Silhouette

The blue sunset mirrored off the polluted sky of Miotus’ atmosphere. It was a spectacle to see. Though the world was no longer inhabitable outside of the ecospheres, it was still beautiful in some ways. The sunsets were often this brilliant blue, the stars were illuminated because of the magnification effect the pollution had created. It was a sight to see.

Commander Brock Alexander Stanbol looked out the window of his preparation room, and watched as the blue seemed to shoot through the atmosphere. His green eyes, tall stature, and dark hair made him look very powerful, and quite dashing. He smiled a little as he thought how beautiful this was, he didn't take a lot of time to notice these things. Miotus was, after all, just an information stop, so he felt he could relax for a second, and take it all in. He was meeting a native of the planet, who’s name he couldn’t spell, or pronounce, on request of Fleet Intelligence. The translator was set up on his desk, he was just waiting now. Reflecting on the years of missions it took him to get to this point. All of the undercover work, all of the lives that had gone into this one moment. He was very excited, if this panned out, this was a very strange ending to a very long string of leads.

The informant was supposedly bringing him information regarding a known terrorist group’s plans to bring down one of the local governments. Brock had worked undercover himself for a time trying to get information on which government, why, and what the plan was. He hadn’t been successful, however, with the list of names his informant was bringing him, they could begin arrests, and interrogations, and hopefully everything would pan out. Another undercover operative was going to be part of this meeting, but not much else was known about that aspect.

Several minutes later, the chime on his door rang. He turned to look at the door, straightened his uniform, and opened his mouth to allow entry. He paused. There was a strange sound on the outside of his door, a little bit of scraping, followed by a very light tap. His gut told him something wasn’t right, and he always respected the opinion of his gut- it hadn’t failed him yet. He grabbed his 9mm from under the desk, and crouched underneath it for cover. Three beeps could be heard, muffled by the door, and the door exploded. Shrapnel and shards of glass impacted the front of the desk. Though slightly deafened from the blast, Brock heard quick footsteps. His ears told him three men had just entered the room, and were moving towards him quickly. Two on his left, one on his right. He saw the legs of the first man through a hole that had been blown through his desk in the blast, and sprang into action. He leaned out from behind the desk a little, pointed, and shot quickly, dropping the first man to the floor, his shot impacting the man's kneecap. He threw the desk in the direction he had last heard movement from, which nailed another assailant, throwing him into the wall. He rolled quickly towards the man he’d just shot, searching for the third man. He tossed the plasma pistol away from the man he’d shot, and kneeled up, still searching for his target. The man he was next to was writhing in pain, he couldn’t see anyone else. He looked over to where he’d tossed the desk, and noticed that the life form there had four legs. A smile crossed his face “Well, at least my ears aren’t failing, yet”.

He heard running down the hallway. Unsure of who was coming, he figured the plasma pistol was going to give him more shots than the 9mm. He moved quickly towards the plasma pistol, charged it, and put it in his right hand. The 9mm was placed in his holster, and a clip was readied just in case. He shot the 4 legged alien in the leg quickly with the plasma gun, rendering it unconscious, and he pulled the desk forward enough that he could use it as a shield.
The footsteps were getting closer, and it was at least 4 men, maybe more. Brock searched the body of the alien for any kind of explosives, or something he could use to give himself an advantage, he had no idea how many people they'd gotten into the ship, or how they'd done it so quickly. He was baffled that they'd made it this far. He shook that thought out of his head, and prepared to fight.

“Commander?” It was the voice of his chief technician Brinx Knowlson, a native of New Zealand, and the very thick accent to prove it.
Brock quickly glanced over the desk to see who else was with him. He had a small security detail with him, none of them whom were recognizable to him. Brinx was always trying to play security guard, and was rarely found at his proper post. Brock chuckled internally.

“I’m fine Brinx," Brock said, raising both hands above his head, and standing up, showing them that it was actually himself, "who were they, and how’d they get in here with weapons?” Brock stood up, and looked at the group that had come to his ‘rescue’.

“Well, sir,” Brinx pointed at the four dead officers on the floor behind him, “I don’t think security did a good job of searching them for weapons. I don't know how else your chief of security is lying dead on the floor back here.”

Brock was surprised he hadn’t heard any sort of weapon discharge, or cries of pain. Malos was the best security officer he’d ever worked with, and somehow, he’d ended up dead on the floor outside his door. Malos was very talented in that regard. He would have issued some kind of warning.

“The weapons they brought in here weren’t their own. These are standard issue for the fleet. How did they kill my men, especially Malos?” Brock gave a very stern look.

“We can get forensics up here right away, sir.”

“Good, do it," Brock shook his head again

“Did they fire a shot, sir?” Brinx asked.

“No, Brinx, they didn’t. Blew my door to Hell, but, other than that, I got four-legs over there with the desk, and shot this guy in the leg, and I guess he hit something on his way down,” Brock was looking at a gash in the man’s head, “I want to interrogate them when we have the chance. Get medical up here.”

“Aye, Sir,” Brinx turned around barking the orders through his WristComm.

Brock went over to the alien. He figured this had to be the man he was meeting. Then he looked back at the human on the floor, he assumed that he was the intelligence operative. It didn’t make sense that he’d have specific orders to rendezvous with this man from headquarters, to have something like this happen. He grew uneasy thinking about it. An agent turned, if that's what this was, could have blown the last 5 years of work.

“I’ll be in the messhall, if you should need me, Brinx,” Brock started to walk by, and then turned and grabbed the scruff of Brinx's uniform, “and I want you out of here while the forensics teams do their thing. You’re not on their team, and no you can’t stay.”

“Yes, sir,” Brinx backed away a little, “I’ll be in engineering as soon as Kilthas is here to take over.”

Brock nodded, and turned towards the ladder shaft.