Atlantia Series 2: Retaliator

by Dean Crawford

  The captain sat back thoughtfully in his chair. The Tyberium fields were a vast spherical cloud of asteroids that enshrouded the Ethera system as such clouds did all stars. Almost a full light year from their parent star they represented the remnants of stellar formation, the objects in the cloud often billions of years old and harbouring pristine minerals and chemicals, some of which had been formed in the supernovae explosions of ancient giant stars and could be found nowhere else in nature. Tyberium, a supremely rare mineral, was one of those valuable commodities.

  ‘She may have been far enough from the apocalypse to have escaped infection,’ he said. ‘Forced to run, low on supplies, she got this far and no further.’

  Andaim’s voice crackled over the bridge intercom from his Raython cockpit.

  ‘Doesn’t explain why she’s becalmed out here. If she ran out of fuel they could simply have shut down their engines and cruised indefinitely.’

  ‘Perhaps they did,’ the captain replied, ‘when something slowed them down or forced them to stop.’ He turned to the Executive Officer. ‘Any signs of life?’

  ‘No sir,’ Mikhain replied from his tactical station. ‘Only emergency systems are functional. Life support is active, the hull is not breached so her atmosphere should be fine. I’m not reading any alerts from her computer systems and they’re all broadcasting on normal colonial emergency channels. It’s like nobody was ever aboard her.’

  Captain Sansin rubbed his chin thoughtfully as Dhalere’s voice reached him from nearby.

  ‘It is a civilian vessel,’ she said.

  ‘Merchant,’ the captain confirmed.

  ‘Then this is a civilian matter,’ Dhalere said. ‘I want to be aboard her as soon as she’s considered safe.’

  The captain turned his craggy head and looked at Dhalere as though she were insane.

  ‘You want to board her?’ he echoed. ‘I thought that you wanted us to go nowhere near her?’

  ‘As a civilian vessel, the situation is different now. It is not just your pilots and Marines who wish to contribute to this effort of yours,’ Dhalere replied. ‘That vessel is not military and may represent a new opportunity for us to house our civilians. The least that I can do is assess the likelihood of that happening.’

  The captain glanced at the screen for a moment longer and then turned to tactical.

  ‘Any sign of the Word or its Legion?’

  ‘No sir,’ Mikhain replied. ‘No sign of any movement or heat signatures aboard. If the Word is there it’s not visible to us, but that’s no reason to go wandering aboard without taking proper precautions.’

  Sansin nodded slowly.

  ‘Keep the fighters up and send the Marines in. Let’s see if we can figure out what’s happened to her before any civilians are allowed aboard.’ The captain turned to Dhalere. ‘Once her bay’s been cleared, the first person I want aboard her is the one who knows most about the Word. Evelyn.’

  ‘You want to send a former convict and known killer aboard her before the civilians who actually have a right to be there?’

  ‘Evelyn was innocent of her crimes, only ever killed in self defence and is one of only a handful of people aboard this ship who have encountered the Word face to face. She goes first, agreed?’

  Dhalere bowed her head courteously, but her disdain for the captain’s choice was clear.

  ‘Tell General Bra’hiv to launch and to maintain contact with Atlantia,’ the captain ordered.

  ***

  VII

  The shuttle leaped from Atlantia’s launch bay catapults and raced away from the frigate, two Raython fighters swooping down to provide escort to them as they crossed the frigid, black void between the two ships.

  Bra’hiv sat in the cockpit’s jump seat and watched as the Sylph emerged from the blackness, her mottled, scratched hull in worse shape than the Atlantia’s.

  ‘How long do you think she’s been sitting here?’ he asked the pilot.

  ‘Impossible to say,’ came the response, ‘but hull scarring like that takes months to build up, years even. She’s probably been cruising through space since the Word attacked.’

  Bra’hiv got out of his seat and strode into the shuttle’s cargo compartment, where twenty of Bravo Company’s Marines sat waiting for him, their plasma rifles cradled in their laps and their faces shielded behind visors. The assorted motley gang ‘hoods and gangsters were positioned nearest the boarding ramp for deployment, and Bra’hiv noticed that Qayin was at their head, in a leader’s natural position. Whether by intention or just pure instinct, Qayin was a psychologically savvy manipulator. Ten men from Alpha Company were also aboard to act as support, led by Sergeant Djimon.

  ‘Com’any, sixty seconds to deployment!’ Bra’hiv snapped, his keen eye searching for any sign of the men seeking to avoid the deployment.

  He saw none. Fact was, men who had been brought up in the brutal life of street gangs were in many ways just as tough as those who had seen combat with the Marines as career soldiers: the only difference was the cause for which they had stood and the shape of the enemy. Djimon had thus not been happy about his men being placed behind Bravo Company, embittered that such low–lifes should see more of the action than his own men. He glanced at the general and nodded once as he pulled his visor down and sealed his neck collar, his face grim as he tried to force the sulk from his features.

  Bra’hiv donned his own visor and sealed it at the neck. To his side, Qayin unbuckled his restraints and stood up to check the general’s seal.

  ‘Would you tell me if it was breached?’ Bra’hiv asked.

  ‘You’re about to find out.’

  Bra’hiv took his seat at the rear of the shuttle’s bay, close to the aft deployment ramp that would drop under the pilot’s command as soon as they were in position. The lights in the shuttle dimmed to red as the pilot swung the vessel around near the Sylph’s landing bay, Bra’hiv catching a glimpse of the underside of the merchant vessel’s hull through the for’ard hatch just as the pilot sealed it shut.

  ‘Ten seconds.’

  The pilot’s voice was calm over the intercom, the mark of an experienced aviator. Bra’hiv held his pulse rifle at port arms and flicked the safety catch to off.

  ‘All arms,’ he murmured into his own microphone.

  The troops activated their weapons, the pulse rifles humming as they heard a dull thump. Bra’hiv and the thirty Marines with him punched their harness release buckles and stood ready to charge from the rear of the shuttle.

  All Colonial vessels carried transponders that recognised each other’s signals and allowed one vessel’s computers access to the others in case of emergency. Under the Atlantia’s control, the Sylph’s landing bay doors had been opened and the pilot had carefully reversed the shuttle in.

  The shuttle vibrated as it landed on its magnetic clamps in the bay and with a hiss and a rush of escaping pressurised air the rear ramp thundered down under hydraulic pressure and Bra’hiv sprinted down the ramp as his rifle swung left and right, seeking a target. Behind him followed Qayin and Djimon, and the rest of the Marines poured like a flood out into the darkened bay, underslung flashlights casting multiple rays of white light out into the gloom.

  The Marines fanned out, encircling the shuttle in defensive positions, weapons cast ready for any sign of an attack. A deep silence filled the bay as the shuttle’s engines whined down and Bra’hiv edged out into the darkness.

  ‘No sign of movement,’ he reported into his microphone. ‘Lael, scanners?’

  Lael’s voice reached Bra’hiv’s from the Atlantia’s bridge.

  ‘No heat sources near you, general,’ she reported. ‘No electrical disturbances. The bay is clear.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Bra’hiv snapped. ‘Lighting’s out, can you re–route the power?’

  ‘Stand by.’

  Bra’hiv waited for a few moments and then several emergency lights arrayed around the bay flickered weakly into life and cast dim pools of light down onto the deck. The
general saw a pair of small, private shuttle craft parked nearby, fuel bowsers and cables coiled in tight loops along one wall. His practiced eye sought signs of conflict but found nothing, the bay utterly devoid of life but for the Marines.

  ‘Secure the area in teams of three!’ he barked. ‘Bravo first, Alpha in support.’

  The Marines moved out, covering each other in small groups as they surveyed the bay in orderly and logical sections. Bra’hiv felt a surge of pride as he saw the former jailbirds act like real soldiers, swift and without fear. Within a few minutes the bay was cleared as each team called in their segment and confirmed it devoid of life or evidence of the Word’s presence. Behind the general, Alpha Company maintained defensive positions around the shuttle, their rifles trained out into the shadowy distance.

  ‘Landing bay is clear,’ Bra’hiv reported back to the Atlantia’s bridge. ‘Are you detecting any signs of life elsewhere?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ came Mikhain’s response. ‘But the ship’s too large for our scanners to confirm anything at this range.’

  Boots on the ground, Bra’hiv thought ruefully. No matter how much technology mankind had created, no matter how fecund his imagination in developing new weapons, in the end it still always boiled down to the same thing:infantry and close combat. There was, never had been, and never would be any substitute.

  ‘Roger that,’ he intoned, unable to keep a tone of mild weariness from his voice. ‘We’ll start our sweep of the ‘tween decks.’

  It was the captain’s voice that cut across the intercom in response.

  ‘Hold position, we’re sending Evelyn and Commander Ry’ere aboard to join you.’

  Bra’hiv hesitated. ‘Why?’

  ‘Evelyn knows more about the Word than most,’ the captain replied, ‘especially after what happened aboard the Avenger. She’ll take point, understood?’

  Bra’hiv was mildly baulked by having to follow the lead of a junior pilot and he suddenly had an idea of why Djimon was so annoyed, but he knew what Evelyn was capable of. Everybody did.

  ‘Understood, send them in.’

  *

  Evelyn climbed out of her Raython’s cockpit as soon as the Sylph’s landing bay doors closed and air was reintroduced into the bay. The vents belched clouds of vapour as the temperature was still close to freezing, and she kept her visor on as she climbed down onto the deck.

  ‘No heating,’ Bra’hiv reported as he strode to her side, still wearing his own visor to preserve precious warmth and his voice reaching her through her earpiece.

  ‘Suits us,’ Evelyn replied as Andaim joined them. ‘The cold slows the Word down. The Word’s bots don’t generate much of their own heat unless they’re packed in tight swarms.’

  ‘The distress signal is still broadcasting,’ Bra’hiv reported. ‘But it’s likely on some kind of loop. We’re guessing that whoever left it is dead.’

  ‘What the hell was a Veng’en doing aboard a colonial vessel anyway?’ Andaim asked. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Not much does right now,’ Bra’hiv replied. ‘There are shuttles here that my men have checked over and reported as fully fuelled. No sign of conflict, no sign of the Word or its Legion. You remember what the Avenger looked like when it found us?’

  ‘Smothered,’ Evelyn replied, recalling the incredible and chilling sight of a large battle cruiser half–engulfed by a black sea of seething nanobots. ‘Maybe the crew weren’t infected and something else happened?’

  ‘Or maybe they Word did catch up with them and they abandoned ship before things got too hot?’ Andaim suggested.

  ‘No escape capsules have been fired,’ Bra’hiv reported. ‘But this bay could have held a lot more ships so it’s possible.’ He looked at Evelyn. ‘You sure you want to take point? My men are well trained and the area is secure so we…’

  ‘Nowhere is secure,’ Evelyn interrupted the general, ‘and I mean nowhere. You haven’t seen what the Word can do.’

  ‘Scanners are saying there’s nothing here, Evelyn,’ Bra’hiv reassured her. ‘Even if the Word is aboard it can’t be in many numbers or we’d have detected it.’

  Evelyn shook her head.

  ‘They don’t need numbers to occupy a vessel, just time and sufficient resources,’ she replied. ‘The Word evolves and it can replicate faster than you would ever believe. This ship could go from having a handful of bots aboard to ten billion in a matter of hours. It’s not secure.’

  Bra’hiv glanced at Andaim.

  ‘Let’s just take it steady and see what we find,’ the commander advised. ‘Are your men ready?’

  ‘They are,’ Bra’hiv replied, his expression stoic but his eyes twinkling with pride. ‘They’ll follow us anywhere.’

  ‘Let’s go then,’ Evelyn said as she drew her service pistol and activated it.

  Alongside her, the Marines crowded to follow.

  ‘Alpha Company remain here,’ Bra’hiv ordered. ‘Bravo, on me!’

  Sergeant Djimon scowled as Bravo Company moved off. Evelyn saw Qayin gravitate toward her, and she could see his bioluminescent tattoos glowing behind his visor. The Mark of Qayin. She wondered briefly if the tattoos were tactically a disadvantage in the gloomy ship, something for an enemy to aim at. The big former convict directed a curt nod at her, along with a sly grin at Sergeant Djimon.

  ‘You’ve got the lead, ensign,’ Bra’hiv prompted her.

  Evelyn led the way to the aft bay exit, saw Qayin and the Marines falling in behind her with Bra’hiv and Andaim.

  The aft exit was sealed, and Evelyn stood with her pistol aimed at the door as two Marines jogged forward and accessed the entry pad. The codes were cracked swiftly by the Atlantia’s computers using a Colonial deciphering key, and with a rush of air the door hissed open.

  A dark, cold corridor awaited, only a few of the ceiling lights working as Evelyn peered into the gloom. She was reminded of a very similar corridor she had been forced to walk down aboard the Avenger, seething with millions of Hunter bots, their countless tiny metallic legs sounding like a waterfall of sand grains falling on a metal deck.

  ‘Evelyn?’

  Andaim’s voice snapped her out of her maudlin thoughts, and with an effort she put one boot in front of the other and advanced into the darkness.

  ‘Stay close,’ Bra’hiv advised, ‘they could be anywhere and…’

  ‘Belay that,’ Evelyn cut across the general. ‘Spread out, put distance between each other. We don’t want everybody risking being infected all at once. The Word doesn’t work like a plasma shot – it’s more like shrapnel.’

  The Marines behind her obeyed, Bra’hiv’s troops spreading out in single file as they advanced through the corridor to put distance between themselves. The lights above were dim, running only under emergency power to cast pools of illumination every few cubits. Evelyn heard her own breath in her ears, rasping as the ventilators in her helmet sucked carbon dioxide out through scrubbers and injected oxygen and nitrogen in.

  ‘Advance force, Atlantia,’ Mikhain’s voice echoed in her ears, ‘you’re half–way to the elevator banks. Take the emergency stair wells to your right and ascend four decks. The bridge will be ahead of you upon the exit.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Evelyn replied.

  The elevator banks emerged from the gloom, ceiling lights casting into thin white halos of mist around them as Evelyn emerged from the corridor and turned right toward a manual blast–door. Evelyn reached down and cranked the sealing valve, releasing the pressure on the door as two Marines moved in alongside her and grabbed the door’s handles. Lieutenant C’rairn nodded at her.

  Evelyn stepped back and C’rairn hauled the door open to reveal the stairwells, the flashlights from their weapons reflecting off ice particles on the frosted walls.

  ‘The ship’s been cold for a long time,’ Andaim said. ‘Nobody could survive long under these conditions.’

  Evelyn eased forward and swung her pistol into the stairwell, the white beam from her fla
shlight slicing through the gloom as she swept it up and down but found nothing.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Evelyn murmured as she peered down into the bowels of the ship below. ‘If we go up the Word could ascend from below and cut us off.’

  ‘Same if we go down,’ Qayin rumbled from nearby. ‘Gotta go someways.’

  ‘We don’t have enough men to cover all angles,’ Bra’hiv added. ‘We either go in or we go home.’

  Evelyn shook her head but she stepped into the stairwell and began climbing, resting her boots lightly with each step. The Marines followed her in, the rearguard walking backwards with their weapons pointing back down the stairwell in case of attack from the rear.

  She looked up above to where the grated steps of the stairwell doubled back repeatedly on themselves as they climbed toward the upper levels. Dim light panels frosted with ice crystals glowed, shadows cast in a maze of black and white lines obscured by the misty air.

  Evelyn felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up, a tingling sensation rippling down her arms like tiny insects scuttling on her skin, and then the light from high above flickered as something moved fast from right to left across the stairwell above her.

  ‘Enemy!’

  Evelyn jerked right as she aimed and she heard the Marines behind her drop to firing positions on the stairwell.

  ***

  VIII

  Evelyn held her pistol steady, aiming up toward the light.

  She could feel the cold seeping through her flight suit, could hear her breathing in her ears and feel her heart thumping in her chest as she searched for the source of the movement.

  ‘I don’t see anything,’ Andaim whispered.

  ‘Up there,’ Evelyn insisted, ‘heading for’ard. I saw it.’

  Andaim reached out and she saw his gloved hand rest on her forearm and gently push her weapon down.