Star Crusades Nexus: The Third Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Colonel, we’ve got three more military shuttles on the way. That’s ten in total.”

  From such a long distance the shuttles looked tiny, but with the magnified view the guns fitted to their stubby wings betrayed their true purpose. Colonel Pierce watched the shuttles as they split off into pairs and made for different parts of the station.

  “Colonel?” asked the station’s tactical officer, “Our fighter pilots need a shooting order. Can they open fire?”

  He wanted to say yes. In fact, he knew he needed to say yes.

  “No, tell them to hold their fire. We cannot start a shooting fight with them.”

  He rubbed his forehead and then checked the screens for what must have been the tenth time. The Alliance was an odd, disparate collection of colonies, but he found it incredible that there could be any stomach for continuing fighting after everything they had all been through.

  “How long do we have?”

  The officer looked back at his screen and checked the incoming trajectories.

  “Sir, the first two groups will make contact within sixty seconds. The last two shuttles to leave are heading right here.”

  He pointed off to the right where low-level lighting marked the route to a series of emergency blast doors. The entrance was wide, but half had been welded shut in the last year, as access points through the station had been improved.

  “I think they’re heading for the command section escape hatches.”

  The thought of hatches being ripped open was a horrific idea.

  If they blow the doors, they’ll vent this entire part of the station.

  “Very well. I need a single fireteam, in here. It’s time to enter lockdown.”

  Other officers were now watching him, perhaps waiting for their own orders to draw firearms.

  “All non-essential crew will return to the secure zones in the spine. The rest of you will draw respirators and sidearms, and then return to your stations. Let’s go to work, people.”

  There was no argument, not now. The spine of the station was the only part of the massive facility that lacked artificial gravity. By sending the non-combatants to this point, he was keeping them as far from danger as he could. The spine also housed a high-speed elevator system that ran to each end of the station and the massive escape decks. In seconds, the entire place was deserted, save for the handful that had moved to the computer systems at the furthest points from the outer airlock doors.

  “On my signal, you will kiss the ground and stay there until you are told otherwise. Understood?”

  * * *

  The lights were dim inside the landing bay, but the bright beams from the landing lights of the transport easily cleared the glare. The single marine ran into the open space and stopped in front of the six large figures. He almost tumbled as he choked and coughed. The bright beams from behind the figures hid their features and marked them out as nothing more than vast black silhouettes.

  “What is it?” asked the nearest in a gruff, stern tone.

  “Lieutenant Young. He needs you to stop the weapons transfer and to come to the command center with all haste.”

  Again the taller figure spoke in that grating tone.

  “Why? We have work to do here, and it will be another hour before all of this is unloaded for your defense teams.”

  “There isn’t time. The intruders from Terra Nova have sent shuttles. They’re about to breach.”

  The two nearest figures looked to each other and then bent down to a large metal container. One pulled out a multi-barreled gun that was almost the same size as the marine. “I don’t think so, marine. We’ve checked their configuration, and they are not Alliance ships. Any illegal vessel attempting to board an Alliance facility can expect only one response. If they tried this on Prometheus, well, I would be authorized to do whatever was required.”

  With a loud clunk, the safety clicked off, and the barrels gave three quick spins. The weapon was intimidating enough by virtue of its size, but the clicks as the barrels spun about, was the final straw. The figure bent down so that their faces were of the same height. The young man did his best not to flinch, but the great size was simply too much. One of those at the back began a throaty laugh that echoed through the hangar.

  “You’re scaring the boy.”

  The tall one sighed impatiently.

  “Take us to your Colonel, and fast. It sounds like we don’t have much time.”

  * * *

  Lieutenant Dobbs was out of the shuttle first and pushed himself away from the craft and toward the outer skin of the vast rotating space station. With all exterior doors and hatches closed, the only way into the station would be via violent means, and the constant repositioning of the shuttles made the transfer very difficult. He was beginning to wish the ships had opened fire on the rotational mechanisms of the station to ease their entry.

  “Watch for traps,” he said calmly.

  Like all members of the Guards, he had been trained in counter-insurgency operations. A large part of the syllabus included dealing with asymmetric threats, improvised explosive devices, and other non-conventional situations. More of the men left the two shuttles and helped each other to reach the outer surface of the station. The gap from shuttle to station was only thirty meters, but that short distance could feel like a kilometer when you lacked the ability to change course or direction.

  “Squad One in position,” said a quiet voice over the radio.

  Lieutenant Dobbs had already noted the position of the unit making its way further along the station. He moved his eyes a little to check that each of the five assault teams was in the right place.

  Good, almost there.

  The shuttles were all waiting a short distance away while the two platoons of heavily equipped soldiers anchored themselves to the skin. The Lieutenant pulled himself around the surface and to a long series of grab handles. Because of the vast size of the station, the rotation felt very slow. Even so, as he grabbed, he could feel the tug as it tried to pull away.

  “With me.”

  The others moved in close and took up positions alongside him.

  “Fit the breacher.”

  Two soldiers moved past in silence and positioned the breacher unit onto the outside of the station. The spot they chose was along the right-hand side of the outer door’s release mechanism. The hatch itself was only a two-meter wide oval, but the Lieutenant had selected it specifically due to its proximity to the command center of the station.

  “Sir, we’ve got company.”

  He looked over his shoulder and spotted the Alliance fighters. Some were pointing at the shuttles, the others directly at his soldiers.

  They won’t shoot. They don’t have the guts to start this.

  The nearest technician looked back and gave him the okay signal.

  “Do it.”

  The breacher charge vanished in a puff of gas, and the outer hatch spun off the outside of the station. There was no sound and surprisingly little in the way of emissions from the inside.

  “Go, go, go!”

  Lieutenant Dobbs yanked on the grab handle and spun himself around so that he slid inside the section feet first. He moved on past the breached entrance and hit metal. He shook his head and immediately went for his weapon. The L52 carbine was identical to the weapons carried by the Marine Corps, with little to differentiate them apart from a few subtle shades of color and a simplified skeleton stock. It was simply known as the Terra Pattern Coilgun in the Guards unit.

  The other squads confirmed their success as they breached a series of outer doors. So far none had commented on traps or defenders.

  Will they let this station fall, without even a struggle?

  He felt almost offended that military personnel would give up so easily. He looked ahead and at the next set of doors. Additional welded plates protected the hatch to stop it blowing out into space. He’d expected this and merely indicated for the technicians to move forward. Again the two went around the hatch
, but this time they fitted a piece of equipment over the control unit to the side.

  “Thirty seconds to breach, Sir,” said the senior of the two.

  Both moved back and out of the way to await access. The rest of the unit now came in closer and lifted their weapons to their shoulders. In their black armor they looked sinister and threatening, exactly the intention behind the design.

  “Seal behind us. Let’s keep this a clean operation. We need the station operational and the crew alive.”

  One of the soldiers placed a frame around the breach entrance and hit a button. A thin layer of material expanded out and then hardened into a temporary wall. Thin ribs bulged out to make the thing look like a section of a flying reptile’s wing.

  “Ten seconds.”

  Lieutenant Dobbs looked back to the entrance and lifted his carbine. The sights communicated directly with his PDS armor, but so far there were no tagged targets.

  “Five.”

  He took three quick, short breaths and then moved his finger to the trigger. The weapon was already on rapid-fire mode, but each of them had also twisted their barrels to activate the subsonic stealth mode. This wasn’t because he wanted to eliminate the sound; it was simply to reduce the recoil inside the station, in case there was a loss of gravity.

  “Now.”

  The door slid open as the computer system was overridden. Lieutenant Dobbs grabbed the sides and stepped through. He didn’t stop and moved into the large computer suites that housed upward of fifty stations. The slightly curved ceiling was high, at least twenty meters above his head and also filled with screens of data. He noticed a few showing their ships outside.

  “Spread out, watch for hostiles.”

  The rest of his team followed in close behind and then spread out into a crescent. Even as they moved, he could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. He’d expected to find the placed filled with people, but it was deserted.

  “Put down your weapons!” came a voice from ahead.

  A shape moved perhaps twenty or twenty-five meters directly in front of him. As soon as one of his men spotted the shape, it was tagged and the data sent to the rest of the team. More and more shapes appeared from behind the final row of computer stations until he counted twelve of them.

  “I am Lieutenant Dobbs, Terra Nova Guards. By order of the President, you will lay down your weapons and surrender this station.”

  The shape ahead was much clearer now. The man was in Alliance clothing and in the thinner PDS gear worn by some crews. It was proof against heat and pressure, but from memory he knew it offered almost no ballistic protection. The man’s head was protected by a dark, tight-fitting pilot’s helmet with a raised visor.

  Colonel Pierce, it has to be.

  His cheek tightened as he looked at the man. Though of similar positions in the military, they had followed completely different paths. Dobbs had spent his entire career on Terra Nova, while this man had been living the high-life on ships and stations. Lieutenant Dobbs had no doubt it was this kind of exposure to alien creatures and attitudes that had left them so weak to start with.

  “I am Colonel Pierce. This is my station. Put down your weapons.”

  Dobbs took aim directly at the man’s chest.

  “My forces are already aboard your station. Your people have collaborated with the enemy. Drop your weapons and accept your fate…or face the consequences.”

  He tilted his head in amusement as he said the last line. The standoff continued only for another six seconds, but for both sides it felt like an eternity. They were well matched in numbers, with a dozen fighters on each side. Dobbs’ force had the advantage though, with each of his men in full tactical armor and carrying assault weapons. Only one of the defenders carried a carbine, the rest held no more than sidearms or the odd thermal shotgun.

  “Very well,” said Lieutenant Dobbs.

  He pulled the trigger, and at the same time the commander of the station dropped to the ground. One of the defenders was too slow and took the full brunt of the coilgun fire to the face. At this range, the subsonic rounds tore through flesh and bone with ease. The cadet was dead well before the blood even hit the wall.

  “Open fire!” Colonel Pierce ordered.

  With those few words, the battle for Prometheus Seven began, and with it the very fight for the soul of the Alliance. Shots rang out, but for every pistol shot or thermal shotgun round, there were a dozen coilgun bullets. The numerous interior cameras captured every weapon discharge. Colonel Pierce lifted his handgun up and emptied the clip in the direction of the intruders while simultaneously checking his secpad. He’d managed to drop the unit, and the screen was cracked, but luckily it still worked. There were five other breaches, but marine squads had reached them in time, and they were contained.

  Look’s like it will be decided here.

  Another of his crew was hit, but this time the man dropped down in time to avoid being killed. The round hit his cheek and did little more than cause a flesh wound, albeit a bloody looking one. Still the defenders kept up their fire. It was sporadic and poorly aimed, designed to do little more than keep the enemy busy. The secpad beeped quietly, and he nodded with satisfaction upon seeing the transmission status.

  That’s it. You keep murdering our people. Every round you fire is another nail in your coffin. And who is going to come and save the day, live on videostream for the entire Alliance to see?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Many of the first private sector industries were some of the oldest. Piracy, crime, and prostitution spread through the new colonies and trading routes. As ships arrived at refineries and shipyards, they brought with them so many vices that a new industry had to be invented from scratch, that of private security. It began with bodyguards and then moved up to escort ships. As with all arms races, as the private security increased, so did the means of the criminal. The first pirate attack craft rendered entire sectors deadly to travel and so came the first security squadron, the infamous, Crimson Squadron. This unit was based around an old converted freighter that was equipped as a Q Ship and marks the origins of the Private Security Sector.

  Origins of Private Space Travel

  Taxxu, Uncharted Space

  Spartan opened his eyes and tried to focus on the shapes ahead. He could see the three machines, but only one of them changed into the correct color. As he watched, the machine shifted to blue and then red before turning to look right at at him.

  “Spartan, are you ready?”

  He looked at the red machine. Without a face or flesh it looked more like a metal golem. Apart from the odd movement of its cogs and motors, the thing was entirely stationary. He looked into its face and tried to see the eyes. All he could identify was the light red tint where its eyes were supposed to be. Spartan opened his mouth to speak but found words coming out without him even trying.

  “They are weak, ready for the invasion.”

  The machine turned to its comrade and then looked back at Spartan. It lifted one arm, but instead of a hand there was nothing but a thin spinning disk. It moved so fast it was impossible to tell if the edges were sharp or not. The machine leaned in closer.

  “Then wake up!”

  It swung the weapon across his neck, and his vision vanished in a waterfall of red. In its place was the vast open space he had been in before, hundreds of machines waiting in long ranks. It wasn’t them, the columns, or the huge vaulted ceiling that caught his attention. It was the view from the massive windows. A view of thousands of capital ships, each of them waiting patiently like people visiting some great sporting event. In the distance was some black world lit by a hidden star, presumably on the other side of the ship.

  The three machines moved in front of him, but as always, it was the red machine that took pride of place. It walked up to Spartan and pointed to his arm. Spartan looked down and immediately noticed the artificial arm that he’d been given on Earth had gone. The flesh had been covered with some form of dull linen. There were blot
ches of dark blood on the surface, and he could only imagine what might be there.

  “What have you done to me?”

  The machine ignored him and instead reached for the material. It caught the edge and yanked it away to reveal pale new flesh. Spartan stumbled back a step at seeing his arm once more, the forearm, muscle, bone, hand, and fingers. They were all there.

  “What? How?”

  “New flesh is the first of your gifts.”

  The machine then looked back to the lines of machines. They all waited in silence, and it would have been perfectly reasonable if every single one of them had been an empty shell.

  “What are my other gifts?”

  The machine indicated toward the waiting horde.

  “You will advise and lead our warriors into this domain. Together, we shall have our revenge and our age of enlightenment.”

  Spartan lifted his hand up in front of his face. He could move the fingers just as before, even though there was a slight tingling sensation in his muscles and tendons. He thought back of the battle on board the Rift Engine and then to Helios and beyond.

  “Yes, the worlds of the Helios. Tell us of your people. Where are they strongest?”

  Spartan looked at his hand and then to them. He could feel his mind nagging and clawing as though there was something he could simply not remember.

  “Terra Nova is their capital. Destroy it, and human resistance will crumble.”

  The machine turned to one of its comrades and then again to Spartan.

  “What of the human military? What is their weakness?”

  Spartan lifted the corner of his mouth in amusement.

  “Compassion. Threaten civilian colonies, and they will risk everything. The humans will not willingly sacrifice themselves for victory.”