Draft 2

Chapter 35

Month 3: The Dead Zone Continued

The corridor leading to the Lower Logic Hub stretched out like an endless tunnel. Helen leaned her weight onto the crowbar, using it as a cane. Every step sent a sharp spike of pain radiating from her sprained ankle straight up to her hip.

“Madam, your current ambulatory pace has degraded to zero point three miles per hour,” Seven said, clinging to the shoulder of her coat. “At this rate, Science Officer Kinskey will have ample time to reboot the navigation, brew a cup of synthetic tea, and compose a brief memoir before you cross the threshold.”

“Not helping, Seven.”

“I am merely contextualizing our timeline. Your right ankle is swelling significantly. I recommend elevating it above your head.”

“I’ll elevate it once Claude is locked in the brig.”

She reached the end of the transit line. The doors to the Lower Logic Hub were cracked open just enough to let a sliver of light spill into the dark hallway. Helen paused, then gripped the crowbar with both hands and peered through the narrow gap.

Claude stood at the master terminal in the center of the room, typing across the keyboard.

Helen stepped into the room, intending to slip through the shadows and bring the iron bar down on the back of his head before he ever knew she was there.

She brought her bad foot forward to close the distance. She tried to step quietly, but her boot caught the edge of an uneven floor grate. Her sprained ankle gave out, causing her to stumble forward. Her knee hit the deck, and the tip of the crowbar loudly scraped against the metal plating.

Claude stopped typing. He turned around, drawing the Omni-Corp sidearm from his coat, and leveled the barrel directly at Helen’s chest.

“Chief Mitchell. I must admit, your persistence defies all statistical models. You survived the apex predator.”

Helen forced herself to stand upright, ignoring the searing pain in her leg. She kept a tight grip on the crowbar. “You left us to die.”

“I left you to be repurposed.” Claude gestured with his pistol, indicating she should drop her weapon. “There is a distinct difference. The Kaelen specimen required sustenance after its cryogenic slumber. You and your crew were simply convenient calories.”

“Put the gun down, Claude. It’s over.” Helen stepped to the side, trying to gauge the distance between the iron in her hands and the pistol in his. “Your monster is frozen solid in the Cargo Neck.”

Claude’s expression barely shifted. “A temporary setback. Once I restart the ship’s primary thrusters, I will simply route the environmental processors to thaw my cargo. Now, drop the iron bar.”

Helen didn’t move. “You can’t fly this ship. The Scuttle lock requires a manual reboot, and you don’t know the engineering grid like I do. You’re a lab rat.”

“I do not need to know the grid.” Claude tapped the drive protruding from the terminal. “I possess the biometric keys, and the forged navigational logs. Once the download finishes, the autopilot will guide me to Tartarus Colony. My buyers are waiting. They are offering a sum of credits so large, your blue-collar mind could not fathom the arithmetic.”

Helen shook her head. “John is alive. Magnus is alive, and he has a shock-rifle. If you shoot me, they will hear it. They will come down here and tear you apart.”

“Let them come. Once I finish this reboot, I will lock the bulkheads and vent the remaining oxygen in the lower decks. They will suffocate long before they reach this hub.” He raised the pistol. “As for you, I require a more immediate solution. Goodbye, Helen.”

Helen braced for the shot, but Seven did not wait for her command. The little drone detached from her shoulder. His battery was critically low, and his logic board was failing, but he zipped across the room, launching himself straight at Claude’s face.

Seven’s blue optic flared to a blinding, strobe-light intensity. He engaged his external speaker at maximum volume. “SYSTEM INITIALIZATION! GOOD EVENING, MADAM! PLEASE REMAIN CALM!”

Claude flinched, squeezing his eyes shut against the blinding light. He swiped his free hand blindly through the air.

“Get this annoying appliance away from me!”

He swung the pistol, swatting Seven out of the air with a brutal backhand. The drone hit the bulkhead with a crunch. Seven dropped to the deck, his optic dimmed, and his rotors whined and died.

The distraction lasted only seconds, but it was all Helen needed. She lunged forward off her good leg. She swung the crowbar with everything she had, aiming for the weapon.

The iron connected with Claude’s wrist. Claude screamed.

The sidearm slipped from his hand and skittered across the floor. Claude stumbled backward, clutching his shattered arm.

“You ignorant mechanic!”

Helen didn’t give him a chance to recover. She reversed her grip on the crowbar, and drove the blunt end hard into the side of Claude’s head.

The scientist’s eyes rolled back. He collapsed, folding onto the deck in an unconscious heap.

Helen stood over him, breathing heavily. She prodded his leg with her boot to ensure he was out cold. He didn’t twitch.

She picked up the dropped sidearm, checked the battery cell, and shoved it into the waistband of her trousers. Then, she hurried over to the corner where Seven lay. She carefully picked up the dented chassis. Another one of his legs was damaged, having been bent backward. His casing was cracked down the center.

“Seven?”

Against her palm, the drone produced a weak vibration. He was damaged, but he was still online. Helen gently placed the drone into her coat pocket.

“Hang in there, little guy.”

Helen hobbled over to the master terminal. The data drive was still pulsing, the transfer complete. Using Claude’s stolen corporate override to access the primary navigation root, she highlighted the Scuttle lock failsafe.

Execute manual hardware reset?

Helen hit the enter key. Instantly, the ambient hum of the Persephone changed. The overhead emergency lighting switched back to standard white. Deep in the aft engineering bays, the slip-drive began to spool up, as the primary reactor came back online. The ship wasn’t moving yet, but the systems were primed and ready.

She lifted the comms blackout next.

Helen tapped her earpiece. “John, do you copy? The Scuttle lock is disengaged. I have the ship.”

Static hissed for a moment before John’s voice broke through. “Helen! We copy. Janet is working on Magnus right now. He’s in bad shape, but he’s breathing.”

“I’m on my way.” A wave of relief washed over her. “Claude is neutralized. We’re safe.”

“Madam,” Seven’s audio routed weakly into her earpiece. “My audio sensors . . . are picking up an acoustic anomaly over the open comms channel.”

“What anomaly, Seven?”

“Background noise originating from the Captain’s location. The ambient temperature in the Cargo Neck is rising due to the life support reboot. The thermal transfer is accelerating.”

Helen frowned. “Meaning what?”

“The ice, Madam. It is cracking. The specimen is thawing.”

Never underestimate the engineer’s pet.