Star Crusades Nexus: The Second Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  Not yet!

  Two more creatures launched at her, and she hacked and stabbed, throwing their bodies over the edge. A third followed behind, but this one avoided her blow and struck her leg. The armor tore off as if only attached by thin straps, and a streak of blood appeared. The cut was deep, and it continued to strike at her with its pincer-like arms and foul head. She was close enough to see the expanded ribcage, thick muscles, and exaggerated teeth. It was like a biblical demon intent on tearing her apart.

  Stab and don’t stop stabbing till its dead!

  She remembered her Marine Corps training, the voice of her instructors repeated over and over in her head. Her movements and stance altered as she moved into a machine-like state where her reactions and muscle memory took over. First of all, she slashed at its neck and then as it pulled back, she sidestepped by swinging her left leg back behind her and to her right so that she twisted around. With a single firm motion, the blade stabbed backward and into the thing’s chest. That was far from the end, however, and in less than three seconds, she’d stabbed it another seven times in the same place. Her training worked well, and it was on the ground, blood oozing from a dozen wounds.

  “Is that it?” she asked bitterly.

  She was granted a short respite as the greatest of the beasts arrived. As came nearer, the smaller ones scattered, out of fear or reverence she couldn’t tell. This one was massive, like a demon from hell and larger than any Biomech she’d ever seen. It moved on a pair of short robotic legs and trailed a lizard like tail. Its multiple arms were spiked and barbed, and its head shrunken down and protected by metal plating. It clunked toward her with all manner of soul-destroying sounds moving with it. Teresa lifted herself back to her feet and somehow found another of the blades in her left hand. Both dripped black blood into a growing pool on the ground.

  “What are you?” she tried to call out, but again there were no words.

  The machine monster continued forward until it was a few meters away and then stopped. For a second it seemed the thing had broken down, but then it lowered itself by bending its legs in an impossible fashion. The center of its armored carapace opened wide, revealing a tortured human figure inside. She gazed at its blood-covered flesh until she could make out its eyes. For a second, she didn’t recognize the person.

  Me?

  Teresa stumbled back, one foot sliding off the ledge, and then she was falling. She looked up. The machine did nothing more than look down at her as she vanished into the blackness, her limbs flailing, and again she tried to cry out. This time a muffled sound managed to make it out, and her eyes opened to blackness.

  What the hell was that all about?

  The imagery was already starting to fade, and as she sat up in her bed and wiped her sweat-covered brow, the thoughts of the massive machine and its cohorts of terrifying biomechanical creatures faded from her conscious mind. She rubbed her eyes and waited for a second as they adjusted to reveal the small, very dark room. It was her quarters and once again, she had been dreaming of the creatures and monsters of her violent past.

  This has got to stop. Why can’t you dream of something else for a change?

  With effort, she leaned over and slid her feet out of the bed and onto the cool floor of her temporary quarters. The cold ran up through her limbs, and she shuddered before realizing she was naked bar her nightclothes. Ten minutes later, she had showered and changed into her regular Marine Corps clothing. The room was lighter now, but the lack of windows made the place feel like she was on board some ship rather than on the surface of Terra Nova convalescing. Teresa’s quarters were modest and sparsely equipped with just four rooms and little space for entertaining, not that she knew anybody on Terra Nova that she particularly wanted to spend time with. Not even General Rivers had the time these days for a few hours with an old friend. She didn’t blame him. With his promotion to Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, he was busier than ever, but she suspected he would rather be leading marines into combat, even at his advanced age.

  Ah, well, what about the war?

  There was, of course, no war right now, but that didn’t stop the Alliance getting involved in ground and space battles just the same. She sat at her desk and poured a glass of juice, selecting one of the many Alliance news feeds. It was her normal routine each day, and she sat there, checking on the public face of the difficulties the Alliance faced. The scrolling ticker mentioned Eos, and she selected it. The video footage of the fighting was always presented to make the events seem as exciting and sensational as possible. In this particular story, a group of marines were chasing an insurgent through rubble. A man leapt from a building, in what seemed like an impossible maneuver, and crashed into the suspected bomber. The two tumbled to the ground, and in seconds the others had reached them and hastily slapped on a set of shiny steel cuffs.

  Yeah, that didn’t look staged at all.

  As she watched the footage, it did make her wonder though. She was a marine and had been since her recruitment at Prometheus at the outbreak of the Uprising. She had seen combat against terrorists, war machines, and Biomechs but never had she seen the aerobatics shown on the video feed. Even the equipment being used seemed to be different. The weapons carried by the marines looked like altered thermal shotguns used by private security units. The more she examined the details she realized the video had absolutely nothing to do with marines. She shook her head, gulped down some water, and moved to another feed that showed trouble in space. The events around Helios were much worse than she had expected, especially as the revolution had been won.

  What’s this all about then, more enhanced military antics?

  This particular one concerned a hijacked tanker. Music in the background added a sense of drama to the occasion, as the large vessel seemed to spin out of control through space. The story announced it was hot news, and Helion militias had retaken the ship with the assistance of Alliance Marines.

  Militias? How could they mount an operation like that?

  The video report showed a group of Alliance fighters dispatching marines in zero gravity. They were the new Hammerhead models that had proven so effective on Helios. They looked ugly to her, but their record couldn’t be ignored. One by one, the marines moved away with small puffs coming from their jet nozzles as they moved in to the ship. For those with no military background it might be interesting, but for Teresa it was simple routine and nothing she hadn’t seen before. Even so, the fact the mission was successful and without the loss of a single marine helped her mood, even if just a little. Then the feed changed to show a trio of marines being spoken to by a civilian Helion who seemed happy at their apparent rescue. It reminded her of her three children. Just thinking about them sent a chill through her bones.

  The part worrying her most was that all three of them were now on the frontline. They had all finished their training and been posted to military fronts or ships. Jack was busy with his unit on Eos fighting insurgents; her other two children from her previous marriage were preparing to leave with the newly assembled 3rd Heavy Strike Group. Although she was proud of every one of them, the strain was beginning to show. There was always the terrifying thought in the back of her mind that something deadly could occur, and she would be left without any of them.

  Most of my family is dead. Spartan is still missing, and all my children are out fighting the wars of the Alliance. Just show me something, anything positive.

  She shook her head, trying to cast the thoughts aside.

  That’s enough...what now?

  Her diary showed a number of meetings with the commander of the newly raised Marine battalions and a PT demonstration in one of the many barracks on Terra Nova. None of it really needed her presence, but it was the best she could do until she was given the okay from the medics to return to her own unit.

  Okay, you have forty minutes before the introduction to the rookies; let’s burn off some of this fat.

  She was out of the room and in the gymnasium in less than ten
minutes. It was a circular hall filled with weights, training mats, and machines for the military personnel to make use of in their off time. Like every one of the other marines, she had changed into her regulation physical training gear. It was nothing fancy and consisted of a plain green cotton t-shirt, green nylon shorts, black socks, and running shoes. Without giving the other marines a second look, she went through her warm-up and then moved to her exercises with the kettle bells. They were traditional training tools from Russia made from cast-iron and resembled an ancient cannon ball with a handle. They were heavy and different weights. She used the twenty-four kilo kettle bell, the standard heavy model used by the experienced marines. She had been working with it for fifteen minutes before stopping for a breather. Her body dripped with sweat, and she ached from head to toe from the exertion. It was the group of eight marines watching her that stopped her in her tracks. All were dressed the same as her, and none could have been older than twenty.

  “What is it, marines?” she asked sternly.

  “Sir, you’re Major Morato, second-in-command of the 17th?”

  She wiped her brow with the towel and then nodded.

  “Haven’t you seen the news?” asked one of the women, a scrawny-looking thing with short cropped blonde hair.

  “What do you think? I’m kind of busy.”

  She might have been forty-eight, but years of physically training with the Corps, a healthy lifestyle, and access to the best medical facilities in the Alliance had helped her maintain a toned body of a thirty-year-old woman.

  “Crews are being rushed to their ships. We thought you might know what’s going on,” the woman continued.

  Teresa walked to the water dispenser, took several sips, and then looked back at them. The look on their faces was an odd mixture of concern and also reverence. It was something she came across all the time on Terra Nova. The adulation of new recruits was a problem she and the other veterans of the Uprising were forced to endure on a daily basis.

  That’s right; to them you’re some kind of hero. Fools.

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it. Check with your sergeant. You might be needed.”

  Teresa was back at her room in half the time it had taken to get to the gymnasium. Everything was as she had left it, and then she saw it. For an outsider, the sight of her could easily have been a painting as she stared at the screen in her temporary office, her face showed shocked disbelief. She had been so busy at the gymnasium, she had forgotten to take her secpad with her; no wonder she had received no emergency messages. The message must have arrived at least half an hour earlier, and she cursed herself for missing it. She sat down and poured herself a glass of water while she waited for it to decrypt to her personal space. Teresa selected two separate video feeds, one for the Alliance News Network that was running a piece of a small space skirmish, and the second the official announcement channel of the Alliance High Command. She spotted several messages regarding unit activations. She only managed to get through two of them before the sound alerted her to the completion of the communication decryption; finally it was ready.

  Why is Earthsec contacting me?

  She looked into the face of a blonde intelligence agent, a face that she had never seen before. In fact, the patch of the agency on the ancient planet and home of humanity filled her with an odd feeling of nostalgia. Teresa found herself trying to look behind the woman, to get a glimpse of the old, dead husk known as Earth.

  “Major Morato, this is a rather unusual request, but we have just made contact with a number of individuals on board a military vessel that breached Sol space.”

  Sol, so why contact me?

  “A Rift opened up less than a day ago, and unidentified ships in the middle of a violent exchange entered. It was a violent space battle, but we were too late to stop the first ship coming here. The pursuers were destroyed in the Rift’s collapse, but we were unable to identify them.”

  The image now changed to that of an unknown T’Kari ship. She recognized the sleek lines immediately as being one of the vessel types used by their newfound allies in the Orion Nebula. The ship had clearly been involved in major action, as she was damaged from bow to stern from a hundred impacts.

  “We have contacted our agents in T’Karan for information on this model, but we are still waiting. According to the files here, it shares features with T’Kari patrol ships.”

  He paused as though uncomfortable with the next part.

  “I appreciate this is somewhat sudden, but we have two humans here, both of whom match our DNA and dental records on file. I believe you may know them.”

  Spartan? she thought desperately.

  He’d been gone for so long she had all but given up hope of ever seeing him. All her remaining assets had been sold off to spend on a hundred leads even though Alliance Intelligence had promised her they were doing all they could.

  “If you are okay to proceed, please authorize the attached stream that has been supplied along with this video message.”

  Teresa found it hard to speak and simply stared at the screen for a moment. It was a one-way message, and if she responded it would continue, but for the time being it froze to a still. She wiped her dark hair back and rested her forehead in her left hand.

  You have to know, just do it! A voice said in her head.

  She shook her head free and reached out to strike the button. The video continued while a secondary stream appeared. The material in front of her was a tracking shot of the interior of a T’Kari ship. The interior corridors and passageways were identical to T’Kari ships that she had been inside before Spartan’s disappearance. Then the footage cut to a gray room where a number of Intelligence agents waited quietly. Each wore a dark suit, and one waited in the corner with a long black trench coat that almost touched the floor. The view tracked to the left until it reached a row of medical tables upon which were the shapes of the humans in question. They were of unequal sizes, with the larger being almost double the total size of the other.

  Here it is.

  She gasped, but it wasn’t the vessel that had stunned her. It was the close-up of two faces. One was of a battered and scarred Jötnar that she instantly recognized as that of Khan, one of her and Spartan’s old friends. The next face however was pale and bruised but unmistakably the face of her husband, Spartan.

  It can’t be, can it?

  The image shifted to one side and was replaced by that of a blond-haired Alliance Intelligence agent. He looked for a moment at her, but it couldn’t have been to wait for her to speak; the delay for the signal traveling through multiple Rifts to Sol was a long one of nearly an hour.

  “We believe this man to be Spartan, formally an officer in the Alliance military and an executive of the defunct APS Corporation,” the man stated in a dull, monotone voice.

  Teresa looked at his features and felt a sickening feeling in her body. The man in front of her was breathing, but his eyes were closed, and the marks on his face suggested he had been through some kind of horrific ordeal.

  “From an initial assessment, it appears the two individuals have suffered numerous external injuries, including multiple limb factures, broken ribs, and in the case of this individual, the violent amputation of a forearm.”

  He said more, but Teresa heard none of it. Instead, she watched as the camera moved about his body and showed a myriad of cuts, bruises, and burn marks. His body looked more fragile than she’d ever seen it before. A rough beard filled his face, and his hair was longer and messier than ever.

  “...the injuries to the legs are far less important than...”

  The image cut and was replaced by a temporary still frame with details of the lost connection.

  “Damn it!” she snapped and hit the button on her video communicator built into the desk. The face of her newly assigned Captain who waited at the desk just outside her small office appeared; he seemed almost flustered at her appearance.

  “I’ve just lost communication with Earthsec, what�
�s happening?”

  His face vanished though as an emergency override replaced him. Instead of the Captain, the face of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Rivers appeared. The message wasn’t directed specifically at her. It was an emergency communiqué to all high-level commanders.

  “This is a Level One strategic alert. In the last seventeen minutes, we have lost contact with three of our newest Rift stations. These are the Gliese 876, Procyon, and in the last few seconds the Ganymede Rift at Sol.”

  Teresa first thought was that this meant she was once more cut off from Spartan, but the stern expression on the General’s face allowed little time for that kind of concern. She knew him well, and he looked worried.

  “Three minutes before we lost contact, we received tactical area scans that showed small numbers of Biomech ships. One was stopped at Epsilon Eridani by Alliance frigates, but the others were breached before we lost contact.”

  Breached? That means they were heading through the Rift, but where to?

  The question was futile, however, as the Rifts were simply doorways in space that connected two points together. If Biomech ships had left Sol, Gliese 876, and Procyon, they could only heading in one direction.

  “They are coming here!” she blurted out, but nobody could hear her.

  “I have given orders to our commanders in the field to mobilize our forces throughout the Alliance. The 1st Heavy Strike Group is assembling at Prometheus in case they attempt to access the Orion Rift. The 2nd is already here at Terra Nova to protect the bridge between Alpha Centauri and Proxima Centauri. The 3rd is only partially complete and will wait as planned for us at T’Karan to give support as required. All other ships and patrol vessels are hereby brought to Condition One.”

  What about me?

  It was as if the General could hear her every word as he answered.

  “As well as the fleet, all Marine and Colonial Guard units are to report to your respective barracks.”

  She tapped a button to look at video feeds but stopped at the site of the massive comet being shown on one of the many news networks. It looked like a ball of plasma to her, but that wasn’t the concern; it was that the feed was being transmitted directly from the bridge of the Alliance flagship, ANS Conqueror, and the ticker line said fleet action in Eos.