by M. D. Cooper
“And what’s more,” Xa continued in a low voice as he leant forward, “I can get agents aboard the Pinnacle and access its plans. That way, we’ll be able to halt their stasis ships, should our hope of a truce fail. What say you?”
The Nietzschean admiral rose and extended his hand, which Xa clasped in his own a moment later.
“I’d say, Doctor Xa, that we have a plan. Time to execute it.”
“And Colonel Rika.”
RECUPERATING
STELLAR DATE: 05.18.8950 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Fury Lance, en route to Belgium
REGION: Genevia System, New Genevian Alliance
Rika was first at the table—a rarity, given the number of demands on her time. However, she’d made a point of shunting as much work as possible into tomorrow’s queue to make time for this event.
The evening was to be a night for celebration with her commanders. So far as they knew, the last pockets of Nietzschean resistance had been neutralized; the Genevia System was well and truly theirs.
“Now the real work begins,” Rika said, her rueful laugh echoing off the wood-paneled walls of the officer’s dining room.
“I haven’t been avoiding anything. We had to dig out the Niets and ensure that the system doesn’t devolve into chaos. That’s more important than most of the other nonsense that’s landing in my lap.”
Rika’s lips drew into a thin line. “Yeah, I get that all of that is important, it just wasn’t as important as the final battles were. But starting tomorrow, those items will get all my focus.”
“I hope not all your focus,” a voice said, and Rika looked up from the table to see Chase striding through the room’s doorway.
“I mean my work focus,” she retorted while rising. “You know there’s always time for us focus.”
A soft laugh rumbled in his throat as he approached with open arms. Rika rose and met his embrace.
Both of the mechs were wearing their more natural limbs—Rika out of necessity, with her combat limbs in repair—and their bodies from the neck down were a matte grey, the default configuration of the ISF Mark X FlowArmor skin that was their epidermis.
Though it was nice to not always be sheathed in armor and hard edges, Rika still felt naked when her body was configured like a normal human’s. Chase seemed more at ease in his natural limbs, but then, he had only been a mech for a year. Rika had spent over a decade with her body more machine than woman, so looking like a squishie still felt foreign to her—as though it were the disguise.
“Good,” Chase said as he settled into the seat at Rika’s right side. “Because all shooting and no sex makes Chase a grumpy guy.”
“I don’t see why that has to be an either/or scenario,” she replied. “Though I suppose they’re difficult to do simultaneously.”
“I’m willing to try anything at least once.”
“A man after my own heart,” Sergeant Major Barne said as he strode into the dining room with Captain Leslie at his side.
Barne and Leslie had been with Rika almost as long as Chase. They were part of the first team she’d been assigned to in the Marauders, a spec-ops group known as ‘Basilisk’.
There were only two people in the world who had been a part of Rika’s life longer: Kelly—who was likely in the enlisted mess, engaged in a drinking game of some sort—and Major Silva, who entered the room right on Leslie and Barne’s heels.
After being mechanized during the first war between Genevia and Nietzschea, Rika had found herself assigned to a scout mech team that went by the name of Hammerfall. Silva had been the leader of that team, and the woman who had helped Rika deal with the fact that she’d been conscripted and chopped up by her own people, turned into a machine to fight a war they’d ultimately lost.
When the war had ended, and the Genevian Armed Forces surrendered, Rika and Silva had lost track of one another, but a year ago, they’d been reunited when Team Basilisk rescued Silva’s daughter and overthrew a tyrant who was using mechs to build an army.
Mechs who were now the bulk of Rika’s battalion.
“So, what’s on the menu?” Barne asked as he settled into a seat on the far side of Chase. “And has this room always been on the Lance? Why don’t we eat here more often?”
“Because we want it to stay nice,” Leslie chided. “If we ate here on a regular basis, you’d probably carve your initials into the table.”
Barne snorted. “Who says I haven’t already?”
“You carve up my table, and we’re gonna have a problem, Barne,” Captain Heather said as she walked into the room followed by Captains Scarcliff, Penny, Klen, and Travis.
“Gonna have to remember not to invite you to the captain’s table on the Republic,” Travis added.
“Least you have a nice captain’s table,” Klen sulked. “The Asora just has a plas slab.”
“Do you want a nicer table?” Rika asked. “I imagine we could get you one.”
Klen shrugged. “Sure, would be nice, I guess, though there’s rarely more than a dozen of us on the ship, and we eat in the main mess.”
“Then what are you complaining about?” Barne asked.
“I guess I get the urge to grouse about pretty much everything from being close to you, Master Sergeant.”
Barne opened his mouth to respond, but then the last diner entered the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” Colonel Borden said as he settled into the seat at the far end of the table. “Debriefing took a bit longer than I’d expected.”
“ISF. Late as always,” Barne said, laughing as he shook his head.
Borden shrugged, used to Barne’s needling at this point. “I could always let Admiral Carson know he’s not needed here anymore. I imagine there’s a battle he could join elsewhere.”
“OK, folks,” Rika held up a hand, knowing that the group would happily needle one another for hours, given the opportunity. “Let’s see if we can have a nice, celebratory dinner without starting some new inter-force competition.”
“Because the ISF would win,” Borden added.
“You know…” Heather mused. “I wonder if we should have some sort of game when we get back to Belgium. A celebration of the Nietzschean defeat.”
“That’s a really good idea.” Chase nodded as a servitor set a glass of wine in front of him. “We should mark the occasion. It would be good for both civilian and military morale.”
The others nodded in agreement, and a toothy grin found its way onto Borden’s face. “Tell me, then. Are your mechs any good at football?”
“What kind of football?” Barne asked. “There must be a thousand games that involve kicking a ball.”
Borden’s grin faded into a look of mock-shock. “The football. The first one.”
Niki supplied.
“Well, no. By ‘first one’, I mean the version that gets called ‘soccer’. It was the sport back when we left Sol.”
“Kick a ball on a field into a net?” Barne read. “Can’t touch the ball with your hands…. Seems simple enough.”
The ISF colonel’s brows knit. “Nothing simple about it—as your mechs will soon find out.”
“Do you really think that your Marines can compete against Marauders?” Barne scoffed.
Rika wondered how such a contest would play out. The Marauders could easily field a team consisting only of mechs, formidable opponents to be sure. H
owever, the ISF Marines were hardly stock human—though they looked it on the outside.
“I like the idea.” She made the proclamation with a note of finality in her voice. “We’ll do it in five days. That’ll give us enough time to set up a venue and get the system excited for the contest.”
“You sure?” Travis asked. “There’s a lot to do—some people may think we’re being frivolous.”
“Mechs? Frivolous?” Leslie snorted a laugh. “It would be good for your image if you showed a fun side. Humanize you more in the eyes of the people.”
“Irony, your name is Leslie,” Chase said, shaking his head as he laughed.
Rika took his meaning without trouble. Most of the mechs at the table had their natural-looking limbs attached, and Borden appeared to be entirely normal—albeit a very large normal. Leslie, on the other hand, was still sporting the cat-like appearance that she’d adopted in the Peloponnese System over a year ago. Jet black skin, a tail, long ears, and pupils that narrowed to vertical slits.
Topping it off, she’d added retractable claws on her hands and feet at some point. Rika had joined in a pool with a few other Marauders as to when she’d add fangs to the mix.
“You trying to make a point? I don’t want to be humanized.” Her tail whipped around Barne and tapped Chase in the back of the head. “This is more ‘me’ than stock human ever was.”
“A sentiment most of us share,” Rika replied, earning a wave of nods from around the table.
Though most mechs had been turned into half-machine warriors against their will, they all had been given the opportunity to become flesh and blood humans again—and they’d all declined. In fact, Vargo Klen, Chase, and Barne had all volunteered to become mechs, the change giving them a stronger sense of belonging in Rika’s Marauders.
Borden shrugged. “The only strange thing about you is that you choose to look less natural than you have to. Though I have to admit that I like the idea of a configurable buildout. A few of my Marines have expressed interest in trying out swappable limbs like you lot use.”
“Mechanized Marines.” Klen nodded in approval. “They’d kick even more ass.”
“All the asses would be kicked,” Barne said.
As the group spoke, the servitors had set everyone’s preferred drinks in front of them, and Rika held up her glass of bubbly white wine. “A toast. To the Marauders and the ISF, and to our future as the Genevian Armed Forces.”
“To Rika,” Barne said on the heels of her statement. “Without her, we would not be here.”
“To Rika!” the others echoed, and then drank from their glasses.
With a gracious smile, she joined them, taking a long drought.
“I just have one suggestion,” Heather said as she set her glass back down. “Can we not be the Genevian Armed Forces? Being in the ‘GAF’ doesn’t exactly have a lot of happy memories for me. I’d hate to cringe every time I hear my military’s name.”
“Do you have any suggestions?” Rika asked.
“What about the New Genevian Military?” Barne suggested.
Leslie cocked an eyebrow. “Are we officially going with ‘New Genevia’?”
“It’s what the Blue Ridge and Iberian systems are already calling themselves,” Barne replied. “Seems like it would be easy to go along with that.”
“I’m not against it.” Rika liked the fact that it was still clearly Genevia, but different from the old nation at the same time—a distinction she felt was necessary for her mechs.
“Could go with NGSF,” Heather suggested. “ ‘Space Force’ instead of ‘Military’.”
“Not sure how the ground pounders would feel about that,” Chase said.
“My Marines are all space force,” Colonel Borden said. “None of them are bothered by it.”
“Yeah, but the ISF has always had a strong space force,” Barne countered. “The GAF’s used to suck ass.”
“You don’t say?” Borden drawled. “Not like I haven’t been with you Marauders for the past year. I’ve heard all the stories.”
“Year’s not long enough for all the stories,” Heather muttered. “But I still say we go with ‘NGSF’.”
Barne barked a laugh. “So many stories. ‘NGSF’ works for me as well.”
“Well, I’ll keep those in mind,” Rika said. “I’ll run them past the other company commanders when we meet back up at Belgium. Tremon, too.”
Those gathered around the table nodded, and after a moment of silence, Borden spoke up.
“So, do you think you can really get a football team together in five days? Seriously now, don’t get an old man’s hopes up.”
THE REFUGE
STELLAR DATE: 05.18.8950 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: The Refuge, Faneuil
REGION: Genevia System, New Genevian Alliance
Oda stood at the edge of the Refuge’s Central Park, watching a group of children playing on the grass, tossing a ball back and forth without a care given for the troubles that lay beyond the stone ceiling high above.
Their antics served to remind him of the purpose of the secret facility tucked deep inside Faneuil: the preservation of true Genevian society. The Genevia that lay outside the facility was twisted and worn from the long occupation by the Nietzscheans.
No clearer evidence was needed than the fact that mechs were in leadership positions.
The things were abominations, criminals whose minds were warped by Discipline, the system that had controlled them and kept them from turning on their own during the war. A system they no longer possessed.
Colonel Rika had informed him that the ISF—a military born from an ancient colony ship, the Intrepid—had upgraded the mechs, permanently freeing them from the Discipline system. She had spoken of that ‘upgrade’ as though it was a wonderful advancement, a great liberation.
To him, it had spelled terror.
And now Rika was in a position to take control of the Genevia System, and possibly all of the Genevian Alliance.
A colonel, and a mech.
Not only that, but she was practically a child, a mere thirty years of age.
Oda had hoped that President Kalvin, or Tremon, as he called himself now, would see sense and take the reins. But the former president hadn’t made a move to re-establish his position. It seemed as though he was content to operate as Rika’s advisor, guiding her.
The fact that Tremon would make himself subservient to a mech only further demonstrated how broken everything was outside of the Refuge.
I have to move fast, or things are going to get far worse before they get better.
Though Oda’s network of spies had taken losses during the battle to regain control of the Genevia System, he still had assets in the field, people he could use to ensure that Genevia was never ruled by a mech—or anyone else other than him, for that matter.
Right on schedule, a figure strolled onto the park’s cool lawn, skirting the children as he moved toward Oda.
A rare smile graced Oda’s lips. “Time to put old plans in motion.”
THE OLD PRESIDENT
STELLAR DATE: 05.20.8950 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Fury Lance, Belgium
REGION: Genevia System, New Genevian Alliance
The Fury Lance hadn’t even settled into its high orbit around Belgium before Chief Ona turned and gave Rika an understanding look.
“STC has just informed us that a shuttle is departing from the Mount Genevia Spaceport. They’re requesting clearance to route it to us.”
Rika knew that the shuttle’s origination, and Space Traffic Control’s forwarding of the request, could mean only one thing.
She nodded to Captain Heather, and the SMI-4 addressed Ona. “Grant them permission. Docking bay 14.”
“Aye, ma’am.” The LHO mech’s four limbs danced across her console, and she nodded a moment later. “Berth confirmed.”
Heather gave Rika a knowing look. “He’s not goin
g to be happy that you went on the mission.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not the boss of me.” She was trying to be funny, but realized her comment just came off as whiny. “Stars. I take that back. But he’s still not in charge.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a point.”
The captain’s expression was unreadable, but the fact she’d given voice to the words was enough. Even so, it wasn’t a conversation Rika wanted to have in earshot of the crew.
Rika gave the captain a level stare that brooked no argument.
The Fury Lance’s captain barked a laugh.
Rika gave the noncommittal response from out in the corridor that led to the administrative area aft of the bridge. The sounds of people hard at work, managing the ship and the Marauder fleet at large, came to her, the hum of activity a familiar comfort.