Doom Star: Book 02 - Bio-Weapon (32 page)

“I love it. They’re trying to jetpack their way to us.”

“Good luck,” said the Tracking Officer.

“Enough of that,” Admiral Sioux said.

“What’s wrong, Admiral?” asked the Second Gunner.

“They’re soldiers just like us,” Admiral Sioux said. “We defeated that batch. And I’m glad for it. But let’s not mock brave soldiers.”

“They’re the enemy,” the First Gunner said.

“Traitors to Social Unity,” said someone else.

“Admiral, I detect enemy on the inner armored skin.”

“See,” the First Gunner said. “They’re still going to kill us.”

“Or they’re going to try,” said the Tracking Officer.

“That’s what I meant,” the First Gunner said. “I hate traitors. If we defeat them, I plan to cheer while Security teams hold them down and slit their throats.”

“What about re-education?” asked the Tracking Officer.

“Not for traitors,” said the First Gunner.

Admiral Sioux only half-listened. She couldn’t find it in herself to hate the enemy soldiers. Fight them, oh yes. But hate? She studied the situation through her VR-goggles. Some of the HB missiles had passed the
Bangladesh
. They rotated and watched, but didn’t’ fire the lasers. Why?

“Launch Tube Twelve in operative condition, Admiral,” a damage control officer said.

“Here are another swarm of missiles,” the Tracking Officer said.

The First Gunner swore in frustration. “Slitting their throats would be too good. Torture them first.”

“Better hope they don’t play back the bridge vid,” the Second Gunner said.

“Belay that sort of talk, mister,” the Admiral said. “No one is taking my ship.”

“Yes, Admiral. I’m sorry, sir.”

Admiral Sioux suddenly thought she understood the enemy’s plan. The HB lasers and other missiles weren’t firing because these soldiers were on the beamship. Not very many were on, but as long as the soldiers tried to breach the
Bangladesh
, it was safe from HB missile attacks.

“Pilot,” the Admiral said. “Get ready to rotate the
Bangladesh
one-hundred and eighty degrees.”

“Admiral?”

“Do it at my command,” said Admiral Sioux.

“What are you planning, Admiral?” the Tracking Officer asked.

“How much fuel do you think those missiles have left?”

“Not much,” the Tracking Officer said. “But what does it matter? It was enough to reach us.”

“Ready,” the Pilot said.

“Now,” said Admiral Sioux.

The
Bangladesh
’s
mighty engines turned off. Side jets fired. The massive beamship rotated in space. Soon the front of the Bangladesh was aimed where the engines had been burning these many days. They were aimed at the Sun. Then the huge engines engaged, pushing at eight gravities as the beamship braked hard.

The HB missiles coming upon the
Bangladesh
sped that much more quickly at the beamship.

“Enemy torpedoes are firing like before,” said the Tracking Officer.

“PD cannons ready,” said the First Gunner.

“Don’t fire!” shouted Admiral Sioux. “Let the enemy torps hit us.”

“There are fifty torpedoes, Admiral,” the First Gunner said.

“I can count, mister. Just make certain you don’t fire. Shield Officer, adjust Shield Three. Don’t leave any gaps between them.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The huge beamship shuddered as the majority of the torpedoes slammed into Particle Shield 4, or what was left of it.

“They’ve landed,” said the Tracking Officer.

“Yes, thank you,” said Admiral Sioux. “Pilot, rotate us ninety degrees.”

“Rotating.”

The beamship’s main engines quit again. Side jets fired. Ponderously, the mighty
Bangladesh
rotated ninety degrees.

“Detach Shield 4,” ordered Admiral Sioux.

“Detaching,” said the Shield Officer.

On their VR goggles, they watched the huge hunk of rock blow off the
Bangladesh
and tumble away, although not very far. Some enemy soldiers leaped off the particle shield and jetted for the beamship. Both the shield and the beamship kept relative speeds.

“PD cannons fire at will,” the Admiral said.

“Firing,” growled the First Gunner.

All along the
Bangladesh
’s
side spat PD cannons. Shock trooper plasma globs rolled at them, together with battlesuit rifle lasers. The PD cannons shrugged off the small lasers. The superheated plasma was another matter. It took out cannon after cannon. But not fast enough. Soon all the soldiers were dead, blown apart by point defense shells.

“Do we brake or flee?” asked the Pilot.

“Tracking?” asked the Admiral.

“A last spread of missiles is approaching fast, Admiral,” the Tracking Officer said.

“Let’s use the launch tube,” said Admiral Sioux.

“The lasers will take it out,” the Tracking Officer said.

“Belay that order,” said Admiral Sioux. “Yes, you’re right,” she told the Tracking Officer. “Pilot, aim a particle shield at the incoming enemy. We’ll let them come in unharmed.”

“They might not fall for the same trick twice,” the Tracking Officer said.

“Admiral!” cried a damage control party leader.

“Report,” said Admiral Sioux.

“Enemy soldiers have breached the
Bangladesh
. What are your orders?”

“Security Chief,” said Admiral Sioux, “I hope you’re online and listening.”

“I’m listening,” the Security Chief said, a gruff-sounding man. He’d killed the mutinous ringleaders while they’d orbited the Sun those long months waiting. He had few qualms when it came to killing. He now said, “If you accelerate faster than two Gs we can’t fight. But keep us one-G or less and we’ll take them.”

“How many have breached?” the Admiral asked.

“I’d say ten soldiers,” the damage control officer said. “But they’re wearing high-tech fighting suits. Just like Highborn use.”

“Incoming missiles,” said the Tracking Officer. “Their last batch, I think.”

“HB torpedoes are launching!” shouted the First Gunner. “Let me PD them, Admiral.”

“Not as long as they have laser missiles on this side of us,” said Admiral Sioux.

“But there are fifty to sixty more torpedoes, Admiral.”

“Turn the ship aft,” said Admiral Sioux, hoping to increase the distance between the incoming torps.

Side jets burned. But the shock troop torpedoes proved as maneuverable as the vast ship. The fifty-plus torps came at the beamship on an unprotected side.

“Fire the PD’s,” said Admiral Sioux.

They fired for three seconds. Then HB lasers melted them. In the meantime, five shock trooper torps exploded.

“Good work, mister,” said Admiral Sioux. “Launch our torpedoes.”

On their VR goggles, they saw it for the futility it was. Three torps made it out. Then lasers destroyed them and the tube. Soon thereafter, the HB missiles flew past that part of the Bangladesh. And the mighty beamship shuddered as the surviving HB torpedoes slammed into the ship.

“Those are all inside the
Bangladesh
,” the Tracking Officer said.

“Thank you,” said Admiral Sioux. “That makes sixty to seventy enemy soldiers. What do you think, Chief? Can Security take them?”

“Depends on how good those soldiers are.”

“That’s the wrong answer, Chief.”

“We can take them, although I’ll need damage control to pitch in.”

“Pilot, one-G acceleration until otherwise ordered.”

“In what direction, Admiral?”

“Where else?” asked Admiral Sioux, “for our rendezvous with the flotilla.”

Nadia Pravda hesitated as she stood before the stealth pod’s airlock.

For seemingly endless days after she’d left the Mercury System she had slept, watched videos and thought deeply about her life. When she’d noticed she was putting on weight she had exercised religiously and ate less. Finally, the boredom had overwhelmed her. So she’d broken open a baggie of dream dust, snorted, and fantasized until she had come down days later, dehydrated, ravenous and the baggie empty. So she had drunk water until she’d been ready to vomit. Then she had eaten and for several hours gazed at the stars. Slowly the desire to return to her fantasizes had come upon her. It had been then when the realization that she was about to commit suicide jerked her upright in the pilot’s chair. She had paced in the simulated light-gravity until she found herself in front of the airlock.

If she broke open another baggie, she would doubtlessly use dust until she died. Maybe that wasn’t a bad way to go. The truth however, was that she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. But the boredom was so awful. Maybe it would have been better to have Hansen and Ervil aboard.

She drank water and like a zombie approached the stored dream dust. She stared at it for a long, long time. This was her stake in the new world. Without it, she would be without credits, valueless in the cold calculations of the habitats. But if she kept it, she was dead.

Slowly, hesitating often and with many doubts, she put baggie after baggie into the airlock. Finally, all the pod’s drugs were piled in the pressure chamber. She closed the inner hatch, rested her forehead on it for fifteen minutes and then activated the outer hatch.

She went to a side port and watched the powder drift into space. She cried afterward. Then she went to sleep. When she woke up, she was bored. “But I’m alive,” she whispered. And in a year, she should reach the Jupiter System. So she did two hundred jumping jacks and settled in the pilot’s chair for another movie.

Ten trolls prowled through the
Bangladesh
. At least that’s what the others looked like to Marten. Attached to the gorilla-big battlesuits was the mission’s complement of munitions, all they had to take the beamship. Extra laser-juice, more plasma coils and batteries, oxygen re-chargers, suit-fluids and rations and more neurostims, Suspend and Tempo.

The beamship’s corridors were dark. It didn’t matter, though. The battlesuits turned radar and motion scans into VR-images on each of the shock troopers
’
HUD (Head-Up Display). Visual information, a grid and targeting crosshairs were all holographically shown on the inner surface of each helmet visor. To the left side of a visor was a grid-map of the beamship. And it showed their position. The
Bangladesh
had the configuration of a Zukov-class battleship, although there were differences, and sometimes those differences had surprised them.

After the initial breach and their slaughtering of unarmed ship’s personnel, the outer portion of the beamship seemed to have been evacuated. Thus, they tramped down long, empty corridors, crossed various rooms and blasted booby-traps and door-locks.

“Tank coming at three o’clock,” Vip said, who had point in the latest corridor.

“They’ve recovered from their initial shock,” Marten said. “Stay alert. We’re finally going to see what they have.”

“What the—Gas!” Lance said.

“Where?” Marten asked. They were in a recreation area with tables, chairs and a music unit.

“It’s coming through the vents.”

“What kind of gas?”

“It’s not combustible or corrosive,” said Lance. “My guess is it is knockout gas.”

“There are guys behind that tank,” warned Vip.

“Wernher, set up the cannon,” Marten said.

“Roger,” said Wernher, who followed close behind Vip.

“Kang, Conway, watch the rear,” Marten said.

Kang grunted. He’d given tactical command to Marten while he considered strategy.

“The tank stopped,” Vip said. “Now it’s belching grenades!”

“Omi, Lance, burn through the right walls and flank them,” Marten said.

The two shock troopers stuck a breach bomb to the wall and stepped back as Omi activated it. BLAM! The shape-charged blast disintegrated a portion of wall. They bounded through the smoking hole.

The sound let Marten know that this section of ship still had an atmosphere. He switched to Omi’s HUD, putting it on his. They used another breach-bomb to tear through another wall, using the ship’s blueprint on their HUD to show where they had to go to flank Vip’s tank. HB tactics stressed surprise and doing the unexpected. Fighting through the laid-down corridors, which the defenders would always know better than the invaders, would give the tactical advantage to ship’s personnel. Creating new corridors and bursting through walls to make attacks would heavily favor the side that had the ordnance to do so and that was practiced in such maneuvers.

Marten checked Vip’s HUD. The tank had stopped at an intersection of corridors. He studied it. It wasn’t really a tank. He flicked through an itemized list of known SU ship equipment. Ah. The ‘tank’ was a damage control vehicle normally used when the beamship was under eight-G acceleration. The grenade tube attached to it was no doubt a jury-rigged device. That told Marten somebody on their side was thinking fast and turning decisions into commands.