“Man,” Bobby added. “That was more intense than the last time I played Space Station 13. More damage too.”
“Are the shields holding, Mr. Adams?” the Captain demanded. If they fail we will be as dead as that newly incinerated and twice cursed world.
“Sir, the forward shields have dropped to 70%... and are holding.” The relief in Freddy's voice was palpable. “If that was the worst of it, then we are going to be alright.”
The explosion, fury spent, turned into a glowing nimbus surrounding the unnamed world, that world itself a burning ember. Perhaps in a thousand years the planet's gravity would reclaim most of the atmosphere that had just been blown into space, along with much of the water boiled from its seas. Millennia from now, if humanity survives, the planet might be given another chance. The seeds of life could be brought to begin anew on that poor tortured globe.
The Captain sat back in the command chair, tension easing. If we are going to continue this interstellar buccaneering we will need to have stronger shields—and better armaments. Interesting that the explosion went off earlier than Gretchen said, it's unlike Lt. Curtis to make such a mistake.
Jack was just about to call her when the ship's computer, in the small, intimate voice it used when speaking for the Captain's ears alone, said, “Captain, we have a situation in the cargo hold.”
Cargo Hold, Parker's Folly
The body of Cpl Sizemore had been taken away to join those of PFC Davis and Tommy Wendover in the medical section morgue, and atmospheric pressure restored to the hold. The boarding party personnel had removed their helmets, including Kondratov. No one paid much attention to the Russian Colonel once the cargo door was secured and the ship underway—after all, the Chief had disarmed him on arrival.
Unfortunately, while the others were busy stowing equipment and taking stock of the situation, Ivan had time to retrieve the two demolition charges he had gotten from the recently deceased Tommy. Before anyone noticed, he affixed the shaped charges to the nearest large egg and pulled out the detonator. Lt. Curtis saw him first, standing arm raised, clutching the detonator in his gloved hand with an expression of triumph on his face. “Colonel, what are you doing?” She asked.
Sensing from the tone of her voice that something was very wrong the others turned to stare at the Russian. When he was sure he had their attention, Ivan squeezed the detonator, causing the charges to activate. As the explosives' indicators lit, glowing a malevolent red, the Colonel shouted: “Drop your weapons or I will destroy the ship!”
* * * * *
The Marines and crew complied with the renegade Russian's orders, placing their weapons on the deck. Five meters from the Colonel and his egg, the members of the boarding party stood helplessly while Kondratov ranted on about the arrogance of western capitalists, Americans in particular, and their selfishness in denying the whole world the technology embodied in their ship and equipment.
“That's right you bastards, I am in charge now and we are going to ensure that the world knows what you have done—starting wars with unknown aliens, stealing antimatter fuel and blowing up space stations. You are pirates! You will all be put on trial for your crimes!”
Bear, Lt. Curtis, JT and the Gunny stood in a tight group between Kondratov and the forward bulkhead. “I think he's gone nuts,” JT whispered to Lt. Curtis.
“Stark raving mad,” she whispered back. Then raising her voice, she addressed their captor. “Col. Kondratov, you know the circumstances of this mission, and why we have taken the actions we did. You yourself have taken an active part in several of them.”
“Khvatit tebye vrat', blyad',” Ivan snarled, “I've had enough of your bullshit, you whore.”
In a low rumbling voice, Bear said “I should have gutted you like a seal when I had the chance, lizen'.” Gretchen, sensing that Bear was tensing for a leap, lightly placed a restraining hand on his shoulder and whispered, “not yet! we need to wear him down, catch him off guard.”
“I want that animal destroyed! Do you hear me?” Kondratov raved. “In fact, I want that coward the Captain to do it by his own hand. Call him, tell him there is something he needs to see in the cargo hold.”
The Captain, Mid-Deck Headed Aft
The Captain, observing the situation in the hold on his monitor, stood. “Helm, we need to plot a course back to the alter-space entry point, arriving on a suitable vector for transit back to Earth. Mr. Vincent, you have the Conn. I'm needed aft.”
Without waiting for a reply he headed toward the cargo hold. As he passed his sea cabin, Jack ducked inside for half a minute and then resumed his journey—strapped to his right leg was a weapon, mounted in what looked like an old fashioned gunfighter's holster.
* * * * *
“Captain, Lt. Curtis. Come in please?”
This is probably the call I was expecting. If Kondratov thinks he is taking over the ship he will want to incarcerate or even kill all the ship's officers—starting with the Captain. The fool, does he really expect to hold off the whole crew, 24 hours a day, for a week? Jack's hand lightly touched the grip of his pistol as he forced himself to answer in an untroubled voice. “Go Lt. Curtis. This is the Captain.”
“Sir, there is something outstanding you should see here in the cargo hold. Could you come aft?”
“Why certainly, Lieutenant. I'm leaving now.” In fact, Jack had already passed through the main lounge and was on the mid-deck, nearing sick bay. As he drew even with the sick bay door, he spotted Ludmilla standing in the entranceway.
“Jack, what is happening?” she asked, voice laden with concern. She too, had seen the events unfolding in the cargo hold on her monitor.
“Col. Kondratov is attempting to commandeer the ship,” Jack stated evenly, turning to face her. “It would be best if you stayed in the sick bay with the door securely closed.”
Jack stood before her—carriage erect, jaw set, dark eyes smoldering. For the first time, Ludmilla noticed the weapon strapped to the Captain's leg. “What are you going to do?”
“Thwart him,” came the icy reply. “I have to go, we can talk about this later.”
Jack resumed his march to the cargo hold. Ludmilla watched until he entered the outer door of the hold's airlock. Then she stepped back inside the sick bay and secured the door. Oh Jack, I pray there is a later! I know you must either kill Ivan or that fool will end us all.
Cargo Hold, Parker's Folly
“He is coming? Good,” Ivan chortled. “As soon as I deal with the officers we can head back to Earth and Mother Russia.”
“What are we going to do?” JT whispered hoarsely.
“We are going to wait for the Captain to arrive,” Gretchen whispered in reply. And hope he picked up on the “outstanding” code word.
“Shut up černožopy,” Kondratov yelled. He raised the detonator above his head threateningly. Gretchen noticed that the red armed lights on the explosives had gone out. Now they lit up again as Ivan shook his fist at JT.
“Does černožopy mean what I think it does?” asked JT soto voice.
“I could pop him, next time the LEDs go dark,” offered the Gunny, subtly indicating a pistol in her backpack that she had neglected to drop when Ivan ordered them to disarm.
“Not yet,” cautioned Gretchen. It would take a clean head shot with the flechette pistol to take Kondratov down before he could detonate the egg. I don't know how good the Gunny is with a pistol, an unfamiliar one at that, but I wouldn't want to gamble the mission on it.
“Where is the Captain?” Ivan demanded. “He should be here by now.”
“It's a long walk from the bridge,” Gretchen said reasonably. “And I didn't ask him to hurry or he might have suspected something was wrong. You didn't want that, did you Colonel?”
“No, no. But he should be here!” Kondratov's fist slowly lowered. Even in light gravity, holding his armor encased arm aloft quickly became tiresome. The watching officers noticed that the arming lights again went dark as Ivan relaxed his grip on t
he detonator.
* * * * *
The Captain had arrived minutes ago, in time to hear the last exchange between Gretchen and Ivan. He was standing in the mid-deck airlock. Both doors were open to provide unhindered access from the now pressurized cargo hold. The lift platform was still at the mid-deck level from its last trip, transporting Cpl. Sizemore's remains.
The Captain too, noticed that the arming lights on the shaped charges had gone out. In a nearly inaudible whisper he addressed the computer. “You are certain about the blast effect on his armor?” To which the computer replied, “yes, Captain, the calculations are sound.” Jack nodded, no use dithering, it has to be done.
The Captain strode to the middle of the lift, placing him above the figures on the deck below like a captain of old standing on the quarterdeck. Once again, Col. Kondratov's fighter pilot vision detected the movement. He looked up, triumph on his face, and raised the armored hand containing the detonator. The lights on the demo charges came back on. Whatever insult he was preparing to hurl at the Captain was never uttered.
In a single, blurred motion, the Captain drew his weapon and fired. In less than a tenth of a second the round was on its way, tracer light scribing a green line from the muzzle of Jack's pistol to Ivan's right shoulder. This was instantly followed by a blinding flash and a deafening report.
Ivan's arm, raised in triumph, was vaporized to the elbow. The remaining portion pinwheeled through the air, performing a bumper shot at the corner where the overhead met the hold wall. As the armored appendage bounced from ceiling to wall and onto the deck, explosive shock paralyzed the hand's grip, allowing the detonator to fall free. The lights on the shaped charges winked out.
The flash of the explosion vanished in an instant, leaving behind Kondratov's standing corpse. While the blast propelled Ivan's errant limb rapidly across the hold it also forced the rest of the armored man in the opposite direction. A large, semicircular chunk, starting at the neck and ending at the waist, was missing, as though some cosmic shark had taken a bite. Along the edge of the wound, the charred ends of bones could be seen sticking out from the mass of blackened tissue.
Ivan's exposed head was blown over onto his left shoulder. The left side held one clear blue eye, open wide in surprise; the right side was burned away leaving a steaming, still bubbling horror. Owing to the mass of his body and the armor, most of the Colonel toppled slowly to the left. As the body fell sideways it trailed tendrils of smoke, adding the smell of burnt meat to that of ozone and insulation.
Those standing on the deck below the Captain were blinking their eyes, trying to clear the blind spots from their outraged retinas. All turned and looked up at the Captain, a tall figure in black standing legs apart, gun in hand, like an avenging lawman from the wild west.
Jack flipped the barrel of his pistol up, spinning the gun backward through a rotation and three quarters, ending with the weapon securely back in its holster. In a loud, clear voice he spoke. “Chief Zackly, get that trash off my ship.”
“Aye aye, Captain” the old boatswain replied, turning to the nearest crewmen and ushering them toward the smoldering wreckage of Ivan Kondratov. From one side came the sound of someone retching.
“Lt. Curtis. See to any wounded, secure the cargo and then report to me on the bridge.” With that he turned and headed forward. To his retreating back, Gretchen said softly, almost reverently, “Aye aye, Sir.”
Bear shook his head, trying to stop his ears from ringing. He glanced slyly at JT who was wearing a look of disbelief. “See? I told you he was the most dangerous thing on the ship.”
The Captain, Mid-Deck Headed Forward
The Captain retraced his path from the bridge to the cargo hold in reverse. Approaching sick bay, its door slid open and Ludmilla stepped into the passageway. Jack stopped, turning his head to look Ludmilla in the eyes. She reached out and gently laid her left hand on his right arm—the arm that had just ended Ivan Kondratov's life.
“Thank you,” was all she said.
With his left hand, Jack softly caressed the side of Ludmilla's face. “The only thing I was truly afraid of losing was you,” he said in a quiet voice. She closed her eyes and leaned into his caress.
“I was not afraid, my Captain,” she replied. “If you had not succeed I would not have had to live without you. As things are, many of the others will have to live with loss.”
Jack nodded slowly. “The aftermath is always worse than the action itself. I have to get back to the bridge, but I will see you tonight.”
Ludmilla reluctantly broke contact. “Go, the crew needs you.” And tonight I will have you all to myself. You said we would talk later—I do not think there will be much talking at all.
Jack reluctantly resumed his journey, dreading what was to come but knowing it necessary. Damage control, not for the ship but the crew. The Marines would be upset over the loss of their mates but the main blow would be the death, the sacrifice, of Susan. The computer had informed him on the long walk aft that she had not returned to the ship before departure. Susan had made a number of friends on board, not the least of which, one of his helmsmen. How do you tell a man that you sent his girlfriend to her death?
Captain's Sea Cabin
The Captain checked the ship's status upon returning to the bridge, as much to reassure the crew that he was alright and things were under control as to find out what had happened in the short time he was away. After making his presence known he retired to his sea cabin, there to await the report of the boarding party leaders.
Shortly, the ship's lieutenants reported to the Captain, with JT representing the science section. With Bear's bulk squeezed to one side, Gretchen and JT just managed to fit in the tight cabin. This was why Bear seldom made the trip forward for meetings, usually participating electronically instead. This time, however, matters were sufficiently weighty to demand even Bear attend in person. Once the trio had settled, Jack looked to Lt. Curtis and asked, “your report on the recent action, Lieutenant?”
Gretchen stiffened, posture upright, eyes staring at a point a foot above the Captain's head, and began her report. “Sir, the boarding party was successful in all aspects of its mission: a way to effect the destruction of the alien space station was found, specifically the presence of a large cache of antimatter; a second probe ship was discovered in the dock area and was rendered inoperable, Lt. Bear will describe the details of that phase of the operation; and as a bonus, a significant amount of antimatter was acquired and returned to the ship. This, regrettably, was accomplished at the cost a number of casualties, all KIA.”
“We will save that til the end. Lt. Bear, do you wish to add anything to Lt. Curtis' action report?”
“Yes, Captain. We didn't manage to investigate the entire dock area. I figured it was more important to prevent the second probe ship from departing than to continue around the spire. Also, we managed to return with an egg of our own after damaging the probe.”
“Any casualties?”
“Not during that part of the operation, Captain.”
“Thank you, Lt. Bear. Mr Taylor, do you wish to add anything to the officers' reports?”
“Only that we pretty much established that the alien ships are powered by antimatter, as our physicists surmised. Dr. Saito and Dr. Gupta are busy trying to find out how much of the stuff we managed to escape with. We also encountered several more types of alien cybernetic organisms—the centipede like transporters, flying units with plasma cannons and the heavy armored crab-things.”
“Very good, thank you Mr. Taylor,” Jack paused and consulted the display embedded in his desk. “Now, let's talk about the cost.”
“Yes, Sir.” As expedition leader, it was Lt. Curtis' task to present the butcher's bill. “We suffered a total of four personnel killed in action: the first was PFC Davis, who was cut in half by some form of force screen that caught him exiting the antimatter repository; the second was crewman Wendover, who was struck by a plasma bolt from one of the flying
alien creatures—he was wearing a standard suit, not armor; the third was Cpl. Sizemore, who was shot point-blank by a crab-thing.”
“That's one crew member and two Marines, all killed during extraction from the station,” the Captain summarized. “And the fourth?”
Lt. Curtis looked down and took a breath. “The fourth was Susan Write. She was trapped in the antimatter storage room by the force screen that killed Davis.”
“What?” exclaimed JT, his head snapping around to stare at the Lieutenant.
Bear raised his muzzle and made a low mournful call that was even heard by those on the bridge. His squad was out of communication range when the Chief was sent with reinforcements to help mine the alien fuel dump. Returning, he and JT didn't notice that Susan was missing because they didn't know she had ever left the ship.
“We could not disable the force screen with the weapons we had at hand and an attempt to use the demolition charges was deemed too likely to detonate the antimatter. We were out of communication with the ship and taking fire from a growing number of alien creatures. We left Susan behind with a manual detonator. It was my decision, Sir.” Gretchen was once again staring at the point above the Captain's head, trying to keep her emotions in check.
“Miss Write understood how to operate the detonator?”
“Yes, Sir. I instructed her on its use before we departed. She was going to wait for the timer, if she could, to give the rest of us time to reach the ship and the ship time to get away from the station. She was both calm and lucid, Sir. She knew she should only use the detonator if the aliens returned to the egg room and could possibly act to prevent the station's destruction.”
“So, Lieutenant, when the station exploded four minutes ahead of schedule, that was presumably Miss Write being forced to set off the demolition charges?”
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