Shit. Raymond squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the code for his station. He nearly panicked until he saw the note posted above his computer. “Uh, seven-four, er, nine-one-oscar-zulu-zulu?”
A longer pause. “Andretti, this is Operations. We authenticate, seven-four-niner-one-oscar-zulu-zulu. Send coordinates when ready.”
Raymond read off the coordinates from the telescope. The armada of ships had slowed down and seemed to be forming up into a battle group. The largest of the vessels, what looked like a giant beehive, was surrounded by the smaller craft.
“Andretti, we confirm contacts in Lunar space. SP will take over from here. Continue to monitor the situation, but if contacts come within fifty kilometers, seek out shelter immediately.”
The line closed. Helpless, Raymond watched the hypnotizing shuffle of ships move into a battle group and creep toward Earth.
New York City
United America
Dr. Markov Ivanovich sat on a wooden bench near heavy double doors, waiting for his turn to speak. The impressive hallway of NYU’s new Silver Center stretched endlessly in each direction, curving around in a massive circle. The seven-story structure overlooked the Hudson River, one of the few unobstructed views in the ever-growing city. Skyscrapers reached toward the stars in every direction, connected by a web of Sky Rails.
Markov placed a hand on his knee but failed to stop his restless leg. It bounced constantly, relentlessly. He swallowed, then swallowed again. His chest felt too tight. He checked his buttons to make sure they were in the correct order, then checked his padded binder. Indeed, all of his documents were in order, just as they had been ten minutes prior, and the half hour before that.
“You need to relax,” a heavy voice said opposite Markov. Sasha Otravlyatovich regarded his liberator. Sasha had been rotting in a gulag on Phobos when the infamous Dr. Markov recruited him. Despite having spent thirteen years chained to a wall, Sasha was reluctant to leave the comforts of a UEC dungeon, even one on a planetoid as unforgiving as Phobos.
But when Markov told him the old government had been disbanded as part of a treaty with Mars, Sasha agreed to leave. As their transport lifted off from the small moon, Sasha found himself one step closer to the culmination of his life’s cause and goal:
A free and unified Mars.
But now Sasha didn’t know what he stood for.
“If you spook the Joint Chiefs, this project dies tonight.”
“I can’t relax,” Markov said, eyes lingering on Sasha’s scar, which stood out on his face in the fluorescent light.
“This is too important for relaxing. Everything we’ve worked for…”
“I did nothing,” Sasha replied. “You’re the mad scientist.”
“Fine. Everything I’ve worked for depends on getting this grant.”
The heavyset man leaned back on his bench opposite Markov. His black leather coat still dripped on the floor from the rains outside. His skin was monstrously pale—a souvenir from a long stay in prison. “Tell me again why we can’t use the Cove?”
“The Fade uses the Cove,” Markov said, referring to the Fleet Analysis of Intelligence Division, known in the armed services as FAID, or colloquially as the Fade. The mystery of what went on in the myriad of onyx buildings they maintained around the galaxy led to many conspiracy theories and cheesy thrillers on the Net. “I won’t have their greasy fingers getting into all my projects.”
He was about to say more when the double doors opened. Both men turned to face a pretty young redhead. She smiled and gestured toward the chambers.
“Dr. Ivanovich, the Joint Chiefs are waiting.”
Sasha picked up a soggy newspaper from a nearby table and starting reading. Markov swallowed a final time, stood, and walked into the room.
There were seven men waiting inside the chamber, all dressed in their respective uniforms. Admiral Walker, the commander of Fleet, sat front and center on a dais. On his left were members of the military, all four-star generals or their naval equivalent. On his right were the Joint Chiefs, dressed in civilian suits. Markov nearly gasped when he saw another familiar face leaning against the wall, barely concealed in shadow. Chief of Staff Jerry Ahmad needed no introduction; he was the face of the new government, as famous a man as High Chancellor Burton himself.
“Doctor,” Admiral Walker began. “Thank you for making the trip. How is Titan this time of year?”
Markov’s mouth tasted like sandpaper. “Cold. I really appreciate this opportunity. I know that the last conference wasn’t my best showing, and I agree with you saying I needed time to develop my ideas and sift through the chaff to find—”
“Markov,” Walker said, cutting the young man off. “We’ve listened to almost sixty presentations today. Let’s cut to the chase.”
The doctor sniffed. “Right. Okay.” He opened his binder and pulled out his tablet. The thin sheet of polymer was clear as glass, but lit up at his touch. He swiped on the screen, sending the information to a massive projector on the wall to his right. “The guidance you gave for this task was pretty simple: provide a new method of dealing with terrorist operations in the Systems. You said to make it man-portable and as safe for the soldiers as possible.”
General Sanders yawned. “We know the rules, Doctor. We made them. Get to the point, please.”
“Of course, General.” He advanced his slide show rapidly. “What you’re looking at is my proposal for the new and improved CROWN Mark V.”
There it was. Markov had said it, and the room fell insantly silent. Sasha braced for the backlash.
Markov had been a genius since childhood, excelling in math and science at an early age. He’d been discovered by the headmaster of a prestigious school for gifted youth and graduated early to join the United Earth Council’s Department of Science and Research. Markov quickly earned his stripes as the UEC’s top mind. When Mars revolted, he was chosen to find a swift solution.
His idea had been the Carbon-Reinforced OverWear Network armored suit, or CROWN. Using simple neural networking, a single soldier controlled a twelve-foot-tall, armored battle suit. The intent had been to create a weapon any soldier could learn to use.
Too bad it was a disaster.
And everyone in the room knew it.
Markov pressed on, “Using a proprietary method, we can enhance a soldier’s survivability by a factor of—”
Walker cut him off again. “Are you fucking serious? CROWN? Is this a joke?”
Markov’s mouth opened and closed without sound.
Sanders seethed. “I still have nightmares about your last round of tests. One of my men had a seizure when your contraption went into a forced reboot. We found him at the bottom of a lake, sealed into a CROWN suit like it was a goddamn tomb.”
“Please, I know the name isn’t popular, but this is a completely new system.” He flipped through his presentation until he found a series of action shots. “Look, you can see the results clear as day. These suits enable a soldier to run faster, jump higher, and fight longer than any other human in existence. This is the evolution of power armor, and it doesn’t require a license to operate. You could slip one on right now and go fight.”
Markov continued, “And that’s just the beginning. We’re experimenting with new protein-based dermal enhancements to make the human body more capable and adaptable. All I need is a team, a lab, and willing candidates, and I can have a working operations unit in under a year. Send seven of my soldiers into a Red Hammer den and you’ll never worry about them ever again.”
“You’re