Machine Gods (Star Crusades Nexus, Book 2)

by Michael G. Thomas

  The noise from the back of the hall increased, and Gun sensed restlessness. He looked at them and stamped down with one of his oversized feet.

  “What? You don’t like the truth?”

  A marine from the back shouted out.

  “We don’t take orders from synthetics!”

  Dozens more laughed at the attempted insult. Teresa cast a concerned look at Gun, not for his safety or even honor. No, she was worried about his rage, and what he might do with the marines.

  “Really?” he said quietly.

  Teresa stopped in her tracks and watched him carefully.

  You’ve done it now, you fools. When he’s quiet, he’s most dangerous.

  “Yeah!” shouted another. A women off to the left joined in, “We’re marines, not mutant monsters. Where are our human officers?”

  Gun walked along to the first company laid out on the left of the training hall. All at the front were silent, but he could see the amusement on their faces; a few, not many, showed outward contempt. He spotted one and pointed.

  “You, will you follow my orders?” he barked.

  The woman looked startled but jostled on by her friends, she shook her head. Sensing victory, a few more joined in with the shouting and insults. Gun pointed to Teresa.

  “What about the Major? Will you follow her orders?”

  There was a short pause before a voice at the back said what most of them were thinking.

  “She’s no marine. My mother could do better!”

  Laughter burst out in the hall, but Gun had been watching carefully. He’d identified the rough direction of the voice and now isolated it down to just four people. He looked at them from the side of his eye and then found his target. A tall man, easily two meters tall with dark, tanned skin, black hair, and a sneer across his face.

  “You, step forward!” he growled.

  The marine spotted him but didn’t move. Gun took this as an invitation to exert his discipline, but instead Teresa waved him off. She marched directly into the middle of the group of assembled marines. For a moment, it looked as if they would stand their ground, but when within three meters, those at the front separated. She pushed on, her back straight, and her head held high. Her figure was athletic, helped by daily workouts in the gymnasium, and her long black hair flowed behind her. Her tanned skin against the black uniform gave her an almost exotic look that oozed control. She pushed on until reaching a knot of young marines. The tall troublemaker stood in the center of the group and leered at her. She looked puny next to him, but her body language suggested anything but.

  “Private, what did you just say?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom.

  The man looked nonplussed, however, and Teresa noticed the marking on his face. At first it looked like a tattoo, but then she saw it was actually the tattoo of a scorpion, the symbol of one of the infamous crime families from Kerberos. She’d come across them with her work in APS and knew full well the ramifications of what might happen. Gun watched her move with amusement, recognizing her posture and what was to come. The marine leaned forward slightly and tensed his muscles as if he expected trouble.

  “I said my mother could do a better job than an ex-marine and a synthetic Biomech!”

  Teresa feinted a punch, one that the man was evidently expecting. He lifted his hands while betraying his arrogance with a look of leering pleasure to his face. Teresa dropped to one knee and swept his leg from behind the knee. She moved with the speed and grace of a time spent working as an exotic dancer in the long distant past. As her foot made contact, his leg bucked and he collapsed backward. In a flash, she leapt upon him with her knee pushed down onto his chest and her right hand raised ready to strike. He looked up at her, doing his best to avoid her chest that was now directly in front of his face. She stayed there until she could feel his body relax. With a flick of her body, she was upright and nodded to the two nearest marines to help him up.

  “There’s no such thing as an ex-marine,” she quipped.

  This seemed to get the attention of a large group off to the left, and at least a few whooped with delight and clapped their hands. As the man was brought back to his feet, she could tell he wanted to say something. She just stood there, straight, and commanding. Teresa refused to give ground, and the man could sense it. His shoulders sagged and he gave in.

  “Sir,” he said smartly.

  Teresa turned her back on him and moved back to the front. Though now blind to possible retaliation, she could see Gun off in the distance. If there had been even the slightest chance of an attack, he would have let her know. The impression given, however, was one of utmost confidence, and it wasn’t wasted on the four hundred marines now watching her nervously. Once at the front, she turned back to face them.

  “Now. I’ve fought more enemies than you’ve even read about. I battled Zealots on the Titan Naval Station two decades ago, machines and Biomechs on Hyperion, and boarded ships dating back to the Great War. I shot, stabbed, and cut my way through hundreds of enemies and have never known defeat.”

  She started to walk along the front of the assembled marines.

  “Commander Gun is a hero to the Alliance. He was the first of the Biomechs to break the shackles of the Echidna leadership. He fought alongside us, as did his people, and turned the tide. He has killed hundreds of enemies, most with his bare hands, and all in the name of our people!”

  She stopped alongside him and looked at his features carefully. She wasn’t alone either, and most of the marines watched his great hulk in awe. Few of them could have seen one before, and the fact that the most famous one them all was on their ship must have been quite a surprise. She turned and faced them all.

  “The Alliance is in a crisis. We are at the start of a golden age, yet there is something gnawing at us. A great enemy lurks around us, sending agents to our colonies, inciting rebellion and war. We will find them, and we will destroy them. This expedition is the first stage in that process.”

  There was no reaction from the audience, and Teresa noticed that so far she hadn’t mentioned anything about them, or what their role was to be in this great new undertaking.

  “We will reach the Helios Gateway in three weeks. That is how long I have to get you whipped into shape. Who knows what we will find, but any combat unit needs to be ready. You are out here as part of your first assignment as a complete battalion. Half of you are fresh out of boot, and the rest have only seen security detail. Today that changes.”

  She paused, noting that their expressions had already changed from boredom to that of intrigue.

  “The 17th represents a third of the total Marine force for this operation. If there is to be any major combat, then you can expect companies from the 17th will be in the thick of it.”

  She took another deep breath and continued, sensing she was making progress.

  “I know you’ve had command problems, but from today that changes. I intend on turning this Battalion around into a lean, aggressive fighting machine. One that can hit the ground running with the best the Corps has to offer!”

  To her surprise she received a cheer of approval. Gun smiled at her and nodded.

  “I have been looking at the record for this unit and am astounded to see that you are missing a number of key officers and NCOs. We intend on finding replacements as soon as possible.”

  She paused, knowing the next words would be shocking to enlisted personnel. She started to speak but then decided it would be better to hear it directly from Gun, the new commander of the Battalion.

  “Over the next two weeks I will assess you for skill, leadership, and ferocity. I want marines that can match Biomechs in hand-to-hand combat and outshoot the T’Kari. You’ll be fast, inventive, and dangerous. The best of you will be promoted within the Battalion!”

  The marines looked stunned. It was clear they had been waiting bitterly for a large number of officers to arrive from outside the unit to fill the gaps. The command scandal had ripped the heart out of the
unit, and this proposal meant they would have input over their own Battalion.

  “Now, one platoon from each company will stay here for evaluation. The rest of you can return to your barracks. By the end of today, every single platoon will have been tested, and we will assign your new Sergeant and Lieutenants.”

  A few of the existing sergeants stepped forward to protest, but Teresa spotted them and waved them back.

  “As for those of you currently serving in this capacity, you will also be assessed. There is no room for anything but the best here. The 17th will operate based on merit, nothing more. I will now hand you back to your new Commanding Officer, Commander Gun.”

  With those final words, Teresa, now Major Morato finished her first speech with the troublesome members of the 17th Marine Battalion. Gun stepped into the space where she had been standing and erupted into a loud, almost violent speech where he extolled the virtues of aggression and improvisation to the enraptured marines.

  Captain Michael Llewellyn, the commander of 2nd Company saluted as she walked toward him once more. She stopped in front of him and looked him up and down as before, still finding it hard to believe the man had reached the position he was in based on the way he looked. It was only then that she spotted the framework above his shoe. It was a fine carbon-fiber structure that continued up his trouser leg. She lifted her head back to face him and nodded to his foot.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Captain Llewellyn looked down at his foot as if he had no idea what she was referring to. At the same time, he tugged on the pants above the knee to reveal more of the carbon-fiber structure.

  “Oh, this old thing? Yes, I lost the leg to a booby trap on a hostage rescue mission five years ago. I was a Lieutenant back then, and my platoon ended up caught in an ambush on our way. I lost two marines that day,” he explained with a sigh, “...and my leg.”

  Teresa understood his pain with regards to combat losses and traps. She’d seen the after-effects so many times before.

  “What about the mission?”

  The Captain smiled back at her.

  “Oh, we got the seventeen hostages out without a scratch on them. The four Zealots were taken out too.”

  Teresa nodded.

  “It’s never easy. Still, I bet those seventeen thank your platoon every day since.”

  The look on the Captain’s face appeared to agree with her. He then looked to the marines still lined up in the hall.

  “Sir. Only a handful of the officers for the 17th have arrived through the Prometheus-Orion Rift. We are understrength and only the 1st Company has a full complement of officers. I’ve lost half my NCOs though. Some because of this scandal, and the rest, well, the Corps never sent them. We’ve been given the dregs of the Corps and left to rot out here.”

  Teresa smiled at him.

  “Well, Captain, it is just as well we’re going to be testing everybody here.”

  “What about the replacements from Terra Nova? They were due within the week. The Battalion isn’t complete without them.”

  Teresa shook her head.

  “No, Captain. We ship out in just a few hours. For the purposes of this expedition, we will have to rely heavily on our experienced officers and NCOs. We will recruit new NCOs directly from the marines on these two ships. I trust you will ensure they are all up to speed. In the meantime, I need to see to the marines onboard ANS Sentry. Good luck, Captain.”

  She marched out of the training hall with a feeling of both relief and concern. The documentation on the Battalion had been far too liberal with the truth. The command structure was shattered, and she’d never seen such a green force before. Ideally, they needed to spend another three months working together, along with new officers. She walked out into the corridor and wiped her clammy face with the back of her hand.

  Oh well, the best way to get somebody ready is to get them to do the job!

  She straightened herself and continued down the corridor toward her quarters. As she passed a small number of Marine and Navy personnel, they stopped and saluted. It was something she had not experienced for a long time, and though at first it seemed tiresome, it quickly started to grow on her. She almost reached the habitation section of the warship when she bumped into a single officer. He wore the markings of the Intelligence Division. He turned and faced her as she approached, saluting almost in perfect motion.

  “Major,” he said first as he indicated to her doorway, “May I?”

  Teresa inhaled and then nodded.

  “Of course, come in.”

  She opened the door and walked in, closely followed by the officer. The quarters were spartan. There were no decorations of any kind, just a bed, small washroom, and some storage units. There wasn’t even a desk. She turned around to face the man who had now shut the door behind her. He withdrew a device from inside his long black coat and placed it on the bed. It flashed once and sent a blue pulse through the room before settling down to a low level flash on its top.

  “I am Colonel Cornwallis, Alliance Intelligence Liaison for the Helion Expedition.”

  Teresa looked him over. He was tall, probably just over two meters and had pale skin and dark hair to contrast with his jet-black uniform. He sported a mustache, an affliction that was becoming increasingly rare in the Alliance military.

  “Major, I’ve just been sent a priority flash direct from Intelligence Director Johnson.”

  He leaned in close to her face.

  “It is about your family...on Carthago.”

  Teresa’s heart skipped a beat. Her three children were all in the military now, with just her grandparents and a few distant relatives left on Carthago. The planet was a troublesome place, full of angry citizens, and a great deal of poverty. She shuddered to think what had happened.

  “What is it? Why not just send a message?” asked Teresa, trying her best to stay calm.

  “Twelve hours ago a military vessel smashed through the atmosphere and crashed into the third city, the home of your grandparents. The casualties are catastrophic. It will go public within the hour.”

  Teresa was shocked, yet the former executive officer for a major private security firm felt something wasn’t right. After trying to calm down, she shook her head and tried to analyze the information carefully.

  “It’s an accident, so why send you?”

  The man grimaced at her words.

  “Very true. Your relatives are confirmed among the missing, but that isn’t why I am here. The problem is that no vessel hit the city. There are radiation traces for kilometers in every direction. We suspect it was the work of...”

  Teresa cut him off.

  “Terrorists?” she asked.

  The man nodded slowly.

  “Yes, it looks like atomics were involved. The worst affected area is actually the military barracks and spaceport. Two entire Marine battalions were in the blast zone. The Director told me you should know.”

  Teresa looked at him and found herself struggling to decide which piece of news was more painful. The fact that her grandparents were dead, or that Carthago might be ready to explode into revolution once more. Teresa shook her head angrily.

  Not again!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Slavery would never rear its head in the Alliance, and for many, its past ill effects would never be encountered. The machine smashing festivals of Kerberos were often the only reminder of the days where corporations had attempted to subvert workers with the use of intelligent machinery. It was the military, however, that managed to circumvent the laws concerning slavery. Where did synthetic warriors fit into the system? Local and regional commanders made varying use of manufactured warriors with varying degrees of success. With the meeting of cultures in the Orion Nebula came new ideas and new approaches to the exploitation of others.

  History of Slave Labor

  It was on the sixth day that something finally changed in the fleet. They’d been forced to maintain position with the fleet as the large command s
hips created temporary Rifts every few hours. Each time the vast Armada traveled through them, and with each trip, Spartan could feel they were moving further from home. Even worse was the fact that the Rifts were opened and closed by the ships themselves. Either they stayed with the fleet or they waited in space, with no chance of getting back. Spartan had wasted hours watching the hundreds, possibly thousands of ships in the great fleet. They hadn’t dared moved from their precarious position, and instead had been left to wait, hoping against hope that at some point they might move from the holding position and onto somewhere else. It had been Tuke that recognized the place they had arrived at. To Spartan it looked like any other system, no different to the more than forty they had now traveled through. This one was known to him, and according to Tuke, it was one of the ancient Nexus that his people had used long ago. Spartan recalled their conversation and his promises that he could navigate at least part of the Network from here.

  I hope you’re right, Tuke, because if you screw us, we’ll die out here, he thought nervously.

  It had finally happened, and the bulk of the fleet was now moving through the massive Rift created by the command ships. Tuke had explained that the fleet traveled through the worlds of what he called the Slaves; a term he suspected coined by the enemy for those he warred against. They implanted technology, agents, and supplies while attacking military installations, seemingly at random. Spartan had a few ideas as to why they were doing this but had so far only discussed it with Khan.

  “Nearly done,” said Tuke.

  Spartan, his comrades, and the T’Kari watched nervously as one by one, each of the ships moved through the Spacebridges until just they remained.

  “You are sure we cannot return to New Charon?” he asked for at least the tenth time in the last few days. He knew how far they had come, and also what the answer would be; yet still he asked. Tuke shook his head in a frustrated fashion.

  “No. Since we left, the Rift had been destabilized. That can mean only one thing; our comrades found it and shut it down. It doesn’t matter anyway. We have no way of traveling back to the Rift, only their ships have the ability to create short distance Rifts. We have to find another way home.”