by Will Crudge
I take my sword, activate the energy cutting field around it, and then stab into the bulkhead that surrounded the blast door. Within seconds, I cut around the entire door, as the men shield their faces from the barrage of sparks and slag flying everywhere. I withdraw the blade, and kick the blast door center mass.
The entire doorframe, with the armored door still encapsulated within, flopped outward. It landed with a loud clunk, and the CIC came into view. A plasma bolt flew at me, but I swatted it away with a parry, and I snap my shield back into array.
I lunge forward into the broad space, and human defenders pelt my shield with a myriad of pistol fire. Pulse bursts, plasma bolts, and small caliber ballistic rounds deflect harmlessly away. I cut a bead to my left-side, and guide my shield’s surface to the right, in order to better cover me from the enemy fire.
Going down center would have left me fully exposed at my flanks. Going to the right would have limited my sword’s range of motion with the bulkhead in my way. Going left was my only play. It allows for freedom of movement with my sword hand, and denies the enemy the opportunity to flank me from more than one side.
I slice the closest defender clear in half, duck behind a scan suite workstation, and then re-adjust my azimuth. My shield needs a second or two to re-energize back above ninety percent, so I use the console as cover, and draw my .45.
The attackers appear to be eight in number… not including the vivisected corpse I left behind me… and they’re all taking cover behind their own workstations. I take note that they must no longer care about damaging the ship’s central control systems. Either they’ve got a back-up control room, or they are hoping to abandon ship when I give them room to scatter.
I weigh my options. These are paid mercs, and I’m quite sure they can’t cash a paycheck if their dead.
“Listen up!” I shout, as I huddle behind cover. I either need to convince them to surrender, or bide enough time to recharge my shield… I’m happy either way. “None of you want to die for a cause that doesn’t concern you. You took this job to keep yourselves fed, I’m guessing. But you can’t fill a stomach that’s got holes in it, can you?”
“Go to hell!” An anonymous voice shouts, and a plasma bolt impacts the bulkhead behind me a second later.
“Suit yourself, fella!” I shout. “But if any of you that want to live to see your next pay day, then I won’t stop you from finding the nearest escape pod!”
I let them stew over it in silence for a few moments, and then I hear a pistol impact the floor. Then another. Soon, five mercs dropped their weapons and begin to work their way to the door with their hands raised. I let them leave, but I keep my eyes on them.
The first one makes it within a few strides of the fallen blast door, but then is cut down by an electron beam. The beam blazes straight through his chest before he could even scream in pain, and the lighting went on to cut down the four mercs behind him.
I rotate towards the source of the fire, and raise my left forearm. I can’t dodge, or deflect an electron beam, so I have to have my arm ready to snap my shield into array.
A moment later a shadowy silhouette of a man in flat-black Crimson Commando armor walks into the ruined doorway. He’s cradling a crew serve electron beam gun, as if it weighed nothing at all.
“Well, well, well!” I hear a sickeningly familiar voice range out of the armor’s speakers.
Peterson!
“You’re supposed to be dead!” I shout in anger.
“My clone is most certainly dead!” He replies with a sinister laugh.
“Bullshit! Your genes can’t be cloned! Our genetics don’t allow for it.” I retort.
“You are completely correct, my dear War Master Candidate!” He replies, as he slowly levels the beam and creeps along the bulkhead across the CIC. “But you’re forgetting something, young lady! My brothers and I never had our genes manipulated out of their rawest form, so that logic doesn’t apply to us.”
Fuck! Why didn’t I realize this before! No wonder they were such effective hunters… There are several of them! I come to the conclusion. It hits me like a ton of bricks. Now the game has changed… The Guild is no longer safe… And we have a clone infiltrating our crew!
But things just got worse…
Before I realize it, there are three – creatures – following Charlie into the CIC.
Mwargoths. Heavily armed, as it would seem.
“So now you’re a traitor to humanity!” I spit. “I thought you and your brothers despised these creatures, as we all do!”
“Tisk, tisk, tisk! It isn’t wise to insult humanity’s new benefactors! The ends always justify the means… Weather I like it or not!”
“What is your end-game, traitor?” I scowl.
“Now, this isn’t some ancient spy film where the villain reveals his secrets before he kills his enemy. But I will say this… History is riddled with kings and emperors that have risen to their stations using – foreign support - , understand?”
“You disgust me!”
“Trust me when I say, the feeling is mutual.”
“So why did you wait to pounce on my friend?” I spit.
“A vessel with ties to a War Master floats into this elaborate pirate ambush, and you think I’d just let it float by? These Mwargoths, here, have been dying to wipe out the Guild for centuries! Removing humanity’s greatest heroes, makes their jobs much less tedious!”
I hear the gargles and grumbles of the green squids. They seem to be losing patience… But then, I don’t know shit about alien mannerisms.
One of the squids slithers toward the command console on its grotesque tentacles. It inserts a small flat object into the console, and the ship responds immediately. The lighting in the CIC brightens, and several seemingly dormant displays begin to flicker to life.
“It appears as if we’ve restored flight control of our little ship, here!” Charlie says with sickening glee. I don’t know how the thrusters could possibly be repaired so quickly, so I maintain a healthy dose of skepticism.
“It won’t do you any good, asshole!” I shout. “There’s an entire pirate fleet coming to wipe this ship from the cosmos. Not to mention, two LRF-90’s, a Mark-8 fighter, and a state of the art UAHC frigate. You’ll never leave the system alive!”
“We will if you let us.” He says flatly, then he points to the main holographic display. I look to see the space donkey well within weapons range of the gunship’s flak cannons. My heart sinks in response, and a wash of despair comes over me.
“Your allies may have taken out our fighters, and even shot down our earlier missile barrage… but they can’t stop a full volley of flak cannon fire, can they?” He says with a tine of sinister gratification.
“You bastard! What do you want from me?”
“You.” He relies menacingly. “Surrender to us, order your friends to stand down, and escort us out-system. Even a fleet of pirates won’t try to take on your companions.”
“Fuck you!” I shout, as I snap my shield into full array, and charge at Charlie. The Mwargoths grunt and slither back out of my way, and I’ve cut a bead straight to the black-armored ass-clown.
I also learn a hard lesson. My light-duty shield isn’t shit against a crew serve electron beam…
He levels his beam cannon and blasts my shield, before I get within five meters of him. Everything disappeared in a brilliant white flash of light, and my body feels like I’m being grudge-fucked by a nuclear power plant!
But that’s not all I’m feeling…
No sooner did my body get rocked by radiation and electricity, then my primal Rage decided to drop the mic… so to speak.
I black out for, what seems like, a second. When the shades of red fade from my eyes, it’s replaced with shimmering streaks of blue. I feel no pain… I feel no fear!
But I do feel my hand is stuck in something gooey!
When my awareness catches up to my surge of interdimensional energy, I see that Charlie is impaled by my ou
t-stretched fist… But my fist is clenching something.
My sword.
His feet are dangling off of the deck plating, and his face is gasping in agony. The beam cannon falls from his right hand, and his left is clenched around my right forearm. I realize that I had stabbed into him so hard that my hand went all the way into his gut, and I was holding his weight with my arm.
I hear foot falls and screams of terror. The remaining three flight crew mercs haul ass out of the room, and the three Mwargoths begin to slowly circle me. I can see my eyes are glowing blue in the dull reflection in Charlie’s armor.
I slam him down to the ground, and wrench my arm from his abdomen… Sword and all. Blood spatters all over, and he yells out a horrifying scream of pain. But it was the last thing he’ll ever do… In this body, at least.
I slowly spin around to see the Mwargoths are now evenly spaced around me. Their flat-topped bulbous heads don’t even bob as they skulk around. I’m guessing they believe they have the advantage here. They’re certainly stronger than a normal human, and their multiple limbs allow for a distinct close quarters advantage, as well.
I don’t see any weapons in their hands… err limbs. So, they must think they’ll make short work of me.
Rule number one… Always turn your enemy’s greatest strength into their greatest liability!
These fucks don’t know what they’re getting themselves into! Maybe I should let them send a data burst to their captive peers on the Thermopylae! Those fucks didn’t know that losing a close quarter’s battle against humans was even a possibility! Which is why all but three of them aren’t in a catatonic state of shock!
I they have mouths, but they are hard to pick out when they’re not busy gargling their putrid vocalizations. But I can see what matter to me the most… Their eyes.
I’ve fought their kind before, but these guys haven’t fought a human… that I know of. I remember being able to anticipate their movements by their subtle eye movements. In this regard, they’re very much like humans. Prize fighters avoid looking their opponents in the eye, so as to not subconsciously telegraph their next move… These squids didn’t seem to get the memo.
One of them twitched their eye towards his buddy off to my right. The Rage allows me to experience time at a much slower pace, so I have ample time to respond.
The squid to my right found his out-stretched tentacles completely severed in a sickening spatter of black jizz-like alien blood. My sword cut through six of his smaller limbs while taking out two of the larger ones. I never turned to look in his direction, but refocused on the other two. I hear gargling shouts of pain dissipate behind me, followed by a wet-soppy thud as its body slumped down on the deck.
The other two spat some mucus-like goop, as an apparent sign of shock. They fumbled back a few paces, but I kept frosty. My movements were slow and deliberate… The dance of death!
I circled around to keep the remaining two in my main field of vision. We all start to rotate in a clockwise circle. Somehow I remember something I read about situations like this… Back before humans ventured out into space, this would have been known as a ‘Mexican Standoff’. I wonder if that term still applies, since Mexico is now a three-system hegemony now.
I ignore the spasms and undulations of the dismembered tentacles flopping about on the deck nearby. Either their former owner is dead from bleeding out, or has gone in some kind of catatonic shock. I could care less.
A sudden chime from the coms suit console fills my awareness. It startles the squids slightly, and they garble out some frothy bursts of noise. By they never take their eyes off me. I’m wondering why their biding their time. Surely they know that a swarm of human pirate ships will be within weapons range any minute now. But then a new thought emerges in the back of my mind.
They’re patient when it comes to warfare! They’ve plotted their revenge on our galaxy since before man discovered fire. In a universe that separates civilizations by thousands of light years, I suppose it’s an ingrained cultural trait. I think to myself in a void between linear time and the fourth dimension. My thoughts come to me as if I were in my normal frame of mind, but as far as the squids are concerned, I barely beat an eyelash.
That’s it! I shout in my own mind. I’m guessing the Primal Rage is feeding me breadcrumbs, and my dumb chemical-based brain has to sort divine wisdom out in its own dumb way. They’re not being slow and deliberate from a cultural standpoint… They haven’t lost a war since they were driven back into extra-galactic space by the Arcturians! That was hundreds of thousands of years ago! They’ve been rolling over every civilization that they’ve encountered since then. They must have conquered and plundered the Andromeda Galaxy until they were strong enough to retake the Milky Way.
Without the Arcturians standing in their way, they must have scouted the galaxy, and found dozens of intelligent civilizations who have set aside any notion of violence. The stage was set… they were ready to pounce… until they stumbled upon a young civilization of spacefaring primates that knew how to fight!
“You poor bastards!” I say with a sly smile. My sword tucked in tight, and pointing straight up. The black eyes of the squids flexed in and out. I’m not sure if they can hear me, but they seem to be responding to my words somehow.
“They hear your words, human!” I digitized voice boomed out of the CIC speakers. I should have figured that they had a Chimera onboard.
Looks like taking control of this ship just got that much trickier!
COMING TO CLIMAX… NOT THE FUN KIND EITHER!
“You’re a Chimera, aren’t you?” I ask, as I continue to focus on my Mexican Standoff.
“That’s what humans say I am.” It answers.
“Can your friends understand me?” I ask.
“Yes. But they cannot approximate any vocalizations that you would understand. Voice communication is only a tertiary means of Mwargoth expression.” It explained with a tinge of boredom and arrogance.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“You couldn’t pronounce it. Just call me… Jonathan, if that helps your little monkey brain process the situation better.” He says with a regal laugh.
“You sound pretty cocky for a fancy digital app, cock-bite!” I sneer.
“Oh, I’m sorry… I just got here. I’ve been busy fixing the damaged systems on this archaic piece of human trash we’re floating through space on… I don’t seem the need to be humble to a skinny bitch who’s about to be killed by elite Mwargoth warriors!” Jonathan spits.
“Obviously, that Mwargoth corpse on the deck plating wouldn’t agree with your statement.” I say.
“That was you, huh?” Jonathan says, as if he thought I may be fooling him. There was a brief silence, so I figure he was mentally confirming it with my two slimy adversaries. “It would appear that you got a lucky hit in, after all. My two friends here are probably giving you more respect than what I think you deserve.”
“I’m curious? Did they happen to tell you I was a War Master?” I say. Another brief moment of silence went by.
“No. No, they didn’t.” Jonathan said flatly. His tone spoke volumes. Now he must be authentically scared for his own life. “But it won’t matter… If the warriors fail to kill you, I still have control of the ship. I’d just as soon launch all of the escape pods, and then vent the atmosphere. Game. Set. Match!”
“Or the third option.” I say.
“Oh, and what would that be?” He asked slyly.
“Answer that hail if you want an option that keeps you safe from the pirate horde!” I say. And perfect timing too. An audible prox
imity alarm began to buzz in response to a potential weapons lock.
“Very well, War Master.” He drags out my title as if to mock me. He can probably jump out of here via FTL, but it’s too risky. This part system is riddled with undercurrents of dark matter, and a blind jump could destroy the ship.
Trying to fight off the pirate fleet would be suicide. Advanced flak cannons, or not… Some of the bigger pirate cruisers would likely have sixty ton KEPL’s, or at least eight to twelve inch rail guns. Being outnumbered 120:1 seems to be the less disconcerting factor, in that respect.
But as long as my allies know I’m onboard this ship, he likely knows he can leverage that with my team… The only issue is, my team is probably just now figuring out how outnumbered we are as well. Even two LRF-90’s can’t hold enough ammunition to combat the pirates.
Nope… We’re pretty fucking fucked! My only hope is to kill these fuckers, take the ship, and make it back to my team. Then we have a slim, but fair chance of jumping the fuck out of this hornet’s nest.
“It would appear your clever pirate friends know there are Mwargoths on this ship! But I made sure they also knew that a human War Master was onboard as well. It would appear that they are very interested in how much a blonde War Master with a tight physique would fetch them in a slave auction… We’re ironing out the details now.” Jonathan said.
Just then the Mwargoths stopped their circular pacing. They each slowly back off, but keep their scornful lifeless eyes on me. I’m guessing that killing me is no longer part of their exit strategy.
I slowly slide my sword tip over my left shoulder, finding the opening of my scabbard, I then slide the blade into its resting place.
“Have they even bothered to tell you?” I ask.
“What’s that? I’m sorry, I’m trying to milk the situation for the good of the Mwargoth Empire… And what is my precious bargaining chip trying to ask?”
