by Jamie Sawyer
“Snipers!” Feng yelled. “They’ve got snipers!”
More laser fire sliced the area.
“Activate stealth-fields,” I ordered.
The recon-suits were equipped with an active camo package: a multi-sensory disruption field that was capable of avoiding detection by most known methods. Instantly, each of the Jackals became indistinct, their outlines invisible except for aura-flags on my HUD. Sinks in the backpack units locked in heat signatures, made us invisible to even infrared.
“Hold position,” I said.
My suit tracked an explosive shell to my left, thrown in an almost lazy arc. A second after the warning, it hit the asteroid’s surface. The impact threw up a column of dust and shrapnel.
“Right flank, double-time,” I said. “Use your EVAMPs.”
I got to my feet, and fired my EVAMP—extra-vehicular mobility pack—in a short burst. I was momentarily airborne, cruising the face of the asteroid, but also invisible thanks to the camo field. I landed. Rolled sideways, hugged the ground. The Jackals copied me, managing to outrun the detonation of another mortar shell, though only just.
“The snipers are using the mortars as range finders,” Feng said.
“Good tactic,” Riggs agreed. “It’s what I’d do.”
“Yeah, right,” Lopez said.
I counted at least six targets on Tower Three. The tangos were pinning us down, using mortar emplacements from somewhere inside the outpost. The foot of Tower Three, where we were supposed to be going, was well-covered by multiple arcs of fire. It was a literal killzone.
“Have to think of another way in…” I whispered to myself. Before I’d properly formulated a plan, there was a brilliant bloom of light from the direction in which we’d come. The squad dropped low, their camo fluctuating to mimic the surroundings. New data flushed my HUD.
“That was Lynx Six,” I said. “Cooking off.”
“So?” Lopez asked.
Feng grimaced. “So, that means the Spiral will know where to find us, and they’ll send troops.”
I considered our options. The ground around us was already scored with mortar rounds and sniper shots. Our position was fast becoming untenable. I looked over the brow of the nearest undulation and could see that less than two hundred metres ahead there was an access point to Tower One.
“What’re your orders, ma’am?” Riggs asked.
I made the call. There wasn’t much of a choice here: either die trying to execute Heinrich’s damned mission plan by moving on Tower Three, or make for Tower One and at least take down some tangos in the process.
“Change of plan,” I said. “We’re moving on that lock, and we’re doing it now.”
“But that’s Tower One,” Lopez argued. “Our objective was supposed to be Tower Three…”
“Tower One is nearest,” I said, “so that’s where we’re going.”
“But—” she started.
“Shut that shit down, Lopez. Tower One is our new objective.”
Lopez went silent. Her disobedience wasn’t acceptable, and I couldn’t have her questioning orders out here: extraction could come at any second.
“Understood, Private?” I asked.
Lopez pursed her lips, but grudgingly said, “Affirmative.”
I nodded. “I want you all to follow me. Short bursts on the EVAMPs. Try to stay low.”
Two jumps later, chased by mortars and sniper fire, we reached the airlock. It was a large, circular portal, probably made to manually dock ground vehicles.
“A breaching charge to the seam would get us in,” Riggs said, “but there are bio-signs on the other side of that lock.”
I had my bio-scanner running on passive in a sub-window on my HUD. The scanner’s sensor grid probed a hundred metres in every direction, capable of detecting all kinds of biological life-signs. It indicated several hot signals beyond the lock.
“Could be civilians,” Riggs offered.
The scanner couldn’t differentiate between good and bad guys, but I shrugged—a gesture that I doubted the rest of the team could see, given the activated camo package. “Just as likely to be the Black Spiral. They have control of the station.”
“Only one way to find out,” Novak suggested.
“Lopez, you’re up,” I said, nodding at her. “Put a breaching charge on the door seam: set it with a five-second delay.”
“Copy that.”
Lopez moved on the door, grasping the station’s hull for limited purchase. She unstrapped a demo-charge—specifically made for breaching the thick, armour-plated hulls of space stations and starships—from her recon-suit. Slammed the mag-lock into place: activity light green.
A readout on my HUD indicated that Lopez’s heartbeat had increased significantly, verging on hysteria. I caught her glove. Explosions above and around us reflected off her imperfect outline.
“Ease up a little,” I said. “Keep cool and we all come out of this as heroes.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s all good. Honest.”
“Stay that way, soldier.”
“Hell, maybe Heinrich’ll even give us a slap on the back…” Riggs said.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I replied, with a raised eyebrow. “Are the rest of you ready for this?”
“As we’ll ever be,” Feng said.
I checked the arming stud on my shotgun. A reticule hovered on my HUD, superimposed onto the image outside. Suit and shotgun were slaved, working in unison.
“Right, let’s do it. Lopez, activate the charge. Feng, Riggs: cover the hatch. Novak: ready to clear the chamber on the other side.”
Novak’s shotgun was up and aimed at the circular hatch. “Just say word.”
“Go.”
“Charge armed,” Lopez said. She jumped back from the hatch, the rest of the Jackals falling into position.
The warning panel on the breaching charge turned amber.
“Don’t bug out on me,” I whispered over the comm.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Riggs replied.
The charge activator flashed red.
The explosive detonated and the seam breached. The lock gave way to decompression, a localised hurricane of debris and dust temporarily clouding my sensor-suite. Atmosphere vented from inside.
The gunfire started a heartbeat later, and we got our first glimpse of the Black Spiral.
Who were the Black Spiral?
They’re murderers. Dissidents. Terrorists.
That was what the Alliance media called them. Maybe they were all of those things, maybe they were none, but those were just labels. Given that the Spiral’s objectives remained unknown, the descriptions felt strangely inadequate. The organisation—if it could really be called that—had no specific agenda or manifesto.
The Spiral had appeared on a dozen planets and stations, spreading chaos in its wake, almost overnight. From the Core Systems to the Outer Rim, the Spiral made its presence known. Rather than one thing, it was many. The Church of the Singularity, the Iron Fist, the Frontier Independence Front: all of them had at one time or another declared affiliation with the Spiral. Each of those organisations was a threat in its own right—membership banned individually in the majority of Alliance territories—but together? Now that was something. It had been a long time since the Alliance had experienced terror on this scale.
Although I’d never fought them directly, I had been witness to the mess that the Black Spiral left behind. The bodies. The carnage. The pointless destruction. There were very few Alliance citizens who hadn’t seen the newsfeeds.
Six months ago, they’d bombed Qua Remus: killed sixteen hundred civilians during a peace rally. Not long after that, the Spiral destroyed an Arab Freeworld colony ship en route to the Outer Colonies. Another two thousand civvies wasted. Most recently, the Spiral had attempted to poison Centauri Colony’s water supply—an act that would’ve led to millions of deaths, had it been successful. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to the attacks. Nowhere was safe—an
ywhere and anyone in the Alliance was a target. American, Euro-Confed, African Union, Pan Pacific Compact. Hell, they’d even conducted the occasional raid on former Asiatic Directorate holdings.
When they struck, they looted. They usually took hostages, and often made demands. Those were rarely made public, but rumours abound that they wanted starships, materiel, and personnel.
Few had been captured alive, because most Spiral members would rather face the gun than an Alliance interrogation booth. But those who had been captured? They usually turned out to be nobodies. A broad cross-section of the Alliance citizenry, the sort of people that made up the bulk of a planet’s population, that numbered billions across Allied space. Their only unifying feature was that each carried a burning sense of disaffection, so strong that it was capable of turning them against the very structures that had created them.
So, yes, the Spiral were murderers and terrorists.
But more than that: they were us. And right now, that made them the most dangerous thing in the universe.
“Covering fire, on me.”
I tagged ten hostiles inside the airlock, hunkered down behind cargo crates and derelict vehicles. It took me a split second to assess the facts.
Lightly armoured targets.
Likely using stolen tech.
Probably shaken by the hull breach.
Inside a simulant, my time-perception and hand-eye coordination were vastly improved. Making the most of the sim’s improved neural matrix, I moved fast. Vaulting into the lock, I swept the interior with my shotgun.
Made for use in vacuum, the A600 combat shotgun was fully automatic and drum-fed. It carried an inbuilt stabiliser, which made it almost recoilless: a perfect choice for a micro-G firefight. I caught a tango in the chest, and he or she—gender was pretty hard to determine from what was left—was thrown right across the chamber by the force of the impact. The next shell smoothly loaded and I fired again and again, frag rounds shredding light armour. Nothing says “you’re dead” like a shotgun round to the face.
The Jackals followed me into the lock, and the space was soon stitched with gunfire.
Only Lopez stayed back, ducking behind a cargo crate.
All of five seconds later, the fight was over. Ten dead tangos floated across the lock. Not bad for first contact.
“Whatever those sorry sons of bitches were expecting,” said Riggs, surveying the damage, “it certainly wasn’t us.”
“Good shooting,” Novak rumbled.
ZERO INJURIES SUSTAINED, my suit AI told me. I quickly assessed the rest of the squad, and saw that none of the Jackals had been injured. The team cancelled their active camo, outlines instantly becoming distinct.
“Bulletproof…” Feng said, shaking his head. He grinned boyishly and his eyes became wide. “I am bullet-fucking-proof !”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Feng,” I said. Thoughts of invincibility were a common side effect of simulant operations. “Area is secure. Mag-locks on.”
The boots of the recon-suits had magnetic soles. I activated mine and anchored to the deck.
Lopez emerged from behind the crate that had been her hiding place during the firefight, her face flushed with embarrassment. She snagged one of the dead bodies as it floated past and stared at the ruined face.
“Who was he?” she asked.
“Who cares?” Novak said. “Is dead now, yes?”
The tango wore a faded blue survival suit lined with flak plates, of a type used by mining teams. The Alliance insignia had been torn from the sleeve and another symbol painted onto the chest panel: a black infinity spiral. That was the Spiral’s calling card, the closest thing the organisation had to a badge. Each of the casualties carried a crude metal icon of the same design on their belts, a private reminder of their affiliation. Lopez held the body for a long second, fascinated and horrified by our handiwork.
“Was this easier when they wore uniforms?” she asked. “When you were fighting the Asiatic Directorate, I mean?”
“Don’t let Feng hear you say that,” Riggs said.
I shook my head. “That was a long time ago.”
“I wonder what they were doing in here,” Lopez said.
“Waiting to die?” Novak offered.
“That’s not what I meant,” Lopez said.
Novak grunted. “Here.” He pointed out a cargo crate at the mouth of the chamber. “Is like bomb, yes?”
The crate had been mag-locked to the deck, with the lid open. I floated over and peered inside. Recognised an industrial breaching charge—big enough to crack an asteroid’s mineral seam. The activation panel was dark, but the various arming components were mag-locked to the side of the crate.
“We interrupted them,” I said. A cold jolt ran through my system. “They were priming this charge, and we caught them in the act…”
“We need to call this in,” Lopez said, shaking her head. “Captain Heinrich needs to know what’s going on down here.”
“How do we do that, Senator?” Novak grumbled. “Comms are down.”
The Jackals had all come to stand around the open box now, were staring down at the oversized charge.
“They were going to blow the station,” I said. “And everyone with it.”
“That’s cold, man,” Riggs said, shaking his head. “But it doesn’t surprise me. We are dealing with the Spiral here. I guess those officers are going to be wasted, for real.”
Until now, the anonymous military brass had been someone else’s worry, and I so desperately wanted them to stay that way. But if we were the only squad on Daktar, we were their only hope…
I pulled up the mission briefing again. Intel on the military contingent was short and to the point. Six officers had arrived on Daktar via transport shuttle, at some point prior to the takeover. I opened the file on the ranking officer, and his face was projected in holo on my wrist-comp. Hard-featured, with a shaven scalp and a tight, grey goatee beard. Eyes like sapphires. An Old Earther, Alliance citizen of the Russian Federation. Previously stationed in Moscow.
Name: Sergkov, Vadim. Rank: Major.
All other information redacted with the tag INSUFFICIENT SECURITY CLEARANCE.
None of the other officers’ files would yield anything more than a poor-quality holo-picture, barely sufficient for identification.
“Whoever these guys are,” I said, looking up at my squad, “Command doesn’t seem very interested in giving detail on them.”
I felt a familiar tightening in my chest. These guys weren’t regular Army. I’d dealt with more than enough black ops types in my career, and I could smell one from a light-year out…
“Looks like he’s one of yours,” Riggs said to Novak. “He’s Russian, I mean.”
Novak grunted and shook his head. “Is Moskvich.”
“He’s what?” Lopez questioned.
“From Moscow,” Novak said, twisting his upper lip in a sneer. “Not proper Federation.” He slapped a hand to his chest. In the armour, the action was bone-crushing. “Me? Proper Russian. Old country, Norilsk.” When no one immediately appeared to understand the relevance of the name, which I took to be a location, Novak sneered some more and added, “Is long way from Moscow. Is north: is real Russia.”
Lopez raised an eyebrow and nodded back at the briefing image. “I didn’t think there were many of them left,” she said.
Riggs grinned. “Officers, or Russians?”
“Either,” Lopez replied.
It was true that Russia and most of her Old Earth territories had taken a pounding during the Directorate–Alliance War. The Federation hadn’t been directly hit, but the Directorate had deployed nukes in the ’Stans. To this day, decades after the engagement, the fallout still rendered many Russian districts uninhabitable. It felt inevitable that Novak had originated from somewhere that hellish.
“Well there’s one, at least,” I said. The holo snapped back into my comp.
“What are we going to do?” Lopez asked.
I t
hought about ordering one of the squad to extract from the simulants, to carry the news back to the Bainbridge… But I quickly discarded that plan as a no-go. We’d be a skin down, and if I was right—if the Spiral were planning to sacrifice Daktar Outpost—I would need every trooper available.
“New objective, people,” I said. “We’re getting those officers off this station. The Control Room is two decks above us. That’s where we’re heading. We’ll patch into the security system, and run a scan for the hostages.
“Lopez, Feng: get that airlock sealed. Riggs, Novak: covering fire on that corridor.”
“We’re on it,” Feng said.
Feng and Lopez used sealant foam and a plasma welder to repair the hatch. As they worked, I called up plans of the station. A clean-lined schematic appeared on my HUD—downloaded before we’d left the Bainbridge—and I plotted the route to the Control Room. Lopez finished sealing the lock, and my suit confirmed that the seal was good: that the base would retain pressure. I transmitted the new mission plan to the rest of the team. Their HUDs jumped with graphics as the info-stream updated, giving directions to the target.
“Roll out. We’ve got a job to do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
FIRST CONTACT
Despite the initial resistance at the airlock, we found the lower levels of Tower One largely deserted. In fact, the place had an eerie stillness to it, as though the Spiral was concentrating its resources on the fight outside. Now that we were inside the outpost, we were running on the base’s atmosphere supply. The air tasted salty and sweaty, carried with it the distant tang of smoke. The power had been cut save for the occasional security lamp, and the zone we were in was dark.
“Flares,” I ordered.
“Copy that,” Riggs said.
The Jackals followed his example, slapping chemical flares to the walls as they went. The fizzing lights dowsed the whole sector in an intermittent illumination that did nothing to dispel the sense of desertion. Feng attached a flare to the corner, then stopped as it lit the next section of corridor.