As we rounded a corner of sorts, I felt a terrible wave of nausea and my head felt as though it would explode. We were all writhing on the deck like so many worms thrown on a hot sidewalk.
The cloak was undone. As we thrashed on the floor a squad of bugs moved in and piled us up. They must have been alerted to our location by the busted hatch. We were wrapped in a net and they started to drag us down the passageway. It all happened so fast. This was the end for us, prison camp, or worse. Probably experimental test subjects.
Only Rock’s quick thinking saved us. He remembered an assembly room we had passed just before busting through the bulkhead hatch. And bless Rock’s big ole heart, he had committed the area to memory. We were all mashed together in the net. It was really rather humiliating. But we were in physical contact! Rock teleported us all to that assembly area where it was nice and quiet.
I was just getting my bearings and looked up to see Mr. T shaking his head, trying to get into a sitting position, hands on the floor for support. “Who was that?”
Rock was already standing up. “It was me sir.”
Mr. T slapped his hands to remove the imaginary dust. “Good job. What just happened?”
Roll was already reviewing his scanner recordings. “Acoustics. Sound weapon. Not all that sophisticated.”
I still felt lousy. “Worked well enough on us.”
Mr. T had a contemplative look mixed in with his dazed expression. “A couple years back I was working under contract to develop better sonic nonlethal systems. It made sense with the way society was going. As the prototype neared completion, the development group was split. Sonic system finalization and system defeat. My team was tasked with developing a means to defeat the system.
“We put together a helmet that included a cancellation system running wave disruption algorithms. The contract was put on hold and I somehow ended up with the helmets. It was supposed to be a short-term delay and I ended up with the helmets in the interim. That was a busy time. Forgot all about them. They’re in the lab somewhere. I wonder whatever happened to the program.”
Roll knew just what to do. He teleported to the command center and came back with the high-tech helmets. Roll just seems to pay attention to details like that. Mr. T is always procuring new stuff. Roll likes gadgets. The helmets were just sitting on a shelf in the lab waiting for a job. How convenient! Yeah, that sort of thing happens a lot with us. I’ll have to discuss that at some point. Roll was back. It took all of 30 seconds. We were back in control. Para wanted to know about Muncle. His head was too small for a helmet. Mr. T thought he would be okay if he hunkered down close to Para’s helmet.
Para took a tentative step into the passageway but was immediately thrown back into the assembly room.
“Para!” I screamed. “You’re bleeding!”
“A scratch,” she said. “Is Muncle okay?”
Muncle was fine. That was some sort of rail gun. One of those would be awfully hard on the furniture. The bugs were intent on stopping us. They must have had an extra flier gun in storage and got it out to take us down. Thank goodness, it was only a graze. We’re still trying to determine Para’s limitations when inverted. She can’t handle rail guns, judging from the bleeding. It was more than a scratch, though it was superficial. Roll used some foam filler-and-adhesive to close the wound, then wrapped it.
Those projectiles could pass through the heavy bulkhead material. The bugs didn’t have an angle on our room, but that was only a matter of time. Rock thought we should try to go around another way. Mr. T felt it would give the bugs time to set more traps.
Mr. T made the decision. “Rock. You and me. Port tactic, just behind their line, you’re watch, I’ve got the shooter.”
Rock pulled out his blind spot mirror and took a peek. Immediate fire. But he had seen what he needed and looked at Mr. T, giving a thumbs up. They readied their rifles. Heads nodding the countdown, 3, 2, 1. They ported behind the enemy position and opened fire.
Mr. T shouted over the comms, “Team, move out!”
We ran to the next hatch, Mr. T sidestepping, looking behind for any tails. Heat and a glowing spot on the bulkhead. 50 cal. response. Some bugs were trailing us, but had moved back around a bend in the passageway to escape the heavy fire. A locked hatch in front of us, a bug squad behind.
Mr. T was amped. “Roll, short port down the passageway and toss a grenade at our pursuers. Para, snap the hatch but only a crack; Rock, toss a grenade; Viz, empty a mag. Sweetie, sweep the entire passageway from deck to overhead ... uhhh ... ceiling.”
We moved into action. With the immediate threats neutralized I still felt exposed in the cramped passageway with no cover. The way we were moving around, cloaking was worthless. There was nothing to do except move forward hoping the center of the ship was close. We came to a T-section, so either right or left. No strategic retreat, not with the clanking sound to our rear, the sound of a lot of bug claws scrambling to catch up with us.
Para was on the left; I was on the right. A
