A fusillade of penetrator torpedoes had impacted The Future Spirit.

“The Future Spirit’s primary engine has been destroyed, taking two secondary-engines with it, and the main starboard engine took moderate damage in the process!” Robert called, still over the computer console, having somehow remained standing through the massive shock that had coursed through the ship. “We have lost the ability to make the hyperdrive jump with the damage sustained, and the rear shields are compromised.”

‘Not good.’ Onvelor thought, rising from the floor with a grunt.

“Was the powercore affected by the blast?”

“Negative.” Robert answered. “The powercore is emitting no unusual energy readings, and was unaffected by the barrage of torpedoes.  The failsafe shield became active upon the first volley of laserfire, and absorbed the area of the blast that would have decimated the core.”

“And the Stasis Field generator?”

“Also unaffected.”

‘Well, that’s an up.’ Onvelor thought. ‘Though the problem still remains that without hyperdrive capability, we’re a sitting target for that fleet.’

“The enemy ships are now almost upon us, sir,” Robert informed. “It appears as though the command ship intends to board us through the portside docking hatch, judging by their present course.”

“Well, then I believe I will go down there to greet them,” Onvelor said casually, and began strolling towards the elevator lift. “Activate inner defense and security systems, seal all doors, and lockdown the ship, on my mark.”

“Yes, sir.”

…

Onvelor strode into the passageway which had the docking hatch at the end of it, stopping a large handful of yards from the actual hatch. The hatch marked a dead end, having no other passageways connected to its location but the one Onvelor presently stood in; the perfect place to fend off a boarding crew.

The automated carrier unit behind him stopped as he did, and subsequently, Onvelor turned back to it, and began looking over the arsenal of weapons he had picked up from The Future Spirit’s onboard armory before coming to this passageway.

Four commando-issue assault rifles, thirty grenades (designed especially to produce maximum shrapnel), a high-grade fan-spray-enabled flamethrower, one heavy-issue sniper rifle (which is ‘heavy-issue’ because of the large, heavy rounds it uses), high-quality RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) launcher, two rapid-fire commando pistols, a single (which was more than enough) highest current available grade in quality, firepower, and efficiency tripod Gatling gun (which featured a built-in shield producer, which generated a protective shield that defended the Gatling guns user from enemy fire from the front), and also a large amount of extra ammunition (clips, etc.) for each weapon; this was the arsenal he brought to fight off the evidently-to-come boarding crew.

‘If this doesn’t cut it against a boarding force, nothing on this ship will,’ Onvelor thought, beginning to pull out weapons and gear to prepare to setup the equipment he had brought.

…

Within minutes, Onvelor had his defense point setup complete.

The Gatling gun occupied the middle of the passageway, and would serve as Onvelor’s main weapon until its ammo became exhausted. (It was also prime choice to place it in the middle, as its built-in shield generator would provide good cover, even when the weapon could no longer fire.) Two of the assault rifles stood against the right wall, while one remained in the automated carrier unit, and the other Onvelor had swung over his back. The flamethrower was set against the left wall, a little bit back from the position of the Gatling gun. (Onvelor supposed the flamethrower to be a purely backup weapon, and would only use it ‘if so necessary’.) The sniper rifle was laid against the carrier unit, and in a position that would allow Onvelor to quickly grab it up and put it to work when it was needed. All the grenades (minus six, which were attached to the bandolier Onvelor had over his shoulder) still rested in the carrier unit. The RPG launcher was on the ground next to the right wall, and also a little bit back like the flamethrower. Both commando pistols sat at Onvelor’s hips in holsters.

Extra ammunition clips occupied Onvelor’s bandolier with the grenades, and a few more clips also on his belt. (The clips on the bandolier were for the rifle, the ones on the belt for the pistols.)

The rest of the extra ammunition had stayed in the automated carrier unit, or was placed around the defense point in strategic positions.

“Robert,” Onvelor spoke into his wrist communicator. “How much longer until they dock onto the ship?”

“Moments, sir.” Robert answered through the com. “Their docking tube is moving into position to attach now.”

Onvelor quickly set himself behind the Gatling gun, positioned its business-end directly at the docking hatch, activated its onboard shield, and steeled himself for the coming firefight.

The sound of the enemy docking tube locking onto The Future Spirit resounded through the passageway, silence following. That silence was speedily eliminated by four trails of flying sparks creating a large circle on the hatch door, and then, marking the beginning of the firefight, that cut part of the door crashed onto the passageway floor, a U.E.S. soldier stepping through it.

That man would never see another sunrise.

Immediately as the soldiers foot touched the passageway floor, four projectile Gatling rounds dug into his body, felling him instantly.

“Projectile weapons?!” One of the soldiers behind the one who had been killed exclaimed.

The Kkkkkkgkkk of the Gatling gun continued as Onvelor poured projectile rounds with the tripod-mounted weapon into the hole the U.E.S. units had made and the still-intact area of the door, felling many more of The Empire’s soldiers and tearing the docking hatch door to a smoking mess of bullet holes.

Following those moments of fierce slaughter, Onvelor ceased fire, and his current weapon-of-choice’s rotating barrels slowed to a stop, thin trails of smoke rising from their hot ends.

Dead corpses lay about; some crumpled on the floor of the passageway, others lying within the docking tube; all of them with lead shells buried into various areas of their lifeless bodies.

The scent of freshly spilled and burnt blood began intoxicating the area, letting it be known that a multitude of men had met their bullet-inflicted end.

The first boarding team had been successfully repelled.

Onvelor knew this kind of scene more than he appreciated—he took no pleasure in killing others; he only did it when he had to, or when the people he had the choice to kill or leave-be were jeopardizing his own well-being or the well-being of something—or someone—he intended to protect.