It was the issyrian. He hadn’t seen it, but it was definitely his men and women leading the charge in their thin, sealed suits. Their rifles showed signs of overuse, the charging chambers at the top of the weapons had burned wide open. When they fired, they were bathed with the mad strobe of white light from the loud, crackling power coursing through their rifles. It was as if that was all they were, a man or woman wearing a suit that barely protected them and a rifle. No matter how many Cumberland’s men injured or killed, they just kept coming, rushing, firing.
It was as though the issyrian was waiting for them to finish repairing the lift and move. Somehow he knew exactly which floor he’d come up on, and when they arrived, the nightmare began. They didn’t fire into the express car, they waited. His people had crawled into maintenance hatches, waited inside crew quarters, and around corners. When they were all out of the car and down the first stretch of hallway, the attack came. From behind, the sides, and from one of the hallways ahead; they were forced down a specific hall, where there was no visible resistance, and he’d lost four of his people in that initial attack.
Major Cumberland almost wished he was fighting the cloak suited horrors that caught the boarding parties in the quiet places, it would almost be better than the relentless assault and the constant effort it took to keep from being outflanked. It took every ounce of his skill and experience to manoeuvre his people through the long hallways and be wary of traps.
At every turn they had the advantage. There was no time to find out how the other squadrons were doing in detail. He knew they were winning on the command deck, and that a unit had just entered through the upper mooring points, but he didn't have time to find out the details or review the short reports each Sergeant filed as they moved through the ship and entered one engagement after another.
That damned issyrian had them running frantically, with few choices. Just moments before Major Cumberland had lost three of his men when they took a left into a hallway that had been supercharged with a bare power feed. Where the issyrian had gotten a live line, he'd never guess, and his lead tech didn't have time to answer either.
They were forced into a broad concourse that slowly curved upwards from deck to deck. Even as he was under fire he wished that the ships he served on were designed so well. They tried to take cover in one of the larger crew quarters but found the door rigged to three arc charges, grenades that unleashed a massive amount of power in one burst, it was like touching ball lightening. Two more men, dead the instant the door opened.
The next hall was sealed. None of the doors would open but they finally got a chance to rest and create cover with portable barriers. “Who the hell are these people? We’ve killed at least a dozen and put down twice as many, but they just keep coming,” remarked Sergeant Loman, still out of breath from the long, backward run. He was leaning on the stock of his rifle, using it like a short cane.
“There are hundreds of them, gotta be,” agreed Private Voleman.
“Tracker says we’ve killed seventeen, disabled thirty eight,” Cumberland said, knowing that the auto tracker hadn’t been accurate since they had to remove the operations AI from the system. “We’ve only lost six, I’d say we’re up.”
“Yeah, right, got ‘em right where we want ‘em,” commented Private Baram sarcastically between gulps of air.
Cumberland didn’t have the energy to shut her up. Normally he’d put her in her place, find some way of reprimanding her while reassuring everyone else, but the long engagement was taking its toll. He flipped his wrist display open and checked their orders. They were simple; ‘Proceed to the rear cargo elevator, take it to deck 21, Section A1.’ He double-checked the rudimentary map of the deck they were on, deck 19, right below the hottest fighting on the Command level, and found that they were close.
“Command still silencing unit to unit communications sir?” asked Sergeant Loman.
“We have our objective. We don’t need to know what everyone else us up to in order to accomplish it.”
“Not a good sign though.”
“It’s not our job to interpret signs,” Cumberland replied. “But I do know a pretty convincing fortune teller on Srak-Tam.”
“Srak-Tam, sir?”
“It’s an old drift, orbits a binary star in the Tisch system.”
“So it’s true you led the team that put down the Human Supremacist uprising.” Said Private Shir.
“I was there. That was a complicated engagement, all compartment to compartment and corridor fighting.” Admitted Cumberland.
“So it was a lot like this.”
“Not for a second.” Cumberland looked at his eleven remaining soldiers and was satisfied that they were rested up. “All right, we have about twenty meters to cover, then we head up to the uppermost deck.”
“We’re hooking up with another unit from the Command ship, sir?” Asked Sergeant Loman.
“I hope so,” it was a slip. For all he knew they were going up there to survey the deck, or to check the airlock seals. Raising their hopes over a rendezvous that might not happen was reckless. Regardless, he couldn’t help but have the same hope. Operating with one fifth a unit for much longer was poor judgement, plain and simple.
He took point, feeling alert, watching every corner, and listening between the boot steps for anything out of the normal. He didn’t have to wait long. The ceiling opened up directly overhead to reveal a meter and a half tall crawl way and several enemy soldiers.
Loman took a shot in the back as he turned out of the line of fire, and was saved by his armour. Cumberland fired blind, hitting the ceiling as much as the opening as he retreated out of the direct line. Everyone was so on edge that they only caught glancing shots, no one’s armour was hit enough for penetration, but the whole squad was split. Some were behind the opening, Loman and Voleman were with Cumberland in front, and the other three were against the wall, providing cover fire into the hole and most likely hitting nothing.
"David! Get back!" Cried a young woman as searing blue and white bolts of energy scorched the floor from above.
Cumberland took one step forward and made eye contact with a whip thin woman brandishing a pulse rifle half her size. She shot him three times in the breast plate before he could step back. He could feel the mild burns, his armour was finished. He had taken hits on the legs as he made a hasty retreat. In one quick manoeuvre, the scrappy resistance fighters had his people split, and it wouldn’t be long before Cumberland and his men would be rushed from behind.
There was no coming up for air against these people. They were desperate, dedicated and what was worse, they had a commander who seemed to know every corridor of the ship, how to milk the vessel for power to set traps when no one could get more than marginal readings on charged systems, and most of all, he wasn't interested in prisoners.
He barely had time to shout; “Cover!” before a concussion grenade hit the deck. It knocked him back three meters and battered the rest of his squad even harder. He couldn’t believe what he saw when he looked up. The enemy were coming down from the ceiling in groups of four. They dropped a portable shield generator the size of their palm that blocked him off from everyone but Baram, Loman, Voleman and two other Privates that were knocked onto Cumberland’s side of the hall by the concussion grenade. The rest were gunned down, well out of his reach behind the shield.
A square jawed man who he’d seen before with the issyrian, looked at him over his shoulder. There was a cold fire in his eyes, as though he wished they weren’t separated by an energy shield just as much as Cumberland did. As much as he was furious at the slaughter, and would like nothing more than to wait for the shield to come down so he could take a shot at him and the rest, it was suicide. The enemy outnumbered them. “Let’s get going before they outflank what’s left of us,” Cumberland said through his teeth.
“Tell your people; leave this ship or die,” growled the scruffy combatant.
“David! C’mon!” shouted the small woman who’d
shot him several times.
Cumberland turned away from the field and rushed in the other direction. It was as if the enemy were not only defending their ship, but also taking revenge. He’d been in several situations where an engagement was about to turn bad, but it was the first time he’d been in the middle of one when it was already sour.
Finally, the hallway ahead was clear, and Cumberland led them in a dead run towards the cargo lift. "Command, does the lift have power?"
"I’m sorry Major, the power was just cut.”
“All right, I’m re-tasking my people with getting that lift working again.”
“I’m seeing you’re down to-"
“Six people, no thanks to you boys up there. We’re going to get the lift running again and join with the forces you have gathered on the upper deck.”
“The recommendation I have here says you should wait for reinforcements.”
“Good thing it’s just a recommendation. Cumberland out.”
Cumberland and his six soldiers made the distance in quick order, they could hear the issyrian's people not far behind, it was like some angry horde was on their heels. They were out of breath when they arrived at the freight elevator. “Tell me someone knows how to hot wire this thing,” Cumberland said as he pulled a microcell from his front pocket.
Loman took the cell and pried the access panel open. “Man, they made this ship rugged. I bet I can jack this in full charge and she’ll power up just fine.” It took him seconds, with the main power down on all but the engineering level, the security on the ship seemed to be out of order. After a few more seconds he had the microcell in place and was accessing the panel that controlled the lift.
"Can you confirm that this thing’s going to take us where we want to go?" asked Sgt Cumberland.
"Looks like this one can travel through most of the ship, hooks up with that main transit hub we saw earlier, but there are other express cars in the way, so we're limited to up or down."
"Does it go to deck twenty one and the upper mooring point?"
"It does."
"Good, get us there."
"This is Major Cumberland to Command. We're still being rushed by hold outs, I saw about fifteen during our last engagement, but they’re part of a larger group - at least fifty, accounting for casualties."
"We hear you; did you get that lift back up and running?"
The first of their pursuers started firing around the corner, they were blind shots, but there were hundreds. They were burning through ammunition as though they had an armoury following them around, and the scorch marks on the wall were close enough to make Major Cumberland swear he'd be retiring from the service if he survived the Triton.
"This is Colonel Ratner, with the Nineteenth Incursion Unit. We just came aboard and have been listening. Get to us and we'll be glad to cover you."
"Thank you Colonel, were on our way."
The express car arrived and Major Cumberland shouted, "get aboard and get us moving!" as he fired down the hallway. His rifle was on full auto, filling the dark corridor with hundreds of bursts of energy. The return fire was terrifying, including several shots that were fired using some new weapon they hadn't seen before, like a rocket propelled grenade that carried an impact shock, rattling the thick deck beneath their feet. Cumberland had gotten lucky twice, shooting two of the slow moving mini-rockets with his weapon, but his luck wouldn’t hold out. It was as if the whole crew had decided that preventing damage to the ship was secondary to causing as much harm as possible to the boarders.
The express doors started to close, and Private Farrar was right in front of him, grinning at their good fortune when he took a full burst of pulse rounds up the back and across his head. He was dead before he hit the floor.
The express car moved swiftly, covering the vertical distance between decks in seconds. He couldn't help but have a very bad feeling as the express car came to a gentle stop and the doors opened onto a massive, flat deck that covered a third of the dorsal section of the ship.
The darkened chamber was divided by bulkheads that had risen into place when sections became open to space. Major Cumberland could see the Command ship through the heavily damaged transparent hull, it was a welcome sight. It was moored to a primary docking point, helping to hold the Triton in place. From the large, heavy duty airlock extended a long emergency ramp way.
Colonel Ratner and his men were there to greet him. The group were surrounded by the eerie glow of personal lights as they approached. The darkened deck looked too big, there were too many shadows even though they could see the long lower hull of Battlecruiser 1009 above. They had deployed from a Battlecruiser hard docked to the port side of the Triton. There was one more battlecruiser on the opposite side, and between the three of them they had more than enough power to maintain full control of the ship from the outside. Escape for the Triton was impossible, why her crew fought so hard could only be explained by loyalty, or perhaps they had a plan to escape. Impossible. We can order reinforcements. There was nothing about this ship's record that suggests that they can expect help from anyone.
"Major, I hear you have a resistance problem. Do you think the resistors will follow you up here?"
"Colonel, there's a seriously frustrating issyrian with about five hundred armed men and woman from what I can tell. I haven’t seen the bug in a few hours now, but I’m sure he’s still directing his men from somewhere."
"We are aware. We're bringing a whole unit of heavies right now. It's time to bring the resistance to a halt. This acquisition has already cost us too much in equipment and manpower, not to mention we're due to join the eleventh Order of Eden Fleet in five days with this vessel in tow."
"So they finally did it, we're all signed up with Regent Galactic and that little prick prophet of theirs?"
"That's our lord and savoir you're talking about, Major. Looks like our outfit's finding religion whether we like it or not so the big bad Holocaust Virus doesn't take us out all together."
"Our AI's have been wiped, we're safe in case you forgot how that thing works."
"Seems the virus has evolved, now there's an AI built in. Unfirewalled machines are waking up with a digital soul and looking for anyone not listed in the Order of Eden database to kill. It's a whole new ball game now, so you'd better kneel and praise the child prophet like the rest of us sheep, or at least learn to pretend real good."
"I hear you. Just needed to know why we were getting on with the zealots.”
“We’re getting on with the Order of Eden because Regent Galactic was nice enough to pick up our tab so Caran Enterprises doesn’t go belly up and leave us grunts twisting in the wind. That’s why, as if it makes a difference one way or another.”
“Mind if I ask why this ship is so important?"
"Since we've got a minute, I'll fill you in. This ship was captured by the man who started it all, so they say. Jonas Valent."
"The hero of Enreega?"
"The deserter of the Aucharians. He forced a whole section to desert when they needed him most and left Enreega wide open. You'd best check your history."
"Yes, sir."
"Seems Jonas changed his name a while back to Jacob Valance, probably because he designed the virus that started all this when he unleashed an un-safe guarded artificial intelligence into one of those great big Overlord command ships."
"I heard about that. Does Command think he's aboard?"
"They didn't see him leave, so chances are he's holed up in that great big vault in the centre of the ship. He’s not on the bridge, let me tell you. We just took the command deck, killed a lot of Triton soldiers and there was still no sign of him."
"How did it end?"
"They had to use four squads of heavies, took heavy fire but burned everything inside to nothing. Rumour is that the Captain has been popping up and killing people with an elite unit, but then, those cloak suits have been making everyone as twitchy as hell. No way of knowing if any of the attacks were the Captain’s uni
t or someone dressed like him. Either way, they're not acknowledging our demands for surrender, so we're taking further steps. The order to execute the captives has been given on an open channel. Should flush him out if he's any kind of leader."
Another unit of fifty soldiers started running down the incursion ramp to join the total of seventy already on the deck, reinforcements were coming, for whatever reason the efforts to take the Triton intact were redoubling. Major Cumberland looked back to the Colonel and asked; "When do the executions start?"
"Five minutes ago."
The words seemed to echo across the hollow deck. It was like looking at some dead creature from the inside, the gunnery turrets hung down like dormant organs and the thick, transparent hull overhead was like delicate, translucent skin. Under the muted lights from the Command ship the slower, heavily armoured soldiers looked like dark insects with man shaped carapaces, the regular soldiers looked smaller, and even though there were so many gathering, they didn’t fill enough space on the deck to obstruct the view.
Several loader suits stood against one wall and were scattered around the expansive space, dormant and limp like three meter tall standing corpses. The chamber was filled with the high screech of metal scraping against metal as the main mooring door closed from the inside. Two meters of armour separated them from the destroyer above,
"Planned?" asked Major Cumberland.
Colonel Ratner ignored his question as he tried to get Command on comms. "Can't raise Command, someone's scrambling us. It's local, from this deck."
"They cleared this deck, didn't they?"
"No one was reported in this or any compartment adjacent to the upper hull," Colonel Ratner answered.
Hatches began to open overhead, pulling the air out of the massive compartment in a rush that sounded like a mournful, undulating howl.
Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments Page 21