The shattered edge

[arvg]

Alvarez turned, suddenly surprised by the fact that Brooks, Winters, et al were gone... one minute they were there, and the next, poof.

He tapped his TAC-link, "Alvarez to any unit, come in..."

Lang was sagging against a large golden box, punching in an access code into the strange surface.

Alvarez turned to snap at him, and gaped as the box seemed to fold in upon itself, compacting down, the ones around it doing the same, compressing from their original sizes down into small cubes about a foot across each.

"Doctore, how did you?" He asked.

"It's a simple matter of spatial physics," XiaoBei countered. Scooping up a few of the cubes and stuffing them into his pack. "You should be helping me Captain."

The far doors banged open, and Alvarez brought his gun up, sighing in relief as Broch, the Marines, and Via all stormed into the chamber, following the TAC distress beacon.

"There is no time," XiaoBei snapped, "tell the men to grab as many of these boxes as they can, and we should get back to the ship."

Alvarez holstered his pistol, gesturing to the men to do as the Doctor had commanded. Each of them quickly clearing the room of the now more portable crates.

Alvarez nodded his thanks to Broch, as he marched to the door, "we need to get off this ship Hermanos... Doctore, do you have a suggestion?"

XiaoBei, pale and wavering, nodded his head. "There is an shuttle bay a few chambers over. We can fit into it, and the IFF should prevent the automated weapons of the Battleship from tracking us."

Alvarez nodded, as the marines formed up. With a nod to Broch, they moved out, jogging through the deck, each of them very aware of the ever present dangers around them.

The Phantom shadow was dark, spiky and menacing, but XiaoBei triggered the door mechanism with little effort. Causing Alvarez and Broch to both look at each other worriedly. Once aboard, the Doctor took the pilot's seat, his hands dancing over the controls, as if knowing exactly which ones to press...

The Shuttle roared off of the deck, screaming into the midst of the firefight between the CPW-Trotsky and the Alien warship, as the Coalition cruiser covered the shattered remains of the Kerimov.

"Damn," Alvarez murmured, staring at the carnage, and looking at the sheer volume of damage that the Trotsky was absorbing at such close range.

Behind them, there was a flicker, a sweeping rush of light, and the alien warship was gone, leaving only a few broken sections behind, and the damage it had wrought.

They were alone in the night.

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