Resist the Red Battlenaut

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "It turns out some people were immune to the virus. The shots weren't having any effect on them. So how could they get around this?" Bern looked down at her folded hands. "Well, someone figured out that giving it to babies would eliminate this problem, because their undeveloped immune systems wouldn't be able to resist the virus. It would take root and become a part of their internal microbiome before resistance could develop.

  "This is how they ended up inoculating every citizen of the Commonwealth at birth." Bern looked up and shook her head. Her gaze seemed to connect with Scott's, though she was only present as a recorded image.

  "They did a wonderful job of rationalizing it, too," said Bern. "After all, PTSD is universal. Even among a civilian population, it causes extensive human suffering. Wouldn't it be better to limit such suffering through universal inoculation?

  "And look at all the conflicts we must fight to preserve our freedoms. Wouldn't it be a good thing to create a universally PTSD-resistant populace? Wouldn't it make us stronger if every man, woman, and child were a potential warrior unable to be mentally traumatized by violence? Of course it would.

  "That was what they told themselves, anyway." Bern nodded. "Which is why, for the past 75 years, every single citizen of the Commonwealth has been secretly inoculated at birth. And only a few at the top..." She spread her arms and bowed her head. "...have ever known the truth. And we have carried the burden with us, never speaking of it even to our closest loved ones." Bern lowered her arms and raised her eyes to look at Scott. "Until now."

  Scott shouldn't have been surprised. Bern was the Commandant of the Commonwealth Marines; he'd always assumed she was carrying many dark secrets. But knowing she'd been hiding something of such vast scope left him reeling. It didn't seem possible that his beloved grandma had been at the heart of a massive conspiracy affecting every citizen of the Commonwealth.

  Yet the proof of it was evident right there in front of him. He could see the weight she'd been carrying in every crease and hollow of her face, in the dark dullness of her eyes, in the slump of her shoulders.

  For as long as Scott could remember, Bern had been his moral compass. Whenever he'd landed in a tough situation, he'd always asked himself what she would do and acted accordingly. But now, he found himself wondering if her moral compass was as certain as he'd always imagined it to be.

  All he knew for sure was that he had to keep listening, and hope he didn't hear anything else to taint his image of Bern any further.

  "So why am I telling you all this?" she asked. "Because I have come to believe that Lethe is a terrible thing. By creating a populace without true PTSD responses to traumatic violence, we have made our citizens less likely to find war abhorrent. Just look at the endless conflicts that have sprouted up over the past decades--one after another after another, right up to the current Civil War." Bern thumped her fist on the table. "I believe war has become more commonplace because of Lethe.

  "I also believe that Lethe has left us defenseless against the greatest threat of all. I believe it has fallen under the control of the Reds.

  "This explains how the Reds have made themselves undetectable to Commonwealth forces," said Bern. "The same applies to the Rightfuls, who've only recently broken away from the Commonwealth and therefore have all been inoculated.

  "Somehow, the Reds have figured out a way to use the Lethe virus against us...to use it to switch off our ability to process sensory input related to them. And if they can do that, God help us." Bern shook her head. "Because I think they can do much, much worse."

  Something in her voice made the hairs stand up on the back of Scott's neck. He leaned farther forward, stretching his arms out on the table as if he expected to be able to touch her...as if that might somehow reassure him in spite of what she was saying.

  But Bern did not reach back. She just kept talking, her expression growing more grave with each passing moment.

  "If the Reds can control our perceptions, they can control our actions," said Bern. "There is nothing stopping them from setting us all at each other's throats, thinking we are killing the very Reds who control what we see and hear.

  "Think of it." Bern steepled her fingers in front of her. "Commonwealth forces turning on each other, laying waste to the core worlds they are sworn to protect. Destroying their own homes, murdering their own families...believing, the whole time, that they are wiping out the enemy Reds." Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward. "The whole Commonwealth, and the Rightfuls, too, would be gone in a fortnight, wiped out by our own creation.

  "This is what you have stumbled upon," said Bern. "The ultimate power. The end of civilization as we know it. Everything we love and believe in swept away.

  "And for all the resources I have at my disposal, damn little hope." Bern shook her head and rubbed her eyes. "Command--myself included--has come around slowly--too slowly. The Civil War has blinded us to the true threat, and now it might be too late to deal with it.

  "We took a chance and sent you out with the Diamondbacks because you're the only individual on record who can see the Reds. I think it could be something to do with the way you died and were brought back. An alteration of your brain chemistry or neural pathways. Maybe the resurrection procedure simply killed off all the Lethe in your system. I don't know." Bern shrugged. "But it's starting to look like your mission is too little, too late.

  "I'm about to leave for a top-secret meeting with the Rightfuls, to propose we join forces against the Reds. But, honestly, if we can't see the Reds, I can't imagine we'll ever defeat them. And if they've ratcheted up their perceptual control as I suspect, they can make our closest allies appear to be our worst enemies."

  Bern sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "Only one thing is clear to me. We are running out of time.

  "Bellerophon Station, Lethe's center of operations, just went dark. This tells me the Reds are getting ready to make their final moves.

  "I imagine this means it will all be over shortly," said Bern. "I'm just sorry that I have to be the one to break it to you." Leaning forward, she stretched her arms across the table; this time, her hands came to rest in the same space as Scott's, their insubstantial holographic forms merging with his own solid mass. "Though I'd have to say I'm much more sorry that I might not see you again by the time this mess is over."

  Bern's eyes glistened with tears. "I love you, Solly," she said, and then she looked off-camera at what might have been a chronometer. "And I just hope we can see each other again in the next life, if this one keeps going the way I think it will." Smiling bravely, she blew him a kiss. "Got to go now, grandson. Good luck with your own battle against the Reds, wherever it takes you."

  She blew him one more kiss, then, and got up from the chair. He watched her march out from behind the table and disappear as she left the camera's field of vision.

  As the recording ended and the room dimmed, he just sat there for a while, staring into space, thinking about what she'd said. Letting the story of Lethe and all its terrible implications sink in. Wondering what his next step should be.

  Then, he left the comm booth and went to tell Perseid what he'd just learned.

  *****

  Chapter 34

  When Scott had finished his story, Perseid got up from behind the desk and paced his office, rubbing the scar on his left cheek.

  Meanwhile, Scott kept standing by the door, hands clasped behind his back. "That's everything," he said. "The whole message."

  Perseid shook his head. "It's hard to believe. Every Commonwealth citizen inoculated at birth with a mind-altering virus? And the news never leaked in 75 years?" He rubbed his scar harder. "If it was anyone other than Bern breaking the story, I wouldn't buy it for a second."

  "So what now?" asked Scott. "This changes everything, doesn't it?"

  "Does it?" Perseid flashed him a look. "We have confirmation of a strike against Tack, which might already be in motion. Does it matter how the strike's being directed? We still have to stop it."

 
"But what if the attack is by our own forces, controlled by Lethe?" said Scott. "Rushing to the defense of Tack would just add more firepower that can be turned against our own people."

  "But we have the countermeasure virus, don't forget," said Perseid.

  "Which, as far as we know, might not do anything but let our forces see the Reds."

  "Or it might block all the effects of Lethe, preventing any warping of sensory input that makes friendlies look like hostiles." Perseid pointed a finger at Scott as he marched past. "In which case, you can bet we'll be ready for them. We've already transmitted the specs on the countermeasure virus to all Commonwealth forces, and replication and inoculation are underway."

  "But it won't get to everyone in time," said Scott. "Not if the attacks have already been launched."

  Perseid stopped pacing. "We'll get to enough, hopefully, to minimize the damage. What the hell else can we do?"

  Scott narrowed his eyes. "We can stop Lethe at the source. We can cut off the Reds' signal and stop it from turning our forces against each other."

  "Stop it where?" said Perseid. "Bellerophon Station?"

  Scott nodded. "Bern said it went dark."

  "Which could mean any number of things." Perseid resumed pacing. "There could have been a power blackout."

  "Or the Reds could have taken it off the grid to launch their attack," said Scott. "Otherwise, it's an awfully big coincidence, don't you think? Lethe's secret center of operations goes dark just as the Reds are gearing up for a massive Lethe-based assault?"

  "So you think we should divert assets to Bellerophon?" Perseid blew out his breath. "What if you're wrong, and the Reds aren't directing their assault from that location? Tack is eight hours across the quadrant from there! We'll never make it to the front in time to push back the Reds."

  "But we can't afford not to go to Bellerophon!" said Scott. "And we only need to divert one asset--the Sun Tzu. Roll out the rest of the fleet to the core worlds as planned, equipped with as much of the countermeasure virus as they can get their hands on. Hopefully, they can hold the line long enough for the Sun Tzu to shut down Lethe at Bellerophon."

  Perseid paced in silence for a long moment, passing Scott five times before he spoke. "Bellerophon is too much of a longshot to risk keeping the Sun Tzu out of the action. We have confirmed intel, Solomon--confirmed intel of an assault on Tack. Everything else is guesswork."

  Frustration bubbling up at Perseid's resistance, Scott stepped forward and smacked his fist in the palm of his hand. "I'll take the guesswork of Commandant Chalice over the confirmed intel of Cairn Barrie any day of the week."

  Perseid stopped and fixed him in an icy stare. "But you're not in command here, are you, Corporal? You don't get to make the final call, and you won't have to live with it if you're wrong. So don't tell me what to do with my ship."

  Scott started to say something, but Perseid cut him off. It was probably for the best, given the hotheaded nature of what he'd been about to say.

  "Here's how it's going to be," said Perseid. "We're going to Tack, and here's why.

  "If somebody tells me a building's on fire, I'm heading straight for the building...not another building across town where I think the guy who set the fire might be. I'm going to save whoever I can, not try to prevent other fires that might or might not happen.

  "End of story!" Perseid jabbed Scott in the chest with an index finger. "Do we have an understanding?"

  Scott stared down at the finger and stiffened. "Yes, sir."

  Perseid held his gaze for a moment, then leaned back and withdrew his finger. "Your opinion is noted, but we don't have time for debate. We are leaving for Tack in two hours at best possible speed. Once we get there, we will join elements of the Commonwealth Defense Fleet in an all-out effort to protect the core worlds from the Reds." Perseid rubbed the scar across his throat. "Nothing--and I mean nothing--will persuade me to pursue another course. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir." Scott nodded. "Understood, sir."

  "Good." Perseid gestured at the door. "Then report to your duty station and help get this ship ready for the fight of her life."

  "Aye, sir." Scott fired off a salute that was a little too crisp. "Reporting to my duty station, sir."

  Then, he turned his back on Perseid and marched out the door.

  *****

  The corridors of the ship were filled with activity as Scott drifted through them. Diamondbacks ran past in both directions, rushing to prepare the Sun Tzu for impending departure and battle. No one spared more than a fleeting glance at Scott, just enough to make sure they didn't collide with him.

  Scott paid the same amount of attention to them. He was lost in thought, processing all that had happened in the last eventful hours, from Bern's message to Perseid's decision. So much had happened in a short amount of time; it was hard to wrap his head around it, let alone figure out how to deal with the fallout.

  But he had to deal with it, and fast. In less than two hours, the Sun Tzu would be on its way to Tack with Scott aboard, irrevocably committed to the course of action Perseid had chosen.

  It was a course of action that Scott believed was dead wrong. Every time he went over it again, he came to the same conclusion--and felt more strongly than ever in his heart that he was right.

  Going to Tack would be a mistake. The only way to stop the Reds and save the Commonwealth was to go to Bellerophon Station.

  The thought of it ate at him, because Tack was his homeworld. He badly wanted to rush to its defense in this dark hour, no matter the consequences.

  But every time he tried to convince himself to go along with that plan, he hit a wall. An inner voice caught him and pulled him back, turning him again toward the plan he knew was right.

  It was the same voice that had guided him all his life. It was Bern's voice.

  What would she do in this situation? There was really no doubt in his mind, as much as he wished there would be...as much as he wished he could go the less arduous route, just this once.

  He damn well knew exactly what he had to do.

  Even without consciously making a decision, he found himself moving toward the Training Deck. Even without telling himself that he was definitely starting down a path, he entered the vast, deserted chamber and headed for a certain gate.

  Only when he was standing before it with his hand on the opener did he pause and reconsider. He ran it all through his mind once more, weighing the alternatives and possible outcomes, second-guessing the inner voice and the dictates of his conscience.

  And when he was done with all that, he realized he had three choices. He could go along to Tack and do his part to stop the Reds--or the friendlies who imagined he and his allies were the Reds. Or he could try to start a mutiny, convincing the Sun Tzu's crew to place him in command in less than two hours...asking them, essentially, to turn their backs on Tack and put their faith in his gut instinct.

  Or this. He could open the gate, and...this.

  Taking a deep breath, he opened the gate. As it slid away, he found himself gazing up at a towering metal figure, plated in gleaming blue and silver armor.

  It was Vic Fong's Mark VI Marine Corps Battlenaut, the one that was identical to Scott's old unit. It stood there silently in its bay, staring out at the darkened Training Deck as if thirsting for action. Even as other, newer Battlenauts were prepped for the fight, the Mark VI remained alone in its bay, held back from the very purpose for which it had been built.

  But not for long.

  *****

  Chapter 35

  If the crew of the Sun Tzu had known what Scott was up to, somebody would have stopped him. But as it was, they were all too frantically busy to think twice about what he was doing. Not to mention, as he had proven himself in battle again and again, they had to come to trust him completely. He was the man with the Red-sight, the light in the darkness, the Commandant's grandson, not someone who would disobey direct orders on the brink of an epic battle to preserve the precious core world of
Tack.

  That was why he could move around so easily, doing exactly what was needed to set his plan in motion. That was why he had the time and privacy to override access codes on Fong's Mark VI and order its delivery by robotic hauler to the Hangar Deck.

  It was also why Trane wasn't suspicious when Scott showed up unannounced at Lab Five.

  "Hey there." Trane looked downcast as he packed gear in a ruggedized black case. "All ready for the big hoedown, rookie?"

  Scott shrugged and leaned against one of the metal workbenches, looking over the equipment scattered there. "Are you?"

  "Are we going to Dornick VII, where the evidence is pointing?" Trane scowled.

  "Nope."

  "Then no." Trane tossed a double-pronged silver instrument in the case with a clang. "No, I am not jazzed big-time about this particular hoedown."

  Scott was pleased. He'd expected Trane to react this way, since he'd also presented a target dismissed by Perseid. Now all Scott had to do was play him just right to get what he wanted. "Well, that makes two of us."

  Trane snorted. "Not like we have any say in the matter. Almighty Perseid has spoken!" Puffing up his chest, he jabbed his finger in the air dramatically. "No mere mortal can hope to influence the gods."

  "Well, I don't know about that." Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "There might be something we can do."

  Instantly, Trane's attitude changed. "Oh, yeah?" He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. "And what might that be?"

  Scott pretended to think it over for a moment. "I'd like to make another run at Cairn Barrie," he said. "With the gloves off this time."

  "To what end?" said Trane.

  "I think he lied about Tack," said Scott. "I think he misled us on purpose."

  Trane rubbed his chin. "What about the other prisoner? He named Tack, too, and he did it under extreme pressure. Perseid and the boys broke him."