Sic Semper Tyrannis: The Chimera Adjustment, Book Two (Imperium Cicernus 5)

by Caleb Wachter

  Masozi couldn’t help but snicker. “If they’re like Christopher, I think I’ll take my chances.”

  De Rossi’s lips parted in a broad grin, “Those three? I hired them to serve as witnesses,” he explained before his grin was replaced with a somber look. “No, Adjuster; when you kill me it is a mortal certainty that a sequence of events will be set in motion which will see every member of your order on Rationem slaughtered within ten minutes.”

  “What?!” Masozi blurted in shock, jumping to her feet and casting wary looks all around.

  De Rossi nodded knowingly, “There is nothing that can be done for them now, Adjuster, but the data on that crystal may yet save others. Get it, and yourself, out of this Star System and do so quickly. Verify however much of my intel that you are able and forward it to the other Adjusters of the Timent Electorum throughout the Sector using any means available to you. My best men will see you to a previously decommissioned military base twenty minutes from here; while en route, I suggest you call for whatever off-world extraction you have previously arranged. Should Blanco’s fleet make orbit of Rationem before your egress, they will find that crystal. If that happens, the rest of the Sector’s Adjusters will join those who have called Rationem home—and who will shortly call it their graves.”

  “I’m picking up major comm. chatter here, Soze,” Eve said after appearing on the monocle’s screen. “We’d better get moving.”

  Masozi tightened her grip on the hand cannon, using both hands to steady her aim as she pointed it at his heart. Just as her thumb went to pull the hammer back, General De Rossi shook his head and fixed her with a piercing look as he said, “No…a shot through the heart is too clean for a tyrant, Adjuster. Do it properly.”

  She lifted the pistol and trained it between his eyes, feeling a wave of emotion come over her as she did so. She pulled the hammer back, drew a breath and said, “Thank you, General.”

  “Thank you, Adjuster,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers and nodding sharply.

  She returned the nod and squeezed the trigger. The weapon’s recoil was incredible, and the shockwave it sent up her arm made that limb go instantly numb. When she brought the muzzle back down and out of her field of view, what was left of the Major General’s head was a smoking ruin of bone and brain. Knowing the job was done, she turned quickly back toward the hover-bike.

  She did not even make it ten paces before Eve said, “Incoming at nine o’clock, Sis.”

  Masozi looked to her right and saw that a team of well-camouflaged soldiers were emerging from the tree-line precisely where General De Rossi had pointed a few moments before his death.

  They were well-armed and their features were completely concealed by re-breather masks. “This way, ma’am,” one of them said via the vox built into his mask, gesturing with the barrel of his assault rifle to a path which led deeper into the park—in the opposite direction from her hover-bike. “We need to move.”

  The low-pitched drone of a hover engine came from overhead, and Masozi looked up to see an attack drone appear. No sooner had it come into view than a handful of the soldiers knelt down and opened fire with their assault rifles. The drone was sent spiraling out of control by the concerted fire, and exploded rather anticlimactically when it hit the ground a few seconds later.

  “I have to go to my bike,” Masozi said, remembering Eve’s core unit was still tucked away in the right-hand cargo compartment.

  “Ma’am,” the soldier insisted sternly, “I have a mission to carry out; your bike’s been compromised. We have an evac package fifty meters from here but we have to go before more drones appear.”

  On cue, a second drone appeared near the entrance leading to her hover-bike. The soldiers turned as one and opened fire, but this particular drone spat fire from its rotary cannons and cut down a pair of the soldiers before they could even train their weapons on it.

  Masozi raised the General’s hand cannon without thinking and fired at the drone. She must have hit one of its primary motivators, because the thing’s chassis exploded far more violently than the first had done. Some of its flaming fuel supply landed on a nearby tree branch, which caught fire immediately.

  “Ma’am, we need to move,” the soldier said shortly.

  “I have to get to my bike,” Masozi snapped as she set off at a run toward the hover-bike.

  “Soze, I’m not sure—“ Eve began.

  “Shut up, Eve!” Masozi barked as a third drone came into view. The telltale hiss of a rocket being launched was all Masozi’s conscious mind processed before instinctively hurling herself against a nearby bench for cover.

  A sharp explosion went off behind her, the shockwave from which flattened her against the ground. Masozi quickly looked back to see another soldier’s life had been claimed by the third drone’s rocket.

  She looked toward the drone’s last known location and quickly sighted it. But before she could get her weapon up—which she held in a numb hand, owing to the weapon’s massive recoil the last time she had fired it—the soldiers behind her had concentrated their own fire on it and sent it crashing to the ground.

  Gathering her feet beneath her, Masozi churned her legs as fast as she could while making for the gate near where she had parked her hover-bike. Thankfully the trees were too thick for most of the journey to permit whatever drones might have pursued her from getting too close.

  The sounds of gunfire echoed through the park, and were punctuated by the occasional explosion. When Masozi reached the park’s outer wall, she quickly glanced down both sides of the street and saw no attack drones present.

  “My sensors aren’t exactly robust in this wrist-link,” Eve said tightly, “but it looks clear.”

  Masozi nodded and ran to the hover-bike, where she quickly opened the cargo box and retrieved Eve’s core module and the duffel bag which it was in. After slinging the duffel’s strap over her shoulder, she turned to see a pair of drones come around the street corner and train their weapons directly on her.

  Raising the General’s hand cannon, Masozi aimed at the right-hand drone and fired. The recoil from the pistol saw it nearly fly from her still-numb hand, and it was all she could do to maintain her grip on it as she backpedaled from the weapon’s kick.

  Her aim was true, however, and the right-hand drone went spinning like a top until it crashed into a nearby light pole before falling to the ground with a clatter. The left-hand drone continued forward and its rotary mini-cannons unloaded onto the patch of pavement where she had stood when firing the hand cannon a second earlier.

  Masozi scrambled behind a nearby vehicle, knowing she could not effectively fire the pistol again on such short notice due to her arm still being completely numb. Just as panic set in, the drone ceased its fire and she noticed Eve’s avatar was wearing a look of intense concentration.

  “Get outta here, you chunk of scrap!” Eve snapped, but it was clear that while she had indeed remotely caused the drone to halt its advance—using a method which would forever be alien to Masozi’s mind—she was unable to do more than that.

  The short-lived interruption proved decisive, however, as a stream of rifle fire came from the wall surrounding the park’s perimeter. No sooner had the rifle rounds struck the drone’s chassis than a grenade arced ponderously through the air—clearly having been thrown by one of General De Rossi’s soldiers—and impacted on the drone’s armored body where it exploded with enough concussive force to shatter the windows of every vehicle within fifty meters.

  “Secure the target,” one of De Rossi’s men barked, and a pair of soldiers ran forward to flank Masozi.

  Before she could protest, the low-pitched hum of incredibly powerful hover engines filled her ears. Looking toward the source of the sound, she saw a heavily armored military transport unit descending from above the park as it pulled to a stop just a few meters from where she stood.

  “Get in, ma’am,” the commander of the unit said heavily, and Masozi knew she no longer had any choice in
the matter.

  “I thought you said it was clear,” she muttered to Eve as she made her way to the cargo ramp of the massive hover vehicle. “How could you miss two drones?”

  “I said it looked clear,” Eve riposted, “and I also said my sensors in the wrist-link leave a lot to be desired!”

  Smirking, Masozi stepped inside the transport before the surviving members of the military unit did likewise. The vehicle lifted off and hurtled away, while the barely-audible ping-ping-ping of small arms fire clattered harmlessly against the APC’s hull.

  Chapter XV: Making a Stand

  “Ghost Tech’s fighters have engaged the enemy, Captain,” the Tactical Officer reported crisply, and Captain Kotcher swiveled his chair toward the front of the bridge to watch the first shots of the engagement be fired.

  The tactical overlay on the main view screen began to flash as the icons representing GT’s fighters fired in unison at their approaching counterparts. Dozens of enemy icons winked out of existence in that first wave of fire, owing to Ghost Tech’s superior range of fire. But just a few seconds after GT’s fighters had cleared their guns, the Union fighters did likewise.

  What the Union fighters lacked in range, they apparently made up for with unerring accuracy. Hitting at a rate nearly fifty percent higher than their GT counterparts, the Union fighters tore a massive hole in the center of the Corporate Security Fleet’s fighter formation with the opening salvo.

  While the Union fighters were bearing down on the first and second portions of Gonfaloniere Septimus’ triad formation, the Union warships were making directly for the third formation of defensive warships where Captain Mohrmann had taken his four ship squadron.

  A triad was a tried-and-true deployment of inferior numerical forces when a planet—or, ideally, multiple planets—could be used to provide cover and positional leverage against the attacking fleet. The first and second squadrons of ships would rest relatively close together in a low orbit of the planet, while the third squadron would provide overlapping fields of fire with both of the squadrons orbiting the planet. If the enemy should overcommit its resources to attacking either the two base squadrons or the third, more distant squadron, the other group could provide support by covering several paths of withdrawal for the targeted vessels.

  It was a simple formation, and lent itself to the employment of simple tactics, but Captain Kotcher knew there was nothing wrong with simplicity. In this particular instance, the Gonfaloniere had—probably unwittingly, given his thoroughly mediocre military record—employed a formation that just might give them their best chance at victory.

  “The second wave of Ghost Tech fighters is launching,” the Tactical Officer reported.

  “How many does that make?” Kotcher rasped, fighting against the powerful urge to cough against the perpetual, itchy sensation in his poorly-reconstructed throat.

  “I’m reading two hundred twenty six GT fighters, Captain,” the woman at Sensors reported promptly. “Union fighters number one hundred ninety three.”

  The GT fighters, having re-formed to close the hole in their center caused by the Union barrage, split into five distinct units and re-opened fire on their counterparts. Again, several dozen icons winked out of existence on the Union side of the board. But the survivors pressed ever onward toward the first and second squadrons of Allied warships in orbit of the planet. Should enough of those fighters break past their Ghost Tech counterparts, the Gonfaloniere’s own force of one hundred twelve fighters—which maintained a strict, defensive shell around the Rationem SDF warships—would be more than capable of defending against them.

  “Captain Mohrmann’s ships will enter extreme range in three…two…one,” the Tactical Officer reported, and just on cue the quartet of Corporate Security Vessels under Mohrmann’s command fired at the incoming Union ships.

  Icons representing the Union warships flashed red on the screen, but none winked out. The Union fighter swarm then returned fire on the GT fighters, and a quick series of calculations run on his chair’s virtual interface made Kotcher doubt that the Union fighters would get even one more coordinated volley off before the two swarms met, though Ghost Tech’s forces likely would be able to do so. After that, the affair would turn into a messy series of chaotic dogfights.

  The Union warships returned fire on Captain Mohrmann’s formation in almost perfect concert with the Rationem SDF vessels which Mohrmann was supporting. The mirroring beams of energy flared between the opposing warships, and explosions rocked both sides but no ships succumbed to what was essentially the first real exchange of the battle.

  Captain Kotcher watched as the enemy warships moved ever closer to the line on the main viewer, which represented the point at which they could no longer escape his planned flanking attack.

  “Gonfaloniere Septimus is calling for a defensive shift, Captain,” the Comm. Officer reported. “He’s ordering a collapse of all First and Second Squadron assets to a low orbit of the planet.”

  “He can call whatever plays he wants,” Kotcher growled, “but in seventeen seconds, the Sun Jian, Han Dang, and Zu Mao will lead the Virtu-Plaza carrier, Huang Gai, in a flanking attack against Blanco’s main fleet. If we sit back like the Gonfaloniere would prefer, we’ll get torn apart by the Alexander’s guns.”

  “Should I respond?” the Comm. Officer asked with a quirked grin.

  “No,” Kotcher mulled as the clock counted down to five seconds remaining before his ships would move against Blanco’s fleet, “I told him we wouldn’t need to communicate and I meant it.”

  “Replying with static, aye,” the Comm. Officer nodded.

  “The Union Fleet has entered the attack zone, Captain,” the Tactical Officer reported.

  “Helm: flank speed,” Kotcher barked, trying and failing—due to the restrictive straps which held his body upright—to lean forward in his chair hungrily, “let’s tear those bastards apart.”

  “You’re going to need this, ma’am,” the apparent commander of De Rossi’s soldiers said, gesturing to what was clearly an armored pressure suit of some kind. It didn’t appear to be overly fancy, nor did it appear to be designed for combat. It was more like an exoskeleton of some kind with large, heavy mounts over both shoulders whose purpose she could only guess at.

  “Where are we going?” Masozi asked, feeling far more relaxed than she thought she should have in the company of the General’s hand-picked men.

  “General De Rossi arranged for your travel mode,” the commander replied, “he suspected you’d have a ship in orbit waiting to extract you, but all space ports have been locked down due to the incoming hostile fleet. If you get into the suit, you’ll have enough fuel to get into low orbit.”

  “Fuel?” Masozi asked, just as Eve popped into view on her monocle and pulled up a diagram of the suit.

  “It’s an older model, but they’ve got a reputation for being dependable,” Eve explained as the missing pieces—which apparently would be attached to the shoulders—were interposed on the suit’s virtual frame represented on the monocle.

  “Where are the…engines?” Masozi asked, nodding slowly as she came to understand the nature of her egress from the planet’s surface.

  “They’re at the base, which is still a few minutes out,” the commander explained, “but it’s already under attack. You need to get into this suit, ma’am, or we’ll be unable to complete our mission.”

  Since she knew that mission involved getting her safely off of Rationem, she decided against any further question. She knew that if they had wanted to kill her, they would have already done so.

  Slipping into the bulky suit was actually easier than she had expected it to be, but moving around in it was even more restrictive than she had expected.

  “Have you called for your pick-up?” the commander asked after finishing securing the last set of clamps on the suit’s back.

  “Not yet,” Masozi said before asking, “Eve?”

  “I need a bigger transmitter than anythi
ng we’ve got on hand,” Eve replied promptly. “The planet’s data-nets are a mess; there’s no way I can use them to get a signal off just yet.”

  “I need a transmitter,” Masozi said to the commander.

  “How big?” he asked tightly.

  “Any commercial satellite uplink would do,” Eve said, “but I’ll need a few seconds to reorient the transmitter to make sure I can punch through all this static. 91% of the planet’s communication gear is offline due to powerful, localized jamming fields. They must have been in place for weeks—or maybe even months—before today.”

  “Damn him,” Masozi cursed, thinking of her cousin, President Han-Ramil Blanco. “How could he do this?!”

  “Ma’am?” the soldier asked, obviously having missed Eve’s reply and likely mistaking Masozi’s meaning by her outburst.

  “It’s nothing,” Masozi said, shaking her head forcefully. “Any commercial satellite uplink would work, but we’ll need some time to reorient it in order to cut through the jamming fields here on the planet.”

  “The base has a satellite array,” the soldier mused before nodding, “we can get you there; I’ll have the rest of your suit brought up to the Comm. tower.”

  So saying, he flipped open a wrist-link and began delivering rapid-fire orders through it. A few seconds later he received apparently satisfactory replies from the other end, but his expression quickly turned to a grimace.

  “We’re going to have to insert directly onto the tower,” he explained. “The base is already overrun.”

  “How many men do you have there?” Masozi asked, knowing that De Rossi’s group of hand-picked soldiers was paying a dear price for following the final orders of their commander.

  “A hundred and six, prior to the attack,” the commander replied grimly, “every single person the General contacted after his court martial accepted this assignment.”

  “Insertion in twenty seconds,” a voice came over the intercom, and just a few seconds later the pitter patter of small arms fire began to impact against the hull of the APC.