Prologue

A loud roar rippled through the void of space as the huge mechanized assault unit came to life.  Gears moaned and hydraulic lines flooded with a hiss as it stood up appearing majestically to anyone who happened to be watching.  However, Garret Dorsey knew without a shadow of a doubt that no one was observing.  No one ever saw.

Looking out through the H.U.D. display the cockpit window revealed the usual.  A vast emptiness of rock for as far as he could see, looking up, the darkness that man called space was littered with thousands more of these tiny islands.  This one held the title of (2305) 2007 AT.  What made (2305) 2007 AT so special?  To him, nothing, to McNichol Co, a whole helluva lot, for it supposedly was rich in iron.

For some reason beyond this poor Corporal’s knowledge, the Corporate Nave deployed units to the Ceres Colony, then scattered them out amongst the barren floating rocks.  He, Cpl Dorsey, was now on detail, patrolling the outer perimeter to ensure the miner’s safety as the labored deep within the bowls of this floating hunk of granite.

Patrolling?

Protecting?

From whom exactly was his thought, from whom?

Well, being a corporal did not leave on privy to the inner circles of the Corporate Marines.  Actually, he was not in the circles of the Ceres’ Marines.  He in all basic thinking was simply a grunt, a jarhead, pick whichever degrading slanderous lingo and you got his title.  The same names that he and his ilk heard for years, never changing, and just as insulting to some and an inspiration to others were still in use in the year 2234.

Garret stretched his arms out, needing to get blood flowing.  The hum of the hydraulics told him that his machine was doing as he.  Glancing out the side windows on the right he saw the arm raise to its limits.  This arm held a mechanical hand, its fingers flexed as he moved his gloved hand that also held the command and trigger module.  The left acted as did the right.  The only difference between the two was the weapons each held.

He adjusted himself in his command chair, swinging it left and right, it did not move much but the huge armored crafted pivoted at the waist.  Yawning, he pivoted the chair back and the machine followed, he repeated leaning forward.  He turned both hand joysticks inward the machine reacted by crouching.  Quickly he brought the sticks straight up, the assault unit answered by leaping into the air as the legs rapidly extended.

 He was now half way through his watch and as always, Garret split the monotonous patrol with a nap that lasted nearly an hour.  He was not intentionally trying to be a bad soldier, he consider himself a good soldier, dedicated to the cause of defending mankind, but boredom overcame him.  He was not like Jeremy or Ross, who spent rounds firing at space rocks.  Moreover, for each round they wasted, they paid for.  Both came from rich families, both were still young.  Garret spawned from a middle-class family in Montreal and has been living for twenty-eight years.

Most his age in the service would be a sergeant or higher by this time, but most joined when they were fresh from high school.  Not him, he went to college, spending four years of his life learning mechanical engineering.  That background was what landed him here, in the “mechanized” infantry two years ago.

His M.A.V. (Mechanized Assault Vehicle), nicknamed Dodger, because he and his “Mav” dodged all the work details, opting for the much quieter patrol runs, was what they considered a light mech.  It held simple weaponry and very limited ammo.  It was fast, but incapable of flight without a rocket assist attachment.  Its official title was the LMU-12C Hermes, known for its speed and scouting capabilities.

Deciding break was over, he pulled his hand out of the control glove and reached up and toggled the radio back on, expecting to hear senseless chatter by Jerry and Ross.  That was not the case; instead, he heard insistent calls for him by Private Schumacher �" aka Ross.  There was urgency to the cry that made the hair on his neck stand up.

“Corporal Dorsey, you there?” the radio rang out in his helmet.

“Here,” he replied into the voice-activated microphone.

“Where the hell have you been dude,” Ross questioned anxiously.

Garret was about to reply when the mech began to shake slightly.  Looking outside, he saw the dirt dart around as if it had a life of its own.  The vibration soon sounded inside, a dull roar, soft at first growing louder.  Peering up, he saw the square bulky Navy vessel known to him as the Grazier, an armored transport ship.

It was coming in very low, and then he noticed the flare from the artillery cannons mounted on the top of the craft.  It was firing behind it at something he could not see.  Dodger turned, watching the craft, Dorsey eyes fixed on it as it dropped closer to the surface.

The blackness of the ‘sky’ flashed a brilliant blue as two bursts of what seemed to be laser fire slammed into the rear of the ship, above the engine nacelles.  Flames shot out briefly until all the oxygen in the area was gone.  The damage took its toll however; Garret knew that there were more explosions, inside, destroying the engines and burning the small crew to death.

Following back from where the lasers came from he saw a sight that he thought he would never see, and knew he would never forget.  It was sleek, almost natural, and not manmade.  It resembled a dragon, but it maneuvered like a ship.  It was a beautiful, graceful even as it glided above him.  The wings, swept back, held what he assumed to be laser cannons, which appeared as talons at a glance.

Another blue burst shot from the tips of the talons, striking the Grazier again, tearing a massive hole in the side of the hull.  Vapors, debris, and bodies littered the space around the vessel as it now dropped lower.  The dragon flew over the transport, firing again from the rear of the ship, breaking the Grazier’s back.

Instantly the transport fell slamming into the asteroid’s surface, flames flared, then stopped.  The attacking ship continued, lowering massive legs and dropping near the surface.  Dorsey knew it was landing several miles away, at the mining facility.

Another Mav slowed next to him, the markings told him it was Ross.  Jeremy was stepping up behind him.  The young rookie was scream “Oh my God,” repeatedly in the microphone.

“Quiet,” Dorsey broke in, “Form up, let’s look for survivors.”