Merkiaari Wars: 02 - What Price Honour

by Mark E. Cooper

  Erica nodded once and hurried away.

  Kate waited a few minutes then moved out. She made good use of the city’s rubble choked streets and alleyways to mask her presence from the occasional patrol. Merkiaari were over confident, but they weren’t completely stupid. The patrols, though few in number, were thorough in their sweeps. More than once she feared her plan was blown, but they always passed by without spotting her.

  When the time came, she was in position overlooking the shopping arcade. She was keeping an eye on the guards standing just inside the loading dock, when suddenly, the guard on the right fell backward with his face a bloody ruin. She glanced at the time and found it was just after three. Erica was as good as her word. A moment later, the other guard died. Silence descended and Kate held her breath, but as she had hoped, the Merkiaari reacted as predicted. Two squads trotted out of the gate and into the city looking for the culprit.

  As soon as they were clear, Kate dashed through the gate at top speed and jumped into one of the parked gravsleds. Another squad trotted out of the building and into the night. She waited with her sensors pulled in tight. Slowly, carefully, she extended her awareness outward and breathed a silent thank you to Erica who was no doubt running for her life.

  The way was clear.

  Kate ran in a crouch into the loading dock. It was littered with abandoned loaders and stacks of crates. She hunkered down behind a tower of boxes to listen and scan the area. All was quiet. She easily located the entrance Ben had told her about, and the curving corridor beyond led her deep into the guts of the shopping arcade. This was an area never seen by customers. There were boxes stacked in front of locked fire escapes, and empty trolleys left haphazardly in the corridors waiting for employees who were probably long dead. The cross corridor on her map came and went, and she descended with more speed and confidence.

  Her first mistake.

  It didn’t kill her, but it could have, and Kate was snarling at her own overconfidence even as she pounced onto the Merki’s shoulders. He staggered back from the boxes he had been investigating, and roared loud enough to wake the dead. Grabbing the monster’s head with both hands, she twisted with all her viper enhanced strength.

  Crunch!

  The monster fell dead in mid roar, and Kate dropped to her haunches to scan for others. Nothing. Using the boxes of… chocolate bars? Well what do you know; even Merkiaari liked chocolate. They couldn’t be all bad. She stacked the boxes over the corpse. Stepping back, she scrutinised her work and nodded once before trotting off to find the hatches that had brought her down here.

  As it turned out, Ben was both right and wrong about the security of the hatches. There were no fancy security locks, but they weren’t latched as he had maintained either. Instead, an enormous padlock decorated each one. Kate smiled crookedly and ripped one off with her bare hands. She really liked being a viper.

  She went to light amplification mode inside the shaft and shut the hatch.

  When discussing the possibility of using the lift shafts to reach the fourth floor, Ben had said no way. Kate had secretly thought he might be right. She was strong, but if the shafts had been smooth, her strength wouldn’t have helped her. That was no longer a concern. The shafts weren’t smooth and could be climbed, but she didn’t need to. There was a metal ladder running down the side of the shaft that disappeared into the darkness overhead. As she climbed, she realised she should have known there would be one. Ben said he saw maintenance people entering the hatches, and of course, they needed a way to reach a broken lift car.

  She passed the car at ground level and continued on with her rifle swinging behind her from its strap. She didn’t want to be parted from the weapon, but it was annoying having it bumping her back. She ignored it and passed the third floor on her way to her target.

  She halted her climb at the fourth floor, and scanned the corridors beyond the doors with her sensors set at low intensity. She tensed as red icons splashed themselves across her display, but then she relaxed with a grin. These must be her targets. She studied their positions and noted that most were unmoving. Asleep? She hoped so, but she didn’t take it for granted. Although Merkiaari were diurnal as humans were, it didn’t stop them from having sentries up and about. She studied the problem but could see no way around opening the door to see if any were awake. There shouldn’t be any guards up here, she mused as she struggled to open the protesting lift doors. Their officers should be confident enough with all their troops between them and the ground.

  The doors finally succumbed to her prying fingers and she stepped into a dimly lit corridor. She deselected her light amplification, and stood still as a statue with her back against the wall. Beside her, the doors slid slowly shut.

  So far, so good.

  Moving carefully down the corridor, she came to the first door. Her sensors insisted there was a target in there, but even with her audio’s gain at max, she couldn’t hear anything. Hoping that meant they were asleep, she opened the door silently and entered. The room was pitch black, but she didn’t bother with light amplification. TRS (Target Recognition Software) instantly outlined the prone figure in red. Her hand swept down and came up with her pulser in hand, but she aborted the instinctive urge to fire.

  She glanced around the room and her eyes narrowed. His armour and uniform were on a chair near the bed. The single sunburst insignia prominently displayed on the armour’s breast plate, told her all she needed to know. He was a high ranking target—a Strike Commander. He probably led in the region of a hundred thousand troopers. Fifteen Marauder class transports were committed to the Garnet incursion, which meant he was one of fifteen targets she needed to kill. She was about to take out the equivalent of an Alliance five star general.

  She crept forward, utterly silent, not even breathing. She moved her pistol to within millimetres of the monster’s head. She licked her lips and moved it forward to touch the furred head. His eyes flew open and she squeezed the trigger. The recoil was intense, but she was a viper. She held steady. The hiss-crack was muffled by the contact. The smell of singing hair and brains made her want to gag. She stepped away from the corpse listening for any outcry.

  Nothing.

  She swepped her sensors on low power beyond the room and was satisfied that she hadn’t been detected. She opened doors and found closets and bathroom. Nothing. Outside in the corridor, she moved to the next target and then the next, methodically killing each of the aliens with a headshot from her pistol. Fourteen died quickly and silently as she made her way from one end of the building to the other, but then came the last one.

  Her sensors reported movement inside, and she hesitated. She watched the icon on her display resolve into two, and knew she was in trouble. The dirty beggar had a female with him, and they weren’t playing poker. Should she wait for him to finish, or should she go in and hope to kill them both silently? She opted to go in.

  Her first shot blew the female’s head into a bloody ruin, but the male was fast—he snatched up a weapon and fired. Kate’s pistol was still moving toward him when a searing agony erupted in her shoulder. She spun around and crashed to the deck grimacing in pain. Fighting shock and snarling in hate, she brought her rifle up and laid the room waste on full auto. The Merki disappeared into red mist.

  That’s torn it.

  Kate struggled to her feet. A diagnostic alert was flashing on her display. As soon as she noticed, it changed into a wire frame representation of her body, and zoomed in on her left arm and shoulder. A list of text detailing the damage scrolled rapidly by, with her processor’s conclusions appended to it.

  Critical damage to left shoulder/arm.

  Left arm non-responsive. Combat impaired 25%.

  Recommend hospitalisation at earliest opportunity.

  No shit.

  Kate blinked stupidly down at her severed arm where it lay on the carpet at her feet. She checked that her IMS was handling the blood loss—it was coping well and had damped the pain to tolerable levels.
She staggered into the corridor just as a Merki squad appeared. She hosed them with her rifle set on max power and full auto when they charged her, and managed to take them all down, but as she turned to run the other way, another squad appeared around the corner.

  They fired.

  * * *

  “Weird how history repeats itself in the sims, isn’t it?” Rutledge said as they watched Richmond.

  “Not really.” Stone thought it would be more unusual if a download didn’t proceed in that manner. “We’re good, but even we can’t program every option and contingency into the simulator’s matrix. It’s bound to follow the download parameters… at least in a general way.”

  “In a general way, yes,” Rutledge agreed. “But look at her.”

  Stone was looking, and he liked what he saw. Anyone else would have quit and waited for them to finish her, but not his Kate. If and when the General’s prediction came to pass, he might have a serious competitor in Richmond.

  As if by magic, Rutledge divined Stone’s thoughts. “How many at your last count?”

  “Merki?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Four or five thousand.”

  Rutledge snorted. “Four or five thousand?”

  “All right, it is five thousand… plus however many I took out indirectly with artillery and the like.”

  “Oh, of course,” Rutledge said in amusement. “Richmond looks set to follow in your footsteps.”

  “Yeah,” Stone said grimly, which elicited a strange and considering look from Rutledge. “Gordon has a clean sweep it looks like. That boy has the moves, no question.”

  “He’s free and clear,” Rutledge said shaking his head in admiration. “We could have used him back in the war.”

  Stone nodded. “Disconnect him would you?”

  “You’re the boss,” Rutledge said and went to do that.

  Zack Gordon had a perfect score. No dead resistance fighters, fifteen dead Merki commanders and dozens of other lowly males dead on his way in. Not only that, he had escaped unscathed and undetected. He had led a charmed life in the sim. He hoped it extended to waking life as well.

  Stone watched Richmond blast the Merkiaari into next year and smiled grimly. Just as Rutledge said, it was uncanny how her performance had matched his own run in the simulator—almost move for move. Her plan was a good one. So what if it was similar to one he had used to test the simulation? It didn’t have to mean what he thought. She might be just that good. Without question she was that good, but maybe her previous experience with his download had something to do with it. She did still use retro on occasion. Marion had mentioned it to him more than once. Maybe his download at HQ had a greater impact upon her than he had first thought. Watching her was almost like watching himself… except she was prettier.

  He pursed his lips. It would probably be better not to share his suspicion with the others. Scratch that. It would definitely be better not to share it. Besides, he hadn’t lied when he told her the effect would wear off with time.

  Richmond turned to run just as another enemy squad appeared. She went down under a hail of gauss slugs and plasma, still firing her rifle, but it was the action of someone already dead. He stared into her lifeless eyes on the monitor and shivered. He ignored the legend that appeared. He already knew what it said.

  Subject Terminated

  The screen cleared and began detailing the mission and Richmond’s stats. He ignored the data and went to disconnect her from her rig. The computers would automatically store her run in the archives.

  Richmond started disconnecting the sensors as he walked up. “You had me worried there for a minute, Sarge. I almost believed it was real.”

  He grunted. “Wait until you try one of my interactive simulations.”

  “Interactive? All simulations are interactive.”

  “Mine are more so. Direct connection via your node gives me the ability to link the simulator rigs into one programme. You might find yourself leading your squad on a mission, but they won’t be constructs, they’ll be other recruits on the link.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Richmond said. “When do we do that?”

  “After you’ve learned to use a few more of our toys.”

  Richmond helped him remove the sensors from her body and then slipped into her uniform. Gordon was already with the others receiving congratulations. Richmond went to join him.

  “Listen up,” Stone said and the recruits quieted. “You have time for a meal before we head over to the range. It’s time you used a real rifle.”

  “Sergeant?”

  “What is it, Cragg?” Stone sighed. There was always someone with questions in this bunch. Why couldn’t they wait?

  “When will we get our V2s?”

  “Why? Have you someone you want to shoot?”

  “No, Sergeant,” Cragg said seriously. “I want to practice my target acquisition. I’m not happy with how long it took me in the sim.”

  “You could always go back in… no?” Stone said with amusement. “You will all be issued your rifles and pistols when I’m sure you won’t blow someone’s brains out by accident. Until then, you’ll use what I give you and be satisfied. Clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” the recruits shouted as one.

  “Good. Move it out!” Stone roared and they double-timed to the mess hall.

  * * *

  Target shooting range, Petruso Base

  Kate opened her present with the others of her squad. The box held a viper’s side arm, a plasma pistol quite unlike any she had ever seen outside of the simulators. The butt of the weapon had a modified grip to accept targeting data from her data bus, an oversize magazine she estimated must hold sixty rounds or more, and looking at the housing for the power cell, she estimated that she could fire it non-stop for an hour. She pulled it out of the box and raised it to sight on one of the targets down range.

  “Don’t even think of pointing that in my direction, Recruit,” Sergeant Rutledge said glaring at her.

  She laughed along with her squadmates.

  “Sarge?” Cragg said. “What gives with the serial numbers?”

  “Well now,” Rutledge drawled rolling his eyes. “What do you think?”

  “So only I can use it?”

  “Give the boy a cigar.” Rutledge shook his head as if wondering what his beloved regiment was coming to. “The General has a thing about leaving weapons lying for the bad guys to pick up. He got himself shot like that once. He didn’t like it. So he says, why not key the fu… why not key them to an individual unit? Everyone looked around scratching their heads for a little while, and then said why not? Your pistol talks to your processor all the time anyway, the mod was easy.”

  “What happens if they get mixed up?” Gordon asked innocently.

  Rutledge studied the ceiling and shook his head muttering about fool questions. “Make sure it doesn’t,” he roared. “If anyone depresses the trigger without the weapon receiving the correct serial number, its innards will fuse and likely blow your hand off. Now, we can give you a new hand no problem at all, but a sidearm like them pistols costs a lot of money. Don’t mix them up!”

  Kate liked Rutledge. The sergeant knew how to get his point across without going into hysterics like some others she had known. Some would fly into a spittle spraying rage, and look close to having a seizure when confronted by a new batch of recruits.

  Rutledge pulled his pistol from the holster on his hip, and held it up for the recruit’s inspection. “This here is a M2911-V2. The V2 is a hand held pulser with a range close to a klick, and a killing range of about half of that. This here,” he pointed to the magazine projecting down just in front of the trigger guard. “This here is your magazine. Sixty round capacity as standard, but there is an extended capacity mag available taking you to ninety rounds of caseless AP blaster ammunition. We don’t use them often—they interfere with a quick draw. However, it is remotely conceivable that you lot will graduate. If that happens, you might need it for
an undercover op where the restriction will not apply.”

  Kate nodded. No one on such an op would display her weapon by wearing it in a holster. She would hide it within her clothing, or something similar, and lose speed anyway. If speed wasn’t a consideration, firepower might be.

  “This,” Rutledge said popping open a small hatch at the rear of the pistol. “This is your power cell compartment. It takes the standard cell of course, but it’s prone to fouling. We’ve been unable to neutralise the problem completely. When replacing the cell—it’s good for an hour when firing at medium settings by the way—make certain the hatch is downward and that the contacts on the cell are free of any garbage. Do not put your fingers inside.” He glared around. “The contacts are resilient, but nothing is perfect. If you get any crud inside, you’ll have to strip the whole thing down to get it out. Clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Kate said along with the rest of her platoon.

  Rutledge didn’t look convinced. “You will note there is no safety. Wrong. There is a safety and it’s built into you. The weapon will take its orders from you via the bus. It’s always safe until it’s in a viper’s right hand. Then all bets are off.

  “In your box, you will find a magazine. Load it with one; that is one round of AP ammunition. Do it now.” He watched the recruits do that. “Well done,” he said sarcastically. “With the weapon in your right hand, and the mag in your left, load the weapon. Take note of your display. It will show your pistol icon at the top right corner in red. As you load, it should change to green and display the numeral one. This is your ammo indicator, and it’s located just below the charge indicator that should say one hundred percent. Anyone who does not have the display as described, tell me now.”

  “I don’t, Sarge,” Gordon called raising his hand.

  Rutledge shook his head. “I said in your right hand, Gordon. That’s the one with the gold thing in your palm. Got it?”

  “Sorry, Sarge,” Gordon said and beamed as his display lit as described.

  Rutledge sighed and turned back to his recruits. “Now then. This is the fun part. Keep your weapon pointed at the ceiling and do what I tell you. Access your weapon display—you all know how from the classroom demo. Set the weapon to minimum. If anyone fires at max I’ll chew him a new arsehole, and I’ll know—believe me.” Rutledge locked eyes with each of the recruits and then nodded. “With the weapon pointed up, fire one round.”