Starship Revenant (The Galactic Wars Book 3) (13 page)

S
weat covered Mitch’s body
. His heart was racing. He heard the dreaded sound of the hatch opening, and the heavy footsteps of Jaxon as he entered the compartment.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

The meathead stopped in the entryway and surveyed the compartment.

Mitch lay perfectly still, hiding in the narrow bunk.

Jaxon stepped farther into the compartment.

Through the gap in the curtain, Mitch could see Jaxon’s boot clunk against the deck. He heard the metallic scraping of the rings as Jaxon pulled the curtain back on the top bunk of the opposite bulkhead.

Schwing!

Jaxon grumbled at the empty bunk.

Schwing!

Another curtain pulled open, revealing nothing.

Schwing.

It sounded like the curtain of the bunk right above him.

Mitch was sure his bunk was next. He gripped the laser torch, ready to flick it on. He didn’t really know what it would do to a person, but it was better than nothing. There was no way he could stand toe-to-toe with Jaxon. He wouldn’t last one punch.

He could hear the heavy rumble of Jaxon's breath. He was like some kind of wild beast. Mitch thought he was doomed.

But he got lucky.

Jaxon turned around and stomped his boots out of the compartment.

Mitch breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the hatch slide shut behind Jaxon. But he dared not move. He stayed still for another 10 or 15 minutes. Then he peered around the curtain—everything looked clear.

He stepped to the hatch with caution. Mitch pressed his face against the glass and scanned the hallway—there was no sign of the lunatic.

Despite the hallway appearing empty, he was filled with trepidation at the thought of opening the hatch. His finger loomed over the button.

He finally pushed it, and the hatch slid open. He leaned his head into the corridor, looked both ways, and listened.

It was silent. Just the hum of the life support system. It was spooky.

The emergency lighting flickered.

Mitch crept into the hallway, his boots lightly clanking against the deck. He cringed at the sound. He tried to tiptoe down the passageway, but that didn’t really work. His boots still made noise.

He made it to the end of the corridor—still no sign of Jaxon.

Mitch turned the corner and sprinted to the ladder. He climbed to the next deck and dashed toward the CIC.

Jaxon lurched out of the shadows, tackling him. The big hulk was on top of him. His demonic eyes glared at Mitch. He growled and stabbed the bloody splinter of wood down.

Mitch clutched the laser torch and jammed it against Jaxon. He switched it on, and a brilliant flash emitted from the nozzle.

It blazed through Jaxon’s flesh before he could stab Mitch with the shard.

Jaxon twisted away, falling off of Mitch. He screamed out in agony.

Mitch could smell the pungent oder of seared flesh. He sprang to his feet and ran for the CIC. He didn’t look back.

Jaxon lay on the ground clutching his wound. It felt like the sting of a thousand hornets. There was no blood, as the laser had cauterized his flesh instantly.

The beam had passed through Jaxon's rib cage, missing his vital organs. It was a narrow hole through his torso. He could stick a pencil in the wound and push it clear through to the other side, if he was so inclined.

Mitch’s blood pumped. He ran as hard as he could. He flew into the CIC and mashed a button on the bulkhead, closing the hatch behind him.

Zoey, Violet, and 8-Ball gazed at him with wide eyes.

Mitch leaned against the hatch, panting. “Just FYI. Jaxon’s lost it.”

“What happened?”

“He killed Declan. He’s out of his mind.”

A wave of horror washed over Violet’s face.

Jaxon slammed against the hatch. The boom reverberated through the CIC. He kept pounding into it. He could slam into it all he wanted, but he wasn’t going to get through. If he kept it up the only thing he was going to get was a broken clavicle, or a dislocated shoulder.

Zoey activated the security video from the corridor. They watched as Jaxon rammed into the hatch a few more times, then he finally gave up.

He looked into the camera and grinned. It was a terrifying, soulless grin.

He disappeared down the hallway, which was even more terrifying. Who knew where he was going, or what he was going to do? The idea of a maniac lurking out there in the darkness was unsettling.

Zoey scrubbed back through the surveillance video. She stopped on a frame that clearly displayed Jaxon's face. She programmed Jaxon's information into the facial recognition software. Then she instructed the ship’s security system to scan and track his whereabouts.

If the system worked properly, they would have a good idea of where Jaxon was at all times. But there were plenty of dark nooks and crannies aboard the ship were Jaxon could evade detection. And the system hadn’t been updated in over 25 years, so it was far from flawless.

The video feed followed Jaxon as he made his way toward the airlock. Then the feed turned to static.

“What the hell?” Zoey grumbled.

Violet wiped the tears from her eyes. She fought them back with everything she had, but they kept flowing. She tried her damnedest not to become a total basket case, but soon she broke down in jerking sobs. Her feelings for Declan ran deep, even though she had been reluctant to admit it.

Zoey put her arm around Violet, trying to comfort her.

Mitch staggered toward the command console. He looked at the display of the ship’s trajectory. Their orbit was decaying rapidly. “We’ve got 4 hours until we’re a steaming pile of dog shit on that planet.”

“We’ve got to get every piece of that Numarian treasure off this ship,” Violet said.

“I’m with you on that,” 8-Ball said. “That shit’s cursed. I got bad vibes the minute I set foot in this joint.”

Zoey nodded in agreement.

“And you think the ship is going to magically start working once we dump 3 trillion credits worth of treasure overboard?” Mitch asked.

“Yes,” they all answered in unison.

“Well, given the circumstances, that all sounds perfectly reasonable,” Mitch said. “Jaxon always was kind of douchey, but he never would have done something like this.”

“There’s a weapons locker a few sections aft of here,” Zoey said. “With any luck, it will still be stocked up.”

“I’m not particularly inclined to go back out there with that lunatic running around,” Mitch said.

“Suck it up, you candy-ass,” Zoey said. “You just want to wait in here to die?”

Mitch frowned. “I guess, we all gotta die sometime, right? Might as well go out on your feet.” He grinned at Zoey lasciviously. “Unless you want to get horizontal?”

She scowled at him. “I’d rather die first.”

8-Ball’s face tightened. He seemed to be getting a little bent out of shape that Mitch was flirting with her. “Let’s focus. I say we go waste that fucker.”

8-Ball glanced at the display on the command console. It was still full of static. There was no way to tell if Jaxon was in the hallway.

Eddie put his ear to the hatch and listened. The steady rumble of the ventilation system filled his ear.

“Get ready,” 8-Ball said, his finger hovering over the button to open the hatch.

Mitch gripped the laser torch, ready to zap anything that moved.

Violet pulled herself together, and she and Zoey got ready for a fight.

8-Ball pressed the button.

P
lease don’t let
that big son-of-a-bitch be on the other side of this hatch.
It was a silent prayer 8-Ball said to himself. He didn’t care who was listening, or who answered.

The hatch slid open, and the hallway was empty. And for that, 8-Ball was thankful.

The team crept into the corridor, and Zoey led the charge. They weaved their way through the labyrinth of passageways, finally coming upon the weapons locker.

Zoey entered the standard security code,
0000
, and opened the cabinet. Their eyes lit up with glee.

There were several RK 909 carbines and magazines full of ammunition. There was a plethora of thermal grenades and proximity mines. There were tactical swords and knives.

They stocked up on weaponry like kids in a candy store. Magazines jammed into mag wells. Charging handles clacked.

“Lock’n load,” 8-Ball said with a grin.

Mitch grabbed a few thermal grenades.

“Go easy with those,” Zoey said. “We’re on a space ship. Try not to blow a hole in the hull.”

“No worries, Sugar. I’ll be careful,” Mitch winked.

“Let’s get to the airlock and ditch the treasure first,” Violet said.

They snaked through the network of passageways, sweeping and clearing the corridors with textbook precision.

The electrical system was growing more erratic. The lights were flickering at more frequent intervals.

The team climbed down the ladders and crept through the shadows.

Jaxon could have been lurking anywhere.

They finally reached the starboard side airlock. Declan’s bloodied corpse lay mangled in the corridor.

Violet’s heart stammered at the sight. She knelt down beside his body, crestfallen.

Declan’s blank eyes were staring at the ceiling.

Violet reached her hand down and gently pulled his eyelids shut. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

To complicate matters, the crates of trilontium were gone.

“Let’s split into two person teams and sweep the ship,” Violet said. “Mitch, you’re with me.”

He nodded.

“We’ll take the starboard side. Zoey, 8-Ball… take port. Stay in contact. We’ll meet aft, and move deck by deck.”

“What if we run into Jaxon?” Zoey asked.

“Take him prisoner. Find out where he moved the trilontium.”

“And if we can’t take him prisoner?”

“I’m not going to cry about it if he should meet with a sudden terminal condition. ”

Zoey and 8-Ball moved down the corridor. They leapfrogged their way through the labyrinth of passageways, checking compartments as they went along. It was a tedious process. Section by section, they cleared compartments, moving aft toward engineering.

In one of the crew compartments, Zoey found a hand written journal. It was lying on the deck next to a pen. It was an extremely antiquated way of keeping track of events. She flipped through the pages. The last entry was dated March 4th, 2357—25 years ago.

“I don’t think now is the time to catch up on your reading,” 8-Ball said.

“Hang on a minute.”

The pages were yellow and stained. It was the journal of Petty Officer 3rd Class Karl Burns. Zoey flipped back a few days and began reading.

Wednesday, March 1, 2357: we encountered a distress signal, and Captain Dean decided to render aid. If I were captain, I would have left the ship alone. We’re not a rescue ship. We’re not the Planetary Guard. We’ve got enough troubles of our own. But that’s probably why I’ll never be a captain. I’m just not officer material. I know it’s the law of space, and all, but it seems risky to stop and take aboard crew and cargo that you know nothing about.

Zoey flipped forward to the next entry.

Thursday, March 2, 2357: There was a sole survivor from the Mary Celeste. She was a young woman found in a state of extreme psychological distress. From what I heard, they could only get bits and pieces of the story out of her. She claimed the crew had gone mad and attacked one another. Seaman Wilson tells me a dozen crates of trilontium were brought on board with her. That can’t be true. I think it’s all bullshit. Wilson says she’s pretty good-looking. But I haven’t seen her yet.

Zoey turned the page.

Friday, March 3rd, 2357:
Yesterday was really strange. The ship was stuck in some kind of quantum fluctuation. The official calculations say it only lasted a few minutes. But I swear, it felt like months. It was like the whole ship was frozen in time. When we finally emerged from slide-space, we were well outside of any charted sector. I thought this was it—I thought we were really never going to get out of slide-space. Nobody seems to know where the hell we are right now. At least, they’re not telling any of us.

Saturday, March 4th, 2357: Just when I thought shit couldn’t get any stranger in space, Petty Officer Paul Curran flipped out and stabbed six enlisted men in the 2nd deck mess hall. I’ve known Paul since Jr. High. We went through basic training together. I can’t fucking believe it. He was such a nice guy. I’m in shock. The Master-at-Arms had to shoot him to keep him from killing a seventh victim.

That was just the first part of the day. By the afternoon. Three more incidents occurred on board. I don’t know what is going on. A lot of people are saying something about a curse. I don’t buy into all that nonsense. But I’m not sure what else explains it.

I’m beat. Gotta get some shut eye. Will try to write more tomorrow, if I can. I tell you, when I get out of the Navy, I’m going to write a book about this shit. You just can’t make this stuff up.

That was the last entry in the journal. Zoey set the book down on a bunk. Her heart was filled with dread. She wondered what became of Petty Officer 3rd Class, Karl Burns?

T
he sound
of weapons fire echoed throughout the corridors. The ship was still in disarray. By this point, there were more refugees roaming the halls than there were crew. Dead bodies littered the deck, both human and Decluvain. Emperor Tyvelon had locked himself in the CIC. It was practically impenetrable. He flew into several tirades about the incompetence of his crew. He ordered a battalion of terrestrial infantry to return to the ship. Walker didn’t have long. The revolt would soon be squashed.

He crept through the maze of passageways to the berthing compartment. He opened the hatch and scanned the room. Bailey was gone. Walker’s heart sank.

A bullet ripped past his ear. It impacted the bulkhead beside him, leaving a crater 12 inches in diameter with a flaming core.

Walker spun his weapon around and released a burst of fire down the corridor.

The blast took out a Decluvian warrior. His body flopped to the deck in a slimy mess. His comrade fired back. Blue streaks flew down the hallway, crackling through the air.

Walker ducked into the compartment for cover. He whipped his weapon around the corner and fired several rounds, taking out the remaining Decluvian. Green blood painted the bulkheads.

Walker stepped back into the corridor. He screamed with frantic desperation. “Bailey?”

There was no response.

Walker pushed through the hazy passageways, calling out for Bailey. But he heard nothing.

He weaved his way through the chaos, stepping over bodies and taking out random enemies that lurked in the hallways.

Suddenly, Bailey’s faint bark filtered through.

“Bailey?” Walker yelled.

He sprinted in the direction of the dog’s bark.

A few moments later, Bailey came running through the haze and almost tackled him with joy. He was bouncing up and down and panting.

Walker chuckled and pet him. “Alright, boy. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get out of here.”

Walker took off down the corridor and Bailey followed. He scoured the passageways, but every escape portal was empty. The shuttles had all been used. The only way off this ship was to steal a vessel from the flight deck, or use the damaged vehicle they came in on. And that was going to be no easy task.

Walker found himself close to the reactor room. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. And the odds of getting off the ship were slim. If he could damage the carrier’s propulsion, that would be one less combatant in the attack against New Earth.

The hatch was sealed, and there was no getting inside the reactor room. The reactor techs had locked the compartment down.

Bailey barked at Walker, then ran away down the hall.

Walker chased after him.

Bailey led him to a compartment and pawed at the hatch. Walker peered in through the viewport—Bailey had found the armory. Row after row of weapons and munitions. Bailey had caught the scent of the explosive ordinance.

He may not have been a trained tactical explosive detection dog, but that didn’t keep him from picking up on the odor. He had been around Walker long enough to know when he needed heavy firepower.

The hatch to the armory was sealed shut as well. Walker could slam into it all he wanted, but without the key code, it wasn’t going to budge.

UPDF ships had emergency escape hatches in all critical compartments. Walker hoped that the Decluvian military followed the same protocol.

Occasionally the emergency hatches were tack welded shut. But more often then not, they were freely accessible. Walker made particularly good use of these hatches when he was aboard the
USS Vandal
. The gunners mate was an obnoxious little runt who was fond of keeping his horde of beer that he had stolen locked up in the armory. There was a six week stretch in the Zeta Akunus sector where supplies ran short, and nobody could get their hands on a cold beer. Walker felt obligated to liberate the gunners mate’s stash and dispense it among the Reapers who had been doing special ops on Cronophitos. They had certainly earned it.

Walker moved to the neighboring storage compartment. The outer hatch wasn’t locked. He pushed into the compartment, and scanned the area. He found a 3’x3’ emergency hatch and crawled through into the armory. Bailey jumped through after him.

The armory was a smorgasbord of destructive implements—plasma rifles, grenade launchers, and dehydration weapons that would turn you to ash. Walker found several magnetic grenades with timers.

They were black disk-shaped objects with a small conical point on one side, presumably to focus the blast energy. The controls and display were on the rim. They were about the size of a donut. Walker grabbed a few and stuffed them in pouches on his tactical vest. He opened the main hatch to the armory from the inside and peered into the hallway.

The chaos was settling down. Most of the refugees had evacuated from the ship via the escape shuttles.

Walker snuck through the corridors to the reactor compartment. One of these magnetic grenades would take out the hatch nicely. A few more placed on the reactor cores in this carrier would have propulsion problems, not to mention the area would be contaminated with radiation.

But Walker was going to have to hurry. The first transport of Decluvian warriors was returning to the ship. It was a massive bulky transport containing a full company of troops. It lumbered into the bay and set down on the flight deck. The back ramp lowered and Decluvian warriors streamed out like ants from a mound that had just been kicked.