Boarders

The hallways inside the liner were about as wide as a man’s outstretched arms, wide enough for two people to pass comfortably. The hallways were tall enough that all but the grotesquely tall can pass unfettered, but still low enough that an average man can barely reach the ceiling with an outstretched hand. The upper corders were angled and white light poured from the lighting fixtures built into those bevels, keeping the hallways bathed in comfortable illumination. This hallway connected staterooms for passengers, and cutouts with doorways to particular rooms were interspersed with greenwalls - sections that used UV light to grow plants behind thin transparent panels. This cast another angle of light into the passage.
The white lights in the corner of the ceiling flipped from white to a yellow hue. A warning tone oscillated through the hallways at this change. The leaves on the plants in the greenwall begin to shake then move in unison, as if attracted by some great force.
The sound of motion rose as a crescendo around a corridor in the near distance. Five uniformed marines jogged to take positions, passing the greenwalled corridor from right to left. A thick door moved to close this passenger hallway off, sealing with a rush of red light around its perimeter.
On the other side of the small viewports in the heavy security door, the marines were setting up in drilled positions. This outer hallway had no greenwalls, but had some thick support buttresses on the outermost side, the one opposite the door to the passenger section. These obstructions were wide enough for the fire teams of marines to set behind. Two teams of two, one crouching with a two handed firearm and the other standing behind him with a pistol and a small blade. The fifth marine stood in the hallway, scanning the situation. His hands held two of the blades, and his stance held them pointing behind his body. Thick gauntlets shimmered with small protective fields and blue and green images danced in front of his face as his visor fed him data from the command and control system.
“Gamma Team in position outside Airlock Two.” he spoke, to nobody in particular, and an earpiece squawked back a confirmation. Looking at his situation, the marine leader had set up his team between the airlock door at the end of the hallway and the door to the passenger corridor. About 10 meters of hallway separated the most forward team from the airlock. Looking around, “I don’t have a tech yet,” he stated.
The marines shook in unison. The yellow light shifted to an ominous red. The outer hallway got less bright, but the small window in the passenger blast door poured light through, a mix of the red warning hue and the ultraviolet purple from the walls.
“They’re going to breach Two” the comms roared in his ear. The shipwide speakers shouted, in a controlled but nervous tone “Boarders have attached to the ship. Stay in your rooms and prepare for maneuvers.”
The sergeant went to work “Boots on! Prepare for breach!” The boots of his men began to glow blue from the heel as powerful magnets were activated. For himself, only the left began to glow. One more hard maneuver and the men leaned in unison. The right foot of the sergeant slid slightly until he shifted his weight to rely on the magnet. He leaned against the inner wall and saw motion on the other side of the airlock door, through small viewports.
The sergeant said “On three. One,” he moved some fingers of his right hand across the heavy bracelet gauntlet of his left hand.
“Two” he had found the parameter he was searching for.
“Three” and his team began firing at the airlock as he triggered it to open suddenly.
The airlock was full of red and black clad raiders, with heavy body armor and dark helmets. One in front, with a cutting torch, was put down immediately as the door he was cutting moved out of his way unexpectedly. Another two dropped, heavy blades falling to the airlock floor with clanks and thuds. It took a couple seconds, but soon the raiders were returning fire with heavy pistols. One stepped forward to spray the hallway with an incendiary weapon, spewing gouts of flame that stuck to the walls and ceiling of the hallway. The frontmost team of marines was caught at the end of the flames and screamed in agony for a few seconds before dropping to the deck like morbid dolls, feet still adhered to the plates.
The flamethrower filled the hallway with black smoke but was a limited use weapon, so after a few seconds, only the smoke and small fires remained. The sergeant shouted “Close! Keep them in the airlock!” The marine who was standing moved forward first, hugging the inner wall. Making out a shape in the smoke he lunged, pushing his blade into something then following up with a point-blank pistol shot across his practised hand. The second marine dropped his gun and drew his own blade and pistol, moving up.
As the smoke started to clear, the first marine’s lifeless body was thrown backwards and narrowly missed the sergeant. The second marine was locked with a raider, each one dealing a lethal blow to the other, they collapsed together.
Two raiders remained standing. One held a curved blade that was probably a chunk of bulkhead from another conquest before it was reforged as a sword and moved to engage the sergeant. He shouted something in a harsh language. Norkk, the guttural speech of the folk from the Stavanger cluster. It’s hard consonants and long vowels announced his intention to the other raider, who was putting on a plasma torch to cut through the passenger door.
The sergeant moved to the left a step and prepared to take the charge. He could see the ameteur technique of the swordsman. He was favoring his right arm, so sticking to this side limited his swing. With a yell he swung the large blade slowly with his off-foot, and the sergeant dodged it easily. He stepped to the right as the swordsman recovered and the sergeant put the blade of his left hand across the raider’s thigh as he moved. Enough to severely injure, but far from the killing blow he needed. The raider didn’t seem to react. The sergeant presumed in a nanosecond that this adversary was probably drugged to be unable to feel pain. He would not submit, and would need to be killed. The follow-up swing was wide but faster, and the marine’s left hand shield was able to deflect it high and it shattered into the red lighting of the corner.
Bringing his right blade up the sergeant found the throat of the raider and swiped across, spilling blood across both of them. The swordsman didn’t appear to recoil from the blow, so th marine pushed into him and drove both daggers into his head.
Looking up from the raider, gushing blood from vital places, he spotted the one with the plasma torch. He stepped out of the airlock and the airlock and the end of his lance glowed a hazardous bluish white. Hot enough to liquify titanium, this one wasn’t going to be so predictable.
The sergeant took a stance, still with only the boot of his left foot illuminated by the magnet. The raider was bigger than the one still twitching on the deck, and his right arm and hand was wrapped in a motorized attachment. As the raider took a lumbering step into his ship the marine slid to the right and grabbed the gun that had been discarded by another member of his team. He leved it and squeezed the handle, spitting tiny slivers of hardened polymer at the raider. He could see them being deflected harmlessly by an energy field attached to the plasma torch.
Scrambling to retrieve his blades, he grabbed one before the plasma torch swung down on the other, and with a spitting reaction reduced it and a divot out of the deck to a glowing puddle. The sergeant spin on his knees and reduced the distance between himself and his foe. He needed to get the plasma torch out of the picture first. His own shield buckler pulsed in anger as it rubbed on the shield of the plasma torch, but he found the edge of it by touch and swung his blade up to slice into the left forearm of the raider. Raking across the outside of the wrist he could feel ligaments snap and small bones break. He then brought the blade down into the elbow.
He heard the plasma torch fall as he could no longer manage its weight. Its lethal glowing end cooled instantly, but would still be very dangerous for some time. The sergeant stood and took a step backwards to gain his footing. He held his blade in his right hand, pointing backwards as before, and adopted a fighting stance.
The raider spit something at him, a few words, a collection of harsh unintelligible syllables, before moving toward the sergeant. He scripted the motion in his head, feint right to draw out the functional limb, lunge back left and hit his exposed side. His half magnetic boots were designed to aid in this move.
As the raider took another step, the sergeant pounced. He moved left but the raider didn’t react the right way. He spun into the move with his powered fist. The sergeant’s lungs cried in pain as the mechanical arm rocked his ribcage, even through his armor. He could feel his feet leave the deck as the blow moved him to the outer wall.
Slamming against the bulkhead, the sergeant had no time to recover. Without air in his lungs, he barely dodged the powered fist coming at his face. Now, on the outside of the attack, he tried to move the blade up but his shoulder had been injured a second ago and lacked the range of motion to strike a blow. He stepped back and changed hands with his blade. Now they seemed more even. He gasped a half a lung full of thick air into his body and spit to clear his mouth of blood and saliva.
The marine went to lunge again, but was caught by the hypernatural speed of the raider’s cybernetic arm. The large hand had him by the left hip and immobilized the sergeant. He tried to slash with the blade but wasn’t able to reach anything of importance.
White hot pain seared through the marine’s body as his pelvis was being smashed by a hydraulic press. The raider lifted him up a few centimeters to have more control. Every neuron in the marine’s body was screaming in agony. He felt his hip joint disintegrate, he could feel his pelvis snapping and the top of his femur being crushed.
He was close to the outer bulkhead. Close enough to get a foot ot the wall. He activated the magnetic boot and pressed against the outer bulkhead. His foot found one of the buttresses as leverage and he pushed against the raider. He twisted but kept his foot against the wall.
He twisted the cybernetic arm past its operational limit and it released him. He was still standing, one legged, on the outer wall as the raider stumbled backward. The sergeant kicked off the bulkhead with all of his remaining energy and collided with the raider’s upper body. He stabbed at the face of his enemy but couldn’t hit. He then pushed against the ceiling to take the raider off balance and onto the ground.
The landing was too much for the raider, as they landed on the still lethally hot tip of the plasma touch. He began to convulse as the discarded metal burned into his spinal column. The marine took the time to stab at his face. He his his thick chin first, raised and stabbed again and hit his nose and cheek. Thick, dark blood began to well up as he stabbed again, this time hitting the eye and burying deep enough to stop the man’s death-rattle.
He rolled off the man, pain making everything black. His duty fulfilled, the sergeant let the darkness on the edge of his field of view consume him.