The Drift Wars Read Online Free Page A

Saul asked disingenuously.
    “Nineteen,”
Peter repeated.
    “And
they launch every four hours?” Saul mumbled, making like he was
calculating. “So this is our fourth day. And you lost the bet.”
    Neither
man had any real idea of how long they had been in transit. The
computer in their suits had been disabled before they left the base,
leaving them without a clock or access to movies, music, or anything
that might give a sense of time. If they knew how long they had been
traveling, they could guess how far they had come. And if they were
captured, the Riel could use this information to locate their base.
The United Forces had only one base, so losing it would be
tantamount to losing the war. Protecting the base’s location was a
top priority, certainly more so than entertaining a few divisions of
marines.
    “I
didn’t say we were betting,” Peter replied.
    “You
didn’t say we weren’t.”
    Peter
shook his head, but the gesture was lost inside his helmet—their
artificial muscles were locked to keep their movements from
affecting the transport’s course.
    “You
haven’t won yet,” Peter said, deciding to play along.
    “I
don’t see any Riel creeping around,” Saul replied. “So I
figure we’ve still got a long way to go.”
    “So
you hope,” Peter said, but he did as well. The journey might be
boring, but it was far better than the destination. This was his
first combat mission, and even after five months of Basic Training,
he still felt completely unprepared.
    —   —   —
    Two
hours later a half dozen relays shot off all at once—a redundancy
that anticipated enemy fire. More relays lit up the sky around them.
It was jarring to suddenly be in the middle of so many ships; they
had been alone since they left the base. Every ship in the fleet had
taken a different route to reduce their energy signature and thereby
avoid detection. That they had converged could mean only one thing.
    Incoming
rockets exploded on all sides. The transport banked hard, pulling at
Peter’s guts. A dozen rockets lanced through the ship, which
twisted to let them pass harmlessly out the other side. One shot
past Peter’s head so close that he felt the heat of its exhaust.
    His
suit sparked to life and his visor flooded with information. There
was a click as his suit separated from the ship’s umbilicus,
followed by the hiss of oxygen flowing from his own tank. Sergeant
Mickelson shouted instructions over the open channel, but Peter
didn’t catch a word of it. Another rocket raced by, exploding
right in the ship’s belly. It was terrible and silent, and the
orange flame reflected on the visors of a thousand marines. Then the
shock wave slammed against Peter, knocking the air from his chest.
    The
ship bucked, then recovered, rolling one hundred and eighty degrees
and whipping straight up. Peter had been through these maneuvers in
simulation, but there was no comparison.
    He
jerked his head around, trying to see where the ship was going.
Mickelson cursed sharply as more rockets shot past. And then it was
over. With a blaze of engines, the ship wrenched to a stop and lay
still.
    They
had ducked behind a wall of rock that floated in empty space. The
rock flickered in the light of a nearby transport, which smoldered
like the coals of a campfire. The ship was dead, rolling slowly as
if capsizing. It twinkled as the air tanks of the attached marines
exploded.
    Another
rocket plowed into the burning ship. Peter shielded his eyes with
his hand as the explosion lit up giant rocks floating all around
them.
    The
Teisserenc Asteroid Belt. They had arrived.
    —   —   —
    Muscle
relaxant tingled through Peter’s body, delivered automatically by
his Life Control System to ease the stiffness of the long journey.
The motors in his combat suit whirred as he flexed his arms and
legs, stretching, working in fresh blood. There was a heavy clunk as
the ship unclipped him, its rib sliding up and away. The ship drew
out from