Exodus Earth: The Complete Series, page 29
Our unorthodox through-the-wall shortcut allowed us to shave about five minutes off our march to the computer core. I appreciated every second of those five minutes. We were advancing under fire. I needed to stay sharp. This meant I needed to dial back the joy juice.
I felt my broken ribs grinding against each other. Medical nanites were eventually going to knit the bone, but that wouldn’t happen until I stopped moving around. As much as I wanted to give the microscopic machines the thirty minutes they would need to repair the damage, there simply wasn’t time. The only way we were going to be able to prevent Admiral Hollingsworth’s men from succeeding in taking over the drive section of Survey One was to deny them full access to the ship’s systems.
As we arrived at our destination, Major Boseman made his way back to me. A quick scan of the chamber seemed to indicate it was empty. No bots. No troops. It seemed an unlikely scenario. Aside from the two brief engagements, we hadn’t run into opposition. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it worried me.
These concerns were amplified in light of the stiff opposition most of the other teams were experiencing. The team hitting Environmental had run into no opposition whatsoever, but that was the least critical system, and they were the exception.
The team working to take out the reactors had managed to SCRAM one of them, but the others remained untouched and would likely remain that way.
The shuttle bays were too big to realistically disable, but the bays required power to function. Unfortunately, the demolition team tasked with taking out the main power junction was intercepted before they could get to it. As a result, they were forced to fall back and were pursuing several secondary targets. It would accomplish the same goal, but it would take time we likely didn’t have.
All that made our task of effectively disabling the Master Multiplexer and the ship’s brain that much more important.
“Let my people check things out before you enter the room. There is no telling what might have been done since the genie was let out of the bottle.”
I nodded in agreement. In this particular case, the genie in question was the covertly installed TMI AI, affectionally known as Ray. It was very possible the aforementioned AI had setup traps for any unsuspecting individual foolish enough to trigger one.
It took several minutes for the team to verify the room was secure. If I hadn’t been wearing a BDU that included protective gloves I’m sure I would have chewed my fingernails off. It was a bad habit my mother had been unable to break me of.
After the all-clear, I entered the chamber. I don’t know what I was expecting. It certainly wasn’t what I found.
4
STAR-ONE!
“Nothing.”
I hadn’t realized I had spoken out loud, but Major Boseman’s nod of agreement was a clear signal that I had.
The room was completely empty. I had never visited this particular room, but according to Arty and Fitzy the Multiplexer and its control panel should have been on the side of the room nearest the computer core. The other side of the room should have had floor-to-ceiling cryogenic storage units dedicated to storing the spare nanite-infused superconducting interlinks used by the computer core itself.
Instead, there were four blank walls in a room that was completely devoid of anything besides the Marines and me, myself and I.
I reached into my BDU’s cargo pouch and activated Arty’s mobile emitter. The emitter contained three things—a quantum entangled high-bandwidth data link to Arty, who was currently in the detached dome section of the ship; a holographic projector; and finally a low-power force-field emitter designed to allow Arty to physically interact with the environment.
Arty simmered into existence in front of me.
“Well, isn’t this interesting,” he said as he gazed about the room. “We seem to be missing a few things.”
“We noticed that too. Any thoughts?” I asked.
“A few. My I borrow your sidearm, Captain?”
I glanced at the major for a half second before turning back to my holographic friend. I could count on the tip of one finger the number of times I had seen Arty handle a weapon directly… and that was including right now.
I handed Arty my service pistol. He took the Glock 9091 plasma pulse weapon, or ppw as the pistol was generally called, and pointed it towards the upper right corner of the room. He fired a single bright plasma pulse. Said pulse struck the corner… and then all hell broke loose.
Suddenly the room was a third larger. The additional space appeared on both ends of the room. Apparently, each end of the room had been hidden with an ultra-high resolution holographic force screen. Once Arty’s shot had disabled the holographic projector, the true size of the room was revealed.
The expected Multiplexer and storage bins were now fully visible. Unfortunately, they were not all that was suddenly revealed. I was looking at a good two dozen fully armed and eager TMI Marines… including a smirking Admiral William T. Hollingsworth
“HIGH VALUE STAR ONE—EXECUTE!” Major Boseman barked.
I had no idea what “star one” meant, but I quickly got the idea that it somehow involved protecting me.
Corporal Jensen put a hand on my shoulder and applied the slightest downward pressure. “Squat down, Captain.”
I did as she ordered. To be clear, I took no offense at the corporal ordering me to do something. There is a time and a place for rank and a time and a place to yield to expertise. This was the latter and not the former.
Chad’s Marines formed a circle around me. All of them crouched slightly to minimize their exposure and maximize the effectiveness of the armor plating build into the BDUs they were wearing. Their guns, armor, and bodies acted as a shield protecting me.
None of that dissuaded the bad guys from attempting to press their numerical advantage. The TMI crowd opened fire. Fortunately, their weapons were of the low-yield kinetic fletching variety designed for civilian crowd control. They were the type of weapon that was effective against the average guy on the street and yet were generally safe for use on a starship where it was generally a bad idea to put holes in things.
My guess was the heavier stuff had been located in a section of the TMS Confident that Hollingsworth’s men had been unable to access before they were forced to abandon their ship. While, I’ll grant you, it was likely unfortunate from Hollingsworth’s point of view… I was completely ok with it.
On Chad’s command, the entire mass of Survey One Marines began to crab-walk sideways. Even though I was completely surrounded by them, I struggled to move in sync with the Marines. My busted ribs were giving me problems. Corporal Jensen made it her mission to help me along. I was seriously thinking of putting the young woman in for a meritorious service metal… if we managed to survive this.
We worked our way slowly towards the corridor. Kinetic rounds were banging off our meager armor with a sound that reminded me of a popcorn machine. For those of you keeping track of my likes and dislikes… please note, as much as I like popcorn, you’ll need to add being inside the popcorn kettle to the dislike column.
Two of Chad’s larger people carried small shield generators. The units were deceptively heavy for their size. If you were wearing powered battle armor this was little more than a distraction. When you were relying on Mark-1 organic muscles, even ones with augments like mine, the weight was prohibitive.
Being in a room and taking fire from multiple directions with no cover was the military definition of “needing to embrace the suck.”
At least these two shield generators, as woefully inadequate as they might have been, provided a modicum of the aforementioned missing cover.
Chad peaked out from behind a force screen and using an underhand toss, lobbing a charge at the mercs on the side he was facing. I figured it had been configured as a fragmentation grenade based on the widely dispersed effect and resulting swearing.
In the back of my mind, I was praying to Yahweh, Elohim, El Shaddai, or whatever other name you wanted to use for God that the bad guys didn’t have their own grenades. That was a little more suck than I wanted to try to embrace.
Our crab-walking knot of Marines had almost reached the doorway. Unfortunately, the bad guys saw it too. As amazing as it might be, they actually managed to increase the pressure on us. I had no idea what the maximum fire rate of their weapons was or how much ammo they carried, but I had to believe they were close to maxing out.
One of the Marines just to my left suddenly dropped his weapon and grabbed his throat. An unlucky hit had found weak spot between his armor and his visor. I reached out and grabbed his bandolier, intending to pull him with us.
“Let him go, Dare,” Chad said on a private channel.
“We don’t leave men behind,” I grunted as my ribs protested at the additional abuse.
“No, we don’t,” he agreed. He paused half a second before continuing, “Trust me on this. We WILL recover Ensign Brooks’ body… later. For the moment, our priority has to be the living.”
He was right. I knew it, but my perverse nature fought with me for a few seconds. My minder, Corporal Jensen, tugged slightly on my arm. I was pretty sure the major had spoken to her on a private channel. It would have gone something like this… “Get the captain out of here. Don’t take no for an answer.”
Reluctantly, I released Brooks’ bandolier strap and let Jensen pull me along. As we made our way through the door, our crab-walking star formation had to bust apart. There simply wasn’t enough room to fit all of us through the door at once. This provided our opponents an opportunity as they kept up the pressure. Things went from dangerous to downright crazy dangerous.
Arty took some of the pressure off by using his holographic emitter to simulate a number of Marines dashing back into the center of the room. If anybody had been thinking about it, they would have known it was a ploy. Running into the middle of the room where there was no cover violated every ounce of training and common sense a Marine was expected to have. The good news was that in the heat of the moment the TMI mercs didn’t contemplate the possibility that it was a ruse. As a result, they shifted some of their attention to Arty’s decoys. This gave us the chance we needed to exfil the trap Hollingsworth’s mercs had set.
A sudden burning pain shot through the back of my right knee. I gasped sharply. Jensen turned her visored head to look at me. A fletching had found a weak spot in my BDU’s already minimalistic armor. I knew my HUD was displaying the damage, but between my ribs, the knee, and the little matter of somebody (actually a bunch of somebodies) shooting at us… I was too distracted to try to figure out what it was telling me.
Fortunately, my bodyguard was trained for such situations. She linked into my personal comms and quickly accessed my situation.
“Your BDU’s armor was pierced just behind your kneecap. Both the posterior and anterior cruciate ligaments have been ruptured and your patella is shattered. You’re not going to be walking on that leg anytime soon. I’ve instructed your suit to stiffen around the entire leg to provide some support.”
I nearly screamed as my BDU’s computer executed her command and contracted around my right leg. I was effectively wearing a whole-leg cast… applied without the benefit of an analgesic. A moment later the pain in my knee vanished. The corporal issued an additional command to my BDU’s computer. This time it was to apply a block to the sciatic nerve on my right side.
I was immensely thankful for the relief. That said, I was going to have to have Doctor Chapel work with the corporal regarding the proper order of medical intervention. There was a reason a surgeon administered anesthesia before they operated… as opposed to after.
Moments later we were back in the corridor.
The major switched to his command-wide comms.
“All squads. This is Major Boseman. I’m declaring an OMF. Objective one is Charlie Foxtrot. I repeat, objective one has not been achieved. Hostiles have control of the AO. I’m pulling the plug on the operation. Disengage and make your way to the nearest airlock. Head to the habitation dome via an EVA. Boseman out.”
For those that are curious, OMF stands for Operational Mission Failure. AO is an Area of Operation and Charlie Foxtrot is time-honored military slang for a situation that had devolved into a Cluster F, indicating the situation had gone south for the winter.
In my mind, Charlie Foxtrot was the kindest characterization of our current situation. Other terms, like FUBAR, fouled up beyond all repair, also came to mind. Ok, maybe “fouled” isn’t the proper translation, but you get my drift.
Chad tasked two Marines to hold their position next to the door and keep the hostiles pinned in the room with the Multiplexer. The single opening to the corridor formed a natural and easily defended choke point. The two shield generators were also placed to protect the door. It wouldn’t take much to disable those generators, so the two Marines were stationed visibly behind them in an effort to dissuade especially overt aggression.
“Ok folks, this party is over. The nearest airlock is two decks up. Let’s move it. Jensen, you’ve got the captain.”
“Negative that, sir,” Jensen snapped in a firm but respectful voice. “Going up is a no-go for the captain.”
Major Boseman turned back to face us.
He looked at my leg and nodded.
“Cartwright, take command of the squad and get them out. The corporal and I will carry the captain and find our own way to the dome. Move out!”
As the others moved away the major scanned my leg. I wasn’t opposed to the man giving my legs a look over, but timing was everything and this just wasn’t the time. I think the joy juice and injury-induced shock was causing my brain to go strange places. The thing was, I really didn’t care… and that should have scared me more.
“I don’t see us getting a reliable seal on that. An EVA is not a viable option.”
“That was my feeling too, sir,” Corporal Jensen agreed. “Shuttle?”
The major shook his head. “The bays are too well guarded. Our people ran into significant opposition.”
“What then, sir?”
Rather than answering, the major turned to the men holding the door.
“Gentlemen. Give us three minutes, then toss every charge you’re carrying and skedaddle as fast as you can. Exfil to the habitation dome.”
“Roger that, sir,” the two Marines answered in unison.
Chad grabbed my arm and got under my shoulder. Jensen did the same thing on the other side.
“If we can’t escape then our only other option is to hide.”
It took me a second to realize the major was answering the “what then” question the corporal had asked a moment earlier.
I coughed gently to get their attention. “Actually, there is another option.”
5
DOME CITY
Admiral William T. Hollingsworth wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. It was hot as hell on this damn ship. It was just another in a series of outrages he had been forced to endure since meeting the self-absorbed Admiral Dare Riker. What type of woman gave herself the self-anointed rank of admiral? His rank was at least real… bought and paid for by his father in the best tradition of the Trans-Mashuta corporation.
Captain Riker, with an emphasis on “captain,” had somehow managed to lure the TMS Confident into a trap and disable her. The attack was brutal and had left Hollingsworth’s ship torn in half.
The only good news was that the incompetent woman had miscalculated and disabled her own ship as well. This had allowed Hollingsworth to regain the initiative and take over Survey One’s drive module. His engineers were working to restore the ship’s functions… including the environmental control systems.
Soon enough he would take his revenge. While Riker’s beauty might spare her an immediate death, the respite would not be long, and he could personally guarantee it would not be pleasant.
* * *
I have to say, the civilian medical facilities in the habitation dome were every bit as technologically advanced as the ones in the drive module, but the amenities far and away exceeded what I was used to.
My hospital suite included floor-to-ceiling windows on two adjacent walls as well as a synthetic leather couch, various padded chairs, and even a snack bar programmed to the types and calorie counts prescribed by my attending physician. In this case, the attending physician was Doctor Janice Chapel.
She was sitting on the aforementioned leather couch. She was not alone. Matt Dekker, Chad Boseman, DeAndre Papus, both Cochrans, Uncle Max, Fitzy, and Arty were also in attendance. Turns out I was a popular gal. That fact that we all fit in the room comfortably was another indication of the luxuriousness of my current medical accommodations.
I suppose it’s only fair to you the reader that I explain how it is we got to where we were. We had played the same trick with Arty’s portable holo-emitter that we had used when we first boarded Survey One. The big difference is when the nanites that comprised the device infused themselves into the ship’s systems, they did so directly adjacent to the teleport pad near Engineering that I had used earlier in the day. Arty then isolated that pad from the rest of the ship’s systems and used it to transport myself and the two marines to Dome City. He then disabled the device.
I worried that the handful of remaining teleport pads still on the drive module could be used to send a boarding party to the habitat dome, but Arty assured me that the Jabesh devices had been locked down in such a way that Ray and the TMI forces would not be able to bypass the lockouts.
As to why I was in the medical bay… I had been here for the last three days. My ribs had healed nicely, but my leg had to be amputated. There just was too much damage. In all honesty, it kind of pissed me off. That particular leg wasn’t even a month old. Janice and her team were in the process of growing me a replacement, but it was going to be at least a week before it was baked and out of the oven… or growth vat… or whatever the case may be.
