by M. D. Cooper
A quick review showed that most were highly mobile, with only projectile and light rail weaponry. However, several dozen sported heavier guns, and two were tagged by the scan drones as light tanks. Even so, the Marines were still looking at ten-to-one odds.
Almost fair, Williams thought with a grim smile.
He flipped his vision to the corporal’s feed, and saw her fire on one of the insectile bots.
The pair of Marines advanced on the node chamber, both eschewing the stairs that led up to the entrance, and instead leaping to the catwalk that surrounded the node chamber. A bot raced into the open, firing on Cassar, and the private dropped, turning to return fire.
Williams switched his HUD to show the view from the private’s drones. They passed through the entrance and into the node chamber, which was dominated by the NSAI’s three-meter cube in the center. Supplies and gear were stacked around the room’s perimeter, and two prone forms were visible next to a pile of crates.
The leading edge was about to get a view of the rear of the chamber, when an EM surge knocked them out.
Without pause, the corporal swung down through the entrance and slammed her back into the node. She lobbed a concussive grenade around one side while Murphy followed suit, sending his own grenade around the far side.
Williams allowed his attention to momentarily shift to the fight raging through the rest of the facility.
The Marines were slowly wearing down the numbers of bots, their stealth gear providing enough of an edge to take down the enemy machines. A few members of the platoon had taken minor injuries, and Mishra’s fireteam was out of commission, their armor locked up by an EM bomb.
The rest of squad three was moving into position to keep them safe, while at the node, Cassar moved into the chamber while Cheng covered the entrance.
Seconds later, pulse grenades flew, and the Marines swept around the node. A flurry of weapons fire erupted, and ten seconds later, it was over.
the corporal announced.
Williams was still following her visual feed, and directed her to a small terminal.
Once it was finished, a control screen appeared in the air above the console, and Jansen set to work disabling the army of bots attacking the rest of the Marines.
The staff sergeant nodded. In the upper right hand of the display was a small triple-S glyph, used by the Sanctity of the Sol System radicals.
he muttered.
The lieutenant made a small noise, and the staff sergeant turned to look at the officer.
The lieutenant snorted and slapped Williams on the shoulder.
THE HUNT IS ON
STELLAR DATE: 3227455 / 05.16.4124 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Division 99 Field Station
REGION: InnerSol, Sol Space Federation
A woman leant against a bulkhead, just inside the loading dock for Peachtree Metals’ Egeria Station, one foot braced against its patterned steel surface, deep auburn hair obscuring her downturned face. She seemed engrossed in a small handheld piece of equipment, oblivious to the activity going on around her as local dockworkers finished unloading the latest shipment.
The woman gave every appearance that she was just passing the time, oblivious to her surroundings as she waited for someone, perhaps one of the dockworkers, to clock out at the end of his shift.
MICI agent Janiss Jones knew that was not the case.
From her darkened office more than an AU away, Jones surfed through the various holocams, seeking a security feed that might give the agent a better view of the woman loitering in the quickly-clearing area. She grunted in annoyance when it became apparent there wasn’t one, certain that this was by design.
The woman on the feed glanced around casually as the last pallet mover crossed in front of her, the dockworker controlling the oversized load following behind. Once both worker and equipment cleared the dock and exited into the warehouse beyond, the woman pushed away from the bulkhead and carelessly palmed the device she held.
Jones switched cameras to get a better view of the loading dock. As she suspected, it was now empty save for the lone woman. The agent saw her target sweep the area with a casual glance before lifting the unit in her hand and thumbing a sequence into it. Instantly, the holofeeds Jones was monitoring flickered. When the images returned, the auburn-haired woman was no longer in view.
On except all but one.
“Guess you weren’t thorough enough,” Jones said as she dismissed the other views, her mouth sliding into a predatory smile. “Didn’t realize MICI had surveillance on Peachtree, did you? Or that it runs on an isolated system, completely separate from the station’s networks.” She clicked her tongue in mock dismay as she leant toward the holoscreen, anticipation playing across her spare features.
Jones dropped a flag on that section of the feed. If her investigation was correct, things were about to get interesting.
She watched as the woman paused once more to confirm she was alone in the dock, then strode purposefully toward an area filled with as-yet-unclaimed cargo. The redhead snagged a maglev pallet jack from where several were lined up against a bulkhead, and then continued on without breaking stride, her motions smooth and economical.
She stopped at a pile of unmarked crates, slid the jack beneath the pallet, and began pulling it back the way she came.
Jones freezed the recording and highlighted the digital lading bill attached to the top crate, accessing its metadata. Her fist clenched in triumph as the results overlaid atop the image: the crates’ provenance did indeed trace back to the same shell corporation that had sourced the explosives. The same matériel that caused the destruction Diskers had wrought three months ago on Ganymede.
She added the information to the case file, making careful note of the timestamp on the recording. Then she released the freeze and followed the redhead, skipping between surveillance cameras until the woman came to the slip where her ship was berthed.
Drumming her f
ingers thoughtfully against a long-cold mug of coffee, Jones cross-referenced the slip number with the station’s records. Another overlay appeared, divulging the identity of the ship tethered to the station.
The SDMS Damus was a merchanter out of Makemake, owned by a mining corporation, ostensibly to haul freight insystem, transport goods for trade or sale.
The agent snorted her derision. She’d been an agent for decades and had seen it all—warships masquerading as freighters, freighters posing as pleasure yachts, and pleasure yachts hiding a piratical underbelly.
This ship, the Damus, looked exactly like what it claimed to be: a single-operator freight hauler. What she could see over the feed suggested the craft had seen better days. She could just make out a grey and pitted hull where the ship hitched up against the station.
Ship’s registry stated its keel had been laid more than a hundred years earlier, although maintenance records showed the ship met all spaceworthiness requirements.
Jones’ mouth twisted in distaste; she preferred her transport to have been built within the current century.
A sound alerted the MICI agent she was no longer alone. Freezing the image, she pivoted to face her superior.
Harm Ellis nodded to indicate the holo, his gaze never leaving Jones’ face. “What’s this?” he asked. “Reviewing more old footage? I told you, there’s no need. It’s done, Janiss. Everyone makes mistakes. Now move on.”
Jones’ lips thinned as her jaw tightened. “Not me.” Her head jerked to the image of the woman on the holo. “I had a perfect record. Perfect. And she ruined it. Now I have the opportunity to rectify that, and I intend to see it through.”
Harm’s brows pinched, and he brought his hands together, chin propped on the tips of his fingers. “Don’t you mean you have the opportunity to get justice for the hundreds who died from the explosion you were too late to stop?”
Her shoulder twitched in annoyance. “Of course. That too.”
“But it’s mainly a point of pride for you,” Harm suggested. “That perfect record marred by—”
“By Disker scum like her! Station rats. Vermin,” she spat. “Last time I checked, having pride in your work isn’t a federal offense. And if it helps to wrap up a cold case, then, well, two birds and all.”
Harm tilted his head back and looked at the overhead as if it might magically answer a question only he knew. After a moment, he let his eyes fall back to Jones, his arms dropping to his sides. “Have you traced the ship yet? Know where it is?”
Jones shook her head. “Not yet, but that’s next on my list. If I find it, do I have your permission to pursue?”
Harm’s gaze returned to the frozen holoimage, his expression unreadable. “Send me the details once you locate the ship—if you locate it—and I’ll let you know. Until then, you have three active cases to work on. I’d better not see any indication they’re being neglected because of some personal vendetta. Understood?”
Jones twitched her head in a short nod, schooling her face to match that of her handler.
“I’m assigning you a partner,” Harm said abruptly. “Bertrand’s just been onboarded, so you’ll need to show him the ropes. He’ll be accompanying you on the next few operations, to get a better feel for the fieldwork.”
Janiss felt her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare at this bit of unwelcome news.
Harm smirked. “Yeah, it’ll be harder for you to go off the reservation with a witness around. Not that you ever would, even if you do manage to track down that ship,” he qualified.
The knowing look that crossed his face was a clear warning. It told her he didn’t believe his own words.
Harm knew her too well, had been her handler for more than half her career. He knew her flash temper, realized better than anyone the hit her pride had taken. Her decades-old record had been tarnished by her failure to stop the woman in that holo from delivering those explosives.
It more than rankled. It burned inside her like a living thing.
Harm turned for the door. “If you do manage to locate that ship, you’d better have enough evidence to make your accusation stick before you go after her. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly,” she bit out, the word clipped as if she were too stingy to give it room to fully form. “And don’t worry—there will be.”
Harm nodded before stepping through the door. He paused, heaved a sigh, and shook his head. “Good thing Tanis isn’t around to see this,” he muttered, before exiting the room.
Her brow creased at the words, but then she dismissed them, turning once more to stare at the figure frozen on her holoscreen.
“You’re mine, Katelyn Evans. You just don’t know it yet.” Jones smiled savagely. “You and your sister are going down.”
BREAK CAMP
STELLAR DATE: 3227470 / 05.31.4124 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Aurelian Forest, Teka Continent
REGION: Venus, InnerSol, Sol Space Federation
“Sweet fucking stars below, Perez! Why is it that you always need my boot up your damned ass to get anything done?” Gunnery Sergeant Williams swore at the laggardly private.
Perez flashed a grin in response. “Dunno, Gunny. Maybe I like it there.”
“Oh, do you? Wanna see if I can fit two between your cheeks? Get in the mess. Now! We have a briefing.”
Perez didn’t stop grinning as he hopped to his feet and sprinted across the camp to the mess tent, where the other Marines were already assembled.
Williams shook his head. Perez was the laziest, least responsible Marine he’d ever had the privilege of babysitting in the corps, but he loved him like a son—the kind of son that you wish would get his damn act together and stop sleeping with all the neighbors’ girls and selling their jewelry for drug money.
Still, Perez had never let him down in a fight, and when it came down to it, that was what mattered most. Following orders and protecting your teammates. After making sure to point the rifle at the enemy, those were rules two and three.
Williams walked across the camp, his keen eyes surveying everything around him. Shirts hanging on a line, powered armor racked—most correctly, some not. A pair of boots knocked over outside a tent. Two sentries who looked like they were coming in from the wrong direction.
The man and woman saw Williams giving them the hairy eyeball, and suddenly felt the need to go in separate directions.
Williams didn’t mind the men and women under him catching some sack time together, or the women and women, or men and men. He didn’t give a shit. But this was a combat mission, and there were real enemy soldiers out there.
He made a note to mention his concerns to Staff Sergeant Jenkin. No need to let the officers know—unless this wasn’t the first time.
He looked over the firebase one more time, taking a moment to absorb the raw beauty of Venus, which lay just beyond Bravo Company's tents. With its deep-green foliage, crystal blue skies, and misty white clouds, you could mistake the world for Earth—that is, if humanity's homeworld had a fraction of its current population.
Having assured himself that everything in his immediate eyeline was in passable condition, Williams entered the mess tent and strode to the front, where he took his place beside the newly minted Staff Sergeant Green.
After his platoon's return to the 242nd Marines, Williams had been promoted from staff sergeant of the Fourth Platoon to Bravo Company's gunnery sergeant. Similarly, Green had received a field promotion to staff sergeant by Lieutenant Colonel Ender, the regiment’s XO.
“All assembled, Gunny,” Green reported as Williams
reached his side.
“Don’t tell me, tell the LT. That’s your job now. I’m just here for moral support,” Williams grunted.
“Lieutenant Grenwald,” Staff Sergeant Green nodded to the LT. “The platoon is assembled.”
The lieutenant nodded to Green and faced the assembled men and women.
“Our little bit of R&R on the Intrepid is over. It’s time to get back to doing our jobs. While we were away, someone in the Sol Space Federation government decided that playing nice with these separatists on Venus was the right move. Well, they took that as an invitation to overrun the city of Tarja. They’ve now claimed it as their capital, and we can’t have that.”
Lieutenant Grenwald brought up the city on a portable holographic projector and walked around it.
“The city is loaded with civilians, some eleven million of them, and Fleet Intel doesn’t know who is for and against the separatists. Kill drones have been ruled out—they want the keen eye of the corps to tell friend from foe. What we do know is where they’ve set up several of their garrisons and command facilities, and we’re going to have the privilege of hitting one of their garrisons.”
As he spoke, the holo lit up various structures in the city, and drew a circle around their target.
“We can’t take our birds in—they have too many anti-aircraft emplacements set up—and the brass doesn’t want to call down an orbital strike with all the civvies around, so it’s a run job.”
Williams watched the Marines soak in the information. Their camp was three hundred and ten kilometers from the city, close to the territory controlled by the Venus Freedom Alliance—or the “Veefs”, as the Marines had come to call them. That meant slogging it on foot the whole way; though their powered armor would get them there and in position before the next dawn.
“We have solid intel on their patrols out there, but we also know that they have good electronic camouflage, so our eyes in the sky may not have a clear picture. Once we’re out there, everything is suspect. There will be no safe areas. Our target is one of the farthest from our current position, so we’re first up. We break camp at dusk today.”