Fall of the Cerberus

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

                   Drinn felt a slight surge in momentum as the service elevator began its trip up toward the fourth level. It was more or less a mobile platform than an elevator however, as it lacked walls, the naked sides of the shaft visible as they slid past his platoon.

         They stood far from still, each man shifting his feet uneasily, impatience etched upon his face. The MIU was the only source of light in the elevator shaft, its pale blue radiance reflecting off the walls only to disappear into the darkness above.

         The light, Drinn noted, was cold, without warmth, and seemed to compliment the darkness rather than illuminate it. He almost preferred the dark.

         Looking up, Drinn watched as the top of the shaft began to melt into view, the blue light seeming frantic to cover the surface. For a moment, Drinn felt as though the ceiling was coming down on them, threatening to crush them. But just as it neared within a meter of touching the MIU which illuminated it, the ceiling split down the middle, flipping mechanically to either side of the now open shaft, giving Drinn and his team a glimpse of the room as the platform finished the last leg of its journey.

         The room was large, lighted by nothing more than a few dimmed lights upon the ceiling, which gleamed like long-burnt embers. A few doors dotted the opposite wall, including the one they were supposed to enter from. Screens dominated the room, bearing their presence along the walls. Computer terminals were also strewn across the room, including a rather large semi-circle of hardware not three meters from their position.

         “Move Out!”

                   Without waiting for the elevator to come to a stop, Drinn’s platoon jumped onto the upcoming floor, with the exception of the MIU, and began sweeping the room, their rifles trained on their surroundings. Scanning the room carefully through his sights, Drinn listened intently, ignoring the stealthy footfalls of his comrades.

                   Silence.

                   Satisfied, Drinn shouldered his rifle and turned back toward the elevator. Now at ground level, the MIU remained standing on the platform, seemingly inactive.

                   “Well captain, the thermo shows no signs of any hostiles. I’d say the room's clear,” Marks’s voice remarked nonchalantly. “And I'd been wanting to test some of this thing’s more negotiable functions...”

                   A couple of soldiers smiled, more at the good news than Marks’s sarcasm. Or was it sarcasm? Drinn could never tell with the engineer.

                   Either way, Drinn couldn’t help but smile himself. Within minutes the objective would be met, mission over.

         Walking over to the large, semi-circle terminal, Drinn leaned over and tapped a single key on the computer. At once, every screen in the room flared to life, ‘LOCKDOWN ACTIVATED’ frozen red on every screen. Reaching into a deep pocket in his vest, Drinn pulled out a small data-drive, no larger than his thumb.

         “Jintley!” Drinn ushered the short technician toward him, handing him the drive. “Get us out of here.”

         Jintley merely nodded, soft determination upon his face. Sitting down on a small chair bolted to the floor in front of the terminal, Jintley laid his gun on the table and popped the drive into the computer. Leaving the technician to his work, Drinn ambled off, rubbing his temples, leaving his rifle to hang from his neck like an over-sized medallion.

         He could feel the vitality pack on his hip more than ever, wishing its numbing effects could help his newfound headache. Looking up, he saw as Ratch slowly sauntered toward him. The youth’s eyes were torn from his usually introspective gaze, and were now focused on Drinn with surprising clarity.

         “Private.” Drinn acknowledged the demolitionist with a nod. He had something on his mind.

         “Captain,” Ratch began, hesitating slightly. “I wanted to talk to you about the incident back in the corridor. It seemed a bit suspicious to me.”

         “Go on.”

         “Well…it was the ammunition. Too weak. Probably from a sidearm. Nobody in their right mind would take on a full-grown Tu-kran with it if they had anything with more stopping power. And I’m pretty sure the rebellion didn’t storm this ship with pistols.”

         Drinn mused over Ratch’s words. “Why are you so certain the Rebels killed him?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure the lizard didn’t off him-,” Drinn’s meaning caught the soldier like a bullet. “Are you trying to tell me his own shipmates shot him?” The youth almost seemed taken aback.

         “Perhaps. After all, Shinar was his home-world. I wouldn’t be surprised if, in the moment of the ambush, he decided to take on his comrades.”

         “Still…”

         Drinn knew exactly what Ratch was thinking. The majority of the Tu-kran still lived away from the colonies, and probably condemned the rebellion. After all, it was Federation regulations that kept the colonies from trying to take advantage of their people. Not that the Tu-kran couldn’t take care of themselves.

         “Stupid idea, letting the Tu-kran fight in this war,” Bryar remarked, walking up to the two soldiers. “I know I’d be pissed if I had to fight my own people.”

         “I don’t know if I’d call this a war per say…” Drinn noted, stretching out his arms, which felt fairly odd, considering he could scarcely feel them. “I’d say it’s more of a policing action.”

         Bryar scowled slightly. “Call what you will, but personally, I think-”

         The private’s thoughts were cut short however, as the lights in the room suddenly flickered to life, flooding the room with light. Drinn and his men nearly lost their balance as the ship pushed forward, engines coming back on-line. Luckily, the inertia dampeners managed to go on-line a split second later.

         Drinn and Ratch both exchanged glances, wondering why the lights had turned on.
Bryar looked around in alarm, gripping his gun instinctively. “What the fu-”

         “LOCKDOWN DEACTIVATED!” The electronic voice resounded throughout the ship. If nothing else, Drinn could feel his face pale. Immediately, he turned to face the main console.

         “Jintley, what the HELL DID YOU DO?!”

         The technician turned in his chair, breaking into a confused panic. “I didn’t do anything Captain! I swear! I just clugged in the damn pode! I mean…” Lost for words, Jintley merely gestured frantically at the computer.

         Drinn cursed heavily, striding over to the terminal, ready to shoot the damn technician if he said another incoherent word.

         Sure enough, after accessing the drive, Drinn only found one file, labeled SUICIDE-1. He felt his ire drain away, only to be replaced by sheer bewilderment.

         Marks’s voice, however, blasting through his com-link, managed to force his confusion into an ever darker sensation. Dread.

         “Drinn! Company!”

         Uttering an obscenity with unbeknown passion, Drinn quickly pocketed the data-drive and glanced around at his men. Most of them looked back at him, guns ready, their features suddenly grim. In the background Drinn could hear dim footsteps echo from the opposite side of the room, behind the door they had originally meant to use.

         “Behind the terminal, quick!” Drinn commanded softly, with the emphasis of thunder. The words promptly brought the platoon into action, each man settling the barrel of his rifle between the console’s monitors, sights aimed at the far door.

         The distant footsteps slowly gained force, sounding like battle drums from the armies of old.

         Looking down the line, Drinn exchanged glances with his men, adrenaline rushing through his veins. No matter how many times he faced an enemy head to head, he could never fully eliminate the confusing surge of excitement and fear. But he had learned to live with it, even feed off it. Even now, he could feel his senses heightening.

         His men, however, looked like they ought to be sick, their fear clearly establishing a hold on them. But even nervous as they were, they stood their ground. After all, courage wasn’t the absence of fear. It was merely man’s ability to control it.

         “Drinn, what’s going on over there? The dam ship's started moving and the docking bay’s just lit up.” Arriah’s voice seemed to echo his own confusion.

         “Busy.” With a quick flick of his finger, Drinn shut off his com-link. A voice inside his head would only throw off his concentration. 

         He returned his gaze down the barrel of his rifle. The door looked the same as ever, although it seemed to had gained something sinister, as though it knew what would happen when it yielded, yet merciless all the same. Drinn could only hope for such indifference on his part. Hesitation killed.

         A green light flashed on a panel adjacent to the door, and it slid open, expelling two figures into Drinn’s sights. Squeezing the trigger, Drinn pumped a three-round burst into the first figure, a rather ruffled looking human.

         The second figure, a large bull Tu-kran, fell on the spot as other rifles mimicked Drinn’s own, sending a shower of bright projectiles into the over-sized humanoid.

         The volley was quickly answered, however, as men began to pour into the room, firing guessing shots at Drinn’s platoon as they ran for the cover of nearby terminals. Drinn could hear monitors around him explode as bullets smashed into them, causing his men to curse heavily. They continued to fire, however, shooting anything the enemy decided to expose for more than a second, whether it be a leg or a head.

         Marks’s MIU managed to protect him well, bullets rebounding off it’s armor, leaving dark marks on its once highly polished surface. The auto-cannon could be heard over shots and screams alike, high caliber rounds punching through enemy cover with ease.

         Drinn quickly ducked as similar rounds whistled over him, destroying the computer panels he had just been leaning on. A yell sounded down the line as one of his men was hit, a gruesome wound spilling blood from his shoulder.

         Hearing a break in the heavy fire, Drinn looked up just in time to see a Tu-kran bearing a Trapster Auto-cannon duck behind a terminal on the far side. Flipping a switch on the side of his gun, he aimed the rifle at the terminal as a small laser on its side marked the target. Drinn watched as the Tu-kran’s cover was torn asunder while Marks fired upon it, the little laser having been bright as day in the MIU’s filters, designating it a primary target.

         Crouching low, Drinn maneuvered toward his fallen comrade, his face already pale from blood loss. Jintley was next to him, attempting to staunch the blood flow.

         “I-I think he’ll be okay,”Jintley began to stutter. “There’s no way to know for certain this c-close to the heart, but he’s got a chance if we get him the h-hell out of here.” Looking closer, Drinn realized with a small tinge of regret that the soldier was Bryar. His face was scrunched up in pain, and his left cheek was spattered with his own blood.

         “Son of a-,” Bryar moaned, bringing up every debasive word he could summon. Blood continued to flow from the wound despite Jintley’s efforts, though it had seemed to lessen a bit, a result of the vitality pack’s clotting injections.

         Drinn sat for a moment, as bullets continued to fly over their heads. It was his responsibility to see these men to safety, even as it was his duty to see the mission through to completion. Dueling out his priorities, Drinn set his indifference aside.

         “Arriah, we’ve got hostiles. Bryar’s down and I need immediate pick-up south-side.”

         Arriah's voice came back, sounding disturbed. “Understood. Should I call in for backup?”
Drinn paused for a moment.

         “No need. Just radio the Brackston and tell them to fire off a few Reaper missiles. We'll just blow the damn thing to pieces, and trust the Fates that nothing's left intact.”

         Grasping his gun, Drinn glanced over the terminal. About a dozen rebels remained, but more footsteps could be heard in the distance. They couldn't continue this forever.

         Drinn hit the ground, however, as a crazed Tu-kran, grasping a rather wicked machete, charged and leapt over the terminal at the MIU, seemingly intent on cutting through what it couldn't shoot.

         Marks, caught unaware, just barely had time to raise his auto-cannon as the Tu-kran struck, the blade slicing through a good half of the metallic appendage. From his viewpoint on the ground, Drinn recognized with a shock that the Tu-kran's weapon held a green tinted edge, the sign of a laser-forged blade. Raising his rifle, Drinn fired a few bursts into the Tu-kran's chest with no avail; the beast simply ignored the wounds, it's own advanced version of adrenaline keeping it going.

         Marks continued to avoid the deadly blade, using his ruined auto-cannon to deflect any imminent hits. Suddenly backing away, Marks waited for his deranged enemy to charge once again, and, with the added inertia of a three-ton chassis, thrust the barrel of the cannon at the Tu-kran's chests like a spear. With a symphony of cracking bones, the Tu-kran was forced back, dropping its machete in the attack. Marks then, with the use of his uninjured manipulator, grasped the reptile around the neck, crushing it with a quick jerk. The Tu-kran promptly went limp, and the MIU threw it aside as easily as though the three-hundred pound bull had been naught but a broken doll.

         One of the pouches tied around the fallen Tu-kran came loose as the corpse hit the ground, spilling small spherical objects across the floor. Curious, Drinn grabbed one that stopped nearby, a black orb sporting a small groove. Although it had the look of a grenade, Drinn recognized instantly what it was, a sudden chill racing down his back. What he couldn't understand was how the damn brute had managed to secure the Delumatric. Of course, the Tu-kran had probably just thought it a simple grenade, instead of the pride of a new branch of technology that it was.

         The Delumatric was basically capable of generating a black-screen; a field of energy that was able to lower the frequency of visible light to the point where it left the visible spectrum. Even infra-red didn't function in a black-screen, therefore giving it the unique ability to virtually blind the opposition. Of course, that particular ability wouldn't be very useful if Federation soldiers were blinded as well. Thus the weapons were still in the experimental phase, entirely off-field. Therefore the reason for its being on the Cerberus was completely lost to Drinn.

         Unfortunately, he had little time to ponder, as the Tu-kran's success in disabling the MIU seemed to have sparked courage in his fellow companions. Men began darting for ever closer cover, pushing close to Drinn's team. Luckily, the few Tu-kran in the room decided against repeating the melee antics of their late comrade, taking control of their blood-lust.

         Tearing through an advancing rebel's jugular with a quick pull of the trigger, Drinn looked down the line. Bryar was leaning against the terminal, eyes closed in a tight wince. Jintley was firing his rifle with grim determination, although he continued to glance down at Bryar, as though to make sure he was still breathing. Ratch knelt somewhat farther down, his eyes full of focus, relentless in their search for a target. Pistol shots sounding behind Drinn told him the MIU had switched to a smaller side weapon, though his aim was deadly as ever.

         “Marks, any idea why these bastards are packing Delumatrics?!” Drinn roared into his com-link, even though the device filtered out gunfire.

         “Deluma-WHAT?” Mark's voice was flooded with disbelief. Well, at least Drinn had his answer.

         “Ya, your little friend had a whole pouch of them.” Drinn continued to fire at some close-laying cover, giving the rebel behind it an excellent reason to take a break. Marks, however, remained silent. Many moments passed before Drinn heard the com-link cackle back to life.

         “Set them off.”

         Caught off-guard by the seemingly mad comment, Drinn could only assume the engineer had given up hope.

         “Excuse me?” Drinn's tone sounded almost affronted. His tactical mind nearly was. “You know damn well there's too many to run for it, even with a black screen.”

         “Just do it, dammit!! Fates willing, we'll survive. Trust me on this.”

         Drinn's mind seemed to do a quick flip. Trust was one thing he always seemed to lack, but then again, they couldn't keep this stand forever. Reinforcements had already begun to seep into the room, the odds of coming out alive decreasing savagely.

         Grabbing two of the orbs scattered around him, Drinn secured his thumb into the groove of either one. The Delumatrics were oddly cool to the touch.

         “What's your plan?”

         “Get everyone against the wall once they go off.”

         “Marks!”

         “Let's just say I'm not afraid of the dark.”

         Normally, Drinn would've argued with such a vague response, but the advancing rebels were becoming eager. One of the humans had even tried to hide behind the other side of their terminal, though friendly fire cut his venture short. There would be no more debating.

         A blue light burst from behind the casing as Drinn pushed into the grooves, signifying the five-second delay had started. Lobbing them over the terminal, Drinn rushed over toward Bryar, preparing to heave him to his feet. Shouts could be heard from the other side of the room, the Rebels mistaking the Delumatrics for grenades. The majority of Drinn's platoon stopped shooting as well, staring pale-faced at their commander, who had apparently just commissioned them to death.

         “Rush to the walls on my command!” Drinn shouted, sending a shower of confused, but somewhat relieved looks back at him. Bryar didn't seem to hear anything.

         Cries of outrage rang in the air as a choking mass of darkness exploded from the middle of the room, overtaking the compartment near instantly. The sudden loss of vision hit Drinn like a punch in the face, the black-screen darker than all but the deepest shades of oblivion. He nearly stumbled, but instinct forced him to holler something loudly, though he wasn't sure what he said. Nevertheless, his immediate area seemed to churn with movement as his team scrambled for the walls. Drinn forced Bryar through the darkness, completely lost in his sense of distance. Bryar yelped loudly as they stumbled into a wall, collapsing next to it. Drinn could hear his men's quickened breathing to either side over the confused shouts of the Rebels.

         A slight noise, however, like the sharp whistle of the wind, began to reverberate throughout the room, echoing continuously, without a source. A second, more familiar sound followed it a few moments later, the silent screaming of a hacksaw.

         Bewildered, Drinn stood up, keeping his back against the wall, listening fiercely. He thought he felt a large shape swoop past them, and within moments, a piercing cry split through the darkness, cutting short with a gurgling sound.

         The screams of the dieing quickly began to fill the room, some cutting off quickly like the first, others sliding into silence. Drinn could hear gunshots being fired blindly into the darkness, attempting to fight off the unseen fiend.

         Drinn was almost glad for the darkness, not wanting to see the MIU's handiwork. Even so, his team had to get moving. He could still sense them against the wall, rigid, fearful to move away, lest the unnatural darkness swallow them as well.

         The black screen, however, would only last a few minutes, and Drinn wanted to be well away when it expired. Drinn lifted Bryar from the ground, supporting him underneath his good arm, although his comrade still managed a grunt of pain.

         “Keep close to the wall. And for fate's sake, stay quiet. Now go.” The men in front of Drinn slowly began to shuffle forward, the men behind him with a bit more enthusiasm. No one fancied being the lead.

         No sound was made as they trudged slowly through the darkness, other than the minute whisper of gloved hands caressing the wall, it being their guide out of the abysmal darkness. Even Bryar made no notion of groaning. Drinn was relieved with his men's acceptance in that regard. Even with the outcries of Marks's slaughter pervading the air, gunshots still rang, and Drinn rather fancied not giving away their position.

         By his estimate, the exit was about twenty meters away from where they started off, though the cursed Delumatric seemed to have tripled the distance. Continuing down the wall, Drinn heard someone ahead of him curse under his breath. Wincing at the small breach of silence, Drinn nearly slipped as he walked into a puddle of something slick. Knowing what it probably was, he kept going, keeping his mind on the exit.

         Silence seemed to grow with every step, until at last, the remaining gunfire was cut off with the quick crescendo of metal on metal. Although want of noise, Drinn could still sense movement within the room, though whether from friend or foe, he had no idea.

         Hearing a scuff to his right, Drinn dropped Bryar as something large forced a grip around his throat, pulling him from the wall. Bryar yelled something, but Drinn was too shocked to hear. His attacker gave a small, guttural laugh as it tightened its hold, cutting off his windpipe. Drinn struggled against the choking embrace, but he might as well have been fighting off a vice. Purple dots blotted his vision as the grip began to limit the blood-flow to his brain, contrasting greatly with the blinding blackness. There was something soothing about being able to see the purple dots, Drinn realized, as he stood dieing; the warm, acrid breath of his executioner beckoning him to give in. He could feel his mind slipping away, unaware of the movement around him...

         Drinn dropped to the floor with a thud as the familiar sound of a hacksaw filled his ears. Gasping for breath, he tore the lone appendage of his attacker from his neck, tossing it into the void. He could hear an inhuman cry of pain above him, but it quickly ended as the hacksaw struck again.

         Scrambling backwards, Drinn felt his back hit the soothing solidness of wall. He felt a soldier to his left give a start, probably thinking the darkness had come to take him next. Standing up, Drinn realized he had dropped his rifle in the skirmish. Or had it been taken from him? Either way, it didn't do him much good in this blinded state.

         “Captain, is that you?” a disembodied voice whispered from beside him.

         “Ya. Bryar?”

         “I think Ratch has him.”

         Drinn nodded, though the gesture did little good. Keeping his hand on his sidearm, he continued toward the exit, listening intently for any more movement. One brush with death was one too many.

         A whoop of joy was audible in front of him, and seconds later, Drinn stepped out of the darkness, his pupils protesting at the sudden influx of light. Letting his eyes adjust, he looked around for the first time in what seemed an eternity.

         A few members of his team, including Ratch and Bryar, stood in the middle of the corridor, some keeping their rifles trained at the doorway behind Drinn. Turning around, he saw the darkness billowing out of the door, fading in the light as though it were a thick fog. Two men materialized out of the black-screen, eyes scrunched from the brightness. Drinn waited for more to appear, but the darkness remained steady. His heart seemed to drop to his stomach.

         Facing the group, Drinn quickly estimated three missing, counting the MIU. The observation was devastating.

         “Casualties?” The question seemed to drain Drinn.

         One of the soldiers shifted his feet, his face grim in memory. “Adro got hit. 'Meant to get him, but I heard a skirmish and I...” The man cut off, his head lowered in shame. Drinn didn't blame the man, but felt little pity. War was chaos.

         “Where's Titherman?” Ratch asked, breaking the tension. Drinn could feel it reknit itself even tighter. No one spoke.

         Drinn felt a curse rumbling inside him. Of course, Marks was still in there as well.

         Bringing his fingers to his com-link, he stopped as he saw the MIU tumble out of the  doorway, a limp figure slung over its arm. Drinn froze at the sight of Adro's pale face.
“Is he...?”

         “Afraid so.” Marks's voice was hard, knotted thick with emotion. A solemn silence fell over the group as Adro's fate sunk in. Drinn could feel his heart harden. He would deal with the loss later. The living had yet to die.

         “Time to move out,” Drinn commanded, his voice dry. The platoon started down the lone hallway, carefully scanning for any sign of the enemy. There seemed to be less fear in his soldiers, ironically enough, as they no longer faced the unknown. The riddle of the Delumatrics still pounded in the back of Drinn's head,however, their presence on the ship more terrifying than anything he had been even remotely expecting.

         Drinn slowed down his pace and fell in next to Marks. The MIU remained silent, Adro's head swinging slightly in the machine's grasp. Drinn reached out with two fingers and closed the dead man's eyes. Not all humanity was lost in war.

         “How the hell were you able to see in there?” Drinn  just couldn't let the question lie. Marks remained quiet, as though pondering whether to reply.

         “Its called Blind-sight. Makes use of echo-location to give a rough visual. Of course, the damn feed has to go straight through my temple, so it ain't fun. The Tu-kran, on the other hand, they just have a damn good sense of smell.” Marks paused for a moment. “Truth be told, I wasn't sure if it'd work in the black screen.”

         “You'd be wise not to tell me that.” Drinn said, clearly unamused.

         “Ya, well, it worked, didn't it?”

         As displeased as he was, Drinn had to agree with him there. Taking risks was sadly a constant in their profession. He continued to keep pace with the machine.
“Either way, thanks for the save. I thought I was a goner.”

         Marks didn't reply immediately. Drinn had an odd feeling he had upset the engineer somehow.

         “I wish the same could have been said for Titherman.” Marks's voice carried a bite to it. Drinn knew then why he had only come out with Adro. The other corpse was probably better left in the dark.

         Drinn looked ahead toward Bryar, watching the man limp forward, his weight supported by Ratch. At least a few men would survive the mission.

         Turning around, Drinn gave one last glance at the end of the hall, darkness spewing out like a gate to hell. In a way, it had been.