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The lights around him flickered for several seconds. “System failure is imminent.”
“I could have worked that out for myself. Where have we landed?”
“Signus X.”
He scowled. That was a barren cluster of cold rock, with nothing going for it.
“Report the external environment. Is the air breathable?”
“Yes. Breathing apparatus is not required. The planet isn’t habitable for long periods of time. Recommend surface exposure of a maximum of forty hours.”
“What happens after forty hours?”
“Radiation from the nearby sun becomes dangerous.”
“Got you. No sunbathing on this planet.”
“Sunbathing is not a recommended behavior.”
“Report on the comms system. Can we get a message out of here?”
“Communications are currently off line.”
“Report life signs. How many are on board?”
“Reporting twenty life signs.”
“Twenty? All Gente?”
“No. There are no Gente alive on the ship.”
“It must be the animals,” Striker said. “What about Human life signs?”
“Unable to comply.”
His breath vanished, and his chest tightened. “Check again.”
“Initial statement confirmed.”
Striker closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many bodies on the ship?”
“Unable to comply.”
He growled. “Look for heat signatures that are cooling.”
“Total system failure imminent.”
“You star damned piece of crap,” Striker said. “I don’t suppose by some miracle you’ve still got video comms working?”
“Total system failure is imminent.”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time.” With a heavy heart and a throbbing right arm, he heaved himself along the corridor. Wren wasn’t dead. She must have been conscious after the ship crashed. Why had she left him behind? Had she thought he was dead? Had she gone to find help?
“If she’s picked those animals over me, she’s in big trouble,” he muttered. Although he didn’t really care what she was doing, so long as she wasn’t injured.
He tensed and tilted his head as a low muttered groan reached his ears.
“Wren? Is that you?” He pulled himself along the corridor, the ship creaking and groaning with every step.
