“What have you done to me?”
The machine ignored him and instead reached for the material. It caught the edge and yanked it away to reveal pale new flesh. Spartan stumbled back a step at seeing his arm once more, the forearm, muscle, bone, hand, and fingers. They were all there.
“What? How?”
“New flesh is the first of your gifts.”
The machine then looked back to the lines of machines. They all waited in silence, and it would have been perfectly reasonable if every single one of them had been an empty shell.
“What are my other gifts?”
The machine indicated toward the waiting horde.
“You will advise and lead our warriors into this domain. Together, we shall have our revenge and our age of enlightenment.”
Spartan lifted his hand up in front of his face. He could move the fingers just as before, even though there was a slight tingling sensation in his muscles and tendons. He thought back of the battle on board the Rift Engine and then to Helios and beyond.
“Yes, the worlds of the Helios. Tell us of your people. Where are they strongest?”
Spartan looked at his hand and then to them. He could feel his mind nagging and clawing as though there was something he could simply not remember.
“Terra Nova is their capital. Destroy it, and human resistance will crumble.”
The machine turned to one of its comrades and then again to Spartan.
“What of the human military? What is their weakness?”
Spartan lifted the corner of his mouth in amusement.
“Compassion. Threaten civilian colonies, and they will risk everything. The humans will not willingly sacrifice themselves for victory.”
“Good,” said the machine, “We have been waiting for a champion to lead our soldiers into the new domains.”
He pointed to other figures off in similar locations to himself. He noted that one was a Byotai and another a Helion. There were others, but they were too far away.
“Despair will follow as each of you returns home at the head of our legions. Lay waste to all, and prepare the ground for our arrival.”
Spartan nodded slowly in agreement. He hadn’t noticed until now, but this machine bore a mark, a black symbol in an unfamiliar script. He pointed at the imagery.
“What are these marks?”
The machine looked at him for a moment, assessing his posture and mannerism.
“They are the mark of Taxxu.”
That meant nothing to Spartan, and even less when the machine opened up. He’d seen this before, the odd metal protective suit that housed the brain and surviving functions of these ancient creatures. As this one opened, he could see the innards of this machine were like those of an animal. As the metal peeled back, it revealed flesh, bone, and tissue. It was as if he were looking inside a beetle.
“I don’t understand.”
From the shadow came another machine, this one almost identical in design and also red in color. It moved alongside its comrade and turned to face Spartan.
“We are the nine-hundred and twelve. The last of the Ghost Warriors, our limitless bodies remain on our ships, each waiting for the chance to bring about the end of time to these creatures.”
Spartan could feel the hate in the machine’s voice.
“We are nine-hundred and twelve, and our souls remain hidden and safe, where they will be guarded until the ends of time. The nine-hundred and twelve will fight across the Great Seal and beyond.”
Spartan nodded as if understanding. It was the voice of Z’Kanthu though that he could hear deep inside his mind.
“Discover their weakness. Where is their heart?”
Spartan had always assumed the Biomechs would have a leader, a commander or lead ship. Now he knew little more than he had a month earlier. Z’Kanthu had explained on multiple occasions how the Biomechs had been unable or unwilling to create new offspring since the Great Biomech War. They trusted nobody, not even their servants, and a new generation would create another risk, perhaps one that could finally destroy them.
So, there are less than a thousand of you. I can live with those odds.
He looked at the machines and smiled in agreement while clenching his fists, both his normal hand and his new gift.
* * *
ANS Warlord, 3 Days from Micaya
Admiral Anderson rubbed his forehead and looked at the group of exhausted men and women. The officers' mess was normally a place for relaxation and discussing the day's events. Now it was simply a place to learn of the latest in terrible events. The long table was laid out with trays and a mixture of bland looking food, none of which the Admiral seemed particularly impressed with. Around the table sat an odd collection of officers, as well as representatives from the Helion, Byotai, and Khreenk. He should have been maintaining his interest in them, but it was the latest report on his secpad that kept his attention. For what seemed like an age, he examined the data before putting it down and resting his hands down onto the table. With a final, long breath he beckoned to the other end of the table. The others hushed, all expecting to hear some terrible news.
"Khan."
"Admiral?"
The warrior answered with a dulled, almost emotionless voice, but Anderson could feel the bitterness that lay just below the surface. Since the fighting at the Rift, he had been a changed man, perhaps made worse by his new and unwanted responsibility.
"How are your troops?"
Khan sighed for a moment.
"The medical crews have done their best. We still lost nearly twenty percent of them in the battle. Another five percent have died over the last five weeks since the attack. All of the Black Ships are functional but damaged."
The Admiral moved his head just a fraction in acknowledgement.
"And with our victory at the Rift, we lost Z'Kanthu and Spartan. That was not what I wanted. Are the others still loyal? I’ve been hearing rumors."
Khan almost seemed offended at the implication. Admiral Anderson could see the hurt, but he needed to know, one way or the other.
“Tell me.”
Khan’s brow tightened as he answered.
"The Biomech commanders pledged themselves to operate under the chain of command provided by Spartan. I was next in line, so as long as I am alive, they will follow me. After me, it follows on to Teresa."
A few of the other officers looked at him, as he explained the last point. One began to speak at the mention of Spartan’s wife, but a three-dimensional model of a female officer appeared right in the center of the table and stopped him in mid-sentence.
"Captain Decker, what can I do for you?"
The older, stern looking woman barely moved a muscle in her face as she spoke.
"Admiral, you requested daily updates on the Black Rift. I have reports in from the Guardians."
"And?"
"Nothing has changed, Admiral. The Rift is still a mess. Nothing goes in or comes out. Our engineers have recovered what they can from the flotsam out there. There’s not much worth spending time on.”
She ran her hand over her chin.
“But here is one thing that might be of interest to you. It just came in over the wire from Admiral Churchill."
The Admiral raised an eyebrow, but that was the limit of his apparent interest. He suspected it was the same news he’d just seen on his secpad.
"The war barges from Sol, Admiral. I don't know how he did it, but Admiral Churchill has transferred two to Prometheus, and three more are coming through the T'Karan Rift in the next hour. He must have had teams on continuous shifts to get that done."
Anderson smiled ever so slightly.
“I’m more interested in knowing how he got ships from Mars and Earth out of Earthsec territory, past Terra Nova, and then on to Prometheus. That is something of a miracle.”
“He’d also managed to rustle up another three transports of troops. This time they’re volunteers from Carthago.”
Just mentioning the name
of that fearsome world had an odd effect on the group. Carthago was known for more than just its soldiers and fighting spirit. There were as many reasons to take help from that colony, as there were to avoid it.
“More mercs?”
The Captain nodded.
“Afraid so, Sir. With the negative press from Terra Nova, I’m surprised we’re getting any volunteers for the front now.”
"Good. Contact their commander and have them brought here. They will be a useful addition to the gate defenses."
It was a minor series of reinforcements, but it did confirm one thing to the other officers. The Rift to T’Karan was open, and that meant ships and troops could now be transported from the Alliance worlds through to the Helios System. Admiral Anderson lifted his glass and took a sip of the fine port. It ran down his throat and left a warm, comfortable fleeing as it continued down his body. He placed the glass back down and then crashed his fist onto the table. Everybody, apart from Khan, jumped at the interruption.
“The enemy has fully withdrawn over half of its naval strength from the fighting at Spascia and Helios Prime. They’ve got enough there to keep us busy, and the rest is on its way towards Micaya. The first wave will hit in a week. Our engineers say they will have the Spascia Planetary Defense system operational within the week, but as you can see, all of this is building up to a perfect storm.”
A stunned murmur spread quickly through the group. The two Khreenk officers looked to each other and quietly talked. Finally, the taller one spoke through its translator.
“Our forces are not ready at Micaya. We were assured we had over a month to prepare.
“Yes, so were we all. Things change, and that is something every one of us should understand. It’s time to get this fleet together, and we need to be ready before the next attack.”
He looked at each of the officers, only some of which were actually from ANS Warlord. Most were from newly arrived ships, and two were even from the Byotai.
“The enemy will be at Micaya within the week, people, and you can guarantee that when we are fully engaged, they will try and reopen the Black Rift again. It is what they tried before, and the imagery taken by the boarding parties showed more of these Rift Engines. That is why we are going to go for broke.”
He looked at each of them with no expression visible on his face.
“Every ship we can spare must be sent to Micaya. I do not want to fight them just to protect the planet. I want a decisive space battle that will give us room to maneuver. Helios Prime and Spascia will manage with what they have coming in the next five days. Everything else; and I mean everything else, will go to Micaya.”
He tapped his hands, and the image in the center of the table changed to show the Helios System and its orbiting planets. He pointed at a cone that ran from Micaya back to the Black Rift.
“With the combined fleets from all of our races, we will smash their fleet decisively, and then redirect from Micaya directly back to the Black Rift. If they try and come in while we’re busy, they will be in for one hell of a shock.”
The door hissed open and in ran a sweaty looking officer. He wore the uniform of the Intelligence Division.
“Admiral, news just in from Director Johnson on Terra Nova.”
Even the Admiral was surprised to see then man barge in, even more so that he felt it reasonable to mention such important and presumably classified information in front of an unknown audience. He moved closer and then finally stopped.
“It’s on every public network. The President, he’s gone insane.”
Admiral Anderson raised an eyebrow, more in surprise that anybody might think otherwise.
“Show us.”
The man nodded and then moved to the control system for the table based three-dimensional projector. It flashed white and changed to a live feed from the Alliance Network News.
“This is Chuck Harolds, ANN Reporter live from the Alliance Prometheus Seven space station. Forty minutes ago, a group of intruders surrounded the sovereign station and demanded its surrender.”
The Admiral reached for his secpad and checked the validity of the source. Coded information from High Command was already just arriving, but there was also something from Director Johnson.
Trust the media to be there first.
The man on the videostream walked through the station, along with a small group of marines. Running toward them were technicians carrying sidearms and thermal shotguns. The reporter grabbed the first.
“What’s going on?”
“Terra Novan interior ministry soldiers are on board. Their killing whoever they find.”
The man pushed past but next was a grim looking marine. A single bullet must have struck his helmet because it left a crease along the left cheek.
“The Colonel gave them fair warning, so they opened fire. So far, they have taken three decks and killed eleven Alliance crew.”
“Why are they here and on whose orders?”
The man lifted his visor and looked directly into the reporter's head-mounted camera.
“President Harrison ordered the illegal attack. He’s killing Alliance citizens, that bastard.”
The video shifted to one side and another appeared of the area of space outside the station. It showed six ships. Each one looked ancient, but they all bore the markings of the Alliance as well as Terra Nova insignia.
“Who are they?” Anderson asked under his breath.
A series of bright blue lights marked the movement of Alliance fighters streaking past the ships, and the two exploded in a bright explosion. The effect on those watching was electrifying. Anderson looked to the intelligence officer and beckoned him to come closer.
“I need to speak to Director Johnson, immediately. Where is he?”
The man swallowed, but it wasn’t fear, it was anger.
“We’ve lost contact with the entire division, Admiral. Rumor has it that he and three senior military commanders were executed in the public square in the last few hours. We’ve only just received the news.”
Admiral Anderson looked down at the message that had only just decoded on his personal secpad. He nearly dropped it at seeing the few words.
Coup on the Capital. Harrison is going to shut down the Prometheus Rift. They are coming for me. Good luck, old friend.
He dropped his face into his hands. The news was nothing like he had expected. President Harrison was a power hungry politician, but he also knew there was no powerbase in the military for him. Only the politically motivated troops of Terra Nova could offer him much in the way of help.
“Get me Churchill. He’s the closest to all of this.”
He then looked to the others.
“None of this affects our operation. Micaya first, then the Black Rift.”
* * *
Prometheus Seven Outpost, Prometheus Sector
Lieutenant Young ran down the corridor with his squad close by. A straggle of survivors came toward him, some with terrible wounds inflicted by coilguns. He’d been on the move for three minutes now after securing the third sector landing deck. Reports came in from across the station as infiltrators penetrated hidden shafts and vents to hide their movement.
“Lieutenant, the command center has fallen. We’re withdrawing to the primary passageway,” said the Colonel over the intercom.
“Understood, Sir. We’re a few more seconds out. Hang in there!”
They kept going, each of them puffing and panting, but still the gunfire could be heard not so far away. They rounded the next bend, and the passageway ran straight into a much wider section. This was one of the old levels that provided access to the lavish apartments, now research labs. Doors ran along the sides, but it was the colored glass ceiling that made the place stand out. It was truly stunning and both wide and high. Two men in black armor stepped out and took aim.
“Drop ‘em?”
The marines didn’t even stop and simply lifted their weapons to their shoulders and fired while sidestepping to confused
the return fire. Only three rounds came back before both of the Terran Novan soldiers were cut down. Right behind them came five technicians plus Colonel Pierce. He moved slowly while helping another carrying a wounded cadet. Gunshots took chunks out of the wall as they moved from the corner and headed in the direction of Lieutenant Young.
“Colonel, over here!”
The wide and beautifully detailed passageway could have accommodated three Maulers in a long column, and the tall, intricately carved columns on each side provided the only cover from the bullets traveling in both directions. A single man in black appeared, and then more, as the pursuers entered the corridor and fanned out.
“Marines, cover them!”
The squad broke formation and scattered to the sides. From the relative safety of the columns, they were able to put down a withering hail of fire. The Colonel used that moment of respite for one last spurt with his people. They made it just as the black armored soldiers took the other end of the corridor. One went forward and pushed a large hexagonal plate in front of him. As he moved, the plate made a grinding sound, and smaller sections expanded out to create a substantial shield. Another moved up and did the same, creating a wall of armor for the soldiers to advance behind.
“What the hell is that, some kind of pavise?” Lieutenant Young muttered.
Colonel Pierce dropped down next to the officer and looked back at the enemy.
“They came here well prepared. We were holding them off till they brought up stun grenades and shields. Looks like they brought the full set of riot gear for this one.”
A loud bang caught their attention. Both looked back and watched a door blast out behind them; a small group of black armored troopers appeared. They didn’t wait and quickly threw themselves at the few marines still fighting. Gunfire lashed between them, as well as fists and bayonets. The group quickly spread amongst the defenders, but one in particular made for Colonel Pierce. Two others followed him, swinging their carbines like clubs to smash their way through. They fought hard, but weight of numbers quickly overpowered the marines until just four remained standing against Lieutenant Dobbs and his entourage. They finally stopped and moved up around their commander, taking aim at the two officers and two wounded marines.
Star Crusades Nexus: Book 09 - The Black Rift Page 7