He caught himself adjusting the angle of his officer’s flattop hat. Dignity wasn’t coming easily. Only moments away from his big moment and Fraser found his heart fluttering.
Frakk you, little brother.
Uncertainty was as alien an emotion as it was unwelcome. Arun was to blame for these weakling feelings.
The time for doubts had been when Fraser first listened to the treacherous whispers of the rebel faction. The doubts had left him once he’d placed his bet and picked a side in the civil war – not because victory was certain but because there was no going back. He’d sided with the rebels because they represented the best hope for humanity. That belief put steel in his backbone when the path he’d chosen became treacherous.
But the sight of all those people outside in the hangar had rallied his doubts, bolstering them until they threatened to overwhelm him. Now he’d won this first campaign, he’d also won the time to think about what came next. And the thought that he could be failing all those brother and sister Marines burned him.
Fraser shook his head. In a few moments he had an important part to play. Showing nerves would be disastrous. He used his implants to gift himself a hormonal message of calmness.
He took a last look at the hangar deck. Three thousand Marines from the understrength 88th battalion were on parade, together with over six thousand from 87th battalion. They were observed by the crew of both ships, most of them cowering against the bulkheads. The sight sent a feeling like molten steel flowing through his arteries. He’d tried programming himself with calm, but landed himself with intoxicating levels of pride. These experimental hormone gizmos were tricky little vecks.
Fingertips tracing the soft ridges of the unfamiliar gold braid gracing his new dress uniform, Fraser hoped his mother was still alive and would hear of this day. She would understand. Sacrifices had to be made in the cause of humanity, even sacrifices like her other son’s life.
Enough procrastination. Fraser opened the hatch in the overhead and ascended the rungs to his destiny.
— Chapter 52 —
“You still there, Twinkle Eyes?”
Relief flooded through Arun. Every element of his plan had to fall in place at the right time. It was brittle, but the best he could come up with. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear you, Xin.”
“Always had that effect on you, didn’t I? We’re all done here, lover. On our way over to your ship now. Don’t get distracted thinking of me.”
“I’m in position outside CIC with the reserve captain and Loobie,” added Indiya. She sure sounded pissed. “Commencing our approach now.”
“Oho. You must be our hero’s latest girlfriend,” said Xin. “I’ve heard so much. How’s my boy shaping up?”
“I can see the others ready on the hangar deck,” Arun interrupted hurriedly, silently cursing Xin for winding up the ship girl. Deep inside the ship, Indiya’s group had to capture CIC. If they failed, then whatever Arun and the others accomplished in the hangar wouldn’t be worth a thing.
Arun checked to make sure what he’d just said wasn’t a lie. The deck below him was the largest open area on either of the two transport ships, with the space to house vessels vastly bigger than the shuttles in their mooring cradles. With so many Marines, there wasn’t much space left now. He spotted the sullen Navy rats lined up against the aft bulkhead who were being made to watch the triumph of the rebel Marines. Two small figures, Furn and Fant, were in position at the far end of the line, close to the Hangar Control Room. An armored Marine in the crimson red of the traitors stood on guard outside the control room, which was little more than a pressurized hut. The fate of millions could rest on how alert that Marine was today. As for the two teenaged ship-rats, in the coming moments they would have to prove themselves as real men.
“What are you waiting for?” said Xin. “A round of applause?”
“Everything’s in place,” said Arun. “Go! Go! Go!”
— Chapter 53 —
Fraser’s route put him in full view of both Free Corps battalions, as his side in the civil war were now calling human units. He was in sight of the ship-rats too, though they were of little consequence. He was now an ensign – the first human Marine officer ever. Behind their expressionless black visors, every human eye would be zoomed on him. Compared with their battlesuits, reprogrammed in the new Free Corps colors of crimson red bodies and cream legs, Fraser felt vulnerable in his dress uniform.
His composure deserting him, Fraser squared his shoulders and tried to stiffen his resolve by reminding himself what this day was about.
History would remember the name of Fraser McEwan for leading the human race on the first step of the path to relevance. His actions would only be worth a few sentences in the more detailed histories, but he would be there nonetheless.
The Jotuns back on Tranquility had already hinted that the Marines had bred beyond the expectations of their alien masters. Fraser’s vision was that in the centuries to come, humans would seed themselves across the stars, breeding like the vermin other races already regarded them to be. Like the rats of Earth, once established beyond a certain threshold, you could never stamp them out. You could burn a nest here and there, destroy billions of individuals. But the race… never.
Humans would be invincible.
And today he would help bring about that future. His actions might only merit a minor note in future histories, but that was no excuse to cower and do nothing.
His thoughts were interrupted by something overhead that caught his eye.
Damn, he missed his battlesuit AI.
He had to squint up, scanning around until his attention caught on one of the big Lysander-class shuttles hanging overhead in its mooring harness. A pale blue glow was coming from the flight deck, as if it were on standby.
Fraser frowned. There weren’t any authorized flight plans.
— Chapter 54 —
Arun glanced over to where Springer should, by now, have taken up position. She was stealthed, but he guessed that, like him, she was hovering above the parade, using the shuttles in their harnesses as cover.
She couldn’t have heard the conversation with Indiya and Xin, not having one of the FTL comm units that the freaks had built out of Indiya’s black box experiment. But he still whispered to her: “Good luck.”
Oh, great! Arun had forgotten about his stolen suit AI. Athena had gone from prim disapproval of everything Arun did to making a fair attempt of falling in love with him – although he still suspected it was all an elaborate plan for his humiliation. She tried to make her voice sexy – though it sounded more like a serious lung disease – but they were at least getting better at communicating. He only had to mutter occasional command words and she would whisper her breathless responses so subtly he was beginning to think he was hearing them directly with his mind.
“Give me a closer view of unarmored targets. Then link to targeting control.”
Athena zoomed into the targets standing on the podium – in reality a raised servicing platform. They were all there: the senior officers from the crew and Marine battalions of both ships. The paraded Marines were unarmed, other than NCOs, committed rebels, and junior Jotun officers. Even so, the senior officers must be supremely confident to assemble themselves in one place. He supposed that was the point the officers were trying to make. They had won, with nothing to fear.
They would have been right too, if not for one officer so frail that they had discounted her as a possible threat. Beowulf’s ancient reserve captain would punish them. Arun was her instrument of death.
As he cradled his carbine, ready to give the signal by opening fire, he noticed a figure march from hiding at the back of the platform around to the front.
It was his brother. His twin brother in an officer’s dress uniform.
Fraser halted abruptly and looked up.
Arun knew precisely what had caught his attention because it had b
een Arun who’d told Finfth to put the shuttle into standby power. That craft had to move like a missile when the right moment came.
“You spotted that too late, brother.”
The targeting reticle in his visor held his brother’s form in a firm, red grip.
Distance to target: 120 meters.
— Chapter 55 —
Fraser pointed up at the powered shuttle, and opened a comm channel he’d set up for his loyal NCOs, those that he’d insisted must be armed. “What the–?” he started.
Before he could complete his sentence, stabs of white heat pierced his side.
His last sight was the crimson smartfabric of his officer’s uniform mixing with the red of his blood.
— Chapter 56 —
All three railgun darts hit the target.
Fraser collapsed.
Arun felt a pang of regret: his brother would never know who had killed him.
The senior officers on their platform scattered.
But they weren’t fast enough.
That was the thing about officers. They got to strut about in dress uniforms while the human Marines were lined up like machines, encased in armor with food and drink sent in by tubes and their waste carried away by more tubes. Officers were set apart, unencumbered. That wasn’t to their advantage now.
Arun pumped darts into every officer still standing on the platform. The less senior Jotuns were in their battlesuits with their units. He’d have to figure out what to do with them later.
More darts were screaming into the crush of officers from Springer’s position setting up a devastating crossfire. He could see her fire!
Out in the void, stealthing was so effective it was almost magical. But in the atmosphere of Hangar A, it was impossible to hide the telltale whine of a dart’s trajectory as it tunneled through the air.
Plasma blossomed on a shuttle hull beside him, hot enough to sear his skin through his suit and cause the craft to shift in its damaged harness. He’d been spotted.
Arun didn’t wait for the next shot to reach him. He somersaulted across the air, flinging himself to a new firing position.
Down in his target area the heap of bloodied fur spilled over the officers’ platform. The officers in their braid and flattop hats were now a mass of crudely butchered animal carcasses.
First objective met. Arun only had several thousand rebel Marines to contend with now. Former brothers and sisters who weren’t in control of their own minds.
After throwing himself through a few random positions without firing, Arun paused to take a better check of the situation.
Most Marines were standing there as if nothing had happened, the mind control drugs still dulling their initiative. The rebel NCOs and lower-ranking Jotuns, all of whom were armed, were already airborne, jinking constantly to avoid making themselves targets.
Arun shifted position again, unwilling to stay in one place for more than a few heartbeats.
Without warning, all the inert Marines suddenly took to the air like a startled flock of birds. Whether instinct had made them move, or orders had finally penetrated their confusion, he neither knew nor cared. What mattered was that the Marines made perfect cover for what Arun needed to do next.
Zigzagging through the flocking Marines to get closer to the Hangar Control Room, Arun saw a traitor NCO spin around as she took a hit. Springer was still alive, then. Arun tried not to worry about her.
Fant and Finfth were hugging the bulkhead near the control room, curled into balls with arms over their heads. He hoped their terror was an act.
In contrast, the rebel guard stood resolutely before the hatch, scanning for threats.
“Sorry, pal.” Arun put dart after dart through the control room guard, glad he didn’t know the Marine’s name. He was loyal to the Free Corps, but was probably a decent guy, just a poor grunt caught up in events; the same as Arun.
He still had to die.
By the time his shots had penetrated the armor enough for the guard to topple gently to the ground in the low gravity, Arun had revealed his position.
Bolts of agony pierced his left leg.
Everything grayed and dulled, but only for a few moments. Athena had taken over, tossed her Marine around the hangar at crazy speeds that only an AI could have managed without colliding into the buzzing Brownian motion of Marines. Arun tensed, but the cover from their random motion was good enough that a second volley of hits never found him.
He relaxed a notch. “What’s the damage, Athena?”
“You’re the best.” He felt his suit AI glow with pleasure. “Activate Stage Two!”
Arun dropped, Athena making it look as if his suit had lost all power. In the low-g he was like a falling leaf.
He fell into a group of Marines he didn’t recognize. Their suits identified them as from Themistocles: Xin’s battalion.
One of the Marines leaned over as Arun sprawled on the deck, groaning. She blanked her visor, letting him see the concern on her face as she touched Arun’s suit diagnostic patch.
“You’re hit bad, Brown,” she said, buying Athena’s exaggerated report on Arun’s status, and that he was the stolen suit’s legitimate owner.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Arun in a deliberately strained voice. He pointed up at one of the Stork-class shuttles. “Get the veck who did this. I glimpsed him hiding behind that shuttle.”
Athena reported the Marine’s name was Francesca de Guzman. She pursed her lips and gave Arun a black look crimped by suspicion.
“Stay alive,” she said, “Elizabeth.”
De Guzman launched into the air in the direction Arun had pointed. The other Marines around Arun followed in her wake.
“Err, Athena? What was your previous human partner’s name?”
Arun ignored Athena’s hurt feelings and lifted himself up, readying to sprint toward the control room. Another impact smacked into his left leg, felling him. It didn’t feel as bad as the darts he’d taken earlier.
Shardshot. The pellets were perfect. They would sow confusion without killing anyone in armor. Except the firer. Springer was even more likely to reveal herself with shardshot than darts.
Arun gritted his teeth against the pain and tried rising to his feet.
Athena wouldn’t let him. She locked the legs of his suit, sending him clattering to the deck again.
Springer manages with just the one leg, Arun thought. He rolled onto his stomach to get a look at the control room, and saw he was too late anyway.
Fant hadn’t waited for him. The damned fool was always trying to impress Indiya with his heroics. Now the stupid veck was stepping through the hatch into the Hangar Control Room, Furn with his silly hovering toy robot just a pace behind.
Whatever faced them, they would have to overcome it by themselves.
— Chapter 57 —
“Come on,” Fant yelled at Furn as soon as the guard had slumped under McEwan’s withering railgun volley. “Arun’s done his bit, let’s move.”
“No.” Furn’s voice trembled. “Wait for the Marine. This is exactly what we needed him for.”
“Look up at that chaos,” Fant snapped at his cowardly brother. “He’s never going to get through that.”
Without waiting for a reply, Fant dashed for the hatch and thumbed it open. There were no windows. What awaited him inside?
The answer was a Free Corps Marine in crimson armor who was reaching for a ca
rbine in the weapon rack by the hatch.
Fant took advantage of the low-g to launch himself at the bonehead’s neck, ungloved hands outstretched, his implants primed to inject the battlesuit-frying cocktail Indiya had equipped them with.
The Marine’s neck was twice the diameter of Fant’s thigh, armor-coated flexi-seals over sinews as strong as steel cables. For a brief, triumphant moment, Fant thought he’d gotten the hold he needed. The implants under his palms burned as they dumped their lethal cargo of nano-transporters into the battlesuit.
But the bonehead had his own secrets. The suit turned frictionless and Fant found his momentum was pivoting him around and then behind the traitor, flying toward a bulkhead covered in viewscreens where a technician gaped slack-jawed at the invasion.
Before Fant’s head crashed into the screens, the Marine grabbed his legs, powered gauntlets clamping around his shins with such power that his bones splintered.
The Marine swung Fant around his head in a dizzying blur before releasing him headfirst at the hatch.
Fant’s final, grim thought before impact was that he’d failed his beloved Indiya.
— Chapter 58 —
Unaware of Fant’s desperate status over in the hangar, Indiya was buzzing with artificially induced confidence as she pushed past the Marine who had been guarding the approach to the Combat Information Center. She could hear the AI inside his suit scream from the poison she had injected through her ungloved hands.
Inside the CIC, the skeleton watch crew were on edge. By the look of the viewscreens showing deadly chaos and carnage in Hangar A, it wasn’t difficult to see why.
She peered up at the CIC’s upper decks where Sensor, Damage Control, and other teams would be present when the ship was in active status, feeding detailed analysis through to their senior representative on the main CIC deck. They were unoccupied.
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