BattleTech: Ghost Bear's Lament (Part One) by Steven Mohan Jr

Author:Steven Mohan Jr.
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2012-02-13T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Richard pried open a hatch and peered into the darkness beyond. He found himself looking into a black tunnel that dropped straight down into the body of the DropShip like a mine shaft sunk into the earth. Whatever disaster had befallen the Sharp Claw, it had cut off all power to this portion of the vessel.

He shone his flashlight into the long, dark hole. Richard was looking down in a passageway turned over on its side. The corridor extended six or seven meters down into the ship, dead ending into a bulkhead and a spacetight hatch. The hatch was a piece of steel plate half a centimeter thick, painted gray and fitted with a rubber gasket to maintain an airtight seal.

Except this hatch was bent and twisted like a potato chip. “Stravag,” he whispered. He played his light across the bulkhead, looking for clues to what had damaged the hatch. What he saw drew a gasp from him. It was not only the hatch that was warped.

But also the bulkhead the hatch was set in.

What had could have done that to the entire bulkhead? Richard did not know. The Great Father help him, he did not know.

But he was going to find out.

Richard played the flashlight over what should have been the passage’s deck. The beam revealed the dull gray of steel loops embedded in the tiles, spaced a meter apart. They were meant to be used as footholds (or handholds) in zero gee. But in this strange sideways acceleration they would serve perfectly well as a makeshift ladder.

Lowering his body into the shaft, he searched for one of the footholds with his toe. When he found it, he hauled the body bag down with one hand and closed the hatch with the other. He quickly climbed down into the passage.

When he reached the bottom he knelt down and touched the hatch. The steel surface was bitterly cold and slick with condensation. In the cargo deck he had battled fire.

Here he would contend with ice.

“Vacuum,” he whispered.

If the ’Mech Bay had suffered a breach, then opening the hatch would expose him to micropressure and freezing cold. He had salvaged an emergency pressure suit from a passageway locker. The emergency suit would give him thirty minutes of air and protect him from the low pressure. But eventually the cold would seep in. And he was stepping into a space that had to be as torn up as the cargo hold.

If he were to rip his suit on a jagged piece of metal…

What he was doing was perilously close to suicide. And he did not have to do it. He could turn around and go back. No one would question his decision. For a moment, he almost turned to climb back up the corridor.

And then he remembered those eyes looking into his, those blue, blue eyes.

Corinne!

He reached for the door’s long striker arm. How strange that this should be the instrument of his death, a slender rod of steel painted haze-gray.

He pulled it off the striker plate.

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