by J. W. Kurtz
The short jaunt down the corridor was done without fear of running into crewmembers since this area was one of the most disused locations on the ship, which again made it a great place to store items...and of course screw around. Weston was aware that there were cameras that could be watching them scamper down the corridor in the nude. Part of her was okay with it as the possibility of being caught made it all the more exciting. Weston, like nearly everyone else working on the Bellerophon, was not immune to having some issues.
Once again the two were embraced and consummating their secret not-so-secret relationship. Weston soon found herself staring at the overhead while on her back but it was not in the throes of passion. Through dazed and slowly blinking eyes she stared in wonder at the red emergency lighting that was now aglow throughout the cabin. Either that had been the best sex ever or...the squishy deck supporting her began to move and groan. She turned and noticed that the deck she was lying on was in fact Chavez who shared the same dazed "what the fuck" look on his face.
The two eventually rose from the deck and stood on unsteady feet. There they inspected each other entirely out of professional courtesy and not lust. Finding no major injury they moved to retrieve their suits and wireless comms when the call over the 1MC sent them hurrying to the nearest acceleration couches. Thankfully three of the four "iron maidens" in the compartment were functional.
After the short ship-to-ship engagement the two returned to the pursers cabin to retrieve their gear only to find themselves standing naked, dripping acceleration gel, as they could find nothing to wipe the gel off with, staring dumbly at the inoperative heavy hatch to the cabin. Weston gently banged her head against the steel hatch in frustration. Originally, when they had arrived at the pursers cabin, they had to set the box down several meters from the door for the biometric lock to function properly and allow access. She suspected that the box, that they had NOT secured properly in a locker like they should have, had been tossed around like an ice cube in a tumbler and now must lie in too close proximity to the hatch system and lock.
While the two struggled to find a way to get their naked selves into the pursers cabin to retrieve their gear they had no idea that their ship had been boarded. The only information they had after being released from the acceleration couches was over the 1MC, in a post engagement message from the Captain. Weston and Chavez had no idea about the current state of affairs and that their co-workers, crewmates, and friends were battling for their lives.
"Do you hear something?" Chon Chavez asked the naked and shivering Marie Weston standing beside him staring at the sealed hatch before them.
"That's the chattering of my teeth," Weston replied.
Chavez looked down at her, naked and wet with the acceleration gel, her glistening hair pulled back into a tight pony tail. Aside from the shivering he thought she looked pretty damn sexy. He was thinking about following up on that thought when he heard the sound again.
"Didn't you hear that? I felt something through the deck too."
"Again that is my teeth chattering and..." Weston cut off her sarcastic remark because she did in fact hear something echoing through the corridor. She also felt vibrations through her bare feet. Vibrations that were not normal even in the old hull of the Belle' with her struggling machinery. "Yeah, I hear something. Felt like an explosion. The Boss said we were damaged in the collision or engagement, right? Are those secondary's? Not good."
"Where's the alarm or the 1MC? Shit, we need to get our gear. If the hull is breached we're straight fucked," Chavez said with concern in his voice and his eyes.
Concern in the voice of Chavez was not something Weston had witnessed in the time she had known him. Chavez was a pretty cool cookie most of the time. His concern was contagious and made her somewhat apprehensive. They needed to get into the compartment right quick thinking the obvious.
"That damn box is probably leaning right against the hatch killing the motor and the control panel with whatever the fuck is emanating from it. And banging my head against the bulkhead in frustration has yet to yield results. Ideas?" Weston asked trying to calm Chavez.
"The reason why we lock important stuff up in there is because it's pretty much a vault. It's designed so crew can't get in easily and mess with the ships papers and financials...which sailors are apt to do from what I've heard. Not that I've ever considered such a thing," Chavez said with a grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
The twinkle back in the eyes of Chavez relieved some of the stress that had begun to mount on the cool shoulders of Weston. This was the Chavez she knew and...liked very much.
"Have you ever broken into a vault?"
"Not me personally, no. But I may've helped make it happen," Chavez responded. "And...I think I know how we're gonna get this done. Good thing you're still wet."
"What do you mean by that smart guy?!" Weston asked with her voice steadily elevating.
"Calm down sweetie. You're still covered with gel. That's a good thing. Wait, what did you think I meant?"
"Nothing. Go on. What's your plan. I want to hear it so I can tell you how dumb it is and we can go on to something better," Weston said, her arms crossed tightly across her breasts, the sarcasm hefty.
"Well, yeah the bulkheads are thick, not that we can cut through them...hurry follow me," Chavez said as he led Weston back to the neighboring compartment where they had been fooling around earlier and then used the acceleration couches during the ship-to-ship action. The hatch to the now intimate space opened without issue and Chavez was soon pointing at an overhead vent flush with the overhead about midway through the compartment. "There. You're going in there. It looks like a tight space but with the gel still on you, you shouldn't have any trouble worming your way the ten meters or so to the next compartment over. I'm sure we can find a hammer or something for you to force the vent open and then you drop down, move that damn box with the weird shit interfering with the door, and there we go."
"Yep. Just as I thought," Weston said matter of factly.
"Just as you thought what?"
"Dumb idea," Weston answered.
Chavez looked down at her with a serious look on his face. When Weston spied this she realized something. He was the serious one for once in a serious situation. She could not remember that ever happening before. Maybe some of him was rubbing off on her and vice versa. Weston got a little light headed at the thought. Just when she was going to propose an alternative plan a great roar echoed through corridor and vents of the ship and the deck rippled at their feet. Both Weston and Chavez spread their feet wide and had their arms out to maintain their balance.
Weston looked back up at Chavez and nodded agreement.
The two searched through the lockers of the compartment. They found, that like many of the compartment of the Belle', there was a tremendous amount of random crap stored therein. One locker was full of mismatched vacsuits that didn't look like any one component would maintain pressure let alone the whole outfit. Another locker held cartons of old emergency kits, like those found in the back of a land skimmer or hover transport in case of a breakdown out in the colonial boonies. Strange place to find kits like those since flares, strobes, and emergency batteries would do little to assist the Belle' if she broke down out here, God knows how many light-years from help. Finally, they discovered a large duffel bag in a doublewide locker. The duffel was bright yellow with silver reflective piping which designated it as being a kit from maintenance which meant tools.
"Jackpot!" Chavez exclaimed as he unzipped the duffel and careful emptied its contents on a table permanently secured to the deck.
Rummaging through the pile of items, they placed aside what they thought she might need to complete the mission of crawling through the duct and breaking through the vent into the pursers cabin. While Weston continued to assemble her breakin kit, Chavez picked up a large flat-blade screwdriver from the mess of tools and went to work removing the vent cover from the overhead. He used a large container he had u
nsecured from a corner and pushed across the deck to use as a ladder.
Weston surveyed the kit had gathered. The prybar and hammer would certainly be needed. There was a small plasma torch that might be handy, and it was fully fueled, but she was unsure about using it in such a confined space as the duct without goggles or protective garments. She would be conducting this breakin operation in the nude after all. The prybar and hammer should be more than enough especially after she saw just how flimsy the vent cover was after quickly being removed by Chavez. Hopefully the vent in the pursers cabin was not some super special and secure cover. Chavez had assured her that it wasn't. The times before when he had helped in a task like this, his accomplices had simply replaced the destroyed vent cover in the cabin they had secreted into with a cover from another part of the ship. "The same factory on Mars or Titan or something mass produced these for installation on all CDF ships. Probably haven't changed the design for a hundred years. It simply wouldn't do to have 'special' vent covers for just a couple of spaces on a ship" he had said.
Her kit was still incomplete because the power cell of the flashlight from the equipment duffel was stone dead. Not even a flicker of light came from the paperweight, and with time being of the essence, there was no time to charge it to any level of usefulness. Just as she was about to resign herself to attempt the breakin in the dark confines of the duct, she remembered the emergency kits from one of the other lockers. She hastily dumped one of the kits onto the deck and snatched up exactly what she was looking for.
Each kit contained a half dozen chemical lights. She was discouraged when she bent the first one and wasn't rewarded with a glow. She tossed it aside and tried the second. Almost immediately a bright yellow-green glow filled the room, the chem light giving off a surprising amount of light.
Weston, with a look of determination, fighting through shivers from the cold acceleration gel still coating her body, smiled and looked at Chavez.
"Boost me up. Let's do this."
Chapter 16:
The familiar voice of Marie Weston unexpectedly crackled through the headset worn by Anton Prieto on the bridge. "Bridge, this is Weston and Chavez reporting in. We umm...got separated from our comms during the maneuvering. Long story but we're back on the air. What'd we miss?"
Prieto, currently manning the communications station, was helping coordinate the defense of the ship by monitoring the all-too-little flow of voice traffic and telemetries of friendlies operating throughout the ship against the boarders.
"I read you, Weston. Great to hear your voice! We thought we'd lost you! This is Prieto. I'm coordinating traffic. You both just popped up on the telemetry feed. Wait one, handing you off to the Captain, hold."
"Affirmative, Anton, waiting one," Weston responded. Her voice filled with curiosity.
Several beeps, chirps, and hums could be heard as the encrypted line was transferred to the tactical comms maintained by the Captain hovering over the manned stations of the bridge.
"This is Wray, Weston. Your telemetries show both you and Chavez aren't injured. We feared the worst. Do you know anything about the current situation?" the Captain asked the two newly rediscovered assets.
"Negative, Captain. Been in the dark since exiting the couches, in more ways than one really."
"I'm sure there's a good or maybe not so good story there...but there isn't time for us to go into greater detail concerning what kept you two out of contact over the last half-hour. We have you near the pursers cabin, which I assume was where you secured the item from the Osprey, correct? What's your weapons status?" inquired Wray.
"Both Chavez and I have our light carbines with 100 percent charges, personal sidearms, and our full kits still from boarding the Osprey. We were going to check them back into the armory once we secured the item as directed. Do we need them? We've heard, and felt even more, what Chavez thinks are small arms fire and explosives. I'm inclined to agree. Have we lost atmo on any decks? Casualties?"
"A lot has transpired and a lot is still in motion. The frigate that collided with us, after first pulling us from transit, hit us with a boarding arrow which successfully breached our hull and secured a beachhead. We now have three heavies on board attempting to take key spaces of the ship. The seal around the boarding arrow appears to be maintaining local hull integrity. No atmo loss yet. Casualties have been...severe," the Captain paused to let the facts sink in before he moved on. "Two teams. One is a solo heading aft and he's one crafty son of a bitch. He ambushed a team in the hangar, led by Ayad designated Beta, and is working his way to engineering and propulsion. The other two are working together as a team. Kyler, leading Alpha, managed to cut them off, ding them up, and reroute them, but Alpha's pretty much ineffective as well now. You two are pretty much the only assets we have yet to play that can stand between those two heavies and what has to be their objectives of environmental and/or the bridge."
"Copy that, Boss. Shit... Three heavies. Two teams? No light boots?" Weston asked.
"Roger that, Weston. Three heavy Ogres. Team of two and a solo," Wray reiterated. "No light boots complicating matters thankfully. We don't seem to have anything that can touch those heavies. Limpets were somewhat effective but Alpha's cut off from procuring more without heavy risk. It's a near suicidal proposition to lay on them to get more from the main armory."
"Well it sounds like it'll be suicide for them to stand pat and wait for the enemy to come to them with only small arms to employ. But, I think Chavez and I have a solution to handle at least the two forward without finding more H-E. It's staring Chavez and I in the face right now. As for the lone wolf...I don't think we can get that far aft before he gets to the engineering or propulsion spaces. Can you connect me with Alpha and unlock the local battlespace telemetry so we can hunt those fuckers down?" Weston asked with a cold intensity. Her voice gained that edge when she was in or near violent action. "We need to coordinate our next move with Bachman to stop the two moving forward... I don't know what to do about the one heading aft. If we lose engineering it's just a different endgame with the same result...or worse. "
"Affirmative, Weston. Very well understood. Connecting you with Bachman and local battlespace dataflow now. Godspeed and good luck, Wray out."
Chavez had been listening carefully to the exchange between Weston and the Captain. He was surprised to hear that they had a solution. This was news to Chavez because as far as he knew, they didn't. He hoped she'd share this solution with him soon.
The two had been successful in their breakin mission to retrieve their gear. As they suspected, either during the collision with the frigate that had pulled the Belle' from transit space or the subsequent hard maneuvering in the ship-to-ship engagement, the Minervan "mystery box," as they were calling it now, had been tossed about and jostled to-and-fro to finally settle against the double thick hatch of the pursers cabin, in close enough proximity for the strange radiation emitting from the box to interfere with the hatch motors and the biometric hatch locking controls.
A very dirty, scraped up, and extremely grumpy Marie Weston had dragged the heavy mystery box away from the hatch after breaking through the overhead vent to gain access to the compartment. The hatch then worked perfectly. Both Chavez and Weston, still naked from their adventure, then secured the offending item in a locker as far away from the hatch as possible. They retrieved their suits and gear and returned to the neighboring compartment and away from any possible radio or wireless data interference.
Now, with access to the local battlespace data stream, they each pulled up a map of the ship. The image displayed inside their suit visors showed known friendlies in green and known hostiles in red. The two forward Ogres, their targets, were nothing more than two red question marks in the fog of war. A dark space of the ship where there was no sensor inputs or available live data most likely because the cameras and sensors had been knocked out.
Since the two had retreated from the corridor where Alpha first engaged them, there had been no new v
isual or sensor data, but it still was assumed that their target was environmental and the bridge. Zooming his view out to encompass the entire ship, Chavez could see the red highlighted figure of the solo hostile steadily moving aft. A course easily followed by the steady path of destruction left in his wake.
"So...we have a plan, Marie? Good to hear. Want to share it?" Chavez asked as he sat on the improvised ladder in the compartment adjoining the pursers cabin, a space now seemingly as familiar to him as his regular quarters. Currently, his plasma carbine was on his lap and he was adjusting the power safeguards, overriding them in fact. The bolts would be twice as powerful but there was a fair chance the weapon would blow up in his hands. When going up against heavies it was worth the risk.
"Yeah, and you can stop screwing around with your carbine. If my idea works you're not going to need it," Weston answered as she started placing items into the bright yellow maintenance duffel they had discovered earlier. The plasma blow torch and extra fuel quickly disappeared into the bag along with a couple hammers and prybars. "Hand me a couple cartons of those chem lights from the emergency kits."
"Um, ok..." Chavez answered as he slung his carbine and gathered the requested cartons of chem lights from the emergency kits. "Ready to hear the plan now."
