Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6)

by Thomas, Michael G.

  * * *

  General Rivers marched into the CIC as quickly as he had left it. He moved directly to the centre of the room where the Captain was stood and busily discussing something with his executive officer. He spotted the General’s approached and turned to face him.

  “Sorry for interrupting your briefing, General, but I thought you should see this.”

  The video feed magnified the small vessel so that it stretched out to several metres in length. General Rivers marched to the main screen and examined the craft in detail. For a moment it looked as if he was ignoring the Captain. The rest of the CIC was buzzing with activity as the two-dozen men and women managed the ship, the automated drones and monitored the planet below.

  The ship’s XO, Commander Petersburg, moved a dozen images of similar vessels up onto the adjacent display. General Rivers looked at him, but he was unfamiliar. He made it his job to know those that worked around him, but all he knew of the man was what he had read in the man’s dossier. Though experienced, the man had served on the Confederate Navy in Alpha Centauri and managed to avoid a single battle in the War. There was no suggestion he had deliberately avoided combat, it happened to many a good officer, but it was still a clear mark on his record. As far as General Rivers was concerned, the man was an extremely efficient career officer, and that could be just what the ship needed right now, a measure of direction and discipline.

  “Captain, it’s a Centaur class lifeboat, and standard issue on most large civilian ships. Shall I use the tugs to bring it alongside us?”

  General Rivers seemed intrigued by the vessel and moved even closer to examine the marking and scorch marks on the hull before finally turning to face the man.

  “That’s no civilian ship. I’ve seen the same craft before but not in this sector.”

  Captain Cornwall moved to the General and looked back to the XO who simply shook his head in confusion. He turned back to the General who had seen the exchange between them.

  “Where have you seen this?”

  The General nodded. “You recall the fighting at the Titan Naval Station, right back at the start of the War?”

  “Only by reputation, General, both myself and my XO were in Alpha Centauri at the time. We were going through our own problems at that point. Why? There would have been many craft like this one on almost any station or ship in the Confederacy.”

  General Rivers moved the image to one side and brought up a series of grainy images from the epic battle around Prime. It had been one of the most violent incidents in the first year of the War when the main station had been overrun and held hostage by the Zealots. He moved through the images until coming to the Battleship CCS Victorious.

  “The ship the Zealots captured? Didn’t Admiral Jarvis assist in crippling her?”

  “Assist? No, she fought the Victorious in a long and bloody duel that resulted in her destruction. What I’m more interested in right now though is this.”

  The image changed to a different shot of the battleship as she was wracked with hundreds of flashes and sparks. They were the obvious signs of the death throes of a ship. He enlarged a shape near the stern of the ship to show a small craft, and it looked identical to the small transport that was approaching them.

  “That my friends isn’t a lifeboat, it’s a standard T9 armoured transport, the same kind of boat we use for transporting marines. Yes, it is based on the model used as a large civilian lifeboat, but you’ll notice the improved armour modifications here and here. Plus, look at the front. The armour has been roughly reinforced. This boat is used for transporting Biomechs, and I would put money on that lifeboat out there being used for the same job,” he added and pointed his hand off to the main screen.

  The XO put the two sets of images next to each other. Side by side they shared a number of similarities, but it was clear they were not identical.

  “Okay, what do you suggest?” asked the Captain.

  “I know somebody here that’s got more experience with Biomechs than anybody else outside of Terra Nova. Get Sergeant Morato up here on the double.”

  The XO moved his eyes to check with the Captain before walking away to use his communications gear. The Captain looked back at the live video feed of the distant boat.

  “Okay, General, I assume you have a plan?”

  General Rivers simply smiled back.

  “A simple one. We drop a squad of the Alliance’s finest on her and search every corner.”

  The Captain inhaled through his nose as he tried to imagine the interior of the craft. He’d seen images from the War but as yet had never encountered the enemy at first hand, only ever the Union ships.

  “And if we find Biomechs?” he asked.

  General Rivers seemed to relax a little. His shoulder dropped a fraction and his breathing slowed. He looked directly at the Captain with a look of satisfaction.

  “Then we do what we always have done. We board her, draw our weapons and make them forget they ever thought about causing us harm.”

  * * *

  Five days had now passed on Terra Nova, and Spartan’s brain felt as if it would explode. Meetings with everybody from civil rights groups, city architects and a dozen different military officials had filled his schedule. The only good thing was that he’d been able to spend some time checking the news and border reports to start getting a better picture of how things were in the Alliance. It was clear the damage to most of the colonies was massive. A Mixture of war, piracy and mass population relocation had left many moons and worlds stripped bare. The casualty figures were in the millions, and thousands were still unaccounted for. With the collapse of Confederate control on Carthago, the planet had gone through its own short uprising that resulted in Union soldiers using atomics on three cities. Only Terra Nova seemed to have escaped the mass damage, but even there at least one in ten of the population had vanished.

  “Spartan, what has changed?” asked Khan with an unusually serious tone.

  He took a long gulp from the glass and rubbed his forehead.

  “What do you mean?”

  Khan pulled his head back as if confused at Spartan’s lack of understanding.

  “Your vote, for the changes in military.”

  “Oh, I see,” he replied, now understanding the question. He still found it intriguing that the Jötnar, a race of creatures with a sometimes childish curiosity, could be interested in administrative details. Spartan was convinced they were becoming more sophisticated with every passing month.

  “Well, the vote passed easily, and the changes to the military will be phased in over three months. At the same time, they will start looking at replacement ships and equipment to cover our losses in the War.”

  Khan nodded, showing he was following the conversation.

  “Is this good?”

  Spartan took another sip and considered the question.

  Good point, my friend, is it good?

  “Well, I agree with most of what they are trying to do. We definitely need to fix the problems in the military that made it so easy for us to fight each other. I’m not happy with the reductions in numbers or equipment, and I’m not really happy at the merger of the Army and Marines. There will be lots of arguments over this.”

  This part Khan seemed to understand well.

  “Yes, warriors are a proud people. Removing the Army will not be popular, I think.”

  You’ve got that right, thought Spartan.

  He recalled the arguments in the Senate just hours before the final vote. With one decision, the Confederate Army was disbanded. All militia units were officially struck off, even those with outstanding war records. In their place, a small number of part-time Marine Reserve units would be established. Each of these would train personnel with one session a month. Almost all the Regular Army units were to amalgamate with current Marine Corps units, and several extra units would be established. The end result was an enlarged Marine Corps with heavier equipment and more closely tied in with the Navy. Gone were th
e days of large Army formations stationed on planets. Local security was now the job of the local police and intelligence forces.

  Don’t I have something scheduled for later?

  His thinking about the Marine Corps and the fleet reminded him of the Admiral and his promise. He brought up his notes on his datapad device and found the last message about visiting the ship designers with the Admiral. He’d managed to put it off for over a week, but any longer and there would be repercussions.

  How long have I got? He wondered before groaning upon seeing he had less than two hours. Damn, what can I add to a discussion on shipbuilding?

  An image formed in his mind of the Santa Cruz, the ship he had probably spent the most harrowing of his time on. The more he thought about the ship, the less he could remember any details he thought might be of use. What could he add when it came to engines, armour, cabins or facilities? He sighed at the thought of being stuck in a room where he was forced to talk about such things. A noise distracted him, and it took a few seconds to realise it was the Jötnar sat opposite him talking.

  “Spartan?” she asked, evidently not the first time.

  “Uh, yes?” he replied.

  “Spartan, what do you think then?” asked Osk.

  Spartan turned to see her showing him an image of a heavily modified L48 rifle of the type Spartan had used extensively in the War. The grip and stock were much larger than normal and seemingly altered for use by the oversized hands of the Jötnar. He had to force himself not to laugh at the completely different levels of conversation between the juvenile and the mature Jötnar. But it gave him a thought, and the more he considered it, the more he realised how they changed over time. Then he noticed her looking at him, waiting patiently for his response on what must be an important issue to her. He looked at the weapon for a few seconds, leaned back and looked at her.

  “Very nice, I’ve not seen this version before, and L48 if I’m not mistaken, but heavily modified. Who’s working on these weapons?”

  Khan leaned over the counter with a large glass of a dark red liquid. He threw back a mouthful before speaking.

  “Our own engineers,” he said with obvious pride.

  Spartan raised an eyebrow, both impressed and surprised to hear the Jötnar had come on so far that not only did they understand the use of the equipment, but that they were now actively involved in the manufacture and modification of weapons.

  “Jötnar engineers and Jötnar females. Things are changing for your people.”

  “Indeed. Commander Anderson had negotiated much of the old site for our use. We’ve been very busy!” he replied and threw back half the contents of the glass.

  Spartan’s mind was rushing ahead as he imagined hundreds, perhaps thousands of these creatures, working away in the hot underground environment of Prometheus. Anderson must have pushed hard to allow them to use the space, especially as large parts of the complex were being used to manufacture Alliance equipment up to the size of small ships.

  “What about the Alliance shipyards and factories?” he asked.

  Khan looked confused at the question.

  “Jötnar are working in them as well.”

  Spartan said nothing for a while as he sat there with the two Jötnar. The situation on Prometheus was confusing to him. It seemed the Jötnar had been allotted space on the planet as well as equipment and facilities. Perhaps as part payment, they were working with Commander Anderson and his Alliance engineers. The thought of the facilities brought back the report he said he would look at. It had been days ago, and so far he’d tried to read it several times before going to sleep. Unfortunately, at almost eleven hundred pages, it was just too much to digest along with everything else he had to deal with. He opened it up and skimmed through the table of contents. There were columns of unintelligible technical points, but one caught his eye. It was ‘Biomech Internment Schedule’.

  “Hey, Khan. What’s happening with the Biomech camps on Prometheus?”

  Khan looked back to him with an expressionless look.

  “The old ones are locked up. Young ones are being trained by other Jötnar.”

  “Trained?” replied Spartan, now intrigued by the idea.

  “Yes, trained. Some for warriors, others for work in factories, making food, helping Alliance build things.”

  Spartan looked back to the report and read a little further. There were many tables of figures with most outlining the numbers of surviving Biomechs and their internment camps throughout the Alliance. Prometheus was the home to over ten thousand, but other sites were holding just as many. A quick scan of all the ships, stations and colonies brought him to a staggering figure. He looked back to Khan.

  “Do you know many Biomechs and Jötnar are left in the Alliance?”

  Khan shrugged.

  “No. When a Biomech understands Jötnar, they can join us. Then they are Jötnar, like me. Gun said we have more Jötnar on Prometheus than all the marines,” he explained and then grinned to Spartan. “So says Ko’mandor Gun.”

  Spartan looked back to the document and read further. The bit that gave him a sick feeling was when he reached a section on the early Biomechs. Two new terms were being touted, and it concerned him. Rather than the universal and easily understood Biomech, they were now being known as mutations or experiments. Both implied something dangerous, and the recommendations in most cases were destruction or testing of the specimens. It was the easy language of those that treated the creatures with a casual disregard.

  Bastards, he thought with disgust.

  “Hey, you two want to go to this meeting with the Admiral? He wants to talk about ship designs.”

  To his surprise they both nodded furiously in agreement. He was a little confused and unsure as to what to say. If it were anybody else, he would have assumed they were joking, but humour was an art the Jötnar were still learning to use.

  “Uh, okay. Finish your drinks and we’ll head over there.”

  * * *

  The Alliance Naval Architects Department was like no other place Spartan has visited before. The underground rail system had taken them on the short ten-minute journey to the complex deep inside the research and development wing of the Military Academy. Gone were the old fashioned marble buildings, to be replaced by stone and glass. Scores of uniformed personnel watched him as the decorated Lieutenant marched past with two Jötnar in tow. This particular part of the department consisted of a long, wide glass corridor with glass rooms off to each side. They walked briskly to a set of tall double doors at the far end. Once inside, he could see the size of the main foyer, with its dozens of personnel, computers and scale models of scores of different ship designs.

  “Where now?” asked Khan who was becoming impatient.

  In the centre of the room was a circular desk manned by three women, each of them impeccably dressed in their new style dark blue Alliance uniforms. Spartan approached the desk and beckoned for the two Jötnar to follow. As he reached it, the nearest looked up at him and smiled before spotting the two creatures. Her smile turned quickly to discomfort. Khan started to laugh.

  “Looks like she hasn’t met my people before!”

  Osk chortled in amusement at her discomfort, and Spartan was forced to interject before it got out of control.

  “These are official representatives of our allies, the Jötnar. This is Captain Khan and this is Osk. I am Lieutenant...”

  “Spartan?” she interrupted in a clipped and almost artificial voice. She smiled at him and touched her hair with her left hand.

  “We’ve heard of your...reputation, Lieutenant. Perhaps you would like a refreshment?”

  She stood to go and get him something, but Spartan lifted his hand to refuse.

  “Thank you, but our time is limited. Can we see the Admiral?”

  The young woman looked disappointed, as did her two comrades who both watched him with interest.

  What the hell is going on in this place? He wondered.

  She pressed se
veral buttons on her computer system while continuing to smile at him. It didn’t take long before her face changed to evident disappointment.

  “Oh, the Admiral would like to see you immediately in the simulation room.”

  Spartan raised an eyebrow.

  “Which is where?”

  The woman laughed nervously, but Spartan could see it was nothing but clumsy flirting. She lifted her left hand and pointed to a long glass entrance in a dark corner. Spartan nodded politely and made his way to the door.

  “If I can help you with anything at all, please come and see me,” she added as he moved away.

  Spartan shook his head in amusement at the emphasis on the word ‘anything’. He made it to the door only for a green beam to shine down and scan him and his two Jötnar comrades. It only took a few seconds, and with a low beep the doors opened to reveal blackness. Spartan stepped inside and the Jötnar followed closely behind. No sooner were they inside did the door hiss shut behind and the lights altered slightly. Spartan moved forward and through a generated black wall into a long room. Inside was a sunken space, almost like a small stage. Around it sat a dozen men and women. Some wore military uniforms, others lab coats, and two wore suits.

  “Lieutenant, glad you could make it!” said Admiral Churchill with genuine pleasure.

  The two men shook hands, and Spartan turned to introduce the two Jötnar. The Admiral shook both of their hands, indicating for them to join him to a raised seating area overlooking the sunken stage area. Once sat down, he spoke in almost hushed tones.

  “You might have already guessed that I didn’t ask you here to just talk about ship modifications.”

  Spartan looked even more confused than the Jötnar at this comment. He moved back slightly in his seat before replying.