Tears of Kerberos (15 page)

Spartan was confused. He had no idea where he was or even how he had reached such a high position. He looked down to see he was wearing the armour he had worn months ago during his time as an illegal pit fighter on Prometheus. The breastplate was of gleaming bronze and his legs were protected in metal greaves. He was the epitome of a classical hero. As he looked he noticed the weapons in his hands. It was bizarre because a few seconds ago he was sure he had empty hands. In his left hand was a large metal shield, it was round and covered in odd runic symbols along its face. In his right hand he carried a mace, a savage looking rod of iron with a flanged head made of even heavier metal and sharp edges.

As he stood on the metallic structure surveying his surroundings he saw a number of the dreaded shock troopers. The horribly mutated and genetically altered monsters were the ultimate warriors. Faster, stronger and able to fight longer than any man, they were the new breed of soldier though their origins and allegiance were still a mystery. The first turned towards Spartan and then with a scream it rushed for him. It leapt forward, moving an incredible distance and was quickly joined by a second. They moved faster and with more power than he had ever seen, as if they could float through the air towards him. He slammed his shield into the first but it was easily twice the size and mass of him. The impact knocked him backwards a full metre yet he was able to maintain his posture with his shield out in front. The creature slammed some kind of crude edged weapon down, hitting like a hammer on the thick shield. Spartan was forced to bring his right hand over to help support the shield as more blows struck down. His front foot slipped and he crashed to the ground. Knowing he would die if he stayed there, he flailed out with his right hand and managed to strike the ankle of one of the warriors. It fell down backwards and in a flash Spartan felt he could win. Rolling to the side he narrowly avoided an attack and then resumed his stance, shield in front and mace held behind him, cocked and ready to swing at the enemy.

“Now you die!” hissed the creature.

Spartan wasn’t sure he had heard one of them speak before, but took the opportunity to strike the wounded one that was trying to stand up. As his mace crashed into the thing’s head he was covered in blood, the spray plastering his face and body armour. Like a screaming banshee the second jumped through the air and smashed into Spartan’s shield. He managed to hold the impact but as he moved back his feet were unable to find purchase on the gravelled surface. Then he felt something strange beneath his right heel. He glanced back to check realising it was the emptiness of nothing. He was on the edge of the tower and just centimetres from a long, painful fall that would result in death.

“Come on!” shouted Spartan but there was something odd about his voice, it was as if the very sound was being sucked from his lungs and left him feeling cold.

The creature pounded away and Spartan was once again forced to protect his body with the heavy shield. Spotting an opening he swung his mace and dealt a savage blow to its shoulder. Sensing victory he pushed his shield up to its head and swung the mace low into its stomach. It impacted with force but before the creature collapsed it managed to stumble forwards. Spartan tried to grab at his attacker but it was too late. He fumbled and then fell. The sick feeling of dropping into a great pit washed over him and he seemed to move faster and faster.

He opened his eyes, still screaming loudly before realising he was asleep or perhaps unconscious. There was something odd and unlike anything he’d felt since being knocked unconscious during his pit fighting on Prometheus. His head was pounding, it felt like a drum was pounding repeatedly next to his ears. His eyes strained at the brightness of the light. It reminded him of the movies he’d seen where prisoners were dragged out in front of their captors and forced to talk by starving them of food or shining bright lights into their faces. He shook his head and looked around but could see nothing other than the bright blurred background. He had completely forgotten where he was and for a moment he panicked. His arms and legs were stuck and he couldn’t see anything that resembled the real world. Perhaps he was strapped down, in fact he couldn’t even tell if he was vertical or horizontal.

As he tried to move his memories started to flood back. The thoughts of the battle he had been fighting, the numbers of marines and CES units fighting a bloody hand-to-hand battle in the city of New Carlos. He strained his eyes, still the light wouldn’t clear. He kept still and thought back to the very last thing he could remember. He’d been waiting for the enemy to attack when the terrible storm hit. Yes, the storm. It had been violent and with the cover provided by the dirt and dust the enemy had tried one last desperate assault. He could remember now, the images of the violent storm that had tossed men and machines aside. Calming down he looked inside his armoured visor, looking for any indicators that could give him a clue as to what was happening. Something shook him and a small amount of dust poured though a crack in the side of the visor.

“Fuck!” he tried to spit the dust out of his mouth.

Another violent shake rattled his armour and suddenly he was blinded by more light as it entered in through the side of the helmet. He tried to raise his arms but, with no working motors and the ground still holding him encased, he couldn’t move. He was about to shout when the bright light started to ease back until he could make out dark shapes. Some of them were moving and then it dawned on him. Somebody was digging him out, the question though was, who? He pulled his left arm back inside the suit and reached for the self-destruct system. If it was the Zealots there was no way in hell he was letting them take him prisoner. He flicked the switch and activated the system. All it needed was four taps on the button with the correct timing and the suit would detonate, killing him but hopefully taking a few of them with him. It was a small explosive charge, anything more powerful could cause damage to friendly units or transport ships if there was an accident. It was easily enough to exact a little vengeance however.

“Come on you bastards,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “I’m waiting for you.”

* * *

Teresa hurried along the corridors of the CCS Santa Cruz as she made her way to the briefing room. She had pulled on her uniform but didn’t have the time to sort out her hair or to attempt anything more formal than her basic gear. She just hoped it was something important like a fire rather than a formal occasion. If it were the latter, she would be in big trouble!

As she moved past the files of marines she started to worry that something bad had happened. Maybe it was her family, maybe Spartan? Who knew, all she did know was that the message was unexpected and the waiting was killing her. As she rushed down the walkways a number of marines were forced to jump out of her way, one almost striking his head on a bulkhead before a sergeant pushed out his hand to stop him.

“Hey! Watch your step, Private!” he barked.

Teresa signalled an apology with her hand but kept going at the same speed. The entrance to the briefing room was only a short distance ahead and as she rounded the corner she came to an abrupt halt. At the entrance to the room was a group of four armed marines, each watching both sides of the corridor for signs of trouble. She moved towards them but before she could reach within fifteen metres, one of them turned and closed the distance.

“You Teresa Morato, Private?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s me. What’s going on?”

The marine guard held out a scanner for her identity card. With a quick scan he had her details including a detailed colour photo and all her basic statistics. He looked for a few seconds as he satisfied himself that she was who she said she was.

“Just go in,” the guard indicated towards the door.

Teresa looked back, concerned at entering a room that was guarded so heavily. As she got nearer she felt a pang of worry as she considered this might be related to the numerous rumours of marines being rounded up with any kind of suspicious past, for security reasons. She needn’t have worried though for when she entered the room there were just a handful of people. One of them was Admiral Jarvis, to the right were four marines including Bishop and Kowalski, the two marines she’d already met. To the side of the room was a virtual presence device that allowed a projected image of the faces of two more men. One was a Naval Commander in his service uniform, the other appeared to be wearing plain clothes. The door shut behind her and they all looked at her before the Admiral indicated for her to approach.

“Private, I understand you were wounded during the operation on Kronus? Are you fit for duty?” she asked.

For a moment Teresa considered answering no. She still had some time left before she was supposed to rejoin the combat unit but this group had the look of something different, something unusual and that always got her attention.

“I’m fit and ready for duty, Sir,” she said quickly.

Admiral Jarvis smiled as she turned back to the others.

“Good, if you’ll come with me to the display, I have something to show you.”

The small group moved to the centre of the room where a flat table-based computer had been set up. Above the table was a projected model of the Rim and its thousands of moons, rocks and stations. Admiral Jarvis spoke first.

“As you are no doubt aware, you are all here for a mission of the utmost importance. Each one of you has been selected for a reason deemed necessary for the completion of the mission. When you leave this room you will be taken to an unmarked shuttle that will rendezvous with a vessel that is already on its way to the Rim. I need not tell you that this mission is top secret, you will report directly to me and me alone! ”

The Admiral looked at the group of five people, checking their expressions and gauging their commitment to the operation. Satisfied they had understood the gravity of the situation she continued.

“This entire sector is being split apart by a combination of forces, some of which we are only now beginning to discover. The primary insurgency has been from several of the militant religious groups. We are now seeing movement from separatists on some worlds with potential support from corporations on Kerberos. What we don’t have is any full idea of their overall plan, and even more importantly, we have no idea which person or group is co-ordinating these actions against the Confederacy. What I can tell you is that this action is a clear and present danger to the peace and stability of our very way of life.”

She turned back to the display and the map zooming in to the specific sector of the intelligence collected by the Crusader.

“Somewhere in this area is a meeting of leaders, possibly even those behind the command of this emergency. Your mission will be to locate the source of the gathering and to infiltrate it. In the last hour we have narrowed the area down to three stations and seventy asteroids in Sector 3G. Once you are in range you should be able to narrow your search even more.”

Pressing several buttons the map pulled back until finding a tiny dot in the middle of open space. The display zoomed in to show a medium cargo vessel, one of the thousands that trawled the system carrying minerals, supplies and equipment. There was nothing especially interesting about the ship.

“This is the Tamarisk, she is a modified transport that we have equipped as a Q Ship.”

“Q Ship?” asked Bishop with a confused look on his face.

“Yes, she is to all intents and purposes a conventional unarmed transport with the usual number of crew and cargo sections. As a Q Ship she has been fitted with concealed weapons, enough to almost match a gunboat in combat, she will be your transport to the Rim. You might wonder why we aren’t just sending a number of military vessels into the area, I will let Commander Anderson of the CCS Crusader explain.”

On the virtual presence equipment the face of Commander Anderson remained impassive. As they waited Teresa stepped forward so that she was within earshot of Bishop.

“Why did they choose us?” she whispered.

Bishop turned and signalled for her to keep quiet as the voice of Commander Anderson came through the communication unit.

“The Rim is the most dangerous region of space in this entire sector. I have conducted several campaigns in the past there and can confirm that any naval vessels reaching within three hours of the Rim will be detected and reported. If we want to get in quietly for an intelligence gathering operation we will have to make use of conventionally registered commercial vessels. The Tamarisk was damaged in a collision three months ago and has been modified during her repairs. The plan is simple. We will all rendezvous on the Tamarisk in the next twenty-four hours and continue to the Rim where we have arranged to complete a deal with an equipment trader called Antonius from Carthago. That is where you come in, Private Morato,” he said as he looked towards her.

“Me?”

“Yes. We have checked your background and you have the accent, know-how and local knowledge of Carthago to help us get close. We will need you to elicit the trader’s trust so that we can gain access to the more sensitive locations in the area,” the Admiral answered.