by Chris Kuhn
“A” stood for activity. What were they doing? Other than moving around, I didn't know.
“L” - Location. Where were the bad guys physically located? On the ship, obviously, but that was too general. I stared at the alarms. The sensors had been meant to secure key areas, not keep tabs on every person aboard. There was a cluster of activity by the main airlock, which stood to reason, and other alarms that sort of radiated out from that point.
“U” - Unit. Who were they affiliated with? Free Traders. Correction: Free Traders with balls so big that they probably had trouble putting on their pants in the morning.
“T” was for Time. When did I observe the bad guys? Five days before I can buy additional whiskey.
“E” - was for Equipment. What equipment did they have? Guns. And a Pit Fiend cruiser.
I sat back in the chair.
I'd officially conducted an assessment of the bad guys. If I recalled correctly, however, the next step was to develop a plan. The military had words for planning, too. Lots of words. Lots of acronyms. Most of them I didn't know. I wasn't a planner.
But I needed a plan.
I thought of a plan.
I'm gonna get the fuck off this ship.
The Pridemore had a shuttle. Ours was named the “Felix”, and it helped with the plan. It would get me off the ship.
I bit my lip and thought about it.
If I leave in the shuttle, will they chase me down? They couldn't do it in the Pridemore - she was adrift. But they could probably do it in that Pit-Fiend. Would they? Would they abandon whatever they were doing to chase down an escaping shuttle?
Either that, or they'll just blow me out of the sky.
The Pit-fiend had weapons, and if Byers was in cahoots with the Free Traders, then they probably had access to the Pridemore's systems as well. I wasn't sure if they could bring her weapons online. Maybe. Even if they couldn't do it yet, they'd get there eventually. As time went on, they'd gain more access, moving to key areas of the ship and...
Huh.
Key areas.
I leaned back in the seat. It squeaked a little.
I looked around the room. I looked at the equipment on the back wall, the racks and boxes and cables that managed internal security. Security for the entire ship. I rocked gently in the squeaky chair. I looked through the door and saw the armory. The place stocked with weapons.
Key areas.
Squeak.
I got out of the squeaky chair and moved to the front door of the security office. I placed my ear against it. Nothing.
Okay.
I opened the door a crack and peered into the corridor. Mostly I peered at the opposite wall. There was a computer panel there. It blinked at me. I opened the door a little more. I heard something. Far away. Footsteps. Multiple feet, moving rapidly. Not running, though. A fast walk.
No. Can't be. You're imagining it. I wasn't.
I was shaking now, not moving, standing there at the partially open door. On my belt, the E-Sensor beeped frantically. I looked at it. Its status display indicated that the atmosphere was now breathable again.
Once you take over a ship, poisonous air is just inconvenient.
I realized that the Firian soldier on the video feed hadn't been wearing a mask; the guys were probably restoring the atmosphere as they moved through the ship, section by section.
Move!
To where? To do what? Outside the security office? Inside the security office?
Inside.
I closed the door, attempting to balance speed and stealth. I accomplished neither.
How much time? A couple of minutes? Less?
I scanned the room frantically. There was no other way out. No doors, no hatches, no crawlspace access panels.
The security office is secure.
I looked at the floor.
Dead bodies.
Be one.
I started to lie down, then stopped. My eyes shot to the sensor room.
Do I have time?
I had to have time. If I didn't, I'd be screwed. I ran to the main processor, the sleek gray device that integrated video and sensor feeds from all over the ship. I tried pulling it out of the rack. Stuck. Cables. The device was not coming out. I grabbed Higgins' coffee and poured it into the cooling vent on the processor. The smell of burning electronics confirmed the device's death. I supposed it also validated the Navy's no-beverage policy.
Floor. Now.
I started to lie down again.
Shit!
I realized what I was wearing.
Reactor suit. Lets you survive poisonous air. Very suspicious.
No time.
I ripped the helmet off, stripped the suit from my body, and threw it and my tool bag behind the LE desk. I squeezed down next to the closest guard, pressing myself against his legs.
Wait. I thought suddenly. Should my eyes be open or closed?
I glanced around, finding eyes in various positions. More open than closed, it seemed. Good. Hard to see with your eyes shut. Then again, you don't have worry about blinking or involuntary movement. Suddenly I was five years old again, figuring out the best ways to keep my eyes closed and still see everything while pretending to be asleep... or dead.
The footsteps were getting closer. I could hear them through the door. I felt the vibrations in the deck plates. The vibrations stopped. The lights went out. The room was pitch black.
Be calm.
Don't move.
The door slammed open but no one entered. They were there, though. I could hear them breathing.
I stared at the near-total darkness, my eyes struggling to adjust to the tiny light streaming in from the corridor.
I saw the shadow, the first hint of motion.
It made its way into the room. I watched the shape and I knew it wasn't human. A dark cylinder, black, with a green light on its tip. For an instant I thought it might have been a drone, something designed to clear hostile spaces.
But it wasn't.
Behind the cylinder - attached to it - was a boxier shape. The cylinder and the box together formed a rifle. And then I saw the gloved hand that held it, the arm and then finally the man.
He emerged from the shadows slowly, sweeping his weapon across the room. His face emerged from the shadows, but I couldn't make out any features.
My heartbeat was loud enough I was honestly afraid the guy would hear it.
The man moved past me.
He walked to the VIDS room and stopped in front of Alicia's body. He knelt down.
Don't fucking touch her, I wanted to scream.
He paused momentarily, kneeling on the floor beside her. I couldn't tell what he was looking at. Equipment? He stood eventually, and moved further into the room - beyond my line of sight. I almost moved my head.
Almost.
Then I saw the other cylinder. The other gun. The other soldier. The Firian who'd come in the room but whose presence I'd failed to notice in the darkness. He was less than three meters from me and I'd almost moved my head. No way he'd have missed it. I tried to breathe slowly, focusing on the air going in and out of my lungs.
The Firian moved past me, working in silent coordination with his Human partner, the partner that had now reemerged. The two Free Traders swept the brig area next, moving down the narrow corridor toward the holding cells.
They vanished again, and I waited.
I wasn't shaking anymore, I realized. My breath was steady - not normal, but steady. I wasn't sure what that meant, but it was sure as hell welcome. The soldiers reappeared, moving to the LE desk. They stood there briefly, and then lowered their weapons. One man nodded to the other, who turned to the face the door.
"Clear!" He yelled, his voice echoing off the bare metal of the walls. I heard more footsteps, more people entering the room. They weren't in my line of sight yet.
The emergency lighting returned now, a soft red glow permeating the space, letting me see a little better.
I'd thought the men ha
d been dressed in black, but that had only been a result of the poor lighting. They were actually wearing the same shitty uniforms as the Firian on the monitor. Two more soldiers entered my vision now, and they were obviously heavy hitters. Both were human.
Then a fifth man, also Human, entered the room.
The last one was different. He wore only black slacks and white button-up shirt, with no shoes on his feet. His steps barely made a sound, and when he moved to the room's center I saw only the profile of his face. It was swarthy. Weathered. Unkind. His jaw twitched as he surveyed the room.
Not just his jaw.
He looked like an overcharged Human battery, bristling with energy that seemed desperate to escape. When he spoke he did so slowly, with an odd mixture of with accents that I couldn't identify.
"The armory gentlemen, if you'd be so kind," he said.
The heavy hitters nodded and moved to the armory door. They were carrying something - or dragging it, to be more precise. As they moved past me, I recognized the device. It was an HVL - a Hydrazine Vapor Lance. One of ours.
That pretty much confirmed my suspicions.
An HVL was the one piece of equipment on board (other than heavy weapons) which could cut through the armory door. We only had two HVLs, and they were stored in maintenance lockers along with hundreds of other pieces of equipment. No way these guys had found one by accident. One of the men removed the HVL's cover and started hooking it up. Not good. Even if I closed my eyes, I'd suffer immediate - not to mention permanent - retinal damage. Going blind would be horrific on the best of days; today it would get me killed. If I got caught moving my head, though, I'd be just as screwed.
Just as I was preparing to risk it, the Firian stepped between me and the HVL. As the device flickered to life, I silently implored him to stay exactly where he was. Hot blue light flickered across the space. Even from the far side of the room, I could feel the intense heat the device was generating. I didn't know for sure, but I suspected they'd be through the lock in a few minutes.
I was wrong. It took less than one.
The blue light suddenly vanished, and my eyes struggled to adjust. I heard a metallic clunk and the groan of metal. As my vision returned, I saw the men disappear into the now-open armory.
Moments later, one reappeared carrying a small hexagonal box with a yellow warning sticker. I didn't recognize the item, but I doubted it was a humanitarian aid package. The second man reappeared from the armory. He wasn't carrying anything, but he was now wearing a black bandolier with grenades on it.
Grenades? I squinted. They sure looked like grenades. Not that I was an expert. Why the hell do we have grenades?
I couldn't envision a scenario where it made sense. I could, however, envision a scenario where people sat around a table and decided that it was a good idea.
The leader was moving now, entering my field of vision and making his way toward the Law Enforcement desk. He leaned against the desk and looked at the fried processor. He stared at it. He touched it. He pushed buttons. He shook his head. Clearly, it wasn't meeting his expectations.
He turned to face the rest of his men.
"Check the guards," he instructed, sounding almost French now. "Make sure all their sidearms are accounted for."
Damn. I hadn't even thought to grab one of the pistols. A fortunate oversight.
The men quickly verified that all the weapons were present. As they did so, the Firian referred to his boss as “Udo”.
Okay, Udo it is.
Udo nodded briskly upon being informed that the weapons were accounted for. Still, he didn't look happy.
"And the armory?" he pressed. "How many are absent from their racks?"
One of the men darted into the armory to check.
'Twelve of them, sir."
Udo bobbed his head and walked over to the comm panel.
"Mr. Byers." He announced. I bristled at the name.
"Yeah," came the response. It was Byers' voice.
If I needed more confirmation...
"A brief question, if I may. Under normal conditions, how many personnel on this ship are issued sidearms?"
"Just the security team on duty, the officer of the watch, and the Captain," said Byers.
"And how many people are on the security team? I need a precise number, please." Udo said, this time shifting his accent. I couldn't place it, but it reminded me of a Chihuahua.
"Um," said Byers, "ten, unless we're running a drill."
"Ten," Udo repeated slowly. He shook his head as if to clear a thought. "Good. How is your work progressing?"
"I've prepped a facility. I can start when I get them."
"They'll be along shortly," Udo replied, falling back to his muttled French accent. "We've got two more stops and then we're headed to the missile bay."
He paused for a moment, looked around again, and twitched his jaw muscle as though he knew something wasn't right. I almost shit myself.
"We're done here," he announced. "Let's move."
He walked toward the door, his men in tow. Moments later, I was alone.
Unless you count the dead.
Log 008: Gimme Shelter
I waited for what I guessed was ten minutes, then slowly pushed myself off the floor. I was thankful that none of them had found my suit and tool bag. Or maybe they had, but the items hadn't seemed noteworthy. Either way, I was still alive.
Yay, me.
I pulled the suit back on and snapped the helmet into place. It would have been nice to leave it, but I figured a portable oxygen supply could come in handy. It had already saved me once.
The armory was still open, which was a bonus.
I threw the tool kit over my shoulder, then moved inside. The place wasn't nearly as impressive as I'd imagined. A rack of pistols, a dozen PPR rifles, and an assortment of other small weapons, mostly non-lethal. I almost skipped the pistols. I'd failed to qualify on them in basic, and I didn't think now would be a good time to learn. On the other hand, they were tiny and lightweight. I snatched one and threw it in the tool kit.
Then I moved to the rifles.
I lifted one from its rack. It had been years since I'd touched one, and I'd forgotten how light they were. Not that they should have been heavy. The device was basically a tiny fusion generator mounted in a shiny plastic-looking case. The battery was a “mini-spud”, which weighed nothing and lasted fifty thousand rounds. I threw the rifle over my shoulder and turned to the rack of non-lethal weapons. I didn't recognize everything, but the tazers on the bottom shelf were familiar. I picked one up and clipped it to my suit.
I grabbed spare min-spuds for both of my new weapons, then tried stuffing everything in the tool kit. It didn't fit.
I paused for a moment, listening for anything that sounded like not me.
Nope.
I dumped the tool kit out, trying to decide which things were the most useful. Some of the tools were reactor-specific. I placed those in a corner of the armory, then laid a rifle carrying case on top of them. With the spare room I'd created, I could now fit everything but the rifle into the tool kit. I strapped it to my back again, noting that it was quite a bit heavier than before.
I looked around. I was half-tempted to grab everything in the armory and take it with me. But that was dumb. It wasn't like I could carry an arsenal around the ship with me, and the sad truth was that any firefight - regardless of weapons - wasn't likely to end in my favor.
I really need to go.
I ducked into the nearest maintenance room and shut the door. I made sure it was locked, even though it looked like no one had been in there in days... probably because it smelled like something died in there. Probably rats. I tossed my bag down and stared at the overhead lighting panel. My head was spinning, but less than before. My hands were no longer shaking. I turned up the oxygen in my suit - again. That helped.
Okay.
I had to get off the ship. I had to make a plan. Before I could do either of those things, though, I had
to assess my sanity. Everyone on the ship had just died.
Probably.
I'd seen bodies - lots of bodies. Some of them- Alicia, Coates - had been people that I'd known. But the others hadn't been strangers. I'd seen them walking in the corridors. Or eating pasta. Or getting drunk and hitting each other with pool cues. I might not have known them personally - I sucked at that - but they'd been part of my life. Now they were dead, and my brain didn't seem to register it. It felt like data - casualties. Later the Internet would provide that this is what it's like to be in shock related to post traumatic stress.