Eye of the Abyss Page 11

  He frowned. We’ll find another way if we have to.

  She cocked an eyebrow and gestured for him to follow her down the corridor. It was a strange thing to be led by another being through his own ship, but she seemed to know the way to the cockpit as though she’d been on the Akanda before.

  The control center of his ship was a bullet-shaped chamber studded with tiny windows. Blue-shifted starlight flickered through them as it twisted around the inner surface of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge encapsulating both the Akanda and the glossy-black hull of the annihilator below them. Control panels projected their readouts in a three-hundred-sixty-degree cone around a double seat shaped like two halves of a pitted fruit mounted on a pole through its center. The two seats were set butt-end to butt-end such that half the controls could be accessed by each occupant at the same time.

  Athame paused at the entrance, the magnets in her body allowed her to come to a stop hovering in the air beside it. “I am transmitting the location of the access port closest to the computer core. I expect we will encounter resistance.”

  I’ll get us moving, Prospero said.

  There was a loud, metallic thunk as the ship disengaged the access port and moved forward with such careful speed that it seemed to be drifting. The distance between the envelope of twisted space and the hull of the ship was such that they barely had a meter between the top of the Akanda and the gravity sheer that would tear them to pieces if they touched it. Gritting his teeth, Nero pulled himself through the cockpit doorway and settled into the command chair. Straps flowed around his shoulders and waist, securing him as he watched the shifting light play on the ship below them.

  “Why did you risk yourself for that CSA Agent?” Athame asked.

  He twisted around to cast a look back at her. “She’s my partner.”

  “Do you always put your life in jeopardy for your partners?” Strangely, she blinked.

  “I suppose I haven’t had that many, and situations like these don’t always pop up. If they did, yes, I would do it every time. Why are you so interested?” He studied her face out of habit, but soon realized that it wouldn’t let him read her state of mind.

  “I have never seen another Praetor behave as you did. Non-critical assets are not given such a high priority.”

  “Khepria isn’t a non-critical asset, she’s my partner, and didn’t you say she was critical to the mission?” He said aloud.

  “I did not. Her abilities would be useful, mitigate certain risks, however she is not mission-critical. As you said, we will find another way if we have to,” she said, following his lead.

  “She’s critical to me.” He scowled.

  Athame stared at him. “Your surface temperature is shifting along with your heart and breathing rates. Do you love her?”

  Oh boy, Prospero thought.

  “What?” He felt his indignation shift to embarrassment with shocking speed.

  “Do you love her?” Athame repeated with no variation in her tone.

  His eyes shifted to the lower windows in front of him. The dim blue light flowed across the glossy-black hull of the Annihilator like water on stone. Did he? That was a strange question. Abyssians were not supposed to have emotions like that, and though he now knew he wasn’t an Abyssian in the traditional sense, he spent years thinking he was. He still couldn’t remember his past, not before Savorcha, and that made the question all that much harder to answer. Had he been in love before? Did he even know what love was?

  To distract himself, he checked the holographic screen showing their position. There wasn’t enough time for this discussion.

  “This is unimportant to the mission,” he said, still feeling some embarrassment for reasons he couldn’t comprehend.

  Athame nodded. “You are correct. What are the odds of awakening Agent Khepria?”

  “She won’t wake until her body is healed. We can go into this on our own, or we can wait.” He didn’t like the idea of getting hacked by Qismat again, but it seemed they had no choice but to take the chance. Waiting was a bad idea.

  I believe I may be able to defend against the Q-virus better this time. Hack me once, shame on you… Prospero trailed off.

  “Then we shall board the vessel ourselves and take the chance,” Athame said.

  He nodded, hoping Prospero was right. There was still a vacuum inside the annihilator which would make boarding it without some kind of protection suicidal. He had armored e-suits on board, but they offered little in regard to protection given the scale of the threats they encountered so far. He was about to ask Athame for ideas when he remembered he still had his CSC-1A combat shell in the cargo bay. An officer in the Confederate Star Corps came up to him while he was preparing to depart the Savorchan system and offered it to him for reasons he couldn’t then understand. He was having trouble recalling that officer’s face, but he had a feeling that it was Kaeden Faen. He hadn’t used the shell since the Savorchan Conflict ten years ago, but it still might work.

  “How far away from here is the docking port?” Nero asked, spotting the dimple of the access port coming up on the Annihilator’s hull.

  “Three decks,” Athame responded. “Why is that relevant?”

  “Because the annihilator has no atmosphere, and I won’t be able to go with you in anything better than an e-suit.”

  “That is correct.”

  “I have a better idea. I’ve got a combat shell in my cargo hold, but it’s too big to fit through that access port.”

  “That is correct. That invalidates the combat shell as an option for you to—”

  “So I’m taking it through the docking port.”

  “That will cost us valuable time, and we will likely be overwhelmed fighting through three decks to reach this point. It is more efficient for you to wear the e-suit and follow me through the nearest access port.”

  “Maybe, but it could prove fatal to me. I’m not going to take that chance. Besides, I have an idea. If we enter at different points Qismat will be forced to divide her defenses.”

  “True, but even divided, those defenses are still substantial.”

  “You’ve never seen a combat shell in action, have you?”

  Athame stared at him. “I do not have its capabilities in my on-board files, no.”

  He smiled. “Trust me, I’ll be fine.” He hoped it was true. “We’ll drop you off here and keep the Akanda docked. I’ll make my way around with the shell and meet you at the life-support machinery.”

  “This is not logical.”

  “It’s happening,” he said.

  She blinked. “Very well.”

  Sorina was waiting for him dressed in her uniform when he passed by the infirmary on his way to the cargo hold. He couldn’t help the grin that broke out on his face at the sight of her.

  She gave him a crisp salute. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  He wrapped his arms around her body in a tight hug, letting the feel of her imprint itself in his mind before he let go and grabbed the nearest handhold. She did the same, and her ears twitched in a lazy, back and forth motion.

  “How are you feeling?” He looked her up and down.

  “I have been better, but I am fit for service. You look happy to see me awake.”

  He nodded with a smile. “We’re about to go after the computer core. Athame said we may be able to gain control of the bulkhead doors if we can chance a little hacking. Are you up for it?”

  “Whatever gets us out of here,” she responded with a twitch of her ears. She put a hand on his arm. “And what will we do about Praetor Athame after we regain control? We still need to go to Zov to find Captain Faen.”

  Nero had no interest in heading for Deep Hydra as Athame would insist they do. The fact that she showed up to collect him as “damaged equipment” on Taiumikai told him all he needed to know about what would happen when they arrived at Daedalus’ fortress. No doubt he wouldn’t even remember his desire to know who he was before Daedalus took his life from him. He couldn’t allow t
hat to happen.

  “We need to come up with a way to disable her or escape. Remind me to put an FTL drive in the Akanda next time we’re at a major port.” A wry chuckle broke free of his throat. He half-expected to see Sorina’s ears twitch as she shared the bitterness of the sentiment.

  “My people can do it.”

  “You’re serious?” he cocked an eyebrow up.

  “Yes. If we get to a Relaen world ship we can have an AlCas put in. It would delay us a few weeks, but it might be worth it—at least I think so after all of this.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. In the meantime I’ll get on that first thing while you find a way to hack into the door control system of the annihilator.”

  She saluted. “I will. Nero, be careful.”

  He gave her a nod and kicked off the wall, heading for the cargo hold.

  Are you sure about fighting Praetor Athame? Prospero asked when he arrived and stripped off his clothing.

  I’m sure, he said, feeling a sense of nostalgia swell within him.

  Resting in its alcove, his combat shell stood like a grizzled, robotic sentinel. Human in its basic form, its domed head rested directly on the plane of its broad shoulders without a neck. A set of EM sensors sat at angles to each other like a pair of angry-looking eyes on the surface of the dome. The rounded expanse of its thick armor was splotchy where the nanomachines of its repair system patched the poly-ceramic alloy together after numerous impacts and laser-burns. Many of the numbers and symbols that once stood out against its skin were faded and grainy. There was one icon in particular on the left shoulder that caught Nero’s eye. It looked vaguely bird-like with a sword and a rifle clutched in its avian talons. The inscription that once encircled the symbol was faded beyond his ability to make out, though he had the sense that he should know what it was.

  I detect that the shell has several structural faults that were not fully repaired at its last maintenance cycle, Prospero said.

  How bad is it?

  The shell has 87% of its protective integrity. I’ll know more once we power it up.

  Nero finished undressing and held the railing beside the machine. He put his hand over the center of its bulging chest and held his breath. A glowing green panel appeared on the suit beneath it and displayed the words “QUANTUM MICROSCANNER ACTIVE,” and then, “DNA PROFILE VERIFIED: WELCOME LIEUTENANT NERO ALEXANDER GRAVES” above his fingertips. A hiss of air and a rush of vapor precipitated the front of the torso swinging down from a hinge in the groin. Within was a stained, human-shaped niche studded with nozzles and sensor pads. The sight of it put a knot in his throat. He could feel memories fighting to emerge from behind the wall in his mind, but the most that he got from them were vague impressions of familiarity, anxiety, triumph, and despair.

  He crawled into the armor and settled his arms and legs into the sockets. The moment he ducked his head up under the lip at the base of the dome, the torso plate swung back up and sealed with a second burst of air. He heard pumps switch on and shivered as cold gel flooded the compartment. When it flowed up over his head he felt his heart start to thump in his chest. There was no membrane or mouth-piece through which to take in air. He held his breath, hoping that the Confederate Star Corps would not design powered armor to kill the soldier within it as spots formed in his vision.

  Prospero?

  I’m analyzing the gel. It’s electro-reactive but I believe it also contains a high amount of oxygen and nitrogen gasses dissolved within. The Akanda’s database indicates this is normal, and that the gel will sustain your respiratory needs. I know this sounds crazy but, try breathing it in.

  He would have blinked in shock if he didn’t already have his eyes shut in the chill liquid.

  I promise to apologize if I am mistaken.

  It did sound crazy, but as the seconds ticked by it seemed he had no other choice but to trust Prospero and Star Corps. His lungs were on fire so he took the plunge and sucked in some of the gel through his nose. He felt it slide down his bronchial tubes, initiating a full-on coughing fit that served to pump even more of the stuff into him. Tears formed in his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long it went on, but when the fit passed he found his lungs steadily pumping the fluid in and out as though it were some kind of heavy air.

  You’re welcome, again, Prospero said, connecting to the suit’s system.

  Then the link switched on, and he felt taller and thicker somehow. It took a moment for him to realize he was no longer perceiving himself as being within the armor, but as standing in the Akanda’s cargo hold with his vision full of readouts, status updates, and targeting software. He looked down at himself, surprised to see that he was staring at the armored chest and arms of his combat shell. He flexed his fingers and the thick, armored digits carried out his command with perfect accuracy. They even felt like his hands.

  Okay, this is pretty cool, he thought.

  He stepped out of the alcove, and his machine-feet thundered onto the deck, sticking to it. The suit sent a memory-dump into his brain, making him aware of its capabilities and how to operate it. The CSC-1A was designed for combat anytime, anywhere, and much like Praetor Athame, it had electromagnets in its soles for walking on starship hulls.

  Very cool. Let’s get moving. He tried to grin, but didn’t feel anything happen. Apparently being linked to the suit precluded any actions that the machine didn’t have the anatomy for.

  Prospero evacuated the air in the bay and dropped the ramp as he walked toward it. He cleared the shadow of the Akanda with the steady thump-thump of footsteps against the annihilator’s hull. The rotating wall of the Einstein-Rosen bridge was like a swarm of blue fireflies coming from nowhere and heading into the unknown. He usually saw the spinning, warped light in glimpses from behind cockpit windows, but to stand out under it took the liquid breath from his lungs. Against this surreal backdrop his suit continued to report its status down the left side of his vision.

  [PARTICLE ACCELERATOR CANNON: 40% FUEL, 70% POWER FEED: DISPATCHING REPAIR NANOS]

  [LASER CUTTER: 80% POWER FEED]

  [ROCKET LAUNCHER: 90% POWER FEED: ORDINANCE: 2/4 EMP WARHEADS 1/4 ANTIMATTER]

  [FUSION GENERATOR: OPERATIONAL: 69% EFFICIENCY]

  [SATCOM: INOPERABLE]

  [STEALTH SYSTEM: INOP—]

  He stopped reading. The important systems were all functioning well enough that they just might pull this off. By now Athame was crossing between the ships behind him and would soon start the distraction. Up ahead he spotted the tear in the hull where the Akanda cut through the docking bay doors just hours before. The area was marked with a long ridge of liquefied and refrozen metal resembling a raised, gray scar on the darkness of the hull. A steady flow of ice crystals and debris drifted upward from the yawing wound, flaring out of existence as they struck the gravity-sheer of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Nero made himself walk slow and steady towards it.

  He felt Prospero chuckle as they reached the lip of the bay.

  What is it?

  Oh, nothing. Please ignore me, his counterpart said.

  You laughed. Why?

  Well, since you insist, I am a bit tickled at the thought of what you probably used to do.

  He would have frowned if he could.

  I just mean it’s amusing to think of you as a Star-Jumper.

  How do you know I was a Star-Jumper? he thought back.

  The kind of armored shell you are wearing is used to jump out of star ships, descend through atmospheres, and land directly into combat. I just can’t see you doing it.

  He sent a burst of indignation Prospero’s way. It’s obvious I used to, isn’t it? Watch this.

  No, wait! Nero—

  He leapt up over the bay, and kept going. He could almost feel Prospero sigh at him as he drifted over the yawing, wounded docking bay. The lights were still on, and he could see the broken struts that held his ship before they freed it. He could also see the spinning swarm of starlight getting closer to him by the second as he continued up.
<
br />   That’s why I can’t really see you as a Star-Jumper. You don’t seem to have the sense for it.

  The readouts in his UI showed the CSC’s maneuvering jets inoperable. An indicator flashed in his vision, warning him his heartbeat was increasing at a higher than recommended rate.

  Well, that’s very funny, Prospero, considering we’re both about to die, he thought as the wall of twisted space-time got closer.

  Just remember I was justified in my amusement, Prospero retorted.

  His UI indicated the particle acceleration cannon was coming online. He heard its servos deploy the weapon from its compartment in his shoulder a moment before Prospero fired a sustained blast at the gravity-sheer. The blue-white beam struck the spinning wall and vanished in a flare of spaghettified atoms. Nero was about to complain about how useless the move was when he noticed they were now drifting downward into the bay.

  Your justification is so noted, he thought, relieved that Prospero saved them again.

  With his heartbeat calming he dropped down below the lip of the bay and into the ship. After the magnets in his feet engaged it was a simple matter to locate the access hatch. The artificial tendons in the combat shell made short work of it, and his optics lit up with the infra-red light radiated by the corridor of pipes stretching out before him. They were quite hot judging from how bright it was, and he wondered how long it would be before the ship’s systems started failing.

  Sorina, are you in? he transmitted.

  “Affirmative. I am linked directly to the ship via your suit. The virus I just released into the annihilator seems to be working. We now have control of the doors, and it appears to be creeping through the systems one by one. I anticipate gaining more control as time passes,” she responded. The relay was a safety precaution to prevent the Q-virus from hacking the Akanda. He hoped it would work, or at least slow the virus down if it didn’t.

  Athame, check-in.

  “Functional. Status green,” she returned.

  Nero climbed up the corridor, keeping his eyes searching for targets. On a strange impulse he reached around to his back and grabbed a handle there. He yanked on it and found a long weapon with two rails extending out from its stock in his hands.