by Tripp Ellis
A muffled, staccato sound caught her attention. She could've sworn it sounded like gunfire.
No, it couldn't be. Not on this ship.
12
“He's stable," Doctor Brooks said in a hushed tone. "But he's had a massive heart attack."
The cyborg looked at him with concerned eyes. "Can't you give him some nano-meds to clear the arteries?"
The two stood in the corridor just outside the intensive care unit. Captain Gibson was present as well.
"I did,” Brooks said. “But the meds are not working. I don't quite understand it, but it does happen occasionally. The scans still show a significant amount of blockage."
"Isn't there anything you can do for him?"
Doctor Brooks was a young, handsome man just out of med school. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a chiseled face. He looked like something out of a soap opera. He was a general practitioner and mostly treated colds, the flu, and stomach viruses. He dealt with passengers that had forgotten their medication and tended to the occasional sprain or broken bone. Elderly passengers were more prone to heart attack and stroke, but Rex was a young man of 35. Not the typical candidate for a heart attack.
"He needs a procedure that I am just not comfortable doing here,” Brooks said. “He needs to be med-evaced to a proper facility. I've called SpaceLife™ emergency medical transport, and they are in route”
“Is he going to be okay?”she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.
"We're going to do the best that we can." It was a standard response, covering his ass in case things went the wrong way.
Surge stepped into the room and moved to Rex’s bedside. She clasped his hand and flashed a reassuring smile. He had an IV in his arm, and a nasal cannula fed him oxygen. A monitor displayed vital statistics. The irregular blips of his heartbeat created jagged peaks on the display.
"Everything's going to be okay,” Surge assured him. “You're going to be just fine."
Rex looked up at her and winked.
It wasn't long before an emergency medical team entered the compartment and transferred Rex to a hover gurney. They pushed him out of the med center and through the maze of corridors to the flight deck.
A red dropship with a white stripe was perched on the flight deck. It had a blue medical Caduceus logo, with white snakes wrapped around a winged staff. The ship was the medical version of the Vantage MX-679. The armor plating wasn’t as thick and it didn’t have the weaponry, but the thrusters and avionics were essentially the same. It also had a quantum drive, allowing it to make slide-space jumps to the far reaches of the cosmos. The military version could carry a full platoon of Marines, or Navy Reapers. The medical versions typically sacrificed cargo space for extra lifesaving equipment. But there was something a little different about this vehicle.
A tactical squad spilled out of the dropship onto the flight deck with weapons in the firing position. They were RK-919 assault rifles that fired polymer-cased smart-rounds that could be adjusted to fire sub-sonically, without sacrificing distance or accuracy. Combined with built-in suppressing technology, the weapons were virtually silent when in stealth mode. But sometimes it was advantageous to have a weapon with a loud bang, and the RK-919 could certainly accommodate the task. The advanced polymer casings had been refined to virtually eliminate jamming. They were military spec and some of the finest traditional weapons available in the galaxy. And they weren’t cheap.
The terrorist squad secured the flight deck with tactical precision. These guys were pros, no doubt about it. Probably former special forces. They surrounded Captain Gibson and Doctor Brooks—the angry barrels of their weapons staring the dumbstruck officers in the face.
Rex launched off the gurney as if nothing was wrong—and nothing was wrong. He had taken nanites that mimicked the effects of a heart attack, and obscured the scans. It had all been a ruse to get the SpaceLife ship on board.
The leader of the terrorist group strolled out of the dropship with a slight grin on his face. He marched toward the captain and Doctor Brooks, both of whom looked mortified.
"I don't understand. What's going on?" Gibson asked.
"Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking control of the Celestial Voyager," the leader said.
"Who are you? What you want?"
“Call me Tobias. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said extending his hand.
The captain refused to shake for obvious reasons.
Tobias pulled out a pistol and shot Doctor Brooks in the head. The bullet plowed through his skull, blowing chunks of brain and bone against the bulkhead, painting it with crimson goo. His carcass flopped to the deck with a wet slap.
Gibson eyed the corpse with terror.
"I take it you will cooperate with my demands?"
The captain nodded, his eyes wide, his face pale and beginning to mist with sweat.
Across the ship, a second set of men stormed through the galley, marching toward the storage area.
"I'm sorry, this area is for crew personnel only," one of the cooks said. He was met with a heavy fist to the face that sent him careening to the deck, unconscious.
The goons proceeded to take the weapons from the storage crates that the CSS guys had loaded earlier. The gang of thugs distributed the weapons among them, rounded up the galley staff, and locked them in the freezer.
They weren’t going to last in there for long.
The gang of thugs marched out of the galley and began the chaotic process of corralling the passengers. Gunshots rang out and panicked passengers shrieked in terror. There were wide eyes and twisted faces. Passengers ran for cover, and hid underneath tables. Mortified passengers huddled close with their loved ones. Those who tried to escape were mowed down with vicious efficiency.
"Remain calm, do as you're told, and you'll stay alive!” one of the terrorists shouted.
The hallways were filled with frantic people, running for safety. They were greeted by fully automatic gunfire. The gunshots rang out, echoing down the corridors. Bullets ricocheted, sparking off bulkheads. Blood spattered, and bodies crashed to the deck, oozing crimson sludge.
It didn't take long for passengers to get the hint that non-compliance wasn't an option, if they wanted to survive. The goons cordoned off the ship with tactical precision. They moved through the ship, checking passenger compartments one by one. The pandemonium lasted for 15 to 20 minutes as the terrorists forced the passengers into the cargo bay.
Hannah huddled with her mom and dad in their stateroom, hoping to go unnoticed. But the terrorists seemed to have access to all of the staterooms.
It was only a matter of time.
Hannah and her family decided to lock themselves in the head. It seemed like the most secure place in the suite. The hatch didn't have a biometric scanner. If anyone wanted to get in, they were going to have to blast the door down.
Hannah's face was twisted with fear, and tears streamed down her round cheeks. Her mother tried to comfort her, but she was shaking.
Sweat beaded on Howard's bald forehead. He was an accountant, dealing with terrorists wasn't exactly his specialty.
Hannah made a silent gasp as she heard the hatch to the stateroom slide open. She could hear muffled voices as footsteps filtered through the compartment.
Hannah could feel the presence of someone on the other side of the hatch. Then that someone tried to open the hatch.
The terrorist kicked the hatch, his heavy boot mashing against the metal. His name was Dietrich—a lanky guy with short spiky blond hair and glasses. He was a little awkward, but an effective killer. While not a thick meathead like some of the other guys, he was well muscled. It's the thin, wiry guys that you have to watch out for. They are fast and powerful and can put up a hell of a fight.
He took a few steps back, then fired at the locking mechanism. A flurry of bullets pinged against the metal. Muzzle flash and smoke filled the compartment. The hatch was riddled with bullet holes, and the locking mechanism looked like a cheese grat
er.
Detriech tried to pry the hatch open, but it was stuck. He got his buddy to help him slide the hatch aside.
Howard lunged for the Detriech as he entered the head, bringing the weapon into firing position.
Jane let out a shrill shriek. Her face creased with fear.
Harold clasped the barrel of the automatic weapon, struggling with the terrorist. There was no way this was going to end well for Harold.
13
The gun went off, spraying bullets into the ceiling. The terrorist kicked Howard in the chest, sending him stumbling back into the shower stall. He shattered the glass shower door, splintering shards across the deck. The creep brought the weapon into the firing position and squeezed the trigger. A burst of copper rounds smacked into Howard's fat belly, staining his shirt red.
Jane let out a bloodcurdling scream. Her tortured face twisted.
Apparently the terrorists didn't want to deal with a hysterical woman and sent a flurry of bullets in her direction, putting several holes in her expensive evening gown. She flopped back against the bulkhead and slumped to the deck, leaving a trail of blood on the bulkhead.
By this time Hannah had pried off the vent and crawled into the air duct.
The terrorist climbed atop the toilet and peered into the vent shaft. He could see Hannah scampering away. He aimed the barrel of his rifle down the shaft and opened fire. Muzzle flash from his rifle lit up the passageway. Bullets streaked down the narrow duct, snapping by Hannah as she rounded the corner at the nearest junction.
The terrorist slammed his fist against the bulkhead, furious that he had missed. He was a big, hulking guy, and the shaft was too small for him to crawl into. There was nothing he could do about it. He knew Tobias wasn't going to be happy. But with any luck, Hannah wouldn't cause trouble.
He stepped down from the toilet and moved out of the apartment with his comrade.
There was no mistaking the sound of gunfire filtering down the corridors. The shrieks and screams of the passengers were also a slight indicator that something wasn't right.
Max watched helplessly as passengers were mowed down by the terrorists. Rage boiled inside of her. Her fists tightened, her face flushed red. Her first thought was to stand and fight, but that was a losing proposition. A skimpy cocktail dress was no match for high-powered automatic weapons—at least, under these circumstances. It pained her to do it, but she kicked off her heels and dashed down the hallway. If she'd have stood her ground, she'd have been captured or killed.
She snaked through passageways, but there seemed to be terrorists coming from all directions. She ducked into a storage compartment and attempted to hide in the dark space. She was huffing and puffing, her heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins. The room was full of EVA suits hanging from racks. She moved to the back of the compartment and hid behind one of the suits. She tried to calm her breath and be still, but several suits were still swinging from the racks as a result of brushing past them.
The muffled screams of passengers and gunshots filtered into compartments. Max peered around the suit, catching a glimpse of a terrorist peering through the polycarbonate viewport in the hatch. An instant later, the hatch slid open, and the goon stepped in with his rifle in the firing position.
The EVA suits had just stopped swinging.
The goon glanced around the compartment, using the tip of his barrel to push the suits aside as he looked in the dark nooks and crannies. His boots clanked against the deck as he stomped closer. He inched towards Max, brushing through the suits. He was one step away from exposing Max when his a comrade called out to him, “Quit fucking around. Come on!”
The goon turned around and moved out of the compartment, continuing his sweep of the deck.
Max breathed a sigh of relief. She was barefoot, in a cocktail dress, and completely unarmed. She didn't like the scenario one bit. She was worried sick about Winston and Dylan. She didn't know what to do. For the first time in her life she felt paralyzed. She couldn't stay in this compartment forever, but she wasn't in any position to stop what was going on. She figured it would be best to stay put and formulate a game plan. Rushing into things head first wouldn't be prudent—though, that was usually Max's style.
She slipped from behind the EVA suit and edged toward the hatch. She was taking a risk by peering through the viewport into the hallway. She watched as terrorists marched passengers to the cargo area. It was pure madness. Bodies littered the corridor. Terrified faces screeched and wailed.
Max searched the compartment for weapons, or anything to defend herself with, but there wasn’t much in the compartment.
14
Tobias’s squad of goons stormed into the bridge with their weapons in the firing position. Bullets streaked across the compartment in a swift, chaotic flurry. Blood splattered, and bodies of the crew slumped over control terminals. Blood trickled down the glowing amber displays. A large, panoramic view port offered a look at the cosmos.
Only the first officer’s life was spared. His hand was inches away from tripping the emergency alarm.
"Don't even think about it!” one of the goons shouted.
The first officer's hand hovered over the button for another moment, then he pulled it away.
"Smart move," the goon said.
The tactical squad pulled the slumping corpses from the controls, flopping them to the deck.
Tobias glanced to a slim nerdy guy with shaggy brown hair. He couldn't have been more than 19 or 20. “Now, you can fly this thing, can't you?"
"I didn't log a thousand hours on the simulator for nothing," the geek said.
His name was Chad, and he had already earned his master's degree by the age of 16. He was voted most likely to succeed by his graduating class, but he found criminal enterprises to be more lucrative. "I'll have the system locked down in no time. Corporate won't be able to override the controls by remote."
"Good," Tobias said. His eyes glanced to the other member of his nerd herd, Carson. He had dark curly hair, brown eyes and a thin face with a few awkward pimples. He knew exactly what was on Tobias’s mind.
"No worries. If the first two options fail, I can get us in the vault, no problem.”
The goons held Captain Gibson and First Officer Spence at gunpoint.
"I don't know what you hope to accomplish," Gibson said. "The vault is impenetrable. The Planetary Guard will have this vessel surrounded in no time."
Tobias grinned. “Every system designed by man has a flaw.”
Gibson smirked with confidence. ”The vault was designed by artificial intelligence. Good luck beating the security features.”
Tobias looked at him with amusement. "For your sake, I hope plan A works.”
Gibson's eyes widened with concern about plan A.
A voice crackled in Tobias’s earbud, “The ship is secure. The passengers are locked in the main cargo hold."
"Excellent. Keep them under control. Use whatever force is necessary."
"Copy that."
Tobias motioned to his goons and they shoved the two officers out of the compartment, marching them down the corridors to the vault.
"I don't know what you hope to accomplish," Gibson said. "A few items of jewelry and some watches perhaps? Certainly not worth the effort."
"Save it, Captain. I know exactly what is in the vault. And by the end of this cruise, it will belong to me."
Carson tagged along. He was plan C.
The hallways were empty, apart from the bloodied corpses that lined the deck. Captain Gibson looked sick to his stomach as he stepped over them, tracking bloodstained footprints across the deck.
Tobias stopped just out of range of the optical sensor on the vault. The squad of goons, and their prisoners, held up behind him. "Now, Captain, the moment of truth. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it's up to you.”
"I can't –"
“Save it, Captain. I’m familiar with your security protocols. You, the first officer
, and the CSO are the only ones aboard the ship that can open the vault. I will work my way through all of you, if I have to.”
“And if I refuse to cooperate?"
"I thought we played this little game earlier?"
A goon jammed the barrel of his rifle against Gibson’s head.
"I'm more than happy to re-decorate the bulkheads with you brains, if you prefer?" Tobias said.
"That won't be necessary." Gibson said, having an abrupt change of heart.
Gibson strolled to the vault and faced the biometric scanner. He hesitantly glanced back down the corridor at Tobias, then his eyes flicked back to the vault door. He grimaced slightly, full of inner turmoil, then he placed his hand on the keypad. A beam from the camera scanned his face. Then the soothing AI voice prompted him for a voice sample. "Please state your name."
"I am Captain James Gibson of the Celestial Voyager." He took a deep breath. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.
"I'm sorry, Captain Gibson. I'm detecting high levels of stress in your voice. Are you under duress?"
Gibson forced a smile. "No. Of course not."
"I'm sorry, Captain Gibson. My analysis of your voice pattern indicates you are being other than truthful. I cannot open the vault at this time. Please try again later. Thank you."
Gibson made a nervous glance to Tobias, then strolled in his direction. Sweat dripped down Gibson's forehead. His hands trembled slightly. He tried to play the situation off casually. "I told you, the AI is foolproof."
"Try again,” Tobias commanded. “This time act less nervous."
"I'm locked out of the system for at least an hour," Gibson said. “It’s standard protocol after a failed attempt.”
Tobias frowned, then turned his gaze to the first officer. "Are you a better actor than the captain?"
