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Nellie and the Nanites - Bk3 - Ch.51
🕑 Added 2024-07-16 08:00:04 +0000 UTCChapter 51
Boarding Party
Tippett waited his turn at the back of the line, more than happy to allow the higher ranks to be the first ones through the door.
“Seals locked! Move! Move! Move!” Silver's voice boomed, the urgency in his command palpable. The Imperial Line Security Force, known for their strict hierarchy, used the names of metals to signify rank, a system that left no room for sentiment.
It was stupid. Tippett might only be a Nickel, but he knew the Bronze was Greggs, even with the silly faceplate closed. He’d help Greggs if he fell; they grew up together.
Nickels one through six and Bronze one to three charged over the boarding umbilical for a good two or three steps before it was blasted free of the station and the awful rush of air as vacuum sucked at the compartment.
Everyone was helmeted and sealed, but they still lost three to the force of the vacuum. They were sucked to the edge and bent and broken as the implacable forces of the void never stopped pulling.
“Foam! Get Foam on that!” Silver yelled.
Sealant foam was sprayed, and a new seal was formed, in one case around the corpse of the unfortunate Nickel. That was Nickel three, Tiffany. She had been a bit of a bitch, but that was no way to go. Besides, she owed him several credits from the game last night.
“Breach!” Bronze one called and placed the clamp on the door. It whirred, forcing the doors apart.
A rifle appeared in the gap. Was someone in the airlock? Who the fuck would do that? Were they insane?
“Back!” Silver yelled, but the rifle opened fire. People flattened against the walls and door to avoid the blasts. Tippett even dived to the floor, beams of light screaming over his head.
Someone screamed.
“Clear the tube!” Silver demanded, but no one moved.
Tippett saw a black metal hand appear in the gap and extend into the tube. It dropped something on the floor and withdrew.
Silver didn’t say a word this time. They just reached out and slapped the emergency seal on the boarding tube.
Tippett got to his feet in time to see Greggs banging on the closed door.
A flash of light and blood splattered the window for a split second before it froze in hard vacuum.
“We’re going to have to do a full breach,” Silver said into their comm line. “Send some cutters down here!”
“Move out and secure the landing bay!” Silver yelled. They had managed to cut their way in with their own boarding tubes, but it was not easy. They had lost another whole team when robots appeared on the station's OUTSIDE and started to fire on the cutters.
Tippett was careful to run behind the Nickel in front of him. If someone was getting hit first, he didn’t want it to be him.
“Defenders!” A bronze ahead called, and the whine of lasers filled the corridor.
Tippett dove behind some crates and peered over the top.
“What the hell are those things?”
“Money, lad,” A tough-looking Bronze laughed. “They look like money to me!”
They certainly didn’t look anything like credits to Tip. To him, they looked like gleaming, black, metal death.
The things kept walking as lasers bored into their bodies, their guns firing non-stop until they fell.
“Move forward, cover to cover,” Three Silvers crowded into the hallway, each one carrying a heavy blast shield as they marched forward, heavy cannons opening fire.
Tippett raised his gun over the crate and fired a few rounds. They always checked.
He cheered as one of the machines fell with his shot, only to swallow as another stepped forward to take its place.
Inch by inch, the boarding party moved forward. Every step cost them, but they were winning by sheer numbers alone. The more enterprising members of the boarding party had gotten together to push the heavy crates ahead of them, forming a short wall between them and the black metal nightmares they were fighting.
“Branch here, go around!” A Silver grabbed his armor and pushed him and the rest of his squad toward a side passage. It looked empty, but there was no one in front of him.
Tippett turned back to argue with the Silver—It wasn’t his Silver anyway—and was just in time to see the crates shift.
Two dozen troops had gathered behind the crates, ready to push over the top in a rush. They were all prepared; the Silver had his comm raised to issue the attack order, and the crates shifted. One second, they were sold; the next, they were a silver liquid.
The troops were out of cover, in shock, and way too slow to react.
Tippett turned away from the slaughter and swallowed hard as he hurried to catch up to the rest of the squad.
Maybe they could find somewhere nice and quiet to ‘guard’ that wouldn’t involve getting murdered?
===<<<>>>===
“I’m holding them on the main level for now,” Salem called over her secure commline to Paren. “But I am running out of Centrum units fast.”
“Just do what you can,” Paren replied, her voice clipped as if she was in a rush. “I will take care of any leftovers.”
“Paren,” Salem swallowed. “I don’t think we can hold against this many troops.”
Synthetics experienced fear, just like they did other emotions. People assumed they didn’t, or they faked them, but they had feelings, and Salem was very sacred indeed. “They have more than a thousand troops in that ship.”
“Salem,” Paren laughed. “No, they don’t.”
“Yes, Paren, they do.” Salem insisted.
“No, they haven’t. They have a few hundred soldiers; the rest are just along for the ride. They’ll run when it starts.”
“When what starts?” Salem insisted, assigning another fifty troops to the concourse.
“Have you ever wondered why I build the things I do?” Paren asked.
“Because you like them?” Salem guessed.
“Well, okay, yes. But also because I know what it is like to feel afraid and powerless, Salem. I won’t feel that way ever again. Never.” Paren laughed a disturbing little chuckle that set Salem’s teeth on edge. “Now, it’s their turn to be afraid.”
Salem shivered and focused back on the defense. The enemy troops were spreading out through the docking transfers, pushing her troops back more and more as they overwhelmed her defenses. She needed more troops on hand in the future.
“Make a note. More defenses on all future stations,” Salem muttered.
“Noted, Administrator Salem.”
The main concourse was prepared when the attackers breached the central lock; the forces poured in as techs worked to open the main doors. Salem watched as they pushed further and further in, allowing them to make it to the center of the floor before she reacted.
“All troops, free fire,” Salem commanded as she flicked a switch and rolled the doors on all the stores open at once. The Centrums she had hidden inside fired on the exposed troops, cutting them into smaller groups and funneling them toward corners and further from backup.
One of the interior cameras near the security office showed a vent opening, and Cix-El and Robot began to crawl out.
Swearing, Salem ordered some troops to move to cover them. She had tied into the commline and started to scroll for their contacts when the Imperial Line troops saw them.
“No!” Salem yelled at the screen as lasers stabbed at the pair.
Cix-El saw the incoming fire and pushed Robot hard, sending him flying back into the vent before he slammed it shut.
Cix-El was hit by several beams and fell to the floor.
“No!” Salem felt tears in her eyes. She had woken that unit herself! Cix-El was hers!
Her fingers moved, and she slammed the environmental controls into overdrive, funneling all the heat from the station into that single level. At the same time, she activated several canisters of explosive gases, pumping it all into the air.
They would pay!
They would die!
They would BURN!
===<<<>>>===
Robot scrambled backward into the vent system. His mind replayed the events over and over again. They had killed him. No, they had killed his friend. It was Robot they shot at, but his friend pushed him aside.
They hadn’t killed Robot.
They killed his friend.
Robot stopped moving. His friends were under attack.
Friend Cix-El was dead.
Error.
Friend Cix-El was murdered.
Error.
Friend Cix-El died to save Robot.
Friend Cix-El died to save Robot.
Friend Cix-El died to save Robot.
Error.
Safety lockouts report failure….
Robot is not a victim.
Robot is angry.
Error. Error. Error.
“My name is Robot,” Robot rolled over in the vent. “And I am angry.”
Control systems erased.
“You are all going to die.”
===<<<>>>===
Silver Seventeen of the Imperial Line Capital Ship, registry Banker’s Grasp, jacked into the booster box on the Bronze and connected to control. She needed instructions. They had managed to find some kind of elevator and gotten a couple of levels above the main floor, but communications were down.
Her suit screen cleared, and she saw a view from the camera on her Gold. Before she could even open her mouth to request orders, the air seemed to explode.
“What the—” her voice cut off as the air seemed to freeze in her chest. The camera screen blistered and broke, cutting the feed, but not before she saw the very air itself roiling and burning. Someone had ignited the atmosphere in the central bay.
What kind of insanity was this?
“What’s wrong?” The bronze looked bored. They had probably done as many boardings as Silver Seventeen had. She knew the feeling. Most boardings done by the Banker’s Grasp were one of overwhelming force, so resistance was usually brief.
Somehow, she didn’t think this was going to be one of them.
“Lost contact with my Gold, I’ll contact the Grasp.”
“Hurry up, will you?” The Bronze sighed. “Standing like this hurts my back.”
Silver nodded and contacted the Grasp or tried to.
Something was wrong. Their comm signal was being jammed despite being designed to bypass their fleet jammer.
“We better cycle back,” Silver sighed and removed the jack, allowing the bronze to stand upright. “I can’t get anyone on this.”
“Sure.”
She turned around and frowned. The ceiling was covered in a series of thick black piping that she hadn’t noticed before. Looking back at the way they had been headed, she didn’t see any pipework.
Her eyes widened a fraction of a second before the smilers dropped into the corridor and swarmed toward her.
She fired her rifle, she fired her pistol, she even threw a grenade. None of it helped; none of it slowed them down.
Silver Seventeen grabbed the bronze next to her and shoved him forward into the teeth of the horror as it leaped at her. He screamed, but she was already running.
Seventeen panted as she lowered her head and raced ahead with no idea where she was going. All she heard behind her were screams, the clattering of metal feet, and wet crunching sounds.
Seventeen ran harder.
There, ahead of her, an open hatchway.
Seventeen leaped, grabbing the door and slamming it shut behind her before spinning the wheel. Backing away from the door, she found a length of metal and slammed it through the wheel, jamming it closed. Nothing pounded on the door, nothing skittered.
Seventeen took a steadying breath and looked around. It was a strange compartment, some kind of storage place mixed with a weird hydroponics bay. Grey-green moss covered the walls and ceiling, waving in a breeze. Her suit stopped her from feeling it while a series of metal parts were stored here and there in the corners of the room.
“Seventeen to command, anyone receiving this?” She tried the comm but did not hear any response. Cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders, Seventeen sat down on a pile of parts, leaned back against the soft green moss, and flicked on the automated distress beacon attached to her suit.
Someone would come and rescue her once the rest of this crazy station was under control.
She was safe, comfortable-ish, and better off out of it for now.
As time passed and the adrenaline faded, Seventeen began to drift off, dozing a little. When the jamming signal faded, she tried to get up and call for a pickup. They only called that off once they had control.
She sat forward but couldn’t stand.
Looking down, Seventeen screamed.
The moss had covered her suit, vanishing into the seams like it was trying to get inside.
She tried to kick free, but her feet didn’t move, her legs barely twitching.
“Help!” Seventeen gasped as a tendril of moss appeared in her vision. Why was her face going numb?
“Help!” She tried again, feeling something tickle her tongue.
Was it in her mouth?
Help. It never made it out of her mouth this time, merely a thought as her vision clouded.
Help.
Help.
Please.
===<<<>>>===
Tippett peered over the edge of the walkway and swallowed as he saw it moving around below him. The metal leg clanked against the deck as it moved, the other completely silent. It bounded over to the body of a bronze, leaning down and tearing at the armor.
It didn’t seem to be having much luck.
Thank the heavens for small mercies, Tippett thought, looking at his own armor; it should let him get out of here. As quietly as he could, Tippett pulled his rifle into position and aimed at what he assumed was the head.
It was the bit with the weird tentacle mouth on it, so it had to be the head, right?
“You shouldn’t shoot Per-Chi,” A voice next to him said quietly. “That’s not nice.”
Tippett screamed, fumbling his rifle and watching it drop to the deck below him as the horror turned to face him.
Rolling over, Tippett gasped to see a young girl holding a small stuffed bear. She was standing on the walkway as if there was not a worry in the world, despite the horror show this place had turned into.
Tippett ignored the spreading wetness in this combat armor and thought. If he had a young girl as a hostage, no one would attack, right?
“Sorry,” Tippett clicked on his suit speakers. “You scared me.”
“I do that,” The girl said, tilting her head to one side. “I scare people.”
“Yeah, well, you should stop,” Tippett got carefully to his feet, one eye on the horror below, which was still watching him.
“No,” the girl said. “I like it.”
Tippett grabbed for her, but she dropped, sweeping his leg from under him as she spun.
Tippett teetered on the walkway's edge, reaching out desperately for something to hold onto.
“Whee!” the creepy bitch leaped onto him, sending them both tumbling down to the floor below.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Tippett tried to rise, only to scream as something heavy landed on his leg. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the girl stroking the oily skin on the thing's head as it stood with the metal leg on his right knee, pinning him to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Tippett asked as she reached toward him.
“Feeding Per-Chi,” she smiled and flicked the clasp on his leg armor open.
Tippett screamed, pushing at the horror as it latched onto his leg.
“Get it off, get it off!” he screamed and screamed as a strange numbness reached out from the feeding creature.
As he collapsed to the floor, the girl methodically removed his armor until only his helmet remained. She looked at him and nodded with satisfaction.
“Please!” Tippett gasped.
“No,” the girl smiled again and picked up the rifle. “Thanks for the gun. I’m going to go kill your friends now. Bye!”
Tippett watched her squirm into a vent and closed his eyes, praying it would be quick.
He was praying for a long time.
