Rift Breaker (2 page)

The frame tilted upright and, stretching out a third arm to stabilise, he slotted the broken joint into place. Fixing the handles above him, he let them go to grasp another set in front. A heavy welding arm extended from the top of the pod. Its thick housing protected gas tanks inside.

A second protective visor closed like an eyelid across the forward pane and darkened the view. Once secure, the welding flame burst to life and the shapes outside became visible again. The flame burned huge. In an atmosphere the chemical torch would be as loud as an afterburner, but space welding yielded a mere hiss. He found welding in space relaxing. The flame, however, consumed a lot of energy and losing track of fuel levels was easy.

Milton watched closely. The crack began to gel. He couldn't help but think how different he was from the rest of the crew; how he enjoyed the quiet, how he could use a great many of his free harghs pondering. How else was a Human supposed to behave? The mocking instruction he received from other crewmembers wasn't helpful.

He had heard stories of worlds that were home to billions of creatures. So far Milton had only seen a few space colonies on the outer rim. He couldn't imagine what a full-blown city would be like. The isolated rural life suited him.

The metal grew red hot. The split was fused and he shut off the torch. The result of his weld was a fine, seamless column of rapidly cooling slag. He shifted the pod and welded the next one. He had trouble with the last. He had to heat the metal, straighten it, then wait for the leg to cool before finally reattaching. When the welding was finally finished he fastened restraints on each transmitter leg. By this time a good two harghs had passed.

He reversed to get a better look at what he'd achieved. The tower was straight and narrow again. He leaned forward and activated the battered computer. The grimy screen lit the cockpit. He wasn't completely sure how to do this part but he would give it a go. He accessed the tower controls and punched in the command to retract. A heavy, soundless vibration shook the surface of the ship and the tower began to sink. Milton smiled; he was finally getting the hang of things.

After tucking away the robotic arms, he put the pod in
forward gear, turned, and headed back to the airlock. As the other towers around him sank back into the ship, his thoughts turned again to how he was going to survive the rest of the shift without being beaten or killed.

He arrived at the airlock and parked on the movable platform. The outer doors below him were sealed. He pushed the red button. They didn't move.

He tried repeatedly with no response. Maybe the engineers were plotting against him. This might be his punishment for backing down.

He picked up the mouthpiece and spoke. No answer. He searched the channels and found nothing but static. He tried the red button again with the same result.

Well, this was annoying.

Milton cursed and unbuckled the cross-strap. The green glow of the fogged computer screen flickered below him. A thought passed. He leaned forward and wiped off the screen's dust and dew. Recalling his memorised list of essential commands, he used the keypad to bring up the ship's schematic. He summoned his location, ran a search and found the position of the nearest access hatch, which, he estimated, would take him forty quanuts to reach.

‘Okay then,' he said, clicking the strap back on. ‘We'll do it your way.' He gritted his teeth and crinkled his brow, violently shifting the gear and pulling away from the doors with navigation systems fixed on the alternate access hatch.

Fifty-seven quanuts later, he came to the rusty opening. After throwing back the cross-strap, he twisted back onto his knees and felt along the wall behind the seat. Every repair pod had a standard issue spacesuit with magnetic boots. He found the handle to the compartment and opened the drawer. A small light clicked on. Five insects fluttered out of the damp storage space. Fantastic. Milton grabbed the folds of the greying material, pulling out the torso section to find that it was way too big. He looked down the neck hole and paused before raising the equipment to his nostrils. The smell forced him back.

Suiting up was no easy task in the confined space. He bunched the tubing of the sleeves as much as he could and still his fingers barely made it through to the glove. He laid the bulky leg pieces over the controls and leaned back on the seat as he slid though. The magnetic boots, if boots were the appropriate name, were wide and generic enough for the multiple species that constituted the engineering fraternity. Milton didn't have to take off his own footwear to use them. He secured the helmet over the neck hole, only to have the bulky thing lean awkwardly against his head, with the edge of the visor overlapping half his face.

After double-checking with the suit's unit tester that everything was sealed, he held the headpiece straight and pulled a triangular sequence of emergency levers positioned around the pod's visor. With a loud hiss, the forward pane swung out on its hinge. Sound disappeared. Only his breath remained. The insects flicked their wings uselessly, tumbling out past Milton's visor.

He floated out and touched a control on his wrist. The magnetic boots vibrated and clung to the ship. One foot over the other, he steadily marched to the circular hatch handle. Gripping with both hands, he forced the wheel anticlockwise. He felt a click and the hatch swung inward. Milton sighed, shaky with relief.

He stepped inside. Before he could fix his footing, he felt himself being overcome with the
Reconotyre
's artificial gravity; he was upside down. His head landed hard on the floor and the rest of his body collapsed awkwardly. The sudden weight pinned him; his magnetic boots flung to opposite walls of the cramped space. He turned and shifted inside the one-person airlock, pressing his elbow on the rim of the hatch and slamming it closed.

In the dark Milton fumbled to get upright. He found a keypad and activated the pressurisation sequence. Vents opened and filled the compartment. The hiss started quiet and intensified as soundwaves materialised. Milton became part of the ship again. He turned the locking wheel on the inner door; it clicked and creaked opened to a dark hallway.

‘Finally,' he cried. He tried to step forward, but his foot gave resistance. He sighed and pressed the button to deactivate his boots. On his first step, he tripped forward and landed face first into the floor grate. His helmet muffled his enraged growl. He unfastened the neck clamps, tore off the helmet and threw it against the wall. It crashed and the sound echoed down a deserted corridor.

Milton dragged himself to the middle of the hallway and rolled over. A light rush of cool air blew against the drops of sweat on his face and scalp. Overhead, a white light pulsed on and off weakly. He breathed and watched the faint glow rise and fall. Then, remembering his induction, he suddenly realised … the bulb was the emergency lighting.

He heaved himself into a sitting position. The lights spanned all the way down the passage, which was large enough to accommodate small vehicles. The ceiling and floors consisted of rust-coloured metal grates through which paths on other levels could be seen. Scanning above and below, he couldn't see any movement. Something was definitely wrong. The hallways should have been full of activity.

He leaned forward, pulled off the magnetic boots and stood. When he got his balance, he tucked the helmet under one arm, boots under the other and started walking.

To preserve power, the emergency lighting only provided enough to see vague shadows — another brilliant idea from Nova Corp. Milton's path was dully revealed only momentarily. The hollow metallic thud from his boots echoed back at him. Other than that, the passage remained dead silent. He could hear his heartbeat through the heavy suit.

The path curved left. Something was ahead. He stopped cold. A crumpled, shadowy mass hunched against the wall on the right. Another pulse of the light and Milton knew what it was.
He discarded the helmet and boots, moved as fast as the suit would allow and dropped to his knees.

He had recognised the shape of a fellow engineer, an aquatic from Hydrainia, slouching against the wall. Milton ripped off a suit glove and felt the stubby neck. The scales were dry and crumbly.

Milton spun, searching both ways. He was about to cry out for assistance but his eye caught something else. The aquatic's stiff claw clutched something. Squinting, he saw it was a torch. He pried it loose and pushed onto his feet.

He fidgeted with the switch and a column of light shot through cracked glass. Without hesitation, he swung the beam onto his crewmate. He choked on what he saw. He felt like his lungs were being vacuumed. Milton stumbled back against the wall and dropped to the floor.

Only a glimpse, but it stayed with him. The wall and grate were bloodstained pinkish red. Gaping wounds dotted the aquatic's torso — same-size holes in the wall above — where a weapon had shot clean through.

Two

Milton sat in the dark with clenched jaw, unsure how to react. He thought of calling for help but hesitated; the killer might have been close. He exhaled. A cold gust from a nearby vent blew through the dead hollow, as if the ship were breathing, forcing air through its failing windpipes.

A sharp clunk cracked the silence. Milton twisted and covered the light. Another one. Nothing was visible down either side of the passage. But something hit the grating — footsteps — getting heavier and closer.

Milton shifted his weight to his feet and inched himself up the wall. His gaze caught movement of a shape in the darkness. Something lumbered along in the level below. The grate obscured Milton's view, but he could tell the shadow didn't resemble any crewmember he'd seen. The being came from his right. Milton dared not look away. It stopped short of passing under. Its large torso turned to look down the way it came.

Light leaked from the torch. Milton's heart accelerated. A revealing strip escaped between the fingers of his stiff gloved hand and cast against the wall. He blocked the sliver and rolled the device in his fingers, shifting glances between his hands and the thing below. Feeling along the steel, he found the rubbery switch and delicately applied pressure. A bead of sweat tickled his cheek. Holding his breath, he pushed harder. The button clicked. The glow disappeared.

The shape shifted below. It paused, completely still. A moment passed. Milton had to breathe again. He opened his mouth and gently let the air escape his lungs. Then, stretching his throat wide, he inhaled as inaudibly as possible.

The creature snapped its head upwards. Black hollow eyes locked a dead gaze, boring into him through the grate. Milton pushed off the wall. The leg of his suit caught the underside of his boot and he tripped forward, face to face with the creature.

Panting, he scrambled to his feet and held the bottom half of the suit, sprinting as fast as the oversize spacewalk gear would allow. He looked everywhere but back. The haunting eyes stayed with him.

He turned a corner and ducked through a small doorway. The pulsing lights had changed the look of the ship. The corridors were a maze, utterly foreign.

An elevator appeared on the left. Frantically and repeatedly, he slammed his thumb on the call button. The doors eventually opened and he wasted no time getting inside. He swung round,
fumbled with the controls and the lift ascended with a quiet humming. The lab levels. That's where the closest escape pods were … hopefully.

Milton glanced down at the sagging outfit. He dropped the torch; the thud sent an echo down the shaft. With a twist of the wrist joint, the other glove came off. He set to work, furiously peeling off the rest of the suit. He unclicked the torso and bent forward, letting it flip onto the floor. The arm and leg pieces came off in sections and he shook them off, dropping them carelessly by his feet.

The elevator walls shook. The weak lights on the ceiling flickered and died. Milton wiped his brow. The lift kept moving in the dark and stopped at what he could only assume were the sterile lab levels.

He knelt and felt around. The doors opened. He found the torch and darted to the side, hiding from view. He took a shaky breath and peered around the corner, his hand hovering readily over the control to seal the doors.

He aimed the light and applied pressure to the rubber switch. The beam shot down a corridor, bouncing off loose metallic bits and pieces. Capsized lab trolleys and equipment littered the corridor. After a quick look, he clicked the button again and navigated his path with heightened awareness.

The sound of refrigeration hummed somewhere. A liquid dripped close by; his boots splashed in a wet puddle. While edging past a trolley, something made of glass cracked under his
step. He had only been on this level once and was intimidated by the multiple paths he encountered. The mouth of another corridor passed on his right. Down the passage, sparking cables drooped from the ceiling, lighting the folds of a shape that was draped in a stained lab coat.

He continued in his direction, until a low whistle came from the right.

‘
Psst, Milton!'

His rubbery soles squeaked on the floor as he spun to face an open doorway. Pitch blackness. He clicked on the torch and brightened the room — a devastated lab.

Something crashed to the floor. The sound of something metal and circular spinning on its edge rang louder and faster with each rotation. He moved the light towards the noise and found the bowl on the floor next to a counter. Another thing smashed and a figure sprang from the darkness, landing on the benchtop in a pouncing position, flailing its wild tail. Milton moved the light onto a yellow form; Tazman.

The Freegu's body shivered and his head twitched at his surroundings. The dilation in his pupils had reduced his amber coloured irises to a thin circle. His hands poised ahead of him in an open-hand combat position.

‘What is going on here?' asked Milton, stepping over a broken machine.

‘The ship is boarded,' Tazman hurriedly whispered, twirling his forearms, ready to attack. ‘Big, big things are lurking.'