Chapter Eight - Entering the Maelstrom
There was a high-pitched whine. For an instant the bulkhead was a billion glowing points of fiery white light, then it was gone.
A corridor stretched off into the distance, faintly illuminated in soft pink. The infrared had dropped down a few degrees. Unlike the airlock the passageway was lit, but the light was weak, the suit's vision enhancers still had to compensate. He strained to see beyond the shadows in the distance, expectant, looking for danger.
Nothing. The tunnel was empty. It was a relief after all of their precautions. But why had Brozmam snatched his hand back so suddenly?
Javer stepped cautiously through the doorframe, the Thoron gun sweeping the corridor, his suit wailing, massive feet ringing on the bare metal floor as he crept along the tunnel, the din echoing. His movements were stealthy but his suit screamed at every step. It was laughable, all their efforts to conceal their entry and now he was clanking round, roaring like a dinosaur.
Brozmam followed Javer, his pistol moving warily. The gun looked comically tiny in his massive hand.
There was no sign the door had ever existed, Javer's gun had completely erased it. Without it the airlock was useless. They couldn't leave Pandemonium that way. They were trapped here.
'Visors?' Brozmam's voice crackled through his suit's external speaker. It was a shock to hear him speak again.
'How's your power?' rasped Javer.
'Low,' grated Brozmam, 'there was a sudden surge, sucking far more than it needed for the door.' There was incredulity in his voice. So, that was why he'd pulled away. 'I've got minutes left.'
'We stay sealed as long as possible.' It sounded like an order.
'Okay,' agreed Brozmam. Was there a hint of mutiny in that distorted voice?
They were being very careful, not trusting the atmosphere. They were speaking live too, weren't even risking radio. Brozmam had consulted Javer before. Just who was in charge here?
What were they going to do with him now they'd got him here? Were they going to kill him?
'Fenton,' Brozmam's metal edged voice.
Javer turned back, his suit squealing, the Thoron gun swinging to point at the prone Fenton cowering helplessly in the corner.
'Remote three: terminate,' said Javer.
Fenton flinched in terror.
'REMOTE CONTROL TERMINATES'
The stiff legs buckled under him, his body sagging under the suit's mass. Instinct took over, his leg muscles contracted to take the weight. The suit translated his movements, the servos shifting the heavy segments. He straightened up, his arms uncrossing, swinging back to hang by his sides.
He could move again. There was no cramp, the massaging system had seen to that.
Javer beckoned with his left hand, the gun still pointing.
Fenton tentatively thundered out. Brozmam was covering the corridor ahead with his compact automatic. Madness. Brozmam was facing the unknown with a simple projectile weapon. Javer was watching him with a high-powered energy gun. Why were they so scared of him? He walked cautiously towards Javer.
'LIFE-FORM APPROACHING'
A warning tone accompanied the urgently flashing words. A twitching dial had appeared, the arrow pointing up the corridor.
'Remote three: freeze!' barked Javer.
Fenton's suit locked mid step.
'FROZEN'
Brozmam and Javer leapt to either side of the passageway, hugging the edges for cover, their guns scouring the darkness ahead of them.
He was trapped, standing in the middle of the corridor, totally exposed.
The arrow was shortening. Whoever, whatever it was, was getting closer.
Graeme?
Paize?
Someone else?
Something else?
Footsteps.
Approaching, echoing on the metal floor.
Getting closer.
Closer.
Brozmam and Javer waited, poised in anticipation.
In the faint light ahead two shadowy figures crossed the corridor.
Then they were gone.
Footsteps echoing away, the arrow lengthening.
Then nothing. No footsteps. The prompt vanished from his readout. Gone. They didn't seem to have been noticed. But surely they must have heard the suits' groans? They'd have to be deaf not to.
'Two?' whispered Brozmam.
'Two,' confirmed Javer.
Of course. His suit and theirs' had only detected one life-form. Suit problems? Reality problems? They were in Hell and Graeme had said it contradicted normal scientific laws.
'Should have picked them up a lot earlier,' hissed Brozmam.
'Shouldn't have vanished off the scale so quickly,' answered Javer, 'we've got problems here.' He tapped the side-mounted apparatus of his skull with his spindly finger.
They were opting for technical failure. Maybe the radiation had damaged the sensors. Had it penetrated the suits?
Were they going to let him move again? They were still tense, their guns probing the watery pink light ahead. He was frozen, out in the open, a sitting duck.
Or a decoy.
'LIFE-FORM APPROACHING' the shrill tone buzzed again.
A hunchbacked figure raced across the corridor, hugging something to its stomach. It was almost past when it saw them. It spun round, lifting the bulky handgun.
It blossomed into flame.
Bullets ricocheted down the left-hand wall before noisily sparkling off Brozmam's scaly suit. His pistol coughed. The Thoron gun whined. Fenton felt bullets impacting, slamming into him. He was toppling backward, his chest burning. He hit the ground, pain shooting over his back, the crash reverberating down the passage.
He was dying. Had to be. It was a fatal injury to his chest, hot agony was surging through it.
Blurred words were swimming across his vision, over the latticed ceiling. Final words.
'IMPACT SUSTAINED – FRONT THORAX - CONSISTENT WITH GUNFIRE'
He laughed at the blatancy. So, this was what the administration spent all those taxes on. The laughter made the pain in his chest worse. It would tell him he was dying next. That would be a useful last thought.
'SUIT INTEGRITY MAINTAINED - LIFE SUPPORT EFFECTIVE - ARMOUR EFFECTIVE - DIAGNOSIS - BRUISING ONLY- NO LIFE-THREATENING INJURY'
That had told him. He was going to be alright, the suit had saved him again, just as it had protected him out there, in Hell. He was laughing with relief. What a fabulous piece of technology, worth every penny.
He stopped laughing. The distorted noise echoed hollowly away down the empty corridor. He was alive but still in danger. He was trapped in the frozen suit, stranded on his back like an overturned turtle, arms and legs sticking pathetically into the air, locked in the position Javer had frozen him in.
Silence. No gunfire, no movement. What had happened? He could see nothing but the ceiling. Was the maniac with the gun still there? There was no life-form readout. Was he dead? Had they hit him?
Or had he just vanished?
If he was still alive he could come back with another weapon. He wouldn't stand a chance trapped on his back. The spacesuit had deflected the bullets but it would be no defence against a Thoron blaster. A gun like that would slice through the armour-plated suit or disintegrate it.
What had happened to Brozmam and Javer? He was helpless without them.
Empty silence.
'Fenton!' He started at Javer's voice. Was Brozmam alive?
'Yes,' he croaked back.
'Alright?'
'Yes. Brozmam okay?'
'Fine.' Brozmam's voice, an inflexion of surprise at the sudden concern.
Fenton breathed a sigh of relief.
'Can you stand?' said Javer.
'I think so. What happened? Did you get him?'
'Vanished down a side corridor.'
He was still out there. Still free. Still dangerous.
'Anyone you knew?'
'I'm going to release you in a minute then we're goin
g to move up the corridor. Do anything suspicious and I'll disintegrate you? Clear?'
'Clear.'
'Remote three: release.'
'RELEASED'
Fenton carefully stood up. His chest ached dully.
Javer and Brozmam were still pressed up hard against the tunnel's sides, their suits showed superficial damage. They'd both been hit.
Brozmam's gun pointed ahead. Javer was further up the corridor but he had turned back to the darkened airlock to train his weapon on Fenton.
The corridor was empty again, but now its side was scarred by bullet impacts. Ahead of them the wall had been blistered and melted by the Thoron charge. Rivulets of molten metal had solidified midstream. Javer had been taking no chances. He'd shot to kill. But he'd missed. Both Javer and Brozmam, SSD trained, had missed when it mattered.
Javer motioned with the gun. He wanted Fenton to join him.
Fenton moved tentatively, torn between the need to get out of the open but not wanting to give Javer grounds for shooting him. He walked past Brozmam. As he drew level with him Javer turned to face up the corridor, motioning with the gun.
He wanted Fenton to lead. He swallowed nervously.
'LIFE-FORM'
He jumped at the savage tone.
The arrow spun.
Behind them!
He started to turn, the suit wailing in anguish.
It froze.
He was caught mid-action. He tumbled backwards, slamming painfully onto the floor again, arms and legs splayed awkwardly out, locked in position like a beetle in amber.
Javer's bullet scarred head and torso loomed upside down over him, leaning at a crazy angle. He too had spun round to face what was behind them.
Impossibly behind them.
The Thoron arm was flung out over Fenton, aiming back at the airlock, Javer's left hand clawing at the air.
He was dead still.
Silence. No shots. Nothing.
What was there in the airlock? Why had Javer frozen like that? From fear?
He couldn't see Brozmam.
Javer was absolutely still, a grotesque statue clawing at the air, shrouded in blackness. The infrared and the readout had gone.
Suit failure.
Absolute suit failure.
Total power loss.
At the mercy of whatever was behind them.
He was panting in fear.
Was Brozmam immobilised too?
Helpless.
Panting.
From fear.
No.
Not fear.
Suit failure.
SUIT FAILURE!
Javer clawing at the air.
....suit....keeps air in....
Breath.
....keeps outside out....
Breath.
....air outside....
Breath.
....air inside...?
Breath.
....not much longer....
Shallow breath.
....crossed Hell safely....
....asphyxiate here....
Brief breath.
....surrounded by air....
....locked in from air....
....irony....
....black humour....
He was panting feverishly, blood pounding in his head.
....nothing...can do nothing....
Silence but breath.
....all enclosing helmet....
Breath.
....all enclosing death....
....no...not here....
....not now....
Breath.
....no answers....
....nothing achieved....
....nothing done....
No breath.
….failed….
…Alizen…
..failed..
.Alizen.
Blackness.
Aliz-