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The door slowly recedes into the wall, opening a window of darkness.
A wave of warmth fills the corridor. Slightly warmer air, but rich
and breathable. The door makes a grating noise, struggling to slide
away. Berliner loses his patience and squeezes through the opening,
shouting, "United States Colonial Mar--"
That cut-off sound drives a bolt of terror through Morrison, who
shoulders through the half-open door and rushes to Berliner's side,
spins, raises the flamer--
PFC PATWARDHAN
Patwardhan moves inside the room, covering the left side with her
shotgun, careful to aim the muzzle well away from the rest of the
troop. Moore moves like a shadow to her right, as her lamp falls on a
wall of white-faced cabinetry. She crouches, spotting an open space
lined with couches beyond the cabinets. Convinced the threat from
that angle is minimal, she twists to catch a glimpse of what has captured so much attention.
PFC BERLINER
"Fuck the tracker, man," he says in a state of mind nearing rage. He tries to spit on the floor to openly display his disgust at the machine, but he's still shaking off the chill, and doesn't have any
saliva.
Pinned between his light and Morrison's is a simple mobile hanging over an eating area. Little plastic models of the USCSS Korea
and the space station Rodina rotate around each other, and the whole
thing is circled by three brightly-colored globes the size of
baseballs. The mobile is positioned under a vent which spews out warm
air, maintaining the steady course of the miniature stellar objects.
Berliner scans around the room with the useless piece of junk and
tries to get a clear reading. Even his own squad members aren't
showing up clearly. "Forget it," he finally says, and turns it off
completely. He hold his specially modified rifle and pokes around in
the corners of the room looking for clues.
He doesn't spot any obvious signs of trouble. The place is kind
of dirty, with piles of dust in the corners, as you'd expect on a dingy old freighter. This room is some kind of area for relaxation and meals. On the right side of the room is a galley with an
autochef, and a table surrounded by booth seats. On the left side of the room are lockers, dumbweights, and even a
workout machine, like a natilus or soloflex. A rumpled green towel hangs out of one of the open lockers, but otherwise the place looks pretty tidy. There's a door leading to the left, where Bravo squad should be right about now. There's also a door to the front, but if you remember the crew section scans, you'll know this doesn't go all
the way to the bridge. A third door on the right hand side, between
the table and autochef, should lead into a corridor, and that will
take you straight to the bridge.
SGT MOORE
The sergeant asks, "What is that thing?" while two of his marines
stand in stunned silence. Once he gets a peek at it, he relaxes his
grip on his sidearm and rolls up the sleeves of his long fatigues.
When the room looks secure, he says, "Stop lollygagging. Let's find these guys and go home."
He leads the way to the door on the right (starboard) side. He gets Morrison to stand in position directly in front of the door, with Berliner next to him for extra firepower.
"Watch our backs, Doc," he tells Patwardhan, before opening the hatch.
Brimstone and her team reach the port side crew hatch. A number of
crates are stacked near the door, cramping the marines into a tight
space.
"Door's warm," says Booths, pressing his hand to the ice-slick
surface. "By comparison," he adds. He moves off to the side a bit,
making some room to crouch and brace the smartgun, aiming it squarely
at the crew hatch.
Vitelli, as an aspect of his duty, steps up to a dark panel set into
the wall containing the door controls. He manages to power up the
control, and studies the keys. OPEN, CLOSE, SEAL. Simple
enough. "Ready when you are," he says.
Corporal Brimstone takes a backwards glance as McKenzie falls in to
position. With the team assembled, she recalls, "There's a straight
corridor beyond this hatch, right?"
Vitelli nods, the crew section plans still clear in his memory. He
checks the motion tracker hanging around his neck, panning it around
with his free hand. "Look's like A-team's already inside," he
volunteers, "They're moving starboard."
"Should give us good fire zones," says McKenzie.
"Okay, we'll move straight forward to the bridge. Check any open
doors, but keep moving. Understood?"
The others are all too familiar with these kinds of instructions.
They give their affirmatives and stand ready. "Let's do it," says
Brimstone.
PVT VITELLI
Vitelli speaks directly to McKenzie and Booths. "Watch it when I open
this hatch," he warns. "I don't want to get caught in your crossfire,
alright?" He slings his rifle and draws his 9mm sidearm.
PFC BOOTHS
"Don't worry, Vito," says Booths. He sends the comtech a crazy smile,
a little wild around the eyes for effect. He relaxes, and focuses on
the portal.
CPL BRIMSTONE
Brimstone looks at her squad mates. "Listen up. We're on our own, so
it's SOP* until we can re-establish communications." She checks the
bright LED display of her rifle's ammo counter. "Let's move, people!"
"Here goes nothing," says Vitelli, carefully tapping the OPEN switch
and stepping back from the doorway.
Gears hidden in the wall begin to moan, and the door shudders as it
slowly retracts. Through the opening, the squad's lights fall on bare
metal grating for a floor. Warmer air inside the crew section meets
the cold of the cargo area, generating a slow fog. All looks clear in
the corridor. Several doors on either side of the hall appear, but
each seems to be closed. Dead ahead, everyone knows, is the bridge.
Booths releases a pent-up breath, scanning the passage slowly. His
eyepiece begins to cloud with condensation, but the IR sensors might
as well be off. The way is clear, for the moment.
*Standard operating procedures
PVT MCKENZIE
"Oh my God! It's an empty hallway! Oh wait, that's what I was
expecting. Nevermind." McKenzie gives another knowing sneer before
stepping through the door. He moves to quickly position himself in
front of the door to the crew quarters directly to their left. SOP
would mean doing a quick clear of the rooms while moving towards the
bridge. McKenzie's eager to get it done; this whole op was a little
too quiet for his liking.
"In position," McKenzie informs Brimstone out of habit, and
then, "Little pig, little pig, let me in...." He waits for the others
to move into position and for Vitelli to open the first of what he is
fairly sure will be empty rooms.
GM: The search plan discussed at the briefing was to make a straight
run for the bridge, then head down to the cryo bay. If those sweeps
came up negative, then would come the door-to-door search of the crew
section, and finally a thorough sweep through the cargo areas. In
practice, however, Brimstone's got executive authority, and she can
conduct any kind of search she thinks is appropriate.
PVT VITELLI
Vitelli allows the big gunners to enter first. As they move
throughout the narrow hallway, Vitelli replaces his pistol and slings
his pulse rifle back around to the front. He moves into position
behind McKenzie. He takes out the motion tracker and studies it.
GM: Vitelli picks up some faint signals: probably Anchor squad moving
through the crew section on the starboard side, but nothing else.
"Everything seems clear," Vitelli says as he gets up from his crouch
and moves toward the first door. "McKenzie, ready?" he asks the
smartgunner. After McKenzie gives him the okay, Vitelli opens the
door and quickly gets out of harm's way, if there is any harm in the
way.
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