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  The rest of the platoon carried EMR rifles as their main weapon. The virtual reality system did a poor job of imitating the rail guns, which fired small tungsten projectiles that could travel as far as seven hundred and fifty yards depending on conditions such as air density, gravity, and weather. Their battle armor used calibrating software to assist each specialist with targeting. They could shoot from the hip just as easily as from the shoulder, with their Heads Up Display revealing a reticle for aiming that allowed the platoon to easily target enemies and fire quickly. Dean could tell by the way his own weapon reacted, and those of his platoon, that the training program was providing a very loose semblance of actual firing conditions, but he wasn’t frustrated by the lack of accuracy in the program. His goal was to get his platoon moving and reacting together.

  “Keep moving forward,” Dean ordered.

  “Won’t the bugs flank us?” Chavez asked.

  “Yes,” Dean said, without explaining his tactics.

  Hundreds of aliens died. The EMR rifles only held twenty-five rounds in the small magazine that fit into the pistol grip of the new weapons. To simulate a reload, all his platoon had to do was press a button on the VR wand—but the program forced the rifle not to fire for three seconds during reloading, and soon enough some of the aliens were getting past his platoon.

  “They’re getting around us,” Tallgrass said.

  “I see that,” Dean replied.

  “We’re going to be overrun from behind,” Harper complained.

  “Keep moving,” Dean said, forcing himself to bark the order.

  He didn’t like keeping his people in the dark. And while they all knew there was no real danger in the simulation, none of them wanted to die a virtual death on the poor training program.

  “There’s too many of them,” Adkins complained. “We can’t keep up.”

  “Platoon!” Dean shouted. “Wagons Hot!”

  Immediately the platoon formed a circle around Dean, shooting at anything in sight. The aliens—who had overwhelming numbers—pressed in, crawling over their dead and snarling as they tried to close in on the Recon platoon.

  “Designate escape corridor,” Dean said, sending a highlight of the narrow ally to his right from his TCU to the battle helmets of his troopers. “Leapfrog to new position!”

  Harper and Ghost led the sudden charge, followed by Landin and the triplets, as Dean thought of the three inseparable HA Privates Wilson, Kliner, and Carter. Meanwhile, the rest of the platoon including Dean kept up a steady stream of fire, blasting away in every direction. They couldn’t be reckless, even in the training program. Their ammunition was running low, and they couldn’t afford to make careless shots.

  “Ready!” Ghost said over the platoon channel.

  “Move, move, move!” Chavez shouted.

  Tallgrass, Loggins, and Chavez moved first, running toward the alley with Owando, Adkins, Dean, and the Swede hurrying after them. The other half of the platoon surrounded Dean’s group with heavy fire. The training program had none of the fear, sounds, or smells of real battle. It was obvious they were in a simulation, yet his platoon took the training seriously. Dean watched their newest member. Cody Loggins was fearless, as he should be in training, but not reckless. He worked hard to fit in with the rest of the platoon.

  “Bookends,” Dean said as soon as his avatar reached the narrow alley. “Watch the buildings—don’t let them come down on our heads.”

  Dean moved his platoon to the middle of the alley, allowing them to concentrate their fire. The aliens tried to adapt, coming down the walls from the rooftops, but because there were only two directions the aliens could approach from, the platoon was able to slow down their attack and keep the creatures at bay. When they had killed a thousand of the virtual reality aliens, Dean ended the program.

  “Well, another infestation exterminated,” Adkins announced as he pulled off his headset.

  “No thanks to you,” Ghost said. “You shoot like an old lady.”

  “Platoon,” Dean said, “playtime is over. We’ll be at Faraday in less than twenty-four hours. You did well in the simulation, but we all know it wasn’t the real thing. We need to be ready for anything. Get your gear checked and make sure you each have a full load of ammo. Platoon meeting in five hours. Don’t let anything slide, people.”

  The training session broke up and Dean pulled Chavez to the side.

  “I’m leaving the logistics up to you,” he explained. “Make sure we’ve got everything we need.”

  “What’s the situation exactly?” Chavez asked.

  “That’s what I’m going to find out now. I’ll message you when I know more.”

  “Yes sir, Captain,” Chavez said.

  Dean slapped his friend on the shoulder, then left the REC room. His own computer station in his berth was adequate, but he had a full station as part of the ship’s open concept bridge, with multiple screens and a comfortable chair.

  “Captain Blaze,” Anders said as Dean approached the control center, “how is your training?”

  “It is as good as our equipment is capable of.”

  “What does that mean?” the vice admiral asked with a note of sincere concern in his voice.

  “Well, we don’t have room to train the way I would like,” Dean started.

  “It’s a small ship,” Anders said with a chuckle.

  “The training software isn’t the most recent edition. It doesn’t even have the Kroll as an option when choosing the threat to train against. And I prefer to train in armor. It gives us a more realistic simulation.”

  “I had no idea there would be such deficits,” Anders said. “The ship is top of the line.”

  “Yes," Dean said, “I’m sure the design team thought so. They may have sacrificed some things to get the ships ready for action. I can understand it.”

  “But you aren’t happy?”

  “I’m fine, really,” Dean said. “There’s only so much training a Recon platoon can do on board a ship. We’ll be ready when we reach the Faraday system, sir. I guarantee it.”

  “Excellent,” the vice admiral said, turning his attention back to the bank of screens around his command chair.

  Dean brought up the files on the mining operation in the upper atmosphere of Faraday, which was the name not only of the system but also of the massive gas giant where the mining took place. The mining platform was a massive industrial complex connected to the planet’s core by long tethers. The planet’s rotation created a strong centrifugal force that held the refinery sections of the platform in position above the planet, while elevators would carry the workers down to the gas collectors and up to deliver the refined gasses to transport ships. To Dean, the mining platform looked like a manmade replica of a spiny sea urchin.

  The space station in orbit above the planet was different from anything Dean had seen before. Six rotating sections revolved around a huge fusion reactor like the diagram of an atom. It was an interesting design, and Dean wasn’t sure how the people moved from one arm of the station to the next, or even how the energy from the fusion reactor was carried to the station arms.

  “It’s a wonderful example of naturalistic design,” Lieutenant Plegg said as she leaned over Dean’s shoulder.

  He was surprised at the sudden closeness of the ship’s chief engineer, and he couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was. She was short, with an athletic build. Her utility fatigues almost seemed too small. The uniform was designed for ease of movement in zero gravity and in most cases was a baggy garment, but Monica Plegg’s uniform was almost form-fitting. She had extremely short black hair on the back and sides of her head, while a longer section was coiled into a bun on the top of her head.

  “They copied the design of an atom,” she explained. “The fusion reactor is the nucleus and each arm is a slightly different size. It’s really fascinating.”

  “How do they get power from the reactor? It isn’t connected to the arms of the space station.”

&nb
sp; “The inner portion of the wheels are lined with solar cells. They collect the energy emitted from the reactor. This station is the administrative facility. It also hosts visitors interested in using the gas in a similar fashion. No better way to demonstrate what can be done with the different types of gas mined on Faraday than by using them to power the entire operation.”

  “Interesting,” Dean said. “What is the gravity like on the platform?”

  “That’s the best part. It’s actually built upside down.”

  “What?” Dean asked.

  “The centrifugal force holds the station in place, creating a faux gravity that is the opposite of the planet. The station is built upside down, with the workers doing everything on what we would think of as the underside of the platform.”

  “But I’m seeing piping and exhaust venting.”

  “Ever worked on a mining platform Captain?”

  “No,” Dean admitted.

  “Trust me, they do the work on the bottom side. It’s complex, but quite inventive.”

  She ran her hand across his shoulder and along the back of his neck before returning to her own station. Dean felt a guilty flutter of pleasure as he watched her walk away, then forced himself to look back at the diagram on his vid screen. Nothing about the mining operation seemed simple to him. He did a little more digging and discovered that most of the gases being refined were flammable, which meant they couldn’t use the plasma cannons and perhaps not even the EMR rifles.

  More digging revealed that while the spinning atomic space station was spacious enough, the mining platform was a maze of narrow corridors, utility nooks, storage bins, and maintenance closets. If they were forced into action on the platform, his platoon would be at the worst possible disadvantage.

  “Sir,” Dean said, turning to Vice Admiral Anders, “do you have a more detailed report about the labor dispute?”

  The commander swiped a few commands across his screen and sent the official orders to Dean’s station. The miners were arguing that the platform was an unsafe work environment, but not because of the gas. It seemed a small group of disgruntled workers were sabotaging different areas of the facility. The trouble had escalated when an explosive device had punctured one of the storage tanks, flooding an entire section of the platform with poisonous gas.

  Dean realized he would need an entirely new strategy to hunt down the saboteurs. He grimaced and then sent Chavez a message. The Heavy Armor Specialists would have to stay behind. The rest of the platoon would go in using small arms and non-lethal ammunition. They couldn’t risk setting off the gas, and the hulking Heavy Armor Specialists wouldn’t fit through the narrow corridors. Dean felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. The odds were against him, and they hadn’t even arrived in the system.

  Chapter 6

  The Ready Room on the E.S.D.F. Hannibal was part workshop, part armory. All of the equipment, weapons, and munitions were kept in the room, which reminded Dean of a sports team locker room with a long workbench running through the center. Every specialist had a small section where their armor was stored. Under the workbench were built-in storage for tools, replacement armor parts, and ammunition. Dean appreciated the camaraderie he always experienced in the Ready Room. Unlike their training area in the REC room, the Ready Room was solely for the Recon platoon, and his specialists felt at ease in their own space.

  “Captain on deck!” Chavez shouted as Dean walked in.

  “As you were,” Dean ordered.

  No one had jumped to attention, but everyone was facing Dean. He saw the expectant look on their faces and wasn’t sure how they would respond to his update on the conflict at Faraday.

  “Here’s what we know,” Dean said. “There’s trouble on the mining platform in the upper atmosphere of the planet Faraday.”

  He typed into the wrist link he wore, and the projector built into the ceiling in the center of the room displayed a 3D holograph of the mining complex. There were large sections and smaller connecting areas, elevator shafts and landing platforms. The entire platform was covered in massive machinery with pipes protruding and vents, smoke stacks, and spiral cooling tanks sticking out at odd angles. Large shafts led down to smaller platforms, where the actual gas mining took place.

  “We’ll know more once we reach the system, but reports are there is a small group of disgruntled workers somewhere inside the platform. They’ve been sabotaging the equipment, and of late it’s gotten dangerous. The worker’s union is threatening to strike if the company doesn’t do something.”

  “So they called us,” Adkins said with a smirk.

  “Looks like a good place to hide,” Tallgrass said.

  “What are they expecting us to do?” Ghost asked.

  “My guess would be they’ll send us in to find the saboteurs,” Dean went on. “The trouble is, that platform is constructed for workers, not soldiers. Our Heavy Armor division won’t be of any use inside.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Adkins said.

  The Swede, who rarely spoke, grunted in agreement.

  “You benching us, Captain?” Wilson asked.

  “Again, I don’t know anything for certain,” Dean said. “Once we reach the system we can talk to the people in charge and find out what’s really going on. But if we’re sent into the mining platform, you’ll all be assigned to watch positions. You can’t pass through the narrow passages in your armor, and no one goes in without it. Whoever is leading this little rebellion won’t care if we’re hurt or killed, and I’m not risking anyone’s life to settle a labor dispute.”

  “Captain,” Tallgrass said in her calm, analytical voice, “what types of gas do they mine?”

  “A wide variety,” he explained. “Hydrogen, Helium, Methane, Ammonia.”

  “You taking a quiz, Tallgrass?” Adkins joked.

  “Just wondering how we will defend ourselves on a refinery filled with flammable gases,” the stoic Demolitions Specialist replied.

  “Holy shit,” the big, gregarious HA Specialist retorted. “Maybe I don’t want to go on this op.”

  “Zip it, Adkins,” Chavez growled.

  “Tallgrass has a point,” Dean said. “We can’t use traditional weapons. Not even rifles. We’ll go non-lethal ammo in small arms if we’re sent onto the platform.”

  “What about AAVs and MSVs?” Harper asked. “I could pull the warheads off.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Dean and Tallgrass said at the exact same time.

  “You accidentally detonate one of the warheads on your AAV and this entire ship will be wrecked. We can’t risk it. We’ll go in eyes only,” Dean went on. “Our armor will give us some protection and we’ll have lowlight and thermal vision. It should be enough of an edge.”

  “It’s their platform,” Chavez said. “They’ll know the place by heart. Every place to hide, every perfect ambush site.”

  “I don’t like it,” Owando said. “We are strongest as a unit.”

  “I agree, but we don’t have much choice,” Dean said.

  “We can let the damn gas company police itself,” Adkins said. “Your armor won’t protect you if the platform gets blown up.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Dean said.

  “Will we be able to stay in contact?” Harper asked. “That type of machinery might interfere with comms.”

  “I’ll have to look into that,” Dean said. “I’m assuming they have some sort of network for communication with the workers and the admin staff on the space station.”

  “What are your orders?” Chavez asked.

  “Break out the Martin 3A defense pistols. I want everyone packing two guns just in case one malfunctions, and start loading magazines with the non-lethal ammunition. I can’t imagine having a shootout on the mining platform, but I don’t want anyone caught without enough ammunition to shoot their way out of trouble if they need to.”

  “Roger that, Captain,” Chavez said.

  “And everyone double-checks their armor. Some of the gases stor
ed on the platform are toxic. If we go in, I want everyone ready for hard vacuum. That should protect us if there’s a gas leak.”

  Dean left the ready room and went back to his cabin where he could dictate his orders for the pre-deployment report that would need to be filed. Sometimes he felt like half of his job was creating reports. The administrative branch of EsDef had to be drowning in paperwork, but that wasn’t his concern. If he was being sent to settle labor disputes instead of preparing for a Kroll invasion, he would be sure that everything he did was by the book and above reproach.

  As he finished his report, a nagging doubt hovered in his mind. It was like an itch he couldn’t reach to scratch. He opened his message folder and typed out a quick note to Lieutenant Ignatius Chappelander. Almost immediately his wrist link buzzed with a reply. The operator was in the Ward Room. Dean crossed from his quarters, through the concourse, and into the Ward Room. Ignatius was sitting at the long table with a cup of tea.

  “Captain,” the lieutenant said, waving Dean over.

  “We haven’t had a chance to get to know one another,” Dean said as he settled into the chair next to the A&O lieutenant.

  “Now seems like the perfect time,” Ignatius said in an accent Dean couldn’t quite place.

  “How long have you been in the service?”

  “Eight months.”

  “This is your first tour?”

  “It is.”

  “Are you up to speed on our current assignment?” Dean asked.

  “It’s a labor dispute, I believe,” the lieutenant said. “In the Faraday system.”

  “That’s right. There are saboteurs on the mining platform. Have you studied the specs and conditions?”

  “No, I haven’t. Why?”

  “I’m a little concerned,” Dean confessed. “If we have to go down to the platform, you’ll be driving the shuttle.”

  “That’s correct,” the lieutenant said cheerfully.

  “Well, the platform is in the upper atmosphere, just inside the planet’s gravity well. The entire installation is inverted. I don’t think it will be an easy flight.”