Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1)

by Parker, Gavin E

  Coms were similarly enhanced by tracking technology which transmitted any given communication to the comrade the trooper was looking at. Extremely sophisticated heuristic algorithms would analyse the content of the communication in its situational context, together with other battlefield variables, to decide whom the communication might be most useful to. It would then route it to them. If a trooper were to say, ‘Look out for that sniper’, for example, the algorithm would figure out, from where the trooper was on the battlefield and what direction she was looking, where the sniper was. It would then figure out what area the sniper was covering and compare that to where other troopers were moving. If it thought any troopers were likely to move into the area covered by the sniper it would route that particular communication to them. It would also send a visual cue to their head-up displays, showing where the sniper was and what areas he had covered.

  The AI running the battle model was the great arbiter of who should know what, where and when. Too much information on the battlefield could be as dangerous as too little. The AI could filter out orders or information that was irrelevant. The battle model AI’s job was to see that the troopers got the information they needed and no other distractions. It was something Kostovich was particularly proud of.

  Plasma rifles, uniforms, light artillery and helmets had all recently gone into production. Kostovich had prototypes of the basic military kit in his office. He was expecting to take delivery of the first large production batches very soon.

  Venkdt had given Kostovich a number of warehouse facilities to store the kit as it came off the production line. Warehouse 63 had previously been used for storing some of the goods the Martians had been selling to Earth. That hadn’t been a great success. The huge cost of transportation to Earth had made the endeavour risky to start with. Though Venkdt Mars had been able to come up with some advanced designs for consumer goods it hadn’t really made economic sense to produce them on the planet. Raw materials were the truly valuable commodity that Mars produced. That failure had worked out for Kostovich. It meant he had this huge warehouse and it was now being filled with equipment he’d designed and adapted. He was going to be the first, and best, quartermaster of the Martian army. It was a job he relished. He usually stayed away from any jobs that involved being around other people but he wanted to be there for this one.

  He had called Maya a few days before and arranged a time. He knew that, strictly speaking, he should have involved Maya in the design process - that’s what Venkdt had asked for - but he had managed to wriggle out of it. He thought that when you started asking people what they wanted they would overthink things and make them too complex. It was wise of him, he supposed, to simply go ahead and do what he thought was best. It made sense to him. After all, this new equipment was at least equivalent to what the USAN Army had and at the moment it looked like they were the only plausible enemies Mars might have. Even that seemed fanciful but it would be good, if the USAN Army did make it across the hundred and forty thousand miles of space between them, to be able to match them with a force equipped to the same standard.

  He had asked Maya to come to the warehouse bringing as many of her MSS personnel with her as possible. He planned to kit them out there and then.

  He sat in the control room and watched as four forklift drones unloaded transports of container and piled them up to one side of the warehouse. These were the plasma rifles. Other sections of the warehouse already had their boxes of uniforms, body armour, advanced communication equipment and helmets. He felt at that moment like a martial Father Christmas.

  He had spoken to Maya a few times on his comdev but had yet to meet her in person. He was looking forward to it. Her strength and directness appealed to him and he hoped that she might be impressed with everything he had done for her.

  A few minutes before the agreed time he went down to the floor of the warehouse. He was wearing a hard hat, as required, but he ignored the audible warnings that were triggered by his entrance onto the warehouse floor. He had arranged for Maya and her troops to arrive via one of the loading bays. He was expecting it to be impressive, maybe two or three transports filled with poorly equipped and slightly bemused security personnel, who had suddenly, somehow, found themselves in an army. He would shower them with brand new super up-to-date equipment and send them back out as the defenders of Mars. He smiled at the thought.

  He had been there a few minutes when an alarm bell rang out and yellow lights started flashing, signalling that one of the big bay doors was about to open. He had sent security clearance to Maya. Her comdev was all she would need to open the door. It had to be her.

  Slowly, the huge door started to lower into the ground. At first Kostovich could only see the lights in the ceiling of the tunnel beyond, but as the door got lower it revealed the first transport then others behind it. He walked towards them. He could see that the driver had assumed she would be coming into the warehouse. She had not expected it to be as full as it was. She looked to Foveaux, sat to her right, as if asking what she should do now, but Foveaux was already climbing down from the cabin and walking over to meet Kostovich, hand outstretched.

  “You must be Kostovich,” she said.

  “You must be Commissioner Foveaux,” said Kostovich. “Please, come this way. I think the easiest way to do this, for the uniforms, helmets and rifles, anyway, would be for your troops to just get kitted up right here. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Foveaux. “What have you got for us?”

  “Everything I said I would in the documentation I sent over. It’s all here.”

  “Everything?”

  “Some of the field artillery is still being fabricated, and the armoured transports, too. But all the stuff for your troopers is right here.”

  “That’s great,” said Foveaux. “Where do you want us?”

  “Uh, I guess if you start forming a queue here,” he gestured to a pile of crates. “These are the basic uniforms. I’ve had the forklifts make various piles down there. This is uniforms, next pile on is boots, beyond that is helmets, beyond that is rifles and so on down the line. I guess the easiest thing is for people to work their way down the line picking stuff up as they go.”

  “Very good,” said Foveaux, “I’ll get them out of the transports.” She spoke into her comdev and the transports started emptying into the warehouse. Her troops slowly coalesced into a line in front of the first pile of crates. The two troops at the front of the queue looked expectantly at Kostovich as if he was going to help them.

  Kostovich gestured at the crates. “Go ahead,” he said, “it’s self-service.”

  The two troopers looked at each other somewhat disappointedly, but moved forward and opened the first crate. They pulled out uniforms, rummaging through looking for the right sizes. They scoured labels and held the uniforms up to themselves until they were satisfied. They took the uniforms and moved to the next pile. Two more troopers stepped forward to take their places. Seeing that the system, crude as it was, appeared to be working Kostovich spoke to Foveaux. “I thought you would be first in the queue,” he said.

  “Plenty of time for that,” she replied. “Will you be training us on these weapons and coms systems?”

  Kostovich looked shocked. “No. I’ve provided very comprehensive IVR routines for training. I sent them to you, I assumed you’d been training already.”

  “You did? I’m so sorry, I’ll look into that. I guess I’m just a bit practical minded. An IVR is never quite like the real thing to me.”

  “Well,” said Kostovich, “if you like I could quickly walk you through the Enhanced Battlefield HUD and the plasma rifle?”

  “Thank you,” said Foveaux, “I’d like that, can we make a time?”

  Kostovich tried to act like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. “Let me know some times that are good for you and I’ll check with my diary,” he said, but he knew he was prepared to clear anything.

  “Okay, I’ll do that,
thanks,” said Foveaux.

  Kostovich nodded toward a group of troops who had changed into their new uniforms and were carrying plasma rifles and EBH helmets. “They look like proper soldiers,” he said.

  Foveaux nodded in agreement.

  Foveaux watched the strip lights on the roof of the tunnel fly past her and thought about everything she needed to do. Her army, such as it was, was less than two months old. Its main role, aside from being the de facto Martian police force, was to keep the old USAN Army on Mars neutralized. The MSS was a police force without police officers and an army without an enemy. At least it was no longer an army without weapons. Within days, she hoped, it would no longer be an army without base. She had been operating out of one of Venkdt Security’s buildings, but it was not fit for purpose and certainly not big enough.

  The tunnel opened out to the familiar scrubland before the gates to the garrison. The guards at the garrison’s gate were two of her own troops. The transport paused and, despite the troops obviously recognising their leader, they dutifully went through the process of checking her bona fides via an automated handshake process with her comdev. “Welcome to the garrison, Commissioner Foveaux,” a guard said, waving to her colleague who opened the gate. The transport proceeded into the parade ground in front of the main garrison building.

  The transport had barely come to a stop when Captain Claudia Gibbs bounded from the main entrance towards it. “Commissioner Foveaux,” she was saying as Foveaux stepped down from the transport, “it’s good to meet you in person. Welcome to the garrison.”

  “Thank you Captain Gibbs,” said Foveaux. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “Certainly,” said Gibbs, “come right this way.” She led Foveaux into the building and up the stairs to what had been Shaw’s office. The blood had been cleaned up but Foveaux immediately noticed the fresh plaster in the wall by the window. The bullet hole, which had been made in the wall rather than her own head, had been patched over but not yet painted. The reminder gave her a chill but she quickly put it out of her mind. Gibbs immediately picked up on her discomfort. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t think about that, shall we go somewhere else?”

  “No, no,” said Foveaux, “it’s fine, really.”

  Gibbs looked mortified. “I hope you don’t think this was a stunt. I’m so sorry, I should have thought.”

  “Really, it’s fine,” said Foveaux, sitting down.

  “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Water would be fine,” said Foveaux. Gibbs tapped her terminal.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come over. The way I see this whole thing is that we need to work together. I mean, obviously, there’s a big disagreement here, and we’re in the middle of it, but I still think we can handle this together without things getting out of hand. Let the politicians think what they think; we’re the ones at the tight end and I think we can rub along together just fine until this thing is sorted out.”

  Foveaux took a bottle of water off the droid that had entered the room. It carried on to Gibbs, who took a steaming mug of black coffee and set it on her desk. “I’m glad you see it that way,” said Foveaux, “I’m thinking along similar lines myself. In fact, that’s what I’ve come here to discuss.” She took a swig from the bottle.

  “Do go on,” said Gibbs.

  “Well,” said Foveaux, “strictly speaking Martian forces are in command here. We have Shaw and Edley under house arrest, and you and your troops in pretty much the same position.”

  Gibbs nodded philosophically. “I guess that’s true,” she said.

  “That works for me tactically, but there are still some other things I need from you.”

  Gibbs was troubled by the words but she covered it well. She thought the stand-off position was a good place to be in. She was happy to be in command of a neutralized battalion. She knew that under the terms of the surrender she could no longer respond to any gung-ho orders from politicians or generals a hundred and forty million miles behind her, and her force had been stripped of arms. To her, the current position worked well for all sides. Now it sounded like Foveaux wanted to mess with the balance. These thoughts all flashed through her head at once, but instead of grimacing she smiled sweetly and said, “Of course, how can we help?”

  “One thing I don’t have and really need,” said Foveaux, gesturing with both hands, “is a garrison. We’re currently based in one of Venkdt Security’s buildings. We have the offer of an old warehouse on the edge of town; I don’t much fancy that either. I’m trying to put together an army and would like for it to be based here.”

  Gibbs knew that she didn’t have anything to negotiate with. In fact the entire meeting was a charade. Foveaux could, if she wished, simply order her out. She decided to play along with it. At least that way she could leave with dignity. “I see,” she said, “that does make a lot of sense.”

  “What I was thinking,” said Foveaux, “is that you could move your troops out to the warehouse, and I could move my troops in here. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

  ‘Of course not,’ thought Gibbs. “Yes, that sounds like a reasonable arrangement,” she said.

  “That’s great,” said Foveaux, “I’ll have one of the assistant commissioners come over right away to arrange the details.”

  “Yes, do that,” said Gibbs.

  “One other thing,” said Foveaux.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to offer any of your people who would like to accept it a role in the MSS. You’ve been performing this role much longer than we have and your experience and advice would be invaluable.”

  Gibbs nodded. “I see,” she said. “Of course, for any USAN troops to volunteer for the MSS they would be committing treason. You understand that?”

  “I suppose,” said Foveaux. “Would you like us to handle it from our end?”

  Gibbs looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Commissioner, we can’t really have anything to do with that. Do you really think it’s a good idea? We have a comfortable situation at the moment. If you start asking people to switch sides things might turn very ugly. Families, friends feeling betrayed. I really don’t think it’s a good idea, and I certainly can’t be a party to it.”

  Foveaux nodded. “I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Well, we’re reasonable people,” said Gibbs, “that’s why we have these discussions; to figure out those sorts of things. Thank you for understanding.”

  “No problem,” said Foveaux. “We won’t ask for volunteers until you’re settled into the new facilities.”

  Gibbs forced a smile. She didn’t like it one bit, but she wasn’t in a position to argue.

  The warehouse facility was barely suitable as a base for two hundred troops. Under Gibbs’ supervision they had requested and received building materials. The warehouse itself, apart from a single office high up on one side, was basically a huge empty box. Gibbs’ plan was to build a two storey structure on one side of the warehouse. There would be a space in front of the building, much like the parade ground at the old garrison but far smaller. The new building would house the refectory, day room and living quarters. Gibbs had elected to make the overseeing office hers. She would have a view across the parade ground to the quarters beyond.

  The two access points to the warehouse were below her office. They were large gates leading directly to tunnels, connected to the main Martian road-tunnel network. They were guarded by MSS forces, four troops either side of both gates. As soon as she received them Maya planned to position two armoured troop carriers in the tunnels, too. She didn’t expect trouble from the USAN forces but she wasn’t taking anything for granted.

  As well as being necessary, the work on the new garrison buildings in the warehouse gave Gibbs’ troops something to do. They had been at work for six days and the outline of what was going to be was taking shape. The floor plan was clearly visible and some of the ground floor walls were already in place. Scaffolding reached ambitiously
upwards, and it was possible to imagine what the finished building might look like.

  Gibbs was looking out of her window, satisfied that the troops were occupied and that the building of their own accommodation would give them sufficient ownership over it to make up for the fact that they had been evicted from their true home. She even thought they might be enjoying the task, hard as it was.

  She heard one of the huge gates clanking as it sank into the ground and assumed it was another truckload of building materials. She was surprised to see one of the MSS’s transports rolling in. She saw Maya and Assistant Commissioner Matthias Schroeder step down from the cab. She watched with rising alarm as they walked to the front of the building project. Schroeder looked like he had something in his hand. She couldn’t make out what it was until he lifted it to his mouth and began to speak. She hurriedly opened one of the windows in her office to hear what he was saying.

  “Soldiers of the USAN. You are all aware of the recent change in status of the planet Mars. Until recently you had been charged with keeping order on our great planet. That proud duty has now fallen to the Martian Security Service, the MSS, of which I am assistant commissioner. Commissioner Foveaux and I would like to offer all of you the opportunity to serve in the MSS. Your knowledge and experience will be invaluable to us. We understand that taking up this offer will present you with significant difficulties. You’ve all sworn an oath to the USAN, which you would necessarily have to break in order to join us.