Edge of Solace (A Star Too Far) (2 page)

“Sergeant, tell me once you’re onboard,” Archie said. The corridors narrowed as he dodged through an array of piping. Beyond was a wide open area with a heavy bulkhead and airlock. The atmosphere indicator blinked orange. Zero atmosphere on the opposite side.

Archie crept up to the bulkhead and cycled it open. The door closed behind him and he waited as the pressures equalized. The opposite door blinked a bright orange and slid open. He padded slowly into the engineering area and scanned around. The first body appeared. A Naval Engineer was curled up near the edge of the bulkhead. He turned away from the body and continued.

One long hallway, a right turn, and the reactor. He could picture the map in his head as he ran in long strides down the hall.
He held the shotgun across his body, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“Major, the Commander is going in solo,” Sergeant Hakimi said in a rushed voice. The sound of
gunfire and booming explosions echoed over the comm.

“I’m in!” Luis called out.

Archie reached the end of the dark hallway. He sprinted around the turn and collided with a Sa’Ami strider. The gangly drone bounced off the side of the tunnel. Archie rolled and tucked himself against the wall. The strider was barely a meter away when he pulled the trigger.

At such a close range
, the armor plate of the Sa’Ami construct buckled and cracked. The nanites and plasma sheath surged inward, frying the core of the remotely controlled drone.

Archie struggled back to his feet. The strider convulsed once before lying still. He didn’t waste the time to pump in a second shot.

The reactor core was a simple looking chamber. Heavy cords of superconducting nanites routed the immense power flow to the station. The core itself looked like a stainless steel casket. Inside the same forces that shifted ships through space were harnessed to create energy.

Archie propped the shotgun on the command console and saw a second body laid out next to it. The Chief Engineer. He nodded down at the corpse and began the process of overloading the reactor. He remembered the class where they learned how to self-destruct a core. The jokes they all made, it almost seemed surreal at the time. Now he wished he’d have paid more attention.

“Archie! Good god man, they’ve shot all the freighters,” Luis called out over the comms. His voice was tinny and distressed.

“Are you undocked?”

“Yes!”

“Then just wait, they can’t shoot you there. The station is shielding you. Burn on my call.”

Archie pulled two heavy levers that exposed a series of cylinders. He gripped one and slowly levered it out. The rest tugged to the side revealing a set of three pins surrounded by a grid of one hundred holes.

“I’m going
, Archie.”

“Not yet!”
Stupid bastard
.
No, just afraid.

He dropped down to his knees and gripped the first pin. He had to remove each of the pins and place them back into a precise location on the grid. There were no markings, commands, or instructions. Either you knew it or you didn’t.

A mechanical clacking resonated through the hull. The striders were closing. Archie popped the first pin and pushed it slowly in like it was stuck in jelly. It sucked itself in and was seated. He fumbled the second pin with the armored gloves and scooped down to grab it. Perspiration stung the corners of his eyes.

“Almost
, Luis, almost!”

The second pin was buried against the edge of the plating. He squeezed with his fingertips, but he just couldn’t get the damn thing. It was wedged perfectly so that his glove couldn’t fit. He took a breath, exhaled, and disengaged the facemask.

The air escaped from his mask and rushed past. Alarms rang in his ears. He clenched his eyes closed and slowly popped the cuff off his right hand. The vacuum didn’t feel as unusual as he anticipated. He was tempted to suck a breath just in case there was air, but knew better. His fingers gripped the tip of the pin and he stuffed it into his armor near one of the ammo logs. The glove clicked back on and the face shield reappeared.

He counted to three and took a deep breath. Crisp tinny air filled his lungs. The sound of the canister
rushing into the suit was loud in his ears. He opened his eyes a moment later and grabbed the third pin and stuck it into grid. It seated home. He dug his finger into the ammo pouch and sensed something behind him.

Archie had learned long ago to trust whatever nudge that told him something was off. Feel something? Turn with the gun. Don’t just look. The moment was ripe as he slid his hand over to the shotgun
. He spun around and threw himself onto his back.

The Sa’Ami pushed off with unbelievable speed
, quartering toward Archie.

Archie fired. The round impacted the stippled Sa’Ami armor at a steep angle
, ricocheting and blasting into powder. The shotgun cycled a second round into the chamber but before he could fire it was on him.

The Sa’
Ami soldier was strong only like a lifetime of grafts, implants, and enhancements could make a soldier strong. Nanite blood coursed through his veins. He was the opposite of Archie.

The soldier leaped onto him and stripped the weapon away scattering it aside. His other arm tucked below Archie's and turned him over onto his stomach while the mass of his body bore down onto the Marine.

Archie grunted inside his suit and realized that the thing he fought, while it was a man, was more machine. One more pin. All he had to do was set one more pin. He could feel the bulge in the edge of his armor. If he couldn’t beat him in brute force he’d do it like a wrestler: manipulate the force.

The Sa’Ami soldier pushed his chest against Archie's
, driving him further down. The bulk squeezed against his ribs, driving the air out of him.

Archie kicked one leg out to gain momentum while the other drove down
, leveraging the mass on top him. The balance shifted and the Sa’Ami soldier was tipping without any way to regain his balance. As he spun, he felt the arm grip tighter on his chest. His slid his fingers down, while the spin was completing, and peeled the arm away.

The pivot finished. Archie used his legs to spread legs apart. One arm of the Sa’Ami was firmly in his grip while the other arm was franticly pushing and grabbing. He smiled to himself as he could feel the man panick
ed beneath. Just a man, he reminded himself, just a man.

Now how the hell could he get the pin in? He had one arm free but the spin had turned him away from the console. The grid teased him
—just a meter away. The mass of the pin reminded him of how close he was.

Archie tested the strength of the soldier. He slowly slid the arm down as if his strength was breaking. It felt like a massive beast of burden suddenly gaining hold. He quickly pulled the arm back and pulled. The fibers resisted. His free hand pushed against the armored back. The form thrashed beneath him as he strained against the muscles, the enhancements, the technology.

The arm relaxed as Archie pulled it past that certain point, where the transition went from uncomfortable to tendons tearing and ligaments shredding. He peeled it back even further until the armor bound. The soldier beneath him thrashed and bucked. Now was his moment.

“Luis, get ready!”

“I’m moving!”

Archie kicked himself off and focused his eyes onto the grid before him. Eighth hole down and fifth over. He gripped the pin in one hand and braced himself with the other. The pin glided before him right toward the hole.

“Go, Luis!”

The arm gripp
ing Archie’s leg was like a mechanical claw. Pain rocketed up his leg. The hole drifted away from him and the soldier stood above him with his leg in one hand. The other arm hung at an odd angle to the side. The vacant face shield looked down at him as the arm drew him even further away.

Archie thrashed and kicked and fought. The soldier maintained a staunch grip and held the Marine at an awkward angle where he could gain no advantage. He had nothing to work off of now. “Oh god
, Luis.”

“No
.” Luis almost moaned as he said the words.

Archie felt the footsteps and turned to see a second soldier walk into the reactor with a pack of the striders flowing behind him. The new soldier stepped close and leaned over Archie.

The soldier’s fingers closed over the pin and gently tugged it away from his grip. He regarded it a moment and tossed it away. The new soldier was different. He moved slower with a touch more reserve. Not like a man, but like a hunted beast. The armor bore a single red diamond compared to the three green dots on the first soldier.

Archie waited until the soldier with the red diamond leaned closer. He jabbed out to land one more punch. The hand that darted back was swift, fast, almost a blur. He strained. It was like his hand had welded to a steel beam.

The soldier slammed his other hand down onto Archie’s helm and racked it from one side to the other. Stars and shimmering lights danced across his vision as he lost consciousness. The last sound he heard was Luis screaming in his ears.

Lieutenant William Grace sat against the polished marble wall and wished he was somewhere else. He didn’t care if he was back in surgery, or on an assault cruiser, or deep in a nanite binge. The two places he didn’t want to be were on Redmond or inside the inquiry chamber. They told him it would only take a day or two. A week later and he was still answering questions.

Loud voices came through the heavy paneled door. It had been the same every day. The panel debated his information and speculated on the core question: What had really brought the Lawrence down
? It was, unfortunately, not a question he had answers to.

He stretched his arm out and felt the tingle of his cuff on the augmented hand. It was a combination of mechanical, nanite, and biological. A perfect replica of the human hand was still beyond the medical profession, but the
Navy could make an amazing replica. He squeezed his hand into a fist and marveled at every sensation. He never thought augmentation would act so right, but feel so wrong.

The paneled door slammed open. The bulk of it smashed into the marble half a meter away from William. He stiffened and snapped his head towards the door.

“Follow me, boy!” Admiral Dover yelled. He hadn’t turned to acknowledge William. Men and women scattered to the edges of the hallway as the Admiral stomped away.

The Admiral had an upper body built for logging with thin spindly legs better suited for dancing. His nickname, and not undeserved, was the ‘Gruffalo.’

“Stupid sons a bitches. Arguing about that god-dammed piece of shit. We’re going to get our teeth kicked in and they want to send out a mission to figure out how it crashed. Idiots!” The Admiral waved his arms before him. “You’ve got more brains than those shitheads, Lieutenant.” He spun around and nodded at William, “Good! Walk with me, it’s pleasant to see someone with a proper
set of balls
in this joint.”

‘
Set of balls’
echoed down the hallway.

William
wasn’t sure whether to smile, console, or simply follow. He settled on the latter. Nothing much he would say could offer anything to the Admiral. He followed a step behind and marveled at the path cleared by the Admiral.

“Get out!”
the Admiral shouted to a pair of Commanders inside of the elevator.

They got out.

William followed and stood inside of the spartan cube. The uncomfortable feeling grew as the Admiral did nothing but breathe heavily and shift in his too tight uniform.

The Admiral squeezed the bridge of his nose and tapped his foot. Then he began to hum a song to himself.

With a shift in tone, the elevator paused and the door opened onto another level. An enormous space stretched before him. It was filled with consoles, desks, digital tables, and confusion. The tension in the room was electric. A hum of conversation echoed off of every surface. The war was being planned.

“If we can walk through this damned mess without getting caught…” The Admiral
lowered his head down and moved across the room.

William almost jogged to keep pace with the stampeding Admiral. Around him everything seemed to be happening at once. Naval officers stood in groups and peered at consoles or tables. Simulations appeared on screens.

“Shit.”

William stopped just in time to avoid running into the mountain that was the Admiral. He pe
eked around the Admiral’s shoulder.

A Captain stood directly in their path.

“Captain, this will have to wait,” the Admiral said with a hurried tone.

“Admiral, this will just take a moment,” the Captain pleaded. She gestured to the side. The cubicle was surrounded with glass. A Marine stood guard
, oozing passive aggressiveness. Inside stood a group of Marines and Naval Officers.

The Admiral sighed and nodded. “Lieutenant Grace, this will only take me a moment. Go on ahead, there’s a shithole cafe by the elevator.”

“Yes sir.” William walked slowly not relishing a bad meal at a cafe staffed by the lowest bidder.

The atmosphere changed the further he walked away from the glass cube. What was intensely frantic was slowly replaced with the simple tide of a bureaucracy. The wall on the far edge was rough
ly carved and coated in a heavy insulation and epoxy.

He passed by a Marine checkpoint and returned a salute. The smell of old donuts and bad coffee hung in the hallway. The silence felt odd compared to the madness behind.

Must be between breaks.

The cafe was, unfortunately, exactly like he expected. A single glass case filled with bad
pastries and two stainless towers of even worse coffee. He ordered a cream cheese Danish and a cup of coffee. He sat alone with his thoughts and wondered what the day would bring.

Admiral Dover appeared and hollered across the cafe. He never stopped as he continued to walk to the elevator.

William barely had enough time to sprint across the cafe and enter before the doors closed. The Admiral didn’t wait for anybody.

The Admiral’s office was simple. A stone topped desk near one edge with a handful of metal
-edged chairs on the opposite side. Wedged against the back wall was a synthetic couch that seemed too large for the room.

“Sit
.” The Admiral pointed to the couch.

William sat with a rigid back and looked at the Admiral.

“Relax.” The Admiral removed his jacket and tossed it near the wall. His bulk melted a bit as his muscles eased. He reached around and grabbed a black box. “Drink? Of course, who’d turn down a drink from an Admiral, right?”

William smiled and nodded. “Yes sir, I’d love one.”

“You did a damn fine job, Lieutenant.” The Admiral opened the box and poured two tumblers of whiskey.

William
nodded slowly and took the tumbler. He didn’t feel like it was a good job. All those pats on the back and handshakes simply reminded him of the other couple of thousand who died before they even hit the ground. ”Thank you, sir.”

The Admiral sat on the edge of his desk and faced William. His face looked older, worn, tired. He snatched glances at his desk every few seconds. A light blinked and a message scrolled.

“We’ve got two options for you, Grace. The first is a training post: Antarctica, then Titan, survival training.” The Admiral paused. “The second is as the Executive Officer of a frigate.”

“The
frigate, sir.”

The Admiral smiled and snapped back the tumbler. He looked down at the droplets dancing down the glass. “Amazing that it came from Kentucky, rode all the way out to Ceres, and finally it sits here.”

It was standard practice to promote local goods and services as much as possible. Barley grown on Ceres made whiskey just as good, or they said, as that grown on Kentucky. But rank had its privileges.

“Things are changing
—they’ve
been
changed since Farshore. More than even you know. Since then we’ve suffered from decision paranoia. We left an age of instant communications and now we trust men months away to solve big problems. You saw one result.” The Admiral turned and tapped at his desk.

A projection appeared on the gray marble of the back wall. It was a generalized starmap showing all of the several hundred colonized systems. Different colors blurred the edges for known Sa’Ami, Harmony Worlds, K742, and Gracelle space. It looked daunting as it was months upon months from one end to the other. The scale of it was huge.

“We might have a jump on them, if they really are preparing for war. Technically, they had an illegal operation on an unclaimed planet, but if they really do plan on war…” The Admiral turned and pointed to the projection. “They’ll be hitting a few worlds first, you’ll be moving near K space and dropping off an armored platoon. Infantry will follow behind on a dropship.”

“Armor
, sir?” William couldn’t imagine how a platoon of tanks could even fit onto a frigate.

“Simply a designation. Power armor prototypes, drone systems, and a few armored weapon platforms. They’ve got an additive cell so you might see an actual tank.” The Admiral turned and tapped the desk. A series of lines highlighted the route to Canaan.

William nodded. Tanks. Armor. Powered suits. This was going to be an interesting crew.

“But back to my point
: you’ll be two months away from Command. There is the SOP, but you might—no, you
will
—have to improvise.” The Admiral paused and set the empty tumbler onto the table. “Keep the long tail in mind, Lieutenant. This war might be a very long one.”

The silence grew between them. The Admiral swung his glass in a small circle. Ice cubes clinked.

“What do you want, William?” the Admiral asked in a sober tone.

“Sir?”

“Do I have to fucking spell it out?”

William masked his thoughts behind a sip of the whiskey and looked up at the Admiral. “I’d like a command someday
—my own ship. Hadn’t thought beyond that.”

The Admiral finished his whiskey. “Who should rule? Colonists or Earth?”

“Sir?”

The Admiral cocked his head and looked to be growing impatient.

“Both, sir,” William said cautiously. He wanted both sides to be equal. In his eyes, there was no other way.

“Things are changing on the ground
, William. The UC has been tending colonies for a long time. The Terra First people are going to make a stink when operations begin.” The Admiral sighed and set the glass down. “The
Malta,
the ship you’ll transfer to, has a Captain whose father is the leader of the Terra First delegation.”

William knew Terra First. He’d seen the propaganda. They wanted Earth to focus on itself, and maybe the solar system. They insisted that trade would interlink the colonies, and the fleets could sit at the grav points and secure space.

“I’m with you, off the books. On the books, I have no opinion. Now Admiral Mesman is in command of that sector, he’s one helluva a sailor, but he’s strictly by the book.”

William nodded and felt anxious.

The light grew more urgent and blinked almost incessantly. The Admiral admired the empty glass for a moment before tapping at the desk once more. “Lieutenant, I’ve had as much quiet time as the Navy will allow. You’ll have your orders in the morning.”

Both men stood. The Admiral extended his hand and gave William a single crisp handshake. “Thank you
, sir.”

“No
, Lieutenant, thank you.”

William snapped to attention and saluted the Admiral.

“Dismissed.” The Admiral returned his attention to the desk.

William looked back. The Admiral gazed upwards at the vast expanse of space that they’d have to fight over.

*

The sounds of crowds blared down the hallway. Marines,
soldiers, and of course seamen, were slammed together and moving in the same direction.

William walked near the edge of the wall and passed by slender stalls. Only two drugs were widely used in the military and alcohol was not his drug of choice. The other was nanite
-based. He stopped in front of a booth with a chromatic dragon dancing in stenciled font.

Inside sat a gray and white box next to a squat and fairly unattractive women.

“Evening, ma’am.” William stood before the machine.

“Fast, slow, high, or low, steep, but nothing
’s cheap,” she said in a practiced monotone.

“A bit low, but not too slow,” William said.

The woman didn’t reply as she turned to the box. The touchpad flickered under her stubby fingers and the machine began to hum. She returned her gaze to her wrist where icons danced near her ulna bone.

A slender patch slid into a tray on the edge of the machine. William waited.

The woman gave him an annoyed look and nodded towards the tray. He took the patch and walked out. It felt slippery between his fingers.

*

The Tethered Stallion had the distinction of looking almost like every other bar in the wing. Each vaguely familiar and packed with nostalgic memorabilia without having any link to a historical past. They were shells stuffed with fake memories. Like purchasing a pub in Dublin, scooping it up with a crane and depositing it onto the moon.

Screens hung from the ceiling. One displayed a soccer game broadcast from Argentina to a crowd of blue and white clad men. Another showed the newest remake of
Hamlet
, released two years before. Movies were popular among those who were deployed.

William settled in at an open table. He pushed aside a cluster of plastic cups and empty nanite wrappers. The Argentinians broke into cheers behind him.

The backing of the patch slid off and curled up into a cylinder. He applied it just below the collar of his shirt and settled in to watch the soccer game. He wasn’t a soccer fan, but the energy of the table next to him was infectious, carefree.