* * *
As Major Good walked away from Markus’ station, he put in a call to Colonel Sansar Enkh. Using his pinplants, it looked as if she were standing in front of him.
She answered immediately, “Yes, Major?”
“We have a problem,” Major Good said, and he filled her in on what Markus had found.
“That is indeed a problem. Do we have anything else?”
“Not yet, but you know Spartan; he’ll spend the next few hours digging out everything he can.”
She responded after a moment of silence. “Yes. Don’t let him get to the point of exhaustion this time. That contract is a defensive one—we’re supposed to set up defenses for the locals and train them on how to operate them for six months. The group will have a company of CASPers for protection, which should suffice. Still, let’s change our encryption to one of our unused backups and send out a message so our units know to keep their eyes peeled.”
“Will do.” Good cut the connection and sent the orders.
* * *
Several hours later, Markus rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. As he had worked, he had consumed both bottles of water and both protein bars without even thinking about them. The shift had changed, but as was often the case when he delved deeply into something, they’d let him work. He smiled. In the past, they’d had to interrupt him a couple of times while he was working, out of concern for his health. A dead technician was no good to the Horde.
After he shut down his terminal, he headed over to Major Megetu Enkh, the current shift director, who was making her rounds. The woman was always in motion, and Markus wondered if she ever sat down. As Markus approached, Enkh turned her attention to him. “Yes, Spartan? Major Good briefed me on what you found; good catch. Were you able to get any more details?”
“A few,” Markus said with a nod, “although I didn’t crack all of it. The ship the message originated from was a MinSha trading vessel, and it was sent to another MinSha trading vessel that’s in orbit. It doesn’t make sense, though; the ship that transmitted was the one leaving, and the one that received it is still in orbit. Also, the data that was further encrypted was a supply list. Although it looked like it was meant for a defensive contract, it wasn’t anything like one of ours. It was weird; there were a couple of items tagged with ‘Asbaran Solutions’ on them, but Asbaran normally doesn’t do defensive ops. I didn’t dig any further once I saw that, but I could…” He raised an eyebrow.
The Golden Horde, out of professional courtesy, did not typically look at the transmissions of the other Four Horsemen—Cartwright’s Cavaliers, Winged Hussars, and Asbaran Solutions. Enkh furrowed her brows. “That is indeed unusual. I’ll run it by the boss and let you know. She’ll probably talk to Colonel Shirazi about it. What do we know about the ship still in orbit?”
Markus shrugged. “Standard trading vessel and schedule. It arrived yesterday, landed, did some offloading and onloading, and returned to orbit this morning. Scheduled for departure in a few hours at the next gate opening.”
Enkh nodded. “Go get some food and rest, Spartan. We’ll keep a close eye on it. We can handle anything else that comes in from it.”
Markus nodded his thanks and headed for the door for some much-needed food and rest. After a quick meal, where he mulled over the information he’d seen, he headed back to his quarters and quickly fell asleep.
* * *
Asbaran Solutions HQ, Houston, TX, Earth
A knock on the door distracted Colonel Sargon Shirazi, commander of Asbaran Solutions, from the stack of paperwork on his desk. “Yes?” he asked.
His XO entered, a grim look on his face. “There’s a call from Colonel Enkh from the Horde; she indicated it’s urgent.”
“It’s got to be after midnight over there. If she’s calling at this hour, I’m sure it is. Put her through.” He picked up his slate and answered in voice-only mode. “What’s up? I didn’t think we had any contracts together now.”
“We don’t,” Enkh answered, “but I thought you’d want to know that my intelligence group picked up some information on one of your current contracts.”
Shirazi frowned to himself. He knew the Horde had the best intelligence division on Earth, and one of the best in the galaxy, but he also knew they didn’t go after the information of other Horsemen…usually. “Okay, you have my attention.”
“Don’t worry, we weren’t spying on you. The information was picked up by one of my analysts from a transmission between two MinSha trading vessels.”
“Wait, two MinSha trading vessels were communicating about one of my contracts?” The frown on his face grew deeper.
“It almost looks like a bill of lading for a defensive contract, but at least a few of the items seem to be yours. We didn’t follow it any further, as I wanted to talk to you about it first, but I figured you’d want to know about it. I’m sending the list over to you now.”
Shirazi read over the file and saw it included troop identifiers and equipment details, as well as supplies. He could feel his face getting hot. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep his voice level, “that is for Moorhouse—one of our upcoming contracts. The target is…Well, suffice it to say that having this information out in public isn’t good. Let me know if you stumble onto anything else, would you?”
“Of course, Colonel; you know we will.” She cut the transmission.
He pushed the data to his XO’s attention. Things were going to get messy, but not for his troops. He’d see to that.
* * * * *
Chapter Two
Emergence Zone, Uninhabited System
Seven days later, the MinSha vessel Ocean Trader, outbound from Earth, emerged in an uninhabited system. There were no ore deposits to onload there—they had all been mined out—no habitable planets, and nothing else worth going there for. Even though the crew didn’t expect there to be other ships present, as soon as their ship emerged, they used its mercenary-grade passive sensors to search the area.
Sensor Technician Pranayl quickly reported, “No contacts, ma’am; the area is clear.”
Captain Caranayl nodded. “Maximum speed to our destination.”
The vessel was slow to gain speed, being a bulk transport, and it took a full day for Captain Caranayl to reach her destination.
Through the journey, the ship remained at yellow status—a step down from battle stations—so that shifts could rotate, allowing everyone enough rest to be fresh. Eventually Pranayl reported, “Contact with the buoy has been established via passive sensors; it is exactly where expected and in passive mode.”
“Very well,” Caranayl responded. “Transmit the code via standard protocols and carry out the data retrieval.”
The ship used a tight-beam communications laser, virtually undetectable unless there happened to be someone directly in its path. A code was sent to the buoy to disarm the on-board explosives that would have destroyed it if active sensors had been used. The data was retrieved, and fresh data deposited. Several minutes later, Pranayl reported, “Transmission successful. Buoy has been re-armed and are we ready for departure.”
“Best speed to the gate,” the captain ordered. “We should just make it for the next window.”
The Ocean Trader turned and accelerated toward the stargate. The process was slow as they first had to shed their forward momentum. The communications officer decrypted the data they had received, but left the message traffic unopened as she was not cleared for it.
Captain Caranayl moved to her quarters and reviewed the data, her antennae clicking in annoyance. As usual lately, most of her data cargo was encrypted. The only thing that had been decrypted by her communication officer was her next destination. She was paid well, but having a mystery contractor was less than ideal. All she knew was her next destination—Karma—where she would wait for further orders.
MinSha were honorable, and she would follow her orders to the letter; she had no qualms with that, although she wondered what she could be getting in
to when her cargo was only encrypted data.
Caranayl went back to the bridge. “Our destination is Karma. Let’s get there and get this over with.”
She knew she wasn’t the only one who disliked the current contract—the trading vessel’s crew wasn’t used to working in an environment where they didn’t know what might be around the corner. She hoped desperately that her clan had something simpler, and less frustrating, for her next contract.
* * *
Besquith Battlecruiser BMS Flesh Ripper, Uninhabited System
Contrary to what Captain Caranayl thought, or her sensor techs saw, she wasn’t alone. A lone battlecruiser drifted in space at the edge of scanning distance, running at minimal power to avoid detection, and its crew watched the MinSha trading vessel slowly accelerate away.
“That’s it!? We just watch it go?” the Besquith weapons officer, Bestr-Ca demanded, turning to face the ship’s captain.
Captain Stor-Al growled, a sound that made other races quiver as it came from a seven-foot tall humanoid wolf with huge rows of nasty-looking teeth. “Those are our orders. We are testing the MinSha; if we destroy them, we default on the terms. Perhaps we will be contracted to kill them later, but for now, we wait here a few more days then proceed to Karma.”
Clicking his teeth, Bestr-Ca retorted, “I would kill them for free just for the sport.”
Stor-Al bared his teeth and rose from his command seat. “Don’t give me an excuse, or I’ll use you as a lesson to the pups on what happens when someone doesn’t follow orders.”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain.” Bestr-Ca lowered his head in submission and turned back to his station.
“Notify me when they’re out of sensor range.”
Stor-Al pushed himself toward his quarters in the zero gravity of the bridge. He growled after the door shut behind him in frustration. He, too, was annoyed that his ship was sent to just watch, when he could have been on a lucrative combat contract. Although, this contract paid well, he had no idea why. All his ship was supposed to do was remain undetected and try to intercept the transmission to and from the buoy. A few more days, and he could head out of this worthless system and hopefully do something more rewarding.
* * *
Two days later, a knock came at his door. “Come,” he called.
“Sir, the MinSha vessel has gone through the stargate,” one of the newer members of his crew reported.
“Very well, back to work.”
The crew member, whose name Stor-Al had not learned, scurried away. Stor-Al returned to the bridge and settled into his command chair. “Sound battle stations.”
A few glances were exchanged, but no one questioned the order. Throughout the ship, a klaxon loud enough to wake the dead sounded, which warned the crew of impending battle. Hatches were closed against possible atmosphere loss, and crew members not essential during a space engagement strapped in wherever they were or could get to quickly.
Stor-Al watched the Tri-V displays with satisfaction as every station reported ready for battle in only a few minutes. “Take us out to five light seconds, then bring us back toward the buoy. Give the weapons crews a high-speed pass. Zero spin. They could use the practice after sitting around here. Engage with lasers only.”
Even one of the 100-megawatt lasers were overkill for the defenseless buoy, but Stor-Al didn’t want his crew rusty or bored, and hitting a small target at speed would be good practice. Leaving the ship at zero spin meant the only gravity the crew would feel would be that created by acceleration.
“Oh, and don’t forget,” he added, “active sensors will cause it to self-destruct, and if it blows up because of anything other than one of our lasers, I’ll skin the useless GenSha-lover responsible.”
A few members of the crew in the Combat Information Center—the CIC—glanced back. Most of them knew better, and simply kept their eyes on their displays.
The helmsman executed a tight turn under thrust, exposing the crew to lateral g-forces as the ship skewed around to turn back toward the buoy. It was difficult to detect from this distance using only passive sensors, so the crew had to watch closely and be ready with their targeting solutions to hit it.
The buoy appeared on passive sensors only as a small dot visible on the desert planet behind it, and it would be in range for roughly a minute. Stor-Al watched carefully as the first few laser bursts missed the target, but one finally connected, turning the communications buoy into scrap metal. The only fun part of the mission completed, Stor-Al was ready to move on.
“Very good,” he said as he nodded in approval. “Stand down from battle stations. Set course for the stargate and Karma.”
* * * * *
Chapter Three
Deployment Planet, The Golden Horde, One Year Ago
Spartan’s CASPer squad was on a routine patrol of the perimeter. All of the patrols had been uneventful on this contract so far, but he remained alert. While the rest of his squad generally paid attention to their surroundings, there was casual banter, and his squad laughed at a rather crude joke told by the squad’s junior member. Spartan laughed along, shaking his head as he glanced at his 360-degree view. A moment too late, he saw a laser strike the trailing CASPer. The suit immediately went red on his display; one of his troopers was dead.
“Fire from behind, find the target!” Nicolos alerted the squad through his ‘plants on the squadnet as he wheeled around, charging to where the shot came from. He switched to the general communications channel and reported, “First Squad taking fire; we’ve got a man down.”
“Second Squad responding. Be there in two,” came the immediate reply.
With a thought, he unfolded the laser shield on his left arm as he used his jumpjets to cover the ground more quickly. Several shots diffracted off his shield. He glanced at his display; the rest of his squad was right behind him.
Two MAC rounds impacted squad members behind him, and another laser took off the bottom of his CASPer’s left leg, just barely sparing his foot. He lost its thrust, and tumbled from the sky, firing a few bursts from his autocannon in the direction of the laser fire before he crashed.
He hit hard, landing on uneven ground, and one of his restraints parted under the strain. His head whipped forward, smacking into the canopy. Darkness took him.
* * *
“Let’s go, Second Squad!” Staff Sergeant Jamie Vivant yelled. “First Squad’s under fire.”
Already geared up in a “Ready Five” alert status—ready to deploy on five minutes’ notice—the troops under his command were in their CASPers with the motors and systems online. For most of the troops, all it took to be ready was to turn off whatever Tri-V movie they were watching or to pause the game they were playing. Within 15 seconds, the other nine members of Second Squad were formed up behind him, and they burst forth from the Operations shed.
“Watkins, you’ve got point,” Vivant commed, pushing the last known position of Spartan’s squad to the members of his own. “Enkh, you’re in trail. Don’t let anyone sneak up on us.”
“You got it, Boss!” Private Enkh replied. Watkins’ only reply was to bounce forward on his jumpjets then race off toward the marker that appeared on his system map.
Vivant watched as the members of Second Squad dispersed into a rough “V” formation following Watkins, with the heavy weapons in the middle to support attacks from any direction. He also followed in the middle of the “V,” able to manage the fight, no matter where it occurred.
“Slow down, Watkins,” Vivant ordered as they approached Spartan’s last known position. Thin streams of smoke rose from a series of small, washboard-like hills in front of them. Although Spartan’s suit indicated he was alive, he wasn’t transmitting anymore—other than the smoke, Vivant didn’t have any indication of a firefight in progress. Something was wrong. “Second Squad, be on the lookout—this place crawls. Second Platoon is gearing up and will be here in 15 minutes to support us; let’s not rush into anything we can’t get out of.”<
br />
“Whatever happened here, looks like we missed it,” Watkins said. “I’m on a hill looking down into a gully, and I can see the remains of First Squad. Looks like they got hammered. Their suits are messed up badly, and some are in pieces.” He paused, then added in a more excited tone, “Wait…I’ve got movement. Besquith! Besquith every—”
Watkins’ suit went red on Vivant’s monitor.
“Cover!” Vivant commed. “Circle the wagons!”
The two ends of the “V” moved toward each other, and the front—now missing Watkins—collapsed back toward Vivant as the squad formed into a defensive circle.
Vivant looked for cover of his own. There wasn’t much—the area they were in had a small shrub-like analog that was about half a meter tall and not much else. Laser shields snapped into place, giving the remaining members of the squad a minimum of cover. Vivant deployed his shield as well, scanning all of his sensors. Like First Squad, they were also in the bottom of a small gulley, so the Besquith would have to highlight themselves on the hills around them—making them easy targets.
Whoever was in charge of the enemy had trained them well, and the enemy troopers rose on both sides at the same time, firing their MACs down into Vivant’s squad. “Fire at will!” he yelled, and both laser and MAC fire rose to meet the enemy troopers. He saw two go down, but at the cost of two of his own; the icons for both Sergeant Southern’s and Corporal Weeks’ suits went red.
Vivant could see they were surrounded and knew they needed to get out of the ambush. The Besquith held the high ground on both sides and were relatively protected while his squad was completely exposed. “On my command, we move to the south,” he commed.
The rocket launcher on his shoulder snapped into place, and he fired all six rockets at the hill to the south, clearing an opening in the Besquith line. “Follow me!” he yelled as he triggered his jumpjets and roared off.
With Your Shield Page 2
