“Do what you can to stop them, Robert,” Onvelor said, brainstorming for ideas on how to be rid of the hackers. “Once I’m finished up here, I’ll do what I can do eliminate the rest of the intruders.”

The main concern with the hackers was that if they accessed the ships security control, they could not only deactivate the rayshields, but shut-down security protocols in general; leaving The Future Spirit’s interior clear for the U.E.S. to spread-out and take control—minus Onvelor, of course, who would pose quite a difficultly to them.

“Understood, sir. I will deter them for ALAP.” ALAP was the way Robert said ‘as long as possible’. “And I am ready to seal the hatches you mentioned.”

“You won’t have to wait long,” Onvelor replied, putting the front of the RPG launcher through the Gatling gun’s defense shield.

He put his left eye to the scope, and guided the front of the Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher to point directly down the enemy docking tube.

His trigger finger curled around the launchers release trigger. He squeezed, sending pressure into the weapons fire mechanism.

The hand-sized RPG soared from the launcher—straight into the docking tube.

Now, this wasn’t just any RPG. This explosive projectile had a micro detonation-timer onboard, one that could be primed while still within the given launcher, or manipulated wirelessly while in flight.

The current projectile-in-question had been primed to detonate five seconds after it was expelled from the launcher, giving it just approximately enough time to make it three-quarters of the way through the U.E.S. docking tube.

It did just that.

Approximately three-quarters of the way down the tube, the micro detonation-timer reached zero, setting off the shrapnel-packed explosive payload in the grenade housing.

“Mark!” Onvelor yelled at his wrist com. “Seal the doors! Seal the doors!”

The RPG blast shattered several feet of the docking tube, shrapnel and explosive slicing it into two disproportionate pieces. The Future Spirit buckled as the connection between it and the enemy ship ceased to exist.

The fierce vacuum-pull of airless space rushed upon the shattered docking tube, sucking life-support-generated oxygen out into the dark oblivion.

Onvelor flung himself at the right wall, grabbing onto the closest traction-supporting surface.

The equipment he had brought began lifting into the quickly-thinning air, the force of the pull threatening to take the entirety of the expensive arsenal into space.

The bodies of the fallen U.E.S. soldiers were already gone, never to have a proper burial ceremony.

‘What the heck are you doing, Robert?!’ Onvelor thought, death-grip the only thing keeping him alive. ‘Shut the doors already!’

His thoughts were momentarily answered by the pneumatic hiss of heavy blast doors sealing the area exposed to the space vacuum from the rest of the passageway.

He dropped to the floor as the passageway’s normal gravity returned, gasping to regain his breath.

Onvelor’s wrist com spat static for a few seconds, and then Robert’s Droid voice came through.

“Sir! Are you well?”

He was fine, save for being out of breath and slightly shaken. Though what he told Robert came out much different than an update on how he was fairing.

“What the heck happened?!” Onvelor nearly shouted into the wrist communicator.

“The systems automatically rebooted to deter the hackers, as is security protocol onboard The Future Spirit when foreign technology attempts access into the computer mainframe. I was unable to close the doors for several seconds until the computers came back online.”

‘Horrible timing,’ Onvelor thought as he got up from the floor, steadying his legs under him.

He briefly surveyed the passageway; finding every piece of weaponry and the automated carrier unit to have disappeared—all except one of the rifles, which had apparently been cut in half by the closest blast door, as its front half was lying partly-mangled on the floor nearby.

Judging by this observation, and the weapons Onvelor still had on him, he remained with only a single assault rifle, a dozen extra ammunition clips, a few grenades, and two commando pistols, out of his original stock.

“What’s the status on our intruding friends?” Onvelor asked, starting down the passageway in the opposite direction of the dead-end.

“Sir, the U.E.S. forces are certainly not our ‘friends’. Your terminology is flawed concerning—”

“Shut your droid trap and give me an update on our enemies.” Onvelor hissed.

Robert complied. “They have breached another door and will soon have access to a passageway intersection. I approximate the boarding crew is twenty strong, excluding the technicians.”

“How long until they reach the bridge, assuming it’s their target?”

“A good half-hour, sir, if they keep up at their current pace.”

“Fine. Open up a few of the doors on the portside so I can go wait to greet them.”

“By ‘greet’ you mean to emphasize that you are going to incapacitate them permanently when you meet, correct?”

“When did you get to be so technical? Yes, I’m going to stop them.”

“’Stop them’ is a kind way of saying ‘kill them’, yes?”

“Just open the doors, Robert.” Onvelor sighed, rounding a corner. “And quit it with the technicalities of my wording, this is no time to lose our heads.”

“I apologize, sir. Emotions should be irrelevant to me, but my advanced Evolve programming can succeed in galvanizing me on occasion. Opening the doors.”

…

‘Ready when you are, U.E.S.’ Onvelor thought as he stood at the ready in the passageway intersection to the right of the blast door which would be sliced through by U.E.S. units at any moment. He double-checked his one remaining assault rifle and secured a grenade in its built-in launcher.

Silence hung in the intersection for several moments. Then sparks erupted from the door and it collapsed off its frame onto the passageway floor.

Two U.E.S. soldiers stepped through, weapons drawn. They never had a chance.

Onvelor efficiently dropped them with four rounds from the rifle, turned, and fired the grenade into the corridor they had come from. It skimmed the heads of several soldiers who were behind the first two and flew into the passageway. Two seconds later, it detonated.

Onvelor dove to the side and out of the corner of his eye glimpsed the second-lead U.E.S. units propelled by the blast into a far wall.

Flames already licked from the intruder’s passageway and the moaning of survivors drafted to Onvelor’s attentive ears. He put two rounds each into the men who had flown into the far wall and proceeded to inspect the intruder corridor.

The corridor was obviously damaged from the grenade blast; smoldering metal, flames, electric sparks from broken wiring, and a number of charred bodies lay about. Once again, the scent of burnt blood came to Onvelor. The remaining survivors were either injured, disoriented, or both.

As Onvelor was scrutinizing the passageway, a laser bolt suddenly skimmed the side of his head—so close it singed an eyebrow and proceeded to burn a notch out of his left ear. He put a hand up to his ear at the pain, but stifled any audible indication he was hit. He looked down the corridor and saw a U.E.S. soldier struggling against a wall into a standing position, pistol gripped tight in his free hand. The man was burned and areas of his armor were scorched black by flame.

The soldier coughed onto the floor, composed himself, and said, “That… was a warning shot. Put down your weapons or the next one…. Will do more than take a piece of your ear off.” The man had his pistol trained on Onvelor, and there was very little doubt he would hesitate to pull the trigger if necessary.

Onvelor was confused why this man would even bother to give him a warning shot. The soldier could have easily killed him right then—one laser bolt to the forehead and he was gone.

‘Peculiar,’ Onvelor mused. ‘Perhaps this man has the heart of compassion for even a murder… Like myself.’ He decided to comply with the merciful soldier’s wishes, for the moment.

He dropped his rifle, unholstered his pistols and let them clatter to the floor next to the rifle, and removed the bandolier strap.

The soldier waved his pistol. “Hands where I can see them.”

Onvelor raised his hands up above his head and assumed a stoic position. “Can I ask you a question, soldier?”

“What kind of question?”

“Why would a soldier of the U.E.S. practice mercy on a criminal?”

The man paused. “… Maybe because I have orders to take you alive.”

“After all the men I’ve killed?”

“What difference does it make to you, murderer? You’re alive, aren’t you?”

‘Sometimes I don’t know if I really am anymore.’ Onvelor thought.

When Onvelor didn’t say anything, the soldier continued. “Look,” he said, briefly glancing at the floor and sighing. “Just because I’m U.E.S. doesn’t mean I think like they do. I hear you have strong beliefs against them, I get it. But I’m my own man, and in my book, mercy is sometimes an honorable trait. You’re a murder, yes, but even murderers can be redeemed.”

“What is this? You’re holding a gun and preaching to me now? This is truly impossible. I don’t care what you’ve got to say. And you can tell your boss, Wotes, that he won’t have to worry about me for much longer; one more deed and I’m damned for all it matters.”

“Reinforcements will arrive in moments. You’re coming aboard the Jurisdiction. No more people will be damned today.”

“If you’re so sure about that, than tell your people to pull out and take your fleet back to friendly space. Because if you persist on taking me to your ‘Jurisdiction’, a lot more people are gonna get damned, no matter what you say about it.”

“And how would that be?”

‘Pacifist time is over, I suppose.’ Onvelor thought, and dove into the unsuspecting soldier, slamming him up against a wall and relinquishing him of his weapon.

“I kinda like you, soldier, but I apologize if I’m reluctant to lay my plan out for you.” He whacked the U.E.S. unit hard over the head and let him crumple to the floor. “However, I will let you live—for now.”

Onvelor retrieved his gear and jogged back into the intersection, pressing himself up against a wall next to the opening for the intruder’s corridor. He could hear shouts and the sound of boots running against metal. The next round of U.E.S. troopers were coming in.

“Robert, I have a plan, but you’ll be the one to carry it out while I take care of the intruders.” He semi-whispered into his wrist com. “It is imperative over all else that you succeed. I give you this one final order—carry it out.”

“Sir?”

“Listen, Robert. Circumstances have changed.” Onvelor explained. As he spoke, the U.E.S. became closer. “Using the self-repair system you should be able to reconfigure the remaining main engines with hyperdrive. It would be a one-time use and you would lose The Future Spirit’s engines as I predict they will completely burn themselves out. But it should work.”

“Sir, even if I could reconfigure the engines in time, which I am in the process of, we are still connected to an enemy vessel. And unless you were to… sacrifice yourself… I calculate it is improbable we will disconnect from the enemy ship in time and thus achieve clearance for a jump.”

The voices of U.E.S. soldiers were very close now.

“The game has changed since I placed the first piece. And now, at this unexpected turn, I will place my last.” Onvelor checked the clips on his pistols and primed a grenade in the assault rifles launcher. “Initiate contingency plan S.B.-3/5, override code password: Eighth Hope.” Onvelor cocked his rifle, and prepared himself. “Don’t fail me, Robert. Get those pods to safety, no matter the cost…. My life no longer matters, so this is my final deed…”

Onvelor turned around the corner with a commando’s speed and released a fierce strafe of bullets on the enemy.

“…Don’t let it be in vain.”