Benjamin Gold

Location: CCIWS Stakeholder’s Views, Contested System, Unaligned Space

as far as traveling halfway across a planet went, it wasn’t that bad of a trip.

The Confed Spyder made the trip with plenty of reactor mass to spare, but Ben wanted them to top off anyway. It was only a matter of time before more than a destroyer came to check on Red Tides. As long as the captain of the Collie destroyer wasn’t a moron, and judging by the battle he’d fought, the man wasn’t, then he sent word back to his people just like Ben sent word back to his.

Ben bet, as the assault shuttle broke through the clouds, and the research station came into view.

He could only see it thanks to the bird’s enhanced optics. As far as structures went, it was unimpressive. A prefabbed habitat that covered a few thousand square meters and was two stories at its highest point. It was set on a plateau among a mountain range that was the spine of the continent. Even as the Spyder approached, Ben noted survey drones buzzing to and from the station. Other than that, there were small domes clustered around the central structure; personal quarters for the small survey crew mapping the landmasses and seeing if the place was worth the investment.

Ben thought. Between A1 and Red Tides nearly a hundred people were already dead.

To be fair, it was more than rocks to most people. The shuttle set down on a landing pad, which wasn’t much more than a thin layer of asphalt far enough away from the prefabbed homes that the ship didn’t huff and puff and blow them all down. The engines hadn’t even finished cycling down before Ben saw a group heading his way. They looked pissed.

Ben set his jaw and descended the rear ramp and pivoted to head to the main building. He’d meet the group advancing on him in the middle. The squad of marines fell in around him, and although he wasn’t on their comms at the moment, he could imagine their chuckling at the coming confrontation.

“Captain,” a portly man practically spat as Ben led his people forward. “What the hell is going on up there. Our ship is out of position, so we can’t relay our latest findings to . . .”

Ben ignored the man and walked right past him.

“Captain?” the man growled after Ben as he ignored the bitching. “Captain!”

Ben kept on marching with his impromptu honor guard forcing the civilian to keep a few steps behind them. That didn’t stop him from complaining about missed deadlines, and promising that the Board of Directors – who he was a personal acquaintance of the chief of staff of some deputy who had the ear of one of the board members – were going to hear about this in his next report.

The man complained all the way into the administrative center of the building, where Ben took the seat that was probably the man’s to begin with. It was another slap in the face, but Ben had better things to do.

“Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir,” the man in armor nearest to Ben replied.

“I want a perimeter established, weapons emplaced, fields of fire established, and everything else marines do to ensure the security of this sight,” Ben ordered.

“On it, sir,” the man switched to the squad net and the armored men left the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing. This site is run by the Board of Directors, not the military. You’re grossly overstepping your bounds, captain,” the man went on to list some regulations that could have been import restrictions for exotic fruit for all Ben knew.

He tuned the man out and accessed the station AI with his IOR. His naval codes, along with his personal codes, gave him full access to everything. The first things that popped up were the survey reports and findings.

he looked over projections, promising mineral deposits, ground-penetrating sensor results, and the resulting triple A rating the planet received.

This place was a gold mine . . . literally, and no one was going to give it up without a fight.

Ben rubbed his eyes suddenly feeling more tired than any other point in his life, and he’d seen a thing or two.

“Are you even listening to me?” the civilian finally sputtered like a dying Volkswagen.

“No,” Ben shot the man a glare. “I’m trying to make sure we get out of this alive.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” the civilian asked, but a beep in Ben’s head interrupted his reply.

{Yes?}

{We’ve got incoming from the ship, sir. Apparently, we have company.}

Ben sighed.

He just hoped whoever it was, was friendly.

***

Mark “Coop” Cooper

Location: CWS Pride of Summer, Lone Star System, United Commonwealth of Colonies

Coop watched the young PVT closely. He assessed him, judged him, and deemed him unworthy. The young MOUNT operator must have sensed it, because a sweat broke out across his forehead.

“So, kid, what you gonna do?” Coop asked.

“I . . . I . . . I fold,” the PVT exhaled in defeat as his digital cards evaporated into the cyber ether.

Coop didn’t let his smugness show. But this one wasn’t going to be easy. The MSG wasn’t as easily cowed as the young pup.

To the spacers and marines going about their business on Summer’s flight deck, it looked like the four MOUNT pilots were sitting around on cargo crates looking blank-faced at nothing. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. All three were plugged into a VR gambling program. They might be sitting on plastic crates designed to hold foodstuffs, but they were seeing an Old West saloon. A wooden table filled with chips was piled in front of each of them; some had more than others.

Coop had an impressive stack. The PVT would barely be able to make the small blind on the next hand. The SGT wasn’t doing much better, but the MSG’s stack rivaled Coop’s. They watched each other closely, looking for tells, and evaluating how the other man played the game.

A glance at the pot, and the program tallied it for Coop. Almost five hundred bucks was riding on this hand, and he had jack shit. Technically, he had a pair of two’s, but he’d gotten this far by bluffing.

The MSG tapped the table, neglecting to raise the stakes; so either he was baiting Coop, or he didn’t have a great hand. That was what Coop loved about gambling, you didn’t have any idea what the hell was going on. The chaos was beautiful.

“I’ll raise you twenty-five,” Coop tossed in the chips. He played poker like he lived his life; aggressively.

“Call,” the MSG answered too quickly.

Coop was pretty sure he was being suckered.

The river turned over, the fifth and final card of the hand. it was another two. Coop had just gone from having the worst hand aside from nothing at all, to three of a kind. Not great, but he had a shot at the cash now.

By his expression you’d never know he’d just avoided losing a chunk of cash. The MSG looked out at him with an equally neutral look, and waited for Coop to make his play.

“All section OICs, chiefs, and infantry command teams please report to the bridge briefing room. I say again . . .” a voice announced.

“Hmm,” the MSG looked up. “Saved by the bell,” he replied, and started to shut down the game.

He was the host, because it wasn’t proper for an officer to be gambling with his troops in the first place. Taking money from your soldiers was generally frowned upon, but Coop really didn’t give a shit. The PVT had easily lost half a month’s pay, and the SGT would be hurting for rent money, but to Coop, that just meant they needed to get better or find something better to do with their free time. The MSG was of the same mindset, which was why he’d hosted the game to give Coop some cover.

With the hand unfinished, all the bets went back to the individuals. All winnings and losses were deducted or added to the soldier’s bank account. Things would have been better for Coop if he finished the hand. Something about the MSG ending the game so quick told Coop the other man had jack shit. Still, Coop netted over three hundred.

The flight deck came back into view as Coop got back to his feet. They’d portalled into the system during the game, so this was a what-the-fuck-is-going-on brief.

“Make sure we’re ready to go,” he ordered the PVT and SGT. The MSG was coming with him to the meeting.

The meeting took place in a tiered room with stadium seating. You could only have this much free space on a battleship, but Coop didn’t mind. He found his place next to the LCDR in charge of the ship’s half-battalion of grunts. He was the last to get there, and the stern look on CAPT Berg’s face told Coop the other man wouldn’t forget it.

“The situation is as follows,” Berg’s no-nonsense demeanor was even harsher than usual. “We’ve received a mayday transmission from the destroyer Red Tides, along with sensor footage of its battle and defeat at the hand of a Confed ship.” There were a lot of murmurs about that. An actual fight between Commonwealth and Confederation was what some people had wanted for half a year now, but learning first blood went to the Confeds was not what the crew wanted to hear.

Berg’s glare shut everyone up. “The data package also shows the Confed ship offered appropriate aid and relocated the crew to the planet. Demo charges were placed on Red Tides and are scheduled to detonate before we can reach her. The ship is a total loss.” The murmurs increased, and it took the XO to shout for silence to shut people up.