Steel Storm (Steel Legion Book 2)

by Casey Calouette

  Colonel Cole Clarke, commanding officer of the 19th Armored Cavalry Regiment, paced around the hull of the tank. He leaned down and studied the roadwheels. "And it's based on a tractor?"

  "It's a cost-saving measure," Pablo Martinez, the CEO of the Martinez Group, said softly. "We don't have the time to design a complete chassis from scratch. This should suit your needs well enough. It's our most popular agricultural model. We call this the Chariot chassis."

  Colonel Clarke stood straight. He glanced at Martinez and then crossed his arms on his chest. "Chariot, eh? What are the faults?"

  Pablo cocked his head, and a wire-thin smile appeared. "You're not one to be baffled by bullshit, eh?"

  "I have to ride in one of these too, Pablo. It's my ass as well."

  "Indeed," Pablo said dryly. "The armor isn't as thick as the Sigg model. The main cannon has a lower rate of fire. The crew compartment lacks certain, hmm, amenities, and it, uh, it can only operate for two weeks."

  Colonel Clarke looked up at Pablo and shook his head. "Two weeks? Not enough. The Sigg unit—"

  "The Sigg model uses a reactor core that we can't get. It's simply a better design. Now, after two weeks you have to recharge the core. We'll provide a charging unit, of course."

  "Of course," Colonel Clarke said. He turned back to the tank.

  "It has a lower profile, a larger main cannon, better Anti-Artillery interception, more horsepower, and I'd like to say it's more durable. Plus it boasts a 60 percent stargate transit efficiency."

  "How?" Colonel Clarke was skeptical; stargate efficiency was a huge force modifier. The more efficient it was, the more tanks could go through.

  "The main armor plate isn't activated until you're on the other side."

  "Activated?" Colonel Clarke said. He cocked his head. "You transit a gate without armor?"

  "If you know you're going into a firefight, you can prepare the armor ahead. Otherwise, once you're on the other side, you mix water with a proprietary blend of materials and it solidifies into a very durable plate."

  Colonel Clarke rubbed his chin and studied the armor. He tapped it. It echoed back with a hollow sound like a steel drum.

  The tank was lower than the Sigg models. The main gun was on a ball pivot, with a narrow track that disappeared into the hull. The lines weren't nearly as graceful as the Sigg. It was blocky, with unground welds and foundry marks.

  Mule, Clarke thought.

  Commander Ahmed Arap marched into the hangar with Major Bresov at his side. Their footsteps echoed through the darkness.

  "What do you think of it?" Clarke said. He stepped away from the vehicle and stood beside Pablo.

  Arap leaned back on his heels and nodded. "Fucking ugly."

  "It looks like a tractor," Major Bresov said.

  Pablo smiled. "Pending approval by the 6th Army, we can begin deliveries shortly."

  Major Bresov cleared her throat. "About that."

  Arap grinned and showed his teeth. "Colonel, the duke is waiting. If we don't go soon, we'll be late."

  Colonel Clarke took the cue. He shook Pablo's hand. "Soon, I'm sure."

  "Of course."

  The officers walked through the empty space.

  "What's the problem?" Clarke said.

  "Officially we're part of the 6th Army; however, we're attached to the Kalivostok Militia. So, technically, we're part of their supply train."

  "And?"

  "And so must go through their logistics group."

  Clarke groaned. "Bureaucrats."

  "There's been some issues," Arap said.

  Clarke pushed his way through the door and into the warm air. It took his breath away for a moment. Pollen. Grass. Flowers. It still felt so strange compared to the sterile air on Lishun Delta. Though he'd be on Squire soon, and it wasn't nearly as pleasant. "Issues, eh?"

  Private Auroch and Private Cunningham saluted and followed close behind the officers. They walked toward a transport vehicle.

  "We're having disciplinary issues, sir," Major Bresov said. "Fighting, drunkenness, insubordination. They're not coming to formations. Discipline is slipping, sir."

  "If they can't fight it, fuck it, drink it, steal it, or bet on it, they ain't interested," Arap said.

  "I have no issue returning the unit to a penal stance. If they act like criminals, they'll be treated that way. Pass word to the COs, let them explain it. We'll inform everyone else afterward. Now, what else?"

  They climbed into the transport. The escorts stood in the front, and the driver gently pulled out into traffic.

  "There were two incidents on Squire," Arap said. "First was inbound from a neutral transit point. Vek smugglers. We ended up with a firefight."

  "Casualties?"

  Arap shook his head.

  "What were they smuggling?"

  "They were found with surveillance equipment and, uh, climbing gear."

  Colonel Clarke stared out the window and watched the pastoral greenery drift by. It still felt unreal to him, like the edge of a dream. "Refer it to Planetary. Not our issue."

  Squire was the outbound transit planet for the Kalivostok star system. Kalivostok was the fourth planet, nearly Earthlike. Squire, the fifth planet, was marginally habitable. While Kalivostok was a pristine world of green, Squire was a dumping ground—an industrial world, but also a buffer zone. Though no one much worried. The star systems Squire connected to were unaffiliated and eventually led to controlled space or barren worlds with no atmosphere. It was as close to a dead end as one could get.

  "One more thing, sir," Major Bresov said. "The independent colony Billings was, uh..." She stopped and seemed at a loss for words.

  "Depopulated," Arap said. He handed a slate over to Colonel Clarke and keyed up a video from a helmet camera.

  Colonel Clarke watched the brief video. "Kadan?"

  "Maybe."

  "Why didn't they continue to Squire?"

  Major Bresov pulled out her slate and called up a star chart. "Billings was occluded by three other star systems. Only recently did it become available for a gate."

  "Get this to VASCOM. Immediately. Ask the general, kindly, if he could get me my goddamn tanks." Colonel Clarke stared back out the window. He set his jaw, clenched his teeth, and replayed the video in his head. Bone.

  He mulled on it. The Kadan were probing, working in closer. They couldn't penetrate at Lishun Delta. So what then? Another way through? Though one question nagged him. Why would they continue to push the border? And what border would they push next?

  #

  Chapter Three

  Vasilov Prime, Vasilov System

  Vasilov Central Hospital

  The hospital room hummed with the life of machines. It was a tight space, constricted, with a single bed in the center. Tubes, wires, cords, and electrodes ran up to Lady Atli. Her eyes were clear; they darted about the room.

  Captain Umi Matsuo stood at the threshold of the door.

  Doctor Koski walked over to him. "She's conscious. We recommended a sedative, but she won't have it."

  "Is this the end?" Umi said.

  Koski glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe. She's proven us wrong before. She's a fighter."

  Lady Atli turned her head. A weak smile broke her cracked lips. She tried to raise a hand, but it just fell back onto the bed.

  Umi walked over slowly and put on a smile. It was a smile that people reserved for the sick, the grieving, or the dead. He stood at the side of her bed and squeezed her hand.

  "Umi," Lady Atli said. Her voice was a whisper beyond a shadow.

  He looked down and was at a loss for words. She was so frail. Only the sharpness of her eyes betrayed her impending death. He cleared his throat and sat in a blocky hospital chair. "Lady Atli."

  Lady Atli struggled to sit up but couldn't and fell back onto the pillow. "Terra. Are you going?"

  "I leave tomorrow."

  She licked her lips and coughed. It was a sick sound, a deep growl from inside her chest. For a second her ey
es dimmed. "The Order knows you are coming. I sent word."

  Umi felt the weight of the necklace. A debt for the dead. A woman died saving his life. She asked for two things: for them to hold the line, and for her necklace to be returned to Terra. Inside of the necklace were the battle plans that had let them save Lishun Delta. It contained personal data as well, but he couldn't bring himself to try and access it.

  "Remember." She coughed again. "They are still men and women. They make mistakes. Use your own judgment. Follow your heart." The strain of speaking silenced her, and she simply breathed.

  Umi looked away. He'd grown to know the old woman in the months since Lishun Delta. She was a flinty old thing, sharp on the edges, hard on the inside, but honed to a purpose. At all costs, she told him, do the right thing.

  "The Emflife won't stop, Umi. Not here. Not now." Her voice was pleading. She tried to raise up once again. "Make them know. They have to know, they have to!"

  "Shh shh," Umi said. He leaned close to her.

  "Don't shh me!" she said with a bit more strength in her voice. She struggled up onto her elbows; her eyes were strong. She grasped his hand with a claw-like grip. "You tell that son of a bitch Wilhelm. Tell him we need help!"

  Lady Atli fell back down onto the bed, and alarms sounded. Her eyelids fluttered beneath parchment-thin eyelids.

  Umi felt himself pushed back as doctors and nurses rushed in. He stepped away and left the room, where it now felt altogether too loud. He felt something in his hand, but he didn't want to look. The urgency in her eyes had struck him, and he felt it in his chest.

  Captain Kolich walked up, with Kelly Dell at his side. Umi shook his head at them and turned away. The moment was too raw for him to speak. Not now. He needed his space. Funny, he thought, on the battlefield I saw death countless times. Now an old woman is passing, and I'm almost in tears.

  Help. Did they really need it? They were dozens of stargates away. Terra was almost a legend out on the fringe. What could they really offer? But most of all, Umi wondered, what can I do about it?

  He stood, helpless in the hall, and waited. He thought of his journey, of Lady Atli, and felt the weight in the palm of his hand.

  Doctor Koski stepped out and peeled off a surgical mask. His face wore an expression of relief. "She's a tough one. Not her time yet, but Captain, it could come at any moment."

  Captain Kolich grasped Umi's elbow and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Umi. Is she..." His words trailed off.

  "Not yet."

  "We're ready, Cap," Kelly Dell said. Her muscled and tattoo-covered arms stood out against the stark plainness of the hospital ward. "First gate opens at 0800. Vik and Vaughn are ready. Tollefson is staying here with her."

  "A vigil," Umi mumbled.

  "I'm coming," Kolich said.

  "The hell you are," Umi said. "This is my group. We're not under contract anymore."

  Kolich stepped close. He was built like a wedge of muscle and bone. He barely came to Umi's shoulder, but every bit of him was tense. "This is my home. These are my people. I've got more at stake here than a group of Sigg."

  Umi sighed and turned away. He squeezed the pendant. Terra. Mankind. Not just Sigg or Vasilov. It was heavy in his hand, warm, a reminder of his duty.

  Captain Kolich turned and stomped away.

  "Very diplomatic of you, Cap," Kelly said. She cracked a piece of hard candy in her mouth.

  Umi walked slowly to the door of Lady Atli's room and stared inside. Then he opened his hand and looked down at her pendant. Earth. Terra. The unmistakable orb that everyone throughout human space could recognize. His duty now.

  He looked back up at Lady Atli. Time. How much time? The Vasilov Army had beat back every attack through Lishun Delta, and now it all seemed quiet. But as he'd learned long ago while fighting the Boben, quiet just meant they were getting ready.

  "Kelly, are we traveling with weapons?"

  Kelly grinned and cracked the candy once more. "Until they take 'em away, Cap."

  Umi nodded. "See you at 0800."

  Kelly stood for a second as if ready to salute and then turned and walked away.

  Umi looked back into the hospital room. "Good-bye."

  Then he squeezed the pendant tight and walked out.

  #

  Chapter Four

  IWX-764 System

  Chella Corporation Orbital Habitation Station

  Captain Horace Toro, the first—and-only—human starship captain, swaggered into the room. He ran a dirty hand along the smoke-stained wall. The edge of a table caught him off guard. He stumbled and crashed against a heap of old ration crates. "Oh God."

  "You're drunk," Willy Kane said. He was a young man with a sunburnt face and muscled shoulders. His hands were calloused like a sheet of silicon carbide.

  "He's always drunk," Sasha Kane said. Her complexion was like her brother's, but her build slight. In another place she'd have been considered beautiful, but now she just looked overworked and worn thin.

  Horace struggled to stand, but every time he levered his overweight body, the boxes collapsed.

  "What are we doing? Find another buyer." Sasha watched in disgust.

  Willy Kane kicked the boxes. Horace tumbled to the floor and groaned. "Last chance, fat man."

  Horace snarled and jabbed a half finger at Willy. "I drove a starship once! You can't talk to me like that!"

  Sasha Kane shook her head and walked to the door. "I didn't spend three years sifting through alien junk for this piece of shit."

  "Wait!" Horace said. "Wait, God, pour me a drink?"

  Willy sat against the edge of the table. He crossed his arms and shook his head. "Money. Now."

  Horace wiped the spit from his face and rubbed it against his grubby jacket. A wide yellow streak announced where a curry had landed earlier. His clothes were stained with sweat and his skin had a brown, oily sheen. Nothing about the captain looked well kept. "Is it real?"

  "It's real," Willy said flatly.

  "Where are they?" Horace struggled to his feet.

  "Polov's Star."

  "Let me see."

  Willy nodded to Sasha. She produced a small, ruby cube and then tucked it back into her jacket.

  "Data integrity?"

  "Best we've ever seen."

  "Does anyone know?"

  "Of course not. Who the hell would care, anyways? It came out of a wreck, an antique. Hell, it's older than an antique," Willy said. "That fleet's long gone. Hell, the data is a hundred thousand years old. Ain't shit floating in space."

  "How do you know?" Horace said. He smiled and narrowed his eyes.

  Willy rubbed his chin. "What do you know?"

  Horace grinned and said nothing.

  "What's your bid?"

  "Ten grand."

  Willy shook his head. "You fuckin' with me? Huh? Are you fucking serious?"

  Horace caught himself on the edge of the table. "Twenty grand, and I can pay now."

  Willy narrowed his eyes and then stood. "Let's go. The Ken-Ashi will pay."

  "No, no!" Horace fell to the floor and locked his hands onto Willy's leg. "I have the money!"

  "Too late," Willy said. He pulled his leg free and stepped over Horace.

  Sasha reached down to open the door. It slammed open and blasted her across the room. In an instant, a black shape rushed in with two blades drawn.

  Willy drew a fat-barreled pistol. On one side of the pistols slide an ivory tiger snarled. He fired and the concussion roared.

  Sasha screamed.

  The assailant was wreathed in black. Its eyes were dead, like rusted gears. Its blades were simple things, things of grace, beauty, and violence. It cocked a blade, pointed it at Sasha, and spoke. "Give."

  "Fuck you." Willy fired again.

  The round slammed into the side of the attacker and tore out a section of the dark cloth. Beneath, it looked like raw iron, cold and hard. The attacker glanced down and took a step ahead.

  Willy brandished a sle
nder, crystalline blade and leveled it at the attacker.

  Horace scrambled on all fours and clambered through the filth of his apartment. His eyes were wild.

  Sasha groaned and tried to stand but collapsed. Blood streamed down from both nostrils. "Help me."

  Horace pushed her out of his way.

  Willy sliced down and feinted while he leveled the barrel of his pistol at the attacker.

  The attacker sliced one blade up and cut off the tip of the pistol while the other blade countered Willy's.

  "Help me!" Sasha said. She locked one hand onto Horace.

  Horace rolled onto his side and tried to push her away. He pried at her fingers. Then it hit him. The cube.

  Willy dodged low, punched out with the broken pistol and connected with the attacker. His movements were graceful, fluid, efficient. He stepped back and away from the attacker. "Horace! Get Sasha out!"

  Horace grinned past time-stained teeth and rifled his hands through Sasha's jacket. She struggled to get away. Horace just latched on tighter, and then he felt it. The cube. He pulled it out and gave it one quick glance.

  It was a style of cube he'd only seen once before: a navigational cube. Designed so long ago that even the older races didn't know who'd made them. Designed by the same people who'd actually made starships, not just the ones who'd used them. The edges were tarnished, one face scuffed, but it still sparkled with an effervescent light.

  Then Horace shoved Sasha hard. Her head cracked against the dirty concrete wall. Then he gave a look at Willy and put a swift kick into Sasha's stomach.

  "No!" Willy yelled.

  Horace rushed out of the heavy door, slammed it shut, and looked in just as the thing in black drove its blade through Willy.

  Willy fell to his knees with his eyes locked on Horace.

  Horace slammed the locking mechanism closed. Then he wedged in a rusted steel bar and stepped back. His heart raced and the alcoholic buzz slammed back in. He stumbled a bit and fell against the door.

  When he looked up, the dead eyes stared at him through the thick pane of vacuum-tempered glass.

  "Oh God!"

  Captain Horace Toro ran as quickly as a drunk could. The only thought on his mind was the cube. Because everyone else be damned, the cube would give him the stars. And that was the only thing Horace Toro wanted. To be a captain once again.