The green electronic image of Aurora watched Dr. Hesken without blinking, staring her straight in the eyes with a piercing gaze, silent and unmovable. The tension in the room grew as the doctor continued to vent her frustration. Commander Ultor decided that he’d better step in before Dr. Hesken’s notorious temper got the best of her and she said something that she would not be able to take back. That was when something rather extraordinary happened. He watched as for the first time in the many years he had known her, the doctor was shaken to the point that she had no reply.
On the far wall, the green figure crossed her arms. “I can and I will stop you, for as long as my charge requires your help. You’ve been fighting for years; and at the current rate your entire faction will be eliminated within a period of less than two years. Your revolution, your ideals, and your efforts will all be entirely wasted. In these last few weeks you have been given the opportunity you have long stated you sought after, an opportunity to hope again. A young man so capable, so powerful as to challenge the full might of the PDF in the machine he brought with him from Earth has brought you that hope, and the only condition he has is that his origins remain anonymous.
“There could be many reasons for this, but I assure you, there is only one. In the same way that he is now out in the dusty plains of Mars fighting your battles for you, protecting you; he’s protecting others from where he came from that would suffer should his identity become known. You’ve been given enough information and aid, now it’s up to you to accept what you have been given, and it’s time you began to trust. It’s time you learned to have faith once again.” Aurora stopped speaking as a satellite video feed began playing over the wall in real-time, showing Starkindler fighting and destroying one enemy after the other. Together, Dr. Hesken and Commander Ultor watched in stunned silence, evaluating the hope they had asked for.
They watched as quick cuts of footage showed Mikkhael eliminate each of the smaller patrols and the close calls against the heavy Marauder tanks, and then they watched anxiously with baited breath as the Reaper engaged him, fearing that they were about to watch him die. They reveled with him in each of his small triumphs, and shook in fear at each near catastrophe. Finally, emotionally drained, they watched the Reaper explode right before the satellite feed cut out.
“Aurora, what happened next? Is he alright?” Commander Ultor anxiously asked the blanked screen but there was no reply.
* * * * *
Mikkhael slowly regained consciousness. Movement was a struggle. He was acutely aware of how close of a call their brush with death had been, his body was not about to let him forget, even the slightest movement wracked him with pain. A haze of confusion clouded his mind, the fact that he was still strapped into the cockpit seat required significantly more time to deduce than he cared to admit. Further self-evaluation informed him that he had not moved in a while; his back and neck were stiff, locked into position by knotted muscles. His legs and arms felt limp as rubber, weak from lack of use. Memories of what had taken place before he passed out filtered in slowly as he took in his surroundings.
The subtle vibrations of Starkindler’s feet slowly treading across the barren Martian terrain fed through the pilot’s seat. He decided that for now it would be better if he remained strapped in place, genuinely worried about falling out of the seat if not. Banks of monitors displaying statuses and critical information remained an out-of-focus hazy blur. Judging him alert enough now, Aurora fed him a small amount of mental boosters through the IV while he stretched slowly to restore the circulation to his limbs, the pilot’s seat underneath him automatically activating massage functions to assist with loosening his cramped muscles. The drugs were not enough to bring him to full alertness, but helped get him up to speed while avoiding upsetting his empty stomach.
Between the IV, the catheter, and Starkindler’s technological advantages over the PDF, Aurora had seen to every need he had while he was unconscious, all while successfully piloting them unnoticed through the heavily patrolled hostile enemy territory with the retrieved supply pod in tow. Impressed and mostly grateful just to be alive, he scanned the HUD and tertiary data displays as his vision focused, mentally blocking out how vulnerable he would have been if not for her, checking for immediate threats as the danger of their situation fully dawned on him.
“Aurora, status update?” He asked groggily, his voice barely creaking out a recognizable scratch.
Aurora’s six-inch tall hologram, hovering just above a three dimensional projector whose purpose could only be described as a vanity in the austere pilot’s cabin, turned from studying the rendered computer she had been using. The image was real enough for him to believe she might have been simulating her actual workflow. As she turned to face him, reacting as if he was actually interrupting her, the dress her self-representation had been wearing morphed into a military uniform. Her ethereal form saluted.
“You have been asleep for 44 hours. I took the liberty of declaring our mission accomplished to Mount Olympus Command. We are over 1/3rd the way back to Mount Olympus with the supply pod successfully in tow. There have been no near proximity PDF signs since the battle; I have successfully anticipated and then maneuvered around their patrols. Also, side note; on a personal level, you are beginning to suffer from clinical exhaustion due to over-exertion and require even more rest. You are still acclimatizing to Mars, and your adaptation is proceeding much slower than predicted. You lost consciousness when your adrenaline levels critically depleted. Lastly, the mental parameter booster’s side effects are stronger than anticipated. You are rapidly becoming addicted to their effects, while simultaneously withering under their liberal application.” Aurora’s hologram stopped to stare at him, hands on her hips, lips pursed in an accusatory, almost hostile posture.
“I will be fine, thank you Mother,” Mikkhael snapped, feeling childish even as the words left his mouth. He realized there was probably more truth to what she said than he cared to admit, but refused to acknowledge her warning for the time being. She was the one choosing when to use the drugs on him, but he set the parameters she based her interventions off. His head pounded and his mouth was dry as he mulled over her warnings. There was little to no choice in the matter for him. If he stopped using the mental boosters, he would quickly die from far less natural causes. The fact that he had slept for nearly two days straight did nothing to lessen his anger. The sheer amount of time he’d been unconscious shocked him. The feeling of vulnerability resonated in his core.
“There isn’t anything I can do about that ‘till we return to Olympus anyway. Speaking of which, what is our E.T.A.?” Mikkhael asked.
“We are about to pass Arsia Mons shortly. We made excellent time and will return to base in about seventy two hours. Also, we should be in contact with an outlying StormCrow patrol shortly that will be able to relay a secure message if you would like.” Aurora said.
Mikkhael did not reply. He was almost glad he would have time to shake off the exhaustion before returning to the rebel base. He was very much aware that he needed to operate from a position of strength with the StormCrows in order to gain their respect and maintain their trust. He would be doing himself no favors by returning to the mountain, irritable and sore, liable to over-retaliate if they baited his anger. Which made him grin ruefully in anticipation as he fully expected them to attempt to find some way to anger him and then claim the role of victims for themselves.
The return to Mount Olympus continued apace, the wild alien scenery of the Tharsis Bulge filling the HUD with its overwhelming view. Off to one side, the scene was dominated by the other two volcanos’ that made up the Tharsis Montes. Dust carried on the howling winds blasted around incredibly huge funnels reaching for the sky. From his vantage point they looked more like mountains due to the size of their calderas. Just past them even from this range Olympus Mons commanded attention. The setting sun turned the sky its odd hazy blue’s as another day ended. While there were many similarities between Martian and Ear
th geography, everything on Mars was just so much bigger. Back on Earth, Mount Everest would not even be half as tall as Olympus Mons, a fact that he hoped would never cease to amaze him.
The hours passed quickly in silence as they evaded the security patrol sent more to look for them than any PDF. He spent the time running diagnostic system checks on the internal systems and preparing maintenance reports while rebroadcasts of the firefights played on the HUD; learning everything he could about what Starkindler and himself were capable of outside the simulator was of the highest priority. The simulator onboard the SkySail had been incredibly accurate; however, humans were unpredictable foes, and he knew he had to glean every advantage he could for future fights.
Two more days passed, and before he knew it and Aurora notified him that the time had come to establish radio contact with Mount Olympus in order to directly request entrance via the Readiness Hangar airlock. They may have full control of the StormCrows defensive measures as well as the life support systems within the mountain, but at this point in their relationship, he would continue attempting diplomacy if they allowed him the opportunity. Gaining their trust and goodwill would serve him better in the end rather than their forced loyalty. For lack of better ideas, he simply repeated what Aurora relayed to him as he keyed the mic.
“Olympus, this is Starkindler. Current position is three miles out, approaching main airlock, requesting permission to dock. Mission accomplished. I repeat. Mission accomplished. Starkindler is returning home to rest and refit, supply pod in tow.” His hands shook while they gripped the control handles. He was more nervous about their reaction about his return then he had been during most of the battles apart from the one involving the Reaper.
Drogdyn’s voice immediately replied over the encrypted connection; they had been waiting for him. “Roger, Starkindler, good job. Permission to dock granted, proceed to main air lock as requested. Welcome committee en-route.”
Mikkhael could not be sure if Drogdyn’s reply was honestly helpful or laced with sarcasm. Either way, he mentally noted the need to look into the matter later. Entry into the mountain’s underbelly was simple now that he knew what to do. He smoothly maneuvered around to the hidden entrance cleverly inserted between two ancient lava flows that had hardened long before humanity dreamed of settling Mars, and then he cycled the giant Mech armor through the first door of the air lock that opened as he approached. This time the unmanned sentry weapons outside of the airlock were aimed up to the sky and not at him, a pleasing change from his last experience. Next, he proceeded into the massive Ready Hangar where the bulk of the Rebel’s Mechanized Armored Robotic Suits or MARS units stood proudly within their maintenance hangars set around the hangar perimeter, silently waiting their turn for combat patrols or missions.
Being a shield volcano meant the base of the volcano was enormous instead of the funnel shape often envisioned, stretching nearly six hundred miles at its widest point allowing the StormCrows to have space enough to build several mega cities within the structure and still have room for more. Taking advantage of the resources available to them, several other hangars were interspersed throughout the base in a way that should any one hangar be destroyed by an infiltrator or raid; their faction would be hurt but not crippled. The hangars totaled seven in all, some an empty testament of better times. Only four were currently in use. Huge caverns existed in more distant regions that were originally carved out as mines and then converted into indoor farms that doubled as an oxygen supply. There was no such thing as waste on Mars.
The first was the primary hangar where the bulk of the MARS units waited for their turn to patrol or perform missions. The second was a smaller, nearly empty imitation of the first, housing barely fifteen MARS units with dozens of empty bays standing ready, left forever waiting on more units as well as enough pilots for them. The third hangar was centrally positioned within the mountain, a short distance connected via tunnels carved large enough to transport the units between every hangar in use as it was the maintenance hangar. Mikkhael had yet to visit the maintenance hangar; they did not have the necessary equipment or tools to repair Starkindler, therefore he had no purpose for it. The fourth hangar was inset deepest under the mountain with no outside access, and was where the small amount of research and development for new Rebel MARS units and their weapons took place. Representatives from the research division only made the mistake of hounding him for technology snippets once before learning their lesson and avoiding him, Aurora, and Starkindler.
Starkindler waded slowly through the morass of small utility trucks, scrambling technicians, and maintenance drones that filled the Ready Hangar with the constant whirs and buzzes of tools and machines working, as well as the accompanying shouts of the uniformed men and women operating them. Work continued around the clock at a frenetic pace because the StormCrows were one of the few factions who constantly took the battle to the PDF whenever given the opportunity, one of the main factors explaining why he had been drawn to them. He followed the guide lights inset the floor in order to avoid distracting any of the workers. Flashing patterns directed him over to the hurriedly modified bay that had been temporarily reserved for Starkindler. The supply pod trailed along dutifully behind; later it would be moved to one of the empty hangars currently being renovated to become Starkindler’s home. Aurora performed the docking maneuvers; leaving him to take a closer look at the MARS units they passed by. The assembled Furies and Justices of a half-dozen squadrons stood proudly in their respective bays, the StormCrow Brigade emblem displayed proudly on each of their shoulders as they waited their turn for action.
For many of the collected MARS units, their paint had worn and chipped off years before, rust and discoloration from the harsh sand and ubiquitous dust created a unique sense of identity for each war machine that now blended into the terrain as effectively as any camouflage. The dents and scars on their frames served as badges of honor, a stark reminder that even after his recent victory he still had much to learn from the rebel pilots that had been fighting for their freedom against the largest and most powerful military in the history of humanity for over half of his lifetime.
Compared to his Mech armor, the Mechanized Armor Robotic Suits or MARS units were beyond obsolete. Should diplomacy break down and one or more attack him, he doubted he would even need to engage active energy shields to deflect their attacks, their weapons were underpowered to the point of being unlikely they could damage Starkindler’s ablative armor. The challenge lay with the pilots themselves; earning their respect and trust to avoid the pointless slaughter that would surely be the result if he failed.
Aurora eased Starkindler backwards into its bay, facing out towards the organized chaos of the hangar. He found himself keying open the hatch before the coupling with the maintenance lines completed. A sudden wave of claustrophobia choked him, making him desperate for eight feet tall ceilings and enough room to walk and stretch out in, accompanied by faces of people who were not trying to kill him. Settling for satisfying the first two desires, he left Aurora to handle the resupply and maintenance work required as he used the small platform winch to lower himself to the hangar floor.
Commander Ultor’s aide followed on the coat tails of Chief Engineer Thorsten and Mikkhael’s nameless, silent guard. They must have been the welcome committee that Drogdyn referenced. The trio of mixed interests met him at Starkindler’s feet as he shakily touched foot on solid ground for the first time in eight days. Without the need to conceal his identity this time, he removed his helmet and gloves as the winch automatically retracted, deeply inhaling the air washing in around him, momentarily basking in the luxury as his greasy hair remained plastered to his skull, serving as an uncomfortable reminder that he had not showered in eight very long days.
The Commander’s aide snapped to attention, only slightly succeeding in not wrinkling his nose at Mikkhael’s unwashed and very inter-personal odor pungently permeating the air. “The Commander requests your presence as soon as you hav
e sufficiently recovered from your expedition. He also wishes for me to convey his congratulations on a successful mission.”
Mikkhael was taken aback by the tone of honest respect in the aide’s voice. Aurora answered for him, speaking through the communicator on his wrist. “Please let the Commander know that Mikkhael requires rest and a solid meal before he is allowed to be debriefed, and apologize for any inconvenience that causes the Commander. The extended length of the mission was hard on Mikkhael’s physical state, and he requires some time to recover.”
Mikkhael blushed with annoyance at Aurora making excuses for him, but for once did not argue with her. He really was bone-tired and badly attempting not to show it, everything she said was true. The aide gave a polite bow as if expecting the answer all along; the rebels refused to salute him as he was not a member of their military, and then left to relay the message.
Chief Engineer Sir Henry Thorsten asked a few questions about what damage Starkindler sustained and what munitions needed replaced, as well as if Mikkhael had any repair requests, and then promptly ignored him as he began shouting orders to a dozen technicians that suddenly appeared. The Chief Engineer would get information that was more detailed from Aurora and Starkindler’s own diagnostics then he ever could from Mikkhael. Speaking with the pilot of the Mech armor the mechanic was about to service was simply a formality.
At that moment, Aurora populated a map on his wrist communicator that displayed the fastest route to his quarters, a route that he clearly forgot in the time away from the mountain. He set off immediately, nearly falling asleep while walking, his silent guard always three steps behind like a living shadow. Silently he cursed the guard for not bringing one of the small scooters they frequently passed on their way to the personnel quarters.
Starkindler (MechaVerse Series Book 1) Page 20
