“And the source?” Fromm asked.
“Stealth drones. Two of them, one for us, one for the tangos. We can only track them when they send out the kill transmission; they disappear right after.”
“Got it.” He raised Gunny Briggs of Third Platoon next. “All right, Gunny. How many live LML rounds did you bring along?”
“Thirty HE, thirty-six PAP, sir,” the Gunnery Sergeant replied.
“Well, it’s time to use them. Load up Third Squad with live PAPs, repeat, war rounds, Plasma Armor-Piercing, and prepare to engage airborne target. Hansen, feed them the sensor data on that drone targeting us. Next time it goes after one of my Marines, I want it blotted out of the sky.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Fromm knew the Tah-Leen might be displeased. There was a not-small chance he was signing his entire company’s death warrant by attacking the aliens’ casualty dispenser.
Fuck them. They want to play, let’s see how they like it when they have some skin in the game.
It didn’t take long. A minute after he gave the orders, a Lamprey sharpshooter got lucky and struck Lance Corporal Hennessy from First Platoon with what the simulator decided was a lethal shot. The invisible drone reaped the luckless Marine like a mythological Valkyrie.
Except Valkyries never had to deal with Plasma Armor-Piercing missiles.
Three Light Missile Launchers fired on the sudden blip in their targeting sights. The drone was nimble; it managed to evade two of them. Nimble, but not very sturdy; the focused plasma discharge from the third missile turned the sophisticated killing device into a blooming fireball.
“Scratch one bandit,” Gunny Briggs said.
“What about the other one?” Hansen asked. “The one targeting the Lampreys?”
“Take it out as well. It might be able to reconfigure to fire on us.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
* * *
The Hierophant wasn’t smiling anymore.
“They cheated.”
The obese figure rose to his feet.
“They cheated!”
He started banging his fists against the central table, again and again, froth and spittle flying from his mouth as he kept screaming and jumping up and down in between blows.
“CHEATED! CHEATED! CHEATS! CHEATERS!”
“The second Executioner has been destroyed,” the Priestess said dispassionately. Her words stilled her consort’s tantrum. “The one tasked with dispensing the game’s results on the Lhan Arkh. Perhaps out of mercy or a sense of fair play.”
“I do not care why they did it! They cheated!”
The Hierophant turned his baleful gaze on the American delegation. He stopped screaming, but his near-whisper sounded far more dangerous. “And they will pay for that.”
“Point of order, Great One,” the Seeker of Knowledge said. He wasn’t present in either room, but his voice and identity showed up on everyone’s imps.
“What is it?”
“The Americans openly proclaimed they would defend themselves, did they not?”
“Yes,” the Hierophant said. “What is your point?”
“And the Executioners are – were – a lethal threat, were they not? Isn’t destroying such threats part and parcel of such a defense?”
The Tah-Leen leader’s voice acquired a petulant tone as he reluctantly answered. “Yes. But they cheated. They were not supposed to use real weapons. They lied to me. To us.”
“And we lied to them. In any case, did you truly expect members of a warrior race to completely disarm themselves?”
“This is your fault, Seeker. You were in charge of examining their weaponry. You were supposed to see to it that they were helpless.”
“I was – I am – charged with ensuring neither Americans nor Lhan Arkh pose a threat to our persons. Their heaviest weapons cannot harm us, even if they were wielding them in our presence, which they are not. Given that fact, I decided to let them proceed unhindered.”
They aren’t worried about the Marines’ heavy weapons, Heather thought. That’s an important point of information.
And not an encouraging one. That probably meant the aliens had high-powered personal force fields. Or maybe they didn’t care what happened to their drone bodies, or any bodies for that matter. Each of their actual consciousness was stored somewhere deep inside the station, out of any immediate danger. The whole concept of ‘uploading’ ones’ mind had been shown to be impossible at the average Starfarer tech level, but these spoiled monsters weren’t bound by those limitations.
“I don’t like this,” the Hierophant said. “Don’t. Like. This.”
“Great One, isn’t being thwarted a novelty?” the Seeker of Knowledge said. “When was the last time you actually lost at something?”
“I can’t remember,” the Hierophant admitted. “I still don’t like it.”
“The battle continues,” the Priestess said. It wasn’t a question, and there was no mistaking the challenge in the words or her tone.
The Tah-Leen leader stared at her for several moments. The tension between the two aliens was palpable.
“The battle continues,” he said at last.
Heather let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. The other diplomats relaxed visibly as well, at least the ones who understood the situation. A few of them still hadn’t processed the fact that they were at the mercy of a pack of insane brats with godlike powers. Their naiveté didn’t last long, however.
“Your soldiers will live to fight another day, win or lose,” the Hierophant went on. “However, I feel you still do not understand the seriousness of the stakes involved. An example will help you in that regard, I think..”
Everyone in the US delegation tensed at those words.
“Two nights ago, we spent some quality time with one of your own. Javier Fitzpatrick Llewellyn. He told us a great deal about you Americans. Towards the end, he told us everything we wished to know and more. Including the things that scared him the most.”
The alien in the fake human face smiled. “We decided not to deprive him of such an intense and special experience.”
One of the screens switched to an indoors scene. A dark room with a spotlight focused upon a reclined table where a mutilated figure writhed and whimpered as blood seeped through the stumps that were all that remained of his legs. It took Heather a moment to recognize the former US Ambassador.
“It appears that the tortures the Kirosha inflicted on their convicted criminals deeply scarred poor Javier’s psyche,” the Priestess explained amidst the Hierophant’s laughter. “Even speaking about it triggered panic attacks in the man. We thought that the best way to help him overcome his fears was to have him experience that torture. As you can see, he’s no longer afraid. All he has left is some vague hope death will release him from his torment.”
“That is the fate that awaits those we deem unworthy,” the Hierophant explained. “Well, not that exact fate. Each of you will endure something unique and special, of course. We can be extremely inventive, as befits our wondrous individuality. Those who displease us, or whose presence we find offensive, will find just how inventive.”
The screen went black just as Llewellyn gathered his breath for a final scream.
“You owe me a debt of gratitude,” the Seeker told her through her imp while she struggled to process what she’d just seen. “If I hadn’t spoken in your behalf, you all would have shared Llewellyn’s fate. By the way, five out of your twelve missing personnel are dead or dying. The Diverse Multitude are very creative when dispensing intense experiences. Pray that when your time comes, you are given the chance to kill yourself; very few are that lucky. And think of what your fate would have been without my protection.”
“Thank you for keeping us pawns alive a little longer,” she replied.
“For as long as our interests coincide, I will continue to do so. And not a moment longer. Keep that in mind.”
The connection ended.
Heat
her went back to work. If she didn’t produce some results, the Seeker might decide she wasn’t worth keeping around, and they’d just seen the Snowflakes could kill both humans and Lampreys with a simple imp transmission – and that a quick death would be the best they could expect. They were at the mercy of a pack of ancient sadistic children. They had solved the mystery of Xanadu’s missing ships. They’d been taken into this den of killers where their crews were murdered for sport.
Sooner or later, she was going to have to use her special apps and make a move. For now, however, she would play by their rules, until she saw an opportunity.
Nine
“Shit, I’m dead,” Lance Corporal Bruno complained.
“Stop bitching and lie down like a good corpse,” Russell told him.
They were taking casualties, but ever since they’d blown up the Snowflake drones, they’d been notional, just the way they were supposed to be. That didn’t mean they could slack off, not now that they knew the Xanadu aliens liked to play for keeps. Russell figured the losers of this exercise weren’t going to make it out of this giant glass sculpture alive.
“Grampa, go see if Bruno’s Alsie is still operational. If it is, it’s yours.”
“Roger that,” the old bastard said, already crawling to the spot where Bruno’s ‘corpse’ lay. The pretend-dead Marine handed him the weapon. “Yeah, it’s still good.”
The enemy pulled back by the time Grampa was ready. It looked like the tangos were trying to regroup, for all the good it would do them.
The Lampreys were trying, he had to give them that, but they’d been screwed almost from the get-go. Their Combat Nests just didn’t have the manpower or firepower to fight a dug-in Marine company. After getting that freebie artillery barrage, the ETs found themselves outgunned and been ground down by mortar fire. Their lasers and missiles were no joke, but not good enough to break through Charlie Company’s lines. The fight was as good as won.
It hadn’t come cheap, though Fifteen casualties so far, nine of those KIAs. Five of those had been real, all killed before the Skipper had figured out what the ETs were doing and taken out their drones. After that, the battle had turned into a non-lethal op, but nobody was taking it lightly. No telling if or when the Snowflakes would send another murder-drone their way.
“They are concentrating for one last push,” Gunnery Sergeant Naismith reported from the OP at the top of the tallest building among the ruins. The assault section leader sounded almost bored.
“Good,” Russell said. “Let’s get this over with.”
The Marine mortars were dropping ordnance on the enemy’s rally point, but they were almost out of bombs and the Lampreys had managed to collect all their area force fields in one spot, a company’s worth now tasked to protect a reinforced platoon, which was all they had left. And as they left the cover of the opposite hill, Russell saw a bunch of the aliens were carrying area force field gennies on their backs. When assembled, those suckers weighed almost as much as the Lampreys themselves. Without powered armor, the tangos wouldn’t be able to drag them very far. On the other hand, they didn’t have long to go, either. About a hundred yards uphill. Maybe they would survive long enough to rake the Marines with point-blank laser fire. That would be bad.
Everybody with who could bear on the charging aliens took them under fire. It was one of those rare times when you got a good look at the enemy. Most firefights, you shot at icons your imp designated, usually tiny figures at three or four hundred meters, or even further out, where even with sight magnification you saw mostly a moving blur. There were exceptions, of course – at Jasper-Five, a lot of the time he’d been killing ETs within spitting distance – but against Starfarers, if you were close enough to see their faces, you were way too close.
The PSF troopers ran forward, firing from the hip, hoping to get close enough to do some damage. They were out of missiles and down to one heavy plasma projector, and their hand lasers weren’t powerful enough to blast the Marines in their prepped positions. Russell watched them advance under fire, bounding on their thick legs, the big toothed tubes they had instead of heads slanted down and their creepy tentacle-eyes coiled tightly against the sides of their necks. It took guts, moving forward into massed fire, even during a simulation, especially one that might turn deadly without warning. Maybe they were tired of the whole thing and just wanted it to be over.
The Lamprey’s overlapping force fields held for sixty meters before they collapsed under the steady downpour of bullets and missiles, leaving the aliens protected only by their personal shields, which were good but nowhere near good enough. After that, it was a massacre. Every single alien died before they made it another twenty meters up the hill. Simulation-died, that is. After it was all over, the casualties just dusted themselves off and headed back to their line of departure. A few minutes later, all the Lampreys were out of sight. They’d surrendered the field.
If this had been a regular FTX, or even actual combat, everybody would be cheering and joking around now that it was over and they’d won. Not this time. They had real casualties, and they had died for nothing. Everyone in Charlie Company was pissed off.
The Snowflakes would pay for this.
* * *
“The Americans have held their assigned position and inflicted total losses on the Lhan Arkh, although most of those were only simulated, given the destruction of the Executioner drones,” the Priestess said, summarizing the results.
“Thanks to the Americans’ cheating,” the Hierophant grumbled. “This was not as much fun as it was supposed to be.”
“Round Two will be far more entertaining,” the Priestess assured him. “We’ll use the new creatures I designed. They are truly wonderful.” The Snowflake giggled like a smitten schoolgirl.
“Round Two? How many times do you expect my people to perform for you?” Sec-State asked. “This behavior is…” She hesitated.
The Hierophant sneered at her. “Barbaric? What would you know about barbarism? When your species had yet to tame fire, mine ruled a star empire. You are little better than beasts of burden, a shapeless mass, lacking unique identities except at the crudest level. And before you continue bleating your complaints, remember the Kirosha. You casually trampled those weaker than yourself, so don’t dare judge us for doing the same.”
“If we are to be killed for your pleasure, you might as well get on with it,” the Secretary said, standing up. Her Security Detail formed up around her.
“When we wish you dead, dead you will be,” the Hierophant said. “You entered Xanadu freely and of your own free will, as your mythological monsters are wont to say. The weapons your guards carry cannot harm us. Even if they could, these bodies are mere extensions of our true selves. We each routinely control as many bodies as you have limbs and digits. And each of us wield the power of life and death over all of you. You should keep that in mind before you challenge me again.”
The Seeker of Knowledge’s voice invaded Heather’s eardrums once more.
“Tell your leader to stand down. If the Hierophant grows annoyed enough, this game is at an end, and so are your lives.”
She contacted the Secretary as she took a breath, very likely to launch into an angry tirade.
“Please play along for now, Madame Secretary,” Heather subvocalized. “I have a plan.”
“It’d better be good,” Goftalu replied tersely. Out loud: “So what is in store for us next?”
The Hierophant smiled. “Finally, a pertinent question. The fact that so many warriors on both sides survived may turn out to be for the best. Each team will perform a series of tasks for us. Whoever does best will earn our favor. The winners will be allowed to leave, along with some valuable parting gifts. The losers will endure unspeakable horrors. You will play our game, for as long as we require. Your only options are victory or defeat. A refusal to participate will result in an automatic loss, with all its consequences. Now sit down and try to relax while we discuss today’s game. Round two will co
mmence tomorrow.”
The Secretary of State sat down.
“What are you planning to do, McClintock?” Secretary Goftalu asked Heather privately. “God is my witness, I was about to tell that bastard to go to hell, and damn the consequences. I know he is lying. It is clear that they intend to kill us all, human and Lhan Arkh, no matter what we do. We will not die on our knees.”
Accepting death if captured was SOP since First Contact. If you fell into the hands or tentacles of a polity that did not play by civilized rules, and the Tah-Leen certainly qualified, you assumed you were dead and acted accordingly. The US did not make deals with hostage-takers. It might negotiate with other good-faith actors, but not with pirates or terrorists. Doing otherwise just invited more kidnappings and raids. The standard response was to mourn the victims and try to exterminate the perpetrators. And it might well come to that in this case. Heather was trying to find an alternative.
“Can’t say anymore on an open channel, Madam Secretary. Op-sec.”
The Seeker of Knowledge would be listening in, of course. She would do her best to keep it in the dark until she could make her move. The alien spy thought Heather was playing his game, but she had a few hidden cards of her own.
Provided she lived long enough to play them, of course.
* * *
How long have I been here?
Lisbeth Zhang had no idea. There had been a couple meal breaks, bathroom breaks, and short periods of fitful sleep, but she had lost track of time anyway. Two days, she thought. Maybe three. Or maybe she’d been there for years and didn’t remember most of it. Ever since she’d been forced to commune with this hideous living-dead thing, her existence had turned into a continuous nightmare, awake or asleep.
All she knew was that she was making progress, and that she couldn’t stop. And, more importantly, that she didn’t want to stop.
Everything would be worth it if she could make the bastards pay.
Warp Marine Corps- The Complete Series Page 79
