[ IP ] Witch Hunt

For those in Nathan's line of work, `` claustrophobia'' was less an irrational fear and more of a healthy paranoia. Confined spaces clouded all the senses; visibility blocked by bulkheads and shadows, footsteps echoing from miles away or just behind your head, nose overwhelmed by the stench of dead air and dead men. Even one's sense of time was distorted by the lower decks, with seconds stretching to hours and days passing in blinks. In a fight, a hallway reduced your tactical options to the instinctive level of `` fight'' or `` flight'' - against revenants, the latter was n't much of an option. 
 
 `` LT, we've totems.'' Carter-62's flashlight was trained on a mass of flesh, only barely recognizable as human, strung from the ceiling of the hydroponics bay Nathan-213's Sweeper squad had just breached. There was no telling whether the tatters swinging beneath the unlucky soul were the remnants of a jumpsuit or the remnants of their intestines, or both. Elsewhere along the vaulted roof loomed the corpses of a dozen other crewmen, all in various states of abuse and decay. The freshest - a still human-looking woman missing two arms, a few quarts of blood, and a face - looked to be no older than a few hours. 
 
 So, that had been *her* screaming earlier. 
 
 `` Sarah, Parker: get their genetags. Carter, James: security.'' There was no use asking if the memory backup cells were there; they never were. Ripped out down to the nerve couplings, just like every other implant the average Metan might have. The loss of witnesses' memory cells was a major nuisance when it came to tracking down infestations, but in the end it was for the best: they'd lose a month or two, but their backups would n't have to deal with the memory of having their retinal inserts torn from their sockets. Nathan and his team did n't have the luxury of forgetting; even with the risk of resleeving minimized by to-the-second backups, dying once a month on average meant your luck would eventually run out. Neural collapse - true death. 
 
 Carter-62 wove through the ruined planters and irrigation equipment with a fluidity only a lifetime of combat experience could impart. James-5, barely out of training followed, his senior's steps with the confidence only the bond between Sweepers could inspire. Infrared spotlights scanned the walls, Lancers ready to lay waste to anything unlucky enough to be on the wrong side of the gun. Behind them, Sarah-33 and Parker-94 made quick work of scanning the corpses for identification before planting incendiary microcharges - no point leaving biomass behind. 
 
 Eight scans and 100 meters into the chamber, Parker spoke up. `` I do n't like it, Nate. It's too clean. Astor Company is holding the downspin blockade, which means they've got nowhere to go but through here.'' 
 
 `` Think they found a way off the deck?'' James asked. 
 
 `` Not unless they're fond of plasma,'' Carter growled. `` 37's surrounded by heat exchangers five kilometers in either direction from here.'' 
 
 `` Then *where are they? *'' Parker asked; his voice carried a metallic echo through the room. 
 
 Nathan spoke up. `` I'll try to raise Centcom,'' he said, bringing up a tactical display. While Revenants never managed to take down the Styxnet nodes, they somehow had a knack for pillaging even the best-shielded communication lines. The projection from his wrist confirmed the obvious - no signal. Next, he tried pulling up the last map update they'd managed to pull an hour before. In the space in front of him, a luminescent wireframe of Deck 37 unfolded. Within the corridors of the skeletal lattice were hundreds of blinking dots, each one a Sweeper armed to bear. After a bit of fiddling, Nathan rotated and resized the model to something recognizable as the space around them. Parker, out of bodies to count, stepped up. With a flick, portions of the wireframe faded to black. 
 
 `` Third, sixth, and ninth squads were assigned to block off the upsin maintenance shafts.'' Parker frowned, then pointed to gossamer strands running along the thicker causeways. `` The plan did n't detail this, but... from the looks of things, if they blow these tunnels, they'll probably end up cutting the primary power line for the upper levels. This section has n't been retrofitted in a century or two, which means it's still running on Jovian security standards - failsafe if the auxiliary power goes out. Doors shut, air stops.'' 
 
 Parker's voice was picking up in fervor. `` But Carter just reminded me - if this section goes offline, it's going to cut off this entire cooling loop,'' pointing to a mass of jumbled machinery, `` Without which, *this* block will *also* autoseal from environmental failsafes.'' Large swathes faded to black as they were isolated behind virtual blast doors and self-sealing bulkheads. Eventually, only three paths were left between the Sweeper offensive and the downspin blockade. As if on cue, James shouted out. 
 
 `` LT! Motion sensors, five plus signatures at two hundred meters!'' His panic was well warranted - nobody had ever won an engagement with less than a 2:1 numbers advantage. 
 
 Nathan brought his rifle to bear. `` Oh, son of a *bitch.'' 
 
 -- - 
 
 Nathan-214 woke with a gasp in the relife ward. He could n't remember dying - the backup must've been delayed by a few seconds. 
 
 What luck. 
 
 
 
 

