New Frontiers- The Complete Series

by Jasper T. Scott

  “Breaches on decks 99 through 130!” Rodriguez reported.

  McAdams brought up a damage report beside the tactical map already hovering above her control station, and Alexander glanced at it. The Adamantine’s bow had been flayed open to a depth of over thirty decks.

  Their fighters went on firing, targeting enemy weapon emplacements and enemy fighter launch tubes, but this time with lasers only. The two ships were now speeding apart with a combined velocity of over 970 kilometers per second. Hypervelocity cannons had a muzzle velocity of just over 100 klicks per second, and missiles would run out of fuel before they could catch up. In just a few seconds the ships would pass out of laser range with each other, and then the engagement would be over.

  The Crimson Warrior fired back with another flurry of lasers, but this time there were barely half a dozen, and all of them were the green, extended-range variety.

  “We’ve passed out of laser range,” McAdams announced.

  Alexander let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “The longest seventeen seconds of my life.”

  McAdams nodded. “Aye, sir—Rodriguez, damage report.”

  “We lost our top thirty three decks to space. Our bow is practically missing. With it we lost our primary comm and sensor relays, but we’ll get by on the auxiliaries for now. Aside from that, we lost a number of weapon emplacements and nearly all of the enlisted crew quarters and living space. We’ll live to fight another day, Commander, but the damage is going to take some time to repair.”

  Alexander jerked his chin to indicate the damage report hovering in front of McAdams. “They missed the nukes in our forward launch tubes by a hair.”

  “That’s probably what they were aiming for,” Rodriguez replied. “Otherwise why wouldn’t they try to take out our laser batteries the way we were doing with theirs?”

  “They were playing the long odds while we played the sure ones. One lucky hit and we’d all be floating through vacuum in a cloud of shrapnel right now. Frost—what kind of damage did we deal to the enemy ship?”

  “Their fighter launch tubes are all down except for four, and by last count they had just ten laser batteries out of sixty still firing. That might change by the time we catch up to them, though. Also, they managed to launch a total of sixteen drones and twelve fighters.”

  Alexander nodded. The enemy dreadnought carried a complement of 144 drones and 96 fighters, so the majority of her fighter screen had been trapped in the launch tubes.

  “Stone, how did our fighter screen fare?”

  “Sitting pretty, Admiral. We have fifty drones and sixty fighters deployed.”

  Alexander nodded. His plan had worked. They now outnumbered and outgunned the enemy ship. “Bishop, fire up the mains at five Gs. It’s time to give chase.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Stone, have our fighters head out at six Gs and the drones at ten. Let’s see if we can take out the rest of the Crimson Warrior’s defenses without risking any of our lives.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alexander took a deep breath and regarded the distant, glinting speck of the enemy ship.

  “It would seem Fleet Command’s faith in you was not misplaced, sir,” McAdams said.

  Alexander was about to reply to that when Hayes announced, “Admiral, the Crimson Warrior has issued a surrender, and they have agreed to submit their ship for boarding.”

  Alexander’s brow lifted in surprise. “So, Captain Vroko finally came to his senses.”

  “How do we know it isn’t a trick?” McAdams asked.

  Alexander turned to her. “There’s only one way to find out, Commander.”

  McAdams’ blue eyes narrowed. “And that is?”

  “We board them.”

  Chapter 14

  “Admiral, we are in position to board the Crimson Warrior,” Frost reported from sensors.

  Alexander nodded. “Range to target?”

  “Eleven thousand klicks, just outside extended ELR, sir.”

  “Good. Bishop, hold us steady there. Make sure we don’t get any closer than that.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “McAdams—you have the conn.”

  She turned to him, her brow pinched with suspicion. “Don’t tell me you’re going to join the boarding party.”

  “I am,” he said.

  “Sir, you cannot afford to risk your life like that.”

  Alexander regarded her with amusement. “A good leader leads from the front line not behind the lines.”

  “I’m sure Lord Cardigan of the Light Brigade said the same thing,” McAdams replied.

  “The who of the what? Never mind. Stone—”

  “Sir?”

  “Transfer command of one of our VSM drones to my station, and get the rest of our marines hooked up while you’re at it. Launch the shuttles as soon as everyone’s ready.”

  “Aye, sir,” Stone replied.

  “You could have told me you were planning to board them with drones,” McAdams dead-panned.

  Alexander shot her a grin. “You didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Going live in five, Admiral,” Stone reported.

  Alexander nodded, his gaze still on McAdams. “Keep an eye on things up here, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir,” McAdams said, nodding once.

  That was the last thing Alexander saw before being directly connected to the sensor feeds from one of the Adamantine’s VSM (Virtual Space Marine) drones. A glowing blue HUD crowded the edges of his field of view giving him access to a kind of ESP—radar, infrared, 360-degree sight, sonic sensors, and a host of other super-human powers that only drones could have.

  Alexander looked left, then right, and counted eleven identical drones lining the sides of the shuttle where he stood. Three fire teams of four marines counting himself. A unit number and call sign floated above each of their matte black heads in bright green text: SHDW-1 MSgt ‘Ram’, SHDW-2 Cpl ‘Balls’, SHDW-3 LCpl ‘Mouth’, and so on. Shadow squad was a part of the 2nd Batallion, 4th Marines, otherwise known as The Magnificent Bastards. It was a battalion with a long, proud history, dating back all the way to World War I. Their motto: Second to None.

  Alexander smiled at that. He looked down at his hands and flexed all ten of his articulated fingers, open and shut, open and shut. He could feel those hands as if they were his own, but they didn’t look like his. They were the same matte black as the rest of his hardened alloy body. Early VSM drones had taken various forms, but it turned out that humans were best-suited to remote-controlling bots with two arms and two legs.

  McAdams’ voice echoed inside Alexander’s head: “Launching shuttles, sir.”

  “ETA?” Alexander asked.

  “Just under sixteen minutes.”

  “Roger that.”

  A jolt went through the shuttle, then Alexander felt his drone being pressed sideways against the docking clamps as the shuttle rocketed out of its launch tube and into space. The effect of the G-force wasn’t as uncomfortable as it would have been for his human body, but rather it helped to keep him oriented—the front of the shuttle was to his left, the engines to the rear.

  “Weapons and systems check!” Shadow One called out.

  A matching stream of text appeared at the bottom of Alexander’s HUD in case he missed the verbal command. He ran through a check of his VSM. All systems green. Integrated weapons—.50 caliber anti-personnel cannons—check, mini rocket launchers—check, proximity mines and plasma grenades—check, laser cannons and point defenses—check, tranquilizer darts and active denial systems—check, disc drones—check.

  “All systems nominal,” Alexander reported amidst a stream of similar acknowledgments from the rest of Shadow Squad.

  The lights in the back of the shuttle dimmed to a muted red glow and Alexander settled his metallic head back against the side of the shuttle. He had no heart to beat, and no lungs to breathe, nothing to disturb the silence—there was just the steady roar of
the shuttle’s thrusters shuddering through the bulkheads, and the clicking of robotic fidgeting. Alexander used the silence to collect his thoughts—

  Clank-clank-CLANK, Clank-clank-CLANK, Clank-clank-CLANK.

  So much for silence. Alexander turned toward the sound and found himself staring at the marine standing immediately to his left. He narrowed his eyes—except that he didn’t have eyes to narrow. The identifying text above the other man’s VSM read, SHDW-5 Cpl “Chesty.”

  “Chesty, stop that.”

  A featureless black head turned his way. Two small holo cameras glinted where a human’s eyes would be as lenses moved to focus on him. “You say something, Admiral?”

  Clank-clank-CLANK, Clank-clank-CLANK…

  “That clanking sound. Stop.”

  “What clanking sound, sir?”

  The sound amplified. Instead of one set of metallic feet striking the deck it sounded like a stampede. Clank-clank-CLANK!

  “That one,” Alexander said.

  Someone started up a marching cadence to fit the beat and the others joined in.

  “We-are, we-are, the mag-ni-ficent BASTARDS!”

  Alexander smiled inwardly. After exactly three repetitions Chesty added in a thunderous voice, following the same rhythm: “SE-COND-TO-NONE!”

  “All right, enough screwing around, boys!” Ram said. “Welcome to Shadow Squad, Admiral.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “Since this is your first time out with us, sir, make sure you stick close to your team leader—that’s Corporal Chesty over there. I believe you’ve already met.”

  Alexander nodded. “Aye.”

  “We don’t dot our ayes in the space marines, sir,” Sergeant Ram said. “The correct response is oo-rah.”

  “Hoorah,” Alexander replied, nodding.

  The air inside the shuttle grew suddenly very still and quiet.

  “What did you say, sir?” Ram asked.

  “Hoo-rah, Sergeant.”

  “Mouth—the admiral asked a question, would you kindly tell him for us hoo Rah is?”

  “The very first marine, sir! He killed a great white shark with his bare hands and fed his entire village with the stinking carcass, sir!”

  “Thank you, Mouth.”

  Alexander’s inward smile faded to a puzzled frown. “What was he—a Viking?

  “Good guess, but no,” Ram replied. “Now, the reason we don’t say hoo-rah like the dirty dirt-pounders do, is because we know who Rah is, so instead we say OO-RAH, like OOO that Rah guy is a damned legend!”

  Alexander smiled. “You guys are full of shit.”

  “OORAH!” the squad shouted in unison.

  A new voice crackled through the cabin, pleasant and female: “One minute to docking with the Crimson Warrior. Get ready, boys.” It was the shuttle pilot.

  “You heard the captain!” Ram said.

  Alexander felt the G-forces inside the shuttle ease, followed by a thud-unk of magnetic landing struts mating with the outer hull of the Crimson Warrior. Inside the shuttle the clamps that held their drones in place opened up with a clicking-whirr, and the air came alive with magnetic feet clanking as they all shuffled into line at the rear airlock of the shuttle. Alexander noted how blocky the drones were—thick limbs and torsos with high shoulders. Between their armor and integrated weapons they looked vaguely like overly muscular caricatures of human soldiers.

  “Ma deuces out,” Ram said.

  Alexander mentally toggled his .50 caliber cannons, and a pair of fat gun barrels slid up out of his drone’s forearms.

  “Open sesame,” Ram said, waving a hand at the inner airlock doors and then the outer ones.

  As the second set of doors opened they revealed yet another set. Those doors had the Solarian Republic flag emblazoned on them. Three vertical stripes: red, green, and blue to represent the Solarians’ future vision of the red planet as they terraformed it from red to green to blue. After 30 years of terraforming they were still stuck on red.

  Ram gestured to Shadow Eleven. “Get me a can opener, Private.”

  “Oorah.”

  Alexander watched as the private went to work on the Crimson Warrior’s outer airlock doors with a plasma torch. All of a minute later he’d drawn a molten orange circle around the inner edge of the doors. He kicked them in with a noisy bang! and walked up to the final set of doors to try the control panel.

  “Locked,” the private announced.

  “Guess it’s asking too much for them to open the door for us,” Mouth said.

  “What were you expecting? A red carpet?” Chesty replied.

  “They’re Martians. What other color would it be?”

  “Can it! Peel her open, Private,” Ram said.

  The private drew another molten orange circle and kicked in the last set of doors. He poked his head through and then called back to them, “We’re clear, Sergeant!”

  “Move out!” Ram said.

  “OORAH!” the squad roared and set out with paradoxically silent footfalls.

  They rushed through the enemy airlock and took up positions against the walls of a brightly-lit silver corridor with Martian-red accents.

  “At least they left the lights on for us,” Mouth said.

  “So why not open the airlocks?” Balls asked.

  “Get your disc drones out and scouting,” Ram ordered.

  None of them bothered to whisper, since the squad’s communications were all actually carried out virtually back on the Adamantine.

  Alexander activated his disc drone and set it to scout-mode. Twelve black discs rose over their heads from the docking ports on their backs, half of them streaking out ahead and the other half behind. Alexander kept his eyes flicking between his scanners, the drone cam, and the VSM’s rear-view display for maximum situational awareness. He saw the drones fetch up against the bulkhead doors on either end of the corridor.

  “Corridor is sealed, Sarge,” Shadow Seven said.

  “The other squads are reporting the bulkheads in their sections are locked, too,” Mouth reported.

  “Captain Vrokovich is a sneaky bastard,” Ram growled.

  “Pot calling kettle, sir,” Mouth said.

  “I said sneaky. We’re magnificent bastards, remember?”

  “Something’s wrong here,” Alexander said. “Hold on.” He activated his comm. “McAdams?”

  “Sir?”

  “Have Hayes hail Captain Vroko and patch me through.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  A moment later a new HUD box appeared with a hologram of Captain Vrokovich in it. The man’s red eyes sparkled with a suspicious glint. “Admiral de Leon,” Vrokovich said. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “I see you’ve decided to join the boarding party.”

  “In the flesh—or drone, in this case. Listen, Captain, I’m not sure you understand how a surrender is supposed to work.”

  Vrokovich cocked his head curiously. “What do you mean, Admiral?”

  “The Crimson Princess is in lock-down. We had to cut our way in.”

  Vrokovich scowled. “I am sorry, Admiral. You exposed many of our decks to space, so we had to seal off certain sections to preserve our atmosphere. We are still working to restore pressure. Rest assured that as soon as we do so, I will open all the bulkheads you like. Until then, I suggest you stick to the pressurized areas. Give me a moment to get the appropriate doors open for you. I’ll send you a map so you don’t lose your way.”

  The captain’s transmission ended and a file transfer request appeared a few seconds later. Alexander waited for the drone’s virus scanner to check the file, and then accepted it.

  A 3D schematic of the dreadnought appeared with a branching green line to mark a ‘safe’ path through the ship from stem to stern. Alexander studied that route. The captain’s explanation for all the locked doors was plausible, but that was the problem—it was the perfect excuse to guide them on a set path through the dreadnought.

  The question was why? To lead them into a
trap? Or to keep them from finding any evidence that might connect the Crimson Warrior to the attacks on the Alliance?

  Just then the bulkhead doors in front of them swished open, revealing another long, silver corridor, this one plagued by dim, flickering red lights.

  “Looks like they laid out that carpet for us after all,” Alexander said as their disc drones rushed through the open doors.

  “Move out, Shadows,” Ram ordered. “Nice and easy.”

  “Oorah…” the squad replied as they raised their .50 caliber cannons and began creeping down the corridor.

  Chapter 15

  Shadow Squad met up with the other half of their platoon, Goblin Squad, at the entrance of the Crimson Warrior’s bridge. Unlike the other bulkheads they’d passed through as they negotiated Captain Vrokovich’s ‘safe’ route through the ship, this one didn’t open automatically for them as they approached.

  “Someone get me a can opener!” Ram ordered.

  “Oorah,” one of the Goblins replied.

  “Everyone else, find cover positions!”

  Alexander fell in behind his team leader, Chesty, and waited for the private with the ‘can opener’ to do his job. A molten orange line crept around the doors in a slow circle, chasing its tail.

  The two ends met, and Alexander held an imaginary breath. He half-expected the doors to blow open and enemy marines to come storming out, weapons blazing.

  Instead the private kicked the doors in. They bounced off the deck and went floating through the bridge, narrowly missing the heads of the enemy captain and his crew waiting on the other side.

  Shadow and Goblin Squads raised their weapons, metal joints clicking and servos whirring in a sudden flurry of movement.

  “Hands where I can see ‘em!” Ram ordered.

  Their hands were already above their heads. “We are not armed,” Captain Vrokovich announced, his red eyes seeming to glow in the gloomy battle lighting of the bridge.

  Alexander stormed into the bridge behind his squad while Goblin Squad brought up the rear.

  “You are all now prisoners of the Alliance,” Ram continued.

  “Don’t you want to check if we are guilty first?” Vrokovich asked, cocking his head to one side like a bird. With those eyes he looks more like a rabbit, Alexander decided as he moved to address the enemy captain.