Armada

by Paul Teague

  “Thank you, Charlie Team,” said Stansfield. “That’ll do for now. Get back to the Sphere and get to work. Conway, I want you to run the shuttle teams. Strip out weaponry in the Sphere and anything else you think might be useful. Charlie Team, have a good look around; anything you can see that we can use, let’s have it. Vernon, I want a report on the cloning bay – get a team over there and let’s make sure we’re growing some new soldiers. If we have an issue with the signal to Sol, it might impact on the clones.”

  Vernon got right on it. Stansfield took a moment to consider the next move. It was years since he’d been in the heat of battle, but his time in stasis hadn’t dulled his senses. Sol was wary of him, but what choice did they have? Resolution, Conqueror and Orion were on their way, and with them a whole new command structure that would displace his power soon enough. The Admiralty would want rid of his old Astute19 Class vessel at the earliest opportunity.

  “Lieutenant Yau, in the absence of Davies I want to dispatch a small team to the shuttle to check on that comms signal. We must have somebody on board who can take a look?”

  “Yes, sir. Maybe someone from Engineering?”

  “Lieutenant Fernandez, report on our captured Mech friend, please,” said Stansfield, opening a channel to the workshop.

  There was no answer, and Stansfield frowned. “Fernandez, what’s going on down there?”

  No response, and the tension on the bridge was starting to grow.

  “Get me a video feed,” snapped Stansfield, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I want to see what’s going on in that workshop.”

  Midshipman Khan worked quickly at the comms console, and moments later a hi-res feed from a camera in the corner of Fernandez’s workshop flipped onto the main screen.

  The images showed Lieutenant Fernandez backing away from a workshop table. A Mech lay on the table, its abdomen open and its innards exposed. The thing was still, dead and in pieces on its back.

  But the top of its head was moving, separating from the body on eight spindly legs. The spider-thing heaved itself out of the Mech and stood for a moment on the table, turning one way then the other as Fernandez backed away.

  Then it seemed to fix its attention on Fernandez, and it leapt across the room. Someone on the bridge screamed; others gasped in horror.

  But the spider ran across the room, heading straight for Fernandez as the lieutenant scuttled backwards as quickly as he could.

  Then he had his pistol in his hand and was blasting away at the spider. One round tore away a leg, but the thing hardly slowed. Another struck its armoured carapace, and the spider cart-wheeled across the room to land on its back. For a moment it lay there, legs kicking; then it flipped itself over and spun back to face Fernandez.

  But the delay had given the lieutenant time to aim properly, and his next shot went right through the spider, blowing a hole in its body. It shuddered and took a step back, but Fernandez came forward, aiming and firing as he moved, each round doing new damage.

  And then it was done. Fernandez stood over the spider, breathing heavily, and tapped the shattered corpse with his foot.

  “Dead,” he said, voice shaking. “I think.”

  “What the hell was that, Fernandez?” snapped Stansfield, shaken by what he’d seen.

  “The Mechs,” said Fernandez, “they’re some sort of hybrid creature with a semi-autonomous hunter-killer unit in the skull.”

  “Hunter-killer?” said Stansfield, his frown deepening. “Are you sure?”

  “Not entirely, sir,” said Fernandez, mechanically reloading his pistol while he spoke. “Are you seeing this with your Mechs?”

  “My Mechs?” said Stansfield, not entirely understanding. Then his head whipped round to look at the corpses that still littered the edge of the bridge. Two teams were carrying them away, but it was slow work.

  “There may be more of them with this ability,” said Fernandez.

  There was a soft plunk noise from a Mech on the far side of the bridge, and everyone turned to stare. Then the top of the Mech’s head began to move as the spider-thing pulled itself free.

  Stansfield shivered and drew his pistol, eyes fixed on the Mech. Then there was a second plunk, then a third, then a whole flurry from the corpses across the bridge.

  “Oh, shit,” said Stansfield.

  2

  Within moments, a dozen or more of the spider things had emerged from their hosts and were skittering across the deck on thin robotic legs. Each spider-like device had flat, pancake-shaped bodies and two red lights shone where eyes might be.

  “Kill them,” snapped Commander Vernon, firing his pistol at a spider that was running across the deck. Across the bridge, anybody with a weapon opened fire on the creatures. Vernon’s target fountained brains and slewed to a halt, its legs twitching.

  “Gotcha,” snarled Vernon, but the other spider-Mechs were scuttling at speed towards vents, gaps and inlets.

  The bridge crew fired where it was safe to do so, taking out several of the Mechs before they disappeared, but missing many others. In seconds, the bridge was clear and silent.

  “Report,” said Stansfield. “Any change in the Sphere, Davies?”

  “Nothing I can see, sir.”

  “Fernandez, what’s your status?”

  “Two dead, Admiral. One injured, with a Mech attached to his face.”

  “Repeat that,” said Vernon.

  “It separated from the main body, then sprang off the floor and grabbed the back of Jeffreys’ head. The legs are clamped around his skull, and oh, fuck!”

  “Focus, Fernandez,” said Stansfield, impatient and more than a little worried. “Details,” he barked.

  “Needles have come out the legs, and they’ve passed into Jeffreys’ skull and the top of his spine. Oh, no.” There was the sound of retching across the channel.

  “Is Jeffreys conscious?” Vernon asked.

  “Negative,” said Fernandez, sounding distinctly unwell. “He’s on the floor with this thing clamped round him. All it’s doing is pulsing; I can see the Mech’s own brain moving in its container. Should we tear the thing off?”

  “No, don’t do that, sir,” said Davies urgently. “These are bio-mechanical entities, they’ll need to be surgically removed. Have any other Bots done this?”

  “No reports yet,” said Yau, who was collating the sit-reps he was constantly receiving from all over the ship. “It seems any Mech that didn’t have its head blown off has spawned one of these OctoBot things, and they’ve all scuttled off into vents and pipework. There are no further reports of cases like Jeffreys.”

  “Take Jeffreys to the medbay and place him in a secure containment area. He’s to have a full guard on him. I want to know what that creature’s doing to him. Charlie Team, what’s your status?”

  “Preparing to launch, sir,” said Corporal Conway. “We’re in the bay suiting up. Out in ten.”

  “Go faster,” said Stansfield. “Keep me informed.”

  “Ay, sir,” said Conway. “Out.”

  “Admiral, we have another problem,” said Yau, his face telling a story. “We’re getting reports of new power failures in some areas. Systems teams were getting the lighting back on, but that’s been disabled, and we’re back to emergency lighting.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” growled Stansfield.

  “It looks like the Bots are targeting our life support systems, sir. They’ve gone for power, air, water and temperature regulation. They’re trying to close us down.”

  “And how long before that becomes a serious issue, lieutenant?” said Stansfield.

  “Grant was the only one who really knew, sir,” said Fernandez. In the background, they could hear the team moving Jeffreys. “He knew the ship like the back of his hand.”

  “Grant’s not coming back,” snapped Stansfield, “so give me what you have.”

  There was a pause before Fernandez spoke again. “Admiralty ship standards don’t change much, but the Astu
te19 Class is a bit different from modern craft. Everything should have redundant backups, but power is key. If the fusion reactors are cut off or fail completely, we’ll lose key systems as emergency power reserves are drained.

  “Everything’s modularised, so core power and the data integrity of the bridge are the last to go. Air is supplied as a priority to all personnel areas. Again, the bridge is the last to go. Med areas are protected, as are key engineering and crew zones. Water’s more of an inconvenience. At worst, we’d go to the recycling tanks and draw it directly. Power is a nuisance, but all essential systems are on back-up, and we can run core operations. Climate regulation is the first big issue; it’s going to get stuffy very quickly.”

  “How long can we survive, Fernandez? Give me your best estimate?”

  There was a pause before Fernandez answered. “If we don’t use the engines, switch off the artificial gravity, and reduce use of non-essential systems, we might, with our current crew levels, survive for three weeks. It would be hot and airless, and we’d have to restrict areas bit by bit, to conserve oxygen.”

  “How long until we’re joined by Resolution, Conqueror and Orion, Lieutenant?” said Stansfield, turning to Yau.

  “If the portal reopens on schedule, sir, Orion could be here in as little as twenty-four hours, with Resolution and Conqueror arriving shortly after that later.”

  “Well, at least the Admiralty are taking this thing seriously,” said Vernon.

  “And what if they can’t get through the portal?” said Stansfield. “What if it fails to reopen, or they’re destroyed as they emerge? We don’t want a repeat of Colossus.”

  “Direct flight time,” said Midshipman Kotter at the navigation console, “would be, ah.” There was an awkward pause. “Seventy-four years from the nearest inhabited system. Longer, if they stopped to re-supply.”

  There was a nasty silence on the bridge.

  “We’d have to go back into stasis,” said Vernon. It wasn’t an option that anybody was keen to explore.

  “With the systems in their current state,” said Yau, “I don’t think that would be possible. We don’t have enough power.”

  “And we can’t do anything while those things are running around the ship,” said Stansfield. “We’re going to have to send teams into the vents and conduits. We’ll have to flush those things out and kill them.”

  Vernon made a face. That wasn’t a job he’d wish on anyone.

  Stansfield opened a channel. “New plan, Charlie Team. Hunter, Mason and Kearney report to the bridge. Marine X, Davies and Gray: get back to the Sphere. Start shutting it down and stripping it out. Conway, you have your orders already. Fernandez, let’s get Jeffreys to the medbay ASAP.”

  “Roger,” said Conway, “order received.”

  Then Yau spoke out on the bridge. “Something just changed in the Sphere, Admiral. Looks like power has returned to some systems.”

  “Move, Charlie Team,” snapped Stansfield. “We’re out of time.”

  “Roger,” said Conway again. “Sixty seconds to departure. We’ll take the fight to the enemy.”

  3

  “Rifle, pistols, ammunition, blade, backpack, power cells, grenades,” muttered Ten as he walked through Vengeance’s depleted armoury, picking out kit and loading it onto a trolley. He was back in his battered power armour, but he’d picked up a new HUD and the diagnostics had confirmed that the suit was in good working order, even though it was so ancient as to be obsolete.

  “Like everything else on this ship,” Ten said to himself as he checked over the rifle.

  “You got enough stuff?” asked Davies, nodding at Ten’s haul as he loaded his own suit with magazines and tech gear.

  “For an operation of unknown duration behind enemy lines with vague operating parameters and a sketchy escape route?” said Ten as he taped magazines together. “No.”

  “When you put it like that,” said Davies. Then he shrugged and went back to checking his own kit. “At least there’s plenty of ammo,” Davies went on.

  Ten grunted and stuffed another pair of magazines into a side pocket of his backpack. They all had stories about running out of ammunition. It was one of the trials that they all shared, no matter what their rank or service.

  “Better to have it and not need it,” said Ten as he hefted the backpack. Heavy, but easily carried by the armour.

  “Are you two old men ever going to be ready?” said Gray. “I’d like to get this done before my clone’s use-by date.” She was fully kitted and ready to go, a combat shotgun strapped to her pack alongside a heavy-duty tactical axe.

  “It’ll probably go mouldy and fail before we get back,” said Jackson with a sad shake of his head. “Or you’ll throw a joint under the weight of all that kit.”

  “Better than running short,” snapped Gray, shaking her head at Jackson’s selection.

  “If you’ve quite finished,” said Conway, hanging out the door of a shuttle, “then maybe we could get to work?”

  Ten grinned as he tipped the rest of his kit into a second backpack, then threw both bags into the shuttle’s passenger compartment. He stood aside as Gray, Jackson and Davies climbed aboard; then he smacked the control to close the doors.

  “All aboard,” he said jauntily. “Hey, Conway. There’s a hole in the side of the Sphere, right? So we can get in?”

  “Yes,” said Conway in an exasperated tone as she ran through her pre-flight checks. “You saw it when we left. Why?”

  Ten paused and looked around at the rest of the party, waiting till he had their full attention. Then he grinned.

  “Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” he said, settling back in his seat and closing his eyes, “once more.”

  The docking bay was empty when Conway guided the shuttle in through the door. The team watched in silence as she manoeuvred the tiny craft through the vast volume before setting it gently down near an airlock.

  The team cycled quickly out of the shuttle’s airlock and made their way across the bay and into the Sphere’s interior. Ten took the lead, following his rifle through the inner airlock door into the dark and gloomy space beyond.

  “The moment you see any movement, shout,” said Ten as he pushed away a Mech corpse that had floated along the corridor. He wasn’t happy to be back aboard the Sphere, but at least this time they weren’t improvising their weapons.

  With Conway in the shuttle, Marine X, Gray, Jackson and Davies were exploring the Sphere, moving carefully into the corridors. They cycled through an airlock and all of a sudden there was noise.

  “Gray, Jackson, go that way,” said Ten, pointing down a corridor. “Davies and I will go this way, and we’ll meet up further down.”

  “Roger,” said Gray, moving into the corridor, her armoured bulk following her rifle.

  “Probably never be able to find you,” said Jackson as he followed Gray. Ten watched them float away, then spun to follow Davies.

  “I’ve got movement up ahead,” said Davies. “Mechs, more than one. Dammit, why did it have to be me? I’m supposed to be the tech guy.”

  “They’re cyborgs, Double-D,” said Ten with a smirk. “They’re bound to go for you.”

  “What’s happening, Davies?” came Stansfield’s voice over the comms channel.

  “There’s a lot of dead Mechs floating around, sir. No idea how many are left, but we can hear them moving around and separating, just like you described. Hell, I can hear their creepy little legs tapping on metal.”

  “Do what you must, Davies, but get me the tech. We’re going through the files Hunter retrieved, but we need the hardware as well if we’re to get answers.”

  “Roger,” said Davies unhappily. He switched channels. “Did you do all this?” he said to Ten, gesturing at the bullet holes in the walls and the corpses in the air.

  “Some,” admitted Ten. “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said, brushing away a loop of intestine. Then they came to an open door.

  “Tech area,”
said Davies, pulling himself in to take a look around. It was a mess. The consoles and machinery were in good condition, but a Mech corpse had floated in through the door, pulled by the air currents, and had lodged against a fabricator.

  “Can you get anything out of that?” asked Ten, nodding at a console.

  Davies made his way through the tech area to hang in front of an undamaged console.

  “Probably,” he said, taking a dongle from his waist pouch and searching for a port into which to fit it. “Dammit,” he said, struggling to reach the port. Space was tight, and the power armour kept getting in the way. He slipped off his helmet and set it on the console, then pulled himself under the desk.

  “Thank fuck for open standards and lax security protocols,” he muttered as he found a matching port and plugged in the dongle. “These protocols are all ancient Earth tech,” said Davies. “I’ve got a nice little kit of tools that’ll chop through their firewalls faster than a hot curry through a Labrador.”

  “You’ve got a what?” said Ten.

  “Files,” said Davies. “Old ones, ancient ones and cutting-edge stuff that nobody’s supposed to have outside the labs. All sorts of counter-espionage stuff dating back about three-hundred years.”

  “Right,” said Ten with a frown, “and that’s useful because…?”

  “Probably isn’t,” Davies admitted as he worked, “but it’s sort of a hobby, you know? Like collecting old pistols or medieval swords.”

  Systems information began to appear in his HUD, and he whistled as he searched for items of interest, flicking down the list and delving into the sub-branches.

  “Don’t need it here, of course, ‘cos they’re using old, insecure tech. It’s just a question of choosing,” he said. Then he nodded. “Reckon we’ll just have the lot,” he said as Ten floated back into the corridor. A couple of tweaks, and the dongle started copying every file it could find. “Ninety seconds,” said Davies, looking around the room. The air was musty, smelling of a nasty mixture of oil and sewage, and Davies wrinkled his nose.