Edge of Solace (A Star Too Far) (6 page)

He rose up and peeked around the edge of the cobble wall and scanned past the canal. The squad on the left, barely 500 meters away, started moving back towards the objective. But now there was a gap, a nasty gap.

“Spread out the drones, we need to cover that gap.” He drew a line with his eyes on the map. Tiny diamonds fluttered across the tactical display and headed for the central zone.

He saw it just as it happened. The drones began to sweep when the hostiles lit up in the zone. Infantry squads emerged from cover and began to fire on their best defense against the slender striders.

“Craig, keep moving in, Sergeant Hoffman, start moving to my position.” Yamaguchi shifted and watched. The squads moved and adjusted. The drones were disappearing as fast as the enemy infantry.

He leaned around the edge and caught something moving. Something moving in the canal. He blinked and focused. The muddy water parted and eddied as if a fish was swimming beneath the surface. If they were using the canal they could slide in and catch the squad on the back side without drone support.

“They’re swimming in the canal! All drones to the canal, hover!” He licked his lips and watched the remaining icons shift and slide into a straight line. If they weren’t there he lost both his recon and his defenses. “Hoffman, hit the infantry.”

The blocky FN Herstal rifle unlocked from his left arm with a whine of charging capacitors. The camera display on the arm opened another window. He slid the barrel around the wall and scanned into the canal. Movement. Click. Fire.

The recoil pushed his arm back roughly as the charged slug exploded into the muddy water. The line of nanite propelled rounds impacted in geysers of brown and frothy white. He paused. Dimples and foam spread and lapped against the side of the canal. Was it a fish?

The Sa’Ami striders burst out of the water and clawed up the bank. In a flash they tumble
d back down as the drones delivered a punishing wave of projectiles from above. They flailed back into the muddy water and lashed out with searing projectiles that felled the drone cover.

The FN resumed fire while the rear mounted launcher thudded projectiles into the water. He snapped a quick glance and saw the squads coming together. Like an iron claw they were closing on the
trapped striders. Trapped between two walls of mud and a dirty river bottom.

A flash and a roar rocked his display.
The dreaded heaviness returned. Something hit him, something hit him hard. The comms crackled and chaos reined. As before, he was left with an echo and roar in his ears.

He thrashed and pushed and screamed as loudly as he could. The cocoon of alloy and steel held him close. Not a single sound of rage was released. The sweat ran down his face past the fleece mops and into his eyes. This was it. Him, his platoon, his failure, his future. The CO was half a star system away and had entrusted him to hold. They were the tip of the lance.

To hell with the fresh armor suits. He preferred the old style. Heavy, but at least he could move right. These just felt wrong. Out of the labs, into the ships, and now towards a war. This, he thought, better be enough to counter the Sa’Ami striders. What the UC lacked in striders they hoped to counter with powered armor.

The focus returned as the display smoothed out and showed the final objective. Green icons hovered on the red diamond. His men.
Holy shit, they did it.
Maybe the tip of the spear wasn’t as dull as he thought.

“LT, we brought it home!” Sergeant Craig boasted.

Only a few suits survived. Ragged patches of dull red icons were scattered near the canal and in a line all the way to the objective. He didn’t feel so bad now.

“Al
l right. We’re packing it up for now. Everyone stretch out and meet back here in an hour.” Yamaguchi popped the release. Cold air—cold relative to the inside of the suit, gushed in. His entire body was drenched in perspiration. He shivered as he slid himself out.

Men dropped gently from the hovering suits and blinked away the bright light. All were soaked with sweat. In moments
, the smell rolled across the entire area.

Yamaguchi stood and stretched as he nodded with as triumphant a face as he could muster. His hand slid on the stiff armored foot
, hoping they performed better on the ground. The small armor platoon grouped up and went to jeer back at the Marines in the commons.

*

William laid the tablet on the table and looked around the wardroom. The meeting was dragging and it had just begun.

The Bulgarian
Marine, Lieutenant Zhenya Zinkov, was stuttering. Again. “T-t-t-t-” he stopped, took a breath and wrinkled his brow. “The squad will be ready to board, Mr. Grace.” The pace of the words was slow and methodical. If he tried to speed up his speech, as he wanted to, it snarled and choked in his throat.

William liked him. The Bulgarian put his jumbo sized head down and tackled any task he was given. Serious, quiet, like a sentinel of old. Though in a lively conversation he would drive people insane.

“Very good, the Captain should be in any moment.”

Zinkov nodded, as he preferred to do, and sat with his hands flat on the table.

William squirmed a bit on the narrow bench. He looked down and swiped at the tablet. Each page showed a different thing he had submitted and was awaiting approval. He snapped his eyes up. Zinkov was glancing down without lowering his head. William cleared his throat.

Zinkov smiled and leaned back against the bulkhead. “W-w-w-w-what are you working on
, XO?”

“Personnel assignments, some maintenance tasks, and trying to find out who is getting into the entertainment ration.” William frowned at the data leak. Someone was getting into the daily entertainment feed early.

“Eh-eh-eh-early? Why?”

“There’s two hours of sports every day. The data system has the results stored away. Someone is betting
, I think.”

Zinkov nodded. “Find the winner.”

William noticed the lack of a stutter. The man had a point. “The money?”

“N-n-n-no. The winner, it might not be money.”

William nodded slowly. Maybe the Bulgarian was on to something. “Thanks Zinkov.”

The Bulgarian smiled widely. His teeth showed in a grill of white and straight lines.

The door slid open silently and Captain Khan entered, Midshipman Lebeau following behind him.

William pictured Tik whenever he saw Lebeau. The woman had not a speck of hair on her skull, but her eyebrows were so blond as to be almost white. “Captain, Ms. Lebeau.”

“Let’s make it quick Mr. Grace. We blink into the Cerberus system within the next hour.” Captain Khan sat and smoothed the front of her uniform. Her eyes were hard and professional. She gave Zinkov a slight nod.

“Very well. For the fuel transfer we’ll run the second shift Engineering crew with Mr. Zinkov securing the launch area. Battle stations I assume
, ma’am?” William asked as he glanced down at the tablet.

“Please Mr. Grace. I’d like all watches to step it up. I’m to be alerted anytime anything is out of the ordinary and before every blink or maneuver.” Khan said. She looked over to Lebeau. “Midshipman, you’ll have the off watches that myself or Mr. Grace aren’t covering. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lebeau said in a husky voice.

William glanced over towards Lebeau. She stared down at the tablet silently. He glanced at Zinkov. The
Marine sat at attention. “Mr. Zinkov, have you anything to add?”

“N-n-n-n-” Zinkov stopped and closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell silently. “No
, sir.”

The meeting broke and the command group walked out in silence. William followed behind Lebeau and missed the days of being a Midshipman. He had hoped to get a chance to speak with Khan about his submissions but decided to wait until after the blink.

The
Malta
secured all stations, primed for combat, and made the next blink.

He stood on the bridge in silence. The Captain stood with her hands behind her back and watched as the screen came alive. Contacts blinked in as transponders were noted and matched. Heavy mining. Asteroids. Zero-G Refineries. And not so much as a planet worth inhabiting. The three planets near the center of the system matched Venus and Mars with nothing in that delicate sweet zone except a trail of rocky debris.

The slender trace of the blinks brought them to a few AUs of the star before they would branch out. The fueling station was on the outlet. Another day of burning through the system and they would top off for a few years in space.

“Mr. Grace, find the Chief and double check the weapons systems. The Persephone is on patrol in system, but I want to have a few claws of our own.” Captain Khan turned her gaze back to the ellipses and arcs that spread out on the map.

William walked out to find the Chief and take a tour.

The
Malta
slid through the void and plunged in ever shortening blinks. As the gravity well steepened, the distance shrunk until it was more effective to burn under conventional drive. The ship cut an arc across the gravity well just outside the orbit of the third planet. The dusty gray ball was like a weather beaten toy.

The destination was a small transfer station on the outbound vector. The station contained supplies that any respectable asteroid harvester or transiting starship could use. Ice. Fuel. Spare Parts. Datacores of entertainment. Drugs and alcohol. The station had a contract to supply Naval vessels but no garrison force.

“Mr. Grace, hail the station, see which berth is open.” Captain Khan shifted in her chair.

William leaned forward towards the console and keyed himself into the station comm channel. A dull static hissed back with an automated message. A high pitched voice stated services, inventory, and a satisfaction guarantee. It paused and continued in Japanese.

“Transfer station, this is the UC ship
Malta
.” He listened and heard the same reply. “
Cerberus Dythco,
this is the
Malta
, we’d like docking instructions.”

“
Dythco
is proud to offer fuel pellets for Brooks, Siemens, GE, Hyundai, and Zyminski drives. We also have a full inventory of foodstuffs! Ask us about our fresh grown mushrooms! Yum!”

“Ma’am, nothing but an automated response.” William turned the volume down and set his query to repeat every thirty seconds.

“Mr. Zinkov,” Captain Khan called out. She didn’t wait for him to reply. “Your Marines are a go. We’ll be waiting for you to clear.”

“Yes
, ma’am,” Sergeant Goldstein, the UC Marine Platoon Sergeant, replied.

The
Malta
powered in slowly nudging itself ever closer to the form of the
Dythco
transfer station. Lights winked in a bright line on the upper edge of the station. A docking ring glowed blue as the
Malta
edged into range.

“Anything
, Mr. Grace?”

“No
, ma’am, nothing.”

“Engineering, prep to burn.” Captain Khan leaned forward in her chair.

The helmet cameras of the Marines expanded on the main view. All that could be seen was the back of helmets and the airlock door.

“Zinkov, in thirty seconds the rings will lock. You’re going in.”

William slid his hands on the console. The docking routine counted down until a green light blinked. “We’re docked, ma’am.”

“Mr. Zinkov, you’re a go.”

The Marines locked onto the hatch and popped it with a gentle hiss. The airlock was large, cargo sized, and well lit. They tossed a box into the center and retreated backwards. The airlock hissed and closed, leaving the box inside.

“I want those feeds
, Mr. Grace,” Captain Khan said.

“On the left.” William pointed to an unused screen.

The drone feed flickered into view. The small constructs darted to the edge of the airlock door and waited for the pressure to equalize. The screen bounced slightly from the left to right.

“Can you fix the feed?”

“No, ma’am, the drone is getting ready to move inside.”

The airlock irised open. A wide open cargo area expanded beyond. Deep bays disappeared into darkness. Large cases, crates, and containers were arrayed throughout the hold.

In a sudden flurry of activity the drones swarmed inwards and broke into multiple vectors. The heads panned, caught the other drones, and coordinated the movement inside. A few seconds later the drones were all on their own.

“What I’d do for a strider,” Petty Officer Gereau mumbled.

Captain Khan slid an eye towards Gereau and didn’t say a word.

The drones picked through the menagerie of goods before assuming positions throughout the hold. They clung like metallic spiders and watched.

The Marines surged into the hold with weapons raised. The motion was smooth and seamless as they sidestepped around corners. Each squad was supported by a bolo tosser in case of a close quarters strider encounter.

The bolo was two dense weights with a meter long cord between them. The cord had a tensile strength close to the ribbon of a space elevator. The launcher was a simple design, akin to a crossbow of old without the horizontal limbs. It was a weapon that had sat on the files for a long time, and only recently been pulled out when the Sa’Ami became a threat.

The Marines swept the entire hold. They, too, found nothing.

“Hold is clear, we’ve got a sealed bulkhead, needs command auth,” Sergeant Goldstein clicked over.

“Mr. Grace, suit up, head over, and assist the Marines,” Captain Khan said.

William sprinted off the bridge and met up with the support team. He grabbed a suit of spare armor and strapped it on while he walked. The armor was bulky, designed for assault and not mobility. He declined a sidearm and tailed the team in.

The hold smelled of burnt cheese with a tang of meat gone ripe. The containers were all standard sizes marked with a collection of barcodes recognized nearly anywhere. They lacked designations readable by the human eye. It might be filled with medical equipment or socks.

Lieutenant Zinkov stood squarely in front of the panel and poked at it with his gloved hand. His nose was wrinkled and
his cheek twitched. The helmet cradled under his arm popped out and skidded on the floor when he saw William. “M-m-m-”

“Lieutenant, allow me.” William slid in front of the
Marine and checked the screen. It was sealed, it displayed a message about a corporate relocation of personnel due to dangerous circumstances. He keyed in his authorization code and watched as the lights turned green. The door clunked open.

Inside the hallway
, pale LED lights blinked on. The passage was bathed in a white light that was almost too intense. William stood aside and waved his arm towards the opening. “After you, Mr. Zinkov.”

Inside was more of the same. A station evacuated and secured. It felt hollow, like a giant abandoned warehouse.

“Bridge, this is Grace. Everything is shutdown. Station is clear.” William walked back into the center of the hold and peered around. “Could someone bring a code reader? Nothing here is marked.”

The
Marines arrayed throughout the hold and the living quarters in a defensive position until everything was offloaded. William met an engineering team heading to the fuel pellets. The team began to scan and he began to wander.

Against the back wall was a set of containers that didn’t match the rest. They lacked markings or barcodes. A heavy clasp was patterned against each of the doors. William ran his fingers over the alloy and steel covers. It was rough, flaky, old. Directly behind was a cargo bulkhead that led to where goods were received.

He reached forward and slid the clasp aside and felt it shudder under his hands. It was linked on both the inside of the container and outside. “Hey, LT,” was all William got out before the door blasted him aside. His body slammed away into a crumbled heap. He slid to a stop next to a massive orange container.

The long, gangly form of a Sa’Ami strider burst out. It perched on the outside of the container. Its wide head scanned across the hold. It pounced out and clattered into the containers.

The Marines rallied in a split moment. Teams surged forward. One pocket was covered while another group sprinted towards the mechanical construct. Zinkov’s voice was clear and strong with just a hint of a Bulgarian accent. The stuttering was, curiously, gone.

“Greely! Get up with the bolo, cover the flank. Schmitt, bring your squad to the back. Captain Khan, seal the ship and pull away.” The heavily armored
Marine ran and squatted next to William. “Hu, bring the med pack!” He ripped open the nanite case strapped to his side and applied it to Williams face.

Then the hunt began.

Squads spread out and swept through the tight passages between the containers. PFC Greely stood near the center with the bolo launcher at ready. His eyes held position over the tops of the containers.

The drones detached and climbed, crawled, and scooted inwards. “There it is! Back bulkhead, it’s up tight!”

The strider, a gangly mechanical construct of violence and grace, crouched against the back bulkhead making itself as small as it could. A tiny drone stared down at the creature without making a sound.

The
Marines moved forward silently and spread out on either side of the position.

“Schmitt, Lewis, don’t fire, just push him out,” Zinkov called over the comms. The
Marines moved closer. Tighter.

It leaped and skidded past the incoming
Marines and made a dash for the center. Both teams sprinted after with weapons raised. It was eerily silent as only the clatter of armored feet sounded after the hissing screech of the strider.

The strider erupted over the top of a container and was framed, for a moment, like a long limbed man leaping off of a building. Both arms extended wide with the legs trailing behind for balance.

The bolo fired with a clunk. The weights on either end of the cord sprang outward keeping the cord taut while the whole thing spun. It became a blur of dark and silver. It clashed against the upper body of the strider. The weights spun and smashed while drawing the arms in tight.

The strider landed in a heap on its chest and clawed with its legs. It spun and hissed and slammed about like an animal caught in a trap.

“Got it, LT!” Greely called out as he loaded another cartridge.

It lay against the floor and relaxed. A gentle stream of blue smoke popped out from the armored seams in the chest. The smoke rose and drifted into the vents.

“It uh, it smoked itself, sir.”

The strider had, knowing itself caught, deleted all memory banks. What was once a digital apex predator was now a restrained piece of slag.

“Sweep those containers!” Zinkov ordered as the Marines surged forward.

The squads grouped and sent the drones into the first container. Inside was a cradle of a strider and an empty couch. A pair of carbon leads ran to a control box.

“The strider was in drone mode, there’s an empty couch and an old set of leads,” Zinkov said. “We’re checking the second container now.”

The
Marines took up position around the second container. The sides were streaked with corrosion and vacuum pitting. Greely stood with the bolo launcher at ready. Zinkov gave the signal and the latch was thrown. The door creaked open slowly. The angle of the light showed nothing but darkness.

“Light sticks!” Zinkov ordered.

Avi tucked next to the door on the outside of the container and swung a pair of ultrabright yellow LED lights into the interior.

“Clear!” Greely called out.

The container was empty. Dead conduit ran the length of the container all the way to the forward bulkhead.

“We’re clear
, Captain,” Zinkov called back to the
Malta
. “Schmitt, take your squad and secure the entrance.”

“How’s it look
, Mr. Zinkov?” Captain Khan asked over the comms.

“One man down
, ma’am, Lieutenant Grace. Hostile was neutralized.”

“Very well. We’re coming in.”

William blinked his eyes open and pulled a corner of the patch away from his right eye. His chest felt like a giant weight was strapped to it. He was reminded of awakening on Redmond after the crash. Except it wasn’t cold.

“Ooof!” he called out as he tried to sit up.

“Woah there, LT.”

Above him crouched a Naval corpsman. The medic squatted with a medical bag on one hip and a Colt on the other. The mans face was black as midnight ink.

“You got it, Doc.”

The
Malta
eased in and docked back up. Engineering crews swarmed in and scanned for the required fuel rods. William was hauled back across bearing some wicked bruising, but nothing permanent. In under an hour the
Malta
was underway once more.

William lay on his bed wearing an oversized nanite patch. The throbbing came in waves. The first rise would catch him off guard, a few heartbeats later it would subside. The medic told him it was cartilage bruising, maybe some interior bruising, but nothing serious. To him it felt like a wave of fire burning in his chest.

A knock came on the door.

“C’mon in,” William wheezed.

Captain Khan entered with a high nose and scanning eyes. It was obvious by her body language that she expected to find something unclean or wrong. She sat on the seat near the door with a rigid back. “How do you feel, Mr. Grace?”

“I’ve felt worse
, ma’am. I’ll be up for my shift later.”

“Hmm, no. You got this one off.”

“Very well, thank you.” William laid back and relaxed slightly. The tension was there, no warmth, no camaraderie. He knew she was only visiting because it was expected.