Starkindler (MechaVerse Series Book 1)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  Four units remained, furiously pumping their underpowered laser shots futilely into Starkindler’s armor. With one last flourish, the massive Mech armor crouched low. rotating the wings covering the engines by forty degrees just enough to uncover the reloaded rocket tubes, and then loosed a torrent of fire and screaming metal in a wide semi-circle while pivoting hard off the left foot planted deep enough in the dust to grip against the rocky soil underneath. Twenty rockets left their tubes in one continuous stream joined by mini rockets housed in the right thigh, overwhelming the weakened defenses of the Slayer pilots. The right arm finished its rotation back the way it had come, finishing off a pair of wounded Slayers with the sub cannons before coming to rest aimed at the one remaining unit still in decent shape, back against a rocky outcropping that it had been thrown against when the rockets exploded.

  In a disturbingly human expression, the Slayer weakly waved its arms criss-cross in front of the torso, the pilot pleading to live. Knowing that if the tables were turned there would be absolutely no mercy, Mikkhael never hesitated to pull the trigger, turning without watching the result. Victory had been hard-won in the end. Smoke rose from Starkindler’s armor as damage readings inside the cockpit were still assessing the significant extent of repairs needed.

  “All enemy forces have been destroyed. Return to base for refit and repair, mission accomplished. Good job.” Aurora announced, attempting to distract him from yet another narrow escape.

  He stopped only long enough to recover the rifle, not looking at the craters that just moments before had been occupied by manned weapons seeking to kill him. Aurora deployed the wings; engines spooling up to full thrust as she took them home. He spent the trip home in silence grateful that he was still alive; the next phase of the mission was ready.

  * * * * *

  The airlock finished cycling. A technician waved, signaling that the giant Mech armor could now pass farther into the base. Proximity klaxons wailed, alerting anyone in the area that a Mech armor or large service machine was crossing through the hangar area and for all personnel to be on the lookout. Maintenance workers and technicians scurried across the wide hangar, unperturbed by the badly scarred behemoth among them that so recently had received a much different kind of reception.

  Mikkhael felt amazed by the normalcy of the situation as Starkindler settled heavily into its repair bay. Technicians from the newest squad of dedicated maintenance personnel assigned to Starkindler rushed to begin their work. Because of his operation tempo, the frequency of battles, and the technological sophistication of Starkindler, nearly three times the average maintenance personnel toiled around the clock, refitting the Mech armor as rapidly as possible before he went out on the next mission.

  As for Mikkhael, he spent increasing amounts of time recovering from each mission. Ample use of the cognitive boosting drugs during combat aiding in everything from reducing perception times to boosting alertness levels meant that his body was taking an increased physical toll on top of the emotional one. In order to maintain the proper amount of pressure on the PDF, there had been no let up for him to recover from the increasingly potent side effects of the drugs, or the heavy strain of contiguous battles.

  He did not want to admit it; but he was grateful for the electric scooter Aurora requested a technician leave waiting for him. Use of the scooters throughout the base was not uncommon, but did nothing to help the elitist image of himself that Aurora continuously fostered in the minds of the rebel occupants. Exhaustion set in to the point that Aurora steered the scooter for him while he notified Dr. Hesken of his return as he headed straight for the medical ward.

  They devised a system where he returned from a mission and proceeded to pass out in the medical ward, bypassing his assigned quarters altogether. Dr. Hesken and two of her nurses would have a room ready to receive him, one that unofficially became reserved just for him from his frequent use. He now spent more time in the medical ward then in the personal quarters assigned to him.

  As part of the now routine schedule, Dr. Hesken and her team began administering a plasma transfusion as well as a complete blood transfusion. While all inhabitants on Mars received regular doses of steroids to combat the muscle decay from living in reduced gravity, while he was unconscious they intravenously fed him extra amounts combined with muscle growth stimulants. Those treatments were coupled with other medicine regimens seeking to undo the harmful effects of the mental boosting drugs administered during the battles and his growing dependency on them.

  While unconscious, recovering from the procedures, drug withdrawals, and pure exhaustion, the nursing team put his body through physical therapy and muscle stimulation, further preventing muscle degeneration, a chief concern with all of the time he spent cooped inside Starkindler’s cockpit. When he woke up, each time taking progressively longer than the last, Dr. Hesken proceeded with her routine lecture about the danger to his body posed from the drugs and over exertion.

  He countered with hard data from Aurora showing that without the drugs, he would have already died in combat given the superior numbers he always faced off against; and how the drugs improved all aspects of his combat ability and were therefore vital to his short-term survival. They had now fallen into a routine where each of them memorized their lines, the act of going through the motions of the argument meaning more than the argument itself. Dr. Hesken was the only person that he bonded with since arriving on Mars, and while on the outside their arguments looked heated and sincere, he relished the human interaction as well as the fact that despite everything that had happened, she was one of the few remaining people not afraid to challenge him directly.

  Unknown to him, once she sedated him and the transfusion process began scrubbing the toxins from his system; Dr. Hesken would then compile a report informing Commander Ultor of his physical and mental state as monitored by the medical equipment. Meanwhile, Chief Engineer Thorsten appeared in the readiness hangar, personally supervising both the refit and repair. Through it all, they relied on Aurora to answer questions and provide feedback when needed while Mikkhael spent the time unconscious.

  The day after Starkindler returned to base, Commander Ultor called a high-level staff meeting. The officers gathered in his office, debriefing Aurora in Mikkhael’s stead. It did not take a medical professional for the officers to realize the physical strain placed on Mikkhael’s body was debilitating. The window between operations grew longer with each successive mission.

  “Four days this time,” said Dr. Hesken. “That is, to recover fully anyways. This time he was awake for nearly seventy-two hours straight, on top of the strain from combat and the massive infusion of drugs still clogging his system. His body is clinically exhausted. In addition, his dependence on the drugs is growing. Withdrawal symptoms manifested within three hours of when he arrived in the medical ward. My nurses are doing their best to help him through the process, but he is under heavy sedation while the worst passes.” She crossed her arms, daring anyone to question her evaluation.

  Commander Ultor ignored the challenge. He picked a battle he could win. “Chief, what is the status of Starkindler?”

  “Ready to go in six days would be my guess.” Chief Engineer Thorsten answered. “The armor is banged up pretty bad this time. Large patches of the outer composite layers need replaced, which is a first for my team and the going will be slow; then there’s the internals. They’ve been jolted around enough that they are starting to stress on some of the joints, which means disassembly of some larger sections, also a first for the team. I’ve added a second and third team assigned to preventative maintenance on that Mech as is and I am about to request a fourth for pre-fabrication of parts if this is any indication of the future. If it was not for the fabricators he brought with him, we wouldn’t be able to even service the damn thing. Everything, even the tools we use, have to be custom-made.”

  A natural pause occurred as the assembled officers reminisced on just how much their lives had changed in the few weeks
since Mikkhael’s arrival. They were interrupted by Aurora, arms crossed across the chest of her holographic representation in the center of the room. “The groundwork for the last battle of this phase has been laid. Outpost Redemption is more vulnerable than it has ever been. Mikkhael has instructed me to inform you that he will strike in three days. Chief Engineer Thorsten, you will need to have Starkindler battle-ready by then. Also, he requests two squads for diversionary purposes be prepared to support him, otherwise, he will shoulder the burden of eliminating the base himself.”

  Captain Mathias abruptly turned to his long-time friend and mentor. “Commander, with all due respect. The kid is good, and his machine is amazing, but I’m still being asked to provide two full squadrons for what can only be described as a suicide mission.”

  Commander Ultor held up his hand, halting any further arguments. “No, you are not being asked Captain. You are being ordered. Mikkhael is the single most effective fighting force we’ve had in our favor in years. The big picture of our war requires us to provide him with all reasonable requests as long as he continues to be effective, including using our forces to act as decoys if called upon to do so. You shall see that it gets done. Dismissed. That goes for all of you. Mikkhael is to be given what he asks for within reason until such a time as he oversteps. That is all.”

  The room emptied in silence, Captain Mathias visibly simmering as he walked out. Commander Ultor remained behind, alone with Aurora’s holographic projection standing still, wearing a simple dress plainly adorned. Seizing the initiative, she turned to face him, placing her hands over her digital hips.

  “What do you want old man?” She insouciantly asked.

  Instead of replying, Commander Ultor sat behind his desk, the full extent of his weariness finally showing. He spoke slowly, staring off into space at something only he could see. “I have to wake up three times a night just to piss. My daughter was barely a child when her mother was murdered, when this damned war started. Now, she’s an adult and a pilot in the brigade I started when I was seeking vengeance. This war has dragged on too long with no end in sight. Her entire youth was robbed from her, like so many others of her generation, and for what?”

  Aurora’s programming had no idea how to reply, she was untrained for any such confrontation outside of something similar happening with Mikkhael, and her machine learning algorithms could only compensate in a human manner, by losing patience with him. “Your point?”

  Commander Ultor met her virtual gaze, eye-to-eye, unflinching. “I want this war to end.”

  A simulated intake of breath along with absolutely no idea how to reply presented Commander Ultor with the most perfectly surreal human simulation coming from a green glowing computer program that he could have ever imagined. This was the first time he saw Aurora caught off guard, her logic programming unable to formulate a reply. He watched as she stammered a few syllables, parts of the dress she was wearing morphing under the stress, briefly turning into the underlying numbers that represented the coding that controlled her algorithms always running in the background.

  He continued. “Mikkhael has a drive as great as mine to rid this world of the PDF scourge, and along with Starkindler and yourself, he also has the potential to do enough damage to eventually tip the balance. The other scenario is of course that he starts an arms race, and the PDF war machine finally kicks into gear bringing them updated models that we’ll have no hope of standing against. Either way, he is the single greatest catalyst I have ever laid eyes on, and he will bring about change. More than that, I believe he will initiate a resolution to this war, one way, or the other.

  “You have both asked for my trust, and the trust of those under me. You have mine. Go, maintain it. Win this war so that I don’t have to keep waking up every day wondering if this is the day I will send my daughter off to her death, fighting the battle that I started. I don’t want to see the day the PDF get tired of simply surrounding us, tired of slowly choking us and finally bring their forces to assault the mountain itself. Enough of my friends have died. Enough of our children have paid the price of our failure to secure their future. I am an old man who now sends others to fight in my stead. In that capacity, I now send you and Mikkhael. Kill enough of them that they leave and never come back.” Commander Ultor turned away from Aurora, staring at the picture of the faux skyline that hung behind his desk. Aurora could have been mistaken, but she believed that she heard quiet sobs coming from the man before she left him to the ghosts that haunted him.

  * * * * *

  General Akari was waiting in his office with three other men when SSgt. Anderson walked in. He recognized each of the men as academic types, scientific advisers the PDF used as consultants. He had a good idea of why two of the men had been invited to participate in the meeting and looked forward to their input about the strange string of events going on in their region. They had exhausted all other options and were searching frantically for answers.

  The General and the scientists remained seated as SSgt. Anderson entered the room. General Akari cleared his throat, introducing the pair of scientists by way of starting the meeting. No pre-amble or downtime before the meeting started showed just how seriously everyone was taking the new threat.

  With introductions out of the way, SSgt. Anderson wasted no time, casting an image from the ever present data slate in his hands onto the wall converted into a giant screen. The occupants turned as one to the screen as he began narrating. “As everyone is well aware, our recent operation acting off information an informant provided us was interfered with. The operation to kill or capture as many as twelve terrorist Mech Armor, specifically targeting a squadron of StormCrows, warranted a major assault force.

  “After-action reports all confirm one detail of utmost importance. A single unit engaged our significantly larger and superior force, disrupting the operation so completely that every terrorist managed to escape. Not only that, but the unknown terrorist unit destroyed eleven of our armored units as well as damaging five others in two separate engagements, overwhelming our forces so entirely that they turned and ran. Based off the accuracy of the informant’s report and their failure to mention the thirteenth unit, who appeared to be acting independently, it is safe to assume the informant was not aware of the thirteenth unit, and therefore neither were the terrorists. At this time, no further signs of the thirteenth unit have appeared. However, there has been a marked increase in patrol casualties within the Cerberus Region, to the point where several patrols have been wiped out. Suspicion leads back to the thirteenth unit as no survivors were left alive in any of these circumstances. And then not least, the release of the disturbing video of the lone Mech armor defeating the Reaper, which has been publicly debunked by the propaganda teams but which we know to be accurate.” SSgt. Anderson finished his narration and then resumed his seat.

  The first consultant to stand up was Mr. Lee, a man of obvious Chinese descent. He pointed to the hazy picture filling most of the wall and then proceeded to drone on for an inordinate amount of time in a nasally monotone, taking an extremely long route to say that his team had absolutely no effing idea what had happened. The man finally sat back down, much to everyone’s relief. Everyone concluded that his specialty was in drawing a paycheck, similar to most consultants.

  The second man to speak was a materials specialist, a Russian born scientist named Ivanov, the polar opposite of Lee and he practically jumped up and down from excitement. He spoke before he finished standing, running to the image on the wall where he began pointing to and then explaining various features about the image. “The Mech Armor you are looking at appears to be anywhere between 1.5 and 2.3 times larger than one of our Slayers. My team was unable to narrow the factor down any farther due to the fact that we only have a clear picture of the unit’s arms and shoulder regions because of the capability of the units camouflage, thereby accounting for a high degree of variance.

  “This particular Mech unit is equipped with powerful energy shields
completely surrounding the unit, except in the areas where its weapons fire from. The process of creating those openings in the shield system allowing for outgoing fire is very difficult to master, and one major reason why our main line Mech armor are not equipped with full circumference energy shields. The second, of course being their fuel cell reactors that were underpowered twenty years ago when they were introduced are now just woefully inadequate.”

  General Akari cleared his throat loudly while staring at Ivanov, the unstated warning getting through. He immediately returned to his topic. “The other reason we don’t know more about this Mech armor is that it employs something known as metamaterials in the most effective real-world demonstration I’ve ever seen. While these materials have existed outside of labs for more than fifty years now, the quality of their use has never approached what we’ve seen in this instance, and the circumstances are simply phenomenal as the environment could not have been more hostile for their effective employ.

  “After examining the destroyed units’ black boxes, video recorders, and other sensor equipment from the failed operation, the best image of the terrorist unit my team could assemble was this kill cam image you see before you.” The image zoomed in and cleared up a bit, obviously software enhanced. “As poor as the quality of this image is, it should be noted that this is still the best we could come up with. A third image is included on your slates of an artist’s rendition of what we believe this unit actually looks like based on what we can so far deduce. At this time, we are forced to conclude that the only way our forces in the field can even see this machine are when it’s right on top of them, firing away. And in that case, it’s likely the last thing they will ever see.”