by Tripp Ellis
Erickson was still curled on the deck in the holding cell. A smug grin played on the doctor's face.
Max left Erickson in the cell and moved to the command station at the front of the detention center. A bank of displays flickered at the terminal. Max pulled up security cam footage of the exterior of the Aurora, as well as several angles of the interior hallways, near the airlocks. Max saw a dropship attached to the hull. The umbilical stretched across and formed a hard seal around the airlock.
Max gritted her teeth. She knew what was coming next. She watched the display as the inner airlock hatch slid open, moments later. A team of soldiers stormed into the corridor. They were dressed in black tactical armor, covered from head to toe. They flooded into the corridor with weapons in the firing position. They moved with tactical precision, clearing the area. These weren’t untrained insurgents—they were skilled operators. Well-financed. The dropship attached to the hull wasn't cheap. A Condor ZF-11. It could carry up to 16 troops, plus a copilot and pilot. They were the preferred choice for pirates and marauders because of their ability to hard-dock.
The squad’s battle armor looked like War-Tek™ T-9000 advanced tactical suits. Another high ticket item. At a cost of over 1 million credits each, they weren't exactly common. They had originally been designed for the Navy Reapers. Naval Special Warfare had an immense war chest for research and development. Answering only to the president and the Department of Defense, the Reapers got just about anything they wanted. The T-9000 suits were a generation old now, but they were still cutting edge technology. They afforded the user 6 days of oxygen, depending upon exertion levels.
Max's curiosity grew wondering who was behind this operation.
16 soldiers in total fanned out into the corridor. Not impossible odds, but Max certainly didn't have the advantage. The wheels turned in Max’s brain as she tried to formulate a plan.
Once the hallway was secure, another individual in battle armor entered the corridor. Max figured this was the leader of the group. He’d been hanging in the rear with the gear, waiting until the area was safe.
Max shook her head. She despised the lead from behind mentality. She was going to enjoy bringing the fight to this loser.
Winston's voice crackled in her ear bud. "I'm running into some technical difficulty."
"What kind of difficulty?"
Winston frantically punched in the access code to the research lab. The display flickered red, and an automated voice responded, "I'm sorry. Your access code is incorrect."
Max could hear the automated voice filter through her earbud. She clenched her jaw and grumbled obscenities under her breath.
"I am no longer able to access the research lab,” Winston said. “Therefore I have not been able to initiate the burn protocol."
The last line of defense was gone. Max was going to have to stop the intruders and make sure they didn't escape the ship with the virus.
The lab’s burn protocol consisted of flooding the compartment with an anti-microbial, antiviral spray. Then bathing the area with extreme UV radiation. All of the data would be wiped, and the sample storage area would be incinerated. Nothing would ever be foolproof, but as far as containment systems went, it would be highly unlikely that the virus would endure under such conditions.
“Keep trying. I'm going to put Plan B into motion.”
“What is Plan B?"
“I don't know. But I'm sure I'll think of something.”
Winston frantically typed in a plethora of key codes. None of them worked. The frazzled robot was at his wits end. He had previously been able to access the damn thing. What was the problem now?
Winston continued running through a list of the most common pass-codes, but none of them worked, and his time was up. The squad of invaders rounded the corner, and soon, Winston was surrounded by the barrels of vicious plasma rifles.
Winston attempted to smile. He raised his hands into the air. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Who are you?" the squad leader barked. "Where is Dr. Erickson?"
"My name is Winston. I'm not sure where Dr. Erickson is at the moment." It wasn't really a lie. He knew that Erickson had been in the detention center, but he couldn't say with any degree of certainty where he was at this precise moment. Robots weren’t hard coded not to lie to humans, but Winston tried to avoid it whenever possible.
"What type of bot are you? What is your function aboard the ship?"
"I am programed for many applications. My most recent assignment has been to assess transmission dynamics of the viral pathogen.” Again, it wasn't a lie. But, perhaps, not the whole truth.
"So, you’re a medical bot?”
"As I mentioned, I am programed for a variety of tasks."
The squad leader clinched his jaw, growing frustrated with the mouthy android. Winston could barely make out the man’s face through the tinted visor of his helmet. The goon had a rugged, square face with a scar across his cheek. Blue eyes and short blonde hair. He had a constant scowl—resting dick-face. He was maybe 6’2”, 230 pounds, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. Meaty chunks of muscle were hidden by the man's tactical armor. He probably could have competed in the Mr. Ultraverse body building competition. He could squash the android like a bug.
Winston wasn't sure, but it seemed like the man had mistaken him for part of the crew. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Winston said politely.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“That's an interesting name. Mr. Fuck Up. It has a nice ring to it.”
The blonde bruiser's eyes narrowed at Winston. “The name’s Ty Volta, you overgrown coffee maker.”
“Making coffee is not one of my primary functions.”
Volta’s wicked eyes blazed into Winston. ”Is anyone else aboard the ship?"
"Erickson is aboard the ship."
"Anybody else?"
"You and your squad."
Volta clenched his jaw. "Look, smart ass. You start giving me straight answers, or I'm going to turn you into scrap metal. You hear me?"
"The speaker in your headgear is distorting your voice, Mr. Fuc… I mean, Mr. Volta. But I hear and understand you." Winston was pushing his luck.
Volta brought the barrel of his assault rifle to Winston's head. "All right you little fuck-tard. I want you to open the lab, now!"
Winston looked flustered. "There's no need for aggression."
Volta gripped the trigger of his rifle, ready to squeeze off a round at the slightest provocation.
"I will attempt to open the lab now,” Winston blurted in an effort to avert certain doom.
“Jackson, Vasquez… Search the ship. See if you can find the good doctor,” Volta commanded.
The two soldiers disappeared down the corridor.
Winston punched in another key-code. His fingers moved with blistering speed. But a red light flashed on the keypad, and the automated voice recited the same, tired phrase. "I'm sorry. That code is invalid. Please try again. This area is restricted to authorized personnel only."
Winston looked to the tyrant and flashed a nervous smile. "I seem to be having a little trouble accessing the compartment right now. The access code changes daily. It seems to have updated without my knowledge."
"Bullshit. Open it now, or I'm going to scramble your neural processor.”
Winston didn’t like the sound of that. His lithe fingers danced across the keypad again.
No dice.
Volta’s head looked like he was about to explode with rage. His cheeks flushed, the veins in his neck bulged, and a thin mist of sweat formed on his brow. “Quit screwing around,” he snarled. “If the hatch isn’t open by the time I count to five, you can kiss your synthetic ass goodbye."
21
"Five, four, three, two…" Volta counted down, about to blow a hole in Winston’s head.
A blistering plasma bolt streaked down the corridor. It slammed into one of the goons, showering sparks as it blasted against his tactical armor. The
impact knocked the thug to the ground. A small, charred crater in his chest-plate smoldered. The projectile hadn't penetrated the armor. This was tough stuff.
Max had fired the shot. She had decided to engage the goons head on.
Instantly the squad spun around to address the threat. They returned a furious volley of weapons fire in Max's direction. The downed thug staggered to his feet, brought his weapon into the firing position, and joined the fray. He was seemingly no worse for the wear.
Max had her work cut out for her. She ducked for cover behind a pilaster, flattening her back against the bulkhead. She fired as fast as she could, balancing speed with accuracy. She aimed for the joints between the armor plates. It was the weakest part of the T-9000. A well-placed plasma projectile between the composite plates could wreak havoc. A direct hit on the visor would certainly melt someone's face.
Glowing projectiles blazed past Max. The bulkheads erupted all around her with sparks and smoke as the squad peppered the area. The air quickly filled with smoke and haze and the smell of ionized particles.
The goons put down a steady stream of fire, attempting to push forward, leapfrogging their way down the corridor. Max double tapped one of them as they advanced—two searing plasma bolts bore through the goon’s visor, turning his head into a crimson soupy sludge. Smoke wafted from the helmet cavity, and the bloody sludge bubbled, boiling from the heat. The suit of armor collapsed, clattering to the deck.
Max ducked behind the pilaster for cover as more plasma bolts raced past her. She was in a bad position. There was no doubt about it. She was outnumbered and outgunned. But at least she had provided a momentary distraction, keeping Winston from ending up as spare parts—at least, for the moment.
The barrel of Max’s rifle heated from the furious action. Even through the barrel jacket, it was getting warm to the touch. The rifle spit a continuous stream of molten hell from the barrel.
Max tagged another goon in the face. The plasma projectile entered toward the side of the helmet, putting a nice hole in the man's cheek. But it didn't kill him instantly. The bolt tore through his flesh, turning the back of his helmet into molten slag. The fiery crater burned with intensity, searing the man’s hair and scalp. It was like someone had put a blowtorch to the back of his head. His arms flailed around, and a horrid scream bellowed from his lips. Like nails on a chalkboard, the sound was earsplitting. The man flopped to the deck, writhing in agony.
Max continued pelting the goons with plasma projectiles. A dazzling array of weapons fire streaked in all directions. The bulkheads came alive with sparks and the reflected glow of the plasma projectiles.
Max’s heart pounded in her chest. She was doing a good job of halting their advances. But several more plasma bolts slammed into the bulkhead next to her.
They came from behind.
A team of the invaders had circled around and flanked her. Max was in a terrible position, taking fire from both sides of the corridor. Maybe she had bitten off a little more than she could chew, she thought?
Another blast impacted the bulkhead inches away. Amber sparks showered. Molten metal sprayed out, tearing into Max’s flesh. Skin sizzled, the pungent smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils. It felt like she had been stabbed with several red hot pokers. It was the kind of pain that took your breath away. The blistering shrapnel penetrated her face, shoulders, and torso.
She twisted away from the blast and fell to the deck. She sucked in a breath of air, but before she could regain her composure, the goons were on top of her. Big barrels of plasma weapons stared her in the face. Max was a little surprised they didn't go ahead and vaporize her.
Volta lorded over her. He hauled off and kicked her in the ribs. It blasted the air out of her lungs and she gasped for breath.
“Who the hell are you?” Volta asked.
22
“No sign of Erickson, Boss.” Jackson’s voice crackled in Volta’s earpiece. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. Volta’s face tensed.
Max was tied to a beam in the engineering compartment. Her hands were behind her back. Her face was bloodied and bruised, and it wasn't all from the shrapnel wounds. The goons had been taking turns tenderizing her face with their knuckles. The hard, armored gloves were particularly damaging. The steady drone of the engines behind her filled the compartment.
“Keep searching,” Volta said over the comm link. He turned his dangerous gaze to Max. “Where is he?"
Max said nothing.
“You look like a reasonably intelligent person. If you have half a brain, you’ll make it easy on yourself and tell me where Erickson is.”
Max shrugged.
Volta clenched his jaw. He wound his fist back then slammed it into Max's gut.
She groaned. It felt like her guts were going to come out. Volta’s brutal fist mashed her insides, almost reaching her spine. The force pinned her against the steel beam.
“I need access to the lab. Erickson appears to be the only one who can access it right now. I'm going to get in there eventually. There's nothing you can do to stop it. I'll have my men cut through the hatch. But that's going to take time, and I'm in a little bit of a hurry. I can assure you, I will make things very uncomfortable for you if you do not comply.”
Max scowled at him.
Volta shook his head. "While I can admire your bravado, I think it's pointless. You're not stationed aboard this ship. This isn’t your fight.”
“If it threatens the Federation, it's my fight.”
“Oh, you're one of those.”
“I took an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the Federation from all enemies foreign and domestic. That oath didn't end when I retired from the military.”
"I took the oath too, Sweetheart. But my eyes are open.”
Max despised him even more.
Volta surveyed Max’s tattered face. A trickle of blood ran from her nostrils. It wasn’t from the abuse either. The virus was taking hold. Her eyes looked bloodshot. Next, she’d start bleeding from them.
“Here we are, aboard a research ship that has produced an illegal bio-weapon. Yet you still defend your beloved Federation."
Volta had a point. But Max knew it wasn't quite so simple. It could have been a rogue operation developing the virus without oversight. Perhaps some shadow section of government authorized the project without the knowledge of the Senate or Congress. Maybe the UIA (United Intelligence Agency), or one of the other three letter intelligence groups, were operating outside the bounds of their charter. There were endless possibilities. The Federation wasn't perfect, but it was free and democratic. A far contrast from the monarchies ruled by tyrannical dictators—and there were many across the galaxy. The Federation was bigger than any one leader. Corrupt politicians came and went, but the foundation of liberty had persisted for hundreds of years.
Volta studied Max’s weary eyes. “You’re infected.”
“We have a winner,” Max said in a snarky tone.
Volta’s eyes narrowed at her. He and his crew were protected from infection by the T-9000s. "I suppose I could just take a sample of your blood and use it to replicate the virus. But the virus alone doesn't do me much good without the delivery system. And the delivery system is in the lab with the weaponized version of the pathogen.”
"Why do you need a weaponized version of the pathogen? What is your target?"
Volta chuckled. "I guess it's not going to hurt to tell you, because you're not going to live very long. The Galactic Conference on Beta Zoturi. The leaders from each planet of the Federation will be in attendance, along with their vast entourage of public servants. I can think of no easier way to decimate the entire Federation government. The delegates will carry the virus back to their home worlds.”
“You'll kill millions of people."
Volta shrugged. “You can’t make breakfast without breaking some eggs.”
“I suppose you plan to swoop in and rule the new Federation?"
Volta laughed. "No. I am not
a leader. I am a catalyst. That is all. There are far greater men than I with more profound visions for the galaxy. I am but a humble tool,” he said, feigning modesty.
Max wanted to throw up in her mouth a little bit. This guy was a tool all right, but not the useful kind.
The hatch slid open and one of Volta goons marched into the compartment. He was carrying Felix's travel case. "I found this in the CIC. What do you want me to do with this thing?”
Panic washed over Max's face.
“Is this a friend of yours?”
Max gritted her teeth. Volta could do with Max as he pleased, but if he laid a finger on Felix, Max was going to make it her life’s mission to see Volta suffer.
23
Volta admired the cat. “An Antarian Blue-Hair. Very rare, and very valuable."
Felix hissed at him from behind the glass of his container.
Volta smiled. “He's feisty too. And, I would imagine, uninfected?”
“If you know what's good for you, he’ll stay that way." Max's fierce gaze locked onto Volta. Her eyes were like daggers.
“Tell me where Erickson is,” Volta demanded, “and we won't have to test the robustness of your kitty’s immune system."
Max glared at the tyrant. "You're disgusting."
Volta smiled. He seemed to enjoy the insult. In his mind, it was a compliment. His hand hovered over the container’s release mechanism.
Max’s eyes grew wide with fear.
“My men have searched the ship. I hope, for your sake, you didn't space him.” Volta took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. "I'm going to ask you one last time. Where is Doctor Erickson?"
The muscles in Max's jaw tightened. She pulled against her restraints, and her whole body flexed. She was hoping for a burst of unnatural strength. She fantasized about snapping her bonds, then snapping Volta’s neck. But her wrists were tied tight around the beam. She wasn't going anywhere.
Volta moved to unlock Felix's transport container. The minute the ship’s atmosphere hit his nostrils, he'd be at risk of infection. That was something that Max wasn't going to allow to happen.
