by Jamie Sawyer
All gathered personnel fell silent for a long moment. Shard machines tend to have that effect on people, I thought. The Artefact emanated a sense of age; so strong that it was almost overpowering, the aeons pressing down on me and my tiny heritage as a member of the human race.
Finally, Loeb spoke up. “Looks as though you have your wish, Major.”
I nodded. “Let’s get this thing secure.”
Over the next few hours, Loeb painstakingly deployed his fleet in a wide net around the Artefact.
Several warships were tasked with the unglamorous job of detonating rogue asteroids, to ensure that the immediate vicinity was safe for the fleet. Meanwhile, Saul and Dr West conducted scans on near-space and the Artefact itself. As far as they could ascertain, Damascus Space was deserted: no Krell presence, no other immediate hazards. Being this close to the Rift is bad enough, I reminded myself.
“This is where our work starts,” I declared to the Legion and the Warfighters. “Assemble for briefing in one hour.”
The Colossus was well equipped for war. Not just a small directed expedition like this, but proper old-fashioned and man-heavy military operations. The briefing room was huge; an amphitheatre with four hundred or so seats arranged in a horseshoe formation and a full audio-visual set-up in the well of the chamber.
My team arrived on time and shortly thereafter Loeb filed in: damned dog sniffing and mewling as he tagged at Loeb’s heels. A small cadre of Colossus officers had also been summoned and they arrived together with the Sci-Div contingent. The flyboys, led by James, assembled at the back of the room. Back from their recent foray off-ship, the jockeys were exuberant but disciplined. They had obviously enjoyed the opportunity to do a recon run.
Williams and his team were late. They noisily burst into the chamber, laughing and joking, barely reacting to the glares of disapproval from the Naval staff.
As mission commander, I started the briefing.
“Simmer down, people,” I said, and the chamber fell quiet. “Welcome to Operation Portent.”
I ran through General Cole’s mission objectives: that the expedition was to explore the Artefact, find out how it activated, without doing so until it was deemed safe.
I turned to Saul. “What does Sci-Div know so far?”
“It isn’t transmitting,” Saul said. “At this range, we’re detecting an energy signature but not much else. I’m not sure whether it’s operational. We’ll need to board it to make any real progress.”
“Which is where we come in,” Kaminski said. “As always.”
“Given the likely age of the structure,” Saul said, “the fact that it is still operating at all is miraculous.”
“How old exactly is this thing?” Mason asked. She was the only member of my team taking notes, with a data-slate on her lap.
“Carbon-dating from the material found on Helios suggests thousands of years. We are working on the assumption that the Damascus Artefact is of a similar age.”
“But we don’t actually know?” Mason followed up.
“As Major Harris says, the overall objective is to insert a science team. Once we have people aboard the structure, I’ll be able to provide a more accurate picture. The area needs to be secured first.”
“Do we know what the structure looks like inside?” I asked.
Saul manipulated the tri-D. Now it showed the honeycombed interior of the Artefact.
“These maps were produced by long-distance scans on our approach. They might, or might not, be reliable. I’m especially eager that we investigate these locations.” Saul tapped a number of sites; left flags on the display. “They represent possible energy signatures. The Artefact is probably in a dormant mode; sleeping perhaps. These sites are possible activators – that would be consistent with research on the Helios Artefact.” He marked the very centre of the Artefact – through a labyrinth of twisted corridors and apparently empty chambers. “This is our final objective: likely to be a control chamber of some sort. The Hub, perhaps.”
“All this is fascinating,” Williams suddenly chirped up, “but what is this thing? I’ve read the debrief from Helios. This,” he waved a hand at the display, “doesn’t look anything like what the Legionnaires found.”
Dr West gave another of her trademark apologetic smiles. “We’re dealing with the unknown, Captain. It is undeniably of the same construction, of the same material, as the Helios Artefact. But the nature and purpose is different.”
Saul slid his glasses along the bridge of his nose. “My best guess is that this is a space station, or an outpost of some sort.”
“So we might find survivors?” Williams said. “We might find some Shard?”
“Do we get to kill them?” the big Martian roared. He thumped a hand on the table in front of him. The Warfighters dissolved into whistling catcalls.
“The Warfighters will abide by first contact protocols,” I said, cutting through the noise. “As will the Legionnaires.” Back to the science team: “Do we anticipate that there will be anything alive in there?”
“That’s unclear,” Saul said. “Biological scans have returned indeterminate results, but life can take many forms.”
“Care to explain that?” I asked.
Saul gave an uncomfortable half-smile. That simple gesture informed me that he knew more about the Shard than he was willing to let on: that even though Command expected us to carry out this mission, to die in the process, they were still unwilling to show their hand of cards.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “But it is complicated. The Shard sites suggest that they might have been mechanical – inorganic – in composition. Where machine ends and life begins is not always clear.”
“Do we have any idea what the Shard looked – or look – like?” Mason probed. “Even a hypothetical would be useful.”
“Yeah, because then I know what I’m supposed to kill,” Williams yelled.
“Quiet,” I shouted back. “Don’t take this lightly, people. If the Shard are aboard the Artefact, they might not appreciate us making contact.”
No one answered back this time.
“To answer your question, Private,” Saul said, “we have no idea what the Shard look like. We’ve never found any viable remains.”
Saul let the line hang and the debate was over. I pressed on with the briefing.
“This is our approach plan.” I called up some tactical overlays and flight plans. “It’s simple: we drop down to the Artefact in Wildcat shuttles. The Wildcats will be automated; we won’t be using flight crew. But Lieutenant James’ fighter squadron will escort us.”
James nodded. “With two Wildcats, six fighters should be sufficient. We’ll keep the rest in reserve, as a contingency. Fire support will be available if you need it.”
“We land here and here,” I said, pointing to locations on the hull of the Artefact. “Overlapping arcs of fire, in case we meet hostiles.”
“How are we going to get inside?” Jenkins asked. There was a flash of interest behind her eyes. “Demolitions?”
I smiled. “You get to do your thing, Jenkins.”
“The structure on Helios responded to plasma warheads,” Saul added. “A well-placed nuclear charge should be sufficient to breach the outer hull.”
“Once inside, the two teams establish a beachhead in these chambers,” I said, pointing to two larger caverns inside the Artefact. “Williams’ Warfighters takes this location; the Lazarus Legion takes the other. Environmental pressurisation will be a priority. We can deploy drones to map out the structure. After the threat level has been assessed, and if necessary contained, we can consider moving hardcopy personnel aboard. Until then the combat-suits will be broadcasting video-, audio-and scanner-feeds directly back to the Colossus. I want eyes everywhere: anything of interest, record it with your suit.”
“Are we confident that we can broadcast out?” Martinez asked. “On Helios, that didn’t work so well…”
“The Helios Artefact was transmitting,” Saul r
eplied. “Its signal blocked local comms traffic. Until this Artefact becomes active, I am hopeful that we can remain in contact.”
“Hopeful?” Jenkins said.
Saul shrugged. “It’s an unknown.”
“And that about sums it up,” I said. “Any more questions?”
“Not until we get out there,” Kaminski replied.
“All right. Are equipment and weapon checks complete?”
“Affirmative,” Jenkins said. “Simulants are loaded into the Wildcats, ready for deployment. The Legion will go down in the first, Warfighters in the second.”
Loeb suddenly stood from his seat, turning to face the gathered personnel.
“Be advised that you are all here at my leisure,” the Buzzard said. “And that I have ultimate sanction on this operation. If anything you do presents a risk to this fleet, I will take immediate action. In particular, do not even attempt to activate that Artefact.” He jabbed a finger at the screen behind him. “Based on Major Harris’ previous experience, I have strong reason to believe that operational Shard machines pose a threat to the security of this battlegroup.” He scanned the faces of every man and woman in the room, drilling home his message. “That Artefact is alien technology. If it starts to broadcast, it’ll call every Krell ship within light-years to our position. I can’t allow that. The Colossus’ weapons officers have a standing order to open fire in the event that the Artefact becomes operational.”
Saul stood again. “Dr Kellerman’s findings on Helios indicate a potential—”
Just then, Lincoln scrambled down from the upper auditorium, snarling at Saul. Teeth bared, eyes wide, the old dog looked quite ferocious. Before Saul could retreat, the dog bowled into him. Two massive paws landed on his shoulders, and the dog’s head reared back to bite the professor.
I went to assist, but Loeb made a high-pitched whistle. Lincoln retreated from Saul. The scientist was left on his back, dishevelled, glasses skewed, but otherwise uninjured.
“You okay, Professor?” I asked.
“Yes, yes. I – I’m not good with animals.”
I helped him to his feet.
“I would have thought that you had an affinity for all Earth’s creatures,” Martinez said. He had a self-satisfied look on his face. “Gaia and all that shit.”
“Maybe just not a dog man,” James said. “But hey, it’s nice for us to have a break from the damned thing. Now he has a new best friend.”
The flyboys laughed among themselves.
Loeb grabbed the dog’s collar and the moment passed. Lincoln went back into the upper auditorium.
“Let’s wrap this up,” I ordered, bringing the meeting back on point. “Sim operators to the SOC.”
The Simulant Operations Centre was the largest that I had ever seen on a starship, all clinical bleached walls and glowing holo-consoles. Most of the SOC was taken up by the simulator-tanks – twenty of those in all, although only nine had been activated. Each tank had been designated for a particular trooper; recently shipped in and sparkling under the bright med-bay lights. The bay was just for the combat-sim operations: the flyboys had their own facility somewhere else in Medical, running their own gear.
I ached to get back into the tanks.
A handful of medical staff milled between the simulators, jotting readings on data-slates.
“We need data-readings, proper prep, for the transition,” Dr West said, meekly.
“Death has to be properly logged and monitored,” Kaminski joked.
Let’s get on with it.
I proceeded to strip off, while West oversaw the connection to the simulator-tanks. Cables were jacked to my data-ports. My simulator powered up. I fixed the respirator over my mouth, attached the ear-bead communicator. Once all of that was done, I slid into my tank. The amniotic fluid inside had grown pleasantly warm. Just the scent of the stuff triggered potent chemical reactions in my brain – it was impossible to divorce the smell from the promise of making transition.
The rest of my team did the same. I noticed Williams eying Jenkins as she undressed: a little too interested.
Dr West checked each tank in turn, confirming with each of us that we were good to go. Jenkins, Kaminski, Martinez and Mason were all jacked in and ready.
“Do you read me, Major Harris?” she asked, tapping on the transparent canopy of my tank.
“I copy,” I said. Her voice was clear through my ear-bead.
“All vitals are good,” another tech remarked. “Establishing link to CIC.”
“This is Admiral Loeb,” the CIC declared. “We have a solid line.”
Locked inside my simulator, I realised that there was a bank of controls inside the tank. While some of the controls were familiar – EMERGENCY EVACUATION, REQUEST ASSISTANCE and so on – I saw that others were not. In particular, there was an easily accessible activator near my right hand, labelled COMMENCE TRANSITION.
“What’s with the new controls?” I asked. I’d seen virtually every type of simulator-tank, all kinds of modifications, but I’d never seen controls like this inside a tank.
“These are custom tanks,” Williams answered. “Real new shit. You can initiate your own transition.”
“No impediment to launch,” another voice confirmed.
“Establishing remote link with simulants. Link is good.”
“Commence uplink when you are ready.”
“We are good to go. Commencing uplink in T minus ten seconds…”
Do it! Do it now!
I couldn’t wait any longer and slammed the COMMENCE TRANSITION button with the palm of my hand before the countdown had even finished.
I could tell that I was going to like these new tanks.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WALK IN THE FUCKING PARK
There was a sudden jolt through my nervous system.
One mind, two bodies.
The brilliant clinical light of the med-bay.
The dimmed interior of the Wildcat.
The transition was almost instant.
A battery of senses awakened within me. My perceptions improved beyond the ken of a human body. Touch, smell, sight, hearing: all were super-alert. The texture of the insides of each combat-suit gauntlet. The smell of the brand-new tactical-helmet. Then the flood of fresh data, pouring into my mind as though it were an extra sense – unreadable in a human body, an additional faculty in my simulant body. A sense that I hadn’t been born with, but that I was by now so deeply acquainted with that it felt unnatural to be without it.
I growled – a deep, throaty animal expression – eager to try out this new body. I flexed my arms and legs.
“Transition confirmed. Sound off!”
My team were inside the Wildcat cabin and all confirmed successful transition.
“Williams, you copy?” I asked.
“Affirmative, sir,” Williams said. “All reads are nominal.”
Something about his tone made him sound more like a soldier; as though the transition had brought something alive in him as well. A simulant body does that to a man. I couldn’t see him or his team but knew that they were mounted in the second Wildcat, ready to launch alongside us.
“Lieutenant James, do you read?” I said, switching channels to the fighter squadron.
“This is Scorpio One,” James replied, “and I read loud and clear. Scorpio Squadron has green lights across the board.”
“Lazarus Actual,” a more distant voice chimed in on the communicator-network, “this is Colossus CIC. We have a confirm on your departure. Launching in five…”
The countdown ticked down rapidly.
Then I felt the Wildcat moving; the tug of G-force as the shuttle began to leave the mothership’s launching bay. I was pinned into my seat. Somewhere beside me, Kaminski crooned a line from a song that I didn’t recognise.
AUTO-PILOT ENGAGED, my suit declared.
The Wildcat hurtled out of the belly of the Colossus, streaking across Damascus Space. In zero-G now, I stayed buckled in. I
followed our progress on the exterior cams, patched direct to my HUD. Our shuttle took point with the Warfighters following a safe distance behind.
“Clearing Colossus null-shield,” James said. “Adopting escort formation.”
There was no sensation to indicate that we were moving beyond the perimeter of the protective sphere, but I felt the psychological burden. The Wildcat was a transport shuttle and had no shield of its own.
Scorpio Squadron – six Hornet space fighters – fell into a tight pattern around the two shuttles. The Hornets were short-winged and delicate; carrying a single pilot, encased within a mirrored canopy. A GE-908 Starcannon – a heavy-duty laser – sat at the nose of each vessel. Beneath the wings, they carried a restricted load of plasma warheads.
“Walk in the fucking park…” a voice whispered over the comm. It sounded like someone from Williams’ team.
“Keep the line clear, people,” I ordered.
“You heard the man,” Williams said. “Radio silence.”
As we moved into our designated approach path, I saw our target. This was why we were here: what we were going to crack. The Artefact. I manipulated the camera controls, magnifying the image. The picture was patchy, fuzzed with lines of interference, but I could make out the basics. The outside was rough-hewn and sand-blasted. As we moved closer, on inspection the entire hull was etched with scripture. The markings flickered erratically. That might’ve just been a trick of the light caused by the Damascus Rift; but the effect was strangely disconcerting, like the structure was alive—
WARNING, my suit insisted.
A marker flashed on my HUD. I frowned, examined the feed. We were still on target, moving on the Artefact at a good pace. The problem was with the fighters.
“One of the Hornets has fallen out of formation,” Jenkins said.
I patched into James’ frequency. “Scorpio One? What’s happening to your people?”