Riordan exited the Swindler. He paused for a moment to allow himself to acclimate to the armor and to let his training kick in. He scanned his eyes around the Heads Up Display, the HUD, checking the status of air, temperature, weapons, etc. He set the visor to infrared and the dim hanger burst into brightness. At the control panel next to the hatch he deactivated lighting, gravity, and atmosphere for the hanger.
His boots automatically activated keeping him firmly attached to the decking but he could feel an internal release as gravity no longer pulled on his organs. He exited the hanger and called in a status report to the Swindler. He opened the service panel and removed a fist sized fuse preventing anyone from opening the hatch without explosives or a cutting torch.
He quickly located the FRS Boarding party after pairing the limited internal sensors were to his onboard computer. They were closer than he thought. Mentally referring to the map in his head, he evaluated possible intercept locations. BANG! The noise startled him. He didn’t hear it with his ears, but felt it through the decking. A bang is a bang.
“What the frek was that? I felt it through my boots!”
“The wash from the thrusters must have knocked something over, the damn hanger is filled with junk.” Glori replied. He suspected Sarah didn't compensate properly for the vertical thrust and bumped the ceiling of the hanger. 'Rookie,' he thought with a smile.
***
The FRS boarding party team leader paused, scanning ahead with his sensor enhanced vision. He gestured and two troopers moved forward to the next intersection where they took up positions securing those approaches. “Sensors on full active. No surprises.”
The party advanced cautiously, their HUDs displaying an overlay of the Odyssey’s layout as their sensors mapped it. The troopers maintained several meters distance from each other to reduce casualties in the event of an attack, only moving one or two at a time. Move forward, secure the area, wait. Exercising extreme caution they approached the habitable areas detected by their scans.
“You know, my ancestors were passengers on this ship. They worked in the 3rd class food court at the Falafel Waffle. My great, great, great grandmother worked the counter and my great, great, great grandfather ran the kitchen. their pictures are in our public album. They left Prime to colonize the Inyo system. They both died right after they got there leaving four kids to fend for themselves. I hate falafel,” The medical corpsman said over the group comm. Several grumbles replied.
“Cut the chatter and focus,” the team lead said.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m nervous. This place creeps me the frek out. Especially that mannequin in the corner." He glanced back at the now empty corner. "First mission jitters, I guess. I keep seeing things moving out of the corner of my eye. When I look, nothing's there! Sorry.”
The team lead glared at him till he finished. “What mannequin? Where?”
“Over there,” the medic replied, pointing with his hand instead of his plasma rifle. “Covered in plastic sheeting. Nothing there now, though! I feel like... like, this place is haunted or something! Do you believe in ghosts, Sir?” The medic replied, his voice rising an octave.
“There’s nothing there, Corpsman,” one of the other troopers said.
“Exactly!” The corpsman hissed, edging closer to the team lead for comfort.
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“Maintain separation, Corpsman!” The team lead barked. “Check it out, Corporal.”
The Corporal moved forward, weapon at the ready. He noticed boxes, crates, and a crumpled sheet of plastic. “I don’t see any mannequin, Sir.” He reached out and scuffed at the plastic sheeting with his right foot. “Just garba-” The Corporal's last transmission was interrupted by an explosion. Several troopers were knocked to the decking, minimal gravity having been restored to this section. The corpsman scrambled across the decking on his belly to provide care for the wounded. He quickly discovered the Corporal was beyond help. Shok Armor primarily protected against small arms fire, not explosives. It did what it could, but it wasn’t enough. Dribbles of blood trickled outward in low gravity from a dozen places.
“I said shut up and frekking report!” The team lead screamed over the comms. Someone was frantically firing a plasma rifle down the corridor they came from. The corpsman checked on the other downed troopers administering orders for the application of medicines stored in every trooper’s armor. X-stim reduced pain and fear, restoring troopers with minor injuries to full functionality, temporarily.
“Status report,” the team lead bellowed, smacking the corpsman’s helmet to grab his attention.
“One KIA, Sir! FREK! The Corporal, Sir! Shize! Four wounded, minor, fully mission capable, Sir!” The corpsman replied, voice hitching, gasps audible.
“Compose yourself! Send me the sensor footage of that mannequin! Now!”
The team lead reviewed the footage as the team recovered and organized itself. The corpsman continued to monitor the condition of the remaining team members. The Corporal’s charge packs and various kit were redistributed amongst the others.
Scanning the footage at 2X speed the team lead spotted the figure. There it was in the indicated corner hiding under a sheet of plastic! The team lead paused the feed and zoomed in. The lower leg was black and shiny, not unlike his own armored leg. “That was no mannequin,” he said over the coms.
“It’s never a mannequin!” one of the other troopers exclaimed.
“Regroup, we’re pushing forward, and for frek’s sake, don't touch anything!”
***
It didn’t take Riordan long to pin down the exact location of the boarders. He extrapolated their most likely avenue of approach and scouted as he headed toward them. Riordan chose a widened intersection; it was the perfect place for an ambush. While he could have annihilated the boarders, the goal was delay, delay, delay. As long as the FRS believed their target was still on the Odyssey, they’d keep searching. Knowing the team was one turn away he stood stock still in the furthest corner and draped a sheet of plastic over his head. He gently placed a grenade at his feet.
The trigger was set to remote activation, then motion sensing. It took longer than he expected but one of the troopers looked directly at him and started. While the trooper looked to his compatriots to see if they reacted to what he saw, Riordan slipped away and activated the grenade’s motion sensor. He was two sections away when the grenade detonated. Since this section wasn’t pressurized there was no sound, but the flash and rumble through the deck plating was hard to miss. Hopefully, there were now a few less shok troops and the surprise attack disoriented the rest of them. Delay, delay, delay!
“Riordan, what was that?! Sensors are reading a possible explosion?” Glori called over their encrypted com channel.
“Oh, nothing. I accidentally knocked over a crate,” he replied nonchalantly as he positioned a battery powered heater behind a crate. He stood back and admired his handiwork. On thermal the scene could be two or three people in EVA suits hiding behind some crates and stuff. As a final selling point, he taped the grip safety of his plasma pistol down, keeping it charged, and placed it on the floor near the heater. This would be easily detected by any of the troopers. Perfect! Humming lightly to himself he headed down the corridor to the location for the next surprise.
He was in a good mood, as he should be. Shok Trooper armor came equipped with a small suite of chemicals and medications which can be self administered or administered by medics in the event of an emergency or injury. X-stim reduced reaction time, fear, anxiety, and pain and increased alertness, endurance, and aggression. With the odds being 12 to one, he needed every advantage he could get. Hours from now he would be paying for this decision when the X-stim wore off. If he had that luxury.
***
The boarding party encountered the fake ambush and decimated it, no quarter, no warnings. Riordan set a few fake booby traps to further delay their search and to lead them deeper into the mess of corridors in various states of repair. He made a bee-line for a small maintenance hangar near the bow of the structure. At the last intersection that led to the maintenance hangar he placed a very obvious grenade EVA taped to the ceiling and hid his last grenade ten meters further down much more cleverly and set it for command detonation. It wouldn't detonate unless he gave the command. That should give him enough warning, he thought, if everything kept going according to plan. When does that ever happen?