by Ben Wolf
Once he finished looking over Justin’s ID, the sergeant asked, “What’s the nature of your work here in the docking bay?”
Justin nodded toward the Viridian. “I’m part of a team that operates the drill on that rig.”
“Drill?”
“Yeah,” Justin said. “We latch onto asteroids, use a high-powered drill, and extract resources from inside. Gold, precious metals, copalion. That type of stuff. Then we sell it. Not fancy, but it’s a living.”
“I get it.” The sergeant nodded. “My old man worked in an ACM mine in the early days.”
“Done that, too,” Justin said.
“For ACM?” the sergeant asked.
[Careful, JB…]
“All over,” Justin replied. “Got tired of it. Decided it was time for a change.”
“Sure.”
The sergeant seemed pleasant enough. Despite the armor, his weapon, and his face shield concealing any hint of expression, he could’ve passed for a decent human being.
Too bad he was working for the most treacherous company in the galaxy. That alone made him untrustworthy.
He nodded toward the Persimmon. “Know anything about that ship over there?”
Justin glanced at it. This would be his first real lie to these guys.
“Not much. Saw it flying in. Got up close for a look since I’d never seen one like it before. Lots of charred spots and damage on the hull.” Justin glanced between the soldiers. “I’m guessing that was your doing?”
“Can’t comment on that, Mr. Barkley,” the sergeant said.
Justin wanted to correct him on his pronunciation—Bar-clay—but he held off. The less he had to engage with these guys, the better.
“Anything else?” Justin asked. “If not, I’m supposed to head into the city to grab some supplies.”
“Can’t let you do that just yet, sir,” the sergeant said. “Gotta keep you here just a bit longer. We appreciate your cooperation.”
Justin scowled. Was it really cooperation if guys with guns weren’t giving him a choice?
It had to be close to 7:00pm by now. He’d never make it to dinner with Hallie in time.
Then again, he really ought to let go of that whole idea. She was on her own now, and he couldn’t do anything about it. But she’d understand why he couldn’t come, what with the ACM soldiers aboard the ship now.
At least he hoped she would understand.
He stole another glance at Captain Marlowe, who continued speaking with the six ACM soldiers who’d confronted him. Beyond him, closer to the rig, stood Arlie and another group of soldiers. She stood there with her arms folded, lips welded shut, her face as cold and emotionless as any of the soldiers’ reflective face shields.
From the docking bay exit sounded a commotion. Justin looked, as did the soldiers attending him. When the soldiers turned, Justin considered snatching one of their pulse rifles away, but only for an instant. It was a terrible idea, and it would only get him killed if he tried it.
Several dozen Farcoast soldiers had entered the docking bay, all of them armored, outfitted, and as heavily armed as the ACM soldiers, only they wore their forest-green colors instead. But they weren’t shooting—just marching, loud and in unison.
With them walked several Farcoast soldiers in battle mechs, also painted forest-green. The sounds of their heavy, unison footsteps reverberated throughout the docking bay.
As the sea of forest green marched closer, half of the ACM soldiers who’d been interrogating people abandoned their positions and moved up to form ranks before the approaching Farcoast soldiers.
Thus far, no one had opened fire, but with so much firepower all in one place, and with the two companies being vicious rivals on virtually every level, Justin had to wonder how long a cease-fire could even last.
From the opposite end of the docking bay approached another group of soldiers, these from the ACM ships. Their number easily matched or exceeded those of the Farcoast soldiers, and they had mechs as well, and more of them.
The two forces met near the center of the docking bay, and only then did Justin see how many more Farcoast soldiers had entered behind the original group that he’d seen. The numbers were still weighted against Farcoast by far, but this was no slouch of a force.
If the two armies came to blows, things would get ugly fast. Worse yet, the two forces seemed to be converging in the vicinity of the Viridian, meaning Justin and his coworkers would be caught in the middle if anything went wrong. He was no tactical genius, but he knew that spelled disaster for the rig and its crew.
From within each of the groups emerged nearly matching sets of men and women in official-looking uniforms rather than combat armor, except that the ACM half wore dark-blue uniforms and the Farcoast side wore forest-green. Each of them bore their respective logos on the shoulders of their sleeves.
With the Farcoast officials stood a handful of people wearing burgundy Coalition uniforms. One of them, an older man with white hair, stepped forward with Officer Wendell and a middle-aged woman in burgundy close behind.
From the ACM side, a trio of officers approached, led by a fifties-something man in the center. He had gray hair and a matching beard, well manicured, and darker skin that reminded Justin of Pradeep Handabi, the now-deceased doctor from ACM-1134. He also wore black gloves over both of his hands, unlike either of the officials following him.
Justin glanced back at Captain Marlowe again, but he only made brief eye contact with Justin, then he refocused on the meeting playing out before them.
“Admiral,” the Coalition official said, extending his hand, “I am Captain Wilson James, captain of the CSS Nidus. I regret that we are being introduced in such a manner, especially since our repeated attempts to hail your vessel went unanswered.”
The admiral smiled and shook Captain James’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain. I’m Admiral Siroch Sever of the ACMS Avarice, and I apologize for the intrusion. I usually don’t like to be this flashy, but I’m afraid the situation warrants it.”
Admiral Sever’s voice came out smooth and crisp, and his tone conveyed a sense of superiority, which, all things considered, wasn’t unfounded.
“Then you’re prepared to explain your reasons for boarding our vessel with such a show of force?” Captain James asked.
“If only it were possible, Captain, I would explain everything I know to you in thorough detail, but I cannot. I have a mandate to follow, and I refuse to violate that sacred trust. That’s why we couldn’t respond to your hails.” Admiral Sever’s smile persisted. “I’m sure you understand, what with being a Coalition officer.”
Justin glanced at the sergeant, who remained focused on the conversation between his admiral and Captain James. He still held his rifle so casually. With the added strength in Justin’s robot arm, he was sure he could wrench it away if he had to.
“This is most irregular,” Captain James said. “Had you communicated with us, we could have prepared for your arrival in a more hospitable manner.”
“Hospitality is the least of my concerns,” Admiral Sever said. “I am here to fulfill my mandate, and I intend to do so in the most expedient way possible. All I ask is that you and your band of ‘tree people’ allow us to do what we must do, unhindered. If you comply, we will complete our task and be on our way in short order.”
Captain James’s brow furrowed, perhaps at Admiral Sever’s comment about the Farcoast soldiers being “tree people.” But Justin actually had to agree—they really did resemble a forest of evergreens.
“With respect, Admiral, it is difficult for me to acquiesce given that I don’t know anything about why you’re here or what you must do,” Captain James said. “So at the moment, I’m not inclined to be accommodating.”
“And as I already said, I am not permitted to discuss my mandate,” Admiral Sever said. “But I can assure you that it is our intention to leave this fine colonist ship thoroughly untouched.”
Captain James held up his hand
. “Forgive an old military man for being direct. I’m… what? Ten years your senior? I’ve been in countless stalemates like this over the years and resolved the vast majority of them peaceably. I’m flying this ship as a cushy last hurrah before retirement, and then it’s pension payments and sunny beaches for the rest of my days.
“Suffice it to say, I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize that future, which draws nearer with every breath. Not only does that include refusing to play word games with you, but it also means refusing to risk my career by allowing a rogue force to take control of my commission without a damned good explanation.
“So, Admiral, let’s skip to the end. Either you tell me what you mean to accomplish here, or I’m going to have to insist that you leave my ship,” Captain James said.
Admiral Sever’s smile faded into a smirk, and disappointment etched lines around his eyes.
“And before you decide,” Captain James continued, “I implore you to consider that even though Farcoast is sponsoring the Nidus’s journey to a new world by providing military and security forces, you are still speaking to a representative of the Coalition itself, and your actions will be taken into account on behalf of all of ACM by the Coalition. So what’s it going to be?”
Admiral Sever nodded and began tugging off his gloves. “I regret that you have drawn such a hard line, but I deeply respect your conviction, and I’d like to thank you for your many years of service to the Coalition. The galaxy is a safer, more just place because of good men like you.”
Silver metal gleamed where Admiral Sever’s human hands should have been. Either he had prosthetic hands, or he was wearing something overtop of them. From his current distance away, Justin couldn’t tell for sure.
Then Admiral Sever said, “But unlike you, I am not a good man.”
He pointed his right hand at Captain James. It split apart, revealing a cylindrical tube of sorts, and it rattled off three quick pulses.
The first two struck down the Coalition woman and Officer Wendell, and the third seared through the left side of Captain James’s chest.
Justin’s mouth dropped open.
[Oh, shit!] Keontae bellowed into Justin’s mind.
He glanced at the sergeant’s rifle again. He might have to go for it after all.
Captain James clutched at the wound as the woman and Officer Wendell slumped down beside him, dead, and he stared at Admiral Sever with wide, terrified eyes. Then Captain James crumpled to his knees and onto his side, and his eyes went vacant.
“Kill them all,” Admiral Sever ordered.
12
Rather than diving for cover, Justin stunned the sergeant with his robot arm and snatched the pulse rifle from his shuddering hands before he could hit the floor. Around him, pulse rifles rattled and mechs roared as the docking bay erupted in mayhem.
Though he managed to get the pulse rifle into his hands, Justin fumbled with it at first, trying to find his grip and get his finger in the trigger guard. By the time he got a handle on it, the other two soldiers guarding him had realized what he’d done and raised their rifles to fire, well before he could’ve shot them first.
Why am I so terrible at this stuff?
His chest seized, and he stiffened as the pulse rifles clacked with a flurry of rounds.
Then both the soldiers dropped before him, their backs issuing steam from multiple cauterized holes in their armor. Behind them stood Captain Marlowe, who also held a pulse rifle. Around him lay the three soldiers guarding him, also dead.
How he’d managed to take them down so fast, Justin had no idea, but it didn’t matter now. He was alive, holding a pulse rifle, and had to get the hell out of there.
Arlie, also wielding a pulse rifle, led a frantic group of the Viridian’s crew over to Captain Marlowe. It looked like most of them, from what Justin could tell. Without so much as a word, all of them ran away from the rig, toward the docking bay exit, skirting along the wall of entry fields on their left.
In the main area of the docking bay, the battle raged on. Swaths of ACM soldiers fell and died, but they kept coming. Farcoast soldiers perished, too, in about equal numbers, but their forces dwindled with each passing moment.
Justin followed Captain Marlowe closely, his rifle raised and ready for action, but thus far, he hadn’t fired a shot. Hadn’t needed to. None of the Farcoast soldiers had even taken notice of them.
Arlie brought up the rear, and the few times Justin glanced back, she’d been firing her pulse rifle into the ACM soldiers behind them. She wore a mischievous grin on her face as she battered ACM’s ranks. Must’ve been cathartic for her. A release. A way to vent her pent-up frustration at Captain Marlowe, at ACM, at this whole situation.
Her shooting, however, didn’t prevent stray pulse rounds from reaching them. Several times, Justin heard his fellow rig-runners cry out, and when he’d glance back, someone would be lying on the docking bay floor, dead or wounded.
His chest ached each time someone went down, but the sight of Dr. Carrington taking a round to the side of his head twisted Justin’s stomach. He went down hard and fast, gone in an instant.
Others from the crew grabbed their wounded comrades and helped them along, and Justin tried to keep his focus forward in case he needed to use the pulse rifle in his hands.
[JB, three o’clock!] Keontae’s voice ratcheted through Justin’s mind.
Justin turned, his rifle raised in time to see a helmetless ACM soldier pulling a pin from the grenade in his hand. He stood several yards away, staring right at them with a wicked sneer on his face. Then he plucked the striker off with his thumb and drew his arm back to hurl the grenade.
Focus.
Justin skidded to a halt, lined up the shot, exhaled a quick breath, and squeezed the trigger. His rifle spewed pulse blasts at the soldier, and a few of them hit. The blasts racked the soldier’s body, twisting and contorting him, and he fell backward with the grenade still in his hand.
It was still live.
“Run faster!” Justin shouted as he resumed his charge.
The grenade exploded behind them and to the side, and a chorus of screams sounded from the soldiers around the one Justin had shot dead.
Another scream sounded, this time much closer. Right behind Justin. He glanced back in time to see Al Paulson, one of the rig-runners he knew better, on the docking bay floor, clutching his bloody thigh. A small piece of shrapnel protruded from the meat of his leg.
Justin had to help Al. Shaneesha was already crouched beside him, trying to help him get back on his feet, but she couldn’t manage it alone, so Justin ran back and hooked his arm under Al’s arm and dragged him upright.
“Come on, Al,” he hollered over the fracas around them. “You’re old, but you’re not dead yet!”
Al managed a pained chuckle, and with Justin and Shaneesha’s aid, he hobble-jogged after the group.
“Hurry up!” Arlie shouted at them from ahead, still firing her rifle like a space barbarian. Justin hoped she was covering them and not firing at random.
Then Lora ran at them from the back of the group. “Give him to me! You need to cover us!”
Justin would’ve argued with her about it, but it made sense. She slipped between him and Al, who was much taller than her, and helped him along while Justin found his grip on his rifle anew.
They moved far slower than the rest of the group, but by that point, they’d progressed far enough from ACM’s front lines that several layers of Farcoast soldiers—some of them dead—separated them from ACM’s attacks.
As Justin advanced, he got a close-up look at one of the Farcoast mechs. It was about one and a half times the size of the mechs ACM had used in the mine back on Ketarus-4, both taller and wider. Only about ten yards away, Justin could see it clearly.
Rather than a simple alloy skeleton with some protective shielding, the battle mech had thick armor plating and metallic cockpit glass. A rectangular box with four fist-sized holes in it was mounted atop its right shoulder, a
nd a long plasma cannon launched occasional blasts from its left, all while the rifles welded to each of its arms roared with light.
Justin couldn’t help but want to try one of them out. His fascination with it subsided, though, when a rocket slammed into its left leg and sheared it clean off. Despite the mech’s thick armor and the commotion around them, Justin could hear the Farcoast soldier inside shrieking.
They’d almost made it to the docking bay doors by that point, but perilously few Farcoast soldiers remained alive. Given the number of motionless forest-green bodies littering the docking bay floor compared to those standing, Justin estimated that probably only 10% of the original force was still alive and fighting.
ACM might’ve lost just as many men, but despite the countless dead soldiers on their side, their ranks didn’t seem to have suffered nearly the level of loss that Farcoast had. And the disparity in the size of their forces meant Farcoast would either surrender soon or be overwhelmed.
Worse yet, ACM’s soldiers were advancing while the Farcoast soldiers pulled back. Justin, Shaneesha, Lora, and Al had to get out of the docking bay fast, or they’d get caught in the aftermath of this onslaught.
By the time they reached the docking bay doors, they found Captain Marlowe and Arlie waiting there, aiming their pulse rifles past them and shooting toward ACM. Once they got Al through the doors, Justin went through as well. Captain Marlowe and Arlie brought up the rear, and then the doors whooshed shut behind them.
Of the rig-runners, a rough count showed that only ten of them had survived, not including Justin, Captain Marlowe, and Arlie.
“Where are the hovertrams?” Justin asked.
“No idea,” Captain Marlowe said. “Might be shut down because of the invasion. Unless you can help with that…?”
[Damn right we can help,] Keontae said.
“On it.” Justin slung the rifle over his shoulder and hurried to the nearest access terminal.
Rather than just pressing his palm against the screen and letting Keontae do his thing, Justin made a show of bringing up the operating system on the screen. Keontae still jumped into the terminal and did all the work, but Justin refused to give the surviving rig-runners any reason to doubt that he was manipulating the system instead. Better safe than sorry.
