by PP Corcoran
In the lower gravity of the bay, he had virtually sprinted up the open steel ladders until he was perched high above the bay with a great line of fire. All he had to do was remember to keep moving between shots. Toola, the poor elSha that Buchanan had dragged along with them, had managed to delay the Jivool long enough for Croll, Jackson, and Terhune to get into their positions. Croll’s plan was, of necessity, simple. Wait for the Jivool to enter the bay and, if even one of them makes a twitch in the direction of the dropship, then blow the shit out of them.
As the leading Jivool stepped over the still-not-completely-open bay doors, Croll snuggled the stock of his Gal 12 just that little bit more into his shoulder, slowing his breathing as his eyes focused on the small red dot of the sighting reticule. Taking aim on the rearmost Jivool to the right of the group, Jackson would take the center rear and Terhune the left rear. Croll knew the guys at the back of the group were the ones most likely to escape back out of the bay so they were the first to go down, then the Scorpion troopers would service each Jivool target as it presented itself, and they had to do it quickly for the colonel and Captain Buchanan might need them in a hurry if they ran into the other squad of Jivool prowling the station’s docking level.
Croll’s finger stretched around the trigger as the Jivool entered the bay. “Keep on coming just like you are. Big, fat, and stupid,” Croll whispered to himself. The squad of Jivool paused in the doorway, perfectly outlined by the corridor’s light. The Jivool that was obviously the leader began to turn away, and Croll let his finger relax. Looks like you get to live another day, he thought. Without warning the Jivool’s head spun in the direction of the dropship. Shit! Croll’s finger stroked the trigger, and the Jivool closest to the entrance went down. The sound of Jackson’s and Terhune’s weapons firing was lost on him as Croll switched targets, hunting for the leader. Cut off the chicken’s head, and its body will just run about aimlessly, as my daddy used to say. The leader was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, laser rifle pulses splashed off the side of the freighter’s superstructure. Not near enough to prove a danger to him; however, it meant the leader was still in the fight. Croll switched to thermal imaging and a spot to one side of a large rectangular cold block showed residual heat. Looks like the leader managed to get to cover. Let’s see if we can scare him out. Croll sent a burst into the cover, but the Jivool behind it stubbornly refused to reveal himself.
Croll’s brain had switched into combat mode, and everything seemed to slow down as the First Sergeant’s brain moved to another plane, and his rifle became an extension of his being. Panning the weapon to the left, Croll caught another Jivool in the open as he rose from behind cover. Three rounds spat from the Gal, taking the Jivool’s head clean off, the torso flopping to the ground. Pan right, put another three rounds into the leader’s cover to keep him from getting any smart ideas. Fire from Jackson put another Jivool out of his misery as he made a break for the safety of the corridor—the runner made it two steps before Jackson put three rounds into the small of the Jivool’s back, lifting the towering bear off its feet and propelling it through the air like some angry god would smite an annoying insect. The lifeless body flew out the bay doors to land in a bloody heap.
And then there were two, thought Croll, as he put another group into the leader’s cover. Keep him pinned while we finish off his squad then...
A flurry of laser fire as the Jivool to the right broke cover. A last-ditch attack, a forlorn hope. Call it what you will, but the intensity of the fire punched into the metal around and below Terhune’s perch. The trooper’s body armor stopped the first round, and the second, it even slowed the third, but the fourth and fifth passed through the armor plate. The intense heat punched neat holes through Terhune’s chest, exited his back, and neatly cut and cauterized his spine.
The trooper died almost instantaneously; he never felt his slow fall to the deck below or the weight of the metal walkway that fell atop him.
Magazine empty, the Jivool charged Jackson’s position while screaming his victory cry. Jackson put him down with a single shot between the eyes.
Croll’s attention refocused on the leader, still cowering in cover. Perhaps he was emboldened by Terhune’s death or shamed by one of his own’s courage at charging Jackson with an empty weapon. Whatever, the leader broke from cover and ran for the bay door. Croll let a half breath out slowly, held it, and allowed the sighting reticule to fall naturally onto the center of the leader’s retreating back. Gently his finger applied pressure to the trigger and—click! Nothing! Croll cursed himself as he raced to replace the spent magazine before the Jivool could reach safety.
The Jivool ate up the distance in long strides, and Croll’s hands were simply not going to be quick enough.
* * *
The cry of his dying squad mate broke Nuill. The squad leader jumped up from behind the relative safety of the pallet and ran for the bay door, fully expecting to be cut down, but he didn’t care. If he stayed in this hell hole any longer, he was dead for sure. Nuill’s blood pumped loudly in his ears. Every step was another moment of life. Why had the unseen enemy not fired? The doorway was nearly within reach. Nuill extended his arms as if to embrace the light streaming in from the corridor like some long-lost love. Three more steps. Two more steps. A shadow in the doorway. So small he almost missed it. Nuill’s brain had time to register the smiling face of an elSha before the compact laser pistol in its hand fired a single laser round, and the elSha hopped to one side as Nuill’s body charged on to crash into the corridor’s far wall before rebounding and slowly collapsing onto the corridor’s floor, a neat hole still smoking in his forehead.
Toola slipped the pistol back beneath his purple jumpsuit before gingerly touching the side of his neck, where his fingers came away stained with blood. Giving the dead Jivool one more disparaging glance, the little elSha squared his shoulders and lifted his head high before entering the bay to see if anyone needed his help.
* * *
With the last remaining Jivool taken out by Toola, Croll clambered down from his firing position, slapping a fresh magazine into his Gal as he ran over to where Terhune lay. Jackson was already there, kneeling beside his fallen comrade. Terhune’s open, unblinking eyes and the shake of Jackson’s head told the first sergeant everything he needed to know.
Croll accessed his comms. “Okoro, get out here and bring one of the pilots to help recover Terhune. Once you’ve done that, prepare for immediate dust off. Jackson and I are going to get the colonel, then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven
Run For The Gate
The emergency stairwell was exactly what it said. An emergency stairwell which, by the looks of it, had never been used since Ralla Station had been built god knows how many centuries before. The lock-cracking software on Alistair’s slate got them through the sealed door on Level 3 and into the stairwell with barely a pause in his stride. By using the stairwell, they had, so far, avoided the organic eyes of station security while the hacked security network had effectively blinded the station’s electronic eyes to the two Humans.
Unfortunately, that same electronic blindness was about to prove itself a double-edged sword.
Alastair gave a small prayer of thanks as he reached the docking bay-level door. A prayer that became a grunt of frustration as he looked for a door lock. “Maybe I am an old man and going blind, but do you see a lock?”
Tim had been concentrating on watching the way they had come to ensure they weren’t being followed, and it took him a moment to understand what Alastair was getting at as he scanned and then double-checked the area around the door. Directly above the door was a black circular protrusion. A micro mesh grill was the only break in its otherwise seamless surface.
“Crap,” said Tim. “Is that what I think it is?”
Alastair pursed his lips and let out a sigh. “Yep. A biometric scanner. The same biometric scanner that our very own Corporal Okoro has so effec
tively, up to now, hidden us from.”
“No chance we could jimmy the door open, I suppose?”
Alastair took a step back, inviting Tim to inspect the door. Tim gave the door a once over before rapping it with his knuckle. “Solid carbide alloy. You’re not getting through this without the help of a heavy-duty plasma cutter.”
“Time to put in a call to Okoro,” said Alastair as he used his slate to connect him with their waiting dropship. When Okoro did not answer immediately, Alastair did not get overly anxious, after all, comms links could be traced and perhaps the corporal was maintaining radio silence. By the time he had changed channels three times and still had not gotten a reply, the furrows of his brow were deep enough you could have planted crops in them.
On the fourth attempt Okoro answered. “Sorry Colonel, things got a bit heated for a few minutes.”
Alastair wanted to get a full explanation, but, right now, he needed to get out of the stairwell, back to the dropship, and the hell off the station. Everything else, including his curiosity, could wait.
“We have a problem, Okoro. The door on our side can only be opened with a biometric sensor.”
On the dropship, Okoro accessed the security network and brought up the schematics for the emergency stairwell. “OK, Colonel. I see it, give me a second.”
One second became two which quickly became ten. A loud bang and the sound of multiple feet pounding on stairs came from below them, and Tim stuck his head over the bannister rail to look and swiftly brought his head back in.
“Station Security,” he whispered harshly. “At least four of them, maybe five, and they don’t look happy.”
“When was the last time you saw a happy Lumar?” asked Alastair, before calling Okoro. “Corporal, our position has become untenable, it’s now or never.”
“Sir, I can’t override the door from here, the whole level has been put into local operation only; I’m effectively locked out.”
Alastair squeezed his eyes closed in frustration as he tried to figure out a way around the lock without exposing himself and Tim to even more danger. Not coming up with anything, and with the Lumar pounding up the stairs behind them, he made his decision.
“Okoro, do you still have access to the biometric sensors?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Okoro, wondering where the colonel was going. It hit him like a thunderclap. “Sir, if I unmask you from the biometric sensors, not only will security know where you are, but you can bet your last credit, the Jivool have a tap into the system as well.”
Alastair looked across at Tim who was busily checking the charge on his pistol. The Lumar security guards were almost on top of them.
“No choice, Okoro. Do it, and do it now.” Alastair put one hand on the door handle and a second later was rewarded with a thunk as the locking bolts were withdrawn. Alastair swung the door open, and the two Scorpions burst out into the corridor, bouncing along in the lower gravity of the docking level for all they were worth.
* * *
“Squad Leader Horal!” screamed the slightly tinny voice of Captain Po from Horal’s comms unit. “Two Humans have suddenly appeared on the station’s sensors. They are only one sector from you heading spinward.”
Horal felt a moment of elation. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had an opportunity to snatch victory from disaster. Switching to the inter squad channel, he called Nuill. “Nuill! Nuill! The Humans are heading directly for you. Cut them off and I will bring my squad up behind them. We will have them trapped! Remember, we need to take them alive if we are to find out where General Peepo’s data is…Nuill do you hear me?…Answer me, damn you!”
Horal’s fleeting moment of elation disappeared. Not again. Curse these Humans, they shall not escape me!
“Follow me!” Horal shouted, as he set off down the corridor. Horal used his bulk and the butt of his rifle to clear a path through anyone too slow to move out of his way.
* * *
“Security is right behind us, Alastair,” said Tim, between heavy gasps for air. The men’s best efforts were hampered by a simple matter of natural selection: Lumar were bigger than Humans and had a longer stride, and they were able to close the gap on the fleeing men exponentially. At this rate, the security guards would catch them before they reached the safety of the dropship.
Through the noise of hard-pumping blood pounding in their ears, their heaving chests, and the shouts of abuse and complaint from those pushed from their path, the men failed to hear similar shouts, tinged with fear rather than outrage, emanating from the corridor ahead. The gentle curve of the corridor gave them gradual sight of what closed on them from the front. Danger awaited.
Spread across the corridor stood Horal’s squad of evil-looking Jivool. Tim, on the outer edge of the curve, saw the danger a split second before Alastair. The pistol in his hand whipped up, and he fired wildly. Although he didn’t deliver a fatal hit, the shots disrupted the aim of the waiting Jivool.
Tim dove to one side and was struck with a searing flash of pain in his upper right arm as he flew. He collided with Alastair just below the shoulders and took the colonel down in a heap. Two blasts of laser fire scorched through the space where they would have been, had Tim had not flung them both into a half-opened doorway.
“Thanks,” Alastair managed, through the tangle of arms and legs they had become. A Jivool peaked around the corner of a spur corridor that it used for cover, and Alastair sent a burst of flechettes in its direction. The tungsten carbide darts flew faster than a speeding bullet, and they ripped into the lightweight prefabricated construction of the corridor and tore through, barely slowing. The unlucky Jivool was stitched in a neat, diagonal line running from his chest up past his shoulder. The Jivool, like most warm-blooded mammals, had their most vital organs encased in the chest cavity, and Alastair’s flechettes made short work of them, shredding the Jivool’s insides like they had been put in a blender. It all happened so fast, the Jivool only had time to look down at his bloodied chest, aghast, before his brain told him he was dead, and he crumpled to the deck.
“Shit, I’ve been hit,” said Tim in a monotone. Keeping as low as he could, Alastair disentangled himself from Tim who was holding his pistol limply in one hand while his other held onto his upper arm protectively. The unmistakable smell of seared flesh filled the air. Another barrage of laser fire battered the area around the two prone men, punching holes in the corridor walls. The heat from the impact of the laser fire had already started some parts of the corridor smoldering, and it would not be long before the station’s ancient fire detection systems began to douse the entire area in anti-flam, covering everything and everyone in a thin coating of smart powder that bonded its molecules together and denied any fire the oxygen it needed to survive. Unfortunately, any personnel who didn’t have breather units on when the anti-flam came down ran out of oxygen, too.
“We need to get out of here,” said Alastair as he frantically searched for an exit before raising his pistol and firing off a return volley to let the Jivool know he was still alive. And fighting.
At that precise moment, the Lumar security guards made their appearance. The wide-eyed lead Lumar shook his head in disbelief. Instead of the two Humans he expected to meet, he was confronted by a war zone. Civilians scattered and sought shelter where they could, while the business end of a half dozen laser rifles were pointed directly at him. Nobody had ever described the Lumar as overly bright, but even this Lumar knew he had run into something way above his pay grade; however, the decision on the best way forward was taken out of his hands. Horal and his men opened fire on the new interlopers. The Lumar fired back.
The three-way firefight quickly reduced the once-pristine docking level into a scorched, smoke-filled wasteland.
“Okoro, we need an exit, and we need it fast!” screamed Alastair over his comms link.
Back in the dropship, Okoro scanned the docking level’s schematics. In conjunction with the security network’s surveillance feed, he used the schematics t
o pinpoint the colonel and Buchanan’s exact location. In seconds, he had them. They were in the doorway to Sector 2, Storage Facility 16. That was the good news. The bad news was the storage room was classed to hold secured, bonded goods and only had one way in and out.
On the secondary channel, First Sergeant Croll’s voice demanded attention. “Okoro, we have the firefight from hell going on in the corridor up ahead of us, and I don’t see a clear route to the colonel’s location without going through a shit load of angry Jivool.”
Okoro expanded the image showing the colonel and Buchanan trapped in the doorway, not a hundred feet away but separated by two solid walls was Croll and Jackson. Okoro drew a deep breath and released it before speaking. “I’m looking at the schematics now, Sarge,” said the corporal, the frustration evident in his voice, “and there are no access corridors I can route you through that would get you to the colonel without you having to run the gauntlet of either the Jivool or the Lumar guards’ fire. And it’s only going to get worse because the Lumar are on the security net screaming for assistance, and it looks like every guard in the station is headed their way and bringing every heavy weapon they’ve got with them. It’s going to get real ugly for the Jivool real soon.”
Crouched in a service corridor with the sound of weapons fire echoing off its narrow walls, Croll and Jackson knelt back-to-back, their weapons levelled and covering the direction of any potential threat. Croll activated his pinplants and brought up the same schematics Okoro was using as he desperately searched for a way to get the colonel and Buchanan clear of the death trap they were in.
