Authors: James Traynor
Eight feet tall, the Raytheon-Carmack Mk. VI-D powered combat armor suit roughly resembled a medieval knight in full plate armor crossed with
Alice in Wonderland
's Humpty Dumpty wearing an urban camouflage pattern. A slightly egg-shaped form constituting the unit's heavily armored core had been melded into an anthropomorphic torso with arms just slightly too long to still match those of a human. A narrow view slit was the only outer indicator as to where the suit's operators' head was situated inside the armored shell. Six black domes as wide as the palm of a grown man's hand were spread across the front and backside of the powered suit's torso: small-scale laser clusters against missiles and grenades. A set of smaller, almost transparent knobs the size of a thumbnail covered the backside of the suit's rounded helmet, providing its operator with a 360 degree view. Sunk into its outer armored shoulders lay launchers for IR-masking smoke grenades. On its left shoulder the Mk. VI-D carried a missile launcher with six short tubes. A thin protective carbon layer covered the seeker warheads inside.
She hurried towards her own suit. The tall machine stood in its service pod, still linked directly to the ship's energy grid and maintenance systems. Its front peeled away as she hurried towards it, the suit's systems already being powered up by each of the platoon's five fire teams' handlers. With a fluidity nobody would have expected from her tall, athletic frame Sammy squeezed herself into the armored shell and tightened the straps holding her in place with a few experienced moves. Noticing her position the suit automatically closed around her with a soft whirr.
For a second Sammy was surrounded by darkness. Then the blackness and her natural vision were replaced by a sudden torrent of status displays and processed images of her surroundings: the bay, her comrades, the suit's readiness, life support, the battery pack's status, targeting systems, inventory, visual modes and more one after another appeared and were reduced to easy to read icons and data points.
Rookies often felt like they were being drowned by the flood of information. But for Samantha Lee the Mk. VI-D was like a second skin, and she mastered its controls with intuitive ease. Her mind closely followed the checklist the suit's computers rattled down before her eyes. Everything was as it should be. She turned around, and the massive suit of armor moved with her as if it was a part of her body, soft servos mimicking the impulses of her own body to a T. The claw at the end of 'her' left arm picked up the heavy 10mm MRG from its wall mount. With trained movements her right hand reached back and caught the ammunition belt dangling from the Mk. VI-D's backpack, connecting it with the machine railgun.
“This is
Blue 1
, ready to go,” she stated with a calm ease that belied the adrenalin rushing through her veins.
One after another the other members of Blue Team, and of the Red and Green and Yellow Teams reported over the platoon's comm link.
“Outstanding,” Lt. Jones voice came crisp and clear through her suit's speakers. “That was the fastest suit up I've ever seen. Now head to your positions, keep in contact at all times and make sure you're hooked up to the ships internal scanners. And
always
keep in contact with your handlers!”
* * * * *
“In position, sir,” Commander Therese Ranaissa reported. “Systems primed for a drop back to realspace.”
Captain Beaufort nodded. “Initiate transition sequence, XO. Keep all batteries ready and primed.”
There was the subtlest pull of acceleration as the ship left the fold, shimmering back into existence like a mirage as it emerged into the mundane darkness of normal space. JOHNSTON's sensor arrays immediately began to paint the surrounding space with tachyons and radar waves while thermal detectors and LIDAR subsystems scanned alongside with them. But all they found sitting near the outer edge of a barren system's asteroid belt was a Union fleet tender waiting for them.
“
Heh, will wonders never cease? Sixty years in the service and that's the first supply hog that's actually on time,” Beaufort grinned in wry amusement. “XO, stand down general quarters and return to cruising stations.”
Across the bridge targeting systems went into standby. The command crew had been calm and focused, each carefully monitoring their little area of responsibility. Now they relaxed and made a few comments and observations of how the ship had responded.
Captain Beaufort activated the ship-wide intercom. “Crew of the JOHNSTON! Well done, ladies and gentlemen. Your response times were well within the set limits and battle stations were activated in less than two minutes. You have done us all proud.”
Ranaissa felt more than pleased at that. Over the ten years of her existence the JOHNSTON had earned herself a reputation as a competent ship and was a joy to serve on. To date, only two crew members had ever requested a transfer since Captain Beaufort had taken command of the ship – and even these had been due to family matters and the need to redeploy to a fixed base near relatives. Beaufort was one of the small breed of people who knew how to not only strike a balance between running a competent command and keeping a crew happy, but how to actually reap the benefits of both these facets. That balance had made it an adventure to serve on this ship, not a boring chore.
“And well done, Alpha Platoon!” he beamed. “Your first deployment on this cruiser and you were ready just as fast as the Marines ever were. Bravo!” he laughed, the sound carrying through the ship. “It was a good alert. I always like to make sure we are at battle stations whenever we make the drop back to real space, just in case there's something waiting to surprise us, eh? Makes sure we surprise them!”
Some of the bridge crew chuckled along. Beaufort's enthusiasm was infectious, always had been.
The captain switched off the intercom. “All right, bring us along side the tender and come to a dead stop. Open up a channel. I want to express my astonishment that we weren't waiting here half a week like the last time.”
“
Aye, sir,” Ranaissa replied with a smile in her voice. She couldn't wait to see the reaction on the other CO's face.
Toklamakun, Dominion Occupation Authority Orbital Command Post
The skies above the bombed-out dust ball were crowded by the hulls of the Dominion's 3
rd
Fleet. Like ants, the supply tenders and tugs of the orbital maintenance, repair, and fleet supply depots swarmed around the gathered warships, pumping new reaction mass into their tanks and new missiles into their missile tubes.
Corr'tane had broken the Tuathaan frontline and given the Ashani navy a foothold in clanhold space. As expected, the Tuathaan had called in reserves and counterattacked, but by the time they arrived the Dominion's forces had been well entrenched, fiercely resisting any attempts to uproot them. After a few failed attempts the Tuathaan clans had to concede Báine, and with it five smaller colonies directly linked to the border world. Grudgingly they had pulled back to the next set of colonies while they tried to figure out just what had happened at Dunnan Gal. It would be weeks, maybe months before the Clanholds could again muster a force to challenge him or any other Ashani commander. Wedged in between the Dominion, the Ukhuri, and the Rasenni Empire there were limits as to how much the Tuathaan could reasonably withdraw forces from these other two borders to face the Ashani.
At the same time the Érenni had retreated to their home system in confusion and had sealed themselves up around their home world. In his opinion their actions weren't quite unlike burying their heads in the sand. Given the Republics' focus on deterrence through strong defenses, and given the losses inflicted on their mobile units around Senfina and the smaller systems the Dominion navy had taken, Corr'tane doubted the Érenni could muster enough reserves to threaten their flanks.
And soon the Ashani fleets in the area would arrive to form a cordon around their home world, and then the great battle that would see the species eliminated as a credible threat and their planet opened up for near future colonization would begin. And while Senfina was unfit for habitation, having sustained only a small colonial population before and having suffered greatly from orbital bombardment and a rain of debris, Dunnan Gal and Báine in Tuathaan space supposedly would soon be safe for the first prospectors to arrive.
Corr'tane's face twisted into a scowl. It all looked so neat on paper. Depopulate a planet, then
re
populate it. A fast solution for their conundrum. The
only
solution for it, really, if he wanted the majority of his people to survive. His misgivings weren't moral in nature, but practical. Most of High Command and the other strategoi were convinced that the sooner populations were shifted off Karashan the better. The Council had decided aggressive colonization was the most effective way to consolidate their holdings. The idea was to put Ashani populations on colonies still smoking from orbital strikes and begin the process of building up infrastructure on the basis of what had survived and putting in place a civilian militia to supplement the garrisons and free up combat troops for more aggressive operations. Everybody seemed to be convinced of the folly that this was a short and easy war. That was what every politician throughout history had promised, and it was what too many commanders had come to believe, living examples included.
It was doubly frustrating for Corr'tane since he had been the one to relentlessly point out their plans' weak points earlier. Every transport ferrying civilians was a ship not carrying supplies to the front. And given the state of much of the conquered real estate, the transporters he would have to do without would be
very
numerous.
Worse still, as long as none of the warring factions had been truly defeated, it was putting the very people for whom this whole war had been planned in the first place, in danger.
Worst of all, the colonies themselves weren't safe yet. Even with modern isotopes the half-life of a neutron charge's radiation wasn't so short that one could plant civilians close to ground zero only weeks after. And places like Senfina and Báine had been subjected to dozens of explosions, hundreds even.
Last, but certainly not least, there were his own creations to be wary of. Yes, theoretically unleashing specifically programmed counter nano swarms should be able to neutralize his bio-engineered agents. But simple prudent caution demanded to wait
at least
half a year until the small plague carriers had run their course and become inert. Érenni and Ashani physiology were greatly different from one another, but there was no need to be careless with the lives of millions of your own civilians.
Still, he had tried to make his point, repeatedly, and had reached the end of his influence on the matter. That fact nagged at him more than he was willing to admit. In the meantime Corr'tane's own unit – 3
rd
Fleet – was preparing to redeploy to the next crisis point, the Republican front, to root out remaining outer pockets of Érenni defenders. High Command considered it a reprieve after the engagement at Dunnan Gal, but Corr'tane wasn't sure if the move wasn't meant to sideline him and put a lid on his crews' well deserved basking in their new found glory. He couldn't prove it, but it smelled of Strategos Tear'al's influence. He was a sub par field officer whom Corr'tane had rescued from destruction. He was nowhere to be seen, doubtless sulking and blaming his shame on Corr'tane, fate and the universe itself. The fleet he had commanded had been given to somebody else, and Tear'al was now back on Karashan and confined to a desk. For Corr'tane it should have been a moment to treasure, but back home his rival had open access to all echelons of power. He could make himself felt even without a thousand ships under his command. He was a problem, and sooner or later Corr'tane would have to find a solution for it...
The doors on the far side of the lobby hissed open as the second guest arrived. With a wide smile of genuine happiness the young strategos recognized his sister and moved to greet her. Pyshana's ship was shored up in a nearby dock undergoing extensive repairs. It probably wouldn't be ready before the war ended. Fortunately, Pyshana herself was in better condition with just a few stitches and injuries to her left arm, but nothing more serious.
“Brother!” she beamed, embracing him with her good arm, brushing a fleeting kiss onto his cheeks. “I'm so glad to see you well.”
“
Same here, little sister,” he stepped back and proudly looked her in the eyes. “You've brought great honor to our family.”
“
Please,” she blushed. “You know I don't like being the center of attention. That was always your place,” Pyshana added dryly. “No, I'm happy just to do my job.”
He laughed a little. “I remember your presentation ten years ago to the science council. You spoke well, and they were fools to ignore you.”
She looked stonily at the floor. “In everything I've ever done I've been ridiculed. The scientists laughed at me, the old strategoi mocked me, even our peers mock me. What does it take to show I am as good as they are?”
“
But you've done just that, sister!” he answered her firmly. “You saved the attack on Senfina
and
kept the momentum of the invasion.”
“
But you destroyed a fifth of the Tuathaan fleet
and
two colonies at the same time!” Pyshana pointed out, her exasperation only partially feigned. “How can I compare to
that
?” she unconsciously scratched at the medigel patch on her arm.