Bloodlines

by Richard Fox

  The Ultari looked off screen again, almost as if he was looking for guidance. He shook his head, then turned back to the Jared. “Your ship doesn’t match anything the clans fly...What’s your game? The Triumvirate are an old legend.”

  “Legends made manifest,” Jared said. “You will receive his glory or you will be destroyed.”

  After a moment, Litha said, “Your hyper vector brought you in from restricted space…I’ll call your bluff. Docking Bay 37. I’ll see you there. Save a torpedo.”

  He cut the channel without waiting for Jared to answer.

  “The wretch,” Cigyd said. “I will crush his unworthy skull.”

  “Prepare your Netherguard,” Kyrios said to Jared. “Today our righteous crusade begins.”

  Chapter 5

  Carson looked down over the maze of moveable walls and rooms below, forearms resting on the gantry’s railing. The colony records listed the building as SPWH-07, and she’d commandeered it to use as the team’s training facility. The Pathfinders simply referred to it as The Room.

  Half of the 10,000-square-foot warehouse had been converted into a shoot house; a collection of moveable walls that could be arrayed in countless configurations. West had managed to secure a number of bastions filled with dirt and set up a firing range in the other half. The range wasn’t quite regulation, but they could run weapon’s qualifications with it. For now, that would have to suffice.

  The team’s rover was parked near the front entrance, where a handful of engineers were outfitting it with upgraded weapons and defense systems.

  Her team was assembled in common area, inspecting their newly issued weapons. The new CL1 gauss carbines, designs for which Birch had improved upon, then stolen some printer time to manufacture, were lighter and smaller than their old carbines. Pathfinder gear was rugged by necessity, and their old carbines were for self-defense against animals on wild worlds. The feral doughboys and Netherguard they fought on Negev needed a weapon with more punch to be dealt with. The bullpup design of the new CL1s had triple the ammo capacity, capacitors that could pump out high-power shots and were akin to a snub version of the standard Strike Marine rifle.

  “Love the new modular system,” Nunez said, turning the weapon over, inspecting it. He popped the holographic-sight optic from the top rail and looked through it. “Very nice.”

  Popov held up one of the new jacket-less rounds. The tungsten projectile was only about the size of the end of her pinky finger. “Are you sure these will hit harder than the old 10mm rounds?”

  “Those things have more penetration power than the standard Strike Marine round at close range,” Birch explained, slapping a magazine into his weapon. “Designed for close quarter’s fights. Did I mention they’re recoilless?”

  Birch moved over to their small indoor range, leveled the weapon, and fired.

  Instinctively, Carson covered her ears, only to realize that there was little to no sound as the rifle fired. The only thing she heard was the ting-ting-ting as the bullets hit their targets. Birch barely flinched at all as he emptied the magazine.

  Impressive, Carson thought.

  Birched finished, cleared the rifle, then turned back to the team, grinning.

  “That’s bad ass,” Nunez said, slapping in a magazine into his own rifle and moving to the range.

  “I’m curious where’d you get the plans for something like this?” Moretti said. He sat on one of the ammunition crates, inspecting his new weapon.

  “I know some people,” Birch told him.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Must be some pretty important people,” Popov said.

  “Must be nice,” Nunez said before firing off a few rounds. “I had to practically promise to auction off my first born for thirty minutes of production time on one of the colony’s printers….to make something. Never mind.” He fired off several more shots, laughing. “Holy shit, I love this gun, Birch.”

  “What’d you need printer time for?” Moretti asked, grabbing a magazine and joining Nunez on the firing line.

  Nunez ejected his mag and straightened. “Oh, you know, stuff.”

  Moretti leaned into his rifle and fired. Ting! After six or seven shots, he looked over a Birch, giving him a nod of approval.

  Popov stepped up next, burning through half a magazine before laughing and moving the weapon to low-ready. She stepped back off the line, shaking her head. “That’s amazing.”

  Birch set his weapon down on a long table, one of several lined up between the shoot-house and range. “There’s still too much of a thermal flare on full auto. Never designed anything like this before. Comparatively speaking, building drones is a hell of a lot easier.”

  The Room’s front door slammed open and Carson craned her neck to see the new arrival. West strode in, holding a cardboard box in both hands.

  “Nunez!”

  The sergeant looked up from his weapon and muttered something Carson couldn’t hear.

  “I’ve seen a lot of dumb things in my life, Pathfinder,” West said, stopping and slamming the box down on the table in front of Nunez. “But would you care to explain to me what in the shit these are?”

  Carson squinted, craning her neck to see over the Master Sergeant’s shoulder.

  “What, these?” Nunez picked up a black short-sleeve shirt and held it up, looking at the front. “Oh, that came out nice.”

  “Excuse me, Sergeant?”

  Nunez shook himself, dropping the shirt back to the table. “Uh, it’s nothing, sir. Just something I thought the team would like, honest. It’s almost Christmas, you know.”

  “Christmas?” West shouted. “Do you have any idea how long you set that foundry station back?”

  Nunez shrugged. “Ah, come on, Sarge, it was only a few minutes, honest.”

  “Hours, Nunez,” West corrected. “Ten hours behind.”

  The mild amusement on the Pathfinder’s face was replaced by shock. “Ten hours? No way, Sarge. I was in and out of there in thirty minutes, I swear.”

  “Yes, but the cartridge you supplied burst when the workers went back to replace it after you left. Gummed up the works in thick, black goo. They had to shut the entire plant down so they could clean it.”

  “I…I… that’s not my fault, Sarge. I didn’t do—”

  “Don’t want to hear it,” West said. “Your secondary duty from here on out is to the foundries, where you’ll do every shit job the foreman can throw at you until you’ve paid back the time lost. You can manage on four hours of sleep a night until that happens.”

  The Master Sergeant finally seemed to see what Nunez had been holding. “Ah, they’re done?” He took the CL1 from Nunez’s hands, hefted the weight, then looked over at Birch. “Nice work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Everyone had a chance to put a couple rounds down range? Good. I think some time in the House will do Nunez some good; looks like he can use some training.”

  “I’ve got training ammunition in those bins, Sarge. Figured we’d need ‘em,” Birch said, pointing.

  “Excellent, gear up. Let’s get through some fam fire with these in the House.” He handed the rifle back to Nunez, scowling.

  The team scrambled to gear up, cursing Nunez the entire time. Five minutes later, the team was ready, tactical harnesses on, filled with the new magazines, standing at the stripped “go line” at the front of the shoot house. They wore basic ballistic helmets, without the added benefit of a visor-based HUD. West had made it a point that for every minute the team trained in the advanced gear, they’d spend two training without it.

  West stepped out of the shoot-house, moving to the side of the entrance. “Okay, here’s the situation. The enemy has taken over an orbital refinery and taken several hostages. Another Pathfinder team has already been sent in to resolve the situation and they’re past the last check in time. Heads up for friendlies. Go!”

  Carson moved down the catwalk above the maze as the four members of her team filed throug
h the entrance. They moved quickly, efficiently slicing corners, covering long halls, clearing rooms. They came to a locked door, and though they had no way of knowing, Carson could see the shooting dummy in the room’s far corner. The human head and torso sat atop a wheeled platform that they could reposition in any room.

  The team stacked on the door, pausing to confirm procedure, then Birch stepped up and booted the door. He mimed throwing a dazzler, then spun to the far side of the door. Popov was in first, moving left, directly away from the dummy. Nunez followed, turning left. He called out his target and squeezed off three rounds. The practice bullets slammed into the dummy’s torso, red paint splattering across its beige rubber skin. A light on the dummy’s forehead flashed red.

  “Target down,” Nunez announced.

  “Clear,” Popov said, finishing her sweep.

  West joined Carson on the catwalk as the team proceeded to the next obstacle. Popov and Nunez both tried to exit the room at the same time and got stuck in the doorway. After a second of shoving, Popov relented, stepping back so the other Pathfinder could proceed through.

  West sniffed, leaning down on the railing. “They’ve got some rough areas.”

  “I have no doubt you’ll polish those out in short order, Sergeant.”

  Below, the team filed through a long hall, covering their individual sections of fire. They paused at a corner while Birch slowly sliced the pie, clearing the next corridor. Birch finished clearing the corner, then quickly proceeded forward, the rest of the team falling in seamlessly behind him.

  “We haven’t talked about what happened on Negev,” Carson said, feeling silly almost as soon as she’d said it. She’d already spoken with Popov and Nunez, but had no real idea on how to approach the seasoned non-com.

  “Nothing to talk about, Chief. What happened, happened. It’s over now.”

  Carson shot him a sidelong look. She’d expected that response, but it didn’t make it any more annoying.

  West caught her gaze and shrugged, grinning. “Honest, Chief, I’m fine. Going to take more than a little captivity to get under my skin. I’m fine.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment before turning back to the shoot house. A barrage of pops echoed through the air as they cleared another room. Carson stepped around West, moving down the catwalk to keep a clear view of the team as they progressed through the house. “I’m worried about Popov. I hear she’s having nightmares?”

  “Stress will do that sometimes,” West said, falling into step beside her. “I’ve seen it before. From what I can tell, she’s coping, but sometimes it can take time to work out.”

  “I’ll be honest, my first instinct was to bench her until she got her head straightened out. I’ve seen what PTSD can do to even some of the most seasoned operators. I’m leery about what will happen when we have to go back out.”

  “Putting her on the sidelines for several months isn’t going to help her. She needs to work through it and having the team there to support her will hurry the process. We’re just going to keep an eye on her.”

  Carson nodded. “Good enough. How’s your family taking all of this?”

  Another round of firing echoed around them as the team cleared another room. Shouts of “clear!” and “move!” and “check your corners!” accompanied the gunfire.

  “She’s taking it in stride,” West said. “I sold Terra Nova to her as a quiet world where we wouldn’t have to worry about a Haesh raid or the Vishrakath deciding to hit our city from orbit. White picket fences…all that. We drop in here and it’s almost as bad as resettling Phoenix. I thought I’d be an instructor for a new Pathfinder Academy, not team leader for the only combat-effective unit in the galaxy.” He grinned at the last part.

  Carson chuckled. “Yeah, that is kind of a big jump, isn’t it?”

  “She’ll be okay. Hopefully, we can wrap this nonsense with the Ultari and Jared up and move on to living normal lives.” He caught Carson’s doubtful expression and added, “Normal might’ve been a stretch. Either way, we’ll adapt and overcome, right? It’s not the first time Karen’s been angry at the Corps, I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” Carson said, turning down another catwalk, moving over the final room. “So what was the deal with Nunez and the printers?”

  West scoffed, shaking his head. He held up one of the black shirts. “It’s actually pretty good quality.”

  Carson raised an eyebrow, taking the shirt and holding it up. On the front was a stylized Netherguard skull, with an optical crosshair centered on its force head, with two gauss rifles crossed beneath it. “Netherguard” was stenciled over the top of the skull, and “Hunter” under the rifles.

  “He made us unit shirts?” Carson asked with a raised eyebrow. “Nunez’s idle hands are the devil’s tools.”

  “I’ll keep him busy until he regains some focus, Chief,” West said.

  Below, the team approached the last room. Carson stopped directly above the room, watching as the team stacked up outside. It had been arranged like a bedroom, with a dresser and bed on the door side, and two chairs on the far side. A holo-display and small entertainment center occupied the right corner, slightly concealing a target dummy behind it. The second dummy was hidden behind the dresser on the far side of the bed, and a third dummy had been set up in front of it, the Pathfinder “hostage.”

  Birch stepped to the front of the stack, adjusted his footing, then kicked the final door, again miming tossing in a dazzler. Nunez was right behind him. He shouted the Pathfinder motto and combat-rolled across the threshold. He came up on one knee, sweeping his rifle across the room. He took a second to get to his feet, moving out of the way for Popov to enter the room behind him.

  “Son of a bitch,” West grumbled as the rest of the team followed Nunez through.

  Popov spotted the target behind the holo-display and fired, several of her rounds exploding on the display before finally getting her weapon up and connecting with the dummy’s shoulders and neck. The red light flashed.

  “Target down!” she shouted, turning back to the left.

  Birch and Moretti had come through the doorway almost on top of each other, both turning left. Moretti stayed close to the nearside wall. Birch angled himself toward the far wall. Birch saw the target dummy first, called it out, then sent a burst of fire downrange. Red paint exploded across the dummy’s head and the red light flashed.

  “Target down,” Birch said, keeping his weapon up while still advancing.

  Once the room was clear, they turned their attention to a dummy simulating an injured Pathfinder. Moretti and Nunez carried it out, with Popov and Birch covering their exfil.

  “Time!” West called as the team cleared the entrance.

  Breathing heavily, Moretti and Nunez dropped the dummy, letting it thud unceremoniously to the floor.

  “Clear and safe,” West said. He leaned forward, his forearms against the railing. “Now, granted, it’s been a while since I’ve been through the Pathfinder Qualification Course, so I might be wrong here, but are combat rolls a thing the cadre is teaching now-a-days?”

  The team groaned as one, all turning to Nunez, who held his arms out apologetically. “It felt right.”

  “I’m sure it did,” West said. “And your right feeling managed to give the assailant enough time to cap your hostage.”

  The team looked down at the dummy’s head and groaned in unison.

  “Your little acrobatics display looks good on the movies, but it’s a sure way to get someone killed in real life. I’d say 100 laps should be enough to bring back your training, don’t you think, Pathfinders?”

  Nunez’s shoulders slumped. He finished clearing his weapon, set it on the table, then took off at a jog, moving around the perimeter of the warehouse. The rest of the team joined him.

  “These are nice shirts,” Carson said, inspecting one again.

  West grinned. “Yeah, I wonder if they come in my size.”

 
; Chapter 6

  Dock 37 was one of the few areas of the massive fortress that still seemed to have power. The platform, like everything else about the Ultari station, was large, almost intimidating. It stretched out from the super-structure almost 200 meters, its surface covered with shuttles and small fighters, all in various states of disrepair. A domed energy shield covered the platform, a blue shimmer fading in and out across the surface.

  A blue-white ring of energy rippled away from their shuttle as Jared piloted the ship through the shield. He angled them down toward the edge of the platform, putting down between two obviously inoperable personnel shuttles. Shadows, cast by the station’s looming structural supports and cross-beams, played over the shuttle’s cockpit. He’d known the structure was big, but up-close, the thing was downright enormous. If the Triumvirate had built this at their prime, Jared shuddered to think what they’d be capable of doing when they finally got their feet under them.

  Jared killed the engines as the shuttle rocked on its landing struts, settling onto the platform. He’d had a fleeting thought of simply flying them straight into the side of the station, turning them all into so much twisted metal and flesh, but killing himself wouldn’t save Sarah and Mary. He would have to endure. For the time being, at least.

  Kyrios stopped him on his way through the passenger compartment. “Do not think yourself too high, servant. You will relay my words, nothing more.”

  Jared bowed his head. “Of course, master. Your words to my lips.”

  The Emperor nodded his faceless, robotic head and stepped out of the way.

  The shuttle’s ramp whined as it folded down, making a dull thud as it hit the platform. Without a thought, Jared closed his face shield and started down the ramp. A squad of eight new generation Netherguard followed him out, all armed with identical disruptors, twin blades pointing to the black void above.

  He was halfway across the platform when the first Ultari appeared, coming out from behind one of the broken-down shuttles, weapon in hand. The alien stopped near the nose of the craft and watched Jared make his way across the platform without saying a word. Three more Ultari appeared, all holding energy rifles. They all wore old, raggedy clothes, leather vests, or coats, faces adorned with gold jewelry.