Threshold of Victory

by Stephen J. Orion

  “You think I care what you have to say?” he asked and turned his gaze up to meet theirs. His eyes were red rimmed with dark beneath them but he straightened, his shoulders rising. “You think I’m supposed to be impressed by your experience, or your judgement?”

  Jenson was about to unleash a retort, but the moment he opened his mouth to speak those bloodshot eyes locked onto him.

  “ ‘You’d better start’,” Tarek said, beating him to the draw once more, “that’s what you were going to say.”

  The CAG tried again.

  “ ‘That’s enough’, you bellow next, hoping a raised voice will cow me.”

  Walters started to speak and then stopped as the eyes flicked onto him. He closed his mouth again.

  “This ship is about to come under attack,” Tarek said, his voice as cold and distant as the Earth’s moon. “From within. There will be cost, people will die, more than I’m willing to lose, and more than you can afford to.”

  “Enough,” Jenson finally exploded, the words escaping him in a desperate rush to prevent Tarek stealing them out from under him. “Marines!”

  “He calls,” Tarek narrated, “but they do not come.”

  With a beep, the door to the Captain’s office locked. Pierman turned his head just far enough to see the Flight Sergeant out of the corner of his eye.

  “The truth is I could have saved us all from the loss that is coming. A little more time, and I could have put the right people in the right places and stopped everything before it started.”

  “Walters, subdue him!” Jenson ordered.

  The Lieutenant took a step forwards but then froze as Tarek casually flicked his wrists against the cuffs and they came open with an ease that precluded them having ever been locked. The heavy metal hit the floor with a thud as Tarek stepped a foot back, one hand falling to his side while the other drew a pistol from the small of his back and pointed it at Walters.

  “I wouldn’t,” Tarek warned.

  Jenson was pulling his own weapon the moment he saw Tarek’s cuffs come off, he levelled it and yanked the trigger without hesitation. It made a meaty click as the hammer struck a block where the round should be. Grabbing at the slide he tried to clear the jam but to no avail.

  “I could have saved all of us,” Tarek said again, though perhaps it wasn’t to them. “But you locked me up because I represent a variable you can’t control, because I’m an unforgivable break in the decorum of war.”

  “So you’ve convinced yourself you can see the future. Flight. Sergeant. Tarek,” Captain Pierman said, pronouncing each word of his name and rank with deliberate emphasis, not warning but reminding. “If that is true, then surely you can convince us.”

  “There isn’t time, what’s about to happen will happen, and it doesn’t matter what I say now.” He lowered his weapon but did not put it away. “What matters is that there never be a next time.” He took three small sealed envelopes from a pocket and spaced them out on the table. Each was addressed to one of the officers.

  “You’ll open these later, when the present crisis is over. They account everything that will happen, including the choices you will make. Some of them when no one else is around.”

  His raw eyes focused on Walters. “You already believe, but you won’t act on it while others don’t.” He turned his gaze to Jenson. “You will never believe me, and if the Captain wasn’t going to take charge of your envelope you would tear it open right now just so you could act contrary in order to escape your own fear.”

  Now he looked at the Captain who was still only half facing him over one shoulder. “And fear is what lies at the crux of it. If I’m not lying, if this is real, how can you possibly protect your authority? Your command? Your lives?”

  Tarek looked at his pistol and cocked the hammer, not really pointing it at anyone just yet. The officers in the room tensed, the Captain turned fully to face him, and Jenson’s efforts to clear his weapon become all the more desperate.

  “Here’s the thing: you can’t. In your hearts, you already know this, but I need you to understand it in your heads. Only then can we move on. Appreciate that if I wanted control of this ship I would have it, and there is nothing you could do to stop me because I already know everything you would think to try.

  “Instead…” He took a deep breath and let it out. “…instead I’m putting aside my not inconsiderable anger, and I’m going to give you all one more chance, your last chance, to reach the truth yourselves.” He glanced through the glass to the digital clock that hung central to the CIC. “Our time is up gentlemen.”

  The moment his lips closed on the last word, an alarm began to cry out, and the CIC became suddenly frantic with activity. Tarek holstered his weapon and made his way to the door which unlocked just as he reached it. No one tried to stop him, and the marines outside fell in step as he continued down the hall.

  ****

  Desla’s scream was utterly unintelligible as he turned his sidearm on Ucoo and pulled the trigger. With a report that vied against the wailing siren, the weapon sent her blood splattering across the alarm console she had activated. The force cast her against the wall, and she slid down it, but she was smiling at him the whole way. Viciously. Victoriously.

  She was beyond his comprehension. No mere coward but anathema to her very race. He could perhaps accept if she did not know the damage she was doing, but she knew it as surely as every other Exodite on the ship, and yet she smiled idiot-like around the bloody froth of her lips. He aimed again but stopped himself. He would not finish her off with a shot to the head – that would be a mercy befitting a warrior.

  So he kicked her, not once or twice but relentlessly. He thrashed her unresisting body with his boots until long after she lay slumped and unmoving on her side. Until there could be no doubt that her end had been brutal and bloody and not at all heroic.

  When his work was finished, he turned to face his men, breathing heavily, he nearly shouted at them but then mastered himself. They were not her, they knew what price he asked of them and why. They would pay it freely, every one of them. He sought out calm in his purpose and found it. Then, and only then, could he meet their eyes.

  “She has cost us much,” he told them. “Spread out, you know your targets.”

  ****

  Close quarters combat tends to be a quick and lethal affair; defenders cannot hesitate, and attackers must commit absolutely or risk being caught in the fatal funnel presented by doorways and corridors. The fight that broke out on the command deck of the Arcadia saw neither of these actions because, though the Exodites were absolutely committed to their cause, there is a long way between self-belief and pulling the trigger on an ally.

  Likewise, the marine on duty at the checkpoint did not immediately open fire when the elevator door down the hall from him opened and a group of Exodites spilled out. There were eight of them, six from Embassy squadron, one from the enlisted crew and a single ensign from the CIC.

  Just as they were turning to face the marine, the alarm sounded and he realised the new arrivals were armed. For a moment both sides fumbled with their weapons, the marine getting his rifle up first, but it wasn’t really aimed at the Exodites, so much as past them. His eyes scanned for some extra threat as his brain tried to reconcile the intruder alarm with the image of Maulers trying to squeeze through the Arcadia’s corridors.

  The Exodites were armed with a collection of pistols and submachineguns, and shortly all of this armament was levelled on the marine, but no one opened fire. There was a pregnant pause as everyone considered that whoever shot first would not be fighting to save themselves, they would be committing murder. During this hesitation, the blacksteel lockdown doors slid quickly into place behind the checkpoint, sealing off the CIC and other vital systems from assault.

  “Stand down,” the marine finally called, his voice carrying authority that his position currently didn’t.

  “No!” one of the Exodites cried back as they spread out and tried ineffectu
ally to find cover in the supports and doorways of the corridor; cover the architects had specifically engineered out of this particular location.

  “Throw down your weapons and you can live!”

  Before any response could be given the situation cascaded into violence.

  One of the other lifts opened, and a lone ship security officer was already jogging out before he registered the Exodites filling the corridor. The new arrival, practically top of them, caused a moment’s panic, and someone fired, striking the officer in the chest, checking his step and sending him collapsing back into the elevator.

  As soon as his brain recognised the sound of a gunshot, the marine depressed the trigger on his submachinegun and hosed the corridor. Three of the tightly packed Exodites were hit immediately in the bone splintering hail of rounds, their blood and screams splashing over their colleagues. They retaliated desperately, but the checkpoint was designed as a hold out and only a narrow aperture in the bulletproof glass allowed the marine to exchange fire. Despite that, the weight of fire was enough to force the marine to pull back from the window, and a moment later the plastiglass collapsed under the sheer weight of the assault.

  What followed then was another lull in the fight. The lone marine was entrenched with an automatic weapon and the knowledge backup would arrive eventually, a circumstance which gave him little incentive to stick his head out. Equally none of the Exodites seemed particularly eager to lead the assault on his position after seeing what real bullets did to human flesh up close. Instead they did their best to secure the corridor, covering the lifts and the checkpoint and trying to address their wounded.

  ****

  The communications room was not located on the quarterdeck, simply because the long range comm array was in a different part of the ship. They were, of course, linked by a myriad of electronics, and the CIC could send messages without ever having to speak to a member of the communications team, but someone had to handle the maintenance and calibration of the delicate and vital array.

  Specialist Taylor was the communications officer who had administered the mail call earlier, and he was now perched over his console with a frustrating Exodite weapons officer by the name of Baali who insisted endlessly that there was a message that had been missed. Mail call was normally Taylor’s favourite time, his chance to be Santa, but though he’d had shown this man straight up that there were no more messages, Baali continued to insist.

  Taylor was about to call over his CO when the alarm sounded. Like the quarterdeck, the communications centre had its own blast door that sealed them in with rapid automation.

  “Alright, everyone stay calm,” the shift officer said. “Remain at your stations.”

  Taylor returned to his work, and to both his relief and surprise, Baali had walked away. He glanced over his shoulder to see the shift officer was unlocking the pistol locker to issue sidearms for the duration of the alert. It was standard practice for critical ship areas – although Taylor couldn’t see the wisdom in giving a barely certified crew dangerous firearms in a room full of sensitive equipment.

  “I will help distribute,” the Exodite said. “I am little use locked in here otherwise.”

  The shift officer shrugged and gave Baali an armful of guns, one of which he promptly used to shoot the officer twice in the head.

  Abject shock overtook most of the half dozen crew in the room. One woman, an old hand transferred from the starboard tracking array, charged at the Exodite. She barely made it two steps before a trio of gunshots sent her lifelessly to the deck.

  “Further heroics are not advised,” Baali said, cold and hollow sounding. “Please stand and move to the door in an orderly fashion.” As the shocked crew stood up the pistol swung across them and for some reason stopped on Taylor. “Except you.”

  Once the others were all quietly facing the wall, the Exodite replaced all but two of the pistols, relocked the cabinet, and stuffed the key into his pocket. He then kicked a wheeled chair over to be next to Taylor.

  “Taylor,” Baali said, sitting down in the seat next to him, “your people have done a terrible thing to mine, and now we have come to a very dark place.”

  The specialist wasn’t sure what response this psychopath wanted, so he said nothing.

  “You are kind, Taylor. I wish all of this were elsewise, though I do not expect you to believe so. But you are kind and I am certain you have a wife at home, perhaps children.”

  “I’m not telling you that,” he replied with a defensiveness that all but confirmed it.

  “Nor should you. I am dangerous. I could kill you at any moment. There is but one thing you can do that will keep that from happening.”

  “I will not help you.”

  The Exodite continued like he’d never spoken. “To ensure your survival, please point the main array at the dorsal sensor dish, override the safeties and maximise the power.”

  He means to destroy our long-range communications and blind us to attack from above, Taylor thought. “I won’t help you.”

  “Taylor, you have before you two possible fates. The best is: you do some property damage, after this everyone goes home alive.” Baali took one of the pistols and pressed the barrel directly against his right thigh. “In your other future, I pull this trigger. The round in the chamber pierces through your flesh, hits femur and shatters, deflecting shards in all directions and turning this part of your leg into a viscous ruin that knows only how to feel blinding pain. I can then start on your other leg.”

  Taylor wanted to refuse, he wanted to be the hero, but he couldn’t do it. He would have died to save others, died to protect the Constellation, but he couldn’t die to save a communications antenna. He couldn’t picture his children at all comforted to learn he’d bled out on the floor of the comm room in order to stalwartly save the dorsal sensor array.

  He reached out for his console.

  ****

  Lieutenant Commander Phillips had been trying to contact the CAG when the alert went off. He didn’t know what doom his father’s message pertained to, but he had no intention of abandoning the ship, and so he planned to share the warning he’d received.

  But notifying the CAG hadn’t worked out. His attempt to use the internal communications had gone unanswered, and when he’d found the CAG’s office empty, he’d decided to switch tracks and go straight to the quarterdeck. He’d been on his way off the hangar deck when the intruder alarm sounded.

  That threw his course once more, was this alert for the same thing his father had warned him about? Was there still value in delivering this non-specific warning or should he adhere to traditional counter-intrusion procedure? Before he could reach a decision, the elevator bank he’d been heading to opened and over a dozen Exodites spilled out with Desla at their head. Most were armed, and their twitchy dispositions put Phillips immediately on edge, but they had already seen him and he could not readily withdraw.

  Weapons were levelled at the pilot, and Desla’s swiftly upraised hand may have been all that prevented them from firing. Phillips drew himself to his full height and stared them down, he wasn’t sure what was going on, but he had the unpleasant feeling he was about to find out. Desla gestured most of his force to continue, but two men remained with him and they had more than enough firepower to dash Phillips hopes of slipping away.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Phillips demanded.

  “The immortal Lieutenant Commander,” the Exodite leader said. “We are doing some reorganisation… renovation of this vessel. I could use your assistance.”

  “I won’t let you harm this ship.”

  “You are not well placed to stop me, but I actually need to make a trade.” He smiled a Cheshire smile. “You see I have Adai Ucoo and… I am willing to exchange her for the rest of the Undying.”

  “So you can do what?”

  “Kill them,” Desla answered honestly. “I’ve decided some of the ‘undying’ will die, and it can be you and her, or it can be everyone else.”


  Phillips eyes narrowed, a thousand thoughts and fears were going through his head, but he had settled on one thought, he could not let the enemy dictate terms. He could not reveal the cold terror that had spread to every extremity at the thought of Ucoo with a gun to her head.

  “No deal. Release her and we’ll talk.”

  “This is not a deal it is a choice, your choice. Should you wish to preserve young Adai’s life you should gather the Undying at your primary barracks. Once I am happy they are all present I will contact you again and release your… lover.” He said the last word as though it were bitter in his mouth.

  “We’re not finished!” Phillips called as Desla and his men turned and began down a cross corridor.

  “You have six minutes,” Desla called back over his shoulder. “Do not waste them on me.”

  ****

  The intruder alarm was not particularly common, and Doctor Williams didn’t immediately recognise it. Figuring that any type of ship-wide alarm was likely to mean casualties, he set his staff about readying the trauma wards for new patients.

  As it happened, their first guests were two Exodite turret gunners, and they brought weapons rather than wounds. The moment they entered, one of them levelled his pistol at the closest triage nurse.

  In four days’ time, Tarek had told him, two other Exodites will come and visit you. Make sure to tell them how the treatment is going.

  Two Exodites, four days. He didn’t want to speak. He didn’t want to draw attention from these two individuals who had apparently come to murder the medical staff. He was not a front-line fighter, he was an educated healer, and more than anyone, he knew how quickly his entire existence could end the moment he opened his mouth.

  But he saw the conflict in the face of the Exodites, realised the first man hadn’t fired yet, realised the other one still had his weapon only half raised as though uncertain what to do with it. They were as afraid as he was, afraid that they would have to go through with this.