Fires of Prometheus

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Here goes nothing!” cried Kowalski as he hit the release button.

  A low buzz travelled through the ship as the modified dampening field fitted by the Naval engineers powered up and then released its electronic screen. There was nothing to actually see but Tamarisk’s own sensors and diagnostic screen indicated a block to all data transmission and reception, as well as communication on anything other than hard wired data lines. Kowalski did a quick wide band check and immediately found attempts to transmit from the enemy craft.

  “Okay, they’re blocked, do your work!”

  Bishop triggered the unlock mechanism, clunks and shudders travelled through the great hulk of the ship. From the outside it looked simply like more of the cargo doors were opening. There was a good chance that the hostile vessels’ own crews would be more confused than anything else. With their systems jammed it could easily be solar disruption or equipment failure. It wouldn’t matter anyway. As soon as the weapons opened fire it would be clear what was happening.

  “Dragging out the guns!” Bishop shouted as he hit the ready button.

  In four of the containers sat pairs of 40mm flak guns. These ancient relics from the early Navy warships were the least advanced weaponry in the Fleet. In fact they would have been equally at home on board ocean-based shipping in the twentieth century. The only concession to later designs was that they were all equipped with auto-loading hardware and gyroscopic motorised mounts. Once the doors were fully open the pairs of guns moved forward two metres so that the barrels protruded from the containers like a series of radio masts. The barrels of each weapon were over a metre long and the ammunition boxes were packed with both armour-piercing and high explosive rounds, each selectable via the weapon control systems inside the ship.

  On the tactical display Bishop had two targeting patterns already loaded in. The guns in three of the four containers had a direct line of sight to the targets and in less than two seconds had pivoted into position and loaded armour-piercing rounds. The high explosives might do better against these kinds of lighter armed vessels but they wanted prisoners, not destruction.

  Commander Anderson watched over the unfolding drama and spotted the manoeuvring thrusters already adjusting on the tug. So far they still had the element of surprise. He took a deep breath.

  “Fire!”

  Bishop, on hearing the order hit the button for the firing pattern to commence. The vibration rippled through the ship as the large weapons opened fire. On the bridge of the Tamarisk Commander Anderson had a perfect view of the approaching vessel. It was positioned about a hundred metres off the port side and a dozen 40mm shells had already struck the engines and after section. Sparks and flashes scattered along the rear of the ship and at least one round must have struck a fuel or chemical tank as a blinding flash tore out a large chunk and split it in two.

  “Holy shit!” swore Bishop as he watched the screen.

  The guns fell silent on the flank only for the weapons to pivot around and join in with the other four guns already blazing away at the tug. Either the craft was extremely lucky or it was equipped with additional armour as after sustaining over a hundred rounds it was still intact and its engines were starting to light up.

  “Bishop!”

  “I’m on it, Sir!” Bishop ran his fingers over the control systems for the weapons. He made minor modifications and set one of the guns to fire a series of high explosive rounds. With a short burst of clattering fire another thirty shells ripped through the craft on its engines all along the hull. As sparks and flashes danced about on the screen he noticed a hatch opening on the underside of the craft. As he zoomed in the colour literally drained from his face.

  “That’s no tug, look!” he called as he sent the video feed to the other displays.

  Before any of them had anything to add a series of blue muzzle flashes appeared from the hatch. The internal alarms responded instantly as a dozen holes appeared in the hull of the Tamarisk. Both vessels continued to rake each other with fire as they stood off at short distance.

  “We’re taking damage throughout container four and the sleeping quarters have been breached,” said Kowalski as he checked the status of all sections of the ship. “I’ve lost control of half the guns, they must have cut through the control units after one of the first hatches.”

  Commander Anderson poured over the schematics of their ship before spotting the point Kowalski was referring to. It was a large armoured control unit mounted in the spine of the ship, deep behind armour and the protection of the containers.

  “What the hell? That’s where Teresa is.” He grabbed the intercom.

  A loud crash came from inside the ship and a series of flashes and sparks raced across the computer displays.

  “Commander, they are in two of the containers!” Teresa’s voice was cut off by the sound of gunfire.

  Another massive volley from the Tamarisk finally cut its way through the hull armour of the tug vessel and a small explosion must have cut her power as the ship went dark, its weapons either destroyed or offline. Either way, both of the enemy ships were drifting without power and they appeared defenceless.

  “Bishop, get down there and give them a hand, we can’t let them get inside, one thermal charge and we’re screwed!”

  “Yes, Sir!” There wasn’t a moment’s pause as Bishop tore off his harness and pulled down his helmet from the mount next to the display. Clicking it into place he pushed off and moved back towards the hatch leading down to the spine. He didn’t bother grabbing a weapon as he was already wearing a C9 automag in his thigh holster, a common black market weapon that was available at almost every station and platform in the Confederacy. He undid the seal and pulled open the hatch that led directly into the airlock section, the final divider between the crew and passenger section and the cargo and transport part of the ship. As the door closed behind him the hatch in front opened up to a blazing firefight between Barca and Teresa and a number of armoured men. He was forced to pull himself out of the way as a series of low velocity slugs pattered away at the door.

  “Get out of the way!” shouted Teresa who was busy blasting away from behind the pockmarked cover she had set up.

  He pulled himself up against the wall and looked along the corridor to the sight of five men, all in military issue body armour. It was the old specification carapace system that fifty years ago was the standard gear used by marines and soldiers in the armed forces. It was much thicker and more cumbersome than the PDS now used. In many ways it was better suited to large-scale ground warfare with its greater resilience to weapon fire and fragmentation. There were still some units being equipped to reserve units in the army, though the marines had phased out using them.

  Bishop pulled out his automag and flicked the catch to ready it for combat. Unlike most of the weapons now used it still used a manual bolt and firing pin system like twenty-first century weapons. Aiming carefully he pointing it at the two men who had just climbed out of the container hatch. The first looked back and quickly moved out of the way fire. Barca pushed himself up adjusting his position so that he could bring down fire onto the head of the nearest man. He pulled the trigger releasing a long burst of fire that was so fast it sounded like a zip being undone. It wasn’t as powerful as the military grade weapons they were used to, but the sheer weight of fire caught both men and knocked them back. As one struck the wall he lost his grip on his rifle and tumbled back into the open space in the corridor. The second man tried to hang on but ended up spinning around. Not wanting to miss the opportunity Teresa leaned out from her cover and took careful aim with the riot carbine. She pulled the secondary trigger and sent a blast of superheated thermal pellets. The whole group were struck by the blast though no major injuries or damage were caused. In the confusion of the blast she pulled the primary trigger and released a three round burst hitting the closest man’s hand. Additional bursts struck both men across their bodies and one in the head. In just a few seconds they were both dead. The other
three made a desperate rush to the rear of the vessel to try and escape from the gunfire.

  “They’re going for our power plant, put them down!” shouted Barca and he jumped in after them.

  “Barca, get back!” Teresa shouted as she fired more shots. Unfortunately because Barca had moved ahead he was now blocking the line of sight. One of the enemy had spotted this and turned back to fire a burst from his rifle. Most of the rounds clattered harmlessly into the thick skin of the ship but three managed to reach Barca, two hit the think armour on his arm but one found the glass visor and easily smashed inside, striking him in the face. His suit instantly depressurised and he drifted lifelessly where he fell.

  “Bastards!”

  Teresa slammed in another clip and emptied the entire set of rounds. Bishop moved forward and added his own fire as he pulled Barca’s unmoving body down to safety. Several of the incoming rounds struck Barca’s amour, giving Bishop the time and cover he needed to reload and fire a final burst until just one of the enemy remained. He was busy trying to connect a device to the panel at the end of the corridor. Bishop fired a single round above the man’s head.

  “Hey, your buddies are gone. Hands up or eat a bullet!”

  Teresa pulled herself along, holding her pistol out in front as she approached the man. As she moved closer she could see that he hadn’t brought a weapon on board, it was a computerised hacking unit designed to gain entry into their computer system and give them control over the ship. The man turned around and lifted his hands. As he released the unit it drifted away and clattered against the wall of the corridor.

  “We’re clear down here, and we have a prisoner, Sir.”

  “Good work, Teresa, any casualties?”

  Teresa looked back towards Bishop who was checking Barca. She could see that he wasn’t coming back though. The visor on the suits had limited protection against debris but against firearms it was almost unless.

  “Yes, Sir, Barca is dead, he was killed in the firefight.”

  There was a short pause.

  “How about the prisoner?”

  Teresa looked back at the man in the carapace armour. Through the thickened glass she could see the fear in his eyes.

  “Why are you on my ship?”

  “I..uh...I...” he muttered in confusion.

  Teresa turned her head slightly and raised her pistol so that it was just a few centimetres from his face.

  “I asked you a question!”

  “We are looking for strays to sell.”

  “To sell? Who to?”

  The man was taking no chances now and answered immediately.

  “Slavers, they are paying ten times over the going rate for some big project,” he said, desperately trying to appease her as she maintained the position of the weapon in front of his face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Alpha Company was one of the first companies to establish a permanent paramilitary training facility on Terra Nova. The well trained personnel were often members of the Army or Marine Corps and provided bodyguards and security staff for some of the most important companies in the Confederacy. Their claim to fame being, that they were the first private corporation to finance and build their own cruiser. With its range of firepower and ability to project power they quickly became the number one security company in the System.

  Private Security Directory

  The manacles on his hands and feet were impossible to remove. Spartan had been wriggling and tugging for the last hour and so far the only result had been a new series of cuts and bruises on his limbs. With a final effort he stopped and looked about the room. It was the same cell he had been in earlier but the numbers of prisoners had been reduced. General Rivers must have been taken somewhere else, along with the other escapees, as there was no sign of him. He did notice that Marcus was still in the room and it didn’t looked like he was starting to regain consciousness. The door was locked and he hadn’t seen anybody for almost three hours now. The temptation to try and escape when they were taken to the lavatory was always there. But since his attempted escape all prisoners, when taken out of the room, were escorted by six fully armoured guards.

  He thought back to the violent battle during their escape and the large room. His memory of the event was still a little hazy, no doubt due to the abuse he took at the hands of the enemy. A few key images did stick in his mind though. The cylinders were full of fluid, he was certain of that, as the nearest one had dumped gallons of the stuff all over his body. What really interested him though was the image of the creature staggering out and attacking him. It was the only time he had seen one out of its customary armour and what he had seen definitely convinced him that they were human, or at least part human. Contrary to what some had told him, they were certainly not machines, no more than any living thing wasn’t a machine. There was something else though, what was it? Then he remembered. The creature had spoken to him. This was the only instance he had heard anything other than grunts or roaring sounds from the creatures. The ability to speak immediately moved it out of the machine or creature camp and into a human of some kind.

  The next question was what were the cylinders and fluids all about? There could only be a few reasons for them being like that, though he was hardly a scientist. It could be a way of transporting the creatures from place to place. The liquid might be a way of regenerating damaged tissue or to provide a cushion during high-speed travel. That was hardly likely though, they were tough and easily able to be strapped into place prior to high acceleration. Maybe it was something else. The creature was unarmoured, and nowhere as potent in hand-to-hand combat as ones he’d faced in battle before. Maybe they were newly born or perhaps even infants? After all, they had to be born, modified or created somehow and the cylinders might have something to do with it.

  As he lay there, chained like a common criminal, he heard a series of loud thumping sounds pounding through the hull. They became louder until he could feel the vibrations through the floor. Two of the prisoners started moaning at the sound.

  “What is it?” His immediate thoughts were that it must be related to the great creatures further along in the ship.

  “It’s the ship, they are making adjustments before the shielding, we must be entering a storm area,” said one of the prisoners.

  Spartan was surprised at finding a man with any kind of starship knowledge on board. Only somebody with transport knowledge or engineering know-how could surely understand that kind of thing. Though the more he thought about it the more he realised it was stupid to think otherwise. So far he had found prisoners from all walks of life.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve spent my time on freighters, trust me, they are changing the makeup of the plating and electrical shielding. They only do this when they know they are going to hit a danger zone. If I had to guess I’d say we must be heading to Prometheus.”

  “Prometheus?”

  “Yeah, you heard of the place?”

  Spartan said nothing for a moment as he thought back to Prometheus. He had spent some time, prior to joining the Marine Corps, as a pit fighter in that hellhole. It was an odd place, unlike Prime or Kerberos there wasn’t a central colony. The planet was a burning hot rocky ball of minerals that made habitable colonies out of the question. The only structures on the surface were those of the hundreds of mining, research and refinery operations. Even though the temperatures made engineering projects expensive and dangerous there were many benefits to working there, the primary one as always being money. Around the planet were hundreds of starbases, mining outposts, trading stations and research labs. In the middle of this mass of humanity were three military compounds including a small naval station and shipyard, an orbital Marine Corps barracks and a well-guarded research station. It was like the Wild West back on old Earth where prospectors came to make money and gamble it away on the many vices the stations had to offer. The attraction of quick money and even quicker ways to spend it also provided the Marine Corps a sui
table recruiting ground for fresh warriors. Not that Spartan had ever looked for enlistment. That came down to the police raid and subsequent accident. The look on the judge’s face as he gave him the choice, prison or military service still haunted him. As he sat in chains and was heading off to yet another uncertain fate, he started to wonder once again if he had the made the right decision.

  There was something that didn’t make sense though. He had made the trip several times to and from Prometheus and the storms were only a problem if you went through them, but they were avoidable. It just increased the trip from days to months.

  “Why though?”

  “Only reason I can think of is they are going to try to sprint through the storms. Fat lot of good the shielding will do for them though, if they are hit going through the ship is toast. Actually, technically we will be toast, the ship will probably be okay.”

  Spartan looked less than impressed.

  “What’s the point of the shielding if it doesn’t work then?”

  “Most ships can travel fully automated. If you send her through, the shielding should be enough to protect the hardened computer systems. Biological matter though, that’s something else!”

  * * *

  Teresa moved about inside the enemy ship. It was of a similar size to the Tamarisk and so far she had already found a dozen weapons plus secure datapads and backup drives. Bishop was in the aft of the vessel while she rummaged around in the crew areas for any information that might be of use. Both wore their suits, as they had needed to make the short EVA manoeuver between the vessels so that they could board her. As she opened one of the crew lockers the intercom in her helmet activated.

  “Kowalski here. Anderson has information from the prisoner on the location of the ship’s log files and communications backup. He says to go the waste disposal unit. It’s two doors back from the bridge. Open the door and look to the left, you should see a set of circular doors. Open them and you’ll find the data storage segment of the ship.”