The Butcher of Torfan I
The SSV Tripoli was one of three Peregrine-class light frigates in the 5th fleet. Like its name suggested, this light frigate was not designed for power but for speed. Among the Systems Alliance Rapid Response Units (RRUs), the Peregrine-class stood out as the fastest ships in the Alliance navy. Contrary to the name, "light" didn't mean diminutive engines or toned-down performance; it referred to its pared-down armor and limited weapon systems. The engines themselves were 17% larger than those on a standard frigate, massive structures that dominated the ship's design and required a reinforced frame to endure the punishing accelerations of flank-speed maneuvers.
The ship was controlled by your standard twenty personnel crew and Mike-Delta Vector Five-Point-Two Artificial Intelligence with a warship specialization. RRUs specialized in critical, time-sensitive missions, often flying ahead of the main fleet to hostile systems or outposts where action couldn't wait for slower forces to arrive; where boots were needed on the ground as soon as possible. Their tactics relied on surprise and precision, dropping into systems at flank speed, evading enemy scans, and performing hot drops. Their goal was clear: deliver boots to the ground fast and then get the hell out of the system.
Due to the nature of RRU deployments, and the fact that they often entered into combat with little to no support beyond their own numbers, the SSV Tripoli housed no standard marine detachment. Instead, it carried a subsection of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers (ODST), known as a Rapid Response Squad, better known as RRS or "Roadrunners." Unlike standard Alliance marines, the Roadrunners were highly trained heavy infantry, each holding at least an N1 designation - the entry point into the most elite tier of human soldiers.
At the moment, the Tripoli's starboard observation lounge had been unofficially claimed by the Roadrunners, much to the chagrin of ship officers. The once-serene space, intended for the naval crew to relax and gaze out at the quiet beauty of space, now bore all the hallmarks of marine habitation. A scarred poker table dominated the room, flanked by mismatched couches hauled from various storage spaces and bolted to the deck, while a television holoscreen displayed entertainment as raucous as those who watched it.
Three Roadrunners currently occupied the lounge, sprawled comfortably across the couches. Corporal Tito Vasquez, the self-professed "ladies' man" of the squad, perched on the edge of his seat, eyes wide as the holoscreen displayed a beauty pageant in full swing. Vasquez, wiry and of South American descent, wore his military crew cut with misplaced swagger. Sergeant Ethan Miller, a blond haired man who spoke in a slow southern US drawl, lounged with arms crossed over his broad chest. Built like a linebacker, Miller exuded both physical power and a hot-headed impatience. Completing the trio was Corporal Chet Lofton—shorter but stockier, his brickhouse frame compact and implacable. Lofton liked to flash his trademark wink and grin, a grin that was more off-putting than anything else.
The three men wore their physical training uniforms—navy blue sweatpants marked with the RRS patch at the thigh and matching t-shirts that stretched across muscular torsos.
On the holoscreen, the host grinned with unnervingly white teeth and proclaimed, "Let's bring out our contestants for the swimsuit portion of the competition!"
The camera panned over a parade of women in glimmering bathing suits, sashes naming their home planets emblazoned across toned frames: Miss Earth, Miss Mars, Miss Eden Prime, and so on.
Miller let out an appreciative whistle.
Vasquez scooted closer to the screen, his eyes glassy. "Ay, dios mío. Look at all those legs!"
"No way Miss Mars doesn't win this thing," Lofton said, eyes locked onto the tv. "I mean look at her!"
"Miss Mars? Are you blind?" Miller asked, face in disbelief. "I'm just shocked they were able to find someone out of the fifty people on Mars hot enough to be in this thing. She ain't even the hottest one in the Sol System!"
"That's just the Earth bias speaking," Lofton said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"That ain't no bias, that's the truth. Miss Earth is the hottest one in the whole competition, bar none."
"Why argue over whose hottest?" Vasquez asked in a rare display of diplomacy. "Why not just bask in the hotness of all of them?"
The other two soldiers grunted in agreement as the parade continued, filling the lounge with the faint cheer of the audience on screen.
"I'll tell you what, they don't make them like that in the Systems Alliance. No sirree." Miller shook his head with mock solemnity.
"Navy's got a few. Remember that one from Terra Nova, during those war games we had in the Hubble System? Whew."
"ODST has some," Vasquez said. He had not blinked since the swimsuit competition started.
Miller and Lofton both rolled their eyes. They both knew who Vasquez was talking about.
The room's door slid open with a hiss. Service Chief Yulia Reznik strode in, her BDU perfectly pressed, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail that left nothing soft about her broad Slavic face. If she wanted it to, Reznik's scowl could evaporate laughter from a room.
Reznik activated her omni-tool with a swipe, shutting down the holoscreen.
"Hey!" the men shouted in unison.
They turned to see Reznik standing behind them. Vasquez's eyes lost their glassy look.
"Reznik, how are you?" Vasquez asked, his voice noticeably deeper.
She ignored him. "LC wants us in the debriefing room, ASAP."
"What for?" Miller asked.
"Didn't say. Just get your asses there ASAP."
Reznik started to walk from the room, Vaquez's eyes glued to her backside as she went. She stopped and turned back to them, causing Vasquez to quickly divert his eyes.
"Any of you know where Benedetto is?"
Heads shook vigorously. Reznik grunted, her unimpressed scowl deepening. Vasquez's playful charm wilted as she turned on her heel and walked out. When the door slid shut, Vasquez groaned dramatically.
"Damn shame she hates me. A girl like that…" Vasquez trailed off with a wistful look on his face.
"Fuck," Miller muttered, standing from the couch. "Come on, let's go see what the LC wants."
Reznik's search led her to the third deck, bypassing the elevators to climb the access ladder instead, a faster but sweatier endeavor. The cargo hold was massive and noisy, filled with maintenance staff scurrying around. Against the port and starboard walls were a row of drop pods, six against one wall and seven against the other. Each pod had a name plate above it.
Gunnery Chief Datu Benedetto reclined in the open pod that sat below his nameplate, one leg dangling casually while a physical book, a true rarity in this digital age, rested in his hand. Gunnery Chief Datu Benedetto had a wiry, muscular build of a man who spent equal time fighting and training. His dark, curly hair brushed against regulation limits, and his dark hazel eyes observed everything with an aloof air. Stretching from his left ear to just under his chin was a jagged scar. He was like every wise ass New Yorker you've ever met or seen on tv, and he had the accent to go along with it.
Benedetto was a minor celebrity within human occupied space, both famous and infamous, depending on who you asked. The last major battle of the technically still ongoing Human - Batarian War, the Battle of Torfan, is where Benedetto earned his infamy. With much of the command structure killed in the initial push, and his direct commanding officer faltering in the face of the monumental task ahead of them, Benedetto took command despite only being a Master Sergeant. He did what needed to be done to achieve victory, despite the cost of human lives it took to achieve it.
It was these actions that had led to him almost being court-martialed, before the Alliance Command decided they didn't want to deal with the circus such a trial might garner. Instead he had been demoted two ranks, had his promising military career, which was being fast-tracked to officer school, put on indefinite hold, and he had been transferred from the Silver Knight Platoon of the Third Fleet, to the less prestigious RRS. It was also where he had earned the nickname the Butcher of Torfan. That was twenty months ago.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," Reznik said, as she ambled up to him.
"Well," Benedetto said, briefly looking up from his book, "you found me."
"You have your omni-tool turned off."
"I'm off duty Chief and I'm trying to enjoy my downtime."
"There's been a change of plans. LC wants to see the entire squad in debriefing. And before you ask, he didn't say."
Benedetto grimaced and closed the book. "A man can't even enjoy his time off."
"You're in the wrong career if you wanted to enjoy downtime."
Benedetto made a noise of agreement as he slid the book into a cargo pocket. "Let's go see what the LC wants from us."
The debriefing room, located directly behind the Tripoli's CIC and elevator, held no luxuries. A central table with a holo-projector dominated the room. There were no chairs - a silent motivation to keep meetings efficient. By the time Reznik and Benedetto arrived, their squadmates were already there, joking quietly while awaiting their superiors.
"There you guys are," Miller drawled. "We were getting worried."
"Our lost baby bird has been found!" Vasquez cried in a high pitched voice.
"Were you busy?" asked Corporal Derek Jenkins, moving his hand up and down in a jerking off motion. Jenkins was tall and skinny, his eyes intense and his head shaved.
"In fact I was Jenks," Benedetto answered. "Tell your mom I said thanks for the vids."
The smile dropped from Jenkins face as Lance Corporal Jean Dubois, the newest and youngest member of their squad, guffawed. Dubois was of average height and build, and had the beginnings of a mustache that he was quite proud of.
"Anyone know what this meeting is about?" Lance Corporal Angelo Martino asked. Martino had olive skin and a smile he thought charming, though the others strongly disagreed. "Reznik?"
"No idea," Reznik answered with a shrug.
"What about you MS?"
Master Sergeant Jian Hao shook his head. Hao was of Euro-Chinese descent and had arms as thick as most people's thighs. As second in command of the unit, if he didn't know what was going on, then there was no chance anyone else would either.
"You reckon it's something to do with the batarians?" Miller asked. "Maybe things are starting up again."
"Possible."
"Maybe one of those Terra Firma or Earth First loons finally went off the deep end and took hostages," Lance Corporal Joe Kruger said with a grin. Kruger's blond hair was in the standard military crew cut. His face had an ugly burn on his right cheek and upper jaw from an incident with venting plasma a few years back.
Two men walked into the debriefing room; Captain Aasir Kogo, a man of sub-saharan descent with a bald head and a vein on his bulky neck that pulsed when he was angry, and Lieutenant Commander Jafar Hammidi, born in the Persian Federation, who had graying hair and a trimmed beard.
"Officers on deck!" Hao shouted.
As one the twelve men and women in the room snapped to attention.
"At ease," Hammidi said, waving his hand dismissively.
The Roadrunners dropped their hands to their side and stood at parade rest. Lieutenant Commander Hammidi typed on his omni-tool and the lights in the room dimmed. A holographic image projected over the table, the image of a one star five planet system appeared.
"This is the Iroquois System. It might sound familiar to some of you as the third system discovered in the Arcturus Stream, and due to recent Systems Alliance efforts to terraform the fourth planet in the system, officially called Oneida."
The image zoomed in on the smaller second planet in the system. "The second planet, designated Cayuga, is home to the Cayuga Mining Outpost. Fifty hours ago, Tinto Core Inc. lost contact with the outpost. They sent a two man security team to check it out, and never heard back from them. Six hours ago they reported the loss of contact to Alliance Command. The Challenger Monitoring Station, tasked with the terraforming efforts on Oneida, confirmed an inability to establish communication with the outpost. The Systems Alliance has asked us to investigate. Any questions?"
Both Reznik's and Lofton's hands jumped into the air.
"Service Chief Reznik?"
"How many civies work at the outpost sir?"
"Sixty-three. Corporal Lofton?"
"Could it be the batarians sir?"
"As far as the Systems Alliance is aware the batarians have not made any moves toward human space in the past two years, and all of our sensor buoys are still green."
Miller's hand went up.
"Sergeant Miller?"
"They couldn't have the monitoring station take a look sir?"
"It's not for you to second guess Alliance Command," Captain Kogo snapped.
"I'm just saying what we're all thinking Cap," Miller said. "If it ain't the four eyes, then we lost contact due to equipment failure. Either the comm relay went down or the oxygen generation system went down. Which means, either everything is fine or everyone is dead. Those science nerds can pop over, verify which one, and we can call it a day."
Captain Kogo and Lieutenant Commander Hammidi shared a look; a look that said there was more to this.
"While that was the common thought, the last transmission we received from the outpost, dated four days ago, raised enough eyebrows that Alliance Command decided to send us in."
There's a moment of silence until Vasquez slowly raises his hand. "Can we hear the last transmission sir?"
"I don't think-"
"It's fine Captain," Lieutenant Commander Hammidi interrupted. "If Alliance Command didn't want us sharing the transmission they would have marked it as classified."
LC Hammidi tapped away at his omni-tool. The image of the Iroquois system vanished and was replaced by the picture of a man in his late-40s, with the lines in his face of a man who worked hard his entire life. Next to the image of the man was text that reads, "Dwayne Lackner. Home: Thunder Bay, United North American States, Sol System. Cayuga Mining Outpost Foreman, Tinto Core Inc. Daily Shift End Transmission (Company Code, Article III, Section VII.B) Earth date; Earth time: September 19th, 2166; 23:42."
A gravelly voice filled the room. "While excavating a new tunnel, we came across a wall of an unknown metal. Infrared scans indicate a massive chamber on the other side. The attached researcher, Kohli, told me if the readings are correct, given the size and shape of the chamber, it's not natural. He said it was made by something, or rather someone. Director Hoffman wants us to cut through. He thinks whatever is on the other side could be really valuable. I have my doubts. Either way, we're going to try to cut through and see what we find. I'll report with an update tomorrow. Cayuga Mining Outpost Day Foreman, Dwayne Lackner, out."
As the recording died out, it was greeted by silence as they each tried to process what they just heard.
"And there was nothing else after that sir?" Hao asked, not bothering to raise his hand.
"Nothing."
Benedetto hand shot into the air.
"Yes Gunnery Chief Benedetto?"
"The SA doesn't want the science nerds checking in on this because it's potential contact with an alien structure, and given we lost communication with the outposts shortly after discovery, and the security team right after, whatever is there could potentially be dangerous. That's why we're being sent in, correct sir?"
"The orders come straight from Alliance Command, and they did not deem it pertinent enough to grace me with that information," Lieutenant Commander Hammidi answered. "However, I can tell you that we are being sent in to secure the outpost, and that STARS will be about a week behind us."
Special Tactics and Research Services were often referred to as combat nerds by the almost every other member of the Systems Alliance military. They were often men and women who had a masters degree, a doctorate, or multiple of each, often in scientific fields, who also had at least basic combat training. The team leaders always had a level of N designation, while the other members of the squad would usually have A-rate marine training. The Systems Alliance was quick to offer job opportunities to anyone who graduated with a graduate degree or three. Those who participated in a sport, showed an affinity to listening to commands, and/or had skill with firearms, were offered a spot in STARS.
Lance Corporal Jacob Taylor stood with the composed confidence of a seasoned soldier, hand raised. Though of average height, his athletic build, sharp jawline, and freshly shaved head gave him a commanding presence. He was also the squad's only biotic.
"Yes Lance Corporal Taylor?"
"There was nothing from the outpost before the last transmission to indicate potential problems?"
"None. Per Tinto Core Inc. previous recordings were deemed normal. Any other questions?" The Lieutenant Commander waited a few moments. "We'll be underway in twenty minutes. Baldwin said we should be arriving in the system within 47 hours. Your CDO, Captain Kogo, has active command for the mission."
"Listen up losers, upon exiting slipstream the Tripoli will maneuver in orbit directly above the outpost. We will reach the outpost via orbital insertion in the Ursa Major. Cayuga is tidally locked, with the outpost on the light side; temperatures will be around sixty-point-five Celsius, one-forty-one Fahrenheit. Which means it's gonna be hot. The atmosphere is mainly carbon dioxide and sulfur, and is not breathable. Since some of you are dumber than a bag of rocks, and I don't want another Osiris games incident, I will repeat not breathable."
Everyone stared at Martino, who blushed and looked down.
Corporal Catalina Puigdemont, the last member of the squad, muttered something under her breath that contained the word "stupido." She was a few inches over five feet. She was quiet but feisty, with thick black hair she kept up in a ponytail.
"Gravity is close to normal at 1.05 Gs. You are all relieved of further duties until deployment." The Marines perked up and let out a cheer. "That got your attention. I expect each of you inside the hangar by the day after tomorrow at 0500 standard Earth time, rested, fed and ready to roll. Any questions?"
None of them made a noise.
"You are dismissed."
As the men and women filed out of the room the communication officer on watch buzzed the debriefing room.
"Lieutenant Commander, there is a Captain Wilkes looking to come aboard."
Benedetto, Reznik, DuBois, and Miller stood in front of the elevator doors, each of them fidgeting with nerves. A frigate was not that large of a ship so when a shuttle dropped off two officers, each of them carrying two duffel bags, everyone on the ship knew it within five minutes. And when the markings on those officer's uniforms identified them as a Praetorian, special military police only assigned to cruisers, carriers, and dreadnoughts, and a Special Intelligence Officer, a class of Systems Alliance Intelligence Services officers that the men called 'Spooks,' that just made their arrival a much bigger piece of news to share.
Praetorians were a mixture of military police and political officers, similar to what the old Soviet Union and People's Republic of China used to have, that answered to the SAIS. Larger ships in the fleet usually had at least one, and sometimes up to five, Praetorian assigned to it, to keep an eye on the crew and marine attachment. They fell outside the chain of command, and if they felt they had enough evidence, could arrest anyone within the Systems Alliance, regardless of rank or government position.
Spooks were the SAIS field agents, sent out with battle deployments and ground missions to gather intelligence, recover foreign technologies, capture foreign political prisoners, and dozens of other sketchy things. It was common knowledge that whenever a Spook was involved, whatever was happening either was, or was about to be, highly classified.
"You think there's more aliens out there?" DuBois asked.
"Already a dozen of them, don't see why there wouldn't be more," Reznik said with a shrug.
"For your sake DuBois, I hope there are more aliens out there," Miller said with a shit eating grin. "Then we might find something that would actually have sex with you."
"Oh fuck you, you hick."
The elevator doors opened in front of them and they all entered onto the empty lift. Coming from the lounge area was Vasquez. He saw the elevator doors open and sprinted to them.
"Don't leave without me!"
Vasquez made it inside right before the doors closed.
Vasquez smiles at the Service Chief. "Reznik, I knew you'd wait for me."
"Actually, I kept pushing the close doors button. It was DuBois who held it for you."
Vasquez's smile dropped as the other chuckled at him. The elevator slowly descended to the cargo hold.
"What do you guys think of the Spook?"
"I've never actually seen a spook before," DuBois confessed. "But I heard all about them. They're all over seven feet tall and file their teeth to fangs."
"Who in god's name told you such nonsense?" Reznik asked, rolling her eyes. "They look like every other naval officer."
Miller wagged his eyebrows. "Except spookier."
"Nothing good ever happens when a Spook is around," Vasquez said solemnly.
"Well you better hope that isn't the case," Benedetto responded.
"Why not?" DuBois asked as the elevator doors opened.
"Because that Spook is coming with us."