Aftershock Page 12

  They passed under the linkway on the ground floor level between Domes Alpha and Beta. The linkway looked virtually untouched, the curved glass panels unscathed. The universal dock came into view as they turned towards the west and the lowest level of Alpha.

  At first, the image was unclear. Then they realised the impression they had of the structural integrity of this part of the hotel had been overly optimistic. The linkway had not be compromised, but from where they were now positioned, Mai and Pete could see that a huge metal strut had come loose from the ground floor. It was one of four supporting beams that held up the linkway. The beam weighed more than 3 tonnes. At the linkway end it was hanging by a perilously small strip of twisted rivets. The bottom end of the beam had come to rest against the ocean floor, blocking the door to the universal dock. Any attempt to move it would bring the linkway crashing down.

  ‘Damn it!’ Mai exclaimed. ‘I guess it’s back to the first dock. It’s our only hope.’

  29

  Gobi Desert, China

  ‘Warning. Warning. Structural integrity at 5 per cent. Warning. Warning.’

  The sound resonated around the cockpit of the Silverback at ear-splitting volume. But to Steph, it was little more than a whisper, a distant voice calling to her through a dense fog. She could see a light ahead, the welcoming glow of a cottage nestled in the woods. She could smell freshly baked bread. But then the cottage burst into flames and a red glow filled her vision.

  Steph came to as hungry flames licked at her arm. She screamed, uncomprehending. She slapped at the flames along her arm, then reached for the control panel. It was shattered, a complete mess. When she tried turning to her left, a sharp pain shot down her neck and along her spine. The cockpit was beginning to fill with smoke.

  ‘Warning. Warning. Life support failing. Structural integrity 4.5 per cent.’ No longer a whisper, the computer’s emergency alarm yelled at her.

  Quelling the rising panic, Steph hit the canopy lock at her side. Nothing happened. She hit it again, harder, and there came a high-pitched whistle from deep inside the plane. She slammed her hand against the canopy and felt it move. It was only then she realised it had cracked. With lightning speed, she unbuckled herself. Stretching up, she found the opening in the canopy and pushed her fingers between the sheets of carboglass. The sharp edges cut into her and she pulled her fingers away quickly. Looking down at her cybersuit she could see there were great rips in the fabric. A flap of material hung loose at her left wrist. She pulled at it and it came away. Then, not pausing for a second, she wrapped the cloth around her right hand and pushed back on the edge of the canopy. It was stuck fast. Taking a deep breath, Steph heaved at it with all her strength until it gave, suddenly, yawing up on a single buckled hinge.

  Sticking her head above the edge of the cockpit, she saw a world that looked like an abstract painting. The plane was cast in an orange glow, but beyond this lay absolute blackness. The Silverback was tilted to starboard. Its nose was buried, or torn off – it was hard to tell in the umbra. Both wings had been ripped away and a fire raged at the rear of the wrecked plane.

  ‘Warning. Warning. Structural integrity 4 per cent.’

  Steph scrambled out of the cockpit, pulling herself up onto the rim. Then she crawled forward to the pilot’s compartment. The canopy had been ripped away and a terrible jolt of fear hit her. She could see nothing in the dull orange murk. Pulling herself along the hot metal of the plane, she reached the jagged edge of the pilot’s compartment on the port side. Barely thinking, she stabbed at the controls on the wrist of the cybersuit. Nothing would be working normally of course, but after the team’s first mission at the California Conference Center in Los Angeles, their suits had been modified. An emergency backup system would kick in if the link to Base One was interrupted. It provided them with only a rudimentary internal network, but it could mean the difference between life and death.

  To Steph’s huge relief, the emergency backup stuttered to life, a dull glow came from the miniature screen at her wrist. She tapped the screen and her helmet light came on. The beam was a sickly pale lemon, but as she moved her head, light fell across the cockpit and she could see Josh, his head down on the control panel, his arms limp at his sides.

  ‘Josh!’ Steph screamed. ‘Josh!’

  No reaction.

  Steph ran her hand along Josh’s neck, searching for a pulse. She found it. It was steady. She leaned in and tried to lift him under the arms, but he was stuck fast. Then she realised he was still buckled in. She leaned into the cockpit as far as she could and just reached the buckle with the tips of her fingers. Straining forward, she caught the release button on the restraint and the straps snapped apart. She pulled Josh back against the seat and levered her hands under his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she yanked at him, but he was too heavy.

  ‘Josh. Josh. You have to wake up. Josh!’

  Nothing.

  She steadied herself by gripping the edge of the cockpit with her left hand and slapped Josh with her right. His face lolled right, then left. But he was still unconscious.

  ‘Josh!’ Steph screamed and shook him. ‘Wake up!’

  Nothing.

  ‘Warning. Warning. Rear hull temperature at critical. Eject! Eject!’

  Steph was oblivious to the irony. She wasn’t even listening.

  She bunched her right fist and slammed it into Josh’s jaw. Wincing as the shock of impact rippled up her arm, she slumped forward, tears welling in her eyes.

  ‘Josh ... please.’

  She closed her eyes, her cheek against the rough fabric of his shredded cybersuit.

  ‘Yeah? What is it, Steph?’

  Steph lifted her head, stunned. She stared at Josh in disbelief. His eyes were closed. He smacked his lips and smiled as though he was having a pleasant dream.

  Steph shook him and he opened his eyes. ‘Get out of the plane, Josh. NOW!’

  The smile vanished from Josh’s face as he realised the cold reality of the situation. Then his eyes glazed over, his face contorted, and a wave of anguish shuddered across his features as the pain hit.

  Steph couldn’t give him a second to think. She pulled at him. ‘GET OUT,’ she shrieked. ‘FOR GOD’S SAKE...!’

  Josh pushed upwards and screamed. But he kept going. With a gargantuan effort, he made it to the edge of the canopy. Steph slithered down the side of the fuselage, pulling Josh with her.

  ‘Warning. Warning. Structural integrity 1 per cent. Eject. Eject.’

  Steph reached the sand a few seconds before Josh and tried to grab him around the waist. He reached the ground and collapsed. Steph’s helmet light cast a sorrowful circle of orange onto the carpet of sand. Josh fell out of the light, and for a fleeting moment, he simply vanished.

  ‘It’s my right leg,’ he said. ‘Broken.’

  She looked down, but could see almost nothing in the sallow helmet beam. She pulled herself up and under Josh’s shoulder. ‘Lean your weight on me,’ she hissed, taking the strain and feeling every bone in her body scream at her. Finding strength she never knew she had, she managed to drag Josh’s 110-kilo limp form 70 metres away from the plane.

  When the explosion came, Steph felt the heat first; a scorching blast of hot air hit her back and seemed to envelop her like a shroud. Then came the sound – a gut-wrenching roar. She fell forward with Josh beneath her and heard him scream as her weight crushed his broken leg. Hot air whooshed over them. Steph tucked her head down and protected Josh as best she could, willing the pulsating heat and the ear-splitting noise to stop. But every second seemed to stretch to a minute ... she felt trapped in a universe of thunder, heat and intense pain.

  30

  When Steph woke it was pitch black and freezing cold. The material of the destroyed plane was fire-retardant, so even though it had been blown into hundreds of pieces, those pieces did not burn for long. The insipid red of combusting fuselage had been snuffed out. So too had the beam from her helmet light. The battery only lasted an ho
ur.

  She pulled herself up, shivering, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she could make out shapes. Josh’s prone form in the gritty sand, pieces of ripped cybersuit and, eventually, her emergency backup belt, a sort of bum bag that was always worn over the cybersuit. It was a throwback, but another smart idea of Mark Harrison’s from the earliest design days.

  Steph grasped the belt and pulled it towards her. Inside was a Swiss Army knife, a box of matches, a whistle and a pocket torch. She flicked on the torch and swept it around her. Crouching down, she turned Josh over, dreading the worst. She felt for his pulse.

  ‘Josh?’ She shook him.

  He opened his eyes. ‘What the hell’s...?’

  ‘We crashed ... remember? You hijacked Paul. If you weren’t injured and I wasn’t a doctor, I’d smash your face in.’

  He raised his eyebrows and let out a heavy sigh. Then he tried to move and cried out in pain.

  Steph turned the beam to his leg. With expert fingers she gently prised away some of the fabric of the suit. His knee was a mess, bones protruded from ripped skin, blood had congealed around the wound. ‘Looks like you’ve fractured your patella.’

  ‘And no nanobots.’

  ‘Not sure. They’re integrated into the suits, remember.’

  ‘Painkillers? They would be cool.’ He winced.

  ‘Let me see your wrist monitor.’

  Josh lifted his left arm, trying to move as little as possible. Steph tapped at the screen, but it was dead. She checked her own wrist. It produced a pale blue light. ‘Hang on,’ she said, and scrolled through the information on the screen. ‘Some systems are working. And, yes ... I have signal transmission capacity over short distances. Which means...’ she tapped a couple more times. ‘I can instruct your suit to release the good stuff. There ... it’ll take a few seconds.’

  ‘What about you, Steph? You hurt?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, and for the first time realised just how fortunate she had been. She felt as though she had gone 10 rounds with a prize fighter and she was covered in cuts and bruises – but nothing serious.

  She helped Josh remove his backpack, a unit only a couple of centimetres thick made from almost weightless carbon-iridium fibres. It was used in emergency situations to supply oxygen for up to 24 hours. It contained a chamber adjoined to the oxygen production tank which provided enough water and essential nutrients for a week. She placed the pack on the ground and helped Josh lie back with his head on the pack. He yelped in pain as his knee twisted, and Steph could see in the pale torchlight that his forehead was beaded in sweat.

  ‘Wow,’ Josh said as the painkillers kicked in. ‘That’s much better. Thank God for technology, eh?’

  ‘Okay. Assessment,’ Steph said. ‘One: where are we?’

  ‘What was the last position you recorded?’ He sounded exhausted.

  A glance at her wrist monitor told Steph where they had been when the CyberLink between the plane and her suit snapped: 117.45°E, 43.66°N.

  ‘Well, we can’t be too far from there. Not that it means much.’

  ‘We have no comms. It looks like your suit is completely inoperable. Mine has limited capacity.’

  ‘I’m freezing,’ Josh said. The cold had only really hit him now the pain had been chemically dampened.

  ‘Me too. The thermal regulators are offline and the internal temperature controls are obviously damaged in both suits.’

  Steph tried the water tube connected to her backpack. It was fine. She tapped her wrist to see what the situation was with the emergency nutrients, only to find that the connection to her suit had been broken. She leaned over to test Josh’s emergency water and nutrient tubes. They were dead. ‘Okay, we’ve got water from my pack, but no nutrients.’

  ‘The first priority is getting warm,’ Josh responded and shivered. He looked up at the black sky. ‘What time is it?’

  Steph glanced at her watch. ‘19.33 local time.’

  ‘It’s going to get a lot colder.’

  Steph simply nodded. She stood up and started scrambling in the sand.

  ‘What you doing?’

  ‘Basic survival, Josh. Remember Course 46? Surely you couldn’t have forgotten that!’

  ‘No.’

  Steph clawed at the sand and began piling it onto Josh’s body. ‘It’ll conserve the little body heat you have,’ she said.

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I’m going to do a reccie while the torch lasts. See what I can find.’

  A few moments later, Josh was covered from neck to toe in a mound of gritty sand. Steph crouched down beside his head. ‘Here,’ she said, plucking up a couple of scraps of cybersuit material and placing them over Josh’s head, leaving his eyes, ears and mouth exposed. ‘You can lose over 50 per cent of body heat through your head.’

  ‘I know,’ Josh replied testily. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so vulnerable ... or so humiliated.’

  ‘Oh shut up! I still haven’t ruled out leaving you there after what you did,’ Steph retorted. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know it.’

  31

  The torch was weak, but its narrow beam lit up a surprisingly large area in the pitch darkness. Steph could smell burning plastic and rubber and followed her nose. The first thing she found was a Maxinium panel. The metal was almost untouched but it had been sheared from the plane along a join. Close by lay a chunk of carboglass, a piece of Silverback canopy. As she walked on she found more and more pieces of plane, modules with wires protruding, pieces of the plastic consoles, engine parts still smouldering in the sand. Then, she caught a flash of red.

  She extinguished the torch. It was hard to tell how far away the fire was, but it was definitely fire. She flicked the torch on again and picked her way through the debris, sweeping the beam to left and right as she went.

  The fire was small, enclosed in a bowl-shaped piece of Maxinium containing aviation fuel. Some flammable parts of the Silverback’s interior had fallen into the liquid and kept the fire burning. It stank and Steph was forced to keep her free hand over her mouth. The flame would not last long – the fuel had almost gone and the flammable materials were almost used up.

  Steph moved the torch around in a regular search pattern, scanning the sand for anything she could use to keep the fire going. There was nothing but lumps of twisted metal, electrical components and featureless plastic sheets. Widening the search, she paced out a square with the burning debris at the epicentre.

  When she found it, she almost fell over it – a dried out shrub, a sagebrush perished in the cold. It was a rather pathetic specimen, little more than a bunch of tendrils sprouting from a central stem. It was about half a metre tall with a spindly trunk. She crouched down and yanked at the dead plant. It was stuck fast: ‘Yep ... roots have to go deep in a desert,’ she said aloud.

  After a second failed attempt, she sat back in the sand and took a deep exhausted breath. Unzipping her backup belt, she pulled out the Swiss Army knife, opened the blade and attacked the trunk of the dead plant, hacking at it with all the energy she could muster. The knife cut through the dry wood with surprising ease and she pulled the plant away.

  Back at the burning wreckage, she snapped a large desiccated branch away from the trunk of the shrub and tossed it into the last of the burning fuel. It caught immediately, red tracers slithering along the dead fingers of wood. Steph then added three more pieces, and gradually, the area around her began to lighten. She flicked off her torch and tucked it into her backup belt. At the edge of the pool of light, she could see dozens of dead plants similar to the one she had just incinerated.

  Thrusting a branch into the fuel, she held it above her head, and set off to explore the area. She followed a square search pattern as she had done before. This served two purposes. It would allow her to know where she was in the dim light, and it ensured she missed nothing.

  Most of the wreckage was useless, but there were a few things that could mean the difference betw
een life and death for her and Josh. Sheets of plastic for building a shelter, lengths of cabling and wires from the complex electrical systems of the Silverback that could be used as binding. But what she really wanted was a working radio or even one of the emergency beacons. She knew these were stowed in a specially constructed Maxinium box in the main body of the plane immediately beneath the cockpit. The trouble was, the wreckage from Paul was probably scattered for hundreds of metres around. The chances of finding a beacon were not good.

  She gave it 10 minutes and decided she had to get back to Josh. Returning to the small fire she had nurtured, she threw the last twigs from the dead plant onto the pyre and ran over to where the other dried out shrubs stood. Five minutes later, she was back at the fire clutching two more bundles of dried wood. She threw a few branches onto the fire for good measure then, crouching down, she used some of the electrical cabling she had found to bind together the remaining branches. Using the last piece of wire, she tied it to the binding, made a loop at the other end, and with a blazing branch in her left hand, she dragged the wood across the sand, heading back towards her team mate.

  The exertion of pulling along the bundle of wood started to warm her up, but she began to sweat and this cooled her down again. Her damaged suit clung to her and she shivered as she strode on. She had to get back and build a fire as soon as possible, or they would both die of hypothermia.

  After a few minutes, the patch of light from the burning branch lit up a familiar rock formation and she knew she was almost back where she had left Josh. She lowered the branch to cast light onto the ground immediately ahead of her. Two steps on, and she glimpsed the mound of sand she had made 20 minutes earlier. But it looked different. Moving the flaming torch a little way to her left, she checked to see how Josh was doing.

  Jolting backward, she almost dropped the branch. He had gone.