by M. D. Cooper
Jeremy took a pull from his glass, shaking his head at Par. “Take it easy, bud. We’re back on the Pinnacle tomorrow. I may have figured out how to achieve a balanced max thrust while the ship’s stupid secondary hulls are all spread out, but I didn’t solve how to do it while they’re tucked in as well. Chances are that the solution for that problem will eff up the one I just came up with.”
Annie let out a long sigh. “Isn’t that the way of it?”
Par nodded vigorously, and she fixed him with a piercing stare.
“Oh!” he said after a moment. “You were serious that I was getting the next round.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“OK, OK, on it.” Par rose on unsteady feet, took a moment to regain his balance, and then tottered to the bar.
Once he was out of earshot, Annie asked Jeremy what he thought of the beer. While he was answering, she asked another question.
Annie nodded.
He laughed, shaking his head.
* * * * *
Later that night, after Jeremy had woken up for the third time, he found himself mulling over Annie’s questions. They were all things she should have already known—did know, in fact. He’d worked with her for nearly a year and had ample proof that she understood all those principles well enough.
Sure, she didn’t have an L9 rating and couldn’t work directly in the control systems of the big hulls, but she knew the variable sets they worked with. She’d seen enough real-world failures to know that sims weren’t perfect.
It’s almost like…like she was suggesting that maybe it could be done on purpose.
Jeremy wanted to dismiss the notion out of hand, but he couldn’t. More than a few Genevians whispered about sabotaging Nietzschean ships and infrastructure. Few did it, though—the Niets were brutal when it came to punishments for those crimes.
But then again, he’d just helped the Niets—the people who had all but destroyed Genevia—improve a warship that had only one purpose: to kill more people and bring them under Nietzschea’s rule.
I wonder…maybe there is a way to fake out the simulation….
DEFENDING DEKAR
STELLAR DATE: 02.21.8950 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: MSS Asora, Dekar Station
REGION: Parsons System, Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
“They never get tired of this, do they,” Ashley said as the Asora’s scan picked up another salvo of kinetic rounds hurtling through space toward Dekar.
“Don’t seem to,” Vargo said with a shake of his head. “This is, what…the ninetieth?”
“Ninety-first if you count the initial ranging shots,” Ashley replied. “I assume I should intercept and block?”
Vargo nodded. “Yup. Shields ‘R’ Us, at your service.”
Chase smiled at the pair, wondering how they continued to get along so well when half the time, they were alone together on the ship’s bridge. They had chemistry—maybe not one that was linked to any physical attraction, and if it was, he didn’t want to know—that somehow enabled them to mesh well.
Stars, I miss my mesh, he thought.
It had only been forty days since he’d left Iberia, leading the advance team to Parsons—a job he’d volunteered for—but it was already forty days too long. The fact that he had another seventy days’ travel to Genevia after Adira arrived was nearly enough to make him groan in despair.
“What’s wrong, Captain?” Vargo asked.
Chase shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You groaned.”
“Did not, I thought a groan. I didn’t actually groan aloud.”
“Captain, no offense,” Ashley said. “But who ‘thinks’ a groan?”
“I do.”
“You don’t.” Vargo shook his head, grinning broadly. “Or if you do, this wasn’t one of those times.”
“Guys, I—”
“Of course I did,” Chase said with a wink.
“So, what was it for…?” Ashley asked.
“Just whiling away the time,” Chase equivocated.
The main holo lit up, indicating that the ship’s point defense systems had taken out most of the inbound salvo. Some of the rail shots made it through and impacted the stasis shields, but no damage was done.
“Another round bites the dust,” Vargo muttered as he glanced at the reactor readings before looking back at Chase. “So, that’s how things are going now? You going to groan for no reason the whole way to Genevia?”
Chase shook his head. “I’m going to trade off with Crunch. We have a whole schedule worked out.”
“Stars.” Vargo groaned for emphasis. “That’s just cruel and unusual. What did I ever do to deserve that?”
“You got turned into a mech,” Chase replied.
“Huh, I’d not considered this before.” Ashley turned in her seat to look at the two men on the bridge. “But three of us volunteered to be mechs. I wonder what that says about us.”
“That you’re all nuts,” Crunch said from the entrance.
Chase glanced at the involuntary mech and nodded. “Yeah, probably. We caught it from you.”
“Caught what…?” Crunch asked in a leading tone.
“ ‘Your nuts’? Is that what you were going for, Crunch?” Vargo asked. “Because, if so, that’s just weak.”
“I know…I need new material. I’m going stale.”
“Whole station down there,” Chase said. “Probably full of excellent fodder for your brand of humor.”
“Nah,” Crunch shook his head. “They’re all downtrodden. I can’t mock downtrodden people.”
“Pity,” Ashley said. “You know, I’m suddenly feeling all downtrodden.”
“Speaking of which,” Chase said as he rose. “I should probably go and pay Pierce a visit.”
“I still can’t believe you made her stationmaster,” Ashley said. “The woman is slime.”
“Yeah, but just the right sort of slime,” Chase replied. “She knows ten times more about Dekar and the rest of Parsons than Becka ever did. No one’s going to cross her. I don’t like it, but she has a stabilizing effect, and that’s just the sort of thing people need.”
“Speaking of stability…” Ashley said with a smile building on her lips. “There’s a half-dozen ships out there that I recognize all too well. Looks like Adira is finally here.”
* * * * *
“I have to admit,” Chase said as he stood on the deck in Hal’s Hell a day later. “I feel a bit bad that I get to go to Genevia and kick Nietzschean ass, while you’re stuck here in Parsons.”
Adira folded her arms, nodding slowly. “You really should. A lot. A whoooole lot. The Demons are taking a mighty big one for the team.”
“OK…now I feel worse. Are you sure that you can take the system on your own?”
<
br /> “Really, Captain?” Colonel Adira asked. “First you ride off to fame and glory while I stay in Parsons, and then you suggest that my Demons can’t take one lousy system filled with the Niets’ leftovers?”
Chase shook his head, laughing at the SMI-3. “Sorry, Adira. How’s this? Parsons is lucky to have you, and the low-rent Niets they have around here are gonna piss themselves into husks when they see your Demons.”
A wide grin split her lips. “That’s more like it. Seriously, though. You got a good start here. Dekar’s well positioned, and the PPM looks to be an effective force now that they give a shit about what they’re doing. A month tops, and we’ll have this place cleaned up and taking care of itself. If we’re lucky, we might even make it to Genevia in time to watch Rika shoot Constantine in the balls.”
“I really hope that’s the case,” Chase said, extending his hand. “That you get there, not that Rika goes for a crotch shot…that’s just rude.”
“I’ll be ashamed of her if she doesn’t,” Adira said as she clasped his hand. “And Chase? Remind Rika that the Demons are first into Pruzia. No excuses.”
“No excuses.” Chase nodded. “Kick ass, Colonel.”
“You too, Captain. And keep our girl safe. She’s the future, you know.”
He gave a soft laugh and nodded. “Someday she’ll see that, too.”
BLACKJACK
STELLAR DATE: 02.23.8950 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: MSS Fury Lance, en route to the Genevia System
REGION: Interstellar Dark Layer, Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
“And an ace makes twenty-one,” Rika said, dropping the card on the table and reaching out for the credit chits. “Stars, this game is easy—how do people bet on it and not just clean out the house?”
“They’re not supposed to count cards,” Barne said, a sour look on his face.
“Count cards?” Rika asked. “How does knowing the number of cards give any advantage?”
“It means count the value of all the cards being played and work out probabilities of what’s going to come next,” Leslie explained. “It’s considered bad form.”
“Wait,” Rika looked from Barne to Silva to Leslie. “Are you saying that you don’t do that?”
“Uhh…well, no…not really,” Silva said.
“So you do!” Rika cried out triumphantly.
“Yeah, but not all the time. And certainly not in a casual game between friends.”
“OK.” Rika pursed her lips and gave a resolute nod. “Once you know how to do it, how do you not do it?”
Barne shrugged. “Beats the fuck outta me.”
Leslie leant back in her seat and stretched out her arms, then folded them behind her head. “You know, I’m all about relaxation, but I’m a solid five days past stir-crazy. We’ve been stuck on this ship for forty-five days now.” She looked at the others. “Forty-five days. And we have another fifty-five to go! Isn’t this driving the rest of you nuts?”
“A bit,” Silva admitted. “Back in the war, they just racked us and induced a coma for long trips like this—not that I’m advocating that by any means.”
Rika shuddered at the thought. “I’d rather watch iron rust than do that. No thanks. But I’ll admit, we’re spending way more time in the DL than in real space. The Lance is starting to feel like a prison.”
Barne glanced at Leslie, then at the door, jerking his head over his shoulder.
“What?” Leslie asked, her tail twitching in annoyance.
“You know,” he gave a nonchalant shrug. “We could ‘woohoo’.”
Leslie snorted. “We already woohooed three times today. My woohoo’s all wooed out.”
Silva grabbed the cards and shuffled them back together. “Sounds like you need an upgrade, kitty girl.”
“I—” Leslie began, but Rika held up her hand.
“Chase isn’t here, so I don’t want to hear about how much action your woos and hoos are getting. What we need are some good war games.”
Barne cocked an eyebrow. “We’re doing daily drills, assaulting and defending locations in the Genevia System. That’s work. We don’t need more work. We need fun.”
“We could set up some sort of challenge,” Silva said. “Not sure what, though. Not a lot of feats that are physically challenging to mechs can be done on a ship—even one the size of the Lance.”
Niki offered.
“What is it?” Leslie asked, her tail rising up and curling around her left arm.
“There have to be a thousand games like that,” Silva said. “Sounds like just another war game.”
“OK…that sounds a bit interesting,” Rika admitted. “A bit of a history lesson, too.”
“Stars, Rika,” Silva muttered. “Trust you to turn fun into work.”
“Learned from the best,” Rika said as she rose. “I’m going to go talk with Heather and Carson about getting the ships close enough for a network to support it.”
“Like Piper’s ever fair in war games,” Barne muttered.
Rika winked. “That’s what makes him such a good gamemaster.”
A VIEW OF THE FUTURE
STELLAR DATE: 04.20.8950 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: MSS Fury Lance, approaching Faneuil
REGION: Genevia System, Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
Rika shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable as the pinnace coasted toward Faneuil. She knew it wasn’t actual soreness—her body didn’t get sore—her restlessness was just nerves, caused by the knowledge that they were so close to a major strike against Nietzschea.
Not an action on the empire’s periphery, such as the victories in Thebes, nor the capture of a small system or destruction of a distant, secret shipyard.
The Genevia System was the heart. If the system fell, it would spark revolution across Old Genevia.
No pressure, Rika.
The Marauder fleet was half a light year behind the pinnace, braking in the interstellar darkness before a final FTL transition to Faneuil.
The maneuver established the maximum time they had before major operations began in the Genevia System. In roughly six months, the Marauder fleet would reach the heliopause sensor arrays, and the Niets would know they were on approach.
It was also possible that the Niets had more distant sensor arrays and FTL-capable drones.
Just a gamble we have to make.
“Five minutes till we touch this rock’s atmo, such as it is,” Mad Dog called back into the main cabin. “Place still looks dark as a tomb.”
“Really?” Alison asked from her seat across the cabin.
“Oh.”
“I can make the canyon,” Rika said as she examined the feeds. “Stars, that thing’s narrow. Just a slice in the bottom of that crater.”
“Easy-peasy,” Mad Dog replied. “I land in pitch-black canyons at the bottoms of craters on planetoids that are darker than night all the time.”
“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm, or if you’re being cocky,” Rika said as she rose from her seat and walked to the cockpit’s exit.
“A bit of both
,” Mad Dog said from behind her. “And a healthy dose of false bravado.”
Before her sat her mechs, occupying twenty seats in the pinnace’s main cabin. For this mission, she’d selected M Company’s First Platoon.
Sergeant Alison and her nineteen mechs were accompanied by the platoon’s Lieutenant Fuller, who had declared—good-naturedly—that he wasn’t going to let Alison continue to get all the glory.
“OK, people. We know that the maps Yakub and Gloria provided are high-level layouts only. There’s a lot more to this place than they show. You could hide a million people in there and it would take a year to find them.
“Once we secure the landing area, our first order of business is to locate any datastores or active networks. We’ll assess the situation from there. With luck, we either get a warm welcome from hidden resistance fighters, or the place is empty. Either one of those two outcomes will mean that we signal Mad Dog, and he lifts out of the canyon to signal the fleet, which should be in Faneuil’s nearspace by then.”
“And if we find any unfriendly occupants?” Alison asked.
“If they’re Niets, it’s easy,” Fuller replied with a laugh.
Rika shook her head. “Unless there’s imminent danger, no one engages anyone until we know what we’re up against. If the Niets are present, then we need to know what they’re doing and decide if this is still a viable site for us.”
Lieutenant Fuller gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, guess I got a bit carried away.”
“Don’t worry.” Jenisa reached forward and patted the lieutenant’s shoulder. “You’ve spent so much time on a ship, you’ve probably forgotten which end of your gun goes pew-pew.”
“Funny, Private.”
Fifteen minutes later, the shuttle reached the equatorial canyon and lowered into the inky darkness. To hide their approach, Mad Dog kept the ship on passive scan systems as he navigated the gloomy depths. On most worlds, that wouldn’t be a huge risk, but with a surface with an albedo as low as Faneuil’s, the cliff faces barely reflected any EM, and Rika knew that Mad Dog was flying almost exclusively by light occlusion from above, something that was less and less useful the deeper they went.
