Another U.E.S. unit appeared within the scope, charging down the docking tube from the far side as speedily as his legs could take him.

His legs couldn’t take him fast enough.

The sniper rifle discharged, instantly sending a moderately large projectile into the soldiers’ heart. He collapsed, his main organ incapacitated by the lead shell.

‘That’s three,’ Onvelor thought, as the sniper rifle auto-reloaded itself. ‘What are they teaching these idiots? You aren’t gonna get past a sniper in a docking tube by running headlong at him; all you’re gonna do is get yourself killed.’

After fighting off the initial boarding force, Onvelor had assumed the role of sniper (while remaining at the position of the Gatling gun) and was eliminating enemy units before they could barely reach the midway point in their docking tube.

His precision was immaculate, owing to the lengthy hours his father (a renowned gunmen and expert marksman) had trained, tested, and taught him the way of the ranged weapon. No one in all the systems had shot better than his father.

Had.

The sniper rifle discharged again, felling Onvelor’s fourth sniper-kill.

At this rate, he wouldn’t need Robert to activate inner security and put the ship in lockdown; the enemy couldn’t even put up a good fight, much less set foot in The Future Spirit—the farthest these U.E.S. troops were going was their own docking tube.

“Sir,” Robert said through Onvelor’s wrist com. “One of the other cruisers has moved into position on the port side, and their docking tube is about to attach to the port docking hatch.”

“Shoot.” Onvelor mumbled under his breath. So much for being optimistic. “Another complication.” Then, in a louder voice, he commanded, “Lockdown the ship in that area and put security defenses in affect as well—but only on the port side.”

“Will do, sir.” Robert replied, then ceased the link.

Onvelor, barely paying any mind to it (as he was attempting to decipher the question of how he was going to defend The Future Spirit when enemies were trying to board and take it over from both docking hatches), shot the fifth attempter of the rush-through-the-docking-tube-headlong-at-the-sniper tactic, making his sniper-kill count one death higher.

His hopes of success in getting the Journey-class starvessel out of this was slowly decreasing.

U.E.S. Cruisers showing up, destroying his hyperdrive capability and almost entirely rendering the ship immobile, surrounding him, and finally, sending boarding crews—soon to be through both docking hatches.

One problem after another; and not a single one of them had been resolved. Yet.

Perhaps it was time to commence more… Drastic methods.

And by drastic methods, Onvelor was considering the use of a hand-sized explosive projectile, and the sheer unbreakable pull of the vacuum of space.

…

After felling one final trooper who had decided to test his luck against the man’s impeccable marksmanship, Onvelor rose from his place on the floor, sniper still set in position to drop anyone stupid enough to continue what their comrades had started.

Truth to be told, it was to his advantage that these soldiers were half-wits when it came to boarding techniques and sniper-evasion, but he still pitied the obvious lack of training in this department the U.E.S. troops possessed. You’d think their superiors would teach them better. Apparently not.

It could in part be due to the haste at which soldiers were being trained, designated, and thrown into service of relatively late, having very little time to absorb it all and going out riddled with all the information of combat training. The United Earth Sector Leaders were heartless, political and monetary-gain based megalomaniacs who looked out for nothing more than their own sorry hinds. This could be another reason for The Empire’s lack of full-training for their military units.

All the Leaders wanted was to get basic-trained troopers out there, and if they succeeded in their missions and assignments—regardless of the death count—the luxury-engulfed men-in-charge were perfectly happy.

It sickened Onvelor, and he would do almost anything to bring the Leaders crashing to their graves. Maybe then The U.E.S. Empire could become something more than a conquer-all-and-forsake-honor- based people. The Leaders had so much negative influence.

Now, not everyone in The Empire was evil, nor wrong. Some were just caught up in it all, supposed to think the same as the majority because they lived or worked (or both) in the same communities as those who believed in what the Leaders, and The U.E.S. Empire itself, were doing day-to-day. Some believed as Onvelor did; that the Leaders needed to be put out of commission—permanently. And once they were gone, the hope was that things would change for the better.

Of course, the ultimate end of the corrupt heads of The U.E.S. was just wishful thinking; no hostile threat to them was getting anywhere within several klicks of their ‘precious’ capital bunker. Yes, they lived in a desolate, highly-fortified bunker on some who-knows-where U.E.S. controlled planet. Cowards.

They knew some anti-Empire people wanted their decapitated heads tacked on a wall. Smart, one would suppose, that they fled to a more safe and secure location. But also cowardice.

A typical quality amongst megalomaniacs—cowardice. They wanted all the power, all the money; but at no risk to their own life and limb.

Another thing that disgusted Onvelor, cowardice.

If you wanted something bad enough, you would stand and fight for it. Not these Leaders. They wanted it all, but they wouldn’t even get off their sorry hinds to do anything about it.

Politics had gotten them to their positions, and now they could just sit back and have others do all the work. Though The Empire disclaimed the obvious fact that this was coming on the boundaries of dictatorship, it wasn’t obscured in even the most minimum of senses that its Leaders were becoming dictators.

It could be easily seen how Onvelor would oppose such a government (if calling it a government was even palpable). Pretty much the entirety of what they did appalled him, and went against every moral standard he possessed.

Undoubtedly, this still didn’t justify all of his own actions—not in the least from his perspective.

Onvelor Jou Dematin had more to answer for than he could possibly ever remedy.

Now he grabbed up the RPG launcher, and after momentarily checking it, came back to the Gatling gun position.

What he was about to attempt was insane in any right-minded human beings book; but following the ‘drastic’ mindset of the present situation, a little insane may just do the trick.

“Robert, on my mark, seal starboard docking hatch passageway blast doors one through three,” Onvelor spoke into his wrist com.

“I await your order, sir,” Came the Droids voice through the com. “Might I inform you of something before you proceed, though?”

‘Better be quick,’ Onvelor thought, believing he didn’t have a great deal of time until more U.E.S. units began assaulting again.

“Give it to me quick,” He said, subsequently arming the RPG launcher. A projectile locked into place within the launcher, and the ‘Armed’ symbol appeared on the tiny built-in screen.

“Defense has held on the port side, and only two blast doors were breached by the enemy, mostly due to the rayshields, as they’ve played a large role in the keeping their slicers at bay. Unfortunately, they secured the hatch entry-point, and have brought techies onboard.” Robert paused a moment, as if waiting for something. His silence didn’t last long. “Sir, our systems are being hacked.”

Onvelor cursed under his breath.

‘Perfect,’ He thought. ‘Just perfect.’