by S. A. Lusher
“EVE!” he heard himself scream as he rushed forward.
Drake saw an opportunity open up as Enzo was momentarily distracted by Greg's scream. He took it and fired, putting two shots through Enzo's stomach and a third into his leg. He heard the man scream and saw him go down.
At the same time, Genevieve dove, retrieved the assassin's pistol and put another two shots through the assassin's torso.
Drake grinned and began readjusting his aim. Perfect. They were going to win this one. He centered his sights on the assassin's head...
Abruptly, the lights died. As his helmet was readjusting to this, there was a brilliant flare that overloaded his vision. He screamed in rage and pain and squeezed the trigger despite being blinded. He stumbled, totally blind, and fell to his knees. He heard confused voices shouting, several more gunshots, then running footfalls.
When he vision came back, he staggered to his feet and scanned the room, fearing the worst. Enzo and the assassin were both gone, vanished during the distraction. He began to set off after them, but hesitated, uncertain of where they could have gone. There were several exits. Then he remembered Eve going down. He turned and saw Greg crouched over her, a medical kit out, her helmet off. Genevieve was nowhere to be found, again.
“She's not dead,” Greg said as Drake approached. “She's out. The bullet grazed her skull...one in a million fucking shot,” he muttered.
Drake glanced over as he heard someone approaching. Tanner, who was supporting Bennings, walked into the room.
“What happened?” Tanner asked.
“We all took an ass-kicking and they got away,” he muttered. “We need a med-evac right now...and to track those bastards.”
“They're gone,” Gen said over the radio. “There was a ship. They've already broken for orbit and we don't have any assets in place to go after them.”
“What about the satellite?” Drake asked.
“I can track them until they hit FTL flight...” Forrester replied over the link. “And...they just hit FTL flight. They're gone.”
“Fuck!” Drake screamed.
“Come on,” Tanner said. “Let's get her some help.”
Drake looked back. Greg was finishing the most immediate medical attention that could be provided for Eve, stabilizing her.
He made himself focus on that task now, on getting the wounded out. He wasn't finished with Enzo, not yet.
Another day, he promised himself.
CHAPTER 10
–Atonement Down–
“What have we got?” Allan asked as he came in through the doorway.
The room was small, dim and cramped with equipment and machinery. A single technician, a thin man with a shaved head and olive skin, sat frowning in front of a large screen, his hands never quite seeming to sit still as he worked the keyboard in front of him. Hawkins stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, ramrod straight, ever inch the military man.
“Not enough,” he replied.
“I'm working on it,” the technician murmured, not really paying attention to them.
After getting back to the Atonement with Callie and Parker, he'd passed off the data to Hawkins, who had, in turn, passed it off to their resident genius. The Spec Ops tech before them had spearheaded the group that had cracked the Rogue Ops code previously. He was a twenty-year vet who went by the name of Vetra. Whether it was his first or last name, no one was quite sure, and he was rarely seen out of this room, one of the few techs to have his own, personal office. In the background, soft, ambient, spacey music was playing.
“How are you?” Hawkins asked, turning away from Vetra and his work, fixing his intense gaze on Allan. The man looked very tired, looked his hundred twenty plus age.
“I'm fine,” Allan replied. “Feel better now, after all the...the unpleasantness aboard the derelict. Still upset about Donovan and Malone.”
Truth be told, he was more than upset. Losing those two men had opened up a slowly-healing wound once more, his own failure to do better on Lindholm, the necessary sacrifice of two million people, of families and cities and lives.
Don't go there...
“I know. I'm sorry. They were good men, both of them. But they knew the risks. And there'll be more dead before this whole thing is over, if Rogue Ops has anything to say about it,” Hawkins replied unhappily.
Vetra sighed quietly and shifted in his chair.
Hawkins took the hint and led Allan out of the room, closing the door behind him. They began walking down the brilliantly-lit corridors of the Atonement, side by side.
“How are the others doing?” Allan asked.
After passing off the data, Allan and Callie had decided to take the opportunity to get some training and working out in, as their lifestyle required a near constant regiment of both and they heard that Drake and the others were still out. After several hours of this, they'd grabbed a meal, a shower and a bit of fun in bed before having a nap. Unfortunately, sleep hadn't found Allan for very long. He'd gotten up, had another quick shower and then had gone off in search of Hawkins.
“Not good,” Hawkins replied, his tone darkening. “Enzo escaped and Eve was badly wounded. I'm beginning to suspect that we're going to have to give up on Enzo for the moment...though I imagine we'll cross paths again one way or the other before this whole thing is over. They managed to get onboard a military transport a few hours ago. We're linking up right now and it shouldn't be long before they're here. Once we have the data deciphered, we'll go full force with this whole thing, select a pair of sites and double-up, hit them where it hurts.”
“What about your Spec Ops teams that were sent ahead?” Allan asked.
Hawkins sighed. “One is still in transit, the other two have...gone dark. They both reported arriving, then...nothing. I can only hope they're still out there, causing trouble for Rogue Ops. We might catch a lucky break and one of them throws a wrench in the gears long enough for us to destroy a site ourselves but...” he shook his head. “I haven't felt particularly lucky lately. We're going to have to do this ourselves, the hard way.”
Hawkins hesitated as they made another turn in the network of chromium corridors, his hand going to his ear. He responded to an incoming call over his radio, then turned in another direction and began walking quickly towards it.
“What is it?” Allan asked.
“They're here. Time to see whether or not we've lost another one,” Hawkins replied.
* * * * *
Greg followed worriedly after the pair of medics.
They'd gotten Eve back to the safe house and done some more stabilizing work on her. Thankfully, there'd been a military transport just the next system over and they'd responded to the call. Tanner had rented them an orbital shuttle, since the military couldn't risk actually landing on the surface. Drake, Gen, Greg and Eve had linked up with the ship and transferred Eve over immediately to their medical bay, where they'd gone to work on her and shot off into space to meet the Atonement halfway, since it had more advanced medical facilities.
They'd finished stabilizing her aboard the transport, but she hadn't woken up yet and Greg was still worried. Once they'd linked up, the military medics had loaded her carefully onto a hover-gurney and transferred her to the Atonement via airlocks. From there, another pair of medics had taken her and now he was following them through the corridors towards the primary infirmary. The fact that she still hadn't woken up worried him greatly but he kept falling back on the thought that he was glad she was at least still alive.
They arrived at the infirmary and moved Eve to an examination table where one of the medics immediately set to work running a thorough, intensive scan while the other began carefully checking her head wound. Greg heard movement behind him and glanced over. Gen and Drake were being guided towards other exam tables by more medics. It had kind of become standard protocol to get checked out after a mission, and Greg knew that Gen had taken some damage when the assassin in white had knocked her out.
A third medic
approached him.
“Come on, you know the drill,” he said.
Greg had gotten to know him over the past month or so. He was a black man named Mertz who always had a broad smile and a joke. Greg had learned that he'd been in Spec Ops for a decade, after another a decade in the Galactic Marine Corps as a combat medic. When Greg had asked him how and why he'd made the transition from a battlefield doctor to a quiet post on the Atonement, Mertz had said that he'd had his fill of combat, though he wasn't necessarily against picking up a rifle and tossing a few bullets back if need be.
“All right,” Greg said, hesitating, glancing back at Eve.
“She'll be fine,” Mertz promised.
Greg allowed himself to be led over to the nearest open examination table. He laid down and let Mertz run his scan. Movement off his peripheral caused him to glance over, and he saw that Drake was already leaving. Not surprising.
“So how'd it go out there? Not exactly good, I'm guessing,” Mertz said.
“Yeah. We got lucky...I hope, but we lost. Bastard got away.”
“Well, try not to worry too much. I saw your friends, Gray and Ward, and they didn't seem too banged up or upset. Whatever it was they were doing must have gone over well, and Hawkins has been in a better mood,” Mertz replied.
As if speaking about the man summoned him, the far door opened and Hawkins and Allan stepped in. Hawkins approached Genevieve, who was getting her head looked at, and Allan approached Greg. He stopped at the table's side.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“Fine,” Greg replied. “Eve...” he glanced over.
“Hold still,” Mertz muttered. “Don't make me do this again.”
“What happened?” Allan asked.
Greg sighed and ran through a quick version of the events that had befallen them. As he finished up, Hawkins joined them. Greg saw Genevieve leaving through the far door, either going off after Drake or making her own way.
“I'll be up and ready to go in a bit,” Greg said as Hawkins came to stand next to Allan.
“Don't worry, there's no immediate rush,” Hawkins replied. “We're still figuring out the data Allan and Callie recovered. You can take a bit to get your breath back. I'll let you know when I need you but...there's a good chance this next one will be the endgame. At least, I sure as hell hope it will be. We can't keep stalling for time like this.”
“I'll be ready to put the bastards down,” Greg replied.
“Glad to have you on the team. Both of you,” Hawkins said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things that need looking after.”
He turned and left the infirmary. The examination table beeped. Mertz looked up at him and smiled. “You've disappointed me, Greg,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” Greg replied, sitting up.
“You're in perfect health once again. I don't get to stab you with any needles or scalpels and you know how much I enjoy that...now go be with your girlfriend, quit bothering me,” Mertz said with a grin.
Greg thanked him and stood. He and Allan crossed the infirmary and stood next to the table. Eve was opening her eyes, slowly coming to.
“How is she?” he asked quietly.
“She'll be fine,” one of the medics replied. “Bullet just grazed her and knocked her out, but there's no brain damage and it didn't even get through her skull. We've repaired the bone and the skin, she'll just need some time to rest, an hour, two at most, and she'll be up again.”
Eve blinked several times, then her eyes focused on him and she smiled. As she reached for him, he reached out as well and took her hands in his.
“I'll uh...give you some time to yourself,” Allan said.
“Thanks,” Greg replied.
He let himself out.
“Hey,” Eve said softly.
“Hey...how are you feeling?”
“Better...what happened? Did we win?”
Greg shook his head and sat down on the examination table. He noticed most of the medics had gone now. Only Mertz remained, and he stood across the room, working at a console. “No. You got shot in the head, just grazed you though. You got really lucky. Enzo got away. Everyone else is all right. We're back on the Atonement,” he explained.
“Shit, I should've seen that bastard coming,” Eve muttered unhappily.
“Hey, I'm just glad you're alive. It sounds like Hawkins is getting ready for the final run. But we've got time. You should stay down for an hour or two,” Greg said.
Eve moved over. “Be easier to be lazy and lay around if you gave me some company.”
Greg smiled and laid down next to her.
* * * * *
“Anything?” Allan asked.
This time, when he stepped into Vetra's office, Callie was with him. He'd gone back to their room after leaving Greg alone in the infirmary with Eve, thinking about giving lying down another shot, but he'd found Callie just getting dressed and he'd updated her on everything. She'd wanted to see if the data they'd recovered had been put to any use yet.
“Yes, actually,” Vetra replied without looking at them, still staring intently into his screen. “I called for Hawkins. He should be here soon. It looks like the data is solid. The procedure for shutting down and destroying these things is in here.”
Behind them, the door opened and Hawkins stepped in. “Good news, I take it?” he asked.
Vetra began to respond, then, suddenly every single light went out, every console shut down, and the four them were plunged into perfect, unbroken darkness and silence. Allan felt icy fear shoot into his gut and began to spiral outward.
“What the fuck-” Hawkins began.
Then the crimson emergency lights flickered into existence, bathing everything in an eerie, half-lit glow. Hawkins raised his hand to his ear. “This is Director Hawkins to the bridge, what's the situation up there?”
He paused, then repeated his question, then cursed.
“What's happening?” Allan asked.
“We must be under attack. This is what it was like last time...shit. Only last time we actually had communications. They must have learned their lesson. That military cruiser is long gone by now and we're here in the middle of nowhere. Dammit,” he growled. “All right. Vetra. Stay here. Guard the data. Lock this door behind us. Allan, Callie, we need to get to the bridge. There's an armory down the hallway we can visit.”
“You're not going to, uh, stay behind?” Allan asked.
“Hell no,” Hawkins replied. He turned and walked out of the room.
Allan and Callie followed. Vetra locked the door behind them.
* * * * *
“Shit,” Drake muttered.
He was alone in the gym, the whole area still and silent, bathed in crimson emergency lighting. Not good. And here he was without a weapon, like an idiot. Drake looked around, his mind working, figuring out the most logical course of action. Power failures weren't exactly unheard of, but...what were the chances that they weren't under attack?
Probably not very good.
He walked over to the comms panel mounted on the wall and hit the call button. “This is Winters to anyone, come back.” He released the button and waited. Nothing. Not even static. He tried his message one more time, then gave up.
He cleared his mind, went down his mental checklist to the next logical course of action: find a gun. There was an armory not too far away. It was small, but there should at least a pistol or an SMG tucked away in a gun locker. Drake opened up the doorway and peered out, first one way, then the other, into the red-lit corridor beyond.
No one and nothing.
He stepped out and set off.
* * * * *
When the lights went out, Genevieve was in the midst of taking out a holographic target at the shooting range. The gun was fake, tied to the holo targets, but it wasn't the only gun in the room. Without missing a beat, she began crossing the room in pitch darkness, having memorized the layout almost instinctively, and by the time the emergency lights came back on, she was at the
gun locker. Opening it, she grabbed a pair of pistols, holstering one and hanging onto the other. After making sure they were both loaded, a round in the chamber, she grabbed several spare magazines and hurried over to the comms console.
When it failed to produce any results, she clambered up atop the gun locker, opened up a ventilation duct and crawled inside.
This time, they wouldn't catch her unprepared.
* * * * *
“We should go,” Eve said.
“No,” Greg replied. “It's hardly been three quarters of an hour. You need to rest,” Greg replied.
“Christ, Greg, don't treat me like I'm some fragile fucking princess,” Eve said, standing up off the infirmary.
Greg stared unhappily at her. She was right. How many more dangers had he faced down? How many of them when he knew how stupid it was?
“Fine,” he said. “Sorry. We should head for the bridge,” he said.
“Wait,” Mertz said. Greg jumped. He'd forgotten anyone else was in the infirmary with them. “There's a backup generator a few floors down, directly below us. You should head there, get the power back on.”
“Good idea,” Eve said. “Where, exactly, is it?”
“Here, come with me,” Mertz replied.
He led them across the red-lit infirmary and through a door at the back, into a storage room. He activated a maintenance hatch. “Three floors down, down the hallway to the right, final door on the left. That's where it is. Go on,” he said, standing back.
“You're not coming?” Greg asked as Eve lowered herself into the crawlspace.
“I've got to stay here,” Mertz replied. “If we are under attack, and I figure there's a good chance we are or will be soon, there's going to be wounded.”
“Good luck,” Greg said, going in after Eve.
“You too.”
* * * * *
Drake turned a corner, nearly at the armory, and froze as a pair of powerful lights suddenly snapped into focus on him.
“Freeze!”
