Jonathan Howard - Katya's War

Katya noticed that even Tasya’s lips had paled. Her anger was almost palpable, warded behind walls of iron self-control though it was. “I lose control when and only when I want to lose control,” she said. “When and only when I believe it would be tactically wise.”

Kane looked up at her from the captain’s seat. He regarded her in silence for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. “Very well, Tasya, I’ll take your word on that. If you let me down, if you put us into even the shadow of danger because you let your temper slip, I shall kill you.”

They locked eyes for a few seconds, and it was Tasya who broke contact first with a careless nod of acceptance. Apparently death threats were an everyday occurrence for the She-Devil.

“As for the fourth member of our merry band, Mr…” he nodded to Sergei. “I’m sorry, I’ve entirely forgotten your name.”

“I’m not going,” said Sergei without hesitation.

“An ADS is just like a mini-minisub,” said Katya, who was beginning to look forward to the experience despite her earlier misgivings. “You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not safe,” said Sergei, and Katya noticed he looked at Tasya when he said it. So that was it. Katya tried to look for an argument that might sway him into going on an expedition mounted by pirates and featuring a feared war criminal, but couldn’t think of anything at all.

“It’s OK, Sergei. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not scared. I just don’t see the point.”

But he was scared. Poor Sergei , she thought. If it was my choice, you wouldn’t be in this situation at all . “You’re right. There’s no point us both going.”

Kane had watched the conversation between them and the look in his eye when he momentarily caught hers told her he understood exactly what was going on. “Ms Ocello, please assign Mr Giroux to the fourth suit. We may have need of his muscle.”

As Ocello returned to her seat, Kane said to Katya, “ADS EVAs are fun.” He saw her blink and added, “EVA, extra-vehicular activity. Sorry, that’s more space jargon than anything. From my brief time as a cosmonaut.” His half smile became bleak. “Make the most of the EVA. What we find at the other end won’t be fun at all.”

As a child Katya had been fascinated by a drama series in which secret Federal agents had special atmospheric diving suits that also amplified their strength, carried weapons, and — in one episode — flew just long enough to save the day. She and her friends had run up and down the corridors in the residential section, imitating the sound of sonar pings and launching “minitorps” at one another. Andrei Ivanovich always said his imaginary ADS was the one that could fly and, furthermore, it was the only one that could fly, and he defended its uniqueness with cuffs and shoves to any who would attempt flight in theirs. But then, Andrei Ivanovich was a bully and a bastard.

The reality was scarier than Andrei Ivanovich could ever have aspired to.

The best place from which they might be deployed was undeniably the Vodyanoi ’s salvage maw; it was relatively spacious and when the jaws were open wide they would give plenty of clearance for the suits to reach the water. The minor problem of the maw currently being occupied by the Lukyan was easily solved — Sergei would pilot it out, the maw would be closed and emptied, and the suits taken in ready for the expedition members. Sergei was very happy at this part of the plan, at least until Kane put a Vodyanoi aboard the Lukyan “just so I have another pair of eyes on the site.” Perhaps he was telling the truth, but Sergei clearly understood the gesture to mean Kane wanted a “pair of eyes” specifically upon Sergei.

Fifteen minutes after the Lukyan had left the boat, Katya was called to the salvage maw. The floor and walls were still wet from the recent departure, but her attention was entirely focused upon the four looming forms that now stood there in a T formation, the crossbar closest to the aft bulkhead, to provide each with as much space around as possible in the maw’s tapering beak.

Each atmospheric diving suit was, as Katya had told Sergei, essentially a submarine in itself. Unlike a normal diving suit, these were rigid, machine-like forms that maintained a normal atmosphere for their operator. There would be no need for specialised breathing mixtures, compression and decompression schedules, or hyperbaric chambers with these. The foreboding robotic appearance of the suits, their arms extended as if about to clutch at anyone who walked in front of them, was intensified by the MMU units that swathed them from the waist downwards. These Manned Manoeuvring Units locked entirely around the suits’ legs, making them look like half statues of robot gods rising from metal plinths. Each suit had a small stepladder by it, and a dedicated technician who stood silently by like an acolyte to the metal divinities.

Kane, Katya, Tasya, and Giroux were met by the ship’s doctor who gave each one of them a quick check-up as they waited in coveralls.

“Nothing to worry about, Ms Kuriakova,” said the doctor as he checked her pulse. “Your heart rate is a little elevated. Would you like a mild sedative? Just something to calm your nerves?”

Katya shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’d like to stay a bit nervous.”

As the doctor worked down the line, the technicians were up on the stepladders, opening the suits. The heavy helmets fell forward as the suit backs were unlocked and lifted, giving the impression that the suits had suddenly fallen asleep. Most of the diagnostics had been completed before the expedition members had even arrived, and the techs quickly ran through the remainder. Katya caught a glimpse of the pad the technician for her suit was carrying, and was relieved at the sight of an orderly list of green ticks down the checklist.

Finally, all was ready, and Katya and the others stepped forward.

Kane almost scampered up his suit’s ladder. “I love this part,” he said as he grabbed the handles at the top of the entry port in the suit’s back, lifted his legs and slid in. “It makes me think of knights from the olden days, armouring up before a battle.”

Katya was less enthusiastic about the experience, but nevertheless found getting into the suit far easier than she’d expected. Her suit’s technician had measured her height and the lengths of her arms and legs earlier and adjusted the suit’s internal braces so that they would receive her comfortably. He certainly seemed to know his job; the suit fitted her like a glove. She allowed her arms to slide into the suit’s arms as the small of her back rode over the lower edge of the access port and, by the time she was fully in and upright, her hands were inside the suit’s gauntlets.

A Knight of the Deep , she thought. Well, at least now I look the part .

“How’s it feel?” asked her technician as he checked her cap, a close-fitting cloth skullcap that had her communications microphone and earphones attached. Unlike a simple headset it could not accidentally fall off, an important point inside a helmet.

“Snug,” said Katya.

“Snug tight , or snug comfortable ?”

“Comfortable, thanks.”

“Good to hear. OK, the next stage is the helmet. Then I’ll seal the suit and you’ll be on your own oxygen from thereon. Understand?”

Katya tried to give a thumbs up, but the gesture was barely noticeable when translated into a small twitch of the heavy articulated gauntlet. She nodded a little instead and said, “Understood.”

The technician reached forward and pulled the helmet back into its upright position, locking it against the head support. As he did, it encased Katya’s head, the sound of the locking mechanism engaging seeming very final. It was as if Katya was suddenly severed from the real world. Outside sounds became distant and muffled, and her breathing became very loud in the confines of the helmet. She swallowed and concentrated on not panicking, about just living in the moment and not thinking about what all this foreshadowed, that soon the technicians and the doctor would leave, that the hatches would seal.