Chapter 24 #2
Thatcher’s hand found my wrist when the bulkhead cleared all the way.
Silently, he drew me into the hallway and down it toward the hangar bay we needed for my plan to work.
He said nothing, just listened as I continued my conversation on the comm.
“As fast as possible.” Now came the bit of acting required to make this work, just in case the entity was watching after all.
“We have to prevent the entity from taking the ship to the water world. You’re going to have to halt our path, or at the very least slow us down.
I’ll be taking a shuttle to get help from the Vagabond.
We have to move fast, before the entity realizes what we’re up to. ”
We’d reached the next bulkhead in our path, and I quickly got to work overriding it, peeling away a panel to short-circuit the wires in the walls.
Ivo had ordered Grunn to help him off the cot, and now the image of them on my comm was bouncing as they rushed from the med bay.
I discovered immediately that not only had Dravion not stopped Ivo from leaving, he’d overridden the med bay’s bulkhead doors himself. That was one obstacle less.
“We’ll keep you updated,” Ivo panted as he jogged.
His spots had gone white around the edges, slowly growing a sickly, pale color.
That could mean shock, but more likely he was just in pain and struggling to mask it.
The call ended then, and I bit my lip and tried to keep my focus on my own job.
Nerves wanted to consume me whole and threatened my concentration.
The bulkhead rose, and I followed Thatcher under the slowly rising metal more quickly this time.
We fell into a rhythm that way as we cleared our path toward the hangar bay. Only seventeen bulkheads to go.
Ivo and Grunn were working in turns: one would override a bulkhead, the other would slide through the crack and race for the next, and so on.
It would increase their speed, perhaps not by a whole lot, but it should help.
As long as Ivo wasn’t so badly wounded that he’d collapse halfway through…
I didn’t think Dravion would have let him go if he thought that was likely, and I tried to hold onto that thought.
“The turret is behind that hatch, isn’t it?
” Thatcher asked with a grim expression as we turned a corner in the hallway.
In the distance, the hangar bay doors loomed, but he was correct.
The hatch at the other end of the path led to one of the many turrets that the Varakartoom boasted.
They were automated, controlled from the weapons station on the bridge, but each of these could be manually controlled too, in case of emergency.
I nodded, briefly contemplating whether we dared risk going for it straight away or if the entity was aware enough of what we were doing to try and stop such a move.
I tapped my comm and hailed the bridge. “Captain, we’ve got a plan,” I said.
In fact, we were already putting this plan in motion, but I didn’t say that.
“I need to know how much of the ship the entity controls. Has Mitnick managed to wrest any systems back from it?” That was my hope: that the clever hacker had done something I couldn’t and had taken control of parts of the ship another way.
Asmoded’s golden eyes gleamed with anger.
He was pissed that his ship was in this state, furious, and I felt tiny.
This was my fault. I should have caught this sooner, done something.
He was a good captain, though, and he didn’t take that anger out on me, focusing on what was needed.
“Mitnick and the Sineater have worked together to shield some important conduits with the Sineater’s symbiont.
We’ve got comms, life support, and all sensors and cameras.
Unfortunately, no weapons, and we are still not able to raise all the bulkheads.
They’ve manually gotten a few open and tossed some of Mitnick’s drones out an airlock.
We’ve got visual confirmation of how the Shadow Unit soldier got in. ”
The captain indicated the hatch the soldier had accessed to slip inside—a maintenance shaft rather than an actual airlock meant for people to use.
It allowed bots to go outside and make repairs on the outside of the ship, or perhaps do simple maintenance after a particularly heavy meteor storm.
I considered that briefly as a viable alternative to using one of our own.
It wasn’t far, would the entity try to use it over the one I wanted it to go for?
More importantly… did I want to blow up a random shuttle, or one of our own?
My thoughts spun as I considered my options, and I came to only one logical conclusion.
“Okay, good. I was worried I couldn’t get the hangar bay doors open.
This could work.” I had started a search myself for any sign of that shuttle before, only to get interrupted when the power went out all over the ship.
I was glad they’d had the same idea and found it.
“Ivo and Grunn are working to shut down the engines right now. We’re going to get a shuttle out and get help.
” Asmoded narrowed his eyes at me as if he didn’t quite believe that, but he did not comment.
He wasn’t wrong; I never left the Varakartoom unless ordered, never.
It was much more likely I’d send Thatcher on a mission like that, not go myself.
I ended the connection then, so there couldn’t be anymore questions.
The last thing I needed was for the captain to tell me otherwise, or to give Thatcher a chance to object again.
I could tell by the way he was scowling that he still hated what I’d come up with, but he stayed silent as I led the way to the turret’s hatch.
“I know Mitnick has control of both sensors and comms, so the entity probably won’t know what we’re doing unless we change something in a bigger system.
Freeing one turret should be fine.” At least, I hoped.
He stood silent watch as I worked to open the hatch, then isolate the turret from the system so it couldn’t be shut down.
The entity had control of the weapons, so I had to be fast and decisive as I made my move—unplugging it, so to speak, quickly enough that it wouldn’t have time to do anything about it.
The screens aligned above the seat for the manual shooter dimmed, then came back online, booting separately.
I hissed, heart pounding, but nothing seemed amiss.
Of course, I ran diagnostics anyway, just for peace of mind.
Proof that the entity was aware of some of what we did came moments later, just as I’d crowed in victory that we’d taken control of the turret.
A sound came from the hallway behind us, a whisper, like a breath of air.
Thatcher responded immediately, far quicker than I would have.
“It’s pumping gas in here. My processor indicates it’s toxic and will kill us.
” He raised the helmet of his armor over his face, sealing himself in and relying on the small, limited reserve of oxygen the armor could supply.
I wasn’t wearing such armor, but I didn’t even doubt for a moment that Thatcher would let me die.
There was no way to share a helmet, but this was about not inhaling the gas; skin contact might be fine.
At least, I assumed that was the case, because he yanked me into his arms and freed the extra breathing straw from his helmet so he could share his oxygen.
I sucked in a breath through the small mouthpiece while yanking my handheld scanner from my belt to do my own analysis.
Between breaths, I said, “Armory, over there. I can suit up myself.” Thatcher swung me higher in his arms and jogged in the direction I had pointed, thankfully to a room not separated from us by a closed bulkhead.
My handheld scanner indicated that a gas used in fire suppression had been released.
It wasn’t poisonous, but so heavy it pushed all oxygen from the air and caused suffocation.
That little straw Thatcher had offered was my lifeline, and it felt like far too tenuous a hold on life.
The armory responded to Thatcher’s code and unlocked, so the entity had not managed to lock us out.
Rows of rifles, pistols, knives, and even a laser cannon were stocked here.
Most importantly, spare universal suits hung in a row at the back.
It was awkward grabbing one while Thatcher held me and I was forced to breathe from a thin tube attached to his helmet.
Even more awkward to yank one over my coveralls, but I needed the whole suit on to be able to use its oxygen.
Eventually, I managed to engage the helmet, and it sealed with a hiss.
It felt different—strange—to be wearing the same black armor that Thatcher wore.
Like I was going into battle, but I couldn’t fight.
It was true, though: I would need this suit every bit as much as Thatcher needed his for this plan to work.
All the entity had done was hurry this along.
Through the faceplate of my helmet, I met Thatcher’s eyes. His expression was closed, furious, but beneath it, I saw the fear. I raised my hand, now covered in a black glove, and touched the side of his head. “We’ll make it. I can do this.”