With the precision of a factory robot, Hugh reaches into his webbing and grabs a full magazine for his .45. With the gun still on target and his left hand beneath, he hits the magazine release, catches the spent mag between his index and middle finger, then draws it out of the magwell and shoves the fresh magazine in. The spent mag wanders back into an empty magazine pouch.
He takes a few steps closer, wincing from the pain shooting through his chest. His left hand wanders over his torso, trying to feel if any of the bullets punched through. Satisfied that he's not bleeding, he limps closer to Greene's body still, then finally lowers his weapon.
"Guess I'm done lying to your momma," Hugh says. He holsters the pistol, then stalks off to find another longarm to regain some firepower. Something inside him screams at him to go back and check on Sgt. Putupu, but he doesn't listen. The mission objective lies just ahead. Someone has to make it there, switch off the Spire's defenses.
He stops, looks back at Greene's corpse, then walks off.
Hugh frees a Turai beam rifle from its rubble-crushed owner, checks the power, and replaces the fuel rod. He notices the IFF circuits have been disabled.
Staggering on through the rubble, Hugh follows the power cables he can find down to a lift blocked by debris. Nearby there's an access stairwell, rounded edges chipped and strained by the structural damage. He heads down past sounds of clanging metal and shifting rubble and comes to a maintenance door locked into place by its warped frame. Three beamer shots melt the door enough for Hugh to kick it in. He stumbles through, sweating now from the castoff heat, to see a circular balcony ringing a 2-story reactor shaft. A ring of ancient-level coffin-like reactors protudes from the midpoint of the shaft construct, like decorations on some byzantine Christmas ornament. Hugh notices a few are missing and realizes at least one of them is probably hooked up to the Gateway upstairs.
Commotion from below draws Hugh's attention next. He peers over the balcony rail to see four technicians down on the next sublevel arguing over what they should do.
"We're overrun! We've got to get out of here!"
"You don't know that! Our vox is cut off, it might be fine now, we don't know!"
"Well, we can't stay here. Someone's gotta go up and see if we can figure a way out."
"We're not abandoning our posts. The Rav-Whetu-"
"-took one of the reactors and left us in here. Look, power output's still spiking. There's still a battle going on."
This is getting grim, Semo thinks past the pain in his arm. He's put down one of the four, but that leaves three and they are slowly whittling him down to a nub - literally.
Semo begins to arc around to the side, trying to keep the three Turai from all coming at him at one time. His best bet is to get them to interfere with each other. At the same time, he's trying to find a way to get some benefit of cover from the rubble down here, going so far as to kick a chunk of it at one of his attackers if the opportunity presents itself.
This is gonna suck, Hugh thinks to himself, then vaults the balcony rail and lands on the console. It's not the best way to get around, but at least the reinforced uniform boots kept him from twisting his ankles from the impact. He rights himself, then swings his newly acquired beam rifle to cover the technicians.
"I am Captain Hubert Verrill from the homeworld," he says in pained Imperial, "and the Rav-Whetu is dead. If you surrender, we can find a way to stop this battle."
For all his wounds, Hugh still cuts an impressive figure standing on the console waving a large gun around.
"Oh, fuck me," spits one of the techs. The graying-haired man raises his hands and the other three, not wanting to be the one who gets shot for taking a stand, follow suit slowly.
"What do you want?" asks (presumably) the boss/foreman/manager/chief, a saggy-eyed bearded man. His workmanlike clothes are the least stained.
---
THUD! The kick numbs Semo's toes through the plated boot, but the chunk of rubble sails off the ground and rebounds off a recoiling Turai's faceplate. His head whips backwards and he hits the ground with an odd scraping noise and a wet puncturing sound. The jagged, broken pipe he landed on bursts up through his chest.
The two remaining soldiers might have run had they an escape route, but in the confusing ruined sublevel there's no easy way out. One feints in, drawing Semo's blade up for a parry, then the second one closes, manages to block the return swing, and stabs Semo in the abdomen. Semo reflexively twists away, his motion pulling out the blade, then hits his assailant with his pommel. He continues his spiraling backpedal, putting distance between him and the Turai. It's definitely a one-front fight now - neither Imperial wants to try another flanking maneuver, what with the horrifying deaths Semo's been dishing out.
"Good call," Hugh says, lowering his rifle slightly.
"I want the defense systems offline, for a start. My people are dying outside because we decided not to level everything from orbit, and after what we've done here I really don't want to fall back on Plan B."
The lead guy, the one in the least-stained suit, steps slightly forward. It's not a threatening step - after all, Hugh's standing well out of reach - but it draws Hugh's attention. He can see a wave of emotions crash over the man's saggy-eyed face, sees his bushy eyebrows twitch and his face flutter through anger, frustration, fear, and sadness.
"No. I surrender, but I won't help you." He winces as he says it.
Shock shivers through Semo's foot as he kicks a larger-than-intended hunk of debris. The results, however, are spectacular as the greater mass knocks the man down, rather than simply distracting him as Semo had hoped. Poor bastard falls on a ragged chunk of pipe and skewers himself.
Two down.
Once again, he pays for his success; this time with a blade in his abdomen. Semo instinctively pulls away to dislodge the blade, then slaps his free hand over the hole in an attempt to keep his intestines inside where they belong.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Semo manages to resist the seductive lure of unconsciousness. Snarling like a wounded bear, he spits out in his best Imperial, "How you boys want to die? Fast or slow? Better run to your mommies while you still can."
Semo fights from a defensive posture, looking for that one opening that will allow him to even up the odds. As best he can, he tries to cause the two Turai to interfere with each other to limit their effectiveness.
The Turai continue their dance with Semo. They hang back at first, waiting to see if the big guy's wounds are slowing him down. One Imperial discovers that they're not when Semo returns the Turai's tentative strike with a vicious downward stab that leaves the Imperial limping.
Semo and his opponents all close simultaneously - it hurts like hell, but Putupu spins left around the fresh Turai's attack. He uses his back and shoulder to push the man into his friend, then finishes his spin with a momentum-charged slice across the wounded man's neck. The headless corpse crumples and Semo's left with one assailant. The last Turai shifts his stance, also favoring a defensive posture.
"Those were good men you killed, Homeworlder," the soldier spits.
The other three reactor techs step forward with their chief. They were bickering when Hugh stumbled across them, but they've united now against this common enemy.
"No, we're not traitors," the oldest-looking technician says.
"I understand," Hugh says. "And I accept your surrender. Please drop your weapons down the next chute and stay here. I can't guarantee your safety if you run off."
He lowers his gun, then looks around the room.
"I suppose directions aren't gonna happen, either?"
The fast, twisting spin causes Semo's side to burn like fire. Only desperate determination keeps him from pulling the blow. Fortunately, the strike is successful. If it weren't for the serious wounds he's sustained, this could be considered a fair fight now.
Breathing heavily from the exertion, Semo growls back at the Turai soldier. "No one trying to destroy or enslave the homeworld is a good man, you idiot. There's a reason it's called The Homeworld. Every human's ancestors - including yours - are from there."
Semo is happy for a few moments to recuperate. Rather than rush to finish this, he'll let the lone Turai talk as long as he wants too.
"That cult talk might impress my mother," the Turai shoots back at Semo, "but I was born on this world, those were my friends you killed, and I'm going to make you pay for it."
---
Hugh sees a small handlancer and a few potential hand weapons - the Imperial equivalents of screwdrivers or wrenches - clatter down a nearby maintenance hatch. The four seemingly-cooperative prisoners stay in a group in the middle of the sublevel's deck. They're silent, looking down at their feet to avoid Hugh's gaze. All but one, that is. The older man's eyes shift to a fairly complex-looking console, with actual physical switches, knobs, buttons, and so on. His eyes flick up to meet Hugh's, then repeat their glance at the console.
Hugh replies with an almost imperceptible nod, then walks over to the console and takes a look at it.
It's knobs and switches and buttons, and oh fuck, where the hell is Stanhill when I need him?
"Cult? What cult? This isn't about some religious belief, this is about preventing what happened to Bashakra from happening on the homeworld. If you support that, you're no better than an animal."
Higher technology has not streamlined the control console's interface; if anything it's impossibly complex. A quick glance at the prisoners doesn't show any more signs of subtle assistance. Hugh considers that although the foreman-type tech was willing to take a stand and possibly die for it, someone would likely stop him from accidentally blowing up the Spire should he push the wrong buttons. Risk themselves? Maybe. Risk everyone? No. The techs don't seem like the type to let Hugh blow them all to hell.
Hugh's beamer comes up, threatening the possibly-vital reactor controls. The effect on the techs is immediate. There's a split-second of astonishment, of thinking is he really going to- and then the older tech jumps forward. "No! Wait! It could cause a resonance cascade!"
---
"And you're a foolish zealot," the Turai shoots back. He advances carefully towards Semo and his shoulder movement betrays his intent to strike.
Gatac
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