Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D. by Glenn van Dyke, Renee van Dyke Read Free Book Online Page B

stasis chamber failure. Initiate manual emergency resuscitation procedures immediately,” boomed the computer voice as the lights above him flickered, fighting to stay on.
    “Admiral, though you were supposed to have about eight minutes left, I suspect our presence has put a strain on the system, and the computer doesn’t have the reserves,” said Stratton. “I’d be willing to bet that if her chamber fails, the computer will believe she’s dead and drop the timer to zero.”
    “Agreed-d,” said Steven.
    “Maybe it won’t have the power to complete the self-destruct sequence,” said the typically quiet Cole from outside.
    “Possibly, but we have to assume the good doctor made that his highest priority. He’s a cautious son-of-a-bitch,” said Stratton.
    “Stratt, you s-should get the t-team ab-board the transport. I can’t g-get Ashlyn upstairs b-before the storm arrives.”
    “Is that an order? Otherwise, we want to stay, sir. You need the armed support. If the door opens and we’re not here the spiders will get inside!”
    Again, Stratton’s reply did not register. Neither did the voiced opinions of the rest of the team, who were in agreement.
    Tromping through the fluffy, knee-deep snow, Steven worked his way up the stairs of a large, circular platform. It was a monitoring station, five meters above the floor in the center of the room.
    “Cryo chamber shut-down will commence in 1 minute.”
    Atop the platform, the snow nearly as deep as the consoles were high, he saw that the room separated into four distinct sectors.
    He picked out the workstation that was facing Ashlyn and quickly swiped away the snow atop it. As the computer counted down the few remaining seconds, his eyes were drawn to the only button that was not glowing red. “Red is for dead!”
    Above the flashing, yellow button were the words, “Initiate Resuscitation.” Flipping back the cover, he pushed the button. It instantly changed to green, the digital display message now showing a slowly rising temperature readout.
    As Steven had expected, the waking procedure also shut down the need for the cryo coolant to be pumped into the room. The room grew quiet and still—all he could hear was his own heavy breathing.
    “Cryo chamber resuscitation initiated,” announced the computer.
    Overhearing the computer’s confirmation, “Glad to hear you’re making progress, Admiral,” said Stratt. “By the way, it’s a bit crazy up here!”
    “The storm, S-stratt?” asked Steven.
    “The worst of the storm is still a few minutes out, but the spiders are here! They are probing our defenses. I’ve never seen them this methodical.”
    “Tell Victor to g-get r-ready, Stratt. W-when the d-door opens, have Victor g-get s-setup in the r-r-room upstairs. Have him bring a c-cardio unit, b-blankets, and s-some replacement en-energy c-cores.” Steven knew that Victor was listening in, but he didn’t have the time to engage him in a direct conversation.
    “We’ll try. It’s starting to become a serious fight,” said Stratton. A rocket explosion up the street peppered his words.
    “Have the t-transporter lower V-victor d-d-down in the s-sling if you n-need to! Just g-get it done,” ordered Steven.
    “Time till self-destruct is T-minus 5 minutes,” announced the computer.
    It was then that the red warning light inside Steven’s helmet winked out. His energy core was failing—his suit in its final seconds of reserves. “Gena, t-turn off all of m-m-my suit’s s-systems except h-heating and external flood.”
    With his suit’s electro-magnet off, Steven’s heavy rifle fell to the ground, the sound of its impact muffled by the deep snow. He now bore the full 160-pound weight of his suit, and he fought the urge to rip it off and discard it. Each movement was cumbersome, slow, and deliberate. At the top of the platform’s stairs, he placed each gloved hand upon a bannister. Lifting his feet from the ground, he slid to the main floor. Rising