Icarus (22 page)

   “I don’t know,” Shawn finally offered, “but I’m willing to bet his
last few log entries will shed some light on it.” He reached down to the side
of the computer and gently pried off a panel that would give him access to the
emergency power grid for the terminal. Shawn pointed the portable power
generator at the opening and turned it on. A green, translucent beam of energy
sprang out from the tip of the wedge-shaped generator and automatically honed
in on the contact pad for the computer. Within seconds, the computer came to
life, lights flashing and buzzers beeping as it ran through a preprogrammed
self-diagnostic boot mode.

   “I don’t want to go over any of this data here,” she said to Shawn as
she withdrew her holovid recorder, then stole a quick glance at Garcia before
turning back to the computer. “We should be able to download the most recent
logs onto this. I’ll give them a closer look once we get back the
Rhea
.”

   “I hope you plan on including me in that private showing.”

   She reached behind her, lightly grasping at Shawn’s thigh in a
maneuver that seemed to raise the internal temperature of his EVO suit. She
plugged the recorder into an available slot on the computer and turned it on.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander.” Inputting a series of commands
into the computer terminal, the small light inside the recorder turned from a
solid red to a quickly flashing blue, indicating that it was initiating a
transfer of the files.

   “How long is this going to take?” Shawn asked guardedly.

   “It depends.” She looked over her shoulder to Garcia to verify the
lieutenant wasn’t paying attention to their activities. “I don’t know how much
information is in the log. I started the transfer from the most recent record
on back. Maybe you should go keep an eye on the Lieutenant. I don’t want him
getting suspicious.”

   Shawn nodded and stepped back to where Garcia was seated at the
navigational computer. The flight computer was now in five large pieces, with a
pile of various-sized screws and bundles of multi-colored conduit lying beside
a twisted pile of liberated blue-white optic-cables. “How’s it going?” Shawn
asked casually as he leaned against a cold bulkhead.

   Garcia’s arm was in the machine nearly up to his shoulder. His free
hand was braced against the case, and his body jerked as if he were trying to
yank something forcibly from the computer’s innards. The lieutenant winced and
licked his lips as he struggled against the machine.

   “I’ve almost…got it, sir. The main storage case is right…there. I’ve
got my hand on it, but it’s playing harder to get than an Iotian slimeslug.”

   “Do you think I could—” Shawn was interrupted when Garcia was flung
backwards as whatever he’d been pulling on came free.

   “There!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “That did the trick.” He held the
computer storage case aloft for Kestrel’s inspection. It was a small thing,
hardly appearing to be worth the trouble Garcia had put into retrieving it. It
was a box about two feet long, about six inches tall and just as wide. There
was a label affixed to the top of the container, probably a warning that
whatever was in there was delicate and should be handled with care.

   “Is that all of it?” Shawn asked skeptically.

   “It sure is.” Garcia was still elated at his retrieval. “Everything in
the ship’s navigational computer is stored in a matrix inside this container.”

   “Could it have been damaged when the ship started freezing over?”

   “It’s hard to say. I mean, these things are designed to withstand just
about anything you can find out here in space. But, with what happened to the
Icarus
…I
just don’t know.”

   “So,” Shawn replied thoughtfully, “we’ve either got gold, or a
worthless hunk of lead.”

   It was then that Melissa came up behind them. She scanned the
container with a small device Shawn had never seen before. “We’ll get
everything back to the ship for a full analysis.”

   A burst of soft static, followed by a voice, came from within Shawn
and Melissa’s helmets simultaneously.

   “Call coming in, sir,” Adams announced.

   The voice was distant, and laced with interference. Knowing that
Garcia’s suit wasn’t coded to the same external communications system, they
knew that, whoever was trying to contact them, the conversation would be kept
discreet. 

   “….say again thi…is Raven. Comma…Kestrel, do you cop…” Regardless of
the static, Roslyn’s voice was a welcome reprieve from the deathly silence of
the
Icarus
.

   Shawn reached down and pressed the commlink button on his suit’s
gauntlet. “Raven, this is Commander Kestrel. Go ahead.”

   There was silence over the channel for what felt like an eternity.
Then a burst of static pelted their ears before his executive officer’s voice
came clearly back online. “I’ve boosted the gain on the transmitter, Commander.
It’s good to hear your voice, Skipper.”

   For once, Shawn was glad to hear the title ascribed to him. “Yours
too, Raven. We found a survivor.”

   Her voice betrayed her elation. “That’s good news, sir. Captain Krif
will be pleased. However, the remnants of that ion storm are playing hell with
our communications. We’ve been trying to get through to you for twenty
minutes.”

   Shawn was instantly on alert. “What’s wrong, Raven?”

   “There’s trouble coming your way.”

   Shawn’s eyes darted to Melissa. “Enemy fighters?”

   Brunel chuckled over the speaker at his question. “Nothing quite as
glorious as that.”

   “Then what?”

   “Oh, nothing much,” Roslyn offered exceedingly causally, as if she
were remarking on beautiful, sunny day. “Just a little meteor shower.”

   Shawn almost choked when a lump suddenly formed in his throat. With
the
Icarus
’ particle deflector net down, something the size as a grain
of sand traveling at a high enough rate of speed would tear through the damaged
hull as if she were made out of wet toilet paper. “How little are we talking
about, Brunel?”

   “Well, the particles range from your typical granules to about the
size and mass of a hover tank.” Her voice was still annoyingly relaxed. “I just
called to suggest that you might want to think about getting the hell out of
there.”

   “How soon?”

   “Based on the locations of your life readings inside the vessel…if you
start running right now, you
might
actually make it.”

   “Your scans can penetrate the hull?” he asked in astonishment.

   “Affirmative. With the ion storm dissipating rapidly, the sensors are
finally clearing up.”

   His mouth was reacting faster than he could think. Luckily, they were
on the same page when the words came out. “Are there any other life form
readings on board?” Shawn’s eyes shot to Adams. The look of resolve in the Marine’s
face told Shawn that this young man would run from stem to stern to retrieve
anyone else that was on board.

   Raven’s answer was instant. “No, sir. Just you four unfortunate
souls.”

   “Not for long, Raven. Kestrel out.” Shawn closed the channel and
turned quickly to Melissa. “Time to go, honey. Grab your souvenirs and let’s
get moving.”

   “With pleasure.” Moving before Shawn had finished, she snatched the
recorder unceremoniously from Garcia’s hands. “I’ll take charge of that,
Lieutenant.” She turned to Shawn, then held it up for his inspection. She gave
him an innocent, yet playful look. “Would you be a doll, Commander, and hold
this for a second,” she said, quickly shoving the device into his grasp. “And,
whatever you do, please don’t drop it.”

   “Yes, ma’am,” Shawn replied dryly. He watched as Melissa reached into
a pocket on her suit and withdrew a small, black object about the size and
shape of a writing pen. She bent down and, grasping the device in both hands,
twisted its midsection. “More toys?” he asked. “Because we don’t have any more
time to play.”

   She chuckled. “More like an insurance policy.” She gingerly placed the
device inside the remains of the navigation computer where the storage drives
had once been, and Shawn knew at once what she was doing.

   “Explosives?” Adams asked suspiciously.

   She nodded in her suit, although it was impossible to tell under the
large helmet. “We can’t let anything else in here fall into the wrong hands.
This has a delayed fuse. When it goes off, it will molecularly destabilize
everything within a two hundred foot radius.”

   “How long?”

   She stood up and winked at the commander. Somehow, it wasn’t
comforting. “When was the last time you ran a marathon?” she asked with a grin.

   Shawn shook his head, then looked over to Garcia. “Think you can get
up to a run?”

   Garcia’s white teeth shone brightly as he smiled. “I don’t know, sir,
but I’m damn well gonna try.”

   “Adams?”

   “Oorah!” the sergeant called out in the traditional Marine battle cry
of enthusiasm.

* * *

   After squeezing back through several tight holes—and rushing over more
stairs and ladders than it seemed they’d used to get to auxiliary control in
the first place—the four castaways finally made it to the hangar level. They
turned the last corner, and down the long corridor Shawn could see the doors
leading out into the hangar and
Sylvia’s Delight
. In the weightlessness
of the passage, he felt like he was trying to run a gauntlet of thick mud. No
matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t moving as fast as he would have liked. From
somewhere behind him there was a cry from Melissa. He turned to face her, and
found her down on one knee and grabbing at her suit.

   “I got snagged on this beam,” she cried helplessly. “I sliced my suit
open. It’s losing pressure.”

   “Adams!” Shawn cried.

   “Sir?” the sergeant was quick to snap back.

   “Grab the flight computer, and make sure Garcia gets aboard. I’ll handle
Agent Graves.”

   “Yes, sir.” Adams snatched the computer from Melissa, then turned
sharply and continued on toward the hangar deck.

   Shawn looked down at the hole in Melissa’s suit. He could tell she
didn’t have long. “That doesn’t look so bad.” He tried to reassure her by
sounding calm.

   She smiled, but her breath was labored. “You’re a poor liar, Mister
Kestrel.”

   The sterile voice from her suit’s computer chimed in. “Danger.
Environmental suit decompression in fifteen seconds. Danger.”

   “Oh, God,” she sighed, obviously annoyed at her own misfortune. “I
don’t want to go out like this.”

   “You’d conserve more air if you shut the airlock on your face.”

   She was about to say something, possibly to remind him that he’d used
that line to better effect once before, but found herself reluctantly agreeing
anyway. Shawn dropped his tool pouch and withdrew a small, pistol-looking
device. He aimed it at the hole in her suit and, as he pressed the trigger, a
steady stream of tan foam sprayed in a direct line and impacted with the hole.
After a three second burst, Shawn grabbed a rag from the tool pouch and placed
it over the foam. Within seconds the foam had solidified between her flight
suit and the rag, forming a stiff, poor-man’s patch that they both knew
wouldn’t hold for long.

   “This is going to hold your air in, but it’s really brittle. You can’t
walk so…so I’ll have to carry you.”

   Melissa couldn’t help but smile, although the lack of air was causing
her to slip out of consciousness rapidly. “And everyone always says that
chivalry is dead.” Shawn leaned into her as she reached her left arm around his
neck. In a swift motion Shawn placed his right arm under her knees and his left
at the small of her back. He hoisted her from the debris-lined deck and
shuffled into the hangar.

   “Pick up the pace, Commander.” It was Raven’s voice in his earpiece
receiver. “Those meteors are getting mighty close. They’ll impact the
Icarus
in less than four minutes.”

   Melissa was hearing the same conversation through her own headset.
“Can we…make it?”

   “Are you kidding? That’s two and a half more minutes than I need.” He
only wished he had the confidence his words exemplified.

   “If we…if we don’t make it,” Melissa muttered, almost too soft for
Shawn to hear, “I just want you to know that…that I…” Then the darkness
overcame her and she went limp in Shawn’s arms.

   “Melissa!” he cried. “Come on, girl. Stay with me.” In an instant he
noted that, while
Sylvia’s Delight
was only about twenty yards away on
the lower deck of the hangar, it might as well have been a mile. Throwing
caution and common sense to the wind, he stepped up on the catwalk guardrail.
He gripped Melissa with all the strength his hands had left, then leapt from
the railing and down to the floor. The microgravity slowed his fall, but only
moderately so. He landed with a thud, feeling his ankle twist under the force.

   Adams and Garcia were waiting for him by the aft hatch when Shawn
stumbled toward
D
with Melissa in his arms. He handed the limp form over
to Adams, who cradled her as Shawn had done. Shawn entered the security code
for the Mark-IV’s cargo hatch, but nothing happened. He then hit the code for
the emergency release, hoping it would pop the door down with enough force for
them to quickly make their entrance. However, the hatch only moved down
slowly…agonizingly so.

   “Can’t this thing go any faster?” Garcia cried out, slapping his hands
against the side of the hull impatiently.

   “The technicians on the
Rhea
must have forgotten to reinitialize
the strut release valves,” he said with disgust as the rear hatch continued to
open slowly. “Come on. Come on!”

   Roslyn Brunel’s voice came over the communications net. “Ninety
seconds until the first impact, Commander. I
strongly
advise that you
get your butt in gear, sir!”