He turned his back on the imagery and instead looked to the rest of the Defeated, the remnants of the last war that wait for their orders. He despised them, those that had fled instead of fight. They were no different to him, other than being younger and more importantly, the survivors of the great defeat.
The Exiles have done their part without question, but the Defeated always want more. They can never succeed without bleating for help.
He looked back to One-Zero-One and noticed that the machine had fallen dormant for a second.
The Rift, he is unable to communicate with his Ghost Warrior. He should have kept his soul aboard the ship instead of with us. He has no place among us on Kha’Dri.
The machine began to move and then spoke.
“They have an active defense weapon on Helios Prime. Our ground forces will renew their assault within the hour.”
“This is irrelevant. They cannot fire continually. Keep fighting. I will send in the rest of the Defeated. You will end this…today, or die in the attempt.”
“What of the Great Seal, my lord? If they can collapse it, I will be unable to control this battle. Spartan and the others will also be unable to…”
“Your whining offends me. You have no place here on Kha’Dri. Your fate will rest with the other Defeated. I am sending for your mortal remains to be sent across the Great Seal to join you on your ship. See this as an incentive. Now go!”
He disconnected the communication channel and waited for the ships to begin their journey. It took some time, but finally the second wave of ships was making its way through the Rift. He then accessed the ancient computing Core and checked the location of the newly added flesh. He moved through them and isolated One-Zero-One.
There you are.
With a simple order, the machinery began the process of transferring the machine’s ancient remains to an automated transport.
Now, what of the others?
He began to look for the other souls as they called them. Before he could get much further, a report arrived from One-Zero-One’s battleship. He staggered back at what he had seen.
The traitors, they have joined battle.
The memory of the destruction of Du'Li still felt fresh. The loss of the machinery and Ghost Warrior bodies was one thing, but it was the destruction of the mortal remains of hundreds of his kin that still stunned him. The rebels had vaporized even the ancient Core in a final bloody action before they had escaped.
They must be destroyed.
With that thought, he cancelled the transfer of One-Zero-One.
Perhaps I will grant you a final chance for salvation. Destroy the traitors, and your position on Kha’Dri and of immortality will be yours. You remains will stay with us, and when your time comes, we will consider your transfer to the last great Core.
He turned his attention back to the rest of the Defeated. The motley collection of warships and transports slipped through until none remained but the two ancient Arks and the myriad of Tomb Ships.
That’s better. No, I shall wait and prepare for the next phase. The end will come soon enough, and we must be ready.
* * *
Battleship Retribution, Black Rift, Helios Sector
The first squads of Alliance marines had already broken through the port hangar bays. Spartan took two hits to his leg, but nothing was going to stop him from reaching the largest and most significant part of the ship’s interior. Two groups of Thegns split off to cover their approach as well as five Ghost Warriors. Ahead of Spartan was the vast curved shape of the arena and its intricate sculptures and markings.
Different entrance to last time.
This was something far grander than the way he'd entered the place before. As they ran up its length, he wondered if all the battleships were fitted out in this way, or it was just something for his own ship. He kept moving and noted that the boarding parties had now pushed a third their way into the ship. They were spread out and meeting resistance at every point. As he had predicted, their heavy infantry had taken the most direct route. It was the only point where his defending troops had been completely routed.
That's where they will be.
Spartan reached the top of the ramp and entered the structure. The mist was no longer there, and this time he could see halfway into the blackness. He glanced back to watch the crowd of hundreds of Thegns plus half of the seventy-five Ghost Warriors. For the briefest of moments, he suspected they might have held back to let him go at it alone. Two of the mechanical Ghost Warriors stopped alongside him as though about to question what he was doing. One was completely black, save for the scratched paintwork and armor. The second was shorter, with thick legs and two arms on one side. The other side was taken up by an odd gun arrangement that merged back into the armor.
"What?" he asked.
The machines said something in their own tongue that Spartan couldn't quite understand. The suit's sensors detected something, and he looked inside the arena to see multiple shapes ahead. At first he thought it was his Thegns, but then he spotted the larger shapes moving with them.
Jötnar!
Wheeled robots raced to the flanks, and even more Thegns were already taking high positions throughout the arena. Spartan took a step forward and then another. In seconds, he was moving at a fast walk to the center of the open space. The Ghost Warriors fanned out to create a thin wall just two warriors deep. There were gaps between them so that the Thegns could move freely. Gunfire licked down at them, but Spartan had already sent in eight squads of Thegns to attack those on the high ground. The taller, black armored machine spoke to Spartan.
"Do not betray us, Spartan. We are all watching you."
Spartan could feel the blood pumping, and the mere suggestion that he would betray anybody was too much. He swung his right arm low and smashed the blade into the center of the machine's torso. It grunted but that was enough. Spartan pointed both of his arms at the thing and thought the command to attack. Two blue pulses flashed out, and the machine disintegrated, sending chunks of metal and flesh across the ramp. He looked at the other Ghost Warriors that watched on in silence. Even the Thegns had stopped.
"Never, ever question my loyalty!"
He turned; presenting his back to them, and then pointed his bloodied right arm toward the enemy forces.
"Now…attack!"
The shapes ahead of them were becoming clearer as a skirmish line of Thegns charged ahead. Both sides reached a hundred meters when Spartan spotted their Thegns drops to the ground. At first he thought they had all been hit, and then one by one they opened fire. Massed railguns ripped into his own forces, and dozens of his Thegns were killed or wounded. Spartan kept on moving and aimed his arms at the targets. He could see all manner of foes, from the Jötnar encased in armor to the Vanguards, Marines, and the Thegns.
"There!"
Right behind them was the shape of a Biomech commander.
One of The Twelve.
"That is one of the traitors, the rebel Twelve. We will take their heads. Follow me!"
The hundred meters between the two sides was like no battle scene Spartan could ever have imagined. There was no cover, just a great open space with warriors on both sides trying to get to grips with the other. He made it to the first groups of Thegns and butchered three with a single cut. At a similar height to a Jötnar, he felt like a giant. Each time he swung his mechanical arms, he killed more of them. Marines scattered to avoid his attacks, but then he was amongst them. A SAAR robot tried to avoid him, but it was too late. With a quick step, he smashed his foot into the turret and yanked the front apart with his right arm. Pieces of metal flew in all directions. Two Vanguards followed next, and they opened fire at close range. The internal warnings flashed as impacts were registered.
"No, not today!"
Spartan took three steps to the right, ducked under the arms of one of the Vanguards, and then punched upward. The advanced Marine armor lifted off the ground and flew back to land flat on the ground. Spartan j
umped after it and stabbed his blades at its chest. Another arm blocked his path, and he twisted about to strike again and found himself face to face with a trio of Jötnar, each resplendent in crimson armor. Something akin to a powerful drug pumped through his veins as the suit pushed him on to greater feats. He recognized the face inside the armor, and it set his veins alight with anger.
"Khan!" he hissed through his teeth.
He stabbed once, then twice, but one of the other Jötnar knocked him aside. Two more Thegns tried to grab at him; one even managed to put three rounds into his left arm, shattering the inbuilt guns.
"Fool."
A quick swipe cut the warrior down.
"Spartan?" Khan asked.
The Jötnar circled him warily. Attached to both of his arms were retractable blades, each one as big as a man and gleaming. The other two Jötnar were busy as the Ghost Warriors arrived and drove back the marines with a mixture of heavy weapons fire and brutal close combat attacks.
“Yes, it’s me…old friend.”
Spartan struck once, twice, and then underneath the Jötnar’s arms. A marine ran between them before being cut down by a pair of Thegns. Spartan ignored them and stepped around Khan, directly at the Biomech rebel. From his position, Spartan could see three of them, each a different color and specification. They had much in common with the Ghost Warriors, but their lack of uniformity marked them out as different.
I’m coming for you.
He made it three paces before Khan grabbed him around his shoulder and snapped him back. Hundreds of gunshots moved back and forth, but there was no way to find a frontline. The Thegns from both forces were intermingled and hacking away. Marines sheltered behind the dead and wounded, while Jötnar and Vanguards provided small clumps of armor, each group like a miniature bastion.
“Not yet, first you deal with me!” Khan growled.
Spartan staggered and then tipped over. The heavy weight of his armor pulled him down and straight to the ground. A Thegn and a marine ran to hold him down while an entire platoon of marines streamed past to engage the rest of his troops.
Yeah, that’s not good.
He struck out wildly and hit the marine, sending the poor man staggering about before he struck the ground. A Thegn leapt on him, and then the two vanished from view. The other Thegn was raising a carbine to shoot into his armor. Incredibly, the foot soldier managed to loose off a round before Spartan could shake himself free. He lifted to one knee and then came a powerful strike from below. Khan hit him hard in the torso, and Spartan was soon flying through the air. As he spun about, he could see the shapes of the Jötnar tearing through his Thegns with ease. Then he hit the ground with a crash.
“Spartan!” Khan shouted.
He charged him down like a wild rhinoceros. Spartan was up and braced himself.
Here he comes.
Spartan had just seconds, but it was enough to adopt a strong fighting stance. He remembered his friendly bouts with Khan in the past, and also that for some reason his foe would not shoot him.
He wants a prisoner. That is his weakness.
He flung down his arms and laughed.
“Come on, Khan, is that all you have to offer?”
The charging Jötnar missed by just a few centimeters as Spartan spun about and cut into the warrior’s flank. The short but razor sharp blades cut deep into the metal. Spartan howled at the sight of the trickle of blood that ran down from the gash. As Spartan laughed, he felt a dull pain in his lower body. He looked down and found a curved blade pushing out of his stomach. With a hiss it retracted, and another Jötnar moved around to face him. Blood dripped from the weapon as it took aim with its shoulder-mounted Gatling gun.
“Olik?”
There was a glimmer of recognition, perhaps even pity as the weapon opened fire. Spartan’s armor was resilient, but at a range of just three meters, the rounds easily penetrated the plating. Round after round ripped inside and damaged systems until one by one the internal modules failed. Spartan found himself almost immobile, with just one leg and his upper torso still able to move. He staggered back and tripped over a fallen Thegn. He dropped down, and only the intervention of his right arm stopped him crashing down face first.
“Protect him!” yelled a Ghost Warrior.
Four of them, each resplendent in their individual colors jumped past him and opened fire with their deadly weapons. Marines and Thegns were cut down, but the Jötnar simply ran straight at them. One vanished in a bright blue fireball, and then the Jötnar were on them. They stab, tore, and fired at close range until all four were nothing but shattered hulks, dripping flesh and blood.
Get up, you fool!
Spartan rose slowly, but Khan was there once more. They faced off against each other, a man encased in armor and a Jötnar in the same.
“I’m sorry,” said Khan.
He swung his right arm and embedded his weapon deep into the machine’s torso. The he took aim with his shoulder-mounted cannon. The gunfire ripped the armor apart until the wrecked machine dropped to the ground and fell to its side. Khan knelt down alongside the ruined form of his friend and yanked open the petals of armor around the torso. Blood and fluids flowed out to the ground, but there was little flesh, just the shattered remnants of an AI Core and the associated biological nervous system that was hardwired into the armor.
“What is this?” demanded Olik.
Khan smiled.
“It’s a flesh suit.”
A Thegn fired a burst, and two rounds struck Khan in the leg. He turned his gun around and blasted the creature without even looking at it.
“So where is Spartan?” asked Olik.
“Where he always is,” muttered Khan, “In the most dangerous place.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Particle beam weaponry proved itself on the killing fields of the Black Rift. The explosive energy released by such weapons was capable of destroying fighters and small escorts in one shot. Later developments saw modifications that would allow repeated bursts of energy that could ripple through ship from bow to stern. None of these second-generation weapons would be ready for use against the Biomechs. If they had, there are some that postulate the outcome for worlds like Helios Prime might have been very different.
Direct Energy Weapons – An Introduction
Kha’Dri, Taxxu, Uncharted Space
Spartan shuddered at the shock of the gunfire. He could feel the hits where the armor registered the impacts. Each round shattered his body, yet the pain was more a notification than something that would affect him physically. By the time he lay on his back, the images and sounds had vanished, to be replaced by blackness. He opened his eyes but found nothing more.
So this is it? You die and there’s blackness?
Something pulled at him, like a giant magnet that wanted to suck him to another place. He could see shapes off into the distance and the pull of the armor.
Of course, the Ghost Warriors never truly die.
The armor moved closer and closer until he could feel the sensors and the connection. Then came another flash and the blackness returned.
Is it time?
Spartan knew the sound. It was the ancient machine, the leader of the rebels. He shook his head and tried to open his eyes wider. Still there was nothing but the blackness. He thought back to that last intimate discussion between the rebel, him, and Khan. They had discussed the plan for victory, the plan for the sacrifice.
The plan.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the machine’s voice. It was emotionless, yet somehow it felt warm, almost comforting, a reminder of a time before the most recent battles and bloodshed. There was another flash, and he was there, back on the ship with the two of them.
* * *
Spartan looked at them as though floating in the room. The figures had a misty look about them and the temperature was cool. He was inside an empty briefing room aboard an Alliance warship, empty other than for the three of them. There were no emergency alarm
s, alerts, or any signs of the urgent battle currently taking place at the Black Rift.
“General Rivers will never go for this,” said Khan.
The Jötnar marched back and forth, impatient and a little angry. He stopped and pointed at Z’Kanthu. Neither he nor Spartan wore their armor, but the machine, as always, was encased in its thick plating.
“You’re telling me that they did something to us when we were prisoners?”
Z’Kanthu remained motionless.
“Yes. Both of you have been prepared, ready for their call. I have seen this before. It is how we used to force others to fight with us.”
Spartan shook his head and walked up to his friend.
“I didn’t believe it either, but it makes sense. Remember the escape? We tried for weeks, months to get out. And then somehow we got out. Why?”
Khan rubbed his chin.
“But what if they just kill us? How will that help us?”
Z’Kanthu, that ancient machine, raised one of his battered looking limbs and directed it right at Spartan.
“We will have to show them we are of more value alive. No matter what, they will sacrifice thousands to take The Twelve prisoner. If they succeed, they will activate you, and you will be their puppet. Their hatred for the last of The Twelve will outweigh they suspicions of you.”
The three were silent for a short moment.
“If you will trust me, I can use your mind as a temporary repository, a place to hide away my essence. I know the technology, and I know the ships. Destroying their troops or ships will not end this war. It will be won by destroying their heart and mind. When the time is right, I will…”
Wake up!
The sound of the machine pounded in his head.
Wake up, now!
* * *
Kha’Dri, Taxxu, Uncharted Space
Spartan opened his eyes and found himself trapped, encased in metal, and floating in fluid. A soft pipe ran to his mouth and throat. He tried to speak, but instead of words there was just a dull echo. He twisted, pushed, and then he was falling. The view was blurred, but then the impact with the ground made him retch. He began to choke, his vision blurred, and then he clawed at his face. The pipe and mask easily pulled away, and he was immediately blinded by light.
Star Crusades Nexus: Book 09 - The Black Rift Page 34