Firebrand

"An explosive?" Moralez asked, "what's he going to blow up?"

"Looks like the power converter, he's gonna drop the force field and blow everyone out into space."

"They'll make it look like sabotage," Moralez muttered, "they can do the job without firing a shot."

"Prep grenades and wait for my mark," Boyd said. "Throw the chaff first, it'll disperse a cloud of tiny circuits that will mimic IFF signals. Their visors will go haywire, they'll be seeing phantom targets and bogus friendlies all over the place. Then throw the stun grenade. Their helmets have hearing protection, but if we can get them to raise their visors by rendering their IFF worse than useless, then it should still blind them temporarily."

"Ready," Moralez said, pulling the two grenades from his belt. "Three-second timer. When the second one goes off, everyone pile out. Shoot to kill, I'm not taking any chances with these assholes, and watch for friendly fire! We have people out there who are going to be just as disoriented."

"He's moving back over to the explosive," Boyd whispered, "toss 'em!"

Moralez primed the first grenade and slid open the troop bay's side door, staying out of view as he tossed the explosive in the direction of the SWAR team. A moment later, a violent detonation filled the air with a spreading cloud of glittering, metallic particles. Next, the Chief tossed the stun grenade, his own helmet mercifully protecting his ears from the deafening boom that echoed through the hangar.

"On me!" Moralez bellowed, leaping from the side door with his XMR at the ready. He was in full combat gear, and he had elected to bring an automatic rifle to this fight. Boyd was similarly equipped, wearing Marine armor over his environment suit, foregoing his usual sidearm in favor of a PDW variant of the railgun. The troop ramp began to lower, the pack of Shock Troopers piling out to the rear of the vessel.

There was no armor that would fit Lorza, her build was far larger than that of a regular Borealan, and so she remained on the dropship for her own safety.

Even with his visor open, the chaff reduced Moralez's visibility. It was like standing in the middle of a metal blizzard, the tiny, glittering shards of circuitry floating on the air like snowflakes. There was a plume of white smoke rising to the ceiling from where the flashbang had detonated, and through the haze, he could make out figures.

Harry was lying on the floor, shielding the ambassador with his body. Moralez gestured to the Marine as he passed him, one of the advancing Borealans gripping the Sergeant by his belt and hoisting him off the ground as though he weighed no more than a rucksack. A second plucked the Bug from the deck, the pair retreating to the safety of the dropship with their charges.

Through the clearing haze, Moralez spotted movement. It was one of the SWAR operatives, the man stumbling towards him, his weapon lowered as he clutched at his eyes through his open visor. Moralez shouldered his XMR, the weapon kicking as he fired a burst into the target's center of mass, the man slumping to the deck without uttering so much as a gasp.

The crack of gunfire alerted his comrades, but they were already engaged in a fight. Blackjack had set upon them, the sixteen-foot reptile sent into a disoriented frenzy by the grenades. While he couldn't see or hear his quarry, he must have been able to smell them, because he had sent them scattering like bowling pins. Three of the SWAR operatives were picking themselves up off the ground, struggling to get their bearings, while a fourth was trapped in the jaws of the alien. Blackjack was shaking his unfortunate victim like a dog with an old rope, his mouth wide enough to encompass the man's entire upper body.

One of them aimed his rifle at the Krell, but Moralez and his team opened fire first. There was a chorus of loud cracks, the man's body seeming to break apart, the kinetic energy that was delivered by the hypersonic slugs eviscerating him.

There were only two left, recovering from the effects of the grenades now, one of them spinning to point his rifle at the advancing Borealans. Boyd removed his head from his shoulders with a chatter from his PDW that sounded like firecrackers going off. The man's helmet shattered, providing no protection against the barrage of slugs, everything within it turning into a red mist.

As Blackjack flung his now limp chew toy across the room, Moralez spotted Murphy's telltale skull decal. He was the last one standing, pivoting to aim his weapon, but not at the advancing Troopers. He pulled the trigger, firing at the control panel for the power converter, the explosive within detonating as the slug tore through it. A fireball forced Moralez to shield his face, the shockwave shaking his bones and knocking Murphy off his feet. The blue force field flickered, then died, Moralez and his men snapping their visors shut as the howling wind began to buffet them. The hangar was depressurizing, the rushing air sucking Murphy out into space, the man skidding on his back as though he was sliding down an incline. In a moment, he was gone, blasted out into the void along with the ruined bodies of his teammates.

"Magnets!" Moralez yelled into his helmet's mic, his own boots clamping down on the deck to prevent him from being whisked away. The Shock Troopers locked their boots, holding onto one another, Boyd crouching low to lessen his air resistance as what felt like a hurricane rushed past them.

Blackjack didn't have a suit, the Krell sliding along the deck, even his immense mass not enough to keep him rooted to the floor. His claws dug into the flush panels, leaving scars in the metal as he was dragged along, unable to find purchase. He lost his grip as he was lifted clear off the deck, Moralez watching helplessly as he was cast flailing towards the gaping door. Even a Krell would lose consciousness and die within a few seconds out there, but there was nothing that the Chief could do to help him.

As Blackjack was sucked towards certain death, his claws caught on one of the panels, tearing it free. The sheet of metal shot past him like a bullet, catching the light as it tumbled into space. He had exposed one of the fuel lines that were used to fill up the hydrogen tanks on the dropships, the articulated cable whipping through the air like an out of control firefighter's hose as the venting atmosphere tugged at it. The Krell caught it with his powerful tail, the muscular appendage wrapping around it, Moralez breathing a sigh of relief as he came to a wrenching stop.

Only a few seconds had passed, and now the hangar's emergency systems were engaging. Red warning lights painted the bay in their flashing, crimson glow, the metal shutter closing over the door to seal it off from space.

Moralez disengaged his boots, leaping forward and letting the wind carry him.

"Chief!" Boyd shouted, reaching out and trying to grab him. Moralez kept low, sliding along the deck on his side, the sliver of black space narrowing as the shutter descended. He shot through at the last second, nearly losing his head to the door, his stomach lurching as the inertial gravity abruptly lost its grip on him.

Everything became quiet, serene, the sounds of rushing wind and sirens silenced. All that he could hear was the sound of his own labored breathing. A cloud of ice crystals slowly spread before him as the moisture in the vented air froze, the ruined corpses of the SWAR team spinning lazily as they drifted.

"Chief!" He heard Boyd's panicked voice come through on his comms. "Chief, you receiving me? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Agent," he replied. "It's nice to know that you care."

"What happened, did your boots fail?"

"No, I shut them off. There's no way I'm letting Murphy escape, not now. If he manages to reach his Courser, then we're never going to see him again, he'll disappear. He doesn't have his EVAP, so he's probably going to walk along the hull until his ship can reach him, he'd be a sitting duck in open space. Is everyone safe?"

"Hayes and the Bug are in the dropship with Lorza, they're fine, and your Krell pall is none the worse for wear. I'm leading the Shock Troopers to the nearest airlock, we're going to join you ASAP. Chief, don't try to take on Murphy alone. No disrespect, but he'll kick your ass."

The Marine armor was no EVAP, but it did have very limited maneuverability in a vacuum. Moralez swiped at his wrist computer, venting some of his oxygen supply to slow his momentum, holding the flexible nozzle in his hand and angling it to spin himself around. He didn't have much in his tanks, only enough for a few minutes of EVA, but there was no other way to get back to the hull.

The torus stretched out before him, an artificial horizon made from gigantic sheets of white metal that reflected the sun's harsh glare, his visor dimming automatically to protect his eyes. It was broken up by towering communications arrays and jutting hills that concealed the station's defensive railgun batteries, the stark shadows rotating with the station's spin. He felt like a fly that was about to land on a giant glazed donut, angling himself towards what passed for the ground, venting more of his oxygen supply to control his sluggish descent.

He realized that he was coming in too hot, pointing the nozzle towards his feet as he gave it a couple of extra puffs. He landed harder than he had been anticipating, absorbing most of the impact with his prosthetic leg, engaging his magnets before he could bounce away.

His hands gripped the frigid polymer of his XMR as he got his bearings, the weapon secured about his chest with a sling. He wasn't wearing one of those plastic engineering suits this time, his arms were open to space. Marine armor was designed to be compartmentalized so that a tear in one of the limbs wouldn't result in the wearer's immediate loss of consciousness, and as such, it was pretty trivial to remove the sleeves at the shoulders. He could feel everything. It didn't hurt, his prosthetics weren't designed to simulate pain receptors, but it was incredibly cold. It was like dipping his arms into ice water.

"They must have replaced your balls with tempered steel if you're willin' to come after me on your own, Sheriff."

Murphy was on the local radio channel. Moralez shouldered his rifle, scanning his alien surroundings, his visor searching for heat signatures. With no atmosphere, objects that were a mile away were just as clear as those within arm's reach. It made it difficult to judge distance, fucked with his perspective.

"Give it up, Murphy," he replied. "The only way you make it out of this situation alive is by turning yourself in."

"I've got a stealth Courser en route for pickup with its drive charged for a jump, I'm gonna be twenty light-years away before flight control can even scramble an interceptor. I'm glad you followed me out here, Moralez. You killed all my mates, people I've bled for, my family. Now I get to do you in."

The Chief took cover behind a nearby radio antenna, cursing under his breath, the jutting tower adorned with round dishes and sensor arrays. It was about the size of a large tree, made from the same white material as everything else.

He had no idea where Murphy was, but with any luck, the rogue operative was in the same boat. Should he bide his time and wait for reinforcements? Boyd was bringing a whole pack of Mad Cats. No, he had to act quickly, Murphy's evac couldn't be more than a few minutes out.

"I would have thought that you of all people would understand what we tried to do here," Murphy continued. "You and me, we're cut from the same cloth. We were both Marines, boys in blue, we both gave our pound of flesh in the line of duty. We took the same oath when we signed up, do you still remember it?"

"I solemnly swear that I will defend the citizens of the United Nations against any enemy, foreign or domestic," Moralez replied.

"Yeah, that's the one, mate."

"I think you're the one who's forgotten," the Chief added. "There's a passage in there about obeying the Admirals and the orders of officers appointed over you, or do you get to pick and choose what parts of that oath you want to follow?"

"You're the oath-breaker here," Murphy snapped, "what part of lettin' roaches into the Coalition helps to defend Earth and the colonies? They'll wait until they've infiltrated every facet of our society and then they'll give the signal, they'll wipe us out from within. It's a Trojan horse, and you're standin' around twiddlin' your fuckin' thumbs while they open the gate."

"You don't get to condemn a race to annihilation because of what you fear they might do. Yeah, we need to assess the risks, but that's what we have a Security Council for in the first place. You can't just take matters into your own hands when a vote doesn't go the way you want it to, Murphy! For someone who hates Bugs so much, you sure think like one."

"And why should a bunch of aliens have any say in what we do?" Murphy demanded, the Chief sneaking a look from behind the comms array as he scanned for targets. "We don't need them, we never did. They're the ones who depend on us for protection. Maybe being balls-deep in that walking carpet every night has clouded your judgment. Maybe you'll let humanity die for some alien pussy."

"Are you gonna keep talking shit, or are you going to come and get me?" Moralez asked.

"Oh, I'm comin' for you," he snarled. "You're a security guard, Chief. What makes you think you can go toe to toe with a SWAR operator?"

"I've done pretty well so far, current score is four to none."

He leaned out from behind cover, shouldering his XMR. Murphy's heat signature should stand out like a sore thumb against the cold backdrop of space, his onboard computer would track him once it got a lock-on. The operator probably had far more advanced gear than Moralez did, however. He would need to be careful.

A red blip appeared on his visor, a heat signature. He turned his head, tracking the source, an object flying high above him. Were his sensors picking up a passing ship? No, it was too small.

"I see you," Murphy chimed, Moralez zooming his visor in on the object. It was a surveillance drone about the size of a tennis ball, shooting tiny puffs of flame as it slowed to a stop above him. Its lens caught the light as it focused on him, tracking his movements and feeding the video stream back to Murphy.

Moralez cursed, ducking as a stream of railgun slugs punched through the mast where his head had just been, digging fist-sized holes and sending streams of slagged metal spraying into space. He moved to new cover, trying to stay low, but doing anything quickly in microgravity was a challenge. He had to make sure that at least one boot was in contact with the hull at all times. The Chief came to a stop behind one of the jutting hills, a protective door that sealed over one of the many railgun batteries that defended the station. It was shaped like an elongated dome, about the size of a two-storey house.

He searched the dark sky frantically, picking up the drone's heat signature again. He aimed his XMR, the weapon's scope synced with his heads-up display, the onboard computer displaying a crosshair and assisting in targeting as he aimed at the tiny sphere. He loosed a shot, the drone exploding into a glittering cloud of debris.

"Won't do you any good," Murphy said over the comms, "I know where you are now."

Moralez had to do something, and fast. Murphy was far better equipped than he was, who knew what other gadgets he had up his sleeve. If he stayed on the defensive, then Murphy would whittle him down, he had to be proactive.

He still had one of the chaff grenades on his belt, but he had no idea where his target was right now. The radius wasn't very large, but the tiny circuits should spread further in a vacuum, that might give him more range. The most important thing that he could do right now was keep moving.

The Chief made his way around the matte white hill as quickly as he could in the low-G. It was like trying to run in a nightmare, like everything was happening in slow motion. When he reached the far side, he stuck his rifle out from cover, using the feed from his scope rather than risk exposing himself to fire. It displayed in a small window in the corner of his visor, showing a landscape of featureless metal, the lines of sight broken up by jutting machinery and more comms arrays. There were only small, sparse pockets of cover, but the unfiltered sunlight created inky shadows in which his enemy could easily conceal himself.

A warning symbol flashed on his HUD, Moralez turning to look back in the direction that he had come to see a grenade highlighted on his visor. It coasted between the comms array and the railgun battery, floating a couple of feet off the floor, perhaps twenty feet away from him. He dodged around the railgun's housing, the grenade detonating silently, sending shrapnel spraying. Murphy must have set its timer to blow at just the right moment. It missed him, scarring the hull and pocking the mast of the comms tower, the cloud of glittering metal continuing to expand with no air resistance to slow it down. His ceramic armor would have protected his vital organs from the shrapnel, but if even a single fragment had torn through the Kevlar lining of his suit, he'd be dead.

He continued around the circumference of the railgun battery's closed hatch. He knew what direction Murphy was in now based on where the grenade had come from, that was something. As he rounded the structure, he spotted another heat source, his visor locking onto it. Murphy was standing near the top of one of the comms arrays, at least twenty feet off the hull, aiming up from his perspective as he perched on the side of the tower like a fly on a wall. He spotted Moralez at the same time, pushing himself clear, pointing his rifle at him as he glided towards the ground.

The two exchanged inaccurate fire, Moralez ducking out of view and blind-firing around the railgun's housing as Murphy suppressed him, sparks flying as his slugs dug into the metal paneling at the Chief's feet. When he looked through his in-picture scope again, Moralez couldn't see Murphy anymore. He was on the hull now, moving between cover.

Moralez checked his ammo counter and his air supply. He had half a magazine left and only four minutes of oxygen.

"Boyd," he said, switching radio channels. "What's your ETA?"

"We're at the airlock, Chief. Five minutes."

"I don't have five minutes," he snarled. "Contact flight control and get them to shut down that Courser before it can pick up Murphy."

"Already done. Their transponder is off, but they're not invisible. As soon as someone gets a bead on that thing, they're gonna bring the defensive batteries to bear. I doubt the Navy is too happy about plugging a Spec Ops vessel, but it's better than letting it fall into the wrong hands."

As if on cue, the ground beneath his feet began to rumble, the housing that he was using as cover opening up like an enormous eye. The metal dome split in half along its length, the two halves sliding into recesses to reveal the monumental cannon that was stowed beneath it. It was essentially a scaled-up XMR, with a magnetic rail that delivered a tungsten slug the size of a car to a series of magnetic rings along the barrel, where the projectile was then captured and accelerated. It rose from the hull on its articulated arm until it reached a height of around thirty feet, the barrel telescoping outwards a good fifteen feet from the blocky body of the cannon. The snaking power cables that linked it to the station's grid were as thick around as his torso, trailing out of view. It pivoted at the base as the barrel was brought to bear on its target, indifferent to his presence. Moralez couldn't see the Courser, but it was up there somewhere.