Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “They’re going for our power plant, put them down!” shouted Barca and he jumped in after them.

  “Barca, get back!” Teresa shouted as she fired more shots. Unfortunately because Barca had moved ahead he was now blocking the line of sight. One of the enemy had spotted this and turned back to fire a burst from his rifle. Most of the rounds clattered harmlessly into the thick skin of the ship but three managed to reach Barca, two hit the think armour on his arm but one found the glass visor and easily smashed inside, striking him in the face. His suit instantly depressurised and he drifted lifelessly where he fell.

  “Bastards!”

  Teresa slammed in another clip and emptied the entire set of rounds. Bishop moved forward and added his own fire as he pulled Barca’s unmoving body down to safety. Several of the incoming rounds struck Barca’s amour, giving Bishop the time and cover he needed to reload and fire a final burst until just one of the enemy remained. He was busy trying to connect a device to the panel at the end of the corridor. Bishop fired a single round above the man’s head.

  “Hey, your buddies are gone. Hands up or eat a bullet!”

  Teresa pulled herself along, holding her pistol out in front as she approached the man. As she moved closer she could see that he hadn’t brought a weapon on board, it was a computerised hacking unit designed to gain entry into their computer system and give them control over the ship. The man turned around and lifted his hands. As he released the unit it drifted away and clattered against the wall of the corridor.

  “We’re clear down here, and we have a prisoner, Sir.”

  “Good work, Teresa, any casualties?”

  Teresa looked back towards Bishop who was checking Barca. She could see that he wasn’t coming back though. The visor on the suits had limited protection against debris but against firearms it was almost unless.

  “Yes, Sir, Barca is dead, he was killed in the firefight.”

  There was a short pause.

  “How about the prisoner?”

  Teresa looked back at the man in the carapace armour. Through the thickened glass she could see the fear in his eyes.

  “Why are you on my ship?”

  “I..uh...I...” he muttered in confusion.

  Teresa turned her head slightly and raised her pistol so that it was just a few centimetres from his face.

  “I asked you a question!”

  “We are looking for strays to sell.”

  “To sell? Who to?”

  The man was taking no chances now and answered immediately.

  “Slavers, they are paying ten times over the going rate for some big project,” he said, desperately trying to appease her as she maintained the position of the weapon in front of his face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Alpha Company was one of the first companies to establish a permanent paramilitary training facility on Terra Nova. The well trained personnel were often members of the Army or Marine Corps and provided bodyguards and security staff for some of the most important companies in the Confederacy. Their claim to fame being, that they were the first private corporation to finance and build their own cruiser. With its range of firepower and ability to project power they quickly became the number one security company in the System.

  Private Security Directory

  The manacles on his hands and feet were impossible to remove. Spartan had been wriggling and tugging for the last hour and so far the only result had been a new series of cuts and bruises on his limbs. With a final effort he stopped and looked about the room. It was the same cell he had been in earlier but the numbers of prisoners had been reduced. General Rivers must have been taken somewhere else, along with the other escapees, as there was no sign of him. He did notice that Marcus was still in the room and it didn’t looked like he was starting to regain consciousness. The door was locked and he hadn’t seen anybody for almost three hours now. The temptation to try and escape when they were taken to the lavatory was always there. But since his attempted escape all prisoners, when taken out of the room, were escorted by six fully armoured guards.

  He thought back to the violent battle during their escape and the large room. His memory of the event was still a little hazy, no doubt due to the abuse he took at the hands of the enemy. A few key images did stick in his mind though. The cylinders were full of fluid, he was certain of that, as the nearest one had dumped gallons of the stuff all over his body. What really interested him though was the image of the creature staggering out and attacking him. It was the only time he had seen one out of its customary armour and what he had seen definitely convinced him that they were human, or at least part human. Contrary to what some had told him, they were certainly not machines, no more than any living thing wasn’t a machine. There was something else though, what was it? Then he remembered. The creature had spoken to him. This was the only instance he had heard anything other than grunts or roaring sounds from the creatures. The ability to speak immediately moved it out of the machine or creature camp and into a human of some kind.

  The next question was what were the cylinders and fluids all about? There could only be a few reasons for them being like that, though he was hardly a scientist. It could be a way of transporting the creatures from place to place. The liquid might be a way of regenerating damaged tissue or to provide a cushion during high-speed travel. That was hardly likely though, they were tough and easily able to be strapped into place prior to high acceleration. Maybe it was something else. The creature was unarmoured, and nowhere as potent in hand-to-hand combat as ones he’d faced in battle before. Maybe they were newly born or perhaps even infants? After all, they had to be born, modified or created somehow and the cylinders might have something to do with it.

  As he lay there, chained like a common criminal, he heard a series of loud thumping sounds pounding through the hull. They became louder until he could feel the vibrations through the floor. Two of the prisoners started moaning at the sound.

  “What is it?” His immediate thoughts were that it must be related to the great creatures further along in the ship.

  “It’s the ship, they are making adjustments before the shielding, we must be entering a storm area,” said one of the prisoners.

  Spartan was surprised at finding a man with any kind of starship knowledge on board. Only somebody with transport knowledge or engineering know-how could surely understand that kind of thing. Though the more he thought about it the more he realised it was stupid to think otherwise. So far he had found prisoners from all walks of life.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve spent my time on freighters, trust me, they are changing the makeup of the plating and electrical shielding. They only do this when they know they are going to hit a danger zone. If I had to guess I’d say we must be heading to Prometheus.”

  “Prometheus?”

  “Yeah, you heard of the place?”

  Spartan said nothing for a moment as he thought back to Prometheus. He had spent some time, prior to joining the Marine Corps, as a pit fighter in that hellhole. It was an odd place, unlike Prime or Kerberos there wasn’t a central colony. The planet was a burning hot rocky ball of minerals that made habitable colonies out of the question. The only structures on the surface were those of the hundreds of mining, research and refinery operations. Even though the temperatures made engineering projects expensive and dangerous there were many benefits to working there, the primary one as always being money. Around the planet were hundreds of starbases, mining outposts, trading stations and research labs. In the middle of this mass of humanity were three military compounds including a small naval station and shipyard, an orbital Marine Corps barracks and a well-guarded research station. It was like the Wild West back on old Earth where prospectors came to make money and gamble it away on the many vices the stations had to offer. The attraction of quick money and even quicker ways to spend it also provided the Marine Corps a suitable recruiting ground for fresh warriors. Not that Spartan had ever looked for enlistmen
t. That came down to the police raid and subsequent accident. The look on the judge’s face as he gave him the choice, prison or military service still haunted him. As he sat in chains and was heading off to yet another uncertain fate, he started to wonder once again if he had the made the right decision.

  There was something that didn’t make sense though. He had made the trip several times to and from Prometheus and the storms were only a problem if you went through them, but they were avoidable. It just increased the trip from days to months.

  “Why though?”

  “Only reason I can think of is they are going to try to sprint through the storms. Fat lot of good the shielding will do for them though, if they are hit going through the ship is toast. Actually, technically we will be toast, the ship will probably be okay.”

  Spartan looked less than impressed.

  “What’s the point of the shielding if it doesn’t work then?”

  “Most ships can travel fully automated. If you send her through, the shielding should be enough to protect the hardened computer systems. Biological matter though, that’s something else!”

  * * *

  Teresa moved about inside the enemy ship. It was of a similar size to the Tamarisk and so far she had already found a dozen weapons plus secure datapads and backup drives. Bishop was in the aft of the vessel while she rummaged around in the crew areas for any information that might be of use. Both wore their suits, as they had needed to make the short EVA manoeuver between the vessels so that they could board her. As she opened one of the crew lockers the intercom in her helmet activated.

  “Kowalski here. Anderson has information from the prisoner on the location of the ship’s log files and communications backup. He says to go the waste disposal unit. It’s two doors back from the bridge. Open the door and look to the left, you should see a set of circular doors. Open them and you’ll find the data storage segment of the ship.”

  “In the toilet?” she asked scornfully.

  “Hey, don’t blame the messenger! I guess they thought it would be more secure hidden somewhere you wouldn’t expect.”

  “They got that part right. I’m on my way, any other information?”

  She moved away from the lockers and pulled her body along by holding onto the handles along the walls. The crew area was surprisingly barren though, unlike the storage area that was loaded with all kinds of air sealed containers. She moved past one metal door until she rounded a corner and could see the entrance to the bridge. Counting along the wall she spotted the correct door.

  “Nothing yet, apparently this guy is ready to spill his guts though. By the time the Commander is done he won’t have any secrets!”

  “Good, these bottom feeders deserve everything they get!”

  Pushing out her right hand she held onto the railing with her left and twisted the wheel to open the door to the waste disposal area. As it swung open she thought it was the wrong place before realising she was looking at loose plastic drapes that she had to pull through to reach the inside.

  “Left, right, no…left,” she muttered to herself as she felt for the door. She quickly found it and swung open the door to reveal an entire panel of glowing lights.

  “Jackpot!”

  “I think the Commander is going to like this!”

  * * *

  The lights flickered and in one final flash the room changed from pitch black into harsh white light. As Spartan lifted his manacled hand to the light a group of the familiar armoured soldiers arrived and started to unlock the chains from the wall, taking the prisoners one at a time down the hall. As Spartan watched his thoughts returned to the idea of escaping. They must have arrived at their destination, these guards were not people he had seen before and they wore patches from some kind of private security company. The patch looked a bit like a snake but he was too far away to read the lettering. Another two people were taken away and that meant Spartan was next. As three guards approached he tensed up, readying himself for any opportunity he might find. Only one guard stepped forward though, the other two lowered their thermal shotgun and aimed them at his chest. The third moved forward with a metal rod about a metre long. Spartan tried to struggle but the chains gave him just a few centimetres movement.

  “Don’t struggle, we’re just attaching the rod!”

  It didn’t matter either way as the man aimed the rod at the collar around Spartan’s neck and pushed it into a notch that locked into place. As it joined together Spartan could feel it tighten around his neck, they were obviously taking no chances.

  “Good, now stay calm and come with us. If you struggle this will happen...”

  Spartan’s eyesight blurred for a moment before he felt a sizzling fire sensation. A series of pulsing muscle spasms ripped through his body and he felt as though his spine would snap from the involuntary movements.

  “The control rod will send the pulses into your spine, too much will cripple you. Understood?”

  Spartan, now barely able to stand properly said nothing, his lack of defiance gave them all the encouragement they needed. The man led the chained and collared Spartan out of the room to follow the line of prisoners and guards away from his previous prison. They moved past where earlier they had stolen the weapons and armour. The burn marks on the walls had been covered up and the door and locks looked as though they had been replaced with new ones of much sturdier construction. He looked in through the thickened glass window of the small barracks room before he felt pressure on his neck.

  “Move it!” shouted the man.

  Spartan stumbled forward and soon reached the turn where his small group had prepared for their rush into the next section where the cylinders were fitted. The thought of seeing the mysterious part of the ship placated him for a moment and in just seconds the long column of lumbering people wandered into the open area. Spartan choked with surprise as he witnessed the shocking display. As he stared with wide eyes they all slowed down due to the congestion. It gave him a moment to survey the scene before him.

  The first thing that was obvious was that the area had been cleaned up and repaired. No longer was there liquid, broken Plexiglas or the rubble of battle. The floor had been scrubbed and all the cylinders removed. In their place were a dozen of the shock troopers. Each of them stood to attention as if waiting for something. Unlike the ones he had fought before these were clothed and equipped in grapheme-based armour. The thin skin of the grapheme material was harder and stronger than steel and protected all the key body parts of the creatures without impeding their movement. Under the armour each of them wore a skin-tight suit of an unknown construction so that no skin was exposed. Their heads were all covered in a form of modified PDS helmet that had been expanded to fit the larger proportions of the monsters.

  “What the hell are those things?” shouted one of the prisoners.

  The man that had told Spartan about the storms and the ship’s shielding turned around to whisper to him.

  “I thought we’d stopped using mechanoids centuries ago?” he said before being struck in the back by one of the guards.

  It was true, Spartan had read a few accounts of the use of mechanical slave labour in the files on board the Santa Maria before his first action on Kronus. The idea of robotic machines that could move and carry out the same functions of humans had fascinated him. His interest wasn’t shared though and it was well known that their use had created resentment and hostility to mechanoids that took away the livelihood of citizens. It must have been a long time ago though, well before the Great War, perhaps even before the founding of the colonies in Proxima. The machine smashing holidays were still carried out at special festivals on some of the colonial worlds in much the same way as the piñata at children’s parties that were held by some families on Kerberos.

  The group started to move forward and for the first time Spartan was able to see the corridors that led away from the open space and into a loading area on the ship. The prisoners were all being lined up and Spartan was surprise
d to see more prisoners coming in similar columns from other parts of the ship. As he turned to look back towards the shock troopers he noticed the familiar shapes of General Rivers and Marcus in the group. Marcus nodded at spotting him but none of the three did anything to get the attention of the guards. Spartan was just happy to see that his comrades were still alive after their escape debacle. The nearest guard pushed Spartan to get his attention, presumably thinking the massive hulk of the shock troopers fascinated him.

  “Yeah, don’t worry, son. You’ll be really comfortable with the idea of those guys soon enough!” The guard started to laugh. It didn’t take long for several of the other armoured men to join in.

  The door at the side of the ship started to open, lifting up slowly to reveal a glass covered walkway that led inside an industrial looking complex. The open space was easily twenty metres wide and bore the faded marking of Pro-Gen, an old research company that had famously gone bust in a drug scandal about a decade earlier. It wasn’t much but it did confirm two things to Spartan. First, the company facility was based on the planet of Prometheus, as expected. Second, there was a link between the shock troopers and Prometheus, though whether it was down to their training or creation remained to be seen. Along both sides of the open area stood armed guards, each with the same insignia he had seen earlier. They were all armed with shotguns, carbines and in one case some kind of heavy glaive. From the darkness at the end of the walkway a group of men in suits approached. As they came closer Spartan noticed one man was being followed by another small group of guards, though these were carrying axes and cutlass type blades. Along with this group another of the shock troopers approached, this one carried a savage looking curved blade in one hand. It was almost as though they were back at the Siege of New Carlos though this time there were no marines and no battle.