The Great Betrayal (3 page)

It didn’t take them long, did it?

It wasn’t that long ago that Jötnar had been unable to join the military, even after their sterling work fighting for the Confederacy during the Great Uprising. Now it seemed they were joining the marines in larger numbers. One nodded as they moved past, but he didn’t recognize him.

Come on, you idiot. Concentrate, the dry dock.

He looked first to his left and then in the direction the Jötnar had emerged from. There were lit signs throughout the station but most referred to sections by numbers and letters only. Finally, he spotted the sign to dry docks, at least the Alpha Three docks. He just hoped they were the right ones. It took Jack almost ten more minutes until he reached the great observation deck that looked down onto the dry docks. The term was an anachronism, as the docks themselves were actually external to the station, and in reality, positioned in the void of space where they could be worked on in a weightless environment by scores of robotic workers. The docks were arrayed like a line of coffins, and in each was a ship in different stages of completion.

It’s her!

Jack stopped in his tracks and stared at the massive shape of the Alliance’s infamous Battlecruiser. He couldn’t believe that the two hundred and sixty-two meter long capital ship was finally repaired and ready for battle once more. The last time he’d seen the ship was when he had escaped from its burned hull, following their high-speed crash onto the surface of Helios. He looked at the ship and tried to count how many months ago it had been since the violent incident on the planet of Helios. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember.

“I told you we’d rebuild her, and quickly too,” came a familiar voice.

Jack spun about and almost lost his footing. His body moved, yet his head felt as if it were still in the same position. He almost fell to the ground again before righting himself and taking a lungful of air.

You idiot!

The shape of a man in a naval uniform moved about in front of him before he regained his balance. He focused carefully until he could make out the grizzled features of the commander of the station. He lifted his hand in an awkward salute that luckily the Admiral ignored. Anderson pointed to the gray warship.

“The damage wasn’t as great as you might think. The internal systems were fully functional, even after the crash. The major problem was the layer plating.”

Jack blinked and rubbed his eyes.

“Plating?”

Admiral Anderson could see the face of the Jack and recognized the hollow eyes and long face, an expression he’d seen hundreds of times before through three decades of war and loss. He extended an arm out to the ship and the flanks near the bow.

“The layered plating extends all around to protect from kinetic projectiles. That is what took most of the thermal damage before the crash finished off the rest.”

He turned back and smiled.

“Engines, navigation, and weapons are all still working, apart from the keel turrets. We lost every one of them.”

Jack was still stunned. He recalled the stories in the media about the loss of the ship and the ensuing public investigation. In the end, the blame had been laid squarely at the feet of the Helions.

“I…uh…I never expected to see her again, not like this.”

Admiral Anderson nodded in complete agreement.

“You had better fall in with your unit.”

He tilted his head slightly, pointing in the direction of Sergeant Stone and the rest of 3
^rd
Platoon. He saluted as best as he could, and then marched to join the rest of his unit. As he moved, he noted the scores of military personnel, each selected from the Marine Corps and Navy units stationed on board the largest and most significant Alliance base in the Orion territory, the newly constructed Admiral Jarvis Naval Station. Built in the heart of former T’Kari space, it was perfectly positioned as a strong foothold inside the Orion Nebula. One of the marines stuck out more than the rest.

Wictred.

His loyal friend was the only member of his team that survived the bloody battle on Helios. It was a memory he wanted to avoid, and as he moved in with the rest of his platoon, he lowered his eyes and tried to concentrate on the ship rather than the people around him. Admiral Anderson had moved back to a large group of high-ranking officers while the hundreds of assembled people waited in silence. Finally, he moved away and faced them.

“Marines and sailors, you have been invited by your commander to witness the relaunch of our most advanced warship. Even after the controversial attack and crash landing on Helios, she is ready for action. Her hull is the toughest ever built, and she’s spent the last months being fully restored and upgraded to serve as heart of the Orion Fleet that is to be based here.”

He lifted his hand and beckoned towards the massive warship.

“I give you the Alliance Navy Ship, Conqueror. The heart of the Alliance Navy!”

In perfect timing with his gesture, the navigation and internal lights activated to bathe the ship’s superstructure in a myriad of tiny dots. Massive lamps lit up the ensign of the Alliance Navy, as well as the thick black letters marking out the name of the warship. He moved his head slightly as he surveyed the many units waiting, stopping at the grim face of Gun, the commander of the 17
^th
Battalion.

“As of today, there will always be at least one complete Navy Heavy Assault group based at this station plus one or more disembarked Marine Regiments. For the next nine months, it is you, the 2
^nd
Marine Corps Regiment. I welcome you to your new commanding officer, General Daniels, former commander of the 17
^th
Battalion.”

The middle-aged man stepped from the crowd of officers.

“Thank you, Admiral.”

He gazed out at the men and women of the two battalions.

“When the 4
^th
Heavy Battalion gets here from Carthago, it will be the first time all three of our battalions have been present since the Uprising. The Orion Nebula is a fractious place, and with five thousand marines, including the newly equipped Vanguard platoons and armored units, we will make our mark.”

The collapse of law and order in the Helios system was the trigger point for a series of calamities that would befoul the Orion Nebula. The similarities with the past troubles on Prime and other Alliance worlds served as stark reminders as to what might come to pass, if action was not taken to avoid the rot spreading outside of Helios and to its neighboring star systems. As the quarrels and troubles spread, so did the strength of the enemy grow.

Orion – The future?

Admiral Lanthua looked out at his assembled fleet and smiled with satisfaction. It was one of the largest peacetime fleets ever assembled, and his core of Khreenk Federation battleships formed the strongest part. Most of the ships were actually moving backward with their engines on full burn to slow their approach. The Khreenk ships were different though, and their engines were able to swivel one hundred and eighty degrees to alter the direction of thrust, without changing their actual heading.

“Report?” he called to the captain of the fleet over the communication array. One by one they submitted their information, including readiness, speed, and status. Every ship was functioning as expected, apart from the small Alliance contingent. He glanced briefly at the Alliance officer, snorted, and then looked back at the disposition of his fleet.

What do these primitives know of war?

The assembled Narau fleet was now in its final twelve hours of deceleration as they approached the third planet of the Anicinàbe. Until then they were a race the Alliance knew little of, though rumor had it their people controlled the largest and most diverse empire of the eight known powers. The Helions implied they had control over more territory than the Alliance, the T’Kari, and the even the great enemy, the Biomechs, all combined. There were more than sixty ships in the fleet, with the majority supplied by the Khreenk Federation. A scattering of Helion ships drifted toward the rear, but most of their effort had been forced to remain at home to deal with the growing insurrection or because their own crews had sided with the rebels.

“What happens next?” asked Alliance Liaison Officer, Captain Tory Campbell.

He waited amongst the group of aliens and stood out like a Jötnar in a room full of humans. On his ear was a translator unit that seemed overly large for what it actually did. Much like the more advanced T’Kari models, it was able to convert his conversation directly in a number of native languages, including the common tongue of the Khreenk. Their language sounded nothing like the dialects used by the Helions, and he was forced to try and ignore the sounds coming from the device as he spoke. The small group of Khreenk officers continued speaking with each other, and he could do nothing but wait. He was a middle-aged man and had moved from politics to military service just seven years earlier. Though he was only of average height, next to the officers of the Narau Fleet he was taller than almost every one of them. His light blonde hair and large blue eyes seemed to draw attention no matter where he traveled on the Helion ship. Finally, one of them moved toward him.

“Alliance officer, what is it?” he asked through his own translator.

Captain Campbell could easily identify the look of scorn on the man’s face. They were very similar in build and coloring to those human oriental people, yet of smaller build. Each had been augmented in some form or other, and this one was no exception. Part of his face was missing and had been replaced with a skin color metallic plate.

“I asked, what happens next?”

This time his voice was raised slightly so that he was almost shouting. Several of the other Khreenk looked at him, but none actually responded. Captain Campbell looked at the man’s face and recalled where he had seen the officer before. It had been three days earlier when the fleet had broken free of the Khreenk Rift and met up with a scattered formation of Anicinàbe ships. He had come aboard from one of the other ships.

“We move to the target and scout for the enemy.”

He then turned and walked back to his comrades. Campbell watched him go and shook his head as he was once more left alone.

This assignment is a waste of time.

He looked down at his secpad for what must have been the hundredth time and relooked at the article assembled by the Alliance intelligence agencies on the Anicinàbe. He had so far managed to avoid meeting a single one of this illusive race, even though they occupied a vast region of space. According to the article they controlled large numbers of planets, yet refused to be governed by a single central authority. There were factions made up of people from all the races through the Anicinàbe system, each of them in a state of permanent competition with the other. It reminded him of the stories of the ancient indigenous tribes back on Earth in its glory days. People like the North American Indians who had never been one nation.

Is that a good thing, or not?
he thought, now even more confused.

They were positioned near the front of the ship and in a room able to take twenty or thirty people. Tiny computer screens ran around a circular central area where the commander of the ship stood. On the outside of the room on three sides were massive windows, each almost the exact size of the outer wall itself. Campbell found himself wondering quite how strong they might be, especially as they were in such an obvious and vulnerable position. He could see the shapes of the nearest vessels, as well as the tiny squadron of three Alliance frigates that had been sent to assist. They were nowhere near powerful enough to do anything of note, but they did fly the flag of the Alliance and guaranteed them a place amongst this diverse group of people.

The commander now spoke, but his crew seemed to spare him no attention. He walked about the center of the bridge, taking special note of the work conducted by each and every one of them, especially one of the taller Khreenk who was trying to show him something on a display screen. The translator seemed to take an age before it altered his voice.

“All ships, destination approaches. Check weapons, Raiders forward.”

It was a strange message, especially once the translator had torn it apart into English. They were a long distance from their final destination, yet the Khreenk commanding officer appeared apprehensive, perhaps even nervous at their mission.

What the hell are Raiders?
he wondered.

He grabbed his secpad and put in the details, but the closest match was a vague reference to Khreenk Special Forces and something about piracy. It meant nothing to him other than that it implied asymmetric warfare.