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The demise of the Licentious
Posted By: Dr Sky Tower<johnnyfive@xtra.co.nz>
Date: 22 July 2007, 2:52 am
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Unknown date
Aboard the Terraform USS LICENTIOUS
Stationed in the Upper Atmosphere of Planet P
THE HIVE
The squad of armour-clad, bedraggled and exhausted soldiers saluted to their commanding officer as he marched up the lowered ramp aboard the recently docked drop ship. A totally unexpected and rancid stench of sour vomit, blood and excrement assaulted his nostrils.
"Where is your lieutenant?" The pale, slightly built officer demanded, his reptilian gaze roving around the stinking interior. As his cold stare wandered over the twelve survivors, his face took on a barely hidden expression of shock and dismay. This was all that was left of the best squad of shock troopers aboard the Licentious?
One of the men stepped forward.
"We believe Lieutenant Zoord was killed in action, sir."
"Are you men all that is left of your platoon?"
"Yes sir."
His gaze settled on a soldier splayed across several passenger seats along one wall of the troop carrier. The man bled copiously from a gaping hole where his left eye used to reside. His left arm was hideously fractured, and jagged pieces of bloody bone protruded messily through the skin. His face was devoid of all colour, and he'd vomited on himself.
Of a platoon of nearly thirty shock troopers, only twelve had returned alive. And of these twelve, four were severely wounded, possibly dying of their injuries.
His outraged glare fixed upon the reason for the deaths of his men.
"They fought us with more ferocity than we anticipated, sir, and we suspect some of our comrades were taken alive," the corporal sighed. "I managed to shoot this one down and knock it out. I believe they simply let the rest of us go, and we were able to take this with us."
The commander stared at the prisoner lying motionless on the floor, chained and gagged securely, lest it manage to lower the firing mechanism in its thorax and open fire with its fearsome beam weapon. The arms were also bound to the fore parts of the wing-like stabilisers; the captive was capable of battering foes to death with its large, bulky forearms. The single, staring optical sensor gleamed coldly at a puddle of bloody vomit on the deck before it. The white armour of the large creature was specked with blood, and pieces of hair and meat were stuck in its folded pincer-like hands.
"This thing attacked you inside the carrier?" the commander asked.
"Yes sir. It took all of us to subdue it. That's the end result of its attack on Corporal Brac." He motioned to the soldier lying barely conscious in the seats. "It seized him by his head and tried to tear his face off. Then it broke his arm in half before we shocked it unconscious with electro rods. They don't like being shocked with electro rods, sir, so I suggest you arm yourself with one before this wakes up."
He held the stick in front of him like a sword, wielding it at the unmoving being.
"An electro rod?" the officer questioned, amazed at the notion.
"Yes sir. It must interfere with their systems and scramble their CPU's. I'm guessing they have a very low threshold to pain, because when we shocked this with electro rods at full power, it literally knocked the thing out cold."
"Capturing this prisoner and bringing it aboard the Licentious was not a good tactic." The officer mused aloud. "I'll inform Captain Wessel to have it destroyed ASAP. It could be recording everything it sees and hears and remotely sending the data back to its hive. That could be why this one allowed itself to be captured."
"You'll have to hurry, sir. We also believe this thing is developing a resistance to the shocks we've been giving it. Its systems are recovering sooner after every shock. It won't be long before this Sentinel becomes immune to shocks from electro rods."
As he said his last words, the alien Mechanoid on the floor uttered a mewling, hissing sound.
It sprang into the air in one swift movement, and its arms snapped ferociously forward. The manacles around its forelimbs pulled and shattered apart, and the officer had a fleeting moment of huge forearms reaching for him. The long, pincer-like claws seized him by the face and yanked him off the deck. He uttered a high pitched, agonised scream. There was an awful crunch and an even louder shriek. Blood splattered to the floor, followed by pieces of jawbone and loose teeth. Men bellowed in terrified rage.
The corporal rammed the pointed end of his electro rod against the armoured flank of the Sentinel, shocking it at full power. He was joined by three more of his electro rod-wielding men. Sparks and ozone cracked and flashed brilliantly. The commander's body fish tailed crazily, his popped-open face still clenched in the steel-like grip of the mechanical being.
"It's developed a resistance to electro rods!" the corporal yelled in desperation. "Use your battle rifles on it! Kill the damn thing!"
A huge white armoured Sentinel forearm slammed into his stick, snapping it in two. Then he was swept off his feet and brutally crushed against the wall.
The Ultra-Sentinel tossed the mortally wounded commander to the filthy floor, gold-hued visual sensor turning toward its panicked captors. It uttered an ugly croaking sound. Its beam weapon dropped to firing position. Horrific violence reigned for a few seconds.
"Destruct that ship," Captain Wessel ordered Avionics.
"Sir, it is still attached to the station."
"Destruct the damn ship NOW, before that vicious bastard finds its way on board!"
"Yes sir."
An alarm blared and an auto destruct sequence counted down aboard the doomed troop carrier. There were still survivors on board, but according to the captain, their lives were now expendable. The drop ship imploded, then blew itself apart in an enormous eruption. The resulting huge explosion shook the ageing Terraform Licentious, causing several more klaxons to sound urgently. It sent the dilapidated station into a terrifying list to the port side. Not equipped with gyrostabilisers, the contents of the Licentious also slid across every deck to the port side, and a massive fireball ballooned from the affected docking bay into the thin air of the planetoid's upper atmosphere.
"Get that goddamn fire out!" Wessel shouted, panic setting in. "And get this damn list corrected!"
As men hurried to comply with his orders, they discovered their instruments sluggishly responding, or not at all.
"Sir, when we blew up the carrier, it caused the Sentinel to destruct itself in an EMP shockwave," his first officer announced briskly. ". . . the EMP blast has downed our computer systems."
"Then we have to reboot the mainframe, now!"
Officer Thurn glanced at his wildly gyrating readouts. "That will leave us vulnerable – and still listing – for at least two minutes, sir."
"Don't give me explanations! Just get on with it, man!"
As the lights and computer systems went off line, the Avionics controller spotted a brief flare on his darkening screens. Unable to use his console now, he could only glance toward the wide view port that dominated the bridge. A cloud had appeared in the featureless, ominous purple bruise of sky. Clouds were not normally seen on Planet P, its desert terrain and lack of water was inhospitable to biological life forms. Only the 'Sentinel' beings existed in the arid wasteland, because they were mining a valuable gas deep within the planetoid. This blue, scentless gas was known simply as dysonasphere – highly volatile, but worth millions of credits. It made a perfect reusable fuel for space faring starships. But the only way to get the precious gas was to steal it from Sentinel installations.
Wessel and his crew had little experience dealing with Sentinels. The apparently mindless, hovering automatons originated from the enormous, floating Halo Ring Worlds. There were more Sentinels around, due to the presence of the horrific Flood parasite the Halo fortress worlds harboured, but the Sentinel guardians' armour and systems were weaker, and thus the act of destroying them was so much simpler. The Sentinels of this particular installation were the same basic design, there were less of them, but for some reason their ferocity, strength, armour and firepower was quadrupled.
"It's logical, sir," Science officer Gerome lectured from his station. The Licentious' self-proclaimed expert on Sentinel behaviour swivelled in his chair to study the oncoming 'cloud'. "These Sentinels are designed to withstand the harsh environment of Planet P. Temperatures down there soar at midday to nearly 200 degrees. Their armour and systems are perfectly adapted to the extreme heat, the heavy gravity and the constant quakes. They also don't breathe, so the poisonous atmosphere has a null-gee affect on them."
"A damn Sentinel just killed twelve of our best shock troopers and you have the audacity to admire them?" Ensign Durc snarled from his station.
Thurn reactivated the Licentious' systems. But the Terraform continued listing to the left, and now the hull began quaking.
Wessel glared waspishly at his second in command. "Well?"
"It's an awful slow reboot, sir . . . these Sentinels explode with a lot more force and they create bigger, more powerful EMP shockwaves."
The cloud had now taken on a unique shape, steadily evolving into Sentinel forms - hundreds of them. The strong dry winds, which blasted the Licentious now the decrepit station had only a third of its usual power, had little effect on the nearing blade-like silhouettes. The flying Mechanoids were actually riding the powerful slip streams, using the air currents to propel themselves upward in addition to their impulse propulsion drives.
"Incoming Sentinel attack," Avionics announced brusquely. "Applying the shields. What power we have, sir, will not hold out long against concentrated Sentinel beam blasts."
"Prepare to retreat," Wessel instructed.
The Terraform's four ancient trans-ionic engines belched superheated gas as it applied thrust. But the Licentious still listed to the left, and its already cumbersome progress forward was inhibited. In order to retreat, the elderly station had to go forward, and utilize its port or starboard thrusters to turn around. As the Licentious attempted the manoeuvre, it became obvious the station was most certainly not designed for this hurried action.
The fast approaching mass of Sentinels had no such problems with their guidance systems. Unlike the ponderously turning Licentious, the pursuing Mechanoids were not affected by mere quantum physics such as gravity.
Everyone gripped their consoles. The hull quaked as the Terraform strained to turn around. Power surges shot through the command deck, dimming computer readouts and bridge lighting. Not equipped with a battleship AI, Wessel was forced to rely on his bridge crew for updates.
"I can see Enforcers, Sentinel Minors and Majors," Gerome identified the varying Sentinel classes. "And there are several Ultra-Sentinels amongst them."
"What are those two Enforcers carrying?" Wessel asked.
The Science officer adjusted his glasses and squinted at his screens. "It's a Sentinel Carnal, sir. The purpose of that is to break into an enemy ship, if they don't have a teleportation grid in operation."
"Why are they trying to board the Licentious?"
"The Ultra-Sentinel we killed seems to have stirred up their animosity," Gerome's voice quavered as he stilled his growing dread. "They must know we're out to pirate their dysonasphere. Why didn't we just ask them if we could have some?"
"These Sentinels are nothing more than giant wasps, producing food for themselves in the form of dysonasphere." Wessel sniffed dismissively. "I would never ask an animal if I could take some of its food. That would be beneath my intelligence."
"But sir, these aren't animals," Gerome advised. "You already know they're sentient beings. What animal uses super advanced technology to get its 'food'? If you continue to treat them with such disrespect, we'll all be killed by them!"
The two Enforcers dropped the cone-shaped Forerunner-engraved entity atop the main hull of the fleeing station. Sentinels often used Carnals to take over the computer systems of non-Forerunner ships when no Sentinel Nav-Controllers were present. The Licentious' systems detected an intruder after a few moments, and the Carnal began rhythmically pounding its four internal booms against the hull, generating a psionic thudding that reverberated throughout the ship. It used its AI to take control of the Terraform's decrepit nav-computer.
LIEUTENANT ZOORD'S FATE
The 'cloud' ahead of them followed, but did not attack. Instead, an image came over the main console, and Wessel recognised the slowly-clearing view as a helmet camera from one of the shock troopers who'd been taken by Sentinels during the earlier attack.
"Oh . . . they're using the Carnal as a means of communication," Gerome said gleefully, increasing the resolution on his screen, blowing up the video image so it now portrayed on the headup display grid atop the bridge.
The trooper's vital statistics appeared on screen. He was soon identified as Lieutenant Zoord, the officer in command of the failed mission. The HUD link showed his hapless troops fighting armoured predators attacking from every direction at once. Grainy images of Sentinels erupted from holes in the earth they stood upon. In the distance, a towering edifice could be seen in the sweltering heat. An enormous, vaguely conical-shaped, Forerunner structure extended massively from a set of high cliffs. It used the cliffs as protection from the heat as well as from enemy attack.
Zoord's voice strained with the effort it took to stand upright in the dense gravity, remain mobile, and fight marauding Sentinels.
"Goddamn . . . it's so hot, my suit's barely keeping it out . . . "
A Sentinel yanked out the breathing pack on one of his men. The air was toxic to biological life forms, and he pitched forward to the ground gurgling, coughing spume onto the face plate of his helmet. To everyone's surprise, a Sentinel Minor swooped down and seized him by the leg, claws tightening around his ankle – and he was hoisted upside down into the air. A second Sentinel Minor jostled with the first one. It yanked him by his other leg, and the two Sentinels pulled in opposite directions.
The wet ripping sound over the helmet comlink was truly gruesome.
"They're coming out of the GROUND!" Zoord yelled. "Their behaviour is like nothing I've encountered before! There's too many of them! There's no way we can fend them off! Retreat!"
Two men, panic-stricken, stampeded back to the drop ship. The intense gravity slowed their movements however, and a pack of Sentinel Minors and Majors quickly descended upon them. One of the men was swept off his feet and hauled high into the air by a set of steel claws. Having witnessed the terrible death of his comrade, he screamed and open fired into the flying menace. The point blank shots took out the hovering fiend, and it exploded massively in his face. The force ripped his helmet clean off his head, and he tumbled ten metres to the dusty ground. His head imploded on impact and his neck broke with a loud SNAP!
"Oh ghod, they're trying to take prisoners!" Zoord's voice shuddered with fear. "They're unaffected by the heat and the gravity! They appear to have adapted themselves to this ghodawful hellhole Wessel sent us into . . ."
The second soldier tripped and fell on top of the ramp leading into the carrier. Now that the ship was surrounded by the hovering freaks, he had nowhere else to hide. He fired wildly upon the soaring pack of Sentinels. But they did not return fire with their own weapons. Instead, one of them yanked the man's battle rifle from his hands, grasped him by the head and hauled his kicking, howling form into the heavy air. Zoord fired upon the retreating Sentinel Major, but bullets merely struck its powerful body shield, absorbing the damage. Indifferent, the Major turned in midair and carried its screaming prey back to the waiting Sentinel Hive.
Then Zoord was struck from behind, a mighty clout to his head that concussed him and knocked him senseless. His helmet camera, undamaged, blithely continued filming. A huge white armoured forearm came into view, jerked the man off the ground, lifting him into the air by his left arm.
They watched the Sentinel's propulsion unit flare as it applied its boost. Another of the Mechanoids was ahead, hauling a shrieking soldier by his collar. He'd had his arm broken, yet the flying fiend didn't seem to care about his discomfort. As they approached the gargantuan structure, its shadow cast them into a frightening darkness. Many holes in the walls of the Hive could be seen now, and dozens of tiny Constructors zoomed excitedly around.
A door yawned open, and the Sentinels transported their prey within.
A trooper was released and cast uncaringly to the floor. Instantly, he leapt to his feet and ran blindly for the entrance. He went through the doorway, brushing against Zoord – and fell into a void. His body tumbled 300 metres to the ground far below. SPLAT! Two Sentinels beat a soldier who tried to follow his comrade. They broke his arms and legs with their huge forearms. Now he couldn't go anywhere.
The door hissed shut and locked.
The hovering menaces quickly separated their captives, lest any more men commit suicide, and carried them into the vast openness below.
Zoord blearily regained consciousness. He slowly and painfully recognized the form of a gold Major hovering overhead. It appeared to be very interested in his comlink, and his helmet was wrenched off his head. As his mind cleared, he noticed with relief the air was breathable inside the Sentinel hive, and gravity and temperature was normal. He took a gulp of fresh, pure air, and the cool atmosphere stung his badly sun-burned face.
The Major easily worked out that the helmet camera was still operating. It was passed to an Ultra-Sentinel.
The Mercenary spoke.
"You are not of the Reclaimer race."
Zoord's eyes widened with surprise. He didn't know these flying robotic drones were capable of speech. The voice that came forth was softly uttered, but devoid of inflection.
"Who are the Reclaimers?"
"You use their technology, their space vessels. Yet you are not Reclaimers."
"You mean the Terraformers we took this ship from? We're human, Sentinel, we're just not from Earth."
"A human who is not born on the human home world is still a Reclaimer. You are not humans. You are an aboriginal race from an as of yet unknown galaxy. You do not belong here. Where do you come from?"
Zoord peered, confused, at the hovering white armoured fiend. "What the hell are you talking about, you dumb flying mechanical cockroach? I was born in this galaxy - I don't come from any other!"
"You aborigines stole the human vessel." The Sentinel accused, ignoring the insults. "What did you do to its Reclaimer crew?"
"We're pirates! We stole the station and killed the crew! Hell, they were easy to overpower. They were nothing but a bunch of Terraformers-turned-pirates. We understand human technology better than Covenant. What's it to you anyhow, you goddamn one-eyed freakazoid?"
"You are also responsible for the slaughter of Terraforming Reclaimers on settlement worlds?" The Sentinel queried in its monotone voice. "So you could steal their habitats and live in them?"
"That's what pirates do, dumbass machine."
"You then choose to steal from us. You wilfully take one of our own, and you attempt to thieve dysonasphere." The Sentinel's scintillating gaze speared the soldier right through his eye sockets. "You will not be leaving this planet alive."
"But we ARE human! Just because the goddamn UNSC calls us Reapers, it doesn't make us any less human than them!"
"You are a race of humanoids rightfully called 'Reapers' by this UNSC. You did not evolve in this galaxy. We do not see any racial comparisons. Your white skin, pointed teeth and ears and orange eyes are not 'human'."
Zoord's protesting form was yanked off the floor and dragged to a waiting grav lift.
Gerome pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced nervously at his shipmates. He was a real human, the only one allowed to live because of his knowledge of Sentinels. The white-skinned pirate crewmen turned in their seats to stare at the man. Wessel stood up, grinding his pointed teeth. Reapers were a vampiric race of blood suckers, and his orange gaze stared right through the human Science officer.
"I'd have thought, Gerome that witnessing your human companions having the blood drained from their bodies would be enough to deter any thoughts of mutiny. It seems that is not to be."
"You still need my help!" Gerome swallowed. "If you kill me, you'll be completely at their mercy."
"You told me my troopers would successfully acquire this dysonasphere with minimal disruption to my side. Instead, it's resulted in failure, the deaths of all my best shock troopers and now these Sentinels are on to us."
"I didn't know they would react that aggressively to your presence," Gerome babbled. "My crew were pirates too, and we could get dysonasphere without much trouble. We just didn't fight every Sentinel that flew our way."
"Oh, and because you pirates were 'Reclaimers' you could get away with thieving dysonasphere from these Sentinel cockroach vermin?" Wessel seemed to read every thought in Gerome's troubled and sweaty mind. "Why didn't you tell me the damn roaches would attack non 'Reclaimer' species, Gerome?"
"Ehm . . . because you Reapers look like humans . . . ?"
"Don't get coy with me, human." Wessel snarled.
"Sir, I thought the Sentinels would make a visual comparison only, if it looks like a human, then it must be a human," Gerome explained himself quickly. "I guess you can't 'pull the wool over their eyes' that easily. Heh." He trembled in his seat. His excuse sounded exceptionally weak.
Wessel yanked him out of his chair. He was much taller than a man, and twice as strong, and Gerome hung in the air by the front of his shirt.
The Captain scrutinised him hungrily. His pointed tongue licked over his mouthful of sharp canines. He stuck his face close to Gerome's, sniffing deeply of his human aroma.
"I prefer to suck the blood out of male humans, they've got meatier blood." He admitted nastily.
"I – I have a blood condition," Gerome babbled. "My blood's weak."
"Yes, I can smell that," was his reply.
Gerome was thrown back into his chair again.
Before he could speak to save what little ass he had left, the screens flickered to life. The Carnal had just received an update from Hive Control.
OVERSEER
The Forerunner device reconnected to the Licentious' systems, and sent forth new images for the entertainment of her crew.
They watched the captured soldiers being subjected to an intensive medical examination. They were autopsied on while fully conscious and the Sentinel surgeons quickly discovered they were a race of vampire-like blood suckers. Analysis of the blood still in their stomachs indicated the fluid was of Reclaimer origin. Internal organs were deftly removed with surgical precision and every gory detail carefully recorded. Skin, hair and bones were placed in vacuum jars and filed away.
It would have made a fascinating forensic study of cadavers – except said cadavers were still alive and screaming.
A sedated Lieutenant Zoord had his brain scanned by two Sentinel Mercenaries while his head was scalped and Forerunner hieroglyphs revolved around his exposed cranium. The two Mercenaries moved aside while their leader hovered into their place.
It had the same shape as a Sentinel, except for its enormous size and black armour engraved with red hieroglyphs. The red-hued visual sensor focused on Zoord's exposed lumpy brain pan, and the massively-built creature casually scanned his mind. The glimmering from its Cyclopian eye cooked the sensitive tissue of his naked meninges and despite being drugged, he still whimpered in pain.
Wessel's mouth twitched with barely controlled rage.
"What class of Sentinel is that, Gerome?" he asked dangerously.
"I – I don't know, captain. I've never seen a Sentinel like that before. It must do the same job as a Monitor when no Monitor is present."
The enormous Sentinel obtained the data it seeked. Its gigantic sabre-talons, nearly a metre long, swept up and passed across Zoord's exposed brain case. Two slices of his brain were deftly removed and transported swiftly to something that resembled a frying pan . . . and they hissed, sizzled and cooked quickly like rashes of bacon.
The huge black armoured Sentinel commander speared a sautéed piece of brain from the frying pan with the tip of a razor talon.
"You are our Guest." It uttered in a rumbling voice, the huge skull dipping forward while it nodded to Zoord. "Please accept our hospitality. Eat."
The piece of fried brain dangled in front of Zoord's nose.
His vacant gaze focused dreamily on the rash of sizzling white meat. The enormous claw goaded forward, and Zoord leaned toward it.
He bit into his own fried brain and chewed.
"Oh, ghod, I think I'm gonna hurl," Durc groaned.
The gigantic Sentinel Overseer turned its visual sensor to the helmet camera sitting on the console.
"I request the audience of a Captain Wessel." It said pleasantly into the camera. "He will receive as much, if not more - hospitality than I have given this soldier. I am certain he will accept my request without preamble. He will be honoured to receive the utmost hospitality from mere Sentinel cockroach vermin. Please, you will be my Guest, Captain Wessel."
Wessel felt his bowels suddenly go loose and hot. If that was the level of 'hospitality' these Sentinels went to, what would they do to him?
"I await your answer with much anticipation, Captain Wessel." The optical sensor filled the camera. "If you wish to take dysonasphere without asking a mere 'dumb flying mechanical cockroach', then we can only offer you our deepest regrets. Please, Captain, be hasty!"
"Nunook, call your remaining troops," Wessel commanded, turning to his chief security officer. "We'll fight the bastard things when they board. Thurn, close the shields over all the view ports. Seal all sections of the station where they'll get in. The damn flying filth won't be taking me anywhere near that nest of theirs!"
"Yes sir," the first officer waved his hand at a group of frightened ensigns. "Sir, what about the breached docking bay?"
"Nunook will station the majority of his men around that section. Communications, tell Engineering to apply all power to the thrusters. We'll break atmospheric orbit and head up into space."
"They can follow us up, captain," Gerome warned. "The emptiness of space has no effect on them. They're also adapted for vacuum."
"Is there anything they aren't already adapted to??!" Wessel bellowed.
"Not a lot. That's their greatest strength, sir - their adaptability."
The Sentinel leader's visual sensor watched the activity, although it could not hear or see the mad activity aboard the Licentious.
It spoke through the Carnal.
"Your ship retreats, Captain Wessel. How disappointed am I that you chose not to accept my hospitality!" The gleaming Cyclops eye made a side to side motion, like the shaking of a head. Zoord was visible again, gnawing on his fourth piece of fried, sautéed brain.
"See the hospitality we show to those who do not ask!" The Sentinel leader droned in its monotone voice that oozed with fearsome malice. "Should you decide to flee, captain . . . we cannot go against protocols and allow you to take what does not belong to you."
Wessel ignored the warning.
"Switch that damn comlink off," he snarled.
Comms did as he was told.
"Sir, it won't turn off."
"I won't ask you again, ensign. I will not sit here and watch that man finish eating the rest of his own brain! Now switch it off!"
The officer thumbed his console several times. "Sir, the Carnal's taken over communications. I think they can hear everything being said on the bridge as we speak. They must know what we're up to!"
"Damn them!" Wessel slammed his fist on his console. "Damn those miserable, robot cockroaches!" He levelled an evil gaze at the human science officer. "I'll deal personally with you when we've ridden ourselves of these pests."
Gerome wiped the sweat off his brow. His readouts showed alien activity across the station's vast, unattractive hull. Gunners tried unsuccessfully to bring down the mechanical vultures, but they were too small for the big cannons to target. Already Sentinels were swarming over the hull, looking for easy ways to get in.
"Like maggots on a fly-blown carcase," Wessel muttered.
On several screens at the security station, the sound of gunfire issued forth. Klaxons blared. The avian predators had already breached the ship. Video images showed soldiers firing upon advancing Sentinels. Gunfire and Sentinel beams crisscrossed.
Nunook's voice was filled with static. "Our weapons hardly slow them down!" he yelled. "Bullets just bounce off their shields and when we do penetrate a shield, we hit armour!" His pistol could be heard firing as he plugged one shot after another into a Sentinel Major's head as it swooped viciously on him, claws extended. "It takes an entire clip just to bring down a single one of them!"
He uttered a scream, his gun went flying and he was lynched by four Sentinels at once.
As before, they could only watch as Nunook's forces were overwhelmed by stronger Sentinel invaders. Several bulkheads were ripped open and poisonous atmosphere swept through the ship, killing anyone not wearing an environmental suit.
Enforcers tore apart the Licentious' cannon emplacements. Pieces of the station fell away into the heavy atmosphere of Planet P.
A dull boom issued from behind the locked bridge blast doors.
"They're right outside the doors!" Durc gasped, springing out of his seat.
"Ready my escape craft," Wessel sighed as Thurn stood up from his console. "We'll have to abandon ship. But I won't be going down with this ship."
The bridge crew vacated their stations, following the captain as he marched into his office. He touched keys on a security pad, and a hidden door panel yawned open in the featureless wall behind his desk. He armed himself with his magnum, grabbed a few more clips for good luck, and shoved Gerome into the gaping black hole first. "Get moving." He told the human. "If there are Sentinels in there, you'll be the first one to get decapitated by those beam weapons of theirs."
He turned to the bridge crew waiting nervously around his desk.
"There is only enough room on my lifeboat for a dozen men," Wessel said with a smile. "And there are fourteen of you lot."
He calmly raised his gun and shot Durc in the forehead, a hollow point through the cranium.
"Little whiner," the Captain sneered, showing his teeth in a truly repulsive grin. "I can do without his constant bleating."
They stepped back in shock, watching Durc oozing slowly down the wall and puddling on the floor in a dead heap. But they followed their captain into the open door, too frightened to argue the point with him. Their progress was hastened when a loud explosion blew open the bridge blast doors. Sentinels surged into the command centre, visual sensors scanning coldly for enemy retaliation. When none came, white armoured Sentinel Mercenaries quickly and efficiently took over the bridge crew duties. Majors and Minors hunted for their elusive prey. Durc's corpse was soon discovered, and Sentinels communicated with each other telepathically over the reason for his body lying dumped in the captain's office like dead offal. They explored every part of the room in detail, searching for the hidden door Wessel had used as an escape route. 30 seconds later, it was found and forced open.
THE CAPTAIN'S LAST STAND
The journey to the lifeboat bay was merely a few minutes, hidden inside the walls between bulkhead and main hull. Wessel was able to peer through small holes in the wall at various points and spot Sentinels floating on the other side – a true voyeuristic way to spy on his crew. Gerome, who was in the lead, put his eye to a small hole hardly larger than his iris. He received quite a shock when he saw a Sentinel's visual sensor focus on him through the same hole. He leapt back in fright and thudded against the wall.
"Crist! They know we're here!" His sneaking progress quickly became a pounding stomp for the exit.
Wessel hauled him up short.
"You're not going anywhere unless I give you explicit orders," he hissed.
Thurn struggled to see in the gloom. His orange eyes were not accustomed to seeing in near darkness. But then he spotted a darker shadow, the low humming of its propulsion unit hardly louder than his breaths. As he identified the hovering menace, the gleaming visual sensor brightened in response. The thorax opened, beam weapon dropping to firing position.
"Sentinels! Behind us!" Thurn yelled the warning. He open fired with his battle rifle.
Pandemonium broke out. The resulting gunfire was deafening in the confined space. Men shrieked and broke into a stampeding run for their lives. Gerome was knocked off his feet and trampled underfoot. Wessel roared orders at his crew, but was ignored in the chaos. Sentinel beams hissed, cutting down men in mid-run. Wessel blasted the approaching blade-like silhouettes with his magnum, blowing off an arm, a head, another arm . . . and still they kept coming. Sentinels on the main corridor side of the wall followed in their wake calmly, their prey had to come out of the hidden tunnel eventually.
Wessel trod on a body, tripped and fell heavily to the deck. Only Thurn remained between him and slow painful death. The first officer kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. Even after taking down two Sentinels he was seized by a third and battered against the wall. He beat the Sentinel with his gun and its stock snapped in half. Then the Sentinel's claws seized him by the neck and forced him into a headlock. He uttered a strangled yell.
A loud crack and a sharp gasp of breath told Wessel his second in command had just met his cruel demise. Thurn's body slumped to the floor beneath the Sentinel, his head still held in its grip. The Sentinel Mercenary unfolded its arm, and Thurn's corpse was flung uncaringly against the wall. It saw Wessel cowering on the floor beside an inert human body. It uttered an electronic warning call, and was met by several more Sentinels.
They surged forward as a single mass, their armoured bodies scraping along the walls and ceiling. Wessel's bowels threatened to let go. All he could see were gleaming Cyclopean visual sensors – and huge arms groping for him. They wanted him alive, and they would get him.
His survival instincts took over. He struggled to his feet. Suddenly a human hand clenched manically around his ankle.
"Gerome!"
He fell again, hitting the floor.
"Let go of me, you low life – mutinous – toad – "
In a panic, he savagely kicked the spectacled man, breaking his glasses, his teeth and his nose.
Human blood sprayed.
Under normal circumstances, the coppery aroma would've sent him and his men into a feeding frenzy. Now, it only nauseated him.
He was still kicking Gerome when the Sentinel Mercenary hovered silently overhead and slammed its huge forearm into the middle of his lower back. The impact crushed several lumbar vertebrae, severing his spinal column. Wessel overbalanced and flopped to the floor, mouth agape, eyes and tongue bugging out of his face. He had never experienced such mind-numbing agony in his life. The excruciating pain momentarily froze his functions, and when he finally regained his senses, he found he no longer had control over his legs.
Still determined to escape, Wessel ignored the awful pain, struggled up onto his elbows and began crawling.
The white armoured Ultra-Sentinel watched his progress while it hovered overhead, seemingly enjoying his desperate plight. Then its pincer-like claws seized him by the collar of his uniform and he was wrenched off the floor.
Wessel heard a long, gurgling hiss of satisfaction.
The gleaming golden orb focused coldly on his face.
His absolute terror meant he could not control his bodily motions. He urinated copiously into his smartly pressed trousers.
Wessel stared pleadingly at the Sentinel, his face frozen with dread.
"Please, Captain Wessel, do not look so fearful!" the Sentinel Mercenary implored in a softly uttered, but menacing, tone. "We flying mechanical cockroaches must offer you our hospitality. You will be our most honoured Guest."
THE END....
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