TWO WORLDS REPUBLIC SHIP ‘Hound’ BRIDGE
/ / SO8_v-korb · Somari Eight / /
“Emergency,” the cold, calm baritone of the digitized computer announced, pulling Volm from his unconscious stupor. “Emergency.”
Volm gasped as his brain caught up to the burning breath that tore flames in his triple lungs. “Emergency.” The computerized voice droned on. Grabbing for the mask near him, Volm slipped it over his head. The first suck of air was blended with the acidic environment surrounding him, but within a second, fresh, clean nitrogen-enriched oxygen poured into his lungs.
“Report!” Volm shouted, causing his lungs to erupt in pain, reducing him back to a coughing fit. Pulling the mask away, Volm spat a wad of phlegm onto the deck.
Whisps of dark black smoke worked around the housing of the command central console, near where he lay. Somewhere below the horizontal screen, there must be a smouldering electrical fire.
“Green?” Volm called, fighting the urge to cough, but trying to call loud enough to be heard through the mask. “Green, are you still with me? Alkora?”
Volm tried to reach out with his lattice, trying to sense his friend — his second-in-command. A flash of panic washed over him as the intense emotions crashed into him. His already battered subconscious was now little more than a breaker against the psychic waves.
Amongst the music of death, he felt Alkora.
The anguish and violent pain came crushing onto Volm as he felt the life slipping from his friend. He could feel the gaping wound as the life-giving blood poured from him.
“ALKORA!” Volm shouted, turning onto his side.
A new sense of pain shot like a bolt of lightning up Volm. Starting in his left arm and spiking straight into his pain receptors in his brain, Volm looked down.
His hand was next to his elbow, in a complete compound fracture of his radius and ulna. Even with the supplemental oxygen mix, Volm’s breath evaporated and his vision narrowed.
A dark red hand reached into Volm’s narrowing view. The ugly, scrunched Belliundrian eyes and nose flashed into Volm’s vision. He always had to fight the innate anger towards Belliundrians, but at least this time, he recognized his crewman. “Kritzberg,” Volm whispered, unsure if he could hear him through the mask.
Kritzberg slowly touched Volm’s chest, holding his hand over the commodore’s heart. “Commodore,” he said, his voice searching for a response. “Everything’s out, we’re dead in the void.”
“What–” Volm started, then held his breath, covering a cough. “-hit us?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like that,” Kritzberg replied, as he surveyed the bridge, crimson read alerts covered almost every screen.
System errors and lists of inoperable systems suddenly faded into the background as Kritzberg noticed a glossy haze forming near the rear of the bridge.
“Commodore,” he said, looking for a medical triage unit. “Gas.”
Volm let the word work itself over in his head. He understood the meaning and the threat it posed, but the shock had started to take hold of his consciousness.
As if being grabbed and pulled apart by the Giants of Bahnmen, Volm’s eyes shot open. He sat up as the panic and fear overtook his lattice – Kritzberg’s panic and fear.
Volm’s lifeless arm fell to the deck, tearing the remaining flesh that had been hanging on. “AAAARRRUUGH!” Volm spat as he screamed into the mask.
Unaware that his fear was tormenting Volm, Kritzberg jumped back. Recovering his sense of duty quickly, he moved to Volm’s side to steady him. “Commodore, your arm!”
“Leave it,” Volm bit back bitterly. He hadn’t intended to harass the young man so violently, but he was carrying Kritzberg’s pain, his own physical pain, and the mental anguish of losing his best friend.
Volm couldn’t take much more.
TWO WORLDS REPUBLIC SHIP ‘Hound’ EMBARKATION CHAMBER
COMMONWEALTH DESTROYER ‘Antler’ EMBARKATION CHAMBER
/ / SO8_v-korb · Somari Eight / /
“Spike the door, prep for breach.” Lieutenant Sergeant Goddard, of the Rhyno Commonwealth Marines, barked at the breach team.
The Antler had closed with the Rebel destroyer and locked on a boarding tube. The access codes for the airlock had been changed, which didn’t surprise Goddard at all.
“Comp Dub-you set, sir.” His Second Sergeant, Salome, replied as she took a step back from the airlock seal. “We have positive pressure on our end for breach.”
Goddard flexed his jaw, triggering the communication link in his blast helmet. “Breach on your go Secen’d,” he said, passing the move authority to Second Sergeant Salome. Goddard lost his last team boarding a Rew battleship, and had worked hard getting this group of green recruits trained in boarding actions during the previous six months.
The sixteen-strong fireteam lined up, placing their off-hand on the power-cuirass of the marine before them. “Ready, steady,” Salome called.
The marines tensed, prepping for the explosion. “Spike!” Salome called.
The Compound W heated and expanded, turning a white shade of grey. Just as suddenly, the material shrank and exploded. The hatch holding the two ships apart erupted in a blast, sending both corridors reeling and enveloping them in a thick layer of smoke as plaststeel hurtled towards the enemy.
The breach charges had been designed to act as a shotgun, firing fragments and debris into the opposition's fortifications and lines.
Goddard had quietly hoped to himself that there would be no defenders, as they’d potentially crippled the ship with their gravity well.
A flash of a light tuned beam told him otherwise as Goddard hit the door frame with his assault team.
Lifting his weapon, his gun coughed a flat, unnatural sound—caseless, polymer-jacketed rounds igniting in a sealed chamber with zero recoil. No shells hit the ground; only bodies. The clean hum of a caseless flechette system cycling at 1,200 rounds per minute was echoed with the screams and flashes of blood that decorated the Rebel embarkation chamber.
“Forward!” Goddard shouted, pushing on the back of one of his marines. Surveying his team, he saw one marine lying by the hatch. “Antler actual, Golf one-one, we need a corpsman in the rebel embarkation chamber, we’re oscar-mike.”
“Golf one-one, Antler actual, good hunting.” The static response came over the headset, followed by a speech-to-text confirmation in the heads-up display. Bureaucracy ran deep; every marine suit kept records of everything said in combat.
“Second,” Goddard said, motioning towards one hallway, “Take ten kids and head for the Damage Control Central, then onto the Bridge.”
“Aye, sir.”
Turning to the other three marines still standing, “We’re headed to the engines. I want to spike the drive core for good.”
Antler's entire marine contingent was his sixteen marines, and if they failed to subdue the rebel ship, he didn’t want it getting away.
Goddard was a proud Declanian, like his captain, and he didn’t intend to let Fisker or any other Belliundrian red-skin take credit for their flawless capture.
Learn more about Stellar Empire on our official wiki.
Stellar Empire is a new sci-fi IP that we’ve been developing, and Andrew previously Kickstarted a card game in this universe, Stellar Empire: Skirmish!
Header concept art of Commodore Volm created by Robert R. Fike