Marine Defenders

by Isaac Stone

  A few more marines talked about their fallen friends. They’d all lost someone in the invasion. A few people commented how difficult it was to get very close to anyone, as you never knew who would be next. Sura decided it was time to bring this memorial service to a close and turned to extinguish the candle.

  “Could I say something, commander?” Kushmanda asked her. The entire refugee section turned their eyes to her with hope.

  “Make it fast,” Sura said. “We have to leave this building very soon.”

  “I am grateful for Shamsana and Krodha who spared my life out on the street. They could have abandoned me there or any time before we reached the building. Instead, they risked their lives to bring me here. If that isn’t honor, I don’t know what is.”

  Sura turned and looked at the refugees. Some were weeping. Then, one by one, they came forward to touch Kushmanda’s feet. One at a time they would approach her, drop down, honor her, and then fall back. Soon the entire room lined up to give her grace.

  See what you let her do, Tripada’s told the commander with a look. Sura was furious, but could do nothing. One glance from her told every marine with the same idea not to act on it.

  When the last one finished, Commander Sura stood up and finished her part of the service. She said words hardly remembered and extinguished the candle in front of the trident.

  At least I remembered to make the lines today, she thought. Sura glanced around and noticed everyone had painted some mark on their forehead. Even the marines had three lines on their brows, which was probably to show loyalty to her since several of them where from the other side of the planet.

  “Alright,” she announced, “time to move. I want everyone on escort duty with these civilians out the door in five minutes. Two marines to their front, two to the rear, the rest in support. The radios have been out for the past three weeks. I need the base station in case we ever raise HQ. I’ll let them know you’re on the way if we get them. Everyone who stays with me knows what to do.”

  Chapter 9

  Basepholon was alone.

  He liked being alone when he was pissed off. When he was alone, no one bothered him and demanded his opinion on every small matter. Dammit, what was wrong with this latest batch of recruits? They all claimed to be deadly killers, but when the other side attacked; they melted like ice in the sun. He’d tried to warn them away from the trap they were about to fall into, but did they listen? And when they took fire, the group went crazy and ran in all directions. This from a bunch of recruits who begged to prove themselves when he needed volunteers to take control of a building full of refugees.

  It had turned out to have more than a few scared women and children. He’d taken care of the scout that swore it was an easy target. There would be one less body at roll call in his unit tomorrow and the other scouts would get the message.

  They’d walked right into a whole division of the local badasses and his green recruits were wiped out to a man. He alone had escaped. In some historical armies, it was considered a dishonor for a superior officer to survive over the men under him. Not in the Synarchy. Not with so many conscripts signing up to get in on the goods.

  He put these thoughts out of his mind as he finished his latest project in the former storage locker he’d taken over for his private office. Actually, he had two offices, the outer one, which everyone saw, and the inner one, where he was right now. He needed some place to get away from the insanity, some place to figure out what to do next and, most important, some place to pray.

  Officially, he was part of the Synarchy Forces on this disgusting planet to add an important strategic point to the glory of the Synarchy. Unofficially he was there for his own reasons.

  Part of those reasons involved the construction of the small statue that was in front of him. The Revolutionary Committee would frown on such open displays of superstition, but he didn’t care. Let the Synarch rant about scientific governance, he had other reasons for being here on Jyotish. He added a small piece of broken ceramic and stood back to look at his creation.

  She was almost finished. Not quite the beautiful sixty-foot statue that once stood on his hometown, but he wanted to get close. It was a shame he’d destroyed that statue and the image of it would always be in his mind. He’d used it many times on many worlds. Besides, destroying the ancient statue endeared him to the Synarchists. As if he would ever have amounted to much as a government administrator on a hick town in a hick star system. The arrival of the Synarchist troops was his ticket out of his humble paperwork job.

  And it had been worth it all to see the look on the faces of the over-fed assholes on the town council when he’d detonated the bomb that blew-up the statue.

  Now things had changed. She was after him and he knew it. She came to him in his dreams and he needed to do something to keep Her happy. At first, he thought every one he gunned down on the planet would satisfy Her, but She retuned each night in his dreams. He had to find a way to appease Her. Dedicating each campaign to Her in private seemed to work in the past, but not lately. He’d volunteered for the occupation duties on Jyotish as one means to get Her to leave him alone, but She wouldn’t go away.

  She had to be here in the flesh and he was determined to find Her. If he could find Her, he could control Her and She would no longer bother him in his dreams.

  Basepholon was certain that young woman was Her in the flesh. She had to be the avatar. It was the only explanation. He’d even heard her called Kushmanda. When he heard the name used, he almost dropped his gun, but he was on the way out of the building and couldn’t stop. However, the next time he would capture that woman. He would bend her to his will. She would no longer trouble his dreams.

  This was the woman who’d walked up to one of his seasoned troopers, the one who’d climbed up the elevator shaft, and killed him. The man was a veteran of twelve campaigns and he let her come right next to him! Only someone with divine powers could pull that off. It wasn’t possible. This convinced him the woman was the one he needed.

  “You’ve followed me all the way here,” he said to the image of the Woman in front of his face. “I’ll have you for myself. We’ll have sons; I’ll create an empire and give it to you. It is my will.”

  He stepped back and looked at his creation. To most people it would resemble a pile of junk, but not to Basepholon. It was an image of his Beloved, his Divinity, his Deity. He’d worked hard on Her since arrival and now She was almost complete. He would bring that woman here after she was captured. He would tell the others it was for interrogation. They wouldn’t bother him; they knew what would happened if they did. The Synarch trusted and supported Basepholon, had he not brought many star systems into his rule?

  He would never know the reason why Basepholon was such a good follower until it was too late. It was such a simple thing to do, build you own group of supporters. When the time came, he would be able to call on them.

  In another part of the city, Sir Nagashi kneeled in front of the surcoat on the wall. It was the only thing he was able to bring along which reminded him of why he fought. Although the polymer from which the surcoat was constructed was almost indestructible, it had been through quite a bit today. He would have to get it repaired when he returned.

  His mind entered a space where time stopped. It was part of the training his class received from an early age. It was almost as important as learning the correct way to shoot a gun or where to angle your sword when needed.

  It frustrated him he wasn’t able to use his sword for much on this mission. It was difficult enough climbing around on these buildings with a pistol and rifle. Too many times, he was forced to find a place to leave his rifle until needed. The only steel he kept in blade form while he was outside was the knife he carried. He kept the sword hidden with the rest of the supplies he’d brought down to the surface with him. This room had been a laboratory at one time; it might be one again someday.

  He was supposed to let the Synarchists complete their capture of the
city, then start killing them one by one. If he had to kill a bunch before they took the city, it wasn’t a problem. All he had to do was make sure there were enough left to signal to the rest of the Synarchist Forces they had control of the city.

  Once the Synarchists were assured of control, they would move to occupy Parmesh. When they set up their own offices and began to move the remainder of the troops from the other worlds to the planet, he would let his prince know what had taken place. At which point they would begin to land a lot of knights. He’d have the original Synarchist troops in the capital dead by then and they knew knights could handle the rest.

  His thoughts began to turn to the young woman who’d interrupted the fight between the proconsul and himself. She seemed…different. There was an old story about an avatar who would walk on all the distant worlds. He’d traveled to many places and there was always the same variation of it. It was mere superstation; the only divinity he recognized was his king. Yet, there was something different about this woman. He’d spared her life because she reminded him of what he’d heard. He tried to put her out of his mind. She seemed to radiate an energy he couldn’t identify. He made up his mind to spare again her if possible. She needed to be taken to the court. Perhaps the king could find some use for her. If there was any truth to these prophesies, best to have her under their control. He’d seen enough things not to dismiss what he did not understand.

  Those local marines had done a lot of damage to the Synarchists. Perhaps he could let them do more for him.

  And then he’d kill them too.

  Chapter 10

  It was late in the afternoon and the four of them were in the library five blocks away from the ministry building. The column of refugees had departed to the nearest camp, which was supposed to be on the outskirts of the city. The marines sent to escort them out were long gone. With their supplies down to subsistence level, she didn’t think it wise to keep them around any longer. They would have to complete their mission with what they had available. The three marines she had left would have to do it.

  Kushmanda tried to stay out of their way as the commander went over the maps with Tripada. They tried to figure out what to attack as far as the Synarchists were concerned. Tripada stood next to her and told her the specifics on each location. Shardhula was downstairs watching the door. It there was any kind of massive assault on the library he was to fire off a warning shot for the rest of them. This left one more marine, the young man named Jargdash, to cover the upper parts of the building.”

  “At least we can move around faster,” the commander mentioned when she watched the column vanish down the city street. “I never planned to be here this long, but war has a way of progressing on its own terms.”

  Kushmanda sat at the end of the table and seemed to hear something. The commander looked up from her map and watched the woman cock her ear in another direction. Kushmanda bothered her. Why hadn’t she sent this crazy woman with the rest of them? Because she could handle a gun and might be an asset later. At least that was the story she told herself.

  “Do you hear something?” Sura asked her. “Anything we need to know?” Tripada looked up too.

  “You keep acting strange every time I tell you my name,” Kushmanda said. “Why is that?”

  Sura turned to her second and stared at him in disbelief. She turned back to the young woman.

  “You don’t know the story of Kushmanda?” she asked her. “I mean the story we were all taught in school?” She was stunned.

  “She might be off-world, commander,” Tripada told her. “It would explain a few things.”

  “I don’t know much of anything,” the young woman said. “It’s all a blank before those two found me in the street. So who is this woman I am named for?”

  “The reason we are all here,” Commander Sura announced. “Navadurga Devi Kushmanda. She appeared to our ancestors a thousand years ago on old earth and told them it was time to leave Tamil Nadu for a place in the stars. She took the form of a small child and people collected enough money to build the star fleet that brought us here. Holy Mother Kushmanda, the creator of the universe and the savior of our people.”

  Sura thought for a minute then remembered the stories she used to hear from her parents. At the time, they didn’t make much sense. Old tales the old people used to keep themselves entertained on dark nights. The sort of stories you amused yourself with when playing outside. She was always Kushmanda, her brother got to be Radha.

  It was something they lectured to you at temple. It wasn’t the same world her ancestors had left and for that she was grateful. She’d heard the teachers lecture on the disease, sickness, wars and deaths that took place on Old Earth. The planet was still around, mostly as a tourist destination. People made pilgrimages to the holy sites, but they’d never interested her. In the back of her mind as a kid, and adult, she felt her destiny involved the kind of greatness you didn’t gain from piling up money or useless knowledge. This was why she’d never married, in spite of her parent’s insistence. A family would have been in the way of what she was destined to do, or so she felt.

  And it appeared she’d been right all along.

  “In the dark days,” she recited from memory, “before the humanity spread to the stars, our people were trapped in misery and poverty on Earth. We did the worst sort of jobs imaginable and died by the thousands every day. While our betters lorded it over us, we were looked down upon and treated as if diseased.”

  “By that time, many had left Earth in droves for the stars, but our people could not leave. No one wanted to help us. There were still dangerous and disgusting jobs that needed to be done. This was our lot in life. It was always so, no one could imagine a way it might be better.”

  Sura paused, trying to remember what she’d been taught as a child. It wasn’t even the same kind of language people spoke these days, so the words were difficult to remember. “Out of the North, men with guns came and tried to take women away from the families. They tried to kill our children and drive them into the sea. Many died, more than ever before. The people cried for salvation, but none came.”

  “Out of the hills a woman who was of child bearing age came and proclaimed the Nagadurga had heard them and their deliverance was at hand. They called her Kushmanda and she spoke everywhere. People rose up and defeated the men from the North. They were driven back beyond the mountains. Kushmanda told everyone she would be back someday, but it was time to leave Old Earth. Money was raised and an entire star fleet was constructed to take our people to this new world.”

  “She left as quickly as she came, but promised to come back. And that is why we celebrate our deliverance each year.”

  Commander Sura ceased speaking for a while.

  “You left out the part about how she slew ten thousand enemies with the weapons carried in each of her many arms,” Tripada mentioned. “Also how she was the wife of Lord Shiva.”

  “I gave her the short version, alright?” Sura returned. “I thought everyone knew the long one. How could anyone miss the story around these parts? There are at least four of the biggest temples on the planet dedicated toSri Kushmanda in this city.”

  “Is there anything else I need to know about her?” Kushmanda asked her. “Look, my head drifts in and out. I don’t know any of this, but I suppose I’m supposed to know it all. I don’t even know if I have a family or not.”

  “It’s not this planet alone where she’s recognized as a saint,” Tripada told her. “Her name is known across the settled galaxy. You’ll find shrines and temples to her everywhere. Everyone knows about the story of how she was an avatar of the Nagadurgas. She was more than just a saint, people around here consider her a symbol of the Compassion of Heaven.”

  “Funny,” the young woman said, “I don’t feel like an angel. The way I killed those troopers made me feel like a demon. I take it that Kushmanda isn’t a common name?”

  “No, it’s not,” Sura told her. “Most people don’t say her name unl
ess they want to invoke her protection. Now do you understand why all those refugees were bowing in your direction? They think you’re the real Kushmanda returned to save us from the invaders. They think you’re the one who will deliver them in their hour of need.”

  “Heaven must be very desperate if they want to use me,” Kushmanda laughed. “I don’t know who I am, where I come from, or how I got here.”

  “I would like to point out,” Tripada spoke. “This was the same way the other Kushmanda was supposed to have been found. Lost, abandoned and not sure who she was. It wasn’t till later that she became aware of her mission and stopped the men from the North.”

  “I thought you said she had many arms,” Kushmanda pointed out.

  “In her divine form. In her human form she looked the same as anyone else.”

  “I see. It would appear someone wants me to play a role. I guess. Or I’m an avatar just as she was of something much more powerful than any human. Perhaps I need to do some miracles.”

  “We are going to need them,” Sura responded. “Unless we get another message and some relief from HQ, it will take a miracle to get us out alive.”

  Kushmanda turned and looked at her. “I thought you told the marines you sent away that you had all you needed to complete the mission?”

  “Oh, I do. Just not enough to get any of us out of here alive.”

  Chapter 11

  Sir Nagashi felt it was time. He rose from his sitting position and reached for his armor. It was stacked near him. This was a careful and deliberate process. It would be easier to do it with a squire, but this time he’d been sent in alone. He would make do.

  First came the leg armor, which amounted to a harness that fitted over his shoulders. Next came the belt, which protected his gut. A chest plate fit over the top and wrapped around the back. He snapped the shoulders of his arm protectors to the shoulder points of the harness. Another protector fitted around his throat. He slipped his helm on last and locked the visor down. He’d learned how to see out of it over the years without much trouble.