by G J Ogden
The woman’s eyes widened, as did those of most of the other people in the carriage. However, Sterling’s blunt statement had the desired effect of silencing any further questions. It also meant that when he next tried to step through the crowds, no-one got in his way.
“There are three or maybe four more passenger carriages before we reach the engine car,” said Banks as she advanced along the corridor between the rows of seats.
“This thing is running out of control,” said Sterling, stumbling and falling on top of a seated passenger, who screamed and frantically pushed him back to his feet. The tram was moving so fast that both he and Banks were being buffeted from side to side as they walked, making progress slower than Sterling would have liked. He cast his eyes up to a nearby tram map and saw that they’d raced past another two stations in the time it had taken to advance through a single carriage.
“What the hell is their plan?” asked Sterling, stumbling again and using the shoulder of a seated passenger for support. “In theory this tram could circle F-COP indefinitely without hitting anything.” Sterling pushed off from the passenger and clawed himself on. “There is no ‘end of the line’. There’s nothing they can crash this thing into.”
Banks reached the door at the end of the second carriage and grabbed the handle. “My guess is that he’s going to keep accelerating until we eventually fly off the mag rail,” she said, yanking the door open. The passengers in the next carriage immediately raced toward them, shouting the same questions that Sterling had already answered two carriages earlier.
“There has to be more to it than that,” said Sterling as Banks yelled at the crowd to sit down, muscling any that refused to get out of her way back into their seats. Then Sterling had a thought and cursed. “They’re going to crash us into the rear of the other tram running in this section,” he said, suddenly realizing that the danger was far more present than he had thought.
“That’s one hell of a way to make a statement,” said Banks. She paused and glanced back at Sterling, a scowl lining her forehead. “But how does crashing a tram make the Sa’Nerra seem like the peaceful party in all this?”
“McQueen said ‘fight for peace’,” Sterling answered, remembering his fellow Omega Captain’s speech, though in reality it had never been far from his thoughts. “There’s already public outcry about McQueen’s broadcast, but the UG can easily brush it off and talk it away. They can’t ignore this.”
A man in business attire shot up and blocked Sterling’s path.
“Captain, I am a united governments official and I demand an explanation!” the man began, his face flushing red with anger. “Tram control is not responding. The situation is out of hand!”
Sterling met the man’s irate eyes. “Sir, you need to step aside and let me handle this,” said Sterling, summoning all of his remaining patience to deal with the man calmly.
“That’s not good enough,” the man blurted, splashing spittle into Sterling’s face as he did so. “I demand that you explain what is going on.”
Sterling drew his hand across his face to remove the passenger’s saliva, then wiped it across the front of the man’s jacket.
“Sir, with respect, sit the hell down or I’ll knock you on your ass,” said Sterling, using the hand that was already on the man’s chest to push him aside.
“I’d have struggled not to pop him in the mouth,” said Banks, though their neural link as Sterling continued to stumble on through the carriage in pursuit of his first officer.
“If this is how our leaders react in a crisis, it’s no wonder we’re losing the war,” Sterling commented. He then wiped his hand onto the seat of his pants to clear away any residual spittle.
Suddenly, another passenger grabbed Banks by the arm and spun her around to face him. Sterling stopped and winced, realizing that the unwitting civilian was only a few seconds away from having his arm snapped in two.
“What the hell is going on here?!” the man yelled. His voice was so strident that a wisp of Banks’ hair was blown back by the man’s breath. “I demand answers!” he continued, folding his arms as if to make a further statement of defiance. To Sterling the man looked like a typically boorish middle-manager, and was probably another government official.
“We’re dealing with the situation, sir, now get out of my way and sit down,” Banks replied. Her tone was firm, but Sterling was impressed at the restraint she had shown, especially considering the man had literally yelled in her face.
“I’m not moving until…”
The man then stopped mid-sentence and fell forward as if he’d been kicked in the back. Banks caught him, but it was an act of pure reflex and she remained frozen to the spot, trying to process what had just happened. Sterling then caught a flash of light from the far end of the next carriage and the man spasmed again. This time Sterling caught a whiff of a familiar smell; the odor of burning human flesh. Someone on the tram was firing at them.
Chapter 3
Alight at the next stop
Sterling darted to the side of the door, dragging a nearby passenger out of the line of fire. Another blast of plasma hammered into the intersection between the tram carriages, showering Sterling with hot sparks.
“There’s a shooter in the next carriage, get into cover!” Sterling called out as another blast thudded into the intersection. Over the roar of the tram, Sterling hadn’t heard any of the shots. Only the flashes of light and sparks from the impacts alerted him to the continued assault from the unknown shooter.
Suddenly a plasma blast flashed along the carriage, striking a civilian in the back. The woman spasmed then hit the deck like a felled tree, killed instantly by the blast. Sterling cursed then chanced a look through the door. The passengers in the next carriage had all ducked for cover, giving Sterling a clear view of a man in a Fleet petty officer’s uniform. He was standing in the intersection at the far end of the next carriage, aiming a plasma pistol in his direction. Sterling pulled back into cover as another two blasts flashed past, slamming into seats that had been hastily vacated in the panic.
“I only see one shooter,” said Sterling, speaking to his first officer through a neural link. Commander Banks was also crouched behind a line of seats two rows behind. The boorish passenger who had confronted her lay dead in the aisle, the man’s eyes fixed wide open with surprise.
“Get ready to move,” said Banks, grabbing the seat in front of her and bracing herself. Sterling could see her muscles flex beneath her uniform and guessed what she had in mind. Three more plasma blasts raced overhead, closely followed by screams as more passengers were struck and killed or injured. Banks then stood up, teeth gritted and bared, tearing the seat from its mountings as she did so. His first officer then stepped into the aisle and charged forward through the intersection into the next carriage.
“Go!” Banks called out as plasma blasts hammered into the makeshift shield that she was holding out in front of her.
Sterling moved out of cover and slotted in behind his first officer, who continued to hustle down the corridor, blocking incoming fire with the hefty metal-backed seat. Sterling could hear the blasts slam into the frame of the chair and his nostrils were filled with the smell of burning fabric and plastic. At least it’s better than burning flesh… he told himself.
“How far ahead of us is the shooter?” Banks called back to Sterling, struggling to keep her balance as more blasts hammered the chair.
Sterling peeked down the corridor and almost caught a blast to the face.
“Ten meters. I think you can hit him!” Sterling called back. Then he noticed that the metal frame of the chair was beginning to melt through. Soon it would offer no protection at all.
“Get into cover!” Banks yelled. She crouched and her muscles tensed up again, like the hammer of a pistol ready to spring into action.
Sterling dove to his side, landing on top of two female passengers, who screamed as if a butchered carcass had just been laid across their laps. Banks then roared a
nd threw the melting slab of metal down the corridor. A blast of plasma raced past the chair in mid-flight then glanced Banks’ leg, sending her down to one knee. Moments later the heavy metal chair collided with the armed attacker and the man was crushed under its weight and pinned to the deck. However, despite the mass of the chair and the fact its frame was so hot it melted the flesh on the man’s face and hands, the attacker did not cry out. Sterling had seen this phenomenon before. Along with enhanced strength, the Sa’Nerran neural weapon made turned humans seem impervious to pain. However, while the turned attacker may not have felt his injuries, he was just as mortal as any other human being.
Sterling rushed to Banks’ side and helped her up before quickly checking her wound. The plasma blast had scorched a hole in the thigh of her pants, making them look more like designer ‘distressed’ fashion wear. However, the burns to his first officer’s flesh appeared mostly superficial.
“You’ll live,” said Sterling, releasing his hold on his first officer and rushing to retrieve the crushed Sa’Nerran sympathizer’s plasma pistol.
“Thanks for the expert medical assessment, Captain,” replied Banks, moving up alongside him and checking through the door to the next carriage.
The smell of burning flesh assaulted Sterling again as he prized the pistol out of the man’s blackened hand. He was used to the smell of burned Sa’Nerran bodies, which was bad enough, but the smell of human flesh was somehow even more sickening.
“You won’t stop us,” the turned attacker croaked, struggling to breath under the weight of the chair. “We are the aides of the emissaries, and we are everywhere.”
Sterling checked the energy cell in the pistol and adjusted the power setting so that he’d get as many useful shots out of the weapon as possible. He then leant on the still-cool rear frame of the chair, adding his own weight to the pressure that was crushing the gunman’s chest.
“Your emissaries will have a few less aides once I’m through here,” Sterling replied, continuing to squeeze the air from the man’s lungs.
“You will… fail… and you will… die…” the aide to the emissaries wheezed.
“You first,” Sterling spat back, pressing down harder on the chair until the man’s breath finally gave way.
Sterling climbed off the chair then noticed that one of the passengers was staring at him, her face drawn and eyes fearful.
“Don’t worry, I’m on your side,” Sterling said to the woman. She nodded and attempted a smile, but didn’t look at all convinced by his words. Sterling then glanced up at the transit map. They had almost circumvented the station and the tram was still accelerating.
“Assuming the control room has recognized the danger too, they should at least have ensured the second tram is staying well ahead of us,” said Banks, through the neural link. His first officer then cautiously stepped through into the next carriage. “Even so, we’ll still be going a hell of lot faster than that other tram. Assuming these things accelerate at the same rate, sooner or later we’re going hit the one in front of us.”
“I’d say probably sooner,” replied Sterling, stepping alongside Banks. “I’d take patrolling the Void over travelling in these cramped tin cans, any day,” he added scouring the carriage and meeting the eyes of anyone who dared look back at him. Any one of them could be a turned Sa’Nerran operative, he realized. Unfortunately, the only way he’d know for sure would be when one of them pulled out a weapon or wrapped their hands around his throat.
Still keeping half an eye on the passengers, Sterling moved ahead, weapon raised. Banks followed close behind him, also watching the seated passengers like a hawk. Some peered back at them imploringly, but most were hunched down next to their seats, quivering with terror. Despite the close proximity of the station to the Void and the front line, F-COP was so heavily defended that it had rarely been in any real danger. The non-military staff working on the station had therefore been shielded from the war, almost as if they were back on Earth or the inner colonies. Now the reality of their situation was sinking in. The Sa’Nerra had stepped up their game and changed their tactics, and the command outposts were their primary targets.
“I think we just have this and another carriage to go,” said Sterling, approaching the door at the end of the aisle. Banks moved up alongside and prepared to slide the door open, while Sterling took aim with the pistol. He nodded to his first officer and she slammed the door back into its housing. Frightened eyes on the other side stared back at him.
“Stay in your seats,” Sterling called out, taking a step forward into the intersection between the carriages. “Everything is under control. Just stay calm and stay down.”
The passengers did as Sterling ordered and he continued to move along the aisle, aiming his pistol toward the door at the far end.
“Lucas!”
Sterling spun around to see Banks being dragged back into the previous carriage. Two sets of arms were wrapped around her neck and body. Cursing, he prepared to run to her aid when the flash of a plasma blast smashed into the wall, showering his face with hot splinters. Sterling dropped to one knee and fired back along the aisle, still without sight of his target. A second blast then ripped through the air and glanced his shoulder. Biting down against the pain, he shuffled to the side, trying to get as much cover as possible, but the narrow aisle afforded little protection from the incoming fire.
Finally, Sterling saw his attacker. It was a woman in a Fleet officer’s uniform. Another aide to the emissaries, as the other turned attacker had called himself. Sterling couldn’t determine the officer’s rank, but she was young, perhaps no more than twenty or twenty-one he guessed. The turned officer had a civilian in front of her as a shield, her arm wrapped around the young man’s throat. The officer fired again, but Sterling narrowly managed to the evade the blast, and push himself further into cover.
Suddenly the cries of his first officer drew Sterling’s gaze back to Commander Banks. She was struggling against the other two turned Sa’Nerran aides, who were attempting to choke her out. Ordinarily, his first officer’s phenomenal strength would allow her to easily overcome two human attackers. However, the Sa’Nerran neural technology also amped up a person’s strength and resilience. Sterling could see that Banks was fading fast.
Cursing the inaction of the other passengers in the tram carriage, Sterling turned his attention back to the turned officer who had fired at him. He took aim, knowing that there was no way he could take down the aide without risking the civilian too. However, he also knew he had no choice. The Sa’Nerra had brought the war to their doorstep, and now everyone on F-COP was on the front line, whether they liked it or not. He exhaled, squeezed the trigger and fired. The plasma blast slammed into the body of the turned officer, clipping the civilian en route, but Sterling knew it would take more than one shot to put the aide down. Another blast raced toward him, but he didn’t flinch and fired again and again until both the turned officer and civilian fell to the deck.
Spinning on his heels Sterling then turned back to Banks and ran to her aid, grabbing one of her attackers and placing him into a choke hold. The turned civilian struggled and fought against Sterling’s grip, but he knew he wasn’t strong enough to subdue the man. Catching an elbow to the face, Sterling was forced to release his hold. He staggered back, tasting blood, then dabbed his hand to his lips, staining his skin red.
“The Sa’Nerra will prevail!” the turned passenger roared, but Sterling had already heard enough of their dogma.
“Not today, asshole,” Sterling replied, raising the pistol and blasting the civilian in the head, melting off his face and leaving a bloodied, hollowed out cavern in its place. Passengers on the carriage screamed as they were showered with blood and clumps of melted flesh, but Sterling simply stepped over the body and advanced. Free from the restraining holds of the two turned aides, Banks was now pummeling the remaining civilian with her bare fists. Each thud sounded like a sledgehammer striking compacted soil. Blood sprayed across
the windows and bones cracked and snapped until the aide was a broken, bloodied mess on the floor. Then Banks raised her eyes to Sterling and he saw that they were wild. She came toward him, clearly still lusting for violence, but Sterling held her shoulders and blocked her path.
“Ease down, Mercedes,” Sterling said through the neural link to his first officer. “Ease down. I need you focused…” Banks glared back into his eyes and her hands clasped around Sterling arms. The pain was sudden and intense, as if a giant crab had just pincered him. “Ease down, Mercedes…” Sterling said again, and this time he felt her grip slacken. Then she released him completely and stepped back, looking ashamed and embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” said Banks, eyes dropping to the deck.
“Don’t be,” replied Sterling, glancing back to the door at the end of the next carriage. “We’re still going to need some of that fire. I just need it under control, okay?”
“Aye, sir,” said Banks. She then also cast her gaze to the door that led into the engine car. “What’s our next move?”
Sterling checked his plasma pistol and saw that he had three more shots left at the current power level. He had to hope that it would be enough.
“Let’s do what we do best,” said Sterling, looking back into Banks’ eyes. “A straight-up power play. You tear that door off its hinges and I shoot whoever is inside.”
“Sounds like my kind of plan,” said Banks, smiling.
Together, Sterling and Banks advanced along the aisle, stepping over the body of the young officer and the hostage that he’d shot moments earlier. Sterling peered down at the blank, lifeless face of the hostage as he passed. The man was in his mid-twenties with his whole life ahead of him; a life that Sterling had snuffed out in an instant. However, he felt no shame or regret over the act. He would mourn the loss of life in his own way, and then he’d think nothing more of it. He’d done what he had to do. He’d made the hard choice to sacrifice one in order to save many. That’s what made him an Omega Captain. He wasn’t proud of his actions, but he also did not consider that pride was part of his job. Winning the war was all that mattered. One death here, a hundred there… all paled in comparison to the billions that would be lost if the Sa’Nerra were to breach their lines. There was collateral damage in all wars. This was no different, he told himself.