Against A Rock

by Kalin Ringkvist

  The lack of gravity made it easier to move in a normally vertical environment, but Floreina wanted to avoid the blood now splattered against the walls. She tightened again, pressing her feet together and locked her legs straight. She guided herself down the center of the tube with her fingertips, tapping her toes against the walls to keep the rest of her body from dragging against the bloodstains.

  She reached the bottom and was forced to turn the gravity back on in order to avoid the droplets of blood floating near the body. The mess fell back down to the shaft intersection and she took a minute to kick it out of the way.

  Floreina crawled horizontally now under normal gravity. She groaned and shivered, attempting to shake off the experience as though it were just another broken coolant coil.

  After dropping to the next level, Floreina stopped to check herself, and attempted to wipe blood from her clothing.

  So what do the slaves look like in the cargo bay? Floreina asked.

  They’re currently on the far side, opposite from where you’re gonna enter.

  Good. How many Amarrians?

  Three in the main cargo bay. Groups of others are trapped in nearby rooms.

  I have a clear path to the cargo bay at least?

  Affirmative, replied Mahran.

  Following the map, she moved to the end of the corridor and passed through another hatch, walking carefully, but attempting a normal pace.

  Mahran seemed to panic momentarily. Master, I did not notice: there’s several security officers preparing to blow a hatch in the next minute or so—they’re in the cargo administration offices right off your route. You need to run, now!

  Floreina grunted as she started her run. What’s wrong with you, Mahran! She exclaimed. Pay attention!

  Just how many things do you think a Minmatar can handle? he forced back frantically, his presence seeming to crackle and break. I’m sorry, Master. I’m doing my best and there’s a thousand different things going on at once!

  Okay! She entered her code into the next hatch and pulled it open. What do I need to do?

  Run! He replied.

  The hatch opened into a wide corridor with a large bay door at the end, leading into the main cargo hold. She started down the hallway at a sprint as the massive door began to creep upward in preparation for her arrival.

  Grenade detonation in three seconds. Mahran informed her. You’ll feel the blast from behind you. Keep running…

  And Floreina counted, posting the number in the corner of her vision.

  The explosion came right as expected, the wave disorienting her momentarily. She stumbled, but caught herself. The noise of sudden flame and shredding steel left her ears ringing.

  As she approached the door, now half a meter off the floor, she heard an Amarrian exclaim, “That’s her!” And Floreina heard the faint electrical hum of a pistol.

  Her feet slipped easily and gracefully out from under her and she hit the floor at speed. She felt the first of the laser blasts piercing, heating and expanding the air, colliding with the heavy steel door as she slid on her back under the hatchway. The door groaned to a stop and began its descent as Floreina came to a halt on the inside of the cargo bay. She rolled to the side as the beams snuck under the doorway, glancing off the floor near her feet.

  Floreina ran to the side to avoid the open door, drew both weapons and turned to assess the situation. The cargo bay was set up as usual: giant crates, about four meters tall, arranged in neat rows from one end to the other. Minmatar slaves were packed together near the other end of the bay.

  Crewmen behind you! Mahran warned.

  And on the other side of the bay door, from behind another identical row of crates, Floreina saw three Amarrians sprint into the open, pulling their weapons. Her systems identified them and gave a tactical assessment, judging that she could likely out-shoot them.

  “Commander Floreina is the traitor!” she heard them shout as her legs carried her instinctively behind the closest crate. “Our turret commander is the disgrace that has done this!”

  She heard several shots slicing through the shell of the nearest crate.

  They’re leaving, Mahran informed.

  The shots ceased and Floreina peered out carefully, and saw them sprinting for the slowly closing hatchway.

  Feeling a warning from her tactical readouts of her rear camera, Floreina turned to see several slaves running in her direction. The lead slave, her systems identified by the name of Darronion. He ran toward her, his right hand clutching a short steel pipe.

  Floreina pointed her left weapon at the assailant, but in the same moment registered movement from under the door.

  Just before it lowered the last hundred centimeters, with the three Amarrians now safely on the other side, she watched a grenade slide under the hatch and come to rest in the middle of the gap between the main cargo door and the first row of packing crates.

  This one was round and flat, more like a mine, or a large hockey puck. Her systems identified it as a model designed for a larger radius explosion than the smaller concussion grenades the troops had been using to blast open doors. Instinctively her visual processors cut an image from her sight and enhanced to zoom in on the tiny display indicating the countdown: twenty-five seconds left out of a total of thirty. The fellow crewmen had given themselves time to get out of the concussion range on the other side of the hatchway. Floreina posted a synchronized countdown to the corner of her vision.

  I’ve already set the door into lockdown procedures, Mahran answered before she could ask. It’ll take me thirty seconds to reset the codes again to open it.

  With no time to place blame, her anger was artificially cut short.

  Floreina kept one weapon and one thought pathway focused on Darronion, at the same time calculating explosion velocities and ranges, and comparing different potentials based on various possible locations of the grenade. She started her run, pulling out from behind the crates. She saw a few of the more aggressive slaves showing up at this end of the bay, a few also armed with pipes.

  Floreina shouted, “Grenade!,” pointing at the device.

  She continued the blast calculations realizing there was almost no way to avoid a lethal concussion through less than a third of the room. Her best hope for survival would be to pick it up and throw it to the other end in the midst of the slaves where the crates and bodies would absorb most of the blast.

  But that plan would only guarantee her survival from the grenade, not from the slaves.

  She saw a corner, near the edge of the bay, with an overhang that came nearly to the floor. She refocused to calculate the blast range if the device were under the overhang, measuring the depth and height of the lip and its effect on the explosion, and after an agonizing three hundred milliseconds, calculating that it would absorb most of the blast and minimize slave casualties.

  The timer clicked down to twenty-three seconds.

  “Run!” she screamed. “Run you fools! Grenade! They’re trying to kill us!”

  Racing forward, she waved her weapons, alternating between pointing at the explosive and at the slaves as they popped out from behind the crates. “Get back!” she screamed. “That’s a high-powered grenade! Run!”

  Nine slaves had come to her end, most waving pipes as weapons, but still a reasonable distance away, flanking her from either end of the rows of cargo. However, the majority stopped when they heard Floreina and saw the device. Several began repeating Floreina’s frantic screams, and motioning for their comrades to get back.

  Darronion, however, continued on despite the warning, coming into view from behind the crates.

  “Get to the other end of the bay!” She turned, following the calculations for her kick. “Twenty seconds till detonation!”

  She planted her feet and stopped for an awkward half second as her systems re-assessed her orientation, and took partial control of her right leg, guiding her kick.

  Her boot connected with the explosive. The sudden pressure was somehow c
omforting for a tiny moment. The device sailed off, sliding across the floor, along the projected line.

  Most of the slaves were realizing the danger and turning the other direction. Many were now crashing into the few that were still running toward Floreina. They screamed, voices echoing and blending. But most were now pushing and scrambling toward the other side of the bay.

  Darronion stopped his approach suddenly, as he heard the other slaves exclaiming their warnings, and stared for a moment at the situation, his mouth and eyes twisting into a painful vision of terror.

  But then it was gone, and he started forward, but a moment later changed his mind and turned around again to flee.

  Floreina turned toward Darronion and the rows of cargo containers, scanning her surroundings. The nearby slaves seemed aware of the danger and were making their hasty and disorganized retreat.

  Checking her map again, she saw the slaves represented throughout the rows. She spun the map, looking for a route through the slaves, and hoped that Mahran was updating her data rapidly enough. But it didn’t matter, as it seemed that every row was full of Minmatar, many of whom had been on the aggressive just moments earlier.

  She slipped her weapons back to their locations, the right handgun in the proper holster, and the left shoved into a utility pocket. The nanites came alive as she calculated her ability to scale the cargo containers. Her adrenaline and steroid rations increased automatically.

  Floreina approached the container as the timer in the corner of her vision clicked to eighteen seconds.

  But as she approached Darronion to his right side, he seemed to change his mind one last time and turned toward Floreina, raising his pipe.

  Darronion was young, however, and not trained in combat, and had just sprinted from the other end of the cargo hold.

  Floreina turned toward him, killing her valuable momentum. Her combat assistant immediately drew a projection of Darronion’s swing.

  Without the time to draw her weapon, she stepped away from the red arc traced through her vision and watched as Darronion’s attack followed the predicted line almost perfectly. She stepped forward and grabbed the pipe with her left hand. With her right foot, she swept and twisted his feet, shoving him along the same line as his momentum. He fell and bounced as his back slammed into the deck. His face went suddenly red. The pipe ripped from Floreina’s hand and clanked against the floor.

  His hand began rising, but Floreina brought her foot up and pounded down into his groin. She stared into his eyes as though scolding and watched his eyes bulge. He twisted and arched his back and Floreina felt the grating as his pelvis cracked. The slave dropped the pipe.

  She released and turned without a word, as the timer ticked down to sixteen seconds. Darronion’s screams registered, but she ignored them. She recalculated her ascent, realizing the need to back up a couple paces to run at it.

  Floreina spun, took two quick steps away from her destination and twirled to sprint toward the cargo containers. Nanites burned through her body, like a million fiery pinpricks.

  She leapt, her right leg springing straight and her left tucking in. It connected between the top and bottom of the container, her knee nearly at her chin. Her boot wedged into the gap, and her leg straightened as she grasped the tiny ridges in the plastic packing material, and her momentum pushed her upward. Grasping the top of the crate, she crawled upward, her toes scrambling frantically.

  She flung her lower body over the top and the timer simultaneously ticked down to twelve seconds. She wasted no time in hopping to her feet to begin her sprint across the top of the containers.

  She kept her head uncomfortably low and her body bent forward to avoid the support girders running across the length of the cargo bay, a meter and a half above the tops of the cargo containers. She charged, ignoring the hordes of Minmatar below. The clock ticked down, second by second as her legs carried her instinctively across the crates and leapt over the gaps. Her head bobbed rhythmically, her hair brushing against the girders above.

  The map swirled as she attempted to see the location of Minmatar bodies. She closed it and hoped that whichever gap she chose would be the one without the most loyal and aggressive Minmatar.

  As the clock ticked down to three seconds, she stopped at the edge of a crate and allowed her weight to continue over the edge, her right leg coming out and connecting with the top of the next crate. She straddled the gap and looked down, seeing slaves in front of and behind her, but not within several meters. She gave one final screaming warning.

  She dropped as the clock ticked to one second and continued down through the milliseconds. Her legs curled as she pounded into the deck, absorbing the shock and simultaneously drawing her downward, to place her head between her knees. She wrapped her arms around the top of her head and curled as tight as possible. The numbers faded to zero as she pressed against the crate.

  And time continued.

  One hundred milliseconds passed; then two, and then three hundred milliseconds.

  But just before four hundred milliseconds past the predicted time, the floor seemed to rupture upwards, and everything went quiet. The air became hot, and seemed to compress inward, as though time and space had decided to implode, pressing on Floreina’s every cell.

  The universe pressed in, the pressure increasing with every passing millisecond, and finally seemed to collapse parts of her mind and soul.

  Then it all stopped and reversed. The floor buckled downward and her stomach and heart wanted to expand, as though every molecule now wished to flee her center of consciousness.

  Sound returned with a furious vengeance, and Floreina heard the nearly deafening rush of the flames and the tortured ripping of plastic, metal, and flesh. Cargo debris slammed into the ceiling and walls. Flames rushed between the containers and over their heads.

  She held tight, sensing the pressure and trying to interpret the data coming back from her blast calculations. She kept her head down and waited.

  The heat and pressure started dissipating after several long seconds, and little by little, the sound of tearing and splintering cargo faded away to be replaced by the screams and pleas of the shocked and injured slaves.

  Floreina’s head popped up as soon as the crashing ceased, feeling the rush of hot air against her face. Her medical systems registered minor burns on the back of her neck, but otherwise no serious problems, due in part to her heat resistant uniform. Nearby Minmatars did not seem as well off.

  Seeing the nearest slave patting flames out on his own head, Floreina ran her hands quickly through her hair, checking for smoldering hairs, extinguishing several.

  And the nearest slave looked up from checking himself, and gazed at her. “Commander Floreina?” he asked. “Is that you?”

  “Back away,” she ordered.

  “It is you,” he replied, shaking his head slightly, peering, as though trying to focus. His face darkened, his eyebrows contorting inward, accentuating that ugly bony ridged Minmatarian forehead. “You brought this on us, didn’t you… they told us it was you, Commander Floreina… I’ve met you and I didn’t believe it.”

  “Back away,” Floreina repeated as she calculated the capacity of the two Minmatars flanking her to make a sudden lunge and incapacitate her, and simultaneously calculated her own capacity to scale her way back up the cargo crates and regain her tactical advantage.

  “You made this happen, didn’t you?” he asked, the minor cuts and burns across his face drawing even more attention to his sudden anger. “They told us you were to blame.”

  “They have their tactical reasons for telling you things,” she replied, just as she made the decision to begin her climb instead of drawing her weapons. The two slaves to either side, both unarmed, continued staring in shock on their Amarrian superior.

  Floreina jumped, planting each foot on an opposing crate, and shifted her weight back and forth, hopping upward, bouncing left and right, planting each foot precariously into the tiny ridges in the crates. After
several cycles she was able to catch the top of a crate, just as the slaves below seemed to realize that their duty was to attack her. She scrambled, rolled over the edge, splayed out on her back, and panted. The pounding of her heart and the pain shooting from her stomach were only slightly more noticeable than the pain throughout her body of overworked muscles and nanite enhancements.

  The screams and sobs of the injured slaves suddenly came to light, as though they had been deadened a moment earlier by her tactical thoughts. She sought to deaden them again, and closed her eyes and put her hands across her stomach to pray.

  The Lord was there, as always, within moments of closing her eyes and shutting out the rest of the world. There, as always, constantly reminding her of His love and devotion, and of His greater plan. Everything that had just occurred and everything that would happen was all part of His plan. Nothing could fail in the grandest scheme of things, as long as there was faith. He didn’t promise her survival, and he didn’t promise her glory… but He promised her an experience. And He asked her to take her rest, then get to her feet and ride that experience for all it was worth.

  Master? Mahran asked through the haze from the back of her mind. Ma’am, are you okay?

  I’m alive, she replied, and paused, not wishing to think of anything else. Finally she asked, Are they climbing after me?

  They’re thinking about it, came the answer.

  Floreina groaned, still lying on her back, comforted by the surface, as though this were not a packing crate in a cargo hold, but a cushioned couch in a temple foyer.

  Yup, they’re climbing now, Mahran announced. They’re helping each other up… What are you doing Master?

  Okay, okay. She drew her right handgun, rolled to the side and scrambled to her feet.

  She scanned her surroundings, focusing on the individuals attempting to climb the crates. “Get down!” she ordered. “Everyone! Get down now!” She drew her left weapon and continued scanning, her combat system cycling targeting crosshairs to the foreheads of potentially aggressive Minmatar as they either continued their climb or reacted to Floreina’s orders.