Aftershock (11 page)

Michael Xavier peered through the gloom towards the east of the ballroom and pulled himself up onto a pile of rubble that had completely blocked the path to the emergency stairs. He slipped and almost went over. Bandonis, the engineer, just caught him. ‘Thanks,' he said.

Michael was about to take a step forward when Bandonis grabbed his shoulder. ‘Stop.'

‘What?'

‘An electric hum.'

‘I can't hear ... Yeah, there,' Johnny Xavier said as Bandonis descended the slope the other side of the pile of rubble. Xavier and the security man, Craig Deloray, watched as Bandonis bent down to an electrical cable. It was thrashing around like an angry snake. He grabbed it a foot from the live end and pulled it back, extracting a length of black plastic from the loose top layer of rubble. When it was a safe distance away, he lowered it to the ground, pinned it with a boulder and headed back up the slope. ‘Nasty,' he said, reaching the others.

Beyond the pile of rubble, the area was clearer, with patches of floor just visible in the dim emergency lights.

‘The stairs are straight ahead,' Michael said and led the others on. All around them, dust was falling like snow, and a constant creaking sound came from the outer rim of the ballroom. The infrastructure was groaning and straining.

They reached the door to the stairwell. It was different to the open one in the west of the dome. A narrow bridge crossed the pool on the edge of the dome. On the far side, close to the huge expanse of glass, a passage fell away to an access door 2 metres below floor level. Across the door were the words: ‘EMERGENCY STAIRS'.

Michael tried the handle. It turned. He pushed. Nothing. The door would not move a millimetre. ‘Help me,' he said to his brother. The two of them leaned on the door. Nothing. Michael ran at the door but only succeeded in bashing his shoulder. He yelped as pain shot up his neck and through his damaged ribcage.

‘It's hopeless,' Johnny Xavier gasped. He looked defeated.

‘Rubbish,' Michael snapped back. ‘Miguel, Craig. Let's try again.' The three of them squeezed together across the width of the door and leaned their combined weight against it. They stopped to take a breath, then pushed again. It was obviously impossible. Whatever was behind the door was huge and heavy. They would never get it to open.

‘Oh, great!' Johnny exclaimed. ‘Told you it was hopeless.'

Craig Deloray looked away and sighed. Michael Xavier studiously ignored his brother, but Miguel Bandonis was suddenly brimming over with rage.

‘Is that all you can say?' he exclaimed. ‘Told you so!'

Johnny gave the man a contemptuous look. ‘Why? You have some words of wisdom for us?'

The engineer was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘This is
your
fault.'

Michael Xavier and Craig Deloray stared at him. Johnny gazed down at the ground, grinding his teeth, his mouth clamped shut. He looked up, glaring at Bandonis.

Unflinching, Bandonis met Xavier's eyes. He knew his chances of getting out of this place alive were slender. He did not want to die still complicit in Xavier's crimes.

‘What do you mean, Miguel?' Michael asked calmly, looking from his brother to the other man.

‘Your brother here decided to cut back on the budget. He slashed the sensor numbers for the electronic units in Dome Alpha by two-thirds. We had a small fire in service conduit Number 6 earlier this evening. It shouldn't have caused any trouble, but obviously it wasn't picked up. No sensors in the unit, see.'

‘But that's impossible,' Michael said, glaring at Bandonis. ‘I've seen the inventories and the audits. Everything tallies.'

‘He fixed it,' Bandonis hissed, nodding towards Johnny Xavier. ‘Two inventories, two audits.'

‘But ... but, why?'

‘He's lying, Mike.'

‘It's the truth,' Bandonis snapped back. ‘I've seen the cuts everywhere. The sensors are just one example. He pulled a lot of the fire retardant insulation, the communications net to the surface is compromised. And,' Bandonis concluded, with a new edge of disgust in his voice, ‘... at least two of the emergency subs are duds.'

‘It's a lie!' Johnny Xavier exclaimed, and without warning he charged at the engineer, his eyes ablaze.

Bandonis was short, but exceptionally strong. He had also spent five years studying karate. As Johnny Xavier's fist flew towards his face, he dodged it and caught the man's arm, twisted it behind him, span him round and smashed his fist into the small of his back. Johnny crumpled. In a flash, Bandonis had his foot on Xavier's throat.

‘Enough,' Michael barked and Bandonis reluctantly took his foot away.

Johnny staggered to his feet, rubbing his neck and gasping. Standing upright, he refused to look at the engineer.

Michael turned to his brother. ‘Others had hinted at this,' he said. ‘But I didn't believe them.'

‘Oh come on, Mike.'

Michael Xavier had his hand up. ‘Don't ... don't.' For a moment, the older Xavier looked incredibly sad. ‘I just hope you realise what you've done, Johnny.'

‘I did not...'

With astonishing speed, Michael's left hand flew out and grabbed his brother by the throat.

Johnny froze. He had never seen his brother do anything remotely like this before. No one had. He was always such a placid, level-headed man. Michael's face was distorted by fury. Then he too froze, almost as though a shock had passed through him. ‘We'll discuss this if we ever get out of here alive,' he spat. And Miguel and Craig could see the older Xavier's fingers whiten as his grip tightened about Johnny's throat. For the second time in a minute, Johnny was choking, his face darkening. Then Michael let his hand fall. He stepped back, turned, and without a word headed towards the small group of survivors gathered close to the centre of the ballroom.

The Big Mac floated stationary, directly above the Neptune Hotel. Mai and Pete had just left the flight deck to suit up when the comms sounded. Mark was sitting at the main control panel and looked up as Tom's face appeared on the screen in front of him.

‘Tom. What's happenin'?'

‘I don't want to worry anyone unduly, but we have a problem.'

Mark stared at him, saying nothing.

‘Josh and Steph haven't made their last two designated call-ins.'

Mark looked down at the control panel and ran a hand over his cropped hair. ‘You checked with BigEye?'

‘No sign of them. The last comm was from Josh a while after taking off from Polar Base. He sent through their flight plan. That was almost an hour ago.'

‘And the flight plan was pretty clear?'

‘Yeah. What you'd expect – a course almost directly east and then south, avoiding anything controversial.'

Mark stared at the flight plan Tom had sent over and ran calculations through his head. ‘I take it Josh was flying.'

‘Yep.'

Mark sighed. ‘You thinking what I'm thinking?'

‘Probably, dude.'

Mark sighed again, heavily, then brought his hand down hard on the plastic panel, making Tom flinch. ‘Fantastic, Josh. Thanks buddy.'

‘That might be jumping to conclusions.'

‘Bullshit.'

Tom fell silent.

‘Could they be deliberately blocking the BigEye's detection frequencies? Trying to play hide-and-seek to stop us realising what damn fools they're being?'

Tom looked surprised. ‘It's possible, I guess. But there's one other thing you should know, Mark.'

The team leader looked into Tom's face.

‘I've lost their life signs. At best, their cybersuits are down.'

The
Narcis
and its twin, the
Drebbel
, were submarines like no other. In the days of E-Force's conception, when Mark Harrison had sat down with a team of engineers and designers from CARPA and thrashed out what would be needed by a rescue team, a super sub was close to the top of the wish list. After all, it made sense. The earth's surface is 71 per cent ocean, so there was a strong possibility the team would have to make underwater rescues pretty frequently.

The
Narcis,
sitting closest to the exit of the cargo bay in the bowels of the Big Mac, was named after the man who built the first submarine – the Catalan engineer and political radical, Narcis Monturiol. Twenty-five metres in length, it could carry a crew of six and, in an emergency, transport 23 passengers. However, if required, it could also be operated by a single submariner. Nuclear powered, the
Narcis
had a top speed of over 100 knots and could stay submerged indefinitely. It was incredibly manoeuvrable, and thanks to the carbonanotubes used in the honeycomb structure of its hull, the sub was capable of descending 4000 metres beneath the surface. It was transported in the cavernous hold of the Big Mac and was now poised, ready for launch.

Mai was in the pilot seat, Pete in the navigator's station beside her. The control modules of the
Narcis
were similar to those of the Silverbacks and the Big Mac. In front of Mai and Pete stood two long plastic panels. There were no switches or dials on the modules, just shifting patterns of light. Numbers and symbols flashed across the surface. In front of the pilot and navigator was a large holographic projection unit which produced a high-definition 3D image that floated above the control module. On the front wall, a screen projected images of the outside of the submarine taken from a dozen different microcameras dotted around the hull of the craft.

Mai ran her fingers over the guidance module, making last-minute checks. When she was satisfied, she glanced up at the screen. ‘All systems green,' she said.

‘Copy that, Mai,' Mark said from the flight deck of the Big Mac and he instructed the computer to open the main exit to the cargo hold.

Mai and Pete watched as the huge steel door lowered outwards slowly, forming a ramp from the end of the aircraft to the surface of the water. The submarine stood on a mechanical sled. Mai touched the controls and it began to slide forward, picking up speed as it went. In a moment, the
Narcis
reached the end of the ramp and slid smoothly into the water. Mai glided the sub into a sharp descent and made a quarter turn to bring it onto the pre-designated course to the hotel.

‘ETA 83 seconds,' Mai announced. ‘I'm going to take her straight down to Dome Alpha. Any updates from the Hunter, Mark?'

‘The docking bay at the base of Alpha is pretty badly damaged. The sensors on the Hunter haven't managed to get a clear image because the water is churned up and the dock has been covered with debris and sediment. But you couldn't have used it anyway.'

‘Why?'

As an answer, he sent over a schematic of the hotel. ‘Close in on the dock,' he said.

Mai honed in on the lowest level of Dome Alpha, the docking bay. Pete came and stood beside her chair. She adjusted some controls and the 2D schematic was transferred to the holoscreen. It appeared as a set of green lines and shaded areas. They could both see that the door to the outer lock opened into a large cylindrical passage.

‘Specially designed submarines from Suva travel through the doors into the opening,' Mark said. ‘The outer door closes and the pressure differential is adjusted. A second docking station extends out from the far wall of the cylinder and hooks up with the nose of the sub. Passengers emerge through a short passageway into a pressurised inner lock. From there, an elevator takes them to the ground floor of Alpha and on to Reception. So, the dock is useless,' he concluded. ‘It's all been designed to operate only with compatible components.'

Pete and Mai stared in silence at the image on the screen. Then Mai said, ‘There must be a universal dock ... in case of emergencies.'

‘There is,' Mark responded. ‘It's round the other side of the dome under the linkway to Beta. Head straight there. It's your best chance of getting into the hotel.'

For the next minute there was silence over the comms. Then Pete's voice cut through. ‘We're at 96 metres, Mark,' he said. ‘Heading south towards the linkway. We have a visual.'

On the screen, the lumpy, distorted shape of the hotel came into view.

‘Taking us into grid ref 88976,' Pete said, his eyes darting over the control panel. He made minor adjustments to their course, then studied the screen again, watching as the hotel filled the view.

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.'

‘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.