by C H Gideon
Those tanks were a monument to many things that had gone wrong with humanity, in Jenkins’ humble opinion, but after spending a few weeks on this blasted hellhole of a world, he was silently grateful that they existed.
Not much was worse than dying of thirst. And however unpalatable the idea of drinking rectal juice seemed to him, it was immeasurably preferable to being slowly mummified inside one’s own skin by the inexorable process of dehydration.
So after making his deposits and withdrawals from the hydro-can, he made his way to a small quarantine zone that had been prepared prior to their arrival.
Arranged within that cordoned off area were parts of two dozen Arh’Kel infantry. They were hideous creatures for which there were no real comparisons outside of themselves. Silica-based lifeforms had been theorized for centuries, and given the chemical reactivity of silica being so similar to that of carbon, it had long been deemed inevitable that such lifeforms would exist.
But even after being taught about them in school, and after slaughtering thousands of them in the last few hours, the sight of their massive, six-limbed bodies sent an uncontrollable shiver down his spine.
Styles knelt beside one of the less-preserved specimens. It featured only two limbs connected to roughly half of its central ‘torso’ region, but Styles was digging around in its gore like a dog looking for a bone it had buried in the backyard.
“What have you got, Styles?” Jenkins asked, crouching down beside the battalion’s de facto intelligence officer.
“I’ve found a few device fragments, but nothing intact,” Styles said, gritting his teeth as he carefully rooted around inside the thing’s guts. He withdrew his hand, which was covered in purple-blue gore, and plucked a small piece of metal from it. It was silvery and smooth, like a spoon sans handle, but its jagged edge made clear that it had been broken off from a larger device. “They’re all like this,” he said in disgust as he handed the piece to Jenkins.
“Pure platinum,” Jenkins concluded.
“That’d be my guess, sir.” Styles nodded. “It’s an abundant noble metal, so it’s ideal for internal implants since it won’t break down in body fluids.”
“Do you think the devices self-destructed?” Jenkins mused.
“That’d also be my guess, Commander,” Styles agreed as he moved to another corpse and broke out a small, diamond-edged circular saw that he used to cut into the relatively intact rock-biter. “All of these ones died from weapons fire or concussions.” He gestured toward the arranged corpses before tilting his chin to the other side of the quarantine zone. “Those three over there didn’t have any visible wounds. Two came from the tunnel where Elvira fired the pulse missile. The other came from near Kamehameha’s wreck in the cavern. My hope?” he offered before Jenkins could press the point, prompting Jenkins to nod encouragingly. “These devices weren’t designed to deal with high-powered EMPs, and whatever self-destruct mechanisms they’ve got built into them weren’t tripped when they overloaded their bearers’ nervous systems. Rock-biter neurology’s different from ours; their brains were probably scrambled by the EMP at the same time as the devices were shut off. Those three are my best bet to find intact linkages, but before I go cutting into them, I want to brush up on my Arh’Kel biology.”
“Do you need any help?” Jenkins asked.
“Better I do it myself, sir.” Styles shook his head confidently. “These things look pretty fragile. I should be through the pile in the hour, and an hour after that, I’ll be cracking open the first of those three.” He jerked a thumb toward the three fully intact Arh’Kel bodies.
“Are you sure they’re dead?” Jenkins asked warily, noting with approval the eight-man fire team which had them under constant watch.
“They’re dead, sir,” Styles said with certainty. “Ran a few tests just to be sure,” he added with a smirk, patting his sidearm emphatically.
“All the same,” Jenkins allowed, “I want these things out of my camp as soon as you’re finished with them. Clear?”
“As a Solarian’s conscience,” Styles acknowledged with a smirk, drawing a forced look of disapproval from Jenkins.
“Eye on the ball, Chief,” he mildly rebuked. He had no more love for the Sol-bound humans than any other warm-blooded Terran, but at the end of the day, they were still human. Living in the past was a sure way to darken the future, and at this moment in time, the human race, whether they lived in the Solar System or on a Terran colony, needed to come together more than it needed to be cast apart. And that reunion, the oft-cited goal of many political minorities in the Terran Republic, was one of the most important projects before the Republic. And Jenkins, somewhat unusually for a career military man, happened to agree with the importance of reuniting the far-flung tribes of humanity.
Even if the damn Solarians had left the Terran Republic colonies to the proverbial wolves while hiding out in the safety of Sol.
“LT,” Podsy called out after returning from the hydro-can, “Commander wants to see us pronto.”
Xi sighed in frustration. She was working to restore lube flow to Three Leg on Elvira but had made zero progress in the last twenty minutes. Everything was seized or blocked to the point that it would take a proper machine shop to put it to rights.
“Fine, fine,” she grunted, slipping out from beneath the exposed assembly and brushing herself off. “Let’s go face the music.”
Podsy nodded, gesturing for her to take the lead as they made their way across the plateau toward Jenkins’ command vehicle.
The system primary was barely visible on the horizon, with less than an eighth of its orb peeking over the edge of the world at them. It still filled the sky with an angry, orange glow, just as it had done since they’d set down on this miserable lump of rock.
The planet they were on, named Durgan’s Folly after its first attempted colonization efforts, led by Chairman Durgan who controlled one of the most powerful corporations this side of the wormholes, was tidally-locked to its parent star. As a result, half of the planet saw constant, burning daylight while the other half saw perpetual night.
The thin band between these two wildly opposite halves was where the Arh’Kel had concentrated their previous efforts, and it was there that they had appeared during this particular attack. It had been decades since the Arh’Kel had been seen on this world, and the Terran government had thought the planet to be free of their influence. With no Arh’Kel ships breaching the Terran wormhole gates since the Second Terran-Arh’Kel Conflict, it had been assumed that the rock-biters had been effectively cast out of human-controlled territory.
But after the engagement in the tunnels that Elvira had breached, it was now abundantly clear that the rock-biters were playing a longer game than the Terrans, and that they intended to take control of this mineral-rich world.
Solar harvest arrays served as dual-purpose energy producers and heat shields atop the rocky plateau, with most of the soldiers opting to sleep near the four-hundred-meter-long line of three-meter-tall film since it was the most comfortable spot under the sun.
Xi and Podsy walked past the line of cots, a quarter of which were occupied by recovering wounded, eventually making their way to Roy.
Just looking at that battlefield behemoth sent a thrill up Xi’s spine. It was a rare combination-drive mech, with both rolling and walking capabilities due to its advanced limb design, and its armaments outstripped any two mechs in the battalion. With armor that could soak up multiple direct railgun hits to any given segment, it was only fitting that Commander Lee ‘Roy’ Jenkins ride it into battle.
Roy was a prototype designed by none other than Edgar Durgan, the great grandson of the same Richard Durgan for whom this blasted rock was named. The Durgans were military collectors, operating two dozen military-themed museums across the Terran Republic, with two facilities recently opening on Mars and Earth, respectively, much to the general surprise and chagrin of Terrans.
Edgar Durgan had been one of Commander Jenkins’
key contacts and allies in trying to get the new Fleet Armor Corps approved for use against the rock-biters. No sane Terran doubted the supremacy of the Fleet Marine Corps in dealing death to the enemies of humanity, with its hyper-advanced power armor and rigorously-trained warriors, but the Arh’Kel had destroyed the armor production facilities and crippled key infrastructure points that permitted the Terran Republic to replenish material losses.
Stopgap plans had been called for, to bridge the gap while new power-armor-production facilities were brought online, and one of those plans had been Commander Jenkins’ idea that old-style mechs could be of use against the rock-biters.
And after the subterranean engagement they had just returned from, it was clear that the commander’s plan had proven its merits beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Xi stepped up the ramp leading to Roy’s interior and soon made eye contact with the commander, who beckoned, “Lieutenant, come in. Chief.” He nodded as Podsednik reached the top of the ramp. “First off…” Jenkins set aside a data slate he had been perusing. “Are the two of you fit for duty?”
“Yes, sir,” Xi and Podsy replied in unison.
“Doctor Fellows tells me to order you both onto forty-eight-hour medical leave,” the commander continued, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “What do you think about that?”
“Candidly, sir?” Xi arched a brow.
“Of course.” Jenkins gestured invitingly.
“My mech’s down, I’ve got a headache that just won’t quit, an enemy that wants to rip my throat out, and to be perfectly blunt, it’s nearing that time of the month,” she said, stone-faced and serious, “the last thing this unit needs is for Doctor Strange Bed to pull my team off the line. Sir,” she added belatedly.
“You won’t do this battalion any good if you develop meningitis, Lieutenant,” Jenkins warned before turning to Podsy. “Be straight with me, Chief: is she good to go?”
Without missing a beat, Podsednik nodded. “She is, sir. And I won’t hesitate to send her to the nurse’s office if she starts looking delicate.”
Xi’s eyes widened in outrage as she flashed an angry look Podsy’s way. Meanwhile, Jenkins’ composed mask of professionalism broke into a broad grin as he chuckled. “Not much chance of that happening though, eh, Chief?”
“Not if history’s any kind of predictor, no, sir,” Podsy said with a lopsided grin of his own.
“All right.” Jenkins nodded as footfalls came up the ramp behind them. “Oh, good, Captain Murdoch,” the commander greeted, causing Xi’s hackles to rise as 2nd Company’s captain arrived, “you’re just in time. I was just assigning Lieutenant Xi command of 5th Platoon.”
Murdoch stiffened and Xi felt herself go numb from the neck down as her company captain said, “Sir?”
“We’re down to fifteen combat-ready mechs, Captain,” Jenkins explained, “it’s time we built up the command structure a bit. We’ll go with 1st, 2nd, 4th, and 5th Platoons to be filled out as follows.” He handed slates to both Murdoch and Xi. “I’ll take 1st, Lieutenant Koch will take 2nd, you’ll take 4th, and Xi will take 5th. Understood?” he asked, his eyes never wavering from Captain Murdoch.
Murdoch scowled, making clear his disapproval while replying, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Jenkins’ gaze lingered on Murdoch for a few seconds before shifting to Xi. “You’ll be assigned Elvira II, Spin Doctor, Wolverine, and Forktail. You won’t have a dedicated recon mech, and your unit will be one of the slower ones in the battalion, so I’m reassigning our last Owl drone directly to 5th Platoon to mitigate those shortcomings. Any questions?” he asked, and the brief glimmer in his eye told her that he had assigned her Forktail specifically because of the spat back in the parking lot.
“No, s...” She shook her head firmly, her voice breaking at the end of the second word. She cleared her throat and reiterated, “No, sir, Commander Jenkins.”
“Before I dismiss you, let me give you this.” Jenkins held out his hand. In it, a crumpled ribbon was attached to a shiny bronze medallion. “Bronze Star. It’s the highest I can give on the spot, but I’m putting you in for the button, the Medal of Honor.”
“Why?” the lieutenant asked, confusion seizing her features.
“For actions above and beyond. There’s no way you thought you were coming out of there alive, Bao. Just like throwing yourself on a grenade so others could live. This medal is just a thing. It doesn’t matter, but what you did does. It’s my responsibility to recognize you for that.” The commander dug into his pocket and fished out a second medal. “You, too, Chief.”
“She made me do it, sir,” Podsy replied, keeping his hands at his side.
“Take it, you goddamn ingrate. A pay raise goes with those, but not if you don’t take it. Spend your extra money on booze, hookers, or the church. I don’t care which.”
Podsy shook his head and smiled. “Thank you, sir. For what it’s worth, it was all my idea.”
Xi punched Podsy in the arm hard enough to make him stumble.
“Or not,” he added.
“Now you’re dismissed.” Jenkins waved them away, and Xi saluted before returning down the ramp they had just climbed.
After they were a few dozen paces from Roy, she hissed, “I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Chief.”
“Just looking out for Number One, LT,” he replied smugly.
She slugged him in the shoulder, hard, before resigning herself to her new circumstances.
She was now the commanding officer of her own armored platoon. Her, Xi Bao, a former political dissident and potentially life-long prisoner of Terra Han, the most populous world in the Terran Republic. She had always been a trouble-maker, a rebel, and sometimes, an out-and-out criminal.
What the hell is Commander Jenkins thinking? First a medal and then he puts me in command of a platoon? She seethed as she worked to come to terms with these latest prison shackles, shackles which would require her to actually lead people, be responsible for their lives, lest they, and she, die for her failure to do so effectively. God help anyone who makes this job any harder than it has to be, like that flaming jagoff Ensign Asswipe.
8
Trading, Degeneracy, & Belonging
“Oh, come on, Lieutenant,” Podsy pleaded with the repair crew’s, and 2nd Platoon’s, commanding officer. “Elvira needs those lube systems online or she’ll be limited to a five-legged crawl.”
“I can fix two other mechs in the time it would take my people to clear your Scorpion’s lube system,” Koch reiterated. “I’m sorry, Chief, I can’t help you until I’ve gotten Racetrack and Flaming Rose back up to snuff.”
“Murdoch’s mech?!” Podsednik feigned incredulity. “He barely took any fire, and all of his key systems are operating, unlike 5th Platoon’s command mech, Elvira, which is already the slowest command mech in the battalion.”
“You’re not moving the needle, Chief,” Koch cut in. “My hands are tied. I’ve got direct orders from Captain Murdoch to prioritize Flaming Rose in my queue. Now, if you can get the commander to override that order, I’d be happy to look into Elvira’s problems. But as it stands right now, all you’re doing is pissing me off, and one Wrench to another, you know that’s not a smart thing to do. Elvira’s fourth in the queue, barring new orders from Commander Jenkins or Captain Murdoch. Is there anything else?”
Podsy hadn’t expected to get anywhere with Koch, but it had been worth a try. “Fine,” he grunted. “Can you at least have Kochtopussy come over and detach Elvira II’s third leg, main joint and all?”
Koch seemed to consider that as his eyes flicked across the parking lot, and for a moment, Podsy thought he would deny the request. “I can do that,” Koch agreed.
“Thank you,” Podsy gushed, but Koch held up a hand haltingly.
“I need something in return, though,” the repair chief said knowingly.
Podsy scowled. “If you’re going to ask for some ‘private time’ with Xi, let me do my best to warn...”
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“No,” Koch snorted, “I may be as horny as every other swinging dick on this rock, but I’m not suicidal. No…” He leaned conspiratorially toward Podsednik, who reluctantly obliged by mirroring the gesture as the lieutenant whispered, “I want Captain Murdoch’s enviro-suit.”
Podsy recoiled in alarm. “Why, Lieutenant,” he recovered hastily, “I didn’t know you have a thing for the captain.”
“Will you cut that crap out.” Koch rolled his eyes. “Everyone in this battalion received two fully-functional enviro-suits—one primary, one back-up. Now, unlike most of these degenerate slobs…” He scowled at a nearby group of his grease-monkeys. “I know how to maintain my suit, which is why, unlike just about everyone else, my backup was still in its original packaging when it disappeared three days ago.”
“You think Murdoch stole it?” Podsy asked in confusion.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Koch shrugged. “But I do know that he’s been belligerent in ‘requisitioning’ supplies for himself and his crews at the expense of everyone else. I can see why he got clinked as a field quartermaster. Bastard’s fingers are stickier than yours are after a long night with a fresh corpse.”
“Hey now,” Podsy drawled, “this isn’t about me, and that was different. Get caught in a completely innocent yet suggestive position with a dead body and it becomes everyone’s favorite gossip.”
“Fine, fine,” Koch chuckled, “but I happen to know that Murdoch and I share nearly-identical physical measurements, and he’s got at least two unopened enviro-suits, and this is after he’s gone through at least three of them already.”
“If you know how to maintain your suit,” Podsy mused, “why do you need a backup badly enough to risk Captain Murdoch’s wrath?”
Koch gave him a withering look. “This one’s starting to chafe, bad, and I’m not about to give Doc Strange Bed access to my high-security sectors. So either you get me one of Murdoch’s enviro-suits, or you’ll have to wait until my queue clears before I can see to Elvira’s repairs.”
