Read Online The Long Night by Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
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yet. He wanted to take this slow, not to come to any more conclusions than he already had. "Come on," he said. "Let's see what else we can find."
He led the way down the silent passage to a doorway that had jammed open. The door was tall-he could get through it without much effort-and it was wide enough for two people to pass. His light caught coffinlike shapes scattered throughout the room. He glanced at Dax. She was staring intently ahead, her own light playing on the surface of the coffins.
Coldsleep chambers. Ancient ones that looked like long narrow bullets. The kind that, when jettisoned into space, provided enough protection for the being inside to survive a short trip through a planet's atmosphere.
No one in the Federation had used this type of technology in a long, long time.
"I count fifteen of them," O'Brien said.
"I get no readings," Dax said. "If they were working, something would show on the tricorder."
The cold bit into Sisko's cheeks and nose. He climbed over a pile of rubble near the door and crouched near the closest coldsleep bed. Through the opaque lid and the slight fog of his own breath, Sisko could see the body of a man, somewhat well preserved, yet obviously dead. The skin on his face had sunken in and his eyelids seemed flat. He had been a middle-aged man. He wore robes that had no markings on them. Through the lid, Sisko couldn't even make out the robes' fabric.
"A few of them smashed open," O'Brien said. He had gone deeper into the room. His voice had a quiet power in the silence. "Nothing left except skulls, a bit of bone, and some metal jewelry. This ship has been here a long time."
The Caxtonian hadn't come into the aired section of the ship; he'd only been to the small outer area exposed to the vacuum of the asteroid. There the bodies hadn't decomposed at all.
Dax crouched beside an intact coldsleep bed. She ran her tricorder over it. "I can't tell how long this man's been dead," she said. "The cold, the lack of oxygen in the unit, and the drugs they used to ease into cold sleep have messed up any reading I can understand. Julian did some work on cold sleep. He might be able to get a better idea than I have."
"If this turns out to be the Nibix," Sisko said, "I'll bring him down."
So far they had seen nothing that indicated they were on the Nibix. Of course, nothing had shown that they weren't on the Nibix either. Sisko would hate for this mission to prove inconclusive.
O'Brien stood, following his tricorder as if it were a native guide. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
Sisko looked up. He heard the hum of the tricorders, the rasp of their own breath, and something else, very faint. A quiet thrum he wouldn't have noticed if O'Brien hadn't mentioned it.
"Equipment," Dax said. "Something's still working."
"It's probably the life-support systems," O'Brien said. "Or what's left of them. There's a chamber just beyond this one. I'm going to investigate."
Sisko stood. He'd learned all he could from the dead man. He pulled out his tricorder. It slid in his gloved hands. He adjusted a few settings and then found the same unusual reading that seemed to be leading O'Brien forward. A low level of power, running on its own system, separate from the systems behind the panels in the corridor.
"Would that be life support?" Dax asked. "It's an independent system."
"If I were designing a ship for deep space with this primitive technology," O'Brien said, "I'd make damn sure that life support, at least to the important areas, had its own system or at least its own backup."
"Was that usual, Chief?"
"It depends on the culture," O'Brien said. "Some early space travelers from this section had no life support going into the cargo bays. If a worker got trapped back there, he died. It wasn't practical, but it was cheap."
"A waste of life," Sisko said, and he was referring not just to the practice O'Brien mentioned, but to the bodies around him.
"In some cultures, life wasn't valued very much," O'Brien
He led the way down the silent passage to a doorway that had jammed open. The door was tall-he could get through it without much effort-and it was wide enough for two people to pass. His light caught coffinlike shapes scattered throughout the room. He glanced at Dax. She was staring intently ahead, her own light playing on the surface of the coffins.
Coldsleep chambers. Ancient ones that looked like long narrow bullets. The kind that, when jettisoned into space, provided enough protection for the being inside to survive a short trip through a planet's atmosphere.
No one in the Federation had used this type of technology in a long, long time.
"I count fifteen of them," O'Brien said.
"I get no readings," Dax said. "If they were working, something would show on the tricorder."
The cold bit into Sisko's cheeks and nose. He climbed over a pile of rubble near the door and crouched near the closest coldsleep bed. Through the opaque lid and the slight fog of his own breath, Sisko could see the body of a man, somewhat well preserved, yet obviously dead. The skin on his face had sunken in and his eyelids seemed flat. He had been a middle-aged man. He wore robes that had no markings on them. Through the lid, Sisko couldn't even make out the robes' fabric.
"A few of them smashed open," O'Brien said. He had gone deeper into the room. His voice had a quiet power in the silence. "Nothing left except skulls, a bit of bone, and some metal jewelry. This ship has been here a long time."
The Caxtonian hadn't come into the aired section of the ship; he'd only been to the small outer area exposed to the vacuum of the asteroid. There the bodies hadn't decomposed at all.
Dax crouched beside an intact coldsleep bed. She ran her tricorder over it. "I can't tell how long this man's been dead," she said. "The cold, the lack of oxygen in the unit, and the drugs they used to ease into cold sleep have messed up any reading I can understand. Julian did some work on cold sleep. He might be able to get a better idea than I have."
"If this turns out to be the Nibix," Sisko said, "I'll bring him down."
So far they had seen nothing that indicated they were on the Nibix. Of course, nothing had shown that they weren't on the Nibix either. Sisko would hate for this mission to prove inconclusive.
O'Brien stood, following his tricorder as if it were a native guide. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
Sisko looked up. He heard the hum of the tricorders, the rasp of their own breath, and something else, very faint. A quiet thrum he wouldn't have noticed if O'Brien hadn't mentioned it.
"Equipment," Dax said. "Something's still working."
"It's probably the life-support systems," O'Brien said. "Or what's left of them. There's a chamber just beyond this one. I'm going to investigate."
Sisko stood. He'd learned all he could from the dead man. He pulled out his tricorder. It slid in his gloved hands. He adjusted a few settings and then found the same unusual reading that seemed to be leading O'Brien forward. A low level of power, running on its own system, separate from the systems behind the panels in the corridor.
"Would that be life support?" Dax asked. "It's an independent system."
"If I were designing a ship for deep space with this primitive technology," O'Brien said, "I'd make damn sure that life support, at least to the important areas, had its own system or at least its own backup."
"Was that usual, Chief?"
"It depends on the culture," O'Brien said. "Some early space travelers from this section had no life support going into the cargo bays. If a worker got trapped back there, he died. It wasn't practical, but it was cheap."
"A waste of life," Sisko said, and he was referring not just to the practice O'Brien mentioned, but to the bodies around him.
"In some cultures, life wasn't valued very much," O'Brien
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