“I’m not staying here myself when you two are out there. Surely I can’t be shot twice in one day” she jokes. Amira’s frustration is clear, but she doesn’t make any move to stop either of them.
“If you insist. Both of you stay behind me and do what I say. Take a scanner” she says, opening the shuttle door and stepping out, rifle first. She leads the trio across the eerily quiet landing bay to the main door. Itzcoatl carefully rolls a scanning ball down the long hall. Having linked it to his Strap, he checks the small holo-readout.
“There are odd pockets of shielding, but I’m reasonably sure there are individuals located near the central stem on this floor. Just follow the corridor for a few minutes and we’ll get there” he says quietly. Amira nods and breaks into a quick but oddly silent jog. Nemmy and Itzcoatl tried their best to follow suit. Despite the station’s massive size, it was tall more than wide, and it didn’t take long for them to reach the end of the corridor. It also didn’t take them long to discover the source of the shielding. Amira silently motions them to the wall, at a doorway near an overturned grav-table. The corridor widens into a large circular lobby, with the path running completely around a large cylinder. The cylinder, a lighter grey than the surrounding area, carries both the main turbo tubes up and down the station and crucially leads directly to the modified Paris Drive that powers the station.
Which is presumably the focus for the group of people loading what can only be explosives into a roughly cut hole in the cylinder. At least seven people, dressed in the similar yet distinct working clothes of the other people on Orion’s ship, hover around the hole. One other person lazily slumps against the far wall, presumably watching for trouble. Despite appearances, he spots their movement and pushes off the wall sharply, aiming a long-barrelled one-handed pistol in their direction.
“Imps!” He just about has time to shout, before a blast from Amira’s rifle slams through his head. His companions scatter in all directions to find cover. Instantly the corridor rings with the sounds of high pitched snaps as the raiders start firing. Amira returns fire, the low thudding sound of her rifle drowning out anything else. A couple of raiders scream as they are hit, before Amira ducks below the grav-table. She looks at Nemmy and Itzcoatl, both sharing a concerned look.
“This table won’t take too many hits. I’m going to go through that door and catch them around the side. Just keep firing, pin them down.” she commands, before sprinting through the door.
“What?” Nemmy gasps. Itzcoatl peers over the top of the table and pokes his pistol over. He lets off a few shots, forcing the raiders to remain behind cover. Fighting off the horrible churning in her stomach, and the mild throbbing across her chest, Nemmy leans down towards the space between the table and the wall. Slumping against the wall, she pushes her pistol through the space with her good arm. Her hand trembles furiously as she looks at the raiders, themselves now peeking out from behind walls and the shards cut from the cylinder. One spots her peeking out and fires. She can’t hold back the yelp as the energy scars the wall above her head. She pulls the trigger, but the shot is wild, grazing the top of the cylinder. Itzcoatl fares better, releasing a trio of blasts, the last of which slices into a raider’s shoulder. She spins to the floor with an agonised wail. A hail of whining blasts shudder against the grav-table, which shakes violently. Itzcoatl said something, but she couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears. A loud clanging caused the shooting to stop for a few moments, and they both peer over the top, just in time to see two more raiders drop.
“The Major!” Itzcoatl says loudly, standing up and opening fire. Streaks of bright green energy fly towards the remaining raiders from around the corner beyond Nemmy’s line of sight. Amira’s tactic works, as most of the remaining raiders scramble away. A couple peel away from the pile of explosives still on the floor and rush towards the grav-table desperately seeking cover. Itzcoatl starts firing, but his calm deserts him, his shots zipping high and wide.
“Oh God” Nemmy breaths, raising her gun again towards the man running at her. She can barely keep the barrel straight, as the man powers forward, wildly firing his own weapon. Out of the corner of her eye Nemmy spots Amira charging around the corner, methodically shooting double blasts at a raider, then another. She won’t get them all in time. The man is mere steps away. A shot slices into Itzcoatl’s arm, causing him to drop his gun and topple backwards. Nemmy glances around and shuffles back away from the table. There’s no other choice, she realises. She locks eyes with the man, as he raises his weapon. She squeezes her eyes shut and hammers the trigger over and over and over. She isn’t sure she hit him. Or if she wants to be sure. She can’t hear anything over the angry thudding of her pistol. A hand grasps her shoulder, and she drops the gun with an embarrassing squeal. Amira steps in front of her, with a relaxed smile.
“We’re safe. They’re all dead” she says, with all the calmness of ordering dinner. Nemmy’s heart rams against her chest, and she suddenly finds it hard to breath let alone speak. Amira physically moves her against the wall.
“Rest for a moment. I’ll check on Itzcoatl, and then we’ll leave when you are ready. Just try to breathe normally” she advises. Nemmy can do nothing else, desperately sucking in air. Amira goes to Itzcoatl, pleased that he is sitting up.
“Bad hit?” she asks. He shakes his head.
“It’s painful, true, but not a powerful weapon I think. I’ll be fine” he replies, gently peeling back the burned edges of his uniform. Amira looks over the wound. A similar weapon that caused Nemmy’s wound, most likely no lasting damage. A glancing blow, thankfully. She gives him her med-kit before dashing back to the explosives, always keeping a sharp eye on the lookout for hidden attackers. A quick look through the hole in the central cylinder confirms her suspicion that the pile of explosives around her feet is only a small sample of what has already been fed into the structure of this station. They’d been at this a while, she realises. This station could explode at any moment.
“Where are the crew?” she murmurs to herself. This station should have hundreds of people on board at any given time. She mulls over the idea that they are involved with the Swinefleet, but she dismisses it almost as quickly. A few could be, but not the entire staff. Treason is too deadly a crime to be worth whatever promises Orion could give them. Where ever they are, they don’t appear to be here. A more immediate concern appears to her. Defusing these bombs will almost certainly take too long. Amira moves back to the others.
“We can’t stay here; the station is rigged to explode. We can run deeper scans from the Boomslang” she says, helping Itzcoatl to his feet. Nemmy staggers off the wall and looks over the table to the dead man with the hole in his face.
“I…killed that man” Nemmy croaks.
“It was your third shot, I believe. Right between the eyes” Amira says. Nemmy fights back a wave of bile in her throat.
“I could see his eyes. It’s not like ship combat. I had to look him right in the eyes” Nemmy goes on faintly.
“It gets easier, the more you do it,” Amira replies. Nemmy turns to look at her.
“Do you find it easy?” she asks softly. Amira stops, and just for a moment, a look of unbearable sadness washes over her face.
“As easy as breathing” she whispers. All at once, her shield is back up, and she starts moving. “We can’t stay around, we have to leave now,” she says, all the power and authority in her voice returns. The trip to the shuttle has no incidents, as the station is still eerily quiet. With a proper Med-Net in place, Itzcoatl finds no problem with flying the shuttle, and within minutes they are approaching the Boomslang shuttle bay. The situation appears as tense as before, with the Swinefleet spread out in front of the Imperial ships. No-one has dared move. Her heartbeat and breathing start to return to a manageable level, so Nemmy sits at a viewing window to watch the ships, wondering what the other crews were thinking.
“Ravaan, get us out of here as soon as we land. The station is rigged to explode” Amira barks into her Strap.
“Acknowledged. I will inform the remaining vessels,” Ravaan replies.
“Captain, other ships!” Itzcoatl announces suddenly, and as she watches, more and more ships appear behind the Swinefleet. The flashes seem to go on forever.
“There must be dozens of them” Amira growls.
“Currently, one hundred and six, to be precise,” Itzcoatl says. Silence fills the shuttle as they glide into the Boomslang shuttle bay. The ship is already moving away at speed as the shuttle completes the landing process. For a moment, Nemmy is concerned that the Swinefleet will attack, but nothing happens. The reasoning swiftly becomes clear.
As soon as the flashes of arriving ships stop, the motley armada unleashes a tidal wave of missiles and torpedoes towards the various structures. The fleeing Imperials can only watch in horror as the torrent of fire obliterates the smaller installations. Barely after the explosions stop, the main station detonates in an instant angry flash of white. Within seconds, the entire shipyard is nought but blackened wreckage, endless shards of metal spreading outwards.
Still watching on the shuttle viewers, Itzcoatl runs a scan.
“There’s nothing left. All the shipbuilding facilities are gone, the constructs are gone, and the main hub is gone” he says, his voice heavy.
“What about the station crew?” Nemmy asks. As if to answer, another ship warps in. A massive old bulk transport appears in front of the Swinefleet. As soon as it stops dead, the Swinefleet ships all turn and warp away, except for the Solar Flare.
“We’re receiving a message,” Itzcoatl says, sending it to the viewing window. Andres Orion’s face fills the screen.
“Now you’ll remember to take us seriously. Your station crew is on the transport, unharmed, clean, and well fed. A greater kindness than you’ve ever shown us. However, this is your final warning. One more misstep and I will not be merciful” He announces coldly, slamming off the comm link. His ship is quick to depart. The Boomslang is first to shift back towards the transport. Ravaan clearly does not believe the station crew are unharmed. Oddly, Nemmy thinks he is telling the truth. He has no reason not to. If the Swinefleet wanted to kill them, they could easily have done it. She wonders how the other officers feel.
“It will take a couple of years to rebuild this shipyard,” Amira says.
“Not to mention replacing those ships” Itzcoatl replies in the same sombre tone. They had under-estimated the support behind Orion’s movement. More importantly, they had also under-estimated the firepower of this new Swinefleet. Having lost a lot of ships in recent months, and having their primary shipbuilding facility absolutely obliterated, fighting back against this new threat was going to be a massive challenge. Nemmy wearily gets to her feet and heads for the shuttle door.
“Itzcoatl, you should go to the med-bay. I assume we’ll be here helping the station crew for a while, so we’ll need a healthy, fully fit crew” she says.
“Where are you going? You should be in the med-bay as well” Amira asks.
“I’ll have to inform Admiral Winters of the situation, as well as my mother. I’ll go after” she replies. She heads across the shuttle bay towards a console, trying to work out what to say, but the image of the man she killed dominates her mind. She pushes the image away as she establishes the comm link to Winters’ office. A young Sergeant responds.
“My apologies, Captain. Admiral Winters is currently in an important conference and does not wish to be disturbed” The man mumbles as if he’s been repeating the same line all day.
“I need to speak to him please, it’s important”
“I don’t-“
“Now, Sergeant” Nemmy snaps, switching off the comm link before the man can do anything but gasp. She leans against the wall, unable to picture anything other than the mutilated face of that man. Things just keep getting worse and worse, she notes. This time last year, her biggest complaints were boredom and overly chatty staff members at HQ. Things were getting worse, far worse than she had ever feared. That man she killed is the first person she has ever shot. The horrible twisted feeling in her stomach tells her he wouldn’t be the last.
A Positive Shine
The hulking alien battlecruiser drifts in front of them. Grievous wounds spill forth internal liquids from the innards of the ship, streaking out across the entire viewspace. On the bridge, Nemmy gets out of her chair, stiffens her back, and jabs a righteous finger towards the ship.
“It’s time for you to face…Imperial Justice!” She bellows, but as soon as she does, her face goes red. “Come on, I can’t say that. It’s ridiculous” she moans.
“This whole thing is ridiculous. And embarrassing” Amira butts in. The whine of several hovering cameras powering down replaces all other noise for a few seconds. The director sighs loudly and sags his body over a hovering horseshoe-shaped table. He is almost morbidly thin, dressed in an expensive looking white suit, and prone to exaggerated mannerisms.
“Trust me! This material plays really well with the Central folk” he exclaims, in the odd high-pitched twang the Central folk themselves tend to have.
“Obviously it would, they are a bunch of pampered little children who spend all day staring at stars and waiting for other people to bring them food” Amira snaps in response. Nemmy can’t hold back a giggle, despite herself. The Centre is the ring of systems surrounding Emperor’s Throne. It is considered the economic and social heart of the Imperium. It was also somewhat isolated from the further reaches of Imperial space. People who live there have no reason to travel all the way out here. Her mother shares Amira’s less than complimentary opinion of Centrals. ‘Entire families of inbreeders who couldn’t even draw an alien, let alone talk to one’ was one of Alondra’s more polite views. If the director is offended, he doesn’t show it.
“You should hear what we call the border folk!” he japes. “Alright, we can take a break. Please remember you have your individual recording slots to go over” he says with a clap. A few assistants, identically dressed in the blandest white jumpsuits imaginable appear from the doors, briskly removing all the equipment with practised speed. The bridge is soon back to normal. Amira and Nemmy both slump into their respective chairs.
“I think Ravaan outwitted us all on this one,” Amira says.
“Yeah” Nemmy replies. Ravaan had insisted that he had a backlog of crew evaluations to approve and had disappeared just as the V-Cube recording team had come aboard. When Nemmy had reported the attack on the shipyard, Admiral Winters was apoplectic with rage. As were Admirals Semple and Juszczak, Fleet Captains Novo, Sharma, Lynn, and several other officers she didn’t recognise. Her mother had appeared emotionless, but that itself was a massive clue about her feelings. The collective anger was compounded when the Admiralty response was to set up a ‘morale-boosting’ visit from one of their news and entertainment units. But everyone knows what it really is. Blatant propaganda designed to shield the truth. If the average citizen realises how weak the ISF currently is, there will be mass panic. But given their recent experience with the Imperial Avenger, Nemmy isn’t fond of the idea of being part of another lie. To her immense relief, almost the entire crew seem to be of the same mind. Santiago had flat out refused to help. Even Choi had been bemused at the idea, although true to form she agreed readily.
“I’m going down to the canteen,” Nemmy says, pushing herself out of her chair. She breaks into a jog. Being used as a propaganda tool is bad but being alone with her thoughts is torture by comparison. I killed that man. The trip is mercifully short, and she orders an ice-cold fruit drink. Only as she sits down does she notice that another recording set-up in the corner. Her groan catches the attention of Lynsey and Angela as they both enter.
“I’m sure the juice isn’t that bad, Cap,” Angela says. They take seat
s on either side of Nemmy. Angela slings an arm around her shoulders, and Lynsey pats her hand.
“If you are still depressed over shooting that chap, think about it this way…” Lynsey begins, “at least you still have a face”
“Lynsey!” Nemmy moans. Lynsey nods to Angela, who goes up to get some drinks.
“Seriously Captain, I know it’s hard. That first direct kill is always difficult. Most people on board don’t know what you are dealing with. It will pass eventually”
“I hope so,” Nemmy says glumly.
“Trust me. I’ve been in those cute little boots of yours. If you hadn’t done it, he would be sitting somewhere, fretting over killing you. Focus on that” she says. Nemmy musters a smile.
“Thanks, Lynsey. Really”
“Anytime. You might need to help me bear this…debris” she says, pointing a finger towards the recording set-up. At that moment, one of the director’s assistants comes in and activates the equipment. A waif of a woman, she gestures to Lynsey and Angela.
“Officers, please, whenever you are ready,” she says softly, also in that odd Central accent. Lynsey leans toward Nemmy as she rises.
“If only you had killed me” she whispers, before she and Angela sit on the provided chairs, each sipping a different coloured drink. Nemmy moves in a little closer to watch. She hasn’t seen any of this stuff before, she tells herself. A stream of other crew members shuffle into the canteen, presumably to do their own segments. Samuel leads various medical crew members into the room. Zhang follows, deep in conversation with Itzcoatl. Amira follows up with the next batch, and soon the entire canteen is packed, all watching an increasingly awkward pair in front of the recorder.
“Corporal Lynsey Taylor, one of our fine soldiers on detachment from the Imperial Ground Force, out here serving humanity. Would you like to introduce your companion?” The assistant says. Everyone goes silent, and Lynsey’s face instantly turns crimson.
Unknown Earth Volume 2 Page 20