It was only a quick step to the side that saw Faust evade the attacker's strike. The attacker, evidently an alien intruder, lashed out at him with a set of fearsome claws, missing very narrowly the Captain's chest. The hideous thing, blue-skinned and fish-like in appearance, staggered back and attempted to mount another strike, but was quickly dispatched as Faust swung his blade and carved into the creature's supple calf. With scarcely any effort, the saber passed straight through its leg, sending the lower half of the limb spiraling into the air, where it landed on the floor with a fleshy smack and oozed a bit of bluish-green blood. The intruder gave a shrill shriek and fell back onto its elbows. Before it could scramble away, Faust had his boot heel upon the side of its neck, pinning it to the floor.
The rest of the group rushed in, guns pointed at the intruder. Faust called them off, however. “It's all right,” he said, bringing the tip of his saber down towards the creature's scaly cheek. The heat that emanated from the blade was sufficient to make the creature squirm beneath his heel. “I want him alive. At least, for the time being.”
To call it “inhuman” might've been too charitable a description. It was similar in size to a man, and possessed similar proportions. Its limbs were somewhat elongated and its core strangely stunted, however. It was clad in a brown, leathery garb, which bore no insignia of any kind, and its stocky, reptilian-looking feet were bare. Slits in the sides of its neck contracted and expanded as the thing wheezed. This, coupled with its bulging black eyes and scaly skin, summoned images of fish or other aquatic creatures, many of which Faust was only acquainted with from old stories of Earth. Its feet were tipped in stubby, rounded claws, however its four, long fingers boasted lengthy, sharper-looking claws of seeming obsidian. Faust's sensibilities were offended at the sight of it; he had no trouble terming it a monstrosity.
Its wounded limb, cauterized, twitched as Faust pressed harder. One side of the thing's face was pressed against the cold flooring, but with one queer, black eye it still managed to look up at him and glower. Its gaze communicated a disdain that transcended the gulf between their races.
“Can you understand me?” hissed Faust, drawing back somewhat to allow the thing to answer. No such answer came, however. It gasped for breath and uttered a pained reply in some strange, croaking tongue which proved most grating to human ears. The others in the room all winced when they heard it. The brothers whispered behind the guard captain, shuddering frightfully at the sight of the thing.
Faust studied the creature a while, eyeing its body up and down. “Humanoid in shape. Powerful claws, strangely-colored blood. Large, black eyes. Stunted facial features and thin scales. These things might be aquatic, by the looks of it.” He lowered the tip of his blade once more, grazing the length of the creature's neck and eliciting a sharp cry from its blue, scaly lips. The thin line traced into its flesh sizzled. “I am thankful to have had a chance to observe the enemy up close.” With that, he grunted and sent the tip of his saber into the creature's bulbous skull, giving it a twist and killing the thing at once. Its black eyes grew wide, its purplish tongue shot from its mouth. The blade hummed, searing the flesh and sealing the wound as he drew it out slowly. The rest of the group cowered at the brutal display, stepping back into the hall.
Faust returned his saber to its scabbard and sent a transmission to the bridge. “Mr. Kanpei, I've apprehended the intruder. Call off the lock-down, if you would.”
The Weatherby brothers looked ready to faint. “Goodness,” managed Dominic as Faust started into the hallway. “I suppose... I suppose that's that, then?”
“Yes, you can call off your men,” replied Faust. “Thanks for your help.” He made his way towards the bridge as the doors all began to open, the rest of the group following him. They seemed to want to put as much distance between themselves and the dead space alien as possible.
“What now?” asked Francis, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “How will you dispose of the... thing?”
Faust didn't reply however, starting down a long corridor and storming into the command center. “Mr. Kanpei, was that message to Kessler encrypted?” he barked as he entered.
Kanpei jumped out of the command chair. “Uh, well,” he fumbled. “I'm not sure that it was, no. I'm sorry, sir. I should've known to encrypt it so that it couldn't be intercepted. Do you think... do you think that the aliens somehow intercepted it?”
“It's possible,” grumbled the Captain. “They might've sent someone along to infiltrate our ship after learning that we intended to assist the Earthlings. It's a long-shot, though... that thing didn't seem to understand me. I doubt that they've any more a grasp of our language than we have of theirs. It's possible that they're merely keeping a lookout for any transmissions sent to Earth and...” Faust paused, massaging his temples. “I don't know what he was doing onboard or who sent him.” He turned to a pair of mates standing at consoles beside him. “Do me a favor and get him off my ship, though. I don't care if we throw him in the blast furnace. Oh, and there's the other casualty, one of our pilots. Have his body prepared in a capsule. We'll fire it off when we're through here.”
One of the mates paged a janitor to clear away the bodies. The janitors on Methuselah were used to cleaning up after massacres and were no strangers to dead bodies, though an alien body was certainly a first. A pair of custodians reported to the bridge and were ordered to the mess hall to handle the bodies and sanitize the area. They peered at one another fearfully before shuffling down the hall, mops and buckets in hand. “You'll be needing a bigger bucket than that,” laughed Faust as the two departed.
Kanpei peered up at the Captain sorrowfully. “I'm sorry that my carelessness may have seen that intruder enter our ship. If I'd stayed behind and kept an eye on the footage we might've caught sight of him before he made it inside. Or...”
“That's enough of that,” said Faust, slapping him on the arm. “These things happen. We are at war, Mr. Kanpei. Don't forget that. Arrange to have the supplies picked up at once and we'll get going. I think we've had more than enough excitement for one day.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Kanpei with a nod. “And you, sir?”
“I've got to see off our hosts,” said Faust, nodding towards the Weatherby brothers and the guard captain waiting in the doorway.
Starting into the hall, the Captain led them out of the ship and back out onto the dock. “Thank you all for your assistance,” he said, shaking their hands. “I apologize for the mess.”
“Oh, it's not a problem,” said Dominic, laughing nervously. “Thank you for your visit. Things are always exciting when you come around, Alberich. Next time... perhaps think twice about inviting any friends.”
Faust grinned. “He was no friend of mine, I tell you that much.”
Francis perked up, pressing a finger to his lips. “What was that?” he asked, listening for something above the din of the crowded dock.
“What is it?” asked Dominic. “I didn't hear anything.”
Francis eased his way towards the main door, listening still. “Don't you feel that? Those... vibrations?”
The trio paused. Sure enough, a subtle rumbling worked its way through the hangar, knocking dust from the rafters and rattling everything within slightly. “What in the world is that?” asked Faust.
As the vibrations continued, everyone on the dock fell silent. The security crews, who'd returned to their vehicles, shut off their engines to better hear what was going on. There was a deep rumbling noise coming from outside the hangar. Though all mumbled about its potential source, none could say for certain.
Dominic shrugged. “I'm... I'm not sure. But I'm not going mad, am I? Y-you all feel it, too?”
The others nodded. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a number of high-pitched rings. Transmitters all throughout the dock were going off simultaneously. Both of the brothers, along with most of the guards, began to answer the transmissions.
Faust heard the message in stereo; all around him, a
robotic voice flowed from the mobile transmitters. “RED ALERT. EXPLOSION IN SECTOR ALPHA-C. RED ALERT. EXPLOSION IN SECTOR ALPHA-C. ALL AVAILABLE PERSONEL ARE TO RESPOND AT ONCE. RED ALERT PROCEDURES ARE NOW IN EFFECT.”
The brothers went white-faced as they listened. “An e-e-explosion?” stammered Dominic, his legs growing weak. “W-what? What's happened?”
Francis leaned on his brother, the two of them very nearly tumbling to the floor as the vibrations grew stronger and knocked them off balance. Faust and the guard captain rushed in to steady them. Their transmitters were going off faster than either could hope to answer as calls poured in from all across the station.
“What the hell is going on?” asked Faust.
The guard captain pulled away and listened to one of the incoming transmissions while the rest of the guards scrambled out of the hangar. “Sirs!” he cried a short while later. “The explosions are the result of an attack! Unidentified craft have been spotted outside the station. They're attacking as we speak!”
“What?” screamed Francis. “Who would dare?”
Dominic brought a chubby hand to his forehead. “Brother, don't you understand what's going on here? These craft are unidentified, so it could be... aliens. The bulk of our forces are tied up on this part of the ship, meaning...”
“That the intruder might have simply been a diversion meant to draw troops away from the actual target area,” said Faust with a grimace. “They're crafty bastards, I grant them that.”
“What will we do?” cried Francis, grasping the guard commander's uniform and giving him a shake.
“Methuselah will take off at once,” said Faust, pulling Francis away. “Send as many fighters into space as you can and Methuselah will wage an offensive to draw fire away from the station.”
“But Alberich, Alpha Sector contains most of the station's life support systems. It's near the station's propulsion systems, too. It may be too late... if we don't contain this threat quickly, Anvil Station may be lost!” Cried Francis.
“Get your men out of here at once, Methuselah is taking off!” shouted Faust. “We will do our best to neutralize the threat, but until we get outside we're helpless.”
Dominic gulped and led his brother from the hangar. “Alberich is right, brother. Methuselah can give the attackers a run for their money and we'll scramble fighters in the meantime. Come, let us prepare a ship of our own, in case the worst comes to pass...” The brothers said goodbye to Faust and took off running from the hangar behind a crowd of frantic station guards.
Faust sent a transmission to the command center. “Kanpei, we're taking off at once,” he bellowed, starting into the ship. Her hull vibrated as another explosion ravaged the station. This one was closer.
“What?” blurted Kanpei. “B-but sir, the supplies... we have none. We're not ready to embark just yet. What's happened, sir?”
“Not now, Kanpei. Fire up the engines and blast the doors off of this dock if you must. We need to leave the station at once-- unless you'd rather Methuselah sink with it!”
The ship's main door closed with a hiss behind him and the engines could be heard to roar. Faust stormed towards the bridge. These aliens wanted to start a war... and now they've got one.
CHAPTER 6
Jack Savage had his orders. He was to lead a squadron of the ship's pilots on a strike against the attackers of Anvil Station. Faust had growled into the transmitter, the message turning Jack's stomach. “Who are we fighting against?” blurted Jack.
“Who do you think?” cried the Captain before cutting the line.
Jack cursed, hopping from his bunk and into his jumpsuit. The pilots in the rooms around his own could be heard to scramble into their garb as well, the shrill siren of a high alert ringing through the ship and calling them to action. Once dressed, they dashed to the hangar to await Jack’s instruction.
At the sound of that siren, Jack had to put his bitterness behind him. He’d spent the better part of the day stewing over the Captain’s decision to help Earth and hadn’t much felt like leaving the ship during its brief time at the station. He'd considered leaving Methuselah behind for good, but something had stayed his hand, and he'd remained in his quarters. Perhaps it was just as well. Now, despite his reservations, he was going to have to lead a squadron of men into battle against a foe he’d never so much as seen. It didn’t sit well, but if he were to refuse, the consequences for the ship and station would be dire.
While fastening the clasp at the neck of his jumpsuit and grabbing his helmet, the thought occurred to him that he might refuse - that he might capitalize on the chaos and lead his men in a rebellion against the Captain instead. “He can’t make us fight if we don’t want to,” he muttered as he threw open the door and stormed out to the hangar. His thick-heeled boots made a ruckus against the metal flooring as he sped down the hall, his face wrenched into a grimace. When the other pilots caught sight of him, they threw up their hands in a salute and waited in anxious silence.
Jack sighed, running a hand through his chestnut-colored hair. “We’re being called out into battle today against a new enemy. I wish I could say that I knew what was happening, but I don’t. There’s no telling what we’re up against.” He put on his helmet and continued, his voice echoing in the form-fitting thing. It was made of a heavy composite, giving it both great durability and enough heft to make it uncomfortable. “Red Squadron, you’re with me. Blue Squadron, stand-by, awaiting my order. I’ll be in touch and let you know what’s happening out there. And in the event that I stop responding,” he added with a slight laugh, “then Blue Squadron is OK to launch.”
A nervous laugh traveled amongst the assembled pilots, though it was clear that none among them was especially thrilled with the prospect. It had all been so sudden; one minute they’d been docked at the station, the next they were being thrust into battle to defend it. Even the more seasoned of them had never faced such a situation.
Some of the pilots in the first squadron were missing - probably somewhere in the station, trying to return to Methuselah in all of the chaos. Or worse. One of the second squadron pilots was missing too, a young man named Darren. Realizing this, Jack improvised, bumping up a few members of the second squad to the first. Those promoted to Red Squadron, two middle-aged men and a young woman, hadn’t anticipated participating in the battle and exchanged frightened glances as Jack assigned them to fighters.
“Tara, you’re in Red-Three, Tom and Clark, Red-Four and Six. Got that? We haven't got anyone to fill in for Darren in Blue Squadron, so... hopefully we won't have to deploy Blue Squadron this time.”
The three nodded and put on their helmets, sauntering to their assigned fighters. Savage himself started for Red-One. “Blue Squadron, I trust you can assign yourselves to Blue-Two through Ten, yes? Stand-by and wait for my order. The rest of you,” he said, motioning to the rest of the Red Squadron, “let’s go.”
Hopping into their cockpits, the pilots began their pre-launch operations one-by-one. Savage contacted the bridge as he primed his fighter’s engine and tested its various control systems. “Red-One here. We’re ready to launch in one minute. One minute, command.”
One of the mates in the command center replied. “Roger, Red-One. Opening the hangar door in fifty-eight seconds,” she said, her voice tremulous. Things were evidently getting tense on the bridge.
Methuselah lurched as she was raised from the landing apparatus and began to exit the dock. Jack clutched the steering mechanism and peered at the hangar door, which would open at any moment. I hope we know what the hell we’re getting into here… there’s no telling what’s waiting outside this hangar...
The ship employed twenty-one small spacefighters, which were divided into two squadrons, Red and Blue. They were of older make, but well-maintained under Faust’s tenure. The engines on various of them had been recently re-built, the parts sourced from trade-posts all over the galaxy. They were known amongst the pilots as Legacy Scramblers, or merely “Scramblers”, for the
ir old age. The Scramblers were large pods fitted with four wings, which were mounted in an “X” configuration; two, larger, wings jutted straight out from the top of the cockpit section, while two smaller, truncated wings supported the unit when not in flight. From the topmost wings sprouted a pair of powerful cannons, fed by small generators. The Scramblers were agile and packed a good punch, in the right hands.
Methuselah’s pilots were a mixed bag. Jack, the most experienced among them aside from Faust himself, had been promoted to Squadron Leader, a post he’d never really cared to take. Savage had taken the position after a talk with the Captain, but quickly found himself fed up with Faust’s loose command. The pilots, and the crew in general, lacked discipline, Jack felt. The Captain was keen on the crew, pilots included, gaining their experience “first-hand”, in battle. The problem with this approach, though it did eventually result in a few decent pilots, was that it resulted in far more casualties. Faust’s command was generally very laid back, and so when Savage took his post and attempted to structure the training of the ship’s pilots with more rigidity, he was met with resistance. In recent months however, he’d managed to give the pilots a few trial runs, so that they could acquaint themselves with more than mere battle simulations. “Simulations aren’t good enough; they need to spend hours in a Scrambler honing their skills if you want them to become good pilots,” Jack had insisted.
Faust’s reply had infuriated him. “If they’re going to be pilots on my ship, then they’d better know how to fly already.”
It was true that all of the ship’s pilots had at least some experience in flight and battle. But they varied in their talents, and not all of them were used to flying in the same sort of craft. The Scramblers, antiquated as they were, carried a learning curve. The older pilots were often the most experienced. Jack, Alton Rutherford and Mika Thomas were considered the most capable of the pilots, and had managed to rescue Methuselah from a great and many perils in the past. Today however, Alton was missing and Jack found himself with only Mika’s experience to lean on, the rest of the squad comprised of less experienced pilots. They were ten in total, but with only two veterans in the Squadron, it was hard to say whether they would be able to face the enemy outside the hangar.
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