Fall of the Cerberus

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

                   The corridor outside the docking station was barely lit; the only sign of light the natural aura of the planet leaking through various viewing windows. That wasn’t a problem, however, as a small headset provided Drinn with a single eyepiece for his right eye, granting it with green-tinted night-vision. A small red dot also moved around on the display, showing him where his gun was aimed. Drinn switched off the reticule. Some things were just better left the old fashioned way.

         Keeping his back pressed against the wall, he waited as the rest of his team filed into the corridor. Each man moved with a purpose, stopping at specified positions around the junction, poised to shoot at the slightest notion. They would enter every intersection as such, taking turns as the lead scout; it was maneuvers such as these that would give them the edge over any opposition. “Strike without warning, strike without fear” was one phrase drill sergeants made sure to hammer into their pupils.

         The MIU came last, strangely graceful for its size. Drinn noticed a faint, blue residue slowly issuing out through two vents located on the back of the machine. It looked somewhat like a blue smoke, except lighter; lighter than the air around it, quickly dissipating upon leaving the vents. New sources of energy were always being discovered, yet Drinn had never seen anything of the like. He bit his tongue though, and waited.

                   Within moments, the com-link attached to his ear came to life.

                   “Captain, your immediate area is secure…,”Arriah’s voice paused, as though hesitant to continue. “…but I can’t seem to get anything on the ship’s sensors. EMP still messin’ with them. I probably wouldn’t be able to get anything if not for the scanners on the MIU. I’m still wondering how those are managing with all this interference.”

                   “Well thanks for feeding my ego, lieutenant, but I can’t really discuss that with you civilians,” Marks’s casual voice sounded through the link. “Just try to fine-tune it a bit. I’m only getting a ten meter radius on the standard.”

                   No sensors. The whole damn Cerberus could be crawling with rebels and he wouldn’t know it. Even left in the dark, the mission would have to go on.

         Drinn put a finger to the com-link. “So sensors are scrap. Arriah, try to get the long-range radar working at least. And Marks, I want you to scroll through your filters every few minutes. I don’t want anything creeping up on us.”

                   He stood for a moment, breathing deeply. Every muscle in his body felt tense, thanks to his vitality pack. His body also seemed somewhat distant as well, as the pack also added a numbing agent into his blood. He could probably shoot himself in the foot and not feel a damn thing. Of course, that would ruin a perfectly fine boot.

         Lifting two fingers, Drinn signaled his team to head down the right side of the corridor. His platoon started down quickly, the only noticeable sound a slight humming from the MIU, along with a muffled thud every time it landed a step.

         The Cerberus had been the only ship to survive the rebellion’s initial ambush, although heavy damage had been taken, including the destruction of its jump drive. Unable to leave the system, the Federation had deemed it an unnecessary risk, as, while crippled, it could easily be used against them if captured. Normally the Federation would simply launch a silo of missiles to take out “flotsam” (slang for a dead ship), but a defense liner contained highly classified technologies, therefore a manned mission was required to insure all sensitive components were destroyed.

         Drinn didn’t really see any danger in the Cerberus, however. It had gone into an automated lock-down not long after the ambush, probably after some Shinarians tried to board it. Secondary systems kept the ship in orbit and maintained a life-friendly environment, but without proper codes, the ship’s computers and weaponry would remain inaccessible. Even a good number of doors were barred from use.

         Of course, once a ship was in lock-down, suicide systems remained available, though they required a separate code. This Drinn had on a drive in his vest.

         He kept his rifle trained down the hallway as he walked, constantly scanning the many doors to his left. Most were in lock-down, the only routes available leading to evac-stations, or simply more corridors. Needless to say, most of the evac-pods had already been ejected, former crewman now somewhere down on Shinar. Or else dead.

         Large viewing windows populated the right side, shedding a trifling of pale light along the passage. Through the windows Drinn could see the planet’s horizon, a great contrast between the lively world and the infinitesimal expanse beyond.

                   Drinn however, was more concerned with running into a firefight in the hallway. He doubted the windows were powered very high, if at all, and a single stray bullet could easily cause a blowout, cutting this venture to a short end.

                   By the dim light of the hallway, he could see it ended in a door thirty meters ahead. His platoon moved down the corridor quietly. The ship felt of an intense loneliness, and every man seemed to see it for the graveyard it had become.

                   Or at least so Drinn thought. He hadn’t heard them crack even one of their regular jokes since coming aboard. Looking behind him, he caught sight of Jintley, his face looking of grim determination. He almost felt bad for the guy. Snatching radio transmissions out of thin air was child-play compared to the risks taken by field soldiers.

                   Drinn found Ratch just a little farther behind. The youth seemed unperturbed by his surroundings, his eyes fixed in an introspective gaze, seeming to look both within and in the distance at once. Drinn just hoped the kid didn’t let his mind wander too far.

                   The door loomed ever closer. Just beyond it was central security, which housed one of the few computers onboard with access to the suicide systems. Only too easy.

                   Drinn held up a hand, halting his team just in front of the door. He punched in a button on a panel adjacent it to it.

                   The panel flashed a deep red. Access denied.

                   “Jintley!” Drinn whispered loudly, if it could be called that. The computer technician seemed taken aback at the sound of his name, but trudged toward his commander. Jumpy little bastard.

                   “Problem with the door, sir?” Jintley asked quietly. Drinn just gave him a stare. He got the hint and began examining the panel.

                   “Lets see here….” Tapping a single key, he went through various computer menus, scanning for any anomalies.

         Drinn leaned back against the wall, rubbing his eyes. His vitality pack stressed his body enough, but when combined with useless sensors and a stubborn door, it was really starting to get to him.

                   “Ah-ha!”

                   Drinn cringed at the loud exclamation. “Dammit Jintley, could ‘ya keep it down to a damn roar? Just open the bloody door.”

                   “Uhmm…,” the technician hesitated, glancing down for a second. “I can’t open the door. And even if I could I wouldn’t.” After seeing the look in the captain’s face, he quickly collaborated.

                   “It’s not that the door’s broken, per say, but the hallway beyond only contains about two percent oxygen, according to the readout. The ship’s sealed it off.”

                   Drinn cursed loudly, causing the technician to slowly back away from the door, but more importantly, the captain. Ratch frowned.

                   This was the last thing he needed, an obstruction blocking the way to the computer terminal, especially when he was this close to the objective. Taking a few steps away from the door, he began pondering furiously, thinking back to the mission briefing.

                   Every mission was salvageable, more so if all you were facing was a stuck door. He just needed a detour. Bringing up the ship’s schematics in his mind, he began to contemplate another way to the objective. Unfortunately, there seemed to only be a single entrance on this level. On this level…

                   “Access ramps,” Drinn announced suddenly. Every large ship, especially defense liners, required service corridors to move equipment too large to fit through normal passages. And the security center, their objective, would most certainly have access to them. He just hoped he could get Marks’s MIU to hack the code necessary.

                   “We need to backtrack.” Gesturing his team to follow, he set a steady pace back down the corridor. One of his men groaned.

                   Stopping about fifteen meters down, Drinn checked the door next to him. K-29. Hopefully it would lead them to an elevator.

                   “Would you open the door private?”

                   The groaner, formally known as Bryar, nodded uneasily and ambled toward the wall-panel to comply.

                   Drinn’s com-link cackled.

                   “Captain, you might want to belay that order,” came Marks’s voice. “Filters are detecting what loo-“

                   The door slid into the wall, and a large bulky shape fell through into the hallway. The private jumped out of the way, bellowing out a frenzied string of curses. Jintley yelped. Even Ratch’s eyes managed to take a break from their inward gaze, going wide with shock.

                   “Blood,” Marks finished grimly.

                   Sure enough, the large corpse of a Tu-kran lay on the floor amidst the men. Its twisted face was covered in blood; two bullet holes studding its skull. Heavily glazed eyes stared dead into the ceiling.

         Drinn quickly scanned the doorway out of instinct. No sign of a struggle.
Turning back to the corpse, Drinn began to investigate. It had stood a good two meters tall, with large, bulging muscles. The reptile had once been a formidable creature, its scales able to shift colors depending on its environment. For the moment, they remained a dread gray, though he highly doubted they’d be shifting anytime soon.

         Hearing feet shuffle nervously around him, he looked up. Bryar stood away from the body, the blood seemingly drained from his face, which held a rather stunned expression.

                   Drinn gave his men reprimanding looks. No soldier should be fazed at death, especially when it happened weeks ago by the smell of things. He continued to inspect the creature, searching for anything curious.

                   The body was unclothed except for a pair of pants cut off at the knee, naturally, as the Tu-kran detested clothes, believing them to be too restricting. Even lacking a formal uniform, Drinn could tell the Tu-kran had been with the crew. A black tattoo of a three-headed dog had been burned onto the scales of its right shoulder.

                   “I think it was leaning on the door,” one of the men piped up, breaking the silence.

                   “Or maybe it just decided to jump through the door right as I bloody-hell opened it,” Bryar said sarcastically, giving the other soldier an irritated look.

                   Drinn shot Bryar a reproachful look. He did not need tension breaking between his men.

                   “Well at least the cause of death is certain,” Jintley conferred, staring at the two bullet wounds grazing the beast’s head. Dried blood caked its snout.

                   “eh,” Bryar grunted, heeding little attention.

                   “Head wound didn’t kill it.” Ratch walked forward and knelt over the body, scrutinizing it. “First off, a normal bullet would have a hard time piercing through the skull. Tough as steal.” Bending over the head, he peeled two bloody lumps out of the wounds and held them out to Drinn. Sure enough, in his palm lay two eight-millimeter rounds, flattened on contact. “May have dazed him, but doubt they took him down.”
Moving down, the youth inspected the torso. After a few moments, he stood up, pointing at the chest. “There’s your cause of death.”

         Ratch stepped away from the body, but kept his gaze on it, disinterest once again claiming his eyes. Everyone else inched closer to get a better look.

         Sure enough, dotting the reptile’s chest were over a dozen small bullet wounds, hidden slightly under the creature’s gray scales, shifted by rigimortis.

                   Still, Drinn never would have guessed the seemingly absentminded youth was that observant. He’d not underestimate him again.

                   “Well that solves that,” Drinn concluded, turning toward Bryar. “Private, would you?” Drinn solicited, gesturing toward the door.

                   Bryar sighed. Sidestepping the corpse, he jaunted through the doorway, leading the team.

                   As Drinn watched his team follow, he almost thought he saw the corpse sneer in the dim light.