Iapetus Shift

Chapter 9

Olan flexed his hands, testing his grip in the too-tight gloves of his space suit as Greten cut through the airlock of The Basilisk. Even though they'd gotten no return signal in the hour they spent hailing it during the approach, Olan kept trying to feel for his needles, but they were out of reach beneath his suit.

He, Raasad, Bran and Malvin stood with Greten in a tube that extended from The Nile's airlock and sealed itself against The Basilisk's. When Greten had started cutting, no air had flowed out to pressurize the tube—there had been a hull breach somewhere.

He was surprised at how quickly the crew agreed to take him along. He thought he'd have to do at least a bit of convincing, but with Adya having to stay onboard, Bran with his gun at the ready and Malvin carrying his medical equipment, they were eager for any extra help they could get carrying the salvage out. Even so, Olan was already having doubts that any time they'd save with his help would even matter; the ship had already been stopped for an hour.

"Alright, I'm through," said Greten, turning off the cutting beam. Olan heard her voice through the radio transmitter on the inside of his helmet.

Greten pushed against the airlock door, and it toppled forward, pulled by the artificial gravity still functioning on the dead ship. It hit the inside of the hull with an eerie silence in the vacuum. The crew switched on their headlamps and stepped into the darkness. Olan took a breath, then followed.

Their lights swept over unadorned, riveted steel walls and walkways. Unlike their ship, this one was not built for speed. Neither was it built for comfort. The utilitarian style spoke to a design aimed at one thing only: durability.

"Alright," said Raasad. "Let's get to the cargo bay and see what this old ship has for us."

Olan followed them through the cold silence of the interior, the vacuum swallowing up every sound but his own breath and the sporadic hiss of his radio. He hadn't heard anything, but he peeked over his shoulder even though it would be impossible for anyone in this place to still be alive.

They snaked down corridors and through portals, Raasad leading them through so many turns and twists, Olan lost track of which direction they were facing . . . and which direction safety lay.

A red glow caught Olan's eye up ahead.

They moved up to the light—a control panel next to a large door. "The cargo bay should be beyond," said Raasad. He looked at Greten. "Can you open it?"

Greten arched an eyebrow and jabbed at the panel without looking. It blinked green, and the door slid open. "Do we lock our cargo bay?"

"Ah, I suppose not," said Raasad.

All five swung their lights inside and peered around, Bran leveling his gun at the darkness. Olan wondered what the bulky man expected he might shoot.

"It's empty," said Olan. Their lights panned over a bare, grated floor and lonely support beams. He felt a spark of relief. Maybe they'd get out of here quicker than he thought.

"Shit, someone was already here," spat Greten.

"No." Raasad shook his head. "How did they get in? We saw no openings."

"The air had to get out somewhere," said Olan. "Maybe we should get back to The Nile."

"No, I am not yet satisfied." Raasad pushed past them, leading on down another corridor. "If there truly is no cargo here, we will take what medical supplies and food we can and leave. But first, we check everywhere."