The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [29]
Wesley’s footsteps echoed down the length of the narrow access tunnel and disappeared into the deep shadows ahead. The shadows remained just out of reach no matter how far the boy walked. Every ten steps forward a recessed wall light sprang to life in front of him just as another died behind him. His pace accelerated as his imagination called up half-forgotten horror tales to draw forms in the darkness.
A sudden hiss wrung a yelp of fright from his throat, even as his mind recognized the sound of doors parting. Laughing at his self-induced terror, Wesley sprinted through the opening into the cavernous room beyond. Dnnys had showed him this way to the cargo bay, and it had rapidly turned into a favorite shortcut.
Before the Farmers’ arrival, Wesley had never explored the cargo sections of the Enterprise. He was naturally drawn to the more intricate technology of the warp-drive engine and the bridge control systems. Only a chance comment from one of the engineers had alerted Wesley to the stasis system the colonists had brought on board. Curiosity led to a visit and the meeting with the Farmer boy in charge of the equipment led to friendship.
Wesley sighed as he remembered that the friendship might be over now. He threaded his way between the towering stacks of faceted shipping containers, automatically counting the left and right turns. Even before he reached the final corner, he could hear the bubbling rush of the cryo-liquid as it cycled through its tubing.
“Dnnys?” Wesley could usually find the Farmer somewhere nearby during the ship’s day cycle. This was the only area outside the passenger quarter where Dnnys was allowed and he spent as much time in the cargo hold, as possible.
A tousled head popped out from behind the honeycombed structure of the stasis chambers, then ducked back out of sight. Wesley had dreaded this confrontation, and now his fears were confirmed by the silent rebuff. He stood, undecided as to his next move.
“Well, hurry up!” cried Dnnys, his voice muffled inside the bank of equipment. “It’s about time you came. I’ve got a problem.”
“You could have called,” said Wesley as he bent down on hands and knees and scrambled into the control niche. The space was just big enough for the two of them to hunch side by side.
Dnnys ignored this statement. “There’s something wrong.” He tapped the face of a dial. The indicator needle quivered in place. “All the readings are normal, but something is wrong.”
Wesley accepted his friend’s assessment without surprise. The stasis machinery was antiquated, a cast-off relic that only a poor planet like Grzydc would have kept; a strict regimen of daily maintenance was necessary to insure its continued operation. Drawing on Wesley’s theoretical knowledge and his own familiarity with the mechanics involved, Dnnys finally tracked the source of the problem. Flat on his back, squeezed into a space made for alien technicians of a different size and shape, he stretched a hand deep into the entrails of a control box and pulled out a darkened chip of metal.
“Fused solid,” said Wesley, examining the square circuit. “It must have been shorted out when we were caught in the energy net.” The fail-safe checks of the Enterprise computers had pinpointed all such failures on the starship, but the stasis machinery was too old for such sophisticated damage control. He slipped Dnnys a replacement chip and watched as the readings on the wall panels fluttered to new settings.
One section on a cluttered board drew their immediate attention. The two boys stared at the chronometer. The numbers on its face were ticking off, one by one, higher and higher.
“The decant cycle has started,” cried Dnnys. “It’s only a few days from the first unloading.” The boy wriggled out of the niche and pressed his face against the nearest stasis window. A dim red glow barely revealed the tiny curled form of an embryo floating inside; it had grown since his last inspection. He moved