“Why don’t they defend these locations more heavily?” Boyd said as he landed onto the ship’s hull.
“I guess they didn’t know you were coming,” Dorik said. “I’m going to secure the Silence. I’m leading an assault on a position on your left flank. Take squads one through five with you, Boyd, and I’ll see you inside.”
Although his feet were touching solid composite, the weak gravity of the asteroid made him slip around. He increased the grav field to hold him in position and activated his electron bayonet. He plunged the bayonet into the heavy’s composite hull and began to cut an opening.
Boyd looked up from his work and saw the Marines dropping onto the hull around him, ready for action. He turned his attention back to the ship and cut an opening into the dark interior. A jet of atmosphere burst out.
“It’s still got atmosphere,” he said.
Boyd pulled a small deflection generator from his equipment pack and placed it on the hull, creating a temporary seal. Then he pressed through the field and into the ship, dropping into vast, open space below. His helmet light showed him a dark, abandoned craft. He sent a group of micro drones ahead and then activated his thrusters, moving quickly along the corridor toward the human life signs.
As Boyd moved toward the life signs, the rest of his Blue Stars were coming up behind him.
“Focus on the life signs of the people. Deploy micro drones to keep a watch out for the Skarak soldiers.”
Boyd entered a hold with a ring of benches all around the edge. They were tilted back at forty-five degrees and the people lying on them were connected to a central sphere with tubes that pulsed and throbbed. The victims were in various states of mutilation. Boyd moved to the center and scanned them quickly.
None of them were Thresh.
More life signs lay further along in another of the freighter’s cargo holds. Boyd moved on and reached the bulkhead of the next bay.
As Boyd cut his way through the composite bulkhead, the Marines with him activated their electron bayonets and joined him. Within moments, they had gained access.
Boyd was first to look inside.
The interior of this hold was not laid out like the first. There were no benches here but floating around, like so many asteroids of the Sphere, were human bodies. Bio readouts showed him that most were alive. Some were in critical condition and would not survive much longer. All those who were alive were unconscious.
Boyd clenched his fist in frustration. He needed to find Thresh. Of all the people here, he only wanted to save one. Only one mattered to him. And then, floating amongst them all, he saw her. Her hair was drifting around her as she turned. Her face relaxed, eyes closed.
As Boyd prepared to move in through the breach he had cut, ready to scoop her up in his arms, he saw a blue flickering light leap out from a sphere at the far side. The blue, crackling light moved around the surface, seeming to thin and spread as it went, turning to white fine strands of lightning, and then it leapt between the floating bodies.
Boyd pulled back as the strands flickered between the people. One leapt across the hole in the bulkhead and struck a Marine next to Boyd who was peering in. The fine white lightning struck him on his helmet and the Marine instantly began to shudder. His life signs appeared on Boyd’s enhanced data view. He was rendered unconscious instantly.
“They are keeping them unconscious,” Boyd said. “It’s that white lightning that’s doing it. We need to deactivate it.”
Boyd watched the sphere. It sent out another blast of crackle fire that thinned down to the fine white lightning that flickered through the floating bodies once again.
Sergeant Dorik reported that all Skarak soldiers were down and the Silence was secure. He was moving in to support Boyd. He came up to the breach and looked inside.
“That’s our target,” Boyd told him. “Now how do we deactivate it without potentially destroying the entire asteroid? Maybe we can just remove it. It’s a Skarak device in a Union ship. They must have put it in here. We must be able to take it out.”
The crackle fire rippled through the bodies again. Boyd checked the frequency of the discharges and worked out how long he had between pulses.
“We are not going to make it across the cargo hold in that time,” Dorik said.
“But we can make it around the outside of the hold and attack the device from the other side. We can cut away the composite it is attached to and remove it that way.”
“Good plan, Boyd,” Dorik said. “I’ll hold here.”
Entering the port-side corridor, Boyd sent a micro drone ahead to scan for Skarak soldiers that might be lurking around any corner. The drone glistened in the flashlight on his helmet before disappearing along the corridor that traveled along that side of the freighter. The service corridor was wide enough to accommodate a mobile loader or the exoskeleton power suits the crew used to move cargo during transit and unloading.
The drones relayed the image back to Boyd and it appeared on the side of his helmet.
Data from the entire assault team—the freighter’s layout, his own suit’s data—all flickered over his view as he watched for hidden surprises in the dark corridor. It was a lot to take in, but he was trained to deal with such a huge amount of data. His suit was also programmed to initiate a hostile response protocol should any Skarak jump out and attack. Essentially, the arms of the flexible and durable suit would bring his pulse rifle up, assisting and directing his own muscles, before he had consciously become aware of a threat. It was a microsecond advantage over the enemy, but in a firefight, the difference between activating his weapon and thinking about it was the difference between life and death.
He was so occupied with his advance that he almost forgot about Thresh for a moment. The danger was exhilarating and the dark corridor foreboding. He was enjoying every spine-tingling moment of it.
But for occasional, fleeting moments across the back of his mind, he thought of Thresh and that he could save her from this ship of torture.
Reaching the location at the far side of the hold, Boyd scanned through the composite to locate the Skarak sphere that was keeping the people unconscious, which would in all probability render him unconscious if he stepped inside the hold without disabling it first.
“Hull stability fields are in place,” Dorik reported. “The Resolute has moved in and is projecting the field over the entire freighter in case there are any further hull breaches.”
“That’s right,” Major Featherstone jumped in. “And it’s leaving my ship vulnerable. I still have the Resolute’s deflection shielding in place, but we are vulnerable to surprise attack. Work quickly, Sergeant Boyd.”
Boyd acknowledged the message and sent a Marine to cut away the bulkhead around the device. He instructed the assault team to take up positions forming a defensive perimeter.
“Send out drones. Watch the corridors out to one hundred meters in all directions. I want to know if the Skarak are trying to sneak up on us so we can prepare a warm, fire-filled welcome for them.”
The team sent drones out, the tiny units twinkling in the dark corridor before disappearing into the distance.
Boyd felt the tremor through the deck before any drone reported in. His rifle was up, the butt against his shoulder, before the first report came in.
“Form up,” Boyd ordered. He pointed to the deck and drew a line with his finger. “Form a line here. Fire up your electron bayonets.” Boyd stepped over to the Blue Star cutting away at the bulkhead. He laid a hand on the Marine’s shoulder. “Keep cutting.”
The data came in from the drones. The vibration in the corridor was being caused by a mass of people running forward, tumbling in the light gravity. They were clamoring to move forward, some falling only to be swarmed over by those behind. Those were then pushed to the side of the deck as more pushed onward. They filled the wide corridor and appeared to be eight or ten deep. A hundred or more. Some were wearing Union fleet uniforms, while many were civilians. Some were in the rough
Faction outfits. They all surged forward, badges and political allegiances irrelevant to the dead-eyed flesh drones.
Boyd looked at the size of his squad. It was a handful to face a much larger number. But Boyd had seen these lifeless attackers before. Their numbers were their only advantages.
“They are unarmed civilians,” a Blue Star called out. “Sergeant, we can’t shoot them.”
“They are no longer the people they once were.” Boyd took his place in the line, spreading his force across the width of the corridor. “They are dead. The Skarak made them this way. If they feel anything at all, it is only the pain of being turned by the Skarak. They are casualties of war. Don’t let them near you. Here they come.”
Out of the dark came the thunder of feet and a distant guttural rumbling as the dead surged forward. Boyd opened fire, and his rifle lit up the corridor. The flickering rounds showed the mass, and with every flash of a pulse rifle, the mass had advanced a meter or two more. They came on fast. The faces at the front were crazed, their black eye sockets and gaping mouths showing them for the lifeless puppets they were.
With every flash, the faces at the front changed as they were replaced by others from behind—a young Union officer, an older civilian lady, a Faction trooper, a Union command deck officer. Now they were Skarak flesh drones and beyond help. They all fell under the barrage from Boyd’s squad, but they did not fall quickly enough.
The first of the dead crashed into a Blue Star on Boyd’s right, and Boyd watched the Marine dispatch the reanimated body with a swipe of his electron bayonet. He cut clean through and began to clamber back to his feet as another of the dead broke through and charged him, fingers clawing forward, a guttural growl deep in its throat. The Blue Star pressed forward with his rifle, the bayonet slipping through the thing’s chest. The body fell to the side and the Blue Star fired a burst into the horde.
Boyd fired a quick burst, chose his next target, and fired again. He moved his rifle side to side in short, controlled movements, picking and dispatching a target every second. Along the line, the dead were reaching the Blue Stars. But none broke through.
After a few frantic moments, the bodies stopped coming. The last was dragging her shattered leg behind her. Dark eyes and open mouth looking up at the nearest Marine. He stepped forward and dispatched her with a single pulse round.
There was no sense of victory standing amongst the broken bodies, only a sick feeling of anger toward those who had created these pathetic, sorry beasts from once-vital, living people, all with a history, all with a tale to tell, a joke, a sad story, but none as sad as the day the Skarak turned them into these monsters.
“Broken through, Sergeant,” the Blue Star cutting the bulkhead called out.
Stepping back from the carnage, Boyd turned to see the completed work—a glowing circle where the Marine had cut through the bulkhead. Boyd extended his suit’s grav field and pulled on the bulkhead, and a huge circle of composite slipped out.
“Assist here, Blue Stars,” Boyd said. The team added their grav fields to Boyd’s and the section came away. On the far side, nesting on the inner bulkhead, was the Skarak device. It flickered with blue crackle energy all over its dark, deep surface.
The crackle energy flickered over the rim of the cutaway section.
“Resolute, this is Boyd. Can you detect this Skarak device?”
The communications operator on the Resolute’s command deck replied. “Yes, we have it on the holo-stage now, Sergeant.”
“This is Featherstone. How do you want to proceed, Sergeant Boyd?”
“Can you grab this thing and flush it out into space?”
“Affirmative,” Knole said. “Resolute is cutting in through the outer bulkhead. Get to the far side of the device. The mass beam is being configured to grab it. We’re going to kick so hard it’ll go interstellar. Like a classic Curveball downfield punt. Stand by, Blue Stars. Initiating punt maneuver in five…”
Boyd walked to the other side of four-meter-tall sphere. He ordered his team to do the same. On Knole’s count, the device was pulled away along the corridor by the Resolute’s mass beam. The blue crackle beams flickered as it vanished into the dark, fine white tendrils trailing for a few moments.
As the device was thrown far into the void, Boyd stepped into the cargo hold. The bodies were no longer floating, instead lying all over the deck. They were still unconscious, but some of the stronger ones were coming around, twitching or writhing—not so much like waking up from a deep sleep, but coming out of a nightmare.
Boyd scanned the hold—looking for that person in the mass—and then he found her.
She was sprawled out face up on the cold deck. Her breathing slightly erratic, her chest heaving up and down in a stuttering rhythm. Boyd kneeled next to her and put his hand under her head. She moaned, wriggled. An eye flickered open.
“Thresh. Hey. You’re safe now.”
Her eyes fully opened and looked up at Boyd. He smiled at her. She wrinkled her nose and sat up. “You shot me, you bastard.”
Boyd grinned, then laughed. “Didn’t do a very good job. Looks like the Skarak couldn’t finish you off either.” Boyd turned away for a moment and called Doc Cronin over. “She needs help, Doc.”
Thresh looked around, suddenly nervous.
“The Skarak. They hit us. Their blue crackle beam. I thought we were dead. Where am I?” She flinched as Doc Cronin kneeled at her side, medical scanner in hand.
“You are in the hold of a Union transport,” Boyd told her. “I think the Skarak were about to run some experiments on you.”
“Where’s Kitzov?” Thresh asked.
Boyd’s heart nearly stopped. Kitzov was there too. Cronin shot him an excited look and stood up, searching for the Faction leader.
“I’m right here,” the familiar deep, confident voice of the Faction leader sounded next to Boyd.
Sergeant Dorik stepped over to Boyd. The Blue Stars were administering to the Union personnel. The Faction members were being taken to one side of the hold. A line of Marines guarded them, their rifles ready to kill any Faction member who moved.
“Get moving, Faction scum,” Dorik said, kicking Thresh in the hip. “You too, old man,” he said to Kitzov. “And you—” Dorik shoved Cronin. “—go and see to our own.”
Boyd stood and faced off against Dorik. “These people are our prisoners.”
The sudden blast of a pulse rifle drew his attention. A Blue Star was stepping over to the Faction Trooper that had made a run for the hole Boyd had cut. His Faction jacket was charred. The man lay dead.
“Get up,” Dorik said, pulling Thresh to her feet. He shoved her over to the wall with the other Faction members. Some Blue Stars were readying their weapons. It looked like the Union was preparing a quick and brutal firing squad for the dozens of Faction prisoners.
“Stop,” Boyd said, stepping in front of the line of Blue Stars. “This is illegal. These are our prisoners.”
“They are Faction scum,” a Blue Star called out. “They killed my father and my uncle. They deserve nothing more than a pulse round to the face.”
A few Blue Stars called out their agreement. A shout from the line of Faction prisoners came.
“Faction. Freedom. Forever.”
“Stop,” Boyd said, hand out. Thresh at his back.
“You heard the Sergeant.” A voice sounded across the cargo hold that stopped every Blue Star in their tracks. Major Featherstone stepped into the hold and marched over to stand next to Boyd. He was wearing a set of combat webbing over his command deck jacket, a pair of pulse pistols in his twin holsters. He looked at Kitzov.
Featherstone held his wrist-mounted holo-stage in front of Kitzov. It showed an image of Kitzov and a green bar with his name. Text crossed the image.
“Apprehend. Detain. Deliver to Union Fleet Command immediately.”
Featherstone looked Kitzov up and down. “Mr. Kitzov.”
“Just Kitzov,” came the reply.
“You
are under arrest for piracy, terrorism, and sedition.” Featherstone turned to Boyd. “Sergeant, see these prisoners are returned safely to the Resolute. Make sure we get everyone out. We have orders to break up this asteroid and take the Silence in tow. She’s going back to Terra along with Mr. Kitzov here.”
“Just Kitzov,” the Faction leader repeated.
Featherstone ignored the man, turned, and left, stepping over the dead trooper on his way.
Boyd looked at Kitzov. After all this time, he finally had the man who had killed his brother.
“Will Boyd,” Kitzov said. “A dirty spy on my own ship. I didn’t think I’d see you again, not alive at any rate.”
Boyd held Kitzov’s gaze. The man was still proud and impressive, even under arrest for capital crimes. He then glanced at Thresh. She had was smiling sadly.
Boyd waved his rifle toward the hold’s main exit as it was opened. “This way,” he said and marched his prisoners away.
11
Bellini stepped out of the elevator shaft and into the observation sphere at the base of the shipyard’s central column. The clear composite floor was set in the bottom third of the transparent sphere, giving a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the shipyard and space beyond. Above the platform inside the tower were viewing platforms filled with Faction captains. Beyond the clear sphere, Bellini saw countless Faction ships, all docked in position to give a view of the fight, all here to witness the knucks—the bare-knuckle fight to the death to determine the next captain of the Faction ship, the Fall.
Knucks was an old system for deciding a ship’s leadership. If the captain wasn’t giving the crew the plunder they thought they deserved, then a new captain could be declared and would take over—if he was able to beat the incumbent captain in knucks.
Since Kitzov had become Faction leader, knucks was no longer used. Sometimes a ceremonial boxing match was held between the new and old captain. A few blows traded, a few drops of blood spilled, but changes of leadership had become more centralized and bloodless.
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