(no subject)
"Beyond the Stars" (3/6)
Summary: “You have a choice to make, Sherlock Holmes. Your friend... or your lover?”
Forty years ago, humanity left behind a dying Earth and fled to the stars. But life in space is fraught with danger, and some of it is found inside the very walls that are supposed to keep them safe.
Part One
Part Two
Two hours since the disaster, and they have had no luck in getting out to the rest of the ship.
John hasn’t spared it much thought, because he has an Infirmary full to bursting with casualties and half his medical staff was in other parts of the ship when the accident occurred. They are understaffed and overworked, and John hasn’t seen injuries like this since---
--well, not since medical school. Never in practice, certainly.
“Someone finally managed to get through to one of the control rooms,” Sarah Sawyer tells him between surgeries as they convene in his office. “There are hull breaches all over the ship, which is why it’s been sealed off. Old safety mechanism. There’s no override, except for fixing the breaches.”
“Give me numbers, Sarah,” he says impatiently.
She gives him food, water, and air estimates for their section of the ship, and then says, “What should we do?”
“You’re asking me?” he snorts, but she looks grave.
“Yes,” she says simply. “You’re the highest-ranking officer here, and you have the most experience. People are going to need some sort of leader and some sort of organization, or we’ll never get out of this alive.”
“I’m a captain only in title, you know that,” he says. Their army is one in name only, and has never seen combat or a battlefield--bar a few of the oldest members, who had been young and inexperienced when the last war on Earth ended and humanity took to the skies.
“We have only two orderlies. We need more if we’re going to get to all of these patients in time. I want to pull some of the least injured civilians and put them to work,” Sarah says briskly, ignoring his protest. “Everyone else who’s not too injured for a bed should get to work trying to break the seals so we can get aid to the rest of the ship. Agreed?”
He nods.
“Good. I’ll tell them the order came from you.”
She makes to leave, but just then the intercom by John’s desk comes to life.
“Hello?”
It is a young woman’s voice, weak and raspy.
“Yes, hello?” John says. “Who is this?”
“Is - is anyone there?”
“This is the Infirmary,” John says impatiently. “Look, this is a very important line and I need to have it cleared -”
“I need help.”
John and Sarah exchange glances.
“What’s wrong?” John asks.
“I need - I need help.”
“What’s happened? You need to tell us.”
“I - I can’t move. I’m trapped. I think... God, I think my leg is broken. And my son... Eric, he was with me when the beam collapsed, and he’s not responding. Oh, God... he’s only twelve. Eric?”
“Where are you?” John demands, as much out of urgency as it is out his desire to not have to hear a mother pleading for her child to answer her.
“Section 112. Level 2. Cabin... shit. Cabin, um.”
She sounds dazed and desperate, her voice wavering with every word.
“Take a deep breath,” John orders briskly. “We’ll send someone to find you, I promise. But you need to breathe and think. What’s your name?”
“Martha,” she manages.
“Right, Martha, I’m John. Now, can you tell me what cabin you’re in, please?”
He speaks in as level a voice as he can manage, hoping to keep her calm. After some more minutes of coaxing, she’s able to tell him where she is, and he assures her that help is on the way.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sarah says immediately when he cuts the line. “And we can’t spare you.”
“You’re going to have to,” John says, reaching for a bag and beginning to pack some medical supplies--just a few, enough to hold two people together long enough to get them proper care. “You and I are the only ones in this section of the ship who are equipped to deal with such injuries. It shouldn’t take that long. I’ll have to go through the tunnels to reach them, that’s probably fastest and they’re hopefully deserted. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You and Molly can handle things until then.”
“You can’t know that.”
“No,” John agrees, slinging the bag over his shoulder and going over to a secure lockbox set into the wall. He keys in the code and pulls out his gun, which he slides into his belt for lack of any better options. “But I don’t see how we have any other choice. I’ll be back. Promise.”
----------
Two and a half hours have passed since the accident, near as Lestrade can tell. It’s solely guesswork, as he can’t locate his watch and the computer’s clocks have all gone offline, the ship channeling all non-essential power into the most vital areas. But he hasn’t started to feel short of breath yet, and therefore knows it can’t have been more than four.
The temperature has started to drop, just as Anderson predicted, and Lestrade puts on the jacket he had shed earlier. The chill is just beginning to tinge the air, and he can feel it starting to prick at his nose and the ends of his fingers. It sharpens his mind after the muggy heat; focuses his thoughts. He begins to work more quickly in an effort to keep warm.
Finally, his efforts pay off. There is an audible click and then what sounds like a sigh as the door unseals itself, and Lestrade lets out a breath.
He has kept an open communications line with the auxiliary control room so as not to lose contact with Anderson, and he breathes, “Did it, Daniel.”
“Oh, thank God.” Anderson doesn’t even try to conceal his relief. “Now what, sir?”
“You stay where you are and keep up your calling. I’ll come to you, soon as I can. Keep people calm; keep them focused and working. The more breaches we seal, the more chance we have of getting the ship back and people out of his alive.” Lestrade goes over to the door and shoves it open fully. “See if you can find others near you, or in the vicinity of the other control rooms. We need to find a way to override the ship’s security system, if all else fails.”
“You’re going after him, aren’t you.” It’s more a statement than a question.
I wish.
“Much as I may want to,” Lestrade admits, “no. I’m going to try to get into the main control room.”
There is a heavy pause.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to dissuade you,” Anderson says in resignation. “But sir, that could very well be suicide. We don’t know what happened to Mycroft Holmes and his staff.”
“I know. But if we want to take this ship back, our only hope is that room. The auxiliary control rooms just don’t have the power, nor the technology that we need. All they can do is delay the inevitable, so keep it up, Daniel. Make sure people are fixing those breaches, and tell anyone who’s mobile to start making for the MCR. The more manpower we have, the better.”
“People are gonna start dying in about three hours,” Anderson says at last, silently conceding to Lestrade’s decision.
Lestrade nods to himself.
“Then I’ll just have to work quickly. Good luck, Daniel.”
“And to you, sir.”
-----------
The tunnel is dark.
John feels as though dark is an understatement, though, as he climbs down a ladder through the innards of the ship. These tunnels that snake through the walls and between the floors of their ship provide repairmen with access to the delicate circuitry that keep their floating city running. The tunnels also, in a pinch, provide a way of traveling between levels and sections if the lifts are down. Usually these tunnels are well-lit, but with the ship running on emergency power, the lights aren’t considered essential.
He descends through the ship with his bag slung over his back, his progress hampered by the fact that he can’t see the next rung for his hand or foot; he has to feel each and every one of them out. Mentally, he keeps tally of how many levels he has passed through. It’s eight from the Infirmary to Level 2; he is just over halfway there.
And then he will have to feel his way along a tunnel to Martha’s section, hopefully without encountering any obstacles that he won’t be able to see ahead of time.
His foot steps off a rung and comes to rest on solid ground--he’s made it. There’s nowhere else to descend from here. Level 1 is devoted exclusively to the engine room, accessible only to a select number of personnel. There is only one way in, and it’s not here.
John adjusts his bag, turns to his right, and begins to walk. He started out in Section 164 on Level 10, which is where the Infirmary is located. The tight corridor he’s walking down now is actually set between two very thick walls and runs behind all of the cabins on this level. Their outer walls are to his left; on his right, there are six feet of solid metal, and then a vacuum.
He shivers, and walks on.
The boundary between sections is marked by numbers carved deep into the walls, enough so that they are discernible by touch alone. John runs his hand over 138, surmises that he’s been walking for twenty minutes, and sighs.
Halfway there.
There is a click behind him, and John whirls.
Stupid, stupid. It’s not like he can see anything, anyway. He presses his back against a wall, exposing as little of himself to open air as is possible, and holds his breath.
There comes another click, but this time to his left, and from further down the cramped corridor. A beam of light catches him in the face, and though it is weak, John flinches anyway. His eyes have become accustomed to the unending darkness, and the light burns his eyes.
Against his eyelids, he sees another spot of illumination to his right and, squinting, he ventures a look.
Soft beams of light are flashing at him from up and down the corridor, coming from at least five different sources, and for a moment he is hopeful. But then he realises that they are coming from too close to the ground to be torches held by people, and his heart sinks.
“Sorry, Johnny-boy,” a voice says suddenly, and John starts violently. “Martha won’t be getting your help anytime soon--not that she would have, anyway. I made sure of that.”
John feels as though the floor has been ripped out from beneath his feet, and his stomach bottoms out as though he is plummeting through open air. He hasn’t heard that voice in close to a year--and yet, there is no mistaking it.
“Moriarty,” John hisses, trying to mentally find his footing again. The clicking sounds are getting louder, and finally the source of the light comes into view--one of the sources, at least. It beeps, pauses, and flashes its light full in John’s face. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, Johnny, I’m afraid I’ve been a bit naughty. How terrible for you.”
“Yeah, spare me the speeches, what’s that thing doing?”
“He’s reading you,” Moriarty says gleefully, and it takes John a moment, but eventually he realises that he’s looking at one of the ship’s emergency repair bots. Small, silver, and nimble, they are mostly kept in the storage bays, except when performing minor maintenance or repairs on the ship’s hull. “He’s assessing your condition. Isn’t that sweet?”
“What do you want?” John growls, testily, because he’s not liking the way this robot is considering him and there are dozens of patients in his Infirmary who could use his attention. Instead, he’s out here on this wild chase to help a patient who may never have existed in the first place -
“I don’t want anything. Not from you directly, at least. I am hoping your cabinmate will provide me with some delightful entertainment, and you may be a contributing factor to that end. But I wouldn’t worry too much about my motives at the moment.”
“And why not?” John snaps. The bot whirs, and then inches closer.
What the devil?
“Because, Johnny, our little friend has scanned you, and decided that you’re in need of some... repair.”
“Some what?”
“Humans,” Moriarty crows. “You all are so full of holes, full of orifices. So messy and inelegant. Yes, my robots are going to fix you, Johnny-boy.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” John hisses. A robot inches closer, and he takes a step back. “You humans, what the hell’s that supposed to mean? You’re human. I saw you! Last year, at the pool, when you strapped a bomb to me, remember?”
“Did I?’ Moriarty says gleefully. “Or were you seeing only what you wanted to see? Or what I wanted you to see? Maybe that was me, but it just happens that I’ve made tremendous strides since then. You’ll never know, Johnny, I’m afraid. Time, as they say, is up.”
The line cuts out, and the repair bots start to advance.
-----------
Sherlock makes it to the engine room and finds that it hasn’t been sealed off.
No microbreaches for him to fix, then.
“No, no, of course not,” a voice filters through the room. “Where would the fun be in that?”
“Why have you decided to speak to me in your own voice this time?” Sherlock asks as he goes over to the nearest computer panel. He touches a few of the controls; the panel doesn’t respond. The engines have stopped running, too, though that has nothing to help lower the oppressive temperature. This room always ran hot. “Thought you didn’t like to do your own dirty work.”
“It’s foolish to try to distract me, Sherlock, surely you’ve realized that by now. It just won’t work. Now, go over to the computer screen two paces to the left--ah. There’s a good boy.”
The voice slides silkily up Sherlock’s spine, and he shivers.
“Turn it on,” Moriarty orders, and Sherlock does so. The screen flares to life, and after a moment he realises that he’s looking at a schematic of the ship. It is a live blueprint, and the damaged areas are marked in red. Here and there, green dots move across the screen, and Sherlock finds that if he touches them with a fingertip, a name appears. “Oh, very good, my dear, you catch on quite quickly.”
“It’s the ship, obvious, and clearly it shows the movements of most of its inhabitants,” Sherlock says impatiently. “But why should I care?”
“I don’t expect that you do; not as yet. So let’s make things interesting, shall we? Isn’t that what you’re always looking to do?”
Sherlock opens his mouth to argue that what he finds interesting probably differs from Moriarty’s definition of the word, but then--for once--thinks better of it. Partly because it’s untrue.
They are more alike than Sherlock permits himself to admit, most days.
“In ten hours, everyone in the affected areas of the ship will be dead,” Moriarty intones while Sherlock watches the screen. “In six months, everyone who survives this particular incident will also be dead. But you don’t care about them, do you? So let’s make it a bit more... interesting. In three hours, your blundering lover will stumble head-long into his own death, while at the same time, what’s left of John Watson will be discovered by a repair crew trying to break through to the lower levels.”
Sherlock’s eyes dart over the screen, frantic, but the green dots bleed together and he has difficulty distinguishing one from another. He starts tapping them at random, but the names that pop up are unfamiliar.
“You have three hours,” Moriarty murmurs, “and you can only save one.
“So you have a choice to make, Sherlock Holmes: your friend... or your lover?”
-----------
It’s been almost a year since John’s had to fire the weapon, but his skills haven’t suffered for it.
He takes out three of the robots before they get to within ten feet of him, his aim sure and steady. He manages to avoid puncturing the outer bulkhead with the bullets. If they go through the robot, then they end up buried in the inner wall.
It takes three bullets for John to realise the flaw in his plan.
He only has so many bullets. London City has hundreds of these miniature repair bots for the hull alone, and scores of others that are used in other parts of the ship. All in all, John would estimate that near one thousand robots inhabit the ship.
And if Moriarty has got to them all...
John puts the gun back into his belt and swings up onto the ladder, hauling himself up to Level 3 and shutting the hatch behind him. It won’t stop the robots for long, as they can scale walls and cut through the ship’s hull with small laser beams, but maybe it will buy him some time to think.
He needs a new plan, and quickly.
---------
Lestrade lives only two levels away from the Yard, and once he’s free of his cabin, that’s where he goes first.
Part of him hopes that he’ll see Sherlock there, for he doesn’t believe for a second that his lover is lying low somewhere, like he promised. But the Yard is deserted, the portions that aren’t exposed to space having been evacuated.
Lestrade’s own office was spared, and he quickly begins to collect supplies, anything that he can carry on him. He pockets a penknife and goes into a locked drawer for a gun he’s not supposed to have. Sherlock had got his hands on it back in April, after his encounter with Moriarty at the pool. For protection, he’d said, though Lestrade has never had need to fire a weapon outside of training courses. He’d held onto it anyway, unease tugging at the back of his mind, and now he’s distinctly grateful for it.
The big question, the one that he has refused to think about too much since this whole ordeal began, is where’s Mycroft? No one has heard from him, and there has been no evidence of his activity, which frightens Lestrade more than he cares to admit. But as he jogs down empty and dim corridors, searching for any evidence of life, he can’t keep his mind away from the question much longer.
Mycroft, quite literally, is the ship. He’s Sherlock’s brother--and a Holmes--in name only, for what he is today is nothing close to the child Violet Holmes gave birth to all those decades ago. Years of research, development, and experiments conducted by men of Mycroft’s choosing have transformed him into a human with the ability to interface with the ship; with enough cybernetic components to actually physically fuse with their floating home. He hasn’t left the main control room in close to a decade, Lestrade knows. He has no need to.
From his vantage point, Mycroft is aware of nearly every movement, every sneeze, every cough that happens on the ship. He can manually control the environmental systems, the engines, the food supply--anything he wishes. Security cameras mounted in every corner of every level allow him to see everything he wishes to see. He knows where the ship needs maintenance, and what has been damaged and what needs to be repaired, sometimes even before it occurs.
And yet, today, Mycroft is eerily silent, and the ship right along with him.
They are truly alone.
----
Part Four