Star Crusades Nexus: Book 09 - The Black Rift (19 page)

There was no real need for directions, though. Based on the amount of people with secpads and other communication devices, it was clear they knew what had been going on. He even noticed two Bulldogs with local police units dismounting and joining them. There must have been at least a dozen of them, and all were armed with shotguns, rifles, and current issue armor.

Good, that's more like it.

A woman in a long gray coat was with the police and waved to get his attention. As the scores of people pushed inside, the squad of riot police moved closer; the woman in the coat was leading them. They came through the doorway and into the memorial gardens.

"Director," said the woman politely.

"Agent Nuttall."

He hadn't expected to see the agent, especially after the chaotic scenes at the Agency. In fact, she had been one of the volunteers to hold the entrance while the senior agents attempted an escape.

"Sitrep?" he asked in his usual no-nonsense style.

"Guards units are standing down. There’s just the one you showed on your transmission. We have police units and agents surrounding the place, right now."

"Good, very good. I have a platoon of soldiers in the same area."

She nodded.

"Yes, we ran into them. They are preparing for the assault. If it comes to that."

"Come on, then. We don't have much time."

The agent waved him off and beckoned for him to move aside.

"We can do one better than that, Sir."

With a simple hand signal, one of the Bulldogs moved to face the gateway, and with a loud rev of the engine it began to accelerate. In just a few seconds, it crashed headlong into the opening and straight through. Chunks of old masonry ripped off but did little more than dent and scratch the armor. It skidded to a stop, and the side hatch opened up.

"This might be a little quicker."

The journey through the grounds took a fraction of the time it had taken to go the other way. They took both of the agents with them, and Johnson was pleased to find his comrade was still alive, though still stunned from his impact with the wall. They bumped and jostled over the terrain until finally skidding to a halt among three other similar vehicles. Scores of police, agents, and even Colonial soldiers had surrounded the round building. The odd gunshot rang out from the upper floors, but it was mainly quiet. Director Johnson stepped out in time to watch, but one of the police units had already begun a full-breach.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

A young police commander leaned over a large display unit as he coordinated the attack. Director Johnson approached and grabbed the man by the shoulder.

"The President is a desperate man. We have to de-escalate this, and fast!"

The man looked at him and shook his head, simultaneously pushing his arm away.

"It's too late for that, Sir. He'd taken senators hostage and threatened to blow up the entire building if we do not fall back."

"Then what the hell are..."

A bright white flash filled every single windows of the vast domed structure. It was immediately followed by the blasting of the windows, and a great roar as the very ground shook. The explosion was massive, perhaps the largest any of them, including Johnson had ever seen. It began at the lower levels and then spread throughout the large dome. A single squad of riot police was moving to assist the breaching team, and the shockwave sent them all flying through the air. Everybody else threw themselves behind whatever cover they could find.

“Keep your heads down!” Director Johnson called out.

He pulled himself behind the police Bulldog just as the first chunks of dirt and broken rock began to fall about them. The worst part for many was the dust cloud. It began at the base of the dome and then accelerated out to engulf them all. In thirty seconds, the cloud had reached the open plaza and the bullet-ridden sculpture. On the cloud went like some massive ethereal beast that consumed all. The cloud sent soldiers and civilians running for cover. Others tried desperately to avoid the choking powder.

Wait a second! This took some serious planning
, thought Johnson.

He climbed into the back of the Bulldog and to the small driver’s cupola. He slid into position and activated the external feeds. At first, he only saw the dust, but a quick flick of the toggle to the right moved through the observation modes. Infrared was first, and that did little more than turn to a monochrome image of dust. The thermal imaging was something else entirely. The equipment easily saw through the cloud and into the heart of the dome. There were scores of shapes as people staggered about. He suspected some would be wounded, but the majority was trying to get away from the dust.

Wait, what’s that?

Off to the right was an oval heat bloom. It changed shape and then began to rise. He focused in on it and waited as the servo mount altered its position and zoomed in to the target. The thermal imaging gave a fuzzy image, but as it stabilized, he immediately picked out the shape.

“A goddamned passenger liner.”

He jumped out of the seat and immediately struck his head on the top of the vehicle. Luckily for him, the innards of the Bulldog were lined with a thin layer of absorbent, rubber like material. He lifted his hand and rubbed his head. It hurt, but there was no sign of blood.

We need air support and fast.

He looked about but could see nothing. The Bulldog configuration was different to the military specification, and the Agency didn’t make use of armor. He went to the rear of the vehicle and looked at the computer system. A shape emerged at the hatch.

“Director, do you need help?”

It was Agent Nuttall. She climbed in alongside him.

“I’ve been on the conversion course with the riot unit. I know the tech.”

“Good,” he answered calmly.

“I need to get an open distress signal sent out.”

She nodded and pulled herself into the nearest seat. Once in position, a motor drive held her in tight to the side along the computer.

“Who should we contact?”

The screen flashed blue, and a map of the capital with active units appeared. There were police vehicles and squads throughout the city, but it was the metro command right in the heart of the city that he pointed to.

“Metro command, then Naval command, and finally the Marine Corps barracks.”

Agent Nuttall quickly established a communication network with all three of them. Even Director Johnson was impressed with her speed at reaching them all.

“Online, Sir, what do you want to send them?”

He looked up and pointed.

“There’s a liner moving out from here. It’s got to have Harrison on board.”

Agent Nuttall began transmitting, and at the same time opened three tracking windows.

“Each of these is slaved to the external feeds.”

Johnson pointed to the second. It was marked ‘driver’. There was no need to say anything as she quickly took control of the mount and moved it a few degrees until reaching the heat bloom. A green rectangle appeared over the shape, and the computer began a series of comparisons to the police database. It took six seconds to find the exact model.

“It’s an interplanetary liner from Galactic Excursions. The company was grounded last week, and all of its vessels placed under observation by Colonial Guard troops. One craft is missing, GE Adventurer.”

“Yeah, I wonder why that might be.”

“Wait, Sir, there’s something else.”

She adjusted several of the windows aside and went back to the wide area tactical screen. The current distance showed the city, but with a few taps it changed to show the curvature of this part of the planet. Off to the side were icons for the Spacebridge to Prometheus, as well as a myriad of other objects, including orbital defense platforms and freighters.

“Well?”

Agent Nuttall moved two more sliders and then focused on the area around the Spacebridge. A single green rectangle marked the shape of a ship.

“It’s the Meteor.”

358CC was the golden age for private security companies, but before then there were small outfits from one-man bodyguards to entire businesses. Cemgil Kurt was one of those one-man outfits and became something of a legend in the inter-war years. The attempt on the life of Kerberos Ambassador Robert Perkins left him hospitalized for three weeks. Cemgil Kurt had only been hired three days earlier and single handedly protected the Ambassador for thirty-six hours until relieved by Security Personnel of the ATU. When they cleared the building, they found thirteen bodies plus the mortally wounded Cemgil Kurt. The ambassador took two bullets, all to the left leg. Ever since, the deeds of Cemgil have become something of a gunslinger legend.

Private Security Directory

Military Outpost, Rintau, Eos.

The forward position was silent, just as it had been for three days now. The walls were low, and the towers modest in their size. They must have been constructed generations earlier and had the look of ancient monuments or relics. Even the New Helion Army garrison was modest, and numbered just fifteen soldiers. These volunteers protected the perimeter, while in the center a single landing pad with the damaged Mauler still sitting there. Wictred leaned against the Northern tower and breathed in the cool air. He looked around him and at the refinery complex far into the distance and the partially damaged town of Rintau where their outpost was located.

"What are you so happy about?" Captain Carter asked.

Wictred looked out to the hills ringing their position.

"I thought we had something important back there. That Bioray should have been our ticket off this rock."

He sighed and Captain Carter laughed.

"And then we find the fleet has already taken five in the battles of the last month. It happens. In any case, our experience has proven useful. Our numbers are low on Eos, but so are the machines. What we lack in strength, we make up for in experience. Do you know anybody that has more combat time against them than us?"

Wictred shrugged and then pointed to a single heavily modified Marine Bulldog. Large parts of the armor had been removed and a metal mount welded onto the back. On top of the contraption sat one of the turrets from the captured ship.

"At least we got our new guns," laughed Wictred.

A flash far off into the distance caught their attention.

"We've not seen action in weeks. There can only be a few hundred, perhaps a thousand of them left."

The Captain shook his head.

"And you think finding them is going to improve your day?"

He pointed off into the distance where the low hills surrounded their position. The odd puff of smoke marked NHA artillery hitting the remnants of the Biomech forces.

"We have a damaged transport, and we supposedly crashed in this ancient archeological site. It must be the most exposed and poorly protected site on the whole of this rock. Are you sure your plan will work?" Wictred asked.

Captain Carter laughed.

"We've been hunting the last of them for weeks now, and whatever we do they keep slipping away. We need to finish them, and the best way is to act like a hunter. We draw them in with something too irresistible, even for the machines."

Wictred nodded and tried not to laugh.

"True. I just hope the plan works. This outpost is weak, very weak."

Captain Carter pulled off his helmet and wiped his brow.

"True, but if it was any other way, would they risk the last of their forces? We are weak enough to beat, but not too weak to look like bait."

Vadi, the synthetic warrior approached them. On his back he carried one of the looted guns they'd taken from the crashed vessel.

"They come?"

Wictred nodded in reply.

"Yes, very soon."

Captain Carter pulled the ruggedized secpad from his thigh and checked the latest drone scans. The information was current but also lacking in clarity for their immediate area.

"Looks like they shot down the last one. As far as the machines are concerned, we've got no surveillance and no help within a hundred and fifty klicks."

He looked back at the Mauler.

"That's what caught their eye. They must have tracked our so-called emergency landing."

He licked his lips for the third time in the last few minutes.

"It can go one of two ways, and the outcome is dependent on them."

A light rose up high into the sky and then arced back down toward their outpost. It struck just outside the wall and exploded. Another two followed it, and at the same time the black shapes on the hills began to move.

"Yeah, here it comes," said the Captain.

He looked toward the scrawny looking NHA soldiers running out to man the walls. A warning siren wailed, but the response seemed modest, especially compared to the size of the threat.

"Just pray this doesn't become another Dien Bien Phu."

He pulled on his helmet and used the stabilized optical mount to examine the troops moving in on them. He tagged each of them as he turned his head. Finally, he stopped and looked back to Wictred.

"Okay, maybe the plan was a little too optimistic."

"How many?" Wictred asked.

The Captain took in a long breath. Just over twelve..."

Wictred raised an eyebrow.

"...hundred."

Vadi climbed up onto the wall and looked as far as he could see. Without the optics he was forced to rely on his eyes.

"Where?"

Wictred tapped the warrior on the shoulder and indicated for him to climb back down.

"Don't worry, friend. They will be here soon enough."

He then looked to Captain Carter.

"Might be an idea to send out the distress call to command. They had better be ready for this one."

The officer was already speaking into his helmet. He stopped, and the visor flipped open.

"Not quite according to plan. They've jammed the area."

He looked up to sky.

"We'll have line of sight for orbital communications in about thirty minutes."

The first volleys of rockets came down in front of the wall and then the first direct hit. The blast was impressive and blew a hole big enough to drive a Bulldog through. Captain Carter and Wictred looked to each other at the same time.

"Get them ready, Corporal. It's time."

* * *

GE Adventurer, Over Terra Nova

The liner was the newest of the Traveler class and bore a surprising similarity to the supersonic jetliners of the twentieth century. The hull was long and cylindrical, with a pointed nose and eight massive engines fitted above and below the delta wing design. The engines themselves were installed in special banks of four and were capable of sending the craft both into space and through a planet’s atmosphere. The new and highly advanced air-breathing rocket engines were a special hybrid design that could function in a jet or rocket engine, depending on the configuration. It twisted about as it left low orbit and activated its rocket mode to continue on to escape velocity. Streams of flames gushed from the eight engines so that from a distance it looked almost like a comet.

The paint scheme of the liner was absolutely pristine, and it could easily have been a craft fresh from the factory. The exterior had once carried the stripes and insignia of the GE company, but in the last few days there had been major changes. The color had been altered, and the crest of the position of President emblazoned along the flank. There was nothing other than the name Adventurer to mark it out as anything less than an official Alliance vessel.

“We are out of Terra Nova controlled airspace and into orbit. Please leave your magclamps on until we reach our cruising speed,” said the pilot over the vessel’s intercom.

The liner wasn’t the only craft making its way from Terra Nova. A group of four Lightning fighters, each in the color scheme of the Presidential escort unit moved close by. They all matched the liner beautifully in terms of colors and insignia. They had been waiting aboard one of the many orbiting defense platforms placed at different heights around the planet. Each of the fighters was configured for space travel and combat only, and they would lack the fuel or power to continue with the liner on its journey, if it intended on traveling to another planet in the Alpha Centauri System. Instead, they followed as escort, making sure the craft made it safely out of reach of the planet.

“Fighter escort is in formation and watching us out. ETA to the Sol Rift is three hours, seven minutes.”

The mood aboard the small liner was far from a happy one even though they had escaped completely unscathed. Governor Trelleck sat in one of the many large lounge chairs and directly opposite President Harrison. Unlike Trelleck, President Harrison was nervous and checked the large windows for signs of trouble. The Governor, on the other hand, simply paged through something on his secpad as though this was a day like any other. At one point, he stopped and looked up to the ceiling.

“I like your ship, Mr. President. Can I assume the Senate voted for it? It was a very wise move on their part.”

President Harrison tightened his brow and looked back to the man.

“What? What did you say?”

Governor Trelleck smiled, that officious, polite smile that he knew was actually anything but polite.

“I asked about your ship. I understand you have designated this as your official Presidential transport. Did the Senate vote for it? Also, why not change the name?”

The President shook his head.

“What? No, of course not. There is no need for them to vote. It is not necessary.”

The Governor smiled again.

“Why, of course.”

He looked back to his secpad and left the President fuming from within the comfort of his own mobile palace. Unlike military ships, this vessel had been constructed specifically for executive travel and short to medium distance excursions. Comfort and views were much more important than any other concerns. Governor Trelleck looked out of the window as the craft began a slow spiral. The view of the planet shifted to show the stars, the Spacebridge, and even the odd freighter moving through orbit.

“Impressive, very impressive.”

The President turned about and brought his fist down hard on the small oak table. If there had been anything on it, the objects might have moved, but the only thing in sight was the Governor’s secpad, and even that device was resting in his hands, not on the beautifully stained wood.

“Are you all right, Mr. President?” he asked, with a special emphasis on his title, “You seem a little, well, a little agitated?”

The President looked at him as a small globule of fluid dripped from the corner of his mouth. Normally, it would have fallen down, but now it just sat there until he moved his head. The small ball drifted off to the side and vanished inside the spacecraft.

“The traitors. I thought you said Johnson and the others had been dealt with?”

Sitting next to Governor Trelleck was Major Grant, the commander of the President’s security detail, and he looked almost as comfortable as the Earthsec Governor, much to President Harrison’s annoyance.

“We were lied to by several of the ministers within the government, Sir. I told you that a group of the Senators were plotting something.”

President Harrison pointed at him and shook his head.

“Yes, and I had each of them arrested and brought before our military tribunal. The ringleaders paid the price out on the palace lawns, to the cheers of the crowds.”

Major Grant raised an eyebrow to this.

“Well, Sir, they were the men behind the attempt to get your term as Magister Populi removed. There were others, though.”

“Who?”

“Senator Yatsenyuk, Minster for Science and Education. She has been speaking with the Biomechs from Prometheus and Hyperion over the last three months. You recall her attempts to get them to send their own senators to Terra Nova.”

President Harrison shook his head.

“No, I don’t remember. This Senator Yatsenyuk is a traitor to her own blood. None of these Biomechs has any place in our domain. Terra for Terrans, that is what I have always believed.”

Governor Trelleck curled his lip a fraction, forming the barest glimmer of a smile.

“I can assure you, Sir, that on Old Terra, we do not have this problem.”

President Harrison was in no mood to be lectured by the old man, not today.

“Really, Old Terra, the radiated wasteland that was abandoned centuries ago? There is a reason so many fled for the new worlds, Governor. It is a hole not worthy of the effluence I flush down my toilet.”

There were a handful of others inside the craft, most coming from various departments in the government that answered directly to the new office of Magister Populi. Right at the back was a single unit of eight Colonial Guards, still dressed in their full battle attire. There was one strange omission, though, and it had taken this long before even President Harrison noticed.