“Whoa—3D printed what?” Silk said.
“A child,” Azelon said. “I took the liberty of fashioning a large doll, as you’d call it, to act as a stand-in for Piper. If we’re going to draw the enemy out, we might as well make it as believable as possible.”
“I wanna see this creep-bot,” said Robillard. “Who wants to bet it’s as ugly as Bliss’s last attempt to shoot a grouping at a hundred meters?”
“I’ll show you a tight grouping,” Bliss replied, raising his NOV1.
“Easy, gladias,” Magnus said. “We’ll have plenty of time to see what the 3D printer can do later.” He looked at Caldwell. “You think it’ll work?”
“With any luck, Azelon’s decoy will draw out some unfortunate lackey, and then blow them away,” Caldwell said. “You and I both know it won’t be Moldark or Bosworth. They’ll be expecting a dummy. But they won’t be able to resist the urge to at least investigate what we send.”
“It would make everything a whole lot easier if Moldark went himself,” Rohoar said through clenched teeth.
“You’re telling me,” Magnus replied.
“Correct, I am telling you.”
“No, I mean—” Magnus waved off Rohoar. “Never mind. How do those sleeves feel?”
Rohoar looked down at the new additions to his kit: armored sleeves that covered his arms and lower legs. The Jujari’s standard armor allowed the limbs to be exposed, granting the fighters greater dexterity to slice and maul. But the OTA required that the species’ whole bodies be covered, including their muzzles, which also had new snout cones.
“I don’t like them,” Rohoar said in disgust. “But the robot says we Jujari will perish without them. So it is a necessary horror.”
“You mean evil,” Magnus said.
“What?”
Magnus held out his hand like he was offering a gift. “The expression is a necessary evil.”
“No.” Rohoar laid his ears back. “It is a horror, one I will refuse to tell my descendants about, lest they have nightmares.”
An awkward pause filled the hangar until Caldwell clapped his hands. “Let’s get this show on the road before someone’s brother decides to propose to his sister. Remember, your time on target is one hour. The Spire’s subspace speed bought us a head start, but we don’t know how much. Get the PDS up, rescue Awen’s parents, and we’ll take care of the decoy. Azelon will have extraction transport waiting on the atoll of Simlia, as marked in your mission plan window. Easy in, easy out.”
Magnus raised a hand. “Colonel, may I have a word?”
Caldwell stepped aside with Magnus. “What is it, son?”
“Ricio’s wife and kid. He asked if there was a way to—”
“Already took care of it. Ricio was able to make contact with his wife on Capriana, and then he arranged for a little last-minute vacation care of some of his old Navy pals. I may have called in a favor or two as well.”
“And no one is the wiser?”
Caldwell pulled his cigar out of his mouth. “Not a clue, son. Plus, who’d believe this splick anyway?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Magnus chuckled. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t mention it. Just make sure you do your job.”
“Colonel,” Azelon said. “Belvista Summit will be coming into sensor range in sixty seconds.” The ship was one of a handful of Ember-class Frigates that the Repub kept on orbital security around Capriana. But all of the ships combined would do little to thwart any serious enemy assault on the planet. The weak defense was just one more sign that the Republic had grown apathetic and was not prepared for what was about to jump out of subspace.
“Time to get a move on, Lieutenant,” Caldwell said.
Magnus nodded, checked the mission clock, and then made the call. “Everyone to the line.” All twenty-five Elites stepped up to the edge of the safety zone painted on the hangar bay floor about four meters from the environmental forcefield that separated life from hard vacuum. Magnus gave the command for helmets on and then ordered everyone to double-check the rig of the person on their right; Caldwell double-checked Magnus on the end. Once affirmation icons went down the chat window in his HUD, Magnus gave the order to advance to the red line against the shimmering translucent blue wall. The dark side of Capriana Prime loomed below them like an ominous black hole, punctuated by small dots of light wherever island cities poked above the watery surface.
“Ten seconds,” Magnus said.
“Safe travels, Granther Company,” Caldwell said over comms. “And mystics’ speed.”
* * *
Magnus leaped from the Spire and felt the weightlessness of low orbit tickle his gut. Unlike jumping from a vessel in-atmosphere, the gravity this high up wasn’t enough to yank an object straight down. Instead, it was a gentle pull, noticeable only by referencing a larger stationary object—in this case, Azelon’s Spire. Between his feet, he watched the hangar bay’s doors close until the cloaked ship was invisible against Capriana Prime’s night sky.
Apparent speed, acceleration, and altitude appeared in Magnus’s HUD, along with a glide path and angle of incidence. The data was reasonably static at first. The only high number was the altitude, placing Granther Company 103 klicks above the planet in the lower thermosphere. The height also corresponded to a graph that represented the variation in acceleration due to gravity.
This moment of peace, Magnus knew, was the calm before the storm. Over the next few kilometers, things would go from tranquil to total chaos. The only gladias with battlefield experience for this type of jump were those who’d served in the Republic Marines—the rest had only done it in the enclosed combat simulation environment. Were it not for Azelon’s suits and sophisticated automation, such a jump would be catastrophic for more than half of Magnus’s company. There were still risks; no jump was ever “safe.” But the Novian tech went a long way in ensuring everyone landed on target.
Not only was a night jump into the target area the surest way to avoid Capriana’s defense network, but it was also the fastest. There was no need to fake ship logs, spoof scanners, or mess with hangar bay assignments. Instead, jumpers could head directly to their respective targets and start infiltration. As long as Magnus could convince CENTCOM of the situation, and Zoll could break out Awen’s parents, there was no reason this entire op couldn’t be finished before sunup.
Magnus glanced at his mission clock. It was 0300 local time—right on schedule.
“Remember,” Magnus said over VNET. “Work with the suits, not against them. And Cyril?”
“Uh huh?”
“No squirming.”
“Right, right, right. I’m roger that. Copy, sir.”
Magnus watched on his HUD as the members of Granther Company began to fan out, making room for one another in case of a mishap. A blowout, satellite strike, or gear malfunction could spell disaster for more than one jumper if they flew too close together. Magnus had seen his share of emergencies, and he didn’t need to witness any more today.
Fortunately, Azelon’s handiwork didn’t stop with the suits. She, TO-96, and Cyril had taken extra time to create a passthrough corridor that tracked with the jumpers during their entire descent. The tech shadow, as Cyril called it, temporarily rendered all planetary defense surveillance blind wherever the gladias passed by. It included blackouts of active thermal imaging, space displacement surveillance, and drone security. Only if the ground operators were really smart, Cyril had said, would anyone notice a pattern and discover the vectors. When Magnus asked about the likelihood of such a discovery, the code slicer just chuckled. “If everyone shared data like they were supposed to, they’d blast us in the first ten kilometers. But they don’t, so we’ll be alpha zulu good to go, sir.”
The first test of the genius’s plan came when Magnus noticed a satellite racing up to meet them. It boasted several solar panels, sensors, and a large central core. But unlike most orbital units he’d seen, this one looked like it had gone dark. No blinkin
g lights, no glowing operations panels. The gladias were close enough that if it had been working, they’d be found out for sure. But instead, the teams ripped by without so much as a blip from the orbiting mass of metal.
“Dead as a dead corpse,” Cyril said over comms. “You see that, Lieutenant, over?”
“I did, Cyril,” Magnus replied. “Don’t talk unless you have to, kid.”
“Right, right. Sorry, sir, Lieutenant. Copy over.” A beat later, Cyril’s voice trembled. “Whoa, whoa! What’s happening?”
“It’s normal, kid. Just relax.”
The first signs of entering the mesosphere were small vibrations that tingled Magnus’s skin. He glanced at his altitude—85 klicks—and noticed his speed increasing. “Nice and easy, people,” Magnus said. “Stay loose and ride it.”
The vibrations increased, and small orange flames appeared on his visor. The HUD displayed a fast rise in external suit temperature as atmospheric friction increased. Magnus felt his limbs shudder and noticed the suit’s smart pads expand to clamp down on his body. Just because an egg couldn’t be fried inside a shell didn’t mean it couldn’t be scrambled instead.
Next came the roar.
The first time Magnus ever experienced the deafening sound of an exosuit entering an atmosphere, he’d thought he’d lost his hearing forever. And some guys did need surgery afterward. But rather than be afraid, Magnus felt exhilarated. Among the many experiences that constituted core Marine activities, orbital to atmo jumps were among Magnus’s favorite. He was born to do this stuff and loved it as much now as he did the first time. Hearing the roar of fire against his body as it hurtled toward the planet was as hardcore as you could get.
“Woohoo,” Magnus yelled, deciding to forgo comms discipline. Maybe if the newbs heard his enthusiasm, they wouldn’t be as nervous—because mystics knew most of them were nervous. Hell, half had probably already splicked themselves. “Come on, Capriana! That all you got?”
Cyril’s voice came over VNET in a soul-stuttering, teeth-chattering sound that made Magnus grin. “Yuh-yuh-y-y-you luh-luh-luh-lied-d-d t-t-t-to me!”
“I didn’t want to spoil it,” Magnus yelled back.
The violent forces reached their climax, shaking Magnus so hard it felt like the Novian armor would split open at any second. There was no way anything could survive this—an atmosphere was why asteroids blew apart. But he would survive it, just like he had dozens of times before, and as he double-checked the roster and team bioactivity, so would everyone else it looked like. Heart rates and blood pressures were up, but that was good—it meant they were alive and awake.
In another few moments, the flames died down, and the roar outside transitioned to the sound of whipping wind. The suit’s temperature gauge also receded as the air cooled the red-hot panels. Azelon insisted that the telecolos finish wouldn’t come off during their journey, which was good—they’d need all the cover the suit’s chameleon mode could provide. But until Magnus saw it work again for himself, he wouldn’t believe the cloaking tech could survive such a beating.
“Praise be to the gods of insanity,” Abimbola said over comms. “I believe we flew through hell and survived.”
“That’s about the gist of it,” Magnus replied. “Everyone good? Awen, you okay?”
When she spoke, it sounded like a child trying to talk through a mouthful of hot soup. “Not so much.”
“Just spit it out,” Magnus replied, guessing she’d vomited—like always. “Your suit will reclaim it.” Then he heard her belch, followed by a juicy flow of something passing over the mic. “Feel better?”
“A little, yeah,” she replied.
“I do not feel a little better,” said Rohoar. “I believe Jujari were not meant to fly.”
“Just hang in there, everyone,” Magnus replied. “Stay on target. You’re doing great.”
A warning indicator went off in Magnus’s HUD. The words Proximity Alert blinked in red letters, followed by a vector indicator pointing toward an object in the upper left frame. He willed his display to zoom in, and then identified the object as a drone hub—a two-meter-wide substation that deployed, resupplied, and serviced a dozen smaller drones at altitude. According to Cyril and the bots, the flight path was supposed to be clear of obstructions, but this unit was clearly off course, perhaps caused by some unforeseen side effect of the tech shadow. Worse, the drone hub was in the middle of Echo Team’s flight path.
“Echo Lead,” Magnus said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Obstruction ahead,” Zoll said, seeing what Magnus was. “Evade, evade, evade.”
3
Handley hit the drone substation so hard that the sound traveled through Magnus’s helmet. The unit flipped over and sent Handley’s body flying off at an oblique angle. Then the substation surged to the left, trying to stabilize itself, and flew into Robillard’s path. Robillard glanced off the side, giving little more than a grunt over comms. The substation spiraled away, unable to maintain altitude, leaving Handley and Robillard’s bodies to tumble through the stratosphere.
Magnus looked at the roster and saw Handley’s vitals flatline. Robillard, however, seemed relatively stable despite having a fractured humerus and ulna, along with two broken ribs and a hairline fracture in his right hip.
“Robillard,” Zoll yelled. “Talk to me!”
“Damn drones,” Robillard replied through gritted teeth. “Always knew they were trouble.”
“You able to stabilize that spin you’re in?”
“Roger.” Within a few seconds, Robillard regained control and started slipping back toward Echo Team’s formation. “Where’s Handley?”
Magnus heard Zoll swear under his breath, then say, “He’s gone.”
“Splick.”
“Stay focused, people,” Magnus said, suppressing the anger he felt bubbling up from his gut. Not only was Echo Team’s medic and demolition specialist dead, but the team’s lead rifleman was badly injured. This was not the way to start a mission. Magnus had never been one for omens, but if the galaxy was going to send him a harbinger of doom, this was it. The mission, Magnus, he reminded himself. Focus on the mission.
Magnus opened a private channel to Robillard and Zoll. “You look hurt, Robillard.”
“Nothing my suit can’t handle, LT,” he replied.
“I need to know you’re good to go,” Zoll said.
“Suit’s pumping me with feel-goods, nanobots doing their thing, and I can feel the clamps on my arms already. I’m green.”
“I’m good if Magnus is,” Zoll replied.
“Roger that,” Magnus said. To his credit, Robillard had been one of the toughest Marauders Magnus had seen come through training. Plus, Robillard was damn good in close quarters battle, and a crack shot too, so Magnus didn’t want to lose the gladia to a stupid accident. Zoll’s team would need him inside the lab if things got hot, especially now that they were down a man. “But Zoll and I need to know if you’re unable to perform.”
“You’ll be the first to hear me whine,” Robillard replied.
Satisfied, Magnus opened the company channel again. “Second squad, prepare to break off.”
“Ready,” Zoll replied.
“Waypoint hotel lima niner approaching in… five, four, three, two, one—break.”
Zoll and his three fire teams banked south, diverging from Magnus’s two teams. Second squad’s course took them toward the research lab while Magnus continued toward the Forum Republica’s capital complex. “Safe travels,” Magnus said.
“See you at exfil,” Zoll replied.
Forty klicks below, Capriana’s atoll appeared like the jewels of a necklace, glowing golden yellow amidst a midnight black canvas. Smaller dots of light moved to and from the C-shaped island chain, designating water-bound cruisers and flying transport shuttles. From this height, it was hard to tell just how massive each island in the atoll truly was. But Magnus knew that each skyscraper-laden patch of land was equal in size to whole countries on oth
er worlds. Only the ignorant thought of Capriana as a small cluster of islands.
Having grown up here as a kid, Magnus knew the city never slept. There was always someone needing to talk to somebody about something that couldn’t wait. Then again, the fate of a hundred worlds rested on what happened on these massive islands, so there were legitimate excuses for the endless comings and goings of the galaxy’s elite. But even with all the activity, a night incursion was far safer and more secretive than anything Granther Company might attempt in the day.
Magnus studied the flight path that appeared as augmented reality in his HUD. The line took them west of the atoll’s wide center point, over the sea, and then curved inland. Glide assist would deploy at 1,000 meters above ground level, and then they’d traverse east, flaring atop Centennial Tower.
Magnus monitored each gladia’s flight path, making sure everyone was staying on course. The only person straying a little too far outside the line was Czyz—the Jujari called up from Charlie Team to take Saladin’s place. “You holding up, Czyz?” Magnus asked.
“I am not holding up,” the Jujari replied. “I am falling.”
Magnus smiled—ever the literalists, he mused to himself. “Right. Everything okay, though? You’re straying from the flight path.”
“This flying is not as easy as you humans make it seem.”
“Well, that’s only because I’ve had a little more practice than you. You do it long enough, it comes more naturally.”
“I hope never to do it again,” Czyz said. “Unless my mwadim forces me to under penalty of death.”
“That’s a little extreme,” Magnus said.
“But it proves his displeasure,” Rohoar added. “And Rohoar will endeavor never to ask him.”
“Well, there you go,” Magnus said to Czyz, noting Rohoar’s curious self-identification.
“There,” said Czyz. “I believe I am back on the trail.”
“Yup, you are.” Magnus noted the course correction. “Nice work.”
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 168