Vince had instinctually been drawn to this back-water system, inhabited by nothing but Corsairs and Hessians in their constant war. It was only a battleground: no resources worth mining, no trade routes passed over it, and it was too far off the beaten path and too dangerous for colonizing. All in all, it was a rugged wilderness.
Vinces Sabre sat about a klick from Casablanca Station, ignoring the Hessians inquires as to his business, and acclaims over the state of his ship. They were annoying gnats, and when the time was right he might honor them with death. A quick one. Regardless, he held his new-found bloodlust in check, instead waiting for Renato, who was late, by whatever cosmic clock they were going by. Something must have held him up.
Had Vince had one, he would have been tapping his foot. Soon, though, an itching came, as if on the back of his neck. It soon intensified, and once it felt that some Doberman-sized parasite must be happily munching on his neck, Renatos Sabre rounded the purple gas giant, causing more commotion from the Hessians. As Renato came to rest next to Vince, he telepathically transmitted the events of his journey, from the beginning to the part where he had killed the Bounty Hunter by stopping his heart. Vince was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke:
You have done well. I, too, have something to share. He proceeds to narrate the events of Freeport Six. Now, we are going to have some fun, my friend. There is a Corsair Osiris on the other side of the system He unfolds his plan, Renato getting more and more excited.
The bridge of the Osiris was frantic in its normal day-to-day operations; organizing and overseeing sorties against the Hessians, managing the various systems various for life and defense, and otherwise just living, the noise of the latter deafening and silent at the same time. The commander of the Fes, one Alec Lekkas, was an experienced veteran of the Hessian-front, and had fought for well beyond thirty years against the ex-miners. He had seen and dealt with most everything it was possible to deal with, and was rarely surprised. As he stood behind the sensor operators station, right arm leaning on the top of the screen that was set into the desk, however, he was rather surprised.
Two 101st Sabres, coming in hot, sir, the young officer repeated. Orders?
Alec thought for a moment, then ordered the launch of a squadron of Titans to intercept and destroy, preferably to take the pilots alive to answer the puzzling question of their presence.
Vince sensed the Titans launching from the Fes hangar deck, almost as if materializing from the stomach of the ship. Eight ships total streaked towards the two Sabres, and they bantered among each other about how they would pull the two enemies down. The pilots were quickly silenced by the old and grizzled CAG (Commander, Air Group), who had been around the block more than once, and knew just how dangerous the 101st could be, even outnumbered 4-to-1. About 6 klicks from the Fes, the two groups met in a blaze of Salamancas, Tizonas, and two Infernos.
The Infernos each hit their mark, shattering the shields like they were delicate egg shells. Krakens quickly blazed, and the two Titans marked for first blood were brought down. The Sabres didnt bear a mark but already existing damage; scarring that could only have been a product of hard time, and rusting to underscore it. Now the Corsairs were yelling in their comms, as death rained among them.
Alec Lekkas watched the sensor display in silent horror, as the final Titan, the CAG, was pulled under by the combined weight of both Sabres. It had been a massacre, and even though the escape pods had all been collected by the Sabres, the screaming still undulated over the comms, telling of unspeakable pain, terror, and rage. Immense static filled the comms, as well as some cackling laughter that blended with the static as if to say that the laughter and static were one and the same.
All Titans, launch! If its got a pair of engines, I want it in the air! Get the gunners to their stations, and Alecs orders were carried with unerring precision. Soon, more fighters streaked towards the Sabres, but all met with the same fate, falling beneath the onslaught that both Sabres unleashed. The bridge was quiet as they watched the sensor display that had been put up on the main screen. Sometimes it would switch to the onboard cameras in the Titans, and the show was unspeakable. The ships glowed an eerie blue, and when they looked in the cockpit, there was no pilot.
Los Fantasmas, one of the officers whispered. The Ghosts. Alec crossed himself. The Sabres, once done with the destruction of the fighters, streaked towards the Fes.
Sir, theyre going for the docking bay.
Close the doors then, dammit!
Yessir he pushed a few buttons, and waited a few minutes. Then, in stark terror, he slowly turned to Alec. A second passed two the man that had closed the doors let out a scream, clutching his head with both hands, as if to squeeze the pain out. Then his hands went off to either side, as if controlled by a weird automaton, and in a jerky-robotic fashion, moved to open the doors. Pure and unadulterated horror filmed his eyes, which left Alec no choice but to knock him out with a blow to the head.
Mass panic ensued. Though Alec yelled for marine teams to be deployed, he was largely ignored. Then the screaming started.
Carmelo Puentes had gotten used to the constant battle alerts. His military training wouldn't let him to lose his edge, but he had grown to learn that in remote systems like 47, the fun part of whatever it was that was happening was reserved to the flyboys.
These battle alerts were frequent in the front line. He was yet to see an occasion in which they actually meant a direct threat to the ship, or so he understood. Carmelo wondered if the loud sirens and yellow lights were supposed to put the pilots in some sort of battle frenzy before they jumped into their cockpits. Every time that they yelled and glared, he got worked up himself. He hated it. His warrior senses would kick in hard while he waited for a hull breach or something that would require him to act. Thirty minutes of excruciating wait would pass before he would finally receive the order to stand down and resume his miserable life aboard the Fes.
He was glad his days aboard the stinking bucket were about to end. Soon he would be replaced and re-assigned to some other place. If he was lucky this time, he would be sent to some planet. A place with a real sky, fresh atmosphere and, hopefully, some feminine women different from the crazy assed, fierce gazed military chicas he had to put up with all day. A place devoid of the freaking lights.
As the alert siren went on, he started rocking in his seat. Carmelo tightened his grip of the submachine gun. He bit hard, feeling his jaw muscles harden and dampen his audition. He held a fierce gaze upon a bolt that held one of the ships hull panels in place. Inside his head, he decided that all the commotion helped the telemetry and radar guys get into some sort of v?deo-game style combat trip, so they would work more efficiently. He started rocking harder. He looked around to see his men staring back at him. A flyboy would only see a bunch of mean, ill mannered marines. Carmelo could see past the angry faces, he saw their puzzlement towards him. Irritated as he was, he dismissed them and got back to his bolt muttering, Luz de mierda.
The soldiers heard a clump, followed by a shrieking sound. Carmelo froze in place as he heard the hull panels vibrate hard and explosions. He looked back at his men. They all had the same inquisitive look on their faces. He stood up and grabbed the intercom. Nobody answered. Not a good sign.
The two Sabres flew into the docking bay slowly, as if nothing in the world could be important enough to hasten them. The soldiers outside, waiting for the bay to repressurize, were anything but nonchalant. Fidgeting was normal; only the most battle-hardened men were still, used to the idea of facing death every time they fought.
The docking bay doors slid closed slowly, the feel of heavy machinery vibrating the floor beneath the soldiers boots. The Sabres didnt set down, though. As soon as the doors closed, they burst in, guns hoisted and aimed at the Sabres, yelling for them to get out. One of the Sabres twisted to the side and let loose a salvo of Krakens, ripping bloody holes in the ranks of the soldiers. Screaming of pain and rage and death replaced the previous screaming, as men hit cover or died.
The second Sabre set down on a pad, the blue glow and rust combining to prove the fear of the rumors that these were ghost ships true. A blue apparition flew through the canopy without it opening, eyes glowing red as it lunged for the closest soldier. The shots went straight through his body.
As Vince laid down his fighter against the deck, Renato, still maneuvering his Sabre inside the closed hangar bay, aimed for the lights and let the Krakens speak again. The spotlights exploded and the emergency illumination kicked in. The deck got much darker as it was bathed in red. Sparks from the gutted electrical devices added flashes of light to the atmosphere. Vince flew through his fighters canopy and looked around noticing the resulting ambiance. He nodded back at Renatos Sabre with a malign smile.
More marines stormed in from the inner compartments of the ship. Injured soldiers and dock workers were taken away while the rest surrounded the two Sabres from suspended platforms around the deck, training weapons and flashlights at them.
Renato finally made mention of putting down his Sabre, but not before releasing a nuclear mine which Vince threw behind the rank of soldiers. The battleship rocked upon the explosion. Half of the suspended platform detached from the ceiling and fell to the deck, most of the soldiers were projected from it and hit the ground dead or marred. The whole section of the inner hull twisted and shrieked. Immune to the blast, the ghosts heard the whistling of oxygen escaping from cracks in the hull. Emergency blast doors shut all accesses to the deck. Moaning and cries of pain added the final touch to the mayhem.
As Renato phased out from his Sabre, Vince found a conscious man amongst the multitude of corpses and rubble lying on the ground around them. Ignoring the mans cries of pain, the ghost yanked him from under the pile and had him suspended by the collar in front of him.
Vince held a fiery gaze upon the man and asked, this is as good a time to pass as it gets, isnt it?
Still holding the crippled man, he turned his gaze to see Renato take another man from under the pile of junk. Vince let his captive witness the other man fight against Renatos hold of him. He was deaf from the explosion, but understood that the other prisoner was screaming while fighting against the ghost's hold of him.
The ghost dragged the man by the back of his collar back to one of the Sabres. The ship assumed a fiery blue aura around it as apparition and captive approached it. As the ship gained life, to contrast with the profound silence the now deaf man was experiencing, a multitude of desperate cries sprouted inside his head. The ghost brought the man to eye level for a moment as if addressing him and then turned him to the ship. White arcs of lighting jumped from the Sabres hull and laced the mans body. The two ghosts watched it carefully.
The victim thrashed and jerked, as if hit by powerful electric shocks. A new ghostly form erupted from the mans corpse. White arcs dragged it back to the ship as if the Sabre was a living thing and those were its tentacles. Screams from the newly condemned soul overlaid the rest of the cries. These new screams were of desperation and fear while the old ones were of pain and suffering. It was all terrifying. The ghost then disposed of the lifeless body at his possession.
Carmelo and his eight-man squad stalked the corridors of the Fes, weapons held to a downward slant and eyes on the search. They had no intel other than the fact that they were under attack, and the enemy ships had landed in the aft launch deck, on the other side of the ship. They had also felt a small explosion from that general direction, which must have been huge to have been felt from the other side of the ship. Crew and marines scattered, each with their assignments, moving by rote with not much information to go on.
The squad rounded the final corner about ten minutes later, to be presented with a blast door barring their path. Cursing, Carmelo took them on a slight backtrack to make use of a service duct that was used to repair the hard-to-reach subsystems that controlled the flight deck. As they crawled through the claustrophobic tubes, the sound of distant and echoing screams flogged them. What the hell was going on? It was suddenly very hot in the crawlway, and Carmelo was surprised when the man taking point shrugged out of his laser-proof combat jacket and dropped it to the ground, sweat matting his white undershirt.
Faster, one of the men at the back of the line panted.
Much to everyones chagrin, they came to another dead-end, by yet another blast door. Was there no way in?
While Carmelo and his crew were trying to get to the docking bay, the ghosts had moved on. Phasing through the bulkheads, they flew up ramps, striking at any in their path with bolts of liquid fire, or at least that's what it seemed like. They could spare no time for the fools now; they aimed to inflict pain and incapacitate, so they could come back later and have their 'fun' at leisure. Up ramp after ramp, and whilst marines fired weapons, they were no match. Upward, ever upward, to the top of the ship. Finally, their destination was realized. The bridge.
The ten guards that were stationed there smelt of fear as they hefted their weapons. Their eyes held the certain knowledge that they were about to die. Oh, how their hearts beat. It was a disgusting noise to the ghosts, as if, even though they were about to lose their life, and their souls, they still mocked them. That couldn't do at all. In one leap, without seeing any motion, Vince and Renato descended on the guards. They had to stop the taunting beat! Hands phasing through chests, they squeezed the hot sacks of flesh, blood leaking into the internal organs, squeezed until they stopped. They made their way through the screaming guards, who all the while tried to shoot the ghosts (but most of the time missed and hit each other).
Once the guards were dealt with, it was time for the bridge. Before the bridge was an anteroom, sort of a guards post. More fun, more death, more destruction! This time instead of stopping their hearts, they tried something else. Half the guards turned their guns on the other half, ripping them apart, then each and everyone turned the gun on themselves, look of stark terror on their faces.They phased through the door to the bridge. Inside, the captain, Alec Lekkas, stood behind a barricade of officers with their small handguns. Vince looked at Renato, who returned the look; their broad grins beamed malevolence.
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