[Preview]Renegade Ravager Vol. 3 -- Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – 01738.101 AA

“Courier M87A, please transmit your security clearance.”

Xarl tapped on the courier ship’s command console.

“Security clearance transmitted,” he replied gruffly.

Victor, Iuno, and I stood stiffly behind him. Capturing the black op ship’s computer intact had given us access to their security codes. The codes had likely been revoked the moment the ships had failed to report in, but Aggy had used them as raw material for a new set of cooked-up codes.

Combining them with some intel Ramon had provided, and Aggy’s raw processing power, the new codes were designed to grant us the highest level of clearance, on par with a Saint’s harem. Of course, that was only true if nobody looked too closely or contacted Principe Divin to verify them.

“Security clearance confirmed,” the voice confirmed a moment later. “Transmitting approach vector.”

Xarl rubbed his face. “Roger. Over and out.”

We all let out a sigh.

“Fuck, I hate this cloak-and-dagger bullshit,” Iuno growled. “Why were we picked for this job anyway?”

“Because we’re légionnaires,” Victor answered. “We’re the best trained to mimic another legion, even one that technically doesn’t exist.”

Our power armor, freshly enameled and painted, was bright blue. The sigils painted on our pauldrons declared us as the Three Hundred and Nineteenth Legion, the Solar Spyglasses. The icons underneath identified us as a legate legion assigned directly to the Grande Assemblée, the elected governors who oversaw the Republic’s planetary systems.

Essentially, we were disguised as a bunch of jumped-up political lackeys. A more recent creation of the Republic’s sprawling bureaucracy, legate legions had only been around for a scant two hundred years. They were meant to act as internal police, dealing with treachery, heresy, and corruption.

Such legions had overseen the arrest of the Star Ravagers.

They were nothing that political bootlickers, unworthy of the arms and armor they wore. The Star Ravagers had made it a tradition of beating up legate légionnaires if we encountered them on shore leave. Iuno still held the records of the most time spent in the brig for such infractions.

It was galling, to hide as such worthless toadies.

The important part was, legate legions operated on a need-to-know basis. Their exploits were rarely announced to the public or shared with the military. They sprung up and vanished like toadstools, appearing with new names, and new colors, as their masters demanded.

Hopefully, nobody would even question who the Solar Spyglasses were or what they were doing on Valeur Mineure. Security was drawn thin already.

The Yord had launched a surprise attack on several neighboring systems, completely catching the local defenders off-guard.

When the Yord hive kings traveled between the stars, they used some unknown form of FTL. While their speed and ability to spread were undeniable, their overall navigational accuracy was low. Often the Yord appeared just outside their target star system, giving the defenders a chance to prepare.

Josefine still hadn’t uncovered the secrets of the hive king’s FTL. Instead, we had perfected the tactics that allowed her horde to infiltrate the Diaspora Circus. Her Yord bioships could be towed into place using miniature craft equipped with shredder drives before making planetfall disguised as meteors or other bits of astral debris.

In effect, her xeno forces completely upended what the Republic knew about Yord's strategies. She had turned the aliens into a swift strike force, able to attack and vanish back into sub-reality at a moment’s notice.

Josefine’s horde had attacked a dozen planets at once. She had dispatched small, mobile forces dedicated to harvesting local ecosystems for biomatter while bogging down planetary forces with hit-and-run feints.

To make things worse for the defenders of Valeur Minure, a previously unknown group of pirates were attacking vital shipping lanes in and around the Valorous System. The pirates struck in well-coordinated swarms, ripping off cargo vessels’ wealth while leaving their crews alone.

Several fleets had been drawn from the local naval forces for interdiction operations.

The Republic and the defenders of Valeur Mineure suddenly found themselves stretched in a thousand different directions. They were cautious of any outside threat; they’d never expect it to walk right up to them with proper codes and ID in hand.

“Courier M87A, landing has been authorized for zone 412-GOMAR,” we heard a few minutes later.

“Godspeed,” Aggy whispered to me through our private comm line.

“Right, let’s get this bullshit on the road,” Iuno muttered as she fit her helmet in place.

=======================

Valeur Mineure was just as gray and dull as it had looked in Ramon’s briefing. The moon’s surface was arid and lifeless rock only broken up by concrete bunkers and defensive emplacements. Gun batteries and shield generators ran in regular intervals, along with huge communication arrays.

There were hundreds of ships coming in. They all appeared to be automated cargo haulers.

The courier ship’s autopilot carried us toward a hangar along the northern pole. Turrets tracked our ship along the entire approach, and I could feel invasive scans streaming along our hull.

“Hell of a welcome,” Xarl grumbled.

“What do you expect from a bunch of fucking pencil pushers,” Iuno laughed. “The cowardly fucks wouldn’t know what to do if a bad guy got past all their fancy security and naval babysitters. They’d probably just piss their dress uniforms.”

“Say that again if we trip their alarms and have to fight past all their turrets, guards, and combat drones,” Victor said dryly.

The ship shook as it landed. The hangar doors closed, and we were hit with a dozen more scans.

“We’re up,” I said. “Everyone knows their roles?”

“Keep my mouth shut and look scary,” Iuno offered, double-checking her weapons and armor. “Damn, really wish I had my glaive.”

Brigadier-chef Iuno Chill – TROIS CENT DIX-NEUVIÈME LÉGION

Health: Nominal

Armor Status: Legion Déité Marques Quatre Power Armor - Heavy Plate (100%)

Shields (100%)

Jump Jets (100%)

Arms Status:

Exile .50 Calibur Chasseur Marques Quatre Combat Rifle (25/25)

Legion Combat Knife

I turned toward Victor. “It’s all on you, Brother.”

“Glory and Honor,” he answered, taking the lead as we stepped through the airlock.

Exiting the ship, we were greeted by a cadre of guards, all wearing gray dress uniforms. Like Iuno had said, if it came to a real fight we’d cut through their pristine and dry-cleaned ranks like they were tissue paper.

The turrets and drones though? That could be problematic.

Victor, acting as our leader, approached the officer at the head of the group.

Without missing a beat, he handed a data slate to the man.

“Corporal Victor Dahz, Three Hundred and Nineteenth Legion,” he said without preamble.

The officer inspected the slate, likely double-checking our clearance codes.

He handed the device back. “Greetings, légionnaire. We weren’t expecting your arrival. Can you explain the purpose of your visit?”

“No,” Victor answered flatly.

The troops behind the officer shifted nervously.

“You don’t have the clearance to question our purpose. We are here on the direct orders of the Grande Assemblée,” Victor continued. “You will comply with our demands, you will provide the data we seek, or you will suffer the consequences.”

“Of course!” The officer gulped nervously before stepping back. “I’ll assume you are here to view or retrieve sensitive materials?”

Victor said nothing.

The officer grimaced. “Please, follow me. I can lead you to the nearest data bank interface. From there, we can assist you in locating the data or materials you seek.”

“Your compliance will be noted,” Victor replied.

The security troops flanked us as we exited the hangar.

The interior of the facility was just as drab and boring as its exterior. Concrete walls, floors, and ceilings were covered in pipes and ducts. Light came from inset panels that dully hummed to themselves.

Hundreds of military and government functionaries dashed up and down the halls. It was my first time back in the Republic since my trial and inadvertent exile to sub-reality. Watching soldiers, sailors, and clerks go about their day like nothing had changed was jarring.

Didn’t they know the civilization they served was built on lies, that their leaders were inhuman monsters? How could they be so blind?

Gritting my teeth, I forced my rage back down. I had been blind as well, once. Only callous and unneeded betrayal had shown me the horrid truth.

And someday, they would be forced to see it as well. We would tear away the benign comfort of their everyday life, the false belief that the world was just and that the Martyred Goddess watched over them. Like us, they would see the harsh truth of the nightmare they were trapped in.

Trying to focus on something else, I studied the facility and the staff manning it. While they wore the customary badges and iconography of Republican military personnel, I quickly noticed they all wore different armbands.

For example, the armband of the officer guiding us had a full, staring eye. The guards under him featured lidded eyes.

Unexpectedly, it was Balan who whispered into my ear through a private channel. “Military intelligence likes to present itself as a unified edifice, an unbreakable front, but in truth it’s broken up into countless different groups – Sections – that are at constant war with each other, jockeying for position and power.”

“Sections?” I repeated.

I had been surprised when Balan hadn’t volunteered to join us in our infiltration, sneaking in using her stealth capabilities. Instead, she had remained behind.

“The officer with you? He’s with Section E5 – they’re responsible for internal security – guards, checkpoints, and the like,” she explained in a detached tone. “The guards under him are E4, which is subordinate to his Section.”

Balan slowly narrated the various Sections, their allegiances, and rivalries, as I continued to scan the hallway. There were Sections concerned with physical security, like E4 and E5, while others dealt with information warfare, media censorship, and heretical investigations.

I had never heard of any of this, but I was sure that was on purpose The Republic purposefully concealed the various agencies, organizations, and inquisitions they controlled, compartmentalizing them from one another.

It was harder to guard against a knife in the back if you never knew who was coming after you.

I noticed a group of soldiers, their uniforms a darker shade of gray compared to the rest. Everyone else seemed to be avoiding them. Their logo was a pair of crossed daggers.

“Section X,” Balan hissed, a note of anger in her voice. “They report directly to the Saints. They’re considered the most elite – and secretive Section. They handle missions that require complete deniability on part of the Republic.”

I’d only heard rumors of such groups – assassins who were tasked with taking out the enemies of the Saints, internally or externally. They handled the tasks that the Saints and their harem could not be even indirectly associated with.

“How do you know all of this?” I asked.

Balan refused to respond.

Our escort guided us to a tram platform. We used his cybernetics to summon a car, which quickly took us deeper into the moon. It was crowded since it wasn’t designed for légionnaires in power armor. We stood at the back of the car, refusing to sit.

Ignoring the nervous guards escorting us, I gazed out the car’s windows.

It quickly became clear that Valeur Mineure was riddled with thousands of tunnels, all part of a massive transportation system. Other cars whizzed by, most of them loaded with heavy cargo containers.

My telemetry data told me we were already several kilometers below the hangar we had first arrived in. The security force escorting us kept glancing our way, looking at us worriedly. We followed the script and strictly ignored them.

“How are efforts going on your end?” I asked through our shared comm channel.

“So far so good,” Josefine confirmed. “We’ve managed to avoid any direct contact with the local militias. My buddies and I are moving fast enough to avoid outright conflict with the naval forces dispatched to eliminate us.”

Of all of us, Josefine and Zoto had the most dangerous role in our operation. They were playing a deadly game of cat and mouse against planetary militia and the military forces sent to eliminate the xenos threat.

The Yord were a lure, to draw as many foes as possible away from Valeur Mineure. Josefine kept her horde on the move, striking and stripping planets of resources before moving on, one step ahead of our enemies.

Josefine was keeping some of her horde in reserve, in case she got into trouble, but she swore she had things under control.

Aggy confirmed her pirate operations were going well. If nothing else, she had picked up some interesting salvage and materials from the cargo vessels she robbed.

“I still don’t know why Victor is in charge here,” Iuno growled through our squad’s comm link.

“By dint that he’s the best for the role,” I answered. “I’m barely resisting the urge to crack skulls and I’m guessing you're the same.”

“And Xarl?”

“Like I’d want a shit job like that,” the older légionnaire chuckled. “Victor is perfect for it, he’s so even-keeled. Trust a bookworm to be the best faceman for a deception like this.”

“I can hear all of you,” Victor answered calmly.

The tram came to a stop.

The guard officer stepped out on the platform. “Corporal – légionnaires – please follow me.”

We were in an older section of the installation. The walls around us were cracked with age, and rust stains covered the floors.

“This is one of the first sections of the facility to be constructed,” our guide explained. “When Valeur Mineure was first founded, a large borehole was dug into the moon, before the first data cores were installed. They’ve been running non-stop for nearly two thousand years – a triumph of Republican technology!”

I swore I could hear Elspeth snickering in the background.

Marching through several security checkpoints, we found ourselves in a massive data core. It was a far more primitive mirror to the high-tech installation that held Aggy’s consciousness. Rather than sleek crystals, the main computer was built from ancient machinery that clicked and thrummed loudly. It reached toward the ceiling like a crooked column; its sides were festooned with power cables, fans, and pipes for coolant. More computers were crusted over the walls and laid like midden heaps along the floor.

To me, it looked more like rubble and wreckage than the heart of a military intelligence operation.

“Are you sure you can interface with this junk?” Iuno asked Aggy.

The former empress just harrumphed in response.

The air was sweltering hot according to my suit’s sensors, and laden with toxic chemicals and pollution. Several of our escorts pulled respirators out, the rest made due by wrapping rags around their faces.

Techs and engineers crawled over the computer equipment like ants, constantly fixing and repairing the failing machinery. Their insignia was a scroll overlaying a circuit board, making it clear their Section was responsible for the aging computer systems and hardware.

I didn’t see any drones or automatons, everything was done by hand. Any parts removed were treated like sacred relics, quickly ferried away while substandard components were installed in their place.

I recorded everything, knowing that Elspeth would demand a chance to see what the Republic’s top-secret data bank looked like.

Our guide showed us a huge, vault door. More guards stood outside.

The officer pulled a device from his belt and then eyed us nervously.

“Légionnaires, I’ll need to once again verify your identity. Please remove your helmets and present your IDENT chips,” he requested.

Victor, not even missing a beat, unfastened the seals on his helmet. He then held out his right hand.

The officer stepped forward, raising the bulky device. He ran it over Victor’s hand, then flashed his eyes with a retinal scanner.

“IDENT confirmed,” the device growled.

I let out a sigh of relief; we had just passed the highest hurdle in our infiltration.

All Republican citizens had IDENT chips, which were implanted on their fifth birthday. They tracked everything about their lives, acting as identification and access cards for any public service. You couldn’t step foot in the Republic without one.

Iuno, Victor, Xarl, and I no longer had IDENT chips. They had been forcefully ripped from our bodies, our citizenship revoked, when we were convicted of treason.

I removed my helmet and held up my hand as the man scanned me next.

It had cost a fortune, but we had purchased a supply of blank, Republican IDENT chips from Ramon. Rather than implanting them into our skin, as was typical within the Republic, we had hidden them in our power armor’s gauntlets.

It was Balan who had made that suggestion, along with a couple of other key contributions, during our planning. She clearly had insight into military intelligence, particularly their security procedures.

“Thank you, légionnaire,” the man said as he finished scanning me.

Our major concern was that our names and biometrics would still be listed somewhere, tying us to the doomed and censured Ninety-Second Legion. But the Republic’s policy of scrubbing, deleting, and sealing damaging and embarrassing secrets worked in our favor. If there were any surviving records concerning the Star Ravagers, they were hidden away within the Basilique du Dessein Divin on Principe Divin.

Iuno’s gaze bore into the office as he finished the last scan.

“Thank you, légionnaires,” he mumbled as he quickly backed up.

We quickly resealed our helmets. The air in the data core was far too vile to breathe, even with our enhanced constitutions.

It took almost two minutes for the vault door to unseal. Hinges as big as my armored forearm groaned as it leveraged open. The lock pins looked like tank shells, and I imagined the vault door could easily survive a direct hit from an artillery battery.

As we waited, a group of techs appeared. They stepped inside the vault ahead of us.

The vault’s interior was a square room, only a few meters across. The sole content was a computer console, like something you’d seen in a clerk’s office. The plastic housing had yellowed with age, and I could see where epoxy had been used to patch cracks along the keyboard and data ports.

The display was an analog monitor with green text on a black background; I could see where text and images had burned into the screen.

Approaching it like they were petitioning a sacred relic, a group of techs finished booting up the machine. It clicked and hummed unevenly like it was on its last legs.

Victor handed the techs his data slate, and they carefully inspected it. They attached it to several hand-mounted devices, scanning the slate to ensure there weren’t any harmful viruses or other content that could damage the console or data core.

They never detected the trojan program Aggy had constructed. Hacking into Valeur Mineure’s network from an external source would have been a monumental task. Attack from within though? Aggy thought she could compromise the entire moon in a matter of hours.

“It’s clean,” the techs confirmed.

The vault door slowly hinged shut, leaving us alone with the techs.

“Corporal,” the head tech said to Victor, “I am sworn to secrecy on all queries and operations. Please allow me to assist in your search.”