by Jamie Sawyer
Aeon. That name again.
“We know all we need to know about the Aeon,” I bluffed. “It’s a weapon.”
“You think you know about the Aeon, but if you’re here—just the four of you—then clearly you do not.” Locke smiled again. “The Aeon is much more than just a weapon. It is another intelligence. An alien intelligence. Military Intelligence has been tracking the Aeon for some time. They arrived towards the end of the Krell War, probably drawn to this sector by the activation of Shard technology.”
The Hannover was searching for another alien species, I realised. She was sent to investigate the Aeon …
“And you know this how?”
My mind was buzzing, the neurons firing. Another alien species in the Maelstrom? The implications of that were staggering. Jesus, the Directorate had almost started a war with the Alliance as a result of Shard leftovers—had almost brought the whole universe crashing down on our heads by summoning the Shard back to the Milky Way, at the end of the last Krell War. What would they do with the discovery of another alien species?
“I was chief xeno-archaeologist of the Science Division expedition on Tysis World. We discovered a ruin there, a Shard facility. It proved to be the most intact example of Shard technology ever discovered and led to some impressive discoveries about the history of the Maelstrom. The machines’ linguistics are really fascinating. They tell of many conflicts, but especially of a Great War between the organics and the mechanicals.”
“The Shard and the Krell?” Feng asked.
That the Shard and the Krell had once been at war—that they had almost exterminated each other millennia before the Alliance and the Directorate had entered the galactic stage—was common knowledge.
“Oh, so much more than that,” Dr. Locke explained. As she began to talk about the findings, she became revitalised by her passion. “There were—or, perhaps are—dozens of other species in the Milky Way Galaxy. Glyphs on Tysis World describe the coming together of several of these races in a union, opposed by another conglomeration. Can you imagine it? A pantheon of organic species on one side—a great alliance, if you will—in opposition to a machine-pact.
“During the Great War, the organics and the machines fought over the Maelstrom. The machine forces were stretched too far apart. They eventually fell, but the organics were scattered, unable to rally. The organics scored a pyrrhic victory, for what is was worth. In the waning days of their existence in this sector, the Shard unleashed a weapon.”
Dr. Locke paused, looking over the faces of each of the Jackals in turn. We all understood what came next, but it was me who asked the question.
“The Shard created the Harbinger virus, didn’t they?”
Locke gave a slow, mournful nod. “The Shard created a virus capable of not just crippling their enemy, but turning the Krell against each other. Collective warred on Collective. But the Krell had their own weapons.”
“The Aeon …” I muttered.
Dr. Locke nodded. “The Aeon were a great ally of the Krell, a species capable of killing planets, sending stars supernova.”
And that was exactly what the Aeon had done, in the Gyre. That was why the Hannover was sent out there, into the dark: to find the third alien race. The parts were starting to slowly—but painfully and surely—fall into place. My head had started to ache again.
“The Shard called the Aeon the Great Destroyer,” Dr. Locke continued. “Command hoped that they were still present in the Gyre, that perhaps they were still active. The Aeon may prove to be the only counter to this virus.”
Counter. That had been Harris’ word, back in the war room. I wondered, again, how much he had really known …
“So this Aeon can kill worlds?” Novak grumbled. “I say let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I think that they have already awoken,” Locke said, “and I think that they are angry.”
“Command already knows all of this,” I said. The Hannover had been acting on Locke’s information. “Why draw the Watch out here, all the way to Kronstadt?”
“Tysis World is gone. It was destroyed by the Black Spiral. The expedition’s findings went with it, and I was the only survivor.”
“Then what’s your intelligence?”
Dr. Locke pointed to tattoos on her shoulder. “I am the intelligence,” she said.
And then I understood. The image on Locke’s shoulder sprang to life, dancing both across—and under—her skin. A map: that was what this was. On the surface of her flesh, it looked like an electro-tattoo. But up close, I could see that it was far more complicated. A starmap, literally inked onto her flesh, stark against her white skin. It was incredibly detailed, and quite beautiful. Subdermal implants flickered beneath the skin, purpose unknown.
“I can lead you to the Aeon,” she said. “I am the only surviving map. I can end this—”
Vitali appeared at the door, waving his hands furiously.
“Quiet!” he yelled. “Everyone, stay quiet!”
The privacy field continued to buzz in the background, but that obviously wasn’t enough. Behind Vitali, the bar had fallen silent. He paused at the door to the chamber, and I saw into the main bar room. The lights had been dimmed, all patrons frozen in place.
“What’s happening?” Lopez asked.
A stab of illumination—a spotlight—played across the street outside, visible through the Dream’s glass windows. Bright white light spilled inside, throwing shadows across the bar.
“What have you done?” Vitali exclaimed. He jabbed a finger at me. “Who have you brought here?”
“No one! We weren’t followed!”
Which, of course, I knew was too good to be true.
Outside, the light shifted abruptly, panning back and forth. It was being projected from something big and dark, hovering overhead.
“No way …” Lopez muttered.
The spotlight was mounted on a dropship.
The Directorate were on Kronstadt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SCIENCE OF VIOLENCE
The whole bar went quiet, even the music silenced. Everyone peered through the smoke-glass frontage, at the black shape dipping over Svoboda’s ragged skyline.
“That’s a Dragon-class,” Feng muttered. The anger in his voice was real and hot. “There are four of them.”
Because, after all, one is never enough.
“You’re sure about that?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” Feng said.
Dr. Locke looked from me to Feng, then back again. “What’s a Dragon-class?”
“It’s a dropship,” I answered, by rote. “Small, fast, well armed. Mainstay of the Directorate forces.”
“That’s a lot of Shadows,” Feng said. “Each Dragon can carry a platoon.”
“They must’ve come in on another transport,” I said. “Which can only mean that the Furious Retribution is up there somewhere.”
“You think that Zero has seen them?” Lopez asked.
“I doubt it. The Retribution will be running a full stealth package. Must’ve got through that Navy cordon. The Alliance fleet is looking for Krell ships, not Directorate.”
“The furious what?” Dr. Locke enquired.
“An old friend,” said Feng. “Flagship of Commander Kwan, Bureau of Shadow Affairs. He’s been looking for us.”
Dr. Locke’s mouth dropped open in horror. “You’ve brought the Shadow Bureau to Kronstadt?”
“Not through choice,” I said. “I can assure you of that.”
Lopez sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“Too long for now,” I decided. “Under the table. Keep back from the windows.”
“No, no, no!” Vitali implored. “I’ve already said, this is a safe house. I cannot have exchange of fire in my premises.”
“Well it’s too late for that,” I said. “The bar has a null-shield, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep it at maximum amplification.”
“The energy costs alone …
!” Vitali complained.
I completed his sentence: “Will be significantly less than the cost of rebuilding this place after the Directorate are finished with it.”
Vitali glared at me in a way that suggested he wasn’t exactly in agreement with my assessment, but nodded at one of his bodyguards. She went towards the back office, yelling something in Russian.
“It’s set,” Vitali said.
The reprieve would be temporary, and I knew it. At maximum polarity, the null-shield would prevent a bombardment of the bar by energy or projectile weapons. But that was only the first problem. Kwan would send in Shadow commandos to sweep the city, street by street, and the null-shield wouldn’t help with that.
There was a ripple of anxiety through the bar. The bravado that the bratva had showed when we’d arrived had evaporated, to be replaced by obvious fear.
“And here come the ground pounders …” Feng said, his voice little more than a whisper.
The four dropships were poised overhead. Their armoured bellies opened, and they disgorged troops into the Barrows. Wearing Ikarus flight-suits, the Shadow commandos launched from the dropships in formation, thruster harnesses flaring bright blue against the darkening sky. The troops landed on rooftops, immediately deploying into the buildings below.
One dropship hovered so low that it almost seemed to be sniffing the Barrows. Its VTOL—vertical takeoff and lift—engines were aligned so that the backdraught virtually flattened the surrounding structures. Locals had started to filter out onto the streets now, yelling and throwing makeshift missile weapons at the dropship. The flyer’s searchlight panned the shanties, but otherwise took no notice. Broken bottles and bricks were of no concern.
“What’s happening?” Dr. Locke hissed. “What are they doing?”
“Quiet.”
Then the Dragon spoke.
“We are looking for escaped prisoners,” came a voice, carried by an amplification system in the dropship’s nose. I immediately recognised Kwan, his voice unmistakable. “They are fugitives, and sworn enemies of the Greater Asiatic Directorate. You will produce them, or we will tear this world apart looking for them. This is the lead prisoner.”
An enormous tri-D image of my face was projected from the dropship’s belly, filling the sky above the Barrows. Looked like it had been taken during our incarceration on Jiog; painted in blue light, it flickered and hazed in the rain, but it was clear enough.
“You have a fan,” Novak said.
“More like a stalker.”
“This woman’s name is Keira Jenkins,” Kwan said. “We offer a reward to any who assist in her capture. But to any who stand in the way of the Greater Asiatic Directorate, know this: we will destroy you, and everything you stand for. That will be all.”
The Barrows responded immediately. Small-arms fire impacted the dropship’s belly, in response. A dozen minor engagements erupted from rooftops, from the streets, as gangers and Shadows clashed.
“Do you think that Kwan is actually down on Kronstadt?” Feng asked.
But I knew that Feng really wanted to know whether Tang—the Mother of Clones—was out there. She had been responsible for creating him and his kind, and had threatened Feng’s new life. The hatred was writ large across his face. That aside, Feng being on the same planet as the Directorate presented its own problems: namely, the metal in his head.
Instead of voicing that concern, I just nodded, and said, “We can only hope.”
“There’s an army of them out there,” Lopez complained. “We can’t take them on. We don’t even have any proper firepower!” She scowled. “We should’ve used the Pathfinder suits, just like I said.”
Listen to your squad, Harris had told me. Maybe the old bastard had a point after all …
“You were right, Lopez.”
My reaction caught Lopez by surprise. “Then what are we going to do about it?” she continued. “There are only four of us.”
I searched the faces of the Jackals, and I liked what I saw. “We four need to become an army,” I said.
“And how exactly are we going to do that?” Lopez asked.
“We’re simulant operators. Let’s make the most of it. Vitali, look after Dr. Locke. Hold the fort until we get back.”
I tuned the communicator on my wrist-comp. Opened a channel back to Zero.
“Zero, do you copy?”
“I copy. I’m receiving some worrying transmissions. What’s happening down there?”
“Prepare to receive four to the SOC,” I said. “And get a fix on this location.”
My wrist-computer’s transmitter lit. The device would act as a homing beacon. While it wasn’t the strongest transmitter in the arsenal, and the beacon would quickly deplete the comp’s power cell, it would do for these purposes.
“Solid copy,” she answered. “I have your location.”
“Tell Captain Lestrade to make burn for low orbit. Stay safe, but bring the Bird in as low as she can go. We’re going to make descent using the Pathfinder suits.”
Lopez’s eyes lit with interest.
“Understood,” Zero replied.
“We need to be in a position to deploy immediately. Extract us in five seconds.”
“Copy that,” Zero said. She started the countdown.
Vitali flapped his arms anxiously. “Where are you going? You can’t leave us down here with the Directorate!”
“We’ll be right back. Jackals, prepare for extraction.”
The neural-link between me and my simulant was severed, and I extracted back to the Firebird.
I snapped my eyes open. The Jackals were all around me, each bobbing in their tanks, extraction data filling the overhead view-screen.
“Extraction confirmed,” I said, for a record that no one would ever review.
Zero swivelled on her chair, turning to the squad.
“The fleet in orbit is chattering,” Zero said. Her voice was projected into my ear by the communicator, frayed with tension. “Is our position compromised?”
“It’s not us,” I said. I ricked my neck, the respirator still clamped over my mouth. “The Directorate are down there. They have four Dragon-class dropships and a boatload of Shadow commandos.”
“Shit. Have you found Dr. Locke?”
“Affirmative. She’s holed up in a bar. We’re going back down there.”
Zero turned back to her console. “I’ve painted your last location via the wrist-comp, but how are you going to get the doctor off-world? We’ve already been through this; even if you use the Pathfinder suits, you don’t have any way of getting back into orbit.”
“The cosmodrome has transports,” I said. “We met a contact. Like I told you, we have a possible retreat plan. It’s the best we’ve got. For now, I want the Firebird to remain on-station.” Over the general squad channel, I said, “Jackals, prepare for transition.”
“Affirmative,” the squad chorused.
“Send us back, Zero.”
“Transition in three … two … one …”
Then I was in the dark. Sealed inside a drop-suit, ready for deployment. I made a mental note to thank Lopez for prepping the simulants. The only reason that we were immediately drop-capable was because of her insistence on readying the suits. She’d been keen to use the new armour, and had not only armoured the spare simulants, but also loaded them into the drop-bay. What had, only a short while ago, seemed like wasted effort, now appeared to be damned good planning.
“Transition confirmed.”
The Pathfinder suit’s internal diagnostics activated.
WELCOME, LIEUTENANT KEIRA JENKINS. DEPLOY SUIT?
“Hell yeah.”
The Pathfinder was immobile, because the limbs had to be locked into position for what came next. I was unceremoniously shuttled into a firing tube, a lot like a missile in a launcher—exactly what I was about to become.
The Jackals reeled off confirmations, and Zero and Captain Lestrade were chattering in the background. No point in keeping co
mms silent now: we were running hot, and from here on in stealth was a distant memory.
There was a rumble around me as the drop-suit slid into the launch tube. No time to worry. No time to think about the Jackals’ lack of Pathfinder training. Maybe it was better this way; at least there was no expectation, no anxiety. I licked my lips. Just like Harris said—no time for regrets. Sometimes the best strategies were down to luck. I hoped this was one of those times.
“Green for launch,” Zero declared.
Then, feetfirst, I was fired out of the Firebird.
“Wooohooo!” Feng screamed, his voice warbling as his suit took the acceleration.
Lopez and Novak’s bio-signs appeared on my HUD. They too had successfully launched.
Crisp, cold air filled my simulated lungs. More commands filtered across my HUD, confirmed that various systems were now online. The armour took care of everything. Automated thrust control initiated.
The Pathfinder’s visor was polarised, made to shield the face from sight-threatening explosions and bursts of light, but I caught a glimpse of Kronstadt from space. What I saw wasn’t pretty, not pretty at all. The Alliance fleet in high orbit was active. Missiles and lasers and railguns silently raked the void. It seemed a lot of activity for just one ship … But we weren’t the Navy’s focus. Who were they firing at?
“Fuck!” Lopez screamed, her drop-suit veering on my left flank.
Something exploded out there. Debris scattered across our flight path. The suits’ navigational system responded, took us on a safer approach vector.
“You read me, Zero?” I asked, my own voice quivering as the suit threw me around. “Zero!”
“I copy,” Zero finally answered, her voice warped with static. “There’s a lot of interference in this sector. Be aware that—”
An Alliance warship exploded nearby. It was a long way off, but ships didn’t just blow up. I could see very little at the speed I was travelling, but the suit was painting graphics across my HUD: uplinking to the wider intelligence grid. The armour didn’t care whether we were AWOL or loyalist, and the fleet was literally bleeding data. Kronstadt was closer with every heartbeat, the atmosphere beckoning to us. I braced myself in readiness for the breach, just prayed that we could make it. Once we hit atmo, we would be safe from the war in space …