by Will Crudge
“Everyone alright?” Val came over the audio net.
“The Fleet Marshal, and his big kitty are fine, but my NAV clock is fried.” Doom replied on Darius’ behalf.
“Ah! Well, that’s normal. Mine fried also.” Val spoke as if nobody ever exploded at all. “That clock gets fed by the external coms array… When a jump like that happens, it sends a surge of energy through the hardline and cooks it.”
“You don’t say?” Darius was getting better at irony. He blamed Kara’s influence. “So, what the hell just happened? And I can only assume you’re the only one with this tech?”
“What happened was, we basically left the 3rd dimensional reality that contains space, time, and matter… then hopped up a dimension or two, where those things don’t really exist, and then we reemerged exactly where I focused my brainwaves.” Val explained. “Adan, yes. Only I can do it.”
“So, only Unum has the ability?” Darius tried to get a more specific answer.
“No. Only I can do it.” Val put a new emphasis on his words. “I mean to say, that it’s a gift that only I’ve been able to pull off. My mind does the transaction, but the interdimensional drive is the physical vehicle.”
“Perhaps you can explain later… I don’t need to head into a firefight with a migraine.” Darius asserted.
“Thank you for that! Not sure if you know this or not, but you and I will feel each other’s pain when our adrenaline levels hit a certain point… I don’t need to be distracted by your attempts to comprehend science stuff.” Shadow added.
“Good point, buddy.” Darius acknowledged. “So, what next? After all, this whole adventure started by you trying to smuggle my away from Crimson assassins, just to capture a Crimson cruiser, and then get me promoted to the highest ranking Soldier in 200 years.”
“Indeed.” Val acknowledged. “How’s about we fly on down to Earth, take out 3 or 4 squadrons of drone fighters, fight our way past a small army of heavily armed security guards, and then insert Samantha into a big damn computer?”
“I’m oddly comfortable with that.” Darius nodded.
PTAISM Be Trippin’
Location: UHCSS Heavy Cruiser Broadsword, CIC
Date Time: Post Interstellar 07/31/4201 0034HRS UAHC Standard Zulu Time
System: UAHC Training Quadrant Alpha, Samson System
“We’re out of slip-space, Master Chief.” Wilkins reported over his shoulder.
“Very well.” Master Chief Olaf nodded. “Anyone else report in?”
“All cruisers are in normal space… no issues.” The Petty Officer replied.
“Do you think those Crimson morons were dumb enough to follow us?” Sergeant Major Estrada asked. His words were muffled slightly as he labored to chew on his cigar.
“I can only pray they did. This region of space has no legal restrictions. Our taism’s won’t lock us down if we take the initiative.” Olsen said, as he kept his eyes glued to the holographic display.
“But they already engaged us.” Estrada paused to adjust his cigar. “We should be able to go weapons free either way, shouldn’t we?”
The Master Chief shook his head. “Not since we jumped. It completely resets the clock, as far as Sovereign Protocol is concerned. As long as we left that sector, then the engagement has already concluded… But it’s irrelevant as long as we can lure them into the box.”
“You’re right. I didn’t think of that.” Estrada looked deeply into the display. “Any contact from UAHC forces already in the box?”
“I’ve got Alpha STC on coms, Sergeant Major.” Wilkins answered up. “There’s a 45 second delay at this range, so I’ll have to shoot a data burst with our full logs of the battle. That should be enough to justify reinforcements, and heavy weapons.”
“Unless the Alpha STC is subverted, that is.” The Master Chief frowned. “We may have to wait until the UAHC presence here sees Crimson vessels flying into restricted military space before they respond. And if they didn’t get the word to implement Tightrope protocol, then any subverted AI’s might blind them until it’s too late to respond.”
“So looks like our only play is to hope we can surprise the Crimson forces if they’re stupid enough to follow us in here?” Estrada asked, but it was less of a question, and more of an observation.
“Precisely. For all we know, they fuck-tard killer AI’s in the box might try to send an armada of drone fighters to wipe us out before the Crimson fuck-sticks even get the chance!” Olsen said with a dark and ironic laugh.
“Audible signal coming through… putting it on main speakers.” Wilkins shouted.
“Well, that answers that… All military controlled STC’s are operationally controlled by Fleet HQ. If Alpha STC feeds us that kind of bullshit, then HQ is most certainly a bigger enemy than these monkey-spawned Crimson dipshits!” Sergeant Major Estrada’s mastery of profanity was not only unequalled in the human sphere, but it was the only proper means by which to drive the point home.
“Uh… Master Chief?” Wilkins sheepishly spoke up. “Do you want me to order the power-down?”
“Are you a complete moron?” Olsen asked with a calm, but sinister voice. “If we really were in violation of any law, then how do you explain why the PTAISM hasn’t already shut us down?”
“Oh… So, why would STC…” Wilkins was cutoff.
“Wilkins… I’m giving you a free pass for your idiocy… but only because you do damned fine work, and you are a good Soldier…” Olsen shot him a cold hard look before he continued. “But, you are one dumbass question away from the worst ass-kicking in your life, clear?”
Wilkins’ eyes got as big as boulders. “Crystal, Master Chief!”
Super Fighters
Location: Open Space, 3.5 Light Minutes Star-side of Mars
Date Time: Post Interstellar 07/30/4201 Time Unknown
System: Sol System
“Penny for your thoughts?” Sam asked.
“Sure. I mean it’s not like Val won’t notice if you send me a direct link, or anything?” Darius forced a laugh. Just then a digital icon of a big ear showed up on the HUD from Val.
“Do you really think this old bird is going to fight off 96 some odd drone fighters?” Sam asked with a hint of concern.
“This old bird, as you say, was built to take out flagships.” Doom interjected. “Let’s not forget we have Blood-Reaper with us too!”
“I get that, but then what?” Sam redirected her focus back to Darius.
“Then we’ll have to make it into the most secure facility in the human sphere, and take over as boss.” Darius said it as if it was just the way it was.
“And that doesn’t bother you?” Sam pressed.
“Look into my neural interface, dear. What do you see?” Darius calmly replied.
“That’s just it! I can’t see anything? That’s why I’m worried.”
“Sam… You can’t see into his mind, because neural interfaces don’t work with our genetics.” Shadow reassured her.
“But that never mattered before. Why now?” Sam kept pressing.
“Two reasons… First, Darius’ helix structure has finished completing all twelve strands. Second, he and I are paired. His neural interface is still fully functional, but nothing can peer into his mind without the proper genes. See?”
“You said twelve strands? Doesn’t every human just have two? That’s why they call it the double helix.” Sam asked.
“Now his strands wrap around and form a tube-like structure. Supposedly, it’s like a tube that acts as a sort of conduit for interacting with ene
rgies beyond three dimensional space.” Shadow explained, and then casually slumped over on his side lazily.
“All I know is that I can feel things more completely. I understand things as if I’m sitting back and silently observing the world from a distance. It seems to let me see things from a broader perspective… at least that’s the best way I can describe it.” Darius added.
“Oh, hush up!” Doom interjected. “Fighters inbound… no biological signatures. Drones. I’m counting twenty seven in all.”
“Val, you seeing this?” Darius spoke on the audio net.
“I tally.” Val calmly replied as if there wasn’t a care in the world. Darius smiled at Val’s use of the word tally. It brought back fond memories of being assigned to a manned fighter squadron years ago.
“Doom, what’s our range?” Sam asked.
“75,000 clicks… At least that’s what Kindle and I worked out, anyway.” Doom replied with an ever casually and cocky tone. Both Darius and Sam knew full well that until the fighters got much closer, their sensors would only be able to approximate their locations. The vast distances of space meant that any data the sensors picked up was as if they were viewing a snap shot in time, but in the recent past. The NAV’s working together would tighten up the footprint of possible locations, relative velocity, and vectors… but until they were within weapons range, then everything was just a guess. But just because they could range a target with weapons, didn’t mean the target would necessarily be in the same spot by the time the target could potentially be intercepted. Even a powerful fighter, like the LRF-90, had to get in close in order to make every shot count. Only larger ships could afford to spit out ammo in the dark. When you have a ship capable of holding a million tons of ordnance, you can afford to spray led and lasers generously. The two super fighters had to overcome too many enemy targets, with a very finite loadout of ammo, so they had to lull the drones into a close battle.
The minutes passed by agonizingly slow. The data started to register an ever higher percentage of accuracy as the craft scorched the skies to close the gap.
“Incoming missiles detected… impact 8 minutes 47 seconds.” Doom broke the silence with his usual laid back voice.
“I don’t know how you can be so calm, Doom!” Sam noted
“Girl, you’re used to being behind 20 some odd feet of armor plating and an energy shield that could power a small city for a month!” Doom replied, cocky as ever.
“Not now, guys.” Darius interrupted the exchange. “We’ve got things to kill.”
“Well, at least somebody has his war-face on!” Kindle came on the audio net.
“What’s a war-face?” Darius asked.
“Never mind, big guy. Just pointing out your tenacity for combat… It’s a compliment, I promise.” Blood replied.
“You NAV’s are seriously demented!” Sam added.
“We’re nearly two thousand year old digital entities that achieved sentience by blood, sweat, and tears… We’ve been in hundreds and hundreds of battles… a handful of drones ain’t nothin’!” Doom jabbed back.
“Well, I’ve got no choice but to trust you… After all, I’m stuck in sweaty battle armor that’s attached to a superhuman demigod, and staring down 13.5 to 1 odds. What could go wrong?” Sam sent a shoulder shrug icon to the HUD.
“Dearest, would you please focus… clogging up my HUD… a HUD I’ve never used in combat, and was designed two thousand years ago, I might add… is a very bad idea. Just saying.” Darius’ voice seemed calmer now. It was as if the NAV’s were calming him down, Sam supposed. But she knew what was really calming him down. Even though she couldn’t see inside Shadow’s mind, she knew the big cat’s breathing and pulse rate were slowing. She detected a simultaneous slowing down in Darius’ vitals. It was as if she were relegated to passenger status in her own mind.
Minutes dragged on. “Sixty seconds until impact… countdown up on HUD.” Doom spoke.
“Maybe, I should have asked this earlier… you know, being a seasoned fighter pilot and Fleet-fucking-Marshal and all, but… Just what does this bucket have on board to knock out these missiles, anyway?” Darius asked. Sam was taken back by his passive tone.
“Excellent question!” Val answered. “Nav’s, you ready to show these sheep that this wolf has fangs?”
“That’s not how you say it, Val…” Shadow piped up, as if reading Darius’ mind, but the Fleet Marshal had no intention of actually saying anything. Before Val could say anything, the weapons bays deployed with a shudder.
“Fleet Marshal,” Doom said it almost sarcastically. “Would you like me to handle these little pests?”
“Well, Doom… If you don’t, then we’ll be dead in twenty three…twenty two, rather… seconds.” Darius replied.
“Sweet!” Doom said, followed by an eruption of fire by the Gatling guns. Darius knew he wouldn’t hear the sounds of the rounds being fired in the cold vacuum of space, but he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet. Streaks blueish light lanced out into space in a beautiful arch of shiny streaks. Seconds later, Darius could see tiny little pin pricks of light dot the blackness in his view. He zoomed in with his optics, and saw tiny explosions illuminating the darkness.
“All missiles down.” Doom reported.
“And why were the bullets blue?” Darius asked.
“Because that Gatling guns spit out bolts of plasma, insolated by tiny short-lived energy shielding.” Val answered. “Unum tech at its finest.”
“Makes sense.” Darius sent a digital nod of approval to Val’s HUD. “Bullets run out quickly at that rate of fire… and these birds are designed to be able to fight light years away from logistics support.”
“That’s why they promoted you, Darius… because you’re the first person in two millennia, that’s figured that out without me having to explain it to them!”
“Or it’s because my genetics make me the most unique human being there ever was?” Darius jibbed.
“Well, that too…” Val admitted. “But then, nobody has ever been able to run DNA on Jesus, Buddha, or Muhammed to prove it!”
“Good! Then there’s reasonable doubt that I’m not the only genetic super being humanity has ever seen!” Darius laughed.
“Well, my other offspring and I, might beg to differ, big guy!” Val chuckled.
“Guys?” Sam interjected. “Can we please kill these flying-robo-fucks before we start bickering about being god-like?”
“I guess nobody noticed Doom and I have worked out a firing solution… and conveniently added it to your HUD’s?” Kindle said.
“Yes, dear.” Val replied. “I’ll take it from here.”
“You’re going manual?” Darius asked.
“Just me, and my joystick.” Val sent a digital wink.
“Oh, yeah… this thingy.” Darius reached down and unlocked the control stick from the stowed position. He then extended his left arm to grab the manual throttle.
“Let’s kill things… and stuff.” Darius said with an irreverent tone.
“That’s the savior of humanity folks! He’ll be here all week!” Doom announced sarcastically, and then promptly added a snare drum roll sound effect.
***
“We’re in position, Master Chief!” Olaf nodded in acknowledgement to Wilkins. “Ion trails won’t dissipate quickly, though.”
“We have another ten hours before our company arrives at our previous location. We should have several more hours before they will pick up an energy signature, and even longer for visual. Hopefully by then, the ion trails will be too weak to triangulate the vector we took.” Olaf stated it as a matter of fact.
“We have no heavy weapons… And our hopes at getting some look pretty bleak… bleak enough to keep our ambush from being effective.” Sergeant Major Estrada surmised.
“Roger that, old buddy.” The Master Chief nodded with a slight smile. “I chose this planetoid for a reason.”
“Ok, I’ll bite…” Estrada removed his ever deteriora
ting cigar from his mouth and crossed his arms. The bulk of his heavy armor made a metallic clanging sound as his forearms came together.
“This planetoid has an Ammunition Supply Point.” Olaf winked. “Scanners are detecting a faint chemical trace of ordinance. I’d like you to send some marines to secure it and do a scan for safety. There’s no point in sending vulnerable supply drones and additional ground support if the ammo is too degraded to be of any use.”
“I’m on it!” Estrada nodded. “I’ll send two marine companies, and a heavy weapons platoon from our ground pounders.” Olaf recognized the widely used UAHC slang terms, and nodded with a smile. The UAHC didn’t have a separate branch for marines. Fleet Marines were just infantry based combat troops that were assigned directly to all UAHC Fleet vessels larger than a frigate. Their primary role was to board enemy vessels, repel enemy boarding parties, and provide security for any off ship mission that their Acting Captain assigned them to. This provided each vessel with their own security forces without having to coordinate with UAHC expeditionary infantry forces. Fleet Infantry formed their own combat divisions, and had a separate chain of command. The senior Infantry Acting Commander answered directly to the Acting Commander of the fleet, battle group, or squadron they were assigned. However, if the mission they were assigned was primarily a ground-based operation, then the Acting Infantry Commander may shift into the primary command role, and the Acting Fleet Commander would then be relegated to a strictly support role. The slang term for non-marine ground troops were ground-pounders.
After an hour of waiting on the news, an audio signal crackled through to the Acting Commodore’s command console…
“Squadron CIC, this is Charlie-1-1 Actual…” Olaf recognized the call-sign as to mean 1st Brigade 1st Battalion, Charlie Company Acting Commander. “We’ve established a five hundred meter perimeter… no threats identified… starting initial scans.”