A Space Odyssey Chapter 21

Before the hatch to C Deck slid shut, Imoen already was working on the control panel right by the hatch. Jaheira watched the smaller woman’s fingers fly across the flat screen as she tried to coax long dormant systems back into operation. Turning her eyes away from Imoen’s work, she went back to watching their rear, staring down at the empty lift tube below. Thankfully, nothing moved, but she kept her hands tightly wrapped around her dual barrel pulse rifle, a fine example of old Terran craftsmanship from Martini-Henry.

Off to her left, she heard Imoen whoop, “Alright, got the command systems back online.”

“Very well then, Imoen. Please close the C to D Deck pressure hatch and then go full seal on the C Deck hatch.”

“Righto, Jah. First, the tube seal,” she quipped, pressing an illuminated button. As soon as she did, a loud groan ripped from the tube walls as ancient and long ignored mechanisms were bullied back into operation. Slowly, Jaheira relaxed her grip on her Martini-Henry as the large durasteel panels ground closed. They shut with a resounding boom, sealing off the lower portions of the lift tube.

Imoen consulted the panel and announced, “Lift pressure hatch showing 100% seal. Locking down C Deck access hatch.”

Jaheira slung her rifle as Imoen entered the keystroke to seal the C Deck door. This operation was far less impressive. The two door leaves only pushed tighter together, internal locking mechanisms locking and forming a pressure tight seal. Once more Imoen announced, “100% seal on C Deck access. We’re good and locked in here now, Jah. Ready to depressurize on your order.”

Kicking over closer to the wall for safety, she replied, “Alright Imoen. Depressurize this section.”

“Gotcha,” she replied, stabbing at a third illuminated button.

Jaheira waited for the telltale hiss of the environmental systems sucking out the air, but nothing seemed to be happening. Curious, Jaheira checked her external pressure gauges. All of them read one atmosphere. Turning to where Imoen floated, she arched an eyebrow and watched Imoen intently staring at the control panel.

“Something wrong, Imoen?”

Not looking up from the panel, she replied, “Well, not sure yet. The command seems to have been sent to the environmental controls, but it doesn’t look like that system picked up the order.”

“That sounds surprisingly familiar,” Jaheira replied, not being able to keep a little laughter out of her voice.

“Oh, you so funny,” groused Imoen as she punched key sequences on the control panel.

“I do try,” answered Jaheira. “Now what is the problem?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Imoen replied through gritted teeth. “But I can’t get the enviro to kick in. Don’t know why. The command pathways look good, but..”

“But something, somewhere is refusing to work,” finished the taller woman.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Well, we don’t really have the time to try and troubleshoot five centuries old equipment. And we need to get through the hatch to B Deck.”

“So a differential pressure hatch opening?” Imoen asked.

“Yes. You can override the safety protocols, can’t you?”

“Easier than a Denevan akari dancer.” Imoen replied, waving a hand dismissively. Then she dropped one hand to her suit’s waist. She flipped open a small catch and pulled out a length of wire topped with a D shaped carabiner. Flipping the end over to Jaheira, she quipped, “But we better strap in. I really don’t feel like taking the magical mystery tour into outer space. I might get my suit finish scratched up even worse than it is now.”

“And we can’t have that, can we,” deadpanned Jaheira as she snagged the free-floating carabiner. She pushed it open and then locked it onto the tether attachment point just next to her own tether on her suit. Locking the cylinder and pulling out her own tether, she added, “I’ll find a place to strap in. You cut through those overrides.”

“Aye aye, X.O. sir person,” Imoen fired back, throwing in a sloppy salute.

Ignoring her love’s strange sister, Jaheira pushed herself along the tube wall, looking for something strong enough to secure them to. The smooth surface offered no easy tie down points. That left the magrails. Feeling around underneath the smooth magnetic surface, she looked for handholds or stanchions she could use. Her questing fingers found something substantial, part of the locking mechanism for the emergency lift brakes. Figuring that they could hold the weight of two women during rapid decompression, she slapped the caribiner in place and locked it.

Task complete, she looked up to check on Imoen’s progress. An access panel next to the main control panel gaped open and wires dangled freely. Discarded circuit crystals lazily flew through the air, following whatever strange trajectory Imoen had thrown them on.

Shaking her head, Jaheira called up, “We’re strapped in, Imoen. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Just need another second. One last bypass….”

“Just remember to lock your tether line and grab onto something.”

“Don’t worry. And I’ve almost got it… There! Got it!”

Red lights began to flash around the edge of the hatch separating the two women from the vacuum of B Deck. An alarm klaxon tried to sound its warning, but it sputtered and died before it could get up to full volume. Taking her cue, Jaheira reached out and wrapped her arms and legs around the magrail. Partway around the tube, she saw Imoen do the same, grabbing a hold of another rail.

Once more, she heard the terrible sound of ancient machinery being browbeat into operation. The grinding of metal was quickly overpowered by the high-pitched shriek of air screaming through a tiny space. The suction was incredible and it took all of Jaheira’s strength to keep from being pulled off the rail by the maelstrom of decompressing air.

As the hatch ground open farther, the roar of disappearing air deepened and grew. Buffets of escaping air tore at her and her grip began to falter. The roar reached a terrible crescendo as her fingers slowly lost their purchase. Just as she thought she’d have to seriously test the strength of her tether, the wild fury of the storm died.

Eerie silence descended around her as the last of the air slipped through the opening hatch. Finally able to let go, Jaheira experimentally flexed her fingers, working blood back into the digits. Working out the last of the cramps, she heard Imoen laugh over the comms, “That was fun. Let’s do it again.”

“If this is fun, child, then are in more serious need of having your head examined than I thought.”

“Just because your sense of fun is limited to glowering at people and jumping my brother’s bones doesn’t mean that the rest of us have such seriously stunted senses of humor,” admonished Imoen with a lively smirk.

Unclipping from the magrail, Jaheira gave the cherubic scout a speculative look. Then slowly, she let a wide smile spill across her face. “Imoen, I find that to be a most.. refreshing and enjoyable entertainment.”

Imoen’s eyes went wide at the comment, both eyebrows threatening to invade her hairline, “Which do you mean,” she asked with false confidence, desperately trying to rally, “the glowering or the boot knocking?”

Jaheira fixed her a smile she’d seen so often on Imoen’s face. One that was at both times innocent and all knowing. And one she thought she delivered with great skill considering the paleness of Imoen’s face. She kept that smile fixed on Imoen as she pushed her way off the wall and towards the gaping maw of B Deck. Just before she passed the open pressure doors, she dryly added, “I’ll let you make that determination, child.”

Flipping her suit lights to full power, she savored the spluttering coming from below. She knew that Imoen would find some way to try and even the score. But right now, she’d enjoy the brief respite from the redhead’s barbs and turn her attention to the task at hand. Finding a way to seal off one of the B Deck lift tubes and build the channel of pressurized air necessary to get them all through the void.

The first thing she noticed was the overwhelming gloom. Not a single light burned in the depressurized deck. The only illumination came from her suit lamps. Weird shadows played across the damaged metal as she turned towards where the B Deck hatch was located. Once she caught sight of it, any optimism quickly faltered.

The doorway to B Deck gaped open onto the deck beyond. She’d hoped that all the crew had done was leave the hatch open when they depressurized, but apparently they didn’t trust in that being enough. Sighing, she let the light play over the twisted jags of metal that had once been the door leaves. The resultant blast had torn the door into shreds and rent the smooth surface of the tube in numerous places. Any repairs would be very time consuming.

“Oh fun,” groaned Imoen from alongside her. “It looks like they really went to town here, huh?”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “It certainly does.”

“Whoever set those charges really wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be a quick fix to repressurize. Even set it so that the door fragments would hole the tube,” replied Imoen clinically. Turning towards Jaheira, she added, “I have to admire the work, even if I really want to give whoever did it a swift kick to the head.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“So, do we try and patch this one, or do we go and check the other tube first, hoping that Mr. Happy Explosives Man was less exuberant about blowing out that hatch?”

“I say we..”

Jaheira was cut off by Bran’s voice coming over the comm.

“Jaheira, status report please.”

“Imoen and I have just finished checking the first lift tube,” she replied. “The damage is very extensive. We were just about to check this tube’s pair when you called.”

“Alright,” replied Bran, but not managing to hide all of his disappointment from her skilled ears. “Keep me apprised.”

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“You could say that,” Bran answered calmly. “We’ve got multiple contacts on motion sensors and they’re converging on our position.”

“How many?”

“Enough to make it interesting.”

“I see. So any speed on our part would be welcomed?”

“It would.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Best of luck. Bran out.”

As the comm line went silent, Jaheira turned towards Imoen and said, “Well, looks like we’ve got a job to do.”

Imoen smiled in response and pulled her plasma torch from equipment pouch and lit it with a press of her thumb, illuminating her face with an actinic glare. “In that case, let’s get cracking.”

---@@@---

“Here they come!”

The sound of the approaching zombies reached the defenders long before they came into sight. The scanners showed dozens of them, a rising tide of the dead, boiling towards them. They streamed towards the Gorion’s crew’s makeshift defenses, charging like old-fashioned massed infantry, their drums the pounding of booted feet and their bugles the coarse screams of damned voices. Their howls reverberated in the suddenly cramped corridor, churning into a wave of sound powerful enough to freeze the blood of any living soul.

Bran held his Bladesinger tightly against his shoulder and forced his white knuckles to ease up on the weapon’s grip. Waves of fear crashed against his faltering walls of reason, threatening to consume not just him but his entire crew. He watched in horror as the screaming tide of decaying, soulless bodies burst from the darkened ruins of the corridor, their weapons gripped in mottled, shriveled hands. The unyielding wall of shrieking flesh pressed ever closer towards him.

He momentarily closed his eyes, summoning the cold clarity of the trained warrior to drive back the furious rush of emotions. With open eyes, he saw he no longer faced a horde of horrors, but rather a mass of enemies so closely packed that he couldn’t help but hit one. Once again, the enemy had changed tactics, abandoning the subtlety of the dagger for the hammer -- relying on greater numbers to counteract his crew’s superior firepower. He’d faced the rush before, however, he admitted with the slightest amount of trepidation, never against an enemy that felt no pain or panic, the best weapons against such a charge. Without those, no matter what little surprises they had waiting for them, the enemy’s plan just might work.

It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let that happen.

He centered his rangefinder’s crosshairs on the forehead of one of the more eager attackers. What had once been a Khazadan marine, his sergeant’s stripes still visible through the centuries of grime, charged towards him, stumpy legs pumping. The remnants of a once luxurious beard ended in a tangled clump of char outlining where the fatal blast had seared through his chest. Eyes like burning coals locked onto his as the fallen Khazadan swung a wicked looking neutron carbine into firing position to recruit him into its army. Unwilling to accept the generous offer, Bran gently tapped the Bladesinger’s trigger.

A red lance of coherent light leapt from the weapon’s barrel and grounded itself squarely between the sergeant’s eyes. Long-dead limbs finally slackened as death claimed the Khazadan in its final embrace. Without even a sound, the stocky figure tumbled to the deck plates, slamming into the legs of some his oncoming fellows. Other zombies crashed into the pile, breaking up their lines and slowing the charge for just a few moments.

Bran didn’t have time to savor the small dent he’d made in the oncoming spear. He was already swinging his phase rifle to the next target. Around him, the crack and thrum of his crewmates’ weapons sounded and more foes fell. From the insane laughter of Minsc’s Lilarcor 900, the distruptor cannon was making sure he did his part. Settling the crosshairs on the scaled forehead of an onrushing Berrik, Bran fired again, throwing the powerfully built humanoid back into leading edge of the wave.

Battle had been joined.

---@---

The living nightmare of this ship refused to loose its claws in her. Again, the last survivor of the Peregrine faced the screaming, maddened hordes of Urogalan, master of Death, as they hurled themselves towards her new crewmates’ defenses. Quickly aiming, Mazzy sent another of the god’s foul minions back to its dark plane with a well-placed stream of coherent energized neutrons. Then another joined its twisted brother, but still they rushed onwards, oblivious to the casualties she and Captain Varnas inflicted. They returned fire wildly, seemingly less concerned with scoring hits than with crossing the killing field to grapple defenders hand to hand and negating their superior firepower.

Sliding her aged carbine over, she took aim and fired once again. Another stream of neutrons ripped from the emitter cone and tore through corrupted flesh. The strike lifted the zombified human off her feet and sent her sprawling sideways, tumbling over three more. There was no cry from the tripped-up ones, just a desperate attempt to climb to their feet before their fellows ground them into the deck plates. They failed.

A small, vicious smile formed on her lips as she switched to the next target. As she pulled the trigger, a laser blast from one of the zombies forced her to twist out of the way, ruining her aim. The zombie’s shot was too close for comfort, singeing a few strands of her admittedly frizzy hair.

Her shot had gone wild as well, missing its mark to the left. However, her enemy’s formation helped her, as the errant blast caught the top of a zombie’s head one rank back. The shot hadn’t felled it, but sent it staggering, knocking into another and slowing up another rank of zombies. Avoreen and Brandobaris seemed to finally be with her if even the shots that missed the mark found another foe.

Bringing the carbine up for another shot, she heard Captain Varnas shout over the comm, “They’re gaining too much ground. Go to rapid fire and mow ‘em down.”

“Acknowledged. Going rapid,” she replied with a coolness she did not feel, switching the firing selector from single shot to continuous fire.

Autofire deprived her of the ability to focus on each target and ensure she got the critical head shot. The carbine’s slightly out-of-tune compensators would kick far too much to allow that fidelity of aim. So, she lowered the barrel, trading killshots for ones that would cripple their legs.

Carbine churning, she grinned maniacally as she cut the legs out from under them and spat, “Your knees are mine, you thrice-cursed twisted things!”

She didn’t let up, scything the energy stream across her side of the corridor as a near sheet of red from Captain Varnas’s phase rifle sliced along his side. The redoubled assault stymied the zombie advance, blunting their charge. But even as more of the attackers crumpled to the ground, they did not halt. They did not waver. They continued to charge, screaming like all the demons of hell.

As her carbine’s compensators began to whine from the stress, Mazzy howled back in defiance. The anger and pain that boiled in her heart burst free, flowing through her veins like molten lead. Her control kept it in check, channeling it through her arms and into the battered vessel of her carbine.

From there, it poured out in a torrent. She no longer hurled pure energy at the onrushing zombies. She hurled her pain as well. Each churn of the compensator drained more of her passion and flung it into the teeth her enemies.

Even as the grievous harvest grew, there seemed to be no end of the twisted forms.

There seemed to be no bottom to her rage as well.

---@@@---

Jaheira shifted her grip on the liberated corridor plate so that she could get a better angle from her welder. Aligning the edge with an intact section of door, she pressed the activator and a flare of white-hot plasma leapt from the torch. Moving carefully, she drew the tongue of flame across the broken edge of the salvaged panel, subjecting the metal to nearly seven thousand Kelvins. The heavy durasteel flared white as it melted into the battered door behind it, fusing the two pieces of metal together. Slowly, she worked her way around, being careful to not linger so long as to melt through the far side while making sure to actually get the seal plate hot enough to fuse. She walked a blade’s edge in her work, but considering the situation, there was time for only the barest safety margin.

Finishing one of her longitudinal welds, she queried her workmate, “Imoen, how are the wall patches going?”

“They’re coming. This tube may’ve been in better shape, but only in the sense that an old chipped beef E Rat is better than a fresh one.”

Eyebrow arching and knowing she’d probably regret asking, she replied, “And how is an old one better?”

“The old ones have enough time to rot. Gets rid of that horrible flavor.”

“Of course,” she was right, she did regret asking. One of these days, she would just stop responding to Imoen’s more obvious jibes. Changing the subject, she asked, “How many patches do you have left?”

“I’ve got the big ones. If my scans are on, I’ve got seven small ones left. How them doors coming, slowpoke?”

“I am not slow, I am careful.”

“Look Jah, V’s careful. And despite his severe mental dysfunctions, he’d a been done a minute ago. You’re just slow.”

“I admit, I do not have the experience with a welder that you and Valygar have, but then again, I spend less time breaking things. Therefore I don’t need to spend as much time fixing them,” she fired back. Her voice carried more edge than she desired, but there was too much truth in Imoen’s criticism. She was slow with a torch. Her skills lay elsewhere, and now the rest of the crew’s survival, Bran’s survival, relied on her ability to fuse two bits of metal together. That knowledge ate away at the control she needed to finish the task. Imoen and her jibes weren’t making it any easier.

“Excuses, excuses…” Imoen replied airily. “Now what was it someone said to me about excuses?” Coughing once to clear her throat, Imoen slipped into a passable imitation of her voice, “Excuses are the refuge of the lazy and inefficient.”

It took force of will not to bark a scathing reply. It would accomplish nothing useful other than a moment’s pleasure. Imoen reacted to stress differently, bleeding the pressure with her wisecracks, and shutting her up, while pleasant, would do little assist the task at hand.

Still, Imoen’s impersonation did jog a particular strand of memory and a smile formed as it surfaced. It would serve as an excellent buttress against this particular line of inquiry, “If I recall, I said that after a particular incident in the mess hall with our good navigator. Now, what was that situation again…”

“Curse you and your Seldarian memory, Jah,” chuckled Imoen. “Now..”

A voice cut in over the circuit, tone flat. “X.O., report please.”

“We’re at about sixty percent, Bran.”

“How long?”

Jaheira’s eyebrow arched at the tension in her partner’s voice. She’d heard that level of stress in his voice many times, and never once did it indicate anything good. “Probably another three minutes to finish the welds and to start repressurizing.”

Silence crackled for a pregnant moment before Bran answered her. “Any chance you can shave any time off of that?”

“I’ve already tossed most of the safety protocols, but I think I can shave a little more time off.” She paused for a moment as well, staring down at the sealed hatch. “Are things really that bad?”

“They’re pressing hard, just throwing wave after wave at us. We’re cutting them down, but they keep on getting closer. And so are their shots.” Another short silence engulfed them before Bran admitted, “We can’t hold out much longer.”

Reading how dire the situation was to warrant that admission, Jaheira replied, “Understood. We’ll do what we can.”

“I know you will.”

“Keep your head down,” Jaheira admonished, feeling just the stirrings of worry and pushing them away before they could impair her performance. “Jaheira out.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bran replied with at least some of his usual swagger. “Bran out.”

As the connection went silent, Jaheira heard Imoen in her ear. “So, it’s a race then?”

“One I intend to win.”

“Can I get a hell yeah?”

“No. Now get back to work.”

“Oh fine.”

Not bothering to reply, Jaheira turned her attention back to the door. There were welds to make and precious little time to make them.

---@@@---

Doctor Av’lina crouched in the shelter of the lift hatch, back pressed against the door leaves and rifle cradled to her chest. All around her the battle raged, the air burning with expended energy. Fresh blast holes cratered the walls and deck of her crewmates’ impromptu fort.

So far, her charges had escaped injury, a gift from the Faneyil she was truly thankful for. Not that the zombies hadn’t tried. Her eyes flicked to one gouge just millimeters from Valygar’s head where a shot from behind almost struck him, to the light score mark on Bran’s left pauldron where an energy blast had caught just enough to sear the energy deflecting coating. A very light bill so far.

A bill she could help to alleviate. If only she could.

It wasn’t that she was inexperienced with the weapon she clutched to her breast. She’d be the first to swear she was no markswoman, but she could generally hit most targets. With the way the zombies pressed in, even her weapons skills would be up to the task.

Nor was it fear that kept her from acting. She’d had the ill fortune to be forced to use violence to defend herself and her charges more than once. While she found inflicting pain on any other living being distasteful, and sometimes even causing her physical suffering, she could do it if necessary. And this situation was certainly grim enough.

No, what left her huddling in her hiding spot was something more powerful. It was a rip tide of emotion that kept her pressed against the wall, like the swimmer clutching at a stone to keep from being dragged under. Whatever drove these zombies to rise and fight railed against her mind’s barriers. The hammer blows had forced her back into the false security of the lift hatch, an illusion she could use to fend off the onslaught of raw, unbridled agony.

Around her personal defensive perimeter, swirls of psychic energy churned and seethed. Hunger growled and anger stormed, dashing against her mind, pulling at her thoughts. The strength of the mental attack frightened her, especially considering it was not directed at her. What battered her was just the unfocused radiation from the enslaved minds of the zombies.

The fierceness of the mental assault had taken her off guard. When they encountered the zombies before, she felt the darkness in their minds, but nothing on a scale like what she faced now. Of course, she’d never been in the middle of two waves of charging zombies either. There was just so many of them. So many that she wanted to crawl through the deck plates just to get away from them.

You have to stop being afraid a familiar voice challenged, seeking her in her Hiding Place. You have to help them.

I… I can’t! she railed back from within its safe walls.

But they are in pain. Don’t you feel the pain? the voice pleaded.

N.. none of them are hurt! Their vitals check out just fine.

Not our friends, the others. The tortured ones. Can’t you feel their pain?

And she could. Deep under the ravening hunger and fiery anger lay a pool of pain so deep she couldn’t even sense the bottom. Pain like that of Gerith Stecen, the fallen guard -- only multiplied many times over. It raked and clawed at her, trying to draw her in while begging for release.

As the realization hit her, she felt ashamed. She’d hidden from their pain because of her own. I..I can feel it. By the Faneyil, it is terrible.

Then let us do something about it, her conscience answered. We may not be able heal them, but a healer’s task is not simply healing, but relieving pain.

Holding the rifle out a little farther, she remarked out loud, “I…it is certainly an odd tool for a healer. B..but it does fit the task.”

Switching off the safety, she slowly eased her way out from her hiding place. On both sides, her friends were battling the onrushing hordes, but the wave threatened to breach the Captain’s side first. Screaming and howling as they clambered over their fallen, the front of the wave were just scant meters from where Bran and the Yolandan woman crouched firing in defense. Their need was the most dire.

Pressing the rifle against her shoulder, she slowly took aim as Imoen had taught her, fixing the sight squarely on her tortured one’s forehead. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the trigger and a burst of coherent energy leapt from the barrel to bury itself in her ‘patient’s’ forehead. As the form crumpled, she felt some of that terrible pool drain out as a tiny rivulet of relief sprung from it.

Switching to the next ‘patient’, she sighted in again. The rifle faded away in her mind, to be replaced with the image of a laser scalpel. Another careful application and a little more of the pain sliced away.

Again and again, she moved the barrel, for she had many patients and little time.

---@@@---

Finishing the last of the weld, Imoen released the welder’s trigger and the plasma stream snapped off. Admiring her rapidly cooling final patch, she inquired, “Hey, Jah, how we doing on the door?”

“It is coming along nicely,” Jaheira replied, the strain of concentration evident in her voice.

“Well, pick up the pace, because I’m done!” Imoen fired back with as wide a grin as she could manage. It wouldn’t do to have Jaheira lose hope.

Jaheira sighed. “Perhaps I lack the same skill with a plasma welder as you possess, but I’m not going to risk making a bad seal. Now, since you’re done, run a full sensor sweep of the tube. See if there are any other holes we missed. The situation in that corridor is not going to get better, only worse.”

“Right,” Imoen replied, grin cracking with that reminder. “Good point. Um. I’ll… get right on that.”

Stowing her torch, Imoen started tapping in a series of quick command sequences into her suit’s wristcomp. Active sensors pulses swept the lift tube’s interior for any remaining holes or significant weak spots. The results poured in through her HUD, starting simply with the unrolled surface of the tube and slowly focusing as the scan sweeps achieved higher fidelity. Almost the entire tube showed as solid green, strong enough to resist repressurization. A few small patches of yellow spotted the skin, areas where the metal skin had warped and twisted from damage and age, but they should hold. And of course, one large red streak where Jaheira still labored to finish the last seals on the hatch. She let out a breath she hadn’t even know she was holding. It looked like their luck was finally turning.

“Jah, other than your section, we’re good to go. There’s a couple of problem areas that if we had time, we should shore up, but they’ll hold. They have to.”

“Are you sure?” Jaheira asked as she turned her torch and headed into the last seam.

“Even if I wasn’t, we don’t have time to reinforce,” Imoen reluctantly admitted. Deciding not to dwell on that unpleasant possibility, she added, “We got a whole mess of zombos after our menfolk, ya know?”

“I doubt Captain Fentan or Dr. Av’lina would appreciate being lumped into the category of ‘menfolk’,” Jaheira replied dryly.

“Eh!” Imoen waved her hand dismissively. “I mean, Short Round is just that, short. So no big whoop. And Aerie… Aerie… hmmm…”

“Yes?” prompted Jaheira as Imoen trailed off.

“Well… I don’t know!” Imoen pitched her voice into a tremble. “Just ruin my perfectly good metaphors! Smash them with your cruel, unyielding logic! Crush my poet’s soul!”

“Very well.”

Confronted by such a callous response, Imoen fell back on one of her classic defenses. The raspberry. While its effectiveness was much reduced by the darkness and the fact that Jaheira had her back to her, the sound still had its desired effect. It made her feel better and caused the slightest tremble in the X.O.’s shoulders from suppressed laughter.

“I see that even in this time of crisis, you’ve managed to maintain your usual level of cool, calm, and professionalism.”

“Ayup. That’s me! Ms. Professional.”

“If only Valygar were here to make the appropriate comment.”

“Hush you!” Stuck by sudden inspiration, she followed with a quick jab in Jaheira’s style, “Now, why don’t you stop trying to knock the rust off that wit of yours and finish up that weld!”

The powerful glow that backlit Jaheira’s form died suddenly and darkness descended on the lift tube, punctuated only by their suit lamps. Jaheira held the now dormant plasma welder in one hand and stared in at her with one cocked eyebrow. Waggling the deactivated welder in her direction, she admonished, “I finished my weld despite the constant irritation of certain crew members who will remain nameless at this time.”

“Yeah, Valygar can be a real pain in the butt sometimes.” The frustrated sigh that comment elicited from Jaheira tweaked the corners of her mouth. Not because she really enjoyed tweaking the older woman, but because so long as Jaheira was annoyed with her, she wouldn’t worry about down below.

“While Valygar certainly can be a source of frustration from time to time, I was referring to you, Imoen.”

“Me? Frustrating?” A hand flew to her faceplate in mock surprise. “To think that my honest and thoughtful attempts at encouragement could be viewed in such a way? You wound me dear Jaheira.”

“Then I will inform the Doctor you are in need of medical attention,” Jaheira deadpanned. “Now, do the scans confirm we are ready to recompress?”

She turned her attention to the scan readouts still plastered over her HUD. The red zones now glowed green as the final welds cooled and solidified. Flicking her eyes over the readout one last time just to be doubly sure the structure would hold, she flashed the thumbs up Jaheira’s way.

“Good, I’ll let Bran know.”

While Jaheira conversed with the captain, Imoen stared down at the hatch below. The zombos were definitely making a major push to get the others and there was no way they’d just let the others hop up the tube. They could seal the pressure door, but that busted door on H Deck said that was no defense. They’d just keep coming and coming until they got them trapped. And then they’d all end up dead. Or worse.

Shivering at the thought, she loosened the straps on her equipment bag and swung it around so she could properly rummage about. It took only a moment to select the items she was looking for; four grey blocks of E-4, a soft, malleable explosive and a small D-14 detonator with digital display. She took the first of the blocks and gently pressed it onto the upper right hand side of the newly welded door seal. It stuck in place and Imoen quickly started doling out the others, one each to the lower right, upper left and lower left.

She was in the middle of placing the metallic box when she heard Jaheira’s voice over the comm. “Imoen, what are you doing?”

The ice in Jaheira’s tone shot through her spine, startling her so badly she nearly lost the detonator. Jumpy now, aren’t we? Wonder why? she chided herself. Taking a steadying breath, she pressed the box onto the middle of the sealed hatch. “Rigging up a quick breaching charge,” she replied, removed four small top heavy pins from the detonator frame and pressing one each into the cubes. “Things are getting pretty hairy down there, right?”

“Yes.” The way Jaheira said it made her stomach sink like a stone.

“Since that’s the case, I betcha we’ll have a whole pack of ‘em on our heels,” she said as she punched in the activation sequence. “And, we know they can get through a pressure door. So, if we leave this tube pressurized, they’ll be on our tails as quick as they can punch through these.”

“And it will cut off any return,” Jaheira said flatly.

The delicate work complete, Imoen whirled on the grim-faced woman. Her voice barely under control, she fired back, “Look, first we gotta live long enough for that matter. I don’t want zombos crawling up my butt while we’re trying to figure out what the heck happened. And they will if we leave them this tube.” She paused and stared into the older woman’s eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Jaheira looked like she wanted to disagree, but simply said, “You are right. Finish that up, I will start on the repressurization sequence.”

She nodded and turned her attention back to the detonator. She punched up the remote access controls and tied them into her wristcomp. Connection established she armed the thing, its digital display flashing to life with a one-minute countdown displayed. One more button killed the display but the little red light next to the green one in her HUD showed that bomb was still live. Work finished, she radioed down far, “I’m all set here.”

“Good. I’ve got the controls set here as well. The environmental circuits are completely offline, so I’m going to be forced to simply open the pressure door. You’ll need to strap in.”

Drawing out her suit tether, she locked the safety clip into one of the long dormant magrails. Wrapping her hands around it as well, she reported, “All secure, Jaheira. We are go for recompression.”

“Understood. Activating door sequence.”

Imoen stared down the shaft, watching Jaheira punch in the final sequence then grab onto one the magrails. The heavy, scarred doors ponderously ground open. She could only imagine the horrible screech of abused metal as doors sealed for over half a millennia were bludgeoned back into service.

Not that she had long to muse on that before the ship’s atmosphere came rushing into the tube. The air slammed into her like a giant’s fist, slamming her against the tube’s wall. Her arms strained under the abuse of the onrushing atmosphere until finally the pressure started to equalize. Now able to loose her grip on the rail, she looked up at the tube integrity scan she left up on her HUD. The yellow patches had expanded but they held. They had containment! With a victory whoop she hollered, “We’re good! We’ve got a pressure column! Get them doggies movin’, Jaheira!!”

She’d almost admit that things were finally looking good.

---@@@---

Minsc was in his element. There was no debate, no questioning, no strange words he had to ask Boo to explain. No, it was just he and Larry together applying the Boots of Righteousness to the Buttocks of Evil. With Boo’s help, of course.

This time, however, there was a great deal of buttock to kick. So much so that even Larry seemed to be getting tired of smiting, and in Minsc’s experience with his friend, that was unusual. Larry usually was so very eager to smash Evil that he sometimes would get overanxious and want to just start smashing without first identifying the Evil. Which was somewhat naughty, but Minsc knew it was only Larry’s eagerness to fight Evil that caused it.

There might even be too much Evil for the mighty crew of the Gorion Minsc was forced to admit. The strain on Larry’s compensators and cooling systems forced him to choose his shots carefully now, no longer able to fire long bursts that scythed through the zombie ranks. Now Minsc had to restrict Larry to short bursts to keep him from overloading, something that made him even more unhappy.

“Come on Minsc! Let’s just rock and roll!” whined the lethal collection of collectors and compensators.

“No Larry,” Minsc admonished patiently as he squeezed off a burst of coherent energy that ripped through the molecular structure of one of the onrushing zombies. “Your systems are overheating and you know what Little Nalia said would happen if they overheat.”

“Fah! Bah! Look, I’m bored and I’ve got way too much killing to do and this is just taking [i]way too long this way!! Just slash and gash! Make ‘em meat smears!” growled the weapon as it unleashed some of its angst on another zombie.

“Minsc knows, Larry,” Minsc admonished again patiently. “But you can’t smite Evil if you go into autoshutdown. So, Minsc and Larry are going to have to be patient. Like turtles.” Minsc added a quick nod to emphasize the point.

“TURTLES!” Larry shouted, his beam turning incandescent with rage. “What do bloody [i]turtles have to do with anything other than going splat!”

Shooting another zombie, Minsc replied calmly, “Does Larry not remember the heroic tales that Minsc reads to him at night? The story of the slow but valiant turtle who raced the speedy but brash hare?”

“I want turtle steaks!” growled the disruptor cannon, spitting a dagger of coherent energy through the upper body of another zombie.

“Minsc does not know where to get turtle steaks, but Little Imoen does have a secret stash of chocolate turtles. I’m sure she’d be happy to share.”

“Hey tattoo brain, what am I going to do with chocolate?” replied the disruptor as it sheared the dried husk of a Seldarian zombie in half.

“Minsc did not think about that,” the tattooed former soldier replied, aiming another short blast down the corpse-strewn corridor. “Boo says that maybe Little Imoen could program you a chocolate program. Would you like that Larry?”

Bran’s voice cutting in on the comm channel drowned out Larry’s attempt at a wisecrack. Minsc could hear the edge in Captain Bran’s voice as he fired off, “Minsc, status of the crab mines?”

Minsc flicked his eyes up to the eight green dots on his HUD. Smiling, he boomed in response, “All crab mines are ready to help crush Evil, Captain Bran!”

“Alright. Time to fire them off. Jaheira said the postern gate’s open and frankly, I think the zombies want this piece of real estate bad enough I’m willing to let ‘em have it.”

Minsc was not so sure why the zombies would want real estate but a quick squeak from Boo explained that part. Releasing his grip on Larry’s firing controls, he flipped over the cover to his wristcomp. Finger poised over the detonate button, he replied, “Big bombs ready to go Boom!”

“Good. Minsc, call the ball.”

Toggling the open channel, Minsc boomed, “Bombs away!”

Rolling behind cover, Minsc flashed a big smile. This was one of his favorite things. Smile never fading, he stabbed at the detonate button with one large, armored finger. A command pulse fired from his suit’s comm array and eight PE-15 crab mines received their final orders.

A millisecond later, fountains of fire and sound erupted in the corridor.

---@@@---

Hearing the warning, Valygar tucked himself into the safety of the alcove. A second later, he felt the corridor shake as the little surprise he and Minsc had cooked up let loose in a fury of fire and smoke. The blasts tore through the onrushing ranks of zombies, shredding long dead flesh and demolishing their formations. Secondary explosions rippled through the corridor as badly damaged power packs followed the mines, releasing their remaining charge in a pyrotechnic display that added to carnage.

As the last explosions died, Valygar swung back into firing position, unwilling to give the zombies any time to reorganize. Two quick shots downed the nearest zombies as he took in the damage. One of the zombies had to have been carrying grenades, as the mines couldn’t have been this effective.

Dozens of corpses littered the blackened corridor, torn apart by low velocity shrapnel and exploding powercells. Broken bodies lay in heaps, some still groaning and struggling despite their grievous wounds. A small fire crackled in the darkness, a sight that could have been merry except for what served as its fuel. Thankfully, the explosions wiped out the last of the light bars, masking the worst of it from view.

He tasted bile as his stomach rebelled at the horrible sight. What lay in the corridor rivaled the carnage in Milesport after the Imperium attack on Harrada II. At least this time, the broken bodies belonged to enemies long dead instead of friends, men and women he’d fought and bled with. Memory’s lure threatening, he shoved away the unwanted specters. As a defense, he forced his mind to properly assess the result of the mines.

The booby trap had succeeded spectacularly, decimating the core of their lines, finally breaking the charge. Few of the leading edge of the wave survived, those falling quickly to Valygar and Minsc’s concerted efforts. They had bought themselves the time they needed to make their escape

The explosions obviously did their work on the other side of the corridor as he heard his Captain order, “Alright, here’s the opening we need. While they’re still trying to sort themselves out, let’s get the hell out of here. Fall back to the lift tube by the numbers. Far side first, near side last. Doc, you’re first, then you Fentan, then Minsc. Valygar and I will cover you.”

Valygar didn’t look up from his appointed task of covering the retreat, using his Katanas to whittle down the broken zombie forces. He heard the tube door behind him swish open and the sounds of feather-light feet racing across the open deck. As he planted a pulse blast into the forehead of a zombie that continued to fight, despite being blown in half, he more sensed than heard the passage of the Yolandan captain. Not that it surprised him much, years of tough campaigning taught him that the Yolandans’ reputation for light feet and stealth were well deserved.

Those two away, Valygar listened as Bran ordered, “Minsc, you’re next. So get the lead out!”

“You will need Minsc and Larry to fight back the zombies!” argued Minsc vehemently as he sent a blue lance of disruptor energy into a knot of reorganizing troopers, scattering them like leaves in a storm.

“Maybe, but we’re leaving. They aren’t driving us out, big guy. We’ve got a bridge to get to.”

“Just when the carnage was getting good,” grumbled that insane piece of artillery that Minsc insisted on lugging around.

“Plenty of carnage later. Now move!”

From the corner of his eye, he watched the heavily armored gunner leave his alcove. Unlike the others, he didn’t just head for the hatchway. Instead, Minsc indulged his dramatic side, firing off one last scything blast before finally disappearing through the hatchway.

“Sometimes I wonder about Minsc,” he heard Bran say in his ear.

“I don’t,” he replied.

“Probably saves time,” Bran admitted with a chuckle. “Now, let’s blow this pop stand.”

Staying in a crouch, Valygar started to back away towards the still open hatch, firing all the way. He grimaced as his wounded knee complained about the stance, but forced away the annoyance. After firing off a burst, the charge indicators on both Katanas flashed to red as the charge slipped dangerously low. Thankfully, he was at the hatchway, the dark lift tube just off to his right.

“I’m running dry, Bran.”

“Same here.”

“Then, why don’t you two stop playing Last Stand at Omicron VII and get in the tube,” interjected a familiar and annoyed female voice.

Valygar smiled as he heard Bran fire back with his best long suffering, “Yes, dear.”

The resultant snort made both men laugh. “Alright V, let’s go. You first, then seal the hatch after I’m through.”

“Acknowledged,” Valygar replied.

Tensing his legs, he sprang through the open hatch. Fighting off that moment of disorientation caused by passing from a gravitational field to zero G, he turned to face the tube door. Bran followed close on his heels, firing off a parting shot and hopping into the tube. As soon as his captain cleared the door, Valygar punched the emergency close button. The metal leaves slammed home with a solid ‘thunk’ and a second followed as Valygar activated the door locks.

“That won’t hold them long,” Bran said, staring at the door.

“Then what are you doing down there?” chirped Imoen. He swore that woman could walk through the Gates of Hell itself smiling. And, probably whistling some silly tune, too.

“For once, my sister has a point. Let’s get it moving,” he ordered, gesturing upwards with one gauntleted hand. “Get A Deck opened up.”

“Already done, big bro. I popped the hatch once we pressurized. We’re just waiting for you guys.”

“Then let’s get a move on. Same order, V and I will watch our tails.”

Kicking his way up as rearguard, Valygar floated up the tube alongside Bran, weapons trained on the inky darkness below. Already, something hammered at the sealed hatch leading to C Deck. The door was sturdy, but it wouldn’t hold for long. In fact, it had already begun to buckle. Eyeing the door, Valygar said, “Impatient aren’t they?”

“Definitely. And they’re going to keep coming. That door won’t hold long, and they’ll break through the pressure doors eventually. We’ll need something to dissuade them from pursuit.”

The two of them now were kicking their way through the repaired B Deck tube. Taking a look around at the hasty patchwork, he quipped, “Well, since Imoen did the welding here, we could simply wait for the welds to crack.”

“This from the guy who once had an entire stabilizer fall off a shuttle because he bonded it with the wrong agent.”

“If the pilot hadn’t decided it was necessary to max power dive for fun, it would have held.”

“While all this is entertaining and all, that door is only getting weaker,” interjected Bran. “Im, Jaheira, I hate to say it, but we might just have to blow the tube.”

Valygar, who was looking right up at Imoen, watched a huge grin split the troublesome younger Varnas’s face. The smile however was not in her question. In fact there was enough of a tremble in it to make him immediately suspicious. “You mean like blow up all of our hard work?”

Bran didn’t seem ready to fall for it, either. “Yes. We’ll have to use the breaching charge you already rigged up.”

“Hey! How did you know?” Imoen complained, the smile crumpling.

“I see all, I know all,” Bran replied smugly.

“Actually, I simply told him,” Jaheira said.

“You know, you’re going to damage the awe and mystique of my captaincy if you continue to do such things,” Bran fired back.

“I’m sorry Bran, I was not aware that awe or mystique were involved in your captaincy at all,” Jaheira replied sweetly. The tone itself was enough to elicit a laugh, especially when added to the look on Bran’s face.

“Whatever. V, seal this hatch. Im, once we’re through, seal the other hatch and rig your charge to blow, got it?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” drawled Imoen while Valygar simply flashed Bran an acknowledging thumbs up. Kicking over to the panel, he pulled the lever to close the hatch, watching the heavy metal doors grind shut. Just in time because the hatch leading to C Deck was starting to glow a nice cherry red.

“They’re about through down below,” Valygar reported as he kicked his way up to A Deck. As soon as he passed the lock, Imoen hauled on the lever to seal the pressure door.

“Then its time to bid them adieu,” Bran answered as the pressure door sealed with a resounding boom. “Imoen, blow the charge. No countdown.”

“One big boom coming up, big bro,” quipped the redhead as she pressed a series of buttons on her wristcomp. Seconds later, the muffled snap of the breaching charge detonating resonated in the crowded confines of the A Deck lift tube. As the rumble of the explosion rippled through the him, Valygar felt his shoulders slacken as tension fled.

A tremendous sigh of relief ripped through him as the realization that they all had managed to escape another death trap hit home. There had already been too many close calls, his ribs and knee aching reminders of one attack that almost succeeded. Yet, he and his crewmates still lived, despite the best efforts of the dead.

He looked around and saw that realization on the faces of the others. Off to his left, Bran and Jaheira tried their damnedest to crush each other with their embrace. The Yolandan captain floated by herself, her carbine slung and her head bowed. From the way her lips moved, he assumed it was in prayer. To his right, Minsc drifted to the doctor, laying one big hand on her shoulder and bending to smile at her. The slight woman seemed troubled, but the combination of Minsc’s smile and Minsc’s strange companion Boo hopping out of his shoulder mount to do an impromptu zero G dance cracked a small smile on her delicate face.

Finishing his circuit, he found himself face to face with Imoen. The troublesome redhead regarded him with one arched eyebrow and dancing blue eyes. Feeling a smile crack his own lips, he quipped, “You and Minsc get too much fun out of blowing things up.”

“Hey, you gotta love what you do. I mean you must love being grim and dour all the time, since you’re so good at it.”

Playing his part of their oh-so-familiar dance, Valygar gave her a completely flat look then deadpanned, “Ecstatic.”

“I knew it,” she laughed and wrapped her arms around him to give him a big hug. There was an elemental fierceness to it, and his ribs creaked under the assault. He ignored them, pulling Imoen in tighter.

There were no words spoken. There was no need.

They’d made it.