by CH Gideon
But as he looked up at the nearly-vertical fifteen-kilometer-high cliff-face above him, he was unable to completely shake the feeling that this was all part of some elaborate ruse.
“Elvira, this is Trapper,” came the unexpected hail from the grizzled sergeant major.
“Trapper, Elvira,” she acknowledged.
“We’ve dug out our nests on the southern face,” Trapper explained. “We’re ready to arm up.”
“Roger,” Xi replied approvingly. Trapper’s people had dug out two dozen nests using explosives and plasma torches, and they had done so nearly a full hour ahead of schedule. “I’ll call the Bonhoeffer and get the first supply cans delivered ASAP. I’m also bringing up the heavy haulers so they can retrieve the cans for your people to use as barracks. They’ll be exposed for now, but after we arm your nests, my people will be able to carve out some more breathing room.”
“Much obliged,” Trapper replied, and for a moment he sounded precisely like his son.
Xi initiated a P2P with the Assault Carrier and transmitted the coordinates for the next drop. “Bonhoeffer Control, this is Dragon Actual. We’re ready for room service.”
The voice that greeted her was a pleasant surprise. “Copy that, Dragon Actual,” Podsy replied. “Relay target coordinates, and we’ll make sure it’s still steaming when you get it.”
“Do my ears deceive me?” Xi asked, unable to keep from grinning like an idiot at hearing Podsy’s voice. “Bonhoeffer Actual authorized you to use a mic?” she pressed while sending a confirmation of the drop-zone’s coordinates, which were just two klicks to the south.
The terrain there was too broken for the TBM to have come down since the heavy lifters required a relatively flat surface, which was why they had brought it down considerably farther out. But the APCs were more than capable of running across the rocky, shattered landscape to retrieve these much-needed supplies.
“Consider my comm privileges early parole for good behavior.” Podsy chuckled.
Xi snickered. “Your butt-snorkeling skills are legendary.”
“Not all of us are built like brick shithouses, Captain,” Podsednik retorted. “Each according to his means.”
“Better dead than well-fed, eh, Lieutenant?” she quipped.
“We’ll hit our drop window in three minutes,” Podsy said, cutting short the banter. “Keep an eye on the sky. Bonhoeffer Control, out.”
The line cut before Xi said, “It’s good to…” Her voice trailed off, realizing the connection was dead as she meekly finished, “…hear your voice, Podsy.” For some reason, she felt legitimately bad that she had failed to open the conversation with her former Wrench on those terms. They had been deployed on the Brick for nearly a week now, and this was the first communication she had received from the newly minted lieutenant. She felt like such an ass for reasons not entirely clear to her.
Xi shook her head to clear it of the distractions. She keyed up the channel to 3rd Platoon. “Cave Troll, we’ve got a delivery inbound. I’m forwarding the coordinates and itinerary. Escort Sergeant Major Trapper’s team out there, recover the supplies, and return here on the double. We should be able to pull it all back here in two trips.”
“Roger, Elvira,” Cave Troll acknowledged. “3rd Platoon en route.”
Six hours later, supplies collected, Sergeant Major Trapper’s people began installing a missile defense system that would be even more robust than that provided by Xi’s mechs.
They would finally be dug in.
7
Walking Away
Two days had passed, and Lee Jenkins was ready to meet the Chairman. He had considered the offer from every possible angle, and he was ready to accept the consequences of his choice.
An offer of seventy-two fully-crewed, top-of-the-line assault-grade mechs came once in a lifetime. It would infuse the Terran Armor Corps with an overwhelming amount of fighting power. With a full brigade of three battalions under his command, Colonel Jenkins could conduct planet-wide offensives on a scale not undertaken by the Metal Legion in half a century.
It was the chance to raise the visibility of the Legion and everyone in it. This would increase the Legion’s political protection from the types of maneuvers that had already tried to sink Armor Corps.
Counterbalanced against that choice was the safety of his people on the Brick, and possibly even the operational integrity of their ultra-secret mission to uncover the truth of the Jemmin conspiracy. The Vorr had already provided Director Durgan with material assistance, and as far as he could tell, they were genuinely concerned with humanity’s well-being. Their dispute with the Jemmin would undoubtedly come to a head, and they had offered the Metal Legion a chance to protect humanity from the fallout of that inevitable conflict.
The knock at his apartment’s door snapped him back to the moment. Standing to his full height, Jenkins moved to the door and saw a quartet of perfectly identical women wearing the same astronomical cheongsam as their predecessor (or, more likely given the number of women present, their predecessors).
“Chairman Kong is expecting you,” they said in near-perfect unison, parting and gesturing down the hall toward the lift.
Jenkins had thought the Chairman’s unspoken message regarding the identical women had been “nothing here is as it seems,” but if that had indeed been the extent of his subtle missive, why send four of them to his door as a follow-up? Was Kong suggesting he thought Jenkins was too dense to understand him the first time around? Had Jenkins misunderstood the message, or was the Chairman saying something new?
Knowing he was not cut out for a game of such high-level subtlety, Jenkins made his way through the four women who assumed their places at his side and escorted him to the lift. They moved with grace, but also with purpose rarely displayed by simple docents and facilitators. Their musculature was superior to most human women’s, but then again, the residents of Terra Han were generally superior in physique to the rest of the Terran Republic’s citizenry.
They led him to the same aircar platform as he had previously used, where an identical aircar awaited them. Sure enough, the car was crewed by another quartet of the identical women, except this batch wore identical bronze-on-white body-gloves with Falcon Interworks heraldry.
The first four women accompanied Jenkins to the car and entered, while their counterparts gestured for Jenkins to board the vehicle. He did so, and the car sped off toward Ivory Spire One. He took the opportunity to more closely examine the faces of the women in the car.
They each had unique identifying features, like moles and subtle variations in the structures of their ears, but these women were identical in every meaningful respect. Two had barely-visible scars on their cheeks, suggesting at least some martial arts training.
The car pulled to a stop on the platform, and two of the women disembarked before gesturing for Jenkins to do likewise. He stepped off and followed the women to Chairman Kong’s boardroom, where the youthful Chairman awaited in his seat at the end of the table.
Except this time, instead of a suggestively angled chair awaiting Jenkins, not a single chair lined the table aside from the one the Chairman occupied.
The women closed the door behind Jenkins, and the Chairman got straight to the point. “You have enjoyed my hospitality, inspected my offer, and tested my patience, Colonel Jenkins. I hope, for all our sakes, you did not waste our time.”
“I appreciate your hospitality, Chairman,” Jenkins said seriously. “And your offer is one I would be a fool not to accept. It would turn my ragtag fighting force into one which could compete with any ground force fielded in the history of humanity, let alone the Terran Republic.”
“And here comes the inevitable ‘but.’” Kong’s lips parted in a thin sneer.
“But,” Jenkins said with a grave nod, “I have a responsibility to something more than Armor Corps, more than myself, more than the Terran Republic…and even more than humanity.”
“Are you truly that self-interested?”
Kong asked, his sneer turning to a condescending smirk. “Would you place your pride above the opportunity to rebuild your beleaguered branch from the ground up using the best material resources available to Terran humanity?”
“No, Chairman.” Jenkins shook his head firmly. “Not to myself, but to the men and women under my command.”
Kong’s eyes narrowed. “Go on, Colonel. The least you can do is explain to me why this effort was somehow more than a colossal waste of my time and energy.”
“We both know those mechs were built using Terra Han’s resources,” Jenkins said stiffly. “They represent a trove of blood and treasure that your government could not be expected to release without certain assurances. Even if I had the information you seek,” he continued, measuring both his tone and his body language as he spoke, “and even if I was inclined to provide it to you, I could not permit that information to be disseminated until my current objectives have been achieved. Terra Han has every right to be proud of Lotus and Orchid Battalions, and it would be unreasonable to expect them to release those assets without a certain degree of…call it ‘oversight’ into how they were deployed.”
“Is a little oversight truly too high a price?” Kong asked, his expression disdainful but his eyes intent.
“Frankly?” Jenkins drew a short breath. “Yes. My Legion is walking a tightrope. We spend every waking minute staring into a political abyss which would consume us for the slightest misstep. We’re surrounded and outgunned, Chairman Kong; that much is true. The smart money would be against us, but if we’re going down, we’d rather do it unified than to be torn apart by internal strife.”
“Are you certain your people would agree?” Kong asked as an unrecognizable expression flashed across his visage.
“More than anything, Mr. Chairman,” Jenkins said with conviction. “Armor Corps would be more than happy to accept whatever material and human assets Terra Han can provide. God knows we can use them,” he said gravely. “But I can’t, in good conscience, agree to something I know I’ll have to renegotiate later. That’s not how the Metal Legion rolls,” he finished, more confident than before that he had made the right choice.
Kong hesitated. He had more to say, but what was equally clear was that he had little hope for his desired outcome.
“Very well, Colonel Jenkins,” the Chairman allowed. “I understand your position, and on some level, I admire you for holding it. But I am certain of one thing above all else,” he said, waving a hand languidly over a panel built into the conference table, causing the door at Jenkins’ back to slide open. “You will come to regret this decision.”
“Thank you for your time, Chairman Kong,” Jenkins said with a nod, turning and leaving Ivory Spire One before making for the nearest spaceport. The courier ship Director Durgan had provided was still on standby, and every second Jenkins spent on Terra Han was time he and his people no longer had.
“Colonel Jenkins,” Thomas Oxblood, the captain and pilot of the Durgan courier ship, greeted him as soon as Jenkins boarded the sleek vessel. “We’re ready to break orbit when you are.”
With a twenty-year service record in the New Britain/Terra Britannia PDF, Oxblood was one of a growing number of servicemen who had gone from a highly-respected military career into private security. Jenkins could understand much of the appeal, given the relative lack of political pressure and maneuvering in the mercenary world.
“Let’s go to New Africa,” Jenkins told him. “I’ve done all I can here.”
“Very good, Colonel,” Oxblood agreed, and three minutes later the ship received clearance to break orbit and proceed to Terra Han’s jump gate. The courier vessel, simply designated DC04 for “Durgan Courier Zero Four,” was among the fastest in the Republic. With acceleration couches capable of protecting their occupants from the tremendous gee forces of high-speed interplanetary travel, ships like DC04 were prized possessions since they cut the trips from planet to jump-gate to a fraction of what a standard liner could manage.
Even the Bonhoeffer and other Terran warships were incapable of matching a courier’s speed, but what a courier like DC04 featured in speed it sacrificed in style.
Stripping to his underwear, Jenkins prepared for his ride in the couch. The pressure-suit he donned with Oxblood’s assistance was similar to those employed by fighter pilots, providing external pressure on the softer, fleshier parts of human anatomy into which blood would naturally pool during high-gee acceleration. The suits were anything but comfortable, and were custom-fit to each passenger. Jenkins knew the cost of such a suit and its many attachments was nearly as high as one of his mechs.
“Just relax, Colonel,” Oxblood urged as he prepared an injection which would activate the devices previously installed throughout Jenkins’ body. Some of those devices were essentially stents, designed to keep certain blood vessels from collapsing, while others regulated blood pressure throughout his most sensitive organs (chief among them his brain) to prevent damage during the sustained acceleration.
Other tubes, hoses, and apparatuses were attached to his body through the flight suit’s myriad ports. And in fifteen minutes, he was seated in the couch with a specially-designed mouthpiece clenched between his teeth that would provide him with the oxygen he needed during flight.
“Are you ready?” Oxblood asked, pointedly waving a syringe.
Jenkins wordlessly nodded, knowing that there was no way he could survive the flight without going under a general anesthetic that would reduce his bio-functions sufficiently that he would suffer little physical harm. Oxblood and other courier pilots underwent extensive cybernetic augmentation specifically so they could maintain consciousness for extended periods during flight, but even a courier pilot was unable to withstand the stresses indefinitely.
Human beings simply weren’t designed for high-speed interstellar flight, and until someone finally cracked artificial gravity, it was unlikely that the experience would be any more pleasant than what Lee Jenkins was about to experience.
“As always,” Oxblood explained before injecting the cocktail into a purpose-built port in Jenkins’ suit, “this will take a few minutes to kick in, and when it does, the ship’s life support system will cut the engines out if your vital signs become unstable. We’ll be pushing fifteen gees on this flight, which should last about nineteen hours before we reach the first gate. The second flight to the Nexus will take just four hours. Nod twice if you’re ready.”
Jenkins nodded twice in reply and immediately felt the wave of lethargy wash over him. Everything tingled from his nose to his toes, but in spite of the bizarre feeling, he felt as completely at peace with it as he had the previous three times the doctor-turned-pilot had administered the drugs.
As his consciousness slowly faded, Jenkins was haunted by lingering doubt that he had in fact made the right choice on Terra Han.
8
Negotiations
Elvira’s comm board lit up with an incoming transmission, waking Xi from her hard-earned shuteye. The signal was in the open on standard Terran hailing frequencies, and Xi rubbed her tired, itchy eyes before focusing more intently on the signal’s characteristics.
The battalion was on comm blackout save for misinformation broadcasts and P2P linkage, which meant either someone was breaking protocol…
Or someone else on the planet was trying to contact her.
She switched to the inbound channel and hesitated before opting to forward the exchange to the rest of the battalion via the P2P. “This is Captain Xi Bao, commander of the Terran Armor Corps currently deployed on this world. Who is this?”
“My name is Jean-Philippe DuPont the Fourth,” came the reply in a decidedly French accent. “You have invaded our home world and attacked our defensive installations without provocation. Why do you come here? We’ve done nothing to the Terran people. We simply wish to be left alone.”
“Your presence here is a violation of multiple interstellar treaties, Mr. DuPont,” Xi retorted, fighting down the urge to m
ention the sixty-one Terran men and women who had already died on the Brick, most of them because of his people. “The Terran government has treated with this world’s human inhabitants on no fewer than thirty-two occasions to facilitate your withdrawal, but those efforts have not produced the emigration of a single member of your community.”
“This is our home, Captain Xi Bao,” DuPont said fiercely. “You are invaders who destroyed one of our most important defensive installations without receiving so much as an active sensor-sweep in your direction.”
“You failed to respond to our official hails,” Xi shot back, “and Terran Armed Forces protocol for situations like this are clear, Mr. DuPont: while outside Terran territory, the failure of Terran citizens to respond to an official communique from duly-recognized representatives of the Terran Republic must be viewed as an act of rebellion. Your people have covered half this planet with installations like the one we were forced to deal with, and we were unable to establish a secure position without neutralizing that facility.”
“You bureaucrats are all alike,” DuPont snarled. “You think that with writs and waivers you can coerce compliance from people who want nothing more than to be left alone. And when your paper-waving fails to convince people who disagree with your authority, you abandon any pretense of civility and open fire. What you cannot take by intimidation, you take by bloody force.”
“The Terran Republic has authorized Armor Corps to secure this planet and facilitate the evacuation of its inhabitants, Mr. DuPont. And talking of force, you had an excessive amount of firepower available to you, the purchase of which violated a number of interstellar laws,” Xi said, her face flush with anger at the man’s absurd suggestion that she of all people was a pen-wielding pencil-neck bureaucrat who sought to curtail the freedoms of others. “As the ranking Armor Corps officer on the ground, my orders in this matter are clear. I suggest you cooperate so we can find a peaceful resolution to this situation. No one else needs to die.”