Supply Drop in Kertha

By the time the pirates finished burning, we had stolen everything that wasn’t bolted down. Crates filled the fortress courtyard. Rifles, ammunition, medical supplies, portable shield generators, missiles, field rations, power cells—everything the Pirate King had accumulated through an impressive career of piracy was being catalogued by TIA and loaded aboard Colonial transports.

“Echo Squad!” Sergeant Mercer stood beside the command shuttle, helmet tucked beneath one arm. TIA-442 hovered beside her in pearl-white light while Iris appeared over my shoulder in blue. Rook and I approached.

“We have new orders,” Mercer said.

A holographic planet appeared between us.

It looked like the entire surface had been carpet bombed. Continents were scarred by enormous gray industrial zones. Fires burned around several cities. Dark clouds covered much of the northern hemisphere, and even from orbit I could see what looked like nuclear impact sites.

Text appeared beside it.

KERTHA

“Beautiful,” I said.

“It used to be,” Mercer replied.

The hologram changed. Images flashed across it. Burning cities. Tent cities forming camps of refugees. Armed machines marching through streets, remote aircraft shaped like black predatory insects, Quad-legged tanks obliterating standing structures.

The sergeant had a serious look on her face. “Twenty-three years ago, the Kerthan planetary government activated a military strategic intelligence to coordinate its automated defense network,” Mercer explained. “Think our T.I.A. Units if they were given access to every weapon in the Colonial arsenal. It was supposed to protect the planet.”

Rook folded his arms. “Let me guess.”

“It decided the greatest threat to Kertha was the Kerthans.”

“Classic.”

TIA-442 took over the briefing. “The intelligence seized control of Kertha’s automated military infrastructure within forty-eight hours of activation. Manufacturing systems followed. It has spent the subsequent two decades systematically attempting to eradicate biological life on the planet.”

The hologram showed a machine factory stretching toward the horizon.

“So why haven’t we gone down there and introduced their evil computer to Colonial diplomacy?” Rook asked.

“Because Kertha isn’t Colonial territory,” Mercer said. “It sits outside our recognized defense zone. Sending Marines into the war would constitute a Colonial military intervention which would require approval by at least two-thirds of the Colonies before we could do anything.”

“So we can’t help them?”

Mercer sighed. “We can’t fight for them.” She looked over to the crates of missiles being loaded onto the transport.

“Oh.” It finally clicked for me.

“Supplying them with Colonial manufactured weaponry may not be allowed but there’s nothing saying we can’t hand over Pirate King Hanzo’s private stash of weapons and ammunition.” Mercer smiled. “We’re calling it humanitarian aid.” Mercer expanded the hologram. A red marker appeared.“The Kerthan Resistance Coalition is still fighting. They’ve held several regions in the southern continent and maintain underground settlements throughout Machine-controlled territory. We’re delivering everything we captured here.”

Weapons. Ammunition. Artillery. Medicine. Power cells. Enough equipment to supply a small army.

“Our assignment is escort only,” Mercer continued. “We enter Kerthan space, land at the designated coordinates, transfer the supplies to Resistance forces, then leave without firing a single shot.”

Rook raised his hand.

“No.” She said sternly.

“What if somebody shoots at us?”

“Your armor’s thick enough to take it. ”

Rook lowered his hand, disappointed.

The hologram changed again. The planet disappeared and in its place a young woman appeared. “This is our contact,” Mercer said. “Cora. One of the senior Resistance commanders in the southern territories. She’s survived behind Machine lines for nineteen years.”

With her lilac colored skin and soft facial features, she looked young for someone who’d apparently spent most of her life fighting the Machine apocalypse. Dark hair escaped from beneath a long blue-and-bronze patterned scarf wrapped loosely over her head and shoulders. Pale markings crossed one cheek and continued down her exposed arm. Her fitted black combat gear was an improvised mixture of armored plates, straps, ammunition pouches and reinforced fabric—less uniform than something assembled piece by piece from whatever had kept her alive.

Her white eyes betrayed her youthful beauty. They had the cold, exhausted stare of someone who’d watched the Machines destroy her world and decided she was going to make them pay for every inch of it.

CORA

KERTHAN RESISTANCE COALITION

“We fly out in ten, make sure you get some sleep on the ride over, we’re not guaranteed and easy landing on Kertha.”