted by two of the least likely candidates imaginable. They were locked together, exchanging slapping blows, and as we gained our feet on the catwalk Bates swung his pipe and caught Dern on the upper arm. A howl of pain rose up out of the confusion, but it did not slow either of them.

  With three lunging steps, I got close enough to Bates to distract him. He turned on me, slinging blood from his head wound across my face. He edged forward with club raised and stared like an animal. He whipped his bloodied club back and forth between us and finally swung with a backhand from the left. I wasn't close enough to safely catch it. I ducked forward and heard it whistle by overhead. It slammed into a display sending an explosion of glass and sparks raining down. I popped up inside the swing and wrapped my left arm around him. The metal club slipped from his red, wet hand and went clanking down from catwalk to catwalk, finally hitting the hard metal floor and bouncing from end to end, ringing like an oversized tuning fork. Bates jerked around with a respectable left hook, but I wiped it down so that we ended up in a bloody bear hug facing each other. I was ready for the head butt, but it never came. There was a deep, hollow sob, and suddenly his head fell forward on my shoulder.

  Dern had paused to watch the whole affair. He quickly decided Bates was finished. He clutched his damaged arm and turned to Frank. A new face-off began. I expected Frank to have his hands full. To my surprise, he stood his ground and held up one hand.

  "Hey, Dave, it's me, Frank. I’m on your side. I was at your wedding, remember? You remember the time we were at that stupid convention and we ended up getting blasted out of our mind on bad tequila? You remember that, don't you, Dave? We were sick as dogs the next day. Your wife locked you out of the apartment. I had to put you up, remember Dave?"

  Dern teetered and swayed with a blank stare on his face. For a moment, I feared he might go over the side, but as he collapsed Frank stepped forward and gently caught him. We stared at each other for a moment in disbelief, and then carried our spent comrades to the access elevators. I handed my semiconscious package off to a Security guard who had taken the elevator up to meet us.

  There had been damage to the AmpLight control area. A service technician had already climbed back to the second level and was beginning to wipe blood spots off of the face of several panels. There was scarring on panels where Bate's club had dragged along them. As I surveyed the damage, I noticed something peculiar on a status display. A red, ‘offline’ indicator was flashing by the core heater control panel. At the operator control station, the readout showed the system was in manual mode. The vertical temperature gauges were dropping toward inert status. A little prickling rush of fear flushed through me. Without the core heaters at temperature, the amplight engines would not operate. A re-heat of the system could take weeks. I called to the technician below.

  "Hurry up and look at this!"
/>   The technician was still shaken from the violence. He had a crew cut of light-red hair, a wide face, and hardened features. He scrambled up the ladder and trotted over beside me. "Is the core heater system offline?"

  "Holy jeese... When did they do this?" He started tapping madly at the keys. He called up the heater schematic and became even more concerned. He turned on the catwalk and called to an engineer on the ground floor, "Smitty, you'd better get up here, fast! We've got a cool down in progress on both AL's. They're down to forty-seven percent."

  For a moment everything going on in the post-combat confusion came to a complete halt. Everyone on the floor stopped and looked up fearfully. Three engineers broke into a mad scramble to join us on the second level. I had to hurry to get out of the way. As they began nursing the system back to life, I quietly left with my overloaded bag of misgivings and headed for sickbay.