Read Mindscape: Book 2 of the New Frontiers Series Online
Authors: Jasper T. Scott
Mindscape: Book 2 of the New Frontiers Series (8 page)
Alexander gaped at the hologram as it faded to black. “They want us to start a war!” He pounded the bar with his fists, rattling their glasses. He shook his head incredulously and turned to McAdams. “The last time I was in the Navy, I was ordered to start a war. Now, no sooner am I back and they want me to start another one! I won a Nobel Peace Prize for negotiating the end of The Last War, but here we go again. Do you have any idea how ironic that is?”
McAdams nodded soberly. “Irony is still a bitch, sir.”
“A two-timing bitch!”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Alexander blew out a breath. What
could
he do? He could disobey orders. He’d gotten lucky with that the last time, but would he get away with it again?
Doubtful. After what had happened on Earth, people wanted a target—the Solarians were a logical fit, even he had to admit that, and if he refused to be the instrument of the Alliance’s retribution, it would look like cowardice not prudence.
But what was it really? He was almost positive the Solarians were responsible for the attacks, so why didn’t he want to fire back?
Maybe I’m a pacifist.
Forcing the Solarians to go from covert to overt tactics would only result in even more people dead. What would happen when Earth and the Solarians started trading relativistic blows?
“Sir?”
Alexander sent a mental command to clear his buzzing head of all the virtual alcohol. He needed to think clearly now.
“If we do what they’re asking, we could start a relativistic war that could end up making the entire human race extinct.”
“I disagree, sir. Just because we
can
annihilate ourselves doesn’t mean that we will—whether there’s open war or not. If the Solarians are attacking us, then they’re obviously not trying to completely destroy the Earth. If we can prove that the Solarians were responsible for the attacks, then hopefully our leaders will be smart enough to avoid a relativistic war.”
Alexander nodded. “I hope you’re right, Commander.”
“History agrees with me, Admiral. Even The Last War fell far short of global annihilation. I disagree with our orders, but I’m not convinced that they’ll result in open war.
“Besides, Fleet Command made no mention of the fact that we’re in an aging dauntless-class battleship going up against a modern Solarian dreadnought. That ship is twice the size of ours and far better equipped. It could defeat two
Adamantines
and still limp into battle with a third. Either Fleet Command thinks very highly of your abilities, sir, or they’re bluffing.”
“Or they’re so desperate for blood that they don’t mind shedding some of ours to get it,” Alexander replied.
“Let’s hope it’s a bluff, sir.”
Alexander grimaced. “If it isn’t, we’re about to learn the truth about Simulism the hard way.”
Chapter 11
C
atalina was surprised when her audience with the president brought her to a bunker below the presidential palace. The president’s last public address had shown him above ground, sitting in his office as he reassured the entire world that the missile that hit them was a fluke, and people had nothing to fear. There was something hypocritical about telling people not to be afraid when you were hiding out in a bunker fifty floors below ground.
“Miss
Day Lee-on?
The president is ready to see you now,” his secretary announced, mangling Catalina’s surname with her accent.
Catalina turned to regard the president’s secretary—a woman with bright violet eyes and striking black hair that shimmered a matching violet wherever the light hit. “Its
Mrs. De Leon,
and thank you,” she said, rising from the chair where she’d spent the past twenty minutes staring at the bare concrete walls of the bunker. She graciously decided not to add to the woman’s gaff by mentioning that she should be addressed as
Senator,
not
Miss
or
Mrs.
Catalina turned and walked up to a pair of matte black bodyguard drones flanking the entrance of the president’s office. One of them held out a hand. “Halt. Please wait while you are scanned for weapons and explosive devices.”
Catalina took a breath and held it, enduring the indignity of the body scan as a fan of blue light flickered out from one of the bot’s chests. She’d already been scanned twice prior—once at the entrance of the Presidential Palace, and again at the entrance of the bunker. At least bots took no interest in how she looked underneath her clothes, which was more than she could say for the human guards at the entrance of the palace. She wondered if everyone was submitted to as much suspicion, or just
League
party members.
A pleasant tone sounded and the bot who’d scanned her said, “You may proceed, Senator de Leon.”
The doors swished open, revealing an exact replica of the president’s above-ground oval office. Catalina walked in to find the president sitting on one of the couches, watching a 3D hologram rising from the coffee table in front of him. The president was so focused on the news that he didn’t appear to notice her come in. The holofeed was from the Alliance News Network (ANN). At the moment it showed a pair of talking heads, one of them a news anchor, the other
Former Navy Admiral Lars Becker
—or so read the caption below his side of the transmission. The man looked to be at least seventy years old, with thinning gray hair, gaunt, wrinkled cheeks, and hollow, watery blue eyes. Catalina studied that face curiously as she approached. There was no way that man had voluntarily chosen to have such a frail appearance. That meant he had to have been born before scientists had found a way to shackle the hands of time—or least before they had done so for
everyone,
rich and poor alike.
Catalina stopped beside the president’s couch. “Hello, Mr. President…” she began.
He glanced her way and nodded. “Please take a seat, Senator.”
She looked from Wallace to the holofeed and back again before sitting in one of the armchairs. “What is this?”
He flung out a hand, as if to slap the hologram. “Another disaster!”
Puzzled, Catalina fixed her attention on the newsfeed.
“…so you’re saying this is definitely
not
a Solarian attack?” the news anchor asked.
Admiral Becker spread his hands. “What do the Solarians stand to gain from attacking us? If we go to war, they’ll lose. The attacks didn’t cripple us; they just made us angry.”
“So how does that play into your alien invasion theory? Why would these
Watchers
of yours hit us with warning shots rather than a full-scale invasion?”
Becker shrugged. “Maybe they are testing their aim. And I doubt it’s their goal to wipe us out. They want to weaken us for conquest—or in this case, for
infestation
.”
“I see. You mentioned to our viewers that you have proof.”
“I do.”
“And this proof is in the form of…”
“Classified transmissions from the
Intrepid
dating back more than fifty years ago. Compare those transmissions to the ones we received from the Looking Glass before the lunar attack, and you’ll see the similarities are extraordinary.”
The news anchor nodded sagely, as if he were already convinced. “I understand that you’ve shown these transmissions before, and that is what earned you a dishonorable discharge from the Navy.”
A muscle twitched in Becker’s cheek and he nodded stiffly. “Yes. I thought the public had a right to know what we found. The government disagreed. There was an extensive cover-up, and I was made to look like a fool.” The man blew out a deep breath. His deflated lungs left him looking shriveled. He appeared to be drowning in his old Navy uniform, nothing but a skeleton underneath. Catalina stifled a gasp, feeling a twinge of revulsion and pity for the man.
The news anchor nodded once more. “For those of us who might not remember, could you explain what the
Intrepid’s
mission was about, Admiral?”
“Of course. It was a mission to explore and colonize another star system. Our nearest star with Earth-type planets was considered to be Wolf 1061, an M class red dwarf 13.8 light years away, located in the Ophiuchus Constellation. We determined that Wolf 1061C and 1061D would be good candidates for colonization. What most people didn’t give much weight to at the time was that if these planets were so habitable, then there was also a chance that they could already be inhabited.”
“What happened to the
Intrepid,
Admiral?”
“That depends upon who you ask.”
“We’re asking you.”
Becker nodded and smiled, his watery blue eyes suddenly bright and intense. “They encountered intelligent life, but it turned out to be hostile.”
“Chilling words. We’ll be back with you in a minute, Admiral, while we show our viewers what you’re talking about.”
“Of course. I’ll be waiting.”
Catalina watched with a furrowed brow as the talking heads faded to black and a bar of text appeared.
Classified Transmission from W.A.S. Intrepid - November 18, 2774.
The text faded, and a new face appeared. The caption below read:
Captain White of the W.A.S. Intrepid.
He was a Caucasian man with straight brown hair and a nest of laugh lines around two eyes that were the purest black Catalina had ever seen, as if two matching holes had been bored into his skull.
“Hello wretched creatures,” the captain said, his voice flat and emotionless, his posture rigid. Catalina felt a chill run down her spine. He sounded like a bot and looked like a human. League Party warnings about a bot revolution came to mind… “Your species sickens us. The time of your judgment is at hand.” The camera panned and zoomed out to show an assembled group of Alliance officers and enlisted personnel, all of them with matching black eyes and rigid postures. “Death you sow, and death you reap,” the captain said.
The rest of the crew repeated that line in unison, all in exactly the same toneless voices. Then the camera panned back to show just the captain’s face once more. “We are coming.”
The transmission faded to black, and another line of text appeared.
End of data stream.
Back were the talking heads from before.
“And you say these people were infested by an alien intelligence—some kind of parasite,” the news anchor said.
Becker nodded grimly. “Yes.”
“I’m already noticing a few similarities to the Moon transmissions,” the anchor said, but we’re going to play those now so everyone can see. One moment, Admiral.”
The screen faded to black once more, and another line of text popped up.
Unidentified Transmission from the Looking Glass - November 18, 2824.
As the text faded, a woman of Chinese descent appeared wearing a torn and stained Confederate uniform. Her eyes were the same empty black holes that Captain White’s had been. The transmission froze, and the previous one returned for a side-by-side comparison of their expressionless faces and soulless eyes. Then both transmissions began to play, and Catalina heard Captain White and the Confederate woman say exactly the same thing in the exact same toneless voice:
“Hello wretched creatures.”
Catalina shivered. “What the hell?” she asked, looking to Wallace for answers. He just shook his head, and went on staring at the screen. Catalina looked back in time to see the talking heads return.
“Well, Admiral, it would seem that after all these years you may have been right.”
“Indeed, though I can’t say I’m happy. I’d rather be a lunatic than have the Watchers come to Earth.”
Wallace waved the screen off with a growl.
Catalina regarded him. Her mouth felt dry; her mind spun with questions.
“We should have executed that bastard when we had the chance,” Wallace said.
Catalina’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t understand… He was right.”
“No, he was wrong, and he’s been duped into helping the Solarians to keep us jumping at shadows. The fact that he managed to convince you tells me just how serious this is. We need to act fast.”
Catalina shook her head, not getting it, and Wallace regarded her with a look of strained patience. “What do you think is more likely, Senator, that some sort of parasitic aliens are invading us, or that someone is trying to make us think that? Someone who saw the transmissions Becker leaked all those years ago decided to copy them now. If we were being attacked by real aliens, why send us a warning at all? Unless they were planning to make some sort of demand, which they didn’t. Why tell someone that you’re going to shoot them just before you pull the trigger?”
“What about the transmissions from the
Intrepid?
Those were real, weren’t they?”
“Yes, but what you saw had nothing to do with aliens. The captain of the
Intrepid
went insane.”
“And his crew? They were all singing the same tune.”
“A tune he no doubt had them rehearse while he stood ready to execute the ship’s self-destruct sequence. It was coercion, Senator. Those videos have been analyzed a thousand times. Captain White forced everyone else to go along with his delusion.”
“What about their eyes?”
Catalina watched as President Wallace’s green eyes became two empty black pits. “Now I’m an alien,” he said, speaking in a mock toneless voice.
Catalina was taken aback. For a split second she believed it, and she was about to make a run for the door. Then she realized what he’d done. Most people wore augmented reality lenses, including her. Besides enabling people to browse the net, take pictures, and watch holofeeds, those lenses also enabled them to change the natural color of their eyes as easily as they changed their socks.
“So it was the Solarians that attacked us.”
Warmth and color seeped back into President Wallace’s eyes, and he nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Becker said it best—they would lose in a straight fight with us. That means they need plausible deniability, a way to pretend it wasn’t them. That also explains why they didn’t make a more concerted attack. They don’t want to utterly destroy the Earth because they want to take it for themselves.”
“Do we have any evidence to implicate them?”
Wallace nodded, his eyes unblinking, never leaving hers. “We have a whole ship full of evidence.”
“I don’t understand. What ship?”
“A Solarian ship, recently detected over a billion kilometers from Earth—in the same direction that those missiles came from.”
Catalina gaped at the president.
Wallace nodded slowly. “I have a battleship moving to intercept and capture them as we speak. We’re officially at war, Senator, and it’s time people knew it, before these ridiculous stories of an alien invasion get out of hand.”
Chapter 12
—Two Days Later—
“A
dmiral, we are twenty minutes from ELR with the
Crimson Warrior
,” Frost announced from sensors.
“Carry on, Lieutenant.” Alexander rapped his fingers on the armrest of his acceleration couch. In twenty minutes he and Captain Vrokovich could stop trading empty threats and start trading deadly blows instead. Neither of them was eager to start a war or else they would have already begun firing missiles and hypervelocity rounds.
Alexander shook his head. The problem with waiting to reach laser range was that lasers would make short work of both ships. Missiles could be intercepted and hypervelocity rounds could be evaded, but lasers were sure to hit. Once they reached effective laser range (ELR), the engagement would be over in minutes.
“We should have fired on them long ago,” McAdams said.
“That would have given them the upper-hand, Commander. They have more guns, more fighters, more missiles—but lasers? It doesn’t matter how many they have, because both our ships have more than enough to obliterate each other.”
“So your plan is to trade the
Adamantine
for the
Crimson Warrior
?”
“Not exactly. Bishop, come about for reverse thrust at ten
G
s.”
“Aye, sir.”
“We’re leaving?” McAdams asked.
“Hayes, get me Captain Vrokovich on the comms,” Alexander said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought you two were done talking.”
“We were. It’s time to apologize for our bluff.”
“Apologize for our…” McAdams shook her head. “Fleet Command hasn’t changed our orders.”
“No, they haven’t, Commander.”
“Then you’re going rogue. You’ll be court-martialed.”
“The
Crimson Warrior
is responding to our hail,” Hayes interrupted.
“On screen,” Alexander replied. Turning to his XO, he smiled and said, “If I were scared of being court-martialed for backing down, I never would have won a Nobel Peace Prize.”
Alexander heard someone clear his throat, and McAdams gestured to the main display with chin and eyes.
“Admiral Alexander, I see you are turning your ship around.”
Alexander looked to the fore to see Captain Vrokovich’s by now familiar face—bony features, ghostly white skin, straight black hair, and startling red eyes. Alexander nodded. “If you were guilty, you would have fired on us by now.”
“I’m glad to hear you’ve come to your senses. A bluff is only as good as the possible consequences of it being true—in this case, your ship and mine coming into direct conflict. The
Crimson Warrior
would survive such a confrontation, but the
Adamantine
would not. Your threats were, therefore, obviously empty, Admiral. Desperate and empty. I am sorry your government sent you on such a fool’s errand. Perhaps it would have gotten results if I was the fool you were looking for.”
“We were just following orders, Captain,” Alexander said with a tight smile, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Then let us be thankful that your orders were only to threaten war and not to make it.”
Alexander nodded, and Captain Vrokovich returned his smile. “Goodbye, Admiral.”
The holo display faded back to space. Stars sprinkled the void in dense clusters.
“Bishop, what’s the combined approach velocity between us and the
Crimson Warrior
?”
“One thousand and fifteen klicks per second at the moment, sir, but we’re still firing the mains in full reverse.”
“Good. What’s our range to target?”
“Four hundred and six thousand klicks, sir.”
“ETA to reach the target at current speed?”
“Still over six minutes to ELR.”
“How long before we pass them?”
“Four hundred and eight seconds.”
“Good. Cardinal—dead-drop all of our laser-armed ordnance along our current trajectory, but hang on to our missiles with payloads for now.”
McAdams eyes flew wide. “I thought you decided to risk a court-martial.”
“I timed that comment so that Captain Vrokovich would overhear it, priming him to believe that we’re actually retreating. Between that, his assumption of superiority, and his assumption that we were bluffing all along, he won’t suspect a double-cross. They’re going to break off and return to their original trajectory, but four hundred seconds is not enough time for either of us to cancel our current momentum, so we’ll still fly by within spitting distance of each other. Perfect for a sneak attack.”
“Remind me never to cross you, sir,” McAdams said.
Alexander smiled grimly. “When facing a stronger opponent, sneakery is the only way to win, Commander.”
“Sneakery… I’ll be sure to add that to my lexicon. What makes you think they won’t spot our missiles before they reach firing range?”
“Because Captain Vroko isn’t looking for them.”
“I hope you’re right, sir.”
“I am, but just in case—Frost, keep our scanners checking for incoming enemy ordnance. We don’t want to be blinded by the same assumptions. If they so much as flushed a toilet in our direction, I want to know about it.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know if I detect any space shit flying our way, sir,” Frost replied.
“We’re about to start an interplanetary war and you’re cracking jokes,” McAdams admonished.
“Black humor isn’t for everyone, Commander, but it does serve to emphasize the absurdity and irony of our situation. Who ends a terrible war and calls it
The Last War
only to have the same person who ended that war start another even more terrible war thirty years later?”
“All of our laser-armed missiles are away, Admiral,” Cardinal announced.
“Good. Set the clock with the time for the first wave to reach ELR with the enemy ship. Set a second clock with the time for us to reach ELR.”
“Aye, sir,” Cardinal replied.
“Bishop, give me an estimate of how long we’ll spend in laser range of the
Crimson Warrior
while we pass by each other.”
“Calculating…”
Two glowing green timers appeared at the top of the main holo display, one with the caption—
Time to ELR, 1st Wave Ord.
Counting down from five minutes and forty-three seconds. The other
Time to ELR, ADMT. - C.W.
counting down from five minutes and fifty-one seconds. The time discrepancy between the two clocks was exactly eight seconds. That was how long the
Adamantine’s
laser-armed missiles would have to make an uncontested first strike against the
Crimson Warrior
. After that, the
Adamantine
herself would pass into laser range of the enemy dreadnought and they would have to weather the assault for… “Bishop?”
“Done, sir. We’ll spend about thirteen seconds inside ELR with the
Crimson Warrior
. Add another four seconds for extended ELR for a total of seventeen seconds.”
Alexander winced as he imagined trading blows with the dreadnought for that long.
“They could do a lot of damage to us in that time,” McAdams said. “We might both end up derelict.”
“We’d better make sure that doesn’t happen. We have eight seconds to weaken them with our missiles before they can fire back on us.”
“Hopefully that’s enough time, sir.”
“It will be.”
Chapter 13
“A
dmiral, our missiles are ten seconds from ELR,” Cardinal announced.
Alexander nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the countdown at the top of the main holo display. “I see it. Bishop, prepare to come about just before that count hits zero, and make sure you keep our engines facing away from the enemy at all times.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Cardinal, use our missiles to target the Crimson Warrior’s engines, and then her fighter launch tubes. We need to cripple them as much as possible with our first volley.”
“Yes, sir.”
The countdown reached zero, and Alexander watched via the enhanced view on the main holo display as their warheads split into a thousand glittering shards. Each of them lit its thrusters and went evasive. Hot-white contrails appeared behind each missile, illuminating space with bright spirals and zig-zags as the missiles adopted randomly varying approach vectors. A split second later, the missiles opened fire and space came alive with a dazzling flurry of red and blue lasers, all of them vectoring in on the Crimson Warrior’s engines. Abruptly an explosion tore through the aft end of the ship and a giant chunk of it went drifting away. The ghostly green glow from the Crimson’s Warrior’s engines disappeared, and the remainder of the massive ship went on drifting through space, now carried only by its momentum.
“Direct hit!” Cardinal crowed. “Target is derelict!”
“Target enemy laser batteries with our hypervelocity cannons, and use our missiles to take out those fighter launch tubes!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stone, launch our fighters! See if they can squeeze in a few shots before we fly out of range.”
“Aye.”
Hypervelocity rounds thundered out into the void:
thud, thud, thud…
and glowing golden lines of tracer fire appeared, tracking ahead of the enemy ship.
Alexander watched the Solarian ship fire back with simulated streaks of green extended-range (ER) and yellow high-intensity (HI) lasers. The two ships were still out of range with each other, so all of those shots went straight for the
Adamantine’s
missiles. Fiery explosions pock-marked the void, and then the remaining missiles fired for a second time. This time explosions rippled all along the enemy’s hull, each explosion marking one of the dreadnought’s fighter launch tubes.
“Enemy is launching missiles!” Frost announced.
“Intercept that ordnance!”
Another flash of green and yellow lasers took out the remainder of the
Adamantine’s
missiles before they could fire for a third time. Then the
Adamantine’s
own extended-range lasers
screeched
to life, adding sapphire blue to the mix of wavelengths flashing through the vacuum. It was easy to forget that those colors were all simulated. Lasers were invisible in space. Then again, Alexander thought, with him and his crew commanding the ship from within a mindscape, technically
everything
was being simulated.
All but two of the enemy missiles evaporated under the
Adamantine’s
barrage, disappearing before they had a chance to split into ten times as many independently-guided fragments. The last two were taken out by hypervelocity cannons.
“Extended ELR reached!” McAdams announced.
Alexander winced away from the main holo display as green streaks of enemy ER lasers vectored in on them from the
Crimson Warrior
. A loud
sizzling
reached Alexander’s ears with those impacts, as if he could actually hear the
Adamantine’s
armor boiling away. Then the deck shuddered with the distant roar of an explosion.
“Hull breach on deck 119!” Rodriguez said.
“Seal it off, and send in the repair bots!” McAdams ordered.
The
Adamantine
returned fire with a deafening
screech
as all forty of its laser batteries fired at once. Each shot hit home, two or three to a target, disabling the remainder of the enemy’s fighter launch tubes on that side. Then the
Adamantine’s
first wave of fighters and drones joined the action, adding their own lasers to the mix. Streams of hypervelocity rounds slammed into the
Crimson Warrior’s
hull, taking out its remaining laser batteries on that side. Then they raced past the dreadnought and came into range of the batteries on the other side.
Bright green and yellow beams angled in on them from several dozen different weapon emplacements. The
Adamantine’s
fighters fired back on those emplacements, silencing some of the batteries.
Bishop kept the
Adamantine’s
nose pointed at the enemy as they flew by one another in order to keep their engines safe, but they were still taking heavy damage. The air sizzled and screeched with the simulated noise of enemy lasers impacting and the
Adamantine’s
own batteries firing back. Alexander squeezed the armrests of his acceleration couch until his knuckles turned white. He winced every time the deck shuddered with a new hull breach. The main holo display vanished and then returned from a slightly different angle as the holocameras on the bow took a hit.
“Breaches on decks 99 through 130!” Rodriguez reported.
McAdams brought up a damage report beside the tactical map already hovering above her control station, and Alexander glanced at it. The
Adamantine’s
bow had been flayed open to a depth of over thirty decks.
Their fighters went on firing, targeting enemy weapon emplacements and enemy fighter launch tubes, but this time with lasers only. The two ships were now speeding apart with a combined velocity of over 970 kilometers per second. Hypervelocity cannons had a muzzle velocity of just over 100 klicks per second, and missiles would run out of fuel before they could catch up. In just a few seconds the ships would pass out of laser range with each other, and then the engagement would be over.
The
Crimson Warrior
fired back with another flurry of lasers, but this time there were barely half a dozen, and all of them were the green, extended-range variety.
“We’ve passed out of laser range,” McAdams announced.
Alexander let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “The longest seventeen seconds of my life.”
McAdams nodded. “Aye, sir—Rodriguez, damage report.”
“We lost our top thirty three decks to space. Our bow is practically missing. With it we lost our primary comm and sensor relays, but we’ll get by on the auxiliaries for now. Aside from that, we lost a number of weapon emplacements and nearly all of the enlisted crew quarters and living space. We’ll live to fight another day, Commander, but the damage is going to take some time to repair.”
Alexander jerked his chin to indicate the damage report hovering in front of McAdams. “They missed the nukes in our forward launch tubes by a hair.”
“That’s probably what they were aiming for,” Rodriguez replied. “Otherwise why wouldn’t they try to take out our laser batteries the way we were doing with theirs?”
“They were playing the long odds while we played the sure ones. One lucky hit and we’d all be floating through vacuum in a cloud of shrapnel right now. Frost—what kind of damage did we deal to the enemy ship?”
“Their fighter launch tubes are all down except for four, and by last count they had just ten laser batteries out of sixty still firing. That might change by the time we catch up to them, though. Also, they managed to launch a total of sixteen drones and twelve fighters.”
Alexander nodded. The enemy dreadnought carried a complement of 144 drones and 96 fighters, so the majority of her fighter screen had been trapped in the launch tubes.
“Stone, how did our fighter screen fare?”
“Sitting pretty, Admiral. We have fifty drones and sixty fighters deployed.”
Alexander nodded. His plan had worked. They now outnumbered and outgunned the enemy ship. “Bishop, fire up the mains at five
G
s. It’s time to give chase.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Stone, have our fighters head out at six
G
s and the drones at ten. Let’s see if we can take out the rest of the
Crimson Warrior’s
defenses without risking any of our lives.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alexander took a deep breath and regarded the distant, glinting speck of the enemy ship.
“It would seem Fleet Command’s faith in you was not misplaced, sir,” McAdams said.
Alexander was about to reply to that when Hayes announced, “Admiral, the
Crimson Warrior
has issued a surrender, and they have agreed to submit their ship for boarding.”
Alexander’s brow lifted in surprise. “So, Captain Vroko finally came to
his
senses.”
“How do we know it isn’t a trick?” McAdams asked.
Alexander turned to her. “There’s only one way to find out, Commander.”
McAdams’ blue eyes narrowed. “And that is?”
“We board them.”
Chapter 14
“A
dmiral, we are in position to board the
Crimson Warrior
,” Frost reported from sensors.
Alexander nodded. “Range to target?”
“11,000 klicks, just outside extended ELR, sir.”
“Good. Bishop, hold us steady there. Make sure we don’t get any closer than that.”
“Aye, sir.”
“McAdams—you have the conn.”
She turned to him, her brow pinched with suspicion. “Don’t tell me you’re going to join the boarding party.”
“I am,” he said.
“Sir, you
cannot
afford to risk your life like that.”
Alexander regarded her with amusement. “A good leader leads from the front line not
behind
the lines.”
“I’m sure Lord Cardigan of the Light Brigade said the same thing,” McAdams replied.
“The who of the what? Never mind. Stone—”
“Sir?”
“Transfer command of one of our VSM drones to my station, and get the rest of our marines hooked up while you’re at it. Launch the shuttles as soon as everyone’s ready.”
“Aye, sir,” Stone replied.
“You could have told me you were planning to board them with
drones,
” McAdams dead-panned.
Alexander shot her a grin. “You didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell.”
“Ha ha.”
“Going live in five, Admiral,” Stone reported.
Alexander nodded, his gaze still on McAdams. “Keep an eye on things up here, Commander.”
“Yes, sir,” McAdams said, nodding once.
That was the last thing Alexander saw before being directly connected to the sensor feeds from one of the
Adamantine’s
VSM (Virtual Space Marine) drones. A glowing blue HUD crowded the edges of his field of view giving him access to a kind of ESP—radar, infrared, 360-degree sight, sonic sensors, and a host of other super-human powers that only drones could have.
Alexander looked left, then right, and counted eleven identical drones lining the sides of the shuttle where he stood. Three fire teams of four marines counting himself. A unit number and call sign floated above each of their matte black heads in bright green text:
SHDW-1 MSgt ‘Ram’, SHDW-2 Cpl ‘Balls’, SHDW-3 LCpl ‘Mouth’,
and so on. Shadow squad was a part of the 2nd Batallion, 4th Marines, otherwise known as
The Magnificent Bastards.
It was a battalion with a long, proud history, dating back all the way to World War I. Their motto:
Second to None.
Alexander smiled at that. He looked down at his hands and flexed all ten of his articulated fingers, open and shut, open and shut. He could
feel
those hands as if they were his own, but they didn’t look like his. They were the same matte black as the rest of his hardened alloy body. Early VSM drones had taken various forms, but it turned out that humans were best-suited to remote-controlling bots with two arms and two legs.
McAdams’ voice echoed inside Alexander’s head: “Launching shuttles, sir.”
“ETA?” Alexander asked.
“Just under sixteen minutes.”
“Roger that.”
A jolt went through the shuttle, then Alexander felt his drone being pressed sideways against the docking clamps as the shuttle rocketed out of its launch tube and into space. The effect of the
G
-force wasn’t as uncomfortable as it would have been for his human body, but rather it helped to keep him oriented—the front of the shuttle was to his left, the engines to the rear.
“Weapons and systems check!” Shadow One called out.
A matching stream of text appeared at the bottom of Alexander’s HUD in case he missed the verbal command. He ran through a check of his VSM. All systems green. Integrated weapons—.50 caliber anti-personnel cannons—
check,
mini rocket launchers—
check,
proximity mines and plasma grenades—
check,
laser cannons and point defenses—
check,
tranquilizer darts and active denial systems—
check,
disc drones—
check.
“All systems nominal,” Alexander reported amidst a stream of similar acknowledgments from the rest of Shadow Squad.
The lights in the back of the shuttle dimmed to a muted red glow and Alexander settled his metallic head back against the side of the shuttle. He had no heart to beat, and no lungs to breathe, nothing to disturb the silence—there was just the steady roar of the shuttle’s thrusters shuddering through the bulkheads, and the clicking of robotic fidgeting. Alexander used the silence to collect his thoughts—
Clank-clank-CLANK, Clank-clank-CLANK, Clank-clank-CLANK.
So much for silence. Alexander turned toward the sound and found himself staring at the marine standing immediately to his left. He narrowed his eyes—except that he didn’t have eyes to narrow. The identifying text above the other man’s VSM read,
SHDW-5 Cpl “Chesty.”
“Chesty, stop that.”
A featureless black head turned his way. Two small holo cameras glinted where a human’s eyes would be as lenses moved to focus on him. “You say something, Admiral?”
Clank-clank-CLANK, Clank-clank-CLANK…
“That clanking sound. Stop.”
“What clanking sound, sir?”
The sound amplified. Instead of one set of metallic feet striking the deck it sounded like a stampede.
Clank-clank-CLANK!
“
That
one,” Alexander said.
Someone started up a marching cadence to fit the beat and the others joined in.
“We-are, we-are, the mag-ni-ficent BASTARDS!”
Alexander smiled inwardly. After exactly three repetitions Chesty added in a thunderous voice, following the same rhythm: “SE-COND-TO-NONE!”
“All right, enough screwing around, boys!” Ram said. “Welcome to Shadow Squad, Admiral.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Since this is your first time out with us, sir, make sure you stick close to your team leader—that’s Corporal Chesty over there. I believe you’ve already met.”
Alexander nodded. “Aye.”
“We don’t dot our
ayes
in the space marines, sir,” Sergeant Ram said. “The correct response is
oo-rah
.”
“Hoorah,” Alexander replied, nodding.
The air inside the shuttle grew suddenly very still and quiet.
“What did you say, sir?” Ram asked.
“Hoo-rah, Sergeant.”
“Mouth—the admiral asked a question, would you kindly tell him for us
hoo Rah
is?”
“The very first marine, sir! He killed a great white shark with his bare hands and fed his entire village with the stinking carcass, sir!”
“Thank you, Mouth.”
Alexander’s inward smile faded to a puzzled frown. “What was he—a Viking?
“Good guess, but no,” Ram replied. “Now, the reason we don’t say hoo-rah like the dirty dirt-pounders do, is because we know
who Rah
is, so instead we say
OO-RAH
, like
OOO that Rah guy is a damned legend!
”
Alexander smiled. “You guys are full of shit.”
“OORAH!” the squad shouted in unison.
A new voice crackled through the cabin, pleasant and female: “One minute to docking with the
Crimson Warrior.
Get ready, boys.” It was the shuttle pilot.
“You heard the captain!” Ram said.
Alexander felt the
G
-forces inside the shuttle ease, followed by a
thud-unk
of magnetic landing struts mating with the outer hull of the
Crimson Warrior.
Inside the shuttle the clamps that held their drones in place opened up with a clicking-
whirr,
and the air came alive with magnetic feet
clanking
as they all shuffled into line at the rear airlock of the shuttle. Alexander noted how blocky the drones were—thick limbs and torsos with high shoulders. Between their armor and integrated weapons they looked vaguely like overly muscular caricatures of human soldiers.
“
Ma deuces
out,” Ram said.
Alexander mentally toggled his .50 caliber cannons, and a pair of fat gun barrels slid up out of his drone’s forearms.
“Open sesame,” Ram said, waving a hand at the inner airlock doors and then the outer ones.
As the second set of doors opened they revealed yet another set. Those doors had the Solarian Republic flag emblazoned on them. Three vertical stripes: red, green, and blue to represent the Solarians’ future vision of the red planet as they terraformed it from red to green to blue. After 30 years of terraforming they were still stuck on red.
Ram gestured to Shadow Eleven. “Get me a can opener, Private.”
“Oorah.”
Alexander watched as the private went to work on the
Crimson Warrior’s
outer airlock doors with a plasma torch. All of a minute later he’d drawn a molten orange circle around the inner edge of the doors. He kicked them in with a noisy
bang!
and walked up to the final set of doors to try the control panel.
“Locked,” the private announced.
“Guess it’s asking too much for them to open the door for us,” Mouth said.
“What were you expecting? A red carpet?” Chesty replied.
“They’re Martians. What other color would it be?”
“Can it! Peel her open, Private,” Ram said.
The private drew another molten orange circle and kicked in the last set of doors. He poked his head through and then called back to them, “We’re clear, Sergeant!”
“Move out!” Ram said.
“OORAH!” the squad roared and set out with paradoxically silent footfalls.
They rushed through the enemy airlock and took up positions against the walls of a brightly-lit silver corridor with Martian-red accents.
“At least they left the lights on for us,” Mouth said.
“So why not open the airlocks?” Balls asked.
“Get your disc drones out and scouting,” Ram ordered.
None of them bothered to whisper, since the squad’s communications were all actually carried out virtually back on the
Adamantine.
Alexander activated his disc drone and set it to scout-mode. Twelve black discs rose over their heads from the docking ports on their backs, half of them streaking out ahead and the other half behind. Alexander kept his eyes flicking between his scanners, the drone cam, and the VSM’s rear-view display for maximum situational awareness. He saw the drones fetch up against the bulkhead doors on either end of the corridor.
“Corridor is sealed, Sarge,” Shadow Seven said.
“The other squads are reporting the bulkheads in their sections are locked, too,” Mouth reported.
“Captain Vrokovich is a sneaky bastard,” Ram growled.
“Pot calling kettle, sir,” Mouth said.
“I said sneaky. We’re magnificent bastards, remember?”
“Something’s wrong here,” Alexander said. “Hold on.” He activated his comm. “McAdams?”
“Sir?”
“Have Hayes hail Captain Vroko and patch me through.”
“Aye, sir.”
A moment later a new HUD box appeared with a hologram of Captain Vrokovich in it. The man’s red eyes sparkled with a suspicious glint. “Admiral de Leon,” Vrokovich said. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “I see you’ve decided to join the boarding party.”
“In the flesh—or drone, in this case. Listen, Captain, I’m not sure you understand how a surrender is supposed to work.”
Vrokovich cocked his head curiously. “What do you mean, Admiral?”
“The
Crimson
Princess is in lock-down. We had to cut our way in.”
Vrokovich scowled. “I am sorry, Admiral. You exposed many of our decks to space, so we had to seal off certain sections to preserve our atmosphere. We are still working to restore pressure. Rest assured that as soon as we do so, I will open all the bulkheads you like. Until then, I suggest you stick to the pressurized areas. Give me a moment to get the appropriate doors open for you. I’ll send you a map so you don’t lose your way.”
The captain’s transmission ended and a file transfer request appeared a few seconds later. Alexander waited for the drone’s virus scanner to check the file, and then accepted it.
A 3D schematic of the dreadnought appeared with a branching green line to mark a ‘safe’ path through the ship from stem to stern. Alexander studied that route. The captain’s explanation for all the locked doors was plausible, but that was the problem—it was the perfect excuse to guide them on a set path through the dreadnought.
The question was
why?
To lead them into a trap? Or to keep them from finding any evidence that might connect the
Crimson Warrior
to the attacks on the Alliance?
Just then the bulkhead doors in front of them
swished
open, revealing another long, silver corridor, this one plagued by dim, flickering red lights.
“Looks like they laid out that carpet for us after all,” Alexander said as their disc drones rushed through the open doors.
“Move out, Shadows,” Ram ordered. “Nice and easy.”
“Oorah…” the squad replied as they raised their .50 caliber cannons and began creeping down the corridor.
