Star Crusades Nexus: Book 09 - The Black Rift (7 page)

“Fit the breacher.”

Two soldiers moved past in silence and positioned the breacher unit onto the outside of the station. The spot they chose was along the right-hand side of the outer door’s release mechanism. The hatch itself was only a two-meter wide oval, but the Lieutenant had selected it specifically due to its proximity to the command center of the station.

“Sir, we’ve got company.”

He looked over his shoulder and spotted the Alliance fighters. Some were pointing at the shuttles, the others directly at his soldiers.

They won’t shoot. They don’t have the guts to start this.

The nearest technician looked back and gave him the okay signal.

“Do it.”

The breacher charge vanished in a puff of gas, and the outer hatch spun off the outside of the station. There was no sound and surprisingly little in the way of emissions from the inside.

“Go, go, go!”

Lieutenant Dobbs yanked on the grab handle and spun himself around so that he slid inside the section feet first. He moved on past the breached entrance and hit metal. He shook his head and immediately went for his weapon. The L52 carbine was identical to the weapons carried by the Marine Corps, with little to differentiate them apart from a few subtle shades of color and a simplified skeleton stock. It was simply known as the Terra Pattern Coilgun in the Guards unit.

The other squads confirmed their success as they breached a series of outer doors. So far none had commented on traps or defenders.

Will they let this station fall, without even a struggle?

He felt almost offended that military personnel would give up so easily. He looked ahead and at the next set of doors. Additional welded plates protected the hatch to stop it blowing out into space. He’d expected this and merely indicated for the technicians to move forward. Again the two went around the hatch, but this time they fitted a piece of equipment over the control unit to the side.

“Thirty seconds to breach, Sir,” said the senior of the two.

Both moved back and out of the way to await access. The rest of the unit now came in closer and lifted their weapons to their shoulders. In their black armor they looked sinister and threatening, exactly the intention behind the design.

“Seal behind us. Let’s keep this a clean operation. We need the station operational and the crew alive.”

One of the soldiers placed a frame around the breach entrance and hit a button. A thin layer of material expanded out and then hardened into a temporary wall. Thin ribs bulged out to make the thing look like a section of a flying reptile’s wing.

“Ten seconds.”

Lieutenant Dobbs looked back to the entrance and lifted his carbine. The sights communicated directly with his PDS armor, but so far there were no tagged targets.

“Five.”

He took three quick, short breaths and then moved his finger to the trigger. The weapon was already on rapid-fire mode, but each of them had also twisted their barrels to activate the subsonic stealth mode. This wasn’t because he wanted to eliminate the sound; it was simply to reduce the recoil inside the station, in case there was a loss of gravity.

“Now.”

The door slid open as the computer system was overridden. Lieutenant Dobbs grabbed the sides and stepped through. He didn’t stop and moved into the large computer suites that housed upward of fifty stations. The slightly curved ceiling was high, at least twenty meters above his head and also filled with screens of data. He noticed a few showing their ships outside.

“Spread out, watch for hostiles.”

The rest of his team followed in close behind and then spread out into a crescent. Even as they moved, he could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. He’d expected to find the placed filled with people, but it was deserted.

“Put down your weapons!” came a voice from ahead.

A shape moved perhaps twenty or twenty-five meters directly in front of him. As soon as one of his men spotted the shape, it was tagged and the data sent to the rest of the team. More and more shapes appeared from behind the final row of computer stations until he counted twelve of them.

“I am Lieutenant Dobbs, Terra Nova Guards. By order of the President, you will lay down your weapons and surrender this station.”

The shape ahead was much clearer now. The man was in Alliance clothing and in the thinner PDS gear worn by some crews. It was proof against heat and pressure, but from memory he knew it offered almost no ballistic protection. The man’s head was protected by a dark, tight-fitting pilot’s helmet with a raised visor.

Colonel Pierce, it has to be.

His cheek tightened as he looked at the man. Though of similar positions in the military, they had followed completely different paths. Dobbs had spent his entire career on Terra Nova, while this man had been living the high-life on ships and stations. Lieutenant Dobbs had no doubt it was this kind of exposure to alien creatures and attitudes that had left them so weak to start with.

“I am Colonel Pierce. This is my station. Put down your weapons.”

Dobbs took aim directly at the man’s chest.

“My forces are already aboard your station. Your people have collaborated with the enemy. Drop your weapons and accept your fate…or face the consequences.”

He tilted his head in amusement as he said the last line. The standoff continued only for another six seconds, but for both sides it felt like an eternity. They were well matched in numbers, with a dozen fighters on each side. Dobbs’ force had the advantage though, with each of his men in full tactical armor and carrying assault weapons. Only one of the defenders carried a carbine, the rest held no more than sidearms or the odd thermal shotgun.

“Very well,” said Lieutenant Dobbs.

He pulled the trigger, and at the same time the commander of the station dropped to the ground. One of the defenders was too slow and took the full brunt of the coilgun fire to the face. At this range, the subsonic rounds tore through flesh and bone with ease. The cadet was dead well before the blood even hit the wall.

“Open fire!” Colonel Pierce ordered.

With those few words, the battle for Prometheus Seven began, and with it the very fight for the soul of the Alliance. Shots rang out, but for every pistol shot or thermal shotgun round, there were a dozen coilgun bullets. The numerous interior cameras captured every weapon discharge. Colonel Pierce lifted his handgun up and emptied the clip in the direction of the intruders while simultaneously checking his secpad. He’d managed to drop the unit, and the screen was cracked, but luckily it still worked. There were five other breaches, but marine squads had reached them in time, and they were contained.

Look’s like it will be decided here.

Another of his crew was hit, but this time the man dropped down in time to avoid being killed. The round hit his cheek and did little more than cause a flesh wound, albeit a bloody looking one. Still the defenders kept up their fire. It was sporadic and poorly aimed, designed to do little more than keep the enemy busy. The secpad beeped quietly, and he nodded with satisfaction upon seeing the transmission status.

That’s it. You keep murdering our people. Every round you fire is another nail in your coffin. And who is going to come and save the day, live on videostream for the entire Alliance to see?

Many of the first private sector industries were some of the oldest. Piracy, crime, and prostitution spread through the new colonies and trading routes. As ships arrived at refineries and shipyards, they brought with them so many vices that a new industry had to be invented from scratch, that of private security. It began with bodyguards and then moved up to escort ships. As with all arms races, as the private security increased, so did the means of the criminal. The first pirate attack craft rendered entire sectors deadly to travel and so came the first security squadron, the infamous, Crimson Squadron. This unit was based around an old converted freighter that was equipped as a Q Ship and marks the origins of the Private Security Sector.

Origins of Private Space Travel

Taxxu, Uncharted Space

Spartan opened his eyes and tried to focus on the shapes ahead. He could see the three machines, but only one of them changed into the correct color. As he watched, the machine shifted to blue and then red before turning to look right at at him.

“Spartan, are you ready?”

He looked at the red machine. Without a face or flesh it looked more like a metal golem. Apart from the odd movement of its cogs and motors, the thing was entirely stationary. He looked into its face and tried to see the eyes. All he could identify was the light red tint where its eyes were supposed to be. Spartan opened his mouth to speak but found words coming out without him even trying.

“They are weak, ready for the invasion.”

The machine turned to its comrade and then looked back at Spartan. It lifted one arm, but instead of a hand there was nothing but a thin spinning disk. It moved so fast it was impossible to tell if the edges were sharp or not. The machine leaned in closer.

“Then wake up!”

It swung the weapon across his neck, and his vision vanished in a waterfall of red. In its place was the vast open space he had been in before, hundreds of machines waiting in long ranks. It wasn’t them, the columns, or the huge vaulted ceiling that caught his attention. It was the view from the massive windows. A view of thousands of capital ships, each of them waiting patiently like people visiting some great sporting event. In the distance was some black world lit by a hidden star, presumably on the other side of the ship.

The three machines moved in front of him, but as always, it was the red machine that took pride of place. It walked up to Spartan and pointed to his arm. Spartan looked down and immediately noticed the artificial arm that he’d been given on Earth had gone. The flesh had been covered with some form of dull linen. There were blotches of dark blood on the surface, and he could only imagine what might be there.

“What have you done to me?”

The machine ignored him and instead reached for the material. It caught the edge and yanked it away to reveal pale new flesh. Spartan stumbled back a step at seeing his arm once more, the forearm, muscle, bone, hand, and fingers. They were all there.

“What? How?”

“New flesh is the first of your gifts.”

The machine then looked back to the lines of machines. They all waited in silence, and it would have been perfectly reasonable if every single one of them had been an empty shell.

“What are my other gifts?”

The machine indicated toward the waiting horde.

“You will advise and lead our warriors into this domain. Together, we shall have our revenge and our age of enlightenment.”

Spartan lifted his hand up in front of his face. He could move the fingers just as before, even though there was a slight tingling sensation in his muscles and tendons. He thought back of the battle on board the Rift Engine and then to Helios and beyond.

“Yes, the worlds of the Helios. Tell us of your people. Where are they strongest?”

Spartan looked at his hand and then to them. He could feel his mind nagging and clawing as though there was something he could simply not remember.

“Terra Nova is their capital. Destroy it, and human resistance will crumble.”

The machine turned to one of its comrades and then again to Spartan.

“What of the human military? What is their weakness?”

Spartan lifted the corner of his mouth in amusement.

“Compassion. Threaten civilian colonies, and they will risk everything. The humans will not willingly sacrifice themselves for victory.”

“Good,” said the machine, “We have been waiting for a champion to lead our soldiers into the new domains.”

He pointed to other figures off in similar locations to himself. He noted that one was a Byotai and another a Helion. There were others, but they were too far away.

“Despair will follow as each of you returns home at the head of our legions. Lay waste to all, and prepare the ground for our arrival.”

Spartan nodded slowly in agreement. He hadn’t noticed until now, but this machine bore a mark, a black symbol in an unfamiliar script. He pointed at the imagery.

“What are these marks?”

The machine looked at him for a moment, assessing his posture and mannerism.

“They are the mark of Taxxu.”

That meant nothing to Spartan, and even less when the machine opened up. He’d seen this before, the odd metal protective suit that housed the brain and surviving functions of these ancient creatures. As this one opened, he could see the innards of this machine were like those of an animal. As the metal peeled back, it revealed flesh, bone, and tissue. It was as if he were looking inside a beetle.

“I don’t understand.”

From the shadow came another machine, this one almost identical in design and also red in color. It moved alongside its comrade and turned to face Spartan.

“We are the nine-hundred and twelve. The last of the Ghost Warriors, our limitless bodies remain on our ships, each waiting for the chance to bring about the end of time to these creatures.”

Spartan could feel the hate in the machine’s voice.

“We are nine-hundred and twelve, and our souls remain hidden and safe, where they will be guarded until the ends of time. The nine-hundred and twelve will fight across the Great Seal and beyond.”

Spartan nodded as if understanding. It was the voice of Z’Kanthu though that he could hear deep inside his mind.

“Discover their weakness. Where is their heart?”

Spartan had always assumed the Biomechs would have a leader, a commander or lead ship. Now he knew little more than he had a month earlier. Z’Kanthu had explained on multiple occasions how the Biomechs had been unable or unwilling to create new offspring since the Great Biomech War. They trusted nobody, not even their servants, and a new generation would create another risk, perhaps one that could finally destroy them.

So, there are less than a thousand of you. I can live with those odds.

He looked at the machines and smiled in agreement while clenching his fists, both his normal hand and his new gift.

* * *

ANS Warlord, 3 Days from Micaya

Admiral Anderson rubbed his forehead and looked at the group of exhausted men and women. The officers' mess was normally a place for relaxation and discussing the day's events. Now it was simply a place to learn of the latest in terrible events. The long table was laid out with trays and a mixture of bland looking food, none of which the Admiral seemed particularly impressed with. Around the table sat an odd collection of officers, as well as representatives from the Helion, Byotai, and Khreenk. He should have been maintaining his interest in them, but it was the latest report on his secpad that kept his attention. For what seemed like an age, he examined the data before putting it down and resting his hands down onto the table. With a final, long breath he beckoned to the other end of the table. The others hushed, all expecting to hear some terrible news.

"Khan."

"Admiral?"

The warrior answered with a dulled, almost emotionless voice, but Anderson could feel the bitterness that lay just below the surface. Since the fighting at the Rift, he had been a changed man, perhaps made worse by his new and unwanted responsibility.

"How are your troops?"

Khan sighed for a moment.

"The medical crews have done their best. We still lost nearly twenty percent of them in the battle. Another five percent have died over the last five weeks since the attack. All of the Black Ships are functional but damaged."

The Admiral moved his head just a fraction in acknowledgement.

"And with our victory at the Rift, we lost Z'Kanthu and Spartan. That was not what I wanted. Are the others still loyal? I’ve been hearing rumors."

Khan almost seemed offended at the implication. Admiral Anderson could see the hurt, but he needed to know, one way or the other.

“Tell me.”

Khan’s brow tightened as he answered.

"The Biomech commanders pledged themselves to operate under the chain of command provided by Spartan. I was next in line, so as long as I am alive, they will follow me. After me, it follows on to Teresa."

A few of the other officers looked at him, as he explained the last point. One began to speak at the mention of Spartan’s wife, but a three-dimensional model of a female officer appeared right in the center of the table and stopped him in mid-sentence.

"Captain Decker, what can I do for you?"

The older, stern looking woman barely moved a muscle in her face as she spoke.

"Admiral, you requested daily updates on the Black Rift. I have reports in from the Guardians."

"And?"

"Nothing has changed, Admiral. The Rift is still a mess. Nothing goes in or comes out. Our engineers have recovered what they can from the flotsam out there. There’s not much worth spending time on.”

She ran her hand over her chin.

“But here is one thing that might be of interest to you. It just came in over the wire from Admiral Churchill."

The Admiral raised an eyebrow, but that was the limit of his apparent interest. He suspected it was the same news he’d just seen on his secpad.

"The war barges from Sol, Admiral. I don't know how he did it, but Admiral Churchill has transferred two to Prometheus, and three more are coming through the T'Karan Rift in the next hour. He must have had teams on continuous shifts to get that done."

Anderson smiled ever so slightly.

“I’m more interested in knowing how he got ships from Mars and Earth out of Earthsec territory, past Terra Nova, and then on to Prometheus. That is something of a miracle.”

“He’d also managed to rustle up another three transports of troops. This time they’re volunteers from Carthago.”

Just mentioning the name of that fearsome world had an odd effect on the group. Carthago was known for more than just its soldiers and fighting spirit. There were as many reasons to take help from that colony, as there were to avoid it.

“More mercs?”
        

The Captain nodded.

“Afraid so, Sir. With the negative press from Terra Nova, I’m surprised we’re getting any volunteers for the front now.”

"Good. Contact their commander and have them brought here. They will be a useful addition to the gate defenses."

It was a minor series of reinforcements, but it did confirm one thing to the other officers. The Rift to T’Karan was open, and that meant ships and troops could now be transported from the Alliance worlds through to the Helios System. Admiral Anderson lifted his glass and took a sip of the fine port. It ran down his throat and left a warm, comfortable fleeing as it continued down his body. He placed the glass back down and then crashed his fist onto the table. Everybody, apart from Khan, jumped at the interruption.

“The enemy has fully withdrawn over half of its naval strength from the fighting at Spascia and Helios Prime. They’ve got enough there to keep us busy, and the rest is on its way towards Micaya. The first wave will hit in a week. Our engineers say they will have the Spascia Planetary Defense system operational within the week, but as you can see, all of this is building up to a perfect storm.”

A stunned murmur spread quickly through the group. The two Khreenk officers looked to each other and quietly talked. Finally, the taller one spoke through its translator.

“Our forces are not ready at Micaya. We were assured we had over a month to prepare.

“Yes, so were we all. Things change, and that is something every one of us should understand. It’s time to get this fleet together, and we need to be ready before the next attack.”

He looked at each of the officers, only some of which were actually from ANS Warlord. Most were from newly arrived ships, and two were even from the Byotai.

“The enemy will be at Micaya within the week, people, and you can guarantee that when we are fully engaged, they will try and reopen the Black Rift again. It is what they tried before, and the imagery taken by the boarding parties showed more of these Rift Engines. That is why we are going to go for broke.”