Star Crusades Nexus: Book 03 - Heroes of Helios (9 page)

Khan smiled, recalling Spartan’s description of the dialogue and the bloody fight that had nearly destroyed one of the machines.

“They want you to persuade the Helions and the T’Kari that the machines don’t need the Black Rift because they are already able to access the Helion system.”

“Exactly. They will send every ship they have left, including probably this one. They will strike Helios as a diversion to weaken the defenses around the Black rift. Then they will strike and secure the Rift. Once they control it, they can take their time before returning to finish what they started.”

Khan looked confused.

“So what though? How does that help us?”

Spartan smiled.

“I think they’re scared. The machines, you know, these leadership soldiers like the red one. I think they are the real power, and they want to get home. Think about it. They’ve been trapped out here for centuries. No matter how well they succeed, their numbers are always falling. Their race is ancient and decaying.”

Khan shook his head. He clearly disagreed.

“How do you know that?”

“When they interrogate us, when they reach into their minds, I can get glimpses of their own. I’ve seen their world. It is a shell. Stripped of resources and inhabited by an aged race of these things. Do you know what I think?”

Khan roared with laughter and shook uncontrollably for a while.

“Know what you think? I doubt even you know that!”

Spartan could see his point. The torture had certainly done its work both physically and mentally. He knew they had extracted information from him on Alliance tactics, equipment, and ship disposition. Even so, he’d fought them hard and long, and he lied and fed disinformation as often as he could. The images they’d shown him either deliberately or by accident were now merging with his own memories to a degree that made it almost impossible for him to tell one from the other. He leaned in close as though he expected somebody to be eavesdropping.

“Khan, I say we make a deal. It won’t be easy, and I’ll need to let them twist the knife in a bit deeper before I break.”

Khan looked confused and glanced at the door before looking back.

“You’ll give them Helios?”

Spartan clenched his fist and then rammed his hand, striking at Khan. The Jötnar might have been tired, but his strength and reactions were not in doubt. He stopped the fist with an open hand and gripped his fingers around Spartan’s fist.

“What do you think?”

Khan nodded with barely concealed joy.

“Now, they come each day. Make sure you’re ready. We’ll make them pay, Khan. They’ll pay for every day they’ve spent torturing us.”

They think they’ll get Helios. Instead, I’ll leave their own world in ruin!

* * *

The large screen glowed with a hint of light blue that filled the dark chamber. Inside stood three of the Biomech machines and a single human. Unlike the Biomechs that had fought in the Great Uprising, these were more machine than creature. Their exteriors were completely artificial and protected like the shell of a beetle. Overlapping plates of plastic and rare metals gave thick-layered protection to the vulnerable parts inside. Each was different, but all three were bipedal, strong, and big. The man stood with his long flowing robes gathered about his body and an Echidna brooch on his chest, a design that embodied a perfect merger of man, alien, and machine. The actual shape was made in the image of a mechanical serpent merged with the torso of a woman and made from a single piece of gleaming silver metal. On the display was a ceiling mounted feed of the prison chamber where Spartan and Khan were speaking.

“Typhon, this will work?” asked the machine.

The man nodded so slowly it was barely noticeable before he turned to look at the nearest of the machines. He was old, yet his body moved with the agility of a man a quarter his age. His eyes glowed with thoughts flashing behind them.

“Yes, a few more weeks of punishment and you will have your weapon. A man with so much rage that he will stop at nothing to destroy you.”

“I grow tired of your clones, Typhon. We have invested in your talents for fifty years now. This is your final chance. Give us what we want or...”

The man looked back at the machine. His face showed no signs of fear or contempt.

“Kill me if you wish,” he interrupted.

The machine raised its arm slightly and then stopped as if a signal had just been transmitted directly to its servomotors.

“It will not open the Black Rift for you. The only chance for opening it was wasted when you rushed your ship with the captured T’Kari tech to try and open it. You must plan carefully for an operation like this, as I have explained to you already.”

He looked back at the screen and the image of Spartan.

“It took decades to split the Confederacy, and yet this man managed to foil my plan. It will not matter though. As he rises, so does his ability to cause the most damage.”

He pointed at Spartan.

“That man is the greatest risk to all of their races since your last war. His rage and his terrible anger will bring him to the Rift.”

He then turned and looked at the red machine.

“The question is, are you and your survivors out here in the wilderness prepared for the final stage?”

The machine didn’t flinch, although Typhon wondered if that was even a possibility with a machine.

“We lost one of our brothers, and the valuable captured technology from the T’Kari slaves trying to open the Rift. We will sacrifice whatever we have to for victory. So long one of us remains, it will be a victory.”

Typhon looked unimpressed at the words. The machines were massive compared to his frail looking body, but he sensed an arrogance about them that bordered on recklessness. He had no memories other than of the most recent years, no doubt part of the cloning process. He’d given up asking which version he was or even what he had done in the past. His only real question was why they valued him as an advisor over any of the other prisoners he’d seen from so many worlds and races?

“You do your part. We will do ours. Spartan will have his victory, but the price will be to unleash hell upon all their worlds.”

The display changed to a video feed of a planet. It spun slowly, and a red haze ran off into the peripheries. The machine extended its right arm and pointed to the world with its sharpened claws.

“My brothers and I out in the wilderness are ready. We have been ready for a long time. When the signal is given, we will return to Helios and make our sacrifice. That will be the signal for the rise of Spartan...”

He turned his metal head to the cloned man.

“...and the scouring of every planet they call home. Our brothers have been waiting, and their vengeance will be terrible. The planets of the enemy will burn, and we will have our revenge.”

Typhon looked at the machine. It had no face save for the metal helm, but he was sure he could see the anger and bitterness within. The glowing eyes were artificial, like every part of the machine’s exterior. He moved his eyes just a small amount so that he could examine the other two. All were focused on the screen and the talk between the prisoners.

Then what will happen to me?

* * *

Jack stood to attention deep inside the throng of marines. Every one of them remained completely silent in the training hall, waiting as they had been for almost fifteen minutes. Jack’s leg still ached from the combat aboard the hijacked freighter. He was tempted to reach down to scratch at his leg, but he knew the penalty and had been in enough trouble already. He tried to take his attention off the waiting, instead moving his eyes just a fraction to take in the detail and grandeur of the almost brand new ship. It was Jack’s first time on board, and he was still amazed his newly activated unit had been placed aboard.

ANS Conqueror was the first of her class and one of only four similar ships currently in the Alliance arsenal. All four had been assembled simultaneously at eight different locations. Jack recalled the stories he’d seen in the news about sections of the vessels being manufactured and then sent to a number of shipyards to be combined with other components. He could still smell the fresh coats of paint, and the distant sound of workmen and engineers was audible even that far inside the ship. The interior was much bigger than a standard Crusader class, but the design was roughly the same in terms of basic layout. At almost forty percent larger, the class had almost as much firepower but with the ability to carry an entire battalion when configured for troop transport. This particular model was set up for fleet command and carried the standard complement of four companies of marines plus an entire air wing.

A noise from one of the entry bays caught Jack’s attention. He thought for a second it might be the officers, but then he spotted four men carrying a generator between them. They moved off to the side and then vanished into one of the many passageways in the ship.

Come on, this is ridiculous,
he thought angrily.

In his position in the second rank of his unit, he had now almost reached his boredom threshold. Wictred and Hunn were nearby, but anytime his eyes shifted, he could see the figure of Sergeant Stone watching him. The veteran marine wore his sling and bandages like badges of honor and ignored them as he moved back and forth in front of the entire company of marines. Jack turned his attention back to the ship and tried to remain positive.

Nice ship,
he thought. It was the best he could manage.

The acrid smell of the paint seemed to burn through his skull and, he was starting to feel dazed from a mixture of the heat, boredom, and the waiting. Finally, the sound of boots announced the entry of somebody. He couldn’t quite see from where he stood, but at least it was a change from the monotony of trying to avoid the gaze of Sergeant Stone. Thai Qiu-Li stood in front of him, and for a second his attention lingered on her more than he intended. The oriental lady had trained alongside him, but so far he’d not actually seen her in combat.

“Marines!” boomed a loud voice through the ship.

Jack instantly recognized the sound as the voice of Lieutenant Colonel Diego Koerner. The man was only in his forties, and rumor had it he had fought against the rebels as a young officer in the Great Uprising. It was no great shock, of course. Many had fought on both sides, and some didn’t even realize they were fighting for the Echidna Union, and those that sought to manipulate them. Many records had been lost from that event, and Jack had no doubt such a topic would be best kept to himself.

“This unit has been blooded over the last three months, with detachments involved in everything from anti-pirate operations to the successful capture of hijacked vessels.”

He walked along the line of marines with his hand firmly behind his back. He kept moving until reaching the middle and then stopped. Jack now had a perfect view of the man.

I wonder if some twenty-two years or so ago he saw my father.

There was a chance the two could have met in the middle of the bloodbath on Terra Nova or one of another dozen worlds. The man looked tough, though hardly different to any marine of his age.

“In the last twenty hours, this Strike Group has been on the move. Some of you may have guessed, but I will confirm it right now. In less than seven hours, this fleet will move through the T’Karan-Helios Rift and into Helion space. We are joining a fleet that will include representatives from all six powers. The fleet will take part in a joint exercise to determine if the Alliance military is ready to assist in keeping the borders secure.”

There was no sound from the marines, as was to be expected. He looked out at them and nodded slowly.

“I cannot overestimate how important this operation will be. They will be watching us for efficiency, discipline, and tactics. We will be watching them for their capabilities under stress conditions.”

There was still no sound to be heard throughout the ship.

“Our unit is part of the first Heavy Strike Group to ever be posted outside of Alliance territory. Your platoon commanders will explain the details, but rest assured, you will be pushed and tested to the limits of your endurance. Do us proud!”

The commander turned and walked out of the hall, leaving his junior officers and NCOs to continue. With a curt signal from their unit captains, the marines were finally able to stand at ease. Jack watched as the commander of his own platoon, Lieutenant Kathra Rossen stepped in front of the unit. She was one of the new generation of young officers, ones with little experience and a lot to prove. At least, that was what Jack had heard the others saying in the mess. She was a willowy woman of average height, with short blonde hair and sky blue eyes. Her pleasant looks were completely eliminated by her permanently dour expression, as if she had just swallowed a bug and was trying to swallow it. The other officers started speaking to their marines, but Lieutenant Rossen’s voice quickly drowned them out.