The man on the other screen saluted.
“Sir.”
The image flipped back to the standard Confed logo before fading and switching off. Sergeant Kowalski approached from the right along with two other marine technicians.
“Sergeant.”
“Sir. The science team here have been making some interesting discoveries about the Anomaly. Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to discuss them?”
Commander Anderson nodded in agreement and turned away from his viewing point. From the corner of his eye he noticed the engines on the most distant ships firing up, and for a moment he panged for a return to space. Working on a base like this wasn’t what he had trained for. Before this posting he had been the XO on CCS Crusader, the flagship of the entire fleet.
The group walked the short distance down the stairs and through a secure access point to a conference room. Two marine guards waited outside. Each was wearing full armour and carrying the usual L48 rifles. They saluted as he approached and then slid open the door for him. As they filed inside, Sergeant Kowalski exploded in chatter.
“Sir. The readings. Off the chart, I mean...”
“Slow down, Sergeant,” said Anderson. He indicated off to his right for the group to sit down. They moved to the chairs and the two marine technicians placed a three-dimensional projector unit on the table. With the tap of a button, a detailed model of a cloud appeared.
“Sir. These are the readings from the Furious Battlegroup. As you already know, there is a form of gateway or point whereby our vessels can move through to Alpha Centauri.”
“Yes, yes. I know. You have already briefed me on this. The team there already think it is a form of Einstein-Rosen Bridge. It is one of the postulated Spacebridges, although most thought it was a theory, no more than that. What do you have?”
“Well, Sir. The information sent to us from the research teams shows three unidentified objects within the Anomaly. If you look here, you will see the entrance to the bridge is deep inside the cloud. The three objects are in the cloud and...well.”
“What is it?” demanded Commander Anderson impatiently.
One of the marine technicians pressed a button and enlarged the model so that one of the objects was shown more clearly. He then turned to the Commander.
“It would appear that these objects are the remains of some kind of fabrication or assembly structure.”
Commander Anderson said nothing for a moment. He simply stared at the image of the cloud and the object moving slowly inside it. The more he looked the more detail he could identify. There were gantries, containers and machines, but it looked heavily damaged.
“How large is this thing?” he asked.
“Massive. Our estimates are that the largest structure is over a kilometre long and heavily damaged.”
“It could just be the remains of a damaged ship.”
“Perhaps, but if you look at this part, you can clearly see construction cranes and loading areas. It is the opinion of our science team that this is part of an advanced construction platform of some kind.”
“For building what exactly?” replied Anderson, but it was clear he already knew the answer.
“Sir, this damaged platform is almost certainly responsible for the creation of the Anomaly.”
Commander Anderson looked at him in confusion and then at the three-dimensional model. He tapped the button and zoomed out to see the cloud and the three parts of the object.
He reached down and pulled out his datapad. With a few taps it connected to his communications officer.
“Get me Admiral Jarvis immediately. This is a priority one communiqué.”
“Kowalksi. Get a team of engineers ready for me and as much support equipment that we can spare. I need our best software guys as well. You’re going to follow the supply convoy with an extra ship. We need to get them to the Anomaly with this gear and fast. Who is our best software man?”
“Man, Sir? The best software engineer on Prometheus is Misaki, Sir.”
“Really? Well, get her here immediately. It’s time she earned her keep. Be ready to leave in forty-eight hours. I have a few transports on standby, so you can use them. There might even be space for some of the modified Jötnar weapons.”
Kowalski saluted smartly.
“Sir!”
As the Sergeant left the room, Commander Anderson looked back at the assembled group.
“Gentlemen, if you are correct, then you may have found the single most important discovery since mankind travelled into space. If there is a way to build them, it will change everything.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Proxima Emergency bought back the spectre of advanced machines and artificial intelligence. Though mankind had managed to avoid complex machines taking on major roles, the Artificial Intelligence (AI) Hubs were something radically new. Rather than rely upon imperfect machines, the fusing of human intellect with a high bandwidth databus brought about the most advanced AI in history. Those devices found on ships in the conflict were just a taste of things to come.
History of Adaptive Computing
Spartan was still unable to fully use his left leg and was forced to use a metal stick to stay upright. The doctors had told him it was healing, but the pins forced into the bones meant he was currently unable to fully bend or put weight on it. It was a painful way to have ended his last mission, but at least they had been successful. He stood quietly at the observation platform on CCS Crusader, waiting to be called in. The great battlecruiser, the flagship of the fleet, had taken a great deal of external damage during the battle for Euryale, but after just two weeks the engineers had done fine work. At least that was his assessment from his hospital bed or when walking the decks of his home on the Marine Transport CCS Santa Cruz.
He could see through the window the glimmer of metal from the myriad of warships still circling the colony. Many more ships had arrived, including some thought lost during the ambush at Prometheus. He tried to count them but gave up after reaching twenty-three. Of all these ships he could see, the single largest vessel was CCS Yorkdale, the heavily modified transport and now badly damaged base of operations for the Jötnar battalions.
Two marines walked past. He recognised one as Captain Daniels, his commanding officer and leader of his company. He tried to get his attention, but before he could catch his eye the young officer was being whisked inside the entrance to the officers’ quarters, specifically the office of the Admiral.
“Spartan!” came a familiar voice to his right.
He turned sharply and quickly regretted it. The pain ran straight up his body and sent tingling sensations through his spine. He arm was a little numb, but at least the damage there had been mainly superficial. Nothing a few drugs and medical procedures couldn’t handle. He turned his body more slowly in the direction of the sound.
“Spartan, okay?” continued the voice. It was Gun, the commander and leader of the Jötnar, and a close personal friend of his. His people were the last generation of synthetic creatures produced by the enemy. Three metres tall, and built like trolls, they were mighty and dangerous. What they lacked in social skills, they more than made up for with power and brute strength. Thankfully Spartan and his comrades had saved a large number of them in the prison compound at Prometheus. Ever since, Spartan had found them a loyal yet unruly bunch. They were excellent allies in a fight, and with their newfound status in the Confed military their reputation was growing quickly. Spartan reached out and grabbed Gun’s arm.
“Yeah, I’ll live Gun. Thanks. What about you?”
Gun shrugged and looked down at a few marks and scars on his arm and chest.
“No problem, small cut,” he said with a sly grin on his face. The warrior had small cuts and scrapes across his face, but the most telling sign of his struggles was his missing eye. He lost it apparently during the ambush that resulted in the Vengeance being captured. The Confed medics had promised him a prosthetic, but so far none had materialised.
A group of four marines walked along the corridor in their off-duty uniforms. As they moved past Spartan and Gun, one of them said something and the group laughed. Two of them were looking towards Gun, and it was perfectly clear he was the butt of their jokes. Spartan couldn’t quite make out what they had said, but Gun certainly had. He stepped backwards and turned, blocking their path and forcing them to stop.
“What?” asked one of the marines with obvious disdain in his voice.
Spartan hobbled over to them, sensing trouble.
“He wants to know what you were laughing at?” he asked as he looked up at Gun.
The young Jötnar smiled at Spartan, a look most assumed was anger, though in Spartan’s experience the two were very similar. There was a subtle inflection in the corner of his mouth, but it told him exactly what Gun was thinking. The Jötnar were not the most sophisticated of people, and Gun was no exception. Bizarrely, the two characters had a lot in common besides their violent past and tendency to get into trouble. It hadn’t taken long for the two to form a bond. They had first met on Prometheus where Spartan and a small group were attempting to escape from the massive underground facility. Gun was one of the many Biomechs being created there, but unknown to the Union guards his programming had been removed. With an absence of barrier and boundaries, it seemed the Jötnar had a very strong sense of self-preservation. As if this wasn’t enough, they all carried a boiling resentment in their veins for the way their brothers had been sent to the slaughter.
The four marines, like the rest of the battalion, were well built and tough, and the best the Corps had to offer. The obvious leader of the group was a good head taller than Spartan and a towering figure amongst the group. He looked cocky as well. He pushed forward, right up to Spartan.
“So? Who cares what a meat head thinks?” he laughed.
His three henchmen, playing the part of his stooges laughed at his line. A shorter, athletic looking marine with silvery grey hair stood next to the taller man.
“Ain’t you Spartan, the pit fighter that abandoned his unit on Euryale? You a coward or something?”
Gun started to laugh, but it was so low pitched it almost sounded like he was choking. Spartan looked to him with an impassioned looked, evidently unimpressed at the Jötnar’s support, or lack of, for his position.
“Your meat head friend seems to think so,” continued the taller man.
“Meat head?” asked Gun with almost a roar.
The tall marine moved up to him and stared intently at his face.
“You’re one ugly motherfucker. You know that right?”
Gun looked to Spartan and back to the man, an evil grin starting to show on his face. He started to laugh again and said something unintelligible to him. The marines looked impatiently at them both. At the other side of the observation area stood the two marine guards. Both were completely still and carrying their L48 carbine at their sides. They wore full body armour as opposed to those in uniform elsewhere on the ship. They appeared completely disinterested in the altercation that was taking place.
“What did he say?” asked the tall marine.
“He said that’s what your mother called him last night.”
Gun continued laughing, enjoying humiliating the man in front of his comrades. He moved right up to Gun and without pausing slammed his fist hard into Gun’s face. It was a powerful strike, and one that would easily have knocked a full-grown man to the floor.
“You know who you’re talking to meat head? I’m a sergeant in the Confederate Marine Corps. I can have your ass up on charges for this.”
Gun grunted and Spartan had to try and hide his own smile as he listened to what he knew was amused laughter. When he finally stopped the noise, Spartan spoke directly to the taller man.
“Really, Sergeant? I think you’ll find he outranks you.”
The taller man started to pace in front of Spartan and Gun. He stopped at Spartan and pointed at Gun as he launched into a tirade.
“Outranks me? That’s a goddamned joke. The synthetics have no authority in the fleet or anywhere else. They are half the problem.”
One of the other marines, who until now had been quiet, pushed forward to add his own comments. He had the classic build of a Confederate Marine with broad shoulders, hardened muscles and an almost totally shaved head.
“The meat heads just have stupid ranks to keep them happy. They mean nothing on this ship.”
The other marines moved about Spartan and Gun, in front and around like a pack of hyena circling their prey. Spartan’s patience was now starting to wear thin. It was one thing to be annoying or rude, but they were moving to racism towards a group Spartan both trusted and respected. He reached out and grabbed the taller man around the throat.
“You want to try that with me?” asked Spartan.
The other three moved in quickly, each trying to grab at Spartan. Gun was too quick and substantially stronger. He struck the first lightly in the stomach and sent him straight to the floor. The other two he grabbed with his massive, muscular hands. The more they struggled the more he squeezed. Spartan pulled his captive closer to his face, but the look on the man was nothing but anger and contempt as he tried to push Spartan away with his hand. The dressing on his arm partially obscured his rank, and so the man hadn’t considered that Spartan might be his superior. He shook his shoulder slightly to reveal part of the uniform until now hiding the insignia. The marine quickly spotted the material on his arm and immediately loosened his hand. Spartan relaxed his hold and pushed him back.
The marine, though visibly shaken by having his air supply cut, even for a short time, straightened his back. He coughed twice and then looked directly back to Spartan.
“Sir, I assumed you were a ranker,” he replied quickly and simultaneously saluted.
Spartan turned to Gun who was watching intently and had completely forgotten about his prize. The two men were pinned between his arms, and although they had stopped struggling, there was a good chance one of them had already passed out.
“Gun!” called out Spartan.
The young Jötnar looked at him with a confused expression on his face.
“Release them,” he added.
Gun looked at his arms and remembered what was happening. He groaned in disappointment and released the two men. One stumbled forward and the other slumped to the ground. The first man dropped down and helped him up. When the three marines were stood to attention Spartan walked along them, looking at each of them and ensuring they spotted his marks of rank.
“I am Lieutenant Spartan, commander of the Vanguards.”
He then stopped and pointed towards Gun who did nothing to help but give a crooked smile.
“This is Commander Gun.”
The ogre-like Jötnar interrupted him.
“Ko’mandor Gun!” he growled.
“Exactly,” added Spartan before continuing, “He is the leader of two full battalions of Jötnar, and they have already proven themselves in battle. They’ve fought for us, bled for us and kicked some serious ass.”
Gun nodded in agreement. Spartan continued, and he appeared to be relishing the opportunity to regale them of the merits of the Jötnar.
“They are a strong breed and completely loyal to him. Almost two thousand of them operate within our command structure, as you all well know. Is it your intention to just piss them all off and start some kind of internal struggle? Perhaps you might want to alter your tone of voice in his presence next time. Understood?”
“Sir. Yes, Sir!” the three men shouted in unison.
“Now, get back to your business and remember, the Jötnar are our allies and our friends. We have enough enemies in this System without adding to them with this kind of childish behaviour.”
The men saluted and turned to their fallen comrade. Two helped to lift him, and th
e third glanced at Spartan before they moved quickly away. They said nothing and soon disappeared around the corner. From where they stood and waited, the signs of battle damage appeared to be minimal. Most of the destruction during the space battle had occurred along the bow and on parts of the forward superstructure. With combat operations over, the rotating sections were back into use and the artificial gravity functional.
“Thank you for rescue, Spartan,” said Gun with a much more serious tone than previously. Spartan looked at him, as always trying to gauge the synthetic creature’s mood. It wasn’t easy, but he was convinced he was making progress.
“You would have done the same for me.”
Gun looked at him and then moved back to the window that looked out to the limitless space outside the ship. The rotating section was moving at three full revolutions a minute, and the stars drifted past. Spartan was well used to their movement, but it looked like Gun was a little disorientated by them. He turned back to Spartan.
“Probably,” said the Jötnar, again with that wicked grin. His teeth were much bigger than average, and his jaw muscles implied strength and biting power of a substantial predator.
“You know they are going to roast our asses for Euryale?”
Gun shrugged, not particularly concerned at Spartan’s worries. They both looked out through the windows and watched a number of cruisers travel past in a tight formation. The ships were still scarred by the battle for the colony, and Spartan was convinced he could see a Lightning fighter near to one of the ships. The small two-man spacecraft had provided ground support fire during the fighting on the colony. He was curious to see if it was the same squadron. There were few fighter units still left in the fleet as the bulk of the Confed carriers had been destroyed in the early suicide attack in the first week of the uprising.
Before Spartan was able to double-check on the squadron, a noise came from the guards at the other side of the corridor. It was one of the two marine guards stood outside the door to the office of Admiral Jarvis. He indicated for Spartan to enter. As he moved, Gun gave him an odd expression. It was part grin and also part grimace. Spartan tried to stay serious, but the look on his face must have said otherwise as he moved inside the room. Gun stayed outside and waited for somebody to tell him what was happening. Admiral Jarvis sat at her desk with General Rivers, and two unfamiliar officers sat at the side of the room. Spartan glanced at them before saluting to the leader of the Confederate Fleet.
Fall of Terra Nova Page 3
