Rika Outcast: A Tale of Mercenaries, Cyborgs, and Mechanized Infantry (Rika's Marauders Book 1)
Page 15
“So, about twenty-five thousand soldiers altogether?”
“Closer to twenty-eight,” Leslie replied. “There are a lot of spec-op teams like ours that aren’t part of the regular structure. We report right to Alpha Company’s CO, Captain Ayer. She’s a good woman; sometimes a bit soft on the guys when they need a sterner hand, but I like her.”
“And who’s the old man?” Rika asked.
“Oh, I guess we never call him by name, do we?” Leslie said with a grunt, as she twisted off Rika’s gun-arm and stumbled backward, nearly dropping it.
“Shit, this thing weighs a ton! How do you just wave your arm around like it’s nothing?”
Rika shrugged as much as she could, hanging on the rack. “Seems light to me. I do have to adjust my balance when it’s on, though. It’s why I preferred it on my right arm…felt more natural there.”
“Well,” Leslie groaned as she set the arm and the attached GNR-41C down on a crate. “You may have to adjust it back, and get used to its weight on your left.”
Rika nodded. That was her expectation, as well—unless Barne could work a miracle with her left arm.
Leslie picked up Rika’s right arm and slid it into place, giving it the required twist.
“Right, the Old Man. He’s General Mill. Was in the Genevian army for almost seventy years. Hates the fact that the war is over; some of the Marauders think that he’s building us up to eventually strike out at the Nietzscheans.”
“That’s nuts!” Rika exclaimed. “Even with a million soldiers, he wouldn’t stand a chance. “He’d need a fleet, for starters.”
“Hey,” Leslie raised her hands defensively. “I said some. Not all; certainly not me.” She slid the bolts into place and locked them down. “OK, you’re good to go. Hold on while I reattach your right arm’s armor.”
Rika waited silently while Leslie finished the work. “OK, Rika. Right as rain on the right, right?”
“Wow,” Rika laughed. “You’re a regular comedian, Leslie.”
Leslie grinned. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“No, you don’t,” Barne said as he walked past.
“Shut up, Barne,” Leslie said good-naturedly.
“How’s the LT, by the way?” Barne asked as he stopped beside the two women.
“I think he’ll be alright,” Leslie replied.
“I hope so. Tomorrow’s the big day.”
Rika held her left arm up for Barne to see. “I doubt you’ll be able to fix this. Looks like the control mechanism and one of the actuators are shot.”
Barne grunted. “Yeah, you’re right. I could probably source the parts, but it may arise suspicion—especially this close to the job.”
“S’OK,” Rika grinned. “I’ll just get to relax here, and watch you do the heavy lifting for once.”
“Need me to swap out your left arm?” Leslie asked.
“That’d be nice. I don’t think I could flip the mount back around on the gun-arm with one hand.”
“Hey,” Leslie said with a smile. “What are friends for?”
Rika and Leslie continued to chat as they reset Rika’s gun-arm to mount on her left. They talked about the Marauders, Basilisk’s past missions and what the future might hold.
It felt nice—like maybe Rika had finally found a place in the universe, after all.
REPORT
STELLAR DATE: 12.17.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: MSS Foe Hammer
REGION: Interstellar Space, near the Praesepe Cluster
Commander Siemens was off duty. By the time David had passed his findings through the CIC’s Officer of the Watch, who wanted to crosscheck everything he and Aaron had uncovered—with a particular focus on the amount of unauthorized time spent on the task—before finally getting the Commander’s attention, several hours had passed.
Siemens had entered the CIC with a furrowed brow and tousled hair, but paid close attention as David laid out the information, and grew more rapt as the P-Cog went on. When David showed the simulation Aaron had constructed, her eyebrows shifted from hanging low over her eyes to nearly disappearing into her hairline.
“Holy shit, specialist! If this is true, we have to call off the whole op!” Siemens exclaimed.
“That’s the point I’ve been trying to make,” David said, casting a hard look at the OOTW.
“Come with me,” Commander Siemens said as she rose and left the CIC. “I’m calling Colonel Niels; the operation command team is assembled. When they see this….”
David followed Commander Siemens through the corridors surrounding the CIC, and then up a lift to the Foe Hammer’s mission management deck. The deck was a beehive of activity; people were rushing about, checking and crosschecking the status of drop ships and assault teams, and reviewing status updates from ground coordinators.
Siemens led David into a meeting room filled with officers being addressed by Colonel Niels.
“Sir!” Commander Siemens said as she rushed in. “I know you said to wait when I pinged you, but this can’t wait. We have critical intel on Phoenix.”
“What are you talking about?” Niels frowned. “We’re running the intel on this op. What does fleet CIC have that could be relevant?”
“My specialist here, a P-Cog, has ferreted out a Nietzschean connection to Phoenix.”
One of the officers sitting at the table, a major named Sarah, nearly spit out the water she was drinking. “Are you serious?”
“Unlikely,” another said.
“Please!” Commander Siemens raised her voice. “This is serious! We believe that General Mill’s contact in the Septhian government is actually a Nietzschean operative!”
“Show me what you have,” a calm voice said from behind David, and he turned to see the Old Man himself standing at the entrance to the room.
“Yes, sir!” David said. He took control of the room’s main holo projector, and nervously began to outline his findings. As he spoke, the General’s face grew more and more red. David started to wonder if he would find himself on the wrong side of an airlock before he was done, but Siemens nodded whenever he faltered, so David pressed on.
When he was done, and Aaron’s simulation results were floating over the table, the General blew out a long breath.
“Laura,” he said. “What do you think?”
she said.
“Colonel Niels, Phoenix is shut down. Initiate Operation Ashes. We jump for Pyra in t-minus fifteen minutes.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” Colonel Niels said, and a moment later, every person in the room was pulling up new displays, and the halls outside exploded with increased activity.
General Mill placed a hand on David’s shoulder, and he was surprised to feel the Old Man’s grip shaking slightly.
“P-Cog Specialist David, you may have just saved the Praesepe Cluster from the Nietzscheans…and my folly.”
THE HIT
STELLAR DATE: 12.18.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: National Forest, North of Presidential Palace, Berlin
REGION: Pyra, Albany System, Theban Alliance
Rika walked through the forest, drawing in deep lungfuls of the moist, predawn air. Her robe—a new one, since her old one was somewhere in the valley below Cheri’s villa—rustled quietly around her as she enjoyed what she knew to be the last few minutes of peace she would experience for some time.
She held her coffee lightly in her right hand and took another sip. Using that hand with fine control was taking a little work, but Rika was more concerned with using her GNR on her left.
In yesterday’s combat, when her gun-arm had been in place, it had felt like her proper right hand. A gun—a multi-function weapons mount with a GNR-41C—felt more natural than a hand.
She took another sip of coffee, raising her third finger off the cup as she did. This appendage, with fingers, and the ability to grip and hold, just felt strange. Maybe that
had been one of the things that had bothered her so much after the war, and she hadn’t been able to name it—or to admit it to herself.
She took a final long drink of the coffee, tossed the cup toward a trash bin, missed, and picked it up to deposit it more carefully. Even if she found herself with a gun-arm on her right side more often than not, she still needed to work on her fine motor skills. There was no telling when she’d need them, now that she was in the Marauders.
I’m in the Marauders.
Rika still wasn’t certain what she thought of that. Basilisk was one thing. She had bonded deeply with the team over just a few short days—something that life-or-death situations seemed to facilitate. However, the Marauders were a different story. Somewhere within their structure were people who thought it was OK to buy and sell humans. Her, specifically, and that wasn’t the sort of group she wanted to call family.
Rika was nearing the large glen with the tree that she had scouted out three days prior, and she turned off onto a smaller path that eventually faded away but took her close to the tree. She crouched behind a bush and activated her robe’s camouflage systems, and then crossed the final few meters to the tree, carefully scaling it.
Once in position, Rika stretched her left arm out and reached under her robe with her right, drawing out the GNR-41C that had been strapped to her back. She carefully wedged it between herself and the tree while pulling out the shroud that would cover it.
Rika slid a loop from the end of the shroud over the weapon’s barrel, and then grasped the weapon and brought it up to her mount.
It took two tries to get it on, and at one point, she almost dropped it; but then the GNR-41C slotted into place, and her HUD updated with its readings and loadout.
Rika nodded with satisfaction as she saw the five uranium sabot rounds show up on the weapons loadout.
For the first time in years, Rika was fully functional.
With the weapon in place, Rika pulled her helmet from a pouch under her robe, and wrapped it in the shawl before carefully placing it on her head. This time, Leslie had helped her prepare by pinning her hair up, and Barne hadn’t made any jokes about shaving her head.
The helmet registered a positive seal, and Rika pulled the cloak’s cowl up over her head.
It was time to wait.
She knew that somewhere nearby, Leslie and Jerry were getting ready to take their positions. Not too soon, though; their hiding spots were closer to the presidential palace, and not as well hidden. The pair would take their positions at the last minute, ready to finish the job, and give Rika covering fire if she needed it.
Rika hoped that Jerry would be all right. He seemed better today—though he said his head still felt like he’d gone a few rounds with a starship. Rika had kept a close eye on him, and the LT had only wobbled once while the team got ready.
If it were up to her, he would sit out the mission, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. He was the LT, after all.
Rika checked the local time—just a few minutes after 06:00 hours. The Theban president wouldn’t be passing by until the end of her run at about 08:05. Rika couldn’t use the Link, or anything else that could give away her position, so she started practicing her breathing while touching her thumb to each of her fingers.
It was something to take her mind off what she was about to do. Killing Cheri and her goons had been one thing; but she was now lying in wait to assassinate a head of state.
To topple a government.
Rika had researched the Theban president in greater depth the night before. From what she could tell, Ariana was a good woman. She had several grown children, and they seemed to love and respect their mother.
There was no husband in her life, but that was normal in Thebes. Long-term spousal relationships were rare.
Rika swallowed, forcing down her uncertainty. She had just found a place where she fit in. Failing to complete this mission would put that in jeopardy.
It was distasteful, but it was her job. It was what she was.
* * * * *
The time slipped past 8:00, and Rika re-checked her GNR-41C, making sure the uranium sabot rounds were ready to fire, and crosschecking her targeting reticules.
Several presidential guards had passed by fifteen minutes before without giving the tree she was in so much as a second glance—but after that, no one else operating in an official capacity came by.
This surprised Rika. She had expected to see several more guards keeping ahead of the president; but, so far, she had only seen a woman and two kids run past.
Another minute slipped by, and then Jerry reached out to her.
She wondered if Jerry remembered that he hadn’t reactivated her compliance chip. Either way, it was nice to get an order and not feel the warning from Discipline in the back of her mind.
If he had remembered, and left it off, she owed him one hell of a thank you.
Once on the ground, Rika pulled off the GNR-41C, and slipped it back under her robe. She started moving through the brush, but then remembered her helmet. After quickly removing it, she rewrapped her head in her scarf before replacing her cowl.
She reached the path a minute later, and jogged to the meet-up point where the rest of Basilisk was waiting.
The hoverbikes were out, set up beside the truck, and Jerry and Leslie were sitting on the back, chests heaving from their run.
“You guys out of shape or something?” Rika asked with a grin.
“Har har,” Leslie replied between breaths.
Rika laughed aloud and said something in response to Leslie, while replying to Jerry over the Link.
* * * * *
Rika sped down the streets of Berlin at over three hundred kilometers per hour, with four police bikes and two drones hot on her tail. Ahead, she periodically caught sight of Jerry and Leslie on their bikes, weaving in and out of the slower street traffic.
A car pulled out from the side of the road, and Rika boosted her hoverbike, jumping it into the air and over the car. She nearly hit another vehicle, and swerved sharply to avoid it. Behind her, a car also swerved, and slammed into another, obstructing the road.
Now that was more like it; the harder the pursuit, the better.
A map of the city streets floated over her vision, and she saw that after a right in
three blocks, they would be just two blocks from the government parking garage.
She slowed her bike and dropped a foot, dragging it along the street to swing the bike around the corner, and then she jammed on the throttle again. Ahead, Jerry approached the parking garage, and fired into the guard booth.
Instantaneously, stop posts jumped up and turrets dropped down, firing on Jerry as he sped off. Leslie was just a second behind him, and she tossed a detpack at the entrance to the garage. Barne was monitoring feeds, and blew the pack at just the right moment for maximum damage.
At least Rika hoped it was maximum damage. She scanned the entrance, trying to see if any of the stop posts had been taken out. Her vision cycled through several modes, and then picked up a gap wide enough for her bike.
Rika passed through it a second later. One of the turrets sputtered a few shots at her, but none did any noticeable damage.
She slammed on the bike’s rear brakes, and turned left up the ramp. Guns fired on her the whole way, but their tracking wasn’t fast enough to deal with an overpowered hoverbike ridden by a mech who felt no fear—at least, no fear about this.
Six levels later, she was on the roof of the parking garage. Rika got her bearings and pushed the bike’s throttle wide open. It bucked, rising up as it raced across the rooftop, and Rika hit the edge at exactly the three hundred and twenty-two kilometers per hour Barnes said she needed.
Except she didn’t hit the edge. She ramped off a car and sailed through the air, waiting for the prescribed ten-count to pass.
Time seemed to slow, and she looked around, her view augmented by her two-seventy vision.
Ahead loomed the capitol building, and the east wing where the president was having her meeting. Below her lay a few smaller buildings, then a park. As Rika passed over the park, she pushed off the hoverbike, sending it down and her up.
Four missiles streaked out from hidden defense points, targeting the bike. Rika watched, soaring higher, as the four missiles reached the bike at almost the same moment.