By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  “Oh, look Eric, a marine that can do math. They must’ve upped their standards while we were exiled,” Byron joked as he pulled a long knife from the belt sheath behind his back. “No, the guns won’t hurt you, but this knife knows every seam in that armor. Surrender.”

  The marine on the right bolted towards them. Byron calmly sidestepped and helped the man fall to the floor. Eric had seen that move countless times during the last two years on Solitude. The knife sawing through the throat was a different ending than he was used to, however.

  “Now we outnumber you two to two. Still confused?” Byron said.

  Both marines shook their heads.

  “Good, sit down over there. Eric, find something to restrain them with,” Byron said.

  “While you’re at it,” Turing broke in, “Look for a door near the elevator. Should be a networking closet. You should find zip ties in there. I need you to crosspatch a set of ports for me when you’re done.”

  “Fox One, Fox Three. Bridge secure. Four crew and a target of opportunity down, two prisoners.”

  “Fox Three, Fox One,” Hadrian replied and immediately broke protocol, “Two prisoners? Really?”

  “They’re Marines. In armor, Hadrian.”

  “Oh. Well shit, that complicates things. Anyway, we popped two of your targets at the dock, proceeding with a bit more caution onto the Bounty.”

  “So where’s your overpowered flashlights?” Byron asked the prisoners while Eric punched the door key for the network closet.

  The counting marine mumbled, “Cerberus wouldn’t let us onto the station with them.”

  The closet’s button flashed red while Byron snorted.

  “Don’t you guy’s love protocol?” the old commando asked the marines. He glanced to the station captain’s corpse and commented, “Bet you’re regretting that one now, eh?”

  “Can’t help you with that,” Turing told Eric. “It’s not responding.”

  “I got a problem, Byron. Door’s locked,” Eric said.

  “Open it, you’ve got Turing’s pad, don’t you?”

  “Duh,” Eric said and peeled back the flap on his forearm. The tablet instantly lit up.

 

 

  Eric frowned and tapped cancel. No, I need you to open this door, not hack some wireless network. Dammit, I wish I had training on this thing. Eric pulled his knife out and popped the panel off. He dug through the pad’s various connectors until he found a set that matched the slots inside.

 

 

 

  Shit.

 

  Eric jumped as a brilliant flash illuminated the mass of electronics and blue smoke puffed out. Well, that’s one way to do it, I guess.

 

  The door slid open.

  “I’m in,” Eric announced to both Turing and Byron as he pulled his adapter from the smoking controller’s jack. “Found some beefy zip-ties. What am I looking for while I’m in here, Turing?”

  “There should be spare cable there somewhere. If they’re following the standard wiring protocols, plug one end of the spare into the switch with all the green cables running to it and the other end into the switch with all the yellow cables.”

  “That’s it?” Eric said as he grabbed a cable off a shelf.

  “That’s it.”

  “What’s this do?” Eric asked as he plugged the cable in as requested.

  “Violates the airgap between their normal networks and their security grid. Hold on, I have to bypass port security. Give me a few minutes to run my network scan once this is done. I’ll have total access to the station shortly after if the other side is as secure as everything else. Maybe even the Bounty if they haven’t cut their feeds yet. Oh, the joys of trust relationships.”

  Eric shook his head. Eggheads. He grabbed the zip-ties. Wait, I’m an egghead. He rolled his eyes and turned to go secure their prisoners.

  A minute later Eric gave Byron a thumbs up.

  “They’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  “Huh, you know, I might know some people back home who’d pay pretty well for that kinda thing,” Byron said before cutting over to the radio. “Fox One, Fox Three. Prisoners secured, we’re heading your direction.”

  “Fox Three, Fox Four, we’re kinda busy.” The unmistakable pulse of a Protectorate energy rifle in the background sent chills down Eric’s spine. “Our rifles aren’t slowing them down. They’re trying to take us prisoner, I think, but their stun setting isn’t getting past the insulation in these suits. They’re herding us.”

  “Fox Three, Fox One,” Hadrian followed up a few moments later. “What Liz said. We got the drop on a few crew though. Maybe a dozen. Can’t do shit about these guys though.”

  “Sit tight, boys,” Byron told the two marines calmly and waved at Eric. “Someone will be by to pick you up. Be nice, okay? Fox One, Fox Three. We’re oscar mike.”

  The pair stepped into the elevator and Byron punched the button for the docking bay.

  “Turing, you mind doing some computer magic and making sure those guys stay out of trouble?” Byron asked as the elevator started to move.

  “No problem, already done.”

  “You into the security system yet?” Eric asked.

  “Not entirely. Someone actually changed passwords on a few systems. Accident, probably. Won’t take long. Feeds are still live to the Bounty though. What do you need?”

  “Do you have some sort of video of what’s going on there? A map?” Byron asked.

  “No, sorry. That’s one of the systems I’m breaching still. Based off the alarms I’m seeing in their life support grid, I’d say they’re on the third deck heading forward though. Ozone spikes.”

  The elevator dinged and the pair emerged into the docking area to strobing white emergency lighting and the speakers looping, “Danger. Radiation spike in the vicinity of clamp A. Ten Sieverts and climbing. Danger.”

  Eric stumbled to a halt, remembering fried crewmen from an accident on the Fortune.

  “It’s one of Turing’s alarms,” Byron called out as he trotted onward.

  Eric raced to catch up, joining Byron as they reached the umbilical to the Bounty.

  “Fox One, Fox Three, we are crossing onto the quarterdeck now.”

  No response.

  Shit.

  Byron came up short on the far side and pointed at a doorway off to the side. “Eric, work that black magic on this door. Now.”

  Eric used the butt of his rifle to smash the casing open. He fumbled for the correct adapter.

 

 

 

  The door jerked on its pressure hinges and hissed open.

 

  Eric’s eyes grew wide and he glanced to the nameplate above the door. Secondary Armory. Byron tossed his rifle to the floor.

  “Regular or extra crispy?” the man asked as he pulled an energy rifle from the rack.

  “Extra crispy.”

  “Oh, good, I love plasma weapons,” Byron chuckled. “Just don’t point this at me or a thin external bulkhead.”

  “Oh,” Eric replied, taking the hefty device. It vaguely resembled one of Julien’s heavy machineguns in size and mass. Byron smashed the lock off a set of restraints for a shelf full of heavy boxlike devices and then shoved one of those boxes in the weapon’s side. The power pack clicked and the weapon came to life with a cheerful hum.

  “Which, by the way, is all of them by that thing’s standards, so be a bit careful. Fox One, Fox Three. We’ve got flashlights. Oscar mike.”

  No response.

  “Guys, I’m in,” Turing broke in. “Hadrian and Commander Grace are on deck four no
w just aft of the bridge and, and hurry. Just hurry. I’ll slow down their pursuers.”

  All the lighting died, replaced by flickering emergency lighting.

  “All hands prepare to abandon ship!” the automated system announced. “Thermal anomaly detected in fusion core two. Destabilization event imminent. All hands prepare to abandon ship!”

  “The slider by your trigger finger determines the power setting. I’d suggest the lowest setting or a bit above,” Byron said while they jogged down the passage way and hopped over bullet riddled corpses. “Just remember, higher the setting, longer the charge time between shots and the shorter the lifespan of that pack. Anything higher than twenty-five percent is considered anti-vehicle.”

  “Got it,” Eric said.

  The pair ducked into a stairwell and started up. As they approached the hatch to the fourth deck it opened. A marine stumbled through it, groping at the knife protruding from his throat. Behind him the darkness strobed with brilliant light as several energy rifles discharged rapidly.

  Shit.

  Out of breath, Eric hefted the massive weapon and followed Byron into the scene beyond. Several marines lay with their limbs at odd angles in pools of blood. Two were attempting to regain their feet. Quick shots from Byron to the sides of their helmets sent them back to the floor minus a fair amount of skull.

  Eric spotted a marine wrestling someone up off the floor. He leveled his weapon, thumbed the power up and pulled the trigger. The muzzle glowed angry violet scant moments before the device belched forth a blinding amethyst bolt which traveled the short distance to the target in the blink of an eye. The bolt seared a fist sized hole through the marine’s helmet and, having met no serious resistance, a non-trivial portion of the bolt bathed the hall in its brief, baleful glow as it sailed onward. The bolt disappeared through the far wall with a flash leaving behind a cloud of vaporized metal. Smoke and steaming fluids spat from both sides of the marine’s helmet as the corpse toppled to the floor. Holy shit!

  Eric’s eyes bulged and he glanced down. 45%. Oops.

  “Uh, guys? What was that?” Turing asked. “Oh, never mind. Plasma discharge. Whoever just shot that might want to tone it down. You just set fire to the next three compartments. Nothing major, mind you, but let’s not wreck the ship just yet?”

  Eric scanned for targets while Byron put the last two marines down. He paused by the last corpse and swapped his plasma cannon for an energy rifle.

  “I think this might be a bit safer for everyone concerned,” he said with a guilty smile.

  Byron cracked a smile before keying his radio.

  “Fox One, Fox Three. How copy, over? Fox One, do you read?”

  No response.

  Elizabeth shoved the dead marine with the hole punched through his head off her. Smoke drifted off the top of her helmet as she staggered to her feet. Blackened flakes fell from her helmet as she pulled it off.

  “Those fucking assholes,” she raged.

  “What happened?” Byron asked her.

  “They herded us into a dead end corner a few frames back. Radio went out. Hadrian rushed them, told me to run the other direction. I don’t know where he went. I heard shooting and then someone grabbed me. I just starting stabbing people.”

  Eric slowly turned back towards the dead marine in the stairwell. He followed the path of blood back in the direction Elizabeth had come from. Half buried under a pile of dead marines, Eric spotted Hadrian’s boots.

  “Byron, over here!”

  The pair dug through the pile to find Hadrian still clutching a broken knife in his hand. His suit had been burnt through in a half dozen places and his visor cracked.

  “Did we make it?” Hadrian asked through clenched teeth as Eric pried off his helmet. “We can still get off this rock?”

  Eric nodded earnestly.

  “Good,” the man replied and laid his head back on the deck.

  Eric looked up to Byron. Byron shook his head slowly.

  Hadrian convulsed on the floor, wracked with a sudden coughing fit.

  “It was worth it,” Hadrian sighed. He stared vacantly at the ceiling for a moment and then muttered, “I’ll tell Leah you made it, kid.”

  Byron knelt over the stricken commando and whispered, “Rest now, son of Caledon.”

  Hadrian coughed and shivered violently.

  With his last breath he sighed, “Duty calls.”

  Eric stepped back as Byron closed Hadrian’s eyes and turned to find a grim-faced Elizabeth with an energy rifle in her hands.

  “Turing?” she asked. “How many left?”

  “You got everyone on Cerberus other than those two prisoners. I’m seeing only four left on the Bounty. All of them on the bridge. They were trying to initiate the self-destruct sequence, but I’ve null routed all the consoles up there, so they’re not getting anywhere with that. I’m fairly certain there’s a manual override somewhere though.”

  They’d made it a handful of meters down the passageway when Turing came over the radio again.

  “Yeah, they’re going for the manual. Two people running for engineering. They’ve got sidearms. On the plus side, they’re all crew, not marines.”

  “Eric,” Byron said. “Secure the bridge. Elizabeth and I will handle the guys going for Engineering. Turing, give me the fastest path to Engineering from here.”

  Eric didn’t hear the reply, he knew where he was going from Hadrian’s briefing and was already racing up the nearby ladderwell two steps at a time. He came to the armored bridge bulkhead a short time later and found the hatch sealed.

  “Turing?”

  “It’s logically isolated. You’ll have to override it on-site. Though, how exactly I’m not sure. Those hatches are supposed to be impregnable by anything man portable and not accessible from the outside. Something about mutinies and boarding actions.”

  Eric looked for an access panel or a controller of some sort. Where the hell is it? He leaned against the wall by the doorway, panting.

  The tablet on his arm flickered to life.

 

 

 

  The solid metal plate hummed and slid to the side. No shit?

 

  The two very startled naval officers behind the hatch attempted to draw their weapons. Both were dead long before their sidearms posed a threat.

  “Fox Three, Fox Two, over,” Eric said as he walked onto the bridge.

  “Go ahead, Fox Two.”

  Eric dropped into the captain’s chair. He propped his feet up on the console and smiled bitterly.

  “Bridge secured.”

  “Congratulations, Captain. We just got the last of the runners. I’m sending Elizabeth down to the launch bay now. Turing, you heard?”

  “Yeah, I heard. We’ve got most everyone here ready. The spider teams won’t be back in time, but I figure the second shuttle can pick them up, provided we can jam enough people on the first.”

  “Well, if it’s alright with everyone else, I think I’m going to decompress for a bit. I don’t think there’s anything else useful for me to do. I have no idea what most of these consoles do or how they do it. That and, as Turing said, they’re null routed,” Eric sighed as he stared into the starry void on the main display.

  “Understood,” Byron said.

  “I’ll fix that, but I’ll let you know if we need anything,” Turing said.

  Eric set his radio to external speakers and twisted off his helmet. He let it drop to the floor next to his feet and sat listening to the white noise from the fans running in the various computers. I’m free. Well, most likely free.

  “Fuck,” he whispered to himself to break the silence. Suddenly tired, Eric yawned. He leaned forward, and tapped the captain’s screen. The screen flickered and came on. Connection restored? Now this is interesting. Hmm. He started typing.

  “Eric?” Turing asked over the radio a short tim
e later. “What are you doing?”

  “Uh, nothing much? Captain left himself logged in,” Eric replied, hoping he kept the guilty mirth from his voice. “Why?’

  “Well, the first shuttle is five minutes out and they’re telling me they see drones leaving the station.”

  “And?”

  “There’s evidently quite a few of them.”

  “They must be seeing things?”

  Turing snorted. “I checked the CTA. CPU usage on the medusa array is nearly pegged and the only active login is from a terminal on the Bounty’s bridge.”

  “Oh, well, maybe they’re not seeing things?”

  “Eric.” Turing didn’t sound pleased.

  “Well, I got to thinking, Turing. You only had those dozen or so hooks and nets made, right? Well, without more of those, loading the weapons bays with stuff is going to be less efficient. I figured I’d send more empty bays down.”

  “And I suppose the reports I’m getting from Spider 3 of explosions on the far side of the mountain are mere coincidence?”

  “Sure, sure. Mere coincidence. A happy one, but coincidence.”

  “Right, right. So, if you did program the drones to bomb Gliar’s men, and I’m not saying you did, but if you decided to do so,” Turing paused. “What instructions might you have been tempted to use?”

  “Well, if I were so inclined, and I’m not saying I was, I may or may not have instructed the AI to select for every identifiable human visual and IR signature on the western side of the mountain and upped their targeting priority and tasking from surveil to priority hostile. I might’ve considered bumping priorities for humans already in its ID catalog, specifically the legionnaires.”

  “Well, since you didn’t do that, I’d suggest doing that. Would save me the time, I’m supervising the next load.”

  “Oh, and I may or may not have asked it to task a drone for Gliar himself and that package, in all its eight thousand kilos of glory, may or may not be getting delivered as we speak.”

  “Eight thousand kilos?” Byron broke in. “That’s--”

  “Just enough for a man of his stature?” Eric asked.

  Byron snorted. “Well, intel did say he got a bit on the heavy side, so I suppose.”

  “You know, they do have drone portable physics packages up here,”