by Richard Fox
“You’ve fired these on a live range, right? What’s the deal with the recoil?” Standish asked.
“No recoil, Lance Corporal…Standish?” Weiss cocked his head to the side. “You’re alive?”
“Well, of course I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be?” Standish asked.
“Sergeant Orozco? The Orozco? I can’t believe it’s really you,” Weiss said.
“Hold on. Back up to me not being alive,” Standish said.
“Well…you’re not in the movie. Where’s Vincenti?” Weiss asked.
“Vincenti’s KIA, been that way since we got Ibarra’s ghost out of Euskal Tower,” Standish said. “Back up. Again. What movie?”
“The Last Stand on Takeni. You mean you haven’t seen it?” Weiss asked. “It came out a year ago. Your entire team’s in it. They used some new holo tech to make all the actors look just like you. Biggest movie in decades. I think everyone’s seen it at least two or three times.”
“What?” Standish sputtered.
“They based it on holo recordings, after-action reports, Dotty testimony. I get all choked up every time Sergeant Torni says good-bye to Vincenti. I ain’t too proud to admit it,” Weiss said.
“Excuse me, Sergeant Orozco?” A Marine from Weiss’ team came over and offered a marker to the Spaniard. “Would you sign my armor?”
Standish grabbed Weiss by his chest plate and shook him. “You mean to tell me that there’s a movie about my exploits and I’m not fucking in it?”
“Oh wow, Standish,” the other Marine said, “I guess those rumors were true.”
Orozco wrapped an arm around Standish’s waist and pulled him off Weiss.
“Rumors!” Standish yelled.
“Something about one of Hale’s team members being a disciplinary problem. The director didn’t want any controversy so he recast…you, Lance Corporal,” Weiss said. “Everyone knows the movie’s just propaganda to keep spirits up before Abaddon arrived, but it was still entertaining as hell.”
Deep chuckles erupted from Orozco’s barrel chest.
“What’s all this grab ass going on?” Egan and Bailey came over to the group. “And why is Standish crying?”
Standish buried his head in Orozco’s shoulder. “I’m not in my own movie!”
“What movie?” Bailey
“We’re famous,” Orozco said and gave Standish a reassuring pat on the head.
Weiss slapped his teammate on the chest and pointed at Bailey’s rail rifle. “Dude, there’s Bloke. I tried to make sniper because of you, but I washed out of selection. Can I hold it?”
“Not if you want to keep your whole arm attached to your body,” Bailey snapped. “I’ll let you keep looking at it if you give me a copy of this movie Standish is crying about.”
Weiss flipped up his forearm screen and tapped a gloved finger against a data node. He held up a glowing fingertip then touched it to Bailey’s screen. Orchestral music blared as the movie began.
“This injustice will not stand,” Standish said. “I’m going to find out who cut me out of my own movie and-and there will be a very strongly worded letter! Did the Dotok make a statue? Tell me I at least got my own statue.”
“What is this happy horseshit?” Cortaro’s voice thundered across the range. Marines snapped back to their firing positions.
****
Hale sat in one of the briefing room chairs, one hand rubbing his temples.
“Continue, Lieutenant Mathias,” he said to a dark-skinned officer.
“The movie ends with you and Un’qu on the Breitenfeld’s deck, looking out at The Canticle of Reason,” Mathias said.
“OK, that never happened,” Hale said. “I was in sick bay bleeding all over—you know what? It doesn’t matter. You’ve all seen it?”
His lieutenants nodded.
“You’ve seen it?” he asked Steuben.
“The human playing me moved without grace or military bearing. I was insulted, but Admiral Garret forbade me from challenging the actor to an honor duel,” Steuben said. “During training, I constantly had to correct the record as to what happened on Takeni. I still do not understand the human concept of ‘artistic license.’”
“We’re going to move on,” Hale said. “The ship weighs anchor in less than twenty hours. I want all of you to conduct final pre-combat inspections and checks by 0200 ship time. I will do my inspections at 0600 and before we load the drop pods. See that your Marines get a couple hours of sleep. We won’t have that luxury after we hit Pluto.”
“Sir…” A wiry young man named Uli flashed his forearm screen to Hale. Several red alert icons filled his mail feed. “I know this seems trivial, but personnel is blowing up my inbox demanding updates on initial counseling and—”
Hale took Uli by the arm, touched his screen and erased every email.
“Focus on the mission. Some mushroom of a paper pusher in a cubicle under Camelback Mountain can wait,” Hale said. He let Uli go and looked at his lieutenants. “Go. See to your Marines. Meet me back here after chow and we’ll go over the drop plan again. Steuben, a minute if you please.”
The lieutenants saluted and left the room.
“My god, was I ever that young?” Hale asked.
“They are all procedurals. I am certain you are more than several months old,” Steuben said.
“I mean bright-eyed and bushy-tailed…naïve,” Hale said.
“They’ve not gone through the change yet, but they will,” Steuben said. “When a Karigole centurion forms, their families hold a funeral for the warriors before they ever see battle. Those who go to war never return as the same person. War reveals one’s true nature.”
“Would veterans be welcomed back?”
“Always. We had rituals and festivals to mark the adjustment period where the families learned to accept the new person,” Steuben said.
“How’s your village? Your people adjusting to Earth?”
“There have been some…difficulties. Lafayette is still banished. Getting them to relocate to the Kilimanjaro bunkers was a chore. The geth’aar are all pregnant, and geth’aar tend to be especially cranky when they’re carrying strong babies.”
“And how’s that been?”
“I am glad there’s a new battle to take me away from them.”
Hale’s screen beeped. He glanced at it and sighed.
“There are a million things requiring my attention before we weigh anchor. I never thought I’d miss being a lieutenant. Which reminds me. I need your help, Steuben. I want you to be the company executive officer for this mission. The new teams know you. I know you. It’s a good fit,” Hale said.
“And what would my role be?”
“You’ll be second-in-command. I go down and you take over the mission.”
Steuben tapped his clawed fingertips against the armor on his legs.
“I am several hundred years older than you are. I fought campaigns before your nation even existed and I am to be your subordinate?” Steuben asked.
“It would look that way on paper, easier for the rest of the company to understand your role. In reality I don’t think I could ever order you around,” Hale said.
“You saved my people from the Toth. That is a debt I can never repay. I will be your executive officer.”
“Great. Another part of the job is doing everything the company commander doesn’t have time to do…or want to do. So I need you on the flight deck inspecting the drop pods while I go figure out why our supply of antiarmor grenades went to the wrong ship and get them back where they belong.” Hale gave Steuben a pat on the shoulder and stood up.
“When will the responsibility for the tasks you find undesirable ever end?” Steuben asked.
“Never. Get to it, XO.”
****
Egan walked through a passageway, whistling a slow tune as he glanced over his shoulder. A lone sailor shared the space with him. Egan slowed next to a bolted door and waited for the sailor to step around the corner.
The c
ommo tech took out a black key card given to him by Standish and swiped it across the bolted door’s access panel. The bolts snapped open and the door swung loose on its hinges.
“Damn, didn’t think that would work,” Egan said. He touched a microphone on his throat and said, “Get over here.”
Egan glanced into the open door. Humming stacks of electrical equipment filled the space, leaving barely enough room for two men to stand in. Yarrow raced around the corner and stepped into the confined space with Egan.
Egan flipped a panel open, revealing a keypad and screen. He slid Standish’s black card through the reader and a cursor popped onto the screen.
Yarrow, pale and sweaty, reached for the pad. His fingers hovered over the buttons.
“Here,” Egan said, sliding the card into Yarrow’s pocket. “You get caught with that and I know nothing. Standish also says he knows nothing. You want some help, buddy?”
“No, I’ve got this.” Yarrow’s fingers trembled.
Egan looked at the phone number on Yarrow’s forearm screen and entered the number for him.
“Thanks.” Yarrow wiped his face and ran fingers over his shaved head. The word DIALING appeared on the screen. Yarrow glanced at Egan. “You mind?”
“Right. I’ll be on lookout. You hear three knocks on the bulkhead that means trouble’s coming.” Egan let himself out and closed the door.
The screen wavered, then showed Lilith squinting into the camera. Her hair was a mess, but her face held the same natural beauty he remembered.
“You better have a very good reason for calling me right now,” she said.
“Lilith, can you see me?” Yarrow asked.
She leaned closer to the camera, then her eyes opened wide. “Jason? Is that really you? I heard the Breitenfeld was back but they said your ship is on a blackout. Are you…here? In Phoenix?”
“No, still in orbit, but not for long. We’re going—that’s not why I called.”
Lilith rubbed a hand across her face and looked at him through her fingers. “And why did you call?”
“We have a baby? I didn’t find out until yesterday. I mean…how…”
“You don’t know how?”
“I know how!” Yarrow winced as his words echoed through the tiny chamber. Two knocks sounded against the walls. “What happened? Where is she?”
“I found out I was pregnant a few weeks after you left. It turns out that I have a number of antibodies from Nibiru that negated the birth control shot I got. I am a computer scientist, not a biologist.” Lilith looked away from the camera and said something in Akkadian.
“Lil, are you two safe? Your email said something about a bunker in Phoenix—”
“Daddy?” a child said.
Lilith angled her camera down and a little girl with blond hair and a round face rubbed her eyes.
Yarrow’s mouth dropped open.
“That’s Daddy?” the girl asked.
“Yes, Mary, he’s back from his long trip,” Lilith said.
“She…she’s…”
“She looks just like you, don’t you think?” Lilith asked.
“Yeah…” Yarrow touched the screen.
“Now hear this,” boomed through the ship and into the commo room. “Now here this. Make ready for jump. All hands secure stations and prep for combat conditions.”
“Ah, not now,” Yarrow said.
“You have to go?” Lilith ducked down next to Mary, who was staring intently at her father.
“Yes, they’re going to suck all the air out of the ship and—” Three knocks came from the door. “I’ll come to Phoenix as soon as I can. You two, stay safe there, promise me.”
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“I have to go stop the monsters, OK?” The screen filled with static. “I love you two!” Yarrow didn’t hear their reply as the video feed washed out.
Egan cracked the door. “Let’s go. If we don’t get to the armory in three minutes, Top will eat us alive.”
Yarrow wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.
“You see them?” Egan asked.
“Yeah. Thanks, brother.”
CHAPTER 7
Fleet Admiral Garret tossed a baseball over his head and caught it with a snap of flesh on leather. He set the ball on his nineteenth-century oak desk and spun it. The blur of stitching against the off-white leather captivated him for a moment as it meandered toward the edge. His hand trembled as he reached to catch it. The ball hit his fingers and fell to the deck with a thump.
“Damn it,” Garret said. He glanced at a drawer where he kept a flask of vodka, tempted to take one last swig before the grand dance began.
No. No more of that, he thought.
He popped open a pill bottle and took out two tablets almost as big as his pinky nail. He dry swallowed them both and winced as a bitter aftertaste washed up his throat. Human warriors had relied on stimulants for thousands of years. Roman gladiators took small doses of strychnine, the soldiers of the Second World War relied on amphetamine “energy pills,” American servicemen and women of this century made do with caffeine and cigarettes until the Ibarra Corporation patented the Sustain pills Garret had just taken.
Each Sustain would keep him alert, free from hunger and thirst, and away from the latrine for twenty-four hours, although prolonged use was forbidden and illegal. As the supreme commander of all Earth forces, he could care less about doctor’s orders while humanity’s fate rested in his hands.
I slept yesterday…didn’t I?
As Garret stood and slid his hands into armored void gloves, he glanced at a clock mounted next to the door and counted down from five.
There was a knock on the door as his count ended.
“Enter.”
The door slid aside, revealing the head of Garret’s Ranger bodyguard detail, Marcella. Lights reflected off the Ranger’s obsidian-black armor, the power armor adding to Marcella’s already impressive bulk to the point where he could barely fit through the doorway. The major had been confused for a doughboy on more than one occasion, which Marcella didn’t seem to mind.
“Sir,” the word came from Marcella’s throat speakers with a click, “data packet from Earth just came in. Marked for you.”
“It’s time. Let’s get this done.” Garret scooped his helmet off his desk. He stopped next to a tattered flag cased next to the doorway, void-black cloth with an embroidered dragon twisted into the shape of an 8. Admiral Makarov’s flag was one of the few artifacts recovered from the Midway. Garret thought of her and her fleet’s total sacrifice to delay the Xaros.
He kissed his fingertips and touched the glass as he left his ready room.
Just a few steps across the passageway, the Charlemagne’s bridge snapped to attention as he entered. He gave a brief grunt and the bridge returned to their duties. Garret went straight to a wide holo table surrounded by his senior staff. Holograms of the other admirals in his fleet and one general snapped into being around the table.
Mars snapped into the air over the table. Pulsating red dots on the surface marked the macro cannon emplacements, and nearly two dozen fleets orbited the dusty world.
“All fleets report ready condition bravo, sir,” said Admiral Dorral, his chief of staff. “On board security augmentees deliveries will be complete to all ships in nineteen hours.”
Garret had redirected the system’s procedural development farm’s computer power to creating doughboys several days ago. It took nine days for a proccie farm to produce another soldier, sailor or technician for the fight against the Xaros; a still gestating human was worth precisely zero in the forthcoming battle. The latest generation of doughboys took twenty minutes to produce a new soldier, and the single-minded biological constructs were ideal for shipboard defense.
“What about the data packet from Ibarra?” Garret asked.
Dorral tapped a keyboard and Mars sank toward the table and melded into a holo of the entire solar system. Garret’s eyes flit over the ready status of
macro cannons on Ganymede and Calisto, transfer fleets bringing new cruisers from the Mercury yards to Earth, orbital emplacements around Titan and rail gun emplacements dotting Iapetus.
Earth and Luna were a riot of data, too much for Garret to take in at a glance.
A red ring circled Pluto and a much larger planetoid, a new arrival to the solar system…Abaddon.
A hologram of Marc Ibarra’s head and shoulders formed in the center of the table.
“Mars command, this is Ibarra. Shame we have to deal with this time lag, but those are the laws of physics. Here are the brass tacks.” The holo zoomed in on Pluto where a thick red line snaked out of Abaddon and traveled toward the sun. “From what our passive collection systems picked up on Pluto before they were destroyed, it looks like we’re facing a mass of over
one hundred million drones.”
Ibarra’s recording paused as those around the operation’s table took in the number. No one showed any sign of panic or surprise—all were too well trained as commanders to ever make such a misstep—but Garret felt their tension even behind his own mask of command.
One hundred million…the worst-case scenario they’d planned on since the defeat of Eighth Fleet was for only half as many drones.
“Not optimal…at all,” Ibarra said. “There is the evacuation protocol that we’ve discussed—”
Garret slashed his fingertips across his throat and Dorral paused Ibarra’s recording.
“We stay and we fight,” Garret said. “There are too many civilians on Earth to evacuate through the Crucible before the Xaros can reach our home. We run and the Xaros will find us. We’ve spent years fortifying Mars and Earth, building a fleet stronger than I’d ever dreamed possible. The enemy is here, at our gates, but we will break them.”
Dorral continued the recording.
“—but I didn’t spend the last sixty-five years getting the planet ready for this moment so that I could just throw my hands up in the air now,” Ibarra said.
“The Bastion probe has data on all known Xaros assaults on inhabited star systems. We know their tactics,” Ibarra said. “The Xaros always attack the highest concentration of military force first, then wipe out outlying settlements at their leisure. Mars, your fleets are obvious, mobile. Earth’s defenses are static and the Home Fleet is hidden. Mars will be our anvil, but the Crucible is the hammer. One of them, anyway.”