"WHERE IS IT?" a crew member asked. Aaen wasn't sure if the question was directed at him. He ignored the question for the moment. The lower deck flooded with more particle—albeit blind—fire in multiple directions. Aaen only clenched his rifle's grip, breathing heavily with his heart pounding with dread. He leaned upright, narrowly dodging a high-powered bolt more brightly colored. He realized the shooter turned up the juice on their weapon! His forehead felt like someone was pointing a heat lamp at him. He wondered why it was getting so hot in here?
He leaned back at the sound of a loud hiss of another particle bolt. The bolt sparked against a bulkhead on the lower deck. He looked left, "Admiral, they're pinned down! We've gotta do something!"
"What do you suggest?"
Aaen raised his rifle emphatically. "If we cut the power to that deck, we might—"
Another bolt scored a bulkhead, causing a loud POP. Aaen could hear sparks showering over the lower deck.
"We're pinned down!" a crew member declared. Aaen took the declaration as a call for help—
We've got a handful of crew members pinned down on the lower deck. The intruder's in a very tactically excellent position that cuts off the crew members down there. None of them have a clean shot on the intruder, and there's no telling what the intruder's doing right now to tamper with the rest of the Station. Granted, the Station's not going to explode at the whim of one individual with apparent access to only one. . .whatever Station component it's working on. But that other ship out there—not the Shadows, but the ship they're so worried about. . . It's gotta be close by now, and there's apparently only limited information that offers no way of discerning their tactical capabilities. Fine, then, Aaen decided, for the moment, focus on helping those crew members down there! He looked over his left shoulder to find the Admiral trying to think of a plan.
She looked at the rest of the away team fanned out in front of her; Aaen was the only one at the top of the staircase. He could tell she was trying to figure out a way to help the crew members on the lower deck and started rubbing her forehead and gasping. Aaen started to feel compelled to interject her thought processes.
"Admiral, what if we cut the life support down there?"
"—Then we have maybe a minute to help our people down there!" Aaen replied. Cut the life support? There's no guarantee the intruder isn't going to change into a shape that doesn't require oxygen. Besides—"We'd be risking nearly a third of the away team to stop one intruder!"
"Admiral! They're bottle-necked down there! It would be better to try to send a small contingent through—"
Another flurry of pulsed particle fire filled the lower deck. The exchange of fire and the frequency of the exchange was increasing. Aaen had a hunch the intruder was tired of its sabotage efforts being interrupted. What was it trying to do? Aaen wondered.
"What were you saying, Commander?"
"I was saying: it would be better to send a small group to an alternate route. Flank the intruder!"
"There's no time! That other ship will be here soon!"
That's it then. Aaen decided there's no other option. That intruder's not showing any concern about the fact it's outnumbered or outgunned. It's albeit imperfectly hidden, and we're taking casualties! We don't have time for this! —NO MORE! Aaen felt nearly overwhelming anxiety, a surge of adrenaline vigorously coursing through him, and then he raised his rifle and stood up with an idea that—for an instant—made him wonder if his idea would cost him rank, or merely a few hours of sleep later on. Don't think! He thought to himself.
"Aaen! COMMANDER!" the Admiral whispered loudly. "Where are you going? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
Aaen held his rifle in front of him at a low angle as he quickly marched down the staircase. For a moment, he started asking himself the same thing. . . Those crew members aren't going to rescue themselves! About a quarter of the way down, Aaen found the chief of security around the edge of a countertop aiming down his rifle's iron sights at the far edge of the staircase. He looked up at Aaen with an alarmed look. Aaen snapped to his right looking straight to the opposite end of the deck—THERE YOU ARE! He took aim at the top of the staircase and started firing without thinking, with an instinctive look of anger and determination. He felt heroic, standing at the base of the spiral staircase. He watched the intruder recoil sharply around the corner at the top of the staircase.
"Chief! Get our people to the upper deck! MOVE! MOVE!" he waved them up the staircase with his left hand as he kept firing. His rifle subtly vibrated with each shot and observed with his lower peripheral vision as the end of the barrel glowed red with each shot. He sharply aimed for anything that didn't look like it didn't belong on the Station. The top of the staircase filled with flurries of sparks. He assumed a tactical stance and then crouched to give himself a better firing angle. He heard two sets of footsteps rushing up the staircase, then looked to his left for an instant to see the chief was gesturing for the other crew members to follow his order first.
"Get the wounded over there!" the Admiral commanded. "Doctor! Help them! The rest of you: follow me!"
What the heck are you doing, Admiral? Aaen silently asked in shock, he started sweating from his forehead from the anxiety and gradual-onset sense of terror from his subconscious telling him the intruder was getting ready to make a move. He watched the end of another particle weapon's barrel clear the corner. His gut told him to scramble for cover—NOW!
Wide-eyed, he heard a building mechanical whine as the barrel angled toward him. He dove to his left as the barrel lit up, and then a pulse of bright white lightning soared at him with a POP.
He landed hard, behind and to the right of the chief of security who was pulling himself up and out of cover behind the countertop. Aaen looked behind where he had been standing and realized if he were still standing where he was, the intruder would have shot him center-of-mass with whatever that weapon it's using. His heart was pounding more now than it had when he was on the upper deck. Sweat was falling from his forehead to his chin. He looked up and watched as a pair of feet started quickly down the staircase. "Admiral! Don't come down here!" he tried waving whoever it was back to the battle bridge. Aaen heard a hard footstep from several feet away to his left. Oh crap!—
Another hard footstep. It's coming! Aaen realized. Another particle bolt struck just above the bottom bunk to Aaen's right. Three feet more to the right. . . Aaen thought in terror. "Chief, see if you can get a shot off!"
The chief of security inched around the corner, rifle in front of him and then sharply recoiled, then moved forward as he took careful aim and fired. "I can barely see!" A burst of sparks lit the deck for a moment. He fired again. "Dang it!"
"Did you hit it?" Aaen asked.
"I think so. I think I only—" another bolt scored the air; the chief of security recoiled sharply on his back and dropped his sidearm as his left shoulder glowed a dull red for several seconds; Aaen reasoned he was unconscious.
Aaen saw the Admiral's face inch around the corner of the top of the spiral staircase. "Commander?" she whispered cautiously.
He looked up at her with a determined look, inching upright to a crouched position and leaned against the edge of the counter as a red light glared against the side of his face. He turned his head.
The Admiral nodded, and then looked to her right and whispered something. Aaen's gut told him their objective was getting closer. . .
*****
Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."
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