Siege on Star Cruise 239

by Tripp Ellis

  She waited with her weapon aimed at the corner, anticipating Dietrich's next volley. As soon as he rounded the corner with his pistol, Max squeezed off a precise shot. The bullet blazed down the corridor. It streaked over the top of Dietrich's pistol, slamming into his right eye as he was taking aim. The bullet blasted the backside of his skull, spewing blood and pieces of brain, leaving a red mist floating in the air. The bulkheads were splattered with crimson slime.

  Dietrich's body flopped to the deck with a wet slap. His body involuntarily twitched, still clutching the pistol. The barrel battled against the deck until the twitching stopped.

  Max advanced cautiously down the hallway, keeping her weapon aimed at the fallen terrorist. She towered over the corpse and kicked aside the pistol.

  She slung her rifle over her shoulder and knelt down to pick up the pistol. She pressed the mag release button and checked the magazine to see how many cartridges remained—there were 10 left. She slapped the magazine back into the mag well, flicked on the safety, and stuffed the pistol in her waistband.

  She searched Dietrich's body for extra ammunition. She found two magazines for the pistol in his pockets. Another magazine for an assault rifle was tucked into one of the pouches on his tactical vest. But Max didn't see any sign of the rifle that went along with it.

  A nearby hatch slid open, startling Max. She spun around and brought her weapon into the firing position, ready to take out whoever stepped through the portal. A wave of relief washed over her as a familiar face appeared.

  "Max!" Hannah shouted. The sound of gunshots had attracted Hannah attention. She had moved to the hatch and was watching the action on the display screen. It had been hard to tell who was fighting until Max stepped into full view of the camera.

  A wide smile curled on Max's lips as she ran to embrace the child. The two hugged in the hallway for a long moment, their eyes misting over.

  "Come on, let's get back into the stateroom.” She ushered Hannah inside and sealed the hatch behind them. "I'm so glad you're okay. You're not hurt, are you?"

  Hannah shook her head.

  "Where are your parents?"

  Hannah said nothing. Her eyes brimmed with tears that soon spilled down her cheeks.

  "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." Max hugged her tight again.

  "Have you been in this compartment the whole time?"

  Hannah shook her head. She told Max about her exploits in the air shaft, and how she came into possession of Dietrich's rifle. The weapon hung from a sling around her shoulder.

  "Are you sure you know how to use that thing?" Max asked.

  "Yep."

  "It's not toy.”

  "I used one just like this in Pursuit of Valor." It was a popular virtual-reality combat simulation. The most requested Christmas gift in the galaxy. You went through an entire tour of duty as a combat Space Marine, fighting various campaigns across the galaxy. It was almost indistinguishable from real life, except it didn't hurt when you got shot, and your character could re-spawn—neither of which were true in this scenario.

  Max heard Felix’s familiar meow. Her eyes lit up with joy. She rushed to scoop the blue cat from the deck. She cuddled him in her arms, kissing his furry cheeks. "There you are. I've been worried sick about you!”

  Felix meowed.

  “I take it he’s your cat.”

  Max nodded. "Where did you find him?”

  “He was roaming the halls, lost. So, I brought him in here.”

  Felix had enough of the cuddling and jumped down to the deck, then climbed onto the bed. He found a fluffy pillow and curled up.

  "I see he's made himself at home"

  “He thinks he owns the place."

  Max grinned. Felix thought he owned the entire universe. "Listen, I want you to stay here. Keep the door locked and don't open it for anyone."

  "They can bypass the locking mechanisms."

  "You're probably safer back in the air vent."

  "I feel pretty safe with this," she said, holding up the assault rifle. "Anybody comes through that hatch, they're going to get it.” She had a sassy, no nonsense tone.

  Max didn't doubt her ability one bit.

  "What are you going to do?" Hannah asked.

  "I'm going to try to put a stop to this madness."

  26

  Emily wheezed, the air barely able to pass through her lungs. She looked like she was about to turn blue in the face. Her mother, Sarah, was in hysterics. She stood up, holding Emily on her hip, and marched to the front of the cargo bay.

  The barrels of angry rifles immediately aimed at her. “Sit back down,” a goon shouted, “or you’re going to get a very unpleasant introduction to my rifle.”

  “My daughter can’t breathe. She needs her medication. She’s got asthma.”

  “Tough shit,” the goon said. He was a thick, burly guy with a long curly, reddish beard and trimmed hair.

  “She’s dying.”

  “People die all the time, lady.”

  Tears streamed down Sarah’s cheeks. “I’m begging you, please.” She hesitated a moment. “I’ll do anything you want, just let me get her medication from our stateroom.”

  There was a slight crack in the goon’s tough guy façade. He glanced down to Emily’s adorable face and watched her struggle for breath. You’d have to be a complete monster to ignore the little girl’s dire situation.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  The goon tapped his earbud. “Yeah, it’s CJ. Listen, I got a passenger here that needs to get medication for her kid.”

  Tobias’s voice crackled back into his earbud. “And how is that my problem?”

  “I’m looking at the kid. She’s blue in the face. She’s going to die if she doesn’t get her inhaler.”

  Tobias sighed. “Fine. Take her to get the inhaler and bring her right back.”

  CJ nodded to Sarah. “Looks like it’s your lucky day.” He marched her over to one of the other guards standing by the main hatch. He relayed the information to Krenshaw. “Make sure she gets back here in the same condition in which she left.” He didn’t want Krenshaw getting any funny ideas about taking advantage of Sarah. For some reason, he felt sorry for her, though he tried his best not to show it. When he signed on for this job, it was about the money. It wasn’t about killing, or harming, civilians.

  “Sure thing,” Krenshaw said.

  CJ wasn’t entirely convinced. “I mean it.”

  “Right. Sure thing.” Krenshaw paused a moment. “You know, Drake and Tito never came back.”

  CJ’s eyes narrowed at him.

  “Yeah, they took a group of prisoners to the restroom and never came back.”

  CJ grimaced. “I’ll go look for them.”

  Krenshaw ushered Sarah and Emily into the corridor. He had long, dark hair and a manicured goatee. He had thick, dark lashes that almost looked like he had liner on them. He gave off a swashbuckling vibe, with a distant look in his eyes, like he was contemplating the nature of the universe.

  Sarah trembled with fear, and her wide eyes darted about as he marched them through the labyrinth passageways toward their stateroom. There was no telling what this man was capable of, or what his intentions were.

  Sarah carried Emily on her hip, clinging onto her for dear life. The child was wheezing terribly. Sarah tried to reassure her. "It's going to be okay, baby. We’re going to get your medicine.”

  Krenshaw's cautious eyes glanced around as they reached the stateroom. He commanded Sarah to step away from the hatch. "Step back and face the bulkhead. Don't move, or I will shoot you.”

  He kept his weapon trained on them with one hand while he opened the hatch with the other, not sure what to expect on the other side.

  The hatch slid open and Krenshaw aimed his weapon in the compartment. He didn't have a way to clear the area without leaving Sarah. This should have been a two-person job. But from the entrance, the compartment looked empty.

  He stepped back
and commanded Sarah to enter. He followed behind her, the gun pointed at the small of her back.

  Sarah set Emily on one of the double beds while she fumbled through an overnight bag on the counter in the head. She returned momentarily with the device. Her trembling hands held the inhaler to Emily's mouth. She pressed the actuator and Emily inhaled deeply. The girl held the vapor inside for a few moments, then exhaled.

  "All right, let's go!" Krenshaw demanded.

  "Just a minute. She needs another dose, and they need to be administered one minute apart.”

  Sarah gave Emily a second hit on the inhaler. This time Emily took a deeper breath. The color was already starting to come back to her face.

  “How do you feel?"

  Emily nodded that she was okay.

  Let's get moving," Krenshaw said. He motioned with the barrel of his gun, waving them toward the hatch.

  Sarah picked up Emily and carried her out of the compartment.

  Krenshaw followed behind them. As he stepped into the corridor the butt of a rifle smacked his cheek, opening up a bloody gash on his cheek that cut down to the bone. The impact wrenched his head aside. He was practically seeing stars. It took him a moment to comprehend what had happened. He turned his glance to see who it was that had attacked him. A puzzled look twisted on his face.

  27

  Krenshaw made a terrible decision. He brought his weapon up to blast Dale, but the old Marine had gotten the jump on him. Dale squeezed the trigger and peppered Krenshaw with a hail of bullets. His body twisted and jerked as the copper rounds pelted his torso, sending him crashing to the deck. Blood pulsed from the wounds, seeping onto the metal grating.

  Sarah watched in horror, shielding Emily’s eyes from the sight.

  Smoke wafted from the barrel of Dale’s rifle. He hovered over Krenshaw’s body and kicked the goon’s rifle aside. Krenshaw wasn’t coming back from the dead, but why take chances?

  Dale scooped up the weapon and slung it over his left shoulder. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “I’ve got a group of passengers that are hiding in one of the staterooms. I can take you there, if you’d like.”

  Sarah nodded again. “Thank you.”

  “Drop the weapon, old man!” CJ said. He had emerged from around the corner and gotten the drop on Dale.

  The old Marine grimaced. How could he be so careless as to let someone creep up behind him?

  “Drop the weapon, or I’ll drop you,” CJ growled.

  “What did you say? I’m a little hard of hearing.”

  “Cut the shit!”

  “Alright.” Dale carefully set his weapon on the deck and lifted his hands in the air.

  CJ glared at Sarah, then he nudged Dale in his back with the barrel of the rifle. “Okay, both of you, move it!”

  He marched them back toward the cargo bay. “You’re in a lot of trouble, old man.”

  “That ain’t nothing new. I’ve been getting in trouble my whole life.”

  “I assume it was you that killed Tito and Drake?”

  “I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a feeble old man.”

  CJ rolled his eyes.

  “Maybe if you boys were earning a respectable living, maybe people wouldn’t get hurt?”

  CJ marched them down the corridor and into a stairwell. Dale held up at the edge of the steps. "I don't do well with stairs. Bad knees."

  "How'd you get up here?" CJ asked, incredulous.

  "I took an elevator."

  CJ looked at him with skeptical eyes. "Bullshit. You’ve got an exo-brace. Stairs shouldn't be a problem for you.”

  ”I’m likely to fall and break my neck."

  "That doesn't sound like such a bad thing to me," CJ grumbled.

  "Fine." Dale sighed. He stood at the top step, peering down the staircase. He hovered there for a long moment—an uncomfortably long moment.

  CJ grew frustrated. "Move, or I'm going to push you down." He made the mistake of nudging Dale in the back with the barrel of his rifle.

  Dale spun around with lightning speed, gripping the barrel with one hand, pushing it aside.

  The weapon discharged.

  Blinding muzzle flash emanated from the barrel. A flurry of bullets snapped past Dale’s ear, splitting his eardrum. He didn't hear too well out of that ear anyway.

  The two struggled over the weapon.

  Sarah darted away with Emily.

  Dale kicked CJ in the shin. The metal rim of his exo-brace slammed into the terrorist’s bone, sending a jolt of pain through his leg. It dropped him down to one knee.

  Dale took the opportunity to plant his knee in CJ’s face, splattering his nose. His head snapped back and blood spewed everywhere. A red river trickled down his face, soaking into his curly beard.

  Dale stripped the weapon and spun it around. Before he could get a shot off, CJ managed to sweep Dale’s feet from under him.

  Dale tumbled backwards down the steps.

  He slammed the hard metal ledges of the stairs, his exo-brace clanking all the way down. The old Marine flopped and tumbled awkwardly, appendages flailing in all directions.

  He slammed into the bulkhead near the bottom landing, looking like a broken rag doll. He didn't move. The rifle had clattered away, landing farther down the steps.

  CJ staggered to his feet and wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve. He hobbled down the stairs, still wincing with pain. A gash had opened up across his shinbone and was trickling blood down to his socks. If the old man wasn't dead already, CJ was going to make sure he finished the job

  Somehow, Dale managed to stagger to his feet. The exo-brace had offered a degree of protection, but his back still hurt like hell.

  CJ lunged for him as he reached the bottom of the landing. He grabbed Dale and slammed him against the bulkhead. But the feisty Marine broke free of CJ's grasp. Dale planted an elbow in CJ's face, knocking him back a few steps.

  CJ fell back against the stairs, then sprang to his feet, but Dale pummeled him with an uppercut. His fist cracked the underside of CJ's jaw, smacking the goon’s teeth together, probably chipping a tooth.

  CJ stepped back dazed.

  He shook it off and threw a hard right. His heavy fist whooshed past Dale's nose. The Marine blocked with his forearm, pushing the the strike aside. He grabbed CJ's wrist with one hand and wrenched his elbow around with the other, bringing CJ’s arm into an unnatural, and painful, position.

  Dale was able to control CJ and take him down to the ground, bending his wrist past the point of pain. The snap, crackle, and pop of bones breaking filled the stairwell as Dale snapped CJ's arm.

  The terrorist screamed in agony.

  Dale planted a swift kick in CJ's rib cage. The hard exo-brace cracking two ribs.

  CJ gasped for breath.

  Dale reared his leg back and kicked CJ in the head He heard another crackle of bones. Dale wasn't entirely sure, but the angle at which CJ's head was resting was a solid indicator the goon’s neck had been snapped.

  Dale moved down the stairwell, past the body, grabbing the assault rifle. He moved back to the landing, keeping the weapon pointed at CJ. He hadn't moved, and there was no motion in his chest.

  The old Marine felt accomplished. A sly grin tugged on his lips.

  He climbed the stairs and stepped into the hallway, looking for Sarah and Emily. He saw them at the end of the corridor. “Are you two okay?”

  Sarah nodded. The whole event was going to take years of counseling for her and Emily to get over. But at least they were still alive. For now.

  Dale stepped back into the stairwell and made his way to the lower landing. He reached down and grabbed a few extra magazines from CJ's tactical vest. He stuffed them in his pockets.

  Sarah and Emily rejoined him.

  ”I’ll take you to the others. You’ll be safe there."

  Sarah nodded.

  28

  Max found a service hatch that led to a catwalk
above the cargo hold. It crisscrossed the cavernous space, 3 stories above the deck. It was a grated metal walkway with handrails. A stanchion every 10 feet supported the railings, which were roughly 3 feet above the walk. There was plenty of room to fall between the railings. It was not for the faint of heart.

  The catwalk was dark. One could move about with little fear of being seen from below. The lighting for the compartment hung on a grid below the walkway, and the catwalk provided access to the rigging.

  Max crept onto the walkway, getting a birds-eye-view of the area. She knelt down, the grated metal carving into her kneecap. She counted the number of guards. She could easily snipe several of them from this vantage point, but there were far too many take out herself. Chaos would ensue after the first gunshot, and she'd be risking innocent lives.

  She scanned the decks, looking for Winston and Dylan. Her eyes eventually fell on the FCIS agent, but the robot was nowhere to be found. She had a sinking feeling in her gut, fearing the worst. It wouldn't have been unlike the neurotic robot to mouth off and get himself turned into spare parts, she thought.

  Max was so preoccupied with the deck below that she didn't notice a figure emerge from the shadows behind her. The barrel of a rifle pressed against her temple got her attention.

  "I wouldn't make any sudden movements if I were you," the cyborg said.

  Max grimaced.

  "Put the weapon down and slide it toward me."

  Max reluctantly complied. The rifle clattered as it slid down the crosswalk. Surge kicked it out of Max’s reach.

  "Now the pistol. Slowly," Surge commanded.

  Max delicately grabbed the weapon between her thumb and index finger and tossed it aside.

  “Good girl," Surge said in a condescending tone. "Now, stand up slowly, keep your hands in the air.”

  Max glared at her as she rose to her feet.

  Surge’s titanium arm glistened from the light below. "Turn around!”

  Max spun around putting her back to the cyborg. She hated putting her back to an enemy.