A Space Odyssey Chapter 6

Author's Note: The Gorion found a mysterious starship drifting out in empty space, long derelict. The crew under Bran, has boarded the 500 year old ship for a chance at profit and have found a mystery. But they have located a life sign. Perhaps that life will lead to answers....

Disclaimers: Typical bad joke warning.

 
Imoen slid out of the gangway hatch with the silence that comes from hours of practice and all of best stealth gear credits could buy. She swept the hallway with her modified sniper rifle, passive gear searching for any movement or indicator of traps or alarms. Finding none, she signaled the others to follow her out into the corridor.

Checking her bearings, she followed her suit’s display, leading the column forward. Silently, she snuck through a half open set of blast doors before coming to another set of heavy doors. According to Doc Aerie’s readings, the life sign was just meters beyond those doors. However, the sign above the door gave her more than enough reason for pause.

“Detention wing Gamma?” she said over the open comm circuit. “Why does that sign just give me the creeps?”

“Could it be that is just your natural reaction to seeing a prison complex, Imoen?” replied Valygar softly. “You certainly spent enough time either in one or avoiding ending up there.”

“Valygar?”

“Yes, o pink one.”

“Stuff it.”

Bran cut in on the two of them, “Well, whether or not it gives you the creeps, my suit sensors indicate that whoever it is is not far beyond that door. So, you’re going to need to open it so that Minsc doesn’t have to use his key.”

Imoen gave him an annoyed look from behind her faceshield then turned to work on the door controls. As she did, Jaheira stepped up next to Bran and switched to a private channel, “There is something odd about this situation Bran. Something decidedly so.”

“I know. Five hundred year old abandoned ships tend not to have living beings on them,” he replied, a little more sarcastically than he intended.

“Indeed,” she replied, registering the sarcasm but ignoring it, “It’s not just that, although that is enough to warrant caution. The damage to the corridor, the number of sealed doors, the destruction of the suits by the lock, these are concerning as well. And the ambient temperature is up 10 degrees C on this deck. I am not sure what all this adds up to yet, but I am starting to share Imoen’s ‘creeps’ about all of this.”

“You’re getting Imoen’s ‘creeps’?” Bran asked with half a smile. Half joking in tone but fully serious, he added, “Then this is getting very serious.”

Arching one elegant eyebrow, she replied, “Very. And there is something else Bran. That’s a detention wing we’re going to go in. And it looks like Alliance brig specs haven’t changed all that much in 500 years. The wing is lined with similar EM scattering alloys that they use today. Not as good, as we can get some readings through, but still effective. And our comms won’t be able to penetrate it. We’ll lose contact with the Gorion.”

“Wonderful,” Bran cursed. “I’ll let Nalia know. If she can be bothered.”

“What do you mean?”

“She seems distracted… probably found some circuit to be optimized and is monkeying with it while we’re down here. You know her. Always poking about.”

“Too true. You tell her, I’ll check on Imoen.”

Bran switched his comms to high gain while Jaheira walked over to where a frustrated looking Imoen battled with a mass of fiber that could only be control circuits. His eyes traced the sway of his lover and XO’s bottom and wished the combat suits weren’t so bulky. Smiling slightly as the image of what was beneath that armor floated through his mind, he called out, “Nalia! Oh Nalia! This is your captain calling, so pick up the mike, would ya?”

Seconds ticked away as the captain’s smile faded. Punching the transmission volume to maximum, he repeated, “Nalia! Reply on this channel! Nalia, do you copy!?”

His annoyance and concern continued to mount as he waited for his engineer to get on the commlink. Finally, just before he called again, he heard the mike flick on. “Oh.. uh.. sorry,” Nalia replied breathlessly. “I.. I was under the nav console. Fixing something for Imoen. Got stuck.. so it.. took me a minute to get back on the line.”

“You are supposed to be monitoring the situation and watching our backs, Nalia, not making minor tweaks!”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she sulked.

“Alright, well, we found the life sign. Its in one of the detention wings on this damn ship, so once we go in, we’re going to lose comm contact. Just so you know.”

“Understood Bran. Gorion out.”

The comm connection cut and a frustrated Bran punched an innocent wall panel. The aged alloy panel crumpled beneath the strength enhanced assault, drawing the looks of the others. He looked at the dented panel and growled, “What?”

Imoen, looking inscrutable, replied, “Nothing. But I’ve gotten past the door locks. You ready to go and see who’s home?”

Bran motioned for the others to take up their positions as he leveled his rifle at the door. The way they stood, they could sweep the room with a sheet of burning energy. Deep down, the old anger bubbled and part of him silently prayed there would be something he could spew death at. Signaling Imoen to open the door, he stared down the range finder at the heavy alloy door. Bran’s hands silently tightened around the rifle grips as he watched the door slide open, slowly revealing the wing’s security control center.

The wing’s security center consisted of a high square of consoles in the center to monitor all the cells and three corridors leading away. The room was also occupied, but Bran’s desire to deal out death would remain unrequited. Death had, by all appearances, visited this room long ago. Two bodies lay slumped at the security stations and another two lay crumpled in the corners.

Silently, with Valygar and Imoen at the lead, the six ghosted into the sepulchral security station. Weapons sweeping over the corpses, they searched for other dangers but found none. The hairs at the back of Bran’s neck stood on end as he examined the tomb of these crewers. Seeing them sprawled over their posts made Bran shiver as he wondered what could kill them all before even one had a chance to react or draw a weapon.

Anticipating that concern, Doc Aerie glided towards the corpses even before Bran could order her to do so. He watched the slight Avarielian doctor scan the bodies, fingers flying over her wristcomp, using the full diagnostic capabilities of her suit. The examination took less than two minutes, but for Bran it seemed two hours. Finally, not able to wait any longer, he asked, “So, Doc, what do we have?”

“Four long dead humans,” replied the doctor, sounding slightly annoyed at being interrupted.

“I knew that part, Aerie, but what killed them?”

“Un..unknown. There is no bio or chemical agent I can detect. Nor is there signs of massive radiation damage or obvious physical trauma. More than that is hard. The bodies are remarkably well preserved, but five hundred years is a long time. Although from the decay, I’d say the ship’s been in deep freeze for most of the time.”

“Really? Why?”

“B..because otherwise, even on a ship, decay would have wasted away these bodies. But deep freeze… it would keep them as relatively ‘fresh’ looking as they are.”

“So, the icy depths of space made the bodies crewsicles?” asked Imoen, peering at the slumped body of what was once a woman.

“N..not the most technical description, but correct, Imoen,” replied the doctor. “And in the case of these four ‘crewsicles’, the conditions still needed to be just right to preserve them so well.”

“Understood, but still no answer to what killed them?”

“Not without taking one back to medbay for an autopsy.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bran answered. “What about our live body?”

Aerie played with her wristcomp, retraining her sensors to focus on the life form. Pointing down the middle corridor, she said, “End of the corridor and down the right branch 14 meters. Life signs are steady if depressed. More I can’t tell with this sensor disrupting alloy in the way.”

“On it!” exclaimed Imoen, sliding into the security station past the doctor. She scanned the boards for the cell controls. Finding the board she wanted, she grimaced as one of the bodies lay over it. “Sorry about this bub, but I need access to these controls,” she apologized as she pulled the body off the control panel and rested it against its chair back.

Fingers flew across the console as she pulled up the necessary information from the security computers. It did not take Imoen very long to let out a celebratory whoop as the wing cell layout came up. “Cell 2AFR,” she said, fingers still typing out commands, “is today’s lucky winner. Accessing lock controls… and door is unlocked.”

Smiling triumphantly, she said, “So, who wants to go see what we won, huh?”

Shaking his head, Bran replied, “Sounds like a plan. Imoen, lead the way. V, you’ve got rear guard.”

The quiet navigator replied, “Just in case our friendly security offers wake up grouchy, right?”

“Or whatever killed them makes an appearance,” he said, motioning the group forward.

Imoen led the way down, listening to Quiet Man and her bro banter. Rounding the corner to cell 2AFR, she smiled. Hopefully who ever was in the cell would have some answers to all the questions this ancient ship spawned. As she approached the cell door, she looked down at her rifle power settings out of habit and a new question rose unbidden, Why aren’t my gauntlets dusty? I just moved a 500 year old dead guy and there isn’t any dust. Air circ must still be working on this deck. The question got filed away as they reached the cell.

Answers, hopefully, were at hand.