Star Force: Deception (SF11) Read online

  The Cobra stopped by Mars orbit on the way out, topping off its fuel tanks before taking a lazy return to Venus, whereupon it deposited Parker and returned to its normal scheduled cargo runs. After all was said and done, the Aussies successfully made the return trip to Earth without incident, establishing themselves as the only entity other than Star Force to possess the capability of regular inter-planetary travel, using that capability and freedom to continue growing the size of their holdings and gaining a leg up on the competition, as well as drawing a lot of business opportunities their way.

  A second Stargazer-class ship was completed within the year, and from there on out the Australians would begin chipping away at the powerscores of the big four, eventually rising to challenge the Americans for dominance in the political/economic powergrab the media loosely referred to as the Colony Wars.

  2

  January 2, 2107

  Morgan thrust her hand forward, palm up, and deflected the small ‘thud’ to her left, feeling her hand go numb for a moment, then the tingling sensation of reawakened nerves washed over her skin as the ring she wore sucked the latent stun energy out of her flesh. The Archon ran forward three steps and deflected another with her other hand, cycling between the two to allow her localized nervous system to denumb.

  A few more steps and she was behind a large stone column that blocked the firing line of the nearby turrets. As she worked one of her other rings around, pressing against her middle finger with her thumbnail, she saw the thuds slowly rolling across the floor on the deceptively shallow incline and into collection terminals that would redistribute the flexible, golf ball-sized projectiles back up to the turrets. Their absorbent material gave them their characteristic ‘thudding’ noise on impact, and had become one of the upper level training devices used by the Archons.

  The current challenge Morgan was running was referred to as ‘rings’ because each finger on her hands contained a metallic band, each with individual purposes. The ones on her index fingers were designed to pull away small amounts of stun energy, allowing her hands to become defensive weapons if used properly, while the one on the middle finger of her left hand contained a command laser.

  After getting the setting prepped, Morgan climbed up shallow handholds on the column until she was three meters up in the air and in the line of sight of a receptacle on the far side of the large room, opposite the river-sized disqualification pit bisecting the chamber. A red laser shot out, invisible to the naked eye save for a slight bleeding effect on the ring and the dot on the far wall as she brought it over the target and hit the tiny trigger button.

  The receptacle received the command in the laser transmission and moved the final bridge into place.

  Steeling herself, Morgan jumped off her perch and landed in a crouch that immediately turned into a sprint across a wide opening that was turret haven. She blocked a few thuds with her hands, but knew that she was going to have to accept some hits, which quickly began to build up as she got to the bridge, slowing her usually fast gait as parts of her legs and back began to go numb.

  Each of the thuds had a decent stun charge, though not as much as the stingers did. They weren’t designed to take you out with one hit, but to punish and slow you down for mistakes…or in this case, to prevent someone from finishing the challenge by crossing the bridge and climbing to the top of a pole.

  Up until now Morgan had been able to use cover and guile to navigate the course, but this final element was designed to weed out the physically weak by making them take hits and keep moving. All of the Archons had taken too many stun hits to count over their lifetimes, and some of them had begun training to try and develop an immunity. Their efforts had yielded data that Morgan and others had used to diminish the effect a certain amount of stun energy had on their bodies, as well as increase the processing rate for the dispersement of the charges after they’d been hit.

  The difficulty in accomplishing such an adaptation was staggering, but Morgan’s stun tolerance had increased by 17%, at least for as long as they’d been measuring. It didn’t mean she could get hit without it affecting her, nor did they expect that would ever be the case, but it did mean that she and some of the others could keep conscious and active a bit longer than everyone else…and this challenge’s finish was one of several scenarios that made them prove it.

  When she made it to the bridge, coming at it from the side, she rounded the corner and dove forward, rolling beneath several thuds zipping over her head and coming up shakily to her feet before deflecting another coming at her face with a quick-reacting palm. It went dead, then started to come back to life just as she stepped off the railless bridge and onto a small path that led to the pole with the finish button on top.

  She knew the worst was yet to come, but Morgan didn’t hesitate. She was on the clock and needed to beat the benchmark on this challenge to level up, so her mindset was full forward, and if she passed out so be it, but she wasn’t going to make the rookie mistake of hesitating.

  With her improved vertical, she leapt up a meter into the air before grabbing hold of the pole with her partially numb hands and climbing it like a rope, taking hit after hit now that she was essentially a stable target.

  Her rate of climb slowed to a grind, but she didn’t stop. Her rings kept her hands from completely losing their feel and grip, but the rest of her body suffered, seemingly severed from the rest in a blurry mind’s eye that saw nothing but the pole in front of her.

  Suddenly she blinked her eyes open, realizing that she lay sunken into the crash mats at the bottom of the pole, her head swimming as the two tiny rings slowly ate up the stun energy saturating her body.

  “Damn it,” she whispered, barely able to move her lips. As her vision cleared and she sat up, she noticed the scoreboard had a set of statistics indicating a completed run.

  Morgan looked up at the top of the 12 meter tall pole and frowned. She must have hit the button at the top just before she fell, though she couldn’t remember doing either one.

  Her attention turned back to the scoreboard and the time indicated, along with a glowing icon that meant she’d achieved the necessary par 3 score…which also meant she’d just claimed acolyte level 15.

  With a sigh she picked herself up and hobbled off the empty course. There were no other Archons nearby to offer congratulations, no staff running the facility or any adepts around wasting time as spectators. Morgan was alone in this particular training chamber in the Earth sanctum and casually walked out, not thinking twice about her accomplishment, other than to start measuring up how much improvement she’d need to make in other areas to reach level 16.

  Over the past decades, she’d taken on the mantle of trailblazer of the trailblazers, running up the ability levels far ahead of everyone else and setting the benchmarks they now operated off of. She’d helped create, then achieve the 99 adept levels before ascending to the next rank of ‘Acolyte,’ something that only she’d accomplished to this point, making her the top rated Archon, though there was a tradeoff involved.

  In order to surpass the others she’d had to train nonstop, eschewing all the fieldwork. As a result she’d become a recluse within the sanctum, having lived there since its creation and not having gone off planet since the Lunar War. Even her last trip over to Atlantis had been more than 3 years ago.

  As insular as that sounded, with the technology afforded them by Star Force she was able to monitor all activity across the star system via the newsfeeds…both the public ones and the private Star Force reports. She kept up to date with everything the Archons were doing, even if she rarely interacted with them. Most of the trailblazers were now stationed off Earth, with only 12 remaining in the primary sanctum on average, and a couple more rotating back and forth from Atlantis. The rest of the facility was filled with the younger generations, all of whom regarded Morgan as a god, which she quickly found irritating.

  Only a few of the trailblazers could spar with her now on an even level, and Jason was the only
true challenge she had left, but his duties kept him moving about overseeing the Knights and going on training missions. He spent about a third of his time in the sanctum and they teamed up for training whenever applicable, but most of Morgan’s workouts were spent in isolation. She regretted that, but knew she had a duty to the others to push her abilities far past theirs, in order to gain the knowledge and experience of how best to train at a level none of them had ever even dreamed of before.

  As it was, she was having to design new equipment and challenges, beat those, then design more, laying the groundwork for those to come after her, allowing them to level up, in theory, faster than she had, all other things being equal, but she missed the camaraderie of those first few years when they were all going through the same basic training together.

  When she got into the hallway outside she passed a low level adept, acknowledging her presence with a nod but not wishing to engage in conversation. She headed over to their version of a weight room and drew immediate attention in the crowded facility. All of the equipment was motion based, forcing the users to balance and move along with the weights…no static lifts or other ‘traditional’ weight room monstrosities that bulked one up while killing speed.

  Morgan headed over to a small ring with a series of swing weights on a nearby rack. There were no safety nets or cages in place, given that this was a sanctum and the only ones with access were Archons, who should know how to handle the equipment properly. The acolyte picked up one of the medium-sized weights and began swinging the ball/handle combination around to the right then whipped it back across her body and began a very fluid and powerful figure 8 rotation.

  Half the activity in the weight room stopped as their attention was drawn to her movements, noting that the medium weights she was swinging about were rarely used, given that the facility had been equipped with insanely high capabilities, meaning that most of the equipment in the room had levels that nobody used, and it was questionable as to whether anyone ever would. The ‘heavy’ weights no one had touched, with everyone using the light and very light versions, so when Morgan picked up the mediums many of the younger Archons gathered around to witness what they’d thought was impossible.

  That disbelief annoyed Morgan. Very few of the non-trailblazers measured up to Archon standards, in her opinion, with lack of motivation being her top gripe. Greg, or Paul, or Jason would have jumped at any new challenge, any insight into becoming more capable, any new knowledge that might give them an edge so that they could become better. They would have watched her to learn, been impressed, then tweaked their training so that they could one day match her. All of these kids just wanted to see a spectacle, so she just ignored them and went about her workout, moving from one apparatus to another, getting her quotas in then leaving for the track.

  That’s what her days were like now. Get this much done, at this speed, this level, this weight, and repeat…over and over and over again until her body adapted and she was able to add a little. She had been living in this routine now for so many years it had become natural, and the sheer amount of raw workout she was doing didn’t seem awe inspiring to her, it was just normal.

  When Morgan was in the cafeteria later Rafa approached her, sparking the first smile from her in more days than she could remember.

  “When did you get back?” she said, chewing a mouthful of high density ration bar. Her calorie intake was insanely high, so her diet, like those of the trailblazers and a few motivated others required specialized food in order to get enough fuel in to compensate for their workouts. Her ambrosia intake was also the highest, at 18.2 doses a day. Nobody else had even broken 10.

  “Trouble’s brewing. Just had a confab with Davis. He wants us to take some preemptive action, special ops style.”

  “Oh?” she asked, finishing her mouthful without adding another.

  “Three man team, all Archons. I’ve already tagged Taryn. Care to join the party?”

  Morgan hesitated, running through her head how much missing days of workouts would slow her down…a bit of an academic exercise, considering she hadn’t missed a day in decades. She knew she’d take a hit, but that she could recover from it and get back to her daily quotas within a few days at most, or maybe even immediately if the mission allowed her to rest up a bit. She’d be rusty, and that first day back might be ugly, but bottom line was she wanted to go, so she resigned herself to work thorough whatever training trouble it caused when she got back.

  “Gladly,” she answered, biting off the end of another energy bar. “Where we going?”

  3

  January 5, 2107

  “As you requested,” the British Ambassador said politely, laying a data chip down on Davis’s desk, “the ship IDs, crew counts, and payment authorization from Parliament.”

  “Thank you,” Davis offered as he slid the chip off his clear desk and into his palm. He plugged it into the appropriate slot on his computer and began pulling up the data. As the Ambassador had said, all the requested information for the fleet transfer had been provided in typical British clerical formality.

  “Our intelligence reports the American fleet broke orbit yesterday. Will you be able to move our ships ahead of their arrival?”

  “I think I can safely guarantee the first few warships will arrive first, though the timing for the rest will depend on the speed the Americans are traveling.”

  “My information indicates that they have allotted a small tanker fleet to accompany the task force in order to maximize fuel range.”

  “So I’ve also been informed,” Davis confirmed. “We’ve been running the numbers and it still looks like it will take them 2 months at minimum to cross the gap out to the asteroid belt. Your leading warships will arrive first, and I’ve already deployed some of mine to the area in order to encourage calmer heads to prevail.”

  “We have no wish to provoke Star Force,” the Ambassador said truthfully. “But we will defend ourselves against any American aggression. We’ve already had one mining vessel go missing, and have no intention to allow there to be another.”

  “Neither of us has been able to locate the vessel or debris thereof,” Davis reminded him, “so don’t start prematurely blaming the Americans. If they did have a hand to play in its disappearance, we’ll find out eventually.”

  “I hope you do, but it has been six months and still no recovery. Not a sign of so much as a fragment of the hull? Or an emergency beacon? Your people designed the mining vessels we use, so you know their capabilities. They shouldn’t just be able to vanish unless there was foul play.”

  “I know there is a lot of bad blood between your countries, but I’m not interested in guesswork. If anyone, the UK included, has been misbehaving and we find proof of it we’ll hold them accountable. You know that.”

  “Our fleet movements are purely defensive, Director.”

  “Possibly,” Davis differed. “You’re moving into a contentious zone. If your motives are purely defensive, that is your right, which is why I’m approving the transfer request. It is not, however, a license to begin poaching the American mining operations in retaliation. I trust your government understands this.”

  “We do. But I hope you understand that it is becoming increasingly clear that the Americans are spoiling for a fight. If so, we are prepared to give them one.”

  “Glancing down your ship list, I can see that,” Davis commented. “You’re dedicating the majority of your fleet to this redeployment.”

  “Defense patrol,” the Ambassador politely corrected him.

  Davis sighed. “I am well aware that certain factions have come to regard the asteroid belt as the wild west frontier zone, given the size and distances involved, coupled with the fact that we only have a minimal presence there and can’t keep an eye on everyone’s ship movements like we do here. But let me say, that we are not completely blind in the region, and that if you and the Americans plan to square off, then both of your contracts with Star Force are in jeopardy.”

&
nbsp; The Ambassador nodded his understanding. “We take our business relationship with you quite seriously, and we have considered every angle of both the tactical situation and our obligations on part of our contract, but we feel that our…intentions lie squarely under the self defense provision of our agreement.”

  “That depends entirely on what actions you take. Star Force will respond immediately to any illegitimate activities, regardless of who it is. I truly do not wish to have to send my fleet to hunt yours down on ‘capture or kill’ orders.”

  The Ambassador stiffened. “We will honor our agreement to the letter. Can we assume the same for Star Force?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the Americans. Our defense patrol is being established so we can watch where you do not have eyes…and to be in a position to respond immediately if there are any…violations.”

  “As you wish. But be warned, simply crossing into your designated mining zone is not valid cause to destroy a ship. Intercept and stop it, if you wish, then notify us. Prove that the Americans are violating your territory and I will strip them of their mining privileges. Take the opportunity as just cause to start a war, and I’ll hold you both accountable.”

  “We will gladly defer to Star Force when and where we can, but given the…lawless nature of the region, we may not have that option. Regardless of the future, our transfer order is accepted, yes?”