Quoted By:
The engines hum rhythmically, filling the lower decks with their deep, bass lulling. Four chug merrily along under the watchful eye of engineers and marines, and fed steam produced by two large nuclear reactors. Those, you give a wide berth, even with assurances from both the marines and the staff that they’re contained. The latest in Babylonia’s scientific advances and rediscoveries.
Not quite close to the miniature fusion cores that power your PUEXO, but getting closer to those pre-Cataclysm technologies. Hence, the addition of a fuel tank. Even if you don’t see it, you can smell the strong stench of diesel throughout the fore-and-aft engine rooms. Hybrids, perhaps? Or backups in case the reactors go offline.
A fascinating question that you’ll have to ask someone later-
“Wait a moment.” You tap Jenkins on the shoulder.
The patrol stops halfway through the hallway. The lower decks are mostly empty, with most of the engineers off to lunch. Towards the bow of the ship, there’s a place a third from the front where the crew berths meet the fire rooms. Right now, it’s just you and Jenkins. Kwan took Halloway to keep an eye on things sternward.
“Something wrong?” the private asks.
“Is that door supposed to be open?”
He frowns. “Which one?”
“That one,” you say, pointing to an ajar bulkhead door that reads:
‘EMERGENCY REACTOR CONTROL: AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY.’
Jenkin’s face goes from bored to concerned in an instant. “No…it isn’t.”
The gun on your hip doesn’t feel any heavier, but you do rest your hand on the butt of your borrowed nightstick. “I’ll just go close it, then…”
The noise is faint, barely audible over the noise of the ship: the humming of the engines, the waves that slap against the outer hull, and the sound of your own breath and steps echoing off the metal surfaces. But it’s there, hidden just barely within the cacophony, a <span class="mu-i">scream</span>.
<span class="mu-i">“Stop!”</span>
From the way the blood drains out of his face, Jenkins had heard it, too. Both of you draw your weapons, even as Jenkins grabs the radio on his vest. “Jenkins to Sergeant Kwan. Unami and I are investigating a disturbance in the emergency reactor control room.”
The muffled squelch that comes back sounds like an order to wait for reinforcements. But even you know that it’ll take Kwan and Halloway two minutes to sprint across the deck, through all the bulkheads and twisting corridors of the lower deck. Two minutes for anything to happen.
“I'm on point," the private whispers.
“Jump on three, not after,” you mutter back, thumbing the safety off your pistol.
“Right, right. On three, then. One, two…three!”
Jenkins’ rank belies his training. The marine enters, sweeping the room with his rifle. A well-rehearsed and drilled movement. Comparatively, you almost stumble in after him. If there had been anything like this on the Duck, it had been a long time since you’d done it.
(cont.)
