Mapped Space 1: The Antaran Codex (36 page)

“Out of all the ways I thought I’d
die,” Marie said, “crashing into a moon backwards wasn’t on the list.”

“It was number three on mine,” I
said, reaching for my transparent pressure helmet.

Marie put her hand on my helmet,
stopping me from fitting it, then pulled my head down to hers and kissed me. “In
case that’s the last time.”

“It won’t be,” I promised, then
we secured our helmets and cycled through the airlock into the
Soberano
.

We emerged into a dimly lit metal
corridor. “I’m reading atmosphere,” I said, surprised the ship was still pressurized.

“Should we remove our helmets?”

“No.” There were plenty of
chemicals aboard a ship like the
Soberano
that the Mataron SI could use to produce toxic gas. “Assume the air is
unbreathable.”

 
“OK. Where to?”

The
Soberano
had one long passageway running the length of the bow
section, dotted with ladders and companionways to other levels. The central
corridor passed through airtight hatches into a pressurized walkway that ran
through the cargo holds all the way back to the twin energy plants in her stern.
I figured the vault would be in the forward section, where Vargis could keep
his eye on it.

“If you find the vault first and
it’s locked, call Izin.”

“A safe cracking tamph?” she
said. “I have to get one of those.”

“You look for Vargis’ stateroom, I’ll
search the bridge.”

“Yes sir,” she saluted. “And here
I was thinking this was going to be fun.”

“This is how I have fun,” I said,
knowing I was giving her orders, but she’d volunteered and time was running out.

We were almost halfway to the ship’s
spine when Jase’s voice sounded in our earpieces. “Twenty minutes, Skipper.”

“Understood. How’s the spin
going?”

“We’re at thirty one degrees,”
Jase replied, “and the crawler’s nearly halfway to the open cargo door.”

When we reached the central
passageway, we split up. Marie went aft towards crew country while I headed towards
the bridge. Halfway there, I passed the ship’s armory. Its heavy security door
was open and several of the gun rack’s cradles were empty.

“Marie,” I said activating my
suit communicator and looking back along the central corridor to where she was
searching hatch to hatch. “There are rifles missing from the armory.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said before
stepping out of sight into a compartment.

I hurried forward to the bridge. It
was spacious compared to the
Lining’s
cramped flight deck, and was equipped with an immense view screen and lavish
control consoles that would have made a navy survey ship’s commander envious. The
only light came from the crew consoles and the view screen which displayed the
approaching planet and the luminous orb of the Vintari star behind it. In
several places, small circles of hissing white static marked where weapon’s
fire had struck the screen, destroying fragile technology.

Vargis lay dead on the deck with
a hole in his chest larger than my fist. The edges of the wound were charred
black and the gun he wore was still in its shoulder holster. It was the first
time I’d ever seen him carrying a weapon and the fact he wore it on the bridge
indicated he knew there was danger aboard. Vargis might have been a Consortium
lapdog, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d die without getting at
least one shot away – yet that was exactly what had happened.

Four other bridge officers were dead
from similar wounds. They’d barely begun to decompose, which in the ship’s
sterile environment, told me they’d been dead at least a week. Whatever had hit
them had been so hot, it had vaporized bone and flesh in an instant,
cauterizing the interior of the wound and limiting the amount of blood that had
spilled onto the deck.

I activated my communicator. “Vargis
and his bridge crew are dead.”

“There are two more back here,”
Marie said. “I’ve never seen wounds like these before.”

A female officer lay face down on
the navigation station, shot precisely through the spine. The blast had
continued across the bridge and struck the main screen where static now hissed.
Beneath the drops of blood splattering her console, a collision alert was
flashing. The ship should have been ringing with an alarm, but the siren had
been disabled. A single bloody smudge marked where someone had disabled the
alarm. Whoever had killed the crew had been here recently – after the autonav
had become concerned about the ship’s collision course with the planet.

A short distance from the
navigator’s body, another officer lay dead on the deck. A hole had been blasted
through his shoulder and another between his eyes. His weapon, lying nearby, had
been fired three times, although there was no sign he’d hit whoever had killed
him. His wounds, like the navigator’s, showed a precision comparable to the
best EIS eye-hand modded sharpshooters.

The helm display indicated the
autonav was off and the ship was being flown manually, no doubt by the Mataron
synthetic intelligence. Every ship system was on minimum power as all available
energy was being fed to the engines. The ship’s internal lighting was low, but if
everyone was dead, why have any lighting or atmosphere at all?

 
“Captain,” Izin’s voice sounded from my
earpiece. “My hull crawler has reached the open cargo hold. There’s a small
craft inside.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t recognize the hull
geometry or the propulsion technology. It’s sealed itself to the inside of the
cargo hold. It may have cut into the ship.”

If Izin didn’t recognize the ship
in the
Soberano’s
cargo hold, it wasn’t
human, which could mean only one thing.

“Marie, get back to the ship!”

“I’ve found something!”

“It’s too late. The Matarons are
aboard. They killed the crew. Get out now!” I waited, but there was no
response. “Marie, acknowledge.” When she didn’t reply, I said, “Jase, are you
receiving her?”

He didn’t respond either.

WARNING! NON-HUMAN CONTACT!
flashed from my threading into my mind.

My sniffer picked up movement
behind me. Without looking back, I dived sideways as a flash illuminated the
bridge and a wave of heat passed my shoulder. My threaded sensors tried locking
onto what was shooting at me, but I already knew it was a Mataron. Unlike the
encounter in Sarat’s penthouse, this snakehead was using his own weapons
because he knew no energy signatures would survive the impact with Vintari II.

I stole a look over a crew
console as a tall, slender form in a skin-tight black suit leapt agilely to the
left. He had to stoop to prevent his triangular reptilian head striking the
ceiling, then he swung his short barreled plasma rifle towards me and fired. I
rolled behind a crew station as another flash threw sharp shadows across the
bridge and a console exploded in sparks. Coming up on one knee, I fired twice,
but the Mataron was moving so fast, my armor piercing slugs crashed harmlessly into
the view screen, turning another section into white noise.

The Mataron leapt across the
bridge, closing on me fast as we circled each other. Snakeheads were taller,
faster and more agile than
unmodded
Homo sapiens
, although they had
weaknesses we didn’t – none of which helped me fighting one of their best at
close range in a p-suit. I fired a blind shot as I darted away while my
threading finally figured out the contact was a snakehead, then confirmed it
wasn’t the same Mataron who’d nearly killed me on Icetop.

I knew his alien-tech was
tracking me with precision. Fortunately he wasn’t carrying the kind of
dampening field Sarat had used. It allowed my DNA sniffer and thermal optics to
keep me in fight, revealing his movements when he was wasn’t silhouetted by the
view screen. We both used the bridge consoles for cover, knowing that to stand
still for a moment would be fatal. I fired into the darkness several times at a
dim thermal blur, never having time to properly aim. He did the same, narrowly missing
with each shot as he continually underestimated my speed. If he’d been fighting
an
unmodded
human, every shot would have been a kill.
Thankfully, against my ultra-reflexed agility, his timing was off – but he was
learning fast.

The Mataron leapt in front of a
damaged section of view screen, aiming ahead of me, trying to anticipate my
moves, but I darted back the other way a moment before he fired. I sent another
armor piercing slug his way through a console, striking the Mataron’s leg with
a static electric spark – not the crack of shattering bone I’d hoped for. He
stumbled, then leapt away unhurt. I fired again rapidly, seeing my slugs flash harmlessly
against his skin shield. The AP slugs were like hammer blows, knocking him off
balance but doing no real damage. I held fire for a moment, lowering my aim.
When the snakehead turned to fire I blasted the plasma rifle out of his hands.

I’d guessed right! He was
shielded, but his gun wasn’t!

The plasma rifle flashed as it
hit the deck, then without hesitating, the Mataron charged, leaping as if to
kick me but at the last moment, spinning in the air and whipping his thin flexible
reptilian tail at my neck. I rolled away onto the deck as the tail cut the air
with enough force to take my head off. The tail-whip would have killed a slower
human, but my genetically engineered speed saved me again.

The Mataron landed gracefully and
for a moment stood staring at me. I could no more read his expression than I
could any non-human’s, but I sensed he was wary, confused by my speed.

“We know who you are human!” He
said in a deep, synthesized male voice. “E – I – S!”

So much for Lena’s impenetrable
security! “And you’re just another ugly snakehead.”

“I am
Zatra
e’Ktari
and I am going to kill you,” he said, drawing
his quantum blade from the angled chest scabbard in his body armor, the twin of
the weapon I’d seen in Sarat’s penthouse. “It is a pity I’ll not be able to keep
your head as a trophy, but I was never here.” He raised the Q-blade menacingly.
“I will have to be satisfied with the memory of your death.”

I fired my P-50 at the quantum
weapon, but the armor piercing slug vaporized on contact without even causing
the blade to quiver.

“This is not a weapon you can
destroy.”

“It was worth a try,” I said
backing away. “Why are you here, on board the
Soberano
? Taking a big risk aren’t you?”

“The crew were going to destroy
their own ship once they realized what was happening. We could not allow that.”

I glanced at the corpses of Vargis
and his dead officers with new found respect – and rising anger. Even someone
like Vargis would rather sacrifice his life than risk mankind violating the
Access Treaty. I remembered they’d been dead a week, and wondered why the
Mataron was still aboard?

“The Tau Cetins will figure it
out.”

“They will find trace elements of
two human ships and the ravings of a deluded, fanatic,” he said, then leapt
forward, sweeping his Q-blade at me.

I jumped back out of reach, putting
a crew console between us.

“You are fast for a human,” he
said.

“You’re slow for a snakehead.”

“Many times I have killed
simulated humans. None move like you.”

“Your simulations underestimate
us.”

“I’ll see that is corrected.”

The Mataron charged again. When
he was almost on me, rather than sweep the Q-blade, he lunged forward, trying
to spear me. I took a fast step to the side, turned as the blade passed my chest
and grabbed his black gloved hand. Even through his skin shield, I felt hard
thin bones and strong sinewy muscle. He shifted his weight, trying to break out
of my grip as his free hand lunged at my throat. I dodged, twisting the
Mataron’s knife arm, locking the joint, then slammed the barrel of my P-50 against
his elbow and fired. The armor piercing slug struck his skin-shield, unable to
penetrate, but still breaking his elbow joint.

He grunted and tried pulling away.
I dropped my P-50 and twisted his wrist with both my hands, turned the quantum
blade into his chest. The Q-blade flashed against the Mataron’s skin-shield
before slicing open a bloody tear in his armor. The tall reptilian staggered backwards,
shocked. I slipped my foot behind his ankle, tripping him, then threw my weight
on top, driving the deadly weapon into his lungs as we hit the deck. The
Mataron grabbed my throat with his free hand, choking me as I forced the quantum
blade down through his heavy spine into the deck plating.

The Mataron shuddered, but hung onto
my throat, squeezing with all his failing strength. “We will never let you
join,” he wheezed, spitting blood, then his hand fell away from my throat and his
body went limp.

I pried his fingers off the Q-blade
and pulled it clear of his chest, finding not a drop of blood adhered to it. After
briefly examining the ornate weapon, I switched it off and slid it into my
belt.