When they’d been overrun, he’d moved to block the smaller passage into the ship. Any of the alien mercs that wanted entry into the ship had to get past him. He’d restarted the music twice, when he still noticed things like that; now it was nothing more than stab, withdraw, stab again, pull off the Goka sticking its knife into a joint in his suit. Over and over.
He didn’t know how many wounds he had, but he could feel himself running out of energy. He’d dropped his knife a while ago—or maybe it had gotten stuck in a dead Goka, he couldn’t remember—and he was down to just his suit’s sword blade.
A pain in his left leg, and the CASPer’s left leg locked as well. The Goka was wiggling the knife in his leg, trying to cut as many things as he could. Amunson reached down with both hands and ripped the bug off his leg. He was so tired, it took both arms to hold the wriggling creature. He noticed with some sorrow that his sword blade had broken off somehow. There was no way to stab the Goka he was holding, even if he could have let go of it with one hand long enough to do so.
He tried to squeeze it—maybe he could crush it—but that didn’t work. He was out of ideas and almost out of consciousness, but knew he couldn’t let the bug go. He had to hold until relieved. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could last 10 seconds longer. He would do that. He started counting, but when he got to “three,” the bug started squirming harder, and he almost lost his grip. His eyes sprang open to help him get hold of it again, but the Goka had grown a new leg from the center of its chest. It was long and flat, and several drops of the creature’s blue blood fell off it to hang suspended in front of him. Through the haze, he recognized it—the leg was actually a CASPer sword blade.
The bug was taken from his hands, and a golden shape filled the haze of his vision. “We’ve got it,” the voice said. “You held.”
The horns played a final note, his last call, and he went to meet them.
* * *
Bravo Arm, Space Dock 22, Golara System
The soldier released the Goka he’d been holding, and Sansar scraped it from her sword blade. “Eternal Blue Sky take you,” she said to the soldier, drawing the symbol for Tengri on the left side of his chest in the blood of the Goka he’d been holding. She saw the name on his chest. ‘Amunson.’
Sansar bowed to the Sergeant First Class. The Goka had been the last of the aliens—over 60 of their bodies littered the area nearby—and Amunson was the last of the Reavers. By the looks of it, Amunson’s platoon had held off two Goka companies. If the Goka had gotten past him, there’s no telling where the aliens would have gotten to or what they would have done. Although psychopathic in nature, the bugs were ruthless killers, and she knew they would have found some way to ruin their day. Maybe by blowing up the battleship with them next to it. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about that.
The battleship was theirs.
* * * * *
Chapter Ten
Egleesius Cruiser “EG2,” Hyperspace
“Robots!” Sergeant Johnson yelled over the comm system as everything around them flashed to the white nothingness of hyperspace.
Earl knew there was no cover on the surface of the ship, and he turned as fast as he could to find a hatch had opened and some sort of combat robots were issuing forth, shooting at his men as they came. “Fire!” Earl ordered as he activated his weapons system.
The robots looked like four-foot-tall trash cans, with rounded domes on top. A number of sensors and instruments jutted off their bodies, as well as two lasers, which were mounted on top of them about where a person’s shoulders would be. Black as night, they were easy silhouettes against the white of hyperspace as they used some sort of maneuvering jets to fly up from the space below the hatch. Kowalski was already dead, hit several times, and Corporal Johnson’s life signs zeroed.
Earl targeted the first robot and triggered his magnetic accelerator cannon. Three rounds from his initial barrage hit the robot and smashed through it. His other rounds missed as the robot’s controls went offline, and it spun off, away from the ship. When it was about 10 meters above the ship, it seemed to stretch into infinity and just…disappear. Oh fuck, he thought.
“Stay close to the hull!” Earl yelled over the radio. “If you get too far away, you’ll be lost forever.”
The other three members of the group fired with a vengeance, and the rest of the robots were quickly dispatched. Another started to rise up from the hatchway, but two MAC rounds in the top of its dome slammed it back against the hatch. The hatch slammed shut, trapping the robot in its grasp.
“What the hell happened?” First Sergeant Ivkovich asked as he and the rest of the second fire team jetted up.
“I don’t know,” Commander Earl replied. “We started cutting our way in, and the robots attacked as we went into hyperspace. We got lucky—after the first two shots, they missed hitting any of the rest of us.”
“I don’t think they were trying to hit us,” Sergeant Roberts said. “Look at the cutter.” Earl turned to look at the machine and saw it had been slagged. One of the legs was cut off and the machinery had absorbed at least five or six other hits; it was melted in a number of places.
“I guess they didn’t want us cutting our way in,” Earl noted.
“Yeah, and to look at that cutter, we’re not going to be getting in anytime soon,” Ivkovich added.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Sergeant Pender said. He pointed to the hatch the robots had come out of. It was still cycling as it tried to shut, but the robot it had squashed was preventing it from getting a good seal.
“Quick!” Earl exclaimed. “Someone grab a jack and let’s get it in there before the hatch cuts the robot in half and is able to close.”
* * *
Egleesius Cruiser “EG2,” Hyperspace
“Oh, no!” Sato exclaimed, looking at the monitor. He switched to his comm system. “Commander Earl, I think the ship is going to attack you!”
“Yeah, little late on that one. We just fought off a number of robots…after they killed two of my men.”
“Oh,” Sato said. “Sorry. I’ve been monitoring some of the things the computer does. The system was running calculations for the jump to hyperspace, but then did an emergency jump.”
“We started cutting our way through the hull,” Earl said. “That was when it jumped into hyperspace. It also sent several robots to destroy the laser cutter. We lost two men in the attack, as well as the cutter. The hatch they came out of jammed, though, so we’re in the ship.”
“Oh,” Sato said, “that’s bad.”
“No,” Earl said. “As I said, it’s okay. We made it into the ship, even though we lost two people. We’ve got enough food for a week in hyperspace. We even brought some for you.”
“No, I’m not worried about the men you lost—well, that’s not what I mean; I am sorry for your loss—or even having the supplies. When you started cutting, I am afraid the ship decided you were intruders, and it has activated its defensive countermeasures.”
“What does that mean?” Earl asked. “You said the ship is crewless. How did it initiate defensive protocols? Besides, without a crew, what is it going to be able to do to us, anyway?”
“More than you are expecting would be my guess,” Sato replied. “Everything I’ve been able to find here indicates the ship was meant to operate without a crew. The access doors to the CIC have been welded closed! I believe after it was built, no crew remained. It’s fully automated.”
“How could it do that? Aside from following a set program to go from one place to another, how does a ship operate efficiently by itself without a crew?”
“Simple,” Sato replied. “I believe this ship has an operating artificial intelligence onboard, and it has just determined that you are the enemy.”
* * *
Egleesius Cruiser “EG2,” Hyperspace
“Back!” Commander Earl ordered. “Everyone back to Deck Five!” His MAC fired three rounds through the dome of the closest robot, and it began smoki
ng and crashed into the corridor wall. The one behind it flew around it with a burst of its maneuvering jets, firing its dual lasers. Earl fired again, hitting it several times, and the robot was blown backward with the impacts. “First three up the ramp, set up a perimeter!” Earl ordered as he turned and ran, the magnetic locks on his boots making clanking noises. He made it back to the ramp, then used a tap on his jumpjets to fly up to the next level. In zero G, it was far easier than negotiating the ramp.
“How are things going?” Dr. Sato asked.
Earl growled to himself. The doctor’s timing was impeccable—his calls always came at the least opportune time. “Everything is shitty,” Earl said over the comm. “The robots have responded to our presence in force. We made it as far as Deck Seven, but they have driven us back up the ramp into Section Two of Deck Five. It looks like this is the only section open to us.”
Several of the troopers fired as one of the robots came into sight on Deck Six.
“Hold your fire,” Earl said over his speakers. “Ivkovich, assign someone the duty of primary shooter. We need to conserve our ammo and our suits’ power. What we have is going to have to last us a week.”
“Gonna be the longest damn week of our lives, too,” Sergeant Roberts muttered on the company’s tactical frequency.
“That’s a fact,” Earl replied. “So suck it up and get used to it.” He switched back to the common frequency. “Sato, we’re going to barricade ourselves on Deck Five and try to hold out here. Our position seems to be fairly defensible, unless they attack through the other sections here, in which case, we’re screwed. We did leave some food for you on Deck Seven if you’re able to get to it somehow.”
“The ship does not appear to consider me a threat at the moment,” Sato replied. “I ought to be able to get the food with no problem. Thank you!”
Earl sighed. Well, that was at least one problem solved, though he wasn’t sure what to do about trying to recover the ship. If Sato was correct, there were no other entities involved, beyond the ship’s artificial intelligence, which had a seemingly endless amount of robots at its disposal. Certainly, they hadn’t been able to get past them on Deck Seven. His troops had a wide variety of demolitions material with them, but using it would only serve to make them more of an “enemy” to the AI, if that were possible. At the moment, it seemed like the AI was only interested in herding them back toward the bow of the ship. While the robots would kill his troops if able—Stevens’ body, left on Deck Seven, was evidence of that—they seemed more interested in pushing the Human forces back, rather than making a frontal assault that would eliminate the Humans.
What did that mean? Probably that the AI didn’t have unlimited forces; either it didn’t have a manufactory aboard, or it was a small one that would take some time to replace the ship’s losses. It also probably meant the ship was happy with a holding action; it was going somewhere to do something, and as long as Earl’s forces were marginalized in the bow of the ship, it was satisfied with that. Maybe Sato could figure out what the AI’s plans were, so he’d know whether he needed to perform some sort of last-ditch maneuver to stop it. While he would make the attempt if needed, it would be a lot better—and more likely to succeed—if he had some additional support. Unfortunately, that support wouldn’t be available until they reached Plugy’s Star, wherever the hell that was.
He had to hold until that time. They had enough food and water; ammo and power would be the issues. If the AI didn’t continue to assault them, they could ration and survive the week, but if the AI continued to probe their position or assaulted them repeatedly, they would be down to hand-to-hand before long.
* * *
Sato moved carefully, his lone bot pulling him through the empty corridors, around corners, and up ramps toward his goals. He reached Deck Seven and found the wrecked robots that were the remnants of Frank Earl’s pitched battles. He also found two big vacuum-sealed pouches fixed to a bulkhead. “Rations” was clearly printed on the side. Excellent, he thought, retrieving the packages.
Normally, moving something from the outside of a CASPer to the inside while in vacuum would be a huge problem. Sato’s CASPer, however, wasn’t normal. He’d installed not one, but two small airlocks. One was in the chest as part of the clamshell hatch. The operator’s area of a Mk 7 CASPer wasn’t huge; luckily, neither was Taiki Sato. The total volume of his airlock wasn’t much more than that of a large cat. Each vacuum pouch just about filled it. With two cycles of the lock, he had them inside.
Both pouches had two small pouches taped together. “CASPer Trooper Ration Pack #3,” the first one said. “CASPer Trooper Ration Pack #9,” the second one said. Sato disengaged his arms from the suit with some wiggling, and took the pouch. It had been four days since his last meal, and he resorted to tearing the reinforced plastic with his teeth. Inside was meat paste, vegetable paste (mostly soy-based), fruit paste (origin unknown; it tasted like peach), some M&M candies, and three pouches of water.
He drank one of the water pouches and stored the other two. His suit was still making plenty of water, but it had a metallic tang. This water was distilled, and the neutral taste was refreshing. He used the suit’s built-in heater, using salvaged heat from the heatsinks, and ate the meat paste. “Stroganoff,” the label described it. Pretty damn tasty, he thought, though not sure if it was hunger or quality. Despite his hunger, he exercised self-control and ate slow, measured bites. Growing up in Japan, you learned restraint early in life. As a result, when he was done, he felt quite full.
Sato stored the fruit and vegetable paste for later, then opened the candies and let a few float free before stashing the rest. As he thought, Sato occasionally plucked a candy from the air and popped it into his mouth. Feeling full for the first time in days, he found his center again. That was almost as satisfying as the food.
He headed back to the center of the ship, moving down the decks until he reached the sealed CIC once more. It was the only place he’d found one of the Tri-V boxes. Once he arrived, he uploaded the camera’s log from his absence. There was only one line.
“CHARGE TWENTY PERCENT.”
“Charge?” he wondered aloud. “What kind of charge?” He moved the CASPer into position so he could reach inside to type.
“Report fuel level.”
“FUEL SEVENTY-SEVEN PERCENT.”
“Not that, then,” Sato said. “Report battery level.”
“BATTERY LEVEL NINETEEN PERCENT.”
Sato remembered that the batteries on all four Egleesius-class salvaged from 2nd Level Hyperspace needed to have their batteries replaced, because they wouldn’t hold a charge very well. “Report battery condition.”
“BATTERY CONDITION POOR.”
“Okay, not the batteries,” he said. The problem with having some food in him was now he was more conscious of the smell inside the suit. That was a problem, as he only had one more clean wipe, and they wouldn’t be out of hyperspace for many days. He remembered the other pouch Earl’s people had left for him and opened the lock where he’d stored it.
The package had one more ration pack, a “CASPer Ration Pack #2” full of jerky, and two more clean wipes. He stored everything except one of the wipes, beginning the complicated ballet of stripping out of the haptic suit to clean himself. As he worked, he tried to figure out what else would have a charge.
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven
EMS Sleipnir, Golara System
“Defensive formation Shell One A, Soos,” Commander Yoshuka ordered his TacCom as he watched the order of battle assemble in the Sleipnir’s huge CIC Tri-V. This fight wasn’t shaping up the way the Winged Hussars normally liked to fight. They leaned toward medium-sized, overly-shielded, and fast ships. Hit at speed, slap your enemy as you pass, live for another fight. The Battle of Golara was turning into a straight-up slugfest.
The Shell formations were designed for these rare kinds of fights. It was one of the few times the stinky air squids, the Izlians, were right in
their tactical doctrines. Frigates spread out ahead as missile screens, escorts held back to fire past their larger cousins, battlecruisers at the point of the formation behind the escorts to project power, cruisers around the battlecruisers to add their missiles where needed. Carriers and transports were rear of the formation with a couple frigates, just in case.
The number of the formation was set in computer code before battle; it assigned which frigates and cruisers faced primary incoming fire at the time. Change the number, ships moved. Just before leaving, they’d added designations A and B, to take into account a new player for this battle.
“Fleet adjusting,” Soos said. He was a Sidar and bore an uncanny resemblance to a terrestrial Pteranodon, but with more bat-like characteristics. He had his long leathery wings folded and was using pinplants to operate the ship’s systems. As the TacCom for the fleet’s command ship, Soos was tasked not only with fighting their ship, but also managing the entire fleet’s battle orientation. As a member of a flying species, he was particularly good at his job. “Stonewall Jackson is moving into position.”
“Very good. Comms, send my regards to Captain Ewald, and wish him good luck in his first battle. Helm, cease acceleration and prepare for combat.”
Although initially disorganized when the Pegasus had jumped into the Golara system, the enemy fleet had regrouped in the intervening time.
“They’ve decided we’re the bigger threat,” Soos informed Yoshuka. “I mark 47 enemy ships in the formation making for us.”
“Order Chimera, Phoenix, and Wyvern to begin launching. Inform Colonel Cromwell we’re engaging the enemy.”
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