The men stopped a short distance from the prisoners and the guards following them fanned out to provide a continuous security line back into the complex. Something clicked on Spartan’s back and he found he could move more freely. Turning around he could see the guard with the rod had disconnected it from him so that only the manacles around his hands remained. He indicated for Spartan to step forward and onto the platform. As he did so many more of the prisoners stepped forward to join him. The man with his own guards seemed to be in charge. He lifted his hand, not that it was needed as the prisoners were already silent.
“I am Governor Richards, welcome to my facility. On this station we accept criminal elements from all colonies whether they are Confederate, independent or private. Soon you will join others in the secure wing where you will assist in the engineering projects we are working on as part of your sentence. Any attempts to escape will be dealt with by exposure to the planetary surface. For those of you unfamiliar with Prometheus, you will last no longer than thirty seconds in the extreme heat. There is no escape from this facility, only death, or the end of your sentence. You will choose which comes first. The rules are simple, disregard them and the punishment will be severe.”
He paused for a moment and scanned the prisoners before indicating to the guards to push them forwards.
“Follow my men, they will escort you to your new home. Remember, do as you’re told and you will find us fair.” His was suddenly cut off. Two prisoners rushed forward along the platform and away from the ship. Spartan watched them move and for a second considered joining them, it was pointless though. They were running towards the enemy, not to safety. Before they even reached the first door the lone shock trooper blocked their path. Spartan knew they had no chance, it would take a whole marine squad or at least some heavy weapons to bring one down. As the first man staggered past it swung its left arm and struck him low in the body. It was as though the poor man had run headlong into a metal barrier. Before he had hit the ground the creature slashed at the second with its curved blade, the impact was fast and powerful and cut down through the man’s collar and down to his thigh. The bloodied ruins of the man dropped into a dead heap on the ground.
“As I said. Break the rules and the punishment will be severe.” The Governor indicated to the guards to grab the surviving prisoner and take to one of the small sealed doorways that led to an airlock seal. Some of the prisoners started to fidget and there was an obvious feeling of heightened tension. Spartan wasn’t stupid though and it was obvious that any attempt to escape or to help this one man would end with him joining his fate.
The guards moved him up to the doorway and hit the button to the side. The door slid up revealing an airlock loading station about ten metres long that led out towards another similar doorway. The man turned around and faced the prisoners. As he started to shout the door slid down, instantly locking him into the small room.
“Now, if anybody else has the urge to break the rules you will suffer the exact same fate as this unfortunate individual. I never make threats at this facility, I only make promises.”
He signalled the guards and without even pausing the first man hit the release button. The exterior door opened sending the poor man to the burning hot conditions on the surface of the planet. There was no breathable atmosphere and the heat started to burn him from the moment the door opened. The change in pressure blew him out so that he was ejected onto the burning hot surface. His clothes were on fire and his skin peeling away in just seconds. In less than a minute he was motionless and his body, still burning, sent shivers through the assembled prisoners. There was total silence in the open space and with the doors shut not a sound entered the building from the howling winds outside. Spartan glanced to his side, spotting the large, dark figure of Marcus watching the burnt husk of a man. To the casual eye he looked dispassionate but Spartan knew the man well by now and his rage was barely contained.
The Governor turned away to walk along the open space to the open doors that led into the dark caverns of the base. As he reached them something bumped into Spartan. He turned around to find the mass of prisoners pushing forward, herded like cattle along the platform to follow the Governor. Along the sides and at the front the heavily armed guards kept a watchful eye over them. He hadn’t spotted it at first but as they moved through the doors a number of discreet domes protruded from the ceiling at irregular intervals. The Governor stood waiting between two of the domes about ten metres from the prisoners. He lifted his hand for them to stop.
“These domes are here for all of our protection. They are part of the automated defence system in this facility and scan all entry and exit points. Any unauthorised access by prisoners or staff will be met by these...” He pointed at the domes.
In perfect synchronisation a short barrel pushed out from the dome along with what looked like a single glowing red eye. The entire dome rotated so that the eye could view a complete 360° arc. Every few moments it stopped and the lens made an almost silent noise as it moved forwards to alter it focus, at least that is how it looked.
“Intruder detected. Return to your holding area, you have five seconds before lethal force is authorised,” came an automated voice directly from the unit.
The Governor pulled a small device from his pocket and pressed a button. The red light switched off and the unit retracted back inside the dome.
“These units are everywhere on the site. If one tells you to move you had better do it fast. In the last eighty days we have had thirteen attempted escapes and one hostage taken. Every single person involved has been terminated by the sentry system. Listen to the Eye and do exactly as it tells you!”
Satisfied that the prisoners had heard his message he beckoned for one of the guards to approach. He moved forward and clicked his feet smartly.
“Sir.”
“Take them to their quarters and introduce them to their duties.” The Governor promptly turned and disappeared off into the blackness.
The guard cleared his throat before addressing the prisoners.
“You will follow me to your wing, a lovely new structure built by the loving hands of your predecessors. Now...follow me!” He turned towards a narrow corridor to the right. As he moved forwards the lights flickered on to bathe the area in a bright white light.
As Spartan moved forward there was only one thing on his mind. It wasn’t the quarters, their jobs or even the terrible fate that awaited them all. It was plain and simple, he was thinking of the trigger device held by the Governor.
* * *
Admiral Jarvis, the senior Confederate Commander in the Proxima System stepped carefully over the cables and tools that lay strewn across the floor. To her side stood the imposing figure of Lieutenant Colonel Blake, the Commander of the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion and the senior Marine Commander from the Santa Cruz. His ship had returned from Kerberos two weeks earlier and a large number of his marines were already on the station and assisting with the defences and getting the systems up and running. Admiral Jarvis had been on the moon of Kronus for over an hour now to survey the repair work on the Titan Naval Station and assess its readiness in case of further emergencies. As she walked through the station she was surprised to see a number of the weapon systems had been remounted and showed as live. Behind her and the Colonel were a small group of marines, each of them in their standard Personal Defence Suits (PDS) and armed with L48 rifles. They were covered from head to toe in the sealed tactical armour and were marching smartly behind her in a small column. They had been handpicked from the men and women of the Reconnaissance Battalion, the elite unit of the Marine Corps units currently in the System. Though they marched with precision they were by no means operating as just a ceremonial guard. Their weapons were all loaded and each one of them constantly checked their surroundings, looking for potential threats, including the ever-present problem of improvised explosives and booby traps. Their armour was painted in mottled grey urban camouflage and two of the marines wore heav
ily scarred and marked armour. It was a matter of pride to not cover up or repair damage, providing it didn’t affect the integrity of the suit. The Admiral stopped for a moment and surveyed the scene around her.
“Colonel, I still can’t believe this station fell to the Zealots in the first place. We had ships, marines and weapons here, it should have never happened!”
“You’re right, Admiral, it shouldn’t but the insurgents have managed to infiltrate our colonial forces from military bases through to command staff. Not only did they seize army compounds on the surface, they managed to take a battleship as well. They are better trained and motivated than any of us could have imagined.”
“Perhaps, still, it shouldn’t be possible to get this far.”
Multiple warships as well as the large military garrison with its formidable surface-based weapon systems had heavily protected the station. The design was in such a way that it should be able to hold off an entire capital ship on its own. With support ships and escorts it should have been impregnable to any organised force. The fact that lightly armed civilians attacked the station, successfully overrunning it for a matter of weeks, still astounded her.
What was more incredible to her though was that since the battle, the crippled and almost totally destroyed station was now back in use. The last time she had seen it up close had been through the view screens on her ship as it was being torn apart by battle. The video displays had shown the fighting on the surface as the marines fought their way through the strong defences and heavy weapon emplacements. A number of marine landing craft had crashed and burned in that operation, one that had cost hundreds of lives on both sides.
“We’ve come across over a dozen infiltrators in the last week. Some must have stayed hidden after the place was abandoned, the rest must have got here as stowaways. It’s cost us another nine men trying to clear them out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Colonel. Since I’ve been away you’ve had a tough time of it, I know. The good news however is that we now have three task forces, one here, one at Kerberos and the main Fleet at Khimaira. Our numbers have been increasing as missing ships or those that went into hiding have managed to reach the assembly points. It won’t be long now before I have the numbers and resources on my side to go on the offensive,” she said confidently.
Colonel Blake nodded in satisfaction.
“That is good to hear, Admiral. Since we lost the General and the ceasefire was implemented morale has taken a dive. Knowing we are about to get back into the fight will fire us all up.”
“Don’t you worry, Colonel, there is plenty of fighting left to be done,” she said with a wry smile.
They pushed on past the partially cleared debris. The station would probably never be quite the same. The battle damage and self-destruct system had caused so much devastation it would take years to bring it back to anywhere near the position it had once been. In fact, at any other time it might have been abandoned permanently, but with secession fever spreading through the Proxima Star System, and no contact with the rest of the Confederacy in Alpha Centauri, she needed to hold on to any facilities and forces that she could. The two Star Systems formed the bulk of the Confederacy but the vast distance between them created problems in both communication and travel. Even the fastest manned ships took hundreds of days to make the trip and compressed laser communications took two months to travel from one System to the next. Not that the time difference really mattered at the moment, Alpha Centauri appeared to be having its own problems and all transport and communication was currently blocked between them. Admiral Jarvis’ last orders from Naval Command had been to protect the citizens of the colonies and to crush the insurgency that was spreading before it was too late.
The Naval Station itself was large and capable of offering medical aid, repair crews and substantial combat support anywhere in the vicinity of the planet Prime that the station orbited. There were also a number of much smaller stations known as the Transit Stations and the surviving platforms from the battle had proven invaluable in getting supplies and equipment unloaded prior to being moved to Kronus. Down below only one of the seven colonies, Avagana, remained loyal to the Confederacy. Although fighting had stopped it could only be a matter of time before the secession forces made a final push to claim this colony. It was an odd situation whereby the strongest naval base and defences were orbiting a planet that was fairly hostile to Confederate control. As long as Avagana stood it was imperative that the Fleet maintained a stranglehold on the transit routes. The ships guaranteed the safety of the colony by interdicting any hostile forces trying to resupply units that might attack Avagana. Also, from this position reinforcements could be dropped directly into battle. It was a dark time for the Confederacy, a place where the violently independent colonies had been bickering and arguing for decades and had now found a voice in the guise of the new socialist dogma of the Church of Echidna. Four of the eleven planets in the system had already seceded and these included the only two habitable worlds, Kerberos and Prime. The remaining loyal colonies consisted of small planetary platforms, research bases and industrial complexes based around the dead worlds and gas giants in the System. As she considered the current tactical position her attention was drawn to an approaching man. The young Captain, his fatigues dirty and well used, stopped in front of the Admiral and saluted smartly.
“Admiral.”
She stood for a short time, inspecting the man and simultaneously examining the space around them. He must have suspected something was wrong as his eyes drifted off to the side to a pile of heavy metal machinery and equipment before snapping back to the Admiral.
“Good work, Captain, Colonel Blake informs me your work teams are making excellent progress on the station. I was hoping it would be ready for basic repair work yet you’ve managed to bring a number of weapon systems online as well as establish workable medical facilities. Outstanding!”
“Thank you, Admiral. We have a good team here and they are bringing more and more of the equipment up to operational capability every day. I expect to have the primary shipyard cleared for dry dock work within forty-eight hours.”
Admiral Jarvis walked along what had been the beautiful plaza and scene of the violent clash between the Zealots and marines. The debris had already been cleared but the damage to the structure was still very obvious. She moved slowly, still finding the lower gravity difficult to get used to. She had been on similar stations before and found it took a few days to get back into the rhythm of movement. It was common knowledge that extra weight could make life much easier and she had already adopted some of the salvage teams’ gear, especially the grav boots. It was a fancy name but there was nothing fancy about a pair of boots whose only special feature was an extra twenty kilograms of weight added to the innersole via the dense polymer inserts.
“Tell me about the weapons, I thought the large calibre mounts were destroyed in the battle?”
“They were. We’ve been recovering equipment from the crippled hulk of Victorious. The ship is a wreck but lots of the systems are salvageable, especially those on the starboard section, they were the least damaged.”
Admiral Jarvis considered the battle for a moment. It had been the most terrifying and violent ordeal she had ever faced when they put the Battlecruiser Crusader up against the rebel Battleship Victorious. After a long and deadly duel the Crusader had emerged the winner though at a very heavy cost. Even now the warship was still undergoing repairs at Kerberos along with a number of other vessels that had been in action since the uprising.
“How about the CiC, how badly damaged was it?”
“Well, not good, Sir. The self-destruct system pretty much destroyed the entire tactical system, the communication relays and all the power systems. We’ve set up a temporary power core and are moving systems down from the Bunker Hill and Santa Cruz to establish an operation data centre. I estimate it will take at least a week before all the systems are tied in and capable of providing wide band networ
king throughout the Fleet.”
“Still, that is a good start. So in approximately a week we can start using the base here as the Sector Headquarters. I will ensure you are sent extra crews and equipment to help in your work.”
“Thank you, Admiral, I should get back to my duties.”
Admiral Jarvis nodded and returned the salute from the young man who then turned away smartly and rushed back to the many jobs he obviously needed to work on. No sooner had he left he was accosted by a several workers, each of them looking to him for information on the work projects. As the men went about their business the Admiral pulled out her datapad and examined the latest reports on the Fleet. There were a number of messages awaiting her attention but it was the one marked urgent that caught her eye. The subject simply read ‘prisoners’ and it could mean only one thing. Tapping the message it expanded out into a full report by the intelligence staff on the CCS Wasp, the light carrier and flagship of the small fleet in orbit around Prime.
The first part of the report outlined three potential leads in the disappearance of General Rivers and his unit. The first two leads indicated a number of criminal gangs who were working on dangerous underground mining operation on Kerberos. The third lead came directly from comparing the previous two with the data recently arrived from the Tamarisk. It wasn’t much but it did seem to point to one man, a trader with links to the slave trade on Prometheus. According to the associated data the information recovered by Commander Anderson and his crew indicated that a consignment of slaves and high value prisoners were being sent to Prometheus. There was no exact location or even total number of slaves though. The data was already out of date but the more Admiral Jarvis thought about it the more she was convinced it was the strongest lead so far. What could be higher value than the senior General in the Proxima System, other than her, of course?
Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy Page 45
