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Lore, Fan Media & Fiction / Prologue of THE FANG OF THE TIGER
« on: November 27, 2015, 07:13:52 PM »
Few words: I stopped writing novels a long time ago. I like what I wrote, but I knew it has many flaws, I'm his dad, I'm blind to them... somehow. So show no refrain.... side note: I'm not a native english speaker, so feel free to correct my grammar or logic, I need to improve that too.
The Fang of the Tiger
Prologue.
RUN, dammit, run.
The steel under his foots banged at each furious step. This walkway was one of the longest in the whole complex, one spiraling metal staircase, welded to the lowermost of the industrial districts. Sure it felt long enough to his tired legs. He had to stop, catch some breath.
Cold air filled his lungs, only a few meters of metal and machinery stood between him and the chilling emptiness of the void. The Life support inertia system finally failed, just the day before.
Run for the love of every god in this forsaken sector. For the love of your damn life.
And the old man kept running with all his strength, he knew that he had too... the Luds, the Luddic bastards where finally inside.
They descended upon the city hiding in the shadow of the Samarra Derelict. Their fleet pinged on their monitors too late, they could not react, could not warm anyone. He was there in, the control tower, when they filled the coms with a wave of menacing screams of divine punishment ***. Few second later, all screens displayed static, few consoles released a puff of smoke, while most of the lights went off in a burst of sparks.
Tigra City went black... for the first time in decades, Tigra City went silent.
At first, no one knew what to do. The old man lighted his torch and tapped on the keyboard, no response. He tried to activate the backup power sub systems, to no avail. Many of his colleagues and friends, stood motionless for few seconds, looking at each other. Eventually someone figured that they had just overloaded, pretty badly.
Few called for a sabotage of the generators, but they concluded it was as surreal as an alien invasion. Like all the of the core systems of the station, they were protected behind many tick steel curtains, surrounded on all angles by the marine citadel, Tigra personal army and security force base of operation. And yet the debate went on, until one little truth finally came back to them: they were under attack, and they had no comms, no reports, no power. They were under attack by the Luds and actually had no idea was what even happening outside.
---
The old ex-mining-complex-now-sprawling-economic-hub was of venerable Domain design, which often sported many redundant fail safe systems to cover for most if not any plausible crisis. Power outages being one of them, all of the station hangars hermetically shut down thanks to their powerful magnetic levers, while all its sealed passageways and blast doors switched to manual operating protocols.
With little effort, the old man was able to escape the control room, followed by few of his co workers. Torch in hand, he gave the surrounding halls a quick look, and realised the situation was dire indeed.
He could hear lamentations and calls for help coming from anywhere. Few bodies and debris were already littering the floor, probably due to some machinery failing or other kinds of accident. And yet, somehow, they were avoiding mass hysteria. Already the more resourceful were lighting flares, calling for others to group up and calm down.
Tough people, accustomed to hardness. Looks like this will not break them.
Still, they were powerless. Common torches refusing to light up, backup generators not responding, the whole station was shut down. Deaths were bound to happen all over the station, in the thousands. Thankfully, Samarra, the red Queen, still shined its royal light thru the few windows of the communal plazas and the hangars, but that was just... very little respite from the overwhelming darkness.
Here and there, fires started to lit the corridors and large halls... some intentional, others not so much.
We need to react fast.
The old man walked in a hurry, straight to the nearest hangar, to the nearest docked ship. Its crew was already ashore, assisted by the locals, flares in hand, eyes darting all over. They looked like middle-class merchants, and this darkness proved them quite fearful.
"Tigra Authority here,” claimed the old man,” I need your Hermes for a wave link to the Samarra Relay, I have an urgent message to deliver”.
One of the merchant shaked his head and stuttered something like: ”everything is gone, our generators overloaded, Jim... Jim was melted alive... we... just escaped that trap."
Damn. It is not about our generators. Crazy luddic fuckers, they are actually using it.
---
The old man understood what was going on, well at least the basics.
When he was a senior supervisor for the Tibicena Tri-Tach military development division, he tricked a newly appointed research officer into showing him his new weapon concept: a kind of particle emitter with a dedicated ionidizer. To him, It looked just like a very high tech wielder.
When fired, it completely overloaded the circuits of all the electronics it was pointed too, without dealing any external damage. Only drawback was it excessive energy use.
"Silly weapon” He remembered saying to the scientist. ”Pirates are going to love it, no ship fleeing their scrappy slow tubs, no damage to the loot, no risk of retribution, win win”.
The youngster chuckled "No way in a million years. This marvel is at least 2 or 3 generations ahead of their comprehension, no one can replicate it or use it without our modulators, least access all the energy required to fire. TT exclusive. And, of course, it is completely useless against our shields, this will win us the sector, I promise”.
Eventually he reported his fears and thoughts to the station chief of research, which thanked him for his services and after few hours presented him over the holo comms to a shady figure. Not a day had passed, and his Tri-T profile was gone. Instead he was now accredited as substitute chief of communication on a self-governed industrial space station, months of iperspace-travel away from Tibicena. With a very rich bonus on his personal account, and not a single lose thread to the TT.
They did not want him to report his fear and doubts, or maybe their research was not agreeing to the TT terms of service and they feared further inspections. Sure thing he was happy to comply and vanish from TT space, now a rich man.
Fools. Me before them. The Luds have it now, so much for your exclusivity, pricks.
The old man started to mumble, occasionally staring at the hangar massive doors, slowly walking toward the end of the dock arm. One of his colleagues stopped by to call him, but then realised he was on one one of his voyages, and went back to his task.
Lets say it is actually that weapon, this is big station, they must have used something like a bomb loaded with those particles. No way they have a single emitter with this kind of power, and in a single blast… Maybe this was their only shot… maybe we can fight them. Once we solve this mess of course, what we have here? Every electronic s*** not behind a shield is going to be inoperable, for how long? Days? maybe we could be able to repair something with few spare parts. What if the parts are also fried?
The control room is shielded, or my torch would not be working. Good guys those Askonian solarists, such a clean work, best passive shielding money can buy. So we have some calculators there, and of course a generator is still pumping, hidden behind a shield somewhere. Our screens wont display static otherwise. Maybe some critical warehouse was shielded too? we should check there for parts. The inertia stabilisers for sure are covered, or we would be all flying in the air like idiots. How about the life support? The hell, I need to go back to the HQ and let them check these stuff.
He cooled down, and took a deep breath. Around him, people were slowly walking away from the docks, toward the dark hallways, haling each others, helping each others reach a safe place. He was alone.
Enough with the mumbling, move while you think old fool. Still more thoughts assaulted him.
What about the luddics? All rabid psychopaths but they would not dare to attack us, here, without a plan. That weapon, whatever it was, should have costed them a fortune, yet, shutting us down is totally useless, what are they going to do now?.
Firs thing, the old man knew he needed to send a message, call for help, call some one. Even the eccentric lords of Eventide. They needed a relief fleet to be assembled and sent here as fast as possible. Up in their golden thrones those pompous aristocrats would not deny their help, they need Tigra City industries to keep their economy growing. He was even ready to promise them discounts and premium services… Like that was even the issue, he still did not know how to reach them.
He had to double back to his post at the command HQ.
Moments before he could reach his office, metallic screeching and deep thunders echoed thru the hangars.
Are they firing on us? Good luck with that mongrels.
Old ordnance weapons were the last of their problems. Pre-collapse hulls were tough beasts, especially station grade. They were made to withstand direct collisions from large asteroids or the concentrated pressure and heat of a freighter loaded with volatiles and minerals impacting at full speed. Conventional security standards for Domain-era mining outposts.
He entered his office. Few screens flaring with static, torches on shelves lighting up the place. Everyone frantically reading manuals, swearing at the monitors while violently typing or having a debate about this and that.
“Guys guys, calm down,” screamed one of the young lads working around the surveillance station, "look, we just managed to activate some of the old external maintenance cameras, optics fiber connection, chromium encasement for radiation shielding, aaaaand they are not affected by this whole mess!!!! Still working.”
Everyone piled around the few security monitors.
The screens flashed few times, still affected by a lot of static, but then they finally had a live feed from outiside. The boy cycled thru few cameras till they got a glimpse of a known silhouette. He tried to find a better angle, and he finally got one close enough.
With dread they followed the TBF Vanguard XIII, one of the best Eagle Cruiser of the Tigra Bastion Fleet, drifting powerless, toward the station, ill it crashed on its external ringdocks, on its starboard, close to its frontal mounted maulers. The ring stood firm, good old Dominion infrastructure, cutting thru the amor of the valiant cruiser, collapsing one or more turrets and appendices. The momentum kept the ship moving, making it describe a slow arc around the dock.
Sparks erupted from the manoeuvring jets on its sides. Someone on the ship had managed to salvage some control over the ship systems and was trying to stabilise the cruiser course... in the control room people were already yelling, “godspeed boys.”
But they enthusiasm was cut short. In a blink, heavy ordinance poured over the nearly immobile cruiser. One hit, two hits, a third one on the bridge, one more on the main central thruster. Few seconds late a fireball engulfed the ship and soon an hail of debris rained down the station hull. Those were the same thuds and thunders he heard few minutes ago, in the halls. The sound of the Bastion Fleet being reduced to smithereens while powerlessy drifting away.
Now silent again, the group kept watching. There were more flashes, more explosions, yet it was impossible to track how many enemy ships were there. Could be few frigates, could be a whole fleet. But then one pixel became larger and larger. One ship closed in to the station till it filled the screen. They cycled cameras till they had a clear view of the newcomer. He was hoovering motionless above the ringdocks and looked like some makeshift personnel armoured transport of hegemony design, covered in Luddic mottos and symbols.
---
"One hundreds credits," shouted a deep voice behind them, "we are being boarded." Gerald, the chief officer of the station, had just arrived.
"Our hangars are closed, not a single dock working, are they going to scrape the hull off? it would take weeks with their tools, no way. I bet they are going to run away once they discover how tough this station is," one of the senior employee stated, "easiest one hundred of my life".
But Gerald stood his ground, "DUMBASS. The ringdocks are filled with pressurised accesses for safe passage of personnel, and each tunnel has at least one emergency hatch, WHICH NOW is switched to manual operating since they cut our power somehow. They do not even need to scan our whole station for them, I bet…" and then he moved forward, finally coming into view of the flaring screens. "Hell, they are already looking for them," he said pointing at the transport ship. “Tom, I believe I'm richer now".
The old man stared at the screens. He could not see them, the static was too strong. Yet he pictured those fanatics in space suits, frantically lurking around the imposing structures of the docks, searching for a single square meter of weakness under those impenetrable plates of armour.
"Who cares. We have one of the biggest marine detachment of the sector. Let them try to breach our blockades," said another of the staff, "we need just to lay low and fortify our positions".
But this time, it was the old man to raise his voice.
“First let me explain what kind of weapon they used, I once saw this thing in action,” he explained all he knew about it in few concise words, and then gave them a clear cut of his thoughts, “they come here at a very high cost, with a priceless and probably unique weapon. They committed a lot, probably most of their fuel reservers and supplies, just to hide their long voyage in deep iperspace, laying in wait near the fringe of each system for the ideal iper space coordinates, MONTHS without a single contact, months far from their home system. Sure thing they are not gambling on their hallway fighting prowess. They have a plan, they…”
“You don’t say.” Interrupted one of the crew man. But Gerald quickly stared his boldness down, allowing the old man finish his speach.
"They are not going to fight, they… are going to vent the station".
Silence hit the room, hard.
"They will open the first hatch, disable the mechanical sealing of the pressure chamber, and then they will induce the symptoms of an overload, maybe using cables from their ship, or hand held devices like the one I saw at Tibicena.. It does not matter. The station core sub-systems are still working, we know it, they probably do too. Domain tech it is known to be tough to crack. They have a Domain era station in their home system, maybe the already ran trials there." HE stopped again to take a breath. "So what happens in case of overload? We all know that, the station would start an emergency venting procedure for the overloaded segments.”
He let the idea sink deeper.
“All section doors would be mechanically unsealed to allow for a faster discharge, but with an external hatch left open and no security double checks due to the power crisis we are facing… all the air is going to be drained away."
"Luckily" the old man hastily added "Blast doors are totally independent from the venting system, so they will stop them." He paused thinking about it. “I... I think it is possible they could force them open, and be killed by the blast of air and debris each time they manage to. And I bet they f***ing do not care, they are a legion of fanatics".
That was madness, and yet they knew it was a real possibility. No, they felt that was the truth. Those madmen were going to make this station an example, a warning to everyone. The real power of the Church of Lud outshines even the superior Domain technology.
Gerald was the first to wake from the stupor. His title of Chief of Offices was well deserved.
"Men move up. Alert the marines, assist the civilians. Find every mechanic and technician of sort. We need to block and seal all the doors leading to the Upper Districts. Break the locks if necessary, melt the cogs, obstruct the guides and bend the hinges, a good hammer sometimes is enough."
Everyone darted toward the exit.
"STOP WHERE YOU ARE FOOLS!" Gerald shouted stopping everyone on their tracks, "REMEMBER! Do not spread panic. Avoid explaining too much. I believe by know the news of the attack should have spread, they would expect boarding as a logical consequence. They know we have the marines and their might to protect us. Do not shatter their confidence... , " He paused for a bit, "You two, organise relief camps on hangar 1 and 10, they are the biggest and safest, and search for Askonian trade ships, they tend to put passive shield around their cargo bays, maybe they have some equipment still in working order. Varnel take Jill and go round up physicians and other critical personnel. Mark I need you to track all the quartermasters and let them search our secure warehouses, maybe something there is salvageable. Do not spare flares, give them to the civilian, help them. You, Ed, go to the barracks, tell marine commander Hughs about this mess. Tell him that Tigra Central Control relinquishes its overseeing authority, he has esecutive power now. You all, report to me or HIM for further instructions. NOW RUN.”
And they did. As fast as they could, some scared, some positive they were going to make it, some already praying to their gods.
---
The old man did not move. In few seconds, only him and Gerald were left behind in the silent command room.
"I need the Lagrange key." Whispered the old man.
"WHAT? what do you need that for? Do you think this is the time for that?" Was Gerald angry response, and yet the old man stood calm.
"I need the transponder of its docking station, its emitters." The old man eyed the chief, he saw he was still dubious, suspicious.
"Nice try... it is all fried, gone for good, so what? are you going to..." Gerald did not manage to put his suspicions into word, cause the old man interrupted him abruptly.
"That dock is built outside the hull, the whole facility is. They needed to shield it from the Queen radiation, like those cameras or those trade ships. It could be still in working order, It should be." The man stopped few seconds to breath, and then continued.
"I will call the Hegemony Sovereign," a mixed relief fleet was not an option at this point he needed the Hawks military power, "they will send a peacekeeper fleet here, they always keep one docked on the dark side of Lumen, in case Eventide needed a reminder of its allegiance. They are one or 2 days away from our current position... maybe more accounting for our orbit speed."
Gerald finally realised the old man was serious. Tigra City was still considered an Hegemony outpost, they would gladly jump on this occasion to claim some more influence on its economy… in an heartbeat. But he knew it was a risky bet. Gerald was still sceptic.
"The Lagrange halls are in the lowest section. The elevators are not working, it is going to take hours to run there on foot. Maybe a day?"
"I know." said the old man, but Gerald continued
"you heard me, we are going to seal passageways behind you, all of them."
"I know."
"You are not going to come back from there!"
"I figured that from your first statement."
"Those madmen are going to vent the sectors you’ll pass thru, life support is going to shut itself down sector after sector, once they vent clear the middle section!”
"I wont need that, I’ll be fast enough.”
"Are you playing martyr?"
"Not in the slightest."
"..."
"I will close the blast doors behind me. I think... I think they are not going to vent the lowest sectors, at least not as their first priority. They will see that they are filled with machinery, why send acolytes to die just to suffocate some lifeless machines. Not a good morale booster for your suicide squads. So oxygen should not be a problem."
"..." Gerald silence told him he needed just one last push.
"They may be fools, but they have a clear objective. And they will soon realise you are breaking and sealing blast doors. The will concentrate their efforts where you all are barricaded, there is no better decoy. No one would even suspect I'm there, I have to try Gerald!"
"..."
Damn you Gerald, let it go.
"Worst case scenario, I'll board the Firefly and wait in suspended sleep.”
"You... you are playing on a lot of IFs. You are not even sure to reach past the sectors they are going to vent when they will breach the middle section." Gerald started giving in to the old man barrage of arguments.
“I’ll take the maintenance steel graveyard on the opposite side, it should be open now”
Gerald stared the old man with intensity. Finally without words. He was thinking about it, saw that the plan was actually sound, doable.
That 's it. I could not be more convincing than that. And I already know what are you going to say next
"I should go, I'm faster than you, younger, healthier... I could make there in time easier, man, probably Maurice is even faster, we should call him."
"No, it is not possible... if everything in these halls is in working order, theirs security measures are too... And you are not cleared to enter. No one is, at least not still on this station... The closest one is sun bathing some where on Jingala... No one is allowed inside, but me."
"F***... F*** that bi***... fine... fine!" finally Gerald admitted defeat.
With a sad grin he went for his office, sat on his chair, tapped few times on the panelled wall behind him, and one of the metal square swung open without a noise. Behind stood a relic from a forgotten era, a grey metal box, bolted to the wall. A single handle on one side and an analogical numerical dial on the other. Gerald approached the deal, and with nimble fingers turned the wheel till a laud metal clung was heard. The old box swung open revealing a strange cylinder, suspended over a little charge of military grade infernium explosive, linked by a little wire to the old safe hatch.
“Better melt it than allow someone to enter there without us noticing,” said Gerald, retrieving the cylinder from the boobytrap.
"Here, take it," he said, “go now fucker, run you damned... ," he did not manage to end the sentence. The old man was already running, torch in hand, the key safely in his pocket.
---
He cleared the office complex fast, the command room was just now repopulating with staff, security screens now constantly monitored. He ran out without a word, off toward the maintenance walkways, the metal graveyard used by smugglers and the worse to travel the station when it was still an anarchist mess, before it was sealed behind doors requiring military security clearances. A lifeless snake of steel stretching alongside the whole body of Tigra City, now finally unsealed by the black out.
The steel under his foots banged at each furious step.
The Fang of the Tiger
Prologue.
RUN, dammit, run.
The steel under his foots banged at each furious step. This walkway was one of the longest in the whole complex, one spiraling metal staircase, welded to the lowermost of the industrial districts. Sure it felt long enough to his tired legs. He had to stop, catch some breath.
Cold air filled his lungs, only a few meters of metal and machinery stood between him and the chilling emptiness of the void. The Life support inertia system finally failed, just the day before.
Run for the love of every god in this forsaken sector. For the love of your damn life.
And the old man kept running with all his strength, he knew that he had too... the Luds, the Luddic bastards where finally inside.
They descended upon the city hiding in the shadow of the Samarra Derelict. Their fleet pinged on their monitors too late, they could not react, could not warm anyone. He was there in, the control tower, when they filled the coms with a wave of menacing screams of divine punishment ***. Few second later, all screens displayed static, few consoles released a puff of smoke, while most of the lights went off in a burst of sparks.
Tigra City went black... for the first time in decades, Tigra City went silent.
At first, no one knew what to do. The old man lighted his torch and tapped on the keyboard, no response. He tried to activate the backup power sub systems, to no avail. Many of his colleagues and friends, stood motionless for few seconds, looking at each other. Eventually someone figured that they had just overloaded, pretty badly.
Few called for a sabotage of the generators, but they concluded it was as surreal as an alien invasion. Like all the of the core systems of the station, they were protected behind many tick steel curtains, surrounded on all angles by the marine citadel, Tigra personal army and security force base of operation. And yet the debate went on, until one little truth finally came back to them: they were under attack, and they had no comms, no reports, no power. They were under attack by the Luds and actually had no idea was what even happening outside.
---
The old ex-mining-complex-now-sprawling-economic-hub was of venerable Domain design, which often sported many redundant fail safe systems to cover for most if not any plausible crisis. Power outages being one of them, all of the station hangars hermetically shut down thanks to their powerful magnetic levers, while all its sealed passageways and blast doors switched to manual operating protocols.
With little effort, the old man was able to escape the control room, followed by few of his co workers. Torch in hand, he gave the surrounding halls a quick look, and realised the situation was dire indeed.
He could hear lamentations and calls for help coming from anywhere. Few bodies and debris were already littering the floor, probably due to some machinery failing or other kinds of accident. And yet, somehow, they were avoiding mass hysteria. Already the more resourceful were lighting flares, calling for others to group up and calm down.
Tough people, accustomed to hardness. Looks like this will not break them.
Still, they were powerless. Common torches refusing to light up, backup generators not responding, the whole station was shut down. Deaths were bound to happen all over the station, in the thousands. Thankfully, Samarra, the red Queen, still shined its royal light thru the few windows of the communal plazas and the hangars, but that was just... very little respite from the overwhelming darkness.
Here and there, fires started to lit the corridors and large halls... some intentional, others not so much.
We need to react fast.
The old man walked in a hurry, straight to the nearest hangar, to the nearest docked ship. Its crew was already ashore, assisted by the locals, flares in hand, eyes darting all over. They looked like middle-class merchants, and this darkness proved them quite fearful.
"Tigra Authority here,” claimed the old man,” I need your Hermes for a wave link to the Samarra Relay, I have an urgent message to deliver”.
One of the merchant shaked his head and stuttered something like: ”everything is gone, our generators overloaded, Jim... Jim was melted alive... we... just escaped that trap."
Damn. It is not about our generators. Crazy luddic fuckers, they are actually using it.
---
The old man understood what was going on, well at least the basics.
When he was a senior supervisor for the Tibicena Tri-Tach military development division, he tricked a newly appointed research officer into showing him his new weapon concept: a kind of particle emitter with a dedicated ionidizer. To him, It looked just like a very high tech wielder.
When fired, it completely overloaded the circuits of all the electronics it was pointed too, without dealing any external damage. Only drawback was it excessive energy use.
"Silly weapon” He remembered saying to the scientist. ”Pirates are going to love it, no ship fleeing their scrappy slow tubs, no damage to the loot, no risk of retribution, win win”.
The youngster chuckled "No way in a million years. This marvel is at least 2 or 3 generations ahead of their comprehension, no one can replicate it or use it without our modulators, least access all the energy required to fire. TT exclusive. And, of course, it is completely useless against our shields, this will win us the sector, I promise”.
Eventually he reported his fears and thoughts to the station chief of research, which thanked him for his services and after few hours presented him over the holo comms to a shady figure. Not a day had passed, and his Tri-T profile was gone. Instead he was now accredited as substitute chief of communication on a self-governed industrial space station, months of iperspace-travel away from Tibicena. With a very rich bonus on his personal account, and not a single lose thread to the TT.
They did not want him to report his fear and doubts, or maybe their research was not agreeing to the TT terms of service and they feared further inspections. Sure thing he was happy to comply and vanish from TT space, now a rich man.
Fools. Me before them. The Luds have it now, so much for your exclusivity, pricks.
The old man started to mumble, occasionally staring at the hangar massive doors, slowly walking toward the end of the dock arm. One of his colleagues stopped by to call him, but then realised he was on one one of his voyages, and went back to his task.
Lets say it is actually that weapon, this is big station, they must have used something like a bomb loaded with those particles. No way they have a single emitter with this kind of power, and in a single blast… Maybe this was their only shot… maybe we can fight them. Once we solve this mess of course, what we have here? Every electronic s*** not behind a shield is going to be inoperable, for how long? Days? maybe we could be able to repair something with few spare parts. What if the parts are also fried?
The control room is shielded, or my torch would not be working. Good guys those Askonian solarists, such a clean work, best passive shielding money can buy. So we have some calculators there, and of course a generator is still pumping, hidden behind a shield somewhere. Our screens wont display static otherwise. Maybe some critical warehouse was shielded too? we should check there for parts. The inertia stabilisers for sure are covered, or we would be all flying in the air like idiots. How about the life support? The hell, I need to go back to the HQ and let them check these stuff.
He cooled down, and took a deep breath. Around him, people were slowly walking away from the docks, toward the dark hallways, haling each others, helping each others reach a safe place. He was alone.
Enough with the mumbling, move while you think old fool. Still more thoughts assaulted him.
What about the luddics? All rabid psychopaths but they would not dare to attack us, here, without a plan. That weapon, whatever it was, should have costed them a fortune, yet, shutting us down is totally useless, what are they going to do now?.
Firs thing, the old man knew he needed to send a message, call for help, call some one. Even the eccentric lords of Eventide. They needed a relief fleet to be assembled and sent here as fast as possible. Up in their golden thrones those pompous aristocrats would not deny their help, they need Tigra City industries to keep their economy growing. He was even ready to promise them discounts and premium services… Like that was even the issue, he still did not know how to reach them.
He had to double back to his post at the command HQ.
Moments before he could reach his office, metallic screeching and deep thunders echoed thru the hangars.
Are they firing on us? Good luck with that mongrels.
Old ordnance weapons were the last of their problems. Pre-collapse hulls were tough beasts, especially station grade. They were made to withstand direct collisions from large asteroids or the concentrated pressure and heat of a freighter loaded with volatiles and minerals impacting at full speed. Conventional security standards for Domain-era mining outposts.
He entered his office. Few screens flaring with static, torches on shelves lighting up the place. Everyone frantically reading manuals, swearing at the monitors while violently typing or having a debate about this and that.
“Guys guys, calm down,” screamed one of the young lads working around the surveillance station, "look, we just managed to activate some of the old external maintenance cameras, optics fiber connection, chromium encasement for radiation shielding, aaaaand they are not affected by this whole mess!!!! Still working.”
Everyone piled around the few security monitors.
The screens flashed few times, still affected by a lot of static, but then they finally had a live feed from outiside. The boy cycled thru few cameras till they got a glimpse of a known silhouette. He tried to find a better angle, and he finally got one close enough.
With dread they followed the TBF Vanguard XIII, one of the best Eagle Cruiser of the Tigra Bastion Fleet, drifting powerless, toward the station, ill it crashed on its external ringdocks, on its starboard, close to its frontal mounted maulers. The ring stood firm, good old Dominion infrastructure, cutting thru the amor of the valiant cruiser, collapsing one or more turrets and appendices. The momentum kept the ship moving, making it describe a slow arc around the dock.
Sparks erupted from the manoeuvring jets on its sides. Someone on the ship had managed to salvage some control over the ship systems and was trying to stabilise the cruiser course... in the control room people were already yelling, “godspeed boys.”
But they enthusiasm was cut short. In a blink, heavy ordinance poured over the nearly immobile cruiser. One hit, two hits, a third one on the bridge, one more on the main central thruster. Few seconds late a fireball engulfed the ship and soon an hail of debris rained down the station hull. Those were the same thuds and thunders he heard few minutes ago, in the halls. The sound of the Bastion Fleet being reduced to smithereens while powerlessy drifting away.
Now silent again, the group kept watching. There were more flashes, more explosions, yet it was impossible to track how many enemy ships were there. Could be few frigates, could be a whole fleet. But then one pixel became larger and larger. One ship closed in to the station till it filled the screen. They cycled cameras till they had a clear view of the newcomer. He was hoovering motionless above the ringdocks and looked like some makeshift personnel armoured transport of hegemony design, covered in Luddic mottos and symbols.
---
"One hundreds credits," shouted a deep voice behind them, "we are being boarded." Gerald, the chief officer of the station, had just arrived.
"Our hangars are closed, not a single dock working, are they going to scrape the hull off? it would take weeks with their tools, no way. I bet they are going to run away once they discover how tough this station is," one of the senior employee stated, "easiest one hundred of my life".
But Gerald stood his ground, "DUMBASS. The ringdocks are filled with pressurised accesses for safe passage of personnel, and each tunnel has at least one emergency hatch, WHICH NOW is switched to manual operating since they cut our power somehow. They do not even need to scan our whole station for them, I bet…" and then he moved forward, finally coming into view of the flaring screens. "Hell, they are already looking for them," he said pointing at the transport ship. “Tom, I believe I'm richer now".
The old man stared at the screens. He could not see them, the static was too strong. Yet he pictured those fanatics in space suits, frantically lurking around the imposing structures of the docks, searching for a single square meter of weakness under those impenetrable plates of armour.
"Who cares. We have one of the biggest marine detachment of the sector. Let them try to breach our blockades," said another of the staff, "we need just to lay low and fortify our positions".
But this time, it was the old man to raise his voice.
“First let me explain what kind of weapon they used, I once saw this thing in action,” he explained all he knew about it in few concise words, and then gave them a clear cut of his thoughts, “they come here at a very high cost, with a priceless and probably unique weapon. They committed a lot, probably most of their fuel reservers and supplies, just to hide their long voyage in deep iperspace, laying in wait near the fringe of each system for the ideal iper space coordinates, MONTHS without a single contact, months far from their home system. Sure thing they are not gambling on their hallway fighting prowess. They have a plan, they…”
“You don’t say.” Interrupted one of the crew man. But Gerald quickly stared his boldness down, allowing the old man finish his speach.
"They are not going to fight, they… are going to vent the station".
Silence hit the room, hard.
"They will open the first hatch, disable the mechanical sealing of the pressure chamber, and then they will induce the symptoms of an overload, maybe using cables from their ship, or hand held devices like the one I saw at Tibicena.. It does not matter. The station core sub-systems are still working, we know it, they probably do too. Domain tech it is known to be tough to crack. They have a Domain era station in their home system, maybe the already ran trials there." HE stopped again to take a breath. "So what happens in case of overload? We all know that, the station would start an emergency venting procedure for the overloaded segments.”
He let the idea sink deeper.
“All section doors would be mechanically unsealed to allow for a faster discharge, but with an external hatch left open and no security double checks due to the power crisis we are facing… all the air is going to be drained away."
"Luckily" the old man hastily added "Blast doors are totally independent from the venting system, so they will stop them." He paused thinking about it. “I... I think it is possible they could force them open, and be killed by the blast of air and debris each time they manage to. And I bet they f***ing do not care, they are a legion of fanatics".
That was madness, and yet they knew it was a real possibility. No, they felt that was the truth. Those madmen were going to make this station an example, a warning to everyone. The real power of the Church of Lud outshines even the superior Domain technology.
Gerald was the first to wake from the stupor. His title of Chief of Offices was well deserved.
"Men move up. Alert the marines, assist the civilians. Find every mechanic and technician of sort. We need to block and seal all the doors leading to the Upper Districts. Break the locks if necessary, melt the cogs, obstruct the guides and bend the hinges, a good hammer sometimes is enough."
Everyone darted toward the exit.
"STOP WHERE YOU ARE FOOLS!" Gerald shouted stopping everyone on their tracks, "REMEMBER! Do not spread panic. Avoid explaining too much. I believe by know the news of the attack should have spread, they would expect boarding as a logical consequence. They know we have the marines and their might to protect us. Do not shatter their confidence... , " He paused for a bit, "You two, organise relief camps on hangar 1 and 10, they are the biggest and safest, and search for Askonian trade ships, they tend to put passive shield around their cargo bays, maybe they have some equipment still in working order. Varnel take Jill and go round up physicians and other critical personnel. Mark I need you to track all the quartermasters and let them search our secure warehouses, maybe something there is salvageable. Do not spare flares, give them to the civilian, help them. You, Ed, go to the barracks, tell marine commander Hughs about this mess. Tell him that Tigra Central Control relinquishes its overseeing authority, he has esecutive power now. You all, report to me or HIM for further instructions. NOW RUN.”
And they did. As fast as they could, some scared, some positive they were going to make it, some already praying to their gods.
---
The old man did not move. In few seconds, only him and Gerald were left behind in the silent command room.
"I need the Lagrange key." Whispered the old man.
"WHAT? what do you need that for? Do you think this is the time for that?" Was Gerald angry response, and yet the old man stood calm.
"I need the transponder of its docking station, its emitters." The old man eyed the chief, he saw he was still dubious, suspicious.
"Nice try... it is all fried, gone for good, so what? are you going to..." Gerald did not manage to put his suspicions into word, cause the old man interrupted him abruptly.
"That dock is built outside the hull, the whole facility is. They needed to shield it from the Queen radiation, like those cameras or those trade ships. It could be still in working order, It should be." The man stopped few seconds to breath, and then continued.
"I will call the Hegemony Sovereign," a mixed relief fleet was not an option at this point he needed the Hawks military power, "they will send a peacekeeper fleet here, they always keep one docked on the dark side of Lumen, in case Eventide needed a reminder of its allegiance. They are one or 2 days away from our current position... maybe more accounting for our orbit speed."
Gerald finally realised the old man was serious. Tigra City was still considered an Hegemony outpost, they would gladly jump on this occasion to claim some more influence on its economy… in an heartbeat. But he knew it was a risky bet. Gerald was still sceptic.
"The Lagrange halls are in the lowest section. The elevators are not working, it is going to take hours to run there on foot. Maybe a day?"
"I know." said the old man, but Gerald continued
"you heard me, we are going to seal passageways behind you, all of them."
"I know."
"You are not going to come back from there!"
"I figured that from your first statement."
"Those madmen are going to vent the sectors you’ll pass thru, life support is going to shut itself down sector after sector, once they vent clear the middle section!”
"I wont need that, I’ll be fast enough.”
"Are you playing martyr?"
"Not in the slightest."
"..."
"I will close the blast doors behind me. I think... I think they are not going to vent the lowest sectors, at least not as their first priority. They will see that they are filled with machinery, why send acolytes to die just to suffocate some lifeless machines. Not a good morale booster for your suicide squads. So oxygen should not be a problem."
"..." Gerald silence told him he needed just one last push.
"They may be fools, but they have a clear objective. And they will soon realise you are breaking and sealing blast doors. The will concentrate their efforts where you all are barricaded, there is no better decoy. No one would even suspect I'm there, I have to try Gerald!"
"..."
Damn you Gerald, let it go.
"Worst case scenario, I'll board the Firefly and wait in suspended sleep.”
"You... you are playing on a lot of IFs. You are not even sure to reach past the sectors they are going to vent when they will breach the middle section." Gerald started giving in to the old man barrage of arguments.
“I’ll take the maintenance steel graveyard on the opposite side, it should be open now”
Gerald stared the old man with intensity. Finally without words. He was thinking about it, saw that the plan was actually sound, doable.
That 's it. I could not be more convincing than that. And I already know what are you going to say next
"I should go, I'm faster than you, younger, healthier... I could make there in time easier, man, probably Maurice is even faster, we should call him."
"No, it is not possible... if everything in these halls is in working order, theirs security measures are too... And you are not cleared to enter. No one is, at least not still on this station... The closest one is sun bathing some where on Jingala... No one is allowed inside, but me."
"F***... F*** that bi***... fine... fine!" finally Gerald admitted defeat.
With a sad grin he went for his office, sat on his chair, tapped few times on the panelled wall behind him, and one of the metal square swung open without a noise. Behind stood a relic from a forgotten era, a grey metal box, bolted to the wall. A single handle on one side and an analogical numerical dial on the other. Gerald approached the deal, and with nimble fingers turned the wheel till a laud metal clung was heard. The old box swung open revealing a strange cylinder, suspended over a little charge of military grade infernium explosive, linked by a little wire to the old safe hatch.
“Better melt it than allow someone to enter there without us noticing,” said Gerald, retrieving the cylinder from the boobytrap.
"Here, take it," he said, “go now fucker, run you damned... ," he did not manage to end the sentence. The old man was already running, torch in hand, the key safely in his pocket.
---
He cleared the office complex fast, the command room was just now repopulating with staff, security screens now constantly monitored. He ran out without a word, off toward the maintenance walkways, the metal graveyard used by smugglers and the worse to travel the station when it was still an anarchist mess, before it was sealed behind doors requiring military security clearances. A lifeless snake of steel stretching alongside the whole body of Tigra City, now finally unsealed by the black out.
The steel under his foots banged at each furious step.
