The Oppressed

by Matt Thomas

  “Okay. Thanks for that. So, as you can guess, this is your read-on to Operation Aeneas. This is a TS-level compartmentalized program. To emphasize the sensitivity of this operations, one of the reasons we picked you all for this is that you’re not on a large carrier like Intrepid. On a battleship like Indomitable, you all are the only real pilots. We figure you guys are a small enough community you can keep everything in-house. The rest of the crew isn’t going to notice what you guys are up to once you leave the ship, or really care. So let’s try to keep it that way, okay?”

  Everyone nodded, although Jean really had no idea what the man was talking about.

  “Aeneas is an Operational Preparation of the Environment mission laying the groundwork to retake Earth.” The man said.

  “What exactly does that mean?” Quinn asked.

  “OPE means that we have boots on ground on Earth, prepping landing-zones, getting locals ready to support us, things like that.” Major Gretter said so bluntly it took a moment for the meaning of the words to sink in.

  The pilots looked at each other in disbelief. “Wait, we have people on Earth right now?” Quinn said.

  The intel officer nodded. “Yes we do. We have one team on the ground already. You got why this is a big deal?”

  “Yeah, I think we get that.” Sasha answered.

  “Great. You guys are going to be tasked with conducting some recon of the system. We’ve got some standard ANS Triple Seven targeting pods that we’ve modified to do detailed surveys of the Solar System. We’ll plug them into your Petrel’s torpedo mount just like any other pod. Columbia will open a wormhole and you’ll jump to the system, flick them on, record for a bit, and at a pre-determined time the wormhole will reopen and you come back.”

  “How are we going to remain hidden if you’re opening a wormhole?” Jean asked.

  “Well, that’s the catch.” The intelligence officer gave an apologetic smile. “In order to remain hidden, this is going to be an endurance mission. We’ll dump you all out right at terminal shock. The distortions and the small size of the wormhole should keep you from being detected deeper in the system. At that distance though, it’s going to take more than ten hours for the sensor sweep to get all the way to the sun and another ten hours for the return. We want a four hour reading, so we’re going to keep you guys out there for a whole twenty-four hours each time. Pack some water, protein, and a book to read. We’ll send out both of your fighters each time so you can watch each other. I know it sucks, but we don’t want to risk opening the wormhole enough to have you guys send the scan, come back, and then go back again to receive it. We’ll probably have you all do this a couple of times to get all angles.”

  “Any idea how many?” Dauod asked.

  “As many as it takes. We’ll have to see the data you’re able to pull the first time or two to identify any holes in our coverage. We have one other flight, Cobra One and Two, that will be splitting the workload with you. I just finished reading them onto the program on Redoubtable this morning.”

  He popped up a map on the screen with the words “TOP SECRET - AENEAS” emblazoned across the top and bottom. It showed a clear map of the solar system with all the necessary landmarks. Two words were highlighted, one near Earth and another out near the asteroid belt.

  “It is possible, particularly as time goes on, that you may pick up transmissions. Your equipment is sensitive to pick up some signals and to decode friendly encryption. The two main assets you may hear from are Thunder, which is variant of a Barracuda-class assault ship that we’re using for logistical support, and Beast Two-Two, our team on the ground. Depending on the mission profile, we may ask you to transmit to them, but I’m just letting you know this because we may have them transmit data to you. We can get bigger files through the pod faster than we can sending bits and pieces through the QEM devices. It saves us some bandwidth.” He closed the map. “I’m just reading you onto the operation. I’m not going to give you individual mission briefs, but do you all have any questions?”

  Quinn raised his hand. “So, what are we supposed to tell our crew chiefs, the rest of the squadron, or anyone else who notices we disappear into a wormhole for a day at a time?”

  “We have a cover for this mission. It’s called Operation Ithaca. That’s a secret-level program that’s supposed to be about preparing to liberate Proxima. There’s only a handful of people who know it’s not Proxima we’re doing recon on.”

  “What are the rules of engagement?” Jean asked after careful consideration.

  The officer shrugged. “You should be far enough out that it won’t be a problem. If they detect you, find you, and get to light speed to go get you, well... I guess that’s why you’ll fly in pairs.”

  “That’s comforting.” Dauod quipped. “Is this a volunteer thing?”

  “Not really. No.” He said bluntly.

  “Okay, then.”

  The intelligence officer picked up his briefcase and scanned the room again. “I know this isn’t the sexiest part of the operation, but our guys on the ground and Thunder can’t get us the data we need. This is all part of getting us, and I mean all of us, back home. I know it’s not much, but it’s something to at least think about while you’re hanging out at the edge of the solar system.” He checked one more time for questions, and disappeared through the hatch.

  Jean stood up and stretched. The other three just stared at each other, unsure what to do with the information they had just received. “Well, I guess I’d better find some reading material.”

  *****

  The Conclave was a rare animal. In the decades of occupation, the Speaker had been to only five. Governors were expected to run their own districts and manage their own humans and Metic Ahai. The Occupation Oversight Committee provided occasional guidance or participation from Khuu Divrack as the Minister of Indigenous People, Khuu Rekai, Minister of the Hetarek, Khuu Thrael, Minister of Resources, and Darga Kahil as both the leader of the Crimson Guard and Minister of Security, and direction from Kevak Akkad, but the regional leaders remained kings of their own fiefdoms. The Committee rarely interfered in their business, much less summoned them. In fact, strangely, the Speaker was the most frequently seen face from the Committee as he went region to region, commune to commune, to interface with the other humans. The Committee met with the regions, but individually. Bringing them all together around one table under the banner of the Hetarek Empire, the four deep green inverted tear drops spaced as fore-claws around a matching circle on blue-gray field, happened only when major decisions needed to be made.

  He knew what was about to be said, and he knew the impact it would have on the Hetarek, but secretly he was a bit relieved, if uncertain. He had no stake in the occupation, not this late in the game at least. He had once, when the occupation meant that he could survive the Hetarek invasion of the Twins, rescuing him from that shipwrecked community, and he got to see Earth, something his family had not done in three generations. The novelty and relief of the experience had worn away as he was exposed to greater and greater brutality. He couldn’t tell himself that he hadn’t known what the Hetarek did. He knew the moment he first laid eyes on them, watching from afar as they butchered the elders of his community. Now, he saw his role as mitigating the inevitable losses. This conference meant that, perhaps, the oppression was not inevitable for much longer.

  Kevak Akkad spoke from his bench at the head of the table, the graying scales starting to peel around his slitted eyes as he reached the end of his lifespan. His voice, once booming in his prime ten years before, had become scratchy and hoarse to the point where the Speaker hardly understood it. We are at risk of failure. He began, to no one’s surprise. Our success on this planet, and in our greater enterprise, has always relied on self-sufficiency. At this great distance, we have no hope of resupply from the Empire, even if doing so would not destroy the honor of our clan and any hope we had of ascending to the Hegemony of the Empire. We must evaluate ourselves.
We must decide whether our clan will leave this planet as either conquerors or failures.

  Khuu Thrael, known amongst the rest of the Conclave for a slavish devotion to numbers second only to his devotion to self-aggrandizement, made a faint squeal to draw attention away from the Executor and towards himself. Kevak, respectfully the failure is not universal. Our production in their African content of rare minerals remains extremely high, as do our productions in the arctic.

  Yet your productions come at a high cost, Khuu Thrael. Dirvrack responded. Your humans die at a high rate, requiring a surplus of humans to meet your quotas. The number of humans needed annually solely for your mining operations are higher than they were when we arrived on this planet.

  Kahil let out an exasperated grunt. Thrael was a hatching when we landed, Dirvrack. He won’t remember such things.

  My production quotas are ten percent higher than my predecessors. Thrael defended himself.

  And require nearly twenty percent more humans. Dirvack replied quickly yet calmly. Your efficiency per human has decreased significantly. Humans are resource intensive. They require a greater variety of nourishment and more of it. It’s a wonder they survived in space at all. More humans for your production means more humans to support those humans, which means more Metic Ahai, which means more of Darga Kahil’s security forces, which means more Metic Ahai and more humans.

  And we have no more Ahai and no more Hetarek. Khuu Rekai interjected. Our hatcheries produce as quickly as our queens reproduce. And our queens require schleckt, and our people require schleckt, and schleckt requires humans and Metic Ahai.

  The Kevak held up his front claws. We knew these humans would test us, that they would take all we had to secure this planet and make it profitable for the Empire. Now, we struggle to maintain balance without a thought of profit. You must improve efficiency in the use of your humans if we are to provide some benefit to the Empire and ascend into the Hegemony.

  Thrael shifted uncomfortably. Kevak, doing so would decrease our production.

  Decreasing our production may reduce our needs. It does not mean we will be profitable.

  The Speaker, from his seat behind Dirvrack, leaned in with a confidence that annoyed the less-educated governors present. “Kevak,” he began in English, Dirvrak translating for the benefit of the conclave. “We could further decrease resources by lowering the ratios during the Inventories. If the humans exceed expectations on production, they still lose one percent of their workforce each inventory. They will still maintain the appropriate respect through punitive measures.”

  Not in my region. One of the governors, from the European continent, spat. We continually remind them of our authority.

  And yet you continually fail to maintain security. Kahil said. You have the highest ratio of security incidents per human of any governor here.

  The governor appeared as though he would speak again, before Divrack directly faced the Executor. Kevak, I agree with my Speaker. We must plan for deaths by disease and accident, by aging beyond utility, and by loss through Inventory. The governor’s district exemplifies this. It has the lowest productivity, and highest Inventory percentage, of anyone present. The Inventory percentage clearly does not have the desired effect with these humans.

  The Kevak lay flat on his couch, a sign of deep thought. After a few moments, his head raised again. If we reduced production by five percent, reduced Inventory costs by one percent, would we contribute to the Empire?

  Thrael mimicked the deep thought. I believe it would, Kevak, but barely.

  We would have to study it, Kevak. Dirvrak said.

  Do. He commanded. All Dunds, you must increase efficiencies within your regions. He stood, followed by all others. Failure by you means failure by us. And if we are to fail, it is better that we fail now and return to the Empire, than remain here to die.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Driving on his home planet was completely alien. Not that anyone else in either his truck or the truck a hundred meters ahead of him would admit it, but anxiety infested their first covert trip through the region.

  That anxiety wasn’t helped when the tail lights ahead of them slowed, and Smythstyne did the same, keeping their interval. The vehicles easily carried more years than Bryan did. Welding marks covered areas where the body had rusted through. The interior a patchwork of scraps of cloth and heavy-duty tape. The interior lights flickered each time they hit a bump in the road. The engine ran on both diesel and solar power. Byran couldn’t remember the last time he heard an internal combustion engine. The trucks were as worn and resilient as their owners.

  The radio cracked in Bryan’s ear.

  “We got a check point.” Jess’s voice announced through the earpiece from twenty-five meters ahead.

  “Wasn’t the whole purpose of taking this route at night to avoid checkpoints?” Alan Starek asked from the back.

  “Shut the fuck up.” Jess replied.

  Flood lights turned on further up the road as it wound up a gentle hill. The lights blurred their vision so that no one could make out anything around the silhouette of the other truck.

  Shifting behind him told Bryan that his teammates were preparing themselves for the worst as casually as possible, unzipping their backpacks and shoving civilian clothes aside for better access to their weapons. A figure, large enough that it could only be Hetarek, obscured by the intensity of the floodlights, approached the first truck, emerging from the black beyond the illumination. He saw the figure lean in towards the window and extend a hand to accept the forged paperwork. He stepped back for a moment, examining the documents, and then leaned back in. From a distance, Bryan could see the Hetarek had his weapon ready.

  “Is it typical to have a checkpoint out here at night?” Smythstyne asked no one who would know the answer.

  The Hetarek figure shifted suddenly, and the white reverse lights on the first truck illuminated and accelerated backwards. The Hetarek raised his weapon and fired.

  “Fuck.”

  The first truck stopped at the same time that gunfire emerged from it, knocking down the Hetarek. Seconds later, a heavy weapon opened up from behind the spotlights. Sparks began to strike off the metal frame, and gunfire continued to flash back at the two vehicles or emplacements hidden by the lights.

  Bryan weighed his options only briefly. “Alan, get the Three-Fifty out and get their attention.” Instantly, the weapons sergeant jumped out of his door and climbed into the bed of the truck, looking for his weapon.

  Smythstyne pulled his pistol and started firing through the windshield. The muzzle flash had it intended effect, and one of the machine guns found Bryan’s truck. Rounds streaked overhead. Bryan dove under the dashboard as glass and metal began to fly. “O, give me comms.” He shouted.

  The staccato hammering of the M350 began pounding away from to roof of the cab. The metal clink of spent cartridges rained down on the truck. Smythstyne grabbed Bryan’s rifle and began popping off more effective shots. The reports of the weapon echoed inside the vehicle.

  Siskind’s hand appeared over the center console, radio handset in it.

  “Serpent Eight-Two, Beast Two-Two!” Bryan yelled into the receiver. His ears rang with the gunfire around him. Two more heavy weapons erupted, and from the muzzle flash and elevation he knew they were mounted atop a pair of Komodo armored vehicles. All the Hetarek heavy weapons were trained at them at the moment. It bought the first vehicle some space. Smythstyne killed the truck lights and reversed to put some distance between themselves and the weapons.

  “Serpent Eight-Two, Beast Two-Two!” He yelled again. The glove box exploded as a round hit it.

  “Serpent Eight-Two, Beast Two-Two!” O started firing his own rifle from less than a foot from Bryan’s ear.

  “Beast Two-Two, Serpent Eight-Two, go ahead.”

  “TIC TIC TIC!” He yelled. “SALT-A report: Size, ten-to twenty with two Komodos engaging with heavy weapons. Friendly location .
. .” He stared at his tablet and rattled off his coordinates. “Enemy location two positions, one-hundred meters northeast and one hundreds meter southeast of my position. Time: now. Requesting Loki.”

  “Beast Two-Two, Serpent Eight-Two copies all. What’s friendly status?”

  “Friendly status unknown at this time.”

  “Roger, Beast Two-Two. Loki on station in two mikes.” Two minutes was a long time to go through the firefight without a satellite giving them situational awareness.

  “Best Two-Two out.”

  Bryan stuck his head over the dashboard. The fire had lightened up some, but he counted muzzle flashes along the ridge. He could still see fire coming from the first truck. He keyed his radio. “Jess, what’s your status.”

  He heard no response, other than another volley of fire from the first truck.

  “Jess, we’ve got eyes en route.”

  “Copy.” He heard the tension in her voice.

  The fire from their right lessened just enough. The heavy weapon on that side fired intermittently rather than in a continuous stream. It must have begun overheating. “Alan, clear them some space on their right.”

  The arching spheres of energy flying over head swung right and increased intensity. The Hetarek gun slowed to a halt.

  “Beast Two-Two, Serpent Eight-Two.”

  “Go for Beast Two-Two.”

  “Beast Two-Two, Loki reports you have eight heat signatures on the hill with one truck on either side of the road. Three of four signatures to your northeast are fading. Scan of the immediate area shows nothing else nearby.” The visuals from an overhead satellite, put in place long before the team arrived, traveled instantly across light-years thanks to quantum physics. Someone lightyears away on Columbia interpreted the images and sent a report back across the vastness of space through Bryan’s earpiece.

  “Roger.” He managed to get out.

  He turned to Smythstyne. “Get us up on their right side.” He keyed his mic. “Jess, we’re coming up next to you.”