Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6)

by Thomas, Michael G.

  Sergeant Morato and Captain Carlos looked at each other, neither saying anything for a few seconds.

  “Sergeant, bring your people here. We need to construct a strong defensive position and fast. We’re also going to need to get power, air and water filtration sorted out. I don’t know about you, but I’m already getting to the limit of my air supply down here. If anything else comes this way, we need to be able to spot them. I need your ASOG team to recce the area for any signs of what might have chased them here. Understood?”

  She saluted smartly.

  “Yes, Sir!”

  She walked away but only made it a few metres when the Captain called her again.

  “Sergeant, any idea what happened to the XO and his people?”

  She shrugged. “No, Sir, he called me and said to get here. Then we heard signs of a firefight, and he was gone. Either they left the area or something took them.”

  He nodded in agreement and she turned away to move back to her team.

  * * *

  Spartan was starting to lose his patience. They’d been on the Santa Cruz now for two full days and still no word from the Senate. Three times he had tried to get to the ship’s captain to try and persuade him to leave, but Major Daniels always seemed to find him before he could make contact. The only concession that had been made was that the ship had spent most of the time travelling to rendezvous with several other ships in deep space to conduct military manoeuvres. But today was not for planning a rescue, no; today was simple close quarter training for the units stationed aboard. He walked into the training hall to find two lines of marines waiting patiently. In front of them stood a marine drill instructor busy extolling the virtues of the M11 bayonet. As he entered, the man stopped, turned and saluted.

  “Officer on deck!” he barked.

  Every marine present stood up smartly to attention. As he moved closer, he recognised his old instructor back from when he had been a raw recruit. It seemed like it had been years and years since they’d met.

  “Spartan the gladiator!” he said with a glint in his eye.

  “Sergeant,” replied Spartan, doing his absolute best not to laugh in front of the assembled men and women. Only one platoon on the ship was made up of veterans, the rest were either experienced marines from Carthago or new recruits. Either way, none of them had seen combat of the intensity that Spartan had faced. Spartan nodded to his old instructor to continue and then moved to the side to watch.

  “You’ll note that unlike the rest of you maggots, the Captain here has been in the trenches, and he’s seen the blood and guts. Since the War started, men like the Captain and myself have been in action against rebels, Union soldiers, Zealots and even Biomechs. Hell, the Captain was one of the first people to even see a Biomech during the Siege of the Titan Naval Station.”

  He turned around and looked towards Spartan.

  “Captain, they’ve all completed their basic training. I understand you and your team are here to pass on your experience with our enemies. Do you have anything to say?”

  Spartan looked at the dozens of marines and realised he’d prepared nothing for the training session. Though he had a wealth of knowledge and experience, he’d been so caught up in getting information on Hyperion that he’d done nothing on the ship. As he looked at their faces, he was reminded of those he’d lost in countless battles. It was his duty to ensure as many of them came home. He considered talking about weapons, but a perfect distraction came when Ko’mandor Gun entered the hall. An audible sigh of surprise and excitement spread at the sight of the great creature. Gun ignored procedure and simply marched directly to Spartan. It gave him an idea.

  “Yes, I have a few things to say,” he said, took a few steps forward towards the marines to cut off Gun. His old friend stopped and tilted his head in confusion and looked back to the marines before moving to Spartan.

  “Ah, bad time, Captain?”

  “No, you’re just in time, actually.”

  Spartan moved out into the middle of the hall with Gun beside him. He stopped, looking up and down the eager faces of the new marines. About a two-thirds were male, most in their late twenties. The women were of a similar age, but he knew from the paperwork that a good number had come from the troubles on Carthago, the same planet Teresa was from.

  “How many of you have seen a Biomech before?” he asked.

  About half of them lifted their hands.

  “How many of you have seen one in the flesh before?” he asked.

  Only one hand stayed up. It was a short, black woman in her mid-thirties with dark hair and muscular frame. Of all those around her, she seemed the calmest and the least excited at the sight of Gun.

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “Sir! Yes, Sir. I was working at the Tech School at New Carlos, back on Prime when the trouble started. My family paid for my entire class to leave the school and transfer to Terra Nova.”

  Spartan nodded at the story so far.

  “Go on.”

  “Well, we were leaving orbit and heading for the usual nav-point prior to starting the long trip home when we were hit. It was a corsair raider, one of the Zealots I think. It was over fast, really fast. They boarded our ship and took us prisoner before shipping us away. You see, it wasn’t just Zealots. When they took our ship, they sent in Biomechs...like him,” she said with her hand pointing out to Gun.

  “A month later and half of us were already dead. It wasn’t until a tip-off from the Kerberos Underground that led a rescue team to the Rim where we were being held. So yes, I have seen Biomechs before, Sir, and I’ve seen how they perform in battle. They are tough, merciless and deadly in combat.”

  Spartan rested his chin in his hand and thought on her words.

  “I’ve heard many stories like this one before, and each one is a tragedy. Biomechs overran Prime and were used on dozens of colonies as shock troops. There are different models and different generations. The earliest and simplest were bastardised creations, combining the body parts of all manner of creatures. These were mindless monsters but deadly nonetheless. Later came the partly, and then finally the fully, synthetic Biomechs. It is critical that you understand the differences between them. Questions?”

  He should have known better than to thrown in a statement like that to marines. The Biomechs had a fearsome reputation, and there was probably nothing more contentious in the Alliance than the future of the Biomechs. The first person to raise his hand was a tall, thin looking man with a deep scar marking his cheek.

  “Sir, I don’t wish to sound rude, but why are they alive? Haven’t we suffered enough?”

  Gun stepped in front of Spartan and stared at the man. Spartan tried to intervene, but it was useless. Gun wanted to say something, and he already knew from experience that you never tried to put barrier in front of him.

  “Biomechs are not evil, marine. They were created just like humans with in vitro. Would you demand the death or destruction of children born in a lab or hospital?”

  Spartan was surprised; the words were more complex and eloquent than anything he’d heard from a Jötnar before. Even so, he spotted a chance to intercede and grabbed it before the conversation could start to slip.

  “That’s a good point. The Jötnar exist and so do the other Biomechs, and we can’t change that. The Jötnar have proven their worth and their loyalty time and time again. There are few warriors in the Alliance that can stand toe-to-toe with them, and that’s why they are here. Ask any marine that’s served with the Jötnar, and they will tell you the same.”

  He looked at them and could see a great gulf of a difference between their views on Gun. He knew it should make little difference to him, but he still found it painful.

  “Okay, who thinks they’ve got what it takes to bring him down?” he asked, trying to calm the mood. Incredibly, not a single marine lifted their hands.

  “Nobody?” he asked in surprise.

  “Are you sure these are Alliance marines?” asked Gun, though
he was sure he was actually being serious.

  The drill instructor walked over to Spartan and leaned in closer.

  “Sir, they’ve heard the rumours about the Jötnar.”

  Spartan looked to Gun who just shrugged and then back to the Sergeant.

  “What rumours?”

  “They kill in training and battle. Why do you think they won’t practice?”

  Spartan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  No wonder Gun and his people are getting such a hard time.

  “I see, so you are marines that will back down when presented with a fight. I can’t explain how disappointed this makes me feel. What will happen when you face a Biomech ambush or a full frontal assault? Sure, you can just blast away with your standard issue firearm, but what if it jams, runs out of ammo, or they just happen to smash their way through?”

  He walked the entire length of the line of marines to where the crates of training equipment sat. He bent down and lifted the lid to reveal all manner of blunted fighting sticks, knives, bayonets and rubberised rifles and carbines. He looked over to his shoulder to Gun.

  “Ko’mandor, what weapon do you prefer for close encounters?” he asked while presenting a variety of simulators.

  Gun grinned, knowing full well what was coming next.

  “Knives!” he said with a chortle.

  Spartan reached in and took out two long training blades, each about a metre in length, and tossed them over to Gun. The Biomech caught them both, one in each hand and twirled them around in a pointless but amusing fashion. Spartan reached in and pulled out an L48 dummy rifle with a rubberised M11 bayonet already moulded into the shape. He then smashed down the lid and walked back into the middle.

  “Being as none of you marines will stand for the challenge, I will take it myself.”

  The embarrassment and humiliation of the group was complete, but that wasn’t Spartan’s intent. All he wanted to do was to encourage those on the fringes to do something, anything. A woman at the back lifting her hand finally rewarded him.

  “Sir, I’ll help you,” she said.

  Spartan smiled. “Good, so there is a marine in here after all.”

  The instructor laughed at that comment.

  The woman moved out from the lines of marines and stood in front of him. He looked up and down at her, examining her poise and physique in detail.

  “Your name, marine?” he asked.

  “Private Kathy Pezal, Sir!” she barked in reply.

  She was tall with short, golden hair and narrow black eyes that gave little away. Like all the marines, she was fit and her body toned in the right places. She reminded him a little of Teresa back when he’d first met her on the way to the Santa Maria.

  “You think you can bring him down?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  She looked at Gun who was busy pacing back and forth in the hall. Every few seconds, he would push forward into a mock cut or stab with the weapons. Private Pezal gulped as discretely as she could before looking back to Spartan.

  “No, Sir. I will do my best though.”

  Spartan smiled at her comment, but his face quickly returned to his default grim expression, one he seemed to have worked on for such encounters.

  “I see. So you will stand and fight a monster like him even though you know you will lose? What would help you win?”

  She looked about the room and pointed to the others.

  “More marines, Sir!”

  Spartan nodded and indicated for her to return to the line.

  “Excellent, and that is what I wanted to hear. Do you know what the very first lesson was that I received from your own drill instructor here? He told me that I worked alone, and that I wasn’t part of a team. I might have had the body of a warrior, but this drill instructor told me I might look like a marine, but a marine I was not!”

  Spartan looked to his old instructor and saw the man was nodding with agreement at his words.

  “A marine is a rifleman, and we all know that, but a marine must work with his brothers and sisters. One marine is deadly, but a squad is almost invincible in battle. If you’re fighting a monster like my loyal friend Gun here, you need friends.”

  He stepped up to Gun and jabbed with the bayonet fitted to his training rifle. Gun parried it and then stabbed Spartan gently in the chest. Even so, the impact knocked him a little and it took a second to get his breath back.

  “Private Kathy Pezal, grab a training rifle and stand here!” he said.

  She was fast, and in seconds stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder with their bayoneted rifles.

  “Now, if I stab, and Gun responds as before, my fellow marine can then stab him while he is engaged. Like this.”

  This time, as Gun’s counterattack came in, Private Pezal’s own bayonet struck Gun in the chest. Spartan turned to the others and placed a hand on the Private’s shoulder.

  “This is how we take on Biomechs, the same way we take on any threat. We rely on our friends and use of skill, training and determination to overcome the odds.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mutation returned to the forefront of discussion, following tests on the final batch of Jötnar at Prometheus. Many opposed their conception, but the ethical arguments were halted by the final agreement between the Confederacy and the Jötnar prior to the former’s dissolution. The introduction of minor changes in the software produced a number of unexpected results before the project was shutdown. Variations in size, shape, sex and intelligence were just some of the reported changes and created new strengths and weaknesses in the race.

  Lessons on Mutation

  Spartan and a group of marines were busy on the target range when the news arrived. It started with the arrival of a private carrying a rubberised datapad of the type usually carried by Spartan. Before he had finished reading the rest of the message, another group of recruits had already arrived at the door to tell him. Each was acutely aware of the missing ships near Hyperion, and most knew of Sergeant Morato’s disappearance. Private Kathy Pezal entered the target range and saluted to Spartan.

  “Sir, we heard the news,” she exclaimed excitedly.

  Spartan was only three-quarters through the file but already had run through the critical parts of the report. He tried to read the last bit, but the small group of marines were waiting impatiently. Eventually, he would have to say something. He lowered the device and looked at her.

  “Yes, I’ve heard. ANS Minotaur has just sent out an unencoded distress signal about Hyperion.”

  “Yes, but have you seen the videocast from Terra Nova? They have footage from the Minotaur in orbit.”

  “What?” he replied, surprised.

  Spartan cleared his weapon and moved to the range officer who took the weapon and his unused ammunition. Two of the marines spotted him get up and moved to follow him.

  “What is it, Sir?” asked the elder of the corporals.

  “There’s video of the trouble at Hyperion. I’m going to the CIC. You carry on with your work.”

  With that he was gone and out through the door. It took some time to head through the many sections of the vast ship to reach the heart of the vessel. As he walked, he checked the details of the information that was being sent down through the military channels. With one of the reports was a section about enemy jamming and unidentified weapons, but much of the specific information had been redacted. After a few more minutes, he arrived to find most of the senior officers also there to see the Captain. He waited briefly while the marine guards checked those at the door before he could enter the CIC. The security was much more stringent than normal, and he noted one of the lieutenants was even turned away.

  “Captain Spartan, here to see the Major,” he explained to the sergeant. They both knew each other well, but even so the man checked on his internal communications gear before waving him through. He entered the large room to the sight of Major Daniels, Captain Schaffer, and his executive officer Commander Malone. But what caught his eye was th
e series of still images of what appeared to be a large battle. Major Daniels spotted his entry and turned from the two naval officers.

  “Captain, I was about to call you to join us. I take it you’ve heard the news?”

  “Yes, Sir, the ANS Minotaur has just made contact, something about an attack at Hyperion and some unusual weapons. The news reports are pretty vague, and the military feeds are not much better.”

  “That’s about it, publically. Come and look at this.”

  Major Daniels beckoned him closer to view the images on the main screen. It was currently frozen on a still of a bright flash, but with a quick nod one of the tech officers moved the feed back to the start. The video was quite shaky and appeared to be from one of the external feeds. It showed the circular shape of a planet.

  “That’s Hyperion, by the way,” explained Captain Schaffer.

  Spartan nodded, keeping his attention on the video. The shapes of four other ships were clear to the right, especially the great bulk of the Marine Transport, ANS Santa Maria the sister ship of ANS Santa Cruz. The depth of field changed drastically and distorted the video.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “It’s the acceleration. The cruiser is pulling away from the planet, and the camera is trying to maintain the image using optical zooming. It is only enough for fifty-three seconds, and then the camera is at its limit. Watch for the forty-two second mark.”

  Spartan looked back at the video and kept an eye on the time-code at the bottom left. Although it was running in real-time, the feed seemed to slow down as it reached the mentioned time. Spartan squinted at the distorted shapes of the ships. They jumped and twisted, and then he spotted. The bright colour orbs of light that were rushing up to the taskforce like shells from ground based cannon. The last few seconds showed very little as the ships shrunk to blurred dots along with weapons. He looked back to the Captain.

  “I don’t understand, what was that?” he asked with a confused look.