Ixan Legacy Box Set

by Scott Bartlett

  “An obscene overreaction,” Husher said, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

  The Winger’s eyes widened—in satisfaction, as far as Husher could tell. “Care to clarify that statement?”

  He was committed, now, though he doubted the public would like what he was about to say, and many Fleet officers would probably cringe when they heard it, too. “Enlisted soldiers have always gotten into scraps—in bars, mostly. It’s essentially a fleet tradition. Proportionate disciplinary measures are always taken, of course, and these three marines have already spent plenty of time in the Vesta’s brig. But to dishonorably discharge them because of the political component sets a dangerous precedent.”

  “Your view will be registered,” Ryn said. “I can assure you of that. But it’s irrelevant to our decision. The marines will be discharged. As for you, Captain, consider yourself on notice. While you were in Hellebore, an extensive analysis of your ship’s narrow net was conducted, which uncovered dozens of instances where extreme viewpoints were expressed, most notably in support of groups known for their hatred of nonhumans. This is the type of person your policies embolden, Captain. And indeed, as has been pointed out to you before, many of them name you as a figure of admiration.”

  Husher opened his mouth to answer, but clearly Ryn wanted to end on that note. “This commission is now indefinitely adjourned,” she said. The Winger gave Husher a final, meaningful look, then stood and left the chamber, followed by the others on the commission.

  Chapter 14

  All It Took Was a War

  “Making a squadron of Pythons subspace-capable has not been the only modification made during the last few weeks,” Husher told the others as he led them past the squadron in question, which sat on a hangar bay inside one of the Feverfew Shipyards, orbiting the system’s gas giant.

  “As some of you are already aware,” he continued, “what we know as the Vesta’s Supplies Module was originally meant to be capable of detaching from the supercarrier entirely and flying under its own power. You can probably guess the reason—it was meant to serve as a lifeboat for the civilians in Cybele, in case we were ever about to engage in combat. Kind of like we’ve been doing over the past several months. The designers scrapped the lifeboat concept, since they were afraid it would detract from the idea that capital starships are indestructible—why bother including a lifeboat in an invincible ship? But after Hellebore, we know capital starships are very destructible, and with starship city populations dropping even faster than they were before, the IGF is scrambling. These cities still serve as a major source of funding for our military, and for better or worse, command considers keeping people in them a priority.”

  Fesky trailed close enough behind Husher that he heard it when she clacked her beak. “All it took was a war to expose cities on warships as a ridiculous idea,” she muttered.

  Walking to her left, Tremaine chuckled. “When you’re this invested in a bad idea, your only option is to double down.”

  “They’re tripling down,” Husher said. “But we have to deal with reality as it presents itself, not as we’d like it to be. Most of the supplies inside the Supplies Module have been moved elsewhere, and the connectors have been fitted with couplings that will allow it to detach and reattach at will. The Supplies Module is now the Lifeboat.”

  “Where’d we put the supplies?” Commander Ayam asked, sounding half-distracted, as he usually did whenever he wasn’t inside a Python.

  “Some of them are sitting inside my lab,” Ochrim put in dryly.

  Husher nodded. “We’ve put them where we can, for now. We do have a couple unused hangar bays, which we’re in the process of stuffing full, and we also have a lot of vacant residences that have been filled up as well. Obviously, Command hopes that’s a temporary measure. We’ve even relocated some to the brig, so I’d appreciate it if you’d all refrain from breaking any serious regulations.”

  No one laughed at his joke. Ah, well. At least I know when they do laugh at one, it’s because they actually think it’s funny. “Anyway,” he continued. “The biggest change—other than the upgraded Pythons, which I think is a bigger change than anyone realizes—is the assignment of a new battle group to the Vesta. Two destroyers: Resolution and Knight. And two missile cruisers, Hero and Impulsive.” Husher was having trouble keeping the excitement out of his voice. “The destroyers are real bruisers, arguably the best in the Fleet, and the cruisers are packed to the brim with Banshees, Gorgons, and Hydras. The Union may hate us, but they sure have given us some big guns.”

  “When do we set sail?” Tremaine asked, which made Husher grin. The man must be picking up my nautical terms.

  But as he came to a stop, turning, the smile fell away. “That’s the next thing I brought you here to tell you. It’s also why I’ve run through these new additions so quickly. Seventeen star systems’ sensor webs have been getting the same sort of anomalous readings that Wintercress did during the lead-up to Teth’s first attack. Except, we now know they’re not anomalous. The Progenitors are scouting our systems, flitting in and out, and Command thinks it’s preliminary to a multi-system assault. Our best theory for why they do this was one Fesky hit on: they’re mapping out points along the ecliptic plane where they can pop in and out, so they can make use of them when it comes time to engage.”

  “But that doesn’t cohere with our understanding of subspace,” Tremaine said, who’d been filled in on the modified Pythons’ capabilities. “It offers true stealth, and it shrinks distances to a third, but we can only reenter realspace at the corresponding point in subspace.”

  Ochrim cleared his throat. “We believe the Progenitor mode of travel utilizes other dimensions. In fact, it isn’t certain they ever enter subspace at all.”

  “I see,” the Tactical officer said.

  “Ultimately, it doesn’t matter,” Husher said. “That’s all conjecture, and what’s relevant to us is what we already know: the sensor web blips tend to precede attacks. We’re being deployed to the Yclept System, and because our government’s freaking out right now, they’re leaning heavily on the Quatro fleet to help defend other systems. They consider a capital starship and her battle group enough to defend a single system, but there are only seven of us left, which leaves ten systems to be protected by a mix of Fleet and Quatro ships.”

  “I’m not fond of how quickly we’ve jumped into bed with this Assembly of Elders,” Fesky said. “Did you notice how strangely that Quatro was behaving as it sang the praises of its government? I know they’re a brand new species to us and we don’t know how to read them yet, but everything about that Quatro screamed abject terror to me.”

  Husher nodded. “The alliance is hasty and ill-considered. But that’s just how our government operates, these days. Besides, we’re going to need all the help we can get to defeat the Progenitors.”

  “And what about the Gok?” Fesky said. “Do we know what they’re planning, or has the Union bothered to check, other than to apologize for Concord and invite them over for tea?”

  “Apparently the Gok government is ‘distancing’ themselves from the actions taken by ‘rogue warships.’”

  “And the Union swallowed that without question, I assume?”

  “It’s looking that way.”

  “Of course,” Fesky squawked. “It’s good to hear the Union is still finding creative new ways to remain vulnerable.”

  Chapter 15

  Not a Psychologist

  Major Peter Gamble leaned against a low garden wall and waited as bullets whipped through the night above his head and explosions sounded in the distance. Twisting around, he popped over the wall and returned fire at the steadily advancing Ixan commandos. There were only two of them, but if they reached the marine squad, they’d make short work of them.

  We need to make a move. Five minutes ago would have been ideal, but now is much better than later.

  Unfortunately, Gamble wasn’t in command today.

  “Jenkins?” he whispered into
his lapel transceiver. “Orders?”

  Newly minted Lance Corporal Jenkins stammered back. “Uh…uh…I dunno, Major. I got nothing.”

  Are you kidding me? “‘Nothing’ gets you killed in war, son. We need something, and we need it now.”

  “Um…maybe…”

  Boy’s all froze up. Cursing, Gamble took over. “Wilson and Moore, you’re closest to the alley on our left. Knowing this city, there’s a good chance it connects with one farther up. When I give the go-ahead, run for it while the rest of us cover you. Then move around for the flank, but check your angle first—I’m not in the mood for friendly fire today. My hope is the Ixa will spin around to engage you, then the rest of us can hit them hard from behind. Maybe toss a grenade or two. Everyone copy?”

  A chorus of “Yes, Major,” came back at him. They know how to do that, at least.

  “Good. Wilson and Moore, move!”

  They did, and Gamble popped over the garden wall again, sweeping his assault rifle across the enemy position. The gun clicked, and he ducked back down to swap in a fresh magazine.

  The covering fire did the trick. His marines would be moving up the alley now, and soon they’d be in position.

  Jenkins chose that moment to find his courage, rising to his feet—in full view of the advancing Ixa.

  “Corporal, what you are you doing?” Gamble hissed. “Get down!”

  “I got this, Major! This’ll be an even bigger distraction.”

  With that, Jenkins ran out from cover and promptly got shot in the face.

  “For crying out loud,” Gamble said. “You’re dead, Jenkins. End sim.”

  The Oculens overlay depicting the city of Larissa disappeared, revealing the Vesta cargo bay where he’d been drilling the marine squad he considered the weakest in his entire battalion—Teal Squad. Captain Husher had kept this hold clear of boxes and things, knowing Gamble used it for running combat sims. He appreciated that, especially knowing just how many supplies the captain had had to relocate.

  The ‘heroic’ lance corporal was avoiding eye contact, looking abashed and confused at the same time. Probably, the poor kid didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. But that wouldn’t stop Gamble from tearing a strip off him. “Jenkins, this isn’t a video game. It’s a combat sim, and it’s considered a reflection of how we can expect you to behave in actual combat. As such, we take it very seriously. Squad tactics is not about rushing into enemy fire and going down in a blaze of glory. That might look good in the vids, but in real life it puts your squad mates in real danger. What if you were to get wounded by the enemy but not killed? What if the enemy took you hostage and started threatening your life to use as leverage against us? Don’t you think that might complicate things a bit?”

  Looking from marine to marine, Gamble continued: “Leadership isn’t about trying to be a hero, because ninety-nine times out of a hundred, acting like a hero is a stupid idea and it’ll probably get people killed. Leadership is about making sure your squad remains a tight, cohesive unit that executes the best tactic for a given situation. Now, after Corporal Martinez’s death in Cybele, this squad is in need of a leader. But I can tell you right now, none of you are anywhere close to squad leader material. We’re in a war, marines, and to be frank, war is not the time to be as sloppy as you are now. By next week, I need to start seeing marked improvement, and in two weeks’ time I need you to be twice the soldiers you are now. Am I getting through, here?”

  “Yes, Major,” came the ragged reply, all of them with downcast eyes and red cheeks.

  They want to do well. I can see that, and it’s a start at least.

  “Dismissed, marines. Talk to me if and when you want to schedule in some extra training time.”

  Teal Squad filed out of the cargo bay, and Gamble watched them go. As the last marine left, his com buzzed, and he took it out to find a message from Admiral Connor Iver informing him that Corporal Toby Yung, Private First Class Dion Mews, and Private Jordan Zimmerman were being dishonorably discharged from the IGF on the grounds of being rights violations perpetrated against the citizens of Cybele while off-duty.

  Lips tightening, Gamble left the cargo bay to head for the marine quarters—for the bunkroom where he knew Yung, Mews, and Zimmerman slept. Maybe I’ll find them before they’re gone. Losing three competent marines, one of them very competent, was the last thing he needed right now. It was the last thing the war effort needed. There was nothing he could do to change the IGF’s decision, but at minimum he could try to offer a few parting words of comfort and guidance. He’d never been good at that sort of thing, but he could try.

  When he arrived at the bunkroom, he found it empty except for Yung, who was in the middle of stuffing things into a duffel bag.

  The former marine glanced up when Gamble entered with a sharp rap on the open hatch. “Morning, Major.”

  “Morning, uh, Yung.” Gamble was a bit taken aback at the man’s tone, and he’d almost called him corporal when he remembered that the dishonorable discharge had included him getting bumped down to lance corporal, and he didn’t want to remind him. “I’m sorry about what happened. If it’s any consolation—”

  “Don’t mention it, Major. It’s not worth stressing about.”

  Gamble blinked. “Huh? You’re not upset.”

  “Not really,” Yung answered, shaking his head. “Honestly, this feels like a fresh start more than anything else. You may not know this, but the captain gave me a stern talking to right before we went to help defend the Saffron System. He told me that I haven’t worked to realize my full potential. And you know what? I think he’s right. That’s not all—I think this will let me start working on fixing it.”

  “Outside the military? What will you do?”

  Yung’s smile broadened. “Oh, I think there’s plenty I can do, right here on the Vesta. I’m not leaving, Major. Mews and Zimmerman are, but not me. I’m gonna become a citizen of Cybele. I know they’ll take me. They aren’t turning down anyone, since the bottom started falling out of their population levels. That city is ripe for change. Lots of it. And I think I might just be the guy for the job.”

  Yung’s smile widened, to the point where it was beginning to give Gamble a vaguely uneasy feeling. He had no idea what the ex-marine was talking about, and he had neither the skills nor the time to delve into it. He wasn’t a psychologist, and he needed to move ahead with his day. Next up was figuring out how this new mech team was going to fit into his marine battalion.

  “All right then, Corporal,” Gamble said, before wincing. He hadn’t meant to use Yung’s rank. Ah, well. Calling him Corporal still isn’t technically wrong. Plus, he doesn’t seem all that upset anyway. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get going.”

  Nodding, Yung said, “Things to do. I get it, Major. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, before long.”

  Gamble gave the man one last look, which probably showed the confusion and concern Yung’s behavior was causing him. But there just wasn’t time to unpack it. He had to focus on his job. The one he was good at.

  Chapter 16

  Blood Moon

  Gamble’s command style would have turned a lot of commanders off. It involved maintaining a fairly warm, jokey relationship with his marines—for the most part. But when circumstance called for it, his demeanor could range from stern to harsh bordering on savage. His marines tended to fear and respect him intermittently, which usually resulted in getting exactly what he needed from them.

  Because of his overall closeness with his men and women, he tended to be let in on their rumor mill in a way that most leaders weren’t. As such, he knew that the mech pilots spent a lot of time coming in and out of Hanger Bay Zeta, which made sense. That was, after all, where their machines were being stored.

  In keeping with what he’d heard, when he arrived in the hangar bay, he found Seaman Jake Price there. But that was where reality stopped conforming to his expectations.

  “Seaman Price, isn’t it?” Gamble said as
he ambled up to Price, squinting slightly.

  Price nodded, sticking out his hand. “It is. Yourself?”

  “Major Peter Gamble, the Vesta’s marine battalion commander. I’m here to figure out how your Oneiri Team is going to fit in around here—both the mech you pilot and the MIMAS mechs.” He grasped Price’s hand firmly, and they shook.

  “Ah,” said Price, who suddenly looked like he didn’t know what he should be doing. “Well, it’s an honor to meet you, Major. I’ve been hearing about what you and your people did on Klaxon’s moon. Seems like it’s become an instant legend.”

  “My marines held it together admirably, but if I’m being honest, we would have been done for if it wasn’t for the Vesta’s guns backing us up. I’m getting off-topic, though.” He nodded toward the giant metal crate behind Price, which was one of eight scattered throughout the hangar bay in a haphazard fashion Gamble wasn’t a big fan of. “Do you always keep your mechs in boxes, Seaman?”

  “That’s where the Tartarus Station desk jockeys put them,” Price said, his voice a little hoarse but otherwise composed. “Probably wanted to keep them out of sight from prying eyes. The Union was keeping everything in Hellebore pretty hush-hush till you guys arrived.”

  “Right,” Gamble said, shoving his hands in his uniform’s pants pockets. “But you had the mechs out since you were on Tartarus. You fought the Progenitors with them, and after that the cat’s been out of the bag, so to speak. So why’d they end up back inside the boxes?”

  Price looked like a prey animal caught between a pair of high beams. “Uh…easier transport?” he said, his voice growing hoarser.

  “Footage of the battle showed your mechs flying through space of their own accord. Seems it would have been easier just to have them rocket over.”