Peace Warrior

by Steven L. Hawk

  "Yes, Blue. Six." Tane felt a sense of pride that his 'experiment' now knew more languages than most humans alive. "I started him out with Standard, of course, and he picked it up like a native Urop'n. So naturally, I began with other Lat'n-based languages."

  "But how is this possible? The man is only a warrior. He is no linguist!"

  "I have discussed the subject with Grant, himself, and I believe he is correct in his theory about this. He was frozen for six hundred years, Blue. Six hundred years!"

  "I am aware of that! What is the explanation?"

  "It seems that for those six hundred years our soldier was able to recall, in exquisite detail from what I can determine, the memories of his life. In fact, those memories were his only exercise. He could do nothing else but think and remember, Blue. Imagine! Six hundred years with nothing but your past to keep you occupied! It's a wonder the man is not insane.”

  Tane’s voice raced with excitement. The experiment was a much greater success than he ever could have hoped. He took a deep breath to retain Peace and continued.

  "I believe that Grant Justice has expanded his abilities of retention far beyond those of a normal human. In effect, he has exercised his mind for over six hundred years and is using that mind to learn more than we could have believed possible. Even Grant, himself, is surprised at his ability to recall the information contained on the transference tapes."

  "But six languages?"

  "And still counting, Blue."

  "Remarkable, remarkable. I must inform the Council of this right away. When can you bring Justice here, Rolan? I would like to see this man again." Blue hesitated, clearly remembering his first meeting with Grant Justice only a week before. "He can be trusted to be at Peace, can he not, Rolan?"

  "Yes, Blue. Certainly," Tane said, not quite certain of the fact at all.

  * * *

  Grant lifted the two hundred and ten pounds over his head, completing the tenth repetition of his final set of bench presses. He felt good about his workout, he was almost to his 'pre-revival' abilities with the weights. He suddenly considered that this new body might not be as bad as he first thought.

  His workout was halted by the sight of Tane Rolan entering the room. The scientist entered Grant's 'gym' with some unease, his unfamiliarity with the steel bars and plates showed clearly on his face.

  Grant had requested that the room be furnished with the free weights and, after several attempts at describing exactly what he wanted, Tane had the equipment fabricated. His initial reaction to Grant's desire to increase the strength in his body was to give him a muscle enhancement drug, but Grant emphatically discounted the suggestion. He had seen enough steroid use as a soldier to put him off the idea of chemically induced muscles forever. The use of steroids in the Democratic Federation Army was completely legal, and often encouraged by those in charge. The army wanted its soldiers to be as fully developed as possible and the risks involved, although great, were generally accepted by the brass. What were a few tragedies when the army as a whole benefited from the successes? Grant personally knew of several soldiers who ended up crippled because of their massive use of chemicals and, upon taking over his own team, immediately denied the use of steroids to any of his men. Instead, he encouraged natural body development and had implemented an intense regimen of lifting weights, aerobics, and running for his team. He attributed much of his team's success to the physical training they had undertaken.

  "Tane, how are you?" Grant asked in an obscure As'n dialect, the latest addition to the growing library of languages he held in his head. He still found the ability to switch languages at will – he now knew nine – exhilarating. He found the ability to switch from one language to the next about as difficult as changing his shoes. When he wanted a different language, he merely stepped into the closet of his mind and tried one on. It was that easy. And so far he had not run out of closet space.

  The actual transfer of the languages lasted only sixty to ninety minutes depending on each one's complexity. The information-transference educator was placed over his head and the patterns, words and structures of each language were electro-aurically implanted onto his brain. At least that's how Tane had described it to him.

  A quick and painless process, Grant had also undergone historical and socio-economic educational sessions with the machine. He now had a unique grasp of the current state of the earth and everything of note that had occurred since his previous life. He now held a better understanding of what was expected of him and why he had been revived by the Leadership Council and Tane Rolan. The reason was simple: the Minith would suck the world dry of all its natural resources within a few generations if they were not stopped.

  "Very well, Grant," Tane answered. The dialect Grant spoke was one of the seven that he himself possessed. "How are you?" he asked in an even more obscure Afc’n tongue.

  Grant looked at him quizzically, then answered in Standard with a laugh. "You got me on that one, Tane, but from the inflection and the similarities to the major Afc’n culture Language, I'd say you were asking how I was. If so, then I'm fine. The workout's going just great."

  "Very good," Tane switched to Standard, also. "How do you feel?"

  Grant was dressed in shorts and a shirt he had ripped into a passable counterfeit of a tank top. His body was covered in sweat. "I feel great, Tane. Haven't felt this good in six centuries or so, you know?”

  “It’s good to see you still possess a sense of humor, Grant.”

  “I’d be going bat shit without it, my good scientist. Absolute bat shit!"

  Tane nodded, but it was clear to Grant that he had no idea what he was talking about. Grant did not feel like explaining the term “bat shit” and, instead of asking, the scientist changed the subject.

  "Have you thought any more about the Minith, Grant?"

  Grant smiled. The scientist's ability to change the course of a conversation to a serious topic never took more than two or three exchanges. It was easy to see how the man had reached the level of Senior Scientist at such a young age. Grant realized from his sessions with the transference machine that Tane was an exception to the rule in this world he had found himself in. He found his respect for the small man growing by leaps and bounds with each passing day.

  "Yes, I have, Tane."

  "And what have you been thinking?"

  Grant was not prepared to discuss his thoughts in detail until he worked out all the kinks, a habit he had acquired while in the Army. He liked to study all aspects of a plan before deciding on the final details. Too many times he had witnessed the outlines of a plan become the plan itself when divulged to those in a decision making capacity.

  "Not just yet, Tane. Let me give it some more thought, and I'll let you know as soon as I can. I promise."

  “Hmm. I have no choice but to trust your judgment, I suppose. Is there anything I can do to assist you with your work, Grant?"

  Grant gave the matter some thought before answering. Finally, he nodded and said, "I'll need two things, Tane. First, I want everything you can get me on Violent's Prison. And I mean everything; blueprints, lists of prisoners, the crimes they committed, everything."

  "What? How could anything to do with Violent's Prison be of benefit? Only criminals are sent there, persons not fit for society. I don't see how--"

  "Tane!" Grant interrupted. "Can you get me anything, or not?"

  "Well, certainly, but I don't--"

  "Tane, don't ask me to explain. You probably wouldn't like what I'd say anyway."

  "Okay, Grant. As you wish. But if Mr. Blue hears of this, he may not permit it. He dislikes even the thought of violence. If he had his way, we'd all stay slaves forever. I believe he would prefer that over any form of violence –­ even violence that is directed toward the Minith."

  "So, don't let him find out."

  "Fine. And what is the second thing I can help you with?" Tane was almost afraid to ask, considering Grant's first request.

  "
I need a lesson on the Minith Language."

  A look of horror crossed Tane's face. "Grant! It is forbidden! I can't... I mean... there isn't a lesson on the Minith! They would never allow it!"

  "Oh, and I suppose they don't mind our plotting to get rid of them, huh? Think, Tane! You're better at that than anyone else I know. What could it hurt?"

  "But there isn't a Minith lesson for the transference machine, Grant. No one has ever developed one. There are only a few humans who are even allowed to learn the language and they are all imprisoned within the Minith Mother Ship. They are never permitted to leave it."

  "Tane, I did a little research in the transference library. There wasn’t a lot about the Minith, but I learned what there was. It’s apparent that the prisoners there are kept obedient more out of their own fear than anything the aliens do to them. For Christ's sake, there aren’t even any locks on the doors from what I can determine!"

  "Perhaps, but there is no one willing to enter the ship and no one inside is aware of our needs. There is no way!"

  Former Sergeant First Class Grant Justice smiled at the small scientist. "Wrong, again, Tane. I’m willing to go there. Better yet, I will go there. I need to learn as much about them as I can." Grant wasn’t ready to discuss his entire plan yet, but he needed Tane’s help to complete the first phase. He needed an accurate description of the inside of the Mother Ship if they were to succeed in ridding the earth of the Minith.

  "You brought me back to help the world, Tane. Did you think it would be easy? Or without risk?"

  "No, of course not, but I thought there would be more time. I did not expect things to happen so soon."

  "There is still plenty to do before we are finished with the aliens, Tane, but we have to start somewhere. This is just a part of the game, my friend." Grant sat down at the bench and began another set of reps with his new weights.

  "Okay, Grant. I will get you what I can on Violent’s Prison...and on the Mother Ship of the Minith. Not everything has been placed into the transference library. Give me two days."

  "Two days," Grant agreed in a major Musl'n dialect, another of Tane Rolan's languages. He grunted with the effort of the repetitions, but it felt wonderful. "Then we begin our war against the slave masters of Earth."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Grant waded awkwardly through the crowded streets of Bst’n. Like the same city from his time, it was one of N’merca's largest and most populated. As he fought his way along the street, however, he realized the Boston he once knew was gone. Here, in its place, was a sprawling mass of bland gray concrete. The buildings had little character, and the teeming throngs of people that navigated the streets possessed even less. Most were dressed in jumpsuits of one muted shade or another. There were no bright colors or eccentric displays of individuality. Like the city itself, the clothes seemed lackluster, bleached of brightness and energy.

  The people wearing the featureless jumpsuits seemed much the same. They moved slowly and quietly, as though dazed, and Grant wondered if their lethargy was a result of the Minith presence on their world, or just a symptom of living a Peace-filled existence. He hoped it was the former.

  Few landmarks of the old city remained and he rued the loss of so much history. It was probable, he decided, that many of the historical sites had been torn down because they were monuments to the wars that had forged the old United States. For all of the city’s newfound dullness, the streets were surprisingly clean, and smelled of antiseptic. Grant surmised that cleanliness came with the Peace, love and brotherhood that made up the new world. Except for the Minith, of course. They were the wild card.

  Grant came from a world where war was a common occurrence – too common really. He had regularly questioned the need for war, especially those wars in which he fought. But, unlike the people surrounding him now, Grant knew war was an unpleasant necessity. These people and their ancestors had worked hard to eliminate war, to erase even the thought of violence. Those were not bad goals in Grant’s view. Just unrealistic. Grant was an historian of war. He understood that fighting was sometimes needed to eliminate evils that were greater than war. Genocide, slavery, oppression, injustices in multiple forms. All were valid reasons for picking up arms and sacrificing lives. The American Civil War of the 1800’s erased the practice of slavery in the United States. Grant wondered how many of the people he passed would not be alive if that war had not happened. Or how many of these people knew their ancestors were responsible for stopping that ungodly practice? And, if they did know, how many of them would be proud of their dead kinsmen and what they accomplished through war? How many would be ashamed? Grant pondered these questions as he fought his way through the crowds. He did not know the answers. But he did know that peace would not be possible as long as the Minith noose coiled tightly around the world’s throat.

  He felt awkward among the hundreds of thousands of pedestrians. He was surrounded by people, yet felt alone. He could not get used to the numbers of people that surrounded him, people so much like him, but yet so different. They were at home among the crowds, whereas he felt crushed by the mass of warm bodies pressing close as they made their way along the streets. Grant estimated that the crowded avenues he walked along held at least a million people. And that was a conservative estimate, he soon decided.

  He looked into the faces he passed and saw men, women and children who, upon first glance, did not seem so different from the people he had once known. But there, just beneath the surface of those calm exteriors, ran a powerful current of fear and subjugation. If you looked closely, it was not difficult to see the signature of the Minith stamped boldly across the lives of these humans.

  He had left the hospital hoping to better understand the world around him. He longed to see new people and new sights and had looked forward to rubbing elbows with the people who lived in the city. Six hundred years with nothing but memories to keep you company made a person lonely. But this was too much; he not only rubbed elbows, he practically held hands with them, they were pressed so closely together.

  He tried to escape the mobs traveling to who-cared-where by entering various buildings, cutting down side streets, and dodging down alleyways, but it was useless. The people were everywhere. Grant quickly grew dizzy and lost his way. He looked up to find the sky spinning rapidly and went down to one knee. He was helped to his feet by a young man and his daughter, and he asked for directions. The pair pointed him in the right direction and Grant trudged his way back to the hospital. Defeated. A twenty-first century man among billions of humans who were six hundred years younger than he.

  The hospital was so indifferent from the other edifices that surrounded it, Grant took most of an hour to find the large, gray building. His brow was clammy with sweat, and the relief he felt as he trudged the hallway to his room shamed him. He dropped into bed, tired, alone and lost. He was not sure that he liked the world he had awakened to, and his small room provided scant relief. He imagined crowds of men, women and children pushing against the outside of the building.

  “Enough! Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he chided himself. The comfort he desired was not to be found inside the four white walls of the room.

  Unwilling to hide like a hermit afraid of the world around him, he pushed his feelings aside and left the room in search of Tane. The man might know of a place where he could go to relieve his claustrophobic feelings. For the first time since his rebirth, the halls of the hospital seemed crowded, more crowded than any hospital or laboratory he had ever been in, and he wondered why he had not realized before now how many scientists were in the building. His brush with the world outside the hospital had heightened his awareness to the numbers of people around him. When he first learned the population totaled sixty billion, he had not stopped to consider the importance of such a number and what it would mean to be one person among such a population. The sense of being closed in was both unnerving and frustrating.

 
; He spotted Tane in the corridor ahead, talking to a mob of junior scientists. He casually joined the group, and immediately noticed a shift in the group dynamic as several of the scientists moved away from him. Grant was shocked by the reaction but he understood. He was an outcast -- a violent person thrust by fate among the Peaceful. He swallowed the desire to confront them, knowing what response the action would earn. Besides, they had a right to their fears, he decided, regardless of whether they were justified.

  "Ah, Grant, how are you?" Tane asked, using the most obscure of his languages. The game was becoming a habit between the two men and Grant smiled. He now knew seventeen different languages, including all of those spoken by Tane.

  "I am not well, friend. I am lonely but need some space where I can be by myself," Grant said in one of the languages he knew Tane did not speak.

  "I'll take that to mean you are fine, Grant," Tane said with a laugh, not realizing that Grant's words meant nothing of the kind.

  "Do you know all of those here?" he asked in Standard, indicating the scientists around him.

  Grant shook his head. "No, I do not think so, Senior Scientist Rolan." Grant always used the other man's title when they were among Tane's co-workers. It was one way of expressing the respect he held for the small scientist.

  "Then allow me to make introductions, Grant. These scientists have volunteered to be trained as soldiers. They are your first recruits!" Tane was obviously pleased with the revelation, his face beamed with pride at the junior scientists who maintained their distance from Grant.

  Grant looked over the eight men and three women he faced. Just moments before, several of them had moved away from him, scared to be any closer than they had to be. Now, he was being informed that they were to be his recruits, trainees, soldiers. It took some effort not to laugh as Tane introduced the junior scientists, several of whom were older than the senior scientist. Instead, he nodded politely to each before requesting to speak with Tane alone.