by P. R. Adams
And now she was being given the choice: Do as they asked, or war would come. It was a horrible choice that left her feeling like a traitor either way.
Except she wasn’t so sure that war wasn’t coming no matter what.
5
There weren’t enough lights in the Azoren Federation Outpost basement garage. There never had been and never would be, and as a result, everything took on a ghostly half-life. Cold seeped through the rough concrete floor so intensely that O’Bannon was shivering before he had the outer thermal cover on over his uniform. Neither the outer nor the inner thermals were the sleek, black microfiber material used by the Black Lightning Commandos. No, the soldiers who had actually fought on the Moskav front had bulky, ancient thermals that would slow them down and make them clumsy. Like the lights, it was a cost-cutting decision made by people in uniform, people in headquarters with no experience in battle.
Lieutenant Franke came around the back of the Night Leopard AAV—armored assault vehicle—smacking its dark gray skin appreciatively. “We are ready to inspect this crater if you still wish, Major.” His voice seemed to be drawn away to the corners of the open room, where it faded rather than died.
“Are we, then, Lieutenant?” O’Bannon tugged his boots on.
“Suited up, I mean, sir.”
O’Bannon let his boots catch the weak, flickering light. The reflection shimmered like a spirit. “That is half the battle, isn’t it.”
The lieutenant bowed his head and rubbed the top of one of his boots against the back of his outer thermal layer. “Would you like to drive this time?”
“It is time for Andressen to show he’s ready for his corporal stripes.”
“I would think so.”
“Has he ever been out to the crater?”
“No, Major.”
“Hm.”
O’Bannon walked around the blocky vehicle, checking the bug-like telescoping light fixtures and the dense tires that didn’t even rest on the rough-textured concrete thanks to hard, pointy spikes. The garage lacked the polish and finish that had once been a Federation hallmark. But after so many years of war and so much obsession with conquest, they were running out of money.
Their former fascination with quality and design was dead. One had to look no further than the vehicle to see that.
Protective plating had been removed before shipment to Jotun, leaving it with the bare minimum of armor to even qualify as an AAV. It was five meters long and three wide, rising from a low forward cabin to a boxy section where passengers sat. At the very rear were cargo compartments. The Night Leopard wasn’t the ideal vehicle for conditions like those on Jotun, but it sufficed with the adaptations his team had made.
Private Andressen stood at the front of the vehicle, skin as pale as a corpse in the wavering light. “The engine was checked earlier, Major.”
“Good. The weather like it is, you don’t want this breaking down halfway out, do you?”
“No, Major.” The private flashed a confident, gap-toothed smile.
“Let’s see if those broken hands of yours can manage the steering, then.”
When O’Bannon opened the passenger-side door, something clattered at the back. He turned in time to see Private Lyonne drop to his belly. The beefy youngster whistled at something beneath the Night Leopard.
O’Bannon strolled to the back, wary of the open hatch. “Problems, Private?”
The lights turned Lyonne’s olive skin a sickly yellow. “Nothing of concern, Major O’Bannon.”
A metallic, canine snout poked out from beneath the vehicle. Its cold, silvery eyes seemed to blink.
“Your robot appears frightened.”
Lyonne twisted around quickly enough to grab the metal creature’s neck. “That’s enough, now, Jurgen.”
Claws scraped across the concrete as the robot-dog was dragged out. Its shell had once been a shiny, stainless steel with black-armored joints. Now there was no armor and the metal was dull and dented.
A second robot-dog stuck its head out of the back hatch. It wasn’t in any better shape.
Lyonne snapped his fingers. “Into your compartment, Engel. Now.”
The second robot disappeared inside the storage compartment.
The muscular private patted Jurgen’s head. “The major watches you. Would you look like a coward to him?”
Jurgen’s shoulders slumped.
“Inside your compartment, then.”
The robot jumped into the hatch space, circled around to nuzzle with the private, then disappeared inside.
O’Bannon smiled. “You have trained them marvelously.”
“They are overdue for upgrades and repairs, Major. I am sorry you saw that. Jurgen has been suffering outages with his behavior module. I could probably repair it with some extra time.”
“Those models are long past retirement. Get what more you can from them. They’ve already served the Federation exceptionally.”
Andressen sat at attention, hands on the steering wheel, until O’Bannon was buckled into his seat. When the major nodded, the private started the motor. It gurgled and shook, an old combustion system that was still reliable enough for serious work.
If it was taken care of.
Andressen did what he could with the limited parts and tools, but the vehicle was old, and the conditions were brutal.
They rumbled forward, spikes popping and scratching on the concrete as they turned onto the ramp that eventually took them out of the garage and onto the Jotun landscape.
Lights flared to life, dazzling white beneath blackened hoods that looked like heavy eyebrows. Once they were clear of the compound and picked up speed, the stalks holding the lights extended out a bit, and the beams brightened until they were like little moons themselves. With the lights at different heights and depth, targeting the vehicle off nothing but the glow wasn’t a sure hit.
O’Bannon pointed to the rocky surface ahead of them—silver-bright in the lights’ glow. “Watch for areas where the ice has grown deep, especially where the stones are already worn smooth.”
“Yes, Major.”
“And watch for sudden shifts in elevation, places where drainage has gouged out a channel. It will be particularly hard maneuvering.”
“Yes, Major.”
“Never outrun the lights. The darkness hides dips and jagged rocks that could damage the tires or the suspension if we hit them hard enough.”
“Yes, Major.”
“And I am stating the obvious to a young man qualified to drive the Night Leopard, am I not?”
The private flashed a sheepish, gap-toothed grin. “Yes, Major.”
“Your hands, Private—they trouble you in this cold?”
“The heat from the vents is sufficient, sir.”
It wasn’t, of course. O’Bannon’s old bones had suffered breaks, and his joints had known their share of sprains and tears. With the anemic gasp of heat coming from the cracked venting, everything ached, and no thermals—old or new—would change that.
But they would be done with this errand soon enough. It was a few hours round-trip to the crater. Surely he could handle that. His men deserved proof he deserved their support.
He leaned back and allowed the young man to find his own comfort driving.
Something flashed in the vehicle lights, and Andressen gasped as he whipped the steering wheel hard to avoid whatever had been there.
The vehicle skidded and started to slide sideways, then threatened to tip.
O’Bannon grabbed the wheel. “Brake, Niels! Foot off the brake!”
“Yes! Sorry!”
They continued to skid, the rocks and low hills flashing by, but the slide became a bit more manageable. The young man twisted the wheel as the major guided, and the skidding overtook the sliding. They were on all six tires now, slowing.
Then they slammed into something with a terrible groaning sound and a worse jolt. The engine went quiet. One of the lights died, and the other dimmed.
O
’Bannon’s door had crumpled inward and was now pressing against his knee. There was a bruise forming beneath his thermals and uniform and an ache that wasn’t likely to go away, even with time in front of a heater and a whiskey-laced mug of hot cocoa.
But they were alive.
He twisted around; the light in the passenger space flickered. “Lieutenant? Full report!”
Voices called back and forth. A belt rattled, and someone rushed to the back of the vehicle.
Lyonne checking on the robots, O’Bannon realized.
Franke sighed. “Everyone is fine, Major.”
O’Bannon relaxed. The Night Leopard be damned, the Federation be damned. At least his soldiers were unharmed. He turned to Andressen, who was deathly pale in the sickly light coming from the dashboard display. His eyes were like saucers, and his lips quivered.
“Private Andressen?”
The young man turned, blinking rapidly. “Yes, Major O’Bannon?”
“You are now qualified.”
“Yes, Major.”
“Back us up so that we can inspect the damage.”
The motor had a curious new squeal to it, and O’Bannon’s door rattled and groaned as they pulled clear of whatever they’d smashed into, but they did move. Andressen sighed as he braked about three meters away from the impact site, which turned out to be a huge, black slab jutting out of a fine bed of pebbles.
O’Bannon pulled his rebreather mask down, secured his hat, then wrapped a scarf over the back of his head and neck. He pushed the damaged door open with a hard shoulder thrust.
His boots struggled to find a grip on the icy rock until he extended the built-in ice crampons. Frozen rain came at him almost parallel to the black, rocky ground. It was a constant pap-pap-pap on the vehicle’s skin.
Franke had the rest of the team out before the major could complete a circuit around the vehicle. “Major, leave the work to us.”
O’Bannon shrugged. “It is only a functional check. The tires, fuel—”
“We can do this, sir.”
“I’ve done it many times before.” O’Bannon shivered. It really was work for younger men, but leadership required sacrifice. “No injuries?”
“None but yours. You limp.”
“I do?” O’Bannon took a step. He was favoring the leg.
“Is it a problem, sir?”
“Nothing but old age.”
“I will take the wheel, Major.”
“Nonsense. Something came out of the darkness. Private Andressen avoided hitting it.”
Franke spun around. “Something?”
“Ask the young man. This old one barely noticed the movement.”
“Should we search for it?”
O’Bannon shivered again, but this time it had nothing to do with the cold. “No, Lieutenant, we should not. This moon has no indigenous life on it. Whatever it was, it was not natural.”
The lieutenant shouted for Lyonne. “Get up on the gun and keep that spotlight running a three-sixty.”
Lyonne scrambled back into the vehicle, then popped open the top hatch. A few seconds later, a blinding disc of light began a slow rotation over their heads, matching the movement of the heavy machine gun mounted on the turret.
O’Bannon waved to where they’d impacted the jutting rock. “We lost a light on impact.”
Franke waved another of his men forward. “Search for the headlight over there.”
“It was quite capable driving from Private Andressen.”
The lieutenant scoffed. “The major knows driving better than his lieutenant does.”
“I do, and I’m telling you he did well.”
“A terrible night for anyone to drive.”
“Why else would our Black Lightning commander ask us to check the crater?”
“He is an ass.”
“They are all asses. Now, have your men set up a perimeter while Andressen gives the engine a look.”
The young private already had the hood up and a maintenance lamp hanging down into the engine compartment. He stopped every now and then to scrape ice from the lamp hood.
O’Bannon turned around slowly, careful to not push his knee. “Do you feel that?”
Franke grunted. “Like something watches from the dark?”
“Hidden in the black hills, beneath rocks, perhaps. Private Lyonne, do you see anything in your floodlight?
Lyonne cupped hands around his mouth. “Nothing, Major! Nothing but black rock!”
O’Bannon wrapped his arms around his chest. “Keep your men in close.”
The lieutenant nodded.
“And keep them focused on the task. We must be ready.”
“For what, Major?”
“Anything.”
Franke chuckled. “Do you think the captain is sleeping now?”
“Comfortable in his blanket, dreaming of his state-mother.”
“It’s the firing squad for anyone who talks in such a way about the glory of the Black Lightning Commandos, Major.”
“In their heated rooms, with their lightweight thermals and watertight ponchos. Only the best for the best. Those who have never had to actually fight to prove themselves must be coddled by high command.”
Franke sniffled. “Perhaps I could have been in an elite unit if my great-great-grandfather had been more discreet.”
“You do not choose your love, Lieutenant.”
“Marrying who he did?”
“She had his heart.”
And O’Bannon had seen videos and pictures of the woman. She had been stunning. Even Mia had said as much and without jealousy. How was someone who had been an upstanding member of the party in the years before the War for Independence supposed to know their in-laws would one day join the Khanate? And why should it have mattered? Franke was an excellent officer, and he was loyal.
But the ideology of purity had become something far worse than conceived in those years.
The lieutenant’s voice dropped to barely more than a mumble. “It is right to hold his actions against him. I accept that. But it feels unfair to judge someone on the actions of others.”
“It is how things are.”
“I understand. Have you ever wondered if maybe the Kedraalians aren’t better for not being so obsessed with such ideas?”
O’Bannon laughed. “There are no angels in the galaxy, Lieutenant. There are only humans with devils inside them. The difference is whether they choose to embrace or suffocate those darker parts of themselves. For us, the devils demand expansion and the theft of resources to fuel our quest for more resources, the snake eating its tail.”
“But we need the resources!”
“What of the resources we expend in this struggle? Is it not a fool’s endeavor and a hollow claim that we must take to have?”
The lieutenant studied the revolving spotlight for a moment. “You do not believe in this war?”
“We have been foot soldiers for a cause that isn’t really ours.”
“Then we should quit?”
“What choice do we have? We are outsiders now, but there is no leaving the Federation, and there is no changing it.”
Franke took his helmet off and knocked it against his thigh until ice broke free and fell away. “What do we do, then?”
“What we can, Jan. Protect and further your way of life. It’s that or risk death fleeing to someplace else.”
“Do you believe that, Major?”
“Some would say it is all that keeps many in place.”
The lieutenant stepped back as a short, plump soldier came forward holding a twisted rod. “This is the light, Private Gerard?”
“It can be repaired, I think.” The private was, like Andressen, someone capable with his mind, someone who found a way to keep things running when they shouldn’t have been able to.
O’Bannon took the rod. It looked ruined. “Set it in the back, with the dogs.”
“Yes, Major.”
As Gerard walked away, the light inside the engine compart
ment went out, and a second later, the lid slammed shut.
The major shivered. “If that engine starts, perhaps the time to get Andressen his new stripes is today.”
And in fact, the engine did start. The squeal was still there, but not so bad.
O’Bannon’s door groaned as he pulled it shut. He was careful to avoid banging his tender knee with the warped metal. He sat back, wondering how long his body could endure such treatment, then buckled back in.
Andressen’s head was bowed. “I will work until everything is repaired, Major.”
“That isn’t necessary, Private Andressen. But we will need to be more cautious with only the one headlamp, won’t we?”
“We still head to the crater, sir?”
“We do. Carefully.”
It took several minutes longer than it would have, but aside from a new set of rattles and banging, the Leopard sounded almost normal.
As Lyonne readied the robot-dogs for the search of the crater, Lieutenant Franke had the rest of the team set up a perimeter. O’Bannon waved his junior officer to the side of the giant hole in the ground.
Franke rubbed his arms as he stared into the black depths. “The cold is worse here.”
O’Bannon ran a flashlight over the wall below. “It is.”
“Can the dogs handle these walls?”
“As well as we can. Probably better. The angle isn’t so bad up here. The problem is the ice and the slick rock.”
“The report said that there is a lake of black glass on the bottom.”
“Not much better on the sides, either. Not down below. You see?”
“What is it that was so big as to cause this? A meteorite?”
O’Bannon put the flashlight away and pulled out binoculars. He set them to his rebreather mask and scanned the eastern horizon, then handed the device to Franke. “I have marked it. To the east.”
The young man scanned for a bit, then stopped. “Those are the ruins?”
“That’s what the archaeologists say.”
“They look flattened. Everything is black.”
“Charred. It was an old settlement.”
The lieutenant handed the binoculars back. “These archaeologists, they have a theory about what happened?”