by Tripp Ellis
The corridor was filled with smoke. Alarms blared, and klaxon’s sounded. Walker sliced through the haze to the detention center. He opened fire at the dazed officers behind the command station. Within seconds, they were piles of mush on the floor.
He cleared the room and dashed to the console. He tabbed through the display screen and deactivated the containment beams.
Nearly a thousand prisoners were now free. They spilled out of their cells. Walker grabbed the dead guards’ weapons from the deck and tossed them to Malik and Saaja as they emerged.
“Remind me never to underestimate you,” Malik said.
“Yeah, what he said,” Lu added.
“We’re not out of this yet,” Walker said. He marched back toward the entrance.
Security forces were taking positions at both sides of the corridor.
Walker threw a grenade in each direction.
The Decluvians were reluctant to use grenades, or anything heavier than a plasma rifle. They didn’t want to damage an exterior bulkhead. But Walker didn’t give a shit. Let the hull get breached—it would almost be worth it to see those slimy bastard’s sucked out into the vacuum of space.
The blast rocked the ship. But it didn’t rupture the exterior bulkhead. It was enough to set the security forces reeling back on their heels. It had taken out several of them. Malik and Walker were blasting at the rest.
Lu was right. There were hardly any terrestrial infantry on board. Just a handful of security forces, and half of those were now lifeless on the deck.
Behind Walker was almost a thousand hungry and pissed off refugees. They had seen their own world destroyed. Their loved ones killed. They had nothing left to lose. And they wanted revenge.
They flooded into the corridor. Some of them were immediately gunned down. But there were too many of them. Soon the refugees overtook the security forces—stripping their weapons and shooting them with their own rifles. It was like a dam had burst. Angry refugees flowed throughout the hallways, exacting revenge on every Decluvian in sight.
“Brilliance,” Lu said with a mischievous grin on his face. “This is sheer brilliance.” He took in the chaos with absolute glee. His big eyes were red and glazed. He was totally baked.
Refugees were finding escape pods and jettisoning themselves into space. Others were too caught up in the act of revenge to even think about escape.
“If we want to get out of here, we better grab an escape shuttle before they’re gone,” Lu said.
Walker arched an eyebrow at him.
“Hey, I ain’t gonna stay here. They want to send me to the mines, or worse.”
The hallways were filled with haze and rioting refugees. Lu led them through the labyrinth of corridors to one of the many escape shuttles. Lu opened the hatch and Malik and Saaja filed in.
“I can’t leave Bailey,” Walker said. “I’ve got to find him.”
“This may be your only chance,” Malik said.
“I know.” Walker’s face was grim. Bailey was part of the squad, as far as he was concerned. He was more than that. He was family. And Walker never left a man behind.
Walker and Malik shook hands.
“Get yourself to safety,” Walker said. “Thank you for everything. I hope we meet again someday. And not on the battlefield.”
Malik nodded.
Saaja hugged him. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Take care of yourself.” Her dark eyes were pensive. She owed her life to Walker. It didn’t seem right to just leave him there.
“You sure you don’t want to get out with us?” Lu asked.
Walker nodded.
“Good luck, my friend.” Lu hopped into the shuttle and closed the hatch behind him.
Walker dashed down the corridor toward their berthing compartment. He hoped Bailey was still there.
32
ZOEY
The last of the meteors blasted against the hull. At least, Mitch hoped it was the last of them. He poked his head over the ridge. It seemed clear.
5 minutes of oxygen left.
He was on the port side of the ship. He barreled as fast as he could toward one of the airlocks. It was like trying to run with superglue on your feet. The magnetic boots clanked and clamored against the metal hull.
But you didn’t want to get too much lift in your stride. Too much separation and the magnetic boots might not be able to grasp the hull. Then you’d be in a world of hurt.
Mitch finally reached the airlock and flipped open the fairing to access the keypad. Now what was the goddamn code? He had watched Zoey punch it in, but he didn’t pay it much attention.
He knew it was a string of four numbers that were all the same. He started with 1111 and worked his way down. By the time he got to 3333, he remembered the code was 0000.
He had a minute of oxygen left, if he was lucky.
The outer airlock hatch opened. It seemed to move agonizingly slow. He was starting to get a little lightheaded, probably re-breathing his own CO2. He climbed inside and closed the hatch. Then pressurized the airlock. He was on the opposite side of the Revenant from Jaxon and Declan.
Mitch took off his helmet and filled his lungs. It was a sublime sensation. He wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned. He deactivated his magnetic boots, then opened the inner airlock hatch.
He stepped into the hallway and headed toward the CIC. He was going to give Jaxon an earful.
He staggered through the corridors and caught a glimpse of Jaxon and Declan by the starboard airlock. Jaxon still had Declan pinned against the bulkhead.
At first, he thought maybe they were just having a small disagreement. That thought soon vanished.
Jaxon reared back and stabbed the knife-like splinter of wood into Declan’s abdomen. The wooden blade punctured his skin, slicing through muscle and fascia. Jaxon angled the blade upward through the inferior aperture of the rib cage, puncturing the diaphragm. The tip of the blade incised the right ventricle of Declan’s heart.
Jaxon pulled out the wooden blade. A torrent of blood flowed from Declan’s thoracic cavity. The wooden shard was stained red. Jaxon’s face was crazed. He plunged the makeshift weapon back into Declan’s abdomen several times. It made a sucking, sloshing sound with each retraction.
Declan gurgled and gasped. The color drained from his face. Blood dripped down his torso and splattered on the deck.
Jaxon pulled out the makeshift knife for the last time and released his grip from Declan’s throat.
The skipper’s knees went weak as the life drained from his body. He slid down the bulkhead, leaving a smear of blood behind. His body crumpled on the deck.
“It’s a 5 way split now,” Jaxon mumbled as he towered over Declan’s body.
Mitch was horrified. His eyes were wide and his jaw was slack. He was frozen stiff. He wanted to scream but couldn’t make a sound. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen.
Jaxon’s psychotic gazed turned to Mitch. The big, hulking killer charged down the corridor.
Mitch turned and ran. He dropped his helmet and sprinted down the corridor. He rounded a corner and pumped his legs as fast as they would go. He was already worn out from marching across the outer hull. His heart thumped, and his quads burned. He ran hard, moving forward toward the CIC.
Jaxon was twenty paces behind him, and closing in.
Mitch dashed for the ladder to the next deck. He sprang up the rungs, but Jaxon grabbed his ankle. Mitch stomped a heel in Jaxon's forehead, tumbling the big lug to the deck.
Mitch climbed to the next level and took off running. He zigged and zagged through passageways, trying to lose the crazed hulk.
Jaxon sprang to his feet and scaled the ladder. The corridor was empty when he surfaced, but he could hear the clanking of Mitch’s boots against the deck as he ran. He took off, following the sound.
Mitch glanced back over his shoulder. Jaxon was out of sight.
Mitch opened a hatch and ducked into a compartment. His heart was thundering. His pulse
throbbed in his temples. His chest heaved for breath.
He was in a small crew compartment. It was as good a place to hide as any, he figured. He peered out through a small viewport in the hatch, looking to see if Jaxon had followed. But the hallway was empty.
He backed away from the viewport and surveyed the compartment. There were three bunks on each bulkhead—each had a privacy curtain. There was also a small storage closet. Life aboard a destroyer was certainly not for the claustrophobic. You lived and worked on top of one another. And the majority of the crew had to hot bunk it (sharing a bunk with one, maybe two other people in rotation).
He glanced back through the viewport one more time. He caught a glimpse of Jaxon trudging down the hallway.
Mitch backed away and climbed into one of the lower bunks and pulled the privacy curtain shut. It was a tight squeeze, especially with the upper and lower torso assembly of the space suit. The central locking ring was flush with the ceiling of the bunk.
He tried to steady his breathing. He felt like he was going to hyperventilate. Lying in the bunk felt like being inside a coffin.
He was breathing so loud, he worried Jaxon would be able to hear him out in the hallway. Slow, deep breaths, he told himself. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out.
Mitch clutched onto the laser cutter. He figured it would be his last line of defense. He couldn’t hide in this compartment forever. He needed to warn the others. Let them know that Jaxon had completely flipped his lid.
With his fingertips, he tugged on the privacy curtain so he could peer around and see the hatch. His heart jumped into his throat as Jaxon's face appeared in the viewport.
33
ZOEY
Sweat covered Mitch’s body. His heart was racing. He heard the dreaded sound of the hatch opening, and the heavy footsteps of Jaxon as he entered the compartment.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
The meathead stopped in the entryway and surveyed the compartment.
Mitch lay perfectly still, hiding in the narrow bunk.
Jaxon stepped farther into the compartment.
Through the gap in the curtain, Mitch could see Jaxon’s boot clunk against the deck. He heard the metallic scraping of the rings as Jaxon pulled the curtain back on the top bunk of the opposite bulkhead.
Schwing!
Jaxon grumbled at the empty bunk.
Schwing!
Another curtain pulled open, revealing nothing.
Schwing.
It sounded like the curtain of the bunk right above him.
Mitch was sure his bunk was next. He gripped the laser torch, ready to flick it on. He didn’t really know what it would do to a person, but it was better than nothing. There was no way he could stand toe-to-toe with Jaxon. He wouldn’t last one punch.
He could hear the heavy rumble of Jaxon's breath. He was like some kind of wild beast. Mitch thought he was doomed.
But he got lucky.
Jaxon turned around and stomped his boots out of the compartment.
Mitch breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the hatch slide shut behind Jaxon. But he dared not move. He stayed still for another 10 or 15 minutes. Then he peered around the curtain—everything looked clear.
He stepped to the hatch with caution. Mitch pressed his face against the glass and scanned the hallway—there was no sign of the lunatic.
Despite the hallway appearing empty, he was filled with trepidation at the thought of opening the hatch. His finger loomed over the button.
He finally pushed it, and the hatch slid open. He leaned his head into the corridor, looked both ways, and listened.
It was silent. Just the hum of the life support system. It was spooky.
The emergency lighting flickered.
Mitch crept into the hallway, his boots lightly clanking against the deck. He cringed at the sound. He tried to tiptoe down the passageway, but that didn’t really work. His boots still made noise.
He made it to the end of the corridor—still no sign of Jaxon.
Mitch turned the corner and sprinted to the ladder. He climbed to the next deck and dashed toward the CIC.
Jaxon lurched out of the shadows, tackling him. The big hulk was on top of him. His demonic eyes glared at Mitch. He growled and stabbed the bloody splinter of wood down.
Mitch clutched the laser torch and jammed it against Jaxon. He switched it on, and a brilliant flash emitted from the nozzle.
It blazed through Jaxon’s flesh before he could stab Mitch with the shard.
Jaxon twisted away, falling off of Mitch. He screamed out in agony.
Mitch could smell the pungent oder of seared flesh. He sprang to his feet and ran for the CIC. He didn’t look back.
Jaxon lay on the ground clutching his wound. It felt like the sting of a thousand hornets. There was no blood, as the laser had cauterized his flesh instantly.
The beam had passed through Jaxon's rib cage, missing his vital organs. It was a narrow hole through his torso. He could stick a pencil in the wound and push it clear through to the other side, if he was so inclined.
Mitch’s blood pumped. He ran as hard as he could. He flew into the CIC and mashed a button on the bulkhead, closing the hatch behind him.
Zoey, Violet, and 8-Ball gazed at him with wide eyes.
Mitch leaned against the hatch, panting. “Just FYI. Jaxon’s lost it.”
“What happened?”
“He killed Declan. He’s out of his mind.”
A wave of horror washed over Violet’s face.
Jaxon slammed against the hatch. The boom reverberated through the CIC. He kept pounding into it. He could slam into it all he wanted, but he wasn’t going to get through. If he kept it up the only thing he was going to get was a broken clavicle, or a dislocated shoulder.
Zoey activated the security video from the corridor. They watched as Jaxon rammed into the hatch a few more times, then he finally gave up.
He looked into the camera and grinned. It was a terrifying, soulless grin.
He disappeared down the hallway, which was even more terrifying. Who knew where he was going, or what he was going to do? The idea of a maniac lurking out there in the darkness was unsettling.
Zoey scrubbed back through the surveillance video. She stopped on a frame that clearly displayed Jaxon's face. She programmed Jaxon's information into the facial recognition software. Then she instructed the ship’s security system to scan and track his whereabouts.
If the system worked properly, they would have a good idea of where Jaxon was at all times. But there were plenty of dark nooks and crannies aboard the ship were Jaxon could evade detection. And the system hadn’t been updated in over 25 years, so it was far from flawless.
The video feed followed Jaxon as he made his way toward the airlock. Then the feed turned to static.
“What the hell?” Zoey grumbled.
Violet wiped the tears from her eyes. She fought them back with everything she had, but they kept flowing. She tried her damnedest not to become a total basket case, but soon she broke down in jerking sobs. Her feelings for Declan ran deep, even though she had been reluctant to admit it.
Zoey put her arm around Violet, trying to comfort her.
Mitch staggered toward the command console. He looked at the display of the ship’s trajectory. Their orbit was decaying rapidly. “We’ve got 4 hours until we’re a steaming pile of dog shit on that planet.”
“We’ve got to get every piece of that Numarian treasure off this ship,” Violet said.
“I’m with you on that,” 8-Ball said. “That shit’s cursed. I got bad vibes the minute I set foot in this joint.”
Zoey nodded in agreement.
“And you think the ship is going to magically start working once we dump 3 trillion credits worth of treasure overboard?” Mitch asked.
“Yes,” they all answered in unison.
“Well, given the circumstances, that all sounds perfectly reasonable,” Mitch said. “Jaxon always was kind of douchey, but he neve
r would have done something like this.”
“There’s a weapons locker a few sections aft of here,” Zoey said. “With any luck, it will still be stocked up.”
“I’m not particularly inclined to go back out there with that lunatic running around,” Mitch said.
“Suck it up, you candy-ass,” Zoey said. “You just want to wait in here to die?”
Mitch frowned. “I guess, we all gotta die sometime, right? Might as well go out on your feet.” He grinned at Zoey lasciviously. “Unless you want to get horizontal?”
She scowled at him. “I’d rather die first.”
8-Ball’s face tightened. He seemed to be getting a little bent out of shape that Mitch was flirting with her. “Let’s focus. I say we go waste that fucker.”
8-Ball glanced at the display on the command console. It was still full of static. There was no way to tell if Jaxon was in the hallway.
Eddie put his ear to the hatch and listened. The steady rumble of the ventilation system filled his ear.
“Get ready,” 8-Ball said, his finger hovering over the button to open the hatch.
Mitch gripped the laser torch, ready to zap anything that moved.
Violet pulled herself together, and she and Zoey got ready for a fight.
8-Ball pressed the button.
34
ZOEY
Please don’t let that big son-of-a-bitch be on the other side of this hatch. It was a silent prayer 8-Ball said to himself. He didn’t care who was listening, or who answered.
The hatch slid open, and the hallway was empty. And for that, 8-Ball was thankful.
The team crept into the corridor, and Zoey led the charge. They weaved their way through the labyrinth of passageways, finally coming upon the weapons locker.
Zoey entered the standard security code, 0000, and opened the cabinet. Their eyes lit up with glee.
There were several RK 909 carbines and magazines full of ammunition. There was a plethora of thermal grenades and proximity mines. There were tactical swords and knives.
They stocked up on weaponry like kids in a candy store. Magazines jammed into mag wells. Charging handles clacked.
