Chapter 10: Iron Fist

The stars rolled by the office window lazily as the Pinwheel’s torus spun. Chief of Security Moralez looked up at the readout that was scrolling past on his monitor, yawning as he nursed a styrofoam cup full of dark coffee. It was gritty, and it tasted like shit, but it was all that was left in the pot. His shift was almost over, and he was eager to get back home to his girlfriend. He gave the readout another glance, then set down his coffee on his console with one of his prosthetic hands, almost spilling it as he leaned closer to make sure that he had read it correctly.

A warrant for the immediate detention of Admiral Rawling and the seizure of his assets, with an authorization of use of force. What the fuck was this? The message had come directly from an MP at Internal Investigations, it must be serious. He opened the file that listed the charges, his eyes widening as he read through it. Corruption, smuggling, murder. This was unheard of. He double-checked the source, making sure that there had been no mistakes, but all of the security codes checked out. Well, time to earn his paycheck.

Moralez rose to his feet. He was a gruff man, scars peppered his tanned skin, and three of his four limbs were robotic prosthetics. The originals had been lost in battle. He marched over to a communicator screen embedded in the wall and dialed in a number sequence. The monitor came to life, displaying the image of a smooth-skinned Borealan with orange hair who looked irritated to be woken up so late, rubbing her eyes as she yawned widely.

“What is it, Moralez? You need somethin’?”

“Raz, wake Stanley up. I need to borrow some of your recruits and some of your boyfriend’s guns.”

“We being boarded again?”

“No, there’s some kind of situation with Internal Investigations. Use of force has been authorized, and I want the best force available.”

She grinned, baring her sharp teeth.

“You got it, Robocop.”

“Attach short barrels,” Moralez barked, standing at the head of a group of six Borealans. They were wearing customary black UNN combat armor, each wielding a custom XMR rifle tailored to their exaggerated size. Their orange, tiger-striped tails and ears protruded from the Kevlar and ceramic body armor, flicking and twitching in anticipation.

“If there’s fighting, it will be in close quarters. Nobody fires until I say so. If there’s resistance, you have my permission to use any means necessary to subdue the enemy. Don’t make too much of a mess though. Remember, you have to live with those janitors.”

The aliens chuckled under their full-faced combat visors, green HUDs flaring to life through the dark glass as they activated their onboard computers. Moralez drew his XMH handgun from its leather hip holster, twirling it in his polymer fingers. It was considerably heavier than any model that an unaugmented human would be able to wield, it fired a tungsten slug that would knock a Krell on its ass at close range.

“Alright, form up. You’re my wingman Korza,” he said, tapping one of the aliens on the arm with his fist. The male recruit nodded, affixing a bayonet the size of a Bowie knife to the end of his XMR. “Alright Mad Cats, let’s get this done.”

They made their way through the open torus of the Pinwheel, a painted sky with puffy clouds patterning the high ceiling above them. The station was clogged with throngs of people, the occasional Borealan or lumbering, reptilian Krell standing head and shoulders above the Navy personnel and civilian visitors. The crowds parted to let them pass, nobody wanted to get in the way of a security team that meant business.

Moralez led them to one of the entrances to the central control hub, connected to the donut via tube-like spokes that acted as walkways. Only personnel with sufficient clearance were admitted into the hub, which was where the resident Admirals lived, along with all of the systems that ran the massive Naval base.

He flashed his security badge at the two guards who stood to either side of the massive security door, clad in their usual black armor and Navy blue uniforms. They knew who he was, of course. He was their boss, and he had a face that was hard to forget, but protocol had to be followed. They nodded their helmeted heads, moving to either side of the pressure door and scanning their key cards in a pair of readers. There was a hydraulic hiss as the two interlocking halves of the door parted, a red warning light flashing. On the other side was a long hallway, the same white color as the station’s hull material save for the blue carpet on the deck.

The group entered, their XMRs stowed in a ready position on their chests as they made their way towards the hub proper. Before them was a ninety-degree bend in the floor, curving up into what looked like a sheer wall from their perspective. The hub was directly above them relative to the torus, the spokes of the wheel from which the station got its nickname extending from the North and South faces of the ring. Because the torus simulated gravity through its spin, and the hub generated its gravity through and AG field of the kind generally used on starships, there was a point in the spoke where the two overlapped. Walking up the bend was a bit of a mindfuck, it went against your every natural instinct and you never really got used to it.

Moralez steeled himself, clenching his polymer fingers as he marched towards the bend. There was an odd sensation as the gravity changed, making his stomach drop like he had just stepped off a ledge, and then it leveled out again. The Borealans followed after him, perhaps more at ease with their stabilizing tails.

They soon reached the far end of the carpeted walkway and entered into the control hub through a similar pressure door. It was far more spartan than the often elaborately decorated torus, which was designed for extended deployments with no shore leave, featuring decorations like planters and a painted ceiling to simulate a terrestrial environment. This area looked more like a maze in the style of an office block, featureless save for the numbered doors and few token potted plants.

Another guard wearing an opaque face plate accosted them, gesturing for them to stop, his hand wandering to his hip.

“Oh. It’s you, Chief,” the guard said as he relaxed. “What brings you to the control hub?” He leaned to look past him, appraising the squad of bristling Borealans.

“MP business, I need to find Admiral Rawling. Can you point me in the right direction, Charlie?”

“Yeah, it’s just down that hall there, and to the-”

Moralez’ stomach turned like he had been flipped upside down, and he found himself floating off the floor. Charlie and the Borealans were scrambling for purchase, the artificial gravity had been deactivated.

“What the fuck!?” Charlie exclaimed, finding an emergency handhold on the ceiling. “The AG field has gone down!”

“God damn it, it’s Rawling!” Moralez snarled. “He knows we’re coming for him, he must have had one of his goons tamper with the generator.” He turned his head, watching the squad of Borealans as they hooked their dexterous tails around nearby objects or dug their claws into the padded walls. “Looks like this is a combat situation now. You’ve got your orders, subdue anyone who resists, bring Rawling in alive and relatively unharmed if possible.” He turned to Charlie, gesturing for him to take cover. “This might get hairy Charlie, we can handle this.”

Moralez unholstered his oversized handgun, turning on its battery with an electrical whir, and heard the pack of Borealans ready their weapons in turn.

“Remember, Rawling is believed to have bought out at least a few Marines and security personnel. If someone raises a weapon against you, take them down. If someone fires at you first, return fire with impunity.”

The aliens echoed a chorus of affirmations, then bounded forward on their powerful legs, gliding in the microgravity environment. They were more agile than humans in low G, using their long tails to stabilize themselves and to find purchase like monkeys. Moralez followed, pushing off the walls with his powerful prosthetic leg.

As they neared the Admiral’s office where Charlie had directed them, he heard the chatter of automatic gunfire. The Borealans leapt out of the way, taking cover behind the corner and blind-firing into the corridor. There were guards crouched behind a metal planter that was bolted to the floor, wearing UNN security armor not dissimilar from the standard variant, using it as cover to lay down suppressing fire from their XMRs. Hypersonic slugs slammed the wall behind the Borealans, puffs of insulating material exploding from the surface in a shower of foam padding. Moralez pushed off the floor to get out of the way, closing his visor as he drifted towards a nearby wall. The traitors were firing randomly, concerned only with locking down the corridor. This was dangerously close range.

“Mad Cats! Tell Rawling we need help!” Moralez heard one of them shout over the gunfire. It was deafening in these confined quarters, echoing through the cramped hallways. “They brought Mad Cats!”

These guys were wearing UNN armor, which meant that they had protection against flash or concussion bombs, and their visors would see through smoke grenades. Moralez couldn’t use frags here without blowing open a hole in the hull and blasting them all into space, never mind the collateral damage. He had an idea though, raising a polymer finger to the side of his helmet and activating the closed comms channel. Static buzzed, then leveled out as he gave the order to his team.

“Switch your visors to IR, then get ready to charge. I got a plan.”

Borealans were loyal to a fault, the pack doing as he asked without question, tapping the touch controls on the sides of their helmets to switch their mode to infrared.

“Covering fire!” Moralez shouted, pushing off the floor and into the open corridor. The Borealans unloaded in unison, hammering the far end of the hallway with a hail of automatic fire, the corrupt Marines lowering their heads in panic. Moralez exhaled, willing himself to calm down as he raised his inhumanly steady and accurate prosthetic arm. He loosed three shots in the space of a second, his limb compensating for the recoil as if there was none at all. The three light fixtures that were embedded in the ceiling exploded in a flash of glass and electricity, plunging the corridor into near pitch blackness. The Borealans charged forward like angry tigers, reacting far quicker to the change than the Marines were able to. The aliens were upon them before they could get their bearings in the gloom. One of them was speared by a bayonet, his weapon floating away from him along with tiny spheres of airborne blood as he loosed a cry of pain. A second was set upon by two of the Borealans as they rounded the planter, knocking him off-balance with their weight and tearing into the hapless Marine with their hooked claws, his Kevlar providing little more protection than paper against the powerful creatures. There was the telltale gurgle of a severed jugular and a spray of arterial blood that splattered against the white walls. The third Marine raised his XMR to fire on his assailants, but Moralez saw an opening between the shifting figures and put a round straight through his visor, snapping his head back and leaving his lifeless body floating slowly away as momentum carried it along. One of the Borealans rounded a second corner and loosed two bursts from his XMR, followed by a muffled yell of surprise that was abruptly silenced by a third burst.