Soundless Conflicts

by S. Walker

  "Annnnnd that's why you're here." Emilia crossed her arms, face tight with old angers. "We couldn't believe it when Independent Thomas told us what was going on. But you got the whole thing immediately, without needing to work through anything. Typical Corpos." She waved one hand. "Present company excluded, Impossible."

  "Thank you." Jamet thought for a moment. "Where's the other Executive? Thomas, right?"

  Janson reached over and tapped a control. The overhead speakers came briefly to life. "-offering full repayment for any rescue attempt possible for me and my family-". He killed the broadcast with another tap, then shrugged. "Ah think he's not making decisions any more, ma'am. What do you have in mind?"

  She'd been hoping to play them against each other, honestly. Promise one something-- immunity? repatriation?-- if they kept the other in check long enough for a rescue. "Well... dammit. How long do we have before we're close enough to attempt a rescue?"

  Everyone looked at the ship clock at the same time, then transferred questioning eyes to Janson. "One day, a little more if we keep firin' retros as hard as possible. But before we start a plan, what about our problem in Storage?"

  Jamet thought, then snapped her fingers. Then snapped them again-- she couldn't feel much. Those meds were entirely too good. "They're powered by gravity, right?"

  He nodded. "That's my guess, ma'am."

  "So our local gravity is giving them enough to get started, but something like a Krepsfield singularity is huge juice?" Janson nodded again. "Alright, then the habitation ring is clean. Even if some of them came off during the ram attack, or transferred with debris like what we experienced, they've been in zero-g ever since. Dormant, I guess. For lack of a better word."

  Everyone rocked backward, thoughtful looks crossing the room in a flash. "That's good thinkin', ma'am."

  Paul looked impressed, but skeptical. "How does that help, exactly?"

  "Well call me crazy, but: Why not take over the habitation ring? The whole thing."

  Chapter 23

  All the Right Angles

  Jared crushed an Angle against the wall with a broken riot shield, head turned away from a forest of whipping cables. "Shoot it! Shoot it!"

  His partner slammed a second shield on top, then stuck a stunner around the edge and triggered it as fast as possible. Electrical blasts made them both scream in unison as high voltage cut right through cheap armor padding, turning muscles to jelly and filling the air with ozone. Hissing cables spasmed around both shields, smacking anything within reach with malicious intent.

  He held the damn thing pinned as long as possible, then stumbled away on shaky legs. The Angle remains hit the floor a moment later in a tangle of cables beneath a heavily scorched triangular casing. Jared dropped the broken shield, then eyed the smoking machine while tiredly shaking life back into both abused arms. "How many is that? Are we clear?"

  "Lost count." Lyle tossed the empty stunner on top of the dead Angle. "But if we stay on this ramp any longer, we're gonna die." He motioned downward, armored hand and pliable mesh fingers spread. "We gotta back up, get a bulkhead closed or something."

  Both Security workers stood on wobbling legs at the top of a debris-filled ramp, staring downward toward the damaged section of the Redline. Red emergency strobes lit the darkness below every few seconds, turning the wrecked remains of broken Angle attackers into jumping shadows. It was a graveyard of broken metallic pieces covering every square inch of gridded deck plates, drifts of smoking cables of electronics going knee deep in some places. The view was an impressive testament to eight hours of increasingly exhausted, panicked fighting. Both of them had the ripped armor and torn up suits to show for it.

  Every now and then something in the darkness below would rattle or skitter. It didn't always herald another attack... but they both kept the ramp in sight at all times, tensed for the next wave of whip-fast cables and maniacally flipping triangles.

  Lyle used one big booted foot to nudge their latest kill down onto the heap, then retreated several steps to stand with Jared behind the overhead light. Painful experience taught them to keep at least one of the bright lights in front: Having it behind them threw constantly moving shadows over the target area. Which was a very bad thing when any movement needed to be met with instant force.

  Side by side the two men checked their wrist consoles at the same time, then eyed each other. "No new orders?"

  Jared shook his head, scarred chest armor flashing red with every emergency strobe. "Nothing. You think the Management network is out?"

  "Maybe they forgot about us." Lyle said it with a bitter twist. Even at the best of times he wasn't very subtle about disliking Management. Today was giving that bad attitude a lot of fuel to burn through. He stomped over to the equipment crate, keyed it open and then let the lid drop again after a cursory look. "Sure as hell aren't getting a resupply; I have five requests in the queue. None of 'em have even been opened."

  "Same. Maybe it's this bad everywhere? No way they'd just forget we were here." Jared risked a glance backward over one armored shoulder, noting a long stretch of empty corridor with blown out access panels. "Right?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. But you better grab something heavy, because we're out of reloads."

  Which wasn't something he particularly wanted to hear. Eight hours and two collisions ago he'd have bet any amount of credits possible their Security team could have fought off an army. Ninety fully equipped members wearing power assisted armor was enough force to subdue any possible insurrection aboard ship even without resorting to lethal means. Mix in heavy weapons and they could lay claim to hostile stations without much difficulty, putting the fear of Fiscal Enforcement into any wayward Management crew.

  When the Redline sirens announced battle stations mood around the Security office jumped to surprised exhilaration. Their contracts explicitly paid out extra for getting involved (even marginally) in any sort of emergency situation; getting called up while already on duty was basically free money. It wasn't like they'd be in danger or anything-- they were buried inside the port side of a freaking warship, attached to a backup Systems Control center. What could possibly go wrong?

  Then sirens switched to collision warnings moments before the entire ship lurched hard enough to pancake everyone into the bulkhead. Armor assists and compensators prevented serious injury but the euphoric mood died faster than ice under a plasma torch.

  After that everyone got serious in a hurry. Teams loaded up from the storage lockers, claiming everything from stun grenades to flamers and shockers. Authorized members got the heavy stuff: Portable bunker placements, area-denial flechette sprayers, localized gravity pits. By the second collision they were ready to go on offense, all they needed was a target and clear orders.

  They got chaos, instead.

  A panicked Upper Executive arrived first, clutching a broken Control console in one hand and sporting a uniform slashed nearly to ribbons. His eyes were wild below a bleeding cut zigzagging through his hairline and he yelled with the urgent volume of temporary deafness. "Security! Where's Security??"

  Dozens of eight foot tall, power assisted armored suits turned to stare. Kendricks happened to be closest to the hatch and reached out, giving the man a steadying hand on the shoulder. "Yes, sir?"

  He shied away from the touch like a spooked animal, then suddenly seemed to register where he was. Authority crept back into his tone. "You! And... you! All of you, follow me! Right now!" He pointed out the hatch and down the corridor, away from Systems Control.

  "Sir?" Danny was the highest ranking contract holder on the team, authorized to speak for the group. He could have used that status to lord it over everyone else, taking special favors or assignments for himself. But surprisingly he'd been a somewhat competent: Willing to rotate teams, listen to requests for shift swaps and getting at least one person in every group qualifications for better positions. It earned him a lot of respect... and not a few quiet midnight visits to Executives who wished th
e big man harm.

  He pushed through the group to stand by the Executive. "What's our status? Who are we fighting? Is it a boarding action, or hatch defense...?"

  "Drones!"

  "Drones?" Everyone looked at each other. The Redline was being attacked by drones?

  "Yes! Grab everything! All of you, down the corridor, right now!"

  Which was against standard contract orders: The Security room had to be held by at least ten members at all times as a precaution. They couldn't all leave at the same time and besides-- who needed ninety people at once? They literally wouldn't even be able to stand side by side, much less fight. Danny frowned, then started calling out teams. "Alpha and Foxtrot, pair up. Bravo and Gamma, same. Follow the Exec, stay on Management comms and stand by for more instructions."

  That was how Jared met Lyle: Jogging down corridors while pushing aside panicked workers as part of Foxtrot team, casually carrying a flechette sprayer next to the bigger man's riot shield and stun thrower combination. Side by side they were a weird visual matchup-- Jared was on the small side, but hauling an enormous weapon capable of hosing areas with fingernail-sized slivers of metal. Versus the huge man next to him, equipped with a ridiculously tiny personal shield and a pistol that looked like a toy in his big hand. Bravo and Gamma teams followed behind, sporting an assortment of throwables and handheld melee tools. It was a good mix for Security response to an unknown threat-- heavy weapons, emplacement protection and up-close specialists.

  Ten minutes later the group came to a ragged halt at the top of a ramp leading downwards. Everyone checked bulkhead markings, noting the passage led to the port side docking area. They also noted signs of heavy damage: Bent deck plates, torn or busted access panels and more than one overhead light emplacement blown completely out. Their Executive wheeled on the group, pointed to the deck at his feet and shouted. "Here! Hold this spot!"

  "Hold it? Against who, sir?" Lyle looked around, echoing everyone's confusion. There weren't even any workers around the area: Just bare deck and locked hatches leading all the way up to the ramp. He took a couple of long steps down the ramp, bending down to check the far corridor. It seemed empty for a good hundred yards, ending in a large room he assumed was some sort of access to the dock. "There's no one here."

  "Then hold it against nobody, Security! But let absolutely nothing past this spot, especially if it looks like a drone!" He waved the busted Command console at them for a moment, then seemed to realize it was broken and tossed the device against the wall with a disgusted sound. "Stay right here until someone tells you to leave! That is an order."

  All four groups watched the Executive limp hurriedly away, favoring one leg. Then they looked at each other, shrugged collectively and split into two groups of eight to start setting up.

  Five minutes later the fifteen foot wide corridor was a veritable deathtrap, sporting Jared's flechette emplacement behind an anchored waist-high bunker wall permaglued to the deck. Up close fighters manned the edge, shields at their feet and handheld stunners unholstered. Gamma team even thought to bring an equipment crate, two members working together to haul a five foot long chest full of reloads and spares the whole way.

  They were ready for an absolute war.

  But they got a flood, instead.

  Jared was quietly trading assignment comparisons with Lyle when one of Gamma group abruptly held a hand up for silence. "Do you hear that?"

  Everyone shut up and came to attention. After a moment Lyle frowned. "Hear what?"

  "Shh!" There was a pause, then the forward man made a 'there you go' gesture. "There! That tapping. Hear it?"

  Once the sound was pointed out it was hard to miss, like sitting inside during a light rain and suddenly remembering to pay attention to the storm outside. It was a low, steady taptaptaptaptap sound, constant and quiet, coming from somewhere down the ramp they were guarding. But it was getting louder by degrees, gradually coming closer like an ocean tide. Jared slowly took position behind his weapon, both hands on the triggers of the blunt, square-shaped thrower. "What is that?"

  From where they stood only about fifteen feet of corridor was visible at the bottom of the steep ramp. It was heavily damaged, scuffed and buckled deck plates from the earlier collision combining into thick puddles of darkness that made everyone slightly uneasy. They watched every visible inch with growing concern as the tapping sound escalated into impossible-to-ignore levels.

  Something tumbled onto the deck below, half in and half out of the shadows.

  Jared almost squeezed both triggers in reflex, but hesitated at the last moment. "What is that?"

  Everyone leaned forward, squinting. "It's a metal plate. I think." One of Gamma group stepped over their emplacement, holstering his weapon and taking long strides down the ramp. "Looks like a triangle. Must have fallen off the overheads, I'll get it out-"

  A second later he started screaming. Then everyone started screaming as the thick triangular plate popped snake-fast cables from every corner and flipped directly onto the Security member. He went down in a whirlwind of flailing metal cords, shrieking like a banshee as pieces of armor started coming off. Gamma group immediately started forward to help, then retreated just as fast as the deck down below disappeared under a blanket of triangles, every one of them flipping over, under or around each other on extended cables.

  "Fire! Fire, you idiot!" Jared jolted to life as Lyle forehanded his helmet hard enough to make both ears ring. He reflexively jammed both triggers down, blasting everything below with a firehose of inch-long metal razors that swept the oncoming metal attackers backward like divine wind.

  For a brief moment he could see the still form of the Gamma guy, facedown and bloody, before flechettes turned him into mist. Guilt hit hard. He tried not to throw up.

  Thirty seconds later his weapon clicked empty, stopping the hail of metal going downward. Jared came off the gun, shellshocked and sick, stumbling for the supply crate while trying not to look down the ramp. "Reload! I need a magazine!"

  Nobody could hear him: Everyone was firing as fast as possible.

  All four groups stood at the top of the ramp, blasting over the defensive wall with everything they had. Handheld stunners whined through dozens of charges, competing with plasma throwers to brutalize everyone's eardrums into jelly. Sheer volume of fire held back the tide, sending pieces of cable and metal casings flying backwards out of sight. Then Bravo group barked an order and suddenly the air was full of throwables, pulled from cargo pouches and short fused to go off nearly instantly.

  Everyone dropped flat as searing light and thunderous sound backwashed over their emplacement. A moment later they were back up, warily eyeballing writhing pieces of metal and spasming cords. "What the fuck were those?!" Lyle yelled.

  Gamma leader shouted him down, gesturing wildly with his shocker. "Peterson! Check on Peterson! Is he alive? Someone look!" Nobody moved. The bottom of the ramp looked like death. "Please!"

  Jared found the supply crate and popped it, gloved hands shaking so hard it took two tries to wrist ID the sensor. He sorted through organized racks until he located the flechette reloads: Two heavy black boxes the size of his head and prominently marked for easy handling. He took both and stumbled back to the emplacement.

  Everyone was arguing. Bravo and Gamma wanted to advance, arguing for a pre-emptive attack. Alpha argued against, citing orders to hold the ramp and stay put. Foxtrot agreed, which was good for Jared because there was no way he was leaving the flechette gun under any circumstances. Lyle seemed to be attached at the hip in that strange sort of superstitious bond people in traumatic experiences latch onto.

  He watched Jared reloading, then bent to pick up the riot shield at their feet. "Think we're moving?"

  "Not a chance. Even if they all take off I'm staying right goddamn here."