Free Virus by S. D. Perry Page B

of lab room, long tables and machines lining the walls. It was as messed up as the bridge had been. Thick cables had been sliced through, equipment had been smashed, and there were pieces of paneling and wires all over the floor. Steve noticed a faint, acrid tinge to the air, like burned circuitry.
    Squeaky played the beam across the heavy cables. “These were cut with an ax,” he said quietly. “This is creepy, man. I’m not likin’ this at all.”
    They moved on, and the next yawning darkness they came to was the one they’d been looking for; above the Russian scribble was a stick figure walking down stairs, the hatch open.
    The beams of light danced across red smears and spatters on the slanted walls that led down into the dark.
    “Please, God, don’t let us find any bodies,” said Squeaky, and as they started down the stairwell, Steve wondered about that.
    Where are the bodies? And if the whole crew was slaughtered, who took the lifeboats?
    None of it made sense. They reached the bottom of the first flight and started down the next, Steve finally giving voice to his unease as they moved through the quiet blackness.
    “I’ve got a bad feeling about this; it just doesn’t add up, Russian vessel sittin’ out here, no crew . . . Why would they abandon ship?”
    He paused, then decided to ask outright. “Squeak, who do you think we can trust?”
    Squeaky had obviously already given it some thought. “Forget the captain. Woods is wound so tight you couldn’t pull a pin outta his ass with a tractor. Richie looks like a waste case, but I gotta admit—he’s sharp, man, like a fox. He’ll be there if we need him. Hiko, I can’t tell yet, Foster’s good.”
    Steve frowned. “How do you mean?”
    “She’s solid. On the level.” There was a pause, and Squeaky’s voice had taken on a lighter note when he spoke again.
    “What’d you think I meant? Like, do I find her—attractive?”
    Steve was suddenly glad that it was so dark. “Do you?”
    He could hear the grin in his partner’s voice. “Sure, I’d go for it. Can’t say I’d mind slipping into those waters, she’s one hot piece . . . How ’bout you?”
    “Hadn’t really thought about it.”
    Squeaky chuckled. “Yeah, right, hadn’t really thought about it . . .”
    Steve’s light hit on a deck chart at the bottom of the flight, mounted to the wall. They were low enough for the chart to be relevant. He hurried down the last few steps, eager to get off the topic of Foster.
    A quick study of the cryptic chart and Steve pointed to a blocked area in the mass of lines and squares. “The engine room should be here. One deck down.”
    He saw Squeaky nod in the reflected light and then they were moving again, down the empty stairwell to the engine level.
    They picked up the pace as they reached the E deck, on more familiar ground now as they passed a small maintenance room filled with various machine parts and tools. Steve paused to look over their spare sets, and Squeaky checked the next room, a few feet ahead.
    “Over here!”
    Steve caught up and their beams joined at the main turbine that dominated the engine room. There were at least two other smaller generators, but there was no doubt which was the biggie; she was a beauty, an immense cylindrical machine that put every boat they’d ever worked to shame. The Volkov engineers must have been proud, and it appeared undamaged.
    Steve hurried over, found the fuel boost pump, and primed it for action. He pressed the starter button and then scowled; nothing.
    He turned his light towards his partner, talking fast. “Okay, let’s hustle, Squeak. We gotta be facing into the wind when the storm hits. If we’re in a typhoon without power to the rudder, we’re dead.”
    Squeaky nodded and then smiled suddenly. He reached for the wiring harness, holding up the cut cords under Steve’s flashlight.
    Jesus, could that be all?
    It was almost too good to be true, but it also seemed to be the only thing out