Ariadne Page 2

  I walk to the internal airlock door and peer out of the window, a small rounded portal. A young, petite female in fatigues—a Company ensign—lies on her back in the corridor beyond, like she fell where she was standing. I can’t tell if she is alive or dead… but I don’t hold out much hope. Her face is blotched, a bloated, purple tongue sticking out of her mouth like she’s been strangled. If she hasn’t perished, she soon will. My intuition tells me the girl was gassed by something nasty.

  “What the fuck have you done here, Ariadne?” I whisper to myself.

  Suddenly, getting out of the airlock and into the ship, doesn’t seem like such a good idea any more. My skinsuit will protect me from any surface contaminants, but my air won’t last forever. At some point, I’ll have to breathe the ship’s atmosphere.

  The flash of shadows and two figures come hurrying into the outer airlock area, young kids barely out of their teens, wearing what look like low-ranking, ceremonial fleet personnel uniforms of white and orange although they’re unfastened, sweaty and smudged. They carry rifles nestled into their shoulders, eyeing down the barrels and see me at once, the guns swivelling in my direction. I’ve nowhere to hide and do the only thing I can do. I shrug and raise my hands. I guess crashing my escape pod into the docking bay didn’t go unnoticed.

  One of the kids, short, sweaty looking with greased, slicked-back, black hair and equally greasy features, edges towards the airlock door and presses the com. “Who the hell are you? And how did you get aboard?” he blurts, an intense expression creasing his youthful face.

  By the sublieutenant insignia on his cuffs, I guess he’s the leader of this twosome. He’s so short and stocky that his rifle is as big as he is.

  The other kid stands tall and gangly at his side, sweat dripping down his face. He’s a good-looking, short-haired blonde with striking, almost noble features. Intense blue eyes stare out of a face full of sadness and woe. Whatever has gone down on this ship has badly affected him. He wears the insignia of ensign, the fleet entry rank.

  I realise they are just teenagers. They seem younger somehow. Maybe it’s the fear etched into their faces. One thing is for sure, they don’t look like hijackers. I drop my arms and patch my helmet into the airlock com. “You guys gonna let me aboard or what?”

  The diminutive sublieutenant stabs his rifle in my direction. “I said, who are you? Answer the damn question!” His voice is no match for his words. Squeaky and stress-filled. He looks past me to see if I’m on my own.

  “Who do you think I am?” I reply bullishly. “The Company ain’t gonna let this ship fly away without sending in one of their top operatives. That happens to be me.”

  The kid looks confused. I try and make things a little easier for him. “Open the door! That’s a direct order from your superior. Go inform the Strategist that I’m aboard. I want to talk to someone in charge, asap!”

  The sublieutenant pulls back for a one-to-one with his blonde friend. While they chat, I take a guess that whatever went down on this ship hasn’t helped their mood. Judging by their shaking heads, I’m betting they’re less than keen about my arrival.

  I want to try and read them, but that would let Ariadne back into my mind. And that’s not ever going to happen. I can feel her madness crawling at the edge of my sensibilities, her tentacles writhing and probing. That would be suicide. I’ve become just as blind, just as ordinary as the next sucker—almost.

  Another individual arrives in the airlock area. A tall, burly man in his forties, his skin light brown and greasy, with greying, curly hair that spills onto his vast shoulders. He wears the stained overalls of an engineer. He pulls up short when he sees me. I can tell by his shocked reaction that, even with my eye-patch and my one visible eye, he knows what I am.

  “Who are you?” I ask over the com. He ignores me and strides over to the sublieutenant and joins in the discussion. His arrival results in more shaking heads and the flinging of arms. Disagreement. This carries on for some time until the big guy with the grey curly hair spins around and lumbers purposely towards the airlock. The Company grunts don’t like this one bit. “Stand down, Hewlis!” the sublieutenant shouts, raising his gun.

  Hewlis doesn’t listen.

  “I’ll shoot!” the sublieutenant yells like a petulant child. “You know I will!”

  The engineer raises his hands and stops, his lived-in eyes staring at me in apology. “The Company sent him here!” he rasps. “Can’t you see that?”

  “So, not everyone aboard this ship is an idiot,” I say over the com.

  “Shut your mouth!” the sublieutenant shouts at me.

  “You gotta let him out, Drex,” Hewlis pleads. “We need all the help we can get.”

  A low beep from my skinsuit helmet and the amber air readout flashes red. “If you don’t let me out of here soon, I’m gonna run out of oxy—”

  The greasy-haired kid, Drex, offs the com. What happens next is another intense argument, but Drex and his friend outnumber Hewlis two to zero. Two guns that is. Which will win most arguments. As for me, the result ain’t that good. Hewlis doesn’t want to give up without a fight, but it’s as I said—guns always win out—especially if a pair of grunts wield them.

  I don’t get it? I hit the ship with quite a clunk. Why would the strategist send down a couple of green-ass low rankers and an engineer to go check it out? The answer ain’t a palatable one. The Strategist is dead or injured.

  Drex and the blonde kid escort a scowling Hewlis away.

  The red flashing in my helmet becomes insistent.

  Damn! The last thing I expected was to get stopped at the first hurdle. I’m hoping Drex and the rest have gone to find someone with more authority to sort this out. I have no choice but to wait. With my air running low, that ain’t gonna be easy. But I ain’t one of the Skilled for nothing.

  I sit down, propping myself against the airlock wall, slowing my heart and respiration, closing everything down other than my vital systems. I can survive in a self-induced coma for an hour or two without oxygen. Not that this ship has that long. Hopefully, whoever’s in charge will come get me before that time runs out.

  I concentrate on my heartbeat—now a distant thud. Filling the time between each extended beat with small bursts of brain electricity. I leave the airlock behind and enter a deep meditative state…

  SOMEONE IS slapping my face. I open my eyes to see Hewlis standing over me, his brown eyes flashing with concern. My heart lurches back into scudding action and quickly I throw up my wall. This time I’m ready for Ariadne’s invasive and insane mind. It’s still a struggle, but I push her quickly away. I take a deep breath of warm ship air. Despite any worries about gas or poison, I’m instantly re-energised. If there’s something nasty in the ship’s atmosphere, I can’t smell it.

  “Thanks,” I say, pushing myself angrily to my feet, legs creaking with the effort.

  “Don’t thank me,” Hewlis replies, towering over me like a bear. “I didn’t open the airlock. You look terrible.”

  “I’ll survive,” I bark back at him, breathing heavily. “I’m Vatic. And that’s what I’m famous for… surviving.”

  “Vatic.” He repeats the word mechanically.

  “Yeah, just Vatic. Don’t overuse it.”

  Sublieutenant Drex pushes the tired-looking engineer aside. “How come you’re still alive?” he asks, sounding disappointed. “Your suit was in the red.”

  “Like I said, I don’t kill that easy. I guess it was you who let me out? Cos that was a good decision.”

  Drex shrugs, a confused expression on his youthful face. “Not me,” he says, his voice an exaggerated squeak. “The airlock opened by itself. We thought you were dead.”

  I glance over to the sad-looking blonde kid. “What’s your name?”

  He points his rifle at me. “Ensign Murton Boyd.”

  His voice is full of emotion. The kid is choked.

  What the hell has gone down here?

  I turn my attention back to D
rex. “Just how fucking old are you both?”

  “You can’t talk to us like that!” he bleats.

  “I’ll talk to a little piss-ant like you any way I want. I haven’t forgotten that it was you who left me in the airlock to suffocate to death.”

  Drex stares into my one, wired, manic-looking eye and I see that same flicker of recognition I’ve had all my life. “You… you really are a Skilled,” he says.

  My eyes, like all others of my breed, have a certain look. Like we’re on drugs. Manic almost. And even though the range of colours match those of regular humans, our eyes have an intensity that is difficult to ignore. Mine are a bright, wired, and startling blue. Although, I’ve only got one on show.

  “Of course he’s a Skilled!” Hewlis replies with exasperation. “I told you what he was. Not that you believed me. Who else could get aboard a ship during hyperspace and still be alive after his suit’s oxygen ran out? They’re a breed apart.” He flashes his brown eyes in my direction. “No offence.”

  I shrug. “You’d have to try a lot harder to offend me.” The issue with the airlock and who decided to let me out, can wait for now. I have far more important concerns. “Listen up,” I say. “The Ariadne is heading towards rival Company space which means that if we don’t stop her and stop her soon, we’re all gonna go boom-boom.” I’m using Stranng’s words—I want to be sure the message gets across without any confusion.

  The news hits Drex and his young friend hard. Hewlis grits his teeth, his grizzled lower jaw rising to form a grimace. Hopefully the information will focus their minds. I need everyone working together if we’re gonna get out of this mess.

  “What do you mean, go boom-boom?” Drex asks.

  “Where do you think I came from? A puff of damn smoke? A Company ship is shadowing the Ariadne out there in hyperspace. I happen to know the Strategist in charge. He’s got one hell of a twitchy trigger finger, you get me, Sublieutenant?”

  Drex doesn’t like being talked to like this, that much is obvious.

  I pull myself up to my full-diminutive height and take a deep breath. “I need to know what’s been going on here. You can start by telling me why there’s a dead body outside the airlock.”

  “You’re not giving the orders around here,” Drex says, bristling as if this is a playground power play. “You’re under arrest until I say otherwise. Skilled or not.”

  “And what gives you the authority to put me in chains?” I ask, aware of a cloying heat. Company ships are normally a lot cooler. No wonder Boyd and Drex are sweating like pigs.

  “Our Strategist and all other senior officers are dead,” Hewlis explains calmly. “Sublieutenant Drex here, is the only surviving fleet officer of rank.” He raises his eyebrows at me in a way that says the kid ain’t up to the job, but I can see that for myself.

  “Dead?” I take in the information with an annoyed shake of my head. I’ll find out exactly how they died later. First, I need to stamp my authority. “I’m taking command as of now,” I say to Drex. “You get me?”

  A relieved smile passes over Hewlis’ ruddy face.

  Drex shakes his head. “No way. You don’t look like no Company Grandee to me. Where’s your uniform? Where’s your ID?”

  I point to my one remaining eye. “This is all the ID I fucking need.”

  Drex ain’t impressed. “You don’t have the rank, you don’t have—”

  I slap the kid in the face.

  Drex is shocked, his eyebrows furrowing, fingers tightening on his rifle.

  I slap him a second time and a third, jabbing a quick elbow into his guts, and, with a twist of my other hand, his rifle is in my possession.

  Boyd shouts, his gun now pointing at my head but he’s uncertain.

  “Like I said, I’m taking command.” I slam the rifle back in to Drex’s hands. “Attention, Sublieutenant!” I bark.

  Drex stands there, motionless, a look of suppressed anger twisting at his face.

  “Listen up! My name is Vatic, I’m a full member of the Secondary Executive, giving me authority over you, your warrant officer, your strategist, and the goddamn rear admiral of the Company fleet if it comes to that. Which means that when I say jump, you jump, you get me?”

  Drex makes the wise decision and draws himself to reluctant attention—but I haven’t broken him yet. In response, Boyd drops the rifle to his side and dutifully salutes. Like I’ve always said, grunts prefer someone with real authority in charge.

  I push through them, exit the airlock, and go over to the body on the floor—the girl I spotted earlier. A blackened tongue sticks out of her mouth, like a frozen scream, her eyes wide open and staring with a look of terror—a clear sign of asphyxiation. Like I thought, she’s dead. But even though her body lies outside the airlock, she hasn’t died from depressurisation. There are no tell tell-tale skin blemishes—just blotchy patches. A toxin of some kind.

  “How many other survivors?”

  “Seven,” Hewlis answers.

  “Seven?” I turn towards him. “Out of forty-three?”

  The engineer shrugs, his mammoth shoulders rising and falling in a practised gesture. “I guess so.”

  “You said the Strategist and the other officers are dead. Did they all die like this?”

  Drex draws breath to speak but I’m still pissed at him for leaving me to die in the airlock. “Not you,” I say. I turn my attention to Boyd, who seems a lot more relaxed about me being in charge. “What happened, kid?”

  “It started a little over two hours ago,” Boyd answers, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, his voice thick with emotion. “Twenty-hundred hours ship time. The air supply was poisoned. Some kind of gas, I guess, sir,”

  “You sure that’s what it was?”

  Boyd nods, a distraught look crossing his face. “We were heading towards the Hospitality Suite on ceremonial duties for tonight’s VIP party. You know the type of thing? Stand by the doors looking smart when…”

  “When what, Ensign?” I bark.

  Drex and Boyd swap glances.

  “Out with it!”

  “We were in the ship’s elevator, sir,” Boyd says. “It’s off-limits, but… but we were late and thought it would be quicker than the stairs. We walked inside, the doors closed and… the thing got stuck between floors. When the elevator finally started moving again, we emerged to find everybody dead and a strange smell in the air.”

  The tears that were forming in Boyd’s eyes, now drip down his cheek in twin streams. He wipes them away with the back of his hand.

  “You okay, recruit?”

  He nods. Whatever happened aboard the Ariadne has hit him hard. Maybe too hard. “The other survivors, where are they?”

  “In Hospitality,” Hewlis replies, the engineer’s large brown eyes red with tiredness. “That’s where we left them when Drex ordered me to try and break into the bridge with him and Boyd.”

  I take in the information with a nod of my head. Something doesn’t feel right here. I remember the wafer stuffed inside my skinsuit and pull it free, tapping the screen into life. It’s just as Stranng said, a roster of names and ranks—forty-three of them, and not more than a paragraph or two about each. Is this all I’ve been given to work with? …Shit!

  I glance at the time:

  21:52

  Two hours to midnight, give or take. To solve this thing. I wonder if I can last that long under the terrible assault of Ariadne’s mind.

  I access the roster again. The wafer tells me nothing extra about Drex or Boyd other than they’re fleet low-rankers just starting out. Drex’s promotion to sublieutenant was nothing special—regular career progression for a keen recruit. And Drex is the keen type, that’s for sure.

  I breathe deeply. The ship air is warmer than normal and smells stale with a hint of antiseptic—missing the all-pervading stink of sweat and piss. “What happened to the toxin?”

  Boyd shrugs, pulling himself together. “Whatever was in the air dissipated, I guess.”

&nb
sp; “If everyone is dead, who’s flying the ship?”

  “No one is flying the Ariadne!” Drex blurts, unable to keep quiet. “The bridge is in lockdown and the security cams show everyone dead inside. That’s why we’ve been trying to break in. We need to get back control as soon as possible, especially now that we know we’re heading towards rival space.”

  “No one is flying her? Why would someone poison the crew and everybody else if not to gain control of the goddamn ship? And even if they somehow got access to Ariadne’s nav-systems, why fly her to the Company’s closest rival? No enemy agent would be so stupid as to head for home. That’d be suicide, not without backup from other ships. They’d instead try and hide Ariadne somewhere out of the way.”

  “She must be flying on autopilot,” Hewlis says and, even without my empathy, I can tell he believes there’s more to it than that.

  “We need to get back control of Ariadne,” Drex says, before I can answer the engineer. “If there’s another Company ship out there waiting to blow us up, that has to be our priority.”

  I take a deep breath. “Be quiet Sublieutenant. What you think is now unimportant. I’ve taken charge of this shit-show. We’re doing nothing until I get a clear chain of events. I want to know what happened here. Step by step.”

  Drex looks like he might explode. I realise a few slaps ain’t gonna be enough to get him in line. I turn to Hewlis. “You. Take me through what happened.”

  Hewlis nods, his lived-in eyes closing for a second. “The ship has been preparing for this evening’s VIP function for a couple of days now,” he begins. “Some swanky gathering to show off the Ariadne. We were in standard orbit around a Company planet. Awaiting arrivals.”

  “Who organised the party?” I ask.

  “Professor Anil Chandrasekhar,” The burly engineer replies with a curl of his lip. “He’s the egghead behind the design of the whole ship. The Ariadne is his project, his design…”