Date point: 4y 11m 2w 1d AV
The old one knew.
It seemed impossible to One-Five-Four, but the human had known that one of his crew was more than they seemed.
He flew down the hallway, sprinting back to the mess hall and past the flight deck.
The body was new to him.
Inhabiting an entirely new species in a high stress environment like this was a disaster.
The fine motor skills had been sluggish and alien to him, and scoring the blow against the human Captain had been blind luck.
But, control was slowly becoming his.
Power was thundering through his veins, flooding his brain with sensations that were strange and intoxicating.
Adrenaline, endorphins, testosterone.
Violence had been bred into this species from the second their first ancestor picked up a stone and slew his brother.
The mess hall door was in sight; still open.
The old one had to die first.
Full ship control belonged to Frank, and he was the greatest threat on board.
The scalpel, still slick with blood, was clenched tightly in his right hand.
This was going to be dangerous.
The old one was weaker than his host, but One-Five-Four would have to rely on a body he wasn’t familiar with.
Darting inside, he saw two Gaoians and the human leaning over the limp body of their comrade.
At his entry, Frank looked at him, his expression confused.
“Robert? What are you doing? Where’s Jason?”
The agent struck.
Lunging toward his foe, he slashed viciously with the small blade, just as the old man raised an arm to defend himself.
The scalpel missed the intended jugular and cut deeply into the arm of the old one, eliciting a sharp intake of pained breath.
It was a costly miss.
In the human’s other arm, it raised a weapon; aiming wildly under the assault.
There was a bang and a sharp stinging pain jumped up his host’s arm, as the limb curled in on itself awkwardly.
He stood immobile, as the superconductor discharged into his right arm.
Losing his balance he fell to his knees, unable to do anything as the human advanced on him.
Breathing heavily, Frank kicked Robert’s electrified hand, knocking the blade from it.
As Frank raised his weapon for another shot, One-Five-Four moved.
Superconductor rounds were meant for body shots, in order to activate all the core muscles and force the body to immobilize itself. When hitting an extremity, the round activated the core muscles, but not nearly as effectively.
Or as long.
Right arm still twitching and convulsing, One-Five-Four’s left hand came up and punched the fist holding the weapon, feeling several of Frank’s knuckles break.
Another sharp cry came from the human, who staggered back, hand broken and arm slashed.
Fear colored the old man’s eyes now.
One-Five-Four’s host rose from the ground, advancing on Frank.
“COMPUTER! ACTIVATE SUBR-”
Tearing the still discharging round from his arm, One-Five-Four came upon his quarry and grabbed him around the collar.
Time slowed.
Several things that he had never experienced before happened all at once.
One-Five-Four watched as the injured human wrapped both hands behind his host’s neck, forcing his head under Frank’s chin. As his head was forced down, he saw Frank’s knee rising to meet his face.
The world was moving slower than he could have imagined.
Without conscious thought, he reached downward with his left hand, placing it upon the old one’s knee and bearing the force of the strike, then forcing the leg back downward.
His right hand released Frank’s collar and formed into a blade, pressing all of his straightened fingers together.
The hand shot upward between the crown of his head and Frank’s chin, to the side of the old human’s neck, stopping only when his elbow and upper arm rested against Frank’s throat.
With effectiveness he did not expect, he pushed his arm against the neck of his opponent, who was thrown to the right, forced to release his opponent.
As the human fell, his host acted of its own accord again, seizing on the opportunity of an unbalanced enemy.
The back of his collar clenched tightly in Robert’s hand, Frank was pulled back, and a savage strike to the windpipe causing him to choke, eyes bulging.
One-Five-Four’s leg swept up from behind Frank’s knees, lifting them off the ground, bringing his body crashing heavily to the steel deck.
Gasping for breath, Frank struggled to stand.
Standing above his foe, One-Five-Four slammed his fist into the point when the human’s jaw and skull connected.
Frank’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Leaning down closer to the human, One-Five-Four used both hands to raise up the old man’s head and slammed it back down onto the steel deck.
The room went quiet.
So this is how a Deathworlder fights.
Shocked at the power his host possessed, he stared at the human laid out underneath him.
It was the host’s body that knew how to fight, not the brain.
Even if the species must die, I might consider asking to keep one or two in stasis. It could be handy one day.
Driven from his thoughts, he saw that the human was still breathing, surprising him.
He leaned down to deliver a sure death blow, but was interrupted.
A loud bang reverberated through the room as a superconductor slammed into the wall, a few inches left of the agent’s face, just as a cry of pain rang out.
Turning to look at the Gaoian’s, who had be absent from the fight, he saw the one called Tricko kneeling on the ground, clutching a broken wrist.
The weapon was on the ground, being picked up by Ryst, who seemed determined to fire it again, despite the obvious risk to himself.
The weapon rose to Robert’s face.
He’s worthless to fight, the other human is now the biggest threat. The other host is in a coma, the old one is finished and Tricko has a broken wrist. If I’m going to finish this neatly, I have to take over the ship.
Before the gun could go off, One-Five-Four fled the room.
Ted was running down the hallway.
Shouting and gunshots could be heard throughout the ship, dread clutching at his insides as he moved towards them.
The idea that Frank was killing the Gaoians tormented him.
He cursed himself for leaving Frank alone with them when he was obviously irrational.
Robert came sprinting out of the mess hall, looking ragged and smattered in blood, sprinting towards Ted.
“Robert, what are you doing he-”
The kid didn’t slow as he came up to Ted, driving a fist into his windpipe.
It was as though a hand tightened itself around his neck, cutting off his air supply.
Clutching his throat and wheezing, his wide eyes raised up to his attacker.
Frank wasn’t crazy…
A flurry of blows rained down upon Ted, smashing against his face, neck and shoulders.
Slamming a roundhouse kick into his right side, Robert’s leg imparted savage force into the taller man’s liver, driving him to his knees.
Sucking for breath, his body was overwhelmed with shock as the kid stood over him, staring with empty eyes.
“What…what are…you doing?” he gasped.
Robert was silent as he slammed his fist into Ted’s jaw.
The Gaoians were behind him again, Tricko following Ryst, who roared as he raised the T.A.S.E.R.
Not wanting to be hit by the weapon again, he forestalled the killing blow and ran to the flight deck.
Making it to the open room, he closed the door.
Turning to the control panel, he crushed it with several strikes from the sole of his boot, then tore out as many cables as he could from the hole he had created, rendering the door useless.
An electric thrill was coursing through his body.
Never in his life had One-Five-Four executed such violence on such a personal level.
It was intoxicating.
He turned to the control panel of the flight deck.
Time to get to work.
A long tunnel of blackness surrounded him, muffling the world.
Hollow echos were coming through to him, unintelligible through the suffocating dark.
Ted’s eyes snapped open.
“Human, answer me! Are you alright?!”
Ryst was standing over him, looking down into his face.
“What’s going on?” he asked, shocked to find himself flat on his back.
Tricko moved forward, looking down the hall uneasily.
“We were hoping you could tell us that. Chanuck might be dead, and Rob has lost his mind! He nearly killed Frank, Ted!”
Groaning as his body protested, Ted rose at the knowledge that Frank was hurt.
“Bring me to him. I have no fucking idea what’s going on. Frank knows, though.”
A sense of foreboding stole over Ted as Tricko replied that Frank was unlikely to be answering questions.
Moving into the mess hall, Chanuck lay at the back of the room, lying still on the cold steel floor.
Frank was on the right side of the room, covered in blood.
“Frank!”
As he neared the old man, he saw an obscenely deep gash on Frank’s left forearm, cutting down to the bone.
He wasn’t moving.
Checking for a pulse, Ted was relieved to find the old man still alive, and saw the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“Chanuck is still alive! But, I can’t get him to wake up!” cried Ryst.
Glancing towards the Gaoian, he saw Ryst leaning over his friend; relief and misery palpable.
Tricko was cradling an injured arm, looking intently at Ted.
“What do we do now, human?”
This doesn’t make any fucking sense. Chanuck had been somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, Frank acted like he’d been expecting it, Jason acted as though he knew about it, and now Robert was trying to kill everyone on the ship.
A sharp breath sucked into Ted’s lungs.
“Jason.”
Running as fast as his legs would take him, he ran to the medical bay, forcing himself to slow down as he passed the flight deck.
Taking a peek into the room through the small window, he saw Robert sitting in one of the pilot chairs, several screens in front of him.
Feeling sick to his stomach about what the kid might be up to, Ted ran to the medical bay.
Opening the door, a bottomless pit formed in his stomach.
A pool of blood covered the floor.
Jason’s eyes stared upwards without seeing, a hideous gash marring the flesh of his throat.
“Tricko! What are we going to do?!”
“Be quiet!” Tricko snapped.
Think, there has to be a way out of this.
This entire situation wasn’t making sense.
Rob is apparently a double-agent against the other humans, but Chanuck as well?
No, he thought. Something else is at play here.
The Rob he knew wouldn’t do these things, and Chanuck certainly wouldn’t try to kill himself and his friends.
“We have to stop Rob. We need the help of the humans though. Jason has combat training, and Ted is still a Deathworlder.”
“It doesn’t matter about Jason.”
Ted had returned, vacant of emotion.
He didn’t look at them, which gave Tricko a sinking feeling.
“Ted, what happened to the Captain?” he asked, knowing the answer.
Still not looking at the Gaoians, he spoke in a flat, shocked voice.
“Dead.”
Neither Gaoian spoke.
Ted stared into space.
I don’t know what to do. Frank and Jason are the one’s to deal with this. Not me…
Breaking the silence, he said, “Let’s get a better look at these two. Tricko, you’re hurt, so watch the door.”
It was what Jason would have done, so Ted did it for him.
Numbly, he set to examine Frank further.
Frank’s slashed arm didn’t have a cut artery, which was lucky for him, otherwise he’d already be dead.
He was unresponsive to Ted’s attempts to wake him, and when he turned Frank over, placing him into a recovery position, Ted saw the bloody wound on the back of his head.
Frank most likely had a fairly serious head injury, and would need medical attention.
From a real doctor, not a robot.
Ted was on autopilot. He was too deep in shock to feel panic anymore.
The Captain was dead, Frank might be bleeding in his brain, Chanuck was injured, Tricko was injured and Robert wanted all of them dead.
Why the hell is this happening? Is that really Robert? Did we bring back the wrong human?
After several shaky breaths, Ted felt his resolve harden.
We have to stop him.
As though hearing his thoughts, Tricko said, “I have an idea about how to deal with Rob.”
Both Ted and Ryst looked at Tricko.
Locking eyes with the human, he said, “How much do you know about that exo-suit Rob was fixing?”
An alarm screeched throughout the ship, shouting about a security breach in the computer.
Ted’s eyes became hard. His fear of death had evaporated the same as it had on the slaving colony.
“I know enough.”
He was almost through.
Another few minutes of work and every other door on the ship would open, and the airlock would send them all screaming into space.
This was by far the most useful host he had ever had.
Combat and technical skills, all in one.
The mind of his host screamed in a small, far off, place as One-Five-Four stole the knowledge he needed to take over the ship.
Feeling intense joy at turning a disaster into such victory, a savage human smile split his features, twisting his face horribly.
BANG
His hands froze in the middle of their work.
Turning around in his chair, he looked at the door that led into the hallway.
A large dent marred the surface of the door, bending the door inwards.
BANG
The dent grew larger.
BANG
The door was nearly separated from its mountings.
CRASH
Seven hundred pounds of steel entered the room, piloted by an enraged Deathworlder.
The exo-suit was imperfect, however.
Having not been fully repaired, the left arm hung limp, not connected to any motors or cables, and the heavy cowl that was supposed to protect the head was not present.
Ted had his left arm free, awkwardly bent forward away from the suit, forcing the metal arm backwards at the joint; less mobile, but better than if it had been encased in immovable steel.
The human growled, “Why, kid? Why are you doing this?”
Human instincts were screaming at One-Five-Four that he was outmatched, and needed to attack weak points, and that the Deathworlder in front of him was inexperienced in combat, and was making the mistake of speaking when he should be fighting.
If One-Five-Four could get to the center of the room, he’d be able to move better, and not have to worry about being pinned against a wall.
Ted began roaring at the top of his lungs, rage boiling in his eyes.
“WHY DID YOU KILL JASON?! WHY DID YOU TRY TO KILL ME AND FRANK?!”
Shock will disarm him for the second I need.
“Because I am not Robert. And, because I am not human.”
The human blinked, unsure if he’d heard right.
Then One-Five-Four struck.
Leaping from his chair he slid underneath the panicked strike Ted made, focusing on the human’s exposed left arm.
Two of the human’s fingers were taped together, still healing from being broken in the battle of the mine.
His reactions were lighting as he seized both fingers and twisted violently.
A cry escaped the human as he felt his fingers break again.
The human host climbed up the suit, scrabbling for the rip cord he knew was near the collar.
Reclaiming his senses, Ted grabbed him around the back of the neck with his metal gloved hand and threw him across the room.
He landed heavily on his back, wind rushing out of him and eyes flying wide open.
Stomping loudly over to Robert, Ted raised his metal fist above his head, preparing to strike.
Robert’s body went limp for a split second.
As the fist came down, Robert raised his hands in front of his face, screaming, “TED, WAIT!”
The metal fist struck.
One-Five-Four opened his eyes again, seeing the inside of the mess hall; lying flat on his back.
Looking to his left, he saw the two Gaoians, both watching down the hallway and trying to listen to the fight.
A scalpel covered in dried blood lay a few inches from him.
Chanuck’s hand reached towards it.
Tricko was getting worried.
The humans had definitely fought, considering the racket they’d been making, but it was quiet now and Ted had not returned.
Rob was a terrifying fighter.
Stories from the Chehnasho guards had spread among the slaves, feeding their hope and desire to rebel.
But, also spreading fear.
The rumors spoke of a terrifying monster, bent on tearing apart anything before it.
Seeing Rob fight Frank had been proof enough.
Ted was a Deathworlder, piloting a death machine, but Tricko suspected that Rob was much more of a warrior than the average human.
“Do you think he won?” Ryst whispered.
“I don’t know. I want to go have a look.”
Feeling his heart racing, Ryst glanced at Tricko.
“Be careful, Rob has gone mad. If he sees you alone, he’ll tear you apart. Literally.” he whispered.
Turning away from their vigil, Tricko said to Ryst, “Stay here with Chanuck and Frank and close the door. If Rob comes back, hide behind some of the MRE boxes and save yourself.”
Trying to forget the limb severing part of the warning that Ryst had just given him, Tricko crept silently down the hallway, still cradling his broken wrist.
Watching his friend move down the hall, trembling slightly, Ryst closed the door, letting out a shaky breath.
He turned just in time to see metal flash past his muzzle.
One-Five-Four growled.
Damn it. I hate switching between species so quickly.
The fight with the human had required an emergency exit, forcing him to forego any extra measures to incapacitate the host.
After inhabiting a human, going back to the Gaoian was disorienting.
This entire situation was a disaster. He might even be decompiled after it was over.
As the agent snarled in anger, the scalpel sliced through the air, soaring past Ryst’s nose and tracing only the thinnest line of blood below his eye.
Reacting instinctively, Ryst seized the wrist holding the scalpel, gripping it tightly with both hands.
“Chanuck! What are you doing?!”
Icy terror colored his words, stabbing deep into Ryst’s chest.
Chanuck and him had known each other for nearly a decade. They may as well have been brothers.
There was no way he would do this.
Struggling against one another, they fought over control of the blade.
Ryst pleaded with him, shouting, “Stop this! I don’t want to fight you! This isn’t you, Chanuck! Whatever happened to you and Rob, we can fix it!”
Snarling in frustration, One-Five-Four growled, “Shut up you insignificant amoeba. Just die so I can finish this!”
Eyes widening in understanding, rage flared in Ryst’s chest.
Releasing one of his hands from the struggle for the blade, he punched Chanuck on the nose, throwing his full weight into the blow.
Letting out a sharp cry, Chanuck backed away swiftly, tearing the blade free of Ryst’s weakened grip.
Deep primal anger was filling Ryst, scalding his body.
“Who are you?”
Despite the situation, One-FIve-Four smiled.
“Finally got there, have you? It’s not important.”
Shrieking in rage, Ryst dived at Chanuck, forcing the blade to the ground with one hand and throwing his enemy onto his back.
They struck the table, jostling it slightly and sending the small metal knife upon it to the floor, as well as the T.A.S.E.R. that Tricko had left behind.
Ignoring them, Ryst held one hand around the the fist still clenching the bloody scalpel, the other hand wrapping around Chanuck’s throat.
Maneuvering himself, Ryst sat on Chanuck’s chest.
“What have you done to him!? Give him back to me!”
One-Five-Four found himself fighting on two fronts for a split second.
The real Chanuck strained pitifully against his mental restraints as Ryst released his throat and slammed a fist into Chanuck’s face, completely ignoring the weaker blows that One-Five-Four returned.
Things were getting desperate.
Shock worked once, it might again, even if it’s a lie.
“Chanuck is dead. It’s only me in here, now.” he said, wearing a sickening expression of glee to enhance the effect.
Ryst’s eyes widened in fear, and relaxed his grip slightly, for the split second that One-Five-Four needed.
Twisting his whole body into the movement, the Hierarchy agent slammed his unrestrained fist into Ryst’s jaw, unseating his enemy and releasing the hand that wielded the blade.
Landing on his side with a grunt, Ryst twisted upon the ground, looking for his opponent, only to see Chanuck standing above him.
The surgical blade was raised above his head and began to descend, aiming for his throat.
An MRE bag, labeled as Sloppy Joe mix, slammed into the back of Chanuck’s head.
Not being a Deathworlder, the heavy blow caused him to see stars as he raised both hands to his head in agony.
“Ryst, the knife.” Frank croaked.
The old man was awake, squinting painfully at the pair of Gaoians.
As he looked at Frank, Ryst saw the small knife they used at meals, sitting on the floor right next to him.
Chanuck was recovering, blinking rapidly and preparing to strike again.
Without pausing to think about what it would mean, Ryst grabbed the knife and leaned upward from the floor, slamming it home into Chanuck’s chest.
Shock filled both of their faces.
The scalpel fell to the ground, dropped from numb fingers.
Chanuck fell to his knees.
Silence screamed in the room, best friends staring into each others eyes.
Blood dripped from Chanuck’s mouth as he spoke.
“I’m s-sorry, Ryst… It was my idea to come to s-space.”
“No… No no no no NO! YOU CAN’T!”
Pulling the blade from Chanuck’s chest, Ryst placed both hands over the wound as Chanuck collapsed to the floor, blood seeping between Ryst’s fingers.
“It’s ok! We’re going to fix you!” he screamed.
Turning his head slightly, so as to look Ryst in the eye, Chanuck said, “It’s n-not over y-yet…”
And he died, his last breath brushing across his best friend’s face as Ryst began to tremble.
Unable to accept that he had struck the death blow, Ryst stared at Chanuck’s eyes, still open and unseeing.
No, you can’t be dead. I could never be the one to kill you. Impossible. Not after everything.
“Ryst… We have to get to Robert… I can’t stand, so you have to help me there.”
Coming back to himself, tears still spilling from his eyes, he stared at Frank.
The Gaoian’s whole body was numb.
The thought of carrying the human to the flight deck was ridiculous, and he found himself giggling.
“You want me to do what? Drag you there?” he chuckled.
Frank had managed to sit up, his head spinning terribly as mad giggling filled the room.
He needed a doctor, soon.
Still, even in his hazy state, the hysteria on Ryst’s face was plain.
Alien or no, it was obvious that Ryst was no longer in his right mind.
Speaking slowly, Frank said, “I have a plan Ryst. Just help me there. Please.”
Raising his eyes and speaking softly to avoid making his head throb harder, he said, “Computer, set gravity to the Mess hall, the hallway and the Flight Deck to zero G’s.”
Tricko was slowly creeping up to the Flight Deck, ready to run if necessary.
The door was smashed open and mangled, the frame surrounding the opening bent in horribly.
A power cable trailed through the hallway, leading into the silent room.
Slowly, he peeked around the corner, prepared to sprint away.
Ted sat in one of the pilot chairs, typing feverishly on one of the keyboards, staring at a monitor.
Robert was wearing the exo-suit, ludicrously splayed out on his stomach, with a bloody lump rising from the left side of his forehead; unconscious.
The cable had been unplugged and a massive battery had been pulled from the spine of the suit, which lay on the floor beside Robert.
“Ted?”
Glancing back at the door, the human replied, “Tricko, get in here! I need your help!”
Staring at a limp Robert, Tricko moved to the control panel of the ship, coming to stand beside Ted.
“What’s going on? How did Rob get into the suit?”
Not looking away from his work, he replied, “I knocked him out and needed a way to restrain him. That suit weighs a ton, so I took it off and stuffed him into it. Then I removed all the power sources. He’s not going anywhere.”
Peering at the screen that Ted was working on, Tricko asked, “So what are you still doing in here?”
Sounding frantic, Ted shrieked, “Robert has been blasting a signal from the ship ever since he got in here, screaming on every frequency! He’s trying to lead someone here! I don’t know how to shut it down!”
Fear stabbed into Tricko’s heart.
Broadcasting your location in unknown territory was how fools lead Hunters to themselves.
“MOVE!”
Taking over for Ted, Tricko began to navigate through the ship’s communication array, guided by Jason’s lessons.
The entire communication system was being used to broadcast their location.
Working slowly, with only one good hand, Tricko began to deactivate the signal, one panel at a time.
As each of them turned off, they breathed slightly easier.
The last signal fell silent.
Tricko stood from the chair, legs slightly weak.
“Is there anything on the sensors?” Ted whispered.
“No. We still have to leave as soon as possible.”
Moving away from the seats, Tricko leaned against a wall while Ted sat back in one of the chairs.
“I’m going to do as Frank said, and restore the ship to the last backup. It should only take a minute.” the human mumbled.
“Do so quickly, then use whatever power we have left to take us to the nearest star.”
Leaning against the wall, Tricko felt absurdly tired, shocked at the events of the last few minutes.
Tricko eyes widened as he suddenly felt himself slipping away, panicking silently as he was forced to the back of his own mind while an intruder took over.
This is getting utterly ridiculous. Only two of them are dead, and I didn’t even kill one of them.
One-Five-Four looked at the human sitting in the chair, not paying attention to the Gaoian, or the trapped human.
The human host in the suit had to be woken and released, otherwise this mission would surely fail.
Moving silently towards Robert, he began poking the human in the face as he searched for the rip-cord that he knew would release him.
Robert’s eyes flickered open at his touch, a spark of consciousness coming back into them.
One-Five-Four found the rip-cord and tugged on it, but found that he did not have the strength to tear it loose.
Swearing silently, he saw that the human was waking, still dazed by his injury.
The gravity in the Flight Deck turned off, causing Ted to yelp with surprise.
“What the hell is going on now?” the human cried.
Looking back at the Gaoian, Ted shouted as he rose slightly in his chair, “Get away from him! Robert could still be dangerous!”
Glancing at the Deathworlder, the agent figured it would be best to play it safe for a moment, pushing away from the human obediently and avoiding detection.
A thought sparked in him as he moved, brought on by the lack of gravity.
Not bothering to take the time to pop Tricko’s implants, he merely left the Gaoian, who seized up, then relaxed his whole body, gasping at the sudden freedom.
Robert’s eyes snapped open as One-Five-Four felt himself rising from the floor, still encased in steel.
Reaching up with the metal gloved hand, he fumbled in the zero G environment, searching for the rip-cord.
Ted saw his objective and screamed, “NO!” as One-Five-Four found his prize.
As the cable slid out, every screw popped out of place once again, freeing the trapped occupant.
Floating up to the ceiling, One-Five-Four prepared to crouch and shoot his body at the panicked human, who was clinging to the pilot chair.
“Computer, activate Emergency Subroutine Two. Subject: Robert Frost.”
Gravity reactivated in the plates directly underneath Robert, slamming his body back to the ground, landing on his back and driving the wind from his lungs.
Gasping, he turned over, preparing to lunge at the old man who had appeared in the hallway outside the room, still floating in the zero G hallway.
Ryst floated next to Frank, pushing him into place.
“Nine G’s.” Frank growled, with a blazing and hateful glare at Robert.
Every part of One-Five-Four’s body slammed onto the floor, completely immobile.
Subroutine Two overrode all gravity safety protocols, and applied power based on the subject of the program; namely Robert.
Realizing the trouble he was in, the agent attempted to jump into Ryst, but found his host’s brain becoming sluggish as soon as the gravity hit him.
The actions wouldn’t come.
Blood wasn’t flowing through his brain, starving it of oxygen and shutting it down.
Blackness washed over One-Five-Four, and he screamed in vain against the darkness.