Outpost: Hetero Version

"Switch your visors to IR, then get ready to charge. I got a plan."

Borealans were loyal to a fault, the pack doing as he asked without question, tapping the touch controls on the sides of their helmets to switch their mode to infrared.

"Covering fire!" Moralez shouted, pushing off the floor and into the open corridor. The Borealans unloaded in unison, hammering the far end of the hallway with a hail of automatic fire, the corrupt Marines lowering their heads in panic. Moralez exhaled, willing himself to calm down as he raised his inhumanly steady and accurate prosthetic arm. He loosed three shots in the space of a second, his limb compensating for the recoil as if there was none at all. The three light fixtures that were embedded in the ceiling exploded in a flash of glass and electricity, plunging the corridor into near pitch blackness. The Borealans charged forward like angry tigers, reacting far quicker to the change than the Marines were able to. The aliens were upon them before they could get their bearings in the gloom. One of them was speared by a bayonet, his weapon floating away from him along with tiny spheres of airborne blood as he loosed a cry of pain. A second was set upon by two of the Borealans as they rounded the planter, knocking him off-balance with their weight and tearing into the hapless Marine with their hooked claws, his Kevlar providing little more protection than paper against the powerful creatures. There was the telltale gurgle of a severed jugular and a spray of arterial blood that splattered against the white walls. The third Marine raised his XMR to fire on his assailants, but Moralez saw an opening between the shifting figures and put a round straight through his visor, snapping his head back and leaving his lifeless body floating slowly away as momentum carried it along. One of the Borealans rounded a second corner and loosed two bursts from his XMR, followed by a muffled yell of surprise that was abruptly silenced by a third burst.

Moralez counted five, there couldn't be too many more. He took point, bounding around the corner and using the far wall to slow himself, his weapon still readied. Two more dispatched Marines floated in the hall, their bodies limp and lifeless. They looked like they were underwater, it was an oddly eerie sight. He waved the Borealans forward, locating a door with Admiral Rawling's plaque, gaudy gold with indented letters.

"We breach, take positions."

They lined up on either side of the door as best they could in the microgravity and Moralez retrieved a shaped charge from the belt of one of his cats. He had anticipated locked doors. He was surprised that the Admiral had not managed to engage the fire doors yet, maybe there had been a struggle in engineering when the gravity had been shut off.

He placed the charge on the door and set the countdown on an embedded numerical keypad, stepping back out of range. The Borealans flattened their ears against their helmets, bracing for the explosion. The door blew inward, the shaped charge concentrating the blast into the room, spraying the interior with debris and shrapnel. It wouldn't be lethal unless they got especially unlucky, but the Admiral should be stunned and downed by the shockwave.

"Go go go!"

They filed into the room, checking the corners and finding it empty. Rawling emerged from behind his mahogany desk, now scarred by hot metal from the explosive charge. He steadied himself, trying to get his bearings in the low gravity, and raised a revolver in a shaking hand. It was a custom job, a forty-four magnum, an ivory grip visible beneath his gloved hand. There were splotches of red blood staining his otherwise immaculate Admiral's dress uniform, nothing life-threatening, but he must have caught some of the debris.

"Put that gun down!" Moralez shouted, training his weapon on him. "I'm taking you in, Rawling." A forty-four round wouldn't penetrate the ceramic armor that they were wearing, but he might get lucky and hit the Kevlar, it wouldn't reliably shield them at this range.

"I...am...a fucking...Admiral!" Rawling bellowed as he tried to catch his breath and steady his hand, obviously still stunned. He looked crazed, his eyes were bloodshot and bulging, spittle flying from his lips as he ranted. "You will stand down, or so help me, I'll have you fed to the Krell!"

"Not anymore you're not, you're under arrest. We know all about your little black market enterprise. I have orders to take you in and to confiscate your private files. Surrender, right now, or I swear I'll put a slug through your goddamned heart."

Rawling was clearly panicking, his eyes darting around the room, searching for some means of escape. The Borealans kept their weapons trained on him, unflinching.

"Listen to me very carefully," the Admiral began. "I am a very powerful man, I have connections. Even if you put me away, I can make your life very difficult. They won't execute me, I'm too high ranked, think about how it would look! They'll disappear me, lock me away in some asteroid prison colony where I'll be out of the public eye. Is that what you want? I can ruin you. Even from behind bars, I can order hits on everyone that you love."

Moralez bared his teeth, his finger inching closer to his trigger.

"Wait, wait! I can make it worth your while," Rawling pleaded. "My resources are limitless! How would you like to retire early? Be transferred to a tropical colony planet? I could fill your bank account with credits, I could give you crates full of paper currency, untraceable! A private yacht, promotions, money, women. Anything you want!"

"There's only one thing I want Rawling, your fucking surrender."

The Admiral's brow furrowed, he was not acquainted with integrity it seemed. Moralez could see the sweat pooling on his face in the zero-gravity, forming blobs that clung to his skin. He could practically see the cogs turning in the man's head as he weighed his options.

Finally, he lowered the revolver, letting it float away from him and raising his hands. Moralez glided over to him, holstering his handgun and pulling a zip tie from his belt. He gripped Rawling's wrists in his metal hands, dragging him over the desk and turning him to secure his arms behind his back. Pulling him along in zero-G was a pain in the ass, but Moralez gripped him by his upper arm and tugged him as he pushed off the floor.

Suddenly they fell, surprised as the AG field was brought back online unexpectedly. Moralez heard thumps as the Borealans and the floating corpses landed, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rawling move. He had a letter opener concealed up his sleeve, using it to cut the zip tie that held his wrists bound. He put Moralez between him and the Borealans, pulling the XMH from Moralez' hip holster and pressing it against his helmet. At point-blank range, it would provide him with no protection. The bastard was fast for an older man.

"Call off your pets, Marine, tell them not to fire. They won't listen to me." He shook Moralez and repeated the command, his trembling finger pressing against the trigger. Moralez had no choice and ordered the Borealans to stand down. They stood nervously, looking to each other for support, unsure of how to proceed. The aliens were poor decision makers when the chain of command was broken.

"Good, good," the Admiral breathed as his panting breath misted the back of Moralez' reflective helmet. "Now I'm getting out of here, and nobody is following me."

"Alarms will be blaring all over the station, Rawling. Where are you going to go?" Moralez asked, his tone mocking.

"Shut the fuck up," he spat, his cap almost falling off his head. "I have ways in and out of this station that not even the engineers know about. You're coming with me, you self-righteous prick, I need insurance."

Moralez moved his right arm, faster than would be possible for an organic human. He gripped the handgun that was pressed against his temple, the Admiral's fingers cracking like toothpicks under the pressure of his robotic hand. He pulled it forward with a sharp tug, dislocating Rawling's arm over his shoulder and tearing the ligaments and muscles as if they were made of wet paper.

The Admiral screamed in shock and agony, staring at his broken, ruined limb in disbelief. His hand was destroyed, and his arm was warped grotesquely at the elbow, white bone protruding through welling blood. Moralez brought his left arm around, his prosthetic elbow slamming into Rawling's face, crushing his nose in a spray of blood that spread over his white dress uniform in a flared pattern. He stumbled backwards, almost knocked off his feet by the blow and blinded. Moralez released his tattered fingers, spinning to hook his arm around Rawling's neck. He slipped his shoulder under the Admiral's armpit, using the leverage to lift him clear off the ground.

Rawling seemed to hang in the air for a brief moment before Moralez brought him down with a whir of servos and motors, slamming him into his mahogany desk with enough force to snap the thick wooden slab in two. There was a terrible crunch of breaking bones, and Moralez released his hold, stepping back from the ruined desk. Rawling lay motionless, twisted and broken, blood pooling on the Persian rug beneath him.

"Well...this is gonna be a pile of paperwork," the Chief muttered.

***

Schaffer watched as the cargo shuttle descended, blowing up a cloud of white snow as its landing gear absorbed the impact. The UNN had agreed to his terms. They would be allowing him to stay at the Terminal, his job now was to man the outpost and to maintain the equipment. Once Zagza had understood that the vessels were bringing them food and supplies, he had been overjoyed, lifting Schaffer off his feet to embrace him in a tight hug that squeezed the air from his lungs. The pack seemed entirely happy to stay here with him, the base was warmer than their longhouse had been, and now they could have food and supplies delivered directly to their doorstep. The UNN had dealt extensively with Borealans and knew how to feed them. Zagza and a couple of the other Polars carried large slabs of frozen meat from the shuttle's cargo bay, taking it back to the outpost for storage. The pack would never go cold or hungry again, and Schaffer now had the full support of the UNN. They would be sending a team of engineers soon to fix some of the remaining problems in the base, such as the broken plumbing.

He had even heard that Rawling had resisted arrest, with violent consequences. Though not dead, he had been put into an induced coma in the Pinwheel's medical facility and was not expected to recover. Using the confiscated files, Internal Investigations was unraveling the tangled ball of yarn that was the smuggling ring. Fortunately, the Admiral had kept excellent records of his dealings in the hopes of using it to blackmail his associates should they ever threaten to turn him in. It appeared that the spooks had kept everything under wraps. Besides for a short firefight in the Pinwheel's control hub, everything had gone smoothly.

Overall, things could not have worked out much better. Everyone had gotten what they wanted, besides Rawling of course. Schaffer heard Osha calling him. Apparently, she was already preparing some of the food that had been delivered. He wandered back towards the outpost, his environment suit warming him with its fresh battery, and noticed Scarface sitting on the roof. She was watching the activity around the shuttle through her spyglass, and Schaffer waved to her. She raised her hand in greeting, then returned to her telescope. Yuka and Yura bustled past him, skipping over the snow and play fighting as they made their way back home.

That's what the outpost was now, his home, and the pack was his family.

-THE END-