Thanks for all the Wonderful reviews, now in reward for your patience, the second part of chapter 3.
The Others chapter 3b
Dreadnaught Hydra: Damage Control Compartment
Before McKay could even say another word, Sheppard's hand was already half way to his radio. It halted abruptly when he realised with irritation that neither Ronon nor Teyla possessed a single radio between them. Thinking quickly, he redirected the hand to the console in front of him, intending to use the Ship's internal comms system instead. Nothing happened. He tried again, and once more was rewarded only by a dull buzzing noise.
"Use the PA instead," said McKay from behind him, "there, try now." Sheppard once more manipulated the controls in front of him, and was rewarded this time by a line of ancient text flashing across the console. After briefly but succinctly informing Ronon and Teyla of the situation over the PA, he shut down the system and turned swiftly to Elizabeth and Rodney.
"Ok, Rodney, I want you to seal all hatchways and compartments around that airlock. Also, once I'm over there, I want you to shut down the transporters. Ok?" Rodney nodded, watching as Sheppard began to unclip his radio. He handed it to McKay, "put that on" he said, "I'm going to need to be able to contact you guys."
As Rodney began to fix the radio in place, sliding the microphone into place with practiced ease, Elizabeth caught Sheppard's arm. "John, just because they've boarded us, doesn't mean we should necessarily view them as hostile. We have no idea where we are, for all we know they could simply be curious to our identity. We've all been away from the bridge for a good hour, they could have tried to contact us and we'd never know," she said reasonably.
That possibility had occurred to Sheppard, but his training and experience told him to be careful. They were only 5, and as yet they had no idea where they were or who had just come aboard. The ship alongside may not have been Wraith, but that meant nothing. It also looked ominously like a warship, which meant there was a good chance the boarders would be armed. He had read enough SGC mission reports to know there were other races just as bad out there. Hoping he was simply being paranoid, he nodded in agreement.
"Alright, I promise to be careful ok, we won't make any threatening moves," he said conceding the point, "but one way or another, they're getting off the ship. There's too few of us if they did try anything. I'm perfectly happy to chat politely over the comms system," he said firmly.
She looked slightly concerned, but nodded her agreement. In her time as leader of the Atlantis expedition she had retained her hope that the people they met would prove trustworthy and peaceful, but had also learnt the hard way that sometimes the best option was force. The pair of them still frequently disagreed about certain courses of action, often heatedly, but they respected and deferred to each other's experience.
"Hope for the best, plan for the worst?" she asked rhetorically as he headed for the door. He didn't answer, simply smiled. "McKay", he called. The scientist looked up from his console, his tablet in hand. "You should probably seal this door, just in case," said Sheppard calmly. McKay's eyes met his, and the scientist nodded. As Sheppard set off down the corridor towards the transporter alcove, the heavy bulkhead doors of damage control slid smoothly shut.
Ronon's POV
Sheppard's voice had rung out loudly across the large hanger, echoing slightly. "Ronon, Teyla, we've got a bit of a problem. There's a strange ship alongside, and they've just sent a boarding party. We don't know who they are yet, but just in case I suggest you guys get loaded up with whatever weapons are down there. The internal comms system is offline so see if you guys can find some radios down there. I'm on my way down now, so I'll meet you by the hanger transporter in 5 minutes.
Ronon and Teyla had been in the jumper packing a pair of rucksacks full of emergency rations and survival gear when Sheppard's voice had come over the speaker. They now dropped those hurriedly and began more military preparations. Flipping up the clasps of a small samsonite case, Ronon pulled out a couple of radios and their accompanying headsets. Tossing one to Teyla, he clipped a second to his belt, adjusting the microphone to the right place, and pocketed the third. Teyla in return tossed him a vest, which he slipped on, after carefully folding his long coat and placing it on a seat. Crossing to another chest, he flipped open the catches and pulled out a pair of P90s. Handing one to Teyla he clipped the other onto his vest to give to Sheppard, and searched for a weapon for himself.
The Atlantis expedition's jumpers usually held a wide assortment of weaponry, in addition to the personal weapons of individual team members, and this one was no exception. Encountering a box of 9mm automatics, Ronon, who with his gun did not need one, pocketed one for Sheppard and tossed another to Teyla. Snatching it easily out of the air Teyla slipped it into a holster, and went back to loading her pockets with spare clips and the odd grenade. With a small grin, Ronon then pulled a long automatic shotgun from a case, followed by another, which he held out to Teyla. After a moment's hesitation, she slung the SPAS-12 over her shoulder, and began to add shotgun ammunition to a rucksack she was rapidly filling. Ronon, leaning his own shotgun against a bench seat began to do likewise, filling his own vest and a similar small rucksack with ammunition and other useful items.
A little under 5 minutes later, both of their bags were full, zipped closed and slung over their shoulders. Ronon cast one long glance about the interior of the jumper, his eyes moving mournfully over the rocket launcher in the corner. Teyla caught his gaze and shot him a sharp look. As he looked away to prevent his eyes from meeting hers, Ronon's gaze fell on a set of small green metal boxes stacked neatly on an overhead shelf. To his companion's surprise, the already overloaded Ronon reached up to pull down a couple of them, revealing just more ammunition.
He made a small noise of approval before reaching down and searching under the seats below the shelf where they had been. With a noise of effort, the already heavily armed satedan dragged a long green gunmetal case from under the benches, and hefted it awkwardly onto the wide seat. A serial number, picked out in yellow, was cut into the metal of the lid. It read M249 SAW / SPW. Ronon grinned, and lifted the lid.
Sheppard's POV
There was the usual flash of light and tingling sensation, before the transporter alcove materialised around him. The doors slid open to reveal Ronon and Teyla, a very heavily armed Ronon and Teyla. As Sheppard took in the arsenal that hung off Ronon's broad shoulders, he wondered guiltily what Weir would have thought of this. The thick belts of ammunition slung over each shoulder were definitely a new touch, inspired no doubt by some of their movie nights on Atlantis.
He took the P90 that Ronon handed him, checking the action and loading a new clip in one smooth movement, prior to clipping it onto the vest he still wore. Next came a Berretta, which after chambering a round and refilling the magazine with an extra bullet, he safed and slid into its holster.
As he began to clip extra magazines to his belt, he gave Ronon and Teyla a rundown of the situation, while the latter handed him more ammunition from a rucksack. As he clipped a couple of grenades onto his webbing, Ronon asked "So what's the plan?" as the Satedan used the time to fill a large shotgun with cartridges.
"Not much of plan yet" he said truthfully, "We load up, go meet whoever it is, and ask them to get off our ship. I told McKay to seal all the doors in that section of the ship so they shouldn't have got far yet." He nodded to Ronon, "got a spare radio?" he asked, and then caught the radio and headset that Ronon tossed to him.
"Do we have any idea who they are?" asked Teyla thoughtfully. Sheppard shook his head, "No idea. I didn't recognise the ship. They could be perfectly friendly for all I know." he paused for a second to clip the radio onto his belt, then continued talking. "We've been down in damage control so they could've been trying to contact us for ages and we wouldn't know."
"And if they're not perfectly friendly" asked Ronon, as with a click he slotted the last of the shells into his SPAS-12.
Sheppard who was with great annoyance struggling to untangle the twisted cable of his headset, answered distractedly. "Then we politely show them our guns, and show them off the ship," he said flippantly, as he managed to unsnarl the offending cable, and began to thread the plastic covered wire through his vest. He glanced around. "You guys ready?"
In response, Ronon pumped the action of his shotgun, causing the mechanism to load a shell into the breach with the distinctive clunck ka-chak noise. It was an impressive move, especially when you took into account the Satedan was handling 9 lbs of plastic, metal and alloys with just one hand. Sheppard simply rolled his eyes, and led the trio into the transporter.
As the destination screen glowed into life, he noticed with satisfaction that with one exception, all the other transporter stations were no longer highlighted. McKay obedient to his instructions had cut power to most of the network, preventing their visitors from spreading around the ship should they god forbid reach a transporter. He selected the one remaining white dot, the transporter nearest to the starboard airlock, and heard the doors of the cubicle slide shut behind him.
Milliseconds later, a pair of identical doors slid open in another section the ship, and out stepped Ronon, Teyla and Sheppard. John, who had finally succeeded in fixing his radio headset into place, flipped a switch on the radio, and adjusted the frequency and encryption circuit to the strongest and most secure channel. Indicating that Ronon and Teyla should do otherwise, he tapped his headset, hearing a slight crackle as the channel opened.
"Alright McKay, cut power to this transporter now, we're here" he radioed. Behind him the destination panel of the transporter obediently went black, a panel sliding up to cover it, while the twin doors slid together with a soft thud. The softly glowing blue crystals of the door mechanism on the wall beside it flashed once, then died as McKay cut power to the system altogether.
Sheppard gazed around. The three of them stood at the junction of a series of corridors, all leading to the transporter, and brightly lit with the usual soft blue and white lighting common to Lantean technology. He guessed they were still several compartments from the airlock itself, because apart from anything else, all the controls here were still operational. He touched his radio again, "Ok Rodney, I'm going to need directions to the Airlock." He listened carefully to the reply, and gestured for his companions to follow him down a corridor leading off to their right. "How far do we have to go?" he queried as he jogged around the curve of the corridor, passing numerous closed doors, heading apparently for a hatchway that lead to the deck below.
The reply made him swear, and break into a run, his companions forced to sprint to catch up with him. As he ran, pausing only momentarily to check his bearings, Sheppard grimaced. Along with the rather unwelcome information that the airlock was 3 decks and several compartments below them, McKay had given him a rough count of how many boarders they were dealing with. It was not an encouraging figure.
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The wormhole had spat out the Hydra in possibly one of the worst places for an unknown ship to suddenly appear. The system was outwardly lifeless; it's few remaining satellites unclaimed spheres of rock, bathed in the blinding light of an enormous red giant. Radiation from the raging surface of the dying star had millions of cycles ago turned the surfaces of the few terrestrial inner planets that had escaped being engulfed by the expanding star to seas of molten rock.
With the exhaustion of most of the star's fuel supply, the outer planets received a fragment of the heat they had once enjoyed, despite their increased proximity to the star's surface. The 6th planet was a large gas giant, made up chiefly of hydrogen and helium, but with high concentrations of ammonia, methane and water, what would be called an Ice Giant on earth. The temperature of the planet's atmosphere had decreased significantly with the gradual demise of the system's star, causing the gases that formed it to turn largely to ice. Needless to say, like every other planet in the system, it was uninhabitable. In short, the system appeared worthless; in fact it didn't even have a name.
What made it important then was its location, for it formed part of a star cluster of mostly equally barren systems, situated just across the border, directly opposite the main peacekeeper and Scarren defence zone. Few ships travelled here, but some chose to skirt the border zone and cross into the uncharted territories. As such the system lay on something of an unofficial trade lane, much frequented by smugglers or others whose cargos were less than legal, who chose this roundabout and hazardous route because it was unpatrolled. It had in fact been infrequently
patrolled for hundreds of cycles by Royal Navy of the Royal Sebecean colonies. While it had never during the past 1900 cycles been claimed by the colonies, as trade to the colonies waxed and waned over time, the Royal Navy had for regular periods patrolled what was a fairly major trade route into their space. In light of growing tension between the major powers that bordered the region, the current Empress of 230 cycles ago ordered the withdrawal of her forces from the area. In light of vital importance that neutrality played in the survival of the Royal Colonies, the fear that vessels of the Royal Navy might accidently, or deliberately find themselves involved in some conflict with either the Peacekeepers or the Scarrens Empire was too great.
As such, when 10 cycles ago a convoy of Scarren military transports entered the system, it was unpatrolled. They were only superficially disguised as traders, but to the PK technicians manning the long range sensor outposts along the border, they had read as just another convoy apparently heading for the Royal colonies, hidden in plain sight among dozens of other vessels. The PK sensor net along the border with the Uncharted Territories was as yet limited in its coverage and effectiveness. Unlike the highly sophisticated system along the main border, this older and only recently reactivated system served more as an early warning system, outdated and designed only to track the energy emissions of vessels. Up until now Scarren vessels had lacked the range to reach this section of the border, but aware from intelligence reports that the latest classes of Scarren vessels being introduced possessed far greater range than previously, Peacekeeper High Command ordered the upgrading of the vulnerable border.
The Peacekeepers had been steadily updating or reactivating the older systems along this frontier, but the sheer scale of the task meant that it would be at least 4 more cycles before this sector came to the top of the worklist. Until then, local commanders were forced to rely on numerous, but outdated patrol craft, for as tensions heightened, the Peacekeepers were finding themselves increasingly stretched both for manpower and resources. Construction work on such a scale was almost impossible to hide, for both the manpower and the materials transported to the border came from local sources, where such information was easy to obtain. The Peacekeeper intelligence directorate did their best, but they despite their best efforts, the expected deadline for the completion of each section of the border stations was known to the Scarrens.
Shortly before entering the system, the Scarren convoy had passed outside the coverage of the nearest station. A few arns later, right on time, the next station would detect the 6 ships entering their sensor envelope, on precisely the same course and speed as had been reported to them. Their energy signatures slowly passed across the screens until they once again passed out of range, on a heading for the Royal colonies, beyond the range of any more Peacekeeper tracking stations.
At that range, and considering the age of the recently revitalised sensors systems, it was a commendable effort. Unfortunately, although the Peacekeepers had begun hurriedly reactivating the long derelict sensor stations in light of the deteriorating relations with their neighbour, the work had been going slowly. While most of the sensor grid constructed over a thousand cycles previously during the Sheyang conflict was once again online, it was woefully outdated. It certainly had greater range than it had when originally constructed, but despite the more advanced control systems and power generators, the tracking station still utilised the same out of date principles.
Thus while the two stations were able to track the convoy, on its approach and departure from the system, at a range which they would not have been able to monitor previously, they were unable to detect the slight difference that a more modern system would have picked up on. In short, the second station couldn't and didn't register the significantly reduced energy emissions from the 6th contact on their screens.
The 6th ship of the convoy, crammed to the brim with building materials and engineers, was actually, when the rest of the convoy re-entered the Peacekeeper Scanning envelope, performing a careful landing on the surface of a small planetoid in orbit around the 6th planet. Its place in the convoy was taken by a decoy vessel, which until the convoy's arrival had been docked aboard one of the other transports, concealed inside a false cargo bay. It consisted of little more than a hetch drive, a basic navigation system, and an efficient but compact reactor. It was in fact less than a quarter of the size of the vessel it replaced, but its reactor was stripped from a military patrol ship, and thus its power signature was closer to that of a much large vessel. None the less, the energy readings didn't match, but that didn't matter.
The bored technicians manning the sensor outpost saw what they expected to see, 6 ships in convoy, presumably traders, on a slow but steady course for the Royal colonies.
Once they were well out of range of the sensor net, the drone vessel was deactivated and brought back back aboard, prior to the convoy performing an abrupt course change. Accelerating to speeds capable only to military vessels, the ships wheeled onto a roundabout course back to Scarren space, that would take the transports well clear of PK patrols. Their disguises would not stand up to anything more than a cursory scan, and even the sleepiest tech couldn't miss that these "traders" were travelling at speeds that were decidedly, unusual, for any ship not equipped with military grade reactor systems.
Far behind them, the 6th vessel, landed inside a large impact crater on the perpetual dark side of the rocky moon, began the first stages of construction. Over the next 9 cycles, at irregular, but preplanned intervals, more convoys of "traders" would pass through the system, each time bringing more materials and personnel, as construction progressed and the secret facility expanded, to fill over half the 6 metra wide crater. Soon there were close to 50 vessels docked on the planet's surface, housing close to 4 thousand workers and engineers. By the 7th cycle after construction first began, the forward supply base and shipyard was near completion. A cycle later, the fuel and ammunition bunkers began to fill up, and a squadron of 5 elite Stryker fast attack ships snuck undetected into the system, shortly followed by a regiment of elite Scarren heavy infantry.
No subspace communications left the system, no courier vessels brought orders, everything was done in complete secrecy, enforced viciously by the Okrana division of Scarren counter-intelligence. Amazingly, as the 10th anniversary of the beginning of construction drew near, nobody among Peacekeeper high command, let alone the High Chancellor, was aware that the Scarrens had managed to construct a heavily armed forward supply base, within 6 light years of their most vulnerable border.
And it was into this system, with an enormous energy spike from the wormhole that not even the outdated Peacekeeper sensor stations could miss, that the Hydra was spat out, to drift with her unconscious crew. None aboard were aware of the previously untested targeting systems probing their vessel, or of the Stryker launching to intercept and investigate this worrying contact. All things considered, there could have been better places to be unceremoniously spat out from a wormhole, than the location of the most secret and crucial installation in the entire Scarren invasion plan.
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Present Day
Ex Asuran Dreadnaught Hydra: Starboard Airlock compartment.
The doors shuddered slowly open, forced sideways by brute force. A pair of metal bars were jammed into the tracks at the base of either door panel, held in place by two hulking Scarrens. As the two of them strained against the door mechanism, a slighter figure slipped between them, dressed in the beige and orange of an engineer. With a swiftness that spoke of long experience, the Kalish pulled a series of charges from his pouch, and forced them into the door mechanisms top and bottom. Shielding his eyes, he ducked back into the airlock chamber, taking cover. A millisecond later, there was a bright flash, and the door frame seemed to glow a dull orange, as the chemical charges fused the door alloys to the door frame, fixing it in place.
Easing through the narrow gap between the two Scarrens, the first section advanced into the compartment beyond, their weapons held ready. Once they had taken up positions covering the only entry into the compartment, the leader growled softly in Scarren, and a further 5 figures, including the two Scarrens who had prised open the hatch, advanced out of the airlock, to take up positions against the bulkheads on either side, seeking what little cover there was in that sparse empty room.
The section leader of the 14 strong boarding party, a tall hulking Scarren, clad in the armour and insignia of an officer, eyed the corridor ahead of him with distaste. It was brightly lit, which irritated his eyes, but worst of all, the bulkheads lacked even the smallest amount of cover. He had seen such a tactic before, and recognised the danger. In that narrow corridor, a defending force could make every shot count, and pick his men off one by one. He caught the eye of his second in command, who was also eying the passageway with equal suspicion, and growled an order. The scarred veteran nodded, and as his superior and his troops advanced swiftly down the corridor, bending low, he and the rest of his section kept their weapons trained on the far end of the corridor, ready to provide cover fire if necessary.
It was with a small amount of relief that the first section reached the end of the corridor unchallenged, to spill out into a small rectangular compartment, also brightly lit. Soft blue lights glowed along the walls, while in the centre of the ceiling a single glowing panel light the room with a clear white light, but the Scarren commander cared little for this. Set into the bulkheads on either side from the access corridor, was an armoured door, set slightly back to provide cover for a defending force. Both were clearly sealed, but that wasn't what had caught his eye. Located a little in front of the door frame of either hatch, was a glowing circuit of blue/white crystals, set into a projecting rectangle of metal like the frame of a door. Another less experienced soldier might have dismissed it as frivolous decoration, but the soft glow extending slightly beyond the circuit of crystals set alarm bells ringing in the Scarren officer's brain.
With a shove, the Officer pushed a charrid soldier forward towards one of the doors, ordering him to try opening it. As the soldier drew level with the glowing ring of crystals, there was a bright blue flash, and an audible crackle of energy. The charrid was hurled backwards abruptly, to land heavily on the deck, clearly stunned. The officer, with mixed feelings of anger and satisfaction, surveyed the glowing ring of crystals, and the space between where the once again invisible energy barrier rested. Bringing up his carbine, he experimentally discharged a glowing pulse of sapphire energy towards the door. It never reached the metal, to splash harmlessly against a glowing blue energy barrier which shimmered softly, then vanished.
Ignoring the still unconsciousness charrid, the Scarren activated his comms, calling for his second in command to bring the rest of his men and their heavy equipment through the corridor. It appeared, he was going to need something a little more special than brute strength to get through these doors.
Sheppard's POV
Sheppard ran along yet another corridor, all too aware of how long it was taking the three of them to reach the starboard airlock chambers. By his watch it had been at least 15 minutes since the intruder alert had sounded in damage control, too long. Even with the aid of the transporter, the size of the ship was working against him and his team. He judged it would take them another 5 minutes at least to reach the airlock compartment.
So far, according to McKay, their visitors hadn't left the vicinity of the airlock, presumably delayed by the sealed bulkheads and security force fields. That he supposed was comforting, but only a little. While Sheppard had faith in the Lantean force field technology, he knew that the dreadnaught's defences against boarding parties had their limitations.
During the hours in Hyperspace on the way to New Athos, nearly 12 hours earlier, Sheppard had taken the time to investigate the contents of the Hydra's computer database. Among the multitude of other data, he had discovered a section devoted to the construction and design of the dreadnaught class. The amount of detail had surprised him, for the database had also included a wealth of information on the preliminary design and thought processes behind the class itself, some of which appeared to date from the war of 10 000 years previously. He could only assume that the data had been salvaged by the Asurans from a Lantean era database, for McKay had actually recognised some of the names attached to the reports.
Of more concern to Sheppard now, were a series of reports he had read relating to boarding actions by the Wraith on Lantean vessels. Apparently even in the early stages of the war Lantean security teams had proven woefully inadequate to deal with typically larger, more heavily armed Wraith boarding parties. Attempts to rectify the situation with measures including stronger and more numerous force fields proved only marginally effective, only serving usually to slow the Wraith assault troops down.
Eventually, after the loss of many irreplaceable ships and personnel, the Lanteans learnt their lesson, and started to station large units of heavily armed marines aboard their warships. These troops, equipped with the latest weaponry and armour, immediately proved their worth. Where possible the Lanteans also began to refit their existing vessels, and modify those under construction, incorporating features that helped swing the balance their way during boarding actions. As a brand new design, the dreadnaught class incorporated the best and most effective of these measures, with internal defences that were an order of magnitude stronger than those of an Aurora, and a larger than usual marine compliment.
Unfortunately, while the Hydra's formidable internal defences were currently powered and ready, she lacked the 350 marines intended to work in combination with them. Should their visitors manage to get past the force fields, bulkhead doors and other systems; there were only Ronon, Teyla and himself to try contain them.
For a moment he wished fervently that they already knew these people's (assuming they were people) intentions. If he already knew for certain they were hostile, things would be so much simpler. He could have simply had McKay depressurize the compartment, or vent them into space, or whatever other terrifying measure Rodney might come up with. As it was they had to meet with them.
John couldn't stop a slight grimace crossing his face at the thought of that. At least in Pegasus he could usually rely on Teyla or at least Ronon for help with local customs or laws, and so avoid making some awful mistake or insult. There was, at least from first appearances, little chance of them being any help here. Few races in Pegasus had ships like the one alongside, which suggested that wherever they had ended up, it might not be Pegasus. He had no idea who these people were, and quite frankly that worried him.
You're flying blind, thought the pilot to himself, as he swiped a hand over the crystals for yet another bulkhead door, and that was never a good thing...
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With a loud crackling noise and a stream of bright sparks, the plasma cutter once again came into contact with the metal of the bulkhead. For a few moments more it hissed futilely against the tough alloys and then the Scarren manning the rig shut it down. As the bright light died away, he raised his goggles and surveyed the wall angrily. It wasn't even glowing. The only result of 5 microns of intense heat and directed plasma, were several thin lines of blackened carbon, a half depleted plasma cell, and one completely untouched bulkhead.
Officer Kraztykr was growing more and more concerned. His men, many of whom who had served with him for many years, recognised the signs. Many of them shared their officer's concern. It was taking too long. Their inability to advance beyond this compartment, baffling as that was, was giving their enemy dangerous time to formulate a defence.
Every normal method had failed. Their Kalish technician, a veteran of dozens of assaults, appeared close to crying with irritation. No access panels lined the walls, there were no computer systems to hack into, no door controls to override. Even an explosive charge, placed in the hope of shorting out one of the energy fields, had achieved little more than leave a blackened smudge on the metal. The compartment was bare, a stark shell, a killing ground.
As time had ticked by, and Kraztkyr's agitation grew, they had even attempted to cut through the bulkhead. It had failed utterly. Speed was life in boarding actions, every second counted. By now security forces should have reached them, would have reached them, had this been a Peacekeeper vessel. Which begs the question, he thought as he eyed the two bulkhead doors, where are they?
"I'm beginning to suspect there's nobody aboard at all," said his second suddenly from by his side, speaking softly so as not to be heard by the rest. Kraztkyr gave a small nod, his thoughts had been running in that direction also. The Stryker's sensors had been unable to penetrate the hull of the derelict. As such, there had been little to no sensor data, save for an impressively high power reading. They had also been unable to detect any life signs. Perhaps the security they currently faced was automated. They had forced the airlock after all, perhaps causing security protocols in the main computer to activate automatically.
As he pondered his orders, his enhanced hearing caught the muttered complaint and insult from one of his men. He let his second in command handle it, as was his custom. A few moments later, after a dressing down that had been impressive in its violence, the slightly battered Scarren was dispatched back to the boarding pod, ordered to fetch a rarely used piece of equipment. It would take him several trips to bring all the components, which even for a Scarren were bulky and very heavy.
As Kraztkyr surveyed the compartment yet again, he reflected the soldier had made a valid point. It was cold. The environmental systems aboard this strange ship were maintaining a far from comfortable temperature for Scarrens. Checking the levels with his armours data-link, he judged the environmentals to be closer to those of a Sebecean vessel, if slightly elevated. Gravity was lighter too than the levels maintained aboard Scarren ships, closer to that of a Peacekeeper ship.
Save for that though, there were few details he had noticed so far that gave any clue to this ship's origins. It was clearly a warship, the weapons systems plain to see along its hull, but the design did not show even close similarities with anything in the Stryker's database. There were no markings or symbols on the outer hull, known or otherwise, and the interior so far was little better. The aesthetics, now he took time to notice them, weren't at least remotely like those of a Peacekeeper vessel. Blue was the colour of preference here, not the red and black he was used to.
Heavily laden footsteps echoed behind him, and he turned to see the previously dispatched trooper returning, laden with a large tripod assembly. As the Scarren disappeared back down the corridor, Kraztkyr eyed one of the glowing energy fields speculatively.
His orders were clear. His primary objective was to determine the origins of this vessel, along with its intentions in this system. Should he encounter serious resistance he was ordered to gather as much information as possible, and then retreat. The Stryker's commander had been quite clear that his own orders were to destroy the vessel, regardless of whether the crew were hostile or not.
Kraztkyr was also only too aware, unlike the rest of his men, that maintaining the secrecy of the Scarren presence in this system was far more important than the lives of one strike team.
Should his crew fail to check in at the appointed times, or fail to return within an Arn of their launch, the Stryker would open fire on the derelict immediately. They had already wasted a quarter of their allotted time. As the the trooper returned, heavily laden with the last component, Kraztkyr surveyed his assembled men once more. Many were close friends, or comrades he had served with for close to 10 cycles. He would obey his orders, but he would not risk their lives.
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McKay's POV
Deep in the bowels of the ship, a pair of worried hazel eyes never left the display. Standing practically motionless in front of the primary control panel, the Canadian surveyed the data being fed by the Hydra's internal sensors. Necessity had earlier forced McKay to reroute several of the sensor feeds to show one single display screen. In theory it had been a sound idea, for one man alone could not hope to manage the many different consoles in damage control. Unfortunately, the sheer amount of information meant that the attempt had proved only partly successful.
Faced with an unmanageable amount of data fed to his console, even McKay had been forced to compromise. Now one section of the multi-layered screen showed a schematic of the dreadnaught's outer hull, while the other displayed the status of the Hydra's internal defences in extensive detail. Currently McKay's attention was on the schematic, where a series of red and white dots were superimposed over the plan of the dreadnaughts internal structure.
An outsider would have noticed that these dots, each denoting a living breathing individual, were split into two distinct groups, and that the red significantly outnumbered the white. The red were clustered together, occasionally moving, located in a single large compartment close to the outer hull. The three white dots on the other hand, were moving steadily across the screen in the direction of the other group, pausing now and then as they navigated bulkhead doors. At the present moment in time, only a couple of compartments separated the two groups, and the distance was decreasing steadily.
Every now and then McKay's eyes flicked sideways to check the status of the force fields in the airlock vestibule, as he tracked his team-mates progress towards that compartment. As the minutes had ticked by, his usually rampant paranoia had eased off a little. Over 15 minutes had gone by and the intruders had shown little sign of being able to breech the internal force fields that kept them sealed off. McKay had spent most of that time attempting to synchronise the main systems with the auxiliary sensors, as for some unknown reason a number of systems were not receiving telemetry and data.
While he was thus occupied, Elizabeth had, at his suggestion, kept a close eye on the feed from the internal sensors, acting as Sheppard's eyes and ears. While even Rodney would admit his social skills were limited at best, he had learned on Atlantis that having a task to do helped wonderfully to diffuse tension during stressful situations. In response to John's radio calls, she had relayed regular status reports about their intruders, especially their continued failure to penetrate the inner hull. She had, no doubt, seen through his tactic to distract her right from the start, but appeared grateful for the opportunity to help.
Now though Weir stood by his side, as he once more sat in front the main console. The tension in the room was almost palpable, now that Sheppard and the others were almost at the airlock. McKay's paranoia was also coming back in full force, though after 4 years in Pegasus he was able to hide it.
As the two groups drew nearer together, McKay manipulated the crystals deftly, so the schematic of the outer hull zoomed in. In the new configuration the deck plan around the starboard airlock was shown in sharp relief, revealing each of the 15 red dots that marked the unknown intruders, and the 3 white dots of Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon. Ignoring the latter for the moment, McKay took advantage of the closer magnification to study the red dots, studying their disposition.
4 were clustered around the airlock chamber itself, guards he supposed, while the rest were located in the airlock vestibule. As he watched, the larger group began to move, not forward, for the force fields were still active, but backwards, into the access corridor.
McKay frowned, and leaned closer suspiciously to study the screen better. The cluster of red dots were definitely pulling back, but they were not retreating to their ship as he'd originally thought. Most of them were simply pulling back into the the mouth of the access shaft, but two dots remained in the vestibule, a little way in front of one of the force fields. McKay was no great military mind, he had once almost reduced John to tears of laughter with his attempts at combat hand signalling, but neither was he a fool. Those dots in the access shaft were clearly taking cover from some reason, the question was, why?
When a sharp energy spike was detected in the compartment by the internal sensors, he already half expected it. Moments later came another, and another, followed in quick session by several more. Swiftly pulling up the appropriate data, his suspicions were immediately confirmed. The intruders were clearly firing some extremely high powered weapon against the barrier, attempting to break through. From the data he was getting it wasn't a very sophisticated attack, more brute force than finesse, but it didn't matter. Already warning icons on the display indicated that the emitters were straining to maintain coherency in the field.
He exchanged a worried glance with Elizabeth. She was already holding the radio, clearly waiting for him to tell her how bad things were. "How long will it hold?" she asked.
"The way they're pounding it, about a minute maybe, perhaps two."
"Can you shore it up somehow, divert power or something?"
She saw his eyes go momentarily distant, and then he nodded.
"Do it," she ordered, as she raised the radio headset to her mouth and began to speak.
Sheppard's POV
Sheppard slowed, holding up a hand to the others. A dull thudding sound, like someone hitting a tent peg with sledgehammer, was clearly discernable from somewhere ahead of them.
"McKay come in."
The radio crackled.
"McKay what's going on? We're hearing some sort of weird noise down here."
His only answer was static.
Ronon moved up from his position just behind Sheppard, and gazed searching ahead of them, clearly listening intently. After a few moments he turned and looked at John. "Sounds like weapons fire," he suggested. John nodded in agreement. Either that or their guests were trying to physically batter through the force field with their bare hands.
He tried the radio again. "Rodney, Elizabeth, where are you guys, things are getting kind of noisy down here. We're hearing what sounds like weapons fire up ahead, can you confirm?"
Once again there was a loud crackle of static, then silence. He exchanged worried glances with his companions. "Is there a problem with your radio?" asked Teyla. John shook his head. "I don't think the radios are the problem. They were working fine earlier.
"So what are you thinking Sheppard? Jamming?"
"Makes sense," said John, flicking off the safety catch on his P90. "McKay would have contacted us by now otherwise. He's been checking fairly regularly, should have contacted us by now."
With one smooth movement Ronon took out his gun, flicked the charging switch, and slid it back into its holster before the familiar sound of the power cell activating had died away. Racking the slide of his shotgun, he raised the weapon and nodded towards the door. "Let's go?"
Sheppard grimaced, but strode forward, Ronon at his shoulder. He was deeply unhappy with the situation. His inability to contact McKay meant he was now effectively blind to the intruder's movements. Not for the first time, he wished he'd earlier asked Teyla and Ronon to bring a hand scanner from the jumper.
When they reached the end of the smoothly curving corridor, the noise died away abruptly. This did little to ease John's nerves. The words "the quiet before the storm" emerged from somewhere in his memory, and refused point blank to sink back to where they'd come from. Doing his best to ignore his growing sense of unease, Sheppard swiped a hand over the crystals on the door control. Recognising the presence of the ancient gene, the main computer once again overrode the lockdown command, and with a soft whirring sound, the doors parted.
Sheppard barely had time to digest that about 10 metres across the hallway lay another pair of bulkhead doors, when the alloy seemed to bulge before his eyes. For a brief millisecond, his confused brain registered a dull glow of white hot metal, before the middle of the doors opposite exploded. White hot shards of alloys not yet discovered to earth science flew outwards, peppering the deck and bulkheads with shrapnel.
He felt the heat of the blast on his face as the shockwave threw him backwards. He fell painfully, his back protesting at the impact, although he knew he was lucky he hadn't cracked his skull on the deck when he landed. A sharp pain in one shoulder made him open his eyes, to find sliver of metal, about 2 inches long, protruding from the fabric of his jacket. Dazed, he lay there, trying to collect his scattered thoughts.
Next thing he knew, John felt strong arms haul him to his feet, and propel him back the way they'd come. A cacophony of noise erupted behind him, shouts, growls, a strange whooshing sound, among all of which he heard the distinct sound of a P90 opening up on full automatic.
Instinctively he hurled himself sideways into the cover of a brace, just in time to see a series of blue pulses flash past, right where he had been moments before.
He stuck his head out for a brief glance, and saw a series of tall hulking shapes advancing rapidly towards them through the smoky air. The smoke from the explosion meant he could discern little of their features, but they were clearly not human. He heard what could only be orders growled in some foreign tongue, and he was forced to duck again as another bolt of blue energy shot his way.
Angrily he swung up his P90 and careful to present as little of a target as possible, returned fire with gusto. He aimed for the chest of the nearest alien, and fired a long burst. The bullets slammed into the creature, pushing it backwards, but appeared otherwise to have no effect. It gave a roar of what sounded like anger, and raised a short stubby weapon in his direction. Sheppard needed no prompting, and threw himself backwards into cover once more.
A bolt of blue energy slammed against the bulkhead just behind him, leaving an ugly scorch mark and crater on the pristine metal. Sheppard swung out again, and this time aimed for the alien's eyes. This appeared more effective, for his target gave a bellow of pain, and clutched its hands to its face. He saw more rounds tear into the wounded alien, and saw Teyla a little way in front of him, looking slightly singed, her weapon spitting a stream of fire.
The alien gave a roar, and stumbled backwards towards the hatchway, arms blindly searching for a handhold. It was hurt, but it did not go down. Other intruders materialised out of the smoke, and John was forced to dive for cover once more as they laid down covering fire. Snatching a look, he saw at least 5 aliens advancing down the corridor towards them.
They didn't charge wildly, he noted, but advanced carefully in a series of rushes, each time with covering fire. Teyla sensibly took advantage of a volley of red pulses from Ronon to scurry back down the corridor, hostile fire flying inches from her. These guys are well trained, John thought, great, as if my day could get any better.
"Ronon" he yelled over the sound of weapons fire, "pull back, I'll cover you" He waited for a shout of acknowledgment from the satedan, then leant out and loosed off a full magazine of 5.7x28mm rounds down the corridor. He did not aim to kill; there was little chance of that, but rather to force the attackers into cover. His attempt was only partly successful, for the armor the aliens were wearing seemed to stand up to the P90's armor piercing rounds disturbingly well. Nonetheless, they were at least forced to stop their advance, and at least 2 ducked momentarily into cover.
That was all the time Ronon needed, and behind him John heard his friend dash nosily back down the corridor, a series of red bolts impacting near the enemy positions as he retreated. The response was immediate, and brutal, the attackers darting forward, seemingly opening up with every weapon they had. Sparks issued from the walls as pulses impacted all around John's position. Squeezing himself as close to the wall as possible he primed a pair of grenades, "Fire in the hole" he shouted for his teammate's benefit, and lobbed them towards the enemy.
The grenades were on short fuses, and the explosion came almost instantaneously. Sheppard barely had time to open his mouth so as to equalize pressure, when the shockwave ripped past him. Not waiting to see the effect of the dual detonation, he dove from cover and sprinted low back down the corridor. Ahead of him, he caught sight of Ronon in cover behind a large support strut. Appreciating his friend's taste in defensive positions, Sheppard sprinted for the same cover. He almost made it unscathed, but as he closed the last few metres, another volley of blue pulses streaked past him.
He felt an impact somewhere, then Ronon hauled him bodily into the shelter of the strut. Breathing hard, John ran his hands over his limbs, trying to find some new wound or burn. To his amazement he seemed unharmed. Ronon, who was flat against the bulkhead next to him, shouted loudly in his ear. "Where did they get you?" Sheppard, slightly deafened, shouted back that he was unhurt, voiced raised over the thuds of weapons fire hitting the metal behind them.
Pulling up his P90, intending to load a new clip, his nose detected an odor of burning plastic and hot metal.
To his shock, he saw that there was a smoking impact crater on the side of the weapon. It was clearly useless, the mechanism fused together as if with a blowtorch. Clearly the shot meant for him had hit the rifle instead. The weapon had saved his life, but if the chamber and clip had not been empty, the bullets in the magazine would probably have exploded on impact anyway.
Wincing at the thought of an explosion so close to his chest, he discarded the useless carbine, dropping it to the deck plates. "I need a weapon, he yelled in Ronon's ear" The Satedan nodded, and gestured for Sheppard to take the two belts of ammunition slung across his chest. The SPAS-12 hung discared over the Satedan's shoulder, clearly it had proved little use against the thick armour of their attackers. Ducking into cover momentarily, Ronon instead un-slung the (figuratively) light machine gun slung across his shoulder, and handed it to Sheppard. As Sheppard safed the weapon and opened the feed tray, he wished that Ronon had brought a magazine box for the SAW, instead of just loose belts. Damn movies, he thought, Though I suppose that's my fault!
Sliding the first few inches of the belt carefully into place, so the first round was firmly against the cartridge stop, he checked to see that all was well, before slamming down the feed tray cover. He heard the small click that meant it was locked firmly into place, and began to rearrange the belts, so the ammunition would feed correctly.
A sudden thought stuck him, and turning back to Ronon, who was firing down the corridor, he yelled "Did you fire first?" The Satedan turned to look at him, his face a picture of amazement.
"What?" he yelled back. "Did you open FIRE first?" repeated John.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes!" retorted John, as Ronon tossed him some more clips from his pocket.
"You mean, after they blew up the door in your face, you're worried whether we fired first or not?" said Ronon, sounding somewhat confused.
"No, but Elizabeth will be!"
"Oh"
Ronon shot another volley down the hallway. "No, they definitely fired first."
"Good! Cover me!" said John, bringing up the M249 and flicking off the safety catch.
Kraztkyr's POV
Krazytkyr was enjoying himself. Finally he had an enemy to fight. No more frelling security systems, no more bulkheads, finally an enemy that he could fight and kill.
He still had no idea who he was fighting of course, but that didn't matter.
So far his squad had suffered no real casualties, save for that fool of newcomer in the second squad. Like a complete frellnik, the idiot had charged ahead, and got a volley of slugs for his trouble. He was still alive, more's the pity, but he would probably never see again.
This ship's defenders weapons were primitive, almost laughable. Slugthrowers, no one had used slugthrowers in thousands of cycles. The armour he and his men wore was designed to withstand far greater impacts. The people wielding them looked Sebecean, but what Sebeceans wielded primitive slug throwers instead of pulse weaponry? There was however at least one modern weapon among them, quite a powerful one too. The red energy pulses had come dangerously close to penetrating his armour's energy absorbing matrix on several occasions. Curiously, the weapon appeared handheld, yet more powerful than a pulse rifle with the chamber on the highest setting.
Laying down covering fire, he watched two more of his men advance down the corridor. It appeared designed to provide defenders with cover, and attackers with little to none, but he clearly outnumbered the defenders and it showed. So far he had seen only 3 soldiers, where were the rest? There had been more than enough time to assemble a larger force. Were they scouts, sent to investigate the cause of the security alert? Assuming they were, they must have already discovered that they were unable to contact their colleagues. The multi-frequency jammers built into his men's armour would ensure that.
Whoever they were, primitive weapons or no, they were clearly well trained. Due to accurate and heavy covering fire, not one of his squad's shots had hit what Krazytkyr took to be their leader, when the male had retreated openly down the corridor.
Ahead of him he saw a head lean from cover, pointing something, and as the Scarren officer raised his carbine to fire, he saw something impact on the flanks of one of his advancing soldiers. The Scarren staggered, as a hail of slugs tore into the armour. It did not penetrate, but when the marksman switched aim, and redirected his fire towards his soldier's head, Krazytkyr opened fire.
The head ducked out of sight, and ahead of him the two forward members of his section opened an accurate cover fire on the defender's positions. Using this cover fire, Kraztykr and the two other Scarrens in his section hurried forward, leapfrogging the forward two members to form a new covering party. They were nearing the end of the corridor now, the enemy steadily retreating before them. Ahead lay a bulkhead door, clearly the defender's destination. It looked just as thick as that they had just destroyed, which was concerning. Breaking through the force field and hatch on the highest setting had depleted the power cell of their pulse cannon almost to nothing. If they managed to withdraw beyond that hatch and close it, the defenders would be safe from him and his men.
Just as he was going to order a charge, regardless of casualties, one of his soldiers growled a warning. Two small shapes flew towards him, more of those annoying explosive charges they had encountered earlier. They were primitive, but should they land too close he knew they could possibly hurt him. Accordingly he tucked in as close as he could to what little cover was provided by the bulkhead.
The devices detonated with an ear-splitting CRACK, and he felt the shockwave pass by him. A quick check revealed that none of his men had been hurt, though one of them had a nasty metal splinter in one hand. Scanning the corridor ahead of him, he saw His suspicions were confirmed, for ahead of him he saw the hatchway sliding open, and already one of the defenders was retreating through it. Yelling to his men to charge, he broke into a run.
A shout told him his actions had been observed, and he was forced to duck as a bolt of red energy flew past, right where his head would have been if not for the sudden movement. With a roar of anger and joy of battle, he fired back, loosing half a dozen blue pulses at the male who had fired. He soldier himself back through the hatch, the last of the three, and the shots left a pattern of scorch marks on the metal of the hatch frame.
Careless of his own safety, lost in a red haze of anger and hot blood, he charged through the hatchway after the defenders, and jammed his carbine into the door slide. It gave a screech of rending metal, but he thought it should hold until the rest of his men arrived with stronger supports. Pulling his sidearm, he surveyed the compartment ahead of him; it was roughly circular, with a pair of consoles on either side. There was no sign of the attackers, but another hatch directly opposite was already sliding shut. He hurled himself towards it, aiming to wedge his sidearm into the metal, but the two halves of the hatch slide together with a thud moments before he reached it. With a roar of irritation, he slammed his hand against the metal, and was rewarded with a sore wrist.
The rest of his squad arrived to find their commander pacing angrily up and down in front of the closed hatchway. He angrily ordered them to fetch the brace the jammed hatch, and as they hurried to carry out his orders, Krazytkyr activated his comms. Whatever the hull of was made of, it blocked the signals from their comms as well as scans. To contact the Stryker, he was forced to use the comms array on the boarding pod. After ordering his second in command to bring up his own section to reinforce Krazytkyr's own squad, he also got in touch with the rear guard. The senior of the 3 soldiers assigned to guard the boarding pod listened carefully as Krazytkyr outlined his message to be relayed back to the Stryker, and acknowledged the order to send up the squad's Kalish tech.
Krazytkyr eyed the two consoles on either side of the room. Unrecognised characters scrolled across the blue screens, while below each a control panel glowed softly. Hopefully his tech could access these people's systems, and override the door controls to that dammed hatch.
Sheppard's POV
Sheppard's radio cracked. "ard...are...recieving..."
John grabbed it, "Rondey, where the hell have you been."
The radio fizzed again, and the static suddenly dropped away. "...jamming of some sort, I've only just managed to break through. Are you guys alright?"
"We're fine Rodney, bit battered but nobody's hurt badly." Which was the truth, though Ronon had just pulled the splinter from John's shoulder, which had hurt like a bitch, even as the wound closed behind it. "How did they get through the force field?" he demanded.
"Some kind of energy weapon, not very advanced but it hits like a sledgehammer. That hatch you guys are standing behind won't be much help."
"Gee you think." Sheppard's tone was glacial. "Can you do anything to stop them McKay, our bullets just bounce of these guys. Better still; tell me what they're doing back there?"
There was a pause, presumably as Rodney checked his sensors, "they're mainly clustered around next door and in the corridor, but there's still a bunch of them by the airlock, guards i guess. Stand by."
"Stand by for what McKay?"
"I've just erected force fields; the guys next door are sealed off from the rest" came the reply. "Oh, this is ... interesting."
"Define interesting McKay?" said John, slightly exasperated.
"Check the console to your left." Came the reply. John turned, and saw a console he hadn't noticed on the bulkhead to the left of the hatch they had just sealed. The screen flashed on, and clearly at Rodney's direction, switched to display a sensor feed of the entire deck. Red dots displayed the position of their enemies, about 8 of which were in the room beyond. John noticed a 9th dot in front of the hatchway into the compartment from the far side. Whoever it was had obviously been about to enter the compartment when McKay sealed the room.
"What's interesting about it McKay, queried Sheppard, "you managed to get nearly all of them in one room, so what?"
"Yes, but it's not just a compartment, it's much worse. It's a trap built into the ship's design by the Ancients."
Sheppard's depressed spirits perked up somewhat at that. "What kind of trap?"
"It's pretty nasty, from what this screen is tell me, there's a weapons system in there, if I activate it..," McKay's voice faltered slightly, "Sheppard it'll leave nothing left alive."
"John" Elizabeth's voice came over the radio now "What shall we do?" He grimaced, but understood what she was asking. She wanted his opinion, and he sensed she was already aware of what he thought. "Elizabeth, these guys attacked us, not only that, but they fired first. They boarded the ship and blew a hole in the hatch."
" I can understand that if they thought the ship was derelict, hell, we might do the same in their circumstance. But as soon as they saw us, they opened up with everything they had. I've no idea who these guys are, but bullets just bounce them, and they really don't seem the best conversationalists."
There was a brief pause, and in the silence he glanced at Teyla and Ronon. Ronon nodded at him, and after a few moments so did Teyla. They agreed with him, although Teyla was obviously a bit reluctant.
"So what do you want to do?" came Elizabeth's sombre voice. John answered immediately, voice firm. "We've got to kill them. They'll just keep coming, and there are far more of them than us."
"And the others?"
He didn't reply, letting her draw her own conclusions. There was another pause then, "Ok John, do what has to be done."
"Alright McKay, do it." He ordered.
"Doing it," came the terse reply.
There was soft whining noise from next door, like some great weapon charging up to fire. All eyes in the corridor, and presumably far away in damage control, never left the sensor feed. No sound was heard from the attackers, but on the screen, they saw the little red dots wink out one by one.
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
He ran, ran like he had never run before. Though not a soldier, even though he carried a weapon, he was a combat veteran, and his instincts were telling him to get off this ship and as far away from it as possible.
He had been just about to enter the compartment when the force field had activated, a shimmering barrier of the blue between him and the open hatch. He had been that close to dying. He had watched the troops inside react, watch them realise they were trapped, helpless. For a few moments more he had stood there, watching the scene inside, as the Scarren officers yelled at their men. Officer Krazytkyr had walked over to the open hatch, and glared at him. He had tapped his comms unit, but no signal had penetrated the compartment. He knew he should try hack the door, knew he should go get help from the boarding pod, but he had frozen. He, a combat veteran of dozens of attacks, and 12 cycles in service, had frozen.
Then the killing had started. From the ceiling of the sealed compartment, had dropped two devices, weapons systems of a kind he realised now. Before the Scarrens could react, they started dropping, weapons falling to the ground around them as they fell. There was no noise, save for a soft whining, like the background noise in a generator room. Krazytkyr had toppled forwards against the force-field, his armour sparkling as the energy barrier came into contact with it, until he slumped in a heap at the bottom, lifeless.
Then he had run, then had turned and run like his life depended on it. Whatever this ship was, he was no longer interested in it. He wanted to live.
He ran for the airlock, for the safety of the boarding pod, past the shattered doors and down into the long corridor that lead to sanctuary.
The soldiers on guard raised their weapons as he approached but he yelled at them, screamed at them that they had to get off this ship right now. They didn't move, but when he shouted at them that the others were all dead, then they reacted. When frantic radio calls to Krazytkyr and his second in command produced nothing but static, they too began to panic. When he told them how Krazytkyr had died, they broke, and piled aboard the boarding pod. Taking the controls, with the speed of sheer terror he disengaged the boarding clamps and powered the engines. The pod groaned, as it pulled away from the hull of the black ship, and swung sharply around, heading like a bat out of hell for the safety of the Stryker.
Styker Assault Ship, (Scarren Empire Designation: Classified)
On the Command deck of the Stryker, her Captain leaned against his console, surveying the ship displayed on the forward portal. He'd been able to do little over the last 40 microns save study the scant sensor data they had on the vessel, and keep a wary eye out for any other ships entering the system that might report his ship's presence.
The Bridge of the Stryker was cramped and functional, as befitting the ship's role as an assault ship. Much of the ship's hull was taken up with fuel stores, weapons installations, and other essential systems, leaving little room for crew quarters. A sizeable hanger, able to fit 2 medium size boarding craft and a shuttle completed the picture. His vessel, which he had commanded for 9 cycles, had a crew of less than 130, of which 35 were assault troops to man the boarding pods.
The captain and his crew had been transferred in system 2 cycles, the attack ship and the four others made up their squadron concealed inside the gutted cargo holds of an enormous supply ship. Since then the need for secrecy, for interesting questions would be asked if a short range Stryker was spotted out here, had meant that save for bare minimum of training necessary, the Strykers had remained docked on the moon's surface.
The captain was enjoying the change. He was mightily bored of the company of Kalish engineers and poor quality raslack. He and his crew were elite, forged in constant raids and skirmishes with the Peacekeepers along the main border. The crews of the five Strykers that made up the supply stations only mobile line of defence were all veterans, chosen specifically for their experience and skill.
Those same hardened veterans were growing less than happy with having nothing to do but babysit a load of superior Kalish engineers and make do with the few females on base. Already was growing increasingly difficult to maintain discipline between the garrison of the supply base, and the crews of the Strykers, for the latter viewed the former with deepest contempt. Several members of his own crew were already under sentence, only commuted due to the importance to the defence of the facility. Hopefully this mission would help ease the grumbling, though he doubted it. If nothing else, he was looking forward to giving his gunnery team some practice, even if it was only a dead hulk. It would not be a worthy kill, a defenceless ship, but orders were orders.
It would be a pity though, he thought as he eyed the long black shape on the viewing portal. While he would never admit to liking a non Scarren vessel, he had come to appreciate the brutal lines of the unknown warship. The many as yet unidentified weapons lining her hull made no bones of her purpose. There was something menacing about the blackness of the hull too, it was the colour of a stalker, an ambusher. This was a ship designed purely to kill, not to hunt or fight fair. He was heartily glad it was derelict. He would pit his Stryker and his crew against 3 similar Peacekeeper vessels and be sure of victory, but this ship outmassed his own by a factor of 6.. He was aggressive, both by nature and profession. He was a veteran commander of an attack ship, an officer of the Scarren Imperium, the supreme race in the Galaxy, but even his species hot blood cooled at the thought of taking on an enemy vessel that size.
He pondered thoughtfully how derelict or damaged the derelict actually was. It clearly still had power, and while its engines weren't active, it wasn't drifting either. The last report from Officer Krazytkyr reported no signs of battle damage in the interior, and that they had made contact with what was presumably the ship's crew. The report had spoken of light resistance, and rapid progress forward. It was ten microns before the boarding party was required to check in again. He checked his console, Krazytkyr had less than 25 microns, or the Captain would open fire and destroy the derelict. It was fortunate that the vessel still apparently had an active power source, in his experience a couple of shots into an active reactor was the most effective means of destroying a vessel this size. He had once caught a Peacekeeper Vigilante with that trick, holing the larger ship's reactor and destroying the ship in fireball before its crew had detected his approach.
He grinned cheerfully at the memory, he had still had a fragment from the Vigilante's hull set on his cabin wall as a trophy. The Vigilante had still only been a little more than twice the size of his own ship however; this vessel was at least a metra long. The explosion would be glorious.
His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from his sensor officer. "Captain," growled the officer, "the boarding pod has detached from the derelict and is proceeding towards us at maximum speed."
"What?" growled the Captain loudly, "Why didn't Krazytkyr report this? Status of the derelict?"
"No change sir!" reported the officer "no sign of weapons charging or engine power-up."
"Contact the transport."
"Krazytkyr what the hezmanna are you doing, report status!"
It took him a few moments to understand the garbled words that came back over the open comms channel." "SPEAK SCARREN, he growled, for the soldier at the other end had reverted to an obscure dialect of his own language, for which translator microbes were useless. The Kalish sounded terrified, but recognising the voice of his commander, switched mid sentence to Scarren.
"... all dead, they're all dead, Krazytkyr dead, saw him die in front of me. Saw them all die, drop to floor, dead, dead. Peacekeepers, looked like Peacekeepers." The words dissolved into another torrent of curses and half garbled Kalish."
The captain wasn't listening any more, at the word "Peacekeepers," he had hit the combat stations alert on his console. Weapons systems that had been on standby immediately began to power up, and deep in the engine room the technicians increased the reactor output to combat levels. The lights around the dim room grew brighter, as the engineers abandoned any attempt at EMCOM, already the reactor output was at 80, and all that energy was being fed to sensors, engines and weapons.
"Energy spike from the derelict, they're powering engines" came the loud shout from the Scarren at sensors.
"Full power to engines! Get us clear of that ship!" Like a scalded cat, the Stryker darted forwards, pulling away from its earlier position concealed in the sensor shadow of the large ship. Engines screaming, her helmsman pushed her into a curving dive that would take her on a diagonal bearing towards from the enemy vessel, presenting as little target as possible. The helmsman was gambling, he knew that at this range there was little chance of avoiding being hit, but there was the slightest chance the enemies ventral batteries were less numerous. Most races used the same fields of fire, and the lower hull of a vessel was typically in his experience the least well armed.
Unfortunately for him, the Hydra's designers had arranged her fields of fire carefully. Of the 8 heavy turrets positioned along the Hydra's ventral hull, no less than 4 were able to lock on and target the escaping Scarren ship. It was a credit to the Strykers helmsman that the first volley from turret number 1 portside actually missed, but the sheer volume of fire compensated for any issues of accuracy. Each mounted 4 heavy pulse plasma cannons in a quadruple mounting, designed to punch through the tough bio armour of Wraith vessels and keep on punching, inflicting maximum damage inside the hull. The effect on the Stryker, whose armour was largely sacrificed for speed and manoeuvrability, was somewhat akin to firing a shotgun at a piece of tissue paper. The comms officer of the Styker just had time to send an emergency burst transmission, when his world went black.
Most of the dreadnaught's fire impacted on the forward hull of the Styker, which didn't so much explode as disintegrate. Many of the highly charged plasma bolts, designed to target far larger vessels, actually passed straight through the Styker's hull, unobstructed by armour, fuel tanks or bodies. The ship appeared to shudder and then, with an outpouring of gases and debris, it broke it two just aft of the engine room. The mangled forward section maintained its momentum, and drifted free of the smaller aft section, which was largely intact, and was the only section of the hulk that even looked remotely like a ship anymore.
The last few bolts of plasma to leave the Hydra's guns before they cycled down impacted on the mangled forward hull, burrowing deep, and found the overcharged reactor. There was a bright flash and the hulk vanished. The subsequent shockwave, which rippled harmlessly over the Hydra's shields, tossed the blackened aft section tumbling through space, and also picked up and hurled a small boarding pod end over end, knocking its occupants senseless.
A shadow fell over the slowly tumbling pod, as the great black ship's engines glowed softly and it swept into a graceful turn, heading for the newest contact to enter that barren system.
End Of Chapter 3b
Well there you are, hoped you like it and that the length made up for the delay somewhat. Next chapter involves the Hydra and two Scarren dreadnaughts, which will be, interest (EVIL GRIN). Oh and there are some author notes on the way to give you some background so those should be here fairly soon. Please if you've taken the time to read it then NOW REVIEW