Draft 2

Month 3: The Dead Zone Continued

Magnus leaned against the wall. The crazed hostility was gone, replaced by shock.

“Chief, what in the hell was that thing? Did Claude bring a dinosaur on board?”

“Claude smuggled that predator out of the Kaelen system,” Helen said, keeping her voice low. “The stasis pod it was in, hidden inside an Omni-Corp agricultural crate, failed and started venting a psychoactive gas of spores. It’s a biological toxin that stimulates the fear center of the brain. That’s why you wanted to tear Claude apart, and why John nearly choked you to death. You were both poisoned.”

Magnus stared at her, processing the information. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I thought I was just fed up with the Suits. I really wanted to kill him.”

“Statistically, Mr. Cantarini,” Seven buzzed from Helen’s shoulder, “your desire to kill Science Officer Kinskey was already hovering at an elevated baseline. The spores merely provided the remaining percent required for physical action.”

“Somebody find the mute button on this flying abacus.” Magnus pushed himself off the wall and shivered. “Why is it freezing down here? Did the life support trip?”

“No, I bypassed the heaters,” Helen said. “Claude’s stasis pod was draining the primary grid and starving the ship’s structural field. I had to sever the power feed to save the hull. The environmental processors on the lower decks run on minimal standby anyway to save Omni-Corp money. Without the primary feed, the ambient temperature down here dropped to fifty degrees.”

“That is our only tactical advantage, Madam. The specimen is a thermophile. It requires extreme heat to maintain its metabolism. The cold ambient air compromises its equilibrium and renders it sluggish.”

Magnus looked up at the ceiling vents. “Wait. If Claude knows the cold slows it down, can’t he just manually override the environmental processors? Can’t he crank the heat up to make the monster stronger?”

Helen hadn’t thought of that. “He can. If he routes the auxiliary reactor power to the upper decks, he could turn the entire habitable zone into a sauna.”

“We should proceed to the Med-Bay, Madam. Medical Officer Wilson is synthesizing more of the aerosolized biochemical buffer.”

“Let’s get going. Then we’ll hit the bridge and fix John and Ingrid.” Helen set off down the corridor.

She had planned to take the primary stairwell back up to Deck Two, but when she placed her palm against the release pad, the panel lit up red, and a denial tone sounded.

“The primary stairwell has been disabled by Flight Command, Madam. Captain Mitchell has initiated a command-tier quarantine on all major transit hubs. He has locked the bulkheads.”

Helen groaned. She had expected a clean run, but John’s paranoia was actively working against them. “Fine. We take the secondary stairwell in Sector Four. It’s slower, but it bypasses the main transit hubs.”

“I must advise against Sector Four, Madam. My audio receptors are picking up a rhythmic, high-density impact directly ahead. The specimen is currently navigating the Sector Four cross-corridors. If we take those stairs, we will climb directly into its path.”

Magnus unclipped a wrench from his belt. “I can take it.”

“Mr. Cantarini, it was hit it with a Class-Three cargo-loader, and it merely walked away,” Seven said. “A wrench will only serve as a metal toothpick after it consumes you.”

“Seven is right,” Helen said. “We go around. We’ll climb the inter-deck cabling shafts.”

It was a miserable climb. The three of them squeezed into a narrow, vertical maintenance shaft packed with thick bundles of cables and pipes. The air was freezing as they hauled themselves up the rungs.

Helen reached the top of the climb, pausing just beneath the floor grate of Deck Two. She gripped the ladder tightly, ignoring the dull throb in her scraped shoulder. Through the metal ceiling directly over her head, she heard the impact of the Behemoth’s footfalls. Thud. Thud. Thud.

They clung to the rungs in silence until the vibrations faded toward the aft bays.

“How the hell did it beat us up here?” Magnus whispered.

“It must’ve climbed up that secondary stairwell,” Helen said, looking up at the grate. “That thing probably just tore the blast door open.”

“Correct, Madam. The creature is actively migrating upward to hunt in the warmer climate of Deck Two.”

A few minutes later, Helen pushed open the overhead grate, and they climbed up into the hallway outside the Med-Bay.

Helen squeezed through the damaged doors of the Med-Bay, Magnus close behind her.

Janet looked up from the synthesizer counter. “Magnus. I hope you didn’t kill anyone.”

“Came close. Chief gave me the rundown. We’ve got a pet monster.”

“Do you have more spray?” Helen walked to the counter.

Janet held up a canister identical to the one in Helen’s hand. “I scraped the absolute bottom of the barrel. I exhausted the entire supply of sodium channel suppressors, but I did manage to synthesize two final aerosol doses. I loaded one into this sprayer for me, and I have just enough to refill yours.”

Helen uncapped her sprayer, and Janet poured the remaining liquid into the reservoir.

“Two doses,” Helen said, tightening the cap. “That leaves zero margin for error. If we miss, or if they dodge, John and Ingrid stay paranoid.”

“Then we make sure we don’t miss.” Janet’s eyes darted toward the door. “Helen . . . what exactly walked past my clinic ten minutes ago?”

“That would be the dinosaur Claude smuggled on board,” Magnus said. “It’s dangerous, so stay away from it.”

“Don’t worry,” Janet said.

“It’s an alien predator,” Helen said. “It’s the source of the spores. Claude let it out of the cargo bay, and it followed the heat up to this deck.”

Janet swallowed hard. “Are we still heading to the bridge?”

“Yes,” Helen said. “But we aren’t going empty-handed. John is locked in there, and he thinks I’m leading a mutiny. He’s going to be hostile. And if that thing finds us in the corridors, we need more than a wrench to back it off.”

Magnus nodded. “The anti-piracy locker.”

“Exactly,” Helen said. “Let’s move.”

They left the Med-Bay in a tight formation. Helen took the lead, Janet stayed in the middle, and Magnus watched their rear.

The security locker was located in a recessed alcove near the primary crew transit hub. The steel door was painted white, bearing a stenciled Omni-Corp logo and a digital keypad.

Helen stepped up to the panel and punched in her override sequence. The keypad flashed red and a buzzer sounded.

“Damn it.” Helen typed the sequence again, slower. Red again. The buzzer sounded louder this time.

“Access denied, Madam. Captain Mitchell has revoked your security clearance. Furthermore, the localized alarm is currently broadcasting our position. Given the creature’s acute auditory tracking, this is highly suboptimal.”

“I know, I know.” Helen pulled a titanium spudger and a micro-driver from her pouch. “Stand back.”

She wedged the spudger into the seam of the wall panel beside the door and popped the metal cover off, exposing the internal locking mechanism.

“He locked the software,” Helen said, working quickly. “But the hardware still needs an electrical current to hold the magnetic seal.” She wedged her insulated pliers inside, gripped the primary power feed, and pulled it free.

With the magnet dead, the door hissed and popped open an inch.

“Congratulations, Madam. By breaching the armory, you have officially upgraded your status from insubordinate to armed mutineer.”

Magnus stepped forward, shoved his fingers into the gap, and pulled the door wide. Inside the locker sat a rack of standard-issue corporate security gear. Most of it was riot-control equipment designed to break up fights among deep-space dockworkers.

Magnus ignored the lightweight stun-batons. He reached to the back of the rack and pulled down an Omni-Corp magnetic shock-rifle. It was a heavy, ugly weapon that fired concentrated bursts of kinetic force designed to crack riot shields. He checked the battery gauge on the side, chambered the first cell with a loud clack, and slung the strap over his shoulder.

“Better.” Magnus smiled.

Helen shifted the dead weight of the thermal lance she’d been begrudgingly hauling across her back. She checked the digital readout on the casing. It glowed a faint green: Four percent.

“Are you planning to construct a warm beverage with that, Madam. The remaining charge is insufficient for structural cutting.”

“No, Seven, I don’t need to cut a structure. I just need to pick a lock. Come on.” She looked back at the others. “And watch for the monster. Fortunately, we’ll be able to smell before it gets too close.”

They left the armory and marched toward the forward decks. The temperature grew warmer as they climbed the open main stairwell to Deck One.

They reached the end of the main corridor. The bridge sat behind reinforced blast doors. A yellow light pulsed above the frame, indicating the cockpit was on total lockdown.

Helen stepped up to the window set into the door. Inside, the bridge was bathed in the blue light of the navigation screens. John was pacing behind the dual-consoles, his command uniform unbuttoned at the collar. He was arguing with Ingrid, his hands moving in erratic gestures. Ingrid sat in the pilot’s chair, glaring back at him. They looked like two caged animals waiting for the other to strike.

Helen tapped the glass with her knuckles.

John snapped his head toward the door. The moment he saw Helen, his face twisted into rage. He rushed up to the glass, his eyes wild and bloodshot like Magnus’s had been. He shouted something, but the soundproofing blocked his voice.

Helen tapped her earpiece. “Seven, give me an audio bridge. Patch me into the cockpit intercom.”

“Routing through auxiliary comms, Madam.” A brief burst of static popped in Helen’s ear. “You are connected.”

“—told you to stay in your quarters!” John’s voice blasted through the earpiece. “You are relieved of duty, Mitchell! Step away from that door!”

“John, you need to let us in. You are suffering from a severe toxin exposure. Cargo Bay Four leaked a psychoactive gas into the air. That’s why you feel like everyone is turning against you.”

Ingrid stepped up behind John. “She’s lying! She’s got the deckhand with her. It’s a mutiny, John. They want the terraforming payout for themselves.”

“No one cares about the payout, Ingrid!” Helen yelled. “There is an alien predator loose on the ship, and Claude is trying to kill all of us!”

John laughed. “An alien? Really, Helen? That’s your excuse for armed treason? I warned you. I told you what would happen if you pulled another stunt.”

He reached to his hip, unholstered a corporate-issued sidearm, and aimed it directly at the glass, pointing it straight at Helen’s face.

“Back away.” John’s finger rested on the trigger. “Or I swear to God, I will defend this ship.”

Magnus raised the shock-rifle, aiming it right back at John through the window. “Open the door, Captain. We aren’t asking.”

Helen stepped to the left, moving out of John’s line of sight. “He can’t shoot through the door.”

Janet moved to the other side of the door. “Talking isn’t going to work.”

Helen knelt beside the door frame.

“Madam, the blast doors are rated to withstand external explosive charges. A four percent thermal lance will not breach the plating.”

“I’m not cutting the plating, Seven.” Helen pressed her fingers against the seam of the bulkhead, feeling for the slight bulge in the metal. “The doors are heavy. They slide on high-pressure pneumatics. The pressure-regulator valve is seated right behind this panel. If I melt the valve, the hydraulic fail. The door becomes dead weight.”

Helen pressed the tip of the lance against the steel panel. She thumbed the ignition. A focused beam of white-hot plasma shot out. Helen drove the heat directly into the metal. The steel bubbled and warped as the charge dropped rapidly.

The beam cut through the panel and struck the pneumatic valve inside. The pressurized air instantly boiled. Then there was a pop and a hiss of escaping hydraulic fluid.

Helen dropped the dead lance to the floor. “Magnus! The seal is broken! Help me pull!”

Magnus slung the rifle over his shoulder. He stepped up to the blast doors, wedging his fingers into the center seam. Helen grabbed the edge beside him. He planted his boots against the deck, let out a guttural roar, and pulled.

Without the pneumatic pressure holding them shut, the doors could be opened. Magnus strained, the veins in his neck bulging, and forced the doors two feet apart.

Helen squeezed through the gap, pulling up her sprayer, hoping her husband would not shoot her.

John was standing ten feet away. His hands were shaking, but the sidearm was leveled squarely at Helen’s chest.

“Don’t take another step,” John said. “I will shoot you, Helen. I will do it.”

The Squad March