Captive Galaxy 1: The Bellerophon: Ambush

by J. W. Kurtz

  "Captain," Ayad said, "we're going to make one final go at it."

  Ayad looked over at his remaining teammate, who had thus far fought with the competence and bravery of a seasoned shooter. Swanson nodded an assent at his team leader. Ayad was proud to have fought with Swanson, a colleague, that up until the past hour he'd not known. A shame he thought, that this would most likely be the last moments of both their lives. They could have been friends.

  "Swanson here," Ayad continued, "is down to a couple boosted shots from his plasma pistol and all I've got left is whatever's in this antique rifle I boosted from the shuttle parked in the hangar. I'm not even sure how to use it properly. I watched Chavez fool around with it for a moment, but if our energy weapons didn't touch this guy, I'm thinking this is a long shot...pardon the pun," Ayad laughed nervously about his unintentional joke. "Boss, I suggest you order an abandon ship. I think this is it. Even if Alpha stops the team heading your way, this fucker in engineering's taking everyone out."

  "Understood, Ayad. If we get reading that the drive and power plants are in overload or meltdown I'll signal an abandon ship order. It's been a pleasure."

  "Affirmative , Boss. One last thing," Ayad said.

  "Go."

  "If this final charge does succeed..."

  "Yes?"

  "...can I have a raise?"

  "We'll talk about it," Wray laughed unexpectedly at the break in tension. "Godspeed."

  "Sounds good, sir. I'll hold you to it. Beta, out."

  Chapter 20:

  Angelo was weighing his options.

  Because he far preferred to operate solo, demanded it, he agreed to play his part in this fraught machination by causing havoc in support of the other team moving forward toward the bridge and primary life-support controls. But his mission of causing disruption, chaos, and mayhem, amongst the defenders was also aimed at possibly seizing the ship by capturing the engineering spaces. A feat he had now accomplished for all intents and purposes. But what he was planning was a far departure from what his assignment had been at the start of the assault.

  Steadily, he had blasted a path through the engineering and propulsion spaces, slaughtering the nearly helpless crew. Their attempts to defend themselves were pitiful and for not. It was easy and fun to burn them down and then stomp and smash the lifeless corpses. The crew of the ship unlucky enough to cross his path were not alone in suffering the brunt of his anger and psychosis however. The ship itself, the systems and sensitive engineering components, were also met with his merciless assault feeding his lust for destruction.

  He knew there were hostiles nearby. At least two of them in fact. He could hear them on his amped up external microphone and they'd been assigned tags by his sensor and targeting suite. Since they were not an immediate threat, and because he was focused on other concerns at the moment, he didn't hunt them down...as much as he very much wanted to. The moment they exposed themselves that would change. He would engage and easily dispatch them, that he had no doubt. But, for now he left them whispering in "secret" in the neighboring compartment. He very much wanted to end them but instead he managed to burn through the strong desire and instead focus on his grander design of inflicting mass death. He continued to study the heart of the ripper drive and main generator systems before him.

  He wasn't the least bit interested in seizing control of the ship. Not at all now. His end goal was the complete destruction of the ship, himself included. There was no internal monologue for Angelo. There was in fact an internal discussion with voices. Several voices. They had been arguing for a time but they were all in agreement now. Calm agreement. Had he lost it? Probably. Wait, no probably about it. Yes, he thought. They say when people really lose it, that they "snap." He would agree. He felt something "snap" shortly after he slaughtered the defenders that opposed him in the hangar...and that snap had felt marvelous. It was a buzz, a high, that only continued to grow in intensity the more he killed, the more viscously he killed, and the closer he was to the goal set in his mind, killing the ship and everyone on it, the greater the elation grew. The "snap" had also aligned the internal voices which up until then had incessantly argued never in memory giving him a moments peace. Until now.

  Angelo thought it strange that the engineering compartment was so quiet. Every ship he had been on was always humming, buzzing, and whirring with the various systems operating, especially in the engineering spaces. He could hear nothing, except the two defenders collaborating in their plot against him nearby, save for a very low, barely audible hum, from the powerful reactor on standby before him. He shrugged off the oddness of it all. It would not matter in the least. Even on standby there was more than enough destructive force available to meet his requirements when he overloaded the generator. He could feel the energy potential before him. He felt prickly all over as every hair on his body stood on end.

  Angelo understood his own engineering expertise was extremely limited. The only time he had ever spent in the engineering, propulsion, and other such spaces was to kill everyone in them. On occasion he would set a large explosive to destroy the ship but that, much to his personal disappointment, was rare. Capturing, stealing, and hijacking was the way the mercenary operations he had been a part of made credits. Turning a ship into a mini sun of expanding plasma and gas did not improve ones bank account often.

  Here and now Angelo strained to focus his limited understanding of generators, reactors, and engines and a means to turn them into a giant bomb. Vying for his attention were the sounds of the nearby crew as they continued to plot and prepare to move against him. He didn't have time to deal with them right now. He had grander designs. Through his neural controls he commanded his right shoulder mounted cannon to swivel and snap off a couple shots into the open hatch of the compartment housing the secreted defenders.

  Two heavy blasts of blue plasma lit up the main engineering space as they exploded from Angelo's shoulder mounted weapon. Both bolts of high energy impacted on a work table secured to the middle of the targeted compartment. The table blazed into a shower of sparks, molten steel, and vapor. Jets of superheated metal from what was once a heavy steel table sprayed the room. Angelo didn't so much as turn in the direction he fired. He let the rotating mount do all the work. All of his attention was on the reactor and generator machinery before him, a massive collection of pipes, conduits, and various conglomerations of exotic alloys. To Angelo it looks like a messy science experiment. An experiment he did not even remotely understand.

  It would be so much easier if the primary power source was anti-matter. Now those were very easy systems to spike Angelo thought. A local electromagnetic pulse from a simple flash-scrambler could disrupt the magnetic containment bottles for the anti-matter. Even with standardized safeguards such as ultra strong shielding and uninterrupted power supply backups it was enough to cause annihilation. It was because of such ease that disaster could occur that only the most advanced ships of the various corporations and military used anti-matter as a power source.

  Angelo grew more and more frustrated as he looked over the machinery before him. This old cruiser was an obsolete bucket that should've been scrapped around the time Angelo was born, he thought to himself. Coolant. Coolant! Even on standby these super power sources needed a small amount of coolant trickling in.

  It appeared that nearly everything in the immediate area required a copious amount of super coolant. As he glanced about the space Angelo spotted easily more than a dozen pipes decorated with the same hazard warning label "COOLANT - LIQUID He." The pipes along the bulkheads and overhead ran in a seemingly haphazard fashion throughout the space. All the pipes were of varying sizes, and in the maze of piping running throughout the space he couldn't tell exactly which one was responsible for cooling the reactor he was planning to coax into a catastrophic failure to destroy the ship.

  Frustration began to build and well. The voices pressuring him to act. He considered blasting all the cooling pipes but he was dissuaded when a voice with
in him urged caution. Contact with gushing streams of liquid helium would be lethal. He had to choose wisely. He finally settled on the thickest pipe of coolant running along the centerline of the overhead. The majority of the other coolant pipes seemed to branch from it so even if he was wrong he was betting that he had a good chance of doing some major harm regardless of any error.

  It that didn't work he decided that he could just back out of the compartment a little and start lobbing H-E grenades about the compartment. That would most likely do the trick he thought to himself happily.

  ***

  Ayad Ibn Sula and Clark Swanson were in awe. Both were quite surprised that they had survived this far into the running engagement with the lone wolf, who now stood well in command of the engineering spaces of the Bellerophon. They were even more shocked now that the twin blasts from the lone wolf loosed at them moments ago had not killed them both. Once again they had escaped the great odds death had stacked against them.

  Just because they again dodged their demise did not mean that they were unscathed from the results of the exploding table debris and equipment in the compartment where they were sheltered. Ayad and Swanson were keenly aware that they had been peppered by hot burning shrapnel but neither appeared to be mortally wounded. Just burned and pained. They tried to remain as quiet as they could in the aftermath. Playing dead so that their foe would once again turn his attention to the machinery he was obviously trying to mettle with.

  Swanson inspected his weapon and found that it was surprisingly still maintaining a small charge. Unfortunately the pistol had been mortally wounded; the barrel bent and canted almost 45 degrees from the receiver. To fire the weapon now would be a practice in suicide. Despite lacking a military background, Swanson, like any engineer worth his salt, could make a bomb out of just about anything. He used his multitool to quickly open the housing of the aged Supra-27C pistol, only identified to Swanson as a "Supra-27C" due to the painted label on the housing itself not out of any practiced familiarity with the weapon.

  The circuitry was easy enough to understand with only a speedy and cursory examination. With his multitool he plunked out a heavy capacitor that he believed to be responsible in powering the component that safeguarded the weapon from overheating. Once this task was complete he nodded that he was ready to go. Ayad responded with a wordless nod of his own and they sprung into what they both believed to be their final action. They knew that it was more than themselves that they were risking all for.

  The fate of the ship and crew depended upon these next few moments.

  Chapter 21:

  Two heavy red plasma bolts streaked down the corridor to strike in rapid succession the position previously occupied by Bachman less than a half-second before. Sparks explodes and fist sized chunks of debris clattered, ricocheted, and rained about the space. Oily smoke, more vaporized steel than vaporized hydrocarbon, hung heavily in the air. The deactivated ventilation fans of the Belle' allowed the clouds to remain motionless only to be disturbed when a body or energy bolt passed through the mass of floating molecules and caustic motes.

  Bachman glanced over his shoulder and spied the two hostiles, near impervious in their Ogre armor, step through the thick cloud, the smoke swirling about them, as the duo bore down on the scrambling defenders. Thankfully, the targeting sensors of the boarders seemed to be inoperative for their aim had been terrible. Before, their accuracy was unforgiving, be it in a smoke filled corridor or in absolute darkness. But now it appeared every shot the hostiles took at Bachman and Takashi was from the hip. But, even un-aimed snap fire from the hip could be very effective if it was heavy enough in volume. By Bachman's count the hostile team had six operating plasma weapons, and most likely, their grenade launchers were still intact but just not being used for fear that they would again halt their own march forward by cutting off their route with another collapsed deck or the like. As long as they only took energy weapon fire they had a chance that their plan would work. If grenades or other explosives were brought to bear then the show was truly over.

  Takashi had quietly accepted that they were near the end, one way or the other. He had, dutifully and without protest, loud protest anyway, followed the orders of Kyler Bachman. And in the moments between heartbeats, in those brief seconds where they weren't taking fire or scrambling for a new position that offered a modicum of cover, he wondered how they managed to survive as long as they had.

  With the end so very near, Takashi now wished he'd taken a different path. A path that did not lead to the kitchen or the galley of a ship. Maybe it was the adrenaline and exhaustion of the whole thing but even knowing that he was about to die at any moment...Takashi found that he was oddly enjoying himself.

  The two remaining members of Alpha successfully made it around the last corner of the corridor leading to environmental control. Once this corner was rounded by the Ogre's it was a straight shot to their goal. If Bachman had a flash-scrambler he would surely have used it here but he was completely lacking in explosives and hi-tech gadgetry beyond the low remaining charge of his carbine.

  Only a few shots remained in the power cells of the carbine and pistol in the hands of Bachman and Takashi.

  Ugly acrid smoke swirled as it was pushed around the corner due to the displaced air caused by the movement the relentless foe on their heels. Takashi coughed raggedly as he inhaled the caustic air. Neither Takashi or Bachman were of course wearing their helmets. Takashi's left behind and Bachman's hanging from his hip. Takashi understood why he had been directed to leave the helmet around. A helmet utterly useless in a firefight but for Bachman to not be wearing his was odd. At least Bachman's helmet, when tied into his light battlesuit, afforded him a myriad of tactical augmentations such as communication, navigation, and precision targeting.

  Bachman said it was a "precaution." Takashi didn't understand at all what it could be a precaution for but he went with it. He knew no better.

  Both Alpha members could feel the now all too familiar rhythmic thumping of heavy magnetic boots through the steel grates of the deck as the hostiles made their way to within 30-meters of the life support and environmental control compartment immediately to their six. They settled in to their improvised cover, each nestled on either side of the corridor behind the steel vent ribs located every 10-meters. The two prepared their weapons for what was should be their final discharges. Bachman gave one final wide grin to Takashi, his eyes steely with a grand intensity. Takashi returned the mad smile in a similar fashion and then they both aimed down their sights, for what good it would do.

  Takashi was nearly startled out of his skin when a hand suddenly grasped his right shoulder. That same hand was wise to firmly keep Takashi in place as he, out of instinct, attempted to turn and fire at the surprising apparition now at his side. It took a moment for his brain to compute and recognize the face looking back at him and the other couple new faces belonging to newly arrived bodies taking up positions with lanes of fire. Recognition finally flashed in the eyes of Takashi. This recognition earned him a release from the stone grip of Captain Wray.

  "Thought you guys could use some help," Wray said.

  "Roger that, sir, um Boss, Captain," Takashi responded.

  "It's not much," Wray said as he waved to the two crewman from the bridge that had accompanied him to reinforce Alpha, "but it should grant us a couple extra moments as our final play catches up to the game here. If you are a praying man a Hail Mary would be appropriate here."

  Takashi had no idea what the Captain meant. He just nodded assent and returned his attention to the space 10-meters downrange soon to be occupied by an enemy bent on killing him. The reinforced team of five prepared as one. Three full-charged heavy plasma blasters now added to the fusillade of Alpha, at such close range, would surely stagger the enemy some but there was still little hope in breaching the heavy armor of their foe.

  But the aim of Alpha's recent part of the plan was not to take down the boarders alone. It had been accepted that with
the weapons at their disposal that this was a near impossibility. Their part was to slowdown and distract. With an emphasis on the "distract."

  *****

  A proximity warning sounded with a rapid and annoying chirp, alerting Angelo to an incoming object. The external mic, still active, picked up a loud and heavy thunk and clatter. This was accompanied by a light tremor felt through his heavy armor as an object landed at his feet. His suit had dozens of external cameras imbedded throughout his armor giving him a full 360 degree view so as not to require him to twist, turn, or bend for inspection. A small display window opened on the inside of his visor showing the object now sitting at the feet of his ferro-ceramic armored battlesuit. He was expecting a satchel charge, which could actually be rather effective to use against him. This would have surprised him. If they'd had it earlier they would have used it already.

  The object that had clattered at his feet did in fact give Angelo pause. At the same time he was considering the obsolete plasma pistol, leaning across one of his heavy boots, his targeting system again came alive as two forms rushed from the smoldering confines of the compartment he had slagged moments before. Angelo was certain he'd killed whoever had been hunkering there. But here they were, the two surviving crew he had thought killed. At the same time he was about to engage the two woefully unprotected and vulnerable foes he noticed the pistol atop his boot...with several indicator lights blinking with increased rapidity. Angelo froze. But only a moment.

  Swiftly, and with an agility that should not be possible with a half-ton of armor, weapons, and man, Angelo kicked up and away from the obviously improvised explosive at his feet while at the same time swinging his torso to face the two crewman. The targets had split immediately upon their emergence from their hiding place. One was going to his left and the other was going to his near right. He concentrated on the man to his right and snapped off two bolts at the wildly scampering form, one bolt from his shoulder and the other from his right forearm mounted weapon. The shoulder bolt narrowly missed but the forearm fired plasma bolt caught the man in the shoulder to send him cart-wheeling into a nearby bulkhead and recessed workstation.