Conquest sf-4

  Conquest

  ( Star Force - 4 )

  B. V. Larson

  CONQUEST is the next chapter in the great interstellar war between all living creatures and the machines. Star Force must stop the machine invaders once again--but how?

  In the fourth book of the Star Force series, Kyle Riggs has freed Earth from the chains of the Macros--but at what cost? The Macros no longer trust him. He is a mad dog that must be put down--and all Star Force must be stamped out with him. The war expands in this story, and mankind is once again faced with annihilation.

  CONQUEST

  (Star Force Series #4)

  Copyright © 2011 by the author.

  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 or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  -1-

  I woke up around midday under a flapping tarp. I was in a lean-to, something Sandra and I had put together on the southern shore of Andros Island. The tarp was orange vinyl, and one hundred percent free of nanites. Sandra had insisted we leave all alien technology behind. I found our shelter’s ruffling sounds, caused by the endless ocean winds, to be peaceful rather than annoying.

  Groaning aloud, I raised myself onto one elbow. Blearily, I surveyed the white sandy beach and the clear blue waters of the Caribbean beyond. Sandra and I had chosen this secluded spot for our brief vacation in part because none of the laser turrets that ringed the island were visible from here. You had to walk out into the surf and look east or west to see them. I had tried it and inevitably, they’d spotted me almost as quickly as I had spotted them. The nearest turrets were around a thousand yards away, but they’d swung around and studied me intently. Was I harmless, or an enemy to be burned down without compunction? It was an odd feeling to be judged by your own software. Each time they allowed me to live another day I was left aware of that moment of indecision in their alien minds.

  Today was a sad day, as it was the end of our brief three-day vacation on the beach. I had stolen this time as it was. We marines had come home to Earth at last, but we were far from safe. If anything, our doom could be seen with perfect clarity as it advanced upon us.

  I had spent six days in the hospital after we’d returned to Earth. For six long days my internal nanites had itched and tickled inside my body, repairing my bones, skin, organs and tissues. I’d spent those days worrying. I now understood how doomed men of the past must have felt while they awaited the inexorable approach of their final defeats.

  Napoleon during his last three days at Waterloo, King Leonidas at Thermopylae…Hitler, squatting in his bunker—which one was I? Was I playing the part of the hero making his last stand, or the delusional villain on the verge of taking down all he had ever held dear with him? I wasn’t entirely sure.

  I hadn’t started the original war with the Macros, no matter what the less flattering commentators said. The most insulting of the fake online vids showed me shaking hands with hundred foot tall metal monsters before they demolished buildings full of screaming kindergarteners. I wondered at the amount of effort these video pranksters had gone to in order to cast me as a demon in battle armor. I wanted to give them each a beam rifle, a gallon of silver nanites and a pet Macro of their own to play with. Let them try to make peace with the machines while I complained about their choices.

  The vids angered me because I hadn’t started the war—but I most certainly had rekindled it, that I could not deny. The criticism that hurts the worst should always be listened to, I told myself, because it was closest to the truth.

  I’d left the hospital a week before any doctor approved the decision. Six days I’d lain there, reading budget reports and talking to people who were nervous in my presence. It was as if they thought they might catch something deceptively deadly. I was sick of my sick-bed and tired of my visitors. The parade seemed infinite: celebrity well-wishers who turned a simple handshake into an interview. Politicians who came for private meetings, but brought cameramen in tow. Military people wanting to debrief me until my brain felt drained of useful thought. I knew I had to get moving again, so I did.

  Every day since I’d left the hospital had been something like today. First I’d shaken myself awake, causing a wave of fresh pain in my healing ribs. Then I’d sucked in that pain, reveling in it. How many times had I told my marines that pain was a good thing? As long as you felt it, you had unassailable proof that you were still alive.

  Sandra had led me down here, to this vacation spot, soon after I’d marched out of the hospital. Today, when she returned from combing the beach for interesting shells, she met me at the lean-to. We kissed and smiled at one another.

  “It’s over,” I said. “We have to go back.”

  “Yes, I feel it too,” she said. “We’ve been here too long. I’m not able to enjoy it any longer. I can’t stop thinking about what’s going on back at the base.”

  Without any argument, we packed a waiting crawler vehicle and drove it northward through the crashing waves, back to Fort Pierre and Star Force headquarters.

  As we drove over wet sand with waves licking at our tires, I kept thinking about the Macros, wondering if I should have done something differently. What was done was done, I told myself sternly. If I’d started a new war, then it was time to win it, not cry about it. Now was not the time to dwell on the mistakes of the past, but instead to press onward. I had to fix what I could and cheat to cover the rest until things went my way.

  Sandra and I held hands, but we hardly spoke on the journey back to base. We were both lost in our own thoughts. As we drew closer to home, our thoughts and expressions became grimmer.

  We reached the base without incident. Before I entered the gates, however, I contacted Major Barrera and First Sergeant Kwon. Sandra already knew my plans. No one argued with me. They all knew what had to be done.

  I reflected as I crossed the base to Fleet’s grandiose new headquarters building that I’d built Star Force almost from the sand up. In many ways, the entirety of Andros Island bore the mark of my hand. Strung along every beach was an army of robotic turrets, aiming their laser projectors at every passerby. When I was on base, I could see them beyond the concrete walls, tracking every gull, swimmer and passing aircraft. They classified, identified and passed judgment upon everything that crept within their range. I watched a company of my marines exercise between two of them, oblivious to the fact the turrets watched them and contemplated an instant incineration for any man who might trip a neural chain and become designated as hostile. How trusting they were of my software.

  Crow had left his stamp upon this organization and this land as well. He’d done very little Nano design work, and he rarely worked on new weapons systems to combat the Macros. But he had lovingly shaped his own sprawling quarters and his office was reportedly huge. I had yet to set foot inside his new building since my return. The visit was long overdue.

  I walked into Fleet headquarters at one p. m. on a Thursday afternoon. In my hand, I had a folder stuffed with budget reports. I didn’t like what was printed on that blizzard of paper.

  Mysteriously, Fleet’s building had grown to be four stories tall in my absence. It was the largest building on base now, except for the hospital itself. The place hummed with staffers. Most of the staffers were clerks working on computers in their cubicles. I walked through rows of them, keeping my expression as blank as possible, but I imagined I was scowling somewhat. It was hard not to. Crow had stinted himself nothing. I could only imagine the bloated budget he rode herd upon, sucked out of every nation on Earth.

  Crow held court in a palatial office on the fourth floor. There was plenty of room left over up there for his army of clerks. I noted as I walked down the center aisle that the clerks on the fourth floor were different. They were almost all female. Most of the women were startlingly attractive, and the majority were Asians.

  There were guards here and there, armed with normal rifles rather than beamers. That was a new base regulation Crow had instituted, beamers were forbidden while in the presence of civilians who had no protection against blindness and radiation. I didn’t approve of the rule, as regular ballistic weaponry wasn’t particularly effective against Macros—or even our own marines.

  I could tell right off these base troops were poorly disciplined. They hadn’t been trained as shock-troops by veterans like First Sergeant Kwon. Most sat with their butts on the corner of a desk and relentlessly flirted with the half-interested clerks. The rest smoked near the windows while tapping at their smartphones.

  By the time I reached Crow’s door, I had been confronted by a half-dozen panicked staffers. There were a thousand reasons I couldn’t take another step. I ignored them all. I’d long ago learned that the key to bypassing bureaucrats was to maintain momentum and never stop walking. Eventually, these fluttering minions gave up on stalling me and switched to whispering warnings into their phones instead.

  I reached for Crow’s office door, which was a good twelve feet tall and built of fine island mahogany. The golden latches twisted before I could touch them, and the stately doors swung open to reveal a sumptuous interior. There was orange carpet underfoot, thick and soft. Fan blades shaped like palm fronds spun overhead. A massive desk built of rosewood filled the center of the room.

  There, standing in the middl
e of it all, was Crow himself. His blue eyes were open wide, as were his grinning lips. He had a sunburn and his reddened face made the whiteness of his big square teeth all the more noticeable.

  “Come on in, Colonel!” he greeted me, waving me forward with a sweep of his arm. “I hadn’t expected you would be done with your holiday so soon, but I’m glad you’re back.”

  I nodded, accepting his lie, and walked into the office. A few women with long dark hair and navy-blue business skirts swarmed quietly at the threshold behind me. Their eyes darted and they whispered to one another in hushed excitement. Crow shooed them back and closed the massive doors in their faces.

  I stood with my hands on my hips, admiring his office. “Nice flat you’ve got yourself here, Jack,” I said.

  His face puckered just for a second, then smoothed back into a smile. I knew he didn’t like it when I ignored his title of Admiral, but I didn’t care.

  “Glad you could drop by. You should build yourself a better building. I know a few architects. Everyone swears they’re the best in the hemisphere.”

  “I noticed,” I said, “and that brings me to the reason I’ve come.”

  I tossed a sheath of paper on his huge desk. The desk was so big the folder looked like a snowflake on a football field.

  Crow picked through the printouts, frowning at them. “Spreadsheets?”

  “Yes, budgets. Fleet is sucking up all the accounts. I don’t know how that got started, but it’s going to stop today.”

  Crow worked his mouth for a second, but nothing came out. Then he got his bearings again. I figured he was out of practice at the art of dealing with me. For months, everyone around here had been his frightened yes-man.

  “I’ll see what I can do about that, Kyle,” he said. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. Possibly, a bump up is in order for the Marines. Your side of the house took a beating out there. You’ll need to rebuild.”

  I nodded slowly, staring at him. He bent over the papers, took out a pencil and made some adjustments. The pencil scratched briefly.

  “Yes…I’ll cancel the officer’s private stadium. That’s a morale-building project, you know. Plenty of my mates will be disappointed, but we have to keep our priorities in order.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Fifty-fifty,” I said.

  He blinked at me, and cocked his head to one side. “I don’t quite follow you there—”

  “Oh yeah, you do. Fleet gets half of all incoming funds and the Marines get the other half. That’s it. End of story.”

  Crow flashed then, as I knew he would eventually. The man had a temper, and I was surprised he’d managed to keep it under wraps for this long.

  He sprang at me. It was sudden, almost thoughtless. His eyes were bulging in his head like boiled eggs. He didn’t punch me, he extended a single finger and poked me with it. My chest muscles tightened, but that only made my ribs hurt more. I whipped up my hand, grabbed his wrist and twisted. He went down on his face.

  He bounced back up. I stood there, staring at him. My eyes were slits and my mouth was a tight line. His nose was bleeding, probably from hitting that gaudy orange carpet with excessive force. I was bleeding too, from the hole his finger had punched into my chest muscles.

  I crossed my arms. He took a deep breath and crossed his. He laughed suddenly.

  “Same old shit between us,” he said. “Two alpha dogs, only one pack.”

  “Right,” I said, “but you’re all done humping my leg.”

  Crow nodded. “Okay mate. You win. Seventy-thirty. I’ll write it up today. There will be a lot of damage, a lot of good projects cancelled, but Fleet will survive.”

  “Fifty-fifty or we go for it right here,” I said.

  He took a step toward me and I thought he was going to punch me this time. I wasn’t really in good enough shape for a brawl. My bones weren’t completely reattached in places. But I was ready for it anyway.

  Crow stopped with his bloody nose no more than six inches from mine. “You’ve got the biggest pair, mate. You know I’ve always admired that about you. But do you know where you are, my man? Do you know how many armed men I have in this building?”

  Crow was escalating. I blinked in mild surprise. I hadn’t been sure he’d go so far, not over a few percentage points on a budget. Maybe he thought this conflict between the two of us had been inevitable. I’d come to that conclusion myself, while laying in my hospital bed reading reports for days. Maybe he’d figured out he might as well go for broke right now, and determine who was going to run Star Force once and for all. He’d probably enjoyed ruling Andros single-handedly while I was gone. It was natural enough for a man like him.

  “You just blinked, Kyle,” Crow said, his mouth twitching. “Yeah, I saw it. You’ve overplayed your hand by coming here.”

  Over the years, I’d come to understand Crow’s behavior patterns. The man was quite predictable. When he saw weakness, he lunged. When he saw strength, he pulled back and bided his time. It was time to show him strength.

  I pointed calmly to his desk. “You’ve got security systems in this mahogany aircraft carrier of yours, don’t you?”

  “You bet I do.”

  “Use them. Check your cameras.”

  He walked around his desk warily, keeping his eye on me. We could both move very quickly with our nanite-enhanced bodies. In less than a second of distraction, either of us might be able to launch a preemptive strike against the other.

  Crow tapped his desk, and the top of it lit up. I was impressed. I’d been fooled into thinking it was real mahogany, but the surface was essentially only a wood-grain screen-saver. A dozen views from every floor flashed up on the desk. I understood instantly why the desk was so big. It was actually his observation system.

  Crow sucked his teeth. He didn’t say anything for a moment. I glanced at the scenes displayed in a score of boxes on his desk. In most of them, one of my marine’s in combat gear stood in front of one of his lackadaisical guards. My men were wearing battle armor and goggles. They had beamers pressed up against the throats of his men, who hadn’t bothered to fire a shot. There was no point in using bullets on my marines. It would only piss them off and possibly result in death for the shooter. A few of my boys waved at the camera pick-ups that were placed all over the building.

  I pulled out my com-link. Sandra answered immediately.

  “You need me inside?” she said.

  “Come on in, but take it easy,” I said.

  Sandra had never been good at taking it easy. The roof above us tore itself apart. An explosion of white plaster dust, insulation and wires fell into the office. Fortunately, only sheetrock and a single rafter fell, and they didn’t land on Crow’s desk. It would have been a shame to ruin it.

  Sandra was a strange combination of chief bodyguard and girlfriend. She’d been altered more than anyone else under my command. She had not only been nanotized, but upgraded by an intelligent race of microbiotic creatures as well. Unfortunately, the microbiotics had all died tragically. Otherwise, I might have been able to upgrade all my marines in a similar fashion.

  She sprang out of the dusty mess and moved in a blur. An instant later she stood atop the desk. She had both her arms operating again, but I could tell the right one was still healing. After all, she’d had it torn off less than a month ago.

  She carried twin knives in her hands instead of guns. Two combat knives with molecularly-aligned, carbon blades. She’d used the blades to claw her way through the ceiling. A shaft of sunlight came beaming down through the haze of plaster dust, turning the floating motes golden.

  “Is today the day?” Sandra asked, staring at Crow as one might stare at a turkey in need of carving.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I turned to Crow and raised my eyebrows expectantly.

  Crow’s eyes were bigger than usual. I waited for him to speak. He eyed me, then Sandra. Lastly, he eyed the helpless guards depicted all over his desktop.

  “Fifty-Fifty,” he said quietly.

  “The Marines need a new headquarters,” I said. “Now.”