Chaos Conspiracy: A Chaos Wave Prequel

by James Palmer

  “Actually, we came to help you,” said Leda. “We believe this installation is about to be under attack.”

  Dr. Argent allowed a smile to play briefly on his thin lips before dissolving. “I see. And why would someone attack a distant scientific outpost? And who? We are no longer at war with the Draconi. And even if we were, there is nothing here that they’d want. And Wanderers rarely if ever come dirtside.”

  “It’s not the Draconi or the Wanderers,” said Hamilton. “We don’t know who it is exactly, but we know they’re coming here. They’ve already attacked several Progenitor dig sites as well as an Archive.”

  “They’ve killed people,” said Leda.

  Dr. Argent leaned back and took this all in, a worried look washing over his features. “So what do the two of you expect to do about it?”

  “Warn you, for starters,” said Hamilton. “Get you ready for an attack.”

  “Or, failing that,” added Leda. “Get your team off of this planet.”

  Dr. Argent pushed himself back from his desk and looked up at them. “We are at an important stage in our work here. Leaving now would set us back months, maybe even years.”

  “People are being killed,” Leda began, leaning on the desk. Hamilton put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Argent,” he said. “Please tell us about your work here. Perhaps it will help us figure out why these people are so interested in Progenitor artifacts.”

  Dr. Argent steepled his fingers. “We believe Riveras B to be the site of one of the earliest Progenitor colonies ever discovered. We’re talking late Early Period, perhaps even earlier. We don’t know yet. There’s layer after layer of material here. The artifacts are numerous. Until we reached a level that corresponds to around thirty thousand standard years ago.”

  “Then what?” said Leda.

  “Then everything just peters out,” said Dr. Argent. The soil is blackened and charred, completely lifeless. It has more in common with regolith than living soil. We’re in the process of digging beneath it, to see how far down it goes.”

  Leda glanced at Hamilton. “The Chaos Wave,” she muttered.

  Dr. Argent looked startled. “I am a scientist, Lieutenant Niles. I do not entertain fairy stories or alien superstition. Speaking of which, how do I know you two are telling the truth? For all I know you could be artifact hunters hoping to steal something.”

  “We can show you our records,” said Hamilton, “including video taken from the Archive that proves it was attacked.”

  Dr. Argent waved this away. “It is of no consequence. You have no way of knowing these bandits of yours will even come to Riveras B. Our work is at an important juncture and cannot—and will not—be abandoned. Now, my team and I have important work to do. I suggest you return to your ship and leave at once.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” said Hamilton. “We are here to safeguard your installation, and we will do just that.” He glanced at Leda, who nodded, understanding what he meant.

  “We’ll make a stand with you,” said Leda. “Protect you as best we can. Hopefully I can get a complement of Marines here in time. Failing that, we’ll just have to hold them off ourselves. What’s your weapons capability?”

  Dr. Argent stared up at her, his jaw working. Finally, he said, “We have a few weapons, mostly slug throwers. But it certainly isn’t an arsenal, and we’re scientists, not soldiers.”

  “That’ll have to do,” said Hamilton. “Secure your artifacts as best you can, then get everyone to report out front in two hours for drilling and weapons instruction.”

  “Are you out of your minds?” Dr. Argent snapped. He stood and rested his hands on the desk. “I told you that we are at a critical juncture and—”

  Leda’s right arm snapped up and out, grabbing the little man by the front of his faded blue tunic. “Listen to me,” she said evenly. “People are on the way here who want to steal your research and kill you. Lieutenant Hamilton and I will do our best to help you stop them. But your research must stop until this matter is settled. Do I make myself clear?”

  She shoved him backward. Dr. Argent landed in his chair, which rolled almost a foot away from the desk to bump up against a plastic crate loaded with pottery shards. He stared up at her for a long moment, flustered, before announcing, “I’ll go tell everyone.”

  “Thank you,” said Leda, smiling.

  “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit,” Hamilton said when he’d gone.

  Leda shrugged. “We may not have much time for subtle. Besides, this bureaucratic nonsense leaves me cold.”

  Hamilton smiled. “I’m beginning to see why Straker sent you all the way out here. He wanted to get rid of you, didn’t he?”

  Leda looked ready to clock him, but shrugged instead. “Maybe a little. I have a history of not working and playing well with others. My third day in basic training I punched our drill instructor. Our drill instructor was Straker.”

  Hamilton bellowed laughter. “What?”

  She smiled. “I’m not proud of it. Much. I should have been drummed out, but I think in a weird way he respected me. After that, he kept tabs on me I guess. When he became head of Special Ops, he called me into his office one day and gave me this undercover assignment.”

  “He sure knows how to pick ‘em,” said Hamilton.

  “He certainly does,” said Leda. “Now let’s go see if we can turn these scientists into soldiers.”

  Ten: Assault on Riveras B

  They trained the scientists for three standard days before the raiders arrived, Hamilton schooling them on weapons training while Leda showed them hand to hand combat and assisted them in creating some improvised anti-personnel devices. In the end, Hamilton realized, it wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.

  “Well,” said Leda the afternoon of the third day, “what do you think?”

  “At least we know they’re coming,” Hamilton said. “Right now that’s all we have going for us, and that probably isn’t enough. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?” said Leda.

  Hamilton still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Straker, which was very strange, but he did request assistance from any Navy ships in the area. There was one, but it was almost a week out. Hamilton watched the skies warily.

  As planned, Proxima alerted them as soon as a ship dropped into orbit around the planet, then Leda’s ship moved itself to the nearby mountains, where Dr. Argent said there was a cave of adequate size to conceal it. It would be nothing for a ship of the size and type they saw in the Archive’s security footage to frag a vessel on the ground from orbit. Then they armed themselves to the teeth and waited.

  They didn’t have to wait very long.

  They could hear the ship land from where a few of them huddled in the largest dome. Others were scattered about the encampment, concealed behind equipment and storage units, armed and, hopefully, ready.

  “I have visual on five armed men approaching,” Proxima said into Leda’s and Hamilton’s cochlear implants. “But I am reading no life signs from them.”

  “Great,” whispered Leda. “Null suits.” At least the odds would be in their favor. These Marines probably weren’t expecting any resistance. There were over twenty scientists on the planet. She just wished there were as many guns to go around.

  “You copy that, Hamilton?”

  “Yeah,” he said from his hiding place inside a cylinder-shaped habitat nearest the ruins.

  Leda stuck her head out the door of the primary habitat dome. She could see the heavily armed men striding confidently toward the installation, their keen eyes watching for any movement. They certainly looked like Marines, though a little worse for wear. Their equipment and armor had seen a lot of action, and their tired eyes darted about nervously.

  One of them glanced at his wrist slate, then gave a hand signal to the others and pointed at the main dome. They were obviously tracking life signs. The scientists’
own bio signatures would lead the hostiles straight to them. Fortunately, Leda had planned for this.

  The Marine took three more steps and a long object ending in sharp spikes sprang up directly in front of him, striking him in the face. He screamed as blood spattered the ground. The others looked around warily. The Marine was still screaming when one of his comrades stepped up next to him and placed a needle gun to the impaled man’s left temple and fired. Red mist sprayed the air and the Marine went silent and toppled to the ground, the digging tool still jammed into his eyes.

  The Marine who had killed him made a circle motion with his index finger, and the remaining squad spread out, moving through different parts of the encampment. Their intention, Leda knew, was to converge on the main dome, in which she and a large number of the scientists where huddling.

  Leda watched happily as one of them stepped onto what he thought was solid ground but was really a dirt-covered tarp shrouding a deep pit filled with smashed crates and heavy-tined metal digging implements.

  He shouted out in pain as one of his mates ran to his aid.

  That’s when their leader, the same one who had killed the first Marine to fall to one of Leda’s traps, started shooting. Slugs bit into plastic storage containers, popped bio bubbles, and shredded equipment.

  “They’re trying to draw us out,” said Hamilton in her cochlear implant. “What’s our next move?”

  Leda chewed her lip in thought. “Just hang on a few more seconds,” she said. Turning to the group behind her, she said, “Everyone get ready. I’ll go out first. Those of you with guns cover me.”

  She turned back to the door, pushing it open. “All right, Lieutenant. Let’s do this.”

  Leda jumped out the door, getting off a couple of rounds on her way to the next source of cover. She caught one of the Marines off guard, striking him low in the stomach, below his chest armor. He yelped in pain and went down, his abdomen a bright blossom of blood. By the time their leader could fire on Leda’s position she was already gone, ducked behind a heavy storage container.

  Three of the scientists poured through the door behind her, shooting, their bullets going wild. The big Marine shot one of them in the leg before Leda raised from cover and fired, sending the Marine sprawling for cover of his own.

  There was more weapons fire off to Leda’s left, and she looked as Hamilton came around the corner of a smaller habitat dome, three armed scientists right behind him. Hamilton fired his Baranak, striking the Marine who had tried to help his friend out of the pit.

  “I’ve got their leader pinned down over here,” Leda said over her comm. “Come help me flush him out.”

  Hamilton nodded and skirted around the perimeter of the installation in a crouch. Leda laid down some cover fire to keep the Marine pinned right where he was. One of the scientists rushed forward, too cocky, and the remaining soldier dropped her where she stood.

  Hamilton fired then, striking the big Marine in the right shoulder. He dropped his weapon and staggered backward, pulling his small needle gun from its holster with his left hand and aiming it directly at Hamilton’s head.

  Leda came up behind him, kicking the weapon from his hand. He spun around, making a swiping motion with his good arm, but Leda was already out of the way, bending low and kicking his legs out from under him. He fell to his knees, bleeding.

  “Don’t move!” Hamilton warned. He was standing over him now, the Baranak aimed at the top of his head.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” said the Marine mechanically.

  “Who are you?” said Hamilton. “Who sent you?”

  “I should ask you the same thing,” the Marine said, rising quickly to his feet.

  “Steady, big fella,” said Leda, aiming her rifle at the back of his head. “We don’t want to kill you. We need some answers.”

  “You can’t stop this,” said the Marine. “They’re coming.”

  “Who’s coming?” asked Hamilton.

  His mouth jerked as if biting down on something. Then his jaws suddenly clenched, his eyes rolling back into his head as his mouth filled with foam. His body grew stiff, spasmed, and fell.

  One of the scientists, a medic, rushed forward, feeling his neck for a pulse. “He’s dead,” she said.

  Leda looked warily toward the sky. “When these guys don’t report in they’ll send more.”

  Hamilton nodded. “Everyone, get to our ship.”

  Leda winced as her cochlear implant chimed. “This is Sargent Somes looking for Lieutenant Leda Niles. Come in, please.”

  “This is Niles,” she said. “Who is this?”

  “Sargent Somes of the 25th,” said the young male voice. “We’re in orbit aboard the Star Hammer. We got your request for assistance.”

  “Sargent,” said Leda. “There’s a ship up there with hostile intent. We—”

  “Negative, Lieutenant,” said Somes. “There was a ship here, but when we parked in orbit it just up and vanished. They’re gone.”

  Eleven: Framed

  Lieutenant Hamilton stood at attention in Colonel Straker’s officer, unsure of why he had been ordered to appear. The Colonel hadn’t arrived yet, which gave him plenty of time to speculate. Perhaps the Colonel wanted to congratulate him on a job well done, or offer him another position within Special Operations.

  He hadn’t seen Leda since they arrived, after squaring everything away with the Riveras B outpost. The Star Hammer would remain in orbit for the next three standard weeks, and a large complement of Marines would remain present on the planet to protect the scientists. Dr. Argent didn’t like it, but his continued desire to stay alive outweighed his misgivings about the military presence.

  Whoever attacked Riveras B was still a mystery. The only person carrying any ID was their leader, a Sargent Darvin Kincaid. When Leda ran his name, rank and serial number he came up missing in action in some fringe skirmish during the final days of the Draconi war. Hamilton suspected they’d get similar results from the others had they been wearing dog tags or identichips. It was just as the Draconi Reeg had said. They were ghosts.

  The door to Straker’s office opened and the Colonel entered. Hamilton relaxed a little, but only a little; Straker was big on both formality and discipline, and took absence of either as a sign of personal weakness.

  “At ease,” he said, sitting behind his desk. He fished a cigar out of a drawer, jammed it in his mouth and lit it. He exhaled a few puffs of blue, aromatic smoke before beginning.

  “You’ve been a fine officer,” he said gruffly. “Your work with Special Ops has been exemplary.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Hamilton.

  “However,” Straker continued, “Certain things have come to light which cast a shadow on that service.”

  Hamilton arched an eyebrow. “Sir?”

  Straker reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small object. He tossed it onto the desk with a metallic clink. It was a flat, triangular piece of metal, very old and worn.

  “Any idea what that is?”

  “No, sir,” said Hamilton.

  “That’s funny, since it was pulled from your locker this morning. But play dumb if you’d like. It’s a Progenitor artifact. We think it was used as some kind of currency. They’re extremely rare and bring quite a bit of cash on the collector’s market. You thinking of cashing in your chips and leaving the Navy?”

  “No, sir,” said Hamilton. “I’ve never seen that before. It isn’t mine.”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t look good for you, son,” Straker said. “And frankly, it hurts me. You’re the best I’ve got. But rules are rules. I sent you on a mission to recall one of my best agents, and you turn it into your own personal treasure hunt.”

  “But, sir, I didn’t—”

  “We’ve had a big problem with Progenitor artifacts being stolen from dig sites and making it onto the black market. I figured it was an inside job, but I never thought it was one of my own.
Are you aware that the Wanderers use this stuff to finance their terrorist activities?”

  “Please, you found one lousy coin—” Hamilton began.

  “Enough!” Straker barked. “Now I suggest you be quiet, before you get yourself into even more trouble. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

  “Deal?”

  “I get you the hell out of my unit,” said Straker, “and you keep your career intact.”

  “I’m listening,” Hamilton said flatly.

  “The 17th Rail Gun Battalion needs a good first officer. Seems the Onslaught has a Commander slot open. Congratulations, Lieutenant. You’re getting a promotion.”

  “But I don’t know anything about commanding a battleship.”

  “You’ll learn. It’s not like we’re at war. You want it? Or do I call the MPs to hold you until your trial and eventual court martial?”

  “You haven’t told anyone about this?” Hamilton asked.

  “No,” said Straker. “And it will stay that way if you get the hell out of my office and off this planet right now.”

  “What about Led-Lieutenant Niles?”

  “She’s none of your concern. But if you must know, I’ve hired her on as my personal assistant. Her recent actions have convinced me that I need to keep my eye on her. As for you—” he waved his hand toward the door dismissively. “Get out.”

  Hamilton turned, not bothering to salute as he exited the room, closing the door hard behind him.

  He marched toward the barracks, where his new orders were no doubt waiting for him. What just happened? His career had been set back a decade. He was essentially exiled. And to the 17th, no less. They were a laughing stock. He had to find Leda. Maybe she had some clue as to what was going on.

  He found out where she was quartered in the barracks and went there, knocking on the door. After a long moment, the door opened.

  Leda was standing there in PT sweats, a sour look on her face.

  “I’ve been banished to the 17th,” Hamilton said.

  “I know,” she said. “Straker told me what they found in your locker.” She turned from the door, allowing Hamilton to enter and close it behind him.