Star Wolf (Shattered Galaxy)

by David G. Johnson

  Voide settled into her position in a darkened corner of the airlock. She had disabled the lights, her stealth suit camouflaging her visual appearance as well as her heat signature. This would give her the best chance for a surprise flanking attack once the outer airlock door was breached.

  The bright interior lights from the assault shuttle’s adjoining airlock bay spilled into Star Wolf’s airlock, as the outer door opened to allow the boarding party access to the airlock. The light was too restricted by the narrow, circular doorway to put Voide’s hiding place in jeopardy.

  Tentatively, weapons at the ready, the first boarders slid cautiously into Star Wolf’s lower port airlock. Most were wearing combat armor suits, though one was armed with a heavy weapon and outfitted in full powered battle dress. She could see more queued up in the assault shuttle waiting for enough room to board.

  These were not pirates or renegades. Molon had radioed ahead to be alert for a possible GalSec shadow squad leading the boarding party. That wasn’t the case either. This was by the book Imperial Navy boarding tactics, and these invaders were wearing the markings of Empire Marines serving the Provisional Imperium.

  Voide would have to wait for an opportunity. Even though they gave no indication that their sensors had detected her stealth suit, two of the boarders continued to monitor and sweep the airlock with their weapons at ready. Another raider worked at the panel to open the interior airlock door, to the room full of security officers and mercs waiting on the other side.

  Having cleared the airlock and not detected her, they should have relaxed and turned their focus on the next room. Their continued readiness could only mean one thing. They had fought Prophane before. Only one question remained. Given the rarity of Pariahs, especially this far spinward, were these marines merely maintaining cautionary protocol or did they know she was on board?

  Voide moved her fingers across the armband controlling her intra-aural communications system and linking her to the ship’s security systems. By memory, since she couldn’t see her hand any better than the boarding troops could, she input the command to set her receiver to scan for local communication band signals, excluding the frequency her own troops were using. She then sent a text-only signal to Rockjaw to let him know an airlock breach was imminent and to be prepared.

  Her communicator soon locked into the signal band the invaders were using. As she had suspected, it was scrambled and encoded. She blindly punched in the commands to run the signal through the ship’s security decryption program before routing it to her earpiece.

  The point invader continued to work on the airlock access panel for another minute or two before Star Wolf’s security system finally cracked the encrypted channel and began routing clear audio to her from the invaders. The perimeter troops, in the meantime, maintained a ready-alert status, outward facing and tightly packed to give no opportunity for a sneak attack.

  “Hurry it up, would you?” came a gravelly voice through her earpiece. Star Wolf’s security decryption program had found the correct digital cypher to unscramble their comms.

  “I’m doing the best I can, sergeant. This is no simple freighter lockout. Someone who knew what they were doing upgraded these security locks. We might have to breach the door.”

  Voide smiled at the unintentional compliment. She had indeed brought the latest and greatest GalSec security and encryption protocols to Star Wolf when she came aboard. That was a few years ago, but given that GalSec made it a point to stay a decade ahead of the regular military forces, it was not surprising that even these outdated protocols were confounding the PI marines.

  “We are not going to breach the door,” the gravelly voice replied. “Our orders are to take this bird intact, so you go blowing holes in the airlock we’re all going to answer for it.”

  “Then you better get the spook out here, because I can’t get through this door, sergeant.”

  “Simmons,” the gravelly voice called out, “you monitoring comms?”

  “What do you require, sergeant?” answered a voice as smooth as glass. “Have you secured a position? I haven’t heard any weapons fire.”

  “Negative. Someone upgraded the security locks on the airlock doors. This looks like GalSec level stuff. If you wouldn’t mind, could you suit up and give us a hand?”

  Voide was shocked to hear a gruff Provisional Imperium Marine sergeant speak so politely. GalSec was generally treated with grudging indifference by the military. If this Simmons commanded that kind of respect from marines, he was one to keep an eye on.

  A dark-skinned man, hair impeccably groomed, stepped out of the shuttle. He was wearing what appeared to be a business suit. Only the tiniest glimmer of refracted light near his head told Voide this man was not super-human with no need to breathe in the empty atmosphere of the airlock, nor someone with a Prophane-like body built to withstand the vacuum of space. He was wearing a type of tailored vac-suit that Voide had never seen before. She had seen the latest TL15 tailored vac-suits, but even the lightest and most sophisticated were nothing like this.

  Voide watched in fascination as the seemingly unprotected man approached the panel. The hardened marines parted for him as though he was the High Archon himself.

  “What seems to be the problem, sergeant?” the creamy smooth voice inquired.

  “I told you, they must have their own in-house spook. This door encryption is beyond what our top tech has seen before.”

  “I’m sure,” came the smug reply. “Step aside, and let me solve your problem so you can get on with your task.”

  The new arrival approached the security panel. He detached the marine code-breaker and discarded it like it was a dead rat the cat had left on the doorstep. He attached a tiny, black square to the panel and punched in a quick command. To Voide’s amazement, she heard the magnetic security locks disengage immediately, but the door remained closed.

  “Once I am back in the shuttle, please complete your job.” The man reached into a pocket of his suit and produced a black and yellow oval, handing it to the sergeant. “Oh, and since your incompetent delays have given them all the time in the galaxy to prepare a welcome, you might want to use this.”

  The man detached his tiny code-breaker and turned back toward the shuttle, while the sergeant handed the oval to the marine on point. Voide’s stomach sank as she recognized the device: a neural grenade. In the tight confines of the barracks beyond the airlock, one neural grenade would take out the entire security team. Neural weapons were at least TL14. Whoever these guys were, they were well trained and better outfitted than most military.

  Star Wolf’s security forces had no psionic shielding in their combat armor. Mercs could rarely afford the latest tech, and psionic shielded combat armor was strictly controlled by the military. Even mercs rich enough to afford it would have trouble finding black market units in sufficient quantities to outfit an entire shipboard force.

  Once the suited agent was clear, the point man reached for the airlock door controls. The door irised open, and the lead marine pushed the activator on the neural grenade and tossed it through the doorway.

  They were answered by a barrage of weapons fire from Rockjaw’s men. The energy weapons bounced harmlessly off the reflective surface of the boarders’ combat armor, but Rockjaw had anticipated as much. A handful of his mercs were cutting loose with flechette rifles. The tiny, needle-like projectiles were ripping into even the solid combat armor, with only the invading marines in hardened battle dress escaping the effects.

  Flechette rifles were extremely effective provided there was no sensitive equipment in the area. They wouldn’t penetrate the hull of the ship, but they could really mess up any type of sensitive pressure tanks or piping. Needlers, the common name for flechette weapons, lacked the ballistic damage potential of conventional slug-throwers, but they had a massive penetration and fire rate. Getting ripped through by fifty tiny flechettes could easily cause as much or more damage to internal organs as a tumbling lead round.

&n
bsp; Three of the leading boarders went down in the initial volley, twitching and screaming into their comms channel, after which the remaining boarders pulled out of line of sight of the door while they waited for the neural grenade to clear the room beyond.

  There was no time to waste. Voide had only seconds to react before her entire team would be disabled. She quickly tapped her wrist controls, returning her communicator to their own frequency.

  “Rockjaw, hold your fire, I’m coming through.”

  Voide had no doubts the veterans would honor the order. She had much less confidence in the restraint of those twitchy-fingered boots. At this point, however, there was no choice. If she didn’t get that grenade out of there, this fight was over.

  Voide focused and phased into voidspace. She transitioned, still cloaked, into the barracks beyond the inner airlock door. The bunks closest to the door had been unbolted from the floor and upturned to form a makeshift barricade against the boarders. It would provide no protection whatsoever against the neural pulse that was about to rip through this room.

  Quickly spotting the grenade lying just beyond the first bunk, Voide bent and grabbed the black and yellow oval, focused her attention once again, and dragged the device with her into voidspace.

  For a split second, the thought crossed her mind to release the grenade into voidspace and transition to clear herself, but she had no idea what the consequences might be. The everywhere and nowhere structure of voidspace might amplify the effects and leak them through into real space. She could end up inadvertently turning a localized weapon into something that took out the whole ship. She knew exactly what the capabilities of the weapon were in real space, however, so opting for the solution with the fewest variables was the best choice.

  Transitioning back to real space in the airlock behind the boarders, Voide mentally prepared to step back into voidspace as soon as she released the neural grenade. She had no idea how much time was left before it detonated, but all she needed was another second or two.

  It was time she never got.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a silhouette in the shuttle doorway. She found she could not turn her head to look, but was able to roll her eyes to the side enough to see the suited GalSec agent standing in the shuttle doorway. He was pointing a small device in her direction. A tiny, white light pulsed from the end of it. To her amazement, a voice came across her own private comms channel. It was the silky-smooth voice of the agent, Simmons.

  “Well, hello my dear. Aren’t you a surprise.”

  Her stealth suit was still activated, but the agent stared directly at her as though she were not cloaked at all. Voide found that not only could she not turn her head, she also could not release the neural grenade still in her hand. Neither could she summon the mental focus to transition back into voidspace. She was trapped.

  “Not quite the surprise you were expecting?” the dark-skinned agent said as the shuttle’s door closed in front of him, putting a shielded portal between himself and what was about to happen in the airlock.

  The neural grenade in her hand emitted a whining crescendo before flashing a pulse. Voide saw the airlock full of boarders still standing, obviously protected by psionic shielding in their combat armor. As pain slammed into her head and unconsciousness overtook her, Voide had one final comforting thought. At least she had given Rockjaw a fighting chance.

  *****

  As they waited for the boarders to breach the shuttle bay, John gripped the medical bag in his hand and leaned back against the interior of the small STS that had delivered him from Ratuen. He took several deep breaths.

  “Are you all right, John?” Mel asked reaching out a gloved hand to rest it on the arm of his vac-suit.

  His instinct was to draw away, knowing the effect the Fei communications officer’s touch had on him, but apparently, the suit provided a barrier her touch couldn’t breach. Or perhaps she was just holding back her abilities. Either way, John felt completely in control of himself when he responded.

  “I’m fine. It’s just that growing up on a hermit-world didn’t exactly prepare me for everything that has happened recently. I’m not a soldier.”

  “No one expects you to be. We all have an essence, an essential identity, that defines us. You are a healer, John. Just heal. That is your purpose. You must learn to heal yourself as well.”

  “So, ‘physician, heal yourself’, is it?” John said with a laugh.

  He wondered if the Fei had ever read the Scriptures or if she even realized the allusion to the gospel of Luke.

  “Why do you find this amusing?” Mel asked, cocking her head slightly to the side.

  “No reason. This is just advice I have heard before and should have remembered. It is easier said than done, though.”

  There was no time to continue their dialogue. The shudder of the cargo bay doors opening resonated throughout the deck. The lack of atmosphere left it a tactile sensation without any accompanying sound. John and Mel switched off the private comms channel they had been using in order to monitor the general comms which the mercenaries defending the cargo bay were using.

  “They overrode the cargo door controls!” barked a commanding voice. “All lower level troops fan out and establish a firing line. I want forward fire arcs, and don’t get crossed up. Get two and two spread to flanks for a crossfire. Topside troops rain dreck down on their heads.”

  “Yes, sergeant,” came a chorus of replies.

  John peered out the open hatch of the STS. The troops on the upper landing platform fanned out along the railing, all their rifles trained on the cargo opening at the front of the ship.

  John tore his eyes away from the gaping maw of the cargo door and aimed his vision back toward the deck. The stars outside were tumbling and whirling by as the ship continued its three-axis spin. Overwhelmed by the nothingness between himself and the dark void of space, John fought to control his fear. If anything happened to Star Wolf’s artificial gravity, the momentum might send them all tumbling out of the cargo doors and into open space like grains of salt from a shaker. What in the name of the Lion of Judah was he thinking joining the crew of a star ship?

  John stood for a moment, taking deep breaths to calm himself and listening to the sound of his own battle with hyperventilation resounding inside his vac-suit. His heart pounded a gentle, insistent rhythm that was simultaneously soothing and terrifying. That serenity lasted only a few seconds before the cargo bay erupted into chaos.

  “Here they come!” was the only warning that came across the comms channel.

  With the atmosphere vented, there was no medium through which sound could travel. John thought it odd that a major battle raged all around him, weapons pouring out death from the mercenaries along the railing and being returned from the invading forces below, yet only the sound of his own breathing accompanied the conflict. It gave the deadly exchange playing out before him a surreal feel, as though he were watching a holovid with the sound turned off.

  Then it became all too real. One of the mercs along the railing, thrown back from his position, landed sprawled out upon the upper half-deck of the cargo bay. The trooper dropped his combat rifle and lay there on his back, writhing against whatever wounds had just been inflicted.

  John did not hesitate, his fear now forgotten in a sudden rush of adrenaline. He sprinted toward the downed man, dropping beside him and quickly assessing the situation. Air poured from a grape sized hole in the left shoulder of the merc’s pressurized combat suit. Escaping air combined with the spray of blood from the wound below it to form a crimson mist of ruddy crystals in the freezing vacuum of the cargo bay. Thousands of tiny ice balls of water and blood formed and, coming under the pull of Star Wolf’s artificial gravity, rained down through the grating to shatter like sanguine hail upon the deck of the main cargo floor below.

  John felt the back of the man’s shoulder to see if there was a second puncture marking an exit wound. The rear of the suit was intact. He ripped in
to the med kit and grabbed a surgical patch, slapping it across the opening to stop the vac-suit’s air loss and the influx of cold to the fallen trooper.

  Mel ran up and crouched beside him.

  “Is there anything I can do to help, John?”

  “Just keep me from getting shot. I need to focus.”

  She nodded and took up a kneeling, defensive crouch, pointing her weapon in the direction of the starboard side access lift to the lower cargo bay.

  John had studied this type of situation in medical school, and reviewed the procedures again from the medical manuals aboard Star Wolf, but many bouts of drunken debauchery lay between medical school and the man he was today. He hadn’t always been a devout Faithful.

  Procedures in some manual were very different from reality. He was a trained surgeon, but had been more of a consultant philanthropist for years. John had not seen the inside of an operating room for a long time. On top of all that, he was far outside his element in the airless hull of a star ship under siege.

  “Am I gonna die, Doc?” the man said, tapping over to a private channel.

  John was anything but confident. He didn’t even know what had caused the wound or how serious it was. Still, he knew the only answer appropriate to the situation.

  “No, son, not on my watch.”

  The trooper visibly relaxed as John activated the heads up display in his suit and linked it to the camera on the laparoscopic surgical attachment built into the medical patch. Injecting a strong, local anesthetic, John probed the wound. A large, metal slug was lodged in the man’s shoulder. Fortunately, it hadn’t damaged any of the bone but was deeply embedded in the soft tissue. As wounds go, this one was fairly minor.

  Then John saw it. A dark reddening around the wound was deepening. Despite the mercenary’s combat armor having administered a coagulant gel to the wound area, the gel was dissolving, and the bleeding continued. John grabbed a strong coagulant medication from the med kit and injected it through the surgical patch. There was no effect. Only one thing could cause something like this.