Under A Winter Sun by Johan Dahlgren (ink ebook reader txt) 📕

occasional scaffold attached to the hull to ease our progress. Tools and discarded material lie where they were dropped. Looks like they were abandoned in a hurry. Further down, ladders and powered lifts make our going even easier. Still, there's not a soul in sight.

“Where is everyone?”

The priest gives voice to the question we've all been pondering over the last half hour. “And why is no one shooting at us?”

“I don't know,” Tyrus responds. “But we're about to find out.”

He points to a bridge far below, linking the ship to the rock wall of the cave. The bridge is lit by floodlights.

Five minutes later we stand on the bridge outside a wide airlock set in the hull. The light chases some of my brain spooks away.

“Open it,” Tyrus orders the armoured figure closest to him.

Hildr punches the button beside the airlock. It blinks an annoyed red.

“Scheisse.” She punches it again with her armoured fist.

No luck.

“Now can we go home?”

“Not yet, Perez. Goliath, move aside.” Tyrus stomps up to the door and Hildr takes a step to the side. Probably from sheer confusion that such an insignificant man might dare to give her orders. “Let me try.”

“Excuse me,” the priest says. We ignore him.

Like all men who have ever seen a woman fail at something, Tyrus tries the same thing again, but with more force.

It still doesn't work.

“Told you so.” Hildr crosses her arms. “Asshole,” she adds, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I, um …” the priest tries again. We continue to ignore him.

Tyrus turns to Soledad. “Do we have anything that will cut through this door?”

“Yeah, I have a starship-grade plasma torch in my bra.”

The image flashes before my eyes. It's not altogether disagreeable.

“Roger that, soldier.” Tyrus almost sounds apologetic.

“You guys.” Something in the little priest's voice makes me search for him. Even with the floodlights, I can only make him out with difficulty through the fog. He's standing at the other end of the bridge, next to the rock wall. There's another airlock, next to a mining elevator cage on a track that disappears up the rock. Rivera points to something.

“Rivera has found something. Come on.” I wave for the others to follow and head over to the priest.

The button next to this airlock flashes green.

“I'm no expert,” the little man suggests, “but perhaps the green light means this door is unlocked.”

“You might be on to something there, Rivera.” I slap his shoulder.

“You think so?” The voice of the little man is positively singing with pride.

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh, dear me.”

The others join us.

“Rivera found a way in. Now what, Typhus?”

“We go deeper.”

“All right.” I look at Tyrus and wave my rifle at the button. He nods and I punch it. The double doors hiss open. Hisses in this context is only a figure of speech. The sulphur atmosphere of this moon is so thick that all sounds are muffled like we're deep underwater. As the door cracks open, the air rushes in to make swirling patterns in the mist. The airlock is vast.

“Anytime soon, Perez. We need to know what's in there.”

“What if that army of Goliaths attack me?”

“You shoot your way through them.”

“You are the master of cunning plans. I can see why you are the poster boy for Terran black ops.”

“Fuck you, Perez. Cut your whining and find out what's beyond this fucking airlock.”

I tear the comms cable from its socket and turn on my radio.

“What are you doing?” Jagr barks. “You will alert them we're here.”

“Come on. We've been stomping all over their precious ship for an hour. If they don't know we're here already, they don't care.”

“Man's got a point,” Tyrus agrees. “Scratch radio silence.”

So, the man agrees with me on something.

He's still a twat.

In the airlock, I face the others and throw Tyrus a salute. “See you on the other side.” I punch the internal button and the doors slide shut on them.

Thin mist from outside swirls around the airlock as if stirred by ghostly fingers. I turn around and raise my rifle, even though the airlock is empty. Being cut off from the only humans on this moon does not feel optimal.

On the opposite bulkhead is another green button. I search for a display or something that will give me a heads-up on what's beyond the door. There's none. Fancy that.

OK, here goes nothing.

The Army of the Dead

I punch the cycle button and the airlock goes to work. Powerful fans in the ceiling suck the mist from the chamber and I'm sprayed with disinfectants from nozzles in the walls. The fans reverse, and clean air flows in. At least that's what my suit sensors inform me. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but after all we've seen today, I wouldn't be surprised if the chamber had filled with liquid nitrogen.

Ten seconds later the pressure has stabilised, and the suit tells me it's safe to remove my helmet. Fuck it. Let's live a little. If the air is poisoned, it will save me from having to take orders from Tyrus.

I drop my rifle on its sling and flip the release handles on my collar. I twist the helmet to unfasten it.

“What are you doing, Perez?”

“Relax, Aeryn. I know what I'm doing.”

The helmet comes off with a soft hiss as the air in my suit escapes.

“What the hell, Perez?” Jagr's command HUD must have informed her I just removed my helmet.

I take a careful breath and wait for the pain of some unknown contaminant, but nothing happens.

The air smells of age and grease and dust but is otherwise fine. There's a hint of sulphur like someone farted.

I take a deeper breath and let the air fill my lungs before I let it out again.

Still nothing.

“That was a stupid thing to do, Perez. You could have killed yourself.”

“Aw. If I didn't know better, I'd say you worry about me, Aeryn.”

“If you die, I die. Nothing else.”

I smile in the darkness. “Yeah right.”

“We can breathe in here,” I call over the open circuit.

“Quit fooling around, Perez,”