Part 25 (1/2)

'Get her!' Atrimonides swung into sight followed by a group of troopers. Strings of b.l.o.o.d.y vomit drooled from his mouth, a legacy of prolonged foam inhalation.

But as the gauntleted hands of the first trooper made a grab for her hair, Christine felt an empty sensation in the pit of her stomach.

The executive transporter seemed to be pressing against her back.

It was moving!

Face twisted with rage, Cheryl drew back her fist and threw another punch. Blood burst from Piper's nose. She fell back against one of the emergency s.p.a.cesuit lockers, and the unpowered door flipped open at the touch of her body.

Cheryl stepped forward to deliver another blow just in time to catch the dead body of her husband as it fell from the locker.

The slab side of the executive transporter loomed like a cliff out of the white fog, getting larger by the second as the shock wave from the explosions which had set it adrift in the first place propelled it nearer and nearer the executive transporter bay wall. The troopers were scattering away from Christine, thras.h.i.+ng through the foam, well aware that although the executive transporter had no weight, it still had ma.s.s, and hence momentum. A lot of momentum. Enough to squash Christine, and anyone else in the vicinity, against the wall like bugs.

She glanced quickly from side to side. There was a lot of transporter, and she was half way along it: too far in either direction to make it to safety. She glanced up; no chance there, either: a loading gantry projected from the wall above her head. It was already buckling as the executive transporter moved remorselessly nearer. She scanned its side, looking for something anything that might help her survive the impact. All she could see before a whirling storm of foam obscured everything were att.i.tude control thrusters, IMC logos and refuelling ports.

Cheryl clutched hopelessly at Sam Russell's body and burst into tears. She nestled his mottled face in the curve of her shoulder, stroked his cold hair, felt the awful grating of the bones in his neck.

Her eyes were cold when she lifted them to Piper's face.

'The suit malfunctioned!' Piper cried. 'I didn't know! I found him here on the floor with his neck broken. I didn't kill him!'

Cheryl let Sam's body slump gracelessly to the floor and moved towards Piper, hands outstretched.

The executive transporter was six metres away.

One group of troopers had tangled together in their panic, still in the executive transporter's path. Fights were breaking out as the knot of flailing bodies rotated gently in mid*air.

Five metres.

Christine could now make out charred patches of hull and the seams where metal plates had been hyperglued together.

Four metres.

Klaxons hooted. Sparks from the balcony drifted through the foam, becoming soggy bits of black carbon which mixed with it, looking like dirty snow. Voices screamed.

Three metres.

Two indistinct figures had broken away from the struggling ma.s.s and were desperately flailing towards Christine and the safe area at the other end of the executive transporter.

'ACCESS HATCH', she read embossed into a transparent panel, and, in smaller letters underneath, 'IN EMERGENCY, ENTER CODE 398.' A small keypad sat smugly beneath the panel.

Two metres. One.

The troopers were screaming.

She flipped the panel up and keyed in the code, banging her elbow against the wall as the executive transporter pressed close.

The word 'ERROR' scrolled up in glowing virtual letters on the metal panel beside the keypad.

Bernice's torch flickered and died. People scrambled away from the centre of the Operations Room in panic. A nimbus of light had collected there, spinning gently. A low whispering sound echoed around the room.

'What the h.e.l.l ' she said.

Thin air gathered itself around the light, thickening. A shape was forming there, something... Something...

Someone screamed. Bernice felt something, some force, move through her, penetrating her skin as though it were ether. A yell of surprise was wrenched out of her. The sensation pa.s.sed, leaving her nauseous and curiously empty...

In the centre of the room, the light gathered into a curling ribbon and solidified, erupted into a rippling curtain of sparkles.

'Is that... Paula? Paula?' someone said.

There was a smell, like summer, like A final flash of light and the phenomenon was gone. In its place stood Miles Engado.

Christine had to bend her arm down by her side to get her fingers to connect with the keys. Because of her awkward position, she was forced to use the prosthetic arm (the fake one, she kept thinking), and the fingers were dull and leaden. The sudden pressure of cold metal against her nose forced her to turn her head sideways until she couldn't see the keys any more. She prayed, and fumbled the code in.

A hand clutched at her shoulder, then moved to circle her neck with killing force. A burned face loomed out of the greyness. Atrimonides. Sweat stood out on his brow, fury was bright in his one good eye. The fingers tightened their grip. Unable to bring her hands up to defend herself, Christine began to choke.

'Christ. Sam. Sam! Oh, Christ. Piper, you b.i.t.c.h.'

Cheryl threw another punch. She laughed hysterically as Piper grunted with pain and fell to the deck. Cheryl knelt beside the sobbing woman, drew back her fist and prepared to follow up her blow with another.

The Doctor casually took her wrist in his hand and held her motionless, without the slightest effort. 'That'll be quite enough of that, thank you very much.'

'You don't understand. She killed Paula. I loved her and I loved Sam and that b.i.t.c.h killed them both!'

Piper was cowering abjectly against the far wall, her face streaming with tears. The Doctor turned furiously to Cheryl, and was about to speak when there was a grating clunk from the outer airlock door.

He paused, his words unspoken. Cheryl wiped tears of her own from her face. All three looked at the door.

There was a moment's silence.

With a tremendous crash, the centre of the door exploded inwards. Seven figures in military uniforms strode through the clouds of smoke and across the rubble into the chamber.

A short figure in a sergeant's uniform and full battle helmet stepped forward, gun raised. The figure kicked aside Sam Russell's dead body without a second glance, like so much extra trash. 'Project Eden is now in receivers.h.i.+p. All employment contracts are terminated. I have a warrant granting all property and chattels, in full, in situ, to IMC.'

The Doctor's eyes widened at the sound of the voice, and at the face revealed as the sergeant raised her helmet.