Copperhead Road - The Oracle II
15 Dec 2017Commander-Wingnut
I'm in hell.Sweet merciful Sagittarius, I'm actually in hell.
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Federation mechanic Frank Gaunt was, like most spacers, not a very religious man. When even the most common citizen had the opportunity to traverse the stars and see with his own eyes - or eye, as was his particular case - how the universe really worked, there was not that much room for God in his life.
He was not the only one. This, curiously, had the effect of bringing a peace and dignity to life, the likes of which was difficult to imagine in the tumultuous times of 21st century Earth.
Not to say that faith was extinct, it had merely reshaped itself over the past several centuries into a new form of pragmatic realism.
But today, even that sort of faith was nowhere to be found.
Gaunt was, when the Beluga slammed into Pad 44, helping rush stretchers laden with the broken and injured into the hangar bay below it. The floor heaved under his feet, and he was bucked against the door. Stars flashed behind his eyes as he rolled onto his back and blinked.
Once the flashing had faded, Gaunt scrambled to his feet and rushed to help the rescue team collect the screaming man who had been spilled unceremoniously onto the floor. Helmets snapped into place automatically as the atmosphere began to vent from Outfitting 44. Cracks rendered themselves through the ceiling.
With a piercing screech, several girder-sized pylons punched through the blast doors above the occupants. They speared through, and pieces of a very large ship began to spill through.
The tremors were not stopping. With a dramatic crash, a massive hull-grade plate fell through and embedded itself into the hangar floor.
On it was stencilled the words "Pad 16."
I'm in hell.
I'm in hell.
I'm in hell.
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"The ramp!" bellowed Coordinator Therese Kennedy (AEGIS Research) through the silvered faceplate of her helmet. "We have to get up there before the rest of this place blows in!"
"You're fucking insane!" cried out Gaunt. "It's an oven up there, Kennedy. You can't seriously expect us to wait for the next pickup, we'll be dead in five minutes!"
As if on cue, the shattered blast door from Pad 16 fell over and shook the deck of Hangar 44, sending the medics staggering. Air continued to bleed out, the roar intensifying. It was getting harder to stay upright.
The woman turned, her voice almost cracking with hopeless frustration. "WE ARE GOING TO BE DEAD IN TWO, IF WE STAY HERE!
Marines! We - are - LEAVING."
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When they reached the mouth of the ramp, they found the fire doors sealed. Swirling orange lights flashed the hallway, and through the three-inch Lexite viewports, there was nothing to see except the demonic red gas that now filled the Orbis Spaceport.
Something flashed twice, then twice again causing the viewports to blink a faintly pinkish white. It reminded Gaunt of lightning, or an electrical short.
"Great. Just fucking GREAT."
A sergeant on Kennedy's rescue team lowered his end of the stretcher. "Coordinator - I can override this and get us through."
"Don't. Not yet."
All eyes turned to Kennedy, save for the two casualties who had much bigger problems to focus on. Between the eight people present, not a word was said as they paused.
The only sounds were the tremors that rippled through the floor, and the muffled pandemonium upstairs. Ships were flitting in and out, jockeying for the precious few landing pads still operational.
"Gaunt's right. It's not just hot out there, it's boiling. Our pad is ruined - nobody's going to be landing there. And if we run across to 45 or 46, we'll all be cooked in our suits before we even reach the catwalk."
The sergeant flung his arms out. "We don't have any choice, Kennedy. What do you want us to do?"
"LET ME THINK!" she screamed. "JUST ... JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET ME THINK A MOMENT."
Another alarm began to sound, unlike anything they had heard before. Muffled by the bulkheads, it was a discordant, broken melody - less like a klaxon, and carried with it more the sound of an electronic bagpipe blowing a dirge.
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DOOOOOO-LOODLE-LOOO
LOODLE-LOODLE-LOOOO
DOOO DOOO LOOOOO
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"What the hell..." murmured the sergeant, "... is that sound supposed to be?"
A medic huffed, her transparent faceplate already coated with hot sweat. "Everything else is busted as fuck. Why wouldn't the alarm system be?"Gaunt's face, his bad eye and all, promptly lit up. He had heard that unforgettable sound once before.
"Get the door, Marine. The lady said we're leaving."
The lights changed from green to red as the cargo airlock announced the end of its depressurization cycle.
Kennedy's engineer grunted, freeing the hand crank, and began to pump it furiously. Everyone could feel raw, blistering heat begin to flow into the room, the red gas from out there quickly becoming the red gas in here.
The casualties were the first to begin complaining, urging Kennedy and the others to take them back to safety.
Gaunt surveyed the carnage - the amount of destruction was staggering. The ruined pieces of the Beluga stuck out from the remains of Pad 44, like the tail end of a frozen whale. It was as if a skyscraper had collapsed right in front of them.
The white light flashed again.
Blink-blink ... blink-blink ... blink-blink.
The alien-sounding alarm did not repeat itself. But Gaunt was certain he could hear the twanging of country music.
His suit's climate control, already overwhelmed, was losing its fight, and he could feel the sweat pouring down from his pits and back. If he didn't die from the heat first, there was a very good chance that Gaunt would drown in his own helmet.
For a moment, he just knew he'd made a fatal mistake.
Then what the medic had thought was a broken station announcer boomed again over the cacophony, and they knew they were listening to the recall beacon of the ship that suddenly burst into view around the side of the Beluga's wreckage. And Gaunt knew, just as surely, that they were going to make it out of this alive after all.
--:-:--
The noise of country music intensified as the Copperhead Road drew around and slowed to a hover at the edge of the pad. With its surface ruined, a touchdown wasn't going to happen. Instead, the cargo scoop flung open, and Gaunt could see a figure clad in yellow and brown, urgently waving him towards the ship. Her face was hidden behind a black, featureless helmet.
As soon as Gaunt heard the woman's voice, he knew it was NPC Britney Coffey, of the Chacobog Movement for Equality. What she was screaming at them was lost to the booming speakers on either side of her, but he needed no urging.
He knew who was piloting that ship now.
After Kennedy and her sergeant, he ran towards the brilliant white flashes of the Diamondback Explorer's strobe lights.
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WELL MY NAME'S JOHN LEE PETTIMORE ~
SAME AS MY DADDY AND HIS DADDY BEFORE
YOU HARDLY EVER SAW GRAND-DADDY ROUND HERE
HE ONLY COME TO TOWN ABOUT TWICE A YEAR