Ghost Soldiers

by Michael G. Thomas

  "Spartan, we need a decision, and fast."

  Captain Delatorre looked down and shook his head. Spartan looked for Five-Seven and found him in his position, giving orders via the intercom.

  "Okay, give me the short version."

  Khan looked to the Captain and signalled for him to speak.

  "Go on, explain."

  "The core is fluctuating badly. It has to be ejected in the next fifteen minutes, unless we can stabilise it. The powerplant is already heavily irradiated, and every second it gets worse."

  "What's the problem? Just get in there and stabilise it," said Spartan.

  Khan took a step away and continued shaking his head.

  "This alien entity..."

  Spartan raised his eyebrows at the description of the thing they had been fighting.

  "It has control of the core management system. It can overload and destroy the ship whenever it wants. Or it can stabilise it remotely but keep it disconnected from our systems, leaving us dead in a matter of hours. The thing has complete control. If it wants, it will destroy half of the ship, and irradiate whatever is left. Or it can wait till we run out of air and power."

  The ship creaked, and a single blinking light on the wall made Khan groan even louder. Captain Delatorre pointed into the ship.

  "This vessel is turning into a radioactive wasteland. A machine can manage just fine, but we can’t. There is no way for us to get there, not without it killing whoever makes it there in one piece."

  Khan nodded at glowing display.

  "The engineering section. Something just deactivated the locks and vented five sections into space. Anybody in there is gone now. Sensors show those compartments are now contaminated as well."

  He shook his head, clearly bitter. He also seemed a little stunned that something had been able to penetrate the electronic defences so effectively.

  "Basically, Spartan, we're screwed. Even if we stop the core overloading, the radiation will kill us in minutes. This thing is flushing us away from the power units. It's stopping us from repairing our own damned ship."

  Spartan shook his head.

  "Then we dump the dammed thing, vent all contaminated compartments, and remove any way for this entity to get our ship. We have reserves batteries on board. We just wait this thing out until help arrives from T'Karan."

  Khan turned about with a smile on his face.

  "Exactly."

  His tone suggested this was what he had been promoting for the last few minutes. Captain Delatorre seemed unimpressed, though, and looked away. He said something and looked back to Spartan, lifting his arms in exasperation. This was clearly the sticking point, but Spartan had no idea what the Captain's problem was.

  "Come on, then, explain it to me."

  Captain Delatorre pointed to one of the smaller displays. It showed partial data from the operational diagnostic systems.

  "Major, it is more complex than that, much more complex. Every minute we keep the reactor running gives us time to fill the capacitors."

  Spartan glanced to Khan who was watching him just as intently. The Captain continued.

  "Our engineers think they can buy us up to an hour on the reactor by opening up reactor seals to the vacuum of space, if we're lucky, and that will double our stored energy of fifteen hours. That's extra hours to get further from the derelict and back to safety. More power for our systems to try and fix our damage, and more time to build up oxygen reserves."

  Spartan glanced to Khan, but already he could see the issue.

  "We're eighteen days from rescue. We need weeks of energy, not hours. Thirty hours of power will not save our crew, and even with air and power, the radiation will still continue to move through the ship. What about the Interstellar Drive?"

  "Non functional, Major. And if we dump the core, we will not have the power to create the bubble in space-time. No bubble, no movement."

  Khan nodded.

  "There's one other problem, Spartan."

  Spartan let out a single long sigh.

  "Of course there is. Go on, then, tell me."

  Khan pointed at the mainscreen.

  "The derelict has changed course and is coming this way. Its velocity hasn't changed, but on its present course, it will be here in three days."

  Spartan rubbed his forehead.

  "This way, why? And why the hell is it not accelerating?"

  At first he was confused, but the more he thought about it, the more obvious the answer was. He didn't need them to answer him; he already knew.

  "It's so obvious. This enemy on the derelict, it isn't interested in us. It wants our ship. By the time it gets here we'll be dead, and it will reactivate our systems. It's used the manoeuvring thrusters to change course, but its main engines must been inoperative."

  "Or it can't access them," Khan suggested, "and with access to our ship, it can probably take control of it."

  "Or absorb it into the derelict," Captain Delatorre added, "With the conventional engines of Euryale operating, it could be in colonised space in weeks, instead of years."

  That seemed to intrigue Spartan more than anything else.

  "Yes. It is more machine that creature, and without air or power, we will be unable to do a thing to stop it. It can then use the technology and equipment on this ship to turn against our own people, maybe even to combine it with its own vessel. You've seen how powerful this thing is. Imagine what it could do with the systems on our ship. It could be at Alliance worlds in hours, and using our own technology against us."

  Khan snorted as he'd done at the start of the conversation. He then pointed to the hull of their ship.

  "When it gets here, it will find bodies, nothing else. At least if we were going to die, it should be face-to-face with this thing. I will not die gasping for breath."

  Spartan looked at him, noting the look of despair on his face. It was one thing to face death in battle, but quite another to know you would die from lack of the basic necessities of life.

  There has to be another way.

  Spartan smiled, and Khan spotted the look immediately. Even though he had no idea what it was, he already felt better. Spartan looked at the others before explaining.

  "Our position here is untenable. We either choose to die from lack of oxygen and power, or we will die from radiation poisoning. Neither is an option to me."

  "So, we do what?" Khan asked.

  Spartan drew his hand across his own throat.

  "We kill what we cannot use. We abandon ship, and set her to auto destruct when the derelict gets here. That how much time we will buy ourselves."

  Khan seemed rather pleased at that.

  "Yeah, that could work. We take shelter in that thing’s own backyard."

  Captain Delatorre looked confused.

  "Take shelter where exactly?"

  Spartan pointed off to the wall.

  "We take the damned derelict. It has air and power, more than enough to keep our people alive for three days. We will take control and direct it away from Euryale, and if we can't do that, we will destroy it from within."

  Khan nodded slowly but clearly in agreement.

  "And if that thing tries to stop us?"

  He knew the answer already, simply by the look on Spartan's face.

  "We do what we always do, old friend."

  Captain Delatorre didn't quite seem to grasp the entirety of the plan, however.

  "Uh, what happens if we fail? We lose Euryale, and this entity will continue on until arriving at some world unexpected and able to take control of their technology."

  Khan laughed.

  "Don't worry about that, Captain. If we fail, Euryale will fix the problem for us. The self-destruct system on her is a wonder to behold."

  Spartan grinned at this.

  "He's not wrong. Anything within a hundred kilometres will be turned to dust. So let's not fail!"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Battle of Old Spascia City is now known by many names. For those that neve
r witnessed the horrors, it might be known as just the Siege of Spascia, and to those that survived, it was simply known as Hell. The real horror was that the assault on that world was a diversion and a trap, one designed to bleed soldiers and ships to allow the enemy access to the Helion sector. Spartan led the enemy through the Black Rift and took actions that ensured Spascia would be left to itself, and in doing so, helped guarantee victory, but at such a cost.

  With few reinforcements, the defenders were outnumbered and outgunned; yet the fighting proved to be a glorious day for the Alliance of humanity and Helios. The Biomechs threw their most powerful creatures and war machines at the fragile alliance, and were almost victorious. Little remained of the cities on the planet, least of all the ancient ruin of Old Spascia. The mountain was destroyed, the buildings brought to the ground, bridges smashed, and millions dead. For all of the tragedy on Spascia, there was also much heroism.

  Accounts of the Prophecy of Fire

  Kha’Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance

  The arena was the one part of the ship always being used, before, during, and in the many years after the war. Although it was the scene for many terrible episodes of the past, few could deny its suitability as a place for training and testing out the newest and more advanced weapons and armour. As usual, the light was dim, and few people were inside watching. Three dark shapes moved around each other as if fighting in a savage battle.

  Gun spat blood at the ground and then looked up to his attacker. Directly in front was the partially armoured form of Olik. Just like him, the Jötnar was a monstrous warrior, a great body bigger than any human in history, and arms as thick as many men's torsos. His neck was thick and short, and the ground thudded as he moved about.

  "I'll give you that one."

  Olik rubbed his head and pointed back to Gun, clearly amused.

  "I'd forgotten how tetchy you've become. What I didn't realise was how slow you are these days. You're making it too easy for me. I'll have to do it again."

  Gun lifted his massive arms up to the ceiling of the arena and roared. It felt good to have the hot blood roaring through his veins once again. Every blow inflicted pumped adrenalin throughout his body, and with every step he felt more and more alive. He wiped a small blob of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "That was it, all you could manage? I was falling asleep from boredom at your lack of skill."

  Knaprig put his arm in front of the laughing Olik, and then moved out ahead of him. He seemed much more serious than Olik and dropped into a well-protected stance, his feet spaced apart.

  "My turn."

  Olik gave a flourish and took a step back.

  "Take your time, old man."

  Though they faced each other in the arena as adversaries, it would have been harder to find three closer friends. They were Gun's comrades from the glory days of the war, when human and Jötnar alike were united in the war against the biomechanical enemy. All of them were still in the Alliance military, but each had moved in different directions. Gun, Khan, and Olik had worked with Spartan to create the SWD, but Knaprig had returned to Hyperion for months of medical aid and work. Since then, he'd volunteered for every combat operation he could find while moving through the ranks in the elite Red Watch based on Prometheus.

  "Very well," said Gun.

  He lifted his hand and gestured for Knaprig to approach. All three were clad in mismatched plating shipped from the forges of Prometheus, the fiery world that was the source of so many weapons and equipment for the Alliance. Though similar in design, each was subtly different to match the changing physique of the three warriors.

  "So, after all this time keeping warm alongside Osk...this is it, huh?"

  Knaprig moved carefully, knowing full well that Gun was more than just the senior of the Jötnar. He was one of the biggest and certainly the most experienced in almost every type of combat. There were fewer adversaries more dangerous than an angry Jötnar.

  "Tell me, Knaprig. Does she train you, or the other way around?"

  Knaprig jumped ahead, leaving Olik further back and out of range. Though similar in build to Olik, his body had been transformed in the years since the Great Biomech War. Both of his arms had been replaced, and large sections of his flesh reinforced with plate and artificial flesh. He was as much Jötnar as he was now machine. Gun only then started preparing himself for the attack.

  "Good, good. Let out the anger, my friend."

  In Knaprig's hands was a savage looking two-handed club. He brought it down to Gun's head, but the wizened warrior sidestepped and took the impact at an angle on his own weapon. Knaprig's strike simply slid off and exposed his side. Gun didn't bother using his club and struck his boot into Knaprig's flank. He staggered away, attempting to regain his balance.

  "Vertical exertions are a little more complicated, don't you think?"

  He laughed as he insulted Knaprig, enjoying the change in mood and stance in his old friend. He came back twice as fast and rained down the blows. Gun beat off those he felt might be a threat, until after eight in quick succession left Knaprig frustrated. As he pulled back to try something else, Gun struck out with his own club. The weapon hit Knaprig on the top of his head, and he staggered back, fell to one knee, and then rose back to face Gun.

  "Osk's stories about you are what keep us entertained at night, old soldier. There is little that amuses me more."

  Gun's eyes widened, and for a second both Olik and Knaprig worried he may have crossed a line. Instead, Gun burst out laughing and struck his chest with a roar.

  "Yes! Better, much better!"

  Knaprig ran in again, and Gun intentionally kept his left side exposed. Knaprig cut in hard, and Gun exaggerated a parry to protect himself. Now vulnerable on the other side, Knaprig snapped the weapon around, but it was what Gun had been expecting. He brought the back of his club to his right, struck the side of Knaprig's club, and then pushed forward to strike Knaprig in the left side of his face. He took another step closer and kicked away at his middle section. As Knaprig staggered away, Olik arrived and moved in front of his comrade. Gun gave a little flourish, almost a bow.

  "Olik. Very well, your turn, pup!"

  The two exchanged blows, both striking as great speed. The clubs deflected most of the impacts, but occasionally one of them would hit armour. For all Olik's skill, he simply couldn't match the power of Gun. Instead, he used his marginally faster speed to move around him, striking when the opportunity arose. He managed to hit a blow against Gun's chest, but the only response was a roar of laughter.

  "Impressive, against a Helion, but against me? I would expect more than a tickle like that."

  A shape moved off in the distance as several people entered the arena. They sat down in to the lowest level of seats. Gun couldn't quite make out whom they were, but he did notice the number of suits, and at least one military uniform.

  What now?

  Gun looked back to Olik and swung the weapon twice, both strikes coming in flat on the horizontal plane. They were incredibly fast, as though he was bouncing the blade of a piece of sprung steel. The only way to avoid the attack was to take a long step back. Once clear, Olik moved back in, and with all of his effort brought down the club to Gun's head. For a second it seemed it might strike, but then Gun beat it aside with a casual movement, locking his arm around the shaft. He then leaned in and struck his friend with his forehead. Olik staggered back and dropped down to his knees.

  "Do you accept your defeat?"

  Olik was back up, and this time Knaprig was at his flank. Most would split up, but not these two. They'd trained many times on Hyperion, in the camps established by Gun when the world had first been occupied. The Jötnar used them as part of their military education, but they were also famed places to hunt monstrous creatures, and to practice close quarter combat techniques against some of the toughest opponents one might ever face.

  "Together," said Olik.

  The two advanced to Gun with t
heir weapons ready for the attack. The conventional wisdom was to split up, but instead they worked together, like primitive hunters moving in on a bear. As one struck the other would wait for the opportunity to strike. Gun beat off their attacks, but already they were pressing him hard.

  "Now!" said Olik.

  Knaprig thrust with his club, and Gun beat it away. A split second after starting the attack, Olik also thrust and managed to catch Gun in the jaw. He stumbled and shook his head, but that was the opportunity they needed. Both moved in close and struck at Gun, hitting his limbs and torso in quick succession. Any other Jötnar might have fallen, but he took the pain like a shot of adrenalin, and each strike made him feel more and more alive.

  "Much better."

  He reached in and bear hugged Olik, while Knaprig continued striking with his club. Gun spun about so that Knaprig missed his target and hit Olik in the shoulder. In that small window, Gun stabbed with the club to Olik's face. The impact knocked him out cold and sent him crashing to the ground. He then twisted about to avoid a strike from Knaprig before shoulder barging him, as before they were now separated and each breathing heavily.

  "Gun. We need to speak," said a voice off in the darkness.

  "I'm busy, can't you see?"

  Gun straightened his back, coughed, and looked to the direction of the sound. He intended to continue fighting, but he recognised the name right after he replied. This wasn't the Captain. He knew their voice well. It was the recently promoted Brigadier General Arthur Black, the decorated Marine Corps officer, and of course the newly selected commander of the IAB.

  "General?"

  The officer moved out of the shadows and directly beneath one of the high-hanging lights. He was a thin man, thin even by Marine Corps standards. The General had served with Special Forces in the war, and had won eternal glory while still a captain. Back then he'd fought a desperate last stand on Eos, a battle he should have lost. Instead he had risen through the ranks as one of the most decisive and bold commanders in the Corps.

  "Colonel."

  The reply was curt and official sounding. Gun could already sense the concern and immediately stopped any pretence at continuing the fight. There were others there, but it was the stoic, erect form of the General that intrigued him.