Draft 2

Chapter 31

Month 3: The Dead Zone Continued

Without the primary environmental processors, the localized venting had turned Flight Command into an icebox.

“We need thermal gear,” Janet said, her teeth chattering.

John crossed the deck to the emergency supply locker, wrenched the handle down, and pulled the door wide. He grabbed an armful of silver, foil-lined thermal coats and tossed them out.

Helen caught hers and shoved her arms into the sleeves. The material was stiff and cold, but as she zipped it to her chin, her body heat began to reflect inward.

“Madam,” Seven said as he floated up to the ceiling. “At the current ambient temperature, frostbite will begin to claim the exposed extremities of the crew in approximately forty-two minutes. I suggest vigorous wiggling of your toes, as you will require them for bipedal locomotion.”

“Good tip, Seven.” Helen pulled the collar of her coat up to trap her body heat. “Keep an eye on our core temperatures.”

“Acknowledged. I must also point out that if hypothermia sets in, huddling for shared body heat increases survival time by eighteen percent. However, given his current hostility, I strongly advise against cuddling with Mr. Cantarini.”

“Shut the drone off, Helen, before I shoot it,” Magnus grumbled as he shrugged on his thermal coat, his broad shoulders stretching the silver seams.

Helen ignored the mechanic. She turned to her husband, who was pulling on his jacket.

“Claude is locked out of the navigation because of the Scuttle lock,” Helen said. “He can’t hack it from his lab.”

John paused as he zipped his jacket. “He’s stranded out here just like us.”

“Exactly,” Helen said. “If he wants to deliver that monster to Tartarus Colony and get his payout, he has to manually reset the breakers.”

“He’s heading for the lower logic hub,” Magnus said.

“Right,” John said. “Which means he has to leave the Science Lab.”

Helen nodded. “That means his lab will be empty, but the primary doors will still be sealed shut. Claude isn’t going to leave the front door open for us.”

“So how do we get his biometric drive?” John asked. “We don’t have the codes to slice his keypad.”

“The ventilation network.” Helen pointed up at the ceiling grates. “Seven and I can crawl through the central ducts, bypass the primary door locks, and drop into the lab from the ceiling.”

John looked at the air vents, then down at the dead monitors on the console. “Wait. You vented the heat out of the bridge. The lower decks are already cold because Claude starved the environmental processors.”

“And the cold makes the monster sluggish,” Helen said immediately. “As a thermophile it needs heat to survive, so I’m sure it’s finding someplace warm.”

“The only warm place I know is the dark-matter reactor,” John said.

“Captain Mitchell is correct.” Seven lowered his altitude by a few inches. “The reactor casing in the lower engineering bay radiates an immense thermal signature. It is the only remaining heat source on the vessel. The Behemoth will naturally migrate toward it to regulate its core temperature.”

“If that beast tears into the reactor shielding to get warm,” John said, looking at Helen, “it will breach the containment cell. The entire ship will detonate.”

The bridge went dead silent.

Magnus racked the charging handle on his shock-rifle. “Then we don’t let it get to the engine block. We follow it down the transit corridor and shoot the ugly bastard until it stops moving.”

“I don’t think that will work,” Helen said. “Your shock-rifle only knocked it backward, and John’s slugs bounced off its hide. We don’t have the firepower to kill and apex predator.”

John stepped up to the navigation console and tapped the glass over a printed deck schematic. “What if we trap it? We herd it into the central transit hub and lock the reinforced bulkheads on both sides. We starve it of heat and oxygen.”

Seven pivoted in the air, facing John. “I must advise against that, Captain. The creature just peeled a titanium blast door off its tracks using only its forelimbs. A standard bulkhead will not contain it for more than sixty seconds.”

John slammed his fist against the edge of the console. “So we can save the reactor, but we can’t kill the monster, and we can’t trap it.”

“We have to bait it,” Helen said.

John looked up.

“It hunts,” Helen continued. “It tracked Magnus because he was making noise. If we make enough noise, we can pull it away from the engine block.”

“Using ourselves as bait?” A grim smile spread across Magnus’s face. “I can do that. Where are we taking it?”

John took a deep breath. “The central Cargo Neck.”

“That makes sense,” Helen said. “It’s a long, wide corridor, and it sits at the exact opposite end of the lower decks from the reactor.”

“Alright. We split up,” John said. “Magnus and I will head down there. We’ll bang on the bulkheads and draw its attention into the Cargo Neck. We keep it focused on us and away from the dark-matter drive.”

“And then what?” Magnus asked. “We can’t jog backward forever.”

“Then you stay alive until I get the biometric drive,” Helen said. “Once we undo the Scuttle lock and take the mainframe back from Claude, we can use the ship against the monster. We can drop the blast doors and vent the Cargo Neck directly into the vacuum of space. But I need the drive first.”

“You heard her,” John said. “We buy Helen time.”

“Ingrid is still coming off the sedative. She can barely walk, let alone outrun an alien,” Janet said. “What do we do?”

“Take her to the secondary medical supply closet on Deck Two,” John said. “It has a manual deadbolt. Lock yourselves inside and prep trauma kits. We’re going to need them.”

John turned Helen. “And you get that biometric drive.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Let’s move,” John said.

Magnus stepped up to the mangled blast doors. He wedged his boots against the track, gripped the bend titanium edge, and hauled the doors wider until there was a gap large enough for a person to slip through.

They filed out into the transit corridor. The air here was just as freezing as the bridge.

“Come on, sweetheart. One foot in front of the other.” The doctor guided the stumbling navigator down the hall toward the Deck Two stairwell.

Magnus checked his rifle battery. “I’ll take point, Captain. If that thing is lingering in the stairwell, I’ll put a kinetic round in its teeth.”

John turned to Helen. “Get in, get out. If you hear Magnus and I screaming over the comms, you stay in the vents. You do not come down.”

Helen watched them leave.

“Madam, we are currently wasting two commodities we do not possess in abundance: time and body heat.”

“You’re right, Seven. I’d better get moving.”

She headed for the primary stairwell and quickly descended to Deck Two. She bypassed the transit hub where Janet and Ingrid were securing themselves in the medical closet, and slipped into the starboard access hall.

She couldn’t walk right up to the Science Lab’s main doors; Claude might have the corridor security feeds active. She needed to get into the ductwork above the room.

She found a standard ventilation grate in the ceiling. Beneath it, a short row of rungs were welded into the bulkhead.

Helen climbed the rungs. She hooked her left arm over the top bar to secure her balance, unclipped her hydrospanner, and fitted the head over the cam-latch securing the grate.

The tool applied torque, and the rusted latch popped open. She moved to the second, then the third, forcing the seized hardware to release.

When the last latch fell, Helen pulled the grate free and shoved it onto the conduit piping running along the ceiling.

Seven floated up beside her face. “Madam, the confined geometry of this ductwork offers zero maneuverability. If we encounter a physical obstacle, or if the creature somehow breaches the sheet metal, our survival rate is a statistical zero.”

“I’m aware, Seven.” Helen hoisted herself up, wedging her elbows onto the lip of the opening.

“Furthermore, the structural integrity of these secondary ducts was not rated for human transit. There is a fourteen percent chance the brackets will fail, dropping us directly into the path of the specimen.”

“Noted.” She kicked her boots against the wall rungs, using the leverage to shove her torso into the cold duct. The metal groaned under her weight. “Are you coming, or are you going to stay out there and calculate my life insurance payout?”

“I am coming, Madam. Someone must document your highly irrational decisions.”

Seven zipped upward, slipping into the dark tunnel ahead of her.

Helen pulled her legs inside. The space was incredibly tight. She lay flat on her stomach and could not lift her head more than a few inches.

“Illuminate,” Helen said.

Seven’s optic flared, projecting a blue beam down the long expanse of the shaft. The duct stretched forward into infinity, lined with frost and thick layers of dust.

Helen braced her elbows against the floor of the shaft and began to crawl.

Helen crawls through a ventilation duct while Seven lights the way.