Solaria's Fist: Iron Suns Saga

By Solaria's Fist

Arise...

Awake...

Betray...

When the war comes, rejoice.

 

Smuggled radios scream such mottos at the Thousand Suns, as the navies of Solaria find themselves on the edge, scattered and fighting a lost battle. The battle to preserve what the war against the Tauran Empire ripped clean off humanity, and Solaria's decadent order.

 

Technologies banned for centuries are popping up on burnt worlds, military laws in several sectors turn into an afterthought. Eons of "peaceful oppression" end at the hands of an invigorated underground, tension amongst upstart superpowers teeter on the brink of war, and the Sun calls upon its workers to fight the Spacer Melds, forsaking a billion lives and counting.

 

Admiral Aggarwal, named most popular warrior of the colonial admiralty on Earth, appears to wallow in postwar depression. It makes for a good mask, as he works, collects, observes, as a traitor in the midst of Solaria. But when a war leader's assassination plunges the fleets into frenzied mobilization, and he is sent into an escalating military situation at the Blackwaters with enough firepower to pulverize a planet, he can think of enough Divinity-approved ways to use it for his own planned crusade.

 

When an enemy messenger pops up to claim the existence of a new threat that "might" be unstoppable if humanity does not unite and prepare for a war of annihilation, doubts spring up. With doubts come more heat between allies, while the possibilities are far too dire to ignore. To Shiv, it is a matter to rejoice. He volunteers to head into the unknown, confident the enemy is a godsend method to weaken Solaria before he strikes his own blow. As his universe falls apart, he prepares. Before he can save humanity, he must cleanse it.

 

One way or another, reckoning is near … 

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.D. Karnik
• Release date: Jun 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393165835

Solaria's Fist

K. D. Karnik is the pen name of Krishna, a science fiction author and graduate of the Alpha Writers Workshop. He is fascinated by the nature of words and philosophy, the human brain and human nature.  He likes plodding through snow and imagining stray cats popping round the corner to purr at him, snow minus the biting winter wind, of course. He likes to lift his face and stare at the galactic disc, hoping he can do more than imagining about it. He wonders  what it would be like to live on a Dyson Sphere around one of the flickering reddish suns. *Probably, it wouldn't be that different as experience, since if someone lives in a small patch of land on a world with trillion times Earth's area, they'd need at least a hundred reincarnations to even read all the maps, let alone tour it beyond our village.*

Book preview

Books in this series:

The Void Calls (Book I)

Solaria’s Fist (Book II)

The Iron Suns (Book III; upcoming)

Gold Rust (Book IV; upcoming)

Join the Iron Suns Union mailing list for free copies of upcoming instalments, sneakpeeks, occasional free books and short stories and more.

Copyright © 2021 by the author.

Illustration © Barbara Groves

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission in writing from the author of this work.

Who really knows? Who will here proclaim it?

Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation?

Gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe.

Who then knows whence it has arisen?

Whether God’s will created it, or whether He was mute;

Perhaps it formed itself, or perhaps it did not;

Only He who is its overseer in highest heaven knows,

Only He knows, or perhaps He does not know.

—NASADIYA SUKTA, THE VEDA

The most remarkable thing about the 26th Century, by far, was that humans could stifle sneezes without risking a burst blood vessel. Needless to say, it caused many issues among regular Doublonics, but for the militaries it proved a golden tool.

—The Grand Chronicler Sardonica

PART ONE:

THE DANCING OF THE FLAMES

-0-

Akoria Node, Partial Null-Bubble, N-Quadrant, Thousand Suns

VASYATI O VIKANI stood in the central dais of the Message Hall, shaking off post-embodiment fatigue as more noise than she had ever expected during two centuries of mid-Transcendence assailed her fragile new form. Bells rang, cannons fired, decks shuddered, and the Spacers of Akoria mobilized. The din accompanied a series of momentary hallucinations, so strong that the first action her still-viscous organs did was produce a heart-wrenching scream.

I thought this body would be beautiful. The thought didn’t receive an outside reply, and she took it as a sign the embodiment procedures were complete. Ovikani opened her eyelids, marveling at the speed the material brain-matter had adjusted and streamlined itself to her forces. She decided to congratulate all units who’d contributed in crashbuilding these organs for her. If they survive the battle. I must focus now. No time to look at myself.

How much did I miss? The words echoed, for some reason. The command modules’ functionality must already be going down. Ovikani looked around her, at the immensity of the stark, desolate, glistening black Message Hall and the glowing blue dais she stood on. Her new rudimentary eye-functions managed to spot an identical dais at the far end of the hall, and the tall, flowing figure stepping down from it. Confirming it was General Serendip Yutuka, she shouted at him again.

Her ears hurt, her bones creaked, her voice felt distant, as if her brand-new assembled neck and mouth and body could fall back apart any moment. Most of her sensations were of the all-pervading vibration around her. The habitat must be moving. Accelerating.

General Yutuka shouted a long reply at her, but all she could make out was You missed a lot, madam. A humongous screen flickered into existence where Yutuka stood. Strategic and tactical displays, all peppered with pulsing red icons.

Ovikani shook her head, and her skull didn’t separate from her gray matter, neither did her chest explode. Counting that as a win, she tried to focus more. Was he even talking to her? Madam President could refer to her or someone he’d appointed by declaring her half-dead and comatose when she’d decided to change bodies so many hours ago. Did the damn general even know she was awake and at the back of the Message Hall?

The deck shuddered. Acceleration. Battle. Whatever the heck it was, it was not good. Yutuka was talking to three different people at once on the myriad screens in the Hall, all war leaders.

The entire force-matching sequence. The warriors have separated from the mains, and the Cities are ready. You noticed the quietness? He grunted, taking to gestures of embodiment with surprising effortlessness. The two of us wasted precious time in pleasure-seeking, dear. We could have commanded the fleet without ... He trailed off, as the swarm of red icons became so bright they illumined the entire chamber for a moment. "The Invaders travel much faster than we thought. They increased speed right now."

He wasn’t speaking to her after all. Worse, he was speaking to another hard-faced woman with a humanoid body and of commander-rank. He was addressing the brutish-looking commander’s image on one of the Message Hall’s main screens, saying Madam President.

Anger coursed through Ovikani’s resassembled veins. She was aware of her blood, the pumping of her heart, her limited new form. She decided to attract the general’s attention. She sucked in a breath, opened her mouth wide, and screamed the first thing she could think of after gleaning all she could from Yutuka’s voice. To pretend she was still Madam President and had just walked into a war room to ask for reports and take command.

The enemy increased speed, General? She hoped her tone sounded commanding and curious enough, since the notion of increasing speed without being inside spacetime violated at least a half-dozen hyperspatial laws. Do I hear right? Ovikani’s foot felt glued to the dais, enduring the crude, automated fear-reactions alongside disgust and consternation in her body. "While superluminal? How—"

Yutuka turned with a grim smile, raising a calming hand at her. Yes, Madam President. I don’t want to exacerbate your post-transplant trauma, and I suppose you’re okay with me handling your duties until—

What? Who’s that woman? Why’s the habitat shooting and quivering?

Your thinking’s altered, ma’am, Yutuka said. He pointed at the vast array of displays showing the organized chaos of space around the Habitats of Akoria. Ships, drums, railguns, laser platforms preparing to fight an unseen enemy. You can’t even comprehend that for a few hours. I suggest you rest. This might seem odd ...

It’s odd. Dammit, it’s odd. And—

Klaxons interrupted her. The immense screen shifted to show visuals of space in the Habitat’s vicinity, up to several million kilometers distant. Indeed, right at the edge of range, the first blobs of green-blue-white popped into existence, turning into the unmistakable forms of the Invader warships—thousands of Orb-dreadnoughts, Disks, and polygonal shapes streaming out of Blue Space and drifting inert beyond the Bubble of Akoria.

The general ignored Ovikani’s demands for information, waving at her as if dismissing a kindergartner. She stood rooted, watched, and heard.

Yutuka made announcements, and the warriors made haste. The Defender Antariksha broke out of its moorings like an irked giant sailing into war, and Ovikani could not tear her eyes from the display of it. Antariksha was beyond any spaceship, the equal of any armada it had ever faced. A moon-sized monstrosity replete with particulate armor kilometers thick, rock siphoned off half an entire asteroid belt, the warriors had arrayed its parts so it seemed like a cylindrical structure from afar. On closer inspection ... Circles. It was a collection of circles, endless wheel-modules upon wheel-modules.

Clickety-clack went Antariksha. The wheels were churning, swirling indeed. Each module was one of the Habitats of Akoria, moving with full independence but complete coordination. They headed out of the great dilatory Bubble they had sat in for centuries, and Ovikani felt her loneliness increasing at an alarming rate. It evaded Doublon himself, it evaded the Search Armadas, it killed many, it did a lot.

General, we’re all to ourselves again, she said.

Because I have to keep power consumption low, Yutuka snapped back. "To act as guides for the warriors. Don’t let yourself get identified with that ... physical mind you just got, dear. The battle ... possibilities aren’t too bad. Antariksha can handle nine thousand Invader warships, and we have less than seven thousand hovering toward the Bubble."

They intend to pop it? Ovikani still couldn’t move. She understood to an extent, her awareness fading in and out.

Combat systems say so. Yutuka manipulated controls. "They know, dear. I’ve seen their Fleetmaster. He comes from their Fringe Worlds, from beyond all Bubbles. From beyond anywhere Solaria’s fist can reach. We will crush that fist with the back of our hand, but the Invaders are a true unknown."

Your tranquility deceives me, General, Ovikani mumbled. She watched the Invaders advance, braced herself for the inevitable, and winced when one loud bleep signified the Bubble being popped. "Our fate depends on their commitment."

You won’t die, dear, Yutuka whispered, his voice spreading through the Message Hall like an epitome of serenity in the clamor of war. Whether they’re committed to killing us or not, you will live.

Ovikani shook her head. I saw the Mother, General. Divinity. When I was in the intermediate state between embodiment and Transcendence, I saw the formlessness. Die and be one with her. The galaxies are her arms, my dear, and Divinity is all of what we know.

Yutuka grunted, tapping embodied commands and reaching out with mental tendrils to the restless warriors. All hands of Akoria, brace for engagement, pray to the Transcendents on my mark. The Invaders locked on to one of the Habitat’s outermost arms, and the first beams of the Orb-dreadnoughts speared at Akoria, slamming into the secondary Bubble-sheath. Faster than expected. Their elasticity is changing every moment, the glowie-blobs are wavering. Yutuka paused, damage reports flowing in. Bubble collapse imminent.

The screen flashed, and a new voice blared from the speakers. "Antariksha is engaging. The sheath has collapsed. The outsiders begin their assault."

-1-

Khundav, Gubre System, Contested Sector, Thousand Suns

October 21, 2538 (200 since Autarchy)

Captain Smiti Williams averted her gaze from the viewport and the receding silhouette of AFS Freedom . The shuttle quivered and started to accelerate, as someone pumped a lavender fragrance into the crowded cabin. It helped in forgetting the crackle of burnt electronics that had filled the passageways of her ship, for she didn’t want her last vision of Freedom to be one in which she saw it falling apart. The battle became a distant memory, and a cold ball in her midsection became the present.

Leaving the fleet formation, beginning orbital insertion in twenty seconds, Lieutenant Arcadia reported from the cockpit, her voice betraying little of the otherwise palpable confusion and shock pervading the cramped shuttle. "The escorts and the Marine craft are now departing from Antietam’s shuttle docks, four gunships taking up the rear. We will enter Khundav’s Low Orbit in sixteen minutes ..." She trailed off, a thousand questions implied.

Well, ma’am? Commander Handam spoke in a near-whisper. He was Freedom’s second-in-command, a stocky man who seemed an efficient one as long as it was peacetime. Now, he kept wiping sweat from his brow every few seconds since the firing had stopped. You brought us here, obeyed the admiral, what’s the suicide plan now?

There’s no suicide plan, Commander, Smiti hissed, gritting her teeth, shooting a harsh glance at her executive officer. Must I do it now? She could feel the eyes on her, knew even the two Marines sitting behind her didn’t believe it.

Then what? Handam hissed back. His seat was adjacent to hers, and when he leaned forward with angry and fearful eyes, she couldn’t help wince. "Your flight partner happens to be your XO. Me, of all people. I don’t suppose any of us have death wishes, besides Lieutenant Arcadia."

Let me add, Arcadia said, sounding amused, tapping her controls. The shuttle started to thrum as its main thrusters activated for orbital insertion. "And why’re members of the command crew sitting in the flimsiest sort of shuttlecraft we had in Freedom’s hangar? I should be navigating the ship, not a boat."

Ideal circumstances to me, Marine Lieutenant Gustav rumbled through his exoskeleton speakers from one of the back seats. I’ll stare at the captain’s head until my guns come to use.

Smiti cleared her throat, unable to stall any longer. Well, at least the viewports here are so small I can’t see the grandiosity of a planet. She keyed the comm controls on her armrest. All units, this is Captain Williams. We came here allied with New Arabia, expecting high glories, but Divinity did not will it so. Our allies have betrayed us, and it appears they find it hard to appreciate the size of the Asiatic Navy’s stick on our backs. In this crisis of national trust and life, we should appreciate the last chance we have been given to serve the Fleet, however bizarre it may seem. She could feel the falsity of those words even as they left her, but it appeased an infinitesimal portion of the cold abyss yawning within her. We lost the battle, and they know it.

Admiral Stalwart, honorable commander of our task force, has recognized the bravery and commitment of our Division. The terrorists and the New Arabian forces have agreed to negotiations, provided our fleet shows them respect—and no less than four command-rank officers of our most decorated divisions are there in person. ‘There’ is down on the surface of Khundav IV, to coordinates that they will give us. My command shuttle will take point, gunships stay in the rear, as per enemy demands. Fly in formation, nevertheless, all craft stay at the edge of our escorts’ defensive envelope.

As she waited for her officers and troops to process it, she decided to add one more flowery, fake line to what might be her last fleetwide communication ever. If I stay true to myself in my last words, Divinity might decide these are my last words. If I lie more, Divinity will know I need to live long enough to speak my actual last words. Smiling softly at her rationality, she continued, Even the Autarch Doublon, from beyond death, must watch the New Arabians with disdain. It is only since we have faith that justice and humanity will prevail at the end, we head with defiance into the traitors’ maw. The enemy may have surrounded our fleet, making sure we do not have a choice but to comply with their demands at the moment, their demands are toned down enough to indicate they fear our wrath. Captain Williams, out.

The silence that followed was far too eerie, especially since the Marines in the back of the shuttle had stopped talking, their exoskeleton battlesuits deactivated. She cracked her knuckles and examined the other occupants, trying not to chuckle in sarcasm. Four command level officers. Two of them on one shuttle, unarmored, all belonging to one stricken ship that needs no less than its entire crew working to get it into fighting shape. The coldness returned. With its captain out too, heading ...

Who put that fragrance in the air? Commander Handam interrupted her musing, waving his hands aimlessly. There are enemy agents everywhere, but we’re inserting whatnot into our shuttle’s air cyclers—

I did, sir, Arcadia called back from the cockpit. "Wonder why you noticed it now, I tuned up the ‘fragrance’ settings right after we left the hangar. Trust me, it’s not poison. What is poison, though, is the air of the world below. My detectors say there’s twice maximum safe radiation levels where we’ve been directed to land, Captain."

How long can we survive there? Smiti now dared to glance at the viewport, and felt an odd pang as she saw nothing but space. Stars glittered in the distance, some of them appearing odd-shaped. That would be the fleet’s exhaust plumes. 

If we wear our exoskeleton armor plus the radiation suits ... Arcadia paused. We’ll live for two hours, Captain. You think we’ll win the battle by then?

Before Smiti could speak, Handam broke into a guffaw that resounded across the cramped shuttle. I’ll have to turn on the soundproofers like this, sir, Arcadia told him, her joviality sounding rather unforced. We’re going to make a full-burn atmospheric entry soon, and you’ll appreciate the current lack of sound when that happens.

"Win the battle? Handam snapped. We are going to die before we even know of the Arabians annihilating Stalwart’s godforsaken fleet!"

I’m your pilot. Arcadia remained calm. I’ve helmed starships, and you don’t think I’ll fly you past any nukes the traitors down on the planet launch at us? There are four other shuttles coming behind us, and if a shot from the surface hits one, it will not be us.

And we’ll be coming out of this alive? demanded one of the Marines. "I’ll shoot down a hundred enemies before I go down, but we will go down if they betray us."

Cut to the chase, Captain, Handam spat. "I was there on the bridge with you. You can fool them, but you can’t fool me. The fleet wants to get rid of us."

Shut up. Smiti didn’t realize who’d spoken the words until all the other occupants went quiet, all of them staring at her except for Lieutenant Arcadia, who now swerved the shuttle onto a course that brought rays of light flashing through the viewports as the golden world below grew until it dominated the view. "Commander, you shall not put on such a display again until we’re back on Freedom. And once we are, you shall be on the brig for the remainder of the battle, or our lives. Leaving him blankly staring straight ahead, she raised her voice. Yes, the admiral chose us. Because we, our Yonud Division, is special. We shall act as a mediator between the New Arabians and Admiral Stalwart."

To be honest, Captain, the senior Marine—Gustav—said, doesn’t that mean we’ll be taken to some deep underground establishment and be little more than hostages meant to hold up comm devices while the Admiral and his diplomats talk with the enemy from orbit?

"It does, of course. There is no other choice, or we all die equal deaths." Smiti grunted, looking around the command compartment, assessing her people’s mental state. The two exoskeleton-clad Marines sat almost with serene deadliness. It was a wonder the terms hadn’t forbidden them from bringing a couple armed escorts. But they did insist on me being unarmed. Sounds worse.

Arcadia announced, Prepare for atmospheric entry in—

The comm crackled, cutting off the rest of the report. It’s from the flagship, Handam said. Admiral Stalwart is on the line, no video thanks to the continuation of the low-grade enemy jamming.

The speakers blared. Captain Williams, Stalwart’s voice said. It was as brittle as it had been when the admiral had told Smiti, stuttering every few words, that the fleet was surrounded and the New Arabians were hailing them with surrender terms. They sent us the coordinates. Enter it in your flight computers ... all the shuttles will land there. It’s a native spaceport, so it shouldn’t be hazardous.

Yes, sir, Smiti said in clipped tones, even as, beside her, Handam appeared to be on the verge of bursting with expletives targeted at the admiral. She noticed his hand was on his hip-holster, gripping his sidearm. Does he mean to assassinate us and commit suicide, or is he contemplating how it would be to shoot Stalwart in the head? She thought the link had been severed, but then the comm crackled again.

Also, Captain, Stalwart said, there are unconfirmed sensor and optical reports that ... ah, Melds might have been spotted on the surface. Not near the rendezvous point, of course. The instructions have arrived. They will be taking you down to an underground base, where you will set up the holoprojector so I can appear there and we can negotiate in the name of our Nations and peace— A blast of static from the speakers ended it.

What? Handam blurted. You’re being played, we’re going to die, we— He stopped, his eyes wide and red, staring at the gun he’d ripped out of his holster. Then he collapsed back in his seat, dropping it. Admiral? Where did he go, ma’am? I lost my career before losing my life. Smiti didn’t reply, herself stunned.

We’ve lost communications, Lieutenant Arcadia reported, not a trace of consternation in her voice. It’s a blanket jam, coming from the surface ... as well as space. Captain, the New Arabian fleet is jamming us on all frequencies.

Actual fear touched Smiti for the first time, for some reason. And instead of going frantic checking the comm controls, she instead tapped buttons to bring up a little holographic situation display before her. The shuttles were, of course, still connected to the primary fleet sensor network, with tight laser links. Jamming sensors was much harder than jamming communications, and she wanted to see what the New Arabians were doing.

Nothing, it seemed, besides the blanket jam. The large globular of over two hundred surviving Asiatic Navy warships was maintaining position, prepared to fight to the death if necessary. The impressive display of Stalwart’s forces paled in comparison to the enemy. The New Arabians, far from attacking again, had pulled back a bit further, though right at the edge of close-weapons range. There were in excess of sixteen hundred enemy ships hanging in far orbit of the planet, essentially pinning Stalwart between their fleet and Khundav’s own surface defenses, most of which had come under control of the dozen partisan factions, each supported by various other factions in the star system as well as beyond, that had been warring against each other and the six major planetary governments on the surface for years.

We came here to end that war and bring peace, she thought, scoffing at the lies inherent even within that. And the partisans allied with the New Arabians, and they betrayed us altogether. Huh.

Abruptly, the display flashed a warning, indicating that several enemy ships were emitting power fluxes. She brought up a side-window to examine it, and then the display disappeared. Cursing, she jabbed her comm controls, hearing static. They’ve ramped up jamming, Handam said without inflection, before the pilot could. And it’s coming from a planetary source with very high power. Lieutenant, can we even contact the other shuttles by using emergency methods? He seemed to have forgotten his actions a few moments ago. Just like a true warrior.

We can now, sir, Arcadia said. But I won’t recommend it, especially at the distance the others are from us. The implication was there again. It was all by design. And once we’re flying among clouds, forget it. The navigation works fine, and that’s enough to get to our destination, barely a hundred kilometers away now.

The craft shuddered, and automatic alerts flashed as they hit Khundav’s outer atmosphere. The camera feeds acquired an orange-yellow tint, and Smiti caught a glimpse of gold-colored mountains under an astounding cover of gold-colored clouds below which were rust-colored clouds from which, she’d heard, rained silver droplets of chemicals whose names she couldn’t pronounce. Besides, none of the gold, silver, or rust was actually gold, silver or iron. There was no oxygen on this world, though carbon dioxide and silicon made up percentages of it that impressed Professor Khan. At least it gave them an excuse to wear survival suits and hide spring-driven weapons that couldn’t be detected by normal scans.

Combat alarms blared, the deafening effect doing more to stun than encourage reaction in most of them. But Arcadia was different, and Smiti felt her gut heave as the pilot banked them hard, gravity dampeners kicking in—rudimentary as they were on this cramped craft.

I’m losing control, the lieutenant said, more with despair than fear. "Correction, I have lost control. She spread her hands so they touched the top of the cockpit, manipulating panels that Smiti hadn’t known even existed. I turned that way, and this thing turned this way."

"What do you mean, lost control? Handam demanded. We’re going to crash? Even so, with another set of emergency alarms blaring, the helmets of the survival suits they’d been wearing over their clothes sealed automatically, the Marines’ battlesuits clamping shut and powering up behind them. Three minutes—"

"I mean I lost control! Arcadia snapped. Someone else has taken over the flight computer, and I’ve been overridden. It wasn’t a forced takeover, just ... instant. The computer isn’t even damaged, and the hatches are locked so we can’t evacuate without blowing through ... We have new coordinates!"

Smiti opened her mouth, ready to order the Marines to blast the hull open with their plasma cannons. She spent a moment in contemplation, assuring herself that Arcadia was the best technician-cum-pilot she could have. It was enough.

A small thermonuclear warhead, Arcadia said, as the shuttle bucked again. The gold-colored mountains below had vanished, and now all they could see was the rust-clouds and an expansive golden landscape. Our comms have been completely cut off, our thrusters have been damaged. We’re on an uncontrolled descent ... which I’m controlling now. She started to work her controls with a focused fury. I’m back in control of the shuttle, and we’re on a course to unavoidably make a somewhat-hard landing twenty kilometers off our target.

Smiti tried to formulate words. Relief, consternation, confusion, it was all overwhelming. Do what you can, Lieutenant. All hands, brace for landing in ten minutes. Keep weapons on standby and suits locked. She checked the alerts about how much radiation from the nuke had penetrated the shuttle and their suits, wincing. We’ve been spewed with bearable levels of radiation, and won’t need any treatment for a whole week. I don’t want to hear that as a cause of anxiety, then, am I clear? She didn’t even pay heed to the answers they gave her, for the captaincy-speeches were calming her own anxieties.

The next minute was rough, but surprisingly less rough than she’d expected. A tremendous whine from the back of the shuttle made sure she didn’t hear any of the other explosions.

The thing is, Captain, Arcadia said, sounding a tad relaxed once again, with a countdown saying there were four minutes left before they hit the surface, I ran a calculation, a scenario right now. Her inflection was unreadable. "Before the brief—mysterious loss of control, we were following a somewhat predictable, planned course. We didn’t, and don’t, see from where that missile came, though it was certainly surface-launched. And if the shuttle hadn’t been ... hacked and swung onto an abrupt curve, we’d have flown through exactly where the missile detonated at the exact time, and be dead."

You mean whoever took control of our shuttle did so to save our lives? Handam’s voice so brittle it almost crackled. And that’s why they let you take back control as soon as the blast wave passed?

I suppose so, Commander, Arcadia said. Captain, I think it might be— A blast of static from the speakers interrupted her. There’s a broadcast from somewhere on the planet, aimed to orbit.

Admiral Stalwart of Solaria, boomed a gravelly voice from overhead. Bring as many troops to the surface as you want, Admiral. We call in good faith, in peace! We will not attack unless you force us to, for we don’t wish to sustain the losses of blood and steel that a cornered fleet like yours can inflict. We only wish to teach you a lesson, not bring down the wrath of the Dominion Union upon us. If you will see the visual feed ... Static roared. "... we saved your lead negotiator shuttle from certain death at the hands of a missile launched from one of the pads that a few rogue terrorists managed to get control of. We are still subduing unwanted elements in this region of Khundav, and know that we can use the methods by which we saved your shuttle against you, if necessary. You are in the net, and it is inescapable. We want to negotiate, for this is a systemwide land grab, not a declaration of total war. Your recent movements are pushing us closer to ..." More static, and this time the booming voice with its stereotypical New Arabian lilt didn’t return.

Rogue terrorists, Handam repeated softly. "How can terrorists go rogue? His eyes widened. Captain, what might be Melds were spotted in habitats and settlements several times since we invaded this star system. All this ..."

One minute before we land, all hands, Smiti interrupted, making sure her voice carried from end to end and echoed in the increasingly shuddering shuttle. We’ll land alive, Lieutenant?

We’ll land alive, Arcadia confirmed, her focus unwavering even as her survival suit’s helmet snapped into place.

They flew over another golden mountain, this one an isolated feature with the remains of an entire city on its slopes, leveled sometime during the first battle of the Gubre System War—or the Long Little War, as some Earthers called this devastation. Rusted spires rose into the Khundav sky, high enough that Arcadia’s bumpy-but-sure flying didn’t alleviate Smiti’s fears about the shuttle slamming into a rod and them tumbling to their deaths. So glazed were her eyes that she forgot to try making out some details about the mysterious alien mountain itself. She hadn’t read about Khundav’s famous golden highrises before coming here with guns blazing.

Then the mountain and its ruins were past them, and the shuttle made what seemed like an uncontrolled dive until Arcadia explained, The radiation kicked off something I didn’t notice before. The engines might explode if we don’t make a landing and stop them in seconds ... hang on for dear Divinity!

Hang on they did, as the ground rushed close in milliseconds, a horrendous roar adding to the engines’ whine. Smiti had one final moment to appreciate the vastness of the barren greenish-gold-colored landscape, with another devastated surface-level city on the horizon—which would have been their original destination as ‘negotiators’, apparently. Then the shuttle jerked, heaved, sounds of tearing hull deafened her, and pain shot through her thighs and back and pervaded her being before the ultimate clang. Her vision swam, and the survival suit sent painkillers and a variety of other shipmade concoctions flooding her bloodstream. Report! she snapped, realizing it sounded more like a wheeze than anything else. Get ... evac ...

We’re on the surface, ninety kilometers from the target. Arcadia’s voice penetrated through her skull, as more alarms ripped through eardrums. Captain ... I see trouble.

-2-

Smiti shook her head, tapping suit controls so it injected some stimulants—wondering why it hadn’t already done so. Her senses returned, and she saw a wreck before her eyes. The upper hull of the shuttle was wide open, ripped apart, poisonous Khundav air now everywhere. Great. Now I can’t rub my eyes through this helmet. She made out the form of a Marine—no, both of the Marine lieutenants side-by-side. One was staring into the distance, through a round-shaped hull breach where the main cabin’s viewport had been. The other was working at the hatch, alongside Lieutenant Arcadia—who held a cutting laser in her hand. The clunk from their battlesuited forms was somewhat comforting.

Nine—ten figures approaching from two kilometers distant, Captain, Arcadia said. None of our comm devices work, though the Marines’ are still intact. Lieutenant Gustav tells me the figures seem to be armored terrorists—armored, not battlesuited. They’re plodding along slowly, carrying carbines. Can’t be New Arabian troops, given how primitive their gear looks.

Indeed, ma’am, the Marine looking out of the hole said. I’ve been standing like this watching them for a minute, and I haven’t been hit by a laser on my face—or a plasma blast. He shifted, so the exoskeleton whined with power. I think we have a chance to fight.

She stood and reached for her belt holster, succeeding to not groan, producing her own spring-driven projectile gun straight out of the preatomic age. It actually was five hundred years old, an artifact her chief engineer had stored in stasis and been willing to give her as his last favor. Even he said I was going to die. Can those ... enemies not blow up our shuttle with a rudimentary bomb? She shook her head. That means they’re something else ... Commander Handam?

She swiveled around to see Handam’s inert form lying on a slab of flat metal, his leg on his seat, which had been almost uprooted during the landing. His arm was twisted at an unnatural angle.

Internal bleeding. Arcadia frowned. Lieutenant Gustav gave him some medical support with the battlesuit’s systems. We’ll have to do without him for now. She paused. Are you okay, Captain?

Smiti nodded. How could I be so dazed I didn’t even notice one of my crewmembers wasn’t speaking? What’s happening to me? At least the others ... The shuttle’s our best protection and cover, however damaged it is. There’s flat landscape all around us, and only two of us are armored enough to be walking-talking killing machines. She raised her gun. Which means we take a defensive position here, and hope the other shuttles see us. Or there indeed were Melds around here, and Baba Hugiba is here personally. Nothing here makes sense.

Honestly, ma’am, the second Marine said, "I almost forgot that the other shuttles existed. We landed five minutes ahead of schedule, ninety kilometers off target. There’s time, but it’s almost certain the others will see us. And our battlesuit scopes can spot any bombs the approaching terrorists throw, any guns they fire long before we’re hit."

"If the others are alive, Arcadia commented. And if they do come here. Captain—" She was interrupted by a loud whoosh, and then a clang.

On collective instinct and automatic action, their brains barely registering the little spherical object that fell right in the center of the shuttle, the Marines fired plasma cannons, blowing half the hull to pieces. Within a half-second, with the enhanced motor functions offered equally by the survival suits and the battlesuits, the captain and her pilot fled the shuttle, racing out in the opposite direction of the approaching terrorists and the doomed shuttle. Behind them, Lieutenant Gustav checked as his fellow Marine grabbed the inert form of Commander Handam before jumping out of the wrecked shuttle themselves.

The adrenaline hadn’t even begun to flow through Smiti’s body before a blinding flash made the faceplate of her suit whiten. The shuttle erupted in flames before her eyes. Both Marines were unhurt, beyond sweating profusely in their battlesuits.

She had the misfortune of seeing through the daze as Commander Handam, who Gustav had been holding like a baby in his arms, blew apart in the blast wave. Gore splattered the Marines’ battlesuits and the alien surface of Khundav, even as the multicolored flames engulfing the shuttle vanished into the alien atmosphere.

Smiti worked her jaws, becoming aware of a stinging pain in her eyes. Then she saw the object.

A sleek, small cigar-shaped craft swooped down from a rust-colored cloud, glistening and flashing blue-green, which must have been some sort of archaic hunter-killer drone. It happened so fast that before her jaw could close, she saw Lieutenant Arcadia incinerated by one of the blue-green flashes. Disintegrated was a better term. Smiti started running at the tremendous speed the suit’s exoskeleton would take her, in a direction only her gut could decide. Gustav yelled something that got past the static on their shortwave radios, and she knew what the drone was doing now.

As the sleek killer swooped back down from the clouds to exchange fire with her two Marines, she arrived back at the now completely wrecked shuttle, hearing the whine of the exoskeleton. She slid under a pile of crumpled hull-composite. Jagged metal filling her vision, she craned her neck so she could manipulate the suit’s scopes to see what the two Marines were doing.

Gustav and his kind were unique people, and now they proved it. The drone dove to attack them with its comparatively primitive lasing systems, failed to penetrate their armor, and swooped past into the clouds again to regain momentum. It was more of a contraption than a normal hunter-killer. Though its primitive weapons were enough to kill Arcadia, poor girl.

Poor girl? That’s all I think of her now?

No guilt, no fear, no disgust or anger, she felt nothing except an inexplicable cold. If she was going to die in the middle of nowhere ... Well, she guessed at least a hundred million other people had died like this on Khundav, so there wouldn’t be a lack of company.

At least take Stalwart and his cursed fellows to somewhere worse than I’ll go, Divinity.

The Marines weren’t succeeding to destroy the drone either, though. Its maneuvers were perfect, more so than Arcadia’s piloting. Neither of them appeared to think their beloved captain had abandoned them, though Smiti knew her old spring-driven gun would do little except get herself killed—faster than if she hid under this wreck and waited until the terrorists plodding ever closer in their stolen piles of armor—about five minutes away, now—could kill her. The drone made another attack run on the two Marines, who dutifully kept it engaged as long as it would remain focused on them, in order to protect their captain. As