Re-Coil - J.T. Nicholas Page 0,3
and pulled an old-fashioned, fixed-blade knife from its sheath at my hip. Another steadying breath, and then I fed the tip of the blade into the incision I’d made, probing until I felt the faint click of metal on metal. I traced the object with the blade, freeing it from the surrounding tissue, and then used the knife as a lever, slowly working it to the surface.
What emerged from the wound was a ceramic-metallic cube, less than two centimeters on a side. Hard to believe that something so small could contain all of a person that was the person, the ego, the id, the psyche… the soul. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was the sum total of what made you… you, and the miracle of modern medicine meant that it could all be backed up and slated into a new coil. Provided it didn’t go careening into the sun anyway.
“Got the core,” I said.
“Roger that. Are you going deeper?”
It was a good question. Retrievals always brought creds, since most people were willing to give just about everything they had to keep on living and to keep their memories intact. Better yet, payouts for retrievals were built in to even the most basic of coil insurance policies, so the creds were guaranteed. But we hadn’t even cracked the doors on the main vessel, and there was no telling what treasures might await us within. Sarah, how much time do we have left?
Radiation levels will approach detrimental limits in five hours, fifty-eight minutes, and twenty-one seconds.
“We’ve got time, Persephone. I’m going to try and go deeper.”
I got another click in acknowledgment, but I knew my fellow crewmates. A retrieval was good, but a retrieval and salvage were better. I turned my attention back to the interior airlock, playing the flashlight over it, looking for the manual overrides. I found the panel and slid it open. And then stared at the mess that had been made of the controls.
Both the standard and manual controls looked like they had been hit with a plasma torch. They were melted into slag, and I doubted the door could have been easily opened… from either side. Which raised more than a few questions.
“Persephone, your monitors back on?”
“We’re seeing it, Langston.”
“Is it me, or does it look like this guy locked himself in the airlock and then slagged the controls?”
Harper’s voice. “Did you check the interior controls to the outer door?”
“On it.” I shuffled back to the hole I’d cut in the airlock and found the panel to the outer door. Sure enough, the controls behind it had been melted, too. “Looks like our retrieval didn’t want anyone else getting to him… at least not without some cutting. From inside the ship or from the outside.”
“But why lock yourself in the airlock?” Harper asked, their voice perplexed.
I grunted. “I don’t know, but I’ve still got a couple of plasma cutters left, so maybe we can find out.” I moved back to the interior door and examined the half-melted controls. Sarah, can I cut my way in? In response, a window popped up in my vision, showing a standard airlock schematic. It scrolled and zoomed, focusing in on the manual door release. Sarah highlighted the pertinent section, and I nodded. “I don’t have to cut all the way through the door. Looks like I might be able to disengage the interior lock. Won’t work if the rest of the ship is pressurized, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Be careful.”
“Roger that, Persephone.”
It took both of my remaining plasma cutters, but, following Sarah’s silent directions, I managed to burn through to the hydraulics. The fluid that bubbled sluggishly from the lines when I cut them was a hybrid synthetic far removed from anything that had once been called “oil” and designed specifically to remain liquid at the near absolute-zero temperatures that would claim any derelict vessel. I played the last of the flame from the torch gently over the surrounding metal, heating it and encouraging the flow of the fluid. After only a moment, the cutter sputtered and died.
“Okay, Persephone. Moment of truth.” I shuffled back to the door and grabbed the wheel. Once again, I made sure to apply force as smoothly and constantly as possible, slowly increasing the amount of strength I was putting into it, until it finally began to turn. More hydraulic fluid flowed from cut lines, droplets drifting around me in the microgravity. The wheel spun, and I felt the thunk of the bolts releasing.