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"Airlock doors secure."
"Power on. Emergency ventilation activated. Stand by."
The dead air within the installation stirred. The papers on the floor suddenly fluttered. The ceiling panels flickered and flashed on, illuminating us with a cold white light. The control panel came to life, reds and blues and greens glowing calmly, as if all was well—but all was not well, not at all.
"Confirm we're on blackout systems," Redhawk said. "No link to outside power sources. Commo all down…"
"Keep it that way," Snow Leopard ordered. "Tenners. Confirm the installation is airtight. Pressure building…"
The deck was filthy underfoot, sticky and gritty. We had dragged the dead through here. I bent down and picked up the dox mug. It bore the insignia of the 15th DefCorps—the same bunch we had run into on Andrion 2. I put it aside and recovered a manual from the deck—OPERATING INSTRUCTIONS—2200 LOCKON—MODE COMMANDS—fascinating stuff. I dropped it back onto the deck.
"Redhawk, can you bring the screens up? Will it attract any attention?" Snow Leopard was looking over the controls carefully.
"I can and it shouldn't. This installation is designed to function effectively on full blackout. And we're on emergency power. Just a frac." Redhawk turned to the task.
"According to the panel, the main screen should give us an overall view of the lake—can you confirm that?"
"Tenners," Redhawk responded. "Port visuals—that should be the starport. External, internal—Deadman!"
"Don't touch the internal! Not yet, anyway."
"Deadman! We'll be able to see everything!"
"Go slow! Nice and easy, or they'll be on us in a flash!"
"That's a big ten! Deadman!"
A dull explosion thundered through the walls. The lights flickered and the deck trembled. Sharp vibrations echoed up through our boots. We looked around, but there was nothing to see.
"What was that?"
"Antimat," Sweety replied calmly.
"Deadman. Somebody's still out there."
Psycho squatted by the airlock, checking his Manlink. Priestess appeared in the doorway to the living quarters. She had a pocket-sized datapak in one hand. She passed it to me, wordlessly. OPSKED, it was entitled—15 DefCorps—Starfleet Commandos—Property of United System Alliance—Responsible Officer—Lt. Jeffleigh Karmion.
"Fifty percent pressure," Redhawk noted. "Atmix confirmed."
Priestess sat down, exhausted, and leaned against a wall. I ran through the contents of the datapak. The entire opsked was classified SECRET SYSRES NOCIV DEFOR DEFCON. The first few docs were mission orders for Karmion's unit—Hqs Company, Aircar Squadron 303, 4th Commandos, 15 DefCorps. I glanced through the memos; there were several references to an Oplan Gold.
"I've got the external screen psyched. I think," Redhawk said.
"Don't do anything until you're sure," Snow Leopard replied.
The miscellaneous data was a lot more extensive than it should have been, I noted. I went into it. It wanted a password.
"Priestess, did you get into the miscellaneous?"
"Yes. That's the interesting part. The password is 'Jenny'."
"Now how did you do that?"
"There's a solid of his girl on his desk. And her name. It was just a guess—he was not very imaginative."
I punched in Jenny and the data came up on the screen.
It was a journal—the personal journal of Jeffleigh Karmion.
"Main screen coming on," Redhawk reported.
I raised my eyes. It glowed to life suddenly, taking our breath away.
The entire lake was there, massive black slopes glittering with pumice, cloaked in smoke, the great incandescent, golden lake of lava bubbling and hissing, grinding along slowly, black smoky clouds close overhead, the wind tracing eerie patterns on the surface of the lava. Lightning arced down from the clouds, striking the lake. A spidery complex of nav lines overlay the image, invisible highways in the sky, and a status box revealed there were no aircars in sight.
"Where are the aircars?" Redhawk asked himself.
"Never mind the aircars," Snow Leopard replied. "We use this screen to find Warhound. Tell me what it can do."
"Go to it, One," Psycho said dreamily. "Go to it. We find Warhound! That's our mission." He looked over his Manlink, holding it up to the light. Sometimes I thought Psycho was just as dangerous to us as to the enemy. But he had held together so far, I had to admit.
I turned my attention back to the datapak, browsing through the entries. It quickly became apparent that Karmion had some problems with the mission.
1444/02/01 SS. They awarded us a unit citation today. What reeking hypocrisy. A unit citation, for Vulcan Station. Conspicuous prudence, above and beyond. A unit citation awarded to slaves by cowards, from a very safe distance away. A justification for their own crimes. Why don't our leaders present the citation in person? It's for them, not for us. It's a unit citation for the System. This makes us physically sick. We'd rather die with what's left of our honor than live like this.
"Full pressure," Redhawk announced. "Air is pure, full normal. Take a bite!"
Snow Leopard straightened up before the control panel. "I'll try it." He cracked the visor of his faceplate open and took a breath. We all watched him silently.
"Tastes fine to me," Snow Leopard concluded. "I'll take first watch—the rest of you can off helmets, but keep them within reach. Have we got water in the lines?"
"That's a ten."
"All right, one at a time can wash up in the heads. One at a time. Get it all done, 'cause we're not staying long." Snow Leopard closed his visor again and turned back to the control panel.
"Redhawk," Priestess said, "I want you naked. I've got to work on your wounds. You should be first in the shower." We all laughed at Priestess's comment. When it came to her medical duties, Nine was so serious she sometimes did not seem quite real.
"A tempting offer, Priestess," Redhawk responded. "But I'm too damned busy right now. Why don't you go first, and call me when you finish. Oh, and, uh…I want you naked, too."
We popped our helmets, still laughing at Priestess's remark. The air stunk, a strange heady perfume, but we knew it was really us who stunk. I removed my helmet and hooked it on my u-belt. The air lanced through my nostrils and mouth like fire. My eyes stung and watered. We were all gasping, taking deep breaths. I looked at the others and grinned.
Psycho was a mutant werewolf with yellow fangs and glittering lunatic eyes. Redhawk was a savage hairy gargoyle, bleeding and covered with slime. Priestess was a vaguely female zombie, dead pale splotchy skin and cold glazed eyes and dirty matted hair. Snow Leopard was still in helmet so we could not see him. I did not want to know what I looked like but judging by the others, I imagined I had lost my dashing good looks.
"Psycho, stay here," Snow Leopard ordered. "We're going to use this screen to search for Warhound. Thinker, accompany Priestess and secure the area while she cleans up. Redhawk, you're next after Priestess. Now, tell me how you work the zoom. I want to search every fraction of this crater for Warhound."
I accompanied Priestess into the living quarters. The lights were on and the floor was sticky. Priestess chose a cube at random. The door was open, as we had thoroughly searched the area. It was even smaller than a Legion cube—there was barely room to turn around. The head was a tiny closet with a toilet, sink, and shower. Priestess tossed her helmet and E on the bed. She reached into the head and hit the shower tab. The line coughed once and then a needle spray of water hissed steadily from the nozzle. It was so lovely a thrill ran over my skin.