by John F. Carr
Soon the natural leaders emerged, keeping things from getting out of hand, by force of personality or sometimes sheer muscle power. Zold saw one big busted redhead, her ragged gown now fallen down to her waist, break up a fight by cracking the fighters’ heads together.
He was just marking the woman down in his own mind as a prime reward for after the battle, when he heard the hammer of boots on stone coming down the hall. Half a dozen Soldiers ran up, in full combat gear.
Zold heard no orders. He suspected nobody needed any. He certainly had his own pistol out the moment the Soldiers didn’t ground arms.
Half the newly-issued weapons were inoperable or empty. Half the rest were in the hands of cattle who didn’t know one end from another. But a quarter of nearly two hundred females meant a lot of bullets.
The six Soldiers fired point blank into the women.
Their rifles left bloody writhing, screaming corpses littering the floor. Some of the women were beginning to fire back and two of the Soldiers went down.
One of the Soldiers who’d helped open the crates, a Patrol Leader, stepped forward to finish off a fallen Soldier. This swung his broad back toward the redhead. She jammed the muzzle of her hunting rifle against the back of the Patrol Leader’s neck and shot. The bullet exited through his mouth and he fell face-down amid the corpses.
Zold shot the redhead, shot her three times; but the signal had been given. Somehow she stayed on her feet, and shot him in the thigh. Only a minor flesh wound—he was able to mentally stop the flow of blood instantly—hardly worth noticing even if Zold had been a mere Soldier.
Then the redhead went down, but as she did, two more allied Soldiers joined her on the floor. Zold backed away, picking off individual females with single shots. One of the Cyborgs was hit hard in the chest. The other two Cyborgs took both his arms and followed Zold up the stairs.
Below them they heard further shots, as the women finished off the fallen Soldiers. Zold and his companions looked at each other, with the same Did you see it, too? look on their faces.
Zold was beginning to wonder if any of his plans were working the way they had been intended. A revolt, it appeared, was easier to start than control.
II
The whine of the overhead rotors changed pitch. Over-Assault Leader Helm looked up from his data terminal to see Firebase Two, just outside Falkenberg, growing beneath him. From this altitude he could see most of the northeast sector of the Shangri-La Valley, and the half-dozen radiant patterns that defined the rest of the Firebase system Diettinger had decreed.
And which I made possible, Helm thought with satisfaction.
As Groundmaster for the Invasion, Helm had been in absolute control of the bridgehead where the Fomoria’s troops had initially landed. Wielding the power of life and death in that zone, Helm had coordinated the activities of over two thousand assault personnel and all their equipment—almost single-handedly. And Diettinger himself had commended him for it.
Helm contrived to turn his head as he enjoyed the view, running his chin over the shoulder boards of an Over-Assault Leader, equivalent to what the Imperials referred to as a general. Important as that job had been, his promotion to full Staff Rank had been for other reasons. His decision to place all their most crucial technical gear under heavy guard, with first priority for transport to the Citadel, had retained the technological edge for the Saurons. That, he was certain, was the real reason for his promotion.
Helm’s mood soured. The Citadel, he thought as the transport settled to the pad. What madness incited the Cyborgs to revolt? A hundred times, First Rank had made it clear that our purpose in coming here was the preservation of the Race, and every Sauron held the Cyborgs to be the future of the Race.
He shook his head as he crossed the field to the command bunker. The Cyborgs want it all right now. Is there something wrong with the breed, or was the fault always there and it just took the right catalyst to bring it out?
Helm was ushered directly into the presence of the First Citizen. With the commander-in-chief were Lady Althene, Breedmaster Caius, and Helm’s immediate superior, Deathmaster Quilland.
“Over-Assault Leader Helm, what is the present situation at the Citadel?” Diettinger asked almost before Helm could sit down.
“Sir, there is currently a force of renegade Cyborgs and Soldiers in control of the southwest wing of the fortress, some eighty percent of which has completed renovation. Cyborgs and their allies number about company strength, with substantial firepower, and full complement of melee weaponry.”
Helm flicked a glance toward the Breedmaster. “The full staff of Sauron female breed stock is quartered in that area. Reported casualties are twelve Soldiers dead, forty wounded, against ten dead Cyborg allies.”
“Any cattle activity in the mountains surrounding the Citadel?” Diettinger asked.
“Yes, First Rank—I mean Citizen. A large movement of hostile cattle all converging on the Citadel. Many of them wear the butternut uniforms of the Haven Volunteers.”
“Cummings again! He seems to let very few opportunities slip by. I would give a thousand breeders to know his source of information—”
“First Citizen,” Helm interrupted. “I have some manpower and material requests here which will allow for the speedy resolution of the issue.” Helm gave his best impression of Quilland’s wintry smile. “So we can get back to the business of building a new Homeworld.”
Diettinger scanned the list briefly. “Tetr-Ox Seven? Nerve gas?” he asked quietly.
Helm nodded, he had requested the most potent riot-control gas in their arsenal, from Tetr-Ox Seven, the next step up was poison. “Of course, First Rank, it will severely impair the Cyborgs while only debilitating the hostages and non-combatants. I have also requested four Mark VII fusion assault weapons, man-portable. These will be used to dispatch the Cyborgs once we gain entry.”
Diettinger looked to Breedmaster Caius. The genetics officer’s mouth was a slash of repressed anger as he spoke: “First Rank, well over half of these non-combatants are already pregnant, and those are well into the crucial first trimester. Tetr-Ox Seven has several side effects, not the least of which is that it acts as an oxygen binding agent in the bloodstream. The effects on our breeding stock would very likely result in the death of the mother—certainly to the fetus.”
Helm was puzzled. “We have more cattle women coming in every day, Breedmaster. Surely even the Sauron breeders, as such, are expendable.”
The air in the room went to ice as the Lady Althene leaned forward slightly in her chair. “Over-Assault Leader Helm, I remind you that every one of those ‘Sauron breeders’ is an active-duty Soldier and every one of them accepted their assignments as a part of their duty as Soldiers.”
Helm winced as though he had been struck.
“They are not cattle, they are Saurons, and as such they are most certainly not expendable,” she finished.
“I misspoke,” he replied lamely.
“Over-Assault Leader Helm, thank you for your report,” Diettinger said simply. “You are hereby relieved of command of all Citadel Forces. Over-Assault Leader Varner, as second-in-command, will assume your duties. Tomorrow you assume command of the Southwest Sector Firebases. Dismissed.”
Helm slumped down in his seat wishing that he had a parachute so he could vacate the chopper.
Relieved? A relief—let Varner worry about the unwell Saurons and their allies. Even so, the Southwest Sector was disorganized, constantly re-securing pacified areas; in short, badly in need of an organizational shake-down. Helm smiled: Diettinger was using him as his personal troubleshooter!
Helm was pleased.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the First Citizen’s office at Firebase Two, outside of Falkenberg, Diettinger turned to Quilland. “Deathmaster, I assume you are aware of the—insufficiencies, let’s call them—in Helm’s plan?”
“Ah... Yes, First Citizen.” Diettinger could see him hold back a groan. Quilland share
d Helm’s desire to rid the Citadel, and elsewhere, of Cyborgs. But, unlike Helm who could not always be trusted to ‘improve’ upon his orders, Quilland knew where the spirit of the order laid and would do his duty as commanded.
“I am putting you in command of the force to retake the Citadel. Be sure and coordinate your efforts with Over-Assault Leader Varner, and be sure he understands that no Cyborgs are to be unnecessarily killed. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Present an operation plan to me within the hour. Minimal side effects to the hostage Sauron breeders is top priority. Second priority is the subjugation of the Cyborgs. Those among them who will submit to disciplinary action are to be arrested. Any who resist or are ringleaders of the revolt are to be eradicated.”
Diettinger turned to the other officer. “Breedmaster, the Deathmaster will provide you with the identity codes of all unrepentant-mutineers and ringleaders. All sperm samples and genetic materials from these Cyborgs are to be destroyed.” He took a deep breath. “That will be all.”
Breedmaster Caius and Quilland left together.
Diettinger stood and turned to the small window.
“You are concerned about the human norms?” Althene asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Helm missed the point entirely. It is not the Cyborgs who are the first priority; it is the Haveners who are massing outside. Brigadier Cummings is no fool; he knows the importance of holding the Citadel. While he would not throw away men to take it from us, only to lose it in a counterattack, he would surely be willing to use explosives if he discovered he could eliminate our first generation in the process.”
“You respect him,” Althene noted. It was the highest praise a Sauron could level on a human norm, and was always solely reserved for enemy combatants. Diettinger nodded.
“Indeed, I do. Cummings is an excellent commander, human norm or not. Tenacious, daring, and yet prudent. I only hope he is not here in person.”
Althene frowned, concentrating. “Those traits would be welcome additions to the gene pool we are building here, husband.”
“True. Have Intelligence find out if Cummings has any daughters living on Haven.” He turned from the window. “And now you must excuse me. I have one other officer to see.”
Althene nodded and rose to leave by the side door. “Be careful, First Rank.”
Diettinger smiled. “I shall, wife.”
After she had left, Diettinger keyed the communications pad on his desk. “Send in Cyborg Rank Köln.”
He absently stroked his eye patch as he waited.
Köln stood in the anteroom of Diettinger’s office neither at attention, nor at ease; Cyborgs simply stood. When he received the summons, it seemed as if he had never broken stride. He entered the First Citizen’s office and closed the door.
“First Citizen,” he said simply.
“Cyborg Rank Köln. You are aware of the situation at the Citadel?” Diettinger asked.
It was not a question, Köln read from the First Citizen’s pheromones and body posture. Diettinger had always been hard to read, but his anger sent clues that he normally suppressed.
“Rumor has it that a substantial force”—Köln could not resist the barb—“of renegades has seized control there. I presume you want the Cyborgs to root them out?”
Diettinger half smiled. “You are in error.” The First Citizen walked to his desk and sat down easily, then began drumming his fingers as he stared at Köln.
Köln read Diettinger’s anxiety. Diettinger was worried that Köln night be implicated in the revolt against his authority. His concern was not for Köln, but for the Race. Köln approved.
“Would you care to hazard a guess as to the nature of those renegades, Cyborg Rank Köln?”
Köln could read that the time for frankness had arrived. “Cyborgs?”
“Just so. And as such, we can see that dispatching more Cyborgs might only aggravate the situation. Loyal Cyborgs would be put into a situation of risk, where only the traitorous ones should be killed.”
Köln read no reaction was warranted.
“Deathmaster Quilland will command the suppression. He is competent, effective, and will carry his orders out to the letter.”
Köln’s mind raced. Over-Assault Leader Dalmar was in command of the Citadel, which was why Cyborg Rank Zold had moved when he did. The inexperienced Dalmar would have overreacted, butchered the Cyborgs, lost scores of Soldiers, and caused the death of all hostages. The backlash would have toppled Diettinger. The entire plan relied on Dalmar’s ruthlessness and jealousy of Cyborgs. Deathmaster Quilland was one of the few norms that the Cyborg ranks respected and would willingly follow.
“Cyborg Rank Köln?”
“Eh?” Köln asked. The situation at the Citadel was too fluid, out of control—damn Zold. His impetuous behavior might yet doom them all. He must reassert control before Diettinger began to suspect that he was in any way implicated in this mistake.
“Yes, First Citizen?”
“I wanted you to be informed of this situation in order that you would smooth over the incident with the other loyal Cyborgs. Such as yourself.”
He doesn’t quite believe that but he wants to, Köln thought.
“The mutineers will be killed, and their genetic material eradicated.”
Köln thought of the ancient Sauron curse, carried from the old Chin of Earth: Death, and all his generations....
“You do not find that wasteful, First Rank?” Eradication of a line was the closest thing Saurons knew to the ostracism that so terrified the Harmonies.
“In fact, Cyborg Rank Köln, I find it tragically wasteful. But the burden of that waste rests with the instigators of this mutiny, not with me. Civil wars by definition are wasteful, as they resolve nothing which would not be better, and more effectively, resolved by patience.”
That last sentence had many implications, but Diettinger had closed up and Köln could no longer read him.
Diettinger stood, signifying the audience was over. “Then I can rely upon you to maintain order among the Cyborg ranks, now, and in the future?” He watched Köln closely.
Köln’s reply came in the same tone he had used that day, so many weeks ago, when Diettinger had told him the Cyborgs were relieved from active duty before the invasion of Haven. “Of course, First Citizen.”
On that day, Köln’s mind had raced ahead to the possibility of a day such as this one and the need to give the same answer again.
Even as he did now.
“Very good. Dismissed.”
Köln held Diettinger’s gaze for just long enough to be shy of insubordination, but long enough to give the First Citizen a twinge of anxiety. While Zold’s revolt was certainly a mistake, the necessity for such a change was still operative for as long as Diettinger and his rankers intended to play at being kingmakers, when there were others at hand who had been bred to the position.
Chapter Thirty
I
Saurons observed practical military courtesy—showing respect where it was due, and otherwise not interfering with getting the job done. They were all too nearly equal and too few in numbers to manage any other way.
So former Groundmaster Varner simply pushed a chair toward Deathmaster Quilland when the senior Soldier entered the command post. Then he went back to noting the position of enemy patrols beyond the outpost line.
“I’d like a report, if you can spare a moment, Over-Assault Leader,” Quilland said finally. “I’m too old to go climbing mountains in the darkness for no good reason.”
“Sorry, Deathmaster,” Varner said. “I just wanted to get a picture of what the resistance might be up to.”
“And what is that?” Quilland asked.
“Nothing we need worry about, as long as the outposts remain loyal.”
“Will they?” the Deathmaster asked, his eyes locked onto Varner’s.
Varner swiveled his chair and almost glared at the Deathmaster. “Deathmaster, nine of my Soldiers h
ave already died defending the outposts and killing two Cyborgs and six rebel Soldiers. What does that tell you?”
“That I should apologize for taking out my bad temper on you, just because there are no Cyborgs available.”
“We hope to remedy that before long,” Varner said. He unpinned the map from the table and laid out a schematic diagram of the Citadel.
“The Cyborgs control at least half the key doors and passages, also the communications center,” Quilland noted. “The main communications center, anyway.”
“How did you keep the backup secret from Zold?” Varner asked.
“Using my discretionary orders. I had captured Haven technicians using salvaged equipment set it up. It’s a rudimentary system, but it works and the Cyborgs don’t control it.”
“How did you get the technicians to work for us?”
“Promised them that their families would either go free or stay free,” Quilland replied. “Or if they had no families but wanted to stay, their pick of the females.”
“Anyone could think you wanted their loyalty to you.” The Over-Assault Leader said.
“That,” Quilland stated, “is beyond a joke tonight.”
“So it is. Forgive—”
Forgiveness had to wait on the phone. Varner picked up the receiver. As he listened, he felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach, by something much too strong to be human.
“The cattle are attacking the outposts,” Quilland speculated, when the Over-Assault Leader hung up.
Varner shook his head. “No. The…Zold’s rebels released the cattle from the main pens. Then he armed them. They shot Cyborgs and Soldiers impartially, then headed toward the main gate.”
“That fool. Trying to escape?”
“Likely enough,” Varner responded.
“How many?” Quilland asked.
Varner found he did not resent Deathmaster Quilland’s tone now. The Soldier had simply assumed command.
