While the cargo ramp is still being lowered, three heavily armed and armored forms start walking down it, boots thumping. Another much smaller, but no less armored, figure scurries after them. “This stuff is heavy!” Bennie complains.
Wil turns to look at the hacker, who wearing a set of special, and expensive, armor. “You’re welcome to wear no armor; you saw how well that went last time we were here.”
“Fine, fine, I’m just saying, don’t walk so fast.”
Wil looks past Bennie to Prathea and Xan, who are standing at the top of the ramp. “Okay, you two, keep the ship buttoned up. The self-defense protocols should keep you safe—for a while, at least.”
“That’s not at all reassuring, you know,” Xan offers. “You really should work on your delivery.”
Wil shrugs and turns to join the others at the base of the ramp. “Best I can do. We’ll hurry, though. I don’t want to spend a minute longer than necessary on this thing.” As if to underline his point, the entire cargo bay shakes, and something somewhere explodes. Wil looks around, then back at the two scientists. “This thing can’t last forever, not against so many ships.”
“Also not reassuring,” Prathea says, turning to the control panel next to the cargo bay airlock doors. Without another word, she hits the control. As the ramp lifts and the inner airlock closes, Xan quickly turns and blows a kiss to Bennie, before turning and walking into the hold, out of sight.
“Things are getting pretty serious between you two,” Maxim says, looking at the blushing Bennie.
Zephyr is panning her pulse rifle left and right. The massive hold, easily four times bigger than the Ghost, is almost empty. There are a few crates scattered here and there, but otherwise nothing. “Seems weird this is empty,” she comments, walking cautiously towards a large door set into the wall.
The ship shakes again. “We’d better hurry,” Wil says, following her. “How are we going to find him? This thing is massive. There’s no way we can search the whole thing—not only is it big, but sooner or later the mechano-squid are going to show up.”
Bennie spins around a full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. He’s clutching the small pulse pistol Wil gave him in both hands. “You think there are still mechano-squid on board? Maybe they’re all outside, doing whatever it is they’re doing.”
Maxim puts a hand on Bennie’s shoulder. “Any idea how we find Gabe?”
The small armored hacker shakes his head. “No. I kinda hoped he’d give us a sign or something.”
“Like that?” Zephyr is pointing at the door they’re walking towards. A light over the door is blinking in a pattern.
“Space Morse code?” Wil asks.
“No idea what that is, but that light is blinking in Peacekeeper beep code. It’s Gabe.” She picks up her pace, and the others follow suit.
The corridor outside the cargo bay is just like the corridors they explored last time they were aboard the ship: featureless, dark. Wil spots a blinking light at the far end of the corridor and motions everyone to follow.
A few corridors and three ramps later, they enter a junction where several corridors come together. Aiming her rifle down each corridor in turn, Zephyr says, “This is familiar.”
Maxim nods, aiming his rifle down a corridor with a blinking light over its entrance. “Not in a good way. Come on.”
Wil, who is bringing up the rear, spots a small service drone scurry past the entrance of the corridor they’re in. It doesn’t come back or pursue them. “Okay, it’s getting weird that we aren’t being attacked.”
Interrupt—
Biological infestation detected. Location unknown.
Foreign vessel in cargo hold Alpha-Three.
Internal sensors are malfunctioning.
Foreign software likely responsible.
Purge memory buffers in sensor secondary assembly.
Intruders detected on fabrication level.
Dispatching internal defense drones.
Interrupt—
Error, internal defense drones not responding.
Purge internal defense drone primary command buffer.
Internal defense drones now responding.
Interrupt—
Reconfiguration of sensor platform assets estimated at eighty-five percent complete.
Hostile fleet causing significant damage, repair drones attempting repairs.
Estimated chances of surviving current combat scenario: fifteen percent.
Estimated likelihood of vessel destruction before transmission: zero percent.
My friends are in danger. Gabe looks up at the fabricator, which is still working. I must buy them some time. Attack drones will be here soon. The small service drone comes to life, sensor domes lighting up, and darts to the door of the fabrication facility.