Just after Sara got her delivery, Start of 1st shift, and a new day on HFS Grimoire, Nick “Canine” Jerik, and other mixed perspectives.

  The doorbell in Canine's room rang, and Canine checked the door camera. Two men wearing matching outfits looked through the camera.

  “What is it?” Canine said through the door intercom.

  “The captain wants to see you.” They said, Frowning, Canine began typing a text before opening his door to oblige the request. He paused, looking the two men up and down. His frown deepening,

  ***

  Captain Abrams observed Sara arriving on the bridge, followed by a man in a maintenance outfit who had caught the elevator with her. She glanced, confused and mildly concerned at the maintenance man as she took her station. Captain Abrams silently looked down to reread his text message from Canine. ‘Why did you send two armed deputies to take me to your office? Aren't you on the bridge?’ The message read. Furrowing his brow, Captain Abrams looked back up to greet the maintenance man. There shouldn't have been any need for maintenance on the bridge, just like Sheriff Tompson and his deputies shouldn't have their firearms visible. They were only allowed to carry concealed, not open carry. The captain froze when he saw the pistol strapped to the mechanic's leg, the man's arms by his side, unresponsive to the handshake the captain offered.

  “Anything you ‘neeeee…” Captain Abrams trailed off. The sensor station beeped in alarm. Then, all across Grimoire, everything happened all at once.

  Jean lunged for the gun as soon as the gunman started to pull it from its holster. A shot pinged off the floor into a mist of particulates right by the captain's foot, a second shot slammed into a console, causing the helmsman to rear back from the arcs of electricity.

  “4th dimensional tear 100,000 kilometers off our port,” Sara screamed over the fight for the bridge.

  Despite her elderly age, Jean expertly struck the gunman in the throat, but not before a third shot went off into her chest. The captain jumped into the fray a moment too late, his body weight pushing the gunman to the ground. Wrestling the gun from the man's hands, one more shot rang out across the bridge, leaving silence save for the heavy breathing of the struggle. The captain hauled the gunman, still clutching his throat, to the ready room. Captain Abrams threw the traitorous trash into the room before locking him inside with an override on the door. Captain Abrams dashed back to the bridge, the five steps to get there feeling like an eternity.

  ***

  Selena was in the CIC today, cross-training on sensors instead of manning operations. She would be qualified on all stations once done with sensor training. Unlike the forward-facing bridge, the CIC was a circular room with two rings of consoles and displays. The walls and ceiling, and even parts of the floor, could double as screens. Higher-end tech than any on the bridge. When not in use, the room was like the heart of Grimoire with a 360-degree view. Usually, the screen was used for individual tasks or to show ship systems or other relevant information. The 360-degree view was more like a default screensaver. A screensaver that, as the alarms blared, gave a front row seat to the purple, pink, and red tear in space open right next to Grimoire.

  A smooth black and grey object exited from the 4th-dimensional rip, lightning licking its hull. Selena didn't see it finish emerging into real space. A loud bang left her ears ringing, the yelling sounding muffled and tinny like she had cotton in her ears and was trying to listen through a can. Something warm and wet splattered her cheek, staining her suit with something sticky. Her section leader was held up by one of the newer crew members, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, and his eyes wide in shocked terror. Selena couldn't see the gun being waved around, but couldn't comprehend anything about the situation. Her mind was in shock as she watched her section leader get pulled to the exit hatch with the gunman. Yelling and waving his gun, threatening everybody, attempting to bend the CIC to his will. All she could do was try to read lips. Her ears still rang from the report of the gun right next to her head.

  At first, Selena thought he was opening the door to leave, but she realized somebody on the outside was opening the door. A bloody sword pierced the gunman's shoulder. As quickly as it appeared, it flicked away, leaving the arm dangling uselessly, the gun clattering to the ground. The same wide-eyed look the section leader had was now plastered on his captor's face, who fell back under Jacket Klem’s attack. She could just barely hear what he said.

  “Lethal intervention, rendering aid. Submit for review.” Jacket Klem said as he knelt to try to staunch the bleeding stump of the man's arm. Only then did Selena realize the blood on her fingers as she pulled her hand away from her mouth.

  ***

  Jean smiled at Abrams as he knelt, trying to put pressure on her chest and stomach. That's when gravity dissipated. Any hope of saving Jean completely evaporated at the realization that her blood wouldn't be able to clot, even with Quagulex to help her blood do its work in zero gravity. Even with gravity, she needed a medbay to have a chance to live, and the light was already leaving her eyes. Captain Abrams didn't realize how panicked he was becoming, hyperfocusing on saving a lifelong friend.

  “I always wanted to spend the rest of my days on the bridge.” Jean laughed, a wet gurgle accenting every chuckle. “Abrams, you are the best captain I have ever seen on Grimoire. These kids are some of the brightest I've ever trained. Make sure they reach their potential.” Everyone stared as Jean smiled around the bridge like a proud mother. She reached her arm towards Captain Abrams, but the light fled from her eyes before she could– Do what? Hug him? Touch his face one last time? Squeeze his shoulder reassuringly? It didn't matter, but the kind of questions you ask yourself looking back sometimes don't make any sense. Jean's dying didn't make any sense. Her beaming smile faded to an echo of the former XO. The light of pride for her crew, the last to leave her eyes.

  ***

  Canine was walking in front of the two gunmen, playing dumb. He knew they weren't deputies, and the captain hadn't sent them, even if he hadn't heard back from the captain yet. Gunman One kept indexing his vest, touching his pistol, and playing with his pockets, while Gunman Two kept looking around excessively. Even before they not-so-discreetly looked in his room before leading him away, it was obvious something was wrong. Any room for doubt was dismissed when they started questioning him about the service automaton goat. Now, at gunpoint, he was walking to the hangar with his hands up. Not the Captain's office. Canine's demeanor was casual. Almost like he was walking to the bar with his friends. Then the engines went off, and the whole ship dropped to zero gravity.

  Simultaneously, everyone found themselves floating. Some floundered to get a hold of themselves, while other crewmen took to the sudden change like a fish being dropped into water. If this were true for civilian mariners, then Canine was a barracuda. To the gunmen, the next three seconds were a blur. Canine vaulted off the ground even before all the gravity had dissipated. Like a ping pong ball, he jumped to the wall and then the ceiling and then straight into the two gunmen, knocking one of the guns from their hands. There was a resounding crack as the second gunman fired, missing or hitting his teammate. It didn't matter, though, because he was already dead, his head twisted at a wrong angle that didn't look right. Even as the last gunman fired into the Dead Man's chest, Canine kicked the dead body into him and vaulted off the wall, tackling the final gunman. His legs wrapped around the gunman as he struck his chin and twisted his gun out of his hand. The dead body drifted slowly away as Canine squeezed the air out of his victim in a rear-naked chokehold.

  “Buh… bomb. Bomb.” The last gunman choked frantically, flailing his arms and legs, trying to get out of the death grip. Almost on instinct from so many life-or-death moments, Canine kicked away from the dead body, pinwheeling away with his prisoner in zero gravity to retreat around a corner, but not in time. The shockwave, with nowhere to go in the pressurized space, ripped through the hall and over the two grappled men, bathing them in fire.

  ***

  The CIC shook from an explosion somewhere in the ship. Jacket Klem was failing to save the gunman's life. He had given the section leader a shot of Quagulex to help keep the man from bleeding out in the sudden loss of gravity, same as he had the gunman. They needed to get the section leader to a medbay, but Klem could already tell his prisoner wasn't going to make it.

  “Internal explosions on Deck 5, 4, and 3 near the hangar. Coordinate damage control there.” Selena had jumped into action as soon as she shook herself from the shock, filling in for her incapacitated boss. She gestured to a station as she spoke, and somebody took it. Half the people in the room were still dazed or looking around, dumbfounded. A second explosion shook the ship, and the CIC filled with cries.

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  “You, help me get your section leader to a medbay,” Jacket Klem yelled, snapping one of the CIC personnel out of shock. They fumbled over to help move the fallen crewman, Klem pausing. Something was nagging him. Something about the situation felt familiar. The section leader was already almost out of sight around a corner. Klem poked the dying gunman with his knife, cutting his shirt open. The scar on his chest was familiar too.

  “Get down, Bomb!” Jacket Klem screamed, kicking the dead man out of the CIC just as the light left the gunman's eyes. Before he was able to close the hatch, the explosion licked through the gap, enveloping Jacket Klem. Like a second skin, blue nanofiber covered the left side of his body to shield him from the explosion. The door shut, muffling the rumble of destruction felt in the floor more than heard.

  “Second explosion on the bridge, third explosion outside CIC. Send your teams in vacuum suits to the bridge, distribute any spares to your teams in case they run into someone who needs them.” Selena said through her earpiece. With unshakable focus on everything she did, her resolve spread to the rest of the CIC team, as they bent to the task.

  Klem coughed, wobbling from the disorientation of the shockwave. His jacket saving him from the worst of it. As his head cleared, he remembered the most important thing at the moment. The urgency hit him like a sack of bricks.

  “Where's the goat!” he squawked.

  ***

  “Release shackle restraint, interface. Release shackle restraint, ship control. Execute immediate signal flare.” The voice of a demon said.

  It must be the HDF dog from the hallway. We had him right in front of us. The gunman thought, feeling powerless with his gun gone. His body was weak and numb from the explosion, and his ears hurt.

  “Confirm identity authorization.” This voice was hard to understand, but the distinctly artificial tone of a computer interface.

  “Authorization Alpha Victor Delta nine-two-five. Pass key indigo rain.” The demon said.

  It was hard to understand, with the gunman's hearing slowly improving from a dull ringing in his ears. He coughed, the taste of smoke still lingering in his throat. He perked up hearing familiar voices.

  “Air locks just up ahead. The Prontromas are a few meters directly to port and starboard. The third one is forward about 40 meters on the hull. Three satchel charges each, at the minimum.” The rest of the gunman's team discussed as they drew closer.

  The gunman was about to call out when a rough hand clamped his mouth shut. He tried to struggle, but the shooting pain in his side suddenly amplified. The HDF Maverick Canine threateningly gripped the shrapnel in his rib.

  “I don't want to do this, but I don't need your forgiveness. I'll try to forgive myself later.” The damn HDFs blue eyed dog whispered in his ear. The gunman's eyes widened in terror, too late to berate himself for not heeding the warnings about the demon of C32 in the dossier they were given.

  “Shackle releases confirmed.” The computer said.

  The gunman barely registered the pain at how quickly Maverick Canine yanked the shrapnel out of him. There was a sharp prick at the back of his neck, before he died instantly, robbing any chance to scream.

  The gunman's lifeless body was kicked down the hall towards the double agents who were rounding a corner. 10 meters, 20 meters, 30 meters away, each blast door closed behind the dead man with perfect timing. Unseen, other doors opened and closed, paving an avenue for explosive decompression to find the least damaging way as if guided by a higher power. Grimoire behaving as if possessed by a single intelligence.

  ***

  No one could see through the smoke. Sara heard a repeating wooshing, screeching noise. She coughed as she made it to the bridge door and kicked the debris jamming the door. Now able to seal shut, the life support kicked in. As all the smoke was sucked out of the room, vision cleared. Sara shuddered, terrified as she passed right over Jean’s body. Recoiling, she awkwardly floated back to her station.

  Taking stock of the situation, the captain was in his chair, seriously typing away at his small armchair console. The operations operator shook their head in dismay, not yet able to get communication to the rest of the ship. Micky was tending to his injuries from the helm's destruction with the med station's meager supplies. Now what do I do? She thought.

  “I can get external communications, but I'm still working on internal.” Operations called out.

  “Patch anything through the mains until we get internals back up.” Captain Abrams replied, indicating the main displays and speakers.

  Sara slapped her station console in frustration. She either couldn't connect to the sensors, or the sensory equipment was no longer out there. Likely, there was a connection issue somewhere in the damaged ship. She went through her options one by one until she finally found functioning visual camera access. She put it up on the big screen just as transmissions came through the speakers.

  The sleek, menacing black and gray ship was slowly closing in on Grimoire. It didn't seem to be in any rush, and its intentions were unclear, but its presence was menacing. Operation shouted that she was able to get through to someone on the ship.

  “This is Maria. What's the status of the bridge?” The soothing, gentle voice asked.

  “Executive officer Jean is dead, a gunman got on the bridge and shot up the place. An explosion just aft of the bridge, unknown source. Is CIC intact?” Captain Abrams asked.

  “The CIC section leader on duty was shot, but he's stable in medbay. Jacket Klem is in there, and they have the room locked down.” Maria said.

  “Launch the defense flight. Signal help to any nearby starships.” Captain Abrams ordered.

  “The closest airlock was obstructed by an explosion. Flight officers are making their way by spacewalk at best speed to their Protromas. I sent out a distress signal, but this is the loneliest part of our flight. No one will hear from us in less than a day, and it'll be weeks before anyone can reach us. Standby, sending a fourth-dimensional pulse.” Maria spoke calmly and accurately, annunciating every syllable as if she were conducting elementary school lessons.

  “Who did you say you were? I don't remember Maria on my ship. I know there are a lot of people, but what do you do?” Captain Abrams asked. Suspicious after a crewman had shot his executive officer and blown up part of the ship.

  “My name is Maria, all I've been allowed to do is a little housekeeping, but for emergencies like this, my managerial skills are the goat,” Maria said, and despite the cringe-worthy 21st-century slang, Sara felt like Maria was trying to be funny. Like someone telling an inside joke to a bunch of strangers.

  ***

  Dribble had opted to go with search and rescue towards the aft of the ship, where the airlock they normally used to access their Prontromas was. Creaky and Cable should already be traversing outside the hull. Hopefully, they had already reached their ships by now. Moving through what was left of deck 4, he could see body parts floating around. Decks 5 and 3 were accessible through large holes blown from an explosion. Glancing about and not finding any survivors, he and two other vacuum-suited damage control mariners squeezed close to the airlock inspecting it for damage. Ironically, it was pressurized even if neither side of it had any pressure.

  “I think I see someone in the airlock?” Sheriff Tomson said, pointing at the small window. Dribble leaned closer for a look and could make out a floating body with a lot of blood globules hanging around the figure like a debris field.

  “Get the spare pressure suit ready. As soon as we start depressurizing that airlock, we are on a timer, probably 5 or 10 seconds.” Sheriff Tomson said. Technically, they had longer than that. There was still some atmosphere on this side, and it was relatively warm, so it was safer than being exposed to the vacuum of space.

  The airlock cycled, and from the time the light went green, indicating equalized pressure, it felt like an eternity for the doors to open. They had to move fast to save the man. They got the suit off and started to treat the man immediately, injecting him with Quagulex. Dribble checked the helmet they put on him to make sure it was working and sealed. He could make out the injured man's face better by the internal helmet light.

  “That's Canine,” Dribble said, just as Canine's eyes opened, incredibly pale, almost teal for his normal dark blue eye color. Dribble waved, putting a hand reassuringly on Canine's chest.

  Like a viper, Canine coiled around Dribble's arm. Locked in a grapple, Canine thrashed violently as Sheriff Tomson tried to pull the two men apart. Even without a radio, he could hear Canine through the way his helmet locked together in Canine's grapple.

  “Get off my ship, get off my ship!” Dribble could hear through the vibrations as Canine squeezed like a python.

  “Canine, it's me, Dribble. We are trying to help you.” Dribble said.

  “Fuck you! Then why did you darken this visor? Enigmatic fucks, let me see you!”

  What is he talking about? We are looking right at each other. Dribble thought. Struggling with his weakened friend, desperately trying to gain control over Dribble and the Sheriff's arms. Canine's attempts were pointless, and he felt feeble rather than threatening.

  “Fuck, dude, it's me, Dribble! Remember how many times you woke up with my drool everywhere? You got your nickname, Mutt, and puppy, cuz you followed Sara around like a lost dog all the time?” Dribble yelled back inside stories only he and a few others would know, pressing his helmet harder into Canine's, losing his patience. There was a five-second pause, and then.

  “Dribble, it's really you. Canine said, the venom in his voice subsided. Dribble felt the grapple loosen, able to break away and look at Canine through his very clear visor. His eyes were moving back and forth. His lips were moving, and Dribble pressed his helmet against Canines.

  “...really is clear? Then… Brother, are my eyes…?” Canine's eyes were more than just bloodshot. Much of the whites in his eyes had stained a solid dark red. His normally blue irises were bright teal. Dribble wasn't a doctor, so he withheld his thoughts. Squeezing Canine's shoulder reassuringly, whose confused expression was slowly twisting into a gnarled, terrified panic. “Dribble, brother, I can't see.” Canine spoke in a hollow plea. “I can't see!”