Tundra 37 Read Online Free PDF Page A

stood frozen before the shaft, breathing in smoke-clogged air. He shook his head and climbed. She interfered with his job, and this was no time for such thoughts. He had more people to save. The dots on the locator beeped anxiously as far cries for help.
    Crawling through the airshaft, he reviewed his options. The Seers had locked off decks eighty-six through ninety, and the locator traced the vital signs to eighty-seven, smack in the middle of the depressurizing zone. Maybe they they’d found an air bubble. Brentwood ground his teeth together in determination. He’d find a way to reach it.
    He found a vent to an alternate corridor. He kicked in the metal grating and jumped down. Bringing up a blueprint of the ship on his miniscreen, he studied how to reach them. The main corridor leading to the upper decks had been compromised and the Seers had sanctioned it off, withdrawing air pressure to conserve energy and reroute it elsewhere.
    An airtight service shaft filled with cables ran adjacent to the corridor. He could crawl through and emerge in the hydraulics room, which controlled the aerobics pool and the spin cycle bikes. The track lay just beyond that.
    Brentwood pulled out his laser gun and fired three shots at the chrome wall. He’d damage the cables, but no one would be using the exercise room any time soon. A hole big enough to squeeze into sizzled in the laser fire. He waited for the metal to cool enough to touch it and climbed in.
    The serrated cables, thick as his fist, made for excellent ropes. He brought himself up, silently thanking all the pull-ups his fitness coach had shouted out in his class years. His muscles tightened as he grasped a handhold and heaved. Thankfully, if the three Lifers weren’t hurt, it would be easier to bring them down.
    The shaft bent at a right angle, and he hauled himself over the edge, catching his breath. The blueprint on his miniscreen shone fluorescent green into the darkness. He’d reached halfway. The cold wire rubbed against his stomach as he crawled over the cables. He used the screen to light the shaft ahead, casting a ghostly glow on old spider webs and rat nests, the offspring of the test subjects taken on the Expedition in the first generation. The sides of the shaft pressed in on him. He groped with his arm to judge the distance. Had it been this narrow before?
    He checked his locator. One meter separated him and the place where the floor hovered close enough to blast through. The cables dug into his torso as he squeezed himself forward and the cold sank into his bones like a disease. His toes numbed and his fingers throbbed. Only three meters of metal separated him from deep space, and the Seers had cut off all heat to the outer decks. The temperature dropped every second he spent in the shaft.
    The Seers’ voices came on his intercom, startling him.
    “Lieutenant, turn around.”
    He brought his arm up and squeezed the button on his lapel. “I’m following orders, evacuating the upper levels.”
    The monotone voices buzzed back. “Deck eighty seven will collapse any minute. Return to the emergency chamber immediately. I repeat: turn around.”
    Anger formed a boulder in his chest. He growled, “I can save them.”
    The cold machine-women had no right to shut off human life, no matter what the consequences. Fury turned to determination, burning within him, keeping him warm. He slid on his elbows until he reached the end of the shaft. His readings reported the atmosphere holding stable. He dragged out his laser and fired up into the floor.
    A warmer gush of air flowed in. Flashing red lights illuminated the ceiling of the fitness bay. Brentwood pulled himself up. If he read the miniscreen correctly, the upper deck had lost its pressure and the hull buckled above his head.
    He moved to run, but his feet rose from the floor.
    “Damn.” The Seers had shut down the gravity rings. What next? Lower the oxygen levels as well?
    Bubbles of water from the pool jiggled in