Brood Company: A Tri-Star System Story

by Steve Beaulieu

  BROOD COMPANY

  Hall and Beaulieu

  BROOD COMPANY

  By

  Aaron Hall & Steve Beaulieu

  Copyright © 2017 Hall & Beaulieu

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  www.hallandbeaulieu.com

  BROOD COMPANY

  BY HALL & BEAULIEU

  He was all alone but not at all alone.

  There were voices all around him, some hopeful—cheerful even. But most were tinged with trepidation and fear.

  The Body Mover crossed over the invisible boundary into the Lawless Zone and a hush came over the ship.

  Donovan Vance was hunched over as far as his shoulder harness would allow. His hands were cupped, his palm chip displaying a small but clear image—a young, curly haired girl, the carbon copy image of the beautiful woman next to her. He shook his head subtly and closed his hand, his middle finger tapping the center of his palm. The image vanished.

  “Okay, listen up boys.” The normally harsh, throaty voice of the Grand Marshall was now soft, soothing, like one would speak to their dog before a leaving on a long trip. “I’m not going to lie to you. You know the mission. Sounds simple, but I assure you, it isn’t.”

  He paused for a moment, making sure his words sunk in.

  “We’ve got twenty-seven missing persons and an abandoned ship. I know what you’re all thinking and I can’t say I disagree. This could be another Elektra malfunction.”

  It’d been all over the stream for weeks. Several had been murdered and NanoDream Electronics had issued a factory recall on the shipbrain, Elektra Five-Seven-Niner. The technology had always sounded too good to be true but for a short time it appeared to live up to the hype. Having an artificial intelligence capable of running all functions of a starship was a dream come true, one that turned out to be a nightmare. Reports had been flooding in from across the Tri-Star System—the machine had come alive. One thing was common amongst the stories; Elektra was seductive, a beauty beyond words, and people always ended up dead on ships where she was installed.

  “Elektra or not,” he continued, strength returning to his words “she’s just an unthinking machine and you are the best damn soldiers the TSS has to offer.” He slapped Vance hard on the shoulder to drive his point home. “We’re going to do this thing like we have every other thing: With Excellence!”

  One solider, the leader Andrew “Fetus” Embrāyo, repeated the mantra but the dread-soaked air in the launch bay was mostly filled with murmurs. The pep talk did little to cut tension.

  The GM didn’t even appear to have believed his own words. He turned, his head a bit lower than normal and stepped through the blast doors to the bridge. The door hissed shut and the soldiers abandoned their hushed tones now that the Grand Marshal was gone.

  “This is your first op, ain’t it, Vance?”

  Vance swallowed back vomit and nodded.

  “Pretty messed up sitch though. Think the shipbrain is really on a murder spree?”

  Another nod.

  There were five soldiers in the launch bay. Brood Company. The Star-System Elite Guard only employed the best of the best. They utilized small but highly efficient strike forces and Brood was their newest.

  Donovan “Dreadnaught” Vance had spent years in special operations. He’d run personal security for the Chancellor, herself. While under her employ he’d been directly responsible for preventing three assassination attempts. He was known as a hero in certain circles and for a moment in time had been in high demand in the personal security industry. But that was behind him now. This was his first time out of S-SEG training. He was a rookie in comparison to these guys and if they knew anything of his past accomplishments they didn’t seem to care.

  “It’s gonna be okay, man,” said Trigger. “This ain’t our first rodeo. Stick close by and you’ll be fine.” He patted his rifle for emphasis, then kissed it. The man loved his guns.

  Vance tapped his palm and cupped his hands again. His girls. Everything he did, he did for them. He’d had big dreams—a grand vision for how his life would play out. Everything had been going perfectly, too. He was on track to retire early with a big pension but all that changed when he’d gotten Deidra pregnant without permission from the capital. Even though he’d had some powerful connections, he lost his position and was forced to seek a position in the military. Sure, they could have had an abortion but he knew that wasn’t the answer. He’d created something and it was his job to care for it, to love it. And it became a she and she was his world. He didn’t regret his decisions for a single moment but as he looked around he had to admit that he’d never expected to end up in a place like this. In order to provide for his little miracle he was light years away from her, crossing into the lawless zone.

  Dismissing the projection, he took a deep breath and straightened his back. He couldn’t go into this mission already defeated. He forced himself to focus on something else.

  “How long you think we have left?” Vance asked Trigger.

  “Honestly? I thought we shoulda been there by now.”

  As if the ship had responded to their conversation, there was a slight tremor and the hatch began to open. The only thing separating the soldiers from the dark vacuum of space was a four-yard wide airlock.

  “Brood Company,” said a voice over the speaker system. “We’re hoping this is not a military operation but we have to be prepared for whatever comes our way. Suit up and lock and load, airlock opens in five.”

  Vance’s breathing was labored as he pulled his suit over his boots. He fitted his oxygen tube to the small tank on his side and made a few minor adjustments to its dial. He felt the airflow against his skin, cool against his sweat slick body, and welcomed it. HUD readout was normal. He picked up his NS-12 rifle and gave it a once over. Safety off. He checked his thigh reserve. Several full magazines. He loaded one in and, hearing a click, was satisfied. He strapped it to his hip beside his handgun and waited patiently for the airlock to release.

  “Boys,” said the GM, his gruff voice returning to the room. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  The Company turned to see the Grand Marshall projecting a video from his palm. “The good news is it doesn’t look like this is an Elektra incident.” He paused, then pulsed his fingertips, expanding the image. “The bad news is that this thing is overrun by slugs.”

  The video showed a port side camera feed of the abandoned hauler. Vance could see fat, wet, cylindrical shaped creatures crawling over the surface of the craft, leaving slimy residue in their wake.

  “If the outside looks like that I’m not sure what we’re going to see when we get in,” he continued. “The vessel has no exterior shielding, so to open fire on it could risk the lives of anyone inside. We are going to need you boys to enter in through here.”

  He pointed to a spot on the screen resembling a loading dock.

  “I’ve got a slicer drone working on gaining entrance. Should have the lock cracked in just a minute. Those slugs aren’t doing you any harm on the outside of that ship. For the sake of anyone on board and for your ammo count, fight the urge t
o blast them. As I said, there’s no telling what you’ll find inside. Might need every bullet you’ve got.”

  Vance found himself having trouble taking a deep breath. He could feel tightness in his chest and a spike in his already elevated temperature as anxiety gripped him. He thought about his girls and reminded himself why he was doing this. It helped, if only a little.

  The Grand Marshall touched his earpiece. “Got it,” he said. “Wait thirty and open the airlock.”

  He looked into the eyes of each of the Brood Company. “Good luck, boys.”

  Moments later the ship hummed and the airlock opened.

  “Load out!” shouted the company leader, Fetus.

  One by one they entered into the airlock. The door closed with a snap-hiss as the last of them entered. It was deadly quiet save the sounds of heavy, anxiety-ridden breathing.

  “Quit breathing so loud,” said Fetus, lightly shoving Vance. “Or at least turn your mic to read-only.”

  Going to read-only was a direct violation of company protocol but Vance followed the orders. The soldier reached up and flipped a toggle on his helmet.

  “Just take a deep breath, man,” said Trigger.

  “Three…Two…One…”

  As the automated voice finished its countdown, the second airlock opened and Brood Company slowly floated into the vastness of space.

  Vance took it all in. It was his first time outside of Fortuitous—born and raised in the system. It was such a difference from the sprawling space-cities within the systems.

  The Lawless Zone.

  The everything-less zone, he thought. It wasn’t just the absence of regulation, it was the absence of everything. It felt barren and empty. As they floated out his anxiety grew.

  Vance turned his attention to the abandoned hauler, shuddering at the sight of the slugs.

  “On my signal,” said Fetus, “power-up.”

  Vance opened a panel on his right arm.

  “And…power-up.”

  The whole company pressed a button and their jetpacks fired, steering them toward the vessel.

  “Where’re we at on that slice, GM?” asked Fetus through the open com.

  A muffled voice came through, “Just finished up, leader. Going to lose coms in a moment. Bring your boys in. Out.”

  Brood Company oriented themselves toward the open bay doors. Vance was nearest to the hull and had one eye fixed on a slug moving toward the opening. It crawled along slowly but even at its current rate it would likely make it there before Vance arrived at the landing.

  “Permission to fire?” he asked.

  There was no response.

  “Dreadnaught, requesting permission to open fire,” said Vance, using his Company name.

  He was getting close and so was the slug. Suddenly he saw a bolt of light pass directly in front of him. The blast hit the slug and tore it open. Blood condensed into small beads of liquid and rose from its lifeless corpse, suctioned to the side of the hauler even in death.

  The company touched down. Before Vance’s feet could even feel the ship beneath them he felt two hands shoving him forward.

  “What the hell was that, Vance?” Fetus stood above him, verbally berating him.

  Vance cried out in defense but no one heard his words.

  “Turn your damn mic on, rookie!”

  Vance felt ashamed and embarrassed. He reached up, flipping the toggle again.

  “S-s-sorry,” he said. What little confidence he’d gained during his short time with Brood Company vanished.

  Fetus shook his head and began divvying out duties. Once the soldiers knew their roles they fanned out into the landing bay.

  Fetus waved for the company to follow as he made his way toward a steel door marked “19” in large yellow numbers.

  “Meter, can you get it open?”

  “Yeah, boss,” he responded, already jacking into the control panel. Moments later, the door opened and they stepped inside.

  “Test shows the pressure is stabilized,” said Meter. “Looks like there’s plenty of oxygen, too. Should be okay to remove masks.”

  Fetus checked his own wrist gauge to confirm the reading. “Copy. Going faceless.”

  Vance followed Fetus’s lead and his face mask slipped up, retracting into his helmet. He took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  It appeared everyone had done the same thing. Each gagged and Trigger threw up.

  The metallic smell of blood filled the air. Vance could feel the presence of death in the ship. It was haunting, cold. He lowered his mask again and took a step forward. He flipped a switch on his NS-12 and the hall lit up. In the light of the torch, he could see it—there were bodies everywhere. The nearest was naked, covered only by a white bath towel.

  “Must have happened quick. Unexpectedly,” said Vance, softly kicking the dead man’s ankle. He dropped to one knee and inspected body further.

  “Bullet hole, center-mass,” he said loudly, then stood. He inspected several more, each one a single bullet hole, as if executed.

  “Uh, leader?” said Vance.

  “What is it Dreadnaught?” said Fetus, trying his hardest to not vomit.

  “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

  Fetus lowered his face mask and joined Vance further down the corridor. “What the…” His words hung for a moment but his thought was interrupted.

  “If there’s oxygen, there’s power,” said Meter. “We gotta get some lights on in here. This is too creepy.”

  Fetus waved his arm dismissively. “Okay. Meter, Trigger, go find the power main. We’ve got oxy,” he patted his tank, “so if we need to divert auxiliary power to lights let’s do it. Vision is paramount right now.”

  “What do you think happened here, leader?” asked Vance.

  “Hell if I know,” he responded. “This is seriously jacked-up.”

  There was a loud thud behind them. Fetus and Vance spun, guns at the ready.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” shouted Hellion. “Just me, man! I bumped into this box and something fell.” He shined his light toward the fallen object. “It’s a damn human head!”

  “Well, I’ll be,” said Fetus, walking toward the decapitated remains nearby. “Cut clean off. Where is its body?”

  Another heavy crash brought Vance’s torch up, shedding light on another fallen stack of crates.

  “Damnit!” shouted Fetus. “Everyone stand still until these lights come back on.” Then, muttering under his breath, “Clumsy sons of space slugs.”

  The Company stood still in complete silence, waiting for Meter and Trigger to find the power mains. After a short while they heard an electric hum accompanied by flickering overhead lights.

  They were standing in the middle of what could only be described as a massacre. Blood and brain-matter painted the walls, floor and even ceiling. Men, women, and even a child or two, butchered and maimed, were sprawled throughout the corridor.

  Fetus swore. “This is…”

  “Sick,” finished Vance, swallowing bitter bile.

  Meter and Trigger came around the corner excitedly.

  “Got the lights up, no problems at all really—Whoa…”

  Meter continued, less enthusiastically. “Found the mains just a hundred yards or so that way. That area’s pretty clear but we should check out the rest of the place. You really never know—”

  “Shut up,” interrupted Fetus.

  “I was just saying that—”

  “I said, ‘shut up’. Do you hear that?” The sound was ambiguous but any sound outside of the five soldiers was worth investigation.

  A light fixture directly above Vance began to shake. With a pop the bulb burst and small shards of glass rained down on him. He threw his hands up as a shield. His suit and face mask did a good enough job protecting him but the response was automatic. There was a cracking sound, then the ceiling collapsed. The light fixture landed on Vance, knocking him to the ground.

  He heard cries of horror as he pushed on the fa
llen fixture. It wouldn’t budge. He managed to shift it slightly and immediately understood his fellow S-SEG’s concern. He was staring into the sharp-toothed mouth of a space slug. It was a cavernous hole, easily the size of his own head and more. Three rows of razor-like teeth were strung together like spiderwebs with venomous saliva.

  Vance knew that if he allowed even a drop of that sticky, slimy spit to touch his mask or suit he would find himself in a world of trouble.

  “Get it off! Get it off!” he shouted.

  It snapped its jaws inches away from Vance’s face. He ducked his head lower, using the light fixture for cover.

  “Someone shoot the thing!”

  A stuttered burst sounded in the hall and Vance felt less movement on top of him.

  “Is it dead?”

  “Yeah,” said Trigger, “I think so.”

  “Well, be sure!”

  Another shot and they were content. The soldiers lifted the light fixture and helped Vance to his feet, forcing the dead, bloated worm to the side.

  “Oh, sh—” The word trailed off as Hellion opened fire on the hundreds of slugs that had just made an appearance at the end of the corridor.

  “The gunshots must have drawn their attention!” shouted Vance.

  The company continued to fire, felling one slug after another. When it appeared they’d killed them all, Hellion, the closest to the pile, made his way toward it. “Looks like we got ‘em all, lead—”

  Without a sound, one of the slugs lurched forward, its mouth-daggers sinking deeply into Hellion’s side. In less time than it took for the rest of the company to process what had happened, Hellion was nearly devoured. His screams echoed through the ship but were soon drowned out by more gunfire as they killed the slug. It wasn’t enough to save their squad-mate. Letting their frustration and fear get the best of them, they continued their onslaught, shredding the slug with gunfire.

  “Damnit! Damnit!” Fetus cried. “Save your damn ammo!”

  Suddenly, the very walls of the ship groaned and the four remaining S-SEGs felt the floor move beneath them.

  “Hell was that?” asked Vance, reaching a hand out in an attempt to stay upright.