Zelda Verada's Arc

Chapter 9 of 13

The ammo arrived at dawn. Captain Hills carried the crate down to level four himself and set it beside the engineering panel. Inside sat rows of rifle magazines, a fresh bundle of stimpaks, and six compact metal spheres with glowing blue cores. EMP grenades. Zelda checked the medical kit on top, a sealed tray of ampules and a handheld scanner. Enough to open the containment room tomorrow. But before the team touched the north door, Hills wanted the station locked down and safe. The real work was the panel itself. Logan came down to read it. The Atomic Cats salvager wiped grease from his hands and studied the encrypted display without a word. He runs tech for his faction, and he reads machines by what's missing. He traced the containment controls with two fingers, then with the stump where two more used to be. "Reactor's still leaking heat below four," Logan said. "These switches wall it off. You seal the lower feed lines, the radiation on four drops. Safe to work in." He pulled a lever. A row of lights turned green. "Then we seal it," Zelda said. She watched the display settle. If the reactor side stayed open, no hospital could run down here. People would sicken just standing in the ward. Logan threw the last switches in order. The panel hummed. The reactor lines locked, one by one, until the warning lights died and a steady white glow remained. The area was sealed. Then a sound came from the side storage room. A wet scrabbling. "Rats," Hills said. He already had his rifle up. Three radrats burst through the storage doorway, grey-green and oozing, red eyes bright. Their bite carried radiation. Hills fired twice and dropped one. The second lunged for his boot. The third went straight at Logan's legs. Zelda had no gun ready. She grabbed a wrench off the panel ledge and swung it down on the rat at Logan's feet. Bone cracked. It went still. Hills shot the last one through the chest. Silence. Three dead rats on the floor. Logan looked at the wrench in Zelda's paw, then at her. "Didn't peg you for the swinging type," he said. "I patch what I can't prevent," Zelda said. She checked his leg. No bite. No broken skin. She checked Hills the same way. Clean. For once, no one needed antirad. She packed the medical kit against her belt. The reactor was walled off. The storage room was clear. The ammo and EMP grenades sat ready for the door. "Tomorrow we open containment," Hills said. Zelda nodded. One room stood between her and a working ward. Behind that door waited turrets and security bots. But the floor was safe now, the supplies were here, and her team was whole. She closed the crate lid and looked at the north door. Tomorrow it opened.