by B. V. Larson
Straker was beginning to feel a sense of disappointment. He couldn’t hold it in.
“A long way from being able to beat an empire of a thousand worlds.”
DeChang’s nostrils flared. “We’re an armed rebellion, not an independent nation. We have to acquire more resources, engineer small victories, bide our time… and most importantly, look for opportunities to grow.”
“Ground forces?” asked Straker.
“Nothing heavy. Some hovers, a few battlesuiters, a few hundred infantry, all well trained and motivated, although as I said we’re equipped for raiding, not pitched battles. As Ramirez implied, this is a movement of believers, haters of the Mutuality. That multiplies our power.”
DeChang continued to stroll, leading them out a door and into a clear plastic dome perhaps a kilometer across. In the sky hung a glowing gas giant, swirling with reds and yellows, and a distant sun added light. “The atmosphere of this moon, called Aynor, is thin and cold, so we have the dome. That’s Bayzos above us.”
“Quite a sight.”
Other than the dome above them, they could have been outdoors. Low buildings squatted among plants and trees, similar to the bases Straker was used to, but more plain. Troops drilled on a nearby parade field next to a hand-to-hand pit filled with soft material like sawdust. He could hear the pops and whines of weapons fire on a range somewhere.
DeChang continued speaking. “Our movement grew out of a group of dissidents from the Mutuality that stole a patrol craft and began raiding, about twenty years ago. Since then, we’ve expanded, creating a rebellion that will one day overthrow our former masters and free the human race from tyranny.”
“What about the aliens in the Mutuality?” Engels asked.
“We’ll free them too as we’re able. They can take care of themselves, and we’re happy to have them as allies, but my main concern is our own kind.”
DeChang led them across open fields toward a nondescript industrial building, notable only in that it seemed to be fenced and guarded. Nothing else here on Aynor seemed to have overt security attached.
Straker said, “Listen General, pardon me for being skeptical, but how is it you have a nice military base tucked away on a moon, with hangars and facilities, and you haven’t been smashed flat?”
DeChang paused at the locked gate and held up a finger. “First and most importantly, they’ve never located us. Space is huge. We often forget that fact as we hop from world to world along established routes. The typical star system has five to fifteen planets and hundreds of moons. There are tens of thousands of stars surrounding the area the Hundred Worlds and the Mutuality are fighting over, and billions in the galaxy. We’re careful to strike randomly and far from Aynor.”
“Okay, sure. And?”
“And secondly, we try not to kill too many non-Hok humans. The raid we’d planned for you would have been the most lethal in recent memory, which should tell you how important you are to us. Mostly we steal supplies and hijack cargo ships, and we release Mutuality personnel unless they join us. We have no facilities or extra resources to manage prisoners.”
“So you’re pirates,” Straker said. “No wonder your Major Ramirez is so unprofessional.”
DeChang grimaced. “She serves me and my organization, whatever her rough ways. But I must protest! Pirates work for their own gain. We take what we need as well, but we’re a rebellion, an insurgency. We have a greater cause.”
Straker remained skeptical, but nodded. “All right. Go on. Reasons you’re still alive?”
“Both the Mutuality and the Hundred Worlds are stretched thin, locked in a death struggle. Diverting ships to hunt us down isn’t worth it. We also have a robust spy network within the Mutuality that spreads propaganda in our favor and warns us of our enemies’ impending actions. They seldom catch our raiders.”
Straker stroked his rough jaw, the stubble there reminding him he must look like crap, especially in comparison to the neat General DeChang. “You make a good case, sir, but it still seems like a lot of trouble and risk to free a hundred prisoners.”
“Many of whom are valuable military personnel. Especially you and your friend Loco here, no offense to Miss Engels.” DeChang waved a guard over to open the gate.
Engels nodded. “You have pilots, but Straker and Loco were the first mechsuiters the Mutuality ever captured, I understand.” She crossed her arms and cocked her head at DeChang, a shrewd look on her face. “I’m guessing you already have—”
DeChang held up a palm. “Please don’t step on my moment, Lieutenant Engels.”
Engels subsided, shrugging. “Lead on.”
“MacDuff?” DeChang said.
“What?”
“Shakespeare? Lead on, MacDuff? It’s actually a misquote.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
DeChang sighed and lifted his chin, his eyes filling. “I had hoped… Sadly, the Hundred Worlds and the Mutuality both provide only enough culture to support their crass goals. Humanity has a rich history and body of literature waiting to be remembered. That’s one thing we’re fighting for: not just human lives, but human culture. Things that have been forgotten.”
“You sound just like Inquisitor Lazarus,” said Loco. “Like he used to, anyway,” he snickered.
DeChang stiffened, and then relaxed. “I suppose it’s a natural observation.”
Engels, arms still crossed and eyes narrowed, said, “You knew him. Were you in a camp too?”
DeChang gazed into the distance, pain on his face. “Oh, yes, Lieutenant Engels. I was indeed. I’m intimately familiar with Lazarus and his ilk.”
Straker spoke up with a hint of impatience. “Well, lead on, General MacDuff, please?”
DeChang shook his head ruefully. “Philistines.”
“More Shakespeare?” said Loco.
The guard held the gate open and saluted DeChang as he led the three toward the structure.
“No, ancient history,” DeChang replied, opening the door to the building. He waved them in without turning on the lights. “Remind me to tell you of the story of David and Goliath. It’s appropriate to our situation.”
Straker could see huge shapes hulking in the gloom of the hollow interior. “I think I remember that one,” he said. “My grandmother had a children’s book. Something about a kid beating a giant with a rock.”
A smile crept into DeChang’s voice as he paused under one dim emergency light. “Yes, but that leaves out an important detail that you should appreciate, Straker. David, who was probably about sixteen at the time, volunteered to face the Philistines’ champion warrior, a huge man, heavily armored.”
“Like a mechsuiter,” Loco said.
“Precisely. And what can bring down a mechsuiter?”
Loco snickered again. “Well, in our case it was a few thousand tons of concrete and steel falling on our heads.”
DeChang waved in the air. “An unusual situation. More probably, a lucky or precise shot will do it, correct?”
“Sure,” said Straker. “That’s why we rely on speed and skill more than armor. Not getting hit is the best way not to get killed.”
“So, David used a sling and spun a smooth rock straight to Goliath’s forehead.”
“Sling?” asked Loco.
“A device for applying centrifugal force to a bullet. With its speed, a stone or ball of lead could burst through skin and break bone.”
“I’d rather have a force-cannon,” Loco said.
“You’re missing the point. Even your force-cannon at point blank range can’t penetrate the front glacis of a heavy tank. So how did you defeat one?”
“Hit it in weak spots,” said Straker. “But that takes one hell of a lot of skill to do consistently.”
“Yes, the skill of David who, as a shepherd, used the sling to defend his sheep against predators from the day he could walk.”
“The skill of a mechsuiter…” Straker said thoughtfully.
“Exactly. Even compu
ters can’t hit targets as well as a mechsuiter. Not in the chaos of combat, on the move and facing multiple enemies, when the fight becomes more art and intuition than science. And when that one optimized trooper is equipped with brainchips and a fully integrated battlenet, he’s death on two legs. Not because of the weapons, you see. It’s because of skill and experience. That’s one reason why the Hundred Worlds hasn’t yet lost against the greater numbers of the Mutuality. Because it’s created a synthesis of human and machine that is ten times, a hundred times as effective as anything else on the battlefield. The mechsuiter.”
With a dramatic flair, DeChang shoved a lever upward. A heavy clunk sounded, and power flowed to the overhead lights.
Straker stared at the thing looming over him, a thing he thought he might never see again.
It was a mechsuit.
Only this one didn’t have the clean, perfect lines of a Foehammer, with its teardrop force-cannon in one arm and its slim, lethal gatling in the other. This one sported a heavy, awkward particle beam projector in place of one arm and hand, and a nasty railgun for the other. Instead of an integrated rack of three vertical-fire antitank missiles on its back, an unwieldy four-by-four box launcher sat on each shoulder, loaded with smaller rockets.
“I’m surprised,” Straker said. “I didn’t think you had the tech.”
“We’ve borrowed much of it, of course.”
Straker walked around the thing, as did Loco, inspecting it. They exchanged glances as they ran into various unpleasant surprises. The design of the vehicle wasn’t what they’d hoped at first.
“It’s a loser,” Loco announced suddenly. “You expect me to pilot this thing?”
General DeChang’s expression collapsed. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It can’t possibly be balanced, for one thing,” Loco said. “And I can see it can’t drop from orbit, it can’t run fast, it can’t dive and roll… It can’t even move through forests or close-in cityscapes without getting those launchers torn off by branches or wires.”
“Well…” DeChang sputtered. He looked at Straker for help.
Straker couldn’t give him any. Loco was right. The suit was no Foehammer.
Loco, in the meantime, continued his tirade as if unaware he was stepping on anyone’s toes.
“It doesn’t even have gauntlets to manipulate anything!” he complained, smacking the dangling forearms. “The whole point of a mechsuit is agility. You’ve turned this one into a weapons platform. You might as well have put your effort into tanks. At least they’re low to the ground and heavily armored. And far cheaper.”
DeChang again turned to Straker with evident irritation. “My people have worked hard on this prototype, based on salvaged Foehammer parts. We call it a Sledgehammer.” He gestured at piles of arms, legs, and torsos scattered around the mechsuit, obviously recovered from many battlefields. “It’s not what you’re used to, but our simulations show it’ll be over twice as effective as a Foehammer, when properly supported.”
“It’s gonna need that support, or it’ll die,” Loco said. “No antipersonnel weapons at all? It can’t handle enemy infantry, especially battlesuits.”
“That’s because it’s designed as the anchor of a combined arms team, not as a jack-of-all-trades. It may not be able to do your usual fancy gymnastics, but it retains the Foehammer’s rough terrain mobility. It can crouch for cover, and it has not one but two weapons that can punch through anything on the battlefield, even the front of a heavy tank. With your help, we’ll get the neural brainlink and battlenet working too.”
“My neural link is designed for a Foehammer, and without those ‘gymnastics’ as you call them, this thing won’t last five minutes in a straight-up battle.” Loco touched the sockets on the back of his head and neck. “I also don’t know what effect the Hok biotech has had. You got any intelligence on that?”
“You should be fine, from the looks of you.” DeChang waved his hands. “And I already told you we don’t fight straight-up battles. Try to think past what you lost, and see this as an opportunity to wear a mechsuit again. One designed to allow us to make heavier raids on specific targets, not one to fight every kind of combat anywhere as an elite soldier like you used to be.”
Loco started to complain again, but Straker waved for him to be quiet. He did so with difficulty.
Straker stared long and hard at the inelegant monstrosity, trying hard to look past its top-heaviness, its patchwork welds and its ugly markings so unlike the Foehammer he once rode. Maybe he could get used to it. He’d felt like a Hundred Worlds Olympics athlete in the Foehammer, and this would turn that sensation into something akin to a pack mule, but at least it would hit hard.
He could use it to strike at his enemies, be a respected part of a military unit again. He’d probably be put in tactical command, as DeChang had said this Sledgehammer would be the centerpiece of a task force.
DeChang took Straker by the shoulders, turning him to lock eyes. “This is what we have, Captain Straker. If you want to drive a mechsuit again, this is your chance. You’ll be able to try it and give your expert advice on modifications, and once we work out the kinks, we’ll build another for Lieutenant Paloco. It represents the next stage in our ability to hurt our enemies.”
“And after that?”
DeChang let his arms drop, lacing his fingers behind his back again. “We have enough materials for two suits. We’re optimistic that more can be constructed. I have a plan to obtain more and better parts. We’ll also need to run a lot of tests on you two to map and replicate your neural implants, so we can spearhead a program to create more pilots.”
Straker found himself aching to put on a mechsuit again, even if it fell short of the smooth perfection he’d enjoyed all his adult life. He rubbed his jaw.
“Okay. Me and Loco will at least try this thing out. No promises, though. And we need free access to information.”
“Information?”
“Yeah. Computers, newsnets, sensor readings, databases, stuff like that. I want to know what’s really going on out there.”
“You want to check up on my claims?” DeChang seemed amused.
“Let’s just say I want to see things for myself. Like any good citizen and officer.”
“Of course. Major Ramirez can set you up.”
“What’s her position here?” Loco asked, studiedly casual. Straker shot him a sharp look, and Loco winked back.
“Major Ramirez is my best operational commander.”
“What’s your regs on fraternization?” Loco said, still deadpan.
DeChang raised an eyebrow. “We don’t have any stupid rules like that, Lieutenant Paloco. We’re a fighting organization, and we’re short on women. Unless you like men…”
“No, I’m a straight ladies’ man.”
DeChang shook his head. “It’s none of my business.”
“So when do we start?” Straker asked. “How do we do this?”
DeChang waved airily. “Don’t worry. I’ll introduce you to Murdock, my brainiac systems engineer and resident mad scientist. Work with him and we’ll begin assembling a task force.”
“For what?”
“Your first mission, of course.”
“Which is what?”
“You called us pirates,” DeChang grinned, “and you weren’t so far from wrong. We’re going to hijack an asteroid.”
Chapter 22
Former Hundred Worlds system. Asteroid habitat designated WG604.
Six weeks after Straker joined the Unmutual rebels, he found himself approaching a hollowed-out asteroid habitat.
WG604 was far from hospitable. The target hab closely orbited a nameless, planetless star off the flank of the main stellar battlefront between the Hundred Worlds and the Mutuality. The system had been owned by the Hundred Worlds for generations, but it had been recently surrounded and isolated by the Mutuality offensive.
According to the Unmutual spy network, the system had barely been scouted. In fact, the p
eople here were likely only scarcely aware they would soon be absorbed into the Mutuality. Their asteroid habitats would be taken and used to fuel more conquest by their collectivist enemies, but for now, they continued as before.
Most importantly, the asteroid itself contained factories and machine shops that would double the rebels’ manufacturing and engineering capability. DeChang believed that at least one of those facilities built mechsuit parts.
On the negative side, the Hundred Worlds typically fortified all of its facilities, so the raid had been planned with the expectation of opposition.
Though she was fast, the frigate Carson had needed eight days to reach the system.
Lieutenant Engels detached her heavy lifter from the frigate. Such warships didn’t have launch bays big enough to fit it, so the assault craft had to strap on for the sidespace trip their target. The rest of the Unmutual task force was also attached to the ship’s hull, or contained within.
“Beginning Phase One attack run,” Engels heard Captain Ellen Gray call from the sleek frigate. She watched Carson pull ahead, leading the way toward WG604.
Engels’ lifter, and the other, piloted by Zaxby the Ruxin, hung back, waiting for Carson to do her work. This pair of lifters held the assault troops. Their inherent velocity carried them slowly toward the asteroid. Two outsized autonomous cargo modules floated behind, their maneuvering computers programmed to bring them to rest next to WG604.
Ahead, Carson opened fire with her centerline railgun, a perfect weapon to bombard an unsuspecting base from ultra-long range. The first heavy metal slug slammed into one end of the two-kilometer rock, destroying a propulsion engine. The second struck moments later, wrecking the motor on the other end.
Now, with the asteroid nearly immobilized, it had no chance to move out of the way of the railgun projectiles, always a problem at ultra-long range when the slugs had to travel several minutes before impact.
The Unmutuals had no choice but to begin the bombardment this far away. WG604 might be small for a base, but it functioned like a slow-moving spaceship—which meant it was huge in comparison to the frigate. As close to the star as it was, it collected plenty of solar power to channel through the heavy lasers that were undoubtedly already reaching for the small attacking ship.
