The Lazarus War: Artefact

by Jamie Sawyer

  “Helios System is on the edge of the Maelstrom,” Evers picked up. “Barely in the Maelstrom at all, really.”

  “But it is across the Quarantine Zone?” I asked. There was no point in dressing it up: I was being sent to a prohibited planet, being sent into enemy territory.

  “Yes, it is,” Cole said. “But we’ve managed to conduct this operation for several years without being impeded by the Krell. We certainly can’t rule it out, but there’s no reason to suspect that they have suddenly changed their strategy.

  “A combat team has been arranged – all experienced special operations staff. The starship UAS Oregon has been authorised for your use. You’ll have a scientific team and a full Sim Op bay onboard. Enough simulants to see you through the operation. Science Officer Olsen will be accompanying you during the deployment.”

  Olsen smiled weakly. “In case you require any scientific expertise, as a result of the presence of the Artefact.”

  “The distance involved – across the QZ – means that localised deployment is our only option,” Cole said. “If I had my way, you could operate your sims from Liberty Point, but I’m told that the neural-link doesn’t have sufficient range to allow for that. Sending your people to Helios is the only option.

  “The mission objective will be limited. Go to the facility and ascertain the reason for the failure to report. In the event that there are survivors, provide assistance. If not, do what you do best: destroy the station and retreat to orbit. Easy job.”

  “Your orders are to avoid the Artefact, so far as possible,” Jostin said quietly. “It can be studied later. More important to us is that any research conducted by Dr Kellerman and his team does not fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Into enemy hands,” Evers added.

  “Journey time will be six months, objective,” Jostin said. “Chances are that if the site has seen any enemy activity, it has long since finished. You and your team are ideal for the operation: no close family ties, protracted deployment history, excellent service records. The time-dilation won’t be an issue for any of you.”

  I nodded glumly. For those with loved ones close to them, twelve months’ absence might have been an issue. For my crew, it wasn’t.

  Cole didn’t let up the pace of the briefing. The group were talking at me now, rather than to me: eager that I didn’t ask any more awkward questions.

  He went on: “You’ll have the best tech we have at our disposal. The Oregon is a specially adapted cruiser. You’ll make it back within a year, according to our calculations. And when you do, we’ll talk serious shore-leave – for you and the rest of your team.” He shuffled some papers in front of him, reading absently. “There will be something in this for everyone on your team. They’ll all get what they want.”

  Jostin continued: “Naval intelligence from inside the Maelstrom suggests that there are no significant Krell fleet dispositions in the immediate area of Helios System.” I winced at that: Naval intelligence was a misnomer, certainly from inside the Maelstrom, but more significant – since when did civilian reps have access to military intel? “Using a single low-profile cruiser like the Oregon, it is hoped that you can operate beneath the radar.”

  Even that was an awkward turn of phrase – the Krell had no such thing as radar. I let the error go uncorrected.

  “Operation Keystone is very important to the war effort,” Evers said. “We can’t emphasise that enough. Your transport leaves tomorrow at twelve-hundred. Drop-bay sixteen.”

  He slid a mission-pack across the table. I took it and inspected the seal; biometrically locked, labelled with the words OPERATION KEYSTONE – EYES ONLY: RESTRICTED DOCUMENTS.

  “You’re dismissed,” Cole added, just to reinforce who was in charge here.

  I saluted and left.

  I walked back to my quarters. Through the outer rings of the station, the longest route back, to give me some time to think.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this operation. Sure, a new mission was a good thing. In that sense, it gave me focus and motivation – set me another task.

  But something felt wrong about the mission. Old Man Cole himself had given it to me. That had never happened before. Then there were the circumstances of the op: the journey into the Maelstrom, the Artefact, Dr Kellerman. The image of the Artefact, rearing up out of the desert, came into my mind’s eye. The behaviour of the Krell was like nothing I had ever experienced before. It felt implacably wrong.

  Maybe I should’ve declined the mission, I thought. Maybe there was a choice there, a decision somewhere along the way. But that was pure fantasy: I would never have refused it. The desire to make transition again, to get back into the fight, was too much to resist. No point in lying to myself about it. Killing Krell was all that I knew. I would’ve taken any opportunity to get back out there.

  I sighed to myself and checked the station local time. By now, the rest of my squad would have been summoned back onto active duty, although they wouldn’t know the reason. I couldn’t reveal the detail until we left Liberty Point. I turned the scant briefing folder over in my hands.

  “Looks like you get your wish, Jenkins,” I said to myself.

  I needed another drink. I decided that I’d stop by the station PX before going back to my quarters.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  INTO THE MAELSTROM

  The next morning, my squad and I duly attended drop-bay sixteen. It had been cleared specially for our operation – empty, save for a transport shuttle sitting patiently on the apron. The shuttle was being refuelled for the run over to the Oregon.

  Through the view-ports studding the drop-bay walls, I watched as the UAS Oregon was loaded with cargo for the op. A remote shuttle conducted a series of runs between the Oregon and the Liberty Point, working as quickly as possible.

  My team anxiously milled about, eager for more information on our mission.

  “This our ship, Captain?” Martinez asked me, arms crossed over his chest. “Looks all right.”

  “She’s called the Oregon,” I answered. “And yes, Martinez, this is our transport.”

  “What the fuck do you know about starships?” Kaminski asked of Martinez.

  “More than you. I was Alliance Marine Corps, mano.”

  Martinez was quietest of the team but when he had something to say, I made sure to listen.

  “This should be just your sort of op, then,” I said. “A nice big ship and plenty of guns.”

  “It would help if I knew where we were going,” Martinez said. He stroked his carefully groomed goatee, stared out of the view-port.

  Martinez wasn’t happy about being recalled back to active duty, and had already made his opinion known to me. None of the team was particularly pleased about the haste in which the operation had been assembled.

  The Oregon did look like a worthy ship. She was the sort of vessel shown on news-feeds and vid-casts, the sort of ship that the Navy were keen to promote to the folks back home: a jack of all trades. The technical designation was “compact assault cruiser”. She had a gun-like profile – all aggressive angles, nothing like the New Haven. The nose erupted with antennae and sensor-pods, feeling into the dark. The entire craft was polished gunmetal grey, reinforcing the impression that it was a weapon of war given form as a starship.

  “She was requisitioned from the Navy fleet and retrofitted for our op,” I said to my squad. I had reviewed the service history of the ship. “She’s a fully manned starship, not disposable like the Wildcats.”

  “So we’re supposed to bring this one back?” Kaminski asked with a grin.

  “Most definitely,” I said. “Standing crew of forty ensigns, a sizeable maintenance team, and a cadre of officers.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a squadron of Dragonflies in the belly of that thing,” Jenkins said, nodding towards the view-port. “Or maybe even some Hornets.”

  “Not this time, Jenkins.”

  Jenkins gave a dissatisfied shrug. She was obviously probing for mo
re detail on our operation.

  The ship wasn’t big enough to have a proper hangar and the belly was already loaded with a Wildcat APS for planetary insertion. Jenkins was talking about Aerospace Force support. The MG-11 Dragonfly was a multipurpose gunship, employed for close-support against either ground-based targets or enemy fighters. The MSK-60 Hornet was a highly manoeuvrable killship – used in squadrons, they could take down far larger warships, firing plasma warheads over vast distances. We’d used support from both varieties of ship in the past, but this mission called for stealth over brute force.

  “It’s just another operation,” I said to my squad. “We’ve been into the Maelstrom before. Nothing new there.” The group gave non-committal nods. “And we’ve operated sims from a starship plenty of times.”

  “Then why all the secrecy?” Kaminski asked. “What is the op, Captain? Our station-leave was cancelled for this. That hasn’t happened before.”

  “Ears only, Kaminski,” I said. “It’s called Operation Keystone but I’ll give you more detail when we get out there.”

  The squad grumbled to themselves. They knew the outline of the op, knew that we would be on protracted leave from the Point, and that our destination was the Maelstrom, but nothing more. I felt bad for not sharing the rest of the mission brief with them, but I knew that when they heard it, they wouldn’t like it.

  A Navy officer approached me. He was suave-looking, with a mop of blond hair and a pristine blue smart-suit like he had just come off parade. Handsome – not as good-looking as Blake, but he had youth on his side.

  “Captain Conrad Harris, Simulant Operations? Commanding officer of Operation Keystone?” he asked. “I’m Captain James Atkins. The UAS Oregon is my ship.” He puffed out his chest with pride as he declared ownership. “My crew are just confirming the manifest.”

  While he looked terribly young for a starship captain – barely thirty years, Earth-standard – I had already looked him up on the Point’s military database, and in truth he was closer to forty. He was also an experienced Naval captain, and had served as the Oregon’s commanding officer for five years. Even so, sailors rarely got their hands dirty – I hoped that he could hold his own out in the Maelstrom.

  “That’s me,” I said, slinging my flight bag onto a loading pallet. “What have we got?”

  Atkins gave a dry laugh. “My ship has everything. A simulant operation bay has been installed in the medical centre – you’ll be able to navigate your sims from the ship. There are enough sim-bodies for ten missions. The armoury has everything that you boys could wish for.”

  “Less of the boys,” Jenkins said. “And I hope we won’t need that many.”

  “Never hurts to have spares,” Martinez said.

  “We’ll be safe in orbit while you boys,” Atkins winked at Jenkins, “and girls do the hard work. She has a decent Q-drive with good stealth characteristics. The ship has multiple stealth systems. High-end stuff – fresh out of Research and Development. We’ve got a complement of space-to-space particle beam accelerators, a battery of railguns and a silo of plasma torpedoes.” Atkins was enjoying this; bragging about the toys on his ship. He pointed out of the view-port, tracing a line on the spine of his ship with his finger. “She’s got sixteen laser batteries on the upper hull. Those can automatically track incoming enemy fire – the AI is one of the most advanced in the fleet.” Atkins nodded to himself in contentment. “It’s overkill, really – we’ve never had it so good.”

  “I just hope it’s going to be enough,” I said, bursting his bubble.

  “Only the best equipment has been sanctioned for Keystone,” came another voice behind me.

  I turned to see Olsen, his face sweaty with exertion. He was trailing an entourage of science officers.

  “We need this to go smoothly,” Olsen said to me.

  “We’ll do our best,” I muttered. “We always do.”

  The Oregon quietly simmered with activity. The Naval crew hurried with their appointed tasks, ensuring that we safely detached from the Liberty Point. Space Control gave the necessary approvals for departure, and the ship navigated her way through the flotilla surrounding the Point.

  “Safe clearance from FOB Liberty Point has been achieved,” the ship’s PA sounded.

  I found my assigned quarters; a cabin about as small as that I had back on the Point, but a room to myself nonetheless. My squad was quartered at the aft of the ship, in a barracks usually designated for shipboard marines. The layout of the ship had taken some reconsideration, to accommodate an enlarged medical suite – a necessity given that we were to be operating the simulator-tanks from there.

  Before I had a proper chance to think about exploring the rest of the ship, the PA sounded again: “Captain Harris, please report to Observation. Captain Harris, to the observation deck.”

  The crew politely acknowledged me as I made my way to Observation, with nods and informal salutes. My rank didn’t mean much to the Naval crew – at least not officially – but I guessed that some of them had heard of me. A couple of times, whispers were exchanged behind my back. Maybe the conversations were positive, but they were just as likely to be negative. After all, who would want to travel into the Maelstrom? They probably blamed me for the operation in general.

  Observation was a functional open deck, with large windows covering the outer hull wall. Already, the Point – with that distinctive vertical hub and multiple outer-ring formation; a giant spinning top – and the fleet were becoming more distant. Space was opening up before us: stars sprinkling the void.

  Atkins stood alone at the far end of the deck, hands clasped behind his back. That seemed to be his preferred stance. He didn’t turn to acknowledge me when I arrived, but gave a curt nod to my reflection in the window.

  “We won’t be making proper progress until the Q-drive activates,” Atkins said.

  “I guess we’ll be in hypersleep for that. The ship’s itinerary says sleep call is in an hour.”

  “It’s standard operating procedure for ground crew to hibernate first, to be followed by the Navy staff,” Atkins reeled off. He liked procedure; knowing regulation gave him a veneer of confidence. “Then the ship’s AI will take over, and the Q-drive will be activated.”

  “I take it that you didn’t call me here to talk about the itinerary?” I said. I wasn’t quite sure why he had asked for my attendance; he seemed to know his stuff, and I was prepared to defer final judgement on his character.

  He broke a bitter smile. “No, I didn’t. It was something a bit more personal than that.”

  “Go on.”

  “The Oregon is a good ship,” he started. Then, voice dropping in pitch a little; his confident façade seeming to crack ever so slightly: “My crew are good people. One and all.”

  “I know. I might be infantry, Atkins, but I’m not stupid.”

  “I’m asking you to look after them, is all. I’m asking you to make wise choices while we’re out there.” He waved a hand towards the observation window, towards the Maelstrom beyond the plexiglass. It was much larger than either the territories occupied by the Alliance or the Asiatic Directorate.

  “Have you ever been into the Maelstrom?” I asked.

  “No, I haven’t. But I’ve read the Operation Keystone briefing, such that I’m entitled to. The details are scant. They tell me that we’re going after some sort of ghost signal – that Science Division has found an alien artefact on a backwater Krell world?”

  “If you know that much, then you know almost as much as me. I’ll reveal the rest as soon as I have clearance.”

  Atkins grew quiet for a moment.

  “I understand that,” he eventually continued. “Regulation and procedure must be adhered to. It’s just that – well, any starship captain would be anxious about this sort of operation.”

  I rubbed my chin. “Let’s agree on something. I’ll depend on you to run this ship, exactly as you see fit, and you depend on me to do everything I can to bring you and your crew back
in one piece.”

  Atkins smiled again, but this time a smile of relief. He briskly turned to me and held out his hand. We shook; his grip was surprisingly strong for a sailor. He had a wedding-band on one hand: undecorated, functional.

  “You can depend on me, Captain,” he said.

  “And you can do the same on me. No promises – we’re going into the Maelstrom, after all, but I’m not going to throw anyone away.”

  “Good enough.”

  Atkins immediately regained his composure. That was why he wanted to speak with me alone; because he didn’t want his crew, or probably mine, seeing that he was disturbed by this operation. His choice to air his concerns like this made me respect him more, in some perverse way.

  “Has our route been plotted?” I asked, returning to more mundane areas of conversation – a topic on which Atkins would surely want to speak.

  “Very precisely,” he said. He clasped his hands behind his back again, puffed up his chest: I’d read him well. “We’re moving the minimum ten AU distance from Liberty Point, then we will be accelerating to Q-speed. We’ll drop out of real-space, and the computer will take care of the navigation from there.”

  “How about the Great Veil?” I asked.

  “We’re using the most recent Naval intel, based on the Turinger Predictive Model. Highly accurate.”

  The Veil was another of the Maelstrom’s defensive measures: a loose collection of space particulate, meteors and asteroids, amassed over the millennia in an enormous orbital cloud around the Maelstrom itself. Penetrating this cloud was the first obstacle for any traveller to the Maelstrom; given the speed that most starships to the region would be travelling, the material could cause a hull breach. The Veil was the equivalent of the Solar System’s Oort Cloud, but on a vast, lethal scale.