Rikas Marauders
Page 31
She hoped Vi would last.
She hoped they all would last.
THE END
RIKA REDEEMED
RIKA’S MARAUDERS – BOOK 2
FOREWORD
Rika is, without a doubt, a very special character in the Aeon 14 universe. Unlike many of the others, she doesn’t have a supportive nation behind her, or decades of experience to draw from. She lives by her wits and her intense determination to survive.
Somehow, Rika turns her weakness into strength and her fear into certainty. She bends, but she does not break, and when the storm passes, Rika is still standing.
When writing this story, I knew that I had to show the same emotional depth that you found in Rika Mechanized and Rika Outcast. Just because she’s now joined a mercenary outfit, Rika does not instantly turn into a grizzled veteran.
In fact, being the leader of Team Basilisk has placed more responsibility on her shoulders precisely at the time when her past comes to haunt her.
You’ve seen Rika as a fierce warrior on the battlefield, a feared opponent that has struck down her enemies without hesitation, but this time, Rika is faced with an enemy that she cannot kill.
At least not yet.
Not if she hopes to save the ones she cares about.
A LOST DAUGHTER FOUND
STELLAR DATE: 04.12.8947 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Basileus Residence, The Isthmus, Sparta
REGION: Peloponnese System, The Politica, Praesepe Cluster
“Father, I’m home,” a small voice called out from the entrance to the Residence.
“Stay still,” Stavros commanded Silva. “Not a word. In fact, you’re never to speak aloud in her presence. Ever.”
“I’m in the lounge,” Stavros called out. “Attend me, Amy.”
“OK, Father,“ Amy responded, and a minute later, the young girl walked into the lounge, her eyes locked on Stavros.
Silva’s breath caught at the sight of her daughter. It had been so long since she had last seen her little girl, since she had held her precious darling in her arms.
She tried to speak, but the moment she thought about it, crippling pain flooded her mind. If her armor hadn’t been holding her up, Silva would have crashed to the ground at the intensity of it.
And so Silva stood in anguish, watching Stavros, the person she hated most in the universe, speak to Amy, the one she loved more than anything.
“How was the academy today?” Stavros asked Amy.
“It was good, Father. We learned about the battles you fought against the Kendo Empire; how you subdued them and showed them the ways of The Politica.”
Stavros nodded. “That is a good lesson, though I’m surprised they had not already taught it to you. I may have to speak with your instructors.”
“Oh, they told us about it before,” Amy replied quickly. “Today we learned about how it cemented your position within the slow zones of the cluster and allowed you to make The Politica an FTL culture.”
“That is good, then,” Stavros replied, leaning back into the sofa, a smug smile on his face. “I did teach Kendo a thing or two….”
Amy glanced around the room and seemed to notice Silva for the first time.
“Is that a new mech, Father?”
“Yes, I just secured her today. Her name is Mech C319, but you can call her ‘Meat’.”
The words hit Silva like a blow to the gut, and she wished that she could close her eyes and no longer see Amy, or watch the monster who had impregnated her speak to her beloved daughter.
“Are you sure?” Amy asked, her forehead wrinkling. “I heard that the mechs don’t like to be called ‘meat’.”
Stavros pushed himself off the sofa and stood with a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “Not this one. She likes being called Meat. Say hi to her.”
Amy waved a hand and waved, “Ummm… hi, Meat.”
Silva didn’t respond, unable to move, fearing another withering wave of Discipline. But hidden behind her black oval helmet, unseen by her daughter or the man she had made love to long ago, were rivulets of tears flowing down her face.
THE FARM
STELLAR DATE: 02.14.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Kessler Wilderness, North of Kandahar City
REGION: Faseema, Oran System, Praesepe Cluster
Rika shook her head. She didn’t blame Barne; he just worked with the intel he could get. Whoever was down there apparently had the tech to mask their bunker from SatScan.
Either that, or they had someone on the inside in the planetary government and could alter the planetary survey data.
Given the mess that was Faseema’s government, that wouldn’t surprise Rika.
Barne snorted.
Rika sighed.
There was no indication that Leslie had moved; even though Rika could see on both IR and UV bands, the team’s scout was all but invisible. If it hadn’t been for Rika’s micro-drone hovering above Leslie’s position—watching for enemy surveillance, as much as monitoring the team’s advance—she wouldn’t have even known Leslie had taken a step.
Leslie’s stealth was aided in part by her armor. A chameleon suit, it could blend in with any surroundings, rendering the wearer all but invisible as it matched optical, IR, and even higher-band reflective properties of its surroundings.
The armor gave Leslie an edge, but Rika suspected that the team’s scout could do just fine without it. Even back in the barracks on the MSS Romany, Leslie could sneak up on any of them. Queries to the ship’s AI for Leslie’s whereabouts would often get uncertain answers—something which frustrated the AI to no end.
The woman just loved to sneak.
Rika looked down the slope into the valley below them. It was lush and green with low, stunted trees dotting the slope, growing taller on the valley floor. A small stream meandered down the middle of the depression, running almost due west. Set back from the water on either side were the buildings of the team’s target: Arrow Brook Farm.
Up on the ridge, and for kilometers around, the vista was much different. Tall, dry grass waved in a hot wind that blew across gently rolling plains. Some of it was farmland, some was fenced off for cattle; all of it was unpleasant, baking endlessly under the Oran System’s hot orange star.
Valleys like the one before them were like gems; small oases of life that stayed green all through Faseema’s long summers. In spring, that tiny stream would have been much larger: a bubbling brook, or perhaps even a creek, judging by the cutbanks dug into the valley floor.
But now, in late fall, it was runni
ng low. Rocks and muddy berms were sticking out of the sluggish water’s surface.
Rika imagined that the stream must run consistently though all the seasons, otherwise people would not live here. Faseema was an impoverished world, one that was far from any main FTL routes. It was cut off from major trade by The Politica; a backwater’s backwater.
Though the world was not without advanced tech, Team Basilisk had not seen any ‘vaporators or other desert technology on their overland trek. For the most part, these people lived close to the earth, surviving by the labors of their own hands.
And so the stream below was a valuable commodity. Not that it really mattered, though. The only impact it would have on the mission was whether or not there would be animals in the larger structure below them. Rika hoped there weren’t dogs. There were a few ways to stop dogs, but she didn’t like using them.
Leslie reported in, breaking in Rika’s thoughts.
Rika signaled acknowledgement, and Leslie resumed her journey down the slope—or so they all assumed.
No one spoke or moved for the next twenty minutes. While they waited, Rika once more studied the buildings on the valley floor.
The main farmhouse was south of the stream, on the near side. Two small sheds stood to the right, on its east side. The largest trees in the valley were also near the house: two spreading oaks, one on the west and one to the north, between the house and the stream.
Across the meandering water stood the largest building. It was wooden and resembled a livestock barn more than storage for large machinery—though if it did contain animals, it would still do double duty. Someone was managing the land in this area.
The bunker was also on the far side of the stream, set further back against northern slope of the valley, likely set deep within the earth.
The team had set up on the south side of the valley because they had believed their target would be in the farmhouse. But the presence of the bunker made that highly unlikely. There was no doubt in Rika’s mind that she would be in the bunker, deep under the hillside.
Rika considered having the team reposition to the north side of the valley, but dismissed it. That would take at least an hour. She would wait for Leslie’s recon sweep before determining the best course of action.
Above, the local star, Oran, passed its zenith in the sky, beginning its trek down to the horizon. To the east, Rika could see stars begin to shine on the horizon, while those in the west began to fade.
On worlds this deep in the Praesepe cluster, there was always starlight; night was a brilliant display, no matter what time of year it was.
Given Faseema’s proximity to its star, and its long, brutal summers, night was when most of the populace did their work. The world was orbited by two large moons: Baqara, and Khinzer. Coupled with the starlight, they made for more than enough light to work by once Oran slipped beneath the horizon.
Rika’s hair began to feel slick with sweat, and she wished that running her armor’s cooling systems was an option—but it would give off far too much EM, not to mention make a very interesting heat signature for anyone watching the ridge.
No, she’d suffer through it, just as the rest of the team likely was. Well, probably not Barne. He was far behind, hidden in the lee of a large boulder; probably cool as a cucumber, the smug bastard.
Another half hour passed, and then Leslie sent a data burst over the team’s combat net. The scout was in the eaves of the barn—stars knew how she got there, Rika hadn’t seen a thing—and she had an update on the hostiles.
she reported.
Rika blew out a long breath, giving voice to her frustration. If they hit the bunker, the enemies in the farmhouse would strike them in the rear. If they hit the farmhouse first, then the bunker would lock down.
A simultaneous strike was obviously the only way to go.
However, splitting the four-person team to hit two targets when one of them was a complete unknown was not a wise move.
The whole point was to get the target out alive, not start a massive firefight that would probably kill her.
Leslie responded with an affirmative signal.
He never called her by name when they were on missions; always ‘lieutenant’, or ‘LT’. At first, it had made her worry that their relationship was a problem for him when working on an objective—then she realized that was how he kept things compartmentalized. ‘Rika’ was his lover; ‘LT’ was his boss. It was probably a smart choice; not that she could bring herself to only call him ‘sergeant’.
Far to her right, she saw a slight shift in the tall grass and knew that Chase was on his way.
The afternoon drew on. After an hour, a figure emerged from the farmhouse. The enemy was armored, as Leslie had reported: medium gear, not fully powered, but with some leg assists that would boost the wearer’s speed and ability to jump.
The gait suggested female, and when the enemy began to walk up the side of the valley, the telltale curve of the chestplate confirmed Rika’s suspicion.
A sidearm—ballistic, from the looks of it—rested in a holster on her right thigh, and a multifunction rifle was strapped to her back.
Rika zoomed her vision in, looking for any logos or markings on the woman’s armor or gear. The armor was entirely void of anything identifiable, but on closer examination, Rika spotted a small crest on the handgun’s grip.
It was a pair of intertwined snakes wrapped around a sword with a shield behind. Rika was certain she had seen it before, but nothing in her records lined up.
Ahead, Rika watched the woman stop at the sensor line and pull a small device out of a pouch on her chest. She waved it over the grid and nodded.
I guess that means Leslie didn’t take out the whole thing, Rika thought.
The woman turned west, walking along the sensor line, waving her device and nodding every so often. The soldier was sloppy; she had walked within ten meters of Rika and hadn’t even glanced toward the ridgeline once.
For all the sentry knew, there could be a whole army waiting over the hilltop.
&n
bsp; Rika considered that possibility.
Rika sent the ornery sergeant a condescending smile over the Link and turned her attention back to the woman, who had just stopped at the sensor Leslie had disabled.
This time, she shook her head and then her scanner.
That’s right, lady, Rika rolled her eyes. Sensitive scanning tech loves to be shaken around. Keep up the good work.
Granted, any scan tech put in a soldier’s hands had better be able to handle a few shakes, but that didn’t stop the lowering of Rika’s assessment of the sentry.
Eventually the woman shrugged and moved on.
When she had walked another hundred meters, the mercenary finally looked to the ridgeline, turned left, and walked to the top.
She stood staring out across the kilometers of blowing grass for several minutes before starting toward Rika’s position.
Rika had expected this. She should have moved back when the sentry came out of the farmhouse, but she had remained still, half wanting to be found so she could get this fight underway.
A short data burst came in from Chase. He was thirty meters upstream from the farm’s small bridge. It was as close as he could get.
The K-Strike merc continued to walk along the ridge, finally passing within two meters of Rika, her boot coming down just a few dozen centimeters from the end of Rika’s outstretched GNR-41C.
Rika let out a long breath as the woman moved on. As much as she wanted to get this fight started, Captain Ayer probably wouldn’t be happy if it happened because she’d been sloppy.
The sentry slowly continued her perimeter sweep and, twenty minutes later, reached the bunker. She stopped at the plascrete structure’s door and rapped three times with her fist.