Chapter 91

Chapter Ninety-One

Dreams troubled Connor that night. He was on the river again, but Toshiko wasn’t at the prow. Her paddle was gone, as was the picnic basket. All that told him she’d been there before was her shirt and bathing suit.

He plucked them up, noting the flecks of grass and her scent on them. And his own.

It was so real, like a hijacked memory.

The sun raced to the horizon, dragging the last of the daylight away in a muted kaleidoscope lit by lightning. Thunderclaps shook the dark leaves of the tall trees hugging the riverbank. Even after the thunder quieted, soft scraping lingered.

Sweat cooled on his back and arms, turning the heat of the day cold.

Was it real? Had he come across a memory long forgotten? Even the tea that she’d served—warm and sweet—was there when he licked his lips.

Wind-tossed raindrops rippled the dark water, which reflected the stars.

Then the canoe shuddered, as if something huge had bumped against it.

Connor snapped out of his frozen state and paddled for shore. He must have forgotten Toshiko back at the picnic site. Or maybe they’d had a fight after lying together to cool down after their time together beneath the swaying trees.

He was nearly to shore when the bump came again, this time nearly spilling him out of the canoe.

With a few desperate paddle swipes, he righted the boat, and when he was close enough, he jumped out, climbing up the muddy bank and pulling the watercraft up behind him.

She was in the dark woods somewhere, possibly sheltering beneath a tree.

“Toshiko!”

Windy gusts shredded his call.

He braced the canoe against a thick trunk. It would be quicker to run along the riverbank until he found the familiar opening. Toshiko would be in there, somewhere, waiting.

Two steps along the soft earth, he stopped.

Lightning had lit up the sky again, and even though he hadn’t heard it, something had disturbed the water, sending high ripples boiling out.

What could be that big?

Connor backed toward the trees.

Then something black and sinuous exploded from the water, spraying him with foul-smelling drops that must have come from a stagnant abyss of nightmare.

He spat, gagging, and assumed a defensive stance.

Blinding white streaks ran jagged through the heavy, purple clouds above. An image was burned into his mind, despite the blindness.

The thing bellowed, and a heat like a furnace flashed past Connor.

Sulfuric. Sickeningly rotten. Ancient.

In that burned image, tentacles whipped around the thing’s huge maw, which split apart in six bone-ridged, triangular, teeth-covered flaps. It was a sickly yellowish green, the interior of its mouth where teeth didn’t protrude looked like pus-sacs.

A new light broke through his constricted pupils: golden and soothing.

Then Toshiko was there, pressed against him, warm and soft. “This is the face of death. Run.”

The blindness passed, and he glanced at her perfection, wanting nothing at that moment other than to be with her again.

But the monster’s roar rose above the crash of another clap of thunder.

It was a noise that hammered his head, banged insistently against his ears.

Until he opened his eyes and realized the dream was over.

The noise was the shrill blast of an alarm.

Something was wrong with the Lucky Sevens.

Connor had a second to wish he could return to that dream and fight to save Toshiko, but the moment was gone. She’d called the monster death, and he’d abandoned her there in the woods, alone and naked.

He scrambled out of bed and pulled on the gray cargo pants he’d worn on the mission to the other ship, then slipped into his sneakers.

A message flashed on his pocket computer when he picked it up.

Selen.

He read it: What’s going on?

Had he slept through a disaster?

All he could do was reply: Checking now.

His computer had other messages, too. The alarm was from the recycler and refrigerant systems. They’d both suffered a catastrophic failure.

How?

Connor hurried down to the engineering section, the only place where the two systems shared a common access point.

Elise poked her head out of her cabin as he approached. “What’s going on?”

“Catastrophic failure in a couple systems.”

“Oh.” She stepped out, barefoot, zipping up her jumpsuit. “Can I help?”

He stopped long enough to kill the alarm. “Hurry. Get shoes on.”

When she stepped back into her cabin, he darted aft.

There were no signs of danger on the indicators outside the engineering section hatch. Radiation levels were normal, the temperature was at the standard setting, and the atmosphere was fine.

It was still a good idea to suit up, so Connor slid into the locker room and pulled on a lightweight environment suit.

Just as he pulled his last boot on, his pocket computer chimed.

That would be Elise.

He opened the outer hatch, then waved her into the locker room.

She went straight to the locker Drew had used. “Any ideas?”

“Refrigeration and the recycler system.”

“That’s not good.”

“We have—” He checked the system indicators. Somehow, the temperatures in the cooler were already climbing. “Crap. Maybe five hours, at best.”

Elise pulled the environment suit out of the locker, undid the zipper, and stuck a leg inside with practiced ease. “We could get lucky.”

Had they managed luck with anything beyond the mercenary shipwreck?

It took fifteen minutes to get the panels removed and to trace the lines back where the two systems interfaced.

The recycler was used to reclaim water from sewage and food waste, as well as to break down things like discarded ceramics and clothes for use with the fabricator system.

The refrigerant system kept food and water cool and helped with regulating the ship’s temperature.

Where the water lines ran back out to the galley and bathroom, pipes ran next to each other.

Something was blocking the pipes at that point.

Connor removed the last panel to get to that junction, then pulled back.

The small crawlspace compartment housed numerous pipes, cable ducts, and wire bundles.

They were all covered in the silvery threads he’d seen in the mercenary ship cargo bay. A thick, indigo goo dripped from those threads.

Elise gasped. “What the—?”

Something shot out of the cramped space: multi legged, furry, as big as one of Vicente’s fists. The thing darted toward the archaeologist, who shrieked.

Connor dove, plunging a screwdriver through the thing’s belly.

More of the thick, indigo goo spurted out, onto him and Elise.

The little creature twitched, but when he released the screwdriver didn’t move again.

He looked inside the compartment. If the things bled that bluish goo, then why was it all over the interior—?

A closer look at the two pipes gave him the answer he feared: They were ruptured. More of the thick goo leaked from inside or hung in thawing crystals. Furry bits and twitching legs had been sprayed all around.

Somehow, the bugs had gotten into the lines and fouled the filters.

And now they were going to starve to death if he couldn’t get everything working inside four hours.