Origins

by Jamie Sawyer

  “It doesn’t have any recon drones,” I noted.

  “Who needs surveillance when you’ve got this much firepower?” Martinez said. He pointed to two weapon mounts – like those I’d seen on Directorate-class mechs – that sprouted from the shoulders. “Pods here and here can take anti-personnel missiles. Ostrow – Christo bless his soul – was kind to us, mano. He left us a crate of cluster warheads.”

  An open metal box sat beside the suit. Inside were a thousand tiny rockets, ready for loading.

  “And that’s not all… The fish heads get too close? There’s a flamethrower on the left arm.” Martinez patted that, reverently.

  “Hence the alarm.” Jenkins whistled. “I do so like to burn stuff.”

  The bulkhead beside her was scarred, partially melted. I could just about read the words FISH FUCK scrawled there: a crude bull’s-eye drawn beneath.

  “Someone is in love,” Mason said, laughing.

  I had to admit that it was an impressive piece of kit, but I had my doubts.

  “It’s flashy,” I said. “Don’t we have any combat-suits?”

  Martinez raised his eyebrows in exasperation. “No, jefe, we do not.”

  “I just like what I know,” I said. “And we’ve never trained in this armour before.”

  “No need for additional training; the battle-suit uses the same neural interface as the combat-suit.” The armour shimmered softly with light-reflective coating, and Martinez did a lap of the harness in which it sat. “You want to fight a skirmish, you take the Class V Trident. You want to fight a war, on the other hand, then you take the Ares battle-suit. A finer fighting suit you will not find.”

  Jenkins smirked. “Just remember, a new suit isn’t a substitute for a bigger dick.”

  “What other equipment do we have?” I asked.

  “You’re a hard man to please, Lazarus,” Jenkins said.

  “Usual shit,” Martinez said, kicking a foot at another metal crate. He wasn’t interested in the old toys. “Power cells, grenades – EMPs, phosphorous, frag, hi-ex – demo-charges, mono-blades…”

  “A lot is riding on this,” I said. “And I don’t want an R & D fuck-up costing us the mission.” Costing me Elena, I mentally added. “I’d have preferred a longer training time in this armour before we use it.”

  “Neural interface, mano…” Martinez echoed.

  “Whatever,” I said. “Briefing is in twenty.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION

  I stood before the CIC view-port, the Legion, James and Saul at my shoulder, and watched the UAS Endeavour drift past.

  Starships generally weren’t much on the eye. They tended to be big, ugly masses of metal, made for travel through the cold and frictionless void, but the Endeavour was different. There was a majestic beauty to this ship, as though her designers had been aware of the important historic role she would play. She was no warship; that was apparent from the elegant lines of her flanks, the bulbous sensor pods and glassed observatory domes studding her stern. The Endeavour was an exploratory-class vessel, and one of a kind: made for a specific purpose. Her bridge and command module was globular and awkward-looking. That met with a thin, precarious midship that housed numerous scientific and habitat bays. The overall design wasn’t aerodynamic, yet it had a certain perverse grace.

  “No surface damage,” Kaminski muttered. “She looks space-worthy.”

  “Where’s the rest of her fleet?” Mason asked. “The Lion’s Pride, the Britannic, the Ark Angel…”

  “They’re not here,” Loeb said. “She’s the only ship within sensor range.”

  “Minimal energy core and drive leakage,” an officer said. “No reason she can’t fly sub-light.”

  “Or squawk…” Jenkins said.

  This was the culmination of years of searching.

  This, potentially, was the key to end the war.

  And yet, right now, it was nothing.

  I wanted to feel exhilaration, excitement. All I could muster was disappointment. Crushing, enervating disappointment.

  “She’s not responding,” said the lieutenant manning the communications station. “We’ve tried sending out a broad-spectrum hail, but she’s not talking.”

  “Then try again,” I ordered.

  The comms officer looked past me, to Loeb. She was seeking his permission. Any transmission, no matter how short-ranged, ran the risk of attracting attention from the Krell. Loeb gave a tiny nod of approval and the officer keyed an open channel.

  “UAS Endeavour,” she said, “this is the UAS Colossus. Please respond. We are a rescue operation sent to provide assistance. Immediate recognition of this transmission is requested.”

  My heart hammered triple-time in my chest, but as the seconds passed, only the warm crackle of static greeted us. That was the gas giant’s timeless voice, saturating near-space with background radiation.

  “Bridge is initiating declaration,” an officer declared.

  The CIC washed with Navy chatter. The lidar and radar operators were chanting back declining numbers, the scanner-suite chiming regularly. The tactical display began to fill with new data as the Colossus’ sensor systems received it.

  The Colossus achieved synchronicity with the Endeavour’s orbit, and such was the vastness of our elliptical orbit around the gas giant that the two ships appeared to barely move. The CIC – and, likely, most of the ship – held its collective breath. One false move, one misfire of the thruster engines: we’d collide with the Endeavour, and this mission would be over.

  Outside, the Endeavour drew uncomfortably close. Unless they were in a combat situation, ships rarely got this near to one another. In the void, there was no need. A bead of sweat broke on my upper lip, and I licked it back.

  “Distance?” Loeb barked.

  “Two kilometres, sir.”

  “Take us in nearer. Low thrust.”

  The tac-display updated with new graphics. I could see every detail of the Endeavour’s hull now: the numerous airlocks, the closed hangar bays. She was a true behemoth, but also an apparently dead one.

  “Told you,” someone whispered, “ghost-ship. Bad spirit.”

  I turned, searched the CIC for who had spoken, but only blank faces stared back: no one was willing to take responsibility for the comment.

  I paced the tactical display. Unlike the plans we’d been using so far, this was a true pictorial: captured by the Colossus’ sensor-suite and deep-space cameras. The actual ship was visible outside the observation windows of the Colossus’ CIC; so frustratingly close that I could almost reach out and touch her.

  “No hail, no significant energy emissions,” Loeb added. “Whether we expected this or not, we’re looking at a dead ship. Neither her engines nor her power core has been recently fired.”

  “There are lights on down there,” I said. That’s it, Harris: cling to whatever hope that you can… Large peaked glass domes were scattered across the ship’s hull, representing observation points and comms stations. Several were still lit, and the interior glow stained the glass like small cathedrals. “Those stations are still operating. Have we tried running a bio-scan?”

  “We’ve run long-range bio-sensor scans on the target,” Loeb said, “but the unit hasn’t been reliable since the refit. Damned Proximan workmanship.” He shook his head in dismay. “The scanner isn’t the same quality as the Colossus’ original unit. That, together with the magnetic interference – generated by the gas giant – makes the results less than reliable. If we had some proper Sci-Div support, maybe we could counter it, but right now that ship is virtually unscannable.”

  “Maybe that’s how she’s managed to remain hidden for so long,” Mason said.

  “Possibly,” Loeb replied.

  Had the location of the Endeavour been deliberate? Her placement was almost perfect; difficult to detect for the Alliance, let alone the Krell and the Directorate. It seemed like more than a coincidence.

  “Then there’s o
nly one way that we can get answers,” I said. “We’ll have to go over there.” I couldn’t let go of the possibility that Elena was aboard the ship. Not now, not ever. “Once we’re aboard, we’ll run local scans and get some proper intelligence.”

  “Boots on the ground,” Jenkins said. “The only way that the Legion knows.”

  “That’s not going to be easy,” James suddenly piped up. “I don’t mean to piss on anyone’s parade, but unless we can get that ship’s AI talking, we can’t board her.”

  He stood beside me, indicated the ship’s exterior on the holo. There were large hangar bays on her flank: big enough to accommodate multiple shuttles and smaller starships. All of the bays were sealed shut.

  “She could still have atmosphere,” James said, “and unless we can crack her safely, I wouldn’t want to risk an assault. If we fly one of the Dragonflies over there – without knowing the Endeavour’s atmospheric condition, and whether her AI is functioning properly – there’s every chance that we could cause a catastrophic hull breach.”

  “So what do you suggest?” I asked.

  “We could move into close proximity with the Endeavour. Run a docking tube between the two ships. It’s risky, but it’s possible.”

  Before anyone could respond to that idea, Loeb jabbed a finger at the observation window: at the Endeavour outside. “Whoa, whoa,” he said. “That starship is running a goliath-class energy core. She was made for long-term exploration.” Loeb was referring to the anti-matter core; the energy drive that powered the entire vessel. “The Colossus has the same tech at her heart. She’s got fire in her ass, that one. If we’re parked next to her, she’ll be inside our null-shields. That energy core destabilises, we’ll be caught in one hell of a blast.”

  “Then we’ll try not to blow it up,” I said, definitively, “but we are going aboard that ship. I’ll deploy the docking tube.”

  I took a tactical officer’s post down in the well of the CIC. The plastic crash couch was warm to the touch, the cabling just as well-used. I plugged each of those cables into my data-ports. Slowly, methodically. With each new connection, my bond with the Colossus became stronger. Soon, I was inside the machine-mind: the vast AI that controlled the warship.

  USER RECOGNISED, the mainframe system told me. My identification tags scrolled across my mind’s eye, insisting on the limits of my authorisation. There was a wealth of junk machine-code in the Colossus’ AI system. Fragments of former operating systems. The remains of previous network upgrades. The sensation of making union with something so powerful was daunting. The Colossus hungered for activity, and I was almost glad that I did not have access to her weapons systems. It would be all too easy to get lost in here, I thought.

  “We’re in optimum position to deploy the boarding tube,” Loeb said.

  Green activity indicators flashed across my terminal.

  “Here we go,” I said. “Probe away.”

  The Colossus launched the utility drone from her port-side flank. I watched through the drone’s eyes: saw the doors peeling open, exposing the bay to outer space. The sector had been cleared of personnel for this operation, and the drone was a specialised unit used for just this task. Much bigger than a simulant, the machine was equipped with a limited-range anti-gravity drive. I felt the kiss of vacuum on its metal hide as it drifted out into space.

  I navigated the drone using a combination of directed-thought and manual controls. Almost hesitantly, the drone adopted a course towards the Endeavour, the only other target in near-space. A concertina-packed boarding tunnel trailed behind as the machine moved. That would become rigid, eventually provide a safe bridge between the two ships.

  “Six hundred metres to target,” Loeb remarked. “Keep her steady.”

  The drone ponderously sailed across the void. The machine had no real intelligence of its own – just a fragment of the Colossus’ operating system, sheared off to assist in the single-minded operation. I nudged it back on course, more than once, as it made the journey.

  “Three hundred metres,” Loeb called out. “I can see the Endeavour’s main starboard airlock.”

  “I have it,” I whispered.

  The boarding tube became a rigid structure – still open to vacuum, but the ribbed interior forming a recognisable shape. The tunnel lined up with the hatch.

  “Contact is perfect,” an officer said. “Good work.”

  The drone finally reached the Endeavour’s hull, deploying its utility claws. The airlock doors were standard-pattern and the drone used the outer control panel to breach the security system. Code flushed my screen as the doors peeled open.

  “Boarding tube is holding,” an officer said. “There’s an atmosphere on the other side; still has reasonable oxygenation. Sending report on life-support conditions to intelligence.”

  “I have the reads,” the intel officer replied. “We’re good to proceed.”

  The drone activated a high-powered lamp, set into its spherical body, and panned it back and forth, illuminating the inner chamber. It looked like that of any other ship – dark and, judging by the other readings, cold. As the machine proceeded into the lock, it caught drifting particulate in the air. An age of dust was filtering through the interior atmosphere.

  “She’s got gravity,” I said.

  The drone disconnected from the boarding tube, began to fix the umbilical to the outer hull.

  “Boarding successful,” Loeb said. “Get ready to send the drone in—”

  “No,” I said. “I need to do this.”

  Loeb scowled at me, but nodded in agreement. “If you’re sure.”

  I needed to be the first person aboard that ship. Not some machine: my flesh and blood, even if it was only simulated. I set the drone on a home course back down the tube, then withdrew from direct control of the machine. I couldn’t help thinking that it was eager to get back to the Colossus.

  “Job done,” I said.

  It didn’t feel very satisfying though; rather, my brief and remote entry to the starship felt disconcerting. One by one, I unjacked the cables from my data-ports. I stood from the console, flexed my limbs. Although it felt like it had taken hours, the entire operation had actually only taken a few minutes.

  “Are we getting any more scanner results now that the boarding tube is in place?” Mason asked.

  Loeb frowned, watching feeds on his terminal. “The drone was able to examine the sector behind that airlock – a few decks deep. No signs of life.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, Lazarus.”

  I just stared down at the holo-display: at the image of the Endeavour and Colossus coupled now, starboard to port. We were so close that our null-shields were useless – they would be entirely neutralised at this range. Elena didn’t want to make things easy for whoever had come out here to find her.

  “Ready for transition, Legion. We’re going in.”

  “What do you want me to do, Colonel?” James asked.

  “You’re coming with us, flyboy.”

  Transition into my simulant brought with it a sudden shift in my POV.

  Out of my old, tired skin – shed like a piece of damaged battle-armour – and into my new, fresh simulant. There was a sensual rush of integration as hyperawareness took me, that exhilarating peak in my perceptions that I only ever achieved when I was in a simulant.

  Our new skins were already mounted in the Colossus’ airlock.

  “This is some hella armour,” Jenkins said. She grinned back at me from inside her suit, face just visible beyond the polarised glass of her helmet visor. She bashed Kaminski on the arm. “You ready, trooper?”

  “Born ready, Lieutenant,” he said. He gave Jenkins a wink. The worry lines that had been etched on his face since his rescue were absent from this new face, generated from a gene-sample taken before Damascus. “Just need me something to kill.”

  The space inside the lock was almost completely occupied by the five troopers in full battle-suits, standing shoulder to shoulder, now a species entirely apart fr
om the squad of Alliance Marines stationed on the other side of the Colossus’ airlock. In the new suits, we’d doubled in mass.

  “This armour… it’s amazing,” Mason said.

  She flexed an enormous, armoured hand. In her real body, she was small and slender. Inside the sim and the Ares armour, she was taller and broader than any example of the human race.

  “You feeling inadequate yet, James?” Jenkins asked.

  The flyboy wore a vacuum-suit, together with helmet. “I prefer my women without guns, if that’s all the same.” He carried a standard PPG-13 plasma pistol on his belt, and slapped it. “You might be bigger, but I’m faster.”

  “Don’t try me,” Jenkins said.

  The interior of my face-plate flooded with new data-streams. WEAPONS SYSTEMS ONLINE, the AI informed me. I weighed my M95 plasma rifle, checked the power cell for the fifth time. The underslung grenade launcher was stocked with high-explosives, and I had every type of munition webbed across my chest: incendiaries, phosphorous, EMP charges. I glanced down at the harpoon gun on my right arm, the diamond-shaped tip just visible, although I couldn’t imagine the circumstances in which I might use it.

  “We are walking weapons of mass destruction,” Jenkins said, with glee.

  “Don’t get too cocky, people,” I said. “We don’t know what we’re going to find on that ship.” I tapped my left gauntlet; the flamethrower unit there. “We have an oxygenated atmosphere aboard the Endeavour, and there may be survivors in there.”

  I hoped, at least. I stood at the Colossus end of the boarding tube and surveyed the long and lonely distance to the Endeavour. She still sat immobile, silent. Stars flickered over her hull. The range-finder on my HUD calculated that the distance between the ships was almost a kilometre. The Legion stood around me, all of us using the mags to remain locked to the deck.

  “Suits sealed?” I queried.

  “Affirmative,” Jenkins said. “Locked and loaded.”