The Weapon Read online

  Star Fighters –

  The Weapon

  (Star Fighters Series Book One)

  By K. Constantine

  Copyright © 2019 K. Constantine

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events are fictional and have no relationship to any real person, place or event. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the written permission from the author except in cases where brief quotes are included in articles or reviews.

  Chapter 1

  Location: The Citadel on Foothold, capital of the Inner Worlds

  The Citadel was a massive structure. Designed to withstand multiple simultaneous Mark 7 nuclear detonations, it was as close to indestructible as any building ever built by human hands. The Citadel stretched for across the flat plains of Foothold for 5 miles, forming a roughly ovoid shape when viewed from orbit.

  Surrounding the plains were two intersecting mountain chains, forming another layer of protection against surface hugging cruise missiles. Heavy anti-air and anti-space Spearman guns were mounted all along the mountain faces, which when activated formed a nearly impenetrable dome of laser fire, plasma bursts and projectile mayhem that could down even the most advanced Star Fighters available to Naval Command.

  The Citadel had been built at a time when humanity’s survival as a space fairing civilization was in doubt, a textbook example of a First Contact mission gone wrong.

  The Xanthu, as humans had taken to calling them, did not seem exceedingly friendly in their first dealings with humanity, but had also not displayed any overt hostility or aggression. Human intelligence had described them as taciturn, reserved and slow to judgement. The age-old folly of humanity – to view others as one views themselves – had lulled the politicians, and even segments of the military, to lower their guard at a time when extreme caution should have been the order of the day.

  In retrospect, the judgement of history may someday be more forgiving to humanity’s leadership, because no one outside a few long-forgotten fantasy authors had ever even conceived that somewhere in space, there might exist a species as relentless, savage and unforgiving as the Xanthu.

  They struck the human colonies with a suddenness and ferocity that stunned even the most battle-hardened generals, most of whom initially refused to believe that an assault as large, wide ranging and brutal as they saw unfolding in their tactical displays could possibly be real.

  They insisted that the images were spoofed, the tactical computers hacked…that the thermonuclear bombs raining down on Acturus, Selena, Proxima and Cassiopeia was just propaganda stirred up by humans who could not accept the thought of other intelligent life existing in the universe, people who believed it was wrong for humans to welcome the strangers with open arms, to allow them free access to human worlds, to allow them to place their ships in close orbit around heavily populated planets.

  But as the reports kept coming in, as the tactical computers painted a grimmer picture by the hour, as the estimated body county climbed into the millions and beyond, only then did humanity’s bloated bureaucratic military machine begin to awaken to the horror of the Xanthu.

  Luckily, small pockets of resistance and retaliation began appearing instantly, as local forces under the leadership of local field commanders fought back just as savagely as the Xanthu.

  Scores of enemy ships were downed from their killer orbits, adding to the fiery carnage that quickly littered the surfaces of the colony worlds.

  Xanthu troops that dared to land and take the fight to the humans in ground combat quickly learned that humans could be just as ruthless and dangerous as their own soldiers could be, and in many cases, the ruthlessness of human retaliation eclipsed that of the invaders, who very quickly lost all sympathy among even the most passive and docile segments of the human colony populations.

  And it was that aspect of being human, that very human ability to hate your enemy, and to channel that hate into productively destructive activities, that slowed the Xanthu’s onslaught and bought the defenders enough time for humanity’s core military machine to get into the fight.

  Humanity, under the leadership of Grand Admiral Cornelius Samasota, waged war in all its forms against the Xanthu, leaving no planet, no moon, no asteroid nor orbital facility untouched by the violence.

  For a time, the Xanthu fleets kept coming, replenishing themselves with fantastic speed, and remaining steadfast in their clearly stated goal of destroying every human world in the galaxy.

  However, the Xanthu would not have their way. Humanity refused to allow them their goal, and in time, the Xanthu fleets began to dwindle, and eventually turned around and fled, as humanity’s war machine kept growing, the industrial productivity of ten human worlds turned towards the task of defeating the hated enemy.

  In the end, after nearly fifty years of fighting, humanity emerged victorious. And the Xanthu disappeared.

  They remained a short lived but influential chapter in human history. An enigma that was much written about, much thought about, much philosophized about, but never truly understood.

  A species that never showed an interest in anything, but the eradication of every human world had left, a defeated civilization, taking its mysteries with it.

  Captain Philips had spent many nights pondering the Xanthu. He had often looked up into the sky and wondered where they had run off to. Where they still out there, within striking distance, biding their time…waiting for a chance to strike again?

  Or had they learned their lesson? Had they realized that their warlike ways, their savageness and their brutality had met its match in a species that could be equally warlike, savage and brutal as they were.

  Perhaps our relatively diminutive size, standing a full three feet shorter than the average Xanthu (even armor-clad Marines possessed less than half the bulk of a Xanthu average soldier) made them think we would be easy pickings.

  Size often did matter, Philips thought, but spirit, a desire for victory and a refusal to be a victim, seemed to matter more when it came to war.

  Captain Philips was too young to have been in the Xanthu-Human war, but he had spent untold hours in the Academy library, reading everything he could about it, and learning all there was to know about the Xanthu.

  Unfortunately, while research material regarding the war was plentiful, there was a dearth of information on the Xanthu as a people, species or civilization.

  Perhaps there was not much more to learn about them. Perhaps, the Xanthu had been born to wage war and destroy civilizations, the galaxy’s way of culling the weak, the unprepared, those without foresight.

  Perhaps.

  ---

  Captain Philips stood in front of the Citadel’s southern outer gate, waiting to be allowed inside. He knew he was being watched and scanned by dozens of devices, some of which he could easily see and some of which were scanning and taking readings discretely from a distance.

  It would be a few moments longer before the Citadel’s computer decided whether or not to let him inside.

  Finally, a panel adjacent to the gate lit up green and the doors slid open. The doors were thick, heavy and solid but moved with easy, silky grace. They were designed this way to open and close with speed, to better protect the Citadel in the event of a ground assault.

  Despite the many long years of peace and tranquility, there were many in the military establishment that expected the Xanthu to return. Probably in force. Possibly with overwhelming force. Adversaries like that did not just go silently in the night, their tails between their legs and never to be seen again.

  No. Their purpose had been clear. Destroy t
he human worlds and every single human inhabitant. A species so ambitious would not easily slumber into retirement.

  Presently, an armored, four wheeled vehicle pulled up in front of captain Philips and out jumped two armored marines. They wore side arms and had X11 Chaos rifles slung over their shoulders. Their armor was state of the art – probably Sigma 7 models – designed for multi-environmental combat.

  The Citadel’s leadership meant business.

  Throughout the other Inner Worlds, life after the Xanthu-Human war had basically returned to normal. People went about their daily affairs, making a life for themselves the best they could. But hardly anyone still retained that edge, that automatic readiness to engage in the violence needed for defense of self, loved ones and property.

  Well, that might not have been totally true.

  People were still willing to defend themselves and their loved ones against ordinary thugs, street criminals and the daily injustices that permeated human cities.

  What ordinary citizens were no longer prepared for was war. Total war. War so complete and far reaching that every single action, every single breath, every single thought you have must be devoted to supporting a military machine engaged in a life or death struggled to defend Humanity’s right to exist.

  That type of thinking, that type of readiness and total war, had slowly drained away, as the Xanthu became a distant memory, kept alive by history books and the occasional speech by an academic or politician comparing today’s society which existed decades ago.

  Luckily, the military also remembered the Xanthu, and had kept their guard up against another resurgence.

  Captain Philips was sure that his summons to the Citadel had to be related to the Xanthu. Had they been spotted by one of the Navy’s distant probes? Had a recon mission uncovered a secret Xanthu base building up for another attack? Had a Xanthu spy been located and was now under interrogation?

  He had no idea but figured he would be finding out soon enough.

  The ride from the outer gate to Administrative Building One had been quiet and uneventful. The Marines aboard didn’t say anything at all, beyond basic military acknowledgements of the captain’s rank and presence. Taking their cue, he also remained silent, not bothering to ask questions the Marines probably had no answers to or were under strict orders not to reveal.

  Had they wanted to talk, they would have. And had he wanted to probe them, he would have as well.

  As it were, captain Philips thought it best to get the story from the top.

  The Marines’ vehicle came to a stop about ten feet from the Administration Building’s main lobby. Both soldiers got out of the vehicle, one opening the passenger door to let captain Philips out, while the other jogged to the lobby’s entrance and held open that door for him.

  Captain Philips gave them both a salute and walked inside.

  Like everything else associated with the Citadel, the Administrative Building was huge, and looked and felt like a fortress.

  Walls were thick, massive and dense and looked like they could withstand direct strikes by the new Sledgehammer missiles and remain standing.

  The floor was smoothly tiled with a substance that looked like white marble but wasn’t as slick and tended to muffle the captain’s footfalls.

  About thirty feet from the lobby’s entranceway was a circular island, manned by two civilians in business attire. They wore badges that identified them as Harold Latymer and Melissa Styles. They both wore black pants and white tops and wore belts and ties in the dark blue colors of the Navy.

  As captain Philips approached the island, Melissa Styles smiled at him and said “welcome captain Philips. Your arrival has already registered. Is there anything I can get you?”

  Captain Philips nodded and said “Thank you. I’m don’t need anything right now. Where am I supposed to go?”

  Gesturing to Latymer, Styles said “my associate will be happy to show you.”

  Latymer pressed a button near his viewing terminal, causing one section of the island’s wall to retract, allowing him to exit the enclosure.

  Stepping towards Philips, he extended his hand and said “pleased to meet you captain Philips. If you are ready, I’ll take you to your destination.”

  Captain Philips shook his hand absentmindedly and said “very good. Lead the way.”

  Latymer ran his fingers across a smooth, glassy surface on his suit’s lapel, and a green line lit up on the floor. The line traced a path from the service island to a distant corridor, which turned off to the right and out of sight.

  “This way, captain Philips,” said Latymer, as he pointed to the green line, indicating that they should follow it to the captain’s destination.

  The line turned to the right and left several times, indicated the need to take a lift twice (once up and once down), made several more turns before terminating before another set of massive doors.

  Naval Command’s covert combat insignia was emblazed across its center in bold colors – clearly, whoever had authorized the use of the symbol here had no qualms about keeping the existence of the covert group a secret.

  Well, that made sense, the captain thought. This was, after all, the Citadel, and no one who wasn’t authorized to be here would ever see it. If anyone not authorized ever penetrated the Citadel so completely to be able to actually see the insignia, all hope was probably lost anyway and it wouldn’t matter anymore.

  Latymer pointed to a pad next to the doors. “Your arrival has been registered. Please place the palm of your hand on this pad just to confirm everything.”

  The captain rubbed his palm on his right pant leg and placed it against the pad.

  He felt a sensation of heat radiate from the center of the pad out its extremities, which was promptly followed by a cooling sensation. The temperature against his palm kept dropping until it felt like he was touching a sheet of metal in the winter. The temperature rose again, this time to that of a hot cup of coffee, before quickly dropping to room temperature.

  Captain Philips looked at Latymer, and asked “I suppose this is part of the verification process? They want to see if I can tolerate the cold and heat?”

  Latymer smiled. “It is standard protocol captain. That’s all I really know. You’ll be done in a few short minutes.”

  Philips shrugged and continued to press his palm into the pad’s surface, and presently felt a pinprick in the center of his hand. He couldn’t tell if it was a real skin puncture or just a sensation but knew that he couldn’t check now.

  If he removed his hand, he’d probably have to start the entire process again, or worse, be removed from the premises by armed guards, and possibly questioned as a spy.

  He’d heard many stories about the Citadel’s anti-spy measures and figured this had to be one of them.

  Just deal with it, he thought to himself.

  The pinpricking subsided and then everything felt normal again, the only sensation being what one would normally expect when they place their palm against a smooth surface.

  Then the pain started. Not the pain of a pinprick. Not the pain of burning your fingers with a match. Not the frostbitten pain of a hand held too long in an ice bath.

  No. nothing like that.

  This was pain. True pain. Agonizing pain. The kind of pain that shocks the system. That causes the nervous system to overload and collapse.

  The kind of pain that caused captain Philips to scream in agony, desperately wanting to pull his hand away but knowing, deep down, somewhere in his rational mind, that this was probably just a test and that he had to remain in this ocean of searing pain until the Citadel gods decided he had had enough.

  Captain Philips squared his body, set his shoulders and looked down.

  Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and simply endured. Endured the agony, the brutally graphic sensation of having his hand chewed up, dissolved, eaten and digested over and over again, as his fingers were crushed under hammer blows and his flesh was torn open by hungry savage beasts.
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  Presently, the pain subsided.

  Latymer, who was now standing behind his left shoulder, said “you may remove your hand now captain. Your registration has been confirmed.”

  He looked at Latymer. A thought flashed in his mind. I want to knock that bastard out!

  Then he thought about it again and decided not to. That would be a bad move. He’d not only get kicked out of the Citadel and lose his commission with the Navy, but he’d also likely face prison time.

  The captain decided that knocking Latymer out would be a bad decision. And besides, Latymer had done nothing wrong.

  It’s that damn pain machine, the captain thought to himself. He had never experienced it before, but he’d heard of such devices being used to assess…well he wasn’t exactly sure what they were designed to assess.

  Perhaps to assess the subject’s ability to tolerate pain. Or to assess their ability to remain calm under stress. There could be any number of metrics gleaned from such a pain devise…whether the test results meant anything was another matter.

  Latymer pressed his palm against the pain pad and the doors slid open.

  “Didn’t hurt, did it,” asked Philips.

  “Not in the slightest,” replied Latymer with a grin. “You may proceed, captain. Your host is waiting for you.”

  Latymer smiled as he turned around and followed the green light back the way they had come.

  As soon as Latymer turned a corner and was no longer within the captain’s line of sight, the green light on the floor winked off, no trace left of it ever having been there.

  Captain Philips peered into the room beyond the open doors and stepped inside. As soon as he had cleared the threshold, the doors behind him slid closed.

  The room was adorned with luxurious looking furniture, a thick, lush carpet and hand painted portraits of historical military leaders hung on the walls.

  “Captain Philips!” a voice called from a darkened room adjacent to the main seating area, “come in. I’m glad you could make it.”