‘Because I had a choice too. A choice between right and wrong,’ he said. ‘It was the right thing to do,’ he whispered.
At that moment, an immense shudder convulsed through the tunnel as if the vessel was groaning in pain. Something horrible was about to happen.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The holographic blade flashed back and forth as the masked opponents fought. One of the dancing figures was calmness personified. His breathing was measured, his eyes fixed, and his instinct was to win at all costs. The opponent was far from the same. His lunges and parries were slow and laboured, and increasingly desperate as he battled to contain his illustrious adversary. The expert fencer, a hologram of the legendary 1988 Olympian, Max Gruber, stood poised once again, foil in hand, after he scored another point, his exhausted opponent was Stahl. He had retreated to the officer’s lounge after watching Petersen’s launch and activated the fencing program. For hours he had remained locked in combat, his attention solely focussed upon defeating the simulation. Such was his focus that when the Admiral’s voice suddenly boomed in the lounge he thought the holographic figure was speaking to him.
‘Attention all hands!’ The Admiral announced over the lounge’s speaker-system. ‘Attention all hands. In accordance with Astrokorp directives I have decided to leave orbit around this planet.’
Stahl couldn’t believe his ears. ‘What the hell was going on?’ he thought as he lowered the game-wand and the hologram of Baumann disappeared. The Sturmbannführer grabbed a nearby towel and wiped the sweat from his face as he continued to listen to the Admiral.
‘During the last few hours, as you all know, we lost a brave comrade, science officer Petersen after he bravely volunteered to explore the planet below. No doubt, he gave his life in the hope that the information from his pioneering vehicle would help his shipmates. It has. The weather systems we have observed make it impossible for us to attempt any sort of landing. Given this fact, we have decided with a heavy heart to make our decision.’ The Admiral continued. ‘My first priority is the safety of your lives and the safety of this ship. Anything that would jeopardise either of these must be avoided. I, unlike others, will not take reckless gambles with the Odin, or your lives.
‘However, the directive from our command also offers us an alternative. We cannot return home, but our mission to expand the Reich’s boundaries will continue. Instead, we will set course for our secondary destination. It is a planet similar in almost every respect to Vanaheim that is two lights years away. The launch window to reach this new haven will appear in approximately three hours, so time is of the essence. All hands, prepare to leave orbit.’
‘What the hell is he doing!’ Stahl screamed at the top of his voice.
They had come all this way, travelled so far, and now, all because they had lost a single crew-man due to bad weather, they were going to turn-tail and abandon this world. The idea of failure, of even admitting the possibility of defeat, was heresy to Stahl. This retreat, for that is what is was in his mind, was an idea so alien, so contemptuous to him that his blood boiled. What made it worse was he felt he was in the hands of a coward. Would the perceived cowardice of Admiral Bauer reflect upon him too? This, more than anything, fuelled his outrage. Tears of frustration, even a wave of nausea, took hold of Stahl as he pulled on his SS tunic. The feelings, real or not, started to disappear after he wrapped his belt around his waist and he felt the weight of his side-arm. He pulled the stream-lined pistol from the holster and considered if its power would compel the Admiral to reconsider his disastrous decision. All it would take was a single shot from the pistol to gain control of the ship and return it to its illustrious path. All his frustration, all his contempt, all his anger screamed at him to seize the moment. Stahl’s Nazi teachings also pointed him towards this show of force, but before the SS officer could act the tremors that disturbed Konrad and Elsa knocked him off his feet.
An urgent computerised voice screamed “Red Alert!” as Stahl picked himself up and raced towards the control room.
Deep within the spire, Bauer’s ghostly voice echoed from the coal-like walls. His earnest announcement filled every chamber, the German voice filling the unending darkness that dominated the vast interior. Bauer’s words rose up and down in volume, the pitch and accent distorted not only by the echoes, but also by unseen filters which made a mockery of the words. But amongst the booming cacophony, a distinct, and from the Odin’s crew’s point of view, disturbing pattern emerged. “All hands, prepare to leave orbit.” The sentence replayed endlessly.
The final words triggered something within the spire. Something violent.
Ribbons of light emerged from the black structure. This glittering display of energy boiled and seethed as the glowing shapes merged into a single, unbridled column of plasma. Then at an unspoken critical point, a powerful column powered up the spire screaming as it found a fierce, hellish voice. At the spire’s knife-like apex, the plasma exploded, its coiling fingers thrusting through the laden atmosphere towards the tiny pinpoint of light, the Odin, which wheeled across the sky.
Below the orbiting craft, the muggy cloudbanks were illuminated by a growing circle of light. The bright halo heralded the emergence of the demonic coil which spat from the atmosphere and shot straight at the Odin. The energy slammed into the giant swastika painted on the vessel’s hull and quickly disappeared. The hull shuddered fiercely as the light disappeared, its effect felt all over the ship, from the control room to the engine room, from Stahl to Konrad.
The energised plasma flooded and washed its way through the Odin’s countless ducts, pipes and corridors like the ejaculate of some god-like entity. But the fizzing, hissing column’s actions were deliberate, as if it was searching for a particular section of the vessel. Eventually, the plasma found its way into the engine room. The tremors still held the ship fast as the insidious fingers of power danced their way through the massive, cathedral-like interior. It coiled around the network of pipes and combustion chambers as the normal white lighting flickered out to be replaced by the blue emergency lighting which gave the engine room a disturbing gothic atmosphere. The invader lingered upon the swollen reservoirs of C-stoff and T-stoff, the Odin’s rocket fuels. Like a calculating predator, the finger of plasma hovered over the network of pressurised fuel-pipes that hung from the breast-like tanks as if analysing them for a weak point. The barbs of energy wrapped themselves around the network of piping and pulled its seals and gaskets apart. Liquid hydrogen peroxide spilt from the cracked metal and dripped into the compartment below.
Chief Engineer Roth clung to his rocking panel, amazed at the sheer number of red alert alarms that flashed in front of him. The tall and strong engineer looked shaken. Never before had he experienced such a situation. The ship was screaming to him in pain and like a father with his newborn, the mewing distressed him greatly. But as he pulled his hand back from the panel, something wet, something terribly cold, dripped on to it. The liquid tingled curiously upon his skin, its touch burning him as a wisp of vapour rose from the clear liquid. Roth looked up and followed the dripping chemical’s trajectory. His eyes widened in horror.