His sharp tone and loud volume reverberated through Taylor's eardrums and only served to hurt him more. He nodded a few times in agreement before sitting back against one of the bridge consoles to rest his weary body.
"I can see you need your rest, Colonel. Please do not let me keep you from your bed. Report at 0900 to me personally aboard Ares 4. The Alliance is keen to see their hero, and we will be sure to parade him appropriately."
"Great," muttered Taylor.
The signal ended, and Song looked at him accusingly.
"Colonel, you just blew off the most powerful person in the Alliance."
"Yeah? Didn't seem all that bad to me."
"This is his way, Captain," added Jones.
"What way?"
"A blatant disregard for authority. Pig headedness. He is everything a superior officer hates, and everything he needs all at once. Every day of his history is like that. Nobody likes it, but everyone has to accept him eventually."
"Thanks," replied Taylor.
He staggered off the bridge and back to his room. He opened the door and found Alita waiting for him inside. She was lying on his bed wearing nothing but her panties, yet he collapsed beside her and barely recognised her presence.
"It seems we have found something that can beat the mighty Colonel Taylor," she joked.
"That stuff's hardcore. Be sure to find some more. Next time I want to drink to forget, it is sure to do the trick," he replied, as he fell into a semi dream like state, responding in muted tones as she went on.
"Is that what you do, drink to forget all the things you have seen, and the people you have lost?"
"Yes," he mumbled.
"I hope I mean that much to you some day."
"What?" he mumbled again.
Though he was too tired to wait for the response.
"I love you," she added.
But he had already slipped into a deep sleep.
* * *
The next time Taylor awoke he found himself fresh and ready to run. Within an hour of waking, he was aboard the Ares station to meet with the President. He expected some offer of medals or public celebration, but what he got was not what he was expecting or wanting at all. He stepped into the operations room. Isaacs and many other high-ranking officers were watching a corny recruitment video that featured many photos and videos of him and his Immortals. The video ended with a triumphantly posed photo of him standing on top of a craggy mountaintop. The narration ended - 'Sign up today and become a hero of the Alliance.'
He shook his head at both the slogan, and the fact he knew the photo had been digitally mocked up. It was false advertising at best, and painfully misleading.
"Do you like it, Colonel?" asked the President.
From the proud and happy face of Isaacs, this advertising campaign was his new baby. Taylor barely knew how to respond, so he simply shrugged.
"Oh, come on, Colonel. You are a hero. There is no shame in making that news."
"This isn't news. It's promising people something they will likely never know. You’re making out that it's some kind of walk in the park or video game. This is war, and it isn't pretty. You show a load of images of people posing in armour and training in safe environments. Where is the war, the death, the loss, the hardship?"
"We're trying to recruit people, not send them running in fear."
Taylor shook his head.
"Yeah, I got that," he replied sarcastically.
The President pressed a few keys and brought up the view outside the station where the battered fleets of the Alliance were still undergoing repairs.
"You see that, Colonel?"
He nodded and Isaacs went on.
"That is the core of our fleet. Modest compared to what we must face, and still in need of months of refits and repairs. The Alliance is weak in ships and other combat vehicles and equipment, but we are strong in manpower. We need to leverage that manpower."
Taylor was starting to come over. He didn't like being used to cheat and deceive people, but understood the President was doing it for the right reasons.
"Tell me, Colonel, when you signed up, back in the day, were you recruited on the basis of having to fight a war, or was it the excitement and adventure that drew you in?"
"Was a little different. There were no alien races back then, and not really any wars either."
"And if there were, would that have put you off?"
He didn't even know anymore. War was all he did know.
"I guess not."
Isaacs played the advert once again. Taylor cringed even further as he saw footage from the beginning that he had missed first time around. Some was genuine and unaltered, such as him in training scenarios when he first drilled and prepared those who now called themselves Immortals. He had no idea he was even being filmed, but from the footage there must have been drones tracking his actions most of the time.
"You had these cameras on me all this time?"
Isaacs seemed uneasy and stuttered, trying to respond while Taylor waited for an explanation.
"You have to understand, Colonel, we had no idea how it would turn out. Whether you could be trusted, how you would react. Even if the historical documentation of your character and victories were true, we had little idea of what the passage of time and the awakening in a new time would do to your mind. We needed to keep check on you, and you know you would do the same with any valuable asset you knew little about."
Taylor relaxed as he tried to get his head around it. For once Isaacs was right, though he still didn't like it.
"This is just the beginning, Colonel. We are making you the face of resistance. Of hope."
He could already sense there was something coming he wasn't going to like.
"I want you to become the public face of this war."
He spun around to access his console and pressed a few keys until a poster was displayed before them with an old officer. He had a massive moustache and a slogan reading 'Britons, I want you. Join your country’s army!' Taylor had seen it before, but he wasn't familiar with its history.
"Lord Kitchener," added Isaacs, "One of the greatest examples of military recruitment in wartime the Human race has ever known; an old soldier and hero of multiple wars. The people of his nation rallied to the call of a hero and enthusiastically signed up to fight."
"Doesn't look like I have much choice. You've already done this."
"No, Taylor. We live in a different age to Kitchener, even you did. A more advanced age of integrated communication. I want you to go live on the news for interviews. To tours of schools and cities, rally the people through a public tour that can be followed by every means of social media at our disposal. You'll have young men and women signing up in the millions.
Taylor shook his head.
"Use my image, fake some videos, I don't care all that much, but I will not be a puppet paraded around like some circus act. I have been there and experienced it firsthand. However positive an effect you might think it will have, the result will be very different. Those were dark days."
A Naval commander nearby piped up.
"All the wars you have lived through and you call those dark days?"
Taylor nodded with hesitation.
"To have the support of a people when at war is far preferable to being hated by your own people in peace."
Isaacs saw he had struck a nerve and stood up with outstretched hands to intervene.
"Okay, okay, I think we understand one another. Please take a seat, Colonel."
"I'd rather not. There is much to be done, if you are finished?"
Isaacs nodded.
"Okay, Colonel, and thank you for your understanding. This will help our cause more than any action you can carry out singlehandedly."
He thought about it and turned to leave but stopped himself.
"I'll do one piece for you. One sketch that you can use for recruitment."
Isaacs’ eyes lit up with excitement.
"But no interview, jus
t me and a camera. I choose my words, and you don't edit or screw with them. When it's done, you can take it or leave it."
"That would be extremely helpful, thank you."
Taylor couldn't believe how much the President was pandering and grovelling to him. It felt as though he could just reach out and take the President's seat of power without a fight. That thought worried him. He never wanted that power, but he feared what others might do if they saw him as a threat to what they have. Too many times before his own superiors had betrayed him.
"You know I am just a fighting man?"
The President looked confused, so he went on.
"I never want political office or any of that. Sometimes I do the craziest of things, but only for the right reasons. I am no threat to you, you understand that, right?"
Isaacs looked both a little reassured and uncertain all at the same time.
"Give me an hour, and I'll be back to give you your recording."
"Thank you, Colonel."
As he exited the room, he found Jones leaning against a wall outside waiting for him. The Lieutenant quickly jumped to his side and carried on as he walked. He waited for Taylor to speak, but when nothing came, he started asking the questions.
"What are our orders?"
Taylor shook his head. "We don't have any."
"Then what are we to do?"
"That's what I am about to find out."
It was a cryptic response, but Jones knew he wasn't going to get any more information, so he followed the Colonel as he weaved from one corridor and floor to another. They reached the ambassadorial quarters and strode up to Irala's room. Before he could even press the buzzer, the door slid open as if he were expected.
They stepped in to the rather spacious quarters. It was stark, with no decoration and little of anything at all beyond a bed and a stool. Irala was sitting upon the stool as if in a meditative state.
"You want to know how to kill Bolormaa?" Irala asked.
He opened his eyes but did not move.
"How did you guess?"
"Because you are, as your people say, like a dog with a bone."
Taylor smiled in response, for he couldn't deny it.
"What is he talking about?" Jones asked.
"Some way of killing the creature that we don't know. In the aftermath of the Cholan attack, he mentioned it. I've not stopped thinking about it since, but this is the first spare moment I have had to pursue it. Hence the sentiment."
Irala remained sitting silently atop his stool, as if waiting for another question.
"What are you even doing in here?" Taylor asked, "Just sitting about, what is it that you do?"
"I think," he replied calmly.
"Think? With all the things we need to do to prepare for this war."
"When you have lived as long as I have, you soon begin to appreciate the moments when we may sit back for hours or even days at a time and contemplate all the facts. Other races see or believe that we can predict the future, but as I told you a long time ago, we are simply thorough in our calculations in all matters in life. When you can afford the time to do nothing, but piece together all the knowledge and information you have, you may come to conclusions that might otherwise be missed by those who rush in."
"What are you implying?" Taylor asked while still smiling.
"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" asked Jones.
Taylor shrugged.
"Don't see why I ever should."
"Well, Irala, what is it you have? What do you know that the rest of us don't?"
"You know that Bolormaa is said to be unkillable? And you know firsthand from meeting one of her spawn that the reputation could indeed be fact?"
"Yeah, but I can't see that bastard making it out of that. Ganbaatar went down with that bomb. I saw him fall into darkness."
"Did you see him die?"
Taylor shook his head.
"Then you know nothing. Ganbaatar has survived more than you can ever imagine. Show me his head, and only then will I believe he is dead."
"Okay. Let's believe she is as unkillable as you say, then you know a way of killing these bastards, so tell us."
Irala took a deep breath.
"What I am about to tell you is considered to be little more than myth by many of my people."
Taylor and Jones said nothing, waiting in suspense for him to continue.
"There is a weapon that was said to be in the possession of our people. A weapon forged by Bolormaa's birth mother herself."
Taylor couldn't wait any longer as Irala spoke so slowly.
"What kind of weapon?"
"A spear."
But Taylor waited patiently now for him explain.
"A weapon so uniquely powerful it could penetrate any substance known in the universe. To my people it is known as the Pauri Tao, but they are known to have called it Tam Ir, or Tamir. I am not sure their people believe in its existence any more than most of my people do."
"But you believe in it, don't you? Or you wouldn't have baited me with the very idea?"
Irala nodded.
"Many of my people would scorn me for ever having told you, but there are a few who still believe."
"Where is it?" Jones asked impatiently.
Irala frowned a little, and Taylor could see this was the sticking point.
"Rumoured to be buried deep below the surface of our homeworld."
"Onesaka?"
Irala shook his head.
"No, Jones, he means the one before the Krys invasion, the planet that was obliterated by them. Is it not just a wasteland now?"
"Yes it is."
"Then why haven't you been back there to recover this weapon?"
"For too long the Krys ensured we never could, and as time has passed, it has fallen from legend to myth, and all but forgotten. Too few of us still believe to pursue it for ourselves, and the risk the Morohta now present means we cannot contemplate such a venture. Not without help."
Taylor paced back and forth, thinking about the prospect of such a powerful weapon.
"Surely this is just a fairytale that you tell kids?" Jones asked, "Are you not familiar with the sword Excalibur?"
"I know more about Human culture than you could ever expect to learn in the years you have in this life."
"Then you know every culture has some bullshit fairy tale of a magical weapon that can do all kinds of amazing things? Why would your story be any more believable? If we were to go looking for Excalibur, we would be considered insane, probably locked up. What possible reason do you have to believe this Tamir thing exists?"
Both looked to him for some kind of answer, but he didn't seem willing to give up anything more.
"Come on, my old friend," Taylor pleaded, "You cannot expect us to buy into such a story and act upon it without a little more reason to believe it. You clearly do, and passionately so. Tell us why, make us believe as you do."
He did not respond.
"Come on." He beckoned to Jones and headed for the door.
"Okay," said Irala.
Both of them stopped and listened intently.
"My grandfather, Tane Mahuta, was alive when my people fought the Morohta. When I was young, he was one of the few surviving from that war. Even then, it was fading from memory for my people. He was there the day one of our people took up the Pauri Tao. He seized it from Bolormaa in single combat, the great hero Rua. He inflicted a wound upon the beast with the weapon, but was himself dealt a mortal wound."
"And you believe the story your grandfather told you?"
"Yes, Lieutenant Jones, I would have no reason not to."
"So what happened to the weapon?" asked Taylor.
"It was buried deep within the surface of our planet. Only a handful knew of its existence and location; to all others it was nothing more than a myth. Our council of leaders believed the very existence of such a weapon would act as a deterrent to Bolormaa."
"Did it?"
"Of a sort. None of our peop
le ever saw Bolormaa with their own eyes again. Many believed she was too terrified to ever come near the weapon."
"Why not just destroy the planet?" asked Jones, "I am sure she had the means."
"Because the Pauri Tao is sacred to her. It was a great insult to have lost it. Why her terrible war stopped we may never know. But my grandfather believed that had the war lasted for even a few more weeks, the weapon would have been discovered. All those who knew of its presence were tortured and eventually killed, but no one ever revealed its location."
"All but your grandfather?"
"None knew that he was there that day. He had left his post in assistance of Rua, and for that he was disgraced. Nobody ever believed his story."
"Except you?" asked Jones.
Irala nodded once again.
"And you still believe them?" asked Taylor.
"Nothing would give me cause to doubt."
"And you believe we will need this weapon if we are to defeat Bolormaa."
"Yes, I do."
Taylor paced back for forth again as he tried to make sense of it all.
"You take this to the President and he will call you insane."
"Wouldn't be the first time, Jones."
"What are you going to do?"
* * *
Two days had passed as Taylor had wandered the station in a daze, thinking about Irala's story. Every time he thought how insane it sounded, he remembered his encounter with Ganbaatar. He knew they needed something more than what they were able to assemble. He finally found himself outside Irala's door once again. The door opened. Jones was sitting inside the room with the Councillor.
"Well, Colonel, have you made up your mind?" Irala asked.
Taylor rubbed his chin and wiped his brow, still trying to decide whether to believe the story. He looked into Irala's eyes, recalling everything they had been through together, and realised it was enough.
"There is a whole lot of work to be done, and there ain't much we can do at this stage. A small elite team, this is exactly the kind of mission we were made for."
"It's not for you to decide though, is it?"
"I say it is, Jones."
"You know you have a real problem with authority?"
Taylor smiled.
Battle Beyond Earth: Insurrection Page 12
