by C H Gideon
“Better,” Kong said coolly. “But you’re not done yet. Go on. Pique my interest, and you just might walk away from here with more than you thought possible.”
Jenkins set his jaw for a moment. Kong was playing with him, but the truth was, he had no choice about indulging the businessman. He grudgingly continued. “Director Durgan is more concerned with the stability of the Terran Republic than he is in his organization’s profit margins or quarterly reports at this point in time.”
“His conduct over the last sixty years would suggest otherwise,” Kong observed mildly. “Which means something has changed.”
“If something has changed,” Jenkins said, careful not to give away anything unnecessarily, “then the magnitude of this gesture should be sufficient to demonstrate how serious the repercussions of that change might be for all humanity.”
Kong quirked a brow in surprise. “Was that a slip of the tongue or did the colonel just subtly suggest that it is not merely Terran interests which Director Durgan ostensibly seeks to address with this exchange?”
“I can assure the Chairman,” Jenkins said, meeting the other man’s gaze steadily, “that every word I’ve spoken since sitting at this table has been carefully considered.”
“Interesting…” Kong mused, steepling his fingers and leaning back contemplatively in his chair for a long, silent moment. “I applaud you for your forthrightness,” Kong eventually said. “So, in an uncharacteristic turn, I will reciprocate.” He leaned forward, his forearms gently resting on the table as he fixed Jenkins with a piercing look. “I think that while you were on Shiva’s Wrath, you made contact with the Vorr and they told you something that they had only previously shared with Director Durgan, with whom they have enjoyed a clandestine line of communication for quite some time.
“I think they convinced you that Terran humanity, and perhaps all of humanity, is under severe threat from the Jemmin and its puppet the Illumination League. I think they scared you and Durgan so badly with their tale that he sent you here with this offer, at the same time your people are being shot at in Finjou space, to secure my support in whatever action the Vorr convinced you is worth taking.” Kong leaned back in his chair, a victorious smirk on his lips. “A commander abandons his men as readily as a businessman abandons his capital, and yet here you are, making both gestures in equal measure as far as their contributors are concerned. Which means you not only believe the Vorr, but also you have reason to believe them; reason that is worth abandoning your troops in the middle of a battle, and that said reason is based on evidence.”
The more the Chairman spoke, the more anxious Jenkins felt. How could Kong know so much about the situation and yet get some of the crucial details (like the absence of the Zeen from his theoretical version of events) so wrong?
“If there was such a motive, Chairman Kong, and if that motive was indeed based on evidence,” Jenkins said carefully, “you could hardly expect me to endanger the integrity of whatever operation I might or might not be a party to by sharing its details with someone who has yet to adequately demonstrate his support for that operation.”
“And therein lies the crux of the matter.” Kong nodded approvingly. “For you won’t get what you want until I get what I want.”
Jenkins nodded sharply. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
“No time was wasted, Colonel,” Kong said with a light, hollow chuckle. “As I said, deals of this magnitude are rarely agreed to in principle on the first date. But let me reiterate something else,” he continued, his eyes hardening. “If you give me what I want, I will send you from here with more than you could have ever hoped to gain. You know my price, and as a gesture of good faith, I’ve arranged for you to make a personal inspection of the assets I’m willing to part with…should you agree to my price. I know you’ve already secured twenty-five vehicles in various states of disrepair during your recent tours of New America, New Australia, and New Britain. And I also know that what I’m offering exceeds that amount combined with everything you might be able to secure after leaving Terra Han. To facilitate your inspection, I’ve arranged for you to stay in Ivory Spire One. Please allow my people to see to your every need while you’re here.”
Jenkins stood from the table. “I appreciate your time, Chairman Kong.”
“It has been my pleasure, Colonel Jenkins.” Kong stood as well, offering a hand. Jenkins accepted it before leaving the offices with one question blazing at the fore of his mind.
How the hell did Kong get his intel?
3
Drill, Baby, Drill
“Bonhoeffer Control, this is Dragon Actual,” came Xi Bao’s voice over the control room’s speakers. “LZ is clear and ready to receive the package.”
“Roger, Dragon Actual,” Chief Rimmer said, giving 2nd Lieutenant Andy “Podsy” Podsednik the thumbs-up to commence deployment of the package.
Podsy raised the CAC as soon as Rimmer gave the go-ahead. “CAC, this is Drop Control,” Podsy said urgently. “LZ is clear, and we are requesting fighter escort for Operation Red Rock.”
“Copy that, Drop Control,” came the reply from Lieutenant Colonel Moon, the Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Commander of the Interceptor Group, or CIG. The IG was comprised of both void fighters and aerospace fighters attached to the Terran Armor Corps Assault Carrier, giving the Bonhoeffer another versatile layer of defense. “Escort launch in six minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” Podsy said as a sudden flurry of activity arose at the other end of the drop-deck’s control room. “Six minutes,” he confirmed before muting his mic and moving toward the anxious crews at the heart of the commotion.
“Report,” Chief Rimmer demanded before Podsy felt compelled to do likewise.
“The Zero’s drop-wing is having trouble with the new load profile, Chief,” replied one of the petty officers in frustration.
“I thought we flash-loaded the profile directly into the flight control system,” Rimmer growled as he pulled up the relevant data streams on a nearby workstation.
Looking over Rimmer’s shoulder, Podsy quickly realized what had gone wrong. “You need to deactivate the diagnostics,” he explained, leaning forward to point out a small cluster of numbers. “Those are the wing’s presets, which haven’t been changed since the Zero underwent its most recent refit eighteen years ago.”
“He’s right,” Rimmer said through clenched teeth. “Ever since they bulked up the Zero’s forward armor, the wing’s been set to the modified front-heavy profile. The only way these figures could have gotten in there is if an auto-reset process started returning profile variables to the hard-coded defaults. Here…” Rimmer grunted, tapping out a series of commands on the virtual interface before declaring, “It should be good to go now. Re-flash the new profile and we won’t miss our drop window. Do not make me look like an asshole right now,” he barked.
“Yes, Chief,” acknowledged the petty officer.
Podsy made his way back to his original station, where he double-checked the drop-wing’s flight profiles. The wing was designed to be plugged directly into the Bahamut Zero’s systems, which would control it during deployment. But the only way to deploy their sensitive, mission-critical package to the surface was to use the Zero’s deployment wing as a modified descent-control system.
Podsy had helped Styles and Rimmer develop the new program, but as the moment of truth drew closer, his confidence in their preparations began to wane.
“Approach trajectory achieved,” reported Chief Rimmer in a raised voice. “We drop in two minutes.”
The seconds ticked down as the steady stream of status reports came back green, until the Bonhoeffer was in position to deploy the package.
“Red Rock drop in five…four…” Chief Rimmer called, “…one…drop!”
Podsy watched as the Bahamut Zero’s purpose-built deployment wing detached from its bay. Instead of the Zero nestling between its collapsed wings, the deployment platform carried a custom drop-pod kludged together fr
om parts of six damaged drop-cans deemed unfit for combat duty.
It had taken teams of fifteen fabricators twelve days of round-the-clock effort to prep this special drop-can with the equipment necessary to protect its precious cargo during transit. The entire mission hinged on this drop going by the numbers, and for the first fifteen seconds of the wing’s flight, that was exactly how the op went.
With ten of the Bonhoeffer’s aerospace fighters moving into a diamond formation and racing ahead of the drop-wing just as they had done during the Bahamut Zero’s deployment back on Shiva’s Wrath, the package was finally in the pocket and en route to the surface.
Suddenly an alarm began to sound. “Attitude is creeping out of alignment,” declared the same PO who had discovered the drop-profile error. “Our drop trajectory was zero-point-zero-four degrees out of alignment.”
“Compensate with the wing’s auxiliaries,” Rimmer ordered, his voice taut as he worked his own remote console. “Light engines five through eight and burn until we’re back in the bullseye.”
“Firing engines five through eight,” acknowledged the PO, and the drop-wing’s attitude stabilized as it descended toward the LZ. It took several seconds of continuous burn before—thankfully—the correct approach vector was reestablished, and the package was back on course for a clear landing.
“I’ve got a pressure drop in the main cabin,” reported a second PO.
“How fast?” Rimmer demanded, his eyes fixed to his own display.
“Half a millibar per second,” replied the PO.
“We blew a few welds,” Rimmer said dismissively. “We were planning to vent that pressure on approach anyway. Adjust the primary burn profile to compensate.”
“Compensating,” the flight control PO acknowledged, while Podsy surreptitiously shadowed his efforts and double-checked his work, albeit far slower than he would have liked due to the computer access restrictions he was still saddled with.
True to his word after Shiva’s Wrath, Colonel Li had restricted Podsy’s computer core access to the sub-net DI systems only, which made most virtual tasks borderline impossible to complete in a timely manner. But Podsy had made peace with the punishment, especially after Colonel Jenkins’ ingenious ploy to trick the Bonhoeffer’s CO into pinning lieutenant’s bars onto Podsy’s collar.
“Approach is green,” Rimmer called as the package fell through the nearly-nonexistent atmosphere toward the reddish planet.
Deploying the collapsible wings in the thin atmosphere would barely slow the can’s descent, but every last micro-gee of deceleration had been accounted for. Precisely on schedule, the wings unfurled and the package’s descent fractionally slowed.
“Prepare to fire primaries on my mark,” Rimmer commanded, waiting several seconds before declaring, “Mark!”
The drop-vehicle’s braking engines burned with enough force to kill any human inside the vehicle. There was no gentle way to deliver this cumbersome package, so only machinery had been loaded.
The main engines burned for so long their manifolds turned bright orange and warning alarms began to flicker across the various control monitors.
“Steady on,” Rimmer intoned as beads of sweat ran down the face of virtually every person present, including Podsy. “Six more seconds,” Rimmer declared. “Four…three…two…one. Cut it!”
The primary engines ceased firing, and the package cleared the yellow zone. At this point during a Zero drop, the wing would level off and give the battle mech a constant altitude from which to fall the rest of the way to the surface. This drop package was considerably less maneuverable than the Bahamut Zero, though, which meant they needed to bring the wing as close to the ground as possible before detaching.
The package fell steadily through the yellow zone at a speed of just over two hundred kph, and when it kissed the red zone, Chief Rimmer declared, “Detaching package!”
The custom drop-can detached from the wing, which burned its drive rockets at maximum. The expansive wing missed a brush with the surface by less than three hundred meters before it pulled up and began to climb back to its retrieval altitude.
Meanwhile, the drop-can’s braking motors erupted in a hellish blaze, sending billowing clouds of vapor and exhaust skyward as it finally touched down less than a hundred meters from the bullseye. The touchdown’s deceleration was rated at eighty-three gees, which was well below the 120-gee limit for the most sensitive equipment aboard the can.
“Touchdown!” Rimmer declared, igniting a chorus of whoops and cheers from the control room. Podsy wiped the sweat from his brow and even managed to join in the jubilation for a moment before raising the CAC.
“CAC, this is Drop Control,” Podsy declared. “The package has arrived, and deployment platform is on rendezvous course.”
“Copy that, Drop Control,” acknowledged the CAC comm officer. “Good work.”
“All right,” Xi called over the battalion-wide, “let’s unpack this can and get moving. All Red Rock team members, proceed to the drop-can. How’s my highway coming, Thrasher?”
“The road’s clear for thirty-two kilometers, Captain,” replied the battalion’s dedicated minesweeper. “I think I see a few palm trees in the distance,” he added jokingly.
“You’re not getting a psych exemption that easily, Thresher,” Xi chided with a grin.
“It was worth a try, Elvira.” Thrasher chuckled.
“Wise man once said ‘do or do not, there is no try,’” Xi scolded.
“What is that, some fortune cookie wisdom?” Lieutenant Winters wondered.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Ford groaned. “Does nobody know the classics anymore?”
“Just you and me, Forktail.” Xi snickered.
“You know you give me nightmares when you talk like that, Cap,” Ford said with mock fear as Trapper’s infantry moved to secure the drop-can.
“That makes two of us, Lieutenant,” she replied half-seriously.
“Wait, wait,” Winters said as though receiving an epiphany. “I remember. Little green puppet guy, yeah? Kind of a weird voice?” he ventured while the first of the industrial-scale vehicles disembarked the drop-can.
“Thank God,” Ford said in relief. “I was afraid you were beyond hope.”
“Part of the Disney empire. Name was Kermit, right?” Winters deadpanned, causing a riot of laughter to erupt across the channel.
“Jesus Christ!” Ford exclaimed. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”
“Chin up, Lieutenant,” Xi said in a tone of patently false conciliation. “One of these days we’re bound to find someone to replace you as the butt of every joke.”
“Don’t count on it.” Winters snickered. “He’s the gift that keeps on giving.”
“Glad I can be the entertainment center for the battalion,” Ford grumbled.
“All right, enough chatter,” Xi said after the last of the three industrial haulers had emerged from the drop-can. “Red Rock One, are you in position?”
“In position, Elvira,” acknowledged the first team of excavation specialists.
“Red Rock Two, sound off,” Xi continued.
“Red Rock Two is ready to roll,” replied the second team’s leader.
“Red Rock Three, acknowledge.”
“Team Three ready to go,” said the third team leader after several seconds’ delay.
Xi rolled her eyes, muting the mic as she annoyedly muttered, “Civvies…” Unmuting the mic, she said, “All right, people, let’s roll out. 1st Company, we take point. 2nd Company, double-column escort formation centered on the package. Last Company, bring up the rear…as always.”
The battalion began to move out in a column, with the trio of heavy equipment movers at the center of the elongated formation. On the backs of those three transport vehicles were the various components needed to assemble one of the most powerful tunnel-boring-machines ever designed by humanity. It could cut an inclined four-meter-diameter tunnel through a kilometer of soft stone in two hours
and had all the necessary equipment to excavate that much waste to a depth of twenty kilometers before the pace would slow significantly.
Now that the TBM was on the ground, Xi’s first job was to escort it to the dig site a full day’s ride from the LZ.
But she still had a rogue Terran colony to address, and she doubted they would be happy about her destroying one of their fortresses earlier in the day.
4
Counterattack
“There it is, ladies,” Xi declared when the most notable feature on the Brick came into view. “The Gash.”
Stretching in a nearly straight line five hundred kilometers long, the Gash was a canyon formed by an asteroid strike tens of millions of years ago. The crust of the Brick was so brittle and dry that the impact’s shockwave, centered nearly four thousand kilometers away, had caused such a violent upheaval of the world’s crust that it had torn this twenty-kilometer-deep, hundred-kilometer-wide wound in the planet’s surface.
The north rim of the Gash was as sheer as any rockface on Earth, while the southern rim was rubble-strewn and pitched between twenty and fifty degrees. Climbing down that grade, even at its least treacherous points, would take balls of steel.
Fortunately, the Terran Armor Corps was all metal.
“We’ll reach the South Channel in six hours,” Xi declared. “Keep your eyes peeled for any upstart colonists. The first habitats they set up on this rock eighty years ago were high in the Gash’s south side. While those facilities looked abandoned on the latest aerials, I don’t want to take any chances.”
The Brick’s atmosphere was so incredibly thin that many of the Legion’s support vehicles were incapable of navigating it. Combined with gravity that was eighty-five percent of Earth-norm, it was impossible to deploy most aerial support vehicles from the ground. Missiles functioned perfectly well, and artillery was even more potent here than in environments with thicker atmospheres due to diminished drag on the shells in flight, but drones of any stripe were completely useless. That left the Bonhoeffer’s eighty-four mixed fighter craft as the only potential aerial support available to the Legion during its deployment on this particularly desolate world.
