Spartan took aim and fired; once again the cannon failed to fire. His constant use had overloaded it so far that it was now inoperative. Both his arm-mounted coilgun systems were out of ammunition, and the servos in his left arm were starting to fail.
No, not this way.
He looked back and found bodies of his comrades, but no weapons. The ground shook as the machine moved faster and faster towards him, and at that point, Spartan spotted the lance, still embedded in one of the marines. He sidestepped over to it and yanked as hard as he could. The blood-covered weapon released, and he was left holding the two metre-long section of hardened metal. As he turned around, the machine was just three metres away.
We end this, today!
Spartan lifted the lance with both hands and charged at it, the tip pointing up at where its head should be. Just as they were to make contact, the machine lifted its arms, keen to beat the weapon aside. Spartan intentionally dropped the tip, using the classic disengagement technique, and then drove it in hard under the exposed chest armour. The tip punched in deeply inside its golden hide, helped by the mass and speed of the charging machine. Then the hall erupted in a bright flash, and Spartan was cast high into the air, before crashing to the ground in a heap of battered metal.
* * *
IAS Titan in orbit around Hades, T’Karan System
The rendezvous point was several days away from the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station, but it was the best location to meet the volunteers Osk had been assembling. Multiple Alliance ships lurked near the pulsing Spacebridge connecting the T'Karan System with Proxima Centauri and the heart of the Alliance. The star systems between two parts of space were one of the most important strategic locations ever discovered, and the gateway to the worlds of the Orion Nebula. An hour earlier, three small transports came through, along with a squadron of Alliance Hammerhead fighters. At the same time, a pair of large shuttles had launched from the moon of Hades and made for IAS Titan. Now shuttles from both groups had landed and were surrounded by steam as they waited on the operations level.
"How much longer?"
Gun paced about patiently on the operation level, his irritation obvious even without hearing the words coming from his mouth. Further away, out on the long deck were the sealed areas marking where four shuttles hand landed. One from Hades had jammed against a broken bulkhead upon arrival, and now the outer hatch was stuck. Until cleared, they would be unable to activate the engines and make for Sector Sixteen. The jammed doorway was now a gaping wound; one that could halt the mission before it even began. A group of four engineers ran past, all carrying heavy cutting equipment. They were wearing full naval issue PDS armour to allow them to operate in the vacuum on the other sides of the double-skinned doors. Gun called out after them.
"Chief, we have to get them inside. Spartan is relying on us. How much longer?"
Chief Engineer Simpson turned around and then signalled for the other three to continue.
"Ten minutes to clear the door. Then we can leave."
Gun shook his head and waved him off.
"Then don't waste time talking to me!"
The deck was wide, though oddly shaped, due to the deck being narrower than the tall ceiling. Even so, it looked more like the deck of an ancient aircraft carrier, with lifts at key points and multiple motorised racks to carry equipment, weapons, and ammunition. Dropships were fitted on cradles and being lifted up into the wider storage areas one level above. Gun heard noise behind him and turned around to gaze upon the figures of Olik and Knaprig. Both were dressed in their usual garb, an odd mix of IAB uniform, mixed with extra plates and decorations from Hyperion. They looked more like monstrous bandits from an apocalyptical tale than the foot soldiers of the Brigade.
"About time you showed up."
Olik nodded at something in the distance.
"What?" Gun asked.
Knaprig then pointed, raising his left arm just a little. Gun was sure he could hear the servos helping to move his shattered, but still functioning body. Gun's eyes followed the group approaching from the far end of the ship, and his face lit up. He counted them as they neared.
"Twenty-four. Perfect."
They were now just ten metres away, and as they moved along the ship, Thegns, IAB officers, and crew backed off as though they were nothing more than slaves, moving away at the arrival of their massive masters. In reality, it was not fear, or even respect. It was simply necessary to get out of the way for the group of warriors to be able to pass, twenty-four clanking creatures, and each as big and monstrous as Gun and his two comrades.
"Gun, look," said Knaprig, "They made it."
The dozens of Thegns and IAB crew were now well out of the way as the group of Jötnar approached. The warriors were dressed in their dark crimson armour, something unique to the feared Red Watch, an elite military formation based on the fiery Alliance world of Prometheus. They continued until just a short distance away from Gun.
"Osk," said Gun.
The warrior removed its helmet, and beneath it was the narrower, paler face of a female warrior. She smiled and moved close, grasping Gun's arm.
"It's been a long time."
Gun nodded in agreement, but before he could speak, Knaprig had already bound forward to grab her. They embraced for some time, with Gun and the others looking on impatiently. Finally, they separated, and Gun shook his head in irritation.
"What did you bring me?"
Osk spun about so that she faced the rest of her warriors. Now Gun, Knaprig, and Olik could get a better look at them. They were of the same build and height, but their armour was much less substantial that the JAS gear used on the ship. They wore a special version of the PDS armour commonly used by marines. It was close fitting and incredibly well manufactured.
"Two squads from Prometheus, half of them are new bloods looking to their first operation. They are just under eight years old and already fully matured and experienced."
Gun seemed pleased at this news and looked back to Olik and Knaprig.
"A new generation, born naturally, not manufactured. This, my friends, this is the future for our people."
He spoke the words as though they would not have known, but it was from a mixture of pride and pleasure that he said them. The four of them, including Osk, had been artificially created as synthetic killing machines back in the Uprising. More than three decades had passed since those bloody days, and only now was the population of Jötnar on the increase. Osk pointed at several of the new recruits.
"They are maturing at double the rate of the humans, and they are not far from fully developed, both physically and mentally. Already, and with the help of Alliance technicians, we are improving the birth rate."
Gun looked a little uncomfortable at that.
"Be careful, Osk. One day we are a problem to the Alliance, and the next day an asset, but always an expendable. Is Anderson helping with this?"
Osk nodded.
"Of course. He has always been a friend of the Jötnar. Over a hundred of our females have been tested so far, and those capable of breeding have been fully screened. My estimates show our combat losses since the Uprising can be replaced in twelve months and with them reaching maturity in eight years."
Gun rubbed his chin.
"Yes, very interesting."
Osk then nodded to the slightly larger shapes of the older Jötnar.
"I also brought a dozen of our old guard, some of which fought with us back in the war."
Gun was already looking at them, their visors now lifted so he could see their faces. To anybody else it might have seemed a modest number, but it would have been hard to find a single soul aboard IAS Titan that would dare think, let alone say that. A single Jötnar warrior could match an entire Marine Corps squad, more if properly armoured and equipped. Their tolerances to pain and injury were legendary, as was their strength and speed. To date, it had proven impossible to find their weakness. The simple reality was that they were better than the average hum
an in almost every conceivable way. Compared to a human, their facial muscles were oversized, giving them a grotesque, troll like appearance, but there was still much diversity between them. Some were paler than others, while some of the younger Jötnar had even begun to grow hair, something Gun had never expected.
"So, you younger warriors are looking for a fight, are you?"
They nodded or struck their chests as he spoke, and Gun had to hold back from laughing. They might have looked mature, but he could already see they were far from the calmer, more seasoned warriors Osk had brought. He was glad there was a mix. Youth and experience in one unit was a potent mixture.
"Colonel, we're ready."
Gun walked up to the tall, pale skinned warrior. At first glance he might have been one of the older of the group, but there was one subtle difference that showed him to be something different. The Jötnar had grown a beard, and Gun was feeling a little envious. The first generation of Jötnar had been grown in tanks, fully synthetic but based upon a rolling genetic mixture to give variety in strength, intelligence, and speed.
"Interesting, very interesting."
He looked at the hair and was tempted to touch it, but restrained himself. The style was little different to the unkempt shape Spartan seemed to follow these days, and he looked at the others. To his amusement, he noticed each sported a completely different style. One thing all of them had in common was the colour, bright white, as pale as the skin of an Anicinàbe female.
"Very well. There is a chance we will arrive, and Khan and Spartan will have cleared up their mess."
He began walking down the double line of massive warriors.
"But...if for any reason we are needed, I will expect nothing short of calm, control...and utter violence."
That drew the response he expected from the group.
"The enemy is unlike any we have faced before, and if Spartan is facing difficulty fighting it, then we can be certain it will make the Biomechs seem like undeveloped children."
The Jötnar were not overly concerned, but he could see that every one of them was very interested. There was then a loud crashing sound. They all turned around to see the Chief Engineer stagger backwards and nearly fall over. There was a loud hiss, a clunk, and then doors opened up to reveal the shuttle from Hades. They watched in silence until finally the door opened, and down from the ramp came ten warriors of similar build to those that Osk had brought.
"Colonel Gun, the doors are sealed. We can leave."
Gun nodded quickly.
"Good. Let's go, now!"
Chief Engineer Simpson moved off, along with a small team of well-trained naval crew and a handful of Thegns, two of which dragged a massive chest of tools. Gun turned his attention back to the troupe that had left the shuttle. They marched quickly towards him and the warriors from Prometheus before breaking formation and crashing into them, a great sea of arms and heads as they welcomed each other, friend and stranger alike.
"Good, it's about time you all made it here," said Gun.
He then pointed to the Chief.
"Are we ready?"
"Aye, Colonel. The ship is secure."
Gun beamed with pleasure and focussed his attention on Olik.
"Send the order. I want us at Sector Sixteen within six hours, less if possible."
Olik nodded and lifted his modified secpad to speak with the officers on the deck. Gun turned back to the group. The new arrivals wore cruder armour than those of the Red Watch. It was larger and thicker, and unlike the factory made armour. Every piece had been hand crafted and modified to fit them individually. They carried a bizarre mixture of weapons from welded double L48 rifles, through to double-handed clubs and heavily modified thermal shotguns. The biggest difference was the colour, the metal left bare, giving them a battered and almost medieval feel.
"Wictred?"
The leader of the group kept moving to Gun, and then dropped to one knee. He looked younger than the others, and certainly slightly smaller than the average.
"Gun. We heard your call. These are the best of my brothers."
Gun grabbed him.
"Wictred, son of Khan. I thought you'd left with the volunteers to Karnak?"
The young warrior shook his head.
"Not for another week. The ships are chartered. We're just waiting for mercenary escorts before we leave."
Gun narrowed his eyes a fraction.
"Escorts? I'm sure the IAB can do something about that."
Wictred bowed again gently.
"Whatever you need, you will have. Perhaps you could tell us what this enemy is?"
Gun opened his mouth and bared his teeth, the way all of his kin seemed to express their pleasure or amusement.
"Our enemy is something new and powerful. A foe worthy of our skills."
Every one of them seemed riveted by what he was saying, and with each word, Gun felt more and more at home with them. The ship shuddered a fraction, and Chief Engineer Simpson called down on the wall-mounted intercom.
"Colonel."
"What is it?"
"The engines, they are operating at one hundred and ten percent, as promised."
Gun nodded to himself.
"Good work, Chief, damned good work."
He gave the nod for Knaprig to continue.
"The enemy is a shape shifting, heavily camouflaged fighting machine from the ancient past. It appears to have the ability to take control of intelligent machinery and equipment, and is responsible for the state of this vast derelict. The Klithi are so fearful of this thing they are threatening a blockade of their Spacebridge until it is dealt with."
Gun watched them all as Knaprig described everything they had heard so far. It took nearly ten minutes to pass everything on until finally Knaprig stopped, and both Wictred and Osk shared a curious look. Osk said exactly what all of them were thinking.
"Where is this thing, and how do we kill it?"
Gun laughed loudly.
"My friend, that is the right question."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Robot controlled spacecraft were one of the great new ideas of the Alliance. Most crew could be replaced, and internal systems used to control and manage a spacecraft. The best example of this was with the proposed X-45 Confederate class, manufactured by CTC for use by the Interstellar Assault Brigade. Though the first production models were constructed to operate conventionally, each was fitted with fully automated systems that could allow a ship to be managed by one or two senior officers. Ultimately, it was hoped the crew could be done away with, and orders sent to ships from secure sites. The vessels would then follow pre-programmed routes to collect or drop off troops and supplies. The encounter with the Trusskan Derelict in late 372CC would lead many to doubt the effectiveness of this plan, yet nothing would stop governments and corporations from finding ways to limit the size of crews, and remove the ever-present chance of crew error.
The Robot Army
Unidentified Derelict, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan
Kanjana moved as carefully as possible, always wary of the fact that in every shadow could be an enemy machine. The shaft was narrow and barely navigable by a human. She was graceful, little different to a human ballet dancer, yet with the poise of somebody with years of experience. Kanjana was able to slip between the beams and cables with ease.
What's that?
Something pulsed to the right, and then a shape rushed past. Kanjana stopped and lifted her hand to make the others stop. The dark object appeared briefly through the grating to the right, and she watched it, its four legs groaning as it moved. This was no modern war machine. It was old, worn out technology, and every component seemed to grind as it moved. Even so, it was bigger than a man and carried a large firearm of unknown configuration. It stopped and twisted about, a single red lamp scanning the walls and looking like an evil eye. It made an odd sound and then continued onwards.
Kanjana relaxed, and her muscles released one by one, each carefully controlled after yea
rs of training and medication. She could hold her own in a fight, but she was neither trained nor equipped to deal with major combat. Though agile and fast, her true skills lay in the arts of technology, and it would be her mind that would provide the weapons, not her guns.
In the last ten hours Kanjana had traversed the derelict, taking numerous detours to avoid signs of the enemy machines. She could have reached the power units in half the time, but she suspected that would have gotten her killed. Behind her were two marines privates, Jarvis and Richards. All three of them took one step at a time, knowing that if they were spotted, they would be killed.
"Is this really necessary?" asked Richards, "We could have been back at the landing bay by now."
Jarvis, the younger of the pair, nodded quickly as he listened.
"Yeah. Spartan's gone dark, so why bother?"
Richards continued; feeling buoyed up by Jarvis' intervention.
"Captain Delatorre said the creature is gone. The Major and the others sacrificed themselves so we could live. So why bother carrying on with this?"
Kanjana stepped over a broken metal plate, and her foot make a slight crunching sound. It was quiet, and as the other two followed, they made at least twice the noise she did. Unlike her they wore the now standard issue, M-3 body armour. This state-of-the-art protection was good all round equipment, but it could not stand against constant battle with the machines. Kanjana wore substantially less, with the standard Alliance Navy issue PDS armour. Navy armour was primarily designed to offer a vacuum-sealed suit, with heaters, air circulation, and flash protection. The armour was substantially less thick, and it was not designed for the rigors of combat.
Kanjana twisted about, keeping her feet in the same position. She then slipped her right hand down to where the coil pistol sat in its holster. This was a gift from Spartan, one of the few prototype pistols that had shrunk the L52 carbine down to pistol size. It was bigger than a normal pistol, and its exterior an odd shape, due partially to the power core and barrel. She then slid her hand further down and pulled out a fighting knife. This was long, straight, and double-edged, much like the knives used by Commandos on Ancient Terra.
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