The Knights of the Black Earth (31 page)

“Uh, I don’t
suppose I could send Xris and Ito a message— something rude and crass. You
know. Between friends.”

Armstrong gave him
a cold look. “That’s strictly against regulations.”

“Sure, I know. It’s
just— Oh, hell. Never mind.”

Rowan walked off,
headed rearward for the shuttle bay.

I might have
figured Armstrong for a by-the-book bastard, Rowan thought. Probably all that
time at HQ. Must be something they put in the water.

He found the crew
chief inspecting the shuttle. The woman had a worried frown, was shaking her
head.

“How’s she look,
Chief?” Rowan asked.

“Well, sir, I’m
not certain. I
think
everything’s okay. It’s just that I’ve been locked
out of all of the maintenance routines on the onboard computer.”

“Did you ask
Armstrong?”

“He said that was
regulation—security purposes. I guess he doesn’t trust us. We’re on
your
side, you know.” The chief was angry, insulted.

That might be
regulation—Rowan wasn’t certain—but if so, it was a bit heavy-handed. He
reminded himself to have a little talk with Armstrong when they came back.
Regulations were fine, but they shouldn’t interfere with a good working
relationship with the ship’s crew. Rowan did his best to smooth things over.

“I’ve never flown
one of these new intrusion shuttles before, Chief. Very impressive. Would you
show me around?”

Two shuttlecraft
were docked in the bay. Somewhat mollified by his interest, the chief gave
Rowan a tour of the craft he would be flying, pointed out its significant
features.

Rowan listened
politely. He’d never flown an intrusion shuttle before, but he had studied them
extensively.

“Everything looks
okay to me, Chief. Including the computer.”

“I checked the
computer out before we left, sir.” The chief was still defensive. “It was
working fine then.”

“Then I’m certain
it’s working fine now. Don’t worry about Armstrong. He’s just been reassigned
from HQ. He’ll loosen up.”

“If you say so,
sir.”

The chief looked
doubtful, but she smiled and waved good-bye, headed back into the shuttle bay
control room.

Rowan boarded the
shuttle and moved to the cockpit. Shuttles were launched and recovered by
magnetic tractor beams. Unlike spaceplanes, shuttlecraft were not designed to
handle the tricky maneuvering required to land or take off from spacecraft. The
chief, on board the mother ship, was in control of the shuttlecraft during
launches and landings.

Rowan keyed the
commlink. “Sunray, this is Javelin. How are my comms? Over.”

Armstrong answered
from the mission control room. “Sunray here. All comms check out. Proceed with
your launch and descend to the moon’s surface. Sunray out.”

Rowan transferred
control of the shuttle to the crew chief for launch. The chief acknowledged and
started the suction pumps that removed the air from the shuttlecraft bay.

When hard vacuum
had been achieved, the shuttle bay doors opened. Magnetic tractor beams lifted
the shuttle off the deck. Slowly, it moved out into space. As the shuttle
cleared the bay, it was no longer in the ship’s artificial gravity environment,
and Rowan went weightless. His webbing held him in his seat, but he hated the
sensation. Spaceplanes and larger spaceships were equipped with artificial
gravity field generators. Shuttles were not. At least not the shuttles
purchased by the agency.

“Cheap bastards!”
Rowan muttered.

This won’t last
long, he told himself. When he drew near the moon, its gravity would begin to
take effect. Soon he’d be sitting in the pilot’s chair like a normal person,
not like some helium-filled balloon tethered to a string.

When the shuttle
was one thousand meters off the aft of the ship, the chief bid Rowan good-bye
and good luck.

“Sunray, this is
Javelin.” He reported in. “The shuttle is under my control, and I am beginning
my descent. Please feed the coordinates of the ground ops and the cipher key
for tactical communications into my nav computer.”

“Javelin, stand by
to receive ground ops coordinates and cipher key.”

Again, routine
procedure. The cipher key was the codes that would be used by the team during
the operation. For security reasons, the codes were changed on a daily basis
and were issued to the operatives immediately prior to the job. Xris and Ito
would have already received the day’s codes.

“Roger, Sunray.
Receiving ground ops data now. Thanks. Javelin out.”

The shuttle turned
in a graceful arc and headed for the thirteenth moon’s surface. Upon entering
the moon’s atmosphere, the shuttle encountered upper-level turbulence, began to
buck and rock—a most uncomfortable and unnerving experience. But at least now
the moon’s gravitational pull was compensating for the shuttle’s lack of
gravity. Rowan sank back down in his seat and felt better.

The descent was a
long and boring process. He had nothing to do. The computer would handle the
entry until the shuttle had dropped to the moon’s stratosphere, at which point
he would take over. Rowan sat back and played tourist, admiring the spectacular
view of the gas giant and its many moons. He kept his mind as empty as the
darkness around him, refusing to let anything intrude on the job at hand. He
was looking forward to seeing Xris and Ito, though. They’d be a bit leery of
him, but a handshake, a nod, a smile, and his friends would know he was back on
track.

“Entering the
stratosphere,” the computer reported.

“Taking over
manual control,” Rowan informed the computer, and began to line up with his
projected bearing of descent. He turned to the left.

The shuttle did
not.

Rowan checked his
instruments. They registered the correct turn, but the shuttle was flying in
the same direction, at the same angle of ingress.

“Computer, release
flight control to me.”

“Flight control is
already in pilot’s control.”

“Computer, your
systems registered a turn, but the shuttle has not turned. Explain.”

“Flight and
navigation computers have registered a turn of forty-one degrees. Your new
bearing is twenty-one degrees, angle of descent thirty-one degrees, speed of .
..”

Rowan didn’t need
to hear his speed, which was rapidly increasing. What the hell was wrong?

Nothing—according
to the computer.

“Computer, bring up
maintenance routine two-one—flight controls.”

A text message
flashed across the display console:
Access denied.

Rowan swore. The
shuttle was now nearing dangerous velocity. The hull temperature was rising due
to friction with the moon’s atmosphere.

“Computer, how
long until impact with the moon’s surface?”

“Four minutes
thirty-one seconds.”

The hull
temperature indicator continued to rise.

“How long until
hull has lost integrity?”

“Two minutes three
seconds.”

Rowan activated
the comm. “Sunray, this is Javelin. Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! My nav computer is
out and I can’t bring up the maintenance routines in order to correct it.
Manual is out. Please advise.”

No response. Only
static. The comm was working; no one was home.

“Damn it, Sunray!
Mayday! Mayday!
Where the hell are you?”

The static on the
line was now being drowned out by the rumble of the shuttle’s hull, creaking
with the stress of its accelerating descent.

I’ve been
locked out of all of the maintenance routines on the onboard computer.
The
chief’s voice echoed in Rowan’s mind.

Sabotage.
Deliberate sabotage. That was the only explanation. Someone wanted him dead.

Rowan took a deep
breath. He didn’t fight the instinct to panic; rather, he put panic to good
use, as he’d been trained—keep calm, use the adrenal rush to aid your thought
process. Unstrapping himself from the webbing, he left the cockpit and headed
for the rear compartment, grabbing his backpack on the way.

“Computer, give me
a time check every twenty seconds until hull degradation.”

He searched for,
quickly located the access panel to the maintenance computer.

“One minute forty
seconds until hull degradation.”

The bolts were
hand-fasteners, meant to come off quickly in case of emergency—such as this. He
yanked the panel free. The computer was a sealed unit, but it had a small
display screen and test points, allowing access for repairs.

“One minute twenty
seconds until hull degradation.”

Rowan opened the
backpack and dumped its contents on the deck. Grabbing his small handheld
computer, he attached leads to the test points, toggled the control switch from
voice to keyboard access, typed in a command.

The maintenance
computer remained blank for several seconds, then read:
Manual mode. Enter
command.

“One minute until
hull degradation.”

Rowan took a few
seconds to think. He had to assume that all high-level commands had been frozen
out by the saboteur. It was unlikely, however, that his killer would have
bothered—or maybe even thought about—freezing out low-level commands.

“Let’s try ‘self-test,’
“ Rowan said, typing in the commands.

The computer
started running its diagnostics procedure—which could take far longer than
Rowan had left to live. He stopped it.

“Reboot from
backup,” he ordered.

The system
hesitated, and then restarted.

“Forty seconds
until hull degradation.”

The maintenance
computer began loading its programming from stored backups.

Rowan cursed the
time that it took. He switched the computer to voice mode.

“Maintenance
computer, do you hear me?”

No response.

“Maintenance
computer! Wake the hell up!”

He’d done all he
could. A strange thought crossed his mind. Only a few days before, he had
seriously thought about killing himself. Now he was fighting desperately to
survive. It was as if God was teaching him a lesson.

“Twenty seconds until
hull degradation.”

“Come on, damn it!”
Rowan swore beneath his breath. Sweat poured off his body. It was hotter than
hell in the shuttlecraft.

And then the
maintenance computer’s display area lit up. “Successful reboot.”

Rowan could have
kissed it. “Maintenance computer, respond!”

“Maintenance here.
What’s the problem?” Even the voice was different from the voice of the flight
computer. These shuttle designers thought of everything.

“Maintenance
computer, the flight computer has malfunctioned. Pilot authorizes you to take
over flight control
now!”

“Maintenance
computer here. I have now taken over flight control.”

Rowan sighed in
relief. “Reduce shuttle speed to full stop and reduce rate of descent to ten
meters per second!”

Main engines cut.
Forward breaking thrusters fired. Inertial dampeners kicked in. Everything in
the compartment lurched forward. Rowan and all of his equipment slid across the
deck to the foot of the forward compartment bulkhead.

Bruised and
battered, he regained his feet, staggered across the listing deck to the
console.

The timer had
stopped.

“Good work,
maintenance,” Rowan said, hoping his thudding heartbeat would return to normal
sometime soon. “Restore all onboard computers to their original backup programs
and inform me when that is complete.”

Rowan switched to
the comm. “Sunray, this is Javelin. Do you read? Over.”

No response.

He sat and
thought. Someone had tried to kill him by locking him out of the computer. The
chief said the computer was fine when she checked it on the ground. Which meant
that the killer had tampered with the computer
after
the chief had
checked it.

Which meant the
killer was on board
Vigilance.
And either the killer had silenced
Armstrong or else ...

Good God! Xris and
Ito!

Whoever tried to
kill me wouldn’t be likely to stop there, Rowan realized. The only reason to
kill me is to halt this mission!

He had to warn
them, tried the frequency he’d been given.

“Delta One, this
is Javelin. Come in, Delta One.”

Nothing. No
response.

Rowan tried again
and again until at last he was trying only out of sheer frustration. Either he’d
been given the wrong cipher—Xris and Ito wouldn’t respond to anything except
the correct daily codes—or Rowan had been given the wrong coordinates. Or maybe
both. It was all starting to fit together. .. .

“Pilot, navigation
and flight computers have been restored.”

“Thank you,
maintenance. Return control back to the primary computers and maintain
surveillance of all computer activity. Tell me if any other nonstandard code
shows up.”

The restart of the
nav computer had wiped its short-term memory. The landing coordinates on TISor
13 were no longer displayed. The sensor array still held a fix on the mother
ship, however. Rowan had two choices. He go could on—not being certain where to
land or what to do after he landed. Or he could return to
Vigilance.
From there, he could obtain the correct frequencies and check the cipher codes,
get in touch with Xris.

And, hopefully,
find the bastard who’d done this. He headed back to the ship—as fast as the
shuttle would fly.

Vigilance
came into view, silhouetted against TISor’s sun. Lights were on, everything
looked normal.

“Shuttlecraft to
Vigilance.
Come in,
Vigilance.”

No response from
the bridge.

Why wasn’t he
surprised? His heart rate had slowed; now it was sinking.

The shuttle bay
was open, but no friendly tractor beams reached out to guide him inside.