Iron Vanguard

The Ghost In the Engine

The bridge of the Ares Prime was deathly quiet, save for the low, rhythmic thrum of the primary reactor humming deep within the ship’s belly. Admiral Vance stared down the barrel of my plasma pistol, his eyes darting from the weapon to my face, searching for a tremor, a hint of hesitation, or anything he could exploit. He found nothing. I had died once already; there was no fear left in me to exploit.

"Step away from the console, Vance," I said, keeping my voice level and cold.

The Admiral took a slow, deliberate breath, his hands raising to chest height in a mock gesture of surrender. He smirked, that same patronizing look he used to give me when I questioned operational parameters back in the Vanguard. "You always were a stubborn bastard, Peter. I’ll grant you that. Surviving the decompression of Carthage’s orbit is an impressive feat. But you’re a soldier, not a strategist. You think you can just walk onto the crown jewel of the Alliance fleet and fly it out of here?"

He didn't need to fly it, Lyra said, stepping past me, her fingers already dancing across the glass surface of the primary navigation station. He just needs me to tell it where to go.

Vance’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second as Lyra initiated a hard override, her stolen datapad bleeding red bypass code into the ship's mainframe.

Jaxx kept his rifle trained on the remaining bridge crew, six officers who had frozen in their seats, their hands locked behind their heads. "Don't even think about the emergency beacons," Jaxx growled, the mechanical optics in his eye clicking as he scanned the room for any sudden movements. My finger is twitching today, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to see how these new Alliance uniforms handle plasma burns.

"Peter," Vance said, his voice dropping to a softer, almost paternal register. It was the tone he used right before sending men into a meat grinder. "Think about what you’re doing. You’re a decorated officer. You’re a hero of the Coalition. If you stand down now, we can attribute this to post-traumatic stress. The vacuum does terrible things to the mind. We can fix this. You can have your life back."

"My life died in the hangar bay of the Titan’s Will," I replied, my finger tightening on the trigger. Along with thirty of the finest soldiers this galaxy ever saw. "You didn't just order a purge on New Carthage, Vance. You murdered my squad to cover your tracks."

They were acceptable losses in a larger game, Peter. You never could see the forest for the trees. The colonies are a disease. If we don't control them, they will fracture humanity into a thousand warring factions. The Alliance maintains order.

If order requires the slaughter of children, then your order deserves to burn, I said.

"Peter, I’ve got a lock on the thrusters," Lyra interrupted, her voice tight with tension. "But the central AI is fighting back. It’s deploying internal security. We’ve got mechanized units moving toward the bridge from the lower decks. We have about two minutes before we are completely surrounded."

"Secure Vance," I ordered Jaxx. He’s our insurance policy until we clear the station’s grid.

Jaxx lunged forward, grabbing the Admiral by the shoulder and forcing his arms into heavy-duty magnetic cuffs. Vance didn't fight it, but his eyes remained locked on mine, a chillingly confident smile returning to his lips. You won't make it past the automated defense platform outside the dock, Captain. The moment this ship moves without authorization, the station will tear us to pieces.

We'll take our chances, I said, turning my back on him to face the massive viewport.

Lyra, purge the mooring clamps. Full reverse thrusters.

Outside, the massive mechanical arms holding the Ares Prime to the Core Station began to disengage with a violent, shuddering groan that reverberated through the deck plates. The blue docking seals hissed, venting bursts of pressurized gas into the void. The ship groaned like a waking leviathan, its massive maneuvering thrusters flaring to life with a brilliant, white-hot intensity.

The station’s proximity alarms began to wail, a deep, resonant klaxon that echoed through the bridge. Red warning lights bathed the pristine white consoles in blood-colored hues.

They’re locking onto us, Lyra warned, her hands moving in a blur as she rerouted auxiliary power to the forward shields. Station defense grids are online. They’re powering up the ion cannons.

Can we take a hit? I asked, stepping up to the captain's chair but refusing to sit. I needed to feel the ship beneath my feet.

"The shields are at eighty percent charge, but this is a prototype, Peter!" Lyra shouted over the rising roar of the engines. "The feedback loop hasn't been tested under live fire!"

"Hold us steady," I said. "Jaxx, watch the door."

Right on cue, the heavy blast doors at the rear of the bridge began to hiss, a plasma torch cutting through the reinforced titanium from the outside. The automated security units had arrived. Sparking metal rained down onto the floor as the enemy worked to breach our position.

"We are clear of the berth," Lyra yelled, slamming her palm against the main propulsion engagement pad.

The Ares Prime lurched backward, throwing everyone forward as the massive inertial dampers struggled to compensate for the sudden, violent acceleration. Through the viewport, the massive structure of the Core Station began to recede, but the station’s automated defense turrets were already tracking our trajectory.

Twisting beams of concentrated particle energy streaked through the blackness of space, slamming into our forward shields. The bridge shook violently, sparks flying from an overhead conduit as the electrical backup system overloaded.

"Shields down to sixty percent!" Lyra reported, her teeth gritted against the vibration. "They’re firing a second volley!"

"Peter, we’ve got company!" Jaxx yelled, pointing his rifle at the breach in the door. The metal gave way with a deafening crash, and the first sleek, bipedal combat drone stepped onto the bridge, its arm-mounted miniguns spinning to life.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped my plasma pistol into its holster, drew the heavy, vibro-blade sheared from my old Vanguard armor, and charged the mechanized soldier before it could acquire a target.