Edge of the Abyss: A Space Opera Novella (Max Mars Book 4) Page 3
Winston looked uneasy.
The particles within the nebula carried sound. Thunder from electrical storms rumbled through the clouds. Flashes from electrostatic discharges flickered. It was ominous and spooky. Visibility decreased to almost zero. It was impossible to see the surrounding stars.
Max wasn't one to get scared, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and goosebumps rose on her skin. There was just something eerie about the place.
The Vantage knifed its way through the soupy haze, plowing deeper into the abyss. Within a few minutes, they reached the last known position of the distress transmission—but there wasn't anything there.
“False alarm. Can we go now?" Winston asked. He was more than ready to leave.
“You said it might not be where we anticipated.” She gave a casual shrug.
Winston was regretting saying it.
“We didn't come all this way to turn back now." Max's eyes surveyed the scanners, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, but the display was a garbled mess. She peered through the viewport, searching the fog. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a vague shape. Max banked the Vantage around and headed toward the object.
Out of the murky haze a cruiser appeared. It looked like an Alpha Class ship—a midsize vessel with several decks and 16 inch plasma cannons mounted fore and aft, and on the port and starboard sides. It could hold its own in a fight, but wasn’t near the size of a destroyer or super-carrier. It didn’t have the firepower or crew capacity.
Max circled the haze-gray vessel. There was no sign of exterior damage. The ship hadn’t come under fire. The emergency running lights were on, but the ship looked dead otherwise. Max caught sight of the nameplate. It was the USS Aurora.
Max tried to raise the ship on the comm line. “USS Aurora, this is the SS Phoenix, do you copy?”
There was no response, just the empty crackle of static. Transmissions were typically difficult within the nebula, but at this range, communication should have been possible.
“USS Aurora, this is the SS Phoenix, do you copy?”
There was still no reply.
“Perhaps their comm system is damaged?" Winston said.
Max angled the Vantage closer. She couldn't see any activity through the Aurora’s viewports. “What can you find out about the Aurora?”
Winston searched his database. “That's odd,” he said, crinkling his face in a quizzical look. "The Aurora is not listed as a Federation Navy ship.”
“Are you sure?”
“According to the Navy, she doesn't exist."
“Well, I’m looking right at her. So, either she exists, or we are both hallucinating.”
“That would be highly unlikely. The possibility of my neural network generating visual or auditory hallucinations is .000035%”
A wave of realization washed over Max. “This is a black ops ship. Off the books.” Max tried once again to communicate with the Aurora to no avail. “Whoever's on board either can't, or won't, communicate with us. That may explain the short duration of the distress signal. It would be against protocol for a black ship to transmit a distress signal on an open frequency, even if it was encrypted.”
“Does that mean we can go now?"
“No. That does not mean we can go now." Max moved the Vantage into position near one of the Aurora’s airlocks.
“What are you planning on doing?”
“We’re going aboard.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Winston didn't look thrilled at the idea.
Max backed the Vantage up to the Aurora’s hatch and hovered a few feet away. She unbuckled her safety harness, grabbed Felix from the dash, and moved into the cargo area. She opened a storage compartment and pulled out a pressurized travel container for Felix. The Vantage didn't have an airlock. She was going to have to depressurize the entire compartment to exit the vehicle.
Max opened the travel container and coaxed the kitty inside. "I know you don't like this thing, but you’re gonna have to deal with it for a little while.”
Felix meowed with disapproval, but climbed into the container.
Max tossed in some nutrition supplements and sealed the unit. She activated the environment simulator. The control panel came to life, and the container pressurized. The display indicated the percentage of oxygen, nitrogen and other gases. It regulated temperature to a comfortable 72 degrees. Max secured the container to the bulkhead with a safety cable—she didn't want the little guy getting whisked into space when she opened the rear hatch.
She grabbed a pressurized suit from another storage locker. EVA (extra vehicular activity) suits had come a long way since the days of the early Apollo missions. No longer were they big, bulky, restrictive suits. The SK-11 was sleek and form fitting. Max stripped out of her skintight tactical bodysuit, revealing her sumptuous form. It was a view completely wasted on the robot. Though he could appreciate her classic beauty, her curves didn’t make his heart beat faster. If you asked, he would probably say that he loved Max, to the extent that a robot could love. He’d do anything to protect her within his programming limits. Robots weren’t allowed to intentionally cause harm to other human beings, even in self-defense. It was a bit of a gray area whether or not they could use violent force to stop another human attempting to harm someone. Max slipped her toned legs into the SK-11 and shimmied into the tight suit. It would regulate temperature and atmosphere, and had internal bladders to process waste. The suits were protective against cosmic and particle radiation. The garment was puncture resistant and offered a degree of protection against micro-meteoroids. But it wasn’t going to stop a high-velocity space boulder. Under typical conditions, the suit could supply up to four days of oxygen. There were smart seals for the gloves, boots, and helmet. Max pulled on the helmet and pressurized the garment. The sound of her own breath echoed within the headgear. A heads-up-display on the visor provided information on vital signs and remaining oxygen.
“Winston, can you hear me?”
“I can hear you,” his voice crackled back in Max’s ears.
“Are you coming aboard, or are you staying here?”
7
Winston pondered the question for a moment. Both prospects were terrifying. He didn't necessarily want to be left alone on the Vantage, but it was probably safer than stepping aboard an unknown ship drifting through a nebula. Winston would never put his own safety before Max’s. No matter how treacherous the environment, Winston would never let her go it alone. He couldn’t quite explain his unconditional concern for her. He knew all the reasons, but the sum of all those reasons lead to something greater. Something intangible. Perhaps these were true feelings, he thought? He wondered how far he would go to protect her? Would he ever violate his programming to keep her safe?
Winston unbuckled his safety harness and moved to the back hatch.
Max attached a safety cable to the bulkhead and secured it to her EVA suit. Winston attached a safety harness as well. Max depressurized the compartment, then pressed a button on the bulkhead, unlocking the hatch. The remaining atmosphere rushed out of the compartment as the rear hatch opened. With a plasma rifle slung over her shoulder, Max stepped off the platform and glided into space. Thrusters in the palms and boots of her suit helped her adjust trajectory. She glided across the abyss and reached the exterior hull of the Aurora.
She opened a fairing next to the exterior hatch, accessing a keypad. All Navy ships were programmed with an access code. The default setting was 0000, and nobody ever bothered to change it—in much the same manner as the launch code for the US nuclear arsenal was 00000000 for over 20 years. So much for high-security.
Max punched in the four digit code, and the external airlock hatch prepared to open. A warning light flashed red for 30 seconds. The interior airlock hatch sealed. An automated voice repeated a warning, “Compartment will depressurize in 30 seconds. Please clear the area, or wear approved EVA attire.” The soothing female voice repeated the warning
over and over again until the external airlock hatch slid open. A rush of air whooshed out of the compartment.
Max slid into the airlock, the artificial gravity pulling her to the deck. With adept balance, she landed on her feet. She unlatched her safety harness and affixed it to a handle on the exterior hull. She would need it when she headed back across the abyss later. “Are you coming?”
“I suppose.” He looked into the haze with trepidation. “I’ll have you know, I’m not particularly fond of stepping out of a perfectly good spaceship.”
“You’ll be fine. Besides, you’re tethered to the ship.”
Winston reluctantly leapt from the cargo bay and glided across the expanse.
Max caught him, helping him land safely. Once he was inside, and she had clipped his safety cable to the outer hull, Max sealed the outer airlock hatch. She pressurized the compartment, then opened the inner airlock hatch.
The corridor was dark, with only emergency lighting illuminating the passageway. She brought her weapon into the firing position and eased into the corridor. The lights from Max's helmet illuminated the hallway casting narrow beams. An Alpha Class cruiser should have a crew of around 120, but there wasn't a soul in sight.
Winston sealed the hatch behind them as he stepped into the corridor.
Max crept forward, scanning the long dark hallway. Her heads-up display indicated that the Aurora was pressurized and had a normal atmosphere. She opened her visor, and it retracted into the helmet. Max took a deep breath. It wasn't exactly fresh air, but it was better than the recirculated air in the suit. It felt slightly less claustrophobic with the visor open.
She snaked through the maze of passageways, heading toward the CIC. Her boots clanked against the deck, and she could hear Winston's footsteps close behind her. Max checked compartment after compartment. Crew quarters, recreational areas, the 2nd deck mess hall, the CPO mess—all empty. How does a crew of 120 just vanish?
The atmospheric processing system was apparently working. There seemed to be an ample supply of breathable air. Max could hear the steady drone of the engines. She hadn't found any sign of damage so far. Sailors just didn't abandon Navy ships for no reason. Perhaps, when she reached the CIC, the ship’s log would give her clues as to what had happened.
She found a piece of the puzzle when she stumbled into the Wardroom. At first glance it looked empty, like the rest of the ship. But the beam from her headlamp raked across an object on the deck on the far side of the compartment. She did a double take and refocused her gaze on the khaki pile. She pushed farther into the compartment to get a closer look. Half eaten trays of food remained on the cafeteria tables. Mealtime had been cut short, and nobody stuck around to clean up the mess.
There was no mistaking it now. The pile on the ground was an officer's uniform. The officer in the uniform had seen better days. His face was red and puffy with pus filled boils that were oozing yellow slime. It looked like pepperoni pizza gone terribly wrong. Blood had hemorrhaged from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His glazed brown eyes were fixed and dilated. He was clearly dead and had been that way for quite some time.
Max cringed at the sight. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. The beam of light from her headgear shined on the Lieutenant’s acetate nameplate. It read: A. Takagi.
8
“What do you make of this?” Max asked.
“I’ll have to run diagnostics to confirm, but I suspect some type of pathogen,” Winston said.
It wasn’t what Max wanted to hear. She knew what Winston was going to say next.
“At this point it's not possible to say the method of transmission. I would avoid contact with all bodily fluids. Of course, the pathogen may be airborne, in which case you're likely already infected.”
Max never got sick. Someone with the Proxima Flu (one of the most virulent in the galaxy) could sneeze on her, and she still wouldn’t get sick. But Max was on a black ops ship. There was no telling what the crew had encountered. And if this was the reason they had abandoned ship, it was certainly cause for concern.
“I'll take some samples and analyze them in the med lab,” Winston said.
“I’ll head to the CIC, see if I can find any answers.” Max pushed into the corridor. As she crept through the dim passageways she noticed all of the escape pods had been jettisoned. Was there another living soul on this vessel, she wondered?
The ship appeared to be in some type of standby mode, conserving energy and operating at a minimum capacity to sustain itself without crew input.
Max found her way into the CIC—it was empty as well. The control terminals were alive and flickering with lights and indicators. Every Navy ship was programmed to roll over to autopilot if it hadn’t received external input in over an hour. Some were programed to navigate their way home, while others had a protocol to stay in place and wait for a rescue squad, depending on the nature of the vessel and its mission. Max was hoping she'd find out what exactly the Aurora's purpose was.
She moved to the main command terminal and scanned through several screens, looking for the ship's log. But she couldn't access the data without security clearance. It wasn't surprising that a black ops ship allowed limited access to its log. It could contain information, that if in the wrong hands, could compromise the integrity of the mission. Maybe Winston could hack into the system and gather more information?
Max checked the ship’s diagnostics. Everything seemed to be functioning properly. There were no faults reported. The data confirmed that all of the escape pods had been jettisoned. As was typical protocol, the escape pods relayed status information back to the Aurora. Max hoped that this might shed some light on the situation. Perhaps they could be contacted? But her eyes went wide as she realized that was not going to be possible.
Each and every one of the escape pods had suffered a critical malfunction, resulting in their destruction. From the data relayed back to the Aurora, power couplers in each of the escape ships had failed, resulting in an overload, causing the fuel-cells to explode. One failure was understandable. Unlikely, but still within the realm of possibility. Multiple simultaneous failures reeked of only one thing—sabotage.
But who would sabotage the Aurora, and why?
It sent a shiver down Max's spine. It was confirmation she was in a hostile environment. To make matters worse, the ship’s navigation controls were locked down. Apparently, part of the emergency protocol. There was no way to maneuver the ship until a rescue team arrived with an access code to reset the system.
"Winston, do you copy?"
"I copy. Go ahead."
"We may have stumbled onto a little situation here."
"I agree wholeheartedly. I found something I think you should see."
Max didn't need to hear anymore bad news. She reluctantly asked, “What is it?"
"I think it's easier if you come take a look."
Max sighed. "Where are you?"
"I'm near the med center on deck one."
I'll be right there."
Max was about to leave the CIC when a transmission crackled over the speakers. “Lone Wolf, this is Almighty. Do you copy? Lone Wolf, this is Almighty. Do you copy? “
Max moved back to the control terminal and opened the comm channel. A naval officer with short dark hair and a square jaw appeared on the screen.
“Go ahead, Almighty,” Max replied.
The officer’s eyes narrowed at Max, surprised to see a civilian on board. “This is Commander Talbot. Who are you? And what are you doing aboard the Aurora?”
“Commander Max Mars, retired. We intercepted a distress signal and we thought we'd lend a hand.”
“Where's Captain Ballard?”
“I don't know, sir. There appears to be no surviving crew.”
Talbot’s eyes rounded with shock. He tried to hide the look of panic that washed over his face. “Have the escape pods been jettisoned?”
“Yes,” Max said in a weak tone. She relayed the devastating information to him.
“My android.”
“That’s it?”
Max nodded.
“Alright. Sit tight. I'll have a recovery team inbound ASAP. Maintain radio silence. You are not to leave the vessel. Is that understood?"
“Do you want to tell me what's going on here?"
“I'm sorry, Commander. That's classified information.”
Max's face tensed. When she was in the Navy she had higher security clearance than this guy. “I can assure you, the Federation has entrusted me with much bigger secrets than this. What's going on?"
“Commander, you know very well I am unable to divulge classified information.”
“Lieutenant Takagi appears to have been infected with some type of pathogen. Is that something I should be concerned about?"
Talbot’s face went pale. A thin mist of sweat was beginning to form on his face. “Is he still alive?"
“No.”
“What is his external appearance?”
“He looks like roadkill."
Talbot swallowed hard. "Don't worry. It's nothing to worry about.”
Max knew that was bullshit. “You don't have to sugarcoat things with me, Commander. Is the pathogen airborne? How long is the incubation period?"
Talbot forced a smile, then probably lied. "I can assure you. There is no pathogen. I'm sure Takagi contracted some type of typical viral infection that somehow went untreated. ”
Max could see she wasn't going to get anywhere with Talbot.
“Just relax. I'll have a rescue crew to you within 24 hours. I'll have you thoroughly evaluated for any infection and treated, then you can be about your way."
“I thought you just said there wasn't a pathogen.”