Lost Empires Read online

  In the 4th squad of the 81st Platoon of the 2nd Company, 17th Imperial Space Regiment, was a marine who'd been in service for more than three hundred years. His combat body the same as any other marine: he was three meters tall, and shaped like an enormously strong human male. But he not human; he was a Son of Man. He was a machine, made by machines. His muscle fibers were made of contracting metal. His skin was armor, made of neutronium-embedded nanoweave. It was scarred, nicked, and patched, and had once been regally painted in the colors of his unit: titanium white and cobalt blue, with gold piping the edges of each armor segment. Camouflage as never necessary for a marine. His faceplate was a smooth plate of gold. Beneath it were four eyes: Two mechanical, and two organic. All four of them were sealed behind armored glass. He had no other facial features. He had no mouth. His scent receptors were just slits, and sensors embedded on each side of his head served as audio relays.

  The marine's name was OVR9K. His peers just called him Watchdren. In their battle language, his machine mind, made of a crystal-lattice neuron simulator, was located in his head. His brain, which they called a cerbo, was located in his chest. The cerbo's name was Samuel W. Korenth. Because of the capabilities of their enemy, all soldiers in the service of the Holy Reach were composed of both a masino and a cerbo; man and machine, united in life and war.

  Korenth was a new cerbo. The last two had been killed in action. The one before that went insane. There were some others, before that, but Watchdren rarely thought of them. The only cerbo he ever liked was the first one he had. They got along from day one. Together, they had truly been a single entity. They fought together for over two centuries before she finally left him to go live a human life again.

  Watchdren's cerbo was silent. It was patched into its reality simulator, along with the other brains in the company. Cerbos came from humans. Or, they were human, still, even without their bodies. Watchdren wasn't exactly sure on that point. Regardless, he knew that cerbos needed other cerbos, or they got lonely. And, unlike machine minds, brains couldn't just go into sleep mode and wait for orders. Brains were weak. Humans were weak. Well, most humans were weak. Back when he'd been with his first cerbo, whose name had been Strela, she and he had shared an identity, and a name: Darkstrike. Darkstrike had risen to be a colonel. Darkstrike had many victories. While the other masinos just went into sleep mode, Watchdren often replayed those memories in his mind. All the battles, everything he felt, and Strela's emotions were recorded through his eyes and mind.

  But, Darkstrike was three or four – maybe five cerbos ago. Watchdren shared the rank of his cerbo: Private. He was clamped into a storage rack along with the other members of his squad. They were in the troop hold of an intra-universe phase ship, which was nicknamed a sub. The troop hold was crammed, bulkhead-to-bulkhead, with marines. But they didn't care. They hung out in sleep mode, while their brains stayed patched into the brain net. They could be in port, they could be in artificial universe, or they could be fleeing for their lives from a sub destroyer. He had no idea. He didn't care about anything on a sub, because the only thing that interested him was destroying the enemy. The only other things that even fired up his mind were memories of the sympatico he had with Strela. That, and sometimes, he found himself looking at the stars.

  Out of the darkness of sleep mode, he was awoken. Orders flashed into his mind. Their sub had located an enemy ship. It was fighter hive. Why it was sailing without escorts, Watchdren didn't know. He knew they were in deep space, and that the sub was going to take out the enemy's spacefold drive. He knew they would then insert in the top rear launch bay. He knew the layout of the hive's interior, and he knew his mission assignment, which was to gain control of the stern damage control center.

  He messaged Korenth: "Brain, get out of the sim. We're boarding a ship."

  "I know," Korenth said. Watchdren felt his cerbo's conscience return to their shared body. He felt Korenth open their organic eyes. He let Korenth move his head around, but all they could see was armored bodies crammed together, and the dim red interior lights of the sub. He felt Korenth's fear.

  "Don't let the fear get you, brain," Watchdren said. "Just let me do the fighting. I'll keep us alive. I swear it. All I need you to do is to watch and learn, okay?"

  "Roger," Korenth said. "They were just giving us this briefing in net space. I know exactly what to do."

  "Don't do anything fancy," Watchdren said. "If they knock me out, just stay in cover until I reboot. Don't let the fear get to you."

  "I know," Korenth said. "Just like the simulations."

  Damn scumbag brain, Watchdren thought. But, he didn't let Korenth hear his thoughts. It wouldn't be like the simulation, because cerbos are never scared in simulators. But, he figured it was best to say nothing.

  Watchdren wasn't scared, or nervous. But, this was Korenth's baptism under fire. His first combat action. Statistically, he had a one-in-twenty chance of getting killed. But, if he survived, his chances of surviving the next action were much higher. If he survived ten serious engagements, his chances of surviving his military service went to over one-hundred fifteen to one. Cerbos that survived over a hundred engagements were golden. The only thing that could kill them was the worst luck fate could deliver.

  Watchdren didn't want his cerbo to get killed. The others had died all the same way. Watchdren had been forced to reboot to avoid being scrambled. When he booted back into consciousness, his cerbo had succumbed to the enemy's telepathy. Or, it had failed in a fight, and been killed. Watchdren just hoped that the platoon leader would give him a safe task so that his cerbo had a chance to learn what fighting was really like. But, he knew, there was no truly safe place when you were raiding a ship in deep space…

  His desire to see Korenth survive crashed into the reality that his last three cerbos had all been lost before reaching even ten missions. The impossibility of the situation forced him to do something he hadn't done since his name had been Darkstrike. Something Strela had taught him to do. Pray.

  God, I know you're out there. The programmed me to know this. Strela talked to you all the time. She talked to you for me. But now she's not here. So I will talk to you, and ask that, please, help me keep Korenth alive. Amen.

  Watchdren felt his fingers flexing on the handgrip of his pike. It was his cerbo doing that, out of nervousness. He let him do that. This was the cerbo's body, too. The pike was three meters long, with blades on each end, like a kayak paddle. The shaft housed a deflector shield that formed a sphere as wide in diameter as the shaft of the pike. Also in the shaft was an inertia thrower. He was armed with a short-barreled blaster holstered on his hip. He didn't expect to use it. Ship work was mostly melee and grenades. A full complement of them was slung around his chest in a bandolier. A small barb on the cheek of his head was used for pulling the pins with one hand. He had welded that onto himself, centuries ago. It'd been Strela's idea.

  The platoon net came active. He could feel his comrades, instinctively knew their positions, and even sense their thoughts. The veterans who've been paired stood out. They were the ones who were two-in-one, one conscious being, mind, body, and spirit in one metal body. They were the ones who said, 'We,' instead of 'I.' Their names and identities had merged. Watchdren knew what that felt like. He wanted to feel it again.

  He said to Korenth, "Do you feel them, brain? That's how you and I have to get. We have to stay alive until we become one."

  "I'll try," Korenth said. "I won't let you down."

  The ship lurched. The marines shook in their clamps. Then, the troop hold roared with a metal howl, like an oil drum being cut with a circular saw. That was the entry tube cutting through the enemy's hull.

  The commander yelled over the platoon net: "Fourth squad, you're breaching."

&nbs
p; Watchdren thought, Why us? Blood!

  The squad's rack lifted from the ranks, and lined up with the entry tube. They were turned to face the entry, and their clamps slung them forward. The airtight hatch slid open, releasing into the cold vacuum of the troop hold a blast of air and frozen crystals from the interior of the enemy ship.

  The rack shot them into the enemy ship, like bullets fired from a magazine. As Watchdren flew through the tube, he felt the enemy's psychic communications. He felt these through his cerbo. But, Korenth wasn't even aware of them. He said, "Brain. Korenth - do you heat that noise? Your brain senses it. I only hear them through you."

  "What?" he said. "That's them? Wow, it is them!"

  Watchdren flew through the tube. He swung his pike, throwing inertia away from his direction of travel. He landed on the deck, and tossed himself out of the way of the next incoming marine. Watchdren set his digital eyes to night vision. Korenth looked through the organic eyes. The enemy ship was in near darkness, but through the night eyes, even a tiny spark was enough to light up a whole room. They had come in straight down onto the ship's topside. There were no klaxons. Lights were out. They were in the passageway designated Bravo-15. Watchdren wondered why there was no gravity field. The Medusan ships usually pulled three G's. Maybe they felt nullgrav would help them defend the ship? Well, it wouldn't. Not against the marines.

  The walls were smooth metal. The passageway was four meters wide, up and down. There were bulkheads every twenty meters. The squad followed the plan that had been flashed into their memories, and headed sternward down B-15. Watchdren had been in B-15 many times, on other fighter hives. B-15 was a hundred meters long and used to bridge the crew compartments to the stern fighter batteries. It was lined with access tunnels leading to gun batteries alpha through gamma, two galleys, and it ended in a T that led to the secondary bridge, the stern fighter batteries, and the aft damage control. In every bulkhead, there was an automated defense gun. In the section of passageway they were in now, the entry bore had taken out the gun.

  Watchdren took cover at the edge of a bulkhead heading stern. The hatch was open. His was the only squad on the ship. He felt his cerbo panicking. He said, "Take it easy."

  "Why are we staying here?" He asked. "We have to go, to let more marines in."

  "Just chill," Watchdren said. "We can't just board the ship all in one shot so that they can kill us. We have to let them secure the guillotine hatches, so we can destroy them. If we go into the next bulkhead section, they'll close the hatch behind us, shoot us up, and then open it again for the next guys to get killed."

  "When will they secure them?" Korenth asked.

  "When they decided they've lost enough air," Watchdren replied, looking up at the bore tunnel. The hole it made in the bulkhead wasn't exactly airtight. He could see stars through the gap, and the air rushing out, turning to a frozen mist. Stronk air was humid. The gush of escaping air was slowing as the pressure dropped lower and lower.

  "I can feel them," Korenth said. "I can feel that they're scared. I think I...I see one, down below, trying to get into a pressure suit! An eight-legged pressure suit!"

  "Don't go into their brains," Watchdren said. "Use your powers defensively, or they'll mess with your mind."

  "Okay," Korenth replied. Just then, the bulkhead shook as the guillotine hatch slammed. Watchdren and the squad leader, Jorech, went into action. They simultaneously brought their pikes down on the guillotine hatch, making two downward strokes that cut straight through the metal. Because the pikes were so well-balanced, their motion didn't throw them out of their place in mid-air. They both crunched, bringing their knees to their foreheads, and holding their pikes across their thighs, as two more marines swung with their pikes, sending blades flying over their head and beneath their feet. Two more cuts appeared in the hatch. The square section flew into the passageway, which had already gone into vacuum. As soon as it was clear, one marine shot into the room, which flashed with intense light as its defense gun opened up. Another marine shot in behind him, and with a flash of his pike, sliced the gun from its overhead mount, destroying it.

  Watchdren flew into the passageway. The first marine to breach the room was fine - his deflector shield withstood the defense guns assault. Barely. If his squadmate hadn't taken the gun out, another second would have been too much. The squad ripped through the next bulkhead. This one led to a galley. The hatch was sealed. But Korenth could feel them through the bulkhead. He said, "Some are suited up. Some don't have suits. They have some marines in there. They're ready to fight."

  Watchdren used the hook on his cheek to pull a pin from a grenade. The hatch was cut open. He told Korenth, "The trick here is to let the room depressurize before throwing the grenade in. Otherwise, the pressure gale can throw the grenade back out."

  The others pulled their pins. Jorech let the spoon of his grenade fly. They counted to three, and simultaneously hurled their grenades into the galley. The ship rocked as walls of gas, hard as steel and impregnated with shrapnel, came blasting out of the galley hatch, and tossed them around in the passageway. Korenth felt the lives of the enemies snuffed out. But he wanted to look through the hatch, out of curiosity. Watchdren obliged him. The walls were painted with viscera. The blood was crimson; the enemy, too, was an oxygen breather.

  While they had destroyed the galley, first squad had proceeded to the next compartment. Fourth squad moved in, and left B-15 and proceeded into T-5, which was an elevator shaft that led straight down to the middle of the ship to the reaction team barracks. The squad's job was to intercept the reaction team. The rest of the dragoons spread out through the ship. Watchdren hoped that someone had already made it to aft damage control. That's where the ship could be scuttled.

  Knightren and Doren both had rocket launchers. Watchdren held Knightren's feet, and pushed his upper body into the elevator shaft through the torn-open hatch. There were no cables in shaft; it ran on superconductors. But, it did have emergency brake rails.

  "See anything?" Watchdren asked.

  "Not yet," Knightren replied.

  From Korenth's cerbo, Watchdren felt the rumblings of alien anger. He said, "Brain, where's that coming from?"

  Korenth paused and listened to the psychic impulses he picked up. He said, "Below us."

  Watchdren held his tongue – of course it would be coming from below, since they were on the top level of the ship. He asked, "How far down?"

  "I'm not sure," Korenth replied.

  Jorech said: "Mission time now five minutes. They should've cracked comms by now. The reaction team should be coming up the shaft any second."

  "Maybe this ship doesn't have a reaction team," Knightren said.

  Jorech said, "No. We feel the reaction team below us." He ordered the rest of the squad to spread out through three sections of passageway. Watchdren knew this meant Jorech was counting on a breach entry…He told this to Korenth, and gripped Knightren with such force it felt like the marine's armor was bending.

  Knightren yelled "Movement in the shaft! Fire in the hole!"

  He fired the rocket straight down the shaft with a powerful push of compressed air. The shaft flared with fire light as the booster motor kicked in. Just as Watchdren heaved back to pull Knightren out of the shaft, gravity returned. Knightren was pulled down at three G; he suddenly weighed over 2,500 kilos. He went straight down the shaft, pulling Watchdren with him. The shaft loomed before his face, and Watchdren stared straight down at a pit of flaming wreckage. He held Knightren by his ankles. They stopped. Watchdren's pike was lengthwise against the entrance to the shaft. He had been leaning against it just in case the enemy pulled a trick like this, and now, it held him at his waist. He held on to Knightren and waited; he didn't have a great grip on the edges of the elevator shaft with his knees, and he expected his squadmates to pull them back at any second. But, Jorech yelled: "Watchdren-Korenth, Knightren, we can't bunch up in that passageway section! Can you recover yourselves?"

  They both replie
d, "Roger!" Watchdren felt Korenth grow excited in him, and felt a movement in his left leg that came from his cerbo. He said, "I got this, kid. Just learn. Don't move us."

  "Roger!" his brain replied.

  Ten decks below, burst oxygen lines fed the raging fire in the remains of the elevator. Knightren dropped the spent rocket launcher tube. Three gravities pulled the discarded weapon down with such speed that it didn't even have time to rotate before turning into a dark blur that disappeared into the flames. .He reached up and grabbed Watchdren's wrists. Watchdren asked, "Got it?" He replied, "Easy." Watchdren said, "Letting go in three, two, one." Watchdren let go of Knightren's ankles. The marine's legs dropped down hard, and he climbed up Watchdren's arms and over his back, where he dropped back onto the deck, safe in the passageway.

  The platoon net was ecstatic. The damage control had been secured. There was no chance for it to be scuttled. The ship was almost under their control. Watchdren grabbed his pike, and the passageway exploded.

  Though blinded by fire and concussion, he threw his pike wide, to try and catch the edges of the elevator hatch. No luck. He rebounded off the back of the shaft, and threw a hand forward, hoping to catch the bottom of the hatch. But he felt only the slickness of smooth superconductors as he plummeted into the flames.