* * * * *
Khalid and Jacobs keenly analyzed the ship’s damaged control reports. There seemed to be only slight degradation to the Morning Star, but assessments were still coming in. It was a miracle that both ships weren’t destroyed, and it fueled a nagging suspicion in Omar’s mind.
Jacobs, however, was not concerned with suspicions. His focus was on at seeing the final summary of the condition of his vessel.
“Commander Khalid,” the Jacobs addressed the man, “other than both ships being locked together, it appears that damage was minimal in the collision.”
“Have you dispatched any repair teams?” Omar inquired.
“They’re enroute now,” Jacobs answered.
“Good,” Khalid said with a frown and somewhat lost in thought. He then paused for a moment as he pondered the situation further. “Captain Jacobs, in the meantime, I want you to contact my ship. I want her here just in case there are any more surprises!” Omar ordered.
At those words, Damon’s face became troubled. “It sounds like you think that this was deliberately planned,” the administrator pointed out.
Khalid shot him a stern look, while his frown became more pronounced. Unexpectedly, he turned backed to Jacobs. “Call security!” his voiced was in alarm. “I want this ship placed on full alert!”
* * * * *
The security room of the Morning Star was greatly enlarged many months prior to the Martians’ bid for freedom. This was to accommodate—and conceal the almost five hundred cyborgs and security guards necessary to keep the ship under Earth-loyalist control.
The chamber, itself, was updated, altered, and supplemented with more specialized equipment, transforming the room’s functionality into a micro command and control center. It was from here that electronic sensors and eyes probed, observed, and scrutinize all activities in and around the space liner as well as within the fleet.
However, the sudden impact of the Crazy Horse quickly neutralized their effectiveness. Cables and fiber optics were cut, equipment destroyed, and data communications rendered temporarily useless. Without these critical devices of forewarning, the Morning Star now lay partially blinded—and vulnerable.
Quickly, security and repair teams were hastily rushed to where they were thought to be needed the most, emptying the command center of over half its personnel. A report of armed Martian Marines outside the ship particularly motivated them and hastened their departure. Still, over one hundred of the armed Earth sentinels remained and continued their mundane task of surveillance and security.
The displays and controls of their equipment were the most dominant lighting of the chamber. The fluctuating and subdued ceiling lamps, which gave little illumination, were only meant for the necessity of trivial interior movement.
Besides being poorly lit, however, it was also practically silent. The majority of sound came from the humming of electronic mechanisms and instruments—and this was the rule. Conversations were occasional and limited to the task at hand. For none dared to stray from their duties under the intimidating gaze of their cyborg overseer, Alpha-538. The machine-man-thing was in charged and he was swift to punish or even kill anyone not following his orders.
Alpha-538 stood over six feet tall, and was big and burly. Even without his machine parts and exoskeleton, the cyborg was incredibly strong. His massive bald cranium was supported by a thick, bull neck, which added to the weirdness of his yellow-white skin. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, which were nothing more than optic sensors. They not only gave him day and night vision, but also were capable of penetrating well beyond a person’s clothing, down to their very flesh. Unlike other cyborgs, the black uniform, which he wore, was more than interrupted by silvery machine parts and hydraulic tubes. He was sheathed in resin pads of ion-armor. This made him a walking tank.
But Alpha-538 had not become this by choice. With his lawful execution for the serial murders of over a dozen women, he had forfeited his right to be at peace. The Order had claimed his body as their property. As established by “due process”, they had re-made him as their surrogate. Neither living nor dead, he had only one sole purpose, to obey the orders of bureaucratic proxies like Damon.
As the machine-man-thing lurched down the deck, monitoring the activities of his guards, his audio acute ears detected faint noises from above, however. The cyborg stopped and turned his head upwards to listen closely.
The noises were strange; subtle echoes, some scrapping, and mysterious intermittent thuds agitated the metal and reverberated through the steel ceiling plates. The noises steadily grew and became more prominent. Even his guards began to notice, turning their heads up in unknowing curiosity. Yet, it only continued for about a minute more—and then all became hushed.
Alpha-538 scanned the ceiling, but dense steel refused to be pierced by his gaze. However, the human part of him sensed something that made him wary. And for the first time in his altered memory, apprehension tempered his mind.
“BBBOOOOOMMM!” came a half dozen simultaneous and deafening explosions. Their brilliant white flashes bathed the room in blinding light and waves of scorching heat. The ceiling then buckled and disintegrated into small murderous pieces. Hurled like javelins, they speared, sliced, and gouged anything in their path. Guards directly beneath exploding charges were either crushed by debris or torn to shreds. The shrill of death screams and the horrific smell of burning flesh accompanied their demise.
Next, a barrage of plasma rifles raked the interior as silhouetted figures slid down ropes like a swarm of attacking spiders. In their finest tradition, the Martian Marines stormed aboard the enemy held vessel with one goal: to take the ship back.
The fight automatically became hand-to-hand as rifle butts clubbed, bayonets stabbed, pistols shot, fists punched, and feet kicked. The shrieks and yells of carnage overflowed the interior while blood flowed like a river.
The fight became particularly savage around the ship’s main computer terminal. Here the marines fought with unbelievable skill, ferocity, and determination to possess the equipment. Lead by Captain Benson, the marines quickly seized control of the blood stained computer and locked down the ship in short order. But this did not go unnoticed.
“SECURITY! SECRUITY!” bellowed Jacobs voice over an intercom. “WHAT WERE THOSE EXPLOSIONS? WHAT’S GOING ON! ALL THE HATCHES ARE JAMMED!” the frightened officer demanded to know.
His transmission was cut short, however, as Sergeant Gagarin shot out the communication console. The intercom burst into flames with a puff of blue smoke as several plasma bolts struck it.
Without warning, however, Gagarin found his rifle sheared in half as an enormous hand chopped right through it. The marine sergeant hastily spun around in the direction of the great hand and came face-to-face with Cyborg Alpha-538. The human-machine’s glowing red eyes were filled with the impiety of murder.
Immediately, Gagarin swung his left hand that still held the barrel of his destroyed rifle, and punched the cyborg on the right side of his face. But the hard blow only jerked the cyborg’s head slightly. As Alpha-538 moved his head back to center, he grinned malevolently.
The huge cyborg grabbed Gagarin by his uniform and web belt and picked the marine up over his head. The machine-man then threw the sergeant against the console he had just shot up. The marine slammed hard into equipment with a crash. Although the impact was tremendous, the marine’s life was spared by the cushioning effect of his high-tech elastomeric uniform. Upon sensing a high velocity increase as well as a possible brunt crash, its molecules stiffened before impact to allow the physical shock to be spread over a large area of the camouflage fatigues, avoiding terminal injury. However, Gagarin still lay helpless, stunned, and in pain.
Alpha-538 lumbered forward towards Gagarin with the intent of crushing the marine’s head. But as he drew closer, a blur from the ceiling, which became the souls of a pair of moccasin boots, struck the cyborg solidly in the fa
ce. Alpha-538 lurched backwards and fell to the ground on his butt with blood running from his broken nose.
Swiftly recovering from his daze, the cyborg looked up to see a figure in a blue Martian mariner’s uniform taking on four of his loyalist guards. It was an unimaginable sight.
Although average in size, the muscular man struck with the lighting speed of a snake. He ducked and rolled into a cyborg that had just tried to kill him with an ion pistol. The weapon’s stray energy bolt blasted another cyborg that was entering the fray. The machine died immediately as the mariner whirled upward directly in front of his first attacker.
Suddenly, a flash of steel came across machine-man’s throat from the blue uniformed warrior’s mighty right hand in a reverse stroke. Almost at the same time, the warrior’s foot arched around in a spinning wheel kick. The mariner’s boot heel crushed the temple of a third assailant, and the two cyborgs crumpled into the floor dead.
Yet, the warrior was not finished. As his leg dropped from the kick, he hurled what was in his right hand at a human security guard some fifteen feet away. It caught the man in the lower chest, and the man slumped over and died. Alpha-538 spied the handle of what appeared to be an ancient knife sticking out of him.
Against Major Franks’ insistence, Wakinyan entered the battle. The Lakota warrior was not about to standby and let his marines fight and die alone. He was their leader—and he lead by example.
Wakinyan swiftly retrieved his knife from the man he had just killed, pulling it from the body. The weapon was barely out when he felt his left wrist grabbed in a vise-like squeeze. Instinctively, his left hand reversed the hold to break the grip, but surprisingly, the hand that held him did not let go.
Wakinyan quickly flipped the knife in his hand as he raised it above his head and turned to meet the new threat. Without really grasping who was holding him, the Lakota brought the blade down to stab the arm that held him. Alpha-538 howled as the knife penetrated the machine parts of his arm and into his very flesh. The machine-man-thing paused gazing at his wounded arm that seeped blood mixed with hydraulic fluid from the knife that was impaled into it.
Wakinyan, however, did not cease his attack. Reaching over his trapped hand, he grasped the cyborg’s weakened and wounded forearm. The Martian officer jumped into the cyborg’s chest with both feet and then rolled his own body backwards. Alpha-538 was jerked off the deck and hurled forward through the air in a summersault as Wakinyan pushed off with both his legs. The machine’s body crashed against an instrument panel, which blew-up from the impact.
As Wakinyan pulled out his electron pistol and began killing more Earth loyalist guards, Alpha-538 stumbled to his feet shaking off the effects of the throw. His mouth contorted into a toothy snarl at Wakinyan, who was taking on enemies in every direction. Under the spell of a terrible rage, the cyborg ripped the knife out of his own arm with a roar and heaved it with all the strength he had at the blue uniformed warrior. But the yell alerted Wakinyan who saw the attack through the corner of his eye.
Throwing himself backwards to the ground in a hard twist, Wakinyan just barely managed to dodge the speeding blade of his own knife. The edged weapon, however, continued past the warrior, flipping end-over-end. Finally the handle ricocheted off of a piece of equipment and landed near the recovering Sergeant Gagarin.
Yet in his haste to avoid the weapon, Wakinyan struck the floor violently. The jolt was enough for him to lose the grip on his pistol, which spun away from him into the darkness of the room’s floor.
Wakinyan quickly jumped to his feet and glanced about for either of his lost weapons. All he saw, however, was the huge cyborg advancing menacing towards him.
Not waiting a precious instant, the Martian officer lunged with a stepping sidekick that flew with incredible swiftness and power. His boot caught the cyborg just below the chest, forcing him back a step, but the kick did little else.
With his prey now in range, Alpha-538 threw a hook punch at Wakinyan’s head. The Lakota warrior, however, easily ducked and bobbed out of the path of the machine-man-thing’s fist. Wakinyan then punched furiously away at the cyborg’s ribs with his own knuckles. The metal parts of the cyborg’s body stung and reddened Wakinyan’s own hands in the attack, however, while only slightly denting the machine’s armor in wasted effort.
Suddenly, Alpha-538 backhanded Wakinyan across the face in a surprise response. Wakinyan was driven to the floor in pain as some blood sprayed from his parted lips. As Wakinyan lay unmoving on the deck of the ship, the big cyborg slowly raised a leg to stomp him.
Without warning, the ball of Wakinyan’s right foot shot upwards, striking the machine-man-thing directly between its legs. The unexpected blow and stabbing pain between his legs made the cyborg’s eyes widen and wince. The Alpha-538 grounded his teeth to the swelling agony, as he hunched over and gripped his groin with both hands.
Wakinyan stood up slowly. He then grabbed the machine by the back of its neck in an iron grip and stared coldly into its optic sensors.
“Your sorry ass is mine, machine!” Wakinyan threatened. His eyes glared unblinking in a hypnotic hateful stare while a snarl curled his lips. “I’m going to beat you into dust!”
It was more than the machine could understand or possibly imagine. The powerful human he faced was fanatically fearless, the cyborg realized. A cowering panic shook Alpha-538, while confusion flooded his mind. By the look in Wakinyan’s eyes, the machine firmly believed that Wakinyan would do just what he had promised.
Wakinyan’s fists began to batter against the cyborg’s face with jabs and hook punches that struck like lightning and with awe-inspiring uncontainable force. Alpha-538 swayed and staggered backwards as the Lakota warrior relentlessly pummeled his head and face with sundering blows. The machine-man-thing tried to block the punches, but to no avail. They crashed through the cyborg’s flaying arms with devastating ease. For the cyborg, Wakinyan became a juggernaut of punishment and pain.
In a little over a minute, Alpha-538’s face rapidly was a mess of blood, bruises, and broken bones while an electronic eye hung partially out severely damaged. He staggered backwards in a dazed motion as punch after punched rained upon him. Still, he fought as best he could. As he tried to retreat from Lakota warrior, he stumbled and dropped to the floor.
With swollen eye muscles that were closed tightly around his optic implants, the machine still was able to glimpse an ion pistol on the deck not too far away. In an act of sheer desperation, the cyborg hurdled himself at the weapon with the intention of using it. As he grabbed it, the cyborg rose in a kneeing position and began to wildly fire at his persecutor, but the Martian officer jumped upon the cyborg and fought the machine for the weapon on the floor.
The two grappled on the deck and struggled viciously for control of the pistol. Although the cyborg held greater strength, Wakinyan swiftly neutralized much of it by tearing out many of the machine’s hydraulic hose lines and wires. Wakinyan then pulled its wounded arm straight and taught, and with a powerful palm strike to the joint, broke the machine’s elbow. Yet even with such damage and injury, Alpha-538 was still as dangerous as any cornered animal.
With its only good arm, the cyborg elbowed the Martian officer in the face, followed by a glancing blow to Wakinyan’s upper back. The Lakota warrior was stunned for a moment, but it was enough time for the cyborg to roll quickly away.
The cyborg hastily stood up and aimed the electron handgun at Wakinyan’s head. He was determined to kill the formidable Martian officer immediately.
As Wakinyan looked up at Alpha-538, the cyborg suddenly jerked twice, becoming motionless, while his mouth split open wide. The cyborg’s good arm then dropped slowly to his side, releasing the pistol from his hand. In a metallic clang, it bounced and slid away on the floor plates of the deck. Even with the battle raging around him, Alpha-538 stood limply silent. As Wakinyan continued to gaze at the machine-man, his head unexpectedly rolled backwards
as his body let go of life for a second time. With a great thud, the cyborg fell over like a chopped tree.
Wakinyan was bewildered for a second, as he gawked at the dead machine. However, the glint of steel brought his mind to refocus on a man standing just behind where the machine-man-thing had been poised to kill him. It was Sergeant Gagarin.
“Sorry for the interruption, Commander, but I thought you like your blade back,” the marine beamed a smile, holding the blood and oil covered edged weapon that had just been used to stab Alpha-538.
* * * * *
A few minutes later, the conflict was over. The security room was burned out, shot up, and strewed with bodies. However, the majority of those killed were Earthers. The compartment now rested firmly in Martian Marine hands.
Wakinyan slowly and deliberately strolled through room, taking in every little detail of the bloodshed into his mind. Sadness tugged at his heart as he counted all the Martian Marine lives that were spent in the assault.
“It could have been a lot worse,” Major Franks consoled, seemingly knowing what was in Wakinyan’s thoughts. “If Benson’s team hadn’t lock down the ship from that computer terminal, we’ve would been fighting more of them.”
“It was a good idea, Major,” Richard praised. “I’m really glad he thought of it.”
“Speak of the devil,” Major Franks grinned as he caught sight of Captain Benson approaching.
The captain was quick in his strides and presented himself to his two superiors with a sharp salute.
“Sir, the area is secure,” Benson reported. “We’ve freed all of the Mariner’s crewmen, but they all were beaten up pretty badly and need medical attention.”
“And Commander Paladin?” Wakinyan asked.
“According to his security officer, they’re holding him on the bridge, Sir!”