The Soul Monger

by Matilda Scotney

  “Oh, she had a birthday?” Helen looked up. “I love birthdays! We could have celebrated.”

  “She did, Helen, she shot down a stack of enemy fighters,” Marta flung a bolster at Helen whose hand shot up and caught it without even looking.

  “Well, I suppose that’s a pretty good substitute for a fancy restaurant and a few champagnes,” Helen grinned. “Do you ever miss your old life, Marta?”

  “Never. Even if I had the chance, I’d never go back. I detested my life and deleted my memories. What about you, Laurel?”

  “I forgot I had one.”

  “I know that feeling,” Helen said. “When the war is over, I’m going to kick back and do the stuff I wanted to do before; assuming it’s available on Mentelci or wherever they send us to live.”

  “What if we don’t win?” Marta said, sitting up.

  “I suppose we’ll be dead and it won’t matter,” Helen responded matter-of-factly, “or we’ll be slaves; that’s what we started out as anyway.”

  “The war is running in circles,” Laurel said. “We’re protecting prefectures, but we’re not making any headway in liberating the Semevalians or driving back the Gartrya.”

  “There aren’t enough troops,” Marta’s mouth thinned, she and Laurel made this complaint often, “and no means of knowing how many soldiers the enemy has in reserve.”

  “Then the League has to come up with a different approach,” Laurel knew others, not just the whole souls, were of a like mind. “My guess is word of the gas has got back to the fortress, and they’re changing their methods.”

  “Well, here’s Harry now, and Eli,” Helen glanced up and swapped feet, “you can ask him. I reckon he’d be the ideal commander if he did foot rubs. He’s got big hands.”

  Harry heard her. “Thank you for noticing, Helen.”

  “We were just discussing this fortress on Semevale 7,” Laurel said as Harry found a chair not covered in bits of Helen’s uniform. They sorely missed Issie’s “Helen” organising skills. “Now the League know that’s from where the Gartryan Duke directs the war, why aren’t we trying to destroy it?”

  “We can’t access Semevale 7,” Harry said. “Our orders are to check the enemy advance on Semevale 8.”

  “But no troops are ordered to Semevale 7,” the words were out before Laurel could check them. Harry looked accusingly at her; troop movements were classified information.

  “You read my mind!”

  “Sorry, I didn’t think.”

  Harry sighed. “We knew about the fortress. The enemy took over an old sacred Semevalian citadel. They reinforced it, but we don’t know what they used. Whatever it is; it’s impenetrable.”

  “Do you mean you can’t access Semevale 7, or do you mean the fortress?” Marta asked.

  “Both,” Harry nodded. “We did try, but the external wall is coated with an unknown substance and our weapons can’t get through. We tried ground forces, but there’s no way in; orbital surveillance suggested an opening around a kilometre from the structure itself, but that too was inaccessible. We’ve tried missiles from orbit and every layer of atmosphere between high orbit and ground level to no avail. Whatever fortification they’ve used on the citadel, we can’t even chip it. Since then, they’ve set up an ordnance web around the entire planet.”

  “An ordnance web?” Helen hated new terms and concepts.

  “They’ve mined it in layers,” Harry told her. “The mines constantly move, so shipping, cloaked or uncloaked, are unable to navigate safely.”

  “I could navigate it,” Eli offered.

  “It would be too risky,” Harry shook his head. “And our weapons are useless, anyway.”

  A germ of an idea formed in Laurel’s mind. “So, after a single attempt, the enemy made doubly sure League troops couldn’t get to the fortress. Then they do have something worth protecting there.”

  “They somehow anticipated our attack, despite the stealth,” Harry said. “If the Duke directs the war from the fortress, the obvious thing is to destroy it, but we can’t be sure. When we fired on the fortress from orbit, long-range warheads bounced off the surfaces. We had to remotely deactivate them before we could move our troops in, which on hindsight, and only on one occasion, was probably impractical. We tried to obtain residue from the remnants of the warheads, but they yielded nothing. Whatever they’ve overlaid the fortress with, we can’t get through, and we can’t establish the Duke is always there.”

  “I bet they know about us,” Helen said, her voice sing-song and teasing. Then more seriously. “Or at least suspect.”

  “Whole souls are deemed part of a bygone era, Helen. If this Duke knows anything of our society, he’d know that the Transcender is sealed. I’ll warrant they believe our recent wins were a direct result of Helen’s gas.” Harry ignored Helen’s huffing at his terminology.

  “And they know that maintaining a stronghold against them takes troops to maintain,” Laurel once again pointed out her pet peeve.

  “Then we need more troops,” Marta supported Laurel in this. It was a subject that usually made Harry clam up or deliver a short answer, but now he seemed willing to speak, even though he shook his head.

  “Canon Akkuh has been unwavering in playing down the effects of the war. We’re fighting mainly with our police and volunteers from Mentelci. Canon Akkuh is planning on bringing in mercenaries from the independent systems, but as I said, he wishes to contain the war to Semevale.”

  Marta needed no telepathy to recognise why they were on a losing side. “Canon Akkuh? Notable by his absence, Canon Akkuh?”

  “He’s no more accomplished in warfare than the rest of us,” Harry said firmly. “He has no place here.”

  “Yet, you accept his direction?”

  “I follow orders.”

  Laurel made these observations to Harry on more than one occasion. From somewhere, she felt a growl of irritation which she didn’t keep from her voice. “Then we are being treated the same as the Duke treats his troops, Harry. We’re being kept in the dark.”

  Harry frowned. “How can you say that? We’re autonomous. You’re not being fair, Laurel; until recently, we didn’t even have a name for the enemy, only that they came from the other side of the nebula. Now we know how they are transported and had confirmation that First Columnists are not trained in combat. We have made progress.”

  “Harry,” Laurel said, tapping her fingers on the table. “It’s not progress. It’s an impasse. The Gartrya haven’t moved on Semevale 8 in days. They either can’t advance, or they’re reconsidering their strategies. And we can’t dislodge them.”

  “Perhaps using the mercenaries will tip the balance,” Eli said hopefully.

  “And don’t forget, someone from the other side, at least once, changed that protocol about arming the First Columnists,” Laurel waved a finger in the air. “It’s the only explanation.”

  Harry agreed. “Yes, and it saved an entire prefecture.”

  “But there’s little point in arresting the First Columnists if we run out of soldiers.”

  Harry held up his hands. Marta and Laurel were both in his head, but thankfully, Helen had difficulty following suit, even though there was no denying she was with her comrades on this. Eli almost never read minds and stayed out of it.

  “Calm down. We have our orders,” he stated with firmness. “Canon Akkuh will send reinforcements.”

  Helen returned her attention to her feet. “Can’t trust mercenaries,” she muttered, and Harry, even though he didn’t say so, wondered at the wisdom of such a move by Canon Akkuh.

  Laurel’s germ of an idea grew to one that might just have a solid foundation. She leapt to her feet and headed towards the door, declaring, “I’m going to have another word with Collitt.”

  She didn’t wait for Harry, just took off at a pace towards the detainee’s lodge, her plan was expanding, and she needed confirmation before she presented that plan to her commander.

  Chapter 27

  The pris
oners rose when she entered, and she made her way to Collitt’s bunk.

  “Are you well?” she indicated to the man that he sits while they talked together. Asde and Harry rushed into the lodge, skidding to a standstill at the door. Asde assured his commander Laurel was in no danger, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Yes, my lady, I am well,” he looked around her at his officers. “The guards treat us fairly, but we would like work to do, to fill our days.”

  “I will speak to the Commander,” Laurel smiled. “Collitt, we need to end this war, and it needs to end in the League’s favour. You say all orders come from the Duke?”

  “The Duke permits his generals to make small decisions, my lady, but it is he who commands.”

  “What if he died?”

  “Then his heir commands in his place.”

  “So, we must dispose of the Duke and his heir?”

  “My lady,” Collitt shook his head slowly, not wishing to discourage her, but…“he has a son and daughter, they are protected. You may not do better with either one. The father’s influence is great in our culture, and the children will surely follow him. And many of the people will serve who leads, for good or ill.”

  “Are there others who believe as you do? That this is not their war?”

  “Not enough of us to overthrow the Duke, my lady. The Duke and his war machine use our loved ones against us, so we obey. We are slaves.”

  “Does this Duke remain in the war arena?” Laurel pressed on. “Or does he often return to Gartrya?”

  “Since the League’s victory in the north, I believe, no, I am certain, he conducts the war himself from the citadel on Semevale 7.”

  “Thank you, Collitt,” Laurel stood. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “This Duke must have a tough time commanding loyalty if he has to torture people to achieve it,” Asde said as the three returned to Laurel’s lodge. “We’ve heard a few horror stories over the last few weeks.”

  “What kinds of stories?” Laurel asked.

  “How they got their hardware for one. They traded young girls to a space-dwelling race, the Ferle, in return for salvaged vessels and weapons. That’s why their ships aren’t uniform.”

  “Space-dwelling?” Laurel stopped walking and turned to face him. “How do they manage that?” It would occur to her later that the concept of the trade in young women came as less of a revelation than a species that flourished in space.

  “Not in open space,” Asde hastened to assure her. “A flotilla of ships. From what the Gartrya say, they’ve been around for centuries.”

  “Are they human?”

  “They look humanoid, but their skin is pale and tough, long arms and large teeth,” Asde made a show with his hands. “The Gartrya showed us an image. They only interact with other species for trade but can be aggressive. They like young women, so the Duke set up a mutually beneficial trade.”

  “Why do they want young women?”

  Asde looked uneasy, sending out an unmistakable sense of wishing he hadn’t started this conversation; he glanced at Harry, who already knew the whole story. And it’s horrors.

  Laurel folded her arms. “I could look inside your head, Asde. Or yours, Harry.”

  Harry didn’t doubt she would. “Tell her, Asde.”

  “No-one knows for sure, because once the girls are exchanged, they’re never seen again,” a note of contempt crept into Asde’s voice. “The rumour is they’re kept as pets, at least until they’re skinned and eaten. The skins are used in the same way humans used animal skins in the past. Collitt lost two daughters to them; his third spared as loyalty leverage.”

  Laurel closed her eyes against the picture Asde painted. But her anger was not for the alien race that took young women for food, but for the man who valued life so little, that he would condemn those poor girls for his personal ambitions. The evils of trading humans for nefarious means was not confined to Earth, nor to this galaxy. It seemed it also flourished on the other side of the nebula. Man’s cruelty seemed to pervade through time itself, and for one fleeting moment, Laurel saw humankind as a parasite, and every cell in her body cried out against them. She opened her eyes. It was the first time she felt a distinction between whole souls and other humans.

  “Have any of them opened up yet on how many troops are at the Duke’s disposal?” Harry asked Asde.

  “Not that I can report, Commander,” Asde said. “Aside from the little they told you, Laurel’s right, they aren’t given much information, so they’ve zero intelligence to provide to us. Almost all their conversation is about their work and their families and the horror of living under the Duke’s rule.”

  “We need to find out what the Duke’s goal is, Harry,” Laurel said. “I have yet to encounter an enemy soldier of any rank, in battle, with any useful insight. I’ve stood over high-ranking officers, and with their dying breath, they give up nothing, because they’ve got nothing to give. They fight because their leaders say fight.”

  Asde made a sound as if he would speak. Harry looked at him and gave tacit permission.

  “It’s the same for us. Sorry, Commander, but the truth is, the reasons for this war aren’t transparent. We’re fighting because the League tells us to fight, to protect its interests, to protect its people, and we do because we are loyal. We need to know what the Duke wants and why.”

  Harry’s face registered surprise before frowning. “Is there dissent among you?”

  Asde stiffened. “No, sir, not dissent. But questions are being asked.”

  Laurels eyes burned into Harry. She was brewing an idea, he could see it. He’d check out Asde’s claims later.

  “What do you propose, Laurel?”

  “Go to that fortress,” she stepped closer, her voice eager. “See if the Duke is overseeing the war from there, take a sample of that covering to at least determine what it is and how to destroy it.”

  Asde raised an eyebrow and Harry raised his voice; fortunately, there was no-one close enough to overhear.

  “Now, why didn’t we think of that!” Harry said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Oh, wait, we did, we tried to blast the damn place from orbit and when that failed, sacrificed hundreds of troops to get a piece of that material. For what? Nothing?” He glared at Laurel, but she was having none of it.

  “Sarcasm won’t help, Harry. Action will.”

  “We are taking action, Laurel.”

  “You are not!” Laurel jabbed a finger at him. “You are an advanced civilisation…”

  “Our weapons are more advanced than theirs…”

  “Then why aren’t you winning?” Laurels voice raised a notch. “You don’t know your enemy, Harry, that’s your weakness. There’s a reason they started this war, and it’s not because they want the Semevale system.” Laurel paused, sensing Harry’s defensiveness. It made her angry. He had no business being defensive. “Your problem is, Harry, you’re a company man. That means you will do whatever the League tells you, whether you agree or not, and you won’t dare question their motives.”

  Asde shifted slightly, uncomfortable at hearing his senior officer spoken to in such a manner. Harry’s face was red with anger. He went to speak, pull rank and stop her, but Laurel hadn’t finished.

  “You are children, playing with real guns and real bombs and real people are getting hurt and killed. Perhaps neither side can win this war, but there is no hope unless we find out why the Gartrya started it in the first place.” The mutinous note in her voice silenced Harry as she held forth, “Marta was right; no-one declares war on a whim. We need to know the reasons behind it, particularly as the Duke keeps that information even from his generals.”

  “And you believe all these answers are on Semevale 7?” Harry growled.

  Laurel felt her frustration rising, someone somewhere, apart from the Duke, had an ulterior motive. She felt it right through to her core that the Semevale system was not the final goal.

  Laurel gestured wildly, trying to get Harry to
see her point. “That’s what we need to find out! Otherwise, the Duke is going to regroup, work out a way to deflect the gas and walk all over you in his quest to get wherever it is he really wants to be!”

  Laurel turned on her heel and stalked through the door of the lodge; the others looked up sheepishly as she entered, followed by the two men. No-one heard the exchange, but they’d sensed it and needed no explanation. Harry and Asde ignored the bemused grins of the others.

  “Eli, are you positive you can get through that ordnance?” Laurel demanded.

  Eli had sensed enough of their conversation to know he didn’t want to get mired in a different kind of war here on the base between Laurel and Harry, so he merely nodded.

  “And I can find out who and how many are actually in there and,” Laurel pointed to Harry, “I can see not only their intent but their thoughts as well.”

  Harry wasn’t keen on what was unfolding here. A moment ago, he planned to pull rank, but seeing Laurel’s determination, it would have been a pointless exercise. And her idea might have merit.

  “And another thing.”

  “Go on,” Harry said, feeling her passion, her sense of injustice.

  “You didn’t have a whole soul before. If I go alone, someone inside may know the composition of the external layers of the fortress. We may not need a sample to determine its construction.”

  “Collitt said the Duke has heirs,” Harry reminded her. “If we destroy the fortress, the war may simply continue.”

  Laurel ignored him; she had no time for negativity. “How great is the delay in transmission from the fortress to the nebula?”

  Asde exchanged looks with Harry, whatever was being proposed, he knew Harry wasn’t entirely in agreement, so even though Laurel’s question wasn’t directed at him exactly, when Harry didn’t respond immediately, Asde did. “Seven hours, but the time through the nebula and again from the nebula to their system? We’re speculating.”

  “From what Xavier tells us,” Laurel opened a starchart, “it takes the lifeform around four days to cross the nebula. On top of that, we can add the time it takes to get from their homeworld to the nebula and from the nebula to Semevale 7. So, we’d have at a minimum four days and seven hours after capturing the Duke, to his heirs being informed, assuming the heir is on the home planet and not in the fortress, in which case we need to capture both of them.”