That made sense. The Mogats, an extinct band of terrorists who had plunged the Unified Authority into a costly civil war, established a pangalactic communications network using ships equipped with tiny broadcast engines to route their signals.
We might have knocked out the spy ship’s air and lights, but her gravity generator still worked. We were standing, not floating above the floor.
“This wreck may be beyond repair,” said Freeman.
I had the same fear. Deployed properly, a ship like this could turn the course of a war. I was just about to tell Lieutenant Mars to send over some engineers when I glimpsed the glow just beyond the next bulkhead.
“There’s a live one,” I told Freeman, not that he needed the heads-up. Always aware of everything around him, Freeman held his S9 out as he moved to cover.
In a calm voice, he said, “Shielded armor.” He did not say “damn shielded armor” or “specking shielded armor,” just “shielded armor,” because he seldom wasted time assigning values and judgments.
The bastard walked right up the hall showing no fear at all. He might have been a Marine or sailor, but he was wearing the shielded combat armor of a Unified Authority Marine, the new shielded armor that the Unified Authority created after expelling us clones from its military. Knowing that we had no weapons that could penetrate his ethereal electromagnetic coat, the cocky son of a bitch walked right up to the hole we had created as an entrance and casually surveyed the area.
I hid behind a storage locker. Freeman knelt beside a desk.
The man did not carry a gun. The shielding prevented him from holding external weapons. That did not leave him unarmed. A flechette-firing tube ran along the top of his right sleeve.
I needed a better hiding place. If the bastard spotted me, his depleted uranium flechettes would cut through the locker, through me, and probably through the bulkhead behind me as well. Even a shot through the arm would be fatal since the flechettes were coated with a neurotoxin.
“Get ready to run,” I told Freeman. “I’m going to hit him with a grenade.” The shrapnel would not penetrate his shielding, but the percussion from the blast would still knock him on his ass.
Freeman did not respond.
Scanning the cabin, his right arm out straight and slightly bent at the wrist, the man zeroed in on my hiding spot without seeing me. The bastard probably was a Marine, but a new Marine. It was hard to believe what passed as a Marine in the Unified Authority military.
In a situation like this, a real Marine would have shot first and checked later. This guy lacked that kind of instinct; but dressed in combat armor and waving a flechette gun, he was still dangerous. I’d seen armor like his in action. The flechette gun could fire thirty shots per second. The darts were tiny splinters. He probably had a thousand rounds packed in a pocket on his sleeve.
I made ready to throw my grenade.
“You want this ship in one piece?” Freeman asked.
“If you have a better idea …” I started.
Freeman pulled a thumb-sized device from his ammunition belt and slid it onto the desk.
Speaking over the interLink, Freeman said, “Look at the floor and don’t look up.” I had just enough time to avert my eyes before his device lit the area so brightly that the floor looked bleached beneath my knee.
The man in the Marine armor pivoted around and reached out with both hands like a drunk groping down a dark alley. He’d looked into the light before the tint shields had formed on his visors, and it temporarily blinded him. A moment later, the sensors in his visors would detect the lumens from Freeman’s lamp, but by then it would be too late.
I looked away from the lamp to keep the tint shields from blocking my vision as I followed Freeman around the Marine and down the corridor. Freeman stopped long enough to place another light to shine at the man from the opposite direction. Now the bastard would be blinded until he groped his way out of the trap.
We ran down the corridor, hugging the walls in case the blinded Marine tried to shoot us. A short way down the corridor, we found stairs leading to the lower decks. I figured we would search together, watching each other’s back. I figured wrong. Starting down the stairs, Freeman said, “Stall him.”
“Stall him?” I asked.
“Keep him busy while I look for the computer.”
As far as I knew, I was the highest-ranking officer in the Enlisted Man’s military. I didn’t take orders from anyone …anyone but Freeman. He knew more about the computer than I did.
“Got any suggestions about how to keep him busy without getting myself killed?” I asked as I watched him disappear down the stairs.
Questions like that could lead to all kinds of smart-ass answers, but Ray Freeman did not have a mind for humor. He said, “Call out if you get trapped,” and vanished down the stairs.
The glare died out at the other end of the corridor. The Marine must have found Freeman’s lamps and smashed them, leaving the long hall dark except for the flash of the emergency lights and the glow of his armor.
Hoping to catch the bastard’s attention, I aimed my S9 and fired a few shots in his direction. The flechettes were meant as a message. Even if they hit him, they would do no harm. But the stupid bastard didn’t even notice the darts when they hit him.
Needing to grab his attention, I stepped into the open, catching the silly bastard by surprise. I fired three shots that hit him square in the face, then jumped down the first flight of stairs and waited for him to chase me.
Mission accomplished.
The Marine came after me; but when he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped. So he had sufficient brain cells to sense a trap, big specking deal. Even monkeys hide when they sense danger. I waited for the bastard to start down the stairs. When he didn’t, I cautiously climbed back up to see what had happened.
Hoping to ambush me, the stupid son of a bitch had waited in an open hatch at the top of the stairs. I spotted him easily enough. The light from his shielded armor glowed like a moon.
“So much for the element of surprise, asshole,” I muttered. Not only did the light from his shields ruin the ambush; it showed his position. He was kneeling. The glow only filled the bottom half of the hatch.
So I waited for him as he waited for me. I had my pistol out and aimed. When he peered out of the doorway to look for me, I shot him in the face. It was a moral victory. My flechette hit him between the eyes, but it only hurt his pride.
Caught off guard, the Marine tried to spring up, lost his footing, and fell on his ass. He climbed off the floor and returned fire; but by that time, of course, I had jumped back down the stairs.
I needed him to follow me to the bottom deck, so I waited on the landing. If he lost my trail and strayed onto the second deck, he might find Freeman.
Up at the top of the stairs, the glow of his shields diluted the darkness. The squirrelly Marine was in no rush to chase me. He moved cautiously, as if he thought I could actually hurt him. He aimed down the stairs and fired a dozen shots to flush me out of hiding.
Had I still been on that landing, his darts would have passed through my armor as if it weren’t there. The needles themselves would only do minimal damage unless they hit a vital organ, but the poison would leave me numb as it paralyzed my limbs and stopped my heart.
Under his shields, he had the same armor as I and the same smart visor. He could track body heat with his heat-vision lenses if he knew how to use them, but he wasn’t paying attention. I waited until he reached the landing by the second deck, then I drilled several shots into him. The flechettes did no damage, but they kept the guy on my tail.
I called Freeman over the interLink as I ran to the bottom deck. He did not answer, but I knew he was listening. “Have you found your computer yet?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. We’d only parted ways a minute ago; there was no way he could have found it yet.
“You in trouble?” he asked.
“No, I’m good,” I said. I heard a soft
