Some twenty minutes later found the two in a conference room deep in the Sidhe ship’s belly. Deks closed the door behind him with a wave of his hand and turned to Vaughn, just settling into a nearby chair. It was one of a full dozen sitting at equal intervals around an oval table of what appeared to be hand carved wood, its golden brown grain polished until it glowed. The center was intricately and beautifully carved into a wondrous forest scene, complete with animals, trees and a flowing river, so detailed and lifelike that it appeared to be moving.
In remarkable echo, the room was also oval in shape, with gently curved walls in pastel blue to compliment the polished table. The floor was the same ambiguous padding that seemed to be everywhere in the massive Sidhe vessel and the chairs were modern curves of plastic in the same blue, padding on the seat and back for comfort, hovering above the floor on cushions of energy. Those cushions gave the chair the ability to adjust to the user’s maximal comfort level, both in regards to the table’s height and ease of motion.
Adding to the ultra sophistication of the chamber were floating holographic panels around the room’s top edge, each a metre tall and two wide. The panels displayed data streams from the ship’s sensor arrays, various tasks the ship’s AI was currently at work on, and ship status information in beautiful alien script, as sinuous and graceful as the language itself. The panels were angled slightly for best viewing from the seats around the table, and reached down a third of the wall’s height. The roof was unadorned, except for a dropped edge from which illumination shone; diffuse enough to fill the entire room with a warm, pervasive white light.
Other than the table, a work of art crafted by caring and experienced hands, it was the kind of conference room Vaughn was beginning to expect from the Sidhe, who seemed to possess some sophisticated technology. That impression was given further credence when Deks activated a warding field with another wave, the room filling with a soft hush of white noise to indicate the anti-eavesdropping field was working.
“What I’m about to tell you hasn’t stepped outside Isivir Command so I’d greatly appreciate you keeping it under your hat, colonel.” Deks murmured as he joined Vaughn at the table.
“I’m rated with top security clearance in the Directorate, Mr. Rountree.” Vaughn quickly replied. “I know how to keep a secret.”
A smile briefly flitted over Deks’ lips before he was once again deadly serious.
“Good. For what I’m about to tell you is powerful enough to split the Pax into a thousand pieces, if it ever got out.”
Vaughn’s eyes widened slightly in astonishment. Instead of commenting, however, she wisely kept silent to allow Deks to go on.
Settling into the seat beside the slender marine, Deks leaned one elbow on the table and a hand on his knee. His face was a mask of intent seriousness.
“I won’t bore you with the eons of history that stand behind this issue, saving that discussion for another day.” He paused, then:
“The Pax Drakonus has stood for thousands of your years, mostly in peace. But as torn as your Directorate is, with contention over resources and dwindling space threatening to rip apart the fragile confederation your leaders have built from nothing, the Pax now faces a severe challenge to its own survival. What first started as a peaceful movement for reform in government and policy, has become full-blown rebellion. A group calling itself the Praetor Alliance has gone from moderate protests to guerilla warfare to achieve its goal of toppling the Pax Coalition Council, our ruling body. Citing rampant government corruption and military irresponsibility, the Praetors want to oust the council in the name of renewal, saying only radical change will heal the cancer gnawing at the vitals of our venerable federation.”
Deks’ eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened.
“Using rogue military units, culled from our own forces, and a covert organization they call the Viseith, the Praetors have begun striking at vital infrastructure and military installations in an effort to destabilize local governing bodies and sow chaos throughout the Pax. The people I work for, the Isivir, is the Pax’s own covert operation, working to maintain order throughout the federation. That work has brought us into direct conflict with the Praetors, and, more specifically, the Viseith.”
Deks grimaced.
“Up to now, we’ve managed to keep the general populace unaware of the Praetors and their efforts to bring down the Pax. But, with each passing day the traitorous rebels become bolder, striking harder and deeper against important targets with ever increasing ability and technology. Isivir Command and the governing council both feel open warfare is an undeniable eventuality.”
The swarthy Sidhe paused to lean forward, face intent.
“But the rebels may not need it to get what they want. Recently Isivir operatives working in deep cover within the Viseith have become aware of an effort to obtain an ancient and powerful artifact called the Crown of Oberon, its existence hailing from the earliest days of the Sidhe. Long lost and thought destroyed, discoveries within our own archives suggest it not only exists, but is within grasp, laying somewhere within Directorate space. And, along with the artifact, our operatives uncovered detailed plans to obtain it at any cost.”
Vaughn shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around what Deks was telling her.
“I don’t understand.” She said. “How can a single object be so important that the rebels are willing to do anything to obtain it?”
“Because that single object has the power to gather the very energies fueling the universe.” Deks grimly replied. “Using them for whatever purpose the user of the Crown intends. Including a direct attack on the council itself. If the Pax governing council were removed by force, chaos would ripple through the Pax, triggering a civil war. Untold trillions could die in that war and, dependant on the Pax for stability, the entire galactic arm would be thrown into upheaval if it fell.”
Vaughn blinked as she tried to absorb what Deks had just told her. Damn! If the entire galactic arm becomes involved in a civil war within the Pax, there was a good chance it could spill over into the Directorate; involving Humanity in a war they had neither the ability nor the technology to fight in.
“So we find the Crown before they do and hopefully prevent an attack on the council and civil war.” She hoarsely whispered. Deks nodded.
“That’s pretty much what we figured as well. And we’re hoping a human knows human space better than any Sidhe, because we haven’t been able to find it despite every covert effort.”
Vaughn nodded and straightened shoulders.
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Rountree. If we can prevent a war, then I’m all for it. Just let me bury my comrade first.”
She wasn’t sure what stirred the memory, one she thought so deeply buried behind a faÁade of professional pragmatism. But, as Vaughn stared at Finn’s unmoving body a half hour later in a small viewing room out on the great ship’s edge, she found herself gazing deep into her own past instead of the wiry scientist’s face.
It was the first op for a fresh faced junior leftenant directly out of officers training at the Naval Arm Academy, their mission to recapture and secure a fusion power plant seized by rebels. Vaughn remembered the ride in the most.
Heated to plasma, the air outside the squat, wedge-shaped drop ship howled in kinetic fury as they blasted their way through it with brute force. With no inertial dampeners or anti-grav cushions to smooth the ride, they were being bounced around like pebbles in an earthquake.
“Drop ships come in hot, then spit out the landing sleds just as they pull away.” The leftenant in the buck seat beside her shouted above the drop ship’s snarling braking thrusters. His gauntleted hands were woven into his drop sling to minimize the jouncing about, the brace and power plug that connected his power suit to the drop ship’s internal power net doing little to keep him in place.
He was a slender man, face tanned nearly black by the unrelenting Venusian sun. Even a hundred years after its toxic atmosphere was systematically stripped away and replaced by an earth-like atmosphere with a heavy-duty ozone layer to cut down on the extra UV, to stand on Venus’ rocky surface was to get baked liked a biscuit. Two years in the academy under Earth’s gentler sun did nothing to lighten Venus’ rough touch.
Despite being raised in an unforgiving place like that, the Venusian was a cheerful, upbeat sort. At least, that’s what Vaughn thought in the few minutes he had been chatting with her. She hadn’t met him before this drop.
“Isn’t this your first drop, too?” She shouted back, her powered armor’s faceplate open to allow for easier communication. When they were ready to go to the sleds, the ops’ CO would tell them to button up.
The man grinned, a bright, cheery thing coming out of a face so dark.
“Yup.” He replied and Vaughn couldn’t help the wry laugh that leaked out of her. Damn Venusians: bake them long enough and they’re experts on everything.
An essential part of Naval Arm and Marine operations, drop ships were used to put troops on the surface fast in situations where time was limited and the LZ too hot for landing shuttles and Ground Arm forces. Launched from mobile tactical platforms in orbit, or from stand-alone carrier groups on the move by the planet, drop ships were massive projectiles slung from specialized EM rail guns built into the bellies of these platforms and carriers. Heavily protected by both energized particle shielding and heavy blast plates, the drop ships came in hard before breaking with massive thrusters at the last moment and dropping onto heavy landing struts.
They were efficient and effective. The one thing drop ships weren’t, however, was well armed. Ground Arm troops called them ‘burning coffins’, a place where Naval Arm marines often met their deaths, shot out of the air by ground defenses. Naval Arm troops didn’t care for them much either, forcing the marines to use their own pilots.
Knowing all this forced a young Leftenant Vaughn to hunker down into her buck and brace and hold on for dear life. According to the mission brief, the area they were being dropped into wasn’t only hot, but heavily defended as well, against both ground and aerial assault. Ops gave them only a 30% chance of reaching the ground in one piece, not the best sort of odds to take on one’s first drop.
A primary node on the Southern Pacific Confederation’s power distribution network, Fiji was an impenetrable fortress, armored against rebel attempts to take control of the vital installation. Unfortunately it proved not as impenetrable as its designers and builders thought, Fiji falling to a well armed rebel force nearly a week ago after heavy fighting. Their power supply suddenly threatened, SoPac Confed made a desperate plea to the Directorate for military assistance against the rebels, their own regional security forces under manned and under gunned for an attempt to retake the island.
And so the call went to Naval Arm Marine Central Command, the UDF division responsible for short-term, high-risk engagements. Efficient like only marines can be, NAMCC immediately put together an assault flotilla, scooping up any available officer not already engaged in some operation against rebel forces elsewhere in the Directorate. That included, much to Vaughn’s chagrin, junior leftenants fresh out of the Naval Arm’s Marine Officer Training program at the academy.
Only a month out of MOT, Vaughn found herself on a marine transport, burning for orbit and the UDF Iojima, a marine heavy carrier. Normally stationed on Proteus, the Iojima happened to be at the Haven Shipyards for a refit when the call came in from NAMCC. Being the closest, and only unoccupied carrier, she quickly geared up and slipped her moorings, burning for Earth orbit as quickly as her captain could issue the orders. Three hours later the Iojima was in low earth orbit, rendezvousing with her protection flotilla and a miniature fleet of shuttles bringing the assault team up from various bases across secured Directorate territory.
After a brief walk through of the drop procedure and a mission briefing, Vaughn was inserted into Samurai class armor; a heavy assault suit built for frontal attacks, plugged into the drop ship’s power grid and strapped into her buck seat. A truncated countdown later, a hammer of acceleration drove her back into her harness for a heart-pounding handful of seconds before the drop ship cleared the Iojima’s launchers and hurtled towards the dirty blue and white ball that dominated the sky.
That was ten minutes ago. Now they were a mere five minutes from hitting the LZ and rolling in on the rebels holding the island. Five minutes of buffeting and wondering if the enemy had spotted them yet.
“Plates down!” The square jawed captain barked from where he sat near the entry hatch. A ten year veteran with a good dozen drops under his belt, he was directly responsible for the drop ship’s contents, which consisted of four fire teams, each with a sergeant and leftenant.
His next words came via Vaughn’s helmet comm link as she finished securing her suit’s faceplate.
“And standby to go to suit power. We’re taking anti-lander fire from the ground. If we’re holed, we’ll have to bail!”
Vaughn grimaced. Well, she had the answer to her unspoken question. Unfortunately it wasn’t something she really wanted to hear. Then the braking thrusters were screaming at full power and Vaughn struggled to breath against the abrupt downward crush of inertia that threatened to drive her through the passenger pod’s armored deck.
With a crunch that sent a jolt up her spine despite the buck’s webbing and her suits own cushioned interior, the drop ship was down, rear exit doors already lowering on hydraulic arms. From where he sat, the captain swung his arm around to hammer the gang release button on the suit braces holding the marines in their racks. Vaughn jerked as the brace suddenly popped off and she was free, displays lighting up in her helmet’s Heads Up Display when the samurai went to its own power, disconnected from the drop ship when the brace removed itself. Then training took over and she was propelling herself out of her buck, her movement aided by the power suit’s mechanical musculature.
Already down the ramp, SR34 Plasma Shock Rifle in hand, the captain took a quick look at the battlefield that they had dropped onto. Already the clearing the Iojima had sent them to, was rapidly filling with drop ships, the plasma-charred wedges coming in on columns of energy from their breaking thrusters. The anti-lander fire generated by the rebels had been almost entirely ineffective, allowing over 80% of the drop ships to hit the ground untouched.
The captain grinned. It was the first time he had seen so many drop ships get to the ground intact. Then he was intently grim once more as he renewed his reconnaissance.
The power plant, a massive fusion generator erected on an artificial platform built on the southeast edge of Fiji’s main island, was heavily fortified on both the island side of the platform, and the ocean side. However, for ease of construction and later resupply, a clearing had been hacked from the jungle that once reached all the way to the southeast edge. Here a number of local highways terminated to allow ground effect vehicles access to the site, and the regional security force had a base built to protect the plant. The base was equipped with an airport and a rudimentary starport, for shuttles bringing in supplies and personnel from orbit.
It would be the base the marine company would attempt to take first, giving them access to the fortified front gates of the plant. A sea assault had been considered by NAMCC, and just as quickly dismissed. If anything, the fortifications along the sea edge were even heavier, SoPac anticipating a naval assault. Going in from the ground side gave the marines the ability to bring mechanized armor and artillery into play, useful for cracking what could be an extremely tough nut in the plant’s heavy, reinforced walls and defensive weaponry.
“Spread out.” He rasped, his voice-activated comm link inside his helmet coming online. “And establish a perimeter. As soon as we link up with the other fire teams, we’ll form our skirmish line.” His HUD blinked and the base, visible through some nearby palm trees, limp and blasted both from the initial rebel assault and the effect of the drop ships coming in hot, leapt into sharp relief as he activated his suit scanners.
In contrast with the power plant, the base, perched on the edge of a broad highway snaking in from the north to join the freeway from the interior, lacked any significant fortification. Unlike most regions on the planet, which relied on aerial transport, SoPac still utilized ground effect vehicles for a good deal of its transportation needs. To remain accessible from the highway, the builders had kept the base’s defenses minimal to ease flow through.
Knowing only the basics of NAMCC’s plan of attack, specifically the part she and her fire team were playing, Vaughn led her small squad out of the drop ship’s belly at a jog, armored helmets swinging back and forth as her more experienced sergeant and grunts began their own scans. Following the captain’s orders and pointed directions, she and her squad took up a position on the perimeter of the LZ, which was just starting to come under fire from rebel positions around the base. Small arms fire, mostly old slug throwers, it presented little danger to the heavy samurai class suits they were wearing.
Still Vaughn winced as a number of slugs, mid-caliber 9mm, ricocheted off the shoulder of her suit, the armor more than enough to deflect the metallic projectiles with little direct damage done.
“Huh, taking pot shots at us, are they?” The Venusian leftenant grinned as he dropped to one knee beside Vaughn, his SR34 held ready in both armored gauntlets. A heavy assault weapon, the SR34 worked on the principle of accelerated plasma being combined with excited energy particles and packaged into discrete bundles to be hurled at opposing forces at several times the speed of sound. The terminal acceleration barrel sat atop the plasma ignition and combination barrel, two flattened cylinders on atop the other.
Both sat on the squat plasma collation chamber, attached directly to the weapon’s power supply and triggering mechanism. The particle generator sat behind them, in the weapon’s stock. Together the various mechanisms formed a bulky but effective weapon, useful in both atmosphere and vacuum, the corps’ standard issue field rifle. When equipped with a targeting and scanning unit along the spine of the terminal acceleration barrel, as were Vaughn’s and the Venusian leftenant’s, their effectiveness doubled.
“Do they really expect to hurt us with those things?”
Vaughn glanced over at him, his squad kneeling just beyond.
“Probably not.” She replied before looking back towards the distant base, their target. “But they were enough to take out the regional security force protecting the plant. Don’t let yourself get lulled into a false sense of superiority.”
The Venusian’s grin grew wider.
“No such thing as a false sense of superiority, leftenant.” He rasped with a laugh. “These rebels are rabble, no match for, . . .”
It was like the world suddenly turned itself upside down. One minute the Venusian was laughing and telling her his opinion of the rebels they were about to face. And in the next the sky fell in on them, a concussive blast sending them flying before they could react to its presence. As Vaughn hit the ground, her power suit whining in protest against the explosion’s anger, she dimly heard somebody shouting in her earpiece that they were under bombardment by plasma mortars. Then her arm and leg were stinging as the suit’s med bot automatically injected a cocktail of stimulants and painkillers to counteract what it sensed as damage to her body from being tossed through the air.
The stimulants, synthetic endorphins and neurotransmitters rushed through her in a wave and, vision clearing under their effects, Vaughn rolled onto her side and carefully began the process of standing, not easy in a power suit with its bulk. When she finally managed to reach her feet, it didn’t take long to spot the crater ripped into the hardened ground by the plasma mortar that landed almost directly in between her and the Venusian. A quick scan found him several metres away, missing a leg and an arm, his suit battered and scarred.
“Where’s your weapon, leftenant?” The captain rasped, stepping up beside the still shaky Vaughn, his own rifle charged and ready. The mortars were still falling all around them, but their effectiveness was quickly dwindling as the marines counterattacked against their positions close to the base. The air was already rent with the SR34’s harsh snarl, blasts of energy rocking the rebel emplacements.
“The leftenant, . . .” She began, making to step over towards the wounded Venusian. Only to be pulled to a halt by the captain’s hand on her arm.
“He’s done, Vaughn. Find your weapon and get your squad on the move, now!”
A final look at the Venusian’s battered body and Vaughn staggered on in search of her rifle. A blink later and she was back in the present, gazing at Finn’s unmoving body, her heart pounding and her mind churning.
She had gone on that day, leading her fire team into one of the more decisive battles of the decade, the power plant’s recapture resulting in the destruction of one of the most determined of the rebel groups plaguing the Directorate. But, even though she had known the man less than twenty minutes, she never shook the feeling of loss she carried from that day. He wasn’t a friend, not even much of a comrade. Just some marine she met on the way to battle.
His death, however, left her alone in the midst of her first true test of courage and resolve, a virtual abandonment that shook her to her very core. And now, with an alien’s swift and brutal attack, she had been abandoned once again. This time it was the only other human, the one she relied on to speak to aliens he seemed to understand better than she had, that Vaughn was robbed of. Not only was she now forced to deal with them herself, but Vaughn was truly alone as well, the only human in the midst of a culture and people she knew nothing about, in search of a lost artifact powerful and important enough to bring down a galactic empire.
“Do your people have ceremonies accompanying their burial?” Deks quietly asked from the doorway, where he had stood during her thoughtful journey back into her memory.
“Yes.” Vaughn replied. “But there’s no priest or minister here to perform it.” She frowned. “I didn’t even know if Finn was religious.” The lean colonel finished in a whisper.
“I wouldn’t worry.” Deks said with a smile. “My people have more than enough religion for he and us both. We’ll perform a necro ritual and ceremony to send Finn on his way to the next life.”
“Thank you.” Vaughn replied simply. There wasn’t much that could be said. She reached out to lay a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Goodbye, Finn.” A tear eased its way down her cheek despite her efforts to hold in her emotions and not show weakness to the Sidhe.
“Goodbye!”