The Madman's Clock. Aaron Ph.D. Dov
desperate to reach her.
"No, Captain," she muttered distantly. "This experiment will run its course. I have my orders."
I growled, and shook my head. I might as well beg the bulkheads to bend. In desperation, I tore the Captain's keycard from the console, in the faint hope that it would shut down the countdown, or at least disrupt it. The console, a fireworks display of flashing status indicators and data streams, barely seemed to notice my actions, as though it was just as removed from reality as this ship's Captain.
"Everything is fine. This experiment will go ahead," the Captain said evenly, eyes still locked on the waterfall flow of readouts and displays. "I have my orders."
Then, for no reason I could guess at, she turned to look at me, her eyes suddenly wide and fierce. I felt her reach out to me with them, as though through sheer will she could crush me. I swallowed hard, standing my ground, ready for whatever she had for me. At least I had her attention. Then her yeoman muttered something inaudible from her left, and she returned her attention to the status board. Once more, I was outside her notice, outside her universe. Whatever she was about to do, the ship, the experiment, all of it, drew her back in.
"Eight seconds," the computer blared indifferently.
I heard a scream of pain, and turned in time to see Raj collapse against the hatch. Blood spurted out through a wound in his right arm, along with the smoke from the burned flesh. Taggart and Forres were covered in the gory spray, but neither stopped shooting. In a moment, Raj was back on one knee, firing again.
They yelled as they fired, their anger a weapon all its own. They were falling back on their deepest, most instinctual core training, and drawing on every mental weapon they had. The silent, calm professionalism that recon squads were known for was being set aside, but they were not losing their heads. They were digging deep, just like the United Earth Marine Corps taught us to do. Dig deep enough into a fighting marine, and you found more fight. It went right to our core.
"Seven seconds."
I contemplated stepping in; adding my own pistol to the fight, but another shudder from the ship brought me back to my mission. I turned back to Captain Paetkau. She stood straight and still, her hands behind her back as she watched the status board. It was green, seeming not to notice the problems which I knew were there. The board seemed as oblivious as the crew, as single minded as the Captain. The red alert light blanketing the bridge now shifted to green, matching the status boards. The machine below was ready.
"Six seconds."
"Fuck!" I yelled in frustration.
The seconds seemed to stretch out painfully, and I felt like I was trying to run underwater. Everything took too long, and I had no time. No time. No time, goddammit! I looked around me. I had no idea how this ship worked. I had no idea how to shut it all down, and reaching the ship's engineering decks was impossible. I squeezed the railing in frustration, as though I could crush my problems with my bare hands. The metal railing did not give out, nor did the problems blaring around me.
"Five seconds."
"They're coming through!" Taggart hollered.
I turned to see the furious rain of enemy fire tear into the bulkhead just over Kyle's head. Forres growled at the singe of hot metal which caught the side of his neck, but he didn't even stop to check the wound. All three men flipped their rifles to full-auto and started blazing away. Their eyes flashed with each burst, and Kyle's roar almost overtook the thumping racket of the weapons themselves. They stepped into the passageway, out of cover, and out of sight.
"Four seconds."
"Wormhole origin is on the scope and active, Captain," one of the crew called out. "It is a clean opening."
Captain Paetkau nodded. 'Very well," she said calmly. "Start reaching out."
She was waiting for the next bit of information. It came quickly.
"Wormhole destination is opening," the voice called from another station. "We have a clear corridor, Captain. Sensors have found the beacon."
"Three seconds."
I took a deep breath, and drew my pistol. The pistol grip felt good in my hand, a sense of control in the midst of chaos, like a life preserver in the hands of a drowning man. I pressed the weapon against the Captain's right temple. She barely seemed to notice. Her hands stayed behind her back, and she didn't even blink at the feeling of the cold metal barrel. She looked down at her board, its indecipherable flood of data telling her everything, yet hiding its secrets from me.
"Captain!" I was screaming like a lunatic. Maybe I was mad. Maybe we all were. "Shut it down! Shut it down now, or I'm gonna blow your fuckin' head off!"
"Two seconds," that bitch of a computer announced, as though it secretly laughed at my impotence from behind its calm voice.
"Now!" I shouted over the ever-increasing rattle and hum.
"One second."
Just then, ever so slowly, she turned her head to me. Her blue eyes reflected the dancing lights of the board in front of her. They gave her an almost demonic glare, yet there was nothing behind those eyes except the unmovable determination to see this experiment run.
"I have my orders," she said as though we were standing on a quiet bridge. That had been long ago or maybe just thirty minutes ago. "This experiment will run its course. Everything is fine."
I shook my head. She was as deaf to my warnings now as she had been when we first stepped onto the bridge of this damned ship.
"I have my orders," she said for what seemed like the thousandth time.
"So do I!" I yelled.
I started to squeeze the trigger. I knew it wouldn't make the slightest difference.
It wasn't supposed to end like this.
CHAPTER 1
DATE: July 8, 2245
"Remember boys and girls," I said with a smirk and a kindergarten teacher's tone, "it's not whether you win or lose. It's how you play the game."
The chuckles around me were quiet, knowing. The squad grinned at me, Raj especially. He wore that cruel grin of his, the one that curled up the left side of his face. It told me he could smell blood in the air. His deep brown eyes, almost black, met mine, and I knew he was ready. I could hear David taking those deep breaths of his, as he focused himself. This sort of thing was practically meditation for him. Kyle was almost bouncing in place, impatient, ready to go. I shook my head at him. He was like a kid waiting for a toy store to open.
Like my three squad-mates, my gear was already checked, re-checked, and ready to go. My goggles were secure, though the built-in heads-up display was shut down. No HUDs today, and no comms either. The goggles were simple eye protection for this run. My rifle was tucked in close, the straps holding it against my chest until I was ready to use it. The grip felt good. It wasn't my usual weapon, but I still knew it well enough. It would do the job, even if it was underpowered.
I knew that instinctively. Our weapons had all been set to low power, well below their optimum ranges, by the instructors here. We weren't supposed to know that, and we weren't supposed to be able to tell by looking at the weapons, but I knew anyway. All four of us did, and though none of us said it, we had exchanged knowing glances as the slug-throwing rifles were issued to us. I could feel it in the rifle's hum and the temperature in the grip, the moment the instructors handed it to me. The rounds they fired wouldn't go far. The instructors wanted us fighting at close range. Fine.
My body armor felt good. The vest, shoulder pads, and arm guards were fastened to me like the second skin I had come to know them as. They could take a hell of a lot more than these rifles could throw