The lower deck was severely cramped, comprising an engineering shop for medium-sized electromechanical components, a smaller workshop for electronic repairs, two airlocks, one for the spaceplane hangar, one for EVA work, storage bins, and space armour lockers. Its walls were naked titanium, netted with conduits and pipes.
Collar engaged, Andr said. Madeleine is bringing him in now.
The whine of actuators carried faintly through the starships stress structure into the lower deck. Erick accessed a camera in the hangar, and saw the spaceplane being pulled into the cylindrical chamber. A moth crawling back inside a silver chrysalis. The retracted wings had a clearance measured in centimetres.
He datavised orders into the hangar systems processors. When the spaceplane came to rest, power lines, coolant hoses, and optical cables plugged into umbilical sockets around its fuselage.
Theres very little data coming out, Erick said, scanning the docking operations console holoscreen to see the preliminary results of the diagnostic checks. I cant get any internal sensors to respond.
Is that the processors or the sensors themselves which are malfunctioning? Andr asked.
Difficult to tell, Bev said, hanging from a grab hoop behind Erick to look over his shoulder. Only ten per cent of the internal databuses are operational, we cant access the cabin management processors to see where the fault lies. God knows how Brendon ever piloted that thing up here. Hes missing half of his control systems.
Brendon is the best, Madeleine Collun said.
The consoles AV pillar bleeped, showing a single communication circuit was open from the spaceplane. Audio only.
Anyone out there? Brendon asked. Or have you all buggered off to lunch?
Were here, Brendon, Erick said. Whats your situation?
The atmosphere is really bad, total life-support failure as far as I can make out ... Im gulping oxygen from an emergency helmet ... Get that airlock connected now ... This is killing my lungs ... I can smell some kind of plastic burning ... Acid gas ...
I cant cycle the cabin atmosphere for him, Erick datavised to Andr. Our pumps are working and the hose seals are confirmed, but the spaceplane pressure valves wont open, theres no environmental circuit.
Get him into the airlock, then, Andr said. But dont let him into the life-support cabin, not yet.
Aye, aye.
Come on! Brendon shouted.
On our way, Brendon.
Bev ordered the airlock tube to extend. The spaceplanes fuselage shield panel slid back to reveal the circular airlock hatch below.
Lucky that worked, Erick muttered.
Bev was staring into the AV pillars projection, watching the airlock tube seal itself to the hatch rim. Its a simple power circuit. Nothing delicate about that.
But theres still a supervising processorHell. Environment sensors inside the airlock tube were picking up traces of toxic gases as the spaceplanes hatch swung open. The console holoscreen switched to a camera inside the metal tube. A curtain of thin blue smoke was wafting out of the hatch. A flickering green light shone inside the cabin. Brendon appeared, pulling himself along a line of closely spaced grab hoops. His yellow ships one-piece was smeared with dirt and soot. The copper-mirror visor of the shell-helmet he was wearing covered his face, it was connected to a portable life-support case.
Why didnt he put his spacesuit on? Erick asked.
Brendon waved at the camera. God, thanks, I couldnt have lasted much longer. Hey, you havent opened the hatch.
Brendon, we have to take precautions, Bev said. We know the invaders can sequestrate people.
Oh, sure, yes. One moment. He started coughing.
Erick checked the environmental readings again. Fumes were still pouring out of the spaceplane cabin; the airlock tube filters could barely cope.
Brendon opened his visor. His face was deathly white, sweating heavily. He coughed again, flinching at the pain.
Christ, Erick muttered. Brendon, datavise a physiological reading please.
Oh God it hurts. Brendon coughed again, a hoarse croaking sound.
Weve got to get him out, Bev said.
I dont get any response from his neural nanonics, Erick said. Im trying to datavise them through the airlock tubes processor but there isnt even a carrier code acknowledgement.
Erick, hes in trouble!
We dont know that!
Look at him.
Look at Lalonde. They can build rivers of light in the sky. Faking up one injured crewman isnt going to tax them.
For Gods sake. Bev stared at the holoscreen. Brendon was juddering, one hand holding a grab loop as he vomited. Sallow globules of fluid burped out of his mouth, splashing and sticking to the dull-silver wall of the tube opposite.
We dont even know if hes alone, Erick said. The hatch into the spaceplane isnt shut. It wont respond to my orders. I cant even shut it, let alone codelock it.
Captain, Bev datavised. We cant just leave him in there.
Erick is quite right, Andr replied regretfully. This whole incident is highly suspicious. It is convenient for somebody who wants to get inside the ship. Too convenient.
Hes dying!
You may not enter the airlock while the hatch into the spaceplane remains open.
Bev looked round the utilitarian lower deck in desperation. All right. How about this? Erick goes up into the lounge and codelocks that hatch behind him, leaving me in here. That way I can take a medical nanonic in to Brendon, and I can check out the spaceplane cabin to make sure there arent any xenoc invaders on board.
Erick? Andr asked.
Ive no objection.
Very well. Do it.
Erick swam up into the empty lounge, and poised himself on the ladder. Bevs face was framed by the floor hatch, grinning up at him. Good luck, Erick said. He datavised a codelock at the hatchs seal processor, then turned the manual fail-safe handle ninety degrees.
Bev twisted round as soon as the carbotanium square closed. He pulled a medical nanonic package from a first aid case on the wall. Hold on, Brendon. Im coming in. Red environmental warning lights were flashing on the panel beside the circular airlock tube hatch. Bev datavised his override authority into the management processor, and the hatch began to swing back.
Erick opened a channel into the lounges communication net processor, and accessed the lower deck cameras. He watched Bev screw up his face as the fumes blew out of the open hatchway. Emerald green light flared out of the spaceplanes cabin, sending a thick, blindingly intense beam searing along the airlock tube to wash the lower deck. Caught full square, Bev yelled, his hands coming up instinctively to cover his eyes. A ragged stream of raw white energy shot along the centre of the green light, smashing into him.
The camera failed.
Bev! Erick shouted. He sent a stream of instructions into the processor. A visualization of the lower decks systems materialized, a ghostly reticulation of coloured lines and blinking symbols.
Erick, whats happening? Andr demanded.
Theyre in! Theyre in the fucking ship. Codelock all the hatches now. Now, God damn it!
The schematics coloured lines were vanishing one by one. Erick stared wildly at the floor, as if he could see what was happening through the metal decking. Then the lounge lights went out.
Five minutes until we land at our new drop zone, and the tension in the cabin is really starting to bite, Kelly Tirrel subvocalized into a neural nanonics memory cell. We know something has happened to at least five other spaceplanes. What everyone is now asking themselves is, will the extra distance protect us? Do the invaders only operate below their protective covering of red cloud?