THARSIS SHOPPING PLAZA, MARS
POV: Kebede Nyongesa, Terran Republic Marine Corps (Rank: Staff Seargent)
It had taken them less than five seconds to take out the attackers. Kebede hurried into the theater room behind his combat robots.
He almost retched at the scene in front of him. Over a dozen of the moviegoers were piled on top of each other in the stairway, obviously shot trying to get out. A few had been killed huddling in their seats. A few were still breathing, groaning or crawling on the floor.
And there were the downed shooters, sprawled over each other at the front, near the theater screen. Distinctive in their armored suits — stolen Republic Marine issue or some close-enough knockoff. Their outer shells had been painted light red and brown. And one of them had on his shoulder that infamous flag every Republic citizen recognized.
One of them twitched. A middle-aged woman. His suit told him she’d been shot six times in the chest, but somehow her combat suit was still keeping her alive as it was designed to. As he watched, her arm extended, stretching laboriously towards the automatic rifle she’d dropped next to her.
His robots aimed their weapons at her, waiting with electronic eagerness for her to cross the rule of engagement threshold that would allow them to turn her into a shish kebab.
Shaking his head, Kebede stepped up, his boot stepping on her arm to stop its progression. He picked up her weapon and threw it out of reach. “This one’s still breathing,” he called out as he looked around him.
The corpsmen and medical officers had rushed in and made themselves busy attending to the few civilians who were still alive.
“Corpsman! Corpsman! Over here!” Kebede shouted.
One of them turned around from a bleeding moviegoer she was tending to. A medical officer, not a corpsman. Her insignia said lieutenant and her nameplate read Hauzini. “Staff Sarn’t. Are you injured?”
He shook his head. “Negative, LT. One of the shooters is still—”
“Staff Sarn’t, I’ve got an actual patient here,” she snapped at him impatiently.
“I need you over here now!”
Technically, Hauzini outranked him, but she was fresh out of Navy A School, and his urgent voice and ten years of field experience on her seemed authoritative enough that she gathered up her medical bag and rushed to his side.
She took only a brief glance at the woman in the stolen Marine armor lying on the ground, struggling to breathe. “Staff Sarn’t, this one isn’t going to make it,” she said through gritted teeth.
“The brainjack! Get the brainjack!” he yelled hurriedly as he knelt down to remove the dying shooter’s helmet, tossing it to the side as he slapped her cheeks to keep her awake.
Hauzini’s face paled even more than it’d been, if that were possible, as she stood frozen with indecision. “What?”
“Brainjack! Do you have one?! Get it out!”
Jolted by the sergeant, Hauzini fumbled in her bag, locating the experimental electronic device.
The one they were never supposed to use.
She grasped it in her hand nervously. After a brief moment of hesitation, she turned to Kebede on the ground, “Staff Sarn’t, I can’t use this. I don’t have— I can’t reach my CO upstairs! I’m going to need authorization from the—”
Kebede snatched it out of her fingers unceremoniously, fitting it snuggly around the shooter’s head. He activated his tablet, pairing the device with a short beep. Nano-needles extended out from it, penetrating directly into her skull.
The dying terrorist gasped in pain.
“Staff Sarn’t, we can’t use— this is illegal—”
“Are there any more of you?” he screamed into the shooter’s face as she closed her eyes. “How many are you?”
There was no vocal answer, but he saw his tablet scroll through several images from the corner of his eyes.
“Are there more targets?” he continued. “What else are you hitting?”
More images. Some messages.
The dying woman moaned and gurgled wordlessly, and he could hear the woman’s stolen armor beep as it dumped a steady torrent of stimulants into her bloodstream to keep her conscious.
“Which of your Aces in charge of your cell?” he shouted into her face, slapping it again to try to get her to focus. “Hey asshole! Listen to me! Where are they hiding?!”
The woman breathed out one last time, and the armor’s vitals monitor stopped beeping for a steady pitch tone.
“Fuck!” Kebede looked up at the medical officer. “Get her back. Get her back!”
Hauzini inspected the status panel on the suit and shook her head. “She’s gone, Staff Sarn’t. She’s gone.”
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TRNS EARHART, CHARON (120 KM)
POV: Speinfoent, Malgeir Federation Navy (Rank: Beta Leader)
“What’s the problem?” Speinfoent asked, his nascent grasp of Terran body language picking up the tremors of worry etched on Carla’s face.
“We’re being diverted,” Carla murmured, fingers dancing over her tablet.
“Diverted?”
“Yes, security measures. Give me a minute.” Carla began talking on her radio in rapid-fire.
Uintrei turned to Speinfoent, his eyes wide with concern. Speinfoent could only offer a shrug in response, his own uncertainty mirroring Uintrei’s. The cabin fell silent, save for the hum of the engines and the muffled chatter from Carla’s radio. Minutes stretched like hours as they waited.
Finally, Carla looked back at them, her expression grim. “There’s been an attack on Mars. Maybe Titan too.”
Uintrei’s voice quivered. “An attack? The Grass Eaters?”
“No. Well… humans. Resistance terrorists,” Carla spat out bitterly. “There’s a ground stop order across all of Sol. We can’t land until they lift the order.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“How long will that take?”
Carla’s frown deepened, etching lines into her forehead. “No idea. This hasn’t happened in at least a decade. They’re telling us to stay in high Charon orbit until we get an all-clear.”
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HUYGENS SPACEPORT, TITAN
POV: Radio Traffic Record, Huygens Ground Control
(19:28 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, this is Huygens Ground. You are deviating from your flight plan. Please adjust burn to correct your course. Sending you the burn adjustment now.
(19:28 L/AST) Transport 413: Huygens, Transport 413. We are making a last minute delivery: emergency medical supplies to Hospital Hab 4 in Huygens City. Amending our flight plan.
(19:29 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, your amendment request is approved. Please file an additional updated landing request with the spaceport.
(19:34 L/AST) Transport 413: Huygens, our landing request was approved by the spaceport.
(19:34 L/AST) Huygens: 413, copy. I see it in the system now. You are… eighth in the queue. Safe flight.
(19:48 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(19:50 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(19:51 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, Huygens. Did you see the new NOTSM?
(19:51 L/AST) Transport 413: Huygens, yeah, that was weird. But here’s the thing. Our life support is malfunctioning and we’re running out of supplies up here. We really need to deorbit ASAP. Can you possibly overlook this and backdate our arrival time?
(19:51 L/AST) Huygens: Negative, Transport 413. Apologies for the inconvenience. Nobody’s happy about this, but please… maintain your position in high orbit. I’ll check to see when we can lift the hold and if we can apply for an exception for you.
(19:52 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(19:52 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, you are deviating from your flight plan. Be advised: you are not authorized to deorbit at this time. Do you copy?
(19:52 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, you are in violation of orbital safety regulations. Do you copy?
(19:53 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, please respond on any frequency!
(19:53 L/AST) Cassini Marine Base: Transport 413 of the Titan orbital control zone, this is Republic Marine Base Cassini. Your unauthorized orbital transfer jeopardizes Republic security and your own safety. If you do not divert or cease your current maneuver, lethal force will be employed. This is your final warning. Over.
(19:53 L/AST) Transport 413: There are children on board! We have over a hundred women and children on board! We are only carrying sick patients and medical supplies. We need to land now.
(19:54 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(19:55 L/AST) Cassini Marine Base: Transport 413, Cassini Base. Cease your burn immediately. Our Marines will board you at your current orbit and render assistance if necessary. If you do not stop, we will be forced to open fire. This is your final warning. Over.
(19:55 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, for God’s sake, the Reps are going to blow you out of the sky if you don’t stop burning!
(19:56 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(19:56 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, please respond!
(19:56 L/AST) Cassini Marine Base: Transport 413, Cassini Base. Cease your burn now or we will open fire to defend the colony and our base. Your ship will be destroyed. This is your final warning. Over.
(19:56 L/AST) Huygens: Huygens on the open channel. Can anyone please try to reach Transport 413?
(19:56 L/AST) Cassini Marine Base: Transport 413, Cassini Base. I say again. Cease your current maneuver or we will shoot you. We. Will. Shoot. This is your final warning. Over.
(19:56 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, please respond!
(19:57 L/AST) Cassini Marine Base: Transport 413, Cassini Base. We have fired on you. Abandon ship immediately. We intend to pick up survivors. I say again, we will pick up any survivors in emergency escape pods. Transport 413, abandon ship now! Over.
(19:57 L/AST) Huygens: Transport 413, please—
(19:57 L/AST) Transport 413: Die Rep scum! Vive la Résistance!
(19:58 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(20:00 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(20:02 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(20:04 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(20:06 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(20:08 L/AST) NOTSM — SOL: DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES AND FOR REASONS OF REPUBLIC SECURITY, ATTENTION ALL SPACECRAFT AND AIRCRAFT, BY ORDER OF REPUBLIC ASTRONAUTIC SAFETY, ALL VEHICLES ARE NOT AUTHORIZED FOR LANDING AND TAKEOFF.
(20:09 L/AST) Cassini Marine Base: To all civilian traffic in the Titan space control area, this is Cassini. Be advised: there is significant unmarked orbital debris and an ongoing emergency operation in Titan Low Orbit. Please consult your arrival spaceport for up-to-date information on local conditions. Over.
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ATLAS NAVAL COMMAND, LUNA
POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Admiral)
Samantha briefed Amelia as she walked into the room. “Major coordinated terrorist attack. They hit a recruiting station outside a movie theater in Tharsis on Mars. Twelve Marines critically injured and two dead so far—”
“Are they—”
“Corpsmen were on site. The Commandant tells me the wounded have a good chance. But there were also civilians — at least a hundred dead, more wounded — possibly up to a thousand. Civilian security is still piecing it… them… together.”
“Who did this?” Amelia asked, her voice cracking.
“Terrorist cells. The SRN, almost certainly.”
“I thought they were dormant.”
“That’s what we thought. No heightened comms traffic or activity prior to the attack. But… we might have been too focused on the Malgeir operation at Gruccud.”
Amelia winced and buried her face in her hands. War was a matter of shifting priorities, and she would never admit it to a Senate committee, but she’d been seeing signs that the anti-piracy units in Sol had suffered in readiness since the Navy started gearing up to fight the alien murder bunnies. Elite units busy undergoing new training. Familiarization with new equipment. Intelligence and computing resources. Etc.
She refocused on Samantha. “Do we have their list of targets?”
“At Tharsis, one of the Marines on-site got a neuro scan of one of the attackers before her brain activity stopped. They mis-timed their strike, and we managed to get an FTL priority alert out for a full ground-stop order. Then, there may have been an attempted attack on Huygens Colony, but one of our batteries blew a transport shuttle out of orbit. There is some confusion over whether they were Resistance or not. The news in Atlas will get this in about… eight minutes when the sublight signals arrive.”
“And we’re sure the threat is over?”
Samantha shrugged. “We’ve closed all orbital activity in Sol and all Navy units are on high alert. If they make another move, we’ll deal with them as they come.”
Amelia sighed, a mix of relief and apprehension. “We trace it — any of it — back to their handlers in the Red Zone? Anything moving on Titan itself?”
Samantha shook her head, her expression grim. “They’ve already gone to ground, no doubt. Intel is now only seeing the low-level operatives. What are we going to do now? And what about the war with—”
“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know.”