“Move it.” Alex led them on, and the HAWCs crab-walked toward the downed shuttle.
Together they moved like a single creature shepherding the remaining civilians toward the open cockpit door of the Orlando. One after the other, Alex and Sam pushed them inside, and the HAWCs followed until just Alex remained. He took a last look around and then folded himself inside.
“Seal that door.” Alex pointed. Monroe pushed the door shut, and immediately darkness descended on them. There were still a few lights on the cockpit console, meaning some battery life remained, and perhaps something they could use.
Anne Peterson rushed to the one of the consoles. “Russ, there’s still some power.” She started to flick switches.
Russell Burrows edged in next to her. “Ripley might still be conscious.”
“Who?” Casey Franks asked.
“Uh, the Orlando’s… main computer. It’s called Ripley.” Burrows looked up. “If she’s still working, then we can run some diagnostics. Maybe even find out what happened up there.”
“Ripley, cool,” Casey snorted.
“Fingers crossed,” Anne said, rapidly flicking switches and calibrating dials. “I’m going to try to bring her back online.”
“Excellent.” Alex turned to his remaining HAWCs. “Dunsen, keep a lookout. Sam, do a quick search and see if there’s anything else we can use. Everyone else, just stay the hell out of the way.”
Alex saw Morag staring wide-eyed out into the darkness. She turned to smile weakly at him. Behind her visor her face was streaked with perspiration, making her red hair sit like a cap over her forehead.
He nodded to her. “Don’t worry, we’ll get out of here.”
“I know we will,” she said and then looked away, and he could tell she didn’t believe a word of it.
CHAPTER 28
A sound from the shuttle’s bay area made everyone freeze. Alex placed a hand on the thick door, staring at the partition and pushing out with his senses. After a moment, he grunted.
“Our Russian friends.”
Casey bristled. “Good. Payback time.”
“Not in here,” Sam said. “This is home until we can work out an escape plan. We engage now, we’ll obliterate the only barrier we have between us and whatever the hell those things are outside.”
“Don’t think we’ll have a choice,” Alex added.
“Can they get in?” Morag asked.
Russell Burrows lunged at the door and pressed a small locking switch. “Not now. The command cabin has override.”
“Why are they in here?” Monroe asked. “Did they follow us?”
“Maybe they’re hiding out as well. Those monstrosities might find them just as tasty,” Casey spat.
“Fear, good, maybe we can use that,” Alex said. “They’ve got the chip. I want it.” But he knew that he wasn’t going to get it without a fight. Time, and their oxygen, was running out, and one way or another the HAWCs were going home with that satellite data. With your shield or upon it, Hammerson would say, referring to the ancient Spartan dictum that meant to come home wrapped in glory, or die fighting for it.
Alex leaned his head forward, listening at the solid door.
“What are they doing?” Sam asked.
Alex concentrated, but heard nothing. “I don’t know; all quiet.”
“Yes!” Russell Burrows voice turned their heads.
“What’ve you got?” Alex asked.
“She’s done it. Ripley’s coming online now.” He rubbed his hands together as Anne Peterson’s fingers flew over the touchpads.
Anne half turned. “Orlando’s link to us on Earth went down, but I’m sure the ship’s AI would have continued to watch. Maybe we can see what happened to Mitch, er, the crew.”
“Well done, you.” Russell patted her shoulder while he began to toggle switches and dials.
“Bringing her up… now.” The panel lit up before Anne. “Ripley, are you functional?” Anne craned forward, waiting.
A calm feminine voice began to list Orlando’s points of failure, multiple hull breaches, electrical damage, fuel reserves, and even ground proximity warnings.
“Better late than never, I guess,” Monroe said softly.
Anne interrupted the AI. “Ripley, belay technical analysis. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged, Doctor Anne Peterson.”
Anne keyed into her screen, and flicked more switches. “Ripley, replay technical record prior to reentry. Put it on screen.”
“Record is fragmented. But complying, Doctor Peterson.”
The image started with Commander Mitch Granger in the cockpit, leaning forward, his body language displaying agitation. There was no sound. The astronaut then hurriedly unstrapped himself and used the seatbacks to propel himself to the hatch door separating the cockpit from the rear bay area.
Granger shot back down the craft and punched the button to open the inner door. The camera was on his face. Light from the bay area illuminated his features inside his space helmet; the man’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.
Anne whimpered. “Mitch. Oh, Mitch.”
“Vocalize, Ripley. What the hell’s happening?” Russell’s voice was urgent.
Ripley replied emotionlessly: “Multiple suit breaches, life-sign interruption, additional lifeform detected — warning Commander Granger — warning — warning.”
The camera closed in on Granger’s face that suddenly looked like he had received an electric shock of fear, and then, the film ended.
“Recording interrupted,” Ripley intoned with finality.
“Huh?” said Russell. “By who?”
“Unknown. No further recording data available. Manual override of controls initiated. Reentry plotted. End of data.” Ripley went silent.
The group sat for several seconds and just stared at the now blank screen.
“Well, fuck me,” Casey said softly. “Why do I feel one hundred percent less enlightened after listening to that?”
“Additional lifeform detected,” Sam said. “What the hell does that mean?”
Alex turned to the door, and remembered the sensation he had when they’d first approached the Orlando — that something was in there, something other than the Russians.
Sam followed his eyes. “Ah, shit.”
Alex nodded.
“What’s back there?” Morag asked, her brows drawn hard together.
Quietly Anne plugged her camera into a slot in the console. She worked for a few seconds uploading data, and then gasped. “What?” Her hands slowly rose from the console. “No, no, oh god, no.” Her hands went to each side of her head.
“What’s up with her?” Casey frowned.
“Anne?” Morag immediately went and threw an arm around her shoulders. The NASA woman rocked back and forward.
“No, no, no.”
Russell Burrows left his chair to crouch beside the pair of women. “Anne, what is it?”
Anne shook her head. “It can’t be. It must be wrong.” She lifted a finger to point.
“You’re getting Ripley to analyze the prints you recovered from that… hand thing.” Russell squinted at the results. “Oh shit.” His eyes went wide.
Anne sobbed and rocked back and forth. Alex looked over their shoulders toward the lit console.
“The prints… they belong to one of the astronauts.” He suddenly understood her horror. “Commander Mitch Granger.”