“He has to stop that,” Hayden said. “The surface is still carrying a charge, he could-”
Other white-clad gunmen attacked the hatch that Max had sealed only moments earlier. One had found a piece of torn metal he used to scrape and scratch at the smartskin; the other had an actual crowbar he was trying to insert in the tiny crack that outlined the hatchway.
“They’re going to kill themselves!” Hayden said, jumping up in spite of Max’s orders. “The skin is still charged, it’ll electrocute them if-”
“Andrew!” Simon screamed. “Open the fucking door to the outside hatch!”
Simultaneously, Max bellowed at the others-a deep voice, a commander’s voice: “All of you into the ready room! NOW!”
This time they moved, scrambling over each other for cover.
The instant they were safely out of sight, the hatch began to shift and open, very slowly. Max turned and raised his pistol with the laser guidance system and pointed it straight at the hatch door.
Simon stood flattened against the door, a two-foot piece of razor-sharp steel in his hand. It was the only weapon he had.
They weren’t going to take any chances.
And they sure as hell weren’t going to die today.
THE PASSAGE
There was no time to think. Everything happened in a matter of seconds.
The door depressurized with a hiss, and the armed men outside moved back a pace, their rifles still high. The temperature isnside the Spector plunged as the arctic air invaded, rushing in with a crackling sound as everything that could freeze in an instant did exactly that. The only other sound was the ominous, rhythmic rush of heavy breathing through the masks that everyone wore, friend and foe alike.
“Identify yourself!” shouted the man in front of the foot soldiers as the beams of light from the laser-guided rifles penetrated the Spector. The illumination created an eerie glow on the ice, on the dying instrumentation, on the flat glassy surfaces of masks and goggles.
“We mean no harm,” Simon said loud enough to be heard but-he hoped-quiet enough to sound reasonable. He was still out of sight, his back pressed against the inside of the vehicle.
The man standing just outside the hatch responded, “Show yourselves!”
Simon knew this was his chance. Either he would be shot, or this would be the beginning of their journey. He looked at Max across the open hatch. His oldest friend nodded in silent agreement. Simon slowly turned and moved sideways into the open doorway, exposing himself to the enemy, first his hand, then the rest of his body with arms lifted and hands empty.
He felt the chill of the tunnel as half a dozen laser-guided rifles moved to point straight at him. He squinted into the glaring lights and heard a voice ask him, “Who are you? You’re clearly not Vector5.”
“Who’s Vector5?” he asked.
Max, close behind and to one side, moved toward the door with his pistol up.
“Drop your weapon!” screamed one of the men-not the one in front but one of the men behind him who was gripping his odd rifle so hard it trembled.
Nervous, Max thought. Nervous men are dangerous. Very gently Max lowered his pistol and set it on the deck of the Spector. When he rose again, his empty hands were up and in front of him, fingers spread wide.
The leader shouted again, “Identify yourself!”
“We’re scientists,” Simon said, loudly and carefully. He wanted everyone to hear. “We’re not soldiers. We’re looking for my father.”
For one long second, everything froze in place. Then the tip of the rifle held by the man in the lead slipped down. He gestured for the others to drop their weapons as well.
Simon let out a tremendous sigh. He wasn’t even aware he’d been holding his breath. The lights from the robotic Spiders still cut through the tunnel, randomly illuminating the bodies of the men standing outside the Spector.
As the man in the lead moved closer, Simon heard him ask another question through the filter of his mask, “Who did you say you were here for?”
He was a tall and stocky gentleman with layers of clothing that made him look heavier than he really was.
“My name is Simon Fitzpatrick. I am looking for my father, Oliver.”
The man seemed frozen for a long moment. Finally he said, “Oliver Fitzpatrick?”
“Yes. My father.”
There was another long pause. Then the man seemed to shake himself out of a dream. “How many are you?” the man asked.
“Eight, including myself.”
“How the hell did you get here?” It was hard to decipher exactly what he was asking through the heavy mask.
“It’s a long story,” Simon said, almost smiling. “Who are you?”
The man snapped open his mask to show his face. He was a gentleman in his fifties with gray hair and pale skin. His sharp, bony features looked like they had not seen sunlight in years. “I’ll ask the questions for the moment,” he said, careful to keep from inhaling too much of the fatally frigid air. “If you don’t mind.” After a moment, he let the heated air of the mask blow back against his mouth. “Come on out.”
He shuffled back two paces, and Simon and Max stepped out of the Spector and stood on the tunnel’s ice for the first time. Behind them, the others crept out of the ready room, arms up, legs moving very slowly and carefully.
The leader casually switched his lowered rifle to his heavily gloved left hand and stuck out his right one. “I’m Lucas,” he said. “Thank god you’re here.”
Not too far in the distance, they all heard the screeching of the robotic Spiders tearing a path through the passageway.
“Those are the CS-23s that are after you, you know.” Lucas pointed to the tunnel they had just come through.
“CS-23s?” asked Max.
“Crevasse Spiders,” Lucas said, looking grim. “One of the most dangerous vehicles in Vector5’s arsenal.” He looked back in that direction with an expression that was half eagerness, half dread. “If we could get hold of one of those things, we could actually get out of this hell hole,” he said.
Simon found himself nearly hypnotized by the steam rising from Lucas’ breath. It all seemed so impossible.
Max cocked an ear. “But that’s not them hissing in the background. What’s going on?”
“It’s the hydrogen generators,” he said. “Fuel for the cycles and other things. Hidden in places too small for the Vector5 people to detect or destroy.”
Lucas turned suddenly to his men and called out, “Let’s get the rations out of the vehicle,” he shouted, and then turned to Simon. “Get your team ready to go quick as you can. And have them travel light. We don’t have room for all of them as it is.” He turned away again, intent on looting the Spector, and threw his last orders over his shoulder. “Hurry. We have little time. They will cut through this tunnel in a few hours to reach this thing.” Lucas said, referring to the Spector.
As if in response, the not-so-distant Crevasse Spiders cracked a pillar of ice in half and stumped another ten yards closer.
Simon’s team scrambled back inside the vessel, trying to grab their meager personal belongings while Lucas’ men methodically and rapidly stripped every useful thing from the inside of the Spector. The men wasted no time, dragging the cases of food along the icy floor of the tunnel toward their vehicles, still brilliantly lit with their own spots.
Hayden was in a daze from the gunfire, the sudden turn of events, the looting of his precious invention. “What about the Spector?” he asked Simon, sounding lost and a little shaky. “We can’t just leave it here. It’s…we can’t just abandon ship, can we?”
Lucas didn’t look at Hayden; he spoke to Simon directly-and firmly. “Listen, this thing can’t go down much further. These tunnels get pretty narrow and dangerous. Not to mention, it’s a sitting target. And it won’t stand a chance against the dense ice and fire from Vector5’s heavy weaponry.”