Elite troopers had dropsuits that were, in addition to being high-end body armor, self-contained medical bays.
Each elite dropsuit contained enough food and water for the soldier to survive for several days, on top of containing a full battery of medical hypos, regenerative tissue baths, and, according to the wilder rumors, even stem cells for organ and tissue cloning in the field.
Samuel didn’t believe most of the things he heard about how good the elites had it compared to the lowly salvage marines, but after his time in the forges of Baen 6, his experience with medical attention made the salvage marines a definite step up.
Back on Baen 6 a man with the kinds of grievous wounds that Aaron possessed would have been quietly euthanized, either by the foreman or the family, as the kind of medical debts that would be required to save his life would have been beyond the credit lines of most citizens. Samuel could not help but be in awe of the quality of the med-kit he was able to employ upon Aaron’s prone body.
Elite troopers were like mythic space warriors, but for Samuel, the Reapers were real, he already had seen more value placed on the lives of these salvage marines than any forge worker.
After the hypo he removed a small sealer pistol, typically used for burn victims, spraying it across Aaron’s eyes, hoping that he was able to save them in time for the man to recover his sight. Samuel heard a shout from Patrick and saw the man backing up as he tried to reload his rifle. With Mag passed out, the marine knew he had to get back into the fight.
Samuel dropped his med-kit and launched himself into the t-section, unslinging his rifle. He raised it and began firing on the humanoid hostile. It wasn’t until his magazine ran dry that he realized he’d put so many holes in the creature that it was little more than a heap of torn flesh. Patrick stood watch as Samuel reloaded, then the marine returned to Aaron’s body.
As Samuel worked on Aaron he could see dozens of spent shell casings and at least one bloody heap lying on the floor of the corridor Ben was guarding. Samuel realized that he must have been so focused on the fight at hand that he’d not even noticed the heavy machine gunner cutting loose with his large weapon.
Using a sealer paste he managed to stop the bleeding and place emergency sutures on the larger gash points in the marine’s body, and though he would need major medical attention, at least the man was stabilized.
“Hyst, patch me up and let’s get moving,” muttered Mag, as she regained consciousness and Patrick helped her to her feet.
Samuel could see that she had lost a tremendous amount of blood. It was a testament to her force of will that she was standing at all. Ben and Patrick did their best to cover all the passageways as Samuel sealed and sutured Mag’s shoulder, then he took her combat rifle and reloaded it for her.
“Patrick, take point, you’ll need Aaron’s rig,” Mag ordered as she slung her combat rifle in favor of her officer’s pistol. “Samuel, get Aaron on his feet. Takeda, rear guard.”
“Sir, all due respect, but I don’t think Aaron should be moved,” disagreed Samuel as he removed the data rig and handed it to Patrick. “I’d have to pump him full of stims just to get him standing, could have long term adverse effects. I’ve seen that sort of thing in the forges, when people try pulling triple shifts.”
“This is no forge shift, marine. We’re at the bottom of a mine in the middle of necrospace,” spat Mag as she racked the slide of her pistol to chamber a round and emphasize her point, “We get him moving or we leave him. Profit and loss. Copy?”
“Copy, Sir,” said Samuel as he begrudgingly dosed Aaron with three stim hypos and held the wounded man down as his body began to seize briefly while the chemicals did their work. After a few moments Aaron groaned and meekly allowed Samuel to help him to his feet. The burn seals that covered his eyes made him blind, so Samuel had to hold Aaron up and wrap the man’s arm around his shoulder. It was awkward, but they managed to fall into formation and begin following Patrick down the dark corridors.
Patrick swept his rifle left and right, up and down, in search of threats. After another fifteen grueling minutes, they reached the main hab doors without further incident.
Ben could have sworn that he’d seen shapes moving in the darkness just at the edge of his mounted light. After the battle in the corridors he was positive that there were, in fact, hostiles pacing them.
As Patrick removed his hand welder, Mag and Ben pulled security after illuminating the area with a flare, slowly sweeping their guns back and forth to cover the three passageways that converged on the gate.
Samuel double-checked the sutures on Aaron’s chest and legs, alarmed to see that much of the flesh near the wounds had turned very pallid and a faint green tinge had appeared on the edges. Before he could investigate further, Patrick’s welder cut through the lock mechanism.
Samuel gently eased Aaron into a sitting position against the wall, and then helped Patrick push open the hab doors. Ben continued to cover the passages while Mag stood a few steps back from the door as it swung open, prepared to fire upon any hostiles that might lie in wait.
“Hyst, you’re with me. Patrick and Takeda hold his position until we give the all clear,” Mag ordered as she boldly moved into the hab. “If they want to hit us from the tunnels, now is the best time, so stay sharp.”
Mag and Samuel moved into the atrium of the hab and found it to be obscured in just as much darkness as the tunnels had been.
“Talk to me, Hyst, let’s see what you can put together,” ordered Mag while her mounted light pierced the gloom to reveal that they were in the labor staging area.
Aside from engaging any hostiles encountered during a salvage, it was part of Reaper procedure to investigate the decline of any particular find. In this case, the mining facility had gone dark with little explanation or warning, and though the primary mission was to salvage the station, protocol demanded the establishment of a narrative. Not only did this aid management in their reporting of the haul, but also informed the marines on mission with any additional and perhaps critical details of what they might encounter.
Samuel had trained for this element of the job and had outscored many of the other recruits. It seemed that his time in the quality control division of the forges had given him an eye for minutiae. As Samuel followed his light he took in as much detail as he could see, and began to piece together a possible scenario.
The room had a small catwalk above them that provided access to the various panels and ducts above, presumably for repairs to the hab itself. All around the walls were empty racks where there usually would have been a plethora of mining tools, environmental suits, helmets, and safety cables. There were a few pieces of discarded equipment strewn about the floor, but the majority of the hardware that would be present in a functioning mining compound was nowhere to be seen.
“This is strange. I understand the tunnels being cut off from central power, but most of these hab units have internal generators and backup generators,” Samuel observed as he and Mag moved deeper into the building, “Circumstance can knock out the internals, like an earthquake or explosion, whatever, but those backup generators are on a self-contained grid, the only way to shut them down would be manually.”
“What about all the missing hardware?” queried Mag as she pushed deeper into the room, “I’m looking for the exit. Do a sight sweep of those catwalks, I don’t want one of those things coming down on my head.”
“The hardware being gone could mean that the bulk of the workforce were in the tunnels and on shift during the event,” said Samuel as he tracked his light over the catwalks, noticing a panel that had been ripped open to reveal the ductwork above. “So, if it was a gas pocket explosion that would explain at least the missing hardware and the internal power being down, mordite gas is rather volatile.”