The commander of the troops remained on the surface to conduct the defense and inventory of the base, which they were ordered to defend as Brandt was shuttled up to the Ichi to rejoin her crew, having delegated two troops from her escort to carry the heavy bag she wanted kept with her. The second she set foot through the airlock, she was summoned to the bridge. Deciding against stripping off the armor and letting out the smell, she went as she was dressed, including the alien rifle she had intentionally forgotten to surrender and catalogue.
“Good to see you,” Torres said emphatically but distractedly as she entered. She nodded to him and remained standing behind his chair, as sitting in the armor was uncomfortable.
“What’s going on?” she asked, knowing that the atmosphere on the bridge was anything but relaxed.
“Another human fleet arrived and helped us defeat the Va’alen attack,” Torres explained, forgetting that she hadn’t even known about the armada heading to destroy them.
“What atta…”
“In a minute,” he interrupted, “looks like since we left home the first time, parts of other territories on Earth have splintered and formed a separatist alliance.”
“Against the UN?” Brandt asked in shock.
“Not so much against us as apart from us. They want independence.”
“Let them have it, then,” she shrugged, knowing that her casual throwing out of political opinions was a direct side effect of exhaustion. As a commander, she should know better than to give her true opinion.
“Yeah, well there’s a little standoff going on right now, and I don’t want to miss it. Helm, jump us back.”
The Ichi blinked back into real space as a small and insignificant blip on the sensors of the leviathans facing off. The Indomitable, as damaged as she was, could hold her own against almost anything. The separatist fleet had twice the number of frigates and a fully-armed carrier, but experience worked wonders over technology.
Countless numbers of soldiers in new gear had died on countless battlefields throughout the history of the human race.
“What now?” Brandt asked.
“Shh,” Torres chided her as he tapped at icons to link into the channel.
“…sure you don’t want to reconsider?” A voice Brandt didn’t recognize asked with cruel threat echoing the words.
“Nah,” Dassiova’s voice shot back, “I’m good. You have a lovely day, though.” The comm channel cut and Brandt looked down at Torres. He didn’t respond, just watched the sensors.
Brandt hit her comm device to bring up the ship-wide channel. “All hands, battle stations, gunners to pods, standby to defen…”
“Belay that order,” Torres said, “all hands stand down.” He looked at Brandt kindly. “Just watch.”
“Sir, Alliance fleet is powering up weapons and moving to flank positions.”
“Awesome,” Torres said flippantly, “aaaany second now…”
Before the tactical officer could contain his squeaking excitement and get the words out, the display screen showed a dozen dull flashes at three second intervals, as new ships filled the black expanse.
“Say hello to my li…” Torres began in an extravagant accent.
“Don’t,” Brandt said, “don’t embarrass yourself, Sir.” Torres took her point.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Ninth Fleet,” the captain announced gleefully, “meet the Tenth Fleet, all new and shiny.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine – UN Base, Los Angeles, Earth
“Like it or not,” Dassiova said to the assembled captains and senior crew of the fleet, “this is how it is now.” The room was quiet. The thought of the Earth being split again, of territories observing a wary ceasefire but always being ready to go to war, was sobering at best. At worst, it was the most dangerous state that any of them had ever known. The United Nations and the Middle Eastern Alliance had formed a hasty peace treaty, and their joint effort in the Centauri system had seen their defeated enemy confined to a single planet, where ships capable of orbital bombardment kept a careful eye on them until such time as a decision was made on what to do with them.
In their absence, and fueled by the betrayal of one of their own, the entire middle east and most of Africa, as well as half of the Asian sub-continent, had declared themselves separate entities and cut themselves off from the UN. Half a dozen other smaller countries fell in with them for the promise of new technology that their own territories didn’t plan to make available to them. This greed, further driven by the promise of new materials and entire planets to colonize in the far reaches of the galaxy, plunged their world into uncertainty at a time when they had already been through hell and naïvely expected a healthy dose of world peace on their return.
The sudden and unexpected arrival of the separatist fleet in the Centauri system had put that foolish notion out to pasture.
“We have to stay tuned-in,” Dassiova went on, “and accept the accords made generations ago about other planets being joint property of all territories. We can’t claim a planet as belonging to our territory, nor can we occupy it for the UN. Whatever we discover out here belongs to all of humanity… that’s what I’ve been told to tell you, anyway.” He added the last words with a half-smile devoid of any humor. “We bled for this space. Our people died to take it, our ships were damaged defending it and our lives were on the line against the goddamned Va’alen…”
“It’s progress, Admiral,” Halstead offered, “the troops go in and secure the new territories, then the governments give all the land away to the politicians and civilians who don’t know what it’s worth; who haven’t paid the true price for it.” Nobody answered her, as all were deep in their own thoughts, after reading the mandate sent from Earth.
Colony ships were being constructed, and the Ninth Fleet would be responsible for escorting them back to the Centauri system, where mining and farming colonies would be constructed. The next wave would be to populate the worlds made safe by the UN detachments there – ever alert for any returning Va’alen and keeping the civilians safe from the murderous wildlife. The thought of those natural dangers made Brandt shudder involuntarily.
“Good news is that we all have a month of shore leave,” Dassiova went on in an attempt to change the dark mood. “Well… you do, at least. Use it well, because I want each and every one of you back with the fleet and fully charged for our next tour.”
They had docked their ships at Mars, trusting them to the suddenly far bigger contingent working the shipyards, who promised to bring them all back to the standard they had first left in, and took a new transport back to Earth, fitted with a Fold Drive. Their next tour, limited to nine months due to the distance from Earth and the anticipated intensity of the deployment, promised to be full of guard duty and dangerous safari-type expeditions protecting civilian, UN and company scientists as they bumbled around an alien world like the danger wasn’t real to them. Brandt hoped that her team, Torres’ crew of the Ichi, would be exempt from such boredom, because why have an elite recon vessel, crewed by elite personnel, and not use them for that role?
They all groaned a little when their admiral, still their fleet commander/father figure/personal deity, informed them that all departments and key personnel would be required to submit to a video debrief before shore leave would be granted. This, familiar to any of them who had undergone such a debrief before, would consist of sitting in front of a console with a live camera feed and being subjected to dumbass questions thought up by a civilian whose biggest danger ever faced was crossing the road, and who thought up the questions from the safety of their comfortable, security-controlled office. They wanted to hear that the weapons and armor were fit for purpose and that, if anything, they could do with slightly less protection and less firepower. That would mean a reduction in overall unit costs and, in turn, would represent a significant overall credit value to be found in the next fiscal year’s budget for repurposing. Certainly, demanding that ground pounders, or even at least the elite recon and CP
squads deployed to the areas of highest danger, were issued with uprated armor was a priority. Arguing that everyone needed the upgrade with the astronomically expensive micro-singularity power sources and personal shield emitters, was likely to fall on deaf ears. Or at least ears that were still ringing with white noise, having heard the credit tag value attached to each prototype unit.
Whatever they said, whatever they asked for, they knew they wouldn’t get, because the biggest threat to them had passed when the Va’alen were removed from the system. They could safely go back to being armed and protected by the lowest bidder, as all the planet’s resources went in to mining and colonization budgets.
“All we can do,” Torres said quietly to Brandt as they filed out, “is keep doing our job…”
“…and hope we survive to take the pension.” Brandt finished for him. Torres chuckled as she had known exactly what he was going to say.
“You want to grab a bite with me and Amare later on?” he asked her, now open about their relationship after half of the crew had witnessed their being reunited after she had been detained. The treachery of Dassiova’s flight officer still stung all of them deeply, none more than Dassiova himself who felt that he should have seen it coming.
“Sure,” Brandt said, eager to make up any good grace to her second in command, after the accusation of treason had left a lot of things unsaid.
“You hanging around base,” he went on, “or heading back home to see family?” Brandt let out a mirthless chuckle. She hadn’t seen what remained of her family in years and had no burning desire to start now. She ignored half the question and responded.
“Hanging around with Jake for a while, you know, try to reintegrate him to society and all that. They kept him locked up like a robot for so long that he’s forgotten a lot of his social graces.”
“Like the grunt had many before they got to work on him?” Torres joked with her as they walked towards the dropship hangar.
“True,” Brandt agreed, “but he needs time, and some familiar faces to help him along the way. Paterson’s wife is coming down to stay on base with us, and after that it might be time I went back to NYC for a week of real R&R.” Torres said nothing, but she was sure he was thinking something which he would find funny. To his credit, or at least his sense of self preservation, he kept his mouth shut.
“He said what he wants to do yet? Now that he’s a person again and not company property?”
“He wants to stay on,” Brandt said, “keep serving. It’s kinda literally what he’s built for.”
“Under you?” Torres asked, knowing that an affirmative answer meant his crew would be augmented by the augmented super soldier.
“We’ll see,” Brandt mused, “we’ll see.”
Agoura Hills, California, Earth
The transport settled down on the empty roadside. The driver powered down the electric turbines and let out a breath in the sudden silence left by the absence of engine noise.
“You good?” she asked.
Her passenger took his turn to sigh, and only his expulsion of breath carried a hint of electronic synthesis. “I’m good,” Jake said, “I’m just…”
“Want me to go first?” Brandt asked. “Smooth the way for you?” Jake said nothing, but his scarred face looked back at her wearing an expression of deep panic. “I’ll go talk to her. You stay put.” She patted her right hand onto his left knee. She knew that what she patted wasn’t him, but she knew he could feel it. She got out of the plain gray transport and zipped up her civilian jacket against the unseasonal chill in the air. She was amazed how quickly her body adapted to any change of environment; on board the Ichi she was either too hot or uncomfortably cold, much like the surface of the moon they were stranded on, only less extreme. Now she’d been back on Earth for a little over two weeks, and the last five days of that in California with her friends, building up to this moment.
She stepped up the curb and reached down with her right hand, automatically looking for the grip of the pistol that usually sat there; betraying how nervous she felt at being unarmed, out of uniform and not stomping around in her armor. She didn’t know whether it was the lack of uniform or the lack of weapons that made her feel more vulnerable. More anonymous.
Stopping at the threshold, she reached out with her right hand, squeezed it into a fist until her knuckles shone white, and let out another breath. Before she could knock, the door opened. She found herself looking down into the suspicious face of a teenage boy who so resembled Jake Santana when she had first met him over a decade before. She was so caught up in the familiarity that she just stood there; hand up, ready to knock, and mouth open.
“Yeah?” the kid asked.
“Hey,” she said as she recovered herself and dropped her hand back down. “Your Mom in?”
“Maybe,” he said, “depends who’s asking.” Brandt opened her mouth again to introduce herself. To invest her rank with pride, having truly felt that she had earned it. A rapid-fire burst of Spanish from further inside the house wiped the cocky look off the teenager’s face in an instant and he replied so fast that Brandt didn’t catch a single word. The teenager retreated, and the dark doorway was occupied seamlessly by a short woman, olive skinned, with kind eyes set between deep lines of crow’s feet that were partly caused by laughter and partly by tears. She wore a simple apron and was drying her hands on a dishcloth.
“Si?” she asked. “Puedo ayudarte”
“Mrs. Santana?” Brandt asked formally, her tone unfortunately screaming government business and seeing the resultant look of blank hostility descend over her face.
“Listen to me,” she began, fire in her eyes and an angry finger pointed at Brandt. “You go tell them that I pay them the credits on time this month. I no behind on mortgage payment again. Adiòs.” She stepped back to shut the door on Brandt who involuntarily stepped forwards ready to shove her boot in the way. She remembered that she wasn’t there with a squad of UN troops to search and seize, and she used her words instead.
“I’m here about your son,” she said. The door stopped mid swing and opened a crack more.
“Thomas?” she asked, with worry affecting her voice.
“No, no, I’m sure Thomas is fine,” Brandt said hurriedly to try and ward off any hysterics. “I’m here about Jake.”
Maria Santana’s face softened. A deep sadness mixed with fond memories washed over her in an emotional tide, transforming her from head to toe. Her voice changed, her shoulders sagged, and she seemed to grow a little older and more tired.
“You knew my Jake?” she asked.
“I’ve been here before with him…. a long time ago. My name’s Leslie Brandt. Jake and I… we joined the UN together and were stationed together on…”
“I remember you,” Maria said, “you got hurt by those people who took my boy from me.” She crossed herself quickly, something which Brandt guessed she did maybe fifty times a day.
“That’s right,” she said, lost for words until her inner self told her to get a grip. “Mrs. Santana, I–”
“You call me Maria, okay?” Maria said, opening the door and gesturing for Brandt to step inside. “I appreciate that one of Jake’s friends came to visit me,” she went on, “I keep all his things, in storage.” Brandt didn’t know why she was babbling about Jake’s things, but her eyes strayed to the low table in the hallway. A framed picture of Jake in his dress uniform, surrounded by candles and with the posthumous medals the UN had awarded him to complete their lies, still boxed in their velvet-lined cases. Brandt choked at seeing it but didn’t know how to tell the still grieving mother.
Get a grip, she told herself.
“Mrs. Sant– Maria. Please can we sit? I need to tell you something.” Maria’s face dropped, but she pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” Brandt started, “but Jake is… Jake is alive.”
Maria’s face didn’t change. It stayed frozen still as though she was ex
pecting the punchline to a terrible joke. She said nothing, just stared until Brandt said her piece.
“Jake was badly wounded. He technically died a few times… I didn’t even know he was on the same shuttle as I was… it was over seven years befo…” Brandt stopped, closed her eyes and took another breath. “Seven years I thought he was dead too, but he isn’t. He isn’t exactly who he was before, but he’s still here.”
“How do you say this to me?” Maria whispered. “All this time I grieve for my first boy, for my baby, and now you say this to me?” She stayed sitting down, didn’t move, but her hostility was radiating from her.
“I’m sorry. I’m doing this all wrong,” Brandt apologized in a pained voice. She was saved any further attempt by a long, drawn-out noise from the hallway. It was the universal sound of a teenager calling their mother. Maria sprang to her feet, sidestepped Brandt in the doorway with a speed and grace that made her realize where Jake got his natural ability, and she winced as the woman let out a scream.
She spun around, seeing the open front door blocked by the tall form of Jake ‘Specter’ Santana.
Even without his prototype armor, even without the array of weaponry he usually carried, his tall frame was made to appear muscular by the rubbery exo-suit covering his prosthetic arms and legs that was shaped to give him the athletic body type of a pro swimmer. The civilian shirt, cargo pans and boots looked more alien on him than her own plain clothing did.
“Jake?’ Maria asked in a whisper.
“Mom…” he replied, the synthesized edge cracking in his voice.
“Jake… my Jake…” Maria descended into flowing, wailing Spanish as her second language could never even begin to explain the emotions she was experiencing. She flew at him, hugging him before pushing him back to see him better and then hugging him in tightly again. She stroked his face, kissing him and pressing his cheeks together roughly as she spoke. Brandt walked past them as other doors opened in the house and two more of Jake’s siblings joined the tearful reunion. She stepped outside, closed the door softly behind her and walked back to the transport with a satisfied smile on her face. She climbed back behind the controls and pulled up her sleeve to tap out a quick text comm into her forearm device. The message, which she knew would appear in her friend’s brain like the built-in HUD that his optical implants were, simply told him to call Paterson when he needed a ride.
Conflict: The Expansion Series Book 3 Page 25