Phillip felt the heat before he understood the danger.

He threw himself to the deck as flame burst from the ventilation grille and rolled across the ceiling in a red-orange sheet. The room lights disappeared inside it, shattering one after another and scattering sparks across the compartment. Claxons screamed, foam erupted from recessed nozzles overhead, coating the walls, cot, and desk. The suppressant smothered the lower edges of the fire, but the main body continued burning along the ceiling, carried by the heat and forced airflow.

Phillip crawled beneath it toward the door. He got to the wall and reached up, striking the control panel repeatedly, trying to activate it.

Nothing.

He pounded on the door with his fist. “Hey! Open the door!”

No answer came from the other side. He turned, searching for another way out. The ventilation grille was too small. The sanitary compartment offered no access beyond its fixtures. The wall panels were seamless, and the terminal had gone dark.

A loud tone sounded from the door, and the amber line surrounding it flickered red, then the door separated from its seams and shifted. The panel moved only a few inches before stopping.

“Help me get you out!” someone shouted from the other side.

Phillip forced his fingers into the gap and pulled. The door resisted him, grinding against its track as the opening widened another few inches. He turned sideways and squeezed through.

A uniformed crewman stood in the corridor, working a manual release lever concealed behind an open wall panel. Smoke drifted through the passage, and black scorch marks streaked the ceiling in both directions.

Phillip stumbled through the doorway and fell to one knee. “Thanks.”

The crewman released the lever and drew his sidearm.

Phillip stopped. The weapon was unfamiliar to him, compact, with a thick barrel and no opening he could identify, but its purpose required no explanation.

“Stay in front of me, sir,” the crewman said. “Move toward the end of the passage.”

Phillip nodded and started down the corridor, recognizing the need for the crewman’s caution while marking his position and grip on the weapon. The crewman followed several paces behind, close enough to control him but far enough to react if Phillip turned. They reached the lift Phillip remembered from his transfer out of DECON-5. The display beside it was dark.

Phillip pressed the control, but nothing happened. “I don’t think it’s working.”

The crewman had already moved to another recessed panel. He pulled it open and unfolded a metal lever similar to the one used on Phillip’s door

“Emergency ladder,” he said. He worked the mechanism. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow vertical shaft with a ladder descending into darkness.

A sound came from behind them. Boots. Several points of white light moved through the smoke at the far end of the corridor.

The crewman turned. “Over here—”

A burst of blue light flashed in the haze, and a cluster of needlelike projectiles struck the crewman across the chest. The impacts drove him backward, his body striking the wall before collapsing beside the open shaft.

Phillip dropped instinctively as a second burst passed through the space where his head had been. He pressed against the wall and reached toward the fallen crewman. The needles had torn flesh, muscle, and tissue. The crewman wheezed and tried to return fire, but more bursts from the other men ripped into him

He fell back a final time, his sidearm flying away further down the corridor. Phillip cursed and started to go after it, but more fire from the approaching attackers filled the corridor. He slipped through the opening in the panel and caught the ladder rails, sliding down in a controlled descent. Slowing the fall only enough to keep from losing his grip. He heard the boots trampling closer on the deck above.

Phillip reached the bottom and dropped into a recessed landing, tucking himself into what cover the lower doorway offered. The hatch into the next compartment was nearly closed. He reached for it as needles poured down the shaft, striking the ladder and walls with a metallic clatter. Phillip pulled his arm back quickly, receiving only a glancing cut from one of the needles. The break in the skin was accompanied by a sharp electric burn, warning him of what a direct burst might offer.

Phillip rolled along the wall to the other side during a gap in the firing and found the manual lever for that hatch. He began cranking. The mechanism resisted him, each turn moving the door only a fraction.

Above him, the firing stopped, and he heard someone descending the ladder. Phillip worked faster as another burst rattled against the lower hatch. Several needles passed through the widening gap and struck equipment inside the compartment.

The opening finally became large enough, and Phillip forced himself through, dragging one leg clear just as another burst struck the edge behind him. The compartment was broad and dimly lit. Reinforced racks filled most of the available space, loaded with sealed containers and equipment cases. Red bands and warning symbols marked nearly everything.

Storage. Possibly hazardous storage.

Phillip moved deeper into the room. He needed a weapon, another exit, or a position from which he could control the doorway. He found none of the first and only one of the second. There was a sealed door on the far wall, behind him; metal scraped against metal as the attackers began forcing the hatch open wide enough for their suits to get through.

Phillip moved behind a row of large containers near the rear of the compartment. From there, he could see the ladder entrance, most of the central aisle, and the sealed door beyond it as the lower hatch opened fully.

Three figures entered in dark pressure suits. Narrow lamps mounted near their helmets swept across the room as they moved. They did not bunch together, and one remained near the entrance while the others advanced along opposite sides of the compartment, weapons held ready.

Phillip lowered himself behind the containers, tracking the helmet lights as they crossed the racks and floor. The beams revealed where each man was looking before their weapon track followed.

Useful.

One light disappeared behind his position; the attacker having reached the opposite side of the containers. A pale edge of illumination crept across the floor near Phillip’s foot. He remained still. The beam stopped as the man had taken position to cover the others.

A grinding sound came from the far wall as the sealed door began to open.

All three attackers turned toward it and needle fire hissed across the compartment, striking the widening gap and the wall beyond.

Phillip moved.

He rose behind the nearest attacker and seized the rifle with both hands. The man reacted by pulling the weapon back toward himself. He was strong, but his attention remained fixed on retaining the rifle rather than controlling Phillip.

Phillip stepped inside the weapon’s reach and turned it across the man’s body like a bar. He drove his knee into the outside of the attacker’s leg. The joint folded and Phillip twisted, using the man’s weight and the rifle together. The attacker struck the equipment rack hard enough to shake the containers secured to it.

Phillip tore the weapon free as one of the other attackers turned and fired. Phillip dropped to his back behind the rack as needles snapped through the air above him. He raised the captured weapon, pointed at the man he had disarmed. There was no obvious trigger, but his finger found a recessed control beneath the grip.

He pressed it, and the weapon pushed against his shoulder rather than kicking. It produced a sharp hiss and a flash of blue light as a stream of needles left the barrel. The projectiles curved away from the fallen man before striking him. Some scattered into the deck. Others hit his suit at shallow angles and glanced off.

Phillip stared at the weapon, confused. The attacker scrambled backward as Phillip fired again. The needles veered aside once more, as though something surrounding the man had pushed them away.

Phillip stopped wasting ammunition. He turned and dove through the partially open door. Needles followed him. Several tugged at the back of his coat, cutting through the fabric without reaching his skin as he hit the far wall of the corridor in a low slide.

Hands seized his shoulders and pulled him against the wall. Phillip spun, drove his forearm across the other man’s chest, and pinned him before recognizing his face.

“It’s me!” Thomas said, raising his hands. “Phillips!”

Two crewmen held the corner farther down the passage, firing into the storage compartment.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Thomas demanded.

Phillip released him and shoved the captured rifle toward him. “These don’t work. I fired point-blank and couldn’t hit the man.”

Thomas glanced at the weapon, unsurprised. “What happened to you?”

“My room caught fire. A guard let me out. They killed him and chased me down the ladder.”

A burst of needles crossed the doorway. One of Thomas’s crewmen jerked backward and struck the opposite wall. Needles protruded from his neck and upper chest. The second crewman continued firing.

“We can’t hold this position, Lieutenant!”

Thomas dragged the dead man away from the opening and pulled the weapon from his hands. “Fall back toward the bridge!”

The surviving crewman broke away from the corner and ran down the corridor. Thomas handed the captured rifle back to Phillip and took the dead crewman’s weapon for himself.

“We can’t cross that doorway,” he said. “We go the other way.”

Phillip followed him. A shout came from ahead. The surviving crewman stumbled as a burst of needles struck him from the next intersection. He fell forward and did not move. More suited attackers rounded the corner.

Phillip and Thomas changed direction, keeping angles between themselves and the attackers as needles filled the corridor behind them. They passed a junction just as Thomas cried out and fell against the wall. Several needles had penetrated his upper arm and shoulder. Phillip caught him before he hit the deck.

“Keep moving,” Thomas hissed, pushing himself upright, one arm hanging uselessly.

Phillip supported him with his left hand and fired the rifle one-handed down the corridor. The weapon hissed continuously, pouring needles toward the advancing attackers. The fields around their suits distorted the stream. Some needles curved away. Others struck at oblique angles.

The attackers remained protected, but they stopped advancing and moved behind the corridor supports rather than risk allowing the sustained fire to overwhelm their defenses. Phillip kept firing until he and Thomas reached the next turn.

“Where are we going?” Phillip asked.

“Hatch ahead,” Thomas said through clenched teeth. “Emergency ladder.”

“You able to climb?”

“No choice.”

“No shit.”

The weapon clicked empty in Phillip’s hands.

Next Chapter: VI