The lights in the medical bay gradually shifted from night time dim to day bright, pulling Alan out of a restless sleep. He’d been bedridden for weeks now, sitting mostly alone in the medical bay of a small starship. The bay was state of the art, spindly robotic limbs hung from tracks in the ceiling, way more advanced than anything The Ironstorm had on hand. After the battle on darklight he’d accepted Rhodes’ offer and had been ferried aboard a small frigate. The trip had been a blur, his wounds were worse than he’d thought and he spent most of the trip clinging to life in the medbay. It seemed like putting him back together was expensive, the most frequent snippet of conversation he overhead was ‘are you sure he’s worth it?’ It certainly didn’t make him feel much better about being here. Leaving The Ironstorm still sat sour with him, they’d stolen away in the middle of the night, didn’t even so much as wave goodbye. 

The door at the end of the room slid open and Rhodes stepped in, wearing a stained set of yellow coveralls. “Morning, Lt. Glad you’re up.” 

Alan sat up, clutching at his still sore stomach. “Any word on me getting out of here yet?”

“Simmer down, sir. You’re hardly in any shape to be moving around, let alone fighting.” 

“Fine.” Alan folded his arms with a huff. Sitting with nothing to do was torture, and sitting without a cozy suit of power armour around him was hell itself.

“But I have some good news, you’re cleared to start working in the sims so long as you don’t strain yourself.” 

“Really?!” Alan’s eyes lit up and he started climbing out of bed, moving gingerly. “Let's get to work then.” 

Rhodes led him out of the med bay for the first time. The ship was pristine, totally opposite to the Behemoth. The walls were made from a dark reflective metal and the floors covered with smooth silver plates. They stepped through a door into a circular room with identical doors spaced evenly around the room. 

Rhodes stopped and gestured around the chamber. “This is the ship’s main hub, going left around the room are doors for: Medbay, Sim Deck, Mess Deck, and Barracks.”

“Seems like a small ship, no bridge or engineering?” 

“Well there is, but grunts like you don’t get access, this level of the ship is the only place you’ll see aside from the hangar.” 

That didn’t sit well, he’d miss working on repairs in between battles. “So we won’t be patching rigs together anymore?”

“Probably not, but you never know.” 

They stepped into the Sim eck and Alan settled into an open pod, letting out a long sigh as the warm comforting darkness wrapped around him. He felt like he was in armour again, he finally felt whole. 

“Okay you’re all set, you’re sim profile is set to that rat rod engineering speedster we built on Darklight.” 

“Sounds good, that was a fun suit.” 

“We’re putting you through the shark tank today, one on one duels with everyone in your new squad. You get to fight Brick first, say hello Brick.” 

A gruff gravel voice came through the radio. “Is this our new meat? The one from Wolf? Heir to Reid Industries?” 

“The one and only,” said Rhodes. 

“Right, well, I always did hate rich kids, this’ll be fun.” 

Brick sounded friendly. The screen ahead of Alan shimmered and set of cold steel clamps closed on his temples. The sim pod faded away and the black sand of Darklight flickered into existence. A soft computer voice said something he couldn’t make out and just like that the sim was live, feeling just as real as his tour on Darklight. 

The terrain ahead of him was rocky, with large boulders, short sandy hills and a ring of sheer cliffs. It wasn’t a big arena, there was little room to move around here and he hoped there was enough space for his speed to come into play. The suit ran through a short diagnostic, and Alan checked his ammunition, he had the same load as his last battle, one target drone, a handful of high explosives, one laser shot and a pile of machine gun rounds. The diagnostic returned a clean report and he flew into action, speeding across the rough terrain. He slewed to a stop behind a rocky column and fired the drone grenade. Information was ammunition. The drone’s grainy video showed a massive piece of equipment barreling towards him. The suit was thicker and bulkier than standard models with thick angled plates coming off the shoulders and knees, and some kind of heavy cannon on the left arm. Like always step one of the plan was ‘don’t get shot in the face’ step two was to fry this big bastard with the laser. The behemoth lumbered forwards, and Alan leapt out of cover, firing his machine guns as he moved. The light rounds sparked harmlessly off the giants hide. It turned towards him with slow laborious steps. Alan was faster, he sped around the machine and triggered the laser. A cerulean lanced scythed through the larger war machine, heating one of its shoulder plates to a soft red glow and sending arcs of electricity dancing across its iron skin. The laser should have burned out the suits electronics but it didn't. Panels on the machines back blew open and spat a deluge of orange sparks but it kept coming, and brought its cannon to bear.

The shot caught Alan in the shoulder, sending a rolling ball of flame over his armour and throwing him through the air. He landed in a heap, damage alarms screaming. His left shoulder plate was simply gone and the undersuit beneath it was burnt to a crisp. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted for cover, loading an explosive shell into his shoulder launcher. The behemoths cannon roared again, blasting the rock ahead of him to flying shards. He broke right, pushing the suit to its limits, slowing only to fire all three grenade tubes. The shots were sloppy and impacted all over the other rig, blasting chunks of platinum from its chest, left shoulder and right knee. Alan bit back a curse, he’d been hoping all three shots would land in the same place. There was nothing to be done now, he ran, putting as much distance between himself and the giant as he could. He circled back left, peeking around a low boulder and squeezing the trigger on his machine guns. The storm of fire glanced off the giant’s back, doing little more than scratching the paint. He ran right again, tryin to stay behind the cumbersome machine. Skidding to a stop, he came face to face with the giant. Brick was smarter than he looked. 

The huge cannon fired again and Alan dropped low, rolling under the heavy shell. He came up in a crouch and fired his grenades. The explosive shells peeled back armour and spent a shoulder plate spinning off into the dust. Brick strode forwards. Alan opened up with the machine guns, puring fire into the gaps opened by the grenades. Brick stumbled for a moment, sparks spilled from his left shoulder and his cannon arm went limp. It didn’t make a difference. The monster armour slammed into him like a freight car, bowling him over and leaving him dazed in the dust. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees and received an armoured boot to the gut for his trouble. The blow lifted him off the ground and cracked the plating over his ribs. Brick knelt and fired a cutting torch through his back, burning through the reactor housing and triggering an emergency shutdown.

Rhodes voice came over the comm, “Tough luck Lt, you’re fighting Ghost next.” 

Alan barely had time to catch his breath before the sim reset, putting him back on his feet and starting another suit diagnostic. The board flashed green and just like last time he fired the drone grenade over the battlefield. It was live for barely a second before it dropped in a flash of sparks and fire. That was troubling. Alan sped up the middle, hoping to catch his opponent off guard. The suit standing in the middle of the arena was tall and smooth, with curved plates and a matte black finish. Alan dropped to a knee and fired the grenades on his wrist. Whatever this rig was it wasn’t playing nice with his targeting computer, the grenades clipped its right shoulder, bouncing off and detonating in the air above the warmachine. In the fire and confusion, Alan rushed forward, wrapping an armoured claw around Ghost’s right arm and driving a knee into their gut. Plates crumpled and he wrenched the suits arm, flipping it onto its back. Ghost landed hard and Alan filled him full of lead. Bullets dug into armour, sending flakes of alloy raining to the ground. Ghost didn’t give up easy though, he rolled to his feet, crouched low and leapt into the air, sailing out of sight on twin tails of fire. 

Alan stood, dumbfounded, he’d never seen armour fly before. Ghost dropped behind him, landing a hammer blow on his left shoulder. Alarms wailed and his EM laser broke free. Alan spun, firing his guns and hitting nothing but empty air. Ghost was gone. Frowning Alan turned a slow, cautious circle. A bullet crashed into his back, denting his armour and staggering forward. He rolled with the blow, pushing the suit to full throttle and running for cover. He loaded the grenade tubes and peeked out from behind cover, the arena was empty. No, there he was, a shadow sliding against shadows. Alan squeezed the trigger, stitching a line of fire across the dust. Ghost jumped again, hovering in the air and sending another shot his way. The bullet carved a furrow through the left side of his helmet and forced him back behind cover. Ghost was a crack shot, there was no way he’d last at this range, he had to get closer. 

He vaulted the rock in front of him and sped through the middle of the arena, rounds screamed past him as he ran. He leapt, clearing another boulder and closing in the black armoured war machine. Ghost took a step back and Alan swore he heard a soft chuckle over the comms. That was when Ghost ended the fight, a soft click heralded a terrible roar and a storm of flames, Alan was tossed into the air and landed hard. His armour was ruined, both legs shattered and spitting sparks. 

The sim reset and he trudged into the center of the arena, too tired to put up much of a fight. He was up against another custom suit covered in extra plates and carrying a snub barreled cannon and a wicked looking hatchet. He clenched his teeth, he was in for an ass kicking. 

The war machine spread its arms and took a half step forward. “You look tired,” he said in a lighthearted tone. This was clearly all a big joke to him. “You ready to give up?” 

Alan narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. He didn't bother to answer, instead he hit a chin switch inside his helmet, dumping a load of combat stims through his veins. Time slowed to a crawl and he raised his left arm, firing the grenades. He leapt to the left, moving out of the way before the grenades hit. His opponent was wreathed in flames, he fired the shoulder mounted grenade, slewing back to the right. A razor cloud of flechettes sped past him, cleaving through the space he'd left a moment ago. The smoke cleared, revealing an enraged beast, trailing smoke and long sparking strands of mechanical viscera. The grenades had all hit the armour’s chest and blown away a huge slab of plating. He dropped to a crouch and fired the EM laser into the hole. The laser went wide, striking the plating on the left shoulder. Arcs of electricity danced over the giants skin and a set of panels blew out on its back, funneling the excess current out of the armour and into the sand. 

Another cloud of flechettes scythed through the air and bit into his chest, sinking deep into his armor and nearly knocking him off his feet. The hatchet came next, slamming into his ribs and lifting him into the air. He caught the haft of the axe and clamped down with all his strength. Pulling himself in close he jammed his machine guns into the gap in his opponents plates and mashed the trigger. Bullets sparked through the machines innards and it jerked wildly, finally tearing its axe free and tossing Alan into the dirt. 

The goliath stumbled and fell to one knee, sparks and hydraulic fluid spilling from its iron guts. “You got me good, call it a draw?”

Alan looked over the flashing damage icons and the deluge of coolant spilling from his armour. “A draw sounds fair.” 

The sim flickered away and the pod levered open. Rhodes hauled him out of the pod and escorted him back to the med bay. “Hell of a first day, Lt, you rest up now, we've got big plans for you.

Chapter 17: Black Ops

After another eternity in the med bay Alan was finally cleared for duty and led into a small board room on a level of the ship he normally didn't have access to. The rest of the time was already gathered inside, Brick sat at the head of the table, muscled frame dwarfing the rest of the crew. Next to him Ghost sat in the darkest corner, long raven hair hanging down over the left side of her face, she had some pretty nasty burn scars that she kept hidden, and finally closest to the door was Scythe, face crisscrossed with knife scars and wearing the biggest shit eating grin in the galaxy. Alan was convinced Scythe had a stash of giggle pills on board, no one was that happy all the time without chemical assistance. 

He shuffled into the corner and the door closed. “You guys run out of money for a proper size room or what?” 

  Brick glared daggers. “Oh shut it, we make do with what we have.”

That pulled a short laugh out of Scythe. “Damn straight we make do, this used to be a mop closet.” 

“Oh you shut up too,” said Brick. 

A holo-projector snapped on above the table, putting an indigo silhouette on top of the metal table. “Is that obstinate cur from Wolf prepared for battle?” The silhouette said, its voice faint, as if it wasn't speaking directly into the microphone. A muffled voice answered, speaking too low to be heard. “Oh bollocks, why didn't you tell me we were live? You're fired, get out of my comms room. Cell Six are you there?” 

Alan cleared his throat and jumped in before anyone else could answer. “All present and accounted for. Including the cur from Wolf.” 

“Ah, I am quite pleased to see you up and about, Mr Reid. Have you been brought up to speed on the situation?”

“I’ve been cruising mushroom style so far, kept in the dark and packed full of bullshit.” 

“What a wonderfully colourful turn of phrase … Cell Six is being routed to Hellfrost. There’s a developing situation between Ross 128 and Ganymede. Mercenary teams are being moved to Hellfrost and we need you in position to ensure that Ganymede wins that fight.” 

Brick pulled his chair closer and started taking notes on a holo-page. “Concealed positions? Caches? And what’s the opposition like?” 

The silhouette waved a hand, swiping through holo-pages we couldn’t see. “We have a few bases tucked away under the ice, all well stocked with pre-war tech. Uploading their positions to your maps now.” 

Alan nearly fell down at the mention of pre-war tech. “Pre-war as in the Interstellar War?” 

“That is correct Mr Reid.”

That technology was hell. Railguns that could shear through power armour, incendiary autocannon rounds that cooked people inside their suits, particle beams that could melt tanks, it was too much power for anyone to have, it was part of the reason why mercs used dumbed down low tech weapons on their suits. Fewer people died and an immobile suit on a barren world was just as good as a dead pilot. There really was no sense in killing if you could avoid it.  The hologram died and left him standing in stunned silence while everyone else made notes or reviewed maps of Hellfrost. 

“So no one else is concerned about the interstellar war guns?” he asked. 

Scythe shrugged. “We probably won't need to use them but it's nice to have the option if we need it. We can't lose.” 

“I don't know if I'm okay with that.” Alan's shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the wall running his fingers through his hair. 

Ghost leaned forward and spoke, her voice was soft as silk but still managed to cut the air like a razor. “I used to be like you until I understood what we’re fighting for. I'd rather kill a few people to save the rest than let millions die.” 

“Then maybe you can explain the stakes to me. Rhodes made it sound like we were going to be doing something important but so far all I see is another mercy outfit helping the rich get richer.” 

Scythe pulled his chair closer to the table and flicked a switch on the hill-projector, sending an image of a large communication dish into the air above the table. “What do you know about this, the Ross Array?”

Alan shrugged and shook his head. “Not a whole lot, it was there dead when we colonized the planet. Big mystery and the locals don't want anyone touching it. So this whole cause is getting ahold of that comm rig?” 

“Short term, yes.” 

“But why? That things never sent or received anything? This is all sounding like more bullshit to me.” 

“Then you’re not thinking hard enough,” said Ghost. “In 1993 an anomalous radio signal hit Earth, coming from Ross’ general direction. We colonize the world and find that huge transmitter sitting there unattended, it's a big deal, FTL capable and everything but no one's been able to get it working and the Rossian government won't let anyone study it, why?”

Alan thought for a long moment, scrunching up his brow as the gears turned in his head. Contact with an alien species would be the best and biggest discovery since Ellen Marshall built the first Jump Gate. He couldn't really think of any reason why someone wouldn't want to look into the array? Unless, they were afraid of what might look back at them if they tried. 

“They're scared,” he said softly. 

“Bingo!” said Scythe. “Give the man a cookie. Whoever or whatever built that array on Ross had the tech to build an FTL comm bigger than anything we’ve built today, and they did it nearly 500 years ago, back when we were still in the stupid ages and thought FTL travel was impossible, stem cell treatments were a cardinal sin and fossils fuels were a great idea. Imagine where those aliens are now, they probably laugh their asses off at our exotic matter generators and fusion engines. Probably laughing right now: oooh look at the silly ape men, they think fusion power is the greatest thing and still need a twenty kilometer wide space station just to create a stable wormhole.” 

“Them coming here would be like someone in power armour showing up to say hello to a pack of cavemen,” said Brick.

“Ouch, can't imagine that going well for the cavemen,” said Alan. 

“Exactly,” said Ghost. “When we make contact we need to be ready, we need boots on the ground at the array, better starships and we need everyone working together. We’ve put a lot of money into making sure the right wars get won.” 

“And how's that going?” asked Alan. “I see a lot of fighting but not much progress.” 

“It's coming together, slowly.” said Brick.

Alan stood staring at the hologram of the array for a long moment. “Okay, I'm in.”