by J. F. Holmes
“How long before they send backup?” Rosia said from the far side of the room.
“At least three days.” She paused, as though weighing the information she was about to reveal. “Whatever’s taken over the station has jammed most of the comms in this region. We were sent here to find out what happened. Orders gave us three days to sneak and peak, with nothing other than short-range comms. If we failed, we’d scuttle the station using charges on the plasma cores, or using our picket ship.”
“So what do you know?” Jack said matter-of-factly.
“Not much,” said the young Corporal Green. He was their comms guy. “We know about as much as you do. Only, we lost comms with the station not more than a few weeks ago.” He shifted a little and leaned forward. “This station does mostly local trade goods and tourism. Nothing fancy. But for the miners, belters, cargo jocks, and agro hicks, it’s a good time. Plus the presence of a nearby class-twelve nebula, you get some interference and data drops for a few days at a time.”
“What threw up the red flag?” Rosia asked.
“According to Data-Comm Bureau, it was the second station to go completely dark in six months.”
“Well, we know what happened now.” Private Griffith snorted.
“We still don’t know everything, Private. And hold that thought,” Mills interjected. The private sat back and took a bite of his breadstick. “Okay, let’s see the data.”
It took little time for the team to absorb what had taken place, though Saully, Rosia, and Jack left out the business with Citizen Pratt. That information was need-to-know, and these people didn’t need to know…yet. The team seemed shocked at the speed with which the things moved, and their adaptations.
After a data dump and some quick planning, the combined group decided on several actions. One team would be sent out to free the cargo ship from the boarding clamps. The second team would search the station for survivors and download all they could from its systems. Saully’d had some luck previously but was locked out from deeper-level access. The security terminals were now a bust. A third team would be sent to place the remaining charges on the plasma reactors on the central spine of the station. Very secure, and very hard to reach. On top of all this, it was the deepest portion of the station. Most probably filled with the beach ball things.
Team One consisted of Rosia and four of the Guardsmen team; their engineer, two riflemen, and a demolitions expert. Team Three consisted of Saully and three privates. Team Two had Jack and the remaining four guardsmen; two sergeants including Mills, a corporal, and a private, who was their medic. Tito had recovered enough to play overwatch and help team one from the bridge. His leg was in a nanomatrix brace and was starting to heal up.
The teams left the airlock as one group and split up just outside the station security area. Team One, with Rosia, went toward the dock control rooms. Team Two headed down the main corridor with Team Three and split off at the first elevator.
“So that’s what they look like,” Private Johnson said as he kicked a scrap piece of metallic sphere.
“Don’t touch them, Johnson!” Mills’ terse voice split the airwaves on the Tactical net. “I know your geek nature, and now isn’t the time to be touchy-feely. We have no idea what they’re made of, or what causes that ash, besides their weapons,” Mills barked. “Keep clear, does everyone understand?” Heads nodded in affirmative as they kept sweeping their areas and pied corners like they’d done it since they were born. Good crew.
“Thanks for cleaning our gear, Sir,” one of the other soldiers said to Jack.
“No problem. Just use them effectively when we run into the fuckers.” Jack had no qualms about shooting things that shot at him.
***
Team Three continued on and made a general clearing of the side businesses and living areas as they went full circle around that level of the station. Then to the elevator at the end, and begin again on the very bottom floor. It was short, to the point, and scary as hell. Nothing but cargo and spare parts for a machining area, but too many dark corners and cubby holes for their liking.
The floors above were mostly maintenance levels. When the team hit the seventh level, signs of carnage revealed themselves. Room after room and hallway after hallway, the piles of dusty ash multiplied exponentially. Too numerous to keep accurate track of by hand, they made note of where the bodies were concentrated using video, then moved on after clearing that level.
Jack decided to check in and switched to general comms. “Tito, Jack here. Found piles of ash and debris on eight. We’re expecting more of the same on seven. Any activity?”
“Negative, Jack. Team One is attempting a jail break on the clamps, bypassing some interlock manually. Said it might take a while. Haven’t heard from Saully yet.”
“How are you holding up, Marine?”
“Feeling no pain, but my as-yet nonexistent foot itches like a bitch,” Tito chuckled.
“Good to hear. Keep it peeled and stay in touch. Jack, out.” He then switched to the tactical channel they were assigned. “Stay frosty, people.” A reply of double clicks in the affirmative reassured him a little.
The next ten floors were much of the same. Ash everywhere they went. Not a soul alive. Hope that anyone could have lived through this was sinking fast beneath the evidence. They strode forward to the next level, then the one after that.
The elevator doors opened and, as with every other floor, they took up positions to cover what angles they could with the limited cover. They saw the work stations, ash piled in chairs, the set of weapons blasts around the room giving testimony to the Command and Operation level fighting back. Debris was strewn about the cavernous chamber. A mix of ruined alien and human tech. The acrid stench of armed conflict permeated their senses.
“I’ve got a locked and sealed door over here,” one of the team voiced over the tac radio. “I’ll need the slice!”
“Sergeant Mills?” Jack said.
“I’m on it,” Mills replied. “Jorge! Ramala! Help out Cooper. Rest of you Wardogs, keep them covered.”
Jack remember their conversation earlier on the ship during the introductions and planning. Names, ranks, the usual ‘who what when where and why’s. Mill’s team had been shocked to discover Jack’s ragtag group had survived an encounter with a citizen, let alone an entire citizen covert team. Oh, they answered all the questions and received a lot of intel in return. Mill’s group, the ‘Wardogs’, were an active reserve unit assigned by the neighboring Mountain Home system. Not quite UN and not quite Indy. One of those out of the way gray area systems. The kind the UN and UNES didn’t spend precious resources on unless they caused issues and popped up on UN political radar.
Mountain Home had built up a military over the years and officially had about twenty thousand active duty military. Mostly officers, trainers, bureaus, and defense forces. This kept UN eyes satisfied that Mountain Home wasn’t a credible threat.
Unofficially? The constitutional oligarchy had made it mandatory that all persons served at least three years active duty in her military. After this, you got to choose Active Reserve, National Ready Reserve, or Citizen Reserve Militia, the difference being your age and service level. Most everyone was Active Reserve for another ten to fifteen years after mandatory service, though serving full-time active duty until retirement wasn’t unusual. Then after your service was the National Ready Reserve, where you served for two weeks three times a year, and every other weekend. After this was Citizens Reserve Militia. You drilled once a year to keep your weapons training, technology, knowledge, and skills up to date. Weapons competitions, survival skills, camping, hunting, and other planet-wide sports seemed to be very popular, and led to a population with just about every living soul ready to defend themselves. Jack was almost jealous.
The group also learned that service was considered an honorable duty as a resident of Mountain Home. This ideology was taught in the schools, homes, and businesses like a religious cult, but with freedom and liberty at
its heart, instead of intimidating bureaucracy and oppressive regulation. Jack yearned for that kind of freedom on Earth. Hell, in the UN period. Maybe that’s why so many wanted to be a part of the Indies? he thought to himself.
“How’s that door coming, Cooper?” Mills asked while sweeping her section again.
“Almost there! Five more seconds!”
The plasma slice made a high-pitched whine as it finished the cut, and Cooper shut it down. No words were said as they cracked open the door and shined bright beams of light into the darkness. A hand appeared. Then a few faces.
“We’ve got live people here!” Jorge yelled, while helping a young woman, obviously part of the command crew, through the narrowly-opened door. Others followed suit.
“Thank the Holy One you came!” a paunchy man in a dark grey pantsuit exclaimed. “I’m Chief Captain Hollingwood, Commander of Accord Station. So glad someone came to our rescue.” The man was almost ecstatic that anyone had arrived.
“Settle down for a second, Captain. Anyone in your group injured? How many of you are there?” Mills took the man’s collar in her hands and twisted him around so he could focus on her.
“Oh, yes! So sorry. About ten of us survived. No one alive that got grazed by those beams. So much ash!” He physically shuddered. “Nothing worked to stop it! I swear we tried, but it kept eating away at them and didn’t stop until they were dust!” He closed his eyes a second and composed himself. “They came in on a derelict vessel we detected floating in from outside the system. No life signs, no radiation, not a damned thing until the decon team opened it. It was cargo dock eighteen. A cloud of small marble-sized things, like ants or fleas. They headed straight to the station. Decon team never made it back.”
“So they can grow, multiply, and expand? Huh. Von Neumann,” Ramala stated.
“Von Neumann,” Mills repeated.
“Exploration robots. Got it. But why are they killing every biological on the station?” Cooper asked.
Jack scratched his chin. “Let me check with my tech expert.” He switched to the general comms. “Saully. Rosia. We’ve got a theory about these things. Ever hear of Von Neumann?”
“As in robots? Exploration and the like?” Rosia replied.
“Exactly.”
“Possible. But why are they attacking biologicals?” Saully asked.
“Might be a different form of life than we know of.” Saully thought a moment. “We’ve discovered several, including those silicate-based spiders on Holmes Moon. I believe it was orbiting the planet Ibson Prime in the Tragus sys –”
“Just the facts, Saully. You think these may be the real deal?” Jack asked emphatically.
“Hard to say, Jack. It’s possible. In a sick, murderous, and twisted way, but yes.”
“Thanks.” Jack tuned back to the tacnet channel. “You heard it, boys and girls. Let’s finish this mission and kill these things.”
The group assigned two escorts to get the survivors to the Merlin’s Ghost. The rest of them kept Hollingwood busy accessing the data and security monitors throughout the station. Most every system was down, or so compromised it was a pile of scrap.
“Tito here, Jack!” Tito’s voice echoed with dead seriousness. “We got a very big problem! They’re massing on the stations hull near the end of…” Tito paused to confirm the area on the map provided my Mills, “cargo bay eighteen. They’re swarming or something, guys!”
“Well, shit! Saully, you guys ready to blow this thing?” Jack asked. He worried about the things trying to head out system.
“Nowhere near done here. I’ve managed to clean out several systems, but no gaining access to the central core anytime soon,” Saully responded. “Maybe another hour. Two most likely.”
“These things are gathering on the hull, and I have a bad feeling they gained access to info leading them to Mountain Home for resources.”
“Cooper! Check for a route to cargo eighteen. Everyone available will head there. See if we can slow ’em down.” She turned to leave, but Hollingwood grabbed her arm.
“We can’t stop them! Don’t you see?” he sputtered. “We tried!”
Mills decked Hollingwood, then straightened her gear. “We haven’t tried hard enough, Captain! And you’re relieved of duty under Mountain Home mutual treaties, coward!”
Jack was impressed. “Hollingwood. While you’re getting that lazy ass off the floor, tell me something. Do you have any close-in defensive weapons on this station?”
Hollingwood was pissed as he got up and rubbed his bruised jaw. “We haven’t had that system operational for years.”
Jack grabbed the relieved captain’s uniform collar, much like Mills had, and held him on his tip toes. “So I take that as a yes! What kind of system?”
“Just an old jun –” Hollingwood started to bluster.
“What kind of system was it, you fetid piece of shit? Or do you want me to deck you, too?” Jack raised his gloved hand, which was large enough that Hollingwood didn’t wish to argue again.
“Pom-Poms,” the captain blurted out.
“Pom-Poms? What type and caliber!”
“Sentry Ordnance one twenty millimeter auto-flaks. But no one has used them or tested them thoroughly in almost a decade!”
Jack dumped Hollingwood and called out to Saully. “Buddy! I got an A-one priority for you! Mills, we got a plan!” Jack pushed over the general net.
Jack, with the help of Captain Hollingwood’s memory and access codes, enabled Saully and Mills’ team to find, restore, and activate the close-in defensive system. It was a separate system from the station’s central controls, which meant it was probably designed to act against a cyber threat by being a closed and protected set against unwanted visitors. Mills’ team hustled to repair and ready as many of the turrets and connections as they could. No one knew if the system would work right after being down for over a decade, or if the ammo was still good. The fact it was a Sentry Systems issued design meant it was actually made to set and forget it if needed. But even as fine a product as it was, the ammo worried Jack and Saully. Radiation, vacuum. Heat and cold exposure. Dust and grit. It all could affect range and accuracy.
“Mills’ here. We got the last one set. Moving back to the ship dock.”
“Affirmative,” Saully responded. “Tito, what are they doing now?”
“Making love? I don’t know for sure. They’ve made a giant balloon or bubble on the end of that cargo dock. Almost looks like they’re ready to go somewhere.”
“How many?”
“All of ’em. Man, that’s a lot of moving balls.”
“Roger that, Tito. Keep us posted.” Saully turned to Jack. “I don’t know if this’ll work, but I programmed the Pom-Poms for a wide area dispersal, then narrowing the cone to prevent escape if we’re lucky.”
“Good. Just hope they work at all,” Jack said pointedly.
Everyone met up inside Merlin’s Ghost. Newly released from her restraints, she was at station keeping just outside the docking port. Her systems uncompromised and her sensors set to passive so as not to disturb the balls of deathly joy, everyone got a bird’s eye view of the growing, undulating cloud of bright silver.
So far Tito had been right. They were setting up to leave the station and head out. It was all up to the old close-in defense from the station. The countdown had begun.
“One minute till action time,” Rosia reported from the bridge.
“Just hope this works,” Hollingwood said under his breath. “Just work.”
“We’ll be fine…I hope. Please protect us, Freya-ju,” Ramala prayed to himself and his deity of choice.
“What if it doesn’t?” Cooper said. “What if we have to fight these things back home?”
“Shush, Cooper! You’ll jinx the whole thing! Asshole!” Jorge scolded him from his position by the airlock doors.
“I’m just saying…”
“Quiet! It’s about to start,” Mills’ ordered.
The vidscreen s
howed the mass of bots floating under some type of powered flight, gaining speed away from the station and in the general direction of the Mountain Home system. Several very large spheres, about the size of their own ship, were seen at the ass end. The cloud was huge.
“Three…two…one,” Rosia counted down. “Now!”
In space there’s no sound, unlike many vids Jack had seen. Mostly the sound the vids had was for audience immersion, to draw them in with emotional reactions. However, regardless of your viewpoint, real space battle was all flashes of light or explosive effects as war was waged and men died.
The Pom-Poms, however? Glorious! Jack had seen war. Used many a weapon to plaster the enemy with death, or stop some vehicle or other. He’d seen explosions. Been blown up a time or twelve. But this? This was spectacular devastation! The defensive guns not only functioned as advertised, but made extremely short work of the giant formation of bots. The shells, according to Hollingwood, were fragmentary miniature nukes. Basically, giant hundred kilo grenades with shaped-charge nuclear cores. Within mere moments, the seven turrets annihilated the mass to flaming dust and debris. Rosia risked an active scan and confirmed the bots had been killed. The fiery mess burned for hours before Mills and her team were certain no more of the balls remained functional.
After double checking the station systems, Saully and Rosia assisted the station’s remaining staff to recover operations. It took yet another three days before comms were enabled and Mountain Home was contacted. Which wasn’t a surprise, when a picket ship responded. It had been sent to find out what had happened to their team. Go figure.
After a long debriefing with the picket ship commander, lots of data and explanations, and the present of a UN citizen’s representative prisoner, Mountain Home was contacted and negotiations began in earnest.
Jack wasn’t too hopeful, and doubted even turning over the UN prisoner was going to help their cause. They were in limbo now. The picket ship outside their docking port had enough firepower to waste a planet, and they were in its sights. Nowhere to go. Well, there was the station, and the captain was extremely grateful. He’d pretty much given them the run of the shops and anything else they needed or wanted. So Rosia smiled and promptly put Jack and several other volunteers to work refitting as much of her ship as possible, including her much-needed upgrades.