Dreamspinner Page 3
‘Tearan Lindo. Unit 389C4. Alive.’
He read and re-read the message several times, not knowing how to process it in his mind. The first thing he felt sure of was that the message was not a normal part of the room’s decor. It was scrawled in what appeared to be marker pen, which told him whoever wrote it did so in a hurry. That word at the end gave him a feeling of fear. ‘Alive.’ A person would only write that if they wanted others to know they had survived something. That message conveyed the unspoken truth, ‘I survived something’. Mykus knew it meant that some sort of danger was present that needed to be survived, or not. That message was written by someone who felt it necessary to convey it, that others might want to know. More importantly to Mykus, it meant the possibility that whoever this Tearan Lindo was, he might still be alive. Racing back to the two engineering offices, he rummaged in a desk and grabbed a marker pen. He stood facing the message and for a moment was unsure how he should reply. His instinct was to scrawl a long message expressing his relief, introducing himself and asking to meet, but he decided to err on the side of caution and reply in a similar manner to the message Tearan Lindo had written.
‘Mykus Romin. Engineer. Alive.’ He stood back and regarded his reply. Tearan Lindo had kept his own message short and to the point and might appreciate a reply made in a similar manner. At the same time as relief flooded through him, Mykus registered a flutter of apprehension deep inside. The fact that Tearan Lindo had not made it clear where he was, nor had made his presence known in any other fashion, made him think about his situation in a new way. It was entirely possible that Tearan Lindo would know how this situation came about, why the ship should be so short of personnel and what form any danger took. There was also the possibility that he was the cause of whatever it was that brought Mykus here to this moment, afraid and unable to remember anything about himself other than a few basic facts. Mykus had not investigated the entire ship, the fact that the main engineering section was deserted told him something was very wrong, but now he questioned his decision to go on a ship wide search. Maybe Tearan Lindo knew something he did not; maybe that was why he was keeping his head down. Perhaps something awful had taken place, something that was still a danger.
Mykus allowed his mind to dwell on the possibility that violence had taken place and that more violence would be needed to ensure his survival. The thought horrified him and told him that whatever he had done with his life so far, he had not been the aggressive type. Lifting his arms, he flexed his muscles and dipped at the knees to get the feel of his own physical condition. He nodded appreciatively.
“I obviously work out regularly,” he muttered as he pushed up his shirt sleeve and examined his upper arm muscles. An exclamation of surprise and appreciation followed when he lifted his shirt to reveal a six-pack. “Wow.” This told him he no doubt had the ability to defend himself if need be, but deep within the void of his mind, something fluttered to life. This something was the inescapable conviction that he was not a fighter and if he were to put money on it, he would bet that violence scared him. Having changed his mind about searching the ship, he decided to return to deck five and make something to eat in the kitchen.
The silent corridor seemed somehow menacing now that Mykus knew someone else was aboard; the thought he might have been alone was frightening but in a different way. Now he had good reason to believe he was not the only person aboard, but he had no way of knowing if this Tearan Lindo would meet him with aggression or the open hand of friendship. If there was anything worse than being totally alone on a becalmed spaceship, it was sharing one with a violent maniac and of these two awful scenarios, Mykus preferred the thought of the former rather than the latter. Fear momentarily froze his feet to the floor as he left the main engineering section and entered the corridor down which he knew he had to travel in order to reach the stairs. After a moment’s hesitation, he cursed under his breath. “Oh for fuck’s sake I can’t stand here forever, I have to move. If I meet this Tearan Lindo, or anyone else, I’ll try to be friendly and smile a lot. I’m not armed so I’m obviously not a threat to anyone.” He strode down the corridor whistling a tune in an attempt at nonchalance, skipped down the stairs and headed for the kitchen.
The meat was pale in colour and delicately flavoured, and Mykus found he knew instinctively which of the herbs to use from the large selection in order to enhance the subtle taste of the meat. Other meats were available; the kitchen was very well stocked but he seemed to know the darker, richer meats would not please his palette. As he ate, he briefly wondered how many aspects of a man were so ingrained that they would survive amnesia. Had he always preferred the lighter flavoured meats to the richer ones, or was this something new now that his memory had been wiped and his palette was able to experience things afresh? The questions were put to the back of his mind. He was an engineer, his existence was concerned with things that can be measured and quantified. It was the solidly real and physical things he understood best, parameters that demanded exacting standards with no margins for error. He was a man of the physical, measurable world not the abstract. Philosophical things confused him, so he avoided them.
Once he finished eating, he sat down with a hot drink and contemplated on what he had discovered during his time in the engineering section and what it meant for his current situation. Although his investigation of the engine systems had not been thorough, he had so far found nothing obviously wrong to explain why the ship was becalmed. Many questions ran through his head as he thought about possible causes. Some were dismissed right away, others were unlikely but not impossible and still others were more likely. In the absence of anything else to do, he would put his engineering knowledge and skills to good use, try to discover why the ship’s engine was not working and if possible, fix it. Tearan Lindo could occupy himself with working out the cause of this weirdness, he thought.
Back in engineering, Mykus approached the wall and scratched his chin. Raising the marker pen he still kept in his pocket, he wrote down everything that might cause the engine to cease operating. The list was written in order of priority, with the most likely and probable causes higher than the more outlandish ones. After ten minutes of chin scratching, scrawling on the wall, rubbing out and rewriting, he stood back, satisfied. He was in his element and was pleased that he now had a plan of action he felt comfortable with and was confident of achieving. He would work his way down this first list from top to bottom and hope to find in which of the ship’s systems was the problem. Top of the list was to examine the body of the engine housing itself. Any tiny cracks or imperfections could prevent the gases within from behaving in the proper manner. Mykus knew this was the most likely cause, but he also knew that if this were the problem, he would be unable to fix it. There was no way the engine housing was repairable; such a problem always necessitated an entire engine replacement, which also meant a new gas system was needed. The green sludge that now lay within the current engine housing could not be used within a brand new one, even if one were available. To add to these problems was the fact that Mykus would be unable to replace the engine housing and gas supply alone. The twenty-foot high engine housing weighed several tons, and the procedure for attaching it was a delicate operation that demanded pinpoint accuracy. Make a microscopic mistake and the whole ship might blow apart.
A search of the engineering storeroom yielded the tools and safety equipment necessary for the job, and Mykus hummed as he stepped into the harness and tightened the straps. This job would normally be achieved with the aid of special computerised programmes and robotic apparatus, but since he had been unable to make any of the computer systems function beyond the ones that governed the life support systems, he would have to do the job manually. This meant an inch by inch examination of the engine housing using the special goggles, and he estimated the job would take three days to complete. Having such a long an engrossing task to complete meant that he would not have time to dwell on the strangeness of his situation, which would lessen t
he anxiety. While concentrating on the job, he would be unable to let his imagination run away with him. If anyone should turn up and question him, his delight at not being alone would allay any fear of discipline. With renewed determination, he climbed into the engine bay.
An hour and a half later, his concentration was interrupted by the distinct sound of gunfire from somewhere above. Having been so engrossed in his work, the sudden explosion of noise made him leap from the side of the engine housing and end up swinging from his harness in mid air. Gasping in fright, his arms and legs flailed as he scrabbled to grasp the engine housing. With both arms wrapped around one of the stanchions that fixed the housing into the engine bay, Mykus closed his eyes and listened to his heart thumping in his breast. For long moments, he did not know what to do, so he did nothing but hang onto the engine housing, his eyes darting around the room in fright. Another burst of gunfire almost made him fall from the housing again and he was grateful for the harness that prevented him from falling to his death. The silence in between the bursts of gunfire throbbed with menace and he found himself tensing as he waited for the next volley.
“Shit. Fuck,” he gasped in between the painful thuds in his chest as his heart hammered against his ribcage. Panic rippled through his empty mind and filled the aching void where memories and self knowledge should be with horrific imaginings. “What the fuck do I do? Oh shit, there’s a gun toting maniac after me. Oh help me, someone please.” Tears of panic sprang from his eyes, desperate sobs of terror wracked his body as he clung to the stanchion too terrified to move. The initial wave of panic was over quickly and in its wake came a moment of deadness in which he felt nothing but the cold knowledge that he must move. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he sniffed and took a moment to enjoy the afterglow left behind after blind panic.
Realising that whilst hanging by his harness from the engine housing, neither hiding nor investigating was possible, he forced himself to act and climbed down to floor level. After discarding the harness, he tip toed to the main door and pressed his ear to its surface. When the next volley came, he knew it was coming from above, so he opened the door enough to put his head out and look both ways down the corridor. Seeing no one, he wondered whether to go back down to deck five and hide in his room or venture upstairs and find out what was going on. With his initial panic now under some control, he was able to concentrate enough to notice that the gunfire came in volleys a minute or so apart. There was nothing haphazard about it, as one might expect in a gunfight. These shots came at regularly spaced intervals and they sounded like they all came from the same gun. Mykus had no memories of guns to call upon, but he knew somewhere deep within that guns all sound different. These sounded the same though and without warning, the thought leapt to the front of his mind.
“That’s not a gunfight, it’s one person firing off a gun. Like on a firing range or something. Maybe it’s a security guy practising his sharpshooting.” That sound might indicate someone in a position of authority with an explanation for the dead engine and lack of crew. Mykus leapt up the stairs to deck three with hope pounding afresh in his heart. Following the sound, he made his way down the corridor and stopped outside a door marked ‘Security.’ He knew the gunfire was coming from within, but did not know whether to walk in unannounced or knock. Deciding that it was probably sensible to be cautious, especially as he was unarmed, he waited until the current volley ended and knocked loudly. After what he estimated to be around half a minute and with no more gunfire evident from behind the closed door, Mykus knocked again.
“Hello. Hello, is someone there? Can you help me? Hello?” His calls went unanswered and he suddenly felt unsure about what he should do. Whoever was inside must have heard him calling, so why refuse to answer the door? He could tell him to get lost if necessary, but to deliberately not acknowledge him was strange and made Mykus think it was probably because whoever it was with the gun, was not someone he felt comfortable trusting. Suddenly regretting having announced his presence to someone who may very well be either aggressive or crazy or both, Mykus decided that no good ever came from trying to hide when another action is available. A crazy man with a gun in the relatively confined environment of a space ship was not something he could easily avoid anyway. A slot to the side of the door waited for a key card and he hesitated for no more than a moment. Fishing in his pocket, he found the key card for room eighty-eight in which he had woken up and slid it into the slot. To his complete surprise, he heard a click that told him the door had accepted the card and was now unlocked.
“Hello? Is someone there? I knocked but you didn’t hear me,” he called in his most friendly voice as he gently pushed the door open, his heart thumping in his chest. No answer came, so he pushed the door open and stepped through. He found himself in a reception area with a desk by the door, behind which were several large lockers that ran the whole length of one wall. Despite calling out several times, he got no reply and eventually plucked up the courage to investigate further. He found a small kitchen and dining area, several basic beds, gaming table, vidicom screen and through another door, a firing range. Fully expecting to find Tearan Lindo, he went in but the place was as deserted as everywhere else he had been so far. This was getting weirder by the second. He distinctly heard gunfire up until he was right outside the door and yet there was no one there. He yelled at the top of his voice, irritation over riding his fear and the silence that greeted him annoyed him.
“But there should be someone here, I heard the gunfire.” With a frown, he scratched his head and did another tour of the whole security complex but found no one. He opened all the closets and lockers, even knocked on the walls for hidden doors but found nothing. In a last ditch effort to find an explanation, he moved seating and tables in case they hid secret panels and examined the ceiling and floor for escape hatches. There was no way for anyone to get out without using the main door. Back in the firing range, he searched for traces of gunfire having taken place, but realising his knowledge of guns was either non existent or still well hidden within the fog of his amnesia, he was not sure what to look for. There was nothing that immediately announced recent gunfire having taken place, but he did not discount the possibility that whatever weapon had been used was one that left no obvious trace.
Nothing further was to be gained by remaining within security, so he retraced his steps and went back out into the corridor, having decided that while he was here he might as well investigate what else deck three had to offer. As he shut the door behind him, he glanced up at it.
‘Inter-Galactic Elite Command, Unit 389C4 Headquarters. T Lindo Commanding Officer.’
Registering the same name as in the message in the engineering briefing room, his frown deepened as he muttered to himself. “The Lindo guy again. Inter-Galactic Elite Command. That sounds official I guess. Maybe he’s the security around here and not a crazy after all.”
Next door was a briefing room, its drink and snack dispensers working perfectly, as were the ones down in Engineering and on deck five. Wandering on down the corridor, he came to another door.
‘Ballistics and Weapons Control – Authorised Personnel Only – passes must be shown.’
Inside the large room, Mykus found the computerised control centre for the ship’s weapons systems, the enormous power pack for the laser torpedoes stood silent, its darkened display panel telling him it was non-operational.
“I hope we don’t get set upon by pirates. With no weapons we haven’t a prayer.”
Next door was the main sensor array and he noticed that the ship had an impressive sensor system. Looking at it closely, he scratched his chin and frowned. The sensor system employed on this ship was of the type used by top-secret military reconnaissance ships, which meant this was not a low budget passenger liner he had woken up on. With a shrug of resignation, he left and continued down the corridor.
‘Life Support Control Centre.’
“I bet a hundred this is working,” he said aloud as he slapped the
touchpad and entered, no longer caring about whether anyone was around to object to his trespassing. The room contained one long panel of dials, switches, display screens, keypads, and data chip slots. On the wall above were maps of the various life support networks, the heating, water, air filtration, power, and lighting. The panel rang with beeps, buzzes, flickering lights, digital readouts, and displays. “I knew it. Everything necessary for life support is working, but the ship won’t move, we’ve no sensors, and no weapons. I’ll bet there’s no navigation or communications either.” Shaking his head in frustration, he left the room.
The last two rooms contained the gravity field generator and control, which was operational and seemed to be working perfectly and the main ship’s computer. This was partially working; registering all the life support systems but nothing else. Mykus stared at the banks of consoles and shook his head. This situation was getting more and more weird and each new piece of information just made it stranger than ever. Shaking his head to dispel the growing feeling of dread, he returned to Engineering and continued his inspection of the engine housing. He figured that until he knew for certain that there was not a problem with the engine or power system, he could not speculate on what might have happened to the ship. Another reason for wanting to get the ship’s main computer up and running was the hope that some of the crew had recorded logs of what was happening around them, which might explain their absence. Besides, it would give him something positive to do with his time. Keeping busy would help prevent him from dwelling on the fact that he had woken up alone on a strange spaceship with no memories other than his name, age, race, and occupation.
Four hours later, Mykus stepped out of the safety harness and pulled off the goggles. With his hands on his hips, he stretched his back and legs before walking over to a large expanse of wall with the marker pen.