by Richard Fox
“We may trade paint.” Valdar removed his void helmet from off his belt and put it on. “Ready ship for combat conditions.”
“Aye aye.” Zahar turned to the bridge crew. “Sound zero atmo alert and set combat condition one.”
Through the forward windows, rail cannon batteries angled up from the hull, vanes crackling with electricity as the ship bore down on the Crucible.
Valdar went back to the holo tank and watched as ready icons sprang up across the Ibarran fleet.
“This’ll work?” Marc asked.
“Or we’ll die trying.”
Chapter 22
Tomenakai tried to scream, but his mouth was full of fluid. He beat against glass walls of a narrow tank holding his body. He struggled to sit up, but his limbs seemed to have a lengthy latency between his attempts to move and their response.
Hands pulled him upright, and electric blue fluid dripped off his face. He felt the tug of cables against the back of his skull. The flesh of his new clone body was raw and puffy.
“Stop!” Another Ixio cupped his face with her hands. “Stop all this squirming or you’ll ruin your new synaptic pathways. You’ve gone through this before.”
“Bale…Bale has gone mad.” His mouth was numb, but his tongue felt fat. “The other Ixio, the grand council on the Star Fort…”
“So tragic to have so many Risen killed at once,” the female said. “None have recompiled yet. The buffers overloaded when the humans—”
“Wasn’t the humans.” Tomenakai leaned against the side of the tank and grabbed the nurse by the neck. “Who are you?”
“Rillia, second class reanimation—”
“Give me…give me your communicator.” He reached for the ring at the top of her long neck, but his strength gave out.
Rillia took hers off and snapped it onto Tomenakai’s neck. He tapped at holo keys and opened a channel to a Sanheel he trusted, then he opened monitoring channels to all the rest he found on the network.
“Tomenakai.” Admiral Garvan appeared, projected directly onto the Ixio’s retina by the communicator, tugging at his tusks. “If you’re here, then…is Lord Bale uninjured? Victorious? We’ll have the humans dead by—”
“No,” Tomenakai said. “Don’t call Bale ‘lord’ ever again.”
“That’s sacrilege.” Garvan’s thick lips pulled into a frown. “Another Sanheel would rip your Risen implants out for that.”
“Listen…just listen.” Tomenakai laid out everything from Bale devouring a Risen Ixio’s mind to ordering the murder of the others aboard the star fort and the Toth’s actions on Earth.
Garvan, to his credit, didn’t interrupt.
“Impossible,” the Sanheel said. “Lord Bale would never do that to us. He saved the Kesaht. Gave us the Risen technology and—”
“It’s all true, Garvan. Once the rest of the Ixio reload into their clones, they’ll tell you the exact same thing.”
A new Sanheel broke through the link, High General Braxis.
“Lies!” he shouted. “The humans have set foot on our sacred soil, and I will not believe some Ixio that would have me abandon my holy duty.”
“Braxis, the Ixio and Sanheel are one.” Tomenakai’s head drooped as he spoke, his strength fading. “Kesaht unity…was from before Bale. Don’t go back to the old ways.”
“I command the forces defending Hegemony Dome,” Braxis said. “I will kill every last human at our gate and set their heads on pikes as tribute to Bale. You…you, I will keep alive so he can punish you himself.”
More Sanheel broke through, shouting. Tomenakai wobbled and sank back into the tank, his ears full of discordant voices.
Rillia removed the communicator ring and Tomenakai slipped to sleep.
Chapter 23
Gideon’s Armor sat on a crate, hunched over and back plating splayed open. Trinia, field expedient goggles made from a cut down Eagle canopy, worked an arc welder against the captain’s inner womb.
Ranger Colonel Gutierrez held a small holo projector in his hand. The face of a helmeted woman in a Navy void suit floated between the two humans.
“That Kesaht battleship was the last cap ship to try a run on our lines,” Admiral Ericson of the carrier Normandy said through the holo. “Klaw ships and their fighters are still harassing us, but my destroyer pickets hammer them every time they get in range.”
“What are they waiting for?” Gideon asked. “If every Kesaht ship massed and tried to overwhelm what we’ve got left over Gold Beach, how long would we last?”
Ericson, a veteran of the Ember War and one-time executive officer of the fabled Breitenfeld, turned her head aside.
“I could buy you all an hour,” she said. “If that.”
“The Crucible gate dropped its disruption field,” Gutierrez said. “Any chance we could make a run for it?”
“The bulk of their fleet’s between us and the gate.” Ericson shook her head. “Suicide. And we don’t control a single command node in the gate. If any of our ships survived the gauntlet, which we won’t, they could open a gate into a star just for the laughs.”
“Word from home?” Gideon asked.
“Keep this close hold,” Ericson said furtively. “Earth is under siege. Vishrakath over Earth. Kesaht making a slow orbit around Luna. It’s only a matter of time until our defenses break and we start losing cities.”
“God damn it.” Gutierrez looked away.
“The Kesaht could stomp us out at will,” Gideon said. “Why haven’t they? They dropped the disruption field. Reinforcements could come for us from other Union systems.”
“You don’t know Bale.” Trinia stood up, examining a charred piece of equipment. She tossed it at Gideon’s feet. “He’s vindictive. Cruel. The longer we’re here, the longer we cling to hope. Once he forces Earth’s surrender, or destroys it outright, he’ll return and broadcast video of your planet in flames. When your spirit is broken, then he’ll take your surrender…and feast on your sorrow.”
“Sweet Lord.” Gutierrez swallowed hard.
“Armor dies hard,” Gideon said. “That—or victory—is the only way our battle ends.”
“So we have…eight hours?” Ericson asked. “You ground pounders have a miracle in your pocket to take down dome shields? I could take the Normandy on a death ride. See if all engines burning on a collision course will get the job done. Worked with the Ardennes and the star fort.”
“I sent our Pathfinders into the subway system under the city to try and find the tunnel network the enemy used to hit us before the last attack…None have reported back,” the Strike Marine said.
“We got some telemetry data from our rail hits,” Gideon said. “See if we can find something there we can use, some variance frequency we can hit and punch through. The shields some of the Sanheel and Toth use are vulnerable to staggered hits…”
“Give it to me,” Trinia said, her head buried in Gideon’s back. “Soon as I repair your stabilizers.”
“That’s something,” Ericson said. “My crews are holding, but I see the cracks. We need some good news, and soon.”
“I need to walk the lines,” Gutierrez said. “Can’t have my Marines think I’ve forgotten about them.”
“Go. I’ll join soon as I can,” Gideon said.
“Keep me up to date. I’ll let you know when another crisis is on your way.” Ericson’s holo fizzled out.
Gutierrez slipped his helmet on and left the command center, a trio of bodyguards with him.
“You’re lucky,” Trinia said, motioning to the burnt-out bit of gear at his feet. “That component saved your life when the electro-spike breached your chest cavity.”
“Do I need it?”
“No. It’s not a system that I designed for your suit. I don’t actually know what it does, but it was linked to your sensors and your neural input links,” she said.
Gideon nudged it with his foot and flakes of ash fell away.
“Let me sew you back up.” The Aeon slammed a p
anel shut. “While I have you here, I need a promise from you.”
“Ask.”
“My people…have customs. Even though I am the last of us, I cannot let our passage from life be marred by…sin, you would say. We do not end our lives by our own hands willfully. Ever. When the Kesaht come for us, if all is lost…” She hefted his rear plates shut and activated the mag locks. She rapped a tool against his Armor twice and Gideon stood up and faced her.
Trinia guided his hand up to her neck and put his fingers around her throat.
“They will enslave me. Force me to create abominations that will stain the stars for years and years. I want you to promise that will not happen.”
“That’s what you want? The end of hope?”
“Say you’ll do it. Don’t abandon me like the Ibarrans did.”
Gideon pulled his hand back slightly then bent it into a fist.
“I’m not like them. If it needs to happen, it’ll be quick.”
Trinia closed her eyes and bowed slightly.
“Captain?” Cha’ril sent over IR. “We need the Aeon. Santos is feeling weird.”
“Get your tools and follow me.”
****
Gideon looked over the trench gouged out of the dead city. Mechanics and supply soldiers in light armor worked to make the trenches just a little deeper, building dug outs to shelter artillery attacks, and brace the trench walls with bricks repurposed from crumbling buildings.
He thought back to the trench lines on Hawaii where he’d earned scars down his face from a Toth warrior. This battlefield was different. Back then, there’d been a decent chance of repelling the Toth assault. Here, on Kesaht’ka, everything they did reeked of desperation.
“It was me,” Santos said as Trinia examined a data slate connected to his helm. Cha’ril was within earshot, her attention more on the No Man’s Land beyond the trench. “I saw me and Trinia. And I felt…like I was supposed to help. It was like a vision or something.”
“Stress,” Gideon said. “This is the first time you’ve been plugged in and in a fight for so long.”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Cha’ril said. “Gershwin and the rest of the Eisenritter lance experienced it too.”
“But not you?” Gideon asked.
The Dotari shook her helm. “And not me.”
“There’s nothing here,” Trinia said. “He scans normal.”
“Sir…” Santos pulled the plug connected to her slate. “I heard rumors that…that sometimes Saint Kallen would appear to—”
“Don’t.” Gideon took a step toward him and leveled a knife hand at his chest. “Don’t you dare. Lies and superstition. All of it. That ‘saint’ is just a pile of bones in a—”
Santos grabbed Gideon by the edge of his breastplate.
The captain looked down at the hand touching him, then back to Santos’s helm.
“Behind you, sir,” Santos said and released his hold.
Gideon turned around. A crowd of sailors, Rangers, and Strike Marines had gathered. All were on one knee, rifles held in one hand as they genuflected. One man, unarmed, stood with his head knelt in prayer. A chaplain.
“What is happening?” Trinia asked.
“We are Kallen’s avatar,” Santos said quietly. “Doesn’t matter if I believe it or not. They do. It was…was her spirit that carried us through the final battle of the Ember War. Steeled the Armor on the Xaros world ship.”
“Carius didn’t need a Saint,” Gideon said. “I knew him.”
“Kallen was an Iron Heart,” Santos said. “We are Iron Dragoons. The soldiers see her in us. Believer or not, morale is hurting. We need something, captain. They need hope. Where’s the harm?”
“The harm is in joining a damn cult,” Gideon said. “But you have a point about morale. Go on. Play icon.”
Santos took a half-step forward, waiting to see if Gideon was serious. When the captain didn’t stop him, he went over to the chaplain.
“Trinia.” Gideon said, turning back to her and Cha’ril. “Does the Dotari …does it have that component that got fried by the Kesaht spear?”
“I can check.” Trinia frowned and pulled the data line to bring the plug to her hand.
“Friendlies coming through!” came from down the trench line, echoing from defender to defender. The call for a medic followed a moment later.
Gideon went down the line, ignoring soldiers as they crossed themselves and reached out to tap his legs for luck.
A team of Strike Marines hurried out of the ruins to the trench, a litter carried between two of them. The Strike Marines were filthy, their power armor caked with dust and blood. They brought the litter up first, and defenders lowered it to a pair of waiting corpsmen.
The wounded was missing arms below the elbow and legs below the knee, a blood-stained bit of ripped cloth over where his jaw should’ve been.
“Aignar?” Gideon went to the edge of the trench and bent down. “Aignar, can you hear me?”
He raised a stump and waved it slightly.
“Low grad radiation poisoning.” A Strike Marine Corpsman slid over the ramparts and put a hand on Aignar’s shoulder. “We had to cut him out of his suit, but he’s been responsive since then.”
“Let’s get him to the field hospital,” another medic said and grabbed the litter handles.
“Booker, go,” Lieutenant Hoffman said from the top of the trench and she grabbed the other set of handles without a word.
Hoffman crouched slightly and used his power armor’s strength assist to jump across the gap and land next to Gideon. He removed his helm, hands shaking.
Gideon saw a pair of dog tags wrapped around the Strike Marine’s hand.
“I thought Aignar was…well done, Marine,” Gideon said.
“He’d…he’d better be worth it.” Hoffman wiped the back of a hand across his mouth and put his helmet back on. The rest of his team followed him away from the trench, all but one, the tallest of the group, one with a scimitar sheathed on the small of his back.
“This city reeks of death.” The tall one looked up at Gideon, and he saw a scaly alien face within.
“We’ll need you back on the line…when you’re ready,” Gideon said.
“Valdar’s Hammer will be ready when the enemy comes.” The alien beat a prosthetic fist to his chest and followed after his team.
“Is that a miracle?” Trinia asked from behind Gideon.
“Duty is duty,” the captain replied. “We don’t leave wounded behind. Aignar’s just too tough to die.”
“I did a scan on the Dotari’s suit,” she said. “She’s missing component CD-999B. Santos has one installed.” She tapped her data slate. “Yours was damaged, and I removed it.”
Santos knelt as the group of defenders filed past him, each touching his Armor.
“It’s…all a lie.” Gideon’s fists tightened so hard, the servos squealed.
“Are you going to challenge their faith?” she asked. “Now?”
Gideon didn’t answer.
“Then I suggest you let it go. You’re the ranking Armor. Don’t you have a battle in the material world to worry about? Fight for the spirit now and what will you win?”
“You make too much sense,” he growled.
“You pick up a few things over the centuries…”
“See to Aignar. See that he wasn’t hurt too badly when they removed him from his womb.” Gideon turned and made his way down the trench line.
She tapped the data slate against her thigh and sighed.
“Humans are always such a mess.”
Chapter 24
Santos waited near Cha’ril as a tech with a bad limp and a bandage wrapped around her lower leg unfastened a power cable from the leads on the back of the Dotari’s armor.
“What are you doing?” Cha’ril asked. “I’m at forty percent on my reserves.”
The tech knocked on the battery stack.
“And this one’s down to single digits. Our only field reactor went boom
during the last strafing run. This unit’s solar panels burned up in atmo. I charge you up for more than eight hours of sustained combat at a time and then I don’t have—”
“I understand,” Cha’ril said. “Santos. Your turn.”
“No need.” He tapped a shoulder where his rail gun vanes should’ve been. “I’m good for eight. No worry about me pulling deep for a rail shot.”
An alert pinged on his HUD, a nearby trench reporting enemy contact. Alerts from adjacent units pinged soon after.
“Let’s go.” Cha’ril took off at a run. “I can’t raise the captain.” She glanced up and slid to a stop. “Oh no.”
The night sky was alive with star bursts, sudden meteor showers of shells tracing brief lines through the upper atmosphere. An explosion cast momentary shadows across Gold Beach.
“There’s a fight up there,” Santos said.
The snap of gauss rifles picked up.
“And we’re down here.” Cha’ril ran on and turned hard around a corner.
A motley crew of Rangers and sailors fired from their trench into the surrounding darkness beyond their line. Santos launched an illumination shell from his mortar tube and made for the back of the trench. His rotary cannon spun to life and he locked it to his shoulder.
The shell burst and lit up the trench and the surroundings. Santos caught himself before opening fire.
There were men and women out there. Not the hulking and hunched-shouldered Rakka he was expecting. A human wave advanced on the trench at a slow jog, each carrying a crude club or axe in their hands. They wore little more than rags, and their alabaster skin was almost unnatural in the harsh light.
He spotted a few of the brutish Rakka mixed between lines of humans, all carrying whips and beating at anyone that came within range.
“What is this?” Cha’ril asked.
“You two going to help?” a Ranger shouted up from the trench. A corpse of a sailor, his head crushed, lay jumbled together with one of the too-pale humans.
“Heaven forgive me.” Santos fired his rotary gun, sending quick bursts into any Rakka he saw, killing it and several of the new enemies as well.