The station buzzed with RF traffic. The knights remained, as best they could, on what they believed was an unused channel. They hoped to avoid confusion.

  Oscar: “JJ, cover me. I’m getting vision.”

  Jason: “Got it.”

  Oscar: “GG, try to convince the station security to retreat; they are just going to get hurt. Get in contact with the Syndicate commander too; you represent us today.”

  Charles: “You two are chasing? Stick together. It’s gonna eat you alive if you are alone.”

  Oscar: “We know CC, mission stands.”

  Charles didn’t know what the mission was anymore; it appeared the mission had changed to aiding the Syndicate in finding and fixing that monster. Which was not the same as evacuating civilians.

  Jason: “Woah, mess hall—it’s on the hallway. Outside! Outside!” Jason was opening the broadcast to everyone; uniquely, this message was not private to the knights as the others were.

  Gabriel was silent, presumably on other channels; he was generally a diplomatic kid.

  Oscar: “Moving.”

  The knights could all hear station security and Syndicate comms; they politely avoided blasting transmissions back at them. Normal encryption had been dropped due to the unprecedented circumstances; the marine commander might be catching a lot of flak for not using the encrypted channels, if they all lived.

  It was wise; coordination needed to happen, which was probably why Oscar was deferring to that marine captain. There was little chance station security was properly trained for this.

  Only seconds after Jason's callout, nothing but pain on the station security channel. Chaos, discharged weapons, depressurization, death.

  Jason: “Ohu! Joining you, Scar! Thing is quick—it got some of those boys.”

  Gabe: “Marines are inbound. It looks like I got about two security with me; we are just going to hunker down and wait for an ambush. The others are lost. Owningsburg doesn’t want us getting in the way; that is, he wants us keeping the civvies safe.”

  Oscar: “They are only safe when that thing is dead. GG, get outside, we need eyes. CC, stay with the listener.”

  Charles: “Copy.”

  Oscar: “Nuts! JJ, just spray when I shoot. It moves faster than I can aim. We need to tag it.”

  Listening to chatter was painful; Charles tried not to intervene. Violence was violence; human emotion was not capable of processing it. It was best to think of it as a safety crisis. Charles was insurance for the civilians; to worry about the misadventures of Syndicate assets was depressing, necessary, and something to meditate on later.

  Strictly speaking, Charles was supposed to listen. He could tune out of Syndicate or security channels, but if he lived, it would be a black mark—a sign of weakness among his fellows. If he died, well, he would only disappoint himself, for he had hid from the truth.

  Things were not going well for Syndicate security. The monster had drawn them out and begun to pick them apart in the hallways of the station. It made sense; the human weapon, the gun, was not made for tunnels. Guns were made for mountains and fields and land under the sun. No doubt that beast was abusing human reliance on vision. Line of sight was really bad in hallways.

  Charles surveyed the civilians—civilians who could hear the creaks and groans of the station as combat began. Charles focused on the communications between his fellow knights.

  Jason: “If we hop over, we can cover the other side of that hallway.”

  Oscar: “No, we assume it wants the shuttle.”

  One of the two outside tried to ignore the shuttle gunship whose engines blasted nearby outside the station.

  Jason: “Hell yeah, I bet that thing could kill it.”

  Oscar: “Focus… focus…”

  Silence…

  Jason: “We tagged it.”

  Oscar: “Follow!”

  Jason: “I think it bounced one of your rounds, Scar.”

  Sitting inside was hellish. The listener’s data-pad had just gone dark on Hallway #4; a massive impact was detected near storage.

  Charles: “Get vantage of storage.”

  The listener was reporting the same info to Syndicate communications. They got bigger returns from the marines and the knights trundling around the station than they did from the monster. The monster’s actions showed up as catastrophic decaying blooms when it attacked, but as it was not attacking or maneuvering violently, it dispersed back into the natural hum of the station. It indicated that the machine was impressively smooth mechanically—smoother than most humans. Tuning the listening software to be sensitive enough to detect humans, let alone the machine, normally created so much noise the readings became meaningless.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Oscar: “Confirmed, it’s disappearing down a ripped-open airlock. Looks like maintenance. You know the door to watch, CC.”

  Charles puzzled; it sounded like the monster didn’t really care about doors. Oscar’s language was inaccurate. Charles pointed his gun at that wall. He hated motions like this; he worried the action was symbolic—what action wasn’t?

  Gabriel was making the callout to the Syndicate marines.

  Captain Owningsburg: “It fears the gunfire. Knights, push down that hallway; keep that machine pinned.”

  Oscar: “You heard that man.”

  Gabriel and Charles lined up in front of the hallway to storage. The two security with Gabriel had grown to five members, plus the station captain. That was all of them. They didn’t want to be civilians; they wanted to kill the monster.

  Luddites like to tell people "no." Gabriel and Charles didn’t tell these five volunteers "no."

  Oscar: “Tell the captain that we want volume of fire on this thing, GG. We need more overwatch outside.”

  Gabriel: “My comrades think volume of fire is the best move, sir! Can we get marines on overwatch outside?”

  Owningsburg: “Copy, Affirmative.”

  Charles marched first down the hallway, followed at a distance of about twenty feet by the captain and one of his officers, then Gabriel twenty feet back, then the three younger security members. They had agreed not to worry about shooting each other if they could bring the beast down. The hope was that the beast would attack one of the knights if it ambushed them, allowing the others to get bullets on target. The knights would be safe against small arms; Gabriel and Charles knew that their armor was only vulnerable under heavier caliber stuff.

  Gabriel’s weapon would kill Charles—it was made to destroy power armor. Charles’s wouldn’t easily kill Gabe; it was made to kill unarmored men.

  Charles pondered the headspace of their quarry. Was it panicked? It seemed like it; it had fled to a corner of the station.

  No… it had killed before, ambushing the team traveling to the reactor. This was a trap. But what could Charles say? That it was a trap? That they should leave the creature alone? Was this a siege? Was it different this time? Surely the guns would prevent the beast from moving forward, like so many spears leveled at an elephant.

  T – 15 minutes until shuttle arrival.

  Charles stopped fifty feet before the awkward little staircase before him. It was a perfect ambush spot. Two marines had linked up with his group.

  Marine 1: “Howdy. We are gonna push; the other half of the squad is outside covering.” It was the local channel—proximity emissions only. The outside world was unlikely to hear this conversation.

  Charles was normally happy to relinquish seniority and responsibility, but the circumstances were such that he didn’t trust the judgment of others. Even still, he couldn’t help but ask permission.

  Charles: “If I was that thing, I would kill us in a staircase just like that one. Do you think we could breach the walls and enter the connected hallway like it did?”

  Marine 1: “You two could cut a hole in the floor there and hop down.” They were referring to the two knights, who both had wrist claws on their armor—a steel dewclaw that normally acted as a prybar. Most militaries forwent the extra weight, saving the prybar function for “jaws of life” equipment or engineering teams. The knights picked the simple and heavy option.

  Of course, there were stories of knights using them to violent effect.

  Charles: “GG, get over here. Actually, stand there. Let me get this started; it’s gonna be a minute.” He pointed where he wanted Gabe to stand.

  Power armor was strong, but the prybar was intended to open things, not cut them apart. Charles looked at the metal floor panel.

  Charles: “It’s gonna be loud; I might startle the beast. I’m gonna try to be quick.” Then to his commanders on the broader net:

  Charles: “Terrain delay, taking a low-risk option.” What did that even mean? Oscar was gonna laugh at him if they lived. Hopefully, there was an afterlife. He approached the top of the staircase.

  With practiced kicks, he dented four corners of the floor panel, his armor bouncing slightly under the gentle gravity with each smash. He hoped to yield whatever fasteners the station floor was utilizing. The structure shuddered under his weight; the floor panel crumpled slightly. He tried to ignore how ridiculous it must look—a giant metal clown throwing a tantrum as one marine with a church submachine gun and five local security stood watch around him with their rifles. Thankfully, the other marine’s head was on a swivel.

  Charles: “Ready?”

  Gabe: “Got it.”

  The two knights bent simultaneously and, with surprising ease, they popped the floor panel away. A second one was just beneath the first: the ceiling of the floor below.

  Charles: “Get it out of here. Drop this for me in a second.” He handed Gabe his rifle.

  He didn’t hesitate; he jumped. Both hands pushed off the ceiling, and he hoped the little gravity the station did have could work overtime. His feet hit the panel; it buckled and then popped beneath his weight. Half of him worried about stumbling or falling directly on the alien and being ripped apart like some comic book character. He had barely registered that he had descended to the hallway below before a marine had barreled through the hole after him. They pointed weapons down the hallway at storage.

  The two marines had taken point. Charles was thankful; he had endured the humiliation of a breach, and they accepted the risk. It was only right. Gabe dropped his weapon for him. Station security boldly followed, disregarding the sharp and dangerous metal Charles had exposed. Charles looked at the staircase—no monster. Surely the marines themselves looked at the staircase.

  Owningsburg: “What’s taking so long down there? Have you got eyes on the exit?”

  Marine 1: “Confirmed.”

  The two marines were not part of the mutual friendly fire pact. Charles pushed the intrusive thought away.

  Owningsburg: “You breachers are going to saturate that room with fire without entering it. The station walls are not proofed against bullets. Just blast ’em. We are gonna flush them out with fire; if anything explodes or burns in there, it’s a bonus. Keep a quarter of your ammo. We have your hallway covered.”

  Marine 1: “Copy. On your mark, sir!”

  Gabe: “CC, cover the civilians.” Gabe was referring to station security.

  There was a delay—about thirty seconds.

  Gabe and the two marines stood shoulder to shoulder in the front of the hallway with Charles just behind, wondering how the younger knight expected him to cover forward and backward, as station security—perhaps not technically civilians—were unable to move forward with the energy of those with power armor. For the best, in all likelihood.

  T- 13 minutes until shuttle arrival.