Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (37 page)

Cutter leaned back in the seat and sighed. He’d taken a massive gamble in attempting to activate the First Imperium vessel. He hadn’t known the fleet would be attacked when he did it. It was his own initiative...no, more than that…his reckless craving for knowledge, his need to match his mind against such a superior adversary. His actions had possibly saved the fleet, but that had been an accident, nothing he could take credit for. He’d never imagined he could take total control of the ship so quickly, let alone bringing it back to X18 just as the fleet was fighting a hopeless battle. He realized how lucky they had been…and his own impending death didn’t alter his view of the good fortune that had smiled on their venture. He would die, and Ana too, but perhaps thousands would live as a result of what they had done. And if the fleet had been destroyed, Cutter knew he and Ana would have died anyway.

“Doctor Cutter? Major Frasier?” The small portable com unit crackled to life, a woman’s voice calling to them by name.

Cutter hopped out of his chair and raced to the communications device. “Cutter here,” he replied.

“Doctor Cutter, this is Admiral Hurley. I am leading a rescue mission to get you off that ship. How long will it take you to get back to your original ingress point?”

Cutter paused. It had taken them literally days to explore their way in this far, but now they knew the way back. “I’m not sure, Admiral. Half an hour? Maybe more.”

“No good,” came the reply. That ship’s not going to be there in half an hour.”

Cutter sighed hard. It was at least four kilometers back to the docking station. “Then you might as well go home, Admiral. There’s no point in risking your people for nothing.”

“Fuck that, Doctor. I came to get you, and by God, I’m going to get you.” A pause. “You have survival suits, right? Is there any way you can get to an airlock faster? I can pluck you out of space before you run out of air.”

“Yes, we have suits.” He’d kept everyone on bottled and recycled air, not willing to trust the First Imperium atmosphere the intelligence had restored. The survival suits weren’t meant for serious EVA, but they could sustain life in deep space long enough to allow a rescue attempt.

“Hold on, Admiral.” Cutter turned toward the globe he knew was the intelligence’s core. It was a meaningless gesture…the computer didn’t care if he was facing it or not when they communicated. But it made him feel better somehow. “Display the fastest route to an operable airlock.”

Will the thing get upset that I am leaving it behind to die?

“Displaying optimal escape route.”

Cutter’s eyes focused on the map for half a minute before he got his bearings. Then he saw it. Less than half a kilometer.

“Admiral, five minutes. Does that work?”

“It works fine. Don’t waste time talking to me. And remember to set your transponders on full power so we can find you.”

Cutter nodded, as much to himself as anything. “Alright, Admiral.” Then, an instant later. “Thanks.”

“Okay, let’s get go…”

The ship shook again, harder this time. Cutter fell and slid across the deck, crashing painfully into a large structural column. He started to get up, but he paused for an instant on his hands and knees, shaking his head. The fall had knocked the wind out of him. It was at least thirty seconds before he started to stand…and his eyes found Ana.

She was lying against a large bulkhead, silent, motionless. Connor Frasier was there already, his massive armored figure crouched over her.

Cutter stumbled across the deck, dropping to his knees next to her. “Ana,” he said urgently. “Ana?” But there was no response.

“She is alive, Doctor, but I’m afraid she’s badly hurt.” He gestured toward the side of her head. Her hair was matted with blood.

“Ana…”

“She needs help right away, Doctor. Or she’s going to die.”

Cutter stared down helplessly, reaching out and putting his hand gently on her shoulder. A few seconds later, he saw movement in his peripheral vision, and he turned to see Frasier lying down on the deck. And instant after that he heard a loud popping sound.

The gargantuan suit of armor popped open like a clamshell, and all 190 centimeters and 110 kilograms of Connor Frasier climbed out, stark naked. He turned quickly toward Ana.

“We have to get her in my armor. My med system can save her.” Marine armor was equipped with extensive trauma control mechanisms designed to save grievously wounded warriors on the battlefield.

“But it’s so big…and how will we get her out of here in that?”

“It doesn’t have to fit her for this…we just need to get her into it. And the suit’s AI can control the suit enough to walk with her inside.”

Cutter nodded, sliding over and grabbing Ana’s legs. Frasier slipped his hands under shoulders and the two lifted her gently, carrying her over to the suit. They set her down as well as they could inside.

“Frasier hesitated for a few seconds then he popped her helmet and began unzipping her survival suit. He glanced up at Cutter, who was looking at him with a confused expression on his face. “We need to get her clothes off. The med sensors work on touch.”

Cutter nodded and leaned over Ana, helping Frasier strip off her suit. He was annoyed at his own hesitancy. They were trying to save her life, not sneak a look at her in the shower. But still, he felt strange about it.

What juvenile idiots we all are…

They finally managed to get her inside the suit, and Frasier commanded the AI to seal it. A few seconds later, she was closed up inside.

“She’ll be okay. I’ve been worse off and it’s saved me.” Frasier turned and looked at the suit. “Get up…we’ve got to get out of here.”

The suit obeyed his command, rising quickly. Frasier glanced over at Cutter. “Let’s go…I doubt we have much time. Lead on, Doc.”

Cutter nodded, and he walked out into the hallway, following the course the AI had highlighted.

Frasier looked around the room briefly, and then he directed the AI to follow. “At least we know the air is breathable…though I suppose I could have sucked in a lungful of some epic plague and not know it yet.”

Cutter stopped dead in his tracks. “How are we going to get you out of here?” he said, suddenly realizing that Frasier would be stuck on the Colossus without his suit.”

“I guess we’re not going to, Doc,” the Marine said calmly. “But we’re getting the two of you off, that’s for sure. I’ll be damned if I’m going to fail my last mission.”

*  *  *

“All units, fire everything you have left.” Compton sat on
Midway’s
flag bridge, staring out over the battle ravaged scene before him. He moved his hand up to scratch an itch on his face, and he smacked it into the clear helmet for the third time. The flag bridge hadn’t lost life support yet, but much of
Midway
had, and he’d ordered his staff to put the helmets on about ten minutes before. His flagship had given all she had to the fight, and he knew she didn’t have much left. Her hull was riddled with breaches, and at least a quarter of the crew had been killed.

He knew Jim Horace was still at his position down in
Midway’s
command center. He also knew the officer should have been in sickbay. Internal video com was down, so all he knew was what he’d been told. But he had a good idea that Horace’s left leg had been damn near crushed by a falling chunk of
Midway’s
structure. The doctor had told Compton his flag captain was in rough shape and belonged in a hospital bed, but he also acknowledged he had stabilized the stubborn officer and stopped the bleeding…and if Horace could stand the pain, he’d probably survive remaining at his post. If any of them survived, that is.

Compton’s eyes dropped to his screen, watching the scene unfolding around the Colossus. The giant ship was almost finished, less than a quarter of its weapons still firing. It was bleeding fluids and gasses through dozens of rents in its hull.

C’mon, hang in there…we need a little more time…

The Colossus had already done its job in savaging the First Imperium fleet. Compton’s ships were blasting right at the enemy flank, taking full advantage of the chaos the Colossus had created. But he needed more time…Greta Hurley needed more time. His three people still on that ship needed more time.

Midway
shook hard, and she went into a vicious spin. Everyone on the flag bridge has strapped into their harnesses, but it was still unsettling. Compton figured more than one of his officers had partially filled his helmet with vomit.

People glamorize space battles, telling and retelling the stories of great victories. But there is no glory up close. Just men and women, covered in sweat and blood…and vomit
.

“Alright, all ships…increase thrust to 6g.” That would be damned uncomfortable, but he needed to keep up the pressure now. Every second he bought that Colossus was more time Hurley had to rescue Cutter and Ana. And Connor Frasier too.

“Increasing thrust, sir.” Cortez’ reply was almost instantaneous. He understood exactly what was happening.

“All ships…I want continuous fire. Whatever it takes. I don’t want a gun silent.”

C’mon you bastards…forget about that Colossus. We’re coming right up your ass…

*  *  *

“Go, Doc. The fleet needs you…and Dr. Zhukov. There’s nothing you can do here.”

Cutter stared at the giant Marine, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what he had to do, what Frasier was telling him to do, but it was too much to bear. In a few seconds he and Ana would step into the airlock…and they would leave Connor Frasier behind. To die.

“Go,” the Marine repeated. “Now.” His voice was commanding, insistent. “You getting yourselves scragged won’t make me less dead.”

Cutter took a deep breath and moved toward the hatch. Then he paused, turning back toward Frasier. He’d never been very good with people, but now he knew he couldn’t just walk away, not without a fitting farewell. He extended his hand. “Thank you, Major…Connor. You are the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

The big Scot allowed a little smile onto his lips as he reached out and grasped Cutter’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor. Keep up your work. Save our people.” An instant later:  “Now, go!”

Cutter felt the emotions building up inside him, and he just nodded. Then he turned and stepped into the airlock, Frasier’s suit—with Ana inside—following along. He hadn’t been sure what to expect in the way of controls, but the system was agreeably simple. A large button to close the inner doors and another right below it.
The outer doors
, he supposed. There was another set off to the side, with what looked vaguely like up and down arrows.
Pressurize, depressurize
, he thought.

He pushed the first button, and the door slammed shut.
So far so good
. He took another breath and pressed the control with the down arrow. He could hear and feel the whoosh of air, as the small chamber was evacuated. An instant later, the second door button glowed blue.

He paused again. This was it. Either Hurley’s shuttles would find them…or he would die in space as his suit’s oxygen and power ran out.

He reached out and pushed the button. The outer door zipped open, and Hieronymus Cutter stared out into the blackness of space. He turned back toward the massive suit of armor with Ana Zhukov inside and he nodded. It was meaningless. Frasier had already instructed his AI to follow.

He stood still for another thirty seconds, perhaps a minute. Then he bent his knees and shoved off.

*  *  *

“We’ve picked up Doctors Cutter and Zhukov, Admiral. Apparently, Major Frasier is still on the First Imperium vessel.”

“Why the hell is he there?” she roared back, angry at the partial rescue. She’d lost three fighters already, and after paying that price she had no intention of leaving anyone behind.

“Admiral, this is Dr. Cutter. Ana Zhukov was badly injured, and Major Frasier put her in his suit so the med system could save her.” A pause. “Of course, that left him with no survival gear…”

Fuck
.

Hurley sat for a few seconds, completely silent. “Dr. Cutter, can you tell us exactly where you exited the enemy ship?”

“Yes, Admiral, I think so. But what…”

“Sorry, Doctor…we don’t have a lot of time. Please show the shuttle commander the exact location of that airlock.”

“Certainly, Admiral,” came the confused reply.

“John, how long can a man survive unprotected in space?”

“Not long…that’s why we’ve got these survival suits on.”

“But some time. A minute? Half a minute?”

Wilder turned toward her, a stunned look on his face. “Are you suggesting…”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying we’re not going to leave Connor Frasier behind without doing everything we can to get him off that ship.” A pause. “Can you get this thing within a few meters of that airlock? And hold it steady?”

Wilder took a deep breath and stared back at her silently for a good half a minute. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

“Well, we’re going to find out. Get the location data from the shuttle pilot, and get us over there as quickly as possible. And let’s hope Major Frasier has some sort of com with him.”

*  *  *

Frasier stood inside the airlock slowly shaking his head. He was resigned to his fate, scared but also content with the choice he’d made. Ana Zhukov…there was no question she was more valuable to the fleet than he was. And his duty had been to protect her. It was a no-brainer. Marines didn’t run from their fates. But there was more to it than just that. He didn’t know her well, but the thought of her dying affected him in a way that went beyond mere duty. He wasn’t accustomed to becoming emotionally attached to civilians he was ordered to protect, but then he’d never met anyone like Ana Zhukov either.

At least she’ll be safe…that’s what he’d been telling himself. And though he feared death as any man would, the thought that he’d saved Ana had put him more or less at peace with his impending doom. Marines never gave up, but they also faced their ends as…well, Marines.