Vogerian pivoted slightly and the weapon discharged again. Jones had never seen a weapon like it, but then again, he’d not seen many weapons. The beam struck Tong as he was casting about for a place to take cover, severing his arm neatly just above the elbow. The limb went spinning beneath a console whilst its former owner shrieked and collapsed on the floor, screaming in agony.
The others followed Jones’ example and dove behind consoles and chairs.
Jones remembered the catch on his holster, designed to prevent the weapon from falling out or, Hamilton had told him, from being removed by someone else. He fumbled the catch open and pulled out the pistol.
Carl, meanwhile, was staring dumbfounded at his boss. “Mr. Vogerian! What’s going on?” He wanted to know.
Vogerian turned and levelled the pistol at his bodyguard. The latter moved instantly, with blinding speed for someone of his size, dodging to one side. If he hadn’t, then he would have surely been drilled neatly between the eyes. As it was, the beam seared the right side of his head, destroying his ear and scouring a shallow track from the cheek backwards. He fell over silently.
Jones jerked his pistol up and flipped off the safety. Out of the corner of his eye he noted that Walsh had taken refuge in the elevator, but he hadn’t yet closed the door. No doubt he was waiting for any others that wished to escape that way.
Vogerian seemed to sense Jones’ intent and spun to face him, his own pistol coming to bear on the black man.
Jones fired instinctively, not aiming. There was no time to aim.
Vogerian didn’t even flinch. Jones’ stun beam caught him in the lower abdomen. The old man bent slightly, then straightened. He fired on Jones.
The beam struck the chair back that Jones was behind and went straight through. It carried on, passing between Jones’ arm and side, missing both by a hairs’ breadth. The beam then struck the console behind him, causing sparks to fly everywhere. Jones cowered away from them.
Vogerian pivoted again, no clear reason for his actions evident. Spotting Tong rolling on the floor in agony, he fired again, stilling the man’s cries of pain.
Jones fired twice more, hitting Vogerian both times. As before, the old man staggered, then straightened. He turned back towards the black man. His gun hand, however, wavered uncertainly now. Jones shot again and the old man doubled up. Incredibly, after four hits on full stun setting, he began to regain his stance.
At that point Carl leapt on him from behind.
The old man collapsed under the bulk of his bodyguard. In short order, Carl had knocked the weapon from his master’s hand. It skittered across the floor and out of sight.
Still the old man struggled. For someone of his years he possessed remarkable strength and resilience. The effects of the stuns were wearing off rapidly. He struggled beneath his protector.
Carl quickly grew tired of the wrestling match and delivered three rapid blows to the old man’s head. Each blow drove the man’s head down against the floor, in effect doubling the damage done. The old man ceased struggling and lay still.
The soft hiss of the elevator door drew Jones attention.
It was just closing. Jones scanned the bridge. People were peeking out from behind cover now that the shooting had stopped. There was no sign of Walsh. He must have lost his nerve, Jones decided.
Jones approached Carl. “Is he out?”
The bodyguard checked Vogerian’s pulse, smoke coming from the seared side of his head. A frown appeared on his face. “No, he’s dead.” He looked genuinely bewildered. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”
Jones scowled. “What the hell’s going on?” he muttered to himself. He made his way to the elevator and tried the call button. It didn’t really surprise him when it failed to work. Walsh, he decided, must have jammed the doors open at the top. Not surprising, really, he told himself. If I’d just escaped from a madman wielding a gun, I’d block his only means of coming after me if I could.
But then, he reminded himself, Walsh hadn’t left until Vogerian had been overpowered. Why was that? He must have seen it was safe before he closed the elevator door. Suspicion crept into Jones’ mind. Walsh had been in the elevator through most of the fight. Vogerian could have fired upon him at any time with no obstruction to block his aim. Walsh had made little effort to hide himself. Why hadn’t the old man shot at him? Why should he, he thought with sudden clarity, if they were somehow in league with each other.
“Klane?” he called over his headset. “Do you read me?”
There was no answer. It seemed she was on her own until they could get themselves out of the bridge.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In the rec room, Klane had sat watching the jury-rigged monitor with the others who were not required on the bridge. The monitor showed little of interest. Scenes of the bridge, data from the consoles and such. Of more interest were the reports radioed in by the shuttle every quarter of an hour. The progress of the boarding party was quite absorbing.
Klane had the easiest job. She only had to look after Dyzwiecki, who was quite happy to drink himself unconscious, and Lutess, the astrogator. Upon reflection, she should have manned the bridge console herself. She was far more used to such activity than Jones. She had some doubts about the man’s ability under pressure. Still, Hamilton had decided that the bridge position was the safest, being as it was cut off from the rest of the ship. Their mysterious assassin was more likely to strike at the relatively few, and more accessible, people in the rec area than at the bridge crew. The assassin’s skill had been demonstrated by Smith’s death. The man had not even known he was about to die.
If the assassin decided to come here, Jones would very likely end up dead. At least she’d have a chance of dealing with it.
The time began to drag, however, once communications with the shuttle were lost. She’d long since lost contact with Hamilton via the headsets. Endless bridge scenes and sensor scans began to bore the threesome.
Lutess got up and got them all drinks from the dispenser. By now, Dyzwiecki was the worse for wear. He’d downed his alcohol quota for the day and was scrounging off the other two. Lutess only drank rarely, she said and was more than happy to get him a drink if it would shut him up for a while. Klane merely glared at him. Even drunk, he could recognise the danger in that gaze and wisely avoided annoying her.
Klane wore her black battle-suit, as was usual in light of recent circumstances. Her helmet lay on the table beside her as did Hamilton’s assault system.
The weapon was a combination machine-gun, laser, shotgun and grenade launcher. It was incredibly heavy. Only powered troopers normally got to use it with ease. Her own powered limbs made it usable, if a little cumbersome.
The time wore on. The ship was moved closer to the station in response to the loss of contact.
The shuttle reappeared shortly thereafter, racing towards the ship. Suddenly, the make-shift screen went dead. Lutess rose and went over to it. She made a few, experimental adjustments. Nothing much happened.
Klane began to hear Jones jabbering excitedly.
“Jones?” What’s going on?” she questioned. There was no reply for a few minutes, only static. Finally, after repeated threats, he responded. His report of the shuttle’s disablement sent a cold finger down her back. So, it was beginning, she thought. Despite the unknown nature of the threat they faced, Klan felt the familiar rush of excitement at the thought of imminent battle.
Moments later, Jones’ voice was cut off sharply in mid-sentence. He’d been saying something about a gun.
Klane stood up and donned her helmet quickly. She pressurised the suit and picked up the assault system. Its weight was very reassuring.
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Lutess asked, fear evident in her voice.
Dyzwiecki looked around bleary-eyed. “Another drink?” he mumbled, hopefully.
“Something’s happening on the bridge.” Klane told them, the external suit speaker relaying her voice with unnecessary loudne
ss.
“What’s happening?” Lutess’ voice was concerned.
“You know as much as I do.” Klane shrugged. She knew who Lutess was concerned about.
“What do we do?”
“Stay here.”
Lutess seemed about to argue for a charge down there. Whatever she was going to say was lost, however, in the deafening roar of weapons fire. Dyzwiecki was blown to shreds as he sat, bemused, at one of the tables. Shreds of the doctor flew around the room.
The two women spun to confront the source of the noise.
Across the rec room a door had somehow appeared in the wall where no door had previously existed. Klane cursed, Jones was supposed to have gone over this room thoroughly. How could he have missed something that obvious?
In the doorway stood their assailant. It was undoubtedly the same thing that had killed Smith. It was a machine, a robot. But it was far beyond any robot the Empire of man could produce.
It was man shaped, with two legs but four arms. Each arm held a different array of weaponry. It was as tall as Klane, but undoubtedly far heavier. It was matt black. Its head was a mass of sensing equipment. The faint shimmer that surrounded it betrayed the existence of a powerful defence field.
Klane knew it would be useless to run. She brought up the assault system even as Lutess began to scream.
The robot brought two arms to bear on each of the women, tracking independently. It fired at Klane fractionally before opening up on Lutess, following some tactical program only it knew.
The arms that fired on Klane contained a mix of energy and projectile weapons. The impact was like being hit by a pile-driver, she concluded, as she was thrown across the room by the impact. Her return fire went harmlessly into the ceiling. Her suit, fortunately, survived the assault and so, therefore, did she.
Lutess was nowhere near so lucky. A bloody, steaming pulp was all that remained of her, splattered across tables, floor and walls.
The machine advanced into the rec room, metal feet almost soundless.
Klane lay very still, relying on her suit sensors to tell her what was happening, not risking a look. That would have meant sitting up. The robot could not fail to notice such movement.
The machine moved to the centre of the room, then paused. Its head swivelled left and right as it sought new targets. For some seconds it continued this motion then, apparently satisfied it had done its job, it headed for the exit. It was very nearly totally silent in its motion, metal feet stalking forward at a rapid pace. It exited the rec room and vanished down the corridor.
Klane breathed again but did not move. It was possibly a ruse on the robot’s part. Unlikely, she thought, but then, so was a totally silent machine.
A few minutes past.
Klane relaxed and started to get up. Wherever the machine had gone, she didn’t want to follow. It was far too quick and dangerous.
Hamilton’s assault system had been damaged by the attack. She put it down quietly. It was too cumbersome to use quickly, anyway, she decided. Hamilton wouldn’t appreciate her getting it wrecked, but what the hell! This was serious.
She pulled her MF pistol out and checked it. It was undamaged. She charged it up and made sure of the cord connection. The machine had displayed a considerable defence field. If any weapon could penetrate it, the MF pistol would. In essence, it used a magnetic coil to propel a solid steel dart at the target. The dart wasn’t very heavy and was only two millimetres in diameter. However, when accelerated to hypersonic velocities by the pistol, the slug achieved devastating armour piercing properties. Several inches of steel were no match for its power. In addition, it made a satisfying sonic boom when fired, far louder than any rifle. Windows had been known to shatter because of it.
She hefted the pistol, no lightweight itself, and stepped out into the corridor leading to the rec room. There was no sign of the machine. She checked her tracker. To her surprise, it registered a target. She had assumed the robot would be undetectable. So much else on this ship was. She fine tuned the device. It resolved itself into two targets.
Klane frowned. Both targets were moving aft, together. A flip of a switch revealed, however, only one living target. The unliving one would be the robot then, but who was the other? She would have bet money that it was Vogerian.
She continued her cautious advance, heading for the security room. She continually monitored her tracker for signs that she had been discovered. The return of the robot was the last thing she needed. The two targets continued on their way, pausing at the entrance to the hangar deck. Shortly, they entered it.
Klane reached the security room and slipped inside. All was as she’d left it, though there were an unusual number of red lights on the board. She gave these a quick check. They showed systems disabled in some manner. Among them were the elevators and most of the doors on the ship. As she watched, the hangar deck outer doors were released from their locked status. She quickly consulted the monitors in the area. They showed the entrance to the deck, but nothing more. She checked the bridge cameras.
Somehow, she had expected Vogerian to be missing from the picture. It had seemed natural to her that he was responsible for the robot. After all, it was his ship. He was the natural choice for the robot’s strolling companion. Seeing him lying on the bridge floor was confusing. If not Vogerian, then who was it with the machine? In addition to Vogerian, both Tong and Philbin lay in crumpled heaps. Both of them were very obviously dead. Nobody seemed missing. But wait! Where was Walsh? She double checked. Walsh was not there.
She scanned the people clustered around the elevator door. Carl, Vogerian’s bodyguard - probably former bodyguard now, she thought - and Jones were attempting to force the elevator doors open. She glanced at her board. The elevator was still locked out. She could, no doubt, release it from here, but letting them out was a sure way to alert the robot. If only she could contact them! The ship had a general PA system but the robot would come running if she used that. If only the headsets were working!
As if on cue, Jones voice crackled into life over her earpiece. He was complaining to the others not to whine so much.
“Jones!” Klane called.
Jones jumped out of his skin. He stared around wildly, as if expecting her to be on the bridge somehow.
“I’m in the security room, idiot!” she chided, watching him on the monitor. “What’s happened?”
“Klane!” Jones sounded immensely relieved. “Watch out! Walsh has got something to do with what’s going on! Vogerian went crazy! He shot Tong and..”
“Jones!” Klane interrupted. “Calm down! You can tell me about it later. I’m going to free up the elevator. Get everyone and meet me at the security room. Got it?”
Jones nodded. “Yeah, I read you. We’ll be right there.”
Klane fumbled with the controls until the red light over the bridge elevator turned green. The doors on the bridge opened. The survivors piled in.
She checked the hangar camera.
The robot was just emerging from the bay. Behind it, the door shut seemingly by itself.
It began to head back, towards the bridge.
“Jones!” Klane said, urgently. “Get a move on!”
“We’re coming! Give us a chance!”
Klane abandoned the monitor and moved to the weapons lockers. The shipboard stunners would be less than useless against the death-dealing machine but the lockers also contained the weapons taken from the crew. Most of them were relatively harmless to the machine. Carl, she remembered, had a more useful selection.
Opening the lockers revealed everything as it should be. Evidently Walsh, Vogerian or whoever the hell was behind this, hadn’t seen a threat from the weaponry within. Having witnessed the robot’s devastating power she concluded that they were right. However, people were more manageable once a gun was in their hands. It was a psychological thing. She pulled free a few select items and headed out into the corridor. As she passed by the console, she noted that the hangar bay outer doors ha
d been opened. It seemed as if Walsh was going on a little trip.
Jones and his fellows stepped out of the elevator and swiftly made their way to the security room. Klane was waiting for them just outside it, arms full of weapons.
“What’s up, Klane?” Jones frowned, seeing the weapons.
“About time!” she replied. “Here,” she addressed the group. “Everyone take a gun.”
“Why? Where’s Walsh?” Jones demanded. He peered around, expecting the man to appear at any time.
“It’s not Walsh we have to worry about.” she answered grimly. “There’s some kind of robot on the loose.” She checked her tracker. “And it’s coming this way.”
Jones paled slightly. “A robot?”
Klane nodded. “A deadly one, too. It got Lutess and the doc’.”
“What do we do?” It was Carl who asked. The side of his head was covered in blood but he seemed unaffected by the injury.
Klane considered for a brief moment. She had, in fact, already decided what was to be done. “I’ll have to try and destroy it. You others should make your way to the hangar deck via the upper level. Walsh seems to have left the ship. I don’t know what that means, but it might be a good idea if we followed suit.”
The others nodded, still not certain what was going on, but glad to have someone to tell them what to do. They each took a weapon. Jones traded his useless stunner in for a laser carbine. It was powered by an internal cell, so it was good for only a dozen shots, but it was almost certainly more effective than the stunner.
Jones and Carl led the others away, towards the accommodation area and the nearest up ramp.
Klane settled herself in to wait for the robot. She checked her scanner. It was still approaching her. A sudden thought took her and she entered the security room once more.
As she had thought, the hangar doors had again been locked. She freed them, freed everything except the elevators. She considered the latter, then a further thought took hold. She freed up the elevators then returned to the hallway.
Humal Sequence 1: A Breath of Hope Page 25