by CH Gideon
Jenkins took one last look at the two poorly-maintained mechs, realizing they were camouflage for the real assets he was there to inspect. As he did so, the major proceeded down the short set of stairs and came to stand before the lift’s control panel.
Jenkins followed him onto the platform with the lieutenants close behind. Once the four were aboard, the major lowered the platform down the shaft as the lift’s motors filled the area with the thrum of their effort.
The warehouse above had smelled faintly of grease and dust, but the air in the shaft seemed to crackle with electricity. The unmistakable scent of ozone grew steadily the deeper they went, and Jenkins hazarded a look above in time to see the panels slide shut twenty meters above their heads.
The platform continued to descend, and judging by the spacing of the various girders and conduits lining the walls, Jenkins guessed they descended over five hundred meters before the platform finally came to a stop.
Major Brighton made his way to a small, vault-like door built into a larger metal door (one large enough for vehicles to pass through). Brighton submitted to a retinal scan, a palm scan, and even tissue extraction before entering an alphanumeric passkey. The inputs were acknowledged by a pale-blue light that wreathed the hatch as it popped loose, permitting Brighton to swing it fully open and gesture for Jenkins to proceed. “Colonel, if you will.”
Jenkins stepped through into a cavernous chamber beyond. It was lit by hundreds of giant droplights, casting their illumination from the dome-like roof of the cavern. He was unable to determine its precise dimensions, but the chamber was similar in diameter to the junction where Jenkins and his people had attacked the Arh’Kel on Durgan’s Folly.
Several kilometers across and at least a hundred meters high, it was easily one of the most breathtaking natural caverns he had ever seen. His current vantage point was at least twenty meters above the cavern floor, which gave him a perfect view of the cavern’s precisely-arranged contents.
Set in perfectly straight rows were two full battalions of mechs. And unlike those in the warehouse above, these vehicles were state-of-the-art and of the same Razorback design as Jenkins’ command mech, Roy.
“Attention on deck!” Major Brighton boomed, his voice echoing through the cavern and causing trios of smartly-dressed black-clad mech crews to step out from behind each of the vehicles and snap to attention.
With precision and unity that would have made any serviceman proud, each of the crews was perfectly positioned beside their vehicle. He only needed one word to describe what he saw—professional.
“All crews, prepare for inspection,” the major ordered, his command echoing across the chamber. The crews moved in unison, discipline and training reflected in their choreographed actions.
Each Jock moved to pop the access of the mech’s cockpit, each Wrench began opening external hatches and panels on his or her assigned mech, and each Monkey clambered up to the vehicle’s roof to visually inspect the weapons systems. It was textbook, right down to the near-perfect coordination of the crews’ efforts.
Major Brighton turned to Jenkins, beaming with pride. “I’ve been authorized to assist your inspection of Lotus and Orchid Battalions, Colonel Jenkins,” he declared officiously. “Lieutenants Chin and Matsuzaka are here to answer any technical questions you might have pertaining to our system specifications. My orders are to answer any and all questions you might have regarding the assets in this cavern. Are you prepared to conduct your inspection, sir?”
Jenkins took the man’s meaning clearly enough. By limiting his ability to answer questions specifically to “the assets in this cavern,” he was making it clear that there were numerous questions to which he had the answers but was under orders not to provide.
But looking out at the seventy-two perfectly-arranged mechs, Jenkins knew that the fighting power arranged before him was more than double what he currently had in the Terran Armor Corps’ complete inventory.
Which, among other things, meant they weren’t going to come cheap.
“Well done, Major. Most impressive,” Jenkins complimented the officer. “After you.”
“Colonel Jenkins,” Chairman Kong greeted him later that day after Jenkins had satisfied his curiosity regarding Lotus and Orchid battalions. “Please, sit.” The head of Falcon Interworks gestured to the chair opposite the one he had occupied the previous day.
Jenkins made his way to the chair and assumed it without delay. “An impressive demonstration, Chairman,” he said sincerely.
“I’m glad you think so.” Kong nodded approvingly. “Can I expect you to reciprocate in a meaningful capacity, or am I to endure a string of vapid attempts to peddle tax credits and the social cachet your unit recently received from Ms. Samuels’ glowing report?”
Jenkins straightened in his chair. “I’ll be blunt, Chairman Kong: I’m not authorized to give you what you asked for.”
“Honesty is a reasonable starting point.” Kong sighed in mild disappointment. “But I dislike the direction you seem to be going.”
“I’d ask you to hear me out,” Jenkins replied. “If Armor Corps has in its possession information of the type you previously alluded to, the only man who could release it is General Akinouye.”
“Sadly, the general and I have never seen eye-to-eye,” Kong said neutrally.
“Which I assume is why he sent me,” Jenkins replied pointedly.
Kong’s interest seemed piqued, but even if Jenkins had gotten his attention, he knew it would take more to wrangle the magnate’s cooperation. “Go on, Colonel,” the Chairman urged.
“Does the general know about Orchid and Lotus Battalions?” Jenkins asked.
“Probably,” Kong shrugged. “Terran Armed Forces’ brass dislike individual colonies maintaining ‘militias’ beyond a minimal capability. In this regard, General Akinouye is no different from his colleagues at the other branches of the Terran Armed Forces. But everyone in the Republic knows that Terra Han is first among equals in Terran society. We built our world by revolutionizing human interaction and society at the most fundamental levels. Why would we kowtow to the dictates of a possibly outdated militaristic hierarchy?”
“Thankfully for both of us, and for my people currently on the ground,” Jenkins said neutrally, “the high-level politics of colonial-TAF relations don’t concern me.”
“I think they concern you more than you’d like,” Kong observed.
“Let me make something clear, Chairman.” Jenkins leaned forward intently. “I’m not interested in fighting some politician’s battles. I’m not even that interested in fighting my own branch’s political battles. I’ve got men and women wheels-down on a blasted rock three gates from here,” he said with genuine feeling. “My primary objective is to support them in their mission, and my secondary objective is to strengthen my unit for future operations. Maybe I’m naïve, and maybe I’m shortsighted, but right now I’m not concerned with the fallout of cutting deals that address both those objectives.”
“I’m not sure I understand you, Colonel,” Kong said with fractionally narrowed eyes. “Are you suggesting that you do, in fact, have access to the information I seek?”
Jenkins held his breath, knowing this was a defining moment that he would look back on for the rest of his life. He could deny having the knowledge that interested the Chairman, thereby cutting the negotiations short and slamming the door on the opportunity to triple the strength of the Terran Armor Corps.
Alternatively, he could agree to clue Chairman Kong in on the reality of the Jemmin-Sol situation, which included the shocking revelation that humanity had been technologically uplifted to FTL capability for some as-yet-unknown purpose. However, doing so was a betrayal of the guarantees he’d personally given to Chairman Durgan.
Should Kong leak the information to Republic officials involved in the so-called “Jemmin Conspiracy,” the swiftest and most certain way to remove the threat to that conspiracy would be the mass slaughter of everyone with first- or second-hand knowledg
e of the events on Shiva’s Wrath. All it would take was a single dreadnought to destroy the Bonhoeffer, and there would be nothing the Armor Corps could do to defend itself.
Which left Jenkins a choice between the frying pan and the fire, with the only intelligent option to decline either option. That was precisely what he did.
“Chairman,” Jenkins said with grim determination, “I can neither confirm nor deny anything at this time, but what I can say is that I’m prepared to consider your offer and, in doing so, I’m ready to postpone the rest of my acquisition drive indefinitely.”
Kong’s fingers drummed rhythmically on the tabletop for several tense, silent minutes. His eyes were unreadable, and his breathing was steady as a beating drum at twelve breaths per minute. His carotid artery throbbed between fifty-five and sixty times per minute during the interlude, suggesting he was far from stressed by the outcome of the exchange—unlike Lee Jenkins, who knew that the future of his brigade likely rested on the outcome of this meeting and, hopefully, those which followed.
“Very well, Colonel Jenkins,” Chairman Kong agreed. “You may return to your apartments. I have other business I can conduct for the next two days. When I return, I trust you will have validated my decision to extend this negotiation window.”
“Thank you, Chairman,” Jenkins replied, standing from the chair and making for the door.
“Oh, and Colonel,” the Chairman called just before he reached the door. Jenkins turned and saw the eyes of a merciless predator peering at him as the Chairman said, “I do not appreciate having my plans interrupted or, more importantly, my time wasted.”
Jenkins took the other man’s meaning clearly enough. A threat was a threat, no matter how it was packaged, but the truth was that Jenkins did not yet know if he was prepared to endanger his people—and potentially the entire fate of humanity—for a couple battalions of ready-to-roll mechs. Had Captain Murdoch been right about him? Was this all about Lee Jenkins’ ego? It seemed that by accepting the Chairman’s offer, he would be validating that particular vein of criticism.
Unfortunately for Jenkins, and for the first time since hearing that surprising accusation come from his former XO’s mouth, he began to wonder if there was something to it.
6
Into the Depths
“Watch that scrabble, Forktail,” Xi snapped as a trickle of stones broke loose beneath Ford’s mech. That trickle quickly became a rockslide that would have taken out any mech beneath it, had any been positioned in its path. “If I’d thought Second Company was this jittery, I’d have put Last Company on escort and let you lot take point to minimize the damage. We’ve already lost two mechs to rockslides on this jaunt, and I’m not about to let you add to that number.”
“Sorry, Captain,” Ford replied tersely. “This stuff’s looser than my first crush.”
“Did you just make an off-color joke, Forktail?” Xi asked in genuine surprise, more frustrated than she expected to be at standing overwatch at the Gash’s rim while Second and Third Companies escorted the TBM gear to the gorge’s floor. “Did anyone else hear that, or have you people finally driven me beyond the point of no return?”
“I didn’t hear nothin’, Captain,” Winters replied with his usual stoicism.
“Sargon, Blinky?” Xi continued as the column carefully made its way down the twenty-degree pitch of the Gash’s southern slope. “Is Generally’s hearing gone along with my sanity, or did something even more improbable happen to Forktail’s sense of humor?”
“You mean he might have grown one?” deadpanned Sargon, Eclipse’s Jock.
“Jesus!” Ford groaned. “I play it straight and get accused of being humorless. I crack a joke, and everyone’s up my ass like a gerbil on stims. I can’t win with you people.”
“Hang on,” Sargon quipped. “What do you mean ‘you people?’ I’m offended by whatever implication you may or may not have intended by that and demand an immediate apology!”
“Hear, hear,” Winters agreed. “Being judged guilty by association with you lot is one thing, but having someone like Forktail do it when he’s just a few weeks out from his surgical transition crosses too many lines to count.”
“Will someone please answer my original question?” Xi asked, fighting to keep the amusement from her voice as 3rd Company finally reached the point where the twenty-degree slope flattened out to about half that.
“Sorry, Captain,” Sargon said with mock sincerity. “I’m too triggered by Forktail’s slur to remember anything before he made such an insensitive comment. Can I get a hug from someone? Oh, and congratulations on the transition, Forktail,” Sargon continued dryly. “2nd Company in this battalion has always been run by a woman, and I happen to think that maintaining tradition is important. Good on you for such a meaningful sacrifice, my man. You’re an inspiration to us all.”
Xi was no longer able to control her laughter, which meant it was time to cut this particular round. “And Sargon is the winner. Again. I suggest we pay the man and bring our ‘A’ game next time, ladies. And yes, Forktail, that was for you.”
“It’s not exactly a democratic judging system,” Ford protested meekly.
“Military life features many interdependent systems, Forktail,” Xi chided. “By the grace of God, may democracy never be among them.”
The next twenty minutes were spent in relative silence as 2nd and 3rd Companies navigated the treacherous slope. Thankfully no more mechs were damaged by rockslides, but Xi was riding the edge after thirty-two consecutive hours in the chair. She had resisted the urge to take stims, but her willpower was weakening with every passing minute. She was tired, she was getting jumpy, and the dig team would need her people to maintain a defensive shield over their position for at least ten hours while they assembled their equipment and began the dig.
Their target was located twelve kilometers beneath the surface. If the Legion’s intel was right, they would need to dig through at least thirty kilometers of synthetic stone before reaching an open passage roughly five times that long. Whatever was buried on this rock must have been important for its previous owner to bury it behind a thirty-kilometer-thick wall of molecularly-assembled stone designed to look exactly like the natural stone it adjoined.
Such an undertaking seemed extraordinary, but Xi knew it was a relatively minor thing compared to mining the core of a gas giant for rare minerals, which the Jemmin and Vorr appeared capable of doing on at least some level. Still, she found her curiosity rising the more she thought about what they might find buried so deep beneath the Brick’s surface.
The Vorr had sent Armor Corps on this merry chase, and even at its commencement, Xi had been more than a little skeptical about their motives. Colonel Jenkins seemed more convinced than she was that the Vorr were trying to help, but why leave something of such importance buried on a desert world like this, even for just a few decades?
The minutes ticked by, stretching into hours before finally she received word from the Gash’s floor.
“This is Styles, calling Elvira.”
“Elvira here, go Styles,” she acknowledged.
“We’re ready to deploy the package,” he replied. “Awaiting your orders to commence.”
“Mr. Styles,” Xi said urgently, “the order is given. Operation Red Rock is ‘go.’ I say again: Operation Red Rock is ‘go.’”
“Copy that,” Styles said, and her mech’s visual pickups showed exo-suited workers disembark the various vehicles which had conveyed them to the dig site. Those workers began unfastening components of the complex machine from their moorings on the heavy haulers, and within minutes the first laser drills were carving into the hard stone of the Gash’s northern face.
“Unbelievable,” Styles said in amazement as he analyzed the stone they were cutting away from the rock-face. It had taken nearly an hour for the rock to cool down enough for his instruments to process it, but the data coming back was fascinating.
“What is it?” asked Glenda Baldwin, the dig cr
ew’s boss, as she came to look over his shoulder at the handful of dust he had scanned.
“The radiation,” he lied, knowing he could not reveal any sensitive information to the civilians. Or his own people, for that matter. Of the men and women on the Brick at that moment, just Xi, Ford, Winters, and Styles were aware of the dig’s details. “It’s remarkable that it can be so much lower down here.”
“Yeah, right.” Baldwin grunted. “Look, my people and I are getting four years’ salary for a two-week dig. We understand that whatever we’re looking for here is important and that you can’t tell us what it is, but don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” She snorted, turning and clomping off toward the drill vehicle as it tore chunks of stone off the cliffside. “Radiation, my ass!”
Styles couldn’t blame the woman for being uncomfortable, but she was right: he couldn’t afford to tell her anything.
He refocused on the basketful of debris he had gathered from the rock-face and compared it to some of the loose material from farther up the slope. Chemically it was a perfect match, which made sense given that whoever had made the tunnel in the first place would have wanted to use the same material when sealing the thing back up.
But the molecular rearrangement necessary to make the rock-layer appear identical to the rest of the cliff face boggled Styles’ mind. It would have taken a computer core as powerful as the Bonhoeffer’s a full year of continuous runtime to match the level of precision they were seeing at this end of the tunnel.
It was possible, even likely, that the farther in they went, the less detailed the arrangement would become. But the early indications were that this was either a fool’s quest and they were digging into a previously-unmolested wall of rock on a desolate, worthless planet…or that whoever buried this chamber didn’t want anyone finding it without knowing precisely where to look.
The fate of the Metal Legion—and possibly even humanity itself—rested on which it was. Colonel Jenkins and General Akinouye had placed their bets, and Styles was inclined to agree with them.
