Fires of Prometheus

by Michael G. Thomas

  Rivers agreed and without waiting Spartan moved off, the carbine lifted to his shoulder and ready to shoot. The two men with pistols followed along with the other three men and General Rivers brought up the rear. The corridor was plain, though a number of unusual markings were placed every few metres on the walls and coloured lights ran along the floor. Spartan stopped, raising his hand. General Rivers and the ex-soldier dropped down to the floor. The other four quickly copied them, sensing danger but unsure as to what they should do. Further down the corridor great noises came, it sounded like men shouting and it was becoming louder. From around the corner at the end, near to where the expected soldiers’ room was, four soldiers appeared. Rather than checking first they rushed into the corridor and started running towards the room with the prisoners, therefore directly towards Spartan’s group.

  “Now!” shouted Spartan.

  Aiming low he pulled the trigger and immediately felt the continuous shake of the weapon on his shoulder. The smaller calibre recoil was modest and he was able to release a thirty round burst that struck the first three soldiers with unnerving accuracy. The ex-soldier aimed carefully and squeezed off three rounds, the first hit the weapon of the first approaching guard but the second two struck the same man in the chest. It was a short but violent burst of fire and in seconds the three guards were down and groaning in pain. Spartan moved forward, still keeping his carbine tucked into his shoulder and aimed ahead, ready for any potential threat. The fourth man had ducked back and inside the room but in his haste had not shut the door.

  Without hesitating Spartan ran inside to find the soldier pulling a weapon from the rack on the wall. The room was small and contained bunks for six people, no more. Spartan rushed towards him, firing his carbine until it ran out of ammunition. The solider staggered back under the weight of the bullets but was still standing when Spartan reached him. Lifting his weapon he slammed the butt of the gun hard into the man’s stomach, forcing him to double over. Lifting the weapon he brought it down like a club onto the back of his head. Looking around there were a number of thermal shotguns on the weapons rack as well as two lockers of ammunition and a large amount of clothing and armour. He moved forward only to be interrupted by pistol fire. He half expected more guards to enter the room but instead General Rivers and two of the prisoners came in.

  “The corridor is clear for now. What have you got?”

  Spartan looked at the General and grinned, “Guns, ammunition and even better...”

  He picked a piece of hardened black material from the wall and pulled it over his chest.

  “Riot armour!” answered General Rivers with a matching grin.

  The armour looked like something you might use for sport. It featured a simple padded muscle chest plate with matching shoulder pads and upper arm protection. Spartan pulled two straps, instantly tightening the fit around his body.

  “They’ve got eight sets in here, more than enough for everyone!” Spartan pulled more from the racks.

  “Put it on, guys, it’ll keep you alive longer.”

  Spartan moved to the weapons rack and checked the shotguns. They were standard police issue but he was surprised to see the Kerberon Police stamps on some of them. He thought of mentioning it to the General but decided against it. Right now they had more pressing problems than where the weapons came from. They needed to fight their way to safety. Whether that was on this vessel or off somewhere else he didn’t know.

  “Here, take this one, you get seven shots before you need to reload,” He tossed the first shotgun to the closest of the prisoners.

  As the man examined the weapon Spartan pulled more of the guns down and loaded them ready for action. Although they were shotguns they still used conventional box magazines for the ammunition. He was surprised to find such a variety of ammunition types, including the full power thermal charges that were reserved for use by Special Forces or armoured tactical units. He grabbed a shotgun and three clips, throwing his carbine over to the soldier who looked amazingly happy to get his hands on a conventional firearm. With the group all armed Spartan looked over their small party. Each man wore the riot armour and carried a mixture of carbines, pistols and shotguns. It wasn’t ideal but they were at the very least armed and equipped to a level that they could protect themselves.

  “Follow me,” said General Rivers, who then moved out into the corridor and proceeded to move along slowly. Spartan was next, his shotgun low and pointed forward, the rest followed, each of them checking behind, nervously expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

  “Plan, Sir?”

  “No plan, just keep moving forward till we have options.”

  Spartan carried on, happy with the options so far. As they reached the end of the corridor it veered off at a right angle to the right and then back to the left into what appeared to be a large open space. From their position in the corridor it wasn’t entirely clear what the room was for, but their only option was to keep going towards it. Rivers moved his finger to his mouth and then moved quietly forward. He turned to the right and then left into the room. As he disappeared Spartan followed immediately behind. As Spartan emerged into the room he stopped in his tracks. Out in front it expanded into a space the size of a sports hall. Lines of cylinders in long rows ran the full length of the area. The cylinders contained a light blue fluid and from where they stood they could see dark, humanoid shapes inside each one.

  “What the hell is this place?” asked General Rivers.

  Spartan turned his head, he had no idea but then he spotted movement. It was the men who were questioning him before the breakout. They were standing around a panel at the far end of the room and furiously talking to someone. As Spartan watched them one saw him and called out.

  “Go!” shouted Spartan and he ran in the direction of the men.

  Two metal doors slid upwards and in rushed more men, some armed and a few in armour. As Spartan ran a round whistled past his head and he instinctively dropped to his knees and slid along the floor. He crashed down alongside one of the cylinders and without pausing lifted his shotgun and aimed at the newly arrived men. Two of them were clearly members of the crew as they wore overalls and carried well-worn carbines. With a single shot Spartan blasted the closest with a thermal shell. The power of the weapon was devastating and burnt its way through the man’s chest and shoulder. He dropped down screaming in pain, he had only seconds left to live. More shots blasted through the hall as the prisoners scattered. Only the ex-soldier had the training and instincts to take cover and return fire. His short bursts on the carbine confirmed to Spartan that he had told the truth about being in the Army. Though Spartan was now pinned down by pistol fire he watched with satisfaction as two men tried to rush the soldier only to be cut down in a long accurate burst that struck both of the men in the face.

  “Nice,” whispered Spartan to himself as he readied to do the same.

  He was about to move when a loud clunk came from the cylinder he was hiding next to. With a hiss a great torrent of lukewarm liquid rushed out onto the floor and all over him. As he wiped it from his face he spotted the dark shape of whatever was inside the container. For just a second he thought it was one of the prisoners then he recognised the large, terrible form of biomechanical shock troopers he’ d last seen on the surface of Proxima.

  “Oh, shit!” he shouted as the thing lunged at him, slamming a moistened and dripping fist in his direction. Only Spartan’s close combat experience and training could have prepared him for the speed of the attack and he avoided the first blow by just a few centimetres.

  He rolled over to his side as the fighting continued on around him. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the prisoners take multiple hits from a carbine, each of the rounds opening up a bright red patch where it struck. He was unable to help though as he jumped to his feet saw the great beast in front of him. Unlike those he had fought on the colony of Avagana on Prime, this one was unprepared for military operations. It was completely naked and pa
le from its time inside the cylinder, for the first time he was able to see the grotesque and mutated form of the thing. At first glance it looked like something children might describe as an ogre or troll. It stood over two metres tall and its torso was wider and thicker than any man’s. All of its muscles bulged with pent up power and its face was contorted and twisted into that of a brute. The neck was thickened and the mouth harder and predatory in look.

  “Kill him!” One of the men near the computer displays shouted to the creature.

  Spartan reached for his shotgun but the monster stamped down hard, its weight easily damaging the weapon and moving it beyond reach. Spartan looked about only to see more of the cylinders venting fluid onto the floor. General Rivers and the soldier were behind cover and still engaged in a shootout with the rest of the enemy forces. The other three ex-prisoners cowered in cover, occasionally returning fire but adding little to the battle either way. General Rivers spotted Spartan’s predicament and fired a single thermal shell at the creature before being forced back into cover by a fusillade of shots.

  Unlike the impact against the crewman the thermal shotgun was only able to cause superficial damage to the creature and seemed to enrage it even more. He jumped forward and delivered a series of powerful punches that slammed into the creature’s ribs. Each strike felt like Spartan was hitting a punch bag yet there appeared to be little effect. He changed tack and swung his fist up into an uppercut that hit the thing in the jaw. It was like punching metal and the impact must have broken several bones in his fingers as he winced in pain.

  “My turn!” the creature roared in a barely understandable growl.

  Spartan was so surprised to hear it speak that he failed to duck against the slow but powerful strike. The first hit Spartan in the chest and knocked him backwards several metres before he slumped to the ground. He felt as though his heart had stopped, the power was immense and it was incredible that the blow hadn’t smashed clean through his sternum. Spartan was no weakling however and though still in pain lifted himself up, moving back to fight. The gunfire had stopped but he was unable to take his attention away from the monster. It staggered towards him, swinging its arms to catch him. This time Spartan was ready and as the strikes came in he ducked and swerved to avoid them, hitting it in the face and throat as he desperately looked for any kind of weakness.

  The creature roared in anger as it missed Spartan time and time again. This time it waited and as Spartan struck it lifted its massive hands and blocked the attack, grabbing Spartan and locking his arm. It was a contest of muscle now and though Spartan was probably the toughest marine in the entire Corps he was nothing compared to this beast. He tensed his muscles, desperately trying to avoid having his arm snapped back. As this grudge match continued the creature pushed its other arm against Spartan’s throat and pushed hard. The combined pressure on his arm and neck was devastating yet still Spartan refused to give in.

  “Spartan, the knife!” General Rivers shouted from somewhere in the background.

  A flurry of gunshots immediately followed and then silence, just the noise of the two titans battling it out in a simple struggle of brawn. Spartan tried to remember about the knife, then recalled taking one from the room when the others took the guns. He lowered his still free left arm and felt for the knife. It was in his belt as expected, he grabbed the hilt just as his vision started to blur. Dots and speckles danced around his eyes and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would lose consciousness.

  “Die!” he cried out as he used every last ounce of strength to push the arm back to give him access to the creature’s face. With a single powerful thrust he stabbed upwards and into its throat and up into the brain. As soon as the blade embedded itself he felt a shudder through the creature. Its grip on Spartan loosened and he struggled free only to fall backwards onto the floor. He shook his head to see the monster falling down towards his face.

  “Oh fuck!” he cried and rolled over to his right, narrowly avoiding the weighty bulk of the creature as it collapsed in a dead heap next to him. Spartan was surprised that he had actually brought down one of the monsters using just a knife and his bare hands. Then he noticed the complete lack of gunfire and could only hope it meant they had cleared the room. He stood up and looked around the open space only to find the soldier, General Rivers and one of the prisoners all with their hands on their heads and guarded by security guards. Spartan made to move towards them when he sensed something to his left. He turned to spot the great bulk of three more of the biomechanical creatures.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  With a roar the three rushed towards him and though he lifted his hands to protect his face the last thing he saw was what looked like a fleshy freight train smashing towards him. He was unconscious before his body even touched the floor.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The datapad and associated hardware was the brainchild of the Fairwater Corporation. Though not the more advanced hardware, it did become successful upon its introduction to the Confed military as the front end to strategic and tactical systems. The civilian models sold well due to their military credentials and though the innards constantly improved the outside appearance and functionality remained the same. The reasons for its lack of change ultimately became its reason for widespread acceptance.

  Computer Science 101, 7th Edition

  Teresa held her breath, her heart pounding away as she watched the burnt out wreckage of a freighter drift inch by inch past her window. According to the ship’s computers this part of the debris field was supposed to be clear, but with no power being sent to the manoeuvring thrusters they had to wait and pray the ship didn’t get too close. Sitting next to her were her fellow marines, Anderson and Bishop who waited in silence, each of them thinking the same as the hulks of metal followed their course. There was always the faint possibility that their calculations were wrong in some way and it was for this nightmare scenario that Commander Anderson had his hand waiting on the emergency thrust button. It would take several seconds to warm up and the boost of power would draw attention to any vessels within a day’s travel. They had already been tempted to use thrust to move out of danger but that would potentially negate their mission and expose them to even more danger. They had to be patient, it was going to take an hour to slip through the debris field but it was worth it. By taking this route they had avoided the automated customs drones that patrolled the shipping lanes leading to the inner planets of Proxima.

  Kowalski leaned forward. He was the resident computer and electronics expert. Thin and wiry he gave the impression of being nothing but a tech nerd. However, in their recent combat actions on the Rim had shown he could handle himself in a situation, even though he was obviously more comfortable with a computer than a rifle.

  “You okay, Teresa?”

  “Yeah, just thinking about Spartan and the others.”

  “Don’t you worry about them, Marcus and Spartan are a pair of tough bastards and General Rivers, well, you know his reputation.”

  Teresa did her best to smile back but it wasn’t easy to hide her feelings. It felt as though her guts had been ripped out. A friendly chat or joke would do little to hide the fact that Spartan had been gone for more than two months and there were no guarantees they would ever see him again. He wasn’t just her friend, they were much closer than that and if it hadn’t been for the uprising on Prime and the Naval Station on the moon of Kronus they would be together right now. The more she thought of the fighting the more she started to really hate the Zealots and their self-righteous dogma that had started all the trouble in the first place.

  Commander Anderson was watching the craft slip past.

  “Look, can you see the markings on the side of the wreckage? That’s from an old Navy cutter, you can see part of the registration mark near the burn marks.”

  “How did we lose a cutter out here?”

  “Good question, Bishop, I haven’t heard of any losses in the last few weeks. She must
have been lost in counter piracy operations before the start of the uprising.”

  They watched the wreckage, each looking for any signs that might indicate what had caused the vessel’s demise. It was like looking at a dead animal, both disturbing and also surprisingly interesting. Behind and around the craft a large amount of broken metal and debris drifted with it. As they passed through the material the tiny pieces sounded like rain on the roof of a house.

  Kowalski looked over to the Commander.

  “If any of that crap makes it inside the engine inlets or any of the moving parts out there you know we’ll be in a world of pain, Sir?” He added the ‘sir’ as an afterthought.

  “You’d better hope nothing gets inside then.” Anderson examined the outside of their ship with the external camera mounts.

  The crew was an odd little bunch. Anderson, the XO of a major capital ship had been given the use of the Tamarisk, along with the small crew, to investigate a gathering of insurgents out on the Rim. The mission had been partially successful but the information they had uncovered reached Kerberos too late to stop the coup and assassination of the President of the colony and his staff. Of that mission the four surviving marines Bishop, Teresa, Barca and Kowalski were still with him after he had requested they be assigned to his latest mission. Sadly one of the marines, a tough, burly man called Williams had been killed during their escape from the Rim. The only other member of their crew had been the Kerberon, Special Agent Johnson. He’d returned to his unit on Kerberos, though Anderson suspected that was on the orders of Naval Intelligence. The small group had bonded well since being thrown together for their first mission. Now that their new mission had been deemed critical by the Admiral of the Fleet they had an extra incentive to get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible. It was well over a month since they’d returned after their violent escape from the Rim and their voyage home to rejoin the Fleet. The return journey itself had proven almost as epic an undertaking as the mission itself. Since their arrival back on their home ship, the CCS Santa Cruz, Teresa and the rest of the team hadn’t wasted a single minute while trying to discover the location of Spartan.