Confrontation: Aliens and Humans. Allies and Enemies. (Space Fleet Sagas)

by Don Foxe

  “After the techs discovered the programming errors, and deliberate reprogramming of objectives in a few cases, the remaining LAWS units entered storage.”

  The interior lights came on automatically after sensing the presence of the visitors. A dozen nightmares stood in two rows of six. Mobile LAWS units designated Marauders. Single wide-track drive, metal composite construction, eight feet tall and matte black. At the waist, an adapted laser-beam rifle on each side. At the left shoulder, a miniature grenade launcher on a swivel. Grenades stored within the unit’s shell cycled up and replaced fired rounds. Articulated arms, complete with elbows and wrists, hung from rotational shoulder joints. The right arm ended in an actual hand. It looked like the gauntlet-covered fingers of a Medieval knight. The left arm ended in a blunt metal block, used for pounding flesh, or knocking obstacles down.

  Some of the more fearsome LAWS units could emit toxic fumes, gases, and bio-weapons. None of the LAWS stored at Hafsid included mass destruction capability.

  “Are you suggesting we take illegal LAWS units, and set them loose on Fell?” Coop asked. “After what they did here? That constitutes a war crime, Nathan.”

  “These units underwent complete forensic autopsies.” Trent stood before a frightening visage. The LAWS field combat models, like these, included heads. Designers placed cameras, scanners, communications and various other telemetry inside a container designed to look like a helmeted human head. He held his arms crossed, hands beneath his armpits, eyes intent on the unit’s ‘face.’ A face two-feet higher than the top of his own head.

  “Their operational AI software downgraded from self-learning, to self-maintenance only. The LAWS units, without an independent thinking AI, performed every pre-programmed function flawlessly. The rogue units were the result of programmer errors, intentional reprogramming, and AI’s with too much leeway for interpretation of orders.”

  “These units?” Coop asked.

  “Tested and cleared,” Trent replied. “But because of the Agreement, brought to Tunisia for storage. Highly classified. Over the years, many of the world’s best engineers, and technicians have visited. They check maintenance details, updated software and hardware occasionally. They’ve been kept operational in case of an emergency.”

  “I admit they could make a major impact,” Coop said, pacing between the two rows of destroyers. “But there is a major disadvantage. Marauder power cells worked off solar energy. Fell is blanketed in clouds ninety-percent of the year.”

  “Did I mention hardware upgrades?” Trent said, walking toward the exit. “These units are retro-fitted with fusion cells. They can last forever.”

  Coop caught up with his friend at the door. He looked back, as the door opened, and automatic lights dimmed. “They sure don’t look like the Eveready Bunny.”

  “So you’ll add them to the inventory?” Trent asked.

  “Nope. We are taking the war to the Mischene,” Cop said. He stooped and looked directly at his friend. “We sure as hell will not export our warcrimes with us.”

  CHAPTER 42

  “LAWS Marauders? Really?” Anton Gregory sat in a student desk, in the front row of a school room the Space Marines used as a, well, honestly, a school room. Personnel attended school for instruction from jungle warfare tactics, to operating state-of-the-art technology adapted to military standards for the mission to free Fell.

  The Proving Grounds housed several school rooms. The time Storm arrived to instruct communications staffers on operating the STORM-HATCH system, the lesson got moved to an auditorium. Everyone even loosely associated with communications wanted to attend the briefing. Some actually wanted to learn about the tachyon-based communications breakthrough.

  “You sound excited,” Coop said. “Big metal men with large weapons turn you on?”

  “Maybe,” the Russian replied. “That Marauders give us an advantage. They shift the odds of success in our favor, and that gets me excited. Mobile, single-unit strike force capable of operating twenty-four seven. Autonomous soldiers we send into hot spots, otherwise suicidal for our people.”

  “Too bad I’m not taking them with us,” Coop said. Before Gregory could recover from the loss of additional weapons, Trent entering the room, followed by two men and two women.

  “Captain Cooper, Colonel Gregory. These fine people represent Trent Industry’s Tactical Armament Division. Dr. Richard Spruce, medical. You both know Dr. Dorra Aziza, chemical and bio-chemical.” The three former shipmates smiled, and nodded in recognition.

  “Dr. Susan Fey, textiles, and Dr. Juan Aldez, telemetry.”

  Trent no sooner completed the terse introductions, when two Trent Industry security personnel entered. Each wheeled an over-sized container; six-feet tall, three-feet wide, and two-feet deep into the room. They stood the containers on end, then exited, presumably to stand guard at the door.

  Acting like a stage magician, Trent opened the two containers, stood back, and held his hands out. He actually said, “Tah-Dah.”

  Dr. Fey took charge. “These are Multi-Environmental Tactical Skin-Suits, or METS,” she said, removing an etherial dark-gray six-foot length of material from one container, and handing it to Coop. She presented Anton with one from the second container.

  They held the material up. Obviously cut as body suits with hoods, and made from opaque material.

  “This entire suit weighs less than six ounces,” Coop said. “Does it serve a purpose?”

  “Without getting overly technical,” Fey explained, “METS will keep you warm, if the weather is cold, cool if it’s hot, dry if it’s raining, and prevent dehydration if you find yourself in the middle of a desert.”

  “The material is treated with a chemical compound allowing it to recognize the environment, assess your biological reaction, and adjust accordingly,” Aziza informed them.

  “The hood is part of the suit, with multiple telemetry nodes embedded, which automatically communicate information to a central command receiver. Com receivers are located near your ears,” Aldez explained.

  He removed helmets from each container. “The helmets are also extremely light weight. Constructed of a carbon-composite, including materials reverse engineered from the Martian hangar. With these on, you can receive telemetry. Anything you want, everything you need. In fact, you need to take care regarding sensory overload. We suggest minimal streaming of only essential data. You can voice command requests for audio or visual information.”

  Dr. Spruce, presumably an actual medical doctor, handed out hands and feet. Or, technically, gloves and socks. “Once again, the same material,” he said. “The gloves include bio-sensors able to transmit tactile information from the exterior to the interior of the material. You will experience what something feels like without removing the glove. The socks will mold to your feet. They will provide motion control, arch support, or whatever needed to make extended hours on your feet more tolerable and less stressful.”

  “Try them on,” Trent urged.

  Gregory began peeling clothes off. Coop hesitated. “Don’t be a prude, Coop,” Trent said. “We’re scientists, not voyeurs. Underwear, too,” he said to Anton.

  Because of her history with the two officers, Aziza found something to do, focusing her attention and eyes elsewhere. Dr. Fey found nothing better to do than watch. Drs. Spruce and Aldez opened data-pads and prepared for telemetry signal capture.

  The METS slipped on easily. The silky material stretched to envelope their bodies without friction. They closed in the front, with a band similar to a zip-lock. With hoods up, gloves and socks on, they looked like the performers in puppet plays who blend into the scenery shadows.

  “Helmets,” Trent said. After they donned the helmets, Trent waked up and tapped them half-way along the jawline. Gregory yelped, and Coop became rigid. “Relax. The METS vacuum-seal to your skin. Tap the same spot twice, and they unseal. Now put your clothes back on.”

  They redressed, and other than the obvious helmet, the skin-suits proved
non obtrusive and unnoticeable. “You can talk,” Trent told them. “Your voices will come out naturally, unless you request a mute.”

  “These are incredible,” Anton said. “If they do everything you say, we can operate in any environment without needing bulky excess clothing or support vehicles.”

  “They do everything we said,” Aziza assured him. “And a little more. The material is impenetrable. Blades cannot pierce the fabric, and it is capable of stopping a projectile.”

  “A knife is unable to cut us?” Coop asked.

  “Thrust into you, it is equivalent to a punch. A bullet would do more harm, but you would not receive a hole. However, if it hit you over a vital organ, you might die,” Spruce explained.

  “Lasers?” Anton asked.

  “Those will penetrate,” Trent answered. “We found no solutions that did not also make the METS too heavy or less flexible. Avoid lasers.”

  “Explosives?” Coop.

  “Concussion would knock you about, but the concussive force would not penetrate the suit or helmet, and kill you.” Spruce.

  “How do I request telemetry?” Anton.

  “The system is intuitive. Just ask for what you want,” Aldez replied.

  “Schematic with life-form signatures for this building,” he said. Followed by, “Whoa. Cool. Impressive. Turn off schematic. How many of these suits do you have?”

  “Factories in eight locations are working twenty-four hour shifts,” Trent answered. “You should have 50,000, plus a few extra, in time to practice in them your last week in Brazil.”

  “Brazil?” Coop asked.

  “Sorry, I guess I was excited about the suits and forgot to tell you. Pam and the UEC have approved the next phase. You’re heading to the Amazon.”

  CHAPTER 43

  “Fitz, approach the target from the rear, come in hot. Learn when to push your cyclic control forward with the yoke, then pull the collective up to drop your ship beneath the target’s keel. If your target had been a Mischene battlecruiser, instead of PT-109, the move would position you for a one-two at the hangar bay doors.” Loba called out instructions in a calm, relaxed tone. Ari Fitzsimmons’ flight experience included Angel fighters, but no fly and fight time. His current lesson included how to place the fighter in the optimal position for weapons acquisition and maximum effect.

  Elena (callsign LOBA) commanded squadron training, since Cooper could only give one hour of his time to the Angel-Demon squadron for every six spent with ground operations. Elena held air and space combat maneuvering (ASCM) training above the moon. ASCM, still known as dogfighting, though Angel and Demon class ships fought inside atmospheres, as well as in the vacuum of outer space. The PT-109, commanded by Captain Falkner Sligh, pretended to be the enemy. Kennedy, utilizing the tactical data collected during encounters with the Zenge and Mischene battleships, replicated their tendencies in combat.

  “Baker, your chance at the brass ring. Bring Angel 6 around for a pass at the 109. Come down from twelve, slip by on your starboard, and find out how quickly you can reverse into a six o-clock return pass.”

  BAKER was the callsign for Sam Washington. Like Fitzsimmons, Washington flew Angels as a test pilot. His experience in combat training for outer space encounters limited, but he had logged several hours in air-to-air and air-to-surface engagements on UEC assignments. As a Can-Am Naval Pilot, he supported military actions against insurgents and rogue nation-states attempting to damage United Earth initiatives.

  Elena Casalobos, arguably Space Fleet’s most accomplished space-fighter pilot, commanding the squadron in Captain Cooper’s absence made perfect sense. She actually accrued more total hours in fighter-class ships than Coop. She surpassed him following his reassignment to the PT program.

  She currently schooled Fitz, Baker, and Sky on tactics, ASCM training, and operating as a team, not as individual flyers. Sky, normally assigned the co-pilot seat aboard Angel 7, used the opportunities whenever Coop left to train on the surface, to log time behind the main yoke. Storm remained in the com-tac chair. ENS Diego Castillo, a systems operator aboard the 109, handled the co-pilot responsibilities.

  Castillo’s resume did not include experience in a space fighter. He served as a fighter pilot for Can-Am before switching career paths. He could have applied for the Angel program, but opted for computer-systems. The Mexican liked a good fight, but loved the geeky side of life more.

  While Loba conducted combat operations in space, Rachelle Paré acted as wing commander for air-to-surface training. She piloted Angel 4, the oldest ship in the squadron. Paré had more experience in air-to-surface conflicts than any person who ever serve as a combat pilot in Earth’s history. Her proficiency for hitting targets, regardless of how far away, how fast she flew, what she flew or the weapon used earned her the callsign, RAIN. When ground forces needed help, they called in the Rain. She was joined by Noa Tal in Demon 2, the youngest ship in the squadron. Noa flew combat jets with the UE’s Israeli Defense Forces before applying for Space Fleet pilot certification.

  The two ships took turns locating, then firing on smaller and smaller targets set up around the Australian outback. The sparsely populated region selected to prevent training runs from scaring the crap out of civilians. Those few located in the expanse were contacted and warned by ground troops to stay out of combat training zones.

  One concern, two carvide, alien wolves freed from the Zenge and later released into the outback to cull over-population of feral sheep and cattle. Trackers, implanted beneath their hides, placed them out of danger, far from the testing grounds.

  Angel 4, piloted by Rain, with LT.JG. Johnathan Johnson, nick name and callsign, JON-JON as co-pilot, and Lt. Izzy Domincyzk on com-tac, battled Tal, callsign SABRE, her co-pilot, Lt. Ryan Fox, FLAMER, and their com-tac, Lt. Jim Huard, and the state-of-the-art Demon 2 to a tie.

  Sabre, the better flyer, placed her ship in the best possible positions to aim and fire. Rain the better shooter, could hit anything from anywhere.

  “Rain, Sabre, report.” Loba’s voice crossed the coms channels.

  “Done with fun,” Tal replied.

  “Air-to-ground training completed,” Paré replied. Rain earned her reputation as a stoic, professional, aloof person and officer.

  “Report to EMS2. All teams meet for after-action reviews in two hours,” Loba instructed. “The mission has moved to Phase Two. Ground teams are relocating to the Brazilian Amazon. We join them in forty-eight for air support training, ground spotter training, and everyone needs to re-qualify on personal weapons.”

  “More fun,” Sabre replied. “I do love me some personal combat.”

  “Affirmative,” answered Rain. “Angel 4 and Demon 2 returning to base.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Coop’s mouth literally fell open, and he forgot how to breathe.

  Sky and Storm modeled the recently arrived METS in his personal tent, adjoining the command and control tent. They activated the vacuum seal, the suits molded to their bodies, and Coop’s body reacted while his brain shut down.

  “Captain Cooper, this is Dr. Aldez. Are you okay, Captain? Your telemetry indicates readings outside of norms.”

  Coop answered, taking a moment to remember how to talk. “I’m fine, Doctor. Just a little exertion while I test the METS.”

  “Your bio-chemical readings are interesting.” The voice in his ear belonged to Aziza. The giggle came from Storm, who obviously monitored his communications.

  “Thank you, Dorra. I’m fine,” he replied.

  “I’m muting the warnings for a little while,” she responded. “I’m also muting the alerts for ASkiilamentrae and AStermalanlan. They apparently have similar exaggerated readings.” The following chuckle came from the Chemist.

  “It’s a good thing these suits cannot tear or rip,” Sky said, eyes south of Coop’s waist.

  “Remind me to issue a directive for personnel to activate METS privately, and wear BDUs in public places,” Coop said.

  Sky, Stor
m, and the other members of Angel-Demon Squadron arrived in Brazil hours earlier. Assigned tents, issued the newest personal laser-sidearms, and instructed on METS.

  Storm walked across the dividing space. She stopped in front of Coop, and placed her hand on his chest.

  “Amazing,” she said. “I can touch everything through the glove.” She ran her hand down his chest, over his abs, and finished by cupping him between the legs. “Everything,” she repeated. “Sky is correct.” She squeezed playfully. “It is a good thing these suits cannot tear,” and added, “from either side.”

  “Captain Cooper?” The call came over the Command Center’s communication channel.

  “Cooper, here.”

  “The Morgan has landed. Captain Hollisvey reports the ship’s hangar is prepared for you, sir.”

  Morgan became the official name for the Parrian cargo ship recaptured during the Star Gazer battle. Kaifer Hollisvey, a Pagoran pilot, also freed from captivity during the battle, commanded the alien vessel. His experience with the systems, as well as recent time spent as a Space Fleet engineer aboard the PT-109, made the decision to assign the ship to an alien captain obvious. An assignment made over objections by Space Fleet traditionalists.

  “Contact those designated for the final Reports and Review meeting aboard the Morgan. Everyone to assemble in the ship’s hangar in sixty-minutes,” he ordered. The cargo ship’s generous bay provided more space, and a more comfortable setting, than any structure hastily constructed in the rainforest.

  “To give us time to undress?” Sky asked.

  “I wish,” Coop replied. “I need the time to get everything ready for the final briefing. You two get fully dressed, and join everyone at the cargo ship.”

  Following his own directive, he hurriedly donned a jungle-camo shirt and cargo pants over the METS. After lacing boots and adding a belt with a combat knife, he pushed the suit’s hood off his head. Even furled at his neck, he could still hear coms through the earbuds, and communicate using the built-in microphones. He would use the trans-com bracelet if he preferred a private conversation with anyone else with a bracelet and special channel.