Chapter 6: Misery Loves Company

“It’s definitely broadcasting information,” Vos said as he examined the holographic readout. The forest far below the observation deck was standing still, the carrier hovering in a stationary orbit above the antenna site, its railgun arrays trained on the ground. “It’s broadcasting at frequencies that can traverse solid rock, probably so that they can communicate below ground in their tunnels. The sites are all linked, and they’re sending coded messages back and forth. This is a primitive planetary communication network.”

“I didn’t think the Bugs were capable of something like that,” Fielding muttered. “That means they have total coverage – they can coordinate their operations globally.”

“Not for long,” Vos added.

“Do we have any idea what kind of messages they’re sending? Can we decode their comms?”

“The Jarilans have been working on that,” Vos replied. “We should probably check in with them before we proceed.”

With a few taps at the display on his wrist, he put in a call through to the Constancy. The feed flickered for a moment before a familiar, insectoid face appeared, its chitin plates shifting as it spoke.

“What can we do for you, Admiral?” she asked in a voice that sounded remarkably human. Trying not to get distracted by her branching horn and her ruff of silvery fur, he cleared his throat, straightening up. He wasn’t actually sure whether this was their equivalent of a ship’s captain, a comms operator, or just the pilot.

“I wanted to know whether your people had made any headway with the Kerguelan radio signals,” he said.

“One moment,” she replied, appearing to interact with what must be some kind of console below frame for a few seconds. He could see just enough of her thorax to make out both her upper and lower pairs of arms moving in tandem. “We have determined that the signals being broadcast by the antennas are coded pheromones. These chemical signals are being converted into an electrical impulse and transmitted through the electromagnetic spectrum, where they are then decoded by the receiver. This is a system not unlike the biological computer systems that we employ.”

“Is there any way that you can interpret these signals?” Vos asked. “Maybe we can figure out what they’re saying to each other, piggyback on their comms.”

“Betelgeusian pheromone languages are different from spoken languages,” she began. “There are thousands of scents that can convey anything ranging from raw emotions to complex concepts like mathematics or astronavigation. Having never encountered another hive before, we do not actually know if our language is universal or whether it undergoes divergence and evolution along with the physical properties of a hive. Our guess is that simpler concepts like emotions and signaling pheromones that point to food or tunnel entrances are universal, while more advanced concepts develop along with the hive. This is something we hope to clarify during the operation.”

“What about the signals themselves?” Fielding asked. “Are they encrypted?”

“Not as such,” she replied, turning her strange eyes on him. “It is not that we require a cipher, but without an example of a receiver, we cannot interpret the data accurately. Their technology is alien to us.”

“Perhaps we should try to capture one of the antennas intact,” Fielding suggested, but Vos shook his head.

“I think denying them the ability to communicate is more important. We’ll recover what we can from the site, but the priority should be disabling the antenna. If they have no other means of coordinating across the planet, we’ll be severely reducing the Queen’s ability to respond to threats.”

“Understood,” the Jarilan said. “Will there be anything else, Admiral?”

“That will be all for now,” he replied, the insect nodding respectfully before closing the feed. “Captain, have your railguns target the coordinates of the antenna. Our scans show that it runs deep underground, but we only need to destroy the associated facilities to disable it. There is minimal risk of environmental damage, so feel free to turn the entire area into a smoldering crater.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Fielding said enthusiastically. He opened a line to the Rorke’s weapons officer, audio-only. “Chief Petty Officer, target the antenna and have your operators fire when ready – full artillery barrage. I want that facility leveled.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Firing for effect.”

There was a momentary delay, then the downwards-facing railguns that hung from the belly of the carrier began to turn, a dozen of them pointing their long barrels at the clouds below. From their underslung observation deck, Vos and Fielding had an admirable view, the prow of the vessel extending ahead of them like an armored ceiling. The men watched the guns begin to fire, rocking back in their housings as they absorbed the recoil. The projectiles moved so quickly that they weren’t visible, save for the meteor-like streaks that they left when they entered the atmosphere. Moments later, there were faint flashes from the planet’s surface, Vos watching through the glass beneath his feet. The ventral guns kept firing, their barrages perfectly timed, heat buildup starting to make their rails glow red.

When the fire subsided, Fielding brought up a view of the ground below, manipulating the controls to enhance the magnification. The antenna had been built in a mountainous area, presumably to leverage the terrain for their transmitters. It took the form of a ring of tower-like structures that spanned a mile-wide area. The clearing inside the circle had been filled with clusters of buildings, which were now completely gone, the craters created by the Rorke’s railguns transforming the area into a moonscape. A nearby mountainside had completely collapsed under the barrage, partially burying the site.

“I would call that effective fire,” Vos said, one corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Looks like they’ve stopped broadcasting. Once the other sites are down, the Queen will be blind and deaf to what’s happening in other regions of her colony. That’s the weakness of a heavily centralized command structure.”

“Divide and conquer,” Fielding added with a nod. “Soon, the real ground war can begin.”

“As soon as our enemies actually reveal themselves,” Vos muttered. “The attacks on their infrastructure have so far gone unopposed. We captured all of their anchors, we’ve torched a dozen farms, and we just took out their comms. What’s it going to take to get them to react?”

“Do you think the anchors are secure enough to use as temporary FOBs?” Fielding asked. “We could use them as staging areas, start looking for nearby entrances to the tunnel network. They were massive complexes, they can’t have been built too far away from the Bug highways.”

“Temporary? Yes,” Vos replied. “I still don’t want to hold any territory long-term, it’s not worth the investment, but there’s no point redeploying the battalions that are already on station. Would you do me a favor and call our Jarilan friends again? Have them start dispatching auxiliaries to assist in the search.”

“Of course, Admiral,” Fielding replied.

“I’m afraid that if I keep the Ensi waiting any longer, she’s going to start breaking things,” he muttered as he made his way to the exit.

“The admiral says you’re welcome to anything in the armory,” Fletcher said, turning a wheel-shaped handle on the door. Xipa heard the click of the lock, then it swung ajar, revealing the Rorke’s main armory. It was larger than she had expected, the walls lined with weapon racks and shelves full of attachments. Sitting on the deck were tables where people could service and modify their equipment, many of them already sporting partially assembled rifles.

The other members of the team filed in behind her, already knowing where they were headed, fanning out into the room to collect what were probably their personal weapons from different racks. She trailed after Fletcher, not really knowing what she was supposed to do next. He noticed that she wasn’t picking out any of the guns, turning to face her, his prosthetic arms crossed.

“You ever build an XMR before?”

“I’m aware of the XMR,” she replied, eyeing the rows of polymer rifles. “Our Commandos have begun to adopt the platform. Personally, I’ve always preferred the handling of a laser rifle, so ... I’ve never fired one.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any laser rifles,” he replied sarcastically. “We could send for one and have it delivered from your ship if you want to delay the-”

“No, no,” she grumbled with a frustrated flush of purple feathers. “Show me.”

“There’s a little firing range at the back,” he added, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “You can test it out there. Come on, let me show you how to work them.”

She followed him over to one of the racks, where there were rows of disassembled weapons.

“These are the frames,” he began, picking one of them up. “They come in small, medium, and large. The acronym means X-species Modular Rifle, because it’s intended to be used by all Coalition species without requiring separate parts. That way, everyone can share mags, attachments, scopes, and all that. For you, we’ll go with a small,” he said as he passed the frame to her. It was surprisingly light, made from some kind of tough polymer, but it was little more than a grip and a mag well. It fit her hands well, clearly made for someone of her stature.

“I’m thinking laser rifles are probably low-recoil, without a lot of effective range,” Fletcher mused as he scratched his hairy chin. “We can aim for something that handles about the same, but even low-recoil for a railgun is ... recoil,” he added.

“Depends what you mean by effective range,” Xipa said defensively.

“The reason we don’t use laser weapons is because they scatter off every droplet of water and mote of dust in their path, losing half of their energy before they even reach their target,” he explained. “The average XMR configuration can fire over the horizon.”

“Just show me how to build this thing,” she sighed.

“Might as well give you a crash course in how the gun works while we’re at it,” he continued, leading her over to a stack of shelves full of stocks. “Your stock is where your battery is housed. Bigger battery equals more juice, but also more weight. You want a nice thick pad on there, too. Trust me. The small ones are...” Fletcher paused, chuckling to himself. “Some joker put them on the top shelf. Here, I’ll get it for you.”

Xipa’s feathers flushed an embarrassed pink as he reached for the attachment, handing it to her. Before he had time to explain how it attached, she had figured it out, slotting it in behind the mag well with a satisfying click. She braced it against her shoulder, testing it, the soft pad cushioning the hard material.

“You got it. Next comes the barrel. A longer barrel means more coils, which translates to more range and more stopping power. In your case, you’re not used to a lot of range, so let’s go with something a bit shorter. It’ll make it easier to handle, too.”

“I was fighting Betelgeusians while you were still in an incubator,” she replied, flashing him a stern look. “I do not need to be coddled.”

“These things kick like mules. I’m not calling you weak,” he grumbled. “Just how old are you, anyway? I can’t tell.”

“I was nineteen when Kerguela fell,” she replied.

“That would make you nearly fifty,” he added, looking her up and down. Xipa didn’t know enough about human facial expressions to tell what he was thinking.

“My people live for upwards of a hundred and twenty rotations,” she explained. “I am not yet so frail that I cannot keep up with an Earth’nay.”

“Good, because we don’t have any tactical mobility scooters onboard,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Scooters would not work in the forest,” she explained. “The terrain is too rough.”

He gave her a questioning look, giving her the impression that they were speaking at crossed purposes. After a moment, he shrugged to himself, then led her over to the other side of the room. He examined shelves full of barrels for a moment, then turned back around.

“Hey, Bug!” Fletcher shouted. The insect was in the process of assembling a weapon on one of the benches, using all four of his arms in a way that set Xipa’s teeth on edge. He paused what he was doing, glancing over at the Earth’nay. “You use a small frame, right? What barrel do you recommend for low recoil that still has more stopping power than an XMH?”

The insect seemed irritated to be addressed in such a way, but when he spoke, it was with a friendly tone.

“Yeah, I use a small. Try a C-three. Good stopping power at intermediate range, very controllable.”

Fletcher searched for the correct label, then pulled one of the barrels from the shelf, handing it to her. It was maybe four inches long, packed with copper-colored magnetic coils, surprisingly heavy as she weighed it in her hand. She figured out how to attach it quickly, the weapon starting to take shape.

Next, he introduced Xipa to the various attachments such as sights, forward grips, and lasers. Apparently, the Earth’nay did make use of laser technology, but primarily for targeting. They attached via an intuitive rail system that was present at various points on the frame, and before long, her weapon was ready to fire. There were several magazines to choose from, which were different from what she was used to. A laser rifle would fire until its battery died, but a railgun used a battery to power its electronic components as well as a magazine that fed ammunition to the weapon. She selected a drum-shaped magazine, then quickly switched to a much smaller twenty-round version when she realized how heavy the tungsten slugs were. Her sight of choice was a scope that resembled those used on the laser rifles that she was accustomed to, with two different magnification modes.

“Looks like you’re ready to go,” Fletcher said, appraising her creation as she lifted it off the bench. They had found her a suitable crate to stand on so that she could reach, but she wasn’t about to let that get to her. “Come on, let’s test it out on the range.”

He led her to the back of the room, where there were five booths separated by transparent dividers. Each one had a small desk where one could rest their weapon or change attachments, and behind those was the range. It was small, even by Valbaran standards, squashed down to fit into whatever space was available on the carrier. The paper targets were only maybe twenty meters away, and the back wall was built up with some kind of protective padding to catch the slugs.

“Vos made sure we got outfitted with the new models,” Fletcher began, gesturing to a small display on her weapon’s receiver just above the safety. “You can dial the voltage up or down depending on how much oomf you need. Highest setting is two kilometers per second, lowest is two hundred and fifty meters per second. You can go subsonic with low recoil, or you can punch through two and a half inches of steel if you think your shoulder can take it. Give it a try.”

Xipa braced the weapon against her shoulder, looking through the scope at one of the targets. She was amused to see that there was a Betelgeusian printed on it. After her injury, she had been forced to change her dominant hand so that she could still use a rifle, but rotations of practice had made it second nature. She squeezed the foregrip beneath the barrel, testing the weight and balance of the weapon. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge – it felt good in her hands.

“Make sure you have it set to semi-auto,” Fletcher advised as he stood behind her booth. “Burst mode could be good, too. It’ll fire off three rounds before you really have a chance to feel the recoil.”

Xipa tweaked the settings and zeroed her scope, then switched off the safety feature. The Earth’nay only had ten characters to represent their numbers, which made them very easy to remember, even if she had never cared to learn their script. She squeezed the trigger, a loud crack reverberating off the narrow walls as the stock rocked into her shoulder, Xipa having to brace herself to keep her balance. Three rounds punched holes in the target, slamming into the padding on the far wall.

“How did that feel?” Fletcher chuckled.

“Good,” she replied breathlessly, unable to suppress a flutter of surprised yellow. “I do not know what a mule is, but they must be fearsome beasts if they kick like this.”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “Apex predators. Maybe dial it down a bit to make it easier to control. Even at lower voltages, it’s gonna turn a Bug to fucking paste.”

She followed his advice, then tried again, finding the weapon easier to manage. It had limitations compared to a laser rifle, but there were certain advantages, too. Her instinct was to hold the rifle on her target, but projectile weapons didn’t work that way. It took some getting used to. After a few more shots, she found a comfortable voltage, the coils on the barrel starting to glow beneath their protective shroud as she lowered it.

“It will suffice,” she declared, dropping the empty magazine into her hand.

“We’ll get you set up with a carrier that you can wear over your suit,” Fletcher said. “Pretty sure Valbaran Commando helmets can interface with these systems wirelessly, too. Might need to run a software update for that. It can display your ammo count on your HUD, your charge level, picture-in-picture scope – stuff like that.”