A/N
Might be obvious to some, but drabbled this in 2023, in the context of the then recently announced Starship Troopers: Extermination. Probably doesn't sync up that well (my computer can't run it), but looked up some stuff, tried to make it sync a bit.
God, Man, and the Moon
Artemis Tower was located in Luna's Sea of Tranquility. A needle spire that stretched nearly ten kilometers high – a height made possible through a combination of 23rd century technology (that had endured into the 24th), and Luna's low gravity.
It was like a spear, really – even now, some smartarses pointed out that the Artemis of myth had been better known for the bow. Sam Al-Farouk, being in the proverbial League of Smartarses, had told the wanabes to shove it. She'd heard that joke a hundred times, and before death came for her (as it inevitably would), she didn't want to hear it another thousand.
Right now, she didn't hear much of anything. Just the constant faint hum of recycled air. She stood beside a wall of plexiglass that surrounded the top floor of the tower, reserved for the highest-ranking members of the Federation. Everything from troop recruitment to fleet deployments were discussed here, and it appeared that the architect had got the idea that the best and brightest citizens of humanity deserved a nice view of the lunar surface. An endless sea of greys and silvers, under a black, starless sky. Tranquil, yes…if one forgot about the carnage beyond Sol.
She checked her timepiece – her contacts were late. She rested her head against the plexiglass, reminding herself as she kept her legs steady, that the low gravity was only temporary. A-grav was set to 1g standard on Fleet ships, while Luna had just enough that the budget bastards hadn't bothered to install generators in the tower. Not like Luna Base – the giant, fortified ring that surrounded the moon, and were most of Luna's population actually lived.
Few people lived on Luna, period. A few research stations, a few wildcutters, Tereshkova Base…even outside Earth, there were far better pieces of real estate in Sol than the silver orb that had long captured the imaginations of humanity. Given the people she'd seen in the hallways, gliding as much as walking due to the low gravity, their bodies unusually tall and thin…well, suffice to say, she'd be happy to get back on her ship.
You sure about that?
She ignored the voice, and stared across the desolate, airless, irradiated surface of Earth's only natural satellite. Luna was death. It was the site of humanity's first extra-terrestrial colonies in the 21st century, even before the Collapse in the 22nd, but with the development of the C-drive, humanity had looked to greener pastures. From Sirius III to Zegama Beach, worlds like Luna and Mars had once been considered relics of another time. Not the vital worlds they were now, as war continued to drench the stars in blood.
Blood. Red. Like Mars itself, named after a god of war.
A planet that through its name, lived up to its namesake.
The door hissed open before she could get into the spirit of spiritual matters. She saluted as the man walked in.
"At ease, Captain."
She dropped her hand, but couldn't follow the "at ease" part. She hadn't been "at ease" since she turned eighteen, enlisted in the Federal Fleet, and begun the training that had seen her rise to command a McCarthur-class troop carrier. Not the most gainly starship in the Fleet, but in the business of delivering thousands of troopers to their (often very messy) deaths against the Arachnids, there was no finer ship in the business.
"Is the other general joining us?" she whispered.
General Dix Hauser, who'd started opening his briefcase at the giant table in the centre, looked up and smirked. "Excited?"
"Eager, sir. Not excited."
He frowned. "You're not excited?"
"Something I learnt early on is to never be excited when called into a clandestine meeting in a clandestine room on a clandestine planet."
"Luna's not a planet," Hauser said, as he took out a holo-emitter. "But point taken."
"Wasn't making a point, sir," she blurted out.
He gave her a look.
"Falling silent now, sir."
She'd probably disappointed him…provided that he'd had any expectations of her in the first place. Given that Hauser was as high as you could get in the Federal military without being the bloody sky marshal, she doubted he'd even remember her name by week's end. The only reason she was here at all was that she'd been chosen to do the milk run. And by milk run, that meant a highly classified op far away from Terra.
The door hissed open again, and Captain Sam Al-Farouk, trembling, broke her creed of not being excited. Because as the very tall, very buff (and yes, very handsome) one-eyed general walked in, she tried (and failed) not to tremble in said excitement.
She saluted, but the man paid her no heed. Instead, he walked over to Hauser, and the two men clasped hands as if they were old friends.
"Late again, Johnny."
Which, she reflected, maybe General Dix Hauser and General John Rico were.
"You try visiting Mars sometimes Dix, see how easy you can get away from it."
"Look on the bright side, we made you a general again."
Rico snorted. "You've been in this war long as me Dix, you know that bright sides are like black holes – can't see them, suck everything in, including the joy of life." He looked at Sam. "This the milk runner?"
Sam tried to say something, but she let out a squeak. Like Hauser, General Rico was in the greys of a Federation general. Unlike Hauser, he was a walking giant, even without the power armour he was usually seen wearing on FedNet, often on the red sands of Sol IV.
"She's shy, give her time," Hauser said.
Sam looked at him. "I'm not shy, sir."
Rico pulled out a small PDA. "Samirah al-Farouk, captain of the Atatürk, a McCarthur-class troop carrier. Over a thousand men and women will be in your hands when you deliver them to the target zone." Rico pocketed it again. "You shy, captain?"
Sam, trying not to tremble, shook her head.
"Well, let's hope that's true. Shy bastards tend to die first."
"In my experience, it's inexperienced bastards that die first," Sam piped up, without thinking.
Rico gave her a look. The type of look he gave reporters from FedNet off Mars – the place where, for the last year, the Mobile Infantry had been battling the Arachnids that had emerged from beneath the red soil in 2317. For a moment, she was afraid he was going to grab her by the neck, throw her through the plexiglass, and say something she couldn't hear because in vacuum, sound didn't travel.
Instead, he smiled, and looked at Dix. "I like this one. She's a keeper."
The two generals sat at the table. Sam, still unsure why she was here, took a third seat. The table was big enough to fit up to twenty officers, but for whatever reason, it was just the three of them. Which meant either this was an op more secret than she'd ever run, or an op so secret that Hauser didn't want anyone else knowing about it who didn't have to.
Maybe both.
Hauser activated the holo-emitter, and what appeared was a three-dimensional representation of the Milky Way. Not in any detail, but on one side of the galaxy was Sol, and on the other, Klendathu. A star map every child in the Federation grew up seeing.
"I'll cut to the chase," Hauser said. "In one week's time, the Deep Space Vanguard is going to be reassigned from Mars, and onto the Atatürk."
"What?" Sam and Rico blurted out.
"General John Rico will handle the transfer off Mars," Hauser continued. "By week's end, I'll have appointed a company commander and-"
"Stop," Rico said. "Just stop, Dix."
Hauser gave him a look. "Something you want to say, John?"
"Dix, you're asking me to give up the best unit I've got on Mars."
"A unit you knew was only going to be under your command temporarily, John."
"The DSV is doing its job better on Mars than it could on any other planet. I don't need to tell you how important Mars is."
"No, you don't," Dix murmured. "Which is why we can't afford to waste it on that dust ball."
"Why?" Sam asked. "The Arachnids emerged from Mars a year ago. Mars is one of our most valuable worlds. The DSV is an elite unit that's racked up thousands of kills, why assign it to…um, where exactly, are we being assigned to?"
"That's yet to be determined," Hauser said. "Point is, you're taking the DSV to the other side of the galaxy." He waved his hand through the hologram, in the general area of Klendathu that, even as simple as the holo was, Sam recognized as the Arachnid Quarantine Zone. Though in recent years, fewer and fewer Arachnids were being quarantined.
"You want the Deep Space Vanguard shot straight into the AQZ to do…what, exactly?" Rico murmured.
"Sabotage, espionage…anything to distract the Bugs. Actually serve as the beachhead unit they're meant to be."
"Beachhead, as in, putting them straight into the hornet's nest."
"Specifically, using ARC devices to map out Bug tunnels and stick a nuke down them."
There was a silence between the two men, before Rico whispered, "you're looking at a casualty rate of over eighty percent, Dix."
"Ninety, actually."
Rico might have only had one eye, but he glared with the force of three. "Spending lives for time, Dix?"
"We are," Hauser murmured. "Isn't that the job of a soldier?"
Sam looked from one man to the next. She knew that Rico was only forty years old, Hauser slightly older, but both looked like they'd gained a decade. Just by sitting here, she felt like she was in some kind of club. One reserved for those old enough to remember the destruction of Buenos Aires – the shot heard around the galaxy, that had triggered the First Bug War, which had bled into the Second.
And now, by the sound of things, they wanted her milk run to deliver the Deep Space Vanguard straight into the Arachnid Quarantine Zone, and carry out what might as well have been a suicide mission. And despite being outranked and out-experienced, she timidly asked Hauser why.
The general snorted, and looked at Rico. "Care to answer that, Johnny?"
Rico remained silent, and Hauser looked back at Sam.
"How old are you, Captain?"
"Twenty-three, sir."
"Hmm." Dix paused, before murmuring, "did you know that back before the war, you'd have to be twice that age to even be considered being given command of a troop carrier like a McCarthur?"
Sam remained silent. She knew – of course she knew – but the implications as to how and why were ones she'd been instructed not to think about back in Fleet School.
"The classified and bitter truth of the United Citizens Federation is that for the past decade, the Bugs have been winning," Hauser murmured. "We've had victories, yes. We've killed more Bugs in the past five years than we did in the past fifteen." He touched a button on the holo, and the galaxy was divided into red and blue shading, starting from 2297. "But it's not enough. We could conscript every man, woman, and child in the Federation, put a gun in their hands, and it still wouldn't be enough." He pressed another button and 2297 became 2298, and so on.
There were blips. There were lulls. Blue sometimes appeared among the red, and vice versa. But by the time the map entered the mid-2310s, the trend was clear, and by the current year, horrifying.
A lot more red. A lot more blood would join it. Unless, of course…
"A milk run," Sam whispered. "I take the DSV into the AQZ. We find a new acronym to describe the holy hell we'll rain down on the Bugs, while…"
"While the Hero of Mars completes his reclamation of Sol Four," Hauser murmured. "And Sky Marshal Jenkins pulls a miracle out of that fried brain of his." He deactivated the hologram and rose to his feet. "Instructions will follow. Captain Al-Farouk, you're to return to the McCarthur by oh-eight-hundred Zulu and await rendezvous with a troop transport – one that General Rico here will facilitate in conjunction with Offworld Command."
"That's less than a solar day, Dix."
"Then I suggest you get on it." Hauser put on his cap, and tilted it at both of them. "Smooth sailing."
Sam fought the urge to snort – in the last five years, she'd learnt there was no such thing.
Hauser left. The door opened and closed with a hiss, and soon, all that was left was the constant hum of Artemis Tower. One not dissimilar from any Federation starship or space station. Really, the only thing out of place was General Rico…
…which was about as far out of place you could get. The only way things could be more out of place was if Victor Dax returned from the dead to lead the Federation to victory.
Rico pulled something out of his pocket. "Smoke?"
"No, sir."
"Good girl." He lit the cigarette with a laser-light and took a puff. "Things will kill me sooner than the Bugs."
"Didn't we cure cancer centuries ago?"
"You'll be surprised." Rico took another puff and walked over to the plexiglass. He looked like he wanted solitude…which was why Sam surprised even herself as she walked over. Rico was over a head taller than she was, and even without his power armour, she could imagine it around his body.
"Go on, ask."
"Sir?"
"Everyone's got a question. Some planet, some star system, some battle."
"I…" She bit her lip. "No questions, sir."
Rico grunted. "You're either too dumb to be curious, or too experienced to be dumb." He took another puff. "Doesn't matter. You'll be dead soon."
Sam rubbed her hands together. She couldn't discount the possibility. But to hear it from the Hero of Mars, the Warrior of Klendathu…
"Where you from, Captain?"
"Earth, sir."
"Oh?" He looked genuinely interested. "Whereabouts? Asia Minor, I'm guessing, given your name."
"Go back far enough, sure."
"Any family?"
"My mother and father are down there." She gestured towards Earth – the shining blue marble in the sky, the continents of Europe, Africa, and some of Asia looking back at her. "They're devout. I'm not talking Archcitizen Little devout, I mean old-school devout. Before the Federation declared God to be a citizen."
She bit her lip, waiting for the inevitable reprimand. Instead, Rico remained silent, his lips curled.
"Taught me to respect the Prophet, to pray…that even when I joined the Fleet, I was to remember the way to Mecca." She snorted. "There's more religions than there are stars in the galaxy, and they were convinced they'd found the right one."
"And you weren't?"
"I was, until I enlisted. There were Hindus. Indians. They pointed out that despite the claims of the Prophet splitting the moon in two, they'd managed it in the 21st century." She smiled, in spite of everything – of the memories of fistfights, of peeling potatoes, of friendships made, and friendships lost to Bug plasma fire. "We explored the Heavens, but God wasn't home. The moon was never split in two. Every culture in the world has conjured up some myth or legend about Luna, but it was science who put us on it and…sorry, sir, I'm babbling."
Rico shrugged. He dropped the cigarette and extinguished it under his black, immaculately polished boot.
Her parents still believed. All the nonsense she once swallowed. A variant on the nonsense spewed by the Federation. That even as the Bugs closed in on Sol, as world after world was lost to their advance, phrases like "war of destiny" and "God on our side" were used on a regular basis. Faith, however, needed a foundation, and there was no foundation surer than facts.
So she didn't care where Mecca was anymore. She didn't care what the book her parents loved had to say about someone riding a winged horse to this airless piece of rock, formed over 4 billion years ago by an impact with Theia. When she brought the Deep Space Vanguard into the AQZ, there wasn't going to be any heavenly father or angels waiting for them, just the eternal darkness of death.
She tried not to tremble as she asked General Rico if he had a spare cigarette handy.