Edge of War (The Eternal Frontier Book 2)

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  “Shoot.”

  “Besides learning the basics, I was never trained to be a soldier like you. Never taught how to survive in shipboard combat or in a ground skirmish.”

  Lonestar looked up from her mug with a skeptical expression.

  “But—gods I hope I’m not offending you—you aren’t trained to like killing, are you?”

  “No, can’t say that we are. And, I mean, it’s part of our job and all, but I don’t like it. I really don’t think you’re supposed to like it. You’ll run into a gunny every once in a while who loves his job. Who likes the violence a bit too much, but damn. Even killing xenos doesn’t always feel good, you know?’

  Tag nodded.

  “Something on your mind, Captain?”

  “No, just asking,” Tag asked. He could see she didn’t believe him, so he finished off his coffee. “Again, sorry about G. I’d sit longer, but I’ve got some work in the med bay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The effects of the coffee burned through some of the fog hovering over Tag’s mind. He still felt a sticky oiliness covering his body left over from the sweat of their escape. As much as he longed for a shower and a change of clothes, he couldn’t take a break while his crew worked overtime. Besides, even if they had not been around, the call of the laboratory was too great. It was where he felt at home, where he felt most confident, and when he had an experiment to run or research to perform, the med bay’s lab beckoned like a seductive siren calling to him.

  “Captain,” Coren said when Tag entered the bay. The Mechanic was hunched over one of the terminals. “Alpha seemed like she had a handle on everything at the bridge. Acted like something was on her mind, though. She wasn’t much for conversation, so I started on the nanite disarmament strategies.”

  “Appreciate it,” Tag said. “I still can’t figure out how to reverse the genetic changes the nanites cause. I’d need some kind of enzyme to knock out the hundreds of bits of genetic code integrated into the Drone-Mech’s genome. Then we’d have to use an insanely powerful bioweapon to infect every Drone-Mech with DNA vectors, and that’s just the beginning. I mean, I know you’re not a medical scientist, but I’m sure even you can appreciate the impossible hurdles we’re facing to make that happen.”

  “Thank you for your confidence in my ability to understand your rudimentary scientific knowledge,” Coren said. Tag thought he could see a slight smirk in the Mechanic’s expression, but he wasn’t sure. Coren gestured to a holo displaying the brain structure of a Mechanic along with the antenna embedded within it formed by the self-assembling nanites. “After reviewing everything, I think that solving this problem from a biological or biochemical approach is the wrong way to do it. You’re right. Trying to reverse the genetic changes is an impossible task, even by Mechanic standards. Species-wide DNA vector delivery is, I regret to say, beyond our most advanced capabilities.”

  “Damn,” Tag said. “I was actually hoping you wouldn’t say that. Retaking Meck’ara—” He stopped. Something inside the back of his skull itched. It was an almost tangible feeling, as if there was a bug scratching at his conscience. And then, his mind reverting back to chief medical officer mode, he realized what it was. “We always took extreme caution when handling the nanites. You never got infected by them. I’m not sure whether that’s because you’re immune or because we were careful or another something else entirely.”

  He felt something tighten in his throat, and he had to gulp before continuing. “But I’m not sure what will happen when we bring a ship full of free Mechanics to a planet full of nanite-infested Drone-Mechs. Whatever infected the Mechanics there in the first place might still be active.”

  “You think we may as well be committing suicide by heading straight back to Meck’ara.”

  “Exactly,” Tag said. “We need a way to vaccinate you all. Something to prevent the nanites from entering the nervous system—or at least from allowing the genetic changes to take root. Something to ensure when we bring the fight to the Drone-Mechs, all the free Mechanics don’t turn sides on us.”

  “That is an idea worth pursuing I had not yet fully considered.” Coren’s eyes traced over the chemical formulas of the nanite constituents displayed on the side of the holo. “It appears we have our hands full. Do you have any idea how we might expedite the search for a vaccine?”

  “There is something that would accelerate our progress,” Tag said. He recalled when he had first met Coren and Sofia in the Forest of Light and their attempt to fill him in on all that had transpired regarding the Drone-Mech pandemic. “The reports you and Sofia showed me indicated almost a third of Mechanics weren’t affected by the nanite outbreak. We need to find one of them to figure out why they might be immune.”

  “Of course.” Coren paused as if in thought. Then his healthy eye lit in a radiant golden glow. “Even if we do find a vaccine, that doesn’t solve the problem of the vast number of Drone-Mechs we’ll face.”

  “I take it you have another idea to deal with them.”

  “The nanites respond to grav waves. And yes, I understand grav-wave communications are only a theoretical subject in human technology. Mechanic science has advanced further than your current grav-wave tech.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  Coren let out what seemed like an exasperated sigh as he motioned to the holo of the Mechanic brain and nanites. “Someone’s controlling the Drone-Mechs. That means, theoretically, we could, too.”

  Grav waves—and physics in general—were beyond Tag’s realm of expertise.

  “As far as I know, the SRE can detect grav waves from natural phenomena,” Tag said, “but I don’t think we can manipulate them coherently enough for any real mode of communication. Why not just create some kind of shielding effect to block the signal? Surely that’s easier.”

  “Are you thinking of something like an EMP blast that disables electronics?” Coren asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Grav waves are capable of penetrating matter, and electromagnetic radiation wouldn’t interfere with their signal. So unless you humans have something we don’t, I’m not sure of any reasonable way to stop the signal.”

  Tag sat on a stool in front of the Mechanic brain holo. He rotated the image, studying the spiral pattern of the self-assembled nanites. “So the best you think we can do is send a different signal to the Drone-Mechs.”

  “Exactly,” Coren said. “And since the Stalwart avoided the Drone-Mechs altogether until Eta-Five, we have no samples or models to base our research on. Can I send them the holos and data you have on the autopsied Drone-Mechs?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Coren nodded and initiated the data transmission at his terminal.

  Collaborating freely with the Mechanics could be their saving grace. After all, that was the way the scientific community had prospered for centuries. The sharing of research papers and data packages provided a constant stream of new knowledge for anyone to tap into. Now that scientific tradition was spreading to another technically adept species. The mere thought that this single act could connect SRE science with Mechanic technology practically made Tag salivate. All the new advancements they could make...installing the personal energy shields in the marines’ armor was just the first step in what Tag hoped would be a fruitful relationship.

  “You said Mechanic grav-wave technology is beyond SRE tech,” Tag asked. “How far along is it?”

  “There’s a research institution near our capital city called the Lacklon Institute for Physical Sciences. One of the premier research groups within the organization developed a grav-wave generator.” Coren gestured over the holoscreen, and an oval-shaped facility glowed between them. It appeared almost as large as the Montenegro, dotted with rows of windows and all kinds of satellite dishes and antennae. “Most of the research performed there has been studying natural phenomena, and to my knowledge, only a few experiments have considered grav waves as a focused communication medium.

  “B
ut the Stalwart has some of the best scientists, physicists, and engineers in the Mechanic navy.” Coren paused then added more dourly, “At least, it did before the Drone-Mechs. My hope is that my people can reverse engineer the nanite antenna technology. If they are successful, we could determine how best to deliver a signal to the Drone-Mechs. We might not be able to bring the Drone-Mechs back to full consciousness as free Mechanics, but we can at least disrupt their programming and interfere with the signals driving them to kill.”

  “That would be perfect,” Tag said. “But that poses some challenges. We’ve got to develop the technology, hope that the Lacklon Institute still exists, and make it to the facility.”

  “Which makes reaching out to any free Mechanics all the more important,” Coren said. “But I’m also worried that their help may not be enough.”

  A heavy silence weighed between them for several long moments. Tag understood the implication without Coren saying another word.

  “I’ll certainly contact the SRE, but you saw what disarray they were in after the attack on the Montenegro,” Tag said.

  “That’s all we can ask.”

  The holo of the Mechanic’s brain captivated Tag. He thought of the Drone-Mech bodies they had once had aboard the Argo. Coren and Tag had relinquished the corpses to the Montenegro for the SRE to analyze, but not before Tag had completed a full autopsy, run a biochemical profile, and secured a few samples of the neural tissue infested with nanites. “If we need to, we can always use the samples we have to run some of the grav-wave tests. But that still doesn’t give us a lot of dead Drone-Mech specimens to work with.”

  “I’m sure as we make our way back to Meck’ara,” Coren said, his twelve fingers knitting together, “we’ll have the opportunity to retrieve more samples.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The ceremony for G was brief but heartfelt, with the marines telling stories of the young soldier, from his first taste of gutfire to the time he twisted an ankle trying to prove he could jump as high as any Turbo player. Without a body, they had been forced to load one of G’s old uniforms into the torpedo bay and launch it into space. Tag watched as the marines consoled each other. Bull never wavered, though Tag swore he could see a slightly wet sheen over the man’s eyes. Gorenado, Sumo, and Lonestar didn’t quite hold back like Bull did, and Tag felt like a stranger presiding over a ceremony for a man he had only known for a matter of days while these four might as well have spent a lifetime with him.

  After G’s symbolic funeral, Coren said there was little they needed to do to pay their respects to his Mechanic brothers and sisters other than continue the fight and free Meck’ara from the grasp of the Drone-Mechs. Easy enough, Tag thought ruefully. He had felt like he was cheating those who had sacrificed themselves by not doing something at that moment to honor them, but Sofia had insisted this was Mechanic tradition, and there would undoubtedly be a proper remembrance ceremony once the battle against the Drone-Mechs ended and the Drone-masters were defeated. Tag said a short prayer for them anyway.

  The days following G’s burial in space bled into each other as Tag almost lost himself in the pattern of laboratory work. The med bay had been his home long before his abrupt promotion to command of the Argo, and it was too easy to forget his responsibilities to the rest of the crew. He had run dozens of simulations with the help of the ship’s AI to test various biomolecule and nanoparticle compounds to see if any would inhibit the self-assembly of the nanites or their effects in the Drone-Mechs. Nothing he had tried produced any desirable results, and from his communications with Bracken, the science team on the Stalwart hadn’t made any breakthroughs either.

  Alpha worked at a nearby terminal. They had shared conversations on science and the status of the Argo but little else over the past several days in hyperspace. He waited for her to bring up her concerns over the psychological effects of combat from before, but she never did, and he didn’t press her. They mostly continued their efforts in silence.

  “Captain,” she said, breaking the quiet. “We’re thirty minutes from transition.”

  Tag closed the holoscreen he was using, letting the blue-and-green light fizzle away. “Alert the crew.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Alpha said. She sent a message over her terminal, and a voice sounded over the shipwide comms, calling all crew members to their stations.

  Tag jogged to the bridge and settled into his crash couch. Sofia and Coren were already secured, and Alpha found her spot. The holomap displayed in the center of the bridge showed a rotating image of Nycho Station, their first destination in Mechanic space. The station had been used as a resupply and research station for expeditions within the Fidelity sector.

  “What do you think, Skipper?” Sofia said. “Going to run into hostiles or friendlies?”

  “Either way, they’ll no doubt be surprised to see us,” Tag said. He pressed the comms for the Stalwart. “Bracken, are you all ready for normal space transition?”

  “We are,” she replied. “And we look forward to no longer being towed behind the Argo.”

  “I take it your coronal engines are fully repaired and ready to go,” Tag said.

  “We do not make the same mistake twice.”

  “Good,” Tag said. “Because we better prepare for a fast exit if things go south.”

  “At the first sign of Drone-Mech conflict, we’ll be prepared to embark on Trajectory Beta to our next destination.”

  “It’s a shame we couldn’t contact Nycho Station ahead of time somehow.”

  “That would’ve been most unwise,” Bracken said. “The likelihood of Drone-Mechs intercepting any messages outweighs the benefits of risking message transmission.”

  Tag agreed. He still didn’t like it. His stomach flipped as he considered exactly what they were getting themselves into. There was no telling whether they would be welcomed with open arms by a fleet of free Mechanics waiting to enact vengeance on the Drone-Mechs or if a horde of Drone-Mechs had taken up residence at Nycho to ensure the death of any humans or free Mechanics who passed by.

  The plasma coursing over the ship gave way, and Tag gulped as the Argo began its descent into normal space. His body sank into the crash couch, and the inertial dampeners fought against the rapid deceleration. White flecks of light peppered black space on the viewscreens.

  “Alpha, hostiles?” Tag asked.

  “Negative, sir,” Alpha said.

  The crew seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The only other ship that cropped up on the holomap was the Stalwart.

  “Untether the Stalwart,” Tag said.

  “Yes, Captain,” Alpha replied. The Stalwart started to put distance between itself and the Argo.

  “Feels good to have some breathing room again,” Sofia said, taking over the controls. “It’s a hell of a lot easier flying this thing when it isn’t towing a million tons of spaceship and Mechanic ego.”

  A single huff escaped Coren. A laugh, maybe.

  “I’m glad we don’t see any Drone-Mechs, but where is Nycho?” Tag asked.

  “We should be able to see it,” Coren said. “It orbits Lanon-Four.” He pointed a skinny finger at the planet on the map. “Lanon itself is uninhabitable. We never bothered terraforming it because it was simply easier to mine the nearby asteroids and put together Nycho. But...” He cocked his head as he studied the ghostly sphere of Lanon-Four on the map. “Nycho was built to be transportable. Kind of a slow-moving spaceship in case we decided to relocate where our research vessels in the area resupplied.”

  “You think they moved then? Maybe to escape?” Sofia asked as they approached Lanon-Four.

  Tag felt a mixture of hope and frustration. On one hand, maybe that meant the free Mechanics had survived and were out there somewhere. On the other hand, if they were, then he had no idea where to begin looking for them.

  “Captain!” Alpha said. “I’m picking up a signal! An unidentified vessel, approximately the size of Nycho Station, is four hundred fifty-six thousand thre
e hundred and four klicks from our location. There are no signs of grav impellers engaged, and electromagnetic radiation signals emanating from the ship are minimal.”

  “Precise as always,” Tag said. “Bracken, did you get a read on the ship ghosting out there?”

  “Yes,” Bracken replied. “That seems to match Nycho’s profile. We would like to make the approach.”

  “I’m sensing some hesitancy. You see something we don’t?”

  “It’s strange that we aren’t getting so much as an encrypted SOS from the station. If they were fleeing an enemy, we would expect them to have done exactly that.”

  “Maybe they’re not trying to attract much attention,” Tag said.

  “Maybe,” Bracken said. Tag could tell she was skeptical of his suggestion. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

  They drifted toward the vessel. Coren was bristling at the weapons station. All countermeasures were hot, ready to be engaged at any sign of a single energy round glimmering from space. Slowly they approached Nycho, and Tag recognized its halo-like shape from the images Coren had showed them. Based on those pictures, Tag had expected to see thousands of portholes glowing with light as the station spun around its central pylon.

  Nycho was completely dark, and as it rotated in their viewscreen, Sofia gasped. An entire chunk had been torn from the ring. Flotsam floated around the broken segment like the detritus of a beast attacked by an ice god and left to die.

  “No,” Coren said. “I truly hoped...I can’t believe it.”

  Alpha magnified the image on the viewscreen to get a closer look at the debris littering the vacuum around the station. Uncoiled snakes of wire and chunks of bulkhead glided by. Tag forced himself to watch as the bodies of spaced Mechanics lazily drifted in the spinning station’s wake. Singe marks and gaping holes across the station revealed the story of a battle that had taken place here. All the docking stations lay empty except for three. Those three tunnels were connected like umbilical cords to Mechanic science vessels similar to the Stalwart. But each appeared broken in pieces, barely hanging on.