Ghost Soldiers

by Michael G. Thomas

  “She is one hell of a ship,” said Khan.

  Normally a vessel like Euryale would dock externally, but due to the massive size of the alien ship, it was possible to place multiple capital ships inside its spacious shipyard area. The World Ship was much like an orbital station, and more in common with habitable moons than with a ship. A decade ago it had been the home to his archenemy, but now it was his home, and being away from the politics of the human core worlds was just a bonus to him. He walked down the warship’s ramp and to the deck of the World Ship, with Khan, Lieutenant Armstrong, and Sergeant Tyler right behind him. All of them were now out of their heavy Maverick and JAS armour, and back to the tunics of the Alliance Marines Corps. Even Khan wore something resembling Alliance uniform, though his personal modifications and bandolier gave him more of an unkempt mercenary look.

  “Well, look who we have here.”

  Waiting at the bottom of the ramp were a variety of personnel, but one stood out more than any other as she waited there, blocking off the others from view.

  “On’Sarax, it is good to see you.”

  The huge machine moved subtly in acknowledgement. A single red light flickered as her synthesized voice spoke in flawless English.

  “Welcome home, to you all.”

  On her left was another machine, one Spartan had seen only rarely. It was larger than her and looked like a brutal war machine. Lieutenant Armstrong leaned in close and whispered, “Which one is that?”

  Spartan continued to look at those arrayed in front of them while answering.

  “That is Vikas.”

  He then began to descend the ramp.

  “He killed four Ghost Warriors in the last battle. I saw him take weapon impacts from every direction back then.”

  He then glanced quickly back.

  “He should have died back then, but the skills of On’Sarax are unsurpassed. There would be only two of us alive today if it were not for her medical skill.”

  They continued on to the bottom, and though Spartan nodded at the machines, he made sure he kept away from the larger of the two. He nodded politely, making sure that of all present, On’Sarax received his greeting first.

  “On’Sarax, it is good to be home.”

  The red light flickered as he spoke. Where On’Sarax was the thinking machine, the one that had held together the last of her race, Vikas, was the opposite. Strong, violent, and more than a little hot headed; he was much more like Spartan than he liked to admit. Vikas was certainly the most powerful of The Twelve, but also partially psychotic. On’Sarax had tried to repair the damage, but it was not biological. It seemed the issue was due to long-term exposure to violence.

  Spartan had seen the horrors of war, but nothing like those faced by Vikas. The warrior machine had fought for hundreds of years and seen millions of his kin destroyed. The worst part was that he was one of those that had been frozen in time, drifting in the human Solar System and waiting to be awoken. Unlike his brothers, he was the only one that remained conscious for the process. A technical failure meant his mind had been free while his body was frozen, and over centuries his mind fractured and broke apart.

  “Spartan,” said Vikas.

  It was nothing more than an acknowledgement, but that was still much more than Spartan was used to. He used the opportunity to stand closer to the machine and to lower his head.

  “Vikas. Our mission was successful. The equipment prevented casualties, just as we intended. It was a great victory.”

  Two lights flashed on the machine’s armour, but it was the synthesised voice of On’Sarax that answered.

  “Vikas thanks you.”

  Again, Spartan nodded and then looked to the smart looking Mr Walker, the senior CTC executive, and the company’s man on the inside of the running of the secretive and high lucrative Special Weapons Division. He was one of the few CTC men Spartan could stomach, and it had taken a lot of negotiation to establish a relationship he would even consider with the man. It was the only way he could obtain the finances and support needed to develop the life saving arms and armour he and the others had been working on.

  “Spartan, good to have you back. Vikas has been working with us on the first of the Tomb Ships.”

  Spartan turned to the two marines following him.

  “Lieutenant, get them all cleaned up and ready for debriefing. A lot of questions are going to be asked about this operation, and I want them awake and ready to answer them.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Lieutenant Armstrong.

  The two marines were gone by the time Spartan’s feet touched the deck of the World Ship. Spartan paused for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being off the ship. There was little difference between the two, but for now, the World Ship was at least something of a home; more than could be said of the rather utilitarian IAS Euryale. He stopped in front of the three of them, greeting the machines before answering the CTC executive.

  “I wasn’t aware we’d been given clearance to open up any of the ships. Are they not all still sealed? Without new genetic material, are they unable to be repaired?”

  “Indeed, you are correct,” said Mr Walker.

  He looked to the two machines.

  “On’Sarax selected this one particular Tomb Ship from the vast number in orbit. According to her, it contains the remains of six warriors, heroes of the rebellion, and all of them broken beyond repair. We are investigating the possibility of using cell regeneration techniques, along with several experimental ideas of The Twelve.”

  Spartan lifted an eyebrow.

  “To what end? Are these not the fallen soldiers of the enemy?”

  On’Sarax moved around the CTC executive to face Spartan, who now needed to turn around.

  “That is true, but they are not inherently evil. It is my desire to find an ethical way to restore our long-dormant kin to life, once more. One day, Taxxu Prime will be terraformed, and the few of us that remain will stand on solid ground once more. The casualties of past wars might have committed great crimes, but they are not beyond redemption.”

  Vikas shuddered, and one of the marines nearby took a single step away from the machine. Spartan looked to him, but he said nothing. Instead, On’Sarax spoke on his behalf.

  “As you know, Vikas rarely speaks outside of The Twelve, and when he does, it rarely makes sense.”

  She lifted two of her right arms and placed them against the plating of the machine.

  “Vikas says he looks forward to the day The Twelve will be reborn. It is his wish that we will be an important part of this new Alliance. As we benefit, so will you.”

  Spartan smiled.

  “Thank you, Vikas. I look forward to that day, too.”

  Both machines faced each other, and Spartan could only imagine what conversation they were having. The use of oral communication was clearly something they only did when around those incapable of any other kind. Alliance engineers suspected the machines could communicate wirelessly, but so far any attempts to find out how had proven impossible. Spartan had been a staunch defender of their privacy, and refused any attempts at research of experimentation on them, on pain of cancelling the agreement with On’Sarax. It was no idle threat, either. The technology commanded by The Twelve was vast, but it was also hidden deep within the ancient equipment, ships, and technology in Taxxu. Without a guide such as On’Sarax, it would take millennia to unlock its secrets. There was also the issue of over a million Thegns that had been freed from their bonds by The Twelve after fighting on behalf of the Alliance. Though free, they still considered The Twelve to be nothing short of Gods, and that meant they had to be placated. To keep the Thegns in line meant to keep the remainder of The Twelve happy.

  Spartan smiled, trying to imagine the conversations taking place on Terra Nova. He’d seen the kind of racism shown to the Jötnar following the fighting in the Uprising, but it was something very different with the Thegns. These creatures were bred for battle and numbered in vast legions. If led astray, they had
the power and numbers to be a serious problem.

  The only real weakness of this artificial species was their inability to fight a space-borne battle, and therefore to move from world to world. Spartan suspected this had a lot to do with the growing strength of the Navy, and the refusal to allow Thegns to serve on many front-line warships. As the machines spoke in silence, Spartan took the opportunity to turn to Mr Walker.

  “And how does CTC benefit from all of this?”

  Mr Walker simply smiled.

  “The benefits of cellular rejuvenation have kept you in fighting form, where in the past you would be retired. These new techniques could go much further. We are looking at organ and limb replacement, perhaps even a complete halt to the issue of aging.”

  On’Sarax uttered a sound, and Mr Walker lowered his head a little, as though apologising.

  “For now it is all research, but as for the future, there is always profit in life.”

  He then smiled, the expression that seemed to match the corporate world so well. A voice came from behind, along with the thud of heavy footsteps.

  “And even more in death.”

  The voice was harsh and grim, yet as Spartan heard it, his face seemed to light up. Spartan nodded politely to the alien machines, and then moved around them to find another Jötnar heading towards him. This one wore his uniform with a little more panache even though it was still decorated with extra plates of armour. As might be expected from the Jötnar, two other similarly dressed warriors flanked him. Spartan moved to the largest and stopped directly in front.

  “Commander Gun.”

  The warrior mumbled, lifting an eyebrow as Spartan continued.

  “I thought you were busy talking politics on Terra Nova?”

  “Something like that.”

  Khan moved up from where he’d been listening to Mr Walker and grasped his old friend by the arm. For anybody else watching it may have seen a little violent, not even particularly friendly. Spartan noticed the large warrior wince a little after contact.

  “That pin prick still hurting you?”

  Gun looked back to Spartan and rubbed at his body.

  “It punched in deeply, Spartan. The medics say it will be another three weeks until it is fully healed.”

  For the briefest moment Spartan thought he saw a glimmer of pain in his friend’s eyes.

  “I’ve had worse, though. Holes can be repaired. Hell, remember my eye?”

  Spartan nodded.

  “I don’t doubt it, Gun; at least you’ll be back at full strength soon.”

  Mr Walker looked to then both and then concentrated his attention on Spartan. He lowered his head slightly upon seeing the arrival of Gun, his way of greeting somebody he now considered an equal, of sorts. Spartan, Gun, Khan, and Olik still retained a major share in the Special Weapons Division, all part of the agreement that had started the section to begin with. Access to On’Sarax, her people, and the hidden secrets at Taxxu were dependent on them. The ancient machines saw the Alliance as a common ally, but in Spartan and his friends, they saw something that could be trusted.

  “SWD, we’ve been granted a fifty percent budget increase for the next quarter. It looks like your operation on Karnak has galvanised Alliance High Command into buying into the upgraded technology.”

  Spartan nodded.

  “Good, it’s about time our front-line marines got the equipment they deserve.”

  He looked away and then back to him, a suspicious look on his face.

  “What do they want, exactly?”

  Gun indicated for them to walk away from the spaceship, and then moved alongside Khan. As they spoke, Spartan continued his conversation with Mr Walker.

  “Spartan, they want the new weapons, and access to the technology used in our engines systems.”

  Spartan seemed surprised.

  “Weapons? So they are not interested in the real advances, the Grunts and the Maverick armour. That equipment will save lives on the battlefield.”

  “Indeed. And how much does it cost to build a CD1 Grunt?”

  Spartan took in a long, deep breath and sighed.

  “More than the lifetime training costs of a marine.”

  “Exactly. The bill for the Spascia operation is...well, how shall I put it? Half the Grunts damaged or destroyed, to save a handful of marines. The sums simply do not add up.”

  Spartan stopped and caught both Gun and Mr Walker’s eye.

  “So we rescued the hostages, pacified the sector on Spascia, and left the place under Alliance control. And now they are complaining about the bill?”

  Mr Walker said nothing for the time being, so they continued walking away from the landed warship, but Spartan could tell Gun wanted to tell him something. He took a few more steps and stopped.

  “All right. So they don’t like the price for rolling out the equipment to the Marine Corps. What about the Brigade, did they go for it? It’s only a few thousand personnel, and enough ships to put them in one place. We can go places where the regular Marine Corps can't. We're a grey area."

  He glanced to Khan.

  "It’s not like this place costs much to maintain. On'Sarax and her kin manage just fine, and for no cost to us.”

  Gun looked at Mr Walker, whose face remained impassive, then to Khan and back to Spartan.

  “It took a lot of talking, and luckily for us, Daniels was there to do it. He vouched for me, you, all of us. Even the old General was there, as an advisor."

  “Rivers?”

  Gun nodded.

  “Yeah, he might be retired, but he’s still the most experienced commander around. Rumour on Terra Nova is he might be standing for election. Can you imagine it, General Rivers as President?”

  Spartan shrugged. He'd heard worse ideas, and the General was one of the few men he would give his backing to. Even so, he found the idea of Gun discussing politics more amusing than anything he’d heard in weeks. Gun tilted his head as he kept talking.

  "The General kept reminding them that an independent private security force far away from our own colonies could be a real asset. We can use experimental equipment, recruit from non-Alliance worlds, and, what was the word? Oh, yes, it would allow the Alliance to retain plausible deniability."

  Spartan shook his head.

  "Typical, so they will allow us to operate, and partially fund us, providing we do the dirty work for them, without them taking the risk if it all heads south."

  Gun grinned. "Of course, isn't that always the way?"

  “The combat footage from Karnak is causing a lot of trouble. There are people pushing the President for direct involvement.”

  “And what about our Brigade?”

  Spartan beckoned towards Khan and the two marines, but it was Khan who finally broke, unable to wait any longer.

  “Tell us. Is it going to happen?”

  Gun straightened his back, licked his lips, and then spoke.

  “Gentlemen…”

  He paused for effect, and Spartan sighed as they waited.

  “Colonel Black has been seconded to the IAB. He will command the unit, under orders from Alliance High Command."

  "And you?" Spartan asked.

  Gun smiled.

  "I've been given operational command of the Brigade, under supervision by Colonel Black. Starting today, you can call me your boss. We are fully activated, and the press have been informed of the formation of the Interstellar Assault Brigade. We will operate as part of the Alliance military, but supplied and equipped directly by the Special Weapons division."

  Spartan had expected the news, but it was still great to hear.

  "From today, we will begin taking new recruits direct from entry and from other regular regiments. We will even be taking volunteers from the Khreenk and Byotai, if they pass the selection tests. The first transports have already arrived.”

  Spartan could see how proud Gun was, not so much of the rank, but of the recognition of his skills and reputation. A generation ago he’d been a foot
soldier of the Biomechs, and now he was the commander of the newest and most deadly unit in the entire Alliance.

  Spartan and Khan moved in and struck him.

  “Congratulations,” said Spartan.

  Khan seemed more amused than pleased.

  “The crazy fools. They must have realised our ability to absorb losses fitted your command profile perfectly.”

  Gun feigned insult and then struck Khan in the shoulder.

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  Spartan had other thoughts on his mind.

  “Gun, does that mean they want the Brigade to help General Makos and his Byotai on Karnak? When we reach full strength, we will be a force to be reckoned with.”

  Gun shook his head.

  “No. High Command is sending a fleet to the Byotai border, in case the Anicinàbe League decides to cross over. If they do, then our treaty with the Byotai will come into effect.”

  “And it will be war,” Khan added.

  Gun nodded.

  "I don't think even the Anicinàbe are that stupid. If they are smart, they will stay in the sector and keep away from the homeworld. It leaves us looking impotent and stupid. If they come too close, well, we get to take our gloves off. And we all know how that will end."

  A secpad hummed on Gun’s flank, and he reached down to grab it. Unlike the standard models, this one had been heavily upgraded with thicker edges, a rubberised protective layer, and most important of all, a retina-based control system. For anybody else this might have been considered a gimmick, but not to Gun. His hands were bigger than most, so touch control was out of the question. He scanned a few lines and something quickly changed about Gun’s expression. He went from being happy to something much more serious. Finally, he looked past Spartan, as though he expected to see somebody else, but then leaned in so only Khan and Spartan could hear him.

  “Don’t get too comfortable. Looks like we’ve got something already.”

  He leaned back, noticing the look of confusion on their faces.

  “What?” Spartan asked, “We’ve just got back from a major combat operation. The Maverick suits need a lot of work, and we lost a good half of our Grunts. They might do the job, but the latency is killing us out there. Like I said, they can support commanders in the field, but not replace them. We need a full debriefing, and the two platoons we took are going to need more than a little R&R.”