Chapter 11
Hunting Shadows
As its name implied, the auxiliary control room was designed for emergencies. To that end, it could be jettisoned along with the hypersleep chamber as an emergency escape vehicle. There were ten spare cryotubes along one wall, and an overloaded utility shelf on the other. There was an enclosed escape hatch set in the floor, and a large computer console desk at the far end of the room.
The rush of hot air had caused a fine layer of moisture to condense on all surfaces. Apart from that, the cleanliness and order were clear signs of disuse. Proxima could smell the staleness in the air, despite his limited olfactory sense. Fewer lights and ventilation fans serviced the room, which made it unusually dark and quiet.
He took a spare oxygen mask and laid it on the computer desk. Working quickly he disassembled it, and used its components to seal his regulator mask's air supply. The workmanship was crude, but he could now function for hours under extreme heat, instead of minutes. Even vacuum would have no effect, though he couldn't risk a violent decompression. He only needed a mouthful of air, so the mask remained very small and light.
Proxima scoured the shelves for weapons, to no avail. He did find a welding torch and a safety helmet with attached headlight. The helmet was a great improvement over his duct-taped arm-light, especially since the heat trap. He tore away the weakened tape, but kept the spare light. He also found several lengths of safety cable, some of which he used to fashion a shoulder harness for his toolbox.
He made one final check of the shelves for anything useful. There was a tactical scanner pack – a heavy, bulky, antiquated model with a tag labeled "not working". There were several first-aid kits, all of which had missing contents. He didn't bother, knowing the infirmary would be better stocked. A thruster pack and some spare deck plates also caught his eye.
Proxima activated the computer console. A primitive monochrome interface appeared, listing various options. Among the more mundane were accessing the security cameras, using the internal ship radio, or resetting life support. Options more drastic required the Captain's key.
First, he requested a status report. Immediately he was hit with a lengthy list of security flags, warnings, and alerts. Most were generated by the alien artifact's unresolved interference. However, some details caught his eye. His and Dr. Crease's unexpected awakening, the attack on the hypersleep chamber, and the heat trap had all been logged as "severe" computer malfunctions. There were unexplained breeches in the pantry and engineering sections. Security systems in the hypersleep chamber suffered an "unspecified malfunction" shortly after the crew went to hypersleep… then mysteriously came back online at the same time Proxima was reactivated.
What particularly troubled Proxima was what the report did not list. There was no record of any recent command code inputs to the main computer, meaning no attempt to take control of the ship. There were no intruder alerts in the cargo holds, or the main bridge hall where the sentry gun had attacked him.
The sentry gun was a recent addition, so it likely wasn't wired into this system. So the enemy's primary target wasn't the ship's valuable mineral ore, it was the crew. If it wasn't to force Captain Scott to surrender his command codes, what was the reason? Haddock should still be in control, so why wasn't he responding?
The question of how the enemy had bypassed security under Haddock's watch still lingered. Particularly since he hadn't found any sign of tampering in the hypersleep chamber. At that point he stopped. As a science officer, being analytical was an asset, but not now. He needed to find the crew, where was he to start?
First, he tried the internal comms. "This is Proxima 128-2, is anyone receiving this? I repeat, if anyone is receiving this transmission, please respond."
Access panels and personal headsets relayed his message. If one of the crew had somehow escaped their captors, they might be able to respond. If the enemy responded, perhaps he could establish a dialogue. But there was no reply.
He then tried the cameras. The main bridge lights were off, so he couldn't discern anything useful. There were no infrared or ultrasonic disturbances either; the bridge was abandoned. The pantry camera had been offline since the Galileo's departure, and no one had bothered to repair it since. He then tried the infirmary, only to be stopped by an error message. The camera wasn't working, another "unspecified malfunction".
He stared at the message despondently, trying to organize his thoughts. Suddenly he realized his temperature was rising. Hot under the collar – that was how Dr. Crease described it. He quickly took some calming breaths and checked the remaining cameras.
On deck 2 there was no activity in the common areas. However most of the cameras in the engineering section were either not working or had badly distorted displays. There was movement, but for those sections it was normal. At least most of the rooms had consoles that were always active, providing low-level illumination.
Suddenly he found one that was picking up abnormal movement. The camera was #02-12, located in a maintenance crawlspace. The picture quality was very poor, but he could discern a dark figure. Could this be one of the crew, or the enemy? He switched to infrared.
The image was blank, except for red hazy patterns along the edges. As he watched, the motion sensor spiked, and a shadow seemed to pass over the image. He also heard an ephemeral metallic tapping sound. Now the console display producing the infrared light was fully revealed. He switched back, but the figure was gone.
He paused the recording and studied the figure intently. It might be the effect of distortion, but the shape didn't look right. There was a rounded projection on one side that could be a shoulder, but that would make the head disproportionately large. The tapping sound he recognized from his hypersleep chamber recording, but it didn't sound like someone's footsteps. The frequency of taps was too high, volume far too quiet.
Perhaps they were wearing powered armor. That would explain the infrared blackout, but… in a crawlspace? Proxima tried to picture a heavily armed powered-armor squad storming the hypersleep chamber, through the airducts, quietly. He didn't have much success.
He continued to scrutinize the image. So this was the face of the enemy. He looked forlornly at what passed for his weapons: a utility knife and a welding torch.
He checked the remaining cameras on the ship, but found nothing. Slipping the knife into his belt, he got up and left. The computer chirped once. Immediately Proxima did a swift about-face, even though he knew it was just the computer signaling standby mode. The shadowy image came to mind suddenly, and he found his hand gripping the knife so tightly it trembled.
Relaxing his grip, he left the control room.
The hypersleep chamber was still hot, but was cooling off now that the backup computer was active. Even the lights were back on. With his welding torch, he could now break into the crew's lockers. The Captain and Exec had nothing of value. Carnes' locker had little beyond flamboyant clothes and posters of scantily clad women.
In Yun's locker he finally found a weapon: a series 2 Mitchell-Saito 9-millimeter semi-automatic pistol with a 12-round clip. Unlike its modern successors, the MS-2 couldn't be fired in a vacuum, had no shock-absorbing features, and was made mostly of metal instead of lightweight plasteel. At least the hollow-point bullets would crumple instead of ricocheting. Lacking a holster, he slipped the gun into his thigh pocket. Briefly the Captain's admonition came to mind: Machines don't carry weapons.
He scoured Yun's locker hoping to find a spare clip. There were garments, a few cosmetic accessories, several pictures of what appeared to be family members, but no ammunition. One of the pictures caught his eye. It looked recent, taken on a Terran beach. Mei Yun, a man holding her hand, and an infant.
No wonder she wasn't receptive to Carnes' sexual advances. Proxima didn't know Yun was married and had a child. No reason why he should, as none of the crew ever spoke to him of their personal lives. Considering their negative disposition, he hadn't thought it was appropriate to ask. Under present circumstances he hoped she wouldn't take offence to his compromising her privacy.
Breaking into the lockers was taking more time than he anticipated, so he ignored the rest. To his annoyance, he found the exit door still sealed. Working quickly he uncoupled a panel and manually overrode the lock. As a precaution he also deactivated the servo-motor. Cautiously he peeked out from the doorway.
The main hallway was clear in both directions. Nevertheless he proceeded with gun ready, hugging the wall. He came across an unexpected T-junction, and realized he was headed the wrong way. It didn't matter, the pantry was closer anyway. Officer's quarters and the rec. center were in the other direction.
He leaned against the pantry door, listening intently. There was no sound, except for fans. This access panel didn't have power either. Reluctantly he set aside his gun to run a bypass. It only took a half-minute, but illogically it seemed longer. As soon as he was finished, he snatched his gun back.
The panel hadn't logged any recent access. The unauthorized entry must have been through the airduct again. Crouching slightly, he opened the door. Immediately he burst through, swiveling sideways looking for any sign of danger. There was none, but his feet almost slipped on something. It appeared to be a puddle of vegetable soup. Puzzled, he turned the room lights on.
The pantry had been ransacked. Multiple food containers had been compromised, their contents spilled haphazardly. Shelves had been ripped from their moorings, airtight crates ruptured. Some cans had actually been ripped in half, leaving jagged edges. The level of violence was grimly reminiscent of the hypersleep chamber.
Once he was satisfied the room was safe, he did a quick inventory. Sure enough, the ventilation grate in the ceiling was missing. As for the food supply, not all of it was stolen. Some containers were left behind. Others were opened but their contents were untouched. He noticed that only vegetable products had been left behind. Anything containing meat or eggs was gone.
One of the opened meat containers caught his attention. It was badly damaged like the rest, but there was something else: several sharp dents on the inside. The dents were deep, in a vaguely circular pattern. Tiny food fragments remained, along with a smear of white residue. Upon probing it clung to his finger in strings, like a spider's web.
Proxima had never seen anything like it before. It seemed such things were becoming commonplace on this voyage. Suddenly he flung the container away and scrubbed the substance off his finger. Without even taking a sample for analysis, he hurried out and locked the door behind him. What was he doing here? Accessing the infirmary was his top priority, as it was Dr. Crease's last known location.
He was almost at the infirmary when he had to stop. His body temperature had dropped, and needed adjustment. Why had he retreated so suddenly? He didn't have a sense of biological revulsion. His own behavior was just as illogical as current circumstances. Humans could be driven by fear to act irrationally, could the same happen to an android? He discarded that notion promptly; now wasn't the time.
As he ran the bypass on the bloodstained infirmary access panel, he began to worry again. He didn't need food, but what about the humans? By now Dr. Crease had been out of hypersleep for over 24 hours. Could he survive that long without food or water? After seemingly interminable minutes, he got the door open.
Without preamble he looked up toward the vent. This one was intact. This room was actually the laboratory, with Dr. Crease's desk crammed into a corner. Some supplies had been knocked over, but it wasn't as chaotic as the pantry. There were more bloodstains on the floor, and the treatment room door. A window also provided a view of the treatment room, but everything looked normal.
Proxima entered the treatment room, gun ready. Again he looked up, and found the ventilation grate missing. He shined his headlight into the opening, but found nothing. On the floor there were more bloodstains leading to… a foot. There was someone lying behind the central bio-bed. Circling around, he found a man lying facedown in a pool of dried blood.
"Hello?"
There was no response. Proxima's voice sounded strangely faint. Pocketing his gun, he rolled the man onto his back. His skin was cold and he had no pulse.
For an instant, Proxima simply stared unresponsively. That was caused by his CPU's activity spiking sharply. His senses also spiked, as his CPU made sure every possible detail could be recorded in its full spectrum. The sound and smell of the room. The cold feel of the man's body. The sight of the immense bloody rupture in his chest. The paleness of his skin, the look of lingering terror in Dr. Crease's wide-open eyes…
Only for an instant.
Proxima recoiled, his body temperature plummeting. Dr. Crease was dead. He continued to stare, barely able to assimilate this… abomination. His motors began to loose power. Not a severe drain; nevertheless he backed away until he hit the wall. He leaned back, allowing his toolbox to slip and fall. Suddenly he closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore. But the image remained in his optical buffer, so he found no solace.
In fact, once he returned to hypersleep, the horror would be permanently seared into his core memory. If he was able to survive that long. If he even wanted to.
