She hoped.
“Which way now?," asked Crystal.
Logan consulted the floor plan under his eyelid. “Down the corridor. Turn right at the second junction.”
“Right." She moved off, Logan following close behind, plasma cannon held before him.
The station was a mess. Scorch marks decorated the walls. Communication and electrical cables floated listlessly, having been burnt and severed by stray plasma bolts. Dead bodies moved amongst them, swollen and bloated by the vacuum. Fortunately, plasma blasts immediately cauterized wounds so they didn’t have to dodge floating congealed blood as they made their way down the corridor. Crystal had extended her field to encompass Logan, enabling the two of them to walk along as if in a standard gravity zone.
That combat was still taking place within the station was all too obvious. Explosions and shouts of pain could be heard emanating from the corridors around them. Two Gitanian security troopers in full space assault armor appeared, running towards them from the far end of the corridor. They were cut down while they were still 20 meters away, an unseen bolt of plasma encompassing them and leaving smoking carcasses in its wake. Crystal and Logan ignored them, passing the still quivering bodies before turning down the second junction.
“How much further?” asked Crystal, worried now.
“About 300 meters further on. We have to go through another 3 pressure doors before we reach them. They must have been slightly damaged in the assault because they’re suffering from a gradual pressure loss.” He stopped suddenly.
“Shit.”
“What?’
“Just got a message from Tarquin. The pressure loss has increased. Must have had another hull breach. He reckons they’re only got a couple of minutes air left.”
“Run!" yelled Crystal.
◊
Sammael’s AI reported an incoming message.
“Have you got them yet?," asked Gabriella, struggling to control her impatience.
“What?," a thoroughly flustered Sammael replied.
“My hostages, you idiot.”
“I tried. You neglected to mention that one of them is an Angel of the 1st order.”
“What?," demanded Gabriella.
“Exactly what I said. She doesn’t have wings or our height or anything, but she certainly has field generative capability at least equal to yours.”
“Fuck. Those bastard Shepherds must have gotten hold of the DNA sequence. Sneaky buggers.”
She paused to contemplate her next move.
“Don’t worry about her for now," she said finally. “Grab some of her friends and get out of there. The rest of the Gitanian PDS network has somehow got wind of what’s going on up here. They’re moving two of their PDS towards us as well as six frigates. The AI doesn’t fancy our chances.”
“How long have I got?”
“About 20 minutes."
“I’ll do my best."
“You’ll do better than that. Get me my hostages or I’ll leave you on the station to explain to the Gitanians why you’ve attacked one of their stations and indiscriminately slaughtered the crew.” She cut the link.
Sammael punched the wall in frustration, leaving a huge dent where his fist had been. “Find them," he bellowed to the Angels surrounding him. “Now."
◊
Knights Captain Tynan thought he was saved when he saw three statuesque winged figures running down the corridor towards him. They could only be Gabriella’s shock troops dressed as they were in silver and white armor emblazoned with the Princess’ Trumpet.
Since taking the AG lift down to the station’s lowest level 15 minutes previously, Tynan had spent the time productively concocting a plausible story which would pass a mild interrogation by Gabriella or her chief enforcer, Sammael. He thought, with some confidence, that he could pull it off.
After engaging Asel and inflicting significant damage upon that worthy’s ship using inspired tactics, Tynan’s own ship had finally been damaged beyond repair, forcing him to eject. He was then captured by the Gitanian’s, taken aboard the PDS, interrogated and tortured. Even then, under severe distress and pain, he had not revealed anything of the Overdrive to the cluster of evil eyed security men who laughed as they inflicted pain upon his stout and steadfast body.
During a lull in the torture, he’d killed three fully armed guards and made his escape; thoughts of reporting back to his beloved Princess foremost on his mind. Maybe it was five guards, he thought cheerfully. That would surely convince Gabriella of his loyalty. Perhaps she’d finally elevate him to Angel status as a reward.
He’d managed to find a vacuum suit since arriving on the deck, avoiding the Gitanian security guards as they frantically made preparations to repel the hostile forces invading the PDS. He’d had his suspicions that it was Gabriella who was attacking the station. Only she would be so bold as to attack a fully armed and operational PDS.
He’d found a hiding space behind a garbage disposal unit, where he crouched fearfully as the battle waged about him. Finally, he risked a peek and saw the Angels racing towards them.
He stepped out into the main corridor, putting his hands up, ready to transfer the code to his brethren identifying himself as a fellow Areopagite. Unfortunately for Tynan, a squad of heavily armed and armored Gitanian’s charged out of the corridor junction, obscuring his would be rescuers from sight. They opened fire on the Areopagite’s, filling the corridor with light and a backwash of heat from the heavy plasma weapons. Tynan turned and ran.
He ducked as a plasma blast exploded above his head, running past another corridor junction and the entrance to a small bar. His breath came quickly; the air filtration system in the suit barely able to keep his mask clear and the magnetic soles unable to keep pace with the frenzied pumping of his legs. He took turnings at random, rapidly becoming lost in his haste. After 5 minutes frantic running, he found himself in a corridor completely blocked by the ceiling, the wreckage still smoldering and littered by dead bodies - both Gitanian and Areopagite. He borrowed into it, covering his exposed body with large bits of plasticrete, made himself comfortable and settled down to wait.
◊
The slipmissile’s tiny AI brain registered the appearance of the small ship as it emerged from Nospace. The two meter long device was gliding inertly 7,000 kilometers from the spatial rift as the starship dragged itself through into real space.
Its instructions were clear: Take out the PDS’s offensive, defensive and communication abilities. If that was already achieved by its fellows, its secondary instructions were to maintain a defensive orbit around the station and target any ship docking or leaving. This event clearly falling into the second category, it activated its tiny ion engines, achieved a target lock and brought its field on line. It activated its single use slipdrive and disappeared.
◊
Crystal and Logan arrived at the section of blocked corridor and waited while Logan consulted his layout of the station. Concealed by the debris, the door to the storage locker containing Tarquin, Walter and Bruce lay five meters ahead of them. He raised his plasma cannon. Time was a factor and while risky, the only way of reaching his friends before their air ran out was to blast the rubble out of the way.
Crystal touched his arm, gently lowering the muzzle of his cannon until it pointed at the floor. She smiled and shook her head.
“I have a better way."
Expanding her field, she used it to lift the rubble and ceiling panels out of the way. Logan had to admit that it was a far more effective way of clearing the area than just blasting it to bits.
The two of them had arrived at the section of corridor shortly after hearing from Tarquin. Both Gitanians and Areopagites quickly learnt to avoid the couple, their weapons incapable of penetrating Crystal’s field and retorts from Logan’s plasma cannon convincing them that they were better off left alone.
Crystal had almost cleared the section leading to the storage locker. She levitated a large section of ceiling panel. The
ceiling panel yelped in surprise.
She quickly lowered the section, bringing it to rest at her feet. A small panel had been displaced revealing Tynan’s frightened visage.
“I know you," accused Logan. “You’re one of the Areopagite’s toadies.”
Crystal looked at Logan curiously.
“He was on Coleridge," Logan explained, “at the same time Felix’s office was destroyed."
Crystal nodded and then smiled savagely at the Knights Captain.
“Perhaps we should keep him then.” She handed Logan the vacuum suits. “I’ll look after our friend here. You go sort out the boys.”
Logan used his suits strength augmentation to remove the last pieces of rubble and opened the door to the storage locker. Tarquin, Walter and Bruce were all lying on the floor of the small room. A quick check revealed all three were still breathing; albeit shallowly in the thin air. He managed to rouse them, relief written painfully over their faces as he got them slowly into the suits.
Logan waited until they got their breath back before leading them out into the corridor. It was only then that he remembered Bruce. The gorilla was unlikely to forget that Tynan had been directly responsible for the untimely demise of his Transplanter partner. Through the vacuum suits clear face plate, he watched Bruce’s face contort into an evil smile upon catching sight of the Knights Templar.
“Hey sweetcakes," said the gorilla, grinning horribly and hefting the Overdrive in a fashion that could only be described as menacing. “I think I owe you this."
He brought the Overdrive up and then down in a lethal arc. It stopped mere centimeters from the terrified face of Tynan, suddenly encased in a glowing blue field.
“Now, now boys," said Crystal. “We haven’t got time for this. Bruce, I’ll let you play with Tynan later.”
The Transplanter lowered his makeshift weapon grudgingly, looking like someone had just stolen his favorite toy.
“What’s the quickest way back to the ship?," she said, turning to Logan.
Logan gestured towards the still half debris filled corridor. “This way. Care to do the honors?”
“My pleasure." She exerted her field to its maximum extent. Now that delicacy was unnecessary, she cast the assorted pieces of rumble to one side in an astonishing display of power. Within minutes, the corridor was clear and the others started down it, Logan leading followed closely by Tarquin, Bruce, Walter and Crystal – the latter keeping a close eye on Tynan beside her.
Logan turned down another corridor. It was fortunate that he had powered several meters ahead of the others when the exploding projectiles struck him.
◊
The small group of Gitanian guardsmen were hiding. They weren’t hiding because they planned some form of cunning ambush and they certainly weren’t involved in some sort of elaborate hide and seek game. They were hiding because they were scared shitless. After the first sortie with the terrifying Angelic figures who were even now taking over the station, the four of them had broken off from the others and made a run for it. Just as well considering that the platoon that they had been assigned to was now little more than a greasy stain on the plasticrete floor.
They’d huddled, terrified, in a maintenance corridor that had been closed for repair and jumped every time they heard an explosion nearby.
“What’s that?” said one of them in a horrified whisper. All three froze. Hoarse and nervous breathing, filtered and expelled by their assault armor could be heard loudly in the confined space. Clearly audible above this was the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the corridor.
“Merde,” said another. “Its probably those horrible winged beasts.”
Unspoken, all four crouched down and readied their weapons. Two carried microprojectile launchers which they pointed somewhat unsteadily in the direction of the footsteps. A few dreadfully slow seconds went by and then a figure emerged from around the corner clad in what appeared to be full assault armor.
All four fired their weapons simultaneously, one letting off a thoroughly undignified and not particularly military shriek, sadly but not quite drowned out by the weapons loud roar. Two plasma bolts and twelve microprojectiles struck the armored figure directly in the chest, blowing him back into the corridor wall.
“Yeah, we got him!” yelled one of the Gitanians, standing up and punching the air.
A slim, dark haired woman surrounded by a glowing blue field strode into the corridor.
“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet if I were you boys." She held up her sword and marched purposefully towards the four Gitanians. They fired their weapons almost point blank at her. They needn’t have bothered.
◊
Microprojectiles were designed to penetrate a target by a few microns before detonating. Powered by tiny ion engines, each miniature warhead had the equivalent intelligence of your average dog and their diamond tips ensured that even assault armor struggled to withstand the impact.
Logan’s assault armor was no different.
Assault armor was primarily intended as a counter against the most common weapon attacks, that is, plasma. It would also project the wearer from localized explosions and shrapnel. Its crystalline composite outer layer could even deflect some missiles.
At point blank range, the armor still managed to deflect two of the missiles. The plasma blasts were absorbed by the outer layer and did no damage. Through its connection with Logan’s AI, the suit tried to twist the man out of the path of the incoming projectiles, even before Logan was aware of any danger. His personalized AI, comprised of Logan’s own intelligence, failed to conceal its horror and desperation from the suit even as it fired Logan’s reflexes in an attempt to evade the threat. Ten of the twelve micromissiles buried themselves in the outer layer of his armor and then detonated. The suit attempted to compensate by hardening its inner layers, protecting Logan from the majority of the blast. The lethal barrage was however, too much for the suit. Its inner layers shriveled, becoming charred and useless even as some of the blast leaked through to the hapless man beneath.
Even with his combat training, Logan was unaware and completely unprepared for the attack. He did not even register that his body had been thrown several meters to smash against the corridor wall. One minute he was striding along a corridor, the next he was lying on the ground, unable to move, his nose filled with the cloying and sickening smell of charred flesh. His AI told him it was his.
Concerned faces were looking down at him. He didn’t recognize any of them but his AI assured him they were his friends. Not that he cared, the suit having injected him with a massive dose of pain suppressors and Antishock. For some strange reason, a hairy gorilla was examining his torso. He looked down to see what all the fuss was and discovered a blackened ruin where his chest used to be. He tried to suppress a giggle and smiled at no-one in particular.
“Nice day for a picnic," he said, and promptly passed out.
◊
Felix was regaling Ram Terry with his vision of what the Overdrive could do and how it was going to change the Galaxy when the Slipmissile struck. The small ship lurched sickeningly in its docking cradle even as the Puritan’s AI brought its emergency protocols on-line, engaging secondary fields and closing pressure doors.
It turned on a piercing collision siren for the benefit of its human occupants, just in case the explosion and smell of burning machinery hadn’t already alerted them. The five shepherds sitting at the back of the lounge playing cards were thrown to the floor.
Ram Terry erected his personal field, expanding it to encompass Felix. The sound of a telltale pressure leak could be heard above the shrill siren as Felix picked himself up from the floor where he’d been flung. Inexplicably, Ram Terry had not moved.
“What," said Felix, dusting himself off and moving closer to his holiness, “the fuck was that?”
Ram Terry closed one of his eyelids as he communicated with the ships AI.
“We’ve been hit by what the ship believes to be a slipmissile. A cou
ple of hull breaches, some damage to the engineering section and a few localized fires. The ships putting them out now and erecting fields over the hull breaches.”
Even as he spoke, the sound of escaping air lessened. He ordered the ship to cut off its emergency siren leaving sheep and men in relative silence.
“Didn’t see that coming now did you?," Felix said with heavy sarcasm.
Ram Terry shrugged. “My presentiment doesn’t always work; especially in pressure situations.”
“Fat lot of good that is then." When he failed to get a response, Felix changed tact.
“Where did it come from?," he asked.
Ram Terry shrugged again. “The ship doesn’t know. It suspects it was left over from the initial attack on the station.”
“I don’t mean to come over all paranoid and apprehensive or anything," said Felix, “but doesn’t that concern you. I mean, where’s there’s one, there’s bound to be more.”
The sheep nodded. “Quite. The ship is examining local space now to determine if there’s anymore out there.”
“Great," said Felix sarcastically, “then it can tell us about it after we get hit again."
Ram Terry shrugged again, a gesture that Felix was starting to find annoying.
“There’s not much we can do about it. In the meantime, you might want to start repairing the Ion drive. The ship tells me there’s some leakage in the reaction chamber.”
Felix rolled his eyes theatrically. “Marvelous. Tell me one thing your Holiness; why wasn’t the infiltrator mode engaged? If it was on, we never would’ve been seen in the first place."
Overdrive Page 27