Trial by Ice (A Star Too Far Book 1) Read online

  He worked the handles and plunged deeper. The air inside of the cabin grew humid, hot, and sweat poured from his brow. He could taste the dirt and salt and wished he'd taken the jacket off. Not much longer, he thought, almost there.

  The mining rig ran upwards and chased the vein. The band of nickel narrowed and the mining cutters couldn't keep up. He punched the halt and waited as the chunks dropped down and shot out into the rear. One more hopper to load. One more. He studied the ultrasonic scan, the vein spread out before him just through that pocket of stone.

  "Why did you stop?" Will called.

  The heat was getting to Tomi. He wiped his brow. "Overloaded the cutters, waiting for it to catch up."

  "How long?"

  "Minute maybe."

  "Pull the plug, get out," Will called back.

  Tomi sat forward and slammed the cutters into the walls. "What?" he growled back. "We can still get one more—"

  "Get out, we're pulling the plug."

  Lights flickered behind the mining rig. The ore haulers scraped against the wall as they exited. Tomi sat in his own sweat and growled. He disengaged the ore chute and diverted the stream into the mining rigs own hopper. Cowards, he thought, a few more minutes, I'll fill this damn thing up and claim it as my own. He wasn't worried about being left behind, the mining rig was even more expensive than the stargate, and he knew it.

  Tomi switched off the radio and plowed deeper through the stone. His eyes glinted when the vein of nickel opened before him. He grinned and watched the hopper indicator rise. He didn't feel the heat, or the sweat, or the fear, but just saw the nickel piling in the back. Gambling debts be damned, he'd have enough to gamble to his heart’s content.

  There was a crack, a sound like a wooden board snapping.

  Tomi stopped and held his breath. He strained to listen and disengaged the cutters. Then the sound came again, a grinding sound, then a pop. Someone else was cutting their way in.

  "Shit," he said and slammed the mining rig into reverse. His fingers fumbled to turn the radio feedback on. Sounds flooded in, distortions, feedback, and finally voices.

  "-get out! Goddammit we're gonna pull it, I need to know now!"

  "I'm coming!" Tomi yelled back and bounced against a wall. He stopped, corrected the path back, and slammed down onto the accelerator. He watched the reverse camera and steered toward the exit.

  The rock proof front viewshield shattered into a spider web of crunched glass. Tomi jumped in his seat and cried out. The front camera bank went blank and he popped the helmet up to look.

  The nose of a slender cannon poked through the rock wall. A moment later the wall fell forward the and front tracks of an armored vehicle crawled ahead. Two soldiers rushed past the sides, they were humanoid, but the proportions were wrong. They were encased in heavy armor and held rifles that Tomi knew from the videos. Their faces were more like an insects than a man’s with high cheeks and a mouth like a speaker grill. Kadan soldiers.

  "Kadan! Kadan!" Tomi cried out and slammed the accelerator into reverse.

  Slugs cracked against the front of the mining rig. Kadan troops poured through the gap and surged out. The front ranks stopped, knelt down, fired, and then sprinted behind the next row. Chill air surged through the tunnel, the moisture on the leading edge of the mining rig turned to glistening streaks of ice.

  Tomi drove over a crumbling wall and feared for a second that the rig would get stuck. He frantically hammered on the controls and steered clear. A slug punched through the broken windshield and shards of glass hit him in the face. "Shit!"

  A second slug punched through the front and one of the mining cutters clattered to the floor, dead. Hydraulic fluids sprayed on the raw walls. Alarms blared in the cab of the rig and Tomi saw he had less than a minute before the hydraulics ran dry. Then, like a beast with no blood, he'd be dead.

  "Don't shut it!" he cried out. His greatest fear now was that they'd collapse the stargate. He'd find his exit turned into a sheer wall of stone with his comrades light-years away.

  He plowed around a corner and crashed through the thin edge of the rock wall. There, in his rear camera, the lights of the ore carriers shone down the tunnel. He grinned and looked back forward through the smashed glass. The Kadan troops surged ahead and the grin dropped off his face. The leading edge was almost on the front of his rig.

  If the mining rig was any less of a beast Tomi would have been dead. As it was the stout little beast was designed to withstand cave ins, explosive gas pockets, and even vacuum breaches. But it was not equipped for combat.

  A slug slammed through the broken glass and glanced Tomi's shoulder. He screamed in pain and clutched at the wound. Focus, focus, get out! He squeezed tight and felt the blood. Then he exploded out from the mineshaft and the stout mining rig collided with a half full ore hauler. The reactor drive hummed and spun and the blocky edged tires hopped and squealed. Tomi didn't dare release the accelerator.

  The two men manning the old rotary cannon opened fire. Kadan soldiers surged through and dropped in bloody heaps. Blue smoke rose from the barrel and hollow brass casings rained down. There was no tracers, just a raging flame of constant fire dancing from the barrel.

  One man collapsed, clutching his foot, then fell silent as a second slug caught him in the face. The other man looked down and when he looked back up a slug whacked him in the throat. He rolled onto the floor with both of his hands squeezed tight on his neck.

  Tomi finally let go of the accelerator and, through the adrenaline, heard the words he'd dreaded.

  "Get out! They staked it!" Will hollered. His voice sounded hollow, like he was already driving away.

  Tomi kicked open the door and fell to the floor on the opposite side of the rig. A pulsing cube was anchored to the front of it. He'd delivered the staking device. He realized that the cannon hadn't fired an explosive round, but a dart with the staking unit on it. "Oh no."

  Tomi leaped up and sprinted in front of the mining rig. He grabbed on to the cube, but it was stuck on tight. The lance had bored deep and fused itself to the armored nose of the mining rig. Slugs pinged against it and the rotary cannon opened up.

  Ernst stood with both hands on the controls and peered through the narrow slit above the barrel. His short body was hidden behind the protective glacis while the bodies of two dead men sheltered his legs.

  Tomi ran to him because he could think of nowhere else to go.

  "Guide the belt!" Ernst said through gritted teeth.

  The belt leaped up and down as the rotary cannon sucked in the trail of brass. Tomi stuck his hand underneath and lifted it up and kept it from bucking about.

  Ernst grunted. "Now crouch down!"

  The rotary cannon shattered the assault. A mound of Kadan troopers lay heaped at the edge of the stargate. The carbon black of the gate glowed a dull orange while the nickel bands chirped and sang.

  The air that blasted through the gap was cold, almost beyond cold. The blood of the Kadan troops froze on the floor. Tomi shivered and clenched his teeth. The full burst of the arctic-like wind buffeted on the sole defenders. Ernst tucked his chin onto his chest and seemed not to notice.

  Tomi felt the heat from the barrel of the rotary cannon. He didn't dare look into the ammo case. How many rounds had they fired? The brass was already piled to his ankles. Still the Kadan plunged through with that mindless devotion and still they fell.

  "The stake?" Tomi yelled.

  Ernst shook his head. "It's open now ’til the carbon of the stargate cracks."

  More rounds pinged and careened of the front glacis and the body of man on the floor shuddered and shook. Then the firing paused and the leading edge of a low profile Kadan armored vehicle rolled into sight. The front of the tracks was obscured by armored plate and the turret pivoted on a gimbal set within the hull.

  "Shit," Ernst muttered, then the tank fired.

  The high velocity round punched through the chill air and, amazingly, danced up and over the sloped glac
is of the rotary cannon. Sparks and molten metal spalled and fell onto Ernst and Tomi. The tank paused, as if offended, and the barrel pointed slightly lower.

  Tomi's vision narrowed and the adrenaline met a wall where blood loss took its toll. He didn't even notice the falling sparks. His eyes were locked on the leading edge of the tank. A part of him wondered if he should feel more. Was this it? It didn't feel like the end, but how does one know?

  Ernst slapped Tomi on the good shoulder and cackled.

  The stargate cracked and shuddered and the carbon black ring collapsed into a sphere. It hung, a ball of glowing nickel and cobalt, before disappearing with a pop. A two meter long section of the Kadan tanks barrel clattered to the floor harmlessly. The stargate was closed.

  Tomi fell back and sat down hard. The air immediately felt warmer and the moist chill of the evening settled back into the warehouse.

  The silence hung for a moment and then the Vasilov Protectorate police arrived. Tomi watched, helplessly, as heavily armored shock troops plowed through the walls. They held blocky weapons with bores that spoke of only short range combat.

  Ernst still laughed. Tears ran down his face from his good, and bad, eye. They shackled him, still cackling, and hauled him off.

  Tomi looked around. A trooper knelt down next to him and attached a field dressing. He called something out but Tomi couldn't hear it. The trooper lowered him to the floor.

  A man in a wet trench coat walked through the squads of shock troops and stared at the heap of corpses. On his shoulder was a badge of the Internal Vasilov Police. He looked down at Tomi and shook his head. "Helluva mess, boy, helluva mess."

  Darkness slid in like a warm blanket and Tomi closed his eyes.

  #

  Chapter Three

  Vasilov Prime - Barnham Hall

  It was not the most historic building on Vasilov Prime, but it was his. Lord Wilhelm Darcy, leader of the Vasilov Protectorate, arrived for work in the morning mist after the drive from his estate. His office would have overlooked the harbors but he rarely opened the windows. Not that the fog usually revealed a view. It reminded him of the intrigues with the Dukes, and his search for the right course through the muck. He'd fought in that mist as a young man, and remembered it as a more deadly thing than most.

  The halls of the old stone building were mostly silent. Lord Darcy passed by rigid soldiers, cold shaven marines, and prided himself on arriving before any of the civilians.

  A Colonel stood at attention in his waiting room and Lord Darcy paid him no mind. Matilda, his secretary, would decide when that gentleman came in. He entered, tossed a split log onto the crackling fire, and sat. His job was not the mist, but governing the men who lived in it, and on the dozen plans of the Vasilov Protectorate.

  At the end of the day he finally found time to study his own data. Meetings dragged on into lunches that morphed into briefings. Now he finally had silence all alone. He'd forgotten about the Colonel hours before.

  "Lord Darcy?" Matilda called over the intercom.

  Wilhelm sighed and tapped the comm button. "Yes?"

  "There is a Colonel Cole Clarke waiting to see you, he says you know his father, Yuri Hemmet."

  Wilhelm looked at his desk and sighed. "Send him in."

  The door opened and a man in a slightly frumpled Colonel uniform marched in. The man wore his full uniform but the top buttons were open and the cuffs pulled back. His arms were tight and corded with muscle. His skull was shaved, clean and clear. His eyes were brown, dark, with rings hanging beneath. His smile, when it showed, was a crisp line that never broke into a grin.

  "Colonel, I served with your father against Duke Martinez in '67. A good soldier he is."

  Colonel Clarke saluted. "He sends his regards, Lord Darcy, he still speaks of that coup."

  "Attempted coup!" Lord Darcy replied quickly, and with a smile. "How's your father?"

  "We haven't talked in quite some time. I know how busy—"

  Lord Darcy cut him off with a wave. He studied his desk computer and read through the Colonel’s personnel file. Combat command up until Captain, then a posting as a Military Liaison with the Sigg Worlds. He'd spent the last ten years serving with the Sigg against the Boben incursion. Devilish fighting, he'd heard. Clarke had barely been back for twenty-four hours.

  "Colonel, you don't waste any time, do you?"

  Clarke handed a sheaf of papers to Lord Darcy.

  Lord Darcy ran his twig thin index finger over the columns and rows. His mouth silently worded the figures and his eyes, worn with age and a simple gray, took in every count.

  This Colonel is sharp, he thought. Lord Darcy liked paper. At his age the strain of staring at a digital screen was too much. But paper was gentle, smooth, soft. Like a woman’s touch after time on the front. He loved sitting down with paper and tallying his figures.

  Wilhelm looked up from the document and gave one glance before continuing to read. He'd already read enough to see what the Colonel wanted him to see. But now it was a matter of making the man wait. Watch this one, he thought, ambitious he is.

  "Lord Darcy," Clarke began.

  Wilhelm waved his ancient claw of a hand. "Colonel, give this old man a moment to think. I like to come to my own conclusions. But do pour yourself a drink."

  Clarke looked down to the paper and stepped reluctantly to the cart and poured himself a drink. He held the glass, but didn't drink.

  "We don't have enough troops to win, you say?" Wilhelm asked. Almost treason. Almost. My father would have had you shot, he thought.

  "That's correct."

  "But we have just enough to not lose?" Wilhelm added as he tapped a column.

  Clarke shifted and took a sip. "Correct."

  Wilhelm sat back and crossed his arms. "I've had thirty Corps Commanders tell me we can take Lishun Delta."

  "They're wrong."

  "And a Colonel is right?"

  "Yes, I am."

  Wilhelm wanted to smile. It’d been too long since someone told him the truth. But still, the truth didn't claim territory or win wars. It was easy to see the failings of a plan, but did he have an alternative?

  "If you sat here," Wilhelm patted his chair, "what would you do?"

  "Press the Sigg Union for troops. They drove out the Boben on Wismar Prime. With our manpower and their technology, we could squeeze the Kadan off that planet."

  A wooden framed starmap hung on the wall, mostly a neglected thing, but it showed the nearby region. A wide swath of worlds were highlighted blue and identified as the Sigg Worlds. A dark gash ran between the Sigg Union and the Vasilov Protectorate, a gravitational effect known as the Vasilov Expanse. No stargate could penetrate the inky depths—as a defensive hold, none was better.

  "The Sigg." Wilhelm spat. "Upstarts! Our forefathers were assigned this sector."

  "And they secured it," Clarke said.

  Wilhelm snapped his eyes up to Clarke. "Colonel, I listen to you as a courtesy to your father, but don't press my hospitality. Vasilovs have a long memory."

  Colonel Clarke looked at Wilhelm for a moment longer, then stared into his drink.

  Wilhelm already knew all of this, his Corps Commanders couldn't hide it. Nor could he press the Dukes of Vasilov for more troops. Already each of the other worlds had committed at least a dozen Divisions. They held the stargate, they had a foothold, but for how long, he wondered. The Kadan certainly didn't seem able to dislodge them.

  It had been a tenuous strike, an assault that, in hindsight, was hasty. Though it had an interesting side effect, no one had attempted to usurp Wilhelm since the war started. None of the Dukes had the power to topple the old Lord, none had the will, but mostly none dared commit the treason that might shift the power. For as Wilhelm told them, if one falls, we all fall. And, he thought, it just might be true.

  But what if we could end it? Wilhelm wondered. His age was like a lens, reflecting his life, and he had no doubt that he'd be dead in under a decade. What legacy was that? Die, w
ith an unfinished war? The thought didn't sit well.

  He looked up to the Colonel. The man had no hereditary ties to the Dukes, his father was in good standing on the Council, but most of all he had earned his command. A capable man it seemed. "Can you accomplish what my commanders cannot?"

  Clarke snapped his eyes up from the glass. He still hadn't taken a drink. "The Sigg Ambassador—"

  "No." Wilhelm snapped. "Without the Sigg."

  "It would be...difficult."

  "But not impossible?"

  Clarke strained his words. "No."

  "The Dukes will not commit troops to this, nor can I spare any from Vasilov Prime for a fruitless assault," Wilhelm said. He stared down at the reams of paper on his desk. "But..." He picked up a sheet.

  Clarke stood, rigid, as if balancing on a wire. He scarcely breathed, not a ripple spread on his glass of vodka.

  "This is a thousand men, fresh ones, too," Wilhelm muttered. He let the paper fall onto the stack. "They are yours."

  "A thousand?" Clarke whispered.

  Three hundred thousand stood on the front on Lishun Delta. A thousand was barely enough to fill in a day’s sick roster.

  "You spoke of the Sigg tactics at the War College."

  "Yes, but they have a technological advantage, sir, plus they fought the Boben for the last thirty years. Our troops are…well, not of the same caliber."

  Wilhelm glared. "A Vasilov trooper is the equal of any in tenacity and courage."

  "Yes, but it's the force multipliers, what they lack in troops they make up for in technology and tactics."

  "Well then, Colonel, you have your work cut out for you." Wilhelm plucked up the sheet and slid it across his desk. "If you give us an opening, I will order the hammer of Vasilov to descend upon our enemies. But until then, this is all you have."

  Clarke picked up the paper and read the columns. "Penal Battalion?"

  "I prefer the term 'Redemption Regiment’." Wilhelm sat back and watched the Colonel. "A capable man could do amazing things with those troops."

  Colonel Clarke snapped his glass back and emptied it one gulp.

  "Ahh, you still drink like a Vasilov. The Sigg didn't change that, eh?"