Chapter One - "Space Marshals"
Fzzzzzzzzz.
“Node seven is reconnected,” said the digital voice, crackling as it spoke from the speaker unit of the floating hacker drone. Not even Captain Granger could calm himself or anyone, time was like liquid to him. Only feelings of fear and hope. It was quite primal when everything was out of their control.
“But I cannot stop it!”
Granger didn’t want to know that. It’s over if it doesn’t stop.
Looking at his second in command, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Move faster! We need more people through.”
Alarms rang out and the area was lit red with emergency lighting. The section seven life support container door creaked as it battled against the friction of salvaged tools used to jam its cogs. Crushing the tools, it was slowly sliding closed giving off a juggernaut sound that was almost paralysing them. Some covered their ears and staggered along. There were a lot of people in panic, shouting and screaming.
As a quick Sit Rep (Situation Report), the Space Marshals were part of a frigate-based company on contract from the Royal Space Force (R.S.F.), with about one hundred and fifty men and women posted to defend the spaceship.
During the past thirty minutes an extra-terrestrial Fason attack unit had hacked into their commercial frigate that was heading to a Saturn moon resort. Having closed down the security systems, the Fason then boarded in an assault, killing many and taking sacrificial hostages from the ten thousand travellers. Many passengers were still in bio-stasis in cryogenic tubes for space travel, unconscious on life support systems. During the fighting there had been an outer hull breach caused by a massive detonation in the middle of the frigate, port side. The frigate was about one and a half kilometres in length. There were different pockets of resistance and his fire teams were on a starboard-side level, deck three, near to the front. Many innocent people were dying quickly. Granger’s unit of Space Marshals was tasked with helping getting survivors to escape pods.
Despite their attempted hacking to over-ride the ship’s A.I. system to keep the life support container’s door open and gain a few minutes to save more survivors, the frigate’s system A.I. was resisting as it was a critical situation for the spaceship’s hull integrity, and the section seven blast door to seal the life support container relentlessly continued to close , and was almost sealed.
About two hundred survivors were still on the level three deck space or trying to make it down a corridor leading off from it to section seven, where there was a life support container. About one hundred survivors had already made it through the almost sealed door. The deck on this level was a large room about five hundred metres long and had ten corridors leading off from it to life support containers. These life support containers were able to hold about two hundred and fifty people and jettison from the ship as escape pods.
The pressure loss near section eight where the hull breach was located was intense and it was seeping through the deck and the corridors at a great speed now. The air was being sucked out of this level of the spaceship. It would be zero gravity on the deck soon and most of these people didn’t have suits to withstand the space atmosphere. Most would suffocate then. His team had helmets of course, and some civilians had also found masks from emergency compartments.
Czzzzz. “Spectre One, this is command centre, come in, over,” said a voice on the radio channel.
“I read you command, what is the Sit Rep?” replied Granger as he was pushing past survivors to make his way along the corridor back to the deck.
“We have multiple heat signatures heading to the level three deck, it could be an enemy splinter pack. Section eight’s breach is now critical, you’re going to lose the air pressure soon, so move fast,” replied the command centre operative.
“Roger that,” affirmed Granger.
“Alpha, Bravo, looks like we are gonna have company. Spectre Three, give me some good news,” said Granger into his intercom.
Czzzzzz. “There ain’t no good fucking news sir! The bad news is that the door cannot be held open for much longer. The system is overriding whatever we try, the drone merely bought us some time,” came the reply from Spectre Three. “We need another plan, sir.”
Reaching the level three deck, Granger positioned himself behind some cover to get a good view of the large room. Spectre Four was with him, covering his back tightly. Their suit lights lit into the reddened darkness and like a dark night, it was difficult to see for more than thirty metres.
“Alpha team assist the civilians, Bravo team set up on over-watch on the deck and get ready to defend us. Spectre Three, we need to get to another life support container. Keep that door open as long as you can, over.”
“Affirmative,” said the Space Marshals in unison.
On the deck, a lift way door opened about fifty metres away from them.
Granger sealed his helmet’s combat visor and anticipated action as new targets lit up his monocle. Cloaked to make themselves less visible, Granger heard them firing weapons before he saw them. The Fason space suits reflected the surroundings slightly and altered their colours as camouflage making them more difficult to see. The sound of our new enemy’s weapons was distinct, a resonating sonar screeching. It was to affect our morale and cause fear.
Fuck how they looked, right now. “Ugly as hell,” according to Granger but he was only human.
“Contact!” shouted Spectre Four. “They’re coming in from that maintenance lift shaft.” He started to lay down a suppressing fire on full automatic.
Adrenaline was surging through Granger’s body as he updated the squad’s tactical map. Right now, it was critical. They were being hunted. Due to the shift towards zero gravity conditions, the Fason were moving through a weightless environment. They seemed like animated killer squid gliding through deep water from cover to cover. At least three of the contacts started to drift across the level three deck space, weapons blazing, tentacles trailing.
Granger stopped using his tactical map, grabbed his slung assault rifle, flicked the switch to full automatic, and opened fire. He aimed on the go. Shell after shell spurted out of his rifle. Some bullets hit but did not stop or kill any of the enemy and they made it to cover. He saw the enemy opening fire on the civilians who were still in the open on the deck space, they were firing at everyone indiscriminately. It was going to be a massacre if the Space Marshals didn’t take control.
Granger moved forward a few metres and found new cover. He started to suppress the enemy as best as he could. About twenty left in a sixty-bullet magazine, he’d have to reload soon.
Whatever optimism and training, the Sit Rep was changing, and about thirty people had died in the past minute. They were now being sucked out of the spaceship. Bodies were being pulled down the deck and corridors to section eight where there was a hole in the outer hull. Some had died from firearms and shrapnel, and some because they couldn’t breathe because of the decreased air pressure. Those still alive and in the wrong place were fatigued, dying or collapsing, stuck hanging onto the deck’s walls or floor. Screams rang out. Scattered around were pools of blood, traces of shrapnel, and floating debris from the environment. They were forced to move with caution and training. They needed to take out the enemy. Bravo had “eyes on” and had called in about twenty of the enemy securing their entrance from the lift into the deck.
The orders were clear just as the danger was present. Granger took to new cover, reloaded the magazine and chambered a round. His zero gravity combat boots activated and started to magnetise themselves to attach to the metallic hull floor. These zero gravity boots stopped the Space Marshals from being affected by the suction from the hull breach. His body could feel the shift into zero gravity beginning to occur. It was a different way of thinking, of fighting.
Granger’s boots clamped down tight. A civilian body blew past him and floated rapidly towards the breach. The was nothing he could have done.
“Hold position and fight back!” he ordered.
Through the intercom there came a unified, “Roger that, Sir.”
