The True Measure (Terran Armor Corps Book 3)

  The True Measure

  Terran Armor Corps Book 3

  by

  Richard Fox

  Copyright © by Richard Fox

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.

  ASIN:

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  Read THE EMBER WAR for Free

  Read ALBION LOST, another Richard Fox universe!

  Prologue

  Howling winds whipped snow across the mountain range as a single Mule transport descended from orbit. The gale swayed the ship from side to side as it sank beneath the side of a mountain range, the white caps of blown snow stretching like grasping hands toward the Mule.

  It set down in a valley, running lights on and idling engines melting the snow pack.

  In the cargo compartment, a woman unbuckled herself from an acceleration seat and shrugged off a coat. She pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail and touched a bulge in a thigh pocket.

  “This is the place.” A burly man unsnapped a gauss carbine from the side of his chair and slapped in a magazine.

  “Put that away, Medvedev. You’ll make them nervous,” she said.

  “They want to meet on some no-name world in a no-name system for the exchange. They’re already nervous. Having this means we don’t trust, because you should never trust nervous people. You taught me that, Masha,” he said.

  “I can’t wait for you to go back to the legions, you know that?” She walked down the empty cargo bay. She leaned close to the closed ramp, listening to the wind outside.

  “Don’t get captured by Haesh gangsters. The agency won’t assign you a bodyguard.” Medvedev rolled his shoulders forward and tapped the carbine against a meaty palm.

  “I hardly need—”

  Three knocks sounded at the ramp.

  “Punctual,” she said. “They are nervous.”

  Medvedev raised the carbine to his shoulder as the ramp lowered. Snow broke against the weak force field separating the wintry world beyond and the cargo bay. A Vishrakath marched up the ramp; the ant-like alien walked upright on four limbs and wore nothing to protect its bare flesh from the elements. Two more Vishrakath came behind it, carrying a large metal case.

  “The item.” The lead alien extended a hand toward Masha.

  “That’s not how this works,” she said. “I verify what you’ve brought, make sure you didn’t kill it in the cold, then you can examine what I’ve got.”

  “We have what you want. Make the trade and conclude our business,” the alien said.

  “Take off your coat, stay awhile.” Masha took a hand scanner off her belt and shook it at the two Vishrakath between her and the case.

  Medvedev took two steps forward before the aliens got out of the way.

  Masha ran the scanner over the lock and the lid popped open. Inside were several bags of green fluid in a chiller. She gave one bag a squeeze, then touched the scanner to it.

  “Grade A green blood cells.” She touched the scanner to another bag. “Just what the doctor ordered to combat infectious diseases the galaxy over. Where did you guys get this?”

  “The security apparatus on New Bastion is less than efficient,” the lead Vishrakath said. “We intercepted it in customs en route to your embassy.”

  “Not our embassy.” She took a small box out of her thigh pocket and tossed it to the alien.

  The Vishrakath removed a small plate from its utility belt and set the box on top. A hologram of a spacecraft modeled after a conch shell appeared over the box. Reams of data flashed up and down the sides of the holo.

  “Why would you part with such knowledge?” the alien asked. “This artifact is far more priceless than a few liters of green blood cells.”

  “Well, no one’s found it yet.” Masha brushed the scanner along the inside of the case. “And we have a colony full of people dying because their immune system encountered a virus we didn’t find when we scouted the planet. Do Vishrakath understand that a bird in hand is worth more than two in the bush?”

  “We do not.” The alien slipped the box into a pouch.

  “Horiek hiltzeko bigarren batean,” she said to Medvedev.

  “What?” The skin around the Vishrakath’s eyes darkened.

  “Another old saying. The trade was green blood cells for our data on the Qa’Resh Ark that’s hidden somewhere in the galaxy. Not for green blood cells in a case with a tracking device. I was going to kill you and feel bad about it. Now I’m just going to kill you out of principle.” She aimed her thumb and forefinger at the Vishrakath.

  “Earth humor is not appreciated. The case—” The alien’s head exploded with one shot from Medvedev’s carbine. He cut down the other two a heartbeat later.

  “Amateurs!” Masha lifted up a seat and pulled out a cooler with biohazard labels on it. She transferred the blood pouches as Medvedev removed the data box from the dead alien, then kicked the alien corpses down the ramp.

  Masha let her bodyguard get rid of the case with the tracking device as she tapped in a command on her forearm computer.

  “Warsaw, we’ve got the jackpot. Send the fighter strike to destroy their lander and take out whatever rock they came in. Send word back to Lady Ibarra that Balmaseda will have their green blood cells soon. We’ll take the rest back to Navarre for processing as soon as we can.”

  Medvedev raised the ramp.

  “See,” she said, “I didn’t even need you.”

  “I don’t find you funny. I would be angrier, but I got to kill aliens. Today is a good day.”

  “Oh, by the Saint, how long do I have to deal with you?” she said, almost pouting.

  ****

  Soon after the exchange ended on the unnamed and unclaimed ice planet, the Warsaw passed through the system’s Crucible jump gate. Inside a bag of green blood cells, inert nanites were roused to life by the graviton disturbance. They melded into a small machine and sent a single transmission through the Crucible network.

  Then, once the graviton field faded away as the Warsaw transited through the wormhole, the nano-machine broke apart and returned to slumber.

  Chapter 1

  Frost grew around the bars of Roland’s cell. His breath fogged with each exhalation and his soaked body glove stiffened against him as the amniosis fluid from his armor’s womb thickened in the frigid air.

  In the next cell over, a metal man cocked his head to one side and stepped closer to the bars between them. His head was a perfect sculpture of middle-aged man of European heritage, but the skin and widow’s peaked hair were silver, his every feature marked out by slight lines in the metal. Cov
ering his body was a simple jumpsuit of the same silver color, like he was an incomplete drawing of a man, the lines inked but the rest uncolored.

  “Like I said, I’m Marc Ibarra,” the man said. His mouth didn’t move when he spoke, but a slight ripple emanated across his face. “You have heard of me, haven’t you? It’s not like I was gone from Earth that long.”

  The chill air stung the edges of Roland’s ears and his fingers ached. He stepped back, his heel cracking a thin sheen of ice on the floor of his cell.

  “What the hell are you?” Roland asked, nearly slipping as he retreated to a bunk bolted to the wall.

  “Inventor, entrepreneur, bold explorer…savior.” Ibarra leaned his forearms against the bars as hoarfrost crept away from where his metal limbs met the bars. “I’ve been called much worse too. Now I’m a prisoner, one so unique—or utterly irrelevant—I don’t even rate a number. Maybe now that you’re down here, the guards will have to do something to tell us apart, though I doubt they’ll ever confuse us.”

  He pulled back, and his arms caught against the bars, frozen in place.

  “What the—?” His brow furrowed and he pulled his forearms free with a snap. “Ah…that’s right, keep forgetting. They keep my cell’s temperature and humidity regulated to stop this sort of thing. That I was throwing snowballs at the Tweedles after I was thrown in here probably had something to do with that…and why they took my sink and crapper away. Not that I needed them.”

  “Is…is everyone here like you?” Roland wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and frost in his body glove cracked as he huddled against his mattress for warmth. “S-S-Stacey Ibarra…” He spat the name out as his teeth chattered. “She was—”

  Marc Ibarra looked up at the ceiling and shouted, “Help the kid out! He’s turning blue and I don’t want a popsicle in my cell block.” He stepped back from the bars. Roland didn’t feel any warmer, but at least the air around him seemed to stabilize.

  A vent behind thin crisscrossing bars blew hot, wet air that turned to mist in Roland’s cell. After a few minutes, Roland flung his blanket aside and squeezed the last of the amniosis from his body glove.

  “The guards are listening to us…and watching us too would be a fair guess,” Roland said, glancing around the cell. The jail was comprised of only two cells and a narrow hallway that ended at a vault door.

  “That they answered me just means they assume you’re not an idiot. Don’t underestimate Stacey, kiddo,” Marc Ibarra said. “I made that mistake and you can see where it landed me. All those decades of scheming and manipulating…I taught her too well. Most grandfathers I know would want their future generations to surpass them, but with Stacey…I would have been happy for her to live a normal, humdrum life. You know, a career, a pudgy husband with a decent office job, two kids and change. Not in the cards for her. Or anyone on Earth.”

  “You said we’re in Navarre, capital of the Ibarra Nation. Where exactly is that? How do I get back to Earth?” Roland asked.

  “Ooh, you’re an optimistic one. Well, to get home, all you need to do is break out of this cell, get past the many, many humorless guards in this building, commandeer a spacecraft, get to the Crucible gate, and enter in the code for Ceres or some other Earth solar system—all the while being chased by Stacey’s forces. And I’ve got news for you, kid,” Ibarra said, tapping the back of his head where Roland’s plugs were, “you’re not going to blend in.”

  “Guess I won’t. Not if everyone’s as…solid as you are.”

  “What? This old thing?” Ibarra slapped his palms against his chest and thighs, each hit ringing like a bell through their cells. “I’m afraid Stacey and I are the only ones sporting a Qa’Resh ambassador body. Everyone else is just as fleshy as you are. Though your hardware is something special. How long have you been armor? Dr. Eeks still kicking around Mars?”

  Roland bit his lip and looked up, wondering where all the monitoring equipment was hidden throughout the cell block.

  “Come on now.” Ibarra pointed to a data slate on the end of his bunk. “I’ve been down here with nothing but a bricked e-reader for months. Getting caught up on my reading is nice and all, but it gets dull after a while. Been months since I’ve spoken to anyone. The Tweedles aren’t that talkative.”

  “Maybe your granddaughter threw me in here to get me to reveal military secrets during idle conversation. I have a duty to resist any interrogation. How about we just keep quiet?”

  Ibarra shook his head.

  “You’re how old? Twenty? I bet you were armor no more than a year or so before Stacey snagged you off a battlefield. I was a major power behind Earth’s government for the last eighty years…though I’ve had something of a setback these past few months. If you knew something particularly useful, my protégé would have put you someplace far less comfortable than our little slice of paradise.”

  “So you’re not that big of a deal anymore?” Roland picked up a tube of nutrient paste from the floor and squeezed the grainy, tomato-flavored meal into his mouth. Stacey Ibarra and her bodyguard—an armor soldier named Nicodemus—had captured him on Oricon days ago, ripped him out of his armor, and carted him away still sealed in his suit’s womb. Time was difficult to gauge while in the abyss of an unpowered metal pod. The amniosis had kept him alive, but it had been so long since he’d eaten real food, the paste tasted like the ambrosia of legend.

  “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Ibarra shrugged. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I bet President Garret and his cronies in the senate would be just tickled pink to know where I’m at—though they should have some clue I’m in trouble as I’ve not been around to feed them information for quite a while.”

  “You were spying for Earth?” Roland grabbed a water bottle on the end of his bed. Bits of half-formed ice swirled around in the liquid, and the cold plastic stung his palm. He took a small sip, spilling plenty of it down his chin. Using his own body after so long in armor took some getting used to.

  “Mediating,” Ibarra said, raising a finger. “Trying to keep Earth from coming after us. Trying to get Earth to see the errors of their ways in approving the Hale Treaty. Trying to keep Stacey from losing all hope…She just used that time to build up the nation, keep after her little pet projects. Now I realize she was playing me—brilliant move on her part. I’m almost proud. Earth never felt threatened by us so long as I was around to rein her in. Stacey kept me in play until I was on the verge of telling Earth exactly how many proccies we had and where to find Navarre.”

  “Wait.” Roland set the water bottle against his knee. “I know you’ve got your own procedurally generated soldiers. I met some on Oricon. You were Earth’s spy and you didn’t tell them how many you were making?”

  “I may have…lied. I’ve been known to do that and am of the opinion that one should not tell the truth when a lie will do. Old habit. Born out of necessity and practice. But when Stacey decided it was time to leave Earth along with a few like-minded individuals—”

  “Like Nicodemus.”

  “You’ve met him? Isn’t he fun? We skipped town with a fleet Earth wasn’t even using…and some technology that I kept off the books for a rainy day: a small omnium reactor, construction droids, automated foundries and a number of procedural-generation tubes with psych compilers.”

  “How did you keep all that hidden?”

  “I’m Marc Ibarra. I kept an impending Xaros invasion secret for sixty years and laid the groundwork to take Earth back with no one the wiser. You think keeping a secret stash was a challenge? Granted, I had help along the way.” He looked over at the only drawer in a small desk by his bed.

  “So President Garret thought you got away with only a fleet of ghost ships and a few armor soldiers. But the whole time, you were making your own army and navy.”

  “It was a matter of prudence at first—help crew the ships and build up Navarre. Then Stacey had more militant aims.”

  “How many?” Roland asked.

  Marc I
barra’s head shook slightly from side to side, then he smiled.

  “Now you’re going to clam up?” Roland shifted back and leaned against the wall.

  “I don’t actually know,” Ibarra said. “She started a rather aggressive expansion plan after she found some information on Barada. I found the crèches by accident—a power drain in the lower caverns, so many new people coming into the world—that’s when I signaled Earth for a meet to finally spill the beans and that’s when Nicodemus ripped me out of my air car and almost crushed my head. He’s many things. Subtle isn’t one of them.”

  “I noticed.” Roland worked his shoulder around. The Ibarran armor soldier had demolished Roland’s own armor in their brief and one-sided fight. The phantom pain from those “injuries” still nagged at him.

  “It takes nine days for a procedural tube and psych compilers to make a fully grown, fully trained adult,” Ibarra said. “The technology was our saving grace against the Xaros…I wanted to phase out the program after the war. Let humanity do things the way nature intended. Stacey had other goals. Other needs, shall we say.”

  “What happened to her? To you?” Roland asked.

  “I couldn’t stand around and watch her die.” Ibarra’s face fell. “I was there, you know, when the Xaros scoured the Earth clean of every last human being. Billions dead to the drones. I heard the screams, saw the cities burn…but when I saw my granddaughter bleeding to death in front of me, I could not let her go.”

  He tapped the side of his head.

  “I wasn’t exactly corporeal when Stacey needed me the most, but there was a Qa’Resh ambassador unit just lying around that I appropriated. I got her body into stasis and her mind into the shell you’ve already met.”

  Roland squeezed out the last of his nutrient paste and gave Ibarra a sidelong look.

  “‘Ambassador unit’?”

  Ibarra waved his hands up his body.

  “Obviously,” he said. “The Qa’Resh had a good system going on Bastion, before the Xaros destroyed it. Bringing ambassadors from across the galaxy to one place was difficult without the Crucible gates we have now. So the Qa’Resh sent probes to planets with species that could fight the Xaros, put their bodies into stasis, and transported the consciousness of the ambassadors to Bastion, where they got one of these numbers to walk around in. This made the ambassadors effectively immortal. No aging. No risk of spreading disease. Through some advanced holo technology and translation programs, all the ambassadors saw the other races as species that looked like them. Spoke like them. But Bastion could never make any of the ambassadors think like each other. Which is still a problem.”