PREFACE
Victory in the Biomech War would serve as the end point for not one, but two distinct species. While the domain of the Biomechs would be shattered, and its resources absorbed into the Alliance, the worlds of the ancient Helion civilisation would be also be lost. The Helions emerged from their own civil war and became the primary battleground in the war, one that would see Helios Prime irradiated, and Spascia shattered by constant fighting. Absorption into the Alliance was the only option, and within nine months of the end of the war, every single Helion colony had voted to join the Alliance. Some have said since the war, the true victors of the war were the humans.
A Brief History of the Alliance
Operation Hammer, Spascia City, Helios System
The six Bulldog armoured personnel vehicles skidded off the half-built highway and onto the construction site. They crashed through discarded scaffolding and heaps of abandoned supplies until reaching the final bend, sliding almost sideways as their oversized wheels fought for grip in the dust. They were now heading in a straight line towards the compound, and already the signs of battle were clear to see.
“Thirty seconds to the perimeter, get ready,” said Captain Harris.
The Bulldog bumped up, and he nearly hit his head on the low internal ceiling. The vehicles were large, but like all military vehicles, machinery, weapons, storage, and armour took up the interior space. Little consideration was given to the passengers.
“Sir, look, the Helions,” said Sergeant Jenkins.
Captain Harris turned the computer controlled periscope view around and stopped upon finding the military transport.
“The idiots. Who thought landing a light transport would work? These people are experienced and violent. They were waiting for them.”
The Sergeant nodded in agreement and looked back into the vehicle. Sitting in rows were the rest of the unit, each identical in amour and weaponry. He then glanced at the Captain, who for some reason was looking at him.
“Are they ready?”
Sergeant Jenkins shrugged.
“They’re trained and equipped, Sir. The Helions are quick learners…”
He leaned in closer, and again the Bulldog shuddered.
“…But they are not like us, Sir. I’ve done the best I can with the time we have. We all have.”
The Captain wanted to be reassured, but he knew the Sergeant spoke the truth. The newly raised Division was one in name only. Many Helions had joined to get away from the never-ending rebuilding efforts, or the bitter life of living on worlds ruined by the Biomechs. He looked back to the mapping unit and checked his position.
Good, 2nd Platoon is coming in from the North.
According to the map, his assault force was now converging on the enemy position from two directions, with Helion fighters already conducting diversionary strafing runs on target to the West. He turned his attention to his own objective.
It looks like a fortress. Hell, it is a goddamned fortress!
The amount of detail recorded by drone flyovers was incredible. The entire city had been transformed into a citadel in a matter of weeks; the civilian structures hastily converted into walls, towers, and bunkers for the defenders. His attention was drawn away as the gunfire began.
And so it begins.
The Captain instinctively checked for the sidearm at his flank. He’d seen the videos of the executions, and his greatest fear still remained of being captured like the others. He would rather end his life himself, than suffer the fate of those poor souls already lost.
Each Bulldog kicked up a great cloud of dust as they moved into a new formation, forging ahead, two abreast. The cloud announced their arrival, but it did also offer a little extra cover from the barrage of weaponry. As projectiles struck about them, Captain Harris checked the forward view one last time before giving the order.
“Weapons free!”
The remotely operated turrets opened fire at once, blazing away at the enemy’s entrenched positions. From the safety of the vehicles, the gunners could track and fire at targets, all without exposing themselves. One tower collapsed from sustained gunfire, and then the two leading Bulldogs were through the first wall. A hidden thermite charge buried under the ground exploded, sending molten material into the underside of the second Bulldog.
“Watch out!” Sergeant Jenkins yelled.
The command Bulldog slid to the right to avoid the blast, hit a large mass of masonry, and then flipped over onto its side. By the time it had stopped moving, the entire unit had become scattered. The top hatches opened and arms pulled Captain Harris out of the wreck. His feet hit the ground just as two rockets slammed into a third Bulldog. External defences activated and blasted the warheads with flechette rounds, as its doors opened to disgorge its passengers.
“Marines, with me!” the Captain ordered.
With his head still wringing from the crash, he climbed over the low, broken wall, straight into view of the enemy. The Captain was cut down before he even had time to grab his pistol. More marines leapt over the wall and were mercilessly shot to pieces; twelve lay dead and twice as many were wounded. Of those from the command Bulldog, only Sergeant Jenkins remained. He ducked down behind the bodies of two marines and took aim at a machine gun position on a short tower. He fired twice, rolling to the right as fire came in towards him.
“Get down and return fire!”
Some of those nearby listened, but most scattered, some returning to the Bulldogs. Others ran ahead into the defenders’ fire. The marines all carried networked mapping and communications gear, but almost none of them used it in the confusion of the battle.
“Idiots, listen to your commander!”
He lifted his carbine and scanned the horizon. He could see the enemy, every single one of them dug in. They were well equipped with stolen Helion arms and armour. He could see the defences were well planned, with those hiding behind walls protected by others in higher positions. Out in the open waited six Vanguard suits, the heavily armoured war machines used for direct assaults. They had been repainted and fitted out with additional armour and a bizarre array of locally made weapons.
They aren’t just criminals. They have military training and experience behind them.
A rocket whistled overhead and impacted against a two-storey building. Masonry cascaded down and struck a pair of marines. Both were knocked out cold by the impact. Three others ran over to drag them from the debris.
“This is Sergeant Jenkins. Dog Platoon is pinned down.”
Another rocket hit just six metres ahead and showered him with broken masonry. He put his armoured hands over his head and pulled himself down as low as he could go.
“I repeat…we are...”
More noise erupted around him as a Hammerhead gunship appeared overhead, its turret blazing away. He looked up and watched with satisfaction as its heavy gun mounts spun around and raked multiple targets as it passed. A single Helion rose to his feet and waved his hands while shouting triumphantly. He was cut apart by cannon fire before Sergeant Jenkins could even open his mouth to speak.
This is a massacre.
At least two of the heavy weapon emplacements tracked the aircraft and blasted away. With the attack already well underway, its gunners were in position and ready to defend themselves. With just one strafing run completed, the flyer was hit dozens of times and staggered away, black smoke belching from its engines. Sergeant Jenkins lifted his head a fraction and checked the position of the defenders. He could see over fifty Helion mercenaries, corsairs, bandits, and criminals, and unlike the marines, they were well entrenched.
“Listen to me!”
A squad of Helion marines ran past, firing their weapons from the hip. They made a lot of noise and were quickly sent running for cover by the heavy fire of the machine guns. The Sergeant tried to give them covering fire, but from this angle it did little more than remind them of where he was hiding. He pointed to the Helions and jerked his hand back to point at the four operational Bulldogs, each of which was blazing away with its own guns.
“Get back to the Bulldogs!”
One of the Helions dropped down next to him and started shouting in his own language. Two more ran past, and one took a large calibre thermal round in the back. The projectile didn’t penetrate but instead remained lodged into the armour, hissing away as it burnt clothing, flesh, and metal alike. The Helion dropped to the ground screaming, and another marine tried to help. Both were hit by a second fusillade of gunfire and killed outright.
The Helion next to him grabbed at him, so he promptly struck the marine in the head with the butt of his carbine.
“Get off me!” Sergeant Jenkins yelled.
He tried to speak again so he struck once more, and this time much harder.
“Listen up, marine. This fight is over…Over!”
He then grabbed the Helion by the arm.
“Now get back, goddamn it…Or I’ll shoot you myself!”
Sergeant Jenkins was on his feet and back at the Bulldog in less than twenty seconds. By the time he reached it, the mismatched enemy force had inflicted fifteen dead and more than forty casualties in the assault force. He waited next to one of the vehicles, as one by one the survivors clambered inside, and then joined them.
“Go, go, go!”
A rapid hammering sound ran down the length of the Bulldog. Small white dots marked where armour-penetrating rounds managed to breach the hull. The remote turret blasted away, but they were now well gone. They accelerated away; leaving many of their dead behind, and an enemy that was still dug in behind improvised defences. Sergeant Jenkins didn’t remove his helmet until they’d travelled three kilometres. As he took it off, he noticed the dark patch inside the armour.
"Marine, I..."
One of the other marines lurched forward and grabbed him just as he collapsed to the ground. Blood bubbled from his mouth, and his face was already as white as a sheet. Two marines rolled him over and found two indentations in his armour, one showing a penetration into his back. One of them pointed and leaned back in frustration.
"Too late."
The other marine found the hole in the helmet and shook his head. Both were panting from exertion, but the bitterness of the final blow was too much. They looked down at the blood running from the dark wound, perhaps the last shot fired in the failed assault, and the shot that had killed Sergeant Jenkins.
CHAPTER ONE
Formed after the bloodbath of the Biomech War, the IAB was a collaboration between the Alliance Navy and Marine Corps, and the Special Weapons Division of the Carthago Trade Consortium. It would be the first line of defence against emerging threats to Alliance territories, and tailor made to overcome heavy resistance at any price. This unique unit would be based away from the human worlds of the Alliance, due to its substantial use of alien personnel and technology, something that was an anathema to the war-weary citizens of the human worlds. It made use of volunteers from all treaty worlds and was funded by a grant paid by every colony, human and alien alike. Its membership would include all races in command, crew, logistics, and combat operations, unlike the strict requirements of the rest of the service. The Marine Corps would continue to provide the manpower to garrison colonies, protect ships, and conduct major military operations. The IAB would only be used where conventional forces were deemed unsuitable.
The Interstellar Assault Brigade
Three hours later
Dropship Fury, Spascia City
The Jackal dropship shuddered as it dropped out of the upper atmosphere and continued down at hypersonic speeds. The air breathing engines fired up as soon as it left the coldness of space and began to build up power ready for their combat insertion. A narrow vapour trail marked their course as they moved downwards. The dropship was aerodynamically and aesthetically advanced, with smooth surfaces and long, graceful lines. They moved out of orbit and towards the city faster than most missiles.
“Eight minutes, we’re in the descent curve, Major,” said the pilot.
Spartan nodded and acknowledged as he waited. He activated his open channel to the other combat units.
“Keep your eyes open and watch the tactical network. We just lost up to a platoon of marines on the surface.”
He took a long breath inside the tight confines of his advanced battle armour.
“We’re the cavalry. We will go in so fast, the enemy will think this is all a dream.”
He was positioned towards the front of the passenger area, along with two other similarly equipped warriors and the hulk of a Jötnar Assault Suit. All of them were massive, each not far short of three metres in height and armoured from head to toe. While the JAS armour was designed for close-range work, the Maverick suits were general purpose and equipped with numerous combat systems, as well as the vaunted HEC-1 heavy weaponry produced by CTC.
The three were held in place by large clamps that rose from the ceiling and also lifted out from the ground. Spartan was still free, though, and used those last seconds to move along the line to encourage his warriors. He licked his lips and brought up the current drone footage of the incident for them to see.
Not good.
“Take a final look at the prize, gentlemen; this is going to be one hell of a baptism of fire.”
The small aerial vehicle moved in a slow circle nearly three kilometres away from the target, and that was as close as was possible without being shot down. It showed the compound being used by the gang, as well as the carnage from the botched Helion rescue. There were more than thirty buildings, all partially constructed and now under their control. One in particular pushed up to a height of eleven storeys, and atop it flew the flag of the Spascia Liberation Front. Sergeant Tyler, the career sergeant with a long list of previous battles, grimaced as he watched what was happening.
“Idiots, Sir. Their attack was a mistake.”
Next to him was Lieutenant Armstrong. The man was young for a new officer, younger than normal in any case. Spartan recalled his record in the Academy was impeccable, the very essence of the by-the-book officer. Yet for all his knowledge, he’d never seen actual combat. He shook his head as he listened to his older and vastly more experienced sergeant.
“The attack is understandable, though. This is Spascia, one of their most significant worlds, historically, anyway. With more support they...”
Spartan shook his head.
“I don’t think so. We told them to wait it out until experts could be brought in. These criminals are opportunists, relying on the fact that the only real security here are the rookies in the new division.”
Sergeant Tyler nodded quickly in agreement.
“I agree. And like we keep telling Command, the 7th are just not ready. They need a year, maybe longer. You can’t create a division in a few months.”
He was referring to the 7th Marine Division, the brand new Marine Corps unit that had been activated on the planet just a year earlier, and nicknamed the Solar Warriors by High Command. The name was supposed to honour the significance placed by the Helions on their star in daily life, but it had become something of a joke inside the Corps. The majority of its membership was Helion, but with a substantial number of human commissioned and non-commissioned officers mixed in. It was the first Helion division ever raised and would in theory add at least ten thousand marines to the order of battle. The Lieutenant nodded slowly.
“I can’t argue with that.”
Spartan had served with enough marines to know he needed to step in. The officer needed confidence, and that wouldn’t happen if he were belittled in front of the unit.
“So, Lieutenant, what is your assessment of the enemy’s position? Why did the Solar Warriors fail?”
The young man swallowed, but luckily for him, the armour hid his face from Spartan.
“Well, Sir, they are too well entrenched for a normal operation, and the SLF know this. Our eyes on the ground show that every day they force those nearby to work for them. Give it another three months, and the whole of Spascia will be under their thumb.”
He turned slightly towards his experienced sergeant.
“Sergeant Tyler is, of course, correct. A Marine division sounds nice in theory, but that’s not what we have. They are years from being fully operational. It takes a long time to train cadets, but it takes a lot longer to make them marines.”
Spartan nodded in agreement. He’d seen the footage the same as the others, and he also knew what would happen to rookies when sent up against such a hardened target. It had fallen apart just as he’d said it would, but not even the fast ships of the Interstellar Assault Brigade could have arrived quickly enough to beat them to it. Even the pleading of a veteran like Spartan would not get them to hold back, even for a few hours.
“I know, trust me, I know. These Helions have enough firepower to hold off an entire company of ground troops, right now, and their air defences...well, they are strong, as our friends on the surface have found out.”
Sergeant Tyler highlighted several locations on the tactical map visible inside their suits.
“Any strong attack will send them out into the suburbs of Spascia. If that happens, I can guarantee we will lose our hostages, and suffer a lot of collateral damage as they run amok. Worse, they will just hold the ground they have and bleed us, and the prisoners.”
Spartan looked back at the mapping data to check they were on course.
“We will do things differently, I promise you. The IAB was created for just this kind of operation. One where we expect, and can absorb casualties.”
He then moved his eyes carefully along his checklist. He was still finding it odd getting used to his new rank in the IAB, something he had neither wanted, nor expected. An alert flashed up from the marines already on the ground. They were from the Recon Unit, the elite section in their unit and the only fully human combat unit on the planet; the message was tagged as an urgent flashcom. Spartan lifted his hand, signalling he needed to stop the conversation for now.
“Proceed.”
“Major. Alpha and Bravo Squads are in position and waiting for the word. Hostiles are in position around the facility, and the anti-air systems are still manned following the failure of Operation Hammer.”
Spartan was convinced he could sense sarcasm as the marine used the name of the operation. He ignored it, knowing only too well the dangers and risks being taken at that very moment by this small, but elite unit.
“...The weapons are presently inactive, but they will go live in ten seconds, no more.”
Spartan nodded to himself as he made mental notes.
“The prisoners are still in the single storey structure between the gun towers and the building used as a barrack hall. We have estimated enemy numbers, one-fifty, plus change. We’ve tagged sixteen anti-armour weapons and multiple strong points. Plus the captured Vanguards.”
The man’s tone changed a little, indicating urgency.
“The compound is a fortress, Sir. It is going to take an army to get them out, and whoever hits the barricades is going to take losses, heavy losses.”
Spartan licked his lips again, already feeling them begin to dry. He was going in with half of that, but that didn’t worry him. It was the lives of the five Alliance marines that concerned him the most, and there was no chance he would leave them behind with this enemy. He could sense the concern in the spotter’s voice. It was almost as though the man was trying to dissuade him from the attack.
“Understood. Maintain your current position. We’re en route. Keep your eyes on the enemy, and continue tagging targets. When we arrive, we’ll need rapid intel and overwatch. Do not, I repeat, do not assault. Leave that to our teams. We will be there shortly.”
Spartan moved his eyes a fraction and then brought up the tactical map. At the same time, he shared the data with every single person involved in the mission. As well as the position of patrols and guards, he made a special effort to mark the heavy weapons, ones that were easily capable of crippling an aircraft, and certainly hurting or killing those in the combat landing.
The craft buffeted once more, but not one of the passengers seemed particularly bothered. Spartan had seen so much combat that the missions now all seemed to coalesce. This one was different, though. This time it was his own unit, one built from his experiences in the Alliance military, and outside of it. It was special, and one he had to pay a price to be a part of. He’d refused reinstatement in the Marine Corps five times in total, but in the end, the only way he could command soldiers in the unit would be to accept a partial reinstatement into the new unit; by having the Interstellar Assault Brigade fully absorbed into the Alliance military as an independent security unit. His special status meant he would only have to serve in the IAB, and could not, under any circumstances be transferred without granting him permission to leave.
The research labs, shipyards, and factories of the Special Weapons Division would remain in Taxxu, and still managed by the mega corporation known as the Carthago Trade Consortium. In exchange for privileged access to the new discoveries being made at Taxxu, they would provide everything the IAB needed, including new ships, weapons, armour, and equipment that were leagues ahead of anything used in the Alliance.
The arrangement was mutually beneficial, and as a consequence, meant Spartan and his comrades retained a major stake in the Special Weapons Division. All of this was possible due to the vast increases in trade and communication throughout the Alliance. The great rebuilding project that was breathing life back into the barren worlds shattered by the war was creating new opportunities for thousands of corporations, all keen to expand and increase their profits.
All Spartan and his comrades really cared about was that they could return to combat, but on their own terms, and outside the control of other units. The fact that Spartan's tiny group were now wealthy meant almost nothing to them.
Armour…check.
Small coloured indicators flashed for each system, and he mentally checked them off as each one appeared. The designs were exactly the same as those used inside Vanguard armour suits, and as he watched them, the familiarity of combat routine quickly returned.
Power, communication, life support. All good.
He rolled his head and heard the sound of his neck click, sending a shudder down his spine. This could not be seen from the outside of the Maverick armour. Though fast and agile, the entire head had been incorporated directly into the torso carapace. Thick plating completely blocked off the face, with nothing open or exposed. The armour was a faded crimson, but heavily marked and worn from previous training exercises. Parts of bare metal could be seen through the paint, showing how it was constructed.
Weapons.
A hatch on his shoulder split up into small sections to allow a motorised weapon mount to rise. It pushed up quickly, barely making a sound. Fitted to the mount was the HEC-1 Cannon, a deadly, plasma weapon based on Khreenk technology. He tested its range of movement, and then it dropped back inside the armour. Next came the L52 coilguns, the standard weapons of the Marine Corps. Two were fitted in mounts on the arms, with just the last part of the muzzles pushed out from the armour.
Last but not least.
Spartan then clenched his fists, and the large, articulated hands of the Maverick armour did the same. As they tightened down, he activated the siege mode, a name he’d given based on testing. Plates pushed out around the hands until both were expanded in size and mass, altering to look like the heads of a sledgehammer. Ballast units in the joints moved out towards the tips to increase the mass of the hands.
Yeah, now I’m ready.
The sections of metal returned to their previous positions, and the weighted joints adjusted back into conventional limbs. There was a final clunk as the vanes on the lower parts of the arms slipped into place. He moved back to join the other three, while tapping the armoured metal barrier between passengers and crew.
Behind the dropship came two more identical craft, each of the exact same specification, and hurtling down with just a kilometre separating them. The spacecraft were the latest in a long line of landing craft, yet these were not the lumbering Maulers used by the Marine Corps. They were sleek and agile dropships that could easily have been combat gunships. Smaller than the heavy Maulers, they were also a good deal larger than the general purpose Hammerheads.
As their speed began to drop, their swing-wings pushed out to help increase lift, and to offer greater control on the way to the target. Weapon pods also pushed out from the hull and coilguns out of their protected gun ports. Emblazoned on the flanks of the dropships were the markings of the Interstellar Assault Brigade, the brand new independent unit in the Marine Corps.
“Six minutes, Sir. They are looking for us,” said the pilot.
Spartan altered his view to that of the cockpit. The imagery in front of his eyes transformed, and to the uninitiated he might have thought he was now flying the craft. The computer system on the dropship was networked directly to his armour, as was the warship in orbit. The computer applied an overlay that showed the radar systems operating in the area as a series of constantly moving grids and cones.
“Understood. Stay on course, take us in low, and take us in fast. I don’t want to be tagged on the way down. Do it by the numbers and put us on the ground.”
“Affirmative.”
The craft maintained its course for a little while longer, and then with a slight change in the descent gradient, it moved to the next waypoint. The engines were now operating at full power, with much of the heat from the thrusters cooled before being released. Spartan watched as they passed the computer-generated target diamond and on to the next one. It was expert flying, and exactly what Spartan would have expected from the people he’d brought together in the IAB.
“Good work, damned good work.”
The dropship raced down to follow a course between the two largest mountain ranges, keeping them visually and audibly masked from their target. Spartan watched as they dropped low between the dusty mountains of the devastated world of Spascia. In seconds they were moving past them, and still slowing down.
First time back in nearly a decade, and I’m bringing in seventy-two soldiers into combat.
He shook his head.
Nothing changes, nothing at all.
Even as he thought it, the view in front of the dropship reminded him how wrong he was. They burst out from a pair of lower mountains and followed a rail line that disappeared into an urban area. During Spartan’s last visit the place had been a ruin. The already partially ruined city of Old Spascia had been torn apart by months of siege warfare. Anything that survived the ground battle had been ripped apart by orbital bombardment and bombing runs that turned the landscape into a scene from the apocalypse. Yet to Spartan’s surprise, the world had changed, and for the better.
Incredible. It is nothing like I’d expected.
He had seen the reports and was aware of what was going on. But seeing Spascia up close he was truly stunned. Where entire city blocks had been smashed, there were roads and towers rising up from the ground; just months earlier there had been rubble. Complex, multi-layered pillars lifted up into the air to support the weight of raised roadways and Maglev rail systems. One of them was already operational and being used by a freight train to move larger metal girders. Spartan thought back to Jack and Teresa and their final moments on this alien world, so many years before.
They would have been proud of what this place has become.
A smile began to form ever so slowly on his face as he looked upon the rebuilding effort. This was one place where his presence would not be particularly welcome. Few still realised the magnitude of what he’d done, and how many lives he had saved. He suspected even those that knew would still rather blame him, the man that brought the ships through the Black Rift, even if that action had allowed him to destroy the Biomechs from inside.
Does it matter what they think now? At least they are alive to criticise.
It was what so many always forgot; he was like so many of them, a man that had lost his wife and only child. He would never forget them, but at least he could see improvement in a place he thought had been truly lost. Off into the distance were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of buildings, all of which were in various stages of construction. In the middle was a single tower reaching up nearly a hundred storeys. It was a simple design, more in line with something humans would have created rather than the Helions. It was partially cylindrical and broke out into a spire that lifted up into a series of low clouds. Though structurally complete, he already knew it was only half finished.
Liberation Tower.
As the dropship moved back, Spartan found he was unable to avoid looking upon the ruined mountain nearly thirty kilometres away. To anybody else it might have been little more that another peak on the horizon, but to Spartan it was a grave. Deep underneath its surface lay the destroyed planetary defence system, as well as the hundreds of bodies still entombed deep within its core.
“Spartan, you okay?”
He turned around and found Khan looking back at him. The monstrous Jötnar warrior had been silent until now. A product of the Biomech warrior programme, Khan was not far short of three metres in height, and when cased inside his armour was easily a match for the Maverick suit, something that relied on technology; whereas Jötnar could rely on their natural muscles to do the same job. Spartan walked past the robotic drones waiting silently inside their pods.
“I’m fine, Khan, here for the mission. Same as you.”
Khan lowered his head in a sombre expression. Unlike Spartan, he wore the cruder looking JAS armour. Though of a similar size of the Maverick unit, it was unpowered, and equipped with thicker plating and a myriad of close-range weapons.
“Understood, Major.”
Spartan had been moving away and looked back at his friend, spotting the mischievous grin as he sealed up the head plate on the front of his armour.
“Funny. Very funny.”
Spartan moved along the interior of the Jackal dropship, the heavy clunk of his armour tapping on the metallic floor plates. He was inside the latest issue Maverick armour, as were the two marines looking back at him. Both men were highly experienced sergeants with dozens of combat operations under their belts, and now they had been transferred to this specialised unit.
“Four minutes till drop; check your weapons and articulation one last time.”
He nodded as he spoke.
“This is the inaugural operation of the Interstellar Assault Brigade, and we’re going into an operation High Command says is unwinnable. The enemy has killed three of the wounded Helion marines in the last thirty minutes, and Intelligence says they will be moving our people out in less than an hour. It’s time for some payback.”
He blinked and glanced at Khan, who seemed to be just enjoying the trip down. The others might have been a little apprehensive, but never Khan. Spartan shook his head and wondered what was happening inside the other craft.
Are the carefully selected officers and men up to the job?
“The Helion rescue attempt did nothing but get their soldiers killed. They’ve been there weeks and have made the entire site a death trap. The compound is made to be impregnable, with guard posts at every single entry point. They have shown time and time again that they do not value their own lives, so let’s show them how we feel about that.”
Khan muttered and then looked to Spartan as he moved back.
“They’ve been preying on this sector for a month. Ten square blocks, all now controlled by the Spascia Liberation Front, and we are going to get hit hard going in. Are they ready for this?”
Lieutenant Armstrong laughed, but his voice betrayed his nerves.
“Liberation Front? All they want to liberate is money and possessions from people’s pockets. They are a gang of thugs, with a reputation for murder and people trafficking.”
He looked to Spartan.
“The IAB is well equipped, and we’ve been training for months. Every single marine has transferred from other units. We are the best.”
Spartan grinned and wondered if the man was right. He wasn’t entirely correct. Of course, some of the recruits were sent directly to the unit from training, but only the exceptional, or the troublesome ones. Then there were the Thegns, an entire artificial race of foot soldiers, and now part of the Alliance. They ran the IAB ships in orbit, but only with the assistance of at least one senior Alliance officer per vessel. It was a major compromise, and one Spartan knew would have to change.
It is always more complicated than you would expect.
The young officer continued.
“We hit them, and we hit them fast.”
Sergeant Tyler twisted about, still constrained by the clamps.
“That we will.”
Spartan looked to them both and nodded, though his suit hid his expression.
“This mission will put the IAB into a hell like none before. My estimate is anything up to fifty percent casualties in the combat landing. Remember; let the Grunts do their job. They are our armour and our shields. Let’s show these Liberators the true meaning of the word.”
“Yes Sir,” said each of them.
They were not the words of rookie soldiers, or those pumped up on adrenalin or excitement, they were nothing more than a business-like acknowledgement of what needed to be done.
Spartan moved past them and towards the three rows of tubes fitted to the floor of the craft. There were thirty of them, each individual unit protected by a smoked transparent outer seal. All were currently open, and the metal warriors within were waiting like metal sculptures. As Spartan passed them, he could see each one begin to check its limb movement and balance, as though warming up for an athletic event. To the uninitiated they might seem like tiny versions of the Maverick armour, but they had little in common.
Times have changed.
These were a first for the Alliance, the first generation of remote presence CD1 Combat Robot, nicknamed Grunts to the marines. Each could be controlled like a second skin from a vast distance away, with the only limitation being the distance of the controller, the greater the delay in command operations. In reality, it meant the Grunts moved slowly and with reduced reaction. Though just the size of a small adult, they were tough and most important of all, completely expendable, though very expensive.
Spartan laughed to himself and looked up, imagining the thirty marines inside the warship waiting in orbit. Unlike him, they would be fitted inside special harnesses that lifted them up and away from the ground, while communication skullcaps hung down over their heads. It was a simple measure to ensure they could move about without catching their limbs, and to aid in the sensory deprivation required to make the best possible bond with the machines. The small cadre of commanders would make quick decisions, while the Grunts supported them in battle. He finally moved back to his clamp and rejoined Khan, just as they travelled through a layer of thick cloud.
“Remember the brief. The target is well protected inside and out, but they are not expecting an attack like this. Grunts are expendable, but they are not cheap. Expend them for the mission, and let’s get our people out of there.”
He double-checked his own clamps and then waited patiently alongside Khan.
“Nice speech, Spartan.”
The dropships blasted out from the mountains at a reduced speed of just under four hundred kilometres per hour and right at the compound. Spartan tensed a little as he watched them pass the one kilometre marker, confirming they were now well inside the kill zone. Icons lit up on his overlay from the dropships tagging additional targets missed by the spotters and the drone.
“That’s a lot more than one-fifty,” said Spartan.
Khan tensed his shoulder muscle.
“Who cares? They will die like the rest.”
The pilot’s voice quickly silenced them both.
“Gunships are inbound, targets selected, weapons hot.”
Those inside the dropship watched on their helmet overlays as the pair of Alliance Hammerhead gunships did their work. These were the workhorses of Alliance armed forces, performing the dual role of squad landers, as well as gunships.
“That’s more like it.”
Spartan nodded, watching them move in on the pre-selected position well before they knew what was happening. The first circle strafed over the target area in a wide circle, yet with its guns facing inwards towards the compound. Its turret put down an incredible amount of fire, quickly followed by a barrage of missiles. As it turned away, the second came in for a long strafing pass to knock out their anti-aircraft systems.
“Not bad,” said Khan, “Looks like the anti-air is offline, for now.”
Spartan smiled inside his armour.
“We have our window, but it won’t last long. They have other weapons.”
He then spoke to the entire landing force inside the three dropships.
“We hit the ground in fifteen seconds. Get ready, this is going to get rough!”
A red light flashed inside the hull of the dropship, and then a grinding noise as the hatches fitted to the underside slid open, revealing the cargo of ground troops to those below. Spartan could already feel his pulse beginning to quicken, and with little effort he calmed himself, waiting for the moment of the actual drop. The craft vibrated as the landing mortars launched a star shaped pattern of stun shells all around the landing sight. They hit the ground with a series of flashes and bangs. Spartan laughed quietly.
Shock and awe!
“Drop, drop, drop!” yelled the pilot.
The dropship spun about its engines and reverse thrust while lifting up its nose. The sound from the engines was so loud it sent stowage shaking as they went from low speed to almost stationary. With barely fifteen metres from the ground, it began blasting its cargo out. Like a renaissance organ gun, the dropship expelled its cargo one tube at a time until four seconds later the entire transport bay was empty.
Here we go!
The change from being transported in the dropship to falling to the ground was so sudden that even Spartan surprised. Then came the landing, made safe only due to the massive deceleration of the dropship. He hit the ground, and the legs automatically crunched down, letting the pistons and servos take the strain. Spartan could feel the suit groaning and then he was upright.
On the ground, now the work begins.
With his face blocked from the enemy, he was instead granted a perfect open view via the inserts in front of his eyes. To the right was the shape of his dropship rushing away, while to the left the other two were blasting their ground forces like missiles directly towards the ground.
“All squads move in!”
In front of Spartan were a perimeter wall, two towers, and a stolen military Bulldog APC. His suit had already tagged twenty-three points of gunfire, and each of them blinked away like fireflies. Khan moved far off to his right, Sergeant Tyler and Lieutenant Armstrong spread out to the their flanks; each preceded by a squad of six CD1 Grunts constantly checking their mortal commander was safe. They moved as though in a dream, bounding along, checking left and right.
There they go. If we could make them autonomous, they would dominate the battlefield.
Spartan checked once more to satisfy himself they were on course. He and Khan would be going for the prisoners; the other two would spread out and watch for flankers. Another dropship lifted up just after depositing its cargo, and another four Mavericks and thirty Grunts moved off far to the left to attack the tower complex. Missiles and gunfire rushed back and forth, while pulses of energy marked the HEC-1 cannons on the Mavericks.
Impressive.
“Keep moving ahead. We’re on the clock.”
The odd crack of heavy rifle fire marked the Marine Corps snipers that were well hidden over a kilometre away, and he spotted multiple targets drop from their position high above the assault.
Out in front of Spartan moved the skirmish wave of another six CD1 Grunts. They lurched ahead without a care in the world. They moved and fought like a slightly drunk human, but in the middle of the fight that was where the similarity ended. They reached the perimeter wall at the same time a tracked vehicle crashed through, mowing down three of them. A human would have avoided the impact, but the control delay was too slow to save then. A few managed to leap or rolled out of the way while the gun mount on the back of the vehicle blasted away in the direction of Spartan.
“Spartan!” Khan yelled.
He’d already tagged the target and sidestepped to avoid the incoming fire. Three rounds came perilously close, but two Grunts blocked the position and took the hits for him. Spartan had no idea if it was intentional, or if they had simply lumbered into the way by mistake. Even with just a quarter of a second delay in communications to the ship, it was enough to be hit by enemy gunfire. A full round-trip for the signal was close to half a second, perhaps a little more when signal degradation and error checking was included. In any case, one was cut in two, but the other deflected the shots on its thick metal armour plating before finally turning to face the attacker. By the time the Grunt had selected a target it was hit by three more rounds.
“HEC-1...ready,” said the computer.
With a mental command, Spartan sent a single shot at the vehicle from the phased plasma weapon. The motorised weapon mount tracked the target in silence, unleashing a green bolt of matter. Until impact the bolt of energy was a simple sphere that glowed like a small green star, protected inside its magnetised housing. Once it struck the vehicle, the magnetic shield fractured and unleashed the energy, quickly ripping apart the front of the vehicle.
“Keep moving,” said Khan.
Spartan took three steps forward and watched gunfire from Khan’s massive coilguns cut down enemy combatants, as the surviving enemy soldiers leapt out. These were the multi-barrelled weapons normally reserved for machine gun emplacement, but now a common weapon mount on JAS armour systems.
CD1 Grunts then met them at close range, finishing them off in seconds. Spartan kept on moving ahead past the wreckage and pushed through the perimeter wall. Lights marked the position of guns on many of the buildings, and Spartan fired several rounds at them while continuing forward. He and Khan had reached the prisoner structure in less than a minute. It was a low building with a two-metre wall running all around it. There were two entrances, each big enough for a single Maverick to enter.
“Incoming!”
One of the Grunts had shouted the warning via its onboard speakers. A missile moved down, and though it tried to avoid the attack, the missile altered course and struck the machine head on. Chunks of broken metal were all that remained.
“The towers!” Spartan said.
Both Khan and Spartan turned to face the nearest tower and opened fire with everything they had. At the same time a dozen drones did the same, shredding the building with high-velocity coilgun rounds and the occasional blast from Spartan’s plasma based weaponry. As one of the floors started to collapse, he looked back to the prisoners, and nodded with satisfaction as the Grunts surrounded the structure.
“Major, we’ve run into trouble North of your position. Fifty plus targets leaving the tower, and they’re coming your way. At least half are heading for the prisoners,” said Lieutenant Armstrong.
“Affirmative, keep hitting the heavy weapons. We’ll deal with the new targets.”
Khan was about to kick his way inside the structure holding the prisoners.
“Me first,” he said.
He lifted his leg, but Spartan called out, “No, Grunts first.”
Khan grumbled but moved back. Two of the machines stomped ahead, both with their firearms in front and expecting trouble. It wasn’t easy to tell, but Spartan could see the subtle tells that gave away the issues caused by the communication lag from orbit to the ground. It wasn’t massive but enough to give their movement something of a dreamlike quality. The first went in, looking left and then right, before disappearing inside. A massive explosion immediately blasted it out. The robotic soldier hit the ground ten metres away and as a burning wreck. Khan looked to Spartan and laughed.
“Okay, you were right that time.”
From the flames came a pair of enemy soldiers. They were dressed in a bizarre collection of looted clothes, wearing Alliance helmets, and carrying looted firearms. A burst hit Khan in the chest, and he roared with irritation as he grabbed one of them and threw him over his shoulder. CD1 Grunts moved in to take the prisoner, and Khan was then inside.
“Grab them, the others are mine.”
Spartan moved to the left of the building and quickly spotted the scattered group of soldiers. He sent mental commands that were instantly translated into waypoints and orders for the Grunts. All of this was based on the latest technology being developed by CTC, and though not complete, it was a vast improvement over anything he’d used before.
The data was then sent directly to the Confederate class warship high up in orbit. The marines on board would receive the information and send new commands to their robotic avatars. It took just a few seconds, and then Spartan found he was surrounded by more than a dozen of the machines, each moving ahead, their coilguns held at waist height. Cables ran from the guns into the bodies of the machines, giving them full control data from the guns, as well as a direct view to the sight, all without ever having to raise the gun to the shoulder.
“Wait for them.”
The machines stopped in a ragged line while sporadic gunfire struck nearby. In the distance the shapes of Hammerhead gunships could just be made out as they circled overhead, firing at any heavy weapons they could find. Then came the enemy, and they moved with a speed and intensity that only drugs and rage could induce.
“Fire!”
The robotic warriors unleashed a volley, cutting down seven immediately. Then Spartan joined in, using his arm-mounted coilguns to add to the barrage. Part of the building to Spartan’s right collapsed, and out came Khan with a small group of filthy and bloodied marines. Bullets hit near them, but Khan and the other Grunts used their own bodies to protect them as they moved back to the designated landing ground. Spartan felt a moment of relief wash over him at seeing they had all of them, until one stopped and grabbed at his armour.
“There’s one more, in the pit!”
Spartan hadn’t been told that one of the Helion soldiers was actually a human officer, but right now that meant little. He looked to the direction pointed by the marine, and then saw the dark hole in the ground.
“There?”
The man nodded just as Spartan spotted seven Helion fighters making for it. He began moving as he called out to Khan.
“Khan, get them back. The prisoners are the priority.”
Khan did exactly as ordered and escorted the hostages to two spaces already cleared by some of the Grunts. Green streaks blasted out from the other Maverick suits in all directions as they continued rampaging throughout the enemy position. Spartan blasted the enemy soldiers with his arm-mounted coilguns, but as he reached the halfway point, he found the four Vanguards. They moved out from the dust and headed towards the pit, roughly the same distance away as him.
“1st and 2nd Squads with me!”
Spartan increased his speed into a run just as the two squads of Grunts joined him. The armoured shapes moved quickly, but Spartan with his motor assisted armour made it first. He leapt over the pit and into the path of four Vanguards. Four Grunts dropped into the pit to get the prisoner; the others formed up on Spartan’s flanks. With his right arm he pointed at the Vanguards.
“Those do not belong to you.”
They were definitely Vanguards, but there was something about the modifications made that didn’t sit right with him. The extra armour would do little, but many of the weapons were gone, probably due to lack of spares and ammunition. In their place were Helion thermal weapons and objects that looked like harpoons.
“Drop ‘em!”
One harpoon embedded itself in a Grunt, and two more were vaporised by thermal gunfire. At the same time, Spartan went on the rampage. At this distance his HEC-1 cannon blasted chunks off the Vanguards. Though powerful, the weapon was limited against armour conditioned for similar threats, and Vanguard suits contained carbon plates in key areas.
“They’re clear,” said Khan.
While listening to his friend on the audio channel, he activated the close quarter mode on his arms and proceeded to batter and smash two of the Vanguards into a mass of broken metal. The other two staggered back and blasted apart another two Grunts. One took aim at the prisoner being taken away to the landing zone. A large machine blocked the path.
“I don’t think so,” said Khan.
The thermal weapons opened up, discharging shell after shell into the plating of the massive warrior. Each round ripped off chunks, but it was too little, too late. He then took aim and blasted the head cleanly off one of the machines. Even as the machine collapsed, he kept firing a stream of rounds directly into the next target. As the projectiles struck, he roared with delight.
“Nice timing!”
Spartan jumped amongst them and blasted the small number of Helion fighters now running for cover. One of the Vanguards came close, and he grabbed it with both arms and hurled it towards Khan. Normally, this would have been an impossible, almost herculean task, but not for him inside the Maverick armour. The enemy warrior landed at the feet of Khan, who promptly demolished it with the efficiency of an industrial machine in a junkyard. Just one more tried to put up a fight, but Spartan reserved a shot from his HEC-1 cannon for that very purpose. At a range of three metres it punched a hole through the armour and exploded inside.
“Prisoners are secure,” said Lieutenant Armstrong.
Spartan couldn’t see him, but the IFF tag showing on one of the dropships as it landed confirmed he was inside and helpers were getting the prisoners to safety. Robotic Grunts manned the flanks of the craft as they clambered inside, while above a lone Hammerhead rushed past with its guns blazing.
Good work, people, damned good work.
Two bullets bounced off Spartan’s collar, and it snapped him back to the fight. Without thinking, he spotted a vehicle packed with enemy combatants and tagged it. The HEC-1 cannon turned to the right and fired just as the massive gun on the back of the vehicle opened fire. Two Grunts were gut down before the energy blast struck it. Spartan glanced at Khan before turning his attention on the attackers.
“All units. Friendlies are out of the area. It’s time to reclaim this sector. Begin Phase Two; sweep and clear!”
Khan blasted one of the towers. The remaining Grunts fanned out, hunting down fighters wherever they found them. With the prisoners secure, it became a bloodbath as the Maverick armoured marines blasted a swathe through the area. Grunts ran amok, scattering the enemy in panic. Many more were destroyed in combat, but not before securing a total and complete victory.
In less than twenty minutes, the IAB had pacified the area so thoroughly, the Marine Corps armoured column had nothing to do but take away the wounded enemy prisoners, and to establish a small outpost. Spartan, Khan, and both Sergeant Tyler and Lieutenant Armstrong approached. They moved slowly, and Spartan could see the left leg of the Lieutenant’s armour was badly mangled and being dragged behind.
“Interesting fight,” said Sergeant Tyler.
Spartan and Khan looked at him, and the vast number of dents and marks on his armour. Even a thermal blast hole had burnt right through the suit’s wrist and out the other side. It was the damage on the Lieutenant’s leg that got most of the attention.
“Next time, maybe don’t let them hit you,” suggested Khan.
Spartan laughed.
“Yeah, you’re one to talk, old friend. Still, we did the job, but what was the cost?”
Khan nodded and looked to the right where newly arrived Marine units were using large exoskeleton Combat Engineering Suits to move the remains of the shattered Grunts. They were from the so-called Solar Warriors, and none looked overly excited to be there. The Grunts looked sad, as they lay broken and smashed throughout the compound. Some had just lost a limb or weapon; others were riddled with bullets or blown up.
“Yeah, thirty-five Grunts knocked out or damaged.”
Khan cleared his throat.
“And not one life lost, right?”
They looked at each other and at the other Mavericks already moving into their clamps on the first of the dropships. Spartan hadn’t even needed to speak with the other squads as they’d each done their job. The plan had been well made, and each unit had moved where expected and done what was required.
“That’s right,” agreed Spartan, “Nothing but broken metal, and no blood lost.”
Khan shook his head and lifted his right arm.
“Well, that’s not entirely true.”
Beneath it was a number of deep impact marks, as well as a large chunk of a broken harpoon. Blood trickled from out of the suit and down the metal lance. If it were anybody else, Spartan might have worried. But Khan just laughed it off. There were few creatures they had ever met that could withstand the damage a Jötnar could.
A great cloud of dust obscured them as dropship ‘Fury’ came in for a quick landing. The side hatches opened up, and Spartan lifted his arm to point.
“Okay, people, our job is done. It’s time to go back to the ship.”
They clambered inside until just Spartan remained. He looked back at the dust, smoke, and fires of the battle. As he waited there, he could see the battle for the city a decade earlier, the mighty Biomech war machines crashing against the long lines of defences; marines and aliens alike fighting to defend the world from machines, monsters, and waves upon wave of foot soldiers. He closed his eyes, turned away, and clambered inside the dropship.
CHAPTER TWO
The end of the Great Biomech War was an unusual time in the history of the Alliance. At this period, it would see the most diverse range of weapons and ships being used as it was forced to utilise assets of all its constituent colonies. The Helions predilection to the use of missiles was in stark contrast to the confrontational approach used by the Allied Byotai warships. The differences in capabilities became more pronounced, due to the heavy losses sustained in terms of ships and equipment. First generation Crusader class ships were escorted by hastily re-commissioned ships from the Uprising, while state-of-the-art Confederate class ships dashed between planets at inconceivable speeds, filled with robotics warriors and Khreenk inspired energy weapons.
Naval Cadet’s Handbook
ANS Orion, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
The Alliance Liberty class missile destroyer fired its engines for the last time as it decelerated at the target vector. It was an ungainly looking ship, with its hull divided up into three distinct mission bays to allow it to fulfil a variety of roles. The basic hull was the same for all ships of the class, but by swapping out the bays, it could be configured with missiles, guns, marine transport containers, or supply units. Though nowhere near the most powerful ships in the fleet, they had become the workhorse for so many tasks, being both cheap to manufacture and operate.
“So, the source of the signal is definitely the derelict,” said Captain Dutch.
Images appeared on the large holographic projection and dotted lines, showing the angle, strength, and location of the signal. The signal had only begun when they were just two days from the target, and that could only mean it had come on either by accident, or someone or something had detected their presence. Ever suspicious, Captain Dutch suspected the latter.
“Send an update to Command, and bring us in closer. Not too close, though.”
He looked to his crew with a calm and relaxed expression.
“You never know what you’ll find in deep space. If it’s definitely a derelict, then the entire crew will get a percentage of the prize money.”
That seemed to have little impact on the crew, much to his surprise. Salvage rights to derelicts were a way for military and civilian crews to make a little extra money on their long trips. It was one of the primary incentives for investigating odd occurrences such as this.
They were still undergoing the final stage of deceleration towards the target, but it gave him just enough time to look at the data received so far. He had little to go on, other than it was unlikely to be a natural body, and it was larger than any vessel used by the known races.
What the hell is this thing?
They’d been on a routine patrol when long-range sensors from the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station had detected the object. No star systems were even remotely close to the T’Karan System, so any unidentified object in that region was quickly flagged and orders sent to the nearest ship. ANS Orion had been just three days out when the order had arrived, and another sixteen days for it to get to the source of the signal. Only when it reached a distance of a thousand kilometres, and had matched speed, did it perform a full rotation so that its bow finally returned to face the target.
“This is the Captain. All crew report to your stations. This is not a drill. I repeat; all crew to your stations.”
His voice was calm, as one might expect in a peacetime operation deep inside Alliance space. The war was long over, and though there were still plenty of opportunities for combat and danger, he suspected this would be nothing more than a lost ship, or a satellite that had broken free of some long lost colony of the T’Kari.
T’Karan was the unusual star system marking the last barrier between the old worlds of the human Alliance, and its new possessions in the Orion Nebula. It had been home to the T’Kari in the past, but their limited numbers were now scattered on multiple worlds, and their own colonies shared with humans, Helions, and many others. T’Karan was now more of a way station, a halfway point for those making the journey from the human colonies of what used to be the Confederacy, and the new worlds based around the transport nexus at Helios.
“Take us in closer...and contact High Command. They need to see this.”
“Aye, Sir,” replied the helmsman.
The Alliance warship groaned as her manoeuvring thrusters made adjustments. There were scores of thrusters fitted throughout and gave her a surprising degree of movement in such a short space of time. With a final burst from the main drive, the ship increased in velocity to the target.
As was normal for such a journey, there was absolutely nothing else anywhere near the two ships. Even the main star of the T’Karan System was barely visible, though clearly brighter than any other star in the sky. With them being over forty astronomical units away from the star, it was hardly surprising. The blackness of space was filled with other stars, yet nothing that the ship could reach without years of travel.
Sector Sixteen was a distant part of the T’Karan System, almost forty astronomical units from the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station. That was roughly eighteen days away at maximum burn, and quite a distance to be apart for a ship on its own. Back in the war this would have been considered suicide. No captain would take their ship almost three weeks from the safety of a station or escort vessels. But this was in the heart of the Alliance, and the missile destroyer was a strong ship, and easily capable of looking after itself.
Captain Dutch watched the mainscreen with a degree of fascination as they inched closer and closer. He’d seen all manner of vessels in the past, from the battered, improvised vessels of Khreenk mercenaries, to the traveller ships of the Klithi, but nothing like this. He turned his attention to the holographic unit in the centre of the deck and at the schematic being shown of the object.
“We have nothing on this vessel, nothing at all?”
The Captain sounded confused, almost irritated by the failure in his crew, or at the very least, in the information carried on board the ship.
Lieutenant Meyer, his tactical officer, who also doubled up as the ship’s science officer, shook his head. He’d gone through every possible ship in the database, even as far as matching powerplants and engine configurations, yet still he could not find a match.
“Sir, the ship is a derelict, and based on the condition, I’d say it’s been that way for a very long time. It shows evidence of major combat damage, but no life signs of any kind.”
“Power, weapons?”
The young officer shook his head.
“No, Sir. I’ve checked with the T’Kari registry, and they have nothing like this in their records. I can’t see who else would have left a ship out here.”
Captain Dutch had one thought on his mind, probably the same thought the rest of the crew was having.
“Biomechs?”
Again the officer shook his head.
“I don’t think so, Sir. The configuration has nothing in common with the Biomech ships. Its outer structure is relatively unsophisticated, more civilian in design.”
He looked up for a moment, considering what he’d seen.
“Best guess is that it’s a lost commercial vessel, maybe.”
Something caught his eye on the holographic unit, and he turned away to investigate.
“Odd. The main power system appeared to be online. Our scanners are showing energy levels that are…”
“What?”
The young man look back at his commanding officer.
“Uh...Sir. The levels are off the chart.”
The man sounded more excited than concerned.
“If this is right, that vessel is putting out more power than an entire space station, but it’s only three kilometres long.”
Masses of data could be seen on the central holographic unit, but there was still just the one object in view on the mainscreen. Both looked at it carefully, trying to ascertain is construction and origin. At the same time, coloured indicators showed the power spikes and their approximate location on the ship.
“Take us around. I want a full orbit of her.”
He glanced at Lieutenant Meyer.
“Get me a full scan of her, inside and out. I need every engine, gun port, and access point mapped.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The Alliance destroyer moved on its long, ponderous arc. It would take over an hour to perform a full orbit, but Captain Dutch was taking no chances. As they moved on the same path, the crew recorded as much information as possible. The external cameras provided a detailed view, and sensors recorded data on every known wavelength. Active sensors bombarded the vessel, some penetrating deep inside to map out the structure, and more important to find any sign of life. The derelict ship was certainly massive and dwarfed the destroyer in every way. Captain Dutch walked about the deck and considered what lay before them. His crew continued collating everything they could find. He stopped and pointed.
“There’s something about this vessel that isn’t right. Just look at it.”
On the mainscreen it was hard to tell which part of the vessel they were looking at. It might just as easily have been a dozen ships welded together with no discernible front or rear. Only when they moved closer was it possible to make out the sections of the ship.
“Sir, I’ve got something,” said Lieutenant Meyer.
Images of smaller ships popped up onto the holographic display, and then moved on top of the schematic of the derelict. They flashed and showed as small component parts of the whole structure. The computer began identifying other sections that were clearly designed to attach together, like the components of early human space stations that were built over many years.
“It’s a modular vessel. It is not a single vessel, nothing like it, in fact. From what I can see, there are small vessels attached to its flanks, and at least two large freighter style ships on the underside. There are docking clamps and hardware to merge it together. If I had to guess, I’d say this is some sort of deep-space exploration or colony ship. The components were launched or assembled in space and then combined at that time, or during the mission.”
Captain Dutch leaned in and pointed to a single large section near the front of the ship. He assumed it was the front, based on the slightly larger number of engines on the opposite side.
“No, look at that section. What does that look like to you?”
Lieutenant Meyer looked long and hard at the section. It was roughly spherical, and at some point may have even been transparent. Most of it was heavily pitted and marked, probably due to the long duration spaceflight. For all of its wear and marks, he could easily see what it was. He leaned back and looked over to the Captain.
“That is definitely a long-duration habitation area.”
With a few movements of his hands, an array of sensors shifted direction and concentrated on that one part. Colour shapes popped up to identify materials.
“We’ve got a large quantity of petrified organic matter, consistent with a failed hydroponic setup...maybe. I could be way off base here. Whatever it was, this thing has been out of commission for a long time.”
He then looked to his Captain.
“I’m certain it’s a colony ship, and one designed for extremely long durations.”
He rubbed his head and his eyebrows rose a fraction, as he considered the vessel a little more carefully.
“There’s more, though.”
He selected additional components, especially those attached on the outermost parts of the vessel. As he did so, Captain Dutch nodded as if in agreement.
“It just doesn’t seem right, does it? The ship looks like it was thrown together, not carefully assembled in space. Remember the images of the first Mars colony?”
Lieutenant Meyer smiled grimly.
“Yes, Sir. The mission took a long time, with initial robotic trips to take supplies. The human component was assembled in space prior to heading for Mars. Back in the twenty-first century, it took a long time and a lot of planning to organise.”
Captain Dutch lifted his eyebrows in a questioning manner.
“So why build a colony or exploration ship, one that’s perfectly capable, and then add to it in such a slipshod fashion?”
The imagery shifted until a coloured line ran around the central part of the ship. It clearly marked out a massive transport vessel, the spherical section at its core. When compared to the rest of the vessel, it represented less than a quarter of its total size. Lieutenant Meyer seemed confused as he looked at the design.
“For some reason, this ship was sent out, and then…Well, I suspect these other vessels joined it during its journey. Some of the connections are a little off, like they were trying to attach components to random sections.”
Captain Dutch nodded in agreement as he listened.
“Interesting.”
He looked at the information carefully, not wanting to jump to any rash conclusions. The more they studied the vessel, the clearer it was becoming to him.
“So...for reasons unknown to us, this ship was moving into deep space and carrying a large number of people. The computer shows the habitation section to be large enough to contain the population of a small town, and the rest could only add to that. There could have been anything up to fifty thousand on that thing.”
They both looked at the new information coming in via the radar scans. More and more of the ship was being carefully mapped, even though they could only reach so far inside. Captain Dutch rubbed his right eye and looked back at the Lieutenant.
“It was a long-duration mission, maybe even a lifer mission, that much seems clear. Yet for some reason, other vessels continued to join them. Why?”
It was more a rhetorical question, and as he thought about it, he signalled to his communications officer.
“Continue to hail them. I need information and fast. Are you getting anywhere?”
Lieutenant Jones shook her head.
“Everything I’m sending is just vanishing into a black hole. Absolutely nothing is coming back. Even the beacon has deactivated.”
“Strange. Keep at it.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Lieutenant Jones proceeded to send out messages in all known languages, and on multiple random bands. It was principally an automated procedure, but she still needed to configure specific data packets and targeted them directly at what appeared to be the communication arrays on the unusual vessel. Just seconds after sending a digital burst transmission, she turned around excitedly and lifted her hand to get the Captain’s attention.
“Sir, we’ve got something.”
The ship rumbled once more as the manoeuvring thrusters made further course changes. The derelict might have been massive, but it was nowhere near substantial enough to distort space-time enough to pull the Alliance ship into an orbit. Lieutenant Jones nodded to her part of the holographic display filling the space in front of the deck officers. It showed the newly discovered ship and marked the areas now responding.
“I’ve got two transmissions, both coming from these dish arrays on the vessel.”
Lieutenant Meyer left his seat and joined the Captain to examine the data. The three-dimensional schematic of the derelict spun about and then zoomed in to show the location of the transmission. At the same time the speakers played the sound. It was little other than noise, but clearly mechanical and produced by a person or machine.
“What does it say?” he asked.
Lieutenant Jones shook her head.
“No idea. The translator circuits are working on it. I think it...”
The lights on the ship flickered and then three cut out. Several of the crew spoke quietly, but there was still no sign of serious concern and no panic whatsoever. Then the mainscreen went black, flickered, and then came back but with almost all of the specific data regarding the derelict now gone.”
“What the hell is going on?” Captain Dutch demanded.
The holographic display increased in brightness and transformed to show a bizarre shape moving yet without form. For a second, Captain Dutch thought he could see a person, and then the entire system shut down.
“Security breach!” Lieutenant Meyer yelled.
He’d been away from his station for just a few seconds, but that was all the time it took for him to be locked out of most of his systems. His voice sounded nervous as he tried to assess what was happening, and then his tone shifted considerably.
“Network is compromised...losing system controls, fast!”
His hands moved like lightning, desperately fighting to contain the security breach. At the same time, he called out to other crewmembers to perform an emergency lock down. Captain Dutch was taking no chances and grabbed the intercom.
“Battlestations, this is not a drill. Battlestations!”
The emergency lighting changed as always, then flickered and returned to normal. Even as Lieutenant Meyer made changes, he could see system after system rerouted or locked down. After another panicked five seconds, he looked back to the Captain, his face now dripping with sweat.
“Something got into the computer system. I’ve never seen...hell...nobody has ever seen an attack like this.”
“What have we lost?”
The Lieutenant didn’t answer; instead his attention focussed on the locked view on the mainscreen. It showed the ship in front of them, and icons were flashing up all over the vessels as numerous systems activated.
“Their own systems are coming online. I’m getting readings throughout their ship.”
He glanced at the Captain and then remembered his initial question.
“Our engines are down; life-support has been disabled.”
Captain Dutch was stunned at the news.
“What? How? Do we still have communications, weapons?”
Lieutenant Jones was moving through systems in a similar manner to Lieutenant Meyer, and she looked just as shocked. She shook her head while continuing to work with what little computer power remained.
“No, Sir, all communication systems have been disabled. The system has been rerouted and is running additional routines....I will...”
The imagery flashed and then vanished in front of her. Captain Dutch looked around the deck in frustration.
“Somebody get a lock on this. I want networking disabled between systems; tell me what we have right now.”
Lieutenant Meyer was already running through logs and data pathways until finally he slammed his hands on the computer system and leaned back and sighed as though content with his work.
“Right. I’ve locked it down.”
He turned around completely to face the Captain.
“There’s one hell of a complex, polymorphic algorithm inside our primary core, and it is working away like a Trojan. I’ve isolated it and cut off power to the systems it has contaminated. Even so, those systems will need to be purged manually from engineering.”
He licked his lips.
“Until then, we’re stuck with artificial gravity, manoeuvring thrusters, and partial weapons. Switching on our main drive system or life-support would give it further access, and who knows what it could do?”
Captain Dutch blinked slowly, taking everything in.
“All right, good work, people. Lay in a course away from the derelict. I want us as far away as possible. Prepare an emergency data buoy. We’ll launch it as soon as possible.”
“Aye, Captain.”
A number of white lights flashed on the mainscreen, but with most of their systems offline, there was no way to assess what they were. For anybody watching that one area, they could have been little more than the glint of light from the derelict. They were nothing to do with light, but in fact the opening salvo from the vessel. Only when the first volley of hardened slugs ripped into the bow did the crew know what was happening. The projectiles were the size of a man’s fist, and easily punched through the armour plating and embedded inside the hull of the ship. Less than a second later each of them exploded, sending a cloud of super-heated matter out in all directions.
“They’re firing! We have to...”
Those were the last words of Lieutenant Meyer before one of the projectiles hit him in the chest. His lifeless body was slammed against the inner hull and then the round exploded. The material vaporised his body and fused bone directly to the deck. There was no time to mourn his loss, as more rounds punched inside. Automated sealant systems kicked in to repair the damage, but the ship continued being hit, and chunks of the vessel ripped out with each shot.
“Bring us around, weapons free,” said Captain Dutch.
Any other ship captain might have been panicking by now, but not him. Captain Dutch had seen his fair share of combat, but he knew this was different. Out here, so far from home or help, left him in a dangerous position. One serious piece of damage to his ship would leave him stranded, and he knew exactly what a ship’s chances were in that scenario.
“Turn everything on the derelict...let the bastard burn!”
Lieutenant Jones took the place of the dead Lieutenant Meyer and sent orders to the remaining automated systems. ANS Orion was a powerful ship; that much was obvious. But unlike others in the Alliance arsenal, she was no brawler. Both her bow and stern gun turrets swung around and began unleashing a veritable storm of projectiles against the target. These were quadruple 20mm coilgun mounts, perfect for destroying incoming missiles or fighters, but little more than harassment against larger ships. It was impressive to see, but only caused surface damage to the ship. The primary anti-shipping weapons of her class were her missile tubes, also known anachronistically as torpedo tubes.
“Firing.”
The Liberty class missile destroyer carried a total of eight anti-ship launchers, each carrying multiple reloads. Six were launched; two tubes failed completely. Instead the automated infiltration routine worked its way deep inside the launch guidance system. Firewalls should have kept out the intrusion, but it smashed its way through in seconds, and then activated the fail-safe on their missiles. This was a procedure that even the crew should have been unable to do, at least not without direct physical access to the systems. Without one being launched, they exploded where they sat. An entire mission module, a full one third of the ship’s weapons capacity vanished in a white flash that shook the shop. Huge pieces of debris and malfunctioning missiles struck other parts of the vessel, and in less than thirty seconds, internal fires were burning in a hundred different places.
The remaining six missiles flew to their target and exploded on impact, sending large chunks of debris into space. As the debris cleared, the derelict looked little worse for wear, and her large amount of extra ships attached to her primary hull served as an effective layer of ablative armour.
By the time the Alliance destroyer unleashed her remaining arsenal at the enemy ship, over half her crew was dead. The first lifeboats were already trying to escape, with many shot down as they tried to get away. Some were engulfed in explosions, as more sections of the ship were lost in catastrophic blasts. The entire hull was now burning from the internal damage already sustained. At the same time, the derelict responded with firing its weapons continually at the bridge, as well as to the smashed superstructure near the lost mission module.
The battle between the two vessels was like a battle between two wooden ships, each effectively operating at a fixed point in space. There was no romance in the bloody battle, however, and crew were being cut apart by the second. The last stage of the fight did not last long. By the time the last lifeboat was ejected, ANS Orion was nothing more than a hulk, another large piece of metallic flotsam to drift along the long lost derelict.
* * *
The Black Rift, Centauri Alliance
The newly recommissioned IAS Euryale moved to the entrance of the Rift with no pomp or ceremony of any kind. She bore the same name, but her allegiance to the Alliance had been removed, along with her experimental moniker. Instead of classed as an Alliance Naval Ship, she was now simply an Interstellar Assault Brigade Ship. The Brigade part of the name had been dropped to maintain uniformity in the fleet. Other than the exchange of letters, she was painted and marked up in just the same way as the other warships. Even the font for the name was the same as used in the fleet.
At her flanks circled a pair of Liberty class destroyers, the standard escort ship in the Alliance; powerful ships in their own right. They had not returned from the operation at Spascia, and were instead part of the growing contingent posted to the Black Rift security force. From where Spartan was standing on the main deck, he had the perfect view of the Rift.
“Home.”
Spartan said it quietly, almost as though he wanted nobody to hear. Five-Seven looked over to him. For the first time, the alien was wearing Alliance Navy Auxiliary insignia on a harness across his chest. There was little point in clothing or armour, as the entire race of Thegns had been created to be entirely self-contained soldiers. This harness was little more than a webbing system, but it did help Five-Seven and the other many Thegns fit into the ship’s complement.
“Yes, home,” Five-Seven agreed.
Spartan smiled at the Thegn. They often seemed little more than children when it came to their understanding of emotion and the subtleties of communication. He barely even noticed Captain Delatorre sitting further back and overseeing the command of the ship. It was the only solution to having Thegns on board, and though a complication, it seemed to be working. Five-Seven would technically be unable to be in command of a warship, not until he completed the rest of his training, but he could operate as the Captain’s executive officer, or any other role among the crew.
One thing Spartan had learnt since the war was that the Thegns were quick learners, and the next best thing to having machines run the ship. There was a reason Thegn crews were earning such a reputation in the merchant navy circles, even amidst the bitter racism and xenophobia present there.
Although not his idea, the creation of the separate branch of the military was perfect for the odd situation in Taxxu. Unlike the regular Navy, the Auxiliary was a civilian-manned fleet, made up of vessels to supply the Alliance Navy with fuel, ammunition, and supplies; as well as to transport Marine and Navy personnel and equipment. Some of the ships were retired warships, the majority dominated by alien transports and freighters, who under the authority of the Navy Auxiliary had been granted a new lease of life. Those serving in this new fleet were expected to work under Naval discipline, just as they were aboard IAS Euryale.
In any other part of the Alliance, one might have expected to see dozens of civilian ships waiting to watch the return of powerful military warships. That wasn’t the case this far away from civilization. The Black Rift was a long way from the worlds of the Helions, and even further from any of the human worlds of the Alliance. There was also the issue of the ship being part of a new, relatively secretive part of the Marine Corps. Few would want to publicise the arrival or departure of such divisive figures as Spartan, or that members of the crew were Thegns. The ancient domain of Taxxu was the perfect location to base a high-speed assault force, well away from prying eyes.
The handful of escorts waited near the Rift as IAS Euryale left the Helion System. The ship moved through slowly, vanishing from view as it re-materialised an impossible distance away and deep into the home system of the defeated Biomechs, Taxxu. With the enemy long gone, it was now the domain of the remaining Twelve, led by On’Sarax, the leader of the ancient rebels. Though technically the domain of The Twelve, On’Sarax and the others were only interested in the survival of the few that remained, as well as a peaceful solution to the vast numbers of Thegns still in storage. They had granted full military access to the Alliance, on the one condition that The Twelve were guaranteed both freedom and protection. With the wisdom and technology of these ancient beings offered freely, there were few who would argue against the secretive agreement, or against Taxxu becoming one of the newest and most unlikely star systems in the Alliance. With just one intact planet and a number of moons, it would seem to be of little interest. But that was just a minor detail. Taxxu was far enough away from everywhere else to be the perfect location for military science and engineering projects. Spartan recalled a news article he’d heard recently and smiled.
The workshop of the galaxy, some are calling it. And what was it? The site of the last battle of the war. All of this began because the four of us made the deal with On’Sarax.
He shook his head, recalling that meeting. It had been short, but the principle was simple. The four of them would ensure On’Sarax and her people would be kept undisturbed, and they would control access to anything she would show them. It gave them leverage, and now the four owned the controlling share of the Special Weapons Division.
Incredible.
They moved out of the Spacebridge and into the completely different star system. Just the one vessel came through, but ever since the action on Karnak, the Taxxu System had been transformed, and now it was one of the best-defended sectors in the Alliance. IAS Euryale was a veritable hive of activity. Dozens of support ships moved back and forth to the entrance, and a space station sat in orbit over Taxxu Prime. It was only partially assembled, yet well underway, with the long fingers of docking arms already complete.
“Enough space to dock an entire battle group, right here.”
Five-Seven waited until he’d finished speaking.
“The training facility on Z’Kanthu is well under way now as well.”
The alien nodded off to the right where the largest of the planet’s moons could just about be seen. It had been renamed by the remaining Twelve, in honour of their fallen leader, and was now the focus of the rebuilding process in this region. Spartan was still amazed at the change in the place. It had become a bizarre amalgam of human and alien, and was perhaps the most diverse place in the entire Alliance. Of all the structures around the planet, one more than any stood out. The monolithic Kha’Dri World Ship was the largest vessel in sight, the home of the Special Weapons Division created by CTC, and now fully under Alliance control.
“Good work, everybody. Let’s get her docked, and get our feet back on Terra firma,” said Spartan.
He turned away from the mainscreen and the imagery of the World Ship and made for the door. Though in charge of the ground element of the operation, Spartan had no involvement the spacecraft part. He left that to the Naval and Auxiliary personnel on board.
“Affirmative,” Five-Seven replied.
The ship had been described by one Alliance Captain; as looking like a bastardised assault rifle. It was true. The experimental X-45 Confederate class of warship was nothing as aesthetically pleasing as the Crusader class before it. Even so, the new class of ship had something far more military and foreboding about it. As it moved further from the Rift, it followed a series of marker buoys that signalled the newly designated shipping lanes to the shipyards.
Nobody would ever accuse the ship of looking unwarlike. Her lines were predatory, as were her vast number of weapon mounts that covered her from bow to stern. Like the rest of in her class, she was over four hundred metres long, and would weigh over eighty thousand tons in Earth standard gravity. The vessel passed a docked Liberty class destroyer, and only then did the vast bulk and sheer ugliness of the ship become clear. Whereas the older ships had smooth and obvious lines, the Confederate class was more of a work in progress. The middle section was filled with grooves, which could be hiding hangar doors or weapons. The bulbous bow was hidden behind the long antenna and gantries, extending out as though the ship was unfinished. The most unusual and off-putting part was not the weapons, or the hull, but instead the drive system. The entire rear of the ship was taken up by a massive pair of rings, specially designed to assist in the creation of the distortion of space-time, and making near light-speed possible.
With a single and final course correction, the ship moved onto its docking vector, closer and closer to the World Ship. A single group of Alliance fighters did a quick pass overhead, checking the configuration and details of the vessel before it could move to close to the massive vessel. Even they might have been surprised to see the newly painted lettering on her hull. Gone were the traditional Alliance markings. This ship was now clearly part of the independent Interstellar Assault Brigade.
CHAPTER THREE
Drone control continually evolves and is at the forefront of scientific development. It is not simply enough to be able to manage, control, and issue orders to robotic war machines. It is also imperative that the enemy is unable to do the same. A conventional warship or fighter is as loyal and reliable as the men or women that crews it. The single biggest argument against massed use of drones in warfare was this one, ever-present fear. Could a battalion of computer-controlled warships or foot soldiers be trusted to remain loyal? Ultimately, this would result in the AI Amendment Laws being introduced in the Alliance. The one most significant legal change was that no autonomous machine could be armed, to prevent machines ever being able to turn on their creators. This led to the renaissance in virtual presence robotics, exemplified in the form of the CD1 Grunt, a quantum leap in technology and created by the Special Weapons Division.
Robots in Space
Kha’Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance
The journey from Spascia had been a long one, and the return to Taxxu was something Spartan had been greatly looking forward to. Just over forty weeks ago he’d been on Karnak with a handful of his machines, and now the Brigade was well on the way to being an actual entity, and one that could help make a difference in times of peril.
Almost there!
The outer door remained shut, but already Spartan knew the ship was docked and her mooring clamps fully connected. For anybody else, stepping out into this ship might seem strange, but not to him. Spartan had travelled the galaxy and made his home on planets, moons, and ships. This place was little different to him. Except out here he was in charge of his own destiny, and even better, he had his friends around him. A final seal clunked, and the door began to open up.
Finally.
Footsteps behind him announced the arrival of several of the marines, as well as the huge form of Khan. Spartan tilted back and nodded.
“I see you finally made it. Thought you’d nodded off back there.”
Khan grumbled just as the ramp dropped down, and the interior of the warship was bathed with bright light. All of them lifted their hands to cover their eyes for a moment, waiting for them to adjust.
“She is one hell of a ship,” said Khan.
Normally a vessel like Euryale would dock externally, but due to the massive size of the alien ship, it was possible to place multiple capital ships inside its spacious shipyard area. The World Ship was much like an orbital station, and more in common with habitable moons than with a ship. A decade ago it had been the home to his archenemy, but now it was his home, and being away from the politics of the human core worlds was just a bonus to him. He walked down the warship’s ramp and to the deck of the World Ship, with Khan, Lieutenant Armstrong, and Sergeant Tyler right behind him. All of them were now out of their heavy Maverick and JAS armour, and back to the tunics of the Alliance Marines Corps. Even Khan wore something resembling Alliance uniform, though his personal modifications and bandolier gave him more of an unkempt mercenary look.
“Well, look who we have here.”
Waiting at the bottom of the ramp were a variety of personnel, but one stood out more than any other as she waited there, blocking off the others from view.
“On’Sarax, it is good to see you.”
The huge machine moved subtly in acknowledgement. A single red light flickered as her synthesized voice spoke in flawless English.
“Welcome home, to you all.”
On her left was another machine, one Spartan had seen only rarely. It was larger than her and looked like a brutal war machine. Lieutenant Armstrong leaned in close and whispered, “Which one is that?”
Spartan continued to look at those arrayed in front of them while answering.
“That is Vikas.”
He then began to descend the ramp.
“He killed four Ghost Warriors in the last battle. I saw him take weapon impacts from every direction back then.”
He then glanced quickly back.
“He should have died back then, but the skills of On’Sarax are unsurpassed. There would be only two of us alive today if it were not for her medical skill.”
They continued on to the bottom, and though Spartan nodded at the machines, he made sure he kept away from the larger of the two. He nodded politely, making sure that of all present, On’Sarax received his greeting first.
“On’Sarax, it is good to be home.”
The red light flickered as he spoke. Where On’Sarax was the thinking machine, the one that had held together the last of her race, Vikas, was the opposite. Strong, violent, and more than a little hot headed; he was much more like Spartan than he liked to admit. Vikas was certainly the most powerful of The Twelve, but also partially psychotic. On’Sarax had tried to repair the damage, but it was not biological. It seemed the issue was due to long-term exposure to violence.
Spartan had seen the horrors of war, but nothing like those faced by Vikas. The warrior machine had fought for hundreds of years and seen millions of his kin destroyed. The worst part was that he was one of those that had been frozen in time, drifting in the human Solar System and waiting to be awoken. Unlike his brothers, he was the only one that remained conscious for the process. A technical failure meant his mind had been free while his body was frozen, and over centuries his mind fractured and broke apart.
“Spartan,” said Vikas.
It was nothing more than an acknowledgement, but that was still much more than Spartan was used to. He used the opportunity to stand closer to the machine and to lower his head.
“Vikas. Our mission was successful. The equipment prevented casualties, just as we intended. It was a great victory.”
Two lights flashed on the machine’s armour, but it was the synthesised voice of On’Sarax that answered.
“Vikas thanks you.”
Again, Spartan nodded and then looked to the smart looking Mr Walker, the senior CTC executive, and the company’s man on the inside of the running of the secretive and high lucrative Special Weapons Division. He was one of the few CTC men Spartan could stomach, and it had taken a lot of negotiation to establish a relationship he would even consider with the man. It was the only way he could obtain the finances and support needed to develop the life saving arms and armour he and the others had been working on.
“Spartan, good to have you back. Vikas has been working with us on the first of the Tomb Ships.”
Spartan turned to the two marines following him.
“Lieutenant, get them all cleaned up and ready for debriefing. A lot of questions are going to be asked about this operation, and I want them awake and ready to answer them.”
“Yes, Sir,” said Lieutenant Armstrong.
The two marines were gone by the time Spartan’s feet touched the deck of the World Ship. Spartan paused for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being off the ship. There was little difference between the two, but for now, the World Ship was at least something of a home; more than could be said of the rather utilitarian IAS Euryale. He stopped in front of the three of them, greeting the machines before answering the CTC executive.
“I wasn’t aware we’d been given clearance to open up any of the ships. Are they not all still sealed? Without new genetic material, are they unable to be repaired?”
“Indeed, you are correct,” said Mr Walker.
He looked to the two machines.
“On’Sarax selected this one particular Tomb Ship from the vast number in orbit. According to her, it contains the remains of six warriors, heroes of the rebellion, and all of them broken beyond repair. We are investigating the possibility of using cell regeneration techniques, along with several experimental ideas of The Twelve.”
Spartan lifted an eyebrow.
“To what end? Are these not the fallen soldiers of the enemy?”
On’Sarax moved around the CTC executive to face Spartan, who now needed to turn around.
“That is true, but they are not inherently evil. It is my desire to find an ethical way to restore our long-dormant kin to life, once more. One day, Taxxu Prime will be terraformed, and the few of us that remain will stand on solid ground once more. The casualties of past wars might have committed great crimes, but they are not beyond redemption.”
Vikas shuddered, and one of the marines nearby took a single step away from the machine. Spartan looked to him, but he said nothing. Instead, On’Sarax spoke on his behalf.
“As you know, Vikas rarely speaks outside of The Twelve, and when he does, it rarely makes sense.”
She lifted two of her right arms and placed them against the plating of the machine.
“Vikas says he looks forward to the day The Twelve will be reborn. It is his wish that we will be an important part of this new Alliance. As we benefit, so will you.”
Spartan smiled.
“Thank you, Vikas. I look forward to that day, too.”
Both machines faced each other, and Spartan could only imagine what conversation they were having. The use of oral communication was clearly something they only did when around those incapable of any other kind. Alliance engineers suspected the machines could communicate wirelessly, but so far any attempts to find out how had proven impossible. Spartan had been a staunch defender of their privacy, and refused any attempts at research of experimentation on them, on pain of cancelling the agreement with On’Sarax. It was no idle threat, either. The technology commanded by The Twelve was vast, but it was also hidden deep within the ancient equipment, ships, and technology in Taxxu. Without a guide such as On’Sarax, it would take millennia to unlock its secrets. There was also the issue of over a million Thegns that had been freed from their bonds by The Twelve after fighting on behalf of the Alliance. Though free, they still considered The Twelve to be nothing short of Gods, and that meant they had to be placated. To keep the Thegns in line meant to keep the remainder of The Twelve happy.
Spartan smiled, trying to imagine the conversations taking place on Terra Nova. He’d seen the kind of racism shown to the Jötnar following the fighting in the Uprising, but it was something very different with the Thegns. These creatures were bred for battle and numbered in vast legions. If led astray, they had the power and numbers to be a serious problem.
The only real weakness of this artificial species was their inability to fight a space-borne battle, and therefore to move from world to world. Spartan suspected this had a lot to do with the growing strength of the Navy, and the refusal to allow Thegns to serve on many front-line warships. As the machines spoke in silence, Spartan took the opportunity to turn to Mr Walker.
“And how does CTC benefit from all of this?”
Mr Walker simply smiled.
“The benefits of cellular rejuvenation have kept you in fighting form, where in the past you would be retired. These new techniques could go much further. We are looking at organ and limb replacement, perhaps even a complete halt to the issue of aging.”
On’Sarax uttered a sound, and Mr Walker lowered his head a little, as though apologising.
“For now it is all research, but as for the future, there is always profit in life.”
He then smiled, the expression that seemed to match the corporate world so well. A voice came from behind, along with the thud of heavy footsteps.
“And even more in death.”
The voice was harsh and grim, yet as Spartan heard it, his face seemed to light up. Spartan nodded politely to the alien machines, and then moved around them to find another Jötnar heading towards him. This one wore his uniform with a little more panache even though it was still decorated with extra plates of armour. As might be expected from the Jötnar, two other similarly dressed warriors flanked him. Spartan moved to the largest and stopped directly in front.
“Commander Gun.”
The warrior mumbled, lifting an eyebrow as Spartan continued.
“I thought you were busy talking politics on Terra Nova?”
“Something like that.”
Khan moved up from where he’d been listening to Mr Walker and grasped his old friend by the arm. For anybody else watching it may have seen a little violent, not even particularly friendly. Spartan noticed the large warrior wince a little after contact.
“That pin prick still hurting you?”
Gun looked back to Spartan and rubbed at his body.
“It punched in deeply, Spartan. The medics say it will be another three weeks until it is fully healed.”
For the briefest moment Spartan thought he saw a glimmer of pain in his friend’s eyes.
“I’ve had worse, though. Holes can be repaired. Hell, remember my eye?”
Spartan nodded.
“I don’t doubt it, Gun; at least you’ll be back at full strength soon.”
Mr Walker looked to then both and then concentrated his attention on Spartan. He lowered his head slightly upon seeing the arrival of Gun, his way of greeting somebody he now considered an equal, of sorts. Spartan, Gun, Khan, and Olik still retained a major share in the Special Weapons Division, all part of the agreement that had started the section to begin with. Access to On’Sarax, her people, and the hidden secrets at Taxxu were dependent on them. The ancient machines saw the Alliance as a common ally, but in Spartan and his friends, they saw something that could be trusted.
“SWD, we’ve been granted a fifty percent budget increase for the next quarter. It looks like your operation on Karnak has galvanised Alliance High Command into buying into the upgraded technology.”
Spartan nodded.
“Good, it’s about time our front-line marines got the equipment they deserve.”
He looked away and then back to him, a suspicious look on his face.
“What do they want, exactly?”
Gun indicated for them to walk away from the spaceship, and then moved alongside Khan. As they spoke, Spartan continued his conversation with Mr Walker.
“Spartan, they want the new weapons, and access to the technology used in our engines systems.”
Spartan seemed surprised.
“Weapons? So they are not interested in the real advances, the Grunts and the Maverick armour. That equipment will save lives on the battlefield.”
“Indeed. And how much does it cost to build a CD1 Grunt?”
Spartan took in a long, deep breath and sighed.
“More than the lifetime training costs of a marine.”
“Exactly. The bill for the Spascia operation is...well, how shall I put it? Half the Grunts damaged or destroyed, to save a handful of marines. The sums simply do not add up.”
Spartan stopped and caught both Gun and Mr Walker’s eye.
“So we rescued the hostages, pacified the sector on Spascia, and left the place under Alliance control. And now they are complaining about the bill?”
Mr Walker said nothing for the time being, so they continued walking away from the landed warship, but Spartan could tell Gun wanted to tell him something. He took a few more steps and stopped.
“All right. So they don’t like the price for rolling out the equipment to the Marine Corps. What about the Brigade, did they go for it? It’s only a few thousand personnel, and enough ships to put them in one place. We can go places where the regular Marine Corps can't. We're a grey area."
He glanced to Khan.
"It’s not like this place costs much to maintain. On'Sarax and her kin manage just fine, and for no cost to us.”
Gun looked at Mr Walker, whose face remained impassive, then to Khan and back to Spartan.
“It took a lot of talking, and luckily for us, Daniels was there to do it. He vouched for me, you, all of us. Even the old General was there, as an advisor."
“Rivers?”
Gun nodded.
“Yeah, he might be retired, but he’s still the most experienced commander around. Rumour on Terra Nova is he might be standing for election. Can you imagine it, General Rivers as President?”
Spartan shrugged. He'd heard worse ideas, and the General was one of the few men he would give his backing to. Even so, he found the idea of Gun discussing politics more amusing than anything he’d heard in weeks. Gun tilted his head as he kept talking.
"The General kept reminding them that an independent private security force far away from our own colonies could be a real asset. We can use experimental equipment, recruit from non-Alliance worlds, and, what was the word? Oh, yes, it would allow the Alliance to retain plausible deniability."
Spartan shook his head.
"Typical, so they will allow us to operate, and partially fund us, providing we do the dirty work for them, without them taking the risk if it all heads south."
Gun grinned. "Of course, isn't that always the way?"
“The combat footage from Karnak is causing a lot of trouble. There are people pushing the President for direct involvement.”
“And what about our Brigade?”
Spartan beckoned towards Khan and the two marines, but it was Khan who finally broke, unable to wait any longer.
“Tell us. Is it going to happen?”
Gun straightened his back, licked his lips, and then spoke.
“Gentlemen…”
He paused for effect, and Spartan sighed as they waited.
“Colonel Black has been seconded to the IAB. He will command the unit, under orders from Alliance High Command."
"And you?" Spartan asked.
Gun smiled.
"I've been given operational command of the Brigade, under supervision by Colonel Black. Starting today, you can call me your boss. We are fully activated, and the press have been informed of the formation of the Interstellar Assault Brigade. We will operate as part of the Alliance military, but supplied and equipped directly by the Special Weapons division."
Spartan had expected the news, but it was still great to hear.
"From today, we will begin taking new recruits direct from entry and from other regular regiments. We will even be taking volunteers from the Khreenk and Byotai, if they pass the selection tests. The first transports have already arrived.”
Spartan could see how proud Gun was, not so much of the rank, but of the recognition of his skills and reputation. A generation ago he’d been a foot soldier of the Biomechs, and now he was the commander of the newest and most deadly unit in the entire Alliance.
Spartan and Khan moved in and struck him.
“Congratulations,” said Spartan.
Khan seemed more amused than pleased.
“The crazy fools. They must have realised our ability to absorb losses fitted your command profile perfectly.”
Gun feigned insult and then struck Khan in the shoulder.
“And don’t you forget it.”
Spartan had other thoughts on his mind.
“Gun, does that mean they want the Brigade to help General Makos and his Byotai on Karnak? When we reach full strength, we will be a force to be reckoned with.”
Gun shook his head.
“No. High Command is sending a fleet to the Byotai border, in case the Anicinàbe League decides to cross over. If they do, then our treaty with the Byotai will come into effect.”
“And it will be war,” Khan added.
Gun nodded.
"I don't think even the Anicinàbe are that stupid. If they are smart, they will stay in the sector and keep away from the homeworld. It leaves us looking impotent and stupid. If they come too close, well, we get to take our gloves off. And we all know how that will end."
A secpad hummed on Gun’s flank, and he reached down to grab it. Unlike the standard models, this one had been heavily upgraded with thicker edges, a rubberised protective layer, and most important of all, a retina-based control system. For anybody else this might have been considered a gimmick, but not to Gun. His hands were bigger than most, so touch control was out of the question. He scanned a few lines and something quickly changed about Gun’s expression. He went from being happy to something much more serious. Finally, he looked past Spartan, as though he expected to see somebody else, but then leaned in so only Khan and Spartan could hear him.
“Don’t get too comfortable. Looks like we’ve got something already.”
He leaned back, noticing the look of confusion on their faces.
“What?” Spartan asked, “We’ve just got back from a major combat operation. The Maverick suits need a lot of work, and we lost a good half of our Grunts. They might do the job, but the latency is killing us out there. Like I said, they can support commanders in the field, but not replace them. We need a full debriefing, and the two platoons we took are going to need more than a little R&R.”
Gun had already turned to walk away and simply called out to them.
“I need to speak with High Command. Get your senior officers to the briefing room in ten minutes. I’ve got something for you, and I think you’re going to like it.”
Spartan looked to Khan who was still shaking his head.
“Something already? Is he crazy? One ship is still not finished, and Titan is still being repaired. The second batch is not even structurally complete.”
Khan nodded quickly in agreement.
Exactly. We’re not even at a quarter-strength yet. Three platoons, that’s it, Spartan.”
Spartan watched Gun move further away, and he turned back and shouted at them.
“Spartan, I need you with me. Khan, get the others. I need whatever can fly in the air, and fast.”
He then continued onwards and vanished around the distant corner. Spartan looked back to Khan and placed one hand on his friend’s arm. Gun shouted for him, even though he was now well out of sight.
“Gun doesn’t mess around. Get the seniors officers assembled, and meet me there in five minutes.”
Khan looked surprised.
“You think he’s serious?”
Spartan lifted an eyebrow.
“He’s always serious, and if he wants the officers in a briefing in ten minutes, I’d suggest it is damned serious. Get me the officers from 1st Company, and round up all the senior officers from Euryale. Looks like we are going to have work to do.”
Khan chuckled.
“They won’t like that. Most of them are heading off for some expected R&R.”
Spartan scowled, but not at Khan, merely in response to the expected attitude.
“Remember the war, my friend. The enemy doesn’t wait until our bellies are full and our beds are warm.”
Khan grinned.
“Isn’t that the truth?”
* * *
Gun waited in the centre of the circular room while the last of officers shuffled inside. Some were still straightening their uniforms, and at least one had forgotten his tunic. It was a rushed assembly, and Gun let it go, for now.
“Khan?”
Several of the officers looked about, and one muttered something before Spartan moved closer to him. Nobody could hear him speak, but Gun nodded and seemed to accept whatever he’d heard. As they waited, Spartan held up his personal secpad for Gun to see. They looked over the details. Gun kept looking to the door.
It was a large space, much bigger than would be found on any Alliance vessel, and at some point in the past had been some type of command room for the Biomechs. Much of the sculpture and design remained, giving it a dark, sinister feel, as though at any moment the walls could come alive. Spartan felt far from a stranger, though, and the odd curves and shadows cast on the floor was more welcoming to him than the bright lights of most space stations. Around him was an odd mixture of characters from the command elements of the newly established IAB. There were the naval officers of IAS Euryale, as well as the officers and NCOs of 1st Company, the only intact combat unit so far of the IAB at Taxxu. Spartan noticed Gun looking to the doorway for perhaps the fifth time and shook his head.
Where is he?
Gun’s eyes caught his, and he could see the irritation in his face. Spartan shrugged, moving his attention to the right where he was pleased to see Five-Seven waiting. As the sole representative of the Thegns, he stood out, yet nothing seemed to faze him, not even the glances from some of the disapproving officers.
Here he comes.
Spartan heard the approach before the two doors hissed open. In walked Khan, flanked by a pair of Thegns, each wearing their minimalist Naval Auxiliary uniforms. Every pair of eyes moved to watch them as they marched inside. Khan didn’t stop until he was standing next to Spartan and facing the rest of the officers.
“Took your time,” said Spartan.
Khan grumbled and nodded towards Gun. The group was relatively small, but it now represented all the active units in the IAB, including two Thegns who were part of Five-Seven’s crew.
“Spartan, it’s time,” said Gun.
Spartan nodded, but so little that only those nearest would have even spotted the movement. Gun took in a breath and began speaking, just as the centre holographic projector displayed videostreams from multiple news networks.
“Our last mission on Spascia is getting a lot of attention on the networks. There are videostreams of the assault, and a lot of people want to know what these machines are, and where they came from.”
Spartan then smiled.
“When High Command put out a statement that they were virtual presence soldiers, the response was incredible. Interest in military careers has increased fifteen percent, with the majority of those requesting information on training and posting out here.”
He looked to Gun.
“The IAB is making a real difference, and we are at the front-line. A lot of people doubted we could do this, and week by week we’re proving them wrong.”
He then looked out to the officers.
“One day, the entire Alliance military could look like what we have built out here. Our soldiers will operate from inside heavily protected command and control ships, and we will travel to the warzones with speed and overwhelming force.”
Gun shifted uncomfortably and nodded before speaking.
“Spartan is correct, but whether that happens is out of our hands. For now, we are the first response against threats internal and external. Spascia has proven once and for all that only an IAB company can be at a target in hours or days, instead of weeks or months.”
He took in another quick breath.
“We can hit a target before a conventional battlegroup can even be assembled.”
A murmur of self-congratulation spread among the small group, but Gun lifted his hand to silence them.
“With success comes responsibility, and because of what we have achieved, we are drawing a lot of attention. That is why we have been given a new mission, one perfectly suited to our unique skills. A ship is missing, and we are being sent to investigate.”
Captain Delatorre, the sole Alliance Navy senior officer present, and Captain of IAS Euryale lifted his hand.
“Commander Gun, as you know, our ships are all unserviceable. We cannot be expected to operate another mission until after repairs and new trials. There are plenty of other vessels in the fleet ready for a mission like this.”
He looked around, noting there were no officers from the other two ships present.
“The IAB is nowhere near capacity. Most of our units unformed, and of our three ships, one is incomplete; the other damaged from the fighting at Karnak.”
“And Euryale, she is fully operational, is she not?” Gun asked.
The Captain shook his head.
“I need to replace a third of the crew. We need replenishment and new kit. I think you’ll find the Marine contingent will need assistance as well. Half of their Grunts are gone, and two of my dropships need replacing.”
Gun looked to Spartan who said just a few words. Gun muttered and then looked back to the Captain.
“Liaise with Five-Seven and get her ready. He has additional Thegn crew, each already trained with the Auxiliary. Load as much gear as you have time for. I don’t care how ready we are…in sixty minutes IAS Euryale will be leaving Taxxu.”
The Captain rose to his feet to protest. Gun signalled for him to stay where he was.
“You’ve told me your concerns, and they are noted. I have already sent orders to our replenishment teams to get started.”
The man looked to Spartan, but he found nothing but the harsh glance from the commander of the 1st Battalion. Captain Delatorre was clearly unimpressed by his treatment and began to sit back down. Spartan felt obligated to say something.
“Captain. We need your skills and experience, as much as we need the skills of our crews and marines. If you’ll give us a moment, you will understand why.”
The Captain nodded and waited in silence, along with the men and women of 1st Combat Company. Gun shuffled his feet impatiently and signalled to one of the technicians. The imagery changed to show the T’Karan System.
“Now, to the mission. Three hours ago we lost contact with ANS Orion, almost forty astronomical units from T’Karan.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the men and women. The distance was nothing in terms of long-distance space travel, but it was unusual for an unescorted patrol. The model changed to show the Alliance warship.
“ANS Orion is one of the first Liberty class destroyers. She’s reliable, and so is her captain. They have seen action over the last twelve months and were fresh out of refit.”
Spartan looked at the shape, and memories quickly returned of the battle at the Black Rift. He’d seen the shapes of Alliance ships, the last of the fleet that were making a desperate assault on the enemy. The Liberty ships were hardy things, yet he’d seen them crumple to the gunfire of true ships-of-the-line, and it had been far from pretty.
“They were sent on a routine patrol when an unidentified object was detected. The distance was substantial and Orion already several days out when they got the call.”
Gun licked his upper lip before continuing.
“What they found was this.”
The image changed again; this time replaced by the vast derelict. It rotated slowly so that the vessel could be seen from all directions. Some of the marines strained to get a closer view of the components.
“Orion moved in nearer, and while investigating the derelict, they simply vanished without a trace. We’ve had no contact since, and our long-range scans are picking up nothing more than scattered debris.”
He paused, letting that sink in.
“I know what you’re all thinking. It was probably a collision or an accident, and you might be right. Apart from this.”
He nodded to Spartan who then walked up to the model. As he moved his hands, the object twisted about and then stopped. A flashing blue line surrounded one section on the left part of the vessel.
“The ship is modular, and this particular section is a patrol ship.”
He looked at his small audience.
“We’ve checked with the Helions and the T’Kari, and got nothing. But the Klithi are another story. They will tell us little, other than that this one vessel is in their ship registry.”
Spartan glanced to Gun who gave him the nod.
“It is a patrol ship from the Trusska.”
There was no response for a moment.
“Yes, you heard me, the Trusska. The mythical race that apparently committed suicide centuries ago.”
He turned around and pointed at the vessel.
“At least one part of that derelict is of Trusskan origin. And all the Klithi would tell us was to keep well away. Their last message said Trusskan ships bring only death. They are moving their primary fleet to protect their Spacebridge to Helios. They suggest we do the same, and prepare for a major offensive! No wonder they're scared.”
That brought a smile to both Gun and Khan’s faces. The imagery deactivated, and Gun took over.
“In any case, we’ve been given orders to investigate the location from a safe distance. Once there, we will perform a full tactical scan and then send in boarding teams. If there is a risk to T'Karan, or Alliance territory, we have full authority to conduct a search and destroy mission. All options are at our disposal, including destruction from deep space. If it is as serious as the Klithi suggest, then downfall protocols will come into effect.”
Spartan looked surprised.
"Downfall? As in crew and equipment expendable?"
Gun nodded.
"Exactly, under those circumstances, any price must be paid to stop it."
Lieutenant Armstrong lifted his hand, but he looked more amused that worried.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” said Gun.
“Downfall, on the word of aliens."
He shook his head and clearly had little time for the Klithi.
"What are we expecting to find, Sir?”
Gun’s face tightened a little.
“ANS Orion was lost with all hands, and we have a massive vessel moving into Alliance territory. The Klithi have never misled us before, and they are terrified of this thing. Our mission is simple; to get there weeks before a conventional fleet, and to find out what happened well before it can be a major threat to our colonies.”
Spartan nodded twice as he listened.
“And if we find hostiles, what does High Command sanction?”
Now Gun seemed to positively beam at the question.
“If we deem it a threat, we have full authorisation to destroy whatever we find out there.”
CHAPTER FOUR
One event occurred in the Great Biomech War that has never been fully explained. A ship vanished in the T'Karan System and reappeared many months later in the Sol sector, near the planet Mars. The journey was vast, and in theory, only possible via the use of the Interstellar Network of Spacebridges. Survey ships would spend years looking for answers, but there are many that say the ship never really vanished. An even smaller group suggest those that reappeared in the Sol System might simply have been copies or clones of the original captives, a hypothesis generally laughed at by the scientific community. The alternative is that there is a Spacebridge out there, perhaps even an additional network that could provide the answers.
Evolution of the Biomechs
Admiral Jarvis Naval Station, T’Karan System
IAS Euryale moved in a wide elliptical orbit around the vast space station. She was not the only one doing this, but no sooner had she arrived and the other vessels busily altered their courses. Of all the ships in T’Karan, IAS Euryale was now the furthest from the station. Her shape stood out against every other vessel, not due to her size or ungainly appearance, but because of the great double ring at her stern. This odd arrangement made her appear like no other. Neither the humans nor the myriad of races in the many worlds connected to the Helios Nexus used such technology. White flashes burned continually from her main drive as she moved onto her orbital course.
Created over a decade ago, the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station was massive, and one that had no equal in the known galaxy. It was a thriving places, a centre for commerce, shipbuilding, and engineering, and every year it grew. What had started as a forward base of operations for a military offensive had now turned into something quite different. The station included a vast shipyard, as well as a thriving engineering station and Marine Corps barracks and was the stopover point for every military fleet or convoy that moved from Alpha Centauri to the Orion Nebula. The station was also the home of the T’Karan Fleet, one of the most heavily armed Heavy Strike Groups in the Alliance.
“She’s different every time I see her.”
Dozens of ships waited in orbit, with one in particular standing out more than the rest. As well as the large number of military ships, there were also small groups of civilian vessels, each bearing the marking of the newly minted Alliance Navy Auxiliary. For most of the ships the change in name made little difference, but Spartan could see each carried at least a single retrofitted defence turret. One of the requirements, apart from an ANA sanctioned crew, was they all had to be armed, even if just by a single turret.
“ANS Warlord,” Spartan said under his breath, “Flagship of the T’Karan Strike Group.”
The ship was unique, something hastily improvised in the war. Back then, ships were manufactured and hurled out into battle, often incomplete. ANS Warlord had been an attempt to consolidate the resources of two Conqueror class battlecruisers into one vessel. The hulls had been fused together during the initial production, and then extra layers of spaced armour installed throughout. It was an ungainly monster, yet somehow it had survived multiple engagements and been present at the Black Rift. Khan leaned in closer.
“He will be here, you know that?”
Spartan smiled, but his expression was grim.
“I know. Anderson has enough to do without reminiscing about the old days. Another time, maybe.”
Khan looked at his friend for a little longer and then turned his attention back to the mainscreen. Unlike the physical windows on the left and right-hand sides of the bridge, this part could show them any view they wished. One half pointed at the station, while a smaller section darted about, investigating every vessel in the area. There were many news ships, the majority variants of the Liberty design. A single Helion missile cruiser was connected to a long docking platform, and drones moved about its hull. Khan pointed to another object off to the right.
“And that one is Harbinger, the highest kill record in the fleet for any Crusader class. She was almost destroyed in a ground attack run in the war. Impressive ship.”
Spartan swallowed uncomfortably. He knew a lot of the men and women aboard that ship, and many of them had been lost in that battle. Even so, seeing one of the ships from the war brought back images of the final space battles. Spartan had witnessed the destruction of numerous Alliance ships; he’d even given orders to fire on many of them.
“Impressive crew.”
Captain Delatorre looked at the ship and shook his head.
“She’s still running railguns. I thought all the Crusader class now run particle beams.”
Spartan looked in the direction of the ship.
“All of the surviving first ships retained their armament. Many were upgraded, but none survived the war. Any remaining with railguns were moved to the home fleets. They were supposed to be the second-line of defence.”
He looked back to the Captain.
“That’s why so many were available for combat at the end of the war; archaic perhaps, but their crews were experienced, and they fought damned hard. When the call came, they joined up with Liberty class escorts and fought against the Biomechs.”
Five-Seven twisted his head towards them both.
“Contact from the Naval Station. Admiral Churchill sends his regards.”
Khan and Spartan looked to each other, and Khan’s eyebrows rose in a disconcerting fashion.
“Churchill? I thought Anderson was stationed there?” Khan asked.
Spartan lifted his shoulders.
“Obviously not. Isn’t Churchill commanding the T’Karan Fleet now?”
Both of them looked at the view of the ships. At first it had seemed much the way it normally was, but then the list continued to grow. Spartan counted them off before turning to Khan and Captain Delatorre. The officer nodded towards ANS Warlord.”
“According to the scans, this is the largest gathering of ships of the line since the Battle of the Black Rift.”
He licked his lips as he listed them.
“One heavy battleship, four Conqueror battlecruisers, fifteen Crusader heavy cruisers, and twenty Liberty destroyers.”
He turned to Spartan.
“Forty ships is quite a gathering. And that doesn’t include the thirty plus Auxiliary ships waiting at Sector Four.”
Khan laughed.
“Well, you’ve seen what’s happening on the Byotai border. If you ask me, that’s a war fleet destined to go to the border.”
Five-Seven spoke again.
“Admiral Churchill has put four Liberty class missile destroyers and a single Liberty class troop transport at our disposal, should you need them. He has also requested a company from the 24th Regiment, and they will arrive within the day.”
Spartan grinned at the mention of the famous unit.
“The Red Watch, huh?”
Spartan rubbed his chin and glanced to Five-Seven.
“Send our thanks, and pass on our mission details. Let’s make sure the Admiral is kept in the loop.”
He looked away and then shook his head.
“Scratch that, get him on the videostream. I want to speak with him.”
Five-Seven looked away, and in a few more seconds the face of the Admiral appeared. A veteran of both wars, much like Khan and Spartan, he had seen just as much combat, perhaps even more.
“Major Spartan, I never thought I’d see you back in this sector again.”
“You’re not alone, Admiral. What’s happening out here? I thought Anderson still controlled this sector?”
The Admiral looked a little suspicious as he considered his words.
“You’ve seen the news. There’s trouble brewing, so Admiral Anderson is at a conference at Helios Prime. He will be back soon, though. AJNS is his home now, and quite a home it is."
Spartan looked at the station on the mainscreen and nodded.
"You could say that. This place has gone from an outpost to something inconceivable. The ships, though, this is not routine, is it? I know some of them, and a few are not usually sent this far from home."
Again the Admiral considered his words. Spartan was back in the military, but the IAB was something odd. Though part of the same overall structure, they had independence, and in many ways had more in common with a private security force or a foreign legion. He was still coming to terms with the new unit, but Spartan was entitled to know what was happening up to a certain level, and he had no doubts as to Spartan's loyalty or abilities.
"You're right. This is the home fleet from Terra Nova. They're here for manoeuvres with the T’Karan fleet based at this station. We’re going to be joined by the Helions and with some contingents from the Byotai.”
Spartan did his best not to laugh.
“Manoeuvres? They put you in charge of this?”
A light flashed on the mainscreen, and the cameras altered their view to show the Spacebridge that led back to Prometheus. Three ships came through, and were then followed by a long column of civilian transports.
“That’s a lot of ships,” said Khan.
Admiral Churchill nodded.
“Well, you know how it goes. Anyway, this is all part of the long-term strategy. You've seen the reports. With Makos on Karnak, nothing will end quickly. The Byotai are holding their own, and the Anicinàbe are not fully committed yet. If this turns to a full shooting war, it could last months, maybe years."
Spartan sighed.
"Shooting war? Trust me, Admiral. It's way past that."
Admiral Churchill nodded in agreement.
"This derelict of yours is more pressing at the moment. I had been assembling a team, but we’re weeks away from being able to assist. Is it true, can you be there in less than half a day?”
“Six hours.”
He tried to hide it, but the pride in Spartan’s voice was easy to spot. Admiral Churchill shook his head in amazement.
“You’ve done incredible things at Taxxu. Your team has moved us along a generation, maybe more with this tech.”
He leaned in closer to the camera.
“Just do me a favour, Spartan. Don’t activate your engine anywhere near the station. I don’t think your reputation could come back after that!”
Khan began to laugh, but Spartan seemed less than amused.
“Understood, Admiral. We’ll be in touch within the day with news. Keep everything else out of the area until then.”
The Admiral disconnected, and as before, the Alliance ship was alone. Captain Delatorre went back to his seat and turned to Five-Seven.
“Move us into the designated launch position. It’s time.”
Five-Seven acknowledged and turned back to his computer systems fitted around his chair. The ship was already thousands of kilometres from the station, but neither Spartan, nor the Navy officers on the base were taking chances. The technology used in IAS Euryale was experimental, and somewhat volatile. The last thing any of them would want was a tear in space-time next to the largest naval facility in the Alliance. The Admiral may have been joking, but there was some truth with regards to the engines.
“We will be at the launch coordinates in seventy seconds.”
Spartan turned his attention to the station for one last time, soaking in the details. Whenever he left Taxxu, he always came across such reminders of his past, even the name, the illustrious Admiral Jarvis, and hero of the human civil war more than two decades ago. He’d known her, and in the years since the Uprising, she had become something of a legendary character in the Alliance Navy. They continued moving to the launch location, using nothing more than their conventional engines. Great pulses of white marked the burning of fuel as they travelled at the same speed as most other ships.
“Look, they are watching us,” said Captain Delatorre.
Though formally in command, the Captain had left the basic operations of the ship to Five-Seven and his efficient crew of Thegns. He pointed to the left and then a few degrees away to another group. Spartan spotted the small shapes just after Khan. There were two groups of fighters, both made up of three spacecraft, and a fourth one much larger than the others.
“Is that what I think it is?” Spartan asked.
Khan strained to look at it, but the Captain seemed comfortable with what he could see.
“That is a first for me. Those are a pair of XB49 Reapers, and three Lightning Mark II fighters are escorting them apiece. I’m amazed those things are still flying. But those new drones, incredible pieces of equipment.”
Spartan smiled. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d seen them fly, but he had witnessed their combat ability both in space, and in the skies over several worlds.
“They might be old, Captain, but they are still unsurpassed in their role. These birds went toe-to-toe with the best of the Biomechs’ fighters and came out on top.”
“True. But the Reaper moved things up to a whole new level. One Reaper package can handle an entire squadron.”
“In theory.”
Spartan knew the weapon system, even though he’d never actually seen one in the flesh before. Technically a support drone fighter, but in reality they were a very heavily armed, up scaled Avenger drone. Rather than being involved in direct action, they were designed to function as shared weapon platforms for use by other networked craft. An alert indicator flashed, and Captain Delatorre looked to Spartan.
“Major, all systems are ready. We have clearance from the AJNS to proceed.”
Spartan seemed a little apprehensive before finally giving the order.
“Very well. Let’s get going. It’s time to move to a safe area.”
As before, the procedure for activating the interstellar engines was something of a letdown. There was no mass acceleration or changing forces of acceleration. Instead, the huge ring at the rear of the ship created a bubble of warped space around the vessel. They watched the view on the mainscreen as the ship accelerated away. It was gone in seconds. Moments later the view changed to point directly ahead. Stars moved slowly as they travelled just below the speed of light. Five-Seven checked in with his stations before giving the all clear.
“We are on the way to the target. ETA, six point one hours.”
“Very good,” replied Spartan, “Khan, it’s time to get the team ready. I want 2nd Platoon as a boarding party with full assault gear and weapons. They need to be prepped and loaded on the operations deck. 3rd Platoon will be on standby and under your command.”
“What about you?”
Spartan smiled.
“Grunts first, Captain. Let’s see what we find.”
It was the first time Spartan had used Khan’s new rank, and he seemed to find it amusing. Khan gave him a mock salute back, and then made for the exit from the deck.
“I’ll meet you below, Major.”
* * *
IAS Euryale, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
"Ten seconds, Captain," said Five-Seven.
Captain Delatorre took in a short breath and moved back to his chair. It was a strange thing to do, but when the engines were cut, they were more likely to need the seating than when using the Interstellar Drive, a system that allowed them to travel through space without moving. He activated the intercom, and it made a squawk sound throughout the entire ship.
"Dropping back to conventional speed in five seconds."
Every single person on the ship tensed as the last few seconds ticked by until finally the ship deactivated its Interstellar Drive, and in an instant it turned into a conventional starship; one that was little different to any other plying the shipping lanes in the Alliance. The only visible indication anything had changed was that the pulsing light between the pair of large ringed nacelles stopped. One moment the ship had been moving vast distances at near light-speed, and then it was back to its standard speed, and no different to any other vessel. Captain Delatorre activated the internal intercom again.
“Major, we have arrived.”
His voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a clear degree of relief to his tone. The mysteries of the Interstellar Drive were complex enough for most engineers, but to the officers of the ship, it was a deadly new piece of equipment. Few outside of CTC knew of the failed experiments that had seen three drone test subjects torn apart, and another had vanished entirely, never to be seen again. The strangest of all was the largest of all the prototypes. The moment its engines had been activated, it vanished inside its bubble, invisible to all sensors. Yet upon investigation, the ship was still there but trapped in the one place. Buoys had been placed, and the area of space around it put into effective quarantine ever since. Spartan was already on his way and marched onto the deck just a few seconds after the Captain had finished speaking.
"Major?"
Spartan kept moving until he was alongside the Captain and Five-Seven, both of whom sat in their tall seats in the centre of the command deck.
"Good work, damned good work," said Spartan.
Unlike the crew, Spartan wore his full M-3B tactical armour. It was similar in design to the existing PDS armour used in the Marine Corps, but there were some very obvious changes, ones based on the latest advanced from the Special Weapons Division. Reinforced banding was positioned at key areas to protect the chest, upper limbs, and thighs. Tiny discs, more like grey dots, were positioned at key intervals along the armour. They were barely visible, yet provided the critical link between the suit and the heavy equipment being developed by the Special Weapons Division. Then came the last and most obvious difference, the lab-grown outer skin, something developed in conjunction with On'Sarax; Thegn outer skin giving similar protection to normal armour, yet could repair itself over a matter of hours.
"Where are we?"
Captain Delatorre moved the map to the side of the mainscreen. On one side it had a marker showing Admiral Jarvis Naval Station. It was impossible to see at a distance of more than seven billion kilometres away. The thing that put a cold lump in Spartan's chest was that the station was the nearest object this far out.
Space really is a cold, murderous place.
Green shapes flashed as the computer outlined them in the darkness. This far out it was impossible to see a nearby object unless it was lit in some way. There were scores of items in the vicinity of the ship, but the single massive structure instantly mapped to the data received from ANS Orion.
"Good work, you brought us right onto the objective marker. Perfect."
He had no doubt they would have made it, especially with Euryale, but with such a long trip and so far from friendly vessels, there was always a moment of doubt at the back of his mind. They could survive for over three months on their own, perhaps longer if part of the crew was put into sleep hibernation.
Khan moved onto the deck, Lieutenant Armstrong at his side.
"Well? What happened?"
While the young officer wore similar armour to Spartan, Khan was something else entirely. He was a monster compared to the other crew, but his JAS armour made him even bulkier. It fitted closely to his skin, yet still pushed him up to the size of the Maverick armour system. Retractable blades rested on the arms, and the weapon systems sat impotently on the outer mounts. It was a bizarre mixture of high-tech and primitive combined into a fighting suit. Captain Delatorre looked at him in surprise. He might have respected the combat potential of Khan and his kin, but he had little respect for them as a race.
"You're planning on going somewhere? I thought this was specifically a drone operation?"
Khan hissed back through his teeth.
"Drones are good, but nothing beats eyes on the target. In any case, we'll be ready, just in case. You don't want to be in your civvies in the middle of a crisis."
He looked at Spartan and struck him on the shoulder.
"Right, Major?"
Khan then glanced over to the other crew.
"At least we made it. I told you she was the ship for us."
Spartan sighed. IAS Euryale had earned something of a reputation in the fledgling IAB, based primarily upon her perceived performance when compared to the other two ships in her class. New Carlos was still incomplete, and Titan had suffered three breakdowns in as many months, much of which attributed to the substantial damage sustained over Karnak. Worse than any issue or breakdowns was the fact Titan had collided with a Liberty class destroyer just two months earlier. This incident occurred when her manoeuvring thrusters had malfunctioned. It didn't take much to earn a ship the unlucky moniker, and her reputation had now managed to reach some parts of the public press.
Five-Seven altered the mainscreen to show the view of the derelict. Captain Delatorre shook his head and pointed. The scanners had already located signs of recent damage where multiple projectiles had torn apart some of the outer layers of the hull.
“It would appear we have arrived late. There was definitely a battle out here. The derelict is in a worse state than the imagery we received."
He turned away from the display and towards Spartan, whose helmet was open, and his face visible as he looked at the imagery.
"Something happened out here, and the Alliance ship was destroyed. We need to be careful."
Spartan nodded in agreement. “Yes."
Five-Seven moved his hands and adjusted the view to show a group of objects moving closer to the vessel. He glanced at Spartan.
"Reconnaissance drones are now in the area. Activating lighting.”
White and dull yellow shapes appeared as the incredibly powerful lamps shone out to the vessel. Those further away provided a low level of ambient light, the closer ones moved about in a search pattern to examine every nook and cranny. Captain Delatorre changed the display to show both the live view, as well as the computer model that combined radar cross-section scans with the lit detail. Every few seconds the shapes increased in detail as a high-resolution map was created before their eyes. Spartan leaned in closer, scrutinising the details.
"The derelict is not quite as it appeared on the last transmission. Look at the surface damage and all of this expelled debris."
Captain Delatorre seemed to agree.
"Yes, it looks like she took a beating from multiple volleys."
He pointed to three key areas.
"Notice the pattern? That's quadruple cannon fire. The gun turrets of a Liberty class destroyer would match that perfectly."
He leaned back and sighed.
"ANS Orion fought back and hit these sections with gunfire."
He then moved the image along and pointed to the areas of debris.
"This is where the missiles impacted. Orion may be gone, but they put out a lot of fire in this engagement."
Spartan seemed disappointed.
"Yes, but how was a modern Alliance warship beaten by a derelict hulk of junk? Just look at it."
Khan shook his head in irritation.
"I've seen Liberty ships take on warships twice their size, and for a long time. They are tough and reliable. And Orion was a missile destroyer, perfectly built to destroy ships at range."
Spartan nodded.
"Quite. This derelict is as big as expected, but the condition is terrible. I know the data we received suggested it was old, but this thing looks like a floating scrapyard, but the size of a city."
Captain Delatorre pressed a button and brought up a projection of ANS Orion.
"And where is Orion? That ship was crewed by experienced men and women, people I've served with before. They would not have been caught by surprise, and if they had, they would have fought back and ensured we received all the data they could send. There must be something here, or at the very least, her lifeboats or transponders.”
A single red light flashed on the mainscreen. The computer located the source and enlarged the view to show a section of the derelict. Five-Seven looked to Spartan and the Captain.
"The lifeboat beacon is coming from inside the derelict."
Spartan's eyebrows rose at that small piece of information. Captain Delatorre leaned in and examined the derelict in detail.
"Interesting. The signal source is in what appears to be a domed habitation area."
He then turned to Spartan.
"What if they abandoned ship and took refuge on the derelict?"
Spartan didn't look convinced.
"Possible, but that would mean they lost the ship and their lifeboats. I've seen very few space engagements where not even one lifeboat made it out. They might have been captured and taken aboard, assuming any of them are still alive."
He looked back at the imagery on the right of the mainscreen, an area showing the region of space around the derelict. Green outlines flagged parts of the debris there.
"Those are hull fragments. I recognise the shapes."
He wiped his lower lip.
"Something happened out here, something violent. ANS Orion is gone, and with her the answers to what happened."
He turned to Captain Delatorre. "Suggestions?"
The naval officer swallowed uncomfortably.
"Uh...we maintain a safe distance, establish a protected cordon, and send in a team to investigate."
Spartan smiled. "Good."
He looked back at the screen again.
"I want two dropships for this, one for possible support, and the first for insertion."
"Khan, you will stay on the operations level and get 3rd Platoon ready. If we hit trouble, I want to know you're ready. I'm leaving the defence of the ship to you, old friend."
Khan struck Spartan's shoulder.
"The ship can only house ninety controllers; that's two full platoons."
Spartan smiled.
"I know. I want 3rd Platoon armoured and ready...as in old school ready. You understand? No Grunts, no drones, just marines in M-3 armour and ready to go. I need a reliable backup, one that can work without networked command and control."
Khan seemed to like that.
"Yeah. Grunts are one thing, but plenty can go wrong. Lose communications from the ship, and we've got two platoons of Grunts who'll do nothing but guard the ground they've taken."
He then clenched his fists together, and the metal of the suit made a groaning sound as his dense muscles pushed hard against it.
"If anybody's stupid enough to come aboard, they are welcome to try. I'm looking forward to a little exercise."
With that, Spartan left the deck and headed down below. Khan followed close behind and deep into the bowels of the ship.
* * *
It didn't take long for them to reach the vast section that ran the full length of the ship. Before them arrayed on each side, as though on parade were all the marines of 1st Platoon. Lieutenant Armstrong saluted as Khan and Spartan approached.
"1st and 2nd Platoons are ready."
Spartan nodded and looked back to Khan.
"Remember, get 3rd Platoon ready. We've got a full armoury and plenty of power packs."
Spartan then looked to the assembled marines.
"This is the first time we have sent in two platoons by remote. We lost a ship out here, and the only sign of survivors is a beacon deep inside her hull. We will be going in five hundred kilometres from Euryale, and that means no latency. Each of us will be as fast and active as an actual marine."
Spartan moved down the line.
"Normal rules of combat would dictate a division of active personnel and combat drones, but this is no normal operation. We cannot risk lives of marines, not without knowing what is over there."
He stopped and looked at a tall man. He was easily taller and broader than Spartan, and bore damage on his armour that looked like thermal scorches. They reminded him of the short, but violent struggle down on Spascia.
"This will go by the numbers, exactly as we planned it on the way here. Speed is of the essence. We will trade risk for speed. There could be survivors on board, and it’s our job to do what we can to save them."
He began to move ahead again.
"A full tactical reconnaissance in force, two platoons of fifty-five Grunts entering at six separate locations. We will have a pair of dropships waiting for us, along with a full weapons package."
Spartan looked to his left where the men and women of 1st Platoon were lined up. It was less than a half size-platoon, with only twenty out of the normal forty-five present. But each and every one of them was a combat veteran, people he knew he could trust.
"There will be no firing without my express authorisation. This may be a first contact situation, and right now we have no idea what happened out here. If there are survivors on the derelict, they could be hostile, and just as likely friendly. So, let's do this right."
He then turned to look at 2nd Platoon. This unit consisted of another thirty-five marines and was untested in battle, but their training was second to none. He'd intended on merging personnel between the platoons to bring 1st Platoon to full strength, but that would now have to wait; there had simply been not enough time since their return from Spascia. The two platoons could not have been further apart, one being mentally exhausted from the combat on Spascia, the other still itching for their first mission. Even so, Lieutenant Kipling was a seasoned officer with a number of combat drops under his belt. Even better, he was a rarity in the Corps, a man raised from the ranks of Sergeant, and to an officer. The circumstances were still heavily guarded, but the public record stated it was due to actions on Terra Nova during a terrorist incident.
"Captain Khan will be ready with the reserve, if and when they are needed. He has a platoon of veterans, as well as eight Maverick suits ready. If we hit trouble, he can provide extra muscle."
He glanced at Khan.
"Or if worse, he will be here to defend Euryale against any threat."
Spartan then moved to his cylinder, and the men and women of the two platoons did the same. Each waited outside, as though the cylinder would actually be the device that sent them in to battle. Spartan looked at Khan one last time, and they exchanged little more than a nod.
"Mount up!"
In just a few seconds all but Khan were inside their units and their armour connected to the communications system. Most were fitted into hanging harnesses, but a handful, including Spartan, used the new system. These used magnetic clamps to hold the armour in place. The communication nodes on the armour then matched up to those inside the cylinder. Spartan kept his eyes closed as the system ran through full diagnostics. The sound of Kanjana, the dropship control officer whispered into his ear.
"Dropships Alpha and Bravo are already in position over the first two drop zones. Prepare for full data transfer..."
Khan watched in silence as the cylinder closed, and he was left with just the senior marines of 3rd Platoon looking at him.
"You heard the man. Get the rest of 3rd Platoon here in fifteen minutes. I want them in full tactical gear and ready for combat."
CHAPTER FIVE
Of the many races that inhabit the star systems connected to the Helion Nexus, one continues to attract controversy. The Helions and T'Kari spoke of them in almost mythical tones, of the race that fell, but not to a foreign threat. None in the Alliance even knew what this race looked like, or even their history or background. All that was known of the Trusska was the way they vanished. Most stories described how they destroyed themselves in some mass suicide, but other stories mentioned great monsters that they unleashed. Small fragments of text recorded planetary evacuations, and one videostream log showed flashes and explosions. The only thing truly known was none alive had seen this race, and there was no consensus on what happened with this ancient civilisation.
Orion Historical Registry Project
Dropship Firestorm, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Ten seconds. Keep focussed.
Spartan knew the transition into the CD1 Grunt was a strange experience. Previous testing had already shown him the best way was through a calm transfer, one he'd practised multiple times. Some of the marines liked the jar, the blast of adrenalin, and the moment of confusion as one fused with the machine. Not Spartan. Unlike any of them, he'd spent time inside the machines of the enemy, machines that were vastly more complex and powerful than what he had access to now.
Five seconds.
The time to move from flesh to machine might be short in real-time, but to Spartan it seemed an age. He recalled the training sessions back on Taxxu, where he'd controlled all kinds of armour from the control units they'd devised. The Grunts were not the largest, but they were the most cost effective and useful. A remotely controlled Maverick suit might be useful, but there were many occasions where a man-sized soldier was needed, not a monstrous titan.
Now.
Spartan opened his eyes and everything changed. It felt as though his time on board Euryale was nothing more than a dream, and that this new reality was the real world. He was in the vacuum of space, something that was cold and deadly to all life. He looked up and watched the shape of the Jackal class dropship moving away into its holding pattern. The engines puffed away as it made subtle course corrections. As had been planned, the heavily armed dropships would pull back and continue on their route to land squads at key locations around the derelict.
"Keep moving."
Spartan then checked the mapping and control overlay and counted his squad. He noted each of them until positive that all fifteen had dropped. They were already making good progress to the massive derelict vessel.
"1st Squad, with me."
The CD1 Grunts were each fitted with a small propulsion unit, a device slightly bigger than a man's head, but flatter and installed on the backs of the warriors. Barely visible puffs of gas were expelled from a series of moveable ducts to move them in zero gravity. The shape of IAS Euryale was easy to find on the display, but at a distance of five hundred kilometres was little more than a silver spec in a star field filled with specks.
Here we go.
He looked ahead in the direction of the derelict. Robotic drones waited at key locations, bathing sections of the structure in white and yellow light. Four of the Grunts had already landed along the ridged section to the right of the massive habitation dome. From back aboard their ship, the dome has seemed modest in size. Now all Spartan could see was the derelict, and it spread out in all directions. The dome looked like a mountain, yet dark and grim, covered in the marks of wear and decay.
What happened out here?
Spartan dropped down another thirty metres and then made contact with the ribbed section. His feet immediately attached to the surface with a reassuring clunk. There was no sound, but he could feel the vibrations through the armour. It was only then Spartan remembered he was not actually there, but in reality, five hundred kilometres away and inside a vertical tube on Euryale. He shook his head with amusement.
This tech could be abused in all kinds of ways.
They had discussed this, and Khan had made some good points back during the early development. The main one, of course, being that it would be easier to risk military forces if the cost was mere currency. It might increase the likelihood of military operations when diplomacy may have worked instead.
That's for another time and another place.
Spartan moved ahead six paces and joined the first fireteam. In front of them was a large hexagonal blast door, easily large enough to drive a Bulldog through. It was solid and had at one time been marked out with letters. The paint or metal was now long gone, leaving just a stain on many of the sections.
"Open it."
A Grunt moved to the right and positioned right in front of the section. A few seconds later, a number of sparks flew off as they began the slow job of cutting.
"Spartan, what's happening down there?" Khan asked.
Spartan activated his shoulder-mounted lamps and looked to the blast door.
"We're cutting our way inside. No signs of contact."
The superheated plasma from the torch continued burning through the door until finally the Grunt stopped. A second attached a device to the side and then moved back. The unit shuddered, and the cut section pulled out, drifting off and away from the derelict.
"Okay, looks like a full depressurisation. Continue inside."
Two moved in before it was Spartan's turn. They used their jets to reach the breached entrance, and then their hands and feet to pull inside the vessel. Spartan noticed his oddly shaped arms as he moved and marvelled at the spectacle of it all. He pushed to the front and took twenty paces until reaching another blast door. This one was in much better condition, and to his surprise there was a series of yellow lights running on a panel to one side.
Interesting.
Normally, he would have ignored unfamiliar controls, but using the Grunt armour gave all of them the ability to take chances they might never have done. Spartan looked over his shoulder and made sure the rest of the squad was now inside. Lieutenant Armstrong, the officer in command of 1st Platoon, and Sergeant Tyler were right behind him. The Lieutenant moved to Spartan's right and examined the lights.
"Controls for the door?"
Spartan shrugged, and the metal limbs of his robotic suit lifted up a fraction. Unlike normal remotely piloted machines, the communication system from the ship to the suit was complete. Everything was replicated, directly from the mapping of the brain and to the limbs of the suit.
"Looks like it."
He reached out and pressed the largest of them. A double door came down behind them and just two metres from the entrance they'd cut into blast door. As soon as it clamped shut, the door in front began to open up. Thick metal plates lifted from the middle, and the bottom half began to descend before sticking. The upper section almost opened completely, and then it partially jammed, leaving a half-metre section of metal exposed.
"Stay close," said Spartan.
He stepped through the gap, bending down carefully to avoid striking the seized pieces of metal. He made it through, but the next Grunt managed to jam his arm, and it took the efforts of Sergeant Tyler to release him. It was slow, laborious work, made much more difficult by the lack of both light and gravity. Anything they needed had to be brought with them. As the rest of the fifteen Grunts moved inside, Spartan went ahead with the first fireteam. The five other Grunts all carried XC1 carbines, the latest state-of-the-art development from the Special Weapons Division.
"Fan out, we need light."
The five grunts activated all of their external lights, using pairs of shoulder-mounted wide-angle beams to fill the interior like flood lamps in a sports field. Extra light emitted from the front of the heads of the Grunts, moving as the heads moved.
"What is this place?" Private Watkins asked.
Spartan now had a good view of the interior, and both he and the others were stunned by what lay before them. Spartan had expected to see the sparse interior of a ship with exposed bulkheads, hard-edged furniture, and narrow passageways. Instead the passageway was massive, almost square in shape, and covered in the most bizarre surface textures Spartan had ever seen.
"Armstrong. Have you read anything about this kind of design before?"
The young officer might not have been particularly experienced, but Spartan had read his file three times. The man was more than just the best in his class; he also devoured information at a rate matched only by a computer. He was known as something of an expert on alien history and mythology. It was one of the key reasons he'd ensured the man was not just in the IAB, but also the man in charge of 1st Platoon.
"It's fascinating."
He reached out and touched the wall, only for it to pulse at his touch. A bright bluer pattern spread through the wall and then rushed away, leaving one like that of a circuit board on the wall, floor, and ceiling. White and blue current seemed to flow slowly through the surface, giving it an almost living feel that was at odds with the flat shapes and hard edges.
"It's like being inside a computer system."
The Lieutenant bent down and touched the floor. Lines ran long it like the paths of a circuit board, yet these pulsed with the movement of slow grey coloured matter. He looked back to Spartan.
"This doesn't match anything I've seen before. The Klithi might have something similar, but nobody has ever been inside their Traveller ships."
"Very well. Keep moving."
Spartan went further inside the passageway, the others continuing in a loose formation behind the lead element. After a minute of walking they reached another blast door, but this one opened with little effort, and Spartan immediately stopped in astonishment. In front of him was what looked like a massive glass structure, rectangular and as big as a house. It was pale blue and flickered with a myriad of subtle shades of blue and white. The patterns on the wall moved with energy, but all seemed to flow towards or directly away from this object.
"Wait, I've got something," said Tech specialist Gal Gavrel.
"Squad, take defensive positions."
Each marine separated and moved to the walls for cover or dropped to their knees. They lifted their carbines and scanned from left to right, looking for signs of trouble. Even though the interior was now partially lit by the white and blue hues of the ship, it was still dark, and the Grunts lit their lamps to provide effective illumination. A great cloud of vapour pumped out from the walls and out into the interior of the ship.
"Steady!" said Sergeant Tyler.
As always, it came down to the experience and calm of the non-commissioned officer to keep the unit in fighting form. The officers gave the orders, but it was the Sergeant that did the work. More of the steam-like gas continued to flood inside, and as it filled the space, the sensors on Spartan's armour confirmed an atmosphere was being built up inside the ship.
"2nd and 3rd Squads, converge on the habitation dome. 2nd Platoon, keep your squads moving further back into the ship. Locate its power or control systems. Remember, we are looking for any signs of Orion's crew. Tag and seal anything you find."
Acknowledgements came back quickly from each of the squad leaders. There were supposed to be three squads of fifteen Grunts in each platoon, and each platoon was commanded by one of the lieutenants fresh from Taxxu. Due to circumstances beyond his control, the two platoons now only consisted of fifty-five Grunts, but that was more than enough. Spartan's plan was simple. The twenty Grunts that comprised 1st Platoon would head towards the habitation area, the section he expected to find the most data from, and it was also the source of the signal. The larger number from 2nd Platoon would move through the rest of the ship to collect information.
"Major, my 2nd Squad is still stuck outside," said Lieutenant Kipling.
The voice of the commander of 2nd Platoon was as cool as ice, unlike most of the officers Spartan had dealt with. The man's experience of combat operations, and more important, of how things could and usually did fall apart was apparent.
"Problem?"
"No, Sir. The hatches were seized shut on the dorsal structure. 1st Squad is moving to the side of the derelict. We spotted a partially open landing bay, part of an abandoned cruiser. If they can get it open, it will give us better access to the ship."
"Understood, Lieutenant."
"There's something else, Major. We've passed multiple airlock units, but they lead on into the innards of the derelict. It definitely looks like they fused ships together, and a long time ago. Lots of the internal systems are still functioning. Everywhere we go, systems are activating, powering up doors, seals. There's one thing that is...well...surprising."
Spartan paused, listening to the man's tone.
"Go on."
"We're detecting a partially breathable atmosphere in here. The co2 levels are high, but we could breathe here, just about."
Spartan smiled.
"So, if any of our people made it aboard, they could have survived."
Spartan glanced at his own squad, imagining what it would have been like escaping to this ship, or being brought here under duress.
"Very good, Lieutenant. Get your squad inside and stay in touch."
Spartan moved around the large, pulsing section and to his surprise, found a much larger chamber splitting off into additional sections, the largest towards a bright light that blotted out his vision. Lieutenant Armstrong pointed at it.
"That's the habitation dome. It's approximately two hundred metres inside."
Spartan looked to the man.
"There has to be something in here; signs of life, working computers, debris...something. This isn't just a hunk of metal drifting in space."
Something destroyed our ship, I can promise you that much. Now where are our people?
Spartan walked around the large flashing structure, but other than the light, it appeared to have no particular purpose. He completed two circuits while the rest of the squad scoured every part of the section. Finally, they all moved to the space behind it.
"I don't like this. We will keep on moving and combine 1st and 2nd Squads at the dome," said Spartan, "Maybe that's where we'll find our answers."
The squads separated, with half on each side of the passageway. They moved in pairs; one moving ahead, pausing, and then letting the other pass them until they did the same. It was classic cover-by-cover movement, and it slowed them down. Spartan was taking no chances, though.
"Major, I'm detecting new transmissions from inside the dome. They are the same pattern as when Orion first detecting a transmission," said Private Watkins.
Spartan checked his scanners and identified multiple sources of data. The streams appeared to be gibberish, but the intensity increased, and he was forced to deactivate two of his passive sensors.
"Keep moving."
They kept on until at the entry to the massive dome. Once inside the outer ring the light seemed to fade, and they could see how truly massive the dome was. Even Spartan was astounded at the vastness of the interior. In the past he imagined the dome would have been completely transparent, but years of dirt, corrosion, and wear had left it a variety of dull colours. There were still patches where stars could be seen, but they were few and far between.
This place is old. Who lived here, and where did they go?
* * *
IAS Euryale, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
The Alliance warship moved in her never-ending orbit around the derelict. Though safe from anti-personnel weapons, they were easily within range of line-of-sight weapons. By keeping at this distance, there would at least be time to activate the automated turrets to despatch incoming projectiles or missiles. Distance and velocity would be little defence against direct-energy weapons, if the derelict had the capacity. Based on its age, there was no way of knowing what weapons it might carry, only the evidence that something had obliterated ANS Orion.
None of this mattered to Khan right now. He paced on the deck, waiting for news from the vessel. Like Spartan, he was warrior first, a commander and leader second. At times like this, he would much rather be wandering around the derelict with blades out and looking for enemies. Through the communications hardware built into his armour, he could see live feeds from the derelict, but the longer they were gone, the more irritable he was becoming.
"Captain...Khan, we're got something up here," said Captain Delatorre.
The officer clearly sounded uncomfortable using Khan's new rank. Even so, Khan ignored his tone, stopped his pacing, and listened carefully.
"Go on."
"A signal. It began as soon as the Major reached the habitation section. I've sent the data directly to Major Spartan. Comms think it is..."
The audio cut for a second and returned a moment later.
"We're receiving a major infiltration attempt on our systems. It is vast, varying in pattern, and relentless. A polymorphic brute-force attack."
Khan snorted.
"Techno babble. Just cut off all contact with the connected systems, local and remote. Leave nothing but communication from the operations level and to the virtual presence units. No matter what happens, we have to keep the Grunts connected, but disconnected from the ship management. No connection, no control. Disconnect all of our networked ship systems from operations."
"Understood," said Captain Delatorre, "I'm severing connections between ground command and the ship. All communication will have to be over the audio network. It's over to you now."
The man's voice cut and then returned over the speakers fitted throughout the ship.
"Battle stations, we are under digital attack. Marine units to your defensive stations, weapons systems active; we are at digital defence alpha."
The defensive measure was something experimented with during the war with the Biomechs. The more advanced a ship became, the more reliant its systems became on their networked infrastructure. With so many systems and operations being time critical, there was no way to run a ship without the involvement of complex computer systems. Data packets ran throughout the ship, passing orders and data between systems as varied as door controls, engine coolant, propulsion, and life support. When it worked, it was fast, secure, and efficient. But if the system was comprised, it could allow an enemy almost unlimited control over a ship. That was why so much time and money had been spent to ensure systems could be compartmentalised in an emergency. A dull groan ran through the hull, and the artificial gravity and engines deactivated.
"What the hell!"
Khan was off the ground and heading for the wall. He braced his muscles as he crashed into it. His bulk left indentations in the material. Khan spotted others drifting about and quickly activated his EVA boot clamps. With a reassuring clump sound they attached him to the wall, and for now it seemed it was actually the floor. He looked about, spotted the wall intercom, and moved closer.
"This is Captain Khan, what's going on up there?"
The responding sound was a high-pitched whine that was then replaced by the voice of Five-Seven.
"Something got to the powerplant control system. It's been purged, but the system will be back online soon."
Khan hissed back through his teeth, "Spartan needs to get back. This isn't right. There's something off. Is this what happened to Orion?"
He looked left and then right, checking none of his people were badly hurt. Some were already helping other marines to safety, and at least one was busy attaching a bandage to another. He'd seen the same happen a hundred times before, but never with an enemy he could not see or detect. There was something out there, and it was attacking in ways they were not ready for.
"Prepare to move away from the derelict. We need space between us."
"Affirmative, Captain. Propulsion units are partially active, moving to a wider orbit. Wait...uh...they are activating their weapons."
Khan swore to himself as he worked his way back down to the deck. It was a struggle, but it didn't take him long. He stopped at the next intercom and keyed it again.
"Very well, Captain. Just remember, we have people inside that ship."
He stopped and looked back at the marines, all of which were readying to enter the tubes. Khan shook his head.
"No, Spartan will have to deal with this on his own. The priority is to keep Euryale safe. If the ship falls, then so does every Grunt on the derelict."
He licked his lips in anticipation of violence.
"Get yourselves ready for conventional combat. If anything tries to come aboard, well..."
He began to chuckle to himself.
"They'll really wish they hadn't."
* * *
Spartan took one more step inside the habitation dome. The lighting was a confused mess of bright flood-lamps from parts of the dome and the light from the marines. This still only provided light to less than ten percent of the area around them. He stopped and looked down at a shape on the ground. For a second he was confused, and then realised what it was.
Bone and decayed clothing.
He bent down to touch the bones, but restrained himself upon seeing how much of the torso had been crushed. Few of the bones were intact, with most crushed into smaller sections, and some little more than dust. The cloth was barely visible, just a few sections and lacking colour or discernible shape.
"Sergeant, what do you make of this?"
Sergeant Tyler bent down alongside him and then pointed to multiple crushed bones.
"You can see a print there about twice the size of my hand, three toes, and they were heavy. Looks like a machine was in here, or something in a heavy armoured suit."
He straightened his back and turned around, still pointing to the ground.
"Something was here, and it wasn't one of these people."
The scanners of the suit were already running a full analysis of the material in front of them. Spartan couldn't help but notice the atmospheric levels in the ship were beginning to level out due to the vast outpouring of air during their initial breach. To his surprise, the computer was already stating the levels were close to being breathable. If necessary, he could let his suit filter the air directly to his respirator.
Why? Is this an automatic system for when the ship is occupied?
His gut instinct told him that it wasn't the ship that had made a decision.
Something killed the people on this ship.
Lieutenant Armstrong called out, and for a moment thoughts of the dead left his mind.
"Major, we’ve got an operational system here."
The officer was to the left and flanked by a pair of Grunts, both scanning left and right, looking for signs of danger. The interior of the dome was a mess. Large bulkhead sections reached up to the top of the dome and a multitude of broken metal walls, walkways, and electronic systems. It looked more like the remains of a junkyard than the area that would have been used to house thousands of people.
"Good work."
Spartan moved up alongside the officer and looked at the unit. It was large, nearly two metres tall and hexagonal in shape. There was a large crack in the outer surface, yet it still seemed to function. When Lieutenant Armstrong touch it, the unit flashed and blue icons and images appeared. One in particular continued flashing in the centre, surrounded by white dots.
"Press it."
Lieutenant Armstrong hesitated, so Spartan reached forward and moved his robotics hand into position. As soon as it reached the surface, the flashing icon vanished and was replaced by a semi-transparent video feed. It was of very poor quality and with low light, much like the habitation dome was right now.
"There," said the Lieutenant.
Both of them could see shapes on the right of the large display. They moved slowly, and then a third almost completely filled the screen. It was a person but inside a puffed up suit, much like some sort of EVA unit. A green light flickered at the head, but the imagery was much too noisy. Then it turned to the left and a high-pitched screaming noise drowned out everything else. One bright flash ended the screams, but not before freezing the silhouette of something massive.
"What...the...hell!"
Spartan stepped back in horror at what was before them. The bright flash had lit part of the location, and now he could see it was a section of the habitation dome, but it was in good condition. Walls were intact and covered in the flowing blue energy they had seen on their way in. The figure in the suit was on the ground, and in the background other shapes were running about. None of that had Spartan's attention; instead it was the massive shape, bigger even than Khan, yet without discernible form. The limbs were blurred, and its head seemed sunken or even missing. There was no colour to it, and parts were almost completely transparent.
"I think we can assume that that thing is what finished off the crew."
A long whistling sound filled the habitation dome, and they immediately recognized it from the imagery.
"It's back," said Lieutenant Armstrong.
Both men moved back into low stances, their carbines raised and looking for signs of danger. The others did the same, each operating silently, but on command via their networked communication. Spartan was the first to see it, and if it had been any other man, he might have frozen, but he watched in stunned silence as the distorted shape moved along the far wall. The scenery shifted in shape and detail as it drifted past, like droplets of water running down vegetation.
"Safety off, get ready."
Fifteen Grunts activated their carbines simultaneously. Spartan watched their power levels reach operating levels in less than a second. These were the first batch of the production models XC1 carbines. The power level had been reduced fifteen percent, to give a longer firing time, reduced charging requirements, and allow more of the weapon's mass to be given over to cooling.
"Major, b...!" Private Watkins yelled.
The Grunt exploded in a flash of silver and blue, sending shards of shattered robot in all directions. The wall to its right blurred once more, and a shimmer flashed in front of another Grunt. Again it was ripped apart. Sergeant Tyler took aim with his carbine and pulled the trigger.
"Open fire!"
Pulses of energy released from the carbines as all thirteen remaining warriors fought back. Some were lowered down to their knees, but three were still upright. The guns were powerful, and each blast burned holes through plastic and metal alike. The screaming sound filled the dome, and Spartan's internal speakers automatically lowered the volume to little more than a distraction.
"Form into fireteams, separate and support."
Just as they had been trained, the squad quickly split apart into three smaller units. As they did so, the fireteams used their lamps to light larger parts of the domed structure. Parts of the ceiling broke away and crashed into the middle of one team, and as they jumped aside, the thing arrived. Spartan took aim, but there was little to aim at, just the blur, and then two more Grunts were gone.
"Khan, we're under attack by something..."
More light flashed and sparks flickered along the ceiling. An arc of energy leapt over a hundred metres and exploded upon hitting a bulkhead. It then flashed back and struck another Grunt. It shuddered, twisted about, and collapsed to the ground, pumping smoke.
"...something unknown!"
Three of the Grunts ran back and slid behind the vertical computer unit. A blur of energy ripped down towards them and smashed it apart. The three machines scattered from the blast and returned fire. One rolled over, and even as it righted itself, it was shooting. Spartan smiled at the skill on display, even if they appeared to be having little effect on the thing. More of them were entangled with the blur, making it impossible to open fire without hitting friendly units.
Screw this.
Spartan knew what lay before him, remotely piloted machines, not people. He pulled the trigger and saturated the area, hitting the light distortion, as well as one of the Grunts. Each blast from the weapons struck with incredible heat, itself enough to burn through and vaporise almost any material.
"Bring it down!"
The other Grunts joined in, with the unfortunate fireteam in the middle taking three more casualties. Superheated blasts of green matter blasted limbs off the Grunts, or punched holes into the ruined interior of the dome. Some must have struck the distortion, yet there was no slowing it down. Another Grunt lost a leg and dropped to the ground, and then the thing was gone. Spartan ran to the right and slid down alongside a fallen comrade.
"All units dig in. If it moves, kill it!"
The shape moved off behind structures that looked like hydroponic units, though each was now little more than a dark mess, and only dust and marks remaining of whatever had been there before. Spartan tracked the distortion, realising where it was going.
It's blocking our escape. I don't think so.
"1st Platoon, converge on the target. Keep it trapped."
Spartan rose to his feet and found just six of his comrades still functioning, with a seventh hobbling along on just one leg. The light inside the dome had dropped, and with just half of the squad remaining, the place suddenly felt a lot larger and more dangerous. Shapes came in from the left, and Spartan relaxed just a fraction as 2nd Squad moved in.
"One fireteam provide cover, the rest of you, with me!"
A single five-man team stayed back, along with the single damaged Grunt from 1st Squad. Sixteen Grunts rushed back into the blue passageway, Spartan at their head. Time seemed to slow down as they ran directly into their assailant. It was big; Spartan could see that even at this distance, its body shimmered and crackled. Its form was roughly bipedal but moved with stiff, yet fast movements that betrayed it as a machine.
"Put it down!"
The Grunts continued to move forward, unleashing a devastating volley. The super-heated balls of encased plasma struck all around the thing, and many shots hit the centre of the blur. Each impact sent flashes of energy through the thing. One struck near its legs, and a bright flash filled the passageway. By the time the light faded, it was amongst them.
"Major!" Lieutenant Armstrong yelled.
The pulsating arm of the thing smashed down and crushed the officer in an instant. And for a brief moment, the flashing and blurring seemed to shift, giving Spartan a glimpse of a massive machine, something that was more demon than man. It twisted about to strike him, but Spartan ducked down low, rolled to one side, and opened fire. The smoothbore weapon might lack range, but this close, its plasma core should have been able to rip the target apart.
"Keep fighting."
A section of the enemy warrior broke off and spun across the ground to land near Spartan. He glanced down and looked at the shape. He was pleasantly surprised to see it was nothing more than metal, though of a hue he had never seen before. The machine pulsed and swung its arms. Two more Grunts were ripped apart, but Spartan was able to use the brief moment to blast it again.
"Keep hitting it!"
At that moment, the machine struck Spartan in the chest and sent him flying through the air. He tensed his body even though he was not actually present. The impact sent a shudder through his body, and then he was falling to the ground. Another Grunt hit the ceiling and dropped down front first. That was the moment Spartan could feel the very ground begin to shudder, as though engines or weapons were powering up.
Getting bored with this.
As the machine ripped into the Grunts, Spartan leapt up; he was fast and agile, slowed only by the artificial muscles of the Grunt. He rushed ahead and struck the machine. The pulsing energy flickered once more, and then he could see the thing in all its glory. Any other man might have hesitated, but not him. The massive metal demon meant nothing to him right now, just another enemy he needed to kill. Spartan jammed the muzzle of his carbine into its chest and pulled the trigger repeatedly.
"Die!"
CHAPTER SIX
The fully artificial brain has been a goal of science for millennia. By creating even a partially functioning mind, it would be possible to perform pioneering medical research, perhaps even modify and repair biological brains. Then there would be the other applications, ones that could see great intelligence being used in trade, industry, engineering, and of course, war. What greater weapon could there be than giving a weapon intelligence above and beyond that of the warrior wielding it? Even the greatest computer models have failed to match the intricacy and abilities of that one organ. The Biomechs worked around the issue by growing or harvesting brains, and modifying or training them for other tasks. This became apparent during the seizure of their technology in the latter phase of the Great Uprising. Few expected to find such advances deep in the recesses of space, a remnant of a forgotten age where intelligent life reached its pinnacle, and then vanished just as quickly, to leave nothing but the mysteries and myths of the ancient Trusska.
Computer Science 101, 7th Edition
IAS Euryale, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
The derelict filled the largest section of the mainscreen. There was also the videostream coming in from Spartan's Grunt. Other imagery showed a schematic of the ship, as well as the positions of all six squads from the two platoons. Fifty-five warriors, each of them moving through the derelict and hunting for signs of the missing crew.
"I cannot believe what I'm seeing here," said Captain Delatorre, "What is this thing? It is showing as nothing but noise on the sensors. Are there more, or is it just one?"
The battle inside the ship was unlike anything any of them had seen before. The Alliance super soldiers were fast, strong, and capable, yet this freak of science and nature was almost impossible to fathom. Every single image recorded by the Grunts was distorted, as if water droplets had obscured the imagery.
"2nd Platoon is moving in to assist him," said Khan, "This warrior is new to me."
The image of its face was to the right of the videostream. He was still down on the operations level, but staying in contact with both the deck officers and Spartan.
The videostream blurred once more, and a broken Grunt flew past before striking a wall. Captain Delatorre moved the imagery aside and focused on the derelict.
"Spartan needs assistance, but more soldiers isn't going to do it. Either he destroys it face to face, or we'll have to finish the job from here."
He moved the model of the derelict around and pointed to the habitation dome.
"This is the scene of the battle, and according to Spartan, it is the largest section in the derelict. If Spartan fails, we will be all that can stop this thing. We will target the connection of the dome to the hull at these points and trap it inside the dome."
Scores of small green diamonds appeared to mark locations.
"Direct fire at these points will sever the links between the hull and the habitation dome. Once knocked out, the dome will effectively be sealed as a tomb to this thing.
Five-Seven checked the schematic, but he didn't seem convinced.
"These attacks should cause enough damage, but our internal scans are not complete. There is a good chance the dome is attached to a central spine, and that will require more time and more gunfire. What if this creature can operate in a vacuum? It might not even be alive."
The mainscreen showed the vast dark object, still lit by the flood lamps fitted to the drones. No matter how many times Captain Delatorre looked at it, he still considered it to be more a great monolith than a spacecraft, yet vaster than any space faring ship the crew had encountered so far. At present there was no sign of power from the outside, though systems were clearly online.
"Spartan is dealing with the internal threat. In the meantime, we have our own mission to complete."
He nodded at the ship schematic.
"What do we know so far about this vessel?" he asked rhetorically.
Five-Seven looked at him and answered, assuming it was a question that needed answering.
"The derelict is of unknown origin, Captain. At least part of it is based upon Trusskan ships; the computer confirms that much. We can already match almost three percent to data in the updated archive."
He then moved a page of data away to examine the next part.
"Its age is uncertain, but the levels of wear and decay would indicate it has been drifting for many years, perhaps even centuries. Its main engines are worn, but it looks like they have not been fired in many years."
Five-Seven looked away from the screen and to the Captain. He had the cold, uncaring eyes often associated with reptiles, yet there was nothing unfriendly about the creature.
"My assessment would be that this vessel was launched a long time ago, and was aimed directly at the T'Karan System, to meet with the inhabitants, the T'Kari. Though a long distance from their star, they ended up close, in astronomical terms."
Captain Delatorre rubbed his brow.
"I don't get it. The Trusska were all killed, though, or so the story goes. So who were these people? Refugees, settlers, escaped prisoners? Why did they not succumb to the same fate as their race?"
Five-Seven's facial muscles twitched, but he had no answer to the question. Captain Delatorre placed his forehead in his hands and sighed.
"The ship has given up little information so far. We have to learn why they were sent out here. There will have been a reason, and that might help us find out what happened to ANS Orion and her crew. How could an advanced warship be lost against a derelict such as this?"
Captain Delatorre nodded slowly in agreement.
"True. And the fact that the crew is gone, and the derelict in such poor form, could indicate they were boarded or overrun at some point in the past."
He glanced at the live feed of the battle. More Grunts had arrived, and they were busy fanning out through the habitation dome. The visual feeds from their heads showed almost constant gunfire, the flashes from their carbines lighting up the dark interior of the derelict. It was fascinating, almost memorising to see. Khan pointed at new shapes.
"Look, they have tagged new targets. They are smaller than the primary target."
Captain Delatorre squinted, but it was almost impossible to make out a shape. They seemed about the size of a man, but like the larger one were blurred and obscured. Five-Seven looked away as flashing icons caught his attention. He gulped in air as he realised what he was seeing, an unusual occurrence for any of the Thegns.
"What is it?" Captain Delatorre asked.
There was no sense of urgency at first, not until the computer began to assess the transmission. Captain Delatorre continued to find his attention drawn to the increasingly odd battle aboard the derelict. The flagged areas of the ship showed up in more than a dozen locations, but with the majority on the one flank, amongst what appeared to be a single long segment. It was one of the many marked areas that looked like a ship, or perhaps large parts of a ship. More areas lit up as coloured icons identified different emissions and signatures.
"It is unusual, and unexpected. Computers are detecting radar scans coming from the target; their external sensors are active. Tracking seventeen separate units, and all are examining us," said Five-Seven.
Captain Delatorre shook his head.
"I don't get it. According to the data from Khan, they have found no survivors, just bodies, if you can call it that. They are long dead, with no signs of recent habitation for a very long time."
He looked almost disappointed.
"There is nothing alive on that ship."
Five-Seven pointed at the mainscreen.
"Perhaps our enemy is not alive. Something is attacking Spartan and his warriors."
Captain Delatorre was confused for a moment.
"Yes, but is it the defences of the derelict, or its crew?"
He had visions of the undead, like something from a horror novel, but then he recalled the technology of the Biomechs, and even the virtual presence warriors they were using. There were a hundred different ways that war machines could be operated without direct involvement of human operators.
"AI, it must be a machine intelligence of some kind."
Five-Seven seemed to agree, spoke with his tactical officer for a moment, and then turned back.
"That would make sense. We have uncovered zero signs of life aboard, but something is controlling the ship's components, and then there is the thing Spartan is fighting."
Captain Delatorre considered the evidence for a few more seconds.
"I suspect this creature is the primary reason there are no survivors. What if the Trusska were trying to escape and one of these things made it aboard?"
Five-Seven took no more than three seconds to make up his mind.
"Perhaps. But the creature could also have been encountered on their journey. It may simply be the symptom, not the source of the enemy. All we know is that it is powerful, advanced, and since its arrival, we've lost an entire ship and many crew."
Captain Delatorre nodded.
"Either way, this level of advancement is an opportunity. We cannot allow..."
There was no time to explain further as alarms activated automatically.
"Incoming!" yelled the tactical officer.
Colour icons tagged the approaching gunfire as it covered the short distance of just over three thousand kilometres. Though six times further away that their original position, it was still a miniscule journey for a projectile travelling in a frictionless environment.
Five-Seven didn't wait for orders and hit the button to activate the automated defences. It was critical that such orders could be given quickly and efficiently in a crisis. The myriad of small particle gun turrets activated immediately. Each operated independently, and both tracked the warheads and opened fire without manual intervention.
"Turrets active, defences fully operational."
Captain Delatorre walked along the deck, checking the status of all systems. One of the biggest improvements with the Confederate class was to massively upgrade its defences. There were now all manner of weapons in use, but one thing was certain; IAB warships would always be outnumbered. They would need to hold off missile, gunfire, and fighters, and the new particle weapon system fitted throughout was the logical upgrade.
"Good work."
The ship shook gently, maintaining a massive concentration of fire due to its reliance only on energy. The over engineered phased fusion powerplant could keep the guns running for hours at a time, with no need for extra ammunition. The ship weathered the first bombardment for more than twenty seconds, and still the derelict blasted away at them.
"Sir, they are trying to breach our security protocols. Something is inside the aft turret computers."
Five-Seven spun about, examining the error reports coming in from the computers.
"Disable aft turrets. Do it now!"
His voice was still calm but the urgency obvious. The guns deactivated in seconds, but not before opening fire on their own hull. As they powered down, Captain Delatorre pointed at the derelict.
"Bring us about and target their weapon systems. Do not hit Spartan and our assault teams. Activate forward cannons and fire at will."
Five-Seven relayed the orders to the crew, and the capacitors began the build-up for the pair of quadruple particle cannons. Unlike the turrets, these weapons required a few seconds to prepare before firing. Moments before they should have fired, the entire ship shuddered. Emergency alarms sounded, followed by dozens of warnings on the screen.
"What's happening?" Captain Delatorre asked.
Five-Seven was already interrogating the computer system, simultaneously taking in oral reports from his engineering sections. With the networked systems separated, it was now impossible to directly manage any of the primary systems, so he was making notes on his system as the information came in from his officers. Finally, he looked at the Captain and shook his head.
"Our aft turrets have reactivated. I have teams cutting the hard links... but right now, they are fully operational and are targeting our communication and defence systems."
Captain Delatorre looked stunned.
"We're firing on our own ship?"
Five-Seven nodded quickly.
The Chief Engineer, another Thegn that looked like a carbon copy of Five-Seven signalled to them both.
"Gunnery has lost control of the primary weapon control computer. They are overloading our systems."
Captain Delatorre knew he was losing control of his ship, and that the derelict was the source of his woe. He pointed to the mainscreen.
"Activate conventional engines. Take us away from here, now!"
Most of the senior officers were busy communicating with their crews via the multi-channel intercom system, and as each second passed, more bad news arrived. The engines finally activated, and the ship began to slowly increase in velocity.
"What about our Interstellar Drive?"
Five-Seven acknowledged the Captain and spoke with both of his senior engineers before answering.
"The control system is infected. Activating the system would be risky. One incorrect setting, and the space-time Rift could tear the ship apart."
A shape entered the deck and advanced upon them. It was Khan. As he moved inside, two of the lights went dark, and one of the diagnostic displays went completely red. A shape began to form, much like that of a face.
"There’s something in the computers. The enemy is taking our ship," said Khan.
His voice was hard, firm, and even angry. Just a few more steps and he was between the two of them.
"You know what you have to do. Purge the computers, now!"
Captain Delatorre nodded to Five-Seven.
"Do it! Activate the Purge System, or we'll lose the ship and everybody on board!"
The Thegn moved to his system and grabbed the intercom. Even as he did so, another batch of turrets turned on the ship, blazing away with long streams of energy. Though well protected, the turrets were still able to damage a multitude of systems and open up a number of breaches in the hull. Explosions covered the dorsal superstructure as they worked their way through the layered armour and into the innards of the ship.
A bright flash off to the right vaporised a computer unit, sending two Thegns stumbling backwards with bloodied hands and arms. More explosions followed even as Five-Seven shouted through the intercom.
"Now!" Khan roared.
He took another step, lifted his hands, and then everything went dark. A low-pitched pulse ripped through the ship as the emergency purge system activated. It was a new device, and something championed by Spartan from the start of the IAB experiment. His concerns over the power and technology of the new ships and weapons had been the motivation for the system. The device was hardwired through the ship, and could be triggered to wipe all computer and control systems. They could then be restarted with their base installations that were kept on solid-state hardware. The system was also designed to defend against electronic attacks, or to render the ship impossible to command if successfully boarded.
"Done," said Five-Seven.
It was impossible to see the device in action, yet every living thing on the vessel felt the electromagnetic pulse sweep through the vessel like a sonic boom. As the wave passed over the systems, it knocked them out, one by one. Everything cut from power systems, to weapons, engines, gravity, and life-support. The purge occurred just as the last of the turrets struck the structure of the ship. The resulting combination of shut down systems and gunfire sent shudders and vibrations throughout the vessel.
Like many of the fail-safes, the overload protection for the capacitors was mandatory. Rather than suffering a fatal overload, they were designed to cast out the energy into space. It was the only way to save the ship from a cataclysmic build-up that would be powerful enough to split the ship in two. Blue sparks flashed around the outer hull as one of the forward gun battery's capacitors vented and then shutdown, just before it could unleash another volley.
"Watch out!"
This time Khan’s voice was unamplified, yet spread across this part of the ship with ease. Some of the flashes of energy rippled through the interior, setting off a series of chain reactions that blasted computers and electrocuted more than a dozen personnel. Khan felt a shudder through his armour, but the current did little more than give him a jolt as it passed by. All of the internal systems in his armour were offline, either from the pulse of the purge system, or from the additional electrical disruption of the capacitor overload.
Typical.
Khan hit the mechanical release, and the front of his armoured helmet hissed open. Unlike the close-fitting PDS armour of the Marines, the JAS armour was bulky and rather crude in its appearance. The helmet had the look of a medieval jousting helm, but sunken low into the torso. There was nothing but darkness on the ship, not even the emergency systems coming back online.
"What happened?"
A Thegn called out in the darkness, "The purge wiped our control system, but the build-up from the main guns overloaded the master control system. We will need to reinstall our command system from the solid-state backups."
Khan muttered.
"I know that. Why is nothing back on, though? The secondary backup systems are designed to operate without assistance from the computer."
On cue, a handful of the dull red emergency lights flickered on, and then a single engineering display activated. It took time for the system to warm up, and as it did so, the light from the display became brighter until it was the single most powerful light source on the deck.
"There, that's better."
Gravity remained off, along with all the other computer-controlled systems. Five-Seven and two of his Thegn officers pulled themselves to the unit and crowded around the display. They seemed to take to the zero gravity with ease, like birds to flight, much to Khan's annoyance. He moved much more slowly, not before crashing into two seats and breaking a console.
"Well, what's going on?"
Five-Seven shook his head.
"We were too late. The aft turrets must have damaged the coolant system on the phased fusion plant."
Captain Delatorre was now with them, and at the same time a number of additional systems started up in their safe, un-networked state.
"If the coolant is gone, won't the fusion plant be a problem?"
The Thegn engineering officer nodded and spoke into the intercom. A moment later he turned back to them.
"The system is already overloaded. Our crew are sealing the aft compartments and moving back through the ship. The powerplant is going to go critical."
Five-Seven, Captain Delatorre, and Khan said the same thing simultaneously.
"When?"
A few movements of the Thegn's hands changed the display to a status indicator. It provided a simple overview of the ship's basic statistics. Everything was there, from the internal gravity to air quality, temperature, residual power, and radiation. The Thegn pointed to the bar that was increasing in strength at the top.
"Less than an hour, and when it goes, the blast will destroy the ship."
Khan shook his head.
"Not if we dump the core."
Five-Seven and the Captain both stared at him.
"Dump the core!"
The Captain’s voice implied incredulity.
"Without the core we have no way of powering the ship for more than a few days, or day, perhaps less. No core, no interstellar drive."
"Less," said Five-Seven, "The blast from the capacitor overload wiped out most of our stored energy. We have fifteen hours, sixteen at the most. Every minute it runs gives us more air, and more time."
* * *
The strength of his opponent was incredible. Spartan could see his own arm distorting under the pressure, yet still he refused to back down. To his left a Grunt spun about and began screaming as though in the middle of some terrifying nightmare. It lifted it hands to its face and then disappeared off inside the gloom of the ship, running like a malfunctioning robot.
What's going on?
Spartan activated his networked communication system and then spotted more shapes off into the distance. At first he felt relaxed, and then realised they were not more Grunts, but something else. The imagery provided by the Grunt's own sensors was flawed, and he found himself cursing his reliance on technology rather than his own eyes.
"All squads converge on my signal! We're being surrounded. If it moves, shoot it!"
He then altered the channel to communicate with those on the ship. Bizarrely, he was actually just speaking with them from one part of the ship to the other, but to him and his current reality, he was aboard the derelict. The massive creature that had him pinned began to shift. Shapes detached from its body and threw themselves at the Grunts. He kicked out hard and fell to the ground, finally released from the vice-like grip of his tormentor.
"Khan. The operation has failed. Unknown enemy..."
More of the small shapes came into view. Four stopped and turned to face him. A gentle glow from where their faces should be, marked out a single eye on each of them. Then they began to move.
I don't think so.
Spartan dropped down to one knee and squeezed the trigger. The carbine kicked back, once, twice, three times, and then stopped. Steam vented from the sides before he realised the coolant unit built into the power cell had breached its capacity. Without looking down, he released the cylinder, pulled a second one from the harness on his armour, and clipped it back into the unit. The unit hissed until followed by a green indicator.
Better.
He lifted the muzzle to find the two remaining things in front of him. The first shot blasted a hole in its face, and the shape quickly coalesced into a mechanical warrior, not dissimilar to himself. Then the second leapt at him, knocking both to the ground. Pinned to the floor, Spartan swung his remaining free arm and grabbed at his foe. He grunted as he struck the creature twice with his carbine, like a wild man swinging a club.
...cannot see it.
"Khan, send the recall!"
The audio crackled, and his vision blurred. A few messages came back, but it was hard to tell exactly what was happening. Spartan's vision vanished, only to return for a brief moment. He could see the large enemy creature was back, and it had grabbed him once again. This time it pulled him in close as though examining him with interest. Control of his right arm went, returning for a moment, and then in front of him was the monster’s arm.
Oh...great!
Even that short moment of time had given his opponent the edge, and it used the opportunity with speed and savagery. Spartan could do nothing as it snapped his left arm at the elbow and struck him in the chest with the back of its limb. The only time the illusion of reality was broken was when he felt himself flying through the air. His chest should have been numbed with the strike, but it did little more than to register a heavy impact.
Here it comes.
Spartan braced his body for impact, but nothing happened. He watched the shape of his enemy, while Thegns staggered about in brutal close quarter combat. They used their firearms where possible, but once too close, or when grabbed by the enemy, they resorted to the same techniques that had been used for millennia; punches, kicks, locks, and breaks, and every time they failed. His vision cut again to nothing but stillness. His forward view flickered intermittently, and then he could feel that he had lost control of his legs.
Damn it, the suit must be dead.
Spartan leaned to the right and found another Grunt knocked to its back with a blurred shape on top of it. A Grunt struck it in the side. Spartan twisted his limbs to grab his remaining weapon, his sidearm. It wasn't easy, but he managed to get the shape in his sight by partially breaking his own forearm.
Now!
Spartan held down the trigger and unleashed a long burst from the small weapon. At this range the hardened slugs struck both the enemy and the Grunt. Flashes marked the impacts, and he almost yelled as the enemy staggered backwards.
Yes!
His excitement was short lived because his vision vanished before he could see what had happened. Everything vanished, from sound and vision, to touch and even the communications system. His body felt cold and lifeless.
No, not now.
He shook his head, shouted, and then felt something grabbing him. His voice was strange, louder, and with an obvious echo, as though he was in a small room or chamber. His instinct was to fight, so he punched and kicked. The difference in controlling the machine to his muscles was a stark one. Spartan had always been strong, but in the years since the war, he'd worked hard on improving his strength and fitness. Few in the Marine Corps could match him now, and certainly not in the arena of violent close combat. His feet kicked against air as he drifted out into zero gravity.
"Open your visor," said somebody nearby.
Spartan shook his head again, trying to get his bearings. His gut instinct was to defend himself. Sounds could be copied, as could the electronic information travelling between him and his suit. He struck out again, but once more hit nothing but air.
"It's over, Spartan. The battle is over."
As the adrenalin began to subside, and he listened more carefully, he could recognise the sound of Lieutenant Armstrong. He'd seen the man killed on the ship, and it took a moment for the wrench between simulation and reality to sink in. He tried to turn around, but he was still floating.
You're back on Euryale. You have to be.
Spartan carefully deactivated the faceplate while lifting his arms up, and his hands ready to fight. He expected to see the interior of the ship, but as the visor moved open, he immediately felt cool air rushing in and darkness. Instinctively, he kept his hands ready, looking for signs of danger. Everything around him was a mixture of dark reds and blacks, and the shapes of people holding on to grab handles or the cylinders from which they'd all been waiting inside. Already he could see he was back on the ship, and his pulse slowed a little.
"What happened? Did we lose contact with the suits?"
Lieutenant Armstrong helped Spartan to the ground where he then activated his boots. They clamped reassuringly to the floor plate. Internal systems were already reactivating in his suit, though there was no data connection with the ship. Instead, each of the M-3 Armour suits connected to the next, creating an ad-hoc network.
"Over half of us were already back here when the connection was lost," said the Lieutenant.
Spartan moved closer to the man and looked at his dark silhouette.
"And me?"
"Spartan. Contact with you and the other Grunts was severed in the middle of combat."
"The enemy?"
Lieutenant Armstrong shook his head.
"No, Sir. The creature was winning; that much is certain. But it was something that happened back here, on this ship. Connection was cut with no warning."
The man sighed.
"That's why our warriors are still out there...defenceless."
Spartan considered what he was hearing.
"No, not defenceless. The Grunts are programmed to follow their final orders, up to a certain point. If they were in combat, then they will continue until the mission is successful, or they are destroyed."
A pair of marines helped move the shaking body of a wounded comrade. Spartan recognised him immediately. It was the young Private Barclay, barely twenty years of age. He could see no physical trauma, yet she muttered and choked as if something had scared her half to death. Sergeant Tyler moved in from above, much to Spartan's surprise. He moved with relative ease in the zero gravity environment.
"Something got inside the connection to Barclay's Grunt. I don't know how it happened, but that thing on the derelict; well, it spoke directly to her, like a devil in her brain."
He shook his head.
"Frankly, I'm amazed she's still conscious."
The wall-mounted speaker crackled to life.
"This is Khan. What's happening down there?"
Spartan took four steps to the intercom unit and keyed the button.
"Khan, I lost contact with the derelict. What's happened?"
Private Barclay began screaming again, and as Spartan looked back, he spotted a junior officer pushing a needle into her arm. The effect was almost instantaneous, and the unfortunate marine quietened down.
"Spartan."
Khan almost sounded relieved saying his friend's name.
"We've got problems, big problems. Whatever you found out there, it managed to get into our systems, took control of the computers, and turned our weapons on us. The core is damaged and the cooling system out of action."
Khan took a breath before finishing.
"The core is going to go critical. We will have to dump it in the next hour, and that's going to leave us out here, stranded. Half of the decks are reporting casualties, and multiple door and bulkhead systems have locked down. Most of the systems are not active, and that means a lot of our crew are missing."
Spartan could hear the frustration in Khan's voice.
"Captain Delatorre has sent a distress signal to the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station, but they are over two weeks away. Five-Seven is taking us away from the derelict as fast as his engineers can manage, but we won't get far before we lose power."
The light flickered one last time and then sprung back into life. Artificial gravity returned, and it took a few moments for Spartan's eyes to adjust.
"Understood, Khan. Restore what you can. I will be there shortly. I'll get my marines to search the ship for survivors. They are best equipped for the job."
With the operations level now fully lit, he could see the grim expression on the faces of the men and women he'd led to the derelict. At least a dozen were been taken away to the sickbay, and he could only assume it was for the same reason as Private Barclay.
It found its way into their encrypted data connections. How is that even possible?
He tapped the button on the intercom again.
"Khan, I'm coming to you. Make sure Captain Delatorre is ready for me."
Lieutenant Armstrong and Sergeant Tyler turned to face the arrival of more marines. These were the seventeen men and women of 3rd Platoon, and were fully armoured and equipped for battle. At the front was Lieutenant Anne Lee; the oldest of the junior officers, in her late thirties, and sporting short cut white hair. She was short compared to most of the marines, but she moved with certainty, much like Sergeant Tyler. Her hand came up quickly as she saluted Spartan.
"Major. 3rd Platoon is ready."
"Good," he replied. "You're a little light on numbers, aren't you?"
The Lieutenant did not look amused.
"We make up for it in skill at arms...Sir!"
Khan laughed at her answer, but it wasn't a dismissive laugh. He knew their reputation, and more important, they were led by Lieutenant Anne Lee, a real firebrand. The marines looked fresh, which was unsurprising to him. Both 1st and 2nd Platoons had taken a mental beating in the fighting on board the derelict, with some still being helped out of their cylinders.
"Lieutenant Lee, I need you to send fireteams throughout the ship. Find our crew and call them in. I need the ship searched and secure."
"Sir."
With that, the officer was gone, and in her place came Lieutenant Kipling of 2nd Platoon.
"Sir, I don't understand what happened. We were at the derelict’s power unit when..."
Spartan nodded.
"I know; the connection was severed. What did you find down there?"
The man shook his head.
"Not much, just bodies. We did send back footage, but the place is a mess."
Spartan licked his lips.
"Very well. Get to it. We have a lot of missing and injured personnel throughout the ship."
* * *
Captain Delatorre and Khan were in the middle of a heated argument when Spartan arrived. He looked at the computer units and control systems throughout the deck and noted the damage, presumably from the ship-to-ship battle. He'd not been present during the short exchange, but his Grunt armour had notified him of the incoming fire. Multiple computer systems were damaged, and there were signs of impact damage and fire on one of the walls. Off to the left was the observation point, the spherical, fully transparent part of the ship.
Looks like they had fun of their own while I was gone.
The mainscreen was back on and showing the distant view of the derelict. Kanjana was there as usual, inside the spherical section that gave her such a view of space. She was busy speaking with the Thegn officers. Upon his entrance she looked at him, and her expression softened.
"Spartan, finally. I thought you'd fallen asleep somewhere."
Her voice was thickly accented and unusual to hear, though her slender, almost white form already marked her out as Anicinàbe. She moved from the sphere and up the steps to join them. Her movement was subtle, yet quick, and barely noticeable to the others who were far too busy with their own problems to notice Spartan's arrival. Only when he moved into view with Khan did the argument stop.
"Spartan, we need a decision, and fast."
Captain Delatorre looked down and shook his head. Spartan looked for Five-Seven and found him in his position, giving orders via the intercom.
"Okay, give me the short version."
Khan looked to the Captain and signalled for him to speak.
"Go on, explain."
"The core is fluctuating badly. It has to be ejected in the next fifteen minutes, unless we can stabilise it. The powerplant is already heavily irradiated, and every second it gets worse."
"What's the problem? Just get in there and stabilise it," said Spartan.
Khan took a step away and continued shaking his head.
"This alien entity..."
Spartan raised his eyebrows at the description of the thing they had been fighting.
"It has control of the core management system. It can overload and destroy the ship whenever it wants. Or it can stabilise it remotely but keep it disconnected from our systems, leaving us dead in a matter of hours. The thing has complete control. If it wants, it will destroy half of the ship, and irradiate whatever is left. Or it can wait till we run out of air and power."
The ship creaked, and a single blinking light on the wall made Khan groan even louder. Captain Delatorre pointed into the ship.
"This vessel is turning into a radioactive wasteland. A machine can manage just fine, but we can’t. There is no way for us to get there, not without it killing whoever makes it there in one piece."
Khan nodded at glowing display.
"The engineering section. Something just deactivated the locks and vented five sections into space. Anybody in there is gone now. Sensors show those compartments are now contaminated as well."
He shook his head, clearly bitter. He also seemed a little stunned that something had been able to penetrate the electronic defences so effectively.
"Basically, Spartan, we're screwed. Even if we stop the core overloading, the radiation will kill us in minutes. This thing is flushing us away from the power units. It's stopping us from repairing our own damned ship."
Spartan shook his head.
"Then we dump the dammed thing, vent all contaminated compartments, and remove any way for this entity to get our ship. We have reserves batteries on board. We just wait this thing out until help arrives from T'Karan."
Khan turned about with a smile on his face.
"Exactly."
His tone suggested this was what he had been promoting for the last few minutes. Captain Delatorre seemed unimpressed, though, and looked away. He said something and looked back to Spartan, lifting his arms in exasperation. This was clearly the sticking point, but Spartan had no idea what the Captain's problem was.
"Come on, then, explain it to me."
Captain Delatorre pointed to one of the smaller displays. It showed partial data from the operational diagnostic systems.
"Major, it is more complex than that, much more complex. Every minute we keep the reactor running gives us time to fill the capacitors."
Spartan glanced to Khan who was watching him just as intently. The Captain continued.
"Our engineers think they can buy us up to an hour on the reactor by opening up reactor seals to the vacuum of space, if we're lucky, and that will double our stored energy of fifteen hours. That's extra hours to get further from the derelict and back to safety. More power for our systems to try and fix our damage, and more time to build up oxygen reserves."
Spartan glanced to Khan, but already he could see the issue.
"We're eighteen days from rescue. We need weeks of energy, not hours. Thirty hours of power will not save our crew, and even with air and power, the radiation will still continue to move through the ship. What about the Interstellar Drive?"
"Non functional, Major. And if we dump the core, we will not have the power to create the bubble in space-time. No bubble, no movement."
Khan nodded.
"There's one other problem, Spartan."
Spartan let out a single long sigh.
"Of course there is. Go on, then, tell me."
Khan pointed at the mainscreen.
"The derelict has changed course and is coming this way. Its velocity hasn't changed, but on its present course, it will be here in three days."
Spartan rubbed his forehead.
"This way, why? And why the hell is it not accelerating?"
At first he was confused, but the more he thought about it, the more obvious the answer was. He didn't need them to answer him; he already knew.
"It's so obvious. This enemy on the derelict, it isn't interested in us. It wants our ship. By the time it gets here we'll be dead, and it will reactivate our systems. It's used the manoeuvring thrusters to change course, but its main engines must been inoperative."
"Or it can't access them," Khan suggested, "and with access to our ship, it can probably take control of it."
"Or absorb it into the derelict," Captain Delatorre added, "With the conventional engines of Euryale operating, it could be in colonised space in weeks, instead of years."
That seemed to intrigue Spartan more than anything else.
"Yes. It is more machine that creature, and without air or power, we will be unable to do a thing to stop it. It can then use the technology and equipment on this ship to turn against our own people, maybe even to combine it with its own vessel. You've seen how powerful this thing is. Imagine what it could do with the systems on our ship. It could be at Alliance worlds in hours, and using our own technology against us."
Khan snorted as he'd done at the start of the conversation. He then pointed to the hull of their ship.
"When it gets here, it will find bodies, nothing else. At least if we were going to die, it should be face-to-face with this thing. I will not die gasping for breath."
Spartan looked at him, noting the look of despair on his face. It was one thing to face death in battle, but quite another to know you would die from lack of the basic necessities of life.
There has to be another way.
Spartan smiled, and Khan spotted the look immediately. Even though he had no idea what it was, he already felt better. Spartan looked at the others before explaining.
"Our position here is untenable. We either choose to die from lack of oxygen and power, or we will die from radiation poisoning. Neither is an option to me."
"So, we do what?" Khan asked.
Spartan drew his hand across his own throat.
"We kill what we cannot use. We abandon ship, and set her to auto destruct when the derelict gets here. That how much time we will buy ourselves."
Khan seemed rather pleased at that.
"Yeah, that could work. We take shelter in that thing’s own backyard."
Captain Delatorre looked confused.
"Take shelter where exactly?"
Spartan pointed off to the wall.
"We take the damned derelict. It has air and power, more than enough to keep our people alive for three days. We will take control and direct it away from Euryale, and if we can't do that, we will destroy it from within."
Khan nodded slowly but clearly in agreement.
"And if that thing tries to stop us?"
He knew the answer already, simply by the look on Spartan's face.
"We do what we always do, old friend."
Captain Delatorre didn't quite seem to grasp the entirety of the plan, however.
"Uh, what happens if we fail? We lose Euryale, and this entity will continue on until arriving at some world unexpected and able to take control of their technology."
Khan laughed.
"Don't worry about that, Captain. If we fail, Euryale will fix the problem for us. The self-destruct system on her is a wonder to behold."
Spartan grinned at this.
"He's not wrong. Anything within a hundred kilometres will be turned to dust. So let's not fail!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Battle of Old Spascia City is now known by many names. For those that never witnessed the horrors, it might be known as just the Siege of Spascia, and to those that survived, it was simply known as Hell. The real horror was that the assault on that world was a diversion and a trap, one designed to bleed soldiers and ships to allow the enemy access to the Helion sector. Spartan led the enemy through the Black Rift and took actions that ensured Spascia would be left to itself, and in doing so, helped guarantee victory, but at such a cost.
With few reinforcements, the defenders were outnumbered and outgunned; yet the fighting proved to be a glorious day for the Alliance of humanity and Helios. The Biomechs threw their most powerful creatures and war machines at the fragile alliance, and were almost victorious. Little remained of the cities on the planet, least of all the ancient ruin of Old Spascia. The mountain was destroyed, the buildings brought to the ground, bridges smashed, and millions dead. For all of the tragedy on Spascia, there was also much heroism.
Accounts of the Prophecy of Fire
Kha’Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance
The arena was the one part of the ship always being used, before, during, and in the many years after the war. Although it was the scene for many terrible episodes of the past, few could deny its suitability as a place for training and testing out the newest and more advanced weapons and armour. As usual, the light was dim, and few people were inside watching. Three dark shapes moved around each other as if fighting in a savage battle.
Gun spat blood at the ground and then looked up to his attacker. Directly in front was the partially armoured form of Olik. Just like him, the Jötnar was a monstrous warrior, a great body bigger than any human in history, and arms as thick as many men's torsos. His neck was thick and short, and the ground thudded as he moved about.
"I'll give you that one."
Olik rubbed his head and pointed back to Gun, clearly amused.
"I'd forgotten how tetchy you've become. What I didn't realise was how slow you are these days. You're making it too easy for me. I'll have to do it again."
Gun lifted his massive arms up to the ceiling of the arena and roared. It felt good to have the hot blood roaring through his veins once again. Every blow inflicted pumped adrenalin throughout his body, and with every step he felt more and more alive. He wiped a small blob of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
"That was it, all you could manage? I was falling asleep from boredom at your lack of skill."
Knaprig put his arm in front of the laughing Olik, and then moved out ahead of him. He seemed much more serious than Olik and dropped into a well-protected stance, his feet spaced apart.
"My turn."
Olik gave a flourish and took a step back.
"Take your time, old man."
Though they faced each other in the arena as adversaries, it would have been harder to find three closer friends. They were Gun's comrades from the glory days of the war, when human and Jötnar alike were united in the war against the biomechanical enemy. All of them were still in the Alliance military, but each had moved in different directions. Gun, Khan, and Olik had worked with Spartan to create the SWD, but Knaprig had returned to Hyperion for months of medical aid and work. Since then, he'd volunteered for every combat operation he could find while moving through the ranks in the elite Red Watch based on Prometheus.
"Very well," said Gun.
He lifted his hand and gestured for Knaprig to approach. All three were clad in mismatched plating shipped from the forges of Prometheus, the fiery world that was the source of so many weapons and equipment for the Alliance. Though similar in design, each was subtly different to match the changing physique of the three warriors.
"So, after all this time keeping warm alongside Osk...this is it, huh?"
Knaprig moved carefully, knowing full well that Gun was more than just the senior of the Jötnar. He was one of the biggest and certainly the most experienced in almost every type of combat. There were fewer adversaries more dangerous than an angry Jötnar.
"Tell me, Knaprig. Does she train you, or the other way around?"
Knaprig jumped ahead, leaving Olik further back and out of range. Though similar in build to Olik, his body had been transformed in the years since the Great Biomech War. Both of his arms had been replaced, and large sections of his flesh reinforced with plate and artificial flesh. He was as much Jötnar as he was now machine. Gun only then started preparing himself for the attack.
"Good, good. Let out the anger, my friend."
In Knaprig's hands was a savage looking two-handed club. He brought it down to Gun's head, but the wizened warrior sidestepped and took the impact at an angle on his own weapon. Knaprig's strike simply slid off and exposed his side. Gun didn't bother using his club and struck his boot into Knaprig's flank. He staggered away, attempting to regain his balance.
"Vertical exertions are a little more complicated, don't you think?"
He laughed as he insulted Knaprig, enjoying the change in mood and stance in his old friend. He came back twice as fast and rained down the blows. Gun beat off those he felt might be a threat, until after eight in quick succession left Knaprig frustrated. As he pulled back to try something else, Gun struck out with his own club. The weapon hit Knaprig on the top of his head, and he staggered back, fell to one knee, and then rose back to face Gun.
"Osk's stories about you are what keep us entertained at night, old soldier. There is little that amuses me more."
Gun's eyes widened, and for a second both Olik and Knaprig worried he may have crossed a line. Instead, Gun burst out laughing and struck his chest with a roar.
"Yes! Better, much better!"
Knaprig ran in again, and Gun intentionally kept his left side exposed. Knaprig cut in hard, and Gun exaggerated a parry to protect himself. Now vulnerable on the other side, Knaprig snapped the weapon around, but it was what Gun had been expecting. He brought the back of his club to his right, struck the side of Knaprig's club, and then pushed forward to strike Knaprig in the left side of his face. He took another step closer and kicked away at his middle section. As Knaprig staggered away, Olik arrived and moved in front of his comrade. Gun gave a little flourish, almost a bow.
"Olik. Very well, your turn, pup!"
The two exchanged blows, both striking as great speed. The clubs deflected most of the impacts, but occasionally one of them would hit armour. For all Olik's skill, he simply couldn't match the power of Gun. Instead, he used his marginally faster speed to move around him, striking when the opportunity arose. He managed to hit a blow against Gun's chest, but the only response was a roar of laughter.
"Impressive, against a Helion, but against me? I would expect more than a tickle like that."
A shape moved off in the distance as several people entered the arena. They sat down in to the lowest level of seats. Gun couldn't quite make out whom they were, but he did notice the number of suits, and at least one military uniform.
What now?
Gun looked back to Olik and swung the weapon twice, both strikes coming in flat on the horizontal plane. They were incredibly fast, as though he was bouncing the blade of a piece of sprung steel. The only way to avoid the attack was to take a long step back. Once clear, Olik moved back in, and with all of his effort brought down the club to Gun's head. For a second it seemed it might strike, but then Gun beat it aside with a casual movement, locking his arm around the shaft. He then leaned in and struck his friend with his forehead. Olik staggered back and dropped down to his knees.
"Do you accept your defeat?"
Olik was back up, and this time Knaprig was at his flank. Most would split up, but not these two. They'd trained many times on Hyperion, in the camps established by Gun when the world had first been occupied. The Jötnar used them as part of their military education, but they were also famed places to hunt monstrous creatures, and to practice close quarter combat techniques against some of the toughest opponents one might ever face.
"Together," said Olik.
The two advanced to Gun with their weapons ready for the attack. The conventional wisdom was to split up, but instead they worked together, like primitive hunters moving in on a bear. As one struck the other would wait for the opportunity to strike. Gun beat off their attacks, but already they were pressing him hard.
"Now!" said Olik.
Knaprig thrust with his club, and Gun beat it away. A split second after starting the attack, Olik also thrust and managed to catch Gun in the jaw. He stumbled and shook his head, but that was the opportunity they needed. Both moved in close and struck at Gun, hitting his limbs and torso in quick succession. Any other Jötnar might have fallen, but he took the pain like a shot of adrenalin, and each strike made him feel more and more alive.
"Much better."
He reached in and bear hugged Olik, while Knaprig continued striking with his club. Gun spun about so that Knaprig missed his target and hit Olik in the shoulder. In that small window, Gun stabbed with the club to Olik's face. The impact knocked him out cold and sent him crashing to the ground. He then twisted about to avoid a strike from Knaprig before shoulder barging him, as before they were now separated and each breathing heavily.
"Gun. We need to speak," said a voice off in the darkness.
"I'm busy, can't you see?"
Gun straightened his back, coughed, and looked to the direction of the sound. He intended to continue fighting, but he recognised the name right after he replied. This wasn't the Captain. He knew their voice well. It was the recently promoted Brigadier General Arthur Black, the decorated Marine Corps officer, and of course the newly selected commander of the IAB.
"General?"
The officer moved out of the shadows and directly beneath one of the high-hanging lights. He was a thin man, thin even by Marine Corps standards. The General had served with Special Forces in the war, and had won eternal glory while still a captain. Back then he'd fought a desperate last stand on Eos, a battle he should have lost. Instead he had risen through the ranks as one of the most decisive and bold commanders in the Corps.
"Colonel."
The reply was curt and official sounding. Gun could already sense the concern and immediately stopped any pretence at continuing the fight. There were others there, but it was the stoic, erect form of the General that intrigued him.
"It's IAS Euryale. She's in serious trouble. I need a response, and fast."
Gun closed his eyes briefly and took in a long, irritated breath.
Captain Wilson, the Alliance military liaison officer with CTC, moved out from the darkness and towards him.
"I have the latest reports for you."
The man now operated as the glue between the unusual arrangement of public and private sector that was employed in the IAB. While Gun and the General were technically in the Alliance military, they had been seconded to the independent unit. The Captain was strictly Alliance Marine Corps, and he operated as an effective conduit between the official channels and the IAB. Gun looked to them both, imagining the variety of situations the advanced warship could have got itself into. A group of Thegns moved in and helped lift the unconscious Olik between them. Knaprig approached Gun and waited at his flank. Gun looked at him and shook his head.
"What has Spartan done now?"
* * *
IAS Euryale, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
"Squeeze in everything you can. Don't waste any space," said Spartan.
The Operation Level was packed with the men and women of the IAB, as well as thirteen Thegns operating as crew under the command of Five-Seven. Spartan and his officers watched as they filed inside the Jackal class dropships. There was more than enough space to go around, but Spartan had insisted on them taking as much heavy armour as possible. Each of the officers and non-commissioned officers wore their Maverick armour, the massive sets of motorised armour. All of their weapons were stowed internally, with only the muzzles of the coilguns showing behind the wrists and on the outside of their arms.
Khan grabbed his arm as he watched the personnel running about. Like the others, he was armoured up, but rather than the Maverick, he wore the vaunted JAS armour. A great hunk of metal designed for close quarter carnage. Compared to the marines and Grunts, they were easily twice the size.
"Are you sure about this?"
Spartan smiled.
"More than anything in the last twenty-four hours."
Khan shook his head.
"So, instead of trying to get back, or modifying the ship to outrun the derelict, we're going for the violent solution."
Spartan struck him in the back.
"I’d have thought that would be right up your street, Khan."
They both looked to the dropships as Spartan repeated the basic plan. They had already agreed on the details, but he found himself repeating it, just so that he could hear it spoken back for the last time.
"I don't see we have much of a choice. We're going to die out here if we stay, and this enemy on the derelict could devastate Alliance territory. Imagine what would happen if it gained control of multiple ships?"
Khan hadn't even considered that. The entity aboard the derelict could, of course, disable or seize control of warships and then turn them against each other, or worse, send them back to attack others. The more he thought about it, the worse the scenario became until the realisation that a self-replicating digital enemy could seize control of most of the Alliance's war machines. It sent a shudder through his body as he looked back to Spartan.
"We have two objectives. First, survival, I want our people kept alive and safe, and I will do whatever I have to, to make sure that happens. Second, it's our responsibility to keep this enemy away from our ship and inhabited space of the Alliance."
Khan angled his head and grinned, so Spartan continued.
"We will board the ship with our full strength and secure a beachhead, then advance inside and expand it to create a safe zone to use as a lifeboat until rescue. The derelict is currently filled with breathable air. Once filtered by our suits, we will be able to use it safely. That will keep our people alive for now and achieve the first objective."
Three Maverick suits marched past, their heavy metal feet clanking on the ground. Spartan could not help but feel pride when he saw them. Back in his first campaign he'd pushed for updated designs based on the engineering armour, and that had resulted in the Vanguard programme. Now the Maverick suits took that to an entirely new level, speed, power, control, and technology, all in the hands of one warrior. He noticed Khan watching him and shrugged.
"Once complete, we will use the Maverick and JAS armour to destroy or take control of their command and control system, so we can redirect the derelict away from Euryale."
He looked to Khan.
"No matter what happens, they are not taking control of our ship."
Khan looked less convinced.
"All of this assumes they will not cut off the air supply, or that our new enemy doesn't force us back to the dropships. Can't we do the same job from space?"
Spartan shook his head.
"No, the derelict will tear us apart if we try that. The dropships will land us while using full countermeasures to confuse their systems and get us aboard. I estimate we'd lose the lot in less than a minute in combat."
Khan said nothing, his silence meaning little more than simple acceptance of the facts. Sergeant Tyler stopped a group of four Thegn engineers at the ramp of the nearest dropship.
"Wait! Where are your weapons?"
They looked at each other, and then one spoke to the Sergeant.
"We do not carry weapons."
Sergeant Tyler shook his head as he walked to the side of the deck. Fitted into special mounts on the wall were the locked carbine units. There were dozens, even though more than a hundred had already been moved. He punched in his security code, and four of the units pushed out a centimetre.
"Take a weapon and two spare packs from the ammunition lockers. Everybody, and I mean everybody is armed."
They took the equipment and then made for the queues to board the dropships. Lieutenant Armstrong pointed to them.
"Arming Thegns? Is that a good idea?"
Spartan threw him a glance that answered without even opening his mouth. Sergeant Tyler intervened, primarily to save his lieutenant the embarrassment of being reprimanded in front of the others.
"Sir, the Thegn units aboard have all received basic training back at Taxxu. I've personally inspected their firearms drill and proficiency. None are allowed on board a ship until they have passed."
The explanation was not an answer to the issue Lieutenant Armstrong had raised, but he was not stupid. Instead of continuing to push, he simply nodded towards his sergeant.
"That is good to know. We don't want any incidents when we leave the ship."
The Thegns had done nothing in the years since the war to earn then distrust, but they were still the face of the legions of monsters that had ravaged so many worlds. Only those that fought for Spartan and the rebels were now in the IAB, with those that had fought for the Biomechs killed in battle long ago.
"True," said Spartan.
He hadn't really been paying attention, but as the Thegns climbed inside the dropship, he felt a moment of pride. He had more to be bitter about than most, yet over the years he'd made allies, and even friendships with creatures that had been his enemies. He was sure some people still believed the argument that he preferred them to his own people.
"There are many of their kin still out there. You've heard the rumours, I'm sure...of warbands that escaped the last days of the war."
Khan shrugged.
"Without ships or support, I can't imagine many made it away. From what I could see, most of them died fighting, following their last orders."
More of the Thegns arrived, this time from the main deck. Five-Seven was last to approach Spartan, with Captain Delatorre at his flank. They stopped in front of Spartan and Khan.
"Major, the ship is on lockdown. We've dumped the core as requested. Until she's given power, she'll be nothing more than an irradiated ghost ship. You made the right call. The last readings showed over half the ship is contaminated. Another hour and Euryale will be a death ship to anything living still aboard."
Spartan could see the man was trying to make an apology while saving face.
"Understood. All I need to know is that you sent the distress call, and you set the destruct sequence?"
Five-Seven answered quickly.
"Everything has been done, just as you requested. The ship will autodestruct in seventy-two hours, and the only way to disable it is with an override code key from an IAB senior level commander."
Khan sighed as he heard this.
"At this rate we'll have no ships left. Are you sure we have to do this?"
Spartan looked as disappointed as him.
"I know, old friend. But if that thing is able to take control of our ship, it might be able to repower her using tech from the derelict. The engines on that thing might be out, but she seems to have plenty of power."
Spartan glanced back at the ship and then indicated towards the final dropship.
"The new plan is simple enough. We bombard the derelict with decoys and make for the landing zones. We board her before the defensive systems can stop us."
He looked back to make sure the last few were now on board the small craft.
"Right, it's time to mount up."
"Yeah," said Khan, "and this time we're taking no chances."
Spartan led them to the ramp and waited as each moved inside. This particular craft was especially cramped due to additional robotic SAAR robots inside. Each looked like an armoured cart, with bulbous wheels and smooth looking turret mounts. They were simply pieces of equipment, yet powerful and more important, expendable. Spartan had made sure that every single piece of heavy armour and equipment made it with them, and the Maverick suits and wheeled SAAR robots were the most powerful thing aboard the ship. The doors shut behind them with a loud clunk, and he looked to them with a quick sweeping glance.
"We take the damned derelict, no matter what they throw at us. Understood?"
* * *
Kha’Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance
Gun wiped his brow with a thick red towel as he listened to Captain Wilson explain the events at Sector Sixteen. It was a far cry from a briefing room or centre of operations. Olik had recovered and paced back and forth impatiently, but Knaprig was silent. All of them were still breathing hard, though as each second passed the effect of their exertions began to reduce. Finally, Gun lifted his hand for the Captain to stop.
"Okay, wait a minute."
His voice was low-pitched, yet resonated with a growl.
"You're saying they've encountered an enemy, and somehow it has infected their ship. Is that what you're telling me?"
Captain Wilson nodded, but Gun still seemed unconvinced. General Black had remained silent for the last minute but now intervened.
"Yes, Gun, that is exactly the problem. Spartan has run right into the most deadly threat we've seen since the Biomech War, and now we have a dead ship with just hours of air remaining."
Gun looked confused.
"Wait. All I can see is that something from the derelict has managed to defeat our countermeasures and infiltrate every part of the most advanced piece of equipment in the galaxy. The equipment we are telling everybody is impregnable and state-of-the-art. And now you say this is the deadliest threat in ten years?"
Captain Wilson turned to General Black and nodded again, looking unfazed by the question.
"Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. Spartan boarded the derelict with a well-orchestrated battle plan, just like we intended for high-risk space-based boarding actions; Jackals providing air support and Grunts for the assault phase. He landed on the derelict with an entire company of Grunts to search for survivors. Like I said, they've been planning for an operation like this for weeks, and in minutes they were engaged in battle. The losses in equipment were heavy, very heavy. What has stunned us all, is that whatever was on that derelict managed to beat off our attack."
Gun was more than a little surprised at what he was hearing. Spartan was more than just a man. He was perhaps the greatest living warrior in the Alliance, and more than a match for an actual Biomech warrior. He could tear an enemy apart with his bare hands, lead an army, or pilot a ship. So the very idea that he had been forced back by something inside a derelict spaceship was a massive shock. Then there were the Grunts, something that was much more than bipedal combat drones; they were the future of massed combat. Each one was tougher than any marine, and able to carry all manner of weapons. They could operate without air, food, or water, and if destroyed, could be easily replaced.
"..But none of that is the issue, right now."
Gun shook his head, his expression grim.
"Our only operational X-45 is drifting in space, unpowered and useless. Is that about right?"
Captain Wilson nodded again, while General Black considered his words carefully.
"That's right, Colonel. And Spartan, being Spartan has refused to sit and wait. According to the last transmission, the ship is dead, and they are out of air. Worse, the derelict is coming for them, and when it arrives, there will be nobody alive to stop them."
Gun grinned.
"Let me guess, General, Spartan has decided to resolve this problem in his own, particular style?"
"Quite. He's loaded every man, woman, and machine onto dropships and is preparing a full-scale boarding action. He will capture the derelict and use it as a lifeboat until we can reach him."
"Interesting. And what if this thing refuses to co-operate?"
The officers exchanged glances, and the tone shifted to something much more sombre. The General leaned in closer to Gun.
"Spartan has his orders. Under no circumstances can he let the derelict leave Sector Sixteen."
They all knew what he was saying, and the very idea that Spartan would be forced to sacrifice himself and his comrades to stop the derelict was abhorrent to Gun. He shook his head angrily.
"Not happening, General; not on my watch."
"Gun, we are not alone in all of this. Admiral Churchill has assembled a small taskforce to deal with the problem, but they are nearly two weeks away from a rescue, if we put out the request."
His eyebrows rose a fraction.
"And based upon what I've seen of the footage, they are going to need more than a company of marines to help. If Spartan cannot keep this thing under control, then we've got a serious problem."
Gun did not look impressed.
"Spartan could handle it, but not if he lost control of the Grunts. You said it yourself; the ship was infected. He's probably heading back there right now, with a platoon of marines and Maverick suits at his back."
General Black could see the pride and also the hurt on Gun's face. The IAB was not his creation, and Gun and the others would protect it, almost like a child. In any other battle the Grunts should have been the perfect weapon, but the IAB's first major operation would now be forever marred by what had happened out there. Mr Walker said what all of them were thinking. As the senior CTC executive, it was his responsibility to manage the business and logistical side of the IAB, and he knew exactly what cost the operation would have.
"Gentlemen, the details of the operation are irrelevant. We cannot have the IAB fail in its inaugural mission."
Gun cleared his throat.
"The IAB? We're talking about people here, good people that are still fighting out there. And what the hell are you saying? Inaugural mission!"
He muttered to himself.
"Maybe you've not heard of a little action on Spascia? One where the IAB resolved one hell of a situation, and right under the gaze of the media."
Mr Walker smiled politely.
"An alien world that many back home still don't see as part of the Alliance; this operation in T'Karan is in the jurisdiction of our Alliance naval base, and more important, it has a high human body count. An Alliance warship has been lost. If our own rescue party is then forced to rely upon Alliance forces to pull us out of trouble…."
He shook his head and moved to the left.
"Well, what do you think will happen? We were called in to help, not to be a liability. There will be no further funding from the Byotai or Khreenk if we can't even protect ourselves, and Alliance funds will dry up if we cannot operate on our own. We need this resolved before it can become an issue."
Gun didn't like what he was hearing but knew it was true. In theory, as an independent private military unit, they could take work from any that paid them. Of course, they could only operate in Alliance space with authority from High Command, but that did give them great leeway to assist in all manner of situations. It was the main reason High Command had finally sanctioned the unusual military unit. Gun lifted his arm and snarled.
"Wait a minute."
He moved closer to the General. He might have been outranked, but that meant nothing to Gun when the lives of his friends were at stake.
"Are you telling me the Alliance military doesn't know about Spartan and this battle? What about the defeat at Sector Sixteen?"
Captain Wilson intentionally moved away so he would not hear what came next. The arena was silent until General Black moved closer and answered. It was all a matter of plausible deniability, though every one of them knew what was actually going on.
"High Command knows there is a problem out there, but not the details. Officially, the sector is part of an ongoing operation. Alliance forces will be held in reserve, in case warship intervention is required. Right now attention is elsewhere."
He rubbed his lower lip.
"Don't forget; there is nothing they can do, not for weeks. And right now there is the small issue of the Byotai border to resolve. There's something else, Colonel, something that has been passed on from Admiral Anderson. Presently, he's at a defence conference on Helios Prime. When news arrived of the derelict, he requested intelligence on the vessel."
Gun shook his head impatiently.
"I know this. The Klithi shared data, but not the others."
That was the point at which the Captain's expression changed.
"The imagery from the vessel and news of the fighting has changed things. In the last hour we've had contact from all the major players."
"Telling us what, exactly?"
The General shook his head and held up his secpad in front of Gun. It showed imagery of alien representatives.
"The Helions, T'Kari, and Khreenk are all demanding information. They want to know what we've discovered. Even the Klithi have contacted us. They are acting suspiciously."
"So? What is it to them?"
Mr Walker rubbed his chin as the Captain explained.
"Two things. First, they see it as a major threat. They are already mobilising military assets to deal with the derelict if it comes near their territory. So far we've located more than fifty ships, including six Klithi traveller ships on the move. They are terrified of this thing, and they want to keep it away from their sectors."
"And the second?"
Captain Wilson looked to Mr Walker to answer that.
"They are threatening to mine their Spacebridges to the Helios Nexus."
Gun leaned back in surprise.
"What? Are they insane? Without the Nexus they will be unable to trade, travel, or communicate outside of their own systems. We won't be able to send in ships to help them if they get into trouble either."
Knaprig looked even less impressed than Gun.
"They are that scared of this thing, a rotten derelict, bereft of life? There is a good argument for mass mobilisation in the Alliance. In five years we could have every colony under our control."
Mr Walker's eyebrows lifted in stunned surprise.
"Just saying," added Knaprig.
The executive shook his head.
"Gun. Their actions speak louder much more than their words. My contacts on Helios Prime are telling me that all of them would rather cut off contact with the rest of us for now, than deal with something from the lost Trusska worlds. The Helion Nexus could be turned into a backwater if they block access."
Knaprig spat on the floor.
"Cowards. They want us to deal with it while they cower under their beds. If it wasn't for us, there would be no Helios."
Captain Wilson first turned to the General, and after receiving the nod turned back to Gun.
"A backchannel request has come in from Admiral Churchill. He wants to know if the IAB is able to send in reinforcements to assist. If not, he will send in his own assault team."
Gun noticed the expression on Mr Walker's face. It was one of bemusement and also calmer than he would have expected. It was almost as if the man thought it was no great rush.
"Problem, Mr Walker?"
The man smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. It was something much darker, and evidently more sinister.
"Not a problem, per se. Just that we have a window of nearly three weeks to get a plan into action. A plan to stop this derelict reaching inhabited space, and a secondary goal of protecting the IAB, and by association, CTC."
General Black's eyes tightened as he listened, and Gun's expression changed at just the same time. Gun spoke first, even as his face began to contort, no longer able to listen to the executive.
"No, we do not have three weeks. We do not even have one week! Spartan, Khan, and the rest of them need our help."
He turned to leave and then looked back. His glare couldn't have been sterner.
"What are you thinking?" Mr Walker asked, "We have no operational ships, and Spartan took all active and equipped marines for the operation."
Gun considered his options for a few seconds.
"Titan is damaged but partially operational. I'll have her through the Black Rift by the end of today."
Mr Walker shook his head.
"The ship is in no state to leave, and her operations level is smashed. You'll have no marines, Grunts, or tech. What good will a warship be, if all you can do is bombard the derelict? You'll kill whoever is left on board."
General Black looked as though he agreed with Gun.
"Yes, we can make this work. We have to."
He lifted the back of his hand to his face and nodded slowly, considering their options.
"2nd and 3rd Company are units in name only. The transfers from Hyperion are still being familiarised with the hardware, and we've got five more companies to recruit, train, and equip. It will be another month before both battalions are at a combat strength of five hundred each, and that’s assuming the Helion and Khreenk volunteers can do the job.”
He then lifted his head at least three centimetres taller as he came to an epiphany. Gun looked at him, and both said the exactly same word at the same time.
"Thegns, we’ll use the Thegns."
Gun barred his teeth in amusement.
"The Alliance will not go for it."
General Black shrugged.
"What they don't know won't kill them. I can have crew transferred from the engineering detail to get to work on Titan. She doesn't need to be fully combat effective, just functional. We can post Thegns on board for security. It could work."
Knaprig had been quiet for some time, but now he knew exactly what he had to do.
"Thegns won't be enough. If Spartan and Khan run into trouble, they'll be needing something more than a few hundred Thegns."
Gun looked to his friend.
"What are you suggesting?"
Knaprig positively beamed back at him.
"Osk will help us. Give me twenty-four hours, and I'll have her send a company of the Red Watch through to T'Karan from Prometheus."
Gun looked to his comrade.
"She'll go for this?"
Knaprig grinned, his mouth open wide, his teeth bared.
"How could she refuse me?"
Gun began to laugh.
"A company of Jötnar warriors, all looking for a fight? It hardly seems fair! Tell Osk to be ready. We'll be there in twenty-four hours, if I have to push the ship there myself."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Special Weapons Division was a private entity, created by veterans of the Biomech War. With financing supplied by the monolithic Carthago Trade Consortium, they established the premier weapons and equipment development and production facility at Taxxu. This distant territory was the perfect place from which to base such an operation, and under the protection of the Alliance, and with the assistance of the surviving Twelve; some of the greatest technology discoveries of the century would be made. Within a decade the Taxxu factory and shipyard were self-sufficient and providing the best research opportunities in the Alliance, as well as substantial new markets for CTC to exploit.
Private Security Directory
Dropship Fury, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Spartan watched the formation as the Jackal dropships accelerated towards their target. Though clamped securely inside the craft, his linked sensor suite gave him a perfect view of what was happening outside. The sleek looking craft had already extended their swing-wings, and their mixture of guns and missiles had been deployed ready for use. It was a high-speed dash from the abandoned IAS Euryale and directly towards the slowly approaching shape of the alien vessel.
"Here we go."
The craft banked hard and back into formation with the other craft.
"Each squad has an allocated landing ground. All of them will be revealed when we reach the point of no return. When you reach the derelict, get inside and take your preselected positions."
He looked to Khan and found his friend motionless, quiet and waiting.
"Our ship is powerless and without life-support. Our one and only chance for survival is to seize this vessel and to hold it until relieved. There is no chance of withdrawal. Our future will be decided on that ship. So...you will fight, and you will hold whatever ground you secure, no matter what happens."
Spartan knew what he was asking them to do, but he also knew deep down that dying from lack of air was a cruel and humiliating way to go. He'd imagined and witnessed his own death in many ways, but sitting down and waiting wasn't one of them. Again he looked to Khan. He seemed to have twisted his torso a little even though the clamps made it almost impossible to move.
"We will win, or we will die on our feet. Good hunting."
The eight Jackal dropships travelled in a dispersed formation. Four were heavily laden with warriors, equipment, and crew. The others were unmanned and loaded with a full arsenal of missiles and decoys. To anybody else they all looked the same, but Spartan was looking at using the unoccupied Jackals as armed decoys. Two of them moved slightly ahead of the other six, their weapon systems already deployed.
The occupied Jackals were packed to bursting, so much so that if the craft were required to make a planetary descent, they would be too heavy for a safe landing. Every single occupant was armoured, from the heavy gear of the Mavericks and Jötnar through to the IAB marines in their M-3 tactical body armour. The Thegns were in their natural protection plating, and Captain Delatorre wore naval issue PDS armour. Spartan's eyes were closed as they passed the halfway point, all his attention focussed on what he'd seen on their last encounter.
It has to be different this time.
The entity, as Khan has described it was a unique enemy, one he almost relished facing. He guessed it was at least the size of Khan, and more likely up to double his size. Strength was hard to gauge, due to the use of the Grunts, but he suspected it was as strong as it was massive. The difficulty in seeing it could only be down to technology. Then there were the smaller foes, ones that had detached from its body. Its ability to control computers and advanced technology was something new and deadly, and Spartan almost found that exhilarating.
I want this thing, and I want it dead. Not a step back this time.
Spartan's nostrils flared as he imagined what he would do when standing in front of it face-to-face, instead of via remote robotics and technology. A brief pulse of excitement was short lived when he remembered those he was bringing along with him. Most were trained and experienced warriors, but there were also the crew of IAS Euryale. There was enough mixed weaponry on board to arm them all, but much had been lost aboard the derelict. Ideally, they would all be wearing the new armour and carrying XC1 carbines. Now they were forced to use a mixture of carbines and coilguns, with some forced to take the emergency thermal shotguns from the lockers on the ship.
We lost a lot out there, more than should have been possible.
Spartan regretted landing with such a large force of Grunts now. With hindsight, it would have been better to land no more than a single platoon. There had been a desperate need to find survivors, though, and time was the critical factor. There was no way of knowing of this entity, and its ability to control data and technology so effectively. Even so, the price was heavy; two platoons of Grunts, fifty-five incredibly expensive robotic units gone, along with the irreplaceable XC1 carbines. It was a disaster, and one caused almost certainly due to the enemy's ability to control, breach, or override control information.
The Jackal felt as though it was dead in space, but all of them knew otherwise. Until the manoeuvring thrusters or main engine were used again, the craft would continue drifting through space, its occupants moving at the exact same velocity and in the same direction. Spartan watched the ever-receding view of IAS Euryale as it continued to shrink in size.
Will we see her again?
With little more than a movement of his retina, he selected the previous feed and moved to the forward view direct from the nose of the dropship. The imagery was crystal clear and provided a perfect view of the derelict. Even at this long distance, the dark shape was clear to the eye. This wasn't due to it suddenly gaining a vast amount of lighting, but the computer's digital overlay that transposed the data from the reconnaissance scans earlier in the battle. The combined data gave a detailed, full colour view of something that was now pitch black, save for the remaining drones lighting key parts of its hull.
"Spartan, we're a minute away, are you ready?"
It was Kanjana, his loyal friend since the end of the war, and one of the most proficient engineers and pilots he'd ever come across. Though much younger than him, they had formed a bond little different to father and daughter as they worked together in Taxxu, both of them exiles from their old lives.
Spartan's eyes ran along the list of indicators for the Maverick suit. Usually, he would be receiving a constant stream of data from the ship, but not now. On his orders, the officers of the entire company were avoiding anything more than audio communication. Direct networking had been disabled to avoid a repeat of the data infiltration on the previous operation.
"Yeah, I'm good. Keep on track."
"Understood."
He then sent requests to the commanders. There were three platoons of
IAB marines on this operation, each led by an experienced lieutenant. Seventy-two elite marines, and with the will to fight and to win. They would normally operate using the combat Grunts in the field, but every marine was also expected to serve in conventional amour when required. The standard deployment options to the IAB were varied, from a full Grunt assault force supported by Maverick suited officers, as well as a dozen picked marines wearing the heavy armour. They could just as easily fight as a fully conventional force in PDS armour. Spartan, Khan, and the others debated the strengths of each all the time, but it would appear that right now, circumstances would dictate their disposition.
Spartan was well aware there were also the crew of IAS Euryale, and the technicians and engineers operating and maintaining the weapons and technology. Though well trained, they were not as capable in combat as his marines. The last thing Spartan wanted was to see these units forced to fighting the entity. This, perhaps more than anything, ensured his resolve in the operation was strong. Only after receiving acknowledgements did he look to those he'd brought with him. Khan was opposite on the other side of the dropship; next to him Lieutenant Armstrong and Sergeant Tyler, both wearing the battered crimson Maverick armour they'd used on Spascia.
"You all ready?"
The men lifted their arms slightly to acknowledge. With the neck-less design, there was no way to actually give a signal using the head anymore. Spartan then looked to his old comrade, Khan.
"Well, old friend. Just like old times."
Khan fidgeted.
"Yeah, except this time we have no idea what it is we're up against."
Lieutenant Armstrong had been waiting impatiently for the specific data on the mission, and now he simply could not wait. Though much more junior than Khan or Spartan, he was the commander of 1st Platoon; technically no different to the other platoons in the company, the reality was somewhat different. 1st Company generally accompanied the commanders in the field, operating in many ways like a personal bodyguard to Spartan, or whoever else was leading them in the field.
"Sir, I just hope the distraction plan works."
Spartan turned his head inside the armour to look at the man. He could sense the nerves in his voice and perfectly understood them. They were advancing on a massive vessel, with just eight dropships and no backup plan.
"Major, if the plan doesn't work. Well, we're going to be a smear across the top of that derelict. I...the...the firepower it put out when Euryale engaged the thing. It..."
He sighed.
"...and we're going to be stuck out here with nowhere to hide."
Spartan laughed.
"That's not where we're going, Lieutenant. We're going to do what we do best."
Khan grunted in agreement.
"Euryale is dead to us, and so is space. So don't worry about things we cannot change."
The words were ones Spartan had heard many times before. Khan's people were more than just the strongest and most capable warriors in the Alliance, they were also some of the more sombre people he'd ever met. Their fatalist attitude to life could be almost depressing to many people, but after prolonged exposure, many finally realised the Jötnar were not so much resigned to death, but more they were comfortable with it; and keen to enjoy what life they had remaining. It was one of the things that made them such desirable combat troops. Khan lifted his arms and pointed off to the side of the dropship.
"That derelict is our new home, and nothing will stop us short of a legion of Biomechs. And even then, they would do little to keep us occupied."
Spartan was glad the young officer couldn't see his face because Khan's words were making him grin uncontrollably. Unlike the Lieutenant, he had reconciled with death a long time ago, and since losing Teresa and Jack, he found it easier to put himself into danger.
Good job, Khan. Scare the living hell out of our people before the mission begins.
It then seemed as though Khan might have heard his unspoken words.
"We have the best people for this job, and if we hadn't lost the link with the Grunts, we'd have won last time around. You saw what happened; Spartan had his hands on that thing."
Khan pushed his armoured fists together.
"When I find it, I'll teach it a thing or two about violence."
Spartan let Khan continue with his boasting. The effect on the other marines was clearly positive, and every few words one of them would cheer or say something encouraging. It was a tense time, and with the marines clamped inside their cylinders it could be a worrying time. The smoked glass fronts were still open, so they could all see each other right now, but that wouldn't last, and Spartan needed them ready and able when the time came.
Looking good.
He moved through the tagged landing zones and checked his for what must have been the fifth time. They'd not had long to plan this, but he was satisfied with the decisions made. The location of the landing zones for the assault parties were highlighted, and their specific one flashed in green. Spartan noticed Khan had stopped speaking for a moment.
"Marines, as you can see, we're hitting the derelict from one direction. There will be no dispersed landing this time. I want concentration of force. Each of you will protect your comrades, shoulder-to-shoulder, with your feet firmly on this derelict."
Khan grunted as he looked at the landing locations on the overlay inside his armour.
"We'll avoid the last locations used and instead hit the landing bay on the old Khreenk cruiser, the one we identified on the port side of the derelict. All we have to do is avoid the defensive fire on the way in, and give the impression we're using the same location as last time. Hence the drones."
Spartan licked his lips as he looked at the landing zones.
"3rd Platoon cleared the lower landing bay during the last incursion. They met little resistance for most of the battle, and according to their lieutenant, there is at least enough space to land two Jackals inside. It's the main loading bay for the old cruiser, and more than enough space to land a major force."
Now Khan seemed confused.
"Two? Uh, you've got a problem with your maths. We've got four dropships with marines on board."
Sergeant Tyler had been listening to the conversation, but he'd already worked out what was going to happen.
"We only need to land the birds with the crew and the extra gear. Two of the birds, including this one, are equipped with marines only. All we need to do is get close enough to launch our assault units."
"True," agreed Khan, "but that leaves them in the air with nowhere to hide."
Everything aboard their Jackal was designed for insertion into battle from a short distance rather than requiring an actual landing under fire. It had been one of Spartan's requirements during the design phase. Too many aircraft, from Hammerheads to Maulers, had suffered heavy losses during landings under fire. Kanjana’s voice returned.
"The derelict is activating its weapons. It looks like a fully automated system. She came online at exactly as we passed the ten-kilometre barrier."
"Understood," said Spartan.
Khan pointed towards the derelict.
"If it’s automated, why didn't it fire when the Grunts landed?"
Spartan considered his question for a moment.
"Maybe it senses life forms on approach, or maybe, just maybe, it let us board to lure us in."
Khan shrugged but said no more.
He activated the company wide channel so that every officer could hear him.
"All units, this is it. On my mark, you will follow the plan. Listen to your officers, and follow oral orders only."
He glanced at the formation as it moved onwards.
"Ignore anything that comes outside of your unit's local network, and under no circumstances accept encoded data without matched audio. This enemy is as dangerous as it is resourceful. Start the clock now. Phase One in...ten seconds."
Spartan licked his lips, closed his eyes, and then gave the order.
"Now!"
The wide-area digital network cut as one by one each platoon deactivated the data connections to each other. There was no guarantee the enemy would be able to infiltrate the system, but Spartan was taking no chances. He'd already seen the damage the enemy could do by infiltrating first the ship, and then his robotic Grunts. One last check confirmed the system was deactivated before he changed to the local channel.
"Kanjana, are we ready?"
The intercom crackled.
"Always. Hold on, this is going to get interesting."
"Understood, just get us in close and get us in fast."
Kanjana began to laugh.
"Words I hear you live by, Spartan."
Khan laughed and then tried to hide it with a gruff cough.
"Funny," said Spartan, feigning insult, "real funny."
He changed his view to watch their flanks and the slowly opening hatches that hid their secret weapon.
"It's time to see how useful the X1 really is. Get the threat level up high."
The attack on the derelict was one of the messiest and most unusual space-borne assaults any of them had seen; yet like all of them, it began with a high-speed dash by assault gunships.
"Commencing attack run, now."
Spartan tensed his body as the first stage began. Encased in metal and trapped inside the Jackal, there was now little he could do but wait and rely upon the skills and training of his pilots, as the Jackals modified their formation. To any but the most experienced officer it would have looked little different, but with a few modest changes their effectiveness was transformed. The lower craft carried the bulk of the assault teams; those further up were tasked with the assault. The first offensive action was when each Jackal released its attached pair of X1 fighter drones. Eight Jackals were soon screened by sixteen of the ultra advanced, but untested craft.
Like much of the equipment used by the IAB, these small craft had been modelled on the successful Biomech fighters encountered in the war. Unlike the complex multi-engine manned and unmanned fighters used by the Alliance, these new craft were constructed around a single rocket engine, with attached movable ducts to alter course. This kept them very small and allowed them to wait inside their aerodynamic mounts on the flanks of the dropships. The engines were unshielded and exposed to the elements, making them even larger targets to radar and heat sensitive tracking equipment.
"In position," announced Kanjana, "Starting attack run on landing zone...now."
She was matter-of-fact, efficient, and almost coldly decisive in her command of this part of the battle. Spartan would have normally delegated such an operation to an experienced officer, but there were none aboard with her skills. She might have never done this, but in simulations she'd handled units of more than twenty Jackals, all with escorting drone squadrons.
Time for the real test.
The drones spread out to increase the size of the formation and then deployed their wings. These insect-like structures did much to increase their overall size and also functioned as simple ablative armour. Its primary role was to increase the size, and therefore the threat of the drone. Both the electronic and heat signatures were an almost perfect match to the much larger Jackals. They then split into two groups; one leading the two Jackal gunships, and the rest following the assault wave towards the derelict. Though using larger numbers, the assault formation appeared to be following the exact same approach as before. Spartan and Khan had decided from the onset that the mission needed to look little different. By the time the enemy could see what was happening, they should all be aboard. Just like last time, the turrets tracked them and then opened fire.
"Look, they know we're here," said Khan.
Spartan selected the forward view from the Jackal and watched broken dotted lines reach out to the formation of small craft. He'd seen assaults under heavy fire before, and this one was little different. The derelict was well defended, though nothing as sophisticated as the defences used on space stations or capital ships. There were no missiles or long-range gun systems, just basic point-defence turrets.
Two drones were ripped apart in seconds before they were able to return fire. Though small, the high-performance rockets used by the drones was easily capable of driving a high-energy weapon system. By avoiding the use of ammunition, the drones could instead operate the brand new HEC-1 plasma cannon, the exact same weapon carried by Maverick marines. The muzzle extended out from the middle of the engine and spat out rounds of super-heated plasma.
"Impressive," said Lieutenant Armstrong.
The drones swept along the dorsal section of the derelict and peppered the surface with high-energy projectiles. Each flashed as it struck the outer hull, and many burned through inside the craft to detonate the defensive systems from within. The shots were accurate and decisive, with every one of them aimed at the defensive weapon systems of the derelict. Though the drones took hits, they began knocking out the turrets. It was a fight they could never win, but that was far from the point. Their job was to be the distraction and buy the assault teams time.
"In position, sending the code...now."
This was the part of the plan that Spartan prayed would work. As the code was sent, the troop-carrying dropships broke formation, while dumping large amounts of countermeasures. In seconds the area of space near the original landing areas was filled with a variety of new signatures. At the same time, the code gave a failsafe command to the drones. They would now fight autonomously, refusing commands or data of any kind from any craft, friendly or not.
"Hold on."
It was an unnecessary suggestion, as the clamps kept them locked into position. It did give Spartan a brief moment to tense his body, as Kanjana spun the dropship about in a spinning manoeuvre before she activated the main thrusters. They accelerated away at a right angle, following the shape of the hull until upside down and near the underside. Even Khan was impressed by the speed and precision exhibited by the alien pilot.
"Impressive, very impressive."
Gunfire raked their hull, but due to the rapid banking and change of direction, only a handful of rounds hit the craft, none of which caused more than superficial damage.
"Prepare for drop," said Kanjana.
Spartan and his three comrades were already in position, but none had activated the tubes. They hit the buttons, and the cylindrical doors slid down to encase them. Once sealed, the lower hatches disconnected and waited for their release orders. Spartan swallowed, only then noticing his lips were dry.
"This is it, people. Get ready for a high-speed, zero-g insertion."
One of the dropships was hit as it twisted to avoid gunfire. Turrets blasted away until one of the engines was streaming sparks, yet still it continued onwards, its own weapons now blasting away.
That's our moment.
"Kanjana, get us close, now!"
Fury shuddered violently as Kanjana twisted the craft about and led the other five dropships and their escorts under the derelict. The speed and agility exhibited was astonishing, even to Spartan. Though the other five were quick, none could quite match the degree to which she could spin the craft around. They held their fire letting the X1 drones do the work instead. They split apart, the drones blasting the outer hull while the dropships sailed through the debris and gunfire.
"This is more like it," said Khan.
One of the marines said something, but a loud clunk drowned out the sound. Spartan checked the external views, but neither they nor the computer logs showed any sign of damage.
"Marines. This is our moment, be ready!"
The final stage of their arrival at the derelict was a massed confusion of spacecraft and gunfire, debris drifting about in all directions. Yet through this maelstrom, the dropships continued on their course until reaching their final position. The turrets on the derelict were numerous, but already Spartan could see what Kanjana had done. With a combination of computer aided assessment, and her superlative navigation and analytical skills, she had found the dead-zones in the defences.
It's not a warship, just a mass of wrecks and hulks fused together. That's its weakness.
They were still taking fire as the first four dropships formed up into a tight formation. The landing bay was large, but not so large they could waste their chance. With barely two metres between them, the two slid into the protected space of the landing bay. They were now inside another of the many blind spots of the myriad of gun turrets. They lowered to the deck level and activated their landing gear clamps, creating a strong seal to bond them to the target. The second pair split up and raced along the surface of the derelict, drawing away fire from the last pair.
"First two are on board," said Kanjana.
Spartan let out a short, pained breath at the news. Kanjana then called out over the communications system.
"Five seconds, all tubes prepare for launch. This is going to be fast."
Spartan sighed in relief as both Fury, and Spiteful, the sixth dropship rolled in opposite directions to expose their bellies to the open landing bay under the derelict.
"Three...two..."
The craft positioned themselves beautifully, with both still moving at high-speed towards the landing bay. There was no more space for them to land, and if for any reason they failed to move away, the craft would simply crash into the others sat waiting inside.
"One!"
Spartan closed his eyes and then felt a shudder as the tube depressurised and blasted him and the others out. It must have looked like an ancient multi-barrelled cannon as they flew out in a mass of metal, IAB marines in their armour and the massive forms of the larger Maverick and JAS suits. Spartan relaxed for a moment, enjoying the sensation of freedom, as well as the complete lack of control.
Here we go.
Then came the alerts, and Spartan opened his eyes to see a wall of colour. There were the proximity sensors for the derelict, as well as the passive scanners that had detected the incoming fire from gun turrets. His first instinct was to reach for his weapon, and his hand even began to move until he stopped himself.
You idiot. Just get inside, and fast!
They had been in the void for just five seconds when the turrets hit the dropship. Spiteful performed a triple roll and avoided the first burst, only to move too high and take the combined fire of three flank turrets. The projectiles smashed into the hull one after another, every round hitting with pulverising force. The sleek, swing-wing dropship shuddered from the battering and then broke apart into a myriad of pieces. Spartan looked back just as Spiteful was lost, and the turrets were turning their attention to Fury.
"Kanjana, get out!"
Fury kept close to the hull of the derelict and accelerated away, keeping a distance of little more than ten metres from the plating. The turrets rotated to follow the target, but she moved too low and too fast for them to have a chance to track her.
"Magnificent," said Khan.
Then the dropship was hit by something. It was not gunfire, and only when the port engine ripped from its mountings, could Spartan see it was the broken wreckage from one of the X1 drones. Fury seemed to limp through space, but that gave the turrets the chance they needed. Those further away managed to lock on, and as Fury tumbled away, she was hit. Just the one turret was in the right position, but it sent a long burst that hit the nosecone and then worked its way to the rear. Just as it reached the last metre of hull, the dropship exploded in a yellow flash.
"Kanjana!"
There was nothing he could do, but the loss of the dropship brought back that familiar stab in the chest, one that reminded him that although he could withstand injury or loss himself, the loss of others was always a struggle. A reminder that the life he'd chosen was one of death and violence, that ultimately resulted in the deaths of so many around him.
Khan had already turned away and was busy barking orders to the cloud of marines heading for the derelict. The majority were on course, but at least five had been pushed away towards the rectangular ring running around the entrance to the landing bay.
"Spartan, watch yourself."
He twisted about and found a girder arm jutting out. There were no manoeuvring jets, so he used his armoured limbs to beat it away so that he moved off to the right. It threw him off course, but not enough for him to miss the entrance. Once certain he was safe, he looked back at the crippled shape of Fury. The flames subsided almost immediately, but the craft was already a total loss. He felt a lump in his throat until his scanners detected the IFF signatures of two crew drifting towards the derelict. Both wore their naval PDS suits and flailed about, moving uncontrollably.
Good news at last.
"Spartan, we're clear. We'll find another way inside."
Kanjana sounded calm, but Spartan could sense the fear in her tone, always incredibly calm and to many, a little cold. He knew her much better, and the escape had shaken her.
"Well done. Get inside as quickly as you can."
He wanted to go back, but there was little he could do to help. It would take up to thirty minutes to reach the area they were heading for. He'd need to take others with him to help, when what was actually needed was leadership. For now he would simply have to remain thankful they had cleared the explosion. As if to emphasise the point, a pair of the X1 drones moved overhead. There was no sound, just the flashes from their guns blasting a turret not far from where Kanjana was. Green pulses leapt out from their guns, and then they were gone as quickly as they'd arrived.
Concentrate on the task at hand. Secure a landing ground and get everybody inside!
"All units get inside and fast."
There was nothing any of them could do as they moved into the cavernous hangar space. Crane arms extended out from the flanks, marking out this part of the ship as designed for loading and unloading heavy cargo. One marine struck an arm and was knocked out cold. A second grabbed him before he could drift away.
Here it comes.
Spartan reached out as he spun towards the side of the entrance. He was just inside the inner lip, but the chance of bumping and falling back into space was still a real fear. As soon as he made contact, he grabbed the nearest piece of metal and twisted his body about before releasing. Now he was nearing the floor, and at an even greater speed. It was a mess, but by the time Spartan's feet touched the floor of the landing deck, he could see all but three had made it inside.
Khan flexed his arms and activated his flood lamps. The Maverick armoured marines did the same, and the conventional IAB marines moved in around them. Spartan did the same, and his lamps came on, bathing the interior of the long abandoned landing deck in pale light.
"Everybody inside. It's time."
They moved, lifting and lowering their feet one at a time. There was a very small level of artificial gravity here, right on the outer ring of the landing deck, and no atmosphere to provide air or something for sound to vibrate through. The Mavericks looked like monsters as they made slow progress inside the long-abandoned Khreenk cruiser that made up just a small portion of the derelict. Up ahead were dozens more marines, Thegns, and crew, moving out of the side doors of the dropships. Satisfied he was in position, Spartan activated his weapon systems. The HEC-1 lifted up out of its mount and panned left and right before returning back inside the armour.
Systems fully operational, good, now we take this thing.
CHAPTER NINE
CCS Thunder and CCS Pathfinder were the first Liberty class ships to have ever engaged another in a pitched battle. The unusual circumstances of the engagement have been classified for many years, but what is known is that a renegade captain took command of CCS Thunder and attempted to take her to Mars colony. CCS Pathfinder ran across her as she entered the Sol Spacebridge, and from there the encounter became violent. A day later both ships were dead in space, with not a single soul alive to tell the tale. Only the heavily redacted log of Captain Perkins, of CCS Pathfinder provides any information on the events.
Great Ships of the Line
Kha’Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance
Gun walked around the nose of IAS Titan for the second time. She was effectively identical from the outside to her two sisters, New Carlos and Euryale. The colour scheme was uninspiring, just the usual battleship grey, but marked with the reminders of her bloody battle in orbit around Karnak. The great double-ring nacelle at the rear dwarfed the rest of her structure, so that even the beams and antenna extending from her bow seemed insignificant. Standing next to Gun was Chief Engineer Simpson, a diminutive looking middle-aged man, with no hair and a large oversized belly. His overalls were filthy, and a greasy stain ran from his cheek to his left ear.
"She'll power up, but I can't promise you much if you take her into combat. The primary weapons are all non-functional."
Gun lifted his shoulder slightly.
"So? I don't need weapons, just engines. Tell me straight, will she get me to my destination?"
The man didn't look happy, but he did give Gun the nod.
"She'll make it there, of that you can have my word. As to whether she'll get you back, well, that's another story. In any case, I've boosted the engine output. It is not much, but it will shave fifty minutes, maybe an hour off your journey time."
Gun appeared satisfied with that.
"Very well, then, good work. Get the rest of them clear. We will exit the bay within the hour. You have until then to get me as much extra functionality as you can before I leave."
The man lifted an eyebrow in confusion.
"Oh, I'm not staying here, Colonel. I'm coming with you. I can continue my work on the ship as we go."
He then grinned.
"If something happens to her, you'll wish you'd brought me along."
Gun knew better than to argue with the man and let him move off to continue with his work. He walked to the port side of the nose of the ship and looked up at the batch of massive gun barrels. Technically, they were more emitters than barrels, but the businessmen that made up a large part of the Carthago Trade Consortium had argued for them. The designers wanted to keep the weapons hidden discreetly inside the ship, but the businessmen wanted something a little more ostentatious, a styling change that marked the ship as more than just the some of her parts. This method of design by committee had resulted in one of the ugliest and most aggressive looking ships in the Alliance.
Great timing, Spartan, as always.
He looked to his right and at the shape of IAS New Carlos. The ship was structurally complete, but after the missions involving both Euryale and Titan, she had been partially stripped to rebuild her internal systems and cooling units. Secondary units for the nacelles were being installed to ensure the main engines would be operational, even if the ship suffered significant battle damage. This was also a requirement by Alliance officials for sanctioned travel in the major inhabited star systems of Proxima Centauri and Sol. There were real fears that the new type of engine could cause catastrophic damage if it malfunctioned near human worlds or colonies. Oddly enough, the other races had little concern about the vessels. A single female engineer popped her head out of a hatch and called out to him.
"Colonel. Just your equipment to go, then we're ready for you to come aboard."
He nodded and twisted about as he watched the last motorised pallet being taken inside. There were multiple padded cases and each marked with his name and rank. One item was lying flat and took up over half the unit.
That's more like it.
While the weapons and tech were boxed, the full JAS armour system was fitted to a skeleton mount, the only way to keep it in the correct posture for insertion into the ship’s armoury. Gun noted the marks on the plating as it moved up the ramp and inside the vast hull of the IAS Titan. Like many of the sets of armour used by the IAB, it had sustained its fair share of damage. Even as he looked at it, he felt a twinge of discomfort in his flank. He moved his hand down and felt the areas where his body had been punctured on Karnak. A normal human would have died from the injuries, but it was little more than a mild discomfort to him.
Even though they were about to leave, there were still scores of people all over the ship, and while some were still working on the hull, most were removing the scaffolding surrounding the vessel. He shook his head, and then spotted the face of General Black. The man had approached with surprising stealth, and that concerned Gun.
"How is she looking?"
Gun sighed.
"Not great. The damage at Karnak was substantial. We will be leaving, though, no matter her state."
The officer moved closer to him until they were just a couple of metres apart. He looked up at the ship and touched one of the wide pylons that extended far out in front of her bow and angled downwards. Even though the ship was resting on massive clamps, the hull appeared to be a very long distance away.
"She was the first built, was she not?"
Gun nodded.
"Yes. The construction of each began at different times, but Titan was the first to have her metal cut. SWD engineers had designed her based on the information from Sol and On'Sarax. At first CTC would only give us funding for one ship, but the development costs are the same for one ship, or ten. Spartan encouraged them to budget for nine complete ships, constructed in batches of three. By the time Titan had been finished, the other two of the first tranche were well under construction."
He then nodded off to the right where another dozen massive nacelles were being assembled.
“The guts of the ship are one of the most valuable commodities now, and CTC are working on ways to manufacture the equipment at their new factories on Carthago. Mass production of the engines will make them the richest corporation history."
He licked his mouth.
“Enough business, though. The important thing for us is that we have another three ships under production, with parts to build another three in the future.”
He would have said more, but already he could see the General looked uncomfortable. It wasn't that he was nervous or even concerned at speaking with Gun; there was something else. And knowing the man the way Gun did, he knew it must be very serious.
"There's something you need to know, Gun, something unexpected."
"I thought as much."
That intrigued him, perhaps more so than anything the man had said since his arrival on the World Ship. So far everything had proven a little linear, and in his experience, there was always a little more to events than simply cause and consequence. The General moved closer and lifted a device from his pocket between them. It emitted a high-pitched whistle that settled down to a mild irritation. Gun cocked his head in an odd manner.
"Privacy module, really?"
The unit was rarely used outside of meeting with third parties, and its use made Gun immediately suspicious of what was going on. The General was one of the most experienced Special Forces leaders, but this was still strange for him.
"My security detail picked up a transmission, one that came from Sector Sixteen."
"So?"
The General almost looked pained to continue.
"It came from IAS Euryale on a back-channel maintenance report, and it went directly to the office of Mr Walker and CTC."
Gun pulled his head back a moment.
"Mr Walker, why? All traffic should be passed directly through our command and control centre."
He turned and pointed off into the innards of the ship.
"We can manage the ships remotely from inside this place. Eventually, we plan on operating Confederate class ships without deck crews."
He then twisted back and looked carefully at the man.
"And you're telling me that somebody on our ship is in contact with the company man, and not us?"
General Black nodded ever so slowly.
"Yes. And there is something else, Gun. Something that worries me a great deal."
He moved away at a slow walk, so Gun did the same. They walked parallel to the hull of the ship, but due to her vast size of four hundred metres, they seemed to make little progress.
"A message was sent back from the same office. It was heavily encoded and programmed to automatically corrupt. My intelligence unit are doing their best, but so far we've got nothing more than time stamps."
Gun shrugged.
"It's unexpected, but it could be nothing. The IAB is fully supported by the work of Mr Walker and the company. Even so, he has no business in communicating with IAB officers or vessels. CTC manages the Special Weapons Division. Our Brigade is none of their damned business..."
General Black nodded.
"That's what worries me. According to our log, the message from this facility reached Euryale, and less than sixty seconds later contact was lost with multiple ground units on the derelict. Soon after that, we lost primary contact with the ship, and only fragmentary since then."
Gun stopped and rubbed his face.
"You think CTC wanted the assault to fail, why? That would cost a lot of IAB equipment, and now the ship is dead in space."
"Yes, my thoughts as well. We'd been down on hardware and in their debt for starters. Every piece of kit they build for us adds to the price we pay them in technology."
He reached out and grasped the massive, muscular left arm of Gun.
"Keep this between us for now. But do me a favour. While you're out there, stay in contact with me, and our control station only. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise."
Gun started to move away, and then looked back at the General.
"If Mr Walker or CTC have double-crossed me, Spartan, Khan, and my friends..."
"I know. He will be in trouble."
Gun opened his mouth, baring his teeth as he often did when pleased or excited.
"Oh, much more than that. I have many friends back home, and if Mr Walker and CTC want a war, he can have one."
Gun walked towards the ramp leading up into the ship, and as General Black watched him leave, he began to wonder if passing on the information was the best thing he could have done. Gun might be his second-in-command, but he was also the cultural leader of tens of thousands of Jötnar, an entire species built for one thing only, war.
* * *
Unidentified Derelict, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Spartan moved slowly, taking each pace with as much care as the next while looking for the ever-present signs of danger. His bulky suit might have been a hindrance, but luckily for him, this part of the ship was surprisingly spacious even though it had clearly been unused in a very long time. A look to the top right showed they had just thirty-five hours until IAS Euryale self-destructed, thereby denying it of use to the enemy entity, and also leaving them trapped on the derelict.
We could do with more time. Thirty-five hours to secure this ship, or to destroy the entity.
He would have liked to have double the time, but any more would risk the chance the enemy could leave the derelict and somehow board Euryale. With the course already laid in, it would be easy for the thing to be jettisoned and still finally reach Euryale. Unfortunately, this would be right after Spartan and the rest of the crew were already dead. Then Spartan realised the thing might have its own way to travel between the ships, a lifeboat or escape unit of some kind. It was an outside chance, but just the possibility sent a chill through his body, and that left him determined to resolve the problem as quickly as possible.
"Khan, keep them moving. We have to end this before the clock stops."
"We will, don't worry. One way or another, this creature is going to burn."
Now that they were fully inside the vessel, the still functional gravito-magnetic field was pulling them down. According to the readings inside his armour, the field was projected out to all internal sections of the vessel, and came from a gravity unit hidden deep inside the bowels of the ship. It was similar in operation to the tech now used in the more modern Alliance ships, yet this one had been operating for an incredibly long time and without a crew to operate or maintain it.
"How is this thing working after all this time?"
Captain Delatorre followed just a short distance behind, along with a squad of Thegns led by Five-Seven. Though artificially created, they still needed to wear the more basic naval issue PDS suits if they wanted to travel in a vacuum. This meant that Five-Seven and the others had been forced to land with the first wave of dropships, due to the lack of suitable armour for them. Five-Seven answered, but his voice was slightly muffled by the respirator covering his face.
"There is a major gravity unit here, probably running from a depleting core. It will run until the power unit finally fails. Based on the energy outputs, I'd say it has hundreds of years remaining."
Khan grunted with satisfaction.
"So, permanent gravity on the derelict. Good, I hate zero-gravity."
"More important, we have air," said Captain Delatorre.
Spartan looked back at the man who seemed so puny in his PDS protective suit.
"Yes, just don't any of you remove your gear; let the filters do their job. I wouldn't put it past this thing to pump something into the air system."
It felt odd to him that there was a breathable atmosphere inside the derelict, and he could only assume it was either working due to being left on permanently, or more likely, as an enticement to get them on board. It was the possibility they had been tricked to get them aboard that worried him the most.
The marines split into fireteams and moved ahead in pairs. The speed and precision gave the impression they were moving through a standard drill, but this was exactly what they trained for. There was never an occasion where a marine moved without being protected by a comrade. The Mavericks were amongst these groups of men and women, great armoured machines with the strength and firepower of an entire squad at their beck and call. They had penetrated a good way inside already, and Spartan was thankful the entity on board had so far left them alone. The quietness of their movement was punctuated by the thud of guns from the remaining drones continuing to circle the derelict, doing their part to keep the vessel busy.
"Give me a full sitrep."
All three Marine lieutenants responded with their positions, and he was pleased to see that all of his units were inside, and had made it with minimal casualties. Only Lieutenant Anne Lee worried him with her news that the flank sentry guns on the way in killed six marines.
Nine dead so far. Still, that's better than the entire complement.
He tried to stay calm, to remember they had taken the least bad option, but that didn't help the nine dead marines. He'd only brought seventy-two with him and they hadn't raised a weapon in anger yet. Spartan was well aware that if they had stayed on board he would have lost scores of marines and most of the crew. Even so, it still felt hard to know that they were now gone, all because of some freak arrival.
"Good work. Keep moving. There are two large passageways connecting the cruiser to the rest of the derelict. 3rd Platoon will take care of the first. I will take 1st Platoon and deal with the larger one."
The radio crackled.
"What about us?" Lieutenant Kipling asked.
Spartan glanced at Khan who nodded back in the direction they'd come in from.
"Stick to the plan. You have the largest platoon. I need you to establish a secure zone at the landing bay. We have to have a fallback position, one that is well defended and allows the withdrawal of our dropships. Secure all corridors and compartments within a two hundred-metre radius. Get SAAR robots in the passageways, and weld shut any hatches or vents you find. Button this thing down into a fortress."
He licked his upper lip.
"Our ability to escape this place will be in the hands of your platoon. I need dedicated zones for fireteams, with heavy weapons placed and areas cleared for sleep and chow. Dig in and wait for my orders."
One marine stopped and signalled for Spartan. He moved towards him, all the while keeping his eyes in the distance. It was Sergeant Tyler.
"What is it, Sergeant?"
"Look, Sir."
At first Spartan thought he was just looking at Trusskan bodies, much like the decayed layers of dust and clothing seen inside the habitation section of the ship.
"These were the ground troops of Lieutenant Kipling. What could have happened to them?"
The final moments of a combat unit were rarely serene, yet this entire platoon had fallen without their operators ever knowing what had hit them. The main cluster of CD-1 Grunts were something of a pathetic sight, with the entire platoon spread out over an area of a hundred square metres and each frozen like a group of bronze-age warriors confounded by the gorgon's gaze.
Spartan moved past those that had frozen, noting the odd postures many were in. A pair were kneeling and aiming weapons that had vanished from their arms. It was then he realised every single one of the Grunts had been stripped of their weapons.
"Check them."
Two marines examined the Grunts up closely. It didn't take long for both to confirm the Grunts still carried ammunition, but their weapons were gone. Spartan continued on to a pair riddled with holes. As with the others, they were also without weapons, but these two had been caught up in violent struggle. Close inspection revealed them as deep punctures, but with no sign of thermal or explosive damage. He looked back at the glowing walls; there was nothing to show signs of battle.
"That's all but five of them in this section," said Sergeant Tyler.
Spartan moved to the next Grunt and stopped to examine this one with as much attention as the others. Though the same colour and design, it bore a coloured mark on its torso, flagging it as the commander unit. None of them were damaged, yet all were now non-functional.
"Can they be reused?" he asked.
A pair of Thegns was busily moving around the dormant machines and rolled one over so that it lay on its back. Both fiddled away with an open panel, and a third pushed in a separate panel to reveal the override functionality. The creature studied the information on the panel for a few seconds before looking back to Spartan and shook his head.
"The programming has been wiped. They are all blank. With the memory logs wiped, I cannot tell you more. I suggest you speak with Lieutenant Kipling."
Spartan had expected as much, but the loss of so many, and without much of a fight, was troubling to him.
"The Grunt default programming is to stand and fight on loss of signal, so why did they just let the enemy come close and disable them?"
Khan pushed one of the Grunts hard, and it tipped over and crashed onto the deck. Blue energy pulsed from the impact, moving out like ripples on water throughout the rest of the interior of the cruiser, reminding all those now inside that this particular part of the derelict was at least partially functional.
"Either they were disabled before they could fight, or they refused to fight. Something went wrong here. Kipling has questions to answer when get back."
He began to wonder if having the man and his platoon guarding their rear was such a good idea. The last time he'd boarded the ship they had been hit hard, but he had no reason to doubt the entity would resurface, and the ability to leave the derelict was an important one.
Maybe I should...
Spartan spotted movement off into the distance and instinctively activated his shoulder-mounted weapon. All thoughts of the Lieutenant vanished and were replaced by the potential for battle.
The cannon raised up out of its hidden mount and powered up. The rest of the abandoned cruiser was as lifeless as the entrance, and there was no lighting to be seen, just the odd movement of energy that travelled the walls, just as much as it moved along the floors and ceiling. This energy came the ship in odd hues of dark blue and grey, showing little detail.
"I very much doubt they refused to fight. So they were either knocked out with a weapon, or something made them stop. Keep moving, we need this entire section secure."
A small group of Maverick armoured marines approached from the left where a dark tunnel led off into a smaller part of the ship. Behind the Mavericks was a column of marines. The nearest heavily armoured suit bore the markings of an officer.
"Major, we've swept the bow. It's clear, and I have a team checking the connection points back inside the derelict."
Spartan nodded.
"Lieutenant Anne Lee, glad you got this far. Seal off the access points connecting the bow with the rest of the derelict."
The motorised arm lifted as she saluted, and then began to move away.
"Sir. You say secured, as in permanently?"
Spartan shook his head.
"No. We are going to use the innards of this cruiser as our home until the rescue party arrives. I need all access points under our control. This is foreign territory, so we need to deny any ground we cannot defend. Make sure it is protected with SAAR robots, charges, and guards, but don't seal it completely. Mine it in case we need to collapse key points."
He looked to Khan who was busy nodding away at each point.
"I agree. If they come, we will block the flanks. Then the only other way inside the derelict will be for them to come through our platoon via the centre passageways. And we will be waiting for them."
"Yes, Sir."
She moved away, the remainder of her platoon following. Spartan was certain he could see the dejected look on a number of them. They had arrived in this sector as rescuers, and now they were as trapped as those that had previously fallen on this derelict. He called after them."
"When you've secured the entry points, make sure you post sentries and dig in. I will need a floating squad for patrolling. This isn't over yet. Every minute we can buy will give us a fighting chance to get home."
They left and Khan moved in front, partially blocking his route.
"Patrols?"
Spartan nodded.
"Yes. We can't just sit and wait. This enemy will find out we're here, and the only way to buy time is to make life difficult for it. Patrols will keep them on the edge, and it will keep our people alert. We also need to find a way to shut down this ship and get it moved onto a new course."
"True."
Many more marines fanned out to secure the passageways, cabins, and multiple levels throughout the Trusskan ship. As a section was declared safe, it was marked off the tactical map carried by each of the officers. Normally, the networked mapping would do this automatically, but now they were forced to update the details manually. It was slower, but still quicker than using a separate device. A brief glance showed Spartan that so far they had secured six key areas, each of which was interconnected.
"Good. Secure all major access points and junctions with SAAR robots. I want two sentries with command override for the machines. No robots to be left unguarded."
The robots were designed to operate in multiple modes, but the most common was a location defence mode. The unit would scan the preselected area for signs of movement, and then based on its declared rules of engagement, would defend itself. The intelligence required was modest, but it was still an autonomous system, and that meant it needed a human to monitor it. Spartan was taking no chances.
So, I have sixty-three marines, and fifteen crew and Thegns. We need to be cautious.
The IAB Marine Company had now split, 1st Platoon moving with Spartan and Khan into the heart of the ship. 3rd Platoon was heading to the bow and top sections of the ship; 2nd Platoon remained near the entry points to guard the landing bay and their way out. That was where most of the Thegns and crew remained, along with Five-Seven and Captain Delatorre. Spartan was taking no chances this time. He would hunt the beast, but not before he had secured his flanks and established a strongpoint to operate from.
"Keep your eyes open and watch for the enemy. Remember, it has advanced stealth and sensor jamming equipment. It could be anywhere."
As Spartan moved further inside, he could see the interior had much in common with the part where he'd entered with the Grunts. The ceiling was low, and he, along with Khan and the other Maverick equipped marines, were finding it hard to move about.
"Watch your head," said Khan.
Spartan opened his mouth to answer but managed to strike the hardened armour over his head against a broken beam. It hung down low on one side, with cracks and marks were a projectile had punched clean through the metal. He stopped and examined the damage while the other marines moved on. He noticed the wheeled form of a SAAR robot trundling ahead to the left and a column of Thegns marching behind it, all of them carrying a bewildering assortment of firearms. They now pushed out into the wider part of the passageway. Barricades had been assembled at some point in the past, but what had happened was now buried long in the mists of time. The space opened up into a triple corridor until a short distance ahead where two split off in the opposite direction, one stopping at a large door system. It was shut, and marks along the wall indicated it had been sealed with a thermal weapon or tool.
"I've got readings behind the bulkhead!" said a marine.
Spartan braced himself, simultaneously giving the order for the marines to cover the bulkhead doorway. It was a hexagonal-shaped access point, and just big enough for a Maverick suit to move through. The marines took cover, those closer to the door dropped to their knees and formed up in a loose line. Every single one of them took aim with their weapons and waited.
"Open it."
One leaned against the right-hand side and activated the panel. The door twisted open with a sickening grinding sound and then stuck, followed by the screaming of tortured metal. The frame clunked and something released, allowing the door to fully open.
"Steady."
Spartan scanned the area on the other side, but clouds of dust and stale air flooded in, temporarily blinding his visual sensors. That was the moment he spotted the armoured figures. They were bigger than his marines and much broader about the shoulders. One was pointing a weapon directly at them through the doorway. Spartan gazed at it, but there was something off about the shape.
"Hostiles!" yelled a marine.
One opened fired and was quickly joined by a dozen others. The powerful XC1 carbines ripped into the armoured figure, sending its broken body crashing to the ground.
"Follow me!"
Spartan’s voice was calm, yet carried the authority that would never be questioned. He pushed through the gap, his armour scraping the edges. Spartan didn't stop, and moved past the fallen enemy and into a large area filled with tables. Even as he passed by, he could see the enemy combatant was covered in dust and had been no threat. The armour was devoid of colour, but this was a soldier and not a machine.
The crew of the ship?
He looked to the rest of the space as the powerful lamps on his armour cut through the dust and fog. As each second went by, the area cleared more, and he could now see many more of the soldiers. Apart from the one they had blasted, the others were sitting in chairs or lying on the ground. One was even propped up against the wall as it rested there. For a second it looked as though they had died in their sleep, but as he moved closer, it was easier to see the subtleties that showed their deaths had been far from peaceful. There were holes in their armour punched cleanly through, leaving not a mark elsewhere. Khan moved his armoured hand along a section of wall, wiping away dust to reveal large black marks.
"Spartan, look here, something burned hot against this section."
He moved to the nearest body and rolled over the shattered armour. Even as he touched it, sections broke and hit the ground, shattering like fragile porcelain.
"Uh, Spartan, its shape. Look familiar to you?"
Spartan took a moment, trying to piece together the shapes in his mind. It was humanoid and a similar size to him. There were differences, though, the chest plating implying the torso was much more substantial. Khan bent down and lifted up a piece of long-faded metal. There was a marking on it. Spartan recognised the style of text immediately.
"Byotai? How is that possible?"
Another marine moved to a different body and twisted it about. There was nothing but dust and bones inside, but the armour was clearly designed for the large reptilian creatures.
"Spartan," said Khan, "These aren't space suits. They are heavily armoured, and they were all carrying weapons. They weren't crew, and the layout of this ship matches the little information we got about the Trusska."
Spartan picked up a weapon from the floor. It was of a type he'd never seen before, and something had crushed the centre section, presumably rendering it useless. The weapon could have been a coilgun, or something far more impressive.
"A Byotai boarding party."
He said the words under his breath as he shook his head.
"They tried to take this ship at least a hundred years ago, and look what happened."
Lieutenant Armstrong moved alongside Spartan and Khan, while Sergeant Tyler gave out orders to the rest of the platoon. The other two platoons had moved on to their respective targets, creating a wide area inside the ship that could be cleared and protected. More marines swarmed inside, and the Sergeant sent them to check every square metre of the area.
"Sir," began the Lieutenant, "we've secured this section and all passageways leading to the outer airlocks."
Lieutenant Kipling and Lieutenant Anne Lee then reported in, confirming the landing bay and bow of the cruiser were also secure. This part of the ship was big, perhaps a similar size to the entire operations level of IAS Euryale. There were no machines here. It was an eating or recreation area with access points at five different positions.
A canteen? Spartan thought.
There were more of the armoured soldiers in the middle, but it was the position of the tables and other furniture that interested Spartan the most. Some had been positioned to operate as barricades, and all faced the massive doorways leading out to other parts of the ship. There were other similar doors, much like the one they had arrived through, and every single one of them had been blown open from the other side.
"Khan, take a fireteam through the doors and clear the way. I'll follow. We need to keep moving and track this beast down."
Khan nodded and then went through the first, with a group of five IAB marines hot on his tale. Spartan glanced back, checking on his numbers. There were another twelve marines, plus four Thegns, all carrying thermal shotguns. Lieutenant Armstrong and Sergeant Tyler were at his side.
"Lieutenant, hold back here with a single fireteam and secure this area. It's the central hub for the cruiser. Whoever controls this location controls access to the rest of the ship. Place the SAAR robots to cover our positions.
"What about you?" Sergeant Tyler asked.
"We're going on a hunt. We need to end this while we have the element of surprise. You three come with me...and you, Sergeant."
He pointed his massive armoured hand at the Sergeant. Lieutenant Armstrong looked a little stunned as the group of four left through one of the doorways, until Spartan leaned back to look at him.
"Seal all the doors behind us shut, apart from this one. If it all goes to hell, we'll regroup here."
He then moved through into the darker part of the ship, with Sergeant Tyler right behind, and in similar Maverick armour to that of Spartan’s. The other three were equipped with their standard M-3 armour and carrying two XC1 carbines and a single L52 carbine. They proceeded through the corridor and on for nearly eighty metres before finally coming across a massive, hollowed out section of hull that marked the outer parts of the ship. Off into the distance was a breach in the hull, and a causeway led across the gap. It looked more like an underground cave system, but this was a bridge that spanned the entire length and joined the cruiser to the rest of the derelict.
"This is the place," said Spartan.
According to their schematics, this section would lead directly to the starboard access chamber, and then on to the derelict. The section of the ship was much like the umbilical cord between a mother and a child. It was the most significant joint between the cruiser and the remainder of the derelict, and was almost certainly the way the creature would travel between these parts of the massive vessel. It was clearly built for the purpose, and the sections of metal had been pulled from the walls of the ship itself. Khan was waiting in the middle with a single IAB marine fireteam.
"Don't look down. It goes a long way. Something tells me the crew tried to stop that creature from getting aboard. They blew this passage that joined the ships. I guess that's what made this hole."
Spartan did as he suggested, but Sergeant Tyler could not resist. As they moved over the vast structure, he found himself mesmerised by what lay beneath them.
"Incredible, this looks like the result of a micro-fusion detonation."
Khan had by now reached the other side, and Spartan was close behind him. Now safe, he looked at the walls, noting the smooth, glassy finish. Unlike the rest of the cruiser, this was a completely different ship, one built to a civilian specification. The shaft led to a much more substantial passageway, with a higher ceiling and more time given over to the luxuries rarely found on military ships. There were substantially fewer bulkhead doors, and far less signs of damage.
"Spartan, over here," said Khan.
Spartan looked over to his comrade, just as his sensors picked up a reading, then another, and then his screen was full of grey shapes. Khan was pointing straight ahead with one arm through the passageway leading into a vast circular hall.
"We've got heavy electrical signatures ahead," said one of the marines.
"Move ahead, combat spacing," Spartan ordered.
They entered; Khan in the middle, flanked by Sergeant Tyler and Spartan. The massive warriors stepped carefully, looking for possible signs of danger. Around them was the small group of eight IAB marines, each constantly moving and checking for signs of danger. Eleven elite warriors, all anticipating an attack at any moment.
"Major, Kanjana here."
Spartan stopped immediately, surprised to hear from her. He kept his voice down, while looking for signs of the enemy, the memories of the failed battle using the Grunts still fresh in his mind.
"I thought we'd lost you."
"Not quite, Major. I've joined up with a couple of marines, but we were knocked off course. We're nine hundred metres back, on the port underside."
Spartan opened his mouth to answer, and then looked to Sergeant Tyler.
"The schematic, the power systems are towards the rear, are they not?"
The Sergeant nodded.
"Yes, Sir. If our information is correct."
"Kanjana, you're the closest. I need you to work your way back to the flagged objective marked thirty on your mapping package. Do you have it?"
The audio cut out, and it sounded as though the connection had been lost. Spartan started to speak again when the sound returned.
"...take a while. That's over a kilometre away."
"Do it, and keep your head down. We don't know what else is down here."
"Understood, Kanjana out."
Khan was busy scanning the area ahead but took a moment to glance back to his friend.
"Sending her to the power systems, is that wise?"
Spartan knew he was making a decision that could get her killed. Kanjana was on a different level of ability to the others in the unit, but she was still just one person. Even with a pair of marines, she wouldn't last if attacked. Just as before, Spartan could feel the bitterness swelling up in his body, that awful feeling he always came across when he sent one of his friends or comrades off, possibly to their death.
"Maybe, who can tell? One thing I do know is that three people won't change much back here, but accessing the power systems could help us. It could help us a lot. Maybe Kanjana can deactivate the sentry guns..."
"...or detonate the ship if we fail to kill the creature," said Khan.
He meant it as a way of helpfully agreeing with Spartan, but it came off sounding much grimmer than he'd intended. Spartan double-checked his weapon systems and then keyed the command channel.
"All squads report in."
Reports came in from the other squads through the cruiser, and as each one arrived, Spartan updated his schematic.
"Looking good," he said quietly, but loud enough that Khan could hear.
"Yeah," he agreed, "We've got the cruiser nicely sealed down, and heavy weapons at the two access points. That keeps our people safe, and leaves us clear to do what we have to."
Sergeant Tyler carefully stepped over the crumpled shape of a long dead humanoid and winced as something made a crunching sound. The walls of the civilian vessel were now changing substantially, and explosives had been used. There were no bullet holes or barricades, but there were the telltale signs of high-energy explosives of the kind used for mining work or demolition.
"Look, what is this?"
He bent down and pointed the large articulated arm of the Maverick armour at the thing before them. It was bigger than a man, but only just, and seemed to be face down on the ground. It was covered in a layer of dust. The Sergeant rolled it over, and it tipped with a thud, but its legs stayed where they were, severed just above the knees with surgical precision.
"A fighting machine," said Spartan.
He moved closer and examined it from two metres away. It was a bizarre contraption, and nothing like the sleek, well-crafted machinery used on the Maverick armour. Sergeant Tyler pulled at the plating and lifted one of its arms.
"Looks like part of a Byotai sentry drone."
"Yeah," agreed Khan, "and this thing, it's not a fighting machine."
The part he pointed to had more in common with a civilian forklift unit or motorised loader than something a military unit would make use of.
"Over here as well," said another marine.
Spartan turned his head inside his armour, and the external lenses altered to show him the video feed, all without actually having to move the Maverick armour.
"Yeah, I see it. The creature has been constructing machines from equipment and machinery."
He then looked to Khan.
"Think what it could do with the tech on our ship?"
At that moment he spotted a faint blue glow in the distance. Spartan keyed the command network one last time.
"All units, stealth protocols for the next ten minutes. Cut it...now."
Any other combat unit might have continued to speak, but not those few warriors of the Interstellar Assault Brigade. As per their orders, each and every one of them deactivated their mics and reverted to stealth protocols. Using just hand signals, Spartan gave his orders to the small assault team he'd assembled. They moved apart, staying far enough away to cover ground safely, but not too far that they would be unable to support each other. The Mavericks took the open ground, and the marines darted quietly from cover to cover.
"Look," said Khan, his voice barely registering.
Spartan turned his gaze a fraction to the left, focusing on the one curved section of wall. The massive pit was substantial, perhaps even impressive. But the wall was simply stunning, and stopped him in his tracks.
"Incredible."
CHAPTER TEN
Taxxu was perhaps the strangest territories in the Alliance, and classed as one of the new colonies. Connected to the Helios Nexus, it had access to the world of the Alliance, yet was kept apart by the vast distances involved, as well as the military forces that guarded the Black Rift, the only navigable route to the system. Its remote location and access to the lost secrets of the Biomechs made it a goldmine to any organisation able to exploit it.
The New Colonies
This part of the derelict was the most stunning part Spartan had seen so far. It shared much in common with the habitation dome, yet the area was still intact. It was a massive ring shaped interior, filled with extended levels reaching up to the ceiling. Each level looked like a ring, yet wide enough to house hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. There were numerous physical objects, ranging in size from a man's head up to that of a Maverick suit of armour. All manner of materials were used, but the most common was unadorned metal.
What is this place, an archive for sculptures? Were these people raiders or criminals?
The one thing that stood out the most was the constantly changing object that seemed to float out of the pit. At first it seemed to be nothing more than noise, but as he concentrated, he could see the patterns merge to form images and moving pictures. He took a few more steps and found himself staring at a world, not unlike the images he'd seen of Ancient Terra, back when it had been rich with life and not the scarred wasteland it was now.
Incredible.
There were hills, mountains, and massive rivers running off into the distance. The imagery shifted about, with faces, people, and starships taking up space before it returned back to the surface. Vast cities stretched out across the land, buried below the surface, and only the top layers visible like the peaks of icebergs. What came next sent a shudder through his body. It was his first glimpse of an alien race, a bipedal species shorter and thinner than any human he'd seen before.
"Trusskans," whispered Khan.
The warrior indicated to the nearest wall on their left. Spartan looked at it, watching the blue patterns shift through the material. There were images, but these were still and varied in quality. Most showed landscapes, oceans, rivers, and waterfalls a common theme. Then came images of people in small groups around buildings and other animals.
Families, it must be.
Spartan moved past them, doing his best to ignore the art. Based on the vast difference in quality, he could only assume they had been created by non-professionals, probably the very people that occupied this derelict.
Of course, this is a library, a place of memory. They came here to record the things they'd left behind.
Spartan felt uncomfortable, as if he was intruding on a private and special moment. Children presumably made the more basic images, and few stood out as being especially unique. Then he found Khan and one of the marines staring at one particular shape. It had stopped them both in their tracks. Spartan moved closer, but then scanned left and right, ensuring their position was still safe. He looked closely at the faded, but still intact artwork. It showed a group of people, all in brightly colour clothing, and behind them was a machine, at least five times bigger, and gleaming gold. It reminded him of an ancient statue of a god.
What the hell is that thing?
He shook his head as he realised he was looking at one of the memories of better days. Something had destroyed the lives of the Trusskans, and now all that remained of their glorious past was this derelict, and the art they'd left behind.
"Spartan!" Sergeant Tyler yelled.
Instinct kicked in, and he spun about, his shoulder-mounted HEC-1 cannon already charging. The motorised pintle mount made no sound as the weapon system tracked along with the movement of his retina. He half expected to see the enemy waiting to fight them, but it was a scattered collection of machines. Some moved out from hiding places on the ground, others clambered down from the walls.
"Marines, around the heavies."
The eight marines split up, with two or three heading for protection of Khan, Spartan, and Sergeant Tyler.
The light blue and white pulsing began again, but quicker than before.
"There!" Khan shouted.
A massive distortion broke up the shape of the floating images above the pit, and from inside came the creature. It was bigger than Spartan remembered, and top heavy. Its basic shape reminded him of giant primate, with its chest and limbs oversized compared to its short, stocky legs. Then one of the limbs extended and reached the lip of the pit. He could see that fully a third of its form had been hidden from view. It paused as it waited over the pit, still distorted by the images floating about. Then it hissed, a loud, terrible scream that the armour of each marine tried to block out.
"Open fire!"
The three heavies opened fired with all of their weapons. HEC-1 cannons send blasts of high-energy plasma. Khan panned from left to right, hitting any machine that dared enter his field of view. Between them they were capable of unleashing incredible levels of gunfire, but when combined with the eight marines it was truly terrifying.
"Knock them down, one at a time," said Spartan.
Rather than shooting as many targets as possible, they each selected a single individual, and then hit it repeatedly until it was incapable of fighting, before moving to the next. Spartan had instilled this method on them during their training to ensure enemy numbers were reduced as quickly as possible. After long-term combat with machines, it was clear that damaged machines were almost as big a threat as those that were fresh.
"I have three," said Khan.
It was no idle boast, merely an announcement that he had destroyed three targets and now moving on the next. Spartan spotted one machine, a six-legged thing the size of a Maverick leaping through the air. It must have arrived from a hidden location because this was the first time he'd seen it. Even as he opened fire, the thing blasted away at them, sending metre-long harpoons striking the ground and embedding into anything they struck. Khan pointed over the left where the sculptures lay untouched for decades.
"Take cover!"
Three of the marines ran behind an object that looked like a large beetle. Years of dust and corrosion had darkened its body so that no paint remained, just its spindly legs and darkened carapace. One lance stuck the ground, but the second punched through the massive beetle as if it were made from nothing more than wood. The marine cried out as the hardened tip punched through his chest and out through his shoulder blades.
Spartan sidestepped and took the third impact on his shoulder. A direct impact may have penetrated the plating, but he intentionally twisted to deflect as much of the energy away. It clattered off and then slid along the floor, impotent.
"Keep firing."
More of the machines surged at them, a handful even clambering out of the pit. Spartan overcharged his HEC-1 cannon and threw caution to the wind. One of the features of the weapon was its ability to release larger and more powerful blasts of plasma. The higher the setting, the riskier it became as the magnetic casing became less and less reliable.
"Getting tired of this."
Spartan spun around and tracked a wheeled machine, little different to a SAAR robot. It fired metal slugs at them and cut down a pair of marines, both of whom continued to be shot as they dragged themselves to safety. Spartan activated the HEC-1 cannon but instead of a blast, it emitted a warning, followed by a cloud of vapour as the coolant override kicked in.
Time to go to old school.
He leapt over the marine and ran at the machine. The return fire from its guns peppered his armour, and the onboard computer began to reel off a list of potential problems.
"Shut up!"
He was so close he could almost taste the machine, but a pulsing blue shape blocked his path and sent him sliding across the floor. Sensing he was in serious danger, Spartan rolled over twice and then jumped up, just as the creature swung a huge piece of sharp metal for his head. Spartan dropped although he'd been shot, and managed to fall below the blade as it scraped along the top of his armour.
"Khan, help me!"
Fists!
The plating shifted, and his hands expanded into the siege devices that were specially weighted to smash and destroy. Like a smaller boxer, he kept under the weapon and drove in close, slamming his fists like pistons into the creature. The only sounds were his exertions, and the crashing of metal on metal. That was the moment Spartan understood it was no creature, but a mechanical, artificial life form, a war machine that would fight no matter how hard he hit it.
Destroy it.
Spartan sprung his fist up, and then felt his balance fail. Something yanked at his feet and then he was down, face first on the floor. Unable to move, he looked up and found the foot of the machine holding him down.
"I'm here!" said Khan.
From the right came the Jötnar, charging like a rhino, and with all the mass and muscle that such an animal would have brought to the fight. He crashed into the machine with such force both of them staggered off into the distance. A hand reached down to grab him, and Spartan rose to his feet, facing the Maverick armoured form of Sergeant Tyler.
"We're in trouble, Major. They are overrunning us."
Both blasted away with their arm-mounted weapons as they tried to track the horde of machines running about them. There was less than they might have expected, only seven of them left, but each one was different to the next, but equally tough.
"Duck!" said Spartan.
The Sergeant dropped down half a metre just as the broken body of a marine flew overhead. Sergeant Tyler lifted up with one leg, kneeling on the second, and took aim. Spartan joined in and blasted apart another bipedal fighting machine, each round tearing chunks from its body, yet still it came. Lances blasted out and one managed to embed in Sergeant Tyler's shoulder. He stumbled back just as Spartan's HEC-1 cannon came back online.
"Yeah, my turn."
He aimed for the machine directly in the centre, hitting it three times with an overloaded charge that exploded the machine, sending lumps of metal across the floor. Another marine screamed, and off to the right one was cast into the pit, vanishing into the blackness and screaming as he fell.
"Animals!"
He regained his footing and looked about the vast open area. With so much space and the top lighting it reminded him of his days as a gladiator. The pit in the middle was new, but not massively different to other perils he'd faced in battle. To his right the last three marines were atop a machine and blasting it at close-range with the carbines. He twisted about and came face-to-face with the entity.
"We're with you, Spartan," said Sergeant Tyler.
Spartan checked his flanks and felt his body relax a little at finding Sergeant Tyler to his left, the lance still embedded in his shoulder, and to his right was Khan, who had lifted a metal girder section from one of the machines and rested on his shoulder like a club. The enemy war machine let out that shrill, terrifying scream once again, but instead of spreading fear, it did little more than signal the end of the fight.
"Now!"
They opened fired with everything they had and then ran at it, using every remaining ounce of power in their bodies. Khan made it first and leapt up and brought the chunk of metal down on the war machine's upper body. For the first time Spartan saw it stagger, and that filled him with vigour. It was truly gigantic, and as he fired the HEC-1 cannon, he saw entire chunks of armour ripping off, to reveal a golden material underneath.
Like the sculpture.
Spartan experienced a brief flashback to the artwork he'd been glancing at moments before the fight. The colour was a perfect match for the metal titan that had been standing behind the image of the large, happy family.
"Got him!" Khan yelled.
Spartan ducked under a swinging arm and spotted Khan holding onto the machine's left arm. He looked liked a terrier attacking a bull, yet even as he was smashed to the wall, he refused to let go. Spartan stayed in close and proceeded to hammer away, punching and tearing at the plating.
"Help!"
Sergeant Tyler lifted up three metres in the air and then slammed down to the ground with a sickening crunch. Spartan was convinced it must have killed him, yet the tough Sergeant was rolling away, even as the metal feet of the machine tried to stamp on him. Spartan took aim and blasted the back of the leg with all of his weapons, shouting with satisfaction as it stumbled and then staggered to the side.
"We've got it on the run. Don't stop now!"
The machine managed to release its other arm and struck Khan so that he fell to the ground. Even as he hit the solid surface, he was still firing, his Gatling gun filling the air with projectiles. The thing's arm swung again and Khan ducked. He avoided the strike, but a following marine ran right into its path and was hit by the large flat section of serrated metal. The decapitation was instantaneous, and the crumpled remains of the marine fell down onto its stomach.
"Keep moving, shoot and strike, as one."
They took repeated blows from the machine, but nothing would stop their relentless assault. Each blow weakened the machine until finally it retreated back towards the pit, eager to avoid the terrible attacks inflicted by the three heavies. Spartan opened fired again and again, revealing the gleaming gold beneath the chest plating. He struck up hard, an uppercut that would have shattered the skull of any living creature. The impact sent a pulse of blue energy through the machine, and it shuddered.
"Yeah, you like that?"
The machine shook again, but then noticed the three had paused, perhaps surprised by the flashing of energy. Sensing an opportunity, it swung out and caught Khan off balance. He tipped over, and before he could right himself, another blow sent him flying to the edge.
"Khan!"
Spartan instantly moved back from the fight, automatically looking to help his friend. The machine took the moment of hesitation as the weakness for what it was, and swung the hunk of metal at Sergeant Tyler. He caught the impact on his arms and was knocked out, perhaps even killed. Another swing and the piece hit Spartan on the left arm. Then another until he'd stumbled back to the bodies of the marines and broken lances.
"Spartan," hissed the machine.
The sound came through unseen speakers. The pronunciation was off, but it was a close approximation to the words of Khan, and presumably an imitation intended to weaken his resolve. It moved towards Spartan, dragging its partially inoperative leg. Sparks flashed all around its body, and with each step more of its armour dropped off. Spartan looked for his friend and could see Khan trying to pull himself off the edge of the pit. He took half a step towards him.
"No, Spartan, finish it. Kill it, now!"
Spartan took aim and fired; once again the cannon failed to fire. His constant use had overloaded it so far that it was now inoperative. Both his arm-mounted coilgun systems were out of ammunition, and the servos in his left arm were starting to fail.
No, not this way.
He looked back and found bodies of his comrades, but no weapons. The ground shook as the machine moved faster and faster towards him, and at that point, Spartan spotted the lance, still embedded in one of the marines. He sidestepped over to it and yanked as hard as he could. The blood-covered weapon released, and he was left holding the two metre-long section of hardened metal. As he turned around, the machine was just three metres away.
We end this, today!
Spartan lifted the lance with both hands and charged at it, the tip pointing up at where its head should be. Just as they were to make contact, the machine lifted its arms, keen to beat the weapon aside. Spartan intentionally dropped the tip, using the classic disengagement technique, and then drove it in hard under the exposed chest armour. The tip punched in deeply inside its golden hide, helped by the mass and speed of the charging machine. Then the hall erupted in a bright flash, and Spartan was cast high into the air, before crashing to the ground in a heap of battered metal.
* * *
IAS Titan in orbit around Hades, T’Karan System
The rendezvous point was several days away from the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station, but it was the best location to meet the volunteers Osk had been assembling. Multiple Alliance ships lurked near the pulsing Spacebridge connecting the T'Karan System with Proxima Centauri and the heart of the Alliance. The star systems between two parts of space were one of the most important strategic locations ever discovered, and the gateway to the worlds of the Orion Nebula. An hour earlier, three small transports came through, along with a squadron of Alliance Hammerhead fighters. At the same time, a pair of large shuttles had launched from the moon of Hades and made for IAS Titan. Now shuttles from both groups had landed and were surrounded by steam as they waited on the operations level.
"How much longer?"
Gun paced about patiently on the operation level, his irritation obvious even without hearing the words coming from his mouth. Further away, out on the long deck were the sealed areas marking where four shuttles hand landed. One from Hades had jammed against a broken bulkhead upon arrival, and now the outer hatch was stuck. Until cleared, they would be unable to activate the engines and make for Sector Sixteen. The jammed doorway was now a gaping wound; one that could halt the mission before it even began. A group of four engineers ran past, all carrying heavy cutting equipment. They were wearing full naval issue PDS armour to allow them to operate in the vacuum on the other sides of the double-skinned doors. Gun called out after them.
"Chief, we have to get them inside. Spartan is relying on us. How much longer?"
Chief Engineer Simpson turned around and then signalled for the other three to continue.
"Ten minutes to clear the door. Then we can leave."
Gun shook his head and waved him off.
"Then don't waste time talking to me!"
The deck was wide, though oddly shaped, due to the deck being narrower than the tall ceiling. Even so, it looked more like the deck of an ancient aircraft carrier, with lifts at key points and multiple motorised racks to carry equipment, weapons, and ammunition. Dropships were fitted on cradles and being lifted up into the wider storage areas one level above. Gun heard noise behind him and turned around to gaze upon the figures of Olik and Knaprig. Both were dressed in their usual garb, an odd mix of IAB uniform, mixed with extra plates and decorations from Hyperion. They looked more like monstrous bandits from an apocalyptical tale than the foot soldiers of the Brigade.
"About time you showed up."
Olik nodded at something in the distance.
"What?" Gun asked.
Knaprig then pointed, raising his left arm just a little. Gun was sure he could hear the servos helping to move his shattered, but still functioning body. Gun's eyes followed the group approaching from the far end of the ship, and his face lit up. He counted them as they neared.
"Twenty-four. Perfect."
They were now just ten metres away, and as they moved along the ship, Thegns, IAB officers, and crew backed off as though they were nothing more than slaves, moving away at the arrival of their massive masters. In reality, it was not fear, or even respect. It was simply necessary to get out of the way for the group of warriors to be able to pass, twenty-four clanking creatures, and each as big and monstrous as Gun and his two comrades.
"Gun, look," said Knaprig, "They made it."
The dozens of Thegns and IAB crew were now well out of the way as the group of Jötnar approached. The warriors were dressed in their dark crimson armour, something unique to the feared Red Watch, an elite military formation based on the fiery Alliance world of Prometheus. They continued until just a short distance away from Gun.
"Osk," said Gun.
The warrior removed its helmet, and beneath it was the narrower, paler face of a female warrior. She smiled and moved close, grasping Gun's arm.
"It's been a long time."
Gun nodded in agreement, but before he could speak, Knaprig had already bound forward to grab her. They embraced for some time, with Gun and the others looking on impatiently. Finally, they separated, and Gun shook his head in irritation.
"What did you bring me?"
Osk spun about so that she faced the rest of her warriors. Now Gun, Knaprig, and Olik could get a better look at them. They were of the same build and height, but their armour was much less substantial that the JAS gear used on the ship. They wore a special version of the PDS armour commonly used by marines. It was close fitting and incredibly well manufactured.
"Two squads from Prometheus, half of them are new bloods looking to their first operation. They are just under eight years old and already fully matured and experienced."
Gun seemed pleased at this news and looked back to Olik and Knaprig.
"A new generation, born naturally, not manufactured. This, my friends, this is the future for our people."
He spoke the words as though they would not have known, but it was from a mixture of pride and pleasure that he said them. The four of them, including Osk, had been artificially created as synthetic killing machines back in the Uprising. More than three decades had passed since those bloody days, and only now was the population of Jötnar on the increase. Osk pointed at several of the new recruits.
"They are maturing at double the rate of the humans, and they are not far from fully developed, both physically and mentally. Already, and with the help of Alliance technicians, we are improving the birth rate."
Gun looked a little uncomfortable at that.
"Be careful, Osk. One day we are a problem to the Alliance, and the next day an asset, but always an expendable. Is Anderson helping with this?"
Osk nodded.
"Of course. He has always been a friend of the Jötnar. Over a hundred of our females have been tested so far, and those capable of breeding have been fully screened. My estimates show our combat losses since the Uprising can be replaced in twelve months and with them reaching maturity in eight years."
Gun rubbed his chin.
"Yes, very interesting."
Osk then nodded to the slightly larger shapes of the older Jötnar.
"I also brought a dozen of our old guard, some of which fought with us back in the war."
Gun was already looking at them, their visors now lifted so he could see their faces. To anybody else it might have seemed a modest number, but it would have been hard to find a single soul aboard IAS Titan that would dare think, let alone say that. A single Jötnar warrior could match an entire Marine Corps squad, more if properly armoured and equipped. Their tolerances to pain and injury were legendary, as was their strength and speed. To date, it had proven impossible to find their weakness. The simple reality was that they were better than the average human in almost every conceivable way. Compared to a human, their facial muscles were oversized, giving them a grotesque, troll like appearance, but there was still much diversity between them. Some were paler than others, while some of the younger Jötnar had even begun to grow hair, something Gun had never expected.
"So, you younger warriors are looking for a fight, are you?"
They nodded or struck their chests as he spoke, and Gun had to hold back from laughing. They might have looked mature, but he could already see they were far from the calmer, more seasoned warriors Osk had brought. He was glad there was a mix. Youth and experience in one unit was a potent mixture.
"Colonel, we're ready."
Gun walked up to the tall, pale skinned warrior. At first glance he might have been one of the older of the group, but there was one subtle difference that showed him to be something different. The Jötnar had grown a beard, and Gun was feeling a little envious. The first generation of Jötnar had been grown in tanks, fully synthetic but based upon a rolling genetic mixture to give variety in strength, intelligence, and speed.
"Interesting, very interesting."
He looked at the hair and was tempted to touch it, but restrained himself. The style was little different to the unkempt shape Spartan seemed to follow these days, and he looked at the others. To his amusement, he noticed each sported a completely different style. One thing all of them had in common was the colour, bright white, as pale as the skin of an Anicinàbe female.
"Very well. There is a chance we will arrive, and Khan and Spartan will have cleared up their mess."
He began walking down the double line of massive warriors.
"But...if for any reason we are needed, I will expect nothing short of calm, control...and utter violence."
That drew the response he expected from the group.
"The enemy is unlike any we have faced before, and if Spartan is facing difficulty fighting it, then we can be certain it will make the Biomechs seem like undeveloped children."
The Jötnar were not overly concerned, but he could see that every one of them was very interested. There was then a loud crashing sound. They all turned around to see the Chief Engineer stagger backwards and nearly fall over. There was a loud hiss, a clunk, and then doors opened up to reveal the shuttle from Hades. They watched in silence until finally the door opened, and down from the ramp came ten warriors of similar build to those that Osk had brought.
"Colonel Gun, the doors are sealed. We can leave."
Gun nodded quickly.
"Good. Let's go, now!"
Chief Engineer Simpson moved off, along with a small team of well-trained naval crew and a handful of Thegns, two of which dragged a massive chest of tools. Gun turned his attention back to the troupe that had left the shuttle. They marched quickly towards him and the warriors from Prometheus before breaking formation and crashing into them, a great sea of arms and heads as they welcomed each other, friend and stranger alike.
"Good, it's about time you all made it here," said Gun.
He then pointed to the Chief.
"Are we ready?"
"Aye, Colonel. The ship is secure."
Gun beamed with pleasure and focussed his attention on Olik.
"Send the order. I want us at Sector Sixteen within six hours, less if possible."
Olik nodded and lifted his modified secpad to speak with the officers on the deck. Gun turned back to the group. The new arrivals wore cruder armour than those of the Red Watch. It was larger and thicker, and unlike the factory made armour. Every piece had been hand crafted and modified to fit them individually. They carried a bizarre mixture of weapons from welded double L48 rifles, through to double-handed clubs and heavily modified thermal shotguns. The biggest difference was the colour, the metal left bare, giving them a battered and almost medieval feel.
"Wictred?"
The leader of the group kept moving to Gun, and then dropped to one knee. He looked younger than the others, and certainly slightly smaller than the average.
"Gun. We heard your call. These are the best of my brothers."
Gun grabbed him.
"Wictred, son of Khan. I thought you'd left with the volunteers to Karnak?"
The young warrior shook his head.
"Not for another week. The ships are chartered. We're just waiting for mercenary escorts before we leave."
Gun narrowed his eyes a fraction.
"Escorts? I'm sure the IAB can do something about that."
Wictred bowed again gently.
"Whatever you need, you will have. Perhaps you could tell us what this enemy is?"
Gun opened his mouth and bared his teeth, the way all of his kin seemed to express their pleasure or amusement.
"Our enemy is something new and powerful. A foe worthy of our skills."
Every one of them seemed riveted by what he was saying, and with each word, Gun felt more and more at home with them. The ship shuddered a fraction, and Chief Engineer Simpson called down on the wall-mounted intercom.
"Colonel."
"What is it?"
"The engines, they are operating at one hundred and ten percent, as promised."
Gun nodded to himself.
"Good work, Chief, damned good work."
He gave the nod for Knaprig to continue.
"The enemy is a shape shifting, heavily camouflaged fighting machine from the ancient past. It appears to have the ability to take control of intelligent machinery and equipment, and is responsible for the state of this vast derelict. The Klithi are so fearful of this thing they are threatening a blockade of their Spacebridge until it is dealt with."
Gun watched them all as Knaprig described everything they had heard so far. It took nearly ten minutes to pass everything on until finally Knaprig stopped, and both Wictred and Osk shared a curious look. Osk said exactly what all of them were thinking.
"Where is this thing, and how do we kill it?"
Gun laughed loudly.
"My friend, that is the right question."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Robot controlled spacecraft were one of the great new ideas of the Alliance. Most crew could be replaced, and internal systems used to control and manage a spacecraft. The best example of this was with the proposed X-45 Confederate class, manufactured by CTC for use by the Interstellar Assault Brigade. Though the first production models were constructed to operate conventionally, each was fitted with fully automated systems that could allow a ship to be managed by one or two senior officers. Ultimately, it was hoped the crew could be done away with, and orders sent to ships from secure sites. The vessels would then follow pre-programmed routes to collect or drop off troops and supplies. The encounter with the Trusskan Derelict in late 372CC would lead many to doubt the effectiveness of this plan, yet nothing would stop governments and corporations from finding ways to limit the size of crews, and remove the ever-present chance of crew error.
The Robot Army
Unidentified Derelict, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Kanjana moved as carefully as possible, always wary of the fact that in every shadow could be an enemy machine. The shaft was narrow and barely navigable by a human. She was graceful, little different to a human ballet dancer, yet with the poise of somebody with years of experience. Kanjana was able to slip between the beams and cables with ease.
What's that?
Something pulsed to the right, and then a shape rushed past. Kanjana stopped and lifted her hand to make the others stop. The dark object appeared briefly through the grating to the right, and she watched it, its four legs groaning as it moved. This was no modern war machine. It was old, worn out technology, and every component seemed to grind as it moved. Even so, it was bigger than a man and carried a large firearm of unknown configuration. It stopped and twisted about, a single red lamp scanning the walls and looking like an evil eye. It made an odd sound and then continued onwards.
Kanjana relaxed, and her muscles released one by one, each carefully controlled after years of training and medication. She could hold her own in a fight, but she was neither trained nor equipped to deal with major combat. Though agile and fast, her true skills lay in the arts of technology, and it would be her mind that would provide the weapons, not her guns.
In the last ten hours Kanjana had traversed the derelict, taking numerous detours to avoid signs of the enemy machines. She could have reached the power units in half the time, but she suspected that would have gotten her killed. Behind her were two marines privates, Jarvis and Richards. All three of them took one step at a time, knowing that if they were spotted, they would be killed.
"Is this really necessary?" asked Richards, "We could have been back at the landing bay by now."
Jarvis, the younger of the pair, nodded quickly as he listened.
"Yeah. Spartan's gone dark, so why bother?"
Richards continued; feeling buoyed up by Jarvis' intervention.
"Captain Delatorre said the creature is gone. The Major and the others sacrificed themselves so we could live. So why bother carrying on with this?"
Kanjana stepped over a broken metal plate, and her foot make a slight crunching sound. It was quiet, and as the other two followed, they made at least twice the noise she did. Unlike her they wore the now standard issue, M-3 body armour. This state-of-the-art protection was good all round equipment, but it could not stand against constant battle with the machines. Kanjana wore substantially less, with the standard Alliance Navy issue PDS armour. Navy armour was primarily designed to offer a vacuum-sealed suit, with heaters, air circulation, and flash protection. The armour was substantially less thick, and it was not designed for the rigors of combat.
Kanjana twisted about, keeping her feet in the same position. She then slipped her right hand down to where the coil pistol sat in its holster. This was a gift from Spartan, one of the few prototype pistols that had shrunk the L52 carbine down to pistol size. It was bigger than a normal pistol, and its exterior an odd shape, due partially to the power core and barrel. She then slid her hand further down and pulled out a fighting knife. This was long, straight, and double-edged, much like the knives used by Commandos on Ancient Terra.
"Hush," said Kanjana.
Her voice was a whisper, little more than an echo in the dark passageway, but both marines halted in their tracks and reached for their firearms. Kanjana shook her head slowly and lifted the knife in front of her visor. At that moment a small aerial vehicle, little bigger than her head, drifted into view. It buzzed quietly as it entered the shaft and then scanned in the direction ahead of where they were going. Three small ducted-fans provided the lift, and Kanjana noted the thing looked suspiciously like the units used by the Maverick suits, but for reconnaissance.
Wait, what's that?
For a moment, Kanjana had relaxed at the sight of the reconnaissance drone. There was one detail that was off, and as she looked closer, she could see other pieces of equipment as well as wiring that had been fused directly with its body. It turned and began to move closer, and that was when she struck. A quick movement saw her blade punch up into one of the rotor units, and it quickly lost control. She then grabbed it and threw it to the floor, smashing her boot down hard on the thing.
"What? Why?" Richards mumbled.
Kanjana bent down and pulled at the wiring with her blade.
"Because it's been compromised. Now, keep moving. We have a job to do."
She moved away and completely ignored the questions they'd asked her. Until now it could have been assumed the enemy was defeated, or at the very least in hiding. This drone proved one thing them; the machines of the enemy were active, and that they were still looking for them.
Kanjana lifted a foot over a mound of electrical cabling, one of which had split and was sparking intermittently. Each time a spark touched the floor, it would send ripples of white and blue across its surface. By the time she had passed it the other two were close by, and also trying to pass over without touching it. Richards made it, but Jarvis tapped the flashing blue shapes with the heel of his boot. Patterns spread back into the shaft, and the sound of the mechanical creature began to increase.
"Run!" Kanjana said.
Ten paces were all it took to clear the shaft and she was out, and inside a wider passage. The two marines were close behind, and both had their carbines ready for battle. The machine sounded louder and louder as it homed in on the exit point of the shaft.
"Move it, marines!"
They made it another thirty metres when the thing burst out from behind a bulkhead seal. It opened fire with a weapon that emitted a scream of electrical energy in a burst. It looked like bolts of lightning as they crashed into Jarvis' armour, each impact sending incredible energy inside and cooking him alive. His screams sent Richards into a panic, and he stumbled back, falling flat onto his back.
"Fire!" Kanjana screamed.
She had already whipped out her pistol and opened fire. Unlike most pistols, this one was fully automatic and released magnetised slugs that punched small holes into the thing's structure. It appeared lightly armoured, and each strike caused some damage. The machine scuttled to the fallen Richards and lifted a hidden limb that extended out into a cruel looking spike.
"No!"
Kanjana rolled across the floor and grabbed the XC1 carbine that Jarvis had lost. She ducked under the first impact from the machine's limb and placed the muzzle on its carapace. One shot after another sent super-heated plasma deep into its core, pulverising its innards and melting wiring, metal, and motors with ease. As it thrashed about, it swung the spike towards her, the hardened tip heading for her lightly protected neck.
"I'm here!" Richards yelled.
He'd already lifted himself from the ground and jumped in its path. Either through luck or judgement, he managed to take the block on the shoulder, and the spike slid down, leave a deep gash almost half a metre long. Incredibly, it only punctured the outer layer. The impact was still enough to send him staggering backwards. Kanjana took the opportunity to fire six more shots. All of them slammed into its centre mass, obliterating what remaining of its control and power circuits. With a final shudder, it dropped to the ground like a dead spider.
"Look at that, what is it?"
Richards pointed at the point where the damaged machine touched the blue pulsing floor. Ripples were moving about its broken form, and it was already beginning to shudder. Both of them took aim and blasted it one after the other until little remained. Kanjana looked to the marine.
"That is why we keen on going. This creature has control of energy and equipment. Spartan wanted us there, to be able to disable the power on command, and that is what we're going to do. It might be the only way to buy time for our friends."
Richards still wasn't sure what the point was. But with Jarvis dead, and his ribs burning from the spike's impact down his body, he decided to stick to her suggestion.
"Okay. But you're going to have to explain to me something."
"What's that?"
He looked back and pointed at the machine. "What the hell is going on out here?"
* * *
Unidentified Derelict, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
"Spartan...Spartan! Open your eyes, you fool!"
He opened his eyes and found Khan looking down at him. The JAS armour was battered to a degree he'd never seen before. There were jagged marks running along the chest as though a giant shark had bitten him. Dark patches marked with electricity had lashed about him, and blood ran from a dozen small puncture wounds.
"What...what happened?"
Spartan tried to sit up, and a dull agony rushed through his body. The armour automatically pumped in stimulants, painkillers, and a boost of adrenalin. He could already feel his muscles beginning to relax, and his body adjusting to the fact he'd been lying on his side and bent over a shattered machine, presumably for some time.
"It's gone. I think it's gone, anyway," said Khan.
Spartan looked about where they had fallen, but there was little left to mark the scene of their violent battle. Khan spoke again, but something else caught his attention. It wasn't Khan, but the sound coming from his internal communications.
"Wait, hold on," he said firmly.
The audio was difficult to make out, and he detected multiple voices, all distant and heavily distorted. Even this dazed and confused he knew it meant something violent was occurring.
"...dead...breaches, level five. Fall back behind the SAARs!"
Spartan immediately recognised the nervous orders from Lieutenant Anne Lee.
"More of them coming from below. Stay in your quadrants. Keep firing. You heard our orders. Nothing gets through, not one damned machine!"
Spartan felt a flutter of pride at her calm demeanour. Whatever had happened, it was obviously bad, and he suspected his entire force might have been overrun while he'd been away. What made it worse was that he was convinced they'd already won the battle. The sound corrupted badly, and then cut, only to return with a different person speaking.
"Two dead, three wounded. Falling back to the dropships."
"Lieutenant Kipling, there are more of them coming, and the barricades are not ready. I've only got eleven marines here, all of them are wounded, and we're running low on ammunition."
The sound of her voice was replaced by heavy breathing, and Spartan could hear her barking orders to her marines. Finally, her voice returned, but he could sense the shakiness to it. He activated the command network.
"All units, this is Spartan. Respond."
The confusion of voices was immediately silenced and replaced by the voice of the Lieutenant. Though the officers were technically of the same rank, it was clear she had taken over as the officer in charge.
"Major, we thought you were dead. The energy surge destroyed over fifteen decks and blew out the habitation dome. We assumed your team had been destroyed in the attack."
She swallowed uncomfortably.
"We received a single message from the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station. Help is coming. We have to hold on for another six hours until help arrives."
Spartan turned a little back at Khan.
"Six hours, how can they get here that fast?"
Khan shrugged, and his JAS armour groaned as he moved his muscles. Only then did the two of them spot the battered Maverick armour of Sergeant Tyler. He lifted up onto his feet and staggered towards them. Gashes in the armour were so deep it was possible to see him inside and his M-3 close-fitting body armour.
"It's not possible, not using a conventional ship."
Spartan and Khan both spoke at the same time.
"Gun!"
The Sergeant dropped to one knee and Khan reached out to help him. Fluid dripped from the left flank, but it thankfully it was lubricant from the motor system, not from the man himself.
"Major, we regrouped at the canteen as ordered and have barricaded it securely. I sent out teams to find you, but all were ambushed and forced to move back. We assumed you were gone. It was our intention to hunker down until relieved."
Spartan spoke over the channel, but doing his best to keep his voice calm and assured. He wanted to ensure his people remained motivated and effective.
"How long have we been gone?"
The audio crackled and distorted the first few words.
"... least twenty hours."
Spartan gasped at that. He assumed they might have been knocked out for minutes, perhaps an hour. Not almost a full day. It was barely credible to him.
"Sir. In the last three hours we've been hit by sporadic attacks. They were nothing major at first, but they have not stopped. I suspect the surviving war machines are looking for signs of weakness, a way in so that they can breach our defences. In the last fifteen minutes they have increased in their intensity. I suspect they monitored our communications and know help is coming."
"Understood," said Spartan.
He deactivated their audio for a moment so that only Khan could hear him.
"They want us dead before help arrives. This will be an overwhelming assault."
Khan said nothing for the moment, so Spartan reactivated the audio.
"We found the creature, a massive artificial war machine that has taken control of this vessel. It is powerful and resourceful, capable of bending machines and technology to its will. We fought it, and it vanished in a massive denotation."
"Detonated, Sir? Is it definitely dead?"
Spartan looked over to Khan, who had had bent down to look at the shattered parts of the enemy war machine. Little remained, with much knocked into the vast chasm like pit. Chunks were embedded in the walls, and yet that which remained was enough to build something the size of a Maverick armoured marine. Spartan moved closer and pushed a piece of broken metal to the left.
"It was a marvel of engineering, a true fusion of hardware and software. On'Sarax would have been intrigued."
Khan cleared his throat.
"Yeah, it was a bloody miracle, Spartan."
He then pointed to large scratch marks on the floor.
"Something dragged itself away from here."
Then came that horrific high-pitched whistle, the sound they had last heard when confronting the machine. The sound told them one thing.
"It lives," said Sergeant Tyler.
Spartan was already heading back the way they had come from. His massive armoured suit made loud thuds as its boots crashed into the floor.
"We're coming in. Get ready, their final assault is imminent."
"Understood, Sir. We're defending four compartments connected to the primary passageway leading into the derelict, as well as the canteen and the bridged passageway you used. What is coming?"
Spartan growled back, "I don't know. Dig in and use everything you have to keep that passageway clear. Do not, I repeat, do not let anything come through. You're all that is protecting our ability to leave the ship. If they get past you, they will move around us and capture the landing bay. Do you understand?"
The radio crackled gently.
"Yes, Major, understood."
"Good. Do not let them in. Seal the breach at the bow and blast apart anything not human. We're coming to the canteen blast door. Be ready for us."
"Yes, Major."
He threw a quick glance at Khan.
"This is it, old friend. We need to get back."
"What about that thing?"
Both of them looked at the wreckage littering the ground. It was then that Spartan noticed the pulsing energy on the floor. It was subtle but had altered shape slightly around the broken machine parts. One of the limbs was vibrating ever so gently. Spartan swung his leg and kicked the wreckage over the edge of the massive pit.
"Fair enough," said Khan.
Spartan was off at a slow jogging pace, and his armour emitted all manner of sounds as he moved. Usually, the Maverick armour was the epitome of advanced engineering and quality, but with the damage they'd sustained down here it was incredible any of the equipment even worked now.
"Let's go."
They rushed back through the derelict, throwing caution to the wind and trading safety for time. The ground was littered with the shattered remains of soldiers, some recent, and others decades old. Behind him ran Khan, his powerful limbs propelling him forward just as fast as Spartan, whose own body had been amplified by the Maverick armour.
"Target, left passageway," said Sergeant Tyler.
They were moving so fast that all three were in the passage as a machine moved in to block them. This one was wheeled and looked suspiciously like the fusion of the upper body of a Grunt, along with the lower half of a SAAR robot. It cradled an L48 rifle in its arms, likely one of the support weapon taken from a fallen marine. It must have expected to ambush them, as it moved slowly, cautiously, and took careful aim at the centre of Khan.
"Mine!" Spartan yelled.
He pushed off the ground and leapt ahead, crashing shoulder first into the machine. Both slid along the floor and jammed up against the wall. Spartan pulled back, activated his arm hammers, and then punched away, one after the other. He began to shout as he struck, and with each impact the adrenalin surged through his body. The boost of adrenalin provided extra power and mobility to his aching body, and the intensity of the strikes increased. Khan moved up, crashed his fist into the machine, and then dragged Spartan off it.
"Enough, we have to move."
His voice was stern, and Spartan struck the machine one more time before looking away.
"These machines, they're really starting to..."
"I know," agreed Khan.
Sergeant Tyler arrived a short distance behind Khan. He panted, and Spartan suspected he might have suffered broken ribs, or even worse, a lung injury.
"I have more reading behind us. They must have thought we'd been killed, or at least incapacitated."
"Yeah, well, we're not," said Khan.
Spartan cast aside the smashed chunks of machine and returned his fists to their normal articulated shape. He then pointed off into the darkness.
"In that case, let's take this up a notch, both of you. It's time to get the hell out of this place."
Ignoring pain or discomfort, all three broke out into something bordering a sprint. Each time something moved in the shadows, Spartan would want to take cover and clear the way ahead carefully. There was no time, though, and instead of stopping they opened fire as they ran. At one point they moved into as hall where a trio of walking machines were waiting on a balcony, ten metres up and directly ahead. Spartan and Sergeant Tyler blasted them with their shoulder-mounted HEC-1 cannons, and Khan unleashed a long burst from his Gatling gun. They never checked to see if the targets were damaged or destroyed, and simply surged on ahead.
Spartan's stomach was tight from the tension as he expected to run into an ambush or booby traps. He might have slowed down, but the shouts for help on the command network encouraged him to move faster. Unlike the majority of the marines, the Maverick armour he wore would allow him to absorb the brunt of a major attack, even to level of vehicle-mounted heavy weaponry. In a bizarre twist of fate, the armour he'd developed was almost purpose built for this new task of navigating a treacherous vessel such as this.
They finally reached the chasm that marked the barrier between the long-abandoned Trusskan cruiser and the rest of the derelict. As Spartan led them across, he thought back to his last two encounters with the machine. The first time he'd been convinced he was winning, and the second time ended in a blast. Now all he could hope was that if it came to another fight, he would be able to muster the numbers and firepower to deal with it. The creature, or entity as some still called it was unknown to him. Its ability to create a weapon was unlike anything he'd seen before. To operate independently, and to modify and construct on its own, was advanced to a level unimaginable in the Alliance. What truly astounded him was the technology here on the derelict was ancient, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years old.
What would the Trusska be like if they were still alive today? Their civilisation would be generations ahead of us. They might be like Gods to people like us.
That thought sent a shiver down his spine. He'd had quite enough of so-called master races for now. He skidded along the floor and narrowly avoided crashing into the wreckage of a machine.
"Major. The machines have breached the blast doors. We're falling back to the barricades."
Spartan swore off channel and looked back to make sure the other two were with him. The route through the bow of the cruiser was a weak point and less easily defended than the canteen. More important, it had multiple small passages and shafts that led right back to the landing bay. He stopped and then activated the command channel.
"Lieutenant Kipling, how many Mavericks do you have?"
There was a pause of three seconds, a time delay that left him more than a little concerned.
"Major. Four, but one has a non-functioning primary weapon."
"Not a problem. Send them to Lieutenant Anne Lee, and hurry, 3rd Platoon needs help fast. We cannot let them breach 3rd Platoon's barricades."
"Yes, Sir."
Khan activated the blades on his arms and lowered his stance a fraction, all the better to defend himself. Spartan looked to his friend and felt that deep down pang of guilt he always did when sending somebody off on what could be their last mission.
"Khan, it's time to find that thing and end this. Understood?"
Khan clamped shut his visor and roared.
"Not a problem, Spartan."
He scraped the blades on his left arm against the wall. The metal left white imprints on the pulsing surface, like ripples in water.
"It's payback time."
* * *
Spartan arrived at the blast door to the canteen area to find it had been transformed. Last time he had seen the place, it had been a vast open space, with only a handful of bodies scattered about. Now there were chunks of metal and at least six bizarre mechanical contraptions, each smashed by heavy weaponry. The blast door was shut, and he could see parts of it had been welded quite recently, presumably to repair combat damage. It was the route they had entered through, and now it was blocked shut with nothing but the bodies of three machines, similar to those they had found elsewhere inside the ship. Spartan reached forward and banged his metal fist on the frame.
"Open up."
"Who is it?" yelled back Lieutenant Armstrong.
"Spartan."
The sounds on the other side faded, and then came the grinding of metal and hammering sounds. The door slid open to reveal a veritable bastion inside. Lieutenant Armstrong looked stunned to see them.
"I heard your voice, but even then I thought it was a trick. We thought you'd been killed. You went dark over twenty hours ago."
Sergeant Tyler stepped passed Spartan and stopped in front of his platoon's officer.
"Lieutenant, how is my platoon?"
The man wiped sweat from his face and managed to open up a barely healed cut across his cheek.
"Multiple injuries, three of them serious. They hit the blast door while we were making modifications. I lost a SAAR robot and several weapons getting everybody back, but we held. Six machines breached, three were destroyed right here, the rest blasted with thermite as they escaped."
He pointed to the broken pieces of machinery that lay strewn on the ground. As before, the light pulsing of energy seemed to coalesce around one of the machines, but not the others. Spartan lifted his left arm and blasted the remains with his arm-mounted coilguns, sending fragments of metal in all directions.
"When you see that happen, make sure you blast it. Somehow the entity is using this to repair itself. Don't ask me how."
He looked back at the blast doors and watched as a group of marines blocked it back up. Four SAAR robots trundled back into position, and they were carefully deployed in a loose line at the points of ingress to the cruiser. It was a bastion within a ship, something as unusual as it was familiar to Spartan.
Listen, here they come.
Spartan could then hear the sound of gunfire through the sound system of the Maverick suit. Even better, the onboard computer had isolated and identified which weapons were firing, and that confirmed to him that it was his people. The sounds were followed shortly by additional dull vibrations through the cruiser. It was a battle, but it was too far away for him to be able to immediately intervene. At the moment it seemed the only area being attacked was where 3rd Platoon was positioned at the bow of the cruiser, but to send too many to assist could leave his route back to the landing bay unprotected. He was only just back, but he knew he had to take charge of the fight. A quick decision was all it took to activate the command network.
"This is Spartan. I am back in command. All squads prepare for battle."
Spartan's stomach tensed, the same way it did before every battle, and as far back as he could remember. Even those decades ago when he'd been trapped on the Bright Horizon, an interplanetary transport filled with dead and dying. Back then he had been nothing more than a boy; away with his parents on a journey to a destination they never reached. The entire event had been wiped from his memory, with just fragments revealed accidentally during the last hours of the battle at the Black Rift.
Lieutenant Anne Lee had been attacked, but with the networked combat modes disabled on their armour, it was difficult to see exactly what was going on. Spartan could even feel the movement through the thick plating of his Maverick armour, each tremor amplified by the sensory package embedded in the system.
"Major, I've never seen anything like it. It has joined its own...we need..."
A screaming cry echoed over the communications channel and was then replaced by shouting and gunfire. Spartan activated his weapons and looked to the marines nearby. They were all in good positions, covering bulkheads or furniture nearby.
"The enemy is here, and it is not planning on letting us leave. Defend your positions. Not one step back!"
The orders were simple with no specifics, but Khan felt a chill in his body. Though he hadn't been there, he had heard of the last stand on Spascia, where the Alliance of humanity, Helions, Khreenk, and others had fought around the ruined city and mountain fortress. Of more significance, he recalled the now famous order issued by Gun in the last days of the fighting. The 'No step back' order had become something of a legend, one that every history book concerning the war always listed.
"Khan, are you ready?"
The seasoned warrior activated his weapons in reply. The men and women of the IAB had done their job well, and neither felt it appropriate in trying to micromanage that which had been planned so well. The platoon officers were all well trained and the results were clear to see.
"These are some of the best marines I've ever come across, quick thinking, tough, and resourceful. We cannot let them down."
A low-pitched pulse echoed through the ship, and immediately caught the attention of those in the fortified canteen.
"That doesn't sound good," said Khan.
Both of them looked down and noticed the pattern of white and blue shifting on the floor. It was as though the ship was itself a living thing, with power circulating like blood through a living host. The patterns moved, the lighter colours heading for the doors, even the locked one. Khan moved his attention from Spartan and back to the doorway. It pulsed white and then broke apart as though made from ice.
Two Mavericks moved in on each side of the frame. Four IAB marines stayed back, but trained their weapon on the opening. Sergeant Tyler, now beside his lieutenant had fallen right back into his role.
"Marines, to your positions. Keep your heads down and your sights low."
He seemed agitated, perhaps even a little apprehensive. A single marine moved into the gap with a SAAR robot at his side. A pair of engineers followed with welding gear and repair patches that could extend and fill the breach. Khan pointed into the blackness, using his armour's built-in lamps to give the man light.
"Secure that breach, fast!"
He then looked to Spartan.
"Whatever's out there, followed us."
"Yeah, and it intends on finishing us off, once and for all."
Khan chuckled.
"Big mistake!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
During the Great Uprising, the fiery world of Prometheus had been a secret research and manufacturing complex. In the decades since that violent war, the facilities at Prometheus have been enlarged to include dozens of automated factories, as well as some of the most efficient shipyards in the Alliance. Citizens of the Alliance work side by side to produce some of the best weapons, armour, and equipment ever seen. Even more incredible is that the garrison for this Alliance world is made up from the synthetic warriors created there originally. The Red Watch was the toughest and most deadly infantry unit in the Alliance, and only a fool would consider attacking it.
The Fires of Prometheus
Unidentified Derelict, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Spartan checked the status of his weapons and then called out on the company channel. It was still open and hadn't been breached, at least as far as he could tell. He gave simple hand signals, something that worked better than speaking when under pressure, and even better when the tactical network was down. The marines responded instantly and fanned out, creating a strong layered defence through this entire section of the ship. Overlapping arcs of fire from behind the barricades covered even the secured doors.
"All units, we are under heavy attack. Remember your training and listen to your officers. Dig in and hold your positions. There is nowhere for us to retreat. We will hold this position, no matter what comes at us."
As soon as the marine reached the blackness of the doorway, something reached out and plucked him off his feet. He vanished, screaming off into the distance and well out of view. A triple blast of energy from a plasma based weapon crashed into the SAAR robot before its turret-mounted weapon could even begin scanning for possible targets. Spartan extended his right arm and took aim with the pair of coilguns.
"Protect the breach, now!"
Khan took three steps closer, looked into the darkness, and then lurched back. Three gunshots blasted his armour, leaving burning hot projectiles embedded in his plating. A Maverick marine would probably have been looking for cover, and an IAB marine would quite simply be dead already, but not Khan. It served little more than to anger him.
"Fire!" Khan shouted.
More marines moved around him as he steadied himself, and then returned fire with the powerful L56 Mark III assault gun. This shoulder-mounted coilgun was the same piece of equipment mounted on armoured vehicles, and also on some JAS armour. It featured five short barrels, each fed by a pair of ammunition feeds leading directly into the armour. Like the weapons on the Maverick suits, this was also fitted to a rotating gimbal. The magnetically launched hardened slugs slammed into shapes as they surged through the breached opening and threw themselves at the three Mavericks.
"Drop 'em!" shouted Spartan.
Spartan braced himself; at the same time lifted both of his arms and pointed them at the gap. He was forced to pause for a second as his field of view was filled with the shapes of marines and machines, but then he had a clear target. The muzzles of the paired coilguns blasted away, filling that gap with death.
"Weapons free."
Dozens of guns opened up, adding their own distinctive damage to the unique materials used inside this ship. The XC1 carbine left small patches of burnt and corroded wall, and the coilguns ripped off chunks the size of a marble. The arched doorway took the brunt of the fire, the majority of the rounds striking off into the darkness beyond. Those that missed the centre target struck the edge of the frame, quickly turning the edges to mush.
Khan continued to stagger back, but even though he'd been knocked off balance, that would do nothing to keep him out of the fight. For a second it appeared he might stumble, but as he slid back, his weapons were firing almost continually. So much ammunition was being expended that the coolant unit built into the gun's system began to steam; yet he refused to back down.
"Hold the line, no matter the cost!"
As he fired, he could see more shapes moving around them, except these were showing as above and below their current position. Until now the armour hadn't detected them, and now they were too close for him to respond.
You fool, they've spent hours cutting their way through the decks above and below. Screw the vents and shafts; they are coming in. You've been outflanked!
"Watch the floor and ceiling!"
A panel above him and Khan smashed open and out dropped a robotic fighting machine. It was as big as a man and landed in front of Spartan.
"Out of my way!"
With a swing that came from the waist and shoulder, Spartan slammed his fist into the machine. The heavy impact sent it more than a metre away, yet even as its feet hit the ground, it began to right itself. Khan grabbed it and tore off a limb with his hands. He then struck it in the chest and took aim with his shoulder-mounted cannon. The gunfire was ferocious, with flames stretching from the barrel muzzles out to the thing.
More shapes hurtled through the doorway, but they stood no chance against the gunfire. A squad of marines moved in to support Spartan. The others fell back, giving them the space to manoeuvre and to keep away from the machines. The lighting faded and turned to dark blue, leaving the only source of light to that provided by the marines and their suits. In a corridor it would have been fine, but inside here, the spacious communal area concealed dozens of hiding places and points where little light would reach.
A great light blue pulse appeared, and then black lines spread along the floor. It seemed to be another pattern, until a metallic arm pushed up from the black line.
"Watch the floor! They're coming through!" Sergeant Tyler shouted.
Two panels ripped open and out climbed more of the machines. One grabbed the Sergeant’s leg and with a sickening sound snapped the bones in one movement. He screamed in pain while aiming his carbine at the chest of the nearest.
"Help him!" Spartan hollered.
Another machine blocked his path, and he barged the thing, pinning it to the wall. At the same time, Sergeant Tyler fired at his assailant, and the magnetically shielded rounds of super-heated plasma burned through its carapace with ease. Sparks and chunks of burnt metal flew off, and still he continued to fire. Every shot blew out chunks of metal like the corrupted flesh of a long-dead body.
Khan grabbed the man with one arm and yanked him from the ground while simultaneously blasting those coming from below.
"Come with me!"
It was far from subtle, and the Sergeant groaned in pain as he was hurled away from the fight. Khan, Spartan, and the other Mavericks had formed up into a loose line in the middle of the communal area. Spartan used that brief moment to look throughout the rest of the cavernous interior. Another dozen marines moved in, but it was a scattered mess as machines appeared from all around. Even so, the marines refused to back down, some standing, others kneeling, and just as many taking cover behind the dust-covered barricades sheltering the long dead remains of Byotai soldiers.
"Drive them out!"
More panels opened up, the suits’ sensors barely detecting the shapes above them. More of the things dropped down amongst them, swinging their arms and blasting with powerful guns. Spartan spotted one fire a shot at an IAB marine that removed the head in a single burst. He targeted the machine and tore it to pieces with gunfire from the HEC-1 cannon.
"Hold your positions!"
Something bright blue flashed behind, and then marines began shouting. One screamed and Spartan spun around. In the centre of the area was the machine, and this time it was bathed in the lights of dozens of marines. The form was still partially obscured by the pulsing distortions covering it from head to toe, but he could see it had fused the armour and weaponry from the destroyed Maverick suits and Grunts to make itself even larger and more powerful.
It was distracting us. The Grunts were to keep us busy, nothing more, all so it could drop in when we were at our weakest. Clever, very clever!
For all the machine’s intelligence, there was nothing it could do about the raw, violent nature of Spartan. Over the years he'd fought as a gladiator on the illegal fighting circuit, joined the Marine Corps, and even covertly commanded the Biomechs into battle. Nothing frightened him anymore, and with his family gone, there was nothing more to him than his comrades nearby, and the mission.
"Kill it, end this, now!"
Khan attempted to join him, but a pair of machine-controlled Grunts dropped down from another breached ceiling panel. He blasted one, but the second hit him in the chest, and the two collapsed into a heap on the ground. Spartan kicked the Grunt hard with his left leg, laughing as he watched his metal limb snap the Grunt's left arm with one quick movement.
"I've got this one. Finish the beast!" Khan shouted.
Spartan spun about as quickly as the Maverick armour would allow him. Three IAB marines were right next to the creature and all were striking it hard with their carbines. A single Maverick punched away with its hammer fists. To Spartan surprise, the physical attacks seemed to be having an effect. Each blow sent dark blue shudders through its form.
Now!
Being this close, and inside the Maverick armour, gave him a feeling of both power and fear. The armour amplified his strength to incredible levels, but he was also inside and vulnerable. As always, he didn't hesitate and rushed at the creature, sending every ounce of power from his muscles to the legs.
Kill it now, and this fight is over.
Spartan opened fire with his arm-mounted guns, but a Grunt jumped in his path and absorbed most of the fire before he could make a difference. Spartan was at the Grunt in just a few more steps and blasted the machine apart with his HEC cannon. He barely slowed down as he threw the shattered carcase to one side and kept going for the creature. He took aim with his cannon, but the Maverick was in the way, still smashing its fists into the thing. A piece the size of a man's head broke off and hit the ground, but the creature dropped to one knee and pushed one of its articulated arms onto the floor. The surface pulsed with energy, and the broken section rebuilt itself before his eyes.
What the hell is that thing?
He was close now, no more than three metres away, when the Maverick opened fired with its own HEC-1 cannon. The overloaded blast hit the creature with incredible force. Blue and while light pulsed around the creature as though it had just been hit with a massive surge of energy. Spartan covered another metre, anticipating the creature falling or being knocked back by the gunfire, but instead of hurting it, the energy from the plasma-based weaponry appeared to be having the opposite effect.
Spartan kicked down and leapt up high, his hammer arms activated and ready to strike. He flexed his muscles, preparing for the killing blow. At that moment another shot hit it in the chest, and the entire body of the creature increased into a bright white shape until it unleashed the pent up energy in a devastating blast of raw power. Spartan made contact with the entity at the same time as the energy coalesced into a bright blue lance of energy that flashed out towards the group.
"Watch...out...that..."
The bulk of the blast struck the nearest Maverick head on. Flashes erupted from head to toe, and then it exploded in sickening blast. The intensity of the energy was like a powerful explosion coming from inside the armour, and sent charred flesh and molten metal in all directions. Many of the other IAB marines took the full brunt of the impact.
Tendrils of energy lashed out like limbs to hit any of those nearby. One whipped across Spartan's chest as his fists struck the creature. Emergency alarms activated, and his vision vanished for a moment; then he was face down and sliding cross the floor.
He was moving with such speed as if he'd been knocked back by a piece of artillery. He hit the wall hard; his vision blurred for several seconds, and his hearing became confused. With power temporarily gone, Spartan was forced to use his own muscles to roll over. It wasn't easy, but Spartan was as strong as he was angry. By the time he'd rolled over, his systems had restarted, and the power unit began feeding electricity to the motor comportments. His senses were already returning to normal.
Where the hell is it?
He lifted to one knee and looked left and then right. The lights were still almost gone, and because of the dust and smoke, the interior almost impossible to see properly. Powerful lamps on all of their suits cast thick beams that extended out until finally being beaten off by the thickness of the dust.
On your feet!
Spartan was up but had no idea how long he'd been out. He assumed it had been hours, but based on the carnage, it could have as likely been an hour. The fighting might have been over until he spotted more of his creations, the robotic Grunts he had helped build to avoid putting the lives of men and women in the front-line.
Spartan extended his right arm and shook his head bitterly, blasting them with the pair of L52 coilguns. These weapons were no longer the most advanced in production, but they were still as deadly as the day they'd become the primary weapon of the Alliance Marine Corps. Two of them were cut apart by the time is HEC-1 Cannon was charged up and ready.
"Khan, the creature?"
A single JAS armoured warrior lifted a Grunt above his head and hurled it at the wall. The fighting machine hit with a crash and slid to the ground, its limbs buckled and heavily damaged. Before it could stand, it was hit by a fusillade of small arms fire. Khan then turned and Spartan could see there were lacerations and puncture holes throughout the plating on his armour.
"It smashed its way through there. I tore off a limb, and Sergeant Tyler put a thermite charge on its torso. We hurt it bad, really bad."
Khan pointed with his right hand at one of the recently sealed bulkhead blast doors. The metal was broken and twisted, and still crackling with blue energy. A single fireteam of IAB marines was already climbing through when he called out to them.
"No, stay here, stay together."
One looked back, nodded to Spartan, and then helped the others back through. Spartan shook his head in frustration as they moved back to the position they had been defending so steadfastly.
"We cannot afford to take chances with this thing. Dig in. We need to get everybody left back here."
The marines spread out further behind them, using the short moment of respite to improve their positions. It was only for a few seconds, and then, as before, more of the Grunts came in. Spartan guessed they must have taken care of almost a full platoon of them so far, a major feat in itself. Khan moved to the centre, where a single squad was overturning tables and boxes to produce a long line that faced off against the two breached doorways into the derelict. He stopped, looked up, and then took aim.
"More of them."
Another dozen machines dropped in around them, in what would be the final and bloodiest assault on their position. Dozens of IAB marines were now dead or wounded from the bloody battle. Khan stayed in his position at the centre of the line and directed the gunfire, as the machines dropped in all around them and threatened to overwhelm the defenders.
"Heavies, to me."
The large shapes of the Mavericks moved to support him, and Spartan did the same. By moving into the centre of the room, they produced a solid block that could spit out bullets at a prodigious rate. A handful of the Grunts managed to get past the flank and ran into a squad of marines tending a wounded comrade. Two were butchered on the spot, and the others scattered, creating a gap leading right back to the passageways, and ultimately to the landing bay and dropships.
"Get down!"
The two marines hit the ground as Spartan fired a double-shot from his HEC-1 cannon. The projectile punched through the back of the first Grunt and hit the second in the upper chest. They staggered out of control and fell to the ground, leaving just three more who were now at the open, arched blast doors. They would have made it through, if it hadn't been for the mixed group of nine Thegns that ran right into them. Seeing the potential breakthrough, they rushed at the machines, firing their thermal shotguns and carbines as they ran. Four were cut down by return fire, but not one gave ground, and the breach was sealed with the broken bodies of both sides. The clash of battle vanished as quickly as it had arrived, but now with bodies and machinery lying strewn across the floor.
"Good work, people. We've held onto our ground."
He pointed to one of the holes in the floor.
"Engineering teams, seal the panels."
Marines with cutting and welding gear moved into position. Maverick suited marines stood over them, shielding those working with their own bodies and metal plating. At the same time they continued blazing away, filling the dust filled canteen with super-heated plasma, hardened metal slugs, and fragmentation projectiles.
The battle was over in less than half an hour, but for those involved it felt more like an entire day. Confusion was so great, Spartan didn't even truly realise they were fighting their own robotic Grunts until they'd destroyed or disabled every single one of their attackers. The attack was short, bloody, and left more than another dozen dead marines before it was over.
As the gunfire died down, Khan grabbed one of the fallen machines and threw it over so it landed at the feet of Spartan. He bent down and touched the metal before shaking his head, clearly angry.
"These are our machines. How is this possible? We've just lost more than twenty to these things, maybe a lot more."
The shape was obviously a Grunt, but already there were changes. The access panel had been removed and in its place a beautifully fused plate that blocked access. The top of the head section was fitted with a small bump around the size of a man's hand.
Antenna maybe?
He then looked down to the arms and found small punch tips fitted to the hands. They were just a few centimetres long, but sharp and made of a highly dense alloy. He looked down and noted the points on his armour where the Grunts had actually breached the outer plating more than a dozen times.
That thing had access to them for a matter of hours. How could it do this?
"The creature, it is using energy from the ship to convert components to serve its will. You saw its body, Khan. Plating from our machines, as well as Byotai fighting machines surrounded the armour.
Khan sighed, as though a great weight had just been lifted from his mind.
"The creature, it can control electronics, equipment, and even energy. In that case it is probably healing itself right now."
Spartan nodded, though none would be able to tell from the outside of his armour.
"Exactly. And when it's healed enough, it will be back, and probably with more of the kit we've lost."
Half a dozen Thegns rushed in through the other doorway, the one they had blasted through originally. Two marines trained their guns on them as they entered, with Five-Seven at the front and Captain Delatorre beside him. Several of them had sustained deep lacerations, and Five-Seven bore a bandage around an arm wound.
"What is it?" Spartan asked.
Five-Seven stopped and saluted before answering. Captain Delatorre started first, his voice almost shaking with the sheer horror at what they must have witnessed.
"The thing, the creature. It broke into the landing bay and tried to reach the dropships. I'd already ordered Lieutenant Kipling to send help your way when it came in."
He panted, finding every single word a strain to get out. He shook his head with each word and lifted his hand to cover his mouth.
"I should have blasted the landing bay, right then. Half of the platoon is gone, most of the Thegns. The creature was badly damaged, and it was trying to reach the dropships, but two Mavericks blocked the entrance."
His voice went up an octave, and he then twisted about, retching. Luckily his helmet was open as he vomited onto the ground. Five-Seven handed him a canteen, and he gurgled it before spitting out the foulness from his mouth.
"...and Lieutenant Kipling?"
Captain Delatorre coughed three times, and his voice broke slightly so that it became almost impossible to understand. After another quick swig of water, he began to compose himself.
"The creature took everything we fired, like it was nothing. I saw armour blasted off its torso, but it's like peeling an onion. Beneath every layer is more and more armour. It finally reached the dropships; the Mavericks held it there. It killed them both, but their bodies blocked the doorway, and the rest of us went at it with everything we had."
He wiped his brow, as the images must have flashed back, becoming real once more.
"I saw Thegns ripped in half, and Mavericks electrocuted inside their armour. Lieutenant Kipling didn't bother using firearms. It was like he knew how to fight it. He took three of them, all in Maverick armour, and fought it in hand-to-hand combat. They tore off a limb when it sent a blue energy blast and vanished, but not before damaging the exit blast doors from the hangar. Whatever you did to it out here worked, it was leaking fluid all over the place, and the noise."
He shook his head.
"If it were anything else I would say the thing is dying."
Spartan placed his hand on the man's shoulder.
"You did nothing wrong. I don't think this creature belongs on this ship. It's as much a prisoner now as we are. It's clearly an ancient weapon, something these ships and people were trying to escape from when it overran the ship. Since then it has been scavenging parts, equipment, and weapons to keep itself active, and is using the energy from the ship to maintain and repair itself."
Five-Seven nodded in agreement, but Khan seemed confused.
"Wait, you said it damaged the exit doors. What did it do exactly?"
Five-Seven turned to the massive warrior.
"It detonated the dropship nearest to the doors. One was blasted apart; the second badly damaged and jammed against the blast doors. I have people working on it, but it will take at least three hours to move the debris with EVA gear. And even if we can get the dropship working, it cannot carry us all."
"Give it time," grumbled Khan.
Captain Delatorre looked to the Jötnar.
"The dropships are designed for no more than ten warriors, a single piece of hardware, and up to thirty units in the tubes."
Spartan lifted his hand to make them stop.
"It doesn't matter right now. The dropship can carry a platoon, and trust me. By the time this is over, I doubt there will be many more of us left."
Khan moved to where one of the Grunts had fallen and lifted it up. He moved his head closer and then cast the machine aside. Five-Seven seemed unperturbed by the growing anger building inside Khan.
"The longer we delay, the stronger it will get. Every marine or robot that we lose will weaken us and strengthen it."
Five-Seven lifted his secpad.
"I believe the Captain is correct. Captain Delatorre suggested I use the ship's engineering teams to attempt access to this ship's systems. There is a functioning system not far from the dropships. We don't have much, but what we've witnessed with this creature, matches the data my engineers have retrieved from the cruiser's data banks."
Spartan was dumbfounded. A decade ago, Thegns were seen as nothing more than meat suits, cannon fodder for enemy guns. They were fast and tough, but they appeared to lack any discernible intelligence, and no obvious degree of free will. With them freed by On’Sarax and the others, they were now operating equipment and understanding the complexities of alien systems at least as well as his human crew, perhaps better. He could see there was something else, though, more than simply news of what had occurred in the battle.
"Go on."
Captain Delatorre seemed to have composed himself, and although his eyes were locked on a pair of marines dragging a body, he quickly returned to Spartan and the others.
"Well?"
The officer swallowed uncomfortably.
"This creature. It is not a living beast, but a defensive weapon system. So far, we have access to part of the ship's log, and it is very clear about what happened."
Both Khan and Gun moved a little closer.
"The derelict is what is left of a single Trusskan colony. It doesn't say why they refused to follow the suicidal story we have all heard, but they were fleeing a thing called Guardians."
Khan and Spartan looked to each other, and Khan began to laugh.
"Guardians? Who came up with that stupid name?"
"The Trusskans. It is a defensive machine, designed to self-replicate, repair, and remove signs of contaminated species. The log infers that many were built to protect the Trusska from a deadly threat."
Khan grunted irritably.
"Well, that plan worked out well for them, didn't it?"
Five-Seven nodded.
"That is where the derelict comes in."
Spartan lifted his hands.
"Wait, I think I can see where all of this is going. The Trusskans didn't kill themselves. They activated these things, probably to protect them from something, and it went wrong, very badly wrong."
"The Biomechs?" Khan suggested.
"Probably. Whatever happened, the Trusska ended up being flagged as targets, and if the stories are true, they were hunted down."
Captain Delatorre appeared fascinated with the information.
"Yes...yes, of course. And that's why the Trusska destroyed their Spacebridges, to stop these Guardians escaping to other worlds. So the stories were true, and they did this so the other species would live."
"Maybe," added Spartan, "But somehow one of these things got aboard this collection of escaping ships. They either didn't get the memo, or decided to make a run for it. Jump ahead a few hundred years, and we've got a dead ship, inhabited by a machine that wants only to escape, replicate, and destroy contamination."
Khan chuckled.
"Hell, if it reaches T'Karan and onwards, it will find the signs of the Biomechs on nearly every world."
He pointed his armoured limb at his own chest.
"What about me? Or them?"
He pointed to Five-Seven and his Thegn comrades. Spartan sighed, realising the enemy they were facing was both more powerful than expected, and a greater threat to the Alliance than he could ever have imagined.
"This isn't good, not at all. The Guardian war machine hit us hard, and it wants out of here. We sustained nearly thirty percent casualties in less than two hours of leaving Euryale. In another…"
Khan groaned as he listened to the words.
"In six hours Euryale will blow, and all of this becomes pointless talking. All we have to do is keep it busy. Euryale will do the rest."
Captain Delatorre and Five-Seven exchanged looks, and Spartan spotted them right away.
"What is it? More good news?"
Five-Seven glanced at the Captain who still looked pale and uncomfortable. He gave the Thegn a nod to continue.
"Major, there has been partial contact from the Colonel. The information was fragmentary, but it would appear the Colonel is coming here with help. He mentioned a team from Prometheus."
Khan and Spartan turned to each other, and Khan looked both pleased and surprised at the news. Both had assumed the rescue party would be a modest affair, possibly one that was more likely to get itself into further trouble. But a troupe of warriors from Prometheus could mean only one thing, the Red Watch. Of all the Jötnar, they were perhaps the most experienced and best equipped.
"The Colonel is aboard IAS Titan. It wasn't clear, but there was a mention of the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station. The Colonel said something about an assault team at the station. He did confirm that his destination is here, and to help us."
The Thegn paused, presumably trying to remember if there was anything else. It took no more than a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. He then looked directly at Spartan.
"I managed a short response before all contact was jammed. That was the end of the conversation."
"About time Gun got off his ass and came here to give us a hand," said Khan.
Spartan looked less pleased about the news.
"How much information did you send to him?"
Five-Seven shook his head.
"Not much. That we had abandoned ship and were moving in to secure the derelict."
"Did you tell him about the creature? He has to know to stay away from the derelict."
Five-Seven continued to shake his head.
"No, Major. We were jammed almost immediately after I sent the data on the creature, and then that creature hit us. It didn't want us sending a signal. I sent us much as I could in the time I had."
Spartan looked disappointed, but none of them could see that, due to his face being hidden inside the thick plating of the Maverick armour.
"Very well. How long do we have?"
Captain Delatorre opened the visor on his naval PDS armour. Normally, he looked perfectly comfortable, but in this lightweight body armour he looked completely out of his depth. Five-Seven looked to the Captain to explain the rest. Reluctantly, he explained everything they knew.
"We've triangulated their position. Based on the best data we have, I estimate they will reach here in five hours...approximately. They must be using Titan, and her engines are not in a good way. Any problems and their travel time could alter...substantially. Say, a margin for error of up to two hours either way."
Spartan sniffed as he did a quick calculation in his head.
"So five to get here, minimum. That doesn't give us much time. If they're late, we'll be trapped aboard this vessel and with that thing."
Khan seemed to agree.
"True. If he's late for any reason, we'll be dead. Nothing will stand when Euryale detonates. Everything on this derelict will be vaporised by her self-destruct system."
Five-Seven was the only one that didn't seem particularly concerned at the news.
"I concur. Either we get out on the dropship, disable Euryale's denotation..."
"...or we find another way off this thing," said Khan.
The derelict vibrated violently and dust dropped down from the ceiling. Many of the marines looked up, including Spartan and Khan.
"What the hell was that?"
The radio system crackled, and the familiar voice of Lieutenant Anne Lee spoke over the command channel. It was encoded, but open to all the officers and non-commissioned officers in the company.
"We've got a problem down here."
Captain Delatorre shook his head.
"Tell me something I don't know."
Spartan checked his weapon status as he answered.
"Go on, tell us."
"We detected the creature moving back inside the rest of the derelict before it vanished near the wreckage of the habitation dome. One of the remaining drones shows it has started manually opening seals in multiple sections of the hull. I have one opened at point three-five-five and another at three-five-nine."
"What?" Khan said.
Captain Delatorre pulled out a secpad from its mount on his armour and examined the schematic of the derelict. With the data link terminated, he had to mark the changes. He then moved the unit in front of the two metal war machines. Spartan leaned in closer to look before speaking.
"It makes sense. The Trusska knew of this weapon and would have designed systems to reduce the chance of it taking control. The only way it can do this is to physically reach the controls and breach them. It is moving around the derelict, and it is up to something."
Captain Delatorre checked another screen on his secpad.
"You think it is only able to influence communications and propulsion?"
Khan nodded.
"I don't think it has control of propulsion, more like it can influence navigation, and the ship does the rest. If it could do, don't you think we would have changed course by now? With so little time left, there is nothing that can be done to stop this derelict from reaching Euryale and being vaporised."
"So what is the creature doing?"
Spartan answered him before Khan could say more.
"Look at the schematic and the seals it has breached. Notice anything unusual?"
Spartan sent the data via the direct microwave link to Khan. The imagery appeared on his overlay and added to his mapping data of the derelict. At first it was impossible to see what was happening, and he was forced to zoom out of the city-sized facility. The derelict had little in common with a ship, looking more like a junkyard of Trusskan ships, each attached together for mutual benefit. Then he spotted it.
"The smaller ship, on the dorsal section."
"Yes," agreed Spartan, but with a questioning tone.
"No...it can't be doing that."
Captain Delatorre was already looking at the same data, and discussing it with Five-Seven. Spartan spotted movement and looked back to watch as a partially damaged SAAR robot moved into position at the breach doorway. Further to the left a pair of marines helped carry away another body.
Khan grunted in agreement.
"...it knows it cannot win with another assault, not while it is badly damaged. So it slinks off to repair itself while preparing a section of the derelict to detach."
"Exactly," said Spartan, "Once it has released all of the locks, the creature will release the vessel. It is much smaller than anything else here, and will get itself clear of the blast."
Khan snarled as he listened to Spartan's assessment.
"And leave us here to burn with the rest."
Captain Delatorre didn't seem convinced.
"But won't it be weakened if deprived of the power of this ship? Surely none of the ships connected to this structure still function?"
Spartan sighed.
"It doesn't need a functioning ship, it just needs enough juice to get it away from the rest of us. A series of detonations around those breaches would do the job."
Khan seemed to agree.
"Yeah, and then it goes into hibernation until some other poor fool finds it in a few years or decades."
Khan reached for Spartan's arm.
"So, my friend, what do we do? I will not stay here to die, and I'll be damned if I'm letting that thing escape."
Spartan contemplated what lay before him. His gut instinct was, as always, to attack.
"Forget the dropship, we have a job to do. Get everybody here, including the wounded."
The others looked stunned at what he was saying.
"You're serious?" Captain Delatorre asked.
Spartan deactivated his armour, and the panels slid and moved until he could be seen inside the massive armoured fighting suit. His visor was open, and his face visible to them all.
"I am deadly serious, Captain. We will deal with this creature once and for all. If guns won't do the job, we'll use blades and fists."
The Captain shook his head.
"And what about Euryale? How will we avoid the blast?"
Spartan grinned.
"You're assuming we come out of this thing alive. All that matters is that we stop this thing."
He then looked to Khan, the only one of them that seemed to relish this opportunity.
"In any case, I've got a plan."
Those nearby looked to each other, but none had a clue what to say. Spartan activated his command network and selected a particular transponder.
"This is Spartan. Are you still there?"
He waited, and it took almost five seconds before a pained answer came back.
"Kanjana here. I'm at the rear of the ship. We made it this far, but I lost Jarvis in an ambush by one of the walking machines. Richards is injured, but not badly. I am at the evacuation level on the port side. I can see control units from here for the power system, and a single sentry machine guards them. I've been waiting to hear from someone, anyone."
Spartan swallowed uncomfortably. He'd hoped and prayed she would have made the perilous journey through the ship. He doubted he could have done it, a kilometre through twisted corridors, shafts, and ladders, all while under the watchful eye of the enemy. She could have been killed in a thousand ways, yet there she was, safe and waiting.
What a woman! What could I do with a hundred of her?
"Can you disable the power units of the derelict?"
He held his breath as he waited. It was a hard thing to ask, especially knowing the two of them were out there at the rear of the ship and alone.
"I've already checked the power core from my carbine. If you can give me enough lead-time, I can reconfigure it to overload with a plasma blast. In the right place it could cripple this vessel."
She took a breath, one so deep it could be heard over the communications system.
"Send me the word, and it will be done."
Spartan closed his eyes while smiling. Kanjana was unique, and her skills far surpassed so many on that derelict. What she lacked in military training, she made up for with her natural abilities, and her incredible knowledge of machinery and electronics. Right now, what amazed him the most was her resourcefulness.
"Good job, Kanjana. Wait for my command."
"Understood. Oh, and Spartan?"
He swallowed, expecting yet more bad news.
"Yes?"
"It's good to hear your voice again. Let's get this thing."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The XC1 Carbine first came to fame in the fighting on Karnak. Although rather diminutive in size, the firearm finally fixed the problem facing Alliance ground troops, that of a myriad of enemies, each with unique strengths and weaknesses. Though highly volatile if not properly maintained, the magnetically cased plasma projectiles were more powerful than anything previously carried by a human warrior. Now a single marine could tackle infantry, robotic fighting machines, and even medium armour without having to resort to heavier weaponry. The HEC-1 weapon system was directly related and provided an upscaled version for use by Mavericks and armoured vehicles.
Equipment of the IAB
Unidentified Derelict, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Spartan looked at what remained of his Interstellar Assault Brigade Company with horror. Had he been on his own he might have wept; it was a terrible sight to see. He knew they'd suffered badly, but had no idea it was quite this bad. He'd boarded the derelict with seventy-two marines, Captain Delatorre plus Five-Seven and handful of Thegns. Normally, the numbers of wounded would greatly outnumber the dead. This was a consequence of the use of better and more flexible body armour. Now he looked on to see just four wounded marines, and each was capable of walking, albeit painfully.
"This is not good," said Khan.
Other than Spartan and Khan, the only heavies remaining were the three lieutenants, and Sergeant Tyler. Spartan looked to Lieutenant Kipling first and then to Lieutenant Anne Lee.
"Where are your NCOs?"
Both remained motionless as they spoke. Lieutenant Anne Lee spoke first.
"In the last hour we've taken heavy casualties. The machines caused many casualties. But the last assault, it was a bloodbath. They cut down the wounded first."
Spartan lifted his hand. He'd already heard more than enough.
"So, this is it, all that we have to end this."
He wanted to sound positive, but the numbers made that difficult. He was down to a single JAS, four Maverick suits and just fifteen IAB Marines. Of the Thegns, only two remained, one of which was Five-Seven. Spartan closed his eyes for a moment.
It's regrouped, can we do this?
Spartan experienced a moment of doubt, and then he remembered that he'd already lost most of those he'd brought with him. If they failed, their lives would have been wasted.
We will stop this creature escaping, if that's the last thing we ever do.
He called out the names of those waiting, never haven forgotten a single one of their names. With each of them responding, he marked their details on his overlay. It took less than a minute, and when finished he knew exactly who had lived, and who had fallen.
It was the tiny number remaining that truly stunned him. A combat unit with those kinds of losses would normally be pulled out of the line and sent back for rebuilding. According to any measure, they had been completely decimated. All of the NCOs other than Tyler were gone, and he was quite frankly stunned that his officers still lived, and could only assume it was down to them all wearing the resilient Maverick armour. He began to wonder if perhaps they should have stayed aboard Euryale, and then remembered what had happened there. They would have all been irradiated at best, and more likely killed in a core detonation.
This was the least bad option, now you have to make it count for something.
"The creature is badly wounded, and it has already pulled back its forces from their assault. There is only one reason for them to do this."
Khan stepped in to continue.
"It knows we're alive, and that we are all heading towards a ship that will autodestruct soon."
"Yes," said Captain Delatorre, "According to my data, the systems have already started their overloading procedure. The heat generated by the systems will be obvious to anybody able to scan the ship. It is irreversible now."
A few of the marines shook their heads, and one began to question his statement. Spartan cut him off.
"It doesn't matter how this happened, or what the enemy might be aware of. All we need to know is that this thing, known as a Guardian is trying to escape."
He twisted at the hip and looked at each of them.
"Will you let it go?"
The chorus was loud and in full agreement. Spartan beamed as he walked in front of the group.
"This Guardian is cutting the airlock supports to a small, inoperative transport ship. This derelict is a collection of ships, each one joined to the next via airlocks, tunnels, and shafts."
He stopped and then pointed off the damaged blast doors.
"Once it has finished, it can blast it away and avoid the worst of the explosion from Euryale. The radiation will do little to affect it, and then it will wait until somebody, someday finds the ship and heads aboard to investigate."
He turned to the officers, each of which towered over the marines.
"You've all seen what it can do with our technology, our communications, and even our ship. If it could reach occupied space, it would wreak havoc. Even worse would be if it could find a way to replicate itself. I am not joking when I say this could be a world killer."
Spartan licked his mouth and then pointed to the welded and patched up blast doors, the same ones he had left a day before. Back then he'd taken less with him; but had the element of surprise. Now every single defensive system would be activated and deployed to protect the Guardian until it could escape.
"I intend on finding this Guardian and reminding it that this is our territory, our sector, and I'll be damned if some machine will take it from us. Now, are you with me?"
At first nobody spoke, then Sergeant Tyler, resplendent in his smashed Maverick armour lifted his arm. The snapped lance was still jammed into the plating, and Spartan dreaded to think what he would find when they opened it up, assuming any of them made it out of the derelict alive.
"I'll stand with you."
Corporal John Evans, the last surviving junior NCO in 3rd Platoon lifted his carbine up high. Blood trickled down from a puncture wound to his flank, yet even after these agonising hours he refused to acknowledge the wound. The Corporal was a tall man and barely able to squeeze inside the tight confines of his damaged M-3B tactical armour. Spartan noticed the triple lines that had cut into the chest plate, no doubt an injury sustained in close combat with one of the machines, and nodded slowly. Before he could speak another joined in.
"Me, too, Major. It's time we told this machine who's boss."
Spartan almost laughed at the bravado, but he could see that every one of them, man, woman and Thegn was equally serious. One by one each of them did the same, and each of the injured marines joined in, showing as much eagerness to end the fight as the rest of them.
"Good," said Spartan, "We will track this thing down, like a bear to its cave. When we find it, it is imperative we stop it from escaping in the transport."
Satisfied they were ready, he lifted his arm and gave the signal they were all waiting for.
"Let's do this. Move out."
Khan and Sergeant Tyler took the lead, and the remaining heavies spread out through the formation. Sergeant Tyler moved more slowly, held back by his shattered leg. Only the powered suit and the myriad of drugs kept him going, at least for the next few hours. The Thegns took the middle position, and due to combat losses, all were carrying XC1 carbines. Khan ripped open the damaged blast door with his armoured limbs and cast the wreckage aside.
"With me."
The journey to the marked location in the derelict took less than thirty minutes, but as they moved closer, it became clear that every single piece of equipment had been pulled back. Last time Spartan and his comrades had travelled through the derelict, there had been machines and weapons at nearly every turn. Now the vessel felt empty, and he began to wonder if they were too late.
Just as the doubt began to feel real, he heard a sound. He lifted his arm into a fist and the column stopped as one. Spartan moved ahead, Khan at his flank. Dust drifted about like a thick smoke screen, and though partially obscuring them, it also made it more difficult to see what was ahead. There was lots of cover, with containers, storage bins, machinery, and at least three wheeled vehicles, all of which had been looted for parts, including most of their wheels. Khan extended his arm and pointed off to the left.
"I see them."
There were at least fifteen machines of different configurations, and all were moving around the airlock seals to the transport. As they watched, a flickered blue shape appeared near them. They were busily trying to disconnect them all from the transport. Two were smashing away at huge clamps holding an airlock in place. It made a grinding sound, and then fell away to leave an open space and a clear view of the grey coloured transport on the other side. Five-Seven approached and lifted his secpad to show Spartan.
"There is a small umbilical shaft that joins the dorsal mount of the transport. It's one level up and leads down into the transport."
Movement caught his eye, and he spotted four of their modified Grunts walking out from one of the airlocks.
"Damn it, they have units inside the transport as well."
It took a moment, but as he looked at the situation, the rudiments of strategy came to him.
"We can't all get inside that way. As soon as you get inside the umbilical, they'll be on you. Those already there will keep you busy, and the rest will come in to help. It will be a massacre."
Khan had been listening.
"Yeah, so we draw them out and buy time for the others."
"Exactly."
Spartan checked the schematics once more and looked to Five-Seven, who seemed to be the resident expert on the design and construction of the Trusskan derelict.
"How long to reach the umbilical?"
"Six minutes," Five-Seven said without having to think.
A loud crashing noise turned their attention what was happening on the deck. Spartan and Khan moved slightly closer, doing their best to eliminate as much noise from the steps taken by their Maverick armour.
"The Guardian," hissed Khan.
Spartan followed his lead and spotted their enemy, the great machine that had brought them all so much calamity. He then checked each of the airlock units and found all but three had now been detached from the transport.
We're running out of time.
Spartan looked back at his unit and signalled for them to deploy. They moved out into the open compartment that ran out onto a massive open structure. As they moved in, Spartan could see the massive windows that were blocked up with dirt and debris. It was much like the landing deck they'd arrived on, yet this one had ten large blast doors running down one side.
"It's definitely a docking level," said one of the marines.
"You are correct. This is where the ship is connected," replied Five-Seven.
He pointed off to the doors in the distance.
"Those are the airlock seals connecting this part of the derelict to the transport. Once they remove the last three, and decouple the umbilical, the transport will be free of the derelict and able to leave."
Spartan had made up his mind now and indicated for the officers to come closer.
"Wait at the umbilical. When you are in position, Khan and I will attack them, along with a single fireteam, all volunteers. When they are fully engaged, you will get inside."
"And then?" Captain Delatorre asked. He had been silent so far.
"We will destroy it. If we fail, we will delay him long enough for you all to blow the airlocks and jettison the transport away from the derelict."
Spartan seemed to relax as the plan coalesced in his mind.
"Captain Delatorre, you will lead the rest to the next floor and reach the umbilical. Use your officers and NCOs; they share a wealth of knowledge. Contact me when you're ready to go in. Understood?"
A few considered arguing, but every single one of them there understood the implications of outstaying their welcome on the derelict.
* * *
Kanjana leaned over the edge of the gantry and around the final bend. She could see one half of the machine and its constantly moving gun mount. It was a horrible grinding sound, and it was obvious to her that the motors and gears were clogged up with dirt or rust. Even so, the weapons fitted to it looked substantial, and she had little doubt it would blast them apart if given the opportunity. It was heavily reinforced with sections of plating, much like the carapace of a beetle.
This one is not going to be easy.
She glanced back and indicated for Richards to approach, and he moved cautiously, doing his best to avoid making too much noise. The ramp up the gantry was damaged in multiple places, and with its railing gone, the drop was nearly ten metres onto cabling and broken storage bins. He took another step and a metal grating gave way. Part of the unit split, and his armoured foot went through up to his knee.
"Damn it!" he yelled.
Kanjana instinctively pulled herself back into the shadows, waiting for the obvious reprisal. The machine guarding the power units to the derelict was out of direct line of sight, but it was only around the corner, and would surely hear what was happening. Richards pulled his leg up, accompanied by the painful screams of metal on metal.
It didn't come for us, why?
Kanjana and Richards waited, each not daring to move a muscle. They were on a gantry, perhaps twenty metres away from the machine. Both expected it to attack; yet nothing happened. Kanjana gave it another ten seconds and then indicated for him to continue towards her position. It took another full minute, but after a tense moment, he reached her, relaxing for just a moment. Kanjana then glanced around the corner so that she could just make out the side of the machine.
Strange.
This one was completely different in shape to the last one and seemed much less mobile. Instead of legs it was a weapon platform, mounted on long rusted away wheels that still managed to provide it with a degree of movement.
"Will it work?" Richards asked.
At the same time he fiddled nervously with the settings on the XC1 carbine. Unlike most weapons used in the other military arms, this one was a first generation model, with a number of major differences. Its power and cooling system made it substantially more complex, and it was a hard system to maintain in the field. He checked the coolant levels for third time and then lowered it to his right.
"It will work, if we stick to the plan," said Kanjana.
Her voice was a subtle whisper.
"It didn't hear you, so either it has poor hearing, or more likely it has different sensors. Perhaps heat sensing or radar, or if advanced enough, it could carry optical scanners and an analysis and identification engine."
Richards shook his head, already confused at what she was saying.
"So if we stay out of its line of sight, we should be safe, right?"
Kanjana shrugged, mimicking the gesture she'd learnt while living in self-imposed exile at Taxxu.
"You will stay here until I send the signal. Then you keep it busy."
She reached forward and took the thermite grenades from his pouches fitted into the flanks of his armour.
"I will destroy the machine, and then we'll get inside. Understood?"
The man swallowed uncomfortably, as though something thick and awkward had stuck in his throat.
"Yeah, I get it."
A gentle beep inside Kanjana's helmet grabbed her attention.
"Kanjana, do you read?"
Spartan.
"Yes, Major, I read you. We're in position and waiting for your command."
"Good. Do it now. We're going in."
"Understood."
* * *
Spartan waited patiently until finally the signal came in to confirm that Captain Delatorre was in position. He'd have expected them to run into trouble, but with time of the essence, the Guardian machine had pulled back all of its assets to defend itself, and to extricate the transport from the rest of the derelict. Four large objects were positioned alongside the airlocks, exactly where they would need to be to push the transport away from the derelict.
Explosive devices to separate us. Nice.
Spartan gave a hand signal, and six of the marines fanned out in front of the heavies. He felt a knot in his chest as the wounded marines moved alongside their comrades, some helping them into position. They were careful, and in thirty seconds they were all on the deck, their weapons ready to go. One began moving, but Spartan gave the signal to halt and wait, and all of them did as ordered. He wanted the maximum effect when the battle began.
"Now!"
Spartan, Khan, Lieutenant Kipling, and Lieutenant Lee all moved out to the front, their massive armoured forms taking up much of the space. The six marines held back and lifted their carbines to wait for targets of opportunity.
"Fire!"
Spartan skidded to a halt and took aim, while the others did the same. They were spaced apart by at least five metres, yet the four of them looked like a group of fighters in some ancient Western. Dust circled about them as they blasted away with all of their weaponry. There were no friendlies in the area, so rules of engagement were ignored. Each blazed away, with little concern what their rounds hit. Gatling gun fire mixed with magnetically cased plasma struck the machines.
"Keep it up," said Spartan
He then indicated with his left arm for the six marines to move.
"Push on the flanks. If it moves, shoot it."
Two of the machines were blasted apart before they even knew the attack had started. Then came the shrill scream, that terrible noise that emitted deep down from inside the Guardian. Spartan felt the sound through the armour, and it made his spine tingle.
That's it. We're coming for you!
Four of the machines stayed back to continue their work on the airlocks, while the rest moved out into a loose line to protect the others. Their own guns opened up, most unleashing harpoons, lances, and hardened slugs. Lieutenant Anne Lee was the first to be hit, taking four lances to the torso. One must have penetrated a weak point because she stumbled over and landed face down in the dust.
"Advance!" Khan ordered.
The three of them moved ahead, one step at a time while firing their weapons. The machine's defensive fire continued to strike them, yet still Spartan refused to let them break ranks, or to take cover.
Just a little further.
Then Khan spotted the pulsing white and blue light around the creature. A machine fell down, and immediately began shaking as blue and while energy licked about it. Patterns along the floor and walls moved around it, and Khan began to growl.
"I am getting bored with this thing!"
Then he spotted the shape, and his tone changed immediately.
"I have eyes on the Guardian."
"Do not fire at it," said Spartan, "Keep hitting the others. Give it time. We need to disable its ability to repair itself."
A lance pierced his leg armour and jammed against the side of his left calf. Then another struck his shoulder and glanced off, only to strike Khan in the flank. He groaned and yanked out the metal spike before blasting the aggressor with his shoulder-mounted weapon.
"Systems failing, weapons out," said Lieutenant Kipling.
His suit staggered, and then he dropped to one knee. Spartan stepped past it and absorbed most of the incoming fire. Khan moved to the other side to do the same. Spartan pointed at the shattered limb of a machine on the ground.
"Take it and follow us."
Lieutenant Kipling grabbed the piece, forced himself to his feet, and ignored all the alarms in his suit. He shook his head in astonishment as he watched the other two marching ahead into the array of gunfire.
Madness!
He took three steps forward and then spotted the marines on the flanks. All of them were firing their carbines from the shoulder. The return fire sent projectiles all around them. Lieutenant Kipling slowed, finding the strength of body and mind to keep moving ahead almost impossible.
* * *
Kanjana swung down from the gantry and landed gently on the platform below, and behind two large air circulation units. Both were massive and covered in a layer of filth from centuries of shifting air around the derelict. Something moved below her, and she immediately froze. The sound stopped, and as she started to move her legs, the squeaking sound of wheel announced the movement of the fighting machine. One wheel appeared, and her body tensed. She activated her communications unit and whispered as quietly as possible,
"Richards, now!"
The machine came closer, and then the gunfire began. For the briefest moment she suspected the machine had found her, but then rounds from the XC1 carbine struck it. It twisted about with surprising speed, opening fire with the arsenal of weapons mounted on its structure. Energy and solid slugs whooshed away and disintegrated the gantry with ease.
Now.
She dropped down behind the machine, only to land a metre from its body. At this distance she could see how it had been fused together from the carcasses of a dozen different sources. Kanjana saw no cables or obvious weak points, and the gunfire from Richards only seemed to be blasting of parts of its outer armour.
Do it quickly.
The thermite charges were an old weapon system, something commonly used by the Marine Corps for demolition work due to its ability to burn through even the toughest of materials. She dropped down low and then pushed ahead, jamming both grenades into the first overlapping plate on the machine. It sensed danger immediately and spun about, striking her with something heavy. Kanjana flew through the air and crashed into the wall with such force her vision blotted out for several seconds.
Run, run you fool.
Her mind told her to move, but her body refused to obey. Slowly her limbs regained control, and her eyesight returned to bring the horror of the machine, just two metres away, and with its weapons pointing directly at her. Its form was dark, covered in dust, and reminded her of the imagery shown to her of the dreaded Biomechs. She carried nothing but her sidearm, and as she reached for the weapon, the thermite charges erupted. There wasn't a huge explosion, just a focussed blast of heat that vaporised the innards of the machine. Fragments of burning war machine flew off in all directions, with a spray hitting her armour.
Kanjana screamed as she lifted herself up, climbed past the ruins of the machine, and through the battered entrance to the power units for the derelict. She looked back for signs of Richards and spotted him struggling among the wreckage of the gantry.
Keep moving. The mission.
She shook his head and moved inside to where the flashing blue energy of some form of massive reactor gurgled away.
"Well, this is the place."
Directly ahead lay something akin to a fountain, a great structure with energy flashing up and down in a continuous pattern. Pipes ran from both sides, and large coolant tanks took up most of the space on the sides of the gigantic compartment. She moved as close as was possible to the reactor unit and placed her carbine against it. Kanjana had already modified the control unit so that it was no longer operative, and then activated the overload.
Now run!
She was out of the compartment and over two hundred metres away when the carbine finally reached critical and exploded with the energy of ten thermite weapons.
* * *
Spartan and Khan blocked the path of a trio of machines, each of them wading in like a pair of iron clad gods. They kicked, punched, and stabbed with neither tiring for a second. Lieutenant Kipling shook his head and tried to regain his composure. The fighting inside the derelict had been hectic before, but this had now turned into a savage melee, one he knew they had no chance of winning. Two marines were cut clean in half by a huge metal scythe, and then the attacker disappeared, only to appear again behind him and strike Khan. He then twisted about and grabbed the thing with both arms.
Get back in the fight.
Lieutenant Kipling hit the backup power unit and sent the small percentage of remaining energy into his systems. He spotted movement and took aim with the coilguns on his right arm.
"Sir, are you okay?"
He looked down and found a single injured marine in front of him. A lance crashed to the ground just a metre away and embedded deeply into the metal floor. Another narrowly missed his head, only to be followed by a pair of six-legged machines. One struck for the marine, but he sidestepped and put three rounds into its torso. The shots were beautifully aimed, and burnt through its core, sending the ruined remains to the ground.
"The Captain has breached the transport. It's working. They are inside and barricading it from there."
The Corporal then turned around and continued to fire, moving from target to target as both sides mixed together into a swirling melee of machines, blades, and guns. Lieutenant Kipling felt a moment of guilt that he inside this titan of a war machine would hesitate, when the wounded Corporal Evans would fight on inside his lightly armoured M-3B suit.
"I'm with you!"
He bent down, grabbed the junk of metal he'd dropped, and lifted it up high above his head. Ahead of him was a single machine, bipedal and roughly the same height as him. It pointed its arms and released something that trailed a streak of grey smoke.
"Incoming!" Corporal Evans yelled.
The unguided rocket rushed past, missed them, and crashed into the nearest bulkhead. Then came a bright blue flash, and the so-called Guardian crashed down in front of him. He didn't hesitate this time and swung the chunk of metal hard at the thing. It struck plating and broke off a section the size of his head. Then the machine spun about and knocked him backwards. He staggered and began to stumble before finally righting himself. At the same time, the Guardian drove forward with one of its hardened spikes heading for his chest.
"Lieutenant, get back!"
Corporal John Evans ran in from the right, firing his XC1 carbine until the power core ran dry. Every round of magnetically cased plasma ripped chunks of armour from the machine, but that wasn't enough. It hissed with something that sounded close to rage and then drove its arm forward, impaling the marine on the savage looking lance.
"No!"
Lieutenant Kipling ran at the Guardian and threw the entire weight of the Maverick armour at it. Each impact sent pulses of blue energy around its body.
"Drive it back!" said a familiar voice.
Lieutenant Kipling struck the machine again and again, managing to rip a piece away to reveal a golden colour underneath. The thing screeched, and one of the damaged war machines stamped past him and crashed into the Guardian. As it hit the side, the blue energy crackled around both as it fused to the outer armour.
"What?"
Then came a massive pulse of energy and every light went out. The Guardian turned a full ninety degrees as though it had sensed some terrible danger.
"This is it," said Spartan, "Kanjana did it. The beast is vulnerable. Now end this!"
He then connected to Kanjana's encrypted channel.
"Kanjana. I don't know here you are, but get to an airlock, fast! Delatorre has your transponder. If he makes it, he'll find you. Good luck..."
An arm appeared from nowhere and caught him completely by surprise. It struck him in the chest with a resounding smash. Lieutenant Kipling tried to maintain his balance just as Spartan appeared at his side, slamming the hammer like fists of the armour into the Guardian. The Major attacked the Guardian with such fervour that it stunned Lieutenant Kipling. Even so, he returned to the fight as even more of the machines rallied around the Guardian.
"Duck!" said Spartan.
The officer did as he was told as a blade circled over his head. Spartan moved past it and grabbed one of the Guardian's arms. Khan was not far away and charged down two bipedal machines, smashing them apart like a charging rhino. All around him were the bodies of the six marines that had bravely marched into battle, each knowing full well they were outmatched in almost every way.
The Guardian took a large step away from the fight, but Spartan held onto one of its arms and held it back. Khan crashed into it, and both did their best to slow it down. A voice called out over the command network, but this time it was open to them all. With so few officers, it was probably just as well.
"Captain Delatorre here. We've secured the transport. The last airlock has been cleared, and the umbilical detached. We're ready to leave. Five-Seven has managed to gain control of the manoeuvring thrusters...we can get clear of the derelict.""
The last three machines moved towards Khan, and he released the Guardian, long enough to blast one and then charge the other. Spartan was now on his own, so Lieutenant Kipling jumped in the machine’s path to try and halt the thing. It lifted one leg and brought a massive foot down on his suit. The Maverick armour groaned under the weight as joints and seals tore apart. Finally, he was knocked down onto his back. Spartan cried out as he threw every remaining ounce of energy at the thing.
"Get out of here...now!"
Spartan slammed his fists into the Guardian once more then turned around to face the transport. He couldn't see the craft, but he did have a perfect view of the airlock entrances that had connected to the vessel. It now looked like a line of sealed blast doors. The last undamaged machine was heading for the airlock as quickly as it could.
"Spartan, we have left one airlock clear. Get here fast!"
The Guardian brought down its spike-riddled arm and struck Spartan to the torso. The impact was so great it rent open a section a metre long. Even with that hit, he refused to let go of the thing.
"No, this is a direct order. Get clear!"
"Spartan, we cannot..."
"Now!"
Spartan cut the channel and took careful aim before unleashing an overcharged blast of plasma at one of the units near the transport’s connections. As soon as it struck, there was a massive blast of bright orange energy. The derelict shook as the airlock was shattered, rendering it useless, also destroying the last remaining machine. With no lighting, the only way to see what was happening was via the few working lamps on their armour and the flashes of energy from their weapons. Spartan turned his HEC-1 cannon to the Guardian, and at point black range, opened fire. This time he kept the trigger pulled, letting the weapon overheat and simply ignored it. The Guardian shuddered, threw both of them off, and shook itself, as though preparing for some final showdown.
Spartan stretched his shoulder muscles and faced off against the machine. His hand out in front as though about to wrestle. Khan's guns were dry, but like Spartan, he prepared to meet the machine he'd always intended to.
"It is time, old friend."
"Hell, yeah!" Khan snarled.
Both of them broke into a run, their shattered armour groaning as they surged towards the undefeated, yet badly damaged Guardian.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The old worlds of humanity would flourish, following the great rebuilding projects after the Biomech War. Earth in particular had been abandoned for so long its surviving citizens had little in common with those of the new world of Terra Nova and beyond. The first ships from Helios and T'Karan were celebrated by the exhausted and famished colonists. In a matter of a few short years the lives of these people would be transformed, as would the fabric of the planets themselves. Never again would the birthplace of humanity be relegated to such an ignominious fate.
Chronicles of Terra
IAS Titan in orbit around Hades, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
The dropship twisted hard to one side and then lined up on its approach to the derelict. Out in front was the dormant vessel, still venting centuries of dust and debris out into space. A large rupture had ripped open a domed habitation section, as well as multiple smaller tears in its hull. The largest of these was the tagged landing zone, and right in the middle of the debris field.
Gun looked at the derelict with amazement. Never before had he seen such a vast artificial object that seemed as dead and dormant as this one. He wore his standard JAS armour, adorned with marks and items that were keepsakes from his many operations. There was even a blade fused to his chest plating, taken from the recent combat on Karnak. He clenched his fists and felt the reassuring feedback of the armour and its joints. There was little better to him than the feeling he received when encased in armour and heading into battle.
Not much longer.
A small counter showed how much time remained before IAS Euryale went critical and blasted everything for hundreds of kilometres. It now read just thirty-five minutes, and both he and everybody that had come with him knew just how little time that was. One single problem or error, and the lot of them could be killed. The tactical network flashed, and the faded image of General Black appeared above his eyes.
"Colonel, we've received orders to abandon the sector. They don't want to risk more when Euryale goes critical," said General Black.
Gun snorted.
"You know what they can do with those orders. They can cram them up..."
"I know, Gun, don't worry. I told them what they could do with the orders, and then some. We don't leave our people behind."
Gun smiled inside his armour, happy that the two of them were in agreement.
He's not bad as a commander, after all.
"Even so, Gun, we have to be quick. Get whomever you can find and then back to the ship. I don't want to lose the lot out here. This derelict has already cost us enough."
"Understood, General, we're on final approach. ETA sixty seconds to the last position of the Major."
A glance over his shoulder showed Olik, Knaprig, and Osk at his flanks. Further inside the dropship were another dozen Jötnar held into place by the heavy clamps. It had been one hell of a rush for the crew, but they had managed to remove most of the smaller tubes inside three dropships to launch Grunts, and made enough space to drop troops up to the size of Maverick armour marines. It was the only way the oversized boarding parties could get anywhere near the derelict in time, and to bring back survivors.
"Good work, Colonel. I've sent in Wictred to bring back the survivors on the transport. He's already aboard and has a head count of less than two-dozen. Captain Delatorre and Lieutenant Armstrong are among those brought out so far."
Gun listened carefully but said nothing. Though he cared about every one of them, there were two in particular he valued over all the others.
"We're also receiving distress signals from two others outside the derelict. I have drones heading for them now. It seems one is Kanjana and the second an injured marine."
Gun nodded as though the General was right next to him.
"There's something else, Gun. We're detecting no signs of life out there."
Gun hissed through his teeth, "I'm not leaving without my brothers. Spartan and Khan are coming back, dead or alive. They will not be left to burn. They would do the same for me."
His voice trailed off as he remembered the worst of the bloody fighting they'd been involved in.
"They already have."
The alarm sounded inside the dropship.
"Twenty seconds, prepare for drop."
Gun sent the signal to the General and then looked back to his comrades once more.
"We hit the ground running. Live rounds, and shoot first, ask questions later. Time is not our friend."
"Ten seconds."
There was no more time for talk, and Gun checked his weapon systems. His guns were active, as were the retractable blades on his arms. He performed one final systems check, and then tensed his body for the landing.
The dropship lifted up while continuing to move ahead on the same course, directly at the breached section on the derelict. Then the engines roared, and Gun could feel the massive shift in speed. They were now hurtling to the derelict at an ever-decreasing velocity, belly first.
"Release!" said the pilot.
Each of the tubes was fired like an ancient galleon firing a broadside. Gun opened his eyes and found he was heading to the breached derelict at nearly fifteen kilometres an hour. All around him were the shapes of the dozen Jötnar, all wearing the crimson coloured armour of the Red Watch. Chunks of small debris blocked his path, and he crashed through them and down a large open loading deck that had been vacated by the transport ship. A dozen airlock blast doors led inside, but he could already see hundreds of small holes punctured in the outer skin.
"She's depressurised. That makes our job easier."
Gun activated his shoulder-mounted gun and took aim.
"Blast your way inside."
The ceiling of the massive loading deck for the transport was covered in transports sections, slightly curved and presumably designed to allow those inside to see out into space. They were now grey with grime. He took aim at the nearest and opened fire. The others did the same and tore open four breaches. One by one they dropped through and crashed to the deck. Gun felt the impact from his feet and up through his spine, but the armour did its job to help cushion the impact.
"Check your corners."
Gun activated his lamps and scanned left and right. His comrades landed around him and readied their weapons. All of them were equipped with powerful lamps that burnt through the dust and debris around them. What surprised him was that there was still gravity inside the ship, even though there was no obvious sign of power. He shrugged and then spotted Olik pointing.
"Colonel, I've got something."
Normally, he would have used his informal name, but with the warriors of the Red Watch there, he made use of the official rank Gun now held. Gun looked through the long shadows and the scattered chunks of machine and saw a glint of gold.
"I see it. Spread out, and look for our people."
The Jötnar stepped away from where they'd landed and approached the shape cautiously. Gun noticed the bodies of marines as he neared it. He stepped over a fallen Maverick suit and snarled upon seeing the armour torn open all down the front, and the shattered body within.
Lieutenant Kipling.
Then Gun stopped and looked at the shape ahead. It was unlike anything he had expected. The thing was massive, bigger than any creature he'd ever seen, yet covered in armour from top to bottom. It was lifeless and had clearly sustained massive damage. There were gunshot wounds all over the thing, and chunks of armour had been ripped from its torso. There was as much of it lying smashed on the ground as there was still attached to it.
Somebody took this thing apart.
"Khan!" Osk cried out.
Gun glanced to his right as Osk and two other Jötnar pulled a smashed JAS suit from the creature. They managed a metre, but something stopped them getting further. Gun focussed his lamp on the thing and spotted Khan's armoured fists clamped around the plating of the enemy machine. Gun looked back at it and saw something else atop it, another armoured form, but this time a Maverick suit.
"Spartan!" he exclaimed joyously.
Gun's excitement was cut short as the massive thing began to shudder.
"Back, get back!" he yelled.
The Jötnar responded instantly and moved back into a crescent formation, facing the thing as it pushed up from the ground and back to its damaged feet. Khan remained attached to its torso via a jagged section of armour plating. Spartan hung down against its back with his arms jammed around its head. Lights activated all around the machine, and it seemed to stagger to life, ready for one final battle. Olik and Knaprig looked to Gun.
"Orders?"
Gun's mouth widened into a smile, "Kill it!"
* * *
Unidentified Derelict, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Spartan was barely conscious, and the cold crept inside his armour through five separate breaches. The internal systems did their best to compensate, but they were fighting a losing battle. His vision was gone and his hearing fading, yet still he refused to release. There was a sound, a radio transmission, or perhaps his failing mind. He opened his eyes, and there was the machine, still under him yet bucking and moving as it struggled to escape. Spartan felt the rage building inside him even though his body was barely capable of functioning.
"Spartan!"
The voice was inside his helmet, a communication of some kind. He tried to concentrate and opened his parched mouth to speak.
"Gun?"
"Yes!"
Spartan twisted his neck and looked to the left. He expected to see the Guardian's arm, but there was a line of Jötnar, and each of them was running towards the machine. It was like an image from a dream, with a dozen crimson warriors, their blades out and their guns blasting. Then he was falling and crashing into the ground.
"On your feet, marine!"
Somebody helped him move, and by the time he could feel his limbs working he was on his feet and amongst them.
"Spartan, help us finish this," said Olik.
Spartan was still stunned, but the suit continued pumping adrenalin and drugs into his system, giving him what he needed for one final push. He took a step and almost collapsed, but the flashing light from the myriad of guns seemed to fire him up. A pair of Jötnar was helping up khan, and then Spartan saw the Guardian.
It really does look like a metal giant.
The painting he'd seen in the derelict showed the thing as a golden giant, a loyal guardian and friend. Now it was a top-heavy fighting machine, with a head and torso that were greatly oversized. With much of the armour lost, the motor drives and pistons were easy to see, as well as the flashing power core at the centre of its body. It swung one of its arms and struck a Jötnar who took the impact in the chest. As the warrior staggered back, Gun stabbed his blades into the machine’s arm and blasted it with his firearms. At his feet was the broken shape of Corporal John Evans; the metal spike still embedded in his body.
The hammer fists on the Maverick armour partially activated, but Spartan didn't care.
"You...you bastard machine!"
Spartan staggered towards it just as a pair of Jötnar disabled one of its legs. The Guardian crashed to the ground, and its left arm detached completely. Even as it tried to get back up, the other Jötnar went to work on it, as if they were demolishing a damaged building.
Spartan reached its upper body and slammed his fists into it, one after the other. All around him the Jötnar did what they did best, and hacked, stabbed, shot, and smashed the thing in a relentless barrage of attacks. In less than twenty seconds it was torn apart, with chunks of metal, gold colour plating, and pieces of motor scattered all around them.
"Finally," said Khan.
Spartan threw down a section he was holding and found Khan holding the head in his arms. It was twice the size of a Jötnar, and a third of it had been broken away, revealing the circuitry inside. Khan dropped it and brought his metal foot down hard, shattering it. He then dropped to one knee, but not before Spartan had reached him and grabbed onto him. Above them the bright lights of a dropship shone through the gaps in the ceiling. They were like large search beams, looking for targets. Gun stomped towards them, with Osk, Knaprig, and Olik at his flanks.
"Hold on, old friend. We're getting out of here."
* * *
IAS Titan, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Spartan sank back into the comfort of the seat on the bridge of the ship and watched the shrinking view of the derelict. At his side was Khan and Gun, both out of their massive suits of JAS armour and in their normal fatigues. Even so, both still managed to carry sections of extra armour about their bodies, giving them the look of a post apocalyptical warband. Khan, though scarred from the battle seemed to barely notice the damage he'd sustained, a quality Spartan wished he could obtain. He looked over to Gun and nodded thankfully.
"Dammed good timing, Gun. Another thirty minutes and we would have been fried. I owe you one."
More figures entered the bridge, Captain Delatorre, with Five-Seven and Kanjana behind him.
"We all owe you one, Colonel," said Captain Delatorre.
The man stopped in front of Gun and saluted smartly.
"I thought we were all dead out there."
He shook his head, still not believing what had happened. Five-Seven helped Kanjana who stumbled and almost lost her balance. The Thegn moved her closer to where Spartan had been sitting. Spartan indicated for Kanjana to take it. She lifted her hand to refuse and Spartan scowled.
"I insist, Major's prerogative."
Another figure moved from further back on the bridge, where he'd been speaking with the deck officers. He moved quickly, stopping before Spartan and Gun.
"I've seen the reports from the Klithi and yourselves. This Guardian, it is a machine of terrible power. The Klithi are, well, they are quite frankly stunned that you were able to survive the encounter, let alone destroy it. "
Spartan shrugged.
"Not all of us, Sir. It took a lot of good people with it."
General Black nodded and exhaled.
"Understood. A messy job, I know. Still, I'm glad some of you made it out of that hellhole. Nonetheless, based on what we achieved, the Klithi are keen to assist and promote the development of the IAB. They have pledged to fully fund us for another ten years, if we are able to provide a rapid response to similar problems in the future.”
He leaned in closer.
“And that means less reliance upon financing from CTC. At this rate we may prove capable of self-funding within six months, and based upon the Alliance budget cuts, this will be key to our operations. As our capabilities increase, so will their desire to use us.”
He moved back to his original position.
“The Alliance is going to need us...I'm going to need you, and soon. Get back and prepare the latest batch of marines. They are due to arrive from jungle training on Hyperion.”
Gun snarled as he listened.
“We are going to need more than new recruits. I want compensation from High Command. We dealt with this situation, with only the Red Watch to show for Alliance assistance.”
He scratched at his nose, and then continued.
“Get us something, General. Get me something.”
He looked at Spartan as he spoke.
“There’s one thing we want, and it will benefit everybody, especially the Alliance. It’s time for the IAB and our operation out here to be enlarged, and I have some ideas on how we can do that."
General Black raised his eyebrows.
“That’s a big ask, Gun. They cannot simply send more resources to us when we want them."
Gun snarled.
“We do what they cannot. If they want an independent unit that can go where they cannot, they will need to listen. We can finance ourselves with stipends from the Alliance, as well as agreement with the others. But we need more than a handful of ships and hundreds of marines. The other races have a lot to offer, so work something out. The Alliance owes us, and the Alliance needs us.”
He licked his mouth again.
“There's something else, as well. The others will never see as us independent if we are in the pockets of CTC. They are pushing harder and harder every day. I want them out of our business. It's time they knew their place.”
He pointed to his chest.
"On'Sarax and her people control the ancient knowledge out here, not CTC. If they push us, they can leave."
He then turned from the General who had the good sense to not push the conversation further. Gun had no doubt the General would fight their corner. He gave Spartan a quick wink.
“Well, then, it looks like we have to prepare for an operation, my friend.”
Something caught his eye, and he twisted about to glance at it.
"Look," said Gun.
Each of them looked to the mainscreen and the two dots marking IAS Euryale and the derelict. Both were obscured by a bright dot that expanded out at incredible speeds. It faded just as fast, leaving nothing in its wake. Gun looked back at them all.
"Well, there goes another successful mission."
Spartan and Khan both looked at him and laughed, but it was a laugh that hid the great loss they knew the unit had suffered, the kind of laugh one used to try and brush off the most awful of events. Spartan turned around to face the General. His eyebrows lifted in a questioning tone.
"Operation? You know the Brigade has been shattered by this action?"
The General's moustache seemed to twitch at the question.
"Indeed."
He then looked to Wictred. He had just arrived on the deck and was exchanging greetings with Khan, by striking each other.
“We’ve got a month to get the new transfers ready and bring the Brigade to full strength. You’ve got Alliance marines back from training on Hyperion, volunteer Helion soldiers, and even a few Khreenk mercenaries. Reckon you can get them into shape in time?”
Spartan was stunned, so the General continued.
“And to pull this one off, we'll need everything the IAB can muster, as well as a little help from our Jötnar friends."
Spartan lifted his right arm and immediately regretted it; the aching sensation sent a spasm through his battered body.
"If you are still in touch with Syala, Arana, and their Black Widows, I could make use of them, too."
Spartan's eyes glinted at the thought.
REGIONAL STAR MAP