Ronin (The Pike Chronicles Book 3) (15 page)

“I’m fighting alongside you,” Breeah said defiantly.

“No, you’re not,” said Jon, wondering why he hadn’t anticipated this response.

“You do not command me, Jon Pike. If I say I am fighting then I am fighting.”

He knew she wouldn’t back down once she dug her heels in. “What about Anki?” he said, trying to appeal to her maternal instincts.

Breeah gestured to her father, who sat quietly observing them. “My father can take care of her while I am gone.”

“I will not,” Jonas said with a booming voice.

“Why not?” said Breeah, perplexed by his response.

“Because, I am fighting as well.”

This just kept getting worse. “What are you talking about?” asked Jon.

“I am a Reiver,” said Jonas. “I do not idly sit by while others fight. If my daughter is fighting then I am fighting. Your friend Darla can watch Anki. She is a good woman from what I have seen.”

“With all due respect, father, you are not a young man anymore,” said Breeah.

Jonas rose from his seat, anger flashing in his eyes. “Nonsense. I can still fight just as well as any man. The rest of the Reivers will follow me into battle. They are all excellent fighters and from the sound of things you need all the help you can get.”

“Now all the Reivers are fighting?” Jon said in exasperation.

“Not all of them. Some will need to stay behind and tend to the children,” said Jonas.

“This is absurd. You’ve all lost your minds,” said Jon.

“No, it is a sound idea,” said Breeah. “My father is right. Our people need this. Ever since the Kemmar prison they’ve sat around this ship while you and the Chaanisar have gone into battle after battle. Reivers are warriors. They need to fight. I’m sure the ship’s fabricator can create the necessary armaments to equip them.”

He felt the symbiont’s agreement. “Who cares what you think,” Jon said.

“Excuse me?!” said Breeah, stepping toward Jon.

“No, no, I didn’t mean you. I was talking to my symbiont.”

She nodded, but her eyes showed she didn’t quite believe him.

“You are a strange man, Jon Pike,” said Jonas.

“Yeah? Go look in the mirror.”

“What did you say?” bellowed Jonas.

“Shit,” said Jon. “You know what? I’m going to go.”

“I think you had better,” said Breeah.

He knew when it was time for a retreat and left the room. He walked through the ship, studying the Chaanisar crewmembers he passed. Sallas had said that these were not Chaanisar anymore. Was he right? Jon’s hatred for the Chaanisar had been absolute. He could not accept these people because of that hatred, even though he had fought alongside them. Even with all the proof that they had changed, he hadn’t. The past imprisoned him. He could never forgive. But, what if Sallas was right? What if they weren’t Chaanisar anymore? Could he see them as something else? Something new? Were they still Chaanisar if the Juttari didn’t control them anymore?

He thought about the past and realized that the Chaanisar were just as imprisoned by theirs. Yet they were trying to free themselves of it. Why wasn’t he? What did the past do for him, that he clung to it so tenaciously? Nothing. Not anymore. For most of his life the past had given him purpose. It filled him with anger and hatred, and a burning desire for revenge. But what good did it do him now? He couldn’t kill them all. Even if he could, none of it would bring his family back. He couldn’t hold his daughters, or watch them grow up. He would never kiss his wife again. Never seek out his mother’s wisdom. Sorrow filled him as their faces flashed in his mind. For years anger had held back the grief. The quest for vengeance prevented the sadness from crushing him. There had been no other reason to continue living. Now there was.

He suddenly realized that he had unwittingly made his way to the bridge. He approached the doors, which were covered with incomprehensible Juttari symbols. Symbols of the past, he thought. A past that had enslaved both him and the Chaanisar. If he were to truly fight for freedom, he needed to free himself. Out here, amid the lost colonies, these symbols were meaningless.

He stepped forward and the doors slid open. He strode onto the busy bridge and looked around at everyone. Not Chaanisar. People. Colonel Bast stood in his usual spot, with a clear view of all the activity. Kevin stood beside him, saying something to the Colonel. Jon stepped up to the two men and stood on the other side of Bast.

“Gentlemen,” Jon said.

“Captain,” Bast and Kevin said, almost in unison.

“How are the repairs?” Jon asked.

“We should be battle ready in a few days,” said Bast.

“Good. Speaking of battle, the Reivers want to fight.”

Bast and Kevin both looked surprised.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Jon added.

“You do?” said Bast.

“Yes. It’s about time we all learned to act as one crew, rather than three.”

The surprise seemed to give way to shock. Even Jon questioned whether the words actually came out of his mouth.

“You do?” said Bast, concern spreading across his normally stoic face.

“I do. Is the fabricator still online?”

“Yes.”

“We can then arm the Reivers. Kevin, do you think you and Sergeant Henderson can give them some training over the next few days?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Kevin. “They all seem experienced. It should be easy enough.”

Jon nodded as he scanned the Chaanisar Bridge. “There’s one more thing, Colonel.”

“What is that, Captain?”

“We need to rename this goddamn ship.”

“We need to what?”

“Does this ship still serve the Juttari Empire?”

“No.”

“Then why does it still carry its Juttari designation?”

“I… I don’t know. I hadn’t considered it. Do you have something in mind?”

“I do. I suggest we call it The Ronin.”

Kevin smiled. “I like it,” he said.

Bast nodded, and Jon could see that he was beginning to understand.

“We are all Ronin now,” Jon said.

The open combat suit standing in front of Breeah seemed gigantic, compared to her small stature. How could she ever hope to control such a monstrosity? It must weigh close to a ton, she thought. She had never worn a combat suit before. It wasn’t something the Reivers ever had access to. Even when they raided Kemmar space, they never challenged a Kemmar warship. They had always preyed on commercial freighter traffic, and as such had never encountered military combat suits. This was a first not just for her, but for all of the Reivers.

They stood there now, facing a long line of metallic monsters. Her father stood next to her. He remained his usual quiet self, but she could feel his excitement. He seemed like a little boy who just received a coveted toy.

She wondered how the thing worked. It stood on a platform, rigid and upright, which seemed odd, as there was nothing to hold it up. It didn’t make a sound, but she could tell that it generated power. A vaguely imperceptible ambient energy radiated outward from the suit. She wondered what would happen to her if the power supply stopped working. Would she be crushed under its hulking frame?

“Step into your suit’s boots,” said Sergeant Henderson. “Your suit will customize itself to your body’s size.”

This is it, she thought, and stepped up to the platform, along with the rest. Breeah placed one foot into a disproportionately large boot, and then the other. She placed her arms in their designated positions and straightened her back. The suit reacted instantly. The heavy looking metal suddenly and inexplicably became flexible and began to conform to her body. The metal moved and twisted to encircle her, encapsulating her legs, torso, and arms. When her body was entirely surrounded, the armor reached up and over her head, and stretched down in front of her face. Panic briefly took hold as the metal covered her nose, then mouth, as she imagined suffocation. The sensation went away when she realized that she could open her mouth and breathe.

At first she had been immersed in total darkness. It took a split second for the helmet to adjust and give her a clear view of her surroundings. Her view was augmented further as her HUD came to life, providing her with detailed information on everything in the room. She tried to turn her head, and it moved easily, as though it was bare. She looked at the combat suit beside her and her HUD displayed her father’s name. She turned back to the front of the room, looked over at the two combat suits facing them at the front and Sergeant Henderson’s and Chief St. Clair’s names appeared.

Sergeant Henderson’s voice came through her suit’s communication system. “Your combat suit will bestow you with superior speed and strength. For this reason it is important to move carefully, until you become more comfortable. Now, slowly step off your platforms.”

Breeah gingerly raised her leg and stepped forward. It felt natural. The suit moved as if it and her body were one and the same. All the rest of the Reivers stepped out without difficulty too.

“Carefully turn and face my direction,” said Henderson.

She turned without issue, as did everyone else. So far so good. This was starting to feel easy.

“When I give the command, you are all going to walk forward in single file through those doors and into the training room, where we’ll go over some more advanced techniques. Understood?”

“Yes,” they said in unison. She wondered if he expected them to address him as ‘Sir’, like the Marines did. She doubted it was expected, nor did it feel natural. He was here to train them, not give them orders, which was probably why Henderson didn’t bark at them in the way he might with new recruits.

“Begin,” said Henderson.

She waited for the line in front of her to begin moving and followed. She stepped forward carefully, at first, still afraid she lacked control. Then, when she managed to avoid crashing into her father in front of her, she began to relax and move more naturally. It all felt remarkably effortless, like the suit wasn’t even there. She walked through the doors and into a large room. Jon stood in a corner watching. Could he tell which one she was? They lined up in the middle of the room facing Henderson and St. Clair.

“Well done,” said Henderson. “I’m sure you’re all eager to see what these things can do.” With that Henderson jumped through the air and landed in front of their line. “I’m going to start with a light jog and you’re going to follow me and match my pace. As I increase speed, you increase speed. Understood?”

“Yes,” they replied.

Henderson broke into a jog. The line followed and when it was Breeah’s turn she tried to match the pace. Her first step was too ambitious and she bumped into her father’s back. It was just a tap, but enough to reminded her to be careful. The next step was more controlled and she quickly adjusted to the proper speed. She hadn’t been the only one. The line briefly resembled a column of dominoes as many Reivers negotiated the correct amount of force. But a lifetime of training meant the Reivers were quick to adapt. Once the first few bumps were out of the way, they were all moving in unison like they’d been in combat suits for years. As Henderson picked up the pace, they matched him.

“Excellent,” said Henderson. “Now comes the real test.” With that he shot forward at incredible speed. There was no build up to it, he simply exploded with blazing strides that covered several meters.

The Reivers attempted to match his speed but had difficulty adjusting. This time her father stumbled in front of her. She quickly managed to change direction and avoid him. What had once been a clean line, now looked jagged and disorderly. But, as before, they adapted and found their stride. For the next hour they learned the basics of movement in a combat suit. They learned the suit’s limits. How fast they could run. How high they could jump. How far they could leap. They learned how hard they could punch and kick, and how to control that power so as not to leave themselves overextended and vulnerable.

“Let’s put it all together and try some hand to hand combat,” said Henderson. He turned and faced Chief St. Clair. “The combat suit bestows you with incredible speed and power. It can also protect you from injury.” With that Henderson lunged at St. Clair with a vicious looking strike. St. Clair sidestepped the strike, seized the arm and threw Henderson across the room. Henderson landed hard on his back, but jumped up like nothing happened.

“As you can see, the suit can take a good deal of punishment. It absorbs the impact, protecting you on the inside. But that doesn’t mean you’re invincible. You can still be hurt, even killed, but you have a lot of armor in the way. You are all trained fighters, so you just need to learn to use your skills with the suit. Can I have a volunteer?”

Breeah shot her hand up, as did the rest of the line.

“Kenid. Breeah. Step up here,” said Henderson.

Breeah jumped forward, glancing at Jon who smiled at her. Kenid was older than her, so she didn’t know him well, but she remembered him being nice enough. Although that didn’t mean much. Fear of her father ensured everyone was nice to her.

“You two are going to have a little fight,” said Henderson. “The best way to learn how to use the suit in combat is to actually use it in combat. Try not to kill each other.”

Breeah and Kenid faced each other. The others stepped back to give them room. Breeah stared at her opponent, adrenalin coursing through her veins. She fell back into a fighting stance and waited for the match to start. Kenid did the same. She tried to remember Kenid’s ability in the matches, but drew a blank.

“Begin!” said Henderson.

Kenid exploded forward with a flurry of strikes, forcing her to fall back and defend. The strikes were ridiculously fast and powerful. She shifted and sidestepped out of the way of the first few, then her hands took over. Each arm moved with a mind of its own. A lifetime of conditioning enabled her to react correctly. The suit did the rest. She still found herself surprised by the speed of her response. She loved it. The speed. The power. It intoxicated her. Was this how Jon felt?

She parried and got off punches of her own, but Kenid easily deflected them. Then came his mistake. He threw an unnecessarily high kick. For her father, this was a cardinal sin. High kicks in combat were the epitome of foolishness. Never kick above the waist. This had been drilled into her since childhood. Perhaps Kenid thought the suit’s speed would allow him to get away with it. Did he forget that her suit was just as fast?

His leg came up, she dropped and kicked out his supporting leg. He landed on his back. She was on him before he could get to his feet. She shot out a second foot as he rose, connecting hard with his chest. He went down again. When he tried to rise she surged forward and smashed a knee into his helmet. Kenid’s head snapped back and he was forced to the floor. She drove a foot down, aiming square at his helmet, but Kenid rolled out of the way. She chased him. Stomping. He kept rolling.

He tried to get up and a hard kick connected to his ribs sending him into the air. His stomach hit the ground first and he moved to get his knees up under him. The distance surprised her, but she didn’t hesitate. In an easy leap she covered the distance and landed on top of him, driving a knee into his back. He collapsed under the weight of the strike. She sat on his back, pinning him, and raised her fist to strike.

“Stop,” yelled Henderson. Breeah got off Kenid and rose to her feet. Back on his feet, Kenid, bowed to her in Reiver fashion, acknowledging her victory over him. This was a sign of respect, but also one showing there were no hard feelings. She lowered her head in return, accepting the gesture.

“Thank you Breeah and Kenid for that fine display of skill,” said Henderson. “As you can see, these suits can take a lot of punishment. This is why weapons are almost always needed when fighting with combat suits. Now, everyone spread out and find a partner. We’ll do some sparring and then we can move on to weapons.”

She thoroughly enjoyed the match. Her father had taught her well, and she always had taken pride in her prowess. Many men were larger than her, but that never intimidated her. ‘Size is the weak man’s hiding place,’ her father always said. He was right. Men who felt they had the advantage of size and power often looked for the knock-out, or killing blow. If you denied them that blow they often became enraged. Almost helpless. Skill and cunning could easily defeat them. The combat suit took that skill and amplified it. It exhilarated her.

They sparred for some time. She went through multiple opponents, each one helping her to adapt in new ways to the combat suit. At one point Sergeant Henderson turned off the gravity, and they fought in zero g conditions. She imagined that would be disorienting for most Space Force recruits. But every Reiver had been raised on an asteroid colony. They learned how to adapt to zero g conditions since they were children. In fact, disabling the gravity on board a freighter was a widely used tactic on Reiver raids.

After spending ample time sparring without gravity, Sergeant Henderson turned it back on, and they all dropped to the floor. “Outstanding,” he said. “You all look very comfortable in your suits, so let’s move on to weapons.”

A Marine appeared and pushed a combat suit out onto the training floor. Her HUD named the suit Training 1. Sergeant Henderson brandished a massive blade that looked more sword than knife. It came to life and pulsed with energy. What looked like tiny lightning bolts crackled along its length. “This is an ion blade,” he said, holding the sizzling weapon up for all to see. “It will be your primary weapon in close quarters hand to hand combat.” Henderson pivoted toward the suit and thrust the tip of the blade into the suit’s shoulder. It didn’t pierce the suit, but her HUD identified the injury to the shoulder and displayed statistics regarding Training 1’s integrity. He thrust again, and the shoulder’s integrity dropped some more. The third strike pierced the armor. “An ion blade can do what your hands and feet cannot. Your HUDs should be displaying a report on the damage caused to the combat suit. In battle, you will receive real time information about your own suit’s integrity. You will also receive real time data about the health of the other suit’s in your unit. In addition, the suits will display information relating to any physical injuries you may have sustained. It will act to treat those injuries and administer pain killers.”

Impressive
, she thought.
The suit is part warrior and part medic
.

Sergeant Henderson then strode over to a nearby rack where several extremely large weapons sat. He took one, shouldered it, turned and opened fire on the suit. Damage to the suit immediately flashed on her HUD as the first few rounds diminished its integrity. Once the armor had been compromised, the remaining rounds shredded it. Henderson ceased firing.

“Your suit’s enhanced strength will allow you to carry your own personal cannon. That might be a rail gun, like this, or an energy weapon. Any questions?”

Nobody spoke.

“Good. Everyone follow me to the firing range where you can get a chance to shoot.”

Breeah gleefully fell into step behind her father, who was probably having as much fun as her. Jon stood by the doors, still smiling, and flashed her a thumbs up as she passed. Jon may have objected to her fighting, but if anybody knew how much fun this was for her it had to be him.

They filed into the adjoining shooting range. Another vast space. On one wall were long racks of weapons. Beyond them were the firing points, each one enclosed and isolated from the other. She glanced out at the range. It was surprisingly long. She often forgot how large this ship actually was. At the far end she spied the targets.