Star Crusades Nexus: The Third Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  "This, my friend, is the new order. We will build a stronger Alliance, one where loyalty and trust are aided by fear and respect of our leaders. The alien threat will be purged from our world like poison from a body. Don’t you agree?"

  Governor Trelleck was far from comfortable. But as he waited at the right-hand of the President, he realized that he quite liked the warmth of Terra Nova, and even more, he liked the idea of a strong friend on this world, although he found his methods even less desirable than his.

  "Ladies and Gentlemen, from today, our Alliance will see a new, vibrant democracy, one where every citizen will get to play an important part. Each star system of the Alliance will be ruled by its very own senate, and each will provide a single leader to offer leadership and strength."

  He beckoned toward the Governor.

  "Let me introduce to you a man whose support and experience knows no equal, Governor Trelleck, the elected leader of Sol and the old worlds of the Alliance. He is our link to our past and the world from which we all came from, Old Terra. The cradle of humanity and of civilization itself."

  The Governor clapped along with the audience, taking his place in front of the President. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen, but there was one thing he couldn’t argue with. The alien threat from Helios and the Biomechs was clearly something that had to be resolved. If that meant Earthsec would be playing a prominent part, then how could he say no?

  Earthsec will be stronger than ever, and this man Harrison needs a strong Earth. We will back him, for now.

  He glanced at the man only for a second and nodded in agreement.

  If he can lead this rabble, then maybe one day so can I.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Jötnar Mutiny is something of a misnomer as it was not technically the Jötnar that revolted. The name stuck principally due to general distrust of their kind after the war and the assault on Terra Nova. The mutiny occurred less than a decade after the end of the Great Uprising. Though known to few, it took place in the center of a mercenary fleet heading for an unknown destination. Information is scarce, but the resulting battle left more than a dozen ships destroyed and thousands wounded or killed. Alliance Special Forces were beaten off, and only direct intervention by Commander Gun, the Jötnar leader was able to stop it from spreading.

  The downfall of Hyperion

  Taxxu, Uncharted Space

  Spartan could tell something bad had happened. It was one of those feelings he got when an enemy was behind him with a blade. He opened his eyes and found himself in complete darkness, with nothing but cool air all around. A faint, barely discernible flicker far off into the distance was all that allowed him to even orientate himself properly. He lifted himself up and immediately stuck his head on something hard.

  “Dammit!”

  He rubbed his eyes and then his face, before finally shaking his head to try and wake properly. His voice was odd, and he felt a little nauseous.

  Okay, where am I?

  He thought back to the last thing he remembered. Images of the massed Mauler assault on the Rift Engine came back, but this time only in short bursts, as if the memories themselves were heavily damaged. He could see their armored forms as they braved the volleys of defensive guns. Every explosion slowed down to show him the carnage in exquisite detail.

  The light flickered again in the distance, and then he found his eyes began to adjust. For now it was nothing but subtle shades of gray, but every additional second seemed to improve things. He breathed slowly and found the air cool yet dry. He could see more lights running in a uniform position down a wide passageway.

  “Spartan,” whispered a voice off into the distance.

  He lifted his hands to his face, and to his surprise found there was no visor. The last thing he remembered was the bloody battle for the massive Rift Engine. He knew he’d been wearing armor in that attack.

  What the hell?

  “Spartan,” said the voice again.

  Keeping his hands out in front, much like a blind man trying to make his way along a road, he began to walk. That was the moment he realized he was now floating and that his feet were touching nothing.

  Zero gravity, great!

  He spun about until his arm caught on a bulkhead extension and he could pull himself down. Unsure whether he was now on the floor or walls, he began pulling himself carefully through the passageway. Each meter he covered brought him closer to the flickering lights, yet the voice had vanished. Seconds drifted by until he was halfway to the light. Something flashed, and then a shape drifted in front of him. For a moment the shape blocked out the light and left him hidden in the darkness.

  Wait a minute.

  The shape reminded him of something, and as it continued on its course, he noticed the form of a person. They tumbled off to one side, but from this far away it was impossible to tell if they were dead or alive.

  “Hey, you there!” he growled.

  His voice was muffled, as though he’d lost his voice. The person kept moving past, and it was then it occurred to him that the atmosphere in this place might be thin, perhaps leaking out into space. Spartan instinctively closed his mouth and squinted with his eyes, dreading the terrible problem that came from freezing temperatures in breached craft.

  “Help us!” somebody called out. This time it was a woman’s voice.

  The shape of the passageway was clear now, and Spartan could make out the diamond shape that ran for at least a hundred meters. Small hatches were along the walls at different heights, instantly betraying the internal design.

  Zero gravity facility, this place must be as old as me, maybe older.

  He kept on moving and finally reached the first of the working lights. They were small, no bigger than a fingernail, and only lit an area of a few square meters. It was enough to show the marks and stains on the wall.

  Blood?

  Spartan extended his arms and was shocked to see both of his hands. It had been so long since he’d seen his missing forearm that he hadn’t even noticed he’d wiped his own brow with both hands. He pulled back his hands and rubbed them together. His excitement was short lived on noticing the congealed blood now stuck to both of them.

  This isn’t right.

  Turning back to the lit section of bulkhead, he pulled himself in closer. The blood showed up as black, but Spartan was all too familiar with the sight of this kind of gore. He began to lose control and reached out, rubbing his hand on the side panel. His hand left a long streak until he twisted about to face a damaged panel. With his other hand, he grabbed on to it and stabilized himself.

  Okay, concentrate. Let’s get this thing working.

  He pulled on the unit, and it flipped open and revealed green letters on a small, very primate console; to the right was a tiny keypad with lit up letters. He moved his hand closer and tapped the screen; nothing happened, so he tapped a key with what appeared to be a power symbol. It clicked like a micro switch, and then the screen lit up and burst into life. For a second, he lost his night vision before his eyes finally adjusted. A small schematic showed the internal layout of a vessel of some kind. The details marked it out as being a Galactic class transport. The details meant nothing to him at all. The text was tiny, and with no other strong light sources, the words began to blur. He pulled on the panel and drifted closer so that he could read it. He nearly crashed into the bulkhead but instinctively lifted his other arm to brace himself. Now he could make out the ship’s specific details, its length, mass, and more importantly, its name.

  Bright Horizon.

  The other details showed it was an interplanetary transport with cargo, forty-six crew, and three hundred and one passengers. The green schematic showed the outline of the vessel, and he was surprised to see the configuration of conventional rocket engines and ion thrusters.

  This ship is one of those that follow a continuous circuit, month after month.

  The first ship he’d been sent to as a Marine cadet had traveled in a similar way, but this wa
s something often done with ore haulers and the cheaper passenger transports. Instead of using massive amounts of fuel accelerating and decelerating, these craft followed a particular course that was carefully plotted to make use of planets and moons to move on a never-ending journey through a system. Separate shuttles would then accelerate up to dock to load and unload passengers.

  Where have I heard that name before?

  Something moved up ahead and then stopped. Spartan froze, but at this distance the panel bathed him in green light. It made him stand out like a neon target.

  “Give me your food,” said the hidden person out in the passageway.

  He shook his head and automatically reached down for his firearm. Instead, he found a cloth or piece of material tied about his waist, but there was something else. He grabbed the object and lifted it in front of his face. It was a knife, but not something manufactured in a factory somewhere. This had been fashioned from a hatch or locker door. It was slightly curved and dented and marked along its edges.

  “I said give me your food. I’m not asking again.”

  The shape moved closer, and now Spartan could see it was a man, not unlike himself. Most of his clothing was ragged, and he carried a pack strapped to his body. In his right hand was a blunt object, and Spartan could see it was slick with blood.

  “Now!” screamed the man.

  The man drifted closer and closer through the zero gravity of the ship. In seconds, the man was there and seemed twice the size of Spartan. He tried to push the man aside, but his foe twisted about and kicked and flailed. A hand or foot struck Spartan, and then he was smashed to the wall, next to the computer screen and panel. The man pushed up against him, his size and strength well beyond him. Spartan gripped his hand around the haft of his improvised weapon and stabbed it hard into the man’s throat. The blade pushed in slowly, and the flesh seemed to swallow the blade up.

  “Why?” muttered the man, as bubbles of blood burst from his mouth and drifted about the vessel. Several struck against Spartan’s own face, but it was far from over. The man grabbed Spartan’s throat and lifted his hand to punch him.

  “No!” said a woman’s voice.

  Something resembling a metal club arced across and slammed hard into the man's head. The grip on Spartan loosened, and he didn’t hesitate. This time he yanked the blade from the man’s throat, and stabbed twice, three times and then pushed away the convulsing body. He glanced to his right, and the woman moved closer but kept the metal object well away from him. The green light from the display gave her an odd, almost ethereal quality.

  “Spartan. Your father’s found a lifeboat. Come with me.”

  * * *

  Alliance Forward Command, The Bastion, Helios Prime

  A pair of Hammerheads screamed overhead, their guns blazing away. A single Biomech fighter did its best to escape, but it was to no avail. The smaller enemy craft was able to spin about in ways that manned craft could never manage. Even so, the turrets fitted to the Alliance heavy fighters were easily able to track their prey, and the continuous stream of rounds tore off chunks of metal and machinery. One burst ripped into the engine mount, and another a chunk of the control surface before it finally the lost control and dropped downward in a never-ending spin. By the time the Biomech fighter struck the ground, the pair of Hammerheads was long gone.

  “Another one down!” cried a Marine private.

  A few others shouted out in excitement as the craft exploded in a bright flash. From the surface of Helios Prime, it wasn’t easy to see everything that was going on. The city ruins provided good cover for both sides, and also blocked off line of sight in so many directions. The marines scrambled around the debris to get a better view while trying to avoid being spotted by the myriad of enemy snipers and infiltrators. More fighters screamed overhead to head off the newly arrived squadrons of Biomechs. The Bastion’s defense turrets added their own fire if any of them strayed a little closer. Teresa made a mental note for the ninth time that day that the enemy had lost another fighter.

  I’ve been here more than a month, and we’re no closer to ending this.

  Teresa automatically checked the strategic map for the latest command information on the Helios System. It only provided a very basic overview, but it did give her information on fleets and armies as they engaged the Biomechs in so many different places. Her eyes only made it as far as the enemy ship positions around Spascia when a pair of video requests came in from the fleet. An image flickered, and then stabilized in the lower right corner of her visor.

  “Admiral Lewis, good to see you.”

  “Colonel, I see you’ve got your hands busy down there.”

  Teresa grimaced.

  “You could say that, Admiral. What can I help you with?”

  The man’s forehead tightened a little as he spoke.

  “The Rift back home is still down, but the local Prime-Spascia Rift is partially operational.”

  Teresa felt a surge of adrenalin through her chest.

  “Look, Teresa, we’ve got a window to ship troops to help with the siege. You know how it is going there; they need every single extra soldier we can get our hands on. We haven’t got long, though.”

  His image vanished and changed to show the Rift that joined the two planets together.

  “Within thirty minutes of getting the Rift online, they detected it. The Biomechs aren’t stupid; they already have ships lining up on the Rift. Once they have a clear line of sight from Spascia, they’ll open fire on the station and shut it down.”

  Teresa nodded quickly.

  “Take what you have, Admiral. Get to Spascia and help them.”

  Admiral Lewis tried to smile, but instead his expression looked more like a grimace.

  “We’ve loaded two regiments of marines and a few Khreenk volunteers from the reserve. That leaves you with no reserve out here. Can you hold down there?”

  Teresa looked at the forward outpost and the scores of marines, navy crew, and machines. The fight was not easy, and the reserve was something she’d already taken into consideration for operations over the next ten days.

  “I’ll manage. Spascia is on its knees.”

  “Understood, Colonel. General Rivers has given me orders to leave for Spascia within eight hours to join the relief effort. I just thought you’d want to know. We will speak soon.”

  Teresa felt her chest tighten at the mention of Spascia. Normally, she was an expert at keeping her mind on what needed to be done, but the very idea of that world filled her subconscious with images of the siege. Though both Helios Prime and Spascia were the scenes of major land battles, they couldn’t have been more different. Spascia was a long, drawn out siege, with both sides lacking enough ships to prove decisive. The fight had devolved into a perpetual battle for the few cities on the planet. It had earned a nickname, one she tried not to think of.

  Spascia, the Seventh Circle of Hell.

  It was a story she was all too familiar from her religious schooling. Dante had been a strange companion as a teenager, yet the idea of the area of hell reserved for the violent sent a shiver through her body. It was a thought she really wanted to avoid. While Spascia was bogged down, the fighting on Helios Prime had taken a completely different turn. Both sides had spread across the surface, and though the Helion and Alliance forces had now joined in, the fight was a long way from over. Both sides had chosen their ground well, and there were heavily fortified and defended zones in every direction.

  Two of her captains moved their hands around the tactical projector to direct combat units while Teresa leaned back against the recently destroyed Eques walker. A lieutenant approached and handed her a metal cylinder. She nodded her thanks, opened up her visor, and took a quick swig of hot coffee. The liquid slid down her throat and instantly put a feeling of fire back into her blood. She twisted slightly and felt her body trying to resist. The aches and pains of years of service had taken their toll, yet as she observed their current position, she felt more aliv
e than she had done in years. It was what she needed to dull the pain of what had happened in the last six weeks since she’d entered the Helios System.

  “Colonel, seismic sensors are picking up movement in sector six.”

  Teresa took a short breath and then pointed to one of the unattached icons.

  “Send in the Khreenk. They had two squads out on patrol two klicks west. They can deploy sentry units and a robotic control unit.”

  She looked away and then again at the display.

  “Make sure they get out of the area. The Biomechs could be planting mines.”

  The two men and a newly arrived third were more than capable of running this part of the fight. She walked through the base and checked on the engineers and officers running the place. As she walked past, they stopped and nodded, nothing more before returning to their duties. One of Teresa’s first orders had been to abandon saluting in the combat zone. It was a dangerous indication and had already cost them several officers. She made it halfway to the reinforced entrance where she was expecting her junior commanders when the warning came.

  “Ten seconds!” announced the stronghold’s officer of the watch.

  Teresa moved her eyes a little to track the movement of four guns. These were large caliber low-velocity weapon systems that were mounted onto the wheeled chassis of special Bulldog vehicles. They fired rocket-assisted shells that once at their peak altitude would deploy small wings and loiter for up to four minutes. Ground troops could then call in the shells exactly where they were needed over the entire frontline. Each gun had been moved into position inside a special dugout and then surrounded in sandbags for extra protection. All four guns lifted up another twenty degrees and then stopped.