Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “What about those blue icons moving about here?” Jason asked.

  Bristol smiled, “Oh, come on, Captain … guess what a Craing prison ship would have wandering the halls … in spades?”

  “Serapins.”

  “That would be my guess … a shitload of Serapins.”

  “Forward everything you have to our HUDs, Lieutenant. Keep us apprised of anything happening with those ten cruisers. You may be playing hide-and-seek for a while. Do your best not to engage. Remember, we’ll need a ride home.” Jason gave Grimes a pat on the shoulder and turned toward the rear of the Starlight. All eyes were fixed on him.

  “It’s go time.”

  * * *

  With the exception of Lieutenant Grimes, who was remaining at the controls of the Starlight, the assault team phase-shifted to a mid-ship location on the barge, one large enough to accommodate all nine, and not in proximity to other life forms.

  Jason’s first impression of the vessel’s interior was its decrepitude. Being a naval officer, he’d had opportunities to visit multiple ship graveyards in the past. This old vessel had the same feel as those ships, which had long past been put to rest—where the salt in ocean seas had turned metal surfaces to rust; where years of wear and tear, and inevitable obsolescence, had taken its toll. But this vessel was far and above the dreariest he’d ever seen. The rust had been replaced by streaks of dirt and grime. Chipped layers of varying shades of gray paint covered the bulkheads. What lighting there was filtered down through yellowed fixtures, hanging down from high overhead cables. Dark shadows made every corner, every nook and cranny, a potential hiding place for danger.

  “This is one creepy place,” Billy said.

  Jason agreed. Even the unflappable Traveler seemed to be on edge. “I guess we’re in some kind of head … bathroom.” He scanned the ten or twelve protruding fixtures on the deck. They could be toilets—really big toilets. His HUD indicated the breathable air was at near-toxic levels.

  Rizzo brought up his multi-gun. “Company’s coming.”

  Jason, too, saw the blue icons on his HUD moving in their direction. “Either deal with them now or later … so let’s just take them out now and be on our way.”

  With their latest multi-gun and battle suit advancements, going up against Serapins was far less of a concern than it had been in past months. But Jason was also well aware that overconfidence could have dire consequences. Billy and Rizzo took point and moved out from the head into a wide corridor. Virtually every inch of the bulkheads held suspended black pipes and conduits. A klaxon began to screech—the repetitive beewooo beewooo beewooo blared forth from all directions. Jason hadn’t been prepared for this—for them to be discovered this quickly. An ominous sign that things were already moving in a bad direction.

  They moved forward, staying left and right of each bulkhead. The first of the Serapins was rounding a corner up ahead. Then Jason’s HUD refreshed. No, whatever approached them weren’t Serapins.

  Their multi-guns came alive in unison. Jason moved into the middle of the corridor and fired. So far, not one of the approaching … creatures … went down. Even without Bristol telling him, he knew why. What had Bristol called it? Galitamide? These creatures were wearing battle armor. Armor that looked pretty much like the same stuff on the outside hull of Dreathlor—its rust-colored, armored, mineral deposits—diamond crystals forming on the outside hull.

  The aliens’ weapons were of the plasma variety and they weren’t having any more of an effect on Jason’s and his team’s battle suits than Jason’s assault team was having against their Galitamide armor. As the two groups moved toward each other, pausing periodically to fire off a new volley of plasma fire, Jason was able to get a better look at what the creatures looked like. They were shorter than a Serapin, maybe five feet tall. Their heads were snakelike and, where the body’s armor plates didn’t fully cover them, their skin was black—black and wet looking. From what he could see, these creatures would give Serapins a run for their money. Especially since they seemed to be armor wearing, intelligent, and capable of using weapons.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to handle them old-school,” Billy said, slinging his multi-gun over his shoulder and pulling a Ka-Bar knife from a sheath on his upper thigh. Before Billy and Rizzo could meet the approaching throng of snake creatures, Traveler, in three long bounds, moved in front of the team. Jason let a smile form on his lips. This was what the big guy lived for. “Go get ’em, killer,” Jason said with a chuckle.

  Traveler’s four-hundred-pound heavy hammer was already three-quarters of the way through its overhead, clockwise swing before the first of the snake creatures tried to dodge out of the way. It was too late. The business end of the hammer found its mark upon the creature’s triangular head. The head was torn away from the creature’s neck with little resistance. It landed twenty feet further down the corridor. Traveler used his foot to kick over its still-upright body. Billy was next to engage a creature, which used the butt of its weapon and rammed it towards Billy’s head. It glanced off the side of his helmet, and Billy was quick to respond by slipping the blade of his knife between the plates of armor on the creature’s neck. One downward thrust and it went down like a sack of potatoes.

  By the time Jason met his own attacking creature, he’d seen four others go down. He too pulled his Ka-Bar. The creature surprised him by spinning left, then right. It was just enough for the creature to slip in behind Jason and jump onto his back. Within a second, Jason felt the creature’s weapon being pulled by its two hands up against his throat. Jason’s HUD immediately registered the external pressure on his suit and an alarm tone chimed. He swung his body back and forth trying to dislodge the creature. The suit’s external pressure rose to two, then three, then five thousand pounds per square inch. Jason wasn’t sure what the suit’s tolerance level was for the thinner, more flexible area below his chin. He didn’t want to find out. Bending his legs, he thrust himself backward with all his strength. He smashed the creature hard against the bulkhead—actually, one of the thick horizontal pipes that ran along the corridor. Jason heard a decisive crack and felt the slackening of pressure around his neck. He let the creature fall free to the deck. With a quick glance he saw the thing was dead, undoubtedly from a broken back.

  Jason looked up to see all the creatures were lying about the deck—all were still. But also one of their own was felled. His HUD indicated it was Powell. Billy and Rizzo were kneeling over his body. By the time Jason reached them, the SEAL’s life icon became transparent. He was dead.

  “Pigmy Mollmols.”

  Jason turned his attention to Bristol. “What are you talking about?”

  “This alien breed, according to my rare species database, is called Pigmy Mollmols; it’s a sub-genome species of the Mollmols. There’s one of them on board here, too. We should really try to avoid that one.”

  Chapter 20

  Jason brought up Dreathlor’s internal layout on his HUD. They weren’t that far from where he wanted to go—to the large compartment with its various conduit feeds. “This way,” Jason said, moving out at a fast jog.

  Ten minutes later, what had seemed a relatively nearby destination, in reality, wasn’t close at all. The size of the vessel was deceiving. His HUD came alive with activity. Now there were three more groupings of Pigmy Mollmols on the move—coming from both sides and from behind them. In front of them were no less than one hundred Craing combatants. Jason slowed and came to a stop. Until now, he’d been reluctant to phase-shift within the ship. He had noticed, following their last phase-shift maneuver, that Sergeant Jackson had phase-shifted within inches of a major, two-foot-thick bulkhead. Getting accurate readings within this environment was problematic—the consequences could be devastating. Nevertheless, they’d have to chance it.

  “We have to phase-shift. Rizzo, Billy, and Bristol, you’re with me. The rest of you phase-shift into the adjacent corridor … there should be plenty of room.”

  Jason to
ok several moments to configure the master control phase-shift parameters via his HUD. “Stand ready!” Jason initiated the phase-shift.

  * * *

  Several minutes had passed since the klaxon first started to blare. Ricket heard it but was only remotely able to consider its significance. He was somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness—between reality and what his mind fabricated.

  Above and beyond the fact that his pain threshold was frayed—his injuries were slowly getting to the point he knew he would not be able to survive much longer. Ricket felt himself returning to consciousness. It didn’t take much … even the tormentor’s hot breath upon his skin was bringing about renewed shudders of agonizing pain. No longer could his internal nanites keep pace with what was being inflicted on his physiology. He was certain the damage to his body was no longer merely psychological.

  Ricket’s mind—slow and muddy—went to Gaddy. Was she even alive? He tried to open his eyes, look toward the other, visually distorted, holding cell, and go beyond the confines of his own torment. What he saw instead was the monster he’d come to know as Trancus. Through Ricket’s teary eyes, the creature’s blurry, dark shape moved toward him. Its foul scent filled Ricket’s nostrils. Once again, Ricket tried to contact Gaddy via his NanoCom. No response to his hail. She was there … though. She was alive … that much he knew. And then he finally heard her voice.

  “I’m so sorry, Ricket. I told him … I told him everything.”

  He heard her sobs and the connection went dead. The dark shape grew closer—becoming the entirety of Ricket’s world. The smell was more pungent now. Trancus’s face was now inches from his own—close enough for Ricket to reach out and touch it. That is, if he had been able to move his hands. He tried, then remembered his arms were extended outward, ninety degrees from his body, like the letter T. Both arms were strapped at the wrist to something cold and hard.

  “Ah, you’re awake now, Ricket. We have much to discuss. You need to focus on my voice, Ricket.”

  He was no longer Nelmon Lim. It’s okay, Gaddy. You held out as long as you could. Now it was up to him … would he have the will to keep his own secrets from this creature? Assuredly, there was nothing left now of his ravaged body. Trancus had moved on, past just Ricket’s feet, and with practiced efficiency, utilized his flesh-scorching device elsewhere. In Ricket’s mind’s eye, every inch of his epidermis was blackened, charred to a hideous crust.

  “Talk to me about this ship you’ve become so fond of, Ricket … The Lilly.”

  Then it became all too clear … he had already given up his own secrets. I’m sorry, Captain Reynolds … I tried.

  * * *

  In a flash, Jason, Billy and Rizzo phase-shifted into the expansive compartment. Immediately, Jason knew he’d guessed right. This was an officer’s quarters, perhaps a captain’s or, more likely, a warden’s. Bulkheads were hidden behind fabric—long, draping curtains hung from high above. The deck plates were concealed beneath ornate throw rugs underneath their feet. The dreary confines of Dreathlor had been transformed into an almost cozy ambiance.

  Movement came from their right. The threesome turned toward a grouping of furniture. A human male was sitting upright in a chair behind a desk; stunned, his mouth opened but no sound escaped from his lips.

  Jason strode over to him and pointed the muzzle of his multi-gun at his head. The man raised his hands. “Don’t shoot. I will not resist.”

  He looked to be middle-aged. His hair was gray at the temples and he wore a neatly trimmed goatee. “How did you get in here … what is it you want?”

  “Never mind how we got in here. I think you know who we’ve come for. The real question is … will you stay alive long enough to be of any use to us?”

  “I am Superintendent Gettling. I can help you.”

  “Three things: You’re going to tell your security forces, including all those snake-headed fuckers running about the corridors, to stand down. You’ll call off any aggression toward our ship. And you’ll take us to our two friends being held here, Nelmon Lim and Gaddy Lom. Do it now!”

  The expression on the superintendent’s face faltered. Where before, uneasy tension was reflected in his forced smile, there was now fear flickering in his eyes.

  “I have no control over the squadron of Craing warships. As for the two individuals you speak of … I am sorry to tell you they were both scheduled for execution this morning.”

  Jason’s fist was up, tightening around Gettling’s neck, before he gave it conscious thought. He lifted the prison supervisor off the deck and pulled him forward, dragging him over the top of his desk. As he drew the smaller man in closer, Jason watched as Gettling’s eyes began to bulge—his face turning crimson. “Let … me … check … there … may … still … be … time.”

  Jason released him. Gettling fell to his knees and gasped for air. Jason pointed his multi-gun at his head. “Stop the execution.”

  Gettling staggered to his feet and made his way over to his desk. He pressed a button on an antiquated-looking intercom. “AI … route me to 11140 through 11143 hub management station.”

  “There currently is no one occupying that management station, Supervisor Gettling. Be advised, you are not to assist the insurgent forces. You do not have authorization—”

  Inches from Gettling’s face, Jason put a plasma bolt into the small intercom box. Jason brought out his virtual notebook, quickly finding the Dreathlor diagram, and projected it in front of the supervisor. “Show me exactly where they are being held.”

  “Like I said, they were sched—”

  Jason moved toward him again. Gettling put his hands up in mock-surrender and said, “Right here. They’re located in these two cells,” pointing to a specific area on the display. “I can take you there, but it’ll take some time.”

  “Just shut up.” Jason reconfigured the phase-shift coordinates for his team. Grabbing Gettling by the upper arm, he said, “Hang on.”

  They phase-shifted to an area directly above holding cells 11140 through 11143. The elevated regions above the holding cells had decking, which was nothing more than a confluence of sectioned-off tracks and movable metal plates. Traveler was the first one to stumble and fall. A tram plate beneath him rose several inches and transported him forward. Immediately, all the other nearby tram plates, individually, began to activate and rise. Within seconds, the entire team was transported off in multiple directions.

  The amount of profanity coming into Jason’s open channel only added to the total mayhem of the situation. As an empty tram plate whizzed by Jason’s left side, he reached over and grabbed ahold of what looked like the vertical support of a handrail. He pulled himself up and quickly stepped onto another tram-plate, one moving in the opposite direction. He was getting a rough idea how these things worked. Glancing up, he saw the others making their way back to their original phase-shift location. All but Traveler, who was taking out his frustration with the tram plate by using his heavy hammer on it. Jason then saw him phase-shift back to the others.

  “Everyone okay?” Jason asked, taking a quick headcount.

  “Um … everyone but him,” Sergeant Jackson replied, gesturing toward a section of upturned tram plates off to the right.

  Jason now saw it. A protruding leg. He gingerly stepped on the now-exposed track’s rails and made his way over to the body. Buried beneath two dislodged tram plates was the supervisor, Gettling. Lying on his back, his eyes were open and fixed. Jason left him where he lay and returned to the others.

  Jason was being hailed. At first, figuring it was Grimes, he was instantly caught off guard:

  “Ricket!”

  “Captain. Trancus … he’s coming up.”

  Chapter 21

  The dark, solitary form stepped into view and held steady at the top of what looked like the landing of a stairwell. Taller than Traveler by at least a foot, the beast was so imposing Jason wondered if he should change the settings on his multi-gun.

  “I’ve
got this,” came a familiar deep voice to Jason’s right. Traveler was already on the move.

  From virtually every direction plasma fire suddenly erupted.

  “Pigmies and Craing all around us, Cap,” Rizzo said over the open channel.

  “Find cover!” Jason yelled, diving to a section of the deck Traveler had just used his heavy hammer on to punish several tram plates. A series of plasma bolts pounded into his shoulders and head. Even though there was some minimal cover under the upended metal plates, Jason realized he was a sitting duck if he remained there.

  Jason noted Billy was equally in a precarious spot. “Billy, Rizzo … you’re going to need to get on the offensive. Phase-shift to an area behind them. Jackson and Hansen, do your best to hold your positions. Damn it, Bristol, start shooting at something!”

  Jason heard a resounding clang and spun toward the stairs. Apparently Traveler missed striking the Mollmol—his heavy hammer hit a metal railing instead. The two opponents, quickly upon each other, were magnificent creatures of remarkable strength. In some ways they were evenly matched; both had thighs the size of tree trunks; biceps like watermelons. What Trancus possessed that Traveler didn’t was a long, powerful, tail—a tail the snake-headed monster was using to its full advantage. The long black appendage was wrapped tightly around Traveler’s midsection. Fists the size of hubcaps flew from both beasts, but as Traveler was held to one place, unable to dodge and weave, he looked to be getting the worse of it.

  Jason flinched as a barrage of plasma fire clattered all around him. Two more bolts hit the back of his helmet. A flashing message on his HUD warned of the impending loss of battle-suit integrity. He got to his feet and ran toward the fighting beasts, raising his multi-gun.