Falkirk watched the airlock slide shut behind him, the hiss of returning pressure giving him a sigh of relief. Falkirk realized that his little EVA had nearly cost him his life, and, coming down off of his adrenaline high, he realized that he had to be more careful in the future. With Dunn and Martinez seriously wounded, his death would not only leave the squad leaderless, but at barely adequate tactical levels. There wouldn’t be any use trying to fight the aliens if there wasn’t at least a single effective combat grouping left.
Falkirk scanned the damage to the module as he was contemplating. All in all, the destruction was not irreparable, certainly nowhere near the levels of carnage that he had witnessed at Palm. The latter half of the corridor was virtually untouched, while the next third after that was only pockmarked with random shots. The real damage had been done near the airlock. The areas closest, including the area for trans-planetary customs, had been completely torn away, revealing the lower sub-structure below. Falkirk looked down into the gaping maw and saw that the bulkhead had sustained some damage, but remained in tact.
A flash of movement shot by in Falkirk’s peripheral vision. Falkirk turned, weapon at the ready, to meet the possible intruder. He was relieved to see a member of station security with his hands raised, in a gesture of compliance. The man was wearing a hard EVA suit, designed specifically for combat in airless situations. The hard plastic and carbon fiber composite shell was effective at resisting even submachine gun fire, but it offered nowhere near the flexibility of the battle armor that Falkirk was wearing.
The man dropped his hands slightly, and, with a quick twist, popped the pressure lock on his helmet, removing it. The bright orange helmet, matching with the rest of the suit, fell to his side. Falkirk began to remove his own helmet, walking towards the man. It was fortunate that at least one person would be able to talk about what had happened with the aliens.
“Are you all right there, soldier?” Falkirk asked. All of the station security personnel in the United States module were U.S. Marines.
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Travers, at your service. I take it you’re not civilians?” Travers said sheepishly.
“No, Sergeant, we’re military. I’m Captain Falkirk. It’s good to see that we still have survivors up here. Do you think that the station as a whole has sustained much damage?” Falkirk inquired.
“It’s difficult to say, Captain. Reports have been fragmented from the other security forces, but we’ve been in close contact with the European Union module, and it seems that the aliens went for us first. It’s lucky that we had your help. If we hadn’t had that extra fire-power, the whole module could’ve been compromised.” Travers said, nodding his thanks.
“Excellent, Sergeant. We could also use your help in another regard. My soldiers and I haven’t had a shower or shave for quite a while. Do you think that you might be able to use your security access to open up a couple of unoccupied living quarters for us?” Falkirk asked.
“Say no more, sir. I’ll take care of that, and tell the mess hall to expect you and your men. I’ll take care of getting a security detail organized to inspect the station. I’ll report the findings to you in the mess hall in half an hour.” Travers said, saluting and then moving away.
“Captain, might I make a suggestion?” Simon said, behind him. Falkirk turned to face him.
“Sir, I’d feel more comfortable patrolling the station with Sergeant Travers. I also think that we need to find some method for re-entry. I would prefer to get that out of the way.” Simon said.
“Well, Simon, you have my permission. Thank you for taking that off of the list of concerns. See if you can’t catch up to Travers.” Falkirk replied, as Simon nodded and walked away.
Falkirk returned, with his two remaining squad members, to the primary plaza between the European Union and United States modules. Taking an escalator down, beneath the main places of business, they found the guest quarters of the two modules. Green lights shrouded the doors closest to the escalator, indicating that they were unoccupied and available for use.
“Alright folks, command decision. Get a quick shower, and meet me in the mess hall for a hot meal.” Falkirk said, leaving Heinrich and Galil behind and entering the comfort of the guest room. He punched a key on a display next to the door, and the circular light above the door changed from green to red.
* * *
Falkirk examined the interior of the room, the drab gray color adding to the effect of the darkness of space upon the room. A large window, on the far side of the room, at a thirty degree angle, extended from the floor roughly five feet, in a roughly rectangular shape, before meeting the back wall. One of the advantages, Falkirk realized, to having a large window in space was the fabulous view that it provided.
Removing his armor piece by piece and laying it on the common but appealing king sized bed, Falkirk removed his bandage from his shoulder, where he had been wounded. As he pulled it away, he felt a slight sting, and a small trickle of blood moved down his arm. The wound, however, clotted quickly, and the bleeding stopped. Although it still stung, Falkirk knew that the wound was knitting quickly. Falkirk moved towards the brushed aluminum door in the far left corner of the room, behind which was the bathroom. Pressing a small yellow pressure-sensitive pad on the left side, the door slid open. Falkirk took a step into the bathroom before jumping backwards in shock.
An alien, who apparently had crawled through the air ducts of the space station, was standing in front of him at the door. Falkirk had no time to react. No time to get his armor, no time to get his guns, no time at all. Dodging a swipe from the razor sharp fore- arm blades of the tiny alien, Falkirk put himself into a fighting stance and stood his ground, waiting for the alien to make a move.
The tiny alien did not wait long. Throwing itself upon him, with knifelike blades poised, Falkirk responded to the alien with a roundhouse kick. There was a crunching sound as his foot connected with the chitinous armor of the alien, and, from the pain that he felt, Falkirk assumed that the sound was coming from his foot. The alien recovered its poise and stood, advancing towards him, and swinging its blades.
Falkirk evaded the attacks to the best of his ability, but the tiny alien was tenacious. Falkirk faked a low kick to the left, and watched as the tiny alien dropped its defenses to take the bait. Sweeping to the little creature from behind, Falkirk slammed its head against the wall, crushing it with intense ferocity. Falkirk found that the alien had a tougher build than he had thought, resisting several blows to the head.
Falkirk knew that he had to try another approach. Grabbing the head of the alien, Falkirk turned and twisted it, spinning it several rotations clockwise until, with a grisly popping noise, the head came off of the alien’s shoulders.
Now, unhindered, Falkirk threw the remains to the side, spitting on them. He re- entered the bathroom, turning on the hot water to the shower. It felt good to be clean, thought Falkirk.
* * *
Putting back on his black jumpsuit, Falkirk tore away the remnants of his left sleeve, creating a fresh field-dressing for the bullet wound in his right shoulder. He tightened the bandage firmly, and sauntered to the bed. The process of putting on his armor by himself was slow but methodical, giving Falkirk time to reflect on the satisfaction that he felt from the remains of the dead alien lying in the corner. Falkirk grabbed his TG-10 as well, slinging it over his shoulder and setting it in the plastic harness attached to the back of his battle armor.
Before leaving the room, Falkirk noticed something on the wall above the bed that he had previously not noticed. A sword, about four feet in length, shone brilliantly, looking as if it had just been forged and cast. Reading the small plaque underneath it, Falkirk saw that this sword was originally forged during the first Crusades, over a thousand years prior, and used by a general.
The question of its newness was answered when Falkirk read that the sword had been refurbished and re-plated with a diamond-adamantine composite, painted over the original sword at 1200 degrees Celcius. The mono-filament composite created a blade with an edge that was a single molecule thick. Grabbing his helmet and hefting the sword in his right hand, Falkirk left the room to head towards the mess hall. He felt that there was something special about the sword, and that he had to have it.
Closing and then locking the door, Falkirk continued towards the mess hall, but made a sharp right turn as he was nearing the point at which he had docked the spacecraft. Falkirk saw that the dining hall was buzzing with activity. Apparently, the sergeant had came up with the excellent idea of turning the mess hall into a staging area for search and rescue of other station personnel. Falkirk nodded a quick greeting to Travers, and located Simon giving a briefing to station security members about combat with the aliens.
Falkirk stood off to the side, and Galil and Heinrich joined him in the few minutes that it took Simon to finish his briefing. After Simon joined them, the group entered the kitchen of the mess hall and grabbed one plate apiece. The food was being served quickly by the kitchen staff, which was feeding all of the incoming survivors of the attack. The meal was by no means luxurious, penne pasta with some meat sauce and mixed vegetables on the side, but none of the group complained.
They found a seat at one of the tables amongst the flurried activity of the mess hall, and wolfed down their food. Spirits were high due to the nearly bloodless victory against the aliens, and Falkirk related the story of the alien in his quarters to the others in the group. Morale was high, and the group felt nearly invincible. Simon turned to speak to Falkirk.
“Captain, I was talking to Sergeant Travers, and he thinks that he has an effective way for us to return to Earth.” Simon said, hesitantly. He seemed to be nervous about speaking in front of the group without Falkirk’s permission.
“Well, Captain Simon, you possess the information. Please brief us.” Falkirk said, giving Simon a hearty slap on the back. Simon smiled, and stood to address the group.
“Thanks, Captain Falkirk. I was talking to Sergeant Travers, and there is a way to return to Earth besides the regular shuttle runs that come up here once a month. There are about forty or fifty emergency re-entry pods in the American section, for permanent station personnel to get off of the station in case of an emergency. Travers said that we could use four of them, and he would have the next shuttle coming up bring some replacements. I think that this is our best and quickest route off of the station.” Simon said, giving Falkirk a nod. Falkirk nodded back, indicating his agreement with Simon’s assessment of the situation.
“Now, each of these pods fits one person and a little bit of cargo, so it will be a tight fit with our armor and weapons, but it should work. We each take one, plot a course for the position of the Midway off the coast of South America, radio them, and have them bring us in. This could be dangerous, as these pods really weren’t designed for providing a specific landing point. The boosters on the pod are only designed for minor course corrections. The heads-up display on the pod should be able to tell you if you get in trouble, though. If you have a problem, hit the abort button, and get back to the station, to try another pod. Just be careful not to hit abort once you get lower than the upper atmosphere. If you do, you could find yourself dead very quickly.” Simon said, finishing. Falkirk rose and stood in front of the group.
“Excellent briefing, Captain Simon. This is it, people. Once we get to the Midway, we should be able to meet back up with the other members of the unit and get some idea of what we’re going to do next. Captain, get Sergeant Travers and let’s head to the pods.” Falkirk said.
Travers escorted the group out of the mess hall and through a series of passages, which were generically gray-carpeted. Reaching the end, Falkirk was presented with a magnificent view out into space by an overwhelmingly dominant window. Falkirk looked down and saw the portholes down into the tiny pods, twenty-four in total in this section.
A panel was in the center of the steel girder walkway, presumably the controls and the radio that Simon had mentioned.
“Simon, take care of radioing the Midway. I’m going to help Travers getting Galil and Heinrich all buckled up.” Falkirk said.
Falkirk saw Heinrich and Galil get into the two furthest pods on the left. After seeing them crawl down the steel ladders leading down into the small pods, Falkirk sealed the pressure-locked hatch behind them. The experience of depressurization was unpleasant the first time; he didn’t want to repeat it again.
“Got those hatches okay?” Simon asked.
“No problem. What about the Midway?” Falkirk questioned.
“I managed to get a hold of the radio operator. He said that they would have helicopters out looking for us, so we’d better get started.” Simon replied.
Falkirk aided Simon in getting into his pod, sealing the hatch behind him. He saw Simon give the thumbs up through the tiny window in the hatch. Falkirk was the last one left.
Travers walked with him over to the pod, and Falkirk lowered himself slowly down the ladder. The pod was extremely cramped, especially with his armor on, but Falkirk managed to fit. Before Travers closed the hatch, Falkirk reached up to shake his hand. The two exchanged a hearty handshake.
“You sure that you’re going to be alright up here, Sergeant?” Falkirk asked.
“I think we’ll be able to manage, Captain. You go take care of things down on Earth. We’re all rooting for you up here.” Travers said, giving Falkirk’s hand one last shake. They released their hands, and Travers closed and shut the hatch, sealing shut with a satisfying hiss. Falkirk had to stand up, it was the only way that he could fit in the nearly vertical pod, but he managed to position his hands in front of the controls for the pod.
“Alright folks, listen up. The order that we launch is going to be Galil, Heinrich, Simon and I. I’ll count from three, and when I hit zero, I’ll launch. So on three, hit it, Galil.” Falkirk stated into his radio.
There was a muffled assent over the shared radio system. Falkirk could feel the sweat begin to bead on his brow. This was one of very few situations with risk that he could not control.
“Three,” Falkirk said. He heard a muffled thump, and saw one of the pods through the view screen in the pod fly away from the station and towards Earth.
“Two,” Falkirk said. He heard the clack of his own pod’s locking clamps releasing. Another of the tiny pods flew towards Earth.
“One,” Falkirk said, feeling the locking clamps on his pod release entirely. His pod now drifted out of the airlock. Another pod followed the two others.
“Zero,” Falkirk yelled, the engine of the pod slamming him with incredible force into the barely padded support surface of the pod. It offered little comfort.
Now proceeding at a constant speed, Falkirk was right behind the others. He saw a flash as Galil’s pod hit the upper atmosphere and begin falling. All too quickly, the others hit as well. Falkirk began to feel the familiar, gut-wrenching sensation of falling.
* * *
A small child in Washington D.C saw the four flashes of the re-entering escape pods flash through the atmosphere. Walking through the street with his mother in the rapidly approaching dusk, the two knew that they would be safe from muggers and thieves in their posh, upper-class neighborhood.
“Look mommy, four shooting stars!” The child gasped in excitement.
The flashes quickly vanished, and as the mother looked up, she frowned at the child.
“Don’t be silly. Four shooting stars at the same time are impossible. Tomorrow, you’ll be telling me about space aliens.” The mother said, rolling her eyes.
* * *
Falkirk screamed towards the ocean at two hundred miles per hour. Rapidly approaching the bluish sky of the lower atmosphere, he watched his altimeter tick down.
He knew that deployment of his parachute would occur at fifteen thousand feet. The altimeter moved from one hundred thousand to ninety thousand in a matter of seconds.
Falkirk knew that Galil’s parachute deployment was only a few seconds away. Falkirk readied himself for the yanking motion of the parachute. Before he finished thinking those words, Falkirk was yanked upwards, as if by an invisible hand. He could feel his blood rush downwards to his feet. The parachutes had deployed correctly, and Falkirk enjoyed his ride to the surface of the ocean.
Before he knew what was happening, the pod hit the surface of the ocean. Steam shot up from the hot metal surface of the pod, shrouding and obscuring Falkirk’s view out in a dense mist. Falkirk also heard the steady thumping beat of helicopter rotors close by. When Falkirk heard a dull knocking on the outside of the pod from unseen rescue divers, he knew that nets would be used to recover the pod. Pulled slowly up from the water, Falkirk knew that he was on his way to the Midway.
The ride back to the Midway seemed to flash by. The next thing he knew, Falkirk could feel the solid surface of the carrier deck as his pod connected with it. Popping the hatch and climbing out, Falkirk heard cheers rise from the sailors that had collected on deck to meet them. The swell of support gave Falkirk an incredible rush, and he raised his armored fist in the air. The cheers rose, and Falkirk watched as Martinez and Dunn rushed out from the crowd to greed him.
“Welcome to the Midway, Captain!” Martinez said, throwing a hug around Falkirk’s armored body.