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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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Vigilante (33 page)

BOOK: Vigilante
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Joyce had dozed off again and his eyes snapped open when the alarm
beeped. He recoiled at the sight of the station looming close. The exterior lights, directed
toward the outermost struts, made it look like they were going into a dark maw surrounded by
brilliant teeth. When the top of the elevator moved into shadow, the light on his helmet
allowed him to see the alignment shaft.
Now that they were passing the station’s gravity generator, Joyce and
Maria were on the “bottom” and “side” for a few moments. The webbing held him tight, but he
still didn’t like the feeling. They passed by the ringwheel shafts of the station, eventually
feeling like they were on the “top” of the crate again. He hoped Maria had a good space
stomach.
He felt the grinding of metal on metal as the crate settled in its
cradle. All movement stopped and he quickly grabbed a strut to hold himself while he loosened
the webbing. Preparing to jump down and follow the inner elevator, he looked over to Maria. She
hung loosely from a strut with her legs sprawled strangely.
She’s unconscious
. Joyce did a quick
three-sixty turnabout, letting his helmet light go around the maintenance bay. It wasn’t
pressurized. The maintenance airlock, about five meters from the crate, was the small
crawl-through hatch type. Beside the hatch, to his great relief, was an emergency oxygen-supply
station.
Meanwhile, the inner compartment of the elevator slid away to hook up
with its airlock. He had a more urgent matter. He pressed the webbing releases and caught Maria
as she fell from the scaffold strut. She wasn’t a burden by weight; under construction phase,
most habitats kept the gravity down and he estimated it at seventy-percent normal gee.
However, lower gee didn’t discount problems from momentum. Her tall body
was floppy and his suit was bulky. He struggled to get her over to the station. Once there, he
pulled out the fiber-protected hose and connected it to the emergency intake on her suit,
comparing her front panel to his. Her oxygen consumption was significantly higher than his,
since he wasn’t close to the caution point yet.
Then he noticed the flashing light on the slate webbed to her arm.
Pulling her limp arm forward across her chest, he read, “At the station, I may need emergency
oxygen as soon as possible. Resuscitation equipment may be required, but remember that
emergency stations might report their use to CP.”
Great
.
Even when she’s
unconscious, she nags
. He already knew what to do, thank you, Maria. Did she really
think he’d forgo helping her, in hope of staying unnoticed by Command Post?
He couldn’t hear the hissing of the bleed valves or the intake of
pressurized oxygen, but Maria’s oxygen indicator went green. She didn’t open her eyes and he
couldn’t take the time to query her suit to see if she was breathing. He hauled her upright,
twisting, and using her suit webbing to hold her against the tanks on his shoulders and
back.
Bent to carry her weight, he stepped to the maintenance hatch with
Maria’s limp body hanging atop his tanks, which were luckily the newer, low profile
types—
although that means I’ll end up as a smear on a bulkhead if they get
punctured. Don’t think about that, Joyce
. Tapping the plate beside the hatch caused it
to go into cycle, which meant it was operating.
If there’s a crazy sitting on the other side, then
we’re hosed
. He grimly looked at the small airlock tunnel when the hatch swung open.
Squeezing through with Maria on his back would be impossible. He’d have to drag her behind
him.
By the time he had them both on the safe side of the airlock, he was
sweating too much for the suit to compensate. He laid out Maria in the maintenance prep area,
and removed his helmet and gloves as fast as possible. Searching about, it seemed to take him
forever to find the CPR emergency station and grab the equipment. Before he disconnected the
front panel of her suit, he pulled her slate off her sleeve because it was wildly
gyrating.
“No external cardio-stim shock!” Its text shouted at him as soon as he
held it in his hand. “Check pulmonary implant and attach to medical equipment.”
“Okay, okay,” Joyce muttered. At least Maria had shut down the
audio.
He unlatched the front panel and unsealed her suit. Pulling it open and
away from her chest, he frowned at her apparently seamless clothing. How the hell did it come
off? He lurched to his feet, opened the electrical equipment locker, and found a portable point
high-heat source used for vacuum soldering. He grabbed the neckline of her stretchy suit,
pulled it away from her body, and melted his own seam.
He pulled open her clothes. Her firm breasts bulged upward from a bra
like none he’d ever seen before, but he avoided staring. Below them, she had an implant between
her ribs that resembled an asthmatic aid. Asthma had dwindled on Autonomist worlds, because in
utero treatments often stopped it during development—often, but not always.
There’s no way she should have been bouncing around
in an EVA suit
. Her lips looked blue. She didn’t appear to be breathing, but when he
attached a lead to her chest, the equipment said her heart was beating slowly. How long had she
gone without adequate oxygen? He wondered what he’d do if she had brain damage, since there
were no medical facilities on the station.
The med equipment should have queried her implanted device wirelessly,
but it only sat there. Nothing blinked. Her device was Terran-made and had a medical-lead plug.
Would it interface with their med equipment? He fumbled around on the cardiopulmonary equipment
until he found the manual lead and plugged it into her implant.
Now
something was happening. Lights
flickered on Maria’s implant and blinked on the med equipment. Her implant hissed and he leaned
back as her chest heaved. She wheezed and the implant sputtered as air and liquid spurted from
it. Having a modicum of first aid training, he turned her onto her side.
An obviously painful session of choking and retching went on for at
least ten minutes. During that time, he got her additional oxygen from a small tank he found in
the med locker. When she was finally still, he removed his environmental suit.
“Thanks.” Her voice was hoarse.
“You’re welcome. That’s me, Dr. Joyce. I’ll bill you later.” He was
pleased that her brain appeared to be functioning normally. Her slow heartbeat might have been
induced by her implant, for all he knew, to get her through the pulmonary stress.
“What the hell did you do to my suit?” Maria, still on her side, looked
down at her chest.
“Oh,
that’s
what you call that weird
stretchy thing covering your body.”
“It has a finger-actuated seam in front. You didn’t have to ruin it.”
She sat up, moving carefully.
“There wasn’t any time to feel you up and find the doo hickey that
opened it.” Joyce walked along the personal lockers, naively unsecured, and examined their
contents. He found coveralls that looked to be the right height and tossed them to her. “We
should change our clothes anyway.”
“It’s hideous.” She wrinkled her nose at the light blue coveralls,
examining the colorful orange piping and patches on the front.
“It’s clean.”
“Yes, but I’ll be wallowing in it.”
Joyce gave her a hard glance. “That’s the
point
. As you noted, these crazies don’t recruit
women
.”
Maria sniffed, but she stood up and started stripping down to her
undergarments without any more argument.
Joyce looked away.
Damn, that woman has a body that
just won’t stop
. Perfection like that, even if it didn’t run to his personal taste, was
difficult to ignore. He had to push Maria into the part of his brain that held the women he
didn’t think about in
that
way. Major Kedros, for instance,
occupied that compartment and he never thought about her sexually. Well, not
never
. Hardly ever.
“What about my hair? What about weapons?” Maria had dressed
quickly.
He shed his coveralls and pulled on maintenance ones while she rummaged
through the equipment lockers. On her back was MNX-R1 in big orange letters, which would
probably outrage her Terran fashion sense. He suppressed a smile.
“Plenty of Autonomist men wear their hair long. Here on-station, my
recent military cut may stand out more than yours. I’m worried that hard hats might affect our
reactions, so try this.” He tossed her a head rag. She watched him put his on and mimicked him,
arranging hers in a way that held her hair out of her face.
“No weapons, which isn’t surprising. How about this?” She tossed him
something with a strap.
He put it over his shoulder before looking at it. “Plasma torch? They’re
not going to help against flechettes, or stunners, for that matter.”
“They give us a purpose, and they can be pretty mean at close range.”
She grinned. “Let’s get going.”
If Matt could see the warrior’s eyes, he’d have said he was witnessing a
stare down of wills. But there were only dark shadows where the warrior’s eyes would be, as if
it were wearing a stocking over its head. Warrior Commander “faced” David Ray, but Matt
couldn’t decide whether it was considering David Ray’s objections or looking at an inconvenient
lump on the floor.
Surprisingly, Contractor Adviser suddenly moved, gesturing for David
Ray’s attention. “Please provide assessment of Pilgrimage assets on module, as justification of
module’s worth.”
“It’s a
sperm bank
, for Gaia’s sake, and
it’s important to the Pilgrimage ship line.” Matt decided to cut this short, adding, “The
question is whether this sperm bank is worth our lives, as well as the lives of people on
incoming ships.”
Silence. David Ray looked shocked. Slowly his face and jaw loosened,
making him noticeably tired and old.
“David Ray?”
“I can’t make this decision.” David Ray shook his head and his voice was
hoarse.
Warrior Commander turned suddenly toward the display. “Pilgrimage-ship
is moving.”
“What?” Both Matt and David Ray peered at the hologram, as if they could
change its field of view by mere examination. The warrior changed the display by twiddling its
jewelry and it shrank, as if they’d moved back to view a larger part of the solar
system.
“This is unexpected behavior?” asked the warrior.
“Yes. Once we configure the ship as a habitat, we convert the thrusters
to station-keeping mode and stay close to the buoy.”
“They must have a hell of a reason to move that ship, because it’s a lot
of work to move once it’s in habitat mode,” Matt added.
“Can you determine
where
they’re going?”
David Ray asked.
“This is the projected path from their current position, given
light-speed data.” The warrior showed a dotted orange line in the planetary orbital
plane.
“You don’t have FTL data from the buoy?” Matt pointed at the triangle
along the ship’s path, which indicated the
projected
current
position.
“No. I cannot access any data channels on the buoy.” Warrior Commander’s
voice grated like gravel on a landing strip, but the words were matter-of-fact, holding none of
the frustration Matt expected from human dialogue.
He glanced at David Ray. If the Minoans couldn’t get comm or
faster-than-light data, then nobody could, except maybe the isolationists. “If anybody shows up
to rescue us, they’ll be sitting ducks.”
“What tactical situation is Sitting Ducks?” asked Warrior
Commander.
“He means they’d be helpless. The Terran duck is an amphibian that can’t
defend against predators if it’s caught nesting on land,” David Ray said.
“I think the duck’s a bird,” Matt whispered, tugging a sleeve.
“Then why do we refer to ducks being watertight?” David Ray quickly
turned his attention back to the warrior. “What I’m saying, Warrior Commander, is our ships may
not survive the transition. But we need a solution that won’t destroy my module.”
“In deference to Pilgrimage-future-generations, Knossos-ship has
determined that mines can be moved without using module-two-zero-nine-eight. This process has
begun, but it is slow,” the warrior said.
Matt made a mental note that the
ship
appeared to be the brains of this expedition.
“Thank you.” David Ray slumped. “Can we help in any way?”
“No.”
The emissary and warrior became motionless except for their hands, which
ranged deftly about their control jewels.
He motioned David Ray to move away. “Let’s give them some room, and hope
they can clear the channel.”
The two men retreated to a rounded corner and a bench formed from the
wall. Even though Matt shuddered when his hands touched the substance, it felt comforting to
his rear end. He leaned against the wall and yawned.
BOOK: Vigilante
6.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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