Markov nodded quickly. “The Martian rebels?”
Walker dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus, Doc. Mars is pacified. That generation has all but died out. Why would we want to prepare for a war we already won?”
“The prompt for this project referenced the Guardian initiative. I just thought—”
“That we were fighting Red Hammer with armored knights? They’re just a grubby militia living out of cheap motels.” Walker sat back and exhaled through his teeth. “Markov, until you get a Councilor on board or the goddamn sky starts to fall, this committee will not pay any more attention to your mad science. You need to go.”
Markov’s head sank. He switched off the projector and collected his things. “I understand, Admiral. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
Walker stood along with the other members of the committee. “I don’t think it’s just our time that was wasted here.” The men marched from the room in a single file, disappearing into an annex behind the dais.
The doctor was so busy moping that he barely registered movement by his shoulder bag. He nearly shouted when he saw Chief of Staff Ahmad leafing through his notes.
“Sir, I’m so sorry,” Markov said. “You startled me.” He took a moment to catch his breath. “I didn’t know the Federate government was watching this project so closely.”
The chief of staff nodded but didn’t look up. “The office of the high chancellor has no interest in wasting money on defense projects, especially when our greatest threat is a psychopath from Mars.” He glanced at the trembling scientist. “Relax, doctor. I’m on your side. I think CROWN never really got a fair shot. Then again, I didn’t watch three men’s brains melt when they tried to wear it. How much field testing have you done?”
“Tons,” he offered quickly. “My team is small right now, just six of us, but we’ve been making some incredible advances with the tools available.” He fidgeted. “Titan is a great place to build ships, but the facilities there are lacking in the proper equipment for my needs. Please, give me a small space on New Eden. I guarantee the results will astound you.”
The chief of staff shook his head. “Out of the question. As far as the Joint Chiefs are concerned, this is the last time this project will ever see the light of day. Understand?”
Markov felt ill. “I do.”
“Good. Now go back to your hotel and clean up. I want you ready to present this to the Centurial Council in a few days.”
“What?”
“We’re voting on funding to new Special Projects. If you can make a better case, this might just pass muster. And for god’s sake, change the fucking name. Everyone in the four systems knows about CROWN.”
Markov bobbed his head up and down. “I’m actually headed to Kronos after this. I want to catch the end of the Crucible. Perhaps I’ll find some new test candidates for CROW—for my power armor. I’ll write a new report tonight on the flight over.”
Chief of Staff Ahmad held up a hand. “No rush. Just get me something good to present to the high chancellor. He could use the win.” He walked toward the door where his assistant, the young redheaded staffer, waited. “And I’m serious about keeping this quiet. As soon as people hear about new defense projects, they act like the sky is falling.” He paused at the door. “And enjoy your trip to Kronos. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”
Kronos
Third Moon of New Eden
Eros System
Kronos was hell.
From orbit, the medium-sized moon was a uniform brown, broken only with canyons and mountains. What little water existed on the planetoid was buried deep in the ground, accessible from the many wells built on the surface. It was a place where no human would ever dream of living.
Naturally, it was the Army’s favorite training center.
While the citizens of nearby New Eden went about their days, the soldiers of the 185th Combined Arms Battalion endured the Crucible. For five months straight, the mixed units trained in high intensity combat. Wearing advanced simulation gear, they fought for every inch of defendable dirt in a hundred-square-kilometer arena. Aside from bragging rights, the top performers could hope to join the ranks of the infamous Black Adders, or maybe earn a coveted slot for Team Hercules.
The slow rotation of the moon meant thirty-hour days, most of which was spent under the blistering heat of nearby Eros. The soldiers had been cut off from the outside world for half a year and were eager to get home. While generals and politicians and weapons manufacturers watched on, the men and women on Kronos prepared for the end.
[no image in epub file]
Lying in a small outcropping of rock, Joshua Rantz of Charlie Company tried to still his breathing. His tan uniform and gray ceramic armor blended well with the bleak terrain, but a moving target still stood out like a sore thumb. Closing his eyes, Josh measured each breath in a slow four-count. In the dim light he became just another boulder on the canyon wall. The sun had just set, cooling the training area to a blissful ninety-eight degrees. Josh raised the shade film on his visor and gazed at the beautiful horizon. The blue star made an impressive show every evening, turning the sky into a watercolor with every shade of purple, red, and orange.
“You’re dead.” The deep baritone was felt as much as heard.
Josh opened his eyes and looked up at a mountain. Dax Goodman, his fellow Charlie Company soldier, was nearly three hundred pounds of sharp muscle. He looked every bit the sports celebrity, with his bright white smile and dimpled chin. Dax tried hard to maintain a serious expression but lost it after a few seconds. He offered a beefy hand to Josh and hoisted his friend to his feet.
“Alexa’s in position?” Josh asked.
“Just getting set up, Sarge.”
“Stop that.”
“You got it, Sarge.”
“I’m not kidding.” Josh shot Dax a mean look. They walked side-by-side toward base camp through a wide canyon. There probably wasn’t an enemy for miles, but they still paused every few dozen yards to scan their surroundings. Months of living in a combat zone—even a make-believe one—had imprinted new instincts. Corners were now dead zones. Shadows were possible threats. And every sound could be the last they ever heard. “In a month, I’ll be a corporal again and all will be right with the world. I’m not earning the pay, so what’s the point in pretending I’m a sergeant?”
“All right,” Dax said, holding up both hands. “You got me.” The darkness swallowed the huge soldier, his brown skin blending into the surroundings. “Rank looks good on you, though.”
Josh glanced down at the chevrons on his uniform. They were borrowed off of Sergeant Luker, who had taken a sniper round a few months back. That had earned Josh his battlefield promotion, as well as control of the squad. There were dried red droplets on the rank, leftover dye from the sim-round that “killed” Luker.
“Bravo’s done,” Dax said suddenly. “Alexa got the word from the XO. First Platoon took them out at first light. Picture-perfect ambush.”
They arrived at their improvised patrol base, buried in the canyons. Accessible from only two directions, it was a perfect spot for a tactical pause. The squad was invisible unless the enemy stumbled right in. A sentry held them at gunpoint and waited for the password, then waved them through and resumed his guard.
Dax set down his DaVinci Heavy Machine—a massive three-barrel monster—and sucked down mouthfuls of water.