Terran Armor Corps Anthology

by Richard Fox

  “This is…shockingly normal,” Roland said as Jonathan brought over a dish of multicolored cooked grain and hurried back to the kitchen. The little girl lunged for the new dish, but Nicodemus stopped her before she could stick a hand into the hot food.

  “Human culture developed to be this.” Nicodemus set a few blocks atop each other and the girl knocked them over with a giggle. “The Ibarras saw no need to try and improve on a system that works. We have children not because we need true born to be armor pilots—and I’ve seen enough battles that I don’t want Jonathan to follow my footsteps, but it’s what he wants—but because children are the reason for everything.”

  “It’s hard for me to relate.” Roland scratched the side of his face. “My parents died in the war. The state raised me. I don’t think any of the armor on Ma—you know—are married. That normal? Like, Morrigan? She seeing anyone?”

  “She was engaged,” Nicodemus said. “I am something of an outlier. I’m lucky I found a strong woman that can deal with the deployments and who was willing to even look twice at me.”

  “You’re not that hard to look at,” Suzzana said as she slapped Nicodemus on the rear end and set a tray of scalloped potatoes on the table. She sat down and rubbed her pregnant belly. “And I’m spent. Get the roast, honey?”

  “Are you in Daddy’s lance?” Jonathan asked.

  “No, I’m still in training,” Roland said.

  “Do you want to be in his lance? With Aunt Morry?”

  “I don’t think your father needs any more help. He’s one of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen.” Roland smiled nervously. The statement was true enough, but adding that Nicodemus had dismantled Roland in suited combat could remain unstated.

  “Here we go.” Nicodemus brought in a tray of lamb chops. “Paidakia just like Yaya used to make.”

  “The tower’s food combiner is on the fritz again,” Suzzana said. “I had to drop your name to get all this in time. Otherwise, it would have been leftovers.”

  “I’ll speak to the super.” Nicodemus helped Jonathan into his seat and motioned for Roland to sit next to the head of the table.

  “And mention the VR chambers are locked to old Las Vegas Strip. I can’t take the kids for a walk down that street.” Suzzana looked at Roland. “Sorry, these buildings were built for speed, not quality. I don’t complain this much normally.”

  “I can be intimidating if I need to be,” Nicodemus said.

  Roland chuckled and sat down.

  “Will the guest say grace?” Jonathan asked.

  “I…don’t think it’s my place,” Roland said.

  “It’s my duty to say it, son,” Nicodemus said. He folded his hands against the table and his family followed suit. Roland bowed his head.

  “Heavenly Father…”

  Chapter 17

  The Ardennes burst through the Crucible gate and her fleet followed.

  “Limpets away,” Commander Paxton announced from her spot opposite Lettow around the tactical holo. The 14th’s ships filled the holo tank as they emerged through the wormhole, many of which were new, replacements for ships lost during the battle with the Kesaht over Oricon. A moon materialized, the edge growing as the ship’s scanners reached out.

  “Dispatch Strike Marine teams to the command nodes. Lethal force authorized if lethal force encountered,” Lettow said.

  “Assault ships in the void…six of eight limpets in place. Lock down on track. All ships reporting in, Admiral Ericson and the Normandy coming through now,” Paxton said. She’d proven capable enough since Strickland was reassigned. Losing his old operations officer was a blow, but he couldn’t remain in a key position, not when he was at risk of being compromised by the Ibarras with a single message.

  The moon came into focus, and Lettow frowned at the unusual surface dotted by huge craters, all of identical diameter and depth spaced neatly from each other. Moving that amount of mass was an engineering feat humanity had yet to master.

  “The Pathfinders call them Z-holes,” Paxton said. “Xaros scooped out what they needed to make the Crucible gates. You only see them on this end of the galaxy. Farther in, they started mining out the interior and leaving the surface pristine. No one’s sure why.”

  “Thank you for the history lesson, XO. How about you tell me if you found the Ibarras?” Lettow deadpanned.

  “Yes, sir. Probes are away.”

  A few seconds later, the colony world appeared in the holo on the opposite side of the moon.

  A gold-bordered comm request appeared in the holo tank, a direct line from the Normandy.

  Lettow tapped the icon and a woman with blond hair run through with a few white strands replaced the icon.

  “Ardennes, not to speak too soon, but our arrival is on track. The moon screened us from the target world. Should help with the shock-and-awe factor,” Admiral Ericson said.

  Did High Command send Admiral Valdar’s old XO along to send a message…or to relieve me if I screwed up again? Lettow thought. What I wouldn’t give to have the old man around for some advice.

  “30th is through,” she said. “We’re set for lockdown. Primo Victoria.” She signed off with the Normandy’s motto.

  “XO, engage limpets,” Lettow said. “No need to have anyone else joining this fight.”

  “Aye aye,” Paxton said.

  In the holo tank, red pulses appeared in the Crucible. The graviton generators would create fields, making any travel through the gate impossible.

  “Strike Marine Team Gold reports that control node alpha is unmanned,” Paxton said. “Still waiting for updates from the rest.”

  “Release the San Juan’s destroyer squadron from formation and have them secure the Crucible,” Lettow said. “We’ll need IR buoys around the moon to keep comms open once we cross the horizon.”

  “Buoys being loaded into launch tubes now,” Paxton said. “Bridge crew anticipated the need and got the techs working soon as we came through.”

  “A problem foreseen is a problem half-solved. Pass on my compliments,” Lettow said.

  The 14th and 30th accelerated around the moon, each in an arrowhead formation with the battleships at the tip.

  Lettow tapped a finger against the edge of the holo tank. Things were going smoothly—so smoothly that he worried he’d blundered into a trap.

  “Hail coming through from the target planet,” Paxton said.

  “Comms, an attempt to get a message through the Crucible?” Lettow asked.

  “Negative, Admiral,” said a lieutenant in a workstation. “No IR relays detected anywhere in system. They may have something on the moon’s surface we haven’t found yet.”

  “Sir, report in from Strike Marine Team Crimson.” Paxton reached into the holo tank and flicked a file toward Lettow. Camera footage of a Crucible command node came up, a domed room with several descending tiers and stairs designed for beings much taller than humans. At the bottom of the node was a blast crater. Tendrils of smoke reached through the air as the self-repair protocols of the Crucible reknit the basalt-like material of the floor.

  “Team leader reports feeling a shock wave soon after entering the structure. They found the control room like this. Denethrite explosive residue detected throughout the command node. No casualties,” she said.

  “Was the explosion before or after we locked down the Crucible?” Lettow asked.

  “It was…eighteen seconds after we engaged the limpets,” she said.

  “Comms detected no signal from the planet. Nothing got through…what did they blow up?”

  Paxton shrugged her shoulders.

  “I need better than that, XO. We have all manner of equipment bolted to our Crucibles. Find out what was in that room,” Lettow said. He set a delay to open the channel with the Ibarra colony and dialed Admiral Ericson in to monitor the conversation.

  A bald man with a wide face appeared in a window as several others milled around behind him.

  “Hello? This is Balmaseda Governor Thrace. Id
entify yourselves,” he said.

  Lettow stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. He looked into the camera and let his iron bearing make the first impression.

  “Governor Thrace, I am Admiral Lettow of the Terran Union. Your presence here is in violation of the Hale Treaty and must be removed immediately. I’ve been instructed to take you, and every last illegal settler, back to Terran space. You will comply. How difficult the relocation goes depends on you.”

  “Now just a goddamn minute.” Thrace looked over his shoulder and waved at someone. “The Ibarra Nation isn’t a signatory to the Hale Treaty and we’re not going to up and leave our homes because some pompous…”

  Lettow looked to one side of the holo tank. Both fleets were nearly over the horizon and visible from Balmaseda.

  The admiral’s earpiece clicked as Paxton spoke to him.

  “Planet is barely habitable,” she said. “One city on a mesa in a mountain range. Couple outlying settlements near glaciers. That must be where they’re getting water.”

  “We’re not going anywhere, Admiral,” Thrace said, though his mouth wavered and his eyes betrayed just how scared he really was. This was not a man with a military background, Lettow decided.

  “I am not asking you, Thrace,” Lettow said. “I am telling you. I have two fleets at my disposal. Armor. Strike Marines and battalions of Rangers. Bastion is fully aware that you’re here, and if I don’t remove you, they’ll send the Kroar or the Mendesans to deal with you. Have you ever seen a Kroar? They’re seven-foot-tall hairy alligators and full carnivores. They’re still angry at humans after they tried and failed to take our colony on Eire. I am the last friendly face you will ever see if you don’t comply with my instructions.”

  “We…we’re not helpless, you know.” Thrace swallowed hard.

  “I’m under orders to remove you without force if possible. You fire on my ships or my soldiers and my goodwill vanishes…I don’t know your background.” The corner of Lettow’s mouth twitched. He would bet a month’s salary this Thrace was a new proccie. “But you’re old enough to remember rebuilding Earth, the whole Ember War, and all the work humanity did together to fight back from the edge. I’m not here as your enemy. I am here to save you from the rest of the galaxy. Don’t turn—”

  The channel cut out.

  “Damn it, I rehearsed that part forever.” Lettow looked over at Paxton.

  “Admiral, this colony hasn’t been here long.” Her hand tapped inside the holo tank, and a picture of the main settlement appeared. Rows of multistory buildings stretched out from four massive colony landers, each the size of a battlecruiser.

  “This place is a shake and bake,” Paxton said. “We did the same thing with our first out-system colonies. Drop enough people and equipment to be self-sustaining. More about planting the flag than long-term viability.”

  “Admiral,” the lieutenant commander at the ship’s tactical station stood up, “sensors are picking up rail gun batteries throughout the surrounding mountain ranges and a number buried beneath the moon’s surface.”

  “Are they active?” Lettow asked.

  “Negative, sir. Powered down at the moment,” he said, “but if their tech is as good as ours, they could have rounds in the void in less than five minutes.”

  “Normandy, go to a dispersed formation.” Lettow pulled the data from the tactical officer into his tank and waited as his ship’s computer analyzed the number of guns and just how much damage they could do in one salvo. He grunted as the first simulation went through. Of the twenty batteries they’d detected, the colonists might have managed a hit or two through his fleets’ point defense. None of their guns would have survived to make a second shot.

  “Thrace isn’t a fanatic,” Lettow said. “At least one thing’s going right for us today. Tactical. I want a full scan of the system. I don’t want to find out they have macro cannons when a hypervelocity round from the Kuiper belt cuts the Ardennes in half.”

  “Aye aye.”

  “Low orbit to discourage a macro shot, Admiral?” Paxton asked. “They fire one on us, it’ll hit the planet—massive destruction and a mini ice age for decades.”

  “We’ll set the 30th to low orbit. Keep us in geo-synch over the settlement in case they have any surprises we’ve not anticipated.”

  “Admiral, Thrace is hailing us again,” the comms officer said.

  “He can wait.” Lettow pulled up a menu and tapped a name. “Colonel Martel, begin landing your armor. Phase two begins now.”

  Chapter 18

  “…and then I threw the dragon way up into the air and it flew away,” Jonathan said.

  Roland smiled and looked down at his plate. He’d had more than one serving and felt like he’d eaten a bit more than what was polite, but the lamb chops had a spice to them that Roland had never tasted before, and the grain dish was savory and had an almost-cinnamon aftertaste. Wherever this Navarre planet was, the Ibarras had made good use of the local flora.

  “That’s quite the story, son,” Nicodemus said.

  “I’m all done eating,” the boy said. “Can you help me with gauss cannon targeting? Mom said you would.”

  “I need to take Mr. Shaw back to his quarters,” Nicodemus said.

  “But Mom said…”

  “I can get back on my own,” Roland said. “Air cars are air cars. Right? The gu—people in charge of quarters won’t mind.”

  Nicodemus looked hard at Roland, then glanced at the small shrine to Saint Kallen in the corner behind him.

  Roland brushed his hand over the bare patch on his shoulder, making an implicit promise to the Saint that he wouldn’t abuse Nicodemus’ trust.

  “Go get your gear on,” the Ibarran said to his son.

  Jonathan scrambled off his chair and raced away.

  “Your car should still be waiting,” Nicodemus said.

  “Then I’ll get started on dishes.” Suzzana made to get up, but Nicodemus stopped her.

  “We’ll let the Rosie handle it,” he said.

  “You remember this.” She pointed at Roland and then to her husband. “Spoil your pregnant wife and life will be happier for everyone.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Roland said, standing up. “Thank you for having me over.”

  “Sir,” Roland said to Nicodemus as he walked toward the exit. The Ibarran joined him and grabbed him by the forearm as the door opened.

  “If you think I’ll go easy on you after this…” Nicodemus said.

  “I didn’t think you would.” Roland frowned.

  “Have a safe trip back.” Nicodemus waited until Roland had started down the hallway before closing the door.

  Roland heard muffled conversations from the other apartments as he passed. Just how many families were here? He’d imagined the Ibarrans as little more than one giant army, creating entire strike groups from their crèche farms bent on whatever Stacey Ibarra demanded from them. To know that there was a deeper dimension, that they lived lives little different from the people of Earth and the colonies…

  The pair of legionnaires met him without a word at the garage. They kept their weapons pointed away from Roland and their fingers off the trigger, but Roland could sense their alert nature. Even if he had the desire to try to escape now, he’d stand a better chance fighting armor while in his utilities and holding a butter knife.

  A deep sense of uselessness and ennui came over him as the pilotless air car came up to him. There was no escape from the Ibarrans, he realized. He was nothing more than a nuisance for them now, having already given up what they wanted from him.

  Resistance was useless. Without his armor, he was nothing as a fighter compared to those combat-built and -bred legionnaires.

  An air car rose up and came to a gentle stop in front of him. A door opened and Roland saw a small book on the seat.

  “You guys coming with me?” Roland asked a legionnaire. The soldier motioned toward the car with his rifle’s muzzle.

  Bolts locked the door after
Roland got inside, and the car moved off before he could sit down, the windows going dark before it moved out of sight of the legionnaires. The car turned hard and the book skittered across the seat to Roland’s side.

  It was the tape-covered Templar primer. Roland opened it, deciding to get some study in during the view-less trip back to his cell. He glanced at the inner cover that bore the handwritten inscription: Property of B.B.

  BB…Bassani? The primer grew cold to the touch as Roland realized who it belonged to. Bassani was dead, presumably lost in battle. Roland put it down gently and turned his gaze to his reflection in the window.

  I don’t deserve it. I am armor, but I am a failure.

  He didn’t bother to keep a count during his trip. It was pointless. He crossed his arms over his chest and huddled against the door, basking in his self-pity.

  After a few minutes, the screens went blank and the world outside the car was there. He turned his head just as the car passed a final skyscraper and went into the gloom. The glow from the city faded out quickly, and the air car continued unabated. The clouds darkened and rain lashed against the windows.

  “Hello?” Roland rapped his fingers against the glass separating his compartment from the control systems up front. Being enveloped in the abyss wasn’t unusual for an armor soldier accustomed to the womb, but being in a car on a strange planet traveling to an unknown destination brought Roland’s combat instincts to life.

  He looked down and saw the shadows of mountain ridges lit by travel beacons.

  At least I’m going somewhere. Maybe they aren’t going to use the lamest escape attempt in military history as an excuse to kill me.

  A dull pyramid edged in light emerged in the distance. Roland leaned close to the windshield as the car angled down toward a hangar door that slid up one side. The structure was enormous, easily several times the size of the skyscraper he’d just come through. He saw rail cannons dotted along the pyramid, their vanes facing down as small rivers of rain ran off them.