by Tim C Taylor
Remus looked over Sergeant Bloehn. He lacked muscles, but his stance hinted at a wiry endurance. “Are you fit?” he asked Bloehn. “Can you run?”
“Once,” he replied. “No longer. Caught a leg wound at the Battle of Cairo in 2717.”
“Figures,” mumbled Remus. He scooped up the old soldier and threw him over his shoulder. In battle, Remus was used to lugging around a mobile mini-gun which was far heavier. Bloehn didn’t resist as Remus shifted him for balance. Not as comfortable as the cannon, but it would do.
“Quit fondling his butt and move,” shouted Janna. “Twelve minutes left to get to the shuttle.”
Remus sprinted for the landing strip. Neither the Wolves nor the Legion-allied Hardit mini-tankers they shared the base with showed any curiosity that he was carrying an old Earth man over his shoulder. Remus wasn’t surprised. The fighters of the 7th Armored Claw were veterans of this long interstellar war. They’d all seen far stranger sights.
— Chapter 48 —
Fascinated and revolted in equal measure, Indiya kept the Legion commanders waiting for her verdict while she continued to explore Sergeant Bashiri Bloehn. Like her, the Earth man had been augmented with nano-factories under the wrists designed to release hormonal cocktails in accordance with their users’ needs, or more accurately the needs of their unit commanders. All military species serving the White Knights were fitted with these, primarily so that Marines bred for aggression could tolerate extended periods crammed together in troopships and defensive positions without killing each other, and for Spacers to fly decades-long journeys between stars without going insane.
Indiya had grown up aboard Beowulf shunned by many crewmates as a ‘freak’, one of a handful of experimental human subjects fitted with these nano-factories by the Reserve Captain, a senior Jotun bioengineer who had become a dear friend to Indiya. There had been parallel lines of development, other prototypes, and the Earthers had reverse engineered their equivalent from the corpses of Marine children who had programmed an escape pod to travel to far-off Earth. In a bizarre twist, one of those children had been Zeno McEwan, Arun’s brother.
Both the Beowulf freaks and the Earth dwellers had taken their augmentations far beyond the intentions of their original designers. Bloehn’s body had been given wetware hooks, replication engines and speed boosters for the nano-packets, and vascular bypasses for them to avoid chokepoints in the bloodstream.
Whether it was the laws of nature, or the limitations of the subcutaneous alien hormonal injector, all branches of humanity shared a knack for twisting systems until they did something they weren’t designed to do.
Humans weren’t especially intelligent, strong, or organized, but they boasted an unsurpassed skill at hacking.
There were other species who were more intelligent and made better engineers – the Khallene gremlins for one, and the Legion owed a Cull victim called Springer a great deal for securing their allegiance to the Legion. However, only one other race could compare with humanity’s ability to subvert technology to an unintended purpose: Hardits.
Shortly after the New Order invasion, the wrist implants of the survivors had been crudely removed when Tawfiq declared the technology forbidden for humans. Bloehn claimed that he had slept through the invasion in an army cryo reserve. One night while sheltering in the banks of the Nile from New Order patrols, he’d hacked out his own implants with a knife.
When the monkey-vecks discovered the human implants, they must have enjoyed toying with this new update to nature. They had planted simplified versions inside their human servants, the Faithful. Were they developmental prototypes before adding something similar to the Janissaries? If so, then it would be a tool, a way for New Order commanders to control their troops. But from what she had gleaned from the Earth natives, before the invasion they had made the nano-factories inside their wrists more than a mere tool; they had developed an entire culture in which discourse between individuals occurred primarily at the nano-scale.
Fascinating.
And revolting… that such a critical organ of the Earth-based humans had been excised from everyone on the planet.
Admiral Kreippil flicked his tail against the deck. It was not a subtle gesture. Time to stop exploring and start leading.
“This man speaks the truth,” said Indiya. Imperceptible to most people, Indiya could sense a subtle pulse of tension sweep the mess deck rapidly repurposed as an interrogation environment for Bloehn. “He is a former IFDF soldier who was recruited into the Resistance and has knowledge of several equipment caches left after the New Order invasion. In monitoring one cache, he received a message from his handler whom he knows as the Voice of the Resistance, in which he was warned of an imminent attack on the fleet by means of a devastating release of corrosion munitions. Details unknown. Identity of this Voice of the Resistance unknown. Independent verification of this warning impossible. I cannot rule out that Sergeant Bloehn is being used to deliver false intelligence on behalf of the enemy. Nonetheless, I can’t afford to ignore this warning.”
She activated the holo projector at the center of the deck and slaved its display to the tactical planner in her head. Ghostly blue 3-D balls appeared, showing the Earth-Luna system. The orbiting fleet and the captured defense platforms were shown as white, named icons.
“I understand the need to refit and reorganize the fighter squadrons,” she said, “but I want combat space patrols doubled immediately, and I want scout missions organized to seek out the source of this potential attack.”
Bloehn and forty Legionaries – half senior officers and half Marine guards – watched the holo in silence as the icons for scores of ships turned green.
“I’m cancelling the deployment of the 5th and 12th Army Groups. They are to join with the ships I am indicating to form a new Mars Reserve Fleet under the command of Commodore Hralathstan, who also takes command of the existing Mars garrison. They are to leave immediately. If an attack does come, I want a powerful reserve nearby but at a safe distance. I am willing to hear requests from fleet commanders about improvements to the new ship assignments, but only after Hralathstan reports that the new fleet is safely in place about Mars.”
With her mind mostly engaged with the complexity of constructing a balanced fighting force on the fly, complete with logistical and engineering support, troopships, orbital shuttles, and carving a viable X-Boat force out of the survivors of the battle for Earth orbit, it took a moment to register that someone was doing other than listen and absorb her orders without question. As she wrenched her attention back to the mess deck, she was floundering with the idea of who would question her.
Arun might, in extreme cases, but having officially returned from the dead, he was now making his way down to the surface to show his face to the frontline troops – and no doubt throw himself into more danger than he could cope with on his own. She felt the ghostly presence of Xin Lee, who had forever questioned Indiya’s strategy, but Xin was long gone. The epicenter of the disruption was this Earth sergeant, who was moving uneasily in the micro-gee from the ship’s rotation over to the holo-display, ignoring the twenty Marine carbines aimed at his heart and the shouted order to stop immediately or be shot.
The first thing she’d learned from Arun, back when they were both still kids, was that no matter how friendly, attentive, intelligent, handsome, and amorous a Marine might genuinely be, they could transform instantly into a ruthless and effective killing machine. These guards would not hesitate to shoot Bloehn dead.
“Stand down!” Indiya ordered the Marines. “Sergeant Bloehn. Your presence here is a courtesy. Frankly it is a courtesy I only extend to you because our operational security is so badly compromised by the New Order that even if you were Tawfiq’s unwitting spy, you will not learn anything she does not already know. You may speak at the appropriate moment, and that is not now. Return to your seat.”
“I glimpsed something earlier,” Bloehn said, pointing at the display. “Blue dots ahead of Earth orbit
when you were showing Mars. Can we zoom out again?”
Indiya waved away the two Marines moving to restrain Bloehn and did as he asked. It would be quicker to explain to him and then tell him to shut the frakk up.
The Earth and its moon shrunk to dots orbiting the Sun, the path of the orbit added in yellow. A cluster of blue dots were themselves orbiting a point sixty degrees ahead of Earth’s route around the Sun.
“You’re seeing Earth’s Trojans,” Indiya explained, “rocks and minor planetoids in libration around Earth’s L4 point, just a natural consequence of gravitation and orbital mechanics. Nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about. The words tasted false in her mouth. Why was that? And why wasn’t there a similar cluster of Trojans behind Earth orbit at its L5 point?
Bloehn growled, “I know what a fucking Trojan is.”
“Hey!” called Major Villeneuve, who commanded the Marines here. “Pay respect to the admiral!”
“I’ll show respect to people who deserve it,” growled the resistance man.
“Mother of a dog!” gasped Indiya. “The Earther’s right. Chodding Tawfiq! She’s kept her arsenal right under our noses the whole time. I’ve cross-referenced with pre-invasion astronomical data from Terrestrial astronomers. Earth has a handful of natural Trojans, but not that many. Whatever we’re seeing at L4… they’ve been planted by Tawfiq.”
“Damned right,” said Bloehn. “And hiding something in clear view is Tawfiq’s MO all right. Just her style.” He pointed at the suspect Trojans. “Her attack’s coming from there. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Kreippil,” said Indiya. “I want a patrol there ASAP.”
“I obey,” the First Fleet commander replied. “However, I note that I have already sent patrols there and they have reported nothing of interest.”
“Then look closer and look harder. I want boots on those rocks. I want engineers and miners and tech teams. Tear those Trojans apart.”
With Kreippil muttering commands to his subordinates to comply with Indiya’s order, a gloomy silence stifled the mess deck. Few now doubted the words of Bloehn or this mysterious Voice of the Resistance. Victory no longer seemed so assured, and the implications shot spikes of horror through Indiya’s gut. Tens of millions had already died at Indiya’s command, some of them civilians that she judged unable to be safely separated out from the effective prosecution of war. If the Legion lost this conflict, then the death toll as its many enemies took revenge would be vastly higher. That cold calculation was no comfort at all. Every time lives were lost as a result of her orders; the burden of responsibility was hers. And even though the death count had swelled to a number beyond comprehension, she felt the blow of each and every addition.
As the CO, that burden was her duty to bear. She had a responsibility to win this war. And with the prospect of an imminent counterattack from Tawfiq, she had to give the Legion every advantage she could find. No matter the cost.
“Aelingir!”
“Yes, Admiral,” replied the senior Legion commander on Earth’s surface.
“I am authorizing the Tanganyika Option. You have six hours to pull out.”
“Understood. We’ll be ready. Admiral… General McEwan is here with me. Forgive me, but I am unaware of the protocol here. Is the general aware of your orders?”
“Negative. That will be all. Indiya out.”
Long ago, the Reserve Captain had told her eager young humans that history would admire Xin Lee, study Indiya, and blame Arun. Didn’t seem to be working out that way so far. Xin Lee and her insatiable ego had taken half the Legion off to do Goddess-knew what, and Arun was not regarded as the hard-nosed killer that Indiya was. And he wouldn’t be… not if she had anything to do with it.
She realized that the Earther was trying to attract her attention. “Admiral,” he called, “I need to return. If the fighting is intensifying around Lake Tanganyika, then it is my duty to be in the thick of it.”
“No,” Indiya replied sadly.
“I am old,” protested Bloehn, “but I challenge anyone in this room to fire a rifle as accurately as me. I’m not afraid of fighting.”
“Well, you should be!” said Indiya hotly. “In any case, the Tanganyika Option is not about fighting. It’s about bringing an end to the fighting, at least in that region.”
When Bloehn’s eyes went wide with horror as he guessed what the Tanganyika Option entailed, Major Villeneuve moved her Marines in fast to restrain him.
This time, Indiya didn’t stop them.
— Chapter 49 —
“You are safe,” Indiya told the captive Faithful. “But you might hurt a little from the drug withdrawal.”
The soldier was one of several captured during the drive to the Great Rift Valley Line and shipped into orbit for interrogation. Despite a minor concussion, he’d been spitting defiance when the Littorane guards brought him into the brig. Ten hours later and the green smock he’d been given was plastered to his body with sweat, and his eyes struggled to focus, but he tried to peer now at the two figures come to torment him.
“This is a very bad idea,” Daex whispered to Indiya. “You’re doing this to taunt yourself. You have nothing to be ashamed for, no justification for guilt.”
Indiya rounded on her aide but stopped herself just short of yelling abuse.
Daex raised an eyebrow on her pale, scaly face. Nothing insubordinate, but just enough to make a point. The squid-like tentacles atop her otherwise humanoid face pulsed obscenely.
Chief Staff Officer Arbentyne-Daex was more than a flag officer; she helped keep Indiya sane too. Daex was a Kurlei; an empath people. Indiya could run fine-detail diagnostics of her own brain chemistry, but Daex was far better at understanding how Indiya was feeling. And why.
Indiya grimaced, the closest Daex would get to an apology. “Scouts report that Tawfiq is rotating Janissary units out of the front line and replacing with these Faithful. I need to know who and what they are. I can’t hide behind a button. I need to see their faces.”
“I can only understand half of what you freaks say,” croaked the prisoner, “but I can catch the gist of it.”
“Oh? And what is that?” Indiya asked.
“You’re weak. Those aren’t your words, but I can see it plainly on your faces. You are weak. The New Order has a saying. Strength through victory! Victory through Strength! That’s why we’ll win this war. Why humanity’s rightful place is to be the servants of the Hardits within the New Order hierarchy.”
“Thank you,” said Indiya. “That makes this a little easier.”
“You see… weak! The New Order doesn’t do what is easy, it does what is right.”
The flame of defiance was returning to the Faithful’s eyes, despite his obvious fatigue. It was more than exhaustion. All the captured Faithful had implants below the left ear, in mockery of where the Legion Marines had ports to hold their personal AIs. The New Order’s human soldiers didn’t have AIs, though. Tawfiq had given them a device that kept a constant supply of drugs into their bloodstream. What it contained was still being analyzed, but when she had first met the teenaged Marines aboard Beowulf, who would one day become the core of the Human Legion’s human forces, they had been robotic, slow, and followed orders blindly. And the drugs they had been given to mindlessly rebel against their senior officers had been designed and delivered by… Hardits.
Shame. She’d hoped that with the drugs out of his system, Tawfiq’s grip on the captive’s mind would have loosened.
Daex didn’t move a muscle, but her empathy worked in both directions and she gave Indiya the mental equivalent of a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Give him more time,” said the alien. “The drugs may take days to fully leave his system.”
“Time?” sneered the captive. “You might have drained my physical body of its strength, but my loyalty is unshakable. I’m not weak. I am Faithful.”
“Interesting you should mention your physical body. Your phalanges and metacarpals
are fused on both your little fingers. I imagine your grip is problematic. You have septal defects too – holes in your heart. They’re growing too. All you Faithful have these congenital conditions. Not enough to stop you fighting, but few of you could live a full and healthy life unless your conditions were treated. And the New Order clearly does not consider your life to be a concern. Can you explain why you have so many medical issues?”
The man spat on the deck. For a moment, Indiya was surprised by how young he looked, but when he lifted his face to her, she took him to be in his thirties but strangely difficult to age. “You call us weaklings, but it is you, Legion turd-stains who are the feeble ones.”
He spat again, trying to reach Indiya this time – too dumb to realize that nothing was getting past the invisible force shield. “I am not weak,” she informed him. “I have a conscience. It’s what’s kept me from dissecting you. So far.”
Indiya allowed Daex to shut the captive away by rendering his cage opaque. “I told you, Admiral. Nothing good will come of this. I have studied Earth history. Even the vilest conquerors spawned collaborators. It is natural for some humans to serve those who are stronger, no matter how great the dishonor. The man in there is a traitor. Treat him as such.”
From a distance, Daex filled her black Legion uniform like a slender human with an unauthorized hairstyle. There was no mistaking her alien nature now; her head distorted into a narrow spear head, her chin extending to a sharp point. It was a threat display, and although she’d seen it many times before, Indiya couldn’t help herself from flicking glances around the brig, looking instinctively for possible escape routes to flee this predator. It was why Kurlei had evolved their empathic ability – to hunt and to kill.
