part0011

As he was so close to his ship and the countdown about halfway through, he couldn’t allow himself to be brought back, no matter what the reason. Therefore, there was only one course of action open to him.

Drawing his pistol, he spun around and fired.

The Sig P996, the standard sidearm for security personnel, was based upon the Sig Sauer P200 range of semi-automatic pistols from over four centuries ago. It was a short pistol with a slide on top, which primed the battery clip that fitted into the butt. It fired a bolt of plasma, ionised energy, in a pulse to minimise the blooming effect, which would cause the energy to spread over a distance minimising its effectiveness. It had two settings, ‘stun’ and ‘full power’. The ‘full power’ bolt struck Stryder high on the right side of his chest as he desperately twisted his body trying to avoid being hit, only spotting the pistol at the last second .

The force of the bolt accelerated Stryder’s motion and sent him spinning to the floor, leaving a trail of blood arcing through the air to trace his path.

The Marine was caught off guard also. His reactions were a millisecond slower than Stryder’s. By the time he’d switched his gaze from Stryder to Tchercovic, and thought to bring up his assault rifle, Tchercovic had already altered his aim.

The second bolt struck the Marine in the centre of his chest, sending him flying backwards down the corridor. His life was saved by his body armour, which was designed to handle more powerful charges than that.

Tchercovic, seeing his handiwork, holstered the Sig, turned and sprinted off down the corridor towards Docking Bay Six.

Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, the Marine got to his knees and looked down the corridor at the fleeing form of the security chief as he disappeared around a corner.

He looked over to where Stryder was lying, blood over his clothes from the wound high on his chest. Kneeling down beside him he checked for a pulse, finding it immediately, strong and even.

Stryder opened his eyes and took in a massive gulp of air, like that of a diver coming to the surface.

Startled, the Marine asked, “You okay, sir?”

Checking himself mentally, Stryder said, “I think so.” Then he checked his wound, which to his amazement was closing up before his very eyes. It was healing itself at a remarkable rate .

“That is so very weird, yet also very cool,” the Marine said, not quite knowing whether to be repulsed or amazed.

“Seems like the project is a success,” Stryder said with a surprised smile.

“Sir, I don’t want to know, let’s just go get the bad guy,” the Marine said, getting to his feet.

Stryder stood up unable to take in what was happening to him. He knew what the projected results were, but actually seeing them work, feeling his body heal at such an alarming rate, was something else.

What did this mean to him, to Col Sec, to the future of the Confederation? He had no idea. What he did know though, was if they didn’t stop Howard then it was all for nothing, all the sacrifices, everything would be in vain. They would all die and the Alliance would have won. Not just this, but much, much more and with that victory, how many more deaths would come as a result?

That was something he was not about to let happen.

Pushing himself into run and trying not to focus on the decreasing pain but on what must be done, he pursued Tchercovic.

By the time he’d reached the bend in the corridor his wound had healed, with no visible scar.

Docking Bay Six was in sight for Tchercovic when the station’s alarms went off, sounding a ‘Red Alert’ status.

He knew that within minutes station personnel would be falling over themselves in order to get to the life pods. That meant he had to get to his ship, and fast.

The entrance to the docking bay was just another few hundred metres along this corridor, around the next bend. He was thinking, planning ahead, when a plasma pulse rifle was fired from behind him.

The bolt struck the wall close to his head, impacting on the wall and blasting a hole larger than his head showering him with sparks from the mini explosion.

Instinctively, Tchercovic dropped to one knee spinning and around drawing his sidearm, all in one motion. Holding the Sig P996 out in both hands, arms outstretched, he was ready to return fire but what he saw stopped him.

“That’s the only warning shot you get. Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head, or I fire,” said the Marine as he aimed his assault rifle at him, the blast burn on his body armour hidden by how he held and aimed the assault rifle.

What stopped him though was the sight of Stryder standing at his shoulder, the hole in his bloodstained shirt showing the flesh beneath, clean and unblemished.

But if the shirt was showing signs of being hit, the hole with the singed edges, the blood spatters, why wasn’t the man wearing it showing the same?

The only explanation was that the serum worked, and a hell of a lot better than expected, which made it more important than ever that he get away with the data.

But first he had to get rid of these two. Knowing the Marine would not dare fire on him gave him an edge. By now they must know that the reactor core was reaching critical and as they could not reverse it without his authorisation code, they needed him alive.

The Marine saw that Tchercovic was about to call his bluff and moved just in time as the first shot went past him. He knew as he pressed himself against the corridor wall, that the next time he wouldn’t be so lucky.

Stryder cursed himself for not being armed. He saw the first shot miss and knew that if he didn’t do something, the next shot would not.

He was not about to stand by and watch as his fellow Recon Delta Marine was gunned down in cold blood, but what could he do? He was unarmed, standing at least thirty-five metres from the shooter, but he knew he had to do something, anything.

The corridor was empty except for those three figures and there was nothing he could utilise as a weapon. He was powerless, unable to stop what was about to happen and he felt a rage, fuelled by frustration build up inside him as he watched Tchercovic/Howard bring his sidearm to bear on his target.

He could stand it no longer; he had to do something. He hurled himself at the shooter in an act of sheer desperation, yet one that worked. He covered the distance in one single leap cannoning into Tchercovic, sending them both crashing to the floor.

The Marine couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw Stryder leap at the shooter and land on him. He was so amazed at the sight he almost dropped his assault rifle.

Stryder was the first to his feet, knocking the Sig from Tchercovic’s hand, sending it spinning across the floor. The Black Knight repositioned himself, lying on his back, and then lashing out with both his feet at Stryder, striking him in the stomach. Stryder staggered backwards a few paces leaving room for his attacker to flip himself back onto his feet .

Facing each other, the two combatants had their guards up and were balanced lightly on the balls of their feet, ready to move.

The Black Knight was the first to attack, coming at Stryder with a clubbing right aimed at the top of his head.

A strange way to attack , thought Stryder as he blocked, grabbed the wrist, and twisted his hips into his attacker ready for the hip toss. Too late he realised why.

As Tchercovic allowed himself to be thrown, he landed right where he had intended, close enough to his sidearm to be able to grab it.

Snatching up the Sig, he turned to Stryder and fired a rapid two-shot burst aimed at the wall close to his head.

As the bolts struck the wall, the blast’s impact showered Stryder with sparks and pieces of shrapnel, forcing him to duck his head and cover it with his arms.

The Black Knight used the distraction as he had intended and sprinted past him.

“Damn!” shouted Stryder, angry with himself for being played like that and gave pursuit followed by the Marine.

They reached the docking bay just in time to see their quarry disappear through the open doorway.

Carefully, they followed him, mindful that he could be waiting to open fire on them from anywhere.

The docking bays were large, open plan chambers where cargo could be stored, either to be shipped out or after having been shipped in. At the far end was the hatch leading to the walkway umbilical that was attached to the ship, in this case Tchercovic’s ship .

“Give it up Howard, you’re not going anywhere,” Stryder said, as the two of them crouched down behind several containers. He had hoped that their quarry would respond, thereby giving his position away. It seemed though, that he was too wily for that one to work.

From their position, over by the left hand side of the door, they could see quite clearly all the way to the large hatch. He was nowhere in sight.

If he wanted to escape to the waiting ship, he would have to go through this chamber. There would be no point in going to either of the two upper levels. Around the chamber above them, were balconies that were attached to the walls that gave some access from the decks above. Staircases strategically placed on the balconies linked them both with the floor.

It was inconceivable to think he would enter down here, only to leave on a deck above, when his transport was below.

No, he had to be here, somewhere, waiting to make his move.

THE RECON DELTA MARINE , whose call sign was Cowboy, had located General Sinclair straight away but not before rousing the rest of the squad. They rendezvoused five minutes after they got the call, suited and booted.

“We need to evac the station a.s.a.p. What’s your name son?” Sinclair asked once Cowboy arrived and apprised him of the situation regarding Stryder.

“Private John Wayne, sir, call sign Cowboy. Apparently my namesake made a few western movies back in the day,” was the reply from the young man with the sparkling eyes, easy manner and even easier smile.

“Right, I need you to round up all the research staff and get them safely to the nearest docking bay. Take as many of your men as you need but I also want someone down in Engineering to help there, and the rest up here trying to regain access to the main computer. That must be a priority. Without access to the main computer no one gets off this station.”

“You know your men, Cowboy. You allocate who you think is best suited to each task and I’ll coordinate all your efforts from here, in Command and Control,” Sinclair said.

The alarms would rouse the rest of the station personnel. He’d managed to activate them manually whilst Cowboy was waking his squad.

Cowboy, a little surprised to find himself in a position of authority, rose to the task, issuing orders to the rest of the squad. Moments later, they set off to complete their tasks leaving behind one Marine.

“What’s your name son?” Sinclair asked.

“Private William Ives, sir, call sign Hacker,” was the reply.

“No need to ask why, just get to it Hacker. Pick any workstation you want, just get me access to the main computer,” Sinclair barked.

“Aye, sir,” Hacker replied, then headed for the Ops workstation and got to work. He sat down at the station and began to manually input commands via the manual interface at the same time monitoring the results via his NI. His eyes glazed over as his entire focus was on the task ahead. He became oblivious to everything that was happening around him as he lost himself in the virtual world of the computer .

Sinclair paced around the C and C deck like a caged tiger, feeling more and more ineffective. Everyone seemed to be doing something, everyone except him.

That was the burden of command he supposed, to make the decisions, to give the orders and to shoulder the blame, should it all go wrong.

In this instance though, if it all went wrong, countless lives would be lost. Not just those on the station but those opposing the Alliance, should they manage to put the research to good use.