Firebrand

"Raz," he began, "I need your help."

"Hey, Robocop," she replied. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Need more advice on how to make Kaisha-"

"N-no," he interrupted, trying to ignore the smirking agents. "It's a work thing."

"Oh, my bad," she replied with a toothy grin that exposed her sharp incisors. "Whaddya need, Chief?"

"A posse," he replied, "I need as many Mad Cats as you can round up. Recruits, Shock Troopers, anyone who can be spared. There's a rat loose in the service tunnels, and their noses should come in handy."

"Bloodhounds with bayonets," Boyd muttered, nodding approvingly. "I like where this is going..."

"A little get-together?" Raz asked, fluffing her orange hair with a clawed hand. "I think I can manage that. What kind of rat are we looking for, and how many pieces do you want him in?"

"Just one, ideally," Moralez replied. "His name is Sinclair, he's the engineer responsible for the attack on the hub. He's hightailed it into the tunnels, and we've got no hope of finding him with just the three of us."

"I think that term has a...different meaning in our culture," she replied, raising a bushy eyebrow. "So you need several packs following their noses? Gotcha."

"You're a lifesaver, Raz. Stand by for a call from engineering, I'll have Miller send over maps and door codes, and I'll tell him to pull any engineers who are working in there right now. The guts of the station are a maze, so make sure that everyone gets copies."

"I assume you'll want to lead the charge?" she asked, giving him a knowing smile.

"Meet me in the residential quarter as soon as you can. We have to move fast on this, I don't know what he's capable of."

"See you in a few, Chief," she replied with a mock salute.

***

"Backs straight, recruits!" Raz snapped at a row of young Borealans in blue jumpsuits. They stood to attention, even their fuzzy tails stopping dead. Raz had managed to assemble a group of maybe fifty soldiers, divided up into groups of five or six, giving them eight or nine packs to work with. They could cover a lot of ground, but Moralez had to hope that it would be enough.

There were Borealans of all skin tones and fur colors, ranging from the caramel and blonde of the Rask to the pale and orange of the Elysians. There were other variations too. He could see brown, black, and even grey fur with patterning that resembled stripes or spots. The recruits who must have recently joined the integration program were unarmed, wearing their Navy fatigues. The more senior Shock Troopers were clad in black armor, wielding long XMRs that came equipped with vicious bayonets, making them look more like spears than firearms.

"This is Security Chief Moralez," Raz continued, stalking up and down the line with her hands clasped behind her back. She too was wearing a Navy-blue jumpsuit, the insignia on her breast identifying her as a Drill Instructor with the rank of Gunnery Sergeant. "You will treat him as though he were your Alpha, or you will answer to me. He will be commanding this operation."

She gestured to him, and he stepped forward, giving her a grateful nod.

"We have a fugitive loose in the station's service tunnels," he began, meeting the gaze of one of the recruits. The alien quickly averted his yellow eyes, even a glance that lingered for too long could be construed as a challenge to an Alpha's dominance in their hierarchical culture. "Your mission is to enter the tunnels and either capture him alive or flush him out. You are forbidden from firing on him unless your own lives are in immediate danger. We don't know if he's armed, so approach with caution. There are already MPs stationed at most of the exits onto the torus, he won't be getting out that way."

"You will be given maps and door codes," Raz added, dozens of furry ears swiveling to track her like tiny radar dishes. "Assign one member of your pack to keep track of your position, it's easy to get lost in there. The codes will allow you to open any doors that you encounter, just type them into the keypad."

"The target's name is Sinclair," Moralez continued, holding up a tablet computer with an image of the man's face that had been blown up from his ID card. "He's a human male with light skin, and short, brown hair. He may be wearing a yellow jumpsuit, but civilian clothes are also a possibility. I've tried to ensure that the tunnels will be empty, but there may still be stragglers, so use caution."

"You bring anything with his scent on it?" Raz asked, leaning down to whisper to him. Moralez handed her a jacket that he had recovered from Sinclair's apartment, and she put her nose to it. "No accounting for taste," she muttered, "smells like Martian takeout and cheap deodorant."

She tossed it to the first row of recruits, and they began to pass it around, Moralez watching the bizarre scene play out. Boyd had jokingly referred to them as bloodhounds, but he wasn't too far off.

"You need me to assign any cats to your team?" Raz asked, Moralez shaking his head.

"Thanks, but we have Agent Lorza."

"Alright, you fleabags!" Raz snapped. Her tone was so sharp and commanding that it almost had Moralez standing to attention too. She was so laid back in a casual setting, but when it came to her job, she was dead serious. "Get in there and bring out the Chief's stray human, alive, if possible. Remember, they're fragile. Recruits, you're with me. Line up so that I can hand out sidearms, I'm not trusting you muddy bastards with a rifle. Keep the battery turned off unless you need to fire it."

"Come on," Moralez said, Boyd and Lorza following him to the nearest access door at the end of a nearby alley. A procession of armored Shock Troopers trailed after them. These Borealans were career warriors who were either taking shore leave while their carriers resupplied, or were stationed on the Pinwheel in a security role. Moralez had worked with them before, they were brutally efficient, just the kind of people you wanted by your side in a crisis.

"We have a general idea of the area that he could be in," the Chief explained, turning to address the aliens. "Each pack will take a different branch of the tunnels, try to cover as much ground as possible. Stay in touch, report on your progress. If you find his scent, call it in, and we'll all converge on your location."

There was a chorus of affirmations, and then Moralez turned to enter the door code, the procession filing into the cramped passageway.

***

"You picking up anything, Lorza?" Boyd asked as they made their way through the dingy tunnel. The Shock Troopers had long since diverged along different routes, and nobody had called in yet.

"Nyet, nothing so far," she replied as she ducked under a protruding pipe. "Just oil and dust."

"If I never have to enter these tunnels again, it'll be too soon," Moralez muttered as he took up the rear. He turned briefly to check behind them, aiming his XMH down the tunnel, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the inky shadows.

"Do you think he's moving towards one of the smaller hangars?" Boyd asked, checking a blind corner before proceeding. "Maybe he managed to get access codes to open up the bay door?"

"Unlikely," the Chief replied, "that's all handled by flight control. I can't tell you that it's impossible, I don't know the first thing about computer hacking, but he'd have a hell of a time."

"Most hacking does not involve defeating a security system directly," Lorza explained, her figure almost tall and wide enough to plug this area of the tunnel like a furry cork. "A hacker will more often steal credentials, or lie to obtain them. They will use manipulation, impersonation, and other social tactics to trick people into giving up their passwords and information."

"Is that how you think Sinclair did it?" Moralez asked.

"Most likely. His occupation would have given him the opportunity to steal door codes, and to make edits to the personnel records in order to implicate his colleagues. He could have stolen login credentials from his superiors by simply taking an unattended tablet computer from a desk."

"If this whole shitshow has taught me anything, it's that our security system needs a serious overhaul," he grumbled.

"I have found your protocols to be adequate," the Polar replied. "One rarely anticipates an attack from within, it is not an easy event to plan for."

There was a flash from the screen on Moralez's wrist, and he brought it up to his face, swiping at the icon to receive the call.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Security Chief," a gravelly Borealan voice replied, "this is Sigma pack. We have picked up Sinclair's scent. We are in tunnel Y forty-six. What are your orders?"

"Roger that, Trooper. I'll send the other packs your way. Keep up the pursuit, we'll catch up."

"Understood, Security Chief. We will continue the hunt. Sigma pack, out."

"Let's get over there," Moralez said, pulling up his map. "We need to double back and take a left at that junction we just passed."

***

Moralez and the agents emerged from a side passage, intercepting a pack of Shock Troopers as they turned a corner. Their point man didn't seem at all startled by their sudden appearance, he had probably heard their approach minutes prior. He was clad from head to toe in black body armor that made him hard to spot in the poorly lit service tunnels. His visor was raised, likely so that he could make use of his species' night vision, Moralez shutting off his flashlight as a courtesy.

"Lambda?" Moralez asked, the Borealan nodding. There were another five Borealans in a column behind him, the narrowness of the tunnels forcing them to march in single file.

"This way, Security Chief," the Alpha said as he gestured down the passageway with a clawed finger. "We have his trail."

"I smell it too," Lorza confirmed. "Sinclair traveled down this tunnel recently, his scent is beginning to fade, but there is no doubt."

"I'll take point," Moralez said. "Remember, we're here to bring him in alive for questioning, so no itchy trigger fingers."

"By your order," the Alpha replied, bowing his helmeted head deferentially.

The Chief led them through the winding tunnels, Lorza pointing him in the right direction. The trail was fresh, and the Borealans said that they were closing. Sinclair might know that he was being pursued, he seemed to be choosing the narrowest, most obstructed routes in order to slow down the larger aliens. Moralez and Boyd kept pulling ahead, having to wait for Lorza and the Shock Troopers as they clambered over exposed pipes or turned sideways to shuffle past protruding machinery.

"Movement ahead!" Boyd suddenly yelled. Moralez couldn't see anything, but Boyd's visor likely had its own night vision function. There was a flash of light that illuminated the tunnel for a moment, like a camera flash, a booming sound almost blowing the Chief's eardrums out. Sparks showered, the two humans instinctively covering their faces as they halted, the Borealans scrambling up the passage behind them.

"Guess we know if the fucker's armed or not," Boyd muttered.

"That sounded like an XMH," Moralez added, "he probably stole one of those from the armory too. We need to be more careful. Keep following him, but don't let him get a bead on you, keep your distance. There's nowhere for him to go, we'll have him cornered eventually."

"Rho and Epsilon packs are converging on our location," the leader of the Shock Troopers said.

"Good, relay my orders," Moralez said. "For now, we keep pursuing."

"He has to be heading for this hangar bay," Boyd said, tapping at his temple.

"I can't see what you're looking at, it's on your damned visor," Moralez muttered.

"A few hundred meters ahead of us is a small docking bay for cargo. You said he couldn't get the bay doors open, but I'm not so sure."

"Is there anywhere else he could be going?" the Chief asked.

"Not that I can see, there's nothing else of note on the map. If there's some kind of ship there, he might be able to get off the station."

"He cannot flee," Lorza said from behind them. "If he were to escape the station, the defense guns could be used to destroy his vessel."

"We need to capture him alive," Moralez replied, "drifting space junk can't answer any questions."

"I say we redirect some of the teams," Boyd continued, "get them to meet us there."

Moralez considered for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fist as he so often did when he was lost in thought, the whirring of the motors echoing through the tunnel.

"Alright, we'll go with your plan. Head him off at the hangar."

***

They arrived at one of the doors to the hangar, the interior visible through a narrow window. Moralez peeked through the dirty glass, seeing a room indistinguishable from the hangar that the two agents had landed in when they had brought the Bug aboard. There were yellow warning strips painted on the deck, and the walls were lined with catwalks, but the shimmering force field had been replaced with a metal door that had closed over the opening. There was indeed a cargo shuttle in the bay, the landing ramp open, crates and barrels partially unloaded.

Sinclair was by the bay door, wearing a red jacket and a pair of jeans, but he wasn't accessing any of the computers. Moralez watched as he lifted his XMH, pointing it at one of the two large motors to either side of the door. They were the engines that raised and lowered it. He fired, a spray of sparks showering to the deck below as the tungsten round decimated the block of machinery, sending molten metal and green coolant leaking from it like blood from a wound.

"He's destroying the motors on the shutter!" the Chief warned, frantically typing in the access code that would open the obstructing door. The touch panel flashed an error symbol, and he cursed, starting over. When it failed to open a second time, he realized that something was wrong.

"Door's jammed," he snarled, watching helplessly as Sinclair shot out the second motor. The rogue engineer then moved to one side of the bay, beginning to operate some kind of crank that was embedded in the wall. The blue force field flickered on as the metal shutter began to open, the blackness of space visible beyond.

"Damn it, is there some kind of manual override on that thing?" Boyd asked as he peered over the Chief's shoulder.

"He's done something to the door, I can't get it open," Moralez said as he warded the agent back. "Watch out, I'm going to force it. Someone pass me one of the Borealan rifles!"

Lorza passed him one of the long XMRs, the Chief gripping it like a spear, jamming the sharp bayonet into the indent between the two halves of the door. The motors in his arms whirred as he applied more force, using it like a crowbar, the motors in the automatic door resisting him. He braced his prosthetic foot against the nearby wall, wrenching the rifle, but it wasn't enough. These doors were designed to seal in the event of a decompression, they were strong enough to prevent thousands of liters of atmosphere from pouring out.

Moralez felt Lorza place her hands on the stock, looking back over his shoulder to see her nod at him.

"On three," she said. "One...two...three!"

The two of them heaved, the door finally opening, Moralez placing his hands in the gap and forcing the two halves apart once there was enough room. They were loose now, the mechanism damaged, everyone pouring into the hangar bay just as Sinclair finished opening the shutter.

The engineer faltered on his way to the shuttle, raising his weapon at them. Moralez did the same, as did the two agents, the half-dozen Shock Troopers following suit. It must have looked like a firing line from the frightened fugitive's perspective.

"Give it up, Sinclair!" Moralez shouted, his voice echoing through the hangar. "You're surrounded, there's no way out!"

Sinclair's eyes darted between the Chief and the shuttle, then to the other exits, the gears in his head turning. He was trying to work out the odds, he was a problem solver at heart. He had been a fine engineer before he had made the unfortunate decision to take the Coalition's future into his own hands. Moralez noted that his right hand was bandaged, the heavy XMH held unsteady in the left.

He was startled as more Shock Troopers poured in from a door at the far left of the hangar, Moralez holding up a hand as he kept his weapon trained on Sinclair with the other.

"Don't shoot!" he yelled, the Borealans setting up another firing line.

"You have to kill it!" Sinclair shouted, Moralez turning his attention back to the engineer.

"Sinclair, this doesn't have to end with anybody dying," Moralez replied. "Nobody has been hurt yet, we can stop this right now. It's not too late to fix this."

"You have to kill it," he repeated, his voice wavering as though he was on the verge of tears. "The Admirals, the politicians, they don't know what they're doing! They haven't seen what the roaches do, they can't understand."

"I understand," Moralez insisted, holding up a prosthetic hand and taking a step forward. He lowered his weapon, maintaining eye contact. "You see this? I fought in the Kruger campaign, same as you did. I know what happened to you, Sinclair, I know what happened to your crew. To your friends."

"Y-you were at Kruger?" he stammered.

"You were at Kruger II, right? I landed on Kruger III, I was on the Bastogne. I fought in the ground war on the planet's surface. I know what you went through, Sinclair, I'm one of the only people who could. They sent us into the Bug tunnels, my whole platoon got wiped out, save for me and one other survivor. All of my friends, the people I was responsible for, dead. I left two arms and a leg on that planet. It took months of physical therapy to get me back on my feet, it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"I lost all of my friends on the Montgomery," he replied, his weapon slowly lowering until it was no longer pointed at the Chief. "It all happened so fast. The fire, the shouting, I couldn't breathe. I could only think about...getting away. It was only once I was in the escape pod that it dawned on me, I could have done more, tried to help more of them escape..."

"It's normal to feel that way, it's survivor's guilt," Moralez replied. "You couldn't have stopped that reactor from melting down. If you'd stayed even a minute longer, the radiation would have gotten you too."

"I sometimes wonder if that would have been better," Sinclair chuckled dryly, "then I wouldn't have to live with it. I was in the ICU for almost a year after they picked me up, eating and pissing through tubes. At first, it was just my skin, like I had sunburn. Then I started to get sick, vomiting, dizziness. The radiation killed all of my bone marrow, ruined my immune system, which meant that even a cold would have killed me. I had to live in a...plastic tent, I didn't see a face that wasn't covered by a mask for months."

"I went through something similar," Moralez said, taking another tentative step towards him. "When I woke up in that hospital bed, I didn't know where I was, I didn't know what had happened to me. When I realized how much of me was gone, well...there were days when I wished that I hadn't made it back at all. I couldn't feed myself, couldn't bathe myself, the nurses had to wipe my ass like I was a baby. It was humiliating. But I survived," he added sternly, "we survived. Now look at us, we're running around, doing work again."

"You have those...those prosthetics," Sinclair said, gesturing to the Chief with his bandaged hand. "I have to take a dozen pills every day, for my immune system. I'm always sick, I don't have the energy that I used to. Sometimes my gums bleed, just on their own, the doctors can't seem to stop it. They told me I had to take things easier from now on," he said, his chuckle punctuated by a cough. "But here I am, keeping busy."