"You want to bring McCullagh," said Wyatt, his brow furrowed. Brogers nodded her head, and looked to Marcus for support. He too nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he agreed with her.
"We need an extra body, ideally another marine. And since Locke can't join us because of his injuries, I elect McCullagh be brought along with us," Brogers said, her back straight and her gaze like iron. Marcus was confused. He had figured that of the three marines, Brogers liked McCullagh the least. Is this some sort of ploy? he wondered to himself. Wyatt looked to Shaw, who shrugged.
"It makes sense to me," the Lt. Commander said, "If she's an agent from Intelligence, she's had no contact with her network since her arrest, if not longer. She knows nothing about our circumstances, or the existence of the bunker." He shrugged again, his face devoid of emotion. He looked bored, if anything, which seemed typical of Shaw. "And if she escapes and runs off, she's dead. With Ribbonikisch almost upon us, if the wildlife, radiation, or thirst doesn't kill her, the winds and rocks will." Wyatt nodded.
"We have no reason to believe she'd defect either, so as long as you keep an eye on her, I will allow it," he said. Typhon stood up erect quickly, her face red with anger. She said nothing, but locked eyes with Wyatt. The two held that gaze for what seemed an eternity, and Marcus felt his face pale somewhat as the gravity in the room increased. After a few tense moments, however, Typhon looked away. Whatever disagreement the two officers had about McCullagh, it had apparently been sorted.
"You're going to have to go on foot," Penske said to Marcus, interjecting between the disagreeing officers. Marcus balked at this, not sure he understood what she meant.
"As in, no suits?" he asked. She nodded, her arms crossed. The young engineer felt confused. "We can't pull a drive sprocket by ourselves, it would take days to move it just a short distance. It weighs more than a ton!" Marcus almost felt his tone approach inacceptable levels, but no officer pointed it out. Penske sighed.
"I know kid, and I'm sorry. We simply don't have any options," she said. "We need both suits here in case of Seditionist attack. The Chuma is just about the only thing we have that can go toe-to-toe with those heaters, and Hansel is needed to get the undetonated shell out from between the hull and the turret." She shrugged again. "We have reason to believe that the bunker has exosuits there that you can repair, power, and use to bring the part back. And if you can't, you'll just have to have every team member strap up to the sled and pull it together." Marcus' brow furrowed. What Penske had said made sense, but he couldn't shake the idea that this plan had too many holes in it.
They were assuming the bunker was there. They were assuming that after eighty-plus years, it was still intact, let alone accessible. After eighty-plus years of dune drifting and hard winds, any entrance could be buried under hundreds of feet of sand. They were assuming an acceptable drive sprocket was there, and they were assuming that there was an exosuit that Marcus could get running to haul the part across kilometers of empty desert.
They were assuming the expedition would make it back alive.
The expedition trudged through the sandstorm in the dark, hours later, their only means of navigation being the person in front of them, and their instruments. However, due to the ever-increasing levels of radiation, most of their instruments were questionable at best. Brogers led the team through the dunes, winding them through valleys as to preserve the team's strength. Behind her, Van Pelt followed. Behind her walked Ghi and Deknost, who pulled a sled behind him, and an extra rifle. Despite the extra weight, the giant seemed to be unaffected by the exercise, showing no signs of slowing even after two hours of nonstop walking. Behind Deknost, walked Kee McCullagh.
The crewmembers trudged in silence, their heads bowed to the wind. McCullagh walked in front of Marcus, who brought up the rear. As he and Brogers were co-leads on this team, it made sense for both of them to keep tabs on the team like this. Brogers guided them towards the alleged bunker location, and Marcus made sure no stragglers got away from the group. The young engineer eyed the extra rifle on Deknost's back, thinking. It was McCullagh's, in case of emergency. He keyed the proximity channel on his radio.
"How much did Shaw tell you?" he asked McCullagh. She was quiet for awhile, before responding.
"That we were damaged during a duel, and we need to retrieve another part someplace," she said quietly through the radio. "And that I'd been volunteered." Marcus nodded, deciding that was truly all she needed to know. He still felt that McCullagh wasn't as guilty as Shaw and Wyatt and Typhon feared she may be, but he did think that she was definitely hiding something. He just wasn't sure what that something was. He looked back at Deknost, who pulled a sled behind him, the same sled they would have to use to retrieve the drive sprocket.
The sun had begun to rise, and the inky blackness of Marcus' vision was encroached by reddish hues, signifying the morning's arrival. They had left at night to avoid detection from the Seditionists, though the young engineer wasn't sure how effective that had been. He was sure the Enoch was being watched, and he wasn't sure how powerful the Seditionists' eyesight was. As the sun rose, the temperature increased somewhat, changing from "extremely cold" to "only mostly cold." This was about as warm as it became on Harmattan.
The sandstorms kept the surface of the planet cool, and devoid of sunshine. As such, despite being a "desert" planet, it was colder than one would expect. Not that the cold made it any less dangerous. Being outside without a suit meant hypothermia typically set in quickly. And despite the low temperatures, water was still at a premium. The planet, despite being remarkably cold, was still mostly devoid of moisture, and the nonexistent humidity could make someone complacent. Before they knew it, they would be passed out on the sands, dehydrated and dying slowly. It never took long.
Brogers called a ten-minute halt between two dunes, which acted something like a windbreak. The dunes were massive, and Marcus looked up to watch sand sift off of one dune to fall on another. In hours, these dunes could be gone. Harmattan was an ever-changing place. The young engineer sat down on the sand, sprawling out. He wasn't winded, exactly, but he felt his coffee wearing off. He looked around, sipping from the moisture straw in his helmet. It wet his mouth, but little more. He was quickly understanding that living on the surface meant always needing just a little more water than he was getting.
"Shit," Van Pelt said sadly. Everyone looked at her in alarm. Brogers and Ghi had their hands on their firearms, looking for enemy contacts. "I left my chapstick at home," she said quietly, shaking her head. The crewmembers collectively sighed in relief, and Deknost laughed heartily, thumping Van Pelt on the back. Marcus smiled, glad they had brought Van Pelt. He didn't know her well, but she had a reputation for being friendly and hilarious, and so far that reputation seemed accurate. Marcus watched as Van Pelt stood up from where she was sitting, dust herself off, and sidle over to him.
Van Pelt wasn't necessarily attractive conventionally, as she was very tall and thin, too thin for Marcus' personal attractions, but she carried herself with a wry smile and a confidence that was attractive in and of itself. Not sure what she was up to, he looked down, pretending to check the seals on his wrist. He felt the sand shift beside him, and he looked to see she sat a short distance away from him, looking in the same direction he was. She looked at him, tapping her helmet. He nodded, swapping from the expedition channel to the proximity band.
"How's it goin, Rhyne?" she asked him nicely.
"I'm alright," he said trying to figure her angle. Maybe she was just being friendly? It was her modus operandi, for sure. "How are you?" he asked.
"Well, as I mentioned earlier, my lips are fucking chapped," she said, not without an air of annoyance. She offered a hand out to Marcus. "I've seen you around, and we've even spoken before, but we haven't been formally introduced. Gwen Van Pelt," she said. Marcus took her hand in a firm shake.
"Marcus Rhyne," he said. She nodded to him.
"And now we're friends, so we can drop the formal-military-last-name-bullshit. Call me Gwen." She tilted her head back to look up at the sands filtering away from the dune peaks. Marcus nodded.
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"Call me Marcus," he said, smailing. Marcus Rhyne was many things, but a socialite was not one of them. He had grown up with few friends, chosing a "quality over quantity" approach to friendship. As he aged, he found himself becoming more and more reclusive, tinkering with machinery over attending gatherings and parties. Even aboard the Enoch, he had been politely invited to several drinking games and get-togethers with his crewmembers, but he had always declined, mumbling something about "work to do," or something along those lines. Aside from Locke, who was everyone's friend, Penske, who was technically his boss, and arguably Deknost, who was difficult to understand at times, he had no true friends.
"Where are you from, Marcus?" she asked him. He grabbed a fistful of sand and let it slowly spill out of his fist.
"I'm an orbiter, though my birth certificate puts my birthplace on Mars. I grew up in Mars orbit, though I've never set foot on the place," he replied. She shook her head.
"Yeah, I thought I heard a Martian accent in your Solar." They had been speaking Solar, the default language of the EMC, as everyone aboard the Enoch did. It was required for children growing up in the EMC to learn Solar, regardless of what their previous language was. While Solar was picking up in popularity among Earthlings and Martians alike, they still had their respective languages, making most people in the EMC, and especially those in the EMC military, bilingual.
"You're not missing out on much," Gwen said, swapping to Martian. The language was an evolution and conglomeration of Russian, English, and Mandarin, three countries that colonized Mars the most. After four hundred years, the language had evolved significantly, so that none of its original paternal languages shone through in any significance. Gwen looked at him, tossing a fistful of sand to the side.
"Heard of Fennica?" she asked him in Martian. He shook his head. Her accent was different from his, but he was an orbiter, so that was to be expected. "Good," she said. "Shit place. Wouldn't recommend growing up there." Marcus chuckled politely, sensing she wasn't fond of the place for good reason.
"Is that why you joined up?" he asked her. She chuckled, any air of animosity about her childhood town dissolving into her usual joviality.
"Nah, I just like freeze-dried food," she laughed. Marcus laughed with her. "What about you? Why did you join up? Mars sucks, but orbit can't be too bad, right?" she asked him. He opened his mouth to reply, but Brogers interjected, her voice carrying across all local bands.
"Ten minutes are up, folks, let's get back to it. We have several more kilometers to go." Brogers stood the whole time, keeping watch, and she had begun moving in the direction they would need to continue in. Van Pelt looked at him and shrugged, standing up.
"We'll finish that conversation later," she said, dusting herself off. Marcus nodded, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. The group formed back up in the previous formation, and continued to trudge silently through the dunes. Hours passed, and as the sun began to set, Brogers called for camp to be set up. Marcus wondered if Van Pelt would approach him to continue their previous conversation, but she conked out instead, the first watch being Marcus and Deknost's. The crew had set up tents, which were shaped in such a way that they were placed with the entrances away from the wind, and the windward side was knife-like, to allow sand and the winds to flow past. Marcus and Deknost stood at watch for two hours, before they were relieved by Ghi and Van Pelt. Marcus hit the pillow in the tent hard, going out like a light.
The next morning was more of the usual. Everyone ate, and drank whatever they could allow themselves, and after packing up the tents, went on their way. The winds felt even more vicious today than yesterday, alluding to the approach of the lethal Ribbonikisch. The group trudged in silence. They were already exhausted from walking for nearly two days, but they continued on, knowing the mission was critical. Returning empty-handed was simply not an option. As they walked, Marcus heard his rad counter click in higher and higher tones, constantly reminding him that they were literally walking towards a nuke detonation site. The young engineer shivered. He knew everyone else was growing anxious about the rads, too. That morning, Ghi mentioned the radiation as they ate.
"Do not worry, friend Ghi," said Deknost laughing heartily, thumping the young marine on the back. "It's not like any of us were going to live long enough to bear children anyway!" The sentence stuck in Marcus' head as they walked. The young engineer wasn't necessarily scared to die, exactly, but he would like to live. He had joined the EMC military intending to serve his twenty years, and then retire with a full pension. He figured maybe he'd go to Earth or Mars, serving as a Chief Engineer for a shipyard somewhere, fixing or constructing spacecraft. But in a way, Deknost was right. Not only was the Enoch in dire trouble, but they were too. At any moment, a chuma could rush out of the inky red winds, or a swarm of chittering natters could crawl out of the sands and gnaw their feet off. Or maybe-
Brogers called for a halt, checking the map on her forearm. She tapped the screen, checking the numbers. She turned back to the expedition crew.
"It should be right here," she said, looking at them in turn. Deknost sighed, dropping the straps for the sled.
"Then we dig," he said. He turned back to the sled, pulling off the tarpaulin that had covered it. On the sled was several military-grade metal detectors, and shovels. Everyone grabbed a metal detector, and collected around Brogers.
"Ok, we should be standing on the center of the compound, if Intelligence's maps are correct," she said. "Fan out in a rough circle, and scan to see if you pick up any metallics." She shrugged. "Honestly, they warned us this could happen. It could be dozens of meters under the sand, and several meters of concrete could be between our metal detectors and any metal. But this is what needs to be done. So get to it." The expedition members nodded, and did as they were told. They fanned out, searching for any signs of metal. Quickly, however, they realized the metal detectors simply weren't the answer.
"The fucking radiation!" shouted Ghi after several false positives. He threw his metal detector to the ground in anger. Brogers walked up to him, picking up his metal detector, and shoving it in his chest. He grabbed it from her, holding it angrily.
"Bring all of your detectors back to the sled and grab the poles." she said quietly through her comms. Everyone did so, grabbing the poles. The poles were long and relatively sharp, designed to pierce several feet into the sand before resisting. So the crew members repeated the circular pattern, stabbing at the sand deeply, searching for anything solid beneath them. They did this for hours, as they sun began to wane. Marcus continued the circular pattern, weaving back and forth, searching for anything. Several times, he received false positives, which he imagined were rocks. None of the positives seemed large enough to be a centuries-old bunker from before the Conflagration, so he continued on.
He walked down a dune away from the others when he tripped on something, nearly tumbling all of the way down the dune. He caught himself, breathing heavily from nearly falling down the massive dune. He looked back up and retraced his tumbling to see what he had tripped on. He found what looked like a weathered stone, peaking out of the dune at a strange angle. However, the color of the stone seemed all wrong; rather than the dark grey and reds the rocks on Harmattan usually had, this rock was a light grey, almost a white.
"I think I've found something," he said over the expedition channel. Slowly, the others found their way over to him. They began shoveling sand away from the "rock," seeing that what it was the corner of what could be something square. All sides of the "rock" disappeared further into the dune at straight angles, though not without damage and weathering.
"I think this is it," said Brogers with excitement. She sent Deknost and Van pelt back to the sled to retrieve shovels, and the crewmembers began to slowly unearth the structure. They spent hours shoveling sand, tossing it further down the dune. As they worked, the shape of the structure began to emerge. It was indeed part of the bunker, and the crew collectively felt excitement at the discovery, though they were all too exhausted to properly express this excitement. Instead, they worked at a steady pace, slowly uncovering the structure. They disovered that they were lucky, and that this was an entrance point for the bunker.
The entrance seemed to be about five meters high, and nearly ten meters wide. They uncovered a massive door, its imposing iron face pitted and scratched from a century of wind beating against it. They uncovered enough of the door that Marcus began tinkering with the panel.
"Can you get us inside?" asked Brogers eagerly. Marcus didn't respond. He opened up the door's panel, revealing a keypad and several switches. He toggled a few switches, and his worst fears were realized. The keypad was blank, and no lights turned on. The door had no power.
"I can, but I'll need my tools," he said. He wasn't sure if he could, but he couldn't admit that to Brogers. He used a knife on his belt to pull the switch panel off of the wall, revealing a tangle of wires. He searched through the tangle, looking for the right wire. The crewmembers gathered around, enthralled by the young engineer's work. Deknost returned with Marcus' toolbag, and he searched around for what he needed. He found the right wires, clipping them, stripping the ends, and then affixing them to a device of his own making. It was a rectangular box, with one edge covered in LEDs, and one face of the box featured a sizeable hand crank. The opposite side had a clamp to affix the box to a surface, though no surface was available at the moment. It had a screen, and a touchpad, and Marcus went through the device's menus, entering several modes into it. Once he was pleased, he cranked it, spinning the handcrank quickly.
The box whirred, and slowly, the LEDs lit up, from a deep red to a yellow, and from a yellow to a light green. When the last LED lit up, it was a deep green. On the side opposite the LEDs, there was a flipcover, which Marcus flipped up to reveal a red button. He sighed, and looked back at his comrades.
"Wish us luck," he said, pressing the button. The LEDs all went out at once, and the wires affixed to the panel arced with sparks.
And the door groaned.