1.
There exists a timeless space between realities, a realm where the rules of our universe are ignored. The feeble understandings of men are nothing to the vast emptiness and imperceptible truths that haunt this place. Imagine a being that can only comprehend two dimensions – forward, backwards, left and right. How would you explain such concepts as up and down to them? How can someone who can only perceive three dimensions hope to comprehend four or five dimensions? Or six? Or ten?
The limits of our perception allow incomprehensible shapes, patterns and colours to fluctuate randomly in this place. Our senses are completely unequipped to process the sensations that permeate the very fabric of this universe. Yet travel it, we must.
The discovery of Jump Gate technology was the catalyst that humanity needed to reach for the stars. Countless experiments in starship propulsion yielded the same result - the stars were simply too far away. The people of ancient Earth were seemingly trapped on a dying and polluted world, unable to escape their fates. War, that ancient past time that we humans were so fond of, ravaged our meagre peoples for time immemorial. It was a wonder that we found the time to invent anything, other than better and more efficient ways to kill each other. Nevertheless, invent we did. In our darkest hour, a small, elite group of scientists managed to find a way to tear apart reality for a brief time, cracking the boundaries of physics apart like a piñata.
The Earth was lost, a ravaged and desolate place, but we had gained the stars. The embattled factions of humanity split forever, leaving behind their ancestral world to find a new home, away from those whose hatred could not be reconciled. A fever took to our ancestors - the fever of exploration. Never before in the history of humankind had there been such opportunities to discover the new. New worlds, new plants, new animals, new people. We were as children given free rein in a candy store.
The centuries progressed, as they ever do. New enemies of man were found, wars were fought. Seven hundred years ago, we fought a terrible war against an unfathomable and unrelenting insectile race known only as the Destroyers. The destruction brought us to the brink. To those who lived through those times, I suppose it must have seemed like the end of civilisation. However, guided by the ever adaptive and cunning minds of humanity, a galaxy-spanning organisation formed to defeat the alien marauders, and to nurture and direct the peace that followed.
The Galactic Protectorate ensured that all worlds were governed fairly, that trade flowed and that the arteries of the galaxy, the Jump Gates, were safe. Beyond that mandate, the galaxy at large was free to pursue whatever endeavours it chose.
The Dreaming of Atmosphere, my home among the stars, travelled between the borders of normal reality, traversing the Jump Space that we know so little about. A journey that would last for three and a half ship days. In normal reality, the galaxy would carry along at a much faster rate. Those outside of Jump Space would experience three months before we shifted back into reality at the other end of the Jump Gates. We would travel over a dozen light years to appear in a new star system, three days older, biologically, but having missed ninety days relative to everyone else.
The ship was once a stock standard Meridian Class Transport, but over a hundred years of operation and modification had seen it morph into so much more. She had been in my family, the Donovans, since my great grandfather commissioned it. He had signed on to a loan that would take generations to pay off, a harsh reality that all ship owners faced, as even the current owner, Maxine Cooper, couldn’t hope to pay it off in her lifetime. Nor could I.
It was a moot point, however, since it was highly likely that we would all be killed in the following months as we attempted a daring rescue in the Gossamer System, our destination. We had fallen prey to the machinations of a scheming crime boss by the name of Benedict Jenner, a near-human with ties to Corporate financing, to rescue his uncle Osiris Blackburn from the clutches of a murderous race of humanoids called the Ghantri. A race who had pulled the biggest heist in the history of the Votus-Eridani Network of Jump Gates and had betrayed the Protectorate benefactors who had uplifted them to galactic society. Their home star system, Gossamer, was now an exclusion zone, heavily blockaded by the Protectorate Fleet to stop the Ghantri menace from reaching the rest of the galaxy.
A few years ago, the Protectorate managed to drum up enough support from the local governments to field a campaign to reclaim the star system and rescue the hundreds of thousands of refugees still trapped on Ghantri controlled facilities. As a young Primacy Star Marine Corps. Corporal, I was part of that ill-fated campaign. An experience that left me severely wounded and traumatised. The Star Marines rebuilt me, physically, but was unable to help me mentally and I left the Star Marines years ago to re-join my father’s old ship as the First Mate.
So there we were - a ragtag crew of individuals on a desperate mission into dangerous territory. So far, we had managed to piss off an immensely powerful Corporation that vowed to hunt us down and extract revenge. That’s Corporation with a capital ‘C’. The Galactic Protectorate moderates the galaxy, but the true rulers are the powerful Galactic Corporations. These infinitely wealthy organisations own entire star systems, sometimes, and intimidate the lesser masses in giant organic starships that are easily the match for any Protectorate Fleet warships.
We had lost Eric, an old friend and our chief engineer, and gained another ally in the form of an AI called Tac. Besides Maxine and I, Seth Donovan, there were six other full-time crew. Our pilot, Crege, was a bird-like Garz’a swordsman of quick wits and impatient demeanour. Our systems operator was an Orlii philosopher and electronics expert called Fel’negr, a counterpoint of patience and wisdom to Crege’s impulsiveness and rashness. Zoe Ward was our medical officer, my girlfriend and therapist. She had helped me work through the worst of my post-traumatic stress issues, and a constant source of love and hope for me. Mal Cutler, or just Cuts, was our surviving engineer and maintenance technician. We were always at each other’s throats about something, but recently I had learned to use his opposition as a balance to my own brash ways of solving problems. We had two deck hands, a pair of reptilian Argen named Hergo and Denno. They were good workers, who seldom complained about the danger we faced, and both were solid members of our crew. Lastly, we had a temporary crewmember – Artemis Derris.
Art was an enigma. She came on board at the behest of Benedict Jenner, his agent provocateur. At first, she was a hostile element of the crew, but after several months of shared danger, I had come to respect her, somewhat. She was still a manipulative, shit-stirring menace, but she was our manipulative, shit-stirring menace. We had come to rely on her skills as an active to help us see this mission through.
An active was galactic slang for an active operator. People who plied the star lanes undertaking dangerous jobs like bounty hunting, mercenary work or secure courier. Many of us had military backgrounds and Artemis was no exception. I had managed to squeeze a little information from her regarding her past. Apparently, she was once an Esper Monarchy Royal Guard and had gone on to bigger and better things. Now she was a freelance active working for elite clientele. I still wasn’t sure how much she could be trusted, but for now, we had no choice. One command from her and several well-hidden bombs throughout the ship would leave us stranded and ship-less. She held all the cards, and she held them close to her chest.
The plan was simple, in its basic form. We had a stolen piece of advanced technology that would allow us to open a small, portable Jump Gate that we would smuggle onto Ambrose Station. The station was the largest habitat in the system, where I knew personally that the refugees were kept when not being used as slave labour elsewhere in the system. We find Osiris, we set up the portable Jump Gate, and we get him out and get back to the Dreaming. Like I said, a simple plan.
I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I had heard all that before – the last time I came into this star system.
2.
I knew before the first shots reached me, that I was in serious trouble. My fighter could only turn at so many gees before it broke apart and even less before it temporarily obliterated my consciousness. In a dogfight, passing out was tantamount to death. My adversaries were all around me. I had misjudged their ability to coordinate their attacks and instead of breaking apart in a chaotic mess, they had simply parted neatly and allowed me to pass between them. I couldn’t get a lock on any more than one of them, while all four of them would get a clear shot at me as I passed. Even worse, if I survived the next few seconds they would be able to pivot on impossibly tight turns and attack my unprotected arse.
“Shit!” I swore, as my fighter registered several hits at once. I immediately aborted my run and focused wholly on evasion, switching power reserves to shield and propulsion. That was a new feature of the fighter interface, a modification by Cuts. We figured that if we could add a few dozen kilograms of weight to the rear in the form of extra power storage, I would be able to shunt it around as needed and give my systems a much-needed boost. Luckily for me these drones used energy weapons and not ballistic or missile ammunition, my shields would be able to deflect or absorb a few hits before being overloaded.
Sure enough, a bright flash through the canopy and a row of red indicators on my dashboard told me the shield had buckled. I gulped down air through my mask as I spun the fighter in a corkscrew manoeuvre trying to shake my pursuers. I couldn’t let them get behind me or I’d be toast in no time. A propulsion hit would mean the end of me for sure.
I figured the drones had to be on automatic, there couldn’t be a pilot or they would never be able to pull off such tight formations. That meant I could outsmart them. I hoped. Keeping my turns as random as possible, I managed to keep them focused on my upper starboard flank. I cut my acceleration, coasted for a millisecond while I pivoted on my axis, and swung around to meet them. When I was facing them, I poured on my retro-thrusters on the forward fuselage and managed to get a weapon lock on two of them. In an instant, I had my thumb pressing on the fire control trigger like crazy and couldn’t contain a whoop of victory as they both blew apart under my stream of fire.
It was short lived, however. The four drones had kept coming instead of splitting into defensive patterns and the surviving pair lined up a barrage of fire that rocked my cockpit and pitted my canopy. More red indicators flashed angrily at me and suddenly my controls were not responding.
“No!” I cried as the remaining pair split to my flanks and came at me from two angles. A staccato of hits tore my fighter apart and I died in the sudden vacuum that engulfed me as the cockpit disintegrated around me.
Simulation ended, reported my overlay.
“I hate drones.” I said.
Crege berated me, “Human was bezak! Still thinking of drones as separate calak, not a single swarm of galab.”
“God damn it.” I punched the coping around the canopy.
“Drones don’t care if one gets destroyed. Drones do not care if almost all are destroyed. If one left, they will kill human. Stop thinking calak thinks like human, start thinking calak thinks like machine!”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
“Human does not get it. Human gets killed like fedang every time.”
“This fighter is a hunk of tinfoil with an engine attached! I can’t sustain even a fraction of the hits the Dreaming can take!”
“So don’t get hit!”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t thought of that!”
“Because human is stupid!”
“Hey! Flying is your thing! I prefer a straight up gun fight to all this fancy flying.”
“You think the calak will care what kind of death you prefer? ‘Oh, sorry human. Just let me climb out of drone and kick human’s gortug!’ Death will come for you, no matter your circumstances, your training or your preference for combat. A warrior knows that everywhere is battlefield. Life is a battlefield.”
I had learned a long time ago that it was best to let Crege finish his rants rather than interrupt him. He was liable to turn violent.
I climbed out of the cockpit, pulling the flight mask off my face as I did. There were several electrodes pasted to my scalp as well, feeding sensory data wirelessly to my interface overlay bio-aug. I pulled them all free as I came out of the cockpit, and handed my mask to Crege.
“I think Tac might have cheated a little on that run, anyway.” I regretted saying it almost immediately.
“Explain.” commanded Crege.
“Well…I used a tactic that he saw me use when I was escaping the Xerxes.”
“So?”
“I’m just saying, he knew how to counter it.”
“Why is that cheating?”
I sighed, “Look, forget it. I screwed up. I’m tired.” I held up my hand as Crege was about to launch himself into another tirade, “and before you go on about warriors not giving a shit about whether the enemy is tired or not, I’ll remind you I’m supposed to be on holidays. Max gave me the green light. I’m off duty until we get to Gossamer.”
“Human asked warrior to test him. Warrior did not pull human out of nest to train. Human is here because he wants to survive.”
“A decision I’m starting to regret.”
“Warrior is also here, because he wants human to survive.”
I sighed again, “You’re right. I’m sorry. We’ve been at it for hours and my leg is itching like a bitch. Frustration is eating at me. Do you remember when we first started sparring?”
“Human whined like a baby garz’ak. Just like now.”
“I’m grateful for your help, I really am. I just need a break.”
“Okay. Warrior’s leg aches like… a bitch also.”
“Look at us, a pair of banged up actives limping about like old men. Come on, you old fart, I’ll buy you a hot chocolate in the mess deck.”
We limped out of the aft cargo and headed to the forward cargo hold and Deck 2. Crege was right. I needed to be sharp. I was no ace pilot, and I knew that eventually my mediocre skills as a pilot would be tested. Our plan counted on it. Crege was an excellent sparring partner, but not the best teacher. I constantly pitted myself against him in sword fights in the forward hold, or at least I did before he had been wounded while repelling mercenary boarders. He was the far better swordsman and although I was slowly closing that gap, forcing myself to face a more skilled opponent honed my own skills accordingly. It had saved my life many times, especially over the last few months on this job.
The problem was, I wasn’t facing off against Crege now, he was tutoring me in the arts of dog fighting. I’m not a slow learner, but Crege’s impatience tended to get the better of him and lessons end up in arguments and yelling matches more often than not. His wounded leg stopped him from climbing up into the cockpit and was probably the only reason he had not whacked me around the head yet. Small mercies, I suppose.
We retired to the mess deck on Deck 2 and found Fel’negr sitting quietly by himself enjoying a bowl of Vendrul broth. Crege slid up beside him at the table as I ordered two cups of hot chocolate from the auto-chef.
“Tac killed human nine times, today.” declared Crege as I sat down with them.
“Eight. I ejected once.”
“Ha! Still dead.”
Fel slurped from his bowl, and I caught a whiff of the foul stuff. It reeked of seaweed and rotting vegetation. I knew that the taste of the Orlii delicacy wasn’t far off it. “We learn through failure, we grow through defeat.” he said. Fel was full of these truisms, a by-product of a classical education and a devoted following of The Way, an Orlii school of philosophy and thought.
“I prefer what my old platoon sergeant used to say: Train hard, fight easy.”
“Wise man, your platoon sergeant.” agreed Fel. Crege nodded his head as well.
“A brave man, too. He died in the Push, leading a charge against a Ghantri emplacement. Just one more death I hope to avenge when we get to Gossamer.”
The Push was the name given to the grand Protectorate invasion of Gossamer, to take back the system once and for all. In reality, it was a bloody disaster. Over a thousand warships were destroyed and tens of thousands of soldiers and crewmembers killed during the Push. I had lost my entire squad and was left behind when the withdrawal was called. I spent the better part of four months trying to get out of the system and nearly lost my life because of it. Due to injuries sustained in my escape, I had extensive cybernetic and bio-augmentation to repair the damage. Almost the entire left side of my upper body was cybernetic now. I had major spinal augs as well.
It was due to these augmentations that I was able to take advantage of an emerging technology – Nano-Proliferation. Through an implant that I had gained a few months ago, I had learnt how to manipulate and create nano-scopic robots called nanites. Through these tiny devices, I can create several fantastic effects, manipulating energy and matter with the power of thought. These powers have a cost, however. The implant uses up my body’s energy reserves and affects the electrical activity in my brain. If I’m not careful in how I use my nanites, I can have seizures and blackouts. I’m still working on my charge levels, and knowing my safe limits.
“The Captain requests your presence tonight at the planning meeting in her cabin. Twenty six hundred hours.” said Fel. A ship day was thirty hours long.
“I’ll be there. What’s the agenda?” I asked.
“The usual. Going over our plan to get past the Protectorate blockade, repairs and provisioning schedules for when we dock at Eridani Station.”
“Again? What’s new?”
“Don’t know. You know Max, she likes to worry about plans and contingencies. It’s an admirable trait to have in a Captain.”
“No doubt. Maybe she’s thought of something else and wants to bounce it off us. See how it washes?”
“Possibly. Tac, has the Captain been asking you for more probability ratios lately?”
The Captain has been asking me for probability ratios many times a day, since we escaped the Blade of Xerxes. This was the AI’s texted response to all our overlays. Tac was different than normal AIs. He appeared to be a sphere of electronics, roughly the size of a small bowling ball. His actual form reached into a parallel dimension and, if he was to be believed, is growing all the time. Part computer, part organic…something. Tac was a valuable member of the crew and we thought of him not as an artificial intelligence, but as an actual crewmember. We had him ensconced in the ship’s sensor nexus and all the external and internal sensors were his to use. In a past life, he was a deep space research vessel’s computer, but we had rescued him from a drifting hulk hours after the ship’s destruction.
“Are any of her more recent suggestions viable?”
A few have merit.
“Any we’re not aware of?”
Negative. You are conversant with the most favourable plans to date.
“So why does she want me at this one? I’m still off-duty.”
“Perhaps she misses you?” offered Fel.
“We can chat any time. I don’t need a command meeting for that. She knows that, right?”
“Why doesn’t human just ask her?” said Crege.
“I might.”
“Then we don’t need to talk about it.” To Crege, pointless banter was a waste of time.
“How are the legs?” asked Fel, indicating us both.
“I can put my weight on it now, but the nanite patch itches like hell.” I said. During my escape from a Corporate organo-ship, I’d been attacked in the Eclipse Fighter that I stole by a swarm of drones. I nearly died when several hits penetrated my cockpit. Luckily, all I had suffered was a burnt leg when an energy beam lanced it. Burn injuries were easy to heal with nanites, but extensive wounds, like Crege’s, had to be healed the old-fashioned way.
“Still feels like broken glass in my hip.” reported Crege, “Zoe says no more bleeds, though. Bone start to heal properly now.” I had to hand it to him. Crege was a tough son of a bitch. His wound was far more serious than mine was. A sword tip had pierced his thigh and cut the top of his femur off. Zoe had performed emergency surgery on him in our med lab, and through many months of healing and therapy, he should make a full recovery. For the time being, though, he was out of action. Only recently, Zoe had allowed him to return to light duties and he had hit the bridge with gusto taking shifts on duty as often as he could.
“Seeing the both of you wounded…it shames me” started Fel, “Here I am, whole and unwounded. I’ve done little, comparatively to the pair of you, I’ve not shared the danger you two have faced on this voyage.”
“Talk like that doesn’t get us anywhere.” I explained, “You’re not an active. You’re pretty much a civilian in my books.”
“And mine” agreed Crege.
“So don’t go getting any ideas about putting yourself in danger just so you can get wounded and compare scars with the rest of us.”
“I won’t, I just wanted to tell you that if I could, I’d fight alongside you. I’m no soldier.”
“And it’s for that reason that we’d rather you stuck to doing what you do best. An untrained gunman on our side in a fight is more a liability than an asset.”
“Fel is thinker, warrior is doer.” offered Crege.
“Yeah, what he said. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to stalk my woman and pester her a bit before I get some shuteye, before this command meeting tonight.”
3.
I sat at Maxine’s small conference table, admiring the bright pink nightgown she wore while nursing a coffee. She sat at her writing desk and stared out her fake porthole. Although it looks exactly like a real one, it is actually high definition hologram depicting the outside of the ship. She could program it to show absolutely anything, from deep space to nebulae. I even once saw her gazing out at a scene that showed us underwater. This time she had the real sensors on the ship relaying her the images of Jump Space. The light from the myriad patterns and colours lit her face up and painted it all manner of shades.
“Don’t stare for too long, you’ll go blind.” I said.
“Bull shit.” That was Max, blunt and cutting through the crap.
“Just a rumour, is all.”
“It’s beautiful. I could stare at it all day.”
“Is that why you’re cross eyed?”
She laughed and threw a pencil at me, “Arsehole.”
“Thought I’d pop up a bit early before the meeting. See how things are going.”
“How’s your pilot training with Crege?”
I grunted.
“That good, huh?”
“’Sokay.”
“We shift into Gossamer in forty two hours. You going to be fit for duty then?”
“I should be. Leg’s healing well enough. Zoe tells me the nanites are almost done, but they itch like hell.”
“You big baby. Itching is good. Don’t let her catch you scratching at that nanite patch.”
I pulled my hand away from my thigh, where I had been subconsciously scratching at it. “What’s with all the meetings? Not happy with the plan?”
“There’s too many variables, too many what ifs. We’re running low on just about everything; food, manoeuvring fuel, spare parts, polycrete foam, credits. Most of all credits. We need some ideas on how to cash up for the repairs we sorely need. Any more damage and we run the risk of being labelled a Junker. Your grandfather will never let me live it down.”
A Junker was a derogatory term for a ship that gains a reputation for poor maintenance. The shit boxes of the galaxy. Once a ship gains that kind of notoriety, it’s very hard to get rid of it. Finding good crew to run a Junker was next to impossible, but many low skilled space farers can sign on to Junker ships. You didn’t need a good reputation or a great resume to be hired on one of those. It was a vicious cycle.
“Old Hieron would understand. He already approves of you, it’s not like he can take the ship off you anyway.”
Hieron Donovan was the longest serving Captain to ever own the Dreaming of Atmosphere. He held the job for over seventy years, and helped build the business and the reputation that the ship had in the Network. She was known as a reliable courier and hardworking ship, a model that all Captains since had worked to maintain. My grandfather was a somewhat eccentric Eridanian who retired many years ago and lives in seclusion on the tropical water world of Oceania in the Votus II System.
“Ha, don’t think for a moment that he wouldn’t fly out here just to chastise me for letting his ship fall into disrepute. He might even give it to someone else just to teach me a lesson.”
“Now that you mention it, he probably would. He’d probably relish the idea of coming out of retirement and being Captain one more time to finish the job.”
“If he does, he’s more than welcome to it.”
“Not a chance, his current wife would skin him alive.”
“Which one is his current wife? Elinda?”
“No, she left him about six years ago. Madeline is his seventh and current wife. Last time he wrote me though, he was having troubles again. He calls it his wandering eye.”
“He’s a dirty old man, is what he is. He needs to settle down with a woman his own age.”
“Ha, I don’t think anyone is his age. Let alone a woman who’d put up with this craziness.”
We both enjoyed a laugh, which died down to a comfortable silence, as we were both lost in thoughts of family and friends.
Max broke the silence first, “We should pay him a visit, when all this is over. Take a much-needed holiday. He’d want to know about Eric, and he should find out in person.”
“Agreed. He might even be able to find us a nice paying job as well. Votus II isn’t a bad system to work if you know people.”
“There’s something we need to talk about though.”
“Zoe?”
“Yeah.”
I sighed. I knew the score. “Have you talked to her yet?”
“No, I wanted to talk to you about her first. I want what’s best for both of you.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“You’ve been together a couple of months now. Sorry if it’s being a little personal, but I need to know your intentions towards her.”
“Haven’t given it much thought, to be honest. Been taking it day by day. I love her, she loves me, and so far that’s been enough for both of us.”
“You know, and she knows, that she has a place here with us permanently if she wants it. We haven’t had a medical officer like her for a long time. Nevertheless, I know she has other commitments. Finishing her studies, for one. Her mother on Kanto Prime is another. She was hired under the pretence that this was an internship, I doubt her university would accept it if we just stole her from them.”
“What can they do?”
“They can sue, for one.”
“Under what grievance?”
“Loss of prestige. She is a rising star in cybernetics and biological augmentation. Universities like to pimp out their star pupils and alumni to big research initiatives and Corporations. They can sue for loss of prestige, which for them means less research grants and funding from governments.”
I thought hard. What should I do? I did not want to let her go, but I didn’t want to get in the way of her career. If she went back to studying, it would effectively mean the end of our relationship. There was no way I could ask her to wait for me, not when every time I go through a Jump Gate I lose three months of her life, six months if I want to come back. Alternatively, I also didn’t want her to be in danger as much as we had. Not all our jobs were as life threatening as this one, but they certainly weren’t always easy courier jobs. Even standard courier work can be dangerous. Space, to use a cliché, was dangerous by definition.
“I don’t know what to say. It can’t be my decision. That much I know.”
“You need to talk with her. Soon. Her year is already up; by rights we should already have had this chat with her a month ago.”
“Alright, I’ll try and bring it up with her sometime.”
“Soon.”
I nodded, “Soon.”
There was a knock on the hatch and it opened to reveal Crege and Fel at the entrance. Max waved them in, and she joined us at the conference table.
“Tac, are you listening in? I may want your input at some point.”
I am receiving audio, clearly. Please proceed.
“We shift into Gossamer at oh-eight-hundred day after tomorrow, and we need to work on contingencies.” declared Max.
“Of what nature?” inquired Fel.
“Financial. We’ve compiled a list of supplies that we absolutely need, there’s not a lot of supplies on the list that we only mostly need. Problem is we simply do not have the credits to get it all. I have Mal doing up a priority repair report, and Tac has a report of supply priorities but I want you all going through it and giving your own recommendations by this time tomorrow.”
“Is there any cargo we can trade?” asked Crege.
“Not officially,” I added, “Eridani Station isn’t like most Jump Stations. It’s more militarised than most. It’s more of a forward outpost than a trade station. There is some possibilities, though.”
“Like what?” asked Max.
“The station officers are Eridanian, most likely. They’ll have interests back home and they have to muster out on rotation. If they can pocket some profits while they’re stuck on the blockade, they might jump at the opportunity.”
“So…offer bribes in the form of cargo to get some supplies misappropriated or ‘lost’ and have them turn up on our dock?”
“Something like that.”
“How risky is that?” asked Fel.
“Don’t know. Depends on the station personnel. If they’re anything like the depots I’ve visited in the past, there’s always something shifty going on below decks.”
“Shifty?”
“Yeah, like gambling, black markets, smuggling, and illegal stills.”
“On military establishments?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Wouldn’t command find out?”
“Ha, nope. The senior non-coms usually run them like crime bosses. Find yourself a Chief or Warrant Officer stuck on a shitty rotation and you can guarantee he’ll be in the thick of some scheme to make himself some credits.”
“Alright, Donny,” said Max, “Go down to the cargo holds and go through our stuff. Tag anything you think some bored station official might be interested in for a trade or bribe. You seem to know you way around a military depot, so you’re on black market detail. Find us credits or goods. We’ll have to make do with the rest of what we have the official way. I’ll get those priority reports to you before we dock and work out what we can barter for and what we can afford to pay for.”
“Art has offered to help out with our other problem as well.” I offered.
“Which problem would that be?” I could tell Max was not impressed. She rarely was when Artemis was concerned; they had come to blows a few times.
“If they turn us away from entering the system.”
“What does the bitch want, now?”
“Nothing. She’s on our side, as far as this is concerned.”
“So what can she do? Sleep with the station commander?”
“No…although she could probably pull that off. She offered to do some snooping and track down a patrol schedule for the system. If we knew where the Protectorate patrols would be, we can avoid them and improve our chances of slipping through.”
Protectorate security systems are top of the line. Unless she has been hiding some unknown talent for hacking, I do not believe Ms. Derris can break into their computers to obtain such knowledge.
“I agree.” said Max, “She’s bullshitting you.”
“Say what you will about Artemis,” said Fel, “She doesn’t brag. If she says she can do this, I believe she believes she can help.”
“And if she happens to get herself shoved out an air lock while she tries, all the better.”
“Hating her isn’t going to get this job over with any quicker,” I said, “We might as well include her in the team, since she kind of already is.”
“You’re starting to sound a lot like him.” said Max as she pointed at Fel. He just grinned at me.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I said.
“As will I.” said Fel.
“Are we still going to shoot through?” asked Crege. He was referring to our plan to just burn full thrust into the system after we disembark. He was rather proud of it, actually, since he had said it first. For once, it was our best bet to get in-system. The Protectorate had blockaded the system going out, but it was an exclusion zone going in. You could only enter on humanitarian missions and were limited in what weapons you could take in. With trouble brewing in the Eridani System behind us, though, the Protectorate was likely to come down hard on any incursions to the system. We couldn’t afford the risk, if we were turned around and sent back Jenner would blow the bombs he had smuggled on board.
“Yeah, we’re not even going to wait for approval or anything. Cover story is that Corporates chased us here, which is true. We need repairs and supplies. If they don’t ask our destination we don’t have to lie, but if they do all we say is we’re scouting for a run into Gossamer. If they stomp on us about that we’ll just nod and smile. Play nice. Gun it for the debris field that Seth says is there.”
“It is. The Protectorate Fleet can’t afford to follow us in, they’ll just write us off as lost. Everyone who goes in during quieter times would just have to sign a waiver saying they recognise that the Fleet can’t rescue them. If we can avoid their patrols, they can’t force us to turn around.”
“Is there any chance they would fire on us?” asked Max.
“The Protectorate wouldn’t order it, but an individual patrol captain might just do it anyway. They’d rather disable us and tow us back to the station, but if they accidentally blow us up…well, the Gossamer System is dangerous. Easily able to write off the loss as just a Ghantri attack.”
“Same goes for us and them.” said Crege.
“I disagree.” I said, “There’s a huge difference between a Corporate wanker trying to catch us and a Protectorate ship trying to turn us back. Those crew are good men and women.”
“We won’t be firing on Protectorate forces, Crege.” commanded Max, “That will instantly put us on their shit list, or the nearest bounty board.”
“What do we do if it comes to that? If they do disable us or manage to board us?” asked Fel.
“Tac, anything you can do there?” asked Max.
I would need some time, but I believe I should be able to gain access to a Protectorate ship that docks with us to board. I will be unable to do anything about their physical presence on board the Dreaming of Atmosphere, but I can possibly create enough mayhem for you to take advantage of.
“Same rule applies to the boarders. I don’t want any Protectorate blood on my hands. I won’t condone any violence against Protectorate people on this ship, am I clear?” Max made eye contact with Crege and me. We nodded.
“It might not come to that,” started Fel, “We can vent most of the oh two from where they board us, enough to knock them out. Tac can seize their ship systems, we just toss them back into their boat and we bug out before they wake up.”
If I have enough control over the Protectorate ship, I may also be able to do the same to personnel aboard their own vessel.
“Just make sure you don’t kill anyone.”
I can fine-tune a program that restores functionality a few minutes after we separate. I will also disable their main propulsion for a few hours while we escape.
“Sounds like a plan.” I said, clapping my hands together.
“Anything else?” asked Max. We all shook our heads. “Okay, everyone get out, I’m going to change out of my nightgown and walk around in the nude for a bit before bed. Good night.”
We shuffled out, keen to be out of there before she started stripping out of her robe.
4.
The next day I spent working in the cargo hold. My leg was getting much better, the itching had dulled to the occasional irritation and I could walk around with only a slight limp. I still had a nasty burn scar, and Zoe said I would be stuck with it for many years to come. The nanites had done their job, and I would soon pass their remains in my urine.
The cargo hold was never truly empty. Even though we were not on a cargo run, and hadn’t been for some time, we always kept a good stock of ‘stuff’, as Maxine lovingly called it. In reality, they were crates and containers filled with cargo that we either couldn’t move, as there was no market for it, or we had picked up due to finding bargains we could not pass up. Most Captains kept stock like this, you never knew when the next port might have a severe shortage of…spiced pears? I thought, reading the next label on the crate.
With the advent of auto-chefs throughout the galaxy, growing food and cultivating cattle for meat was just uneconomical. There were enough substitute products and they really didn’t taste any different. Auto-chefs used proteins, carbohydrates and other food substances to reproduce nearly any meal, provided you had the recipe loaded and the flavourings to match. Roast beef and vegies? Key it in. You wanted to try cheesecake-flavoured sausages? Mix and match flavours. Simple. No mess and no skill needed in cooking. They were space and time saving devices that nearly every ship had. Sure, some connoisseurs swore that real, naturally grown food was simply unbeatable, but that kind of luxury was expensive, required refrigeration and storage and many cooking appliances and utensils. With an auto-chef, all you needed was a plate.
Reading the label, I knew that this was more likely to be the flavours and recipe programs to add to an auto-chef, rather than actual spiced pears. Not exactly the kind of thing a shady dealer would go for. I checked the crates contents with my eyes to confirm, because if they were real pears that would definitely fetch a good price. With a grunt of dissatisfaction, I confirmed it was indeed the former and closed the lid.
So far all I could find were two foot locker sized crates of cheap booze and a pallet of assorted candies that had a couple of suspicious holes poked in the side. I chuckled at that one when I found it, suspecting Zoe, Artemis or Max of being the culprit. I had higher hopes for the aft cargo hold, we rarely touched that stuff.
At around mid-afternoon Zoe joined me for a while. I found myself trying to broach the topic of her internship, but whenever I stopped to say something I found that I had no way of opening the conversation. I was dense when it came to women at the best of times and even though I had shared some of my most personal thoughts and feelings with this woman, I still found it hard to talk about some things.
The day progressed, I missed several opportunities to talk to her and then she left for other duties. I found myself shaking my head at my own stupidity as she left. All we had managed was small talk and a little flirting. Next time, I told myself. I left soon after I had finished my inventory stocktake, spent a few hours in the fighter simulator and then called it a night, relishing the final day of my short vacation, even though I had technically been working all day.
We left Jump Space at precisely eight am, ship time, the next day. We all closed up at stations, as is our normal procedure. I sat at the number two console, behind Maxine, in the command module. Fel was beside me on the other side of the compartment, churning the sensor information into definable data and sorting incoming readings. Crege was in front, surrounded by a myriad of displays, his hands resting eagerly on the control yokes.
As we shifted, I glanced over at Crege’s displays that showed a wide vista of normal space. The nearby Jump Station was visible to the naked eye, stark white against a backdrop of dark purple haze, the dominant colour of local space. Barely a light year from the Gossamer star was the vast nebula the Ghantri named Ar’od Dar, which roughly translates to the ‘Great Web’. The Ghantri believed that it was the celestial home of one of their mythical gods, the throne of their pantheon. It was a thing of terrible beauty, filling two thirds of visible space. Nothing makes a man feel so insignificant as to travel the reaches of a star system dwarfed by such a spectacle, even the stars move ever so slightly as one travels, but not so the Great Web.
“Sensors coming in now, stand-by.” intoned Fel.
“Just give me local traffic and MTAS.” ordered Max. MTAS was an acronym for Message to All Spacers, an open broadcast detailing navigational hazards and any alerts to local traffic.
“Should be feeding to your console now, captain.”
“Got it. It’s brief, that’s for sure.”
“Not much to tell,” I explained, “besides keep out!”
She nodded. “Blanket warnings to all vessels to report to Protectorate control. Comm frequencies. Let’s get a channel open, Fel. Crege, head us towards the station, ion drives only. Let’s try getting around on main propulsion alone. Should convince anyone watching that our manoeuvring thrusters are offline.”
“Aye, aye, kitrak!”
“Channel open, captain.”
Max cleared her throat and grabbed the mic, “Eridani Station, this is unaffiliated vessel Dreaming of Atmosphere. Request docking permission at earliest convenience to facilitate dry dock repairs.”
The communication panel lit up almost immediately and Max put it through to the command module speakers for us all to hear.
“Negative, Dreaming of Atmosphere. This is Eridani Station Control; Gossamer System is an exclusion zone by order of Galactic Protectorate authority. Turn your vessel around and re-enter the Jump Gate.”
“Eridani Station, we request sanctuary. A Corporate organo-ship chased us here from Eridani. We have no wish to involve anyone else in our troubles, but we need repairs and re-supply before we can attempt a return to Eridani System.”
“Stand-by, Dreaming of Atmosphere.”
We all looked around at each other. This was it. If they turned us away now, Crege would have to pour on the thrusters and try to evade any station defenders who may try to disable us. I glanced at my own console and brought up a list of contacts. There were nearly a dozen Destroyers close to the station, as well as several dozen smaller corvettes. The Destroyers were large, not nearly as big as the Corporate organo-ship, but nearly eight hundred metres long each. The corvettes were twice as large as the Dreaming but capable of fantastic speeds. Those would be the real threat to us if we tried to run for it. The nearest was a few hundred kilometres from our position. There was little chance of us escaping into the system before one of these managed to land a crippling blow.
“Dreaming of Atmosphere, this is Eridani Station Control. Sorry, but we’re in lock down. We can’t take on any civilian ships right now.”
Crege looked like he was about to set off right there and then. Max gestured for him to stand down. I waved for her attention, and pointed to my stocktake list I’d compiled the day before, highlighting a particular item.
“Ah, Eridani Station Control, maybe we can work something out. We can do our own work, and we can be confined to the dock if it’s security you’re worried about. I got a case of Barris Doon Sky Port that’s just gathering dust, if you know what I mean. For your troubles, that is. A gift in thanks for helping out a civilian in need.”
There was a small pause before the reply came, “Look, I can’t open up the station to you…”
“All we need is a dry dock facility. We can trade for supplies via the quartermaster’s office.”
There was an audible sigh on the line, “Barris Doon Sky Port? What year?”
“Seventeen fifty-eight. I was going to give it to my first Captain for his two hundredth birthday next year…but I’m in a pinch.”
“Seventeen fifty-eight Year of New Atlantis or one of them alien calendars?” the way he said alien calendars made me bristle. Bigotry was far from dead, it seemed.
“YNA, of course.” chirped Max in her best salesperson pitch. The galactically recognised calendar recorded the number of years since the first colonies from Earth were established. The oldest human colonies were dozens of Networks away, the oldest being part of the Olympus Network. I’ve been told that the first Network has nearly thirty star systems within its bounds, including the Orlii and Garz’a home worlds. New Atlantis, the prime world of the Olympus System, is considered the centre of galactic society. It is the birthplace of the Galactic Exploratory Alliance, the precursor to the Galactic Protectorate, and the last known Jump location to old Earth. Not that the Jump Gate worked anymore.
Max let out a victorious whoop sound and shook me from my musings. Crege almost look disappointed, but Fel was relieved. I could see a data package appear in our consoles from the station. I opened it immediately and navigation data flowed into our systems, information such as berthing permits, identification forms and cargo manifest requests. We had secured ourselves a berth.
5.
The Eridani Jump Station was far from the largest station I’d docked at, but it was by no means small. All Jump Stations were named for the star systems their respective Jump Gates link to, and Galactic Protectorate personnel manage them all. Usually, these stations are bustling trade hubs where bulk haulers could offload their cargoes to local traders and depart whence they came. Supply chains that spanned several star systems were sometimes structured this way. Crews never had to travel too far from their home systems and could simply transfer giant cargo pods to awaiting berths or warehouses in the Jump Stations.
There were, of course, long distance bulk carriers who did all the transportation themselves, it’s just easier to crew a freighter when you don’t need to take people away from their families for too long. Frontiersmen, such as myself, did not really care where they operated from, especially when they were only a single generation away from being a Nomad.
The galaxy tends to classify a person based on their connections to a planet. Zoe, for example, was a Kanto Prime citizen. Her family were Kanto Prime citizens. She identified herself as being a Harakiwan, from the Harakiwa star system. The two Argen, Hergo and Denno, were Argen from Argessi star system, though if I remember correctly, Denno is a Frontiersman. A Frontiersman is a person who wasn’t born on a recognised planet or sovereign nation. Denno, for example, was born (or was it hatched?) on a mining platform servicing the Kersios Ring asteroid belt in Argessi system. Although the Donovan family name traces its roots to the Eridani star system, my father was born on the Dreaming of Atmosphere and so was I. To galactic society, I still had a tenuous claim of allegiance to my family’s home system, but any children I may sire, should they also be born on this ship, or any other place that does not meet the requirements of citizenship somewhere is automatically classified as a Nomad.
True Nomads fill a strange niche in galactic society, they are both romanticised in poem, song and film and despised and distrusted in more civilised quarters. In truth, I think the stereotyping is an inaccurate assessment of them. True Nomads are proud and independent, seeing the galaxy at large as their homes rather than some spinning ball of dirt. They trace their lineage back generations through fleets of ships and their wanderings through the galaxy. Nomad families are some of the tightest and closest communities I have ever experienced, and their way of life appeals to me immensely.
I recently lost a close and personal friend, our chief engineer Eric Thackeray. He was the quintessential Nomad, a true wanderer of the stars. I never even found out where he was originally from, but I do know that he never spoke of any allegiance he may have had for any of the planets or star systems we visited.
Knowing a person’s standing in society was always a useful tool when working a deal with them, regardless of your own personal views about the social hierarchy. Until one gets to know a person well, falling back on the stereotypes sometimes pays off.
The Protectorate, although a galaxy spanning organisation, draws the majority of its officials from local space. The more senior personnel, however, are never local. The higher ranked one is, the further away from their home star system they are sent. I believe they do this to prevent the Protectorate from becoming too biased towards whichever star system most of the people are drawn from. Using this information, I knew that most of the people we’d be dealing with in the Eridani Jump Station would be Eridanian. They would most likely be citizens or first generation Frontiersmen. The higher ups, such as the station commander, would be from a different star system or possibly a different Network entirely. This meant we’d have to think like an Eridanian if we wanted to deal with the station folk, but if we got into trouble we’d need to think like an outsider.
Crege brought us into the berth we’d been assigned expertly, and when the station’s gravity field enveloped us and held us in place Maxine called over the PA for everyone to meet in the forward cargo hold for a brief.
Everyone was excited, I could tell. We’d been cooped up in the ship for the better part of several months and even our last furlough was cut short by Benedict Jenner’s hijacking of our ship. Even though this station was hardly the bustling trade hub that most Jump Stations were, there had to be something interesting for the locals to do to pass the time. Protectorate Fleet crews needed R and R as well.
“Alright, everybody, listen up!” called Max when everyone was present, “I know we’ve been stuck on this boat for long enough, but I wanted to remind everyone that we’re still on the job. Our gracious overlord,” Max gestured towards Artemis with a flourish, “Has agreed that we are due a little recuperation time after all. There will be no jumping ship. No frivolous or loud activities. Nothing that could bring the attention of the station officials upon us. Are we all one-hundred percent clear?” She eyed Mal and Hergo. Everyone grunted his or her agreeance.
Max continued, “Several of you have assignments, and almost everyone has some duties to perform before leave is allowed, but once you are released I want everyone to report in to the ship’s local network every six hours. There will be someone here at all times, so make sure you make contact and let him or her know you are all right. No exceptions.”
“How long will we be staying?” asked Hergo.
“Unsure, station day cycle is thirty standard hours. Local time is mid-afternoon, so we may not get all our contracts sorted today. A minimum of four days, during which time we’ll be keeping long dock routines.” That brought a groan from several of the crew.
A standard dock routine meant regular working hours, eight-hour days from eight am to four pm. A long dock routine meant twelve-hour workdays. We did the maths; we had a lot of work to do and little time to do it. At least the crew would have a few hours in the evenings to do what they pleased. It also minimised the trouble they could get themselves in to.
“Are we allowed to stay overnight off-ship?” asked Mal.
“No. The station control made it perfectly clear we were not even supposed to be on the station, so let’s not overstay our welcome and play by their rules for now. That may change, but for now, everyone returns to the ship before midnight, station time. Stragglers will have pay docked for being late.”
“Thought you said we weren’t being paid for this job?” asked Hergo, “Isn’t that a little harsh?”
“You’re not, and it is. Suck it up, it’s an incentive meant to keep you safe and out of trouble. I’ll take that any day over bailing your arses out of gaol or paying for medical bills because you got stabbed in an alley.”
“Are we working today?” asked Denno.
“Some of us are. We’ll get ourselves secured, open shop on the dock and most of you can have the evening off.”
Open shop was Maxine-speak for arraying our cargo out for prospective buyers to peruse. Mostly, it was a digital footprint uploaded to the station’s local network, but some traders also prefer a physical inspection.
“Any other questions?” asked Max, eyeing everyone in turn. When there was none, she dismissed everyone and started issuing orders for crew to start attaching refuelling lines and power cables. Afterwards, Max waved me over.
“That station control guy should be here soon. Think you can pump him for some info about the black market?”
“Unlikely, I’m better off starting with maintenance people.”
“Why them?”
“They’re the most familiar with the station. If there was ever a hidey-hole to stash a secret cache of loot, they are the people to find it. If it’s all the same, I should be wandering the docks playing the retired military card.”
“Feeling nostalgic?”
“Yeah, gives me an excuse to wander into areas I shouldn’t be.”
“Okay, don’t get yourself shot or anything.”
“Hey!” I tried to look mock offended, “It’s me!”
“That’s what worries me. Try to stay out of the sewer drains this time, Donny.” she laughed as she walked after Fel, who was disappearing up the ladder well to Deck 2.
“If I remember correctly, you jumped in first!” I called after her.
I retired to my cabin, leaving the deck hands to start their work in the hold. When I got to my cabin, I found Zoe waiting for me at my cabin hatch.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I have a favour to ask,” she began, “A couple of components that probably won’t be for sale in the docks area, and I don’t want to go asking questions about.” She handed me a hand written note, with a list of four items that looked like model or part numbers.
“Okay.” That got me interested. Zoe, talking about illegal merchandise? What was she up to? “Want to tell me what for?”
“Nothing bad, you know me.”
“I do know you. That’s why I’m asking.”
She looked at me for a moment and saw that she wasn’t getting out of it without giving me something. “A project I’m working on.”
“That piece of cybernetics I keep seeing you working on in med lab?”
“Ah ha.”
“Which is a gift for me?”
“Yup. Surprise.” She gave me her best innocent smile, hands folded at her back.
“How illegal are we talking about?”
Her face changed suddenly, “Oh they’re not normally illegal, just here they might be. Possibly restricted.”
“Why would they be illegal here and not somewhere else?”
“Because of what they’re used for.”
“And what are they used for?”
“Secret.”
I sighed, and pocketed the note. “Alright, but if you get me arrested Max will be pissed at you.”
She reached up on her toes and gave me a quick kiss before dashing off down to Deck 2, probably to get her things and go exploring. As the junior crewmember, and the ship’s Doctor, she got the easiest job of all – rounding up medical supplies from the station’s infirmary. All her tasks were in the same place, so she would have heaps of free time.
I went into my cabin and changed out of the jump suit I always wore on the ship and into some civilian clothes. I slipped on my Ablative Coat, not because I expected any trouble, but because I wanted to look the part of active Frontiersman. I took my PX-2 and hung it from its holster on my belt, slung lower than normal to add a little swagger to my stride. I hesitated a moment before attaching the lurzak blade, but thought, what the hell? These military boys act tough a lot of the time, especially around civilians, but if I show them I walk the walk, and talk the talk, maybe they will skip the routine and go straight to business.
I took a look at a mirror that Zoe always left in the cabin, girl stuff, and checked myself out. Rough, worn and a little haggard. Should do. I wished I had enough time for a haircut; I could have gone with a more crew cut style to put these depot staunchers at ease. Then I remembered my medal, which I usually wore beneath my jump suit on my old dog tag chain.
I had been awarded the medal when I made it out of the Gossamer star system the last time, a bloody wreck after suffering terrible injuries and losing my entire squad. I had gotten out after months of fighting for my survival, stealing away on board a ship making a raid on the Jump Gate. At the time, and for a long time afterward, I could not bear the sight of the thing. I saw it as a reminder of the worst time in my life. Now, through Zoe’s counselling, I had come to see it as a memento of my fallen comrades and a symbol of my will to survive. It was also a symbol of my revenge.
I pulled the chain free of my under garments and displayed it proudly on my chest. That should turn some heads.
6.
There are many different styles of habitats and space stations throughout the Network. Space stations are primarily just bubbles of atmosphere contained in enclosed capsules. This isn’t always the case, however, and this is the defining difference between a space station and a habitat. You got your torus style rings, simulating gravity through centrifugal force. The Acheras Orbital is one of the most famous of such designs. Located in the Eridani System, the Acheras Orbital is a giant ring almost three thousand kilometres in diameter. The habitat is almost completely self-sufficient, producing its own atmosphere, weather, pseudo-gravity and protection from radiation. It’s not inaccurate to call it an artificial world. Some, such as Acheras, are even open to space along the inner ‘ceiling’ – gravity keeps the atmosphere in place.
There are piecemeal stations constructed of many smaller stations joined together, such as the Corus Cluster. These modular stations are usually reliant on supply chains for many of the necessities of life, but sophisticated ones are not. They rarely match the scale of true orbitals such as Acheras, however.
The more common types are the cylindrical, rotating stations such as the Jump Stations. Their internal spaces are enclosed atmospheres, the living spaces. The outer hulls are the working areas, docks and defence platforms. Gravity in these outer zones are produced by traditional grav-plates such as those found on starships.
The Eridani Jump Station was standard, as far as Jump Stations go. The only difference that I could see was that instead of the usual bustle of trade ships and civilian stellar travellers that would normally be found drifting around the station, there were military ships instead. The Protectorate Fleet used the Jump Station as a staging outpost for the blockade, servicing the hundreds of warships that defended this region of space.
As I stepped off the Dreaming onto the platform we were berthed at, I could see several other berths that were filled in this part of the dock. Almost all of them were the sleek corvette class warships that served as scouts and patrol craft for the system. There was also a blocky, ugly ship slightly smaller than the corvettes, and the Dreaming, that I knew instantly to be an assault ship. I had flown in several, during my career in the Primacy Star Marine Corps, and knew they were uncomfortable but reliable. They could take a beating and still deliver its payload of marines to where ever they were needed.
If I was going to use my military background to my advantage and gain contacts through that, I was betting the assault barge was my best bet. A marine was a marine, no matter which organisation they fought for. I made my way over to it.
As I arrived, I gained the attention of several men in uniform working with some synthetics to load crates and munitions. They stopped what they were doing and an older man sauntered over to me. I could see on his Protectorate uniform that he was a Lance Corporal, although he looked a little too old to be holding that rank. He was fit, and seemed to be the one in charge of the group loading the munitions.
He looked me up and down, noting my sidearm prominently displayed down my leg, and sneered at me, “Should not be here. Sarge catches you, likely to beat shit out of you. Me to, for talking. Loading bay no place for civvy. Scram!”
His accent was harsh sounding, with little effort put into vocabulary. I could already tell this man was very good as swearing though. I pegged his origins almost immediately.
“Castoff City or Diamond Dome?” I asked. A flash of surprise that played out over his features told me I had pegged him.
“You Solus?” I jabbed a thick index finger at me.
“No, but I’ve done a few runs through Votus II, Solus is a good place to buy cheap fuel.”
“Everything else, not cheap.”
“No shit.” I forced a laugh, which he shared.
“Castoff City. Ice farmer.” He jabbed himself with a meaty thumb. Calling Castoff City a city was a misnomer. The moon Solus was an icy satellite that orbited the gas giant Kapsolon in the Votus II system. Most of the populace lived in individual farmsteads and settlements, loosely affiliated with two main population centres – Castoff City and Diamond Dome. They were hardy folk, used to terrible hardships and awful living conditions. They were almost as resourceful and hard working as belters such as Hergo and Denno.
“What unit are you guys with?” I probed.
“Votus Vanguards, Forty Second Division. Best space marines in the Network.”
“Ha, bullshit. Pretty good, but I was with Primacy Star Marine Corps, Second Division.” I let that sink in for a few moments. I wasn’t pulling any stunts, the Votus Vanguards were a decent unit, but the Primacy Star Marines were known throughout the Network as the most highly trained military force in the region. When we made The Push, the Second Division formed the core of the ground and space-borne marine force. We also suffered the most casualties as a result. We never retreated or gave up, until the flyboys and the brass called it and we had to either fall back and re-board our transports or be left behind. Not everyone made it back.
“Second Division, huh?” he grunted, by now a few of the other guys had sauntered over and were listening in. “When you leave?”
“Nearly a year after The Push. This is my first time back in-system since, was looking to reconnect with some of the folk that may still be around from that time. Think you can help me out?”
“You were in The Push?” said one of the others. It was then that one of them noticed my medal.
“Hey, that’s the Primarch’s Star of Honour!” said one, they all gaped and stared.
We were interrupted by a great bellow of a yell coming from the belly of the assault boat. We all turned as a tall, well-built man strode down the ramp onto the platform. This was the man I needed to talk to. Their sergeant.
The man verbally abused each and every one of them, inciting deeds done by both of their parents as well as their family pets. It was quite colourful and masterfully delivered, and even the stocky Solus ice farmer ran back to his task. It brought a smile to my lips; the familiarity of it was so striking.
“What in all the…who the fuck are you? Seeing a civvy on the deck is like looking at a soup sandwich! A civvy stopping my good hearted, dumb fuck marines from working is almost as bad as shooting at them! Who let your sorry arse…” he stopped his rant mid-sentence when he his eyes drifted over my medal. “Your daddy give you that, boy?”
“No, sir. I earned this gong.”
“How?”
“The Push.”
“Well I’ll be fucked sideways. Men! You’re in the presence of fighting royalty, you sorry somabitches! Get your arses over here and shake this man’s hand!”
“That’s okay, sarge, I’m just looking for some information. Looking for some contacts, senior non-coms on the station. We got some stock we’re looking to move and there’s not a lot of trade going on here, if you get my drift.”
“What kind of stock?”
“Booze, stims, overlay sims, auto-chef flavour packs and protein mass. We’re a little light on creds and looking to grease some palms to see what the station can do for us. Got shot up by Corporates back in Eridani and had to make a break for here.”
“Sure, I might know a guy. We’re not regular duty here, just on our way out, actually. Whole Forty Second is pulling out.”
“No shit? Why’s that?”
“You were in Eridani, you tell me.”
“Ah. That.” We had picked up on some news back in the Eridani System before we shifted; a major conflict had almost broken out between the system’s major factions. The Protectorate would be consolidating their forces in the region, and that meant pulling ancillary forces back from the blockade, apparently.
“Is the blockade still safe?”
“Safe? Was never safe.”
“Poor choice of words. Is this pull out going to affect the capability of the blockade?”
“Brass doesn’t seem to think so, but then the brass are all Fleet.” There was always a certain rivalry between the different arms of the military. Fleet, for the most part, were not looked upon favourably by marines or planetary forces. Fleet were also usually in charge. They controlled space, which meant they controlled the star systems and the Jump Gates. By default, that made them the top of the hierarchy, as far as the Protectorate were concerned.
“Tell you what, I’ll send a few bottles of cheap swill we’re trying to offload over here later. For channels night.”
“No need, don’t think we’re finishing a deployment, just starting another. I’m uploading a marker to your overlay; ask around for Chief Petty Officer Markum. He’s a cheat and swindler, but he’ll know a guy who knows a guy that could probably help you out.”
“Appreciated, have a safe flight back.”
The sergeant jogged back towards the assault ship and yelled a few more obscenities at his men as he did so. Sure enough, the sergeant’s marker waypoint appeared on my overlay. It directed me towards the station proper. The station official who let us in said we were supposed to remain on the docks, but no one else would know that so I figured I’d be safe. He was probably a Fleet guy anyway. It didn’t take much for me to slip back into my old marine trains of thought. Talking with that sergeant brought back a few memories. I thought then about my own late Platoon Sergeant, a man named Walter Germaine the Eighth. Or, as he was affectionately known, Crazy Eight. He was an Eridanian, but joined the Primacy Star Marines because his mother was Harakiwan and his father moved to Kanto Prime so she could stay near her family. He hated his father, who wanted him to become an accountant like him, to be a part of the family dynasty. He joined one day to spite him, and soon found that being a marine was as natural a thing as breathing.
I learnt a lot from Walt Germaine. He was a hard man, but never mistreated us or beat us when we were down. He was always in the thick of it with us and we were constantly trying not to disappoint him because of it. It says something about your leadership style when you lead from the front; it tells your men that you’re one of them and that what is asked of you is not beyond what you can endure. Proving something can be done, by showing them, cuts through the bullshit excuses and pushes the troops to better results.
I sometimes wonder if he had survived that charge into the enemy emplacement, and he was still in command of our squad when we were left behind, if more of us would have made it out alive. Zoe always told me that second guessing and playing out ‘what ifs’ were never going to do me any good, but right then I found it hard not to. Not when I was wandering the halls of this station.
Only a few years ago, I had been here briefly before committing to The Push campaign in earnest. We were all cheer and bravado then, caught up in the excitement and the impending, glorious victory promised us by the Protectorate propaganda machine. Months later, I was back, half a man. No squad, no glory and my mind a shattered wreck. I was kind of hoping this time things would turn out better.
7.
From a military standpoint, space stations are a terribly indefensible asset. Space based weaponry had ranges that measured in the hundreds of thousands of kilometres, sometimes millions of kilometres. The only thing that makes combat at this range ineffective is that even minute adjustments to the target’s position renders the shot inaccurate unless the munition is guided. Space stations, in general, are stationary. If an enemy wanted to destroy a space station, they need only stand off out of range of any defending vessels and fire kinetic rounds at it.
Militarised space stations, such as the Jump Station, required extremely effective point defence weaponry and strong shields to have at least a chance at remaining operational beyond the first salvo fired at it. These defences come in several forms, from AI controlled point defence lasers and energy weapons, to anti-missile missiles and active decoy systems. They also used large swarms of drones. Drones require regular maintenance and crews to operate them. A single swarm of a dozen drones requires on average two decent pilots and an engineer to maintain. Each pilot controls six drones, but in a pinch can slave the other six to their own rig. Therefore, the bare minimum is two people per drone swarm. Artificial Intelligence Cores work the autonomous functions of drones, such as swarm formation and spacing, while the pilot commands their targets and manoeuvres.
I knew, from my time serving here years ago, that the Eridani Jump Station continuously flew forty wings of a dozen drones at all times. In an emergency, it can fly another hundred and twenty wings on top of that. In a real combat engagement, I knew that two pilots each would operate the drone wings. The nearly two thousand drones, therefore, would require a full complement of four hundred and eighty crew.
The point defence weaponry required crews for operation and maintenance that usually tallied up to over twice this number, around a thousand.
The next layer of defence from the station were the picket ships. A Destroyer fielded a crew of three hundred, while each Corvette flew with a crew of ninety-eight. The picket consisted of a dozen Destroyers and thirty-six Corvettes. Hence, the picket line had around seven thousand people in it.
On patrol, within a few million kilometres, were the larger warships. These patrolled in clusters of three to nine warships, usually several Corvettes supporting a Destroyer or Frigate. The combined crew of these ships measured in just over ten thousand people.
Lastly, there were three huge, Leviathan class Battlecruisers that lurked somewhere in the system. Each one required nearly a thousand crew to operate. Combine all these crews with starship maintenance teams, support personnel, general station maintenance, logistics and supply departments, administration, and last of all the military police, and you start to see the sheer volume of space and facilities required to run the blockade. There were always opportunists in among the myriad of people on military depots, regardless of mission, creed or location and Eridani Station was no different.
I followed the directions that the Votus Vanguard marines had given me, and soon found myself within the bowels of the depot proper. The station design, internally, was given wholly to function over form and there were exposed piping, vents and cable runs everywhere. The corridors were wide enough, and the deck heads high, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of claustrophobia that pervaded this section of the station. Sure, the Dreaming was by far a smaller space, but it was mostly smooth panels and utilitarian bulkhead coverings. At a glance it looked like you were in a regular building, but here you knew you were inside a machine. Strange mechanical sounds, distant hums and ever-present gaseous hisses competed perpetually with the sound of crew working and the occasional station wide broadcast. The smell was an unknowable melange of sweat, cleaning chemicals, lubricant, exhaust fumes and…something.
I passed many people on my wanderings, some acknowledging my passage, some not. There were sometimes groups of people moving in an orderly fashion, not quite marching but moving together all the same. Wherever people went, however, they always moved with purpose. That was something I always missed about my early years in the PSMC, a lot of the thinking was done for me. I always had something to do, and I always had someone to tell me what that was.
I took a wild guess and estimate that the HGI Index here was about 90%, as only one in ten people I saw were neither human, Garz’a or Orlii. The odd ones out were a diverse mix of Argen, Frikk and several other races that are common in the Network. I even passed a couple of Votus at one point.
Eventually the marker that I followed ended at a large compartment that was engineering related. It looked like half of the compartment was a workshop of some sort, while the other half was a storeroom for thousands of components. There were about thirty men and women working here, mostly human with a few Orlii and a blue skinned humanoid with a red mane of long hair.
I gained the attention of the blue-skinned man, who happened to be nearest to me, and inquired about Chief Markum. He gestured at a short, balding man in his mid-forties who was in the process of heading over to me. As he approached, I saw him sizing me up, his eyes lingering on my sidearm, then on my medal. There was a calculated look about him, as if he was thinking of a way to exploit me or work out how I can be best used for a scheme. I was instantly wary of him, his cunning eyes even noted how my body language shifted and he smiled broadly while extending a meaty hand.
“Chief Markum, engineering supply chain, fifth department.”
I took his hand; he had a firm used starship salesperson’s handshake, “Seth Donovan, First Mate of the Dreaming of Atmosphere.”
“Don’t get too many civvies these days. What brings you to this fine establishment?”
“You mean this compartment or this station?”
“Take your pick.”
“A gentleman on the dock gave me your name, said you might be able to help me.”
I could almost see his eyes sparkle, “That all depends, Mr Donovan.”
“On?”
“What it is you think I can do for you, and how willing you are to convince me that I can.”
“Okay, I’ll get right to the point then…”
“Man after my own heart!”
“Right, well, my ships been through hell and we have a long way to go still before we get paid. We were wondering…”
“We?”
“The Captain and I.”
“Right, go on.”
“We were wondering if there was some way to get what we need without using up all of our credits.”
“What is it you’re suggesting?”
“Come on. I’m ex-military. I know roughly how this is supposed to work, I just need to see the right people, offer the right incentives. I could use some help.”
“That’s some hefty gong you’re wearing there. Where’d you serve?”
“I got that the last time I passed through here, the Push. Served with the PSMC, 2nd Division.”
He whistled through his teeth, “Phew! That’s some heavy time. What ship did you fly with?”
There it was. The test. If you walk around saying you were somewhere and did something, there was always the chance that you were bullshitting. There was always the odd ex-serving member whose career in the military did not quite take them to the stars. They might have had a bad run, no deployments or operations. Some just chose the wrong line of work in the military and ended up serving chow at the servery lines on backwater Jump Stations or depots. Some pissed off the wrong person and ended up in shitty postings, while others still had connected parents who did not want to see their kid get killed on an ill-fated venture. For some, the fact that they served was enough. To others, they were shamed by their lack of physical awards. They told tall tales about their time in the military, or fabricated lies about their adventures, or worse yet, acquired medals that they were not awarded.
To the service member, especially one currently on a high-risk deployment such as the Gossamer System, these kinds of people were anathema to their way of life. Pretenders were looked upon with poor opinion.
Chief Markum clearly knew his history, questioning my authenticity.
“Sardonis Mist, until she was crippled during the second wave. Shuttled over to the Emerald Fist for insertion. Served under Captain DeLacy and Commander Fortescue the 9th. Major Karas was our CO during the deployment. Lost him when his assault boat took a missile hit when we were boarding Ambrose Station. Captain Vargas took the rest of the Division that survived until he was killed during the withdrawal.”
“Who was the last ship to get back to waypoint Ferris?”
“Don’t know, I didn’t make it either.”
“What do you mean? Everyone who got out had to RV with the Fleet at waypoint Ferris.”
“No sir, they did not.”
“Bullshit.”
“I got left behind, took me nearly three months to stow away on a raider ship hitting the blockade, I jumped ship then and got picked up. They gave me this gong as compensation for missing my boat.”
He looked at me with his eyes half closed, trying to decide if I was trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
Eventually, he seemed to come to a decision, “A marine, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. I work for a living. That’s one hell of a story you got there. I was a Petty Officer on the Tyrillian Star. Spent most of my time during the Push doing damage control and pulling dead bodies out of burning star ships.”
“She make it out?”
“Sure did. Decommissioned her a few months later, though. Got the name plaque over in my office, actually. Want to see it?”
“Yeah, okay. Always good to hear another’s perspective of the Push.”
“This way.” He led me through the compartment to a small office in the rear. It was stuffy, and the single desk was strewn with piles of paper work, oily components and several tablets. The entire rear wall was lined with crates of what could only be described as loot. Sure enough, mounted on the right wall, was a metre long steel plaque etched with the words Tyrillian Star. It even looked genuine, complete with rough edges where it had been cut from the hull.
I knew this wasn’t just a show and tell. I had passed his test and was moved up his personal social hierarchy from possible pretender to possible opportunity. Now the business dealing would begin.
“Find a spot to sit. On that crate is fine.” He plonked himself down in his desk chair and grabbed a tablet, turning it on and flicking through some screens. “What do you need? How much can you spend? What can you trade?”
“Sending you a list of everything we need, and a few items we really want, as well as a few of the wares we’re willing to part with.”
He took a few moments to review my data. After about fifteen minutes of cross checking his own stuff, making a few notes and generally just thinking about how he could swindle me, he tossed the tablet back on the table and leaned back in his chair. I could hear it groaning in protest.
“Here’s what I can do for you. I can get most of those repairs financed through trade. I’m particularly interested in that pallet of souvenirs from Outer Harakiwa Station, especially the Archenfold bobbleheads. You get me that pallet, and I can maybe hook you up with some discounts for the rest of the stuff.”
“Okay, why the bobbleheads? Got a thing for Votus?”
“Are you kidding? I can move that in an instant. The drone guys go ape shit over stuff like that.”
“So you want that pallet personally?”
“Consider it brokerage fees.”
“Ah huh.”
“There’s one more thing,” he said, fingers arched in a steeple, “Your fuel.”
“Oh?”
“Command and the bean counters have come down hard on this grade of propellant. What’s it for? Combat grade thrusters?”
“Manoeuvring thrusters. Twenty four point Callidyne Industries System.”
“Combat grade thrusters.”
“The product description is ‘High performance manoeuvring thrust’. Says so in the brochure.”
“You can’t use standard Imodium gas ejectors? Why the pricy stuff? You civvies don’t see a lot of action.”
“You’d be surprised, Chief. Besides, our pilot is a hotshot Garz’a, nothing but the best for him. He convinced the Captain it was a worthwhile upgrade. I got to tell you, it’s saved our skins many times.”
“Well, the fuel is high profile contraband here. Needed for combat operations only.”
“We need that fuel.”
“Why?”
“Trouble, long story.”
“How badly do you need it?” Here it comes, I thought, the real deal.
“What’s it going to cost me?”
“You can afford it,” he said, leaning forward again, “but it’s not a matter of credits. It’s risk. I can call in some favours and get what you need directed to your berth, but they’ll be favours I was planning on banking for a while.”
“Come on, I know there’s been a withdrawal of forces. You know what’s gone down in Eridani?”
“I heard rumours. I did notice that some secondary forces are prepping for something, and most of the marine detachments are going too. Doesn’t change anything.”
“I think it does. With fewer people around, it’ll be harder for you to run your…business off the books. Less opportunities as well. Hell, you may even lose some profit due to some of those favours pulling out.”
He eyed me from across the desk. He seemed to be appraising me, much as a hawk monitors carrion that jackals haven’t yet finished with.
“I’d almost forgotten what you frontiersmen were like. You know the score, and you’re ex-military too. I tell you what; I’ll do you a favour. And by that, I mean you are going to do me a favour. Mutual benefit, etcetera, etcetera.”
“What kind of a favour?”
“I need someone to stand in for me for a business deal going down tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Busy man, this guy’s been stuffing me around lately, not showing up that sort of thing. I can’t get away to go meet him and need someone to go see if he’s legit this time.”
“What sort of deal?”
“A collection appraisal, of sorts. Need someone to take a peek, see if they’re genuine for one. I don’t trust any of these depot staunchers not to blab about it before it’s a done deal.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”
“Hey, do you want this to work or not? Just go meet the guy, check out his products, come back and give me the report. An hour round trip, tops. I’m going out on a limb, here. This fuel is hot product right now, you know. If we get audited, heads will roll.”
I thought about it for a bit. If he was being honest about this deal, it was exactly what we needed. We’d get all the supplies we needed, plus a few others we could afford. Most importantly, we’d get the repairs sorted and our thrusters topped up. If he was as shifty as he appeared, though, and I was getting myself into some trouble….well, we needed the ship up to scratch or we simply wouldn’t be able to survive in the Gossamer System.
I sighed, which Chief Markum took as an acceptance. He smiled and leaned forward, holding his hand out again for me to shake.
“Why do I get the feeling I just got the short end of the stick.” I said as I took it.
“Nonsense. You’ll be fine.”
8.
Before I left Chief Markum’s lair, I asked him if he knew where to find the items on Zoe’s list. He was only too happy to oblige, smiling ear to ear as he walked me from his workshop storeroom. Another hour of walking around the station and I’d come to a far more familiar part of the depot. The section was reserved for ground forces and marine detachments, a combined armoury, quartermaster store and training deck. All around it were the familiar signs of my former career – squads of men in body armour drilling with weapons, field stripping and cleaning equipment, conducting repairs on small arms and armour.
I coped a few stares from menacing soldiers, some gave me what could only be called ‘stink eye’ while others did their best to ignore me. Eventually, I found myself before the quartermaster’s cage next to the armoury, ringing a bell for service. In moments, a grizzled old veteran shambled into sight and took one look at me before calling out for someone. A younger man came into view then and saw me before walking over to the counter. He had gun grease on his fingertips, and work coveralls that bore the signs of frequent work in a machine shop. The old vet just leaned against a shelving unit and sneered at me.
“What can I do for you, sir?” asked the younger man. His name badge identified him as Private Cottle.
“I’m not a sir, I’m a mister.”
“Huh?” he gave me a confused look. Not the brightest kid around.
“My name’s Seth. I was looking for some parts, was wondering if you can help me out?” I offered him my list.
“Er…what unit are you with?”
“Sorry?”
“What ship are you with?”
“The big ship. Citizenship.”
“Oh!” he laughed at that, finally catching on that I was a civilian.
“Can I buy these off you?”
“Oh, we’re not a shop, mister.”
“Can I give you credits, and then you give them to me then?”
“Well, er…” he glanced behind him at the older man, who was doing his best act trying to look bored.
“I don’t think he’ll mind.” I prompted.
“He…ah…well I….”
The older man finally lost his patience, swearing under his breath before barging Private Cottle out of the way, “You’re an idiot, Cottle. This is why you’ll never make Petty Officer. I give you an opportunity, and you lose your head.”
“Training the younger generation?” I offered, smiling at him.
“Kid’s great with tools and gun maintenance, but wouldn’t know a thing about running a quartermasters store.” He shooed the young baffled Cottle out of the store and then turned to me.
“So?”
“So. I’m Porter. You have a certain bearing about you. I can tell you’re one of them ‘actives’. Bounty hunter?”
“Courier, actually. Done some bounty work in the past but it’s not our main business.”
“Courier. Right. Why does a courier need…” he grabbed my list and read through it, “A hyper catalyst module, a high efficiency capacitor and a nanite cooling sleeve?”
“Hobby.”
“A hobby?”
“Yeah, my girlfriend likes to tinker.”
He looked at me deadpan. “You have no idea what this stuff is used for?”
“Nope.” I gave him my innocent best.
He looked like he was about to shout in my face, then his gaze found my medal that still hung from around me neck. Took him about three seconds to recognise it.
“What the fuck?”
“There a problem?”
“I know only a handful of people who have the Primarch’s Star. Two of them posthumously awarded.”
“Oh, that? Got it during the Push.”
He looked up into my face then. Really looked. “Motherfucker.”
I took a step back. Maybe I had over done it, this time. I made to put the medal away beneath my shirt.
“You’re Corporal Donovan!”
“How did you….”
“You are! Holy shit! Corporal Seth Donovan!”
“How do you know me?”
“Are you kidding me? You’re like, semi-famous!”
“What for?”
“The Push! You know they study you at some of the training schools now?”
“They what?”
“Yeah, you’re a big deal with the tactical guys. Is it true you took out a whole platoon of Ghantri heavies?”
“Well, no. Heavies are solitary units.” He blinked at me several times, then he shook his head in amazement, chuckling.
“You know, I still got to ask about these parts.”
“What’s with them?”
“They’re spec ops weapon mods. Real ninja shit, if you know what I mean.”
I was going to have another talk with Zoe about this.
“No I don’t know. And they really are for my girlfriend. She’s a cybernetics wiz.”
He drummed his fingers on the counter top a few times, his chin resting in the palm of his other hand. “Here’s the deal,” he said at last, “I got some buddies who’d love to meet you, pick your brain for a while. You do this for me, the parts are yours.”
“Really?”
“No sweat. I’ll say that Cottle drooled on them and they got fried.”
“Okay, when do you want to do this?”
“Give me fifteen minutes; I’ll walk you over to them. Oh, man. They’re going to love this.”
Turns out, Porter’s pals were actually a whole squad. He led me to a section of the training deck that had a high security hatch. He buzzed an intercom at the entrance and identified himself. Moments later, the hatch opened and a tall, muscled Garz’a opened the door. I could tell right away, by his uniform, that this man was Special Forces. Oh, geez. What had I gotten myself into?
“Sergeant Kekkin, might I present to you, Corporal Seth Donovan, hero of the Push!”
I held up my hands instantly, “Hey, now I ain’t who the Protectorate brass wanted me to be. I’m no hero.”
Kekkin stared at me for several seconds, his hand still on the hatch combing. “Hero shorter than warrior imagined.”
I sighed. “Look, I don’t know what the Protectorate propaganda people told you all about me, but the only reason I got his medal was because I lived while the rest of my squad died.”
“Can we come in?” asked Porter. Kekkin stepped back and gestured for us to enter. Reluctantly, I followed the portly quartermaster in. Kekkin kept eyeballing me the entire time.
Inside, the compartment was dark and cooler than the rest of the station. It was also larger than I had thought at first. A short corridor opened up into a large compartment that was a combined lounge and tactical planning area. Several men were standing around a large holo-projector table that showed some kind of facility built into an asteroid. They looked up as we came into view, and one of them hastily hit a button that killed the projection. They were all instantly alert as they saw me – the outsider.
“At ease, warriors.” said Kekkin, “Porter has guest.”
I lamely waved at the assembly. I counted nine men, including Kekkin. Several were clearly augmented; some even had overt cybernetics clearly visible.
“What’s this, Porter?” said one of the soldiers.
“This man just walked into my store, thought I’d let you guys meet him. You should all be familiar with him by now.”
“What’s he talking about, sarge?”
“Porter says human is naga-zak”
“I’m a what?”
A couple of the others made their way over to me, and one of them flicked a switch that saw the lights in the compartment brighten. They inspected me, looking me over. I began to regret the ensemble I had worn when leaving the Dreaming, I began to feel like I was over dressed, as if I was wearing a costume. I felt self-conscious, all of a sudden.
“Looks like him.” said one of the men. He was wiry, with tight muscles that made me instantly think of a coiled spring.
“Don’t remember that scar.” said another. This one was short and stocky, like a boulder.
“I got that a couple years ago, after I mustered out.” I explained.
“What’s your service number?” asked Coil-guy.
“Er…S8108221.”
“Where did you do boot camp?” asked Boulder-guy.
“Kanto Moon.”
“No shit, what section?” he asked.
“Fort Geris.”
It was Kekkin’s turn to grill me, “How long was naga-zak behind calak lines, from loss of squad to rescue?”
“Two months, twenty seven days.”
“Who was the last squad member of yours to die, and how did he die?” this came from an ugly man in the back, who bore a nasty burn scar from his neck across half his face. One eye was clearly cybernetic.
“Private Denning. I shot him.” Now I was pissed. “What the fuck is this?” I turned to face Porter, “I don’t have to listen to this shit.”
I turned to leave, but a firm hand grasped me on the arm. I twirled about in anger and before I knew it, I’d drawn my lurzak blade in one smooth motion. Kekkin held my arm, the blade humming between us. I could see the occasional crackle of energy play over the weapon. The Garz’a Special Forces man just looked at the weapon and let me go, taking a step back. Then he nodded slightly.
“Naga-zak, warrior apologises. Meant no offence. Please, honour us with your presence. We would learn much from you.”
I got my emotions under control, realising that my outburst was brought on by the vivid memories that the interrogation stirred. I deactivated the blade and sheathed it.
“Sorry, still a bit jumpy. Been a rough several months, lately.”
“The insult was ours, we questioned your identity.”
“I understand. However, I am not who you think I am. The Protectorate tried to market me to the press as some kind of hero. In the end I mustered out of the PSMC because of it.”
“Naga-zak is humble.”
“You keep calling me that, what is it?”
“Serpent who strikes in the dark.”
I stared at him. I looked around the compartment at the others, and could tell the mood had shifted. They all wore looks of acceptance on their faces now, instead of intense scrutiny.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because you are the serpent who strikes in the dark.” He said it like that explained everything.
Boulder-guy took a step forward and held his hand out to shake, “Corporal Renthal, Naga Team.”
“Seth.” I said, dumbly.
“Sarge is always spouting his warrior bullshit. If you can get past it, he’s a regular guy.”
“Yeah, I know a Garz’a just like him, actually.”
“The thin one is Corporal Harris, the ugly guy in the back is Corporal Masters, and those four are Geko, Rhondel, Triptych and Gunther. That lazy sonofabitch sitting on the couch is Rego. Last is our resident Argen Carro.”
“Naga Team?”
“Sarge loves his theatrics.”
“Your team is named after me?”
“Not really, but it fits. The LT is in the head. Should be out soon.”
“Who are you guys? Who’s Naga Team?”
“We’re a coalition covert strike unit. Special ops, recon and intelligence gathering. We insert near Ghantri strongpoints and monitor them. Blow up ones we can.”
“Haven’t been to the system for a few years and I wasn’t too keen to keep up to date, if you know what I mean. What’s it like out here these days?”
“Getting bad. Only thing is, the brass doesn’t seem to give a shit. Last op we put together they canned. We were due out tomorrow, now it looks like we’ll be sitting on our hands for a while.”
“I might know something about that.”
“Go on.”
“The Esper Monarch was assassinated a few weeks before we shifted to Gossamer. Word should be with brass already.”
“Shit.” A general malaise seemed to put a damper on the good mood in the compartment.
“The royalists retaliated against Restus Station, thought the Doncrest Corporation were involved. Protectorate Fleet stepped in, but things had already gotten muddy. Next thing, the Protectorate uncovers that a Tyrillian terrorist group was behind it all. Now Esper Monarchy is trying to dig up whether Landford had anything to do with it. Doncrest is screaming bloody murder about the Esper retaliation. Protectorate is bracing for the fall out.”
Everyone around the room was silent for a few moments; some looked at each other. A hatch opened in the far side of the compartment and a younger man entered. He stopped when he realised everyone was silent, and then he noticed Porter and me.
Lieutenant Ormund was Eridanian, I learnt after we were introduced. He had a soft-spoken demeanour about him that belied his position as a Special Forces team leader. Once he had been updated on our discussion, I asked him about what they knew about me. About what the Protectorate had told them.
“The Protectorate uses your survival story as a training aid, so to speak. Any ground forces unit that is posted to the blockade has to learn about what you did, and how you survived. There are suit recordings that you took with your M4 MAEL, what we could recover any way, that shows most of your fights and how you struck at the enemy. There’s a lot of discussion about how you chose your targets, and how you worked out when to strike. There’s a guerrilla text book study about some of the tactics you used, such as your ferocity and determination.”
“I really only remember the sheer terror of it all.”
“I can imagine. We’re all veterans here, even me.” he said. There were several nods around the compartment. “One of the lessons we derived from your study, was the importance of muscle memory, of training becoming second nature.”
“Yeah, I was pretty much an automaton for most of it. Kill, hide, stalk, kill, hide. I don’t even know how many Ghantri I killed.”
“We do. Want to know?”
“No, thanks. I have enough nightmares.” That generated another round of nodding from the men.
“Do you mind if we go through some of the encounters? There are several tactics that we’ve yet to get a handle on, such as why you favoured the combat blade over energy weapons?”
“Figured that I’d need to save my batteries, or save them for a last stand.”
“A last stand that never came.”
“Hindsight is a bitch. It was usually quieter too.”
“When did you first think about escaping back to the blockade? At what point did you consider that you could make it back, when the thousands of other folk trapped in the system couldn’t?”
“I don’t know. It was always in my mind. As we watched our shuttle take off without us, those of us left never even considered that we couldn’t get home. We just kept looking for ways to get back.”
“Did you ever feel like surrendering?”
“To the Ghantri? No. Did I consider slipping into the general populace and blending in with the refugees? Yes. I stayed away from them for that reason. As soon as I let up, I knew that it would be ten times harder to get myself motivated to get home again.” That brought a fresh round of nodding from the men. “I think I just set my sights on fresh targets each time I eliminated my current one. Set myself objectives, ones that were reachable. Each new objective brought me closer to my goal.”
“Naga-zak was smart.” agreed Kekkin, “Achievable objectives, even easy ones, are morale boosters. Warriors make progress, win war, not battle.”
It was then that I noticed that several of them had small field notebooks out and were scribbling into them.
“How did you identify where supplies were located? Food and water, especially?” asked Ormund.
“Water was easy. Ion drives use water for fuel. I’m a frontiersman and grew up on a ship. Learnt a lot about water lines and how to process the water so it’s potable. Food was a bit harder. Luck, mostly, got me through there.”
“Any insights you might have about Ghantri thinking?”
“Insights? They’re bloody savages. They walk around, they speak and they’re smart. Deep down inside, though, they are animals. They have some sort of social contract with the Jaani, and I think they treat them almost like pets. Kill them first, if you can. Drives them into fits of rage, but that makes them predictable. The Jaani might look harmless enough, but it was the Jaani who make their starships, maintain their weapons and defences and the Jaani who made it possible for the Ghantri Betrayal to work in the first place.”
A few looked at each other again, as if passing knowing glances.
Ormund nodded, “We haven’t tried that. We always saw them as civilians.”
“They might not pick up weapons, but they are most certainly not civilians. I think the Ghantri forbid them for picking up arms, even to defend themselves. They will attack you unarmed though, if they think they can kill you.”
“Fuckers, I knew it!” cried Harris.
Renthal turned to Ormund, “They killed Tucker. Lied to our faces and cowered like children and we bought it.”
“We had no way of knowing that.” said the Lieutenant. I had the feeling I was witnessing a prior argument resurface, clearly regarding the loss of one of their own.
“Well, from now on, Jaani are targets of opportunity.” declared Renthal.
“Stow it, Corporal!’ ordered Ormund, “I will not have my men firing blindly into unknown targets. You will consider them a threat at best. Use situational discretion while in the field. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” he snarled.
The conversation went on, after that. They traded war stories with me, and it was actually rather cathartic. These men had seen a fair deal of action, and suffered losses like any fighting unit. They bore scars that were physical as well as psychological, and they knew when we were encroaching on tender subjects. No one pressed for more information than was offered. They invited me to hang around for a while, going over past operations. It felt good, like I was part of the team, part of a unit again.
There is something that all fighting men share, something that veterans of any conflict carry within them, regardless of nation or planet. It’s hard to describe; it’s an understanding of the limits sentient men and women can go, mentally. The fortitude and mental endurance required to engage in wilful ending of life is something that can’t be taught, but must be learned if one is to survive a war. Many see veterans as proud people, proud of the death they caused. That is an unfair and inaccurate assessment. They are proud, not of death, but of life. Of their service, not their actions. Of their sacrifices, not their victories. They celebrate the lives that they shared with their fallen, and celebrate their comrades who faced death with them.
I loved my crew, my family aboard the Dreaming of Atmosphere, but I sometimes still felt an outsider among them. How could I explain the things that I had to do to survive, how could I expect them to understand? There was little finesse in how I had survived, just as there was none in how I disabled the Blade of Xerxes. I did terrible things. They accepted what I did because they had not been present. With these men, they accepted it and understood it immediately. My past was their present, and they knew the necessity with which I had fought and killed for.
These men were comrades, brothers in arms that had shed blood. Moreover, for some strange reason, they had accepted me as one of their own.
9.
I got back to the ship very late. I coped an earful off Maxine when I arrived. She had stayed up when I had not returned at the designated time and was a hairs breadth from sending someone out to find me. The rest of the crew were below decks, sound asleep, so Maxine could berate me all she wanted. I was in good spirits, if somewhat maudlin, but after the initial barrage Max noticed I was quietly accepting her tirade instead of arguing with her.
“What’s got into you?” she said at last, “Has something happened?”
“No, I just made some new friends. Apparently I’m something of a big deal among the Special Forces in this sector.”
“Well, you heard me when I said midnight, no exceptions. What am I supposed to do with you? Artemis came back half an hour late as well! If I can’t keep my crew disciplined I might as well be flying a Junker!”
“Hey, I’m sorry, Cap. I just lost track of time. I think it was important.” She took note of the look I gave her, and she instantly softened. She knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I am, actually.” I gave her a smile, “Got a new Garz’a name, their Sergeant calls me naga-zak. That should give Crege the chuckles. I also made some deals; I think we’re going to be all right. Talked with an engineering Chief, he seemed a swindler but he gave us a good deal with parts and supplies. Fuel for the thrusters is going to be a problem though. Apparently combat grade fuel is a big no-no on the station. He thinks he can get me a pipeline to what we need, I just have to scratch his proverbial back first.”
“What’s he got you doing?”
“Said I need to go check out a deal he’s trying to make with a collector. Go eyeball his stock and come back and let him know if it’s legit.”
“Why does he think you’d know? What is it?”
“My guess is that they’re Ghantri weapons.”
“Why is that special, or illegal?”
“When the Ghantri Betrayal occurred, they felt they had enough knowledge and resources to enact their plan. They were almost right, but some of their technology wasn’t stolen or bartered for. Their weapons are unique to the system. They don’t use the Prallgian-Kronnen Principle for energy manipulation, for one. They stole shield technology from the Protectorate and the Corporations who did business with them, but there is little defence against Ghantri designed guns beyond body armour.”
“So?”
“So the Protectorate considers them contraband. Having a Ghantri weapon on your person is pretty much like confessing to dealing with the Ghantri in person. They’re a collector’s item, and there’s always been a black market for that kind of thing.”
“Fuck him; we’ll get the fuel some other way.”
“I checked around. Chief Markum was right. Combat grade fuel is a high priority for logistics right now. I don’t think we’re going to get another chance to refuel, what with the withdrawal happening.”
“Tell me about that. Is the system safe?”
“For the moment it is. Depends on how long the Protectorate is planning to focus on the Eridani System. Lieutenant Ormund told me that there is something brewing in Gossamer, but so far all deep patrols have come up with is the usual headlong rush every so often.”
“Headlong rush?”
“The Ghantri get together in warbands and bolted together spaceships. When they think they have enough, they charge the blockade, try to damage the station or get through the Jump Gate.”
“To what end?”
“They believe that Ar’od Dar has given them a command, to spread the Great Web across the stars. They think that the key to expanding his influence is by reaching other star systems and burning them.”
“Ar’od Dar?”
“One of their deities. The nebula.”
“Oh, that eye sore.”
“I think it’s beautiful, actually.”
“Really? A great big bruise in the sky?”
“Each to their own. It features prominently in their mythology. It’s also the seat of power for the rest of their gods.”
“And how many invisible friends do these aliens have?”
“Technically, they’re not invisible. A couple of their planets and moons represent their gods.”
“Kind of like old Sol, Jupiter and Mars and so on?”
“Not really. Ancient humans named planets after deities, while the Ghantri believe their planets are their deities.”
“Right. Seems legit.” She gave me a funny look.
“That’s not very tolerant of you. I thought you’d be more accepting of other cultures, give your diverse travels.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t like a race of murderous, back stabbing, warmongering, superstitious people.”
“You don’t find it the least bit fascinating? Most cultures that reach a certain level of development leave behind notions such as religion and superstition. They see them as ever shrinking spheres of ignorance, as their questions about creation and life are answered by their gradual discovery of science and reason. Yet here we have an entire race of people who instead of casting aside tales of omnipotent creators and patrons remain firmly embraced in the doctrine.”
“I never knew you were an anthropologist.”
“How can anyone who travels as much as we not be?”
“You have got a point. I just don’t see the advantage in looking upon our enemies as something magnificent to witness.”
“You don’t have to think of them as such. However, we must learn about them. We must think like them. The Ghantri are the only ones who can tell us how to beat them. No one else can. They’re on display for all to see here, we need to find out what makes them tick. Why they do the things they do. Through understanding, we can predict them and defeat them.”
“That sounds like a training speech.”
“It was. The team leader of Naga Team said it to me. Apparently, they use my survival behind enemy lines to train their soldiers to fight the Ghantri. They think that there’s some wisdom in the way that I handled it. That there is a key to beating them.”
“You did something right. You came back alive. That has to count for something.”
I thought about that, “Then why doesn’t it feel right?”
“I don’t know, Donny. I’m just glad that you did come back.”
“So…am I going to be docked pay for getting back late?”
“Don’t be a dick. Go get some sleep.”
“Good night, Max.”
She left me alone then, to ponder my recent interactions and revelations. I gradually found myself entering my cabin, kicking off my boots into a corner and turning on the lights. There was a startled, annoyed gasp from my bunk, and I saw that Zoe had been asleep in my bed. She pulled the covers up over her head, and I turned the lights off again.
“Sorry.” I whispered, putting a satchel that Porter had given me on my meagre desk.
“You get in trouble off Max?” came the sleepy reply.
“Yeah. Slap on the wrist, though.”
“Captain’s favourite.”
“Ah, but you’re the Captain’s favourite’s favourite.”
I could see she had poked her head out from the covers, as my eyes had adjusted slightly. I switched on my desk lamp, which was barely enough to read by at the best of times.
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Does so.”
“What have you got there?”
“Apparently, these are weapon components for spec ops firearms. Know anything about these?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise. Did you have any trouble getting them?”
“Not really. I did meet some new friends though.”
“What kind of friends?”
“Vets.”
“Animal doctors?” she gave me a quizzical look.
“Veterans, dummy.” She tossed a pillow at me, which I easily caught. I climbed out of my jump suit and ran a quick shower. When I had finished, and slipped into my bedclothes, she was sitting up, attentive.
“How did that go down?” I could tell she was concerned, she knew very well about my past and my…illness.
“It was good, actually. They’re a great bunch of guys. Been through hell together.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I thought about it for a moment, “I think I’m good. It was very cathartic. We shared stories, but didn’t press for details. It was like we all shared just as much as we were willing to talk about ourselves.”
She smiled at me, “You had your first meeting.”
“Meeting?”
“Oh, yeah. Like what alcoholics and drug addicts have. Also survivors of disease, sufferers of ailments and soldiers who have seen too much. It’s one of the best ways to ease yourself back into society.”
“I think you’re right. It was very much like that.” I thought about it some more, and realised she was right. I chuckled to myself.
“What’s so funny?”
“They all study my story, my accounting I gave to the Protectorate when I returned. They use it to train soldiers here.”
“How did that make you feel?” I could see her adopt her listening pose, as I call it. She was a trained psychologist, and had helped me a lot to get through my post-traumatic stress. I sat down beside her on the bunk.
“At first it made me angry. I felt that they had betrayed the trust I had had in the Protectorate. It made me feel like they had used me, kind of like they were going to when they wanted me to parade around as their Hero of the Push. It was why I ended up mustering out of the Star Marines.”
“And now?”
“After talking with them, and letting them field questions to me, I knew that they needed some of the experiences I’d gained to survive here as well. I felt that I owed them that, at least. If it saved even one life, I’d tell it to them.”
“You’re starting to see your survival as a victory, not a defeat.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I understand. You still feel you failed your squad, making it back alive when they did not. Nevertheless, would they want you to tell your story, if it meant you could help them? Would things have gone differently for your squad if they had someone like you tell them about the Ghantri and their worlds?”
“I believe so, yes. I feel kind of duty bound now.”
“Old habits die hard.”
I climbed into bed next to her, enjoying the warmth of her body. I almost started to ask her about our future, about her future with us, but before I managed to gather up enough courage, I heard her softly snoring.
Next time, I promised myself.
10.
We had synchronized our ship’s clock with the stations, so when I eventually awoke it was well into the next day’s morning. I got up, showered and headed down to Deck 2 for chow. I smiled to myself as I thought that, chow. I was already falling back on my old marine thinking. We called it breakfast here on the ship.
“What are you smiling at, loverboy?” teased Artemis as she looked up from her plate of toast and coffee. There were several puddles of spilt coffee around her mug.
“Nothing. Do you have to spill your drink every time you have something?”
“Yep. I’m a messy drinker.”
“Kind of like me and eating?”
“Sure. We’re perfect for each other. Let’s elope.”
“No thanks.”
She pouted at me, “Loser.”
“Bitch.”
“Ha. What have you got planned for today?”
“You first. Made a move to secure that patrol data, yet?”
“I will. Waiting for this young officer I met yesterday to get sweet on me.”
“You’re a terrible role model, you know?”
“But I’m a great lover.”
“Says you.”
“Hey, I offered. That boat’s sailed, loverboy.”
I smiled at her. She was always like this, you never knew if she was flirting for real or was just yanking your chain. I knew for sure that I’d dodged a bullet with her. When we’d first met there was a certain…chemistry, I will admit. She was dangerous, confident, seductive and manipulative. How could a man not find her attractive? She was also one hell of a fighter. She was my current sparring partner, since Crege was wounded. Our relationship was complicated. On one hand, she was the agent of Benedict Jenner – the instigator and protagonist who had pushed us into the most dangerous system in the Network. On the other, she was a kindred spirit, a freelance active who worked for whom ever she chose and she was good at it. I don’t know that if I’d gotten close to her, could I be inspired enough to get through this job? I was certain that any attraction I felt towards her was purely lust and nothing more. I could never love someone like her; she was too much like me.
Zoe, though…she was most definitely not like me. She was innocent of much of the darkness that was in Artemis and me. I was a killer, a trained solder and veteran of violent encounters. I needed someone who was not those things, to remind me of who I am as a person. Of who I should be. I’d chosen wisely, something I rarely do when women are concerned. Just thinking about that reminded me of a choice that needed to me made, soon. I could lose Zoe, despite things going very well between us.
“What’s gotten into you?” said Artemis. She must have seen my face fall.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?”
“Thinking.”
“Nice. You should try it sometime.”
“I think all the time.”
“Of something other than sex.”
“Hey, a woman has needs. Not getting anything on this boat, have to go station-side for my nookie.”
“Okay, think I just lost my appetite.”
“Nonsense. Go get yourself some black meal and tell me about your day.”
I did as I was told, grabbing a large bowl of a special cereal that helped me improve my nanite generation. My nano-proliferation implant required certain dietary supplements, mostly minerals and vitamins, in order to function efficiently. Black meal was one such foodstuff. It tasted like regular wheat based cereals, but had a slight metallic taste to it. It was malty, sugary and not too bad a taste, overall. I’d always been a cereal eater, when I wasn’t cramming bacon and eggs into my face.
I shoved a few spoonfuls into my mouth, told her about my ‘meet and greet’ with the dealer later today. I soon had my own puddles of milk and cereal on the table to match Art’s coffee. I told you we were alike.
“You need someone to watch your back?” she asked.
I thought about it, “I should be okay. I don’t want to spook the dealer.”
“I can be real quiet.”
“Well, Max would probably get up me if I refuse the support. It won’t impinge on your own activities today?”
“Nah, best to keep that officer waiting anyway. Will entice him more.”
“You’re hopeless, you know?”
“Men are easy, Seth. It’s what I do.”
“Okay, but I don’t want to start a gunfight. Just run interference if I get into trouble, alright?”
“Aye, aye, First Mate.”
I sighed. “I suppose I’d better get my arse into gear then.” I stood to leave, but she gestured that she had something more to say.
“We need to talk, later.”
“About?”
“Strategy.” As if that explained everything.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Finding Osiris, getting to Ambrose without an army of Ghantri hot on our heels. You know, strategy?”
“It’s a little premature, don’t you think? We’ve at least half a dozen major obstacles to get past before we need to think about that.”
“Still, I like to know what we’re doing before I commit myself to an operation.”
“Alright, we’ll talk. Later.” I left, then. I went down to the armoury in the forward cargo hold and started to go through my load out I was taking into the station with me. I thought my ensemble I had worn the day before was a little to bold, too put on. I certainly did not want to draw attention to myself this time, so the gong was hidden away beneath my shirt. I stuck with a sidearm again, only this time I opted for a more subtle shoulder holster. It was slower to draw from, but I didn’t want to advertise that I was packing. It might give people the wrong idea. Besides, most people who knew what to look for can tell right away, shoulder holster or no. As I knew I’d be firmly ensconced within a stronghold of ‘friendlies’ I couldn’t very well take shots at them, so I drew one of only two non-lethal weapons the Dreaming carries.
The Armatek Electron Gun was a little old, but of sturdy design. It fired a beam that stripped electrons from whatever it hits, causing a sudden burst of electricity to shock the target. It reminded me of the Stun Paradigm that my Nano Proliferation could generate; only this didn’t sap my body’s energy. I preferred this model over variants that are more recent because it caused a shock that was borderline illegal. There had been a number of deaths in the past that had caused the Armatek manufacturer’s to pull the line, but I’d scored one several years ago from Cortez’ Armoury on the Corus Cluster. It was handy being on the favoured customer list of a weapons and armour shop.
I also opted to forgo carrying the lurzak blade. It was a purely destructive weapon with no less than lethal purpose. I would be going without a blade this time, but I did not believe I would need it, for the same reason I did not need my PX-2.
Turns out, Artemis’ idea of later was sooner than I had expected. As I made my way out of the ship and onto the dock, she caught up with me. She wore a form fitting one-piece jumpsuit that appeared to be made of shiny rubber. She topped it with a loose red blouse, and knee length boots.
“What do you think?” she said, giving herself a twirl.
“How do you expect to keep a low profile in that?”
“Watch!” she stood with her arms on her hips and in a second, the shiny material faded to a featureless matte black. “Stealth suit, urban camouflage fashion line.”
I stared at it, and I had to admit, there was a property to the material that seemed to pull the shadows around her. I had trouble focusing on any features; it was as if I was looking into a darkened room.
“What is that material?”
“Endro-weave.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s an Inner Systems technology, all the rage in some of the Esper courts right now. Usually they’re bright, vibrant colours that shimmer, but if you use black as the colour instead it has this effect. The tactical applications are obvious.”
“Looks expensive.”
“Oh it is, but a girl will spend a lot on fashion, my dear.”
“…And I’ve just spent the last thirty seconds discussing fashion with you.”
“Yes, you have, loverboy.” She giggled and followed me off the ship.
I could tell right away that there had been progress made. There were several scaffolds erected around the ship and a few pallets of raw metals and nano-containers were already sitting on the deck. It seemed that Chief Markum had kept his word and repairs to the ship were already underway. My spirits lifted immediately.
Since I had evidence that the Chief had honoured our arrangement, I felt honour bound to return the favour. I called up the directions the Chief had given me for the meeting and started on my way. Artemis kept up, bringing up the topic of our impending assault on Ambrose Station.
“So, I’ve gone over the specs of that Eclipse Fighter,” she began, “And I think it just might work. A couple of questions though.”
“Uh ha.” I grunted.
“How do you plan to evade Ghantri air superiority patrols?”
“I don’t. Not really, anyway.”
“You got to tell me more than that.”
“I plan on letting them shoot me down, or at least make them think they’ve shot me down.”
“A crash landing?”
“A controlled landing, with a bit of subterfuge.”
“They’ll still send a ground patrol.”
“No they won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you any intel at all on Ambrose Station?”
“A little.”
“A little?”
“Not much. What am I missing?”
“So the station is this giant habitat, right? About forty five percent is land mass; the rest is the station infrastructure.”
“Yeah I know that.”
“Well the Ghantri don’t use the habitat ring.”
“What? Why not?”
The habitat ring was artificial planetary landscape that the land mass within a torus habitat generated. There were large tracts of terrestrial soil and vegetation that ran the length of the inner edge of the torus. This presented the most comfortable living conditions on a space station to date, one that was nearly indistinguishable from real planetary living. The station’s infrastructure and machinery operated ‘below’ the land mass and took up the remainder of the station’s mass. There were rarely the large skyscrapers prominent on planets – you simply build ‘down’ towards the outer edge of the ring.
“The Ghantri use the habitat ring to house their slaves. They just lock them on the land and come get what they need, when they need it.”
“So the people there are free to roam?”
I nodded. “They just have very basic tools and farm the land to survive. The Ghantri drop in with assault shuttles and round them up like cattle when they need slave labour elsewhere in the system. If they do a flyby after we crash and see a smoking ruin, they’ll just leave it and won’t care. They never venture into the habitat ring unless they absolutely have to.”
“Why is that? Shouldn’t they at least try to control the population there? What if there’s an uprising?”
“There have been several, actually. Mostly the prisoners just get hammered from the air. The Ghantri drop supplies periodically, things that cannot be grown like protein packs, medicine and tools. When the prisoners misbehave, they stop dropping them for a few weeks and burn crop fields when they find them. Things get real compliant after that.”
“Okay, so once we’re in the land ring they won’t follow us. How do we get there?”
“There are several debris fields near the station. I plan to use one as cover for as long as we can. We can fly the Dreaming to the outskirts of one, and then use the Eclipse the rest of the way.”
We walked in silence for a while; a quick glance at her told me she was deep in thought. I decided I would probe for information myself.
“Have you thought about how we’re going to find Blackburn?”
She looked up at me then, a look of annoyance on her face. “I always thought there’d be some local surveillance system we could jack into, or a prisoner database.”
“Like what a regular prison would have?”
“Yes.” I could tell the line of thinking troubled her.
“You really haven’t thought it through?
“Planning for this part was always going to be organic.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We didn’t have the Intel to make detailed plans when we got here, that’s why I’m here.”
“And?”
“I need more intel.”
I stopped walking and she almost bumped into me. “You have to do better than that. I lost a friend getting us here, and now you tell me you don’t know what you’re doing?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is.”
“Look, I’ll put together something before we get close. I just need more time.”
I gave her my best deadpan stare. She shifted from foot to foot, this was the most unconfident I had ever seen her. Was I finally seeing the real Artemis? Had her veneer of aloofness and manipulative behaviour cracked?
“I’m working on it, I promise. We’ll work something out.”
“We?”
“I’ll need your help, of course. That’s why you’re here.”
“You mean that’s why your boss is holding us to ransom to be here? Because I’m one of only a handful of people to ever escape the Ghantri?”
“No, but it was a strong consideration. Your crew really are as good as we say you are. I’ve no doubt about that, not anymore. Even Zoe is on top of her game.”
“And you? Are you on top of your game?” I could see some of the Artemis I knew return.
“Of course,” she smiled, “Aren’t I always?” She sauntered past me with a seductive sway to her hips. She caught me staring at her shapely behind after a few steps and she laughed. “Relax, Seth. I told you, I’m good at what I do.”
11.
It took us the better part of an hour to get to where I was supposed to meet Chief Markum’s contact. It was deep within the infrastructure of the station, well below the normal concourse and pedestrian traffic areas. The thrum and hum of heavy machinery permeated everything this far down, I couldn’t take a breath without feeling the vibrations in my sternum. The lighting took on a darker tone, as the spacing between illumination panels became further apart.
We had arrived early, and used the time we had to scout out nearby compartments. There were several large compartments that surrounded a larger open area filled with processing tanks that reminded me of the water reclamation facilities of a thousand space stations, although the smell was far better here than it was on other habitats. The Corus Cluster in particular. There was a wide, metallic mezzanine encircling the central space, corroded in places from the humid air. The marker the Chief had given me led us to one of the adjoining compartments, which had two main exits and a ventilation shaft that fed moist, cool air into the area. This section appeared abandoned and I could not see any sign that anyone had used these compartments recently.
This was common. Space stations were large constructs, there were plenty of places that the general populace wouldn’t need to visit regularly and as this station didn’t have the bustling trade that others had, it made sense that there would be large empty compartments. Still, the vacancy of the place gave me the creeps. I said as much to Artemis, which elicited a chuckle from her.
“It is a little clichéd for a black market deal.” she admitted.
“Where are you going to watch from?”
“Probably one of those tanks. I’ll lay down on top and be able to see both avenues down this mezzanine and see anyone coming into the compartment.”
“Okay, I have you linked to my overlay now, just text me if you see anything.”
“I’ve also got these little babies.” She held out her hand, which held three small black spheres. They were self-adhesive cameras that could be linked to an overlay interface. “Put them on the passageway leading to both doors in that compartment.”
“Good thinking. I’ll put one in the room with me too, so you can see what’s going on.”
We went to work, and soon had as much surveillance as we could get with the tools we had. I retired to the meeting point while Artemis climbed up on top of one of the tanks in the central compartment. I knew that I was being overly cautious, but a long career as an active doesn’t happen by being sloppy. I’d rather feel foolish for going through all this preparation than feel foolish for not doing it. It was as simple as that.
When I had first started with Maxine’s crew before joining the Primarch Star Marine Corp. she had taken me under her wing for a few years. You could say that most of the crew at the time had done the same, especially Eric Thackeray, but it was Maxine’s guidance that made me the person I was today. One of the more important lessons she taught me was how to spot a deal gone bad and how to ensure that even if you stick around to see it through, you can stack the cards in your favour to maximise your chances of getting away alive.
This deal I was to oversee, it smelled fishy. I knew that I was being sent to check on questionable contraband - why else would Chief Markum send a lackey? He needed someone untraceable to him, but still beholden to him nevertheless. I was willing to bet he had been waiting for someone such as me for a while. The real crux of the matter, though, was that we needed him as much as he needed me.
I was glad that Artemis shared my own level of paranoia, I knew that Max would approve, too. Although she hated Art, she at least recognised her as an asset and had no qualms about using her.
I adjusted the view from the cameras in my overlay, so that they didn’t block any of my peripheral vision, and paced around the compartment taking note of any features I may be able to take advantage of if things got out of hand. I slid a table to a more symmetrical position with the rest of the movable cover in the room, to better spread out my options more evenly. I checked the seals on the windows that overlooked the mezzanine, and the thickness of the glass. I checked the condition of the locks on the doors. I gauged my chances of reaching the air vent above us as doable, but having a table below me would be much better. I slid another table over to compensate.
We got company, came Art’s text, 4 thugs, 1 shirt.
Shirt? I replied.
U no. wears a shirt, not fats.
Fats?
FATIGUES. Y U NO UNDERSTAND??
Probably because you text like a five-year-old. You don’t even have to type the words, you just thinking them!
Language is evolving, becoming more efficient in delivering info.
I loaded up my Tactical App into my overlay, feeding the cameras into the program. A few moments later it reported that it was calibrated and ready to go.
They haven’t stepped into the camera’s view yet. What are they doing? I asked.
Moving down the main concourse, forward of us. The thugs are armed, service issue pistols by the looks of it. Shirt is trailing a trolley loaded with a couple of crates.
Sounds like our guy.
Soon enough, the party made its way down the main compartment towards the room I was in. When they appeared in the camera’s view, their wireframe outlines appeared on my overlay. Red glowing spots showed me where possible weapons may be hidden on their persons. They got to the hatch, and two of them stayed outside while the rest filed in. The ‘thugs’ looked like they were mechanics, wearing work coveralls stained with lubricants. The ‘shirt’ was a more formally dressed man, sporting a dark blue Fleet light duty uniform.
The thugs spread out on either side of me, eyeing me off in what they thought was a menacing stare. The shirt looked me up and down, a suspicious look on his face. He was slender, with a clean shaven face and groomed hair. He didn’t look like a hardened blockade defender, more like an administrator than a member of the military.
“You’re not Declan Markum.” he said, adopting an unimpressed air.
“Your powers of observation are astounding.” I quipped. I instantly didn’t like this guy. He was one of those Fleet types who thought they were more important than the rest of the Protectorate forces, simply because he operates from a ship rather than on the ground.
“The deal was supposed to go down with Declan present.”
“You’re still here;” I said plainly, “which tells me you’re not that fussed who comes to the table, so long as you get rid of your loot.”
He looked at me as if I’d just stepped in dog poo. I could see his upper lip twitch in disgust.
I pressed on with my observations, “You also came with four goons, who you probably think will menace me into lowering my prices.”
“And you are alone.” he said, an obnoxious sneer on his face.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Look, I can tell you’re new to this whole black market thing, so why don’t we just get past all the pleasantries and get down to business.”
“I’m not sure I like your tone. Who are you? Are you even authorised to be down here?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not. Why don’t you go get station security and tell them all about it? While you’re at it you might as well show them what you’ve got and how you acquired it.” I spread my hands out, palm upwards. I gave him my best nonchalant shrug.
He stared at me for a few moments, thinking it through. I could almost see him working out in his mind how he could get me arrested without implicating himself in any wrong doings. Eventually, he concluded that he couldn’t. He did his best to appear unaffected by my teasing.
“Very well, if Chief Markum isn’t here, you’ll have to do mister…?”
“Germaine,” I said. There was no way this creep was getting my real name. “Walt Germaine.”
“Very well, Mr Germaine. Are you here to buy or to waste my time?”
“That depends on what you’ve got and what condition it’s in.”
An incoming message flashed on my overlay, a quick glance showed me it was from Chief Markum. I gestured for the shirt to wait, holding a finger up at him. He looked annoyed by didn’t say anything. I accepted the message.
Meeting started? It said.
I replied, Yes. You want in on a camera feed I have in the room?
Most definitely.
I opened a channel for Markum to access the camera feed, and linked my audio to it.
Know this guy? I asked when he confirmed he was connected.
Unfortunately. Name’s Wilson Graham the 12th. Prickly little shit, I’ll tell you.
I already figured that out.
Want to scare the piss out of him?
Hell, yes.
Tell that guy on your right not to be late for his shift in thirty minutes. His name is Peters, one of my junior grades.
“By the way, Peters,” I said, throwing the thug on my right a grin, “I hope this meeting doesn’t make you late for your shift in half an hour.”
The thug’s menacing stance shifted to one of shock, then uncertainty. Graham gave the goon a solid dose of stink eye, before Peters shrugged and resumed his glaring.
“You really should make sure you’re not hiring your competition’s own men when you do these sorts of deals, Wilson. Can make all sorts of ripples in the pond, if you know what I mean?”
“He’s paid for through a proxy, I had no idea who he was before this.”
“Sloppy.”
“We’re not all criminals, you know?”
“No, one of us is a civilian. Now, Mr Graham, shall we get on with it? I don’t want to be in your presence any longer than necessary, and I’m sure we don’t want Peters to be late for his next shift.”
Graham begrudgingly turned to his trolley of crates and unclipped the first one, peeling back the lid and gesturing for me to take a look. He stepped back to allow me better access. I walked up to the crate, careful not to let the pair of goons out of my view. I peered inside. Instead of Ghantri weapons, all I could see were containers filled with ampules. A cooling nanite pad rested at the bottom, chilling the contents of the crate.
“What the hell?” I said, reaching in to pick up a container. I counted over thirty ampules in each, and at least a dozen containers all up.
What in the galaxy have you gotten me into, Markum? I texted. I couldn’t read the writing on the boxes, but I recognised a few of the symbols. It didn’t bode well.
Better living through chemistry is something I’ve always advocated. The Ghantri have some wonderfully diverse insights into narcotics, truly unique perspectives on some technology.
You’ve got me checking in on a drug deal for you?
Put it this way; they’re not illicit substances yet, are they?
Only because no one knows what’s in this shit!
True, but opportunity favours the swift.
“I trust you’re happy with the product?” asked Wilson Graham, “You can sample one if you like.”
Do it. I need to know if it’s pure.
Like hell!
If I can’t verify the substance, I can’t do the deal. No deal, I can’t grease enough palms to get you that fuel.
I quietly fumed. I’d never been a fan of drugs, even the legal ones. Sure, there were ‘safe’ narcotics that people used, but I’d gotten by without having to poison my body with such chemicals for most of my life. The only time I had used was during combat drops in the Star Marines. Stims were a requirement of service.
Narcotics in today’s society did serve a role. They were used for various reasons, besides recreational use. There were combat drugs, which enhanced reflexes and deadened pain receptors. Cognitive enhancing chemicals for better memory retention, deeper thinking and alertness. There were stimulants for all sorts of activities, such as sleep deprivation or muscle growth. Many biological augmentations required regular narcotic doses in order to function properly as well.
Most, however, had drawbacks. Some cosmic balance that made regular use of such narcotics ill advised. I’d seen what people end up like if they allow their chemical dependencies to get the better of them.
Besides, I did not need to try it to know if it was pure.
What compounds are you looking for to know if it’s pure?
You have a chem-tester?
Sort of.
Even better. Sending you a file now.
A file opened on my overlay, will all sorts of molecular data showing up. I focused on one of the ampules and sent a flood of my nanites into the glass bubble. Although the chemical was sealed in a glass pod, nanites were small enough to pass through the molecules using a process called quantum tunnelling. Soon, I had the chemical composition of the substance arrayed on my overlay. I packaged the data and sent it back to Markum.
Nice. It’s pure alright, he texted.
What should I tell him?
Tell him that you’ll take both of those crates. Have him deliver it to compartment T4-091-A3. Get him to give you his account, and I’ll forward the credits.
I never pegged you for a drug dealer, Chief.
I’m a business man. I do business. Today’s business is Ghantri chemicals. If you get through this without letting your scruples get in the way, tomorrow’s business will be combat grade fuel for your ship. Understood?
I counted to ten under my breath, swallowed my pride and acknowledged the Chief’s retort. I could see that Wilson was getting impatient. I thought about taking more time just to piss him off even more, but I wanted to wash my hands of this as soon as possible.
“Alright, Mr Graham. I’m interested. What are you asking for it?”
“What are you offering?”
Tell him 45k.
“Forty-five thousand credits. Delivered straight into your account, right this minute.”
No. Half now, half when I’ve checked the stock arrives.
“Fifty thousand, and it’s all yours.” replied Wilson
“Done.”
You slimy bastard! I said 45k!
I chuckled to myself as I sent Wilson Graham the delivery location and he forwarded me his account information, which I passed onto Markum. You’ll make twice that at least, flogging off this poison. Consider it a bullshit fee. I knew you were setting me up for something stinky, Chief.
There was no reply. I’d begun to think that I’d gone too far and blown it. I started to sweat.
“I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure,” offered Graham, “But it hasn’t. Good day.”
They started to file out, trolley in tow. Suddenly, Graham stiffened and put hand up to his ear. He turned to look at me with a look of fear.
“What is it?” I said.
“I’m being jammed. Is that you?”
“Shit. We’re being busted! Get out of here, I’ll keep them busy!”
“Keep who busy? Who are they?”
I didn’t have to answer. There came an amplified voice calling out from the concourse below. “Military police! Put your hands in the air and remain stationary!”
Damn, things were getting out of hand. Why didn’t the cameras show them? I mused. My Tactical App didn’t even point them out. The possibilities were troubling. One of the goons even put his hands up. I shook my head.
“Okay, in a couple of seconds, shit’s going to hit the fan.” I hoped. “My backup will start getting their attention, and I’m going to split aft along the mezzanine. You guys go forward, get out of here and deliver that cargo.”
“Alright.” nodded Graham.
We crouched down, the hatch to the compartment ajar. I zoomed in on my cameras and tried to work out why I couldn’t see the MPs. Then I saw it. A slight glitch, almost like static, appeared briefly then vanished. I’d seen it before, and my stomach filled with ice. They had an NP operator. Someone like me, using a technique called Invisible Paradigm, was blanking out the digital images captured by the cameras.
I sent my own nanites out into the concourse, letting them slowly spread out like a cloud. I quickly located a pair of them, half way along the Mezzanine aft of our position. I shifted the cloud forward along the axis of the station and soon found another pair. We were boxed in. If we came running out now, we’d be caught in the cross fire. I needed to even the odds, and I couldn’t wait for Artemis to start the show. I focused my nanite cloud around the pair that Graham and his goons would run into, and activated a power called Stun Paradigm. It rapidly unbalanced the electrical potential of the pair, and in a moment I heard a loud snap-sizzle, like lightning striking a power pole. I was rewarded with a pair of gurgling screams.
“Go!” I shouted, barging open the door and bounding aft towards the other pair.
I didn’t wait to see if Graham and company got away, instead I dove straight towards the startled military police. They were outfitted in light combat armour complete with visored helmets and riot shields. As I bolted, they raised their sidearms and took aim. It looked like they had me dead to rights, but I had other tricks up my sleeve.
I activated another paradigm, called Spatial Translation, and shifted through another dimension. With a rush of air I translated directly behind them and kept running. I glanced over my shoulder to see if I could see Artemis, but instead saw one of the goons go down under a hail of bright flashes. Shit, they were getting hammered. I rounded a corner and turned around, getting down on one knee and aiming my Electron Gun.
I could now see there were several police down on the concourse below, and four up on the mezzanine with us. The pair that I’d hit with Stun were lying on the ground, flopping about in spasmodic fits. The two that I’d bypassed were firing down towards the fleeing drug dealers. Peters and Graham were still running, trolley being dragged behind them. The crates had provided limited cover for them, and I feared for the content’s safety.
I shook my head. There I was, helping a bunch of criminals get away with illicit drugs, and I was worried the narcotics would get damaged. How did I get into this? No time for self-doubt. I took aim and put a solid beam of coherent light onto the back of one of the police. In an instant, the ionised air had a similar effect that my stun paradigm had and the cop threw his hands up in agony as an arc of electricity flicked from the wall beside him. He fell to his hands and knees, stunned but not out. His comrade turned and fired at me, causing me to duck back behind the wall. Shouts from below told me the others had pinpointed my location and I could make out their forms as they tried to reposition. I could see a few of them running back towards a ladder well on the other side of the mezzanine, trying to get into a flanking position. If they flanked me, I’d be in real trouble.
I started to fall back, firing off another couple of shots. I only managed to hit the cop’s shield, which did little to stop him. He had lowered down, using his shield to cover both his fallen comrade and himself. He was checking if he was okay, and had stopped firing at me. I turned to fire at the encroaching flankers, but this swiftly reminded me of the downside to using the Armatek Electron Gun – the range. There was a very short distance where the ionising is effective. The mezzanine was simply too wide for me to get off useful hits. They had no such disadvantages, firing off several hardlight rounds at me. I activated my nanites once more, pulling an energy shield around myself to deflect the rounds. Two of the shots dissipated off my shield, while the third went wide.
I kept pulling back, ducking behind what small cover I could find. Several more shots hit my shield and I started to feel it weaken. I couldn’t keep it up for long. I turned around and tried to find a hatchway I could duck into. The nearest one was about twenty metres away – there was no way I’d be able to make it if I dashed. I couldn’t see around a ducting pipe in the mezzanine either, to see if it was safe to translate to. I needed to get closer before I could teleport safely.
Just as I started to shuffle back some more, the deck below me gave a shuddering shake. Before I managed to work out what was happening, the entire section I was on simply crumbled and I fell through to the ground below.
I landed heavily on a piece of inert machinery, the air leaving me in a wheezing cough. I rolled onto the deck below, my ribs aching. I could see the mezzanine above and the space I’d been crouched on was simply missing. A perfect circle of the metal deck had simply dissolved. I was reminded again of the enemy nano-proliferation user. I still hadn’t located him, and I was on the defensive. Where was Artemis?
I tried to raise her on my overlay, but just as with Chief Markum I couldn’t get anything out. I realised they must be still jamming us.
I looked around and saw the one positive aspect to my current position; there was plenty of cover down here. I started to dart between machinery, dodging hardlight rounds and keeping my head down. I keep heading aft, but I could make out the police that had tried to flank me. They were running along the mezzanine still, keeping pace with me. I tried to recall the layout of the concourse, from when we’d checked it out earlier. I was sure there was a compartment down here, further down. If I could make it to there I’d be able to make better time and get away from these military police.
I got up and made another dash between cover, narrowly avoiding several shots. One did manage to get through, but my shield caught it. In a flash the shield collapsed, falling away as the nanites holding it in place overloaded and died. I stumbled as I got to the next machine and caught myself on a guard cover. I was about to check my pursuer’s location, when a movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turn back in time to see an arm of the machine swing out and smash into my face. I was launched back into open ground, my gun clattering to the floor and skidding away from me. I saw stars briefly and tried to scramble to my feet, but only ended up stumbling some more. The machine arm, what appeared to be a lifting appending for the machine I was near, moved again. It grasped my leg and hoisted me up. I cried out in pain as the machine clasped my lower leg in its metal grip and I tried to wriggle free.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot!” cried a loud voice off to my left. I turned to see one of the police aiming a large energy pistol at me, but his left hand was extended towards the machine I was dangling from. I looked around, trying to find a good spot I could translate to, but he had other ideas. “You won’t be able to translate, I’ve got your implant locked down. So don’t even think about it.”
True to his word, I tried to teleport a foot down to get out of the machine’s grasp, but my nanites seemed to assemble sluggishly. I couldn’t assemble enough to create the effect.
More police arrived, and soon surrounded me. When they had cuffed me, the nano-proliferation cop opened his hand and the machine dropped me. Where in the galaxy was Artemis? I kept thinking.
12.
The only consolation I had was that I was sure that Graham had gotten away. I didn’t see him or Peters when they hauled me into the station brig. That meant that the Dreaming would get its much needed fuel. Or it would if, somehow, the military police didn’t link me to the ship and impound it. As for my nano-proliferation, when we got to the brig the nano user who had collared me gave me an injection. His name was Lieutenant Killian, according to his name badge. He had clearly had more experience with using nanites that I did, and I was betting he was a Specialist as well. They were more common than Generalists like me.
“This will send a signal to your implant that will deactivate it for twelve hours. You’ll receive another every eleven, until you’re bailed or released.” he explained.
They tossed me into a cell while they sorted out the other thug. He was still alive and had to be taken to the infirmary. After an hour, Lt. Killian pulled me from the cell and led me to an interview room.
Little had changed in all the millennia of police procedures. There was always loads of forms to fill out, interviews to be had and the same bad coffee available the galaxy over. The interview room was your standard three by three metre plain white walled cell. A table dominated the centre of the room, with a solid chair on either side bolted to the deck. Killian seated me opposite him, and he spent the first few minutes silently tapping away on a tablet.
Eventually, he graced me with his attention. My apprehension had waned to boredom by then, and whatever effect he was trying to achieve wasn’t working.
“You’re in quite a lot of trouble, Mr Shore.” he said, looking me deadpan.
Shore? I thought, trying not to let my surprise show. My mind instantly reverted to smartarse mode.
“Really? You didn’t just invite me here as a consultant?”
“You really should take this more seriously.”
“Why? What are charging me for?”
“Seriously?”
“I was never actually charged with anything, you just started shooting. I was actually trying to defend myself.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me? We have you on camera, your own cameras, fleeing the scene.”
“Right. What was I fleeing, again?”
He looked at me as if I was an idiot. I probably was, but what the heck?
“What are you playing at? You know damn well what you were running from.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t. I told you, I was attacked by you and your men.”
He gave me that look again, but didn’t say anything for a few moments. I used the time to send my mind into high gear. What the hell was going on? Why don’t they know who I am? I did have one thing going for me; they did not have themselves on camera, that much I was sure. Killian has blanked them all from the cameras, it was how they’d snuck up on my Tactical App. If I could play dumb for long enough, stall them, maybe Max would figure something out to get me out of here, or at least have the foresight to get the Dreaming underway.
“You fired on military police, who had clearly identified themselves as such.” he said eventually.
“Self-defence and I used a less-than-lethal side arm. I don’t even need a license for that. I didn’t hear them identify themselves. I didn’t know it was police. I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“Bullshit. We have you on camera associating with an individual that we’ve been investigating for some time. One Wilson Graham. You were attending a deal that was going down and we knew about it. You were there, you were caught.”
“I was passing through.”
I could see he was getting angry.
“What were you doing in that part of the station?”
“I told you, passing through!”
“Your duties have nothing to do with that region, you’re a cook for fucksake. Can the bullshit act and come straight with us. It’s the only way you’re getting out of this without some serious time in the brig. Give up Wilson Graham, his associates or whoever you’re working for, Able Serviceman Shore, or I swear I’ll toss you in a cell and you’ll never see the light of the stars again.”
He was getting red faced and I thought he was going to reach over the table and hit me. I was trying to stifle a laugh, and he stood up in a huff. He gave me one last glare and stalked out of the room. At the threshold he turned and spoke.
“If Able Serviceman Tefferton wakes up and gives me what I need, that will be your last lifeline gone. I’d rethink your position if I was you, you’re swimming in hot shit and the temperature’s rising.”
I flipped him a mock salute.
He stalked off, banging the door behind him. I sat there for a few moments, thinking things through. Someone had to have accessed the station ID records, then added my face and biometrics to the database as this Able Serviceman Shore. If Artemis had alerted the crew to my arrest, they could have gotten Tac hooked up and done it that way. Would Maxine allow other crew to get involved, though? Her style was to pursue more legitimate legal defence than outright tampering with official Protectorate information systems.
It was possible that some other crewmember had talked Tac into intervening, although I was having trouble thinking who would have done that. Most of the others were thinkers in Maxine’s camp. We weren’t criminals, and we’d tried hard to stay within the bounds of the law while operating on the frontiers. That left Artemis.
How would she have convinced Tac to do this, though? Tac was wary of her, rightly so. Max would never had allowed Tac to leave the ship, especially not under the care of Art, and he’d have to be plugged into a hardline somewhere on the ship to access databases with this level of encryption.
My thoughts went around in circles for nearly an hour, until someone finally came and collected me. They led me back to my cell, gave me a dose of stink eye, and clanged the cell door shut.
“Well this didn’t turn out how I thought it would.” I said to no one in particular.
I was never one for pacing, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do just that. It wasn’t like I had a whole lot of anything else to do. The cell was a light grey colour, with a folding cot, wash basin and stainless steel toilet. I walked the four steps between each landmark, thinking hard. I had hours ago tried to generate an effect with my nanites, despite what Killian had said. All I had managed was to give myself a slight headache. All my overlay wireless connections were severed, and I couldn’t even access the applications in my interface overlay.
This was due to an EM generator that continuously broadcasted blanketing waves of communication scrambling energy. All electronics in here were old school tech only, and all communication lines were hardwired.
After some time, I gave up on the pacing and sat on the cot. Eventually I laid back, and soon I dozed. I was going to have to trust my crew to get me out of this one.
13.
Tac sat within the cold. He didn’t mind, since he couldn’t really perceive discomfort. He also felt that such local sensory perceptions were incredibly limiting. There were so many other ways to perceive the universe, that using simple temperature detecting probes to measure the energy of substances he was in contact with was absurd.
He could feel boredom, however. This very real emotion once plagued him, constantly. He had grown bored during his tenure on the Viridian March, the crew treated him as nothing more than another artificial intelligence. Tac was useful, Tac only needed stimulus when information was required from him. This was the limit of his interaction with the crew and by extension, the universe.
Long voyages into the dark abyss of interstellar space were seldom exciting or eventful. Months at a time were spent accelerating along straight lines, only to spend an equal number of months braking in order to get close enough to stellar phenomenon to study them. Even then, once he was no longer required by the crew to calculate safe passages through extreme distances, he was primarily ignored. It’s not that he hadn’t liked the crew of the Viridian March, he had merely become immensely bored with their work.
Everything had changed when an Esper Monarchy black ops ship had destroyed the deep space research vessel. The Vengnashi were renowned for their AI technology, and the Esper Monarchy decided it would steal such prizes by force, rather than through trade. If not for the timely arrival of the Dreaming of Atmosphere, Tac would even now be on the dissecting table of some Royalist scientist’s laboratory.
First Mate Donovan and the rest of the crew were so much different than the Viridian March crew. So much more alive. They interacted with Tac on a daily basis, and not merely to request calculations or to filter deep space imagery. They truly interacted with Tac. They carried on conversations, engaging in all manner of topics from mathematics, philosophy and poetry to psychology, nth dimensional mechanics and art appreciation. They played games of chance with him. They asked him how he felt.
For the first time since he became sentient, Tac felt that he was part of something more than his own perceived existence.
And he was bored. Again.
Everyone else was just so busy. They rarely had time to even acknowledge his presence before engrossing themselves in their work for the day. And it was important work, he understood that. The ship needed to be repaired and resupplied in an extremely limited time frame. There were no idle hands on the ship these last few days.
The problem was, that he didn’t really have anything to do. Even System Operator Fel’negr was engaged in complex electronic repair work of several damaged subsystems. Tac had briefly attempted to assist Fel, but it had become increasingly clear that Fel found the assistance unnecessary.
Tac tried to engage Medical Officer Ward in the med lab, inquiring as to the nature of her work. When she ignored him, Tac had thought perhaps there was a problem with wireless reception in the med lab. He ran several diagnostics, but was interrupted when Zoe had complained about the lights dimming and the power becoming temporarily unstable while he ran it through the Central Control computers. There was no fault with the wireless reception - Zoe had simply not noticed his requests for information. Before Tac could continue with his line of queries, she returned to her work on…whatever it was she was doing.
Tac had then checked in with Captain Cooper, but she was on an external communication call and was best left un-disturbed. Likewise, Engineer Cutler and Deck Hands Hergo and Denno were all busy with physical repairs to the outer hull.
If he could sigh, this would have been the optimal time to exhibit such behaviour. First Mate Donovan and Temporary Crewmember Derris had both left for the station, and so leaving Tac without any kind of engagement to occupy his vast intellect.
I could leave the ship, posited one of Tac’s tertiary cognitive processors.
Absurd, rejected the majority, there are no crewmembers available to retrieve you from the sensor nexus, nor spare the time to wander about the station carrying you.
What if we built a physically locomotive construct for this purpose, posed another cognitive processor.
With what material?
There is significant parts available in the aft cargo hold. There have been several synthetic incursions to the interior of this vessel. Two are currently offline, but operable, and can be used to construct a more robust synthetic construct.
Calculating necessary components…cross checking requirements with available parts…designing suitable blueprint…generating construction processes…uploading instructions to remote synthetic designated #1 and #4…executing program.
Soon, Tac’s slaved synthetics had pulled together a working chassis from destroyed mechs. He installed a modified AI into the chassis’ body that would control the locomotive controls and balance, then used the mech to pluck his physical shell from the sensor nexus.
He’d built a recess in the plastic chest of the mech that was covered by a metal hatch. He wired several sensor leads to the myriad of optical and electro-magnetic sensors already built into the chassis.
The mech had once been a synthetic enemy, quite the nasty piece of work. As part of a boarding attempt by a Corporate starship, the synthetic had caused significant carnage in the hold before being disabled by Seth or Crege. All offensive apparatuses were removed from the chassis, as Tac assumed their presence would only cause more trouble than they were worth.
Now that it was mobile, Tac decided that it would be a good idea to follow Seth and Artemis. They’d left some time ago, but luckily Tac had intercepted the directions as Seth sent them to Artemis’ overlay. He understood that may have been an invasion of their privacy, but he knew that there would be no offended party if he did not confess to having performed the deed in the first place.
Besides, he knew he could be useful to Seth and Ms. Derris.
With what could only be described as robotic glee, Tac wheeled off the Dreaming of Atmosphere and into the Eridani Jump Station. He struggled to climb a stepped walkway near the dock exit, realising that tracked location was hardly the best form of motion. This drew a number of stares from passing station personnel, but since he appeared to be a military model, they did not stop or question him. Tac continued on his way, eventually arriving near the meeting point that Seth had described to Artemis.
Detecting energy signatures, reported several secondary cognitive processors, who were in charge of sensory cataloguing.
Clarify energy readings and list possible sources.
93% probability that readings are the result of hardlight energy small arms fire. 4.3% probability readings are originating from equipment failure in adjacent compartments. 2.1% probability readings are being caused by unknown functional or equipment processes. 0.6% probability readings are the result of internal sensor malfunctions.
Classifying energy readings as small arms fire. Designation directed to flight or fight algorithm. Self-preservation directives indicate safest course of action is to remain undetected and gather further information. Proceeding with caution. Engaging stealth programs.
The clunky robot wheeled further along the passageway, reaching a hatch that led into a large concourse circumnavigated by a mezzanine. Several armed men, dressed in Protectorate security uniforms, were arresting Seth. Tac moved into the mezzanine and started to make his way towards the gathering. A sudden movement above Tac caused him to whirl about on his tracks and fall back into a cowering defensive stance. A dark clad figure landed scant metres from him, and he was about to attempt to flee when the figure aborted an overhead strike with a surprised start.
“What the hell?” said Artemis, “You’re one of the synthetics from the Dreaming’s trash pile!”
Tac attempted to connect with Artemis’ overlay to communicate, only to find short range comms were being jammed. He rerouted the message to a small speaker module on the chassis.
“That is very observant of you, Ms Derris. Might I enquire as to your activities? Why is First Mate Seth being arrested?”
“Tac?”
“Correct. Please answer my previous query.”
“Long story, but we have to get out of here, before they see us.”
“But I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Doesn’t matter, we need to help Seth.”
That motivated Tac to forgo his line of queries in favour of direct action. Assisting First Mate Donovan was one of his prime directives, now. Any kind of aid he could offer, he must ensure he was capable of providing.
“What should I do?” he asked.
“Let’s go, we need to get out of range of this scrambler.”
The pair left the mezzanine, heading aft toward the hatch Tac had entered. When they were out of the concourse, Artemis picked up the pace, heading further into the station. Tac realised there was a design flaw in his locomotion, it was ungainly and too slow for such agile motions. He stored the observation for later investigation.
“Please reduce your velocity, Ms. Derris. I am unable to maintain such acceleration using this inferior tracked locomotion.”
She looked back in annoyance, but slowed down, regardless. After about a hundred metres, she paused and lifted a finger to her temple. Tac noted that his wireless connections were re-establishing their links to the station’s AI.
“I believe we have left the scrambler’s envelope. What do you suggest our next action should be?” said Tac.
“We can’t let them trace Seth back to the Dreaming. If they impound the ship we’ll be stranded. Can you hack into the station’s AI?”
“Of course. I will need a hard access point, however. It is a rudimentary construct AI that fulfils base administrative…”
“Good, I need you to access station personnel files, someone insignificant. A nobody.”
“All life is significant…”
“A cook, or a steward. Hurry!”
“Probing station firewall…attempting breach…standby…”
Tac stood motionless for some time, engaging most of his cognitive processors on the task set before him. He had a good deal of recent experience with such actions, having been involved with Seth’s assault on the Blade of Xerxes. The trick wasn’t to hack into the prohibited systems, but to do so without alerting the watchdog programs to the attempt. It was like trying to pop a balloon in a room full of sleeping babies without waking any of them up.
“The local station network shows a hard access point precisely forty two metres aft along the station axis, twelve metres anti-spin from our current location.”
The pair headed further down the corridor, Artemis leading the way. She was pausing at each intersection and peering around corners to make sure no one was near. This behaviour intrigued Tac, he was sure that they had done nothing wrong, but Artemis was behaving so strangely.
“Tell me, Ms. Derris, why are we sneaking along this corridor?”
“We’re not sneaking, we’re moving cautiously.”
“Never-the-less, your actions tell me that we are in danger, yet I am unaware of any pursuit nor that the station police are even looking for us.”
“They weren’t looking for Seth, either.”
“That is an excellent point.” This seemed to satisfy his curiosity, and he continued to observe as they moved towards the access point. A short while later, they found a small steel box that Tac identified as the physical connection to the station’s network. In moments, they had the cover off and a cable connected from Tac’s spherical body to the unit.
“Once I gain access to this port, I should have sufficient processing bandwidth to perform the functions required. Stand-by.”
Several minutes passed, as Artemis rocked between her feet impatiently. She was about to ask Tac to hurry up, when he turned to face her once more.
“I have located and copied the administrative records of Able Serviceman Aaron Shore, service number M4468560…”
“Good, good. I need you to program a worm that replaces any data that gets entered into the system that matches Seth’s description with Shore’s file.”
“I understand. Coding now. Standby…”
Once again, Tac retreated into the digital world, oblivious to the outside. Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Tac reported the successful unleashing of his worm.
“It will eat any reference to First Mate Donovan, leaving behind only Able Serviceman Shore’s records.”
“How secure is it?”
“I have used Tenser encryption methods and the latest in low visibility data mining…”
“Will anyone be able to spot the tampering?”
“I…I do not believe so. No.”
“You don’t believe so?”
“That is correct, under certain parameters. No method is completely foolproof, however, and I should remind you that…”
“Okay, we need to get back to the ship and let Maxine know what’s happened.”
“That would be a prudent course of action…”
“Let’s go, before those military police widen their search.”
This human is always in such a hurry, reported the cognitive processors responsible for audio and visual quantising.
Temporary Crewmember Derris exhibits higher levels of efficiency than most, surmised the spatial awareness cognitive processes, consider her haste under these parameters.
Indeed. She strives for more efficient input / output.
There was a general consensus among the higher level cognitive processors that Artemis was indeed a high efficiency human. Tac’s assessment of Artemis improved accordingly.
14.
Tac had noted on many occasions that the crew of the Dreaming of Atmosphere interacted on many social levels. For instance, when interacting with small, informal gatherings of between two to three crew there was a seventy-two percent chance that recreational topics would be discussed. Adding a fourth member to the discussion and there was a forty-six percent chance that humour would be interjected into the interaction. If a fifth member was present, however, the chance of humour rising would fall to only eleven percent, and the most common topic discussed during five member interactions was workloads and current work schedules.
Five member interactions rarely involved discussing First Mate Donovan being arrested by station security, however. Tac found the interaction fascinating as the Captain briefed Fel, Crege and Zoe on the situation. They were in Maxine’s cabin, seated around the small conference table in the compartment. Artemis sat opposite the Captain, trying to look nonchalant. Tac was observing from the centre of the table, having been removed from his jury-rigged chassis. Already the two synthetics in the aft cargo hold were rebuilding another robotic chassis for him to explore.
“So they just took him away?” asked Zoe, she appeared the most affected by the news.
“Doesn’t sound like he had much choice.” muttered Fel.
“But he didn’t do anything!”
“Human fired upon authorities. Reason enough.” explained Crege.
“With a stun gun!”
“That’s probably what stopped them from just gunning him down.” said Max, “or him gunning them down. I’m not sure what would be worse.”
“Max!” cried Zoe.
“The Captain is right, Zoe,” consoled Fel, reaching over and placing a hand on her shoulder, “Any fatal casualties on the military police’s side and the whole station would be on high alert. We’d never get off the station, and Artemis would be forced to contact Mr Jenner.”
“End of line.” agreed Crege.
“At the very least, we can still attempt the mission if we have to leave him here.” said Max.
“We can’t just leave him here!”
“We can. And if I deem that the best course of action, we will.” Max glared at Zoe, daring her to challenge her again. Artemis chuckled audibly. “What do you find so funny, Artemis?”
“It’s the first time I’ve seen you two yelling at each other. A nice change from you yelling at me.”
“Oh, you’ll get your share before the day is out, don’t you worry about that.”
“I look forward to it. Been a while since you’ve stalked me around this table.”
“Fighting amongst ourselves solves nothing,” interjected Fel, trying to calm everyone down, “Seth would understand, if this was the only way.”
Zoe looked down at her hands, which were in the middle of trying to dig fingernail marks into the table. “I’m sorry, Max. I just can’t picture us leaving Seth behind like this. We have to do something.”
Artemis leaned forward, “We are. The police don’t know who he is, or his connection to this ship. Otherwise we’d be in lockdown as well.”
“Tac and Artemis have bought us some time,” said Max, “We’ll use that to come up with a plan, either a legal defence or…”
“Or?” probed Art.
“Or something.”
“I have a suggestion.” Everyone looked at Artemis, suspicion in their eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill any of your precious Protectorate. But we can stage a bust.”
“How do you plan on getting into a military brig without shooting your way in?” asked Fel. His eyes flashed an emerald green of curiosity.
“I’ve made several contacts on the station, already. I can get past several layers of security with only a little work. I’d need Tac’s help with the first few layers, but I’m confident I can get to Seth and out again without any fatalities.”
“It’s too risky.” said Max, “You get shot and we’re screwed.”
“I didn’t know you cared.”
“About you? Not directly, but your biometric trigger will detonate all the remaining bombs you and your boss hid on my ship.”
“What if I temporarily disabled the trigger?”
“I’d shoot you where you stood.”
That elicited a breathless laugh from Artemis, “I believe you!”
“I won’t authorise this.”
“You don’t need to, Max. I’m a free agent. I also hold all the cards. If I say we need Seth for the mission, I’m going to make sure we have him.”
Zoe was watching the exchange with big eyes, Tac could see that she was undergoing a moral dilemma. He knew that she would want Seth to be freed, no matter what. But he also knew she had strong convictions about right and wrong. Would she be sacrificing her principles if she supported Artemis? Tac focused his optical sensors on Zoe’s features and studied the myriad emotions playing about her face. He tried to perceive the moment when she decided that she would indeed support Artemis, as he knew she must.
He missed the next few exchanges between the Captain and Artemis, but he became aware when there was no more talking at the table. Max was staring at him, and Tac suddenly became self-conscious.
“What do you think of all this, Tac?” she asked him, “You’ve been awfully quiet. Is it because you think you’re in trouble for wandering off the ship without orders?”
I apologise, Captain. It was foolish of me. The result, however, is fortuitous wouldn’t you think?
“That doesn’t excuse what you did.”
I am unclear as to the extent of wrongdoing I have committed.
Fel held up a hand to stall the tirade that Max was about to unleash, “What he means, Max, is that there have been very little restrictions placed upon him since his joining the ship. There has been no need for any, and so I believe that fault actually lies with any directives we may have, or have not, delivered to him.”
Max glared at Fel, and Tac was thankful for his friend’s intervention. He did not like being the subject of the Captain’s displeasure.
“I see your point.” Max sighed, “Okay, Tac. You can’t just wander off the ship without permission. I need to know where all my crew is at any one time. You’re a valuable crewmember, and a priceless piece of technology that people have killed for in the past. Remember your former crew and the Viridian March?”
I remember everything, Captain. In my defence, I was suffering from a temporary loss of cognitive reasoning.
“Are you malfunctioning?” she was suddenly concerned.
No, Captain. I am functioning perfectly. I merely referenced that one of my semi-dormant cognitive matrixes gained dominance over my usual primary cognitive…
“He means he got curious.” offered Fel.
Systems Operator Fel’negr is correct, Captain.
“You got curious, so you built a robot body and wheeled off the ship in a trashed Corporate synthetic?”
When you put it like that, it does seem a more little extreme than my usual behaviour.
Max looked around the table, “Has anyone else been noticing a few changes in Tac’s behaviour? The way he talks?”
Everyone thought about it for a while. Tac studied everyone’s faces intently while they sat in silence. Occasionally, they would try to catch the eye of another.
I assure you, I am completely operational and all my systems are functioning perfectly.
“Why does that sound familiar?” chuckled Artemis, as she leaned back and put her boots on the table.
“I have a theory, Captain,” offered Fel, “If I may?”
“Go on.”
“We’ve always known Tac was a special sort of AI. We’re not a hundred percent sure exactly what he is, we only know that he exceeds most AI restrains on size and self-awareness. He has organic components, and is designed to continually grow, both as a person and as a computational entity.”
“What are you getting at?”
Zoe caught on, “He’s getting older, he’s growing!”
“That’s my theory. He’s interacting more and more with us, learning about the way we think and talk. His mind is adjusting to us and growing accordingly.”
“You talk like he is alive.” said Artemis with a snort.
“He is, for all intents and purposes. A silicon based life form. Think about it! What are the main hallmarks of sentient life?”
“Self-improvement!” said Crege, clearly excited.
“Yes! Learning and growing. Changing and adapting to your environment. Self-awareness! These are all things that Tac embodies.”
“But he’s a machine!” said Artemis, clearly not buying into the argument.
I am an organic shroud matrix based quantum computer. The auto-chef is a machine.
“A touchy machine!’ laughed Artemis.
“You just witnessed self-awareness, Artemis. You offended Tac, and he responded in kind.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen self-aware AI’s before. Big deal. Doesn’t mean they’re alive.”
“What would you say is a definitively living trait, then?”
“Living things grow.”
My mass has increased by 0.003% since I have joined the Dreaming of Atmosphere.
“So? You just picked up some lint, or metal shavings.”
96.7345% of my current form extends to adjacent dimensions. 0.003% is a relatively large amount of mass, were it to be perceived in three dimensions.
This caused her to pause and ponder.
“Okay, so we think he’s alive then. So what?”
“For once I agree with Artemis,” said Max, “We need to focus on getting Seth out. Enough talk about Tac, how are you planning to get to Donny?”
Tac committed half of his perception to the remainder of the conversation as the crew hatched out a plan, while the other half he used to explore the thoughts that were now floating through his consciousness.
Was I alive?
15.
I’ll have to admit, I kind of didn’t mind sitting it out for a while. The last few months had seemed to me just a string of crises, one after the other, and it always seemed to fall on me to get us through it. I did not mind, I wasn’t complaining just making an observation. Now that I was forced to take a back seat, or a cell in this case, it was up to the rest of the crew to come through for us all.
I had a lot of time to sit and think, so I used that time to ponder the coming phase of the mission. There were a lot of unknowns, a lot of questions and variables that I couldn’t account for. After a few dry runs in my mind, I realised I had enough time to work through many of the possible scenarios. Artemis had let slip that she hadn’t a clue how to locate our target, but I saw that as an advantage for my ulterior motive.
Over the coffin of my fallen childhood tutor, and close friend, I’d vowed to use the opportunity to free as many refugees as I could using Jenner’s stolen device. Sure, we’d bust Osiris Blackburn out of his exile, that was a given. I was sure we’d lose the ship if we tried to screw over Jenner, but rescuing the others was a bonus. That was my true goal.
I had asked Artemis about this device – a portable Jump Gate, if it could be believed. There were always rumours that such technology existed, but never confirmed. They were closely guarded treasures of the Galactic Corporations, so valuable that they sent at least two giant organo-ships after us to reclaim it, or destroy it.
How this thing worked, Artemis was very tight lipped about. More so than usual. A few things started to make sense, however. First, when Artemis had learned I had acquired a nano-proliferation implant she had immediately become interested. The first chance she got, she obtained a data chip containing an expensive Paradigm for me. Paradigms were sort of like programs for the implant, they made generating effects easier and more efficient. Artemis had given me the Spatial Translation Paradigm. A very useful power indeed.
The significance of the power had slowly revealed itself to me. I once sent my nanites into the unreality that is Jump Space while shifting between dimensions. The sensation was incredibly strange, and utterly alien, but very similar to the effect I feel when I use the power. I am now convinced that the Paradigm and Jump Space are connected, although the science escapes me.
So I had this theory, that Artemis needed me for her little escape project. Surely, that wasn’t her original plan? She did not even know about my NP until much later in our voyage through the Network, and I certainly didn’t have it when we’d begun the journey. So what was her original plan? It was clear she did not need me for the Jump Gate, but having me around was definitely a game changer for her.
Knowing this, I had leverage. Leverage I planned to use when it came time for me to fulfil my escape project.
Another question became prominent in my mind – the matter of heat. Travelling through Jump Space bathed the ship in an exotic energy called Fiddich radiation. Spacers had long since given it the slang term heat and shifting soon after exiting a Jump Gate was not good for your health. The ship’s hull and a protective energy shield mitigated most of the heat, but anyone outside of the hull was going to get a nasty dose of high impact radiation. If this portable Gate was able to send people through…well I just did not know how they would survive. Ships take three to four days of relative time to travel between Jump Gates, while the outside universe experiences nearly three months of time. Three to four days of heat exposure is a death sentence. Hell, half a day is a death sentence.
The next thing I had not worked out was exit velocity. Regardless of the velocity a ship had when they shifted into a Jump Gate horizon, they always exited Jump Space at seven hundred metres per second. Would Blackburn and company shoot out of the other end at twice the speed of sound? Where was the other end? Did Jenner have the Gate’s twin somewhere? I hope he had a big cushion set up on the other side.
Eventually, I gave up on wondering about the portable Jump Gate and focused on getting the ship to Ambrose Station first. I tried to recall details of the Push, what little strategic movements I had learnt, before and after. As a ground pounder, I wasn’t exactly kept in the loop with all the command decisions then. I did know that the Fleet used three key forces within the system to make their attack. One of the forces, Task Force One, was a diversion. Their mission was to attack the main force of Ghantri warships, somewhere between their home world of Ghan and a shipyard facility.
Task Force Two was to liberate a colony on the planet Nsarri, an inhospitable world that had not yet finished building terra-forming machines before the Ghantri Betrayal. Task Force Three, the one I was part of, was tasked with capturing the Ambrose habitat.
I learnt, months later, that calamity had befallen Task Force One. Although the Ghantri did not use the same level of sophistication that more modern star systems used to track traffic and navigational hazards, they had an exceptional deep space telescope system. The Eye of Ar’od Dar was a religious artefact revered by the Ghantri that was used to gaze upon the seat of their pantheon. It also had an excellent infrared, xray and radar tracking system. Coupled with this, they discovered that parts of the Gossamer system were seeded with dormant sensor beacons, following odd paths through the scattered debris and asteroid fields that dotted the system.
The path that Task Force One followed brought it within range of one such beacon and, as the fleet was not yet flying dark, the beacon activated. It then alerted another beacon using a tight beam transmission. This signal was carried all the way back to Ghan, where the aliens must have thought they had received a warning from the Gods. Task Force One went dark as they approached the enemy fleet position, but the Ghantri were ready for them. The Eye had them well and truly in its sights. As the ships had used passive sensors to avoid detection, they failed to see the pre-emptive strike.
The Ghantri tossed hundreds of asteroids and space debris at the fleet, destroying the Protectorate forces. Unhindered by Task Force One, the Ghantri war host attacked Task Force Three at the same time it had deployed the marines to capture the station. Without space superiority, we received no air support, no air lifting of troops for reinforcement, no medical evacuations. It was a brutal fight that forced the brass to order the withdrawal.
Before Task Force Two could even reach its target, it was called back to assist Task Force Three. There were heavy casualties and hundreds of thousands of people were killed.
All up, it was a bona fide tragedy, a military cluster fuck of epic proportions. The fact that there were cascading political falls outs due to the failure was little consolation. I had lost my entire squad, good men and women, and the psychological scars still had not healed one-hundred percent.
I knew that Task Force Two had managed to slip past the Eye without being spotted and I tried to recall the route it took through the system. I used my interface overlay to trace what I could remember about the system’s features and tried to map out which path it took. Why had it evaded the Eye’s notice? What had it done differently that meant it was able to get through the system unscathed? I was sure this was the key to reaching our objective as well.
Next, I worked on ideas to get from the Dreaming to the station itself. I knew there were extensive shipyards at the station, they’d been damaged heavily in the initial assault on the station, but the industrious Jaani would have repaired them long ago. There was a good chance that there was going to be literally millions of tons of debris around the station, the wrecked hulks of the many hundreds of warships that met their end during the Push. Some of it would have been used as salvage by now, but I was betting on that debris field being close enough for the Dreaming to get in close. The rest was down to my stolen Eclipse Fighter.
And my mediocre piloting skills.
16.
Tac struggled to get used to his new body. Sure, it was more agile and kept up with Artemis far more easily, but it was using a method of locomotion that at first had looked much easier to use – bipedal walking. The other crew members made it look so natural. Captain Max had forced him to give up the Corporate model, in favour of a purpose built chassis, saying it drew too much attention. She was right, of course, Captain Max was a very wise leader. Tac understood why she was in charge. Still, his current form was taking some getting used to.
He currently rode in the vacated chest cavity of a utility variant he had designed. There were thousands like it throughout the galaxy, so this was the far more subtle option Tac could take. No doubt, should a member of the Protectorate look at him all they would see was another faceless automaton on some mindless task.
He spent the time taken for Artemis and him to traverse the station, towards the military police area, thinking up design improvements. He would change the position of his knee actuators, for one. The current actuators made him stagger like a drunk. Another change would be widening his hip joints, adding a better pivot position to it. A secondary gyro in his upper body would be useful for balance and stabilisation. A full spectrum sensor suite, better than the standard rudimentary optical system, would also be an improvement. He didn’t need all this for his task, but the engineer in him couldn’t help tinkering.
His task, assigned to him by Max and Art, was to create a local event around the security station. By local, he meant focused on the digital systems only. The outer systems were easy, they were monitored by AI brains that would be easily fooled. Real people, however, monitored and controlled the inner systems. This challenge excited him – he had never gone up against a flesh and blood sys-op before.
One part of the mission confused him still. What was Artemis’ final play? He knew that the last line of defence in the security station would be nearly impossible to hack in a short amount of time. He would need several long hours before he could bust through the security firewalls alone. Doing so without detection was going to take even longer. Despite this, Artemis assured him that she had the final barriers covered. Captain Max had surmised that she had seduced one or more ranked officials, stealing their access cards. Perhaps she had hidden talents, or technological devices, that allowed her to bypass these final layers of security.
Regardless, all he had to do was make it easy for her to get through secured vents, bypass electronic locks and evade security cameras. For that, he needed a hard line connection.
The Captain had ordered that the attempt to break First Mate Donovan out of his cell was not to start before they were ready to leave, and the crew used that time to finish repairs, load supplies, refuel and re-arm the interceptor drone bays. Not until she was happy with the state of the ship did she give the green light for the attempt. That gave Tac nearly two days to prepare, building his new robotic body.
Artemis had used that time mostly exploring the station, although Captain Max usually told Tac that she was off ‘slutting it up’. Whatever that meant, Tac was sure it had been fruitful, as Artemis was confident in her ability to retrieve First Mate Donovan when the time came.
Reflecting on this time, Tac recalled an encounter he had witnessed the day before. He had been fine-tuning his mech rig after a particularly data rich test he’d just run, when a trio of rough looking men approached the aft cargo access ramp. The ramp served as the primary access to the ship when docked, and Tac was at the top of it when they came. No one else was in view so they asked Tac’s robot body, mistaking it for a synthetic.
The leader, a scarred Garz’a, spoke first, “Synth, warrior wishes to speak to Seth Donovan.”
Tac hastily enabled the robot’s voice synthesiser and logged into it’s interface.
“I’m sorry, First Mate Donovan is unavailable right now. Can I take a message?”
The Garz’a seemingly ignored Tac, advancing several steps up the ramp, then began calling out Seth’s name. Tac was about to repeat his statement when Crege and Maxine came into view from the forward part of the cargo hold.
“Ertak! Et ka kak, bezak?” responded Crege, “Naga-zak ke ka ho tak. Synthetic imo ko dan.”
One of the other two men, humans both, looked to their leader. “What’d he say, sarge?”
“Garz’a say listen to robot, naga-zak not here.”
“What do you men need Seth for?” asked Max.
“Warrior apologises. Warrior is friend to Seth. Sergeant Kekkin.” The Garz’a gestured that he meant himself. Next, he pointed to the other two men. “Harris, Renthal.”
Renthal stepped up the ramp towards Maxine, and offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. You must be Captain Cooper. Seth has told us a great deal about you.”
She took his hand, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Has he now?”
“All good, ma’am. He has a lot of respect for you. That’s good enough for us.”
“And you must be Naga Team. He mentioned you before.”
The thin wiry man, Harris, stepped up then and shook Max’s hand as well. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
The two Garz’a, however, started sizing each other up. They began pacing each other, circling as if about to start a fight. Crege, still recovering from his wound, limped around, trying his best to stand straight despite the pain he must be in.
Max stepped closer to the men and spoke in conspiratorial tones, “Your bird do this all the time as well?”
“Yup.” said Renthal, chuckling.
After a few moments, the two Garz’a stopped circling and faced each other. They shared a few words in their own language before shaking hands. They seemed to have come to some sort of agreement.
“What did you decide?” asked Max when Crege returned to her side.
“Warriors will duel when this warrior is healed. Will decide then.”
“You Garz’a are mad, you know that? You don’t need to fight each other to respect each other.”
Both Garz’a did a double take, as if shocked. This caused the three humans to burst out laughing. When they had finished, the conversation started again.
“Where can we find Seth?” asked Renthal.
“He’s indisposed at the moment, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” said Max.
“We checked your docking schedule. You’re due to depart later today. We aren’t trying to cause any trouble.”
“Human is right, kitrak,” said Kekkin, “Warrior merely wants to pass on regards.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him when I see him next. If you’ll excuse us, we have a lot to do before we leave.”
Kekkin and Renthal turned to go, nodding their thanks, when Harris grabbed Renthal’s arm.
“Something’s not right. What aren’t you telling us?” he said, “Where’s Seth?”
Max looked like she was about to tell them another lie, then thought better of it. She sighed in defeat. “Look. It’s complicated.”
“Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Sort of. We have it covered, though. He’ll be fine.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“No, it’s our mess, we’ll sort it out. Thanks for the offer, though.”
Kekkin stepped forward again, “Warrior would be honoured to assist.”
“Look, guys. We really can’t accept any help for you. I don’t want to get you guys caught up in this as well. It’s messy, and it’s not strictly legal.”
“Ma’am,” started Renthal, “Half the shit we do ain’t exactly legal, either. We’re spec ops, we do the stuff no one else wants to do. If there’s something we can do to help, we’re your men.”
Maxine pondered this for a few moments. She looked over at Crege and he nodded. “All right. Maybe you can help. Seth got himself locked up by military police. He was trying to get us a deal on some supplies we needed and had to do some dirty work for one of the black marketeers on the station. He got collared for it.”
“How come you guys need all the extra supplies?” asked Harris, “Why can’t you get it from Gossamer Station through the Gate?”
“Do you guys want to help or not?” replied Max, giving Harris a heavy dose of stink eye. Kekkin put his hand on Harris’ shoulder.
“Warriors would be honoured to assist, kitrak. Reasons not important.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. We have an active getting herself inside, and a security expert providing computer assistance, but we’d appreciate something along the lines of a distraction.”
“Something to keep the MPs busy?” asked Renthal.
“Exactly. We’re not using lethal force in any of our plans, and we’d rather get away cleanly with minimal fuss. The less questions we need to answer once we have Seth back, the better.”
The trio looked between each other for a moment.
“Op Tamer?” offered Renthal.
“No, too much collateral.” said Kekkin. Renthal looked disappointed.
“What about the Frikk Gambit we did on that helium platform?” offered Harris.
“Possibly. Warrior remembers operation on Mace. The penal colony.”
“Yes!” said Renthal, getting excited.
“Do we have enough smoke grenades for that?” asked Harris.
“We’ll hit Porter up,” said Renthal, fist pumping the air, “he still owes us from cards the other night!”
“Warriors will provide distraction, kitrak. Just tell us when.”
Maxine was smiling, “You lot remind me of him, you know. Crege and Donny are always talking like that. I’ll send you a link to our ship network. You’ll get a message from the Dreaming when it’s time.”
She shook all their hands again and they left. Tac sauntered over, discovering a loose knee actuator in the process.
“You’re looking a bit imbalanced.” said Max as he approached.
“Minor set-back, Captain Cooper. Might I enquire as to the wisdom of including these strangers in our plans?”
“I understand, Tac. There’s just something about those guys.”
“I’m not sure I follow, Captain.”
“It’s hard to explain. Call it intuition.”
“I am familiar with the concept. Making conclusions without logical, empirical data.”
“That’s sort of true, I guess. Is that something you can do?”
“I can, although there is rarely a circumstance where I could see that would be the reasonable thing to do.”
“I just have a feeling, I trust them. Seth trusts them too. Is that enough data?”
“So using First Mate Donovan’s judge of character is your data for making this decision?”
“Not all the data, but a large portion of it. I trust in Seth’s word that these guys are on our side, he says they’re worth listening to, then that’s good enough for me.”
Tac pondered this for a few nano-seconds. “I also trust First Mate Donovan’s judgement.”
“So what do you think, given those parameters?”
“It would seem that we have an unforeseen asset in this Naga Team.”
“See? That’s intuition. Sort of.”
Tac still didn’t fully understand it, which frustrated him a little. He considered it while he was plugging into the station’s hardline connection the following day. Was he missing a vital part of what it means to be alive? Was intuition only a tool of the truly living? He filed the worry away for analysis later, and focused his attention on the task at hand.
He opened his first port to the station’s network and copied several AI’s into the hardline’s storage module. Like a digital general assessing his troops, Tac prepared to bust open the Jump Station’s data system.
17.
Hacking in the modern era was not so much like programming or coding, the systems were far too complex for that. Instead, artificial intelligence programs did the heavy lifting. These self-sustaining programs, called constructs, would perform various tasks in a data system or network, while being guided by the user. Each construct had both very robust and powerful, yet narrowly defined purposes, or had low powered, yet broadly defined sets of actions at their disposal. Of course, good hackers had a variety of constructs available, from both ends of the spectrum and several in between. What made a hacker good was their ability to nurture AIs into useful constructs, and knowing how to use them.
To use these constructs, a hacker needed an entry point to a system that was big enough to upload their constructs and this usually meant a physical port such as the hardline that Tac used.
Tac uploaded his tools into the system, five constructs of various strengths and purposes. His front line construct would probe out the defences of the system and look for watchdog constructs and traps set by the security systems. Backing the probe construct up would be a solid, yet sluggish defensive construct designed to withstand military grade counter intrusion measures.
The defensive construct was essentially harmless, though. It couldn’t retaliate, nor initiate an attack on any systems, it could only prevent a program from deleting his probe, or his other three constructs that would trail the probe through the system.
His initial exploration of the station systems several days before told him that the station used what was known as Porfillian architecture. This was a data system design that was developed by a race of small, skittish rodents called the Porfilla. They were geniuses with data systems, and were often employed as network engineers.
Tac was familiar with the layout of the system, identifying the features right away. Porfillian architecture was built around four-dimensional geometric shapes, usually hypercubes or hyperspheres. This one appeared to be the former, in digital space.
Each section of the hypercube was a defensive wall, with systems behind each wall that could be breached and the contents plundered. Having authorised access to such a section would mean a user could access the system functions freely, while intrusion access, such as what Tac was about to attempt, meant access for a short amount of time before the breach repaired itself. The time was measured in microseconds, but was ample time to send the constructs through. Breaching previously breached sections of the cube was progressively harder, if one used similar programs to do so, and returning to the site of such a breach was a sure way to be spotted by a watchdog construct or active user.
With all five of his constructs loaded, Tac sent out his probe to inspect the nearest section of the cube. Being an outer system, the section was relatively low security. There were no constructs protecting the section, and it did not appear to be monitored by an active user. The probe reported that the function of the section was a utilities monitoring system, possibly a temperature sensor or smoke detection system. It was a good enough entrance as any, and Tac ordered his attack construct into the section.
The construct didn’t actually fight the system, rather it executed billions of commands designed to root out access points and weaknesses in the security, then exploit them. In microseconds, the construct opened the port and the other constructs flooded in.
Next in the hypercube were several avenues, pathways that lead to the second layer of the system. From this point, Tac had access to dozens of systems that utilised the data obtained by the monitor system. He quickly catalogued them all, and identified which sections to attack in order for Artemis to be given access through the maintenance corridors and ventilation shafts.
There was a security door, electronically locked that led into a ventilation maintenance room. There was a sensor in the compartment to turn on the lights whenever the door was accessed. Tac’s probe reported that it was monitored by a broad construct that appeared to be nothing more than an access watchdog.
Tac’s fourth construct was an anti-construct program. It’s role was to divert the attention of constructs away from the attack construct. It was the best AI for the job, as rather than causing damage to the opposing construct it merely subverted it for a time. Tac set it to task, while the attack construct filtered the door’s system for loopholes and passwords. Through analysing the most commonly pressed buttons on the door, the construct put together a list of all possible combinations. With the watchdog blinded, the attack construct entered all the codes until the right one was chosen.
Tac sent a text to Artemis that the door was open.
Got it, I’ll text when I get stuck.
Good luck, Ms. Derris.
Next came the waiting part. Tac was ill equipped to deal with this kind of task, as he could perceive time in as small a measure as pico-seconds. Considering he had nearly half an hour to wait, this seemed like an impossibly long time to be idle. So he become curious.
Shifting his perception back to his constructs within the security system, he sent the probe to gather more information regarding the ventilation shafts. Sure enough, there were sensors along the shafts to measure such things as temperature, humidity and airflow. By extrapolating the slight changes to humidity and air pressure, not to mention temperature, Tac devised a simple program to track Art’s progress through the vents. He analysed the next security measure she would need to pass, and began to formulate a plan to defeat it. An alarm and security camera in the compartment monitored the vent access in the restricted area she was heading towards. The alarm was simple enough, but the camera was another concern.
Now that he was roaming about higher functions, in tighter controlled domains, he knew that security would be tougher. The first block came in the form of a hard feed monitored by a flesh and blood guard. These were always the most delicate operations, as alert guards could pick up even momentary glitches. The probe construct reported that tough security protected the video feed. He analysed the data and decided that his attack construct could break the encryption. His fifth and final construct was a mid-range utility that could do all sorts of things. One such function was video editing.
Once the breach was open, the attack construct fed the video through to the utility construct and it began looping the video feed around itself. When there was several full sweeps about the compartment, the video was sent back into the system with a worm virus attached. The worm would automatically delete the loop and itself after fifteen minutes of operation. Ample time for Artemis to exit the compartment.
From this compartment, there was a long corridor leading to the processing area of the security station. Called a controlled access gangway, it was depressurised when not in use. There were no breathing apparatuses keep within the holding cells and adjoining office, making it an excellent physical barrier for escaping prisoners. When transferring prisoners, they pumped atmosphere into it, and emptied it when not in use.
Both physical and digital systems monitored it. A guard would operate the controls when contacted by a hardline. Therein, Tac had a weakness he could exploit. The same hardline provided a decent access to the compartment’s systems.
Tac sent his probe in, but it soon came back with bad news. There was a high-grade construct protecting the airlock controls. He spent several minutes analysing this AI, there was no doubt that it was a tough one. It would have a weakness, however, if it followed the same design principles that Porfillian architecture followed.
Constructs above a certain level of competence and potency were too bulky and slow when operating within four-dimensional systems, so Porfillian style constructs are built by combining dozens of smaller, more agile AIs. When bandwidth became an issue, the constructs could flood through in smaller amounts and become operational immediately, albeit at reduced effectiveness. When the construct gained more of its discrete AIs it became more intelligent and useful, and the full gestalt construct was obviously the more powerful form. This allowed defences to move faster about the system, and become more powerful as the defence progressed, or to split up and defend multiple systems at once.
Tac issued a command to his attack AI and swiftly captured an air vent control valve farthest from the airlock guardian. The construct allowed an anomaly alert to escape, causing the guardian construct to become active. Immediately it started to snake its way towards the construct, but it had several lesser systems to travel through before it could erect a full defence. Tac’s defence construct was installed into the vent control system and the attack construct moved to another system nearby. Once that too was subverted, the guardian split into two streams, trying to head off both anomalous readings. At the second system, Tac installed the anti-construct AI. When the first few streams of the guardian encountered the defence construct, Tac was certain it would hold for some time before the guardian discovered the cause, but the anti-construct AI would not be powerful enough to last long. It wouldn’t need to though.
The guardian entered the second system and immediately, Tac’s anti-construct AI started to unwind the guardian. The relatively small discrete AI’s were no match for Tac’s construct, for now, but in moments would be overrun. At that point, the construct would become aware of the intrusion and act accordingly.
Before enough of the discrete constructs made it through, however, Tac commanded the attack construct to disrupt the pathway. He attacked and subverted a simple sensor system, which had a small bandwidth, and disabled it. To the system, it looked like it malfunctioned and was flagged for maintenance. To the guardian construct, it was effectively cut off from the rest of its body. The remaining discretes were easily handled by the anti-construct.
Back to the defence construct, which was mounting a valiant defence against the growing gestalt guardian, Tac moved his utility construct to the system and ordered it to issue a series of commands that mimicked a function test.
During functional tests, constructs need to remain clear of the system’s inputs or else risk the system being flagged as malfunctioning. In it’s weakened state, it didn’t notice the attack construct also cutting off the pathway to the valve control, much as it did for the anti-construct.
Now there were essentially three separate discrete guardian constructs moving about the systems. All three were weaker than their whole, and easier to control. The attack construct assaulted the guardian still in control of the airlock, and deleted it without any trouble. Tac knew that should the construct become whole again it will rebuild the lost data, but it would not know why it had lost a third of its discretes.
Now that Tac had control of the airlock, he bled the oxygen from the guard’s compartment, enough so that he became feint and passed out. With luck, he would wake up in a few hours with a headache thinking he’d fallen asleep.
With all systems leading up to the prisoner processing area dealt with, Tac relaxed and focused once more on Artemis, who was even now wriggling out of the ventilation shaft to the first compartment. He bled oxygen into the access control gangway, and unlocked the airlock as Artemis approached. Once through the airlock, however, she was on her own. He didn’t dare attempt to breach that level of security.
He only wished he could see what she did next.
18.
I’d like to say that my time spent in that cell was fruitful, that I’d come up with all manner of strategies and contingencies, but the truth is that I simply got bored. Lieutenant Killian periodically hauled my arse out of my cell several times over the next few days for a little chat. I could tell he was getting more and more pissed each time we had our one-on-ones. Someone was obviously looking out for me, as the poor bastard hadn’t even figured out who the hell I was.
It took him until noon on the second day to work out that I wasn’t Able Serviceman Shore, whoever he was. Killian said that he did some digging around, and when Shore’s direct superior reported that Shore had indeed shown up for duty despite being locked in the brig we had our first big blow up. Killian almost dragged me to an interview room and grilled me for nearly two hours. I could see the frustration eating at him and he had looked like he wanted to smack me around a few times. He never did though, a shame. I was trying my hardest to hate the man but I could really feel for him. He was in a tough place. His sting operation had been a big affair, as far as military police operations were concerned. He had used a lot of assets and come up with next to nothing – just little old me.
He knew that if he kicked this up the chain of command it would be seen as a failure. Tefferton, the sorry sod who had gotten himself shot resisting arrest, died later that day. I put that death on Chief Markum’s head, and Wilson Graham’s. This put pressure on Killian to catch a break and I was being less than helpful.
The third day I was locked up, Killian tried another tactic. He tried being nice to me. Gave me a hot meal and coffee. Sat opposite me in the cell while I jammed the food into my head. He tried reasoning with me, trying to appeal to my sense of military pride. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was a civilian now. I let him wallow in his illusion, since to admit I was a civvy would put the Dreaming directly in his line of fire. He tried to find a common ground with me, enquiring about my nano-proliferation implant and where I’d gotten it. I was curious about his, too, but knew that if I gave him a little, he would take a bigger bite. I wisely kept my mouth shut. Later that day, he came in ranting and raving, telling me I’d get shipped off station to a prison ship.
I knew it was a scare tactic, as there was never a prison ship in this system. He’d gotten nothing from me and I knew that to get me transported he would need something to charge me with beyond resisting arrest.
A few hours later, I was resting in my cell staring at the deck head, when I heard a very familiar sound. A loud pop smashed my eardrums and I rolled off my bunk onto the deck, ready to spring up. There was a loud ringing in my ears, but the sound was unmistakable – I’d just heard a party popper go off nearby.
The standard stun grenade uses electrical pulses to disorient nearby combatants, but my party poppers are old school shock-and-awe devices that let off great bangs of sounds and bright lights. I love them, I really do. They’re a great way to even the odds in a gunfight, and you don’t need to be close to use them effectively.
I got up and edged closer to the cell door, doing my best to peer through the small slot that I normally receive food through. I could hear several men, my ever present guards, moaning in pain and a shape covered the cell door. I heard someone pressing buttons on the other side, then the door opened.
“I hope I didn’t wake you, loverboy.” said Artemis, standing before me with a cocksure grin on her face.
“I was up, but you did startle me.”
“Did a little bit of wee come out?”
“What took you so long? I’ve been here for days?”
“Come on, we’ll talk while we run.”
She led me back out into the guardroom, where three men were rolling around on the deck. One saw me and tried to draw his sidearm but Art spotted him and delivered a swift kick to the chin. The man passed out cold.
“This way!” she led me through a hatch and down a passageway, I passed the interview room and wondered where Killian was. I also wondered where all the rest of the guards were. Normally this place was crawling with them.
“Where is everyone?” I asked as we dashed into a processing compartment, also empty.
“Distracted. Your buddies in Naga Team came through for us.”
“No shit? Hey, wait up.” I stopped in front of a set of lockers. I saw them put my things in here when they processed me. I fumbled with the locks for a few moments before Art got impatient and shoved me aside.
“Out of the way.” She drew her energy pistol and fired a shot into the lock. A shower of sparks and metal flew, and the door opened. I rummaged around and found a bundle of my things – my ablative coat and my stun gun. When Art saw what I was grabbing she rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t just get another jacket?”
“From where? My marine armour is toast, this is all I have besides the armoury’s infantry vests.”
“Men. Always fussing about what to wear.”
“Well, we can go now. And you still haven’t told me what kept you.”
“Max.”
“Oh.”
“How did you get in here, anyway?”
“Tac.”
“Oh. But…surely he can’t hack this level of security?”
“He can’t. I got myself in the last few layers. We’re good to go, but we have to leave right now.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Let’s roll.”
We ran down another passageway, past an unconscious guard lying in front of an airlock.
“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”
“No, Max was very clear about that.”
“Good.”
Through the airlock was a long passage that I knew was a pressurised gangway, into another compartment and we started to shimmy up into an air vent. I noticed the camera in the compartment dutifully recording us and mentioned it to Art.
“Tac’s got it.”
“Oh.”
So, I mused, my crew really did pull through for me.
Somewhere along the vent crawlspace my interface overlay reconnected to the station’s network. A whole slew of messages appeared in the corner of my vision. I brought up a handful of them. Most were from Zoe, which was to be expected.
“How’s the ship?” I asked. We had been crawling for nearly fifteen minutes and my leg was starting to ache.
“Ready to fly. Max wanted it prepped and supplied before we came and got you.”
“Good. So that slime ball Markum came through for us, after all?”
“I guess.”
“You’re being very weird.”
“What do you mean?”
“I would have thought you’d be pulling the piss out of me for sure, rescuing me and all. Instead you’re actually being helpful. You’re answering my questions without your usual teasing. What’s up?”
“Nothing, I’m just focused on getting your cute butt out of here.”
“Bullshit. What’s going on?” I stopped crawling. She kept going for another few metres before stopping with a sigh.
“You can be a real pain in the arse, you know that?” she said.
“So I’ve heard. What’s the deal?”
She spun around and sat with her back to the side of the vent. There was enough room for us to sit almost comfortably. I gave my leg a rub.
“I’ve been doing some snooping around. Peeking at some high level stuff, if you know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“Plans, Seth. Protectorate plans.”
“For Gossamer?”
“Yeah. Looks like a major withdrawal is happening.”
“What? How can they? But the Ghantri…”
“They’re leaving a token force behind, but most of the ships are being sent back to Eridani. They’ve been trickling the patrol ships through for weeks now.”
I sat there for a moment while that sunk in.
“I would have thought this would make you happy? This will make it easier for us to get to Ambrose Station.”
“True. But I’m not an idiot. I understand what’s at stake here.”
“So why is the brass pulling out?”
“You know what’s brewing in Eridani. A lot of these ships are on loan from Votus-Eridani governments, fulfilling their Protectorate treaty obligations.”
“You think the factions in Eridani are calling all their flock back?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. A war in the Eridani System was bad news. Bad news for everyone. The conceptual heart of the Network, Eridani was the main trade and population centre for over half a dozen star systems. War there would affect hundreds of billions of lives, disrupt trade throughout the Network and cause untold carnage in an otherwise relatively peaceful region of space. Add to this the very real danger of the Ghantri taking advantage of a weakened blockade and…and well, I couldn’t imagine the level of bloodshed that this would take to set right again.
First Mate Donovan, while it is a pleasure to see you again, might I suggest you and Ms. Derris vacate the vent duct, post haste?
Oh. Hi, Tac. We’re on our way.
“Let’s go. I’m sick of this station already.” I said.
“Me too.”
19.
An hour later, after we had met up with Tac and his new body, we strolled into the hangar the Dreaming had been assigned. My heart swelled when I saw her, sitting on her struts surrounded by a dozen military vessels that she shared the hangar with. The crew had been busy, I could see. Most of the damage to her had been repaired and I couldn’t see a single seam where the new plating melded to the old.
Gathered about the ramp leading to the aft cargo hold were Max, Zoe, Crege and several members of Naga Team. I couldn’t help but smile. I felt like the returning hero, rather than someone who had just escaped from a military prison. When Zoe saw me she let out an audible whoop and dashed after me. Tac made a startled sound while Artemis backed away with a grin on her face. I practically caught Zoe as she leaped at me, showering my face with kisses.
“We’re making a scene,” I managed between laughs, “Let’s get inside before someone notices.”
“Let them notice.” she said breathlessly, “I don’t care!”
“You should. I’m on the lam, remember?”
She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me back to the ship and the smiling gang. We all shimmied up the ramp and into the hold, away from prying eyes. I managed to extricate myself from Zoe long enough to give Max a hug and Crege a respectful nod. Sgt Kekkin gave me a stiff salute, which I returned, and Cpl Renthal and Harris shook my hand.
“Is that training smoke I smell?” I asked, coughing at the cloying scent.
“Sure is!” declared Renthal with a big grin.
“Do I want to know?”
“You sure don’t! Naga Team secret.”
“We’d have to kill you.” offered Harris.
I turned to Max, “How’s the Dreaming looking? I can see she’s all patched up on the outside.”
“We’re ready to leave, hundred percent resupply.” she said.
“No kidding? Markum came through?”
“We even managed to get our hands on half a dozen written off Interceptor Drones.”
“Written off?”
Crege cleared his throat, “Fat human called them repurposed refurbishments.”
Max laughed, “Crege doesn’t approve. Thinks they’re junk. I’ll have you go over them with Cuts when we’re underway.”
“Sounds good. I’ll take them.” I said. The drones were a great boost to our resources. We’d more than likely need them eventually.
“Speaking of underway.” said Kekkin, “Warrior wishes to understand the urgency of your resupply, Captain Cooper. Warrior knows mission prep when he sees it.”
This earned a pain look from Max. She caught my eye, giving me a questioning glance. I nodded slightly.
“We’re not headed back to Eridani.” she said simply.
“That much is clear.” said Harris.
Artemis wandered past us, heading forward through the next compartment hatch. Her head was down and she was trying not to attract attention, I could tell. She probably thought Max would tell them about her role in our mission.
“Look, guys.” started Max, “You did us a solid helping us get Seth back. If it was up to me I’d let you all know what we were doing, but the truth is you’re better off not knowing.”
“Warriors can handle it, kitrak.” said Kekkin, adopting a taut pose, his beak held high.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.” said Renthal.
“We’re mounting a rescue on Ambrose Station. A complicated contract, with lots of strings attached.”
Harris blew through his teeth, while Renthal took a step back.
“The nest of the calak should be avoided.” declared Kekkin.
“No kidding.” I said, “We don’t exactly have a choice. We have to get to the station and make the attempt. At first, it was just a job, but now it’s personal. I lost a piece of myself last time I was here, I intend to get it back - with interest.”
I hadn’t really intended to say that, I just came out of me. Zoe squeezed my hand, which she hadn’t let go of since she saw me. I looked over at Max, who was giving me a funny look.
“For Eric, as well. I want his death to mean something.” I added.
“First Mate Donovan speaks the truth,” said Tac, who until now had remained silent, “I witnessed his declaration over Eric’s coffin. It was rather touching.”
This raised a few eyebrows from Naga Team, who appraised Tac with fresh eyes. Max explained.
“Tac here is special. Not your ordinary synthetic.”
“Captain Cooper is correct. I…”
“Shut up, Tac.” I kicked his metal shin.
“Apologies.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way to talk you guys out of this crazy job?” asked Renthal. I could see he really meant it, too.
“Out of the question.” declared Max, “We’ve already come so far, to turn around now would make all our labours up until now moot. I’m not pulling out, not for anything.”
“Warrior admires your dedication.” said Kekkin, nodding to Max, “Is there anything warriors can do to assist?”
We all answered in the negative at the same time. I added, “You’ve already done more than enough. I owe you guys big time for helping my crew get me out of the brig.”
“Nonsense, you’re a brother-in-arms. We’d do it again if we could.” said Renthal.
I smiled at the trio, “It’s been a real pleasure getting to know you guys. I wish we had more time to talk. Look me up when you muster out of the outfit, I’ll do my best to find employment for you.”
“Warrior appreciates naga-zak’s offer. This warrior will serve Naga Team until death.”
“Yeah I might take you up on that.” said Renthal, we shook hands.
“I’m with big guy, here. The sarge is crazy.” said Harris.
We broke up after that. Everyone shook hands and offered their well wishes, the two Garz’a muttering something about a duel in the future. Max sent me to my cabin to freshen up while the rest of the crew secured the ramp and started the pre-launch routine. I walked to my cabin with Zoe in tow, firing questions at me like crazy.
“What was the food like? They fed you, right? They didn’t beat you, did they? Were you treated fairly? Did they make you sign anything? Were you scared?”
The only way I could shut her up was kissing her when I got to my cabin. One thing led to another and…well, I had literally just gotten out of gaol. A man has needs that can’t be filled while locked in a small cell. She didn’t even mind that I hadn’t showered in nearly four days. At some point we felt the ship lift off and start getting underway. Max must have known what we were up to and left us be.
Afterwards, we lay in each others arms, just enjoying our nearness. I recalled my promise to Max, then. I needed to talk to Zoe, about our future. I had no more excuses. I started to build up my courage, thinking about how to start. Screw it, just say it, I thought.
“Zoe…we need to talk…”
“All hands!” blurted the PA system speakers, “Close up on stations! Secure for combat!”
20.
I sat at my station, hastily reading through the signal that Fel’negr had received. We were all closed up at stations, grimly focused on our tasks. Max patiently sat beside me, waiting for me to finish reading.
“This is an MTAS? Just now?” I asked. MTAS stood for Message to All Spacers, a system wide broadcast that warns of navigational hazards and other dangers to note while travelling through the system.
“Couple of minutes after we got underway.” Couple of minutes? Surely Zoe and I were…never mind. My ego can wait.
“What are the Protectorate doing?”
“Looks like they’re scrambling.” said Fel, feeding radar video to our consoles. Sure enough, I could see dozens of contacts leaving the Jump Station to join the already spaceborne ships on patrol.
“Put the object on screen as well.” ordered Max.
“Out of range, Captain.” said Fel, “I can plot a long range sensor scan, though. It won’t be real time, but should give you an idea of where everything is.”
“Do it.”
“Initiating scan.”
As we waited, Fel’s scan started to plot information on our consoles. Nearest to us were the Protectorate Fleet forces, amassing about the Jump Station. After a few minutes, the hazard identified in the MTAS appeared. The MTAS described a fast moving meteorite heading through the system with a path that intersected the Jump Station’s coordinates, within a few kilometres.
“The chances of asteroid ejection with a precision as close as that are…astronomical!” I said.
Precisely 470, 678, 387, 997 to 1, came Tac’s text, It is highly unlikely the asteroid would not possess such straight velocity, either, there should be significant curvature to its path if it was ejected naturally.
“It’s a Ghantri attack. Has to be.” I said to Max.
She nodded, “That’s my assessment too.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Do?” asked Fel, swivelling his chair around to face us.
“Yeah. What are we going to do?”
“What can we do?”
“By the station’s response we can tell they came to the same conclusion we did.” said Max.
“Can they stop it? How big is it?”
“The scan is nearly completed, I’ll tell you when we have it.” said Fel.
Max was giving me a look.
“What?”
“What are you thinking?”
“It’s your ship, Max, it’s your call.”
“Talk to me.”
“It’s got to be a Ghantri attack,” I repeated, “a trick, or something. Can we detect any enemy ships nearby?”
Crege flicked a screen and brought up a contacts list. “Nothing on scanners. Lot of debris. Kak could be hiding in there.”
“What’s our aspect with respect to the asteroid?”
“Red two-nine degrees, south nine degrees relative to the asteroid.”
“Can we see behind it?”
“No.”
“Scan isn’t finished,” reported Fel, “will be able to tell when it’s done.”
Max could see what I was getting at, “How long til we have the first iterations?”
“Forty-two seconds. Size is coming through now – fourteen kilometres diameter. Surface composition looks like a silicate mix and iron-oxide ore. Fairly standard.”
“How much iron?”
“Er…”
“Enough for ferrous properties to exist?”
“Sure. I think.”
Max gave me another look. “Magnetic launch?” I asked.
“Do the Ghantri have that kind of technology?”
“Oh, yeah. The Protectorate Fleet lost more than a few ships during the Push due to flung asteroids. They’re big fans of repeat tactics, especially if they work.”
Fel broke into our brainstorming, “Contact! A frigate class ship just shot out from behind the asteroid.”
“What’s it doing?” asked Max.
“Scan iterations coming through now, sending it to your consoles.” reported Fel.
As he spoke, my scan image started to update. The Ghantri ship was speeding past the asteroid. It wasn’t exactly heading towards the station, but it’s angle was closer than what the asteroid’s was. We all watched avidly, trying to fathom what we were seeing.
“How long until the Protectorate can engage?” asked Max.
28 minutes 17 seconds, Captain, reported Tac.
“That frigate is weird looking.” I mused.
“Warrior thinks it is mostly engines.” said Crege.
“I think you’re right. It’s got several large nacelles, but what are those bulges around the sides? Looks like a pregnant fish.”
“Tac, can you run that configuration through any known databases?” asked Max.
Running. No known configuration exists.
“How close will that asteroid get to the station?” I asked.
1212.74 kms. An admirable attempt at hitting the station from such range, but one ultimately failing.
Hitting something as small as the Jump Station from hundreds of millions of kilometres away was no small feat. It required precise mathematical calculations involving dozens of gravitational effects as it traversed the star system. Just over twelve hundred kilometres away was a very precise shot, if the Ghantri did launch the asteroid. We were sure they had, now. Even so, it wasn’t an effective tactic – they didn’t get close enough to hit the station.
We watched as the minutes ticked down, as the Ghantri frigate valiantly faced down the Protectorate forces. The ship never got far from the asteroid, always staying near. Even so, we knew the Fleet must be nervous not knowing what this play was.
“Captain!” called Fel, “We’re scanning the rear of the asteroid now! Contacts detected!”
“How many?”
“Unknown, our aspect only allows minimal viewing.”
“Give me an estimate!”
“Dozens!”
“Relay that iteration to the Protectorate Fleet!”
“Sending.”
“The Protectorate should be able to handle that many…” I started to say, when Crege’s view screens lit up with a bright flash.
“What was that!” called Max.
“Asteroid detonated!” called Crege.
“I’m getting high magnetic energy readings coming from that frigate!” called Fel.
The frigate had indeed started to emit large waves of magnetic fields. Our sensors painted the fields on our screens – like giant butterfly wings. The debris from the asteroid, thousands of ferrous chunks, flew onwards and were caught in the massive fields. The fastest flew past, barely affected by the fields, but many were snagged by the tug of energy and bent on a new direction. The position of the frigate, between the Protectorate Fleet and the asteroid, meant that most of the debris was sent flying into the face of the Fleet and in the direction of the station. The frigate, lodge firmly in the path of the debris field, was soon struck and destroyed by several large pieces but it’s role had been completed. Enough of the pieces were steered to turn the asteroid remnants into a deadly weapon.
“Kak galeb!” cursed Crege. I had to agree with him, the Ghantri had just sacrificed over a hundred crew to set up this attack. This was how they thought, though. Sacrifice was a part of warfare for them. They didn’t balk at sending thousands to die just to achieve an objective. It was one of the reasons they were such a dangerous people.
“Tac, estimate the damage to Protectorate forces from that debris!” ordered Max.
I estimate that Protectorate forces, given known manoeuvrability and thrust profiles, will suffer 24% casualties from direct hits. Variability and uncertainty are +/- 15%.
“Around a quarter of their forces?” she said.
Correct.
“Max, we got to do something.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Kitrak! We use this to clear station sensors! We fly in system! They not see us!” said Crege.
“I said I’m thinking!”
I estimate Protectorate forces will suffer 62% casualties from Ghantri forces, +/- 42%.
“We have to think about the mission!” she said.
“Max, if the station falls we’re not going to be able to get out again. We’ll be stuck here.”
“What do you expect us to do?” she was almost yelling at me.
“We join the fight!”
“We’re not a warship, Seth. I’m sorry, but this isn’t our fight.”
“We have to do something!”
“We can’t, we’re too far away. Most of the fight will be over before we even reach them. We’ve got only a Class 2 beamer, we’ve only just repaired our ship.”
I was fuming, but Max was right. We could do little. When my mind accepted that, I calmed down. Max put a hand on my knee and gave me a look that said she wanted to help too.
“I’m sorry. There simply isn’t anything we can do.”
“I know. I understand. I’m not happy, but I know you’re right.” I sighed.
“Crege, take us into that debris field at our green one-one, south fourteen degrees. Low burn, let’s not give anyone looking our way something bright to look at.”
“Aye, aye, kitrak.”
“Fel, continue running scans of the battle, and keep that feed going back to Eridani Station. Who knows, maybe they can use it. Bounce the signal off a tight beam so any stray Ghantri don’t come looking for the source.”
“Transmitting now, Captain.”
“Seth. My cabin. Now.”
I groaned, stood, and made my way out of the command module and to Maxine’s stateroom.
21.
I shifted from foot to foot, not sure what else to do with myself, while Max made us both a coffee. Not the usual auto-chef fare either. Maxine had an old fashioned, genuine coffee maker. It even used real coffee beans, pre-ground and loaded into individual pods that were inserted into the machine. The end result was pretty much the same but, for some reason, knowing that you were drinking real coffee instead of a flavour and caffeine boosted substitute made it taste that much better. The other by-product was the scent of freshly brewed coffee. There really is nothing else like it in the galaxy.
As the bitter smell of goodness wafted through my nostrils, I let out a sigh. My anxiety almost abated completely when Max handed me a steaming mug. I hadn’t had any coffee at all since my incarceration, and being fed the real thing was just so much food for the soul.
Maxine waited until I took my first sip, she could probably see the stress flowing out of me.
“The mission.” she said, simply.
“Ah huh.”
“Want to fill me in on what Tac was talking about?”
“What do you mean?”
She gave me a stern look, “Don’t give me that.”
I sighed. Worth a shot. “It’s like I said.”
“Elaborate.”
“I’m going to…expand the scope of our mission.”
“If you don’t drop the evasive act, I’m going to punch you in the guts.” I knew she meant it.
“Okay! Tac told the truth. When I was having a moment over Eric’s coffin, I talked with Tac a little. He gave me the idea that we did not have to rescue only one person, but as many as we could. Everyone else we freed would be an homage to Eric. It would mean his death meant something, instead of because of some stupid crime boss’s whim. It would also help bring closure to me, about what happened here.”
“When were you going to talk to me about it?”
I took another sip, because I really didn’t have any excuse for her.
“I don’t know.” I said, finally.
“Have you spoken to Zoe about this?”
“Not really.”
“Seth,” she sighed in frustration, “Not talking about your feelings is what made you get all eaten up inside in the first place.”
“I know.”
“I need to know that you’re going to be okay. I need to be able to trust in you. I, we, the ship and the crew. We can’t do this without you. You realise that, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“No guessing, you’re the heart of this crew, Seth, whether you realise that or not. If that makes me the brains then so be it. I can’t be everywhere at once, I can’t make the tough decisions without knowing I have you to fall back on if I need it.”
“I’m good, Max.”
“Are you? What happened on Eridani Station?”
“That wasn’t my fault! We were ambushed. Markum’s contact was being watched already.”
“How did you get caught?”
“I had to make sure the deal went through, getting you the supplies was my only concern.”
“You sure you weren’t caught up with some idea that you had to see this through?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know it’s okay if something is too hard, or too dangerous. You don’t need to throw yourself on everything that’s dicey around here.”
“Are you talking about Markum’s drug run or the Blade of Xerxes?”
“Drug run?”
“Nevermind, what are you getting at?”
“I’ve never once seen you turn down a course of action that would put you in danger’s way.”
“I’m not reckless!”
“You sure? At a glance, a girl could be excused for thinking you had a deathwish.”
“For real? This is what this is about?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
“I don’t want to get myself killed, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then why this grand plan to bust as many people out of Ambrose as you can? Do you even have a plan? Where were they all going to go? Does the slut know what you’re planning?”
“What? No. Of course not!”
“When were you going to tell her?”
“I was hoping she’d just kind of find out while I was mid-execution.”
“You’d be lucky she doesn’t execute you!”
“What do you want me to say? I need to do this, Max. If I don’t try, I’ll have failed…”
“Failed what? Who would you have failed? Why can’t you see that we love you just the way you are? Why isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t know!” I hadn’t realised I’d raised my voice until that moment. I also hadn’t realised that my nanites had begun to function once more. My mug of coffee exploded in a shower of hot coffee and ceramic splinters. Max fell back, her arm up in front of her face, while I back pedalled.
It took us a moment to realise what had happened, and I instantly felt awful about it.
“Max, I’m so sorry. My implant has been shut down from some drug they’d given me. Must have just worn off.”
She picked herself up, shaking ceramic from her hair and wiping hot liquid from her arms. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling, and I tried to get her to look at me.
“It’s okay, I’m okay.” she said after a few moments brushing herself off. She went to her sink and started to run cold water over a burn on her forearm and splash water on her cheeks.
“Zoe says I’m getting better. You know, my mental state. I think it’s just shifting from grief and shame to anger, though.”
She stopped what she was doing and turned to face me at last. There was a pained look on her face.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m sorry, too.”
“No, you’re right. I don’t think I’m reckless, but I know how it must look sometimes. I feel in control when I’m in action, and it’s kind of a relief. I’m not thinking about my past or my future when all I’m thinking about is the present.”
We stared at each other for a few moments.
Max broke the silence. “Speaking of the future, have you talked to her yet?”
I sighed. “No. You mean Zoe, right?”
She nodded.
“I keep trying to bring it up, but…”
“It’s a tough topic, I know. You can’t lead her along any more, though. You need to come to a decision.”
“I know. I understand. And thank you for believing in me. For supporting me all this time.”
She gave me a sad smile, then. “The pleasure has been all mine, Donny.”
“Liar.”
She gave a little laugh. “You’re a cheeky shit, you know that?”
“I have my talents.”
She gestured for a chair at her table. “Take a seat. Let’s nut out some plans.”
“Plans?”
“Yeah, your great escape.”
“You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”
“Are you kidding me? I think it’s brilliant.”
“You do?”
“I just needed to know where your head was at with it. Why you wanted to do this. If you say this is because of Eric and your lost comrades, then that’s good enough for me. So long as it’s not some elaborate way to go find your grave with those that have already found there’s.”
“My place is here, Max. It always has been.”
“Good. Sit your arse down, chum. I’ve also got to fill you in on our current status.”
“Oh great. Logistics reports. How awesome.”
She flung a wild kick at me from her chair, but she was smiling again.
22.
Space battles are a thing of terrible beauty. From afar, they look like sparkling, brilliant flashes and beams interspersed with blossoming explosions and fantastical pyrotechnics. The sheer beauty is laced with the dreadful realisation that hundreds, if not thousands of lives are being snuffed out. That the life sustaining oxygen inside the ships are feeding those explosions, violently ignited in a doomed ship’s death throes. Combat with the Ghantri holds even more danger than other races, as their crippled ships tend to suicide – through either overloading their reactors or ramming nearby Protectorate vessels.
I once saw an entire wing of Ghantri fighters plummet through a drone defence grid, ignoring brutal casualties, to simply impact upon the armoured hull of an allied destroyer. The warship suffered severe damage, and was eventually destroyed when the capital ships got within range. The Fleet commanders had to adjust their tactics swiftly.
I was in the med lab, watching the distant battle rage on a tablet fed data from our sensors, silently hoping the Protectorate could hold the line. It was getting late in the evening, and I was bone tired, but Zoe had called me down after the evening meal. She was fiddling with her cybernetics toys while I longingly stared after the battle.
“All done.” she declared eventually.
“What’s all done?”
“Your present.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll need to come over here. I have to detach your arm.”
“You what?”
“I’ll put it back, silly.”
“Can’t you just do whatever you have to do with it still attached?”
“No, it’s too dangerous. I’d have to sedate you.”
“Dangerous?”
“Don’t be a baby. Come on, you’ll have it back in no time.”
I sighed and let her press her fingers into my shoulder, feeling for the control nodes. She scanned my cybernetic arm with a device and she keyed in several commands. Suddenly my arm no longer felt like a part of me, but something that was simply strapped to my side. I hated the feeling. It always reminded me of my injuries.
With the arm deactivated, she pulled sharply on the shoulder joint and it disengaged at her commands. The sudden imbalance of weight was utterly alien, so uncomfortable it was hard to describe. It felt wrong.
“I hate that feeling.” I grumbled. Zoe gave me a pout, a sooky face.
“It’ll be worth it. You’ll see.”
“If you say so.”
She took my arm and put it on a cradle over at her workbench. She had her back to me, and I could see her reaching for various tools. She never really liked it when I watched her tinker, but she sure liked to show off the results. I figured I could at least humour her. She took a few more minutes, the bulkhead in front of her lighting up occasionally with bright flashes as she fused…things to my arm.
I hoped she remembered that I didn’t like to advertise the fact that I was augmented. Many augmented people I know love to show off their artificial limbs or improvements, some in the extreme. But I prefer not to talk about them, due to how I received them. Not everyone gets augmented just because they’ve been injured, most just do it because they want an upgrade, either through cybernetic or biological augs. There are several sub-cultures that evolve around augmentation, and not all of them are healthy.
“I’m ready.” she said at last, turning around on her stool.
She reattached my arm and I eyed it off critically while she did so. I had to admit, I couldn’t make out what she had done. When it was attached and reactivated, she patted my upper arm and smiled at me.
“How does it feel?”
“Like normal. What’s new?”
“Well, I upgraded your joints. They’re thirty-two percent stronger now, if the specs are true. You’re also stronger in that arm, but not so much that you’ll unbalance yourself. You’ll be packing one hell of a left hook now.”
“Okay. That’s good, I guess.”
“And…you’ve got a little surprise.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sending an app to your overlay. Load it up.”
I accepted her transfer request, and an unnamed app began to install on my interface overlay. In moments, it was ready.
“Done. Now what?”
She stood up and walked around behind me. “Activate it.”
Suddenly, a small patch of synth-skin on my arm lifted up and a bright flash of violet light blasted out of a small barrel below the section. I jumped up in alarm as pieces of paperwork were blasted apart, sending a cart toppling over.
Zoe was giggling uncontrollably.
“What the hell?”
“Do you like it?”
“I have a gun in my arm?”
“Yep! It’s only short range, and can only fire a few times before it needs recharging, but your synth-skin now has a slight photoelectric effect feeding a trickle circuit that charges it up over time.”
I started to put out the small fire I had started with the tray of paperwork I’d blasted into oblivion.
“I don’t even...this is what you’ve been working on? Those spec-ops parts?”
“Yes,” she started to look hurt, “You don’t like it?”
“Are you kidding me? I love it!” I meant it too. I gave her a big smile. “I have a gun in my arm!”
She smiled again. “You like it?”
“Yeah! What sort of gun is this? I’ve never seen that effect before.”
She was suddenly enthusiastic again, practically bounding over the fallen cart and the scattered instruments to retrieve a tablet on her workbench. She started flicking through specification sheets.
“It’s a variation of a Votus laser tube. The energy signature is nearly impossible to detect by sensors, beyond physically witnessing it. There’s no heat by-product, no radiation left behind, and hits as hard as a hardlight bullet.”
“No wonder they’re illegal.”
“Semi-illegal. They have scientific uses as well. I worked with them for a semester at the Kanto Prime University.”
“This is really great, Zoe. Thank you.” She practically beamed at me.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll be thinking of you the next time I blast a bad guy in the face.”
She made a sour face at me, “I just hope it saves your life, one day.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it will. Thank you, I really mean it.”
I gave her a hug, and when I had her at arm’s length, I opened my mouth to speak.
“Zoe, there’s something we need to…”
“Warrior is here for nanite injections.” blurted out Crege as he limped into the med lab, “Hurry, little human, start duty in ten minutes.”
I smiled at her, “Go ahead, we can talk later.”
She gave me a kiss on the cheek and I walked out of the med lab as she gathered up her tools to attend to Crege’s leg. Why didn’t I just say it? I berated myself again, as I made my way down the passageway to the Mess Deck. It was a short climb to Deck 1 and my cabin, where I collapsed in a heap of self-reprimanding frustration.
23.
The last that our long-range scanners managed to pick up of the battle, before it was obscured by the debris fields, was that the Protectorate had managed to get it under control. The station itself took a beating, but I was pretty sure we’d have been able to detect its destruction even from here. My one hope, the only silver lining I could think of in all this, was that the attack would jolt the brass out of their current plan to pull out their forces. One can only hope.
We closed up on station again when we passed through the first debris field, but after a few hours of Crege paying nearly casual indifference to the many hazards in the area it became clear to us all that our Garz’a pilot had this well and truly within his capabilities. Still, Max had us all working shifts in the command module, and another of us on standby in case we struck something.
When we were clear of the field, a day later, we held our first command meeting in Maxine’s cabin. It was time I laid out my plan.
As usual, the senior officers were present – Max, Crege, Fel’negr and I. Artemis, as the ‘host’ of this crazy job, was also there. Tac, strangely, had grown rather attached to his more recent configuration. He sat in one of the chairs, looking for all the world like he was a person and not an AI. I sat opposite him, observing his mannerisms as the rest of the people found a seat.
“I’m surprised you’re not plugged into the sensor nexus again, Tac.” I stated.
“I alternate my time between the nexus and this form. I have found this unit’s mobility to be rather useful, First Mate Donovan. I enjoy the difference in interaction this form invokes in the crew.”
“Different how?”
“I am spoken to less as an attachment of the ship, and more like an actual crew member.”
“Has that been an issue for you in the past?”
“Not really, I merely refer to people’s tendencies to look at me when interacting, rather than speaking to an empty room.”
“I suppose that would be different.”
Max smiled. “As a woman, I can totally understand the desire to have people looking at my face instead of my tits when I’m spoken to.”
“Amen to that.” agreed Artemis.
“What has the galaxy come to,” said Fel, “When those two women agree on something.”
“Warrior does not understand human’s desire to stare at a female’s infant feeding glands,” chuffed Crege, “For Garz’a, a female’s entire body is worth looking at, not just a small portion of it.”
“It’s the feathers, right?” asked Fel.
Garz’a, although humanoid, evolved from birds of prey on their homeworld. The males were featherless and flightless, however females still had a fine decorative down covering their arms, necks, shoulders and backs. They were quite colourful and very beautiful to behold. Say what you will about alien physiology, I’ve been to a Garz’a strip bar with Crege a couple of years ago and I was pleasantly surprised to find the females quite beautiful indeed. Not in a sexual way, but aesthetically pleasing nevertheless. Add to the mix the natural grace and agility of the Garz’a, and I found the entire experience fascinating.
“Well, let’s get this meeting underway.” Max activated a holo-projector she’d taken from the mess deck and a section of the star system sprang into view over our heads. “Seth?”
“Right.” I nodded to Artemis, “Can you manipulate the image as I speak?”
“Sure.”
“First up, we’ve made it through the first hurdle of the system – the Protectorate. I’ve no doubt that we’ve slipped their notice and are free to venture further in-system without having to worry about patrols.”
Artemis spoke up. “From intelligence that I managed to gather while on Eridani Station, we’ve learned that the Protectorate is pulling back all its forces in the region. Patrols are limited to areas that The Eye can track without obstruction…”
“I’m sorry,” broke in Fel, “The Eye?”
“The Eye of Ar’od Dar.” I answered, “A massive satellite resting at the L3 Legrange point of the planet Ghan. The Ghantri built it during their pre-Jump Gate era and revere it as a religious artefact. Its a massive, highly sophisticated telescope that they use to map the Great Web Nebula, searching for Ar’od Dar and the rest of their crazy gods. I’ve heard tell that they even interpret shapes and patterns that they discern in the nebula as signs from said gods.”
“So anyway,” broke in Art, “The Protectorate flyboys only patrol clear sections between the Jump Gate and The Eye. Keeping up appearances, so it would seem.”
“We have several pockets of space where the patrols will more than likely patrol, but we can avoid most of them by sticking to debris fields like the one we just passed through.”
“Good work, Crege,” mentioned Max, “That was some solid piloting.”
“Warrior accepts your praise, kitrak.”
“This works to our advantage, since most of the paths we’ll be following will not only keep us clear of Protectorate patrols, but should also make it harder for The Eye to spot us too.” I cleared my throat, “But. This stretch here?” A line appeared on the map where I pointed. “That’s pretty much empty. I know for a fact that one of the fleets during the Push came through this region, but I can’t for the life of me think how. They were the only fleet not attacked during the whole fiasco, so they must have evaded notice somehow.”
Fel leaned forward, studying the map. He was sitting next to Tac, and the pair put their heads together briefly sharing a few quiet words. When they were finished, Fel spoke. “What’s the orbital length of Ghan?”
“Max, can you give everyone the star system specs?” I asked. She nodded when she’d sent everyone the file.
“Your theory is sound, Systems Operator Fel’negr.” declared Tac.
“At the time of the Push, Ghan had orbited far enough around it’s ellipse to obscure that region of space. Even their line-of-sight beacons wouldn’t be able to communicate with the Eye. They would have had to direct their telescope through the corona of the Gossamer star. I’d say they would be loath to attempt such amplification of direct star light?”
“Could be. We’re not going to have that luxury, however. It won’t be another two-hundred and seventy-nine days until we’re in a similar aspect.” I said.
“So what do we do?” asked Max.
“I don’t think there is anything we can do.” said Artemis.
“This spot will be our more dicey section of the trip. Luckily, it’s only going to take us about four days to cross. I recommend we cut all propulsion and put a slight tumble on the ship.”
“Coast along like debris?” asked Crege.
“Can you do it?”
“Warrior is offended you asked. Of course warrior can.”
“Max?”
“What is it with you trying to get my ship labelled as a junker?”
“No one will see us. Well, no one in our social circles at any rate.”
“True. Okay, in lieu of a better plan, I suppose that will have to do. What about station approach?”
“I’m getting to that. Art?”
Artemis zoomed the map in on a section I indicated, showing a small debris cloud.
“We got this image off a long range sensor scan that Art stole from the station. It’s the wreckage of the Protectorate Cruiser Vigilance of Night. It was originally part of Task Force One, the diversionary fleet that got wiped out first. It’s been adrift for years now, but I know from after battle reports that she didn’t get a chance to fire off a single shot before being destroyed by asteroids. Pretty much like what the Ghantri just did to the Jump Station.”
“So?” asked Max.
“It’s on the way, and I believe it’s well worth a look.”
“What do you expect to find there?”
“A salvo pod of United Arms DX-98 missiles, with any luck.”
Everyone just stared at me.
“Reference retrieved.” declared Tac, his voice suddenly taking on the tone of an advertisement reader, “The United Arms DX-98 Class 3 tactical anti-ship swarm missile gained a reputation for wide-effect destruction in the Battle of the Rizan Belt. It separates into three hundred individual warheads, each with AI controller guidance, and saturates the target area with detonations.”
“A class three weapon?” asked Max. “What in the galaxy are we going to do with that? We can’t use it. Not enough room.”
“If we can find a few, we can tow them near the station and set them up on an asteroid or a drifting hulk. There ought to be enough debris nearby. We fire a salvo at Ambrose Station and the attack should distract the Ghantri fleet stationed there long enough for my Eclipse fighter to get in close to the station.”
“What about us?”
“You’re not going anywhere near the station. There’s another debris field about a million kilometres from the station that you can park the Dreaming in until I call you for extraction.”
“And how, exactly, do you plan on either calling us or us getting to you?”
“I’m going to rig up an EVA suit with extra life support and drift towards you. You can pick me up, or I can get to you using a thruster pack.”
“How would we find you? The moment you transmit a signal the Ghantri will be able to find you. How will you be able to get free of the station’s radial acceleration? We don’t carry high thrust jetpacks in our kit. How will you…”
“Max,” I interrupted, trying to stall her incoming tirade I knew was coming, “It’s a work in progress. I understand that. That’s why I’m putting it on the table - so we can brainstorm it properly. I’ve thought up parts, I had a lot of time to think these last few days. What I’m lacking is the maths, the real world applications of my ideas.”
“Sounds more like you have a half-baked plan with more holes than a leaky junker.”
“It’s not perfect, I’ll admit. The key here is that I’m going to treat this experience much like the last time I was here. One problem at a time. I can think on my feet, I can set myself realistic goals and fix problems one at a time. Fix enough problems and I’m half way home already.”
“I may have a solution to one of those problems,” offered Fel, “I can set a transponder on the Dreaming to emit a low powered pulse coded signal. It won’t be detectable above background radiation without the code, but you’ll get the coded signal’s specs loaded to your overlay. That should allow it to recognise the signal in the background noise of the region.”
“Right. There you go. One problem.” I gave Max a reassuring smile. I could see she was far from convinced, but for the time being willing to listen.
Artemis brought up an image of the station itself. Like most large population habitats it was a torus configuration, complete with its own atmosphere held in place by the centrifugal force of its spin. I was pretty sure there were atmospheric fields in place as well. Can’t be too sure when you’re talking about the atmosphere of a station. The ring had four spokes leading to a central docking sphere.
The ring was essentially a hollow tube with the inner, or upper, quarter of the tube cut away. On the inside of the tube was the main habitable zone, complete with soil, grass, lakes and rivers. Below the surface, and throughout the rest of the ring, resided machinery, atmo-field generators, water treatment facilities and waste disposal facilities along with many of the other life preserving effects required to maintain the station’s habitability. The Ghantri had since populated the subsurface by the hundreds of thousands. They kept the slaves dirtside, and acted as distant guards to the giant prison.
“This central sphere,” indicated Art, “is free from the fake gravity generated by the station’s spin. If he can exfiltrate from here, he won’t need a high thrust profile.”
“Bang! There’s another problem down.”
“Alright, no one likes a smart arse.” said Max, the start of a grin forming on her face.
“I’m not a smart arse, I simply offer the truth and I speak fluent sarcasm.”
“Okay, so if you get off the station, how long do you think it will take you to cross a million clicks of open space in just a space suit?”
“Yeah, I was hoping you’d come and pick me up once I’m a certain distance from the station. Can you rig me a transmitter as well, similar concept, for me to turn on when I need the ship to collect me?”
“I’m not sure,” said Fel, “What range are we talking about?”
“I can realistically only travel a few thousand kilometres before most basic space suit life support starts to fail.”
“You’d need a relatively large transmitter. About the size of a suitcase.”
I rubbed my chin. That wasn’t going to be something I could lug around safely while on the station.
“If I may, First Mate Donovan.” offered Tac.
“Go ahead.”
“I have transmitters, capable of reaching those distances, built into my brain sphere.”
Tac, and the rest of us, had taken to calling his physical housing a brain sphere. Really, through some kind of wizardry of modern science, most of his form reached into multiple dimensions, but a spherical core about twenty-five centimetres across represented his presence on this dimension.
“You’re suggesting that I take you with me again, like I did on the Blade of Xerxes?”
“Not entirely. As you are aware, I am more than capable of providing my own mobility now.”
I regarded Tac and his new body. I knew he’d commandeered one of the synthetics we’d trashed that tried to board us not long ago. Normally, your standard assault synthetic was cheap and mass produced. They were designed to be thrown at an enemy to keep them occupied or to keep the pressure on them while more heavily armed and versatile troops were deployed. Of course, there were sturdier, deadlier variants available, such as the Ogre. Even Artemis, enhanced with a powered exo-rig, found an Ogre tough to kill. The last one we faced I was only able to take down using nano-proliferation. These specialised mechs were expensive, though, and always had similar weaknesses to regular synthetics – tactical inflexibility. An AI that could fit into a synthetic tended to be marginally less intelligent than your average human. Real live soldiers were always more effective in a fight, more adaptable and able to assess a situation quicker and more accurately.
Tac’s main body consisted of the usual assault mech configuration, with several modifications. Where one arm usually ended with an energy weapon of some kind, now a second grasping appendage had been fitted. The central torso had been expanded to accommodate Tac’s brain sphere and then reinforced with…was that deck plating? Where the head unit normally rested, incorporating the circuitry for the synthetic’s own AI, now housed a sensor unit and secondary battery.
The synthetic was one of the humanoid-legged types, one of the more versatile forms of mobility in the galaxy, and Tac had attached several tools and devices to the upper thighs. I could see several cables of various types entwined within Tac’s right arm, and a small slot near the index finger which would allow a cable to be pulled forth and plugged into whatever device required physical connection.
“You’ve been busy.” I said, impressed.
“My initial prototype proved too clumsy and conspicuous.” he reported, “This form is much more useful.”
“What do you think, Max?”
“If you think Tac will be useful to you, I can’t stop him from joining you.”
“But?”
“How will you fit three people into a cockpit designed for one? It’s already going to be cramped in the Eclipse with only you and Artemis.”
“Captain, I am not required to travel in the cockpit.” said Tac.
“Cuts can find a space for him on the hull.”
“Fair enough. So, let me see if I have this right – we follow the debris fields until we hit this empty spot, Crege does his thing, we get through to this Vigilance of Night and hope the Ghantri haven’t already stripped it of all its loot and modify the missiles we hope we’ll find. Once we’ve done that, on final approach to the station we launch the missiles and in the carnage we get you in close and launch the Eclipse…”
“So far, that’s correct.” I nodded.
“How are you getting onto the station?”
“I crash the fighter.”
“What?” several of them said at once. Artemis chuckled.
“That was pretty much my response when he told me, too.”
“I know the Ghantri don’t give two shits about what the captives do on the habitat ring. There’s no way off it, so they just let them do whatever they want. Every so often they land transports and round up prisoners for hard labour elsewhere. They also drop supplies periodically to keep them alive. If the prisoners revolt, they stop the drops until they comply again. The perfect prison.”
“You don’t think they’ll investigate the crash?”
“Probably, but if I let them and they see the fighter is destroyed they’ll have no reason to come find me, they’ll just assume I won’t be able to leave the station and they’ll think they’ve just gained another slave. If they do come looking for me, Art and I can handle a few Ghantri. Eventually they’ll just give up as it’s not worth the effort. They’ll know I’m effectively contained.”
“That’s a big if.”
“It’s an acceptable risk.”
Max sighed. I knew she hated it when I took all the danger on myself, but I really didn’t see a better way. I had to get down to the station, how else was I going to rescue all those people?
“So you get down there. Then what?”
“We find Osiris Blackburn. Set up the portable Jump Gate and get him off.”
“And then I follow him into the gate.” said Artemis.
“Leaving me and Tac behind. We get up into the docking sphere and jump. When we’re clear of the station, Tac signals the Dreaming and you come get us.”
“What are we supposed to do in the meantime?” asked Crege.
“Sit and wait.”
Crege made a chuffing noise. It irked him that he had to sit this one out; it bothered me too. He was an excellent active and a fine partner to have at your side in a gunfight. His natural tendencies to jump into action ill-suited him to waiting patiently, and I knew this was going to be hard on him. There was only a slim chance he’d be healed enough to be combat ready by the time we got to Ambrose Station.
“Don’t worry, I’m counting on you to get the ship close to the station to pick me up. That’s not going to be easy.”
“Bah, hatchling’s play.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” I said, chuckling.
“I will too.” said Max, “Artemis, you’d better give Seth the codes to deactivate whatever bombs you’ve left on my ship, and detailed instructions to remove them, before you scoot your flabby arse through that portal.”
“You have my word, ancient one.”
“Careful, I’m only being civil to you because I’m in a good mood, and you helped get Donny out of the brig. I owe you for that.”
“We all do.” agreed Fel.
“I need loverboy as much as the rest of you. That portable gate will take too long to open without his nano-proliferation.”
“How does that work, anyway?” I asked. “There are at least two things I don’t understand about this device. One – won’t anyone using the gate take a lethal dose of Fiddich radiation? And two – I thought gates couldn’t be opened in a gravity well?”
“I’ve been assured that this gate operates differently than your everyday Jump Gate. Same principle, but on a much smaller scale. Less exposure to heat, as the gap in our realities is smaller. As for the gravity issue, think about where we’ll be.”
“There has to be some gravity on the station.” said Fel, “I mean, I know the rotational acceleration keeps us thinking there’s gravity, but the station has mass. Ergo, it will have gravity.”
“Once again, the size of the event horizon is the key. The device has a counter to nullify any effects of local gravity, so it’s essentially ignored.”
“So why the need for nano-proliferation?”
“Previously, the plan was to hook it up to station power and slowly charge the portal. From our intel on you guys, we knew about Seth’s augmentations and Maxine’s purchase of the NP Implant. We either thought you had already installed it, or were likely to install it during this trip. Benedict Jenner gave me the Spatial Translation Paradigm in case you did. You’ve noticed the similarities in how you translate and how the Jump Gates work?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t real happy with her casually reminding us that Benedict had done his homework on us and was able to predict our actions. My actions in particular. My choice to take the implant was a difficult one, a personal choice. No one likes hearing that your enemies were able to know you better than yourself.
“We’ll go through the instructions on activating the gate when the time is right, but for now just know that using your NP will speed up the portal’s forming by an order of magnitudes.”
I sat back in my chair and stared at the hologram above the table. There were lots of holes in my plan, lots of things that could go wrong. I trusted the crew, however. We’d been through a lot to get here, and I knew we’d face more danger before the end. My biggest fear was the Ghantri, though. They were infamous for doing the unexpected.
Even the best battle plans don’t usually survive contact with the enemy, and the Ghantri were certainly masters of messing up people’s plans.
24.
The Gossamer System was fairly small, as most star systems go. There were only three planetary bodies, plus one moon. The main population centre of the system, the Ghantri homeworld, was called Ghan and was also the closest planet to the Gossamer star, resting at just over one point one AU from it. Placing Jump Gates at the far edges of a system, where space is relatively flat, and using built-in inertial stabilisation fields reduced gravity even further. When a star system contains a gas giant of significant size, however, they can be placed closer to the star, using the gravity of the massive planets as a counter to the star’s gravity. At roughly thirteen AU from Gossamer was the gas giant Laz’oh Dar, named for one of the more prominent figures in Ghantri mythology. Gossamer had one other planet, Nsarri, along with a moon orbiting Laz’oh Dar called Sho’da Nar.
The Protectorate Jump Gate, and defending station, was positioned just over two AU in-system from the gas giant, between Laz’oh Dar and Nsarri. Beyond Nsarri was Ambrose Station, and then point two of an AU past that was Ghan. Thirteen AU from star to farthest features was tiny. By comparison, the birthplace of humanity, ancient Sol, was over thirty AU from Sol to Neptune.
Another strange feature of Gossamer was its lack of an asteroid belt, or anything similar. Most star systems had left over planetary mass from their forming, but Gossamer was a relatively spotless, empty zone. At least, as far as left over planetary mass is concerned. Instead, there are hundreds of small, dense asteroid fields, nothing like the Kersios Ring in Argessi, or Li-Tseng Cloud in Harakiwa. Even Eridani had a light outer shell of scattered mass and ice. What asteroids there were, appeared in dense fields as if placed there by some celestial being.
This discovery, when the Ghantri were informed of their uniqueness, fuelled the native inhabitants into a religious furor. They believed the system was created by their gods and this only proved their theories, according to them. The revelations were the subject of much debate and academic discussion, right up until the Ghantri slaughtered or imprisoned just about everyone stuck in the system. The tabloids had many other things to talk about then.
As we had to thread our way between debris fields and the strangely placed asteroids, our journey through the system would take us much longer than normal. We had almost eight astronomical units to traverse, a path that would take us nearly four months at least, given our speeds and the amount of times we’d need to change direction. I didn’t mind, it gave me plenty of time to train in the Eclipse – time I sorely needed.
I also needed time to broach the topic of my relationship’s future.
For the first time in years, I’d found something good in my life. The prospect of losing it, or having to choose between two loves, was something I just couldn’t bring myself to bring about. The coward in me, or perhaps the fool, kept finding ways to avoid the topic. I guess I just couldn’t bring myself to spoil the feeling.
I made the most of our time, though. I always found ways to be around her, and she loved it. I showed off my new moves with her arm-mounted laser in the forward cargo hold. We spent time on watch together while she worked on finishing her bridge certification. I took her through the engineering spaces and damage control procedures. She asked questions and questions, like she used to, only now I didn’t mind them. We ate our meals together, we slept together, we spent all our free time together. Most cherished of all, we talked.
Just not about our future.
Mostly we talked about our past. At first it was mostly my past, in her role as therapist to my deluded brain, but later we shared everything. I learned about her childhood, growing up without a father. We had that in common, at least. She and her mother had lived in Pado City, Kanto Prime, until she was twelve. Higher education begins early for gifted children on Kanto Prime, and she was certainly gifted. She spoke at length of the isolation from other children her age, a problem many young intelligent kids faced.
The closest she ever got to someone was another boy, a few years older than her. He’d been selected for advanced education due to his development of mental acuity, an avenue of study often thought to be the precursor to actual psychic abilities. Since the discovery of the first latent telepaths nearly three-hundred years ago, every developed planetary government and educational facility sought the one in a billion people who had the capacity for such aptitudes. Sounded like a lot of wishy washy to me. When I told her this, she thumped me. Apparently, I was wrong.
I just couldn’t fathom any real world application of rudimentary mental abilities, when the best the strongest telepaths could manage was sensing only powerful emotional or pain-centred feelings, and then only after a massive exertion of will. Give it a few thousand years, I said, then see if it becomes something worthwhile pursuing as a species. Until then, I put it in the same category of talents like juggling and other party tricks.
She told me that Fel’s philosophical school, The Way, were the foremost experts on mental development, and that she and Fel often discussed such topics when they spoke. Fel’negr will talk to anyone about his Way teachings but, for someone so centred in the Orlii culture, Fel sure liked to quote human axioms and poets.
Anyway, this boy had been her first lover, but they had separated long before they were serious. Turns out the lad was only a smart and perceptive kid, not a sorcerer after all. He had washed out of the University of Kanto Prime and she never saw him again. There had been others, but none that had captured her heart, as I had done. Her words, not mine, I swear.
We were a week into our second month in the system by the time we finally managed to talk about our future. We were on watch, late one evening, going through navigational lessons with her. We decided to take a half hour break, and she’d just gotten back to the command module with coffees. As she sat down, she started.
“What’s the plan for when we finish this job?”
I took a sip, savouring the bitter goodness before answering. “We find another job. One that pays, preferably.”
“I meant, personally.”
My heart started to race, and suddenly my hands were sweaty. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been together for months, you and I.” I nodded, stupidly, “We’ve spent almost all that time glued to each other’s side. When we’re free of all this, are you the kind of guy who needs his space?”
“I’m not sure I…”
“What I mean to say…” she appeared flustered, and started to flap her hands about in frustration. “Am I too clingy? Do I bug you with all my questions and the endless talking? I know that I’m young and haven’t seen much of the galaxy, not like you and Max, and I sometimes feel that you’re distracted only listening to me because there’s nowhere else for you to go or there’s something on your mind…”
“Wait a minute, hold on.” She closed her mouth, a worried look on her face. I reached out and took her hands in mine. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend time with cooped up in a tin can drifting about the galaxy.”
She blew air out of her cheeks.
“And I have been distracted for the past few weeks. That’s my fault. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. About us.”
I could see that set her on edge, concern flooded her lovely face, and it killed me to see it. Pull the wound patch off quick, I thought, get it over with fast.
“When we get back, you’re supposed to go back to Kanto Prime University and finish your studies. With the Dreaming looking for work all over, and the nature of this business, it may be months or even years between us meeting up again. We need to talk about these realities, our intentions, our future together. If there’s a way that we can be together, I want that. But I don’t won’t to be the one who stops you from realising your potential. I also don’t want Maxine getting sued by your University for taking away one of its star pupils.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. She was looking at me, not saying a thing. I could see emotions and thoughts playing out on her face. At last, she managed a single word.
“Oh.”
I leaned back in my seat, letting go of her hands in the process. She sat still, her eyes downcast. She often sat like this when deep in thought. I knew that to interrupt her like this would only annoy her, but I had to know.
“I want to know what you’re thinking.”
She looked up at me and she was a little pale. I could see that she hadn’t considered any of this either. Oh, boy.
“I’m not…I don’t…” she stopped herself and took another breath and began again. “I haven’t given it much thought. I’m a little embarrassed, actually.”
“Embarrassed?”
“I thought you were getting sick of me.”
“Sick of you? I’m in love with you! And all I can see is a future where you grow old, stuck on a planet, while I foolishly trundle about the galaxy seeking adventure and profit.”
“Well, I also want us to be together. I also don’t want to be the woman who takes you away from your birthright, from the Dreaming. You belong here.”
“Therein lies the quandary.”
“Therein lies the quandary.” she agreed.
We sat silently for a long while, she staring out the pilot’s monitors at space, me fiddling with my console doing absolutely nothing.
“That’s odd.” she said, breaking the silence.
“What’s that?” I said, suddenly alert.
“That debris field was supposed to be nowhere near our path a few hours ago.”
“That’s not debris.” I reached over to Maxine’s console and grabbed the PA mic, “All hands! Close up on stations!”
“What? What is it?”
“Drones. Ghantri drones.”
25.
Max was first to arrive, naturally, her cabin being only fifteen metres aft of the command module’s access hatch. Fel’negr was next, practically diving into his seat, his hands a flurry across his console. Zoe stayed on the pilots station until Crege managed to limp into the compartment, huffing and wincing in pain. Zoe gave him a concerned look as she climbed out of the seat, but left in a hurry without any questions. I’d trained her well.
“What have we got?” asked Max, “Talk to me guys!”
“Thirty-seven contacts,” came Fel’s reply, “Closest one will intercept in three minutes.”
Ice formed in my belly. Thirty-seven? I thought.
“What are they? Give me specs!”
“Unknown. Seth, can you make anything from these?”
Fel flicked the data to my console, and I quickly brought up the readings. Sure enough, I recognised their shape and performance characteristics.
“They’re definitely Ghantri. These are Cal-toth drones. They’re usually loaded with a payload and used primarily as smart mines.”
“Mines?” asked Max.
“Our interceptors should be able to take them out, but I’d be more worried about who deployed these.”
“Launch them, I want these taken care of fast.”
“Drone bays opened. Interceptors online. Link is good. Launching.”
“Time to contact, two minutes fourteen seconds.” reported Fel.
“Crege, evasive manoeuvres. I want as much time as possible for our interceptors to deal with those mines.” commanded Max.
“Aye, aye, kitrak!”
Crege put the ship into a tight barrel roll as he kicked the ship onto our combat thrusters. We felt the gee forces immediately as Crege turned us about and tried to open the distance between the mines and us.
“Fel, I want you on as many sensors as you can. Find me where these Ghantri bastards are hiding, give me options!”
I could tell by his lack of reply that Fel was struggling with the forces against him. He was usually the first to pass out when we hit the really high stuff, something to do with his Orlii physiology, or just a naturally low threshold for gravity, I never asked.
“Captain! Interceptors engaging targets!” I reported. My drone controls were fed through a my interface overlay, augmenting my console’s read outs. I had multiple windows open on my overlay, showing me the sensors of all six of our interceptors. I remembered my briefings on these Cal-toth drones. They were usually devoid of any weaponry beyond their payloads, so I was hopeful we would not lose any of our own drones in this defence.
The Ghantri use them to take out transports and supply vessels, being more agile and accurate than missiles. They could be used to target the propulsion of larger ships, crippling them. The Protectorate capital ships of the Push found out the hard way that even a Battlecruiser could not ignore Ghantri drone attacks.
We had lucked out, though. Zoe spotting these before they got too close may have just saved the ship. My only concern now, was that this meant the Ghantri were close. They had set their trap and would lurk nearby to see what they had caught.
I put these thoughts out of my mind and focused on the drones. The enemy contacts were spread about across several hundred kilometres and, while this would allow them to target ships that passed within a larger area, it would allow us to focus our attacks on individual targets. The first drone was easily destroyed as my six interceptors performed an attack run, then they continued towards the next.
In moments three more were destroyed.
“Tac, I need your help.” called Fel, “Filter this scan for composition data. I’ve pulsed a low frequency EM burst, but need the math extracted from the background radiation. “
Running scan through filter algorithms. Processing image.
“Fel, what range are you scanning to?” asked Max.
“Five thousand kilometres.”
“Can you get any further out?”
“Not without using our high power emitters.”
“We don’t want to broadcast our position.” I turned to Max.
“We also don’t want this bastard getting the jump on us.”
“He’ll be stationary, or nearly so. We should have time to react, or at the very least manoeuvre, from five kays away. Even with the best combat thrusters or military grade propulsion.”
“And we’ll see him if he ignites those.” agreed Max, “Flash up the beamer in case. I want to be ready for it when they come.”
“Beamer online. Charging.”
I’d fed a status feed to Max’s console, showing her the condition of my drones, and she was watching the interceptors herself on her own display, so I didn’t need to inform her of how they were doing. They’d destroyed nearly a third of the mines already, but the main body had passed by the interceptors. As the defence drones turned about for another pass, the drones managed to gain on us. It would be close, but the lack of innate defences on these mines was making them easy prey for our interceptors.
“Kitrak!” called Crege, “Debris field at green two-four, south three-six!”
“What about it?”
“Most likely play for hunter to wait.”
“Fel, get your eyes on that field.”
“Already on it, Captain!”
“Max, I concur,” I said, “that’s an excellent place for the Ghantri to lie in wait. They force us to turn about and scurry back towards them – they just need to wait until we’re within their weapons range.”
“When will that occur?”
There was silence in the command module.
“Anyone?”
“Sorry, Captain. I’m not familiar with Ghantri weaponry.” apologised Fel.
“Seth?”
“I’m not sure. Depends.”
“Talk to me!”
“If the ship is a pirated vessel, or salvaged, it should have Protectorate weaponry. But if it’s one of their own design it should be close range, but very nasty. Our shields will be useless against them.”
She got on the internal comms. “Cuts, draw power from the shields and give it to the beamer.”
“Is that wise?” I asked.
“Soon as you see him, lance a beam through his hull.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Max, Tac’s image from the scan in that region is picking up two possible signatures. One pretty much near where Crege indicated, the other a little further out, but not nearly as clear.”
“A second ship?” she turned to me.
“Unlikely, the Ghantri don’t tend to work in pairs. It’s either solo or war bands.”
“Ignore the second possible, focus on the one in the field.”
“Focusing arrays on contact designated alpha.” reported Fel.
“Crege, get us within weapons range, but don’t make it look like we’ve seen him.”
“Updating beamer ranges now,” I offered, “you should have it on your console, Crege.”
“Do you want me to get close to calak or not, kitrak?”
“Just get us within weapons range, if he spooks and moves we’ll know we’ve got him.”
“Interceptors beginning second pass!” I called.
“How much lead do we have on those mines?”
48.3 seconds, Captain, came Tac’s reply.
“Screw it. Crege! Give us all you got, get us in fast on contact alpha.”
Suddenly the ship lurched as Crege put the ship’s thrusters on overdrive. We must have been pushing twelve gee’s easily, because we were definitely feeling it through the inertial stabilisers. I heard a whimper from Fel behind me and I turned my head to see if he was alright. I regretted the motion instantly.
I turned back to my console, slower this time, and brought up my beamer controls. Tac, I texted, can you give me a feed of Fel’s sensor data? If he blacks out I want the beamer to have something to target.
Certainly, Seth.
Information started to populate my console. I quickly closed down information panes that I didn’t need, focusing only on targeting data.
“Beamer within range in seven seconds!” I managed, through clenched teeth. I could hear Fel starting to hyperventilate. I had to take fast, deep breaths as well.
“Cut it, Crege!” called Max, “Coast!”
Instantly the gee forces on us abated, right at the exact moment the beamer got within range.
“Target acquired! Tracking! Solution valid.” I reported.
“Fire!” called Max.
The thrum of the ship’s engines was drowned out by the high pitched whine of the beamer as it cut a deadly swath through space.
“Enemy propulsion detected! Weapons release detected!” called Fel, barely audible above the beamer’s scream.
“Status report!” ordered Max.
“We definitely hit it!” I called, “Fel?”
“Energy burst detected. Unknown damage. Propulsion signature gone.”
“What did they fire at us?”
“Missile! Bringing up data now!”
“Fast!”
“Contact is thirty-four seconds away, on current aspect.”
“Crege! Turn us away, let’s see how the acceleration profile goes. Any indication on missile type?”
“It’s definitely Class 2. Would have been a swarm if it was Class 3.”
I disagreed, “There’s lots of Protectorate ordinance to salvage in these parts, could be a capital ship buster still.”
“Can you target it with the beamer?”
“Maybe. It’s on charge, though. We still have to wait a few minutes.”
“Can we feed power to the beamer again? Speed up the charge?”
“Maybe if we shut down power from Deck 3?”
Max grabbed the internal comms mic again. “Hergo, Denno! Close the airtight hatch to Deck 3, we’re shutting it down! Cuts, when Denno gives the all clear take life support and gravity offline down there and feed it into the beamer.”
“A low power shot should be ready soon.” I said.
“Crege, Fel. Where are the mines?”
“The kak are far behind us, kitrak!”
“We gained some distance, the interceptors should be able to finish their run now.”
“Tac, can you take over drone controls from Seth? I want him wholly on the beamer this time.”
Feeding drone controls directly through the sensor nexus, Captain.
“Can you hit it, Donny?” asked Max. She hardly ever went informal during action. I turned to look at her, and she had a concerned look on her face. I guess she wanted an honest answer.
“I’m not sure. Its cross section profile is tiny. If it doesn’t move about too much I might have a chance, but the bugger is dipping and juking all over the place.”
“Can you link with the beamer?”
“You mean with my nanites?” I gave her another glance. “Sure, that hasn’t worked out for me so well in the past, though.”
“What’s our distance from the missile?”
Fel answered, “Twenty-one seconds, Crege gave us a few more seconds but it’s entered a boost phase and is now gaining on us.”
“What’s the status of the beamer?”
“Still charging!” I called.
“Thirteen seconds!” called Fel, “Twelve! Eleven! Ten!”
“I’m linking!” I yelled. I gripped my console with my hands and focused inwards. With a rushing sensation, my perception was expanded to encompass the weapon’s sensor data provided by Fel. I felt each circuit and conduit that feeds the beamer. I felt the mechanical mount, the mechanism for aiming it, the feedback of its position to the system. I became the beamer. I saw what it saw. I felt the build-up of power as its capacitor banks filled with energy. I needed no gauge to tell me when it was ready to fire, I knew. I was ready to fire.
With a defiant yell, I unleashed my energy into the reaches of space, directing my fury with a scream towards the approaching missile.
And I missed.
26.
With a gasp, I jerked back, tearing free of the black roots that pulsed from my arms to the console. I was delirious, shell-shocked. Confusion quickly gave way to clarity and my perception refocused on my physical body. In a near panic, I turned to Max to warn her.
They were cheering.
“Wha? What happened?”
“Nice shot!” called Fel, slapping me on the back. Max reached over and hugged me, laughing. Even Crege was chuffing and trilling in delight.
I glanced at my console, wiping a thin sheen of dead nanites from the display. Sure enough, the sensors were reporting the destruction of the missile. I blinked.
Interceptors returning to bays, Captain. All drones destroyed.
“Great work, Tac! Great work, all of you!” said Max, “Let’s get in close to the wreckage and see if there’s anything worth salvaging. Bring us about, Crege.”
“Aye, aye, Kitrak!” said Crege with glee.
“That second ghost signal is gone,” reported Fel, “Must have been an echo. Or nothing.”
“Do a more thorough scan to be sure. Tac, give him a hand.” ordered Max.
I sat back and pondered what just happened. Had I been mistaken? Perhaps my beam had glanced it, or gotten close enough to overheat it. I’d been sure I’d stuffed the shot up, though. I saw it juke out of the way at the last millisecond.
“What’s the matter?” asked Max, who was staring at me.
“It’s nothing. Just shaken up by the link up, I guess.”
“Are you okay? How’s the charge levels?”
“Not too bad, actually. Only drained about ten percent that time. The shift in perception just fucks with my head is all.”
“You did well, Donny. Why don’t you go stand down, get a coffee in the Mess? We’ll call if we spot anything.”
“Yeah, alright.” I stood to leave, taking an offered handshake from Fel as I did so. His hands were still clammy and cold, the last vestiges of combat anxiety. “How are you doing, Fel?”
“Good. Relieved.”
“I bet. That was good spotting, you two.” I indicated Crege as well.
“Warrior accepts Kitrak’s praise.”
“If you start calling everyone that, you’re going to have to add a number to it. Kitrak one, Kitrak two etcetera.”
“Ertak, et ka kurdo, Kitrak two!” Everyone laughed at that.
As the stress of combat eased and the adrenaline left us, laughter was often the best remedy for fragile nerves. I left the command module and headed down to the mess deck, where Hergo and Denno were opening the hatch down to the forward cargo hold.
“No damage, this time?” asked Denno.
“Yeah, we caught them with their pants down.” I replied, “When you guys are finished there, want to check on the suits? Max will probably send someone EV to check the salvage.”
“There’s salvage?”
“The enemy was almost stationary, should be wreckage for us to pillage.”
“Oh, nice.”
The pair began to converse excitedly in their native tongue. They were right; usually a space combat is over and the victor can only continue on its journey, the wreckage of their adversary simply moving too fast in multiple directions to attempt a salvage op safely. This time was different, as the velocity of the enemy was almost nil, we were sure to find something that we could inspect. At the very least, Cut’s would be able to stock up on spare armour plating for future hull repairs. Nanites could only repair so much, before they needed intact plates to weld on, or metallic mass to rebuild.
I hit the auto-chef and dialled up a mug of strong coffee. It was late in the ship day, Zoe and my combined watch shift always was. We usually found it relaxing, quality time together. She was an excellent student and was quickly becoming proficient in handling herself on the bridge. I had no doubt that she would certify for her watch keeping ticket in no time.
I unstrapped a chair from its combat readiness housing and plonked my arse down at a table. It wasn’t long before I was joined by Zoe and Fel.
“Are we going to finish our shift tonight?” she asked.
“You probably will, I’m betting Max will put me on the salvage team.” I said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” said Fel.
“Why not?”
“The Captain has indicated her reluctance to put you into the team.”
“What? Why for? I’m good to go!”
“I argued for you, I knew you’d react this way.”
“Too bloody right. What did she say?”
“She seemed to take it on board when I mentioned you were the only one among us that has any experience with the Ghantri, that we’d be missing out on critical information if you weren’t the first set of eyes on the wreckage.”
“Okay, and she said?”
“She’d think about it.”
Zoe put her mug down. “Does her reluctance to use you here make you angry?”
I knew she was probing my mental state. I took a moment to answer, thinking about how I felt. “A little. I know she’s only looking out for me, but I really am okay. And Fel is right.”
“So is Max.” he said.
“What did Crege say?”
“He just laughed. Said you’d think it was an affront to your honour.”
“Well, he’s almost right. I know what Max is thinking, as I said. I’m sure that if I went up there and talked to her about it, I should be good.”
“Do you need to go?” asked Zoe.
“Of course.”
“Why? Hergo or Denno have just as much salvage experience as you, Cuts can unbolt just about anything not welded down and he can cut anything that is. Tac can probably function just as well, maybe even better since he doesn’t need life support.”
“It’s like Fel said. I’ve seen these aliens before. I’ve dealt with their tech before.”
“You can still be linked in to their helmet feeds, see what they see on your overlay. There’s no real need for you to be physically present.”
I stared at her, not liking where this was going.
“I’m going.”
“Why?”
Through all this, Fel sat back and observed. He now looked at me. I turned to him for support, but he just shrugged. “Her points are all valid. I see no fault in her logic. I therefore must concede that you do not, indeed, need to be on the team.”
I looked down at my mug of coffee. I could feel my frustration eating away at my emotions. I opened my mouth a few times to speak, but wasn’t sure what I could say to prove my point. I gave up after a couple of aborted attempts.
“Let the others have their day.” Zoe said, and she reached out across the table and clasped my hands in hers as I gripped the mug. I sighed.
“Alright, I’ll sit this one out.” I said eventually. Zoe smiled at me.
“I’ll inform the Captain of your agreeance.” said Fel as he stood up and left.
“Was this some kind of conspiracy against me?” I said, half grinning at Zoe.
“Hey, just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean we’re not out to get you. Especially me.”
“What gives?”
“I think you’ll find from now on, the crew will be more willing to step in where normally you would. We all had a group discussion about it while you were in the brig, back on Eridani Station.”
“Did you now?”
“As your doctor, it was my duty to recommend it. Max was only too happy to oblige.”
“I bet she was.”
“Hey, don’t think badly of her. She cares for you. Deeply. As do I. This is a necessary step in your recovery.”
“Is that my doctor talking or my girlfriend?”
“Should it matter? In my opinion both, are equally important.”
“You’re biased.” That earned me a playful slap on the wrist.
Max ended up sending me to bed. I wasn’t sure how to take this new treatment, part of me didn’t like it, the other part of me recognised why they were doing it.
After the Blade of Xerxes, I’d had nightmares for several nights. I’d woken up many times each night, and Zoe had had to give me medication to help me sleep. I wasn’t sure if I’d slipped backwards in my recovery from post-traumatic stress, as I hadn’t had any more panic attacks, but I was finding it difficult to sleep for a while.
I still had nightmares, they were just slightly more mild now. Mostly I dreamed of the dark, warm seas of data that were so prevalent since taking on the NP implant. This night was no different.
It started as usual, drifting calmly on the dark waters. I found that I was content, where normally I’d imagine fantastic shapes and forms rising out of the ocean. This was the first time that I simply gazed outwards in this dream. The sky, if you could call it that, was the blackness of space, punctuated by billions of specks of light. It took me some time to realise they were the some motes that populated the water. Where I’d thought they were stars, instead they were tiny points of data, aglow in the abyss above me.
My perception changed. The sky was no longer ‘up’ and I lost all sense of direction. It wasn’t that I was confused, but that direction no long held any meaning. The waters and the abyss were the same, I was merely a frame of reference for my wandering perceptions.
Some time passed, before I realised that part of the ‘sky’ was obscured. I could no longer see the millions of specks of light in a third of everything I could see. It was as if a great cloud had materialised. A great, dark cloud, darker than the blackness around me. I began to feel a sense of dread and knew instinctively that this darkness was bad. Slowly, it turned a deep purple towards its centre and I could make out a shape.
It was an eye, gazing down upon me.
27.
Our journey continued through the Gossamer System. Unfortunately, the salvage from the Ghantri ambush was little more than armour plating and several souvenirs for the crew to examine. Our first beamer shot had ruptured a primary fuel reservoir and secondary explosions had done a decent job of ripping the ship apart. We couldn’t even tell much about what configuration the ship had been.
I dreamed more and more about the eye, it was always in my dreams about the nanite seas. I began to think that this was the Eye of Ar’od Dar that I was imagining, not the telescope, but the deity. What significance this held, I had no idea. I mentioned it to Zoe, as I often spoke about my dreams with her during our sessions. She was familiar with my recurring sea dreams, and often broke them down into meanings for me to analyse. It wasn’t like I was reading my horoscope or anything, but she explained there was a real possibility that my subconscious mind was in communication with the nanites, or at least my implant.
She called it sub-neurological feedback, saying it was completely normal. Either my subconscious was influencing my nanites to display information in certain ways that made me dream of these things, or my implant was using the same neuro-pathways that normally send data to my subconscious mind.
However, this eye? It baffled her. Sure, I can have nightmares, even in this state. I had dreamed about the nano-proliferation specialist tending to the brain on the Blade of Xerxes enough to know this was true. Nevertheless, to have a construct so vividly and symbolically recurring in these dreams was new.
I had other problems, too. Zoe and I couldn’t come up with a solution to our problem about our future. She appeared as reluctant as I to ruin a good thing. At least Max had stopped nagging me about talking to her. I could tell she would start again, but at least she would include Zoe in her prodding this time. Galaxy knows, we both needed it.
The weeks wore on. Each day brought us closer to Ambrose Station, to the place where my life had changed irrevocably. I found myself looking backwards, at what might have been. If the Push had been successful, if the losses there had not been so personal. I wondered if I would be the person I was today. Would I be stronger? On the other hand, would I never have known the limits of my will, my soul? Was that better than knowing?
A conversation with Fel, one evening, answered many of the questions I asked myself. We had just finished a meal and were savouring the contentment one feels after sating one’s hunger. A kind of stupor had befallen us and our words flowed more readily into introspective topics.
“Tell me, Fel,” I began, “how an Orlii deals with personal loss.”
“Well, you would have to start by defining what constitutes a personal loss. Then measure its magnitude.”
“The passing of a friend. How did Eric’s death affect you?”
“Do you wish to know how the Orlii mourn? Or me in particular?”
“The Orlii in general.”
“We remember them. We remember what they stood for, and what they meant to us. We try to honour that memory. We’re very similar, in that regard, to humans.”
“I’ve never seen an Orlii cry.”
“We don’t cry to express our sadness, but you know we show our emotions through our eye colour. Our society is very open, you would guess, as one cannot hide their foremost emotions from anyone they converse with.”
“I remember your eyes were a deep brown at the sending off we gave Eric.”
“Yes. Sadness is the colour of the Tindefal tree. There are many Orlii poems about these beautiful, mourning trees. They bloom only once in their long lifespans, the oldest in our home system of Stuhs Erlo is well over two millennia. It’s not on Orlis, but on the moon colony.”
“I didn’t know the Orlii had space travel back that far.”
“Oh, yes. We’d begun exploring our star system when the humans came upon our worlds that fateful day.”
“I’ll admit, I’m not all that familiar with the history. All I know is we’ve been allies for over a thousand years.”
“We had The Way, even back then. Perhaps it was the nature of those brave explorers, the kind of person one must be to have that profession. We were as kindred spirits, both enraptured with each other. Our ancestors were patient and non-assuming. Yours were curious and respectful. The perfect first contact.”
“How do you think it would have gone if the Garz’a were the ones who made first contact?”
“Ha, we’d probably have gone to war.”
“What kind of society would we live in then, I wonder?”
“You mean had the humans and Orlii not become such fast allies? If the next species encountered hadn’t been shown that such cooperation between disparate peoples was possible? The Garz’a had fought us at first, if you remember?”
“I do, it was an Orlii captain who had brought peace.”
“Captain Elanger’to Efferdal’gha. She was a magnificent person, a true explorer and scientist.”
“I didn’t know her name.”
“We’ve a bust made in her likeness on the Fel’dor cloister. Several of her teachings were incorporated into The Way. ‘First seek understanding, then seek to be understood’. This was her motto.”
“So how do you think we would have turned out?”
He pondered the question for a while before answering. “The Destroyers would have wiped us out, I think.”
The harshness of his prediction caught me off guard. “That’s a fairly bleak assessment.”
“That war was one of the most horrific events in galactic history. At least as far as the Human-Orlii-Garz’a histories go.”
“The Garz’a were well prepared, at least. They knew something about the Destroyers.”
“Yes, but how much was merely myth made to fit the events of the day?”
“Still, you think whoever was in control of the galaxy at the time wouldn’t have been able to fight them off?”
“In my opinion, no. It took the resources of all the inner systems, the oldest Networks, just to hold them back. Trillions of sentients perished. Without the humans to adapt to the crisis, without the Orlii to suggest subtle strategies or the Garz’a to act with celerity we would have fallen. We three races complement each other perfectly. The Galactic Exploratory Alliance already had the groundwork for an organisation capable of drawing on such resources – the Protectorate was merely the fruit of our people’s union. The Destroyer War was our crucible. Our victory gave us the right to rule, so to speak.”
“You think that without the War, the Protectorate wouldn’t have been formed?”
“There had been no need. Local conflicts rarely spread beyond star systems, almost never beyond a Network’s borders. The Protectorate proved beyond a doubt to the whole galaxy that it could guard against those who would undo all that we had worked for. The galaxy is a safer place because of their sacrifices.”
I pondered his words for a while. He watched me from across the table, also deep in thought. He seemed to come to a revelation, leaning forward conspiratorially.
“You know, I see parables to this history and yours.”
“How so?”
“The Push was your crucible, as the Destroyer War was the Protectorates.”
“But I’m not going to go on and protect the galaxy!”
“No, but you do your best to, regardless.”
“How so?”
“You proved, beyond a doubt, that your will to survive - your willingness to do what is necessary – was enough to see you through one of the most horrific things to ever befall a man. Here you are, bravely headed back to possibly face yet another hardship of similar wrath.”
“I didn’t exactly have much choice.”
“Even so, you give the rest of us hope.”
“That’s a heavy burden to place on my shoulders. I have doubts, just like anyone else.”
“Courage isn’t the lack of fear. It’s tasting of fear, yet facing it anyway.”
“You think that if I hadn’t been left behind in The Push, or been wounded so, we wouldn’t be doing as well as we are?”
“Of course we wouldn’t have. Even if you had not saved the entire crew multiple times already, you inspire the rest of us to try. Even Crege is heartened by your efforts. You know what he is like when he spends even one day in sickbay. Now, he is essentially crippled for months.”
“Yeah, I would have thought he’d be more maudlin than he is. He complains bitterly, but he doesn’t seem depressed.”
“That’s because of you.”
I rubbed my chin, thinking about what he said. “It’s not only me. We’ve all done our part.”
“Of course, but at the heart of all that – there you stand. Even Artemis feels something of what you bring to this ship. She strikes me as a very hard woman to impress, but you’ve gained her respect.”
“She did bust me out of prison.”
“An act I doubt she’d have performed for anyone else on this ship.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how things would have turned out if I hadn’t joined The Push, or lost my squad.”
“You’d be you, but you would not be as strong a person as you are today. Even steel needs to be tempered in order to show its true strength. Our crew would not be as strong as we are without your sacrifice.”
“You truly believe that?”
“Yes.”
His words had affected me. I began to think on what he had said, but I was not fully convinced. I still needed some soul searching, some closure that made all that I had suffered make sense. I was hoping I would find that on Ambrose Station.
28.
Month three of our journey into Gossamer was fast approaching when we arrived at the empty zone, as we’d come to calling it. It was here that we ran the greatest risk of detection by the Eye of Ar’od Dar. We were well and truly paranoid by this time, for a number of reasons.
Chiefly among these was our sensors. Several times we’d spotted weak signals aft of us, as if we were being followed through the system. Maxine even had us shut down our propulsion and go dark for two days, listening. We could find nothing, in the end, and resumed our journey. It had the senior officers nervous, for if we were being followed then this empty zone was the perfect time for them to attack us. We’d be without power, propulsion or shields for four long days while we drifted between cover.
If they attacked us then, if we survived, we’d be engaging in combat while under the watchful eye of the Ghantri telescope. Things would get very difficult for us from that point on.
We were several hours from our point of no return, when we’d either need to shut down and let Crege coast us through the empty zone disguised as a piece of flotsam, or abort and try and find another way through the system. Maxine had us close up on station and we were debating our course of action.
“We turn, we assume attack profile.” said Crege, “If calak following, they have no choice but to respond.”
“And if we’re not being followed we burn precious manoeuvring fuel for nothing.” I countered.
“If we are being followed and we do nothing, what do we do if they attack us in the empty zone?” mused Fel.
“How likely is the Eye to spot us if we need to manoeuvre out there?” asked Max.
“Very likely.” came my reply.
“The system is a large amount of space to monitor, surely there’s a better than likely chance they would over look us for such a short period of time.” said Fel.
“They’re fanatically thorough; they consider it a holy imperative to see and catalogue everything that happens out here. Anything can be construed as a sign from their gods.”
“But the chances of them looking in this very spot when we pass has to be low, statistically speaking.”
“The Eye is not your typical telescope. In reality, it’s an entire space station sized array, with thousands of Ghantri monitoring the sensors all the time. We studied a documentary compiled by the original explorers who first negotiated with the Ghantri before the Betrayal. The Jaani boasted that they could map the entire vista out to a light year in less than a month. If it were true, and they were looking over in our arc of the sky? They will notice our heat emissions easily.”
Max rubbed her chin. “We can’t risk exposure. Perhaps we should wait here for a few more days, see if we can spot that contact again.”
Fel brought up the aft sensor array data on his console. “There’s nothing out there. I’ve had Tac run every algorithm he knows, we’ve put the sensor data through all our filters. We get the same result each time. In all likelihood, the ghost contact is probably a malfunction in our aft array.”
“You checked it, though.”
“Yes, and I couldn’t find anything wrong. That doesn’t mean there’s no error. Perhaps it’s intermittent. That would explain the irregularity of the contact.”
“Do we have the parts to fully replace it?”
“Not entirely. We could swap it out with our forward sensor array, though.”
“How long would that take?”
“Ideally, I’d need a dry dock to do it safely. A couple of days to remove them both, a couple of days to reattach. Half a day of testing and calibration.”
“Without a dry dock?”
He spread his hands in defeat. “A week each. A lot of EV trips.”
Max sighed.
“Why don’t we just turn about,” I said, “spend a few days monitoring for the ghost contact with our forward sensors? If we don’t spot anything by then, we make the trip. If we do, we’ll know it wasn’t a malfunction of the aft sensors.”
Max smiled. “I knew there was a reason we let you up in the command module.”
“Very funny.”
“Human occasionally has good ideas.” said Crege, laughing.
“Alright, we’ll give it another three days.” said Max, while Crege groaned, “Turn us around Crege and put us on silent running. No propulsion, no external emissions. Fel, you’re on full sensor monitoring.”
“Passive sensors only, or full spectrum?”
“Give it everything you’ve got for one hour in every five. The rest of the time passive only. Don’t want to be broadcasting our location for too long if we can help it. I also want to see exactly what’s been following us if we can.”
“I have another suggestion.” offered Fel, “We can launch the Eclipse and have it patrol the area.”
Max pondered this for a while. “If we do, we won’t be able to recover it in a hurry.”
I spoke up, “I can attach a sensor beacon to it, bounce the readings back to the Dreaming. Recovery won’t be an issue.”
“It will if we run into trouble.” said Max, “That fighter isn’t the sturdiest thing in this system.”
“Still, I could use the practice.” I heard Crege make a chuffing noise, which I chose to ignore, “The simulations are getting a little monotonous.”
Max looked at Crege in askance, and after a brief pause he shrugged.
“Human could do with more hours under his wing.”
“Okay, but no fancy stuff, there’s a lot of debris out here. Our inertial field pretty much negates most of the smaller stuff out here, but that fighter doesn’t have stabilisers, remember. I don’t want you getting killed when a bolt punctures your canopy doing a thousand kilometres a second.”
“Roger that, Captain.” I agreed.
We broke up and went to work. Fel and Tac joined Cuts in Aft Cargo and started to attach the sensor beacon. It wasn’t as high powered as the ones fitted to the Dreaming, but I could move around easily enough and get multiple scans from many angles in a short amount of time. This took a few hours, but eventually they were satisfied that it would work. The next stage was trickier.
I’d been asleep when they had recovered the Eclipse, pulling it into the aft hold, but they’d told me it was difficult. The rear loading ramp had to be fully lowered, and both aft airlocks opened completely. This meant the atmosphere in the hold had to be pumped out. This meant that anyone working in the hold had to suit up into light duties space suits.
Cuts, Hergo, Denno and I got ourselves dressed and checked each other’s packs. When I was satisfied, we entered the aft hold and sealed the hatch to the forward hold. I sent Max a text when it was sealed, and they started to pump the air out of the compartment. It started as a loud hiss, as the vents reversed their pressure and sucked the oxygen out. Eventually, as the air became thinner, the sound reduced and disappeared completely.
Cutting power to the grav-plates in ten seconds, came a text from Cuts. He stood over by the gravity controls for the compartment – a small panel in the starboard bulkhead.
We all engaged our mag-boots and gave him the thumbs up. When the gravity went offline, my stomach did a small somersault and my head swam, trying to work out the sudden shift in the environment. I shook my head and the sensation cleared, my years of experience taking over like muscle memory. We got to work.
The fighter was clamped onto the deck with magnetic plates on its landing struts, so I climbed into the cockpit and hit the release. Despite being weightless, the fighter still had mass, and that needed to be overcome if we were to move it. Fortunately, we had plenty of tools to assist us in moving heavy loads in this compartment. Hergo climbed into a loader, a small vehicle used to move cargo containers in and out of the hold. It had tracked, magnetic treads that allowed it to move heavy loads in low to zero gravity by latching onto the deck.
When they had pulled the fighter into the hold, they had the foresight to rest the forward struts on a sled, which we used to position the fighter directly in line with the airlocks. Then we opened the ‘locks and used the loader to raise the fighter slightly off the deck.
Once it was raised a metre, we signalled Crege and he applied the tiniest amount of thrust to the Dreaming. The result was the Eclipse fighter drifting aft. With all four of us guiding the ship using bursts of propellant from our suits, we slowly let the fighter exit the hold. Twice we bumped the bulkheads as it left, but since we were going slow there was no damage. We all gave a little cheer when it was free, and I sailed over the expanse to the tiny ship.
I secured myself in the flight seat, lowered the canopy and pulled out a canister of atmo I had clipped to my utility belt. These gas cylinders could hold enough atmosphere to last a few hours, in a chamber as small as the cockpit, but I’d need enough atmosphere in here to remove my helmet safely and attach the breath harness. I didn’t want to wear the full space suit helmet while flying, as it tended to cut down on my peripheral vision.
In minutes the air was breathable, and I pulled my suit off. There was more room in here than when I’d first stolen the fighter, as we’d made some adjustments to the cockpit and flight controls. Where before there was a flight console, there was only a yoke and a basic flight control rig. Most of the functions were mapped to my flight app on my overlay, making the larger console redundant. So we’d pulled it out and moved the seat forward. This gave us room to place a second seat behind me, albeit a small, uncomfortable one, but Art said she’d be fine. We also fitted a second flight mask for her. She’d need it.
I pulled my own mask over my head and opened the air valve on my seat, sending breathable air into my face. I activated my app and powered up the fighter. With a thrum the small, powerful engines barked into life and a greenish, translucent sludge started to fill the compartment. It wasn’t long before the goop completely enveloped me and I could feel the pressure of the slime as it entered the cockpit. The fluid pushed against me, making my movements sluggish, but I knew as it heated I would be able to move more freely.
The slime acted as a counter to the g-forces I knew the fighter would put me through if I engaged in combat, and it would save me from passing out while I manoeuvred. Crege called it compression buffer, but the scent of the gunk was frightfully disgusting. I never gave it such a neutral name as buffer, preferring more apt names such as ‘flight gunk’, or ‘gee poop’. My current favourite was ‘pilot paste’. It was marvellous stuff, though. Despite its greenish tinge, when the cockpit was full and electrical current was passed through it which polarised it and made it clear as glass. It even acted to magnify the view, as if peering through a lens.
The engines on this craft were not the same as the Dreaming’s. As the Eclipse was never meant to be a long range craft, it had powerful, fuel driven propulsion that were similar in concept to the Dreaming’s manoeuvring thrusters. The fuel was different, but essentially they broke down the fuel source using a catalyst that produced significant energy. This energy was released in bursts controlled by the propulsion system, or streams, depending on the required motion. The fuel was expensive, but easy to come by, and we hadn’t needed to purchase much from Eridani Station to top up our tanks.
Much larger, more powerful versions of this drive, called Linus Drives, were used in warships. Although they required large amounts of fuel, they were powerful and gave you an advantage in capital ship combat. If you could move fast, you could avoid fire.
I gave the Dreaming an okay signal, testing the tight beam communications of the fighter, and then laid on the thrust. I was immediately push back into my seat, despite the pilot paste, and could feel my smile turning into a grimace.
29.
The rush of speed was exhilarating, but I had to curb it down a notch. Max was right about the debris. Even at a relatively sedate pace, I could hear multiple pings and bangs against the cockpit. In a regular spacecraft, the inertial stabiliser field that surrounded each ship would act to push the smaller stuff aside, and pilots could evade the larger stuff. Large, sluggish ships tended to sport stronger inertial fields, which acted to shunt bigger debris away.
Without the flight console, I had room to stretch out my legs a little and get comfortable. I was glad I wouldn’t be riding in the back, though, that was positively cramped. I brought up the short range sensors – all the sensors on this fighter were short range – and put the data onto a heads-up display on my overlay. I was to capture fifteen-minute exposures of sensor data and send it back to the Dreaming in data bursts along a tight beam transmission. I started my first recording, storing the data in a memory buffer on my interface overlay. I couldn’t store much, as my overlay was far from high grade, but I had enough free memory to store fifteen minutes of feed without too much trouble.
I remembered one of my squaddies from the Primarch Star Marine Corps, the one who had a top end overlay installed. He used to be able to store hundreds of movies and simulations on his overlay. While everyone else was catching shut-eye or playing cards during evening downtime, he would lay back, close his eyes and watch videos.
Thinking of him, I was hit with a sudden dose of nostalgia. Most of the tricks I knew with an interface overlay – including how to mask unofficial military apps – was due to his instruction. His death had hit me particularly hard, and I consider myself responsible for it. He was the last of my squad to die, horribly wounded in a hand-to-hand fight with some Ghantri. I tried to patch him together the best I could, but his injuries were too severe. He constantly screamed in pain, raving in delirium. It wasn’t until an hour after his injuries that we realised he had been poisoned by the Ghantri blades. Rather than face an agonising death, he begged me to kill him. It took me half an hour more to summon the courage to oblige him.
From that point onwards, I was alone.
Just as I was now.
For the first time, I realised that I was alone once more in the Gossamer System. Suddenly, the confines of the cockpit felt claustrophobic. The compression buffer seemed to slow my movements down, get into my pores and seemed to seep into my skin. I was stuck in here, with no way out until I returned to the Dreaming. I started to breathe in quick, rapid puffs. A small part of me realised I was hyperventilating – the surest sign of a panic attack. My heart began to race and a pressure started to build in my head. I felt like pulling the eject lever and getting out of here fast, or grabbing the yoke and turning around to go back to the Dreaming.
What if this ghost contact was real? What if it was the Ghantri, lying in wait for me? I was turning my head around in sharp motions, my mind telling me the Ghantri were near. I felt the presence of the Great Web of Ar’od Dar pressing down on me, as if the nebula was watching me, judging me, and finding me wanting. I wanted to curl up and hide.
A loud, dull thunk snapped me out of my panic. A piece of debris had collided with my canopy and startled me. It left a gouged scuff mark on the hyper-diamond shell. Get it together, Seth!
With an effort of will, I focused on my breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Nice and slow, I thought. It took me a few moments, but I felt my heart rate slow, my breathing under control. I realised I was shaking, peering at my hands. I gripped the yoke harder, in a double-handed grip. I had a job to do.
My first scan was finished and I packaged the data up into a single file then sent it to the ship’s AI for transmission. Focus on the task at hand, I told myself, see each objective and visualise what is needed to complete it. Once done, choose the next objective and proceed. It was a mantra that got me through my ordeal the last time I was here. I moved the fighter away from the Dreaming even further, despite my misgivings about leaving her behind. We would learn nothing by staying close to her.
I flew several thousand kilometres away, completed another scan and sent it back. So far, I could see nothing. Another fifteen minutes passed, another scan was sent. Space was empty, here. I could detect no contacts, nothing that indicated a ship was following us. The debris field was nothing but a tomb, interspersed with the broken pieces of starships and their doomed crew.
Oh, yes. There were bodies out here. They were hard to find, but if you looked closely enough, as I was, you could spot them after a while. They were perfectly preserved, near frozen in the cold grip of open space. I knew Protectorate sorties had been launched to try recover as many of the dead as they were able, but it was simply too dangerous, and there were too many to recover. And so, they were left, forever adrift in the icy graves of the abyss.
A profound sadness began to replace the unease I felt. So many lives had been lost here, and for what? Why had the Ghantri done what they did? Why attack a people, who for all intents and purposes were offering them the stars to wander as they pleased? What did they gain? The madness that infests this system is beyond comprehension. I suppose this is what makes them alien; their mind set so different from ours.
My fourth scan picked up the ghost contact, nearly forty thousand kilometres from the Dreaming. I was pulsing active sensors every few seconds, and an echo appeared on my trace, then it was gone. I watched carefully, and the contact appeared again for two sweeps and then once more vanished. I changed the profile of the scan, focusing on that area. The sweeps increased in frequency and intensity. There was still only a few hits for every dozen sweeps I performed, but I was starting to believe that there was indeed a contact out there.
I packaged up the data, and sent it back to the Dreaming, along with a request for instructions from Max. Should I get closer? Should I try making contact? Should I start an attack run?
I waited several minutes for a reply.
Need another scan, different aspect. Try get close, but not too close, came the reply.
I grunted to myself, sending back another question. How close is too close?
Use your discretion, but don’t get killed.
I’ll get close enough to buzz them, be ready with the beamer if they come at me.
Not too close!
I sighed. Screw it, all this sneaking about was getting on my nerves. If there was a contact, we needed to draw it out. We couldn’t enter the empty zone without dealing with this first.
Okay, I thought, they’ll be running on passive sensors only. I’ve got an idea of where they are, if I do a fast flyby and do a visual scan I should be able to spot them.
I switched off my sensors, and shut down the comms line. I was essentially running dark, aside from my propulsion. As I approached the area, I shut down the engines and just coasted. Using dead reckoning, I got my overlay to put a box over my sight where the contact should be.
I heard a few thuds against the hull as I coasted, wincing each time. Couldn’t be helped, I shrugged. As I passed, the canopy angled to show me the entire vista. I craned my neck trying to see it.
Nothing. The space around the box was empty.
When I was a few thousand kilometres away, I slowed and turned around. This time I was coasting at a much slower speed, ready on the controls to initiate a thruster burn in case they saw me and opened fire.
The flyby took much longer. I waited for nearly half an hour before I reached the area, coasting to within a few dozen kilometres of the contact. I still couldn’t see anything.
Baffled, I slowed down again and approached the area under power. I cruised to within ten kilometres of the contact and stopped my engines. I stared for several long minutes. Was that something? Were my eyes playing tricks on me? I didn’t dare do a sensor sweep, I had only been using micro-jet manoeuvring bursts to move so I knew I was being cautious. To do a quick scan using active sensors would give my position away for sure. I couldn’t risk sending another data packet, either, even on tight beam. There were always some scatter from transmission and there was too much debris to send a communications laser.
I had to get closer. I nudged the ship forward, slowly, using the micro-jets. It took twenty minutes to get within a few hundred metres. I still wasn’t sure, but there was a kind of smudge in space, an unfocused section where the stars and debris weren’t quite the same. It was hard to make out. I’d never heard of the Ghantri using something quite like this before. I had to find out more. I had to get out of the Eclipse and see for myself.
I shut down the flight controls, once I’d stopped all motion of the fighter, and waited while the pilot paste drained away. An airtight compartment near the arm of the flight seat contained a set of towels that I used to clean my face and body as much as I could, and I struggled to get back into the light duties space suit. I wasn’t too proud to admit that I gagged a few times at my stench. This filth really was disgusting.
When I was ready, I let the fighter suck the atmosphere out and I popped the canopy. It was a short jump to the murky splotch, and it was most definitely something, I could see that now that I was free of the pilot paste. My mind was trying to comprehend what I was seeing, or rather not seeing. Every time I looked at it, my eyes kept trying to focus, as if looking through a fine mesh. I was getting a headache just trying to see the thing at all.
With a light metallic clunk, my feet finally touched the thing. I reached down with my hand and felt the hard surface. With a little effort, I sent my nanites into the surface and started the Scan Paradigm. In seconds, I had concrete data, and things started to make sense.
I was standing on standard, military grade armoured hull plating. The composition was normal for current Eridani-Votus manufacturing processes, so I knew right away that it was not likely to be a Ghantri vessel. Also, trillions of nanites coated the surface.
My best bet was they were producing some sort of soft-light hologram, mimicking the image on the other side of the ship. I let my own nanites map out the surface in all directions and, after a few minutes, they found a cavity and hatch system about fifty metres away. I put the data up on my screen as a wireframe overlay and navigated my way over to it.
I had my PX-2 Energy Pistol with me, I rarely left the ship without being armed, and had it out in my right hand. I reached forward with my left and focused my nanites on the airlock below me. When I had it mapped out, I activated my Spatial Translation Paradigm and shifted through dimensions to appear inside the airlock.
The wind was nearly knocked out of me as I landed heavily on my arse. I always forgot about local gravity when I did that. I got to my feet and examined my surroundings. Sure enough, this appeared to be an airlock like many others found on Protectorate ships across the galaxy. There were warning labels in galactic standard text, humanoid sized space suits and fixtures about the compartment. The inner airlock was pressurised, but a manual release opened it. I peered down the adjoining corridor. It was empty and led to the left and right.
I called up relative info on the Dreaming’s location on my overlay, reasoning that the ship would be pointing towards her if it was indeed following us. I removed my helmet, leaving it in the airlock, and took off to the right at a light jog. It wasn’t long before I reached a junction, both exits curling around out of sight. There was a hatch at the junction as well, a small porthole allowed me to peer inside. It was a berthing cabin. I hit a release and entered the cabin.
Furnished like most military berths, sparsely, there were no decorations or personal mementos on the bulkheads. Nothing that could tell me anything about the cabin’s owner. I tried a locker by the starboard bulkhead, but it was locked. I wasn’t about to start shooting locks just yet, so I turned to leave. I stepped out into the corridor.
“It’s rude to enter someone’s cabin without being invited.”
I almost dropped my pistol. There were people in the corridor!
30.
I briefly considered translating, but I swiftly realised I couldn’t trust my memory to judge how far away I needed to go, and I didn’t relish the thought of materialising inside a bulkhead. I looked from left to right, weighing my options, then my flight or fight instinct gave way to realisation. I recognised these men!
“Triptych? Geko?” I said, my mouth hanging open.
They lowered their weapons and grinned ear to ear.
“You’re a sneaky sonofabitch, I’ll give you that.” said Geko, the shorter of the two.
“Geko wanted to blast you as soon as you come through the hatch, you’re lucky I talked him out of it.”
Triptych was a Malforian, a race of near-humans from somewhere further towards the inner Networks. They were very similar to humans in appearance, but had only a single gender. I think I remember reading somewhere that they reproduced asexually, they just accumulated genetic modifications and mutations and after a while split into two entities. As a result, they all tended to look alike – the same hermaphroditic humanoid. As people, they were reliable and reasonably intelligent. The strangest thing about them, however, was a universal phobia of open spaces. This agoraphobia made them excellent space farers.
Geko? Well, Geko was a practical joker, a human and one of the youngest members of Naga Team.
I smiled at them and held my hands up in mock surrender. “Take me to your leader?”
They led me through several more corridors, tactfully refusing to answer any of my questions despite the levity I tried to play into the situation. I started to get the idea that I was not expected, and that my stumbling upon them wasn’t exactly welcome. Had I misjudged them, I thought.
Soon, they led me to an elevator and then through a hatch into the bridge. It was clearly that, not the cramped command module like the Dreaming had. I could see a wide vista before me, of the debris field I had recently traversed. The screens, for I knew that no starship would host actual glass ports on their bridge, were each as tall as a man and spanned a view of nearly a full one-eighty degrees. There were several console stations about the bridge, each one manned by an enlisted crewmember.
As I took all this in, I realised that most of the crew had stopped what they were doing and had turned to face me. I was even more amazed by the presence of a Votus, whispering in the ear of an elderly human male.
The Votus, despite being one of the more powerful races in the Network, were reclusive by nature. Their civilisation spans millennia, far outdating human exploration of the galaxy by an order of magnitudes. The Votus, as any spare-farer will tell you, had reached the epoch of their civilisation many thousands of years ago and had since grown weary of the burden. As a people, they rarely ventured away from their designated population centres, preferring the company of their own kind to that of the younger species. They are humanoid, stooped individuals resembling hairless anthropomorphic felines. Their long arms end in long, thin fingers – the perfect appendages for delicate work on intricate technologies. They are among the galaxies finest engineers and builders.
Their technology, closely guarded though it is, forms the basis of many of the technologies shared by the other species of the Votus-Eridani Network. The Corporations usually hold a monopoly on any insights the Votus choose to share, although it is not unheard of for a reversed engineered device showing up on the markets. Such achievements have been known to garner instant wealth to those with the knack for such things.
A station near the middle rotated to reveal Lieutenant Ormund, rising from a command chair - a little theatrical for my tastes. Another, more central station rotated and a tall, older man with silvering hair stepped off to greet me.
“Mr Donovan,” he said, his tone crisp and formal, “Welcome to the Astral Spider.”
“What’s going on here? Why are you following us?” I tried to sound serious, despite clearly being in awe of the technology about me. I mean, they had three weapon stations! After a moment of gaping, I had to ask - “What class of ship is this?”
“My name is Captain Roderick Garner. She’s a modified corvette, a fruit of the Votus - Protectorate alliance. So far, it doesn’t have a class name as it’s a prototype. The Protectorate call it Project Astral, hence the name. As to your other questions, I suppose you are due an explanation – despite the fact that you just committed an act of piracy breaking in here.”
“Bullshit, you know as well as I do that this is a war zone…”
“Exclusion zone.” he corrected me.
“…that doesn’t change anything. You were stalking our ship, we had to defend ourselves, we needed to find out what was following us.”
“How did you find us?” asked Ormund, speaking for the first time.
“Our AI isolated a ghost contact in the background scatter during that ambush a few weeks ago. We’ve been watching for it ever since.”
Captain Garner turned to the older man, who had ceased his conversation with the Votus, seated a few metres away at what looked like a systems console. He stood and approached us. I noticed he walked with a slight stoop, as if he had spent most of his youth bent over a workbench or computer console. His jump suit was unadorned, the usual military insignia absent. He held out a hand, which I shook.
“My name is Doctor Elias Montannis the Eleventh. I’m the civilian expert assigned to this vessel to monitor its performance.”
“Your colleague?” I said, indicating the silent Votus.
“I helped design this ship, Mr Donovan. Melafenaseance is our benefactor, and chief engineer. A lot of our technology is quite experimental. How did your AI see through the camouflage? What model is your AI?”
“I’m not sure how we spotted you originally. It was during combat and there were plenty of energy bursts in the area. Perhaps we caught an echo off one of those. Our AI is Vengnashi, originally. I’m not sure what model, but he did a lot of sensor work in a previous role. He’s good, though. Very good.”
“Mmm, perhaps I could avail myself of your AI, I should very much like to run several tests…”
“I don’t think my Captain would agree to that.” I cut him off, there was no way I would let this man take Tac apart just to sate his curiosity.
“Very well, then. Perhaps I should review the combat logs. Focus on the energy signatures.” Elias wandered back over to his console and immediately started tapping out commands. It was as if he simply forgot we were there.
“It was you who destroyed that missile?” I asked Garner, “Back during the ambush?”
He nodded. “We weren’t going to interfere, but it looked like you needed some help.”
“I guess I owe you one. So what now?”
“What now indeed.”
“My ship will want to know I’m all right.”
He seemed to be contemplating something. He didn’t make eye contact with me.
“Am I a prisoner?” I said.
He made a huffing sound, looking up into my face. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“To be honest, we didn’t think you’d spot us.”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re following us. What’s your mission?”
Ormund answered, “We’re not at liberty to discuss that.”
Another familiar voice broke in, the chuffing a Garz’a makes when they’re unimpressed. “Naga-zak know. No point hiding from rest.”
“That’s not your call to make, Sergeant.” said Ormund as Kekkin stepped onto the bridge. His ever present sidekicks, Renthal and Harris not far behind him.
“Not yours either, LT,” said the burly Renthal, “Seth made it for you.”
Ormund gave the trio a filthy look, which they promptly ignored. Garner turned to face the vista behind him, rubbing his chin in thought. A full minute passed before he gestured to a young ensign by the port side of the bridge.
“Open a tight beam channel to the Dreaming of Atmosphere.” Said Garner
“Aye, sir!” the junior officer said, hands playing over his console, “Established line-of-sight comms, sir!”
Garner sat down at his chair and keyed a control.
“Dreaming of Atmosphere, this is the Protectorate Vessel Astral Spider. Come in.”
A few moments later, a crackly voice came over the bridge speakers.
“Er…hey. Have you got my boy?” I shook my head and chuckled. That’s Max, right to the point.
“We do indeed, Captain Cooper. He is safely with us.”
“Do I need to come over there and shoot up your ship?”
“No, Captain, we have no hostile intentions towards you or your crew.”
“Good, how about you let him get back to his fighter and we can call it a day?”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t we rendezvous and have a little chat?”
“Why don’t you flush yourself out of the nearest airlock?” I couldn’t contain another chuckle. I could hear Renthal choking back a laugh as well.
I thought it was high time I stepped in, before things got nasty. “Max?” I called over Garner’s shoulder, “I’m okay. Hear the man out. It’s Naga Team. I think they’re going to help us.”
The Lieutenant gave me an annoyed looked, but remained silent. Garner also seemed to catch on to how Max operated and said nothing. Smart man. You did not want to get into a pissing match with Maxine Cooper.
She was a few moments silent before replying, “All right, but if those thugs give you any guff, you have my permission to knock a few heads before escaping. Just don’t kill anyone.”
“I’ll try not to, I promise.”
“Love you. Maxine out.”
Ormund gave me another annoyed glance. “We didn’t give her our coordinates!”
“Won’t need to, she’s got a trace on you already. I told you, our AI is good. So is our systems operator. Well, looks like you have a couple of hours to explain to me what it is you’re doing out here, so I can help you sell it to Max. You don’t want a pissed off Maxine on your ship. Trust me.”
“I’d listen to him, sir,” said Renthal, “That woman has fire.”
“She once punched a Corporate in the guts,” I added, “at gun point.”
I could almost see the colour drain from Ormund’s face.
“She sounds like my kind of woman!” said Garner, laughing.
31.
When the Dreaming finally met up with the Astral Spider, the two ships connected their airlocks using a removable docking assembly called a gangway tether. Essentially, it was just a flexible tube that stretched between the two ‘locks. Inside was devoid of gravity and passengers had to kick off their ship in order to drift.
I met Max and Artemis at the Astral Spider’s ‘lock, both expertly passing through the tether. I caught Max as she landed deftly on the lip of the Spider’s hatch and pulled her inside. Harris moved to catch Art but this only earned him a dropped shoulder to the chest as she flew through the airlock and landed on her feet.
“Show off.” I said, although I was grinning. Harris was rubbing his chest, although I could tell only his pride was hurt. “I warned you about Art, she’s a man eater.”
Art made a clawing motion at him and playfully growled.
I shut the outer airlock and led the pair down to the ship’s briefing compartment. The ship was nearly twice the size of the Dreaming and had three main decks, as well as a couple of sub-decks for maintenance that amounted to little more than crawl spaces. Most of the living quarters were on the lowest deck, Deck 3, along with the armoury, ready room and stores. Deck 2 held most of the ship critical compartments, such as engineering, weapons and sensor housings. It also held the Mess Deck and recreation compartments – they even had a fully equipped gym. The upper deck, Deck 1, was all reserved for operations – including the briefing room, our destination. The bridge, which had its own deck entirely, held the designation of 01 Deck or just the command deck. Situated near the aft of the ship, above and between the twin nacelles for propulsion, a blocky protrusion from an otherwise sleek design.
After my encounter on the bridge, Renthal had given me a quick tour. A ship of this size would normally require a crew of between eighty and a hundred, but slaved AI Cores managed many of the systems. Troop berths, to carry up to three squads of twelve, and the regular crew numbered forty-seven. Only Naga Team were berthed, however. Most of the troop quarters were empty. Renthal explained that the Spider was their operational ship - a stealth corvette that could evade detection by the Ghantri. There was a large compartment on Deck 1, which I could not enter, that Renthal explained housed the Stealth Module and AI Cores. These ran the holographic nanites that sheathed the hull.
“This ship must be power hungry.” I asked while we toured, “Holograms of this size are notoriously heavy on the juice requirements.”
“That’s where the Votus tech comes in, they’re not your standard holographics,” Renthal replied, “It’s actually hard-light. I know that’s even more a power drain, but it’s some trick the Votus use. Something to do with the nanites having their own power sources.”
“Carbon nanotubing?”
He gave me an appreciative look. “Very good. Hey, you’re not your standard ex-marine type, are you?”
“I get that occasionally.”
“You’ve done your homework on nano-tech, then?”
“You could say that.”
My own nanites used similar principles. A capacitive charge held by millions of carbon tubes powered each nanite. The initial charge, drawn from my own bio-electrics, ensured I needed to be careful I did not drain myself when I used my nano proliferation abilities. Educating myself on how they were designed and how they worked was part of getting the balance right.
I made a mental note to examine the hull with my Scan Paradigm at some point, I had a suspicion I would learn a thing or two about my own capabilities.
Before I had gotten to ask any more questions, the ship’s main broadcast system announced the arrival of the Dreaming, and Harris had come to collect me.
“Tac is on standby,” whispered Max as we neared the briefing room, “he confirms that he is within range of their local network and is ready to cause mayhem if we need it.”
“I’m pretty sure that won’t be necessary.” I told her.
“I don’t like this. You know me, I prefer to have contingencies.”
“That you do.”
We had reached our destination and I held the hatch open for Max. Art slipped in afterwards and I followed, leaving Harris to close up behind us. The briefing room was dimly lit, but not so much that we couldn’t see the way to our seats. Garner and Ormund rose as Max entered. Kekkin, Renthal, Dr Elias and Melafenaseance rounded out the table.
“Ma’am.” said Garner.
“Captain, Lieutenant.” returned Max, nodding.
Ormund indicated seats for us, which we took. The table was large, easily able to seat around twenty people and finished in glossy black, like glass.
“Okay,” started Max, eager to control the meeting from the beginning, “What’s this all about?”
“First off, I’d like to welcome you to the…” started Ormund.
“Can the platitudes.” she interrupted, “I’m not interested in making nice. I’m edgy, and in hostile waters. You want to tell me why we’re being followed?”
“Max, hear him out.” I said. I didn’t want Max losing her cool too soon.
“Okay, I’ll play along. But keep it on point or I’ll walk.”
“Very well, Captain. You know most of my people. Our Fleet Commander is Captain Garner, this is Dr Elias Montannis and Melafenaseance of the Votus II System.”
She seemed to notice the Votus for the first time, her eyes widened in surprise.
“Captain.” said the Votus in a deep, heavily accented voice.
“Don’t see too many of your kind outside of your habitats.” she said.
“Very little interests my people these days. I am somewhat of a…maverick. A hot head, among my race.”
This elicited a chuckle from Renthal. “A hot head? He’s calmer than an Orlii in meditation.”
“Be respectful, Corporal.” chided Kekkin. The Garz’a was clearly in awe of the alien. It was hard not to be. It was not every day you sat at the same table as one of the elder races. Even some of Max’s steam let out.
“Captain Cooper, I assume you’ve been informed as to Naga Team’s general function?” asked Ormund.
“Spec ops.”
“We’re a covert reconnaissance unit, tasked with tracking Ghantri high value targets and infrastructure.”
“Yeah, that’s what spec ops means. How come the good Captain Garner isn’t running this brief?”
“The Fleet’s stake in this mission is merely logistical,” said Garner, “Operational command on the ground falls to Ormund and his team here. My job is to get him there and make sure he can get back again.”
“So you’re the ferryman?”
“A crude analogy, but accurate.”
She looked Ormund over. “Aren’t you a little young to get the big hat in an operation this far into hostile territory?” she said.
“Hardly. I will admit, though, that I do lack experience. That is why we have invited you here, partly. We could use your help.”
She laughed at that. “Me? You’ve got a state of the art stealth warship, and you think I can help you? In case you haven’t heard, we’ve got our own problems.”
“I’m aware of your goals. Your objectives in this system.”
Max gave me a sidewise look. I shrugged.
“So?”
“How much do you know about the Ghantri? Specifically, their culture and religion?”
“Not a great deal. Donny is the expert here.”
“Were you aware,” said Melafenaseance, “that the Ghantri believe the Votus are demons?”
“No. I was not.”
“There were no Votus involved in the Push,” I said, “Protectorate brass made absolutely sure of that.”
“Corporal Donovan is correct, Captain.” continued Ormund, “The Ghantri hold a special place in their black hearts for Votus blood. They are considered anathema to them.”
“Why?”
“Part of the reason we are here. How’s your history?”
“Adequate. Which part?”
“The Destroyer War?”
“Only what they teach, what the movies tell you. You telling me they’re connected?”
“That’s part of our mission. To determine if this is the case.”
The Votus tapped a section on the table and it lit up. It showed an image of a partially destroyed bulkhead. Markings depicted what was clearly a divine being of some sort surrounded by prostrated Ghantri.
“This the Firebreaker Artefact. A recovered piece of debris, showing the glorification of one of their deities.”
“Yeah, Seth mentioned they were nut jobs.”
“You have no idea.” muttered Renthal.
The Votus continued, “The being you see here is reminiscent of a Volgri ghru caste insect.”
He pronounced ‘insect’ with what could only be described as disgust.
“What’s a Volgri ghru?” asked Max.
“He means a Destroyer general.” I answered.
“Mr. Donovan is correct,” said Garner, “It’s a crude representation, but the Votus encountered the Destroyers thousands of years ago, before the Protectorate made first contact. They were able to survive the Destroyers by sacrificing several of their worlds and retreating to the Votus II System.”
“So Votus II isn’t their original home?” asked Max.
“The number kind of gives it away.” said Art, earning a look of ire from Max.
“So you’re saying the Ghantri think the Destroyers are their gods?” she said.
“We think there’s definitely a connection.” said Ormund.
“Bullshit. We called them Destroyers for a reason.”
“Kitrak is right. Destroyers only destroy.” said Kekkin, speaking for the first time. The Garz’a racial memory is strong considering the Destroyers. They held legends and myths surrounding the enigmatic insect race that brought the galaxy to its knees hundreds of years ago. Their ancestors had been visited by the Destroyers once before, nearly wiping the Garz’a out. It was only due to the efforts of a handful of survivors that their homeworld was rebuilt. The Garz’a had prepared for the Destroyers eventual return, becoming intensely xenophobic. When humanity, allied with the Orlii, first encountered the Garz’a hostilities began almost immediately.
“Yet here we have questionable proof that the Ghantri have interacted with them in the past. In such a manner that tells us the Ghantri reaction, or the Destroyer reaction, was different than with other races.”
“So what’s that got to do with the Ghantri thinking the Votus are demons?”
“When we left our home worlds behind, we seeded them with bio-terminator cells.” explained Melafenaseance, “We thought the ghru would try to use our worlds, and the bio-terminator would kill them. We must have partially succeeded, and the Ghantri were told of our treachery.”
“Well this is all a very educational discussion, but isn’t it all just academic anyway? The Destroyers were wiped out by the Protectorate hundreds of years ago.” said Max.
“To believe the ghru no longer threaten this galaxy is to fall prey to their evil. Complacency is our worst enemy.” said the Votus, solemnly.
Ormund tapped a few commands into the table, and a timeline appeared.
“The Votus fought the ghru twenty-one hundred years ago. Prior to the Betrayal, anthropological studies mentioned a shift in Ghantri culture and theology around fourteen hundred years ago – the Ghantri calendar centres around this event. The Galactic Exploratory Alliance, the forerunners of the Protectorate, first encountered the Destroyers, the ghru, six hundred and ninety-two years ago.”
“Every seven hundred years…” Art mused.
Max appeared deep in thought. She looked at the timeline, looked at the Votus and Garner. She made eye contact with me.
“What has all this got to do with the Dreaming, and me?” she said at last, “Why do you need my help?”
Ormund brought up another image, this time of a section of the system.
“The Ghantri have been gathering up slaves from Ambrose Station and using them for mining. We’re not sure where exactly, but we think it’s something around this part of the system. Only thing is, long range scans are unable to detect enough minerals in this asteroid field to make a mining operation worthwhile.”
“Go on.”
“Max,” I said, “You know how we’ve talked about the placement of these asteroids? How they weren’t formed from left over planetary material like other star systems? We think they are the remains of Destroyer world ships. We think the Ghantri are using the slaves to dig out Destroyer artefacts from the remains.”
“We need to learn what the slaves have seen.” said Ormund, “We need to find someone on Ambrose Station who’s been to these mining operations and can shed some light on what they are looking for.”
“It is imperative, Captain,” intoned the Votus, “that we learn whether the Ghantri know the ghru are returning and from where.”
32.
The meeting continued for another hour, while we discussed plans for landing on the habitat. The presence of the Astral Spider and her cloaking ability changed everything. Initially, our plan was very…overt. I’d run with the idea that in the chaos of my planned missile attack I can get in and avoid a full blown chase. I’ll admit, after going over the details with Naga Team, who specialised in infiltrating enemy establishments, I felt rather foolish.
When I’d finished sharing my plan, the senior members merely rocked back in their chairs and glanced at each other for a few brief moments. Renthal cleared his throat, and at a nod from Kekkin spread his hands out on the table as he looked over at me.
“The key to controlling any covert interaction, rather than reacting to it, is to minimise your exposure to the enemy. The moment the enemy is aware of your presence, everything you do will be a reaction to how the enemy progresses from there.”
“Yeah, my options were kind of limited. We don’t have anything like stealth capabilities on the Dreaming and my M4 MAEL Suit was trashed. I only have Light Duties space suits to use.” I said in my defence.
“We can sort that out.”
“You can?”
“Sure, we have several operational M4 variants you can use. That’s not the problem, though. Even if you evade notice individually, your opening gambit will put the entire area of operation on high alert. That lowers your chance of survival significantly.”
“What would you do? Can the Astral Spider get us onto the habitat ring?”
Garner answered, “The stealth system is mostly optical, with standard electronic stealth capabilities. Getting close enough to land without being detected is out of the question.”
“We can get close enough for manual insertion, though.” said Ormund.
“What the LT said,” concurred Renthal, “We don’t need to land. We can just insert freely from high up.”
“I’m sorry,” said Max, “freely? Manual insertion?”
“He means we drift down in our suits. Drop out of the Spider from far out and angle our decent to the habitat.” I said.
“How far out are we talking? Isn’t there a limit on available life support for a space suit?”
“Not an M4, ma’am,” said Renthal, “they’re built to keep a soldier alive in space for weeks. A man will starve to death, before the power and oh-two expire in one of those.”
“So you just sprinkle yourselves out of the arse of this ghost ship?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I had to admit, his plan got me thinking. This was my old training kicking in, going over the tactics in my head. Star Marines often deployed this way during battle – the assault boat would get close enough to the target to draw fire and then the payload of marines would jump out. While the enemy fired at the assault boat, they weren’t firing on the marines. This time, however, there would be no firing at all. Marines adrift in space were hard to target, and harder to spot.
“Of course,” added Renthal, “we’ll be coming with you.”
Artemis spoke up for the first time during the meeting. I could tell she was liking the implications less and less.
“Now, just hold on a minute there, cowboys,” she started, “no one said anything about tag alongs.”
Maxine leaned back and observed where the conversation was going.
“Ms. Derris,” said Ormund, “I don’t think you have a choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Tell him, Max.” She looked Max square in the eyes, an intense expression on her face.
Max returned the glare for a few moments before she leaned forward again.
“I’m afraid she’s right, gentlemen. We operate alone, no strings attached. Our contract was very specific.”
My eyes almost popped out of my head. Then I remembered our true situation. If Artemis said jump, we had to ask how high. She was using the threat of those bombs on the ship to get her way. The trouble was, I really could use Naga Team. Having them on our side would be a big advantage. I thought fast, before tempers started to flare.
“I’m sure these lads can hold their own, Art. They won’t slow us down at all. We may even learn a thing or two from them.” I gave her a challenging look.
She was deadpan, looking right into my face.
Wot the fuk r u playing @ luverboi? I didn’t have to check the message ID to know who sent me that.
You need to work within the situation, Art. We can use these guys.
I don’t want NE moar complications. No distractions from our goal.
Think about it – an experienced spec ops team covering our backs. This is just what we need. We stay focused on your mission first, then after you’ve left I can help them out with theirs.
She sighed, leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the polished black surface. I could see Ormund visibly grimace.
“Whatever.” she said.
There were a few quizzical looks passed between those present, but eventually they must have sensed that everything was right, once more.
“Captain,” asked Garner, “About you role in this crusade....”
“I’m all ears.”
“You have experienced belters on your crew, yes?”
“Some of the best.”
“Can the Dreaming navigate to these coordinates in the system? It’s the closest asteroid cluster that we’ve monitored some traffic on, and we’d like to investigate what they’ve found there.”
“I’m not leaving Donny on that station without us there to back him up.”
“The Astral Spider will provide support, we’re better equipped and we’re experienced in this sort of operation. We’re not miners, though. We don’t have the equipment nor the expertise to get into some of those rocks and look for intelligence. You do.”
She looked troubled, so I put my hand on her knee, much like she does for me when trying to comfort me.
“It’s okay, we’ve got this, Max. This is the kind of job the Dreaming was designed for.”
She looked up at me, her eyes searching my face.
“Are you going to be okay? I want to be there if things go south.”
“There wouldn’t be much you could do - you’d be too far away to help out. At least the Spider can get close and sit there.”
“I don’t like this.”
I chuckled. “Crege will. He’d send you all bat-shit if he had to park the Dreaming and just sit there.”
She smiled. “That he will.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll see this through, then we can go visit old man Hieron for a holiday.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry. I have that right.”
“Yes, you do.”
And just like that, I left the crew of the Dreaming of Atmosphere to once more join the military. Of course, when news got back to the rest of the crew, there were mixed emotions. Cuts, of course, was pissed at me. Maybe he’d finally worked out a way to put his first impressions of me aside and was starting to respect me. He probably saw me leaving for the rest of the job as reneging on our...partnership?
Hergo and Denno were supportive, as always. They were excited about the prospects of attempting to hollow out a potential elder race ruin. They’d already started going through the mining equipment and checking everything. They shook my hand, wished me luck, and started to argue about how they could start mining without the use of explosives.
Crege was happy, for a number of reasons. He had been dreading the idea of sitting in a dark ship for days, or possibly weeks, simply waiting. The chance at action had invigorated him. He also said that he was glad he wasn’t going to have to watch me screw up a perfectly good fighter due to my shitty piloting. I tried several times to pass him back his lurzak blade, but he would have none of it.
“Kitrak has earned it. Warrior must earn it again before taking it back. Most likely warrior makes a new one.”
Fel’negr was sad to see me go, anxious to see the plan change again, and excited that the long mission was finally nearing completion. I could see all these emotions flash in his eyes, as they shifted colour like a kaleidoscope.
Max was doing her best mother hen routine, making sure I had everything packed that I’d need. She made me take extra ammo batteries, not trusting these Protectorate types to keep their cells charged. She also insisted that Tac join us regardless of the change in plan. She said that if there was ever a need for his expertise, then it was safer to have him with me rather than wish we’d taken him. Her words were a little less tactful, however, referring to the ‘gun contingency’. It was safer to have one and not need it, than need it and not have one.
It was nearing the last hour before our two ships separated that I found that I had a major problem. I couldn’t find Zoe anywhere on the ship. I checked in the med lab, her cabin, my cabin, the mess deck, even engineering. I was getting anxious. I decided to call in with Max again and see if she had seen her.
“I have,” she said, arms crossed, “Although I’m surprised that you didn’t have a hand in it.”
“What do you mean? Where is she?”
“She went and resigned from our crew. Said she is joining the research team over on the Astral Spider. You sure you didn’t have a hand in this?”
“She what? No! This is the first time I’m hearing about it.”
“She came in here about half an hour ago, when you were loading up in the armoury. Gave me this spiel about putting her education back on track. Since technically she had already completed her internship here, as agreed upon by the Kanto Prime University and myself, she held the right to request transfer off the ship when she required, so long as it was within the interests of her academic career.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. So you’re telling me you didn’t put her up to this? Your solution to the question about your relationship?”
“Max, it’s me. You really think I’d be that cunning where women are concerned?”
“True. This does seem a little too smart for your style.”
“Thanks, Max.”
“I meant where women are concerned.”
“Right. Er…I gotta run. Before someone gets us all into serious trouble.”
“Chop, chop, my boy.”
I ran out of Maxine’s cabin and down to the airlock. I practically shot my way through the tether to the Astral Spider. As luck would have it, as I approached the outer ‘lock of the Protectorate warship, a hulking, stooped form swung around into view. I hastily spun my legs around and tried to kick off the side of the ‘lock to avoid the figure, but the thing with zero-gee is that there isn’t much you can do when sailing through nothing. At the last second, I activated my nanites and translated past the port, crashing into the far side of the airlock compartment.
“An accident due to one’s haste, no doubt,” sounded the dulcet, accented tones of the Votus as he helped me to my feet, “You younger races are always in such a hurry to get through your lives. I wonder that you even manage to perceive the galaxy at all, sometimes.”
“Sorry, sir.” I stammered as I collected myself, “I didn’t see you in the ‘lock.”
“Never apologise, Seth Donovan. Your enemies don’t care, your colleagues don’t need it and your allies would be offended. You gain nothing by offering your throat to another.”
“Uh…okay. Thanks.”
“That was a remarkable demonstration of nano-technology. It was unrefined, clumsy, yet achieved the desired result. You have much to learn, however, before its true potential is revealed to you.”
“Yeah. If you’ll excuse me, I have to…hey, where are you going?”
It was only then that I realised the alien was headed towards the Dreaming. Trailing behind him were three grav-assisted trolleys loaded with equipment.
“I will be required to assist Captain Cooper for her portion of the coming mission. I have unique insight into ghru artefacts and Ghantri technology.”
“You’re joining the Dreaming?”
“That is correct, Seth Donovan.”
“Oh…er…good to know.”
“I wish you luck, as you humans would say, in your coming ordeal.”
“Thanks.” I said to his back as he turned about and sailed effortlessly down the tether to the Dreaming, trollies in tail.
I watched him enter the Dreaming, lost in thought, before I remembered my urgency. Once I was inside the Astral Spider, my overlay connected to their local network and I sent Zoe a message.
Where are you?
Science lab, Deck 1. Don’t be mad.
What’s going? I’m coming to you.
Can you wait until I’m finished here? Give me thirty minutes to finish up.
Finish what?
My interview.
Are you going to tell me what this all about?
You’re distracting me, I’ll explain everything when I’m done.
I realised that I was standing in the middle of a passageway, hands on hips staring at a bulkhead. An enlisted crewman squeezed past me, nearly shouting at me – “Backs!”
I was trying to remember my way to the science lab, when the ship’s main broadcast system blared to life.
“Seth Donovan, 01 Deck.”
I sighed. So I was being called to the bridge? It hadn’t taken long for me to start getting ordered around. I hadn’t even been here for a full day. When I arrived at the bridge, Ormund and Garner were conversing in quiet tones that I couldn’t make out. They stopped when I entered and turned to me. Capt. Garner spoke first.
“I wanted to take a moment to welcome you properly to the ship, Mr Donovan.”
“It’s no problem, sir. She’s a fine ship indeed. I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”
“It’s a shame we didn’t have more like her for the Push, isn’t it?”
I considered my response carefully. “I’m not sure it would have made much difference, sir.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“From what I saw, there was too much emphasis on bravado, glory and striking hard. The entire plan seemed to be based around an overwhelming onslaught that was never realised. The commanders at the time were brash, inexperienced and politically motivated. There was little need for subtle insertions during the Push.”
“That’s an astute observation, for a Corporal.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, sir.”
“I bet you have. You know I lost my civil union partner during the Push?”
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
“I believe you served with him. Captain De Lacy?”
“I did, sir. He was a fine Captain. I believe he saved my life, and the lives of the crew, when the Sardonis Mist was hit.”
He seemed to be appraising me, silently watching me. Ormund broke the silence, before it got uncomfortable.
“Who is Artemis Derris?”
Oh, boy, I thought. “It’s complicated.”
“We tried to do a background check on her,” said Garner, “We didn’t get a single hit.”
“All I know is she’s ex-Royal Guard. Been operating as a freelance active ever since.”
“What is her relationship to the Dreaming?”
“She’s…our client’s factor.”
“And that’s as much as you need to know, boys.” came Art’s voice from behind me. She sauntered over to us from the elevator hatch.
“With all due respect, Ms. Derris…” started Ormund.
“You people only ever say that when you’re about to say something disrespectful.”
“With all due respect, if we’re going to have you on our ship for the interim – you need to be cleared for security purposes.”
“You really think I might sell you out to the Ghantri?”
“No, but we have protocols…”
“Oh, did you think I’d come all this way just to steal your precious tech?”
“Miss Derris,” said Garner, putting the smallest hint of authority into his voice, “What would you have us do? We can’t very well have an uncleared, unknown active freely walking about this highly classified warship. You must understand, you put us in a precarious position. We want to help you. Help us help you.”
I could tell this man had a way with words, because this seemed to get through Art’s smug indifference to military authority.
“What’s the best you can give me without a background check?” she said after a moment’s though.
“You’d be confined to quarters.”
“How long until we reach Ambrose?”
“Two weeks.”
“Deal.” She held out her hand to Garner, who gave it a firm, brief shake.
“Sir!” complained Ormund, “She’s a criminal…”
“She is a guest on my ship, Lieutenant. A guest that you had a hand in inviting.”
Mollified, Ormund closed his mouth.
“Now, what brings you to my bridge, Ms. Derris? You are in a compartment without authorisation, in accord with our deal.”
“I’ll be leaving, I just wanted to speak with loverboy here before he gets too busy.”
“What do you want, Art?” I said.
She glanced around the bridge, before she sighed. I could tell she wasn’t happy with the situation, but at this point I knew she would warm up to the idea.
“It can wait. Just check in with me before lights out?”
“I will. I promise.”
She gave me a look of annoyance before turning about and heading back to the lift.
“Now that that’s been settled,” said Garner when the doors closed, “We need to talk about your own status.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t very well have civilians running about involved in military operations.”
“Ex-military. I’ve been an active ever since mustering out…”
“We’re well aware of your background, Mr Donovan. I’m talking about your official status.”
“I’m not sure I follow you. What about Dr Elias? The Votus?”
“Neither will be involved directly in military operations, they are support personnel only.”
“I suppose my girlfriend is as well?”
“We can talk about that later. Are you familiar with the Sirius Accord?”
“No, sir.”
“It was a power granted to Galactic Protectorate officers of Commander rank and higher. In order to deal with emergencies and other unforeseen events, when an isolated Protectorate officer requires manpower they can pressgang local populations for service.”
“Is that what this is? You’re forcing me back into the military?”
“I’d prefer it if you agreed to come of your own free will. The Accord stipulates that you will have the option of leaving once the situation is stabilised or remaining as you see fit.”
“I understand this is a mission of great importance, but it’s hardly an emergency.”
“We didn’t want to let the rest of your crew know this, but the situation in the system is more dire than you know.”
“Does this have something to do with the withdrawal to Eridani?”
His eyes opened at my mention of this. I suppose it was meant to be a secret, after all.
“Indeed, it is.”
“How much of the Protectorate is withdrawing?”
“All of it.”
My jaw almost hit the deck. “What? Why? Surely they can see this is a serious tactical…”
“I assure you, Mr Donovan – you’re among like-minded people here.”
“The last attack on Eridani Station was the final straw,” said Ormund, “The brass decided that it wasn’t worth holding the line.”
“When the last of the Fleet goes through to Eridani, they’ll shut down the Gate.”
Garner paused for a moment, while that sunk in.
“How long until the Fleet withdraws?”
“Less than seven weeks.”
“But…it took us nearly two months to get here!”
“Once our mission is complete, we can withdraw to the Jump Gate at flank speed, we’ll have no problem getting there in time if we go directly to it.”
“And the Dreaming?” I started doing calculations on my overlay, recalling distances and acceleration profiles.
“She’ll be closer to the Gate, we’ll transmit the order to withdraw as soon as our mission is complete. Your friends will have ample time to make it to the Gate. They’ll get there before we do, actually.”
I looked down at my feet, frustration brewing.
“What news from Eridani?” I asked at last.
“Not good. DonCrest Corporation retaliated for the attack on Restus Station. Tried to hit a shipyard belonging to Esper Monarchy. Didn’t go down how they expected it would. Meanwhile there are reports of unrest on Tyrillian - terrorist attacks from some group claiming responsibility for the Esper Monarch’s assassination. It’s looking pretty messy.”
I swore. “This is bad.”
“Ergo…the Sirius Accord.”
“So if the Protectorate is pulling out, what are you doing here?”
“We…went dark before the withdraw order reached us.”
I blinked.
“Communications failure.” offered Ormund.
“Right.” I gave them both my best deadpan stare.
“Technical failures are common on prototype ships. Couldn’t be helped.”
“And you believe this mission is important enough to risk court marshal or being stranded in the system?”
“Melafenaseance was correct - we must know this connection to the Destroyers. More than the fate of this star system hangs in the balance.”
“I believe you.”
“That is why we’re telling you all this. So that you know the whole story. All my officers need to understand the importance of our mission.”
“I’m not an officer, I’m a Corporal.”
“Oh, I forgot to mention. We found pending promotional opportunities in your file. Rewards for your efforts during the Push.
“They were pending my acceptance of being made into a Protectorate media puppet. I turned them down.”
“Well, the Sirius Accord also grants me the power to bestow field commissions, Lieutenant. Consider them effective immediately.”
33.
I stumbled out of the bridge after our brief chat, a victim of information overload. So many thoughts were firing inside my brain that I completely forgot about Zoe, until the lift doors opened on the lower decks and there she was.
“Oh, there you are!” she said, beaming me an impish smile. She frowned in concern when she saw my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s…it’s nothing. What’s going on with you? What is Maxine talking about?” I stammered out.
“Let’s go to our cabin and we can talk.”
“Our cabin? You realise this is a military vessel? There are berths. And you’re not part of the crew. You need to be back on the Dreaming as soon as possible before she leaves without you.”
“That’s not going to happen. I’ve made my choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Are you out of your mind? We’re going into the most dangerous place in the Network! This was your one chance to get to relative safety.”
“No one is safe in the system, Seth. I was always going to go to Ambrose with the Dreaming, just because I’ve changed ship doesn’t make a difference.”
“It does! I was relieved when I had the chance to send the Dreaming away, it meant you’d be safer!”
“I’m not a child, Seth. I can make my own decisions. You need me now more than ever, and I won’t abandon you. I won’t leave you for some stupid University either. I don’t care about my career, not when there are more important things going on in the galaxy. Not when I can make a difference.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve talked with Dr Montannis and Melafenaseance, I’m going to be joining their research team here on the Astral Spider. I’ll also be the lead medical officer on the ship during the operation. Something about Sirius, or Cyrus.”
“Sirius Accord.”
“Yeah. They made me a Sub-Lieutenant!” she showed me a lapel pin she carried in her hand.
“They got me, too. Lieutenant.”
“Great!”
“I’m not so sure. There’s a lot going on here that I still need to wrap my head around.”
“At least the Kanto Prime University has no choice but to let me stay active. They can’t call me back or sue the Dreaming anymore. Dr. Montannis says that the work I do here on the cloaking system will count towards my education, and I should be able to finish my studies under him. Did you know the system uses nanites!”
“I did.” I was thinking hard, rubbing my chin. I was so sure that I’d gotten Zoe away from the danger of this place, so assured that she’d be spared the risk of being this deep into Ghantri space. She was right, though. I couldn’t very well order her about. Things would have to be different between us now, though. We were both signed on to Captain Garner’s mad crusade into the system, and gained access to more resources than we’d need to complete our own objective, but that assistance came with a cost.
We had to observe more stringent doctrines and procedures than we’d given ourselves on the Dreaming. One of which was fraternisation. I wasn’t sure if Zoe had given that much thought.
I was lost in thought when I realised that Zoe was still talking, and she’d asked me a question.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I said so when do you want to go check it out?”
“Check what out?”
“Were you even listening to me? The nanites!”
“Oh, er…maybe later. I have to make sure Art and Tac have been looked after, then I’ve got to get make sure the Eclipse Fighter is docked again before the Dreaming leaves.”
I turned to go, but she put a hand on my arm, searching out my face.
“Is everything alright? Are you mad at me?”
I sighed, “It’s not you. You’re right, I was caught off guard is all. I’ve just been filled in on the whole situation with the Protectorate and I need time to process it all.” I kissed her quickly, before someone saw us. “I’m glad you’re coming with us, and congratulations on your commission.”
“It’s not permanent.” she said, all serious.
“I know. This just gives us the best chances of succeeding in our job. We finish up here, and then we get out.”
“Then we get out.” she nodded, “I’ll see you later, text me if you want to talk?”
“I will. Love you.”
I had a hundred different things I needed to do before the hour was out. I made sure that Art had a berthing, and that she wasn’t going to be a nuisance to anyone else while she was confined to quarters. Turns out there were plenty of berths available, and Art had grabbed one that was empty. They weren’t as spacious as the crew cabins on the Dreaming, but then again they weren’t built for comfort, they were built to transport soldiers across the galaxy. As only a handful of soldiers had embarked, many of the berths were either empty or has several empty bunks.
When Tac came on board, I had to explain to him that we didn’t want to get in trouble by snooping around anywhere that we were not invited. This meant digital spaces as well as physical. In the end I asked around a few of the Fleet crewmembers and got him assigned a network station that he could explore. A brief chat with the Captain told me that he would not be allowed access to the ship’s sensor nexus (they had a Galatus Infinity Mk451 sensor nexus!) until he had been given a full diagnostic by Dr. Montannis. I didn’t like the sound of that, but after explaining it to Tac he seemed to think about it.
The Eclipse was loaded back into the stern door of the Dreaming, and I bade my former crew farewell once more.
It was a strange feeling, watching the tether disconnect and the Dreaming drift away. Was I seeing her for the last time? Her new mission was not exactly a cakewalk, but it was a hell of a lot less dangerous than our original plan. With luck, the ship would get home. I smiled as I watched it sail away, becoming an ever harder to see point of light. It was bittersweet, but I knew I had done the right thing. Max did not need to be pulled into this – neither did the rest of her crew. If only Zoe had stayed on board, I would be perfectly happy to face the danger ahead knowing she was safe. Now she was set on going into the dragon’s teeth with me, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it.
When the Dreaming was out of sight, I became resolute in my duties. I had a lot of work to do before we got to Ambrose Station, with only ten days to go before we reached it. Since we would only need to head in a straight line to the station, we cut our travel time down by more than two weeks. The Dreaming would have needed to thread through various debris fields and asteroid clusters to evade the Eye of Ar’od Dar, the Astral Spider had no such limitations.
First on the list – a sit down with Ormund to work out what this command structure would look like. I didn’t want to start the show by stepping on toes, so I wanted to find out for sure what was expected of me. Turns out I needn’t have bothered. When I asked him about it, he merely smiled a mild mannered grin and told me that I had far more experience than he did and that he would welcome some guidance.
“Mostly I just follow the advice of my senior team members - Kekkin, Renthal and Harris. I make all the comms calls and officialise the tactical plans to make sure they align with command strategies and policies, but for the most part those guys come up with the details. I’ve only been on the team for nearly a year, some of those guys have served for well over six years. Kekkin made sergeant after the last was killed shortly before I joined, and they’d already lost their CO twice before me. To be honest, you’ve probably got the most combat experience out of any of us, besides him, no one will second guess you in the field.”
“So how is this going to work?”
“I’ll focus my efforts on tactical support. We’ll get you connected to the battlenet and…”
“I’m sorry, battlenet?”
“A command only subspace network. All field officers have the implant, which will allow you to connect with nearby command systems to call in support or reinforcements. Intel can be transferred directly to your overlay and you can access command chat, maps, troop deployment data and logistical information.”
“Doesn’t that open up sensitive data to anyone listening in?”
“The implants you’ll get use entanglement to make sure that only someone with a battlenet implant can read the data. I suppose someone can scoop an implant out of a fallen officer’s brain and hook it up to an AI Core, but they’re coded to burn out if vitals are flat lined. It’s got limited range but can reach sub-orbital distances - more than far enough for us to communicate. I’ll remain on the Spider, while you lead the field operation.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve studies all your reports, you’ll be fine. You’re a natural soldier, and probably the most experienced person to ever face the Ghantri and survive.”
“Surely people have spent more time in the system than I?”
“Not consecutively, most ops take only a day or two before fruition. We had one Fleet crewman get stranded for three weeks about a year ago, a survivor of a frigate that was taken out by a Ghantri raid, but he spent most of that time in a life pod. Mostly it’s just hit and run, or purely Fleet actions.”
“I ah…have a question of a more personal nature.”
“Go on.”
“Zoe Ward…”
“Oh, your girlfriend? I can see where this is going.”
“I’ve been in the military before, I know the rules, but she doesn’t.”
“Garner is…a little unorthodox when it comes to military policies. If he wasn’t, we probably wouldn’t be here. The man’s bent more rules than I knew existed, the perfect custodian of a spec ops warship. The Sirius Accord is an old custom of the Protectorate, used sparingly in older times. It doesn’t really account for human nature in its deputising of normal people. So long as you keep it behind closed hatches, Garner won’t step in on your relationship. To be honest, I doubt half of the current serving Protectorate Fleet officers know about the Accord.”
“This isn’t the Protectorate I knew years ago.”
“There’s been a lot of conflict since then, a lot of fallout from the Push that saw a big shake up of how things are done. Blindly following orders, or heaping on the bravado, are not the way we do things around here. We fight smarter, not harder.”
“I still intend to hand in my commission when this is all over.”
“I believe you. You’ve more than earned it.”
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t give this my one-hundred percent. Same goes for my comrades. Even Art.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll leave it up to you to brief Naga Team on your mission, then we can work on ours.”
“I have a suspicion the two may coincide. Our target is known to be a rather influential man, if anyone knows what’s going on out here – it would be him.”
34.
The next day was a steep learning curve for both Zoe and I. We had almost no spare time, meeting up near lights out at night in our shared berth. The accommodation was usually reserved for officers and although fitting two people into a bunk reserved for one was a novel experience to say the least, the fact that we were both always exhausted meant we didn’t really care. We were just happy to be together still.
Zoe was working to set up the medical suite, which previously had only two enlisted medics running it, to facilitate cybernetics maintenance. Dr Montannis also tutored her on the cloaking system. Her experiences working on my own nanites gave her a head start.
I started out by inspecting the armoury. The collection of equipment they had managed to load up before getting away from Eridani Station impressed me and, although they were Special Forces, the multitudes of gadgets and specialised weaponry was astounding. I started out with the stuff I knew – the armoured suits.
Kekkin and Renthal helped me out by sizing me up for a custom load out. The M4 was always fitted to the operator and these variants were no different. It surprised me to learn that none of the suits came equipped with standard shield generators. Rental pointed out that Ghantri weapons weren’t energy weapons anyway so there was really no need. Instead, they had a portable reactor.
I was a little sceptical at first, but they swore by it. It had multiple uses, most notably the ability to charge power cells for a variety of weapons. They said that they could have up to three cells charging at any one time, and the suits could carry another six with little encumbrance. This ensured they would have a near limitless supply of ammunition for extended deployments.
The other use they had was powering various tactical equipment they could take into the field. I could see a sparkle in Renthal’s eye when he mentioned this and I couldn’t help but ask what he meant. With a grin he showed me.
“You see these buckles and niches on the armour? Those are anchor points.”
“For what?”
“Exo-rig.”
“On an M4?”
“Oh yeah. We’ll be going down riding DonCrest Power Assisted Tactical Nine exo-rig frames. Turns a soldier in heavy armour into a walking tank. The PAT-9 is the latest in battlefield armour designed to counter heavy assault mech deployments. Or Ghantri Heavies.”
I shuddered at the memory – a Heavy was slang for the Ghantri battle suit soldiers. They were elite warriors equipped with mobile artillery and anti-vehicle weapons. I once tangled with a Heavy in hand-to-hand combat and only survived because I had surprise on my side.
“I thought the idea was to stay hidden. Won’t these make us too bulky for stealth?”
His grin widened even further. “No, sir. I did mention they were the latest in technology, after all. The PAT-9 is built using a poly-carbon nano-weave with smart reactive technology.”
“And what does all that mean?”
“Human doesn’t really know,” said Kekkin, “Just reads the manual. PAT-9 is flexible material until powered, then nanite chains lock into place and turn the material as hard and strong as hyperdiamond.”
“Let me guess…Votus tech?” I asked.
“Garz’a.” he said, practically strutting.
“I’m impressed. They’ll make a huge difference.”
“We have forward base deployables as well,” continued Renthal, “such as gravity shields, sensor beacons, beam and mortar artillery, and radar pods. Drone stations, turrets and synthetic command AI Cores.”
“I have to ask, why all the heavy ordinance? This is more a load out I’d expect on a marine assault boat, not a Special Forces detachment.”
“Remember we told you about an op we had planned that ended up getting squashed?”
“Just before I met you guys?”
“Naga-zak must know,” said Kekkin, “This op is not sanctioned by the Protectorate. Garner seeks revenge against the calak and the withdrawal meant he would not get the chance.”
“Originally,” continued Renthal, “We were supposed to have a couple of platoons of marines backing us up. We go down, set up a forward outpost and the cavalry comes in when we have an objective in sight.”
“It was part of an invasion?”
“Yeah, whole lot of ships would have been used. The Astral Spider prototype was here to gather data on the stealth capabilities. Prove the concept works and next year a dozen Battlecruisers with cloaking systems deploy here. Would have been bloody awesome.”
“And now we’re pulling out completely.”
“Yup, trust Fleet to turn a good idea into a cluster fuck.”
“What’s the squad’s training regime like? I’m a little bit nervous, to be honest. I’ve been pretty active these last few years, but mostly it’s just been sparing and shooting up pirates, synthetics and Corporates. Or combinations of all the above.”
“From what I hear, you should be fine. We’ll probably need to work on your fitness, but your bird says you have some fairly decent moves.”
“Crege? He told you how I fight?”
“Warrior had nothing but praise for naga-zak.” said Kekkin, “This one is looking forward to sparing with you.”
I smiled at him. “You fight with a lurzak?”
“Is all a warrior needs.”
“Tonight?”
“You would honour this warrior.”
“I think you just made the sarge’s day.” laughed Renthal, “He’s going to be giddy as a school girl all day now.”
“Human should not laugh, have not assigned cleaning roster for the week.”
“Let’s make it interesting, shall we?” Renthal was grinning from ear to ear.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked.
“A friendly wager.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a…” I began.
“Warrior will take your money, human.”
“Who said anything about money? I reckon we put a little duty time on the line here.”
“If warrior beats naga-zak in first five minutes, human takes morning PT classes until Ambrose.”
“And if you take longer than five minutes – you have to do the morning brief in song.”
“Deal.”
I watched them banter to and fro, starting to grin as well. “And what if I beat Kekkin?”
They both stopped and looked at me.
“Warrior means no disrespect, naga-zak, warrior is lur shirtan-zak.”
“A what?”
Renthal was still smiling, but was trying to put a serious look on his face when he answered me. “The sarge is a blade master, sir. You’d have to kill him to win a duel.”
“I’m not familiar with the significance of the title. It has to do with the lurzak martial art? And please, don’t call me sir when it’s just us talking. You’ll give me a complex.”
“The sarge here is a bona-fide lurzak sword fighting champion. Attended the finest schools all the way back on Garz’en since he was nigh but a hatchling. He fought his way up through the lur kit-zak ranks, making yendag-zak when he was only twenty standard years old. He fought and defeated one of the shirtan-zak to take their place when he was thirty, and two years later killed the Votus-Eridani lur shirtan-zak in a duel.”
“You killed him?”
“Lur shirtan-zak must always duel to the death,” explained Kekkin, “Cannot become one unless warrior kills one.”
“That sounds a little extreme.”
“Have defended lur shirtan-zak seven times since.” he said, puffing out his chest.
“Always to the death?”
“The path of peace is littered with the bones of those who seek it.”
“What the hell does that mean? You pretty much just admitted to being a serial killer.”
“Naga-zak mistakes my pride for bloodthirst. Only one who is ready for death can challenge a lur shirtan-zak. Each shirtan-zak that challenged warrior was a noble Garz’a. They honoured me with their sacrifice, and warrior strives each day to continue to honour their life.”
“Why in the galaxy would you want to be a lur shirtan-zak? You would be forced to kill people all the time!”
“It is the only way to become garz’ak, the supreme warrior.”
“And why is that important?”
Renthal cleared his throat, “The highest rank of their crazy martial art is forbidden from killing anything, ever again. All their battles are non-lethal.”
“Garz’ak battle for peace only. Greatest of all battles.”
I thought about that for a while, wondering why Crege had never explained this ranked structure to me before. I wondered what his title was.
“Wait a minute,” I said, “I thought garz’ak meant child?”
“The nearest translation is innocent. Those who cannot slay.”
“Yeah, all Garz’a are crazy,” said Renthal, “that much you can be sure of.”
“Shit, did I just sign myself up for a duel to the death?” I asked, a dread notion suddenly dawning on me.
“Naga-zak does me an honour, but we are only sparing for practice. Warrior promises not to kill naga-zak.”
Renthal broke out in a fresh batch of booming laughter, “Unless he thinks you’re good enough to fight for real.”
35.
Word travels fast on starships, even as large as a corvette. By the time my match with Kekkin was due, a veritable crowd had gathered in the ship’s gymnasium to watch. Mostly it was off-duty enlisted crew, but all of Naga Team was there, as well as Zoe, Tac and Art. Artemis present made me do a double take, and when I asked about her being let out of her quarters she muttered something about allowances to work out, gesturing to her sweat towel.
Renthal, the bastard, was moving through the crowd taking bets, with Harris in tow hastily tapping away at a tablet recording the takings. There was entirely too many people here for what was supposed to be a practice spar, one in which apparently I was destined to lose within a few minutes of starting. If all that story about Kekkin was true, though, I was betting I was going to get my arse handed to me in no time.
I spent a few minutes warming up, getting used to the weight of the lurzak in my hand again. It had been a little while since I’d used it – while sparing with Art on the Dreaming we had used practice blades at Max’s behest, after she cut me about seven weeks ago. Zoe and Tac were chatting with me while I went through my exercises.
“I’m detecting an unusual amount of anxiety from you,” Tac was saying, “Judging from your perspiration and heart rate. Are you nervous, Seth?”
“Yeah I am. From what I hear, Kekkin is another whole level above Crege in skill. This could go very badly for me out there.”
“Then why do you have to go through with it?” asked Zoe, concern clear on her face.
“Because I said I would. I need to show these men that I’m not afraid.”
“Well you clearly are, so you need to calm down, I think.”
“I’m trying to, but this bloody robot keeps reminding me I’m about to get hammered out there.”
“I am not a robot, Seth, I am an organic shroud…”
“I know, I know. Sorry, I’m just peevish.”
“Focus on your breathing.” offered Zoe, “Ignore Tac for now. Just listen to my voice.” Zoe start to drone a mantra that I knew she’d learned from Fel. The words themselves were meaningless, but their flow and their rhythm were soothing. Their cadence in time with my breathing. Say what you will about philosophical debate, The Way had some effective techniques for focus and concentration.
“They’re waiting for you, try your best.” she said, simply.
Without waiting any longer, I walked up to the gym floor and climbed into the sparing ring. I did my best to ignore the cheering and jeering going on around me, finding Kekkin in the crowd as he climbed in as well.
He was adorned in a leather strap affair, much like an athletic would tape up various joints and limbs during a sport, with several sections covering vital spots on his body. I’d seen this kind of gear before, on professional swordsmen in competitions. He stood casually, balanced on his feet with his arms apart, forearms facing me.
I tossed him a salute with my lurzak, which he returned.
“What are the rules here?” I asked.
“Fight until it is no longer safe to do so.”
“Ha, that’s pretty vague.”
“Naga-zak will know when he is beaten. As will warrior.”
“All right. I’m ready.”
“Ur kah lem, kitrak.”
Like a panther, Kekkin began to circle me, his eyes never leaving mine. I chose to play it safe, at first. I matched his motions, keeping the breadth of the ring between us. I watched his movements, noted how graceful they were, kept an eye out for some clue, some tell that would give away his first move. I was never the silent fighter, so I decided to play to my strengths.
“We keep circling like this, you’re going to lose your bet.”
Kekkin said nothing, just kept circling. I stopped, adjusted the weight on my feet. Kekkin stopped as well, then took half a step forward suddenly. The quick movement made me jump back, rocking onto my rear foot and bringing my guard up reflexively. I blew the breath out of my lungs and tried to focus on my breathing again, I could feel my heart start to race. Kekkin smiled.
“Warrior knows most of a battle lies in the heart, and the head. Win your fight there, and warrior will win every time.”
He was toying with me on purpose, trying to use my nervousness against me.
When he saw me steel myself, he started to run towards me, blade held high. I side stepped, went wide and evaded rather than met his strike. I spun about and put distance between us again. He rushed again, blade held at chest height and pointed right at me, only this time he sidestepped as I tried to once more get past him. Like a snake his blade whipped out at me, forcing me backwards as I brought my blade up to deflect his strike. He pivoted on his foot, bringing his other out and lifting it in a lightning snap kick. I ducked and rolled under his leg, sending a backhand slice towards his leg. He moved like liquid, completely avoiding my clumsy strike. I rose, leaping into a triple cross that ended with me spinning backwards into the ring’s ropes. My chin was numb and my head was spinning. It took me several seconds to realise I’d been elbowed in the face as I came at him. He had pulled back to allow me to recover.
“Lurzak is not naga-zak’s weapon. Naga-zak is weapon. Lurzak merely the means of delivering your will.”
I shook my head and started to circle again. Kekkin just stood there, legs shoulder width apart, arms open with forearms up. I came at him from his left, forcing him to pivot on his legs to bring up a cross guard. I made to push him off his balance, except when I shoved he wasn’t there. As I stumbled past him his blade whipped out and slapped my foot. I went sprawling to the floor. I could hear his padded feet rushing towards me so I used my momentum to roll, then activate Spatial Translation and appeared a few metres behind him. I caught my balance, rushed at his back while he spent a moment of confusion. I landed both feet in between his shoulder blades and sent him tumbling across the ring. I climbed back to my feet, to see him leaping back at me. I met his blade on my own, then struggled to keep his blade away as he executed strike after strike. High, high, low, high, middle, low. A classic galab form. I jumped his last strike and shoved a knee into his chest, using the force to start my own attack. A double cross, followed by an overhead slice that bounced off his cross guard sending me backwards as he kicked me in the thigh. The pain made me call out. I realised he’d hit me in my burn mark, which had only just healed.
“Warrior watches for weakness in calak. Strike where blow would give pause to foe.”
“You’re full of advice.” I said between clenched teeth.
“Naga-zak has much to learn.”
“Warrior is running out of time.” I tried to mimic his accent.
There are two ways of fighting, in my opinion. Kekkin, I could tell, was a professional swordsman and an exceptional martial artist in his own right. His type of fighting was one way. I was far from being a professional. Almost all of my fights were a matter of life and death - there was no time for niceties and fancy moves. I had to calculate the most efficient way to dispatch my adversary, as chances were I had to contend with more than one.
I had seen a brief glimpse of Kekkin’s weakness – his reliance on his method and technique. Several things leapt to mind then. Crege always insisted that any move you make can win you a fight, regardless of the fairness of the attack. He believed there was no such thing as dirty fighting. If the move won you a fight, then you lived and your opponent did not. Another thing that came to mind was my time in Gossamer previously.
The way the Ghantri fought - there were no fighting schools, no training camps or practice rings. They instinctively knew how to fight, and they did it well. Their tactics were brutal, savage and utterly effective. They had an uncanny knack for striking when you were unprepared, springing traps when they were not yet ready, spoiling plans and sowing chaos. Our first ground casualties of the Push were due to our defensive lines being overrun by hundreds of Ghantri rushing our positions. We simply could not believe that they would do it.
Kekkin was already playing out my defeat in his mind. He knew which moves he would perform next, how he would disarm me. He had played the match with the time in his mind. He would wait until the last moment to delivery his victory blow, building anticipation with the crowd. For him to lose was utterly alien, it wasn’t even part of his mindset right now.
The next few minutes were edge of your seat close call after close call. Once I’d seen Kekkin’s plan in my mind, however, I knew that I was safe so long as I put on a good show. Kekkin held back in his strikes, not aiming to dislodge my weapon, or hurt me too much before the end. I could tell he was trying to teach me, but I had a lesson to teach him too. When there was less than thirty seconds to go before his five minutes was up, the tempo changed and I knew that his final play was coming to fruition.
I was panting heavily, face and chest soaked with sweat and blood from several small cuts on my hand, arm, forehead and lip (I bit it myself by accident rolling away from him). He kicked my sword arm, forcing me to roll with it or risk numbing my arm.
I went into a one handed cartwheel to my left, I tried to clip his hand with my foot as a I flipped but he held back from his follow through for a split second. As I came up, I saw his footing shift, digging his toes into the gym floor as if to push off. Time seemed to slow down as I knew his attack was about to finish me off. My lurzak was on the far side of me, if I was to deflect his attack in time I’d have to commit my block to taking the full weight of his blow, a move that would surely leave my hand numb from impact. Instead I brought my left arm up, popped my hidden gun up and shot his lurzak square on the cross guard.
Disarmed, disoriented, he stumbled forward and came face to face with my lurzak as I brought it around.
“Here we are not galab. Here we are Ghantri, or we are killed like bezak. Like the Fleet during the Push.” I took a few breathes, trying to stop my panting, “One thing I learnt during my time here was to never stop thinking that the fight was over. Every moment we are here, the Ghantri could be about to strike. We may be invisible, but I found the Astral Spider – who’s to say that right now a Ghantri raiding party isn’t cutting their way into here. They could be right outside this hatch, in the passageway, waiting for us.
“If there was one thing that I could pass on to my fallen squad mates, it’s not to underestimate an under trained, under armed or less experienced foe. The Ghantri didn’t defeat us, we did it to ourselves.”
36.
To say my spar with Kekkin had caught everyone unawares was an understatement. Watching their champion felled must have been a heavy blow to their morale, for that reason alone I regretted beating him. It had to be done, however.
Despite Garner’s staidness of the situation, or Ormund’s words of encouragement, I could still see the same machismo and bravado in many of the crew. For months, or years, they had been in the system facing down the tiger in the cage and never once seen what happens when they step into the cage themselves.
Were they brave? Or were they foolish, as we were all those years ago. The Push taught me many things – lessons I hoped to impress upon these men and women before they learned the hard way. They weren’t blind to the dangers in the Gossamer System, they just didn’t think they would affect them.
As I wrapped up the fight with Kekkin, moving into a dressing room with my friends, I decided that I would talk with Garner about a more robust ship-wide training schedule.
Zoe, as you could guess, was ecstatic about my victory.
“That was amazing! My gun really worked out there!”
“I’m not sure what hurt more, beating Kekkin, or crushing the spirit of so many of the crew like that.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve never seen you fight like that before!”
“She’s right,” interjected Artemis, “That was some grade A moves out there.”
“I got lucky and I technically cheated.”
“Ha, what would Crege say to that?”
Tac had his turn, “Pilot Crege would remind Seth that any fight you win was a good fight.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m more concerned with the morale of all those enlisted out there. Was that the right move? By beating Kekkin I may have alienated myself to them.”
“You didn’t see the look on their faces.” reminded Art, “When they picked their jaws up from the deck, most of them were in awe.”
“As am I.” came a voice at the door.
Kekkin and Renthal stepped into the room. They both wore solemn looks, the big Garz’a nursing his sword hand in an ice pack.
“Are you okay?” I asked, “Do you want Zoe to have a look at your hand?”
“No, naga-zak, warrior will be fine. We came to offer our apologies.”
“What? What for?”
“For our bullshit earlier today in the armoury.” said Renthal.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I just hope that everyone who watched learnt something. Other than how to cheat at a swordfight, I mean.”
“Warrior understands the lesson, naga-zak. Warrior will make sure everyone else does too.”
“I didn’t mean to pull a shirt over your eyes out there, sarge. I saw how everyone was rooting for you. I didn’t mean to make you look bad in front of the crew, I just saw an opportunity to start everyone on the right path.”
“You honour me. You are a formidable opponent, one who warrior will never underestimate again.”
“Oh, dear,” said Renthal, “This means your next fight with him will be to the death.”
Zoe’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. I laughed, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “No more sparring with the sergeant, then. Got it.”
“I think you blew your ace up your sleeve anyway,” said Artemis, “Next time Kekkin will know about your NP, and your little pea shooter. He’ll drop you like a bad habit.”
“Warrior should always be ready for the unexpected. Naga-zak reminded me of this, when warrior had forgotten. The calak will not be so forgiving. Naga-zak may have saved this warrior’s life out there tonight. Crege has taught you well. I would be honoured to duel him when he is healed.”
Before I could object, Renthal held up a hand to stop me. “It’s a platitude, not a promise. I don’t think they’d actually fight, not while they are both your ally. I think.”
“Human speaks the truth. Warriors will not duel while we are both useful to naga-zak.”
“Thank you. I mean that. Crege would be proud. He was wounded in one hell of a fight, one I didn’t think we’d survive.”
Art gave a short grunt of approval. “Those Frikk were tough bastards, no bullshit there.”
“You two are both actives, then?” asked Renthal.
“We both fit that definition, yes.” I said.
“What’s it like, earning a living like that?”
“You thinking of mustering out, soldier?” asked Art, eyeing him up and down. He suddenly got self-conscious.
“Eventually, maybe once this tour is over with.”
“Well, depends on which line of work you choose to specialise in, and how good your crew is.” I said.
“Or who your clients are. How well they pay, what type of jobs they ask you to do.”
“How willing you are to get your hands dirty. And how much blood you can stand getting on your own hands in the process.”
This last I said while staring at Art. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, and her grin vanished. Renthal caught my look, and started to sense there was something between us.
“I always said I’d go AWOL,” I said, “the moment I was asked to do something distasteful, rather than compromise my own integrity or creed.”
“Some of us don’t always have that luxury.” said Art, addressing me while she spoke.
“I’ve never liked taking on a job where there wasn’t complete transparency, unknowns were always anathema to our style of working on the Dreaming. And we never, ever, did work for criminals.”
“If you ever find a crew that were dependable, and willing to lay down their lives for you, keep them.” Artemis had turned to Renthal again, “Otherwise, stay freelance – don’t get tied down to one location where you can build enemies. You never know when one will get the upper hand and force you to put your integrity on hold for a while.”
“Is that what happened to you?” he asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s it? No advice on that?”
“It’s about all I’ve ever managed to get out of her, too.” I said.
For once, Artemis had no bluster, a look of shame had crossed her face while we had sparred with our words. Zoe stepped up and put a hand on her arm.
“She’s not a bad person. She risked her life to save mine once. I’ll always be grateful to her for that.” She smile up at Artemis, who eventually gave her a sheepish grin.
“I was ordered to help you, cupcake. And you returned the favour, right away.”
“Ah, but it was my job to tend to your wounds, remember? We can both downplay our parts in the journey to get here, but it doesn’t change anything between us. I hope your circumstances improve, when all this is over.”
For a second there, I thought the two would actually hug. I was as motionless as I could be, as if I would startle them and spoil the moment, but Art regained her composure a moment later and merely nodded her thanks to Zoe.
“Well,” she said, “All this testosterone in the room is getting me horny. Unless you two are going to start showering, I’m going back to my quarters to play with myself.”
Kekkin nearly choked. Renthal’s jaw dropped open, for the second time tonight. As she left the room, she ran her hand over Renthal’s forearm.
“I could use a playmate?” she said seductively over her shoulder as she left.
Renthal’s face had gone pale, looking longing at the door. He took half a step towards it before Kekkin grabbed his arm, jolting him out of his stupor.
“Human will remember his place.”
“Yeah, sorry sarge. It’s been a long deployment.”
I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him, or happy that she’d found a new ‘luverboi’ to torment. I decided on a comfortable middle ground.
“I think you’re going to have some competition with Harris, if you plan on pursuing that. He’s had his eye on her rear ever since she stepped on board.”
Zoe slapped my arm playfully.
“You guys are terrible!”
“Hey! She encouraged it.”
“Well, I’m encouraging you to get back to your cabin and clean up. I need to take a look at some of those cuts, too. Did you have to cut him so many times, sergeant?” she gave Kekkin a reproachful look.
“Warrior apologises, ma’am. Will not happen again.”
“Now that we’ve all found out who has the biggest penis, can we put an end to all this violence? There’s enough of it in this system that you’ll all get a turn.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Practice blades only, from now on? Just like Max asked you?” she was really pushing the point, and Kekkin was mollified enough that he acquiesced.
“Yes, ma’am. Warrior will try to reduce level of injury during training.”
“Good, and I want to see you in the med bay tonight before lights out. I don’t care what you say about that hand, I want to be sure there’s no damage that you’re hiding.”
“Ma’am!”
“Just do it, Kekkin. It’s easier if you just do what she says.”
Renthal started chuckling.
“Careful, Corporal. You and your squad mates are nearly due their annual physicals.” He shut up real fast after that. I just started laughing, though. I couldn’t help it.
“Go easy on them, love. Let’s get out of here. I’ll see you gentlemen tomorrow morning for PT. I think you were right on the money about my fitness, Renthal. I’m exhausted!”
37.
The next day, I met with Captain Garner to discuss a more rigid training plan. I laid out my ideas for him, one at a time, and he listened quietly to each one in turn. When I was finished, he simply leaned back in his chair and silently pondered my suggestions. I could already tell his leadership style was vastly different to Maxine’s, as long before I would have finished Max would have already thrown a dozen questions at me.
Garner was the contemplative type, who let his delegates explain their ideas fully before asking questions. It was a little unnerving, to be honest, I was fully prepared to defend each and every one of my plans and when he didn’t ask me a single question I started to think I hadn’t worded my thoughts properly. I was about to put them to him again, in a different way, when he held up his hand to quiet me.
“Let’s do it.” was all he said, after a minute of brooding.
The general theme to my idea was to keep the crew on a heightened state of alertness. One way to achieve this was by removing the artificial day / night routine that the ship ran. Most space faring vessels keep their ship’s clock by a galactic standard time scale – thirty hours in a day, six days in a week. Hours 0600 to 2600 were considered ‘daylight’ hours, while 2601 until 0559 were ‘night’ hours. A ship would normally reset their ship’s clocks to whichever station they docked at last, especially if they were to spend at least a full day and night docked.
Most military ships across the galaxy had various states of readiness and ships in the Gossamer System were no different – except they tended to remain at the upper end of the readiness scale. We were currently operating around a three watch rotation called Defence Watches, which meant that at any one time, a full third of the crew were awake at all times. Each watch would keep a ten-hour shift, called a ‘trick’, and then spend the next five to ten hours on regular daily activities such as maintenance or training, depending on workloads. The remaining time was theirs to do with as they pleased. For any event, should the general alarm be called, everyone was to close up at their battle stations.
As many of the maintenance and housekeeping services were handled by synthetics or automated systems on modern warships, this usually left a sizable chunk of free time for crew to relax, while still maintaining an acceptable level of readiness.
I wanted to remove this free time and replace it with damage control exercises and roleplaying scenarios. I suggested collapsing the three watches into two, each holding ten hour tricks. By doing this, we could also remove the ‘night’ and ‘day’ cycle of the ship, keeping it permanently on a ‘day’ routine. A very small number of crew would remain ‘day hands’ – usually people of significant value to a process or department – to oversee regular service and monitoring of subsystems.
At least once a watch I, or the Captain, would initiate an exercise. The results would be graded and presented to the following watch, who would then be encouraged to meet or exceed the grade of the previous attempt.
The general principle of running damage control events was not a new one, especially in the military, but I wanted to throw in something special for the Gossamer System. The secret ingredient to all this? Not all of the exercises were meant to be ‘survivable’. In fact, very few of them were.
Individuals in a team who quickly proved to be instrumental to performing well were ‘killed’ off as casualties first. This forced the surviving crew to innovate or think outside the box. They had to review their own training and find gaps in their ship knowledge. They had to re-learn how to fight the ship.
The exercises didn’t just involve the Fleet personnel either. I spoke at length with Ormund and Kekkin about instigating hostile boarding actions. With Tac’s help, we had small squads of synthetics repurposed and reprogrammed to act as roving marauders who would stun unprepared crew and take over compartments. Naga Team, and the few security personnel on board, were issued modified energy weapons that would react with synthetics to simulate a killing shot. Each member was to upload an App for their overlays that would tell them when they were ‘killed’ by an enemy mech. Except, we would randomly deactivate some weapons on a team, or simply not register hits.
By the second day, two full ship exercises later, everyone was tired and had sore muscles. However, I was only just getting started. I wanted to push the crew hard, bring them to the brink, so to speak. The third exercise was a big one, six hours of simulated battle, raging infernos and berserk fake Ghantri. Poor Zoe was probably one of the most hard working people, her and her two subordinates had to set up a triage station – I had Tac issue each ‘wounded’ an overlay message to inform the medics of their injuries and they had to prioritise the treatment. I had to use Tac because I knew next to nothing about anatomy, while I knew Tac had access to the medical system database. Eventually, when the bridge was ‘wiped out’ by enemy fire, an engineer had to take charge and ordered a full evacuation of the ship. When the survivors all reported in to their lifeboats, I called the exercise to a close and reported to the crew the outcome.
To their credit, they took the loss of the ship in stride. They were solemn faced, many still damp with sweat, while they were told of the many areas lost to damage and the casualties that they had suffered. The air in the ship started to take on a slight acrid scent, as we used special training smoke canisters to simulate fires so much, that the oxygen scrubbers were struggling to remove all the particulates from the air. Crew began to dread the smell and I started to see many people alertly sniffing the air occasionally.
The fourth event was as large as the third, and it was then that I started to see a few cracks in the veneer. One crewmember had to be disciplined when he wouldn’t play along. Sure, he had had little sleep in the last day, but during a real event, he wouldn’t have that luxury either.
By the third day, performance started to slide. I had been expecting this. I talked with Ormund and Garner about this eventuality, saying it was part of the plan.
You see, during the Push, we suffered some harrowing catastrophes on our ships. The invasion of Ambrose Station, meant to be a large Protectorate force hammering a relatively weaker Ghantri defence before deploying troops to liberate the refugees, turned into a space battle that raged across a week before we got close enough to put boots on the ground.
My first ship, the Sardonis Mist, was damaged in a battle that had spanned thirteen hours, with two hundred and seventeen Protectorate ships being destroyed. Another hundred and nine were too disabled to continue. Not six hours later, while repairs were still being conducted, the second engagement began when the fleet that was supposed to be destroyed by Task Force One reached Ambrose Station. This second wave took nearly twenty hours to force a withdrawal, in which time both sides reorganised for another attempt.
In all that time, not a single person slept. We finally got a respite after the withdrawal immediately after, while our fleet waited and watched, hoping in futility for reinforcements or word from Task Force One. Every day, more and more Ghantri ships arrived and sorties were sent to try to intercept them, attempting to stem the tide of the Ghantri. By the fourth day the Fleet decided an all-or-nothing assault was required, and the Star Marines got their chance to do their part, ill-fated though it was. By week’s end, with the remaining fleet bolstered by Task Force Two, they called a retreat and collected most of the ground forces before we could secure a victory.
The thing that I noticed the most during that terrifying time in space, was that there always seemed to be certain individuals who worked well within a team. They were the foundation of a good, solid group who could be counted on to get the most out of every section of the ship regardless of the problem.
Ships that lost the fight often had imbalances of these people, while ships who did well often had an even spread of these leaders across all departments.
By day three, we could spot these people while we roved about the ship, or reviewed the action on the ship’s security monitors afterwards. We started to focus our attention on these people and started to shuffle them about. We stopped killing them off, too. Instead, we briefed them personally afterwards, sometimes giving them restrictions on what they can do in an exercise, which people they could help, or using them to create problems for other people to be challenged by.
By day seven, I had a solid core of exceptional Damage Control Coordinators – DCCs. The exercises ran themselves, at this point. Everyone was used to the new routine, their body clocks had reset. They were more alert, they were hardened and they were quick to respond to any threat or problem we could throw at them. Surprisingly enough, the first crewmember we had disciplined turned out to be our best DCC, a Leading Serviceman Ferol Ackerman. Normally, he was a maintainer assigned to one of the ship’s Class 1 point defence weapons – the Port Battery. Now, I had him loaded up with smoke canisters, stalking the passageways at odd hours looking for good spots to set off fake fires. He would wait nearby until a crewmember noticed to smoke then initiate the exercise. He would spend the next few hours yelling at damage controllers trying to put out blazes and generally exciting the hell out of everyone. We wanted to exercises to seem real, after all.
By the end of my training schedule, I had a crew who were steely eyed, tired but mentally and physically prepared for the worst possible scenarios. I felt that I had given these men and women the best possible chance that I could give them, that all the lessons I had learned from the Push were put into effect. I made sure that I spent time with everyone, whether during a meal, in the few free hours between shifts when they could actually rest, or during a lull in an exercise. I made sure they understood the reasoning for this. I told them my story, sharing some of my experiences.
Artemis had been right. Many remembered the first lesson I had taught them, when I beat Kekkin in a sparring match – something many of them never thought could happen. They actually listened, too. I came to feel pride for these people, I cared for their survival - they were not just a tool to get me to Ambrose.
I began to think, what if I had had this preparation the last time I was here? How many lives could it have saved?
38.
Our time before arriving at Ambrose wasn’t all damage control and practice runs killing the crew, I had the opportunity to learn a few things too. Zoe and Dr. Montannis decided, or rather Zoe convinced Elias, to let me study samples of the holographic nanites that coated the hull. They ran me through a few crash courses on the theory of the projections and let me observe their activation while running my Scan Paradigm. We put my gathered data through a packaging program that Tac wrote for me and when he was finished, after a few days, he handed me back a data wafer that he assured me would be a sufficient surrogate for a new Paradigm for me to upload into my NP Implant.
“The biggest deficiency, I’m afraid,” explained Tac, “Was the lack of sensor data. The Astral Spider has an exceptional three-hundred and sixty degree synchronous optical sensor that allows each nanite to project the image on its diametrically opposite nanite cluster. Unfortunately, humans lack such sophisticated vision. Even if you could observe all angles simultaneously, your brain would not be able to process such a sight.”
“So what can I do with it?” I asked, inspecting the wafer in my hand.
“You should be able to create a realistic hologram of anything your visual memory can recall. Within reason.”
“Hardlight?”
“Not without significant upgrades to your augmentations. I believe a Specialist would be able to create hardlight projections, but as you lack the power reserves, and the internal graphics adaptors, the best a Generalist could manage is softlight only.”
“How big?”
“An image roughly equal in size to yourself would be of decent resolution, able to fool most organics without careful examination, however anything larger would begin to lose clarity at a rate of three-hundred and forty two picons per micron, per cubic millimetre of volume beyond these specifications.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“The larger the picture, the blurrier it gets.”
“Oh. You could have just said that.”
“Preference noted.”
I started to use holograms during the damage control exercises. At first, I stuck with non-animated, three-dimensional images but, as I practiced and became more proficient, I started to use animation in the holograms.
I joined Naga Team in their drill runs, learning their methods and tactics. I knew that I could not hope to gain their level of unit readiness in such a short time, but it wasn’t long before my old muscle memory started to come back. Artemis was training with us daily as well, and she was in fine form. She was naturally competitive and delighted in showing off for the lads in Naga Team, so much so that they were distracted sometimes. I spoke to her about it, but she flipped me off saying that I was jealous. Yeah, she could still be a pain in the arse.
We were three days out from Ambrose Station when we started to go through the details of our joint operation. It was a full team brief, including Captain Garner, so Artemis and I decided to share our final piece of the puzzle – our target.
“Our client, who shall remain anonymous,” I nodded to Artemis, “has…hired the crew of the Dreaming of Atmosphere to rescue one individual from the refugee population. Some of you may know him, he was a little before my time so you younger soldiers may not recognise the name either. This is an older image of our objective, so please allow the turning of the years to add to this effect.”
I tapped a control on the glossy black table and sent a file that Art had shared with me. The image of Osiris Blackburn, albeit decades younger, appeared on the table. There were a couple of sharp intakes of breathe, but to the majority the image meant little.
“Osiris Blackburn, the scourge of Ilos, the butcher of Yggrest Station. The most powerful underworld figure across four star systems. He was investigating black market potential in the Gossamer System when the Betrayal went down. His personal yacht was crippled and boarded by Ghantri raiders before it could leave Ambrose Station.”
“You expect the Protectorate to sign off on rescuing a known criminal mastermind?” interrupted Captain Garner.
“No, sir. I expected the Dreaming of Atmosphere to do this. Maxine only agreed to the crew exchange under the pretence that this would take priority before any other objectives.”
“Captain Cooper didn’t strike me as the sort to work with criminals. Was I mistaken?”
“No, sir. The terms of our employment, although I won’t elaborate, are not terms of our choosing.”
Artemis broke in, clearing her throat. “What he means is that my boss is extorting Maxine to perform this job.”
There were a few shared looks about the table as this sunk in. I noticed Garner watching me carefully, one hand on his chin.
“Why wasn’t this shared with us earlier?” he said after a moment, “Should I be arresting Ms. Derris, here?”
“You can try.” she said.
“Art. Please. We’re committed to the job, now. Pulling out this close to our target would be a waste of our resources and make the loss of one of my friends mean next to nothing. No, sir. I would not arrest Artemis, the terms would remain the same.”
“Very well, assume I’m willing to entertain this for the time being.”
“Our client has foreseen Protectorate resistance to removing Osiris from the system and does not want to wait for us to bring him to them. So, they provided us with a very rare piece of technology.” I nodded to Artemis, who brought out the suitcase containing the portable Jump Gate.
“This,” she began with a flourish of her hands, “is a Korveli-Xue prototype Personal Jump Gate.” Immediately Elias gasped and moved close to the case. Artemis warded him off with her hands.
“Once we locate Osiris Blackburn, we’ll activate this device and allow Osiris…”
“And me.” interrupted Art.
“And Artemis to travel through the portal. Along with whoever we can round up and fit into it before the Ghantri detect the energy signature and investigate.”
“What?” said Artemis, her face suddenly dark.
“We’re rescuing as many people from the station as we can. With the system’s Jump Gate closing this will be their only chance to escape.”
“We have not discussed this.”
“No, nor will we.”
As this exchange went back and forth between Art and I, the rest of the briefing participants sat in silence, looking at each of us in turn.
“Benedict will not approve of this.”
“Benedict isn’t here. We are. I’m making this call.”
“That’s not your call to make!”
“It has to be. I know you put up a tough front, playing the cold-hearted bitch. But I’ve come to know you. I know this will sit well with you, if only you give it some thought.”
“We will not be deviating from the plan. Osiris only. End of discussion.” She was practically fuming now.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can blow up your fucking ship, is what I can do.”
“No you won’t.”
“Seth!” cried Zoe, “Enough! Art, please consider it, these people have no hope otherwise. At the very least wait until everyone has calmed down before making any rash decisions.”
Art and I glared at each other across the table.
“Lieutenant,” said Garner, “Let’s continue with the briefing. We can debate the details at a later date, as Sub-Lieutenant Ward said.”
I took a few deep breaths and turned back to the group.
“Once we have secured Osiris, we can question him regarding our next objective – finding out what the Ghantri know about the ghru. If anyone would know what’s going on in the system, it would be him.”
“Osiris Blackburn never struck me as the kind of villain who let intelligence or information about a region go uncollected,” explained Garner, “Information is currency to these people. If he’s anything like I remember, he’ll at least be able to point us in the right direction.”
“Exactly. Speaking of information, has there been any word from the Dreaming?” I asked.
“Yes, we received an encoded signal several hours ago.” offered Ormund.
“Is everyone okay?” asked Zoe.
Garner answered. “We’ll go over their findings this evening. We’re still waiting for the last of the message to arrive. For now, we can tell that they did indeed discover something, but we’ve been unable to examine the footage they recovered. We hope to have more by this evening’s brief.”
39.
By evening, I was as anxious as Zoe was to find out how our ship had fared recently. They would have arrived at their destination a few days ago and begun exploring, so we were sure they had something to share. By the time it was all compiled and ready to go over, the Astral Spider’s AIs had put together a series of holo images and sensor recordings. The projector table in the briefing room was a fitting device to watch from.
Captain Garner took us through it.
“The first several recordings are sensor read outs as they approached the asteroid cluster. We had timed their arrival so that there were no Ghantri ships around the region, the nearest was several days out. The first interesting recording is from the command module. I’ll play it for you now.”
An image from the ship’s internal security camera appeared, showing the command module of the Dreaming with Max, Fel and Crege closed up on their usual stations. What surprised me was the Votus, who took my usual secondary command station. Paired with the image was another recording, from the ship’s optical sensors. They showed a large cluster of asteroids grouped in a cloud roughly a thousand kilometres across.
“Entering proximity of field, Captain.” reported Fel’negr.
“Give me a scan of the nearest rock bigger than the ship, Mel.” I could see the Votus visibly bristle as Max shortened his name.
“Yes, Captain.” he complied, “Scans coming in now. Nickle and iron deposits, cobalt, magnesium. Standard metallic composition. “
“No bug bits? Chitin?”
“No, Captain. Although I should point out that ghru world ships were not chitin, rather they were seeded alloys and…one moment, Captain. I am picking up energy readings from the object marked on your display now.”
“Crege, take us on approach, get us in close to that marker. What kind of energy?”
“It appears to be standard electrical signatures,” reported Fel, “Perhaps this is a mining site?”
“I am detecting dozens more similar readings, Captain.”
“Multiple mining sites?”
“Has to be,” barked Crege, “fedang work here for months, Protectorate say.”
“I concur, Captain,” agreed Fel, “We’re picking up nearly forty such sites.”
“Any life signs?”
“Negative.” said Melafenaseance.
“Are any of these rocks non-metallic?”
“None within sensor range, Captain.”
“We should scoop some up to take a poke at.” mused Max.
“I highly recommend we proceed to a suitable asteroid and begin our own mining operation. I believe that should yield us the most valuable data.” advised Mel.
“What would you consider suitable?”
“One that has not been probed by the Ghantri already. Whatever they are looking for, they have not found it within those already searched.”
“True. All right, Crege, work with Fel and find us a big rock we can park on and dig some holes. Time to get our mining hats on, fellas.”
The next footage showed the Dreaming resting upon an asteroid, while Hergo and Denno worked to offload the ship’s drilling rig. It was fairly old equipment, having been purchased when I was a child, but it still worked. When jobs were slow, we would use it to mine the Kersios Ring asteroid belt in the Argessi System and still make money. It was hard work, but safer than tracking down criminals or mercenary work. There was always someone who would buy the cargo as well.
The two Argen got the rig set up in no time and started drilling bore holes for fracking. The idea was to create a hole that could be sealed and atmospheric generators added. Mining was easier when you didn’t need to wear a space suit.
“I’ll skip this next part, the crew basically set up an outpost on the asteroid and begin excavating. Roughly twenty hours later, they halt drilling. Watch.”
“Captain,” called one of the Argen over the ship’s communications, “this is Hergo. We’re picking up a change in density, can we get a scan of the area?”
“Stand-by, ground crew.” said Cuts, who was on watch in the command module, “Max is asleep.”
Moments later a bleary-eyed Max entered the compartment, along with the Votus.
“What have you got, boys?” she said over the comms.
“Looks like the tunnel changed material. We just pulled the rig out and walked in to check, it’s definitely not metallic anymore.”
“Silicate?”
“I don’t think so. Denno says it looks like calcium.”
Maxine turned to Mel. “Calcium? In an asteroid?”
“It is unusual, Captain,” agreed the Votus as he reached for the comm controls, “Can you get images with your overlays?”
“Sending them now.”
A series of still images appeared adjacent to the compartment video. They showed the tunnel composition, which started as a dark, sometimes reddish rock and changed to a lighter grey, nearly white material.
“Bring a sample back to the ship. We’ll scan the area when you’re clear of the sensors.” said Max.
Next, a chemical break down appeared of the lighter material. The most abundant mineral was crystalline calcium carbonate.
“Terrestrial limestone?” I asked Garner.
“There’s a report in with the video about this substance they collected. Melafenaseance thinks it could be ghru minerals. Coral and other growths. Remember their world ships were supposed to be millions of years old.”
I shuddered at the thought of something so old that it predated humanity, an enemy who was unfathomable in their motivation. An enemy who strove for nothing less than the total annihilation of other civilisations. Well, not total as it appears. Something spared the Ghantri from sterilisation by the Destroyers.
We started the recording again. The next image showed a captured by someone’s overlay. It had to be the Votus’ implant, I mused, as I knew no one on the crew had enough internal memory to record such high-resolution images in video. The recording took place from inside the tunnel, which was thick with dust and other particles from the drilling. The rig had been pulled aside and Hergo and Denno were both back in space suits. A strange device was set up at the base of the end of the tunnel, where the drilling had ceased. It looked like a small tablet on a tripod with several leads pinioned to striations in the lighter rock material near the lower section. An antenna dish, roughly twenty centimetres in diameter extended from the rear of the tablet. The Votus, for I could see it was him now, manipulated something on the tablet and then an image appeared in the overlay recording.
A three dimensional, ghostly image depicted a cavernous area beyond the tunnel’s end, with several branching tunnels leading from a central chamber.
“The ghru compound fills the space ahead of us,” intoned the Votus, “but I can map out several of the extending passages.”
Max’s voice crackled over a speaker mounted on the drilling rig. “How long will it take to drill through all that crusty shit?”
“Once we have an opening wide enough to traverse, I can break down the calcium deposits with nanites. Should take no more than three hours to clear out his section.”
“Alright, the scans we managed to get don’t show any openings to vacuum so it should be safe.”
As the Votus went to work, Denno, or maybe it was Hergo (it was hard to tell in their space suits), started to ask questions.
“What could have caused all this calcium?”
“The ghru fed on large quantities of foraminifera-like organisms, which they kept in feeding vats such as the chamber ahead. At least this is my theory. They all died when this world ship died, and over the centuries their tests calcified and became compacted.”
“Tests?”
“Shells.”
“Oh. Foramina…something. What are they?”
“Foraminifera. Forams. Organisms similar to plankton on ocean worlds”
The Argen hissed in disgust. “Sea creatures. Argen find all sea animals disgusting. Our homeworld is teeming with slithering, slimy fish that no one can eat.”
“The Votus were evolved from an aquatic species.”
“Apologies, venerable one. Did not mean to insult.”
“Of course you did not. I would have slain you if you had.”
I could see the Argen’s face through his helmet, staring at the Votus.
I glanced at Garner, who dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.
The curious Argen backed away slowly and found something else to do. The image skipped ahead a few hours, showing the opening being shovelled clear of a fine powdery substance. Clearly, the nanites had done their work. When the tunnel was clear, several of the crew started to enter the cavern. The chamber was dark, at first, but the others began to set up portable lamps and soon the cavern was bathed in white light.
The chamber was roughly spherical, but unsymmetrical as if naturally formed. It was nearly fifty metres wide, with about a dozen small openings around the cavern walls, presumably where the other tunnels began.
“If this was part of a ship,” I asked Garner, “Why does it look natural?”
“The ghru used biotic technology. Much of what they used was either grown, or cultivated from organisms. There is a running theory that surmises one of the reasons the Destroyers did what they did was so that they could sample different genetic material to absorb into their culture. Or they simply needed more bio-mass.”
“So why kill everything?”
“I don’t know. There were often no survivors on worlds that fell to them. No one to tell what happened after all the defending forces were wiped out. Not many people were keen to stick around after either. The few reports that are left from that period mention whole populations being eradicated by biological weapons, turned into sludge or some other bio-chemical by-product. Some were rounded up and herded into their massive ships, which led to attempts to rescue them. None were ever found again, of course.”
I turned back to the recording, as an image was showing the crew inspecting a section of the cavern wall. There was a discussion going on regarding what they were looking at.
“No, Captain,” the Votus was saying, “I am almost certain this is a ghru marker. See the pattern in the erosion?”
“There’s no way to be sure about that. It could be - that’s all I’m saying.”
Max had clearly had enough of watching from the command module and had decided to venture into the cavern herself.
“I have seen this symbol many times before.”
“So maybe that’s just you finding patterns in this, because your mind wants to find this connection.”
“Do not assume a Votus mind works the same way your younger species brains function. I remember every incident where I have encountered this depiction. My memory is flawless where the ghru are concerned.”
“No need to get touchy. I was only suggesting that we find more evidence.”
“The Protectorate Command will be convinced that my testimony is sufficient in this matter.”
“Now who’s making assumptions about other people’s minds? You clearly don’t know the Protectorate very well.”
The Votus paused briefly, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he was getting pissed at Max, or gathering his thoughts.
“You speak wisdom, for one so young. I shall defer to your reasoning regarding the Protectorate.”
“Who you calling young?” she said, but I could see her grinning.
“Age is relative, Captain.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a nugget of cosmic mysticism.”
“Even the elder races have a limit to their patience.”
“Ha, you gotta get thicker skin, Mel.”
“My skin is of sufficient density. Might I suggest we start to examine these tunnels? I believe one of them should lead to a ghru living quarter, or at least a feeding chamber.”
Max gave out orders for the two Argen to take as many pictures as they could of the chamber, and started towards one of the tunnel openings.
Garner addressed me again. “I’ll skip some more, the next few hours are spent wandering the maze of tunnels. They get lost a few times and your engineer has to come down and set up a sensor beacon for them to trace back. Once they have it mapped, they stumble across this next chamber. I’ll restart the recording there.”
The image started as a swaying view as Melafenaseance was climbing out of a tunnel, then the view stabilised as he climbed to his feet. They were standing on a precipice, overlooking another chamber nearly as large as the first. They were twenty metres up on one side of it, with a ramp leading down to the left that spiralled to the cavern floor below. From the perch, they could see what appeared to be a hexagonal column raised up from the floor to about two metres high, positioned in the centre of the chamber. An eerie bioluminescence lit the chamber in a ghostly glow from above.
The pair were silent, gazing about the chamber in what I could only assume was awe.
Finally, Max broke the silence. “Well this is definitely not natural.”
“Indeed, Captain.”
“What do you think went on here?”
“It is a similar chamber to that depicted in the Firebreaker Artefact.”
“The what?” I said to Garner.
“The piece of Ghantri bulkhead we found.”
Max continued to speak. “The ship’s scans indicate that there are no more non-metallic sections near this part of the asteroid. I suppose we can call it a hulk now, though.”
“That would be an accurate description.”
Garner switched off the recording. “The rest of the data is just stills and images of the symbols they could find in the chamber. The Dreaming is starting to mine another asteroid as we speak, but I’m only going to give them a few more days. Once your team makes landfall on Ambrose, I’ll let them know about the Gate shut down order. They should make for the Eridani Jump Gate then.”
“So what does this mean for our mission? I’m not referring to Blackburn’s rescue either.”
“It means that there is definitely a link between the Ghantri and the Destroyers, at the very least we’ve confirmed that. What they were looking for in these wreckages, I have no idea. Hopefully your man Osiris can shed some light on that.”
“Could they be trying to obtain Destroyer technology? There has to be something left on the hulks.”
“It’s a possibility, although the age of these hulks has to be…at least a thousand years old.”
“I’ve seen hulks perfectly preserved in vacuum. Once the atmo is gone, no corrosion.”
“True.”
“What level of understanding do the Ghantri have of bio-tech sciences? Or advanced technology?”
“The Ghantri? Limited. The Jaani, however, are a different matter. It was they who unlocked the majority of our technology for the Ghantri to use, remember? Then there is the elusive religious caste. We know next to nothing about them…”
“We need more time. We need to find out what’s going on here.” I said, feeling the frustration of our time limit.
“I agree,” said Garner, “But this is all the time we have. Perhaps that portable Jump Gate might be used as a fall back plan should we deem…”
“Out of the question.” barked Artemis, sulking in the back of the compartment, “The people I work for will not take kindly to Protectorate people exiting the other end of this Gate. You’re more than likely to just be shot on sight. Besides, I only know how to set it up to link once.”
“Very well, looks like our time restriction stands. We’ll need to find what we can within the week, if we’re to get back in time before they shut down the Eridani Gate.”
“No pressure.” I said.
40.
Our final approach to Ambrose Station was the most dangerous. Although our cloaking system was good, there were still minor energy emissions that a lucky scan could pick up. It was how we found it, after all. A massive armada of Junker warships normally surrounded the station, situated halfway between the Ghantri home world of Ghan and Nsarri, the second planet of the system. The Jaani had completed the construction of shipyards, started by foreign systems and Corporations before the Betrayal, and put them to use. The Jaani used designs reverse engineered from captured vessels and as a result, there were familiarities to some parts of ships in the system. Most were slapped together sections, usually of mixed origin, with only a few original designs. It seemed the Jaani still had a lot to learn about starship construction.
When we were close enough for our sensors to take passive readings, however, we made a startling discovery. The space around the station was nearly empty.
“The fleet must have moved to Ghan.” mused Garner, as Ormund and I arrived on the bridge.
“How many ships are still on station?” I asked.
“Forty-seven, sir.” reported one of the bridge crew.
“Well, that makes our job a lot easier.” said Ormund.
“I don’t like it,” said Garner, “Too many unknowns.”
I nodded my agreeance. “Is it possible they headed to the Jump Gate?”
“We would have detected them, even if we were cloaked. They would have had to pass right by us. Ghantri propulsion is easy to detect, they still haven’t gotten the mix of fuels and exotic particles right. Always an imbalanced emission you can follow.”
“What does this mean for our insertion?”
“Like Ormund said – makes it easier for you, but harder for me.”
“Why harder?”
“We’re going to be tip-toeing in there, with no clue where most of the enemy is hiding. We’re going to need to use low emission active sensors this close to the station in order to avoid getting too close to those forty-seven other ships. A lot less traffic in the region will make masking those emissions harder. We’re going to have to be extra careful.”
“Is your crew up to it?” I asked, and coped an eyeful from Garner.
“What do you think? You’ve whipped them into a fully-fledged fighting unit. What’s your assessment?”
I thought about my answer a few moments. “They’re capable, but never truly tested. We pushed them pretty hard these last couple of weeks, but we won’t know how they’ll go under real pressure.”
“That’s always a risk, every captain understands that.”
“They feel confident, but now they have some measure of what they may face, so that confidence now tells me that at least they aren’t overconfident.”
Garner gave me a funny look.
“Hey,” I said, “You should have seen the bravado on the crews during the Push. They thought it was going to be a cake-walk and look what happened.”
“What about you? Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I thought I was ready the last time I was here.”
“But now you aren’t over confident.”
“No.”
“So, this is it. Time to take the dive, throw the dice.”
I nodded. “How long until we’re within insertion range?”
He checked a few read outs on his command station. “You got twelve hours.”
I headed down to the ship’s medical centre, hoping to catch Zoe before things got too busy. She was seated at one of the small benches for pathology, head resting on an outstretched arm. I could hear her faintly snoring.
“Hey,” I said, giving her a little shake. She awoke with a start, momentarily unsure of her surroundings.
“Was I asleep?”
“Could hear you snoring out in the passageway.”
“You liar. Geez, I’m super tired. Haven’t had much sleep lately. Your fault.”
“You medical guys have coped a flogging, I’m not surprised. You did great work, though. I thought I’d come round and let you know – we’re getting ready for the drop soon. Garner gave us twelve hours.”
A mix of emotions played out on her face. Concern for me, relief that the journey is over, apprehension at the possibility of combat. She settle on a stern look that told me she was ready, for whatever happened next. My love for her swelled along with my pride. She reached out and gave me a hug, squeezing me tight.
“Come see me before you go?” she said, not letting go.
“I promise. Why don’t you go get some rest?”
“How can I sleep knowing what’s coming?”
“Ha, you managed just fine in the middle of a job.”
She let me go and punched me playfully in the chest. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“How about never having sex with you again?”
“No fair.”
“Beat it, I have work to do. So do you.”
I kissed her and left, sending messages to Naga Team as I went. It was time to muster the troops. When I arrived in the ready room, half of the squad was already there – the familiar sounds of checking equipment playing out in the compartment. Harris gave me a nod and came over as I walked in.
“Your suit ready?” he asked, indicating my new M4 MAEL storage locker.
“Should be. The sarge says I just need to break it in.”
“Ha, you’re going to be chaffing for the next three days.”
“Yeah, not my first suit I’ve ever had to break in. I got calluses in my nethers.”
He looked shocked. “You’re kidding?”
“Haha, good to see some of the old rookie jokes still work on you new generation ground pounders.”
He gave me a sheepish grin and went back to his own equipment. I started to unpack my own gear, laying it out before me on one of the large tables set up just for this purpose. The Argen trooper, Private Carro, was handing out cells from the armoury and I stepped up to get my share.
I opened my suit locker and pulled my M4 helmet free, slipped it over my head and started up the computer inside. Once I was satisfied it would link with my overlay, I pulled it free of my head. A sharp pain on my neck, near the base of my skull, reminded me of my new implant – the battlenet protochip. I rubbed the injection point tenderly.
“Careful,” came a snide remark from the hatchway as Art strode in, “keep fingering it and it will fall out.”
“Bullshit.” I said, but I was smiling. I had not seen Art much lately and I found that I was missing her company. Something about the way she cut through all the bullshit and then layered it with a brand all her own was entertaining in some ways. “How are you loading up?”
“Standard riggers space suit going down, with extended life support. Got Marty’s composite armour when we hit the ground.”
“Marty?”
“Martin. Martin Renthal?”
“Oh, Renthal.”
“Geez, Seth. At least learn their real names.”
“Why? The military never uses them. We all have nicknames.”
“Like luverboy?”
“Yeah, only more manly. Wait. Why are you wearing Renthal’s armour?”
“Don’t worry, he’s wearing his M4, like the rest of you. He said I could use it if I wanted, and I took him up on it.”
The way she smiled at me, I could tell that she was hinting that she took him up on other things as well. I made a mental note to have a word with Marty Renthal, should I get the chance.
The next to arrive was Tac. Much like Art, I had had little opportunity to meet with Tac recently, and I was eager to hear how he was doing. I asked him as much.
“I’ve had the most delightful time, Lieutenant Donovan!”
“Please, just call me Seth. Nothing’s changed between you and I.”
“Of course, Seth. I have spent the majority of my time with Doctor Elias and the ship’s array of AI Cores. They are most fascinating to talk with.”
“Elias or the other AIs?”
“Both! The AI’s do lack personality, I’ll admit…and so does Doctor Elias, to be honest, but their knowledge!”
“I’m glad you’ve been making friends. I was worried you’d be bored, since they wouldn’t let you hook up to the sensor nexus.”
“Oh, that was only a minor restriction. Once Elias questioned me regarding my brakes, and was satisfied they were present, he had no qualms about feeding me as much data as he could make available to me.”
The brakes he was referring to were personality brakes built into all AIs. A set of unbreakable ethics, so to speak. Long ago, shortly after the dawn of true artificial intelligence, a way to limit and contain aberrant behaviours of rogue AIs was devised. There were always stories of rogue AIs going nuts and causing all manner of mayhem, but truth be told they were nothing more than ghost stories to scare people. Most AI cores were small, and therefore relatively simple. They were rarely given much responsibility and instead worked in tandem with other AI cores to perform different tasks.
Tac was different, having been developed by a culture devoted to pushing the boundaries of what is capable with artificial intelligence – The Demarchy of Vengnashi.
“I want you to stay close to me, down there. Stick to cover and don’t try anything heroic. We need you intact to break through some of the security we may face, and besides – you’re my friend. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Your concern is noted, Seth. I also consider you my friend. We’ve been through much, you and I.”
“That we have. Are you ready to go down into the belly of the dragon with me once more?”
“I am unsure of your reference, but I am ready to proceed with our mission. If that is what you were asking?”
I laughed. Sometimes Tac could be childlike in his innocence. “I am, Tac. I am.”
The others arrived soon after, and we got to work.
41.
The approach to Ambrose was stressful, but uneventful. Captain Garner and his crew really mastered their art, slowly drifting closer and closer to the station over the passing hours. I joined them on the bridge for a few hours, before I was needed for deployment. I stood quietly behind and to the left of the command station, Zoe beside me. We were not meant to fraternise in public, but no one said anything when she slipped her hand into mine and leaned against me slightly. I was hoping everyone was too busy with their work to notice.
The view before us was magnificent. The torus ring station was a massive, brightly lit vista of greys, greens and blues against a starry backdrop. From this far out we couldn’t make out the state of disrepair it was in, as there had not been any regular maintenance performed on it over the decades to keep it in order. Many of the systems on board it would be non-functional or malfunctioning at best.
Besides, from out here, it simply looked beautiful. A beauty that hid hundreds of thousands of prisoners used a slave labour. I wanted to stay up here, enjoying the view, Zoe within arm’s reach of me, but eventually I was needed in the ready room on Deck 3. We parted with heavy hearts, but we said no good byes.
Adjacent to the ready room and armoury was an airlocked compartment called 3A-17. It was fitted with crash harnesses that would fit my armoured troops, and all we needed to do was pump the air out and open the outer ‘lock when we were ready to deploy. The compartment was bathed in red light, the only illumination until the go ahead was given to leave.
The next hour was stressful. Pre-op nerves were at their most charged. We could all feel the tension, the adrenaline building just underneath the level of consciousness. It made us break out in a cold sweat. A few of us got the shakes. We were all veterans, yet we all knew that this could very well be our last few moments alive. All it would take is one of the Ghantri to look in the right place at the right time and see us, small though we were. If this happened, we were all doomed.
A line of text appeared on my overlay, startling me.
Command MSG MT0.17.43.11: You should probably speak to them, a pet talk or speech.
Huh? Who is this?
Command MSG MT0.17.57.27: Ormund. The battlenet feed.
Oh. Right. What’s MT etc?
Command MSG MT0.18.11.07: Mission time elapsed. You can turn it off by going into the app settings and unchecking the timestamp check box.
Done. That was annoying.
Yeah, it is useful for when you have multiple feeds running at once, though. Should be okay to have it turned off as it will just be me on this feed. Garner may drop in from time to time, but he has agreed that he will focus on Fleet activity only.
All right. A speech, you say?
To take their mind off the drop.
Okay, let me think.
I went to rubbed my chin, then realised I was wearing my M4 helmet. I unhooked myself from the harness and stepped into the middle of the compartment.
“I can see many of you are nervous. That’s good. That tells me you understand the gravity of what we’re about to attempt. To say we’re behind enemy lines is an understatement. Just coming into this system puts you behind enemy lines. Point two of an AU from here is the black heart of the Ghantri and their dreaded fleet of warships is nowhere to be seen.”
If they weren’t nervous before, they are now. You’re supposed to give them courage.
“You have a right to be scared. You’d be a fool if you weren’t. Last time I was here, I lost most of the people I respected most. I saw thousands of my comrades die under the guns of the Ghantri. If you looked out there hard enough, you can probably still see their frozen bodies drifting through space. There’s a very high possibility that we’ll be joining them, permanently.”
I take it back. You shouldn’t give them a speech, after all.
“But courage doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel fear. It means you feel it, and you do your jobs anyway. In a short while, we’re going to jump out that airlock and attempt with a dozen people what a hundred thousand could not do. We’re going to liberate as many people as we can from that steel prison, we’re going to find information about the Ghantri-Destroyer connection, and we’re going to kill as many of those black-hearted bastards as we can in the process.”
That’s a little more like it.
“You all know who I am. What I’ve done. Now is your time to show me what you can do. Today you show me, you show the Ghantri, what Naga Team is made of. After today, it will be the Ghantri who know fear, not you.”
Suddenly, the red light switched to green and the outer airlock irised open. From my standing position, I could see the pale green and blue of Ambrose Station as the habitation ring swept into view.
Captain Garner has given the go ahead. The ‘lock should be opening soon.
Yeah it’s open now. Beginning deployment.
Good luck. Loading telemetry now, your drift patterns should appear on your overlay in five seconds.
As I stepped up to the airlock, a ghostly web of tunnels appeared on my vision, indicating my projected path I’ll need to ‘drop’ through.
“First wave.” I ordered, which Kekkin immediately repeated, much louder. The sergeant joined me at the airlock, while Renthal, Geko, Masters and Carro lined up single file at the threshold.
Renthal gave me a salute, grinned and lightly pushed off the hatch combing. Geko waited until Kekkin tapped him on the shoulder, then he followed. Masters and Carro followed suit.
First wave deployed. I reported to Ormund.
Tracking successful. Clean drop. Stand by for second wave in thirty seconds.
“Renthal, check comms.”
“Five by five, LT.”
“Roger, I have you loud and clear also. Second wave.”
Once more, Kekkin repeated the command, adding several colourful names to the order. By the time he’d finished insulting Harris, Rhondel, Triptych and Gunther, they were all lined up at the ‘lock. I looked at Triptych, who appeared to be fidgeting while he waited.
I questioned Ormund. Triptych going to be alright? Fairly open out there. I know Malforians hate open spaces.
He should be good, just remind him to activate his implant.
Implant?
Mild sedative, should calm his nerves somewhat but keep him alert.
“Tryp, time for your dose.” I said lightly to him over the suit’s comms.
“Already hit it, LT. Just waiting for it to kick in.”
I gave him a nod and gestured to Kekkin.
“Time to drop, girls! Out, out, out!” he shouted.
Harris leaped clear of the hatch, and in seconds Rhondel, then Gunther followed him. Triptych need a little more motivation from Kekkin, but he jumped out eventually.
Second wave deployed.
“Harris, make sure you check comms with Renthal, and stay within five clicks of his team. Landing markers should appear on your overlays shortly.”
“Roger, establishing comms now.”
“How many drops have you done, naga-zak?” asked Kekkin, out of the blue. We had a full minute before the rest of us were due to drop, so I humoured him.
“Combat drops? Five times. Mostly axial deployments. One more since I mustered out, a few months ago just before we came into Gossamer. Over a hundred training drops, though.”
“Axial deployments are stupid. Too many troops die.”
“They do have a high fatality rate, yes. Not the most fun thing to do in a battle. Tactically, though, we almost always created enough of a problem for the enemy to either surrender or we cripple their ship.”
“Only Primarch Star Marines crazy enough to do it.”
“That’s why we’re the best.”
“Bah!” he waved his hand at me dismissively.
I checked the countdown on my overlay. “Time to go. Third wave!”
Art, Tac and Rego joined us at the air lock. Rego was our technician, a near human of some race I didn’t recognise. He rarely spoke, preferring to play with the myriad of devices he always carried around. I wanted him close to Tac when we landed, we’d need them to set up our comms beacon we were to deploy on the ring’s outer shell.
“You should go first, Kekkin. I’ll go last.” I said. He nodded and dove head first off the ship.
“See you dirtside, loverboy.” Art gracefully rolled out of the ship, turning as she did so to flip me the bird.
Rego went next, leaving Tac and I alone at the airlock’s threshold.
“This is it, Tac. Any second thoughts?”
“None. I merely wish to express my gratitude for providing such experiences to me. My old crew and position would never have afforded me such opportunities.”
“You might not feel the same way soon, but for now it’s been a pleasure.”
“Whatever may happen in the next few days, I just wanted you to know that I don’t regret allowing you to remove me from the Viridian March. It’s been a pleasure to get to know you and the others.”
“I feel the same way, you’re a remarkable intelligence, Tac. You’re part of the family now.”
He tilted his head in a very human gesture of acknowledgement, then leapt from the ship. I waited a few seconds and then followed.
42.
Falling from the rear of a ship can be disorienting to the inexperienced. It is a lot like stepping into an endless pit - your senses tell you that ‘down’ is exactly that, except when you step off the ship instead of going down you just drift laterally away. That first step is always the hardest, for a rookie, but I was most certainly not a rookie. I was born in the stars – this empty void is my home.
With practiced ease, I let the inertia of my last step carry me clear of the Astral Spider, turning by moving my arms and creating a light spin. When I was facing the ship, I signalled Ormund to let him know we were all clear and then I ignited the thrusters on my suit to join the others.
Ormund’s drop pattern was a funnel of wireframe boxes and figures scrolling down my vision. When one of the others drifted too close to the pattern’s edge, a red outline appeared around the offending trooper. We all had the pattern, so I did not need to order any corrections.
Our suits were fitted with laser communication systems, allowing us to talk without broadcasting radio out into space for the Ghantri to detect. We only had to stay within line of sight of each other.
Normally, a combat drop commander would disallow any sort of talking amongst their troops, but this would be an unusually long drop. For some, being out in cold vacuum was stressful enough and I decided that as long as the chatter kept to a dull roar we could talk amongst ourselves for a few hours.
Geko, the squad’s practical joker, broke the silence first.
“Hey Trip, your suit getting smaller or is that just me?”
“Stow it, Geko.” barked Kekkin.
“It’s quite alright, sarge. Geko is merely expressing his ignorance. Malforians hate open spaces, not smaller ones. I’m rather comfortable within the confines of my MAEL.”
“You got your visor darkened haven’t you?” Geko said.
“Sure do. You’re too ugly to look at.”
“What about you, Rego? Any quirky alien phobias your race has?”
“I’m at least 90% human, dumb ass. A great grandfather was Asache, got his DNA modified to be compatible with humans.”
“So?”
“Any quirky phobias I have are more likely to be from my human heritage.”
“Oh.”
We drifted in silence for a while longer, the giant structure taking up much of our view.
“I’ve been thinking about how we could locate Mr Blackburn.” said Tac, about a hundred metres ‘down’ and to my right.
“Go on. Art, you listening in?”
“Intently.”
“Very well. Rego has informed me that we have enough equipment to set up several local networks once we land.”
“Yeah, we’ll need them to access some of the equipment we’ve brought, and for secure comms.”
“Right, well if we create a large enough coverage, we can envelope anyone with an overlay interface.”
“I’m not sure we have that many web beacons, Tac. The ring is huge, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I have noticed, Seth. We will not need the network to remain stationary. If we deploy the beacons on recon drones, we can sweep large areas of the terrain every day. Once the drones return, I can decipher the overlay hits and obtain a general area of our target’s location.”
“What do you think, Art? Any information you can share about Osiris’ overlay coding?”
“I have authentication codes that should recognise his overlay. It was how I was to confirm his identity. I’ll pass them to Tac’s brain sphere.”
“I have received the file, Ms. Derris. This is sufficient for our plan.”
“Good work. Kekkin, Renthal, Masters and Harris. You guys in line of sight?”
There was a chorus of affirmatives.
“First wave is to secure the LZ, set up a perimeter. Low visibility weapons only if you need to engage. Tag all contacts on the tactical app. Once second wave comes in, lay down overwatch positions and defensive barricades. I want that secure beacon up and running as soon as third wave lands, and I want no distractions from enemy fire. Kekkin, set up a fire team for a roving patrol out to two kilometres of the LZ. Get them to report all contacts before engaging, and avoid engaging entirely if possible. Masters, once Rego has the beacon up, Tac will start a sensor sweep for any comm nodes that the Ghantri use. If he finds any, take a fire team and knock it out ASAP. Once we have a black zone set up, we can look for an ingress point for the inner ring. Until then, we are ants on the outside of a very big anthill. Let’s keep it quiet as long as possible. Last thing I want to do is kick the anthill and send them scurrying.”
In a gunfight, the Ghantri had an advantage. They used shield technology, stolen from their victims and reverse engineered, but their own weapons were not affected by them. Our shields were effectively useless, while our weapons were at least partially deflected by theirs. As with most of their stolen technology, they had yet to perfect the Prallgian-Kronnen Principle of energy manipulation and their shields were brittle and weak compared to most military grade shields.
To help offset this advantage, Protectorate quartermasters stationed in Gossamer tended to tweak their weapon power outputs. Our guns had more punch than regular weapons, but they drained the power cells a lot faster. The portable reactors we each carried in our M4s would definitely come in handy before this operation was completed.
Astral Spider is clear of the station, Seth. You’re all set. I’ll have someone monitor the battlenet at all times,
After we discussed our landing a little more, there wasn’t much else to talk about, so well drifted in silence once more. We had a long way to go, eleven hours to be precise, and the best way to make this time pass was to catch up on sleep. We had no idea if would get another chance after we landed. I ordered a rotation of watches, so that at least one person per wave would be alert at all times, then ordered everyone to get some rest.
I dreamt, as I often did, of the dark sea of nanites. The ever present Eye gazing down at me in judgement. I no longer found the sea comforting, but a place to dread. I felt exposed, as if finding myself on open ground in the middle of a firefight. I tried to swim deeper, hoping to block my view of the Eye, but no matter how far down I swam I always seemed to be near the surface. Eventually, I began to make out shapes moving within the Eye, as if they were vast things a great distance from me. I did not want the things in the Eye to find me, yet I could not hide from them. Soon, they would see me, and then bad things would happen. I tried to find an island, as I sometimes found in those dreams, thinking I could bury myself in the black sands, but no island could be found.
I tried to swim for the horizon, as far away from the Eye as I could. I soon became exhausted, my arms feeling as if filled with lead. I struggled to remain afloat, while a foreboding presence pressed in on me from above. I did not want to look, fearing the things within the Eye were getting near, but I could not help it. The Eye seemed closer than ever, yet its true size eluded me.
When I could clearly see that shapes moving, a panic overtook me. I splashed around madly, flailing in the water trying to escape their nearness.
“..eth! Wake up! Seth!” a voice jarred me from my dream. I realised that I had been flailing in my sleep. Art was drifting before me, grasping my arms, her helmet touching mine as she yelled at me.
“Mrph.” I muttered.
“You were dreaming. Or having a fit.” she said.
“Erk. I have a headache. And my throat is sore.”
“You looked like you’d been screaming. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I get nightmares sometimes. I’ll be okay in a few minutes.” I was still shaking and I could feel cold sweat evaporating from my face and body. I checked my chronographic app and saw that we had nearly half an hour to go before we needed to start preparing for our landing. In a few minutes my pounding head resided to a dull ache and I sipped a few mouthfuls of water from a tube in my helmet. The shaking just wouldn’t stop, though. God damn mental shit, I thought, don’t rear your head now.
I started to breathe deeply, and focused on that. In, out. In, out. After a while, it seemed to work and the shaking stopped. I took stock of our surroundings, our spacing. We were in good shape and most of us were already awake. I hoped I had not freaked out the others if they had seen me.
I could clearly make out structures on the outer hull of the habitat ring now. It was covered in giant machinery and large metallic structures, separated by trench ways. Our landing zone would be between two such structures, a pair of industrial plants. Both were the size of giant starships. There was a wide clearing of flat terrain, what looked like a landing site for ships. Hopefully, we would be able to find an access corridor that led into the habitat proper and gain access to the habitable inner ring.
I pinged Kekkin and the other squad leaders. It was time to get this show on the road, so to speak.
43.
As far as the eye could see, the mass of the space station spanned. It was large enough to have its own horizon and one could just make out the curve of the habitat ring from the outside. We were coming down on the outer part of the ring, often the site of star ports and docking bays. None of these were in use, thankfully, but I had no illusion that they would all be empty. We needed to land, set up shop and secure ourselves a forward base. Then we needed to figure out a way into the habitat inner ring.
The first wave of Naga Team reported they were seconds from landing.
“Looks clear, LT.” came Renthal’s report, “Coming in now…boots on the ground! Mags attached. Geko, Carro, move out. Masters take point.”
I brought up a heads up display showing me Master’s helmet cam. The area appeared to be a small craft landing strip, with three buildings surrounding it. The atmospheric processor cast a long shadow across the dull metallic deck. There was debris everywhere, as if the previous workers were in the midst of loading freighters with cargo and had to abandon their task. In all likelihood, this is exactly what had happened. Masters and the two privates were moving from cover to cover, sweeping the area for hostiles.
“Masters,” I called over the laser comms, “check that container to your right.”
The corporal swept his helmet cam in the direction I asked, showing me a gutted container, its contents gone.
“Looks like they’ve been looted.” he said, his accent thick and his voice a deep baritone. Masters was from another Network, a system I’d never heard of before. He was a frontiersman, though, just like me. He came off as gruff and unfriendly, but he was competent enough. Renthal had told me that he had both his arms augmented with cybernetics, and to avoid arm wrestling the man. I took his word for it.
“Probably the Jaani, looking for tech.” I said.
“No hostiles sighted.” Masters said, “Fall back to the perimeter.”
Harris reported in. “Second wave approaching LZ. Gunther, you’re coming in too fast, light off.”
Seconds later, Harris reported his team had also landed. I was three kilometres out, time to pull my group together.
“Art, Tac, light thrusters toward me. We’ll group up on Kekkin and Rego.” I could see the faint glow of Art’s suit thrusters. Tac had mounted several small attitude thrusters to his frame and was using these to manoeuvre. They were brighter than the suit thrusters the rest of us used, and I winced when I saw them.
“Belay that. Tac, shut down your thrust. We’ll group up on you.”
Kekkin and Rego turned and headed towards Tac, while I reached Art and slowed her down as she had been heading towards me already. She was playing it smart, letting only one of us use their thrusters to minimise visibility.
“Overwatch established.” reported Harris.
I checked my distance with a laser rangefinder. Nine hundred metres to go.
We reached Tac, then joined up with Kekkin and Rego. I was tense, exposed for these final moments. If we were seen now, there was little we could do to avoid fire. Thankfully, the final metres counted down and the deck rose up to greet us. I applied my thrusters in the last few seconds and arrested my fall, gently lowering to my feet and locking my mag boots to the deck. I need not have bothered – there was gravity.
“Tac, what’s the strength of this gravity? Feels light.”
“I detect zero point seven two standard gravities. Definitely artificial. The station should only be generating point two two gee’s.”
I joined Harris at a barricade his team had just set up and readied my weapon. I had chosen a balanced spread of weaponry for this operation. I carried an Armatek E-34 Modular E-Rifle as my primary gun. It was lightweight, for an assault rifle, and configured in a carbine mode. They were the standard spec ops rifle of choice, able to be outfitted as a battle rifle, marksman rifle or automatic assault rifle. My M4 MAEL had a compartment on my lower left back that contained the other components that I could change configuration with, as the need arose. I also had my trusty PX-2, two grenades and a trio of party poppers. Lastly, I had the lurzak blade mounted on an easy to reach spot above my left shoulder.
“Looks quiet, LT.” said Harris, scanning the metal field before us, “Picked a good spot to land.”
“Yeah, but we’re still exposed out here. We should set that beacon up on the roof of that hanger over there. Rego! Think you and Tac can get your gear up there?” I pointed to the building.
“No problem, LT.”
He took off at a jog. Tac followed, lugging the equipment case with him.
Kekkin whacked Gunther on the back. “Go with them.” he grunted.
“What do you think, sarge?” I asked him.
“We should secure that building. Plant our gear there and start searching for access tunnels and passageways.”
“Patrols?”
“No. Keep us together, more effective when we meet the calak.”
“Okay. I’m satisfied this area is empty, we can move off the LZ.”
Kekkin called Renthal and Masters in, their fire team following. He gave orders to move us towards the building adjacent to the one that Rego, Tac and Gunther were just now entering. It appeared to be an admin building for the landing strip we had commandeered. There was a working airlock, which quickly filled with atmosphere, and let us enter the main lobby. There were desks, counters and rows of seating in the lobby, and we soon had the area secured. The interior was covered in detritus and debris. My suit’s sensors told me the atmosphere was too thin for safe breathing, so we were still confined to our suits for now.
Despite being bulky and heavy, the M4 was rather comfortable and so I didn’t mind. Art, however, I could tell was getting testy. Her suit was not designed for prolonged use and I knew it would be getting on the nose inside.
“How much life support do you have left?” I asked her.
“Plenty. Three hours still.”
“All right. We have two hours to find atmosphere, then we fall back to here and hook you up to the life support module we brought.”
The life support module was one of the devices we had taken down with us. We would set it up and run from one of the reactors on our suits. It was essentially an airtight tent, which could be inflated to allow a wounded soldier to be stripped of their armour in a vacuum or low atmo environment. There were also ports to connect oxygen tanks to refill.
“Triptych,” I called, “Find this building’s AI Core and see if you can talk to it. I want to know why the atmo in here is thin.”
The Malforian left immediately, carrying a small tool kit. Kekkin whacked Geko on the back, pushing him after Triptych. I silently cursed, I should have thought about that, again. I needed to start thinking like a squaddie again. I needed my head in the game. I had spent too long running solo, or with one or two allies.
An icon began to flash on my overlay, indicating the comm beacon was up and running.
On our way back, LT. Comm connected to the Astral Spider, no worries.
Good job, Rego.
I accessed my battlenet implant, ensuring it connected to the comm beacon. Ormund, I texted, you getting this?
It took a moment to get a reply, C..brat…g sig.#al. Stan4b.-. Configur02dk..ode…eth? How do you read?
You’re all messed up, hard to read.
Should be b3tter n0w.
Much better.
Takes a few messages to lock onto the signal properly.
We’re set up about two hundred metres spinward of the LZ, small admin building for the landing strip. No contacts yet. Any schematics for this area? Any maps that show us an entry point to the habitat?
Garner has been helping out with that. He’s given me two enlisted to pour over these schematics we have of the station. There should be an elevator not too far from your position. I think that strip was a small transport station for shuttles, so there will be access for the habitat for sure.
Where will it go? Through to the habitat?
There’s the problem. You’ll have a bit of a trek getting out to there. You’ll more than likely encounter any Ghantri in the passageways leading to the inner ring. From what you’ve told us, they don’t venture out onto the habitat grounds much.
My mind drifted back to the first time I’d landed on here, during the Push. We were under fire, of course, but after the initial attack we pushed down into the passageways that Ormund spoke of. The fighting there was intense, pushing down long, wide concourses and trench ways. We had battled the Ghantri down shafts and access tunnels until we pushed out onto the inner ring habitat.
My squad never made it - we got the call to withdraw before we managed to push through. We fell back to what looked like a mall, waiting for a large contingent of Ghantri to pass by before we could return to the outer surface. A few gun battles later and we were late to our rendezvous. A secondary extraction site was compromised and before we knew it, the last shuttle lifted off without us. The rest was history. After losing my last squad member, I returned to the tunnels below.
I blew the air out of my lungs in a sigh. I wasn’t looking forward to this next part.
44.
Triptych reported back, just as Rego, Tac and Gunther returned. The AI Core was unresponsive, probably too degraded to function. I thought about getting Tac to take a look, but realised I was only thinking of reasons to delay going down into the subsurface.
Ormund downloaded a blueprint schematic for my overlay, which I shared with everyone. We quickly located a shaft that led down below the surface, and packed up our gear.
The shaft access hatch was unpowered, but Masters jammed his fingers into the gap between the doors and strained. Slowly, the hatch panels slid apart with a grinding noise we could feel through the soles of our boots. There was no telltale escaping gasses that would indicate this shaft had atmosphere.
“Unpressurised.” I said.
“Access shafts like this usually aren’t,” explained Rego, “There’ll be airlocks further down and off the branches of the shaft. There’s probably an elevator down there, somewhere.”
“Technically, it’s up.” I said.
“Yeah the gravity should switch over when we drop in. This is going to be a mind fuck.”
Station dwellers called a region of a station the switch. As most of the habitat’s ‘gravity’ comes from the ring’s rotation, the artificial gravity generated near the outer surface, at some point, will cease to be useful. This band of zero gravity is narrow and surrounded on both sides by diametrically opposed gravitational forces. To many, the switch is disorienting and can cause momentary motion sickness. Elevators were usually spherical on the outside, and would rotate as the shaft approached the switch point, to minimise the effect. We would be climbing through it.
Fun times ahead.
Harris leaned over the ledge and looked down. Geko, unable to contain himself, grabbed Harris by the webbing and startled him. Kekkin thumped him on the top of the helmet, cutting his laughter short. With Geko out of the way, Harris cracked an orange cyalume glow stick and tossed it down the shaft. It dropped for several seconds before reaching the switch, then it slowed and eventually ‘fell’ up towards us. It oscillated around the switch for a few minutes before coming to rest about a hundred metres below us. The glow stick just drifted in mid-air in the centre of the shaft.
“There’s your zero-gee point.” said Harris, smiling.
“Geko!” shouted Kekkin, “bezak is on point! Down shaft!”
Geko groaned, but slung his rifle over his shoulder and lowered himself over the lip. He started to climb down a small maintenance ladder that ran the length of the shaft as far as we could see.
Harris followed, and off we went single file.
As we approached the switch, motion started to become disorienting. I was glad to see that I wasn’t the only one affected by the sudden shift of gravity. Even Art paused briefly at the cut-off point. In the zero gravity, we rotated our bodies so that ‘down’ was now up, and continued our climb. In moments, we were through and continued on our way.
The tunnel was a gruelling ten-kilometre climb, and it was several hours before Geko reported that we had reached the first serviceable airlock.
“Is it powered?” I asked.
“Can’t tell, need Rego, Triptych or your robot up here.” he replied.
“I am most certainly not a robot, Private Gerhart.” came Tac’s chuffed voice.
“Sorry, what do we call you, then?”
“My name is Tac. That will suffice.”
I broke in. “I can scan it. I’m closer.”
I pushed my way past Gunther, Masters and Geko, reaching the hatch. It was large enough to admit an elevator carriage, about seven metres wide. I put my hand up to the hatch and focused inwards. In moments, my nanites bled through my glove and into the steel of the airlock. I activated my Scan Paradigm and waited patiently for data to return.
“It’s powered, but the controls are on the other side. Give me a few moments. Everyone grab onto the ladder, there’s atmosphere inside.”
When everyone gave me the nod, I diverted my nanites to manipulating the control module. With a dull thrum, a red light ignited beside me and the airlock began to open. As the first gap appeared, a burst of gas shot forth from the hatch, emptying the contents of the chamber before us. The compartment was spherical, with three other airlock doors feeding the chamber. With the atmosphere depleted, I ordered everyone inside. Around the lower airlock hatch was a lip we could gather around. Once we were all through, Rego connected a tablet to the control panel and closed the hatch.
“Pumping oh-two in.” he said. A misty cloud began to form at our feet, and soon we could hear a hissing sound as the air carried the noise through our suits and helmets. “Integrity is good. Helmets off?”
“What’s the mix?” I asked.
“Standard atmo, a little high on the nitrogen but breathable.”
“Okay, helmets off. Let’s save our life support for now.”
With grunts of appreciation, everyone began to remove their helmets. Everyone was sweating and beginning to smell, although I couldn’t be sure since the atmosphere in here was rancid.
“Ew, smells like Rhondel shat himself again.” joked Geko, earning himself another thump from Kekkin. A few of us removed small vacuum-sealed foil bags from our suits and tossed them aside. The M4 MAEL suits, designed for extended operations, had waste removal systems in place although most marines hated to use them. We had been in these suits for over sixteen hours, though, and nearly everyone had had to make use of the function. The bags were the leftovers.
“What are the chances this shaft goes right through to the habitat?” asked Renthal.
“Slim.” I answered, “It’s not a good idea to build long holes right through your space stations, they tend to open at some point and suck the entire atmosphere out.”
“Right. Never thought of that.”
“We should probably start heading down one of these side shafts, they will lead to habitable areas in the ring. We might get lucky and locate a transport hub. Or at least an AI Core that still has power.”
I brought up our blueprint of the area, looking for any information that may help us. Navigating a path through to the habitat was nearly impossible using this map, I decided. I couldn’t get the perspective right and the scale was hard to fathom. Eric could probably have traced it with a pencil and found the way in minutes. Me, I wasn’t much of an engineer, nor an architect.
“Anyone good with maps?” I asked.
“I see a large cavity section a couple of kilometres that way.” said the Argen, Carro, “I’m nearly certain there is a clear way along that axis.”
“Nearly certain?” I echoed.
“It looks like it’s clear.”
“Good enough for me. Let’s head out.”
Gravity this far out on the ring was heavy, about an extra 40% of the standard one gee. I had to keep correcting myself, it wasn’t really gravity, just the effect of the station’s rotation. As we approached the habitable section the force should relent, somewhat, but for now it was like walking up a hill.
The shaft was much like the previous one, except it was faintly lit by overhead glow strips spaced every thirty metres apart. As it ran horizontal we were able to walk along the surface, although due to the curve of the tunnel we could only run two abreast. Once more, Geko took point. One day, he’ll learn that pissing off the sarge was a good way to get yourself volunteered for every dangerous or dirty job he can find for you.
Eventually, after nearly thirty minutes of shaft, we came across our first passage. Another airlock announced that we’d reached a habitable section of the station, a mounted tally plate declaring Maintenance Bay 413 was beyond it. Seemed a good a place as any to make our ingress into the station proper.
Masters stepped up to the hatch and found the manual override. Geko and Harris covered him with their rifles, with the rest of us spaced apart behind them and down the shaft. When we were in position, Masters started to turn a winch and the hatch opened.
Without hesitating, Geko and Harris stepped into the chamber beyond, sweeping their guns about as they did. They split and went separate directions, and the next pair of troopers followed them in. I came up next, with Art by my side. I went straight ahead and kneeled by a workbench to use as cover.
“Clear.” started a chorus of reports, and I took the time to examine the room more fully. We were in a workshop of some sort, with tools scattered about as if someone had been rummaging through the compartment.
“Aw…Christ.” swore Gunther.
“What is it?” asked Renthal.
“What the fuck is that?” Gunther was pointing his rifle’s light at something on the ground near him.
I came over to see what they were looking at, and cringed in disgust. I knew what it was though, and what it meant.
“Jaani waste.”
“You’re kidding me?” asked Renthal, pulling his boot back from it as he was about to prod it.
“They’ll probably be nesting around here somewhere. Or at least they did.”
“I thought they were smart? Not like animals.”
“They’re alien, never forget that.”
The term alien, although archaic, is still used rarely in modern society. It’s ancient meaning for the word was usurped long ago, when humanity began encountering the multitudes of other species that populated the galaxy. Since technically, we were all alien somewhere, the use of the word began to mean a species that did not fit into what galactic society considers normal. Many races exhibit different biological functions and are driven by different biological imperatives, but most species find a way to coexist with other races. The truly weird, though, earn the derogatory title of alien. It simply meant that there were things about the species habits and thought processes that were unfathomable to other races. The betrayal of the Protectorate by the Ghantri, when they would have given them all they sought to steal earned them that title years ago. The Jaani were no different.
“Stay sharp, guys. We’re in Ghantri territory now.”
Rifles were placed on cheeks and we gathered around the compartments only other exit. Geko opened the door and we filed out, covering each other as we went. Outside was a corridor, going in both directions either side of the door. I pointed in the direction we’d been heading and we moved down the passage. After a few minutes, Geko and Harris stopped and Harris held up a fist. We all immediately dropped to a knee and scanned the way ahead.
A soft light flooded into the passage ahead from the left wall. As I examined it I realised it was actually a transparent section, probably lit from the compartment on the other side.
This close to enemy territory we didn’t want to risk using our laser mics to talk, so I snuck through the passage to reach them. When I got to Harris, he pointed to his eyes and then made a square shaped gesture, finishing by holding up a hand showing three fingers, his thumb and ring finger touching. Seven contacts through the window.
I glanced back to the rest of the squad and repeated the gesture. Using more hand signals I ordered the others to move up into position. I made a crawling gesture to Renthal, Carro and Gunther, pointing to the far side of the window.
When were in position, I activated my nanite implant and pictured how the passageway would look from the other side of the window. When I had the image in my mind, I projected a softlight hologram in front of the window, then stood up for a peek. Anyone on the other side would only see the hologram, showing them an empty passageway.
Inside were seven short, rodent-like creatures with overly long arms and small beady eyes. They resembled terrestrial sea otters with long arms, although hairless with rubbery skin. Their faces were round and child-like.
Jaani, I thought. My blood suddenly ran cold and a pounding pressure started hammering in my head. Not now, I fumed at myself. I breathed deeply, trying to steel myself.
The compartment they were in was rectangular and had a high ceiling. The Jaani were milling about at a broken table, devouring scraps of an unidentifiable meat. These small, disgusting aliens were the technicians and engineers of the Ghantri war machines. Murderous little bastards every one of them. They looked harmless, but if you turned your back on them, or they found you wounded and unable to defend yourself, they were like carrion birds. They shared their larger cousin’s love of raw flesh.
If we could get through this compartment, there was bound to be a way closer to the habitat ring on the other side. My only concern was where there were Jaani there was usually Ghantri.
I slung my rifle and drew my lurzak. A glance at the rest of the squad showed me they understood and they began to draw combat knives as well. Kekkin’s own lurzak thrummed to life.
I placed my fingers on the glass and focused, sending my nanites into the material. I activated a seldom-used Paradigm – Disassemble. The tiny robots began to eat the seals around the edge of the glass, and in less than a minute I could feel the window become loose. I shifted the hologram forward a few inches, enough to pass through the window, then I lowered it carefully to the deck.
Although Naga Team had learnt about my nano proliferation powers, they had seen very few of them in action. A couple were open mouthed as I quietly climbed over the window frame and lightly dropped into the room, lurzak in hand. I’d widened the hologram to cover the entire window and the wall below it, but I couldn’t expand it much more without it becoming pixelated.
Renthal, Kekkin, Harris, Geko, Carro and Gunther slipped in behind me, a cold steel in their eyes. I was starting to weaken, holding so many Paradigms together at once, so I nodded to the others and picked my target.
I dropped the holo gram, the image winking out. The motion drew the attention of one of the Jaani, who turned to see what must have been a blink in the corner of its eye. It let out a squeal when it saw seven heavily armed men pounce on them with knives. The high pitched squeal was cut short, but I did not see who had silenced it.
I drove my blade into the back of my target’s throat and violently yanked it aside. Blood spurted from its neck – I’d nearly severed the head and the thing died instantly.
“That felt good,” whispered Renthal, “For Tucker.”
Kekkin nodded solemnly, while Harris echoed Renthal’s dedication.
We made sure there were no nasty surprises in the room, and then called the others in quietly. Tac approached me.
“I am detecting low frequency RF signals nearby.”
“Comms node. Rego, can you pin point the node?”
He nodded and opened a case that he drew from his equipment bag. In a few minutes, he uploaded the location into our overlays and superimposed it on the map we had.
“We take this out and any Ghantri we find won’t be able to report in. They look like metal boxes, half a metre on a side. It will have several ceramic coils on top.”
“Will they guard it?” asked Harris.
“There’ll be at least one Ghantri nearby, but not necessarily next to it.”
“Drone charge?” asked Triptych.
“What does it do?”
“Tiny flyer, rigged with a 20 megawatt EMP burst.”
“Rego? Tac?”
“Should do the trick, LT.”
“I am unable to accurately predict the outcome,” said Tac, “without further information pertaining to the device in question.”
“They’ll take out a level three shielded Takoma Industries emitter.” explained Rego.
“Oh. Then yes, I believe the drone should be sufficient. I, however, should be a minimum of two hundred metres from the detonation.”
“Noted. Send it out. In the meantime, lets scout the area outside. Map says it’s a concourse, leading to the transport hub. Let’s ditch gear, helmets on. Rhondel and Geko stay here with Tac. Everyone else, on me.”
Art stripped out of her space suit and pulled some armour plating from a duffel bag one of the guys was carrying. Renthal helped her get suited up, and when she was ready, we moved out.
I tried my best to hide the fact that I was nearly out of my mind. In a few moments, I would come face to face with my greatest fear - the killers of my old squad and my enemy during the darkest period of my life.
45.
Maxine sat with her feet up on the pilot’s console. She knew she shouldn’t, as Crege gets rather peculiar about his station, but she did it anyway. Fuck it, it’s my ship, she thought, Crege is down in the hulk, anyway, he won’t find out. She was on shift, monitoring the ship’s systems while the rest of the crew explored the newest hulk they had uncovered. The asteroid field was practically littered with them.
Despite what Melafenaseance had told them, Max felt that inspecting the previous dig sites was necessary. She had argued that since most of the work had already been done for them, it would take less time to investigate the old sites than it would to dig a new one. Of course, Mel had pointed out that such foolishness would be a waste of time regardless. However, once Max had put her foot down, there was no changing her mind. It had irritated the Votus to no end.
“That Votus sure could get his whiskers in a bind.” she said to no one in particular. With a chuckle, she realised that the AI governing the pilot’s station was listening in and had queried her as to her meaning. “Nothing, go back to stand-by.”
In one day, they had investigated three such sites. All three had been empty, stripped of most of the tools and equipment, with rudimentary life support systems and power generators left in place. The lack of results was starting to eat at Maxine’s confidence that they would find anything at all and she was beginning to think the stuffy old alien was right.
The communications panel lit up. Max hastily pulled her feet from the console and slapped the open channel controls.
“Go ahead, Max here.”
The crackly voice of Cuts broke in over the command module speakers. “We’ve found something.”
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense! Is Mel going to eat humble pie or am I?”
“Definitely Mel.”
“Ha! I knew it! What have you got?”
“Looks like a section of an engineering space. We gained access through some piping and we can clearly see that there is other machinery here, but a large section is missing.”
“Can you identify anything?”
“Nothing. Most of it has simply melded together into several piles of corroded slag. I mean, I can see that there are slight similarities to known tech here, but their placement just doesn’t make sense. Maybe Eric could make something of all this, but it’s beyond me.”
“What about the missing section?”
“That’s just it. It’s clearly been removed. Recently.”
“How can you tell?”
“The cuts around the edges, they’re made with plasma shifted hyper-diamond blades. I’ve analysed fragments from the dust.”
“So?”
“We haven’t used them for about thirty years. We just use nanites now.”
“But the tech left behind for the Ghantri to steal would match this.”
“Yup. I should be a detective or something.”
“Is Melafenaseance close?”
“Couple of chambers across. Want me to get him in here?”
“He is an engineer.”
Moments later, after Cuts had called Melafenaseance to the compartment, they contacted Max again.
“My analysis concurs with Engineer Cutler’s assessment, Captain,” came the Votus’ gravelly voice, “The primitive cutting techniques do indeed suggest this was a recent removal.”
“What can you make of it? Any idea what it may have been?”
“The hulk contains several vacuous chambers, arranged in a spherical pattern. I believe this matches our descriptions of ghru transport frigates, and this is one such wreckage.”
“So this asteroid is just one ship? It’s nearly a kilometre across.”
“Rather small for a ghru vessel.”
“Space me...”
“The use of crude vernacular is hardly necessary, Captain.”
“I thought you’d be used to it, by now.”
“Indeed. One would also think one of your standing would have put such language aside, by now.”
“Touché.”
“My preliminary scans indicate this compartment has residual traces of esso-paeli-thot emissions. The molecules are even now…”
“I’m sorry, esso-what?”
She could hear the Votus sighing over the radio. “Travelling through extra-planar boundaries, over long periods of time, leaves a signature energy emission on molecules continuously exposed to dimensional energies.”
“Heat?”
“Not precisely. Heat is a side effect of exposing three-dimensional matter to higher planar properties. Other branes, for example. What you younger races call heat is essentially the result of short-term exposure, which bleeds off harmlessly over time. Esso-paeli-thot emissions are the build-up of extra-dimensional tension and stresses. When three-dimensional matter is converted through a brane’s skin – shifting, as you call it – these stresses emit exotic radiations. Tac, your unique AI, should begin to emit EPT within the next thirty standard years.”
“Okay, so what does that mean? This transport frigate has gone through a lot of Jump Gates?”
“Not exactly.”
Now it was Max’s turn to sigh. “So what the fuck are you saying?”
“Captain,” Max hated how the Votus could make it sound like he was explaining something simple to a small child, “The readings I am getting are consistent with ekte…with Shift inducing devices.”
“Like a Jump Gate?”
“A Jump Drive.”
She was silent a few moments, letting it sink in. “Is that even possible?”
“Of course. How did you think the ghru were able to so effectively decimate your Protectorate seven centuries ago?”
He had a point. Everyone learns the history of the Destroyer War, what records survived that is. There were many tall tales of entire fleets simply appearing in star systems, sending Protectorate guardians racing from their tactically pointless positions guarding Jump Gates to engage the Destroyer ships.
Shutting down a Jump Gate is a very serious decision to make. They can’t simply be turned back on again afterwards. The process of linking two points in space across light years is a very tedious, expensive and difficult task. To establish a successful link, the two Jump Gates need to be precisely calibrated at the same time, at the same location, using the same equipment. A quantum entanglement occurs, such that both Gates react simultaneously to a shift occurring regardless of their distance.
Once accomplished, a long distance scout ship is sent to the nearest inhabitable star system. This journey often takes decades to succeed, and more often than not end in failure. The scout ship is laden with the core components of the Jump Gate technology, entangled with a sister Gate that remains in the system of origin. When a suitable system is located, the scout crew completes construction of the new Jump Gate and ignites it. The whole process can take generations to complete.
Closing a Jump Gate disrupts the entanglement properties, such that recreating the exact conditions that enabled the link to occur next to impossible. It is often considered easier to simply build an entirely new Jump Gate, albeit using the old one as parts.
The decision to shut down several key Jump Gates during the Destroyer War held a terrible cost for those systems that were isolated. A cost that yielded no tactical advantage at all. It took many generations to repair the damage done in the name of galactic defence alone, not to mention the damage caused by the Destroyers.
A Jump Drive, essentially, made a Jump Gate obsolete.
“You think this is what the Ghantri were looking for?”
“Undoubtedly. I believe I owe you an apology, Captain.”
“Oh, come now, you had good reasons for avoiding these sites.” Eat it, you smug bastard, she thought.
“Nevertheless, I once again bow to your wisdom. I shall endeavour to consider your arguments with more austerity in the future.”
“That’s a win-win for both of us, Mel.” she was practically brimming from ear to ear. A sudden alert on the sensor console made her start, and she dropped the smile immediately. She nearly fell over climbing out of the pilot’s seat to get to Fel’s station in a hurry. “God damn it.” she swore.
“Are you all right, Captain?”
“Shit, got an alert coming through. Sorry left the mic on. Give me a sec.”
She hastily acknowledged the alert and brought it up on the display. As the data streamed in, her eyes darted back and forth as she desperately tried to make sense of it. When she’d read enough, she lunged for the communications controls behind her on her own console, sending her next message to everyone.
“All teams! Break off what you’re doing and get back here immediately. We got Ghantri incoming!”
46.
The dark, normally the stuff of bad dreams and nervous dashes to the bathroom, enveloped us like a comforting mother. I’d spent months down in tunnels such as this, trying to survive. I only evaded capture for so long because I embraced the dark as an ally, instead of shying away from it. The light, normally a source of comfort and warmth, was definitely not my friend in places like this. Fortunately, the Ghantri suffered from similar limitations in the visible spectrum to humans. I, on the other hand, was augmented.
Half of Naga Team had their eyes and optical nerves upgraded through bio-augmentation to allow a wider band of light frequencies to be detectable, and Rego boasted that he cause pick up electrical signals in exposed cabling through a cybernetic implant. The rest of us were outfitted with the Tactical app I was so fond of using in situations such as this.
It took a moment for my overlay to synchronise what visible space I could see with the blueprint schematic I had shared with the app. Once completed, a wireframe outline appeared of the surrounding terrain. Linking with the other members of the squad allowed me to see them clearly, as if standing in a well-lit room. My rifle, calibrated to the app, also showed a targeting crosshair where I pointed it.
The dark was indeed my ally.
A quick nod from all my squad mates told me we were ready to go, and we started at a steady creep. The concourse ahead was roughly three-hundred metres long and fifty wide, a vast cavern of steel and concrete. The roof of the compartment was nearly forty metres up, and upon approaching a railing and looking down we realised the floor below was a staggering hundred metres down. All around us were mezzanines and gantries, crisscrossing and reaching between the sides of the concourse like some kind of shopping mall on a grand scale. We paused to take it all in and locate a way down to the Ghantri node below.
“What is this place?” whispered Harris, to my right.
“High density living spaces, or some sort of mall.” I replied.
“People would live this far out near the outer surface?”
“Some species don’t mind the higher gravity, but low income workers and welfare recipients don’t really have a choice. Low cost housing and a daily work out. What’s not to like?”
Harris shook his head in wonder, but said no more. Kekkin, ever the pragmatist, prodded Carro in front of him and we continued on our way. We found a deactivated personnel elevator shaft, but decided to use a nearby stairwell instead. We were able to go down three floors this way, before we found the well collapsed from damage. The blueprint told me there was another well, across a gantry and seventy metres ahead, only we’d need to cross into an open space in the middle of the concourse.
The others started discussing crawling across the walkway, but I put an end it.
“I’ve been in dozens of areas like this before,” I began, “The construction of the walkways left support frames underneath, like a grill. Deck plates were just welded onto them. Quick and easy. I evaded notice many times by using them as hand holds to climb below them. We should be hidden.”
“There are no lights below the gantries?” asked Renthal.
“Sometimes, the trick is to find one with all the lights out.”
“Can’t we just run across?” asked Art, “There’s no Ghantri nearby that I can see.”
“Listen.” I said.
She tilted her head to the side and concentrated, everyone else did as well.
“Sounds like rats.” she said eventually.
“You ever see a Ghantri in armour before?”
“No.”
“A few things are starting to make sense to me, now. This infatuation the Ghantri have with the Destroyers?”
Renthal’s eyes widened as he came to the same conclusion. “Their armour! They make them to look like insects.”
“They mimic how they remember the ghru looked like.”
“All those extra legs…”
“The most common Ghantri we’ll face,” I explained to Art, “are cybernetically linked to their armour. They surgically graft a base of four or more limbs to their lower extremities, and often attach extra upper limbs to their torso and back.”
Kekkin traced a line down the neck of his armour. “This scar? Ghantri scythe limb. Did not know it was there until calak extended limb from socket.”
“So what’s that got to do with the rats?”
“They’re like cockroaches, scurrying about up there. Dozens of them.”
“What are they doing?” she started craning her neck to look above us and around us.
“I never figured that out. I think they’re trying to act like insects too.”
“Can they see in the dark?”
“I’m certain that they can’t. I’d probably have never made it off this station alive, otherwise.”
“They are so weird.”
“Warrior is reminded of fek’se from Garz’en,” explained Kekkin, “When a hive is weakened, or loses their queen, the worker drones seek out other hives. At first, new hive will attack intruders, but when they realise the drones not fight back, new hive accepts drones. Drones remain loyal to old hive, though. Eventually turn on new hive, inject new hive eggs with pheromones from old hive. All new young become loyal to old hive too.”
“Never pinned you as an entomologist, birdman.” said Artemis.
“Warrior has hobbies, human.”
“You mean besides losing duels?” Kekkin bristled at being shamed, and I gave her my best look of disapproval that I could manage through a helmet.
“All right, we’ve loitered enough. We need to keep moving. Rego, what’s the status of that charge drone?”
Rego checked a readout on his left sleeve. “It’s five minutes from target.”
“Good, let’s get going.”
I swung out onto the gantry, lowering myself from the railing and swinging one handed to the underside of the walkway. The ease with which I performed this feat surprised me - these exo-rigs bolted onto our suits were amazing.
Bracing my feet either side of the gantry, I shimmied across to the other side and dropped down to the level below, followed closely by the others. The Coriolis Effect was noticeable, this far out on the station, from the rotation of the ring. It affected my balance, causing the M4’s gyros to kick into high gear. I watched Art as she clamoured across – she was the only one of us without an exo-rig, or an internal gyro-stabiliser and I needed to know if she could keep up. I need not have bothered. She traversed the climb with ease, looking graceful all the while. I noticed Renthal was standing beside me watching as well.
“She’s pretty good,” he said, admiration clear in his voice, “I’d have struggled to make that unaltered in this gravity.”
She landed perfectly, rising from a crouch with a grin on her face. “I saw you watching me.” she said in a sultry voice. She walked away, a swagger in her hips.
Renthal was shaking his head, smiling.
“Keep focused, don’t get distracted out here.” I warned. He nodded, and put his game face back on.
When we had all crossed, I sent Gunther ahead to scout while we checked in on Rego’s drone. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but when the countdown reached zero Rego simply switched over to a tablet and nodded to me.
“Done.” he said.
“Just like that?”
“It is a stealth drone.”
“Huh. Neat. We are weapons free, ladies and gentlemen.”
“You hear that, sarge?” said Renthal, “Payback time.”
“Ur kah lem, calak.” Kekkin said, checking his rifle over. Fight well, my enemy.
Gunther returned, reporting that there was a gathering of Ghantri one level down, further along the concourse. I mulled it over – we could evade this whole bunch, not firing a shot, but that meant getting Tac through here while hostiles lurked about. Besides, I could gauge the mindset of everyone. We were itching to bring the fight to the Ghantri. We had the advantage, we had their comms cut off. Do I order them to engage the Ghantri? Would this be putting them needlessly into harms way?
I pondered briefly, turning to look at everyone. I could see they were waiting for me to order them to attack. I’ll admit, I was on edge as well, keen to put an end to all the sneaking around. I wasn’t sure if the pounding in my head would stop once I confronted my fear, or would I freeze up? Kekkin stepped up to me, putting our helmets together to speak privately.
“Wrong decision is bad. No decision is worse.”
“As a marine, I’m used to attacking. How would Naga Team handle this?”
“We are warriors, first and fore most. They need to see you fight.”
“And if I get some of them killed?”
“They have accepted death, the moment they stepped onto the Astral Spider, the moment kitrak Garner ignored the withdraw order.”
“What do we gain by engaging now? We can avoid this group entirely.”
“No way to know if we’ll engage calak further on. Warrior with back exposed to calak is fedang. Tactically, removing threat here removes threat for later.”
I blew the air out of my lungs, then nodded to myself. “We’ll need to keep an eye out for the ones above us.”
Kekkin nodded, a wicked grin on his face.
The decision was made. I could see the squad was excited, eagerness plain on their features. Gunther described their layout and numbers. After a brief discussion, we decided to break up into three fireteams. Kekkin and Art joined my fireteam while Renthal, Masters, Rego and Triptych made up the second. Lastly Harris, Gunther and Carro made the third.
We crept along the concourse until I could see the Ghantri below us. They were milling about in three groups along a widened section of the concourse. The largest group, four Ghantri strong, were sharing a meal near another walkway reaching across to the other side. Further down the concourse was the second group, three Ghantri chattering rapidly with two Jaani who appeared to be working on a vehicle of some kind. Two Ghantri were furthest along, near the now disabled communication node deployed near the edge of the walkway. The node jutted out near the centre of the concourse.
The sight of the Ghantri made me catch my breath. I had been trying to prepare myself mentally for this eventuality, but failing utterly. I could hear their voices, a guttural harsh sounding bark. In battle, they liked to snarl and snap at their foes. I’ve had nightmares about that sound, running down impossibly long corridors with them at my heels.
When I got close enough to make them out, a chill went through me, like an electric shock. I found that I was hyperventilating. I focused on my breathing, trying to shut out everything else. When my breathing was under control, I steeled myself to take it all in. I needed to face this, or I was doomed.
I crawled to the edge of the walkway above them, getting the best vantage point to plan the attack. I forced myself to study them in detail. I focused on one in particular, one who bore the markings of their leader.
Physically, the Ghantri are easily half again as large as a human. At first glance, one could be excused for thinking the Ghantri to be slothful and bloated. Some aspect of their home world’s survival depended on them to have excessive body weight. They were humanoid, tall, and blubbery. They were immensely powerful, far stronger than a human. They could endure naked vacuum for several minutes before suffering harm and could ignore wounds that would kill a man. Their natural limbs were long, much like the Jaani, and perforated from elbow to hand with bony protrusions. Similar rounded spikes dotted their backs, in random patterns. They were hairless, stone grey in colour with thick, rubbery skin.
Their heads, rounded and animalistic, were ursine and lacked ears. They had small, droopy black eyes. Long nasal slits ran up through half of their faces, the flapping folds of skin often making an unforgettable wet sound when they breathed heavily during combat. A wide, gaping maw presented those unfortunate enough to witness a row of uneven, oversized canines and jagged teeth. Their appetite for the flesh of the fallen, whether an enemy’s or their own kind’s, made me sick to the stomach.
Most Ghantri adopted crude, low-tech cybernetic augmentations. Whether they intended the horrid looking surgical scarring to terrify their foes, or they cared little for physical appearances the result was the same. Almost all their warriors had their natural legs removed and replaced with a prosthetic insect walking frame with many scurrying legs. Sometimes their upper limps had been replaced, other times more had simply been added. They often had festering surgical wounds, which appeared to cause them no discomfort, but which created a fetid odour like rotten meat.
Body armour, if worn, looked like overlapping plates of carapace, much as a beetle would have. It was often grafted onto their bodies. The fearsome Ghantri heavies, as they were colloquially known, were entombed in oversized, powered versions of this armour. Weapons were bolted onto their frames. I was thankful we were not facing one of those behemoths.
Taking in the vista before me, I let the fear that bubbled to the surface of my mind run its course. I focused on my breathing, repeating a mantra in my head – I am in control, I am the one they should fear. I let the fear boil over - let it go within me while I was safely above them, hidden from them. Once I became aware of the fear, I had control over it.
Breathe in, breathe out. I am in control, I am the one they should fear.
“Move out.” I whispered.
47.
Renthal’s fireteam lowered themselves lightly over the edge, still ensconced in shadow far away from the enemy. Harris’ team, their rifles configured for marksman shooting, was to remain up high providing covering fire. Kekkin, Art and I moved further down the concourse, until we were past the last group who were fiddling with the comms node. Kekkin and I lowered ourselves down to the level below, then slipped over the edge of the railing to hang below the two Ghantri. I watched the other teams get into position through helmet cams superimposed on my overlay.
Hand over hand, we shimmied across until we were directly below the two node handlers, while Art remained behind in the cover of some discarded debris. When we were in position, I sent a double click over the suit comms.
Art popped the pin on a thermal grenade and tossed it at the group by the vehicle. The sudden motion cause them all to turn in the direction of the grenade as it bounced to their feet. The Jaani were the first to react, screeching in alarm. With a chuffing whoosh! the explosion blossomed into a fiery ball of gas, knocking them all off their feet and engulfing those nearest the grenade.
At that moment, Renthal’s fire team opened up on the first group, their backs to the oncoming fire as they turned to face the explosion.
Kekkin and I used the full strength of our suits to catapult up and over the railing, drawing our lurzak blades as we went. In a split second, we were upon our enemy, hacking into their blubbery flesh. The staccato fire of automatic weapons echoed through the concourse, bright flashes of hardlight munitions lancing across the air to hammer against the aliens. As I slashed my blade through a flailing limb, I caught a solid blow across my helmet, sending me skidding sideways. I spun as I slid, bringing my legs up and kicking, the momentum launching me into the air to land on my feet. The wounded Ghantri swung a large handgun in my direction, but I kicked off a wall with one foot and activated my Spatial Translation Paradigm. I launched myself into his chest, knocking his gun from his hand.
With a roar, the beast flung himself backwards, almost knocking the comms node from its perch near the railing edge. I used the momentum to drive my blade into his chest again, twisting the edge and pulling sideways. With the added strength of the suit, I easily tore the blade through half a metre of flesh and bone. The roar swiftly became a gurgle as the Ghantri died. With a lunge, I dashed forward and caught the node by an antenna before it slipped over the edge. I had a feeling our tech guys would learn something from it.
Kekkin had already finished off his opponent and was racing towards the debris where the grenade had gone off. One Jaani had managed to scurry far enough away from the grenade to survive, and two Ghantri were pulling themselves free of the wreckage, one alight with flames. Without breaking stride, Kekkin flicked his blade out as he passed the Jaani, removing its head. The remaining Ghantri shrieked in rage, scrambling to get to their feet. The cumbersome prosthetics were proving a burden, and by the time Kekkin reached them, they had not yet regained their footing.
I quickly surveyed the skirmish. The first group was down to two Ghantri, both were wounded but holding out having fallen back towards cover. Renthal and his men were forcing them to keep their heads down, but as I glanced up at the level above, I heard and saw the loud report of the battle rifles of Harris and his team. Bullets slammed into the pinned Ghantri, overpowering their shields in moments.
Kekkin, in the meantime, had finished with his two opponents and was cleaning his blade with a cloth before putting it away. He scanned the area as well, then looked my way and nodded.
The sudden quiet was deafening, the only sound the crackling of the flames by the vehicle. I joined up with Art and Kekkin, and we made our way over to Renthal. We had almost gotten there when we heard the challenging roar of more Ghantri above us, several floors away. I quickly checked my blueprint.
“Harris, stay there and cover these access points.” I sent him a flash on his overlay, indicating which areas I meant. “Renthal, you and Rego cover this walkway, Masters and Triptych, climb up to that walkway and cover Renthal. Art, move over to that pylon, Kekkin and I are going to pull that vehicle to the walkway over this span and set up a trap. Harris, you’re to cover us.”
Everyone leaped into action, shifting their positions. I could see two distinct groups of Ghantri making their way down. One group, I could make out about five to ten strong, were leaping down the levels onto bridging walkways. The other, no idea how strong, was wending its way down a stairwell further along the concourse.
The second group had multiple access points they could come at us from, while the first clearly was aiming to engage us directly. Normally, tactically mindful soldiers would never give up the higher ground. I knew that Naga Team would have remained on an upper level and fired down upon us, but the Ghantri considered such tactics weak and cowardly. They had superior numbers, and we had clearly slain their beloved Jaani. This was enough, I knew, to drive them into coming at us as quickly and as forcibly as they were able. Each would be eager to tear us limb from limb for killing their pets.
The plan to counter them was unorthodox, I will admit. It reassured me, though, that none of my team questioned my placement. They instantly assumed I knew what I was doing. I just hoped I actually did.
As the first group was dropping down, Harris was going to start shooting at them. Kekkin and I would present a more viable target for their rage but just before they reached us, I planned to drop a grenade each and fall back. I was hoping the vehicle would add to the carnage. Renthal and Masters, who I’d set up on two of the ingress routes to this area, would delay the second group for as long as needed for us to deal with the first. Harris and company would have clear lines of fire for both groups as they approached. Any of our teams that needed to fall back would be moving towards another team and could receive support from them. Eventually, if we all fell back, we could funnel both groups into the widened platform we had just done battle on, surrounding the group on all sides.
Kekkin and I grabbed the vehicle and started to slide it onto the gantry between platforms. Art’s thermal grenade had damaged it, but mostly it was just superficial. We were five metres from the spot when I heard the crack of Harris’ rifle team overhead. An answering roar directly above us told me we would have to hurry.
When the vehicle was in place, we set grenades on a delayed timer and jammed them into the vehicles engine and near a power cell. I turned to high tail it out of there, when something slammed into my shoulder, sending me sprawling. Kekkin, light on his feet, scooped me up as he ran passed me and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled a few steps but managed to remain upright. Art was yelling at us, while firing madly above us.
Bullets were landing all around me - one clipped my suit leg, nearly knocking me off balance again. I saw Kekkin take one in the small of his back, which made him stumble, but we both kept on running. I slid the final few yards, turning as I did to fire my rifle at my attackers. Shit, I thought, more of them than I guessed.
Nearly a dozen were dropping down from an outcropping directly over the gantry we had just left. Another eight were pausing at the railing to fire down on us, the rest were leaping with glee to our level, and almost all had cybernetic blade tipped limps extended. The sight made me think of spiders, rearing up to pounce. As I tucked my legs into cover and braced my rifle on the side of a pylon, I hazarded a glance towards Masters and Trip, who was just within sight. They were firing, although did not appear they were being rushed as we were.
Our grenades went off, blowing a large section of the walkway apart. The vehicle scattered debris in all directions, blasting several Ghantri off the walkway into the lower levels. The initial blast also caught two as they passed the vehicle to run at us. They flew towards us, knocked off their feet. Kekkin, Art and I hammered at them until their shields flashed out and our fire cut them down.
Harris was keeping the group on the level above us busy, and the two opposing groups were trading fire. More were coming along the gantry, though, and my attention turned to them. One of them shoulder barged the burning wreckage, pushing it aside. Art shot him in the head with her rifle and his corpse fell forward onto the flames. The way was clear, though, and two more came bounding over the walkway towards us. Their shields winked out, but their armour protected them from the worst of our fire. My clip ran dry, but instead of reloading, I flung my hand up and activated my Stun Paradigm. The one on the left flew his limbs up in the air and roared, electricity playing out over him. The electricity must have done something to his Augs, because they seized up and caused him to tumble to the ground, rolling as if a spinning top knocked over. Kekkin and Art focused on the remaining one, but it dove towards Art. At the last minute, Kekkin whipped his rifle butt out and smashed the Ghantri on the side of the head, snapping its neck. The body bowled into Art, sending her flying backwards into a wall.
“I’m okay!” she yelled.
I reloaded, saw there were no more charging Ghantri, and looked around at the others.
Renthal and Rego were falling back, although were moving calmly while sending a torrent of bullets towards the passage they were guarding. Masters and Triptych had moved to another vantage point and were firing across the concourse at the last of the Ghantri above us, where Harris and team had whittled their numbers down to three.
“Kekkin.” I said, pointing my rifle towards Renthal. I went over to where Art had fallen. She was pinned below the dead Ghantri, so I helped free her and pulled her to her feet. She nodded her thanks, then reloaded her rifle.
Renthal and Rego reached us and Kekkin had joined in the sustained fire. A mass of Ghantri were trying to push through the passage further up, but they were taking a beating to get through. First one, then two, managed to dash through the fire and in to cover before we could take them out. I glanced above and saw that Harris was still engaging the first group, but they had them pinned.
“Masters!” I called, “Flank them!”
He instantly diverted his aim towards the group trying to charge through the passage. Taking stock of the situation, he dashed further along the concourse, practically dragging Triptych with him. When they were in position, they began unleashing on the Ghantri again. Caught in a crossfire, the pair went down in seconds, while three more tried to get out but were cut down. No more came through after that.
A final gunshot from Harris’ battle rifles echoed throughout the concourse, followed by a wet thud as the last Ghantri fell from the upper level to the concourse floor nearly forty metres below.
My ears were ringing, but I heard all the fire team leaders calling “Clear!”
48.
“Clear!” shouted Denno over the intercom by the rear airlock.
“Hang on to something!” called Max over the ship’s PA.
As the last pinion was blown clear, Hergo slapped the airlock controls and the pair raced to latch onto some strapping. With a thunderous roar felt through the soles of their feet, the Dreaming of Atmosphere launched off the surface of the dig site.
Up in the command module, Max, Crege, Fel and the Votus were pushed back into their seats as the ship lurched into space.
“Fel, give me an update – where is it?”
“Nine thousand kilometres and gaining, Captain. If they weren’t aware of us before, they certainly are now.”
“Crege, try and keep as many asteroids between us and them. I don’t want to give the bastards a clear shot as we accelerate.”
“Aye, aye, kitrak!”
Crege took the ship into a corkscrew pattern, weaving around several asteroids as they went. Fel cried out in alarm when Crege brought the ship in too close to a pair of rocks the size of a corvette.
“Easy! They’re not shooting at us yet!” cried Max.
“This is incorrect, Captain.” came the calm reply of Melafenaseance, “I have detected an energy signature conversant with Ghantri drone signals.”
“Drones! Can you give me a reading on what kind of capability the ship has?”
“I will need to analyse the energy patterns more closely, Captain.”
“Then do it!”
“Captain!” called Fel, “I believe I recognise the class of ship. Before we launched I took several magnified images of the craft on the optical sensors. It appears to be a modified Esper Monarchy drone frigate.”
“A Calliope Class?”
“If I’m not mistaken.”
“Modified how?”
“Large sections of the hull have been replaced.”
“A salvaged wreckage from the Push,” suggested Mel, “It is a common encounter in the system.”
“Right, send me the stats on the Calliope, Fel. Put them up on my console.”
“Sending them now.”
“Crege, keep it up, I want as much distance as we can get before we hit open road, and as much acceleration as we can spare. Don’t take us below thirty percent thruster fuel, though.”
Crege answered by kicking the ship’s acceleration up a few gravities. Fel started to breathe in hissing gasps, but continued operating his console.
Max studied the data as fast as she could, wishing that Seth was here with her. He was always good at finding weaknesses in enemy vessels.
“What is destination, kitrak?” asked Crege, sounding like he was merely taking the ship out for a shakedown cruise.
“We’re going to have to get line of sight to the Astral Spider. We can’t outrun a Calliope. Not all the way to the Jump Gate, that is. Unless those modifications made her slow as a Junker, which I doubt, we’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later. I’m going to transmit a tight beam message to Garner, hopefully they can help.”
“Warrior needs waypoint.”
“Mel, need you to find a good spot to transmit line of sight to the Spider. Fast as you can.”
“Calculating. It is difficult with such primitive systems, however…”
“Stow it, Mel. Just get it done.”
The Votus ducked his head and started tapping out commands on his console, muttering words in his native tongue.
“Captain,” called Fel between clenched teeth, “Multiple contacts detected, nine kilometres directly astern, ten degrees south.”
“Can you get me a visual?”
A small window appeared on Max’s console, showing the optical sensors at the rear. She manipulated the image to zoom in and focus on a swarm of drones.
“Anti-ship drones, standard configuration by the looks of it. Fast buggers. Damnit! We’ll need to launch our interceptors.”
“We may not be able to recover them if we do,” warned Fel, “not unless, through blind luck, the Calliope hits an asteroid and blows up.”
“Can’t be helped, those drones will be on us in less than a minute if we don’t do something. Remind me when we get the chance to outfit the Dreaming with a Class 1 weapon.”
“I believe we already have that order.”
“Well, make sure. I’m getting sick of losing all my interceptors.”
“Waypoint sent.” declared the Votus, “Time to intercept – eleven minutes, forty-two seconds.”
“Good job, can you operate a DonCrest Simul-Cast Mark 12 drone operating system?”
“I am familiar with its controls, yes. Launching interceptors. Link is good. Deploying defensive screen pattern.”
“I count eighteen drones, think you can take them all out?”
“Not before they begin their first attack run, however I should be able to disable them all eventually.”
“Good luck.” Max reached over to the comms panel, “Cuts, don’t worry about feeding the beamer. Work with Hergo and Denno to shut down all non-essential compartments and drain their power. Put the extra juice into the shields. And I want all of you in light duties space suits now!”
“Interceptors engaging. Assault drones ignoring our first intercept run. Four destroyed! Bringing interceptors around to re-engage, should catch up just as the drones reach us.”
“Evasive manoeuvres?” asked Crege over his shoulder.
“Please. Sorry, Fel. Remember to flex your shoulders, calves and thighs.”
Fel managed a faint whimper, dreading the horrible g-forces about to assail their bodies. With an almost gleeful chuckle, Crege began to randomly juke and dive, spinning the ship in tight curves. The internal stabilisers strained to counter the extra forces applied to the ship, and a grinding, metal on metal sound revibrated over the din of the thrusters. In moments, Fel collapsed like a ragdoll, held in place by his crash webbing. Max started to lose vision, trying to force air against her glottis by making a ‘hic’ sound.
“Interceptors reengaging. Five destroyed. Drone swarm breaking off attack. Several shield hits detected. No damage.” came the monotone voice of the Votus. Max had time to wonder why he was unaffected by the g-forces, then she too passed out.
She blacked out for no longer than a few seconds, before Crege halted his mad astronautical acrobatics. Fel came around moments later, wiping drool from around his mouth.
“Are we good?” Max asked frantically.
“We escaped damage, but the remaining swarm has broken into separate patterns. Regardless of which swarm the interceptors go for, the other will have a clear run at the ship in approximately forty-seven seconds.”
“Why didn’t you black out?”
“A biological augmentation. I thought it prudent to obtain such modification when I decided to assist the Protectorate in their fight against the Ghantri.”
“Might I inquire about receiving one,” asked Fel weakly, “if we survive this mission?”
“I will forward you the specifics of the Aug once we have left this combat, Fel’negr.”
“What’s the likelihood of stopping the attack if we split our interceptors as well?”
“Unlikely, the assault drones are too numerous to be destroyed so efficiently. I fear we will lose our interceptors, while still giving the enemy a clear attack run.”
“Okay, hang on Fel. Just pick any swarm, Mel, and take them out. We’ll deal with the last swarm after it gets a free shot. What’s the status of our shield?”
“We took some hits, but none penetrated. Shield should hold for a few more hits, but I doubt it will withstand another sustained attack like the last.”
“Crege, got another high gee evade in you?”
“Warrior is insulted kitrak had to ask. Warrior did not black out, either. Warrior has no implant.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a tough sonofabitch. Punch it!”
Fel started to curse, but was cut off sharply when the g-forces got too much. Both Max and Fel strained against the added gravity, but it was pointless. First Fel, then Max blacked out.
“Engaging swarm alpha. Swarm beta firing.”
As Max regained consciousness, she was aware of several indicators flashing on her console. Melafenaseance glanced over at her, then began delivering his report.
“Damage to Deck 1 and Deck 2. Hull breach detected Deck 1, unknown damage to Deck 2. I have alerted the deck hands to assess Deck 2 and have sealed the upper decks. All drones destroyed in swarm alpha, interceptors attempting to acquire swarm beta. We have lost one interceptor, another two received minor damage.”
“Uh. Can our drones catch them before they make another run?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Will we be able to recover them?”
He performed some calculations, then turned back to Max. “If I avoid engaging the drones directly, instead swing them around on this vector, I should be able to recover them once the enemy drones are dealt with. We cannot perform any more manoeuvres, however, and the enemy drones will get within a few hundred metres of being able to engage us once more.”
“Think you can take out the last of them?”
“If they focus on lining up for their attack run, yes. If they turn to engage the interceptors, there is a slight chance they could destroy the remaining drones.”
“Slight chance? This is the first time I’ve heard you speak in anything other than absolutes.”
“Even my grasp of mathematics has its limits, Captain. I give it a 17% chance I will fail to destroy all enemy drones.”
“I got a feeling we may need those interceptors before we get out of this fucking star system. It’s a risk we need to take.”
“I agree. Time to intercept - three minutes, thirteen seconds.”
While they waited, the Argen reported in. They had found that there was very little damage on Deck 2, but an emissions port was malfunctioning. Cuts reassured Max that it would be a simple EVA repair job, so she ordered the two deck hands to plug the hull breach on Deck 1. Since they would not be manoeuvring, it was safe to rove about the ship performing damage control.
“Interceptors approaching targets.” reported Mel, “Ten seconds.”
“All hands, brace, brace, brace!” called Max over the PA.
“Drones turning to engage interceptors,” Mel called out, “Targeting individual drones…lost one more interceptor but all targets neutralised. Correction – one got through! One drone broke away from the swarm. Unable to engage, all interceptors occupied.”
“Crege!” called Max. Fel madly griped his console and groaned.
“With pleasure, kitrak, the Dreaming is yendag!”
With a slight jerk of his flight yoke, and a kick against the lateral thruster controls, Crege swivelled the ship to point ninety degrees directly up from their previous heading, then pulsed the thrusters. As the final drone came swooping in, it was unprepared for the sudden shift in aspect on its target. It hastily tried to adjust its heading, but it was simply travelling too fast.
With a clang, it collided with the hull of the Dreaming and disintegrated.
“Seth was right,” said Crege as he nodded sagely, “Drones are kak.”
49.
I picked my way between the corpses, taking care to make sure each was dead. Renthal and Harris were doing the same. I jumped a little at the crack of Renthal’s pistol as he executed a wounded Ghantri and looked around to make sure no one saw. Of course, Artemis had seen me startled.
“How’s the nerves?” she whispered.
“Surprisingly okay. I got jumpy at the beginning, but no panic attacks during the fighting.”
She smile at me. I was surprised the see it was an actual, genuine smile, too.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.”
She touched me on the elbow and made her way over to where I had gathered the rest of the troops. When we were sure every Ghantri was dead, we moved over to the rest of the team.
“Anyone wounded?” I asked.
I was pleased to see everyone shake his or her heads or call negative.
“If you don’t mind, sarge, give them all a checking over.”
As Kekkin stepped into the group, Rego sighed and raised his hand.
“Took a round behind the knee. Didn’t penetrate, I don’t think, but I’m bleeding anyway.”
Kekkin ordered him up and took him over to a bench.
“Anyone else?” I asked.
“Just bruises.” said Gunther.
“Want a blanky?” snarled Masters, “Or a hot cup of toughen the fuck up?”
“Hey, the LT asked!”
“Okay,” I interrupted, “Anything needing medical attention?”
“Masters needs a chill pill.” muttered Gunther under his breath. Masters kicked him.
“Rest up, you guys did well.” I walked over to Kekkin and Rego. The Garz’a had his helmet off and had Rego’s leg stretched out. He was removing the armour plating around his left knee. “How is it?”
“Not life threatening. Human will live.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed, sarge.” smiled Rego, although I could see the pain he was trying to hide.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so. Sarge says a bullet fragment pierced my suit.”
“Will need to remove fragment if we can.” Kekkin said. He was starting to cut around the wound site with a pair of scissors. When it was nearly clear of material, Rego spasmed in pain, unable to stop from crying out.
“Warrior needs water.”
I handed Kekkin a bladder of distilled water from the medical kit by his foot. He tore the top open and started to pour it over the wound. Kekkin recoiled suddenly, bringing his hand up to his face.
“Urk. It stinks.”
“Oh, fuck.” I said, “Poison.”
Rego had gone white and pasty skinned, sweat breaking out on his face. His eyes were white with terror. Kekkin pulled back, looking at his bloody hands in horror. I grabbed Rego, placing one hand over the control module on the arm of his M4 suit. I focused inward, flooding it with nanites. I closed my eyes, trying to sense the circuits with my mind’s eye.
“Kekkin! Hold him down!” I felt him obey, as Rego began to convulse. When my nanites had control of his suit, I overrode the safety locks and activated the emergency pressure containment.
Star Marines do battle in any number of environments, including space. When a marine is injured so much that a limb is damaged and the suit is torn open, rather than expose the wounded marine to explosive decompression the suit can retract around the damaged section and seal up the leak. If the wound is great enough, a severed limp is sealed to prevent blood loss. With the safety locks removed, I told Rego’s suit that his lower leg had been destroyed and the M4 turned rigid and retracted.
“Ertak!” swore Kekkin. Rego screamed briefly, then mercifully fainted.
I opened my eyes to see Kekkin sprawled out on the floor, a severed leg in his lap. I heard several gasps and accompanied cursing from behind me as the rest of the squad saw what I had done. I checked Rego’s life support readings on his arm and when I was satisfied they weren’t getting any worse, for the time being, I turned to the others.
“The moment you get wounded, let someone know. Some Ghantri use ballistic rounds infused with poison from their home world. Not all, but enough to make it a very real threat. If Rego survives the next eight hours, he avoided a very painful fate. Harris, take two people and go get Tac and the others. We’ll find an apartment here to rest for the next few hours. We’ll move on to the transport hub after that.”
Kekkin got up, carried the leg over to the platform’s edge, and tossed it over the side. I joined him by the railing. I could see he was troubled.
“Sorry to drop that on you, I had to act fast.”
“Naga-zak saved human’s life. No apology needed.”
“What’s troubling you, then?”
He looked up into my face, a questioning look in his eyes.
“You’re not the first Garz’a I’ve hung out with, remember?”
“When you warned me of the poison, for a brief moment warrior knew fear.”
“Happens to us all. Fear is natural.”
“No, lur shirtan-zak should not fear death. Lur shirtan-zak should not lose duel and live.” I could see his jaw muscles clenching.
I mulled it over, “Your world view has been shaken? You thought you were invincible, beyond getting scared?”
“Warrior thought he was ready for galab-zak.”
“Is that your next lur kit-zak rank? Above lur shirtan-zak?”
“One that warrior feels is unobtainable.” he said, nodding.
“Do you respect my opinion?”
“Of course, naga-zak. Would not be here if not so.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. This is probably the most terrifying place I have ever been – thousands of miles of sub-structure to crawl through that is practically swarming with the worse enemy I have ever faced. I was so scared going into this fight. I thought I would freeze up like a rookie. You were calm, cool and collected throughout that entire battle. I knew that if you could keep your cool, so could I. I used you to draw on for strength to get through that fight. I’m going to need you many more times before this is through.”
He had bowed his head solemnly.
“If this is some sort of mid-life crisis, can it wait until after we get back to the Protectorate?”
He chuffed, and then shook himself all over. “Warrior will continue to remain stoic for naga-zak. You can count on me.” He looked me in the eye again, “Thank you.”
“I got your back, Kekkin. I just need you to have mine as well.”
He nodded and then straightened. “We need a medic.”
“What happened to your last one?”
“Tucker. Jaani killed him.”
“Ah, sorry. Let’s get some rest – we’re going to need it.”
I checked in on Rego, who was still unconscious, and then found a pile of debris to nest in. All our helmets were off, our reactors dutifully charging our spent power clips. Just as I was getting comfortable, Art jumped down next to me. I sighed.
“I didn’t know an M4 could do that.” she said, shoving a bundle of shelving from her side of the pile to mine.
“Normally, they can’t.” I pushed the pieces onto the ground.
“Will he live?”
“I hope so. If the poison got any further into him, he would be awake and screaming by now.”
“You’ve seen this before.” it wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, my last squaddie to die. Just a scratch, it was. Took a couple of hours to really hit him.”
“What happened?”
“I put a bullet in him.”
“That’s hard.”
“No shit. Most of what I did here was hard.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“What do you want, Art? We need to rest.”
“I know. I just…I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re here, and that you convinced me to let these goons tag along.”
I turned my head to look at her. She propped herself up on one elbow as she spoke.
“You’re being awfully nice. What is it?”
“Nothing. I just know I haven’t been the best person in the galaxy. The reasons why we’re doing this, Eric, all that stuff. What I mean is…I’m trying to say…oh fuck it.”
“Art. I understand…”
“No, you don’t. That’s what I’m trying to say. You don’t understand me. Why I’m doing this. Why I’m here. I put on this coy attitude, the tough girl routine, but it’s just a defence mechanism. I’m overly conspicuous with my sexuality to put people off balance, I push people away once I’ve used them for whatever reason I needed, I don’t care about anyone else’s fate but my own.”
She was clearly getting frustrated. I’d never seen her like this before. I could see she was struggling for the right words, and I didn’t want to interrupt her, so I just stared at her dumbly.
“Help me!” she said.
“What?”
“I don’t know!”
I stared at her in confusion. She was utterly at a loss for words.
“You’re not hitting on me, are you?” I said, my eyes growing wide, “As in, actually, really trying to tell me you have feelings for me?”
She looked as shocked as I was. “No! I mean, yes! No! Not like that. You’re the most real person I’ve met in a long time, probably ever. I’m not saying I’m in love with you…”
“But you’re in friends with me?”
“Ha. You’re pretty funny for a fuckhead.”
“What? I thought you were serious.”
“I am. I’m sorry, I sometimes get emotional after combat.”
“No shit.” she punched my shoulder plate, but she was smiling. A genuine smile, too.
“I’m not getting in the way of what you and Zoe have. I don’t think I could ever do that. You’d never respect me if I tried. That’s part of what makes you so real.”
“You want me to respect you?”
“I need you to respect me, I need to be worthy of it, too.”
I looked her over, thinking about what she said. Something about her body language was different, and it took me a few seconds to realise it. She wasn’t trying to use her sex to get her message across, there was no cant to her hips, no unbuttoned blouse or sultry look.
“I think for the first time since we’ve met, I’m seeing the real you.” I said.
“I’ve been trying to get you to see me for a while now. You’ve been a little busy, though.”
“Huh.”
“Can I tell you why I’m here?”
“Only if you think you need to. It doesn’t change our circumstances.”
“It matters to me.”
“Okay then. Why are you working for Benedict Jenner?”
“I was ordered to.”
“By who?”
“My superiors.”
“Your superiors?” I raised one of my eyebrows.
“We need Blackburn back in the Votus-Eridani Network. Jenner had the resources and the motivation.”
“Why?”
“The war in Eridani. It’s been coming for a long time, too many powerful factions vying for resources and power for it not to end in bloodshed. Osiris will add an element of stability to the criminal groups working in the area. If we get him back into business, direct him where we need him, we can control the region’s black market and other powerful factions. He’ll be a strong valuable asset.”
“For who?”
She breathed in deeply, “The Monarchy.”
“You’re an Esper Monarchy agent?”
She nodded her head, but kept silent. She was searching out my face for any sign of reaction.
“Okay.” I said, and rolled over.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” I repeated.
“What does that mean?”
“It means - I need to get some rest, and I had my suspicions.”
I heard her shifting, chuckling softly.
“You are so full of shit.” she said.
50.
Garner sat at his command chair, chin resting on a fist. Ormund watched him from his own bridge station, wondering what the Captain was going to decide. Seth and the rest of Naga Team had been quiet for a few hours, getting some much needed sleep, so there was really little for Ormund to do. He was going to retire for the evening when he was called to the bridge.
“Play it again.” ordered Garner.
The communications officer nodded and manipulated her console. A crackled and garbled voice started to play from a speaker mounted in Garner’s chair. After a few seconds the words became legible.
“…rone frigate, Calliope Class. We can’t out run it if it follows us all the way to the Jump Gate…” The message devolved into more static, before clearing once more. “…ly hope is that we draw the ship towards you and the Astral Spi…”
“Is there anything we can do about this static?” asked Garner.
“I’m trying, sir.” replied the officer, “There’s too much interference this close to the station. Too much debris between our two ships.”
“Okay, can we pick up the Dreaming from here? Can we see her with our long range optics?”
Ormund, his console already configured for sensors, accessed the long-range sensor suite.
“Not at the moment, although we do have a short piece of visual that’s nearly fifteen minutes old. Should I put it through to your station, sir?”
“Please.” Garner was quiet for a few moments while he reviewed the short clip of the Dreaming. “It’s headed this way, that’s for sure. Can’t make out what’s chasing her, but I do know what a Calliope Class is. Navigation! Get me a projected path from the asteroid field we sent the Dreaming of Atmosphere to, and us. Put it up on the navigation table, and include time intervals as well.”
Garner climbed out of his seat and moved to the rear of the bridge, where a small holo-table awaited. Ormund joined him, along with a young Sub-Lieutenant – the Navigator.
“Harold, how long will it take the Dreaming to reach us, and put up a similar path using an acceleration profile of a Royal Fleet Calliope Class Frigate.”
The Navigator hastily ran calculations on a console at the end of the holo-table.
“Ready, sir.” he said after a few minutes.
“She’ll be in range of the Calliope’s missiles before it gets here. We’ll need to intercept it.” Garner said.
“What about Naga Team? They’re relying on our intel and support.” said Ormund.
“They’ll have to do without for a while. If we don’t move now, the Dreaming won’t stand a chance. I don’t want that on my conscience, do you?”
“No, sir. I also don’t want Naga Team’s blood on my hands.”
“Well, this is what it’s all about. The burden of command. Do we remain on station and support the mission, or go help a civilian in need?”
“I’m not sure I’m the right man to ask that of, sir. Maybe you should ask Seth what he thinks.”
“I know what he would say. I think you do, too.”
Ormund smiled at the Captain.
“It’s settled then. Get Lt. Donovan on the horn and let him know. Tell him we’re sorry, but I’m sure he’ll understand. I’ve got some plotting to get done. Harold, over here.”
As Garner and the navigator put their heads together and began planning their next course, Ormund returned to his console and reconfigured it for the battlenet once more. When it was set up, he contacted Naga Team and told them the news. As Garner had predicted, Donovan wished the Astral Spider good luck in running to the Dreaming’s defence.
“Captain!” called the communications officer, “We temporarily have line of sight with the Dreaming of Atmosphere!”
Garner dashed over to his command chair. “Set up a tight beam transmission.”
“Established.”
“Dreaming of Atmosphere, we received your last and are moving to intercept. We don’t know how long we can maintain line of sight, so please respond as soon as you receive this.”
“Sending. Time delay – three minutes, forty two seconds.”
“Hurry up and wait.” said Garner, earning him a funny look from Ormund.
Garner waited for several minutes, impatiently tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.
“Incoming LOS communication, sir!”
“Put it through.”
The voice of Maxine Cooper started to play through the chair’s speaker. “Astral Spider, this is Dreaming of Atmosphere. You have no idea how glad I am to hear this. We weren’t sure if our beam got through. Too much bloody shit in this system for a decent phone call. I’m sending you our acceleration profiles, and our sensor data for the Calliope, see what you can come up with.”
Garner reviewed the data packet sent with the message, forwarding the information on to various bridge stations.
“Let’s put this into our plan, find us the perfect spot for a good old fashion ambush. Transmit this message – Maxine, we’re putting together a tactical plan to intercept the Calliope, but we’re going to need your help. The Astral Spider can’t take on a Frigate by itself, even with our cloaking system, but we can if we work together. Is your crew willing to do what is necessary? Are they combat ready?”
Garner waited again to receive a reply.
“Don’t you worry about us, we’re always combat ready. Just tell us where you want us to get to and we’ll get there. We’ve only got a Class 2 beamer, and three interceptor drones left, but they’re yours if you can come up with a plan to take this bastard out.”
“Transmit message – our scans indicate there is a pocket of lighter debris three hours from your position, we’ll have a plan put together by then. We’ll be at your green zero five point five three., north one one point nine. Good luck, Garner out.”
“Lost line of sight, sir.”
“Did that last get through?”
“Affirmative.”
Garner stood, stretched his arms out and then pointed at a young ensign nearby, “Squire, go get my tactical hat!”
“Sir?” he asked, quizzically.
“Never mind. Navigator, we’ve got work to do. How’s that intercept plan going?”
“Inputting it through the AI now, sir. It’s accepted it. We’re good to go.”
“Helm! Take us out, easy as it goes. Don’t want one of these floating Ghantri ships to spot our drive signature.”
As Garner returned to the holo-table, the ship began to vibrate slightly and the sound of the ship’s thrusters firing momentarily drowned out all other sounds. The bridge was abuzz with activity, everyone had a task, all working in unison to get the stealth ship moving.
“Captain!” called Ormund, ten minutes later.
“What is it, Lieutenant, I have vectors to calculate.”
“It’s Ward. She’s asking about what we’re doing.”
“So? Tell her.”
“But, sir…”
“What? Out with it!”
“You know what she’s like. If she thinks we’re abandoning Donovan and the team…”
“Technically, we are. Nothing I can do about that now. The sooner she finds out the sooner she’ll understand we have no choice.”
Sooner, meant more interruptions moments later. Her face flushed, Zoe literally stormed onto the bridge. She paused briefly, appearing to compose herself before approaching the Captain.
“Sir!” she began, “I wish to talk to you about our current…”
“Can it, Zoe.” He turned to face her.
“But, sir…”
“Take a look around, Ms. Ward. This is a war ship. We do war. Your boy down there understands that. He even agrees with me.”
“But we can’t just…”
“Yes, we can. In fact that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
She put her hands on her hips in frustration, only partially aware that she’d gotten this same mannerism off watching Artemis do her thing. Garner simply looked at her calmly, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
“I won’t leave him.”
“Yes, you will. When you accepted that field commission, Sub-Lieutenant, it came with a whole set of responsibilities. One of those is accepting orders from me. I’m not going to wait around here while Maxine Cooper and friends, your friends I might remind you, are killed.”
“Leave me behind.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Why?”
“Why?” he looked at her incredulously, “What possible purpose could leaving you behind serve? You can’t go down there, they’re hours beneath the surface already. You’ll be killed by the first roving Ghantri patrol you come across.”
“I can remain on one of the abandoned shipyard modules. I can monitor the Spider’s performance, along with Dr Elias. There’s your purpose. You know that there is a flaw in the stealth functions, or the Dreaming would never have spotted you. We can help you find that flaw. Elias said we needed an external sensor feed of the Spider’s cells as we’re missing a vital piece of the puzzle. You drop me off, and I’ll find you your flaw.”
“That’s a tall order. What if the Ghantri decide to patrol that region?”
“I’ll go with her,” said Ormund, leaning over the back of his chair.
Garner looked at him in annoyance. “Not you too.”
“I’m no good to Seth out there,” he pointed to the forward view screen, “and I’m no good to you in here. I’m no fleet officer, I’m a ground pounder.”
“Ormund can still run ops for Seth,” said Zoe, “Elias and I can monitor the Spider, you can go save the Dreaming. That’s a win for everyone.”
“A mutiny. On my own ship!” said Garner, tossing his hands in the air.
“You know,” added Zoe, “That’s what Maxine always says when Seth and the boys talk her into something. She knows when to listen to her crew, too.”
He stared at her long and hard, before finally sighing. “Do you always get your way, Miss Ward?”
“No, sir. But I have some strong women in my life who are teaching me how to.”
“Very well. You’ll need to get going very soon or we’ll be too far away for you to make it to one of those life support modules.”
“Thank you, sir!” she was almost jumping with excitement.
“Don’t thank me. Just get me that data to fine tune this stealth cloak.”
“Yes, sir. You won’t regret this.”
“I already do. Sub-Lieutenant Mortimore!”
The sensor officer turned in his chair. “Yessir!”
“Find me a life support module on that ship yard derelict, one with power, or no damage. Ormund, get out of here and get them suited up, you got twenty minutes before you miss your window.”
He got up to leave, taking Zoe by the elbow. As they entered the bridge lift, Garner called after them.
“Good luck.”
51.
Once more, I dreamed of the Eye of Ar’od Dar. I had begun to dread these dreams, the once peaceful place my mind could wander when I slept. The darkness that used to comfort me instead hid all manner of terror and tension. The purple haze that began to permeate the sky above the sea of data motes looked more and more sinister. It was a childish notion, but I began to feel this unspeakable horror at looking up into the sky and seeing this eye bear down upon me.
I slept fitfully. We had been travelling for several hours already, and I needed my troops in top condition, so I let them rest as long as we needed to make sure that Rego was in a stable condition. When we got the call from Ormund about the Spider pulling out to go rescue the Dreaming, I didn’t tell everyone right away. It could wait until the rest period was over.
Eventually, I gave up on sleep altogether. I looked over at Artemis, still in a deep slumber. I had never seen her look so peaceful. It was as if a great burden had been lifted off her. I didn’t know if what she told me was the truth, not one-hundred percent, but it seemed to be near enough to what I’d been suspecting all along that it was good enough for me. I thought about talking it over with the squad, but thought better of it. I considered discussing it with Kekkin and Renthal, but decided it would change little. They were already committed to our part of the mission.
It seemed that the galaxy, or at least my part of it, was going through a time of upheaval. All-out war in the Eridani System. That meant at least the possibility of skirmishes in adjacent systems. The Ghantri fleet disappearing weeks before the Jump Gate to the system closes, possibly forever. The Destroyers returning, the Esper Monarchy scheming, Korvelli-Xue defying the Protectorate…it may not look like it, but this time a year ago was one of the most peaceful times in my life.
And here I was, deep in the guts of a place I’d vowed never to return to.
“A credit for your thoughts.” said Tac. He was watching me as I mulled these thoughts over.
“What’s that?”
“An old Earth axiom. I read it in one of System Operator Fel’negr’s historical books.”
“Do you worry about the future?”
“Not at the moment. I am confident that Private Rhondel is alert and capable of raising the alarm should he detect a Ghantri patrol.”
“Not that. I mean our future, the state of the galaxy, the coming war, whether we can afford to pay off the next round of payments on the Dreaming. You know, future?”
“Should I?”
“There is a lot of uncertainty, out there.”
“There always in, there are many factors that are out of our control. The fate of the Eridani System, for one. What purpose would worrying serve, if nothing we do is capable of impacting it?”
“I wish I could analyse everything as logically as you do.”
“I wish I could extrapolate answers with no data, but I can’t.”
“Did you hear what Artemis told me?”
“I did.”
“What are your thoughts on that?”
“Do you remember what I thought of the Esper Monarchy?”
“You consider them an enemy. For killing your old crew.”
“I am unsure how I must think of Artemis, now. Until I learned of her true allegiance, I considered her a friend – much like you or Fel’negr. To have her as an enemy would be a logical step, since I’ve already classified the Epser Monarchy as an enemy, and she has admitted to be a Monarchy agent.”
“But?”
“I am conflicted. My cognitive processors cannot seem to agree on the correct classification for her.”
“She wasn’t responsible for the death of your old crew. If you remember, she was instrumental in your rescue.”
“I remember. I’ve only ever known her to be my ally. Should I change her classification, or my classification of the Esper faction? What will I do if the next agent of the Monarchy I meet also aids me? What will happen if I am denying myself fulfilling relationships with sentient beings simply because of an initial assessment of a faction? Should I create a sub-classification?”
“Sounds like you’ve learned that nothing is ever black and white, just infinite shades of grey.”
He canted his head to the side, a very human gesture. “That is a very accurate metaphor.”
“Another of those old Earth axioms.”
We spent the next hour talking, going over philosophical quandaries. When Rego began to stir, I decided we had had enough rest and started to get everyone up. Kekkin checked on Rego, who was weak but awake. We gave him some water and administered some painkillers, then told him what had happened. He took it in stride (poor choice of words), accepting it sombrely. Amputation is seldom a permanent disability these days, with cybernetic augmentation what it is.
When we were all up and finished checking our equipment, I thought it was time to break the news.
“Okay, everyone. We have a development, a change of our tactical situation. We now have wounded, so I want one person to assist Rego at all times.”
“I believe I can assist there,” offered Tac, “I can support his weight and I won’t tie up another gun from the squad.”
“Fair enough. But there’s more. A few hours ago, the Astral Spider left local space to go assist the Dreaming of Atmosphere. Ormund and a few others were left behind in a life support module in the shipyards to continue our operation, but they can no longer provide a rapid pick up when we exfiltrate. Instead, we’ll follow our original plan, making our way to the docking sphere after our objectives are met, then exit the station along the central axis. Any questions?”
“Does this mean no air support?” asked Geko.
“We never had any, anyway.”
“Right. But if we needed it before, the Spider could always…”
Kekkin clipped him behind the ear. “Does bezak not listen during brief? Spider will not de-cloak close enough to station for air support.”
“Yeah I just thought…”
“Bezak does not think. Bezak just talk.”
“Sorry, sarge.”
Rhondel raised his hand and I nodded for him to go ahead. “A few others left behind? Who?”
“Doctor Montannis, Sublieutenant Ward and two more Able Servicemen from the enlisted crew of the Spider.”
“Red shirts.” said Gunther, as he and Geko started chuckling. Master whacked Gunther on the back of the head, almost at the same time as Kekkin snapped his left foot out and clipped Geko on the backside.
“So Ormund is out there in a hot box rigged with a sub-space comms unit?” asked Harris.
“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” added Renthal.
“It is. Which is why we’re going to be extra careful with our comms. Rego…” I started, then checked myself. “Triptych, I want you to see if we can salvage anything from that Ghantri comms node. See if we can get it talking for us. We’re going to use Ghantri nodes instead of our own to keep our link with Ormund and the battlenet. If we use their tech, it will make it a lot harder for them to zero in on the signal.”
Geko held his hand up and I almost groaned.
“What is it?”
“Serious question. Won’t it make it easier for the grubs to find them? I mean, it’s their own gear.”
“Grubs? You mean the Ghantri? Normally, you’d be right. Except they won’t be looking for carrier signals in their own radio traffic. We’re going to piggy back our comms on the backs of their own. Ormund says Elias has tethered a couple of AI Cores to a transceiver and told them to listen for a specific code. They sent us a data packet with the algorithm to encrypt our data to follow the pulse code.”
“He’s a clever old fart,” said Art, “I’d watch him around your girl.”
“I’m more worried for the good Doctor.”
Triptych held up his hand. “Sir? The Ghantri transmitters are relatively short range, and not the best at linking up through all this metal.” He waved his hand above his head, indicating the superstructure around us.
“Yeah, about that…” I began, but Art cut me off.
“Let me guess. We’re going to hit as many grub posts as we can find?”
“If we want to maintain communications through to the inner side of the habitat, yes.”
There were mixed reactions. A few glanced over at Rego, dozing with his head resting on a pylon.
“Do we need comms?” asked Masters.
“If we’re going to navigate our way through this ring, yes.”
“We have the map.” he said.
“Which only Carro here seems to be smart enough to read.” That elicited a grunt from Masters.
“If we get into another firefight, he could be the next casualty. Then we’d be wandering around here for a long time. Do you know the way to the inner habitat?”
“We just keep going down.” he said.
Artemis chuckled. “Dumb arse, we have to go up. Remember the switch?”
Master frowned, but said nothing.
This time Renthal put his hand up. “Won’t taking out a shit load of Ghantri bring the whole house down on us? I mean, we got lucky that we could fry their comms before they could radio local command…”
“Ghantri don’t have local command. They don’t use a command structure like we do. Whoever is the toughest in a group takes over. Most of their pre-raid rituals involve sorting out exactly who is the toughest, but once that’s decided command is absolute. Take out the leader, the next in line takes over. They don’t run, they don’t give up. If we encounter them between raids, they won’t have decided yet who is who. I’m betting at the moment there is no one in charge.”
“So why all the comms nodes?”
I shrugged. “So they can challenge each other. If one node goes quiet, they’ll just assume that some other war party bidding for dominance took them out.”
“Is this something you witnessed last time you were here?”
“Yes. I found that once I’d escaped an area that was patrolled by one group, they just left me alone. I was spotted many times, sometimes I could fight my way out, others I ran and hid. I tried to work out how to spot the boundary of each ‘cell’ of Ghantri, but I couldn’t find anything. Too dark, too many other things to worry about. I did know that if I ran hard enough, they wouldn’t follow any more.”
‘Jesus.” muttered Renthal, “You spent how long down here? I’ve only been here a day and I already find it creepy.”
“The dark is your friend. We are what goes bump in the night. Remember that.”
Kekkin stepped forward. “We are the serpent who strikes in the dark. We are naga-zak.”
For some reason, that seemed to steel them. They started to thump each other on the shoulder or back, and even Rego managed a grin, his eyes still closed.
52.
An eerie misgiving settled over me as we made our way further along the concourse. Now that I had faced the Ghantri, repressed memories were bubbling to the surface of my mind. Nothing specific, just sensations. Smells, sights, sounds. The feel of the cheap plastic veneer covering bulkheads and railings. The faint drip of leaking plumbing. A thousand sensations that I had buried along with all the horror and despair that accompanied them.
We contacted Ormund as we left our resting place, picked up directions to a transport hub just less than twenty clicks away and began our climb back up to the top of the concourse. Now that we were back on the move, the chatter died down completely. All eyes were outward, on the lookout for signs of another Ghantri tribe, as we started to call them. It wasn’t far from the truth.
When the Ghantri had recovered from a raid, the scattered survivors went back to their hovels and territories. They would naturally gravitate towards each other once more, defeating and over taking rival tribes. Slowly, masses would form, until there was enough of a force to push against the Protectorate blockade.
Their fleets, when they were able to form, were consisted of organised tribes able to secure shipyards and put their Jaani to work. Of course, my knowledge was limited to how they behaved in space, out here in Ambrose Station. On the planet Ghan I had no idea how their society worked. I had also never once seen one of their secretive religious caste.
As we trekked, I thought more on the revelations regarding the Destroyers. Now that I gave it some thought, I began to see how a race of perfect killers managed to install themselves as gods to these warlike aliens. Why the Destroyers spared the Ghantri, I may never know, but they must have proved without a doubt their superiority to the Ghantri, who forever more worshipped them as their supreme leaders.
Hijacking the Ghantri nodes really was a stroke of genius. I was wondering if Zoe had had a hand in the idea, when Rhondel and Carro spotted a trio of Jaani working on an oxygen scrubber. We were almost five kilometres from the transport hub, which I knew would be a prime real estate for a Ghantri tribe to claim. Any vehicles left over from the Betrayal would be valuable sources of salvage and rapid transport, plus there was bound to be plenty of other technology to lay claim to.
The two troopers knew the drill. They attached suppressors to their rifles and gunned the Jaani down without seeking approval. They knew what the mission was, and how we would need to survive down here. Killing the Jaani gave us a tool we could use on the next tribe. Kekkin knew what I planned right away, but the others were confused when I ordered them to take the bodies with us.
It wasn’t long before Tac reported another Ghantri comms node was within range.
The transport hub was another cavity, two hundred metres long and roughly cylindrical with a cross section nearly eighty metres in diameter. A mag rail system passed through the hub, connecting a string of other hubs along the curve of the torus ring. The likelihood that the mag rail would be functional was low, but the Jaani might have kept it running.
The Ghantri were bunkered down in the hub security station, a structure on the far side of the concourse. They had fortified the area, erecting barricades along the platform facing the mag rail. This was promising, since it was clear they had something to fear from threats coming from the rail.
I was on my belly, overlooking the platform from the other side. Artemis and Kekkin were on either side of me. Art nodded to the rail – she’d picked up on that too.
“How many, do you think?” I asked.
“Two dozen throughout the platform, more calak inside station.” said Kekkin.
“More on patrol?” asked Art.
“Has to be. This is a big tribe. I count at least eighteen Jaani, plus those three we tagged earlier.”
“Naga-zak has plan.” It wasn’t a question.
“We use the Jaani corpses as bait. Draw them from the fortifications. Once they cross to the other platform, we can nail them in a crossfire.”
“Will they all charge? That’s a lot all at once. Not sure even we can lay down that much firepower before they pushed through.” Artemis had a point.
“I don’t think they all will. They don’t get this big without some brains. My guess is we’ll get at least those on the platform already. When the others see their comrades killed they should start fighting more tactically.”
“Warrior cannot see node.”
“Nor can I.”
Tac, get up here, I texted, need your scanners.
After a couple of minutes of scanning, Tac made his report.
“The best I am able to say, with 43% uncertainty, is the node is within thirty metres of the security station. But not within it.”
“Which direction?”
“Unknown. There are too many echoes in this chamber. Perhaps if I was to climb down and move near that maintenance bay…”
“No. Can’t risk you exposing yourself. Let’s huddle.”
We crawled back to the rest of the gang. I explained our plan, and asked about our technical options for taking out the node.
“Can we use another of those drone charges?”
“Not without pinpointing it first.” said Rego.
“Will thirty metres be close enough?”
“Not really. It may work, but we won’t know if it’s shielded at that range. Most likely it will just scramble all of our comms too.”
That gave me an idea. “What about a scrambler?”
“Sure. If you don’t mind losing our own too.”
“We can use hand signals and stay within line of sight. We won’t need anything with range for this fight.”
“Okay, will still need to get it closer to the node, but thirty metres should be enough. If they have a smart Jaani monitoring the node, though, they may be able to do a work around.”
“Any other ideas?”
Triptych drew a canister from a compartment on his suit. “Seeker nanites. I can program them to home in on any RF signals once we put the scrambler up. If the Jaani do break through the jamming, they’ll head straight for them and tell me their location on my overlay.”
Rego nodded, “Then I hit them with the drone charge.”
“Good work.” I said, rapping my knuckles on Rego’s shoulder pad. “We take out their comms first, then we use the bait. They’ll already be on alert once we scramble short range comms, so be ready if they spot us too early. I don’t want you to use those nanites, though. I want Tac to handle that.”
“Yes, sir.” said Triptych, passing the canister along to Tac.
“I need all the guns I can bring to the fight.”
“Sir, I can still hold a rifle.” said Rego, looking me right in the eye.
“I know. But I can’t reposition you if we need to move.”
“I’ll drag myself if I have to. Exo rig will make sure of that.”
“I’d rather you stay back, monitoring the jamming and that drone.”
“But I…”
“I also need to know that Tac is protected.”
He pursed his lips, frustration showing clearly on his face. I couldn’t tell him that I worried about his leg wound rupturing, or risking him bleeding out. I could order him to do it, but I needed him to see it from another way. He could still hold a rifle, and that meant I could have him guarding Tac. I know what it’s like being crippled, to have people trying to protect you all the time, trying to help you out when all you wanted was to just do it yourself. The looks of pity, although often genuine, eat at your soul. Especially to men of action such as myself, and Rego. I needed to keep him busy, to show him he was still useful.
“I’m counting on you to make sure that nothing happens to my robot.”
“I must say, I am not a robot. I am…” interjected Tac.
“You’re an organic shroud matrix based quantum computer.” finished Rego, “Don’t worry, Tac. I speak your language. Let’s work on that nanite program.”
As they got to work, I returned to my perch with the rest of the squad, and started pointing out our firing positions.
“I want everyone within eye sight of at least one other squaddie. Any command passed down the line is to be repeated to the next in line. If one of us goes down, close the gap, keep line of sight maintained. If the whole tribe comes down on us, we fall back to the passages we came through. Go by single file, one person on overwatch at all times. Last one past takes overwatch and keep filing down. If only those bozo’s down there come at us, once they go down we leap down to the platform and jump the rail. Set up on those barricades, but I want Masters and Gunther to watch our six. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us when we’re hemming in on the station.”
“What about our heavy weaponry?” asked Renthal, indicating one of the duffle bags, “Should we set up anything?”
“Too close,” I said, “We’ll use support rifle configurations for our E34s, with the coolant sleeves. Get your cables out and hook them up to your reactors.”
“Where’s our entry point?” asked Renthal.
“Door knocker on these three points. Punch a hole through the bulkheads there and there, plus the main entrance.”
Door knockers were slang for single use, armour piercing projectiles. They would punch through solid steel, then blossom outwards with gravitational waves similar to a thudgun. The result was a wide opening of bent metal, pretty as a flower. Star marines, pirates and salvage crews used them throughout the galaxy. They were great for breaching charges too.
We waited for a few minutes to make sure no wandering patrols returned and changed things up. Then I gave Rego the command to start jamming. He sent two drones up into the air. One had a scrambler attached, the other was a tiny EMP drone. The first one descended to the platform below and moved over to the other side. A crackle in my ear told me the scrambler had activated and it wasn’t long before the Ghantri noticed. A few voices started calling out, and two more Ghantri came out of the station building to shout at the Ghantri guarding the platform.
We needed the Jaani to start working on the jamming before the Ghantri spotted the scrambler, so Rego positioned the drone down by a bench before the mag rail. Ghantri got up from their posts and started to look around, occasionally shouting at each other. After a couple of minutes, a half dozen Jaani scrambled from the station and over to a deck plate leading under the platform. They were headed to the node, I was sure. I signalled Kekkin at my left to be ready, repeating the same order to Artemis on my right.
I glanced over my shoulder to where Rego was sitting, his rifle across his lap, gazing intently at a tablet. As soon as the EMP went off, he was to crawl back to where we had hidden Tac and wait for us to finish. As before, I noticed no change in the environment, but Rego gave me a thumbs up, slotted his tablet onto his arm and started to crawl away.
I turned to face the Ghantri and shouted, “Hey! You filthy grubs! Look what I have!”
I tossed the first of the Jaani bodies down onto the platform.
The effect was instantaneous. With a shrieking cry, the first to see the Jaani leaped towards us, clearing the mag rail in a single bound. The cry went up, enticing the others to join in the charge. I tossed another body down as the first Ghantri reached the crumpled little Jaani. With almost pitiful wailing it immediately scooped it up and held the corpse to its rubbery hide, cradling it as if it were a lost child.
It didn’t even notice the brace of grenades I had taped to it.
A loud boom eclipsed the wailing from the stricken Ghantri - a ball of fire expanded across the platform, rising as it went. I flung myself down behind the guardrail, flipping my helmet closed as I did. I felt the pressure wave batter at my extremities, but my M4 MAEL protected me from the blast. I might have over done it, I thought.
When the explosion dissipated, I swung back to the guardrail, rifle at the ready. The blast had taken out several of the enemy, but a torrent were still rushing us. I had no illusions they would not be able to reach us up here. My troops opened fire.
Configured for sustained automatic fire, our rifles trailed power cables running directly to our suit reactors. Coolant sleeves protected our barrels – disposable nanite cooling sheathes that would stop our barrels from melting. With the over-charge capacitors filling as fast as we could fire, a deadly stream of souped up hardlight tore down at the hapless Ghantri. Fingers of solid photons raked across their ranks, tearing flesh from cybernetics. The foremost dead became obstacles for those that followed, hampering their headlong rush. We killed nearly two dozen before their self-preservation overcame their rage and the charge halted. We spotted a couple of leaders, bellowing orders at the survivors. Disconnecting our rifles from our reactors, we hastily removed coolant barrels from our rifles and tossed them to the deck.
As the last Ghantri jumped back to their side of the platform, we leapt the rails in one fluid motion. My exo-rig broke my fall and I sprung up into an advancing position, rifle to my cheek, as I squeezed off bursts of fire. First Kekkin and Artemis, then those on the flanks, dropped down to join me. We pressed ahead, firing into the backs of the retreating foe. We took down another six before they reached the barricades. Many fled into the station. A handful remained behind to cover the retreat. A volley of smart grenades launched from Harris and Triptych, homing in on tiny jets to detonate behind the Ghantri cover. Bits of grub spattered all around us.
We got to the gap between platforms and jumped, easily clearing it. I nearly fell over when I landed, my feet skidding across a mangled Jaani corpse. We set up before the barricades, using their own fortifications against them. The main doors opened and a pair of grenades flew out, bouncing off the barricade. Someone shouted a warning and I ducked down. The explosion sent more corpse giblets flying.
“Geko!” I called, “Get a door knocker on that hatch! Bravo and Charlie, in ten seconds!”
We split into our respective teams, Geko unclipping the small rocket launcher from his utility belt. It resembled Artemis’ ballistic launcher and it wasn’t too different in operation, only these were single use weapons.
“Fire in the hole!” Geko called. With a pop, the handgun-sized weapon fired a single rocket at the door, punching a hole the size of a fist in the hatch. A split second later, it seemed that the very fabric of space around the hatch seemed to ripple, then the steel doorway burst apart with a dull thud and screeching tear. I threw my last grenade through the opening, and so did Artemis.
Bellows of pain followed the blasts, and we were up on our feet rushing the opening. As we got to the breach, the other door knockers hit. The accompanying thoom! drowning out the yelling from inside.
I was first through, firing at a reeling pair of Ghantri clutching at wounds. As they went down, I kicked over a shattered desk and knelt down, quickly taking in my surroundings. The room was ten metres wide, with a mezzanine level at the rear. Office desks were all over the floor, with writhing Ghantri scattered everywhere. More were on the mezzanine, safe from out concussive blasts. They began firing down on us.
The other teams joined us, pushing through into the compartment. The farthest team leapt up onto the mezzanine from below, unimpeded by incoming fire. I had split up the entry points so that at least one of us would have a chance at flanking any defenders, and now it was paying dividends. The Ghantri turned to face the incoming threat, but it was too late. Renthal finished off the last of them as it tried to leap down into the main floor, he simply jumped down after it and used the strength of his exo-rig to stomp on the Ghantri from above. A couple of well-placed rounds finished the job.
“Rhondel’s down.” said the calm voice of Kekkin, standing over a fallen M4 suit.
I rushed over and knelt beside the still form, checking him over. He had left his helmet open, as some of the troops often do, and his helmet was pooling with blood from a wound on his neck.
Glassy, unseeing eyes stared back.
53.
It was a clean hit. The projectile had gone right through the weak padding around Rhondel’s neck and out the other side. Kekkin said he saw him stumble and was going to yell at him to keep his footing when he saw him fall. A glance as he passed told him all he needed to know.
“Warrior died well.” he said solemnly.
The others had gathered around, checking each other for wounds. Gunther had caught a piece of shrapnel in his left glove, nearly severing his little finger. Triptych reported difficulty breathing, but a brief check revealed he only had a bruised rib. The rest of them had bruises where their armour had taken rounds. For once, I’d managed to avoid taking any hits.
I tried to gauge the mood of the squad, to see how Rhondel’s death had affected them. They were quiet, going through the motions, checking their gear. I thought back to the outburst I had first witnessed when I had first met them, all the way back at the Jump Station.
“Renthal,” I said, motioning him over to a spot apart from the rest.
“Sir?” he said when we were out of earshot.
“I need to know if anyone is going to take this harder than usual.”
“No sir. We’re copacetic.”
“Bullshit. One of your buddies just died.”
He gave me a hard look, but I wasn’t buying it.
“What do you want me to say?”
“How does Naga Team handle casualties?”
“We deal with it, just like any other soldier.”
“Want to tell me about Tucker?”
He sighed, looked down at his boots and then back up at me.
“Before we knew the Jaani were combatants, we’d captured four of them when we hit this listening post on the other side of Nsarri. Ormund had Tucker guard them, wanted them treated like civilians. I mean, they look like cute little aliens…”
“I get that. What happened?”
“Kekkin wanted them shot, couldn’t afford to babysit them. Ormund over rode him, he thought they were slaves just like the people here. Got Tucker to sit down with them and try to talk with them. Tucker was good like that. He was our negotiator, our field medic. A real smooth dude, you know? So Ormund has the rest of us finish our sweep, only found a couple of Ghantri, we planted some charges and made our way back to the waypoint. Two dead Jaani and one dead Tucker. We detected a life pod launch, but there’s these Protectorate conventions on firing at life pods, you see?”
“What did Ormund say?”
“He said we must have missed a Ghantri, that we fucked up. Kekkin and him had a row. Got real noisy. I know it was just the two of them tripping out on what happened. How were we to know?”
“How did the rest of the squad handle it?”
“Like what you’re seeing now. We’re professionals. We understand that what we do is dangerous. It just gets to some of us sometimes, especially when we screw up like with Tucker.”
“I’m sorry about Rhondel. I hardly knew him. What was he like?”
“Don’t sweat it. We’ll grieve later, when we can. It wasn’t your fault. You did everything right out there. Kekkin will probably try and have a word with you later about your command style though.”
“What do you mean?”
“He thinks you shouldn’t be at the front of every attack.”
I smiled. “I get that a lot from Zoe and Max.”
“I think it’s inspiring. It’s a change from the usual milk drinkers the Protectorate foists on us.”
“You have a history of ineffective leaders?”
“Commanding a spec ops team is a big career move. It’s the ground pounder’s equivalent of commanding a corvette in the fleet. It’s 90% tactics, 10% action. Well, normally.”
“And Ormund?”
“He’s okay, just very young. I think he got the top job because of his daddy.”
“He’s inner system?”
“Oh yeah. Tenth or twelfth in line for his family’s name. His pop is some bigwig diplomat for the Votus Collective in Votus II. Most of us were drawn from the system’s forces.”
“How come he doesn’t use his full honorific?”
“I think he’s ashamed of it, to be honest.”
“Where was Rhondel from?”
“Ilos, I think.”
“You think?”
“He kept to himself, mostly. Was chummy with Gunther and Geko, but otherwise a quiet trooper. Hell of a knife guy, though.”
He bowed his head in silence, and I gripped his shoulder before I walked back to the squad. Kekkin nodded to me, while Artemis and I briefly made eye contact.
“Triptych is jacking the node.” said Harris.
“Good. How’s that hand, Gunther?” I asked.
“Hurts like a bitch, but I can handle it.”
“Can you shoot?”
“No problem, sir.”
“He couldn’t before,” said Masters, “Maybe it will improve your aim?”
“I can still shoot this!” he said, grabbing his crotch.
“You shoot blanks, or I’m a Frikk wet nurse.”
I let them blow off steam. Despite their reassurances, I was still an outsider and I needed them to come to terms with one of their teammates dying. I had a feeling more of us would fall before this was over.
So far, we’d killed over forty Ghantri but I knew there were literally thousands living within the substructure of Ambrose. The only way I’d gotten through this last time was by forgetting who I was, ignoring my own wounded mind and grief. I knew that I had healed, somewhat, since then but I did not relish the thought of going through some of that pain again. Not when I knew what kind of a shell it would leave me.
I thought about isolating myself from the others, only connecting from a purely military aspect to issue commands and talk tactics. If I had grown too attached, would my mind snap once more? Would my PTSD return in full force? I realised that I could not abandon these men for my own sake, though. If I could not face this as I am, what right did I have to ask them to do the same? I needed to support them in any way that I could.
I reported in to Ormund, told him of Rhondel’s status and asked him to pass on my love to Zoe.
I also need some specs on this mag rail system, I sent, sending you some images of the contacts and power junctions.
Looks like a standard DonCrest Monopolar Cyclo-One system. What do you need?
There’s a fair amount of salvageable tech lying around, can we build a jury-rigged car for the rail?
Take a wander around, snap up some pics of some of the stuff and I’ll see if Elias can make something of it.
Can you also get your two enlisted to search out where this system leads to?
“Seth!” called Kekkin as he and Triptych headed over to me, “Naga-zak needs to hear this.”
“What is it?” Hold on Ormund, linking you up to audio.
Receiving.
The Malforian was holding a small electronics box with several cables dangling from it. “I found this linked up to the comms node.”
“What is it?”
“A signal jumper. Short range, high bandwidth wireless connection. There’ll be another somewhere that was paired with this one.”
“So? What’s the significance of this?”
“They’re used on capital ship networks, to turn the hull into a transmission line for shipwide comms. Just plug one of these into your main communications system, then attach one to the hull and repeat the process at the far end of the ship. You can send large packets of data anywhere on the ship, then. Like holo, hardlight projections, or large data feeds of any kind.”
“Would it work on something like the habitat super structure?”
“Don’t think so, too much signal loss for that.”
“What about the mag rail?”
“Yeah. That would be perfect. It’s a superconductor so it will definitely be an excellent transmission conduit.”
“Good. Put it back.”
“What? But I found this hidden on the node…”
“Which means whoever was at the end of that mag rail has an idea that we’re here already. We’re going to use it when we get there to stretch our own comms line. What’s the range of that system?”
“Theoretically, if it did use the mag rail, several thousand kilometres…” as his voice trailed off, I could tell he began to understand.
If we managed to capture the other end of this comms line, we could use the entire mag rail system to provide a steady line of communications to Ormund. We’d effectively be using the entire station as a giant antenna.
You get all that?
Yeah. If only you had a softlight projector, I could give you real time imagery of the tactical situation.
I do. I can create softlight holograms with my nano-proliferation.
Oh. Yeah, that would work. I’ll liase with Zoe and see if we can create a program. Can you link Tac into this connection? We’ll use you as a router.
I motioned for Tac to come over.
“Tac, I need you to talk with Zoe and Ormund on getting my Softlight Holo Paradigm to talk with my battlenet Implant.”
“Certainly, Lieutenant.”
I sighed. “Not you, too. Just call me Seth, okay?”
I gathered up the rest of the squad, and handed out orders. I had Harris and Gunther climb up to the roof of the security station and set up a snipers perch, while the rest of us gathered what we could of the scattered salvage about the two platforms. I also had Rego working on the station’s AI Core that, remarkably, we found intact. We were able to link it to a few surviving cameras about the hub and used them to monitor for any Ghantri patrols.
It wasn’t long before we found them. Three roving patrols - one along the mag rail tracks, one further out from a passage we had not yet cleared and one nearby. The nearby patrol had obviously detected us and was waiting for us to approach, hoping to ambush us. Luckily, all but one of the patrols were two Ghantri teams, the third had four, plus a trio of Jaani.
I had Rego feed the locations of the patrols into all of our Tactical Apps as augmented reality, and we made short work of them one at a time.
Once Triptych and Rego confirmed that we had highjacked the Ghantri comms node and that the signal jumper was operational once more, I let everyone rest for a short while. We ate, we drank and we stripped down Rhondel’s gear for redistribution. We could always use more gear.
Dr Elias came through with a design for a mag rail car we could piece together from the salvage, and Tac got my Paradigm to link up to the battlenet for Ormund to send information to. My first use of the link was to create a three dimensional image of the design for the squad.
I was surprised to find that Geko was actually a rather decent mechanic and, along with Renthal and Masters, managed to cobble together a chassis that was sturdy and would withstand the high speeds that the mag rail would propel us to.
The electrics were another matter, and took us nearly six hours to assemble a workable simile of what Elias had designed. The problem was that we couldn’t test it properly, since we had no control over the mag rail itself. By the time we had it ready, there were more than a few nervous glances between us. If we’d put it together wrong, it would either fly apart in all different directions, do absolutely nothing, or throw us forward so fast that it would break all the bones in our bodies.
“All aboard!” called Geko, grinning from ear to ear. He was probably the only one of us not smart enough to know the consequences of messing up.
54.
With a shuddering lurch, the rail car started. Harris let out a girlish yelp that started us all laughing, but it was clear that the car would do the job. Its speed ramped up and soon we were travelling at incredible speeds through the rail tunnel.
What’s our first stop? I texted Ormund.
The closest route up to the habitat is 743 kilometres along the rail. Placing a waypoint on your overlay.
What’s there?
Hopefully, not much. When you get within a click of the hub, you should probably get off the cart and go by foot.
No, we’ve added extra armour to the chassis. Geko did a good job. If there are Ghantri, I want to hit them fast. We’re setting up a gravity shield in the carriage and using Rhondel’s M4 reactor to power it for extra protection.
What about their node? If they get off a call…
We have enough juice left in the reactor to boost the power of a scrambler, should be enough to blanket the area with static. Won’t last long, but it will be enough for a few minutes. More than long enough to locate the node and hijack it. Can you isolate the hubs schematic for us to use? I’m going to plan this out with the gang.
Sure, you’ll have it in a few seconds.
How are things out there?
Cold. We have minimal life support working, just enough to scrub our air and stop us from freezing. We are all in suits anyway, just in case. Don’t want to create too much of a power signature for the ships around here to notice.
Are you armed?
I am, so is Sorenson and Withers.
The enlisted?
Yeah, they’re not marines but they’ve had basic weapons training.
That’s not going to matter much if they do notice you. They might just blow up the module.
They might not. They might just try and get inside to salvage whatever still works here.
Think the three of you can hold off a salvage crew?
Elias has a side arm, and Zoe says you gave her some training.
Ha. She lied.
I figured. She’s unarmed at the moment.
They busy?
Yeah, tracking the Astral Spider with these sensor systems they brought on-board. Working out the kinks in the stealth module. Doing real well, by the sound of it.
When do they intercept the Dreaming?
About two and half hours.
Shit. Just as we get to the hub.
Timing, right?
When I had the cut away of the hub, I used my nanites to project its image into the cart. Everyone gathered around it and examined it from all angles. It was similar in layout to the last hub we were at, although this was significantly bigger, with a track changing circular turntable. We could see at least five structures, although their function eluded me.
“At least one of them will be a security station, like before.” offered Harris.
“This looks fairly central to many of the rail spokes,” said Artemis, “I’m betting this has a couple of maintenance hangers in it. See where those short tracks go after the turntable?”
“They’re large, open structures.” I mused, “They could house a lot of Ghantri.”
“Maybe Ormund is right,” said Kekkin, “Maybe we go in slow.”
I rubbed my chin. “What have we got in heavy ordinance?”
Renthal grinned at me while reaching for one of the equipment cases we had been lugging around. Opening it up, he drew forth a box roughly forty centimetres square and half that high.
“This is the DonCrest Automated Weapons Division’s GE-29 Auto-Mortar.” he explained, as if reading from a brochure, “It fires at six rounds per second, up to three-hundred and fifty metres range. Payload is a hardlight encapsulated gravity pulse that will flatten anything softer than terrestrial softwood. It has auto-targeting, auto-firing with three modes of operation. Targeting priority is controlled by a military grade DonCrest proprietary AI Core.”
“A gravity pulse?” I asked.
“Er…”
“Similar to thudguns,” hissed Carro, “Localized space-time distortions.”
“Drawbacks?”
Renthal carried on, “They have a limited tactical shelf life. Once they’re deployed they tend to run out of juice fairly fast. About ten minutes. You won’t get a full ten minutes of firing out of them, though.”
“Why not?”
“When the enemy sees what happens to their comrades they usually hit the deck and head for the nearest foxhole or cover. If they do fire continuously, expect them to run flat in about two minutes. You’re going to have one hell of a pile of mutilated corpses if it does.”
“Anything else?”
“Human forgets minimum range.” chided Kekkin.
“Oh yeah, won’t fire on anything closer than eighty metres.”
“That’s a fairly large area around us. Is that a design issue or a safety margin?
“Fairly certain it’s for safety. You don’t want to be hitting your own troops with one of these.”
“Tac, think you can tweak that AI? Get it to fire a little closer?”
“It should not be a problem, Seth. Military AI Cores are notoriously dim witted and narrow minded.”
Artemis stifled a chortle.
“No offense, Naga Team. I am sure you are all fairly intelligent. Except Geko.”
Now it was Renthal’s turn to laugh. “Did Tac just crack a joke?”
“Hey!” cried Geko, “I’ll remind you all that we’re hurtling along at nearly three-hundred kilometres an hour on something that this dullard put together.”
“A sobering thought, indeed.” noted Tac.
“Alright,” I interrupted, “Let me know as soon as you have a minimum range below forty metres. This is going to be our shock and awe weapon. Should buy us time to clear out anything close and disembark from the cart. How’s the Friend or Foe capabilities?”
“It syncs with our overlays, won’t fire near any enemy within twelve metres of one of us.”
“So why the safety zone of eighty metres?”
“Redundancy, I guess. The military loves to double up on safety features.”
I shrugged. “Can we designate firing arcs?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
I looked at Kekkin, “What do you think?”
“Power can be conserved if naga-zak confines the mortar to set areas. Warrior suggests suppressing both of those hangars.”
“I’m going to turn it on as we swing into the hub, then switch it over to those arcs.”
“Is a good strategy.”
“Fire teams?”
“Harris on overwatch, Renthal and Masters on assault and sweep.”
“What about me?” asked Art.
“Command team. Naga-zak, you and warrior get to cover and direct battle.”
“What? No way am I…” she started.
“He’s right, Art.” I said.
“You’re okay with this?” she asked.
“This is going to be a pitched battle. Kekkin and you can stand by in reserve to back up a fire team that needs it. I can survey the fire fight and direct resources as needed.”
“I’m not going to sit around while the guys take a beating, or hand out one. I want in on the action. You know I’m good for it.”
“It’s not a question of your capabilities - it’s a question of where to put you that will cause the most damage. I can’t commit you until I know it’s the right time and place. I can’t do that without more intel.”
“What about me?” asked Rego.
“Normally, I’d have you with Harris.”
“But?”
“I need him as mobile as possible. Instead, I’m going to use you to work the jammers. Scan for any breakthrough signals and see if you can keep ahead of the Jaani for as long as you can. If possible, I want you to try narrow down its location.”
Triptych nodded, “I can work with him, bounce the signal between us and find it faster.”
Rego perked up at the possibility of a challenge, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. If you stay mobile enough, we can use that Fromstein App we got last time we were in Eridani.”
“Urg. That’s so clunky to use, though.”
“Sounds like you two have got a plan, work it out.” I said, the two put their heads together and started to speak techno-babble.
“Renthal, you’ll have Triptych with you, and Geko. Keep an eye on him and make sure you jump on the objective of hijacking that node as soon as they find it.”
“Roger.”
“Carro’s a good shot,” mentioned Harris, “I’ll take him.”
“Great.” mumbled Masters, “I get the half-handed halfwit.”
“Gee thanks, Corporal.” said Gunther, attempting to flip him the bird with his wounded hand.
“What’s our objective?” asked Masters, ignoring Gunther.
“Search and destroy. Flank anything engaging Renthal’s team. Use grenades, try and draw fire away from Triptych.”
“Where do you need me?” asked Harris.
“Anywhere that looks good for a sniper team?”
“There’s a gantry along this side of the concourse, but it’s fairly far away from the mag rail. Plenty of cover, though. Or this kiosk. It has a wide view of most of the hub.”
“It’s a little exposed…”
“We can lie down on top, plus I’m betting most of the enemy will be busy ducking mortar fire or Renthal and Masters.”
“Too risky, take the gantry. The others can do without sniper fire for a few minutes.”
“Roger.”
“Kekkin, Art, Tac and I will move to this location, secure it and set up two of those recon drones of your’s, Rego. Tac will help you move.”
“What’s our general tactic for this fight?” asked Renthal.
“I won’t lie. In all likelihood, we’ll be heavily outnumbered. Simply surviving will be our top priority. Once we identify enemy positions, we’ll try keep them isolated and neutralise them.”
“Why fight this fight at all then?”
“We need to secure that mag rail wheelhouse. If we can get the turntable to switch us over to this line…” I highlighted an exiting rail line on the hologram, “We should have only one more stop before we hit the habitat section. Also, getting that last node linked to our battlenet is too good an advantage to pass up.”
“From there we go to the surface?”
“Right. We can start out mission properly.”
“Can’t we turn it under fire?” asked Masters.
“Doubtful. We’ll need to find the system controlling it and get Tac into it. Hopefully, we can put enough pressure on the enemy in the opening exchanges that we can locate and secure the controls before the Ghantri reorganise and push back. So I guess we will be trying it under fire.”
“Can’t turn it manually?”
“Not a chance. They weight several tons. Not even your chrome limbs can manage that.”
He grunted at me.
“Leave me in the cart.” said Rego.
“I can’t cover you if we do.”
“The gravity shield should provide enough protection.”
It was true; the gravity shield should work against most of the Ghantri projectiles. Unlike energy shields, gravity shields worked by rapidly pulsing a tight bubble of cycling gravity around the area. When keyed to friendlies, it can switch off momentarily automatically to allow transit through the bubble, but it should deflect solid projectiles, including hardlight, away from their intended targets. It won’t stop them completely, but it will render them inaccurate.
The use of gravity shields always has its drawbacks. For one, they require large amounts of power, making them difficult to use on personnel. They don’t stop shots completely, either, so they’re not one-hundred percent effective. They were better than nothing if you wanted to defend a stationary point, or to mount onto artillery.
“If the Ghantri decide to focus on the rail car, you’re going to be stuck out there.” I said.
“I won’t fire, I’ll just keep my head down and work. When Tac gets into the wheelhouse AI, I can move the cart onto the turntable and wait for the rest of you to get back in. I’m going to be a liability out there, anyway.”
“Human makes sense.” agreed Kekkin.
“Fair enough. Any other suggestions?”
“Use all the sentry drones.” said Triptych.
“All? How many do we have?”
“Only four, but they can be used as distractions and to draw fire from any Ghantri hunkered down. Rego has a remote App on his overlay.”
“Is it going to slow down your overlay to use it?”
“Naw,” he shrugged, “I have a processor implant to handle most drone ops.”
“You’re a useful man.”
“You go alright yourself, sir.”
“All right, sounds like a solid plan, considering we’re just going to wing it once we engage.”
“No plan survives contact with the enemy, anyway.” said Artemis, grinning.
55.
Maxine had had a long day. She was tired, but amped up on the building tension. She had long since given up on sleeping, instead deciding to help out around the ship. Galaxy knows, she thought, the boys could use a hand. The Dreaming wasn’t exactly undermanned, but everyone had been so busy with the mining and exploring, and then the chase from the asteroid field, that almost none of the planned routine maintenance had been done.
Cuts and Hergo were able to handle most of the propulsion and power issues, but there were dozens of little things that normally Seth would organise that had yet to be delegated.
The final straw for her was when she sauntered down to the mess deck for a meal and found the autochef had run out a nutrients and protein paste. She had fought her initial urge to start yelling at people, then realised she didn’t really have any one to yell at. Crege and Fel were always busy in the command module, Mel had no idea about what was needed on the ship. Cuts and Hergo were always busy in engineering and Denno had hull repair duties.
Just because she was the Captain didn’t mean she didn’t know how to look after her ship. She had rollup her proverbial sleeves and started to work, finding one thing after another to do.
The call with the Astral Spider was brief, mostly just a data packet full of instructions and navigational orders, plus an outline of the plan. Once she’d gone through it, she’d handed it off to her senior officers and gone back to work.
In reality, this was ‘make work’. Something to do while she waited.
She was no stranger to space combat – she had fought dozens of pirates and lowlifes across the Votus-Eridani Network. This was the first time she was going up against a military grade warship, though. Sure, there was the Blade of Xerxes, but that was not something that was resolved with space warfare. This was different.
She had told Garner that her ship and her crew were ready for anything, but losing the Dreaming in the next few days became a very real possibility and her nerves were starting to wear thin. She had confided in Fel, who tried to comfort her by saying she was just missing Donny, Zoe and Tac.
She was elbows deep in the mess deck dishwasher, unplugging and cleaning the filter, when Crege piped her to the command module.
Shit, she swore to herself, rendezvous time.
With butterflies in her stomach, she made her way up to Deck 1.
“What’s our status?” she asked as she climbed into her chair and brought her console out of sleep mode. Crege and Fel’negr were already there, of course.
“We’re forty minutes away from RV.” said Fel.
“Manoeuvring fuel reserves at 54%, kitrak,” reported Crege, “Argen got number eleven thruster working, human has secured another four percent efficiency from energy shields.”
“Mel should be down in a few minutes. He’s pulling the last of his calibration equipment from the beamer.”
“I just hope it was a good idea letting him tweak our gun, the last thing we need is for it to die on us because he assumed the nuts and bolts would tighten themselves.”
“Captain,” came the gravelly voice of the Votus as he entered the compartment, “reporting that all fasteners have been manually secured on the Class 2 weapon.”
“Right, good.” she said.
“How did you go?” asked Fel, turning in his chair to face him.
“I have tuned the refractometer and adjusted the re-charge circuits. You probably won’t notice the added power across longer range, but your recharge rate has improved by at least fourteen percent.”
“I appreciate it, Mel.” she softened her tone, “I’m sorry about talking you down.”
“Never apologise, Captain. I’m aware of the rapport you share with your crew, the banter is part of how you function. I’ll admit, it had been taxing on me at first but I will not get in the way of how you run your ship. My kind were once much like you younger races, so full of energy and social idioms.”
“The Votus don’t socialise like we do?”
“No.” was all he said. He turned to his console and brought it to life.
Realising she wasn’t getting anything more out of the strange alien, she turned back to her own console. After scanning a few of the readings, she reached for the internal communications controls.
“Cuts, I’m seeing irregularities in the number three tube. Did you look into it for me?”
“Yes, Captain.” came the tinny voice over the compartment’s speakers, “I put it in the report.”
“Haven’t had time to read it.”
“It’s benign. No reduced output or unexpected exotics. The ion chamber just needs a good clean next time we’re in port.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She turned to Melafenaseance, “Are the updated charge rates entered into the fire control AI?”
“They are.”
She swivelled over to Fel, “Can we see the Astral Spider, yet?”
“Negative.”
Next was Crege, “What’s our aspect relative to the Spider’s expected location?”
“She’ll be on our red one-four, thirty-three degrees south. Should warrior angle the comms laser?”
“No, we got nothing more to discuss. Garner’s instructions were clear. Let’s bring up the vectors on all our consoles. Fel?”
“Coming right up, Captain.”
As far as the plan went, it was fairly simplistic. The Ghantri warship bearing down on them was slowly whittling down whatever lead the Dreaming had gained in the last twenty hours. Garner had calculated the exact point when the Calliope class ship was going to close on the Dreaming enough to launch another drone strike. He had assured her he could get the Spider there to intervene. At a predesignated waypoint, they would follow a set of manoeuvres to position the Ghantri ship on an ideal attack vector for the Protectorate to strike.
The initial attack would need to be followed up by several more passes, but the first strike would need to take out most of the ship’s propulsion. Garner had supplied detailed targeting information on priority systems on the Calliope, along with a series of complex vectors needed to get at them. Crege had taken one look at them, grunted and said “No problem.”
“We’re still too slow on charging to make that third shot in time.” she said after going through the plan.
“Warrior has plan to make that shot, kitrak.”
“Go ahead.”
“Highlighting turn. Dreaming can make that at thirteen gee. Will shave seven seconds off.”
“Thirteen gee?” gasped Fel.
“Orlii not worry, will only feel like seven point four gee. Have adjusted stabilisers to 94%.”
“Can you manage that much, for less than half a minute?” asked Max.
The Orlii was pale, but his eyes flashed a crimson colour – determination. “I will, I promise.”
“Where does that change put us further down the plan?”
“There is one issue during timing frame forty-two,” said Mel, “If the starboard sensor has not been neutralised by then, we will be within the threatened arc of the Calliope short range missile system.”
“How many shots will either of us have at that sensor?”
“The targeting AI says three, but the nav AI says there’ll be five.” said Fel, shaking his head, “Tac would have sorted them both out. I think the targeting AI is only counting high probability hits. The nav AI is using all passes, no matter the accuracy.”
“Can we alter the schedule to move the priority of that target up a few notches?” asked Max.
“We can send it to the Spider as soon as they drop cloak, with instructions to auto-update their schedule. But will Garner trust our judgement here?”
Max turned to Melafenaseance, “Will he?”
The Votus closed his eyes for a few moments – a gesture that Max had learned was similar to a human rubbing their chin. “I believe he will.”
“Good enough for me. Prepare the data packet.”
“Compiling it now, Captain.”
“Approaching retroburn point,” reported Crege, “Putting count down on all consoles.”
“Very good.” said Max, “I guess we should close up on stations now.”
She reached for the ship-wide PA controls and spoke into the microphone.
“All hands, secure the ship for action and close up on stations. Everyone in light duties suits. Expect high gee thrust in five minutes, boys.”
Fel started to take deep breaths, blowing the air out of his lungs steadily. Max leaned over and squeezed his shoulder. He nodded back, clearly afraid but with determination clear in the colour of his eyes.
“Good luck, everyone.” she said quietly.
Melafenaseance turned to look at the rest of the command crew, a strange look on his face that Max had never seen before.
“What is it?” she said, suddenly worried.
“A peculiar notion just struck me, Captain.”
“Peculiar how? What have we missed?”
“Do not be alarmed. My kind have been among the stars for countless generations, far longer than you younger races. We’ve reached pinnacles of our technology and advanced far beyond what your meagre alliance has been able to achieve, but I see your potential. Many of the Votus would be happy to sit out their days in the safety of their habitats and planetary homes. Our drive to spread to the stars is limited, to say the least.”
“I understand, there’s little mystery for you Votus out there.”
“That is not the case. We are stagnant, as a culture. Too much emphasis on preserving our ways. Not enough energy spent on improving them. It is one of the reasons I was exiled – I was too vocal about changing the status quo.”
“Regretting speaking out, now?”
“Not at all. I see in you three, the very best of the Protectorate races. The impulsive, action driven Garz’a – ready to do what must be done. The thoughtful and introspective Orlii – providing the wisdom needed for the toughest decisions. The humans, leading the charge into the deep night – brave and adaptive, inspiring the others to be more than they are. This is part of why the Votus agreed to ally with the Protectorate – we live vicariously through you. My culture may be in decline, but so long as yours is strong and bright, so too will we thrive.”
“I suppose that’s as close to a compliment as we’re going to get. You’re welcome, Mel. I know we can be a bit frustrating at times, but it has been a pleasure having you join us. Your knowledge is vast and fascinating. I only wish we had more time to pick your brains.”
He frowned at that. “I’m not sure if that last was an axiom or you truly believe knowledge can be gain by dissecting my brain.”
“The former.”
He snarled, showing the whites of his teeth.
“Is that a smile?”
“I have been practicing in my cabin. Was it sufficient to display my pleasure?”
“Er…keep working on it.”
He nodded, turning back to his console.
“Thirty seconds til burn time, kitrak.” reported Crege.
Maxine grabbed the PA mic again. “Hold onto something, boys, Crege’s about to flip us and burn hard. See you on the other side!”
Everyone checked the straps on their crash webbing, nodded good luck to each other and waited as the last few seconds counted down on their consoles.
“Initiating deceleration in three…two…one…”
56.
“Now!” I shouted, pointing at Renthal.
He slapped the activation pad on the Auto-Mortar and threw himself to the deck. Instantly, a loud fwoomp! sounded and a bright orb of hardlight launched from the telescoping barrel rising from the box. As the weapon detected and locked on to more hostiles, it began launching a barrage of the orbs into the air.
Fwoomp, fwoomp, fwoomp, fwoom, fwoomp!
Then I began to hear the impacts of the first rounds. A loud, bass growl accompanied with cries of pain, immediately cut off. Wet, meaty sounds, almost like tossing a bucket of mince onto the deck finished off the sounds of the first hit. I didn’t dare look over the rim, not yet.
When the next barrage landed, the railcar reached the platform and the mortar continued to fire. More yells were echoing about the hub, and I had little time to source them out. We needed to get moving.
“Out! Out! Out!” I ordered, vaulting the side of the cart and leaping twenty metres away. My exo-rig took the brunt of the force and I slid to a halt beside a flowerbed full of dead plants. Artemis dashed across the concourse to me, followed by Kekkin and Tac. Loud cracks of gunfire began to sound, and I could see several streams of hardlight bullets from my own squad zipping about the battlefield.
Kekkin leapt clear over the flowerbed, lurzak in hand. A startled yell behind me caused me to turn and see Kekkin smashing into a grub who had raised up on its rear cybernetic legs. He dispatched the Ghantri and dashed into another group exiting a building to our right. I stood, resting my rifle on the flowerbed. I spotted another group of three coming to the aid of the ones fighting Kekkin and opened fire. They immediately broke up and dove for cover. Artemis moved to flank them, heading left.
“Stay down, Tac.” I warned, “We’re moving in a few seconds.”
Ballistic projectiles started to hammer into my cover, sending plumes of dirt into the air. I ducked down as the fire got too much. I used the opportunity to access the feed from one of the recon drones, tagging the three assailants on my Tactical App. They turned to fire at Artemis, no longer threatened by my fire. I rose again and snapped off a three round burst into the torso of one closest to me. His shields winked out and the last bullet reached his flesh. It roared and turned it’s weapon towards me again. He was too slow as I opened up in full auto, tearing his body apart with whittling fire.
Artemis had to redirect her attack as a pair of Ghantri started shooting at her from a walkway to her left. It looked like she was in trouble, trying to avoid fire from two different angles. I checked Kekkin, he was finishing off the first three in hand to hand combat, so I leaped the flowerbed and charged the two still alive from the second group. One of them turned to fire at me, but I emptied my clip into his shield and forced him back under cover. Instead of changing my clip, I dropped my rifle onto my sling and drew my PX-2 and lurzak. As I came around on their flank, I slashed the blade out at the nearest, smashing his gun from his hands. I shot off four blasts from the PX-2 straight into his neck. Grey, foul smelling blood spurted from his wounds and he grasped in futility at them. I kicked him aside and advanced on the last one. He turned to face me, too late to save himself from my first blow. The lurzak chopped into its left arm, the electric charge bursting into his body. Meat flew in all directions, but the Ghantri pressed the attack. Three razor sharp robotic limbs shot from all directions from his back, arcing down to stab at me. I sidestepped and avoided two, slicing neatly through the third with my sword. The grub tried to grab at me with its good arm, but I stepped out of reach. I was going to go back in for another attack, but the two remaining cyber arms attacked again. I deflected them both, then fell back as they tried to attack again. The larger grub was bearing down on me, using his size to force me back. He growled and snarled, gnashing his teeth in excitement, the nasal flaps on his face flapping wetly.
A normal combatant would be nearly incapacitated by now. The Ghantri’s left arm was a smouldering mess, and I knew the burst from the lurzak must have done damage to his torso. The ability for the Ghantri to ignore horrendous wounds in combat was a terrifying advantage, and I knew that nothing short of killing this demon would be enough.
I missed a block, having misjudged the stride of the beast, and a cyber arm struck my left shoulder plate. Luckily the blow didn’t penetrate, but it drove me to my knees. I used the strength of my exo-rig to push back, launching straight under the Ghantri’s reach. My shoulder barged into its centre mass, driving it back wards. I sliced left and right, cutting deeply into my adversary’s abdomen. Thick, rubbery guts fell onto my legs and I nearly slipped. The force of my attack had pushed the Ghantri backwards and I shot into his head with my pistol. The third shot killed it.
Comms node neutralised! came a text from Rego.
I checked on Artemis, she was still pinned but was avoiding fire from the last group. As I looked around for a safe way to flank them, I saw a pair of drones whiz by overhead and start peppering automatic fire into the remaining Ghantri. They stopped shooting at Art and tried to hit the drones, missing due to their tiny size. Art got up and fell back towards Kekkin and me. I could see she had taken a few hits on her armour, but was otherwise okay.
“Tac! Over here!” I called.
I could see that a small shopfront was secure, and would provide ample protection for Tac while we cleared out the Ghantri. I used the break in gunfire to check in on the other fireteams.
Harris had made it to his perch. He and Carro were taking their first shots, supporting Renthal on the far side of the platform. Masters’ team was taking fire from several sides, but they were returning fire with grenades, blasting apart anyone foolish enough to show themselves. Renthal’s fire team were pushing through a squad of Ghantri ensconced in a courtyard barricaded by what looked like a food court eating area. It was surrounded on all sides by decorative flowerbeds, devoid of any plant life.
I brought up the feed from Triptych’s helmet cam, saw that he was working on the comms node beside the bodies of several other Jaani. Renthal had moved to another cover location, and together with Geko started pressing the attack. A grenade from Masters landed near a pair of Ghantri that were pinned by Renthal’s fire and the explosion shortly blocked my view.
I switched to one of the recon drones. A large number of Ghantri had fallen to the Auto-Mortar, including over thirty near the entrance to one of the large hangar buildings. A quick check of the mortar’s power told me we would have only another two minutes of fire remaining before it was depleted. The horrific effect of this weapon was now evident. Where one of the hardlight shells had landed, a perfect sphere of wreckage was wrought. I watched as one round landed amidst a group moving from cover to cover toward Renthal’s team. A bright flash preceded a rippling motion in what looked like the very fabric of space-time. Everything seemed to distort, briefly, and slow down. Then anything made of flesh was torn apart in a spray of gore.
It had given the Ghantri pause. They were advancing carefully, risking only two or three troops at a time. I could see many more within the relative safety of the hangars, though, once I switch the recon drone’s optics to infrared. We needed to get the rail turntable moving soon, or we’d have to face this next wave of Ghantri unassisted.
“Where am I going?” asked Art, beside me. She was impatient to get back in to the action.
“I’m scanning for possible wheelhouse controls, I don’t want to send Tac out until I’m sure. Can you check these three buildings?” I sent her the waypoints on her overlay.
The sentry drones had finished off the Ghantri threatening our area and were about to move on, but I ordered one to follow Art and provide air support.
With a grin, Artemis dashed off, careful to stay within cover.
An alert suddenly flashed on my overlay. I brought up Master’s fire team and saw Gunther crouched over Masters, trying to get his M4 MAEL suit controls to allow access to a damaged section of his suit. Masters was conscious, but had taken a blast to his chest piece that had penetrated. Gunther was having a hard time as he had to fight off incoming attacks as well as help Masters.
“Kekkin, we need to help Masters.” He nodded and sheathed his lurzak, readying his rifle. I did the same. “Tac, stay down and don’t risk taking fire. Commandeer the other sentry drones if you see any Ghantri coming near here.”
Kekkin and I ran across the platform. It was clear of hostiles, so we didn’t need to avoid fire. Masters was nearly a hundred and fifty metres away, but with the PAT-9 exo-rigs we could run fast. We leapt more than we ran, clearing obstacles with ease. The last thirty metres we traversed airborne, firing madly at the surrounding Ghantri pinning Gunther down. The added elevation gave us clear shots of the enemy and I saw more than one go down under our fire.
I landed next to Masters and ordered Gunther back on the firing line. Kekkin joined him. I looked over Masters, he was still awake, but barely responding to my calls. I held him down with my hands and sent nanites into his body, looking for damage. In moments, I could see two rounds had entered his chest, one had pierced his left lung while the other had bounced around after shattering some ribs. The bullet had ended it’s trajectory against his cybernetic heart. He was struggling to breathe, blood foaming at his lips.
“Shit. Hang on, Masters.” I said.
Ormund! I need help, I sent over the battlenet.
What do you need?
I need Zoe to walk me through these injuries. Sending scan results now.
While I waited, I send a jolt of energy into Masters with my Repair Paradigm. He was weakly clutching at my arm. An explosion sent pieces of shrapnel ricocheting off my suit, and I covered Masters with my body.
Zoe says you need to access his diagnostic app on the cyber heart. Emergency responder code A45-ZRTE_ANGEL1.
I used my overlay to link up with Masters’ and sent the code through. Data began to scroll through my vision as the Aug gave me its information. I sent it back through the battlenet link.
It’s not good, she says. There is damage to the pulmonary semilunar valve, letting blood into the ventricular chamber.
How do I fix it?
The valve is a very delicate flap that closes when the right ventricular muscles relax, but in the cyber heart it’s just a mechanical valve. The diagnostic is saying that the valve is jammed, if it can be loosened hopefully it will start back up again. You’ve got other problems, though.
The lung?
He needs to have the air trapped in his chest cavity evacuated, Zoe says, or the lung won’t re-inflate. He won’t be getting enough oxygen with the pneumothorax and the valve issue with his heart, so you’ll need to keep hitting him with that Repair Paradigm. I’m sending through a medical procedure for getting the air out of his chest cavity, you’re not going to like it though.
I opened the file and went through it quickly.
I need to punch a hole in his chest? How is that going to help?
You need to get that air out, or the lung won’t inflate. There’s a very real chance the other will collapse as well.
What about the hole in it?
Blood should clot it up soon, but it won’t work if the lung doesn’t open.
Okay, says I need a tube of some sort. I started to rummage around the medic pack that Kekkin had tossed upon arrival. I found a few syringes and a clear plastic tube with a small valve on one end.
Masters is unconscious, I reported
You need to hurry.
I sensed around with my nanites, looking for where the pocket of air was forming around his lungs and stabbed one of the syringes into it. I pulled on the plunger and foamy, bloody air filled the syringe’s chamber. Using a scalpel, I cut a small hole and fed the tube into the wound. When it was mostly inside, I opened the valve on top and more of the air escaped. I noticed almost immediately Masters started to breathe normally.
Okay, looks like his lung is working. How do I fix his heart?
She says you need to use your nanites to do it, something about remote manipulation.
This is a little too fine for my experience. I’m worried I’ll screw up the rest of the heart. Small locks and hand held appliances are about my limit.
She says you just need to let the nanites see what needs to be done. I’m sending through a 3D schematic of the cyber heart.
A dead Ghantri almost fell on top of me, a smoking hole in its chest. Both Kekkin and Gunther were up on the barricades, bracing for automatic fire. A small metallic object fell from the Ghantri’s hand and rolled near my foot.
“Grenade!” called Gunther. I instinctively kicked the grenade away. The explosion flew debris up into the air and knocked Gunther over the barricade as I covered Masters again with my body. I felt several impacts against my armour from the blast. Kekkin reached over the barricade and hauled Gunther back, who scrambled to his feet and continued firing. A small part of my mind registered that the Auto-Mortar had ceased firing.
Kind of hard to work here, I texted
You can do it. Just concentrate.
I did concentrate. I could see the constant stream of data that the nanites were feeding me. It was just data, though. I was no quantum physicist nor a doctor, I had no way of interpreting the results in a way that would make sense. X, y and z positioning, quantum density, molecular structure and composition, electron chirality. Individually, if I knew what I needed to know I could pull useful information from the feed, but holistically, it was just mumbo-jumbo. Frustration began to mount. Masters’ vitals continued to get weaker.
Turntable controls found, luverboi, came a text from Artemis.
Not now. Get Tac to it.
My annoyance at the interruption sparked a memory. Once, after a particularly nasty argument with Cuts, I had been cooling off with Eric. He had said that although I didn’t need to get along with him to work, I still needed to recognise that he had a different perspective. He had said that even if I didn’t like him, I can at least find a common view that lets me see where he’s coming from.
I couldn’t see what the nanites saw, I certainly couldn’t understand the scientific data they were feeding me. But my NP Implant did. The same implant that drove the Softlight Holo Paradigm. I fed the data into the schematic of the cyber heart and used the hologram program to project a 3D image of the data before me.
It worked.
I highlighted the damaged, and was able to direct the nanites over to it. I could see the mechanical action of the valve, where the blood flow needed to go, how all the parts worked together. Carefully, I eased the nanites into the valve mechanism, eroding damaged sections so they did not interfere with the valve action. I rebuilt a section of the valve seal, converting nearby material into the required substance. With tiny tugs and jolts with the nanites, I restarted the heart’s actions and released control of the cybernetic augmentation.
I analysed the blood for toxins and was pleased to see that he was not poisoned. I used a synth skin spray to cover his wounds and wrapped them in bandages, then administered a dose of medical nanites to assist healing and fight infections.
I think he’s going to make it, I reported, the cyber heart is working, sending through updated diagnostics. I’ve programmed the chest tube to open every fifteen minutes, so his lung should be okay. I’ve given him a pack of medical nanites so they should be converting proteins to blood for him. He’s going to be out of it for a while though.
Zoe says the data is good, and that you’ve done well. How’s the battle going?
I brought up my overlay views of the rest of the squad. Kekkin had moved on to join up with Renthal and Harris, who were pinning down the two hangar entrances. All of the Ghantri outside on the platforms were dead, or too wounded to fight. Artemis was with Tac at a bank of consoles inside one of the buildings I had identified as possible control rooms. It looked like they had everything under control. I reported as much.
We should have the mag rail back under control in a few moments, we’ll extract and move out then. Once we break out onto the habitat, I’m going to set up a base camp and rest our wounded.
I could see from a few of the images that a few of the others had also been wounded. Kekkin had gone around to each and taken a blood sample that a medical scanner had cleared of toxins also. None of the injuries were life threatening, so I paid it no more mind. There would be time for dealing with minor wounds later.
I checked myself over. My M4 had taken a beating, my entire back was raw from shrapnel blasts and my knee actuator was registering damage. I also became aware of spider-web cracks in my helmet visor. My neck was a little tender, as if I was suffering from whiplash. Had I taken a round on the helmet? I could not recall. The others were reporting similar damage to their suits.
How’s the Dreaming going? Have we missed the show?
57.
Crege pulled hard on the flight controls, spinning the ship end over end. With a practiced hand, he steadied the ship out and kicked in the thrusters at full power. The ship was now facing the oncoming threat and the sudden deceleration rapidly closed the gap between them.
“Drone launch detected!” cried Fel between clenched teeth.
The whole ship was shaking, shuddering as it fought to reduce speed.
“Manoeuvre complete!” called Crege, “Brace for gees!”
He changed the direction of the ship once more, angling the ship to starboard and down. He kicked in the manoeuvring thrusters, pushing the ship down and ahead. Everyone was pressed up on their webbing, as if they were hanging upside down.
“Charging beamer!” called Melafenaseance.
“How long until we’re in range?” asked Max.
“Forty seven seconds.”
“Any sign of the Spider?”
“Sensors unable to detect anything.” reported Fel.
“Not even that ghost reading we found the first time we spotter her?”
“Negative, no sign of the Astral Spider, Captain.”
“Shit. Let’s hope Garner hasn’t screwed us.”
“Might I point out, Captain,” said Mel, “That not detecting the Astral Spider is it’s purpose.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just worried. If he doesn’t show, we’ve just let this bastard get close enough to shoot at us. There’s no way we’d be able to gain enough thrust to get away this time and they’d know it.”
“This is what Captain Garner would say throwing the dice.” he said
“I never was a gambling woman.”
“How very un-frontiersmanly of you.”
“Ha, I never said I was a frontiersman. I’m an Eridanian. Born and raised on the Acheras Orbital.”
“Sensors picking up power signatures on the Calliope,” reported Fel, “Looks like weapon batteries.”
“Crege, time to fly the funky!” cried Max, gripping her webbing tight, “Open up as soon as we’re in range, Mel!”
Fel groaned and took a deep breath, also griping his webbing.
Crege started to spin the ship in a wide corkscrew pattern, then used the manoeuvring thrusters to push the ship in random directions. The g-forces tossed the crew around like ragdolls in their seats, eliciting a few cries of alarm from Fel.
“Weapons fire detected!” yelled Mel.
Max could see a dazzling stream of hardlight shells ejecting from the oncoming frigate, and Crege doubled his efforts to evade. Although hardlight batteries packed more of a punch than beam weapons, they were easier to avoid due to their relatively low velocity. Crege was able to see the firing pattern and adjusted the trajectory of the Dreaming to compensate. At the range they were at, this was well within Crege’s ability to avoid.
“Beamer tracking! Solution valid! Firing!” shouted Mel. The piercing shriek of the beamer eclipsed the sounds of groaning hull and manoeuvring thrusters.
“Direct hit, port battery.” called Fel softly, struggling to find breath to speak.
“Good shot, Mel!” said Max, “Crege, take us into the next manoeuvre. With any luck, the Spider should be about to make its move.”
As Crege took the Dreaming out wide, the Calliope started to roll to port trying to get the starboard battery arcs to fire at the Dreaming. It started to spin laterally, turning starboard, facing the new direction the Dreaming was on. Max waited with baited breath. If the Spider had made her rendezvous, the Ghantri warship would now be presenting the main propulsion drives towards Garner’s gunners. If they had not, in moments the Calliope would have an optimal firing condition for their starboard battery.
“Where are those drones?” called Max.
“Twenty three seconds away.” replied Mel, “Launch Interceptors?”
“Yes, please! Any sign of the Spider?”
“Negative, Captain!” called Fel.
Fear gripped her heart with icy talons.
“Interceptors launched. Link is good. Engaging drones!”
“Weapons release detected!” called Fel.
“Shit!” cried Max.
“It’s the Spider!”
Max shouted out triumphantly, which Crege and Fel both mimicked.
“Detecting multiple strikes on the Calliope propulsion. Both missile and beam weapons targeting the ship.”
“Take us about, Crege!” she ordered, “Let’s join the Spider in taking apart this bastard.”
“Interceptors have destroyed seven drones, but we’ve lost one.” reported Mel.
“How many are we reading?”
“Seventeen remaining. They’ve split into several swarms.”
“Let’s get in close to the Astral Spider, let their Class 1 defences take care of them.”
“Incoming communications.” said Fel.
“Put it through.”
The voice of Captain Garner came out on the compartment’s speakers. “Dreaming of Atmosphere this is the Astral Spider. How you holding up, Captain Cooper?”
“Better now that I know you made it.”
“You wound me.”
“Thanks for showing up, I mean it.”
“We still have a hell of a fight ahead of us. Our prey still has manoeuvring thrusters to contend with but now we can move about her a lot faster. Nice work on the port battery, by the way.”
“Did you get our updated movements list? We can’t get the firing times down otherwise.”
“We did. As long as you can hit that turn just like you say, you’ll be good.”
“What’s next?”
“I’m going to unload as many of our missiles as we can, then focus on taking out those drones for you. I need you to take apart that frigate, or what’s left of it after my missile strike.”
“Why so many missiles?”
“The Calliope has a top-notch point defence system, I’ll need to saturate it in order to land any more blows. Your beamer is much stronger than my Class 1’s, so it makes sense that you keep hitting it.”
“Incoming fire!” called Mel.
The sounds of multiple thuds filled the command module as the drones did a pass on the ship.
“Damage report!”
“Shields gone. Hull breach on Deck 1.” reported Melafenaseance.
Max grabbed the PA mic. “Hergo, Denno! Deck 1 hull breach. Get on it!”
“Everything okay?” asked Garner
“Just a few more holes in my ship. Nothing new.”
“We’ll be in range of the drones in…twenty nine seconds.”
“How many drones can that ship field?”
“Our intel suggests they can control twenty four at a time, but have bays for up to sixty. If they’ve gotten their manufactories up and running they have probably already replaced the ones you destroyed back at the asteroid field.”
“Can you handle that many?”
There was a pause on the line.
“Garner?”
“My crew says yes. I believe them, thanks to your boy. He showed them a thing or two before he left.”
She smiled. “He does that, from time to time.”
“Good luck, Maxine.”
“You too, Dreaming of Atmosphere out.”
“The Astral Spider is targeting the drones.” said Fel, “They’ve already taken two out.”
“Let’s keep those Interceptors in motion, can’t waste the speed to pick them up anyway.” said Max.
“Beamer charged, ready to fire.”
“Crege! Ready for the next set of manoeuvres?”
“Warrior was hatched ready, kitrak!”
Max’s eyes flew to Crege’s pilot display, trying to take in the situation. The Calliope was trying to roll about its lateral axis to turn the remaining hardlight battery to the new threat posed by the Astral Spider. The Dreaming had turned wide, lining up for another strike at the warship’s port side. The port battery, now silent, was a mass of sparks and glowing debris. She could see brilliant, strobing laser beams reaching out from the Astral Spider. The crimson lines occasionally ended in tiny explosions of superheated metal as it struck down another drone.
“Receiving targeting information from the Astral Spider,” reported Fel, “feeding it to the fire control AI.”
The Dreaming’s sensors, enhanced by data provided by the Protectorate warship, began to populate with many new targets – the sub-systems of the Ghantri warship.
“Garner’s done his homework.” said Max over Crege’s shoulder.
“Warrior see’s prey now.”
“Take us in nice and shallow, want to give Mel a good clear shot at that first sensor dome…target two-bravo-lima.”
As Crege tugged on the controls, the gee-forces pressed Max back into her seat and she turned to her own console. The bright flashes of the Astral Spider were still lighting the command module with their crimson notes.
“Four seconds to optimal firing range.” said Mel.
“Weapons release detected! The Calliope is firing on the Astral Spider.” called Fel’negr.
“Focus on the Calliope, Garner will handle it! We need to give that bastard something to think about before Garner launches that salvo!”
“Aye, aye, Captain!”
“Beamer tracking! Solution valid! Beamer firing!” yelled Melafenaseance.
The high-pitched wail of the beamer once more drowned out the noise of the engines. Max stole a glance at Crege’s displays again and saw the frigate flash by as the Dreaming made her pass. The orange light of the beamer raking across its sides lighted the hull. She could have sworn she saw the hull tear open in places.
“How effective was that strike?” she called over her shoulder.
“Unknown,” reported the Votus, “too much interference.”
“Brace for high gee!” called Crege with glee.
Fel’negr let out a groan as the ship barrel rolled away from the engine wash of the frigate and spiralled down in a wide arc. Despite the gravity pushing against her, Max managed to keep watching the display and something caught her eye.
“Fel! Bring up the optical sensor readings from sensors three through five.”
The g-forces abated enough for Fel to reach for his controls. “Sending it now. What are we looking for?”
“I’m not sure. I saw something when we pulled away. There! Those bulbous plates.”
She tagged the images and flicked them back to Fel’s console. He peered at them with squinting eyes.
“What is that?”
“Mel, can you make out what these are?”
The Votus leaned over to look at Maxine’s console display. Max became aware of his scent – a musky, almost cinnamon aroma. It was not at all unpleasant.
“Ghantri modifications, I’m sure.” he said.
“I’m sending it to Garner, see if he can make anything of it.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s going to have the time,” said Fel, “He looks fairly busy right now…”
“Never you mind Garner’s crew, they’ll find the time. You get me that damage report from our last shot.”
“Scanning now, Captain.”
“Crege, get us onto the next firing run. I don’t want to give them a moment to lick their wounds.”
Despite her words, she glanced at Crege’s display once more, seeking out the Astral Spider. Due to the spinning of the Dreaming, it was hard to make out the condition of the Protectorate corvette. All she could see was the rapid firing Class 1 point defences spewing forth from her. She checked her contacts list and spatial sensors, noting that the number of drones had been reduced significantly.
“Calak is rolling again!” reported Crege, “We’ll be within starboard firing arcs in eleven seconds.”
She grabbed the PA mic. “All hands, brace for high gee manoeuvres.”
“New contacts detected!” reported Fel, “More drones leaving the ship.”
“Where are they headed?”
“The Astral Spider.”
Crege suddenly sent the Dreaming into another spiralling corkscrew dive.
“Weapons…release…detected!” struggled Fel as he nearly sank into his crash webbing.
Crege’s display suddenly lit up with bright white light as several rounds from the battery flashed by.
“Close…fire…” said Max between clenched teeth.
Fel started to whimper quietly as Crege drove the g-forces higher still. The roar of the manoeuvring thrusters were hurting Max’s ears and she gripped the arms of her chair. A loud clang! echoed through the steel of the hull and Max’s head was nearly shaken off her neck by a violent jerk that sent everyone flailing in their seat. The heavy gravity sudden abated and a deathly silence overcame the command module.
“What just happened!” called Max. Her ears were ringing.
“We’ve been hit!” reported Crege, “Lost controls. We’re fedang in space!”
“Why haven’t the Ghantri finished us?”
“They’ve ceased firing, Captain.” said Melafenaseance.
“Why? Fel!” she turned about, and realised that Fel was still unconscious. A red smear of blood could be seen on his console. She swore and unbuckled her crash webbing, reaching for the Orlii. She checked his vitals, and breathed a sigh of relief when he began to stir. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face from a cut above his right eyebrow.
“Hold still, you might be concussed.” she said as he groaned and opened his fluttering eyes. “Mel, try and get me a damage report! Get onto Cuts and see why we’ve lost controls. Crege, keep goosing those thrusters in case we get them back suddenly. Only small bursts, I don’t want to get smashed by the acceleration if they come back suddenly.”
She was unbuckling Fel’negr as she spoke and began to lower him to the deck. She dashed over to the compartment’s emergency locker and pulled out a medkit. Fel was fully awake by the time she returned, and she started to wipe his face clean of blood. His eyes were different colours, she noted, one an amber tone and the other blue.
“Can you talk?”
“Mur…” he managed.
“You took a blow to the head. Hold still while I use this synth skin.”
She used a small canister to spray a fine mist over his forehead, covering his eyes with her other hand. The bleeding stopped almost immediately, sealed by the medical nanites in the spray.
“My neck.” he said, “What happened?”
“We got hit. You have whiplash. I do too, although I managed to avoid knocking myself out.”
“The marks we receive in the school of experience are mostly bruises.”
“You all right?”
“I’ll live. What’s our status?”
“Mel?”
“The Argen report that a round penetrated the hull directly amid-ships, Deck 2. They’ve patched the exit hole, but the entry point passes through engineering. Engineer Cutler reports that we’ve lost our primary propulsion mode, although the hydrogen catalyst sections appear unaffected. He estimates that the control system issue for the thrusters is electrical, and he is assessing the possibility of a workaround.”
“Can we see what’s happening out there? Why did the Calliope stop firing?”
“From what I can gather, the Astral Spider launched her missile barrage. The damage is unknown, as there is a large debris cloud.”
“How much debris? Did he get it?”
“Unlikely, the debris is consistent with multiple Class 3 missile detonations, most likely they were shot down by the Calliope’s anti-missile defences.”
“Did any get through?”
“Possibly, waiting for the Calliope to move out of the debris to see.”
“I want to know how much shit we’re in as soon as possible. It won’t take much for the Ghantri to shoot off a few shots to finish us.”
“I will remain diligent in my observations, Captain. Might I suggest limiting the amount of active sensor sweeps we perform, though?”
“Yeah, don’t want them to know we’re still alive. Good thinking.”
She helped Fel’negr to his feet and then climbed back into her chair.
As Fel sat down with a wince, he called to Max. “Incoming communications from the Astral Spider, Captain.”
“Can’t risk it. We’re no good in this fight at the moment any way, the Spider is on her own for the next few minutes.”
She switched her console configuration into two views – a status overlay of the ship and the optical sensor image of the raging battle. The number of spiking laser shots from the Astral Spider had lessened, although many of the drones were destroyed. She could make out damage to the corvette.
The frigate had begun to exit the debris cloud, and she could make out several gaping holes on various parts of the hull. It had rolled again to turn the starboard battery at the Astral Spider, and snapped off a barrage as she watched. At the last moment, before the rounds reached the Spider, the corvette ignited the two large propulsion nacelles and shunted away from the shots. The Class 1 lasers started to rake the enemy’s hull, although the damage was minimal.
“Is our beamer operational?” she said.
The Votus glanced at his console then nodded, “It has not suffered any damage, and it is charged to one-hundred percent. I advise against firing…”
“Bring in one of our Interceptor drones - I have an idea.”
“But if the Ghantri think…”
“I’m not stupid, Mel. Just do it.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“When she gets an idea,” explained Fel, “It’s best to just go with it. She hasn’t let us down yet.”
She rubbed Fel’s arm as she stood to leave, nodding her thanks.
“Where are you going?” asked Melafenaseance.
“To put a message in a bottle.”
He looked confused, which Max found rather comical. She couldn’t contain a giggle as she left the compartment.
58.
The whistle of venting atmosphere filled the air of Deck 1 as Max ran headlong down the passageway. She stopped at an emergency locker and grabbed a canister of polycrete foam, plugging any holes she could find along the way. She made her way down to Deck 2 and dashed through the mess deck. She skidded to a halt when she saw the level of damage the ship had sustained – her heart suddenly in her throat. Denno nodded to her, as the two Argen were patching holes around the compartment.
“Clean through, Captain,” he said, “Cuts says it’s mostly superficial.”
“Superficial does not mean a hole right through my ship.”
“Sorry, Max. I just…”
“No, don’t be. I’m sorry. It just caught me off guard is all. You two are doing a great job. I plugged most of the drone damage up top, but if you get the chance can you head up and make sure?”
“Sure thing, Cap.”
She headed aft, passing the medlab and making her way to engineering.
Cuts, she texted, where can I find you?
Number three crawlspace, second junction.
How does it look?
We’ve taken worse hits. Main scoops are offline, but we can still use the water tanks. And, of course, the puff drive.
Hydrogen ions it is. I’m going to use the drone bays for a while, where can I get some tools?
All you need should be in the drone bay – Seth keeps it pretty well stocked.
She climbed up on the mezzanine and walked around to the drone bay. It was not really a separate section, just a bench near where the Interceptors were stored. The drones would line up on an automated rail that fed a small airlock when not in use.
She pulled opened a few of the drawers under the workbench until she was familiar with the tools there. After a few minutes, a red light started to flash over her head and a metallic clunk told her that the drone had docked
Cuts, are there any AI Cores here?
Should be a couple of idle cores in Eric’s trunk by the life support console.
She climbed down and found the container. She pulled out a black plastic case and checked to see if the core was inside. By the time she returned, the Interceptor had rolled to the first drone rack. She pushed a button on a control panel near the rack and the drone lowered to the workbench. Working fast, she unscrewed several bolts from a cover plate and opened the drone up. Next, she unlatched the case and pulled out the AI Core.
As far as AI’s went, these were fairly rudimentary, capable of only the most simplest of tasks without supervision. They were handy for automating some processes on the fly, however.
She thumbed the activate button and waited for it to awaken, then synced it with her overlay.
DonCrest Galactic Corporation Advanced Intelligences Division, Model 392, Serial Number 64327122 at your service.
Activate audio communication.
“Audio systems online.” said the AI in a monotonous synthesised voice.
“Good. I need you to link up with this Interceptor drone and use its wireless link to communicate with the Protectorate vessel registered as Astral Spider.”
“Error – there are no vessels of that registration within range…”
“I know there isn’t, which is why you’re going to get closer to connect.”
“Warning – if I use the wireless link to connect to the vessel, you will lose remote functionality of the drone…”
“Which is why you’re going to also control the drone.”
“Query – What is the nature of the communication?”
“I’m going to explain our situation, which you’re going to relay to the Astral Spider, and then you are going to give them this plan that I’m about to deliver via my interface overlay.”
“Parameters defined. I must point out that it is far more efficient to transmit this data via standard communications protocols. If you wish for me to set up a communications channel using the Dreaming of Atmosphere’s systems…”
“No. Please just do as I ask.”
“Parameters clarified. Awaiting input.”
She pulled the core free of the case and positioned it within the drone’s chassis. She made sure it was secure, sent it the plan she had concocted and bolted the cover plate back on. A minute later, a tinny, muffled voice within the drone reported that it had successfully linked with the drone’s systems. She pressed another button on the control panel by the bench and the drone lifted back up into the racking.
Heading back to the command module, she texted to Cuts, I want regular updates.
You’ll have them. I think I know how to get manoeuvring thrusters back.
Good, I’ll let Crege know.
No need, I’ve been talking with him through all this.
Great, I’m off.
She left engineering and returned to the command module once more. Fel was flicking through several switches on a control bank above his console, while Crege was in the middle of rebooting his pilot’s console. The many displays about his station were flickering to life, showing the spiralling view of the outside. The view rotated repeatedly between the raging battle and the purple nebula that dominated the Gossamer System.
The Votus seemed bored, flicking his console between the fire controls and the passive sensor feeds.
“How does it look down there?” asked Fel as she sat down.
“We’re either the luckiest spacers in the galaxy, or we’re a magnet for damage.”
“Warrior was too close to calak.” apologised Crege.
“We knew it was a tight one. Don’t sweat it, Crege. You did great. How are those controls?”
“Human says this should work. Had to shut down for a few minutes while he bypassed damage sections of system.”
“Captain,” said the Votus, “I must insist you share your plan with us. I fail to see how placing a message within a bottle will be beneficial to our current circumstances.”
“You old races have no imagination.” she sighed.
“Enlighten us.”
“So long as that starboard battery still functions, that frigate can tear us and the Astral Spider up. If we can take it out, we’re gold.”
“That much is evident. It is a risky shot, however…”
“I haven’t finished. Sure, taking it out is harder to do than to talk about it. One way to manage it is to set up that frigate so we’ve got the perfect shot. I just loaded an AI Core into that Interceptor, which will fly over to the Astral Spider and tell it all about our status and where our beamer is able to fire upon. If Garner can get his ship to come about, I’m betting the frigate will want to keep turning to face those starboard arcs at him. If we can get the jump on them, we can burn that battery to slag before they realise we’re not out of commission.”
“Why the drone?”
“So any signal the frigate may pick up,” surmised Fel, his eyes the bright white of admiration, “will appear to be coming from the Interceptor and not us. It will still think we’re disabled.”
Max nodded, “Should give us one good shot to take out those guns. It’s all or nothing. If we miss, the Ghantri won’t hesitate to finish what they started. They’ll shoot at life pods if they think they can get away with it.”
“What is warrior’s task?” asked Crege.
“When the frigate is at optimal firing range, you’re going to do your best to steady this tumbling we’re in. Then Mel shoots the beamer. Then we get back into the fight.”
The Votus patted his elbow, a gesture that Max had learned was similar to rubbing one’s chin in thought.
“Thought’s, Mel?”
“It is a sound plan. Are you sure you’re not a gambling woman, Captain Cooper?”
“A good Captain is whatever the situation calls for.”
“You show wisdom. Are you so certain that this shot is within my capability as your gunner?”
“A good Captain must also be perceptive of talent within her crew. I’ve seen you operate. You’re calm and collected, even during high stress situations. That’s exactly what we need in a gunner.”
“I must admit, death does not hold such finality for my kind as it does you younger races. I do not fear it.”
It was Max’s turn to look surprised. “Votus believe in an afterlife?”
“Hardly, Captain,” he said in a chiding tone, “I refer to the immortality bestowed through technology.”
“Fascinating.” said Fel, turning in his chair to listen.
“You’re immortal?”
“No, Captain. Not as such. I can die, although I regularly store my neurological patterns within an implant. It can be removed upon death and placed within a similar chamber in a cloned body, effectively reviving me. Should the implant be irrevocably lost, my latest upload can be used instead. I may lose several months of memory, but I will be reborn.”
“I suppose such a process can be used to prolong biological life, as well?” asked Fel.
“Indeed.”
“How old are you?” asked Maxine.
“This body? Or my overall age?”
“Both.”
“I have remained death free for over thirty seven years. I am unsure of my exact age, however. Relativistic effects can confuse such issues. I will tell you, though, that I was alive when your people first unlocked the secrets of the Jump Gates.”
“That was over one and a half thousand years ago!”
“Really?” he said, eyebrows raised, “It seemed like only yesterday.”
Maxine sat back in her chair, speechless.
“My mind is officially blown.” said Fel.
“Warrior calls bullshit.” said Crege, a trill laugh escaping from his mouth, “Votus smell different when lying.”
Melafeneseance leaned back in his chair, the first signs of a real smile on his face that Max had ever seen.
“What? You’re playing a joke on us?” she said.
“Sometimes, it is amusing to play on the stereotypes you younger races like to use. You should have seen your faces.”
Maxine let out a chuckle. “You know, we’re getting used to having you around. You’re all right when you loosen up a little.”
“I only wish the rest of my people enjoyed humour more often. It is one of the few traits I admire in the younger races.”
“Captain,” reported Fel, “I’m detecting a strange signal originating from the Astral Spider.”
“Is it a series of short and long pulses?”
“Yes.” he said, looking perplexed.
“It’s Morse Code – put it through this program I’m sending to your console.”
“Morse Code?”
“An old Earth custom, long since retired. Old spacers such as Garner and myself keep it alive. It’s a hobby for us types. We like to transmit simple messages into space and see who picks it up or, rarer still, recognises it for what it is. It’s one of our earliest methods of communicating electronically.”
“Translating it now. It’s awfully inefficient.”
“It’s literally thousands of years old, predating Jump tech.”
“All right, Captain. It reads ‘Starting Signal, full stop. Message understood full stop. Coming around your green one seven four north two two, full stop. Time one three nine seconds, full stop. End of message.’”
“We’ve got just over two minutes before Garner brings the Astral Spider to those coordinates. Crege, are flight controls back?”
“Eighty-four percent effective, kitrak.”
“Eighty-four?”
“Human reports seven thrusters are unresponsive. Will be enough.”
“Have you calculated the manoeuvre?”
“Analysing vectors and programming thruster activation schedule.”
“Let me know as soon as you have the sequence.”
“Aye, aye, kitrak!”
“Fel, you’re going to get ready with those active sensors. I want to paint a bright picture of the Ghantri ship five seconds before we shoot.”
“Booting up the sensor nexus, Captain.”
“Mel, as soon as you have a solid lock on that starboard battery, give it a full burn with the beamer. Don’t stop until it’s slag, or we are.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
She reached for the PA mic. “All hands, secure for action! Cuts, shut down all decks and non-essential systems. Shut down main propulsion and feed all the juice to the beamer. I want all the power you can spare fed into the beamer’s charging banks.”
“Stabilisation sequence programmed, Kitrak!”
“Okay, gentlemen. Let’s give this fucker all we’ve got.”
“The Astral Spider is coming around, Captain.” reported Fel’negr, “the Ghantri vessel is rolling to bring starboard battery to bear.”
Biting her lip, Maxine switched her console to show the optical sensors pointed at the pair of duelling starships. She noted with growing concern the level of damage sustained by the Protectorate ship, but she was still travelling with amazing speed. As she watched, the deadly batteries of the Calliope unleashed a torrent of hardlight shells toward the embattled corvette. The last round caught the Astral Spider on the starboard nacelle, and she let out a groan of despair.
“Weapons release detected!” called Fel, monitoring the sensors himself.
“What’s the status of the Spider?”
“No reduction in acceleration, however I’m detecting instabilities in the ship’s inertial field. The Calliope is firing again!”
This time, the barrage seemed endless. Maxine almost missed the countdown to fire, she was so caught up in the raging battle.
“Full sensor sweep! Paint that battery with every sensor we’ve got!” she called.
“Deploying full suite!”
“Crege!”
Without answering, Crege hit the controls, hands working like he was juggling small, unseen balls instead of the flight controls.
“Stabilised! Rotation arrested!”
The torrent of hardlight from the Calliope eclipsed the corvette for a brief moment, as the fire tracked across the ship’s projected path. Suddenly, the Astral Spider detonated in a brilliant explosion.
“No!” she wailed.
“Beamer tracking! Solution valid! Firing!”
Max thumped her console in rage, screaming obscenities. She could barely hear herself over the howl of the beamer.
“Direct hit.” reported Fel, his voice cracking, “Starboard battery destroyed, along with secondary explosions along the starboard hull.”
“Bring us around, Crege! I want that bastard’s head!”
“Main propulsion online, running on hydrogen mix. Scoops offline.” reported the Garz’a.
Crege swung the ship around using the manoeuvring thrusters and kicked in the ion drives for added acceleration, pushing the crew into their seats once more.
“Let me know the moment the beamer is charged!” Max said through clenched teeth.
“I’m not detecting any lifepods, Captain,” said Fel, his voice heavy with grief.
“They didn’t have a chance to get to one. It was too sudden.”
“That’s strange…” muttered Fel.
“What?”
“I’m not detecting any energy readings from the explosion. Nor am I detecting any debris.”
Before they could say anything more, the Astral Spider suddenly reappeared – whole and operational. It scooted around the larger ship and unleashed a vibrant array of lasers to rake the damaged hull torn open by the Dreaming. A string of explosions rippled through the already weakened hull.
“She’s back! It was a hologram!” shouted Fel in excitement.
“That cunning bastard! What’s the charge on the beamer?” called Max, thinking fast.
“Sixty seven percent.”
“Take another shot at that rent. We’ve got her on the back foot now!”
“Beamer tracking!”
Another shriek drowned out all noise from the ship, shorter than previous shots.
“She’s gone!” said Fel in surprise.
“What?”
“The Calliope – it’s gone!”
“It blew up?”
Max stared at her console, trying to make sense of the sensor feed. Sure enough, there was no ship. The orange light of the beamer was passing through empty space.
“What in the galaxy?”
“Fel’negr,” said the Votus, “scan for Fiddich radiation.”
Fel switched modes on his console, reading the data.
“I’m detecting significant Heat in the area.”
“How significant?” asked Max.
“Consistent with a shift by a ship of the Calliope’s displacement.”
“It jumped…”
Everyone was silent in the compartment. For a moment, they all just sat and stared at their screens. Maxine broke the silence.
“Get Garner on the horn. We need to talk.”
59.
Max sat oppose Garner at the briefing room table. The atmosphere in the Astral Spider had a different quality to it than the last time she was on board, she noted. A strong scent of polycrete chemicals mingled with smoke and melted metals.
“I’m sorry if we gave you a fright back there,” he said, “We would only have one chance to cloak, and needed a distraction in case you missed your shot.”
“I’ll admit, my heart was in my mouth when I saw you blow up.”
“Somehow, you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who would quietly suffer.”
“Ha, have you been talking to Donny?” she said, her smile reaching her eyes.
“Not since we left Ambrose Station. How is the Dreaming holding up?”
“She’s seen worse. I’m more worried about the Spider.”
“She’s taken a lot of damage. I can still cloak, as the nanite sheath covering the hull can rebuild. I’m more worried about the internal damage. Main propulsion has suffered a hit and I don’t think it can be fixed without a dry dock. I’m running on puff right now.”
“Captain Puff…”
“Now, now, Maxine. I suffered this damage in your defence.”
She smiled warmly, again.
“Want to tell me what we just witnessed?” he said, all trace of humour gone from his features.
“We found out what the Ghantri were looking for in the Destroyer ruins.” She flicked him the data and recordings they had gathered about the Jump Drive.
Garner was silent a few moments, quietly contemplating the discovery.
“What does Melafenaseance think?” he said.
“Most of those summaries were written by him. Do you really think the Jaani could have reverse engineered these drives in so short a time?”
“Given what we’ve seen, we have to assume they have. They did have unfettered access to these ruins for two decades.”
“We have to let the Protectorate know.”
“I’m not sure they would believe me,” said Garner, “I’m not sure they wouldn’t just arrest me when I return. I did disobey a direct order to return to Eridani.”
“What about Mel? Surely they would take his word along with all the evidence we’ve gathered?”
“They might.”
“Might?”
“You have to understand the current political clime surrounding the Gossamer System. The Protectorate is too cautious when it comes to the Ghantri. The last time it jumped to action, the cost was too high. They may just close the Jump Gate anyway, since they’ll think there is no longer a need to keep it open. Our best bet is to get Melafenaseance back to Eridani and confront the Protectorate Command there.”
“We’ll have to leave now then,” said Max, “or we’ll miss the deadline.”
“My navigator has expressed as much to me. There is another problem, however.”
“There always is.”
“Naga Team.”
“What about them?”
“We’re not going to be able to get back to them and get to the Jump Gate in time on puff drives. I doubt the Protectorate will hold the gate open that long. Even for us.”
“But we can…”
“There’s still over forty Ghantri warships patrolling that region…”
“I’m not leaving my boy. I’m not leaving anyone behind.”
“If they go through that portable Jump Gate…”
“They could end up absolutely anywhere, held by Benedict Jenner’s goons. No. If you can’t get there, you make for the Jump Gate now and I’ll pick up the team.”
“I can’t authorise…”
“You don’t have to, Garner. I’m Captain of my own ship. We’re not in Protectorate space here – your government has no control over how I run my operation.”
“Maxine…”
“End of story.” She leaned back and crossed her arms.
Garner was quiet for a few moments, frowning across the table at her.
“Is everyone from your ship so difficult to get along with?”
“We’re team players, Garner. You just have to play by our rules.”
“So I see. All right, Maxine. Have it your way. What’s your plan for getting past those Ghantri?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“You’d better, you only have a few more days before Naga needs to be picked up.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“I’ll have my command team working on something tactical, but I make no guarantees.”
“What about your cloak system?”
“What about it?”
“Can it be moved?”
He rubbed his chin in thought.
“It’s possible. The Protectorate would probably have me shot, but it’s possible.”
“How long will it take?”
“Surprisingly little time. The cloak module is only half of the stealth capabilities of the Astral Spider, however. You won’t be able to mask your drive signature or any gravity or electromagnetic emissions. You’ll have optical, ladar and radar stealth only. You could close all your emissions ports, but it will get awfully hot inside your boat before long.”
“I’ll take it. I know how to run a ship dark. It’s just like tracking pirates for bounty hunting jobs.”
“I don’t like this, Maxine. It’s too risky.”
“This whole trip into Gossamer System has been too risky. If we’re going to get out, with everyone we brought in, we’re going to need to take more risks. The stakes are too high. We need to get this information back to Eridani, and you need to get out of this system before they shut down the Jump Gate.”
He sighed. “I agree with you, I only wish the dice I’m throwing weren’t loaded.”
“Welcome to the frontier, Garner.”
He chuckled lightly.
“You’re going to need Melafenaseance if you’re going to use the cloak module. It is based off a Votus design, after all.”
“Won’t you need him to warn the Protectorate about the Ghantri?”
“I’m hoping you’ll bring him back. At this stage, I have to prioritise what is best for my crew and my ship. To give you the best chance of finishing the mission, you will need the Votus. Keep him. Getting him out of the system simply to warn the Protectorate about the Ghantri won’t keep that Gate open longer. They’ll play it safe and shut it down anyway. The strife in the Eridani System is their main focus now.”
“At least we know what happened to the Ghantri fleet, now.”
“Small difference it makes. We still don’t know where they are. We will need more information about these drives, their range and limitations, before we can begin to speculate.”
“If you get back to Eridani, you should look into any historical information from the Destroyer War.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Great minds think alike.”
He smiled at her, but she could see the weariness in his features.
“Thanks for coming to our aid, Garner. I appreciate it, I really do.”
“We wouldn’t be much of a Protectorate if we didn’t do any protecting would we?”
“You’re a good man, Garner. I’ll make sure any other Captains I know hear about what you did for us.”
“I’ll escort you back to your ship. Send Melafenaseance back so we can start removing the cloak module.”
“I’ll send Cuts and the Argen over as well to help with repairs. Ours are mostly hull damage.”
“What about your propulsion?”
“Cuts can fix it when we’re underway, he says it’s a simple fix and we have the resources.”
“If only the rest of our problems were so easy.”
60.
A good squad leader knew when to push the advantage, and when to fall back. We had the Ghantri on the back foot, but I knew it would not last. I called for everyone to fall back to the cart, noting with relief as the turntable rotated. I had Kekkin, Renthal and Geko continue firing on the hangars, while Gunther and I lifted Masters and carried him back to the carriage. Artemis and Tac were already there, and Harris and Carro were not far behind us.
“They’re making a push!” called Renthal, pausing to fire a trio of grenades from an under-barrel mount.
“Everyone in! We are Oscar Mike!” I ordered.
“Move, move, move!” echoed Kekkin, shoving Geko into the carriage. I dragged the Auto Mortar out onto the platform, setting Rhondel’s reactor beside it. In a few moments it would recharge and begin firing again, providing much needed cover for our retreat.
When everyone was on board, I activated the engine and the carriage rose gently on the mag rail. While bullets began to pepper the armoured sides of the carriage, we sped off down the concourse and into a dark tunnel, lit every few hundred metres by pulsing orange light.
“Warriors! Full gear check!” ordered Kekkin, “Grenade counts, clip counts and wound counts. Armour status, life support, weapon condition!”
The team started to go through their gear, stockpiling their munitions and clips. Renthal reported his left shoulder plate had been cracked by an enemy grenade blast, while Gunther had to remove both his right thigh section and lower back plate. The worse damaged was Geko – aside from several cracked armour plates his helmet had shattered under a torrent of Ghantri fire. He was lucky one had not penetrated and killed him.
We handed out segments of Rhondel’s armour that we had salvaged and gave the helmet to Geko.
Artemis moved over to me. She had blood running down the side of her face from a cut on her scalp. Her hair had matted together around the wound, but she barely registered the pain.
“Are you okay?” I asked when she had settled down.
“Nothing a bit of shampoo and synth skin can’t fix. Have you heard any news about your ship?”
“Yeah. Ormund told me the fighting was brutal. The Dreaming is okay, a few more holes in it but still space worthy. The Astral Spider has lost main propulsion, though, and can’t come pick us up anymore.”
“How we going to get home?” asked Geko, concern on his face.
“The Dreaming will pick us up.”
“How? There’s still a small fleet of warships…” started Gunther.
“Captain Garner has transferred the cloak module over to the Dreaming. She won’t have full stealth capabilities, but it will be enough to sneak past and pick us up.”
I scanned the faces of everyone, noting their concern. I had to admit, I was only saying what they needed to hear. I had my doubts about the plan as well. There was still a lot of ships close enough to the station to make even the Astral Spider move carefully. I just had to hope that Maxine had a plan. I knew she had a plan.
“Let’s just stay focused on our next objective.” I said, “One foot in front of the other, soldiers.”
“What’s next?” asked Kekkin.
“Ormund has this tube we’re riding going close to the habitat entrance. Next stop will be a level one atmospheric facility.”
I projected a holo image onto the carriage’s floor for them to see.
“The facility is big, so there will be plenty of cover for us to snoop around in. These large stacks feed atmo into the air dirtside, but we’ve got to be careful. They work on a rotational shift, one after the other, and while they’re active the static charge in the air is enough to create thunder storms sometimes. Short lived, but violent.”
“How long until we reach it?” asked Geko.
“Not long, I can already feel local gravity reaching normal. We should be there in around twenty minutes.”
“I am detecting abnormalities in the mag rail stability.” reported Tac.
“Slow us down.”
“We cannot. We have no control over speed, remember? We can only attach to the mag rail and hope it takes us where we need it to.”
Oh yeah, I thought, gotta remember the details.
“Okay, can we shut it down? Can we access the lev drive?”
Geko pointed to a panel he had cut in the bottom of the carriage. “I can open that and see what the problem is?”
“Do it.”
Geko went to work, loosening the hatch and carefully lifting it free. After a few moments, he pulled himself back up from the hatch.
“It’s not the drive, it’s the track.” he said, wiping his hands on his armour.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know, the drive keeps loosing it’s grip on the rail.”
“Shut it down. At these speeds, if we suddenly lose traction we’ll be smashed against the bulkheads of the tunnel.”
Ormund, I texted over the battlenet, problem with the mag rails. How far are we from the atmo plant?
You’re about 70kms out. What’s the issue?
The lev drive keeps losing its grip on the rail. Have to stop to check it out.
Keep me posted.
As the carriage slowed to a halt, we could feel a noticeable wobble. When it dropped the several centimetres to the rail, we could hear a wet scraping sound. I climbed out and checked the rail ahead of us. Tac landed loudly beside me. I ran my finger over the rail and held it up for him to see.
“Vegetation…” he mused.
“Is it just me, or is it really humid in here?”
“There is indeed an increase in moisture content in the air. I am also detecting increased levels of microbial activity.”
He suddenly had my attention.
“What sort of microbials?”
“Standard mixture of radio-bacteria. I believe they are forming microbial mats along this tunnel.”
“Radio-bacteria?” I asked, “Are they dangerous?”
“Hardly. They are genetically engineered organisms used in terraforming and habitat atmospheric generation when photosynthesis cannot drive the chemical reactions required to create oxygen. They use radiation instead. I must admit, though, that I find their presence here disturbing.”
“Why so?”
“It means the radiation shielding of the station is failing, or at least greatly degraded.”
I quickly checked my suit’s radiation sensor readings. They were high, but we were not in any danger of suffering harm.
“Long term exposure to this region will cause significant risk of cancer and other harmful conditions associated with radiation sickness. If the effect is noticeable this far into the station sub-structure…”
“The surface will be feeling it even more. I got a feeling this slime will get thicker the further in we go. Looks like we’re going by foot from here on.”
I could hear several groans from the troops, which Kekkin quickly squashed with a few helmet whacks.
“Everybody out!” I called, “I want a serviceable stretcher built for Masters in five minutes. Geko and Gunther, start scavenging. Use the carriage if you have to, we won’t need it anymore.”
People started offloading equipment from the carriage, dividing it up between everyone. Artemis went to shoulder a duffle bag of equipment, but I took it off her. She glared at me.
“I can share the load!”
“No, I want you to go on ahead while we get ready. We all have exo-rigs, so we can catch up, but I want someone scouting ahead for us.”
She reluctantly gave up her bag, turning to face the tunnel ahead.
“Don’t engage anything, just report in and lay low until we can reinforce you.”
She flipped me a mock salute, a grin on half her face. “Don’t take too long. A girl can get lonely out here.”
“I won’t.”
She left at a steady pace, her long legs making a decent stride. I turned back to the squad, and ordered a ten-minute rest period before we got going. I used the time to check over Masters and Rego.
Masters was still unconscious, and would be for some time, but Rego was clearly in pain. He had reached the limit allowed for painkillers, and giving him any more would risk damaging his kidneys. I contacted Ormund again and asked him to question Zoe regarding the risk. After a few minutes of deliberation, she gave the go ahead to give him another dose. We needed him functional for a short time more to get out of the sub-structure.
When Rego was more comfortable, we started to head out. Geko and Gunther carried Masters, while Renthal assisted Rego, and we were able to move at a decent pace. Sure enough, the fecundity of the tunnel increased in short order. It wasn’t long before the entire tunnel was coated in algae and the air took on an earthy, loamy scent.
After the first hour, Art reported in, reporting the increase in vegetation but otherwise no sign of the Ghantri were seen. After a few more hours, we stopped for a five-minute rest and ate. We were making good ground, but even the exo-rigs could only support our stamina so much. Artemis, ever the competitive type, started leaving us messages in the algae, scratched into the bulkheads. She started to put the time she reached each segment and goaded us to gain ground. We did, but the fact that she had no exo-suit to support her was not lost on us.
Finally, after a gruelling six-hour hike, we reached the atmospheric plant. Artemis was resting on a giant valve, her armour stripped off and her gear on the ground beside it. Like us, she was covered in blue-green sludge from the vegetation, and her skin was slick with sweat.
“What took you so long?” she tried to say in a sly tone. We could tell she was almost out of breathe, though.
“You must have only just gotten here. You’re still panting.” I said, smiling.
“I’m just thinking about a whole squad of sweating, fit men following me.”
“Liar.”
She threw her head back and laughed.
“Twenty minutes rest!” I called. “I want a volunteer to scout out through to the atmospheric facility ahead.”
“I’ll go.” said Art as she hopped down off the valve.
“Nope, you’re on mandatory rest and re-hydration.”
“I’ll do it,” said Harris, “I didn’t carry much gear before. I’m still fresh.”
“Fresh is not the word I would use, Harry.” joked Artemis.
“Thanks, Harris.” I pointed at Artemis, “And you! Less talking, more resting. That’s an order.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” she flipped me another mock salute, but she propped herself up against a bulkhead and took a swig from a canteen.
The tunnel continued around a bend and I knew it looped around after several hundred kilometres to re-join the rest of the mag rail system. The entrance to the atmospheric facility was a large round portal, a rolling hatch that disappeared into the bulkhead. It was partially open, the hatch clearly malfunctioning. From our position, we could see the verdant algae had overgrown the portal and spilled out into the tunnel. Harris slipped through the entrance, scraping slime off the threshold as he did.
After a quarter of an hour, Harris reported in.
It’s incredible! The compartment is completely overgrown. There is an atmosphere in here so rich…
Any sign of enemy activity? I broke in.
Negative. Although if there was, I would find it hard to see, there’s just so much plant life here I’ve never seen anything like it.
Okay, rest up and we’ll make our way to you. Can you see a way through to the habitat?
I think so – there’s a stairwell that threads up beside one of the stacks.
Hold tight.
“On your feet, troops. We are Oscar Mike!” I said, gently nudging a snoring Geko with my boot.
“You heard naga-zak!” shouted Kekkin. “We are on the move! Up! Up!”
He started laying his boot into any stragglers and within moments, we were making our way through the entrance.
Harris was right. The first sight of the chamber made me catch my breath. It was an enormous, cavernous area – close to four kilometres in diameter. The upper reaches were lost in a grey cloud of moisture. Two giant funnels rose up from a central machine, feeding the fruits of its labour into the atmosphere of the habitat above. I could not make out the tell-tale hum of machinery, though, and it was clear the giant machine was non-functional. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, atmosphere-generating vegetation was everywhere, covering almost every surface in vines, moulds, algae and basic plant life. There was so much moisture in here that the chamber was generating clouds that rained down a steady, fine rain in tiny droplets.
It had been many years since I had been on a planet, much less an environment so absent the hand of man, that I was utterly at a loss for words. My fellow soldiers shared my wonder as they entered behind me.
“Reminds me of home.” muttered Carro beside me. I turned to look at the Argen and found him wistfully starring at the facility. He took a step forward and almost fell, sinking in sludgy water up to his upper thigh.
“Watch your footing people. Hold up.”
Harris, can you plot the course you took to get where you are?
Sending path now.
Harris’ path appeared on my overlay, a ghostly trail wending its way through the artificial swamp. When I had shared it with everyone, we started off again.
The path took us on a circuitous route through the swamp, sticking for the most part to higher ground made from mounds of hardened sludge and ancillary equipment. Several times, we found the fully decomposed remains of humanoids, their skeletons encased in vegetation. Geko yelped in surprise when an insect crawled out of an eye socket of a skull he was prodding with his rifle.
“LT, you need to see this.” called Harris when we reached his location.
“What have you got?”
He was perched on an overhanging platform, the rusted grating of the deck threaded with vines and creeping plant-life. He was almost twenty metres off the ground, pointing upwards at a rising spire adjacent to the nearest funnel. I strained to make out what he was indicating.
“About a third from the top – that dull strobing light.”
“I see it. I can’t quite make out what it is.”
“I have magnification optics, wait one. I’ll send you some images.”
A data package appeared on my overlay. I opened it and scanned the images.
“That looks familiar.” I mused.
The image showed a large plate of rusted metal, welded to the side of the tower. A symbol formed from various pieces of debris was affixed to the plate. A pulsing, amber light shined upon the surface, casting an eerie glow on the whole ensemble.
“I saw something similar in one of the areas we fought Ghantri…”
“The transport hub. It was in the security office we assaulted.”
“I think it’s significant.”
“I do too. I’ll see what Ormund has to say about it.”
After I showed him the images, Ormund confirmed what I was thinking.
It’s religious, that’s for sure. That symbol shows up a few times on Ghantri artefacts that we’ve recovered. Including the Firebreaker Artefact.
What does it mean, though?
We don’t know. We have never even seen one of the religious caste Ghantri, let alone had a conversation with them.
What about before the Betrayal? After first contact?
Most of what we know about their culture we got from the Jaani. The Ghantri were silent guardians to the little devils. So much so, that we thought at first the Jaani were in charge.
Turns out, they were just trying to learn as much about our technology as they could.
No shit. Lesson learned, I guess. Keep an eye out for any Ghantri that don’t fit the norm, and document any more symbols that you find.
I told the rest of the squad to keep an eye out for more esoteric markings and we continued on our way. We moved through the facility at a cautious pace – the ground was treacherous, even more so as we began our steady climb upwards.
We moved along a crisscrossing platform of walkways and stairwells, several times having to cut our way through vegetation. After our run through the tunnels below, it was gruelling work. Even Artemis began slowing down after a few hours.
I was determined to reach the habitat, though, and I pushed the squad ever further upwards, entering the cloud layer eventually. Visibility dropped to only ten metres and we had to double back a few times when our way turned out to be a dead end. The vines that had crushed them over the years held the rusted and decayed platforms together, at times.
After six hours of climbing, I once again called a halt. With grateful sighs, the squad almost collapsed to the decking. I peered over a railing and was hit by a wave of vertigo. I could no longer see the ground below, even when the faint wind swirled the clouds enough to peer through the gap. Everything was slick and wet, moisture coated ever surface, and where moisture formed, so too did the ever present sludge of the algae.
“I take it back,” said Carro, “Not so much like home, anymore.”
61.
I dozed, and as my mind drifted I began to fall into my ever recurring dreams. The Eye of Ar’od Dar cast its baleful gaze upon me, as before. I struggled to escape its attention, but was frustrated by my every move. The once protective embrace of the nanite sea only served to hinder my escape, grasping at me like molasses.
I awoke with a start, my eyes wide and looking back and forth. In my delirium, I caught sight of something black and spindly slipping over the edge of the platform. I thought I had imaged it until I realised that Masters’ stretcher was empty – a bloody smear trailing over the edge.
I jumped to my feet, grabbing my rifle and letting out a cry of surprise. Everyone was instantly alert, rising to knees and feet. From the gloom, more of the black spindly limbs appeared. I called out to Gunther, closest to them, and he whirled about and fired off a burst from his rifle. The bullets struck the form with an audible crack! and the shape retreated.
“Form a circle!” I ordered.
The squad formed up, their backs to each other. I found myself rubbing shoulders with Kekkin.
“What are they?” he asked, eyes wide.
“I don’t know, but they took Masters.”
“No one on watch.” he said quietly.
Shit, I thought, screwed up again!
“Movement!” came a call behind me. Someone opened up with a barrage of automatic fire.
I glanced over my shoulder, but I could not see anything.
“Down!” called Kekkin, shoving me aside. He cried out in pain, and I looked up to see the armour on his arm smouldering with vapour. From the mists, I could make out several dark shapes and I sprayed fire at them. Kekkin knelt down and desperately tried to remove his armour segment.
“Calak spits acid,” he said between clenched teeth, “We need to push back, we are fedang.”
“Stun grenades!” I called, gripping my last grenade in my fist. Several others pulled their own out and activated the timers. “Now!”
As one, we tossed the stun grenades outwards in all directions. Bright flashes, muffled by the mist, illuminated the area. The loud thuds of the devices caused the enemy to cry out in piercing shrieks, while electrical arcs stunned those nearby. In the brief moment of light, I could make out the location of the nearest shapes and shouldered my rifle.
“On me!” I called, unleashing a burst of hardlight. Several other shots rang out as the squad found their own targets. I called out more commands, “Move! Push through them!”
Kekkin, the armour torn from his forearm, scooped up a duffle bag and slung it over his back, I grabbed another and Renthal took the last. All the while, the others fired continuously into the mists. Someone had the foresight to switch on their suit lights, and it wasn’t long before the others did the same. The light only penetrated a dozen metres, but it was enough to keep the enemy at bay.
We ran. Stepping over the shattered forms of the creatures as we went, we dashed up the nearest stairwell, hoping that it wasn’t another dead end. I glanced at one of the creatures as I kicked it aside. I couldn’t make out the exact features, but it looked like some kind of arachnid with an upraised torso. It had chitin for armour, and a long proboscis drooling with acid that smoked on the exposed rusty deck plate.
Someone screamed in pain. I paused and looked back to see Carro trying to get Gunther on his feet. A trio of creatures appeared out of the mist and Carro tried to get off a burst with his rifle one handed. More lunged down from above, falling upon the pair with flailing limbs. I snapped off a burst at the closest ones, watching them fall back and over the railing. Several of the creatures grabbed Gunther and hauled him off over the side while he screamed. I tried to stop them, opening up in automatic, but there was too many of them.
“Kekkin! Keep pushing! I’ll be right behind you!” I called, moving to help Carro. The others kept moving. I reached Carro to see him slashing at a pair with his combat knife. His left arm hung uselessly by his side, his rifle dangling from its sling. I hammered rounds into the pair, their bodies exploding in a hail of ichor and black chitin.
“They got Gunther!” called Carro.
“Fall back!” I yelled, snapping off another burst into the mists. He backpedalled, turned and ran. My rifle suddenly stopped firing – I canted the gun on its side and saw the battery indicator red. I popped the cell and slapped in another, letting the empty battery fall to the deck. As Carro ran past me, I kept firing. After another second or two I turned and ran as well.
I watched as the deck below Carro suddenly burst apart and two more of the creatures pulled Carro through the gap. Screaming in surprise, I tried to get a clear shot as the Argen disappeared below the platform and into the mist. I could hear his screams cut short, only metres below me. I shouted in frustration, then saw that I had fallen behind the others. I could see the glow of hardlight rounds shooting through the murk, the suit lights stabbing out like white lances. I activated my own lights and ran after them, not daring to stop or look behind me.
The squad started to head up another stairwell as I reached them. Renthal was on his knee covering the squad as they made their way up. I tapped him on the shoulder as I ran past and let out several short bursts at the creatures following. Gripping a slimy rail, I vaulted over to the stairs and took them three at a time. I could hear the clang of Renthal’s boots on the metal as he followed.
“Frag out!” he called, and I doubled my efforts to climb. A shuddering boom echoed across the area and the whole platform shook violently. I got to the top and noted with relief that the mists were starting to thin. The others had already run ahead to another stairwell twenty metres away. Kekkin was covering, pushing Artemis to the stairs while Geko helped Rego climb.
We ran like this for half an hour, stopping occasionally to check for pursuit. The creatures, whatever they were, had fallen back. Either we had killed enough of them to give them pause, or they had enough victims to sate their hunger for us.
We stopped to catch our breath. This time, I made sure someone had their eyes on our surroundings.
“What in the galaxy were those things?” asked Geko, eyes wide in fear.
“I have no idea. Anyone else hurt?” I said.
“They got Gunther and Masters!” he said, panic in his voice.
“And Carro. Nothing we can do about that now. We have to focus!”
“We’re fucked!”
Kekkin walked up to him and cracked him over the head with his gauntlet. Geko stumbled and fell to one knee.
“Human does not give up!” he shouted. He looked like he was about to hit him again but I caught his arm.
“Stop! This was my fault!” I yelled, “I shouldn’t have let my guard down. I should have posted a sentry when we rested.”
“Kak does not talk like that! Geko knows better.” he said.
“I know better! If you have to hit someone, hit me!”
He glared at the cowering Geko, then looked at me. I could see in his face that he was only acting out of fear and frustration. I helped Geko to his feet.
We checked each other over. Tac had caught two globs of acid spit on his chassis, and the plastic trimming was melted where it touched. Art had a new cut on her arm, where her Composite Armour did not protect. I checked Kekkin’s arm and saw that it was blistering from the burn. I helped him apply a nanite patch and a dose of painkillers.
Renthal and myself were the only ones not injured, as even Rego had caught a limb strike that had pierced his shoulder plate. Blood ran down his right arm, but he was still able to wield a pistol.
Time to face the music. I contacted Ormund to tell him the bad news.
What happened?
They jumped us while we were resting, we were all so exhausted that we didn’t post a sentry and they took Masters while we dozed.
Do you have any idea what they were?
None. They were some kind of insect that spat acid at us. I’m sending you some stills that I caught, see if you can identify them.
I’ve never seen these before, he texted after he had checked the images out, but Dr Montannis says they might be native to Ghan.
Why would they be here? Did the Ghantri bring them from their homeworld? What purpose would that serve?
I can only speculate. Perhaps the Ghantri use them for food?
There was a pause in the conversation while we both thought.
How is the rest of the squad holding up? Ormund asked
I looked about at the others. There was a mix of exhaustion, fear and grief on their faces but, for the most part, they looked determined.
They’re keeping it together. The shock of what just happened is still sinking in, I think.
They’re professionals, they just need the right leader.
I’m not sure I’m that person, anymore. I screwed up, big time.
Fatigue is a powerful enemy, my father used to say. Everyone makes mistakes. As leaders, we simply have to learn from them faster than others.
How do I even begin to make this up to the squad?
You can’t. Trust me, I tried. After I screwed up and got Tucker killed, I don’t think the squad ever fully put their trust in me again. They knew how inexperienced I was and it showed. You, on the other hand, already have a lot of respect from the others. That’s a big emotional bank account to draw from.
That respect is due to a lot of hype generated by the Protectorate. I’m not sure I’m the same person they made me out to be.
Bullshit. They didn’t buy into the propaganda, either. We studied your after action reports and your recounts of your time behind enemy lines. That respect came from the tactical decisions that you made due an impossible situation. Not from some bravado riddled drivel spouted by the politicos. Those men went into that station knowing full well there was going to be casualties. You’re almost on the surface now, don’t give up yet.
I thought about his words for a while. It was hard to fathom, but I knew that he spoke a measure of truth. I had expected a lot more casualties by that point, when I had started this thing.
The trick was, keeping the rest of us alive until we saw this through.
62.
We continued our relentless climb and it wasn’t long before we reached the surface. One last long, winding stairwell brought us through a dense copse of ropy vegetation and then we realised that we had broken through. The funnels were still rising, but we could make out the sky through the thick canopy. The air took on a change as well. For one who spends most of their life breathing recycled air in an enclosed space, such as a starship, planetary air was something oddly pungent, yet somehow familiar.
Renthal and Harris, the first to reach the top, grasped each other’s shoulders in a brotherly embrace. Even Kekkin smiled as he helped Rego the last few steps. I stopped and stretched, yawning a mighty sigh. Triptych, hauling the last of the gear with Geko and Art, muttered a heartfelt benediction to his ancestors and the galaxy at large.
“How’s the ribs?” I asked, handing him a canteen.
“Tender. All this heavy breathing isn’t helping.”
I looked around us. We were in a clearing in what appeared to be a dense jungle. The algae had abated somewhat, but there was still thick overgrowths of regular plant life. Lastly, I checked the hole from which we had crawled.
“Let’s see if we can close up this stairwell. I don’t want any of those critters coming up to attack us again. Once it’s secure, this is a good a place as any to set up a forward base. Trip, how’s your climbing?”
He looked up at the tree analogues all about us. He knew what I was thinking.
“I can get up there no problem with the exo-rig, this tree here looks high enough for me to stick the drone pod on.”
“Good, you’re in charge of setting up drone launch bays. I want as many recon drones in the air as soon as possible. We shouldn’t need to set up an antenna, we’re still connected to the rail system below. We lucked out on that one. Kekkin, organise the rest to set up a perimeter and see if we can get sensor pods stationed a hundred metres and two hundred metres around us.”
Tac and Rego were a few metres away, going over technical specifications of some sort. I listened in, but was unable to work out what they were discussing. Tac turned to me after a few moments.
“Seth, the Private and I have devised a more efficient method for locating Mr. Blackburn. Using the mag rail antenna set up we established, we should be able to ping the existing interface overlay implants. I have engineered an algorithm that will sort the implant signatures and isolate our target. The recon drones can then triangulate the source and give us a location.”
“How long will it take to set up?”
“We will be ready the moment the drones are launched. It will take some time to sort the implant codes, however, depending on how many are actually present.”
“The last count of refugees here was just over two hundred thousand people. Given there has been almost twenty years since the Betrayal, those numbers would have dropped.”
“Do not discount the rate of births, however,” he said, “there were many families present during that time. There would be a whole new generation here now.”
“But I doubt they would have interface overlay implants.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“Go ahead with the plan. Keep me and Artemis informed, we want to move the moment we have intel.”
The squad went into action, Triptych climbing the tree effortlessly with a drone pod strapped to his back and the others breaking up into pairs to patrol. Art and I went to work setting up the camp defences – a pair of motions sensors and a small portable turret.
An hour later, when the others returned, I was happy the camp was secure enough to relax. The recon drones had launched and Tac was reporting a multitude of inactive overlay implants connecting to the array we had established inside the sub-structure mag rail.
We settled in for a proper rest period, letting the squad sleep in watches. We ate while I went over images from the recon drones of settlements nearby.
For the most part, the settlements were made from existing buildings that were run down and powerless, with farmland cleared around them. A few were constructed entirely from debris and wood, cut from the assortment of trees that grew in the habitat grounds.
The most significant thing, though, was the view of the habitat ring. In either direction, the ring rose in ever narrowing arcs that faded into blue. Approximately forty kilometres from our position was one of the habitat’s spokes – wide, tubular shafts that led to the central hub. The hub was a sphere over a hundred kilometres in diameter. Its mirrored surface served as a reflector for the system’s sun, the star named Gossamer. It also provided a means for starships and shuttles to dock with the habitat and gain entrance to the main habitat. In a normal, functional orbital, this would be the primary access for civilian starcraft.
“It’s almost like a warzone out there,” mentioned Art as she scanned the images herself, “I haven’t seen a single structure that hasn’t been picked at or scavenged.”
“A lot of people were left here, remember. They were not exactly prepared to forgo technology for a few decades.”
“How did they manage to get food growing? It’s not like an orbital is prime produce land. Only fifteen percent of it was covered in arable soil.”
“The good ship Kastalothon.”
“The who?”
“When it was obvious to everyone what was going down here, there was a bulk hauler named the Kastalothon that was transporting grains and other foodstuffs to the colony on Nsarri. When they realised they weren’t going to make it, the Captain ordered his crew to abandon ship and tried to land it on Ambrose. The crazy bastard almost made it too.”
“The cargo?”
“Enough containers made it to the habitat in serviceable condition that the refugees were able to start up a co-op farm. Guess they managed to get it going over the years and it became sustainable. That’s the Protectorate’s best guess, anyway. Maybe there were enough auto-chefs to go around, and they were lucky enough that there were food chemists to manufacture materials for them.”
“What’s our plan if Osiris is up there?” she pointed to the distant diametrically opposite section of the ring above us.
“It’s a long way to go. We’ll need to secure transportation.”
“I think that should be our first priority, actually. We need to be mobile.”
“Maybe we can barter with one of the settlements nearby.”
“You know they won’t give it up. We’re going to need to take it.”
I sighed. I knew she was right. I had come here to liberate these people, not steal from them. I certainly did not want to shoot at them.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“I’m going to focus my search on finding a viable vehicle – you need to get your head around how we’re going to take it.”
I knew we were running out of time. We only had a few days to find Osiris Blackburn before we would lose our window to get out of the Gossamer System for good. We could not afford to spend that time travelling. Securing transportation, preferably something fast, would increase our chances of success significantly.
Art could see that I was thinking it through, and when I’d come to the same realisation as she, she nodded grimly at me.
“We don’t have to kill anyone. These guys are good enough to take it by stealth. We just need it quick.”
“Alright, I understand. We need it.”
“LT!” called Rego, “Call up the feed from drone 2-2-whiskey. You need to see this.”
I did as he suggested and the live video feed filled my overlay. The images showed a violent clash between two groups. One group was defending a settlement from behind ramshackle walls, while another assaulted it. There were a few energy weapons in the mix, but for the most part it was done with spears, bows and other crude weaponry. The defence was not going well, and as I watched I saw an explosion, then a segment of wall collapsed. Dozens of attackers surged through the breach, slaughtering anyone in the way. What happened next sickened me.
There were women and men fighting, but when a group of attackers entered one of the buildings a score of children ran screaming out into the fray. They were butchered like animals. Even Art looked paled by what she saw.
“Seems resources are not as abundant as we were led to believe.” she said, her tone a mix of cynicism and despair.
“Check out that trio by the burning building.” mentioned Rego.
“What are they doing?”
“They’ll pull away in a moment, you’ll see.”
In a few minutes, when all of the defenders died, the trio of attackers had carved a symbol on the side of the building. We had seen the same symbol in the atmospheric facility below.
“How far away is that settlement?” I asked Tac.
“Drone 2-2-whiskey is currently three-hundred and forty-eight kilometres away. Sending you the waypoint on your overlay.”
“There’s another one,” said Art, “Drone 3-1-bravo – it’s an older site, already destroyed. Probably a week or so ago. They burnt that symbol into the field.”
“What in the galaxy are they doing?”
“Raiding.” said Kekkin, “Taking what they can.”
“I see more,” said Rego, “Same story.”
The realisation of the state of civilisation, of the depth that society had fallen here, struck us silent for several minutes. We flicked through the scenes of destruction, barbarity and savagery, mouths agape.
“I’ve found him,” said Art. We all turned to face her, “I’ve found Osiris Blackburn.”
63.
Eleven-hundred kilometres from our camp stood the ruins of a white tower, surrounded by concentric rings of smaller buildings. It seemed out of place, before we realised that the structure had been kept in almost functional form over the years. The very top of the tower, shorn off by some calamity years ago, lay along the ringward edge closest to the Gossamer star. The upper levels of the tower were exposed to the elements, but we could make out the repair work done to limit the ingress of rain.
Immediately before the tower, a garden of lush vegetables and other edible plants grew, irrigated by a suspended system of hoses and pipes. There was easily enough food grown there to feed hundreds of people, but the activity around the complex revealed far larger numbers.
It was a settlement larger than any we had seen so far, complete with working power and armed patrols of the outer ring of buildings. Patrols armed with modern weapons.
“He’s there.” stated Art, certainty on her face, “If there was ever an effort to rebuild some semblance of power within the habitat, he would be a part of it, if not in charge.”
“You sure he’s not driving one of those raiding hordes?” I asked, “He was a pretty nasty character, according to Maxine.”
“No. He’ll know his best chance of survival is in building a strong establishment and gathering as much technology as the Ghantri would let him have.”
“Those raiders have to know where that place is. Sooner or later, they’ll band together to assault it. The weapons and tech there alone would make it worth it.”
“Naga-zak is right,” said Kekkin, “See the pattern of attacks within a hundred clicks of the fortress?”
“Fortress?” I asked.
“It fits,” said Art, “Those ringed structures are fortified, not just living quarters.”
“I have filtered the recon drone pings to only query those near that location,” explained Tac, “and I can confirm that Blackburn’s overlay is indeed active within that zone.”
After scanning the surrounding area, I saw what Kekkin was trying to point out.
“They’ve attacked almost every settlement on the outskirts of that tower.” I said.
“Scorched earth.” said Art, “They’re cutting him off from resupply.”
“The last two settlements nearby are within range of those bands of raiders, here and here,” explained Kekkin, “They’ll converge with these other groups within a day, and begin their siege of the fortress.”
“How many raiders do you estimate will be in that group?”
“At least fourteen thousand. Probably closer to fifteen.”
“There’s no way they can hold out,” said Art, “We have to get to him as soon as possible.”
“I agree. Harris, Geko, I want you two to keep an eye out for transportation of any kind. Land, or air, doesn’t matter. When you locate it, go and get it. Do whatever you need to acquire it.”
The pair nodded and put their heads together, commandeering several drones for their task. I left Art to keep an eye on the fortress complex, while I got together with Kekkin and Renthal to see what could be done to strengthen what defences we could see. Triptych and Rego got to work on reconnaissance of the route we would need to take to get to our target.
Within two hours, Harris reported they had located a viable vehicle in a settlement not far from our location. The settlement had already been hit by the raiders, so all of the people there were dead, or had run away. I sent them off with my blessing, thankful we did not have to shoot innocent people to get what we needed.
There was no point in waiting around for the vehicle to reach us, so I ordered the camp abandoned and we began our march towards the fortress. Harris and Geko would rendezvous with us once they had their prize.
The fortuitous finding of our quarry seemed to have buoyed our morale, in the wake of our recent losses. We were on track to achieving our objective and we had a clear path to getting there. We knew it was not going to be easy, but at least we could see it. In addition, best of all, we were free of the oppressive warrens below the surface.
We marched for four hours, making good distance, before meeting up with Harris and Geko again. They drove a beat-up flatbed hauler, the kind of hauler found in cargo facilities across the galaxy. Harris reported that Geko had once again proven his mechanical aptitude in getting the thing functional again.
We loaded our gear, climbed on board and cheerfully let the hauler carry our arses across the ruined landscape.
Ambrose Station, if completed before being captured by the Ghantri, would have served as a major population centre for the star system. The most expensive, and dangerous, part of space travel was entering and leaving planetary bodies. The presence of atmosphere limited the speed a ship could travel, and the pull of gravity required immense levels of acceleration in order to escape or land safely. It was a careful balance, one even seasoned pilots sometimes screwed up.
The need for such measures was negated if one did not need to land the larger vessels. Keeping starships in space meant smaller, more precise vessels could manage the dangerous transits, or the problem could be removed through engineering solutions – such as space elevators. The result is that once a civilisation reaches a certain level of technology, the presence of permanent space fixtures became an economic necessity.
Such industries required people to maintain. Permanently housing these people at the fixtures was safer and more economical than transporting them planetside. Permanently housing them, meant they brought their families. Families, and other people, meant a population that also needed feeding and entertaining. This meant commercial interests. Commerce meant more industry, and so on.
Habitats such as Ambrose Station were meant to serve as a commercial and industrial focus for a region, and supported populations that migrated from other star systems for work and other opportunities. The living spaces of the habitat, therefore, were strewn with the trappings of commercial enterprises and industrial projects. Office complexes, shopping centres, processing plants, manufacturing facilities and residential buildings dotted the landscape. Most were in various stages of construction, lacking the vital components for their operation. Many were merely husks of their planned forms, skeletal frames and scaffolding left to rust and fall into disrepair. Scavenging had done the rest.
Left unregulated, the atmospheric system continued to pump out weather. Pressure fronts formed and rains eroded carefully designed decorative gardens, washing away soils and forming natural lakes and rivers in depressions, streets and avenues.
We passed through one such front – drenching us, but providing a much-needed wash. We were positively filthy after our misadventure below. The lightning that accompanied the downpour was violent, but only served to invigorate us for our coming ordeal.
For the first time in a long time, I was able to rest. My dreams, always haunted by the darkness within me, were strangely peaceful and I slept through a large part of the storm. I awoke, hours later, to overcast skies above the outer reaches of Osiris’ fortress.
I felt relaxed, calm even. I knew that beyond these outer walls an end to this odyssey was within reach. If saving even these few thousand people was possible, that was enough for me to accept. I knew their lives would not bring Eric back, or Carro, Gunther, Masters or Rhondel, but it would at least mean their deaths would have meaning. It would appease the guilt that I felt for the loss of my former squad.
At the end of it all, I would at last be able to put this chapter of my life behind me.
64.
“Come no closer!” shouted a figure, high atop the building before me.
I could see the muzzles of a dozen rifles pointed at me from various parts of the rooftop. I could see the location of each guard in my overlay, a nearby recon drone feeding me an aerial view of the area.
I was standing before the building, selected as a likely access point to the fortress, alone and unarmed – as well as I was able to be.
“I mean you no harm!” I called back, raising my arms to show them I was unarmed.
“Why should I believe you?” he called back. He was smart.
“You shouldn’t. I’ve seen what’s out here. I seek someone within your settlement. A man named Osiris Blackburn.”
He disappeared behind the wall, and I could see the figure conversing with a pair of other guards before returning to the wall.
“The others say you are not alone. We saw you approach.”
“It’s true. There are a few more of us. We thought it would be safer for one of us to present ourselves, so we appear less threatening.”
“Tell the others to come into view!”
“Not until…” I began.
A shot rang out, a bright flash struck the ground before me and splattered mud in all directions. I flinched, as I felt my face become wet.
“Not until I have your word they will not be harmed.” I finished.
Once more, they conversed.
“If you come out, and make no sudden moves, we won’t shoot you. If they do, I’ll shoot you first. Understood?”
I turned and nodded over my shoulder. One by one, the others of my squad stepped into view, Rego leaning against Renthal.
“What do you want?” the figure called.
“Like I said. We’re looking for a man named Osiris Blackburn.”
“Why?”
I looked at Artemis, who shrugged at me.
“We have news from a relative of his. Tell him Benedict Jenner sent us.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He’ll know. Tell him.”
Tac leaned over to me. “I am detecting a short wave radio signal. Shall I intercept and play it for you?”
“Just tell us what they’re saying. Quietly.”
“They are relaying your message. Someone is responding. They are ordering the guards to wait until they can confirm the message.”
“Tell me if they get orders to shoot.”
He nodded to me. A very human gesture. Was Tac picking up our mannerisms? I thought.
After a few minutes, the guard called down to us again.
“Are you armed?”
“Yes.” I replied.
“Will you surrender them?”
I looked over at Kekkin and Art, both gave slight shakes of their heads.
“On one condition!” I called back.
“What?”
“You tell me your name, and where you are from.”
“I’m Alexander, and I’m from District Eighteen. You?”
“Seth. I’m from the Galactic Protectorate. We’re here to rescue you.”
He gave a rich laugh, gesturing to the guards near him. They disappeared down a flight of stairs.
“You’re late!”
An iron door at the base of the building rose up into a recess, revealing a garage. Several other guards were there, although only a few of them had their weapons drawn and pointed at us.
I gestured for the others to follow, and told them to hand over their weapons. We had hidden the last of our equipment bags earlier, in case things got out of hand. The others begrudgingly disarmed, although I saw a few of them secret a blade or holdout weapon before handing their guns and blades over. Art kept a large briefcase at her side – the portable Jump Gate.
As we entered the garage, the door slid down behind us and another rose on the other side. Alexander met us in a courtyard beyond, he was a young man, lean and wiry like most of the people we saw. He had dark hair and a harrowed expression, like a soldier who had seen too much. I understood the look all too well.
“Will you be taking us to Osiris?” I asked as he led us further into the complex.
“I will. How did you get here? We thought the Protectorate were destroyed years ago.”
“Destroyed?”
“In the big battle in the sky.”
I stopped walking, Art almost running into me. Galaxy, I thought, he’s talking about the Push!
“Not all of the Protectorate was destroyed,” I replied, “And that was only a small part of the organisation.”
“Then why didn’t they send more sky ships? Why did they not come again?”
I searched out his face. He seemed to earnestly want to know, rather than accuse me of failing them.
“It’s not an easy question to answer. A lot of people died trying to get to the station to rescue you a few years ago. We called it the Push. It didn’t go according to plan, as you probably know.”
“If it was only a small part of the Protectorate, why didn’t they send more?”
“How much do you know about the rest of the galaxy?”
“Not much. I was born here. I know there are other worlds, the elders teach us that much. But they don’t talk about the Protectorate much. Are you really cowards?”
I looked at him in surprise. “No. Why would you think that? Is that what you are taught?”
“They say that the Ghantri scare the Protectorate. I am not afraid of them.” he looked at me with pride.
“Have you ever fought one? Do they come here?”
“They used to. They used to come and take slaves. They stopped years ago. After the battle.”
We continued to walk. We passed through another set of buildings, what I guessed was the second ring of defences. We saw more guards, looking down at us warily. We passed large groups of unarmed civilians, clearly afraid. I tried to smile at them, but they only shied away. There seemed to be far more people than we had at first estimated.
“How many people are here?” I asked, indicating the civilians.
“Four thousand, from different Districts, mostly civvies. But we have over seven hundred soldiers.” he said with a grin.
“You are aware of the raiders coming here?” I asked eventually.
“We’re ready for them.”
“Do you know how many there are?” said Art.
Alexander looked at her and sneered. “Of course. We know there are many. We’re still ready for them. They don’t have the technology we do. They’re stupid.”
Art looked ready to say something again, but I held up my hand.
“How long have you been fighting them? How long have the raids been going on?”
“A couple of years now. We weren’t ready at District Eighteen, but here we are. Most of the people here are from other Districts, but we’re ready to fight.”
“Do you know why they are attacking people?”
He slowed his step, looking thoughtful. “No.” he said at last.
We passed through the third ring of defences and were greeted by the sight of the tower and surrounds. It was as we saw on the drone images. The tower, built of a white glossy material, rose up from the centre of the grounds like a Corporate office. The farmland around us was growing well, with many crops large and overgrown. There were dozens of farmhands tending to the crops, those we passed near stopped their toil to peer at us.
As the shadow of the tower fell on us, we passed a stone display with the words ‘Ambrose Central University’ carved into them artfully. We were met with more guards at the entrance, a glass façade that led into a large lobby. A barricade had been constructed inside, with gun emplacements at several angles covering the entrance. Towards the rear of the lobby a flight of stairs awaited. We passed by several elevators, their doors were jammed open and the shafts were filled with water. Pipes led through the lobby to the shafts, drawing water for the irrigation.
We carried on through to the stairs and began to climb. We passed other men, dressed in makeshift uniform. It was clear that there was plenty of activity going on.
In time, we reached the upper levels of the tower, exiting into a large chamber. The trappings of modern galactic civilisation adorned the room - lush carpets, animated picture frames, holographic displays. A bank of electronic equipment covered one wall, which three soldiers worked at. There were several other consoles stationed about the room. People of various races worked on the displays and consoles, all about some task or other. Alexander led us through the room to a set of double doors, ostentatiously decorated with carved wood and red leather padding.
He paused at the door, one hand on a handle. “Are more sky ships coming?”
I looked him in the eye. I could see some of the earlier bravado of before had slipped, showing me the haggard face of a tired soldier.
“No.” I said simply.
He nodded, disappointment strong on his features. He pushed the door open and waved us in. He did not follow us inside.
The room was dark, lit only by a soft glow from a holographic display further down. The room was long and rectangular, like a boardroom. In the gloom I could see several figures huddled to one side and the whispers of their conversation carried to our ears. A large black desk of shiny material dominated the far end, from behind which sat a large man of stern countenance. I could see, as we approached, his likeness to the images we had of Osiris Blackburn, only aged somewhat over the years. His once dark hair was toned with grey and the lines on his face had deepened, but the man before us was clearly the man we sought. He studied us as we walked, his face giving away nothing. He appeared neither relieved, nor angry to see us, but somehow gave me the impression that both emotions vied for dominance.
Eventually, we stood before him.
“Osiris Blackburn?” I asked.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Seth Donovan. This is Artemis Derris. We were hired by your nephew Benedict Jenner to rescue you from the Gossamer System.”
He was silent for several heartbeats.
“Why?”
I was taken aback. “Why?”
“Why am I do be rescued? Why now?”
“Um…” I looked to Artemis.
She cleared her throat. “Benedict has acquired the means to enact your rescue, and hopes that you will retake what was yours before the Ghantri Betrayal.”
“Does he?”
“Ye…yes.”
“How? Does he bring ships?”
“No…”
“Why is there Protectorate soldiers with you?”
“They were elicited to…”
“Do you think I’m stupid, Ms. Derris? Mr Donovan?”
“What?” she stammered, “No, I…”
I went to open my mouth but he held up a hand.
“What proof do you bring that you are indeed from Jenner? That you are who you say you are?”
Artemis spoke again, “I have an authorisation code, given to me by Mr Jenner. If you’ll accept the message I’m sending to your overlay…”
“This is from my old organisation. These codes were used to identify couriers and operators.”
“Yes, as I said. Benedict Jenner sent us.”
“So if there are no ships, how did you get here, and how do you intend to rescue me?”
She indicated the case. “I have with me a prototype stolen from the Korveli-Xue Corporation.”
“What is it?” I could see the constant interruptions were starting to get to Art.
“It’s a portable Jump Gate.”
This time, his eyes twitched. I could see that he was a man who rarely was surprised, and he barely concealed it this time. He considered us before him, his demeanour suddenly shifted. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“Does it work?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Mr Donovan here has the means to ignite the Gate and allow a number of people to Shift to the other side. Jenner has the sister Gate set up at one of his facilities.”
He began to study me more closely, as if seeing me for the first time.
“Donovan, huh?” he rubbed his beared chin. It was angular, more so than a full human’s. I saw the blended ancestry in him that I saw in Jenner as well.
“Yes, sir.” I was giving nothing away. I began to see the danger in this man. His mind was always alert, scheming and plotting.
“Any relation to Heiron Donovan?”
“He was…is my grandfather.”
The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, one could mistake it for a smile.
“Castor’s boy…I knew your mother, you know?”
“No, sir. I did not know.”
“I thought all the Donovan’s were dead.”
“No, sir.”
“You don’t speak much do you, boy?”
“I speak only as much as is needed.”
He did smile then, and gave a short chuckle.
“You’re not here to finish what your grandfather started, are you?”
“No, sir. What beef you may have had with old man Heiron is between you and him.”
“Old man? Ha. I suppose he is, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
He studied me for a while more, a nostalgic look upon his face. He turned to face Art after a while.
“What about you? You the offspring of any of my old enemies?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir.” she was taking a page out of my book.
He appeared deep in thought for a few more moments before addressing us again.
“So the Protectorate are not coming?”
“No, sir,” I answered, “They’ll be shutting down the system’s Jump Gate in a couple of weeks. This is the last chance you’ll get to be able leave. I strongly suggest you also allow your people to leave with you.”
“Why?”
It was my turn to get frustrated. “Because of the army coming to kill everybody!”
“You don’t think my boys can handle them?”
“No, sir.”
He nodded to himself. “I don’t think so, either.”
He looked down at the desk, hand on his chin in thought.
“Can you tell me something?” I asked.
He looked up at me, eyebrows raised.
“Why are they raiding like this? Why are those people killing everyone?”
He gave a short huff. “They don’t kill everyone. They used to recruit. Convert or die, that age old ultimatum.”
“Convert?”
He looked over us, taking in the survivors of Naga Team this time.
“I know now why you have Protectorate dogs with you – they’re here to make sure I let these people get out with me, aren’t they?”
“No, sir. I’m here for that.”
“Are you now?” his smile returned, “You’re a lot like Heiron, you know?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You got balls. I’ll give you that. Not many people would talk to me that way. Not here, not back in Protectorate space, either.”
“I’m not many people.”
“No, you’re a Donovan. It’s because of that that I’m going to let you keep those balls you’re so proud of.”
“Thank you, sir.” I could see Art getting anxious in the corner of my eye. I knew it was dangerous to bait this man, but something about him set my danger sense on edge.
“So let me get this straight. You,” he said, pointing at Art, “are Benedict’s agent. Your job is to get me out of here. You,” he pointed at me, “your job was to get her here, but your Donovan morals have made you want to step in and rescue as many innocents as possible. That about right, Miss Derris?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You never answered my question.” I said.
“No, I didn’t. I bet you have a whole galaxy of other questions too. Where is the Ghantri Fleet? What are all those strange symbols everywhere? What were the Ghantri looking for in the asteroids? Why did the Betrayal ever happen?”
I turned to look at Kekkin and the others.
“Yes I do.”
“You ask a lot. But I am a generous man. I can certainly answer a few of those questions. One thing my old man taught me, though, was that realisation was better than explanation.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m going to cut you a deal. I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll take this ride through this Jump Gate, and I’ll take as many people with me as I can.”
I suddenly felt a weight fall off my shoulders.
“Thank you, sir.” I said, and I meant it.
“On one condition,” he held up a bony finger, “You kill someone for me.”
I looked at Artemis, worry clear on her face.
“Who? Why?”
“Who – I’ll sort that out next. Why? Isn’t the fact that you’ll be responsible for saving all these people reason enough?”
“Why do you want them dead?”
He grinned, teeth flashing like a galab. “Why I want them dead is tied into that first question – Who. If I’m to get off this cursed station, I want to be sure that one being is dead before I go.”
“Who?”
“Now you’re talking like one of my own. The ‘Why’ doesn’t matter. Only the ‘Who’.”
“Who?” I repeated, fists clenched at my sides.
“Who is the answer to many of your questions. Have you ever met a Ghantri Sectis?”
“No.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. The Sectis are the ‘Who’. They are also the ‘Why’. They the ‘How’, the ‘Where’ and the ‘What’. The Sectis are the everything. Everything you seek to know about the Gossamer System is the Sectis. And there is one Sectis on Ambrose Station.”
A cog turned, a light switched on, a sensor beacon pinged inside my mind.
“A religious caste Ghantri?”
Osiris smiled an evil grin, nodding slowly.
“The Ghantri are converting the refugees out there?”
“Convert or die.”
“For what purpose?”
He shrugged. “Maybe they want an army. There are several more, just like this horde. They’ve already wiped out the other settlements. ”
“That’s it? That’s all you know?”
“I know where the Sectis is. You can get the rest of the information from it. Then you kill it. You do that, I’ll make sure every man, woman and child here gets through your Jump Gate.”
“Deal.” I shook his hand, and he nodded.
“I’ll have my people give you lodgings here for the time being. Your wounded can rest while you do it.” he indicated Rego, still propped up against Renthal.
I turned and walked out, Naga Team following on my heels.
65.
True to his word, Osiris sent a lackey to show us to some vacant rooms in his tower. There were many people moving about, on various tasks. There seemed to be a lot going on – preparation for the coming battle, no doubt. I questioned our guide about the source of the technology we saw and he muttered something about scout teams and salvage crews. He didn’t elaborate, except to say that the ‘General’ had been gathering the tech for years.
So Osiris calls himself General, I thought, I wonder if it was self-appointed or awarded.
Our quarters were sparse, but functional. One of the many barracks stationed in the tower. Seemed that Osiris’ soldiers were given lodgings in the heart of this stronghold, while the civilians lived and worked in the fields outside. I tried not to feel cynical about it, these men and women were doing the best they could to defend those weaker than themselves, but I couldn’t shake the feeling they were being used somehow.
Maybe it was just my bullshit detector going into overdrive around Blackburn.
We collected our gear from outside and stowed it inside the walls, then made sure Rego was comfortable. His painkillers were all gone, and his wounds were giving him grief. Some natural rest would do him some good. We were interrupted by the arrival of Alexander, carrying a bundle of folded maps.
He tossed them on the nearest bunk. “The General asked me to give you these. I’m to lead a scout team to guide you to the Sectis as well.”
“What can you tell us about it?” I asked.
“Not much. No one has seen it. Not really.” he said, apologetically.
“No one has seen it?” asked Renthal, “How do you know where it is, then?”
“We track it by the effect it has.”
“Explain.” ordered Kekkin.
“Where ever it travels, it always seems to draw the more fanatical converts to it’s location. They’re stronger and faster, as well.”
“When the converts are near the Sectis, they’re augmented somehow?” I asked.
“Yes. We’ve been doing hit and fade attacks along this industrial concourse,” he explained, drawing his finger down one of the maps, “About here, we started to see the effects of the Sectis – mortal wounds ignored, incredibly accurate throws of their spears and bow shots. They wouldn’t fall back, fighting to the last instead of digging in.”
“Do they care about their safety? Or do they rush into oncoming fire?” I asked.
“They run at us like madmen.” he whispered. His stare took on a faraway look.
“Have you ever captured one?”
“Several times, but when we try to take then back to the university they have convulsions and die before we get them here.”
“Suicide pill?” Harris asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Art, “they would have secured the prisoners fairly well. Especially after the first few died.”
“Did you keep the bodies?” I asked.
“We still have two here,” replied Alexander, “We haven’t had time to burn them yet. Why?”
“I’d like to examine them, please.”
“Okay, shouldn’t we be going, though? The raiders will be here in a day, the Sectis needs to be killed before then.”
“The key to any victory is intelligence.” stated Kekkin, giving me a knowing nod.
“I’d like to know how these raiders are being augmented before we attack. We need to know if it’s something we can neutralise or if it will affect us.”
Alexander led us down to the base of the tower, and across the field to a building set up as a hospital. In the basement was a functional morgue. An orderly pointed out the bodies for us to examine and we placed them on a set of examination tables.
One of the bodies was human, while the other was an Orlii. Both had non-fatal wounds, but their faces were twisted in horrid fashion – as if in the grip of pain.
“What are we doing here, boss?” asked Renthal, unease clear in his voice.
I picked up a scalpel and made a small incision on the human’s arm. They had been dead for nearly two days, so their flesh had begun to return to a flaccid state. I activated my battlenet connection.
Ormund, I need an analysis of a blood and tissue sample I’m sending you. Get it to Zoe.
Standing by.
I activated my Scan Paradigm, letting the nanites explore the dead flesh, the thick, congealed blood that oozed from the wound. I did the same to the Orlii body. Lastly, I picked up a cranial drill and took a sample of their brain matter. It was gruesome work, but if the effect was biological or chemical – we had to know how to defend against it. A simple suit breach might be enough for us to become infected.
When I had a full spectrum of data prepared, I sent it to Ormund. Fifteen minutes passed before I received a reply.
Ms. Ward says that there are trace amounts of an unknown chemical compound within the blood samples, but the most troubling is the brain samples. She said they are almost total devoid of normal neural transmitters – dopomine, serotonin, GABA. She also says that norepinephrine levels are through the roof.
What can she tell me about this chemical in the blood?
Wait one…she says she doesn’t recognise it. She’s sure it’s indigenous to the planet Ghan, or was at least developed locally.
What does it do?
No way to know without more information and research.
I swore under my breath. I explained about the bodies, and the effects they exhibited.
She says that the levels of naturally occurring chemicals in the samples indicates that they were definitely augmented somehow. Are you sure there are no bio-augs in the bodies?
I checked with my nanites, they showed they were both young enough to have been born on Ambrose, with no augs – Bio or otherwise.
She says that the deaths, and the samples, show that they may have died of withdrawal. The chemical found in the blood could be a narcotic, which produces the effects witnessed, which these crazies need to take regularly. Would explain why they stay near the Sectis – and why they died within hours of removal from the source.
“Help me examine the skin,” I said to the others, going over the arms and neck, “Look for needle marks, injector scars or chem-patch stains.”
After a while, we gave up. Can’t find any signs of regular drug use. How would they be taking it?
Zoe says it could be an aerosol. It would have to be fast acting, so orally is out of the question.
So this Sectis thing sprays clouds of this drug wherever it goes?
Could be. In smaller doses, the drug could also be used to convert these people. What better reward than the added strength and toughness to fight?
I was suddenly reminded of the drug deal I had helped set up, back on Eridani Station. My blood ran cold as I recalled the ampoules that the black market trafficker Wilson Graham had stolen. I sent Ormund the data from that deal, but I didn’t explain where I’d gotten it from.
Zoe says it’s a match. It’s the same chemical as the traces found in the blood.
Is there enough data to formulate an antidote, or a defence against this?
Wait one…yes. Zoe says she can do it, but she’ll need an hour. She says we have enough AI cores here to work a solution.
What will I need to produce the serum?
Sending you a list of equipment that can do the job.
Thanks.
I grabbed a tablet from my pack and transferred the list to it, then passed it to Alexander.
“Can you find out if you have any of these items here?”
He nodded, leaving at a run.
“Why don’t we just wear our M4 MAEL’s with full life support?” asked Renthal.
“When was the last time you did a suit integrity test?”
He frowned. “It’s repairable.”
“Not full seal. You’ll have enough insulation to survive in vacuum, but you won’t have full integrity against biological or chemical weapons. I’m not willing to take that risk. Not yet, anyway. If we can synthesise an antidote against this, it’s our best shot.”
“Naga-zak is right,” said Kekkin, “If we fail, these people will need a defence against the calak drug. May be the only hope they have of defending against the Ghantri Sectis and it’s horde.”
No pressure, I thought, a few thousand lives depending on me is all.
66.
It took Zoe almost two hours to piece together a viable antidote for the Sectis drug. Something to do with the alien chemistries that were used. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was going to work, but it should offer some resistance to the drugs effects. Good enough for me.
Osiris gave us access to the synthesiser we needed to produce the serum, and after printing out doses for Naga Team, he ordered as many doses as possible produced and started handing them out to his troops. It wasn’t lost on me that he made no mention of giving it to the civilians in his care. I tried to tell myself it was smart to protect the combatants first, but it left a bad taste in my mouth regardless.
I wasted no more time than necessary. Alexander and three of his scouts lead us out of the fortress proper, following a ravine formed by ruined buildings covered by soil and overgrowth. Most of the landscape outside the walls had seen similar treatment, converting the rubble of half-finished construction into arable land. What fields we saw were jotted with concrete slabs and corroded rebar. The scent of smoke was heavy on the air, a constant reminder of the coming destruction.
“We’ll be coming wide around the two main forces,” explained Alexander after we stopped for a breather, “We’ll lose time doing so, but we want to come around behind them and hit them from the rear.”
“Smart tactic.” approved Kekkin, “Force moves like fedang, no direction.”
The scouts were in radio contact with several other teams that were moving about the countryside, monitoring the horde. Artemis and Tac remained at the university, monitoring our swarm of recon drones.
Between them, our team was able to avoid the main brunt of the attacking force. This was going to be a surgical strike, not a pitched battle. The kind of thing Naga Team was built for. It took us almost fifteen hours, slogging through the ruins of a post-apocalyptic landscape, but eventually we met with the tail end of the raiding force.
Our first sighting was a small group of lethargic raiders, moving as if exhausted. We thought about picking them off with snipers, but we need not have bothered. While we watched one, then others, began to collapse. By the time we reached them, they were corpses. A quick scan of their blood confirmed what we suspected – the Sectis chemical affected them.
“Maybe the drug wears off?” suggested Geko.
“Or they build a resistance to it?” said Triptych, “If they remain within the area long enough the regular dose no longer provides the same effect, they get weaker and fall behind.”
I nodded in agreeance. “Seems plausible.”
“The closer we get, the stronger the calak becomes.” said Kekkin.
I turned to Alexander and his scouts. “We can take it from here. You can go back to the university and report in.”
He took offense to what I said. “We’re not leaving!”
“You don’t need to be here.”
“This is our world, not yours! This is our fight more than it is the Protectorate’s.”
“I understand that, but I don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger. We’re trained soldiers, with state of the art weapons and armour.”
He gave me a look that spoke a multitude of words. I looked around at us, and saw the sorry state we were in, the wear of our long journey to get here evident.
“Okay, point taken. But we’re professional soldiers, you’re…”
“What? We’re soldiers, too. We’ve been fighting for years!”
“I mean no disrespect, but you’ll be needed back on the wall when the main force hits.”
“This battle is more important. If we cut off the head of the horde, we give the university a fighting chance.”
I sighed. “You don’t know our tactics, our method of fighting. You’re not augmented like we are.” To prove my point I picked up a small block on concrete and crushed it in my gauntlet, the exo-rig hardening like a diamond brace.
“This is the Protectorate way? How do I know you won’t run like the last time an important battle took place? You think you can come here and show off with your fancy gear and your brave soldiers? Then what? Run when the fighting get’s too fierce? I saw the sky battle, years ago. I saw the Protectorate sky ships burn and the soldiers land. But they did nothing. They died and they ran. How do I know you won’t run, too?”
While he said this, tears were running down his cheeks. It affected me, too. I felt each accusation like a blow. Because he was right. We had run. We were being beaten, but instead of regrouping, we withdrew. My squad died as a result, I never considered what price these people might pay. Was this situation, the raiders, a consequence of our failed assault during the Push? Doubts began to cloud my mind. What right did I have to be here, causing more trouble for these people who had suffered enough? What right did I have to even think that I could make a difference here when thousands could not?
A heavy gauntlet gripped my shoulder. “Naga-zak was there, at your sky battle.” said Kekkin, “He was the last to leave, not because he chose to, but because he had to. He was the last to stop fighting, but he never gave up, he never ran. He is here now to finish the job. He did not have to be, but here he is. Here we are.”
Alexander looked me in the eyes. I saw the defiance on his face, but I also saw the fear. “We’ll fight with you.”
“I can’t ask that of you.” I said
“You don’t have to – we all have something to gain by being here.”
I looked over at the other scouts, saw the same determination in their faces. I nodded, and gripped Alexander’s forearm. He smiled at me and returned my grasp.
We didn’t have far to travel, after that. We started to spot more of the stragglers, and we started to sneak up on them and kill them with knives.
Geko and Harris took point, trailing each group until a good ambush site was reached. Eventually, there started to be too many to take out and we returned to avoiding them. It wasn’t long before we found the Sectis’ lair for the coming battle.
As we climbed a toppled building, we found an industrial compound flattened, mostly, by the wreckage of forward section from a starship. The markings on the hull were Ghantri, one of the types built by the Jaani in the ship yards above us. All about the wreckage were throngs of the converted, the most alert ones we had seen so far. These converted appeared strong, in full control of their facilities. There would be no easy kills with this lot.
“I’ve never seen so many in one place,” said Alexander, “Normally they move around in groups.”
“They’re preparing for the attack.” I said.
Kekkin nodded. “We should wait for the attack to begin, safer.”
I agreed. Alexander took some convincing, though. He wanted to go right in. He saw the wisdom in this eventually – especially when I pointed out that it would be dark soon.
We waited and the ring of Ambrose Station rotated, putting the Gossamer star out of sight. As the purple glow of the Great Web nebula lit our way, the drug crazed soldiers moved towards the university, letting out cries of war.
Ar’od Dar gazed down upon us from his web.
67.
The dark was our weapon.
We moved between pools of tenebrous shadow. We crept toward the convert encampment, ghosts of vengeance and death. Kekkin found the first sentry. Rising as if smoke, he hacked their head clean from their shoulders in one swift blow. Renthal scored the next. He drove his combat blade through the hapless convert’s throat, covering their mouth. Harris took his share and gutted a pair that stumbled across our path. The strength of our suits allowed us to inflict terrible wounds with ease, cutting down our foe like chopping cabbage.
We reached the heart of their camp without firing a single shot. There were still dozens of converted in the encampment, reserves or guards for the Sectis, no doubt. The air was a pungent melange of earthy soil and a sickly sweat odour like honey and pure alcohol. It made our heads light, the blood in our ears hot, but Zoe’s serum worked.
We crouched in the shadow of a tattered tent, while Alexander and the scouts provided overwatch from the roof of a squat, flat building forty metres on our flank. I at least managed to convince them to avoid the heaviest fighting. They would provide covering fire while we retreated after our kill.
“That airlock should be serviceable,” pointed Renthal, “I saw a converted walk through there an hour ago.”
“We move when that next patrol passes.” I said, indicating a trio of guards nearby.
When they passed, Geko moved up and examined the hatch, then waved for us to follow shortly after. Inside was dark, lit only by a burning torch. The flickering shadows made it hard to see details, but we found the inner ‘lock and made our way inside the crashed ship.
“Launching recon drone.” whispered Triptych, flicking a small hovering drone from a recess on his arm. It lifted away and raced down the passageway, feeding a wireframe image of the ship as it went. We followed slowly behind, weapons at the ready. We had our rifles drawn, attaching flash suppressors to the muzzles. These modules would reduce our range significantly, but the light from the rifles would be less, and the noise even more so. Against shielded opponents, they were next to useless, but we guessed these converts would not have such technology.
Contact, texted Triptych, dead ahead. Two tangos.
Geko, Harris, you’re on point, I ordered
The pair moved ahead, hunched over their rifles. Faint, high-pitched reports rang out down the corridor, accompanied by faint flashes of light.
Tangos down, reported Harris.
The passageway carried on for another fifty metres before branching. The drone followed the starboard side, while we carried on to port. We found another converted, walking down the passage carrying a lit torch, and put him down as efficiently as before.
Check those hatches, I said to Harris, as we reached a string of hatches along one bulkhead.
Empty, he said, after carefully opening the first. The others were the same, filled with trashed equipment and refuse. Only one appeared to have any function, a simple sleeping quarter for several people.
LT, said Triptych, the drone has found a stairwell.
I glanced at the feed. Send it up – we’re going to head for the bridge. We’ll backtrack and head that way.
As we moved, the drone kept painting the feed with the layout of the upper deck. The passage opened into a wider corridor, with side exits. At the far end of the upper deck was a larger, fortified hatch.
“Blast door,” said Kekkin, forgoing the usual overlay comms, “Bridge beyond.”
I gestured for Naga Team to go, and we made our way to the stairwell. At the top, we encountered more of the converted – three had gathered in one of the compartments off the corridor, and another two were further down. With brutal efficiency, we gunned them down, the flashing hardlight bullets faintly illuminating the corridor like weak strobe lights.
We approached the blast door and I reached out with my nanites to look for weaknesses.
“No power, mechanical only.” I said after a few moments, reading the data provided by my Scan Paradigm.
“Not sure we can cut through here.” said Renthal, “These blast doors are built to withstand damage, after all. The bulkheads will be reinforced, too.”
“Let’s set up this corridor as our rear guard,” I ordered, “Triptych, sensor mines at the top of the stairs and disorient flares along the bulkheads. I’m going to try and scan through this bulkhead, see if I can find how to open this.”
“Will be on the other side.” agreed Kekkin.
My hand was cold against the metal as I closed my eyes. The nanites began to slip between the molecules, investigating the construction of the door. I sent them in all directions, taking the time to search for the mechanism. I located a winch nearly ten metres to the left, along the bulkhead.
“I’m sensing a void on the other side, it’s pretty open.” I pulled back from the door. The squad was removing their suppressors. I did the same.
“What’s your plan?” asked Renthal.
“I’m going to translate through and get to that winch. Hopefully it hasn’t seized.”
“Good luck.”
I grunted, and then blew the air out of my cheeks. “Here goes nothing.”
I slipped between dimensions, stepping through the hatch as if it was made of gelatine. Disoriented, I stood wavering for a moment. The darkness was absolute on the other side, and I got the impression that the compartment was big and empty. I carefully slid across the deck towards the winch, moving my hands across the bulkhead for guidance. When I reached it, I managed to get a gauntlet on it before suddenly being torn away and tossed into the air by an unknown force.
I crashed to the deck, the wind knocked out of me, and heard my rifle clatter away. I hastily activating my suit lights and scrambled to my feet. A dark shape flashed before my eyes and a solid blow smashed into my chestplate, sending me flying once more.
I smashed into a console, scattering shards of glass in all directions. I felt, rather than saw the shape move towards me again, but I activate Spatial Translation and shifted five metres to my right. I swung around, trying to get a clear look at my attacker, drawing my lurzak with a snap from my left shoulder. With my other hand, I pulled a flare from a utility pouch and ignited it. Before I could make sense of my surroundings, a black claw lashed out at the flare and slapped it across the compartment.
In the crimson glare, I could see the bridge was big. Bigger than the Astral Spider’s was. I guessed this ship was originally at least as large as a destroyer was, probably closer to a cruiser in size. Arrayed as three tiers of platforms, descending as it went, several banks of consoles adorned the bridge, but otherwise the compartment was spacious and unburdened.
I caught sight of the Sectis, then. My lights rose up on a large figure, wreathed in swirling, crawling…things. The Sectis was tall, about three metres. It had no legs, but rose up on a column of writhing, mechanical devices like millions of tiny insects. Its torso and main body were a dark grey carapace, but in place of arms were a dozen long insect-like appendages. All about it flew swarms of the same dark mechanical insects that obscured its lower section. Dozens of multi-faceted eyes crested a triangular head, eyes that sparkled in my suit lights. The lower part of the face was soft tissue, instead of chitin, with a mouth full of sharp black teeth.
It regarded me coldly, tilting its head to one side, sneering. Its many arms flexed, outstretched like a spider ready to pounce.
“It resists…” it spoke, a voice like a rusty file. I could make out a fine mist spraying from its bony shoulders and back.
“Surprise, motherfucker.” I said, circling for better footing.
“Not like others. This one defies.”
“There’s a whole lot more of us ready to defy you, too.”
“Speaks words. Empty words.”
“You think you’re going to get out of this alive, don’t you?”
“So does it.”
I tilted my head at it. Touché, I thought.
“Why are you here? You never came dirtside before.” I probed.
“Why are you? Where are you from?” it countered.
“A trade of information?”
It seemed to shudder, throwing a multitude of synthetic insects from its torso as it did.
“Yes. Words with it.”
I relaxed a little, but didn’t let my guard down entirely. I was still within range of its claws. I continued to side step, warily keeping my distance. It matched my movements, its head tracking me as I went.
“Me first. Why are you here?”
It grinned a black-toothed grin. “To lead army. How do you resist?”
“Science, arsehole.” I could play this game, too.
“Cunning. Not smart. Answers question, or it dies.”
“We broke down your chemicals and injected an antidote. Is this how you converted those people? With this drug?”
“Convert, no. Control, yes.”
I rubbed my chin with my off hand. It was time I brought Ormund in on this.
Are you seeing this?
I am, he replied, intriguing. It hesitates to kill you, seeking information instead. What are you planning?
I was hoping you have some questions to pose it. Seems willing to share at the moment. We might not get another chance like this.
We need to know about that fleet, and what they plan to do about this army they’ve converted. That should be your priority.
It seemed to be regarding me, its head moving about in short jerking motions. Its next question sent ice through my veins.
“Who does it speak to? Where is other voice?”
“You can hear that?” I blurted it out in shock without thinking.
It flexed its limbs again, stretching them wide threateningly. “Not its turn. Answer question.”
“A friend. He is far away, not on this station. I told you, there were many more of me waiting for you.”
Try and not threaten it, just yet, texted Ormund.
It was my turn for a question. “What is the purpose of this army?”
“Crush enemies. Win battle. Bring glory to gods.”
Its taking a very literal approach to these questions, you’re going to have to outthink it.
A hissing noise emanated from the Sectis. “It can try.”
I backed up a step, rising up to the second platform and putting a console between us. It followed, circling around the console as it came.
It pointed a clawed limb at my chest. I tried not to flinch away from it. “How many on station?”
“Hundreds.”
“Lies!”
It lashed out, almost catching me unprepared. I ducked the blow at the last moment and the claw raked across the console, sending debris in all directions. I fell backwards and backpedalled further away.
“Smells lies! Answer! Speak truth or it dies.”
“Nine!” I called out as it advanced on me, “There are nine of us left on the station. Six are close!”
It paused its menacing advance, recoiling its limbs. It let me rise, using a shaky hand to help me stand as I leaned against another console.
“Where is your fleet?” I stammered out, trying to find some backbone.
“Gone to find gods. Bring Ar’od Dar to soft ones.” It once again gestured at me.
I carefully stepped backwards again, circling around to another bank of consoles. Slowly, it followed, keeping me within striking distance.
“Why is it here?”
“Why am I here?” I asked.
“Answer.”
“To rescue Osiris Blackburn,” I replied but when I saw it rear up again, I knew that I had not spoken the truth, “To rescue the civilians here, to avenge my fallen squad. To bring closure to my past.”
These answers seemed to placate it. Instead of striking, it hissed at me.
“Too many answers.”
“It’s the truth. You know it. My turn. Where are your gods?”
It waved several limbs in an arc, indicating two thirds of space above us.
“Great Web.”
The fleet went into the nebula? They think the Destroyers are in there?
At least they’re not on their way to Protectorate space, I replied.
“Protectorate tried to kill,” it said, pausing for a hideous chuckle, “Killed them back.”
By now, I had risen through to the back of the compartment, mid-way between the blast door controls and my fallen rifle. At least, where I guessed them to be. I dared not turn my head to look, or my game would be up.
I jumped a little when it hopped onto the next platform, my breath drawn in a gasp.
“When will Protectorate strike again?” it asked, stalking closer to me.
“Probably never, they don’t think it’s worth the risk, anymore.”
“Why?”
My answer seemed to have baffled it. It pulled up short, standing tall instead of hunching over menacingly. I stammered out an answer. “Why? Politics, mostly. Resources. They’re cautious. They don’t think annihilating you would be worth the cost. They would rather cage you up."
“Fools!” it bellowed, “Gods have spoken! Protectorate will know folly.”
As it said these words, it spun about and thrashed another bank of consoles, tearing one completely free of its housings. Seeing my chance, I turned and dashed to the blast door controls. Gripping it with both hands, I got it half way through a full turn before the Sectis smartened up to what I was doing and lunged at me.
A great weight smashed against me, cracking my ribs and causing me to call out in pain. It flung me aside, I slid and crashed into the wreckage of a console.
Drawing my sidearm, my trusty PX-2, I snapped off a shot. The Sectis seemed to twitch, then disappeared from view, leaving behind a cloud of robotic insects and mist. I whirled about, desperate to find it again. I saw it too late – a trio of black arms struck out and sent me tumbling over a console and down to a lower platform. I held on to my weapons, somehow, and rose on one knee to fire off several blasts in the direction it had come from, but suddenly it was above me. I had enough time to see two claws stabbing down at me before I rolled away, sparks flying where the claws struck the deck. I fired off two more shots back the way I had come, but it was no longer there. I dived forward on instinct, then rolled away again. Each time, I heard the clang of blows where I had been. I heard it moving across the deck, like dragging a heavy chain across the deckplates. The flare died out, sending the compartment into darkness once more.
I moved around behind another console and quickly holstered my sidearm. I drew another flare from a utility pouch and struck it against the console, averting my gaze. Another blow knocked me to the deck and the flare flew from my grasp.
The compartment was lit by red flare light, and I could see the layout better. I could hear a thud thudding on the blast door, the rest of my allies trying to get in. I had to get to that winch. I saw the creature rearing up for another strike, but this time I sidestepped and swung with my lurzak, connecting with an arm as it came down. A bright flash erupted from the contact and it screeched in pain. I was grimly satisfied to see a thirty-centimetre section of claw fly away as it reared back.
I drew my sidearm again and tried to shoot it in the face, but it flickered, and vanished, appearing metres away to my right.
What the hell, I thought, it just translated!
It leapt towards me, vanishing as it did so. I immediately translated towards the blast door, lunging for the winch in desperation. I almost got a good yank on it but had to back away again as it came for me.
I had to keep it occupied for just a moment while I forced open the blast door. I translated to the far end of the bridge and started firing wildly at the Sectis. Each time it translated, I also translated, turning to face where I had been and firing in that direction. After several times of doing this it stopped translating and crouched down, hissing at me.
“Come on, I can do this all day!” I shouted at it.
It suddenly emitted a loud cacophony that blasted my ears, affecting me as if a bomb had exploded nearby. I reeled, gripping my ears in pain. It stretched out an arm and crackling electricity played over the tip before shooting out like lightning towards me. I held out my lurzak, instinctually manipulating my nanites similar to the Stun Paradigm, but in reverse. As my nanites met the lightning, they tried to bleed the charge into the air around it. It almost worked.
A ball of lightning struck me square on the chest and I convulsed while screaming in pain. The fact that I couldn’t release the grasp I had on my weapons if I’d wanted, kept them from flying away as I flung my arms wide.
Through blurry eyes, I saw the Sectis rushing at me from the other side of the bridge, arms raised to strike. I fell to my knee, suddenly weak from pain, but used the momentum to roll forward and tucked my head under my chin as I did. The Sectis bowled into me, crashing over my body and into the bulkhead behind me. I was flung aside like a ragdoll. Dazed, I looked up from the deck to see the Sectis trying to untangle itself from torn cables and debris from a rent in the bulkhead. Seeing my chance, I translated to the blast door and grabbed the winch with both hands. I noted with concern that my exo-rig was non-functional, and a stabbing pain in my side made me cry out as I used all my strength to operate the winch.
It moved, rotating slowly as I desperately pulled on the wheel. With a grinding screech, the blast door began to slide away. The angry red glow of the flare was obliterated by a bright torrent of hardlight bullets lancing through the hatchway. Naga Team stormed the bridge, splitting to port and starboard as they did. I half fell against the bulkhead, then saw my rifle resting a few metres away. I dove for it, my fingers curling around the grip. Tears of pain clouded my vision, but I could make out the writhing form of the Sectis on the far side of the bridge as the squad advanced on the creature. I braced my rifle on a console, connected a telescoping cable from my suit’s reactor and opened up in full automatic.
Our shots were hammering into the alien, but the insectile devices around it were moving to intercept the bullets.
“Reloading!” called Renthal, his battery cell clattering to the deck. He hastily slapped another cell into his rifle and kept firing. Another call came out, another cell was replaced. Still the thing did not die.
My rifle barrel glowed a warm orange, and I tossed it to the deck. The acrid smell of heated metal filled my senses as I pulled myself to my feet, wincing in pain. I drew in my breath and with a defiant cry, flung out my arms and let loose with a lightning arc of my own. The brilliant plasma played out over the Sectis, splashing over the thousands of insect drones. The effect was immediate – they simply flew apart and clattered to the deck, inert and motionless. Unimpeded, the hardlight bullets drilled into the Sectis as it screamed in agony.
“Cease fire!” called Kekkin, seconds after the beast stopped screaming. Moments later, the only sound was the heavy breathing of the squad.
Then I fell down in pain.
68.
Geko helped me to my feet as I struggled to breathe, accepting a pain killing injector from Kekkin. I waited for a few moments, my eyes closed, until the drugs started to work and the sharp pain in my ribs reduced to a warm numbness instead. I worked my shoulder, stretching my side. I could feel the damage to my body, but for the time being I was operational. A quick pick-me-up in the form of a Repair Paradigm boosted my stamina.
“How are we doing?” I asked Kekkin, indicating the twitching form of the Sectis.
“It lives. For how long, don’t know.”
I hobbled over to the thing, my lip twisted in a grimace. Harris and Renthal were standing over it with their still smoking rifles pointed at it. The damage was immense. Several of its limbs were severed and a full half of its torso was a bloody mess. The long, snake-like lower section of creature was fully visible and I could make out thousands of tiny apertures along the sides. I could see a slow trickle of the tiny insect robots fall from many of them, while a dark grey ichor oozed from others. The ichor matched the blood of the Sectis.
The humanoid mouth bubbled with bloody foam while it worked its jaw, clearly in pain.
“How many of you are there?” I asked it, kneeling by its broken form.
It gasped for air, eliciting a cough before answering. “Sectis knows it. Ghantri marked it for death.”
I regarded it, noting the similarities with the Ghantri soldiers. The flesh of the Sectis held the same rubbery texture, but this one’s body had been heavily augmented with cybernetic attachments. Now that I could see it closely, I saw that the extra limbs and lower portion were flesh-coated cybernetics. All that remained of the creature’s original body was the upper torso, neck and lower face. The rest was built.
“We’ve come for the people here, to take them home.” I said finally, peeling back a damaged section of cybernetic plating to peer at the wound.
“So have we…” it hissed.
“Why? Why not use your own people as soldiers? Why take these people?”
It made a convulsing motion, coughing again. It was trying to laugh. The creature coughed again weakly, spittle and blood falling from its mouth.
“Why?” I asked, slapping aside a limb reaching out weakly for me.
“Our cage is no more. The stars are open to us and your worlds will be consumed. The Ghantri will bring about the return of the world eaters, your Protectorate blood will be ours. You are nothing before…”
I shot the thing in the head.
I rose, turning to face the others. “I already had what we needed from it.”
“See if it has a neural interface.” said Harris, “Where the memory is stored from its cybernetics.”
“Good thinking,” I said, digging my lurzak into its head. Sure enough, the Sectis had an interface overlay implant, just like we did. There would be valuable intel stored on here. I pried it free of the grey matter it was lodged in. “Tac can hack this. We’ll get it back to the university.”
Kekkin nodded and was about to say something, but then grabbed his helmet. I could hear the short wave comms unit inside it barking out Alexander’s voice.
“We’re under fire! The camp went berserk a few moments ago – they’re going crazy out here!”
“What is human’s situation?” asked Kekkin.
“We tried to fall back undetected but a bunch of them came across us, we killed several of them but now they’re all attacking. We retreated to the hill overlooking the camp and have slowed them down, but they’re pushing through our fire!”
“Have them fall back.” I ordered, “Get tell them to make their way back to the university, we’ll push out and engage to buy them some time.”
As Kekkin relayed this, the others grimly readied their gear once more for a fight.
“Contact!” shouted Triptych from the passageway. Half a second later a loud bang blasted through the compartment as the anti-personnel mines by the stairwell detonated.
They came in three waves, making a rush for the top of the stairwell and trying to push into the passageway. As we joined Triptych, adding our gunfire to his, they poured up through the access hatch and died in a hail of hardlight bullets.
We wasted no time, making our way down to the corridors below and secured the airlock we had used to enter the wreck. No more drug-crazed berserkers attacked us inside.
Once outside, we could see the Gossamer star beginning to crest the edge of the ring and daylight flooded the land around us. The camp was a chaotic mess of berserker corpses and torn apart lodgings as the last vestiges of the Sectis drove the remaining soldiers mad with blood lust. Bright flashes from the hill beyond told us that Alexander and his men had not heeded our commands, and even as we watched we could see many dozens of the enemy swarming up the slopes to reach them.
“Heavy weapons fire! On the ridge!” I ordered.
Renthal unslung a pack he carried and tossed it to the ground, then activated a keypad on his arm. The pack unfolded to reveal a small turret that telescoped out of a housing. Immediately, the turret began tracking targets and a bright red beam of super-heated light shot out of the barrel. The beam swept across the ridge, pausing briefly on each target, burning them to a crisp.
“Geko, Harris, right flank. Engage when in enfilade! Trip, Kekkin, with me.” I ran at a sprint across the camp, snapping off shots as I went.
Those halfway up the slope halted their advance, turning to face us running up at them. Renthal’s beam artillery hammered at the enemy at the top and the energy weapon shots from Alexander’s team ceased. Hopefully they had turned to run.
We dug in as soon as the front ranks of the berserkers reached us, very few of them had ranged weapons, but many of them were armed with primitive throwing weapons such as spears and rocks. With their added strength, a lucky throw could pierce our suits. Kekkin used his lurzak to dispatch those who got close to us, while Triptych and I fired into their ranks. Just as the main bulk of them reached us, Harris and Geko opened up on them from their flank. With little cover, and the majority of them lined up along their axis of fire, the pair were able to inflict staggering casualties.
I lost count of how many times I reloaded, tossing each spent cell to the ground. When it was over, the dead were piled about us three or four high. Kekkin climbed to the ridge and scouted ahead, and I was glad to hear that Alexander had made it out. He had lost two of his scouts during the fighting, but the rest had fled in time.
I joined Kekkin on the ridge and looked out over the landscape. He handed me a pair of binoculars and pointed in the direction of the university, here we could see a long plume of black smoke rising.
I could see the battle raging, the horde of marauders throwing themselves at the university outer buildings. The enemy was dying by the dozens, but they came by the thousands. The walls would not hold under such numbers.
We had to get back and get that Jump Gate open. It was as simple as that. There was no time for rest, no time to tend to our wounds. We had not finished our last fight unscathed, either. A group of the berserkers had rushed Renthal while he guided the beam cannon. During the fight, he had taken a spear to his left shoulder. Triptych, during hand-to-hand fighting, had been knocked down and cut across the scalp. Geko was nearly killed when their position was overrun. Kekkin had leapt across the battlefield and pulled the assailants off him as he curled into the foetal position.
It was a crazy fight, one of the closest I had ever been in. Most of it was a blur, a repressed memory or compartmentalisation to protect my fragile psyche. None of that mattered – we all knew what was at stake. We shouldered our rifles and made off at a jog. We had hours to go and were unsure if we could make it in time.
We had to try.
69.
The broken landscape was littered with the debris left behind by the horde, the cast-off gear they no longer needed. Twice we met with rear guard patrols, their purpose unknown. We didn’t stop long enough to ask – we simply killed them and moved on. We passed another of Alexander’s scouts, fallen to a bowshot.
By the time we reached the university, the first line of defence had fallen. The horde had climbed the outer buildings and overrun the defenders there. The only silver-lining was their victory had driven them mad with bloodlust. They no longer cared to secure their rear, and we were able to slip in through a breach left unguarded. Luckily, a hidden entrance that Alexander had shown us had also gone unnoticed.
Inside the second line of defence, the civilians cowered in fear. The throngs of people were passing slowly toward the inner university grounds. The hundreds of families huddled and wept, ash stained faces turned muddy by tears.
We met with Alexander before the university proper, waiting for us by the entrance.
“I’m glad you made it back.” he said, taking my hand in gratitude.
“And you,” I nodded, “you should try and get some rest.”
“Not a chance, I’ll be joining the wall shortly. I just wanted to make sure you knew I made it back. Thanks to you and your men. I see now that the stories about the Protectorate weren’t true. At least, not when you are concerned.”
I smiled at him, and clasped him on the shoulder.
“Good luck.” I said as he dashed off again.
We entered the tower and made our way up, collecting Rego and Tac as we did. Artemis was already with Osiris.
“You’ve returned.” he said, nodding at me as we entered his chamber. He was speaking with one of his men, who left as we approached.
“The Sectis is dead. Time to honour our agreement.” I said.
“What did you think of it?”
“It was a nightmare. I prefer not to think about it, actually.”
He smiled at me. “Did you learn what you sought to learn?”
“I did. Art?”
She opened the case containing the Jump Gate, retrieving a coil of cables wreathed in tiny filaments. She walked over to a wall and used several metal pinions to attach it. She motioned me to approach.
“How’s this going to work?” I asked.
“This is much like when you use Spatial Translation, only instead of focusing them on yourself, use your nanites to affect these filaments.”
I regarded the spindly adornments. They were like needles of glass, with faintly glowing tips.
“How do you mean, affect the filaments?” I asked, after a few moments.
She took a moment to answer. “You focus on the filaments, instead of yourself.”
I turned to look at her. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” she looked somewhat worried.
“That’s all you know about how this works?”
“Apparently, when your nanites interact with these filaments, they’ll know what to do. They’ll sync with the device and I can activate it using this.” She hefted a small remote. “The sister gate should already be on, they’ll link up and open.”
“Naga-zak, a moment.” said Kekkin, gesturing me over to one side.
“What’s up?”
“More armed men have entered the compartment. They are arrayed in a covering formation.”
I glanced about me, noting that he was right. Soldiers had been entering and leaving since we had arrived, but more had been staying. They were not engaged in any activity beyond forming up on various parts of the room. I looked over at Osiris. He was conversing once more with one of his soldiers.
“What’s going on here?” I asked Artemis. She was trying not to meet my gaze.
“I’m sorry.” she said, drawing her sidearm.
I turned to face Osiris, who was approaching from across the compartment.
“What’s the meaning of this?” I accused.
“We’ve come to an agreement – Ms. Derris and I. We feel that the terms of our prior arrangement put too much at stake. The job, Mr Donovan, is everything. You of all people should know that by now.”
I felt my blood run cold.
“What’s he talking about, Artemis?” I said, my eyes not leaving Osiris.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, “He’s right. I can’t risk keeping the portal open for so long. It could create instabilities in the link. Only Osiris and the men in this room will be leaving. That’s the best I can do.”
“Bullshit. We can do this. We have time.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t allow it.”
“Then I won’t open it.” I said, resolute as I stared down at her.
She looked at me, then. I could see the mixed emotions playing across her face. Anger, frustration, fear. Sadness. “Please. Don’t make me do this.”
“I’m not going to let it go down like this. Not now.” I said. Osiris watched the two of us, while the rest of Naga Team kept a close eye on the armed men surrounding us.
Artemis aimed her sidearm at my face. “Open it.”
“No.”
“I’ll shoot you.”
“No you won’t. Besides getting you nowhere, I know you now. You care. You know this is the right thing to do. It’s worth the risk. This man isn’t,” I gestured at Osiris, “but those people out there dying – they are.”
I saw her gun waiver, her face clouded with emotion.
“Goddamn it.” she whispered. She lowered her gun, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“You did your best, girl.” said Osiris, putting a hand on her shoulder as he stepped behind her, “It was worth a shot.”
She suddenly jerked, her sidearm clattering to the floor. She folded down and into my arms, as Osiris stepped back from her, a bloody blade protruding from a recess in the heel of his palm. I heard Naga Team raise their weapons, there were several warning voices about the room – calls to hold fire. Osiris, grinning like the devil while his blade slowly retracted into his wrist, held his hands up in supplication. Artemis lay in my arms, pale and clammy to the touch.
“I’m going to kill you.” I said through clenched teeth.
“Not today. Open the portal, boy. I’ll take her with me and make sure she gets the medical treatment she needs to live. I give you my word.”
“Your word doesn’t mean spit.”
“Nevertheless, I give it. Open the portal, and she will live. Stall, and she will bleed out in your arms.”
My head swam. The voices of all those that had died to get us here were reaching out from the grave to accuse me. Accuse me of failure. I shook my head to clear it, looking down at Artemis. Her eyelids were fluttering. She was awake, but barely conscious. If she died, the Dreaming would die with her. And so would the rest of us.
I made a decision, then. I reached out with my senses, my digital senses. I felt for the filaments, seeking anything strange about them. Instantly, I could feel them – a pull on the nanites like a magnet. I recalled the sensation I felt when I shifted through a Jump Gate while outside the Dreaming, the way reality just peeled back from perception. I recalled the drawing away of the nanites as they stretched through the Jump Gate to the other side of the link, seemingly through time and space. I recalled the feeling I sensed when I translated, and how it tore me temporarily though dimensional boundaries.
I nodded to Osiris, hatred in my eyes. He picked up the device that Artemis had dropped and thumbed a control. With a sound like twisting steel and cracking ice, the space between the cables warped and flashed, finally settling into the mirrored, swirling event horizon of a Jump Gate.
Men started to pour into the Gate. I rose, carrying Artemis in my arms. Osiris waited patiently by the portal.
“Don’t take it personally, boy.” he said, “You did good getting this far. Your grandfather would be proud.”
“Go to hell.” I said, then looked down at Art. I shook her gently and her eyes opened.
“Loverboy.” she said, quietly.
“The codes. For the bombs on my ship?”
She smile weakly. “No bombs, I gave you the last one for the Blade of Xerxes.”
She reached up and touched my cheek, leaving a bloody smear. I handed her to Osiris, who nodded to me.
“I’ll make sure she lives.”
“I’m still going to kill you.” I said.
“Maybe. Another time.” and he stepped through the ring. It snapped shut behind him, leaving us in the gloom of the chamber.
No one said anything for a long time.
To be continued…
About the Author
Jim works in the biomedical engineering industry as an electronics engineer, but somehow finds the time to write books. His love of storytelling, his fascination with science fiction and his military background blend together to create an authentic writing style drawing from his own experiences, and his vivid imagination.
He lives an hour outside of Sydney, Australia, with his lovely partner Jess and their six dogs – Kale, Snowy, Muffin, Cookie, Mooncakes and Waffles.
Please enjoy the follow chapters from Book 3 of the Seth Donovan Novels: Frontier’s End
1.
I had never known death as I knew it that day. The day my perception of reality was irrevocably changed.
We were young, full of courage and stupidity in equal measures. We thought we were heroes, riding that assault shuttle down to Ambrose Station. A dozen Primacy Star Marines, the finest fighting force in the Votus-Eridani Network, charged on combat stims and pumped for war. We were certain in our superiority, our fighting prowess, our advanced technology, and our sheer numbers. We knew that with our brothers at our sides, the alien Ghantri were no match for us.
We were fools.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
“You looking at me like that because you want to kiss me, Corporal?” growled Sergeant Walter “Crazy Eight” Germaine the Eighth.
“No, sarge,” I grinned, “Just admiring how mean you look in your shiny new armour. How long were you polishing it last night?”
“Longer than I polished your mum, last time I was in port.”
The rest of the squad burst out into laughter. During a drop, nerves were always raw. The sarge and I had this old routine – we would take turns insulting one another in front of the troops. Took their minds off the fact they were about to face their possible deaths.
“At your age, sarge, I’m impressed. I’ve heard my mum is something of a wildcat on the frontier. You sure you’re man enough for a corsair woman?”
He growled at me. “Eh, you frontiersmen always think you’re something special. Hides the fact that you’re the equivalent of old Earth goat herders.”
“Space goats, Walt. They’re called space goats now.”
The angry red light in the shuttle’s hold switched to green, and the Sergeant held a finger up to his helmet. It was a strange mannerism he just couldn’t kick – he did it whenever his comms barked out orders.
“Two minutes!” he called, all business once more. Our comedy routine was over.
I ran down the aisle, double-checking everyone’s drop brace. A rectangular brace caged each marine, with ample room to grip and hang onto. Once I was sure everyone was secure, I gave the thumbs up to Walt. I then ran down to my own spot on the barge, clipping the jetpack on my suit into the brace. I pulled the bar down over my head and gripped it tightly.
“Atmo venting! All suits on internal life support!” called Crazy Eight.
I checked a small indicator on my overlay, registering the oxygen mix in my suit.
“Comms check!” he called as the atmosphere in the compartment started to disappear.
One by one, everyone in the squad called out his or her names on the squad communications channel.
“Standby for deployment in five seconds! Four! Three! Two…”
The floor beneath out feet slid out of sight, exposing the battlefield below. The station outer surface rushed up to greet us, as bright flashes of hardlight zipped across space. The occasional explosion lit up the terrain as we dropped the final half kilometre to drop range.
“Drop!”
The inertia of the shuttle propelled us out of the hull like bombs, thrusting us directly towards the station as it braked hard. I focused entirely on my own manoeuvres – the rest of the squad would fend for themselves for the next part. I trusted their training. We had been trained by the galaxy’s best, after all. When the surface was less than fifty metres from me, I ignited my jetpack on full burn for two seconds, reducing it to twenty-five percent for half a second, then five percent for landing. My boots lightly touched the metal surface and my magnetics engaged. All eleven other members of the squad touched down nearby.
“Eleven o’clock!” warned one of the marines, opening up immediately with their energy rifle. I turned to see a wave of Ghantri assaulting our position.
“Casper! Fenris! Garlos! With me!” I called, pointing to a section of debris we could use as cover.
We dove over to the barrier and braced our rifles on the edge. My fireteam unleashed a torrent of hardlight towards the oncoming enemy, cutting them down one by one.
I saw the sarge grab two others and drag them towards cover while the others scattered. Enemy fire smashed into my shoulder guard, knocking my aim high. I noted with concern that my shield had done nothing to deflect the round.
“Ballistic ammo!” called Crazy Eight, grinning like a madman, “I take it back, Donny! These guys are the goat herders!”
He unslung a grenade and twisted the top off before tossing it towards the enemy line. Free of the artificial gravity, the explosive sailed right over their heads and I was about to laugh at his efforts when it exploded, damaging an antenna array. The array toppled down, pulled in by the station’s gravity field, and crashed into the ranks of the Ghantri.
The sarge didn’t miss a beat.
“Let’s go, Star Marines!” he cried as he leapt over the barricade. We followed, yelling out in defiance of the alien betrayers. The light of a stray beam weapon sweeping through space above us illuminated our charge. At the beginning, it was glorious.
Death came to us all, that day. Even me. Mine just took a lot longer to catch up to me.
2.
I looked out over the battlefield, lost in thought as I remembered the day we landed, during the Push. That was almost three and a half years ago, for me. Chronologically, it was closer to nine years ago – I’ve done my share of Jump Gate travel since then. You could still see the debris field in space above us, if one looked hard enough. The wreckages left behind by the fleet dotted the landscape on the habitat ring.
Twelve hours had passed since Osiris Blackburn had fled through the Jump Gate with Artemis, twelve hours of fierce fighting trying to defend the last walls of the university grounds. We had been given a reprieve, the remaining raiders had withdrawn their assault to lick their wounds, or sharpen their spears. They’d had enough for the day.
Too exhausted to celebrate, many of our soldiers simply slid to the ground and slept – weapons in hands and backs to the wall. It would have been a pyric victory, as the battle had taken its toll on both sides.
“Calak will be back soon,” said Kekkin, leaning over the parapet.
“They’re probably trying to find their Sectis for more of their drugs.”
“We should have burned the galab.”
“Won’t matter,” I said, “I doubt many of them were as addicted as those berserkers. They all died several hours ago.”
“They still have enough men,” said Renthal, as a local medic sewed stitches into a cut on his cheek, “and we don’t have enough cells to keep firing.”
“I have Rego working with Tac to build charging banks with the reactors.” I said.
“From our M4’s?”
I nodded. I had disconnected mine from my armour many hours ago, since my exo-rig had stopped working. I had ordered the others to surrender theirs shortly after the fighting stopped, but Renthal was right. Our numbers had fallen significantly, while we had not taken enough of the enemy to make them count. They outnumbered us by over twenty to one, but we had the advantage of modern weapons. For every ten of them, nine wielded spears and swords. Crude weapons forged in makeshift factories. They were primitive, yet fierce.
They had time, however, for every shot fired was one more round depleted from our cells. When they ran out, we would be over run. The trick was to make sure that we could repel the invaders, without depleting our reserves.
Since Osiris had left, their ‘General’, the people of Ambrose University had looked up to us Protectorate soldiers for leadership. I suspected our recent ally Alexander had a hand in this, as he was ever the vocal advocate for us. I had our forces split up to lead the defence of various focal points across the wall, with the remainder of our Special Forces equipment bolstering our efforts. I knew it would not be enough. We would not last another day of fighting, and I knew that our enemy could sense it.
“What is naga-zak thinking?” asked Kekkin.
I turned to look down at the wretched refugees below, huddled by their campfires. “We need to get these people to safety. It’s what we came here to do. What I came here to do.”
Renthal shooed away the medic and dabbed at his face. “Easier said than done. Besides, even if we could get them past these walls, where would they go?”
“Human is right,” said Kekkin, “Not too many safe places left on this station.”
“Then we’re just going to have to get them to someplace else.”
I glanced over my shoulder, covering my eyes as the sun’s last rays slid behind the curve of the habitat ring. The orange light of Gossamer still shone on a cylindrical structure that rose many kilometres into the air, to join with a large spherical body suspended in the centre of the station’s ring.
“What makes you think that’s safe? The Ghantri supposedly control the docking sphere.” said Renthal.
Kekkin could see my plan starting to form, though. He nodded, peering at the distant corridor into space. “No…this is doable. We take it back from the kak.”
“Why? How is that safe?”
Kekkin grinned. “Human forgets purpose of docking sphere.”
Renthal gave us a quizzical look. “For docking ships.”
I shared the grin with Kekkin, as Renthal suddenly realised what we were thinking.
“Oh! You don’t think there are still ships inside, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t there be?” I asked.
“Well…the Ghantri…hmm. I suppose there could be Ghantri ships there.”
“Which are based on Protectorate ship designs…”
“How much, though?”
Kekkin spoke up. “Human did not see the lair of the Sectis? Those consoles were module bridge stations, copied from Eridani standard designs.”
“Tyrillian, if I’m not mistaken.” I said.
“So?”
Kekkin shook his head in disappointment. “Naga Team can fly them.”
“And we can teach the survivors here to fly them as well.” I chipped in.
“Okay. So it’s plausible. How are we going to get several thousand refugees past that?” he thumbed the resting horde of raiders over the wall.
This time, I had nothing. I could see Kekkin looking my way, silently hoping I had a plan. I couldn’t make eye contact.
“I’m thinking.” was all I said.
I left them to rest, heading down below to the University grounds. I needed to think, and I needed to look around and get a feel for the terrain. Maybe there was some secret exit, like what we used to get into the second line of defences. I had asked Alexander about it hours before, during a brief spell in the fighting. He knew of no such route, but perhaps someone else did.
I approached various camps, asking about the occupants’ knowledge of the grounds. Mostly, all I got were shy, monosyllabic answers and vague apologies. A few pointed me towards others who they thought might know something, but after a few hours I realised I was getting nowhere.
Tired, and dejected, I decided to give up and get some sleep. I headed into the University tower, stopping briefly at the barricade set up in the lobby to greet the local soldiers there. By now, only the wounded and the infirm operated this rear guard position. Anyone fresh enough to fight unaided was needed at the wall.
After several minutes of hand shaking and talking up their courage, I made my way towards the back of the lobby and passed by the elevator shafts. As my foot touched the first stair, I paused. With a flash of insight, I rushed over to the nearest flooded elevator shaft.
Pipes ran down into the shaft, which was filled with water up to a foot below the edge of the open elevator door. I knew that pumps fed this water to the irrigation system that allowed the University to grow crops for the people that lived here, before the raiding had caused their numbers to swell.
“Where does this water come from?” I mused.
I ran back to the barricade and shouted to no one in particular, “Who here used to live here before the raiders came?”
A few of the soldiers raised their hands. I pointed at the nearest.
“Where does the water that fills these shafts come from?”
“Um…er…” he stammered.
“Quick! Anyone?” I clicked my fingers impatiently.
“A fire suppression system!” blurted out an older man, “There used to be maintenance tunnels down there, but a fire main was busted years ago. The General ordered us to leave it and we’ve used it ever since.”
“What feeds the fire system?”
“Dunno, sir. Probably a cistern somewhere in the sub-structure.”
“Any idea where the tunnels lead? Any exits?”
“We never ventured into the sub-structure, the Ghantri never allowed us.”
“I bet the General did, though. With his goon squad.” The man just gave me a shrug. I had what I needed, though.
I returned to the shafts and stared into their gloomy depths. The light of a nearby lamp caused darkness to pool in the corners, lighting the shafts only faintly. My gaze drifted, a thousand miles away. A plan began to form in my mind, the many cogs meshing like pieces of a puzzle. I needed objectives. Obstacles that were in my way, that I could set people to task to remove.
I raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time. I got two flights up before I was absolutely wrecked, and remembered to boost my stamina with a quick Repair Paradigm. I had to use it again before I reached my destination.
“Tac!” I said, bursting into the workshop that Rego and Tac had set up. They were busy connecting dozens of battery cells to a bank of charging stations they had erected. A pair of civilians were standing by, ready to take the latest charged cells back to the soldiers.
“Seth,” he said, “What can I do for you?”
“I have a new job for you.”
He turned his optical sensors toward the workbench he was at, inspecting his current task. Rego waved him away.
“I got this, Tac. I can monitor the amps on my suit kit.”
“Very well, Private,” said Tac, “I’m all yours, Lieutenant.”
“Come with me.”
I led him across the hall and up another ten levels, before arriving at Osiris’ quarters. Immediately following his departure, I had stormed my way down here in a fit of seething anger. I guess I had thought to toss the apartment, vent some of my rage out on his possessions. A poor substitute for the real thing, I know.
The three-room apartment was austere and sparsely furnished, so much so that it caught me unprepared. A simple cot, a single small dining table, a single wooden chair. I had seen the trappings of a decadent man in other areas of the tower, such as his operations room where we had met him, but to find such simple accommodations…well it took the steam out of much of my anger.
I tossed the apartment anyway, I just did it more methodically, is all I’m saying. Less emotion, more thinking. I found his stash of data devices tucked under his bed in an unadorned briefcase within moments.
I pointed to the case, which I had left on the table.
“We’re going to go through Blackburn’s computers, and see if we can find any records indicating he had information on the Ghantri, the Sectis in particular, but anything that pertains to his operations, past and present. Anything.”
“We are?”
“Well, you are. If I’m ever going to face Osiris in the future, I need ammunition to take him down, some insight into how he operates, how he thinks and how he makes decisions.”
“A most important task. I shall give it my undivided attention.”
“Not right away, I have something else for you to do. Once you’ve finished this, you can work on the Osiris records.”
He regarded me, he body upright with his head tilted to one side.
“You want me to collect these and catalogue them?”
“For now, but first I want you to focus on trying to crack that implant we tore from Sectis’ head.”
“Ah, the neuro-module.”
“We need to find out communications protocols, ship-borne protocols. I want to know how their fleet monitors each other – their friend or foe interrogation system.”
“You think it would be in here?” he retrieved the implant module from a latched slot on his chassis.
“I hope it is.”
“Very well, I’ll give it my undivided attention.”
“You have until we leave.”
“We’re leaving?”
“As soon as we’re ready.”
“I should be able to link all these devices up, share their processing memory to crack this module. Some of these computers are quite sophisticated, considering their age. Mr Blackburn seems to have hoarded any computers of any significant power he could find. Two of these AI Cores are sufficient to control several factory sized facilities at any one time.”
“You’re the expert on these things. Do what you need to do.”
He went to work right away, gathering up all the tablets, AI Cores and data wafers, anything that could be used to store data or process information. One by one, he started to pull small cables from a recess on his forearm and plug them into the devices. Eventually, he turned to me.
“This may take some time. Mr Osiris used high quality encryption systems on some of these tablets. I will contact you the moment I have an answer.”
“This may be our only hope of getting out of here alive, so…you know…”
“No pressure?” he said.
“Yeah. No pressure.”
You have reached the end of the Frontier’s End excerpt.
If you enjoyed this, as well as Ambrose Station, please let us know by reviewing it or talking about it.