Ghost Station (The Wandering Engineer) (57 page)

Irons
stayed to get back to his shuttle. The captain detailed a crew to stay with him
to recover the dead before the aliens managed to find and eat the bodies. Savo
wasn't happy but he volunteered to stick with the admiral. Teela did as well.
Art wanted to as well but the admiral shook his head no. He needed to stay
mobile. A wounded man would slow them down.

Gus
took the copilot seat since Barry's copilot had been killed in the initial
attack. On their way to the Kiev the boy passed out again and flat lined. They
made a mad headlong dash for the ship, hearing the medic frantically work to
save the kid behind them. Yvonne's sobs had Gus biting his lip, tears pricking
his eyes.

“We're
coming in hot! Prep for wounded!” Barry snarled into the radio, not bothering
to look over his shoulder like Gus was doing. He needed to focus on the task at
hand. Engine two was kicking again, just enough to make things interesting for
him. He really wished its timing could have been better. But then again it was
pretty much par for the course whatever the hell that meant. They had had a
louse ass day.

“Kid
you want to help them focus on the shuttle and flying,” he told Gus tightly
glancing at Gus when the kid didn't turn back to his job. “That's how we can
contribute. Get them there as fast and as safely as we can.”

“Shuttle
two, you're coming in too fast,” Kiev's pri-fly said. “Ease up.”

“I
said we're coming in hot didn't I?” Barry demanded over the radio. “Just clear
the bay and be ready to drop the doors. In fact have them moving down before we
get in.”

“Before?
Barry are you nuts?” the Veraxin demanded.

“We'll
be fine control. You worry about having the people ready. I'll worry about the
timing. Shuttle two out.”

Gus
watched in awe as Barry used the RCS to flip the bird onto its side in a skew
turn. He overshot or so Gus thought. Then the main engines burped, just long
enough to arrest some of their headlong motion. They slipped under the doors as
the RCS burped, kicking them back in at the right angle. The RCS burped back
and forth, stabilizing them.

“Gear
down?” Barry asked looking at the kid out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah...”
Gus reached out and flipped the toggles. The light went from red to green.
“Down now.” He hit another switch. “And locked.”

Barry
shook the yoke and then nodded. “Good enough. Landing,” he said touching down.

They
landed as close to the hatch as possible. He watched the bay doors close at an
agonizingly slow pace. He looked back as they sealed.

“Doors
shut. Atmo coming in,” Control said. “Good landing Boss. Nice.”

“Wilcox,”
Barry said tightly as his eyes turned to look past Gus to the door. “Come on,
open already...” he muttered. He looked over his shoulder to the medic Mal
doing CPR on the kid and then back to the door. He wasn't sure if they were
going to make it. It didn't look good.

The
door finally opened and is swarming with medics before the shuttle hatch
finished opening. Doc tried to save Art but he'd bled too much. His heart had
collapsed from the loss of blood on the trip over. More blood and fluids had
worked their way into his lungs. One look at the readings made her flinch. “I'm
sorry Yvonne,” she said looking at the assistant engineer. The boy was flat
line, body and brain. Some of the clotted blood and air must have reached his
brain and caused multiple embolisms. There was nothing she could do.

Yvonne
collapsed in tears. Barry stroked her back as she cried clutching him. “I'm so
sorry. So so sorry,” he said, holding her gently. His own eyes stung. She
nodded, burying her face into his shoulder. Somehow during the race back she'd
taken her helmet off.

“So
much for quarantine,” Doc muttered looking at them. She shook her lip and then
returned to the other wounded. A pair of orderlies moved Art's body off to the
side and placed his hands across his chest. They covered the body with a body
bag and then turned to other duties.

The
doctor was busy with all the other wounded. She has to focus on the living and
let the dead lay for now, not even sparing Art's body a sidelong glance. There
will be time for grieving later, she told herself as her hands flashed and
moved.

Ezri
tried to comfort Yvonne, rubbing her shoulder. She nodded. “At least I got to
say goodbye. That's more than mom and dad could do,” she said wiping her tears.
Barry wrapped an arm around her and then flinched as the nurse knelt to tend to
his leg.

“Easy
there,” he said looking down. “Damn,” he gasped as she pulled at the ripped
suit to get a better look.

Yvonne
woke out of her grief as she felt concern about Barry. She helped the nurse get
him to the infirmary on a cargo pallet, following along behind the litters and
gurneys the other orderlies and nurses were pushing. She spared a backwards
glance to her son's body and then closed her eyes as Barry gripped her hand
tighter. She knew her friends had done everything they could to save her son.
She had to be at peace with it, had to, she thought.

Irons
and his remaining team recovered the dead. They used the cargo pallet, making
it much easier. They were wary of ambushes as they moved but it appeared that
the aliens were more afraid of Irons than the rest of them were of the aliens.
Irons could see them on his HUD, just out of reach. He looked over his shoulder
to see them returning in the shadows as the light from their spot light fades.
He was tempted to fire, to kill as many of the bastards as he could but held
his fire. He might need it later he reasoned. The raptors paused at their own
dead. He's tempted to kill them again but refused. He let them feed on their
own dead while they made good on their escape.

It
took an hour, a long agonizing fear fraught hour, but they managed to work
their through the maze to get to his shuttle. Inside he sat in the pilot's seat
and got ready to undock but Sprite received a weak radio signal. His hands
froze when she played it back. “Help us. Please!” The weird whispery voice said
over and over.

“Echo
man, ghost,” Savo said looking up and then out through the launch's cockpit
windows.  “Let's just get the hell out of here man,” he said waving to the
outer darkness.

“Ghost
in the machine you mean. I'm getting data with it. Admiral that's current.
There is some data here... it boils down to someone knows we are here. It has
our dock registry number,” Sprite said.

“It's
a trap. Another one to lure us in. Get us killed,” Savo said firmly. His simian
hand gripped the back of the admiral's seat. “Come on man, let's blow this
popsicle stand,” he urged as he growled. His fur was perpetually on end, his
canines bared. He like a lot of them was on the ragged edge, ready to get back
to safety and sanity.

Irons
looked over his shoulder. “You don't even know what a popsicle stand is.”

“So?
Still need to get the hell out while the getting's good.”

“We
will,” Irons said coming to a decision. He had a plan now, one he was pretty
sure everyone wouldn't like. But one he was going to follow through on. One
step at a time though. First it was time to get the others out of danger.

“We
will?” Sprite asked, clearly surprised. “Admiral a signal of distress...”

“Could
indeed be true, or a ruse. Either way we have a duty to perform. But we will be
back,” he said, taking the controls as the shuttle powered up.

“I'm...
admiral the lock refuses to unlock. We're tethered,” Sprite said.

“Use
the arm. Push us away,” he ordered.

“I
can't. We're stuck,” she reported. “The docking clamps refuse to budge.”

“Damn
it...”

“Something's
locked the shuttle in place. They are locking us down so we can't leave,”
Sprite said.

“You're
sure it's enemy action?” the admiral demanded. He wasn't so sure. The station
was old after all, it could be a coincidence.

“I
am now. Something is fighting me in here. More than one,” she said. “I'm being
pushed out of the docking interface. They keep trying to breach the shuttle's
firewall.”

“Sever
communications. Cut the ODN to the station,” the admiral immediately ordered.

“Done
and done. We are still stuck though,” Sprite said after a second.

“Not
for long,” Irons growled getting out of his seat.

“What
are you going to do?” Sprite asked.

“Cut
us free. The hard way if I have to,” he said.

“You're
not going to pull us free?” Savo asked.

“If
I did that we'd rip the shuttle's airlock apart and half the side of my ship.
No, there is another way,” Irons said. He headed for the lock.

“What?”

“Cut
the damn locks,” Irons said turning as the hatch closed behind him. He raised
his right hand and sent a signal converting it to torch.

When
Irons went to the lock he noted people on the other side of the window. He
looked, peering through the glass. They were looking back at him. He spotted
Terrans, Neos, Veraxin, and other species. They look wild, lord of the flies
feral. Some have bladed weapons made out of pieces of metal; others have blades
made out of bone or Dilgarth claws.

They
were fierce, eyes wild and predatory. They were dressed in rags and improvised
armor. He wasn't about to get mixed up with them just now. He puts his hand to
the lock and listened in. They were talking about rushing the shuttle if they
can get the lock open. Someone on the other side was tinkering with the lock
controls, trying to short the thing. That's it then. Time for plan B he
decided.

He
exited out the top hatch and cut the clamps away. It's a fraught filled race,
he's aware that they could beat him if he's unlucky. Of course they couldn't
get into the shuttle through its lock though. Sprite used the arm to push the
shuttle away from the station. He watched the pieces of clamps drift away and
the rage in the window of the airlock. But with rage was despair he realized as
he paused watching the faces work. Yes, yes indeed he'd be back.

It
is a quiet twenty minute flight time back to Kiev. The living and the dead had
little to say to one another. Irons looked over his shoulder to the dead under
blankets on floor. He glanced back to the grim faces of exhausted people around
them. One of the guys is rocking, another clutched at his rifle as if his life
depended on it. He returned his attention to the task at hand. He landed in the
ship and watched as they unloaded the dead. One hand rested on the ceiling
hatch combing. He wasn't ready to leave. He can feel his anger cool into deadly
decision and purpose. The plan he'd been toying with gelled into grim purpose.

When
the last body is unloaded he returned to the ship. Savo spotted him as the
hatch closed and the stairs retract. “Admiral what are you doing?” he called
out.

“Finishing
it,” Irons growled. He went to the cockpit. He received a surprised clearance
and left the ship before anyone could object or think about what he's really
doing.

The
bridge crew thought he was going to check on the team out on the hull he
realized. Instead he headed back to the station. When the course change
registered he received a call asking why. He shut the radio off surprising Sprite.
That was entirely unlike the admiral she knew, he was a stickler for safety
protocol.

Sprite
sensed his foul mood from his bio readings. She was pretty sure he was
thoroughly pissed. His BP was highly elevated and he was showing every sign of
a tantrum. The way he was grinding his teeth together wasn't a good sign.
Something rare for him. He was long overdue for one though. “So um... what are
we doing?” she asked cautiously half way back to the station.

He
growled sub vocally and then his jaw clenched. “What does it look like?” he
finally snarled. “We're going to
finish
this.” His rumble had an echo of
thunder of old. In it there was just the hint of mayhem and clashing steel.
Yes, definitely a tantrum, Sprite concluded. An epic one from the sound of it.

She
had to try to head it off, it was her duty. He needed a clear head to watch out
for whatever he was getting into. “Admiral...”

“Don't
give me any
shit
Commander. I'm not in the mood,” he snarled. “Take the
controls. I'm going to suit up.” He flicked a finger to the auto pilot and rose
fast.
“Aren't you um...”

He
went back and yanked open the locker with the antique armor in it. He'd only
had an hour or so to play with it, just long enough to see that it had been
stripped a long long time ago. Which was just as well. It was an antique even
in his day, over nine centuries ago it might have been something... but now it
belonged in a museum. Time to change that.

“Proteus,”
Irons said, pulling the armor out. It didn't have a power source of course, no
actuators, no sensors, but he could fix that.

“Yes
Admiral?”

“Initiate
program Ironman mark one,” he said stepping into the boots. The good thing
about the armor was that it was designed to go over a space suit or in his case
a skin suit. He wasn't sure why an army ranger needed that ability, but now it
was good. The armor was about to become appliqué armor.