Blackmoth kept his ship in motion, matching speed with the Nighthawk, which had begun to accelerate, likely in preparation to jump from the system. He pitched Hunter Four down ever so slightly, then rolled starboard a few degrees. Everything was aligned.
With the press of a button, Hunter Four clamped onto the Nighthawk and, after entering another command, he activated the drill.
“It won’t be long now,” he said. While the drill sliced into the Nighthawk’s armor with laser accuracy, Blackmoth suited up and put on his helmet, acquiring the gear he would need.
***
“Sir! Explosive decompression on deck four!” yelled the officer at the Ops post, just as an alarm started howling.
“What?” demanded Pellew, from the command position. From her seat on the ground, hands tied behind her and gagged, Summers had only an obstructed view of the Bridge’s activity. Next to her sat Nimoux, unconsciously leaning as much against her as the wall. She was grateful Pellew’s soldiers had bandaged and cleaned the wounds, or at least made some effort to do so, but she would never forgive Pellew for what he’d done. And the minute she regained control of her ship, somehow, she would see to it he paid the price of justice.
“Yes, sir!” yelled the Ops officer. “Localized decompression on deck four! We’ve lost atmosphere down there.”
“What about the surrounding decks?” Pellew ran to look at the terminal.
“They’re fine. Hull Breach Protocol automatically engaged. The affected deck has been sealed off.”
“What the hell happened?” asked one of the soldiers, who, by the way he acted seemed to be Pellew’s right hand man. “Did we hit some debris when we accelerated?”
“Sir, the breach is contained,” the Ops officer reported. “Hull Breach protocol has disengaged, and atmosphere is being restored to that deck.”
“What the hell do you mean, contained?” asked Pellew, his eyes darting between the displays. “Do we have a breach, or don’t we?”
“Wait; I’m wrong, sir,” said the Ops officer, sounding entirely baffled. “We are breached! Atmosphere on deck four has been lost, Hull Breach Protocol has reengaged. All access to that deck has been sealed. Sir, there’s a hole in our ship.”
“So, we did hit some debris,” said Pellew’s right hand man.
Pellew shook his head and a dark expression spread over his face. “No, I know what this is,” he said. “Condition one! Sound General Quarters!” he yelled, then tapped the ship-wide intercom system, “ODA and ODB, all units suit up and report to decks three and five immediately. Climate-gear. Ali and Merrill, you remain in Engineering.” With that, Pellew sprinted for the elevator.
“What is it, sir?”
“Invasion,” said Pellew, angrily. “We’ve been boarded.”
He stepped inside the elevator. The two other soldiers on the Bridge made to follow him, but Pellew raised a hand to stop them. “I’ll handle this, you keep the Bridge under control.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
Blackmoth wore a flexible, bullet-resistant, full-body suit and helmet. He made sure the pull chain was properly affixed to the mechanism inside Hunter Four and then he leapt, floating the small distance between Hunter Four and Nighthawk until he reached the latter’s far bulkhead. He used his free hand to push himself off the wall and toward the floor, then activated his magnetic boots. They allowed him to walk normally through the ship’s corridor, despite the null gravity and lack of atmosphere.
The lights were out, as power had been cut to the deck. He could have brought along a light to help him see, but such would only make him into a target. Instead, he flipped the button on his helmet, enabling the night vision mode, bathing the deck in an eerie flood of infrared green. Much of the heat had escaped with the atmosphere, so this solution was imperfect, but many heat sources remained, allowing him to see with only slightly compromised vision.
He took slow and steady steps, pulling the chain along behind him; it floated weightlessly. Over his other shoulder was the railgun, waiting for when Blackmoth needed it.
The Nighthawk’s corridor was sparse and empty, which made sense. Had any crewman been standing in the corridor, he might have been blown out into space from the force of the explosive decompression. If not, he or she would be suffering the uncomfortable results of hypoxia and embolism. Certainly they’d be unconscious by now, if not dead.
He passed several small doors and one large one. He knew each of them was locked and sealed, but it made no matter. None of them was the destination he sought. The small doors belonged to crewmen and the large was some kind of observation or common room, hardly a good place to store a secure weapon.
Perhaps some poor crewmen were trapped behind those small doors, he wondered as he walked past them. Maybe they were in there trying desperately to survive off the limited atmosphere their sealed quarters gave them. If so, they likely would survive…today. But it made no difference. Whether they died here or died later, the galaxy’s number was up and the One True God would have the blood he demanded. The void would be filled with the souls of all these unworthy beings. And then the plan would be fulfilled and the galaxy could begin anew with only the worthy and favored allowed to exist. No more will space be polluted by the insolent, depraved, and unintelligent beings which dwelled within it. “Let them enjoy their final evening in ignorance, for when the dawn comes they will not rise with it.”
***
When Pellew arrived on deck five at the emergency hatch—which had automatically sealed in order to contain the loss of atmosphere on deck four—he was pleased to see that all of ODA was already waiting for him. Better still was the news over the radio that ODB stood similarly ready on deck three, beneath that emergency hatch, ready to burst through and storm deck four.
“We’ll take them from two sides,” Pellew ordered over the radio. With all his men involved in the operation—less the two guarding the Bridge and the two in Engineering—they should make short work of whoever had dared to invade the Nighthawk. Especially since Pellew was ninety-nine percent certain they had come for the isotome weapon. Well, they’re not going to get it, he told himself.
Like the other soldiers, he wore a full-body protective climate suit, including a helmet with attached torch; in his hands he carried his trusty carbine. His hands were free to use a two-handed weapon, since there wasn’t any need to bring one of the handheld radios because the climate helmets came pre-equipped with internal headsets. Which would make keeping communications with his teams all the easier.
“The plan is simple, I will lead half of ODA down and clear the deck on the starboard side. We will wheel around toward stern in order to protect the missile. ODB, you will also split in two, half of you will breach from below on the portside. The rest will move the opposite way. Primary groups, proceed in a circuit, heading to the forward section, then wheel around to meet us in the stern. Support groups, help hold and maintain positions. Is everybody clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” came the replies over the radio. Pellew felt his heart pounding and decided that he was overdue for a good fight. Especially since the fight aboard the Duchess had been so pathetic. Any more engagements like that and he was liable to lose his edge.
“Bridge, are all non-essential personnel evacuated from decks five and three?” he radioed. “Or otherwise safely quarantined in their sealed quarters?”
“Affirmative, Captain,” replied one of the Bridge officers, Pellew didn’t recognize who. But it didn’t matter. “Keep Hull Breach Protocol engaged on decks three and five,” he added. “Until I tell you it’s clear.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Form up, men,” he said, and they got into position, ready to blow the hatch. “Now remember, be ready for anything. We have no idea what’s waiting for us down there, or who.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“On my signal…”
***
Upon reaching the deck’s stern, Blackmoth discovered the door he
wanted. It was the right size and undoubtedly, behind it, was situated his prize. The glorious work of The One True God. “This weapon is meant for something far greater than you humans can imagine,” he said, though no one was around to hear.
The wide door was sealed and secured, like all of the others. But that too made little difference. It was symbolic, in a way, Blackmoth supposed, as he set the charges to the door’s most vulnerable points—just enough explosives to eliminate the door’s seals and locking mechanisms and nothing else. The humans, the Rotham, the lost Polarians, each of them, in their own ways, tried to frustrate the plans of The One True God. Whether through combat, or fleeing, or attempts to deceive, or this locked door, but all the best of them could manage was only ever a mere stall. And always, The One True God was smarter than them. And had known they would try to stall Him. And so he would use their efforts against them, to fulfill His own designs. So great was the majesty of His intelligence.
Blackmoth stood back and ignited the explosives. There was no atmosphere, including no oxygen, but the explosives had been designed with their own built in oxidizers. So the lack of air meant nothing. Only that it seemed reverently silent when the door decided to go, its seals and locks broken, it leaned outward, floating in the air. Blackmoth had to grab it with both hands, momentarily letting go of the chain, and pull the door out of the way. When he did, he saw it.
The isotome missile. The blessed weapon. My duty and my calling, he thought. Although a profound sense of joy and pride filled him, he did not smile. Nor did he allow the sensation to linger—for it could only make him unclean. Blackmoth was an imperfect vessel before The One True God. Truly unworthy to see the new dawn The One True God had planned for the galaxy, once it had been righteously purged. But despite his imperfections, weaknesses, and filthy human origins, Blackmoth had been honored to act as a sword in the hand of The One True God. And as a sword he would obediently do his duty, cutting asunder all the hopes of the wretched mortals. To be a harbinger of their imminent doom.
He picked up the chain and pulled it into the room, then set to fastening it around the isotome missile. Once he’d done that, he removed the bolts that held the weapon fixed to the ground, and gave it a gentle nudge upward. It floated. He transmitted a command to his ship and Hunter Four began retracting the chain, pulling the isotome missile toward it. Blackmoth had but to guide it. Like The One True God guided him.
***
“Go, go, go!” ordered Pellew, and his teams began their breach. The emergency hatches were blown aside and his team floated down onto the surface of deck four, where the gravity was out. “Activate magnetic boots.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Activating.”
The lights were out too, so it was impossible to see anything. Pellew switched on his torch and the others did the same. The torches were affixed to their helmets, so they had vision wherever they looked.
“Clear!” said the forward-most soldier, sweeping his weapon around as he searched the area.
“Forward,” said Pellew, pointing ahead. His men formed up and they marched forward, clearing the corridor as they went, doing their best to spy around corners and check that each door they passed was sealed, to be certain no enemy soldiers were hiding in ambush.
They had to move slowly in the null gravity, the magnetic boots made it impossible to run, but Pellew was grateful that he and his men were able to stick to the deck. It would make it a lot easier in a firefight for them to kneel or take cover, not to mention keep their shots steady, than if they were floating around aimlessly.
Each room they passed seemed to be locked and sealed, just like protocol required. That was good, that meant their enemy was bound to show his face soon—he had nowhere to hide.
“ODB, report. Do you see anything?”
“Negative. But we’ve only just climbed to the deck’s surface. Activating magnetic boots now, sir.”
“Keep me apprised.”
“Aye, aye.”
Pellew urged his men to pick up the pace. He wanted to make certain they got to the auxiliary lab before the intruder did. Luckily, Pellew and his men knew where the weapon was, and they knew the layout of the ship, so, as far as he could tell, they had all the advantages. Now it was just a matter of cornering the intruders and capturing them. Or butchering them, if it came down to it. Pellew would stop at nothing to protect that missile.
“Clear.”
“Move, move, move!”
***
After beating on the door for some time, Shen could see that the metal, where the two doors met in the middle, had begun to bend. While the seal had yet to be broken, and he remained a prisoner on the observation deck, his repeated efforts, and the gift or curse of his newfound strength—combined with a surge of adrenaline that had taken over—had left two sizable dents, one on each door. They were of such a character that he could grip them with his hands and, pushing in opposite directions, thought he might be able to force the doors apart. At least far enough to allow himself to slip out.
He gave that his best effort for the better part of ten minutes, then took a break to rest up. The resting didn’t help and he felt only an increased sense of entrapment and agitation, so when he resumed his efforts to shove the doors apart, he did so with all the fury he could possibly muster. He thought of everything he could that might spark a little extra passion—he imagined he would be trapped in here forever if he didn’t get them open. That helped, but wasn’t enough. He imagined that he was running out of air and desperately needed the doors apart or else he would die. Again, it seemed to help, but was not sufficient. He even made himself imagine that Calvin was on the other side of the door, and in danger, and that Shen needed to rip the doors asunder in order to save his best friend. This came very close to success, but ultimately proved insufficient.
He attempted to rest one more time, this time only managing five minutes before he could take no more, and then he threw himself at the doors with all he had—this time imagining that it was Sarah and not Calvin who was on the other side, in grave danger.
There was a tremendous crash of noise and Shen felt himself blown forward, hard, slamming him into the doors, which were now successfully shoved apart. He held to them as a gale of wind from behind blew its way out the door, all of this in less than a second. Then it was gone. The atmospheric conditions had equalized and, to Shen’s horror, the observation deck lost its gravity. He grabbed one side of each door and shoved himself through the hole he’d made and found himself floating across the corridor of deck four. He crashed into the bulkhead and instinctively pushed off, upward, toward the ceiling. Not that upward had much meaning in the null gravity, but the décor of the corridor served as a reference with which he still associated the floor with down and the ceiling with up.
He grabbed hold of a fixture on the ceiling, a part of the lighting system—which, like everything else, seemed not to be working. It was then that he noticed all the lights were off and the deck was swallowed in darkness. It didn’t seem like darkness to Shen, though. His eyes apparently had been blessed with surprisingly good night-vision.
He tried to breathe and confirmed there was no air, yet he tried anyway. The sensation terrified him and he found himself petrified, glued to the ceiling fixture. He knew that in vacuum exposure he should remain conscious for only a few seconds and then pass out. Which meant he needed to hurry if he was to survive. But he just couldn’t make himself move. His limbs started to swell up and everything felt so cold.
It wasn’t freezing cold, more like an icy bath, deeply uncomfortable and slowly turning his sensations numb. Still, he could move. If he tried very hard.
***
Blackmoth guided the missile back the way he’d come. His ship continued to slowly retract the large object, which seemed to bob in the air—if there had been any air—with each and every pull. Blackmoth walked ahead of it, now and again giving it a shove this way or that, to help it around corners.
His ins
tincts prickled and he drew the railgun in a flash, expecting trouble around the next corner. He was right. Far ahead, in suits that lit up green to his infrared vision, he could see two soldiers, rifles in their hands. They too wore climate gear and helmets, but on each of their helmets was a mounted torch, lighting the darkness for them—but helping to give them away. To Blackmoth it was all too easy, more a child’s game than any kind of sport.
He raised the railgun and fired, its electromagnetic projectile was throne forward, right on target, at a rate of four kilometers per second. The man didn’t have time to blink as the object ripped through his bullet-resistant suit, tore through his body, and implanted itself deep inside the Nighthawk’s bulkhead behind him.
The second soldier opened fire, but did so blindly, his sight impaired. His rifle worked—no doubt using the same explosive principle as Blackmoth’s vacuum charges—but his aim was wildly off mark from this distance.
“In the name of The One True God, I hereby sentence you to the void,” said Blackmoth as he fired his railgun a second time, this time allowing the projectile to punch through the enemy’s helmet and skull before implanting itself in the Nighthawk’s bulkhead, like the first.
Having handled them, he continued onward, pushing the missile away from the wall as needed, so it would not scrape. Then, as he passed the large doors he’d seen on the way in—the ones that had been sealed shut and led to some kind of common room—he noted they’d been smashed and pried open, as if forced apart just wide enough to allow a man through.
The Phoenix Darkness Page 21