“I know that man,” mumbled Pettigrew.
Nyondo’s voice was a toxic blend of sorrow and rage. “That was Petty Officer Berkey. He was with us for a while on Tempest. He was a good man.”
Pettigrew struggled to stay professional, trying not to get caught up in the horror of what he had just witnessed. The grieving could wait, but the retribution had to be served up immediately or they risked losing the ship.
“Admiral,” said Denning from the small-screen. “I am ordering Lieutenant Gotay to dispatch half of his Marine detachment to secure your stateroom.”
“Hold on that, XO,” Pettigrew replied quickly. “Think back to your training. Your highest priority here is to secure the bridge and engineering. Have your MARDET coordinate with the commander of the quarterdeck watch. Security teams to the armories and then to their stations, just like we drill. Got it, Commander?”
“Aye, sir—got it,” replied Denning, trying to take hold of himself. Captain Porter had picked a fine time to be down on the planet, thought Pettigrew, and he bet Denning was thinking exactly the same thing.
Nyondo moved close behind Pettigrew, leaning in over his shoulder to speak with Denning. “XO, is there any power armor on board?”
“Negative, ma’am. The best we can muster are plasma pistols, rifles, and stun batons.”
“Just thought I’d ask,” Nyondo half-smiled, trying to encourage the man. “XO, contact the nearest troop carrier and have them shuttle over reinforcements—heavy stuff, understand?”
Denning was about to acknowledge when the screen cut out, and this time it did not return.
Nyondo blew out an anxious breath. “Plasma guns aren’t going to cut it against those battle suits.”
“No shit—Captain, ma’am,” Mullenhoff said as she stood and moved to the doorway. “How far are we from the aft armory?”
“Approximately twenty meters,” offered Daemon. “Seventeen point nine-eight from doorway to doorway, to be exact.”
“They’re on the move!” alerted Aoki.
Pettigrew looked at the ominous figures on the wall screen. “How many, Lieutenant?”
“I count nine, sir,” said Aoki, splitting her attention between the datapad in her lap and the screen on the bulkhead. “Could be more still in the shuttle.”
“I doubt that,” Pettigrew said grimly. “A Massang ground squad is made up of nine soldiers. By the way, Uschi, I keep a plasma pistol in that drawer to your left.”
“From now on, stash away a grenade launcher somewhere handy,” joked Mullenhoff as she retrieved the pistol. “Wouldn’t the Massang leave someone behind to secure the shuttle?”
“Not if they weren’t going to need it anymore,” Nyondo answered. “They’re on a suicide mission, aren’t they?”
“I think so,” admitted Pettigrew.
Internal cameras followed the intruders as they progressed along Crossbow’s passageways. Three unfortunate crewmembers turned the wrong corner at the wrong time and paid with their lives. Two of the armored Massang broke from the group, one of them ripping a wall panel cover away while the other one stood watch. The other seven continued on down the passageway.
“Those two are going to try hacking into the ship’s computer,” predicted Daemon.
“The others are moving aft, not forward,” observed the restless Mullenhoff. “To engineering?”
“Negative,” declared Daemon, tapping away at his personal device. “I am currently linked with the ship’s computer, as is the enemy. In fact, I estimate that our camera feeds should be terminating—”
The wall screen fell dark.
“About now.”
There was a rumble from the passageway outside Pettigrew’s stateroom.
Mullenhoff tapped a clenched fist lightly onto the wall and muttered something softly to herself. Pettigrew thought it sounded like the word, “Idiot.”
“Admiral, the emergency bulkhead doors just dropped,” reported Aoki, still tied to the situation via her pad.
Mullenhoff had a disgusted look on her face. “That idiot Denning must have ordered the doors shut to try and slow the Massang down.”
“Damn it!” Pettigrew shouted. “Now we’re all trapped. We have forty Marines plus our security teams, but now none of them can even get to the enemy.”
“It could be that Denning is trying to delay the Massang until heavy reinforcements arrive,” offered Nyondo.
“Problem is, it’s not going to slow them much,” grumbled Mullenhoff. “Those armor suits have blasters, you know.” A distant explosion suddenly rattled the stateroom.
“And explosives,” Mullenhoff continued. “They will chew through those bulkhead doors pretty quickly, and as they do, the structural integrity of this ship will turn to crap.”
“I do not believe the order to drop the containment doors came from the bridge,” interrupted Daemon as he swiveled to face Pettigrew. “The Massang have hacked the ship network. The order came from them. They are also trying to gain control of the environmental controls.”
“Not good,” said Nyondo nervously under her breath.
“Why drop the bulkhead doors?” Pettigrew wondered aloud. “The environmental controls I get, but it would seem to me that closing the emergency containment doors actually works against the Massang. Daemon, can you tell what they’re up to? What’s their objective?”
“I believe the objective is you, Admiral,” said the Lytori ominously. “There are repeated queries from the Massang requesting your location. As for their destination, they are not headed to engineering—they are coming here. My guess is that their mission is to terminate you, Admiral.”
The women looked at Daemon, then at Pettigrew.
“Admiral, we need to get you out of here,” said Nyondo.
Pettigrew nodded. “We all need to move.”
“The ship tracks the location of everyone on board by their biometrics,” pointed out Mullenhoff. “Our heartbeats, the shape of our bodies, even the distinctive gait of our walk. If the enemy has access to the ship’s computer, leaving this stateroom may delay them, but they will still be tracking you.”
“They’ve stopped moving,” said Aoki. “They seem to be confused.”
“They are—for the time being,” said Daemon. “Like our enemy, I have also infiltrated the ship’s computer and have re-written the parameters of identification for the Admiral. The computer is currently identifying every human on board as Chaz Pettigrew. It will slow them down for a time, but they will find a way around my ruse shortly.”
Standing behind him, Nyondo put her hands on Pettigrew’s shoulders and squeezed. “We need to go—now.”
“Agreed,” he said standing up. “Let’s try getting to the aft armory. Is it before or after the first set of blast doors we would come to?”
Mullenhoff shrugged and no one else answered either.
“OK, guess there’s only one way to find out.”
Daemon stood on both his back and middle legs. The Lytori could walk comfortably on just their hind legs, but if any agility was required, four limbs were better than two.
“With your permission, Admiral, I have something else I would like to try,” said the android captain. “But I need to locate an engineering access port. I believe you call them Wayman panels.”
Mullenhoff moved closer to the door, taking the point as they moved into the passageway. “Wayman’s are located every thirty meters or so along the main passageways. There should be one close by, down here to the right.”
“I will also need the assistance of a Sarissan engineer,” Daemon said.
Mullenhoff handed the plasma pistol to Pettigrew. “Captain Daemon, follow me,” she said just before sticking her head into the passageway.
As Mullenhoff and the Lytori disappeared to the right, Pettigrew, Nyondo, and Aoki hurried out of the stateroom to the left. Carefully prowling along the corridor, it wasn’t long before they came to the first blast door, which for some reason either hadn’t closed with the others
or had been reopened in the last few minutes.
“Clear as far as I can see,” said Aoki, peeking around a corner. “Things are getting a little murky on Crossbow’s net,” she said waving her datapad in the air.
“No wonder, as many intruders as are moving around in there,” growled Pettigrew. “C’mon. The armory should be just down here to the left.” He hoped. Crossbow was a brand-new cruiser class and there were always layout changes with each fresh design.
The trio could hear blaster fire now somewhere close as something jostled the ship once again.
“I’ve located the armory. It’s just beyond the next blast door,” said Aoki, one eye on her pad as they crept along.
“Of course,” sighed Nyondo. “Couldn’t be on this side.”
Pettigrew hoped they would all have the luxury of looking back someday and laughing at the absurdity of this moment. The three of them skulking down the passageway was absurd, considering they would almost certainly hear Massang soldiers wearing power armor approaching from some distance away. And then there was the plasma gun he held in his hand, fingers wrapped around it so tightly. The pistol would have little effect on an armor clad Massang warrior. If he was lucky, he might nick up the paint a bit, but not much beyond that.
As they cautiously rounded another bend in the corridor, they discovered the next blast door down and locked tight. It seemed that their grand expedition was at an end.
“Next move, sir?” asked Nyondo.
“We should probably backtrack and find Mullenhoff and Daemon.”
“Quiet!” Lieutenant Aoki ordered her superiors, shushing them with her right hand. “That noise—it’s really close.”
The sound of blaster fire was coming from the other side of the emergency bulkhead door—which suddenly started to rise. The three of them were caught a good twenty meters from the nearest corner.
The door lifted rapidly, revealing two battle suited Massang. The nearest was standing with his back to them and his comrade was about six meters beyond, facing them. The bodies of two dead Marines lay on the deck as the smell of scorched flesh flooded the passageway.
With no cover and retreat a doubtful option, Denlora Aoki abruptly let out a war cry and charged straight into the back of the closest Massang. Pettigrew shoved Nyondo aside and stepped in front of her, raising his plasma pistol to fire. In launching herself at the nearest intruder, Aoki had gotten in the way of a clean shot, so Pettigrew fired at the distant Massang. Surprisingly, his plasma charge staggered the armored soldier. The enemy was still on his feet, but the round had been more effective than Pettigrew had anticipated.
Aoki bounced off the nearest battle suit and fell to the deck. As Pettigrew readied a second shot, this time at the closer target, Nyondo crawled toward one of the dead Marines in an attempt to reach his plasma rifle.
The nearer Massang started to turn around as his companion raised his blaster, pointing it in Pettigrew’s direction. As the closest Massang also began to lift his weapon, he abruptly lurched, staggering to his left. The distant enemy soldier had fired, but his blast struck his comrade instead of Pettigrew. The Massang spun as he was falling and returned fire against his comrade. The two battle suits exchanged blaster rounds as Pettigrew, Nyondo, and Aoki dove to the deck.
The smoke which filled the passageway was rapidly being ventilated by the ship’s environmental system. When the brief firefight was over, both enemy soldiers lay incapacitated. The nearest Massang seemed dead, while the one farthest away screamed from either anger or pain—probably both. He was also clawing to release himself from the confines of his inoperative battle suit.
Although large beings compared to humans or Lytori, the Massang were quick and nimble. The enemy soldier had thrown off his damaged gear in no time and was reaching for a nearby weapon when the first of three consecutive plasma charges slammed into him—two to his chest and the final one into his head.
Pettigrew looked to his comrades. Aoki was still on the deck, but seemed all right. Nyondo was lying face down a couple meters to his right. Turning his head, behind him stood Mullenhoff, Daemon, and two Marines, plasma rifles raised and waiting for any further movement from the two enemy soldiers. There was none.
“Sunny! Sunny, are you all right?” Pettigrew shouted as he crawled over to Nyondo.
Getting to his own feet, he helped her sit upright.
“I’m OK,” she answered as she rubbed her left hand over her right shoulder. “I just fell on my bad arm.”
“Is it busted again?”
“No—no, I’m fine. Could you help me up, please?”
As they rose, Pettigrew helped her stand and held onto her until he was sure she was steady on her feet. Seeing her moments ago as she was face down on the deck—for a split second he thought the worst. Now, as he assisted her to her feet, he didn’t want to let her go.
Assured that Nyondo was unharmed, Pettigrew turned to Mullenhoff and Daemon. “I assume you two had something to do with this.”
Mullenhoff pointed at the Lytori captain. “His handiwork, sir. Hacking the hackers.”
“Doors open both ways,” said Daemon, his plasticky face contorting into a Lytori smile. “Massang battle suits have their own internal computers. As the Massang accessed our ship’s computer, I accessed theirs.”
“And reprogramed them?” guessed Nyondo, still rubbing at her shoulder.
“The suits have an inventory of enemy equipment. I copied the specifications of their own armor and added it to that list. The Massang machines began to identify their own comrades as threats.”
“These two guys here must have been confused,” said Aoki as she gathered herself.
“As that Massang was targeting me, he suddenly saw two enemies, one of them in power armor,” said Pettigrew. “He must have fired on reflex.”
“He was probably helped along,” said Daemon. “There are autonomous elements built into the Massang battle suits. It could be that his suit fired on its own in self-defense before the action could be countermanded.”
Pettigrew shook his head in disbelief. “In the split-second it took this guy to understand the mistake, he was in a battle for his life—against a fellow Massang. That’s a really bizarre friendly-fire scenario.”
“We have reports from across the ship that most of the Massang either destroyed or incapacitated each other,” said Mullenhoff. “The ones that abandoned their suits have either been killed or captured by our people.”
“I want the survivors interrogated,” said Pettigrew as he looked down at the dead Massang soldiers. “Not that I have any doubt who ordered this.”
* * * *
“Twenty-three dead, only five wounded. Almost all of the wounded were executed on the spot by the enemy,” reported Aoki.
“Murdered,” said Nyondo in a bitter voice. The staff had gathered in Crossbow’s Briefing Room C for dinner and a quick evening meeting. It was less than twelve hours after the assault.
“They were murdered, not executed,” Nyondo darkly corrected her subordinate.
“Ah, yes, ma’am,” stammered the junior officer.
Pettigrew turned to the lieutenant. “Aoki, what happened with the Pontian freighter?”
“The vessel was intercepted and boarded by Lytori Void Marines. It was left abandoned and the computer had been purged.”
“The Lytori are going over the ship now, sir,” added Nyondo.
“What about our prisoners? How are the interrogations going?” Looking around the table, Pettigrew saw the kind of expressions commanding officers never liked to see. “Not well, I take it.”
“All of the prisoners are dead,” said Nyondo. “There were only four taken alive, but they all had some sort of subcutaneous implants that released a toxin into their bodies.”
“The leader of the Massang squad was a Vanguard officer named Zann,” reported Aoki.
A contrite Nyondo added, “He was the one that killed Petty Officer Berkey.”
Pettigrew was curious. �
�This officer, Zann—did he commit suicide or was he killed in action?”
“Suicide,” replied Nyondo.
“Good.”
Maybe it wasn’t an appropriate comment for a leader to make, but it was how he felt.
“Admiral, if they wanted to kill you, why not just blow up the ship?” asked Aoki.
“Warships are built to be tough, Lieutenant, even from the inside out. Anyone in a vac suit might survive an explosion. My guess is that this was an ‘eyes on the target’ mission. Harradoss wanted to make sure he got me.”
“He really has gone crazy, at least by human standards,” said Nyondo turning to him. “Harradoss offers you an olive branch, and then immediately orders your assassination. If he wanted you to back off and let his forces peacefully leave for the Otherverse, that wasn’t exactly the way to get on your good side.”
“The Massang know only intimidation,” offered Daemon as he entered the room, obviously overhearing Nyondo’s comment. “When the Admiral did not immediately accept the terms which Harradoss offered, the Massang leader moved on to the brand of diplomacy he knows best.”
“I’m beginning to think Harradoss just doesn’t like me,” Pettigrew said. “Have some dinner, Captain Daemon, if you are so inclined.”
“No, thank you, sir. I ate yesterday. Admiral Marius sends his condolences on Crossbow’s losses. Captain Sulla has also offered the services of Heshke as your flagship, should you need to transfer your flag.”
Pettigrew shot an inquiring glance at Mullenhoff.
“Start shopping, sir. I’ve spoken to both Captain Porter and Chief Engineer Boswell. With all the explosions and blaster damage today, it will take at least three weeks of work to get Crossbow battleworthy.”
“Three weeks,” repeated Pettigrew in disgust. “We may not have three days. Damn it, we need to know more about what’s happening over in Cor Caroli.”
“Our long-range sensors—” began Nyondo.
“Not long-range,” grimaced Pettigrew. “We need up close recon data. Sunny, was Kite damaged in this attack?”
Starhold's Fate Page 14
